For the first few years of her life my daughter was content to let me select her outfits each day. I was fortunate in the sense that this willingness on her part lasted much longer than most little girls. Perhaps this is why, when the time came, and she began to assert her fashion independence, I wasn't willing to let go that easily. While most moms would probably laugh at the *creative ensembles* their offspring came up with I couldn't help but be aghast. Really? You want to wear that top with those pants? Let's be reasonable - how about this lovely top instead?And those socks are a travesty. Let's get out some nice white ones with the lace trim.
But really it was minor transgressions - shades of colors that god didn't mean to go together, the occasional clashing pattern, but nothing outright hideous. And I tried, I really tried to let go of micromanaging her fashion decisions. I realized that letting go of this one small thing was a good first step for me in a lifetime of letting go. Oh but how I cringed when she went out dressed as a valentine in head to toe red and pink. After several battles I vowed to let her make her own choices as long as they were seasonally appropriate (there must be *some* standards).
And then came the day of *the outfit*. She showed up ready to go to school wearing some horizontally striped boot cut leggings in garish jewel tones (how did those get in the drawer?), a bright blue and and red t-shirt from a soccer clinic she attended, black shoes, yellow socks and a lavender wind breaker. It was my worst nightmare. I may have gasped, or even let out a squeak of surprise, but instead of demanding she change I took several deep, calming breaths and drove her to school.
I was feeling rather virtuous in my tolerance and acceptance. I congratulated myself for *letting go*. And then the following week I got the Valentine's Day gift she made for me in class. A beautiful frame she painstakingly created containing a picture of her with the biggest smile I have ever seen, she was positively beaming. And she was wearing *the outfit*. Although I can honestly say that get up is seared into my brain forever, now I have photographic proof to produce when she is a teenager. It pays to be virtuous.