Insouciance

I’m sure that over the next few months, there are going to be lots of posts where I put up a picture of Margaret and then have some variation of “Where did my BABY go?!”  But this one is just so weird.  I mean, why should discovering flaps of cloth on one’s pants make one look so much older and more mature?*

It’s completely bizarre, but she looks so competent.**

Also, the baseball shirt?  She asked for one.  Because she has pajamas that have a soccer ball and a football and a basketball on the chest, and she wanted a shirt with a baseball.  And you would be surprised how hard it is to find a shirt with a baseball in size 3T that doesn’t proclaim her “Daddy’s Little Slugger.”***

When I finally did find one, the girly counterpart proclaimed the wearer “MVP of Hugs and Kisses” in glittery silver print on a pink and white shirt. 

I don’t think that I want my daughter playing in a hugs and kisses league with strangers right now,**** thank you, and I certainly don’t want people judging how good she is at either hugging or kissing, and certainly not both in concert.  Do people who design these lines of clothing bother to THINK about the messages they’re sending?  I mean, I have no objection***** to little girls wearing pink and purple shirts that tout more girly sports, like volleyball and gymnastics and figure skating, but hugging and kissing?  Really.  Not cool. 

But Margaret has her baseball shirt, and seems happy with it.  So there’s that.

*Note to self: when feeling that class is spiraling out of control because no one has done the reading, ignore advice of all speech teachers, and stick hands in pockets.  It’s probably not going to hurt, and it might help.

**She’s not, really.  I mean, just after this, she asked me for help removing the gutter downspout from the side of the house.  She didn’t get it.

***In our family, the one pushing prowess at youth sports is me, darn it, and I want credit for it on shirts.

****Or ever, really.  In fact, even less do I want her doing that when she’s 15.  Or 22.  Because that’s something that pretty much tells you that you’ve done something terribly, horribly wrong in your parenting. 

*****I’m lying here; I do object to this, but not as vociferously.