The drama that is…picture day

The drama that is….PICTURE day.

 Fall picture day.  The day yearbook pictures are taken. 

 Sunday night as we are getting ready for the week,   “Don’t forget picture day is this week.  Be sure you having something nice laid out.”  Night of picture day:  Mom to daughter, “what are you going to wear tomorrow for picture day?”  Daughter, “…that dress…” Mom is distracted and mutters “umhm”.

 Morning rolls around.  Daughter is eating breakfast. Non-morning Mom mumbles the words picture day.  Daughter chirpily replies.  “I am wearing that green dress that Gramsey sent me.”  Mom chokes on coffee.  The ‘green’ dress is a chiffon, tea length sea foam green dress with a rhinestone-encrusted sash.  “Uh, No,” were the only words that could be heard before the whining, cajoling, complaints started.  The middle of the conversation included mom gently coaching daughter to try and see the error of her way. When that didn’t work I, being Mom, just finally said (okay—yelled).  “No.  That is a flower girl, daddy-daughter, and dressy dress.  It is NOT 2nd week of school picture day dress.  Find something else.”  Having laid down the law I grab my carafe of coffee (because let’s face it-a cup just isn’t enough) and stumble to the bedroom.

 Mid-mascara application I see a reflection in the mirror.  I almost poke my eye out.  Slowly I turn.  Crap.  The image in the mirror is exactly the image in front of me.  There stands my daughter in a hip-hugging lace dress. Hip-hugging-lace-halter-style-with-no-back-dress that I purchased in a very week moment at the Goodwill.  “No.”  Wailing ensues.  “Hey!” I shout over the din.  “It’s not even my rule.   It’s the SCHOOL RULE. You can’t wear tops with straps less then 2 fingers—what do you think they will say about backless?”  We address all the standard arguments:  all her friends are doing it, moms are so mean and it stinks having a mom with no fashion sense.  The last comes from the moment that I relent and say that, with a jacket, she can wear it.  At the end of the verbal volley I return to my make-up and she stomps up the stairs.

 As I flip my head upright to complete the drying process I see, in this order:  suede, more suede, black suede, skin, frayed denim, blue skin or denim—it’s hard to tell, skin, cobalt blue, silver, neck, smirk, nose, squinted eyes, pursed forehead and some sort of headband.  As I complete the head flip I give myself a moment in case the upside down sight was an illusion.  My moment over I realize it is not an illusion.  Miss Thang stands there sullenly in knee high suede boots, skintight denim shorts, a too small top and a scowl.  She knows what I am going to say and is already mad.  I say one word, “Hoochy”.    In a humph she flounces around and back up the stairs she slams.

 From my bath I catch a quick flash of white.  Ahh…same boots, same shorts, spaghetti strap white, flounced tank top over a tie-dyed yellow vee neck.  “Really?”  What else is there to say?  In all her bratty glory she holds up 2 fingers (the school rule) over the spaghetti strap and plucks at the t-shirt.  I use my finger, though not the one I would have really LIKED to have used, to point her out of the bathroom and back to her closet.

 End result?  Adorable polka dotted top with matching skirt—also a Gramsey provided outfit.  Kinsley’s contribution and way of rebelling—she wore it with suede boots.

 A+ moment in a D encounter?  When stubborn, hard headed 9-year-old Diva had to say, “I am sorry I underestimated you about the picture day dress. Everyone said I looked nice.  Even Coach gave me a compliment.”  Victory, this time, was mine.

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