This may surprise you, but Reagan, she has opinions. Seriously, we have no idea where she gets this from. But they aren't about the most fascinating of topics, unfortunately. For example, she does not have much to say on the question of whether or not Sarah Palin is capable, much less qualified, to be the Vice President of the United States of America. No. When it comes to politics, she's smarter than her momma and she just keeps those thoughts to herself.
But what she does care about is what she will wear each morning. And also, she will wear a barrette today, thank you.
I'm not altogether unfamiliar with my daughter preferring something to something else and stating it clearly or unclearly. We've been having the great Breakfast Battle for the last oh, let's say 12 months or so. Each morning Hubby or I are forced to march all the various cereals, graham crackers, pop tarts, breakfast bars we have in our cupboard in one marvelous parade past her high chair. Occasionally she even selects something she would be allowed to have. But there are many days she holds out in protest for an Egg McMuffin straight from McDonald's. Right this very minute. On a rare occasion, her highness has held out long enough and with enough tears that a cookie has ended up in her hands in place of a pop tart. It wasn't me. Reagan's debating skills may very well be better than that of Sarah Palin. But I digress.
Once we get past the great Breakfast Battle, we are on to the War of the Wardrobe. I pick out almost every single thing in Reagan's entire wardrobe. I go to garage sales and I go to stores and I buy every single thing she will ever wear upon her body (aside from gifts, of course). So I have wrongly assumed this garners me the right to thus select from that mighty stash what precious threads I will place upon her dear body. The other morning, holding Reagan on one arm, I slid outfits back and forth on the curtain rod. I paused at one, she looked at it, looked at me and said, "No." I'm fairly sure we had a stare down. I slid the hanger over to examine the next outfit. Again, she looked it over and said, "No." I should mention these are not sweet giggly little "nos" emitting from her person. She is stern, serious, polite, but a little snobby sounding. Thereby making it almost impossible for me to keep my poker face intact. I pulled out another outfit and this time she reached for it, held it up to her for perusal and said (this time with a SIGH!), "No."
I finally ended the great War of the Wardrobe by pulling an outfit out of the closet and exclaiming loudly and cheerfully that THIS WAS SUCH A NICE OUTFIT! I BET IT IS SO COMFORTABLE. I WISH I COULD WEAR THIS! HOW PURDY! And I quickly marched away from the closet and did not offer her the opportunity to reject my selection.
So then we set about getting her dressed, which incidentally was not an easy chore.
And wouldn't you know we get through all that wrestling and wrangling of t-shirts, tiny socks and pink pants just to begin a long tedious Barrette Brawl. I don't mind Reagan wearing barrettes. Its cute. I won't deny it. And its easy. But that child will not just leave them alone. She has to pull them out of her hair every 3 minutes and bring them to me so I can put them back in all over again.
And I really thought that would be the end of it. That getting dressed would only be a problem in the morning. That we would only have disagreements over attire before noon.
But yesterday, at approximately 3:30 p.m., Reagan (the Maverick that she is) brought me her pajamas and demanded I put them on her. I didn't. But a huge Pajama Plea began and lasted till 5:00 p.m.
Please lie to me and tell me this Clothing Clash will not continue or ever get worse. If it doesn't, I may need to go to John McCain's ranch, sequester myself for 3 days and study debate techniques. Though I doubt there's a strategist that can reason with my two year old. Sigh.