We've all seen them -- those kids that seem to be completely oblivious to what they're wearing. They never take the time to acknowledge mismatched socks, scratchy fabrics, denim that gouges into their hip bones or a coat that is just a little too tight through the back. They happily go through their days with the backs of their necks rubbed raw by an offending tag or wearing a long sleeve shirt on an 80 degree day. And even though I can't tell you the names of these kids, I can tell you one thing about them: none of them are named Zoe.
Throughout my daughter's entire six years of existence, I have been put through a wide range of wardrobe drama. There was one winter when an insanity switch went off in her head and, for some bizarre reason, she refused to wear a coat in the car. Yes, we live in Minnesota so yes, it does tend to get a little chilly in January. Usually, these sub-zero temperatures are tolerable when a person wears a thing called a coat, even when said coat isn't always zipped up. Zoe, however, was more than happy to accept feeling a little chilled over wearing something so ridiculous as a coat. And fortunately for her, she never actually froze to death because I managed to generate enough heat for both of us every time we got to the car and I had to hastily take her coat off, strap her into her car seat, wave my arms around in exasperation and then throw the coat at her head.
Then there was the now famous Sock Phase. She wouldn't wear any socks that didn't have the grippy writing on the bottom, and they couldn't be too thick, but for crying out loud those are too thin! And why are these so long? No, I need to be able to fold them over three times, these only fold twice. No, I don't want those because they're too pink. No, no and (sigh) just, no. These are kind of itchy, and these make the floors feel too slippery. These keep falling off, these leave lines in my legs. What this all came down to was me buying size 2-3 yr. white triple-roll socks at the Gap. In bulk. And then one day, right after I had stocked the sock drawer with a fresh batch, she decided she was done wearing socks with the grippy bottom. Because they were too sticky.
In addition to the coats and the socks, I've also endured shirt issues, a refusal to wear denim, demands that all tags be cut out of everything worn on the top half of the body and, after showing a genuine fear of wearing a perfectly harmless 100% cotton A-line dress, there was that one time she went to grandma's house in nothing but her underwear.
For some reason, though, since her sixth birthday there isn't anything she won't wear. Skinny jeans with embellished pockets? Hand 'em over! A ribbed, fitted top with long sleeves? Love it! A dress? Look at me spin around! Suddenly, just like that, getting my daughter dressed in the morning is stress-free. Enjoyable, even.
And, of course, just when Joy steps in, Drama comes along and insists on bringing along his asshole friend, Reality.
Since school has started, I've had to listen to her complain about how she can feel her sock seam every time she puts her shoes on in the morning. Apparently, after spending a summer in nothing but flip-flops and sandals, we are back to having sock issues. Usually, though, if she holds the sock with the seam aligned just so and after I make a couple attempts at putting the shoe on and sigh really loud, she shrugs her shoulders and gives me a look that says "well if that's the best you can do then I guess I'll just deal with it."
A couple nights ago, she went directly from school to the club because her brothers had a tennis lesson. (I know what you're thinking: A) what nights do my boys not have a tennis lesson and B) how many times have I typed the words "...brothers had a tennis lesson," right!?) While there, she was running around with a friend playing tag, climbing on some chairs and also made about a dozen trips to the water fountain. Toward the end of the hour, she complained that there was a bump in her shoe that was bugging her. I told her to just live with it for a little bit longer because we're going home soon and I'm sure it's just your sock. And besides, I really didn't feel like going through the whole shoe off/fix sock/shoe on/shoe off/shoe on ordeal. She said no, this feels different and I need my shoe off now. Like, now. Not later. NOW! I said fine, let's see what the problem is and as she took off her shoes and I had my "see I told you so, I knew it was just your sock" speech all cued up and ready to roll off the end of my tongue, this is what came out of her shoes:
On the bright side, at least I don't have to start buying triple-roll socks at the Gap again.