Thursday, September 5, 2013

Say Cheese

 Daddy and Collin pose before Collin's first day of preschool.
 My little man, so excited for his first day.
 Time for cuddles with mom too.
 He insisted on a silly picture.
This picture (although blurry) makes me want to cry.  It shows Chris walking Collin into his preschool classroom.  This is our very last time walking a child into a preschool classroom on the first day of school.  A little part of me hurts just thinking about it!

The minute I dropped the kids off at school, I slipped on my running clothes and pounded the pavement.  With frustrations aplenty, I quickly fell into a swift rhythm.  I tried my darnedest to unwind from my hairy morning with each stride.

It was the morning I dread all year: picture day.  My boys greet picture day as warmly as a tooth extraction or math test.  They know picture day means I select "church" clothes for them to wear  and they, in turn, comply and smile on cue.  Easy peasy, one would think.  But for boys that don't see the value in showering (we just did it yesterday!), teeth brushing (can't we just swish around water?), wearing underwear (no one sees it anyway), convincing them to slip on a polo shirt and matching shorts is a feat not to be undertaken by the faint of heart.  

This year, I tried to bypass some of the morning conflict.  The night before,  I placed a perfectly appropriate picture day outfit next to their dressers.  They noticed but said not word one secretly praying picture day would magically disappear or perhaps, even better, I'd forget (a very likely scenario!).

This morning, the grumbling began.  They tried every tactic in a little boy's arsenal:

Nobody else's mom makes them dress up for picture day.

Seriously doubt that one. 

I'll wear the top, but I'm putting basketball shorts with it.

Not a chance.  

I'll be uncomfortable.

Don't talk to the woman who wears Spanx and high heels about comfort!  

They slowly realized defeat was inevitable, but they weren't willing to wave the white surrender flag just yet.  They decided if they were going to wear church clothes, they'd do it with their own flair.  Connor slipped on a stripped polo shirt with gingham shorts.  Cooper pulled out a turtleneck (with temperatures predicted in the high 80s!).

I couldn't take it anymore.  I unleashed the mother of all rants proclaiming that:  


  • I don't ask for much. 
  • I watch them go to school everyday in clothes that look like they're ready to hit the gym.  
  • I endured weight gain, labor, childbirth, and breastfeeding for their behalf.


So, please, oh please, put on the stinkin' CHURCH CLOTHES!  (And don't forget to smile!)

They did.

We'll see if they smile.  




















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