“Paige Madison!!” my husband bellowed. He works in a prison as a Corrections Officer, so his voice can be…loud. Actually, deafening is probably a better word.
“Yes, Daddy?” she answered.
“Go get dressed,” he commanded.
I was headed off to work for the day, so Daddy has the kids for the day. This has disaster written all over it.
“Please,” I begged her. “Something that fits properly and is season appropriate.” She’s been known to dress in fleece for 88 degree days.
“And matches,” Daddy added.
“And doesn’t make me howl in pain,” I threw in. As long as it matches, it’s usually okay for her. She doesn’t understand some days that just because the colors match each other doesn’t mean that an outfit necessarily is fit for the eyes of the public.
A few minutes later, there was a squeaky voice on the other side of my bedroom door. “I’m dressed!” it announced. “May I come in?”
“I”m scared,” I said to my dear husband.
“You need to check with your mother,” he called back to the voice on the other side of the door.
“Mom, may I come in?” she asked again.
I paused. God knows what was coming through that door. I needed to brace myself.
“Yeah, go ahead,” I tell her.
Paul sighs. “You’ve failed me yet again,” he says to me.
The door opens. Words fail me.
She is wearing a pink shirt, with hardly any sleeves. In October. In New England. A pair of pink leggings that she has clearly outgrown. And a pink overall shorts set over the whole get-up. If this doesn’t just scream fashion…
“You CANNOT wear that!” I yell.
“Why not?” dear husband interjects.
“Tell me you’re not serious?” I say to him. “You’re SERIOUSLY going to let her walk around the city LIKE THAT?!”
“What? It matches.” Is he seriously sticking up for this outfit? I have half a mind to wear a similar one to a dinner he has planned for us tomorrow night, and see how well it goes over.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “You’re the one that has to walk around with her. I…am going to work.”
I head upstairs to dry my hair. Paige follows me. “Mom? Dad wants you to do my hair.”
“Well, that’s too bad for Dad. I’m going to work. I don’t see him getting you ready on the days HE goes to work. Tell him to figure it out.” She turns around and heads back downstairs to her father.
She’s back a few minutes later. “He said he would APPRECIATE it if you could do my hair.”
As you can see, Paige’s hair corkscrews directly from her scalp, making the taming of her hair an Olympic event. And one that Daddy can’t do without wrenching tears from her.
I find him downstairs. “Why bother with the hair? Just leave it as is so it completes the homeless look she’s got going.”
He laughed. I failed to see the humor.
“Go show Papa that outfit,” I demand of Paige.
“Papa, Papa! Look at my outfit!” she yells, tearing into the office.
“Yeah? What’s wrong with it?” he says nonchalantly. “She matches.”
Some days, it’s extremely hard being the only one holding this deck of cards together.