Dressing My Daughter Frustrates Me!

Growing up I was mainly around women. I have one sister and no brothers.  My Mam did everything with her two sisters and my cousins were predominantly girls. So when my first child was a boy, I was at a loss. What do I know about boys?

Kyle was the first boy born on my father’s side in over 50 years. 

There was a massive amount of uncertainty about how I was going to raise a member of the opposite sex. Then number two Finn came along, another boy just in case you were in doubt and I had come to adore the idea of having two big strapping young men on either side of me as I grew old disgracefully.

The thing I found disappointing about having two boys was the selection of clothes available. You’d walk into any department store to three or four acres of girl’s clothes and one rack of boys.

Every boy within a 60 mile radius looked like they were members of cult that required a uniform.

Having said all that it was easy to make the boys look good. Nice jeans and a t-shirt and they looked effortlessly cool. Pair of kicks or runners as we call them down my neck of the woods, and they were like mini pop stars.

Then low and behold like a gift from the Gods I got my girl.

The house exploded into a maze of pink and tulle and I loved it. For Macy’s christening she got gifts of clothes almost exclusively. I had to get extra rails put in her wardrobe to allow for the selection of outfits that my 6 month old child possessed.

But wait….. It was all grand when she was teeny because the clothes are usually sold as an ensemble. They are matched up perfectly for you in advance so all thinking has been done on your behalf by some designer in China. As she got progressively older I found dressing her becoming more difficult. Now I’m no style icon, I have pictures from the nineties that would attest to that but I do know how to coordinate an outfit.

However, there were so many elements to this child’s clothes, I was truly overwhelmed.

I’d go to the wardrobe and pick out a dress that had stars on it.

Perfect!

Now I had to find a pair of tights to go with her lovely star dress.

Simple!

Wait…. the tights have polka dots on them. Now again, I’m not claiming to be a stylist but as far as I’m concerned I wouldn’t match up horizontal stars with vertical polka dots unless I was walking in a pride parade. I could get nothing to coordinate. A lovely cream and navy dress with a little pair of mary jane patent shoes

Glorious!

Do you think I could find a pair of cream socks to go with them? Not a hope in hell.

I longed for the simplicity of dressing the boys. I couldn’t handle the pink pig on the jeans and then the neon unicorn on the jumper. I found myself dressing her in plain jeans and tops because it was near impossible as far as I was concerned. Then the tide turned because as children often do she developed an opinion of her own, at about two and half. A couple of years earlier than I would have liked but she loves her clothes. She lives for a twirly dress and often likes to pair this with pink neon wellies.

I wish the people who design young girls clothing would follow the rule of looking in the mirror and taking one thing away before they put their items into production. The beauty of her getting bigger is when I have no other choice but to dress her like a cartoon confectionary company has vomited over some polyester, I simply shrug my shoulders and say…..

She dressed herself bless her!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clothes are so Uncomfortable

I’m sitting watching tv. The heroine is after being kidnapped, a bag shoved over her head and stuffed into the boot of a car by two large men. She struggles of course with little effect. What I want to know is, with all that fuss, how the hell do your trousers stay on!!!

I can’t walk from the car to the school without hitching up my pants at least once. I’m pretty sure if I was bucking like a bold child not wanting to get into the bath I would expose myself to all who cared to watch.

What’s more, I wouldn’t have some fancy knickers on underneath. No no. If I were to be kidnapped I’d be wearing my oldest, grottiest thinnest pair of period stained excuse for a knickers. My arse would be a welcome distraction from the embarrassment of them.

Then they tied her to the chair and her hair was in her face, naturally enough. They proceeded to torture her by showing someone beat up her sister. Well they wouldn’t even need to go that far with me. At this point those vile briefs are under my butt cheeks and I’m about to gnaw through the ropes with my bare teeth for that reason alone. My bra is driving me insane. I want to pull it down at the back and stuff my triple diddies back in at the front. Paired with the hair in my face I’m ready to tell them everything they want to know.

Then as if I thought the threat of them hurting my sister wouldn’t be bad enough (I mean who the hell would mind the kids while I line danced on a Monday. Went to see friends on a Wednesday. Got my hair done on a Friday…… I could go on.) I realise my runner sock had slipped under the heel of my foot. Heaven above is there no mercy!?

I imagine at this stage Beast Mam takes hold. This level of discomfort is more than I can take. I muster up strength reserved for mothers whose children are in grave danger. I break from the ropes. Fix the knickers, remove the hair from my face put my boobs back in my bra, take off the socks and burn the bastards, kill the bad guy and save the day!

Clothes grate on me. Nothing is comfortable. I could obviously lose some weight that might help me but problem solving is not my strong point. I often contemplate nudism if that’s a word but I don’t like to make other people feel inferior and let’s face it if this goddess was walking around nudey rudey, that would be inevitable.

So I’ve slipped off the bra and I’m going to see if my heroine will save the world with or without exposing her arse in the process.

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Monday Stumble Linky

 

My Sock Story

I went hunting today. Before anybody throws a tin of paint over me while I cue for the school to open, no, not that kind of hunt. I was on the prowl for socks. Those elusive creatures.  Originating in pairs but somehow they  always seem to find themselves alone. Continue reading “My Sock Story”