Mismatched Boy
2 Sep
Fashion statement, by Danny
Being a perfectionist is sort of a stressful way to go through life. I know. I am one. But I try not to impose my structured, orderly, list-making ways on my boys, because, really, I’d much prefer it if they cruise through life never describing themselves as Type As. So far, it seems Danny has not inherited my personality (evidence in photo to the right).
Never, never, ever would I dress myself in red, white and blue plaid shorts, orange shirt adorned with giant scorpion and black shoes and socks. Nor would I choose to dress my child in such a get-up. But it’s not up to me. Joey and Danny get to make their own fashion calls (well, within reason, they must cover all their parts and wear a shirt over their wife beaters). I figure they need control over some areas of their lives, and since we make them eat our chosen meals, enforce early bedtimes, limit TV time and junk food and force them to do homework, it seems only fair they get to set their own dress codes.
It’s not easy (for me) letting my guys walk out the door all mismatched, but when Danny happily tells me he picks black socks because they “look like Daddy’s work socks,” and I see Joey confidently strut through the house with his vertical stripes paired with horizontal ones, I realize this is not a battle worth fighting. Picking out their daily costumes makes them happy. And really, I can’t argue with that.
Plus, I need to save my energy for the battles that are worth fighting. I’ve got two on my list already: Piercings and tattoos.
