Friday, May 19, 2006


Queen Bee proved her rightful place this morning in our household. This child can exasperate me in 0-75 mph in .1 second flat.

This morning:

Mommy ... how about I wear this outfit (comes out in a short skirt with orange and white flowers all over it and a new shirt that her Grammy (read: MIL) bought her with sequins and butterflies and some dance saying that ties at the waist ... I have now referred to said shirt as the Hoochie Mama shirt ... and said shirt is white with pink lettering).

Queenie ... you really don't need to be wearing such a little skirt for weather that isn't supposed to get into the 60s today. Go find something else. And besides, the shirt and skirt are not a match, and you will not wear the halter top shirt that DOES match that outfit.

Note to self: omit last sentence to save future headaches.

Well, how about this? (wearing the SAME skirt and a shirt with RED lettering on it ... but much more tasteful).

Trying to teach her that she needs to take stock in what she chooses to wear, I told her NO for the second time, stating that the shirt doesn't match.

Note to self: here is yet ANOTHER opportunity for me to have alleviated the future headache and just told her NO on the skirt altogether).

Mommy... can you get this stain out (holding out a shirt that has been stained for, oh, six months, and NOW she is worried about the stain ... now let's think of this combination: the shirt is horizontal orange and variations of pink stripes .... with the SAME orange and white Hula flower skirt).


Queenie goes stomping off to her room, and FINALLY emerges in a wonderful outfit. Ok, I conceded on the Hoochie Mama shirt but she had on a beautiful Mudd skirt that graced the floor with its hem. She looked wonderful. I TOLD her she looked wonderful.

Dear friends, you would think this would be the end of Clothing Smackdown 2006. But it isn't. Far from it.

The bus picks Queenie up at 8:30. She entered her room at .... get this .... 7:50!!!! to start getting ready and it was already 8:15.

She re-enters her room, and emerges in a variation of the orange and white floral skirt, but this one MATCHES the Hoochie Mama skirt. Now ... mind you, the HM shirt CAME with a skirt, but that wasn't GOOD enough for her because it has that .... oh no ... buttonhole elastic that adjusts the waist from the .... GOD forbid ... INSIDE!

I looked at Queenie, who informed me that the most recent outfit change was due to the fact that she could NOT wear flip flops OR tennis shoes with the free flowing, floor-length skirt. It just wouldn't LOOK right. But dressing in some little skirt in 55 degree weather with a tshirt DID look right.

I told her that she could find other, respectable shoes to go with the long skirt and shirt combo. Well, she erupted in what I would liken to Tourettes Syndrome, without the profanity. It was U-G-L-Y!

At this point, she is back in her room, having her nuclear meltdown, and I am getting ready to call in some HazMat team, when I tell her that she WILL wear the long skirt and shirt and if she didn't get ready in time, the bus would leave her at the house, where she would meet a fate worse than death: spending the whole day in her room, cleaning it from top to bottom.

She SAT there. She DEFIANTLY SAT on her bed, giving me the Sicilian evil eye. I told her that she had lost all Constitutional rights and privileges (it is HELL to be the daughter of a legal eagle) of choosing her clothing for the rest of the school year. I pulled out THE worst clothing change for her, a pair of Levi jeans, and told her that if those jeans weren't on her rear end by the time I left the room, she would be one sorry puppy. I took the long skirt with her because, by golly, I wasn't going to have her putting that on after ALL of this.

She screamed. She threw fits. She acted like a horse's ass. She exclaimed that she WANTED to wear the long skirt. She NEEDED to wear the long skirt. I told her it was WAY too late for that, Charley. The Door Man wanted to know why Charley, our plumber, was in the house.

I went back to my room to get ready to take Door Man to school, and I could hear the bus. I had to go wave it on, thinking to myself "I will be DAMNED if I am going to spend the whole day with the surly girl." So I decided to torture her and tell her tha she wasn't going to school. That lasted oh 4 minutes until we had to leave to take the Man to school, and I told her to grab her backpack.

And do you know what she had the AUDACITY to do when ALL of this was over? She needed to take a folder back to school for her assignments. She couldn't find hers, which is no surprise because we have had to send numerous search and rescues out to find it for her. We are getting ready to leave, and she starts SEARCHING for this folder. I found her old, Strawberry Shortcake folder. But MOMMY!!!! This is my KINDERGARTEN FOLDER!

Give me the flipping strength.

So she went off to school in her Levi jeans and the Hoochie Mama outfit with no folder in her backpack. I can't wait for her to explain to her bus friends why she didn't ride the bus this morning. I am sure the explanation will have some variation of her mother being a beyotch, and she's moving out next week ... taking her Hoochie Mama shirt and orange and white floral skirt and nothing else.


Anonymous Christie said...

OMG. I am so laughing at your pain right now. If you don't mind, the next person that asks me if we are going to "try" for a girl, I will most gladly refer them to this post ;o)

See...I still get to be Queen B in this house ;o) and Robin coming next Sunday to the par-tee???? I want you to...and I would really love you to bring Queenie with you ;o)

9:19 PM  

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The Lovely She, that is me!

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

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The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
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The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
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The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

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The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.

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