My daughters are twelve and eight. The twelve year old is turning into quite the little lady, worried about fashion and hair and jewelry and whatnot. The eight year old…not so much.
She’s too busy being busy. She loves bright colors, ALL bright colors, and quite often tries to wear them all at the same time. It’s taking me a little while (read as “a few years”) to convince certain other people in my family that it’s okay for her to wear all of these colors at the same time. You want to wear orange socks in electric blue shoes with deep red shorts and a neon green shirt? Go for it! She’s fully dressed, in weather-appropriate clothing, and happy with how she looks. I’m fine with this. When it’s important to her, she’ll make sure she matches.
The only thing that she’s semi-obsessed with in terms of fashion is boots. She loves boots. Snow boots, heeled boots, suede boots, hiking boots, cowboy boots, tall boots. Boots, boots, boots!!
Unfortunately, that means that she just adds boots to whatever the outfit du jour is.
The first time that my husband came home and saw her wearing knee-high orange socks, neon green shorts, a deep yellow shirt, and black leather ankle boots, I think I saw a vein pop in his forehead. “Really? Boots? With SHORTS?” He was looking at me. I gave him my most charming (read “guilty”) smile. “She’s happy with it, and she didn’t have gym today.” He shook his head at me.
That incident was about six months ago. It has become an almost daily occurrence to see her in boots and shorts. He’ll raise an eyebrow at me. I’ll just smile and say “I don’t care. I’m okay with it.”
This past weekend, said daughter came flouncing down the stairs in black cowboy boots that have white stitching on them, sear-your-eyeballs-pink-neon socks that come up past her knees, purple biker shorts under a black velvet and lace skirt (even I was a little hesitant about that one), and a blue shirt (that I painted 7 years ago for our first daughter to wear) that looks like the Pac-Man screen. My husband blinked. Slowly. Three times. He cleared his throat. “Sweetheart, you don’t match. At all. Do you care?”
She smiled up at him. “Nope!”
He shrugged. “Then neither do I.” Turned around and walked outside with her.
I’m still celebrating.
None of us care. 🙂