Suddenly Sharon

Picture this my friends......It is the dawn of a new day. Our heroine has just woken from a peaceful nights sleep, having dreamt of a world of peace and serenity, (everyone is home in the comfort of those who love them, and we have a president who tells us the truth at all times) and a world where she is married to McDreamy. (Sorry Toby, but you still have Hallie Berry.) The sun is shining through the bedroom windows cascading across the bed as she rises and stretches her arms welcoming a brand new day. The bedroom is spotless, no laundry baskets with awaiting clothes wanting to be folded, no toys from a precocious six-year-old waiting for you to step on as you get out of bed. The three foot pile of papers that usually sits by the computer has disappeared. It is so pristine you can almost smell how clean it is (hey I know ..I’m weird, but a clean bedroom is part of my fantasy, so just let me have my moment.. O.K.) It is like a scene from a Disney movie, the only thing missing is the cute little squirrels and deer bringing her a bathrobe and slippers.
She awakens and jumps from the bed, breathless from anticipation of what this day is to bring. It is such a gift she thinks to herself. “What will I do with this beautiful day”, she asks the chipmunks and the deer, who look up at her with love. It is then that it hits her and the animals and clean bedroom seem to disappear around her. She has just remembered what it is that was planned for today. It is to horrible to mention, and as she slumps to the bathroom to take her shower she desperately tries to think of an out, because what she has to do today is just too hideous for one person to do and the thought of what lies ahead for her is quickly sapping what little energy she has left.
So after a long hot shower with a real good moisturizer and a nice shampoo, she emerges from the bathroom with a new found sense of empowerment. She goes to the kitchen to fix some breakfast. A bowl of Special K and some strawberries and she decides that no matter what is in store for her today she is strong and like the many generations of women before her who had to accomplish this daunting task she will grab the proverbial bull by the horns and make her ancestors proud. (Just a small footnote here, did you know that there are as many calories in a bowl of chocolate Special K as there are in Cocoa Krispies---just a little bit of info for you in case your cereal buying needed a boost)
Just as she is finishing her cereal who should come skipping out of her room rearing to go but the precocious little eight-year-old I referred to earlier. She is so beautiful, and her smile is so uplifting that our heroine starts to think the maybe the doom associated with the day ahead may not be so bad. Any time spent with this little angel on earth has to be nothing but pure joy. It shouldn’t matter that what you have to do today is spend hours at the mall shopping for clothes for this miracle on earth. The fact that you will be sucked clean of any and all energy as she states time after time that this article of clothing “is ugly” and “I don’t want to wear that”, “that looks like a boy clothes”, “I don’t like navy, red, green or beige”, shouldn’t matter at all when you have this little blonde princess to come home with. It won’t matter at all that after an hour of this you will both want to cry and run screaming pulling your hair out by the root. Again that shouldn’t matter at all. I do not recall at the age of eight arguing with my parents, this could just mean that I have blocked said memory out or that in fact I actually never did argue with my parents. I make a mental note to call tham and ask about such a phenomenon.
What does matter, however, is finding the appropriate clothes. What happened to Osh Kosh? Where are they hiding them? You have to drive half a day away to find them. When did eight-year-olds start dressing like eighteen year olds? When did flare low riders become appropriate for sizes 4 to 6x? Please don’t misunderstand, I am not passing judgement, it is just personally I believe little girls should look like little girls. I’m old fashioned and a big dork, it has been well documented, if you don’t believe me just come on over to my house and check out the entire collection of Dr. Quinn Medicine woman DVD’s and if that doesn’t convince you the Superman movie collection is sitting right next to them. (RIP Christopher Reeves you were the best.)
I’ve been told a thousand times, I get it, I should evolve with the times. Get with it, be cool, add your own particular cliche here, it is just that midriff-bearing shirts for a small child is not a time I want to live in. So I search and search, dragging the child who after an hour of our “joyous” time spent together is sick of me, sick of shopping and ready to bolt. We fight like seasoned pros about color, and short sleeves in the middle of winter and if a big flared princess dress is appropriate for school, and whether or not pink camouflage still looks too much like boys clothes, and purple sneakers although cute are not practical when trying to match your shirt and shoes, which as we all know is a must in the world of high “elementary school” fashion.
It is nothing but fun, fun, fun at every turn. To be fair it isn’t a picnic for the child either, and I have to remind myself to make sure to play a game with her when we get home. I promise to read her a story, or better yet listen as she reads to me. Trying to find the balance between fashion consultant, friend, and banker is not as easy as June Cleaver made it look. After a long hard day we manage to find what we need and make do with what we find. The picture of a perfect bedroom and sunshine and cute little woodland creatures was nice (Mcdreamy was even nicer) but spending the day with my little girl, screaming and crying and compromising and then finally playing and laughing was better than any movie Mr. Disney ever made.