One fine, spring day about 11 years ago, I had the following exchange with my beloved Baby Bird as she dressed for another day of First Grade:
MPM: Bird? Would you like to wear the pink pants and have your hair in a ponytail, or the orange pants and pig tails?
Bird: Gah. (Yes, I think she invented this word) Gah. [followed by a bunch of guttural noises and flailing about.] I don't want my hair brushed. (This was a daily request.)
MPM (laughing to herself and trying to diffuse the rage growing in her belly): Baby Bird! What is wrong? Do you need some Midol? (Men: never, ever try this technique. It is only allowed between a mother and her elementary-aged daughter.) You are a mess!
Bird (If memory serves: screaming): NO! No pig tails; no pony tail; no hair brush. And I don't want your stupid doll.
MPM: 0 The Bird: 1
Lesson? Choose your battles. It all works out.
Except for the Augie factor.
That's one we're still working on.
He wants to rent a powder blue tuxedo for an upcoming prom.
He already has a respectable one
that I bought.
Should I let him do it?