the horror of a blue striped shirt and green flowery pants

I am “off” for seven glorious weeks of summer, which seems glorious until you realize that NK is also off for seven weeks, which means I am essentially “off” to be with my enchanting almost three-year-old, which makes me luckier than I can imagine, but also is not, to be exact, “off.”

This morning, NK and I headed to the mall to run errands. Just before we left, she ripped off all her clothes (a nice matching purple striped shirt with brown pants) and insisted on dressing herself. This is new.

It got messy, and we eventually left the house with NK in a too-small blue and white striped golf shirt and green flowery pants and blue and orange football socks and bright pink sandals. Her hair was in tangles, and her face was covered with dried Bran Flakes (the girl loves herself some Bran Flakes in the morning).

Now since I have spent so much time off with her, since I am so involved in her daily routines, since I have prioritized parenting to this high degree, I do not want people to think I am that Dad, the one who can’t get his daughter out the door, who is either run over or can not be bothered to care while he sits watching his third rerun of morning SportsCenter.

So I am more like a nervous Mom now, afraid to be judged for my toddler’s appearance.

Luckily, the mood passed this morning. An old woman cooed over my charmingly scruffy daughter. We ate hot dogs after the bank, and she got ketchup all over her shirt and face.

I cleaned it up a couple hours later.

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