Three of my four children are fairly certain there is no Easter bunny. The same three that are pretty sure about Santa Claus. I'm not saying one way or the other because Santa is kind of like a sacred relic in my mind and not Pagan. Regardless, the Easter bunny comes to our house every spring which, coincidentally, is the same day we celebrate the Savior's resurrection.
When I was the mother of one little girl, I went to the fabric store and picked out a pattern of a darling little Easter dress with pantaloons, buttons and a collar. All the big nuh-uh's. Hours and days later, the result was a blue checked dress with sunflowers that was sort of cute, too short, and very expensive. I was proud. It was a rite of passage and although not glorious, it was passable.
A year later I had two little girls and I made matching jumpers without buttons, zippers, or collars. Although adorable, I skimped on the pantaloons as well. Shortly after that I discovered Jolene's and I was finished with sewing dresses. I have been known to cover bumper pads in denim for an upcoming baby boy, sew straight lines for a baby blanket or ten and recently I grudgingly taught my oldest daughter how to piece a quilt together then add batting and a back. I am, by no means, a seamstress. In fact, if not for the occasional hem or repair, the sewing machine would be gathering dust a lot more.
Now the kids are older and dresses have been nudged aside for trendier skirts with shirts, I heaved a sigh of relief and the Easter bunny has been buying matching khaki pants and Sunday shirts for the boys and shorts and shirts for the girls. I don't even bother with skirts. If I can't dress them the same, I don't want to torture myself with taking them to store after store after store only to find the skirts too short or wrong size while the shirts baffle me simply because they already have an entire wardrobe.
This year dresses have made a comeback. The girls wanted me to take them dress shopping. At the mall. I can't even begin to elucidate my aversion to the mall which is very disturbing, really. I loved going to the mall. Not only as a child then a teenager, I went to the mall in my twenties when I was nursing a broken heart and simply wanted to be around people. As a young mother, I always kept a stroller then a double stroller in the car just in case I went to the mall. But to take two very different girls at very different sizes and stages to look at dresses makes me shudder.
Scott offered to take the girls dress shopping at a couple of nearby stores. I half-heartedly offered to go instead but I knew my opinions would show too plainly on my face and Scott took the girls shopping like trooper. I had boy time. We watched "Chuck" and I cut my 6 year old's hair while he wiggled and complained and made it miserable for both of us. I cleaned a couple of rooms, changed peed on sheets, did dishes and helped my 11 year old to bed after he threw up all over the bathroom floor, his clothes, and a few other places that I won't detail. I gagged, talked to myself, took a big breath and held it while I scrubbed up the recycled dinner.
After a few hours and no word from Scott and the girls, both boys asleep, I called to check up on their progress. "We went to Ross and didn't find anything so we ended up at the mall," my daughter informed me.
What a sad commentary it is to report that I think I got the easier parenting tonight by having to wrestle with a moppy blond head until we were both whining and cleaning up bodily fluids.
The mall. *Shudder*