My husband and I were taking an outing with our kids one Sunday when, watching my daughter dance to non-existent music, I had a shocking realization:
We’re raising Cyndi Lauper.
Let’s begin with the hair, shall we? Unlike Cyndi, Lili is a blond, but her baby fine hair tangles easily. Add some serious cowlicks (7 at last count) and it is impossible to part it, really get it smooth, or get it to stay in one place without glue. So her messy ponytail had shifted from dead center on the top of her head to the side.
It was not too much of a stretch to say her mod-style floral print capri pants kind of went with her bright blue shirt. And those color blind observers might not realize just how vividly red the tulle dance skirt she wore over the pants was.
But the real wow factor was, as it should be, in the accessories. See, for a recycling fundraiser, I had made bracelets and necklaces out of t-shirts. And so she had several t-shirt bracelets on each wrist and several braided t-shirt necklaces around her neck.
And she looked good.
These kind of outfits are the norm for Lili. I let her pick out her own clothes and dress herself. Sometimes she matches; sometimes she doesn’t. There are times when I have caught people eyeballing her, especially Judy McJudgerson at preschool (my mommy nemesis). My thoughts on the matter are simple.
She’s clean, the clothes fit and are in good shape, and she’s happy. And you know what? I’m jealous.
She was so joyous, spinning in her red skirt on that afternoon. There were no considerations of brand names or what other people might think or if it was appropriate or that she might be ‘too’ [insert body conscience term here]. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that about my appearance. I’d be willing to bet I’m not the alone in that.
She wasn’t anyone else’s expectation. She was just my Lilibug, my wild little free-spirit.
My girl just wants to have fun. Don’t we all?