Fashion Plate

I distinctly remember having a discussion with my mother over why I wouldn't wear a certain sweater given to me as a gift. I must have been in 7th or 8th grade at the time, and I remember the sweater being purple and gray; one purple sleeve and one gray sleeve. Actually, it probably was a very nice sweater, but I wouldn't wear it because the sleeves were different colors. By 9th grade, I was refusing to wear Reeboks bought from Pic 'N' Save, even though no one would know they were from Pic 'N' Save and not Foot Locker.

Anyway, by the time 10th grade rolled around, I had my own job and bought my own clothes and had a renewed sense of thriftiness. I bought most of my clothes on sale with my employee discount at the retail store where I worked. And now, after many years of bargain shopping, buying last season's Reeboks at Pic 'N' Save for a low price would absolutely make my day.

Brandon, for the most part, doesn't care what I dress him in. As long as it's comfortable. We've had more fights over whether he HAD to wear the dress shoes or the button down shirt than over name brands. At this point he really doesn't care. He'd also let his hair grow down to his knees as long as it didn't bother him. Brandon is all about comfort.

Matthew seems to be different. Lately, he's been concerned about dressing himself, picking out his own clothes. I gave in yesterday and let him wear swim trunks and a long sleeve, striped turtleneck to daycare. It totally didn't match, but it was water play day and the high was only going to be in the low 80's, so I thought I'd let him wear it. I did draw the line at the gray socks and winter boots, though.

He's also been way more concerned about his hair than any two-year old should be. The other day, I was helping him brush his teeth. When he was done, he looked in the bathroom mirror for a second and grabbed the curls just above his ear. "I want these gone," he said. I was heartbroken. I told him how much I loved his curls and I ran my fingers through his hair. He looked at me blankly and said, "I want these gone."

Tonight, he came in the kitchen and said, "I want to shave my hair." Oh, the pain! "Really?" I asked, hoping I misunderstood his request. He just looked at me and walked off, so I thought I had just misunderstood what he said. Matthew came back in the kitchen a few minutes later. "I want to shave my head." This time, he had tears in his eyes. Tears! I instructed him to ask the resident head shaving expert, his father, to do the honors.

Several minutes later, Matthew came down the stairs, grinning broadly, and much more hairless. He's very happy with his new haircut, thank you very much.