Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

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Yesterday afternoon, Iz and I went shopping. One of our errands was to return the clothes she received as Christmas gifts from her relatives in Pennsylvania; and is it just me or do most six-year-olds feel that receiving clothes for Christmas is like getting coal? It seemed so for Iz.

Upon entering Macy’s, we meandered through the coat department, and then were greeted by a huge gumball machine. Iz immediately said, “Mom! Gum! Can I have a quarter?” Iz and I shared many loves, and one of them was certainly bubble gum.

I gave her a quarter, she put it in the machine, turned the handle, and watched her white gumball roll down and say “plink” when it hit the metal door. Iz grabbed her gum ball and then turned around to ask “Mom, are you going to get one?” Of course, I was standing right behind her waiting with my quarter!

When she saw my green gumball making its way down the spiral tube, she said, “Mom, if you don’t like your green one, you can have my white one.” After it was decided most gumballs taste the same no matter their color, we didn't trade. We popped the gum into our mouths and headed to the escalator.

When we stepped on the escalator, Iz said, “Mommy, make sure you get on the same step as me.” (Earlier in the parking lot, she instructed me not to step on any cracks. Is six the superstitious phase of childhood, I wondered?) She then ran up the steps, ran back down, ran up, and I said, “Iz, cut it out!” Of course, even though I said it in that parental “You’re going to hurt yourself!” tone, I was secretly laughing at her antics as she blew bubble after bubble out of her mouth.

Once upstairs, we made our way to the girls department. As we traveled by six racks of post-holiday party dresses. Iz said, “Oh! Look at the dresses!” And like a moth to a flame, she made a b-line right to a silver and black dress and said to me, as she had forgotten that the world was going to end tomorrow, “Mommy, I need a new dress for the father-daughter dance!”

The father-daughter dance occurs every February at Iz's elementary school. To Iz, it’s like going to the prom. It comprises three of her favorite activities: dressing up, socializing, and dancing. (When Nathan was in the same elementary school, I got to attend the mother-son pancake breakfast every year. And, I think that was the last time Nathan made and served me breakfast!)

Just as I was about to say, “You have about six different dresses in your closet you can wear,” I instead said, “Oh. Okay. Let’s return your clothes first.” She jumped up and down and said, “Oh, and I like this one. And, I like that one.”

The original deal before we entered Macy’s was that she was going to give me the store credit for her clothes. In exchange, I would buy her something at Toys ‘r Us. But, it’s funny how dressing up, socializing, and dancing make me throw financial caution to the wind.

After we exchanged her outfit, we headed back to the racks of party dresses. Actually, I walked and Iz sprinted the 100 yards through men’s clothing, boy’s clothing, and arrived at the dresses in 10 seconds flat. She said, “I want to try on this one,” grabbing a black and fuchsia dress that looked more appropriate for a Vegas show girl than a six-year-old.

I knew that it was her dress and her choice, so I tried not to make any comment or a facial expression that would influence her. I did venture to say while holding up a red and black plaid dress, “This is nice. How about trying this on?” She looked up, scanned the dress, and then said, “Um, no. I don't think so” as she pulled yet another Vegas show girl dress off the rack. And then I said to myself, “Oh, no, no, no! Please not that one!”

When we had six dresses, one of which was a lovely little red frock with a tad bit of sparkle (can you tell which one I was voting for?), we went into the dressing room. She shed her shirt and her pants in under 5 seconds, ripped the black and fuchsia show girl dress off its hanger, flung the hanger to the floor, and then struggled to pull it over her head.

Okay, if I couldn’t control which dress she picked, I could control the show! I sat down on the chair and said, “Come here. I’ll help you. Let’s be careful; we don’t want to rip any of the dresses.” After she had the dress on, I tied the belt, and she looked in the mirror. I said, “So?”
She twirled around, started to chatter to herself in the mirror, and then started to do a little dance; it was as if she stepped into a time machine, pressed the “Father-Daughter Dance” button, and she was performing a dress rehearsal.

After two minutes of rehearsal, she said, “Nah.” Phew! I helped her take off the dress, put it back on the hanger, and then hung it on our “Just Say No to Las Vegas Show Girls When Not in Vegas” rack. I then helped her put on the silver and black dress, and she again did her dress rehearsal in front of the mirror.

With each dress, the rehearsal got a bit more rigorous and entertaining. By Dress Number Four, I was wondering, “Who is this girl?!?!?!” as she turned away from the mirror humming the “Macarena” and chicken dancing over to the clothes rack to grab another dress. I shook my head, laughed, and then I turned back and now faced the unobstructed mirror for the first time since we entered, and I thought, “Oh. I know who she is!” ♥

Well, Don’t Keep Us in Suspense Which Dress Did Iz Pick Note: My dress, the red one with sparkles, won! And no, I didn’t say a thing other than that I liked it. And, err, um, yes, I still bought her something at Toys 'r Us!



I Have a New Blog Banner Note: This is a picture I took of Nathan’s feet in Nantucket about 10 years ago. I remember sitting on the beach him and Connor; they were having so much fun digging in the sand, even though it was a dreary and on-again off-again drizzle day in April. Thanks very much to Chris for making my picture that much better. ♥