Department Store Lessons

Holidays.
I love them.

I've always adored the celebrations - reasons for themed candy, family meals, big sales. Since having a little girl, I've found yet another new reason - themed outfits in various stages of floofiness. Halloween? Gonna be a bee, with irridescent wings, a black tulle skirt, and little yellow antennae. Christmas? Gonna have to be green velvet, with a little white satin collar, a big white satin sash, and an unfortunately large bow smashed onto the side of a sweet little head. Fourth of July? Red and white striped sailor shirt with little blue capris, and little white sandals. And now Easter. Some sort of pastel poof, with a veritable explosion of ruffles and ribbons, leaving an unsuspecting passerby with a vague impression of narrowly escaping being attacked by a cupcake.

It has to be the perfect dress. So I coralled The Child and drove to our nearest Kohl's. I am blessed/cursed with a child who is unfailingly enthusiastic about...anything. We walked in through the front door, and she stands just inside the door, and gasps "Mommy! It so boot-ful here! I love this store!" As the other shoppers stop to stare, I mutter something about us being more of Wal-Mart people, and steer The Child towards the children's section. As we begin the trek, she announces "I go by myself!" At least, that's what I think she said - I only caught the beginning of the pronouncement as she took off at a dead run. She is luckily blessed with some sort of otherwordly navigational system, allowing her to zoom around obstacles like displays, carts, and, you know, shopping people, all without breaking warp speed. I am not blessed with the same gifts (I blame the heels and flared slacks), so I was left to teeter/trot after her, muttering apologies, and trying to pick up the crap I knocked over while not losing sight of a couple of bobbing pigtails.

God bless whomever in Kohl's management decided to put their small toy section right next to the children's clothing section - it's like a brightly colored Fisher Price kid snare. When I finally caught up with her, she was sitting peacefully in the middle of the aisle, calmly thumbing through a Dr. Seuss book. Luckily, The Grandma ended up meeting us there, so I had an Assistant Wrangler while I immersed myself in all that is girly and right with the world. I collected armfuls of frothy dresses, weighing each option carefully, rating them based on a system I'm not sure even I was 100% understanding. When I finally narrowed it down to three, I brought them over to The Child - who stood considering stuffed animals with a sand bucket on her head - and asked her which pretty dress she would like. She looked at each of them carefully, seriously. My heart swelled with pride and the realization that I had given birth to a future holiday clothingist. She finally pointed to one and announced "I wear boots. And a bucket."

Hmm. Perhaps not.

I debated with The Grandmother instead (the relative NOT wearing digging accessories) and we agreed on one dress. As we made our way to the front, The Child paused in front of a trio of elongated, headless mannequins and stared.
"Mommy. What's dat?"
"Those are mannequins. They make the clothes look pretty so people buy them." I waited for my analytical, inquisitive child to take her gaze to the top, and tried to figure out a reasonable explanation for their missing heads.
"Mommy. They so big!"
"Yes. They are very tall."
"Mommy, they so boot-ful. Hello Tall Person!"
She carefully climbed on the short platform for a closer look. She gently ran her fingers down one shiny plastic leg, and then stopped abruptly at the large screw and rod coming out of one calf, securing it to the platform.
"MOMMY."
"Yes, honey, that's a pole to..."
"No Mommy. Look at her shoes!!! They are so pretty. They my fway-vwit. You go buy them!!!"
I glanced down at the absolutely breathtaking black patent leather open-toed stiletto pumps, and decided that The Force was indeed strong with this one. She can wear a bucket hat all she wants - my child has exquisite taste in footwear :).

We went to stand in the checkout line, and The Child caught a glance of her Easter dress. "Mommy! Is dat my dress? It soooooooo boot-ful! It my fway-vwit too!"

Yes, there will come a time when my little tomboy figures out that she doesn't have to wear the floofiness, and these silly, voluminous dresses will sit in the back of the closet. But for now, my child and I will love her holiday dresses.

At least, I thought as I threw the Easter dress down on the ground, sprinting after my child as she made a run for it and managed to get out the door, we will if I manage to catch her.

HEY PEEPS!

So.
Enough people have inquired, so I'm going to reserve a small corner of the worldwide web for MacKenzie. Or, at least, MacKenzie's popular antics. I will try to update every day, or every other day, or as often as MacKenzie does something odd, or funny, or beyond her years. Which should be about every day. I don't expect a lot of people to read here, but I am excited about sharing without worrying about being fettered by character limits!
Thank you for you being touched and amused (although no one seems to be as exhausted or exasperated) by my silly daughter's self.
Here's to the future!