Yes. It’s just like that.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have an ongoing hostage situation at our house. The victims are the clothes in Sweet Pea’s closet. Every school day morning, (and usually on Sunday before church) after I rouse her from the comfort of her warm and cozy bed, the scene goes something like this:

Me: Hey Sweet Pea…time to wake up and get ready for school. 

SP: (in a whiny voice, with pouty face) But I’m tiiiiiiired. 

Me: I know, but it’s a bit after 7, and you have to get up and get dressed. 

SP: (sitting up now, arms folded) I don’t care about school. 

Me: You love school. Now let’s get up and get dressed, so we aren’t late. Again. 

She gets up, and I assume…or rather hope…this day will be different.

At this point, I inevitably have to walk out of the room to turn on the lights above the aquariums housing our bearded dragons and make sure Butter Bean is eating breakfast, since she has gotten up immediately after waking, chosen an outfit, dressed herself, put on her shoes, AND brushed her own hair, all within 20 minutes….without uttering a word. Sugar Bean, of course, has been in the bathroom the entire time. She’s 13. Need I say more?

It’s now 7:25 am, and I shout from the kitchen, “Hey, Sweet Pea, how’s it going in there? Are you dressed yet?” 

First there is no answer. Then, I hear faint whimpering, and sense the onset of what is now referred to in our home as ‘The Morning Meltdown’, so I head back into the bedroom to find Sweet Pea sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but her underwear. Believe it or not, this IS progress. I mean, she’s managed to take her pajamas off. Resisting the urge to raise my voice and demand that she just put on some @#$%-ing clothes, I softly say ” What’s wrong?”  Cue the tears. “I’m cold, and don’t know what to wear,” she replies.  So, I suggest an outfit, and she turns it down flat. Three more rejected outfits later, with the clock ticking like a bomb and my patience waning, she finally breaks down completely and shoots off these one-liners, becoming increasingly more agitated with each one:

“I can’t get dressed because I don’t know what the weather is going to be like.”– In her defense, this is a problem, considering the weather where we live seems to be controlled at the hands of a rogue Mother Nature based on her menopausal thermostat…40 degrees one day, 85 the next. Clearly, she needs meds. STAT.

“You give me too many choices.” -Just trying to get the ball rolling. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I thought an array of cute outfits would help. Clearly, I don’t know crap.

“I wore that already.” – Whom does she think she is, a Kardashian? Since I sometimes wear the same black yoga pants multiple days in a row, I don’t know where in the heck she’s gotten the idea she can’t repeat outfits. Seriously.

“I don’t have any shoes to match that.” – Simply untrue. Between the pairs bought specifically for her, and the ones handed down from Butter Bean, the kid has an obscene amount of shoes.

“Nobody helps me in the mornings.” – A blatant lie, considering I spend 95% of the time in the mornings at her side, trying to thwart this shit show. Obviously it’s a last-ditch effort for sympathy and a tactic for running down the clock.

And my personal favorite…..“YOU DON’T LIKE ME, OR WANT ME AS A CHILD!!!!”  – Ludicrous. I adore this child to pieces. Even when she acts like a dictator, reigning over her closet, day after day.

The only thing I can do in response to this last one, is….well…burst out laughing. Every single time. Obviously this does nothing to help the now heated negotiations, which I can only imagine resemble those with a shrewd, and determined terrorist.  Generally, I resolve to abandon the talks and exit the room. A few minutes later, she’ll emerge dressed in something, and by that time, I couldn’t care less what it is, because Sugar Bean is demanding to leave so she won’t be late, Butter Bean is already in the car waiting, and I still have to pull Sweet Pea’s hair into a ponytail and braid it, so we can avoid falling victim to the head lice which have infiltrated our school again, as that would surely put me in the dirt for good. It almost did last time. Read about that here, if you dare.

Keeping my fingers crossed, in hopes this is a phase, and she’ll be done with it sooner rather than later. Because, so help me God, if her fashion stress is this bad at 6, I’m certainly doomed when she hits her teens.

Say a prayer for me, will ya?

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