Out of the mouths of Hamiltons, Part MCDLXVIII

Leah (on noticing that Mike was leaving the house early this morning): Are you going to work, Daddy?

Mike: No, I'm going to the doctor.

Leah: Dr. Phil?

The saga of the pink dress

We have learned (the hard way) that Maddie can be more than a trifle touchy on occasion. Introducing new ideas to her at bedtime, for example, is not a good plan. One night a seemingly innocuous insect-related question and a quick lookup on Wikipedia (thanks, iPhone) led to a week-long phobia about bedbugs. Another time, she decided she couldn't sleep because the paper flower mobile Lauren had made from a kit and hung from the ceiling made her "feel weird." Reason is out. Closing the door and wondering how long before Lauren demands her own room is our only strategy.

Thus when the opportunity arises to give Maddie's chain a good yank, it's awfully hard to pass it up. Last November, I turned on speakerphone during a phone call with my mother, and about ten minutes of hilarity ensued while Maddie listened to us discuss the frilly pink flowered dress we were sure Maddie would love to discover under the tree on Christmas morning. By the time the we had moved on to matching accessories (lacy socks and bows for her hair), Maddie was nearly apoplectic, and Mom and I were having a ball.

(Readers of this blog may recall that Maddie was seen in a dress exactly twice in 2010 -- once when we made her dress for the occasion at her cousin's baptism, and once when a class field trip permission slip expressly requested that the second graders dress up for a trip to the symphony. Both times she indicated she was wearing a skirt under protest.)

Because the Hamiltons never let a good joke go by without beating it to death, we spent the rest of the run-up to the holiday season periodically assuring Maddie that Santa Claus knew all about her hankering for pink frills. At some point during all the hilarity, Lauren decided she actually wanted to give Maddie a pink dress. That was how we ended up at Goodwill on Christmas Eve.

Lauren looked at a few options that were about the right size, which we photographed because of course we wanted to be able to show Maddie what she could have received:

Lauren settled on this one, because its flowers were the biggest:

In order to avoid making the Touchy One feel victimized as the only recipient of a joke gift, Mike was dispatched with her to Target. A key part of that mission was for Maddie to come back with chocolate of some kind to give Lauren (which she likes about as much as Maddie likes pink frilly dresses). Initially Maddie had to be talked into it. It's never been her mission to make things too easy for us. But by the time Lauren and Maddie had wrapped up their joke gifts, it was clear they were jonesing for some Christmas morning hilarity.

Naturally, Maddie refused to entertain the idea of actually wearing it. So we had Lauren put it on, along with the hat we found to go with it, with the intention of substituting Maddie's head via Photoshop.

But with one thing and another, we never got around to that bit of photo-terror.

Then the invitation arrived for the area Brownie troops to participate in a father-daughter dance. Although the dance was a cute idea, and all the kids were excited, the flyer made the slightly ridiculous suggestion that all the girls should wear pink and the dads should wear grey (fortunately, some of the moms I talked to from our troop agreed with my more realistic assessment that the kids would wear whatever happened to be hanging in their closets that fit them). Maddie, who is excellent at following directions as long as they do not come from Mike or me, immediately said, "Guess I'll have to wear the pink dress I got for Christmas."

I offered her other options, with fewer flowers and in less girly colors, but she was steadfast in her decision to wear her Christmas present.

Of course, that did not stop her from being Maddie. Shortly before she posed for this photo, she announced ominously, "I REGRET this dress."

She did not let her attire get in the way of her good time, at the dance, or at her post-dance visits to Pizza Hut and Baskin-Robbins.

Nonetheless, when she got home, she was quick to change into her pajamas, dump the dress in her hamper, and announce, "I declare this dress RETIRED." Amen.

We take what we can get, and like it

"I like your lips, Mommy."

-- Leah, paying me an unconventional compliment. Works for me.