Little Miss Zoe was a lil’ tired grumpy girl this morning. We were glared at from under lowered brows with a little pooched out bottom lip several times. She dressed herself in a pink camouflage skirt and a black, pink, purple, and blue shirt. They did not match in any way, shape or form. She threw a hissy when Mommy wanted to change her clothes, so off we went. She immediately fell down and skinned her knees as soon as we went out the front door. Yes, she inherited my grace in movement.
If you wonder at Zoe’s lack of fashion sense, wonder no more. MeeMaw here was wearing a green camouflage shirt, pants of a slightly different yet not matching green hue, and white tennis shoes with pink and white socks. It was not a pretty sight. I ran into the house after SwampMan left and I’d let the sheep out to graze and fed the lambs, some of the chickens, ducks, and rabbits, and ran into the house shedding clothes on my way to the shower. The clothes I was planning on wearing had gotten crumpled in the closet, so I grabbed what was hanging near them, dressed hurriedly, and ran out the door without so much as drying my hair or putting on any sort of makeup to ease the eyes of my fellow humans.
Mommy looked down at Zoe’s hair flying wildly in divergent directions. She looked at my hair. She sighed, and said “She REALLY DID get your hair!” Hunh. I guess my hair was doing its Albert Einstein look-alike thing again. Dang. Poor Zoe’s hair is curly in some places and absolutely straight in others. It flips up over her ears. Daughter used to absolutely HATE that in my hair. “WHY in the world do you fix your hair like that?” she would ask. “I don’t. It just DOES it on its own!” I would protest. “Well, you need to DO SOMETHING!” she would say. “It looks HORRIBLE!” Grin. The ONLY THING to do about it is to either let it grow so long that the weight of it pulls the weird curl out, or cut it off. This is why my hair is about an inch long (Look! No curls!) yet STILL unruly.
Mommy just lets her hair drip dry out of the shower, probably didn’t even brush it, and it fell in soft beautiful waves. Perhaps one day Zoe and I will get together and shave her head when Zoe gets older.
Dylan (in the blue shirt) was his little mischievous self albeit on his best behavior after the 911 call last week. I am so proud of our little first grader! Well, we assume he’s going to be a first grader. I anxiously asked that very question of his Mommy when we were there. She said “Well, he’s with the rest, so I guess he’s going to first grade!”
“Um, would they tell little kindergarteners ‘No, you can’t participate, because YOU FAILED?'”
“I would think probably not!” she said, after reflection.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t think so, either.”
We pondered that for awhile until I realized that they would have sent Mommy a notice of retention if he were being held back. We do not doubt his intelligence; it’s just that it is very hard to be five years old, filled with energy, and to have to sit inside and be quiet and work for very long.