Easter 2010. When my boys were small, and I still chose their clothes. I don't want to offend my smocking-loving sisters, but I always prided myself on dressing my boys like little men.
I'm lost in thought staring at these photos. My sons are five years older and five years bigger, and it just boggles my mind, and if I'm being really honest, hurts my heart, just a little, tiny bit. Anyway, (I can mentally hear Older Son rolling his eyes), I took them shopping yesterday for some Easter clothes. Older Son looked around and pronounced that he doesn't like plaid, can he just wear khakis and a white shirt? And then dropping the white shirt he was holding, remarked, "And I already have a white shirt." Ok, so far I've spent a whopping $0.00. So now Younger Son looks around, "Yeah, no plaid, right Older??" And then chooses a linen shirt. I swear he is doing this just to humor me. Older picks out some stretchy shorts for summer camp, and we are leaving the mall only $17 poorer and in under 20 minutes. Do not hate me, Girl Moms.
My husband directed me to an article in the New York Times about how one of the frustrating aspects of children growing up is that they also become narrators of the family story. And I really want to come out looking good in my boys' narratives, so I'm going to back off on the Easter and other church clothes issue, save up my authority for something bigger. Like, the Family Christmas Card Photo.