Stars and Stripes Forever

Cordelia, as you know, has immediate, unshakeable opinions about...everything. And she likes to preface every considered response with a quick "NO!" just in case. Are you ready for lunch? "No!" Please pick up your trains. "No!" Would you like dessert? "No! Yes!"

It extends to everything, including footwear. Faithful readers will remember her recent rejection of her sneakers in emphatic favor of "PARTY! SHOES!" Well, it turns out she will no longer wear socks unless they are striped. This is something of a problem, since we only have three pairs of socks with stripes, and I already spend a goodly portion of my day in the laundry room.

She's adamant about it. So much so that if you put on regular socks, she takes them off the second you're not looking. No joke, I found a pile of missing "plain" socks under her crib yesterday. This morning, we put on her fleecy snowman dress: "Good morning, Frosty! Hi, Frosty! You look SO pretty!" (She wasn't complimenting Frosty there, but rather herself.) When I opened the sock drawer, she said, "Socks! I choose them own self." She rooted around and then looked up angrily and said, "Stripey socks. Get them! Put them on. Wear them." I regretfully informed her that we didn't have any clean striped socks (that still fit) and suggested a garish pair of purple ones, replete with stars. She gave me what we call the "I Will Put You in the Grave, Woman" look and said, levelly, "No. Not stars. Stripes. STRIPEY SOCKS! HAVE THEM!"

We locked eyes. We played chicken. We dared one another to blink first.

She won. I dug around until I found a grubby pair of size 12-18 month socks with faded pastel stripes. She shouted gleefully, "Stripey socks! Thank you! All better. Put them on! Wear them. Great job! Your feet are toasty and delicious!"

It's going to be awesome when she's thirteen.