On Monday I left P a note before I went to work: "Order wrist corsage. Her dress is fuchsia."
He looked at the note. "I have no idea what that color means."
I nodded. "I know you don't, but the florist will know."
Later in the day, he called me at work. "Um, the corsage is for her, right?" I tried to picture my 6'3" ex-Marine husband wearing a fuchsia wrist corsage.
"Yes, dear. It's for your daughter." My husband is very smart in a scholarly way, but sometimes day-to-day stuff seems to elude him a little bit. But, he came through. The corsage turned out to be beautiful and matched A's dress perfectly.
After dinner this evening, I helped the kid to get dressed. She was beyond excited and I had a hard time getting her settled down enough to get her dress and tights on. She immediately commenced with picking her butt and adjusting her tights. "Daddy doesn't like having a date who picks her butt," I offered helpfully. I instructed her to sit at her vanity so that I could tackle her hair. I am not particularly skilled when it comes to hairstyles, but I gave it my best shot. I even bought some little rhinestone corkscrew clips and poked those into her curls. I'm not 100% sure they will come out easily when she gets home. They may be permanent.
Finally, she was dressed and ready to go. Her dad put the corsage on her wrist. I snapped a bunch of photos. She looked so pretty that I found myself feeling a little verklempt. Where did my chubby toddler go? She beamed for the camera and for just the briefest moment, I could see her in her prom dress and then in a wedding gown. I caught a glimpse of the adult version of my child and my breath caught in my throat.
I smiled back at my daughter. "You look so pretty, baby," I said.
She nodded and . . . reached around and plucked at her butt.
|Don't ask my how I failed to notice she had pizza sauce on her face in every shot. Argh!|