I could have passed on worse qualities.

School is back in session!  Hopefully this means more time for Momma to spend on her blog.  It also means back to the old school days routine.  My 6 year old son is now a big ol' 1st grader (complete with his first loose tooth!), and he loves to be helpful.  He likes every opportunity to be independent, including choosing his clothes.  I HATE giving up this Momma-duty, but I just let him do it, and hope he allows me to help him out.  Last night, I realized this, perhaps, wasn't going to be so bad after all.  (Though, my husband completely disagrees.)

6: Oh Gap!  I want to wear the Gap shirt.  It'll match my Gap shoes!  Yes, this is perfect.  Now, where are some Gap pants?

Me: Baby, none of your Gap pants are clean and put away.  They are in the laundry.  

6: Mom, are you sure?  There has to be some somewhere.  Only they can match my Gap shirt.  What about these shorts?

Me: They will match.

6: Are they Gap?

Me: No, they are Children's Place.

6: Are any of these shorts Gap?

Me: Nope

6: What about these jeans?  Are they Gap?

Me: No, and also it's hot as blazes outside, so they would be miserable to wear.

6: Well, what are they?!

Me: Children's Place

6: Again!?  Why is The Children's Place trying to ruin my life?!

Immediately my husband turns to me and says: This is all you.  You did this.  This little fashion monster right here.  That's you.

I can see how my husband, who feels a deep bond with Macklemore thanks to "Thrift Shop", feels this is less than awesome.  Maybe a 6 year old does not need to worry with these things.  But, as I see it, I have way worse personality traits... I mean WAY worse... that I could have passed on.  (See probably any of the previous posts on this blog for examples.)  So the kid wants to look good!  No biggie.  It's not like he's got "road mouth", or a love of shivs, or has trouble fixing his face when witnessing pure stupidity, or leaves profanity laced voice mails on his sister's cell while she's at work, or laughs in the face of fear, sadness, or anger.  Holy cow, maybe I shouldn't be raising children.