I have always been a bit of a clotheshorse; however, once my sons came along, any money and attention I devoted to clothing went less to mine and more to their wardrobes. It was–was–six years of bliss: I could select and dress them in outfits with abandon–dressy button-down shirts, argyle vests, corduroy jackets, snazzy shoes. My only limitation was an early rejection of turtlenecks–definitely something with which I could live and work.
My friends with children who expressed a decided preference looked on with envy when I would describe dressing my sartorially oblivious boys: arms going up or out to receive the shirt or sweater of the day; a solid plop on our laps as we helped them put on their pants and socks. Fabric, color, style–nothing mattered . . . until about a month ago.
Now Oscar utters statements such as these:
“Can you wash my gray pants so I can wear them again tomorrow?”
“I won’t wear light-colored jeans anymore–only dark jeans.”
“I don’t want to wear regular shoes and sneakers–only Crocs.”
“You can give Edgar all my button-down shirts. I only want the the collared shirts with the three little buttons at the top.”
“That shirt has a purple stripe. I can’t wear that.”
“Undershirts are for babies.”
So, this is where we are . . .
There is no doubt that many of Oscar’s burgeoning opinions are influenced by his friends’ appearances; but that is to be expected.
Tonight I talked with Oscar about developing his own sense of style–and that while he might want to draw inspiration from others, he should not strive to imitate them. And his response, as his responses so often do, knocked me over:
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m working on being Oscar–no one else.”