If I heard it once, I heard it a dozen times, all with smiling, friendly incredulity that I echoed back with a nod and a shrug. "That's what she said."
Anna doesn't wear dresses. Ever. Or not since she was 6 which is when she realized she had a say in what she wore and eschewed the skirts and leggings of kindergarten for a casual Anna-sequel look of environment-sloganed tee shirts and casual pants. It's a style that suits her and that she makes look terrific.
But grade 8 grad changes a girl.
When we shopped for the dress, she tried it on in the change room, came out and said, "It doesn't look right." We identified the problem as one of stance and attitude: one does not wear a fancy dress and stand solid, grounded, and wide-legged as if ready-to-play-goaltender or spar-with-a-fellow-blackbelt (and this makes me want to segue to a whole other post about girls and sports and feminism and society-defined femininity).
It takes practice to wear a dress. Who knew?
And so on Tuesday, in the space of an hour, I went from the mom of a pony-tailed trampolining-in-the-rain-with-her-sister tomboy to the mom of a pony-tailed trampolining-in-the-rain-with-her-sister tomboy who can apparently glam it up when she wants to (with help from Great Aunt Elvina's clip on pearl earrings, and the pearl necklace her grandparents bought her years ago).