Ken called Tuesday morning, just as Reid and I were having a friendly disagreement over what she would be wearing to day care. I had committed the unpardonable sin of not washing her FAVOURITE yellow dress that has daisies all over it – the one that got muddy when I inadvertently knocked Reid down into a puddle last Thursday when it was raining so hard – and I was oppressing her by refusing to allow her to wear the clothes that she wore yesterday (also unwashed). To make matters worse, I’d been unable to conjure up a matching pair of pants to a t-shirt. Reid was sure the pants existed and I was equally (and correctly) sure that they didn’t, not that Reid would put our positions to the test by accompanying me to her dresser to look. So anyway, right about this time, Ken called.
Never have I needed to hear his voice more! I was stumped and didn’t know what to try next. I suppose I could force clothes onto Reid’s body but it wouldn’t be easy and I doubt that the clothes would stay put for long. And, really, I was looking to get past the argument more than to demonstrate my (questionably) superior strength. I hoped Ken’s call would break Reid out of her troubles but wasn’t that lucky. I took the phone downstairs and talked to Ken, all the while Reid screamed and cried. She quieted down at one point and so I invited her to come to the phone and she started yelling again.
After 15 minutes of talking with me, Ken asked, “Is she going to talk to me or what?” He couldn’t hear Reid yelling or even that she had once again quieted down. I ran upstairs to ask and she said she wanted to talk upstairs. Back down I ran for the phone and then I held it to Reid’s ear so that she could hear Ken speaking to her but even his voice didn’t bring her around fully. When I told Ken that Reid was having a grumpy morning, she broke her silence to say, “I’m not grumpy. I have a headache. Screaming gave me a headache.” I grinned because, there is a bit of justice in this world after all if she gave *herself* a headache with all of that yelling. Ken gave her a long-distance Daddy kiss to help with the headache and we hung up the phone.
Reid went to her dresser, took all of her pants out and stated, as though I doubted it, that she didn’t have pants with writing on them. She chose, instead, some heavy fleece pants with multi-coloured flowers printed on them and a denim vest. It was one on those mornings when a “I chose my own clothes” sticker would have been welcome. I was too happy to have Reid dressed and happy to worry about the outfit, though. I take my victories where I find them.
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