Last night I had to present yearbook awards at a fine arts night in our gym. It was at 7:30, and I said Abby could come. She disappeared into her room and matched her outfit to a T: brown and pink striped dress, brown lace leggings, a brown necklace, brown socks, brown shoes, and a brown belt! She came out and showed me how everything matched and she was, thus, ready for the meeting. I put a pink flower in her hair and convinced her to take off the socks, and we were off.
What she really wanted as we sat through the many awards was to be called for one. It hurt a little bit in a part of me I didn't have before I became a mother. She would lean over and whisper periodically, "I hope we get called for a shiny gold award." Once the presenter called an Abby and her eyes grew wide with hope for a moment.
Later I set her up at a table with cake and punch and her bear, who had also been dressed for the occasion. Everything was going swimmingly until one of the mothers present found the bear's toddler-size Tinkerbell underpants left carelessly on the lobby floor near the cake-eater. She cracked up, but having raised four children of her own, took the wardrobe malfunction in stride.
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