Day 3 of school and already it is my second morning from hell.

Let’s backtrack just a little. You see, I live with a fashionista. Yes, a 6 year old fashionista! I spent the majority of each and every morning last year arguing with her about getting dressed in the morning.

I did not tell her what to wear, just what was or was not appropriate for the weather conditions and then I left it up to her to choose within that criteria. Even with that much freedom she still argued with me EVERY morning!

So, you can imagine that I tried very carefully this year to outfit her in clothes I thought she wouldn’t argue with me over.

There are several “rules” when it comes to clothes.

1. No jeans
2. No big bulky shoes
3. No shirts that are not in keeping with the most up to date fashions
4. No “boy like” clothes
5. Must be pink and colourful
6. No pants that are too long
7. Capri’s (made from material other than denim) are preferable.
8. All clothes must be made from a soft, t-shirt type material.

Apparently, there are few more rules that I was up until now unaware of:

1. Must drive your mother absolutely insane;
2. Ensure that all trips to store involve endless arguing.
3. Remember, if your mother is not a raving lunatic in 10 seconds flat, you have not done your job!

At the last minute we had to go and pick out indoor running shoes for her. What a nightmare. An hour, literally, in the aisles of Wal-mart while she cried and snivelled over not having shoes that were pink enough, or slim enough or some such other dribble!

It was an omen, an omen I tell ya!

So this morning in the throes of her temper tantrum (and mine too I might add) over why she couldn’t wear shorts to school when it was 5 degrees celsius outside I did the unthinkable. I threatened her…with boarding school! Yes, I did it. A threat I can’t follow through with because they don’t HAVE any boarding schools in Alberta for elementary school…I know because I looked and looked HARD.

Would it be cruel for me to fake a call to social services and have someone she doesn’t know pretend to be a foster care parent? I could drop her off, tell her she’s living with another family and let her sweat it out for a day or two? Would it be too much? Would it? *sigh*

Is this what I became a mother for? Can’t we have some sort of recycle program? You know, if it doesn’t work out we can give them back and they can be recycled into another child for another family?

Or maybe there should be some form of lifetime warranty so they can be returned in the event of defect (like a bad attitude!).

I’m not proud of myself. I admit it, I did freak out this morning but I will be damned if I will suffer 10 months of this….and to boot, I ran out of the good coffee and have to drink the really crappy (only for emergency) brand.

Coffee Gods, please grant me the patience to endure the endless squabbles over irrelevant fashion. Give me the insight to discover a truly effective consequence that does not involve the beating or maiming of my children and help me to maintain some semblance of sanity within this life of insanity. But, if I must go insane I want to at least choose my own reality that involves me, Robert Downey Jr., Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp and a remote tropical island.

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