On my way to work today I passed by a group of Jr. High schoolers walking up the sidewalk in a pack, clearly on an "official" mission, complete with teacher bringing up the rear. They were lumbering along in typical teenager lackadaisical style, obviously unmotivated at such an early hour. As I got closer my brain got confuseder and confuseder about their attire. I seriously could not figure out if they were purposely dressed in pseudo-costume for some spirit week day I clearly missed in my days, or whether it was simply the fact that I'm officially old and those were the outfits that they hoped to define themselves in all their individuality, their youth, their clear lack of parental presence during their morning dressing routine.
I'm not joking, not even a little. I am clearly so out of touch with today's youth, save for the two mini-me's that rule our castle and the pack of cousins that thus far, we as an extended family have banded together to forcefully control by showering them at all birthdays and Christmases with "normal" outfits from Old Navy like God intended. Probably the most out there is Dylan, who inherited his Uncle Jake's label whore gene and who we only ever see dripping in DC clothing head to toe (literally, hat to slippers).
This is not to say my kids don't look like ragamuffins the majority of the time, because let's face it, they do. They're big into dressing themselves, and after all the consecutive time I've clocked with the diapers, socks, shirts, pants assembly line I'm all for their independence in that area. Their choices don't always "go", but hey, where does Clayton have to be that's so important he can't have on a pink and white striped polo with BSU blue and orange sweats? I don't think Dora or Diego give a rat's how he looks hanging out on the couch really. Now, if he's in Jr. High and still dressing like that we're going to have a serious talk. Or not, depending on whether it's effective in keeping the girls away. It is my ultimate goal to keep these two single and supporting their mother well into her old age, you know.
Nonetheless, my mind still reeling from those outfits, those...whatever they were...made me distinctly remember when my mom had a huge problem with something I was going to wear to Jr. High one day. Brace yourself. I had taken the laces out of my white Keds. I was going to wear my Keds to school with no laces, because that was pretty cool to do at the time, and to be honest, my freakishly high arches love high heels, but not so much shoelaces strapped over top of them like a prime rib. She took one look and said absolutely not was I going to school "like that". Like that. Hmmmm. I guess I have her to thank for stopping me at the shoe laces, because judging from what I saw today, who knows what I would have dared to wear had she not put her foot down when she did.