Last night, I was reminded by my darling daughter that school pictures would be taken today and she had (gasp!) nothing to wear.
Nothing. To. Wear.
At this point in time, I reminded her that she had drawer stuffed so full of shirts we couldn't even close it (really, we can't!) and surely, surely there must be something worth a wear.
Oh, how I hate the eyeroll.
What about this? I say. And this? Or this? And this one is nice? How about that?
Then I made the strategic mistake of saying "Well, what do you want to wear?"
I tried pulling a few things out and laying them on the bed, but apparently they were (a) Covered in invisible feces (b) Highly radioactive or (c) Capable of spraying a fine acid mist that will instantly transform the wearer into a frightening dork-creature.
What was I thinking.
"WhatAmIGonnaWeeeaaaaarrrrr!" She wailed, pitifully.
I, being a wise and not-stupid-enough-to-answer-this-anymore Mom, told her we should go through her closet one more time, whereupon we discovered the exact same shirt she had her picture taken in last year. It's a bit short, but wearable as long as she doesn't raise her arms all day, which she assured me she wouldn't.
So this morning I laid out the good-enough-for-last-year shirt and the appropriately picked and coordinated blue jeans, along with zebra print socks.
And of course, she ended up deciding to wear one of her favorite Aeropostale shirts, three of which she wears in any given week.
Well, alrighty then.
Crisis averted. As long as Mom knows how to keep her mouth shut when it comes to a matter of such extreme importance as Middle School Picture Day.