“You had no right to go into my closet and help yourself to my new cap!”
“But I need one for the play I’m in, and the one with Tigger is too babyish.”
“Well, you should have thought of that when you had a chance to get a new one and you said the Tigger one was fine.”
“But I decided your cap is really better.”
“That’s not what we agreed on. And you did not have my permission to go in my closet and take my things!”
Don’t you hate the way sisters fight over clothes? I do, too, but this particular exchange was between my thirteen-year-old granddaughter and my daughter this morning. I’m visiting my daughter and her family this week, and hearing conversations like that and watching the eye-rolling (that would be my nine-year-old granddaughter) makes me grateful that God, in his wisdom, decided to limit the years women could procreate.
My daughter saw the grin on my face before I could hide it. “You may think it’s funny, Mom, but that’s my new cap. I should have the chance to wear it before it gets lost or dropped on the floor and trampled at school. And that’s not all she takes. She goes into my drawers and borrows other things of mine if she forgets to do her laundry and runs out of clothes.”
I never had to contend with my daughter wanting to wear any of my things. She wouldn’t have been caught dead in them. I wore knee socks and big skirts that came down mid-calf and clunky shoes. I particularly liked brown and olive greens while my daughter liked red and black and purple. I’m pretty sure my daughter, in her teenage years, wished she had a more stylish mom, especially when her friends came around.
After the cap-stealer left for school this morning, I got dressed so my daughter and I could get started on our busy day when we dropped off the nine-year-old. As I came out of my room dressed and ready to go, my daughter said, “Wow, Mom, you look so cute! Those are great pants! Where did you get them? I want a pair just like them.”
Now I’m cool. Glad we don’t wear the same size, but I’m hiding my suitcase. Just in case.