Our neighbors stopped by the other day with some serious concerns.
One of our more mannish neighbors told Brian he had driven past our house, looked into our yard to see Brian pulling the kids around on the sled and practically had a heart attack. He slammed on the brakes and hollered at his wife, "Wife! For the love of Pete, we MUST have a boy's hat back at the house we can give them. Adam should not have to wear a pink hat!"
We HAVE boy hats, but we also have a one-year old and a three-year old and the window of opportunity when it comes to slapping on winter wardrobes that delicately lingers between the outpouring of tears and angst is VERY SLIM. We have exactly 2.43 minutes in which to clothe the two mudrunners in Arctic attire and toss them into the snowbanks before they become Very Angry Abominables.
Sometimes a pink hat is the only choice you have when time is limited, and dammit, these kids are gonna get out in that fresh air and they're gonna LIKE IT. Pink hat or no pink hat.
I don't mind Adam wearing pink. In fact, I grew up in the 80s when boys wore pretty pink alligator shirts with their collars flipped up. If the male population can survive THAT, a pink hat is a minor issue.
So, with that in mind, I won't tell the neighbors about the other day, when Adam came prancing into the living room wearing Elizabeth's pink pom-pom boots. It was all I could do to keep from exploding from the cute overload flooding our home to the rooftop, and that's when I decided that if this kid wants to wear pink for the rest of his life, man, I am certainly not gonna stop him.
ch-ch-kaaaah, baby:
I can haz cute so leev mee aloan pleez:
