Book contest winners will be announced tomorrow! Comments are now closed. Thanks to all who entered! Now on with the story
*These pics were taken last Sunday, the very first time I've managed to go to church in three months. I might have been wobbling and unable to drive, but I was present and it felt wonderful. The best part was that no one at church accused me of being drunk for not walking a straight line, I didn't fall down, and I didn't get vertigo and lay in my own vomit. No seriously. I'm very happy. That's my current criteria for a good day. :)
Matt has very few strong opinions. He's usually pretty much "hey whatever you want babe." But when it comes to these few points, he's fairly impossible to deal with.
1. Raw onions. He hates, hates, double hates, and loathes entirely. His eyes cross and he gags and causes a scene if someone puts them on his burger. Don't do it man. All onions and no breath mints makes Matt a very angry boy.
2. The Cowboys. He hates them. I myself come from a long, long line of Cowboy fans. He can't help it though. He's from Houston, and they refer to people from Dallas as "yankees." So yeah. You can't use logic with him.
3. Smocking. Yes. That's right. Smocking. As in adorable baby dresses and overalls.
So last Saturday, as I was picking out Jane's church outfit and keeping my fingers crossed I'd be well enough to attend, he laid down the law.
"Don't put her in that dress."
"Why? It's adorable."
"The smocking, it freaks me out."
"I don't get it."
"It makes her look like a Victorian Death Baby."
I tried to wipe the smirk off my face (after all, this is the man that let me buy a house based on a pink bathroom, I have to cut him some slack when he finally lays down the law). I also tried very hard to quickly figure out what, exactly, a Victorian Death Baby was. He explained.
"Like those baby funeral pictures from the Victorian era. Those babies always had clothes like that on."
I blinked a few times, trying to process this new information, "Victorians made death masks and art out of hair... but it's smocking that freaks you out?"
Matt nodded his head emphatically, "Yep."
"Matt, if you don't want her to wear them, then that means you have to buy her new dresses."
I figured this reasoning would quickly end the debate, since Matt has lately turned into Frugal Freddy.
"Fine," he replied with a look of sheer determination on his face (with just a hint of horror, which I'm assuming had something to do with images of Victorian Death Babies dancing in his head). "We can take it out of the grocery budget if we have to."
And so we got her some new duds. Without a hint of smocking to be found. Note her new non-Victorian Death Baby purple corduroy jumper.
But I'll still sneak those other dresses in when Daddy isn't looking.
I, for one, happen to love smocking.