Can I just tell you how much I hate starting the day due to the Battle-of-Getting-Ready and have you believe me? When they were one, they wouldn't hold still to get dressed. When they were two, they needed a bit of help to get dressed, but didn't want help. When they were three, they could get dressed, but didn't want to. Now that they are nearly four, they are fashion conscious, "I'm not wearing that. People will laugh at me." (But it's brand new, and it's cute, and I spent my hard earned money on it, please wear it.)
So this morning instead of asking, pleading, yelling, crying, begging on my knees for them to PU-LEASE get ready so we can run errands for your party (bribery), I looked at Sophia and told her,
"Sophia, your baby (Ella) needs to get dressed, get her hair combed and brush her teeth. Can you please help her?"
Let's just say,
"BLOODY FRICKIN' STROKE OF GENIUS"
They are up there getting ready, I am getting stuff done, my eyes are not bulging from my head with stress, my heart rate is under 100 beats per minute, I am not about to pass out with frustration.
Score
Mommy 1
Twincesses BIG FAT 0
Read it and weep girls.
Ella came down with a dress and headband on. Her teeth brushed. Everyone is smiling, their fantasy play seamlessly flowing, they are still in good moods.
Ready to go on the errands I ask Sophia a question that saves us from an awkward moment at the store, "Was your baby good?"
"Yes, but she wouldn't let me put her underwear on."
I'm still calling it a victory.
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