Proof that I let Sara dress herself: a sundress, a skirt from a pajama set, a  bright yellow visor, and a scrap of fleece fabric she is apparently using as a scarf on a 90 degree day.

In the spirit of raising the girls to someday be independent, I let them pack for overnight trips to Grandma and Papa’s house.  I edit while they are finishing last minute playing.  OH, how I edit.  Tonight, my only instruction was, “Don’t forget your bathing suits, and you are staying for 1 night.  I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”  I just wanted to see what I would get.

Kelly packed:

3 pairs of PJs, 8 pairs of underwear, a skirt, a dress, and a Mother Goose book.  Zero-point-zero bathing suits.

Sara packed:

3 pairs of PJs, no underwear, a dress from last year that hits her above the thighs, a full-sized desk clock, 2 fairies, 1 Princess, and medicine to treat athlete’s foot.  Because she’s just heard the word “fungus” one too many times lately. You can never be too prepared. Again, no bathing suit in sight.

At the last minute, Kelly ran upstairs to grab a gigantic bunny and Sara decided to wear her ballet slippers.  Both girls agreed sporty visors would be perfunctory.

So to my husband who tells me I baby the girls too much and never let them do for themselves?  Try again Sporto.  I hand them latitude all day long, but we can’t have our girls running around my hometown with their booties hanging out of short dresses, wearing numerous sets of undies on their heads, while carrying large clocks.  I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in 1981, I was my school’s Spelling Bee Champion.  It was in the paper and everything.  I have a reputation to protect.