Justify my love . . .

Who lets their child run around with hair like this? I'm just saying . . . it's not a pretty picture!

Do you ever feel like you have to justify your love for your kids? I totally do all the time, and I wonder what it says about me.

For example, Veevs wanted to wear her own outfit, which as any mom out there can tell you, meant she wanted to wear something that didn't match. Not even close to matching, really. And then the shoes! Oh, laws, the shoes were from a different world. So, all day long I found myself trying to work it into the conversation that she dressed herself. I'd even start up conversations with people so that I could casually drop in that she is generally dressed fashionably (okay, at least matching) but today was a DIY (do-it-yourself) moment.

Walmart checker: How are you today?

Me: Fine, except my little girl wanted to dress herself today.

Walmart checker: Oh.

See what I mean?

McDonald's drive-through attendant: That will be $7.68 at the first window.

Me: When we get there, I just want to clarify that my daughter dressed herself.

McDonald's drive-through attendant: Oh.

Okay, that didn't actually happen, but I really had the urge to say stuff like that all day. And a few days ago we had a cold snap and I couldn't find the socks that I tossed into the car for my little Wristy (seven months) so he had to go barefoot. I felt compelled to tell everyone, "I'm not a bad mom, really, I just can't find the socks!" I can be pretty tricky though. So I might pretend I'm talking to my baby and say, "Oh, Wristy, I'm so sorry I can't find your socks. Your feet must be so cold!" 1) Wristy doesn't care, and 2) neither do the people I'm trying to make sure hear, and 3) why do I care so much? (I eventually did find the socks, by the way, shoved into the butt pocket of my blue jeans. Not only a bad place to keep something I'm looking for, but I have a hunch my butt wasn't looking too hot, either!)

It's like I have to justify the fact that I really do love my children despite not being able to dress them properly. But then I remember my sister, Bucky, as a baby. That girl brushed her own hair (with a wet toothbrush!?) from the ages of two to five. And she looked awful. And I remember some of us trying to get her to wear matching clothes. And my mom told us to leave her alone. My point here is that this need for justification is not genetic. But then again, Bucky was the eighth child. I guess by the time you have eight kids you don't have to justify anything to anyone anymore.

I'm going to take a page out of my mom's book. I love my kids, but I don't have to prove it to you by dressing them all cute. And from now on, I'm going to start judging everyone else--if your kids match, it probably means you're stifling their individuality and creativity! So there.