Uniform-free is code for "impending argument" at our house. To Mark, it means wearing whatever ratty t-shirt is his favorite this week (especially if it will be immortalized in a school photo). To me, it means carefully presenting other wardrobe options in such a way that Mark believes he thought of it himself.
"I'm wearing my Tony Hawk t-shirt!" he told me last night. "With my shorts." Both of these were part of last month's melted crayon/dryer experiment.
Before he could get any farther, I laid down the Picture Day rules. "No t-shirts or shorts," I said. "Your shirt must have a collar. But you can wear jeans."
He thought about it for a minute. "OK," he answered. "I'll wear my blue shirt."
I bit my lip. He voluntarily chose a blue button-down dress shirt? Could I really be so lucky?
I shrugged it off, answering casually, "Fine, if you want to." I did my best not to betray my giddiness.
The jeans were a little bit tougher. He refused to wear any, because they were "dumb." (No, I don't know what qualifies them as such, other than Mark declaring them so.) I found a pair of jeans handed down from Gillen, and he approved.
"Looks good," I said. He thought for a moment, and said, "Mr. Robinson said to dress like we're going to church." I thought, Uh-oh, now we're in trouble--he has no idea what that looks like!
Turns out, he did. We only go to church on Christmas Eve and Easter, and he associated both with a suit. "Can I wear my tie?" he asked. Keeping with the church theme, I almost answered, "Does the Pope wear a funny hat?" but realized he wouldn't know.
So I said, "Yes," and added, "Put it in your backpack when you take it off." We read a story about Pecos Bill last night, and how he turned a rattlesnake into a whip. I could just picture Mark whipping his tie around in a similar fashion.
I have no idea how to tie a tie, but luckily, it was already knotted, courtesy of my brother, Tim. He'd helped Mark with his blue tie at my grandfather's funeral. When Mark took it off, I left it loosely knotted, so he could slip it over his head and tighten the knot.
Unfortunately, Mark tried to put it on himself this morning, and unknotted it. I had no idea how to fix it. "But I want to wear it," he whined, when I suggested leaving it home.
I thought quickly. I knew there were instructions in his Dangerous Book for Boys, but we didn't have time to rummage through his messy bookcase.
"Mr. Robinson can tie it for you," I told Mark, grateful he had a male teacher. So we marched to school, tie in hand.
But Mr. Robinson wasn't in his room when we got there, and for that, I was more than a little relieved. I saved myself the embarrassment of explaining to him (in person) that I was a completely clueless mom, whose ineptitude will doom my son to a lifetime of dressing inappropriately casual at important functions (unless his uncles are there).
Or worse, wearing dress shirts and a Cub Scouts neckerchief, which uses a metal slide to hold it in place. Because that's so much easier than tying a tie--even I can figure out that one!
