As of late, my Mercy Rain has fallen in love with cowboy boots.
She wears them as often as she can find them (alas, we do hide them on occasion). She’s recently rocked them with a very cool dress for a snazzy occasion, and also to the concierge lounge in a Marriott in Colorado Springs for breakfast, paired with her fuzzy jammies. Rule of parenting multiples #23 – pick your battles.
I find this all wonderfully satisfying, because the first argu…er, heated discussion Kelsey and I ever really had was on the eve of our wedding rehearsal, when I casually mentioned that I was going to wear black jeans and cowboy boots to the rehearsal. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
I’m so glad that our marriage and my work have evolved to the point that anyone who knows me well realizes that if they tell me it’s ‘sort of dressy occasion’, I interpret that as black jeans and a pair of boots of some sort and they’re not shocked or dismayed. It’s how I roll. I’m nearing too old to change and everyone who cares about me has quite trying.
Rock on, Mercy!
*yes, I realize this is awkwardly worded. It’s a song title. I couldn’t hum it to save my life, but the phrase sticks in my head like “throw the horse over the fence some hay.”
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