I took yesterday off of work. By 10am, I remembered again why I would make the world's worst stay at home mom. The house had been screaming clean (meaning I would talk myself into being cool with the ever increasing level of mess building around me for about 30 minutes, then freak out and scream at everyone to help me clean) and then destroyed again about 3 times and I had served breakfast no less than 5 times. We decided that we needed to get out. Someone, I'm not sure who (it might have been me, or maybe Grace?), suggested that maybe Claire should get her ears pierced. I asked my bubbly little 4 year old and, with her usual easy cheer she replied, "Sure!" "It's going to hurt," I reminded her. (We've had this conversation before). "I know," she shrugged.I've documented Claire's tremendous pain tolerance here before. The girl is phenomenally tough (I can't wait til she's ready for sports). So, while I don't make a habit of recreationally putting holes in my children for entertainment, I decided that it was as good an errand as any to bust us all loose from our oppressive house in the long hours between breakfast (one of the five) and naptime.
2 hours later, we had finally found socks for everyone, served one last snack to a few hungry stragglers, gone potty, loaded up the stroller and the diaper bag and headed for the mall. I sort of thought we would spend an hour or so strolling casually around, maybe grab a bite to eat (someone was sure to get hungry), stop and see Santa, pick up a gift or two for fun if something struck our fancy, of course pierce Claire's ears, and be home in time for the queen's nap. Right. With 4 kids under 8, at the mall, 3 days before Christmas. We headed straight for Claire's (the store), and Claire's date with destiny. We were all remarkably cool about the whole thing. My Claireabelle is just not prone to much regret, nor am I. We always knew we'd pierce Claire's ears someday, and since Carrie pierced her ears at 3, I was 5, and Grace was 5, we were right in the age range of what I deemed acceptable. And she was interested and unafraid. And we were bored.
And so, commenced what was ultimately a very uneventful momentous event in my little girl's life. She climbed up on the chair, I signed my name 14 times, she chose the absolute last earrings I would have picked (dozens of sparkly flowers and colored balls, simple gold and silver studs--and she picks hello kitty. I have some vague recollection of a connection between Paris Hilton and hello kitty--which alone is enough to make me sort of despise the character, but, if my eldest fashionista has taught me anything about mothers and daughters and fashion choices, it is LET IT GO.) So the skinny, chipper little lady marked little spot on each of my baby's perfect, plump little ears with a purple felt tip marker, handed me an alcohol soaked cotton ball, and clicked her little staple-gun thingy and voila! Claire made a tiny, annoyed little face (not even a grimace) with each little click, and it was over. No crying. No drama. So completely Claire.
Claire is now a proud, pierced ear owner and other then the lingering annoyance of the 3 times a day cotton ball routine, the rest, as they say, is history.
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