Thursday, October 15, 2009


So, this morning, Tank and I had a little, um, disagreement, about what he would wear to school.

Let me back up.

Perhaps it's the snob in me that intermittently raises her ugly head, perhaps it's years of private school dress codes, but something in me feels strongly about the distinction between school clothes and play clothes.

I have always tried to send my boys to daycare/preschool/school in jeans/cords/khakis and a short or long sleeved shirt with a collar. Polo shirts, rugby shirts, sweaters, all of these would be acceptable. I don't like my kids to go to school in graphic tees, sweats, sports shorts, etc. I don't know. I can't explain it. It's just my thing.

I am a snob. There. I've owned it. I am aware that this particular little idiosyncracy has elicited more than a few chuckles amongst friends, family, and one quizzically amused husband.

So, this morning, for not the first time this week, Tank came downstairs in a rugby shirt and warm up pants. They did not coordinate. The pants are black with white stripes on the sides. The kind that make the swishy noise when you walk. The shirt was red and grey. For not the first time this week I sent him back upstairs to put jeans on. There was only one feeble attempt to disagree, but my boy realizes when resistance is futile.

When we got to school and I saw all the kids lined up for class, I couldn't help but notice that two other boys in his class had the same black warm up pants on. Now I just feel mean. Is my resolve waivering?

While out today with a delicious 45 minutes alone at the mall, I bought myself not one, but TWO argyle patterned cardigans. God, I love plaid. I wish the boys had to wear uniforms to school. I love the whole thing. The navy pants and polo shirts; the plaid skirts and cardigans.

Hubby and I watched Metropolitan last night. It was his first Whit Stillman movie. mmmm. I can't get enough of their Upper East Side snobbery, the deb balls, the pretentious prep school bred conversation of these nauseatingly overprivileged kids.

Preppy. Deep in my heart, I am a 1980's East Coast Preppy.


  1. I love Metropolitan! My favorite part is when the young Jane-o-phile says to the obnoxious young man, "I don't think that you've even read Jane Austen," and he says something like, No, but I've read the literary criticism." That was so me in college. I was willing to pretentiously expound on anything.

    I feel the same about school clothes. The only time Pascal wore sweats to preschool was when he was recently potty-trained and I wanted him to be able to get his pants down quickly. This year his school has a dress code, but in kindergarten, when he wanted to wear sweats, I was able to say, "Do you want people to think that you are potty training?"

  2. So, tell me (via Tweet, natch): Where'd you go to school. Me? -- the hippie prep school. Class 'o 76.