Tutu Mania

Wednesday in France is called “le jour des enfants.” Traditionally, kids don’t have school on Wednesdays, or if the do it is only for a half day. Wednesday is the day for extracurriculars: in our house, it is Circus School for a little scalawag and Music School for the big.

I don’t exactly know why, but I like to dress fancy on Wednesdays. It goes back to my pandemic dressing thing: it is the fairy Princess Mama in me who wants to feel a little magical when feeling magical is at a premium.

The truth is, that I didn’t notice this tendency until I started making mise en place a rule. For some reasons, as, on Tuesday evening I imagined the day ahead, my hand instantly reached for a petticoat or a dress.

Today I went beyond petticoat. I went full-on tutu. Tutu, lace leggings, elf boots, the whole nine yards.

So picture this: Our weather went from about 10 degrees Fahrenheit to 60 in three days. There had been a non-negligible amount of snow. There is mud everywhere. It is Wednesday. I take the scalawags to the park.

A loving lean from a filthy scalawag

The boys are filthy. I mean, mud from the tips of their ears to the spokes on their tires. I, Fairy Princess Mama, sit tutu-clad on a bench listening to them yell at each other. And then one comes in for a snuggle.

I wail “noooooooooo!” to no avail.

Once the snuggle was over and I saw that the damage may or may not be permanent, I realized that I would far rather have a muddy tutu that I can never wear again than a tutu that stays in my closet, pristine but never worn.

Here’s to hoping are there are just enough Wednesdays
to ruin all my petticoats

Published by Lily Fields

I am passionate about contentment. This is a challenge, because I am equally passionate about progress. I get up at 4:00AM to chip away at a solution to this monolithic problem: how to make progress on my contentment. Born and raised in the USA, I married a French philosophy teacher in 1999. We have lived in France since 2007. We stayed young and carefree until life threw us two curveballs in the form of little humans one after another in 2015 and 2017 respectively. Now I am a slightly older, slightly more exhausted version of myself, but with mystery stains on my walls and a never-ending pile of laundry.

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