I remember a time when any bag I gave my daughter was met with a joyous squeal, a monstrous smile and an even bigger hug.
Seriously, a leftover purse circa 1978, found curled up in the corner of the closet with a broken zipper, was like finding a pot of gold to my bag lady in training.
Ah… the good ol’ days.
My darling daughter is six years old now and the days of her willingly accepting anything I select have long faded in the rearview mirror on the long, winding road through parenthood.
Last year, in preparation for her first day of half-day kindergarten I held up an adorable pink and black Hello Kitty backpack and asked my daughter: “How about this cute one?”
“I love it!” she exclaimed.
Done.
I think we made it through the back-to-school supply list and out of the store in less than 30 minutes. And did I mention that the Hello Kitty pack was on sale. Double bonus!
That was then.
This year it took the kid 30 minutes just to decide what color pencil box she wanted. And the backpack selection… OH.MY.WORD! A slug could have completed the Chicago Marathon in the time it took my daughter to choose a backpack.
The winning selection: Penguins of Madagascar in all their black, white and smirky face glory.
Oh, and by the way, they weren’t on sale.
Oh, and by the way, there’s nothing wrong with Hello Kitty.
In fact, the backpack is in near perfect condition. There really was no reason my daughter couldn’t have squeaked out another year toting the cat on her back, save for the fact that she is beginning her first year of full-day school and, “I’m a big girl now, Mommy, and I need a new backpack for big kids, and big kids don’t like Hello Kitty, they like penguins!”
How do you argue with that kind of reasoning?
You don’t. You just hit the backpack with extra stain-guard to make it last for a couple more years because you aren’t going through this same torture next August.