Dramatically Girly

The children both needed new church shoes, and yesterday afternoon, we went shopping.  Brandt very quickly selected slip-on black shoes, tried them on, was happy with them, and ran off to look at Lego sets.  Blythe, ever the girl, was very deliberate in her perusal of shoe options and tried on several pairs.  She wanted shoes with a heel (even though she's seven), and we did find a cute white pair with a small heel and a flower by the toe.  She liked them, but wanted to keep looking.  I should have dragged her away from the aisle as soon as she said they fit.  I didn't, and she discovered a pair of red shining shoes with a higher heel.  She tried them on and, surprise! surprise! they were perfect and just what she wanted.  Then began a shoe debate as we stood amidst the shoe boxes.  I said I didn't think she had any church clothing that was red and would match the shoes.  The heel was also too high, and the white ones would go with everything.  She argued that she did have red things, the red ones were more comfortable and fit better, and that I didn't really care what she wore so why should I be making a big deal about what shoes she bought.  They were also $4 less than the white ones, and I was always talking about how much I liked to save money.  At seven (7!) she can argue her point clearly, concisely, and with great conviction and passion.  I threw up my hands in defeat and bought her the red shoes.  

Today, as I was reading the last few chapters of a very exciting book to Brandt (Peter and the Secret of Rundoon) and Kent was listening, Blythe came into the family room and demanded that we play a game.  The rest of us were not going to stop as we were all enthralled with how everyone would escape a savage band of conquering natives, an enormous crocodile, and a traitorous pirate, but Blythe kept going on and on, whining that she was bored and wanted to play a game and stop reading and more whining and carrying on.  I gave her several suggestions of things she could do, including snuggling up with the rest of us and listening to the book, but she would have none of it and angrily stomped off.  She was wearing her new red shoes with the heel and they made a tremendously satisfying clomp as she pounded her way upstairs and into her room (with a door slam at the end).  It was a very dramatic exit.  We ignored her and kept reading.  Not all that long afterwards, she returned.  I complimented her on the most excellent use of her new shoes to make that dramatic exit, emphasizing each step and she stamped up the stairs.  She grinned slyly, acknowledging my compliment and the silliness of her actions.  How can you beat such a great addition to her wardrobe?