On being dress-coded

My daughter has always had definite opinions about her clothing.  She started changing outfits several times a day when she was two years old.  She has always been particular about what she will and will not wear.

And now that she’s 13, I can no longer pick out clothes for her because I have no idea whether stripes are “NO, MOM,” and if ruffles are “NEVER, ARE YOU KIDDING?”  Combine our now vastly different opinions about what is and is not appropriate with a school dress code and add in a dose of Southern California easy-living and you have a kid who is dressing herself in clothes that I think may be not quite okay for school but that she insists “everyone” wears.

That’s why today I got a telephone call from her asking me to bring her a shirt because she had been “dress-coded.”

That means her teacher decided too much of my daughter’s tummy was exposed.  The shirt comes to her waist but if she moves, it really does show off a little skin.  Not okay and I am pretty sure I told her that but I am her mom and what do I know?

I found two shirts (so she’d have a choice) and drove them to the school.  I told her it was a one-time courtesy and that next time she’d have to wear the school-provided “ugly” shirt if she broke the dress-code.

And if it weren’t 1:27 AM, I might have a way to wrap up this blog post but I don’t.

The end.

 

 

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On being dress-coded

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