This morning, Girl Terror decided to "help" Boy Terror get dressed. I sat upstairs, listening and giggling. Here is a sampling of what I heard:
"First, shorts. No, NOT THOSE ONES. Here, these ones."
"This shirt or this one? Which one? No, not THAT one! It doesn't match. It's not a choice, otay? Choose from these ones. They match."
"LISTEN TO ME!!! I HELPING YOU!"
"Lay down. Lay down! Lay down! There. Thank you for listening. Good listening!"
"Stand still! I doing it, otay? Otay? OTAY?! Otay. I doing it. That's better."
"Go ask Mummy to do your socks. I don't DO socks."
Boy Terror appeared upstairs, dressed in matching shorts and shirt, pleased as punch that his sister had helped him get dressed. I was impressed, because he actually matched. Maybe GT is catching on after all!
Then she came up. I was expecting too much, I guess. Today she is wearing a turquoise frilly skirt, a white shirt with green stripes and a watermelon on the front, and bright red socks. All her favourite clothes, all at once. In her world, only boys have to match, I guess.