Wacky day

It's another theme week at daycare. Monday was sports day (see Lyla's Minnesota-inappropriate Celtics t-shirt a couple posts down); Tuesday was beach day (she wore a sun dress but was already in pajamas at picture time); and yesterday was costume day (the homemade flower that devolved into the Jello-ketchup flower).

Today is wacky day. Our strategy: "Dan, just pick an outfit."

On non-wacky days when I pick the outfit, Julie changes it to prevent Lyla from looking obnoxious or like a boy. So today I just put Lyla in the articles of clothing most commonly and/or violently rejected by Julie. Then I added a skirt. It did look wacky.


Downstairs, Julie threw out her neck in the shower. I believe she was reenacting the Herbal Essences commercial where the woman is so excited by the smell of the shampoo that she starts dancing and whipping her head around in ecstasy. Then she spends the rest of the day in her bathrobe, barefoot in the meadow, eating yogurt.

Julie came out of the bathroom moving like the 90-year-old version of herself.

"Huuuuuuh," she said.

"Huh?" I said.

"Huuuuuuh."

So I drove Lyla to daycare because Julie wouldn't have been able to lift her.

"Hey, you remembered wacky day," was how Lyla's teacher greeted me.

I played dumb. "Wacky day?"

The poor woman's face turned cherry red as she looked again at Lyla's outfit, then at my furrowed brow, then back to Lyla. I took pity on her and told her I was kidding. It was wacky.

Then I left and called Julie, who had decided that Advil, ice, and going to work was the proper regimen for her neck injury. "If all else fails, I can lie down on the floor during my meetings."

That's wacky.