bibliomom

Children on the Autism spectrum have many … unusual traits. Hyper-oversensitivity or under-sensitivity to sound, vision, texture or taste and obsessive-compulsive behavior towards certain tasks or topics are two of my personal favorites. So when my daughter gets off the school bus on a rainy spring day with a denim mini-skirt, a parka, bare legs and cupcake print rainboots, I know that everyone from the janitor to the speech therapist assumes that it was a texture or color issue, or something else unavoidable.

But it’s not. Other than a bit (okay – a little more than “a bit”) of a pink obsession, she’s actually fairly fashion conscious for a six year old. No where near the fashion victim level, but deeply concerned about her clothes “making a match” and not “looking dorky”.

So Bug’s not the problem. Autistic fixation isn’t the problem. No, the problem’s much taller and geekier than that, namely, her dad.

Yes, the man who had the audacity to tell me the night of the ill-fated mini-combo, “Did you see? I matched her skirt to a black top!”

Well, yes, aside from the fact that black matches almost everything in the known world, very few people send a kindergartner to school in a mini-skirt and a turtleneck with no tights.

Especially not in a parka and rainboots.

Excuse me – a hot pink parka and rainboots.

When I brought this up, he looked hurt and said the parka was “unavoidable”. Of course this *is* the man I had to red flag last month for trying to wear olive green shorts with bright red tee-shirts, so it’s not exactly a new problem.

Now, I am sooooooo not a fashion person. The princess gene my daughter so obviously possesses is just as obviously not from me - I still have to hold up print shirts to solid pants to make sure the dark browns match. I know my limitations. But when my daughter got off the bus today wearing orange and pink floral capris, a baby-blue and white shirt (with pink sparkly pigs), brown mary-janes with athletic socks and a sparkly orange headband, I felt like the stylin’ queen of the cul-de-sac.

And really, really stupid.

Ah, well. It’s only clothes. Though I really should go back through her drawers and match up her outfits again. Especially since her dad is still kind enough to put her on the bus in the morning.

Poor bug; even her princess gene is no match for her father’s utter lack of fashion sense. It’s probably just as well she lacks the social maturity to realize how dorky she looks – she’d never go to school again. That, or she’d toilet-paper him while he sleeps – it could go either way.

Now, I hope you’ll excuse me while I go try and convince my son that shirts and pants can not be declared a “match” through a common geometric theme. (“Um, honey – striped beach pants really don’t match your striped dress shirt …”)

You know, it really never occurred to me that a battle could be uphill both ways.