All the matching stuff is corny.
I never thought I’d do it.
But they LOVE to match.
Even Sam. They all, intentionally, chose the coolest matching shirts they could find on our last trip. They dig through drawers to match. I never ask it any more, except at, say, Disneyworld. It’s all down to them. But it has an unexpected benefit.
Matching shirts mean no one ever says "THAT’s your sister?" or "Are they all yours?" or "Oh, HE’s your brother?"
Matching shirts mean Rory gets to grow up, for a few years at least, in a world where even total strangers assume she is a part of her family. Make a big deal of it, even, probably because I think they know they might have made a different assumption without the shirts. Matching shirts mean that if someone sees her pop out of the bathroom with us, and there’s an Asian woman behind us, they don’t try to match Rory up wrong. Matching shirts have had dividends I never imagined.
It’s not all the shirts, of course. They’re crazy close kids. They’re always holding hands or touching each other or talking to each other or looking for each other. Or hitting each other. They LOOK like a family, because, of course, they are. But the shirts just cement the appearance. The shirts mean people don’t second guess themselves.
I suspect that’s got an affect on all of them that we can’t even measure. It never occurs to them that we stand out a little, or that one of us looks different, or "doesn’t match." instead of having to constantly tell people that yes, we ARE together, they just hear everyone affirming just that. And they seem to love it. I know I do.
So I guess I love the corny matching shirts!
sent from my iPhone