She wore a tutu everyday for a year. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for roughly 372 days. And then she didn't.
As quickly as her burning desire for tulle appeared, it was gone. It happened on an unremarkable day, probably a Tuesday. It was time to get dressed...she shed her pjs, and her "nighttime" tutu, looked in her drawers, picked out shorts and a top, and got dressed. I waited for her to head to her closet to deliberate over the rack of 10-15 sparkling, shining tutus...but she didn't. I was afraid to say anything but couldn't help myself. "Do you want to pick out a tutu?"
"Nah, not today mom." And that was it. The spell was broken. I should have been happy. Finally, we could go out in public without someone snickering, or asking "she dress herself?" To which I always smiled and nodded, but inside was thinking..."No, dumbass, I thought a sequined covered fire engine red tutu looked just perfect over her yellow polka dot dress and hot pink chuck taylors." But the truth is, it did look perfect. It was perfectly Tiny.
The tutus made her look crazy - in that Ace Ventura escaped from a mental institution kind of way - but they also made her little. They felt chaotic, a little bit off, eccentric, yet perfectly defined her fashion and personality.
People always say cherish the moments (and don't you just feel like going postal on these sappy people sometimes?)...but gosh darn it, its true. Let them be little, let them sparkle, paint their hair, bike in their underwear, wrap themselves in glitter covered tulle...cause one day they won't and it goes tu tu quickly.