MOM ON THE RUN: Mother, daughter approach dressing for the fair differently

“OK, everybody! We leave for the fair in 15 minutes! Get ready!” I give it a good yell, trying to reach the son watching TV, the dad at the computer, and the daughter … well, wherever she is. Probably upstairs, in her room.

And I go up myself. Fifteen minutes. I hadn’t planned to leave my own preparation so late, but it’s OK. I’ve done the county fair before — many, many times before — and I already know basically what I want to wear and what I need to take.

So, in my closet, I reach up to the shelf where all my denim lives in loose messy stacks. I flip through my capris — it’s entirely too hot for full-length jeans, and shorts … no way. I learned that lesson the hard way years ago, exposing soft white thighs to broiling metal bleachers and sticky wooden benches. No, thank you. And this hideous floppy pair of capris is perfect. Not at all flattering, with hillbilly cuffs and a drawstring waist, I can’t imagine why I bought them, but a few special days a year, they’re ideal, with their button-up pockets in the back and extra-deep pockets in the front. I can secure my little credit card wallet and cash safely in back and have room in the front for sunscreen, car keys, clip-on sunglasses, change, plus everything else that I’m going to be asked to hold over the next few hours.

Now for a top: I paw through my dresser drawer, considering. First I pull out a plain white T-shirt, but quickly stuff that back in. Plain white is an invitation for spills and stains and is going to look bad in this 99 degree heat, even worse if it rains. So I rummage some more, and come up with a very old favorite: yellow, white, and light blue stripes on age-softened cotton. I bought this at a clearance sale probably 20 years ago; there are a few holes if you look carefully, but that just means that it doesn’t matter if the shirt gets ruined with barbecue sauce or grease smudges tonight.

For shoes, I go back into the closet. All open sandals are out. I’ve been there before, with people stepping on my toes, flip-flops dangling on rides, dirt and gravel sneaking in under my arches. Closed-toe sneakers, with a nice supportive sole to minimize lower-back pain after an evening of tramping around the fairgrounds are exactly what I need. I pull out my comfortable old aerobics sneakers — and if I wore them to aerobics, we’re talking very old — because it’s OK if they get filthy, and I pull them on over cushiony ankle-high socks.

One stretchy ponytail holder later, to keep my hair from whipping into my eyes or dripping into my lemonade and ice cream, I’m ready to go. I try to avoid looking in the mirror as I go past, but I can’t help it, and I almost laugh at the rumpled, shapeless, frumpy figure looking back at me. Whatever, I think. This is a carefully considered, perfect county fair outfit, offering maximum comfort and functionality. “Everybody ready? Time to go!”

At the top of the stairs, I meet my 17-year-old daughter. I stop and look at her. Wow, she looks great: short black shorts, fuchsia swing top with satin back tie and subtle flower print on one shoulder, fresh make-up. The only similarities in our outfits are pulled-back hair (though she’s got a fancy clip holding hers) and shoes: she’s also wearing sneakers, a pair that’s mostly black and won’t show the dirt.

I grin, recognizing that she gave her outfit as much thought as I gave mine — but ah! The differences in the end results! Fashion over frump; I remember those days, really I do! “You look great,” I tell her admiringly, appreciating her youth, energy, optimism and sense of adventure. And off we go to the fair.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at lianne , or follow her on Twitter @MessengerMOTR.