I guess this means that at 7, Sicily is officially over princesses. Wait, that happened at age 5.
While I wholeheartedly approve of her costume choice, I can't take any credit. I took her and Jack to the Halloween Express, and after a quick survey of the dizzying array of choices, I offered my guidance. Sicily looked up at me. "Mom, who are the workers? The ones in the orange shirts?"
She cornered a perky college-aged orange shirt clad attendant, and proceeded to monopolize her time for thirty minutes while Jack and I looked over his choices. When she was done, I asked her if she wanted to try it on in the dressing room. "No, I'm sure I will look great."
And she does. I love the dainty foot sticking out at the bottom. She hated it - thought it ruined her image, and made me take another picture so it didn't show.
Jack and I had his costume narrowed down to a zombie and a pirate. Sicily said, "No, Jack, you want to be a ninja. See the cool weapons you can get? All the daggers and mom, what do you call those things?"
"Nunchucks, I think."
So Jack chose the ninja.
I have officially lost any semblance of control. It feels great.