The yellow-haired child likes freedom - not quite the freedom of the Garden, but it's close. It's hard to keep clothes on her.
The boy and girl run around outside sometimes in skivvies and diapers - sometimes even while little frosty clouds form from the moist warmth of their breath. So I corral them inside and persuade them that perhaps a shirt would be appropriate. And they allow it - given the right kind and amount of persuasion. Perhaps if it were colder here. But even when they deign to wear clothes, it is temporary; and the girl, when she wears them, changes them frequently. Perhaps if she had less from which to choose.
In public, of course, it is easier to convince her of the propriety of clothes-wearing: I simply tell her that everyone will laugh at her if she goes out in only her underpants. The fear of universal mockery always seems to work in a pinch. And, at the same time, I am building a strong sense of confidence in her. It's virtually a win-win.
"You're the parent. Just put clothes on them for goodness' sake."
Well, yes, I could. But that would be one more thing for me to do, wouldn't it?