THIS is today's struggle. Will NOT get dressed. At least not in clothing you could wear somewhere. So she's walking around in a pair of Strawberry Shortcake panties with a blanket wrapped around her, putting on the mug in the picture anytime I mention getting dressed. As you can see, she did allow a bath, and now her hair is all up in a pretty braid. I have forcibly dressed her (I do outweigh her considerably, which is pretty much my only advantage, since she has the determination of a badger and the agility of a weasel. Also, I'm thinking she might be one of the mutants from "X-Men." Something like Elbira, Elbowettika, or just Elbow Girl*, because she has the ability to transform her body from that of a normal small human child into something with 17 elbows in the blink of an eye.) several times now, and as soon as I'm not looking, she whips off the clothes and is back into the princess nightgown. So I hid the nightgown, and now we're having THIS standoff.
I've tried timeouts. I've tried deprivation. I've tried REASON (note to self: save time and go bang your head against something hard and unforgiving): "Isabella, we have to go to the store and the office and places, and you cannot wear a NIGHTGOWN to town! And it's 40 degrees! It is too cold!"
"But clothes are not sparkle-y and pretty enough to way-errr!!"
Just wait until she's big enough to muck out stalls.
Oh, and she sprung this one on me, today, in what I swear was a Darth Vader voice:
"Jack is my father."
Now you know. Sorry, Alex. I didn't want you to find out this way.
*Edited to say that I have decided that, barring copyright infringements, her X-Men name shall be "Bowflex."
UPDATE: Success! Belated success, but still! The critter is now finely decked out in a little Hanes sweatsuit and, well...a pair of purple Crocs. A compromise, and at this point, she's not going outside, so I didn't kvetch about the no-socks Crocs. After all, when we go out and tend to the horses, what will her father and I be wearing? Crocs. Do as we do, and all that.