It's Not Official Until the Bandana Goes On
I have an affinity for head-wear. I don't have a large collection of hats, but it is a well-loved one. I have a brand-new (read: two-years-old-but-never-been-worn), dark purple cloche hat for fall/winter that I think is super-adorable. I have my trusty thirteen-year-old navy blue bucket hat that saw me through marching band, college, and numerous hikes through the woods. And I have a growing collection of bandanas. I used to have just two: classic red and blue, but after a pirate parrty (see what I did there?) for my husband and son this year, I added gray and lilac bandanas for my daughters of course, cough-cough.
At my house, when the bandana goes on mom's head, it is a sign to all that it is officially yard work/clean up/fix up day. It is a tradition that goes back to my childhood. Whenever my mom would put on her red or blue bandana (and I would snag the other one) some Saturday mid-morning, it became a day of dusting, vacuuming, and opening windows. It was a day for clean bed sheets, straightened bookshelves, warm sunshine slanting through the windows. And music.
You had to have the music. Lively music. Big band music. Louis Armstrong and/or Glenn Miller would accompany my mom, dad, little sister, and I as we danced, sang, and worked as a team to combat dust bunnies and dirty laundry. At the end of the day we piled onto the couch with bowls full of popcorn and watched a Disney movie (which involved more singing).
I have tried to retain that custom with my own family, only we've added Celtic music and made-up jigs to our repertoire. So watch out, if you ever stop by and my bandana is on!