Whooo Are You?

My daughter B turned 11 this month. She is an amazing kid (aren't they all?); she is confident and funny and shy and serious. She likes to read but then again, she doesn't. She loves to play soccer but she gives me fits when it's time for practice. She's tall and strong and her heart is as big as the sky; it breaks over injustice and small differences. She's a lover and a giver. Unless we're talking siblings.

She received a gift card to spend at a department store. Unlike her mother, this child loves to shop. She still loves to play dress up, and she thinks it's even more fun when you get to bring those things home and wear them around and then leave them on the floor of her room, but whatever. The day we went to use her gift card, she was abuzz. The excitement of spending money on whatever she wanted was just too much to bear.

We wandered the aisles, her siblings and me making suggestions, offering opinions. She told us to buzz off. We did. She made her selections and tried them on. We left with a bagful of new garments, a mother approving of her choices, a child thrilled with new goodies.

She waited a week for an opportunity to wear her new garments: a brown and olive print skirt with a wide brown belt, a brown embellished tee with a square neck and a soft white cardigan. Oh, and bronze sandals from the women's department. Girl's feet are bigger than mine. Yesterday she put on her clothes for church and we oohed and aahhed about how pretty and grown up she looked. Her face grew dark and she followed me into the bathroom while I finished my own morning toilette. You know, hair, makeup, shoes...

"Mama." She said. She looked sad in her pretty spring clothes. "Do you think I still look like myself?"

Of course she looked like herself. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid," she told me, after hemming and hawing, "that putting these different kinds of clothes on will change me."

Her question, of course, spoke to me, her mother, on so many levels: the child beginning to wrestle with identity, groups and styles, plus the insecurity that comes with it; the growing young person balanced between kid and woman, unsure how to walk this balance beam. Her question digs to a deeper level about who we are and how we present our selves to the world.

Are we the clothes we wear? Are we our glasses or the music we listen to or the car we drive? Is it true that "the clothes make the man?"

Many of these things do send off certain vibes: hipster, fashionista, athlete, academic. But these are just the first glimpse others get of us, and sometimes our clothes just mean: I'm working out or I'm going out or I'm staying in. And we can alter our attitudes, I think, a bit by how we choose to dress. When I dress in sweats and a tee, I'm a bit lazier. When I put on shoes and an actual outfit, I'm ready to work.

But the ME putting on those clothes has not changed. I am the same person, despite not having showered yet today.

My daughter hit on something big and I know we'll be talking about it for some time. How do we reveal ourselves as complex creatures under the limits of a superficial world? By superficial I mean that we all make snap judgements largely predicated on how something or someone appears. So, who are you? Just a pile of cotton and wool or a crazy mixed up salad bowl of traits and characteristics? How do you shine through?

Bows for Babes with Pictures

I've had requests for holiday bows and instead of filling your inbox with photos, I thought this slide show would help. See my contact info for email address. See one you like? These are all $4 with free shipping. I'm ready to send today. Just let me know.

Don't see your favorite color? Just let me know and we'll make one just for you.

Sisters: Please

The book club I attend just finished our discussion of Nancy Horan's Loving Frank. The book is a fictionalized account of the love affair between married Mehmah Cheney and Frank Lloyd Wright, the famous architect. Roughly 10 women gathered to discuss the book and its tragic ending.

Set in the early 20th century, it focuses on the intensely difficult choices a married mother faced when thinking of leaving her marriage and children to pursue this affair. While I in no way sympathize with adultery, I was left feeling that its much deeper than black and white. In fact, I felt that this woman faced the same choices and struggles women are still facing today.

Back then, women were overtly objectified; they grew up, maybe went to school, married, had kids and made a home. That was it. Maybe they volunteered, maybe they had quaint artistic hobbies, but that was it, especially for women of a certain class. Working was discouraged, even frowned upon.

I find today's objectification much more subtle. The fact that companies still advertise car parts to men and cleaning products to women gets my panties in a bunch. My daughter, who happens to love spiders, dinosaurs and dragons, often laments the lack of t-shirts with those things on them for girls. (We buy for her in the "boys" department if we have to.) Barbie, the symbol of all that is traditionally (and distorted) feminine just celebrated 50 years.

And women still ask themselves if they are making the right choices. Should I marry? Should I have kids? When I have kids, do I stay at home, giving up all I have worked for to stay home with them, or do I return to work outside the home? Which is better?

Many people have pontificated on this issue and they all claim to be experts. Books are written, studies are done, children are questioned, surveys are circulated. But just like Mehmah Cheney, is it really that easy? Is there a one size fits all answer for how we live our lives.

Clearly not; just look around. The variety available to women is staggering. So why don't women give each other and themselves the right to make their own choices. The most divisive thing we can do is fail to support each other. (This starts in middle school, but that's for another day.) When I hear a mom criticize another mom for her life choices I feel angry. What right do I have to dictate how another person should live her life?

As I have aged, my views on this and many other things have altered, which I suppose indicates growth. I used to think it was easy; you just have your kids and give them all. Wow is that hard. On the other hand, my sister returned to work shortly after her first was born. Wow is that hard.

You see? We are all doing hard work. We are all trying to make the best choices for our families. We simply have to get to the place where we are okay with difference. So Mehmah Cheney, in the book anyway, had to decide between a more artistic life outside of her marriage and with a married man and giving up herself to stay with her husband and children. Could she have lived a fulfilling life within her marriage? I don't know. And was leaving her husband really the best alternative? Was what she gained worth what she surrendered?

It was the public animosity that staggered her; and it is what tears us down still. We don't need so called experts to tell us what our kids need, if we are paying attention to them. We don't need some stranger to tell us that one choice is better than another. What we do need, though, is a community of women willing to accept all the different choices we can make in life.

Then we can teach our daughters, and our sons, that women can buy car parts and men can clean toilets, we can show them that the sky is the limit, we can teach them that there is no such thing as man's work and women's work. Isn't that they kind of world you want your kids to inherit?