Dressed for success

Let me preface this by saying that although I was quite the little conformist as a young child, molding myself to the needs, desires, and expectations of my parents, I have no attachment to what my children wear. none whatsoever, and while I think I choose pretty cool outfits for them, if they don't want to wear them I am cool.  Princess costume to the grocery store? Fine.  It's more than just picking my battles.  I truly believe that what children, and adults for that matter, choose to wear is a reflection of who they are or who they want to be, and I do not see it as my place to hound them into a style that not only does not reflect their own personalities, but forces them into a box not of their choosing.  I have experience with that. 

 I believe my father spent a good five to ten years shaking his head at me, my hairstyles, and my outfits, and only because my will is stronger than he probably ever suspected, I did not capitulate.  His judgment and cruel comments did nothing for our relationship, and in the end, I became the picture of all American, albeit African-American, good looks, comportment, and presentation.  I guess kind of a fraud.  Only the hidden tattoos and occasional rip, tear, or mismatched pattern reveals my subversive style.


It's just not worth it.  Not worth our relationship, their blooming independence, my peace of mind and remaining sliver of sanity to fight them, so today my nearly three year old is wearing for the fifth or sixth time this week, her lavender colored leotard with attached ballet skirt and butterfly sequined decolletage.  She has worn it to the grocery store, library, school drop off, and her big sister's ballet class.  She also wears it as a pajama and a dress up costume.  Today she is wearing it with tights, grey with lavender bows on them, and nothing underneath. Sleeveless.   

It is drizzling and cold.  I saw my breath this morning as I packed the girls into the car for school drop off.  Because she would like everyone in the entire universe to see what a beautiful princess-ballerina-queen-Barbie she is, I was unable to get a coat over her look.  And this, Houston, is where we have a problem.

I have gotten input from mommies across the spectrum who have endured all sorts of costume changes throughout their children's lifetimes.  We are pretty much a flexible lot.  But the lack of jacket or other proper outerwear sets us on edge.  It's for their health that we have such a concern.  How could a mother allow her baby outside in the rain or snow in a sleeveless leotard?  I will tell you how.  When she has another child who has to get to school or practice or a playdate on time and that child has been behaving nicely all morning or afternoon or night, and is waiting calmly to get into the car while her little sister parades her tiny behind up and down the driveway, shivering but not daring to give in and put on a coat.  When five, ten, fifteen, then twenty minutes go by and said ballerina is standing with arms folded and giving her look that says, "I have all day."  When it really, truly is time to go or the older child is going to be late for school or practice or that playdate.  That's how Momma let's that chil' outside without her coat.

This morning I wrapped the little one in a sweatshirt that she refused to put her arms into and pushed her in the stroller across the school blacktop for morning line up.  I don't really care what other people out there think of me.  Two years in Barbados with a level of nosiness so stealth and intense it seems like a job for the perpetrators, have given me not only a thick skin in regards to how my kids or I look in public but a "bring it on" attitude.  In my first days in Barbados, carrying the then four month old baby in the hot blazing heat, parasol over her head, 70+ sunscreen on her skin, onesie on her little chubby body, going from the car to the unair-conditioned store, I was approached by three separate individuals who told me that my sweaty baby needed socks, a hat, some pants.  Yeah right.  Thanks for your help, Buttinsky.

Anyone who has ever raised a child knows that negotiating with a nearly three year old is one of the craziest tortures known to man and that winning will cost and will cost big.  A dedicated parent can probably tell that I did make the effort.  The sweat on the brow, strain on my face, clenched teeth, and pursed lips are usually dead giveaways.  While I looked like a crazy person, the little one was all smiles and crossed arms.  My oldest too was tough at this age, choosing only jeans and a dress and sneakers every day, and would not allow a comb or brush anywhere near her curly, knotty locks.  By the time we were in Barbados there were just three real choices --school uniform, bathing suit, or sun dress.  Oh, and naked.  Though the four seasons do allow more options for the kiddies, it seems that the only things that appeal to the little one are costumes, crowns,magic wands, and sparkles. 

Tonight while eating in her lavender leotard, baby girl spilled yogurt and then spaghetti sauce down her front.  I thought I would faint as I anticipated the battle that was sure to ensue when I had to tell her that we would not be wearing that dirty, stinky costume to bed.  As expected,that suggestion was not working for her.   She put up a hell of a fight.  I thought I just might give up and let her wear the damned dirty rag when her big sister stepped in holding a white leotard with turquoise skirt, printed with HELLO KITTY and the face of that mouthless kitten on the chest.  Have mercy!

 I just peeked in on the sleeping angels and both are snuggled up in their beds.  One in her princess pajamas.  The other in a soon to be familiar at grocery stores, school drop off, playdates, and nap times outfit that is too cute to even be covered by a coat.


(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama:Back to the Suburban Grind.