Trying on Bathing Suits with your teen daughter - Hell Times 2

When my girls were young, I took to shop to shop at several clothing stores geared completely for kids and tweens, like Children's Place or Justice. The clothes are relatively inexpensive in these places and they liked the styles they find there – all full of Peace signs and neon colors. A couple of years ago though, we finally reached the point with my older daughter when we had to jump to the Juniors section and it hurt!

The main reason for the pain was the moment of expected self-realization in every young girl's life.
Think early springtime.  The bathing suits for summer  hit the stores with a vengeance.

Before, the suit was never a real issue. Whatever she chose, I usually went with it. She was healthy and fit. She was a kid. She didn't like two pieces because she couldn't dive in them. Great from the mom's standpoint. She would try on two or three, they would fit fine. She didn't seem to notice her own body inside the suit.

If it was small on her, I would hand her the larger size, no worries or complaints from her or me and everyone was happy. The only argument was usually about how many to buy. She, of course, had this idea that money was no object and she could walk out the door with all of the suits she liked.

But a couple of years ago, it was different. I thought we could get away with one more year in the kiddy clothing store. Yes, her hips had begun to look more like a woman and less like a girl. But bathing suit material stretches, doesn't it? Maybe I was simply in denial. Maybe it was a sheer case of bad mothering.

She chose three suits, all technically in her size. She went into the dressing room, excited about the fun pattern on the suit and that's when it hit her, like a crash of lightning right on her head. I heard a slight whimper from behind the dressing room curtain, then her slumping onto the little particle board seat glued to the side of the wall, like a half-mast shelf. 

“I'm fa-at!” she cried with long, drawn out vowel-filled howl.

“Oh, honey, you are not fat!” I rushed in to comfort her. “These are kiddy suits. You're growing up. That's all.”

“But look! My stomach is poking out!”
“No, it's the pattern on the suit across your tummy. It's an optical illusion.”
“But I love this suit!! I'll never find another one that I love as much as this one!”
“Sure you will. We have to go to the department store. We'll find something better there. Something you can really swim in, that fits you better.”
“But I don't like those styles!” she wailed, “They are not cute! And the light in here makes my skin look yellow!”
“It's okay. We'll try something else, sweetie. Let's go to Target, down the street.”
There was a beat of silence as she stood and stared into the mirror.
She sighed dramatically, “My thighs look huge!”

Anyone who thinks starting your menstrual cycle is the official advancement into womanhood knows nothing about the true nature of the American Woman. If you think it's about sudden attraction to the male gender – think again. That moment at Justice, when my daughter cursed the fashion industry, bad lighting of a dressing room, and her thighs, was the moment my eldest became a woman.

*Sniff* I'm so proud. 

A certain age - short series of Birthday Reflections

Birthday Reflection #1: Knowledge comes with experience, but  wisdom does not. I'm still the same wise@$s I was at 12 yrs old.

just a thought

human relations observation: clueless and immature is BETTER than mean and vindictive, yet sometimes garners the exact same results.

New Weekly post - my "Oxymoron Practice"

I've decided that I need to get bloggin' more often, but since I'm up to my eyebrows in work and looking for work, I only have time for one personal thought every few days. To that end, I am starting the new series detailing the normal life. 

While the optimist in me loves that (paraphrased)  quote, "One step forward and one step backward sounds like the Cha-Cha to me!" I am more practical.

We are our own worst enemies. And this series will be my shortest version of that cliché.

I present to you, the posts, to be updated weekly (hopefully) of my life practice of the Oxymoron. Kind of like my yoga practice - intermittent and totally good for you:

Today's oxymoron practice: took a 45 minute walk, then came home & ate a sleeve of thin mints

this week's oxymoron practice - dressing up

got all dressed up for a dinner out, then had to fix the hem of the shirt with duct tape

Black Pants

Jackpot!
Finding a pair of pants that fit on the clearance rack!

him: Why do you have ten pairs of black pants
her: I don't.
him (holding up one pair): Yes you do. I see them all lined up right here.
her: They are not all black.
him: This looks like black. 
her:  That one is my skinny off-black.
him: What?
her: And this one is my day-before-my-period very-black
him: hmmm
her (pointing to pants one by one): This one is my very-important-business-meeting tweed-black,
sexy-out-to-dinner spandexy-black, nobody-will-see-me-at-the-grocery-store cotton-black . . .
him: ok, ok, nevermind

2012, The End. . . the sequel

Really, there was a movie out about 2012 - y'know the one with my dreamboat John Cusack, where the world ended by literally falling apart. And for awhile there, it was looking a bit like that from my perch here in the 'burbs.

But we muddled through and we sit in the middle of the road now, looking for the next apocalypse.

The truth is, every year is a whole series of tiny explosions, isn't it? That is what we call "life" in my world. Welcome to the year of superstition, gun fear, hyper-anti-bullying, litigation for blamelessness, and the coming of the end of the world . . . again and again.

In other words, welcome home.