Kids Will Be Kids, If We Will Only Let Them

In case y'all didn't know, I'm sort of a last minute kind of gal. So this afternoon, I took a little trip around to a few very popular department stores to look for Easter outfits for my kids. 

Very disappointing.  More on that in a minute.....

Recently, there has been a lot of hoopla about the new Victoria Secret line of underwear -- "Bright Young Things" -- that is targeted toward young girls.  YOUNG girls.  Like, teens and even TWEENAGE girls.  These underwear have sexually suggestive messages emblazoned on them -- across the butt or on the crotch.  Things like "Feeling Lucky?"  "I Dare You" and "Call Me".  When the story broke, I was appalled like everyone else -- thinking "Who in their right mind markets sex to kids??!"  Then I heard Victoria's Secret come out in total denial saying that their "Bright Young Things" line was part of their PINK line, for college aged girls, and I thought "Oh, well, that's a little different."  But, then again, I saw Justin Beiber performing on their televised underwear parade -- an endorsement for all of his 7-15 year old fans?  Perhaps.  And I saw this quote: 

“When somebody’s 15 or 16 years old, what do they want to be?” Chief Financial Officer Stuart Burgdoerfer said at a conference in January. “They want to be older, and they want to be cool like the girl in college, and that’s part of the magic of what we do at PINK.”
 

Wait -- so the PINK line IS marketed to 15-16 year olds, then?  Not JUST to 19-24 year olds?  You mean they LIED??  Shocking.  And wait a minute -- why is it okay to give college aged women this twisted view of sex and what is attractive?  Sure they are a little older, but underwear that delivers messages to potential partners (because let's be honest, who else is going to see your underwear)??  Why would you need "Call me" on the front of your thong? Will he NOT call unless your underwear tells him to?  And while we are at it, let's discuss just how juvenille it is to have messages written on your underwear at all.  To take something childish, like words on your underwear, and use it to convey a sexually suggestive message, marketed towards people who are stradling both worlds trying to find their adult identities, is wrong. 

So I decided that it I don't think it's all that cool for Victoria's Secret to be marketing casual sex to college aged girls either. 

Not just because my kids look up to them, but because NO WOMAN should feel that any molecule of their worth hinges on anything other than what is in her head and in her heart -- especially not underwear with messages written on them.  (Oh, and please don't get your panties in a wad and start hurling rebuttals at me about how "a girl over 18 who is comfortable with her body should feel free to explore her sexuality" nonsense.  I am not suggesting a chastity belt for your "sexually aware" 18 year old if you want them to "explore" -- although I might consider one for my daughters).  I am suggesting, however, that we teach our daughters that their beauty, their desirability, or their worth is not tied to a pair of zebra print cheeksters. 

There is nothing wrong with wearing pretty underwear -- I always feel more confident, more dressed up, more together, prettier, and all sorts of other good things when my bra and panties have lace or some other pretty design, and they match each other (and let's face it, at nearly 40 years old and with 4 kids, I take my confidence boosts where I can get them).  And there is nothing wrong with a thong -- certain fashions look better on the outside if there is no pantyline (even though I have never found one I thought of as comfortable, and we all know that I am a comfort girl).  But pretty, and even sexy, should not be synonymous with "skanky" no matter how old you are -- underwear with messages like "Wild Thing" or "I dare you" emblazoned across the front of the crotch are not sexy.  And they cheapen young women, not empower them.  Do you want to know what is sexy?  Confidence. 

You cannot convey confidence with "Call me" written on your crotch.

So, basically, I was disgusted by this most recent attack on women's sexuality, but I thought "Don't buy slutty underwear for your 11 year old, prepare your kids for their sexuality, and shop elsewhere -- problem solved."  I mean, it's not like they don't still sell Hanes at Target.

But then I went to try and find some pretty dresses for Easter at Target.  And at Kohl's.  And I found that they no longer sell pretty dresses for little girls.  They sell sequined, spandex, and strapless dresses.  They sell voluminous taffeta and velvet dresses.  They sell clingy, rayon, mini-dresses.  All in NEON.  But I could not find EVEN ONE pretty, pastel or white dress for Easter.  And I wondered "Where IS the nightclub for 6 year olds?" because that is what these clothes look like.  I want to dress my girls in pretty things that are age appropriate, and it appears that the market for that is disappearing.  Are we really in such a hurry for our girls to grow up?  Do we want them dressing like the cast of "Sex in the City" on their way to Sunday School?

SERIOUSLY?

I need something for Easter Sunday, not a night at the Roxbury.

So as much as I disagree with it, I can't really be mad at Victoria's Secret.  They are doing what any good business would do -- they are capitalizing on what is apparently a rising trend of sexualizing our kids.  They are selling the sexy underthings to go with the sexy outer things that are everywhere in sizes 4-12, because that is the next step, right?  I mean, if you dress your 4 year old in spandex and sequins for church, don't be surprised if they want a thong at 11. 

But I am mad at the industry.  Not because they make sexy clothes for 3rd graders -- that is their prerogative, and there will always be someone who will buy them (and sequins have their time and place, even in an 8 year old's life).  I am mad because there is quickly becoming no other option for moms like me who want to dress my kids like, well, like kids.  I'd like a pretty spring dress with a ribbon at the waist that balloons out when she twirls making her face light up and causing the giggles to start.  I want my 6 year old in Mary Janes and lace trimmed socks, not spike heeled sandals. 

I want them to feel pretty because THEY ARE PRETTY and not because they are wrapped in sequins or spandex & up on stilts. 

There will be a time for that, but they should be out of elementary school before that time comes.  Kids should be free to be kids.  If they are dressing like extras from "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" at 6 and 7, what are they going to do for prom when they are 16-17?  All of the magic of those fancy special occasion clothes will have been spent years before.  I for one do not want to rob my kids of that because I remember how amazing it felt to dress up in shiny, sparkly things for a special occassion.  It was wonderful.

So let's let our kids be kids for as long as we can.  They will have to spend their whole lives as adults, but they're childhood is fleeting. 

As for their underwear, when the time comes to abandon the white cotton Hanes, when they are older, and need bras (note, I said NEED -- despite Target, Kohl's, Wal-Mart, and other stores trying to sell them to my 9 year old), I will take them shopping for something frilly, girly, and pretty.  I will help them find something that they are comfortable in, that makes them feel confident, and that will work with the clothes that they wear.  And there will not be a single message written across the crotch or across the butt.

It's Never Over

So it's Friday night, and I wanted to write a blog because I have been writing freelance stuff all week.  I started this afternoon.  I stared at the flashing cursor thingy (which was totally mocking me, by the way), and I thought "What is wrong with you?  You have written over 14,500 words this week on traumatic brain injury, premise liability, boating safety, and other legal issues.  That was new.  This is YOU.  THIS is your thing!  Write!" 

And still I had nothing.

Sure, I started a few things.  I would write a few words, or a couple of sentences -- I even managed a whole paragraph once -- but I always "backspaced" them away because, well, they sucked.  I was really getting discouraged.  I thought I had lost my blogging mojo. 

I went back and looked at some of my most popular posts and I realized that it wasn't me.  It was my kids.  They were growing up and they weren't doing the same stupid stuff that they used to do.  They weren't shredding the mattress cover or cutting each other's hair or coloring the walls.  My kids are acting more normal and depriving me of great blog material.  No wonder I had nothing. 

Then, as if on cue, the 9 year old proved me wrong.

She was having a friend to spend the night.  We were going to order pizza and watch movies by the fire.  I sent her 2 brothers over to my mom's to hang out until bedtime so they could have girl time (her little sister stayed).  I gave them a snack and I started to watch "Revenge" from last Sunday on the DVR, telling them that we'd order pizza in a half an hour or so.  They went upstairs and I heard giggling and laughing and all was well.

Or so I thought.

Skipping the commercials, it took me 40 minutes to finish my show.  I started upstairs to ask what kind of pizza they wanted, and was met on the stairs by my 9 year old. 

"Mom, I have to tell you something."
"What?"
"We were pranking [her big brother] and....and...."(dissolves into tears).
"And what?"
"And I told her not to but she did it anyway."  (More tears)
"Okay.  Hold on.  Take a breath.  Start over."

This is the tale I was told:  My daughter and her friend wanted to "prank" her brother while he was gone.  It started fairly benign with molding clay on his light switch.  Then they decided to spray perfume all over his room.  Again, although incredibly smelly, also fairly benign and easily fixed.  If they had stopped here, we would have had a little scolding, and gone on with our evening of pizza and painted nails and Disney movies. 

But they didn't stop there.

They took his hair gel and squirted under his comforter and all over his sheets.  Sheets I had just washed.  Now it was getting annoying.  I was going to have to rewash his sheets and his comforter and I was going to have to figure out how to make his room smell like a boy again.

Then she told me that her friend had the idea to paint on his wall with glitter nail polish.  (I don't know why, we were not to the whys at this point, we were stuck on the "what-else-did-you-do").  So the friend got the glitter nail polish, even though my daughter told her not to do it.  She didn't come get me.  She took it into her brother's room and painted on the wall.  She still didn't come get me.  She didn't want to get her friend in trouble. 

So instead, she decided to try to fix it.

(SPOILER ALERT: She made it worse.)

My daughter is very artistic.  She received lots of art supplies for Christmas.  So she went into her room and got her acrylic paints and took them to her brother's room to try to paint over what her friend had done with the nail polish.  Now, to her credit, she expertly mixed about 6 different colors and matched her brother's wall color almost perfectly.  Not that it mattered, since her brother's room is painted with a satin finish, and she was using acrylics.  What did matter, was that in the process of all of this mixing, she got paint all over the carpet. 

THIS is when she decided it was time for her tearful confession. 

I turned to the little girl (whom I happen to like very much) and asked her if this was true and she said yes.

I made my daughter show me the damage.  I got some cleaning supplies and did what I could and I called her mom, my friend.  I relayed what had happened and we both agreed that they should come and get their daughter.  I told her (and her daughter) that I really liked her and was glad that she and my daughter were friends, but they had made a mistake tonight.  I also told her that I really hoped that she could come back another time, but that tonight they had abused the privilege of having a sleepover. 

Now don't get me wrong, I applaud my daughter for coming to me, even though it was a little late.  I let her know through the long discussions that we had tonight that I was proud of the fact that she told me but that I wish she had come to me sooner.  I let her know that there would be consequences beyond the end of the sleepover, and I talked to her about how I understood not wanting to get her friend in trouble. 

I explained that in the grand scheme of life, this was a very small thing; but that I wanted her to remember 3 very important lessons from it that would serve her well throughout life as the bigger things came up:  1) I want her to remember that she made a mistake.  She knew it was a mistake, but instead of confessing, she tired to cover it up and in the end it was a much bigger mess than she or I could handle.  I told her that if she remembered that, she could save herself a lot of trouble in the future.  2) I wanted her to remember that sometimes telling on a friend will keep them out of trouble.  If she had come to me and said "My friend wants to paint the wall with nail polish even though I told her it was a bad idea."  I could have kept all of this from happening and no one would have gotten in trouble.  3)  I told her that I loved her no matter what she did.  I told her that I would get angry at her and at what she does sometimes, but I would always love her no matter what.  We talked a long time.  She was very upset because she knew that she was wrong and because the evening had not turned out like she had planned at all.   She apologized to me, and in the morning she will apologize to her big brother.

I was going to wrap this up with a clever remark, but I am being verbally assaulted on my Facebook page right now and I cannot focus on being witty or clever.  The bottom line is, I realized that my kids still have loads of potential for future blog posts.  They may not be about how they are domestic terrorists who destroy the furniture or how they lock me out of the house so that they can have a butter and cheese picnic, but this is a parenting humor blog (for the most part) and I am a parent forever.  I will always find the humor in what they do and there will always be lessons learned. 

As for the verbal assault on my page, well, that is just more blog fodder for another day.

Letting Go

I have been working on streamlining things around my house lately -- getting rid of the junk, the old, the worn out.  Today I tackled the linen closet.  I finally bagged up all of the old hooded baby towels.  It looked great when I was done, and it no longer takes excellent hand-eye coordination to open the door and put in the clean towels and washclothes so that the entire contents don't come spilling out onto your head.  But as I looked at the pile of old towels I had removed, many of them grayish with the wear and tear of 9 years worth of use and washing, I got a little pang of regret.  I mean, these were the towels that I wrapped William in after his first bath, the washcloths that I washed Bella with for the first time, the towels that Lorelei and Jackson played "super-heros" with just last year, and I was bagging them up to give to Goodwill.  Some stranger is going to buy these and probably use them to wash his car or his dog.  How could I let that happen?  These are precious mementos of my kids, of too many "firsts" to count, and they are destined to become someones "rags".  

I know that you cannot hold onto everything.  It is a lesson that I learned after we moved and I realized that we had too much "stuff."  With 4 kids, I cannot hold onto every picture that they draw, every card that they give me, or every cute outfit that they ever wore.  And the truth is, why would I want to?  I used to think that I would hold onto their "special" outfits and give them to them for their own kids some day.  Then my mother moved to a new house and gave me a virtual trunk load of MY old baby clothes.  Now, I was a child of the 70's -- there was NOTHING in the things that she gave me that I would ever put on my kids unless the only other choice was that they go naked.  The same will hold true for my kids in 25 years or so.  They are not going to want to dress their kids in the height of early 21st century fashion.  And since I know I am not having any more children, what would be the point of holding onto a bunch of clothes that they will never want and that I will never need? 

Memories.  Of course I hold onto the things from when my kids were little because they will never be little again.  William is already catching me in height, Bella's attitude and wit rivals my own, Lorelei is growing like a weed and Jackson (who was never little to begin with since he was over 10 pounds at birth) is almost as big as his sister.  I tell myself to hold on.  Hold on to that sleeper, that blanket, that towel, or whatever it may be as if their childhood is somehow magically contained within the fibers.  It is a HARD lesson to learn that those things are just things.  They are not my kids.  They are not even my memories.  My memories of those times are not going to Goodwill -- just some old gray towels.

So I paused to think about those precious times that are long gone now as I folded each item and placed it into the bag.  I remembered the way each one of them squirmed in my arms all slippery with soap as I gave them their first baths, how clean they smelled as I sang to them wrapped up in those now old towels, and I cried a little as I reflected on how they will be constantly growing and changing.  It is one of the hardest things about being a mother, a parent -- letting go.  I WANT them to grow and change.  I want them to mature, to learn, to try, and to sometimes fail because that is how they become adults.  It would be nice to freeze time and hold onto them for even just a little while longer as they are, but it is not possible and it would be going against my job as a parent.  My sole responsibility to them in this world is to help them grow up -- to teach them how to be responsible, contributing members of society.  I cannot do that if they never grow up.  So I am learning how to let go.  It is a daily struggle, and it isn't getting any easier.