The In-JUSTICE of It All

I took my young daughters back-to-school shopping today. Me. My 7-year-old-going-on-tween-year-old. And my irritable 5-year-old. I overslept, woke up with a headache, was out of coffee and didn’t have time to shower. In retrospect, what was I thinking?

It was supposed to be one of those picture-perfect mother/daughter outings. If it were a movie scene,  you’d be watching us walking hand-in-hand in a bright department store, laughing in slow-motion to the tune of an old James Taylor or Bette Midler song. After all, I vividly remember my mom taking me BTS shopping, and it sort of plays in my mind this way. She actually sent a letter in the mail, even though we lived together, asking me to join her for a special mother/daughter day, with shopping, lunch and the movie “Annie.” And – this was the kicker – no brothers. Just us. Really, it was a highlight of my youth, although I question if my memory really serves me right and all three things happened in one day. I just can’t imagine my mom leaving my Dad unattended with my brothers for that long.

Today, there was no real fanfare. As I said, I overslept. I then proceeded to rush one to Spanish class, the other to piano (with a Starbucks run in between). I thought I’d have time to shower and look a little presentable for shopping, but I was a greasy, frumpy, unshowered mess. I was sidetracked by one thing after another, meaning I let the kids zombie out in front of the TV for far too long, not realizing they were sneaking candy the whole time. It was nearly 2 p.m. and we were all melting down by the time we left. We made a quick McDonald’s run on the way to the mall. Bad choice. Youngest wasn’t hungry as she had inhaled at least 10 suckers during the earlier candy raid. She was cranky. I was less than pleased. Again, would have been a good time to postpone this. But, no. Off to Target.

Although there are few places I love more than Target, being there an hour-and-a-half to buy $80 of school supplies with two punchy children made it lose its luster. We headed to the mall and made our rounds at a few stores. They picked out some clothes, smiling from ear to ear that they could get what they wanted (within reason – I did make the oldest put back the Justin Beiber shirt).  I then made them suffer through some bra shopping, because when am I going to have the chance to do this again?!? They were a bit obnoxious and childish (you think?) about the bra diversion. But all would return to normal at The Children’s Place, no? I thought we’d hit the mother load there, with darling little kids’ clothes with butterflies and rainbows. But nothing caught their eye. Or mine. Until we were leaving.

On the other side of the mall was the tween/tween wannabee store Justice. It stood there like some smarmy cult leader, all glitter and flash, sweetly beckoning you over with the promise of salvation. “Welcome! Come in, for here you will find what you’ve been looking for!”  The girls were hooked, skipping forward by some invisible yet very sparkly force, practically in a trance. And I saw the fluorescent “40% off everything sign!” and drank the Kool-Aid as well.

I have to give props to the folks who thought up this place. I imagine they’re women my age and remember all too well what it was like to be in that awkward stage where you’re not the little girl anymore but haven’t yet moved on to that next, even more awkward stage that you THINK is the coolest place to be. I imagine they remember wearing Madonna-inspired lace gloves, bright leg warmers, jelly bracelets and fluorescent Ts – and they want their own girls to have that experience too. A connection of sorts, from past to future and future to past. This store sort of shocked me back to this place in my life. I heard one of my girls practically shriek, ‘oh! zipper earrings!’ and sure enough, there they were. Just like I remembered them. Whatever happened to those things?

I said ‘no’ a lot in that store. Not because anything was too risque, but it wasn’t what I envisioned my sweet little girls to be wearing. (They also have ZhuZhu pets and other little toys, which only reinforces my belief that somebody, somewhere is trying very hard to make little girls grow up too fast. Lure them in with the ZhuZhus and next, they want a sequined bra). My girls – at least my kindergartner – are just far too young. They were allowed to get a couple of graphic Ts, but nothing else. I’m just not ready to release them into that world.

So I’m again aware of the injustice of it all. There they go, growing up and trying so hard to be older than they are, completely unaware of the gift of being young. That’s the trouble with little girls. I, meanwhile, was left feeling older than I really am. Feeling like I’ve turned into my mom. The exhausted mom in the clothing store with the spirited, headstrong kids, who think there’s no way she knows what it’s like to be young. The mom I never thought was cool, but who I understand much, much more now. There I stood. Arguing about clothing choices, practically begging them to please stay young. And realizing it’s only just begun.

Hello, world!

I'm not getting any younger, but the world around me is. Here' a little something from my very own porch that reminded me that it's time I hatch a little something of my own.

Months ago, I set a deadline, which is not unusual when I’m feeling inspired. The impetus? I had attended the Mom2.0 conference, and left there so jazzed about taking control of my life that I really, truly thought THIS IS IT. I can do this: I will set my goals and stick to them this time. No more wasting time. Thanks to Mom2.0, I was all aglow with female camaraderie, personal and professional empowerment and the overall sense of a shared purpose driven by the mantra What You’re Doing Matters . I felt blessed, happy, recharged – I even have a photo with Alvin & The Chipmunks to prove my happy state

With the 'men' of Mom2.0

(see, don’t I like happy?)

But the thing about deadlines is I wait until the LAST minute. And my deadline all those months ago involved something I’ve been talking about FOR YEARS: becoming a blogger. I was sidetracked time and time again by every excuse you can imagine, mostly involving little children, little time and little propensity for stress.  But with another birthday on the horizon and this goal alluding me once more, I kept coming back to these cryptic words that seemed to sum it all up: I’m not getting any younger. The kids aren’t getting any younger. The days and weeks and months and years are whizzing past us now and there’s never ever going to be a chance to turn back and reclaim them. But I can capture a piece of them for safe keeping.

As cliché as it sounds, Mom 2.0 reminded me that ‘What You’re Doing Matters.’ This has become a bit of a joke with my husband whenever I wear the keepsake blue t-shirt with said mantra, especially when I’m complaining about something mundane like doing dishes or folding the laundry. ‘Amy, what you’re doing matters,’ he’ll deadpan. But all kidding aside, IT DOES.  My children hang on my every word. They want to cuddle with me under the covers. Hold my hand while we walk down the street. Feel my hands in their beautiful hair as I braid their curls. Sit next to me at the dinner table as they tell me about their day. Sit behind me in the car. They want to give their love freely and they know I’ll be there to take it … and yearn for more. Always yearn for more, because I’m painfully aware that they’re not getting any younger. They won’t always feel this way. They will pull away. They will push apart. They will plow their own path, which may veer very far from mine.

An image that pulls on my heart strings.

That’s part of the grand scheme of life. I try to brace myself for this, steel away with the knowledge that if I do this right, they won’t go too far and they will always come back … because what I’m doing matters.

I’m the proverbial woman trying to ‘do it all’ AND do it well – be the good wife, the great mother, the stellar career woman (incidentally, embarking on a new and exciting path, but that’s another post), the supportive parent involved in their school PTA, the daughter, sister, friend…

Maybe I’m crazy, but as another year passes and another birthday looms, I’m ready to do more. I’m not getting any younger. Time will march on. It’s time for me to capture these moments, these challenges, these successes with this blog. Hello, world.