Say Yes to the Dress

My four-year-old daughter will only wear dresses. She has dozens of them: long-sleeved winter ones we pair with thick tights; comfortable, everyday cotton ones; light, flouncy sundresses; fancy, poofy, special-occasion ones. Most are hand-me-downs and the rest were bought at inexpensive stores. Luckily, we haven't had to take out a loan to fund her little dress obsession. Yet.

I've noticed the other girls in her preschool class wearing dresses pretty often. It must be the age. I vaguely remember my niece going through a "dresses only" phase when she was little (which morphed into an "anything but dresses" phase).

So I'm pretty sure this too shall pass. And it's not like it's a big deal. It's only clothes, after all. Except that there are times when a fancy frock isn't exactly practical. Take the other day for instance. It was a rare day when we had nothing to do, so my little lady and I decided to hit DD first, then visit a local playground. Here is what she opted to wear:

What would you call that dress? It's like a pinafore, right? She chose a pinafore and strappy, pink, jelly sandals with zero cushioning or traction. Not at all suited for playing in the dirtbox sandbox or climbing rope ladders. Did it slow her down? No. Did she regret her outfit choice? No.

I, however, enviously eyed the other little girls wearing sensible leggings, cargo pants, and sneakers. They looked so comfortable and didn't have to worry about stepping on the front of their dresses while climbing or getting wood chips stuck in their open-toed sandals.

I also don't like it that my sweetie-pie seems to measure her self-worth by how pretty her dress is. I remember one day not too long ago, I somehow managed to convince her to wear leggings. I think it was cold and rainy out and a dress just didn't make sense. The outfit was plenty pink and girly so I thought it would pass muster, but about halfway through the day, my daughter started crying for seemingly no reason.

"What's the matter, baby?" I asked.

"I don't look pretty," she whimpered.

"What? You always look pretty. There's no way you can't look pretty--you are a beautiful girl."

"But my clothes don't look pretty!" she wailed.

So up we went to her room and changed into an appropriately frou-frou dress, and the day was salvaged.

Another time, there was a birthday party at a kids gym. Again, it was coldish outside and because much climbing and tumbling would be occurring, I convinced my darling to wear leggings. Well, we got to the party only to discover that all the other little girls were wearing dresses. I watched her watching them. Her eyes darkened and she looked down at her outfit. I could see her little brain working to process it all.

My daughter at 18 mo. She's wearing leggings, T-shirt,
a brown sweatshirt. She let me dress her until age
two. This outfit would be unacceptable now. 

But she was a trooper. She didn't even mention it. She just she sucked it up and had fun anyway. But you can be sure that when she went to another party at that same venue a month later, she wore a very pretty dress.

I get that my daughter wants to look pretty--that's normal enough. But I do worry that she's taking it a bit too seriously. I don't want her confidence and self-worth to come from how she perceives herself to look.

I'm really hoping this is just a phase, too, and that as she matures, she'll understand that beauty is so much more. Of course we tell her all the time that she's smart, kind, and funny. We make sure to explain that a person can only be truly beautiful if he or she is kind-hearted and good. (Yes, Snow White is pretty, I explain, but what truly makes her beautiful is how nice, caring, and gentle she is to all those she meets.) 

I just hope it's sinking in.

I Couldn't Possibly Have Been This Annoying as a Child, Could I Have?

My son's elementary school is only K through Grade 2. I love that the school is specially geared to meet the needs of this young and impressionable age group, and also that he doesn't have to sit on the bus with rambunctious, huge (to him) fifth graders.

When the kids enter school they are five, and by the time they leave most have turned eight. Three years--no big deal, right? I didn't think so, but then the other day it was brought to my attention just how much older kids are at eight than they are at five.

Last Thursday the Kindergarteners didn't have school because it was orientation for next year's batch of K-ers, but it was a normal day for first- and second-graders. It was finally decent out after a few days of rain and gloom so we headed to the elementary school playground just as school was letting out.

We had the playground to ourselves for a few minutes, but before long the after-school club (kids whose parents work) joined us.

"Where are the Kindergarteners?" one girl asked.

"They didn't have school today. Isn't it soooo much better without them here?" answered a wise-ass boy (to whom I immediately gave the stink eye).

The boys broke off to play football with one of the apathetic high school kids who only do the job because their parents force them to supervisors, while a group of second-grade girls came over to the fire-engine structure where my kids were playing.

The girls climbed to the top, leaned against the bars in a tightly packed group, and began to sing as loudly as possible:

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else,

                            The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell,

You don't know, 

Oh oh,

You don't know you're beautiful,

If only you saw what I can see,

You'll understand why I want you so desperately,

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe,

You don't know,

Oh oh,

You don't know you're beautiful,

Oh oh,

That's what makes you beautiful

I was unfamiliar with the song, though I figured it might be a new tune by Katy Perry or Kelly Clarkson (though it didn't sound slutty enough to be Katy or angry enough to be Kelly). It was vapid and frothy and catchy...one of those new British boy bands, perhaps? So, yeah, I Googled it when I got home. It's "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction, for those of you who don't happen to live with a female between the ages of 8 and 18 and therefore have remained blissfully ignorant.

The adorable faces and Bieber-esque
hair of One Direction

Over and over and over and over they screamed sang those words. Never any other part of the song--just those lines. It was super annoying.

The supervisor stopped the football game. He came over and hollered, "Girls! Enough! Sing something else...anything else! PLEASE!" (Ha, not so apathetic now, are you dude?)

Did it work? Of course not. The howling-passing-for-singing continued.

The girls reminded me of myself when I was young, except in those days we sang "Da-Do-Ron-Ron" or tunes from Grease. And that wasn't until fourth or fifth grade. I didn't have any mad crushes on pop stars until I was at least ten.

But nowadays the girls start earlier. Call me crazy but eight just seems way too young to be singing love songs and giggling about boys. 

Now I know what to look forward to when my own Little Lady turns eight. Someone please help me. 

What Is There Not to Like About Preschool? I Don't Know, Ask My Daughter.

My three-year-old daughter goes to preschool three mornings a week for a total of eight hours and fifteen minutes of school weekly. Just about the right amount of time away from Mommy, if you ask me.

After picking her up from preschool, as I'm forcing buckling her into her car seat, I almost always ask, "How was school today? Did you have fun?" And just about every time she answers, "A little bit...not too much."

Whoa. Though I struggle to understand how it's possible, the reality is that my little lady does not like school.

My baby, about to begin her first
day of school

The very idea flabbergasts me. Painting! Dress up! Play-doh! Story Time! Playground! What's not to like? Okay, so Mommy isn't there, I get it...but how can having six other little girls around to play with (not to mention seven adorable boys) not be way better than one distracted mom who's always interrupting the game to answer the phone or check Facebook? 

We never had this problem with my son, who was always like, "YAY! SCHOOL TODAY! I LOVE SCHOOL!" from the moment I first dropped him off at Ms. Joan's class when he was two-and-a-half years old. He is a sweet, friendly kid, and the teachers would marvel at how easily he got along with everyone--he just as happily played kitchen with the girls as he did cars with the boys. 

I know I shouldn't compare my kids, but earlier this year, upon picking my daughter up at school, the teacher greeted me with, "Wow, your daughter and Millicent can really get into it with each other!" Apparently, the two girls had been fighting over who got to use the single pair of classroom binoculars. 

Don't be mistaken, my baby girl is a complete love--she's warm and affectionate (just ask her Grandpa, into whom's lap she climbs unbidden, or her Poppa, at whom she bats her eyelashes sweetly); quick as a whip; and, according to my father, the funniest of his five grandkids. Girlfriend knows how to work an audience, that's for sure. 

But school is not, apparently, her thing. So far she has chosen not to make a big deal about going in the mornings--there haven't been any fights about it. I suppose that could change, but hopefully it won't; since I can't relate to not liking school, I doubt I'd be able to deal with the issue properly. What's the best way to handle this? Being stern and forcing her to go? Letting her stay home? 

If it comes to that, I'll have to call in the expert on not liking school: her daddy.  

The Sad Tale of Swing Boy

My husband and I took the kids to a nearby playground tonight. It's not the closest one, but I like going there for a number of reasons--one being the diversity of the kids who play there.

Our town is not diverse. In fact, it's my second least favorite thing about our Westchester hamlet (my #1 being that you can't walk anywhere good). I grew up in a very white town, and once I was old enough to realize it, it sort of bummed me out. I didn't have the chance to meet people from various backgrounds, and when I went off to college I was unprepared for the diversity I found there. I was naive.

Economically, the New England town I grew up in ranged from well-to-do electricians and contractors to ivy league professors and renowned neurosurgeons. Ethnic diversity meant Greeks and Armenians. A handful of Asians lived in town--mostly affiliated with Boston's many universities and hospitals--but basically no black or hispanic families. There were some black kids in the school system--bussed in through the much-maligned METCO (Metropolitan Council for Educational Opportunity) program--but they didn't live in town and tended to stick together.

I was hoping to raise my kids in a more diverse environment, but because our town isn't great in that regard, I have to leave town so my kids can learn that not everyone looks the same.

The playground was packed tonight. After pushing my daughter in one of the baby swings, my husband informed me there was a little boy, around three-years-old, in the other swing who seemed to be parent-less. He pushed the kid a few times because he felt sorry for the boy, who was just hanging there. He wasn't complaining, not crying, not acting out...just hanging, legs dangling.

My husband asked him if his parents were around. He pointed behind him, to a picnic table with three adults. Because the grown-ups at that table never even glanced over at the boy, my husband was not convinced they were actually the parents.

The boy was stuck in the swing for over an hour! He didn't look unhappy, but neither could he get out on his own. Whenever the other baby swing opened up, a new parent would put his or her kid in, start pushing, and then notice the sad little boy hanging adjacent. The other parent would awkwardly push both swings for a little while, glancing around for the boy's caretaker all the while. In between, the boy would just hang there.

What the heck was going on? Were his parents really not there? If they were, in fact, around, did they not care that dozens of random adults were pushing their kid on the swing? How lazy could they be? Apparently, this particular playground is diverse even in terms of parenting skills.

Finally my husband went over and asked the boy if he wanted to get out. He did, so my husband lifted him out. The boy ran off to the play structure. We still weren't sure his parents existed, but after a few minutes he ran over to the picnic table with the three adults sitting around it.

I couldn't believe it! For an hour, the boy's parents (or guardians, at least) completely ignored it while random other adults uncomfortably pushed their boy on the swing. I was looking around the whole time, and the adults at that table didn't look at Swing Boy even once. And they appeared normal enough. Sure, the dad/male had a tattoo sleeve on one arm but that's hardly unusual these days. The two women were...eh...texting on their phones most of the time. Not great, but they weren't strung-out junkies, either.

They didn't care that he was just hanging there! For an hour! While other adults pushed him! While my husband talked to him and helped him out of the swing!

What the hell? In this era of helicopter parenting, this kind of disregard is downright shocking.

My husband: "Well, he'll probably end up being really independent, at least."

Me: "Or a drug addict."

But isn't that the great parenting dilemma?