Tonight I took my almost-nine-year-old daughter bra shopping. Yes, bra shopping. I first noticed it a few weeks ago in dance that her chest wasn't board flat anymore. My mommy brain blamed the fit of the leotard. Then earlier this week she wore a v-necked shirt, and there was a vertical dent.
Nooooo! I thought to myself. She was supposed to be a late bloomer, like her dad. She has his lean build. Wasn't body fat supposed to play a role in this?
Newsflash mom. When YOU hit puberty affects when your daughter does a heck of a lot more than the testosterone factory that contributed to her creation. My period started when I was 10, in fourth grade. I had the body cleavage girls wish for at seventeen by the time I was twelve. My daughter will be nine in less than four months. Maybe getting training bras wasn't such a stretch. So shopping we went.
Stop one at the Legends, the VFW outlet. She tried on three styles. The first was too big! YAY!
The second one was too small. too small? How can that be? My daughter is tiny!
The third one was okay. We bought it and moved on to try and find better variety elsewhere, oh and a purple duck. The purple duck was very important. I didn't argue. I want all traces of little girl my daughter has to remain there a long, long, time.
Our next stop was Justice. Jackpot! and Minefield! All at once! They had exactly what she needed. She only had one concern.
"Mom, the pads are removable right?"
"Yes sweetie. We'll take them out as soon as we get home." (In my head I was going WHO in their right mind puts pads in a bra designed for an eight year old! It even says it's meant for ages 7-8 on the flippin label! Also, I want to smack whoever thought skinny jeans are appropriate for young girls. There is hope for the general public though, because those were on the clearance rack.)
Along with new "practice bras" as we call them...just so she can get used to wearing them and how they work, we picked up two dresses that were lovely age appropriate for her and her sister and a unicorn backpack zipper thingie, and a new jaguar with "glitter eyes" for her sister. She picked out the jaguar herself, "since princess P wanted to come with so bad it was only fair." Her sweetness does come through sometimes.
All the way home, she held her treasured purple duck in her hands and chattered at me about My Little Pony cartoons. Her body may be threatening to change a bit, but it looks like she'll have the innocent interests of a little girl for just a little bit longer yet.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
The Chicago Grandma
My 93 year old grandmother died yesterday.
She was my long-distance grandma as a child.
She was a remarkable woman.
She spoke two languages, wrote a book, and traveled by car, boat, and plane.
She lived deeply, and loved deeply.
She loved books and word games. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn sits on my shelf. It came from hers.
She taught us how to play scrabble...and never let us win. Instead, she encouraged us to learn.
She valued her heritage, both her parents being first generation Americans from Sweden. When I was in college, she went to Sweden for a visit and had a fabulous time.
She loved good food. Pickled herring and lingonberry jam, swedish pancakes, swedish meatballs over mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs cooked with real butter, and pickles from ALDI. That's one thing she missed when she moved to Door County, was ALDI and their pickles..so she said the last time we visited her. I should have sent her a jar for Christmas. We like their pickles too.
She loved her Lord and her Lutheran church home. Her book was about it's history. Her life, demonstrating service at every opportunity.
She loved her family. She cherished every moment we had together, though they were few and far between.
I have a conglomeration of odd memories. I remember her complimenting my other grandma's tacos. I remember a rush of cleaning to get ready for her visit, for she appreciated a tidy home. I remember scrabble, and rummy 500 games that included our entire family. I remember lots of cooking, of cardoman coffee cake braids, and swedish meatballs simmering on the stove. Then there were our visits to her. I remember eating at a greek place, the Studio, & Hackneys in Chicago. I remember my first fascination with art and science in it's museums. I remember her house and the busy street it was on, and thinking the bushes in her back yard were olives. I remember being shown a town-home in another part of town and the lament of a fireplace left behind. I remember the beautiful things throughout her home. I remember a gift of a stone bird whistle from a shop, my most prized possession for years. I remember my uncle's boat, and the wonder of sleeping on the water. I still love being near water and trees.
I remember the muslin wedding dress prototype that didn't fit, and going to be fitted for my real one. I remember her on my wedding day. I remember taking a van up there to fetch a table and a couch when she was moving out of her house, admitting the yard was a bit much for her to maintain. I remember her sense of victory in getting our baby to eat a banana, who had always HATED bananas before. I remember our last visit with her, in her apartment with a few chosen and cherished things, watching her sit at a table and play scrabble with my oldest son, who hasn't eaten another banana since. She let him win. Maybe it was the magic of being a great-grandson.
I remember a chaotic meal with my uncle and aunt, strained conversation about children and bats. I remember her face beaming to have several of her chicks gathered in one place. That's where my memories of her freeze in place. We always meant to go back one more time. It wasn't long after that visit her health started to fade. Now she's joined Clarence, who I barely remember, in the grave.
I have a few pictures. I have my wedding dress she made for me, probably her last major sewing project, for even then she was almost 80. I have the imprints she's made in my personality and my tastes, and I have her blue eyes. Here's hoping as I grow older, I also have her sense of adventure and joy in life.
She was my long-distance grandma as a child.
She was a remarkable woman.
She spoke two languages, wrote a book, and traveled by car, boat, and plane.
She lived deeply, and loved deeply.
She loved books and word games. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn sits on my shelf. It came from hers.
She taught us how to play scrabble...and never let us win. Instead, she encouraged us to learn.
She valued her heritage, both her parents being first generation Americans from Sweden. When I was in college, she went to Sweden for a visit and had a fabulous time.
She loved good food. Pickled herring and lingonberry jam, swedish pancakes, swedish meatballs over mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs cooked with real butter, and pickles from ALDI. That's one thing she missed when she moved to Door County, was ALDI and their pickles..so she said the last time we visited her. I should have sent her a jar for Christmas. We like their pickles too.
She loved her Lord and her Lutheran church home. Her book was about it's history. Her life, demonstrating service at every opportunity.
She loved her family. She cherished every moment we had together, though they were few and far between.
I have a conglomeration of odd memories. I remember her complimenting my other grandma's tacos. I remember a rush of cleaning to get ready for her visit, for she appreciated a tidy home. I remember scrabble, and rummy 500 games that included our entire family. I remember lots of cooking, of cardoman coffee cake braids, and swedish meatballs simmering on the stove. Then there were our visits to her. I remember eating at a greek place, the Studio, & Hackneys in Chicago. I remember my first fascination with art and science in it's museums. I remember her house and the busy street it was on, and thinking the bushes in her back yard were olives. I remember being shown a town-home in another part of town and the lament of a fireplace left behind. I remember the beautiful things throughout her home. I remember a gift of a stone bird whistle from a shop, my most prized possession for years. I remember my uncle's boat, and the wonder of sleeping on the water. I still love being near water and trees.
I remember the muslin wedding dress prototype that didn't fit, and going to be fitted for my real one. I remember her on my wedding day. I remember taking a van up there to fetch a table and a couch when she was moving out of her house, admitting the yard was a bit much for her to maintain. I remember her sense of victory in getting our baby to eat a banana, who had always HATED bananas before. I remember our last visit with her, in her apartment with a few chosen and cherished things, watching her sit at a table and play scrabble with my oldest son, who hasn't eaten another banana since. She let him win. Maybe it was the magic of being a great-grandson.
I remember a chaotic meal with my uncle and aunt, strained conversation about children and bats. I remember her face beaming to have several of her chicks gathered in one place. That's where my memories of her freeze in place. We always meant to go back one more time. It wasn't long after that visit her health started to fade. Now she's joined Clarence, who I barely remember, in the grave.
I have a few pictures. I have my wedding dress she made for me, probably her last major sewing project, for even then she was almost 80. I have the imprints she's made in my personality and my tastes, and I have her blue eyes. Here's hoping as I grow older, I also have her sense of adventure and joy in life.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Unscheduled time does not mean unused time
After changeover at the clothing center yesterday, a friend & I dropped off some cast offs and went to lunch.
She asked me, "Are you sure you have time?"
I replied "Yes. I had changeover this morning and Ms. D has girl scouts tonight, so I left my afternoon unscheduled. I always try to plan to leave one day part "free", so if I have a morning and thing and an evening thing, the afternoon is open."
She just stared at me dumbfoundedly and said "I wish I had that luxury."
I feel like I didn't explain it well enough.
As a stay at home mom with six kids, it's easy to become overwhelmed by "schedules." There is church, PTA, sports, errands, doctors appointments, and various other things always demanding my time. As a more creative personality type, if I get too "rule-driven" or "schedule-driven" I just break down and get nothing done. So I build a block of "flex-time" into my day. It's not necessarily "free time." Merely time where I can choose, at that moment, what my priorities are. Yesterday, at that moment, I chose to get to know an acquaintance better and have lunch at Zarda barbecue. Today, at this moment, I am choosing to blog while supervising my kindie's homework. Another day, another moment, I may choose unload and load the dishwasher and start of load of laundry or sweep the dining room. Housework always has to be done, but it's much less of a drudge when it's a choice. There are enough "this has to be done NOW" moments in life, without imposing them on myself. As long as the house isn't a health hazard, the kids have clean clothes and are fed, and my husband is happy, everything is all right.
She asked me, "Are you sure you have time?"
I replied "Yes. I had changeover this morning and Ms. D has girl scouts tonight, so I left my afternoon unscheduled. I always try to plan to leave one day part "free", so if I have a morning and thing and an evening thing, the afternoon is open."
She just stared at me dumbfoundedly and said "I wish I had that luxury."
I feel like I didn't explain it well enough.
As a stay at home mom with six kids, it's easy to become overwhelmed by "schedules." There is church, PTA, sports, errands, doctors appointments, and various other things always demanding my time. As a more creative personality type, if I get too "rule-driven" or "schedule-driven" I just break down and get nothing done. So I build a block of "flex-time" into my day. It's not necessarily "free time." Merely time where I can choose, at that moment, what my priorities are. Yesterday, at that moment, I chose to get to know an acquaintance better and have lunch at Zarda barbecue. Today, at this moment, I am choosing to blog while supervising my kindie's homework. Another day, another moment, I may choose unload and load the dishwasher and start of load of laundry or sweep the dining room. Housework always has to be done, but it's much less of a drudge when it's a choice. There are enough "this has to be done NOW" moments in life, without imposing them on myself. As long as the house isn't a health hazard, the kids have clean clothes and are fed, and my husband is happy, everything is all right.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Tomorrow is Princess P's birthday!
As a mom, there are so many things we want for our children.
We always want to give our kids more.
Our job is just to give them enough.
We want them to feel like they're on a mountain top every day.
Our job is to show them the satisfaction of climbing the mountain.
We want for their best to always be good enough.
Sometimes our job is to redirect their efforts so it will be.
This year she asked for a birthday party. Her birthday is on a Saturday, and she's never had one, so how could I say no? The expectations started out big, the pool with every child she's ever played with at recess and the park and in her class and her girl scout troop and every single sparkie from AWANA. Could all of Ms. D's friends come too? We gently explained that while that would be nice, it was outside the scope of what we could afford....a good precedent to set before she starts planning her wedding.
We settled on a sort-of-intimate Hello Kit-"tea" party at our home. We narrowed the guest list to just under a dozen of her closest friends. We planned a craft, sprung at Amazon for a themed game, and bought the mix and toppers for the cupcakes. Tomorrow will be a big day.
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