Creative Solutions

One problem with flying solo for so long is that you get run down, start to relax the structure, and kids pick up on any weakness. The girls, who are by and large such good girls, have been getting a little stir crazy in the evenings. Little scuffles are breaking out, and no matter how many times I tell them it’s time for PJs and tooth brushing, they ignore me, sometimes even running away laughing, as I, too exhausted by the end of the day to give chase, yell at them to come back, which is even less effective than doing nothing.

The other night, at my wit’s end and anxious to get them to bed so I could finally have some much-needed quiet time after a hectic day, I had an idea. When I’m tired, I’m not as good at being creative, so I really should write all of these ideas down when I’m wide awake and newly caffeinated. Anyway, I went upstairs without a word, and put on my junior prom dress that we’d unearthed at my mom’s house last weekend. The frilly, lacy, awful powder blue 80s creation that String Bean is obsessed with. I came downstairs as if nothing had changed, holding PJs for two squealing, squawking girls who were embroiled in tug-of-war over something. They both took one look at me and let go of the toy they’d been ready to kill each other over moments before.

In my best Cinderella voice I asked them to gather around for a final potty run, PJs, tooth brushing, and hair brushing, and, to my amazement, they obeyed completely. Not only were they willing to be subjected to every step of the bedtime routine without complaint, but they showered me with compliments the entire time. “Mommy, you look so beautiful! Like a princess!” The dress doesn’t exactly fit. Two pregnancies and twenty years later, the zipper will only go halfway up, but String Bean beamed that this was wonderful, too. “You have some air going in there, to keep you cool!” she cooed.

I’ve already made a mental list of my other dresses for future rowdy, relentless nights. I have a black velvet number leftover from years ago, when I had season tickets to the opera. I have my flag squad uniform from high school. I have the bridesmaid dress from my best friend’s wedding. I have my wedding gown, which would push String Bean over the edge into some kind of unnatural bliss. I think I’ve got the next week covered.

Memory Lane

My mother is considering moving back to the Bay Area in the next few years, and part of that long-term plan is getting rid of the clutter around her house that she doesn’t want to move along with her. She’s been slowly cleaning out her basement, digging up boxes of Christmas ornaments she no longer uses and the doll house from her childhood, a metal one now completely rusted through the bottom.

All of those boxes of precious mementos from my youth that have been gathering dust for 15 or 20 years have also been unearthed, and last weekend while I was visiting, Mom presented me with box after box of stuff. Much of it brings back sweet memories of childhood best friends collecting matching trinkets, or of the grandmother I lost twenty years ago, or of the high school flag squad I was on. From the bottom of a deep box we pulled out my baby blue satin and lace dress from my junior prom. String Bean, of course, spent the better part of the day wearing it, tripping over the hem and holding the bodice in place with two hands, and loving every minute of it.

I never found the unicorn figurines that I can so clearly remember from my childhood bedroom, maybe they broke in the last move, or were sold at one of the family garage sales years ago. After perusing the contents of box after box, finding an equal number of favorite things as objects I literally have no memory of, I thought I’d narrowed down my pile of things to keep to one small stack. Then String Bean and Peanut got in on it, and now we have a vast assortment of dusty stuffed animals, ancient articles of clothing, and random curios destined for our house. Of course I’m amused at seeing these forgotten treasures getting a new audience to adore them all these years later. But I’m also secretly hoping not all of them survive the trip back to our house.

Dresses

Leave it to my mother-in-law to come through on the fancy dress front. My four-year-old is still asking daily about my wedding dress. She feels this desperate need to try it on. All of my explanations that it simply won’t fit seem to do nothing to stop her constant requests. She simply needs it, that pretty white dress all around her. And this need is driving both of us crazy.

This week my sister-in-law is here to visit. Now, prior to this visit, she has been worshipped and adored by her nieces, to the point where she has become one of their primary imaginary friends in games around the house. But after opening her suitcase to reveal two flower girl dresses she wore 25 years ago, there will be no topping her in their eyes.

My mother-in-law was cleaning out her attic or a closet, and came across these old dresses: one satiny one with puffy pink sleeves and another white one with lace sleeves, a satiny bodice, and a layered skirt. My girls have been wearing them ever since, prancing around like princesses, holding up the front of their skirts like Cinderella racing down the stairs to flee the prince. My oldest immediately claimed the white dress for herself, and the toddler (always so easy-going) is very happy with the puffy pink one. They are adorable, running around the house in these very formal, highly impractical dresses, asking their auntie again and again if she really wore them when she was a little girl. And, best of all, I haven’t heard a word about the wedding dress since my oldest slipped that white flower girl dress on. Thank you, to the best mother-in-law and sister-in-law ever!

Fashion Queen

My four-year-old is the queen of outfit changes. She can go through a dozen outfits in a day, rotating from pants to a skirt to shorts to a dress, then back to the skirt with a different shirt, that shirt with a different pair of shorts, a second skirt, a different dress…you get the idea.

Today she had worn four different outfits by 10am. Five if you counted the PJs she woke up in and insisted on wearing for the first hour. When her grandparents showed up at 10am, she immediately began tugging at the bow behind her, untying the sash around her waist so that she could quickly change her dress before they made it into the house. Where does this desire come from? I’d say it’s a girl thing, except that I’m a girl, and I have no such thing. Likewise with her baby sister, who hates changing clothes unless the ones she’s wearing are soaked in milk or juice.

I frequently watch my kids carry on in their own unique orbits, and wonder if the habits and behaviors they’re so consistent about are hints about what kind of adults they’ll be, the types of careers they’ll pursue, or at least the majors they’ll consider in college. If that’s true, then so far she’ll be pursuing acting, fashion design, modeling, teaching, being a personal shopper, cooking, and some sort of manager/director position. Pretty much anything but food tasting.

Wedding Dress

The other day, out of the blue, my 4-year-old asked me if I still had my wedding dress. I told her I did, in that long white garment bag she’s seen in my closet dozens of times. She became obsessed with it, needing to see the big white dress she’d seen in all of our wedding photos. For the sake of sanity, I waited until her baby sister was down for a nap before showing it to her. I took her into my room and unzipped the garment bag partway, then lifted her up to see the bodice of the dress. It’s a simple A-line gown, strapless, with Swarovski crystals decorating the bodice. “Can I touch it?” my daughter asked. I checked her hands for dirt or stickiness, then told her she could. She was in little girl heaven, touching the silky fabric and the beadwork.

Of course, next she wanted to try it on. After much explaining about how, even though I let her prance around wearing one of my skirts and my black flats (an outfit she wore for three days straight last week), the dress just wasn’t going to fit her, she finally let it go. For about five minutes. The conversation has been going ever since. “Why can’t I just try it on?” “Because it’s very long, and you’re just not tall enough.” “When I’m taller can I try it on?” “Sure.” “When will I be tall enough?” Since (at 5’ 1”) I have always been one of the shortest people I know, and since she has always been around 90th percentile for height, I was tempted to tell her it would probably be very soon, but this wasn’t a time for joking around. “Ask me again in a few years,” I said.

Later, she asked if she could wear it when she gets married. I’m sure when she’s done growing it’ll come to her knees, but instead I just nodded, and promised that if she wants to wear it when she grows up, she can. Somewhere in the middle of this discussion I remembered the delicate crystal-studded tiara that I wore with the big white dress on my wedding day. I’ll save that for another day, when I can trust her with it a little more. Because I’m sure once she gets that thing on her head, it’s never coming off.