Daughters

I was getting ready for an evening out with friends when Bean, who was happily destroying shampoo bottle villages with her soap-bar dinosaur, looked up and said, “Mama, you put on makeup so Daya thinks you pretty?” *Daya is what she called her daddy before she could speak like a human being…and then it just kinda stuck.*

I’m really not that big on makeup and my first instinct was to tell her to bite her prissy little tongue because Mama doesn’t work that hard to look pretty for no man! But instead I went back to painting my face with chemical laden acceptance and tried to look all casual and non-hypocritical as I asked her, “Honey, is that why you think Mama wears makeup?”

“Yeeees…” Translation: Duh, Mother, is that not what I JUST SAID?

 I pressed on. “Okay. Is that why you think all ladies wear makeup?”

“Mmmhmm”

“Really? And what makes you think that?”

She stares at me incredulously. I take that as a cue to continue and say something along the lines of:

“What I’m trying to say, Baby, is that things like makeup and nice clothes are not always about people thinking you’re pretty. A lot of grown-ups, like mama, wear those things because it makes them feel happy. Ya know, I don’t always wear makeup and I think I’m pretty without it too,” (and if your daddy likes the fact that I seldom burn meals anymore it would be in his best interest to agree) “I just like to put it on sometimes.”

Call me naïve but this is honestly a topic I didn’t expect to discuss in any great detail until she was a little closer to the double digits. But hey, times is diff’rnt now. There are Dora the Explorer themed cosmetics on the market and my toddler and I could get matching bikinis if we wanted to.  Her peers are in the news because their beauty-obsessed pageant moms are taking them in to have their bodies spray tanned and their eyebrows waxed…and the preschoolers who aren’t having sexualization shoved down their throats are being overworked and groomed for their Ivy League futures.

The other day Bean- who just turned three, mind you- had to demonstrate for me how her aunt’s iPhone works. I was all, “Um, excuse me wonder child of the millennia, shouldn’t we be turning cartwheels or jumping on the couch or something??”  My child’s generation may be all kinds of smart and pretty in the future but if you think the psychiatric business is a-boomin now you just wait.

There’s a quote by Melissa Wardy, an entrepreneurial mom who fashioned the Pigtail Pals brand for young girls, that I think is kind of amazing: “A girl cannot become a woman, in the truest and most soulful sense of the word, if she has not been allowed a girlhood. Exploration, education, and empowerment will make our daughters the women of tomorrow.”

 Without a proper childhood, our kids are not going to have a solid foundation to launch from. There is a reason for the phrase “never a child, always a child”. When circumstance comes into play that is one thing but when we are the catalyst for negative social change in our children then it’s time to wake the hell up people take a step back and ask ourselves: Are we raising our children or jerking them up into adulthood?

On Going Home

We make our way past tall Louisiana pines, vibrant city lights in Texas, and sunset colored cliffs of Oklahoma for what feels like days before we begin racing alongside the gorgeous Kansas flatlands. My husband, Colton, and I exchange tales of our youth, laughing at memories we once swore we’d sell our souls to forget. We chat about the people we can’t wait to see, and I say silent blessings for the friends we’ve lost touch with along the way. I spot the sun hovering low over a field of some kind of young crop, like a brand new mother. The air has finally cooled enough for me to roll down the windows. I breathe in the smell of home, letting the wind be my gypsy hairstylist. Maybe it’s the caffeine high but I feel wonderful. We get into Wichita late at night and I fall asleep with that self-assured glow tucked quietly beside me.

The next morning I dress my daughter with ridiculous enthusiasm, tucking each piece of her feather-soft hair neatly in a bow, and double checking to make sure her face is jelly free. It’s an exciting day; we are going to reintroduce her to mama’s former stompin’ grounds. I am absolutely euphoric. Colton is grinning now because I can’t stop smiling and talking, smiling and talking…and talking. As we approach the highway anxiety revs up deep in my stomach but I flood it with another sip of coffee and turn the music back down so I can talk some more(yes, Colton is a very patient man).

We roll past the liquor store and turn onto the all too familiar uneven brick road that leads to my mom’s house. Without any kind of warning I am fifteen again. I have the sudden urge to call one of my oldest and dearest friends, see if she wants to drive really slowly down a dirt road and chain smoke with me. She’s getting married in a little over a week and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than by pouring too much Southern Comfort into a 32oz Diet Dr. Pepper and writing dirty poems to leave on people’s parked cars. (Yeah, we were pretty cool huh). But we are dignified Grown-ups (with a capital G) now so we settle for an iced tea and I forgo the cigarettes on our ceremonial drive down the Douglass back roads.

The week in Kansas goes by so fast. We try to divide our time equally between loved ones but it never feels like enough. I do my best to carry out all of the necessary Matron of Honor duties and make the days leading up to my friend’s wedding as smooth and stress-free as possible. I cheer as she projectile vomits at her bachelorette party and I smile broadly as she glides down a rose sprinkled aisle to the man she loves. She looks stunning and genuinely happy as she reads aloud the vows that I know she truly believes in with all of her heart. It’s an overwhelming feeling of gratitude to witness a well-deserving woman’s dream come true.

As the reception party quiets down we begin picking up stray cups and pulling down decorations. She hugs me close and thanks me for everything. I tell her absolutely and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. We laugh like fools because we know we’re about to cry and she makes a light-hearted joke about how I wasn’t even supposed to ever get married, let alone before her.  

Our bond is very much a sisterhood. I am fortunate to have a person like her in my life. Aside from a few good ol’ fashioned values we really do not have a whole lot in common. But despite our obvious differences we never seem to run out of things to talk about…and thanks to those differences we can bring out some really great qualities in one another. She encourages me to loosen up- enjoy life. And I know where all the best restaurants are! See? Give and take.

She calls a few days after I get back in Louisiana to see how the trip went. We’re both busy ladies and probably won’t chat again for another couple of months, maybe more. Life just gets in the way sometimes, but we’re okay with that because we have to be. That’s the thing about being adults. When we do finally get the chance to sit back with a cup of hot tea, watch the world spin by, or perhaps call up an old friend to gossip like fourteen year olds again, we cherish those moments; we hem them in gold thread and display them lavishly in the living rooms of our souls.

And when my daughter is older, when she’s tying up the phone lines at crazy hours of the night, giggling like a maniac because her best friend noticed that so-and-so couldn’t stop looking at her in 8^th hour and she’s pretty sure he’ll be at the lake with them that weekend and should she wear the green dress or the blue one because she’s not really sure and wh-…maybe I’ll remember what it felt like to be her age. I’ll roll my eyes and tell her to get to bed because it’s a school night, but with irony- only because the mom rulebook says I have to- really I’ll be smiling a little because I know as soon as she hears my door close she’ll be back on the phone, dialing up that one close friend she can trust with her life.

I used to think I only needed to depend on myself- that I didn’t really need friends. I suppose I don’t need them but through friendship I have come to know a sincere compassion that I had no idea even existed in my selfish little body. Love gave me something to live for, motherhood gave me something I would die for, but friendship has always kept me centered. They’re the people I call when love and motherhood drive me freakin’ bananas. My friends remind me to hold on fiercely to who I am and never let it go. They tell me things like, “Danielle. I think you’re being pretty fucking ignorant right now,” when I need to hear it most. They bring me closer to earth, and going back home, if only for a little while, brings me closer to them.