First Day at the Bus Stop

Leave it to my daughter to attract a high school boy! Yep, her first day at the bus stop which intermingles high school kids with middle school…. the 6th through the 12th grades….. and who talks to her, but a high school boy! He’s cute and all and it appears he was raised right because he allowed her to get on the bus before him. My friend Tom said the guy had just wanted to check out her legs! Yeah, I’ll be breaking those heels off those shoes when she gets home!

I didn’t have legs like those when I was her age, or maybe I did and I just never saw them! I wasn’t into fashion and dressing up to go to sixth grade. It was the early 70s, and I was happy that we had just been permitted to wear pants to school so that’s ALL I wore! I attended a country school where men were men and sometimes, so were the women. We had to wear dresses with short white socks and Mary Janes until a new school board member who’d attended Woodstock pushed for change. Fast forward to thirty-six years later as I watched my dear girl walk down the sidewalk in her heels, black shirt (just an inch above the knee), denim jacket (with cuffs Frenched thanks to mom’s fashion sense), long blond hair, big blue eyes, fashion specs, and my hoop earrings. Sigh. Darn hippies.

Growing Pains

This is a first for me, er, maybe not. I remember I was very nervous on my daughter’s first day of preschool in Italy. I remember walking back to our house and feeling like I was going to pass out on the sidewalk. This time, I drove her to her first day of middle school. She was supposed to ride the bus and was very excited last night to do so. When the alarm rang at 6 a.m. she asked if I would “PUUUUULLEASE” drive her so she could sleep a little longer. Of course! I wanted to hang on to her for as many more minutes as I could this morning.

On the way home, I thought I was going to throw up in the car. Okay, I hadn’t been feeling all that well lately anyway and had probably picked up a bug at work (or from a shopping cart), but I’m the “cool” mom. I’m the one that has lived out most all her dreams and am even encouraging my daughter’s dream of going to fashion design school in Italy. Uh huh. I should be able to let her go and do and be anything she wants, no matter how far away that takes her from me. At least that’s what I keep telling myself that I should be able to do. Somehow I don’t think I can let her go without me moving back there too. I’m familiar with the country, so what the hell?

This morning should have been no different than any other school year. It’s just a different building, right? But this year, I’m worried. She attended one of four elementary schools in the district. She’s attending the same school where I graduated. Could it be that all my bad experiences on the bus are coloring my peace of mind? You bet your ass they are. I don’t like that the sixth graders are riding the same bus as the high schoolers. Sixth and twelfth together? That’s just asking for trouble. I don’t like that she’s with four other elementary schools’ kids that are probably a little rougher around the edges than she’s accustomed to. She attended the elementary that’s a little more progressive than the others — the curriculum is a little tougher. My graduating class had well over 300 graduates and I’m happy to know that her class will have less than 290. That means less students per teacher. Last year’s ratio was 1:18.

I know the bus thing isn’t the only reason I’m quite nervous about this school year. I analyzed my malaise and can only surmise that it is because I’ve raised her alone. For those that don’t know, I was widowed while I pregnant, so it’s been mom and daughter from the start with a healthy dose of friends and family thrown in for support. My bond with her is still unshakable at the moment; I believe its a result of our years in Italy when we had only the two of us. And although I’m getting plenty of attitude at times, and more hormonal outbursts — she still wants to cuddle with me at the end of the day, still wants her hug and kiss before bed, still wants me to check on her before I go to bed and cover her up, and I still get to call her “lovey” (just not in public).

She came home from school today and was pleased to report that her friends thought it was cool that she was wearing heels, and “fashion” glasses. She told me that one girl even called her a “fashionista.” I’ve no doubt that she’ll want to go back to school tomorrow after such a successful day. I guess now it becomes less about grades and more about how you look while getting those grades! Fabulous…. just as long as the “in” look doesn’t become ‘sexy chic.’ That look is rated ’21 and over’ please.

gloria

Daughter’s First Heels

I bought my daughter’s first pair of heels yesterday. She’s excited. I’m having a stroke. She’s only 11!! Yes, we attend many events throughout the year where a little dressier shoe would be appropriate rather than her forever flats. And yes, I could have said ‘no,’ but she’s worked on me. My dear daughter is very subtle in her manipulation. It’s never whining. She understands that there are times when the budget is limited, and that she can’t have everything that she wants. She’s just as content curled up on the couch with me watching a movie as she is going to the cinema. She’d rather go to Borders and read the magazines for free and simply enjoy a small dessert coffee than to come home with an arm full of teen gossip rags. She’s a good kid. She’s a patient kid. She does the laundry for both of us, takes care of her rabbit and helps clean the house. And she questions. Her manipulation for the shoes consisted of once a week stating (within the context of a discussion we were having, of course…. she’s really slick), ‘but I can’t wear heels until I’m 13, right?’ ‘Right,’ would be my reply. Until yesterday at the store. There was a BOGO for 50% off and we couldn’t find another pair of shoes that would work for ANYTHING. It just wasn’t happening no matter what we looked at, and I already have too many pairs. I walked around the corner and there they were…. a 2 1/2″ black patent pump. I brought them over to her, hoping and praying that she’d say they were too impractical for school (she’s actually very practical for the most part). Yeah, no such luck.

The heels weren’t in my hands for 3 seconds. She grabbed them, put them on and her legs instantly rose to her neck. Hurt me. She said, ‘you know you can’t take these back now.’ Yes, I knew that, so I rewarded her with the heels. I just hate that they are a venue that allows her to walk a little further toward her independence from me.

Oh, and did I mention this is her first year of middle school? Wake me up when she’s ready to graduate please…..