Maturity

It has been one of those days when I notice myself morphing by degrees into my mother. I've always drawn remarks on how closely I resemble her, but never thought so myself until last summer when I received a speeding ticket from the photo cop in the mail. The Portland Police Bureau kindly includes the photo with the ticket so that you can contest the charge if you weren't the person driving the car that day. Well, it would have been easy to contest. It was obviously my mother driving my car . . . with my kids . . . wearing my clothes . . . and my sunglasses. Unbeknownst to me, she must have flown into town for the day and was taking the kiddos to swim lessons as a favor.

It isn't actually so bad to turn into my mother (she's a pretty cool lady), but the increasing cognizance of my own age vexes me a little. I hear myself say things at the grocery like, "Alice? Do you know what my favorite sound in the whole world is? The sound of not whining." And I remember myself at five years old, completely irritated that my mother was not listening to me explain (with nice long syllables so she'd get the point) exactly why we should buy that box of Luckyyyyyyyy Chaaaaaaarms.

I hear myself talking about mortgages, calories, politics, interest rates and coupons.

I hear myself at my soccer game, telling the 19-year old super star on the other team that this is the beginner league, to be careful . . . she's injuring our inexperienced players. My teammates report that right after she apologized to my face, she turned her back, pulled a face and mouthed my words with an exaggerated sneer. To her I sound like Charlie Brown's school teacher, "Wah wah, wah wah wah wah."

Sigh. I guess it is time for me to go shopping for a pair of these.

Shoes Again, It is a Sickness.

The school shopping has begun.
I love, savor and thoroughly enjoy school clothes shopping. I get all kinds of warm fuzzy feelings when I hand over the plastic to pay for clothes that testify that my children will eventually be going back to school. I just want to sing.
I like to shop. I like to buy cute things. But I like it even more when they are things that we need. Because otherwise, I feel guilty. Like I am living beyond my means. Like I am supporting child labor in Asia. Like I am contributing to over-full landfills. Like I am personally responsible for global warming, underfunded public schools, empty food banks, famine, pestilence, endangered and extinct species, the war in Iraq and the high price of oil.
But putting clothes on the bodies of my children is necessary. Mandatory even, because I would not like to have to justify their nudity to Child Welfare Services. So, I have less guilt about the purchases, and if those purchases are on sale, then I am radiating a glow of contentment and peace for days.
The warm fuzzy feelings come from the memories I had shopping for school clothes as a kid with my sisters, mom and grandma (it was always a family affair). Every July we'd plan a day trip and shop for hours.
I've been trying to share the joy of the hunt with Seth and Alice, but they don't get it. They don't understand the significance of 30% off. They don't even understand the significance of 70% off. All they know is that they wear clothes. Come on guys, work with me here.

Alice did get excited about these shoes I got for her at the Anniversary Sale, but when I told her that they were too big, they wouldn't fit until school started, she got a little perturbed. She wants to wear them right now. I guess I can see why, I mean look at them, they will go perfectly with a princess dress.
And they are only the coolest shoes in the history of the world. Gosh, I wish I was four years old, because I would look so great in those.

Instead, I got these for myself in black. Nice, sensible shoes. Darn me! When did I get so sensible?