Beware: Socks Are Dangerous

The thing about Alexis is that she has an on/off switch that controls her ability to be graceful. Toss her on a dance floor, a stage, or have her stand around with pom-poms in her hand, and you would never know she is a giant klutz.

But she is.

The child trips over the lines in our wood floor. Not the seams, mind you. She trips over the age lines in the wood. I don't know if they reach out and attack her or what, but she can just be standing in one place one second and then be sprawled out all over the floor next. When it happens, she springs back up, grins, and declares "I'm OK!" before continuing on.

It's pretty fun for those of us who don't fall down all of the time.

Except, this past weekend, she decided to take her ability to kiss the floor a little too far. She was standing in a hallway talking to the husband, just leaning against the wall. As she stood there yammering, the floor figured out that she was wearing socks and no shoes. The floor laughed  ...

Hold on.

It should be noted that Alexis is reading this post as I'm writing it and she's all HOW CAN THE FLOOR LAUGH and critiquing every single word I choose. Editors, man.

ANYWAY.

Alexis was standing there in her cute little socks, happily chatting as she leaned against the wall when the floor was suddenly all HEY, YOU! COME VISIT!

The problem was that there was this thing called a wall and it wanted Alexis more. It wanted Alexis so much that when her feet slipped forward, she ended up slamming backwards and smacking her head against a corner.

There was lots of sobbing and such. Of course.

And then Alexis started crying because just having me cry wasn't enough.

Oh, and there was blood.

YOU GUYS. HEAD WOUNDS BLEED A LOT. Why didn't you warn me?

The good news is that it wasn't a deep cut and it didn't take much at all to make it stop. The bad news is that I had to reset the day counter on that whole "X days since a head injury" thing.

And now my editor is telling me that isn't the bad news. "The bad news is that I had a cut on my head, MOM."

Alrighty then.

Dress For The Life You Want, Not The Life That You Have

I walked into Alexis' closet, reached high up on the shelf, and grabbed the white shirt I had hidden deep in the darkest corners. Suddenly, I understood it. Suddenly, I realized it was a good thing.

Alexis loves that white shirt. She loves it so much she has worn it until it's tattered and gray, and really only a shadow of the shirt it used to be. It makes me CRAZY that she loves stuff until it is tattered and no longer deserves to be loved.

I don't.

I carry a Coach handbag. It's old, pre-dating even Alexis, but there was a long gap when I didn't use it, so it has endured. It was purchased on clearance at the Coach Outlet, but that's not the point. It's a Coach handbag. I noticed a few days ago that the leather is just starting to crack.

It's time for it to retire.

Alexis would disagree.

The scars of growing up poor run deep. They linger and change everything about how you view the world, including how you view things. I view name brand as Important. FAR more Important than most people do. It's one of those things that distinguish the Haves from the Have Nots.

Dress for the life you want, not the life that you have.

I started it all in high school, when I had enough income from babysitting and part-time jobs to fund my own wardrobe. From that time forth, I haven't worn a single stitch of clothing from KMart or Walmart. Even Target is iffy because you have to dress for the life you want, not the life that you have.

Name brands are that thing you can do when you are poor to signify "I don't belong here." If I walked through the trailer park, the LITERAL trailer park where I grew up, while wearing Guess jeans and a Bongo t-shirt, I was telling the world "I don't belong here." I had the brand name gear to prove it. Nobody can tell if something came off the clearance rack, so they didn't know that the jeans cost less than some crappy KMart jeans. They just knew I had that triangle on my behind. It was a symbol of being out of place.

But the things don't just have to be name brand -- they have to look new. If there is a stain on that Bongo t-shirt, people might know it's a hand-me-down. PITCH IT. If there is a worn spot on those Guess jeans, people might figure out that they are a few years old. STOP WEARING THEM. Even a loose thread on a sweater is a cause for retirement.

That theory lingers. I still stick to brand names, even as I make sure I never pay full price. My things have to be in new-appearing condition. It's a status symbol. It's my way of dressing for the life I want, not the life that I had.

Alexis doesn't have those scars. Cute clothes are cute clothes and if she loves something, she wants to wear it and wear it and wear it.

I returned the tattered white shirt I had hidden from Alexis because she doesn't have those scars. I hope she never does.

I Like When She Makes Up Her Own Mind

"Whatcha doing, momma?" Alexis asked.

"I'm looking at pageant photos," I replied. That's EXACTLY what I was doing because, well, OBVIOUSLY.

"I wanna see!" Alexis enthusiastically chipped in.

So I turned my phone to the side so that she could look at the Miss Universe gowns (?) with me. I didn't preface the moment or give her any words of warning. I was just looking at gowns (?) that I find fantastic, in many different ways.

(If you didn't click the link, go. Seriously, go now. I will wait. GO. LOOK.)

As we began to scroll down the page, Alexis turned to me and said, "I want to be in pageants."

"Oh," I replied. I reserved comment, although I have PLENTY OF THEM OMG. See that? I did learn from the whole cheerleading thing! Don't comment and just let the kid make up her own mind on her own terms. It's better that way.

As we paged further and further down, I realized that I should show Alexis Miss USA. If she wants to be in pageants, that's exactly the gown (?) she would wear. (I keep using question marks because I truly don't know whether to call the outfits "gowns" or "outfits" or "art" or what. I don't even know that "clothes" is appropriate in all cases.)

We made our way to the very bottom of the page and Alexis' eyes grew wide as she looked at Miss USA. Her lip quivered and her face contorted as she finally found the words she wanted.

"I am NEVER EVER going to be in pageants. EVER. You can't make me," she said.

Well, that was easy.