Learning from an Accessories Goddess

It started with a business card passed across the glass counter of the jewelry kiosk in the middle of the mall. "Call me," the blond woman said.

Apparently the man who was with her wasn't her husband, but rather her assistant manager. I might have liked to have known that before I spent ten minutes trying to sell the couple an expensive gold necklace, but whatever. The "call me" sounded intriguing.

I made the call a day or two later and quickly found myself standing inside a still-under-construction department store in the middle of Stow, Ohio. "We need an Accessories Department Manager. Interested?" the woman with the blond hair offered.

The pay was better than the kiosk in the mall, so even though I knew nothing about the company, I decided to jump on board.

But.

I don't really know how the whole thing happened, but suddenly I found myself in the blond woman's office listening as she explained that she had offered someone else the Accessories Department Manager position. I would still be making a manager's salary, but without the responsibility.

I was pissed.

Pissed turned into raging mad when the blond woman explained that part of the reason for her decision was that the person who would be taking MY manager position was "a better fit to work Accessories." What the blond woman meant by that is that the woman who would be the department manager wore the entire Accessories Department every time she left her house. Colorful scarves and huge earrings and clanky metal belts were Her Thing.

I rarely managed to put stud earrings in my ears each morning before leaving my apartment.

For what it's worth, the Amazon-sized woman who wore the entire Accessories Department only lasted about a month before she disappeared. She just plain stopped showing up for work, most certainly because she realized she was about to be fired. She SUCKED at her job.

Or, rather, she sucked at MY job. It was mine from that point forward. A year later I was THE Accessories Department Manager for the entire region. I was responsible for training at every store and set up new departments for every store opening. I was widely acknowledged as the best in the company, both because sales were excellent and because I can make an Accessories Department look damn good.

All while never wearing a single thing sold in the department.

I am, perhaps, the most accessories-challenged human on this planet. It's a Herculean effort for me to put together an outfit that is more than jeans and a t-shirt, and you most certainly won't catch me looking all sorts of put-together. I can fake it, but I'm really very incompetent when it comes to fashion.

Which is exactly why this little creature with the curly hair confounds me.

The girl can accessorize and put outfits together better than I can. If you see me wearing something other than a t-shirt and jeans, I guarantee it's an outfit that Alexis either 1) Picked out for me or 2) Approved.

Seriously.

My 6-year old has to approve my outfits before I'm allowed out in public.

The Games Kids Play

As we walked down the street hand-in-hand, I could sense her searching the crowd for someone she knew. A line of kids stood at the bus stop, but none of the faces were familiar to me.

Or to her.

Her footsteps slowed as she considered retreat. She was excited for the first day of school and for the joy she expected was waiting for her in first grade, but in that moment, she forgot all of the things she was looking forward to experiencing. All that mattered was that she didn't know anyone.

Her chin dropped and the swagger left her walk. Her confidence began to spiral downward as she waited for someone ... anyone ... to put on a friendly face. The kids at the bus stop all clearly knew one another and were busy with conversations continued from days past, so I tapped Alexis on the shoulder and said, "Hey."

"What?" she asked, her focus entirely on me. The shiny thing I had thrown at her had worked.

"You're going to have a great day," I told her.

She smiled as she returned to looking around and studying the other kids. Just then, I sensed some movement up the street. Alexis noticed the little boy with the dark hair at the same time that I did.

"Look! It's Ethan!" she said.

Ethan isn't actually named Ethan, but that's not what matters. What matters is that Alexis knows him and has played with him many, many times. His parents are fantastic as are his bigger brothers. The entire lot of them are on my list of Neighbors I Really Like.

Ethan rushed down the hill, his eyes locked on the crowd of older boys who were standing behind Alexis. She didn't realize he had a singular focus, but I did. I saw it coming long before the moment came to be.

Alexis placed a hand on her hip and dipped her chin as she grinned and she said in a sing-song voice, "What are you doing, Ethan?"

He didn't hear her. He was too focused on the boys behind us. Or perhaps he DID hear her and was focused on the boys behind her, so he made sure to hurry faster. Either way, he brushed past Alexis without acknowledging that she was there.

I waited to see how Alexis would respond. It was such a TOTALLY normally 7-year old boy thing to do to walk past a girl without acknowledging her existence. The presence of six or seven other boys, all 7-years old or older, certainly set the scene for some serious girl avoidance.

Alexis looked up at me, her face full of confusion. "Why didn't Ethan say 'hi' to me?" she whispered.

"Because he's a boy, Alexis," I told her. How else do you explain the games kids play?

She pondered my answer for a moment before saying, "Boys are kind of dumb."

"You're right," I told her. "They are."

She thought for a moment longer before spinning on her heel. "HIIIIIIIIII, ETHAN!" she blurted out as loud as she could without yelling. She then quickly turned to ignore him.

And so it begins.

The Obligatory First Day of School Post

Dear Alexis,

By the time you read this, you'll already know this fun little fact, but I'll share it here just in case. I lose sleep over major decisions, struggling with them and weighing my options and thinking entirely too hard about them. But, once the decision is made, I let it go. I forgive myself if things don't go the way I had hoped. I do it because I believe that if I've given a decision all of my heart when making it, I owe it to myself to find my happy in the consequences.

I wasn't able to do that last year when it came to the decision about where you should go to school.

I second-guessed myself and regretted things and considered changing paths and generally continued to struggle long past the moment I first dropped you off in that lunchroom just over a year ago.

I have a feeling this year is going to be more of the same. We've changed course and moved you to a new school. I'm not sure how it will end. I'm working towards finding peace with it because IT'S DONE. I have no time machine to go back and change it. Letting go is hard, though.

Really hard.

It took me until that moment when your bus pulled away from the curb this morning to figure out why I'm still toiling over the decision. It's because you've reached an age where it's up to you.

You have to find your happy.

I may pick your school, but how you interact with teachers and classmates and your school work is 100% you. I can guide you, encourage you, and try to help you along the field of life when need be, but you have to do it on your own.

All I can do is pick the school and then yell encouraging words from the sidelines.

It's really a very minor decision to pick your school. But, really, it's one of the few I still have.

So, my dear, grab hold of this fresh start as tight as you can. Squeeze every last bit of happiness out of it, give it everything you've got, and I'll be right over here cheering you on.

Love,

The Lady Who Was Super Grateful That You Still Wanted Me To Walk You To The Bus Stop

 

P.S.

I know for a fact it was a Little Kid who I put on that bus this morning. So why the heck was it a Big Kid who I took out for dinner this evening? STOP GROWING UP SO FAST.