In Defense of the Short Skirt

There was a time when I would walk the aisles of Halloween costumes and make cranky faces. "That skirt is so short!" and "Why did they need to add glitter to that?" and "Way to dumb down a perfectly good idea for a costume, morons" are all things that passed through my mind.

And then last year Alexis asked to be Elvis.

Alexis' obsession with Elvis had already been going strong for over a year when she came up with the idea to honor the icon while begging strangers for candy. I thought it was a GENIUS idea, so I quickly pulled out my phone and began searching the internet for costumes.

Each one I showed to Alexis was met with the same response, "That's a boy costume. I want a girl costume."

If you've been around these parts for a while, you already know this, but I am not a card carrying member of the "girl stuff" club. I hate glitter and pink. I think having more than two pairs of shoes is pointless. I'm not interested in fashion or makeup. Heck, I've never in my life had a manicure nor do I want to. Boys can play with dolls and girls can play with trucks because toys don't discriminate based on what you're hiding in your underwear.

That said, the world does at times discriminate based on what you're hiding in your underwear. I recently had a conversation with a friend where we both concluded that if you don't come across something sexist at least once a week, it's because you have your eyes closed and are covering your ears with your hands. Sexism is alive and well, my friends.

While I'm walking around beating my "girls rule and deserve better" drum, Alexis beats her own drum. The difference is that while she says girls rule and deserve better, she thinks girl power is best expressed while wearing cute shoes and throwing glitter.

Alexis likes things that she considers feminine. Period.

And that's why I spent a few hours last year sneakily "girling up" an Elvis costume. I had to find one that I hadn't already shown to Alexis. Then I had to hide the packaging. Finally, I spent time in front of a sewing machine making the waist a little more fitted and the legs a little more snug. If it hadn't worked, if Alexis hadn't decided that the more fitted and "cuter" version was acceptable as a girl costume, I would have made Elvis' trademark Flame jumpsuit into a dress. I had the fabric and was fully prepared to do it.

So while you're crying about how the boy version of a firefighter costume is fantastic but the girl version needs to lose the short skirt, I'm over here thinking that there is room for both versions. There are little girls who want to be firefighters, but they want to be cute while they do it because, well, they're little girls who happen to like short skirts.

Maybe the problem isn't that the girl and boy versions of costumes are so different; maybe the problem is that they're labeled "girl" and "boy" in the first place. Perhaps if we put all of the police officer costumes together, whether they're realistic or sparkly, and just let kids pick which version they like without first checking their parts, maybe this whole thing would be a heck of a lot simpler.

Partners in Thievery

It has been a long time since I mentioned Ali Cat in this space, which is kind of a shame since she is a one-ring circus unto her own. She's more than a little bit unstable while also being a whole lot weird.

Really high on her list of eccentricities is the fact that she steals things. Lots of things. Ali likes to steal all of Alexis' left shoes, for example. It's rarely the right ones. It's the left ones. She takes them and she hides them somewhere. She also hides any other objects that she deems collectible, much like Ariel and her gadgets and gizmos and dinglehoppers.

I normally can find her hiding places, but her most recent one, the one she has been using for about two years, is a mystery to me. I know for a fact that cat stole one of my memory cards. It's in this house. I just don't know where.

Ali steals all of the things.

And I think she may have taught Mila her trick.

The Boo thing has been making the rounds in our neighborhood lately, which led to Mila getting a little bucket of fantastic Halloween stuff. There was an adorable Hello Kitty t-shirt, for example. There was also a few pieces of candy. I'm not entirely opposed to one-year olds getting a piece of candy here and there, but this particular one-year old would create an edible chocolate fortress and then eat her way out of it if given the opportunity. She needs help with moderation is what I'm saying.

Which would be great if she hadn't stolen all of the candy.

Oh, and she hid it.

I have no idea where Mila's candy hiding spot is. I just know that she keeps showing up with a piece of candy in her hands, despite the fact that we keep taking it away from her. Some how, some way, the child has built up an impressive stash of sugary snacks

I have to get Ali to tell me where it is. She has to know.

There's Always Something

The advantage to becoming a mother a little later than most everyone I know and then becoming a mother again MUCH later than most everyone I know is that I know better. I really do know better. And yet, the awe still strikes.

Sometimes I'll set at dance or cheer or whatever function and wonder how it is that all of the other mothers have it so much more together than I do.

That woman has perfect hair. This one over here is never late. That one is so cool under pressure. Another one has a beautiful house that's always so clean and amazing. There's always the one mother whose kids seem to be angelic beings who do no wrong. And that mom? Man, she has it all together. ALL. OF. IT.

I don't.

Most days my hair is barely combed. My clothes are always wrinkly or rumpled. My shoes are worn and dated. The house is a disaster zone. Mila runs and screams and escapes and is generally a nut in public. I almost never know what day of the week it is, not to mention where we are supposed to be and when. And some days? Some days Alexis is talking back and Mila is screaming so I just stare at my phone, completely unable to figure out how to deal with the cacophony of needs.

Recently there has been this one mom in my line of sight who just SO has it together. Her hair is absolutely amazing and her clothes are so perfect. She's in shape and gorgeous and her best accessory is her smile. When I talk to her, I feel like part slob and part idiot because MAN is she smooth. So smooth.

So flawless.

Except.

Except that sometimes Alexis mentions something in passing and I realize I haven't been seeing something that was right there in front of me. If I uncover a couple of layers, it's right there -- the most perfect woman's daughter is a jerk.

Like, really. A bona fide jerk who says terrible things about people, draws mean pictures, and the like. She's the mean girl that everyone avoids but that no one confronts because it's better to ignore her and stay out of her line of sight.

She's so mean. Once I looked, I could see it. It was really very obvious.

So while that woman seems to have it all together and perfect, there's always something. No matter who you are, there is something in your life that isn't going as well as you would like.

There's no flawless.

I know that, but sometimes I need to beat myself over the head with it.