Victoria and I are in the process of planning for the Mother & Daughter luncheon, 2012. This is our tenth year. How in the world did THAT happen? We discussed invitations tonight, and decided to use a silhouette. We batted around using Victoria’s silhouette, a bird, a butterfly, a teapot, a flower, a daisy, a Gibson Girl, or just a generic little girl.
In the end, we found THIS little jewel. Victoria and I BOTH loved it. I actually ADORED it from the moment I laid eyes on it, but being the mom of a thirteen year old girl, I knew to play my hand close.
“What do you think of this one?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, Momma!!! I LOVE it!!!! What do YOU think of it?”
“I love it too, sugar.”
“What do you REALLY think???” (She is, after all, a woman-in-training.)
“I think I REALLY love it. Do you know WHY I love it?”
“Well, because it reminds me of you. You aren’t a little girl any more, but you’re not yet a young woman. And this silhouette looks EXACTLY like who you are right now.”
“I think so too. She looks in between like me.”
Do you know what I love most of all? I love that my 13-going-on-14 year old daughter KNOWS that she is “in between.” She isn’t trying to grow up too fast. She isn’t trying to stay a little girl. She is in between, and she embraces her in between-ness. I was NOT one to do that.
I always wanted to do whatever it was I was too young to do. Some of this may have had to do with my having an older sister, but most of it had to do with me being “prissy.” At the age of six, I INSISTED that my leotards on Sunday morning were to be called PANTYHOSE and my open-toed, block-heeled sandals were to be called HIGH HEELS. My Granny would save empty cosmetic compacts and lipstick tubes and cleansing cream jars for me–stored in her guest room chest-of-drawers–with the STRICT understanding that I was not to APPLY anything I might find in the crevices of the containers. Even my Granny who dug EVERY LAST AVAILABLE BIT of her Merle Norman Ladybug Red lipstick from the tube with a Q-tip was bound to miss some that my
enterprising prissy fingers might still reach. I DID occasionally sneak and “use” some powder. It was really just Granny’s old powder puff that smelled of face powder, but it thrilled me no end.
I wore lip gloss as soon as I was allowed. I got my ears pierced as soon as Daddy FINALLY gave up and told me if I wanted to poke holes in my ears to go right ahead. I wore make-up as soon as I had my own money and convinced Momma that I would only use NATURAL colors. (This did not last for long as my photos from high school can attest.)
I don’t think any of that was bad. I am certainly not the first little girl to do so. And if Victoria wanted, this would have been the year that mascara and face powder and light lipstick would have made an appearance in our house. As it stands, she wants none of that yet. She likes to wear jewelry but has no desire to pierce her ears. She likes to wear body spray, but has no desire for make-up. She has long had her own personal preference regarding her clothes and what she “feels” like wearing. She has her own style. . .which happens to be chock full of grace and gentleness and intuition and tenderness and beauty that is beyond me to describe. She is like a luminous strand of pearls, my girl.
Of course, I AM her Momma, so I’m a little partial.