Fashion for the Real World

Jessie and I don’t shop well together. As she told me when we were shopping fashion discount in Maine, “Mom, I have my own style and it is NOT yours. You just don’t understand and I HATE shopping with you.” She is nothing if not direct. Dan claims this trait comes from me, and so I have no one to blame by myself.

Of course her declaration came after she picked out three dresses to try on that had as defining features: gold lamé, a strapless design for the big-busted woman (which Jessie is not), or glitter. All evening wear, which I don’t think would go over well in the recesses of the Food Bank warehouse where she works.

But I do understand the need to dress well and to develop your own style. I think. Okay. Let’s just say that Jessie has taught me the value of being open-minded about style, the same way she has basically taught me to be open-minded about everything—by shattering almost every preconceived notion I have had about the meaning of life and the way things work and making me reconstruct a more fluid yet infinitely more resilient conception driven by my love for her. And the world. But mostly by my love for her.

You see, when she wears glitter and glitz and tight fitting dresses that she has picked out (that make me gag when she shows them to me), she actually looks good! Go figure. So I am willing to open my mind to her style, but also need, as a parent, to make her realize that evening (read “ho”) wear should not make up 75% of your wardrobe. This is where the “But you just don’t get my style . . . “wailing begins and sales people start to herd us toward the exit.

However, we had an exceptional experience at Reitmans (their tag line is “Designed for Real Life”), where the salesperson heard the adolescent keening and came straight to my our rescue instead of scurrying madly off in the other direction. She took one quick look at what Jessie was trying on and said to hold on, as she had something just for her—the most popular jeans for young women her age, in just the right length. And she spoke directly to Jessie, ignoring me with a wink that meant that she knew who she was really rescuing.

Jessie shooed me away with a withering look and a flick of her hand and I skulked around the corner from the change rooms. The salesperson came back with a line of fashionable stretch no-zipper jeans in a 28 inseam that fit her, looked great, and probably wouldn’t even need hemming!

Jessie sashayed out of the dressing room and did a runway walk up to the mirror—turning to admire herself from all directions. The grin on her face (not to mention the exclamation “I look so good!”) had everyone in the change room area smiling, including me!

I quickly pulled the salesperson aside and mentioned that Jessie needed some tops as well, and before I could even turn back she had pulled three off the rack (that I never would have picked, but that, when on, looked great on Jessie) and had Jessie’s full attention. They were now a team and Jessie loved the fact that she had her own “dresser.”

At the end of the day we came out with 5 pairs of pants, 4 tops, 1 well-dressed young woman, and 1 extremely grateful mother who now understands why God(ess) created good salespeople. It’s so mothers won’t throttle daughters in open public spaces.

End of Summer

She's back. With her laundry. These loads I do (Jessie usually does her own laundry) because we are trying to get back out the door to head to Montreal and then Maine for two weeks. Where we don't have internet access! Hooray! Ciao all!

Off to Camp

We just dropped Jessie—along with her sleeping bag, rubber boots, and a bag of clothes—off at the buses leaving for Camp Misquah. She’s been looking forward to a full week in a lakeside cabin with friends and high-energy counselors. Misquah has certainly become a traditional part of her summer life.

Country Gal, Black Belt Belle, Lady Lyrics, and Jessie

While some of the campers waved a tearful goodbye to their parents, Jessie made a beeline from our car to the check-in location and then bounded off to find friends and returning counselors. We were really only there to schlep her bags, I guess. She was, however, happy to wave at us from the window as the bus departed and we parents and caregivers were left, a bedraggled lot, to head out variously to delightful vacations of our own or much needed house and garden repairs.

I always feel a bit anxious at the empty space that yawns open after we drop her off, and have, over the years, found different ways adjust and cope. Today Dan and I decided to go straight to the grocery store.

On our way there I told Dan that I was feeling quite sad. “It’ll pass,” he said. I wondered how long it might take and if my sadness would ruin our time together. By the time we entered the store and I got to the produce section, I was feeling anxious. Jessie, the touchstone of my days, was gone and I wasn’t sure how it would all unfold. Would I be able to focus on anything? Would I be kind and loving with Dan or keep thinking about Jessie and her life and her future and whether she had remembered to change her underwear?

I was distracted and wandered behind Dan as he put lettuce and bread and cheese into the cart. I drifted down aisle 1 and thought about how I might not have to fight over my computer for a whole week. That made me smile.

At aisle 4 I remembered that we needed some salad dressing and it occurred to me that for a whole week, we could actually put tomatoes in the salad (Jessie doesn’t like tomatoes).

At aisle 9, I was madly flinging packages of black licorice and Junior Mints into the grocery cart to accompany Dan and I to all the movies we were going to see together.

Nine aisles, that’s all it took. I guess I’m just a resilient kind of gal!