Sunday Dress
Dear Tom,
It is Super Bowl Sunday, but you likely know that, even though your beloved RedSkins aren't playing. I guess I know it too even though there isn't a Manning to be seen.
Gracie and Thomas were watching for a while, then the chips ran low. He needed to go to bed anyway.
Tomorrow is a school night, but Gracie begged to stay up and watch the half time show. We bargained and were persuaded, and eventually we found a plan that would work, and we told her yes.
I didn't think it was such an bad request. After all, there is only one Super Bowl a year, and I remember it being exciting when I was a kid.
She got her shower done and her pajamas on and she excitedly sat in the middle of the living room floor to watch what she was sure would be the coolest show on earth.
I have no idea how "cool" it was in New Orleans this Sunday evening, but I am guessing the young lady on the stage clearly forgot it was winter...or a public space....with video cameras....and young persons watching...and how to move her body in an appropriate manner.
To say I was shocked within seconds of the half time show beginning was an understatement.
I am not exactly sure all that came out of my mouth, but I think the word "inappropriate' was used a record time for me in 2 minutes.
I am not a "cool mom." I am not a "cool," "hip," "progressive," "laid back" any thing. I know that. I also know I seriously resisted the urge to rush to my daughters side and cover her eyes.
Garren told me to hush. I doubt he found it appropriate either, but he is a dad, not a mom. And, he was making the point that I was making the issue in to an issue by constantly drawing attention to it.
Two minutes passed and this young singer was bouncing herself all over the stage for what seemed like an eternity.
Gracie was clearly no longer excited by the action on TV. I doubt she found it "inappropriate," she thought there was going to be something more fun.
I quickly offered to read her any book she wanted and we could go upstairs. She had no problem with that, telling me "I am not interested in this anyway."
I read my impressionable 8 year old several chapters from a coveted American Girl book and I looked at her.
Here was the hard part. How to I explain why Mommy was so uncomfortable downstairs?
I made broad generalizations about how mommy doesn't think that wearing such revealing clothes on TV, or anywhere is appropriate.
She understood mommies thoughts on the matter, and told me as I tucked her in "Mommy, even if I am 35 I will wear my dresses down to here!" She points at below he knee.
I smile. But, as I shut the door I know that in years to come she and I will argue over what clothes she can and can't wear. We will disagree on lengths and styles and how much has to be covered. And while all of those clothes battles are raging on, I need her to know why it is important. Why it is importantly to cover herself. Why it is important that I hold my ground on what she wears and why. Why she needs to choose carefully how the world sees her outwardly. It is a job that terrifies me with its importance.
How do I get from censoring what she watches, to what she wears, to how she behaves at age 8 to turning her into the self confident lady of God that your beautiful Mallory is?
I remember seeing your Mal when she was about Gracie's age now. Her hair pulled back in a pony tail sitting at your kitchen table with her feet not even touching the floor. She was hard at work on her school work. She had the shyest smile and the most innocent face.
And I see her now, poised, confident and a young lady sure of her self and her place her Heavenly Father's eyes.
It seems like a flash of time. Mere seconds from one to the other. And yet you and Colette groomed and made her into the young lady that still flashes that shy smile.
I should have studied you more. Watched you both more closely, for now I am at the edge of young lady-hood and I am unsteady and unsure how to walk. I guess the saying is true: if you can not stand, kneel.
Perhaps you will kneel with me and beside me.
How I wish you were here. How I wish I was there. How I pray that I can be half the parents you are to Mallory. You are truly gifts from God, and I am blessed to have you in mine and my children's lives. Here's hoping you rubbed off on all of us before we left.
It is Super Bowl Sunday, but you likely know that, even though your beloved RedSkins aren't playing. I guess I know it too even though there isn't a Manning to be seen.
Gracie and Thomas were watching for a while, then the chips ran low. He needed to go to bed anyway.
Tomorrow is a school night, but Gracie begged to stay up and watch the half time show. We bargained and were persuaded, and eventually we found a plan that would work, and we told her yes.
I didn't think it was such an bad request. After all, there is only one Super Bowl a year, and I remember it being exciting when I was a kid.
She got her shower done and her pajamas on and she excitedly sat in the middle of the living room floor to watch what she was sure would be the coolest show on earth.
I have no idea how "cool" it was in New Orleans this Sunday evening, but I am guessing the young lady on the stage clearly forgot it was winter...or a public space....with video cameras....and young persons watching...and how to move her body in an appropriate manner.
To say I was shocked within seconds of the half time show beginning was an understatement.
I am not exactly sure all that came out of my mouth, but I think the word "inappropriate' was used a record time for me in 2 minutes.
I am not a "cool mom." I am not a "cool," "hip," "progressive," "laid back" any thing. I know that. I also know I seriously resisted the urge to rush to my daughters side and cover her eyes.
Garren told me to hush. I doubt he found it appropriate either, but he is a dad, not a mom. And, he was making the point that I was making the issue in to an issue by constantly drawing attention to it.
Two minutes passed and this young singer was bouncing herself all over the stage for what seemed like an eternity.
Gracie was clearly no longer excited by the action on TV. I doubt she found it "inappropriate," she thought there was going to be something more fun.
I quickly offered to read her any book she wanted and we could go upstairs. She had no problem with that, telling me "I am not interested in this anyway."
I read my impressionable 8 year old several chapters from a coveted American Girl book and I looked at her.
Here was the hard part. How to I explain why Mommy was so uncomfortable downstairs?
I made broad generalizations about how mommy doesn't think that wearing such revealing clothes on TV, or anywhere is appropriate.
She understood mommies thoughts on the matter, and told me as I tucked her in "Mommy, even if I am 35 I will wear my dresses down to here!" She points at below he knee.
I smile. But, as I shut the door I know that in years to come she and I will argue over what clothes she can and can't wear. We will disagree on lengths and styles and how much has to be covered. And while all of those clothes battles are raging on, I need her to know why it is important. Why it is importantly to cover herself. Why it is important that I hold my ground on what she wears and why. Why she needs to choose carefully how the world sees her outwardly. It is a job that terrifies me with its importance.
How do I get from censoring what she watches, to what she wears, to how she behaves at age 8 to turning her into the self confident lady of God that your beautiful Mallory is?
I remember seeing your Mal when she was about Gracie's age now. Her hair pulled back in a pony tail sitting at your kitchen table with her feet not even touching the floor. She was hard at work on her school work. She had the shyest smile and the most innocent face.
And I see her now, poised, confident and a young lady sure of her self and her place her Heavenly Father's eyes.
It seems like a flash of time. Mere seconds from one to the other. And yet you and Colette groomed and made her into the young lady that still flashes that shy smile.
I should have studied you more. Watched you both more closely, for now I am at the edge of young lady-hood and I am unsteady and unsure how to walk. I guess the saying is true: if you can not stand, kneel.
Perhaps you will kneel with me and beside me.
How I wish you were here. How I wish I was there. How I pray that I can be half the parents you are to Mallory. You are truly gifts from God, and I am blessed to have you in mine and my children's lives. Here's hoping you rubbed off on all of us before we left.
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