Nail Polish

Day 18: Nail Polish

My mother would be proud. I spent three hours at the mall yesterday, looking for the perfect prom dress. We tried on dresses at Von Maur, JC Penny's, and Macy's. I went back and forth to the racks, looking for different sizes. I found matching shoes. We had coffee in the center lounge and talked about whether to buy the crenoline and mesh that made her love her shoulders, or the sleek and slinky that's trending.

It started badly, with my usual lecture about waste (you'd only wear it once!), and the clothing industry, and money. There were tears and disappointment. Just this once, why couldn't we have fun and enjoy being together? Why couldn't she be a princess and I the proud mama? Why couldn't I relax? I panicked. I couldn't relax. I couldn't. But, "Buy her whatever she wants," Rich said. "It's a ritual. A rite of passage." So I winged it. I pulled a dress off the rack, bright pink and heavy with beads. "I love this color," I said. And in a minute, it was alright.

Isn't she lovely, made from love?

Flashback! My mom would have loved for me to try on pretty dresses. Mom insisted that I have a special outfit to get married in, and patiently stood by while I rejected this one as too expensive and that one as too frivolous. In the end, my wedding dress came from the clearance rack at Macy's, and I only agreed to let my mother buy it for me because I thought I could wear it again. I never have.

Sorry I didn't let you come to my wedding, Mom! (We had only ourselves and two witnesses.) Thanks for not making me feel guilty. If I could do it over again, I'd ask you to sit in the front row, right beside Dad.

Can't post a picture of the dress
because Emma doesn't want
 to spoil the surprise

The other girls and moms in the dressing room at Von Maur made me proud of my own. One girl in particular was so rude to her mother and grandmother, I figured she must be in middle school. It turns out she was shopping for a dress for her boyfriend's graduation from the Naval Academy. Poor guy.

Emma was nothing but gracious, and grateful. She said she was glad we don't do this all the time, because it made the day more special. Back home, she modeled the dress for her dad, and stood up straight, and beamed.

It's true, Emma doesn't need another dress, or any other stuff. Sometimes we both count the days until she leaves for college. For me: the car will be clean! The bathroom will be clean! The living room will be clean! For her: no more nagging! But today, she's off to Chicago and Indiana with her dad, visiting colleges, trying to make that final decision. Sam is on a houseboat in Tennessee, having a blast with friends. And I'm at home with a poofy prom dress for company. The house is quiet.

I'm giving away a basket of nail polish in Emma's honor, because she loves nail polish, hair curlers, and poofy princess dresses. My own nail polish is drying out in the bottle while Rich and I run the final lap of this twenty-year long distance race - raising kids - for which we changed our city, our climate, our careers and our community. 

The kids may not be carbon copies of us. But the kids are alright.