At precisely 3:45 PM on Sunday, the 28th of May, I became my mother.
My daughter and I were perusing American Eagle, a store once frequented by the high school and college version of me. For the record, it feels like yesterday, which also happens to be precisely two decades ago. {Where did the time go?}
It was when my thirteen year old lifted a pair of shorts off the table that she wanted to try on, that I promptly reached for my clutching pearls.
“Um, don’t they come any longer?” I gawked at the threadbare material while she examined them with care to find the right size. “Those probably won’t work for school,” I gently suggested, secretly mortified.
“THE TRANSFORMATION IS COMPLETE” a voice rumbled from beyond, and the ground shooketh, all ten-commandment style and stuff.
Once we recovered from our confusion over the disembodied voice, I looked down to see that I was transformed, a-la Cinderella. No longer wearing jeans and a sweater, I was now covered head to toe, in a full on Talbots ensemble. Matching pants and everything. It’s happened. I’m officially my mother.
daughters really are the best. and I really am totally stubborn with a little clone of myself.
Because when we waltzed into American Eagle, I thought I might find some nice flare-leg jeans for spring. You know, the ones “in style”, according to all the youngsters these days. Yes, I was shopping a little below my age grouping at this point but I was there and thought I might look. Instead, this Xennial found shredded, skinny legs with too many holes, and tops that were clearly missing the bottom half, barely covering my lady bits were I to try them on. I was actually afraid of their sizes. I mom’d so hard.
Full disclosure: I have a little covid weight to shed, but I didn’t realize I’m that out of touch. Is it just me or are ALL THE CLOTHES SHRINKING?
Maybe it really is time for Talbots.
“Hey,” I said, side-eyeing the pile of barely-there shorts, as a helpful sales associate who looked as though she might be just three months shy of twelve, happened to walk by. “She needs some shorts for school. Do you have any other styles of these she can try on?” I asked, hopeful the slightly longer ones were hidden in the back like the dirty videos in an old school Blockbuster.
Translation: I am not ready for this. This was supposed to be a grab-a-hoodie-and-go day. Not shop for shorty-barely-there, booty-grazing-shorts-day. We’re just to that age where she’s in full bloom, and I want to teach her about all things moderation, and carefully choosing the right clothes… making smart choices minus the shame.
“Well, we have mom shorts,” the helpful associate responded. “They have a higher waist and longer legs. You’ll find them in the back.”
Why call them MOM shorts? Like, even I’m offended by that.
But it was just as I suspected once we laid our eyes on them. The two options were either shorty shorts suited for car wash day in a bad 90’s rom com high school movie… or the other extreme, the latter pair truly belonging to a mom with a mullet who was ousted from the local catholic school for smoking in the bathroom.
Yes, these looks were very specific.
I clearly remember always battling my own mother over this same topic, thinking she was SO RIDICULOUS. AND GIANT EYE ROLL. But I don’t remember the shorts in my day being THIS SHORT.
It was then that I realized the shorts weren’t getting shorter, but I’m certainly up there in the aging category.
She wanted to try them on anyway. So I acquiesced, knowing this will be a little game of give and take.
“Oh,” she said, as she shimmied into the tiny garment, moments later in the dressing room. “I thought these would feel different,” she admitted. She’s big on comfort, and these were anything but. In fact, they were aaaalll butt. {Insert mom joke here.}
“Yeah,” I just nodded, waiting for her to make the assessment on her own.
PUT THAT THING BACK WHER IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME! – I resisted my inner urge to dance like Mike Wazowski whilst yeeting said offending shorts to the ground. My daughter says yeet. Not me.
She hesitated, viewing them in the mirror.
Now, before I tell you what I did, I know that this move won’t always work. I know that it will also be a gradual, case by case basis where we slowly work with the clothing topic. We plan to have open conversations. I also know that I can’t shame her right out of it, she’ll just wear them behind my back anyway. Basically, I have no idea what I’m doing. I just know what I don’t want to do. Isn’t this what parenting is really about, anyway? Baby steps, y’all. I can’t wait for her to release her memoir, but I went for the low hanging fruit, this round.
“Hey how much do those cost?” She was already teetering on the edge of NO. I did what any other practical parent would do, and gently pointed out the 49.95 price tag. Because you see, today, we were shopping with her hard-earned money. And she was not about to spend a chunk of it in one fell swoop.
Her eyes bulged, and she promptly agreed, removing said shorts. I breathed a sigh of relief as she opted for a cute hoodie, instead. Hoodies are safe. A universal hug wrapped in a shirt. We can do a good hoodie. I can buy her all the hoodies she wants. Yay hoodies.
Add a doily collar to my Talbot’s, to compliment my clutching pearls. Because I just took it up a notch with SNL church lady status. When did I become, well, such a mom? And cautious? And totally traumatized by what these youngfolk are wearing these days?
So cheers to navigating this thing called motherhood. I know I got off easy this time in the ever-changing landscape. One thing remains the same: figuring it out as you go along. If you need me, I’ll be looking for my wide leg jeans at Talbots. And appreciating my mom’s approach to good, timeless fashion and her own discernment along the way.
Jk. On the Talbot’s part. Let’s slow our roll there, y’all. Maybe Boden will welcome me with welcome arms. All hail the skinny jean.
Who wears short shorts? Not me, apparently.
{Obligatory disclaimer if you wear Talbots: I love Talbots. They are great. No hate mail. It was a metaphor. The end.}
Anna says
I laughed out loud several times! I am the youngest of 3 girls and I clearly remember the fights over clothing. My oldest sister paved the way and my mom was worn out by the time I was a teenager and purchasing my own clothes. Now I am blessed with 2 teenage boys. And we disagree over the heinous smell of body sprays, bizarre facial hair choices and ‘homeless chic’ clothing choices (for those Gen Xer’s, think Grunge with a splash of $200 shoes).
Layla K says
This has got to be the most relatable post ever. I love it. Cheers to the moms before us and the moms we are now. Thank you for always being so real. This made my day!
mp says
Loved this!đ§Ą
Bets says
Your writing never disappoints. Thanks for the laugh! Big, big head nods going on over here. My oldest has two go-to looks: 1) Oversized t-shirt over baggy-ass sweatpants and x-large hoodie or 2) teeny-teeny-tiny crop top over skin-tight leggings. Go figure. xoxo
Diane@InMyOwnStyle says
Enjoyed this post very much having raised two daughters.
In their day is was all about skimpy cami’s with their bra straps totally on display. đ
I was lucky in the short department as their school had a policy where the short length had to be where the tips of their fingers fell when their arms were down.
They hated the girl short styling back then and instead always bought boys shorts that had a more fitted look and were a tiny bit shorter that the school found acceptable.
Giftbasketworldwide says
Great Post!! Absolutely amazing.