There is a common misconception among amateur parents and people who have never raised children (but curiously always seem to know an awful lot about how other people should raise theirs) that boys and girls behave differently due only to parental programming and societal propaganda. There is a premise that the differences among the genders are based completely on nurture (how you raise ‘em) rather than nature (an innate difference between males and females).

I used to think so too. Then I had a son

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- Look, I don’t want to frighten anyone but it should be noted that the chills and thrills of Halloween have not, in fact, been put behind us.

Halloween is barely packed away and clearance sales on spooky finery are still running rampant (last chance to pick up that pumpkin costume for the cat for $1.99!)

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 I remember when I first made the clear connection between what I wore and how I felt. It was the dawn of middle school, which in our district was seventh grade. Back in the dark ages of the 1980’s when I rode my very own dinosaur to school we called it “junior high.” We also called it terrifyingly awkward.

Nervous beyond measure about the brave new world of “big school,” I clearly remember donning my first double layer of polo shirts with the “popped” collar (read: collar standing straight up so it tickled our ears. This required endless fussing and adjusting throughout the day and caused more than one teacher to threaten, exasperated, to snip the collars clean off with scissors if we didn’t stop fidgeting and take a note on the hydrologic cycle or pre-algebra already!) I paired this fetching double layer of short sleeve chic with a pair of deep indigo Gloria Vanderbilt jeans so stiff it was difficult to bend my knees to sit, and a pair of the all-powerful Nike tennis shoes with the burgundy swoosh. While clothes shouldn’t matter. They did. And they do. They really, really do. I practically floated into the school, blissfully confident that I would stand out chiefly by fitting in.

Many years hence, and now a stay at home Mom who can work in her bathrobe if need be, I don’t actually remember the last time I donned an outfit designed to increase my strut through the grocery store. Not that I don’t have clothes in my closet that make me feel like a million bucks, I do. It’s just that a classic A-line linen number with coordinating kitten heels just isn’t quite right for the PTO.

Thus, I get up each day and wear something respectable, practical, and probably half a decade old. Accordingly, I now live vicariously through my daughter.

Found. Miss Thing, at seven, has finally found her fashion sense. After six and three quarters years of not giving a fig what she wears up to and including her brother’s hand-me-down overalls, she has been hit – and hard - with the knowledge that a great outfit can make a great day.

Channeling her inner girlie-girl my athletic, bug catching, tomboy has discovered the giddy allure of pretty dresses, twirly skirts, and the all-mighty power of the curling iron. She favors frilly dresses clearly designed for Easter Sundays and bridal parties. These are to be paired with “clicky” shoes (otherwise known as patent leather shoes that make that distinctly delicious tapping noise when walking on hard surface flooring). She will forego these only on PE days and only grudgingly. Even then you are likely to find her pounding out the kick balls in full crinoline and sneakers.

Accordingly, getting dressed each morning has morphed from an easy shrug into a cute little tee-shirt and jeans into a full-blown production featuring tights, accessories, and hair product.

Of course I enjoyed dressing her to the nines as an infant, but as affirmed country dwellers, I really did revel in having a child who would willingly – and quite cheerfully – don a sofa slipcover if I’d asked her to. Now, my little fashion maven is dropping ominous hints about shopping and uttering four-letter-words such as “mall.”

As I drip-dry all these party dresses (lest they all melt in a puddle of petrol-based shiny fabric and netting in my dryer), I ponder the importance of appearance and confidence and the messages – both pro and con – that this might send to a modern girl.

Style. Dropping her off, I watched her walk in to the school. She’s a little thing, nearly staggering under the weight of her pink kitty bookbag. Yet, somehow, she looks taller, her shoulders are squared and it’s a wonder those clicky shoes are any use at all as she fairly floats, rather than walks, into the building. In short, she looks exactly as only someone who feels really good about themselves can.  If I was a betting woman, I’d say she’s probably going to feel great all day long and probably won’t change out of those clothes till bedtime.

That’s ok, because as I saw her disappear behind the doors, I too was immediately back in school, wearing my corduroy skirt, Holly Hobby tee-shirt, and walking tall in my wedge-heel Hush Puppy shoes.

I probably looked like a train wreck, but I felt like a million bucks.

I’ve decided that learning to feel good in your own skin – and the clothes your skin is in – is admirable. Fashions may come and fashions may go but the feeling you get from feeling good about yourself never really goes out of style.

A few weeks ago my teenaged sons were entertaining a group of friends who just happened to be girls. Traditionally when that happens, the kids start out in the kitchen snacking on bowls of M&M’s or cookies and then they migrate into the bedroom our sons share which is actually a small “suite’, consisting of a study, a bunkroom and a bathroom. PlayStation and their computer are also in there so the taboos that plagued my generation regarding the simple act of bringing the opposite sex into one’s bedroom and “ALL THE PERVERTED THINGS THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO IMPLY” (but didn’t), don’t apply here. That said, I was urging my older sons to put away the enormous basket of clean-and-unfolded clothing so that the room would look less slovenly, lived-in by swine, cluttered.
“Relax, Mom, ” said my 16-year old. “My friends couldn’t care less.”

“What about your underwear? At least stick that in a drawer someplace Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked.
“Why should it? My friends know I wear underwear.”

And then it hit me. Of course their friends know they wear underwear. Their friends know. Their teacher knows. Everyone knows because anyone with two functioning eyes can see a good two inches of it above the waist of their pants or shorts. And I’m not talking about gangbanger pants with the crotch that hangs level with the kid’s calves. I’m just talking about regular Levis and a general “unconcern” about whether or not one’s underclothes can be seen from a remote space satellite orbiting the planet.

So, if the kids don’t care about one’s underwear being visible while it’s still on their body, I suppose it makes perfect sense that several pair of “unoccupied” boxers left lying crumpled under a desk chair aren’t going to give any of their friends a big case of the vapors.

Madonna, you may be yesterday’s news and God knows you’ve been replaced by some other morons (K-Fed comes to mind) with similar taste in attire, but the legacy you began by wearing your bra on the outside of your shirt is still gaining momentum. Gee….thanks.

A suburban Boston school has banned flip-flops, citing them as a safety issue. The kids are pissed. They always are. For years and years schools have banned certain clothing items and kids get a masterful lesson on protesting and petitioning and they always lose — another great life lesson!

I remember my mom telling me that when she was in high school, the girls had to kneel down and if their skirts didn’t touch the floor, that meant they were too short and they were sent home. When I was in high shool, several rock’n'roll t-shirts were banned and although I can’t remember the bad bands that caused this mandate, it always had to do with licking or some obscenity.

The kids in the following article are acting like they’re the first to be screwed over by da man and taxes, but guess what?… they don’t pay taxes, or if they do, it’s minimal part-time Target contribution. Seven flipped-out flopper kids suggested in the artile, “Tell them to worry more about academics.” I’d like to throw that back in their little pimpley faces and say right back to he/she/it, “Why don’t *you* worry more about academics and just deal, K?” (Aren’t I awesome at this mothering thing?)

Read about the woes of these poor little, victimized darlings at the bostonherald.com:

If the Randolph school board approves the measure, it would join a growing number of schools in Weymouth, South Hadley, Boston, Bellingham and Hudson that have kicked flip-flops out of the classroom.

“You hear from kids in flip-flops tripping up stairs. Literally tripping up stairs,” said Weymouth School Committee Chairman Sean Guilfoyle.

When Weymouth banned flip-flops districtwide last July, three forlorn high school fashionistas responded by gathering 541 signatures for a petition opposing the ban, which they presented to the school board in April, according to School Committee minutes.

Guilfoyle said the students argued against the ban by showing that the board’s policy allowed many types of footwear that are similar to flip-flops.

The plan backfired. The School Committee added “athletic/beach sandals, roller sneakers (and) excessively high heels” to the list, according to this year’s dress code.

“They were magnificent,” Guilfoyle said of the three flip-flop ban fighters. “But at the end of the day, it’s a safety issue.”. Read the rest…

[TAGS]flip flops, fashion, teenagers, dress code[/TAGS]