Bad Parent: After a Fashion
I let my kids dress themselves - and it shows.
by Amy Spurway
May 26, 2009
Me: Here sweetheart, why don't you try this sweater. It's nice and soft and . . .
Neen: It's brown.
Me: Yeah. Isn't it pretty?
Neen: Brown is not in the rainbow.
Me: That's okay. You can just try it . . .
Neen: No I can't. Rainbows don't wear brown.
Me: Okay. But it's not like you have to wear every color of the rainbow all at once, right?
Neen: Yes I do. How can people know I'm a rainbow if I don't wear all the colors?
Then she rolls her eyes at me like I'm crazy, and asks me where her red hat is. And instead of seizing this teachable moment to impress upon my daughter the value of dressing like a rational little human being, I'm the one who learns a lesson: you just can't argue with a rainbow. So I try her twin sister. She's a little less abstract. Less likely to turn this into a debate. Less prone to envisioning herself as an awe-inspiring, sky-spanning natural phenomenon.
Me: Hey, let's just put these jeans on so we can—
Roo: No.
Me: But it's time for school, so let's just take off the tutu and put on some—
Roo: NO!
The tutu it is, then.
Me: But hon, tutus are for dress up, so it's time to take the tutu off—
Roo: THEN I'LL JUST GO TO SCHOOL NUDIE! WITH MY BOOTS ON!
The tutu it is, then.
As it turns out, the "expert" advice was right on the money. Letting my kids pick their own clothes has given them control over their identities, and their choices are expressions of their budding personalities. They are boisterous, wacky, unpredictable, and colorful. The seeds of independence have been planted, and my daughters' decision-making skills have flourished. They've drunk from the cup of freedom, the chalice of choice, and decided that it would make a great hat. Who am I to take that away from them because of my own ego?
Short of pinning them down and dressing them myself every day, or gutting their closets and replacing their wardrobes with nice neutral mix-and-match collections, there's not much I can do. And I suppose there are worse things than going to school dressed like a rainbow, or a rubber-booted ballerina. Like going to school nudie. But while I'm busy rationalizing my defeat, and rehearsing the humiliated smile I'll need to flash at other mothers to convince them I am not a bad parent, my husband plays the glad game. "Maybe it's for the best," he says. "You know, like in nature. How bright colors warn other animals to stay away." Because nothing screams, "Don't mess with me! I'm dangerous and/or crazy!" like wearing an electric blue faux fur vest and pink leg warmers. Or maybe, like in nature, the vibrancy of my kids' clothes and personalities will attract others of their own colorful kind.
©2009 Amy Spurway and Babble
About the Author
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Amy Spurway is a freelance writer, communications consultant, and reticent owner of a handcrafted faux furkini. She and her husband live in Halifax, Nova Scotia, with three colorful daughters who regularly discover new ways to make their mother turn several shades of red. |
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