Melsville

Getting Girly

The night before I flew to Chicago for Nancy and Susan's wedding. I threw out as much make-up as I could let go.  The eyeshadow that had looked good in the store, the palettes of colors packaged for people with red hair and green eyes, busted, bashed eye-pencils, lipsticks grabbed in desperate need, it all went out with the trash.

In the morning, I took the Red Line to Macy's and made for the MAC Cosmetics counter.  I headed to the MAC counter because my friend Sarah had taken me to one of their stores one week after I'd spackled on crusty, thick foundation to attend my mother's funeral.  That day, I'd bought tinted moisturizer and pale pinky-goldy highlight eye-shadow (now lost).  From then on, I always went to this company for the make-up that I really needed. Having purged my grubby cosmetics bag of all the drugstore impulse-buys, my need was pretty great that morning.

Foundation, lipstick, and a compact with six "warm" shades of eye-shadow,  I spent eighty dollars, and ten on the cosmetics bag from the CVS down the street.   My cool, little black bag filled with fancy pretty.  Ever since I'd looked beautiful at the wedding, I've wanted to settle down and have a time trying out the eyeshadows, all of them.  It hasn't yet reached the point where I wear lipstick and eyeshadow to Kung Fu class, but it still might.

My mother wore makeup every day of her adult life.  In her place and time, all women did.  Mama sat up in bed and applied her makeup perfectly while peering into a tiny mirror. We have pictures of her holding my toddler brother by the hand all prettied-up to the ends of her curled eyelashes.  When Liam was three and when most mothers I knew were content as long as their clothes were clean, this seemed strange enough to be weird.  On Christmas night in a tiny Chinese resturant, Sarah told me that, for her mother, it was always red lipstick and lipliner.  She wouldn't go to the Stop-and-Shop without them.  And now. unglamorous genteration that we are, moms drop their kids at school without any sort of color and pick them up looking just as bland.  So sad, and so dull.

For the next week, I'm going to put on some make-up every day.  I mean, what could happen if I did?  Will I be banned from Kung Fu class, shunned while dropping Emma off at Preschool or driven from office by the Choice Council at Liam's school?  Maybe nobody will notice, but maybe they won't.  I might not feel any different about myself, but let's just see.

Today,  I'll gp to Kung Fu class, and on Tuesday I'll start some light stuff with weights for the days when I don't have a class to attend.  Plan for the next year:  buff up.  File it all under Operation I Feel Pretty.

Christmas Shopping

Right now, Jamie is giving Emma a bath.  I can hear her voice and her splashing; both sound merry.  Liam is padding around upstairs getting ready to go to Zac's house, and in a few minutes he'll start counting down the minutes until he leaves.  Once he leaves, we have to go food-shopping.  Jamie's talking about going Christmas shopping, but I'll only believe that once the stores are within sight.

Most of the toys on Liam's list are Lego sets, and others can be found in the video-games section of the Best Buy.  And then, there are the the Pokemon or Yugio cards, or the Magic cards I can buy in the tiny, dimly store managed by the corpulent long-haired gentleman who's social skills are better than you think they would be.  Target sells the Pokemon and Yugio cards, so perhaps they sell Magic cards as well.  I go to Your Move Games because I can walk down Highland Avenue and support a local buisness owned by a shopkeeper who knows what he sells.  Many of the gifts Liam wants are sold at Target, but I always perfer to go to a smaller store and really think about what I'm buying.

Tomorrow, I will be alone, amd I can finally go to the stores.  After three days of rain, two days home with sick children, and a weekend spent getting things done, I'll take the subway to Stella Bella Toys and give myself over to picking out toys that Emma might like.  If anyone can tell me what three-year-old girls like, please share your ideas.   We have trains and big Legos we bought when Liam was three that are ready to come out of retirement;  but what do little girls really like?   

Emma has baby dolls that she adores, singing to them, cuddling them and playing "this little piggie" on their toes.  She has toy food, the kind that all the kids love playing with at school.  If you ask her what she wants for Christmas, she'll say, "a puppet," in a way that leaves no doubt that this is indeed what she wants.  She likes pretending, and told me after a play-date with a little boy who slipped into full Buzz Lightyear garb in the middle of the "date" that she would like a costume too.

Ah, the quandry begins.  What sort of a costume?  Besides pulling out Liam's old fireman's helmet and builder's gear, should I go in for tulle, terarras, fairy wands and things that sparkle?  I don't think any of this will keep her from being at the forefront of social revolution; but our friends who think they are on the road to overthrowing our oppressive political and social system might.  I know strong girls who get very girlie,  but some people who don't spend time around young children may not.  If anybody dares to give me any shit because I may let my daughter twril around dressed as a princess, I'll tell them they don't know anything about encouraging little girls to be who they are.

It may be a few years before I find myself face to face with Barbie, but I do dread that day.  I actually never had an honest-to-god Barbie doll;  my mother found a British fashion-doll called Cindy with whom she was at peace.  Cindy had what Mom saw as a more realistic, bull-bodied figure and less make-up.  She also had red hair and a more Mod wardrobe, so she must have been so much cooler than Barbie.  I loved her, I played with her, dressed her (Mom made some of her clothes) and eventually gave her a short, safety-scissors haircut. 

I also loved my Playmobil knights in armor, who rode off on adventures and saved few maidans.  And my castle "lego" set, and the best dress-up closet in the nieghborhood.  Tea sets and cool dollhouses.   And my "little girl" dolls who rode my model horses.   Maybe I was girlie; but I was who I was

Whatever decision I come to regarding Barbie, I can say that the mean-looking, sexed-up Bratz dolls will not enter my home; they won't and that's final.

I think that I'm going to really enjoy shopping for Emma.  This year, she knows it's Christmas.  She loves the decorated trees and the colored-lights.  She's seen The Grnich Who Stole Christmas and the Charlie Brown Christmas.  She is absolutely confident that Santa will be bringing her gifts.  Liam gives voice to the same confidence; although I think he's only a true-believer in December.  He plays along because it's fun.

Once you have kids, you realize that the way that most pople celebrate is,  "all about the kids".  Kids enjoy all the bright sparkle, the traditions and the sparkle.  Because shopping for kids has adults remembering what they loved as children and even trying-out the toys in the stores, it really is more fun.  Adults want books, CDS, warm slippers and pajamas, they really do, but those are less fun to shop for.  Gifts for adults keeps Amazon in business because you can click on what you want, wait in the warm comfort of your livingroom, and the UPS man brings it to your door.   The same man has worked on our UPS route for years, and I do enjoy having someone I know bring me books, clothes and computer-gagits every year;  I just want to buy the children's gifts in person.

On a Creative Tear

Have you heard it said that the best ideas come to you in the shower?  Today this might be true.

I'm finally writing again, and I'm getting rhe old thrill.  Heart-rate up (sometimes), mind clicking along,  nothing feels this good.  I'm finally giving the letter to the principal in rhymed couplets the attention it deserves.  I was thinking this morning about asking Peter Barrett (from the youth that I should have mis-spent) if any of his Rhode Island School of Design friends want to give illustrating a kids' book a try. I thought about the old promise that I made to Liam, my mother, and Jamie that I would write down the stories that I used to tell Liam.   Everyone liked The Knights of King Kookie Battle the Stinky Giants.  Liam loved it when I worked Sleeping Beauty into a story about a young adventuer who fights dragons and just  happens to kiss a sleeping princess.   I wondered what stories I would tell Emma.  He loved Robin Hood.

Does anyone else know what Maid Marion really did?  She dressed all in drab ("Dressed As Boy" as opposed to Drag or, "Dressed as Girl") goes into Sherwood Forrest and challenges Robin Hood to a short-sword duel.  And, she  bests him, proving she should join his merry band.  Where did she learn to handle a weapon like that?

The bow-and-arrow contest which promised her kiss to the winner?; yeah, that is part of the story.  They meet, they flirt, he wins but has to run off before they can kiss.   She says they will see one another again.  Guess what?; they do.  I love that she's not helpless.  She's in control, and I want girls to know that.    She belongs in this story more than most of the Merry Men do.  The Robin Hood story is about fighting the power, and the pretty girl is right in the thick of it.  

I wanted to write this as a kids' story.  It's never too early for a little empowerment.  I might want to give it a little kick of humor, but I'm not sure.

Once I'd dressed and dried my hair (I was in the shower; remember?) I wrote Jamie some email about this idea.  Bless his heart, he did a little Googling, and found that a novel from Maid Marion's POV had been written.  Not overly disheartened, I looked it up on Amazon and found it to be an historical novel.   I think that kids deserve this story, so I'm going to see what I can do.

I wonder if there is room for a "Romeo and Juliet" that moves the soppy lovers to one side.  Teenagers don't just fall in love.  I'm wondering what Romeo's two buds thought. And, then there is the Nurse who is a story onto herself. 

Jamie thought that "Othello" from Iago's POV would be interesting.  The most universally despised villan in Shakspere? Well, it's a challenge.

I have a Facebook account, and a friend-list of more than seventy people; friends from childhood, high-school, college family-members, my grade-school French teacher, and graduate school adviser.  I'm not a Facebook "collector";  I do not lay claim to every person whose name I recognize.  My Friends list is made up of dear friends, people I wish I could enjoy a long coffee with whenever I wanted, and people for whom, if we were attending the same wedding-reception, I would sabotage the seating arrangement so that we could share a table.  

My people are out there doing what they do;  writing, teaching, painting acting and sticking it to The Man.  I read about evenings at the theater, about babies' learning to wave bye-bye and about yet another college essay.  I know what people cooked for Thanksgiving dinner.  People tell me how they are feeling, and sending out their little notes at 1:30 am. And I'm here to listen

My Facebook friends added some real pleasure to this year's election.  When I read about a former classmate, Elissa  driving from NY. to PA. to do what she could to support President Elect Barrak Obama (Sp? I'm still adjusting to having a President Elect with an interesting name), I was proud to know her.  The idea of my ol' buddy Nick cyber-voting made me smile.  Since I spend so much of my days caring for the kids, getting little jolts of opinion and activism on a Wednesday afternoon was a joy.

The first day after the election was the twentieth anniversary of the rainy Poughkeepsie night that I didn't die when a car hit me.  Living to see such a beautiful, historic day was an acheivement.  I had the chance to share it. 

On the day after the election I had the opportunity to explain the American election system to my 16-year old cousin in Northern Ireland.  I got the chance to spread the word how lucky the whole world is that Sarah Pailin will not be our vice-president.  What a pleasure to have that chance to spread impart such  good news.

I love you, my Facebook folks.  Keep on keeping on!