Thursday, May 19, 2011

no war toys

The last chunk of chocolate easter duckie is my breakfast and little missy is munching away on oranges, yogurt, and cereal dotted with blue and purple marshmallows.  I didn't buy that stuff, my cupboard holds only Cheerios, some organic gorp that Jason eats and mini-shredded wheat bundles, mildly sweetened. You can't eat straw without a little sugar.
We're off to the park to dangle ourselves from dangerous metal contraptions.  Cameron is dressed in hot pink leggings, pink flip-flops and purple velour jacket.  All she needs is ratted hair and gemstone-studded sunglasses and she'll be just another big butt babe leaving the bingo hall  heading home to the trailer. Cammie doesn't own clothing that isn't pink or purple or adorned with glittery cartoon characters.  You can't buy a plain t-shirt anymore.  They went the way of high-top Converses and the family around the table at supper every night.

I swore never to dress my daughter in pink and I didn't.  Women's lib was in its baby days in 1975 and Ms. Reddy was singing I am woman, hear me roar, and bras were being burned or simply left in the drawer, those things cost money.  I vowed to be the genderly correct parent and my children could play with either trucks or dolls, or both, take your pick! and of course, no war toys. That last one went out the door when Jimmy picked up sticks in the back yard and they became spears, arrows, guns.  Although to my triumph, Jason did wear a pink shirt to his eighth-grade graduation along with his Birkenstocks.

I was the incredble seventies' mother. My hair was so long I could sit on it, all I owned was jeans and a granny dress and  I read no baby instruction books.  I had my first child a hundred miles from my home town and mother and friends and I had no idea it was going to hurt so much. And when it did I turned to Joe and calmly said, I'm dying, I know I am, I want you to remarry. I want my child to have a mother.  And then he went running out to the nurses' station screaming  MY WIFE IS DYING AND YOU'RE OUT HERE HAVING A PARTY.  Oh, we were a pair and they were glad to see us go.

1 comment:

MrDaveyGie said...

I did find some plain T-shirts, but we forever foraged for supper and drank from the milk carton around here, said the single father raising two boys. :-)