Today, Petunia and I prepared to start the second grade. We sharpened the new pencils collected from a myriad of New England colleges, packed them in the reused purple pencil box, tucked it all away in her still-going-strong pink backpack... and then headed up the stairs to her room and closet.
Hours later -- and I do mean hours -- we had packed away the clothes from Vermont and tried on every questionable thing in her wardrobe. We have one small pile of things to save for little brother and one shopping bag full of things to give away... and mounds and mounds of clothes to keep in sizes ranging from 7-12. To say she has too many clothes would be to say Imelda Marcos had too many shoes. It's that bad, and, with her 7th birthday approaching, it's about to get worse.
I used to blame this overstock problem on Petunia's role as the first grandchild, great-grandchild, niece, cousin, friend's kid, etc., and, until sometime after her third birthday, that was probably true. But today, the blame falls on my shoulders, and it makes me very sad. Primarily, I know that I'm overcompensating for not having enough choice in my own clothing growing up (what child did in the 70s and 80s?) -- and still feeling like I'm not quite dressed right, ever. Petunia loves shopping for clothes in stores or in catalogues, loves changing her clothes multiple times each day, loves having fifteen pink skirts (I exaggerate not). I want her to be happy, but I don't want her to wrap her identity up in her wardrobe either. Since she announced to me today, "When I'm in college, I'm going to die my hair blond," I think I'm right to be concerned.
She is still the kid who loves dinosaurs, science experiments and writing stories. She has an amazing mind, a smart mind, a strong mind. I owe her some self-control. I can make sure that she will not have another pink skirt until she has grown out of at least ten of the ones she has. I can also call the hairdresser tomorrow and ask her to change my appointment for blond highlights to one for dyeing my hair back to its natural brown. I want to set a good example for my daughter, one that emulates Jane Goodall more than Paris Hilton. Maybe not dressing like everyone else (or, in Petunia's case, better than everyone else!) can be a good thing.
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