Next stop: the mall?

Let's just say that I'm not stylish. On the days when I don't have to work (and some of the days when I do), I sit around the house in jeans or gym clothes (or worse yet, flannel pajamas) and the shirt I woke up in. I haven't purchased make-up in...well never. I was recently invited to dinner by a friend and, to kill some time before leaving the house (she eats late, when the untethered eat) I straightened my hair and put on oversized hoop earrings (I found them in the sand in Hawaii. I didn't even have the good taste to buy them for myself) and some clean clothes. My friend literally didn't recognize me when I walked into the restaurant. I'm just not that hip. Once, an outfit that I was wearing was featured on "What Not to Wear." I believe the host said "This outfit just screams Miami Beach teeny-bopper! What were you thinking?!" as he threw the outfit in the trash.

So how I ended up with this child, I don't know.

(And what you can't see in this picture is the pink paisley Converse all-stars).

Mostly, Nora is a classic tomboy--in fact, right after she put on this flowery, winged, Disney number, she announced "It's time for Tinkerbell to do her pull-ups!"--but once or twice a day, my train-building, car-pushing, baseball-playing, bike-riding, bug-inspecting, short-sleeve-shirt-just-like-daddy-wearing toddler goes all "Pinkalicious" on me.

And I fear this could be just the beginning.

I remember once sitting next to a 13-ish-year-old girl on an airplane (back when I didn't view spending 6 hours on an airplane alone as the equivalent of a "spa day") who was wearing overly-tight, acid-washed jeans and toting a box of make-up that nowadays would barely escape the scrutiny of the gate agent. She was cracking her bubblegum and flipping through the pages of 'N Sync Magazine, periodically sighing with teenage longing at pictures of Justin Timberlake and...those other boys who have since faded into obscurity. Upon arriving at my destination I announced with absolute certainty that I would never have a daughter, at least not one between the ages of 12 and 17. Ever. I could not imagine living with a person who had more make-up than common sense.

Yet, here I am. With my girl. My girl who, last night, right before getting ready for bed, grabbed her silver-glittered purse, her brand-new, heart-covered, "lighting up shoes", and her "credit card" and said, "I just need a little bit of lipstick. I'm going to Costco and I want to look beautiful." (For the record, this is proof-positive that children do NOT acquire language through imitation). And I realize, believe me, that I'm not going to hit full-on "mom-you-just-don't-understand-anything-and-you-are-SO-not-hip" for at least 9 more years. But the glimpses I have been getting recently are disquieting. For example, Nora said to me yesterday while I was trying on new glasses, "those aren't very beautiful or cool. I like the purple ones with the hearts." My four-year-old already knows that I'm not cool! Eek! Tonight, we had a "little fight" (her words, not mine) and Nora said "I really want to try a different mommy." Geez. Talk about ripping the heart right out of a person's chest.

We still have our lovely moments, the kind I always imagined I would have with my kids. A couple of times a week, she wraps her entire self around me and proclaims, "I love you more than anyone. You are the best mommy ever. I love you so much, I don't even know why! I just do." I haven't been able to get these things on tape, but I plan to. I suspect I will need this stuff, just to get (myself) through middle school. Don't get me wrong, when we adopted Nora, I dreamed of all the Hannah Andersson and Nartjie dresses I would buy for her. Some may remember the hours I spent on Ebay in the months before we traveled to China, getting the best deals possible on all things girl. I hoped that she would love to get dressed up, that her favorite shoes would be patent leather mary janes, that she would be the cutest, best-dressed toddler at every single birthday party. In Homer, Alaska, way back in 2001, I saw a kid-sized tie-dye sundress and dreamed of the daughter who would wear it. How shallow I was to think that the very best thing about raising a girl would be all the cute clothes! As recently as Wednesday I nearly begged her to try on a yellow flowery ruffly Gap summer dress--on sale no less! And perfect for me...I mean her. And yet the "good mom" in me loves that Nora would rather ride bikes or go skiing than play dress-up or wear tights. I love that she isn't afraid of snakes (she rather likes them, actually), and that one of her favorite things to do is dig up worms and pill bugs in the garden ("they are good bugs, mommy. They make compost").

Who knows. Perhaps this "pretty in pink" phase will be fleeting, and Nora will be just like her dad--quiet, outdoorsy and nerdy. Maybe she won't care at all what anyone thinks. Maybe it won't occur to her to wear make-up or even notice that her hair isn't curly or blonde or whatever is on the other side of the proverbial fence. Maybe she will take to rock-climbing and spend most of her time at the tide pools rather than at the mall. Just maybe I'll get lucky.