Mornings with Meems
Let it be stated: Meems is not a morning person.
Every morning, Meems asks me what she should wear. Every. Single. Morning. I have yet to figure out what exactly she wants from me here. It just feels like a trick question somehow. I know, it would appear pretty straightforward, but not much with this kid is straightforward. Except when she tells you that you look prettier with makeup, or with your sunglasses on. That’s pretty straightforward. Brutally straightforward.
I offer suggestions. Typically, the result is this: she poo-poos each one and then gets mad at me because I can’t figure out what she wants to wear. She may not know what she wants, but she always knows what she doesn’t want.
No lie.
Typical morning:
“Mom, what can I wear?”
Leary and weary of her torturous guessing game, I decide to be encouraging instead. I tell her that she has a great sense of style and she doesn’t need me – she always looks cute (and she does have a great sense of style, I’m not lying to her). She usually comes back with a very loud sigh, the ever present eyeroll, and an “I know but what can I WEAR?” as if I don’t really understand the meaning of that word.
“Pants? It’s cold.”
“I don’t have pants. I have jeans.”
“Yes you do, you have some cute camo capris and some grey skinny cargos. Either of which would look cute with boots or flats. You also have yoga pants. And, incidentally, jeans are pants.”
“Ok but what can I WEA-YUR??” She has not only spoken the word super slowly but also turned it into a two syllable word. Apparently, that word is still foreign to me.
“Meems, I don’t know what to tell you. I will tell you you’re 11, you’re running late, you have to get ready for school, I have to get ready for work and I don’t have time for this. Just pick something and it will be fine.”
Often, this exchange ends in someone stomping off and slamming a door. Mornings are no good for anyone around here.
This morning, it happened again. Because of course.
“Meems…” sigh “I don’t…..”
She cuts me off. “Mom, I just really am asking you today. Can you please help me?” The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice tells me she needs this, that she’s not actually setting me up for some evil preteen takedown.
I offer suggestions. She accepts them. We brainstorm. This, I love. I wish it could always be this way. Feeling bold, I suggest the boots she never seems to want to wear (what am I crazy? I am setting myself up to get shot down!) and she agrees.
I nearly faint. I am overcome with a little love gush for this sweet baby girl of mine getting all grown up. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy and truly connected and then…
“Thanks Mom. Now shut the door. I have to get dressed and the boys will see me naked. GEESH.”
Aaaand we’re back.
But for a moment, a tiny, shining, shimmering pre-pubescent moment, life was good, simple and happy. For one single minute, I wasn’t trying to guess if “I need your help” really meant “I don’t need your help” and if “I don’t know what to do” really meant “I KNOW, gosh!!”
I am discovering, as my children get older, that those moments are golden. They are warm and reassuring, to both child AND parent.
Those are the moments where life truly happens.
Thankful for one of those moments today. And taking bets on how long it will be before it happens again.
Every morning, Meems asks me what she should wear. Every. Single. Morning. I have yet to figure out what exactly she wants from me here. It just feels like a trick question somehow. I know, it would appear pretty straightforward, but not much with this kid is straightforward. Except when she tells you that you look prettier with makeup, or with your sunglasses on. That’s pretty straightforward. Brutally straightforward.
I offer suggestions. Typically, the result is this: she poo-poos each one and then gets mad at me because I can’t figure out what she wants to wear. She may not know what she wants, but she always knows what she doesn’t want.
No lie.
Typical morning:
“Mom, what can I wear?”
Leary and weary of her torturous guessing game, I decide to be encouraging instead. I tell her that she has a great sense of style and she doesn’t need me – she always looks cute (and she does have a great sense of style, I’m not lying to her). She usually comes back with a very loud sigh, the ever present eyeroll, and an “I know but what can I WEAR?” as if I don’t really understand the meaning of that word.
“Pants? It’s cold.”
“I don’t have pants. I have jeans.”
“Yes you do, you have some cute camo capris and some grey skinny cargos. Either of which would look cute with boots or flats. You also have yoga pants. And, incidentally, jeans are pants.”
“Ok but what can I WEA-YUR??” She has not only spoken the word super slowly but also turned it into a two syllable word. Apparently, that word is still foreign to me.
“Meems, I don’t know what to tell you. I will tell you you’re 11, you’re running late, you have to get ready for school, I have to get ready for work and I don’t have time for this. Just pick something and it will be fine.”
Often, this exchange ends in someone stomping off and slamming a door. Mornings are no good for anyone around here.
This morning, it happened again. Because of course.
“Meems…” sigh “I don’t…..”
She cuts me off. “Mom, I just really am asking you today. Can you please help me?” The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice tells me she needs this, that she’s not actually setting me up for some evil preteen takedown.
I offer suggestions. She accepts them. We brainstorm. This, I love. I wish it could always be this way. Feeling bold, I suggest the boots she never seems to want to wear (what am I crazy? I am setting myself up to get shot down!) and she agrees.
I nearly faint. I am overcome with a little love gush for this sweet baby girl of mine getting all grown up. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy and truly connected and then…
“Thanks Mom. Now shut the door. I have to get dressed and the boys will see me naked. GEESH.”
Aaaand we’re back.
But for a moment, a tiny, shining, shimmering pre-pubescent moment, life was good, simple and happy. For one single minute, I wasn’t trying to guess if “I need your help” really meant “I don’t need your help” and if “I don’t know what to do” really meant “I KNOW, gosh!!”
I am discovering, as my children get older, that those moments are golden. They are warm and reassuring, to both child AND parent.
Those are the moments where life truly happens.
Thankful for one of those moments today. And taking bets on how long it will be before it happens again.
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