Mothering

Bella got her first shipment of jeans in last night. They’re all sizes 7 & 8′s and since she’s always worn true to size and she’ll be 6 in December I figured that was perfect, should last her the 1st 1/2 of Kindergarten at least. I tried a pair on her and while they fit at the waist (what am I feeding this kid?!) they are way too long. The sevens not that bad but they have no room to grow at the waist and the eights are waayyy long with the normal amount of growing room, how they usually fit.

So, I wanted to know what to do because she couldn’t walk around like that.*

I tried to solicit advice on Twitter, and Betsey, Tara and MomBabe all tried to talk to me as if I knew how to operate a sewing machine, or even thread a needle, or had walked into a home goods store since the last time I went to visit Jason at work when he was over a Linens N’ Things.

What I was more looking for was like, should I return them and get her the plus versions of the jeans in smaller sizes (which doesn’t seem like a good thing to do, I don’t even know how plus jeans fit and it’d be my luck that she’d get taller and not gain weight and end up in high waters and there’s no fixing those), or should I take the jeans to a tailor and have them like…hemmed some sort of way that they can be released when she’s taller?

And, also, those are not all the same thank you very much which was what my mom said. As I explained here – my girls and I do not do frilly hems and butterflies and shit on our pockets. We like average, normal jeans that an adult would wear, only child sized and that’s why all of them are from Gap. Shirts and dresses and shoes are for crazy designs and frills not jeans! And as anyone with a pair of eyes can see, those jeans are all totally different! Different fits, washes, colors, etc.

Totally different. Here’s hoping her teacher has a pair of eyes and doesn’t think she’s wearing the same pants almost every day.

Alright, so what do I do?

*I would have shown you a photo of her wearing the jeans, but she’s sick and said “no pictures for the internet!”

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A few weeks ago at the park, the girls were playing on their favorite jungle gym when a host of other little children arrived and started to play too. Ari had been going down the slide, over and over, taking her time and enjoying herself immensely. As she made to sit down and position herself to go down the slide again, one of the new little children, a little girl around 4 or 5 ran up, leaned down and put on the ugliest face she could to intimidate Ari.

“Get out of the way.” she sneered.

Ari looked at her, got up and moved back. The little girl bounded down the slide and Ari watched her disappear into the tube before disappearing herself behind the clubhouse wall where I couldn’t see, but I noticed her bottom lip start to curl before she was completely out of view.

I stormed up the stairs, imagining I was knocking all of the little brats, even the well behaved and polite ones, over the railing as I went. She sat on a tiny bench, arms folded across her chest and head hung low, her dark hair hiding her face. I scooped her into my arms, this tiny little thing that still fits into all my motherly nooks after almost 4 years, and hugged her to my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder, whimpering, and my heart hurt. It hurt especially because I thought she was so tough, that she’d never let another children run over her that way – I thought only her sister was that tender.

We stood under an old oak tree to the side of the sandbox and I leaned back to look at her.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“No.” she cried, her dark eyes swollen and red.

“Do you want to go to the other part, and swing?”

“Yes,” she answered, wiping her round cheeks off with her dirty little hands.

So we left, The Bella remaining at the jungle gym with her father. I pushed her on the swings for 15 minutes, her big smile returning and her eyes sparkling like they had been before.

She forgot all about the previous incident. But I didn’t.

My eyes stung and I wondered where the hell that little brat’s parent was. Who the hell let her think it was ok for her to pick on other children, to be so rude without any hesitation, to a child she barely knew?

I was angry, angry that children are so mean to one another, that it comes so naturally to some. I was angry that this little girl was rude to my child. And I contemplated searching out that mother, just to glare and watch and see if she even paid attention to how her kids behaved.

As I stewed inside, Ari and I went back over to the jungle gym where The Bella was playing alone. The other children had moved on to the seesaws. Ari reclaimed her slide and I stood with my arms folded, pissed off.

Shitty parents. Rude kids. Ugh.

Another group of children ran up, climbing the stairs and making their way to where The Bella and Ari were. Bella saw them coming and stretched out her arms, grasping either side of the walkway and blocking their entrance. She furrowed her brow at them and said “You can’t play up here. Go AWAY.”

My sweet, easy going, friendly, never harsh to anyone, Bella. Being the playground asshole. Being rude.

And making me eat all the thoughts I’d had over the past 1/2 hour about the little girl that had hurt my baby’s feelings, and her parents.

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