Ursa versus The Dingo

Do not cross Mama.  It's a universal truth.  In nature, a mama bear will rip your face off if you even *think* about endangering her cub.  She will drop you and ask questions later.  I applaud you Ursa.  You go girl! 

 In the eight years of parenting to date, some of those overlap years with one to two siblings being parented as well, there have been moments when my children were in situations where the endorphin surge made me lose a little bit of my mind and the reptilian part of my brain was completely in the driver's seat.   Most recently a fire.  No thinking, just action.  Grab the babies and go.

These situations in life I can tolerate, partly because they are few and far between, and partly because they are universals.  In every culture everywhere parents have to rescue their children from a threat at one point or another.  We are lucky that because of our privilege in living where and when we do, these moments are few and far between.  I do not have to vigilantly watch out for dingos, saber-tooth tigers, nor erupting volcanoes on a daily basis.  My children are not under constant threat.

And yet they are under attack.

 Not to minimize dingo-related danger, but my children are constantly barraged with messages that are difficult and confusing.  For example,recently we were trying to buy dress shoes for Easter.  If you want something that does not have a heel, nor a Disney character, you're pretty much out of luck.  (And that's in the infant/toddler section.)  When I asked if there was such a thing as a simple old-fashioned Mary Jane I was told I would probably have to order online from the "uniform section" or maybe check out the "religious supply companies".  What?  No, wait.  WHAT?  When did basic shoes become a specialty item?

But it gets even more surreal.  Miss Eight is a mighty thing.  Tall for her age.  Big feet to hold up her tall self.  Miss Sales ASSociate watched me negotiate the many heeled options, listened to me explain why we were looking for flat shoes, and even heard me say that we had a budget as we were buying three pairs of shoes that evening.  And then, with the slip and slime of a used-car salesman caricature, she made her move.   The condensed version:

"Let's measure those feet again.  Sometimes parents don't get it right, and if you do, you can have a sticker.  Don't you want a Frozen sticker?"
 "Oh, you have grown-up girl feet.  You're going to love the princess shoes that have pearls and flowers!"

"Now, these are beautiful on you.  You look like a princess.  I know Mom said no heels, but let's see if these are low enough for her.  What do you think Mom?  She really loves them!"

I think you are an awful excuse for a human being.  I think you just sold out a child's love and trust for her mother to make a sale on cheaply-made shoes.  I think you should be ashamed.  I think as a fellow woman, you should stop selling girls princess-dreams based on how they look.  I think, in short, if you were on fire, I would briefly consider roasting marshmallows.

Don't get me wrong.  My girls have Barbie dolls.  They watch princess movies.  I tell them they are beautiful.  They take bubble baths and paint their nails.  But I never tell them they are beautiful or special because of the specific thing they have or buy.  It is not the shirt that makes you beautiful Miss Eight, it is you.  Who you are and what you do with your life.  How you treat people.

So yes, we did walk out with the shoes, because it saved the tantrum.  We kept those shoes all of ten minutes while we debriefed in the car why the shoes were not coming home with us.  And my princess, with her good heart and good brain, was able to let the shoes go.  They were returned before the ink on the receipt was completely dry.  The look on the ASSociate's face might be what keeps me from jail.  It was that satisfying.

But here is where the story becomes more complex.  These moments happen every time we shop for our girls.  My children are not products, nor platforms for product placement.  They are not "hotties" or "dreamy" or "out of your league".   If you choose to dress your children in these clothes, I have nothing against them, or you.  There is room for both of us on this planet.  I can even concede that a word on one's derriere does not mean any one thing necessarily.

I just don't want them on my children and I would like a choice without having to order from Catholic School Uniform Supply.  I would like my girls to have options that are not always glitter-infused.  Not all animals need fake eyelashes and lipstick to make a cute shirt.    Girls like dinosaurs too.  And boys can wear pink.  Can we blur the lines a little and make it less of an ordeal?  Can we just have a range?

I applaud a friend who recently voiced her opinion to a company and changed policy.  When you search online with this company these days, you no longer have to select gender to find the item you seek.  How about we just want a shirt with our child's favorite animal?  I would never have thought to take this step, but I appreciate that you did it for all of us.  It brings us one step closer to not being defined by the chromosomal code we carry.

And if you want to choose the pink, glittery, kissy-lipped dinosaur shirt, then rock on my sister.  I applaud your fashion decision, but at least you had a choice.