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Newsy

I’ve always wondered why when eyewitnesses are asked to decribe events on the news, they always say “It sounded like a freight train!”

Now I know. When a satellite truck is parked in front of your house, a reporter and his blinding white teeth, a $20,000 camera, and a microphone are all shoved in your face, there is little else to say because your heart is beating so fast the rush of blood in your ears sounds a little like a freight train.

I was on the news last night, describing my feelings about a certain crime which happened a stone’s throw away. The reporter asked how I felt about the crime. I said I didn’t like it one bit.

When I told the kids I might be on the news, they were thrilled. They were thrilled because they got the wrong idea. Ryley thought I was going to be reading the news, so when the newscast started he said, “Hey! That’s not you!” It was a middle-aged man, not mommy. I told them to be patient.

I had to mute the TV because of certain kid-unfriendly stories. After about five minutes, there I was. Cheers erupted in the living room. Mommy is famous! A show-and-tell topic! Didya call grandma? Let’s rewind and watch again. Again! Again! There was so much excitement and energy.

It sounded sort of like a freight train.

The Dress

Next week we will find out the gender of our baby, providing the baby cooperates. Honestly, I have no preference. It is assumed we want a girl because we only have one girl and four boys. Okay, I might have a slight hope for a girl, but it isn’t because we are in need of more estrogen. Ask my husband and he will tell you between my daughter and I there is a surplus, enough to overwhelm the five guys. It is because if I don’t want to have to wash more boring boy clothes. Here’s a post I wrote a year and a half ago about this very subject, from November of 2004. I called it “Why did the dinosaur drive a race car across the football field? To be on my son’s shirt”:

This dress is stuck in my head: Gorgeous dress for a litte girl

I cannot shake it loose–I keep seeing this darling arrangement of silk floral fabric enveloped around my daughter. Two things make that scenario impossible. It does not come in her size, and it is too expensive. I need either a baby girl to put the dress on or a winning Lotto ticket. My Magic 8 ball says that neither is in my future.

So I will remember the blessings that I do have–a daughter who is seven and developing her own fashion tastes as the minutes tick by, and four sons. I love my boys, but I am tired of their clothes. There are a limited number of themes allowed in the world of boy “fashion”.

Dinosaurs/Reptiles: A paleontologist’s dream dig could occur in the dressers of my boys’ room. There are T-Rexes, Brachiosaurus and Pterodactyls represented in all their snarling glory. Lizards, alligators, crocodiles snap away on their shirts. Snakes slither, newts do what newts do. Why do the cold-blooded creatures receive such status as boy fashion-icon? Why don’t boys like ducklings? Sweet little yellow ducklings?

Sports: Footballs, baseballs, basketballs, soccer balls. How tiresome it is to see balls on boys’ clothing. As if a two month old has a clue what a basketball is for–to him, it could be a giant breast or daddy’s bald head. My boys have countless shirts with sports equipment emblazoned across the front. It does not make them more athletic. It does not make them look athletic. I challenge anyone to find a REAL football player who would wear a shirt with a picture of a football on it that has the word “Football” underneath it. He doesn’t need to. Why must boys sport sports?

Transportation: Yes, boys are fascinated with things that go “vrrroooom!” So why don’t they make clothes with pictures of vacuum cleaners on the front? Or hair dryers? Trains, planes, and automobiles, a few speedboats, and even bicycles–my boys could go around the world in style with all the transportation modes represented in their clothes. And they could go fast! Sammy has pajamas with flaming race cars. This is something I want him to avoid at all costs. I might as well dress him in pajamas with a fun knife-juggling motif, or teddy bears drinking bleach.

A Combination of All Three: The worst in boy’s fashion is when all three of the over-used motifs are represented. Picture an iguana wearing a football helmet landing a plane on an aircraft carrier manned by soccer-playing Raptors, with the word “dude” on it somewhere. Why do you never see a t-shirt in the boys department with a chess-playing bunny, or a duckling riding a tricycle to the library?

And finally, Stripes: When the “designers” of boys clothing are stumped, they turn to the classic Stripey shirt. We have striped shirts in every color. Some are thick stripes, some are thin. Some are a flashy combination of thin and thick. What do stripes represent? Why stripes? I think of the old jailhouse jumpsuits, black and white striped. Maybe to prepare them for a life of crime and punishment? Football fields have stripes, military uniforms, the street, race cars, and tigers. Stripe City!

Closely related to stripes are the Plaids–stripes that aren’t limited to horizontal boundaries. Plaids are stripes set free to run vertically too. How rebellious is plaid! Stripes gone wild! Not to put down all the contributions of the Scots, but did they ever imagine that their famous Tartan designs would be relegated to flannel shirts and a look known as “slacker”?

At this moment, Joel is wearing a navy blue shirt with varsity-styled numbers on the front. Apparently, he is #43. There is a football-shaped patch on his shoulders. I can attest that Joel has no clue that he looks like he is ready for the big game. I may have commited some sort of boy-clothing sin by mixing motifs, however. His pants have a dump truck on the leg. Tommy’s shirt is also football jersey styled. It simply says “Athletic Squad” and he is #15–a Quarterback, perhaps. Sammy is Stripe-Man today, black, red, and white. Ryley is at school, wearing a sweatshirt that declares he is head of the pit-crew. He is not.

“You may never know the time of when they grow…”

Aidan is supposed to be auditioning for her school’s talent show right now. She isn’t.

I got a backback surprise last Friday as I rifled through the papers jammed unlovingly inside. I was looking for the May cafeteria menu but found a confirmation she signed up to audition for the talent show.

I assumed she was going to sing. She is an above-average singer for her age, managing to stay in tune without trying to go all “American Idol” with the vocal fluff. She is very shy about her voice, however.

“I see you are going to audition for the talent show? What are you going to perform?”

She answered, “I am going to dance!”

“Dance?”

“Yeah, I am going to dance. I have it all worked out in my head.” She left the room.

Dance? Dance? Dance? Her dance experience was about a month of ballet when she was three. Dancing along to “Wiggles” DVDs is a great workout, but can hardly be considered training. I needed to let the information twirl in my mind for awhile.

Later, I asked if she had been practicing and if she had music picked out.

“I don’t need to practice. I am doing the Macarena!” she said.

“How are you going to do the music?”

“I don’t know if I will use music,” she said in a voice with shoulders, which were shrugging.

Suddenly I could see her onstage, in front of the audition judges and dozens of other elementary school students, doing a silent surreal Macarena-mime-style, alone. It was painful.

My instinct to encourage and cheer her on collided with my instinct to protect her from certain embarrassment.

I explained how talent shows were all about originality. I told her how she should have been practicing something special for weeks because I knew she’d want to do her best. She seemed to turn these things over in her mind. I was trying to discourage her without discouraging her.

Last night at dinner we decided she would skip the audition this year and that next year we would remind her when talent show time was nearing, so she could prepare something in advance. It all seemed settled, until this afternoon.

When I picked her up from school she looked at me earnestly and said “I really want to audition!” The sounds of echoing snickers directed at her came screeching back and my heart pounded. don't trim too much

“Remember, you aren’t ready to do a dance?” I said.

“Oh, no. I am not going to dance. I am going to read a poem I wrote today.” She waved a piece of paper over her head.

Big sigh, “Writing is a talent, but not a talent for a show like this.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I took the paper from her and read her poem. It was good. We went home.

One of my prayers for my children is that they will recognize their gifts and talents and use them to bring happiness and light into the world. I also pray I won’t stand in their way.

Why can’t I shake the feeling I stood in her way, somehow?

Roses and Lilies Dark Red
by Aidan

Roses and lilies of dark red,
blossom in the winter of snow and frigid cold,
you may never know the time of when they grow.
Roses and lilies of dark red.