Promises, Promises, Prom

I have a dream. Someday, when I'm long gone, my daughter will look back and count her blessings that she had me for a mother. I mean, I didn't get anything terribly wrong, right? She's already told me (and I'll be happy to remind her in years to come) that I didn't push my opinions on her too much during the college search process. And (get this!) she "appreciates it." I've been there beside her through wrapping paper fundraisers, standardized test prep, polo lessons, science fair projects, social media predicaments, mean girl encounters. I've stocked our pantry with cheese poofs and cookie dough, orange soda and mozzarella sticks.

For heaven's sake, I bought her a pony!

But, the thing I think I'm most satisfied about is that I set a good example in terms of what women can and should be allowed to achieve. She knows that she comes first but she also knows that my work is a very close second. I'm proud to say that she has never seen me take on less than a leadership role in business. I promised myself that I would not raise a pretty little girly-girl — unless, of course, she turned out to be a pretty little girly-girl who could kick some serious butt in whatever endeavor she pursues.

None of this though will matter one bit if she looks back on my talents for — I should say my utter ineptitude at — the traditionally girly-girl business of prom. 

Yes, it's that time again. The P-word. Prom. 

Here is how we have spent the past few days (and yes, I'm still running an ad agency before, during, and after all this) ...getting her legs waxed, getting her dress shortened, finding an elusive, adhesive, strapless, backless push-up bra (Saks Fifth Avenue and they don't come cheap), scheduling an up-do, choosing rhinestone jewelry, administering a rather sketchy mani-pedi, and coordinating a photographer friend so she can have a portrait taken — in full regalia prom attire — with her horse.

This morning, we had the extra-fun bonus of trying to remove a henna tattoo (compliments of EarthFest, Boston, last week). For the record, toothpaste, baby oil, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol and nail polish remover don't work; bleach does. Yes, I soaked my daughter's hand in bleach. 

Quick, call Social Services. 

But, suddenly, she's off! A quick stop at the stable to get her trusty steed ready for tomorrow's two-phase equestrian event — good-bye mani-pedi — and she'll be in countdown prom prep mode in earnest. 

We expect her back here at 4:00. (That gives me about half an hour for any last-minute repairs, pins, duct tape, prayers.)

Pictures with friends at the beach are on for 5:00. (Last year, we forgot the camera battery. We have already checked it twice.)

The red carpet is at 6:00. (She is walking with a last-minute girl-friend. The last-minute boy-friend she was supposed to walk with is on another bus and the prison guards — er, I mean, school administrators — won't let them switch buses so they can walk together. Sorry, but WTF?)

Buses leave at 6:30. (After they administer mandatory breathalyzers. I'm not kidding. I wish I was kidding. But, I'm not kidding.)

Drinks with another prom mom at 7:00. (I'll be the exhausted one at the bar with no make-up, sweats and red nail polish stains, nursing the pinot grigio.)

Hopefully, the high school won't send in the breathalyzers. 
 
If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.   

No "Girls" Allowed

We survived Junior Prom, and learned some valuable lessons. For example, next year my teenage daughter plans to have her hair professionally done (hey, I did my best). We will start at Frugal Fannie's for the dress, not end there after a couple of expensive missteps. We'll order the flowers in advance.

It felt a little like my wedding twenty-ohmigod-three years ago. I was absolutely lost through the whole planning process. But, once it was over, I could have written a guidebook.

But, I digress. Back to Prom.

With all the rules surrounding Prom — and there were plenty of them — I was pleasantly surprised that not much was said about a dress code. And, when my husband and I attended the "red carpet" prior to bus-boarding and venue-arriving and Prom itself, we were very pleasantly surprised at the good taste demonstrated by most of our daughter's classmates. Oh sure, there was the occasional slit (here, there and everywhere). But, by and large, the dresses were age-appropriate, baring the right amount of skin.

We had seen the same girls and boys four years earlier as they left the upper middle school for the eighth grade Boston harbor cruise. It was billed as a "semi-formal" and many of the boys wore jackets and ties — some comfortably and some ... well ... not. Most of the girls wore short dresses. Really short dresses. Short short short dresses. Some were skintight and girls were struggling to pull them down before they even left school property. Add to this that at least half of the girls were (for the first time in many cases) wearing high heels. Really high heels. High high high heels. The entire class was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.

The scene was the epitome of awkward. First of all, unless you're Brooke Shields, eighth grade hits in the middle of an awkward stage. The boys still looked like boys, while the girls looked like underage lingerie models. They were dressed and made up to look adult though. Very adult.

So fast forward to this year's big event. They all looked like grownups. And, as I said, despite a few instances of too much cleavage (back and side, as well as front), they were quite elegant.

Other schools across the country may have had less success keeping the kids in enough clothing. The news has covered a number of towns in which Prom-goers were informed of dress code rules a little too late. Some girls (not mine, obviously) buy their Prom dresses months and months in advance. If you're suddenly told that the strapless gown you paid $200 (or, in many cases, significantly more) for won't work, what are you supposed to do? And whether well-intentioned or not, the rules always revolve around girls and girly body parts, objectifying them as much as the offending garments did.

This week, a story broke about a school that sent what attempted (but failed) to be a humorous letter home, prescribing appropriate dress for another teen milestone: Graduation. The Upper Adams School in Bigliverville, PA, in its Proper Attire & Etiquette for Awards Program and Graduation, stipulated some general rules, like "No flip flops," "No chewing gum," "No sunglasses," as well as gender-specific ones:

Ladies: Choose modest attire. No bellies showing, keep "the girls" covered and supported, and make sure that nothing is so small that all your bits and pieces are hanging out.  Please remember that as you select an outfit for the awards assembly that we don't want to be looking at "sausage rolls" as Mrs. Elliott calls them. As you get dressed remember that you can't put 10 pounds of mud in a five-pound sack.

Okay, who is Mrs. Elliott and how dare she compare any girl to processed meat? (Way to add insult to injury for someone who is probably already feeling body shame.)

To be fair, boys were warned to "PULL YOUR PANTS UP!," but there was no mention of their "bits and pieces." As usual, it's the girl who is the focus of these rules and, consequently, the girl who must carry the responsibility for ensuring the morality of all.

When parents complained (and I guess they did, in great numbers), the school issued a quick mea culpa:

The Administration acknowledges that some individuals have found certain language in the document to be inappropriate or in poor taste. The document was drafted years ago, and the author of the original document has since retired. The document does not reflect the high standards of the Upper Adams School District, and the Administration will take appropriate action to address the issue. 

Okay, but then they moonwalked just a little ...

While we regret that the document contained some unfortunate word choices, we do respect all students and hope this does not distract from the dignity of the graduation ceremony and the accomplishments of our graduating class.

Saying "While we reget such-and-such" is the same as saying "We're sorry, but ..." It kind of negates the power of the apology. 

The sorry situation was a fairly minor and harmless event. But, I'm glad that parents protested. If we want our daughters to feel in control of their own bodies, rather than ashamed of them, we need to stay vigilant. Schools should respect and defend the rights of all students. 

This includes boys and anyone with "girls."

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com. 

The "Yes" Dress: Junior Prom, Part 3

Junior Prom is just two months away, and I'm beginning to feel like my daughter is Cinderella. So does that make me her wicked stepmother? Or her fairy godmother?

She isn't sweating the whole date thing (she'll either go with a boy friend — not to be confused with a boyfriend — or with a group of girls). But, finding the right dress has been a bit of a challenge.

The first dress she liked was from an online store. Despite reservations from a couple of her besties when she shared screen grabs with them, she (we) decided to try it. We took her measurements and compared them carefully to the size chart on the website. There was no question; she was a Small.

When the dress arrived a few days later, there was no question; it was too small.

Actually, it looked gorgeous. It was a royal blue, off the shoulder with a beaded bodice. Stunning, really and (unlike some of the dresses we'd seen) age-appropriate. But, there were two teensy weensy problems. She couldn't breathe or lift her arms — both of which, she might want to do on the evening of the prom. So, we returned it and requested a Medium.

Another few days later, the alternate dress arrived. Suddenly, we felt like we had left Cinderella and were stuck in Goldilocks and the Three Bears. While the first dress was too small, the second was too big. To make it "just right," we would need to enlist the aid of a local tailor.

But, alas, my fairy tale princess seemed to have changed her mind. Even when I clipped it in the back so she could see how it would fit (when it actually did fit), she just didn't love it anymore. Back it went.

Note to self, and to other moms buying prom dresses. Free delivery is all well and good, but you may want to review the return policy carefully. The website was happy to take them back, but charged us a 10% "restocking fee," as well as return postage. All said and done, we were out about $50 and didn't have a dress to show for it.

Enter Prince Charming, in the guise of my husband. We had to run a family errand about an hour from home, and he did something quite extraordinary. (1) It occurred to him that a famous women's clothing discounter — one "Frugal Fannie's" — was fairly near where we were headed. And (2) he actually offered to take us there.

To put this in perspective, there are probably at least one hundred thousand things my husband would rather do than go shopping. Sitting through Wagner's Ring Cycle comes to mind. Or getting a root canal. Clearly, this was a case of his putting our daughter's needs ahead of his own. He was very much the hero of the hour.

Frugal Fannie's was mobbed. I immediately found a department called "Occasion Dresses," and my daughter and I browsed with determination. (Her father was staying in the car, thank you very much.) No luck. The gowns were fairly dowdy, more mother-of-the-bride than belle-of-the-ball. I found a sales associate and asked if there was another place we should look.

Sure enough, there was an entire "Prom" section. In short order, we found three potential frocks and headed to the vast communal dressing room.

The first dress was lovely — also royal blue, also off the shoulder, but a drapey silk, almost Grecian in shape. The second didn't fit right — not too small or too big, just not right. The third made "too much noise;" it was a silk taffeta and rustled unacceptably. The first went back on again. A few quick pictures, and we had gained approval from friends and father. Within fifteen minutes we were done.

On our way to the register, we found a silver clutch and a rhinestone brooch that would add just the right amount of bling. And, all of our loot was considerably less than the original dress(es). Once we got home, the princess tried the dress on again, this time with heels. We all agreed ...

Perfect.

So the tale of the prom dress had a happy ending ... with many thanks to her fairy godfather.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.