Frills Are Optional

There was a very brief time in my life when I was a slave to fashion. Unfortunately for me, these fashions included red parachute pants and a few "Flash Dance" sweatshirts. As a mother of four girls, I can usually be found in a tee-shirt and shorts. If my clothes are clean and I am not wearing a nursing bra, I consider myself dressed up.

I always knew I was going to raise my girls in a "non-gender" atmosphere. I wanted to let them find themselves among trucks, balls, bats, dolls, cradles and books. never would I have girls that "girlie girls" just because they happened to be born a female. I used to tell my friends from college, that if I ever was so lucky to have girls I never, under any circumstances, would dress them in pink or frills; they would never fall prey to the advertising evils and surely would push Tonka trucks with the best of them. I even gave them traditionally "boys" names so that their sex was not distinguishable on a resume. I was a woman obsessed. However, after one of my true blue college friends showed up when my first daughter was born with lovely pink outfit, I realized that my girls really look quite good in pink and so pink was added to the repertoire for dresses and other items.

When my oldest, now eighteen, was about four minutes old it became apparent that she took a natural liking to everything that could be considered girlie. She was immediately drawn to pink and purple sequins. She would gaze at other little girls who had nail polish on. She received dress-up clothing from my mother-in-law, who had hit the jackpot at a garage sale, and never again did I see her in something that was not pink, sparkled or ruffled in some other way. It was the end of my ideas of non-gender child rearing. She was inherently drawn to the snazzy.

Ryan has an unbelievable sense of self. She has worn purple sequins to Wal-mart before it was cool. She has sauntered down the aisles of Publix with her pink feathered and gold lame shoes with her purse slung quite casually over her shoulder. She has sashayed around the playground in her home-schooling tee-shirt with a black satin skirt and turquoise sweat socks with white patent leather shoes. I followed behind with a bewildered look in my eye as I meet the gaze of passersbys. Some of these are quite appreciative. They are probably mothers, old "war" veterans who can sense which battle was important and which was not. They smile "that" smile, and I can sense a bit camaraderie between us.

The toughest stares come from first-time mothers pushing tiny babies in buggies. They are pristine in matching clean outfits, their socks folded to the nth-degree under tiny satin baby shoes. Sometimes I look over the edge of the baby seat to see their little darlings, and when I see a girl, I tell them how wonderful little girls are and how it only gets better. They give me that completely false smile. I know they are thinking that I am the most corrupt mother, allowing my daughters to go out in that mismatched outfit.

I have no clue as to why I was so blessed with four daughters. They are all pink, purple, and frills. I am the original taupe woman. Everything from my cars, the walls in my home, and both of my dogs, are beige. I am denim shorts and clogs -- brown, of course. I only owned nail polish when my girls began wearing it. I recently bought a pair of funny flip-flops at Wal-mart. They were bright orange with huge fluorescent pink flowers on them. I have no idea why I was drawn to them. I had to buy them. My sister, who bought the same pair, put it best. She said, "I feel fabulous in them." That's it exactly. I feel fabulous in mine even if I only wear them to the pool in the back yard.

I watch my girls' faces when they wear an outfit that some would find odd or a bit off-beat (a fake leopard-skin jacket tossed over a shoulder in the middle of August), and I can see that they exude self-confidence. I am not taking that feeling away. I know there will come a day when they may conform more to those around them. I surely hope not. I hope they will always wear what thrills them, what makes them feel special, even different. When I follow behind them in khaki shorts, a tee-shirt, a stray dog hair or two, and my ever-predictable brown clogs, I feel fabulous. On some day s you may even find me sitting by the pool wearing "Cool Love" nail polish on my toes, fluorescent flip-flops and purple sequins. Come join me! Frills are optional.