Saturday, the girl came along on a trip that became shopping hell. In the eighth store of our 11 store trip, I was near tears in a dressing room surrounded by a pile of rejected outfits. No, we weren’t shopping for her, just me. I have an event to attend this weekend (two, actually) and worked myself into a frenzy searching for something to wear.

The girl was trying to help, but in the first several stores, had something awful to say about everything I tried on. By store seven she was apologizing for being so critical. By store nine she was suggesting just a new bag or a pair of shoes, to go with whatever we might dig out of my closet.

It was a craptastic shopping trip.

I did, finally find something I could live with in store 11.

My dear, wonderful daughter came to me with a book and said, you need to read this: “Compare? No Fair! It’s tempting to compare yourself to girls you see on TV and in magazines and movies. But hold on! is it fair to measure yourself against made-in-Hollywood images created by makeup artists and photo wizards? No way! You don’t need to measure yourself against anyone at all, including friends or other girls at school. You’re you — a one-of-a-kind original — and you’re beautiful in your own unique way” from the American Girl book The Care and Keeping of You.

And she’s right, and taught me a lesson I should have been teaching her.

What lessons have your children taught you?

Unexpectedly, I had “The Talk” with the girl when she came home from school yesterday.

I wasn’t prepared at all. Sure, I’d thought about what I’d say, and was a little nervous about broaching the subject when the day finally came. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready. We’re never ready for our little ones to grow up, are we?

It was not my intention, although I wonder how much control we have over these things, to have the conversation go so much like the same one I had with my mother, oh, 25-26 years ago. It went something like this:

The girl: So, there’s really not a Santa Claus, right?
Me: What do you think?
The girl: I think there isn’t. I think it’s just the parents.
Me: If that’s what you want to believe, that’s OK with me.
The girl: (shocked, indignant) So you’re admitting it?
Me: (shrugging, hands in the air)
The girl: So you just buy all the presents?
Me: (hands in the air, busted)
The girl: So there’s no Tooth Fairy, either?
Me: Nope.
The girl: Wait. What about the Easter Bunny?
Me: Right.
The girl: (pauses, has another bite of her apple, considers) So will I still get an Easter basket?
Me: Probably. But can I stop giving one to your brother? I mean, he’ll be 17 by Easter and it’s getting kind of ridiculous.

Reflections
Originally uploaded by marijean_jaggers.

I took some shots around the neighborhood so I could show friends and family the peak of our fall color. Some of them live with no “autumn” to speak of, so I thought I’d share.

Fall is my favorite season.

Clicky clicky for the full fall slide show.

Clover is a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier.

He’s thinking, however, of going as a poodle for Halloween.

I think he’s all set.

Barry and John
Originally uploaded by marijean_jaggers.

That’s Barry, there on the left with the giant can of beer; an essential accessory for any summer outfit.

Barry is coming to visit us in Charlottesville for the weekend. He’s my first St. Louis friend to visit (Ed and Sean visited Mark before I moved here). We’re pretty jazzed about showing him around town — for eight months we’ve been saying “Barry would love this” about various spots around town.

We told him we’ll take him to Miyako for dinner and he said that even if that’s all we do, he’ll be happy. We’re going to hit some wineries and give him the grand tour of our new home. He’s going to love it here.

The post I wish I’d written.

Truer thoughts were never posted. Amen a thousand times. Onward the search for shopping serenity; props to those lauding the winners.

I went for some highlights over the weekend. It did not go well; I essentially got beat up by a stylist. Therefore, the following:

Me: Could I speak to the manager?
Salon: Speaking.
Me: I was in yesterday and got highlights from _____________. The reason I’m calling is that I’d like to file a formal complaint.
Salon: OK
Me: Yeah, well ___________ must have been feeling some aggression when she washed my hair because she totally banged my head on the sink. Twice.
Salon: um, OK
Me: And today? Today I have a huge bruise on the back of my head. It’s very tender. I couldn’t even sleep last night.
Salon: What is it that you want?
Me: Let’s start with an apology, and wrap it up with a card that allows me free hair care for the rest of my life. Oh, and haircuts for my friends. How about an ice pack for my head? And as for _________? I don’t want her fired, I just want to make sure that all her appointments are moved to other stylists and no walk-ins are filtered her way. Capiche?

Yeah, I’m going all Sopranos on a salon.

We returned to Harris Teeter to do all of our grocery shopping — and we’re not looking back. The first weekend back I was overcome with joy, wheeling my cart down wide, clean aisles, humming to the piped in music, being greeted with smiles by fellow shoppers and employees. I spent a full 10 minutes browsing in the produce section. The apples! They smell like apples! The vegetables are green when they’re supposed to be! My shoes, to the floor they do not stick! It was nothing short of shopping serenity. I felt at peace among the peas.

In contrast to that former grocery retailer about which we will never speak again, there is a presence of those representatives of the upper class. For instance, I shopped alongside a woman wearing a BCBG sweatsuit, complete with jeweled embellishments on the hoodie. She completed her ensemble with a pointy-toed pair of heels. Good for you! I thought, spending $600 on an outfit and workin’ the sweatsuit/heels combo at fiftysomething (it doesn’t show, not really) at the grocery store. Times like these I think, uh, maybe I don’t exactly fit the HT profile but darn it I deserve this, I’ve earned it from years of bagging my own, buying generics, coupon clipping and enduring surly underpaid employees lacking full sets of teeth. My time has come; I will shop at the grocery store of the upper echelon and they’re gonna like it!

Thanks to all y’all (my favorite new phrase) for the “hell yeah” support and especially C. who called up just to say, right on, sister.

I could blah, blah, blah here about all that it means and all my dad means to me, but the best way to sum that up is to say . . .

Go Cards!

You gotta hand it to Iron Mike. He is the champion of equal rights for women in American sports today. In an article posted by Sports Illustrated today, Tyson says he’s ready to take on women in the ring. I’ll bet there’s a few that wouldn’t mind rearranging that facial tattoo for him.

Betcha didn’t expect me to be a boxing fan. Betcha wouldn’t think I’d read SI. Shows what you know. I sat with several cousins in New York during the infamous ear-biting Tyson Holyfield fight in 1997. I’ll never forget it.

The other night, watching the playoffs (go Cards!), the girl asked why there weren’t any women in major league baseball anymore. I struggled to answer that, confirming that there aren’t any women playing, and haven’t been.

She said, “but there was one woman.”

“There was?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, “what about Jackie Robinson?”