Well, people, I'm making progress. I won't lie and say it isn't painful, though. The progress I'm refering to is in the Sharing-Control-With-My-Children department. Not handing it all over, of course, but sharing it when it's control that doesn't need to be all mine. And, boy, is it hard!
Back in August, I shared two of the areas where Emily and I fight for control: clothes and hair (and how it stems from me not wanting my kids looking like orphans). I feel great about the change in attitude I've made about the hair: Even though we only do basically two hair styles, I'm glad that at least it gets done. I know how she likes her hair done and I do those ways, no questions asked. It's not even an issue at all (as long as I don't push something that's "off limits"). I even learned why she hates pony tails: she thinks when her hair is all pulled back her ears stick out like a monkey's, which they totally don't. Besides that, I don't push her to let me do it on Saturdays and the past two Sunday's she's "done" her hair herself and I let it go. I no longer try to get her to wear ribbons or flowers, etc. in her hair. See? Progress. I admit, though, that while I'm doing a lot better at physically letting it go, I still need to take it even further and completely let it go mentally and emotionally. It still bothers me inside, but I just don't let on to Emily. Does that make sense? I'm working on getting to that point, but I'm not there yet.
Now, on to the clothes. We've made excellent progress there too, however, the same thing applies: I've been able to let go physically, but not completely mentally and emotionally. Anyway, recently as the weather changed, so did her selection of clothing. It changed to long pants and long sleeves, and just like last year, she has major issues with almost any kind of pants unless their sweat pants and the like. Sometimes she has issues with shirts. I could see our problems from last year resurfacing as I tried to make her live up to my "acceptable" standard of clothing.
One day, my sister mentioned to me what her neighbors do in their family. Their rule about clothing is short and simple: CLEAN AND MODEST. It was something to consider carefully. The options I faced were either I continue in my old ways and create a greater wedge between Emily and me, or I let the control of the clothing go and have more peace between us. The right path was clear, but easier said than done. After another before-school clothing battle with Emily soon after, I figuratively grit my teeth and wincingly took the plunge. I pulled Emily aside and we had a nice conversation. We talked about how the clothes thing causes a lot of stress for both of us and how it's not very fun. I asked her how she'd like it if the only rules for clothes were that they needed to be clean and modest. She thought it'd be great. She lit up as I promised I wouldn't tell her what to wear any more, even if it didn't match.
I've kept my word. And once, early on, when she picked up on the subtle hints I was giving that maybe something else would be better, I got a "Mom, you promised..." So, she goes to school wearing whatever the heck she wants. I'd say about half the time she looks fine, and the other half she looks like an orphan. I just smile and tell her she looks great. I even let it go when always says she's hot and won't wear a jacket.
The hardest incident came just on Sunday. Emily somehow got it in her head several weeks ago that her black tights make her "hot and sweaty" while her white tights are fine. In reality, they're exaclty the same nylon material, just differing in color. Even though her black tights look superbly better with her dresses, I've let that one go. Well, on Sunday she came into my room after getting dressed and there was a hole in her white tights at least the size of a quarter on the side of her leg. She hadn't noticed it and when I pointed it out I asked what she was going to do. She looked around and saw some white tissue paper that is in some gift bags containing Hannah's birthday presents. That was her solution. Rip a piece of tissue paper off and tuck it into her tights to cover the hole. As much as I wanted to say, "Hello! That's retarded!" I didn't. Instead, I said what a good idea it was. As you can imagine, it looked absolutely rediculous. I wish I'd have snapped a photo. It looked even worse after she colored a greed dot on the tissue paper during Sacrament Meeting.
So, she went to church with a tissue paper patch in her tights, ugly white hand-me-down shoes that I haven't D.I.'d yet, the "wrong" shirt under her jumper (which was short sleeved in 50 degree weather), and a hair do she did herself. Talk about looking like an orphan! It was the worst! But what I've finally realized is the importance of not letting her appearance and her tastes and her budding autonomy interfere with our relationship. And that feels really, really good.
P.S. This is entirely off the subject, but I just realized I received my mission call 10 years ago today. Whoah.
