Why Girls Need Their Girls

by Becky on November 12, 2012 · 2 comments

in Design, Fashion, Fun, Parenting


I happened to give birth to two girls. One is now seventeen. The younger, born on the same day as her sister, is fourteen. At the moment, both happen to be on the community bed (my bed, in other words), where one is sifting through fashion blogs and the other is pinning.

But here comes the cool part. The older one says to me, “Mom, I love this blog! This woman works for J. Crew. Half her outfits are J. Crew . . .” And she scrolls and oohs. “Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh,” she exclaims, having collided once again with a great new style blog.  And the younger one says to me, “Mom, you have to see this! Look at these steps!” And she proceeds to show me a DIY she’s found on Pinterest, a cement-mixing effort that involves creating small steps for a garden walkway, each one stamped with leaves, their delicate outlines and intricate vascular systems permanently imprinted on the newly dried stone.

The point isn’t that one girl dies over J. Crew and the other swoons over hardscapes. It’s that my bed has become a staging area for Big Dreams, with a viewership of one–i.e., me.  One thing our move has given me is more time to be a tribe of three.

Sometimes I used to stretch out on my mother’s bed.  She’d be neatly tucked in the way I am tonight, the difference being that while she always wore a white cotton nightie, I’m in a Hanes men’s v-neck and my men’s pajama bottoms (a wardrobe article so comfy and so essential I often consider never taking them off).  And I’d tell her things everyone else would have found meaningless but that she would listen to with quiet delight.  And now here I am, the mother, my girls pointing out all the things that get their hearts racing while I listen.  I used to think I prattled on and on and that my mother was simply indulging me.  Now I know better.  Now that I’m the one in pajamas, I get it.  The important thing is that, whatever my girls are saying, they’re saying it to me.

Girls need their girls, which, translated, means that if you’ve got two “x” chomosomes and a nearby mother or daughter, you should immediately go to the nearest bed, hop onto it, burrow in with your books and gadgetry, and get ready to exclaim to your heart’s content.  Mothers, prepare to be in your element.  Girls, do likewise.  Chocolate, optional.

Annalece Misiego November 14, 2012 at 7:30 pm

I stumbled upon your blog not long ago because my husband grew up in Madrid, in fact his family is still there although we now live in New Mexico. I love seeing the backgrounds of your adventures in “the motherland” as we like to call it. Your writing is gorgeous. You have such a way with words and such an impressive and delightful vocabulary!

I love this post. I just gave birth to my only child, a girl, four months ago and this blog post rings so true! I was the only daughter to my mother and I often found myself wondering if she was just indulging me, although I felt that she wasn’t. I know now, and will come to know even more, that she was not indulging me. She truly lived for every idea and excitement that poured from my mouth, just as I ooh and aah over every single smirk and giggle from my little lady.

Thank you for putting these thoughts of yours into such beautiful words. Say hello to the motherland for us!

Becky November 14, 2012 at 11:53 pm

Annalece! Felicidades! A baby girl–how magical. Nothing quite like a daughter. Enjoy these days of being a new mother. They go by so fast. We’re headed south today, to Montblanc. I will quite happily say Hello to your motherland. Besitos.

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