I actually learned that Reese's have been sitting on the top shelf of his locker since the first week of school, so technically, I still do not have his packet. The only glimpse I had of his 7th grade school picture was the 1x1 inch photo on his school ID, which he accidentally left sitting on the kitchen table. I never thought to ask if his actual prints were ready. I just assumed they weren't done yet. I forgot that pictures do not need to be developed anymore. They are just printed! His were taken weeks before school even started, so of course his should have been ready way before the other kids' were. Why didn't I think to ask about them? I guess because I have a million other things on my mind, and I figured I'd eventually see them.
Like when I started to hear other local friends talking about them or when one of these loud kids let the cat out of the bag. Which brings me back to last night, when Trixie and Chip begrudgingly showed their school pictures to me. Chip took his out of his bag, dropped them in front of me, and ran back downstairs to play more Legos with Marshall. He had not a second thought about it. He didn't care what I had to say about how handsome he was or how much older he looks this year. Let's face it: he's a seven-year-old boy. He had agreed to wear a collared shirt for the one and only day of the school year, and therefore as far as he was concerned, school pictures were old news.
On the other hand, Trixie slowly walked to her backpack, her head slumping down, and before she unzipped her bag, she issued this warning:
"Chip's pictures are better than mine."
It was one of the only times I have heard her tell me that she didn't like something about herself...ever. Then, she told me the reasons why she didn't like her picture. She listed things like, "My face looks funny; my glasses seem crooked even though I know they were straight; I just don't like them!"
I didn't want to make a big deal about her sudden dip in self-confidence. I told her how much I loved her picture and her smile, saying all the stuff a mom would say in that situation. I tried to build up her confidence, but she didn't want to hear it. She didn't believe me. After a couple of minutes, I dropped it and let her go up to her room to her happy place. My happy place is baking, and hers is looming. Not sure what looming is? It's making anything and everything out of those tiny colored rubber bands.
I was so empathetic to my newly vulnerable ten-year-old daughter. I started to wonder what had made her feel badly about her picture this year, when for every year until now, she has never made a negative comment about any picture she's ever taken.
I have always been aware that mothers set the tone for how their daughters will eventually perceive themselves. Every good mom knows that rule, right? I have always been extra conscious of it, so I'm not willing to take the blame for this one. Around here, we do not discuss anybody's size or hair or skin color or any of it. We do not point out our own flaws, or those of other people, in front of our children. I'm not saying I'm a perfect mom (we know that's not true), I'm just saying that it's something I have really striven to make a priority in our home.
So, where had these feelings come from for my Trixie?
I remember being her age and we girls comparing our school pictures. We would all look at them and pick ourselves apart, complaining that our hair was too flat; our nose was too big; our skin was too pimply; our face was too fat. I did it every year since I was about ten. Where did I learn it? My mom didn't talk about herself in a negative way, and neither did my dad or the other adults I was around when I was young. I just learned it.
Mark and I were talking about how sad we felt that Trixie was dissing her school picture this year. We called her back downstairs to chat with us for a few more minutes before bedtime. We hoped to gently peel back some layers of what happened during the day that led her to come home with a defeated sense of herself. We asked her if other girls at school were talking badly about their pictures, too. We asked if her friends were saying things they didn't like about themselves. I was sure that was going to be the reason she started to feel insecure. She said the other girls weren't doing it.
Darn it.
What happened to my little girl who until very recently did not have a care in the world about her appearance?
I still don't know what it is, and I should probably give up trying. It's in her now. That feeling is there no matter how hard I tried to keep it from coming into her life. What makes all of us girls suddenly come to a point when we start to worry about our looks? Maybe it's the Disney shows I let her watch. Or Miley Cyrus. Or some books she's read that I didn't read first. (I don't pre-read the kids' books, by the way). Maybe I should have asked her if the boys in class were talking about the girls' pictures. Maybe it's all of it.
One day, we see something in the news that says, "Never tell your girls they're pretty! You want them to value their brains." Then, the next year, we hear, "Stop calling girls smart if you want them to succeed."
What do we tell them? How do we know? I don't know if there will ever be one right answer. (I tell her she's pretty and smart and a lot more). I guess we should try to figure out what works best for each individual girl. My daughter likely responds to praise differently than other girls do. It must be my job as her mom to figure her out.
It's just hard.
Right?
Anybody else have the answer?
I'd love for you to find me on Facebook.
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