Wearing pretty dresses...

A few weeks ago I was picking up my son when one of the teachers pulled me aside to share something cute. She told me that one of the little girls told the teacher she wished I was her mother because I'm so pretty. It was cute, flattering and a little embarassing to be honest. Most days I'm running late and my hair is always wet and my makeup is rarely applied beyond blush...but to a little girl I was beautiful.

I always wondered who the little girl was. Was it the one with cornrows and the huge smile? Was it the sweet girl who always asked me where I was going? Was it the girl who could never sit still? Over the next few weeks I forgot about the mini ego-boost until yesterday.

I went into the school and smiled at one of the teachers. She stopped me and said "I wanted you to know that my daughter hopes to be in reincarnated as your daughter because you are always wearing pretty dresses". I smiled and said that was sweet but that she should know that I wear dresses mostly because I hate ironing, I'm chronically late and they are cheap, and easy.

Behind our laughter, I saw the sadness on the mother's face. Hidden behind her warm smile was the pain of thinking your child wishes that someone else could possibly be better. It bothered me. I felt guilty. I wanted to kneel down and tell the little girl that her mother was beautiful and although she didn't wear dresses, she was perfect. I wear dresses and I am not perfect. I wanted to tell the little girl that dresses don't make you a woman. That beauty doesn't equal value. I wanted to tell her that her mother needed her approval.

My son knows how to hit below the belt. He has told me I look like a "father" when my hair is pulled back and when I have an oxford shirt on. He has told me he wants a different mother. He has told me he wants to live with his father instead of me. He has told me I'm ugly and that I'm not a princess. I let these comments go because at 5, this is how they cause pain. With words and occasionally little fists or feet.

I came to school this morning to find the mother on the playground watching the children and her daughter. Guess what she was wearing?

A beautiful, flowing, brightly colored dress.