Save The Earthworms!

It's days later and I still feel like I need an explanation. Last Wednesday morning, waiting my turn in the drop-off line at L's school, I see this little girl walking up the sidewalk up to school. She looks like maybe fourth grade. Cute little thing. She's walking kind of awkward and it is then that I realize that she has high heels on. High heels. Not even like her momma's high heels, not the little plastic Barbie sparkle ones. Real high heels, and they fit her. I cannot believe what I am seeing. I check myself to see if I am exaggerating. No. I look around to see if there are other kiddos in high heels, some sort of "dress like your mom" scenario, but no. She does look like a little momma. Cute little blond bobbed hair, with the black and white polka dot headband, little choker necklace, black shirt, white Capri's and...black high heels. Not clunky high heels. The skinny heel. Maybe 1 1/2" heel.

I'm trying to think how this conversation might go. They are in Macy's, Closed toe or open toe? Alligator skin or snake skin? Those will look fantastic with those white Capri's! Do you think you can play dodgeball in them?

I'm thinking of my own shoe shopping experiences with my kiddos...Velcro or laces? Rainbow or the sporty ones? How about the pink ones, you have a lot of pink...

I don't know, I'm just so disappointed. I don't know in exactly what. Her mother? Society? Is this what I have to look forward to with two girls? And I realize this little girl could very well have stashed these heels in her backpack until she got two blocks from home. Her mom could have no idea. But they fit her. I think of my 4-year-old and her love of shoes. I find her paddling around the house on a regular occasion in my shoes, an old purse she found in the back of my closet, and a swaddled baby doll with marker on it's face. I find it endearing, her playing momma. She's just playing.

Maybe this is naive of me, I mean I am only seven years into this motherhood bit, but I kind of want my kids to be as innocent as possible. I want them to be seven and four for as long as I can. Yes, they adore Hannah Montana and when cleaning up, I always find Ken and Barbie kissing. And sometimes when they huff away and slam their bedroom doors, I have a glimpse into their teenage years. I want them to think "stupid" is a bad word for as long as I can. I'm not going to rush things. I'm going to encourage dragging their comforters downstairs and building tents all over the living room. We're going to save the earthworms together and and play Go Fish until the cows come home. I'm going to enjoy their childhood. So when I pull to the front of the line and watch my oldest pop out of the car, Little Mermaid backpack and matching lunch box in tow, skipping into school, I think, maybe go as far as to promise, that they will enjoy their childhood too.