I’m a Mamma, not a Shoppa


It seems like just yesterday my daughter was learning how to hold her pencil. Now she is learning how to waltz, jitterbug, tango, two-step, and salsa. And not the kind with cilantro, either.

Tomorrow I get to go to parent’s night to see her dance moves in person.

The email invitation reminded parents that the club has a “no denim” policy.  I guess my holey jeans aren’t welcome. So today I went out in search of a dress.  I have a few dresses hanging way back in the cobwebbed regions of my closet, saved from the olden days when I actually dressed in anything other than my standard uniform of jeans and t-shirts. But the email about the dress code gave me the heebie jeebies, so I wanted to see if I could find something new.

I am not the stereotypical shopper.  I don’t call up my friends and ask them to go shopping with me, and those who know me well don’t usually bother asking me to go with them because they know my limitations. I’m usually okay for one store…maybe two. Beyond that and my eyes take on a glassy stare. Today I walked in not one but TEN stores looking for something that was cute, didn’t expose wardrobe malfunctions, and was appropriate for cotillion. By the third store I was regretting wearing my heavy sweater because summer somehow happened overnight (it was 86 degrees, and I was at an outdoor mall!).  By the fifth store, I was doing quick run-throughs. Finally, by the tenth I was physically ill and supremely grateful for the air conditioning in my car. I can’t believe I spent so much time and spent so little money. As in zero.

So much for shopping. I will brush the cobwebs off a dress already in my closet. It doesn’t really matter what I wear (as long as it isn’t denim!).  This one right here is the star of MY show, anyway:


I’m a proud mamma, for good reason.  Thank you, Lord, for the privilege of parenting this delightfully witty, intelligent, creative, talented girl-child who will gleefully laugh at me tomorrow night when I try to learn the jitterbug.

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