The First Day of School

This week my daughter had her first day of TK.

But prior to that her new school held an ice cream social - there was an ice cream truck and we had to pay $7 a cone. And it wasn’t social.

It was stressful, as moms eyed each other suspiciously while simultaneously looking for the kind of verbal approval we all want as kids, from the adults in our life. Only now, the adults are our peers and instead of Jansports and Kiplings, we’re toting LV’s and Goyard’s, wearing Van Cleef and Cartier, and trying to strike the perfect balance between nurturing mom, and career-driven goddess who has it all figured out.

And I hate to admit it but when we ran into our neighbors, a family with 4 children with a (perfectly happy) stay at home mom, I ignored her, believing that in the hierarchy of life achievement she had somehow failed - and I didn’t want to associate with failure. Or at the very least she would have nothing interesting to talk about.

Reflecting on it later, I felt bad.

When did the judgement over what brand backpacks you carried (Jansports? Or Kiplings?) become a deeper one, on one’s character and fortitude?

When I was a little girl, I actually wanted the life that our neighbor has - to be a stay-at-home mom with a focus on the kind of feminine domesticity that results in hobbies like knitting, crocheting, and Martha Stewart-level Sunday night feasts.

But, when I was still little (maybe in middle school) my mom hammered in that men get bored of women who have nothing going on in their lives other than their shared progeny.

She made me promise to always have my own ambition, my own life, and my own achievements - and above all, my own money (“just because you never know what can happen”).

And I did what I could to make this my reality. I went to a leading university, got a job in sales, stayed in sales, bought myself a Cartier Juste un Clou, as symbolic of a milestone and can more or less afford whatever I want - on my own, without my husband.

And it’s actually bittersweet.

My own self worth is tied up in what I achieve, how much I make, the life I live, the trips we’re able to afford, the compliments I get from mothers, the envious looks I get from women who find my husband very handsome.

Run - run - run - never slow down.

I realize now, at the ripe age of almost-40 that the things a mom says to a daughter has a lasting impact. The countless times I’ve told my toddlers why money matters to “have a nice life,” has already started to color their reality.

When we go grocery shopping on Friday nights, our oldest (4.5) scans the ground for change, pennies, dimes, quarters, anything and often comes out a few cents richer. I asked her why, and she said “so I can have a nice life.”

She used to ask me, why we have to work, why she gets picked up later than her friends (typically around 5:30pm). She no longer does, instead she’s the one telling her sister “we need the money to have a nice life and mama and dada need to work.”

If I’m honest, though I don’t have to work for us to survive - hubby has a good job. But at the same time the kind of life I wanted as a 5-year old isn’t the life that would make me feel fulfilled as a 40-year-old. I’ll always want to achieve, excel, be seen as intelligent, beautiful, amazing, compassionate, a “wow” of a person. But I understand it’s not really about what’s better - it’s about a very specific “what’s best for you.”

And as much as I can want things for my daughter (who herself is genius-level, beautiful, athletic, compassionate, amazing) she has to want those things for herself.

So on the eve of our daughter’s first day at school, instead of forcing her to practice reading, we sat together on the couch watching TV as I repeated all of the things I admire about her - who she is now, in this moment, irrespective of what the future holds