last night, while drying off after taking what seemed like a thousand-year shower, BC turned to me and asked, “mama, do i smell bad?” clearly, my delightful little seven and a half year old is ready to embark on those lovely questions which must never be answered truthfully — questions like “does this dress make me look fat?” and “do you love me?”

she smelled divine, like a little blueberry, thanks to the half-gallon of shampoo she poured on her head, her body, and probably on the walls of the shower. “why are you asking me that?” i asked in return.

“adriana told me i smelled bad,” she said with a pout. i know a lot of BC’s little friends. this name was new to me.

“who is adriana?”

“she’s one of the more “fashionable” (she said while putting little quotation marks in the air – has she learned quotation marks yet?) girls in school.”

“well, i don’t know much about her, but you don’t smell bad, and i would tell you if you did, now, wouldn’t i?”

“yes, mama.”

“what a mean thing for someone to say, that you smell bad. is this girl someone you want to be friends with?”

BC sighed. “well, she was nice to me later on this afternoon. she hangs out with a bunch of other girls.”

“well, i don’t need to be around anyone who tells me i smell bad. if she starts being nice to you, that’s one thing. if she tells you that you smell, well, i would just tell her that you aren’t interested in talking to her unless she has something nice to say.”

“mama, do i smell?”

“honey, not today. ”

yep. teen angst. it starts at seven now.

tonight is the coveted snowflake ball, a big dress-up-do for brownies and their significant daddies. BS even went out and bought her a corsage for the occasion (one parent informed him that she would be the only one without one if he neglected this, thus suffering shame and disappointing and ending up on an analyst’s couch at 30.) BC is very excited about attending, although she really didn’t have a thing to wear for the blessed event. we went tosyms this afternoon (because an educated consumer is their best customer, but me, i’m just trying to avoid the mall maelstrom) figuring we’d find shoes, tights, and maybe even a dress.

miss thang found two fancy-shmancy bonnie jean spring/summer dresses, two pair of tights, a pair of black patent leather shoes, and a purse to match. (when you’re seven, you see, you are seasonless and can get away with sleeveless thingies in february.) as the dresses were both $19.99 a piece, i figured, aw, what the hell. she has her cousin’s communion later this spring, so she should be able to wear the other then. one dress is a drop waist pink eyelet number with lots of flounces. “mama,” she said, “i love this dress, but it doesn’t t w i r l.” twirling, you see, is a very important criteria for a dress. the other dress has a funky, 1960s vibe, complete with a big kitschy pin in the front. i could never pull that one off, but BC? even strangers in the dressing room were commenting. (that, of course, bit me in the butt later on. at syms, an educated customer has to try on clothes in front of other educated customers, all butt nekkid. despite my neverending stream of no one’s looking at YOU, honeys, i couldn’t shake her entreaties. “but mama, they ARE looking at me!” anyway, this dressed, it t w i r l e d in a big way.

happiness is…

anyway, we decided to troll a little for mommy things. BC picked out a bikini. in my size. in theory. “darling,” i noted, “i haven’t worn a bikini since you were born.” a man walking by laughed so loud that i wanted to crawl into a hole and self-immolate. we then proceeded to check out shirts and sweaters. she found a leopard print sweater that reminded me of the bonnie and bill leopard sweater i have that was my grandmother’s and that is so fahncy that i cannot bear to part with it, even though i don’t think i would ever walk out of the house in that thang. she found every post-xmas sale sparkly sweater. i looked at the ceiling and said a small thank you. it was like shopping with my gram (BC is her namesake.) she touched every single item on the rack.

yep. belle freeman is alive and well and working her way through syms.

BC just figured out that one of her little friends, a girl whose birthday is about a week before her own, did not invite her to her birthday party, even after we invited her to BC’s. i had to take the moral high road on this one publicly: “well, honey, maybe she had a very expensive birthday party where she could only invite one or two friends…?” how else can you explain why someone who plays with you every day neglects to invite you to a birthday party? i’m frankly otherwise mystified why this happened unless the little girl secretly loathes BC. i mean, i happen to even know the parent casually, so i’m really surprised at any other reason other than expense.

and yet you can’t be rude and confront the issue.

these are things that make me crazy. see, i’m one of those head-on, straight-on, let me have it, good or bad, so i can move on with my life type of people. i hate game-playing; i am not exactly great at feigning coy politeness. one of my best friends and i to this day have a tough time talking about her dating ideology, as she believes in The Rules, whereas i just can’t imagine anything that isn’t basic and direct. so of course, i want to know why a parent would help to ensure that right now, at this moment, my kid is a sad little tomato. if there were months in between the two parties, then i would understand; i mean, shit happens. kids fall out. whatever. but one mother slipped when talking with me about BC’s party: “wow, it’s the same day as X’s party… oh, but it is a different time, so it should be okay.” i just smiled and bit my tongue

the best part of it: this same child invited another child to BC’s birthday party. essentially.

so i have to keep my mouth shut. get over it. all that. but you know what? first graders aren’t restricted by the same rules of etiquette that bind an old mama like me. i mean, this other child, when inviting another child (who came) to BC’s birthday party, said, “BC will give you an invitation soon.” so when discussing the issue, i said to BC: “hey. you know, you can ask her why you weren’t invited to her birthday party.”

or, from where i come from, turnabout is fair play.

…it really hits home the day your child tells you about school security drills….

BC came home from school the other day and told me that they had practiced tornado drills and security drills. “what do you do for tornado drills, I asked. “oh, we go into our cubbies and smush ourselves in. it’s lots of fun!” she squealed, reminding me for a moment of that wonderful WWII movie Hope and Glory.

“what do you do for security drills, sweetheart?” i asked.

“we run into the classroom, lock the door, and put something over the door window so the bad person can’t see us or get into our classroom.”

we never had to do that growing up.