Ellen– I might be climbing on a soapbox, but not every female maturation milestone is a Hallmark-confetti-cannon-scrapbooking-buy-a-charm-for-the-bracelet moment. Some things can just unfold and happen.

Erin– First words, first steps, first birthdays–celebrate away.

Ellen– First bra, first heels, first bottle of foundation—why make a big deal about it?

Erin – Trips to the American Girl Store, those over-the-top birthday parties, even the elaborate preschool graduation ceremonies have upped the ante for us all. We get it! You’re so used to celebrating, commemorating, and shutterflying it all for posterity that you are a little unclear as to what exactly you SHOULD be celebrating.

And all this fascination with “My baby is growing up!” milestones has led to a parenting landmine: arbitrarily deciding WHEN they should occur.

Ellen– Let’s start with make-up. I realize that the acceptable age to start wearing make-up elicits a permanent eyeliner drawn in the sand response from a lot of mothers, but why?

Erin– Random hard and fast rules do exactly one thing really well: Establish the battle lines. Other than that, they are completely useless as guiding principles. When confrontation or acquiescence are the only choices, nothing is assured but a bloody battle ahead.

They Will Never Take Our Eyeliner!

 

Ellen– Now, we all MAY be able to agree that 9 is too young to be be-dazzled.

Erin– But we are here to tell you that the water gets really murky after that. And don’t be delusional enough to think you can control the tide. Ever consider your daughter can go into the bathroom upon arrival at school, put on the make-up and wash it off before she comes home?

Ellen– Yes, even YOUR angel is capable of that.

Erin– Wanting to feel comfortable with yourself is a powerful thing. Is this really the battle you want to wage? Do you want to set up a scenario for dishonesty?

Ellen– As with all arguments, it’s about defining terms. When my daughter began wearing make-up in 6^th grade, we were talking about mascara and lip gloss—not full-on-pole-dancing-kohl-rimmed-eye-with-glitter-thrown-in-for-good-measure.

When I noticed Coco’s interest and saw where the rest of the girls in her class were, I just bought her the mascara and lipstick from Walgreens. I presented it to her one day and asked if this was something that she was interested in.

We had a mother-daughter moment without fanfare. By giving her those things, I acknowledged I was paying attention to what was going on in her life. No girls’ weekend to the flagship MAC store in NYC was needed.

She progressed to smudgy brown eyeliner and subtle shadows from there, but I have always monitored their use and stepped in with guidance as needed. Liquid black eyeliner gets calmly replaced on the shelf without drama because shopping for cosmetics hasn’t been set up to be a big deal.

Erin– I can feel hackles raising. I felt the same way. I did not wear make-up until after the birth of my second child, so it was not my thing. At. All.

But then my pale-lashed, redheaded Biddie confided to me in one of our mother-daughter pillow talks that she felt self-conscious about having HER school picture taken:“Nobody can see my lashes, Mom, it makes me feel weird.”

Now, we have had the talks about inner beauty, looks not being important, etc. but I remember middle school perhaps a little too keenly. One tube of medium-brown mascara gave my girl one less thing to worry about.

Ellen– Okay, so if you are not judging us yet, let’s see if I can push you to the edge.

Erin– Wait for it…

Ellen– My 13 year old daughter has her hair highlighted.

Erin– Stop! Don’t leave this post to go Google ‘Toddler and Tiaras.’ Ellen and Coco were not contestants.

Ellen– If you had asked me when Coco was 8 what I thought about tweens getting their hair colored, there would have been a lot of sputtering about skin-deep beauty, oppression of women, and maybe even a “Hellz No!”

Erin– Ah, but arbitrary pre-judgment will bite you every time.

Ellen– My Coco was born in July and she is a full-on summer girl. Come 80 degree weather and she transforms – golden tan through her layers of SPF 50, light brown hair streaked with blonde.

This was just a natural cycle for her until she began competitive swimming when she was 9. Natural blonding plus hours submersed in the swamp of public pool chemicals led to VERY BLONDE.

Erin– Come October, this led to trashy Jerry-Springer-worthy roots.

Ellen– So I would take her to my salon to get it “fixed” back to her winter color. Until this year when she said, “My blonde hair feels more me. I don’t want it to go away.”

Ugh, really? I needed to think about that. Well, while I was thinking about it and formulating my eloquent speech about her inner beauty shining brighter than any blonde beacon on her head (see, the speech still needs work), picture day arrived. When I say arrived, I mean Coco remembered to give me the form at 7:30 pm—the night before. Bam. That is how Coco rolls.

Erin – I’m seeing a trend here. Maybe the real problem is picture day.

Ellen – Her roots were bad, people, BAD! I can’t stand roots. Makes me feel creepy, especially for my adolescent because it made her look like I condoned her coloring her hair AND we didn’t keep up with it. Double judgement! And I definitely wasn’t putting out the cost of a tank of gas for pictures with roots.

Erin– This is where I get to say “HELLZ NO!” School pictures are expensive!

Ellen– So I played my own little inner game of Worst Case Scenario School Pictures Edition: Trashy Roots vs. Drugstore Hair Color. L’Oreal won. To sum it up: the roots were fixed, my daughter was impressed, the pictures were classy, and Coco was riding on the hair coloring highway.

Erin– Lest you all still feel like judging Ellen, or Coco for that matter, I go camping and outdoor adventuring with them twice a summer. Coco doesn’t bring make-up or a hair dryer with us. She is a trooper, and her make-up-wearing, highlighting ways haven’t seemed to curb her flair for the hanging-out-in-the-woods variety of fun. She hikes, bikes and kayaks without an ounce of vanity.

Ellen– See? Hair color does not define a woman. No need to draw a line. Besides, it’s easier to see the ticks in her blonde locks. Hey, that might be my new explanation for the highlighting: preventive medicine.

Erin– Nice spin.

Ellen– But seriously, I made the choice that supported my daughter and made her feel relaxed and content in her own skin. I listened to her.

Erin– And the Sisterhood learned to never say never. Not everything deserves a battle. Not everything deserves a party. Sometimes you can just let things happen.

Ellen– So, I’m begging you to just follow your daughter’s lead and consider what makes her comfortable. This even goes for leg shaving. There is no magic age for wielding a razor, just consider what is right for your daughter, not what makes you feel like you still have a little girl.

And for the love of little boobies, please just bring the first bras home, let her try them on, return what doesn’t fit and move on from there. Once you get past the first bra stage, your girl will feel fine with shopping for bras.

Erin– And you know why? Because you didn’t make her feel all “My girl is becoming a WOOOMMAAN!”

Ellen– But for all of you saying, “Sisterhood, you just don’t know how to celebrate this womanhood stuff, we’re not listening to you on this one,” we’re going to make one final plea. Just please don’t throw a party for her first period.

Erin– Just because there is a company that makes menarche tableware and “Pin the Ovary on the Uterus” games does NOT make it a good idea. If you’re putting tampons in a favor bag, it’s time to take a step back.

Ellen– We are not making this up. Menarche Parties R’Us is for real. Yes, you read the name correctly.

Erin– So if you’re in our camp, you’ll be peeing your pants laughing over this.

Ellen– And if you disagree with us, you’ve got yourself a supplier for throwing one humdinger of a “Girlhood to Womanhood” party.

Erin – The only winner? Mortification.

Ellen– Cue the confetti!