One of the time-honored back-to-school traditions is buying a lot of stuff. I always got new clothes and shoes, so did Hova. I remember the piney, painty smell of new pencils, zipper-plastic pencil case, a confusing protractor, groovy new binder and fresh, clean filler paper. I don’t remember doing much with any of them, though the protractor made some awesome circles, but at the end of the year the pencil case was filled with shavings and dusted grey with lead. But never fear, the next year everything would be replaced with shiny new stuff!
This is Georgia’s first year of grade school. She’s starting kindergarten, and though I am freaking out she is cool and calm. And she has no idea that she’s supposed to be getting all new stuff. Of course she doesn’t need a protractor! All the school supplies she needs will be shared with the class, so there’s no concept of owning her own fresh crayons. And since we are trying to curb our consumer frenzies, I floated the idea of no new clothes to Hova. Would it make me a terrible mother if she just went to school in the same clothes she’s been wearing all summer? She’s got two sizes worth of hand-me-downs for all seasons, a birthday coming up, and no need for new socks or pants or dresses. His initial reaction was the same as mine — does it make us bad parents, bad Americans, if we don’t do Back-to-School shopping for a whole new school wardrobe? But we agreed, she’ll be happy as long as she feels like Wonder Woman or Harry Potter, and the dress code for either changes at any moment. Harry has even been known to wear a dress.
So what made me do it? Why did I insist that she save the new shoes that her Gramma just got her for school?
“It’s nice to start the school year in brand new shoes!” I said.
“Why not save them so it will feel special?” I said.
She fought me, but I stupidly stood my ground. The shoes are safely hidden until Kindergarten: Day One.
She doesn’t have the Back-to-School jones, but it’s so ingrained in me I couldn’t help myself.
Once she starts school I expect a whole new set of challenges. Brands we haven’t even identified yet becoming more important, people caring about stained knees, lunchbox wars, clothing desires, and girls and boys separating into society-safe, structured play scripts. I know that all of my Momster issues about consumerism and commercialism will be tested in ways I can’t even imagine yet. I’m anxious about all of this and more, and I’ll be checking in with you, dear readers, for support and suggestions!
Photo credit: Girl Named Fred [1]