Gathering Eggs in High Heels

In the last blog I bragged about my kids and this week as I was lamenting over the very things I had imparted to my children, exhibited right in front of me, I paused for a little reflection. Yes, I do want to see character in my kids that out weighs their obsessive love of clothes and beautifully coiffed locks, but haven't they gotten those very traits from moi?

A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I read the words of Deborah Ford, expert from Girls Raised in the South, as she replayed her childhood memories preparing for church. She mirrored the image of her mother and Grandmother before her, sliding on her child sized kid-leather gloves, (mine had pearl buttons at the wrist), grabbed her purse, perfectly matching her shoes and headed for the door.

My memories suddenly began flooding in as she explained, "With this kind of tradition behind me, it's no wonder that when I roll out of bed in the morning, my mind immediately turns to the closet."

So that's my problem! My poor kids are just pitiful clones of another generations wayward obsession with looking good. Let's blame it on the South! At least, I don't have Deborah's memory of her Grandmother gathering eggs from the chicken coop in her high heels, but I do remember that you can't wear white past Labor Day, you must always write thank you notes and "Yes, ma mm" and "Yes sir" are non-negotiable.

Although the once stringent code has changed and my kids have left most of the aging protocol behind, they still carry with them the residue of being a clotheshorse. They've replaced the cliche white leather gloves with more hair products and the matching purse and shoes for a plethora of shoes. I confess they got that from me, too. However, they are usually courteous and respectful, especially when Aunt Brucie comes to town. I guess I can be thankful for one thing; I'm not gather eggs in my high heels!