The demands of raising children can lead to a disturbing erasure of visible personality. Exhibit A: an annual trip. The children’s various outfits are inspected after being packed by said children (who wants to arrive at the destination only to discover a comical undergarment oversight?). The wrapped presents are carefully stowed, the house secured, the final bills of the month sorted and paid, the long overdue dental exam complete.
As the bags are unpacked hundreds of miles from home, a mother may discover, yet again, that all the items that made it into the last packed bag are neutrals: a drab sea of black, grey, and white. Theoretically, they all “go” together in their bland neutrality. There’s just something so disheartening about pairing these pieces into uninteresting and forgettable ensembles, a physical manifestation of the feeling of fading into the background, no longer a main character but merely the babysitter and cleanup crew.
There are, of course, mothers who do not suffer from this oversight and take great pride in an array of exotic colors cultivated carefully and worn daily in a vibrant expression of artistry and personality. Such mothers may arrive at Christmas adorned with wild and eye-catching festive earrings, unique sweaters, and glittering rhinestone boots.
These same mothers who manage to dress brightly may be the ones who tell you incredulously that they “don’t have time to read.” Based on how much time the average person, including mothers of young children, spends in inane and pointless online activity, this is a blatantly false statement. But, of course, like the mother who lives in a perpetual recombination of black, beige, and gray, it feels inevitable that reading would be sidelined for motherhood.
It’s not as though motherhood is the only intensive activity available. Many people in time-consuming careers wear an uninteresting rotation of the same few items. Maybe the key is to get ahead of the drab and call it a uniform. As the tech giants are known for their signature looks, so a mother might opt for a repeating motif, a set of standard items to be worn in endless rotation. It makes a lot of sense! But, for heaven’s sake, let us not forget to incorporate some color into the palette.
When the flight attendant approaches and makes meaningful eye contact to utter the undoubtedly FAA-regulated statement about applying your own oxygen mask first before assisting small children who need help, it’s hard not to be exasperated. “I know! I know! I’ve heard this so many times!” And yet, it does not cease to be true and even, dare I say it, profound.
Children emulate. They learn by copying the words and behavior they see. Anything we desire for our children—that they dress well and read widely, that they laugh often and find purpose in their vocation—these are paths that will be available to them if we, or someone else in their lives, show them that it is possible. Are we living lives we would wish our children to have?
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