My Teenager just returned from a 3.5 week vacation in Northern California with my sister and mom. After we said our happy hello’s at the airport, she immediately noticed my new ‘do.
Teenager: “Oh, I like your haircut. You look like a soccer mom.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? After all, my son does play soccer so technically I have been a “soccer mom” for at least 5 years. However, I almost would have preferred she associate me with any of these women who have famously rocked the short ‘do rather than what I perceive to be a modern day label for “frumpy housewife”, which is a title I banished many years ago when I went through a divorce and joined a gym.
Last night I actually made an effort to look presentable, knowing that I had to make the long trek through the United Airlines terminal to pick up my Teenager at the gate. Beforehand I managed to squeeze in a 4 mile run as the sun was setting, after dropping off the younger two kiddos at their dad’s house. I could have easily thrown on my usual attire when I’m in a hurry: yoga pants, tank top, baseball cap, and a sweat shirt in case I get cold. But I decided my new haircut deserved a proper public debut. I managed a quick shower without fudging my makeup, then threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a cute Anne Taylor top. I even wore dangly earrings, which to me is a definite must when sporting a new haircut.
I should clarify that there is nothing wrong with being a soccer mom or even resembling one. It’s just that I hoped to elicit a different response after chopping off my hair for the second time. “Cute” or even a stare in wonderment would have sufficed. So an hour later when we were finally home, I had to ask my Teenager if she really thought I looked like a “soccer mom”, hoping that she might shed some light on exactly what she meant by that, assuming it’s a term that is used by her group of friends to describe all of us moms.
Her response: “Well, no. Because you have tattoos.”
Okay, I’ll take that answer.