Thoughts On A Teapot

Thoughts On A Teapot

The first time I noticed it my daughter was 16 and going to the prom. In the photos we had taken of the prom group, the girls all had one thing in common.  It wasn’t a hair style or a dress length, high heels or flats.   No.  It was  their arms.

Almost, without exception all of those beautiful high school girls were posing with what I would describe as “teapot arms.”  Do you remember the old nursery rhyme we sang as children?

“I’m a little teapot short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout.”
As we sang about the teapot’s handle we put our hand on our hip to make a right angle.

Teapot arms.

So why, in all their prom finery were the girls doing that with their arms?

It’s not a pose limited to my small Midwestern town.  When I saw photos of other girls in other towns I saw them posing in the same way.  And lately I have noticed women of a certain age (namely mine) posing in the same  way as well. Arm bent, leaning out, what was going on?  I asked my self when did smile for the camera also involve  bending your arm in an artificial pose?

Finally I was so curious  by this phenomenon that I asked my daughter.  “What gives with the teapot arms?”  “This is not a pose that happens naturally.”  So she told me.  “It makes you look skinny.”

What!   All those beautiful, fresh faced young women, many of them athletes, concerned enough about the size of their silhouette  to strike a pose looking so forced?   I was one part stunned and two parts disappointed.  All the work we had done as mothers trying to instill confidence, to negate body shaming and we had daughters with teapot arms?

Being a parent is fraught with guilt and the fear that we are making mistakes every day.

“Was I home enough ?”

“Did I listen enough?”

“Was I too strict?”

“Was I too permissive?”

“Did I teach her that good health was more important than any idealized thin size?”
We hold ourselves to standards that move continually farther away from us.

Happily our children grow up and for the most part succeed. They may do so not on our preferred schedule, but they do fine.   They learn to take care of themselves, They work, they contribute.  They say please and thank you. They volunteer in their communities.  We see all this and hope we did right by the motherhood thing.

My daughter did look lovely for the prom. She finished high school. Went on to graduate from college and yes find a job. That Christmas we were all together posing for the usual family photos, the two of us in front of the tree.  “Smile for the picture,” someone said.
And then she did something with her arms.

She put them around me.  And we both smiled for the the picture.  All of my teapot arm concerns fell away in her embrace.  Finally, a pose I could love.

I’m just say’n.

imageCloset Wish

Hoarders Much?

Walking out the door of  a local store I glance at a sale display of odds and ends. I spy it. A large  white , metal, free formed bowl. Half off original price. Wouldn’t that  look nice on a summer table on the patio filled with flowers?  Or fruit? Or Chips? Or stop! Put it down. Exit the building.

I have of late developed a fondness for dishware. Beautiful floral pieces of china. Cups and compotes. Plates and tea pots I love them. At the same time I know I should be paring down such items from my life and pantries. But they sing a siren song and draw me in. Is it the beauty of their design? Their echo of grace and and lovely times spent with food family or friends?  Or something else?

I am not alone in this collecting coalition.  One friend is inexorably drawn to handbags. She only half jokingly had me promise to enter her home in the event of her sudden or premature demise and remove the bulk of her booty before her husband and children could discover the real size of her collection. Another friend’s husband, a card carrying re-cycle, re-use type has acquired quite the collection of second hand leather jackets.  My own husband had a serious fling with duffel bags, the kind  you  put tennis racquets in. He had not only several for himself, but he also started picking them up for the kids and me. He was always looking for the perfect bag. One for just match play, one that would work as an extra suitcase for air travel, or hold multiple racquets. It was after a family intervention when he had brought me yet another bag that we finally convinced him to stop, since I don’t play tennis! 

The world is full of collectors. Did you know the number of doll collectors is only exceeded by those who collect coins?  Numismatologist or arctophile, pick your poison. Actually  the latter specializes in teddy bears but you get the  picture. Tea cups, baseball cards, stamps, movie memorabilia, stuff and more stuff. And open the door on a quilter’s closet and prepare to be overwhelmed by fat quarters, a quilter’s  phrase for  fabric squares.

It was said that Mother Theresa owned but two saris and a bucket to wash the one she was not wearing. I am making no judgement on collecting or  anyone’s appreciation for whats-its. Just that for   many of us some things draw us in and hold us fascinated. And in this we have something in common, even if my treasure is your “not another one of those??”  I’m just say’n.