Playground Prostitutes?

My daughter's ninth birthday is coming up. Yes, my baby girl is entering her 'tweens', a category I don't remember when I was her age. If I recall, we were little girls until 13 when we officially got to be teenagers. Even the we watched our share of Saturday morning cartoons (another fossil from pre-historic times), not that we would ever want our friends to find out that we slept in Winnie-the Pooh pajamas and got up early to watch Garfield and Friends.
Today, however, it's different. We live in a society where every product is marketed to specific age groups and even kids are considered consumers. Perhaps it has something to do with parents inability to say 'no!' and get their children whatever they whine for. Kids in my daughter's class have cell phones. Cell phones! What in the world could a third grader need a cell phone for?
So my husband and I decided that nine was a good age to stop the birthday party ritual. We are still celebrating her birthday, of course. We will have a nice family dinner, invite the grandparents, have a little pie (the birthday girl's choice - smart kid), and she can open her presents, and fun will be had by all. What we will not be doing is blowing the national budget on a cracked out, over the top, birthday bonanza that will do nothing but wreck my house and my wallet and leave me in a crumpled heap on the kitchen floor wondering what I will do next year to top it. And we don't just try to outdo ourselves.
We moms have to compete with every other mom on the birthday party circuit. Little Suzy has a bowling party? We're having a hula party, complete with grass skirts, real pineapples and coconuts, and a little 'hush up and were this cocnut bra and have a good time, damn it'.
The next party she's invited to is a sleepover. Crap. You know what that means. Roll out the air mattress, honey. We're having a slumber party. But I couldn't have just any slumber party. I had to have a spa party where the girls got to make their own bubble bath and lip-gloss and generally make a ginormous mess of my dining room. They refused to even think about sleep until my sister-in-law had the bright idea to set all the clocks ahead and tell them it was four in the morning. It worked. But still, no more sleepovers.
Last year we had a Halloween party. Fun and easy to decorate for. But still exhausting, not to mention expensive.
So this year, I said No Party. We decided to go shopping instead. I told Sweet-Pea that we would use the money that we would have used for a party to buy clothes instead. This was greeted with much enthusiasm. She loves clothes and especially shoes. Imelda Marcos would be jealous of this girl's shoe stash.
We got up early, drove two hours to our states biggest mall, on college game-day no less, and proceeded to spend four of the most miserable hours of my life. Sweet-Pea was in her glory. At least for a while anyways. I let her pretty much have her way in Libby-Lu. A girl has to be a girl after all. Then it was on to actual clothes shopping. What a surprise.
I do not like people much, so I do most of my shopping online. Consequently, it had been quite a while since I had been in a mall, much less stores that catered to young girls. Imagine my surprise when I was surrounded by belly shirts meant for third graders and pants with 'heart breaker' emblazoned across the ass. What the hell kind of school-age stripper store was I in?
"Oh, mom," Sweet-Pea gushed. "So and so has this exact sweater. Can I have it? Please please please." The sweater in question was hot pink leopard print with 'Miss Kitty' spelled out in sequins across the chest. Miss Kitty? Wasn't that the hooker from Gunsmoke?
"Uh, no," I say without question. She just puts the sweater back with one of those 'I knew you weren't cool' looks. Whatever. If the sexualization of elementary age girls is what passes for cool these days then I'll gladly be a Poindexter.
Everywhere we look for the rest of the day I am reminded of what the world has come to. And what's worse my daughter is reminded time and time again that she has to be 'sexy' in order to be pretty. Even if she doesn't know what 'sexy' is.
I blame the Brittany's and Paris's and the Lindsey's. These girls are everywhere, making a name for themselves by doing no more than partying and having a good time. They were skimpy (read: slutty) clothes, do trashy things, get arrested and we are all supposed to let our daughters look up to them. Hell, Brittany can't even keep her own kids. The courts decided K-Fed would be a better parent ( a man who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to be with Brit, by the way). So what would make anyone want to be like her? Who knows. But it's certainly out there.
Finally after laboring for what seemed like days we were able to put together several cute outfits that we both agreed on. Mostly from the GAP, where I was happy to spend a little extra money for a quality piece of clothing that actually covered sweet pea's little ass and didn't have any sort of cheap graffiti written on it. She was finally getting it, I thought, when she help up a cute little plaid skirt. "This isn't too 'hoochy', is it, mommy?" I shook my head no. It was jsut right as a matter of fact. Plaid and plenty of fabric for me. Tiny bit of lace peeking out at the hem for her. We even agreed on a matching sweater that while it did have sequins, they were trimming out the collar instead of spelling out some dress-code no no. And of course, there were shoes. She wanted wedges, I wanted flats. We settled on a cute pair of cowboy boots with a little bit of sparkle design up the side. Compromise is a beautiful thing. Just like my daughter actually looking nine on her ninth birthday.
The moral of this story is this. We as parents have to stand our ground and teach our daughters the value of self respect and decency. If we don't then they will get their values elsewhere. iCarly and Hannah Montana are certainly ready to take up the slack. Don't be fooled by Miley's wholesome apple-pie act. She may be a sweet girl with a good head on her shoulders, but remember this : even Brittany was a Mousketeer once upon a time. And let's face it who wants a teenager with a shaved head and a sex video?
* For more on this topic please read the book Stop Dressing Your Six-Year Old Like a Skank available at Amazon.com.