Little Lord Fauntleroy

We're off to America soon, land of cheap children's clothing (and cute). So we did a big old clear out of Buddy's closet. I've been putting off buying any new trousers for the boy thinking we could make do, but the poor lad has had several growth spurts so other than a couple of trousers he's been mostly wearing high waters.



But actually stuffed in the way back, back of the cupboard - and I can't imagine why this outfit wasn't in regular circulation - I found a little blue coverall set that just about fit. This is one of those classic outfits my mother simply cannot resist. Although she should. Not only is the boy guaranteed a drubbing on the rougher playgrounds of South London - but the back opening one piece is really beyond a little lad who needs to get to the toilet on his own.





Still these pictures should be handy for future blackmail. Do I feel guilty? Not in the least, especially after the boy packed the washing machine detergent tray full of dishwasher salt today.

As you are not

Thanks to the wonders of Twitter, I caught the story about the little boy who dressed as Daphne before it made the headlines. When there were 20 comments on the blog, not 15,000. And they were all supportive.

My initial response was to be positive, too. If the kid wants to be Daphne - then what do I care? But then I thought, hey - wait a minute. The boy was having second thoughts and the mom was pushing him to go ahead and do it. She's thinking tolerance and "accept me as I am"- but part of a parent's job, too is helping children to traverse the minefield of cultural expectations. To know when it's worth going with the flow and when it's worth saying 'screw you'. Or whichever choice of vocabulary you want your five your old to use on such occasions.

And my next thoughts were since when does Daphne wear a pink dress? And pink boots? Eh? Since when? And since when is Daphne's hair the color of a traffic cone? Only through

the wonders of Google image search did I realise that this woman had dressed her child in the live action film version of Daphne, not the purple frocked, cuban heel wearing Daphne (sexy, yet deceptively practical). Tsk, tsk. What kind of message is that to give to a five year old? That old school Scooby is to be disregarded, passed over? Where is this woman's respect for the classics? I asked my boy whether that was a boy or a girl - and he instantly identified

the child in the picture as a boy - but though he's watched far, far, far too much Scooby for a middle class parent to admit comfortably - he did not recognise this as a Daphne costume. He said 'pumpkin hair' - when I asked what the boy was wearing.

But more disturbing than all of that is the sexualisation of the whole debate. A little boy wants to be Daphne and people are worried that he'll be gay or people are worried that people will be worried that he's gay. Hello, he's five. I don't care whether sexual preferences are innate, partly innate or partly acculturated or if you can turn gay by wearing a pink dress, five is too young to be even thinking about stuff like that. Why are we sexualising kids so young? My son sometimes wears my shoes and says "I'm mommy." It means nothing. At least nothing sexual anyway. And if it did, it's likely that he'd become a lesbian - as I wear nothing but flats and shoes with plenty of toe room. Comfort is everything.

Like the boy in the blog post, my boy also loves Scooby. Sometimes he pretends to be Scooby, sometimes Fred - and yes, sometimes Daphne. I don't make a big deal out of it. It's just pretend. But I have noted that he never pretends to be Velma or Shaggy, the two characters I've always closely identified with. Kids may not pick up on the sex thing, but they sure as heck can start picking out status stuff early. He's an Alpha type, I reckon. And the sweetest thing is that he doesn't realise yet what his mom and dad are really like. If my husband wants to be Shaggy or I want to be Velma as we play along with the boy - we're reassigned as Fred or Daphne. The well-groomed, well-dressed, popular types. We're gonna come a long way down in his eyes one day - and it may be soon.

But I also thought about my own son and his costume preferences. He likes being a pirate or a knight. Really anything that carries a weapon. Is this an indication of what he'll be when he grows up? Probably. He's clearly headed for a life of crime or maybe a brilliant career as a corporate raider.

Stand and deliver...

Halloween costume tips for the fashion aware

There's been an uptick in visits to the site lately on the search term - "how to dress like a terrorist". I wondered what that was all about, but then I remembered it was Halloween. Really people, the 29th is waaaay too late to be planning a great costume, but I'll help if I can.

Here at The Vol Abroad blog, we love to give fashion tips - but sadly the post people are landing on may be disappointing. It describes the time that my husband was stopped and searched under the prevention of terrorism act.

If you're curious, here's what he was wearing:

He took a record of my physical appearance. I'm an IC1 Male (white male), my height and described my clothing which was a blue shirt, dress trousers and black shoes. Which sounded quite smart, so I was glad I had dressed decently.

I'm sure you've all got something like that in your wardrobes. But if you find that a bit stifling for a festive occasion, you can always wear what the 7/7 bombers wore on their scouting trip of the capital. Thanks to CCTV and the BBC, you now know that ball caps, t-shirts, jeans and combat trousers are just the thing. Note well, the New York Yankees insignia. The NY theme comes up again just two weeks later with the unsuccessful 21/7 bombers. (Image from the Daily Mail)




I hope y'all find that helpful. Basically, you can pretty much wear whatever on a day out of mass murder. But I'd definitely go with the ball cap. Four out of seven terrorists agree.

Bronze

There's a men's clothing store at Tooting Broadway which sells an amazing array of fine clothing. It's called Taki Casuals. Really. I'm not making it up.

Here's the pictorial proof.




In the window recently, I espied a gorgeous suit in bronze lame. Now, you don't often see anything in bronze lame, but most especially not a fairly traditionally cut man's suit.

I wanted that suit. Not being a man, I wanted that suit for my husband.

I suggested that he could wear it to his lectures. The Vol-in-Law, who usually favours your charcoals and your blacks and when's he's feeling adventurous will wear some navy, was a little dubious about the suitability of bronze lame for the edification of young minds in the subject of statute and case law.

I could see his point, had it been say a silver or a gold lame. But this was bronze, which is downright respectable in its muted glimmer.

Eventually, we reached a compromise. If my brother announced his engagement while the suit was still there, I could buy the suit and the Vol-in-Law would wear it to the rehearsal dinner.

Well, the VolBro's relationship turned rocky and the suit is gone from the window. And I'm just sick, sick that the opportunity is lost.

Striking a blow for fashion and patient dignity

Today I had another follow-up appointment following the whole breast cyst debacle. No more cyst, but there's a dark spot on the scan which is probably just scar tissue. No big deal, but it means I'm not discharged from the service yet.

Anyway, they're usually pretty quick about seeing you, but they have this little routine.

1. Wait. In an area that isn't exactly a hallway, but people are walking through there.
   
2. Nurse calls your name.
3. You answer and are lead to a cubicle where you're asked to change into one of those hideous gowns.
4. You go back to your seat - and wait some more.
5. But now you look stupid and exposed in a hospital gown.

Well, today I said no. I said I'm not going to put on a hospital gown. The nurse was shocked. Shocked I tell you. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. She made me repeat myself. I said I really don't want to put on one of those gowns.

"Well, no one likes them, but we're very busy today."
"I'm a really fast undresser," I said.
She looked doubtful.
"Really fast," I emphasized.

Anyway, I didn't put on the gown and I did undress fast. I'm certain that I took no more time than wearing one of those hideous gowns, since I generally have to fumble with the ties.

And when it was all over, I got dressed again fast, too.

I'm melting

I think I'm going soft. We finally got a little bit of warmth and I'm reacting like I've got the vapors or something. I'm thinking about cotton dresses and wearing "city shorts"* to work.

For years, I've scoffed at the Brits when they complained about the heat when the mercury rose above 75 and I was still wearing a cotton sweater. I've lived through Tennessee summers without the benefit of air conditioning. Now that was hot.

But now I'm feeling the heat a bit. It was 82 in house this morning at 5am.

________
* I would never, ever do that.

V&A

This week we have the happy circumstance of a nursery place but not yet back in full (or full-ish) time work. So I dropped the kid at the daycare and took myself to the Victoria and Albert to look at the stuff and to take some pictures. Like the one above, which could be turned into a Christmas card if I could be bothered to send such things out.

No visit to a museum is complete without a visit to the museum shop (and the one at the V&A is practically unavoidable given that it's dead centre in the building). I perused the expensive goo-gaws and desirable design items. Two things caught my eye - child sized fake Japanese armor (so cool, but Buddy's not old enough) and baby sized cotton kimonos.

I knew the cotton kimono would be overpriced, but I was willing to pay. I set my reservation price in my head and hunted for one with a price tag.

£35.00

That exceeded my reservation price by some considerable margin. That's around $70. For a thin cotton baby bathrobe. Ridiculous.

Baseball, Motherhood and secondary market for baby clothes

I'm not a baseball fan. I'm just not. American football is the slowest game I can stand. I've just never been able to find that pace, get into that groove that people talk about. I've attended one baseball game - a home fixture for the struggling Astros back in 1991*. After I realised how much stadium beers cost and then my buzz wore off, I was ready to leave.

I don't have a team. I guess if I had a team I might lean toward the Braves, though apparently one of my great-grandmothers was an avid White Sox fan. And I have no animosity toward any team in major league baseball, either.

-0-

Buddy, who had about a million outfits when he was born - more than he could actually wear, has started running out of long sleeved shirts. It's a combination of fewer gifts in this size and just needing more outfits per day, what with him eating (and spilling) solids and crawling around on his belly.

So, being cheapos, we decided to go to a local used-baby-clothes sale. We arrived late, but that meant the crowds were gone and we found a table run by an American woman who had two little boys older than Buddy. She had a lot of American labels and she had a quite a few American sports themed outfits (which believe it or not aren't wildly popular amongst Wimbledon parents). We bought some hockey and basketball themed baby shoes and a baseball outfit.

Yeah, yeah I know...I don't like baseball. But this friend of mine does. And he's a huge Cards fan. And this was a little Cardinals outfit and it was only a pound ($2). And I thought, it's worth a pound just for the photos.







Was it worth it? (I just realised everything but his socks came from that woman's table. I should have got her number.)




_______
*I have attended many t-ball games, though.

New shoes?

I've just been watching the BBC science series Horizon program on decision making. Verrry interesting.

I've learned a couple of things.

1. If you go for a job interview - make sure that your hands are warm before you shake hands with your interviewer. If you've just come in from the cold, buy a coffee or something to warm them up. (People's views of you, including hiring decisions, can be influenced strongly by temperature.)

2. Risky shoes choices are best left to single women. That is - the more married you are - the more sensible your shoes should be.


Tip 1 is useful. Tip 2 - less so. I've always bought sensible shoes. Plain dressing dikes think my shoe choices are sensible. My problem - according to my husband - is that I buy a lot of them. He calls me the Imelda Marcos of black leather sensible flats.

There's even a handy calculator for decision making. Good old weighting of cost and benefit using a collection of nifty little variables. Apparently, I should buy the fake grass and my husband should apologise. (Hey baby, it's all in the weighting.)

Buddy guest blogs

Hey Coach Pearl



Are there any vacancies on your staff? Or is more formal attire required.

Or maybe with my skills, I should be applying to Coach Fulmer:



I'll do anything:



I'll be the mascot



-Big Orange Buddy
________

Out for lunch today I overheard a father at the next table say to his toddler son "How would you like to wear a track suit like that?"

He said it like it would be some kind of joke or punishment or something.

You could tell it just slipped out. You could tell that he was thinking "Did I just say that, like that, out loud? I know they heard me."

And I'm thinking - "Hey, we're just at the next table. We heard you."

And then he says to us "That's a really nice track suit."

Errrm....thanks. Fact is, you don't see an outfit like that in South West London every day.

Crocs

One of the blogs I read regularly is Girl from the South. I don't see eye to eye with her on every issue. Adrienne hates feminists. Adrienne hates the left. Adrienne hates Crocs. Hey, one out of three ain't bad.

But Adrienne's a hypocrite. She's now the proud owner of a pair of Crocs. But they're orange and emblazoned with a Power T. What's not to like? Well, except they're crocs.

-0-

Until about a year ago I could read Adrienne's blog and her croc-hating posts and just snicker and sneer. Crocs hadn't yet crossed the pond. But now they have - and the foam footwear have taken the country by storm.

When I was in the hospital with my three day, failing-to-progess-labor, many of the obstetrical staff were wearing Crocs. How could I trust their medical decision making skills when clearly they couldn't choose decent shoes?

And yesterday, I saw a woman in the full black burqa and face covering niqab in the local grocery store. She was a big woman, tall and probably pretty bulky, too. She filled the aisles with her presence and her eery black garb. And she was wearing Crocs - in black, of course.

And I thought of you, Adrienne.

_________

Photo of crocs from Flickr user mstephens7 under creative commons license. Great image, crap shoes.

Branded

Neils Boorman - former brand-a-holic has released a book about his passion for brands and how he lived brand-free for a year.

Like many compulsive types, once addicted to designer labels - he took his brand free existence to extremes, too. According to this BBC story, he found that shopping for non-branded and preferably locally produced clothes, food or anything was tough work.

By banning myself from the shops I hoped to cleanse myself of a destructive addiction. But the prohibition became a kind of experiment, I wanted to find out if a person living in modern Britain could survive away from the chain stores and supermarkets that dominate our lives.

The first months of my brand-free life were hell. My local High Streets were populated entirely by mass-market brands and I was forced to scour the back streets for alternative spaces to shop.

I appreciate the experiment and how hard it must be to break the cruel dependency of fashion and brand addiction. He's covered some of his experience on his blog.

-0-

I don't live a brand free life. Far from it. I love Finnish design and enjoy my Arabia dishes and Iitala glassware (and Nokia phone). I like brands because it means that suppliers have a reputation and a brand loyalty to maintain - so in theory they keep an eye on quality and sizing and fit should be relatively consistent. A lot of my clothes come from XXXXX, from XXXX when I'm in the US and shoes from XXXXX. I recently bought some onesies from Baby XXX, after having been given some as gifts and discovering that they seemed to be the softest an wash the best. But I scour the stocks and do my best to choose the items with as little writing or brand ID as possible on the clothing. Keep the label on the label. Why should I pay money to advertise their clothes for them?

I not just my own money I don't like to spend on advertising other people's products, I don't even like to do that with gifted items. For instance, VolMom gave me a Baby XXX hat with "XXX" written on it. Cletus won't be wearing that, if there's another hat within reach. And my mother-in-law gave me a little baby jacket from xxxx - an Irish designer (I'm told). She pointed out that it was "a xxxx" in such a tone that implied I should be impressed. Though I know she meant well and the jacket is very nice - now I've noticed the "xxx" embroidered over the heart, I have to say I like it a whole lot less.

My aversion to obvious branding is a little obsessive. But I can directly link it back to the designer craze of the early 80s - the jeans, the shirts with alligators and men riding ponies. I can remember other kids in school making fun of me for not having them. I guess I decided I'd prefer to wear no (obvious) brands at all. Well, other than for the Vols and England football.

Baby wear

Cletus is measuring on the small side of normal - but even so, we're nearing the end of the 0 to 3 months range of clothing. Some 0 to 3s still swamp him, but others are a little snug. Still other outfits - like the adorable seersucker rompers are useless in the cold spell we're having.

VolMom bought a lot of outfits for Cletus. I mean a lot. Three big old suitcases full. They were all sorted into different size ranges and newborns and 0-3s were stored accessible areas - but further age ranges (he has pretty much the first year covered) were in the highest shelf of our closet - reachable only with the aid of a step ladder. At least that was the plan. I have to admit that I didn't pay too much attention when the clothes were first brought over because I had a brand new little baby and, as it turned out, a raging post-operative infection.

The other day, I dragged out the ladder and started going through the clothes. I found a whole little treasure trove of untouched 0-3s. Some of them still had their consignment store price tags along with their original labels - meaning at least one other baby never wore them either. I wonder just how many babies never wore them. There could have been an endless chain of baby wardrobes these rompers and onesies passed through essentially untouched.

I hope VolMom had a fun time buying them - 'cause I hate to admit - a few of them went right in the storage bag.

But there were some outfits I just had to put on him - even if he only wore them once.




I smile because my Mommy dresses me funny.

how to hack off two major interest groups

If there's one thing that the Brits like, it's animals. Especially cute fluffy animals, but all animals really. They take animal cruelty seriously. In fact, only recently, tough new laws on animal care have come into force. And since the rather heavy handed Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (RSPCA) will be the ones knocking down my door if its revealed that I don't take good enough care of my cats, this actually strikes a little fear in my heart. It's not enough just not to beat the critters, you've got to provide a good standard of care now if you take on animal ownership.

There's another charity, too. Not nearly as popular, but still well known - the NSPCC - the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. They can't take your kids away, fine you or put you in jail (like the RSPCA) but they can rat on you to social services, who can. The NSPCC is famous for adds that tug at the old heart strings - like a sad-eyed, quiet toddler and a voice-over "Mikey is quiet because he's learned that nobody comes when he cries." (Hmm - is there a book with tips?) Or ads that try to encourage parents to stop and think about their behaviour before it becomes abuse. Although, one of their campaigns last summer featured a 10 year old boy, repeatedly kicking a ball against a holiday caravan (vacation trailer home - yeah, I know, Brits like the strangest things) and the mum, who is washing up inside while dad reads the paper - and then finally she goes out there and yells at kid. Oh no!!! She yells at him. But she looks lower class and her voice is shrill and quite angry, so it must be verbal abuse. (If you ask me, the little blighter had it coming.)

Anyway, with this photo (an update to this post about baby sweaters) I'm courting disapproval from both lobbies.


Other Cat has learned that nobody comes when she meows.

And yes, I will put that sweater on baby Cletus.

t-22: a note to Alabamians

For my color blind Alabama friends (here and here) who say hurtful things like:

Tennessee orange = hunter orange
Tennessee orange = pickin-up-trash-by-the-side-of-the-road orange

I would just like to point out the difference.

My mom, a Tennessean by birth and alumna (a couple of times over) of the University of Tennessee made this outfit for baby Cletus:



And you gotta click thru to see the orange top-stitching

But my friend, a Brit, who doesn't understand the ways and subtleties of orange, made Cletus this:



Now...you see that is blaze orange. See.

Scroll up and down. Spot the difference. Adjust your monitor if necessary. One is a bright golden orange (the top photo) and one is a safety beacon.

And again:


Still, this blaze orange sweater might come in quite handy - for example, if he were wearing this...



...just on its own, we might lose the baby if we accidentally set him down in a pile of leaves.


22 days til baby Cletus

Meetings with remarkable bloggers

I was within spitting distance of famous British blogger Guido Fawkes this morning.

More than ever, I want to be a famous blogger so I can throw off the chains of conventional fashion.

Guido (Paul Staines) was sporting orange cords with an amazing greenish-tan and red checked (ish) jacket. I'm a girl who likes orange...but even I wouldn't wear orange cords. But good for him.

Keep reading this blog. Fashion iconoclasm here I come.

More baby shopping

We've been shopping. Being the cheap sods that we are, I've been waiting for a "nearly new" sale which was today! We bought a crib (or a cot if you're British) and a travel system (fancy stroller). The stroller thing is "well-loved", but it was cheap and still has all its little accessories.

Baby furniture and accessories are outrageously expensive - I haven't seen such crazy pricing since my last "life event" - our wedding - though to be fair - coffins ain't cheap either. They'll get you every time you hatch, match or dispatch.

So I was quite pleased with our purchases. From new prices, I think we saved about $500 today - not counting the little stuff we bought.

Check out our Flickr baby stuff set - nothing from today yet, but I have uploaded a number of my mom's purchases. Mostly adorable, but with the occasional humdinger. You gotta love the Solid Gold shiny vest-cum-Hammer Time pants-cum velour Christmas outfit.



Sorry Mom.

Hidden Cletus

VolMom has been shopping for baby clothes. She managed to send me some pictures. Guess what the classy babies in Loretto, TN are wearing...




I'm not sure there will be another baby in London with quite the same outfit.

She also bought this outfit:



It's hard to make out, but that's smocking underneath those little Scotty Dogs. And of course, the Little Lord Fauntleroy collar is easy enough to spot - from like 100 paces.

That's right - we plan to raise Cletus to be tough and sensitive.

smock this, buddy

VolMom has apprently had some good luck in the 2nd hand shops, but she's been buying new, too.

I have been to two sales and picked up some more clothes.. I got abeautiful blue smocked one piece suit (it has little Scottish terriers on the smocking)

Oh, smocking....great! I thought it was a lost art, but apparently somebody went and dug it up again. The Vol-in-Law had to ask me what smocking was. And I discovered that it's really hard to articulately explain smocking - but I described it as folding and pleating fabric. "Hmm," he said. "That doesn't sound very masculine. And wouldn't all those folds just be a trap for baby vomit?"

Nashville blogging mommy extrordinaire Lindsay of Suburban Turmoil is also expecting a boy and has already decided she's in the pro-overall, anti-smocking camp of baby boy fashion. She has a lot of good reasons why smocking shouldn't be allowed on boys.

But me - I'm in the cheapo fashion camp. If VolMom wants to buy smocking for her grandson - I say go ahead. Worse comes to worse we can dress him up in the smocking - snap a quick pic and let him wear it until it becomes a baby vomit trap.

VolMom is continuing to shop and wanted to know if we wanted more smocked items. I said only if they were deeply discounted. The Vol-in-Law was very doubtful about the smocking and said his fantasy baby outfit included camouflage. He wanted to dress his boy as a wee little hunstman* in camo with a "UT orange vest"** with tiny little pockets for baby-sized shotgun shells. I know very well that Lawrence County affords a a variety of opportunities to dress your child in clothes that will help him blend in with a pile of leaves - so I passed on the request to VolMom. The next day:

I must have lost my mind, but today I had to go to Loretto and I stopped by and got a RealTree camo outfit for poor little Cletus. I hope you and the ViL appreciate it, because I shelled out $28 for a t-shirt and matching overalls. I bought size 6 months because I couldn't imagine a child any smaller in such clothes. I hope the ViL is not disappointed that it is hunter camo. I am appalled enough to be buying bambi-killing clothes, but I hope I never stoop to getting military camo. I don't want my grandson to be a trained killer on my dollar.

I replied:

Thanks! He said that was exactly what he wanted. He said not to worry about the trained killer thing - because he's going to raise little Cletus to be a chicken hawk just like Dick Cheney. Septugenarian lawyers had best watch out, though.

The ViL pointed out that he himself would be a septugenarian lawyer in 36 years time. Don't think I hadn't thought of that already.

____

* I should explain that the Vol-in-Law, having been raised vegetarian is squeamish about all things dead meat - i.e. it's me who has to dispose of what the cat dragged in. He has never been hunting. And being a Brit, I don't think he'd fired or even held a gun until well after we had married.

**As I've always explained to others, UT orange is not the same as blaze orange - the hunter safety color. These are completely different shades. This error makes me feel I have not properly educated him in the subtleties of the SEC color wheel.

Update: My in-laws are visiting and I told them about the camo purchase. They laughed, but deep down, I'm pretty sure they disapproved. (They're kinda big on disapproval). I told them about the ViL not knowing what smocking was and questioning the manliness of smocking. "Well, he was in smocking when he was a baby," my mother-in-law said. "Yes, I'm sure he was," I said.

Little tot chic

VolMom says she might have to join grandmother's shoppers anonymous. Apparently, she has been hitting the sales racks looking for clothes for Baby Cletus. She assures me that she hasn't spent a lot of money. Good. Today's Tennessean features a letter to the editor on expensive baby fashion:

Chic wasted on tots

To the Editor:
Do babies and toddlers actually care what their clothes look like? I was shocked to read that mothers actually spend $100 on their toddler's jeans and $28 on a T-shirt!Such young children do not care what they look like or if they are wearing the new "in" style look this season. Not only that, but children grow so fast, they would not even get good wear out of their costly clothing.

Also, why would one risk the chance of having their child's costly attire ruined by allowing him or her to play outside or eat food that has any chance of ending up on his or her outfit? I say stick with hand-me-downs and consignment sales and find a better use for the extra money. Maybe a college fund?

Lisa Elder

Unlike Ms Elder - I exhort the mothers of Tennessee to spend reckless amounts of money on baby fashion. The grandmother-to-be has been hitting the consignment shops and has found some good deals, but unless you Tennessee parents buy (and then re-sell) your expensive baby-gear there will be nothing left to buy. Could I request though that you avoid items with excessive designer branding (a personal dislike of mine) and perhaps get (and pass on) some more orange items?