Generational Girly

So, from Reno, Charlotte and I flew to Seattle. During our stay, my Auntie Cheryl flew up from California. A fun, busy week, full of friends, family, manicures/pedicures, Mariners, and . . . .

The Nordstrom Anniversary Sale.

Because it's freaking mid-July and it's What. We. Do.

I've written of this sale several times before here (yes, I'm too lazy to look up the links for you), but you may remember that this has been my favorite sale since flannel and overalls and Doc Martens were in vogue. Before that, actually. Remember: new stuff for fall, JUST IN, and ON SALE NOW. Not at the end of the season. But NOW.

As a girl, this was a sale I shopped either with Auntie Cheryl (if it was my year for the SoCal visit and not Tyler's) or Mums for back to school. As much as I love the sale, shopping it in recent years is always a tad bittersweet because I'm reminded--AGAIN--that I dwell on the East Coast.

But this year, I had Mums AND Auntie Cheryl! And I was in Seattle! HOME of Nordstrom!

Obviously--OBVIOUSLY--we went to the store in downtown Seattle, the flagship store, on the very first day of early access.

So, there we were. The only one of us heading back to school was our kindergarten girl, so to the girls department we went. A perky sales associate zeroed in on us and got a room going for Charlotte. Then Mums, Auntie Cheryl, and I went through every rack, holding out item after item.

"Do you like this?" one of us would ask.

Charlotte would look, consider it, and say: "Nope."

Or, if we were lucky: "Yes. Oh, yes. That's very pretty. I like that."

The girl rejected a ton of stuff, much of which elicited some sad sighs from me, a scene similar to Mums and me, or Auntie Cheryl and me, decades earlier. I was glad I had Charlotte with me. Left to my own devices, I would've bought her lots of adorable stuff she'd refuse to wear. (I recently returned four pairs of shorts to Target. When asked if there was anything wrong with them, I answered, "Apparently not enough pink.")

Fortunately, we found lots that Charlotte liked and that fit. I took the armful to the register, grabbing one outfit for Lorelei (to match one of Charlotte's---they LOVE to match), and that was that.

"Here," I said, handing the bag to Charlotte.

"Wait, what?" she asked.

"She buys it, YOU carry it," Mums explained. "That's the rule."

That's right, baby girl. That's the rule. Then, following tradition, we ate lunch at the Nordstrom Cafe, and I got my turkey sandwich with cranberry. Because . .  . well, hell. Tradition!!

(For those of you who care, I also scored a few tops and some lounge-around [read: telecommute in something other than PJs] basics, Chris got a dress shirt for work, and Lorelei won a couple adorable outfits that her big sister had rejected that I just couldn't pass up. I love having girls.)

"She buys, you carry. That's the rule."

 Now, a couple days earlier, we happened to be at a mall. Malls are not my favorite place, but whatever. When I'm on vacation, they tend to seem less obnoxious, practically appealing. Then, with Mums and Auntie Cheryl there, it occurred to me that now might be a crazy perfect time for Charlotte to get her ears pierced.

Follow me on this one.

When I was six, during my first trip to L.A. to visit Auntie Cheryl (what? you didn't fly solo at six?), Auntie Cheryl had suggested I get my ears pierced. Oh, I was SO on board. She called Mums and got the green light. I picked out fake diamond studs for the piercing and a collection of pink sparkly earrings for after the studs could come out. They shot the ears one at a time and . . . . I cried. A lot. Back then, the ear care was just rubbing alcohol on the ears, and to this day the smell of it reminds me of getting my ears pierced.

So, with everyone there and Charlotte only one year shy of the 6-year threshold I had, rather arbitrarily, in my mind, I thought . . . why not now? Ear piercing is a milestone. Mine was with Auntie Cheryl. Why not have Charlotte's with her too? Oh, and Nana.

Charlotte was, as you can imagine, super excited to get her ears pierced. I insisted she pick out earrings from the 14k gold row because I did NOT want to deal with green infected ears on someone who can't tolerate a paper cut. This worked out well, because Charlotte wanted the tiny flower earings with rainbow petals---so, so Charlotte. Her two favorite things: flowers and rainbows. Perfect.

Auntie Cheryl had the sense to ask if the clerks could double up and shoot both ears at once. I had prepped Charlotte, telling her it would feel like getting a flu shot in your ear. Was she sure she wanted to do this? Yes, she said. Oh, yes.

As the clerks loaded the earring guns, one of them told Charlotte, "Don't worry. This won't hurt."

"Um, yes it will," I corrected. Hello? Why LIE? "But just for a quick bit," I added quickly.

Well, one-two-three . . . and . . .  shocked face, contorted face, and scream-crying. Eventually she settled into hiccupy sniffles, and a pre-teen girl told Charlotte, "Don't feel bad. I cried too. I cried even louder. You were really brave."

"Actually," Auntie Cheryl said loudly, "your mother cried MUCH LONGER than you did, Charlotte."

"They shot my ears one at a time!" I said.

"I'm just saying," Auntie Cheryl said, taking Charlotte's hand, just like she did to me post-ear-piercing tears 28 years earlier.

A freshly pierced ear.

So proud!

Anyway, it was just fun to sort of go back in time in a certain way, but with my brown-eyed girl with me. Three brown-eyed girls, come to think of it, genetically all tangled up.