So, I took the kids to the playground yesterday after school. We went to the one across the field from the school because it has swings, so it wasn't too crowded. There were just a few little girls there, all around Avery's age. We hadn't been there 10 minutes when one of the girls walked up to Avery and said, "Are those real Uggs?" I learned later that she also said "How much did those cost?"
May I remind all of you that Avery is a first grader? She, for one, had no idea what Uggs are and whether hers were real or not. For the record, they are, but let me explain: My mom, her Grammy, saw them at Dillard's after Christmas about 3 years ago. They were on sale for, like, $25. Mom thought they were just too cute to pass up even though they wouldn't fit anyone at the time. They just now fit Avery and the reason she likes them is because the "fur feels good" and because "Grammy bought them."
What I want to know is, how in the world does a first or second grader know anything about "real" Uggs? More importantly, WHY does she know? I already know that answer and, if I had met that child's mother, I would probably not be surprised to see her look me up and down in my Target t shirt.
It's none of my business what values (or the lack thereof) any other parent teaches their child, but I felt a bit disheartened that the materialistic cattiness is starting so early. I didn't expect it until at least the ripe old age of about 9. Ah, girls.
And speaking of girls and Uggs, I caught Reese talking to Avery in a southern accent last night...she was imitating a country girl from our Wii bowling game who says "Aw, shucks" in a very womanly, sexy southern drawl. But Reese wasn't saying "Aw, shucks." She was saying, "Aw, shugs." She was batting her eyes and flipping her hand in that dismissive fashion that all southern ladies do when they are professing disappointment. She said it over and over. "Aw, shugs," and "Well, shugs."
Ok, this has nothing to do with Uggs except that shugs rhymes with Uggs. And I thought it was funny. And my heartache over catty little girls melted away into laughter at my little 4 year old goofball.