Pope Dreams

Last night I dreamt that the Pope visited our house. Yes, the Pope. Besides the obvious, there were many odd things about my dream. First, there is the fact that the Pope has a separate elevator from everyone else (who knew?) and secondly that we (our family) was getting an award from him. OK, we're Catholic, but we're not THAT Catholic. In fact, one of our favorite car games, post-mass, is to criticize the priest's homily and most of the teachings of the church. I think they call us "Cafeteria Catholics." We pick and choose and put together a religion, at our convenience.

Anyway, towards the end of the dream, as the Pope and I are sitting at the kitchen table (I told you it was weird), my 13-year old daughter comes bounding downstairs as she usually does. After I stumbled on my words reminding her to "say hello to Mr....His Holi...The Pope!" My daughter dutifully attempts both a curtsy and a ring kiss (one of the oddest greetings ever) and here's what I noticed: She had on her typical American Eagle somewhat too-tight t-shirt with another underneath it, and jeans. My daughter was wearing American Eagle to greet the Pope. It drove me nuts. You know how you try to scream in your dreams and you can't? Well, I tried to tell her to CHANGE YOUR SHIRT but I couldn't. And then I woke up.

I guess there's some deep dark need I have to tell my daughter to WEAR MORE APPROPRIATE CLOTHES. It's not actually that deep or dark, it's more like a daily occurrence. Yes, I've sunk to the level of dreaming about yelling at my kids. Sad, isn't it? It's not like she dresses any differently than every other 13-year old I see at the mall, but there are moments, like when we get a papal audience, that it just sort of bugs me.

On the other hand, it makes me think about the fact that I'm sure that my mother experienced the exact same thing. Moments when she watched me walk out of the house and had to chain herself to the stove (as if she wasn't already chained to it) to stop herself from dragging me back in by my Carol Brady shag haircut and make me change. Don't we all feel that way - trapped between being a mom and letting our kids be kids and making their own mistakes - fashion or otherwise?