Social bumblebees

Barely back and we're already in the swing of things: I worked on homework all day while Drew took Rachel to dance and swim class and to the farmer's market. Then it was time to get ready for a lovely gala for Oregon Ballet Theatre (the same one I drank too much at last year and had to have someone take me home. Thanks again to Aunties Amanda and Jenn for baby-sitting that night!). Fortunately the gala coincided with the monthly Parents Night Out at preschool, so Rachel had her pajama party to prepare for while Drew and I got dressed. She was very good while we suited up in our formal clothes -- she closed the door to her room and drew pictures and played with a numbers puzzle. When we were finished, she was enchanted with my outfit (a black skirt with black cutout roses, a velvet sweater and ruffled shirt) and asked if she could wear it when she got older. Of course I said yes, which led to her obsessing on that idea the whole night. She even cried when we picked her up: "I wanna wear the outfit NOW!"

The gala itself was fabulous -- some beautifully dressed women, some who were severely taste-challenged (they were too old for the clothes they were wearing or the clothes didn't fit right) and the scent of money in the air (which, since this is Oregon, smelled more like wood chips than Chanel No. 5). The food wasn't as good as last year but I got to talk to a dancer who was seated at our table, and with my friend Melissa (who had invited us) and her husband Steve. I love being invited to these galas but it is depressing to be around these little slips of women with muscular arms and long, lean bodies. Yes, they're ballerinas and yes, they have to juggle other jobs while they're not performing, but I still wish I looked like them.

Rachel was unexpectedly weepy and clingy tonight -- maybe because she knows Drew is headed to Seattle tomorrow after nearly two weeks with us. She has somehow got it into her head that she looks "boring."
"I look boring," she'll say, or, tonight, "I'm not pretty." We always reassure her she's pretty (on the inside AND out, I emphasize), but she keeps repeating firmly that she's not attractive. Where she gets these ideas, I don't know. I'd curse the American fashion and beauty industry, but Rachel doesn't watch commercials and it can't be her little friends at preschool who are telling her these things. Or can it??