Mouths of Babes

Teenhood is looming. I am beginning to see glimpses of its sullen glare in the eyes of my 10 year old daughter. A sort of sideways, cutting, judgmental look, occasionally relieved by exasperation. Oh it isn’t constant by any means. Yet. But it’s a preview. Whee. I can’t wait.

So I’m hanging on to every sweet and fun moment I can, storing them like nuts against the long winter of the soul that’s coming. Like the other day when we went shopping. For my birthday, actually, but you’d never know that by the sales slip. Talbots. Me: one pair of pants. Her: Three tops. Polo Outlet. Me: one summer shift. Her: A dress, a blouse. Brooks Brothers Outlet. Me: A fall coat for half price. Her: Four sweaters.

Part of what fuels this, I admit, is the fun of putting things on her at an age when everything looks good. When there’s no body issue to negotiate, it’s just about the color and the weight of the fabric and whether she’ll actually wear it. My mother in law joins in the fun, handing things in to the dressing room and waiting for her to model them.

So as we came out of the last store, my daughter looked up at me and said in a drop-dead Tallulah Bankhead tone of voice, “Y’know Mom, people who are too old to play with dolls play with little girls.”

I’m doomed.

“Committed to Excellence”

Just read another ad – for a vacation spot—that’s “Committed to excellence.” And I wondered, am I committed to excellence? I don’t know. Is Excellence committed to me?

I don’t really think so. I think Excellence comes and goes in our relationship – like the boyfriend who only calls often enough to keep you curious. But Mediocrity – now that’s a faithful friend. Mediocrity is the fellow you don’t mind but don’t really want. Totally taken for granted. Just there. Mediocrity sticks with you whether you’re tired, burned out or have a headache. Do your work long enough and mediocrity is automatic. Mediocrity is your base level. And once in a while Excellence calls and makes you feel terrible about yourself the other 90% of the time.

But face it, Excellence is that couple in the ads that you don’t really like. They’re thin, perfect, groomed to within an inch of their lives, and living in the best house on the best golf course at the most exclusive resort in the world. I’ve met some people like that. It’s almost impossible to talk to them.

I had dinner once with Leona Helmsley – certainly a person committed to excellence if there ever was one. At the time she was about 60 and she looked terrific – in excellent shape with excellent skin and an excellent haircut. You know who she talked to? Her bodyguard. You know what she talked about? Her private airplane. You know what he did during the conversation? Agreed with her. On everything. My takeaway from this experience is that excellence is boring as hell.

Look at the pictures in the paper of the people at the fabulous parties. Week after week the same people. Aren’t they sick of each other? I mean, once you get passed the exciting striving-to-belong-and-get-on-the-A-list- phase, your work is done. Except for excluding other people so they don’t push you off your spot. Ah. King of the Hill. Childhood’s first lesson in excellence.

I do my best, mostly. Until I’m tired and can’t manage it. Then Mediocrity and me (I know it should be ‘I’ but Mediocrity is uncomfortable around correct English) go sit on the couch for a while and watch TV. Some of the shows are really excellent.