Girl's Night Out

The cusp of adolescence, when girls are just dipping their toes into the pool of adulthood. Nowhere have I seen my daughter more clearly on that brink than the night we hosted a faux spa retreat for her and her friends for her birthday. This party would have been different at twelve, than it was for the nine and ten year olds that filled my front room. At twelve, they would have taken the experience in stride, chatting to one another, "Oh my gosh, can you believe Britney’s sister is pregnant?" And this certainly wasn't like playing dress up when they were three, because somehow on this night the world of womanhood suddenly became real.

I transformed my home into a luxury salon. There were stations complete with a whirlpool foot bath, pedicure supplies, fruity sprays and lotions, glittery lip gloss, creamy eye shadows, lip and eyeliners, brushes, combs, ponies, and hair product galore all atop matching lavender linen and accenting flowers. I had a project for the girls to decorate flip-flops with flannel provided a buffet of heaps of pizza, soda, gourmet cookies, twisted pretzels, kettle corn, a full veggie tray with dip, and beautiful individual lemon star cakes courtesy of a dear friend.

Although I’m a woman, this self-indulgence is somewhat foreign to me. I've never had a pedicure, don't use nail polish, pick up my clothes of the floor and am lucky if a brush makes it through my hair once a day, but the girls don't know that. "You can have as much as you want, anytime you want.", I tell them with a Martha Stewart smile pointing to the spread of food. "Where are the games?" one girl asks. I smile patently as Martha would, "No games tonight". Games? I’m feeling something more than doubt now that I’m staring into the face of eleven expectant girls. You can only fake so much.

"You can do each other's hair and make up or you can do it yourself " I"m explaining to the girls. "What!?", interrupts one girl, "I never do my hair. I don't even know how to use this!", she cries with indignation holding a can of hair spray. "Um..". I’m looking at the foot bath that needs to be filled, and mentally tick off everything else I need to do: pour the soda, warm the pizza, enforce no double dipping on the lip gloss and eye shadow with the q-tips, make sure no yellow toe nails touch the communal water, keep the dog away from the pizza, answer the torrent of questions that will surely come with the little expertise I have and document the whole night with my camera. I’m looking for a reply, but it’s evading me. A nine year old comes to my rescue. "I'll show you what to do" she says comfortingly taking the hair spray. "This makes you hair firm and this," she says, picking up a bottle of gel and demonstrating the girls, "gives your hair body." She waves her arms for emphasis. There is a collective "Oh." Obviously she has imparted new and important information to the group.

The girls begin tentatively and gain confidence as the night moves along. This woman thing was feeling pretty good. Armed with the tools of transformation, the question then became, Hannah Montana look or kitty look? It was a tough decision, how often do they get full creative license like this? With make up in hand, a few strokes just wasn’t enough for some girls. My own daughter colors her face into a whirl of designs, "A butterfly." She says smiling to me. I smile back, "Remember, tattoos are forever." It just comes out. "What?", she's confused. "Smile!" I take a photo, always a good cover up. "That’s for your lips.", a more knowledgeable girl leans over to tell her. My daughter "ignorantly" has used the pink lip liners for her artwork. That’s my baby. She shrugs and laughs. Another girl doesn't want to do her nails or make-up she tells me somewhat apologetically. I comfort her, "That's okay, I still don't want to do my nails and make-up." We laugh and find other things for her to do.

The night ends with dancing which inevitably turns to jumping, screaming, and piano improv. The girls make sure to take full advantage of someone who has offered to be their personal photographer. "I’m working for you tonight", I tell them. "Okay, take a picture of me doing the splits and everybody covering their mouths being wowed." "Take a picture of me lying down. Okay now take a picture of me lying down with my eyes closed. Now one with me lying down, like I’m sleeping, with my eyes closed with some flowers. Okay, now one with me lying down, with my eyes closed like I’m sleeping, with the flowers and everybody mourning me like I’m dead." It's a huge hit; almost everybody wanted a photo in the funeral pose. I have to explain to a friend later, it wasn't morbid impulse, simply a terribly dramatic one. Remember Ann of Green Gables and the Lady of Shallot?

For me as a parent, it was a night of revelation. The comments alone could have made it into any comedy stand-up routine.

"My parents just want us to stay in the middle-class."

"Are you depressed?", one girl asks leaning in.

"Uh.."

"Oh my gosh, are you suicidal?!!"

What's suicidal?"

One girl to another,

"And then, uhh, blahhhhhhhhhhhh, wow!"

The girls shriek with laughter simultaneously.

It's their own code, adolescence has begun. Childhood has evolved my wee one into a gangling growing girl with independent ideas and thoughts. She’s half-way there, I think, half way to adulthood. How strange I don’t seem quite ready for this. I know the end of childhood is inevitable, but when does it truly end? I see my daughter blossoming physically, intellectually, artistically, emotionally and spiritually, but of course I just want freeze time and have her be mine for just a little longer. But that’s the magic of it all, knowing you can never have these moments again. I see her moving on her own path now and she is content to have me look on, a part of her microcosm, at least for now. That’s why these photos are so precious to me. I can’t have this time ever again, but I can capture it with pictures and keep that magic for another day. My photography somehow makes the endings and beginnings of life just a little easier.