Modesty is the Best Policy

I've been brainwashing my kids to be modest since they were walking and talking.  I mean, I don't mind sun dresses on babies, but once you're in kindergarten, you need sleeves, little sister.  Yes, I'm one of those moms.

Why?  Because I was allowed to dress less modestly than I am comfortable with, looking back.  I am embarrassed by photographs of myself with my returned-missionary, one-day-to-be-husband boyfriend, wearing tank tops and shorts with hems closer to my crotch than my knee.  I will grant that tank tops were not what they are now.  They used to have 2 to 3" wide straps.  Now, they look like lingerie.  And we girls were careful not to let our bra-straps show.  'Cause that's skanky.  Or it was.  Now it's "part of the outfit."  Ugh.

But back to my kids.

This brainwashing has produced some funny moments, as well as modest kids.  There was the day when #3 at age 3 shouted, "She's not being modest!" as we passed by a hussy mom dressed in hot pants, a push-up bra, and see-through camisole, picking up the kids from school.  Maybe she wasn't a hussy.  Maybe she was sweet and God-fearing and nice as could be.  But that's not the look she was going for.

Then there were the months when #4 (my only son) was about 4 and thought that "modest" translated into "wear a shirt."  I'm assuming this misconception came from the fact that in hearing my tutorials on modest dress he heard the common theme of covered shoulders and midriffs.  However it came about, no one was allowed to see him without a shirt.  He'd run from the bath to his room, wrapped in his towel to get that shirt on before his sisters saw him.  Underwear and pants, on the other hand, were optional.

Then this past Saturday I had a great conversation with #3.  Picking her up from her friend's birthday party, she was giving me the report.  She definitely loved the eating doughnuts off of a string, but being a fruitaphobe, she wouldn't even try to bob for apples.  I was gratified that she also found the bobbing for apples thing to be a little too "germy."  

According to #3, some of the boys who were bobbing for apples got their shirts wet, and removed them.  Apparently, they went shirtless for the rest of the party.  Number 3 was appalled by this.  She proceeded to get up on a little modesty police soap box (not at the party, although that would have been priceless--just for her mother) about how nasty it was to have shirtless boys at the party.  

"One of them, you could even see their underwear," she ranted.  "It was gross.  Plus, I mean, when they get big, with big, hairy chests, and they take off their shirts, it's like, no one wants to see THAT.  So get used to a shirt now."

You go, girl.  I have no use for big, hairy chests, myself.  I wanted to applaud and crack up all at the same time.  I did neither.  I chuckled, grabbed a pen and scribbled her words on the back of the party invitation, not at all distracted from my driving, and putting neither my daughter and I nor anyone else who may have been driving that country road in danger.  What can I say?  It was just too good to lose.  

Modestly lessons, check.  Driver safety lessons, ...  Aren't driving lessons the dad's job?