The Hat Makes the Woman

“If a woman rebels against high heeled shoes, she should take care to do it in a very smart hat” – George Bernard Shaw I used to feel like I was wearing one hundred hats at once. They were a motley assortment of baseball caps, sun hats, berets, cowboy hats, sombreros, cloches, and hardhats, just to name a few. They were piled on my head in a cartoon-like fashion, a tower of brims and bows. For years I wore my gray wool teacher’s cap. It fit me perfectly, keeping me warm during the Fall, toasty in Winter, and dry in the Spring. In the summer, I put it away, although I had quite a few bad hair days without it. When I switched districts, I took my hat with me. Then the economy collapsed – so many hats lost! – and mine was snatched from me. I tried on other hats and remained positive. I enjoyed my photographer’s hat, a simple bucket one. A photographer shouldn’t be noticed. I considered a Dunce Cap, selling cable and internet services door to door. I donned my gray cap for a few leave replacements, but I always had to take it off again. Eventually, I started to feel bald. And that’s when I discovered a new hat. It’s a fancy hat – the type the ladies wore at The Kentucky Derby or The Royal Wedding. It’s the hat I donned when my son was born. I love that hat, and I look fantastic wearing it, but sometimes my head is lonely with just one hat. I don’t know what other hats I should wear. A writer’s cap would be nice. (Is that a beret or a porkpie?) That hat wouldn’t pay the bills, but it might be even warmer than my gray wool one. How do others discover hats? Do they go to a store and try them on, leaning in towards the angled mirrors to catch a glimpse of themselves from the side? (Is that really how we look to others?) Do they lament their odd-shaped head, like I do, or just don a Fascinator and get on with it? Do I wear a hat because I can hide under it? Being a stay-at-home mother is complicated. While I enjoy spending time with my young son and watching him grow, I’m haunted by a sense of self-doubt. My identity crisis will not become his burden. He won’t have that sad mother or that angry mother or that haunted mother. He deserves a strong, confident mother who loves unconditionally and leads by example. (Even if she mixes metaphors -and margaritas! – upon occasion.) While I watch Bubby explore the world, I, too need to become an explorer. We are both trying to discover new ideas and make meaningful connections. Being an explorer means that sometimes I will be lost, and I need to accept that. Getting lost during one’s youth is an adventure; being lost at my age is a mid-life crisis. Some days, I just want to find the Sorting Hat from “Harry Potter” so it can tell me where I belong. So the next time someone asks me what I do, I won’t be uncomfortable about being a stay-at-home Mom. Instead, I’ll tell her that I’m a writer who is also staying at home rearing a toddler. And, yes, I will send you a copy of my novel. (That is, once I write the damn thing.)  
Please follow and like us:

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related Post

RSS
Follow by Email