WELCOME

Marcello goes to preschool in September. And I confess I am thinking more about what I’ll wear to collect him than what I will put in his lunchbox.

Perhaps it’s because my mother always arrived in some dreamy cornflower blue cheesecloth dress and wore her long plaits hanging around her waist. I thought about her colors and her scent as if her body was an extention of our house and as if the floral blouse she wore were a fragment of the Matisse poster that hung in the kitchen. Fashion is so bloody emotional! And children love a bit of flash. I admit I dress for my son more than my husband! I choose things that I imagine in picture books or in his dreams. The new/old forty five dollar flea market frock with flamenco sleeves and gypsy embroidery was noted by Cello as I dressed him on the bed a few mornings ago. ”You look nice in that dress Mummy.” Oh heavens open and swallow my pale pear shaped body whole. I was walking on air, tummy sucked in at the supermarket, plus sized baggy cotton underpants not withstanding.

Forget VOGUE and style.com, this toddler version of Simon Doonan is my mentor. For a few months the little chap only liked green. He’s moved onto to white and to pink. He liked the pale rose ZARA jacket today that I trudged through a heat wave in just to make that first impression walking in the door… “PIIIIIIIIIIIIIINK!” he squealed with approval. “Pinkalicious” he added thoughtfully, referring to his favorite book. Being a very good boy he is hyper verbal about mummy’s clothing and diplomatically silent when mother is nude. Call it a lover’s education! And…well you know… as much as I want him to be an archaeologist and environmental activist I will be perfectly content if he goes through life saying lovely things to young ladies. ”You look nice in that dress” will make him a winner every time.