Mom Turns Mortifying  by Lucy Greenburg
Last Tuesday I found out about this new power of mine. I'd become a wizard at embarrassing my eight-year-old daughter. I never asked for this power. I wouldn't mind trading it in for something more usefeul, like spinning thread into gold, or turning rags into fashionable ball gowns. But then no one consulted me.For years I was the one who got red-faced over my daughter's public pronouncements - like the time she was six and told an acquaintance we lived in a condom. Now I'm the one, it seems, who must watch how I act in public.It was cold that Tuesday when I went to pick up my daughter at school. The hat I wore was made from heavy brown wool that makes me feel snug, if not a little sweaty. It was a hood, actually, that covered my head, my forehead, temples and chin. It made me look like a mole or some other underground rodent sticking its head out of its burrow. When I got to school I found my daughter in the schoolyard playing with her friends. I waved and smiled, but she didn't wave back. She looked away from me as she scurried toward the car. No matter how I hurried to catch up with her, she scooted in front of me, keeping her  distance.In the car she burst out, "Why did you have to wear that dumb hat? Why did you have to wear it in front of all the kids? They're going to think that we're idiots!" I sucked in my breath. "My hat? You don't like my hat?""I hate it. You look dumb and the kids will laugh at you. I know they will." She was truly suffering.I couldn't have been more suprised if the Seven Dwarves had turned on Snow White for showing up in orthopedic shoes in front of their forest friends. For the very first time I had embarrassed my daughter. For the very first time she was ashamed of me. That's when I knew that we were in the middle of a Big Moment - the kind that signals a shift in the family terrain. The kind that fills me with equal parts amazement, pride and nausea.A year, six months, a month ago, no mere hat could have tarnished my daughter's image of me. I lived on top of the pedestal where my daughter had placed me years before. Like most parents, I existed as the all-powerful, all-beautiful, all-funny, all-loving center of my child's universe. Her flawless guardian angel.I admit it. I liked it on top of the pedestal. It was wonderful to feel so adored and cherished. The best perk in the world for being the parent of a young child.That Tuesday I was toppled.There was a time when I wouldn't have been caught dead in a hat that made me look like a character from Wind in the Willows. Back then I was all about clothes that looked pretty, charming, fey. It took my daughter to show me how comfortable and practical had gradually snuck up on me. I wonder now about the future when my child will at times scrutinize me as if through a magnifying glass, and my weaknesses will be thrown back at me, larger than life. Inevitably, there will be some truth in my daughter's perceptions. It's these kernels of truth that make me nervous. So now I'll have to learn a whole new set of mother's do's and dont's. If only there was a Farmer's Almanac for parents where each child's transitions would be marked on a calendar in red. At least we would  have time to get used to the idea. To prepare. Throw a party, or maybe a wake. I, for one,  would make sure to get a good rest the night before. The truth is I'm proud of my daughter for being strong enough to throw me off my pedestal. It's time for her to start walking away from me, albeit in small steps. How much easier and less painful it it will be for her to walk away from a flawed human being than to turn her back on a guardian angel.