I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty...

The blog found here touches on a personal truth for me. I ALWAYS felt very awkward, weird, different, and alone growing up. At least being considered petite and "cute" at various points helped me escape the worst of the bullies, but certainly not all. I constantly battled the desire to conform and have it easier, or be true to myself and suffer the backlash for daring to be "different."

Some of my friends may remember my pink cowboy hat. It was an Australian style hat my Dad bought me at Disneyland when I was about 13. I LOVED that hat. I decided to wear it to school. I lived near the coast in Southern California, not exactly cowboy hat culture. It did not go over well, not that I expected it to. I even acquired my own theme song that people would sing at me where ever I went "I wanna be a cow boy, and you can be my cowgirl."(from a popular 80's song at the time). The thing is, I STILL loved that hat. I STILL chose to buy the boots I liked that were not the slouchy suede ones everyone else wore. Even though it made my life harder, I still chose to do and wear things that felt true to me. I still do, and it's one of the things I like and admire most about myself.

I hope my daughter has the same inner strength and stubbornness, even if it means taking my clothes, experimenting with makeup too soon, or blowing her allowance on "THE jeans." I know I'll regret these words at times, but if she's not pushing boundaries, then she's not really trying. I also hope she's attractive (but not "too" attractive, that's a whole other problem, and no less difficult) when she's growing up, because like the woman in that blog points out, life is simply easier for those who are. She will have a longer leash to wear her own pink cowboy hats and experiment with hairstyles and find her personal style and truth.

I take care in dressing her now, and it makes a difference. Virtually every time we go somewhere we have people engage us in conversation that if she was dressed in a stained cartoon shirt and jeans likely would not. Having her in a cute dress and pigtails allows her personality to shine when people smile at her, or bend down to talk. She is the most socially adaptable kid I know. Store owners that I see once or twice a year remember her (even what she was wearing last!), ask after her, and even send me home with an extra something for her. She engages with a variety of people because they WANT to engage with her. 

The danger lies in when people ONLY see how cute she is, and not how funny, sweet, caring, smart, fearless, joyful, empathetic, tough, and engaging she is as well. Or, using her good looks as a crutch for not having to really develop the rest. So yes, looks are important to me because they continue to be very important to the rest of the world, and I want my child to have an amazing life where she finds it easier than I did to live her personal truth.

Isn't that what we all want for our children?

   My daughter on her first day of preschool. Badass NPR "Fresh Air" tattoo, black leather boots (her choice) and all! Who could resist this adorableness?!!? 

P.S. I went looking for the people who bullied me earlier this year as it was time for my 20th high school reunion and I was curious. Sad to say, the majority of them did not "live their personal truth." My moments of schadenfreude were replaced by sadness when I saw posts about divorces, drug use, rehab failures, kids born right out of high school, stagnant jobs, and general unhappiness. In light of the better understanding we have of bullying now, I feel so sad for those kids (and some teachers) who were too afraid to shine their light, and felt the need to squash mine. However, without someone forcing me to dig in so hard, I might not be the person I am today. 

Can I Have a Time Out Too?!!?

This article touched a deep and sensitive nerve with me. In case the link doesn't work, it's about the rarely spoken of problem of being a Mom, and having a temper, which I have, in spades. The red hair color may not be real, but the fiery Irish temper is, and at times it's scared me.

My primary strategy for dealing with my temper was waiting until I was 35 to have my one and only kid. Before then I was still struggling with patience, empathy, and my temper that REALLY wanted to be violent at times. I also know I don't have the capacity to deal with being out numbered with another kid either. One and done. I'm not tempting fate with another.

I try to remember that this whole world is brand new to my independent toddler, and she is doing the absolute best she can to cope with it. Also knowing that if I lose it and yell or force the issue (you WILL wear that dress, right NOW!) it will have the exact opposite outcome I want. By making an effort to make her laugh instead usually gets both of us laughing, and the issue is much easier to resolve.

The other HUGE part of the solution was choosing a man that I knew would make an AMAZING and supportive husband and Father. He's fantastic about giving me "Me" time and helping out when she's being especially difficult. I wouldn't be nearly the successful Mom I am without him. Additionally, the friends, family, and teachers who are also invaluable sources of support and much needed breaks make my job soooo much easier. 

Still, with all these coping mechanisms in place, I come dangerously close to losing it sometimes. At those times, I can see the appeal of spanking, because DAMNIT, I TOLD her just TWO MINUTES ago NOT to draw on the sofa! With the black marker, that I gave her, first, unsupervised, while I went to go look for paper and got distracted making dinner... oh. Yeah. Who's fault was that really then? Spanking her because I'm pissed that I had a lapse in judgement is the epitome of unfairness. That is not a lesson I want her to learn from me.

However, I will always remember the look of shock, pain, and tears the first time I hurt my child while angry. 

It was a long day, her Dad was out and we were on our own all evening after a trying day of teething and boundary pushing. She made her way up to the kitchen counter and was precariously balanced and starting to fall off of a stool (that I'd already pulled her off of several times) while playing with a big knife I'd left within reach. In horror I ripped it away with one hand and hauled her down and out of the kitchen with the other gripping her arm tighter than necessary and I was angry to cover how afraid I was because I was acutely aware how very close tragedy was at that moment, but the LOOK she gave me, confused, hurt, surprised, as she said "Mama! Boo boo!" and pointed to her arm and came to me, ME! for comfort... It makes me tear up and feel ashamed every time I think about it. I didn't hit her, she wasn't bruised, but that LOOK said that I had betrayed something important between us, and made me realize that I NEVER wanted to let things escalate to the point where it happens again.

I said "the first time" because I'm not perfect. There is this frustrated, fearful, angry demon of a temper that I still fight. It's still a possibility that I'll devolve to spanking her one day. Many of our parents did (including mine) and we turned out just fine... and yet. For me, it can't be an option. It just can't. That LOOK. 

There will be many things and people that will cause my daughter pain... the mean kid on the playground, a first crush, a first love. Hopefully fleeting, hopefully not physical. I just don't want one of them to be me. I want to be the one she can always come to and say "Mama, boo boo!" instead, and I will kiss her and hold her and help make it better any way I can.