If you would have told me this would have been my lot 10 years ago I would have laughed... Or cried. The verdict is still out as they are not yet teenagers. You see, I was certain God would give me a brood of boys. He certainly wouldn't want this fairly insensitive, not really girly, slightly cynical, woman to raise girls.
When I say I am not girly I am not implying I don't like domestic things. I love to cook, do crafts, and be creative with my hands. I'm just not one of those girls who has to end every sentence two octaves higher than I started. I don't like romantic comedies, high heels, or fancy things and I only cry when I'm really upset, not when I see a dead rabbit on the road. But I am really sentimental about my kids and their ever changing little bodies and personalities. I'm very protective of my cubs as well.
My first born daughter quickly schooled me in her Venus origins. She was only a couple weeks old when I said in a frustrated voice, "What does she want?!" after she cried for hours in the middle of the night. She looked at me in shock, her lower lip quivered, and she started crying. She was a newborn. How could she be so emotional already? Over the years I have found her crying on multiple occasions and when I have inquired as to why all she can say is, "I don't know, I'm just crying." I admit, I'm a woman of little patience. I have a "get over it," mentality. This has proven to be an ineffective method- I can be a bit of a jerk sometimes.
But you see I married this man who seems to know exactly what these girly girls need. He is a listening ear for them or just hugs it out the times they don't know why they are crying. I thank God for him. And I have learned to make an effort as well. This does not come naturally for me. It's an effort I'm willing to make because I love my girls and know I need to be able to communicate to them in their love language. For instance, they love for me to paint their nails. I hate it. I don't even like to paint my own nails. I hate when my nails get long enough to paint and only allow it so that I can better peel oranges and pick the junk out of my kids ears. If it was socially acceptable I would just leave one nail long and call it the peeler/picker. On second thought, I live in the middle of nowhere so maybe I'll do that. Heck, I have five kids so people already think I'm weird.
Anywho, I set time aside to paint their nails and I do it cheerfully and sometimes even end my sentences two octaves higher as I carefully lather sparkly blue paint on each nail. And in some weird way I enjoy it. Maybe it's the fumes from the polish but maybe it's the look in my girls' eyes that says it all. They know and appreciate the effort and I know God knew what He was doing all along.
...Oh, but please don't hesitate to visit me and send cards when I am institutionalized during puberty.
