Friday, February 22, 2008

When I grow up I want to be...

... a carbon copy of what I see in women's magazines.

Scratch that I want to be me and comfortable in my own skin.

My friend/family over in the Babystepper household had a great post today. Go ahead...read it...I'll be waiting here when your done.

She's an excellent writer and makes great points, but this one is one that has struck home with me around Christmas and it's nice to know I'm not the only one.

I rarely buy a magazine outside of Family Fun (for some random craft or an easy pirate ship cake) or recipes from Rachel Ray. I found I don't have time to read them and I’m not going to execute most of the ideas and suggestions they had. They aren't me, they don't fit my budget and I have better things to do.

Reading about the article that frustrated Babystepper reminded me of a conversation Jonathan and I had about V before Christmas. Jonathan had taken V to Toys R Us to look and give ideas of what she would like. Every "girly" thing she looked at she expressed interest in and then thought about it and said, "That's neat, but I really don't think I'd play with it." V did not request a Barbie, a baby doll, kitchen stuff, or dress up clothes. The one thing she really wanted was a lightsaber. Needless to say Jonathan got bummed. He thought he was losing his little girl.

I had to explain a few things to him. I asked these questions and I answered them for him:

"What are girls expected to play? House, dress up/princess, dolls/mommy"

"What do I do everyday? Clean house, cook, and take care of babies/kids, married (to my prince)"

"Those imagination play things are the daily activity in our house and she's bored with it. She knows it's not all fun and games. Let her go beyond and be an astronaut, a pirate, or buy her some K'nex to build what she imagines. Let her not be conventional, because she's not. Neither was I at her age. At 7 all I wanted were Transformers and G.I. Joes (I only got 1)."

This brings me to what Babystepper was talking about. I am a person who is content to be alone. I have few female friends, but we are all unconventional in what we find fun and funny. Going to the garden center with goody bags would just be weird. Normal for us would be karaoke, working on a musical or play, inflicting pain on each other at the YMCA, or being messy and helping paint a room. Spontaneity reins supreme and it's just doing what we like and acting like big kids (who can have an intelligent conversation) together.

I want my daughter to know that different is good, life can have its conventional (wife, mother, student), but you still get to be whoever and whatever God made you to be.

I like to embrace my weirdness and I hope V will too.

3 comments:

Carina said...

Thanks for the moral support!

We weirdos have to stick together. I promise never to design a special drink jar for you if you promise never to make me match my garden tote to my cute sun-dress.

=)

Anonymous said...

As an old fogie that grew up in the Oklahoma Panhandle (think agriculture country here), I can say that none of the ladies in the magazine article would have survived in the '50s.

It was a time of dirt storms, droughts, no air conditioning (except swamp coolers ... oops ... make that "evaporative air conditioners") and drying clothes on out on a line. One never locked one's doors because if one was going to be gone, it might be necessary for one's neighbor to go into one's house to close one's windows if it started blowing dirt or started raining. Then if it quit before one returned, the neighbor went back in one's house and re-opened the windows.

Sun dresses, if seen at all, would only be worn on Sundays, as one poster mentioned.

Fast forward to the 21st century.

I wouldn't know how to act around such women. My wife grew up on a farm and was more interested in horses and cows than dresses and dolls. MAN!!! Is she ever a great lady.

Thank you, God, for what I am blessed with. (Speaking of which, grandson number 2 was born last week. Liam Scott Miller - 8 lbs and 14 ounces - 20 1/2 inches long.

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry. I forgot to add my name to the above post about life in the '50's and such.

Blame in on Monday morning.

Terry