Being a parent is hard dudes.
For my first example of “obvious statements of the world” I give you my beautiful daughter. I mean guys, she is a beauty. Like really really really cute and funny and super duper sweet. So now comes the part about where I tell her how beautiful she is. It sounds a little something like this, “Oh Tiny Dancer! You are so pretty!!! ………………….. And smart too! Yes, SMART. So pretty AND smart!” Because I guess we’re not supposed to comment on things about our girls’ appearance? Because then they get too wrapped up in in? So I need to compliment her mind too. Yes, her mind. She’s not just a pretty face. So follow that up with, “You’re so cute! ….. and FUNNY. Oh my are you funny!”
But here’s the deal dudes. I don’t ever remember my parents talking about me being cute or pretty. Maybe they did and I just didn’t hear it? That’s a possiblilty. But I was always the smart one. I did great in school, got straight A’s constantly and just could read and understand things from a very young age. And my parents DID talk about that. A lot. I understood that they valued my intelligence.
You know who didn’t? The kids at school. I got made fun of for getting good grades. Can you imagine?
Now I get that kids are mean and I’m scarred and blah blah from that. But I wanted to feel pretty. And I didn’t. I was the smart girl. Or the tall girl. Or the smart tall girl. My mom bought my clothes off the clearance rack at Shopko the season before. We got haircuts at the dollar salon. And we certainly never sat around talking about how pretty I was.
Don’t get me wrong. I am glad my parents valued my intelligence, because in the end, obviously it is what matters. But I did go through some troubling years questioning my appearance and my value based on what some mean girls at school said. So I just feel that rather than ignoring appearance and what it means, I should at least address it with my daughter. I want her to know that she is beautiful inside and no matter what her outside looks like, her fantastic personality will make her beautiful on the outside. And dudes, let’s face it, I’m probably going to dress her pretty cute and try to make sure her hair is in style.
Example 2 of “why are you even writing this post, obviously parenting is hard you moron” is taking my 2 year old son, L, to get a haircut today. I resorted to bribery, or as I prefer to call it, a “reward.” He was going to get a reward of ice cream if he would just sit still and get his haircut. I should mention that Tiny Dancer (1 year) and Bugs (10 years) were also with me. So I have a bat shit crazy 2 year old, afraid of the clippers, plus two other kids with me. L decided he did not give one tiny shit about the “reward” and no way in hell was he going to sit in the haircut chair. Not even for a sucker. Basically, he took the sucker and ran. So here I am, sitting with a screaming 2 year old in the salon. He is trying to hit, kick and yell at this poor darling 20-something that obviously is thinking I am the worst mom ever. That, my friends, is when I decided that getting boys’ haircuts is a dad’s job.