Girl time

My daughter, in all her 3 foot glory, is a walking oxymoron.
That might sound harsh unless you recall your High School English teacher defining oxymoron as a figure of speech that combines two normally contraditionary terms. In Megan's case, she's a girlie-girl who is 110% in touch with her inner tomboy.

She delights in climbing whatever is verticle and in her reach. She dives into whatever it is her brother has or does. Set her lose in a yard full of boys and you'll find her quite content to join in the melee. Want to see an unlikely mix of confusion, stinging pain, and awe? Watch the face of the 5-yr old boy who dared pull Meg's hair before you or his mother can intervene. He'll be rubbing his arm and glaring a little with a smirk as you pull her off him -- she would pinned him to the ground and swung both fists repeatedly into his shoulder despite the fact he was a full head and half taller and had at least 10 pounds weight more to his frame. She has no fear. She has no reluctance to stand up for herself. She'll readily punch back just as easily as she'll put her hands on her hips and tell 'em what-for in the way only an almost 3-year old can.

And yet, she'll also readily turn on the water works. Slight her and you might get the barrage of tears that stop just long enough for her to peer under her very long thick lashes to see if you're paying adequate attention. She's climbing yes, but she's likely in something pink or purple. She's convinced putting her hair in two pigtails makes her look at least 4 and, well gosh, headbands make her more like 5. There's yet to be a toy or a person of any age she's yet to figure out how to mother -- much to her big brother's dismay.

She's got a thing for make-up. Now, truth be told, I have a ritual and set of "unlikely to leave the house without" items, but I'm not a big make-up person overall. I'm not even sure the foundation I own is still any good and I'm fairly certain my lipstick is probably too old to admit to being. Megan, however, is all about the make-up. She gleefully sits herself on the closed lid of the toilet and demands her turn when either mom or grandma get the make-up bag out. Meg's routine consist of moisturizer on a foam pad which she smears evenly enough all over her face. It's then an empty brush to swipe over her eyelids and a bit of chapstick on her lips.

Her nails are her big thing. The girl LOVES nail polish. We've compromised - pink yes, green and blue (which she desperately wants to wear) no way. When she goes for her regular sleep-over at the grandmparent's house, she and Grandma do their nails. When Logan left for his sleepover last weekend, Megan announced gleefully, "Girl time!" as she grabbed my hand and dragged me down the hallway. "We're going to get your polish and do our nails!"

Instead we went to the "nail polish store" and picked out a new color. It was a debate. Megan was selecting the hottest of hot pinks my poor eyes had seen since 1980-something-or-other. I was picking out a bit softer selection. We comprised on a bright pink that wasn't quite blinding. The next morning we settled in with a rental movie and set to work on our nails.

Megan, being all about the girlie-girl sleepover, is quite adament that we do each other's nails - I do hers. She does mine. Now, listen, she does a really good job at covering the nail evenly.....and my fingers. I've learned quickly that a little rubbing and some running water is better than nailpolish remover on skin.

Mess aside, this is another of those that I'll cherish long after it becomes taboo in Meg's mind to have your mom giggle and conduct make-overs while decked out in pajamas. When she stops beating Logan's friends up long enough to flirt with them and then pretend those stupid teenage boys annoy her, I'll remember her as a two year old sitting next to them and yammering on about the pink "pom poms" on the handles of her "big girl" bike.

When she's a horomonal ball of teenage angst telling me how horrible I am for something and yelling "I hate you!", I'll smile a little remembering the way she concentrated so hard, my finger held between several of hers, as she applied this bright pink color to my finger tip. I'll remember the way she looked up from her work just long enough to smile and say "Mommy, I love you. We have fun being girls together, right? We're friends."


Anonymous said...

Sounds like a grand time and those nails are bright. It's the memories like this that we as parents will treasure forever.

thatgirl said...

ah, that's so cute! :) in my house we'd have to be careful around the boy because by god he'd demand the nail polish too (and don't think he hasn't had pink toes before)

i'm trying to think of boss girl already saying "i hate you" as getting through one of those unwelcome milestones that much sooner ... :-/

Shooter said...

That was a beautiful post. One for the kid book, or box or whatever you might keep. I can't wait to share moments like those with my daughter.

Chaos Mommy said...

Love this story!! You are going to be such good friends, like you and your mom, when she grows up!