I always saw myself raising boys. I relate to boys. Let me clarify, MEN tend towards the petulant, infantile, emotionally stunted, immature & irresponsible. I do NOT relate. But when it comes to being social, hanging out, having fun, you’re just not gonna find me standing around a kitchen clucking away about decorating & hairstyles, swapping recipes. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than attend a “shower” of any sort, & I am far more comfortable booting around on the 4 wheeler & hangin’ out in the garage watching the hockey game then I will ever be in a kitchen. I’m not much of a girlie-girl. Yet here I am, three little divas in a row. To be honest, I kinda blame The Boy. He tricked my ass. This is the golden child. Parenting doesn’t come any easier than him. The only complaint I’ve ever had about this child is that he’s TOO nice at times, which tends to go against my own innate nature…a general “f**k off & bite me” kinda attitude that he would do well to have at times. He made me believe parenting really could be that easy…& he made me want more little boys in my life. Those days are long gone though. Three strikes, I’m out…my three daughters. Totally foreign creatures to me most days. Yeah, I know, I have a vagina. But there are times when that seems to be the only thing I have in common with these little girls. I do my hair in the morning & never look at it again. They seem to have hairbrushes glued to their hands. I wear mascara if I’m leaving the house, & I may even add some blush if I happen to be “dressing up”. They have figured this out, & long ago absconded with all the makeup I never use. I get 2 or 3 haircuts a year, & pay about $15 for them, haven’t used a hair dryer in 20 years, & only curl it if I’m going out with other adults. Their hair is a constant source of time, energy, & annoyance…theirs & mine! I despise shopping. For anything. They can find sh** to buy at the goddamn soccer field or hockey rink. I consider spas or salons a waste of my time & money. They can’t seem to fathom why they aren’t being pampered by tiny Vietnamese women as we speak. (Personally, I prefer to pluck my own damn eyebrows & paint my own frikkin’ nails for free. Though admittedly, I seem to have an aversion to letting anyone do anything for me. It’s just easier to do it myself…the right way.) If I’m in my house, I’m in my jammies. If they’re in my house, it just means there’s enough clothes on hand to ensure a different outfit for every hour of every day. They make my eyeballs bleed & my washing machine weep with all the wardrobe changes. And those little hands are never empty, be it a mirror, a brush, a lip gloss, a purse, & for the love of GOD, do not let them corner you lest you find yourself the target of a Jarvis Street makeover…that’s where we keep the hookers, should you ever be in need of one. Of course, we can’t forget the phone, which I avoid like the plague (much to the chagrin of my parents who never hear from me), only ever using it to check in with The Best Friend once a week or so, while the 10yr. old needs it surgically removed from her ear most days, spending countless hours giggling with her little friends. In every way possible, so far at least, my daughters have proven to be a much bigger parenting challenge, & are far sneakier, more complicated beings. Maybe because there’s three of them. Maybe because my son happens to have a calm, quiet, easy going personality as opposed to your rough & tumble kinda boy. But what you see is what you get with him. And you’ll often hear me saying my girls were just “born” girls…with the bitchy, catty, diva built right in to their DNA. But that theory goes out the window when you look at girls like me or my niece, who can maintain their femininity quite well, but ultimately have little use for the girly stuff. Truth be told, it’s one of the things that bonds me to The Best Friend, aside from our mutual affection for jet black hate. We can hit the club & never once, all night long, do we ever go to the bathroom to “fix” our hair or makeup, let alone hit the can together! I was recently out with a girlfriend I’ve know most my life, & suddenly she grabs our purses and says, “Come to the bathroom with me.”. I was a little taken aback by this request. But she had my purse, & off she went, so I followed. And as I stood there, watching her dump half her purse on the counter & engage in an entire full body tune up, chattering away at me, I thought, “F**k, the last time I did this with you, I was 15 dude. Seriously?”. As for me, the only thing I tucked in to my purse when I left the house was a lip gloss…and I have the impressive ability of being able to apply it right there at the table if I feel the need. I only recently started to carry a brush with me, not because I have ever pulled it out, but because my three daughters felt I needed one for THEIR use while on the go. And despite the rambling tone of this post, there actually is a point to it all, that speaks to the sneaky, diva nature ingrained in my three daughters right from the start. I’ve written many a post about The Diva & her fashionista ways, the battles over clothes, shoes, socks, coats, glasses, & the sneaky methods she employs to ensure she gets her way. And over the last year or so, my 10yr. old has begun to be quite fussy with her appearance, & has an affinity for the most horrid shades of lip colour, causing many battles over it’s appropriateness & forcing me to pin her down & wipe that crap off her face before she steps foot outside of MY house looking like that…a Jarvis Street hooker. But honest to God, today was the last straw. The Baby…my wee little girl…came home with her school pictures today. She looked so tiny, & she was so beautiful, that tears of love & pride came to my eyes. As I struggled to blink them away, I was thinking, “I don’t remember pulling her hair back…I’m positive I left it down, so I could see her wild curls I love so much. As a matter of fact, I recall curling some of her ringlets to tame them down a bit.” Yet, her hair seemed pulled back at the sides. Wiping away my tears, I bent in for a closer look at this little thumbnail of a proof I’d been sent. What the f**k is on your head??!! You sneaky little bum, that’s your sister’s leopard print hairband jammed on there so haphazardly, marring your perfect little curls, & not even coming close to matching your little pink dress. And when I asked this 4yr. old little bum of mine where that had come from & why was she wearing it, she gave me that face that could melt the polar ice caps & informed me she had “forgotten” to take it off for the picture. The reality is, she did NOT leave the house with that in her hair, but rather, unbeknownst to me, she must have tucked it in to her backpack when I wasn’t looking, & jammed it on her head when she arrived at school. For her school pictures. Apparently, she’s been taking lessons from The Diva. But I will never forget those very first school photos of hers. And I will likely giggle my ass off every time I look at them. I’ve also learned a valuable lesson myself from this experience. I can’t win. I will never win. I am completely outnumbered by sneaky little divas. My three daughters. My life would be so dull & empty without them…& all their glitter & flair & drama…
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