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One More Reason My Kids Will Hate Me One Day…

May 4, 2010

Let me just start out by saying that I love my daughters. Both of them. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. And I honestly love almost everything about having girls. But I’d be lying if I said that God wasn’t trying to punish me (or at least play a cruel joke on me) when he gave me two of them. Because as much as I love them, I’m not exactly what I’d call good Mom of Daughters material. I just don’t “do” girly well.

In some ways, sure, I can pull it off when absolutely necessary. But generally speaking, I’m one of the least girly people you’ll ever meet (with the exception of perhaps once-a-girl-but-now-a-man Chastity Bono). Growing up, my best friends were always the guys. I curse like a sailor, I don’t dig makeup and often don’t wear it, I hate doing my hair, I hate shopping malls, I can drink most guys under the table, and I refuse to partake in the typical girly backstabbing/gossipy crap that most girls seem to thrive on. (Oh, with the exception of my evil sister-in-law because I hate her and I have an unhealthy obsession with bashing her as often as possible, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I don’t like playing waitress and restaurant with my girls… I don’t like to have tea parties… I don’t want to give them manicures and pedicures… and I have no desire to sit and braid their hair for hours (although I’ll do all of it and persuaded enough). Now before people start bashing me, I’d like to say that I do a lot with my girls. But I’d prefer to hang out and read with them, throw a football around in the backyard, go for a walk with them, or just sit around and talk. I just don’t like to do all of that other stuff that moms of girls seem to take great pleasure in. I just don’t have it in me, and I’ve decided that that’s what grandmothers are for.

So let’s talk about yesterday — the day when both of my daughters had to go and have their photos taken for dance class. Now I will say up front that upon arriving to get the photos taken, it takes about 10 minutes tops (if that) for each child, so that in and of itself is no big deal. I always love the photos and it doesn’t take much time once we’re there. The owner of the dance studio keeps the ship running smoothly, and you couldn’t ask for better efficiency. But the preparation here at home to get there? My god, I’d rather walk through Hell barefoot.

All girls are required to put their hair in buns for the photos and the recital. This is due to crazy-ass parents bitching and moaning if some other child doesn’t have their hair in a bun, but they took the time to put their own child’s hair in a bun. (Yes, for real.)  Because god forbid if all children that step on stage don’t look exactly alike. (Seriously people… there are WAY more important things to worry about… Get over it…)

But I won’t break the rules at my children’s expense (because I’m pretty convinced that one day, Grace is going to be taller than me and then she’ll kick my ass), so two hours before photos were scheduled, I plopped Grace down to attempt to put her chin-length hair in a bun. I tried, people. I swear to god, I tried. But after 45 minutes, her hair looked ridiculous (think Medusa), she was cranky and ready to beat my ass, she wouldn’t stop moving her head so that I had at least some hope of succeeding, and by the end of that 45 minutes, I honestly had to call a Time Out for both of us, so we could regroup, take the 800 bobby pins out of her hair and try again. It wasn’t pretty, my friends. Not at all. We were ready to throw down and have our own Steel Cage wrestling match at that point.

So I walked away for 5 minutes and came back to try again. Now during all of this, Hannah’s in the background saying,

Is it my turn? Why don’t you just do mine? Mine’s easy because my hair is long. Grace’s hair is too short. Why are you even bothering, Mom? Just do mine. Mine will look better anyway…

I was ready to kick her ass outside until I was ready for her, because given mine and Grace’s moods at that point, that last thing we needed was comments from the peanut gallery.

But  instead, I just banished her to the next room and got to work on Grace’s hair again. After a few tantrums, some name calling, and a total loss of patience (and she was kind of annoyed too), I managed to get her hair to somewhat resemble a bun. Now granted, it wasn’t like one of those nice, smooth hamburger buns. It was more like a deformed, Oops!-I-Forgot-to-Add-the-Yeast buns. But it was a bun all the same. Ninety minutes, people…. It took me ninety minutes to get to that point. I was hot, sweaty, and annoyed.

I walked away with the thought that I really need to make friends with a hairdresser. A really nice hair dresser who will come to my home at a moment’s notice to help me out in situations like that. Because apparently, I’m missing that girl gene that allows you, as a mother of daughters, to be successful in these endeavors.


And while we’re here, I think I need to make friends with a makeup artist too. Because after the whole hair fiasco, I had to apply makeup to their faces. Have you ever tried putting a little mascara on a 6 and 8-year-old, trying to convince them that no, Mommy won’t poke them in the eye with the wand! (Well… at least not on purpose anyway….)

5 Comments leave one →
  1. May 5, 2010 12:24 AM

    Clara’s hair is going to be a bitch to get into a bun for her spring show in June. She just cut it off a few weeks ago, and it already looks like it needs a trim, but I’m thinking the longer it is, the better….And actually, her class are dolls for this show, so we might have to do ringlets. Even a more challenging issue. lol

  2. May 4, 2010 5:27 PM

    I’m a LOT like you, I just can’t be properly girly (and never could). I thank all that is Holy that I had three boys. I loved their toys (none of which were sickly pink and mauve), I loved their clothes (it was difficult to find anything interesting but at least there were no frills and nothing looked prematurely sexual) and I loved their friends (who either liked them, or punched them – so no BITCHING to cry about).

    Now that they’ve grown up, I do find myself dabbling in the novelty of being girly (mid-life crisis) but I’m not very good at it.

    I like your writing btw and writing something entertaining is much more worthwhile than making a stupid bun.

    • May 4, 2010 10:24 PM

      LOL Blogmella! I said for years before I even got married (or met my husband) that I wanted three boys, but because I knew myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t know how to handle girly stuff. Now I will say that my older daughter really ISN’T girly and that the whole bun fiasco was as painful for her as for me.

      And I too have gotten a bit more girly as I’ve gotten older. I actually admit to liking pink and stuff. LOL!

      And I ADORE my girls. I really do. And I look forward to prom, and helping them choose their wedding dresses, and watching them be pregnant and all that other jazz. But this adolescent girl stuff? Hell NO! LOL!

  3. May 4, 2010 1:38 AM

    This sounds incredibly stressful. If Grace’s hair is chin length, expecting to get it into a bun does seem futile. Personally, I think if you’re *paying* for the dance lessons for *your* child, other parents can kiss off in relation to how your child’s hair is done for an individual picture that you’re going to have to pay for. I don’t have kids though, so what do I know?

    • May 4, 2010 6:44 AM

      LOL Tiffany. Well, I can see wanting all of the kids to look somewhat alike for the photos, and eventually, the recital. I really do. But I do know that there are some parents who complain to the owner of the studio if all of the kids don’t have their buns and look “professional.” So I’m not blaming her for the rule, since I don’t blame her for not wanting to listen to other parents bitch and moan, and for trying to keep everyone happy. But yes, those other parents need to get a life. LOL!

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