I am not a girly girl. I'm definitely not a tomboy either. I've never had an issue with the fact that I was just as happy to play ninja turtles in pre-school with all of the other boys rather than dress up and have tea parties with no tea. I mean, what's the use of pouring someone a play cup of tea if there is no actual liquid going in the cup? Girl needs some applejuice.
Being the only child of an only child, my mom had lots of high hopes for me growing up. She wanted, nay, demanded that I be valedictorian, go to law school, become a doctor/lawyer/award-winning playwright, and have a gaggle of children with my rich husband. Well, I'm 1/4 on her major wishlist. Sorry Susan.
Another thing that she desperately wanted me to be was a girly girl. Mom dreamed of the days where she and her daughter would do eachother's nails and dress in lots of pink. Well, that didn't really ever happen. Below are seven of the most memorable instances of me disappointing my mother in my non-girliness. Which is now, apparently, a word.
1.) I hated dance. My mom dreamed of having a ballerina in the family, but I guess she'll have to settle for dressing the dog up in a tutu. I could have cared less. During dance class I was more concerned with the girls who got to launch themselves at the vault during gymnastics class. My costumes had sequins all over them, but God, were they itchy and uncomfortable. Plus, there were all the feathers. I LOATHE feathers. Dance and me, were not a perfect marriage.
2.) I gave up gymastics for softball. My mom finally caved and allowed me to take gymnastics, beginning when I was six. I suppose she figured it still counted as dance considering I took lessons at a dance studio. Well, in third grade, I developed another love: softball. My grandfather loved teaching me how to catch the ball and bat. As readers of this blog are aware, my grandfather was the most important person in my life before he passed away. I learned all of the MLB teams and mascots. He would quiz me while I swung on my tire swing in the backyard. Not so coincidentally, but my love affair with softball and baseball developed the summer Baskin Robbins sold ice cream sundaes in miniature baseball helmets of MLB teams. I was a fat kid, so this was very appealing to me. I'd say we needed to go to Baskin Robbins so I could get another baseball helmet, but really, I wanted the chocolate fudge sundae. With no cherry. After a few years of doing both gymnastics and softball, I had to pick just one, as my practice schedules were becomming more and more demanding. Even though my mom desperately pleaded (and bribed) to try and get me to stick with gymnastics, I chose softball. Because nothing made me feel better in the world than hearing my grandfather cheer for me when I hit the ball.
3.) I refused to have a pink room. Mom and dad decided that they were going to redecorate my room. They wanted me to make the transition from little girl room with the Barbie sheets to the big girl room with floral patterned wallpaper. Pink floral patterned wallpaper. Even though I was only seven, I knew what I wanted. And it was not pink. I wanted UK blue (I started out as a fan young) but mom thought my fandom was fleeting. Wrong. I finally compromised with mom enough to have lavender wallpaper...even though I wanted royal purple. At least I didn't have pink. Although, I did notice that even though my bedspread was lavendar, pink sheets kept popping up underneath the covers. Neither of us acknowledged this fact. I silently compromised and mom acted like she knew nothing was amiss. I've mentioned before how good my family is at avoidance. Prime example.
4.) All I wanted to wear to school were Adidas pants and UK shirts. For Christmas each year my mom would stuff my 5 foot tall stocking (remember, only child) to the brim with outfits full of ruffles, sparkles, and silky fabric. That makes it sound like my stocking was full of stripper outfits, but don't worry, it wasn't. Each year I'd look at the pile of clothing in front of me and promptly exit the living room to put on my comfy Adidas pants and UK tshirt that was my normal Middle School era attire. I wanted to be comfortable, not cute. I mean, I was chubby, still had 80s bangs, braces to fix my horribly crooked teeth, an acne problem, and I was 12. No amount of frills or flair was going to make me look cute. I stuck to my comfort while mom wistfully glanced at the outfits she had bought me, only to be discarded for tshirts as old as our pets were.
5.) Red car vs blue car. When I was 16, because of my good grades and my aversion to ever disobeying my parents, mom and dad said they'd buy me a car. Obviously, I was super excited. We went to the car lot, I test drove some of my favorites, and I was down to two: a red Pontiac Sunfire with a sunroof and a blue Oldsmobile Alero, also with a sunroof. Obviously, mom liked the red car because she said it was more lady like. Obviously, I liked the blue one because it was blue. Blue won out. My mom's mortification only grew when I hung Mardi Gras beads in the rearview mirror. No, I didn't earn them (but I might next weekend while in New Orleans!...no, I really won't) but that didn't make any difference to her.
6.) Sexy prom dress vs ball gown. Senior prom was approaching. I had a hot date I'd never met in person (story for another time), was super tan, and I was ready to buy my prom dress. I tried on two that I loved: a mint green fluffy ball gown, and a sexy white one shoulder with gemstone lined oval shaped cutouts that traced a curve from one shoulder, over my chest, down to the opposite hip. I went with the white dress, even though because of the location of the cut outs, I could not wear underwear. Mom thought taking me to Fredericks of Hollywood to find some sort of underwear contraption to wear would be a great idea. When they handed an 18 year old girl a g-string with rhinestones and clear plastic straps mom figured out that probably wasn't the best idea and told me it would be best just to go without
7. The time I told my mom I didn't want a wedding, I just wanted to go to the courthouse. This probably hit my mom the hardest...well, maybe the me giving up dance was harder, but this one was close. When talking about my dream wedding with my mother at one point (probably during a Say Yes to the Dress marathon), I dropped the bombshell that I didn't want a wedding at all. I wanted to go to the courthouse, have a party for all my friends afterwards, and go on a kickass honeymoon. No fluffy white dress, no father/daughter dance, no gross wedding cake. She cried. Like, huge tears, ugly face cried. I tried to explain to her how silly it was to spend so much money on one day and I could use my wedding fund for a down payment on a house, but she was having none of it. I have since changed my mind (although the courthouse/huge party idea is still appealing) but I haven't told her that. Because if I did, she'd be coming to me with floral arrangement ideas and possible invitation prints. And I'm not even dating anyone.
Again, I'm not a tomboy, but I'm definitely not the girly girl my mom dreamed that I'd be. I curse too much, I have a tattoo (still not sure if she's aware I went through with that decision) and I have a sense of humor that is more snarky than charming. But, I think my mom is still pretty happy with the way I turned out.
And one shoutout to my grandfather, Daddy Cliff, who would have been 91 tomorrow. Even though I mortify my mother sometimes with my language and life decisions, I know he's up there in heaven laughing at every curse word I say, enjoying every awkward situation I get into and saying, "That's my girl." I love you Daddy Cliff. Forever and always and a day.
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