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Browsing Tag: girls

But She Should

Saoirse got her hair cut today. She goes with her dad to his hairdresser, and it’s always a cute little time for some daddy-daughter bonding. And Saoirse gets a lollipop after all is said and done, so you know, everybody wins. Except for today. I asked David to ask for SK’s hair to be cut to just above her shoulders, but not touching them. Saoirse always wants to wear her hair down–other than an occasional headband, she never wants me to touch it, and I figured that for the summer heat, a little shorter might be a lot easier for everybody involved. She didn’t seem too happy about it, but I told David to go ahead with the (slightly) shorter cut. And then he called me. He said it was short. He said it was really short. He was right. The hairdresser had taken the “not touching her shoulders” directive to heart, and now my darling 5-year-old daughter who loved her long hair and quietly did not fight me when I said she’d get a big trim is sporting a short bob that falls against…

Proof that My Kid’s Smarter than I

I just watched Tangled with the girls, Santa having brought it for them because he was under the impression that Rapunzel was depicted as a go-get-’em female, a strong girl, a heroine to be heralded. What a stupid, infuriating movie. I don’t know why I periodically bring in these Disney princess movies to show Saoirse: The Princess and the Frog was a recent one, Tangled the newest. Actually, I do–I worry that I’m so massively enthusiastic that she’s (and, really, Quinn) not into princesses that I then worry that I’m swaying her with my pro-Thomas enthusiasm and in turn pressuring her to not become a tiara-wearing, makeup-wanting, prince-coveting household diva that she may or may not secretly want to be. I really don’t need to worry. The kid likes what she likes, and what she likes is healthy. If I keep this up, she’ll be 16, focusing on her studies, and I’ll be hanging outside her bedroom door begging her to just give the tattooed 20-year-old who keeps driving by our house flinging empty beer…

Honey, You’re 18: Thighs Don’t Matter

David had to meet up with some work people tonight, so after dinner (take-out, because it’s Saturday and because I just didn’t feel like it), I took SK and the Mighty Quinn to get some ice cream.  We were sitting on a bench when I noticed two high school girls giggling by the shop’s front window. My eye caught them because one girl was wearing a “Seniors 2011” shirt, and I was trying to figure out which high school she attended, and the other had her skirt hiked so far up her torso that at first I thought it was a second shirt. (Now, you know that skirt wasn’t that high before she left her parents at the house…I hope.) As I watched, another small herd of girls approached them. They must’ve been friends, but this is the coversation that played out in front of us: Girl A, approaching:  “Stop looking at my thighs! You’re looking at my thighs!” Girl B, texting: “Yeah, I’m looking at your thighs!” Girl A, laughing: “Stop looking at my thighs…