Night before last, Sam was blowdrying Lily's hair before putting her to bed and said, "Hey, her hair is long enough to put in a ponytail." He immediately looked at me, uberfeminist, who has been since the early millenial years opposed to imposition of gender stereotypes. Since I proudly let my son Ryan wear a tutu and let Lily wear Ryan's old unisex clothes and a goth cap that read "I don't do pink," he was looking to see if I was going to explode like a volcano into a monologue about "girlie things." But I didn't. That would make me a hypocrite since as SOON as my hair is ever long enough to put into a ponytail, it becomes a PERMA ponytail. Every two or so years, I donate my ponytail and take on a nice, comfy, fitting "dyke" cut that I wear with pride and pomp.
But that wasn't the only reason I didn't jump on it like I did when he asked why I would want Ryan to have a drawerful of Barbies alongside his drawer full of Hot Wheels. The other reason has been, all along, that Lily is... a girlie girl.
I never said I would fight it. I only said I wouldn't contribute. So, as a baby, I didn't dress her in ruffled underwears (Hi Mommy!) and I wouldn't make her wear those hideous baby headbands that have bows on 'em just so people can tell the sex of your gorgeously gender neutral baby. I put her in greens and yellows and reds just like I had Ryan. And just like with Ryan, I smiled politely and said, "It's a _____," (I'll leave you to fill in the blank because everyone thought Ryan was a girl and everyone thought Lily was a boy... a fact of which I am proud since my goal was to sponsor gender neutrality and equality, just in case my kids turned out to be not-so-much the social expectation of their gender--meaning LGBTQ).
And yes, when Lily started going "Oooooooh," and "Wooooowwwwww," at the frilly and the glittery, I narrowed my eyes and wondered who was influencing her (since it sure as SHIT wasn't myself). I bit my nails and I steeled my heart.
Unfortunately for Lily, I am not girlie. I bathe and I clean up well. And once every couple of years I can be motivated into putting in a pair of contacts and putting on make-up (which is so ancient it probably should have been thrown out). But overall, I don't DO pink. So, poor Lily is going to have to rely on her girl friends and their mothers to teach her the mechanics of being a girl--the make-up, the nail polish, the endless mirror staring.
However, the one thing I CAN do (and like a pro) is fix hair into a ponytail. So, I did. I pulled it up into a big, flipping-flopping, curling under ponytail and I nearly burst into tears at the sight. It was like a premonition of what she'd look like in 12 years, telling me she's spending the night at so-and-so's house so she can sneak out just like I did. She went and look at the full-length mirror and--I swear to the universe--giggled like... well, like a little girl. She swung her head around this way and that until it was time for bed.
To my utter relief and disbelief, SHE was the one who took the ponytail down.
Then, today, when she got up from her nap, Sam was getting her ready to go visit his mom in the rehab center and asked me to put Lily's hair into pigtails. Seeing this as my job, since I am so against her getting her hair cut to the ridiculously short length most little French girls are mandated by culture to wear their hair, I complied. And as she jumped down from my bed where she had been so snuggle-y sitting in my lap, again, I nearly cried.
Up until now, I have never been one of those moms who mourns her child's milestones as just more proof that they are on the track to leaving home. I have celebrated Ryan's growing up and going to school and learning to dress himself (freaking finally) and going potty and all that. I have celebrated Lily going off to day care and being able to draw and her dancing and her running and giggling and being able to give high five. I have celebrated Lolo's early teeth and her early walking and her waving goodbye and her new "Uh-oh."
But when Lily jumped down from my bed and ran away towards the door to put her shoes on, little platinum pigtails quivering with each step, I felt my heart break. My babies are growing up. I mean, I might as well have been dropping her off at college or something. I could barely hold the camera straight as I took her pictures because my gut was clenched with sobs.
I didn't go run yesterday. Tough titty. I got into writing on my novel a little bit and didn't see the time fly by. I hope it doesn't influence my 11 tomorrow. I'm going to have to be better about getting in my daily runs during the week if I'm gonna kick this marathon's ass.
The pear jelly DID turn out too thick. I'm going to deal with it by buying new lids, watering it down and resealing it. So there! But, the pear JAM, turned out DELICIOUSLY and went great with breakfast this morning. I got four jars of it, so I'm good.
Sam and I went out to eat last night. BY OURSELVES. A few weeks ago, he tried to get tickets to see Julien Dore (one of my fave French singers right now) but they ended up being sold out. He had gotten A's mom to agree to babysit and everything. I give him points for being sneaky. Well, she told him that even though we weren't going to get to go to see Julien, she'd watch the kids while we went out anyway since our going out alone happens about once a year.
He wanted to see a movie but I'm SO OPPOSED to wasting a good babysitter so he and I can go sit in a dark room staring at a screen--I mean, we do that every night when we watch the news together. Anyway, seeing a movie for us is about SEEING a movie, so when there's something playing we really wanna see, we just tag team. One of us goes first, the other goes next and then after the kids have had their bath, we talk about the movie.
But since we were allowed to go out TOGETHER, I told him that I'd even be content making sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and hanging out in our garage reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle together. I'm not kidding... that would have been one of the sexiest, most fulfilling dates we'd have ever had.
He whined about this resto he's been wanting to go back to. It's this resto on the cliff right next to Fourviere with a huge panoramic view of Lyon. The resto is mostly glass, so you can see everything. BUT the food and service both SUCK. I held out as long as I could for the garage, but he won out in the end. As we got in the elevator, A's mom finally telling us to, "Get OUT! ahem. PLEASE!" I told Sam, "You're getting me drunk, yo."
We got to the resto and believe it or not, like most things in the Old World, nothing had changed in ten years. The food and the service sucked. We essentially spent $100 of our farm fund to sit in the same room with a company dinner and eat food that tasted worse than stuff I've eaten cold out of cans in the woods! It sucked. And then, because he had had two glasses of wine, he was "SO TIRED," when we got home. So now book.
I hate to be ungrateful, but... well...
Market fare wasn't too exciting today since, well, I'm all rooted and gourded out for awhile. Oh, sure, I'll make more zuke bread and punkin muffins, but I think I'm done with any of the exotic roots for this season. I'll stick to taters and carrots and the kale veggies like brock and cauli... Maybe a little cabbage. Sadly, it looks like our fave organic vendor doesn't do Brussel Sprouts... that sucks. I love those little bitches.
Well, I have a couple of hours while Sam is visiting his mom, so I'm gonna write and wooHOOOOOO, play Solitaire.
Check out the sucky pigtails...
This is the face she made when we made her stop dancing around long enough to put on her jacket... *eye roll*
"There, you took the picture. You done now?"
"Stop following me, old lady!"
"Wait, I forgot my lovey!" (Not SO grown up after all.)
"Bye, Mom!" *sniff*
*sigh*... Seeing this makes my uterus hurt... CAN SHE WAIT UNTIL AFTER PARIS TO GET KNOCKED UP AGAIN... Stay tuned for the exciting continuation of The Joelie Show.
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