January - empowering little girls - good habit! and a rant lol

Late last year I read a book recommended by a friend. 

It really opened my eyes to how I was falling into a dangerous trap, one I swore I'd NEVER fall into.  I was a 'tomboy' when I was a kid.  Which apparently means I was different from what other little girls were.

This WAS a picture of me and my brother and all the fish we had caught one day.  But I got pissed at him one day and cut him out of the photo.

 I loved fishing, I had Barbies but I cut all their hair off and they mostly were tossed off the horses.  We always played the same game where Barbie was a mean owner and she got thrown off, kicked in the head and trampled.  The horses were where it was at I tell ya.. My Barbies are long gone but Prince is still around.  My daughter couldn't find him at her dad's in time to have his photo taken though.  But alas, a google images search brought up - his twin!!

I coloured my horse's hooves black with magic marker for some reason.  He can't have black hooves with white stockings, duh.  Even considering that lapse in judgement, he's a far cry from the god awful sparkly Barbie horses of today.

What the hell is on it's feet?  A forelock dragging on the ground?  With sparkles lmao!

In my defense, I did also provide her with Breyer's (Arabian of course) as well as old faithful Prince

When I was pregnant with my second child and found out we were having a girl, I swore my daughter would not wear pink.  Purple was as close as it was gonna get.
Um yeaah.  That didn't last too long.  I was never subjected to the marketing that she is subjected to.  We had country cable - channel 8 (and 13 if the weather was good.)

Since reading this book, I no longer call it the girl's aisle/boy's aisle in the store.  I was really appalled that I had started even calling them that.  I now practice saying "Colours are for everyone" I don't buy shirts with the word "Princess" on them anymore.
We go down ALL of the aisles in the store when the kidlet is in a browsing mood.  I always laughed at how barfably ( great word) pink those aisles were but now I make fun of Barbie. I point out how ridiculous she and her Brat friends are.  How bright pink short shorts are not what Equine Veterinarian Barbie should be wearing to the barn.

At least she has boots on so she doesn't get her pretty little pedicure squashed by an errant hoof.  And why the heck is that damn horse so small?  How can Barbie get kicked off the darn thing?  How will it trample her, will it simply stab her with a carrot?  Where's the fun factor?

ha ha ha - Barbie's heel got stuck in the sparkly mane

This year I am working on empowering the young ladies in my life.  Good habit.
Working on this good habit has made me think of my comments about myself while within earshot of the little people. My appearance, my weight.  Eeep.
I can't believe I've had to tell the kids they don't need to worry about their weight (because somehow this is now an issue for 7 year olds.) Just keep eating healthy and you're getting lots of exercise, you're fabulous!
 
But then I go and speak poorly of myself, which is the biggest factor in my influence over them I'm sure and it also makes my other empowering comments sound like complete bullshit.  Because obviously I don't believe them either.  So I need to start to change how I think.

I eat healthy but somehow think that if I just lose those 10 damn pounds my life will inexplicably become better.  Which is the opposite of what I'm trying to teach them.  Colour me hypocrite.
And besides I know better.  Once I lose 10 pounds I'll find something else to obsess over.  Like my hair colour.  Seriously, why can't I get ash brown?????  It goes brassy no matter what brand of ash brown I try!


I do have a point lol and this is what started this blog post :

Last week my daughter told me that she can't wear her bangs off her face.  She was thinking of growing them out.  I asked her why not and she told me "I look ugly with my bangs off my face"  I respectfully disagreed but she insisted.  I asked her where she heard that because kids don't come up with that shit on their own.  A friend at school told her that.  And now she believes it.

My little ball of awesome now thinks she is flawed somehow.

This exchange shot me straight back to grade 4 when my best friend was angry with me and made a comment about my appearance.  "Well at least I don't - insert degrading comment here- "  Until that day, I had no idea that this part of me was.... well, an issue.  But I sure as hell have remembered it every day since then.  I opened up and told a former 'amore' about this and he thought he should weigh in on the topic.  Which only reinforced my self consciousness. I also then stopped sharing personal feelings because they generally were treated with the same disregard for my feelings. Plus he added a whole lotta other things to my list of things to be self conscious about.

Now I'm getting over it.  I am me, I am OK.  I am apparently lovable despite my hideousness LMAO.  But I also do not speak of it.  It's like the Voldemort of my life.  That which shall not be named.  I live in fear now that naming it will either cause people to nod in agreement or maybe just notice for the first time LOL.  My super wonderful guy would likely laugh and hold me if I told him  He'd make me feel all warm and squishy inside like he always does.  But I'm not taking that chance.  Ignorance is bliss.

As I thought about all these things, scrubbing the bathroom sink (wash your own effing spit down after brushing!!!!) fuming about how assholes or angry off hand remarks can shape how women feel about ourselves, I caught my appearance in the mirror and saw the edge of my tattoo.  I was reminded of WHY I had gotten my tattoo for my birthday.  I called my daughter in and had her read the tattoo.  She had seen and read it before and asked why I chose that.  I simply said it was a favourite Green Day lyric and a phoenix.  I didn't think she would understand the meaning behind it.  Now, I believed she would. 

I told her my story and how this friend's comment has affected me for over 30 years.  How we can't let other's careless comments affect how we feel about us.  I explained to my daughter that I felt so strongly about this, that I had it tattooed on my body.  I think it hit home for her.

Now I just gotta keep reminding myself too.  <- good habit