Speaking of youth and loveliness... this morning, as I was trying to get the kids ready for school, they decided it was as good a time as any to play a little hide-and-seek. They still hide like ostriches: faces buried, bodies absurdly visible. Today, when I "found" them, kneeling like Muslims in the fireplace (it's non-working, don't worry), Maggie refused to give up the ghost, saying in a taunting voice, "But you can't see my beautiful face."
Which leads me to believe I may be telling her I love her beautiful face a little too often. Not the love part, the beautiful part. The part where I emphasize her looks in a way I probably don't with her brother (whose face I find equally beautiful, or, cute, actually, if I am to be honest).
It's a tricky thing, girls and their looks. I want her to feel beautiful, of course, but I don't want her to start believing it's her best quality (that's a toss up between her sense of humor and how lovely she is with younger kids). And I really don't want her to get what my old friend Tom called "pretty girl's disease," a sort of flat blandness that can result from being told how pretty you are all the time.
All of this is probably moot anyway. Aside from referring to her face as beautiful, Maggie isn't exactly a Gossip Girl (is this reference correct? I've never seen the show). She won't wear anything in her hair (ponytails are a struggle). She doesn't care what she wears, and has thus far shown a worrisome lack of sartorial sense (thanks, Mister). And her walk, kind of wide-legged and manly, is very dykes-on-bikes. In fact, except for her preference for glittery pink shoes, she's shaping up to be the greasy-haired girl in the stained hand-me-downs*. So, never mind. I think we're good.
* Barring a severe head trauma, I would never really let that happen. I'm thinking more tawny soccer player with rosy cheeks, the kind of girl I wished I was.
A thing I like
My kids and husband in this very funny anti-Kindle ad. Go books!