In fact, I quickly learned that some little girls could be very, very mean, too.
"Look she's got boobies!"
I'd like to believe that, like me, Buffy has since grown up, gotten over the fact that she felt the need to single me out, in front of the entire 3rd grade class, for wearing a pale lemon yellow body suit, without a training bra, but is raising her children with a little more common sense and compassion.
I doubt it, though.
Once bitten, twice shy. Yep, that's me and -- raising 3 girls of my own, I feel it safe to say -- these days, I'm thinking of tapping into one of my veins and stocking up on some anti-venom.
As an adult, I know now, that -- even though she had a much bigger house in the nicer part of town -- Buffy had issues, just like me. Still. Personally, I believe that it's very difficult for parents NOT to translate their own childhood insecurities into raising their kids the same exact way.
In other words, like mother, like daughter, like father, like son.
"Can I invite Tom and Jerry (not their real names) to my birthday party?"
Hope (formerly known as Mini-me) is turning 8 in June and my youngest daughter has already presented me with her guest list.
"Sure, why not?"
I mean, she only invited 3 other girls and knows that her mom (and dad) is all about hosting small and intimate little gatherings.
Especially, kids parties.
"I thought maybe it would be weird."
When she's 16...maybe...now, not so much.
"Most girls in my class invite all girls."
Uh-huh, still not seeing the weirdness.
"But, I like boys better."
Yep, like mother, like daughter.
"Didn't you used to like hanging out with Uncle Bud and his friends, too."
I may have mentioned it, once or twice.
"Yeah, but we were twins."
I mean, we still are and everything.
"Mama and Papa worked a lot and we really had no choice."
As any latch key kid would totally understand, I'm sure.
"I liked climbing trees better than playing with Barbies, I guess."
Hang on minute...
"Oh, and the girls in my class played silly games and talked about other girls."
...and just wait for it.
"Girls can be really mean, right mommy?"
Downright bitches-in-training, if you asked me, but I'd hate to think that my 7-year-old daughter would appreciate my pointing out the fact that some of her classmates will grow up hating her for just, you know, being her.
Without, tapping into my inner-child...I mean.
"YAH, I know!"
Aaand, they grow up to be mommies.
Judging by the way my daughter's eyes started tearing, I was sad to realize she actually understood that.
"I try not to be mean, but it's hard being a good friend, sometimes."
I know, the pack runs deep and I don't ever remember my 10-year-old son coming home from school and telling me that one of his friends is pissed, because he didn't side with him against someone else and that they were, you know, "NOT TALKING TO HIM" at the moment.
With that, Hope (formerly known as Mini-me) threw her back pack at me and headed back towards the playground.
Without looking back, she ran straight to the monkey bars and decided to hang out with a few of her girl scout buddies, literally AND figuratively speaking, after all.
No, I don't really know what happened and, at this point in my life, I don't insist on getting to involved in my kids affairs...as much as I used to...I mean.
"So, did you hear that So-and-So had a boy sleepover at her 13-year-old daughter's party?"
[eyes go wide]
I thought the woman was going to have a heart attack -- especially, when we both thought we saw the other mother walk into the room -- but, that's a whole 'nother blog post.
Like a wicked bite in the ass, these are the days of our lives and holy crap, but I'm really thirsty, all of a sudden!
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