My son just turned 11 last week. To celebrate, he invited a few of his buddies over for a sleepover extravaganza. Copious amounts of pizza and pop were consumed, to which the hilarious side-effect of rocketing belches and hysterical laughter issued forth, to every one’s delight. Then they all headed upstairs to blast some music and, I suspect, to fart as much as they possibly could. Honestly, I was afraid someone was going to poop their pants in their efforts to squeeze out a stinky one.
I let them have their fun without any interference from me. After all, they’re boys…. And I wanted the kids to have a blast.
After the impromptu rave in Nick’s room, they all trooped downstairs to settle in to watch Star Trek. (Which was AWESOME!!)
In the middle of all this was my daughter. She was supposed to be at my sister’s place for a sleepover so she didn’t have to be around all the boys, but circumstances prevented this and she was stuck in the middle of a roiling pack of 10 and 11 year old Fart Champions. She stayed out of their way most of the time, but was included in the general festivities of supper and the movie.
She trucked into the living room after the boys settled in. And there she was, in shorty shorts and a black tank top.
I raised my eyebrow and asked her why she had changed.
She flipped her hair back and said “I was hot, Mommy.”
Her apparel (or lack thereof) was immediately noticed by one boy in particular. I never caught his opinion that he voiced about her clothing choice, but it was obviously heard by everyone else, since almost immediately, this boy and my daughter’s love for each other and upcoming nuptials were discussed with many a snicker and snort.
She pretended to get mad, and so did the boy, but I recall enough about my own childhood to recognize that indeed, somewhere deep down, this pleased both of them.
Now, on one hand I was mortified that my 8… 8!!!!!! year old daughter took it upon herself to flaunt her body in front of a pack of boys. (And don’t worry, we’ve had a little chat about that very thing…)
On the other hand, I realized she is more like me than just her blond hair and fiery temper. I was looking into a mirror.
And mirrors don’t lie.