If you looked over at the dresser to my right you’d see a stack of books with titles such as: Just Flirt, Allegiant, Geek Charming, How (Not) to Find a Boyfriend, Jenna and Jonah’s Faumance, and The Selection. Along with the line of brightly colored nail polish and spotted piggy bank you might think a teen girl lives here.
Well there is a teen girl that lives here. And a “tween” girl. And a soon to be eight-year-old girl.
The thing is the dresser belongs to me. As do the books and most of the nail polish. The funny part is I’m not a girly-girl. I never was. I’ve told my girls all their lives that if they want to wear make-up they’ll have to get it and learn how to put it on from girls because I have no clue. I can’t even pain my nails without making a mess of my fingers. And that was before the tremors I get in my hands.
So this is what happens when a tomboy grows up. She goes from playing army with the neighborhood kids, wrestling with her brother and friends, and devouring nerdy Star Wars novels to young adult romance books and a rainbow of nail polish.
It’s not so much that you stop being a tomboy because I’d rather run around in the mud then put on a dress and wear heels. Hell, I’d break my ankle if I tried to wear heels. I’ve just broadened my horizons a little. The nail polish started out being the girls. But quickly I found myself picking out colors that I like. I started reading young adult books like Harry Potter and the Hunger Games. I filled my time with dystopian novels filled with teen protagonists while writing Stargate SG-1 fanfic and forcing my butt out of bed by 10am on Sundays to watch football (it starts really early here).
I’m definitely not a girly-girl, but I guess there is some girl inside of this tomboy. Apparently my daughters take after me. Nails painted, hair uncombed, jeans with the knees torn out, and t-shirts with funky designs. They occasionally love sci-fi, still gag at kissing scenes and would rather spend time cleaning their room than wear a dress. Well, getting the in dresses really depends on the dress and their mood.
Why did couldn’t I have had boys like I wanted? I relate so much better to them. Oh, wait, I also have two boys. And they drive me just as nutty at twelve and three. They get filthy and are always covered in sticky stuff.
Maybe I’m not as tomboyish as I thought I was.