I was raised to ignore the stuff that doesn't really matter... "It's just hair." "It's just paint." My mom bit her lip when I had fustian hair or wore skeleton tights to take Roland's mom on her birthday dinner. My grandmother didn't bat an eye if any of us had Mohawks or bald heads or were dressed in black head to toe. I have been blessed with unconditional love and eyes that see the heart and mind instead of focusing on things that don't matter.
Down deep, I love that I was blessed with a daughter who, even at 6, challenges me and makes me constantly ask myself "what really matters?"
She wants short hair. Again. We settled for a short bob last time (she saw pictures and liked it), but she wants to go shorter. I showed her pictures so she could be sure (thinking she'd like 
the short bob again), but nope. Pixie. She is sick of "hair in my ears".
the short bob again), but nope. Pixie. She is sick of "hair in my ears".
Playing devil's advocate, I asked, "Are you okay if people say 'Are you a girl?'"
And without batting a big blue eye, she said, "Yes. Cause I AM a girl."
Who knows, she may change her mind (or her Daddy may cry), but good grief, I am proud to be her mom.
(Ivey, showing Gram the treasures she keeps in her boots.)
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