Musing on a Monday {Smell the strawberries & blow out the candle}

Saturday morning and following a chain of events I found myself in the kitchen crying - as you sometimes do when you're a 39 year old highly strung and emotional female. The children were upstairs, but they still managed to hear me. My girl came down, tiptoed up behind me, wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
She quietly said to me;

"Mummy, to stop crying you should smell the strawberries and blow out the candle."
 

Musing on a Monday {Falling out with my 9 year old}

This weekend I had planned a cosy Saturday afternoon of a walk round Lacock Abbey, to find the tree decorated by my girl and her class, followed by mince pie making and putting up the Christmas tree back home.
I'm always one to make plans with a picture perfect image of how the day will pan out just how I want it to. Which will then, of course, be documented by the obligatory snaps on Facebook and Instagram show casing what a perfect family we are.
Well, most of that went to pot.
Instead, I executed some of my parenting skills to the highest level of crapness and fell out with my 9 year old.
Yes, me, 39 years of age, old enough to be a little bit more grown up about things managed to argue, shout and sulk - just as well as any 9 year old girl.
You see, she was 'too tired' to help me as I struggled, lodged in the loft door with a Christmas tree wedging me at the top of the loft ladder. So, I shouted at how ungrateful she is and 'thank you very much for helping' - in an obviously sarcastic matter highlighting that, yes, I am clearly the grown up in this stand off. Slamming of doors followed whilst I managed to slide the tree, and myself, back down the ladder to safety.
Loft dust washed off I announced we were all going out.
But no, going to the Abbey is now far too 'boring' for a 9 year old girl.
Which obviously I accepted calmly and didn't* in any manner shout back that '9 year olds are not in charge in this house and I bloody well am'.
Then she took shelter, from the 'worst Mum ever who always shouts', under her desk.
I sat downstairs and sulked.
The husband stepped in, with his 'good cop' badge shining brightly to calm the situation, and went to speak to her. My attempts to calm the situation resulted in being told 'I'm so mean' with the offer of a hug refused - that was like a dagger to the heart so I went downstairs biting my lip so I didn't cry.
Meanwhile the boy put up the tree, then some footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.
The girl tentatively came in, giving me the evils on her way, and joined in with hanging some baubles.
Her mood gradually shifted.
I grabbed her for a hug.
And all was well.

x x x

* I did

Mummy, do I look pretty? {Parenting Girls}

Earlier today I was sat in my conservatory listening to the chatter and giggles of my 9 year old daughter, her friend and my boy as they played 'schools' upstairs.
I love these moments and it proves to me that they are still very much children throwing themselves into the world of imaginary play with no worries or concerns interrupting them.
However, I want to go back a few days to when my daughter came skipping into my room in a summer dress, hair tied up in a side pony with a questioning look on her face and she asks,

"Mummy, do I look pretty?"

 

Part of me wanted to respond with this; 

 

"Why does it matter? You're 9, you shouldn't have to worry about how 'pretty' you look, that word shouldn't be in your vocabulary. Why aren't you pulling on grey joggers and beat up trainers and throwing yourself around on the floor playing goalkeeper like I did at your age? Who do you think you need to be 'pretty' for? What crap have you watched on the television that makes you think you have to look 'pretty'? Now stop being so silly."

 

But I didn't.

I simply replied;

 

"Of course you do. But being pretty isn't everything in life."

 

And off she went.
 

Did I screw up there?

Should I have sat her down and explained her future role in life as a strong independent female who shouldn't feel the need to be led by society's expectation of her to look preened and 'pretty'?

Am I a hypocrite and sending out the wrong message whilst I put my make up on every day but can't actually explain to her that I do this as I lack in self confidence to go out bare faced?
Have I actually 'learnt' from my own mum who would have laughed off such a question and made me feel tiny for daring to ask?
Should I have wrapped her up in my arms and told her she is the prettiest girl to have ever walked the earth, because that is what I always wanted my mum to do and say to me?

I feel caught.
Caught between the realisation that she is feeling exactly how I felt - albeit much later in life for me at the age of 12 onwards - and the pull of my desire to tell her to stick two fingers up to the norms and 'expectations' and pressures in life.

So, which way do I go?
Where is the balance?!
What would you have responded with?

x x x