Originally posted Jan. 24, 2008
There's nothing quite like watching your baby girl rock-out to
Motley Crue's "Shout at the Devil." Holly, my platinum-blond
six-year-old pixie, loves the Play-Station 2 game Guitar Hero II,
mostly because her older brother does. But she holds her own,
too. She even has rhythm (which her Southern Grandma says she
comes by honestly), as she bops along to the tune.
"My nose itches," she announces as she 'strums' the guitar, so
big brother Noah obliges, on his way to his room to hunt for a
clean pair of socks before school.
Of course, little Holly's skills aren't limited to playing hard
rock. She loves to wrestle, too. People have always
commented on "how cute" Holly is, particularly with those
striking golden locks, but they've never seen her humble her
twice-as-heavy and stunned big-brother with a head lock. The
look on his face as he laughs when she takes him down is
But she's a girly-girl, too. Last Saturday night, as she
donned her costume and dainty pink ballet shoes, I applied her
makeup so she could perform with the Naperville Park District's
Dance program, which presented their dance interpretation of Dr.
Suess's book, The Lorax. As I brushed rose-pink
rouge onto her cheeks, I considered applying mascara to her virgin
lashes. The Director had requested "full makeup," which young
Holly has worn only a few times before, but mascara was something
new. I showed her how to pout so I could apply red lipstick,
while considering the mascara issue.
"How 'bout some mascara?" I finally broached, knowing she would
pounce on the opportunity.
"Oh yes!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands
together. I almost regretted the offer, as I fished around in
my purse for the pink Maybelline tube with the green top.
"Do you have waterproof mascara?" she inquired.
"How do you know about waterproof mascara?" I laughed, stunned
that she knows there's a difference. I worry it's a slippery
slope, that she'll want to wear mascara all the time, now.
"This is just for performances, okay?" I said uneasily, as I
carefully brushed the black goo onto her delicate, nearly invisible
lashes. Wow. They're really long, I realized,
stunned at the transformation.
Careful not to get overly excited, lest I unleash the craziness
that happens when young girls decide that the only way they'll look
pretty is by wearing obnoxious amounts of war paint, I did manage
to tell her that she's beautiful. The deed is done, I quietly
grasp, as she peers at her reflection and notices, too.
But that was a whole five days ago. The mascara and the
moment have faded, and shouting at the devil with her brother's
guitar is now.
I could worry, or I could just clap right along with her.
I think I'll clap.
Jennifer DuBose, M.S., C.A.S., is a licensed marriage and family therapist in private practice in Batavia.
See more of Jennifer's stories here.
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