Friday, January 29, 2010

Lessons from an 8 year old.

Elli and I were chatting the other night. She loves hanging out and talking. It's really fun and I hope she still wants to tell me things as she gets older.

We were talking about school, so I took the opportunity to ask her about a girl in her class that I'm curious about.

I feel sorry for this little girl. Her hair is always wet and uncombed. Her clothes are too small and don't fit right and nothing ever matches. She's a mess. She's crying for help - in my humble opinion. She has a younger sister, too, who is exactly like her, only 4 inches shorter.

I see her every day. And every day I think to myself "that poor little thing needs a hairbrush, and a cute outfit."

Now don't get me wrong, I don't think she should be turned into a girly girl. But jeez, a hairbrush and a nice pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt from Old Navy would be seriously cute on her. The leggings and tight shirts are just wrong. She wears clothes you would see on a 2 year old.

So yesterday I asked Elli about her. I said something like, "Does Miss XX ever comb her hair? Don't you think she would look cute if she combed her hair?"

And here is Elli's response:

"MOM. It doesn't matter what she looks like on the outside. She's really smart and creative. She has really good vocabulary and she's a tomboy. No one cares. She is who she is."

Ok. Now I feel like a jack ass. What is wrong with me? Elli's right. She is who she is. And that's what makes her her.

And more important, how did I (we) manage to raise such an AMAZING kid?

So I know Elli is right. BUT, I can't help but wondering if kids will be so nice and tolerant with Miss XX as they get older. They are in third grade now where no one cares if your socks don't match or your pants are a tad too short.

I feel like she is ripe for teasing and a little help now will go a long way. But it's not really my place, is it? She and Elli aren't friends. So it's not like we would have her over. It's going to make me crazy as long as I continue seeing her every day.

I would secretly like to take a bundle of clothes, wrap them up and leave them on her front porch with a sweet little note. But that would be insulting to her and her family. 

I know it's none of my business. And I have to let it go.

But it's KILLING ME!!!


PS. After I wrote this I read a bit of SF Gate (it's the SF Chronicle online.) Read this article. I'm not alone in my whining. And I must change after reading this.

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