Ninja Girl

As I drag out our green bin filled with Halloween decorations and costumes from previous years, the kids descend upon me.They've been asking for weeks to decorate but I am insistent that we will not start until October 1st. During our evening walks, we pass many houses decked out and the kids are bitterly disappointed at my stringent stance against early celebration. But the first is here, and the kids are overjoyed as they pull out our rather pitiful supply of orange lights and skull candles. Every year, I think "I'll buy stuff on clearance so we'll have more." Or better yet "This year we'll CRAFT decorations." None of these things ever happen but the beasties are thrilled with what little the bin offers.

As we peel apart the window clings, Camille gives a shout of joy as she pulls out Umberto's ninja costume from last year. She immediately puts it on and begins to run around the house, leaping on the couch and back to the floor. We had assumed she would be a werewolf or a wolf and I had already done some research to find her a mask that wouldn't drive her crazy. But it's clear now as she strikes a pose that what she now longs to be is a Ninja. I admit that I am a little reluctant to encourage her wondering what the reaction will be at various places but I push that aside. It's early yet and the kids are apt to change their minds a few times. We'll cross the gender bridge if we get there.

Two weeks later, we're allowing the kids to pursue the Walmart Halloween aisle. Rowena is terrorizing us with a giant scythe that is at least two feet taller than she is. Umberto has a fake orange Tommy gun. And Camille has just run to us with a plastic katana. "This is perfect for my ninja costume." she tells us. And I know that the moment has come. I don't think that many parents realize that this gender costume stuff comes up for those of us with girls. The big show is always the ultra cool liberal parents who allow their boys to dress up as girl characters or princesses. But you know the parents of girls have these moments of gender bending as well. And I hesitate not because I am not ultra cool and liberal (hell yeah I am) but because I am a caring parent who worries what her sensitive child will do if someone comments. And I'm guessing that at some point someone will because we live in Georgia. We will be attending costume parties at some conservative places. People are going to wonder why she's not a princess or a fairy. And they might let their horror that she's in a boy costume show. But I also know that sometimes you have to let you child take that hit. Not unprepared for sure but you have to let them decided "Hell yeah girls can be ninjas." So we buy her the sword.

We spend the next couple of weeks watching people's eyebrows walk off their faces when they ask Camille what she's going to be for Halloween and she says proudly "A Ninja!" H thinks people are shocked because it's cultural offensive. I point out that in a place where people still think it's okay to say "Orientals" that it's likely that she's a girl and that she's not going to be a princess. I don't know what's going to happen when she shows up at Girl Scout's or to the Catholic Center's "Fall Festival" but I suspect that Camille will have no problem setting the record straight "Girls can be ninjas."

Muddy Hands

Piper runs into the house and over to me. I have been cleaning all day. All week actually. The house has reached that pinnacle of disaster where I can no longer live with it. Today I have tided up the kitchen and dining room and started in our living room which looks less lived than as "OMG A BOMB HAS DROPPED." Piper is yelling joyfully as she skids to a stop in front of me, her hand opened. She is covered in mud. It's been raining out and during a brief reprieve the girls have gone out to play with our new puppy. Mud covers her pants and shirt. She has forgotten to take her shoes off so mud is trailed from the back door to the living room. She has her hand opened and all I can see it black mud.

I open my mouth and then I close it. I was about to scold her for coming into the house muddy. For dirtying up the pants I just washed. For trailing mud all through the house into the area I almost done cleaning. Instead I swallow this all back and look at what is in her hands. She shows me some sprouts she proudly dug up. "What are they, Mama?" she asks eagerly. Proud of her discovery. I admit I don't know and suggest we look it up once she takes off her shoes and has a bath. She smiles, pleased with my exclamations of wonderment, not noticing that they are fake.

I go to run the bath bashing myself a bit for not being real. But I am upset over the mud. I hate cleaning. It does not come naturally to me, and forcing myself to do this takes a lot of work. Thus when I do it, it's hard to deal with it being undone in a moment. I have tried to be Buddhist about it. Tried to think of it as a lesson in impermanence. But really it just makes me cranky. It makes me feel resentful to be taken away from more enjoyable activities like reading or writing.

By now Piper has stripped down. Camille has entered the house also covered in mud. Rowena is whining because she wants in the tub now! As I frantically direct three little bodies into tub, picking up strewn clothes as they rush back with plastic horses and dogs, I see the shoots. They are tender white, with tiny green tendrils poking through. They lay on the side of the sink with a bit of dirty water pooling beneath them. I am awed at their fragility. Their smallness. And suddenly I remember what it was like to discover these things. Those precious moments of wonderment. Looking at Piper, her eyes shining as she hops into the top, I say with feeling "Those are so NEAT!. Where did you find them?"

Piper laughs. "They are NEAT! And we were just digging!"