I like to think that my position on the spectrum of open-mindedness is at least firm within ‘open’, instead of ‘closed’ or ‘judgemental’. Really. Sure, my son plays with firetrucks and pretends that everything is a space shuttle, gun, or a vehicle that drops bombs. Even more, it’s often a space shuttle with guns and it drops bombs. In many ways he’s a stereotypical little boy. But he also wraps his blanket around his middle and declares it his princess dress, loves to ‘do his makeup’ alongside me, and makes gardens for daisies out of lego. This is all okay.
Tonight we had a lovely girl spend the evening with us – Kate, Leif’s daughter. She’s five, and is ever so sweet. Leif was out playing hockey, his first game since injuring himself in the summer. Anyway, Kate begged me to paint her nails, and since I know Leif’s done her nails before (have I mentioned how awesome he is? How many dads do this?), I figured no harm and pulled out my nail polish collection. It’s a little on the sparse side, as during a purge I recently tossed all the purples and blues, even I think green and orange nail polish that my toes once sported. Now, there are around five shades of pink (I’m cutting myself off) and one dark burgundy red. Kate went for an opalescent pink.
Cameron went for the red. It matches his PJs beautifully.
And my tummy twists up in knots at this sight, and I scoot way conservative on that scale of open-mindedness. It’s coming off before Daycare on Monday, and I can tell myself all I like that it’s because I know the other older crew will tease him mercilessly. But I know the truth. It’s because it just looks WRONG.