Grown up Tomboys

It’s fun to watch my family grow, not only in stature but also the development of their personalities, their lifestyles.  As parents we mold our children into who we hope they will be, yet once they take flight into adulthood we can only hope our teachings, our morals somehow make their way to the souls of our family that has grown beyond the four walls of our home.

There are many teachings through the years that I brought to my girls, and there are many things they have taught me in return.  Teaching them to be tomboys was not planned, it just happened. The world is better with tomboys, they are the prettiest, the most outgoing, and not afraid of anything.

They were not into sports as much as just being outside, finding their own adventures, learning to survive without carpet and computers.  Our outings consisted of camping, hiking, and poking things with a stick first to see if it’s dead or if it is going to chase you. They learned to cook on a campfire first, and then a stove. And a pit toilet trumps a flush toilet, because they don’t get stopped up as often.

This also led to discovering woodland creatures. Not just a bunny or a deer, but we also learned which bugs were fun to play with, which ones would hurt; most of the time we learned the hard way.  Some played with lizards, admired snakes, and would play with Praying Mantis when they were found.  There were plenty of toads, turtles, and a various assortment of insects.  It didn’t take my youngest long to figure out you can only pet the bees while they are on the flowers, catching them first doesn’t work.

I say all this because everything stated above was a pretty decent tool to put in the arsenal of girls growing up.  They were not going to be afraid of the creepy crawlies even to adulthood. And there may or may not have been some boys running away as they were chased down with said bugs or lizards in hand.

That brings us up to 2021, my children, their husbands (current and future), all sitting there, in the pool, alone because it is cicada season in Cincinnati.  When my youngest daughter’s husband had the grand plan to find a cicada shell and try to scare the girls with it. He apparently got great joy out of scaring his sister with one earlier this year. His delightful scare tactics were soon thwarted by underimpressed women who could, at any moment, repay the threat.

His first victim was to be his new wife, and he was met with a quick, “get it off me before I make you eat it” glare. Moving on to his next victim, which would be the middle AKA the second.  Everything you have heard about the second, or the middle believe it.  She's the shortest, she’s the middle, and she knows how to use both superpowers to their full extent.  As he reaches to put said cicada shell in the middle’s hair, he was met with, well, not even the turn of her head, a simple and firm, “do it and you're dead”.  Moving on to the oldest sister, and nobody said a word.  She was always the one that dressed the nicest, makeup perfect, could truly play the part of a Diva, but that tomboy blood ran strong with this one. 

James approached with all caution to the wind, where, in this case, he should have used his most stealthy move ever. Sitting back watching all that was going on, I saw my oldest's husband slide his head back with a smile and roll his eyes when the cicada shell was laid on my oldest's arm. There was no going back now, I saw the sheer disappointment in his face when she didn’t even flinch. It was a welcome sight, and a sign of what he had gotten himslef into from the look on his face when she placed the live cicada on him. Lucky for him, he was a fisherman, however the use of his bait didn't usually crawl up his arm and fly off into his face.

Word to the wise for anyone reading, 1. Know the family you marry into; 2. Not all girls are the same; and 3. Never mess with a grown up tomboy, you will lose every time.