Angelina Jolie, I Get It

Ok, so I have to admit, when I would see pictures of Shiloh Jolie Pitt looking like a boy, I would cringe a little and think, whatever, Hollywood weirdos.  Way to give your daughter an identity crisis, cutting her hair like a boy, letting her dress like a boy and basically telling the world that she wants to be a boy.  Then, like most things I am judgemental about, it happened to me, well sort of.  The universe likes to play a wacky game with me.  I (privately) criticize some parents for not brushing their child’s teeth when I see their child’s grey front teeth, and then, my kid smacks his mouth on the side of the tub and the dentist warns me that his teeth may turn grey.  I then remember how the criticized party’s child had taken a spill and smacked her teeth, and then realize that her discolored teeth had nothing to do with the parents, but with trauma to her baby teeth.  Simultaneously, I, then, realize that people might now look at me with disgust and think that I never brush my child’s teeth.

Thankfully, karma spared me that time and First Son’s teeth never turned grey.

Or, how I used to look at parents and silently register disgust as their child either threw a tantrum in a store and they ignored him or her, or walked around looking dirty and unkempt, or bad mannered.  You get the picture.  All these things, which now happen to me on a regular basis.

What can I say?  I’m human.

And just so you know, my silent judgement didn’t end when I had one child, it took three for me to say, in response to things that I used to find objectionable, I’m not saying a word, because, you know what?  You just never know.

And yet, can I really say that it ended?  Because there I was disgusted by what I perceived to be parents pushing their own agenda.  Then, came my lovely little lady and her socks.  Actually, they are first son’s slipper socks and she is absolutely in love with them.  I mean won’t take them off.  I mean cried hysterically when my husband jokingly said he was going to throw them in the trash.  I mean goes into the dryer to get them out of the laundry so that she can wear the above lovely outfit to her brother’s baseball game.  Then, there’s the Eagles and the Phillies apparel, which sometimes she insists on wearing at the same time.  I don’t know where she gets it from.  I would hardly describe us as die-hard sports fans.  The above was a compromise.  She wasn’t very happy with the dress, but we were going to church.

Then, there’s her love of  boys underwear. As you can see from the (very poor) iPhone photo above, taken at gymnastics, most of the time I just let her go.  Sometimes, I don’t.  Because what can I say when my daughter demands to know why she can’t wear those damn socks out again?  I tell her they’re too big and she won’t be able to get her shoes on.  She pulls them up and puts her shoes on all by herself and says, “See, they fit.”  She tells me that they are “pretty stockings.”  I don’t tell her that they are ugly and look silly.  Ok, I told her that once and felt terribly guilty about it as soon as the words came out.  I mean what kind of mother criticizes her daughter’s fashion choices?  I believe she’s beautiful, even when she insists on wearing mismatched socks.So, like I said, I get it now, and one of these days I’ll stop being so judgmental (I swear), because you know what I’ve come to realize about the whole Shiloh Jolie Pitt thing, it’s not Angelina Jolie’s ego and agenda getting in the way, not that I know her or anything (I’m pretty sure I didn’t have to clarify that).  She’s just letting her daughter express herself, unlike me, whose ego and agenda is getting in the way.  I mean, what will people think of me when my daughter is walking around looking like Pippy Longstocking, or worse, an unkempt, boy underwear wearing Pippy Longstocking?  Probably, the same thing that I would think about them.

God, help me.

But this isn’t about me, it’s about Little Lady, and I’m going to try my best to let her exercise her style muscle (within reason of course) without feeling the need to explain to everyone and anyone who listens, that she insisted on wearing those socks.  Instead, I’m going to proud.  After all, it might be socks today, but it could be ripped stockings and purple hair tomorrow.

I think the universe is just getting started with me.  Wish me luck!

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