I say far too often that I was never a girl. I was a masterful tomboy as a kid and I turned into a denim-clad pre-teen and teen and young adult. If I could avoid wearing a dress, I did so. I never got into make-up in any way. No eyebrow plucking with any consistency. No perfume. No accouterments of womanhood.
My daughter, while not overly girlie, is definitely a girl. She even runs like one and throws a ball like one. She is only 10, and she has worn more dresses in her lifetime than I have in mine. She has painted her nails far more frequently in her lifetime than I have in mine. She has worn more eye shadow, blush and lip gloss than I ever have. [Not outside, dough-heads. I'm not grooming a child prostitute here.]
She is also a believer in Girl Scouts. I flunked out after two years of Brownies, grateful that we were moving to Hawaii and "signing Patty up for Scouting" was not high on the list of parental priorities. Daughter, though, enjoys everything about Girl Scouts, and she particularly enjoys getting together with loads and loads of other Girl Scouts for activities.
Guess who's having a Fantasyland Camporee this weekend? A bunch of Girl Scouts, that's who. And what are some of the things that these girlie girls will be doing? Take part in an Alice in Wonderland Unbirthday Party. Make Little Mermaid candles. Conjure flying carpet sit-up-ons. Find Winnie the Pooh's honey pot by following the Girl Scout trail signs. S'mores at the campfire. Singing all day long, whistling while they work.
Daughter is in heaven at the thought of all this. Fantasies of this nature are so up her alley. As for me, I'll be smuggling in a flask or two of something, along with a steady supply of Diet Coke, because I'll be there, too, pretending to be a nurturing, loving grown-up girl. It's the least I could do for my girl.