There are no two ways to describe it. My girl is feral.
She is lucky. To grow up out here on our “ranch” with the ponies outside her window, her own riding arena, a golf cart, fruit trees, country roads and long blonde hair.
All summer long she runs barefoot. In the winter her Daddy has to threaten her with punishments in order to get something on her feet. Her favorite shoes (when forced to wear them) are her paddock boots. She is growing like a weed, too. All her shorts are too short, and lucky for her crop tops have become a thing. There’s no such things as socks in the summer. The bottoms of her feet are black with dirt, but she has acquiesced to taking a bath or shower every evening so at least I know that grime isn’t ending up at the bottom of her bedsheets.
That hair. She swims. She rides. She runs wild. She drives the golf cart in the wind. She does NOT brush it. If I didn’t insist on running a brush through it every few days I swear it would be dreadlocked by now. About once a week I can convince her to wash and condition it and let me brush it out while it’s still wet. I have to buy the deep conditioner packets from Walmart to have any hope of maintaining some moisture in it. She still loves her bangs but does nothing to them. Maybe once a month she’ll let me “do” her hair. I usually let her sister straighten it and it looks quite nice until the next bath. She doesn’t scream as much when her sister does it. She gets a hair cut maybe twice a year. Otherwise her motto is “crazy hair don’t care.”
She is mostly unconcerned with protocol or rules. Her favorite thing to say (besides begging me for something) is “it won’t hurt!” As in, I want to do this thing and you should let me because I know better than you. (Insert eye roll here). She just turned 10 but let me tell you, nine was ROUGH. Hormones? Emotions as big as oceans, mood changes, anger, frustration, pushing pushing pushing the boundaries. So far 10 is seeing a change for the better … most of the time.
If she’s not running wild outside her best friend is that freaking iPad. I wish those things had never been invented. She is glued to it. Playing all the games and watching all the YouTube, it turns her brain to mush and makes her cranky. She’ll deny it all day long but I make sure to point out when she’s had enough. There are times I’d like to throw it (or her) out the window far enough to land in the pond out back.
You can’t convince her to sleep. But when she does (finally) fall asleep, she sleeps hard for about 8 hours. Or less. She wakes up with the sun every day. If her Mama wants to take a nap she won’t let her sleep for long before she’s in her room wanting something. I don’t know about y’all but I was terrified to wake my Mom up if she was sleeping. Even after a nightmare or bad dream, I would sneak into her room and stare at her, trying to conjure up the guts to wake her up. I usually would give up and go back to my room. I just wasn’t that brave. I’m even afraid to wake my husband up! Cranky Bear that he is, plus he might shoot me on accident. Just kidding y’all, but don’t think the thought hasn’t occurred to me!
She either eats (junk) all day long or doesn’t eat at all. She’s not a fan of breakfast. Until her crying jags start and I’m not impressed. Girl, you need to eat, I say. She will usually retort with I’m not hungry! I bought her some Flintstone vitamins (which she hates) and I buy basketfuls of fruit every three days. Apples, grapes, strawberries, cantaloupe, blueberries, she loves them all. Except blackberries which she won’t touch. I give her yogurt so she’ll have some protein. It’s the best I can do. There are stickers from apples ALL OVER my house. There’s one on the kitchen rug that I can’t get off. Most people worry about plates, cups and cutlery in their kids’ rooms. I worry about fruit flies and apple cores.
Would I have it any other way? Probably not. She’s growing up wild, but also fierce and independent. She’s self sufficient when she wants to be. She has initiative. She has guts – if I’m not around she’ll figure things out on her own. She knows the benefits of fresh air and sunshine, and playing in the rain and mud and dirt. She’s capable and headstrong and growing up faster than I’d like. I fully admit I miss the pacifier days. I also fully admit I’d like the “pretending to be a dog” days to be over and done with. “Mommy, what’s my name? Do you like Raven? I’m a cross between a Doberman and a Rottweiler! What’s that called? Google it.” You’re killing me, kid. Can’t you just be a little girl?
There are days when she gives in a little easier, acts a little more mature, and then there are days she can’t handle herself. I suppose it’s all part of growing up. And I get to be here for it.
I can’t wait to see who she’ll become.
