There’s a list of hereditary traits that come with being a woman in our family. They aren’t negotiable, there is no 50/50 chance, it’s a general rule; If you’re born female and, upon leaving the birth canal you mistake yourself for being at a Raiders game because of the war paint, screaming fans, and foam #1 fingers waiving at you, well, then welcome to the family. Here‘s a dash of pride, a hint of argumentative, and a few pounds of stubborn. Happy Birthday.
Each generation seems to possess just a little more of each of these than the last. It’s the natural law of evolution, karma at work. My girls are no exception to the rule. I can tell by the gleam of satisfaction my mother gets in her eyes every time one of them decides it’s their turn to flip the world upside down and give it a little shake that, I was no exception to rule at their age, either.
Sophie is pushing every boundary that we set for her as if she’s a pastor and reverse psychology is her religion. Something I’m adjusting to from Hunter, who’s answer to every request was, “ok, mama.” I can take myself back about 25 years, get inside her head, think was she’s thinking, feel what she’s feeling, but I’ll be damned if I can say the right thing. Her emotions are a rollercoaster ride and she’s the ticket master.
Finding the right technique for her is a work in process. A way to handle the misbehavior that not only sets boundaries and teaches her right from wrong, but won’t condemn her to a life of shrinks and Zanex. For now, we live by the motto, “Sophie’s like a box of chocolate, you never know what you’re gonna get.”
