It's April in our house, which means we are in the thick of Garden Tour mania. Each year, we participate in a local, wonderful tour of native plant gardens. It's been incredibly busy around here as we prepare four of Rick's gardens (gardens he designed and installed) to be showcased this coming Sunday. It's nutty. I'm even busier than usual, and that, my friends, is saying somethin'.
I have many posts rattling around in my head, including:
- Easter Sunday or How We Ended Up in the ER with Our Six-Year Old and Almost Lost Our Two-Year Old
- The Cynic in Me
- Musings on Youth Sports
But there is no time; these ideas will have to wait. What I DO have time for is a little anecdote about beauty.
I am raising three daughters. I want them to grow up knowing a few things about beauty: that they are beautiful and that beauty is so much more than what the culture tells us it is, that they are beautiful because of who they are, not because they fit some external definition of what is attractive. We talk about beauty quite a bit -- beauty in nature, beauty in a photograph of Mother Theresa's gnarled hands, beauty in a small girl playing in the mud with tangles in her hair and laughter spilling from her.
So it's no surprise to me that my 4-year old has been thinking about beauty. It was, however, a bit of surprise when today she pulled down her underwear, gave me an eyeful, and said "Mom, is my vagina beautiful?"
It's absolutely wonderful that she is asking these questions and exploring these ideas. But she is such an extrovert that I must admit to being a wee bit frightened for her teen and young adult years.
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