“Mama I want my hair like that,” Lovie said from the back seat of the car.
“Like that,” she answered, pointing toward a building we idled next to while at a red light.
I followed her point and saw an image of a woman with her hair all pulled to the back of her head and a big-ass flower holding it all together.
“With a flower,” she added. “A pink one.”
“Oh okay,” I answered. “We can try that some time,” I lied.
When I envisioned having children, I saw them running around kicking a soccer ball. I saw them digging in the mud. And playing with cars. And riding bikes.
|dressed all in pink, wanting pink flowers. of course.|
It still baffles me how crazy girly she is. I mean, she even now does this high pitched squeal thing when something cracks her up on TV. Just like a girl.
|riding her big wheel with her first flower FROM A BOY tucked over her shoulder.|
My pink-loving, tutu-wearing, not-wanting-to-get-dirty girly girl.