What would say if I told you I saw a yellow dinosaur? How about if I told you that my cat talks to me? What if I were to announce that I am a ninja? Or, better yet, I am an acrobat from space in disguise and here on Earth as a spy to find out if the entire circus industry is worth abducting and taking to my home planet since there aren’t enough resources where I’m from to produce any more performers?
This is just the tip of the ice berg of the yammerings of my 12-year-old daughter. She’s quite amazing, my little Bug. If you’re only half listening to her, you’ll miss out on the gems. Mixed into the jumble of gossip about Jr. High life are these fantastical statements. They’re cleverly slipped in and leave you wondering if you really just heard what you think you just heard.
The fun of living in Bug’s world doesn’t end with oddball comments. She’s not a hugger. So if she offers you one, watch out. She just might be in spider mode and decide to gently nibble on your jaw. She may, if the mood strikes her, decide to snuggle on the couch. Snugglee beware, though. What she’s really trying to do is work herself into a position where she can conduct her python-like experiments.
There’s nothing “wrong” with her. She’s just a weirdo and has no qualms about it. She’s innocent and goofy. The Bug looks like what a 12-year-old should look like, not one of these prematurely-forced-into-a-semblance-of-an-adult 12-year-olds. Looking at other girls her age and comparing them to my Bug, I have to ask, “What on Earth are we doing to our daughters?”
We see these little girls wearing too-short skirts and too much make up, swaying their hips to balance themselves on their heels. Why? Why do we let our girls do that? Why aren’t their fathers stopping it? Why aren’t we, their mothers, bringing it to a screeching halt? Sometimes my Bug is ridiculed for her silliness. Told to grow up. Pardon me? She’s got more than enough time to grow up and not enough time to do cartwheels in the rain.
I dare you, if you have a baby girl, to go lay under the stars and tell silly stories. Go roast peeps over an open flame. Roll down that grassy hill with her and worry about the grass stains later. Let her be a little girl. She’ll grow up soon enough. And the stories about the koala bear in her locker will end. But in the meantime, you might get to be a little girl for a moment, too.
Kelly Heuer resides in Idaho and asserts that she is foremost a wife to her best friend and hero. Five children (plus a few extras) call her Mami, and she considers being a wife and mother to be her most important job and ministry. She is her church’s Music/AV Coordinator and serves as a song leader among other roles as needed. A missionary kid, Kelly lived in the Dominican Republic for 14 years learning to read and translate legal documents in both Spanish and English. She says one of the most important revelations of her time there was learning the value of writing in alleviating the pain of both internal and external struggles. She says while others might describe her as a survivor, she calls herself a fighter, a thriver, a winner. Kelly’s heart is to help women worldwide to go beyond survival and be freed to never again fear enslavement.
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