At my hairdresser’s yesterday, I picked up a Women’s Day magazine. Between pages of how to make the best chicken soup and Halloween cupcakes, I found an article on 10 ways to give yourself mini-spa treatments at home. Who could resist that?
The third tip said to do something you loved as a girl. According to this writer and the studies she read (or he read, perhaps), girls ages ten to twelve are most connected with things that make them happy.
In light of this tidbit, I’ve decided to compare the 10-year-old me with the I’m-sorry-we-must-be-cutting-out-year-old me.
- I choreographed and performed dances in the living room with my sister and friends. (And, yes, my parents own video-taped evidence.) Check. With the exception that I no longer perform to Debbie Gibson nor to an audience of my stuffed animals. (And, yes, filmed evidence may exist from last Christmas when I taught my nieces a dance to the themes of the Miser Brothers [Snow and Heat, for those of you who aren't familiar with them].)
- My mom was teaching me to knit. Check. I’ve recently rediscovered this love. A couple years ago, when attempting to reteach myself this skill, I couldn’t figure out what the heck the book (entitled A Single-Cell’s Guide to Knitting: Baby Steps or something to that effect) was doing. I had to call my mom. She taught me over the phone.
- I started a writer’s group called Writer’s Block (being blissfully ignorant as to the true meaning of that phrase), enlisted (drafted?) a few friends (and my sister because we needed a secretary), and wrote short stories to sell in our neighborhood. One of my friends decided to illustrate our stories. She’s now a graphic artist. Check. As I said on Facebook yesterday, I have the tinselest job in the world.
- I spent nights reading one last chapter of a book until no more chapters existed; I finished the stack of books I got for Christmas by the end of Christmas break; I fell in love with Anne of Green Gables. Check. Check. Check.
- I sewed a dress for my Barbie, though I didn’t particularly want to play with my Barbie much anymore. Work on this one.
- I played school with my sister. (My mom found old school textbooks including–oh, the excitement–teacher’s editions. I still remember Roman city-states from teaching her about them.) Check. I teach flute and piano lessons and have opportunities to teach in different church venues.
- I played piano and, toward the end of my tenth year, began learning flute. Check. Though I haven’t played flute in months.
- Every night, I slept with Big Foot, a stuffed bear my grandparents gave me before I was born. Check. No comment.
- And in honor of Christmas, I watched White Christmas and Rudolph a dozen times this time of year. Check. Or at least I’m on my way.
So does this make me childish or childlike?
ChildLIKE . . . definitely childlike. And have I mentioned lately that you make me smile? Because you do.
My husband teases me that I’m childish, not childlike (though, of course, he doesn’t mean it–I think he likes that I’m childlike).
You know, lately, I’ve been getting caught up in stress and tension and why aren’t these things working out, and I’ve forgotten how to be childlike. Normally, I take a book to my hairdresser’s just in case I have to wait. But I never have to wait. So this time, I didn’t take a book. And this time, for the first time, I had to wait a few minutes. I wonder if God orchestrated things just so to help me remember the joys I have in this life, the tastes of the life to come.
I love this!! I’m trying to think of all the things I was doing at this age. It was in the fifth grade that my friends and I formed a club in which we were going to make and sell underwear.
No comment on that one.
Slumber parties, coloring and drawing, playing piano … yes, these are things I would love to do more of again!!
I had a slumber party with a friend not too long ago. Chris was out of town for the weekend, and I had a bad night the first night he was gone (demonic dreams all too real). So the second night, I spent the night at a friend’s house. We drank wine, knit, and watched When Harry Met Sally.
There are things that are more fun about now than being 10–wine, for example, as well as the perks of being married!
I think I spend so much time trying to forget the negative parts of childhood that I miss out on the good parts, the parts worth preserving and celebrating. I did this in part when I began reading history books again, but your post challenges me to revisit some of the things I loved as a child. Well done.
Three and a half years ago when I first started teaching junior high at my church I blogged about the age of eleven. Here’s an excerpt:
“I’m talking to a sixth-grader (actually not even in sixth grade yet) and I suddenly notice that her eyebrows are perfectly plucked. So I look around a little bit and notice that pretty much all of these little girls’ eyebrows are perfect.
Things I cared about when I was eleven years old:
* reading babysitter club books
*watching the same stupid movies over and over again
*the presidential fitness test
*building ant “mansions” out of tree bark and dirt in my backyard
*pretending that I was working in a lab and discovering the cure for cancer by mixing purple sage leaves, crape myrtle blossoms, dandelion milk and other such things
*playing in the creek near our house
*making the tennis team
*spending as much time swimming as possible
Do you see any mention of eyebrows on that list? Nooooooooo
So now I need to figure out whether or not the age of eleven is the new sixteen, which is fine, just not what I expected. Or, they could still be somewhat similar to me as an eleven-year old, except that their mother attacks them with the tweezers every once in awhile.”
At the moment I’m not doing anything on my list but I’m fine with that. I hope to get back to playing in the dirt one of these days but I’m not pining over it. I also think I’m way happier now than when I was ten or eleven
Plucking at 11! Seriously? That’s sad.
Honestly, I’m happier now, too, I think. I think I’m not much different, though hopefully a little wiser (very little, I suspect!) and more comfortable with who I am. Much more comfortable. I’ve discovered more people like me (one of the wonders of the Internet) and learned that being Rudolph is a good thing.
Yes, perfect eyebrows at the age of eleven and pedicures in kindergarten.
I’m interested what you mean by being Rudolph. Are you saying that you felt left out in highschool? I thought you had a good group of friends. If you’d like to talk about it, just send me an email, especially if there’s something for which I need to apologize.
Of course you don’t need to apologize!
I guess I always felt on the fringe of things. I was strange because I liked school and learning, and I prefered reading and practicing flute to doing a lot of other things. On school assignments, I always did more than asked not because I wanted to suck up but because I wanted to learn more. I enjoyed it. My papers were always longer because I liked writing them. People didn’t get that.
I don’t have any regrets. I wasn’t miserable. I had friends. Sure, my junior and senior year I was ready for college, but I was still having fun.
It’s not that much different today, except that I’m more comfortable with who I am. I have friends who love me, but in many ways, they don’t get me. Sometimes, I’m on the fringe of conversation because my mind is in a different world. This is not a bad thing. I have a great life, and I enjoy it.
Okay, I’m glad you are doing well
“Sure, my junior and senior year I was ready for college” So true…that’s two years felt like ten.