It drives my son absolutely bonkers to have his Star Wars, Avengers, and Justice League figures dressed in princess dresses.
His sister, however, does not care about that.
Not one bit.
To her, they are princesses. Any other role they have in this universe is meaningless. Inconsequential. Irrelevant.
She is unwilling to see the big picture, not interested in the possibility that they may have some other purpose. Like destruction.
My son is not able to see beyond the square peg and the round hole. “These are BOYS’ toys, mommy!”
So there is this rage that plays out, back and forth, each one disrupting the other’s vision of a perfect world.
Pink princess clothes on.
Pink princess clothes off.
Temper tantrums galore.
I am in the middle trying to teach tolerance and compassion and respect for each other.
And then I catch a glimpse of myself in their mirrors.
Sometimes I am the same. “I don’t like other people touching my things!” Cue flying spittle bits and crazed gleam in the eye. “Put it back the way it was and back away, slowly.”
There are certain things that are sacred. They shouldn’t be messed with, right?
Until you see Luke Skywalker in a tutu. Then you realize that was meant to be.
Maybe change isn’t so bad after all.