Our daughters are stereotypically girly. They like to pretend play house and school, and they have logged a substantial amount of time with their dollhouse. They have babies that they place in miniature swings, high chairs, and strollers. Their beds are littered with stuffed animals, their closets stuffed full of dress-up clothes, their walls painted shades of pink and purple. My once nearly empty large bathroom drawer in now crammed full of headbands, barrettes, bows, and kid friendly makeup kits. Opening up their closets is like peering into a bag of cotton candy courtesy of all the pink hanging before you. Anything that sparkles draws them in like a moth to a flame, and we have an ever growing collection of accessories ranging from jewelry to tiaras to sunglasses. They love to snuggle, give and receive hugs and kisses, and their artwork is filled with hearts and rainbows.
I will admit, then, that it came as quite the shock to me when I realized that my two little dainty princesses were engaged in a full-on wrestling match in our living room last Sunday afternoon. Initially participating in a game of “run by dad multiple times without him capturing me as he lays on the couch,” Shortcake soon left her post on the couch with The General and decided to take matters into her own hands in an attempt to grab Punkin as she sprinted back and forth between the living and dining rooms. Before I even knew what happened they were on the floor, arms and legs intertwined, giggling and squealing as one would slip away and the other would drag her back in. The whole scene was rather amusing, and so long as everyone was still laughing I decided to just let them go at it. Because really, what’s more fun than a little innocent physical attack on a sibling especially when that attack instantly dissolves in a riotous fit of laughter when one of the participants lets one rip? Those are some classic childhood memories being made right there.
Tuesday evening brought on Smack Down II at One Carbon Hill, this one short lived when Punkin announced very quickly, “You uh chokin’ me!”. As I was retelling the events to The General last night, he asked if it was normal for two little girls to wrestle like that. I answered in the affirmative, immediately foreshadowing a scene of a twelve year old Punkin and a fourteen year old Shortcake locked in a full on death match in the middle of the hallway as they duke it out over who gets to wear a coveted outfit to that night’s big junior high dance. Yes, he grew up with two sisters, but their thirteen year age span did little to prepare my husband for the drama that I expect to unfold at the One Carbon Hill Headquarters in the next six to ten years.