I like all things girly. My girls grow up in a flutter of pink and lace until they start choosing their own clothing. I'm all about doing their hair, dressing them in pretty dresses, forcing them to wear cute, uncomfortable shoes, etc. For Caitlin's first Easter, I had some pictures taken of her. When I showed them to my family, NO ONE'S first reaction was, "Awwwww, look at how cute she is!" It was, "Wow, she's wearing PANTS! I've never seen her in pants!" and it was quite a while before they ever saw her in pants again. She was about seven months old at the time. Edited to add Easter photo and an example of an everyday outfit for my young girls :)
I was SUCH a tomboy growing up. I camped, I fished, I learned to shoot a shotgun and rifle, I climbed trees, I played in the mud. I remember once, grossing my mom out because I started a fly collection. I was in our backyard, would catch a fly, place it between two cups, shake it as hard as I could, trying to kill it, then stick it (usually still alive) with a pin to a piece of styrofoam. I thought watching these flies spin around on the pins, trying to get away was just fascinating.
I don't know what has changed, but not only am I not like that anymore, but I've become the antithesis of that. I'm overly girly. However, this poses a problem when I have two boys.
When I say I have two boys, I mean, I have two BOYS. They are all about running all over the place, playing in the mud, eating dirt, climbing trees, jumping off couches, etc. I was reminded of this on two seperate occasions today:

Ethan was standing in the living room, next to an open door. Sera went up to the door, SLAMMED it as hard as she could and the door knob SMASHED into Ethan's head, sending him flying to the floor. I freaked out. It hit him HARD. I ran over to him, expecting him to start screaming any moment. I was all ready to hold, cuddle, give kisses, all to calm him down. I said, "Oh my goodness, Ethan, are you okay? Sweetie, Mommy's here, are you okay?" He looked up at me with the HUGEST smile on his face and said, "That was FUN!!!!! Do it AGAIN!!!!" He actually ENJOYED getting hit and flying across the room. I just don't get that. I'm used to my girls who, when they so much as think too hard, are crying because they're hurt.

I heard Cole smack the wall with his hand. He started walking over to me, looking VERY pleased. He said, "I GOT it! I killed the fly, wanna see it?" I told him, "No, just throw it away honey, then go wash your hands." He looked upset and said, "I just dropped it. I can't find it." and started searching the floor. I saw something wiggling around and told him, "There it is, it's still alive..." and before I could finish off with, "Just pick it up and throw it outside," he JUMPED ON IT WITH HIS BARE FEET!!!! He then, being VERY pleased with himself, said, "There, NOW it's dead!" and jumped on it once more for good measure. I was so grossed out.

So, I'm going to try to be a better "boy's mom." I'm going to try to be less protective of them when they are pretending to be Superman, jumping off of tall objects, going to try to be less bothered when they want to roll around in the mud, going to try to be less grossed out when they want to know what insects taste like, going to try to be less disgusted when I find squished, slimy worms in their pockets when doing the laundry. I can do this!