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Hope Springs Eternal (Repost)

I believe that certain abilities and traits (good and bad) are passed down either by heredity or simply by growing up around said traits and abilities. I’d be willing to bet that anyone who has a child over the age of 3 has seen a personality trait in their child that they immediately recognize as one that is shared by either themselves or their spouse. Of course, the bad ones can usually be attributed to the spouse, but I digress.

Both my children are good examples of this hypothesis. But I will focus on my daughter for the purposes of this blog post. She loves all things creative (me), is a problem solver (dh), a bit of a diva (dh, okay me), loves to sing (me), paint (me), is good at building things (dh), likes to read (me), is sensitive to the feelings of others (hopefully both of us), laughs easily (me), and is a total grouch in the morning (totally dh). And while she is completely unique and has her own distinct personality, she is also a combination of the two of us. She looks more like me, but I’ve got dominant genes on my side (brown hair, eyes, etc.).

There is one thing about her that kinda baffles me. She is a total girly girl. It’s not that I don’t love that about her, I think it’s incredibly adorable. I just don’t know where that came from. She love pink, Barbies, her American Girl dolls, fashion (i.e. – all things fancy), and jewelry. I’m just not like that at all. And dh, well, don’t even go there. As evidence, I present Exhibits A, B and C: my daugther’s room circa 2004, 2006 and 2008, respectively. And yes, I did it all myself.

Now, back to the my original train of thought. As a parent, I secretly delight when I see my children take interest in or excel at something that I’m into. Just as I cringe when I see a less desirable trait that I share, like forgetting where they put anything, rear its ugly head. But in all honesty, as long as she is true to who she is, I’m good with it. I have accepted the fact that my daughter is the living embodiment of “Fancy Nancy”.
Tonight was open house at the kids’ school. When I walked into my daughter’s classroom, her teacher greeted my husband and me, then immediately asked if we had seen my daughter’s turkey. Typically, kids this age and younger make a paper turkey, and on each feather write something they are thankful for. On this particular turkey, their instructions were to imagine the turkey could talk and write some of the things that he or she would say. (Her teacher is awesome.) Imagine my surprise when I read the following on my daughter’s turkey:
-Please do not eat me because I am pregnant.
-Please do not eat me because I am krazy.
-Please do not eat me because I am too big for your oven.
-Please do not eat me because I will explode in your oven and cover it with blood.
-Please do not eat me because I have diarrhea.
Perhaps the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree after all. (*smile*)
Update: My daughter no longer likes pink. As a matter of fact, she has informed me that orange is her favorite color. She HATES pink, and she wants a whole new room. Grrr….