of money and baldness

Take a look at my kid. I've often thought that someone could make a lot of money off this mug.

I inherited the ability to talk to myself from my mother. She can often be found in her yard having sweet conversations with herself while pulling stubborn honeysuckle from the earth. I can be found muttering stories for this blog while walking this guy home from school. When I've muttered one enough, I sit down and write it out just for you. But, today, my writing process was scrapped.

Today, I was trying to save money for this kid's future. I was on a very long, long distance phone call with USAA. They don't have international 1-800 numbers, so the charge is all mine to incur. These are the kinds of things I'm very happy to do for my family. I like being a parent. I like worrying about his financial and educational future. I like sticking up for him and his allergies. I like him. Except, when on this phone call to save for his future, he cuts numerous bald spots in his sister's hair.

I was muttering more than blog stories today when I found my disturbingly shorn daughter playing happily with the transgressor pictured above.

I'm trying to figure out how to make money off that mug above as that's the only way I know how to pay off the cost of a hairstylist that will actually attempt to fix the inflicted baldness. Also, when I look at this incident in the big picture of who my son is, I have a feeling that this is not the only cost that I will bear. There's just no way I know how to afford his experimental nature without him footing at least some of the bill....

Why I envy my daughter...

One of the reasons I like living in Glasgow, is that I get to read The Guardian every Saturday. Every Saturday! I get to hold that paper in my hands! Well, I like it most Saturdays. On the 6th of this month, Anouchka Grose wrote why she envied her daughter, "...now that she is nine and already looks extremely elegant in skinny jeans, crisp white blouses and my hat and silk scarves, I begin to see what Snow White's stepmother was on about." Also, this daughter envy is apparently a familial trait in Ms. Grose's world. Ms. Grose "took care not to compete with her glamorous mother." I am still sick to my stomach. Why aren't you? As a whisper against the gales of women (and The Guardian!?) supporting a shallow valuation of my gender, I offer why I am envious of my daughter and it is not because she has "no open pores, laughter lines, or blackheads."

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She loves completely and without question, whether she's wearing pink goggles outside of the pool on a midwinter's day or not.


I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She trusts that her loved ones will return. She has faith that we will all come around and finally understand her. She has patience until we do.

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She is not afraid to cry or feel much of any emotion for that matter. She will feel what she wants, when she wants, however she wants. Be it in the middle of the woods, the glossy floor of a grocery store, or at 3:32 in the morning. She is not afraid of her emotions.

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She is curious. She touches snails, slips on beach rocks, tastes sand.

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She trusts her body to jump and twirl and wiggle. She does not need schooling or official education or money spent on some class to call herself a dancer or singer or painter. She is all of those things exactly when she wants to be those things.

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. Wide green spaces call out to her and she listens. Even if there is a cliff dropping to the Sound of Raasay just a few steps away, she runs or tumbles or skips when the green space asks her too.

I envy my daughter because of her fearless nature. She rolls up her sleeves, tries again, shares seaweed with anyone and anything deserving.

For the record, it is not fair to call someone out without leaving your name. I am Jennifer Philpott. I live in Glasgow. I do not have a "great body." But, I am beginning to like my open pores, my laughter lines, my blackheads, my stretchmarks, my pouchie tummy, my scars, my hips, my toes with toe fungus, my tired-shot eyes, my questionable hair, my sagging chin. Gosh, the list continues and is really far too boring and self-absorbed to continue. I also have a list of my personality faults and one of them is that I am not as fearless as my daughter.

But I like my faults because they show that I have lived on this earth. I like them because they show that my body and my heart does everything I ask them to do. I recover from surgery, late nights, and childbirth. I have held and comforted my children, my husband, my dear friends. I have mourned quietly on the way to work with the sun rising and danced oh-so-silly at every wedding I've been invited to, because, duh, it's a wedding! I have traveled over seas and lived on mountains. I hope I am raising my daughter not to envy others' looks, but to relish her own flaws. I'm looking forward to our next day on the beach. Please join us, if you leave your envy in the car.