Pretty Cool

Superman in pink

I commented on how pretty the sunset was the other day and Little D argued.

“No mama, it’s not pretty. It’s cool.”

The glittery gold ballet flats we were eyeing at Nordstrom? Same thing.

Princess Aurora? You guessed it.

Little D has never been a princesses and mani/pedis kind of girl. Her favorite colors are pink and purple, but she would much rather see them on a superhero or Transformer than on a princess or a doll. The whole “Cinderella Ate My Daughter” controversy? She would be lucky to get a nibble in this house.

And it didn’t change much once she got to preschool. At pick up, we would often find all the little girls in the playhouse, braiding each other’s hair and trading tutus. Little D would be running around outside the same house, fireman’s hat perched atop her ponytail (always a ponytail, never anything else), sword in one hand, lost puppy toy in the other. Saving the day. Not styling it.

We didn’t care one bit. Our little girl loves little boys. She loves “their” toys, “their” adventures, “their” books. And we love her, so in turn, we talked Transformers and sought out Star Wars, all while tucking her into her perfectly pink bedroom – which she also loves – every night.

But this new phase is a different beast. She hates the word “pretty.” And you can add “beautiful” and “gorgeous” to the list. Her clothes, her hair, her room — the freaking sunset. None of it can be pretty. Only cool.

Of course I don’t want her all-consumed with the concept of beauty, blah, blah, blah but I also don’t want her to hate it, either.

You can be pretty AND cool, I told her. And smart. And nice. And funny.

“No mommy, pretty is NOT cool.”

We sighed. We talked about it. We even brought it up at our last parent/teacher conference where they assured us she has healthy relationships with both the boys and the girls and don’t see any reason for concern.

So we’re trying not to obsess.

For the time being, sunsets, rose bushes, and sparkly necklaces will be cool, not pretty.

Because they will be seen through Little D’s eyes. Through her little brain. Through her impression of the world.

And you know what I’ve come to realize?

That’s pretty cool.