I grew up with two brothers. I’m the middle kid. When I was a child, my closest friend in the neighborhood was my dentists’ son. And in the summer and during most of our families’ most memorable trips, we would vacation with my moms’ dearest friend from her college days at Seattle University. She had four boys.
I never imagined myself mothering girls. When I pictured myself as a mother, I just assumed I would have boys. Yet, here I stand with four daughters.
Sometimes it feels like a small sorority and I am the one being hazed. Other times, it feels like an incredible posse that has my back. And like most things in parenting, both can happen simultaneously. And they do quite often.
Like the other day, I was helping them with their hair before school. Little braids, tiny bun-makers and fountain-pony tales; I was working it all. I was so in.
Seconds later, as I questioned who spilled cereal all over the kitchen floor and didn’t clean it up…there was no chance for me. I was sooo out.
Living with four girls is living in a world with all possible shades of pink all the time.
It’s light and rosy pink like the underside of a baby succulent when they wake from a good nights’ sleep. It’s rosy pink when they complement each other and their cheeks show their delight. It’s rosy pink when they run, jump, bike, skate, swim, or dance together. It’s rosy pink when they read to one-another or surprise one another with a thoughtful gift for no reason except well, they are sisters.
It’s hot pink. Like put on your 80’s
sunglasses pink when they show their fierceness in sports, in their academic efforts and in their energized way of wearing my husband and I
It’s bubblegum pink which just happens to always be their chosen fluoride flavor at their visits to the dentist. Bubblegum pink like the color that shines through the myriad of mason jars and balloons filled with Orbeez, (Is your house taken over by these?! We have 10,000 floating in an outdoor sand box😂). It’s bubblegum pink like the books they choose because the cover is so intriguingly pink.
It’s watermelon pink. Like silky taffeta upon porous rocks. Like the pink of a newly emptied spot upon where the tooth fairy recently visited. Watermelon pink like furniture made for fairy houses and gently dipped in glitter.
It’s the glow of soft pink which adorns their faces after a beautiful afternoon at the beach. It’s gentle pink like a scraped knee after an ambitious tree climb. Glowy pink, like the tiny palms of their hands and freshly bathed piggies.
It’s flamingo pink. Their crafts, their candy preferences, their dresses and beanies and mittens. Flamingo pink itty-bitty bikinis and teeny-tiny, fluffy tutus. Flamingo pink on flower crowns and pink cold noses after a day in the powdered snow. It’s pink cowgirl boots and sprinkled toppings on frozen yogurt.
Raising daughters embodies all shades of pink. It’s the color that radiates from their smiles when their hearts are engaged and they are generously giving from the special spirits that they are.
Pink is full of power, strength, loyalty and beauty. Pink is diverse and multi-faceted and able to draw in attention for all its’ luminous ways. It’s the color I feel when I give them a gentle kiss good night. Pink is LOVE.
Today is Valentine’s Day and I am feeling all the shades of pink, absolutely blessed to be a mama of four daughters.