My younger two daughters hate the labels in their clothes. They have me cut the tags out as soon as we get home with them. For some reason, they do like another kind of labels. The kind that don't fit.
DD: Am I a tomboy? Me: Well, not exactly because you like to wear fancy dresses. DD: Am I a girly-girl? Me: Not exactly because you like to climb, play rough, load your pockets with rocks, and collect frogs. DD: So what am I? Me: You are you, just the way God made you.
My girls love helping their Daddy in the garage and can identify types of wrenches or screwdrivers. They have taken dance classes and played softball and basketball. They make cards with me, play piano, sew, knit, and act in plays. They like to ride in their dad's tow truck, ride quads, and help their grandpa take care of his calves and piglets. They watch NASCAR and football with their grandma and our whole family bakes cookies together at Christmas. Torn up jeans and stained shirts fill their drawers but poufy dresses fill their closets. Toy boxes hold Legos, baby dolls, dress up clothes, Tech Decks, Barbies, and science kits.
Me (to DD): Do you still want a label? It would be "just right."
