I found the following on Mamamia I think this is so sad. Girls as young as seven thinking they need to be on a diet. Sure, they should be eating healthy (as should we all), but they shouldn't feel the need to document it all. Eating disorder in the making, anyone?
The article:
Help: My daughter is seven. And I found this in her room.
By AMY CHENEY
I found this today in my daughter’s room. My daughter is seven. It
was innocently sitting on the floor amongst the Polly Pockets,
friendship bracelets and a variety of other crap seven-year-olds love to
hoard.
Diyet. Jesus.
Where did she learn the word diet? How does she even know what a freaking diet is?
Whose fault is this? Is it mine because I let her play with Barbies?
Because sometimes she’s allowed to watch Total Drama Action? Is it
because when I draw with her I can only draw stick figures? Seventeen Poosh-ups two times a day.
I felt sick. Physically ill. Like someone had knocked the air from my chest.
I could feel myself getting increasingly anxious the more words I was able to interpret from her seven-year-old spelling. Three Appals, One Per, Two Keewee Froots.
How did this happen?
I am smart about this stuff. I have a degree in early childhood studies. Our family focuses on and promotes healthy eating and healthy bodies. Our attitudes are reasonable and balanced. Weight has never been an issue in our home – it is, for the most part, irrelevant.
I have never stood before my husband and queried ‘does my arse look big in this’. Ever. Is media to blame for this?Rid my bike three time a day.
And then I got angry. Really, really angry.
F*ck you society. F*ck you and your and stupid obsession with women and the way they look.
How dare you sneak into my home with your ridiculous standards and
embed them in my little girls head, polluting her innocence with your
pathetic ideals. Jog/run up and down the driv way three times.
Your unrealistic expectations will not win in my house.
I am tired of the beauty and body obsessed arena we live in. I am
tired of women being portrayed as objects to be saluted and admired or
shunned and shamed depending on whether they measure up to societies
idealistic standards. I am tired of the conformist attitudes. And then,
because I was so tired (and sad, so sad) that I cried.
When Miss Seven arrived home from school I talked to her about her diet note.
Turns out she learned about diets from one of her seven-year-old friends who was on one.
So together we chatted about diets and beautiful healthy bodies and the gift that they are.
I am not naive. I know this will not be the last time I talk about
food and weight and bodies with my daughter. I am just ultra pissed that
it had to start when she was seven.
Though I wasn't able to stay in the chapel but for, oh, about 10 minutes (thanks, Selah) and I didn't get a chance to read it myself (the pastor read it for me), this is what I wrote. I wish I could have got all of the thoughts, feelings and emotion out in it, but it was a start.
"Now that I am a parent, I am shocked about all of the things you have
to teach your children. You teach them how to walk and talk. You teach
them how to use the toilet. You teach them how to wave and give
kisses. While Manley wasn’t the one to teach me these things, he did
teach me a lot of other things.
He taught me to give things a second chance by eating oranges after
an entire lifetime of hating them.
He taught me that V.O. Is a serious drink and will put hair on your chest.
He taught me how to change a tire on my car.
He taught me to use my imagination and design a room in the attic.
He taught me how to nail pictures and shelves to the wall.
He taught me the difference between a flat head and Phillips and how
to use them.
He taught me how to drive a car.
He taught me to love dogs.
He taught me compassion for living creatures when he put a tiny,
shivering soaking wet puppy in his jacket to keep her warm.
Manley taught Selah how to wave.
He taught me to believe in my capabilities and skills.
He taught me that I was more than a silly child.
He taught me to be tough and not be frightened at the sight of blood
when he nailed his fingers (not once. Not twice. But THREE times) and
then proceeded to yank the nail out himself.
He taught me about dedication when he ate the same dinner every.
Single. Day. And when he gave mom the same gift (Earrings or a watch)
for every holiday.
On that note, he taught me to appreciate fine jewelry and watches.
He taught me to take a chance when he took trips to Vegas.
He taught me how to identify older songs by making me name songs and
who was singing them from songs on the local oldies station.
He taught me that, sometimes, it is better to have things straightened just so.
He taught me that family isn’t only blood related.
But, most of all, Manley taught me love. He loved me when he didn’t
have to and he didn’t look back. He dropped the step in stepdaughter
in conversation and in his heart. I was his daughter and I am proud to
have called him my father."
He's gone. The man who has been more like a father to me than my real one is gone. I've been emotionally and mentally preparing for this for over two years, but it's still hard. I know it's for the best, but, you know, it's still hard. I am happy he's released from the shell he had become and I'm happy that he is able to play with Molly again. I'm happy that he gets to meet my babies. The love he has shown Selah this past year shows me that those babies are lucky to have another grandfather to love on them until the day comes and I can.
But I'm sad for me. Manley stepped in to be my father when the actual one kept his distance. Manley never used 'step' in front of daughter when talking about me. He never made me feel like I was in the way, like I was an annoyance that came with marrying my mom. He was happy to have us as his family and I him.
He married my mom when I was 4. He accepted me as his. His family became my family. My first niece and nephew were from his daughter. His aunt, cousin, her children and their children were my family. I've never known different because Manley never let me feel as if they were anything but my family. Some of my sadness from his death is also from the fact that I have no connection to his family anymore. They have no reason to act as if we are family anymore. I'm afraid I'm losing more than a wonderful father, but an entire family as well. I hope not...
While I am terribly upset of his passing and unsure about the future of half the relatives I have, I will be strong. I need to. I have to. My super resilient mother needs it even if she doesn't say. Plus, my life isn't my own anymore. I have a little to take care of during this time.
Tuesday, I strapped Selah into the Ergo and went to a book signing at UNCC. John and Sherry Petersik were in town signing copies of their book Young House Love (named after their blog). If you read their blog (and you should. It's hilarious.), you know how friendly and gracious they are. It's totally true in real life as well.
I had them make it out to SFM in honor of her first book signing. :)
