Cry Baby Tara

I love hearing stories from my parents and uncles about how things were when they were younger and what they used to do when they were growing up. My one uncle, who I will call Julio, is the best at telling stories about his childhood. He does very good impressions, but that's beside the point.

Besides those stories, I like to hear stories about myself as a child. What's funny is, after hearing these stories I have a better understanding of where in the world I came from.

I refuse to be labeled as a "girly girl," I prefer the term feminine. I am feminine. I have always been that way with the exception of 5th-7th grade. Those were more of my grunge/extremely awkward years. And I will use the term "awkward" loosely, because I was more than awkward and it was more than a 2 year time span.

But, getting back on track, from what I am told by my parents I was a bit different than any other young child. I was told that when we would go to the beach, I would sit in my miniature lounge chair with my feet ever so slightly above the sand and dangle them in mid air, because I hated being dirty. If a single toe touched the sand I would burst into tears. ( I know, what you are thinking...the most annoying child ever)

Besides that, I cried for any professional picture that was taken of me- including the dreaded school photos. However, that trend stopped after 1st grade- thankfully. My mom tells me I would cry if anyone looked at me for more than 30 seconds. That may or may not still be the case today.

Oh wait... it gets better. In Kindergarten my teacher sent a note home. From what I am told, it went something like this:

"Dear Mrs. S, Tara needs to start wearing pants to school. We go outside every day and Tara can't play with a dress on."

After I was forced to wear pants, my mother received another note:

"Dear Mrs. S, Tara rolls up her pant legs at school every day. I let her know that it is okay to get dirty."

Besides that, I was told that I cried everyday while getting on the bus. In my defense if I had to get on that smelly school bus today I would probably still cry. Gross.

My parents definitely had their hands full with me, but I have to admit, how could you say "NO" to this?

(And for the records, after turning 4 and continuing to this day... I hear the word "NO" quite often.)

To prevent this from happening again, when my sister came along my mother gave her the "bowl cut," if you would. And they forced her to enjoy being dirty- Sorry, Erica!

I fear that when I have children, my daughter will be a crazed drama queen. Lord help me.