Am I a bad mother…?

Am I a bad mother because…

…I would rather her know the names of the stars and constellations than all the names of Disney princesses and all the celebrities?

…I want her to know about mud pies and skinned knees and tree houses and how to keep a secret?

…I’d rather her know about bugs and butterflies and the mystery of every living thing more so than the latest toys?

…I want her to know, deeply and truly about what fireflies and wolves and bees are before they are extinct?

…I want her to know about what cursive is, what the post office does, and what manners are before they are extinct too?

…I want her to know about the super heroes that don’t make it the movies; about the ones that hold the frail, aged hands of the dying, the ones who fall in the shadows, unnoticed; the ones who are made of grit and courage and patience but whose skin may resemble more sandpaper than skin, but whose soul is soft as butter?

…I want her to have and know a true girlhood before she becomes a tween; that I want her to be a girl detective more so than a princess; that I want her to believe in the power of her own dreams and determination than relying on a prince on a horse to save her?

…I want her to be both gutsy and tender; courteous and kind; God-loving and God fearing; knowing when to roll the dice in life and when to play her cards close to her heart; that I want her to be courageous and yet vulnerable; strong and yet gentle?

…I would rather fill her little head up with ideas found in books, and imagination from exploring rather than the ideas that come from TV?

…She is truly confident because she knows she is loved unconditionally?

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