What’s Hot: Mean, by Taylor Swift (or, Tales of our First Girl Sleepover)

My daughter, Katy, had her first sleepover party recently.  She’s 9 now, and I promised when she was done with third grade she could have one.  I was a little nervous.  Although we’ve had countless boy sleepovers, this was our first GIRL sleepover.

Boy sleepovers are rowdy, wild, and full of videogames.  What would girls want to do?

I asked a friend of mine, who has three daughters, and she laughed.  “Have fun!” she said, and expect makeovers, dress up, gossip, giggles, and a dance party.  (Thank you Gail!)

Soon the house was full of girls, with much squealing and racing around.  The boys were looking uncomfortable with all the women in the house.  I, on the other hand, was loving it.

We did swimming, then pizza.  Some of the girls wanted to play Super Smash Bros and Mario Kart on the wii, some wanted to jump on the trampoline (one at a time, please).

Then the girls clustered together in our basement, whispering.  They asked for a bit of privacy, and I thought OH NO! They can’t be teenagers already!  I went upstairs and started doing dishes.

I snuck down later, to see what they were up to.

The girls had decided to start a band.  They voted on a band name – would it be Pink Leopards or Water Wavers?  They had a clipboard, and were assigning each girl a part – lead singer, backup singers, keyboard, drummer, guitarist.  They wrote their own lyrics.  And their own melodies.  It was adorable.

Even though not a one of them could play an instrument, they used their imagination, and each tried to play their part.  And they actually sounded Not Horrible.  Pretty good, even.

I did have to ask them to switch out the $3,000 Ovation guitar, though.  (Luckily, they couldn’t lift the limited edition Les Paul.)

Later, we had a dance party til midnight.  Each girl requesting a song in turn.  “Mean” by Taylor Swift was one of the songs they picked.  I’d never heard it before, and immediately loved the girl-power-kick-butt-believe-in-yourself message.

Now I play it all the time.  My husband says “That’s country. You don’t like country.”  Which is true, pretty much.  As a child our house was always filled with the sounds of Johnny Cash.  And Glen Campbell. And the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Whatever.

I know what I like.  And no one’s going to put a label on me.

P.S.  For the record?  Girls are just as rowdy and wild as boys.

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