It's not all sugar and spice and everything nice.
It's not all sparkling golden laughter and twinkling eyes and caring, warm hearts.
It's rodent sized hairballs in your shower drain every six months or so, because when you have girls, girls have hair. And they also have friends, and their friends have friends, and also cousins, lots of girl cousins. And all of the girls and their friends and their friends friends and girl cousins all somehow find a reason to use your shower, and put their long, glorious hair in your shower drain, until pretty much you have DNA samples from every female in Stevens County. Possibly Washington State. And probably much, much, much more scientific data than anyone in an Average American Household ever wanted to collect out of their drain.
It's also slamming doors and theatrical sighs and eye-rolling that just. won't. quit. It's year after year after year of "whatever"s and "seriously?"s and "ohmygosh"s, in addition to the everything in the world being "annoying", "not my fault" and "not fair".
It's glitter craft projects adorning every carpet and finger nail polish accents on every piece of furniture.
It's a fist sized hole that mysteriously appears in a wall, and the occasional plate glass window shattered by an imaginary javelin.
It's a thousand articles of clothing whom No One owns, and nothing to wear, ever. At all.
It's going to All Of The Games and All Of The Practices and buy All Of The Gear of All Of The Sports and All Of The Hobbies until you find the exact one that is "the favorite", and then it's doubling it up, because this is surely their destiny: to be professional tuba players/basketball stars/volleyball champions/irish dance professionals.
It's pony tail holders on the floor in every room, bobbi pins on every surface, and a hair brush and random intervals throughout the living spaces.
It's moody singer-songwriter tunes, angry rap and the inescapable Disney Artists from every generation, including the most unfortunate and most recent ones.
It's pictures of puppies, romantic poems and angry hate-notes of vengeance and tattle-taleing.
It's three thousand pairs of shoes that are totally inappropriate for any given event, and probably don't fit right anymore.
It's purple and pink and orange and CAMOUFLAGE and a rainbow of changing moods and favorites.
It's marathons of Glee and The Flash and Mario Cart, and crushes on Every. Single. Boy.
It's day after day, year after year, watching a herd of little women turn into fierce individuals with places to go and people to be.
It's a girl thing.
