The Girls Club…

When my seven year old came home from school and told me that she was in a Club, I was less then enthused.

I remembered girls clubs from when I was a kid.

It was a stressful experience.

What if my friends were asked to be in the Club and I had no one to play with at recess?

What if everyone was in the Club but me?

What if this was happening to my little girl?

I started to ask a few questions, but knew it was also important to not become involved.

Slowly she started telling me details.

She was in the New Club.  The New Club was created because my daughter and her friends, the New Club members,  were not invited to be part of the First Club.

This caused me to beam.

But, just on the inside.

I never wanted to be one of those mothers that asked too many questions that my daughter could smell my stealth “Mother Pry” moves a mile away.

Honestly, I was stoked.

I absolutely loved that my daughter and her group of friends had the balls to recognize that they were never going to be part of the First Club and therefore thought screw you, and started their own club.

I was proud.

I was excited to be raising a daughter that was nothing like me.  She wasn’t stressed out at recess. She didn’t care if she was included or not. She was going to take control of her own life. She was going to rule the world.

Yet something was bothering me.

The next day I picked her up from school and we did our usual after school chat.

Did anything happen today to make you feel mad? No.

Did anything happen today to make you feel glad? Not really.

Did anything happen today to make you feel sad? Yes.

She started to cry and shared with me that she really wanted to be part of the First Club, that the New Club had kind of fallen apart because some of the members had jumped ship to the First Club and some of the members of the New Club, didn’t really want to be in a Club at all.

I wasn’t sure how to navigate this.

I wanted to tell her to find new members for the  New Club. That the First Club sucked.  That the girls that excluded you are not the kind of girls you want to play with anyways.  That real friends don’t treat each other that way. That maybe I could make matching shirts for the New Club.

Okay. I am kidding about making shirts.

Sort of.

Instead I knew that I just had to acknowledge her feelings.

“Oh honey,  you feel sad because your Club isn’t really working and you want to be part of the other Club?”


“I would feel sad too.”

“I just don’t understand why they won’t let me be part of the club?”

“I don’t understand either, honey.”

“It’s not fair.”

“You’re right. It’s not fair.”

“I’m going to ask then again tomorrow if I can be part of their club.”

“Okay, honey.”

Ideally, that’s not what I wanted to hear.  I wanted her not to care.  I wanted her to do her own thing.

But, she’s not that kind of girl.

She’s my girl.

The kind of girl that will tattle if you are not following the rules.  The kind of girl that will hit her brother if he’s not playing the way she wants.  The kind of girl who finished Kindergarten with a Grade 6 reading level.  The kind of girl who won’t notice that she is the only girl on her soccer team.  The kind of girl that will enter the school talent show on her own.  The kind of girl who will laugh so hard she will fall over.  The kind of girl that will get so mad she will slam her door.  The kind of girl that will beg to wear lipstick. The kind of girl that wears a hockey helmet to ride her bike. The kind of girl that pees on trees. The kind of girl who tells me she loves me for no reason.  The kind of girl that wants to be part of a Club.



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