Typecasting: It Happens for a Reason

Four years ago I would not have believed that I would typecast my own children.  I've since come to accept, however, that typecasting happens for a reason. As I recollect my day with Ella and Virginia, I am more certain of each girl's type or likeness.  I say now with conviction, that Ella is like Daniel, Virginia like me.   Here's how I break it down:

Case Study 001, Ella Davis

Ella, like her dad, understands things logically.  She is the analytical type.  

Ella, like her dad, always has a dream, an innovation, and a business plan.  She is the entrepreneurial type.  As she crushed her cantaloupe into the side of her bowl this afternoon, she told me, "I have a brilliant idea that will make our family so much money.  We need to sell this cantaloupe juice to stores so that they can sell it to the people who shop at their stores."  These "brilliant ideas" of hers are not unfamiliar to me, and I rather enjoy hearing them. Previously, Ella asked permission to set up an "art stand," much like a lemonade stand, so that she could sell her artwork to the people who drive by our house.  I convinced her that this was somehow against neighborhood deed restrictions, but I praised her for her ingenuity.  Recently, she also suggested that she begin designing 2 year old clothing with all of the old fabric I'd given her.  I'm still open to this possibility . . .

Ella, like her dad, retains information about everything.  It's hard to be always corrected by a 4 year old (and a 30 year old).  It's even harder that they're both usually right.  Whatever.

Case Study 002, Virginia Davis

Virginia looks exactly like me.  She's the cute type.  

Virginia, like her mom, is very thorough, the thorough type, if you will.  In the car today, our conversation went a little something like this:

Mom:  Hey Virginia, is Jude awake or asleep?

Virginia:  He's awake.  

Mom:  Okay, thanks.

Virginia:  He's awake, he's not asleep.  He's awake because he's looking at all of the cars.  He's not asleep.  His eyes are open.  I know he's awake because he's looking at me.  He's looking at the cars.  He's awake.

Mom:  Is he asleep?

Virginia:  He's looking at the cars.  He's looking at me.  His eyes are open.  He's awake.

Mom:  Okay, thanks.

Virginia, like her mom, knows how to make a short story really long.  She's the inclusive type.  This skill will come in handy one day when she must write journals entries for an English teacher who will grade not quality but quantity.  

Virginia, like her mom, is the intuitive and sensitive type.  No stranger to the quivering lip, Virginia empathizes with every child who suffers hurt feelings and heartache.  And she loves quickly anyone with honest eyes.  In church Sunday, she held the hand of the man next to her as we said the Lord's Prayer.  When the prayer ended, she wouldn't let go of his hand.  In the car she told me that he was a nice man, that he made her happy, that he liked her and she liked him.  On the way out of church, we were met by the deacon who gave the homily.  In greeting, I offered him my hand, Ella offered her hand, and Virginia puckered her lips.  To her credit, he did give a fantastic homily.

Virginia, like her mom, has horrible balance.  Does this make us the imbalanced type? She always has a bruise or three.  I'm serious.  This is a real problem for both of us.  Just this weekend, Virginia walked head first into the corner of our bookshelf.  She fell backwards, landed on the floor, and in so doing, knocked over Jude.  They were both sobbing.  Poor little rats.  I hugged them both and almost dropped them.

I know that my typecasting is not without flaw.  I know that the girls will change, that I will too.  I'll try not to box them in by my perceptions.  But typecasting is fun, and I can say with certainty that both girls are my type.  They're both precious, lovable, cuddly, precocious, wily little rascals.