Girlish, churlish, screams

or how I went from being "one of the guys" to the girliest of girls.

I grew up with only brothers and only boy cousins. I was and am a tomboy princess, as my sister-in-law likes to call me. I learned that crying was for wimps and nothing really hurts as much as someone else could make it hurt. My brothers would tell me to stop crying after they hit me or did something mean by saying, "Wonderwoman wouldn't cry." And I agreed and toughened up. I learned to be strong.

If I did girly things like squeal or get grossed out by snot or farts or licked fingers in my ear, it would only get worse. I learned to tough it out. I also learned that the only way to be included was to participate in boy things. I did yard work and construction and car repairs and boxing matches and video games and paint ball and I blended in. I was still a girly girl (pink hockey socks), but I was one of the guys.

Last Saturday, we had a great day at the Kellar's house. They are a couple at our church who are going to sell their house and needed some help doing some landscaping...major landscaping. We're talking tree removal and dumpster filling work. I was there early and left late. I was right there with the boys pulling weeds, working electrical trimmers (which I gladly handed over), climbing into the dumpsters again and again and again to dump the trash can of leaves and debris. I jumped out of the way from a falling limb and landed in a cactus. Did I complain? No. A little blood and scratches add character. I got pricked through the glove with a thorn that bled a lot. I sucked on the blood and moved on. We had work to do.

Near lunchtime, I helped my uncle move a table from the back yard to the front. We lifted together and I walked backward. There was no question of, "Can Brenda handle that heavy lifting?" I just grabbed it and we went. I looked over my shoulder as we were exiting the gate and I noticed a giant black widow crawling on my sleeve. Without thought or hesitation, I dropped the table, danced over to my other uncle and screamed, "Get it off, get it off...please!" I turned to him and he swiped at my shoulder a couple times and let it hit the ground. "I got it." "Thanks," I calmly responded and I picked up the end of the table to resume my walk.

Yesterday, while going through my sweaters in my closet, I decided to take everything off the top shelf to find a sweater I had misplaced. Somehow, that disturbed a resident that I did not know we had, a small mouse. I saw it from the corner of my eye as it scampered under my bed. I gasped (did not scream) and jumped on my bed. I giggled at myself, but I still couldn't move. "Julie, there's a mouse in my room!" I screamed to my roommate. She had an equal amount of girlish fear. I set traps which have yet to be visited by the new house guest, but I have to dispose of the potential dead bodies and I feel a visceral sense of dread.

When did I become such a girl?