Budding Pop Princess

There was once a budding pop princess with a star as bright as the future that laid ahead. But as tends to be the case with these girls, her star began to dim. Every young girl everywhere wanted to be like her and she was a role model for kids growing up. She was smiling all the time and it always inspired other people to do the same.

Her father, the King, made sacrifices for her: pulling strings and did his best to give her what she wanted, but it wasn’t enough. He was left with an achy breaky heart, and a heartbreaking comment was given to the press about how he would always love her regardless. She is his little girl, and always will be! And that’s just what it should be like between a father and a daughter.

Family do that, you see, fans don’t. Ok, true, persistent fans do, but not the masses.

The first sign of a falling star was the absence of a smile. She wasn’t the easy going and companionable girl anymore. Much to the dismay of parents all over the world she insisted on being an adult long before her age.

She often wore sunglasses, which were cool, but too bad the look on her face said she's battling a hangover. It looked like she just rolled out of bed and grabbed some clothes off the floor; she started to care less and less about her looks.

She stopped smiling, cut her hair, started to wear low cut clothes, so low she skipped the shirt all together, and just wore a halfway buttoned suit jacket.

Her loyal audience made excuses and kept up her popularity by playing her old albums and watching her bygone series, but as her rebel escalated… helped by her access to means… and she never offered her adherents an explanation, an excuse, an apology or in any other way uttered she still had thoughts for those who made her famous: her audience, it became harder to support her actions.

For most adults it would have felt just wrong to buy their little girl the princess’ spinoffs today.

Her latest performance was an embarrassing show, not based on talent or musical quality, but a desperate, predictable and cheap appearance on stage showing her lightly dressed chafing body.

Some people may not know that back in school she was actually nicknamed Smiley because of her beautiful smile. She was smiling all the time and it always inspired other people to do the same. She still has a wonderful dazzling smile, but discontent took the best of her… hopefully for a limited time.

The nicknames she gets nowadays are quite different and not so complimentary. It would be great if she could start the process of getting her act together by keeping her tongue in. My 6-year old shows his tongue, and makes funny faces, on pictures. It’s only funny a very few times.

Artists start out being public property in various ways, and at different ages. (I am sad to say that when Justin Bieber was in Oslo, not long ago, the news named him "the product" rather than "the artist". What makes it sadder is the impression I get it is true.)

Some are incredibly young when they enter the limelight, and often they begin their career in children’s programs on TV.

They establish themselves as idols for very young children, and within soon they think that because they can afford it, their rebel should be somewhat prototype. So, they turn to alcohol, tobacco and drugs; all the things parents don’t want for their children to pick up for a habit.

And then these very young artists go to the predictable and boring step to simulate awkward, badly choreographed, sex on stage. Upsetting and outrageous as it is, it is still what is expected to be the desperate, cheap way out, to get attention.

Their behavior becomes outrageous, and the respect for their fans flies out the window along with their integrity, artistic development and innovative expressions.

It’s like as if they have no sense of normality. I don’t think the average teenager would want to go for a lifestyle like that, even if they had the chance.

They have a remarkable sense of responsibility and commitment, they take pride in what they achieve. They work to achieve their goals and to be splendid.

Now and again they go too far in exploring the different aspects of life, but usually they put themselves together and try to do their best.

Unlike famous kids, who seem to think they can afford to ignore the inherent urge I believe is to be found in all of us: to be the best possible version of ourselves; In every aspect of life.

Totally perfectly imperfect

Sometimes I feel my entire life is an endless series of worries. It seems like everything I have, am and do brings along its (un-) rightful amount of concern, which adds to what I already got on my mind. Then I talk to some person, and during the conversation something comes up, which I have forgotten to worry about. Reading what I just wrote I scare myself when I realize how little I focus on my joys and prides. The good things in my life just tags along in my existence; my worries (mostly about things which might happen, but never actually do) chew the rag in the background of my mind.

So, in order not to drive myself insane I measure it down. I start sorting the important worries from the unimportant ones, only to discover within minutes my thoughts are drifting into pondering about how that can be possible? In my opinion every part, and all the participants involved, together makes up what I call my life. If someone or something loses priority and attention my life is changed… and in spite of a lot of things I am quite happy now.

I often worry I'm not measuring up as a mom. Even though I have all the right intentions; I fail.

I'm not feeding my kids the right foods, all the time. Too often I end up serving the easy meals. The food I know they will enjoy eating and which takes no time at all to prepare. In other words: Less vegetables than I wish. Rice or mashed potatoes mixed with frozen vegetables is an improvised solution I often turn to, even though I know there is a heated debate whether they are as good as fresh ones (of course they are not, they taste differently).

I'm yelling too much. Maybe not really yelling, ‘cause I keep my voice down, but I nag.  I know they can hear me, but I also realize they are not listening. I’m starting to believe my voice makes my words sound like a continual senseless murmur not worth paying attention to. It is just another sound in the ocean of sounds surrounding them.

I find it hard to find time to watch every soccer game my sons play. Last week my youngest played one game as well as one practice. He is still so young the parents are expected to attend their practice. My middle son had soccer practice on Sunday afternoon, match on Monday and Thursday for his own team, then played a match for the b-team on Wednesday because they were a player short. It’s just too much for me to keep up with. Even making sure the suit is clean is quite an achievement, I think. I wish I was one of those faithful soccer-moms who attended every match, drove to every away match and cheered my son along… BUT I do set aside the weekends they play in tournaments and cups.

I've hindered their own style by choosing their clothes until they were 6. Up until then I made the choices regarding their clothes and the assemble they wear. I still buy their clothes, but they dress themselves.

I have learned to ignore the patterns and colours don’t match. That was a defeat I faced when my oldest son was a baby and his father dressed him. I sulked for a while, wanting my son to look nice, but then I remembered that a father is just as much a father as I am a mom, so I swallowed the camel and comforted myself by the decision to dress the kids for special occasions myself. (Stupid thing to do, though, as now I have to lay out the outfit for the entire family every time I really want to take time to look presentable (for ones) myself.)

I've failed, it is bound to be a failure, at least for my own ego and my wish to look ok. Instead I end up blessing the fact I don’t wear much make-up (hardly any, to be honest), as I put on mascara on the way. I dismiss the sneaking, displeased thought that I WOULD have put on make-up and look good, if I only had been organized enough to start dressing an hour earlier.

Even though I have all these failures and setbacks I don’t really suffer from a total breakdown, because, you know what ... I believe we all have worries and setbacks and feel like failures. We just need to keep in mind, and believe, that our kids will survive this! Let's just love the heck out of our kids, and try again tomorrow, and LOVE the other Mamas out there knowing they feel exactly the same:

Totally imperfect!