It's "General Leia" to you.

The other day, my daughter and I were talking about the newest Star Wars movie, which I liked but can’t remember the name of. Sorry. Huge fan though, really.

Anyway, I mentioned Princess Leia.

Immediately, my 10-year-old corrected me with, “you mean General Leia.” (In the same tone I used with my own mom, circa 1986, when she asked me if I’d heard “Whitney Springsteen’s” new album.)

Okay, yes. I stood corrected. GENERAL Leia.

And then the awesomeness of that hit me like a truckload of Tina Fey/Amy Poehler/Jennifer Lawrence/Amy Schumer quotes.

Because it was nothing special to her. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was just a fact, like bruschetta is delicious, flip-flops are a poor choice around horses, and if she loses me in the grocery store, check the wine aisle first.

Lucky for me, she has always been a kind and generous boss.

“Girl Power” isn’t a thing to her. She hasn’t grown up in the “anything boys can do, girls can do better” era, where it was even a question. In her 10-year-old world, #glrlboss is no different from #boyboss.

Of course women will be strong and powerful and driven and have the lead in the movie and fly the spaceship and speak their minds and bring home the bacon. Of course they will. And then hand that bacon right over to their spouse to cook cause they tend to burn the shit out of everything. (Hypothetically.)

Of course a woman can be a scientist or astronaut or stand-up comic or CEO or the effing President of the United States, while also being a wife and mother (or not, totally her choice) with a highly successful female empowerment/lifestyle blog on the side. No big.

My daughter doesn’t yet know all the battles that have been fought, or are currently being fought, or still lie ahead, to get to this place. 

She doesn’t know that just 30ish years ago, Carrie Fisher was mostly famous for cinnamon bun hair and a gold metal bikini that launched a trillion teenage wet dreams.

She doesn’t know that pay inequality is still a thing. That despite my relative success and happiness, I still struggle (as do most of my female friends) with being all the things I want to be and feel I should be, every day.

And she doesn’t know how inspiring and powerful it is for me to realize she is growing up in a new world, and I am part of making that world even better for her as a woman.

She just knows that Leia is a General.

That Rey is a badass with cool hair.

And that she can be or do anything thing she sets her mind to.

Because...of course she can.

My Daughter, the Quitter

Never give up!

Try hard until the end!

If you want more sweet potato fries, you better finish that organic corndog!  

I was taught, and also impress upon my kids, that it’s important to finish. Quitters never win, and winners get all the full-ride scholarships. Or something like that. But the other night, during our sacred lights-out-she’ll-tell-me-anything-time my daughter and I share at bedtime, she made me reconsider.

Apparently, my daughter and a handful of school friends had recently formed a small, um, "band" called The Specials. Maybe you’ve heard of them? (Kidding! I promise you haven’t.) They practiced on sporadic bus rides home and at second recess. My daughter was Lead Guitarist, which she informed me with a level of sincerity normally reserved for Supreme Court nominations.

Two important notes: 1) My daughter doesn’t play the guitar and 2) the guitar was a rubber band attached to a pencil.

But if there’s one thing parenting teaches you, it’s how to play along.

The reason she was telling me about The Band was because she was quitting The Band. Not because she didn’t get to be the part she wanted. Or because they weren’t playing the right songs. Or that all of their instruments were made from half-used school supplies, which you’d think would have messed with the vibe a little.

Nope, she was quitting because they had failed to include another girl who my daughter was friends with. She felt bad for her other friend, who also really wanted to be part of the band.

If my daughter is ever in a band, I hope this is her album cover.

She was quitting based on kindness. Because in her heart, she empathized with how her friend felt, being left out. She understood how bad it would feel if the tables were turned.

My kids don’t roll their eyes or blatantly ignore me (yet), but after a long, heartfelt soliloquy on the importance of being kind above all else, it’s not uncommon for them to say something profound like, “Does this shadow look like a camel to you?” or “I wanna add Space Batman to my birthday list!”

So while it sounds small, her act of kindness and compassion and bravery even, (4th grade girls can be little biotches, let’s face it) made me so proud. It showed me that my husband and I are getting through, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.

We may not be cultivating a rock star, (or maybe we are?) but we’re definitely helping form little people who will spread joy in so many other ways. Sure, music is important. But I think the world could use a lot more kindness and a few less lead guitarists.

The Specials, as it turned out, quickly disbanded altogether. I think the remaining members lost the microphone (a pencil) and the drums (an eraser you hit with a pencil.)

My daughter is still friends with all her former band mates, and is currently exploring a solo career in fashion design. Which also involves lots of pencils.

Bodily Liquids

Recently, another far more cerebral copywriter than I am asked me, “What kind of a writer are you?” 

I stared at her blankly, not knowing how to answer. I’ve never been a copywriter with a secret screenplay, collection of comical Haikus or coming-of-age zombie novel in the works. Since I primarily write ads, my words come in short sentences and 30-second time blocks.

And unlike a lot of writers I know who are voracious readers, I don’t pour over Hemingway or even the #1 reco on Oprah’s book list. Nope, I read, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!” and “Geronimo Stilton, Mouse Detective.” Out loud.  I also enjoy Allure and Food & Wine magazine, in luxurious three to four minute bouts of solitude, while sitting on the toilet.

Don’t be jealous. 

Just some of the Important Books I do not own.

But then a very astute, inspired answer came to me:

“I want my writing to make people cry or pee.” 

Actually, my first answer was “I want to make liquid come out of other people’s bodies.” But I had to quickly rephrase that, for obvious reasons. That’s E.L. James' territory. And nobody’s reading that stuff for the amazing literary quality. 

(Okay, yes, I did read the entire Shades of Grey series. But as an approaching middle-aged suburban mom, I had to read them so I’m up on popular culture. Had to.)

My intellectual writer friend was super impressed, as you can imagine.

I’m kidding. She wasn’t.

But that’s okay. Because by answering her question, I have become more aware of what I'm putting down on paper. The best kinds of writing elicit emotions from the reader (or listener or watcher.) They connect on a visceral level. Otherwise, it’s just words bouncing off your brain. So if I’m always shooting for emotional extremes, to hit someone’s funny bone or yank at their heartstrings, I’ll occasionally get there. Because, let’s be honest - tears and pee aren’t easy to achieve. Unless we’re talking babies, weddings or jumping on a trampoline after giving birth to two 10-pounders. Or so I’ve heard.

So even if my writing doesn’t always reach bodily liquid territory, I’m at least hopefully creating a chuckle. Or a knowing sigh. Or a smirk. I can live with a smirk.

But to me, tears and pee mean ultimate success. 

Pretty sure that’s a Hemingway quote.