My mom is the queen of forwards. You know what I mean - one of those people who forwards every single e-mail anyone ever sends her - the religious stuff, the cutsy ones with kitties and puppies dancing around, the chain e-mails, the "if you don't forward this to 294 friends, disaster will befall you!" stuff, the political rants, the so-called safety alerts. True or not, she sends them on. (I keep telling her about snopes, but she just doesn't get it.) Over the years, I've learned to just hit "delete" when I see a subject line that says "FW:FW:FW:FW: true inspirational story!" But now and then, she hits the jackpot and sends me something that makes me laugh out loud.
Most recently, she sent me something called "A.A.A.D.D." or "Aging Adult Attention Deficit Disorder". (Now, seeing as she gave me Nora Ephron's "I Remember Nothing" and "I Feel Bad About My Neck", for Christmas, I'm wondering if my mother is trying to tell me something. Ahem. Thanks, Mom.) This particular e-mail was all about the aging person's forgetful brain, and how you scatter from one activity to another because you forget what you were doing at the time and get sidetracked easily. Sound familiar? Yeah, it did to me, too. But I'm not sure it has anything to do with aging. I think it has more to do with being a mom and having too much to do and too little time to do it.
I think it's Mommy Brain.
You want proof? Fine. Case in point, last Friday. I went to take a shower and realized it was time to clean my bathroom. I thought sharing a bathroom with my brothers in high school was bad, but now that I've been sharing with a boy for 12 years, I realize I had it pretty easy then. My husband's mirror is covered in what I can only guess is stuff that came off his teeth while flossing; his sink has what my girls call "boy spit" in it, and I'm pretty sure he never wipes down the counter after he shaves. When my girls use my bathroom, they refuse to use his sink and fight about who gets to use mine. And I can't say I blame them.
But I digress.
So there I was, armed with my blue cleaning gloves and a bottle of bleach. Realizing that I was out of Clorox wipes, I returned to the kitchen to get more, and noticed that I hadn't done the breakfast dishes yet. So I finished those, along with another cup of coffee, put the dish towel in the laundry room, and realized that I hadn't finished the laundry I started at 6:00 that morning. So I folded that, moved a load from the washer to the dryer, and took the kids' laundry upstairs so they could put it away after school. (Yeah, I make them do it themselves. Even a 3-year-old can put away her socks and pajamas. C'mon now.) While upstairs, I realized it was time to change their sheets, so I stripped the beds, grabbed all the towels from the kids' bathroom, fed their frogs and fish (not my job, but don't want the pets to die), found a lost library book, and turned off all the nightlights that had been left on. (My dad would laugh. I've become just like him.) Noticing that my sneakers were next to the treadmill, I decided to get in a quick workout and watch the Today Show - which sparked an idea for an article, so I went back downstairs to my computer to make some notes. By then, of course, I needed to move laundry from washer to dryer again, and fold the load that was dry, and then head back into my room to put it away. Then the phone rang at the same time as the doorbell, and I had a quick chat with a friend who needed to arrange transportation for her kids to practice that night while taking delivery of my husband's "protein shakes". (Another rant completely.) That led to a phone call to my husband to make sure he could get home early enough to pick up extra kids on his way to coaching the team practice, which led to his asking me to do some online banking and bill-paying that needed to get done RIGHT NOW TODAY. By that time, I was dying for a bathroom break (funny how long you can hold it when you get busy, huh?), so I headed back into my bathroom.
And that's when I realized that I STILL hadn't finished cleaning the bathroom that I'd started cleaning TWO HOURS EARLIER.
Am I the only one?
They call it "multi-tasking": the idea that we can (and should?) be doing several things at once, in order to accomplish more. Sometimes, it's necessary. I mean, I can nurse a baby while cooking dinner and talking on the phone. I can help both kids with homework while folding laundry and unloading the dishwasher. I can drive while refereeing backseat dramas over whose side of the car is whose and which kid gets to eat which snack. I can get both kids showered and in bed in less than 20 minutes, a job that takes my husband at least an hour. (Oh, wait. That last one has nothing to do with multi-tasking. It just annoys me that it takes him so long.)
But at other times, multi-tasking is just another way for me to feel inadequate. I can't truly pay bills while cleaning a bathroom while e-mailing a teacher while paying attention to my kids. I just can't. I'm always telling my kids to "finish the job," but what am I SHOWING them? Sometimes, I feel like I'm doing everything halfway and doing nothing well. And that makes me feel really bad. I want to be the kind of mom who gives my kids her full attention when they're talking to me; I want to be able to look at them, for them to feel I am fully present in the conversation. Sometimes, they'll have to wait, and I'll say, "I need 3 minutes and then I can listen to your story." And then I do. But I don't want to be an "uh huh" kind of mom. You know, where you say, "Uh huh, uh huh" as your kid babbles on and on about some really boring thing that happened at school. It IS boring, but at least she's telling me about her day! At least she WANTS to talk to me. If my friends with teenagers are right, the day will come when she won't.
Slacker Mom Says...multi-tasking is a crock. It's just a way for us to feel even busier, even more hassled and harried, even MORE inadequate than we already do! So I've decided to really limit my multi-tasking. Sometimes, it's necessary. Sometimes, it's unavoidable. But I'm making a conscious attempt to focus on whatever task is at hand, to really listen to whomever is speaking to me, to get one thing done - and done well - at a time. And if less stuff gets done, so be it. If the laundry sits unfolded for a couple of hours, fine. My husband knows where the iron is, and he knows how to use it. If the dishes sit in the sink for another hour, I can live with that. And if I have to wait until tomorrow to clean the bathroom, I doubt my husband will even notice.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I Have A Dream, Too
As we celebrate the life, mourn the death, and honor the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, I've been thinking about what his words meant to a nation divided by racial tensions, by fundamental beliefs about equality, and by political differences. Have we come very far since 1963? If he were alive today, what would he say? I mean, I think things have gotten significantly better, but have they? Are the improvements merely on the surface? Schools are desegregated, but I can count on one hand the number of non-white, non-Christian kids in my daughters' classrooms. Living in California, and later, Florida, my students represented many ethnic, racial, and religious groups. Living in the Midwest? The South? Not so much.
No easy answers here. While racism, age-ism, ethnicism, sexism, and many other "isms" are surely - and unfortunately - alive and well, I wasn't around in 1963, so I can't really speak to the progress made in the last 40+ years. I think things are better - kids today are appalled by the idea of slavery, segregation, and racial bias - but I can't be sure. My dad says things are better, but he's nearing 80; is he really in touch with the feelings, the perceptions, the attitudes, the realities of today's youth?
I don't know what the answers are, and I'm no expert in this area. While I wish I could answer that question definitively, intelligently, and effectively, I can't. But I can tell you that Dr. King's speech stands as one of the most influential in our country's collective memory. And because of that, school children across the nation are encouraged to share their hopes, their dreams, their wishes for our country's future. In the spirit of celebrating the work of Dr. King, I, too, have some hopes and dreams for our country. I, too, wish to see positive changes in our society's collective consciousness. However, in the vein of "write what you know," my dreams fall along the lines of motherhood.
So, for what it's worth (and don't get excited and tell me that I'm no MLK and I shouldn't flatter myself that anyone really cares what I think; no duh. As if!), here it is - and, in true Slacker Mom style, it's a day late.
I have a dream. I have a dream that, one day, the "Us vs. Them" mentality of motherhood will end. That there will be no more "Breast vs. Bottle," no more "Working vs. Staying Home," no more "Immunize vs. Don't." That women will finally realize that cooperation trumps competition every time.
I have a dream that one day, mothers will work together, support each other, realize that the work of raising children is so much easier when you have other women on your side. That we belong to a special, wonderful group called MOTHERS, and that we share a sisterhood born of love and devotion to our kids. That no matter how we arrived at motherhood - adoption, foster parenting, or biology - we are all in this together. It's not a race; it's a journey to be savored and experienced fully.
I have a dream that one day, we will teach our sons and daughters basic respect for all human beings, that we will insist on certain values and behaviors from them: personal responsibility, hard work, respect, kindness, and empathy. That we will teach our sons to honor women, our daughters to treat each other like sisters, and that we will set a good example by refusing to gossip and judge. That we will teach by example, treating our fellow human beings with compassion and generosity rather than scorn and ridicule.
I have a dream that we will live by the tenets our grandparents taught: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" and "Think before you speak." That mothers will teach the concept I first saw posted on a principal's office wall: Before you say it out loud, think, "Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?" Wouldn't the world be a happier place if everyone followed that rule?
I have a dream that mothers will realize what truly matters: raising self-sufficient, socially-conscious, happy, healthy (physically AND emotionally) kids who are ready to leave the nest and fly on their own. Roots and wings, my mother called it - kids who know where they come from, with a good foundation, who have the skills necessary to form healthy relationships and be successful at their chosen careers.
Slacker Mom Says... think about what matters to you and your family. Putting down others doesn't build us up; it cuts us down. Happiness has nothing to do with others and everything to do with ourselves. Like Lincoln said, "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." Choose happiness. It's easier than unhappiness. Choose the life you love. Choose to raise kids to be the kind of adult you wish you were. Be the kind of adult you wish you were. I have a dream: that mothers will embrace this crazy, messy, unpredictable time of life, and enjoy the ride. It's a short one, but it's the best ride we'll ever take.
No easy answers here. While racism, age-ism, ethnicism, sexism, and many other "isms" are surely - and unfortunately - alive and well, I wasn't around in 1963, so I can't really speak to the progress made in the last 40+ years. I think things are better - kids today are appalled by the idea of slavery, segregation, and racial bias - but I can't be sure. My dad says things are better, but he's nearing 80; is he really in touch with the feelings, the perceptions, the attitudes, the realities of today's youth?
I don't know what the answers are, and I'm no expert in this area. While I wish I could answer that question definitively, intelligently, and effectively, I can't. But I can tell you that Dr. King's speech stands as one of the most influential in our country's collective memory. And because of that, school children across the nation are encouraged to share their hopes, their dreams, their wishes for our country's future. In the spirit of celebrating the work of Dr. King, I, too, have some hopes and dreams for our country. I, too, wish to see positive changes in our society's collective consciousness. However, in the vein of "write what you know," my dreams fall along the lines of motherhood.
So, for what it's worth (and don't get excited and tell me that I'm no MLK and I shouldn't flatter myself that anyone really cares what I think; no duh. As if!), here it is - and, in true Slacker Mom style, it's a day late.
I have a dream. I have a dream that, one day, the "Us vs. Them" mentality of motherhood will end. That there will be no more "Breast vs. Bottle," no more "Working vs. Staying Home," no more "Immunize vs. Don't." That women will finally realize that cooperation trumps competition every time.
I have a dream that one day, mothers will work together, support each other, realize that the work of raising children is so much easier when you have other women on your side. That we belong to a special, wonderful group called MOTHERS, and that we share a sisterhood born of love and devotion to our kids. That no matter how we arrived at motherhood - adoption, foster parenting, or biology - we are all in this together. It's not a race; it's a journey to be savored and experienced fully.
I have a dream that one day, we will teach our sons and daughters basic respect for all human beings, that we will insist on certain values and behaviors from them: personal responsibility, hard work, respect, kindness, and empathy. That we will teach our sons to honor women, our daughters to treat each other like sisters, and that we will set a good example by refusing to gossip and judge. That we will teach by example, treating our fellow human beings with compassion and generosity rather than scorn and ridicule.
I have a dream that we will live by the tenets our grandparents taught: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" and "Think before you speak." That mothers will teach the concept I first saw posted on a principal's office wall: Before you say it out loud, think, "Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?" Wouldn't the world be a happier place if everyone followed that rule?
I have a dream that mothers will realize what truly matters: raising self-sufficient, socially-conscious, happy, healthy (physically AND emotionally) kids who are ready to leave the nest and fly on their own. Roots and wings, my mother called it - kids who know where they come from, with a good foundation, who have the skills necessary to form healthy relationships and be successful at their chosen careers.
Slacker Mom Says... think about what matters to you and your family. Putting down others doesn't build us up; it cuts us down. Happiness has nothing to do with others and everything to do with ourselves. Like Lincoln said, "Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." Choose happiness. It's easier than unhappiness. Choose the life you love. Choose to raise kids to be the kind of adult you wish you were. Be the kind of adult you wish you were. I have a dream: that mothers will embrace this crazy, messy, unpredictable time of life, and enjoy the ride. It's a short one, but it's the best ride we'll ever take.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I Spy With My Little Eye...
Last night, while watching an old episode of "Reba" (I LOVE that show - besides the fact that Reba has always reminded me of my gorgeous red-headed friend, Anne, Reba's all about no-nonsense parenting with humor and grace), I saw a hilarious exchange between Reba and her oldest daughter, Cheyenne. Reba explained how she always knew when Cheyenne liked a boy: she'd doodle his name on her notebook and wear a certain pink sweater and a certain mint-flavored lip gloss. Cheyenne, horrified that her mother knew so much, asked, "How did you know about the lipgloss? Were you spying on me?" Reba answered, "I found it in your pocket." Cheyenne exclaimed, "How could you? Going through someone's pockets is called spying!" - to which Reba responded, "No, it's called doing laundry."
Now, I don't know about you, but I could fill a huge trash can with the assorted items I've found in my family's pockets over the years. Aside from enough money to take all my girlfriends to Starbucks, I've found rocks, lip balm, notes, receipts, pens, toys, sand, tissues, Barbie shoes, ponytail holders, bobby pins, erasers... the list goes on. Never once have I considered checking their pockets to be an invasion of privacy; it's more a "I can't afford a new washing machine every week" thing. My rule is, if you leave it in your pocket, you must not want it - so finders keepers!
But I digress.
In this particular Reba episode, the real issue at hand is spying on teens to find out what's going on in their lives. Reba's pretty sure that her middle child, Kyra, is keeping something from her. Her ex-husband's new wife tells her that she reads Kyra's email and snoops through her stuff. She sees nothing wrong with it, nor does Kyra's father, but Reba is horrified at the thought.
So, as usual, this got me thinking: is it OK to spy on your kids? Is there ever a situation where parents can justify snooping? For me, the short answer is hell, yes, just don't get caught. The longer answer is, well, maybe, in certain circumstances and under certain conditions, when other methods have failed and you're pretty sure that your child is in danger or in trouble, and you're not merely being nosy and annoying and controlling - sort of like we all thought OUR moms were when we were teenagers. If I trust my kids, and I trust that they're being honest and open with me, then I have no reason to go looking for information. But if I start seeing secretive, scary behavioral changes, then I feel a responsibility to investigate so I can help my kids.
Now, I'm not justifying random nosiness. My oldest daughter keeps a journal, and I can't imagine reading it. (Really, it'd be pretty dull anyway. It's likely to say stuff like, "My sister is really annoying me. I wish I were an only child." Or, "_____ is soooo cute. OMG I luv that new Taylor Swift song. Team Jacob! I wish my mom would let me see 'Twilight' but she says it's 'inappropriate.' Whatever.") Like I'd want to read that. But she's only a fourth-grader. As she gets older, will I feel differently?
My Reba look-alike friend, Anne, has a teenaged daughter. Years ago, when Lauren was 10 or 11, Anne gave me some fantastic advice: be the mom who hosts every sleepover and get-together. All the girls hang out at her house, and she moves in and out of the room, bringing more popcorn, wiping up spills, refilling drinks, setting down a pizza, sitting in a corner reading a book. Meanwhile, the girls? They don't really notice her. They go on with their conversations, spilling everything to each other, and she's all but invisible to them. Yep, she's a sneaky one - but smart, that Anne. She's hearing it all; she's privy to all their secrets, and they don't even realize it. (She also told me to never force kids to cut out an undesirable friendship, because that just sends it "underground" and you stop knowing what's going on. Instead, make sure that the kid is welcomed into your home so you can watch exactly what's going on. Hmmm. She's good.)
A few years ago, I found a notebook under the couch, with "Top Secret" written on it in my daughter's handwriting. Yes, I opened it and read it (I thought about it for a moment, but again, if you're leaving your "top secret" stuff under the couch in the family room, really, how private can it be?), and I was really glad I did. It was full of some dark poetry - especially considering that she was in second grade - about lost love, depression, sadness, and longing to fit in. So I did what any mom would do; I panicked. Then I calmed down and called my best friend, read it to her, and asked her advice. She suggested that I tell my daughter I'd found it and then ask her if she wanted to talk about it. My husband and I were both worried about the content; my daughter seemed like a happy, well-adjusted little girl with no worries.
Imagine my surprise when I sat my daughter down for a serious heart-to-heart. As soon as I pulled out the notebook, she exclaimed, "THERE IT IS! I've been looking for my song book!" Um, songbook? Turns out, she'd been writing lyrics, not poetry. And when I asked if she felt sad or lonely, she looked at me like I was a complete moron and said, "Why would you think THAT?" Um, the lyrics? They're pretty depressing? Big eyeroll. "Mom, seriously, don't you realize that ALL lyrics are about lost love, or not fitting in, or being depressed? I'm not sure I got it right, because I'm a little young for all that, but what else does anyone write about?"
Oh.
So yes, I've learned a little lesson about panicking after snooping. And I really don't think that there's anything going on that I don't know about. But she's only 8. The teen years loom ahead, dark and mysterious, full of worries and woes. Right now, she tells me everything. And I mean, EVERYTHING. Much more than I care to know. I mean, do I really NEED to know who likes who and what the entire class ate for lunch? No, thanks, I'd rather not. But I love that she wants to talk to me; she opens up, shares her day and her feelings and her dreams. Because I have another daughter, one who usually responds to "What did you do at school today?" with "I dunno. Can't remember." She tells me relatively little, and that worries me for HER teen years. Oh, she's an open book right now, sure, but she doesn't have an incessant monologue going on, and I'm not sure she'll ever develop one, what with her chatty older sister and her conversation-hog mother around. She's the one I need to watch.
Right now, my kids are too young for Facebook, email, texting their friends. But middle school is nearly here, and with it will come increased distance, increased access to technology, and a cell phone. There will be different pressures, boys won't be so gross, and cyber-bullying will be an issue. They'll need more freedom online, around the neighborhood, at school, in the community. So I reserve the right to snoop and spy on my kids - if I feel I need to. I WILL read their texts, monitor their use of social networking sites, retain access to their email accounts. I will continue to monitor their moods and behaviors and friends. It's a scary world out there, and it's my job to keep them safe. If they won't open up, if I suspect there's a problem, if I think they're in trouble, I will get to the bottom of it. If it makes them mad, fine. If they hate me for it, so be it. If they give me no reason to mistrust them, I won't. But they've been told, and I'll keep telling them: just because I trust YOU does not mean I trust the rest of the world.
Slacker Mom Says... sign me up for the spy gear and the night vision goggles. I'm keeping tabs on my kids and their activities, within reason. It's probably not a popular stance, but my job isn't to be popular. My job is to raise kids who are intelligent, who make good decisions, who are equipped to leave me someday and be independent, fulfilled individuals with sound judgment and good ethics and morals. If I need to supervise them closely so that they can learn from their mistakes, I will. There's a fine line between overprotective and protective; I'm trying to find it and stay on the right side of it, but I'm still learning. I'll make mistakes, and so will they, but we're in this together.
Now, I don't know about you, but I could fill a huge trash can with the assorted items I've found in my family's pockets over the years. Aside from enough money to take all my girlfriends to Starbucks, I've found rocks, lip balm, notes, receipts, pens, toys, sand, tissues, Barbie shoes, ponytail holders, bobby pins, erasers... the list goes on. Never once have I considered checking their pockets to be an invasion of privacy; it's more a "I can't afford a new washing machine every week" thing. My rule is, if you leave it in your pocket, you must not want it - so finders keepers!
But I digress.
In this particular Reba episode, the real issue at hand is spying on teens to find out what's going on in their lives. Reba's pretty sure that her middle child, Kyra, is keeping something from her. Her ex-husband's new wife tells her that she reads Kyra's email and snoops through her stuff. She sees nothing wrong with it, nor does Kyra's father, but Reba is horrified at the thought.
So, as usual, this got me thinking: is it OK to spy on your kids? Is there ever a situation where parents can justify snooping? For me, the short answer is hell, yes, just don't get caught. The longer answer is, well, maybe, in certain circumstances and under certain conditions, when other methods have failed and you're pretty sure that your child is in danger or in trouble, and you're not merely being nosy and annoying and controlling - sort of like we all thought OUR moms were when we were teenagers. If I trust my kids, and I trust that they're being honest and open with me, then I have no reason to go looking for information. But if I start seeing secretive, scary behavioral changes, then I feel a responsibility to investigate so I can help my kids.
Now, I'm not justifying random nosiness. My oldest daughter keeps a journal, and I can't imagine reading it. (Really, it'd be pretty dull anyway. It's likely to say stuff like, "My sister is really annoying me. I wish I were an only child." Or, "_____ is soooo cute. OMG I luv that new Taylor Swift song. Team Jacob! I wish my mom would let me see 'Twilight' but she says it's 'inappropriate.' Whatever.") Like I'd want to read that. But she's only a fourth-grader. As she gets older, will I feel differently?
My Reba look-alike friend, Anne, has a teenaged daughter. Years ago, when Lauren was 10 or 11, Anne gave me some fantastic advice: be the mom who hosts every sleepover and get-together. All the girls hang out at her house, and she moves in and out of the room, bringing more popcorn, wiping up spills, refilling drinks, setting down a pizza, sitting in a corner reading a book. Meanwhile, the girls? They don't really notice her. They go on with their conversations, spilling everything to each other, and she's all but invisible to them. Yep, she's a sneaky one - but smart, that Anne. She's hearing it all; she's privy to all their secrets, and they don't even realize it. (She also told me to never force kids to cut out an undesirable friendship, because that just sends it "underground" and you stop knowing what's going on. Instead, make sure that the kid is welcomed into your home so you can watch exactly what's going on. Hmmm. She's good.)
A few years ago, I found a notebook under the couch, with "Top Secret" written on it in my daughter's handwriting. Yes, I opened it and read it (I thought about it for a moment, but again, if you're leaving your "top secret" stuff under the couch in the family room, really, how private can it be?), and I was really glad I did. It was full of some dark poetry - especially considering that she was in second grade - about lost love, depression, sadness, and longing to fit in. So I did what any mom would do; I panicked. Then I calmed down and called my best friend, read it to her, and asked her advice. She suggested that I tell my daughter I'd found it and then ask her if she wanted to talk about it. My husband and I were both worried about the content; my daughter seemed like a happy, well-adjusted little girl with no worries.
Imagine my surprise when I sat my daughter down for a serious heart-to-heart. As soon as I pulled out the notebook, she exclaimed, "THERE IT IS! I've been looking for my song book!" Um, songbook? Turns out, she'd been writing lyrics, not poetry. And when I asked if she felt sad or lonely, she looked at me like I was a complete moron and said, "Why would you think THAT?" Um, the lyrics? They're pretty depressing? Big eyeroll. "Mom, seriously, don't you realize that ALL lyrics are about lost love, or not fitting in, or being depressed? I'm not sure I got it right, because I'm a little young for all that, but what else does anyone write about?"
Oh.
So yes, I've learned a little lesson about panicking after snooping. And I really don't think that there's anything going on that I don't know about. But she's only 8. The teen years loom ahead, dark and mysterious, full of worries and woes. Right now, she tells me everything. And I mean, EVERYTHING. Much more than I care to know. I mean, do I really NEED to know who likes who and what the entire class ate for lunch? No, thanks, I'd rather not. But I love that she wants to talk to me; she opens up, shares her day and her feelings and her dreams. Because I have another daughter, one who usually responds to "What did you do at school today?" with "I dunno. Can't remember." She tells me relatively little, and that worries me for HER teen years. Oh, she's an open book right now, sure, but she doesn't have an incessant monologue going on, and I'm not sure she'll ever develop one, what with her chatty older sister and her conversation-hog mother around. She's the one I need to watch.
Right now, my kids are too young for Facebook, email, texting their friends. But middle school is nearly here, and with it will come increased distance, increased access to technology, and a cell phone. There will be different pressures, boys won't be so gross, and cyber-bullying will be an issue. They'll need more freedom online, around the neighborhood, at school, in the community. So I reserve the right to snoop and spy on my kids - if I feel I need to. I WILL read their texts, monitor their use of social networking sites, retain access to their email accounts. I will continue to monitor their moods and behaviors and friends. It's a scary world out there, and it's my job to keep them safe. If they won't open up, if I suspect there's a problem, if I think they're in trouble, I will get to the bottom of it. If it makes them mad, fine. If they hate me for it, so be it. If they give me no reason to mistrust them, I won't. But they've been told, and I'll keep telling them: just because I trust YOU does not mean I trust the rest of the world.
Slacker Mom Says... sign me up for the spy gear and the night vision goggles. I'm keeping tabs on my kids and their activities, within reason. It's probably not a popular stance, but my job isn't to be popular. My job is to raise kids who are intelligent, who make good decisions, who are equipped to leave me someday and be independent, fulfilled individuals with sound judgment and good ethics and morals. If I need to supervise them closely so that they can learn from their mistakes, I will. There's a fine line between overprotective and protective; I'm trying to find it and stay on the right side of it, but I'm still learning. I'll make mistakes, and so will they, but we're in this together.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Who Wouldn't Want To Be a Fairy Princess?
My kids are both home sick today, so my usual Monday morning routine has gone out the window. Instead of hitting Starbucks, Target, the health food store, the dry cleaner and the grocery store immediately after school drop-off, I'm still hanging out in my kitchen with a cup of coffee and The Today Show. (Aaahh. I'm not saying I'm glad my kids are sick or anything, but...) We may not have groceries or clean clothes, but I'll have put in my two cents on this topic.
As I stood in my kitchen, trying to avoid the giant bowl of Halloween candy sitting on my counter, I saw an adorable photo onscreen - the cutest little Daphne (from Scooby Doo) I've ever seen. I'm a sucker for cute kid pics, even when they're not my kids, so I turned up the volume and ignored the candy. Turns out the cute kid was a boy nicknamed Boo, who wanted to dress as Daphne for Halloween. His mom, Sarah, figured, "What's the harm?" and ordered the costume. She was shocked by the reactions of some people, however, who told her she was "making" her son gay. So Sarah decided to blog about her decision to allow her son to follow his heart and wear what made him happy. According to The Today Show, her post has received over 3 million hits and 10,000 responses. Some are supportive, some negative, but all this media attention landed Sarah on The Today Show to share her story.
Along with Sarah, there was another mom, Cheryl, whose 5-year-old son Dyson likes princess dresses and crowns when he plays dress up. Cheryl's written a book about her son, and she discussed how difficult it was for her to arrive at the place she is now: a place of acceptance and support for Dyson's fashion choices during play and pretend time. At first, she said, she went out and bought him "boy" dress up clothes, and told him, "Boys can't be princesses." To which this little guy said, "Then I'm a princess boy!" I'm with Dyson. Who wouldn't want to be a princess? All the beautiful clothes you want, no chores, people bowing and scraping and doing whatever you tell them? Sounds like a great job to me. Where do I sign up?
Both moms were surprised and dismayed by the reactions of some other parents. So am I. What is the big deal? Sarah said it well when she pointed out, "Halloween lets you be who you are not." I mean, I'm not worried that my neighbor's son Zack, who dressed up as Freddy, is going to become a dream-invading serial killer and chop me up in my sleep. A DEA agent friend of mine always dresses as a prisoner - get it? He's a cop dressed as a convicted felon. It's NOT REAL. My own 8-year-old? She's not REALLY a Gothic vampire. I'm pretty sure she's not going to suddenly develop a craving for human blood.
Besides, these kids don't have gender identity issues. They KNOW they're boys. They just think it's fun to pretend to be something they aren't. It's kind of like when I put on a really, really good bra and pretend that my boobs look JUST AS GOOD as they did before I had kids. I know they don't, I know they never will, but I enjoy the pretending immensely.
And what about girls wearing traditional "boy" costumes? My friend's first grade daughter wore an astronaut costume this year and was Spiderman last year. A neighbor's 6-year-old girl wore a Bob the Builder costume. My youngest, at age 3, was Curious George for Halloween - and many, many cold winter days after that. Yet I've never once heard any objection to girls wearing more "boyish" costumes for Halloween or dress up time. Is it somehow more "OK" for girls to dress as boys? And what does this say about our society's message to our kids?
As far as I'm concerned, kids can dress up and play pretend all they want. I see no harm in letting a little boy try on a pink feathered boa and Cinderella shoes, or giving a little girl a Spiderman costume. It's playtime! It's time to be anything you want to be! I mean, hey, Barbie can be a dolphin trainer, a vet, AND an Olympic swimmer, right? My friend Maria has two boys the same ages as my girls, and the four kids were inseparable during their preschool years. Her boys LOVED visiting our playroom, which was full of all kinds of "girly" stuff they didn't have: every princess dress and crown, lots of baby dolls and Polly Pockets, and Barbie's Dream House. I have the cutest picture of her youngest, at age 3, in a crown and tutu. In turn, my girls were in heaven in their playroom: a Thomas train table, tons of race cars, and ninja costumes. (An aside: my girls were given plenty of "boy" toys like cars, balls, etc. And Maria's boys were offered dolls and stuffed animals. But when you have all girls or all boys, your playroom will tend to look a little unbalanced. You get over it.)
Slacker Mom Says... relax. Let kids play act and dress up and try on different roles. Boys playing with dolls? They'll get some practice on how to be a good daddy one day. Girls wearing Storm Trooper costumes? They'll pretend to be strong warriors, which may help them stand up for themselves when it really counts. I mean, c'mon, I'm not a slutty nurse or a Wild West saloon girl, either, but I've got some pictures from the late 90s that would say otherwise. And as Cheryl said, "As parents, our job is to love and support our children." I think that about sums it up.
As I stood in my kitchen, trying to avoid the giant bowl of Halloween candy sitting on my counter, I saw an adorable photo onscreen - the cutest little Daphne (from Scooby Doo) I've ever seen. I'm a sucker for cute kid pics, even when they're not my kids, so I turned up the volume and ignored the candy. Turns out the cute kid was a boy nicknamed Boo, who wanted to dress as Daphne for Halloween. His mom, Sarah, figured, "What's the harm?" and ordered the costume. She was shocked by the reactions of some people, however, who told her she was "making" her son gay. So Sarah decided to blog about her decision to allow her son to follow his heart and wear what made him happy. According to The Today Show, her post has received over 3 million hits and 10,000 responses. Some are supportive, some negative, but all this media attention landed Sarah on The Today Show to share her story.
Along with Sarah, there was another mom, Cheryl, whose 5-year-old son Dyson likes princess dresses and crowns when he plays dress up. Cheryl's written a book about her son, and she discussed how difficult it was for her to arrive at the place she is now: a place of acceptance and support for Dyson's fashion choices during play and pretend time. At first, she said, she went out and bought him "boy" dress up clothes, and told him, "Boys can't be princesses." To which this little guy said, "Then I'm a princess boy!" I'm with Dyson. Who wouldn't want to be a princess? All the beautiful clothes you want, no chores, people bowing and scraping and doing whatever you tell them? Sounds like a great job to me. Where do I sign up?
Both moms were surprised and dismayed by the reactions of some other parents. So am I. What is the big deal? Sarah said it well when she pointed out, "Halloween lets you be who you are not." I mean, I'm not worried that my neighbor's son Zack, who dressed up as Freddy, is going to become a dream-invading serial killer and chop me up in my sleep. A DEA agent friend of mine always dresses as a prisoner - get it? He's a cop dressed as a convicted felon. It's NOT REAL. My own 8-year-old? She's not REALLY a Gothic vampire. I'm pretty sure she's not going to suddenly develop a craving for human blood.
Besides, these kids don't have gender identity issues. They KNOW they're boys. They just think it's fun to pretend to be something they aren't. It's kind of like when I put on a really, really good bra and pretend that my boobs look JUST AS GOOD as they did before I had kids. I know they don't, I know they never will, but I enjoy the pretending immensely.
And what about girls wearing traditional "boy" costumes? My friend's first grade daughter wore an astronaut costume this year and was Spiderman last year. A neighbor's 6-year-old girl wore a Bob the Builder costume. My youngest, at age 3, was Curious George for Halloween - and many, many cold winter days after that. Yet I've never once heard any objection to girls wearing more "boyish" costumes for Halloween or dress up time. Is it somehow more "OK" for girls to dress as boys? And what does this say about our society's message to our kids?
As far as I'm concerned, kids can dress up and play pretend all they want. I see no harm in letting a little boy try on a pink feathered boa and Cinderella shoes, or giving a little girl a Spiderman costume. It's playtime! It's time to be anything you want to be! I mean, hey, Barbie can be a dolphin trainer, a vet, AND an Olympic swimmer, right? My friend Maria has two boys the same ages as my girls, and the four kids were inseparable during their preschool years. Her boys LOVED visiting our playroom, which was full of all kinds of "girly" stuff they didn't have: every princess dress and crown, lots of baby dolls and Polly Pockets, and Barbie's Dream House. I have the cutest picture of her youngest, at age 3, in a crown and tutu. In turn, my girls were in heaven in their playroom: a Thomas train table, tons of race cars, and ninja costumes. (An aside: my girls were given plenty of "boy" toys like cars, balls, etc. And Maria's boys were offered dolls and stuffed animals. But when you have all girls or all boys, your playroom will tend to look a little unbalanced. You get over it.)
Slacker Mom Says... relax. Let kids play act and dress up and try on different roles. Boys playing with dolls? They'll get some practice on how to be a good daddy one day. Girls wearing Storm Trooper costumes? They'll pretend to be strong warriors, which may help them stand up for themselves when it really counts. I mean, c'mon, I'm not a slutty nurse or a Wild West saloon girl, either, but I've got some pictures from the late 90s that would say otherwise. And as Cheryl said, "As parents, our job is to love and support our children." I think that about sums it up.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Our Future Depends on Parents
Election Day has come and gone; the voters have spoken, the political ads are over, and it's finally safe to watch TV again. As usual, I'm glad it's all over: no more negative ads, no more talking heads gearing up for the big fight; no more celebrities thinking their opinion is somehow more valid simply because they are celebrities. Regardless of one's political beliefs, now that the election is over, we can focus on working together as Americans to improve our nation. Like many voters, I'm worried about our country. I'm worried about the future of our country.
But unlike most voters, I'm not so worried about our economic or political future. I believe this country can and will recover from our current problems. I believe that Americans will work hard and the recession will end. I believe that most of our leaders truly have the best interests of our nation at heart. No, right now I'm more worried about our kids' future. In an era where 8-year-olds watch R-rated movies like "Zombieland", 6-year-olds know (and use) more cuss words than I do, and fourth graders not only understand the term "frenemy" but actually HAVE some, what is wrong with our society?
We may be used to hearing horror stories from the inner city, or from developing nations, or from families with substance abuse or domestic violence issues. But there are some shocking things going on among all of our children. Over coffee today, my friend Michelle told me about a birthday party her first- and third-grade daughters attended last weekend. A little boy at the party, a 6-year-old from a "normal" home, told her daughters, "I'm going to wipe my penis juice all over you." In return, I told her about a boy in my daughter's Kindergarten class last year who rubbed his hands up and down her back and said, "Do you like it when I touch you here? How does it make you feel?"
Where are these kids hearing this? What is going on in their lives that they not only know these words, but actually think it's OK to talk like that to other children? And what is wrong with parents these days? Michelle's daughters thought the boy was going to pee on them, and ran away to tell their mom. My daughter told me she got a "yucky feeling" in her tummy, but was too scared to tell the teacher. She waited until she got home to tell me what had happened. (And yes, I called the school immediately, and yes, it was handled to my complete and total satisfaction.)
Less disturbing, but still unfortunate, is the current favorite pastime among many fourth and fifth grade girls on the school playground. Most of their recess time seems to be spent gossiping about other girls. Yes, some of them play soccer, some of them actually hang on the monkey bars, and some of them chase boys, and perhaps chasing the boys is better than when I was young and the boys chased the girls (women's liberation, baby!). But from what I've seen during lunch duty, the majority of the girls stand around trash talking. When did this become an acceptable activity for nine and ten year olds? Why aren't they running around, being kids, sliding and climbing and enjoying the break from class? Who has taught them that bashing other girls is OK? (I'm pretty sure I have an answer to that, but that's another topic of conversation for another time.) When she refused to get involved in a gossip fest, my older daughter had a close friend tell her, "If you don't do what I tell you, I'm not going to be your friend, invite you over, or come over to your house anymore." Emotional blackmail at age 9?
And don't try to tell parents their kids are doing anything wrong. That rarely works; it usually backfires. A friend of mine called a neighbor to ask her to talk to her son about his threatening behavior on the school bus. The two women had been meeting to walk their dogs every day when their kids left for school, but now? My friend says her neighbor not only refuses to speak to her, but lets her dog poop in her front yard, without picking it up. When the grown ups act like toddlers, what are the kids supposed to do? Even the schools can't tell parents their kids are misbehaving; teachers and administrators are often blamed for behaviors that were learned (and accepted) at home.
Kids today are allowed, even encouraged, to grow up far too fast for my taste. I remember hearing a mother of a preschooler tell her child, "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is for babies. You should be watching Zack and Cody." Really? At 4, she's too old for Mickey Mouse? Another mom I know told me, "I hate fighting with my kids, and I really want them to like me. Sometimes, it's just easier to give in." Ohhhh-kaaaaay. A former co-worker of mine told her daughter, who's 9, "You're way too old for Barbies. You need to give them away." Too old for Barbies? Shoot, most little girls want to BE Barbie - cool Dream House (with an elevator!), pink convertible, more clothes than she can wear, and she can be anything she wants - vet, teacher, dolphin trainer. Sounds good to me!
Ten-year-olds with Facebook accounts. Seven-year-olds with more expensive cell phones than I have. Preschoolers having sleepovers. Teenagers who spend more time online than with their families. Children watching so-called "celebrities" on reality shows behaving very, very badly - and not only getting paid for it, but being praised for it. Sports fans who berate referees - at preschool soccer games. Families who freely admit - almost with pride - that they haven't sat down to dinner together in months because their kids are sooooo busy and sooooo involved in after-school activities that they just don't have time to spend together.
It seems terribly old-fashioned and hopelessly uncool to parent like our parents and grandparents did. To insist on obedience, respect for others and oneself, and discipline - both at home and in the community. What's happened to good manners? What's happened to showing consideration and concern for others? What's happened to "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all?" And, the big question, posed on The Today Show this week: Is civility dead in America? Is it too late? Can we get back to some level of respect in our country?
Slacker Mom Says... I believe we can. I hope and pray that we can. I think civility is not dead, just dormant, or maybe taking a nap. But, like so much else, it starts with us, with parents. More specifically, it starts with good parenting. So many of us seem to be afraid to actually parent, to lead by example and teach kids what's right, even when it's hard. So much of parenting is just that: doing what is right, what is necessary, even when it's hard, even when it's unpopular, even when our kids may well hate us for years (or maybe, really, just hours) for doing it. Parenting means thinking about the long-term, not the short-term, not what is easy and what everyone else is doing, but what will serve our kids well in the years (and years and years) to come. No, it's not fun to have to wait until my kids are asleep to watch "Desperate Housewives." Yes, I'd love to end all arguments with my pre-teen about friends, clothes, allowance, and chores. However, I am the mom. I took the job, I signed up for a life sentence. So no, she can't roam the neighborhood unsupervised or have a cell phone or eat candy for breakfast. And no, she can't have a TV in her room, even though "all my friends have one" (and they don't; I checked) and even though it makes me the "meanest mom in the entire world." Really? Good. If you like me all the time and want to be my friend, I'm certainly not doing my job. Maybe one day she'll understand; maybe one day she'll even appreciate the reason behind the rules. Maybe she won't. But that's the job. Do what's right and what's best, even when it's hard and unpopular. If you're not up for it, don't apply.
But unlike most voters, I'm not so worried about our economic or political future. I believe this country can and will recover from our current problems. I believe that Americans will work hard and the recession will end. I believe that most of our leaders truly have the best interests of our nation at heart. No, right now I'm more worried about our kids' future. In an era where 8-year-olds watch R-rated movies like "Zombieland", 6-year-olds know (and use) more cuss words than I do, and fourth graders not only understand the term "frenemy" but actually HAVE some, what is wrong with our society?
We may be used to hearing horror stories from the inner city, or from developing nations, or from families with substance abuse or domestic violence issues. But there are some shocking things going on among all of our children. Over coffee today, my friend Michelle told me about a birthday party her first- and third-grade daughters attended last weekend. A little boy at the party, a 6-year-old from a "normal" home, told her daughters, "I'm going to wipe my penis juice all over you." In return, I told her about a boy in my daughter's Kindergarten class last year who rubbed his hands up and down her back and said, "Do you like it when I touch you here? How does it make you feel?"
Where are these kids hearing this? What is going on in their lives that they not only know these words, but actually think it's OK to talk like that to other children? And what is wrong with parents these days? Michelle's daughters thought the boy was going to pee on them, and ran away to tell their mom. My daughter told me she got a "yucky feeling" in her tummy, but was too scared to tell the teacher. She waited until she got home to tell me what had happened. (And yes, I called the school immediately, and yes, it was handled to my complete and total satisfaction.)
Less disturbing, but still unfortunate, is the current favorite pastime among many fourth and fifth grade girls on the school playground. Most of their recess time seems to be spent gossiping about other girls. Yes, some of them play soccer, some of them actually hang on the monkey bars, and some of them chase boys, and perhaps chasing the boys is better than when I was young and the boys chased the girls (women's liberation, baby!). But from what I've seen during lunch duty, the majority of the girls stand around trash talking. When did this become an acceptable activity for nine and ten year olds? Why aren't they running around, being kids, sliding and climbing and enjoying the break from class? Who has taught them that bashing other girls is OK? (I'm pretty sure I have an answer to that, but that's another topic of conversation for another time.) When she refused to get involved in a gossip fest, my older daughter had a close friend tell her, "If you don't do what I tell you, I'm not going to be your friend, invite you over, or come over to your house anymore." Emotional blackmail at age 9?
And don't try to tell parents their kids are doing anything wrong. That rarely works; it usually backfires. A friend of mine called a neighbor to ask her to talk to her son about his threatening behavior on the school bus. The two women had been meeting to walk their dogs every day when their kids left for school, but now? My friend says her neighbor not only refuses to speak to her, but lets her dog poop in her front yard, without picking it up. When the grown ups act like toddlers, what are the kids supposed to do? Even the schools can't tell parents their kids are misbehaving; teachers and administrators are often blamed for behaviors that were learned (and accepted) at home.
Kids today are allowed, even encouraged, to grow up far too fast for my taste. I remember hearing a mother of a preschooler tell her child, "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is for babies. You should be watching Zack and Cody." Really? At 4, she's too old for Mickey Mouse? Another mom I know told me, "I hate fighting with my kids, and I really want them to like me. Sometimes, it's just easier to give in." Ohhhh-kaaaaay. A former co-worker of mine told her daughter, who's 9, "You're way too old for Barbies. You need to give them away." Too old for Barbies? Shoot, most little girls want to BE Barbie - cool Dream House (with an elevator!), pink convertible, more clothes than she can wear, and she can be anything she wants - vet, teacher, dolphin trainer. Sounds good to me!
Ten-year-olds with Facebook accounts. Seven-year-olds with more expensive cell phones than I have. Preschoolers having sleepovers. Teenagers who spend more time online than with their families. Children watching so-called "celebrities" on reality shows behaving very, very badly - and not only getting paid for it, but being praised for it. Sports fans who berate referees - at preschool soccer games. Families who freely admit - almost with pride - that they haven't sat down to dinner together in months because their kids are sooooo busy and sooooo involved in after-school activities that they just don't have time to spend together.
It seems terribly old-fashioned and hopelessly uncool to parent like our parents and grandparents did. To insist on obedience, respect for others and oneself, and discipline - both at home and in the community. What's happened to good manners? What's happened to showing consideration and concern for others? What's happened to "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all?" And, the big question, posed on The Today Show this week: Is civility dead in America? Is it too late? Can we get back to some level of respect in our country?
Slacker Mom Says... I believe we can. I hope and pray that we can. I think civility is not dead, just dormant, or maybe taking a nap. But, like so much else, it starts with us, with parents. More specifically, it starts with good parenting. So many of us seem to be afraid to actually parent, to lead by example and teach kids what's right, even when it's hard. So much of parenting is just that: doing what is right, what is necessary, even when it's hard, even when it's unpopular, even when our kids may well hate us for years (or maybe, really, just hours) for doing it. Parenting means thinking about the long-term, not the short-term, not what is easy and what everyone else is doing, but what will serve our kids well in the years (and years and years) to come. No, it's not fun to have to wait until my kids are asleep to watch "Desperate Housewives." Yes, I'd love to end all arguments with my pre-teen about friends, clothes, allowance, and chores. However, I am the mom. I took the job, I signed up for a life sentence. So no, she can't roam the neighborhood unsupervised or have a cell phone or eat candy for breakfast. And no, she can't have a TV in her room, even though "all my friends have one" (and they don't; I checked) and even though it makes me the "meanest mom in the entire world." Really? Good. If you like me all the time and want to be my friend, I'm certainly not doing my job. Maybe one day she'll understand; maybe one day she'll even appreciate the reason behind the rules. Maybe she won't. But that's the job. Do what's right and what's best, even when it's hard and unpopular. If you're not up for it, don't apply.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
It Might Be Time to "Talk the Talk"
My oldest daughter's fourth grade teacher gave her class "the talk" the other day. No, not THAT talk; Health and Human Development isn't until fifth grade, and let's be honest - if the school is really giving your child brand-new information in that area, you are way behind the eight ball. No, I mean the "it's time to start wearing deodorant" talk. Yep, she sat them down after PE class last week and told them to go out and get some deodorant - and wear it - because some of the kids really need it, and she didn't want to embarrass anyone by pointing fingers.
Now, several other mothers were upset by this event. "It's not her place to tell my child he needs deodorant," said one mom. Another told me, "I don't think she should have talked to the girls and boys together in case anyone got embarrassed." A third thought that the teacher should have e-mailed the parents of the odiferous children and shared her concerns with them directly, rather than addressing it with the entire class. Still another thought that the way she talked to them was "far too direct and not gentle enough" for her taste.
Me? I appreciate her concern for the children, as well as her directness. And I'd rather she spend her time writing lessons than e-mailing individual parents about personal hygiene issues. But the bottom line is, I've been in that classroom after recess on a 98-degree day often enough to know that THEY ALL NEED TO BE WEARING DEODORANT. DAILY. Even the ones who don't really "need" it yet stink to high heaven after a half hour on the playground. And as far as I'm concerned, until you've spent the afternoon in an enclosed space with 23 nine- and ten-year olds after an hour of PE class, you are NOT, in fact, entitled to an opinion on this subject.
But I wasn't there for "the talk", and some of the other moms were truly bothered by it. So I asked my (overly sensitive and easily upset) daughter to relate exactly what her teacher had said to the class. She told me, "She was really funny, Mommy. She said, 'Y'all need to ask your parents to go out and get you some deodorant, because you're coming to the age where these things are important. I don't want to embarrass anyone, so I'm not going to name any names, but some of you are growing up and it's time to think about personal hygiene.' Mom, she's SO right. Some of the boys REALLY smell." Uh, yeah, they do. And did I mention that the teacher is pregnant? Imagine a room full of sweaty pre-teen bodies under those conditions. I could barely stand to smell MYSELF when I was pregnant.
As parents, we like to think we know when our kids are ready for the next step. When are they ready to be weaned or potty-trained? Are they ready for preschool? Time for braces? Is it time for "the talk"? Ages and stages are such a big deal when our kids are babies and toddlers and preschoolers, but we tend to forget that it's just as big a deal when they hit elementary school. Some girls get their periods in fourth grade. Some boys start to have, um, "special" dreams as young as age 10. Puberty, with its body odor, growth spurts, changing bodies and voices, hair in weird places - it's happening whether we parents want it to or not. If kids aren't prepared for these things, what will they think when it happens to them? If we don't tell them what the next step is, how will they know?
Too many parents bury their heads in the sand and say, "S/he's too young! S/he shouldn't know about these things yet!" I hear you, I really do. And in a perfect world, our kids wouldn't need to know this stuff yet. But the reality is, they are probably hearing about puberty from their better-informed peers on the playground. Imagine my surprise the day my oldest child came home - from second grade - and said, "What's sex?" I gave her the standard "It's whether you're a boy or a girl, you know, like when you have to check off a box on a doctor's form or something" thing. She said, "I don't think that's it. Lilly said it has to do with grown-up private parts rubbing together to make babies." Oh. Oh my. Okay. My husband is STILL thankful he worked late that day.
But this is exactly my point: Wouldn't I rather she hear it from me? Under circumstances that I control? In a setting where she's free to ask questions and get correct information? As a former teacher, I can tell you that what our kids hear on the playground is usually WAY off-base. (When I taught sixth-grade science, I had a student tell me, "But my friend says you can't get pregnant the first time you have sex." Oh, boy. I rest my case.) And even though, for most third- or fourth-graders, the sex talk isn't necessary just yet, the puberty talk is. Trust me, it's hard to "unteach" what they've erroneously heard. No, it's far easier to give kids accurate information the first time, with our own morals and religious beliefs involved, than it is to erase what their classmates have told them already. And really, who would you rather your kids get their information from - you, or a bunch of kids who are just as (or even more!) uninformed about this stuff than they are?
So, as usual, when I found myself in a group of parents commenting on the deodorant issue, I couldn't keep my mouth shut and leave well enough alone. No, I had to put in my two cents, which is basically this: what better way to open a discussion of the changes their bodies will be going through than this? Let's just look at it as an opportunity to have a frank discussion with your child about what is coming. Yes, it's uncomfortable - for parents as well as kids. Yes, it's a tough subject to tackle. But being calm and matter-of-fact about it sends the message that we are comfortable talking with our kids, that we are willing to answer their questions, that we welcome them to come to us with ANYTHING at all. And isn't that the point? I want my girls to know that they can come to me and I won't be embarrassed or get upset at their questions. (Their dad, that's another story. I'm working on that one. He's mortified at the thought of them asking him anything, but he'll have to get over that.)
Slacker Mom Says... we can't bury our heads in the sand. Our kids will grow up. It won't go away just because we're ignoring it. We need to look for opportunities to talk with our kids about what's going on. We can't assume that they are too young, that they'll come to us when they want answers. Don't let their peer group educate them; teach them what they need to know, but with the emphasis on the moral standards that are important to your family. Open the dialogue. Whether it's puberty, religion, politics, finances, whatever, I want my kids to feel comfortable asking me for answers and sharing their concerns with me. It's important to me that they know I will always be there for them, that I will always help them with any problem, that I'll help provide answers and information when they need it. Because what's the alternative?
And for the record, my daughter started wearing deodorant last spring, as soon as it got hot again. I bought it, put in the bathroom, and said, "Use it. Every day. Here's how."
Now, several other mothers were upset by this event. "It's not her place to tell my child he needs deodorant," said one mom. Another told me, "I don't think she should have talked to the girls and boys together in case anyone got embarrassed." A third thought that the teacher should have e-mailed the parents of the odiferous children and shared her concerns with them directly, rather than addressing it with the entire class. Still another thought that the way she talked to them was "far too direct and not gentle enough" for her taste.
Me? I appreciate her concern for the children, as well as her directness. And I'd rather she spend her time writing lessons than e-mailing individual parents about personal hygiene issues. But the bottom line is, I've been in that classroom after recess on a 98-degree day often enough to know that THEY ALL NEED TO BE WEARING DEODORANT. DAILY. Even the ones who don't really "need" it yet stink to high heaven after a half hour on the playground. And as far as I'm concerned, until you've spent the afternoon in an enclosed space with 23 nine- and ten-year olds after an hour of PE class, you are NOT, in fact, entitled to an opinion on this subject.
But I wasn't there for "the talk", and some of the other moms were truly bothered by it. So I asked my (overly sensitive and easily upset) daughter to relate exactly what her teacher had said to the class. She told me, "She was really funny, Mommy. She said, 'Y'all need to ask your parents to go out and get you some deodorant, because you're coming to the age where these things are important. I don't want to embarrass anyone, so I'm not going to name any names, but some of you are growing up and it's time to think about personal hygiene.' Mom, she's SO right. Some of the boys REALLY smell." Uh, yeah, they do. And did I mention that the teacher is pregnant? Imagine a room full of sweaty pre-teen bodies under those conditions. I could barely stand to smell MYSELF when I was pregnant.
As parents, we like to think we know when our kids are ready for the next step. When are they ready to be weaned or potty-trained? Are they ready for preschool? Time for braces? Is it time for "the talk"? Ages and stages are such a big deal when our kids are babies and toddlers and preschoolers, but we tend to forget that it's just as big a deal when they hit elementary school. Some girls get their periods in fourth grade. Some boys start to have, um, "special" dreams as young as age 10. Puberty, with its body odor, growth spurts, changing bodies and voices, hair in weird places - it's happening whether we parents want it to or not. If kids aren't prepared for these things, what will they think when it happens to them? If we don't tell them what the next step is, how will they know?
Too many parents bury their heads in the sand and say, "S/he's too young! S/he shouldn't know about these things yet!" I hear you, I really do. And in a perfect world, our kids wouldn't need to know this stuff yet. But the reality is, they are probably hearing about puberty from their better-informed peers on the playground. Imagine my surprise the day my oldest child came home - from second grade - and said, "What's sex?" I gave her the standard "It's whether you're a boy or a girl, you know, like when you have to check off a box on a doctor's form or something" thing. She said, "I don't think that's it. Lilly said it has to do with grown-up private parts rubbing together to make babies." Oh. Oh my. Okay. My husband is STILL thankful he worked late that day.
But this is exactly my point: Wouldn't I rather she hear it from me? Under circumstances that I control? In a setting where she's free to ask questions and get correct information? As a former teacher, I can tell you that what our kids hear on the playground is usually WAY off-base. (When I taught sixth-grade science, I had a student tell me, "But my friend says you can't get pregnant the first time you have sex." Oh, boy. I rest my case.) And even though, for most third- or fourth-graders, the sex talk isn't necessary just yet, the puberty talk is. Trust me, it's hard to "unteach" what they've erroneously heard. No, it's far easier to give kids accurate information the first time, with our own morals and religious beliefs involved, than it is to erase what their classmates have told them already. And really, who would you rather your kids get their information from - you, or a bunch of kids who are just as (or even more!) uninformed about this stuff than they are?
So, as usual, when I found myself in a group of parents commenting on the deodorant issue, I couldn't keep my mouth shut and leave well enough alone. No, I had to put in my two cents, which is basically this: what better way to open a discussion of the changes their bodies will be going through than this? Let's just look at it as an opportunity to have a frank discussion with your child about what is coming. Yes, it's uncomfortable - for parents as well as kids. Yes, it's a tough subject to tackle. But being calm and matter-of-fact about it sends the message that we are comfortable talking with our kids, that we are willing to answer their questions, that we welcome them to come to us with ANYTHING at all. And isn't that the point? I want my girls to know that they can come to me and I won't be embarrassed or get upset at their questions. (Their dad, that's another story. I'm working on that one. He's mortified at the thought of them asking him anything, but he'll have to get over that.)
Slacker Mom Says... we can't bury our heads in the sand. Our kids will grow up. It won't go away just because we're ignoring it. We need to look for opportunities to talk with our kids about what's going on. We can't assume that they are too young, that they'll come to us when they want answers. Don't let their peer group educate them; teach them what they need to know, but with the emphasis on the moral standards that are important to your family. Open the dialogue. Whether it's puberty, religion, politics, finances, whatever, I want my kids to feel comfortable asking me for answers and sharing their concerns with me. It's important to me that they know I will always be there for them, that I will always help them with any problem, that I'll help provide answers and information when they need it. Because what's the alternative?
And for the record, my daughter started wearing deodorant last spring, as soon as it got hot again. I bought it, put in the bathroom, and said, "Use it. Every day. Here's how."
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Daddy Rules (And How This Mom Has Finally Come to Appreciate His Way of Doing Things)
Last summer, after weeks of isolation with the kids and nary a Girls' Night Out in sight, I noticed a blurb in our local newspaper. The YMCA was holding an Indian Guides informational kick-off party, complete with crafts, food, canoeing, archery, and face painting. The best part? This is a daddy/child program - no moms allowed! So I did what any self-respecting, overworked mom would do: I clipped the newspaper notice, handed it to my husband, said, "Have a great time with the girls!" and sent them out for an afternoon of fun.
A year later, my husband is the chief of Indian Princess tribe. Every good chief needs a hard-working squaw, right? So guess who makes the snacks and plans the crafts and writes the skits and, basically, is "The Woman Behind the Man"?
Holy Backfire, Batman.
What started as a chance for a summer Saturday to myself has turned into an activity that my kids and husband love. They've made new friends, they love camping (an activity that my husband used to think involved staying at a Holiday Inn instead of a Hilton), and mastered the skill of popping Jiffy Pop over an open campfire - not to mention the fact that they've spent countless Mommy-free hours enjoying each other's company under the ever-flexible "Daddy Rules."
Under "Daddy Rules", bedtimes are nonexistent. Volume control is rarely enforced. S'mores are, indeed, an excellent dinner comprised of the three camping food groups: sugar, fat, and burning hot marshmallows. Personal hygiene consists of a squirt of hand sanitizer and a baby wipe that may or may not remove the chocolate and marshmallow goo from one's face. Sunscreen and bug spray are mandatory, as are life jackets, but toothbrushes (though packed with care along with floss and flouride rinse) are completely optional. Breath mints do in a pinch.
While I would NEVER call my husband negligent, he is definitely, um, more "relaxed" than I am about certain things. He worries about the stuff that doesn't bother me at all: boys knocking on the door, our oldest daughter's desire to wear lip gloss, our little one's burgeoning interest in bungee jumping and hang gliding (thanks, Uncle Mike). But his more flexible style when it comes to certain things has made me realize that sometimes, my rules are kind of rigid. And it's not just limited to Indian Princess outings. If he's handling showers, he's the fun guy, yelling, "Touchdown!" so that they'll throw up their arms while he dries them off. He plays "Dentist with the Hydraulic Chair" when he brushes their teeth and "Face Cloth of Doom" when he washes their faces. If the girls and I are late getting home from ballet class and I'm trying to hustle kids off to the shower and into bed, he's teaching them roundhouse kicks and right hooks. He'll tie their shoes before school, carry their backpacks all the way to their classrooms, and drop their books off at the library. (Me? I already taught you how to tie your shoes, you know where the school library is, and I finally got rid of the giant mommy-bag when everyone started school. Carry your own crap.)
Yep, dads do things differently. And in my experience, there are a lot of moms who don't like that. Take, for example, my friend Elle. Her husband works full-time with an hour-long commute while she's home with their kids. When he gets home and puts the kids in the bath, she hovers over him, telling him that he's doing it wrong, that he's doing it "out of order." Then, when he sends his 4-year-old into the bedroom to get his jammies on, she yells that he's supposed to brush teeth BEFORE jammies, "because he might get toothpaste on his pajamas!" Um, I may be way off-base here, but the kid is FOUR. Can't the "routine" be a little more relaxed on Daddy days? And if he gets a little bit of Winnie the Pooh toothpaste on his pj's, can't you grab a washcloth and wipe it off? (Or, Slacker-Mom-style, let the KID wipe it off?) Let's be honest, Elle: you're getting an hour off. Don't fight it. Close the bathroom door, pour yourself a glass of wine, and go sit on your patio. Maybe if you back off, he'll put them to bed, too. Or take my neighbor Annabel. Her husband takes their 3 kids to soccer practice twice a week. But she gets mad when he takes them for a quick ice cream cone afterward, because then they get to bed 15 minutes late. My other neighbor and I laugh, telling her, "Seriously? You're mad because they came home 15 minutes late? Honey, that's 15 minutes that your husband and sons talked about guy stuff. You missed the lesson on armpit music and how to burp the alphabet. Count your lucky stars."
So yeah, it's taken me some time to appreciate that my husband does things differently, and even longer to understand that it's OK that he does. Of course I still think MY way is the BEST way; otherwise I wouldn't do it that way! But I've finally come to see the value in his way of doing things. He has more fun with the kids than I do; he enjoys that time with them because it's free of rigid rules and routines. Yes, I end up dealing with most of the unpleasant parts of parenthood: enforcing rules about chores, hygiene, homework and discipline. But I'm with them so many more hours in a day. Why can't his time with them be fun and happy and light-hearted? I've been there for the big stuff - the first gummy smile, the first steps, the first wiggly tooth. I'm the mommy, and while I'm not saying they love me the best, they kind of do - in the sense that they prefer me to him when they're sick or scared or hurt, and then I'm the one they want.
Slacker Mom Says... let dads parent like dads. So what if they "do it wrong"? So what if they act like big kids themselves? They kind of are! And they may be on to something with their goofy fun ways. Kids benefit from different styles of parenting. When my first child was about a week old, she had a really bad night - she just wouldn't sleep, and I was exhausted. In desperation, I woke up my husband and asked him to rock her for awhile. A couple of hours later, I found them on the couch, my sweet girl nestled in her daddy's arms, gazing up at him rapturously. They were watching a Bruins game; he was explaining hockey to her in a hushed voice. My first instinct was to criticize: why was she still up? I asked you to rock her back to sleep, not turn on the TV. But something told me to let it go, to let him parent in his way. To this day, she loves watching sports with her daddy; she loves ice hockey; and she loves curling up in the crook of his arm. Who was I to ruin that moment? Dads do things their own way. And that's OK.
A year later, my husband is the chief of Indian Princess tribe. Every good chief needs a hard-working squaw, right? So guess who makes the snacks and plans the crafts and writes the skits and, basically, is "The Woman Behind the Man"?
Holy Backfire, Batman.
What started as a chance for a summer Saturday to myself has turned into an activity that my kids and husband love. They've made new friends, they love camping (an activity that my husband used to think involved staying at a Holiday Inn instead of a Hilton), and mastered the skill of popping Jiffy Pop over an open campfire - not to mention the fact that they've spent countless Mommy-free hours enjoying each other's company under the ever-flexible "Daddy Rules."
Under "Daddy Rules", bedtimes are nonexistent. Volume control is rarely enforced. S'mores are, indeed, an excellent dinner comprised of the three camping food groups: sugar, fat, and burning hot marshmallows. Personal hygiene consists of a squirt of hand sanitizer and a baby wipe that may or may not remove the chocolate and marshmallow goo from one's face. Sunscreen and bug spray are mandatory, as are life jackets, but toothbrushes (though packed with care along with floss and flouride rinse) are completely optional. Breath mints do in a pinch.
While I would NEVER call my husband negligent, he is definitely, um, more "relaxed" than I am about certain things. He worries about the stuff that doesn't bother me at all: boys knocking on the door, our oldest daughter's desire to wear lip gloss, our little one's burgeoning interest in bungee jumping and hang gliding (thanks, Uncle Mike). But his more flexible style when it comes to certain things has made me realize that sometimes, my rules are kind of rigid. And it's not just limited to Indian Princess outings. If he's handling showers, he's the fun guy, yelling, "Touchdown!" so that they'll throw up their arms while he dries them off. He plays "Dentist with the Hydraulic Chair" when he brushes their teeth and "Face Cloth of Doom" when he washes their faces. If the girls and I are late getting home from ballet class and I'm trying to hustle kids off to the shower and into bed, he's teaching them roundhouse kicks and right hooks. He'll tie their shoes before school, carry their backpacks all the way to their classrooms, and drop their books off at the library. (Me? I already taught you how to tie your shoes, you know where the school library is, and I finally got rid of the giant mommy-bag when everyone started school. Carry your own crap.)
Yep, dads do things differently. And in my experience, there are a lot of moms who don't like that. Take, for example, my friend Elle. Her husband works full-time with an hour-long commute while she's home with their kids. When he gets home and puts the kids in the bath, she hovers over him, telling him that he's doing it wrong, that he's doing it "out of order." Then, when he sends his 4-year-old into the bedroom to get his jammies on, she yells that he's supposed to brush teeth BEFORE jammies, "because he might get toothpaste on his pajamas!" Um, I may be way off-base here, but the kid is FOUR. Can't the "routine" be a little more relaxed on Daddy days? And if he gets a little bit of Winnie the Pooh toothpaste on his pj's, can't you grab a washcloth and wipe it off? (Or, Slacker-Mom-style, let the KID wipe it off?) Let's be honest, Elle: you're getting an hour off. Don't fight it. Close the bathroom door, pour yourself a glass of wine, and go sit on your patio. Maybe if you back off, he'll put them to bed, too. Or take my neighbor Annabel. Her husband takes their 3 kids to soccer practice twice a week. But she gets mad when he takes them for a quick ice cream cone afterward, because then they get to bed 15 minutes late. My other neighbor and I laugh, telling her, "Seriously? You're mad because they came home 15 minutes late? Honey, that's 15 minutes that your husband and sons talked about guy stuff. You missed the lesson on armpit music and how to burp the alphabet. Count your lucky stars."
So yeah, it's taken me some time to appreciate that my husband does things differently, and even longer to understand that it's OK that he does. Of course I still think MY way is the BEST way; otherwise I wouldn't do it that way! But I've finally come to see the value in his way of doing things. He has more fun with the kids than I do; he enjoys that time with them because it's free of rigid rules and routines. Yes, I end up dealing with most of the unpleasant parts of parenthood: enforcing rules about chores, hygiene, homework and discipline. But I'm with them so many more hours in a day. Why can't his time with them be fun and happy and light-hearted? I've been there for the big stuff - the first gummy smile, the first steps, the first wiggly tooth. I'm the mommy, and while I'm not saying they love me the best, they kind of do - in the sense that they prefer me to him when they're sick or scared or hurt, and then I'm the one they want.
Slacker Mom Says... let dads parent like dads. So what if they "do it wrong"? So what if they act like big kids themselves? They kind of are! And they may be on to something with their goofy fun ways. Kids benefit from different styles of parenting. When my first child was about a week old, she had a really bad night - she just wouldn't sleep, and I was exhausted. In desperation, I woke up my husband and asked him to rock her for awhile. A couple of hours later, I found them on the couch, my sweet girl nestled in her daddy's arms, gazing up at him rapturously. They were watching a Bruins game; he was explaining hockey to her in a hushed voice. My first instinct was to criticize: why was she still up? I asked you to rock her back to sleep, not turn on the TV. But something told me to let it go, to let him parent in his way. To this day, she loves watching sports with her daddy; she loves ice hockey; and she loves curling up in the crook of his arm. Who was I to ruin that moment? Dads do things their own way. And that's OK.
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