Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
November 09 2010
There’s been a copious amount of discussion recently about stifling gender roles in children. How boys are blue, girls are pink, and to step outside of this box is a recipe for ridicule. You’ve read it all, I’m sure. While I initially had little to say on the subject that hasn’t been said before, I then found a piece of my voice yesterday morning.
It’s not my sons that are stepping outside their bounds. They are blue as blue can be on their own. My daughter, however, could be considered color blind.
Growing up with two older brothers, it makes sense that she’d attempt to emulate them. In what they do and how they play and the clothes they wear. I’ve mentioned before, Abby is adamantly against dresses or too much frill. She’ll oblige me with a skirt now and then, but she feels most comfortable in a pair of her brother’s baggy, cinched-with-a-belt jeans. If that’s what she prefers, I’ll let her strut her choice when we take Jedi to the bus stop in the morning. Because I really don’t see the harm.
As was the case yesterday when my parents dropped by for a quick visit. My mother’s said words about her choice of fashion before, but this day she wouldn’t let it go.
“Why are you in your brothers pants? Those are GROSS. They’re boy pants! You’re a girl, you should be in girl pants!”, and she continued on. Even so far as to rifle through Abby’s dresser drawer to retrieve her a rarely touched pair of her own, which my daughter decisively dismissed.
Why does it matter if she wants to wear her brother’s clothes? Soon enough, I’m sure she’ll embrace an adoration of princesses and lip gloss, but it doesn’t need to be now. Even if she never does, so what? Children at this age are not weighed heavily by social rules and stereotypes. This is the only time of their life when they can truly believe it’s alright to be anything they want to be. Whether a boy wants to wear a dress on Halloween or a girl borrows from her brother’s closet. There is absolutely nothing to gain by suppressing that confidence. Let it be.
November 05 2010
When I was little, I used to love staring at the stars. My parents live in a somewhat secluded area, separated from their neighbors by a large yard, and the sky around there is an open wonderland. The big dipper, constellations, peppered specks like paint; I used to study it in the way of an artistic masterpiece. It was magic.
I can’t say when it happened, but the stars, somehow, stopped shining as bright.
My boys share a small room with their bunkbed placed against a single large window. They like to keep the shade open a notch at night, to see outside. Buzz has recently taken to noticing the stars and the moon before bed.
“Come on, Mommy”, he urges, “I see a star.”
With barely a glance back, I reply, “I see it, too.”
“I see the moon”, he continues.
Sure enough, he does. But do I? It’s been a long day, I don’t have time for this, I think in tired exasperation, and begin an attempt to hush him to sleep. Meanwhile, he’s still reaching and fascinated at the brazen points of twinkling night, brightly flaring up the sky in his confiding brown eyes.
I remember that awe, I remember that wonder, it hasn’t been that long ago. When did I start being so dismissive in the face of innocent admiration? I’ve been so consumed with just getting by, but it takes only a minute to look up.
I need to take a lesson from my son and start appreciating the stars again.
November 02 2010
Halloween night, our family of 5 broke off into two groups. The boys were a team, while Abby and I strolled together. Considering she’s a younger sprite with littler legs and insisted on walking everywhere, we fell behind often. Still, we tried our best to keep up and managed trailed the same houses soon after her brothers.
At one stop, after the boys had received their treats, the man, who had been sitting in a chair outside, dashed inside to grab a new bag of candy. He left the bowl behind with a few bare selections left. A grab and go felt awkward, though, when I knew he was coming back. There was no harm in waiting a few seconds to say thank you, at least.
Quickly, however, a swarm of junior high kids encircled us, cutting in front where we were obviously waiting. Without an excuse me, or pardon me, or are you in line? It was as if we were invisible. Maybe it’s the nature of the game, I should have grabbed a mini-bag of the remaining Skittles like it was owed to me, but I was more appalled by that point and afraid my bite-sized ladybug was going to get squashed.
Instead, I decidedly turned and while gripped tightly onto my 2 year old daughter’s hand we walked away, but not before remarking as loudly as I could without yelling, “Those kids were rude. When you grow up, you’re not going to be rude.” Though I’m fairly certain the intended party of pre-teeners didn’t hear a word I said.
Growing up, I exhibited a general set of manners. I said please, I said thank you, and I always waited my turn. I refuse to believe that common decency might be a lost cause.
October 28 2010
Buzz is a rambunctious sort of fellow. I’ve mentioned this before, it’s nothing new. I truly don’t believe he’s a devil-child, even though I’ve called him that before. He’s curious and testing. He wants to be everywhere, get into everything, he doesn’t mind a word I say. It’s difficult to get him focused, it’s even harder to keep his attention.
To be honest, I’m not sure if this is just a trait of 4 year old’s, or if it only seems worse because it’s my son. Except I don’t see any of the other neighborhood kids his age dart off into the middle of the street and away from their flailing mothers, is what I’m saying.
He’s the same way at his speech class. His teacher tries to get him involved in a game, and he’d rather climb into their toy cabinet. She wants him to relay the actions of flash cards, but he’s already distracted by a bucket of crayons. He gets a puzzle out, only to be done with it two seconds later.
His teacher is a nice girl, she never gets loud or seems impatient with him. They play together well, and Buzz is excited to see her. But he doesn’t learn a lot this way. He’s such a sweet, good boy when he wants to be. That’s the thing, though. When he wants to be.
The last time we were there, she mentioned, “I was thinking, maybe it’d be good to get an Occupational Therapist in here, to asses his needs. Maybe they can come up with ways to get him to focus more?”
What I heard: “Your kid is too much and I need help.”
I don’t blame her. In fact, I’m actually surprised it took this long. Most days, I feel like I’d appreciate some help with him, too.
September 28 2010
The world I want for my children is green and vibrant. Full of diverse creatures, none ever extinct, big and small and soaring. Rainbows and unicorns and dancing in open fields of striking yellow sunflowers tall enough to reach the saturated sky.
The world I want for my children is a fairy tale.
In this story, nothing tragic occurs. What veers to the left is easily righted. Innocence prevails. Bound by peace and love and a general sense of understanding. There are no bullies, no fights, no feelings hurt, no hard questions to answer, no hospital stays, no grisly scenes on the TV news. Everyone is friends, hands held, rejoice, Kumbaya. The fairy tale is rather saccharine, but even more naive.
The reality of the situation is life. It’s not inherently bad, but it’s hard. Confusing and complicated. Dirty and gritty. Sweat-stained and broken bones. Every day is another reason to hide away a little further. There are horrible people doing horrible things, saying, plotting horrible things. Safety and security pulled out like a rug. What kind of world did I bring these children into? What have I done? It’s a fight not to be consumed.
My children, right now, see mostly the fairy tale. That’s the beauty of childhood.
Sometimes, I wish that’s all I could see, too. The world I want for my sons and daughter isn’t real, but there are fragments that can be. There still might lie a touch of it swaying, reaching, against the bright blue like sunflowers.
Written as part of the world I want for my children blog carnival hosted by Country Fried Mama to raise awareness of the Joyful Heart Foundation.
