I'm on my way to bed, but I thought I'd check in first. I spent my Thanksgiving driving back and forth to SD and recovering from a killer migraine. (Note to self: find new doctor and get prescription refilled.) Even though Bean drove me crazy for all of yesterday, I spent today missing him horribly, and was thrilled to come home from my night class and find that he had fallen asleep before dinner and slept until just that very minute, so we had a late dinner together before I packed him back off to bed. He has his first loose tooth, which he finds alternately extremely exciting and extremely painful. I remember the sweet agony of that tooth twisting in its socket, not quite out but almost, so that it kept catching on everything. And I remember the softness of the hole it left, with just a tiny bit of the sharp new tooth poking up.
I also remember Bean's very first tooth coming in, and the one that's coming out now may, in fact, be it (but I think, actually, it's the one next to his first).
I have to research how much the tooth fairy leaves these days. It's gotta be more than the fifty cents I used to get.
Showing posts with label kid stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kid stuff. Show all posts
Monday, November 26, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Status Report: Five and One Quarter Years.
(NOTE: I actually wrote this on May 17th, and I'm glad to say that things have definitely improved (even though I never got around to updating the chart). But still, I wanted to share it with you. And also, I'm too lazy right now to write a new post.)
We used to have the morning routine worked out:
Bean wakes up. We snuggle for a little while before it's time to really wake up. Depending on his mood, he or I will pick out his clothes for the day. Depending on his mood, his getting dressed will take very little or a whole lot of reminding (and, on slow mornings, assistance). He will also go potty and, on a good morning, brush his teeth. Once he's ready, he comes out to his little table in the living room for breakfast in front of "Charlie and Lola." ("Charlie and Lola" is the single best cartoon on television and deserves its own post.) After breakfast, we leave for school.
It took us the better part of the last school year to get this down. I devised a rewards chart with pictures of the tasks he needed to complete each morning; if he completes most of them, he can watch a DVD that day; if he completes all of them, he can watch television that day. It's not perfect, but it works.
Except that, for some reason, and fairly suddenly, we can't start the day without a full-fledged screaming fit from Bean. The fit is generally preceeded by me doing something, usually standing in the wrong place or, like yesterday, talking when Bean didn't want me to. Not responding is not an option, as that makes him lose his shit. If I attempt to stand in the right place, or if I say gamely, "OK - sorry, I'll be quiet," it is still no good - I have ruined it, I have done something unforgiveable, and now we must all be miserable until the mood passes.
The screaming, slamming of doors, and stomping of feet are so regular and so loud that I've pointed out that they could result in our being evicted.
Evenings are worse, though at least not in terms of decibels. The mornings may be loud, but there is still less effort needed on my part to get him ready than there is at bedtime. Bean takes after me: he is not in the least bit interested in going to sleep. At all. Ever. Unless he's sick.
Here's our bedtime routine:
It becomes evening. Bean goes batshit crazy at the mere mention of bedtime. One night last week, I suggested that he get all ready for bed and then we could watch part of Night at the Museum. Getting into pajamas went fine, but he balked at using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He ran around the apartment and ignored me when I told him to go in and get ready. When he did, he brushed his teeth but didn't go to the bathroom. Then he went to the bathroom but didn't pull up his pants. Then he pulled up his pants but wouldn't wash his hands. Every few seconds he spent in the bathroom accomplishing a small part of these tasks was punctuated by his racing out of the bathroom to go somewhere else in order to do something else. That night, the "something else" was yelling at me for making him brush his teeth when he didn't want to do it.
What was most maddening about that night was that I told him clearly, patiently, and repeatedly that if he didn't do what I asked him to do, there would be no movie. On top of this, he began screaming, which I have outlawed in our house. Finally, of course, after umpteen chances, I had to tell him that there would be no movie. And then there was a fountain of frustrated and disappointed tears.
What happens, I suspect, is that by 7:30, he is wiped out. He does not get enough sleep, and he does not wind down for bed easily. So when it is time to get ready for bed - and I always suggest special stories or snuggle time, which he always wants - he becomes overwhelmed: he does not want the day to be over, and he's too exhausted to realize that if he simply gets ready, he'll still have lots of time before he has to go to bed. And when he finally does lie down at night, he will nearly always lie awake for HOURS. When I used to read to him every night, he would fall asleep more quickly; however, I'm now in a bind. It takes so long to get him ready for bed that when he finally is in bed, it is far too late for a story.
But on top of this, I think there is something else going on. Bean is attached to me, and when I say "attached," I mean, the kid is like glue. He loves Mr. Plain(s)feminist, but the sun rises and sets on Mommy. And now that he's 5, I think he is starting to pull away a bit, and so he's got this battle as he wants to make sure I'm there all the time and also wants to separate himself from me by, it seems, taking out all of his anger and frustration on me.
Here's what this looked like the other morning:
I left out the part where he called me a disgusting piece of poop, by the way. I also left out the part where I spanked him for slamming the doors. We are neither of us very good at this, sometimes.
I am reading, once again, Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline by Becky Bailey. Though it sounds like a handbook for parenting a "problem" child, it's really just a handbook for helping parents to control themselves and to model this self-control to children - to teach them, in effect, not just to do or not do certain things, but actually how to manage difficult emotions. It's a great book, and it helps me a lot. For one thing, it reminds me how to be human and how not to turn into a shrieking person who constantly doles out punishments.
After I hit "publish" for this post, I will update the chart to include evening tasks. There, the rewards will be bedtime stories, with more stories won when more tasks are completed.
Wish us luck.
We used to have the morning routine worked out:
Bean wakes up. We snuggle for a little while before it's time to really wake up. Depending on his mood, he or I will pick out his clothes for the day. Depending on his mood, his getting dressed will take very little or a whole lot of reminding (and, on slow mornings, assistance). He will also go potty and, on a good morning, brush his teeth. Once he's ready, he comes out to his little table in the living room for breakfast in front of "Charlie and Lola." ("Charlie and Lola" is the single best cartoon on television and deserves its own post.) After breakfast, we leave for school.
It took us the better part of the last school year to get this down. I devised a rewards chart with pictures of the tasks he needed to complete each morning; if he completes most of them, he can watch a DVD that day; if he completes all of them, he can watch television that day. It's not perfect, but it works.
Except that, for some reason, and fairly suddenly, we can't start the day without a full-fledged screaming fit from Bean. The fit is generally preceeded by me doing something, usually standing in the wrong place or, like yesterday, talking when Bean didn't want me to. Not responding is not an option, as that makes him lose his shit. If I attempt to stand in the right place, or if I say gamely, "OK - sorry, I'll be quiet," it is still no good - I have ruined it, I have done something unforgiveable, and now we must all be miserable until the mood passes.
The screaming, slamming of doors, and stomping of feet are so regular and so loud that I've pointed out that they could result in our being evicted.
Evenings are worse, though at least not in terms of decibels. The mornings may be loud, but there is still less effort needed on my part to get him ready than there is at bedtime. Bean takes after me: he is not in the least bit interested in going to sleep. At all. Ever. Unless he's sick.
Here's our bedtime routine:
It becomes evening. Bean goes batshit crazy at the mere mention of bedtime. One night last week, I suggested that he get all ready for bed and then we could watch part of Night at the Museum. Getting into pajamas went fine, but he balked at using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He ran around the apartment and ignored me when I told him to go in and get ready. When he did, he brushed his teeth but didn't go to the bathroom. Then he went to the bathroom but didn't pull up his pants. Then he pulled up his pants but wouldn't wash his hands. Every few seconds he spent in the bathroom accomplishing a small part of these tasks was punctuated by his racing out of the bathroom to go somewhere else in order to do something else. That night, the "something else" was yelling at me for making him brush his teeth when he didn't want to do it.
What was most maddening about that night was that I told him clearly, patiently, and repeatedly that if he didn't do what I asked him to do, there would be no movie. On top of this, he began screaming, which I have outlawed in our house. Finally, of course, after umpteen chances, I had to tell him that there would be no movie. And then there was a fountain of frustrated and disappointed tears.
What happens, I suspect, is that by 7:30, he is wiped out. He does not get enough sleep, and he does not wind down for bed easily. So when it is time to get ready for bed - and I always suggest special stories or snuggle time, which he always wants - he becomes overwhelmed: he does not want the day to be over, and he's too exhausted to realize that if he simply gets ready, he'll still have lots of time before he has to go to bed. And when he finally does lie down at night, he will nearly always lie awake for HOURS. When I used to read to him every night, he would fall asleep more quickly; however, I'm now in a bind. It takes so long to get him ready for bed that when he finally is in bed, it is far too late for a story.
But on top of this, I think there is something else going on. Bean is attached to me, and when I say "attached," I mean, the kid is like glue. He loves Mr. Plain(s)feminist, but the sun rises and sets on Mommy. And now that he's 5, I think he is starting to pull away a bit, and so he's got this battle as he wants to make sure I'm there all the time and also wants to separate himself from me by, it seems, taking out all of his anger and frustration on me.
Here's what this looked like the other morning:
Bean is struggling to put on his pants. The back pockets are bunched up and the pants are therefore uncomfortable and not going on properly. Bean is frustrated and doesn't understand what is wrong with his pants.
Bean: AAGH! My pants! The pockets! GRRRRR!!! Help me!!
Me: Oh, let me fix those for you. (I fix the pockets.) There. Is that better?
Bean: I hate you! (Runs into his room. Calls from room.) Mommy, you know I don't really hate you, right? I don't want you to feel bad. I hate you!!!
I left out the part where he called me a disgusting piece of poop, by the way. I also left out the part where I spanked him for slamming the doors. We are neither of us very good at this, sometimes.
I am reading, once again, Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline by Becky Bailey. Though it sounds like a handbook for parenting a "problem" child, it's really just a handbook for helping parents to control themselves and to model this self-control to children - to teach them, in effect, not just to do or not do certain things, but actually how to manage difficult emotions. It's a great book, and it helps me a lot. For one thing, it reminds me how to be human and how not to turn into a shrieking person who constantly doles out punishments.
After I hit "publish" for this post, I will update the chart to include evening tasks. There, the rewards will be bedtime stories, with more stories won when more tasks are completed.
Wish us luck.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Bean has embarked on a quest
...to find out "what happens if." Last week, he used his child safety scissors to cut his hair.
A couple of days ago, he taped a piece of paper to his nose and then cut the paper - and his nose - like he'd seen Sponge Bob do on television.
Yesterday morning, I awoke to a soaking wet Bean who had been pretending to be a fountain while brushing his teeth. There were puddles of water (and even some toothpaste) decorating the sink and floor, and I even had to throw away the roll of toilet paper because it was too wet to be salvaged. (I suppose I should be grateful that he's never seen any of those old fountains that feature statues of little boys peeing!)
By the time I had cleaned up the bathroom, he had already taken a crayon and written his initials on the dining room table.
Last night, while I was picking up and trying to get him into bed, he called to me from the other room. "Mommy...not that I want to get into trouble...but I wrote with my crayon on the green chair." (This would be the New Green Chair.) Fortunately for both of us, Folex worked perfectly (and immediately). (PSA: This stuff is amazing. It got grape juice stains out of my beige rug.)
After I cleaned the crayon off of the New Green Chair, Bean and I had a conversation about how much fun it was to see what it would be like to try something new. I asked him to please check with me first before going ahead and trying it. He nodded, looked thoughtful, and asked: "Mommy, is it ok to draw on my clothes?"
A couple of days ago, he taped a piece of paper to his nose and then cut the paper - and his nose - like he'd seen Sponge Bob do on television.
Yesterday morning, I awoke to a soaking wet Bean who had been pretending to be a fountain while brushing his teeth. There were puddles of water (and even some toothpaste) decorating the sink and floor, and I even had to throw away the roll of toilet paper because it was too wet to be salvaged. (I suppose I should be grateful that he's never seen any of those old fountains that feature statues of little boys peeing!)
By the time I had cleaned up the bathroom, he had already taken a crayon and written his initials on the dining room table.
Last night, while I was picking up and trying to get him into bed, he called to me from the other room. "Mommy...not that I want to get into trouble...but I wrote with my crayon on the green chair." (This would be the New Green Chair.) Fortunately for both of us, Folex worked perfectly (and immediately). (PSA: This stuff is amazing. It got grape juice stains out of my beige rug.)
After I cleaned the crayon off of the New Green Chair, Bean and I had a conversation about how much fun it was to see what it would be like to try something new. I asked him to please check with me first before going ahead and trying it. He nodded, looked thoughtful, and asked: "Mommy, is it ok to draw on my clothes?"
Friday, April 20, 2007
Just some stuff about where I'm at.
1) I somehow injured my shoulder last night between the end of dance class and my arrival home. I've done far worse to my poor shoulder - a couple of summers ago, trying to waterski, I ripped the heck out of both shoulders and couldn't lift my arms for a couple of weeks. And then, a couple of years before that, when I was swimming laps on a regular basis, I injured them both similarly though not so severely as in the water-skiing incident. Both times, everything seemed to heal on its own. So, I'm not too worried this time, except that I'm supposed to be in a dance recital on Saturday night, and I don't think I can pull it off in a sling.
However, I'm fairly optimistic tonight, since I'm in considerably less pain than I was last night. Also, while I still can't use my right hand to pull on a pair of pants just yet, I'm a lot closer to this goal (and I've gotten good at getting dressed one-handed, thank goodness!).
2) Apparently, some people at work have been wondering if I am pregnant. No, you fuckers, I'm not. And fuck you very much.
3) For the first time EVER, I am actually getting reimbursed by my job to attend a conference. I am GIDDY. I will not only be able to afford this conference, but I will also be able to enjoy it without feeling guilty. I can't tell you what a load off my mind that is. (And also, I just saved Mr. Plain(s)feminist $400 on one of his trips by looking on Travelocity. I rock.)
4) I've realized once again just how poisonous talking behind people's backs can be. Really, it never does any good. We always think that the venting is helpful, but venting is how the poison is spread, and venting does not resolve the problem. Unfortunately, as I've been told by a few people, this is a way of life in small communities, which is one reason why I miss the relative anonymity of larger ones. (At least there, people never know who is being talked about!) It's also a way of life in my family of origin, whom I'm going to see in a couple of months, and so I'll have ample time to practice what I preach.
5) I really love my kid. We're at a great age. This afternoon, I picked him up early from daycare and brought him home and introduced him to The Munsters and Junie B. Jones; let no one say /I do not expose him to culture. And, yeah, there was a meltdown at the rummage sale when I wouldn't buy him the ginormous ugly pink stuffed bunny, but then there was also that moment a short while later when he snuggled onto my lap and we read stories. Or the moment, while he was getting ready for bed, when he came out of the bathroom to show me a handful of soap bubbles. I just love my little guy.
However, I'm fairly optimistic tonight, since I'm in considerably less pain than I was last night. Also, while I still can't use my right hand to pull on a pair of pants just yet, I'm a lot closer to this goal (and I've gotten good at getting dressed one-handed, thank goodness!).
2) Apparently, some people at work have been wondering if I am pregnant. No, you fuckers, I'm not. And fuck you very much.
3) For the first time EVER, I am actually getting reimbursed by my job to attend a conference. I am GIDDY. I will not only be able to afford this conference, but I will also be able to enjoy it without feeling guilty. I can't tell you what a load off my mind that is. (And also, I just saved Mr. Plain(s)feminist $400 on one of his trips by looking on Travelocity. I rock.)
4) I've realized once again just how poisonous talking behind people's backs can be. Really, it never does any good. We always think that the venting is helpful, but venting is how the poison is spread, and venting does not resolve the problem. Unfortunately, as I've been told by a few people, this is a way of life in small communities, which is one reason why I miss the relative anonymity of larger ones. (At least there, people never know who is being talked about!) It's also a way of life in my family of origin, whom I'm going to see in a couple of months, and so I'll have ample time to practice what I preach.
5) I really love my kid. We're at a great age. This afternoon, I picked him up early from daycare and brought him home and introduced him to The Munsters and Junie B. Jones; let no one say /I do not expose him to culture. And, yeah, there was a meltdown at the rummage sale when I wouldn't buy him the ginormous ugly pink stuffed bunny, but then there was also that moment a short while later when he snuggled onto my lap and we read stories. Or the moment, while he was getting ready for bed, when he came out of the bathroom to show me a handful of soap bubbles. I just love my little guy.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Kid funny, already.
After getting sent to his room for a time out:
Bean: "You're a baby! If you don't let me out, I'm going to make fun of you!"
Me: "...go for it."
Bean: "Well...I don't really know how to."
Me: suppressed laughter
Bean: "What's funny?"
Me: trying not to giggle "nothing."
Bean: "Well, you were laughing. That usually means that something is funny. ...can I have a hug?"
Before I can respond, Bean slams his door.
Bean: "Mommy, can I come out for a minute?"
Me: "No. You slammed your door."
Bean: "But I want to write 'I hate you.' Can you write 'I hate you' and get me some tape and make it mean words?"
Me: "...no, I'm not going to do that."
Bean: "But I want to put it up so you see it and feel bad! ...when can I have my hug?"
(It ended with a hug.)
Bean: "You're a baby! If you don't let me out, I'm going to make fun of you!"
Me: "...go for it."
Bean: "Well...I don't really know how to."
Me: suppressed laughter
Bean: "What's funny?"
Me: trying not to giggle "nothing."
Bean: "Well, you were laughing. That usually means that something is funny. ...can I have a hug?"
Before I can respond, Bean slams his door.
Bean: "Mommy, can I come out for a minute?"
Me: "No. You slammed your door."
Bean: "But I want to write 'I hate you.' Can you write 'I hate you' and get me some tape and make it mean words?"
Me: "...no, I'm not going to do that."
Bean: "But I want to put it up so you see it and feel bad! ...when can I have my hug?"
(It ended with a hug.)
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Childless Marriages (The HORROR!!)
OK, if you didn't get it already, and most of you will, the title is a joke: I don't think childfree* marriages are frightening or scary (the phrase, "childfree marriage," in fact, makes me think of quiet evenings involving wine and pleasant conversation in a tidy room). But I chose the title because I followed an interesting-looking link at the CFEZ board to a thread on why CF marriage frequently aren't taken seriously.
I thought it was a really interesting and (for me) eye-opening conversation - people wrote about being told that their marriages aren't marriages unless they have children, which is something I've only ever heard from feisty fundies. People also wrote about having others try to fix them up on dates, knowing full well that they were married but taking the "no kids" to mean that the relationship wasn't solid or committed.
Come to think of it, that's pretty much how religious folk who think sexual orientation can be "cured" treat queer people. I've heard of both of these things happening in exactly that context.
So I'm curious - those of you who are married and don't have kids: do you feel that your marriages are taken less seriously than you expect? Those of you who do have kids: did the way others treated your marriage change when you had kids? And this goes for those of you who aren't married, as well - does having kids, or would it, do you think, change the way that others see your relationship? And does any of this differ between same-sex and different-sex couples?
I do remember, pre-kid, being asked a lot if I had kids and getting surprised reactions because I didn't (which I found annoying). And often the questioner would provide a handy reason as to why I hadn't had a kid ("oh, well, you're still in school," or "you're young - you have plenty of time". I found these comments odd, since the conversation seemed to be taking place entirely in the questioner's head - I wasn't talking about kids, wasn't engaging their questions about kids, wasn't feeling sad or anxious about not having kids, but clearly the questioner was having issues). But I haven't noticed that my marriage is treated differently with kid than without kid, and I was married without for more years than I've been married with. I will say, though, that my relationship definitely got taken more seriously when I got married than it was before, which pissed me off for all of the obvious reasons.
One really interesting comment on the CFEZ site suggested that the rationale for the notion that a marriage must produce children comes from the fact that so many people stay together "for the kids," so that lots of people have come to see marriage as about kids...
Any thoughts?
*I used "childless" rather than "childfree" in the post title on purpose, because I doubt very much that those upset by the very idea of marriage without kids would get the distinction.
I thought it was a really interesting and (for me) eye-opening conversation - people wrote about being told that their marriages aren't marriages unless they have children, which is something I've only ever heard from feisty fundies. People also wrote about having others try to fix them up on dates, knowing full well that they were married but taking the "no kids" to mean that the relationship wasn't solid or committed.
Come to think of it, that's pretty much how religious folk who think sexual orientation can be "cured" treat queer people. I've heard of both of these things happening in exactly that context.
So I'm curious - those of you who are married and don't have kids: do you feel that your marriages are taken less seriously than you expect? Those of you who do have kids: did the way others treated your marriage change when you had kids? And this goes for those of you who aren't married, as well - does having kids, or would it, do you think, change the way that others see your relationship? And does any of this differ between same-sex and different-sex couples?
I do remember, pre-kid, being asked a lot if I had kids and getting surprised reactions because I didn't (which I found annoying). And often the questioner would provide a handy reason as to why I hadn't had a kid ("oh, well, you're still in school," or "you're young - you have plenty of time". I found these comments odd, since the conversation seemed to be taking place entirely in the questioner's head - I wasn't talking about kids, wasn't engaging their questions about kids, wasn't feeling sad or anxious about not having kids, but clearly the questioner was having issues). But I haven't noticed that my marriage is treated differently with kid than without kid, and I was married without for more years than I've been married with. I will say, though, that my relationship definitely got taken more seriously when I got married than it was before, which pissed me off for all of the obvious reasons.
One really interesting comment on the CFEZ site suggested that the rationale for the notion that a marriage must produce children comes from the fact that so many people stay together "for the kids," so that lots of people have come to see marriage as about kids...
Any thoughts?
*I used "childless" rather than "childfree" in the post title on purpose, because I doubt very much that those upset by the very idea of marriage without kids would get the distinction.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Update on yesterday's post.
If you're wondering what all the fuss is about, my buddy Stuff Daddy has it here.
I've gotten several hits from the community he mentions, and the abusive comment I mentioned yesterday (but did not post) came from there. They feel that I won't publish anything I don't agree with, which BritGirl and the other childfree people (and some childed) who commented on my other childfree posts will be surprised to hear. I'm sure Renegade Evolution can sympathize. Interestingly, on their own site, the policy is to disallow any posters who are not childfree specifically because they don't want to have to defend themselves or their beliefs (or, I think, their hateful language - I'm not talking about "breeder," either - go to Stuff's site, and see for yourself). But at any rate, I've never deleted comments because I disagree with them, and I think Aus Blog would back me up on this, as well. I've only ever deleted a handful of comments. In re. to comments on the Childfree thread, I deleted an abusive one that appeared just after I'd posted that I would delete abusive comments. I also deleted another by the same author that re-posted all 40+ of the comments on that thread (it was just confusing as hell, and she had posted another comment that was more clear, which I left). I did not post the one she sent me to complain that I was unfair in not posting her abusive comment because she didn't call me any names (she did) because I addressed her concerns on the front page (I haven't gotten any hits as of last evening from their site to my front page, so I doubt she's read it).
I haven't bothered to respond to this group (of two commenters, by the way) beyond yesterday's post (which, as I said, they haven't read). The reason I haven't responded will become clear if you follow the links from Stuff Daddy. After reading what's been said about me in their own forum, I don't see how it is possible that they would respect me enough as a human being to actually want to talk with me about anything, much less about this. And I don't feel like participating in a "discussion" purely to fuel more talk on their site about what a "sanctimonious" "moo cow" and horrible parent I am. They can do that without me. But even if I did feel like talking to them, what would I say? "Hey, you've got me wrong - I'm an ally!"? I am an ally to childfree people, generally. But after this? I'm no ally of the people on that site.
But I will say more about why I don't think a discussion is possible.
As just one example, I made a distinction between temper tantrums in public and normal kid behavior. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about this, but I was trying to separate a real tantrum from, say, fussing or something that is easily resolved. So I said that in the case of a tantrum, parents needed to remove the child from the situation, and that in the case of normal kid behavior, people needed to suck it up. What I was thinking was that, for example, babies fuss if they're hungry, kids fuss if they're tired, etc. Not that the parent should let it go - most parents carry around bags of kid stuff for dealing with just these situations. As is clear from reading all of the other stuff I've written about this - which the folks from that forum haven't done - I think parents need to "do something" about these situations. My point was merely that it's unreasonable to expect that babies will never cry and kids will never fidget, and that, yes, people need to be patient, just as people are patient with other annoyances (including people who walk slowly in front of you in a long line, or, for that matter, the angry woman at the gate who threw her water bottle on the ground in a fury when they wouldn't let her take it on board (nearly hitting me, for which she apologized profusely - just as parents often apologize for their kids' behavior)).
This has since been turned into the comments that Stuff Daddy quotes, in which I am expecting childfree people to worship the sun shining out of my newborn's ass.
I also questioned a commenter's statement that kids should not be allowed to sit on planes or on public transportation. I called this attitude entitled. I wondered why I was not allowed to take my child on a plane, and why Andi, the commenter, was entitled to make that decision, and why her preference for travelling without a child on board took precedence over everyone else's needs.
Here is the response that I got:
What's of interest to me is the great acrobatic leaping and bounding from assumption to conclusion. I love, particularly, the assessment that children (and parents) don't need to use public transportation; that public transportation has been designed solely for the use of the childfree; that parents, in general, think their children are the center of the universe; and, of course, that I, personally, do not "PARENT" my child. (There's also the whole, "I'M not entitled - YOU are!" deal.)
These comments speak volumes (and I even left out the part where babies and mothers were compared to drug addicts, among other "undesireables"). As do those on the site from which these commenters came.
What's bizarre to me is that the comments smack of exactly the same behavior that people seem to find most upsetting in children. This is nothing short of a temper tantrum. It's not a reasoned argument - the commenter is stating many of the same claims I made in that post, in related posts, and in comments, and is simultaneously blaming me for taking an opposite position to the one I took. It's not a civil argument - it's name-calling, it's obnoxious. Do adults not have the responsibility to rein in their own unpleasant behavior? Or is it only children's unpleasant behavior that is the problem?
Anyway - comments, as always, are welcomed. I will post any that do not come with embedded insults.
Oh, and speaking of insults, I think it's interesting that the folks on the site in question call mothers "moo cows" and babies "sprogs," but I haven't seen any insulting names for fathers yet. As a feminist, I have to wonder why that might be. Is it simply that they feel that mothers behave badly and fathers don't? Is it a subtle misogyny? Is it that they most often see the sprogs with their moo cows and not their moo bulls? I'm curious.
I've gotten several hits from the community he mentions, and the abusive comment I mentioned yesterday (but did not post) came from there. They feel that I won't publish anything I don't agree with, which BritGirl and the other childfree people (and some childed) who commented on my other childfree posts will be surprised to hear. I'm sure Renegade Evolution can sympathize. Interestingly, on their own site, the policy is to disallow any posters who are not childfree specifically because they don't want to have to defend themselves or their beliefs (or, I think, their hateful language - I'm not talking about "breeder," either - go to Stuff's site, and see for yourself). But at any rate, I've never deleted comments because I disagree with them, and I think Aus Blog would back me up on this, as well. I've only ever deleted a handful of comments. In re. to comments on the Childfree thread, I deleted an abusive one that appeared just after I'd posted that I would delete abusive comments. I also deleted another by the same author that re-posted all 40+ of the comments on that thread (it was just confusing as hell, and she had posted another comment that was more clear, which I left). I did not post the one she sent me to complain that I was unfair in not posting her abusive comment because she didn't call me any names (she did) because I addressed her concerns on the front page (I haven't gotten any hits as of last evening from their site to my front page, so I doubt she's read it).
I haven't bothered to respond to this group (of two commenters, by the way) beyond yesterday's post (which, as I said, they haven't read). The reason I haven't responded will become clear if you follow the links from Stuff Daddy. After reading what's been said about me in their own forum, I don't see how it is possible that they would respect me enough as a human being to actually want to talk with me about anything, much less about this. And I don't feel like participating in a "discussion" purely to fuel more talk on their site about what a "sanctimonious" "moo cow" and horrible parent I am. They can do that without me. But even if I did feel like talking to them, what would I say? "Hey, you've got me wrong - I'm an ally!"? I am an ally to childfree people, generally. But after this? I'm no ally of the people on that site.
But I will say more about why I don't think a discussion is possible.
As just one example, I made a distinction between temper tantrums in public and normal kid behavior. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough about this, but I was trying to separate a real tantrum from, say, fussing or something that is easily resolved. So I said that in the case of a tantrum, parents needed to remove the child from the situation, and that in the case of normal kid behavior, people needed to suck it up. What I was thinking was that, for example, babies fuss if they're hungry, kids fuss if they're tired, etc. Not that the parent should let it go - most parents carry around bags of kid stuff for dealing with just these situations. As is clear from reading all of the other stuff I've written about this - which the folks from that forum haven't done - I think parents need to "do something" about these situations. My point was merely that it's unreasonable to expect that babies will never cry and kids will never fidget, and that, yes, people need to be patient, just as people are patient with other annoyances (including people who walk slowly in front of you in a long line, or, for that matter, the angry woman at the gate who threw her water bottle on the ground in a fury when they wouldn't let her take it on board (nearly hitting me, for which she apologized profusely - just as parents often apologize for their kids' behavior)).
This has since been turned into the comments that Stuff Daddy quotes, in which I am expecting childfree people to worship the sun shining out of my newborn's ass.
I also questioned a commenter's statement that kids should not be allowed to sit on planes or on public transportation. I called this attitude entitled. I wondered why I was not allowed to take my child on a plane, and why Andi, the commenter, was entitled to make that decision, and why her preference for travelling without a child on board took precedence over everyone else's needs.
Here is the response that I got:
YOU are not the center of the universe. YOUR CHILD is not the center of the universe. Most people who actually PARENT their chidlren know if the kid cries, you take it outside. And if your kid is crying on the plane, don't sit there and act like you either a) don't hear it or b) think we all should think it's cute. Because I'm pretty sure 99.9% of the time, the kid did NOT need to travel. Unless your mother is dying, you did NOT need to be on the plane. Period. And trust me, if you were in the seat next to me beaming up at me with your holy progeny in your lap like I was supposed to fall down fawning all over it, I WOULD have asked to be moved.
All creatures can reproduce. Acting like it's some miraculous feat is stupid. Get over yourself, already.
Have all the kids you want, but RAISE them - DON'T drag them everywhere you go whether appropriate or not, DON'T act like we should all think your DNA replicants are the bestest thing on the planet, and DON'T act like you are more special, or entitled, than the rest of us. Because you know what? You're not.
What's of interest to me is the great acrobatic leaping and bounding from assumption to conclusion. I love, particularly, the assessment that children (and parents) don't need to use public transportation; that public transportation has been designed solely for the use of the childfree; that parents, in general, think their children are the center of the universe; and, of course, that I, personally, do not "PARENT" my child. (There's also the whole, "I'M not entitled - YOU are!" deal.)
These comments speak volumes (and I even left out the part where babies and mothers were compared to drug addicts, among other "undesireables"). As do those on the site from which these commenters came.
What's bizarre to me is that the comments smack of exactly the same behavior that people seem to find most upsetting in children. This is nothing short of a temper tantrum. It's not a reasoned argument - the commenter is stating many of the same claims I made in that post, in related posts, and in comments, and is simultaneously blaming me for taking an opposite position to the one I took. It's not a civil argument - it's name-calling, it's obnoxious. Do adults not have the responsibility to rein in their own unpleasant behavior? Or is it only children's unpleasant behavior that is the problem?
Anyway - comments, as always, are welcomed. I will post any that do not come with embedded insults.
Oh, and speaking of insults, I think it's interesting that the folks on the site in question call mothers "moo cows" and babies "sprogs," but I haven't seen any insulting names for fathers yet. As a feminist, I have to wonder why that might be. Is it simply that they feel that mothers behave badly and fathers don't? Is it a subtle misogyny? Is it that they most often see the sprogs with their moo cows and not their moo bulls? I'm curious.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
If an *adult* has a temper tantrum, does that make it OK?
Sigh.
I will delete abusive posts from now on. People are welcome to come here and disagree. They are not welcome to come here and throw a tantrum or make personal attacks.
I deleted a comment that included name-calling and hostile language. The fact that its author doesn't feel that it did illustrates somewhat the difficulty we're having in engaging in conversation.
If you want to post a civil comment, without embedded insults, please do.
Comment moderation is on.
Oh, and since there was a question about this: please feel free to curse if you feel moved to do so.
I will delete abusive posts from now on. People are welcome to come here and disagree. They are not welcome to come here and throw a tantrum or make personal attacks.
I deleted a comment that included name-calling and hostile language. The fact that its author doesn't feel that it did illustrates somewhat the difficulty we're having in engaging in conversation.
If you want to post a civil comment, without embedded insults, please do.
Comment moderation is on.
Oh, and since there was a question about this: please feel free to curse if you feel moved to do so.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Bloody Brilliant Breastfeeding Blog
Over at The Lactivist, I read about new proposed legislation in Wisconsin to make breastfeeding in public a right (as opposed to simply not illegal) and to levy a fine against those who harass a breastfeeding mother. Somewhat ironically - because, frankly, some of the biggest lactivists I've ever met have also been conservative Christian feminists - the Family Research Institute of Wisconsin has said of breastfeeding, "Just because something is normal and natural — it doesn’t mean we have to condone [it]."
(So - Christians Against Breastfeeding? Interesting.)
The Lactivist wrote what I'm coming to see is a consistently excellent response, from which the following is excerpted:
I'll add that I *have* seen breasts in public - sometimes mine. But in South Dakota, which is actually pretty pro-breastfeeding, in my experience, the breasts are never whipping, flopping, or hanging out. At most, there is the tip of a breast which is partly obscured by the baby's head. And many women cover the breast and baby with a blanket - which I think sucks, because the baby gets hot and sweaty and because sometimes one needs to see what's going on in order to ensure a proper latch - but they do it, anyway.
Which doesn't mean that I haven't heard of (I've never seen myself) the occasional brazen boob sighting. Honestly? I think that's fine. If boobs are ok to see in late-night commercials, the front page of newspapers in some countries, on HBO, at the beach, or at bars and clubs, then they're damn sure ok to see glimpses of in public places when they're being used for their natural purposes.
Now, before I get comments about how disgusting breastfeeding is and how breasts are obscene and all that, let me remind you that if you really believed that breasts were obscene, you'd be picketing the mall for selling tops that easily reveal more boob than does a breastfeeding mom. And frankly, in a world where I have to see what kind of underwear the strangers around me are wearing, I would much rather see a baby being nourished by a breast.
Here's what I think: I think the people who object to breastfeeding in public (and sometimes anywhere, because it grosses them out) can't handle the cognitive dissonance of breasts sometimes being sexual and sometimes being maternal. It's the madonna/whore split all there in one body part. And then there are also people who associate any liquids in the body with filth, and so the idea of someone drinking milk that comes from a human breast literally disgusts them. I'm pretty sure, though, that these same people drink cow milk and eat yogurt, ice cream, and cheese, so I'm not really swayed by that argument.
And then, I think that women who have internalized the notion that nice girls must always be modest have issues with the whole public breastfeeding thing. To them, it seems indefensible to purposely be in a position where one might catch a brief glimpse of boob. Some such women are, I sometimes think, perhaps the same women who police other women's behavior and their own, the ones who are comfortable calling other women "sluts" and "whores" if they perceive them as threats or as having stepped out of line. And others are just profoundly uncomfortable with what, to them, feels like it should be shameful.
I'll take this one step further. There are a lot of things we encounter in public that make us uncomfortable. It's one thing to be uncomfortable when confronted with something new that challenges our understandings of social conventions or of biological norms. Now, I'm not equating breastfeeding with a disability, but I do think it's interesting that able-bodied people often have similar reactions to both, particularly when some sort of impropriety is assumed.
Here's a (weird) example. I had a short-lived (because she refused to continue it) discussion with a woman who insisted that farting was entirely controllable and that it was just rude for someone to allow themselves to fart. (Don't even ask how we got started on this conversation in the first place. No, it was not because I farted.) I pointed out that in many cases, people have no control over this sort of thing - people who have had part or all of their colon or intestines removed, for example. People with Crohn's Disease or Irritable Bowel Syndrome. She never responded to this - I don't know why. Perhaps it offended her sense of decorum to even have such a conversation in the first place. But essentially, her sense of decorum left outside all of the people I've just described. These are, then, people whose very bodies thus become shameful and disgusting as a result of societal ignorance and intolerance.
What we immediately think of as gross or disgusting often says more about societal norms, assumptions, and expectations than about whether whatever it is - two people of the same sex kissing, conjoined twins, women with hairy legs - is actually gross or disgusting.
No, I'm not saying that breastfeeding is the same as farting. But I am saying that breastmilk, according to all research, is not just *good* for babies, but it is the *best* food for babies. The World Health Organization and the American Academy of Pediatricians have stated that newborns should be *exclusively* breastfed for a significant time, and that they should be breastfed for at least a year, and that breastfeeding should continue after that for as long as it is mutually desired (the WHO says that it is beneficial for children to breastfeed for SEVEN YEARS). Given this, and given the fact that we as a society readily accept breasts in both sexualized (popular culture, fashion) and unsexualized (visual art) contexts, it is time for us to get over our prurient obsession with the breast. Particularly when it comes to breastfeeding.
(So - Christians Against Breastfeeding? Interesting.)
The Lactivist wrote what I'm coming to see is a consistently excellent response, from which the following is excerpted:
Am I the only one getting a little sick and tired of this "done with discretion" crap?
There are two issues at play here...
1.) Who gets to define discretion? To me, discretion means that I don't stand on a chair and scream "HEY EVERYBODY! I'M GOING TO BE PULLING MY BREASTS OUT NOW!" before I nurse. To others, it means "covering up" with a blanket or nursing cover. To others, it means pulling the shirt down to cover most of the breast. To others, it means that you shouldn't be able to tell the baby is nursing unless you stick your head up the mom's shirt. To others, it means "don't leave your house you hussy!"
2.) When did people lose the ability to look away? I see a lot of things in public that I don't like. I see teenagers wearing clothes so small that I can tell when the last time they cleaned their belly button lint was. I see women shoving themselves into clothes four sizes too small. I see men that need to invest in belts and suspenders to avoid showing us their own little grand canyon when they bend over. I see people with mullets.
You know what I do? I look the other way. I don't have the right to "not be offended." I have the right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." That's it.
Now beyond that, I really, really REALLY want to know where this magic land is where women "whip it out," "flop it out" and "hang it out" for all the world to see while they nurse. Granted, I live in a state with fairly low rates of breastfeeding, but I have never, ever EVER in my life seen even a smidgen of breast while someone was nursing in public. Not once. (Ok, truth be told, I have a hard time seeing moms nurse in public period...)
Every time I read one of these "done with discretion" comments I go back to that early Lactivist post where I wrote about the women that apparently nurse their children while standing on top of the bar with a tassel attached to the other breast shouting "hey everyone!! look at me!! I'm nursing!!!'
I just don't see it folks...
I'll add that I *have* seen breasts in public - sometimes mine. But in South Dakota, which is actually pretty pro-breastfeeding, in my experience, the breasts are never whipping, flopping, or hanging out. At most, there is the tip of a breast which is partly obscured by the baby's head. And many women cover the breast and baby with a blanket - which I think sucks, because the baby gets hot and sweaty and because sometimes one needs to see what's going on in order to ensure a proper latch - but they do it, anyway.
Which doesn't mean that I haven't heard of (I've never seen myself) the occasional brazen boob sighting. Honestly? I think that's fine. If boobs are ok to see in late-night commercials, the front page of newspapers in some countries, on HBO, at the beach, or at bars and clubs, then they're damn sure ok to see glimpses of in public places when they're being used for their natural purposes.
Now, before I get comments about how disgusting breastfeeding is and how breasts are obscene and all that, let me remind you that if you really believed that breasts were obscene, you'd be picketing the mall for selling tops that easily reveal more boob than does a breastfeeding mom. And frankly, in a world where I have to see what kind of underwear the strangers around me are wearing, I would much rather see a baby being nourished by a breast.
Here's what I think: I think the people who object to breastfeeding in public (and sometimes anywhere, because it grosses them out) can't handle the cognitive dissonance of breasts sometimes being sexual and sometimes being maternal. It's the madonna/whore split all there in one body part. And then there are also people who associate any liquids in the body with filth, and so the idea of someone drinking milk that comes from a human breast literally disgusts them. I'm pretty sure, though, that these same people drink cow milk and eat yogurt, ice cream, and cheese, so I'm not really swayed by that argument.
And then, I think that women who have internalized the notion that nice girls must always be modest have issues with the whole public breastfeeding thing. To them, it seems indefensible to purposely be in a position where one might catch a brief glimpse of boob. Some such women are, I sometimes think, perhaps the same women who police other women's behavior and their own, the ones who are comfortable calling other women "sluts" and "whores" if they perceive them as threats or as having stepped out of line. And others are just profoundly uncomfortable with what, to them, feels like it should be shameful.
I'll take this one step further. There are a lot of things we encounter in public that make us uncomfortable. It's one thing to be uncomfortable when confronted with something new that challenges our understandings of social conventions or of biological norms. Now, I'm not equating breastfeeding with a disability, but I do think it's interesting that able-bodied people often have similar reactions to both, particularly when some sort of impropriety is assumed.
Here's a (weird) example. I had a short-lived (because she refused to continue it) discussion with a woman who insisted that farting was entirely controllable and that it was just rude for someone to allow themselves to fart. (Don't even ask how we got started on this conversation in the first place. No, it was not because I farted.) I pointed out that in many cases, people have no control over this sort of thing - people who have had part or all of their colon or intestines removed, for example. People with Crohn's Disease or Irritable Bowel Syndrome. She never responded to this - I don't know why. Perhaps it offended her sense of decorum to even have such a conversation in the first place. But essentially, her sense of decorum left outside all of the people I've just described. These are, then, people whose very bodies thus become shameful and disgusting as a result of societal ignorance and intolerance.
What we immediately think of as gross or disgusting often says more about societal norms, assumptions, and expectations than about whether whatever it is - two people of the same sex kissing, conjoined twins, women with hairy legs - is actually gross or disgusting.
No, I'm not saying that breastfeeding is the same as farting. But I am saying that breastmilk, according to all research, is not just *good* for babies, but it is the *best* food for babies. The World Health Organization and the American Academy of Pediatricians have stated that newborns should be *exclusively* breastfed for a significant time, and that they should be breastfed for at least a year, and that breastfeeding should continue after that for as long as it is mutually desired (the WHO says that it is beneficial for children to breastfeed for SEVEN YEARS). Given this, and given the fact that we as a society readily accept breasts in both sexualized (popular culture, fashion) and unsexualized (visual art) contexts, it is time for us to get over our prurient obsession with the breast. Particularly when it comes to breastfeeding.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Who benefits from benefits?
Just to let you know, I already wrote a great Valentine's Day post about vaginas, but I'm saving it for closer to the actual holiday.
Now my post for today will probably seem boring. Perhaps I should have waited to tell you about it (I was just so excited!).
Well, anyway: I've enjoyed discussing childfree and childed issues with Brit Girl on her blog for the last little while. Recently, her post on the myths of parenting prompted a brief discussion about the benefits parents do and don't get from the workplace. I am writing this from a U.S. perspective, and Brit Girl is writing with an eye on Canada and the U.K. That may account for some differences in our opinions, but I'm not sure that it does.
I wrote:
Brit Girl responded:
I want to discuss these issues in more detail, and this may end up spilling over into another post. So to begin, I want to argue my original point - that while there is a clear expectation that we will all become parents, that the state of parenthood (motherhood, in particular) is a state to which we should all aspire, and that not wanting to be a parent is somewhat abnormal (note that I'm saying this is what's expected, not what I agree with), American society simultaneously withholds the very resources parents need in order to be good parents. And those resources are things like extended and paid maternity leave, flexible work schedules, decent pay, good and affordable health benefits, good and affordable child care, and, of course, JOBS that offer these things in the first place. Most jobs, of course, do not, and so these benefits are not available to the majority of the population.
I will say at the outset that these benefits should not be set up only with an eye toward what parents need. They should be available to all workers; instead of maternity leave, for example, workers should be able to get similar leave for any care-giving (and yes, I would limit this to care-giving or grief leave or something along those lines). Employers should offer flex time to all employees (and studies have shown that flexible work schedules result in employees who are more productive AND more loyal, so it would seem that this would be beneficial for employers). I hardly need to present an argument for decent wage and health insurance, right? I mean, we can understand why those would be necessary. And as for childcare - while I don't think it's crucial (or, in many cases, practical) for employers to provide childcare, providing the other things, like good pay and flex time, would allow parents to work with available childcare in order to find a good solution.
In other words, when we think about improving the workplace for parents, which is absolutely necessary, we should also be thinking about improving the workplace for all workers. Because while childfree workers may not face the same stressors as childed people, we could all benefit from a work environment in which individuals matter, in which employees are treated as if their lives outside the workplace are valuable.
One of the problems, though, is the sense I get, having participated in discussions re. stopping the tenure clock for new mothers (sometimes fathers) on the faculty, is that everyone is simply terrified that someone else might get something that would give them an unfair advantage.
I gotta be honest, here. To me, this sounds a lot like the people who argue that students with documented disabilities shouldn't have extra time to take a test because that gives them more time to write better answers - even when, as has been my experience as an educator - that extra time merely affords them time to laboriously do the work of almost completing the written exam. It isn't the thinking of the brilliant answer that takes the time, often - it is actually writing it down. And it's just small-minded to complain, when faced with a student making his or her way through college in this way, that he or she is getting something extra that someone else is not.
So, yes, at first I was a bit unsympathetic to this claim. And I'll add that, for new parents, parental leave is not a matter of having the time off to enjoy the baby. The experience of sleep deprivation alone is more intense than most people have experienced outside this situation. And then, for mothers, there are all kinds of biological issues to address, as well, as hormone levels change and so on. On top of that, we could argue that babies and mothers need to be together for at least the first several months for breastfeeding and bonding (no, of course I'm not saying that moms can't make other arrangements work). My point: maternity leave is not a vacation, and the time should not be offered up generally to people who want to take an extended trip. It should be offered for care-giving or for other monumental occurrences that necessitate a serious leave of absence.
I had a similarly unsympathetic attitude to those who begrudged parents the kinds of resources I mentioned earlier. But then I heard some stories from an unlikely source - a good friend, a feminist friend, and one who'd been very supportive of me when I had my son. This friend routinely was saddled with extra work due to the family responsibilities of a co-worker who frequently had to miss meetings and so on. And this is not right. Employers need to work out maternity and other leaves so that co-workers do not bear the brunt. It is the EMPLOYER'S responsibility to find temporary help to protect the other workers but also so that a leave does not pit employees against each other.
Let's move on. Brit Girl mentioned subsidized childcare. I may be wrong about this - I am open to being proven wrong - but I think, in cases where people argue that they should get the actual monetary equivalent if they don't use the service, that this is another case of "hey, it looks like someone else got something that I didn't get!" Subsidized childcare means a discount on a service. If you don't have children, why would you need that service discounted? Since childcare is still an expense, I don't think it's reasonable to expect that people without children be given a chunk of change equivalent to the discount. But I do think it's reasonable that they could be offered that same discount to be extended to other care-giving situations - childcare for nieces and nephews, in-home care for elderly parents, etc.
Brit Girl also mentioned time off - for sick children, for school meetings, for vacation. It is absolutely unfair not to allow all workers the same time off. Now - in my experience, when I have had emergencies come up, I was able to use my sick time or my vacation time or, sometimes, I would work through a few lunches to pay back the time I took. I think a more generous allowance of time off - for everyone - would be helpful in most cases, however. And when it comes to scheduling vacations, I'm going to take a hard line. Parents should not have their vacations given priority due to school scheduling. There is no reason that anyone *needs* to take a vacation, anyway (see? told you it was a hard line.). If it conflicts with school, too bad. There is ample time for that in the summer.
I also want to speak to the tax breaks. This actually really disturbs me because it's not an issue of, "oh, you have a kid? Hey, let me give you some money." It's an issue of, "oh, you have another mouth to feed/person to clothe/take to the doctor/etc. That's expensive. Let's arrange to lower your taxes slightly." Having a child means paying more money. The tax break attempts to ease this burden. Childfree people will still have more money at the end of the day, given equivalent income, than childed people. What's the problem? It's a lot like the single tax. The government used to give single people a break, realizing that they were paying more (for example, in rent) with relation to income than were married couples. But then the right wing got all freaked out about what they called a "marriage penalty" or "marriage tax," and guess what? Now there is no longer an eased burden for single people, who often continue to make less income than do dual-income couples. So the argument that childed people get a tax break doesn't really interest me. Figure out what it costs to take care of a child, and compare that to the tax "break," and see where you end up.
Finally: I think this business of comparing pets to children is particularly frustrating. They are not the same. And frankly, I thought they were, until I had a child. Now, I know saying that might make me sound like an asshole, but bear with me. I don't think that childfree people love their pets less than childed people love their kids. I do, however, think there is a qualitative difference in these relationships. Even if I'm right, though, it wouldn't matter, because the fact is, when you love someone or something, then you love them, and being told that your experience of love is different than someone else's is absolutely unhelpful. But I just want to make the point that saying - as a former friend once said to me - that she was in love with her new puppy, and she was sure I knew what she meant because I had a baby - is not going to win you any points with parents. (And really, how would you feel if someone said that to you about your boyfriend, or sister, or mom?) Nor is it going to help either of you understand each other any better.
One more point about the pet thing - I know exactly why someone who doesn't have a child would say this. I've felt it. I've said it myself. I'm trying really really hard to avoid saying, "you don't know until you experience it," but at the end of the day, that's all I can say. I'm sorry that sounds so patronizing - that is certainly not how I mean to come across.
Now that I've got that off my chest, let me add that there's no reason why health benefits couldn't be extended to veterinary care for dependent pets, or leave to care for sick animals, and so on. I think perhaps I draw the line at a tax break for dependent pets, but only until we restructure our tax system to tax the wealthy and no one else. Then, I'd be fine with it, and I would certainly list my two cats along with my son as dependents.
I'm sure I have more to say, but that's all I can think of at the moment. Let the comments begin. (I mean, really. Let them begin. Delurk.)
UPDATE: Just as I went to post this, I noticed that Brit Girl had also posted something on this topic. There is good conversation afoot!
Now my post for today will probably seem boring. Perhaps I should have waited to tell you about it (I was just so excited!).
Well, anyway: I've enjoyed discussing childfree and childed issues with Brit Girl on her blog for the last little while. Recently, her post on the myths of parenting prompted a brief discussion about the benefits parents do and don't get from the workplace. I am writing this from a U.S. perspective, and Brit Girl is writing with an eye on Canada and the U.K. That may account for some differences in our opinions, but I'm not sure that it does.
I wrote:
One thing - despite all the pressure to reproduce - and I totally agree that this is a breed-oriented society - speaking from the U.S., we don’t do much to help parents. We act like we do, and we pay a lot of lip service to it, but when you get down to it, we’ve set things up so that parents who have jobs (which most parents need to have) are screwed, and their families are screwed.
This is not to say that the proposed solutions for parents in the workplace have always been great for cf people. I think we need a whole workplace revolution that will make *all* of our lives better. But I don’t think the U.S. really values parent-child or family relationships in general. I think it values the labor of employees, and that the encouragement of breeding is in part about creating a labor force and in part about gender roles.
Brit Girl responded:
...much more is done for people with children than for childfree people. While I will agree that the many work envrionments are not tailored around women bringing up children (and yes, this causes all sorts of issues for women who have to work and their families) at the same time many are bending over backwards to create more "family friendly" workplaces. They are doing this because they need to retain workers.
They need to be mindful that they need to support their workers, but they also need to be aware that if they don’t make a profit, the company will be gone.
Which is fine, except that family doesn’t mean person with no kids, or person who is single. It means people with children. People with children have - for example (at my company) - time off if their kids are sick, time off to go to parent teacher meetings, very good health benefits coverage extended to all dependents, subsidized childcare, on-site company childcare, time off if they are adopting kids, preferential tax breaks, tax credits and child benefit, a christmas party for workers children. During March break, childfree people can’t take vacation, because parents are on vacation.
Pregnant women can take up to a year off as maternity leave with all benefits and can return to their substantive grade. Their vacation entitlement remains untouched. This is also the case in the UK. When you consider that, some women are have vacation entitlement of 3-4 wks (depending on years of service) the time off is subtantial. (Vacation entitlement is more in the UK. I was entitled to 5 weeks/year). Employers cannot fill their positions, they must keep them open. Fathers are now entitled to paternity leave - though many don’t take it, mothers can opt to job share, flexible work, or work part time. PLUS there are many other ways government supports parents. In Europe, benefits for people with children are even more generous - depending on the country. Plus companies are sympathetic to parents when they have to dash out of the workplace to tend to a child, or attend a school function or a kid’s sports function. Not for the Childfree. I think you’ll find that even the US has many more benefits for parents as opposed to those without. So I think while it isn’t perfect, it’s more than lip-service.
Contrast that with what is provided for childfree people, or as mercurior says, young men (a pretty vulnerable group btw). We get no extra time off outside vacations and public holidays, even if we are taking care of a parent or a pet. There are signs that is now changing in larger corporations but it still is much less time than people with parents are able to take. Small companies may go under, they don’t have the same luxury of economies of scale. So, rightly or wrongly many won’t hire women.
We get no extra benefits. We can, of course, take a year off - but it will be without pay - unless we use our vacation time. We pay more tax than parents and get no tax breaks, no government support, no subsidized transportation, no subsidized elder care payments. And by the way, I work for one of the most family friendly companies in Canada, and one of the best employers, with over 50% of employees being women. Many in very senior positions. Might be different in the US, but I would guess that good companies still have more benefits for parents than non-parents. Generally we understand - children are demanding, but lately we’ve been getting fed-up at what we perceive as preferential treatment for parents.
And even if they try and make things more "family friendly" and "do more" for parents, childfree people will be even more marginalized as far as the workplace is concerned. In my opinion It’s already tipped far too much in parents’ favour - and we pick up the slack. As you said what’s needed is a more equitable solution - for childfree and childed alike.
I want to discuss these issues in more detail, and this may end up spilling over into another post. So to begin, I want to argue my original point - that while there is a clear expectation that we will all become parents, that the state of parenthood (motherhood, in particular) is a state to which we should all aspire, and that not wanting to be a parent is somewhat abnormal (note that I'm saying this is what's expected, not what I agree with), American society simultaneously withholds the very resources parents need in order to be good parents. And those resources are things like extended and paid maternity leave, flexible work schedules, decent pay, good and affordable health benefits, good and affordable child care, and, of course, JOBS that offer these things in the first place. Most jobs, of course, do not, and so these benefits are not available to the majority of the population.
I will say at the outset that these benefits should not be set up only with an eye toward what parents need. They should be available to all workers; instead of maternity leave, for example, workers should be able to get similar leave for any care-giving (and yes, I would limit this to care-giving or grief leave or something along those lines). Employers should offer flex time to all employees (and studies have shown that flexible work schedules result in employees who are more productive AND more loyal, so it would seem that this would be beneficial for employers). I hardly need to present an argument for decent wage and health insurance, right? I mean, we can understand why those would be necessary. And as for childcare - while I don't think it's crucial (or, in many cases, practical) for employers to provide childcare, providing the other things, like good pay and flex time, would allow parents to work with available childcare in order to find a good solution.
In other words, when we think about improving the workplace for parents, which is absolutely necessary, we should also be thinking about improving the workplace for all workers. Because while childfree workers may not face the same stressors as childed people, we could all benefit from a work environment in which individuals matter, in which employees are treated as if their lives outside the workplace are valuable.
One of the problems, though, is the sense I get, having participated in discussions re. stopping the tenure clock for new mothers (sometimes fathers) on the faculty, is that everyone is simply terrified that someone else might get something that would give them an unfair advantage.
I gotta be honest, here. To me, this sounds a lot like the people who argue that students with documented disabilities shouldn't have extra time to take a test because that gives them more time to write better answers - even when, as has been my experience as an educator - that extra time merely affords them time to laboriously do the work of almost completing the written exam. It isn't the thinking of the brilliant answer that takes the time, often - it is actually writing it down. And it's just small-minded to complain, when faced with a student making his or her way through college in this way, that he or she is getting something extra that someone else is not.
So, yes, at first I was a bit unsympathetic to this claim. And I'll add that, for new parents, parental leave is not a matter of having the time off to enjoy the baby. The experience of sleep deprivation alone is more intense than most people have experienced outside this situation. And then, for mothers, there are all kinds of biological issues to address, as well, as hormone levels change and so on. On top of that, we could argue that babies and mothers need to be together for at least the first several months for breastfeeding and bonding (no, of course I'm not saying that moms can't make other arrangements work). My point: maternity leave is not a vacation, and the time should not be offered up generally to people who want to take an extended trip. It should be offered for care-giving or for other monumental occurrences that necessitate a serious leave of absence.
I had a similarly unsympathetic attitude to those who begrudged parents the kinds of resources I mentioned earlier. But then I heard some stories from an unlikely source - a good friend, a feminist friend, and one who'd been very supportive of me when I had my son. This friend routinely was saddled with extra work due to the family responsibilities of a co-worker who frequently had to miss meetings and so on. And this is not right. Employers need to work out maternity and other leaves so that co-workers do not bear the brunt. It is the EMPLOYER'S responsibility to find temporary help to protect the other workers but also so that a leave does not pit employees against each other.
Let's move on. Brit Girl mentioned subsidized childcare. I may be wrong about this - I am open to being proven wrong - but I think, in cases where people argue that they should get the actual monetary equivalent if they don't use the service, that this is another case of "hey, it looks like someone else got something that I didn't get!" Subsidized childcare means a discount on a service. If you don't have children, why would you need that service discounted? Since childcare is still an expense, I don't think it's reasonable to expect that people without children be given a chunk of change equivalent to the discount. But I do think it's reasonable that they could be offered that same discount to be extended to other care-giving situations - childcare for nieces and nephews, in-home care for elderly parents, etc.
Brit Girl also mentioned time off - for sick children, for school meetings, for vacation. It is absolutely unfair not to allow all workers the same time off. Now - in my experience, when I have had emergencies come up, I was able to use my sick time or my vacation time or, sometimes, I would work through a few lunches to pay back the time I took. I think a more generous allowance of time off - for everyone - would be helpful in most cases, however. And when it comes to scheduling vacations, I'm going to take a hard line. Parents should not have their vacations given priority due to school scheduling. There is no reason that anyone *needs* to take a vacation, anyway (see? told you it was a hard line.). If it conflicts with school, too bad. There is ample time for that in the summer.
I also want to speak to the tax breaks. This actually really disturbs me because it's not an issue of, "oh, you have a kid? Hey, let me give you some money." It's an issue of, "oh, you have another mouth to feed/person to clothe/take to the doctor/etc. That's expensive. Let's arrange to lower your taxes slightly." Having a child means paying more money. The tax break attempts to ease this burden. Childfree people will still have more money at the end of the day, given equivalent income, than childed people. What's the problem? It's a lot like the single tax. The government used to give single people a break, realizing that they were paying more (for example, in rent) with relation to income than were married couples. But then the right wing got all freaked out about what they called a "marriage penalty" or "marriage tax," and guess what? Now there is no longer an eased burden for single people, who often continue to make less income than do dual-income couples. So the argument that childed people get a tax break doesn't really interest me. Figure out what it costs to take care of a child, and compare that to the tax "break," and see where you end up.
Finally: I think this business of comparing pets to children is particularly frustrating. They are not the same. And frankly, I thought they were, until I had a child. Now, I know saying that might make me sound like an asshole, but bear with me. I don't think that childfree people love their pets less than childed people love their kids. I do, however, think there is a qualitative difference in these relationships. Even if I'm right, though, it wouldn't matter, because the fact is, when you love someone or something, then you love them, and being told that your experience of love is different than someone else's is absolutely unhelpful. But I just want to make the point that saying - as a former friend once said to me - that she was in love with her new puppy, and she was sure I knew what she meant because I had a baby - is not going to win you any points with parents. (And really, how would you feel if someone said that to you about your boyfriend, or sister, or mom?) Nor is it going to help either of you understand each other any better.
One more point about the pet thing - I know exactly why someone who doesn't have a child would say this. I've felt it. I've said it myself. I'm trying really really hard to avoid saying, "you don't know until you experience it," but at the end of the day, that's all I can say. I'm sorry that sounds so patronizing - that is certainly not how I mean to come across.
Now that I've got that off my chest, let me add that there's no reason why health benefits couldn't be extended to veterinary care for dependent pets, or leave to care for sick animals, and so on. I think perhaps I draw the line at a tax break for dependent pets, but only until we restructure our tax system to tax the wealthy and no one else. Then, I'd be fine with it, and I would certainly list my two cats along with my son as dependents.
I'm sure I have more to say, but that's all I can think of at the moment. Let the comments begin. (I mean, really. Let them begin. Delurk.)
UPDATE: Just as I went to post this, I noticed that Brit Girl had also posted something on this topic. There is good conversation afoot!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Childfree?
I'm always disheartened whenever I read a piece on the childfree movement. It's not that I think everyone should have kids. To the contrary: I'm actually really glad that there exists such a movement because most people, women especially, feel that having kids is something they're supposed to do, whether or not they want to, and that if they don't, they will be missing out. And those women who know that they don't want kids are not taken seriously - they are told, repeatedly, that they'll change their minds. Or that it will be different with their kids, when they have them, and all the things they think will be annoying or boring really won't be. Or, finally, that there must be something wrong with them if they do not want to do something as normal as have children.
But why is it that "childfree" keeps morphing into "keep that kid away from me - I don't like kids, and I shouldn't have to put up with yours!"? (Disclaimer: I know that there are many childfree people (perhaps most?) who don't have this attitude. I am writing about those who do. Perhaps this faction gets the most media attention for the obvious reason that they are the extremists of the movement - I don't know.)
Before I had a baby, I thought other people's babies were a pain. I didn't like hearing babies cry on airplanes. And then when I had one, it wasn't that I suddenly found baby cries charming - not at all. It was simply that I realized this was just part of life, part of the way kids develop, and that there is nothing that can be done about it. In the same vein, I stop myself when I'm de-planing and getting worked up about how slowly the elderly woman ahead of me using a walker is moving. I mean, she's mobile. That's a big deal. And my impatience is really not the most important thing in that moment. Disability, too, is the way people develop. It's nearly inevitable, and so our attitude should be about making society comfortable and safe for babies, children, people with disabilities (who I am not comparing to babies nor children) - everyone. Shouldn't it?
Yes, crying babies can be annoying. But you can get used to them. If you want to, that is. I used to have a fair number of students in my classes with thick accents, and it was clear to me that the other students couldn't understand them. But I could. Why? Did I have some amazing talent for understanding accents? No. I simply had a job to do. As the teacher, it wasn't ok for me to stop listening because I couldn't understand. I had to listen harder, better, and more patiently. And what I learned - really, this was very surprising to me - was that I could learn to understand thick accents. And what that made me realize was that this meant that my students had simply been giving up and not listening because they didn't want to make this effort.
They didn't care enough or think that the student had anything to say that was worth listening to, so they stopped listening.
The childfree movement seems, often, to soar right on past making it acceptable not to have kids to making it acceptable to make derogatory comments about kids, and then further, to making it acceptable to not want to be around kids. Ever. And this I find as discriminatory as those students who weren't interested in what the student from India had to say.
I'm not saying that everyone has to enjoy spending time with children. Anne Lamott once said that being the mother of a young child was so boring that it made her want to throw herself down the stairs. Even those of us who have kids don't always enjoy spending time with them. But children nevertheless deserve the same generosity and respect that we would give to anyone else.
Radical lesbian feminist and separatist Julia Penelope, in her book, Call Me Lesbian, wrote about arriving on board a plane and finding a woman with a baby in Penelope's seat. The woman looked up at her, smiling, not at all apologetic. Penelope interpreted this as a moment in which the "breeder" was privileged, completely unaware that she was taking up space not meant for her.
In the years since I read Penelope's piece, during the time when my own son was a baby, I often wondered if I might ever encounter Penelope on a plane trip, and whether my baby might be in her seat. Penelope saw her own rights as completely central: Her right to sit in her assigned seat. Her right to not have to interact with a breeder and child. Her right to not have to look at a baby as if it were cute. (I wonder if it ever occurred to her that the woman might not have been able to afford two seats and was simply hoping the seat next to her was empty so she'd be able to set the baby down and rest her arms. Or that the airline might not have been able to get her two seats together.)
Not wanting to have a child is a choice that is all too often not validated, and that is a real problem: the childfree movement is right to be pissed off, and I fully support people who choose not to be parents (hell, I do more than support them - I encourage them!). But not wanting to associate with children is, first, a disturbingly entitled position: "I am so special that I should be allowed to construct my life in such a way that I do not come into contact with those I find undesireable." But it is also a prejudice. It is determining that there is a whole class of people that one does not want to be around, by virtue of their age.
In what other situation would it be socially acceptable to reject an entire group of people in this way? I can't think of a single one.
Here's a link to a childfree blogger I absolutely agree with - well, except for the thing about parents getting unfair benefits and abusing them - but I suppose it happens. Hmm. More on that later, I think. But anyway - methinks that her piece on one problem with childfree is also very applicable to some of the blogwars that have been happening lately...
And, FWIW, here's the quote that got me pissed off about all of this - from Bitch Magazine, helpfully posted on someone else's site:
But why is it that "childfree" keeps morphing into "keep that kid away from me - I don't like kids, and I shouldn't have to put up with yours!"? (Disclaimer: I know that there are many childfree people (perhaps most?) who don't have this attitude. I am writing about those who do. Perhaps this faction gets the most media attention for the obvious reason that they are the extremists of the movement - I don't know.)
Before I had a baby, I thought other people's babies were a pain. I didn't like hearing babies cry on airplanes. And then when I had one, it wasn't that I suddenly found baby cries charming - not at all. It was simply that I realized this was just part of life, part of the way kids develop, and that there is nothing that can be done about it. In the same vein, I stop myself when I'm de-planing and getting worked up about how slowly the elderly woman ahead of me using a walker is moving. I mean, she's mobile. That's a big deal. And my impatience is really not the most important thing in that moment. Disability, too, is the way people develop. It's nearly inevitable, and so our attitude should be about making society comfortable and safe for babies, children, people with disabilities (who I am not comparing to babies nor children) - everyone. Shouldn't it?
Yes, crying babies can be annoying. But you can get used to them. If you want to, that is. I used to have a fair number of students in my classes with thick accents, and it was clear to me that the other students couldn't understand them. But I could. Why? Did I have some amazing talent for understanding accents? No. I simply had a job to do. As the teacher, it wasn't ok for me to stop listening because I couldn't understand. I had to listen harder, better, and more patiently. And what I learned - really, this was very surprising to me - was that I could learn to understand thick accents. And what that made me realize was that this meant that my students had simply been giving up and not listening because they didn't want to make this effort.
They didn't care enough or think that the student had anything to say that was worth listening to, so they stopped listening.
The childfree movement seems, often, to soar right on past making it acceptable not to have kids to making it acceptable to make derogatory comments about kids, and then further, to making it acceptable to not want to be around kids. Ever. And this I find as discriminatory as those students who weren't interested in what the student from India had to say.
I'm not saying that everyone has to enjoy spending time with children. Anne Lamott once said that being the mother of a young child was so boring that it made her want to throw herself down the stairs. Even those of us who have kids don't always enjoy spending time with them. But children nevertheless deserve the same generosity and respect that we would give to anyone else.
Radical lesbian feminist and separatist Julia Penelope, in her book, Call Me Lesbian, wrote about arriving on board a plane and finding a woman with a baby in Penelope's seat. The woman looked up at her, smiling, not at all apologetic. Penelope interpreted this as a moment in which the "breeder" was privileged, completely unaware that she was taking up space not meant for her.
In the years since I read Penelope's piece, during the time when my own son was a baby, I often wondered if I might ever encounter Penelope on a plane trip, and whether my baby might be in her seat. Penelope saw her own rights as completely central: Her right to sit in her assigned seat. Her right to not have to interact with a breeder and child. Her right to not have to look at a baby as if it were cute. (I wonder if it ever occurred to her that the woman might not have been able to afford two seats and was simply hoping the seat next to her was empty so she'd be able to set the baby down and rest her arms. Or that the airline might not have been able to get her two seats together.)
Not wanting to have a child is a choice that is all too often not validated, and that is a real problem: the childfree movement is right to be pissed off, and I fully support people who choose not to be parents (hell, I do more than support them - I encourage them!). But not wanting to associate with children is, first, a disturbingly entitled position: "I am so special that I should be allowed to construct my life in such a way that I do not come into contact with those I find undesireable." But it is also a prejudice. It is determining that there is a whole class of people that one does not want to be around, by virtue of their age.
In what other situation would it be socially acceptable to reject an entire group of people in this way? I can't think of a single one.
Here's a link to a childfree blogger I absolutely agree with - well, except for the thing about parents getting unfair benefits and abusing them - but I suppose it happens. Hmm. More on that later, I think. But anyway - methinks that her piece on one problem with childfree is also very applicable to some of the blogwars that have been happening lately...
And, FWIW, here's the quote that got me pissed off about all of this - from Bitch Magazine, helpfully posted on someone else's site:
And then there’s Adrienne Frost’s book, I Hate Other People’s Kids. Many people who describe themselves as childfree are quick to profess that they love children and are devoted aunts, godparents, babysitters or teachers. Frost is not one of them. From the very first sentence of her book (“I hate them with a vengeance… and I hereby give you license to hate them too”), Frost is unequivocal in her contempt not just for children but for a culture that increasingly resembles a vast Toys “R’ Us. And like café owner Dan McCauley, she speaks not only for the childfree movement but also for anyone who cares about manners and discipline. (And that goes not only for children: Frost aims much of her vitrol at parents themselves, as in the chapter “Have you Met My Vagina?” in which she berates new parents who force others into watching the “D-grade porn” of their birthing videos.)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Hitty Pitty.
Bean is wandering around saying:
"Hitty Pitty within the wall.
Hitty Pitty without the wall.
If you touch Hitty Pitty, Hitty Pitty will bite you."
Over and over.
This is a riddle from Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin. None of us know what the answer to the riddle is (Bean just said, in a thoughtful way, "I wonder what Hitty Pitty looks like?").
But my sweetie and I have been giving each other odd looks, each thinking that this is getting a bit creepy. As he says, "this is like one of those movies, where the kid knows some weird rhyme that no one else understands about some person or creature. Then, later on, the thing comes back and rips everyone to pieces."
Or, you know, maybe it's something like this.
(OK, OK, I did look up Hitty Pitty and it's not anything so very exciting at all. I like the possibilities we came up with better. But at least I'll sleep tonight.)
"Hitty Pitty within the wall.
Hitty Pitty without the wall.
If you touch Hitty Pitty, Hitty Pitty will bite you."
Over and over.
This is a riddle from Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin. None of us know what the answer to the riddle is (Bean just said, in a thoughtful way, "I wonder what Hitty Pitty looks like?").
But my sweetie and I have been giving each other odd looks, each thinking that this is getting a bit creepy. As he says, "this is like one of those movies, where the kid knows some weird rhyme that no one else understands about some person or creature. Then, later on, the thing comes back and rips everyone to pieces."
Or, you know, maybe it's something like this.
(OK, OK, I did look up Hitty Pitty and it's not anything so very exciting at all. I like the possibilities we came up with better. But at least I'll sleep tonight.)
Monday, November 27, 2006
Ye Gads, Bean is still not asleep.
At this point, I'm taking suggestions.
I am dissatisfied, and it's the kind of dissatisfied that is deep and may initiate a major change. Not with Bean. It's more that, I would prefer to not have a hundred million things to do tonight before I can go to bed, too. I would much rather snuggle with Bean for until he falls asleep so that he doesn't have to think scary thoughts alone in his room.
And it's moments like these that I wonder what all these years of schooling have gotten me into.
I am dissatisfied, and it's the kind of dissatisfied that is deep and may initiate a major change. Not with Bean. It's more that, I would prefer to not have a hundred million things to do tonight before I can go to bed, too. I would much rather snuggle with Bean for until he falls asleep so that he doesn't have to think scary thoughts alone in his room.
And it's moments like these that I wonder what all these years of schooling have gotten me into.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Your Mama Is
We have a rule here that if, when I am taking the child to the store, he should get separated from me, he should find a mommy and ask for help.
Today at the mall, he wandered off to look for toys and lost track of me. He found a mommy. She was of little help, as it turns out, but he shortly wandered back.
"I found a mommy!" he said.
"Great!" said I. "Did she help you?"
"Well," he said, "she asked me what you looked like. I said, sorta fat, with lotsa hair."
I kid you not - there were GASPS from behind me in line. I burst out laughing (what else could I do?) and got the hell out of there.
And if that's not humiliating enough, let me add that my child tells me I'm beautiful at least once a day, usually in a voice reserved for admiring fine art. "Mommy!" he will gush, "you're beeyouuuuuutiful!" Except for one day last week, when he informed me: "Mommy. I think you're a little bit ugly."
"What?" I said, surprised.
"Right here," he said, pointing to my tummy. "This part is ugly."
"That kind of hurts my feelings, sweetie," I said, giving him a hug.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mommy. Let's try that again: I love you."
***
But how, I ask, can one hold a grudge against a child who pulls down his pants during gymnastics class to show his teacher his The Incredibles underwear?
Today at the mall, he wandered off to look for toys and lost track of me. He found a mommy. She was of little help, as it turns out, but he shortly wandered back.
"I found a mommy!" he said.
"Great!" said I. "Did she help you?"
"Well," he said, "she asked me what you looked like. I said, sorta fat, with lotsa hair."
I kid you not - there were GASPS from behind me in line. I burst out laughing (what else could I do?) and got the hell out of there.
And if that's not humiliating enough, let me add that my child tells me I'm beautiful at least once a day, usually in a voice reserved for admiring fine art. "Mommy!" he will gush, "you're beeyouuuuuutiful!" Except for one day last week, when he informed me: "Mommy. I think you're a little bit ugly."
"What?" I said, surprised.
"Right here," he said, pointing to my tummy. "This part is ugly."
"That kind of hurts my feelings, sweetie," I said, giving him a hug.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mommy. Let's try that again: I love you."
***
But how, I ask, can one hold a grudge against a child who pulls down his pants during gymnastics class to show his teacher his The Incredibles underwear?
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Random Kid Tricks
"Hey, here's a tongue twister: One smart fellow, he felt smart. Say it three times fast."
"OK - one smart fellow, he felt smart. Three times. Fast."
"No no - say the whole thing. One smart fellow, he felt smart. Fast."
"OK - the whole thing. One smart fellow, he felt smart. Fast."
"No, sweetie, Mommy's trying to tell you: something very funny happens when you say the whole thing fast."
[Daddy helpfully begins saying it three times fast; child protests loudly.]
Finally:
"One smart fellow, he smelt...fart… HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
***
"Can you say, 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers?'"
"I can say some of that, Daddy. ...'Peter.'"
***
Stage whisper from behind me: "Daddy."
"What?" he replies.
"No, whisper!"
"Why are we whispering?"
"I want to talk to you without Mommy hearing."
***
In the back seat, a soft child’s voice quietly sings "Doe...a deer...a female deer..."
At which point I chime in with a song I once heard David Arquette sing on Letterman:
"Dough – with which to buy my beer
Ray – the guy I buy beer from
Me – the one I buy beer for
Far – too far to go back home
So – I guess I’ll have a beer
La – (drunkenly) la la la la la laaaaaa
Tea – thbthh (spit) I’d rather have a beer
And that brings us back to dough!"
Silence.
"What do you think of that?"
Beat.
"It’s good."
"Oh, good. I was worried."
"I wasn’t talking to you, Mommy!"
"OK - one smart fellow, he felt smart. Three times. Fast."
"No no - say the whole thing. One smart fellow, he felt smart. Fast."
"OK - the whole thing. One smart fellow, he felt smart. Fast."
"No, sweetie, Mommy's trying to tell you: something very funny happens when you say the whole thing fast."
[Daddy helpfully begins saying it three times fast; child protests loudly.]
Finally:
"One smart fellow, he smelt...fart… HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
***
"Can you say, 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers?'"
"I can say some of that, Daddy. ...'Peter.'"
***
Stage whisper from behind me: "Daddy."
"What?" he replies.
"No, whisper!"
"Why are we whispering?"
"I want to talk to you without Mommy hearing."
***
In the back seat, a soft child’s voice quietly sings "Doe...a deer...a female deer..."
At which point I chime in with a song I once heard David Arquette sing on Letterman:
"Dough – with which to buy my beer
Ray – the guy I buy beer from
Me – the one I buy beer for
Far – too far to go back home
So – I guess I’ll have a beer
La – (drunkenly) la la la la la laaaaaa
Tea – thbthh (spit) I’d rather have a beer
And that brings us back to dough!"
Silence.
"What do you think of that?"
Beat.
"It’s good."
"Oh, good. I was worried."
"I wasn’t talking to you, Mommy!"
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Resistance is Futile
There is something about being a parent that makes me Borg. I want immediate and absolute obeyance from the child. And I really have to watch myself to avoid running over the poor guy with my own inflated sense of correctness.
I don't know why it is so important to me to have him do exactly what I say. Well, scratch that, I do know why - it's at least partly because of my OCD. And also because my upbringing involved similar sorts of struggles, though I remember what that felt like, and I have no desire to replicate that experience for my kid.
But then there is also that overwhelming concern that if he doesn't listen to me, I won't be able to protect him. There might be a dangerous situation, and I'll yell at him to get out of the way of the speeding car, and he will be busy asserting his own independence, and splat. (That's actually the scenario my dad always gave me when I didn't understand why he got so upset that I didn't jump to obey his commands. And I would say, "but there wasn't a speeding car just then...?")
But I am particularly concerned about him listening and following instructions when it comes to things like street safety. So I considered this morning to be at least a minor victory for me in my role as even-tempered parent. I told him to walk right next to me while we crossed our street, which is a side street with almost no traffic. Normally, we hold hands, but this particular morning, my hands were full of packages to bring to the post office, and his hands were full of stuffed animal and breakfast. And he lagged behind me, apparently not paying attention. But did I yell and freak out? No, I did not. I managed to grab a little bit of his coat collar with my pinky and marched him across the street, scolding (but not in a harsh way) him for not sticking with me. And then I had a brainstorm and asked, "did you think you were walking right next to me?" And he said, "yes." So we had a little discussion about what "walking right next to me" means, and I feel like we reached an understanding about what should happen the next time.
I feel pretty good about the whole thing, actually.
I don't know why it is so important to me to have him do exactly what I say. Well, scratch that, I do know why - it's at least partly because of my OCD. And also because my upbringing involved similar sorts of struggles, though I remember what that felt like, and I have no desire to replicate that experience for my kid.
But then there is also that overwhelming concern that if he doesn't listen to me, I won't be able to protect him. There might be a dangerous situation, and I'll yell at him to get out of the way of the speeding car, and he will be busy asserting his own independence, and splat. (That's actually the scenario my dad always gave me when I didn't understand why he got so upset that I didn't jump to obey his commands. And I would say, "but there wasn't a speeding car just then...?")
But I am particularly concerned about him listening and following instructions when it comes to things like street safety. So I considered this morning to be at least a minor victory for me in my role as even-tempered parent. I told him to walk right next to me while we crossed our street, which is a side street with almost no traffic. Normally, we hold hands, but this particular morning, my hands were full of packages to bring to the post office, and his hands were full of stuffed animal and breakfast. And he lagged behind me, apparently not paying attention. But did I yell and freak out? No, I did not. I managed to grab a little bit of his coat collar with my pinky and marched him across the street, scolding (but not in a harsh way) him for not sticking with me. And then I had a brainstorm and asked, "did you think you were walking right next to me?" And he said, "yes." So we had a little discussion about what "walking right next to me" means, and I feel like we reached an understanding about what should happen the next time.
I feel pretty good about the whole thing, actually.
Friday, April 14, 2006
God and Santa
Kid: Is god real?
Me: Yes, god is real. But not everyone believes that god is real. Mommy believes that god is real. Grandma doesn't.
Kid: I'm going to tell her.
Me: No, that's ok. It's ok for her to believe that God isn't real. Some people believe that god is real and some people don't, and that's ok.
Kid: How does Santa get down the chimney?
Me: ...
Kid: Is Santa magic?
Me: Well...[Note: I've flat out told him that Santa isn't real and he doesn't believe me.] Santa is magic, yes, in a way. [warming to the topic] God is love, and god is real. Santa is a way of loving people by giving them presents.
Kid: So he gets down the chimney by magic?
Me: [giving up] Yes.
Me: Yes, god is real. But not everyone believes that god is real. Mommy believes that god is real. Grandma doesn't.
Kid: I'm going to tell her.
Me: No, that's ok. It's ok for her to believe that God isn't real. Some people believe that god is real and some people don't, and that's ok.
Kid: How does Santa get down the chimney?
Me: ...
Kid: Is Santa magic?
Me: Well...[Note: I've flat out told him that Santa isn't real and he doesn't believe me.] Santa is magic, yes, in a way. [warming to the topic] God is love, and god is real. Santa is a way of loving people by giving them presents.
Kid: So he gets down the chimney by magic?
Me: [giving up] Yes.
Monday, March 27, 2006
The Mom I've Always Wanted to Be
It's finally happened - in friendly conversation with a college-age person, I've turned out to be the same age as that person's mom. Granted, her mom was young when she had her - YOUNG. But still, it was a little sobering for both of us to realize.
But it made me think, as I have thought many, many times before, that I will be a far better mother to a teenager than I am to a preschooler. Because I'm down with piercings and all that stuff. I just can't take preschool humor, much of which seems to revolve around screaming "poopyhead!" while running around naked. I just don't get it.
I'd far rather deal with drugs, frankly. I sometimes think I would be deliriously happy if my four-year-old was only a mellowed-out stoner. Instead, he likes to stand in the bathroom sink in order to touch the light fixtures. Yes - standing in the sink while touching an electrical fixture. That's just the sort of thing all moms want their children to try. It's as though all of the babyproofing we did while he was a toddler was for nothing - he rarely ever tried to get into the cupboards then. Now, however, when I walk into the bathroom he's climbing the cabinet above the toilet, probably only one small step away from taking a bite out of my Lady Speedstick.
If he manages to survive until 13, I promise I will gladly take him to get his first tattoo.
But it made me think, as I have thought many, many times before, that I will be a far better mother to a teenager than I am to a preschooler. Because I'm down with piercings and all that stuff. I just can't take preschool humor, much of which seems to revolve around screaming "poopyhead!" while running around naked. I just don't get it.
I'd far rather deal with drugs, frankly. I sometimes think I would be deliriously happy if my four-year-old was only a mellowed-out stoner. Instead, he likes to stand in the bathroom sink in order to touch the light fixtures. Yes - standing in the sink while touching an electrical fixture. That's just the sort of thing all moms want their children to try. It's as though all of the babyproofing we did while he was a toddler was for nothing - he rarely ever tried to get into the cupboards then. Now, however, when I walk into the bathroom he's climbing the cabinet above the toilet, probably only one small step away from taking a bite out of my Lady Speedstick.
If he manages to survive until 13, I promise I will gladly take him to get his first tattoo.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Why I'm Going to Hell.
Today, my kid says, "Mommy, what does...GEE...SUSS...KREYST...mean?"
I stopped in my tracks, wondering if this was going to be a philosophical conversation. Then it dawned on me.
"Where did you hear that?" I asked, stalling, hoping that maybe I could blame it on bad influences at daycare.
"From you, Mommy. You say it all the time."
I stopped in my tracks, wondering if this was going to be a philosophical conversation. Then it dawned on me.
"Where did you hear that?" I asked, stalling, hoping that maybe I could blame it on bad influences at daycare.
"From you, Mommy. You say it all the time."
Monday, March 20, 2006
Baby Poop
Tonight I held the four-month-old son of a friend and remembered baby poop.
I suppose it is only fair to explain, first, that babies who are exclusively breastfed don't have smelly poop. Certainly, their poop doesn't smell like other poop. It smells kind of like yogurt, and it looks like a cross between yogurt and scrambled eggs. If you have to deal with poop on a regular basis, breastfed baby poop should definitely be your first choice.
But there is a certain kind of eruption that only comes out of breastfed babies. When my son was a newborn, his poops were airborne. I quickly learned that I needed to avoid dairy in order to prevent the jet-propelled poops that would, on occasion, splatter the wall at the other end of the changing table. (Our first changing table was a shelf-like platform that attached to the top of the portable crib, and it was set up so that the changer would stand at the "delivery" end. This meant that, sometimes, it was not the wall that got splattered, but me.)
When he got a little older, he stopped pooping. He would poop only once every 10-14 days or so. At first, this caused us great concern, until his doctor explained that this was normal for breastfed babies. But when he did finally poop, it was an event. "Outpouring" is the only term that does it justice. We would run, screaming in panic, for more paper towels to put down, wiping the poop away as fast as it emerged. There were never enough paper towels. A diaper, even a size bigger than he needed, would not contain it. It would come, flowing out of the top and legholes of the diaper, the consistency of peanut butter (smooth). The poop could not be contained. It was a force of its own. And through it all, my son would be oblivious, happily content in whatever (else) he was doing.
Once he started eating solid food, his poop became more like "normal" human poop. By the time we got to the potty-training phase, we would resort to bargaining and pleading to avoid being the one to clean out the potty ("I did it last time"; "I had a rough day"; "I cleaned out the cat box"; "I'll go out into the sub-zero temperature and move both cars inside if you'll please deal with this").
And then, one day, finally, he pooped in the toilet. Alleluia! One more degree of separation between me and someone else's poop!
We're still working on wiping.
I suppose it is only fair to explain, first, that babies who are exclusively breastfed don't have smelly poop. Certainly, their poop doesn't smell like other poop. It smells kind of like yogurt, and it looks like a cross between yogurt and scrambled eggs. If you have to deal with poop on a regular basis, breastfed baby poop should definitely be your first choice.
But there is a certain kind of eruption that only comes out of breastfed babies. When my son was a newborn, his poops were airborne. I quickly learned that I needed to avoid dairy in order to prevent the jet-propelled poops that would, on occasion, splatter the wall at the other end of the changing table. (Our first changing table was a shelf-like platform that attached to the top of the portable crib, and it was set up so that the changer would stand at the "delivery" end. This meant that, sometimes, it was not the wall that got splattered, but me.)
When he got a little older, he stopped pooping. He would poop only once every 10-14 days or so. At first, this caused us great concern, until his doctor explained that this was normal for breastfed babies. But when he did finally poop, it was an event. "Outpouring" is the only term that does it justice. We would run, screaming in panic, for more paper towels to put down, wiping the poop away as fast as it emerged. There were never enough paper towels. A diaper, even a size bigger than he needed, would not contain it. It would come, flowing out of the top and legholes of the diaper, the consistency of peanut butter (smooth). The poop could not be contained. It was a force of its own. And through it all, my son would be oblivious, happily content in whatever (else) he was doing.
Once he started eating solid food, his poop became more like "normal" human poop. By the time we got to the potty-training phase, we would resort to bargaining and pleading to avoid being the one to clean out the potty ("I did it last time"; "I had a rough day"; "I cleaned out the cat box"; "I'll go out into the sub-zero temperature and move both cars inside if you'll please deal with this").
And then, one day, finally, he pooped in the toilet. Alleluia! One more degree of separation between me and someone else's poop!
We're still working on wiping.
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