Hmmmmmmmmm... perhaps I went too far in the other direction?

~
I caved.

I mentioned in a previous post how I didn't let my daughter watch The Little Mermaid because I wasn't a fan of the message it sent.

There I was, on family movie night, taken aback and unsure of what to do when Girlie said, "Momma, can I watch Ariel? I want to see her make the wrong choice."

I had a split second to decide -- and I said sure. I figured if I sat with her and talked her through it, it would be okay, right?

So we sat and we watched. At the scene when Ariel disobeyed her father, my husband interjected a mini lecture about why you should listen to your Dad. And at the scene when Ariel gave up her voice to Ursula for Prince Eric, we talked about how being smart is important and you need your voice so people know you are smart. And Girlie agreed and added her own valid points: "Yeah. Cuz Ariel has a pretty face, but Prince Eric won't know that he loves her if she can't talk."

Surprisingly, I was comfortable with watching the movie and having our little talks.

Just as I was congratulating myself for handling that minefield, Girlie turned to me and said, "Ursula is SO smart. She tricked Ariel!!"

Great. I'm raising a super villain.

Rashes and Boys

~
I discovered that my son had a rash on his torso this morning.

It wasn't when I changed him out of pj's. It wasn't when I changed his diaper (twice!). It was at Bounce U this morning, surrounded by 400 little kids and their mothers.

I may be a pretty laizze-faire parent when it comes to sniffles and coughs - I view them as part of being a kid. A fever may sound alarms in my head if it's over a certain temperature, but mostly I see it as a day to stay home and cuddle with my kids while they fight off whatever they caught.

I don't do rashes.

We were at the doctor's within 1 hour of my noticing the rash. And in that hour I diagnosed my son with all sorts of diseases. Chickenpox. Measles. Bed bugs. Plague. Leprosy. I didn't know what it was since I don't do rashes!

The doctor took one look at it and said, "Hmmm."

"Hmmm" is not a good response for a nervous mother.

She diagnosed it as one of two things - an allergic reaction to something or a "souvenir" from his fall into the pond at the Fullerton Arboretum (ick). She told me not to worry, little boys get rashes all the time. And a blood test would determine what it was.

One blood test (his) and a shattered ear drum (mine) later, we have our result. Allergy.

Now the question is ... to what?

Fullerton Arboretum

~
It rained this past weekend.

My kids don't do well when they are locked in the house because of rain.

So when we got up on Saturday and saw that it wasn't raining yet, my husband and I threw them in the car and took them down to the Fullerton Arboretum in the hopes that hiking around nature would make them tired and encourage them to nap when we got home.

And we had a great time (at first).

We "visited" Dr. Clark (he wasn't home) ...




... we climbed trees...



... we slid in the dirt...
... we hunted for "tigers and Baloo" (watch The Jungle Book) ...



...and then Boyo decided to go swimming in the pond. He didn't know if he should panic or splash when he fell in. He started panicking when everyone standing around us started panicking.

And what did I, as Mother of the Year, do?

I laughed like a loon.

Beannachtaí na Féile Páraic oraibh!

Or... a St. Patrick's Day Blessing Upon You!

Since I'm pregnant, I couldn't celebrate the way I normally do. Remember my Irish Brownie recipe? Still, this year was food based:

We started with green eggs and shamrock pancakes....



... had green jello, green apples, and green grapes for lunch, and then made Rainbow cupcakes for dessert!

There was a mention of Corned Beef and Cabbage, but since I hate Corned Beef and Cabbage, I had this instead:

Dear Doctor...

....
Your time is not more important than mine. I know you think it is because you have an MD after your name, but it's not. There are lots of other, good MDs out there - they can have my disgustingly high insurance copay if you don't shape up.

I make the first appointment of the day for a reason. I drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour, dress my children and stick them in the car for the 7:30 am appointment so that I will not be kept waiting with a three year old and a two year old at the doctor's office. Apparently, you didn't get the memo. If I had wanted to be seen at 8, I would have made an 8 o'clock appointment.

Also, when I have questions about my health/care management plan, do you think you could glance up from your computer and look me in the eye? I'm the pregnant woman in the examining room - you know, your patient. I have a sinking feeling you wouldn't be able to pick me out of a lineup.

Oh, and your nurse/scheduler who told me that my appointment was on a day/time that I could not be there? Yeah, she's gotta go. Her people skills when a patient says, "I'm sorry, but I can't be there then" are dismal. Telling me: "Huh. Well, maybe things will change," before shoving an appointment card at me should not happen. Since she doesn't have the common sense for that, you should really have a "How to Talk to People" discussion/training with her.

The one good note? My kids were better behaved than you or your nurses. They listened to me. They answered my questions. And they were on time.

Sincerely,
Your patient

Back in the Classroom

~
For the past two days, I've been back in the classroom. I'm fortunate that my classes are online, so that I get to be a stay at home mom and still do what I love. But I still have to spend about 11 days in classroom. 11 days, out of 180? That's not bad at all.

So for the past two days, I've been in the classroom. And it felt great.

I was worried that I wouldn't be able to do it - that I would mess up somehow. But it was seamless.

It made me realize how much I missed it - joking with the students, teaching them things, seeing their "Ah-ha" faces and the "Huh?" faces. I didn't realize how much I missed seeing faces.

My kids, on the other hand, do not care that I got to do something that I miss and enjoy. They are furious with me.

Girlie had gotten used to having me at her beck and call. So now she is testing boundaries. for example, Girlie has spent the past 5 minutes in her room because she refuses to apologize for being mean to her brother. Normally, I can solve that with a quick count of "One...two..." Not tonight. Tonight I got a: "Auntie doesn't make me say sorry!"

Yesterday, Boyo was so clingy that I had to lie in bed with him to get him to go to sleep. He was afraid I would disappear. And today, he doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm trying not to take it personally.

But as difficult as they are being right now, and as much as I miss being in a classroom, I know that I would miss them more.

Role Play

~

I just finished The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown. It was an interesting novel that explored the role of sisters. As the author says in the very beginning, "We loved each other, but we didn't like each other very much." The basic premises is that the sisters have cast themselves into various roles and these roles do not compliment each other. It is not until the end of the novel (when one sister is told to stop creating her history from the remnants of her sisters' stories) that the women break free from the roles they have assigned to themselves and realize that they do like each other. (Could there be any other ending?)

But it did get me thinking. I'm a sister - the oldest of 4 girls. And we each have our own roles that we have been assigned. Whether we assigned them to ourselves, or each other, or our parents had a hand in it, I'm not certain. But here they are, from my perspective (my sisters will probably - and loudly - disagree):

My youngest sister is just that - the baby of the family. She's not just my parents' baby, she is our baby too. Baby of the family as in, "Let your sister win, she's the baby." Or "Can you help your sister with her homework, she's the baby." She got away with murder; where I had to sneak out of the house and back in, she simply walked out and said "I'll be home later." Because of the "baby of the family label," we tend to forget that she is quite capable of doing for herself and is a strong woman because of it.

The third sister is the athlete and class clown. As such, she is also the first one to call us on our bullshit, the one most likely to speak up about a family issue instead of tiptoeing around it. She doesn't do drama - doesn't have the stomach for it. She firmly believes that it's better to say your piece, forgive, and move on. And that sometimes, it's better to tell a joke and change the subject. Because of this, we forget how smart she is - sometimes I think she forgets it too - and how kind and generous she is.

The second sister is the smart one. I know this because standardized tests when she was in second grade told my parents she was a genius. (And it is because of those same fu#$ing tests that I firmly believe parents should never see the results.) And these tests were held over her head her entire life - if I ever hear "Why don't you just apply yourself? You're the smart one!" one more time I might scream - and it was never even said to me. (It wasn't until typing this right now that I realized that even though she had high test scores, I am smart too. How is that for a mind f@#$?) We forget that she is not just the smart one, but also funny and always there for you when you think you don't need help but you really do.

And then there is me. I'm the responsible one. The one who is always in control. No one let me win or helped me with my homework; as the oldest of 4, I had to learn to do because my parents had 3 other kids to worry about.

I was taught not to rock the boat, that it was better to stay quiet than to tell my parents when I was upset (as many a teenage fight can attest to, where I ended up apologizing profusely and telling my parents that I was wrong, even though teenage Shannon still believes she is right).

And as for smarts, one time my father actually said to me after I boasted about how smart I was (I had gotten an A in Geometry, which - if you know anything about my math skills - was unheard of): "Yes, you work hard, but your sister is the smart one according to the tests you guys took in second grade." It should be noted that at the time, we were in high school.

I am so responsible that too this day, I cannot talk to my mother about the high school crap I pulled; she doesn't believe it. When my sisters and I were talking about it the last time we were all home together, she smiled at me and told my sister, "Well, she says she did." Seventeen years later, and she still can't see me.

Why this depressing trip down memory lane? I'm pregnant, and will be giving my daughter and son a sister. And expanding our family makes me worry, more than I always do. I don't want my daughter to have to grow up too fast because she is the oldest. I don't want my children to be "the baby" or "the athlete" or "the class clown," and I want all of my children to be "the smart one."

This stupid novel made me realize that I don't want to assign my kids to roles that they may never be able to break out of.

When my husband and I were talking about it, he asked me what I wanted for them. My answer? I want them to fail. I want them to learn from their mistakes and then succeed. I don't want things to be too easy for them, and I don't want them to be afraid to do things because they are afraid to fail.

So that is the question I am pondering - how do I get my children to realize that no matter what they are good at, what they are bad at, who they are, I love them because they are mine?

Just when I thought she was growing up too fast...

~
Last night, Girlie had an accident when she was sleeping. It's no big - she sleeps with a blue mat on her bed, so it's a simple matter of pulling the mat and the top cover, changing her and replacing the blue mat and cover blanket. It's so not a big deal that my husband and I can (and have) done it in our sleep.

So last night (or early this morning, depending on your definition), Girlie came into our room and patted my arm. "Momma," she whispered. "I had an accident."

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to her room. Once there, I noticed that the soiled bedding and clothing were piled by her hamper, new bedding had been laid out, and she had changed her pants herself.

"Sweet pea, did you take care of this?" I asked. When she nodded, I gave her a big hug. "What a big girl you are!" But then a though occurred to me as I was tucking her into bed: "Honey-Girl, why did you wake me up if you had taken care of it?"

"Because Momma," she sighed sleepily, "I need you to kiss me back to sleep!"

To Princess or Not to Princess?

I've been reading the new book: Cinderella Ate My Daughter:Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture by Peggy Orenstein.

I was intrigued after reading some reviews, especially since my three year old has exploded into the princess world.

Basically, this book is a warning that the new girlie-girl culture is not innocent because it influences our daughters to focus more on how a girl looks rather than who she is. Orenstein's argument seems to be that somewhere during the journey from the 1960s feminist movement, to the Girl Power movement of the 1990s to today, a what a woman looks like is now the source of female empowerment. (Which I can so get on board with - after all, who doesn't feel better when they take the time to do their hair and make up before taking their kid to school, rather than dropping their kid off wearing pjs and slippers?) And that this message spreads fast and furious in today's mass commercialization culture, from Disney Princesses, to Barbie, to Bratz dolls, to the American Dolls. Orenstein also explores the world of child pageants, the color pink, and the psychological implications of what makes girls, well, girls.

Orenstein is arguing that the girlie culture of today may lead to oversexualized teenagers. However, she does make the argument that "armed with awareness and recognition, parents can effectively counterbalance its influence in their daughters' lives." Basically, that we need to raise our daughters to fight against mass consumerism.

Some of Orenstein's argument rang true to me. Some of it seemed to be total bulls#@$. And some of it shocked me.

For example, did you know that the Disney Princesses did not start getting marketed to little girls until 2000? And since then it has become a $400 BILLION industry? Or that Disney, uncomfortable with marketing the princesses outside of their own movies, never shows the princesses looking at each other?

Or that one trip to an American Doll store can set you back $110 - and that will only buy you one doll?

Or that Bratz dolls are marketed to 6-9 year old girls?

Or that 6-9 year old girls are now "pretweens" (what the hell is that)?

Or that Barbie no longer has cool jobs like when she first debuted? No more Astronaut Barbie, Flight Attendant Barbie, Real Estate Barbie? Now, Barbie is normally one of four things - Butterfly Barbie, Ballerina Barbie, Fairy Barbie, or Princess Barbie?

Or that little girls, when they are asked what they want to be when they grow up name those same four things - Butterflies, Ballerinas, Fairies, or Princesses? (Meanwhile, little boys, when asked the same question, tend to say police officer, jedi, fireman, astronaut, or power ranger.)

What am I supposed to do - raise my daughter in a cave?

Here's my take on it - for what it's worth.

My daughter loves the Disney Princesses. I love the Disney Princesses. I like that going to Disneyland and seeing the Princesses is something we can do together. But I'm also aware that there are major flaws with the Disney Princesses - so Girlie and I talk about that alot.

For example, when she asks who is my favorite princess, I say Belle, because she likes to read and is very smart. When I ask her who favorite princess is, she says Cinderella because she has a blue dress. I point out that I like Cinderella because she never gives up on her dreams.

We don't watch The Little Mermaid anymore because I hate that my daughter sees that Ariel gives up her voice in order to get a man. (Although it is one of my favorite movies and one of my guilty pleasures - when my daughter goes to sleep. Yes, I am aware of how hypocritical this is.)

I love The Princess and the Frog because Tiana works hard for what she wants, but my daughter can't stand the movie because she doesn't like frogs.

We talk about how running away from your problems isn't a good solution (as Jasmine does), and how strong Mulan is and how she fights hard to protect her family.

I'm still looking to find the silver lining for Aurora and Snow White.

And we talk about what happens after happily-ever-after -- how I bet the Princesses go to college and have friends and achieve and make new dreams. Her current favorite game is "Pretend After" where we make up stories about what the princesses do after their get their respective Prince Charmings. Her current favorite? Cinderella goes to school to learn how to color beautiful pictures of polka dots.

I have my daughter in Princess Dance Class, for the love of God, because she likes them so much. She also plays soccer and is going to join a swim team this year. I don't know if this is the right balance, but it's one I can live with.

And Disney Princesses are not all that we do. She also loves pirates and Mickey Mouse, coloring and Tonka trucks. She likes reading different types of stories and loves to go outside and run around in circles.

And when I ask her what she wants to do when she grows up she promptly tells me: "Color."

Will Disney Princesses or other mass commercialization make her an oversexualized teen?

Not if I have anything to say about it. Raising a girl is hard enough without having to battle the consumer culture as well. I'll pick my battles to the ones that are important to fight, and watch her carefully to make sure that she gets the messages that I want her to learn, not the ones marketing executives want her to hear.

I should have known better...

~
I had two doctor's appointments today - one OB and one diabetes. My daughter was going to be at school and I had made arrangements with a friend to watch my son. For the past week, I had been blissfully imagining what a kid free 3 hours, in the middle of the day no less, would look like. Sure, I would be at the doctors, but who cares? I wouldn't have my kids with me. I envisioned getting Starbucks and sipping coffee and reading my Kindle while in the waiting room - it was going to be heavenly. (On another note, how pathetic is it that going to the doctor kid free is my idea of bliss?)

I should have known better. I should have known that simply dreaming about how wonderful this would be would mean that it would never happen.

My daughter had a cough yesterday and a fever last night. I couldn't send her to school. And since my children are petrie dishes, I was fairly certain my son would be sick in less than 24 hours. Which meant he couldn't go to his friend's.

And I couldn't reschedule the doctor's appointments.

They were great for the OB appointment. Sure, there was the instance when my son turned the lights off in the reception room when I wasn't looking, but for the most part they were really good. They sat on the couch and watch the Sesame Street videos I had fortuitously downloaded to my phone earlier that morning.

It was at the second doctor's appointment that things started to go downhill. See, the diabetes doctor shares his office with 6 other diabetes doctors and 2 nutritionists. And there are always a lot of old people in the room; maybe one other preggo woman. There are never any kids there.

Today, my kids changed all that.

After sitting so quietly at the OB's office, my son decided he didn't want to sit quietly anymore. He wanted to climb over the chairs. And the tables. He even tried to crawl into a potted plant. Then he leaned over a chair, practically crawled into an elderly woman's lap, and said, "HELLO! Book?" I'm guessing he wanted a story.

My daughter was whiny. She wanted to go home. She wanted to read. She wanted to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates. She wanted Daddy. She wanted McDonalds. She didn't want to be here.

So I was pulling out all of my mom tricks - videos, books, toys, snacks, games - and nothing was working. The old people were staring at me. Judging. Whispering. There were no smiles of indulgence, no quick looks shot my way to say, "It's okay, I've been there."

As an elderly woman was leaving, she stopped to speak to me. "You know," she said, using that tone. (You know the tone - the one that old woman reserve for young mothers? The condescending, if these were my children, I would beat them tone? The you-obviously-have-no -idea-what-you-are-doing tone?) "You shouldn't bring your children to doctor's offices. There are germs here. They might get sick."

I forced a smile. I should have murmured a polite thank you and ignored her. Instead, I said, "That's okay, they are all ready sick."

At that moment, my son sneezed in her face.