S#*! the Big Sister Says

All this talk about bullying really bums me out. I posted about it before (here) but I can't get it out of my mind.

Bullying isn't just amongst peers, although that's what's covered by the media; it also occurs within families. Fighting and name-calling between siblings close in age isn't bullying, it's just normal, but what about when a few-years-older sister mercilessly teases her little brother? Does that count as bullying? Was I a bully to my brother? I think maybe I was...and I feel really guilty about it.

My brother is four years younger than me. I also have an older brother--we're just 15 months apart and were very close growing up. We did everything together, I think. My little bro came on the scene when things around the house were already pretty darn good. Perhaps I could've used a little sister, mostly because I wanted a tiny mannequin to dress up and a long head of hair to braid and style: a living doll. So yes, a second brother was kind of a disappointment, though the reality is that nothing is better to a four-year-old girl than a real live baby.

I have fond memories of singing the ABC song to him while my mother changed his diaper, and I recall the impressive arc of pee shooting into the air as he laid on the changing table. Better than a Betsy Wetsy doll!

My brother was almost as good as a sister. He grew long, blonde curls (hey, it was the 70's) and had huge brown eyes with thick, feathery lashes that elicited, "Oh, she's so cute!" from the old ladies at Stop-n-Shop. I always got a kick out of that. At home, I'd put barrettes in his hair and make him look even prettier.

But none of that was mean because he didn't know any better; he thought it was fun and was happy to be getting attention from his big sister.

The trouble started when he was four or five and figured out how to manipulate my father with his tears and tantrums. Imagine the scene: Shopping mall; dad and kids in Kaybee Toys; the two older kids understanding that this is a "looking" visit not a "buying" one; the little brother understanding this but not accepting it, throwing himself onto the floor while crying, screaming, and kicking his arms and legs; the unprepared dad caving in and purchasing desired toy; the little brother beaming while exiting the store holding a gigantic backhoe loader.

It brought the evil out of my well-behaved, good-girl self.

I called him stupid and told him he wasn't as smart as me and my older brother. Sometimes I'd get mad at him and just call him a brat, but that never got the rise from him that "dummy" or "idiot" did. I knew how to wound him. When his pet turtle died, I taunted him with, "Yay! Tommy the Turtle's de-eh-ed! He's de-eh-ed!" As my brother cried, I laughed in his face.

I wish I could say that our taunts (it wasn't just me...my older brother chimed in as well) didn't have a lasting impression, but I don't think that's true. My brother never thought he was smart. He didn't do great in school and acted like he didn't care. But I'm happy to say that he got his act together toward the end of his college career, was accepted by and graduated from (as Valedictorian no less!) an excellent dental school, and is now very successful.

Still, though...I don't think he considers himself to be as smart as he actually is. He's not at all bookish. He doesn't do crossword puzzles like me and my other brother. I can't help but think he'd be different if it weren't for my put-downs, that my bullying changed him...permanently.

And for that, I'm really, really sorry.

A House Divided

I've been toying with the idea of moving to the town next door, which my husband and I love for its cute downtown, eclectic stores, artsy cinema, bars, walkability, parks, sidewalks, and liberal population. We moved to the town we live in not knowing much about it. Basically, we found a house we loved, the commute into the city was doable for my husband, and the school system was supposedly pretty good. But there's no downtown to speak of, nowhere to walk to, no sidewalks, and the population is a bit too conservative for my liking.

However, it's school quality that's really making me think about moving. The reality is that most schools in Westchester are good. The super-highly-rated ones, like Scarsdale and Chappaqua, are (from what I've heard) pressure cookers for the poor stressed kids who attend. Navigating school seems challenging enough these days without the added academic pressure these schools put on kids. I don't want that for my little darlings. Besides, property taxes in these towns are insane.

So when we were looking to move to Westchester, we overlooked these high-pressure towns for more low-key, (relatively) poorer, and less snobby ones. The town where we ended up in is nice--it's a solid-family-values and strong-work-ethic kind of place. Except, apparently, for many of the high-schoolers;  I've heard they aren't exactly the highest achievers.

And of course that concerns me. Because while I don't want my kids to be subject to such insane pressures that they burn out (or worse), I do want them to be sufficiently challenged and surrounded by students and teachers who are all trying their best. I want my kids attending schools where curiosity and a hunger for knowledge are encouraged and valued. Our town's K-Gr. 2 program is universally praised as one of the best in the county, but unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the middle and high schools.

The general consensus is that Grades 3-12 are better in the cute town next door.

So what do we do? Do we stay here and hope the middle and high schools continue to improve (as they've been doing)? After all, our son isn't even in Kindergarten yet so time is on our side. Do we stay here until the kids have completed the acclaimed K-Gr. 2 program, and then move? Or, if we're planning on moving eventually anyway, wouldn't it be better to do it now so they aren't uprooted partway through their education?

Further complicating matters is the fact that my son currently goes to school in the next town over and 90% of his friends live there. Kids are flexible, I know, and I'm sure he'll make new local friends at Kindergarten next year, but still, he won't know anyone going in. Also, house-wise, you get less for your money in the cute other town. Do we accept a lesser house as a trade for a better school system?

And finally, there's this: I've recently begun infiltrating the "cool" group of moms who live in the cute town (I've written about them before). So far I've found out that they have Meet-in-the-Park Wednesdays with wine and pizza, and on Friday and/or Saturday nights they get babysitters and a bunch of couples meet up at one of the local bars (get this, they walk there!). We were invited to join them last night, and it was really fun (we were the only ones who drove). We could have a real, active social life if we moved to that town. People where we live now just don't do fun stuff like that.

So while I don't know what we'll end up doing, I do know that I'm looking at a couple of houses next week. I mean, who knows, right?

The Importance of Spirit Day

Today is Spirit Day: The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation is asking Americans to wear purple to show their support for efforts combating anti-gay bullying. Of course I support this, and I'm happy to wear purple today (it's my favorite color anyway). Spirit Day is a great idea--it brings attention to horrible stuff going on--but it's also sort of a shame that there has to be a day for something that should really just be common sense. "Do unto others" and all that. But since when do teenagers have a lot of common sense, right? Or some adults, for that matter.

Everything about high school is worse now than it was 25 years ago when I was there. College admissions are way tougher and kids are under all kinds of pressure to succeed academically, athletically, musically, and school-spirit-ally. Teens are peer-pressured to do a lot more than chug a beer or go to second base or shoplift some nail polish these days. But the increase in bullying--any kind, not just anti-gay--takes the cake.

At least I think there's been an increase in bullying. I'm sure it existed in my day, though I didn't experience it personally and didn't even see much of it being done to others. Sure, kids could be mean and hurtful sometimes, but I don't remember it being anything but stupid. Generally, it was the kids who didn't have much going for them who did the teasing. Most people could kinda turn the other cheek and not let it bother them too much.

If anything, you'd think being teased about being gay would've decreased since the 80's. After all, society as a whole is more accepting of homosexuality nowadays. Why is this happening? Is it because kids tend to come out earlier and are therefore more visible? In my day, there were kids people knew (or suspected) to be gay--and, yes, these kids were more likely to be teased--but no one was really out and proud.

Or are kids just meaner now? Or maybe they are more insecure, and this insecurity leads them to belittle others, thereby making them feel better about their own selves. I don't know.

Much of the problem is with the others: the witnesses, those who stand by and do nothing. Because if bullies were continually alienated and ostracized, then they probably wouldn't do it anymore.

Making real changes is going to take more than being open-minded and silently wearing your purple. We need to step in and actively stop the abuse when we see it. We need to call these bullies out and make it clear that being mean and abusive is not cool or funny or a way to increase popularity.

It's gotta stop, people.

Biergarten, Strudel, and Lederhosen: Oktoberfest!

A crazy thing happened last night: my husband and I went to an adult party, with kegs and liquor and music and finger food and everything. It was an Oktoberfest theme, and since grown-up parties are extremely rare around here, we decided to make the most of it by dressing up.

In our Oktoberfest garb

The party was fun but it was much more sedate than ones we'd attended in pre-kids, city-livin' days. That was to be expected--after all, most of the guests were expecting 7 a.m. wake-up calls from their kiddies the following morning. I knew a bunch of people there--moms I see around--so it didn't matter that everyone else was from Priusville (the much cooler town next to ours, where the party was held). This party was also different in that people were friendly enough so that relying on excessive amounts of alcohol as a social lubricant was unnecessary. Besides, we drove and hadn't decided beforehand who would be the designated driver.

Here's another way this get-together was different: Back in my single days, I'd go to a party and get a crush on a guy there. After I became serious with my husband-to-be, I stopped looking at other men that way and instead, sometimes I'd leave a party with a little crush on a woman. (I didn't have romantic feelings, rather I was drawn to these women because they all had qualities I envied. The crushes were more admiration than anything else.) But last night, it dawned on me: now I get crushes on couples.

It's tough to find a couple where both members are equally nice, funny, and cool. Usually, this is what happens: you meet another mom with whom you hit it off, but then then all four of you get together and find out the husband is a total dud. It's a bummer because that friendship can never get to the next level.

Last night I left the party crushing a bit on a couple we met there, Ryan and Maggie. We met Ryan first: he was very impressed with our Oktoberfest garb and told us his wife would be envious when she saw us. Points scored for complimenting us right off the bat! Then we found out that both he and his wife were/still are actors and had recently moved to Westchester from Brooklyn. It's funny because when I lived in Manhattan, Brooklyn people annoyed me with their self-righteousness, but now that our entire town seems to be from the Bronx or Yonkers, Brooklyn sounds like Shangri-La.

We met Maggie later on, and just as her husband promised, she went ape-s#*t for our costumes. Both she and Ryan were very bubbly and engaging so the conversation flowed and there was lots of laughter. They both also happen to be adorable and even have two little girls named Alice and Hazel. I mean, really, Hazel? I could just die with the cuteness of it all.

So here I am, thinking about the fun evening and wondering if I'll ever see Ryan and Maggie again. I really hope so. I'll be looking everywhere for them now: library, playgrounds, grocery store. Hope I don't turn into a stalker. We sure could use friends like them. <Sigh>

Bumper Sticker Bummer

This would be my response.

In one of my first posts, I mentioned a mom I know who commented at the town pool one day that unless she didn't start using sunblock on her face she'd look forty before too long (as if looking forty was the epitome of horrible). Well, I saw her again the other day. On the way to the gym, I was stopped at a red light behind a minivan...her minivan as I'd soon find out. "Choose Life" read one bumper sticker (and so did her license plate holder). But there was another one I hadn't seen before: "How can there be too many children? That's like saying there are too many flowers."

This quote is attributed to Mother Teresa, I Googled it. I hate to argue with a woman who's in the process of being canonized, but really, that's just a ridiculous comparison. I don't even get it. What, kids and flowers are both sweet and lovely? They look nice? (It's certainly not that they both smell wonderful.)

Or maybe this one. 

This bumper sticker on its own wouldn't have bothered me because the sentiment is sweet. But together with "Choose Life" it takes on a whole new meaning--and stops making sense. After all, unlike flowers kids don't stay in one place, and they need a heck of a lot more than water, soil, and sun to survive. You can't leave them at home and continue to live an unencumbered life.

I absolutely agree that every life is precious, but the abortion issue is way too complex to address it by comparing children and flowers. It's trying to simplify the issue but just ends up trite. Besides, I just don't like people who use their motor vehicles to proselytize--you are forced to learn their point of view without being able to put in your own two cents. It doesn't seem fair. It irks me.

Now, not only am I watching that woman, but I'm wary of her as well.

Will You Be My Friend?

I've lived in the 'burbs for four years now. I'm getting the hang of it, finally...but making friends can still be challenging. I have friends, I do. But when you add kids to the equation, friendships have a tendency ebb and flow. For example, when my son was in class and best friends with this one boy, his mother and I saw a lot of each other, but now that the boys aren't in the same class, I haven't seen her in three months. Stuff like that.

So this new year finds me down a friend or two. I could use some backups. But nothing is more nerve-wracking than trying to chat up another chick. (It's worse than hitting on a dude--men are easy.) It makes me feel like an insecure tween all over again, trying to become friends with the popular girl in school. Shouldn't this get easier with age?

That's where the local kids' gym comes in. It's not in our town (there's nothing in our town), it's in the next one over, where we spend most of our time. The town has cool, quirky stores, an artsy movie house, and our kids go to preschool there. It fits us so well that I'm toying with the idea of moving there. I'll call it Priusville (what my husband calls it).

There's a group of moms I see at this kids' gym; they all live in Priusville and seem to know each other from before. My son is buddies with one of the women's son, so we've been to each other's houses for playdates. We're friendly though not quite friends yet. But at the kids' gym, she's got this whole other group. When I see them, I try to participate in their conversation but since much of what they talk about is Priusville-related, I often feel left out.

So I'll find myself standing there, trying to think of witty and relevant things to say, starting to sweat. After ten minutes, I can't hack it anymore. I'm stressed. So I go sit on a nearby bench, open my New Yorker, and pretend to read. I keep an ear on their conversation and whenever possible, chime in with a comment or two. One of the women was reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest, and since I've read the first two Stieg Larsson books, I chatted her up about it. No sooner had we started discussing the book, when my daughter began moaning that she needed help climbing the gym apparatus. I had to run off...conversation over.

I give myself pep talks about smiling more and being outgoing. Sometimes it works and I'm bubbly and engaging (which can be exhausting). Other days, I feel lazy and decide that a quick "Hello" will have to do. I hope the other moms understand and don't think I'm a bitch. 'Cuz then I'll never make new friends.

When I was a child...

When I was a child...

...I heard the statistic that people sleep away one-third of their lives and thought that sounded terrible. NOW it sounds wonderful.

...I thought all doctors were men. NOW my kids think all doctors are women.

...I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up because I thought nurses and doctors never got sick or died. My father told me I should become a doctor instead. NOW I'm grateful I had a father who always told me I could be anything I wanted to be.

...I wished I looked like Barbie. NOW I'm glad I look more like Skipper instead.

...I worried that there would be a nuclear war. NOW I worry that my kids are growing up in a world where there's way too much to worry about.

...I was scared that kidnappers would snatch me and throw me into the back of their van as I walked home from school. NOW I know that such evil is much more likely to be found lurking in cyberspace.

...I thought beer smelled (and tasted) disgusting. NOW I still think it smells pretty gross: skunk in a glass.

Kelly, Kris, Sabrina

...I loved playing Charlie's Angels but I always had to be Sabrina, the smart Angel, because I was the one with brown hair. I pretended that's what I wanted, too. NOW I wish I'd stood up to my friends and insisted on being Krissy, the pretty one, every now and then.

...I loved drawing rainbows. NOW I still love drawing rainbows.

...I hoped one day to have a son, a daughter, a sweet, funny husband, and a cute house with a white picket fence. NOW I have all those things.

What are your THEN and NOW differences?

An Unfinished Life

I can't believe I'm posting on How I Met Your Mother for the second time since the new season began, but can I help it if the show is awesome and totally relevant? Last night's episode was titled "Unfinished," and it was about stuff in one's life that's, you guessed it, unfinished: dreams not yet achieved, ambitions not yet met.

In this episode, all the major characters (with the exception of Barney) have loose ends and unfinished business: Robin's breakup with Don was too abrupt for closure, Lily regrets abandoning karate after one lesson, Marshall wishes he still gigged with his funky lawyer band, and Ted never achieved his lifelong dream of designing a building in New York.

However, when Ted gets a second chance at designing that building, he turns the opportunity down because of how stressful it would make his life. He says, "I have a quiet, simple, happy life, and I like it that way.... Letting go of that dream is the best thing I ever did. I'm happy and I'm not letting go of that." His friends try to convince him to go for it, to follow his dream. He resists and resists, but then his next seminar lecture is about Gaudi and how the church he designed in Barcelona remains forever unfinished--not because Gaudi gave up on his dream but because he was hit by a bus before he could complete his masterpiece.

Ted lectures his class about why dreams usually aren't realized: "Most of the time, it's too difficult, too expensive, too scary. It's only once you've stopped that you realize how hard it is to start again. So you force yourself not to want it. But it's always there. And until you finish it, it will always be...." and then he runs out of the classroom, finds Barney, and agrees to design the building after all.

When you're twenty, your whole life is ahead of you and the possibilities are endless. There's no reason to think your wildest dreams won't come true. But then life tends to get in the way: dreams can be hard to achieve, or really expensive, or terribly frightening. And so we put it off, we say we'll try again tomorrow. We don't give up on our dreams--heavens no!--we just put them aside for a while, take a breather and regroup, waiting for a time when it won't be quite as difficult, costly, or scary.

But then one day you wake up and "a while" has become ten years, twenty...and you aren't close to being the person you thought you'd be or living the life you thought you'd live. You realize it's too late to follow your dreams--you have too many responsibilities and people counting on you. Your life doesn't revolve around you anymore...you can't afford to be that selfish. So "you force yourself not to want it." You tell yourself you don't want it, you even believe you don't want it. But you do, you do want it. You are incomplete and your life is unfinished until you get it. What happens then?

The question is this: When is the not having it finally going to catch up to you and begin eating away at your insides until the pain is too much to bear?

And are you ready for what will happen when it does?

Seventh Heaven? More Like Hell

There's an interesting review in today's The New York Times Book Review. The book is Bound, and it's by Antonya Nelson. I've never read anything by Ms. Nelson but it sounds like she's on my wavelength.

The reviewer writes about the novel's protagonist: "Although she's in her early 40s and long married, Catherine still feels 'nagged by teenage unease' when she looks in a mirror." She goes on to compare Catherine to another character in a previous work by Ms. Nelson. Like this other character who thinks, "Now that he's become one it surprised McBride how few adults were grown-ups," Catherine feels stuck in seventh grade.

I can totally relate. Whenever I feel insecure and self-conscious, seventh grade is always the year I'm transported back to. I was never so awkward and hopelessly uncool as I was that year. In sixth grade, I didn't yet care that I wasn't popular, and by the time high school rolled around, I'd begun the process of coming into my own and finding an acceptable place in the social hierarchy. I would never achieve uber-popularity (and oh, I craved it) but I wasn't a dork either.

In seventh and eighth grade, however, I was afraid I'd be invisible and unpopular forever. Sure, I had friends, but those friends were just as uncool as I was. They didn't exactly drag me down; rather our little group was mired in social mediocrity. We were outsiders, only ever hearing about the parties, romances, and adventures of the popular set, but never able to participate.

So, yes, when I was living in the city after my first child was born, not working, alone all day with the baby, no mommy friends close by, I would enviously watch other mothers hanging out together at the playground and feel twelve again. So insecure. I'd eavesdrop on their conversations about feedings, play groups, and sleep, and wish they were my friends.

It happened again when we moved to the suburbs. I had no friends or family nearby (neither did my husband) and my child was still too young for school. Each and every day we had nowhere to go, no one to see, nothing to do. I'd take the baby for walks around the neighborhood in the lovely autumn afternoons and say shy hellos to all the moms waiting for the school bus to come and deliver their children home. They'd be talking and laughing, so engrossed in their parents-of-school-age-kids-world that they hardly even noticed the new mom pushing her baby around in the stroller day after day, sneaking furtive looks their way, hoping to make a friend. Again, I was back in seventh grade, overhearing kids raving about the most popular boy in school's Bar Mitzvah and so desperately wishing I'd been invited.

I've found my place here now, and have made some wonderful new friends. Luckily, times when I feel self-conscious and insecure are fewer and farther between. But I know that the next time it happens, I'll be twelve once again.