I Will Not Allow My Kids to Drown Me in Paper

I feel kinda bad throwing out my kids' artwork, I really do. But it's not as if I can keep EVERYTHING. Especially with this bout of cold of weather we've been having (yeah, it's called winter). All that indoor recess at my son's school equals dozens of flip books, paper monsters, and paper airplanes being brought home. Mountains of paper! And it's not even the good kind of paper, it's that thin, highly-rippable manilla crap public schools can afford love.

And then there's the junk masterpieces my little princess brings home from preschool. All I can say is, thank goodness she only goes three days per week.

I try to be sneaky about throwing their stuff out. I shove it way in the back of the recycling bag we've always got going. But inevitably, my son, who's an epic trash collector (he's about one bad-parenting episode away from growing up to be "Hoarders" material), will notice the corner of bright red paper peeking out from behind the truck-load of newspaper.

"HEY! WHY ARE YOU THROWING AWAY THE PAPER AIRPLANE/MONSTER/GIANT SQUID/GERM I MADE?"

Sigh.

So out it comes to live another day, adding to the general squalor of our family room, and getting increasingly wrinkled and ripped until it's sufficiently forgotten about (or, as is more likely the case, replaced by 10,000 newer pieces of junk) that I can shove it back into the recycling bag. But this time I make sure to push it way, way down to the bottom so no telltale red is visible to my son's eagle eyes.

Seriously, how is it that he can't find his socks lying in the middle of the family room when I'm screaming at him to get dressed in the morning so he doesn't miss the bus, but he can detect a millimeter of red paper poking out over the newspapers in a bag all the way across the room?

I've heard of selective hearing, but now apparently there's selective seeing, too.

Hey, I'm not a monster. I keep some stuff. But unlike some moms who are all, "OH, THIS IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING EVER BECAUSE MY GIFTED, PERFECT CHILD CREATED IT!" I'm able to see things as they really are.

And fruit of my loins or not, my kids can make some crap.

So while this gorgeous piece of art my son created (which I love so much I went so far as to frame it--see? I'm not horrible) that helps me recall the beauty of spring when it's 10 degrees outside is a keeper:

This one is not:

Sure, it's purty, but if your kid cranked out masterpieces the way mine does, you'd be choosy, too. So, goodbye, colorful leaf!

And this drawing by my daughter that might just look like a bunch of scribbles to you, but which is actually an adorable rendition of the My Little Pony pegasi Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy (notice the wings?) is a keeper:

(I especially love the way she runs out of room for her name and is just like "screw it" and puts the "TTE" at the beginning. Note to any pregnant ladies out there: think long and hard before you give your child a name that's longer than five letters, because it's just cruel.)

This one, however, is destined for the circular file:

Yeah, it's cute and all. But what does it tell about my daughter, really? That she can use a glue stick and make a couple of scribbles, that's what. Adios, Elmer Elephant!

I just hope I'm not scarring them for life.

Cold-Hearted B!#ch

For the past few years, I've volunteered to set up the annual art show display for my daughter's preschool. The first time I did it, I had no idea what I was doing. It took me hours and hours to get the artwork up on the library walls, but I still ended up affixing them so lamely that all the little snowmen the toddlers had created began popping off the walls during a magic show at the library the next day. As a blizzard of snowmen fell on the poor magician's head, I broke down in tears. I was mortified and exhausted. It took me yet more hours to put the artwork back up. I cried more.

Well, it's art show time again. I joked to my husband, "I hope I'm not reduced to tears again this year!" His response was something like, "Really? You actually cried? Something got through to that cold heart of yours?" Did I really just hear my husband of almost nine years call me a cold-hearted bitch?

cold-hearted (KOHLD-HAR-tid) adj. lacking sympathy or warmth; indifferent; unkind

Paula Abdul sang about a cold-hearted snake in 1989.



My husband is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. He wasn't trying to be mean, he meant it as joke. But you know how they say all jokes have an element of truth to them?

I was shocked. And a little offended. Did I show it? Of course not, because us cold-hearted bitches don't show emotion. I just laughed, said "Ha. Yeah," and changed the subject.

But just because we CHBs don't wear our hearts on our sleeves doesn't mean we don't feel stuff. So, yes, I was a little hurt. But just a little, because, eh, it's not as if I don't know I can be cold. My dear hubby isn't the first person to point this out to me. But am I actually cold inside? Sappy commercials make me cry, so I'd say no. However, I'm definitely less emotional than the majority of women I know (and a big chunk of the men, too).

But whether I'm really cold inside or that's just the way I come across is irrelevant. Because if others perceive me that way, then for all intents and purposes I'm a CHB.

And you know what? I'm fine with it. Instead of feeling hurt when someone snubs me, I get angry (sometimes I also get even). If my husband were to forget our anniversary (hasn't happened yet), I'd be all, "Whatever." Do I pout if I don't get romantically wined and dined on Valentine's Day? Ugh, no, I'll pass, thanks.

It's true I'm not the warmest person on Earth. Yes, I've been known to offend people with my lack of sensitivity. But it's not like I do it on purpose. I'm not a mean person. I'm friendly (okay, friendly-ish) and caring. I love my family and am loyal. I try really hard to be a good friend, and I think I succeed more often than not. I'm an affectionate mother and tell my kids I love them at least five times a day.

But sometimes, my reactions and responses can, I guess, leave something to be desired in the warmth and sympathy departments.

Do I wish I was a warmer and fuzzier person? I guess. But I don't think I can change it. I have tried...but often I just don't see what other people see. Instead of seeing a person aching for a little sympathy, I see a whiner. Instead of seeing someone who is overwhelmed, I see someone who isn't trying hard enough. Instead of viewing "The Notebook" as romantic, heart-warming entertainment, I consider it torturous drivel.

Have I offended anyone? I certainly hope not. But if I have?

Eh, I'll survive.

Say Yes to the Dress

My four-year-old daughter will only wear dresses. She has dozens of them: long-sleeved winter ones we pair with thick tights; comfortable, everyday cotton ones; light, flouncy sundresses; fancy, poofy, special-occasion ones. Most are hand-me-downs and the rest were bought at inexpensive stores. Luckily, we haven't had to take out a loan to fund her little dress obsession. Yet.

I've noticed the other girls in her preschool class wearing dresses pretty often. It must be the age. I vaguely remember my niece going through a "dresses only" phase when she was little (which morphed into an "anything but dresses" phase).

So I'm pretty sure this too shall pass. And it's not like it's a big deal. It's only clothes, after all. Except that there are times when a fancy frock isn't exactly practical. Take the other day for instance. It was a rare day when we had nothing to do, so my little lady and I decided to hit DD first, then visit a local playground. Here is what she opted to wear:

What would you call that dress? It's like a pinafore, right? She chose a pinafore and strappy, pink, jelly sandals with zero cushioning or traction. Not at all suited for playing in the dirtbox sandbox or climbing rope ladders. Did it slow her down? No. Did she regret her outfit choice? No.

I, however, enviously eyed the other little girls wearing sensible leggings, cargo pants, and sneakers. They looked so comfortable and didn't have to worry about stepping on the front of their dresses while climbing or getting wood chips stuck in their open-toed sandals.

I also don't like it that my sweetie-pie seems to measure her self-worth by how pretty her dress is. I remember one day not too long ago, I somehow managed to convince her to wear leggings. I think it was cold and rainy out and a dress just didn't make sense. The outfit was plenty pink and girly so I thought it would pass muster, but about halfway through the day, my daughter started crying for seemingly no reason.

"What's the matter, baby?" I asked.

"I don't look pretty," she whimpered.

"What? You always look pretty. There's no way you can't look pretty--you are a beautiful girl."

"But my clothes don't look pretty!" she wailed.

So up we went to her room and changed into an appropriately frou-frou dress, and the day was salvaged.

Another time, there was a birthday party at a kids gym. Again, it was coldish outside and because much climbing and tumbling would be occurring, I convinced my darling to wear leggings. Well, we got to the party only to discover that all the other little girls were wearing dresses. I watched her watching them. Her eyes darkened and she looked down at her outfit. I could see her little brain working to process it all.

My daughter at 18 mo. She's wearing leggings, T-shirt,
a brown sweatshirt. She let me dress her until age
two. This outfit would be unacceptable now. 

But she was a trooper. She didn't even mention it. She just she sucked it up and had fun anyway. But you can be sure that when she went to another party at that same venue a month later, she wore a very pretty dress.

I get that my daughter wants to look pretty--that's normal enough. But I do worry that she's taking it a bit too seriously. I don't want her confidence and self-worth to come from how she perceives herself to look.

I'm really hoping this is just a phase, too, and that as she matures, she'll understand that beauty is so much more. Of course we tell her all the time that she's smart, kind, and funny. We make sure to explain that a person can only be truly beautiful if he or she is kind-hearted and good. (Yes, Snow White is pretty, I explain, but what truly makes her beautiful is how nice, caring, and gentle she is to all those she meets.) 

I just hope it's sinking in.

Preschool Mean Girls...Who Knew?

The girls at my daughter's school can be brutal. They are so competitive; all they talk about is who is "best friends" with whom on a given day. They don't mean to be hurtful but they are. The scary part is they're only three.

"How was school today?" I ask. "Who'd you play with?"

"Abigail," she answers. "But Mommy, Abigail was best friends with Elizabeth today."

What does that even mean? Does it mean my poor baby was left out of that day's best-friend clique? Does it mean she was playing with Abigail only to be informed by Elizabeth that she was Abigail's best friend that day, not my daughter?

I don't know, exactly, because it's really difficult to get the straight dope from a three year old.

My daughter isn't just a victim, however, as I found out while dropping her off at school one day. We had just walked in the door when Abigail ran over. "Yay, you're here! You're my best friend," she announced.

Without missing a beat, my daughter coldly replied, "You're NOT my best friend. Elizabeth is my best friend."

My jaw hit the floor. Whaaaaat? I had never heard this kind of talk coming from my daughter's mouth before. Luckily, Abigail's dad had already left, so I only had to feel mortified in front of the teacher.

I'm sure this kind of behavior is normal in the preschool set these days (at least with girls--my son has never ever talked like this). But according to my daughter's teacher, this particular group of girls is one of the most competitive and best-friend-obsessed she's ever experienced.

Apparently, there are a couple of aggressive Alpha girls in the class (my daughter isn't one of them) who stir things up and stoke the fires. The ring leader is a precocious cutie who always wants to be the "best girl" at everything (and who also happens to have an older sister--which surely isn't a coincidence).

The teacher told me that, when things get too hairy, my daughter is good about removing herself from the fray and going off to read a book by herself--which I was really happy to hear. "But she's listening! She doesn't miss a word of what's going on," the teacher added. Oh, no doubt.

Sure, it's important that my daughter learn to deal with all sorts of social interactions--not just warm & fuzzy ones--but it still worries me. She is a strong, opinionated little girl, but when it comes to her peers, she seems more of a follower. My son has never been fresh or bratty just because his friends were acting that way, but my daughter is a mimic who will do anything to get a laugh.

Hopefully none of this bad behavior will sink into that little brain of hers and take hold. Hopefully next year's class will have a different dynamic (though I'm not holding my breath since many of the same kids will be in her class). Or maybe the kids will do some growing up over the summer, leave this pettiness behind, and begin the new school year with nothing but love and acceptance for all.

Yeah...maybe.

What Is There Not to Like About Preschool? I Don't Know, Ask My Daughter.

My three-year-old daughter goes to preschool three mornings a week for a total of eight hours and fifteen minutes of school weekly. Just about the right amount of time away from Mommy, if you ask me.

After picking her up from preschool, as I'm forcing buckling her into her car seat, I almost always ask, "How was school today? Did you have fun?" And just about every time she answers, "A little bit...not too much."

Whoa. Though I struggle to understand how it's possible, the reality is that my little lady does not like school.

My baby, about to begin her first
day of school

The very idea flabbergasts me. Painting! Dress up! Play-doh! Story Time! Playground! What's not to like? Okay, so Mommy isn't there, I get it...but how can having six other little girls around to play with (not to mention seven adorable boys) not be way better than one distracted mom who's always interrupting the game to answer the phone or check Facebook? 

We never had this problem with my son, who was always like, "YAY! SCHOOL TODAY! I LOVE SCHOOL!" from the moment I first dropped him off at Ms. Joan's class when he was two-and-a-half years old. He is a sweet, friendly kid, and the teachers would marvel at how easily he got along with everyone--he just as happily played kitchen with the girls as he did cars with the boys. 

I know I shouldn't compare my kids, but earlier this year, upon picking my daughter up at school, the teacher greeted me with, "Wow, your daughter and Millicent can really get into it with each other!" Apparently, the two girls had been fighting over who got to use the single pair of classroom binoculars. 

Don't be mistaken, my baby girl is a complete love--she's warm and affectionate (just ask her Grandpa, into whom's lap she climbs unbidden, or her Poppa, at whom she bats her eyelashes sweetly); quick as a whip; and, according to my father, the funniest of his five grandkids. Girlfriend knows how to work an audience, that's for sure. 

But school is not, apparently, her thing. So far she has chosen not to make a big deal about going in the mornings--there haven't been any fights about it. I suppose that could change, but hopefully it won't; since I can't relate to not liking school, I doubt I'd be able to deal with the issue properly. What's the best way to handle this? Being stern and forcing her to go? Letting her stay home? 

If it comes to that, I'll have to call in the expert on not liking school: her daddy.  

Thanks Anyway, Gloria Steinem

There have been a lot of heated discussions in the media lately about being a working mother versus a stay-at-home one. Both sides often adopt a holier-than-thou attitude, but there's no right or wrong answer; it's all about what's right for that particular mother and her family.

I chose to be a stay-at-home mom, and while I do not regret the decision at all, I don't love that I'm reinforcing the very gender stereotypes that I promised my younger self I would always challenge. Boo to me. I don't bring home the bacon (unless we're talkin' actual bacon, because in that case, yes, I do bring it home...but only the antibiotic-and-nitrate-free kind!!), I shop for the food, prepare the meals, wash the clothes, do (most of) the cleaning. My husband goes to work, takes out the garbage, and mows the lawn. I'm teaching my kids that dads go to work and moms stay home.

Sometimes I wonder how and why I let this happen. Part of it has to do with boobs: I have them, my husband doesn't, so when we had our first child, it made sense for me to stay home because I could breast-feed. After the baby got a little older, my husband could've quit his job and I could've gone back to work (we didn't want both of us working full-time), but it was just easier to keep going along as before. Then baby #2 came along, more breast-feeding ensued, and nothing changed.

I know I'm lucky that I don't have to work, and I'm happy (mostly) with how things are. But, yeah, I worry about the lessons my kids are learning.

But you know what's great? My kids have only ever experienced women doctors and dentists. That's a nice change from when I was little. Sure, their preschool teachers are still all women, but there are lots of female cops and mail carriers around. Quite a few of my kids' friends have mothers who work, and on any given day there's at least a handful of dads dropping off and picking up from preschool.

So things are definitely better than when I was growing up. I may be slacking off in the shaking-up-gender-stereotypes department, but as they say, "it takes a village" to raise a child. And luckily our "village" is helping my children learn that you can be whatever you want to be, regardless of gender.

Hopefully it's sinking in.