How the Apples Fall from the Trees

One of the best things about having kids is the process of figuring out which parent each kid takes after and how. Outsiders like to comment on appearances: "Oh, your son looks just like your husband!" and "How fun to have a Mini-Me!"

But for me the most interesting thing about the genetic soup that makes our kids who they are is that it determines their personalities as well. I'm a big believer that "nature" trumps "nurture." Of course you can't torture and torment your kids and still expect them to be lovely and gentle, but it seems to me that kids are pretty much born with their personalities already hard-wired into their brains.

My kids are so dissimilar that the fact that both of them were spawned from the same genetic pool is pretty cool.

My kids look nothing alike. 

First, they look nothing alike: eye color, skin color, body type--all different. My son gets his looks mainly from my Irish husband's side of the family, while my daughter has a tiny bit more Armenian shining through (as evidenced by her incredibly long eyelashes).

But considering both kids were raised by the same two parents, it's crazy how different their personalities are and how they are such interesting combinations of me and my husband. My five-year-old son is sweet, sensitive, and enthusiastic about everything (in other words, he's nothing like me); yet he also loves learning and discovering, has a real thirst for knowledge, digs science, and is super-inquisitive (in other words, he's a nerd just like me).

Take Harry Potter, for example. I love that little wizard, and was ecstatic when my slightly premature attempts at indoctrinating my son in the ways and wonders of the wizarding world paid off. I've just finished reading him Sorcerer's Stone and he's begging for Chamber of Secrets already. Every second he's home, he's pleading with me to read him more, while the only way my husband can get my son to show any interest in the World Series is by pointing out that the guy up at bat's last name is pronounced "poo holes."

I love that my son and I have this thing we share just between us two. It makes me smile to hear him prattle on to my husband about how Ron got bitten by Hagrid's dragon and the cut got infected, because my husband has no clue what he's talking about. My son and I share a secret language--a language of muggles, Slytherin, Voldemort, bludger, quaffle, alohomora, Filch.... 

I am a huge fan of the fantasy, sci-fi, and horror genres, while my husband...eh. Let's put it this way: He doesn't LOVE Star Wars.

My son looks nothing like me, yet he shares most of my interests. And, thanks to my husband, he's much sweeter than I am. That's pretty awesome.

My three-year-old daughter, on the other hand...whew! Now I know how my mother felt when I was growing up and she would exasperatedly tell me to stop being so bossy. I never saw it as being bossy--I was just damned sure that my way was the best way so therefore everyone needed to listen and do what I said.

I see that trait in my daughter as well. Like me, she's headstrong and stubborn. She knows what she wants and can't be coerced into changing direction (unlike my son who is more reasonable and can usually eventually be persuaded to consider other options).

Unlike me, however, she loves everything girly: pink, sparkles, princesses, fairies, dressing-up, shoes, purses, Hello Kitty, Minnie Mouse, mermaids, kittens, and puppies. It's not uncommon for her to change outfits three times a day, and she will even allow me to tug and pull at her hair ("You hurtin' me, Mommy!") if the end result is "boo-si-vle" (beautiful) poofy pigtails just like Abby Cadabby's.

Maybe it's because I grew up with two brothers, but I don't remember ever being so obsessed with all that girly stuff. I'm pretty certain I still allowed my mother pick out my clothes when I was three, and I doubt I begged and pleaded with her to buy me sparkly pink shoes every time we went to Target Bradlees.

Though come to think of it, did they even make sparkly pink shoes for kids back in the 70's, or were red Mary Janes as exciting as it got?

Tiny Dancers

Raising a 3-year-old girl is such a good time! I love the darling outfits and the pink shoes, and I have great fun styling her pretty, wavy, brown hair. But lately I've been wondering about something: When did ballerinas reach the #2 slot on the "Stuff Little Girls Love" list? (The #1 spot? Princesses, natch.)

I've known about the princess obsession for years, even before I had kids of my own (how could you not, they're everywhere). But this ballerina thing has really taken me by surprise.

When I was growing up, not every little girl took ballet lessons. But nowadays it's as if signing up at the local dance studio is a rite of passage that every girl must go through when she hits age three. I certainly understand the appeal; I've thought ballerinas were beautiful ever since I can remember.

But back then, girls didn't just dabble in ballet; if you wanted to dance, it was a major commitment that required hours of practice, hard-core dedication, and a major cash outlay. My best friend was a dedicated dancer. I fondly recall her tattered toe shoes and tight chignons. Watching her dance in the Boston Ballet's production of The Nutcracker was exhilarating, but also made me envious. I kinda wanted to do what she was doing up there on stage, but in those days it seemed like only the girls who aspired to be Principal Ballerina for the ABT took lessons.

Babygirl with two Tiny Ballerinas classmates

That's not the case in 2011, that's for sure. You can't go to the grocery store without spotting at least one little girl in a pink tutu. Our town's community center offers a Tiny Ballerinas class: eight sessions for only $72. Ballet for everyone!

Which is great...except it means one more thing for my little girl to obsess over: the ballet slippers, leotards, tutus, and tights--all of them the pinker the better. Sure, it's harmless now but ballet is not exactly an equal-opportunity activity, and if my darling girl wants to continue dancing, at some point she will most likely develop body-shape issues. (Well, she probably will even without the ballet, but dancing can only make it worse.) I know I'm getting ahead of myself, but do I really want to set her up for that?

So much in these little girls' world already centers around appearance--the princess dresses, jeweled tiaras, sparkly lelli kelly shoes, crazy hair accessories, pink everything--that it almost seems irresponsible for me to encourage something like ballet, the appeal of which is mostly the outfits. Yeah, yeah, I know...ballet is exercise, art, grace, discipline, and cooperation all in one. But that's not why the little girls love it.

It's all about the tutus.

The Princess Bride

On July 29, 1981, I sat glued to the TV as a pretty young Lady--who was only eight years older than myself at the time--became a real and true Princess. The Cathedral, horse-drawn carriage, poufy ivory gown, miles-long train, glittering jewels: it was all so magical...and I was an impressionable 12-year-old girl who was utterly sucked in by the incredible romance and pageantry of it all.

My fascination was harmless (though witnessing such a fairy-tale wedding can set a girl up for disappointment later in life, but that's another story); however, now there's another Princess-in-the-Making, and I'm concerned how all the hoopla is going to affect our young girls. Because when it comes to princesses, things are really different nowadays.

Back in the early 80's, princesses didn't really have any special status in the eyes of a young girl. Princesses, princes, queens, kings: they were all just characters you pretended to be while playing with your friends.

Fast-forward to 2010, and the CULT OF THE PRINCESS threatens to brainwash all our little, well, princesses.

Starting at an incredibly early age, girls are bombarded with everything Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle, Jasmine, and Tiana (sorry, Pocahantas and Mulan, you don't seem to have made the cut). My daughter was able to say "Ariel," "Snow White," and "Belle" before she could say her own name. She dressed up as Snow White for Halloween and now she wants to wear the costume every single day. She's happiest when she's in that dress.

I can completely understand it: the sparkly dresses (each Princess with her own signature color), the flowing hair, the beautiful faces--it's mesmerizing. Of course little girls get sucked in.

So what happens when hundreds of thousands of girls who were raised on a steady diet of princesses are further bombarded with the impossibly romantic love story of William and Kate? My own little princess is too young to be affected by it all, but I'm sure there are countless eight or ten year olds who will be eagerly devouring every last detail about the Royal Engagement, Royal Wedding Gown, Royal Ceremony, and Royal Honeymoon.

Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. But I don't think anyone can argue that it's a good thing or an educational thing or a healthy-for-a-normal-girl's-self-esteem thing. Because although media outlets are making a lot out of the fact that Kate Middleton is a "commoner," there's no way some girl from New Jersey or Kansas or even Bourton-on-the-Water, U.K. is going to grow up and marry a prince.

And I know that come April 30, 2011 (the day after the Big Day) there's going to be a huge, collective sigh from the thousands of girls who have just decided that their own lives are terribly and horribly normal and boring. Because that's how I felt watching Diana and Charles walk down the aisle almost 30 years ago.

It's just too much emphasis on the wrong things, and I wish the media would lay off. That's not going to happen, of course, so all I can do is patiently wait until the hoopla's over.

And hope that Prince Harry doesn't get engaged anytime soon.