Boy-o has been attending a morning summer camp at the local Y this week, and though clearly loving and thriving on it, he has also been much more tired and moody this week. It made me start to feel a bit nervous about our decision to send him to pre-kindergarten this September. This decision is a bit trickier for us, as Boy-o is a December baby, meaning that he could start either a half year "early" or a half year "late." The question being: when he's in high school, do we want him to be the one buying the beer for all of his friends, or will he be the one depending on others to buy the beer? We chose the latter, not because we're opposed to him buying beer later on, but because he seems ready for much more stimulation than I am able to give him at home these days. His joy at attending summer camp programming seems proof positive of this. (And truth be told, the kid is so frickin' tall, he'll likely be buying everyone's beer anyways!) BUT: the moodiness and tiredness has me worries that perhaps his intellectual and emotional growth aren't necessarily working along the same ahead-of-the-game curve.
There are so many questions involved in whether or not kids are ready for school, and what kind of school (or homeschool) environment is right for them. Are we sending them too soon? Too late? Are they intellectually AND emotionally ready to start? How will the teaching philosophies affect learning? How does the philosphy actually translate into the classroom practices? Is it laid back or rigid? Too laid back? Too rigid? What are the hours? How many days a week is too much? What does the discipline policy look like? How does it coincide (or not) with how we do things? How is the classroom set up for kids who are kinesthetic learners (learn through movement and activity)? These are just a few of the questions we started out with in looking for the right schooling environment for Boy-o. And then we had a few extras that lots of other folks don't necessarily have to worry about (but SHOULD anyways), like, how do families get talked about in the classroom? Are the teachers going to go out of their way to make sure my child doesn't feel left out or ashamed when talking about his family? What is the school policy on homophobic bullying? How does this work in practical terms in the classroom? The list could go on forever, particularly here in ole Redneckville, which makes me concern about the aformentioned questions soar off the charts.
On the plus side, we've found a school we're really pretty excited about, (even though it means a 20+ minute commute each way, each day), and though the school runs for 4 days out of 5, we aren't too concerned about him sitting out any days that seem too much for him. And we're pretty chill around whether he moves on to kindergarten next year, or does another year of pre-K.
So I guess there's not much to do now but wait and see how it all comes out in the wash (or, erm, at the liquor store)...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
mad dialling
I just called my wife's machine at work to inform her that I was going to off our number 1 progeny and named a litany of perfectly good reasons. At least, I hope it was her machine. I was a bit, um, frothy... so it might not have been. How bad is it to call some random crown prosecutor to tell them you are going to off your child? Just wonderin'. (They might not get my sense of humour, I fear, what with having to deal with actual child killers and all, and not you know, knowing me and how much I love said progeny. Anyhoo.)
Off to have a panic attack about them impending visit from Child and Family Services. Or possibly the police. And to cope with the young, nap-refusing, crying and screaming at the drop of a hat, waking up the baby, outwardly defying, just plain contrary child of mine. And pray to the gods of zen bestowance (no, I don't actually know if this is a word) to throw some scraps my way.
And yes, I'm sure I'm gonna miss this when he gets older. It's the here and now that seems to present a bit of a challenge.
Off to have a panic attack about them impending visit from Child and Family Services. Or possibly the police. And to cope with the young, nap-refusing, crying and screaming at the drop of a hat, waking up the baby, outwardly defying, just plain contrary child of mine. And pray to the gods of zen bestowance (no, I don't actually know if this is a word) to throw some scraps my way.
And yes, I'm sure I'm gonna miss this when he gets older. It's the here and now that seems to present a bit of a challenge.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Calling others parents: What do you do when you've reached the last straw?
So lately, I've been really tired and depleted. And having difficulty with, you know, the difficulty of toddlerhood. And I've been losing it more than I care to admit. And I've sort of been feeling like my old coping tricks aren't working to keep me on the even keel.
So I'm sending a call out to the blogosphere: I need some new zen-like-inner-calm-accessing tips! What do you do when you start to lose your cool? And does it work?
So I'm sending a call out to the blogosphere: I need some new zen-like-inner-calm-accessing tips! What do you do when you start to lose your cool? And does it work?
Crap!
As much as I hate having he inevitable lousy parenting moments; I really, really hate it when my less than stellar parenting moments are audible/visible to others. I just lost my shit on a very contrary Boy-o, right by the open window, so the entire neighbourhood got to hear my amazingly crappy parent-y-ness.
Oh well, I guess this was just my special way of making sure the really super-dooper crap-tastic parents down and across the street (who actually don't seem to mind presenting their less than stellar parenting in public at all) can have something to feel smug about. They're sitting there thinking: "That's right, those crazy-hold-hands-and-sway-in-the-forest-lesbians ain't so special." So it's a public service, really.
Sigh.
Wish I could have a do-over.
Oh well, I guess this was just my special way of making sure the really super-dooper crap-tastic parents down and across the street (who actually don't seem to mind presenting their less than stellar parenting in public at all) can have something to feel smug about. They're sitting there thinking: "That's right, those crazy-hold-hands-and-sway-in-the-forest-lesbians ain't so special." So it's a public service, really.
Sigh.
Wish I could have a do-over.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Reflection/An ode to single parents
Awhile back, when I was in the throes of treading some really, really, especially lousy, difficult, challenging and nasty parenting waters, I'd been posting some FB statuses discussing some of the difficulties I'd been having. (Knowing me, probably too many. And knowing me especially well, probably too woe-is-me, which, let's face it, I am a bit prone to).
Anyhoo - someone commented on my FB that I should imagine how much harder it would be to be a single parent, or something along those lines. And at the time, (although I am absolutely certain it was not in any way intended to make me feel shitty), this comment threw me even deeper into the sticky mud of self-doubt and guilt and inadequacy. I was barely coping, barely making it through each day, crying far too much of the time. And though my (alone) work-day from 7 a.m. to 5:45 p.m. is long (particulary with a two month long run-on tantrumming toddler and a brand new baby), I knew that I had help coming at the end of the day fom my loving spouse, who is also a loving parent. How much of a fuck-up was I, to not be able to handle the daytime stuff on my own, when I had help at night?
Somehow I made it through that particular parenting tailspin, more or less in one piece, and I'm not naive enough to think it will be my last. But that FB comment still lingers, stays with me whenever I feel overwhelmed, overworked, or just plain exhausted.
These past four weeks, L. was co-pilotting a three week long trial which was a boatload of work and then away for a week-long (very annoying) work-y, developmental thing-y. My mom came to visit from Winnipeg to help me out for two weeks. I cannot, cannot, cannot even begin to fathom how I would have survived without that help. How would I have been able to get the kids down to sleep at night when Girlio's bedtime routine starts at 7, and Boy-o's bath starts at the same time? How I would have been able to give them both the time and energy they need during the day when Girlio has been up an average of 6 times a night for weeks on end and I am running on nothing but fumes (and chocolate and Diet Pepsi, of course, because I eat really shittily when I'm past the point of no return)? Of course, I would have found a way. Single parents everywhere do. Even when they're running on fumes. But it would have been so much more challenging.
Even with all that help from my mama, I still got sick at the end of the month from all the night-time sleeplessness and exhaustion and shitty-coping-eating. So here's the thing: regardless of the absolute unhelpfulness of that FB comment for me way back when I was losing my shit, the comment itself is bang-on. True. For real. Accurate.
Single mamas (and yes, single papas, though let's be clear, this is more of a rare bird) have to do it all. Be it all. And they have to do it all of the time. They have to wrangle kiddies without regard of their own needs, and they don't have partners to spell them off at the end of the work day. They can't crap out and say "you put Junior down because if I have to look at him for another second, a murder will occur." They just have to, you know, not murder. They have to put their kids down to bed at night by themselves, deal with their night-wakings by themselves, and deal with the effects of splitting themselves in half and being sleep deprived, by themselves. They can't say "I need a girls' night" and know that their childcare solution is sitting right next to them on the couch (not that I actually do this with any regularity... but I really should). And most often, they can't make the choice to stay home with their kiddos long term, a job I often bitch about, but know I am so, so privileged to be able to undertake.
Parenting is hard. Hard. Really really really fucking hard. (And I not so humbly submit that if it isn't hard, you either aren't doing it right, or you are raising some weird-child-of-the-corn who is devoid of contrariness, personality, and other forms of the child-pizzazz that make our kiddies simultaneously so clever, so interesting and so freaking difficult.) Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's exciting. Sometimes it's less fun and less exciting. But it's always, always challenging.
So - this is an ode, a shout-out, a salute, a big-up, a toast, an accolaide, and a woot! woot! to all the single mama's out there. You have my undying respect and admiration. And I'd like to send you out a big ole hug. And some zen-like inner calm (not that I generally have much of this to spare). And some chocolate. LOTS of chocolate.
And when you are feeling tired and overwhelmed and start playing the international-sport-of-mothers- everywhere (alternatively titled "self-blame and self-doubt"), take a moment and remind yourself that you are tired and overwhelmed because you are undertaking a job an entire mob of mama's would (and do) find challenging.
Here's to you, mamacitas.
** Fine print: Though I would still like to maintain that is is largely unhelpful to tell people who are having a rough time to buck up because other people have a more difficult time than them. Please do not try this at home.
Anyhoo - someone commented on my FB that I should imagine how much harder it would be to be a single parent, or something along those lines. And at the time, (although I am absolutely certain it was not in any way intended to make me feel shitty), this comment threw me even deeper into the sticky mud of self-doubt and guilt and inadequacy. I was barely coping, barely making it through each day, crying far too much of the time. And though my (alone) work-day from 7 a.m. to 5:45 p.m. is long (particulary with a two month long run-on tantrumming toddler and a brand new baby), I knew that I had help coming at the end of the day fom my loving spouse, who is also a loving parent. How much of a fuck-up was I, to not be able to handle the daytime stuff on my own, when I had help at night?
Somehow I made it through that particular parenting tailspin, more or less in one piece, and I'm not naive enough to think it will be my last. But that FB comment still lingers, stays with me whenever I feel overwhelmed, overworked, or just plain exhausted.
These past four weeks, L. was co-pilotting a three week long trial which was a boatload of work and then away for a week-long (very annoying) work-y, developmental thing-y. My mom came to visit from Winnipeg to help me out for two weeks. I cannot, cannot, cannot even begin to fathom how I would have survived without that help. How would I have been able to get the kids down to sleep at night when Girlio's bedtime routine starts at 7, and Boy-o's bath starts at the same time? How I would have been able to give them both the time and energy they need during the day when Girlio has been up an average of 6 times a night for weeks on end and I am running on nothing but fumes (and chocolate and Diet Pepsi, of course, because I eat really shittily when I'm past the point of no return)? Of course, I would have found a way. Single parents everywhere do. Even when they're running on fumes. But it would have been so much more challenging.
Even with all that help from my mama, I still got sick at the end of the month from all the night-time sleeplessness and exhaustion and shitty-coping-eating. So here's the thing: regardless of the absolute unhelpfulness of that FB comment for me way back when I was losing my shit, the comment itself is bang-on. True. For real. Accurate.
Single mamas (and yes, single papas, though let's be clear, this is more of a rare bird) have to do it all. Be it all. And they have to do it all of the time. They have to wrangle kiddies without regard of their own needs, and they don't have partners to spell them off at the end of the work day. They can't crap out and say "you put Junior down because if I have to look at him for another second, a murder will occur." They just have to, you know, not murder. They have to put their kids down to bed at night by themselves, deal with their night-wakings by themselves, and deal with the effects of splitting themselves in half and being sleep deprived, by themselves. They can't say "I need a girls' night" and know that their childcare solution is sitting right next to them on the couch (not that I actually do this with any regularity... but I really should). And most often, they can't make the choice to stay home with their kiddos long term, a job I often bitch about, but know I am so, so privileged to be able to undertake.
Parenting is hard. Hard. Really really really fucking hard. (And I not so humbly submit that if it isn't hard, you either aren't doing it right, or you are raising some weird-child-of-the-corn who is devoid of contrariness, personality, and other forms of the child-pizzazz that make our kiddies simultaneously so clever, so interesting and so freaking difficult.) Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's exciting. Sometimes it's less fun and less exciting. But it's always, always challenging.
So - this is an ode, a shout-out, a salute, a big-up, a toast, an accolaide, and a woot! woot! to all the single mama's out there. You have my undying respect and admiration. And I'd like to send you out a big ole hug. And some zen-like inner calm (not that I generally have much of this to spare). And some chocolate. LOTS of chocolate.
And when you are feeling tired and overwhelmed and start playing the international-sport-of-mothers- everywhere (alternatively titled "self-blame and self-doubt"), take a moment and remind yourself that you are tired and overwhelmed because you are undertaking a job an entire mob of mama's would (and do) find challenging.
Here's to you, mamacitas.
** Fine print: Though I would still like to maintain that is is largely unhelpful to tell people who are having a rough time to buck up because other people have a more difficult time than them. Please do not try this at home.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Mom Kvetch
So I got a haircut the other day. I wasn't immediately in love with it (though, by the by, I was immediately in love with the styling product I bought with the haircut that you can use in wet hair, tousle and go. NICE!) Anyhoo - so I was freaking out a small bit on the way home, thinking that I had received a style that shouted "Mom Hair." And then I paused to think about the utter ridiculousness of this freak out. What the frig is Mom Hair, exactly? According to various sites on the net, it's meant to signify any "low maintenance" hair-do, typically done after giving birth. I guess maybe I had Mom Hair prior to becoming a mom. I was never one to spend an hour primping, straightening, blowing-out, up-doing etc., except for special occasions (I'm a low-maintenance kinda princess). Is there such a thing a "Mom Face"? Cause I think I might have that too. A bit of mineral foundation, a splash of blush, some mascara and off we go. Though again - this routine hasn't really changed post-children.
It seems like "Mom Hair" is just one of many ways we put down women and insinuate that women 'let themselves go' after they become moms. (As you may have already guessed, I think this is utter horseshit. I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but I know some pretty smokin' mums). But it seems like when we have kids, we all of the sudden go from having been totally objectified to being totally desexualized, culturally speaking. To put this in Monopoly speak : "Go straight from Whore to Madonna, and do not collect 200$" Neither of these two poles are ideal, nor, as you may have already ascertained by the title of this blog, are they appreciated by yours truly. (As a bit of an aside, I have this friend who has made it her mission to flirt with other mamas, because as she so correctly points out, us mamacitas almost never get flirted with. And she is right. As an aside aside, she is also very good at it :-) Anyhoo- what an awesome mission. Motherhood does not equal dead, folks. Just sayin').
We have many terms currently bandied about towards and about moms, their personalities and their appearances, and a good chunk of them are used with negative connation. MILF, or 'mother-I'd-like-to-fuck,' is problematic for a number of different reasons. The first being the obvious women-are-here-just-for-your-viewing-pleasure attitude so prevalent in our delightful culture, and the second being the assumption that most mothers are not, in fact, fuckable (having naturally followed the course of nature and 'let themselves go' and/or having transferred all of their attentions from the attentions of other adults to the attentions of their children. Terms like "yummy mummy" and MILF are supposed to be all "you go girl" but are usually used to "reward" women who haven't "let themselves go" (by patriarchal Western cultural standards, naturally) post-motherhood, thereby actually serving the purpose of becoming the exact opposite - a tool of policing mother's bodies, appearences and behaviours. Cranky-making.
Then we have other designations for moms - We've already discussed Mom Hair. Then you've got your "Mom Jeans," implies that moms wear nothing but jeans because they have no one to impress but their children (as stay-at-home moms, natch).
"Soccer Moms" is usually said in a condescending tone, even by other moms. According to Wiki, "soccer mom broadly refers to a middle-class suburban woman who spends a significant amount of her time transporting her school-age children to their sporting events or other activities." Boy-o did soccer this year. And dance class. And gymnastics. And story time at the library. And swimming lessons. Am I a (insert tone of derision here) Soccer Mom now? I'm not really suburban, but everything else fits. Sigh. So I guess I'm totally lame now (as if I wasn't already!)
"Minivan Mom" is another term of non-endearment used to describe moms. Again - I've thrown around the idea of getting a mini-van. Is this such a bad thing? Are mini-vans really the kiss of death to coolness? These terms both get thrown about, in my opinion, as a way to belittle the work of mom-ing.
I wasn't cool (and by this I mean emphatically uncool. Not even a little) before having children, so maybe this whole MILF/Mom Jeans/Mom Hair/Soccer Mom/Minivan Mom thing is a bit lost on me. My wife thought I was pretty smokin' before having kids, and having kids doesn't seem to have changed her opinion. I pretty much always wore jeans before becoming a mom, having been a student and researcher and social service-y type grrrl for most of my life, so not much has changed in that department. My hair changes on a regular basis, and I wasn't that obsessed with it to begin with. I do drive my kid to soccer and gymnastics and dance class and stuff. (But he's a bit young for public transit.) And I drive said child to activities in a Kia Rondo folks. Not a mini-van, but pretty damn close. It's functional, pretty good on gas, it fits lots of stuff, and I actually think it's kinda saucy-looking (perhaps this is my "mom brain" talking though).
So - if all of those things mean I've lost my cultural capital (insofar as I had some to begin with), so be it. I'm not really happy with how our culture doles out 'capital' to women anyways. I'm a 30 something, stay-at-home-parent, mom-jeans-wearin', mom-hair-sportin', almost-minivan-drivin', take-my-kids-to-activities-all-over-town kinda grrl. And you know what? I've still got it. And you know what else? I'd still have it even if I did drive a mini-van.
Oh yes I would.
It seems like "Mom Hair" is just one of many ways we put down women and insinuate that women 'let themselves go' after they become moms. (As you may have already guessed, I think this is utter horseshit. I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but I know some pretty smokin' mums). But it seems like when we have kids, we all of the sudden go from having been totally objectified to being totally desexualized, culturally speaking. To put this in Monopoly speak : "Go straight from Whore to Madonna, and do not collect 200$" Neither of these two poles are ideal, nor, as you may have already ascertained by the title of this blog, are they appreciated by yours truly. (As a bit of an aside, I have this friend who has made it her mission to flirt with other mamas, because as she so correctly points out, us mamacitas almost never get flirted with. And she is right. As an aside aside, she is also very good at it :-) Anyhoo- what an awesome mission. Motherhood does not equal dead, folks. Just sayin').
We have many terms currently bandied about towards and about moms, their personalities and their appearances, and a good chunk of them are used with negative connation. MILF, or 'mother-I'd-like-to-fuck,' is problematic for a number of different reasons. The first being the obvious women-are-here-just-for-your-viewing-pleasure attitude so prevalent in our delightful culture, and the second being the assumption that most mothers are not, in fact, fuckable (having naturally followed the course of nature and 'let themselves go' and/or having transferred all of their attentions from the attentions of other adults to the attentions of their children. Terms like "yummy mummy" and MILF are supposed to be all "you go girl" but are usually used to "reward" women who haven't "let themselves go" (by patriarchal Western cultural standards, naturally) post-motherhood, thereby actually serving the purpose of becoming the exact opposite - a tool of policing mother's bodies, appearences and behaviours. Cranky-making.
Then we have other designations for moms - We've already discussed Mom Hair. Then you've got your "Mom Jeans," implies that moms wear nothing but jeans because they have no one to impress but their children (as stay-at-home moms, natch).
"Soccer Moms" is usually said in a condescending tone, even by other moms. According to Wiki, "soccer mom broadly refers to a middle-class suburban woman who spends a significant amount of her time transporting her school-age children to their sporting events or other activities." Boy-o did soccer this year. And dance class. And gymnastics. And story time at the library. And swimming lessons. Am I a (insert tone of derision here) Soccer Mom now? I'm not really suburban, but everything else fits. Sigh. So I guess I'm totally lame now (as if I wasn't already!)
"Minivan Mom" is another term of non-endearment used to describe moms. Again - I've thrown around the idea of getting a mini-van. Is this such a bad thing? Are mini-vans really the kiss of death to coolness? These terms both get thrown about, in my opinion, as a way to belittle the work of mom-ing.
I wasn't cool (and by this I mean emphatically uncool. Not even a little) before having children, so maybe this whole MILF/Mom Jeans/Mom Hair/Soccer Mom/Minivan Mom thing is a bit lost on me. My wife thought I was pretty smokin' before having kids, and having kids doesn't seem to have changed her opinion. I pretty much always wore jeans before becoming a mom, having been a student and researcher and social service-y type grrrl for most of my life, so not much has changed in that department. My hair changes on a regular basis, and I wasn't that obsessed with it to begin with. I do drive my kid to soccer and gymnastics and dance class and stuff. (But he's a bit young for public transit.) And I drive said child to activities in a Kia Rondo folks. Not a mini-van, but pretty damn close. It's functional, pretty good on gas, it fits lots of stuff, and I actually think it's kinda saucy-looking (perhaps this is my "mom brain" talking though).
So - if all of those things mean I've lost my cultural capital (insofar as I had some to begin with), so be it. I'm not really happy with how our culture doles out 'capital' to women anyways. I'm a 30 something, stay-at-home-parent, mom-jeans-wearin', mom-hair-sportin', almost-minivan-drivin', take-my-kids-to-activities-all-over-town kinda grrl. And you know what? I've still got it. And you know what else? I'd still have it even if I did drive a mini-van.
Oh yes I would.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Boy-o tells it like it is...
Yesterday, at the mall, we took the elevator with one of the mall cleaning staff. Boy-o looks in amazement at the cart full of cleaning supplies and asks the man: "What's that?"
The man replies "That's a broom and dustpan."
"Heyyyyyy" says Boy-o excitedly. "We have one of those at home, but we don't have anything clean!"
Ba-dump-ching!
The man replies "That's a broom and dustpan."
"Heyyyyyy" says Boy-o excitedly. "We have one of those at home, but we don't have anything clean!"
Ba-dump-ching!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Miss Chatelaine
I hate it when people tell other people to "smile". I find it obnoxious. Why are we as a culture so obsessed with keeping up the facade of total bliss and happiness? Life is a mixed bag. It's tricky shit. Sometimes, gasp, a frown might actually make sense. Anyhoo, apparently I've been remiss in my annoyance.
This month's edition of Chatelaine would like us all to know that smiling will 1) help us live longer, 2) help us stay married and 3) if we aren't happy, we should just fake it. No kidding.
Apparently researchers at some Wayne State in Detroit studied pics of baseball players from the 1950s. They found that those who had bigger smiles lived longer than those who didn't. Those who smiled bigger in said pics apparently lived longer. And apparently, smiling has also been similarly linked to marriage success by other (unnamed) researchers. I can't help but think this research is a bit, well, flawed. Does one not think that it might be, you know, the actual happiness (as opposed to the physicality of smiling) that helps one live longer and remain contented in their marriage? Do we really think that a totally unhappily married person who just, you know, smiles is going to have a successful marriage? That seems goofy to me, and I am happily married. I can't help but think people who either aren't happily married, or who are happily no longer married might find this somewhat overly simplistic at best and kinda offensive at worst. (Hey - you're partner's a total bastard? JUST SMILE!)
Further though, Chatelaine informs me that faking a smile tricks our brain into being happy. Now I'm fairly certain that my brain isn't actually that stupid, but Chatelaine insists that the "scientists" say so.
Well - if the scientists say so....
C'mon girls and boys. Feeling depressed? Pissed off? Got issues in your relationship? Don't actually let yourself, you know, express what you're actually feeling. Pull out the Crest Whitestrips (who very probably sponsored the research for Wayne State University...). Throw on some lipstick or chapstick, or whatever else floats your boat. You gotta turn that frown upside down.
Just smile, close your eyes and think of England. It might save your marriage.
Hell, according to Wayne State University, it'll save your life.
And if it does - don't thank me. Thank Chatelaine.
This month's edition of Chatelaine would like us all to know that smiling will 1) help us live longer, 2) help us stay married and 3) if we aren't happy, we should just fake it. No kidding.
Apparently researchers at some Wayne State in Detroit studied pics of baseball players from the 1950s. They found that those who had bigger smiles lived longer than those who didn't. Those who smiled bigger in said pics apparently lived longer. And apparently, smiling has also been similarly linked to marriage success by other (unnamed) researchers. I can't help but think this research is a bit, well, flawed. Does one not think that it might be, you know, the actual happiness (as opposed to the physicality of smiling) that helps one live longer and remain contented in their marriage? Do we really think that a totally unhappily married person who just, you know, smiles is going to have a successful marriage? That seems goofy to me, and I am happily married. I can't help but think people who either aren't happily married, or who are happily no longer married might find this somewhat overly simplistic at best and kinda offensive at worst. (Hey - you're partner's a total bastard? JUST SMILE!)
Further though, Chatelaine informs me that faking a smile tricks our brain into being happy. Now I'm fairly certain that my brain isn't actually that stupid, but Chatelaine insists that the "scientists" say so.
Well - if the scientists say so....
C'mon girls and boys. Feeling depressed? Pissed off? Got issues in your relationship? Don't actually let yourself, you know, express what you're actually feeling. Pull out the Crest Whitestrips (who very probably sponsored the research for Wayne State University...). Throw on some lipstick or chapstick, or whatever else floats your boat. You gotta turn that frown upside down.
Just smile, close your eyes and think of England. It might save your marriage.
Hell, according to Wayne State University, it'll save your life.
And if it does - don't thank me. Thank Chatelaine.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
20 random bits of me-ness, just because
1. I hate the telephone and avoid it like the plague. I know this doesn't really win me friends. I just can't bring myself to pick up the phone and call. Hate the phone. Hate. Most people do not understand this.
2. I still harbour affection for Bon Jovi. It's true. I do.
3. My favourite thing to do with the kids is "kitchen dance party" which is exactly what it sounds like. Boy-o can really bust a move (without a lick of rhythm, but still).
4. I speak fluent sarcasm, and I don't understand people who do not.
5. I'm not an optimist. Surprise!
6. I totally crave being alone, which is strange, because being alone was one of my least favourite things pre-kids (and one of my worst fears in this life).
7. I have a horrible time falling asleep at night because that's when I apparently think I should solve all the world's problems.
8. I really miss Winnipeg.
9. I really miss Halifax.
10. I am slowly starting to grow a bit fonder of Edmonton (but I still can't stand the redneckiness).
11. I make really yummy cakes. Mmmmmm buttercream.
12. My wife tells me I am very funny. If so, it is mostly accidental.
13. I have a difficult time with black and whiteness. It's grey. Almost always.
14. I used to love roadtrips, pre-kids. Now I loathe and dread them.
15. I really love weddings (because underneath all of this pessimism and sarcasm, I'm actually a bit of a romantic. How's that for confounding?). I would totally be a wedding planner if I wasn't absolutely certain that people would constantly piss me off with their complete and utter lack of imagination.
16. I wish I could take beautiful pictures. I have a few friends who should really be professional photographers, and I am so jealous because it's one of my favourite art mediums.
17. I'd like to be a rock star when I grow up. (Okay, maybe a singer-songwriter ;-)
18. I'm a total scaredycat, yet somehow seem to have spawned fearless children.
19. I have anxiety, um, issues and am generally convinced that 1) the other shoe is gonna drop anytime now, and 2) everyone probably hates me.
20. I'm totally still waffling on baby #3...because, as I'm sure everyone already knows, I am a total nutjob.
2. I still harbour affection for Bon Jovi. It's true. I do.
3. My favourite thing to do with the kids is "kitchen dance party" which is exactly what it sounds like. Boy-o can really bust a move (without a lick of rhythm, but still).
4. I speak fluent sarcasm, and I don't understand people who do not.
5. I'm not an optimist. Surprise!
6. I totally crave being alone, which is strange, because being alone was one of my least favourite things pre-kids (and one of my worst fears in this life).
7. I have a horrible time falling asleep at night because that's when I apparently think I should solve all the world's problems.
8. I really miss Winnipeg.
9. I really miss Halifax.
10. I am slowly starting to grow a bit fonder of Edmonton (but I still can't stand the redneckiness).
11. I make really yummy cakes. Mmmmmm buttercream.
12. My wife tells me I am very funny. If so, it is mostly accidental.
13. I have a difficult time with black and whiteness. It's grey. Almost always.
14. I used to love roadtrips, pre-kids. Now I loathe and dread them.
15. I really love weddings (because underneath all of this pessimism and sarcasm, I'm actually a bit of a romantic. How's that for confounding?). I would totally be a wedding planner if I wasn't absolutely certain that people would constantly piss me off with their complete and utter lack of imagination.
16. I wish I could take beautiful pictures. I have a few friends who should really be professional photographers, and I am so jealous because it's one of my favourite art mediums.
17. I'd like to be a rock star when I grow up. (Okay, maybe a singer-songwriter ;-)
18. I'm a total scaredycat, yet somehow seem to have spawned fearless children.
19. I have anxiety, um, issues and am generally convinced that 1) the other shoe is gonna drop anytime now, and 2) everyone probably hates me.
20. I'm totally still waffling on baby #3...because, as I'm sure everyone already knows, I am a total nutjob.
Friday, July 16, 2010
the weirdness of kids, toys and gender
After blogging/kvetching about the gendering of kids and how utterly insane it makes me, a friend emailed me asking for 'Boy-o approved' less stereotypically "boy" birthday presents for her son's upcoming birthday. I wrote up a big list of the 'girly' (being tongue-in-cheeky here) toys Boy-o loves, and it got me to thinking about the utter silliness of gendered toys and how they are marketed and sold to us.
1. Transportation toys.
Planes, trains, boats and automobiles are purely marketed to boys. For example, a Tonka ad campaign a fwe years ago was "Tonka: We have the blueprint for boys." (With the noted exeption of the line of pink Barbie transportion. You know, the pink Corvette, the pink Jeep, whathaveyou). Of course we only want to market these toys to boy children, as girls will not ever grow up to drive (or fix) cars, engineer (or build) trains, captain (or sail) ships or pilot (or engineer) airplanes. Don't be ridiculous.
2. Dolls
Marketed only to girls. Meant to teach girls important life skills, like empathy, caring for others, nurturing, which may even someday help them become loving parents. These are not skills we want to teach boys. Oh hell no. What would the neighbours say if my son one day grew up to be a highly capable, empathetic, caring, nurturing father? I'm quite certain that I would never, ever live it down.
3. Cooking toys
Marketed mainly to girls. Girls who will one day grow up to warm the hearth of their home using their grown-up pots, pans, tea sets, electric mixers and groceries in their real, Barbie-eque dream kitchen. We don't need to encourage boys to play with these sorts of toys, as everyone know that men do not eat, cook, make tea or frequent the kitchen. They certainly never grow up to be highly accomplished bakers or chefs (naked or otherwise ;-) or anything of that sort.
4. Cleaning toys
Again, marketed mainly to girls. Why would we want boys emulate such emasculating work? Nuff said.
5. Sports toys. Although I am sure that you can probably purchase a pink ball and bat set somewhere, sports toys are mainly still advertised to boys. We recently purchased the Little Tikes basketball net for our kiddos, and it has not one, not two, but three little boys on the box. And no girls. Zero. Zip.
The above toys are really quite overtly still directed to one gender or the other. But then you get toys that both boys AND girls can supposedly play with, which are marketed to each gender differently. This presents a whole 'nother can of stinky worms.
You've got your pink princess/Barbie/fairy queen/Dora lunchboxes for the sole consumption of girls and your primary coloured car/truck/action figure/Diego/dinosaur lunchboxes for the sole consumption of boys. (Because a girl couldn't possibly like primary colours. Or dinosaurs.) Lego seems innocuous enough, but it too comes in pink for girls and primary coloured for boys. Should you buy the regular looking doctor kit or pink doctor kit - because the little 'lady doctor' in your life might really need a pink thermometer. C'mon -You know that she does. Little People markets an airplane that actually sort of looks like an airplane and a pink one (though to be perfectly fair, I have flown on a pink airplane. The airline is now out of business. It was a really pretty plane though, as far as planes go). A toy cellphone that actually looks like a phone, or a pink one with sparkles? Bicycles - pink for girls, with sparkles and/or ribbon-y things on the handle bars. Red, yellow or blue for boys - and flames instead of ribbon-y things.
Sensing a theme here? There are toys for boys and toys for girls. And even the toys that we're supposedly 'okay' with both genders playing with must be gender separated by colour and subject matter. Because apparently boys like things that are bright, primary colours and more realistic looking. And girls need toys and playrooms and bicycles that look like somebody vomited Peptol Bismal all over everything.
It's a curious state of affairs. Especially in this day and age, where we like to pretend like feminism is dead and the genders have achieved parity in the home and the workforce.
Apparently not in the world of play.
(And yes, I know I'm beating a dead horse here. But I'm posting it anyways. Poor horsey. Apparently July in the kids and gender installment of my blog.)
1. Transportation toys.
Planes, trains, boats and automobiles are purely marketed to boys. For example, a Tonka ad campaign a fwe years ago was "Tonka: We have the blueprint for boys." (With the noted exeption of the line of pink Barbie transportion. You know, the pink Corvette, the pink Jeep, whathaveyou). Of course we only want to market these toys to boy children, as girls will not ever grow up to drive (or fix) cars, engineer (or build) trains, captain (or sail) ships or pilot (or engineer) airplanes. Don't be ridiculous.
2. Dolls
Marketed only to girls. Meant to teach girls important life skills, like empathy, caring for others, nurturing, which may even someday help them become loving parents. These are not skills we want to teach boys. Oh hell no. What would the neighbours say if my son one day grew up to be a highly capable, empathetic, caring, nurturing father? I'm quite certain that I would never, ever live it down.
3. Cooking toys
Marketed mainly to girls. Girls who will one day grow up to warm the hearth of their home using their grown-up pots, pans, tea sets, electric mixers and groceries in their real, Barbie-eque dream kitchen. We don't need to encourage boys to play with these sorts of toys, as everyone know that men do not eat, cook, make tea or frequent the kitchen. They certainly never grow up to be highly accomplished bakers or chefs (naked or otherwise ;-) or anything of that sort.
4. Cleaning toys
Again, marketed mainly to girls. Why would we want boys emulate such emasculating work? Nuff said.
5. Sports toys. Although I am sure that you can probably purchase a pink ball and bat set somewhere, sports toys are mainly still advertised to boys. We recently purchased the Little Tikes basketball net for our kiddos, and it has not one, not two, but three little boys on the box. And no girls. Zero. Zip.
The above toys are really quite overtly still directed to one gender or the other. But then you get toys that both boys AND girls can supposedly play with, which are marketed to each gender differently. This presents a whole 'nother can of stinky worms.
You've got your pink princess/Barbie/fairy queen/Dora lunchboxes for the sole consumption of girls and your primary coloured car/truck/action figure/Diego/dinosaur lunchboxes for the sole consumption of boys. (Because a girl couldn't possibly like primary colours. Or dinosaurs.) Lego seems innocuous enough, but it too comes in pink for girls and primary coloured for boys. Should you buy the regular looking doctor kit or pink doctor kit - because the little 'lady doctor' in your life might really need a pink thermometer. C'mon -You know that she does. Little People markets an airplane that actually sort of looks like an airplane and a pink one (though to be perfectly fair, I have flown on a pink airplane. The airline is now out of business. It was a really pretty plane though, as far as planes go). A toy cellphone that actually looks like a phone, or a pink one with sparkles? Bicycles - pink for girls, with sparkles and/or ribbon-y things on the handle bars. Red, yellow or blue for boys - and flames instead of ribbon-y things.
Sensing a theme here? There are toys for boys and toys for girls. And even the toys that we're supposedly 'okay' with both genders playing with must be gender separated by colour and subject matter. Because apparently boys like things that are bright, primary colours and more realistic looking. And girls need toys and playrooms and bicycles that look like somebody vomited Peptol Bismal all over everything.
It's a curious state of affairs. Especially in this day and age, where we like to pretend like feminism is dead and the genders have achieved parity in the home and the workforce.
Apparently not in the world of play.
(And yes, I know I'm beating a dead horse here. But I'm posting it anyways. Poor horsey. Apparently July in the kids and gender installment of my blog.)
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