"I Love You, Stinky Face"
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Dinner Dance Party
Sometimes you just have to rock out to Lady Gaga during dinner.
Sorry about the poor video quality - I was dancing too, and kept accidentally covering the microphone on the recorder. Does it matter, though, with that huge smile?
Of course, a dance party eventually needs room to expand, and leaves the table, at which point little brothers sometimes want to get more involved...
Sorry about the poor video quality - I was dancing too, and kept accidentally covering the microphone on the recorder. Does it matter, though, with that huge smile?
Of course, a dance party eventually needs room to expand, and leaves the table, at which point little brothers sometimes want to get more involved...
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Side Effect
This happens to the best of us, sometimes - even when it's a great book, it can be hard to keep one's eyes open...
Friday, April 13, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Boys, Ballerinas, and Bags
Oh, come on, you have to expect this from me by now.
Why now? Well, a few reasons: first, I've been reading Pink and Blue (the book and the blog). Good book: highly recommended. Second, I heard a story recently on NPR suggesting that scientists have actually found a biological link between the bacteria/germs we are exposed to and the rising rate of auto-immune disorders; the evidence suggests a secondary theory that women are more likely to have these disorders precisely because they are kept cleaner as children. Note, please: the scientists do not believe that little girls are inherently tidier; they consider this a societal pressure that has far-reaching consequences.
This blog post, detailing once again the corporate strategy behind princess culture and gendered purchasing (although the author forgot to mention little details like that HEAPS of money that parents spend to replace a perfectly good car seat/pack'n'play/high chair/ bedding set simply because it is the "wrong" color for their new child).
It really does need to be said over and over: girls like pink and princess and dolls and cookware because that is what they are given, that is what they are expected to like, that is what everything in our society pressures them to do from before they leave the womb. And while I think that the message is less psychologically damaging to boys - less sexualized, less objectifying - it's still not healthy to have one grand expectation forced down any child's throat from before birth onwards: "Be brave! Be macho! Don't cry, don't nurture, because you will be emasculated and ridiculed and people will think you're gay. So run wild! Be loud and drive trucks and dig in the dirt and build with blocks OR ELSE YOU MIGHT NOT BE MAN ENOUGH." And whatever you do, little boys, don't wear pink.
None of which answers the question at the top of the page: why now?
Because we are moving. We are: we have a house (yes! really!) and a closing date and moving quotes and holy-crap-we-have-to-pack-everything!? anxiety. We are moving to a new community, a new life, one that is going to rattle Asa's tree - one that is already rattling his tree. And I don't - I really don't - want this transition to be any harder than it has to be for him. I want to shelter him and protect him and scare away all the trolls with my terrible Mummy-claws.
But I also want Asa to be himself - the amazing, well-rounded self that he has already become, at 2 1/2. I want him to love SuperWhy, and to run around in his cape crying out that he has the power to Read! I want him to dig in the dirt and play with blocks and know the names of every construction vehicle that we pass everywhere we go. I want him to wear his favorite pink shirt - the only piece of clothing he's ever picked out while in a store. And his favorite brown pajamas with pink polka dots, that are too small but too beloved to put away yet. And I want him to love Angelina Ballerina - not the boy characters, who are more likely to be musicians than dancers, but Angelina herself, in her pink tutu and slippers. Angelina, whom Asa adores, to the point of begging us for a costume so that he, too, could look like Angelina. The tutu wasn't enough, he wanted the leotard and tights, too. Just like Angelina.
Which is not to say that Asa isn't confident in his own self-image. He carried one of Mommy's purses for several days, last week; at the pharmacy, the woman ahead of us in line shamed him ("You're a boy. Boys don't carry purses, it's not right. Girls carry purses. You should have a backpack, you're a boy.") and Asa responded far better than I could have: "I have a purse. I like my purse. I have a backpack, it's at home. It's purple. It's too big to carry out. My purse is for out." I didn't intervene, except to high-five Asa then, and talk afterwards about what a silly woman we had seen. But how much can anyone's self-confidence last when it is constantly worn down by discussions like that one? How long will Asa's genuine love of Angelina last, when everyone tells him that boys shouldn't love ballerinas?
The thing about moving to a new place is having to introduce yourself, knowing you'll be sized up and judged and held to the measuring stick of social expectations. Which is nothing more than human nature, I do understand that. But still: when that measuring stick is so inherently flawed, and when it feels more constraining than anything, it makes life hard. And when it feels constraining to a wonderful, creative two-year-old... well, that raises a Mummy's hackles.
Flannel shirt and too-big-tutu. It's a look.
Why now? Well, a few reasons: first, I've been reading Pink and Blue (the book and the blog). Good book: highly recommended. Second, I heard a story recently on NPR suggesting that scientists have actually found a biological link between the bacteria/germs we are exposed to and the rising rate of auto-immune disorders; the evidence suggests a secondary theory that women are more likely to have these disorders precisely because they are kept cleaner as children. Note, please: the scientists do not believe that little girls are inherently tidier; they consider this a societal pressure that has far-reaching consequences.
This blog post, detailing once again the corporate strategy behind princess culture and gendered purchasing (although the author forgot to mention little details like that HEAPS of money that parents spend to replace a perfectly good car seat/pack'n'play/high chair/ bedding set simply because it is the "wrong" color for their new child).
It really does need to be said over and over: girls like pink and princess and dolls and cookware because that is what they are given, that is what they are expected to like, that is what everything in our society pressures them to do from before they leave the womb. And while I think that the message is less psychologically damaging to boys - less sexualized, less objectifying - it's still not healthy to have one grand expectation forced down any child's throat from before birth onwards: "Be brave! Be macho! Don't cry, don't nurture, because you will be emasculated and ridiculed and people will think you're gay. So run wild! Be loud and drive trucks and dig in the dirt and build with blocks OR ELSE YOU MIGHT NOT BE MAN ENOUGH." And whatever you do, little boys, don't wear pink.
None of which answers the question at the top of the page: why now?
Because we are moving. We are: we have a house (yes! really!) and a closing date and moving quotes and holy-crap-we-have-to-pack-everything!? anxiety. We are moving to a new community, a new life, one that is going to rattle Asa's tree - one that is already rattling his tree. And I don't - I really don't - want this transition to be any harder than it has to be for him. I want to shelter him and protect him and scare away all the trolls with my terrible Mummy-claws.
But I also want Asa to be himself - the amazing, well-rounded self that he has already become, at 2 1/2. I want him to love SuperWhy, and to run around in his cape crying out that he has the power to Read! I want him to dig in the dirt and play with blocks and know the names of every construction vehicle that we pass everywhere we go. I want him to wear his favorite pink shirt - the only piece of clothing he's ever picked out while in a store. And his favorite brown pajamas with pink polka dots, that are too small but too beloved to put away yet. And I want him to love Angelina Ballerina - not the boy characters, who are more likely to be musicians than dancers, but Angelina herself, in her pink tutu and slippers. Angelina, whom Asa adores, to the point of begging us for a costume so that he, too, could look like Angelina. The tutu wasn't enough, he wanted the leotard and tights, too. Just like Angelina.
Which is not to say that Asa isn't confident in his own self-image. He carried one of Mommy's purses for several days, last week; at the pharmacy, the woman ahead of us in line shamed him ("You're a boy. Boys don't carry purses, it's not right. Girls carry purses. You should have a backpack, you're a boy.") and Asa responded far better than I could have: "I have a purse. I like my purse. I have a backpack, it's at home. It's purple. It's too big to carry out. My purse is for out." I didn't intervene, except to high-five Asa then, and talk afterwards about what a silly woman we had seen. But how much can anyone's self-confidence last when it is constantly worn down by discussions like that one? How long will Asa's genuine love of Angelina last, when everyone tells him that boys shouldn't love ballerinas?
The thing about moving to a new place is having to introduce yourself, knowing you'll be sized up and judged and held to the measuring stick of social expectations. Which is nothing more than human nature, I do understand that. But still: when that measuring stick is so inherently flawed, and when it feels more constraining than anything, it makes life hard. And when it feels constraining to a wonderful, creative two-year-old... well, that raises a Mummy's hackles.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
How to play with two boys at once
Tickling one while providing a climbing structure for the other. Both boys are happy; Mommy needs advil and a nap.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
March Warm Weather!
When the weather warms up, Mummy gardens, even when moving is imminent. (Hey, we're still living here, right?) No new plants this year, but the beds got raked and the yard cleaned up.
Asa was inspired to his own sorts of gardening: he took my piles apart, and made dried milkweed and bee balm stalks into "a nest for you, Mummy." With a bucket and a watering can, no less!
He also dug in what was once our vegetable garden, making a hole which could be filled with water (bucket and watering can left the nest). The mud seems to have claimed an ambulance, but fortunately we were careful and it didn't end up being an issue.
It's really something of a leap for Asa to get this dirty; he's not usually a fan of being slimy or sticky or mucky. For this project, however, he made an exception.
It's not 80° anymore, but we're ready for it when it comes again!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Four months
Okay, so these are photos from the past month, but still: look at this kid! Look how big he's gotten, how strong he is. I sort of remember the leaps and bounds of infant growth, but to witness it again is still staggering.
He's becoming quite social, too: he loves to have us in his sightlines, and will respond with coos and gurgles and totally sweet smiles.
And, I daresay, he's developing a sense of humor!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Creating a Village, Creating Community
I don't tend to think of myself as reading a lot of "mommy blogs"; for that matter, I don't particularly think of myself as writing one, although I totally do. (Not really as much content as I'd like, although I get the feeling that you all prefer photos of the boys anyway. Still: Mommy Blog.)
But then I caught a post from Kristen over at Mondays with Mac, about a part of the village who is helping to raise her little boy. And that post, combined with everything else going on in our lives right now, made me think.
M. and I moved up here almost six years ago. We moved away from the lives in New York City that we had established as single people, the people who had seen us through all the ups and downs of dating, the crazy roller-coaster of our twenties. We moved to a place where we knew very few people - a couple of people at the school where M. would be working, certainly... and we would be about an hour away from a few very close friends. But moving into this town was really moving into unknown, uncharted, very-much-not-NYC territory.
And yet... what my mother had once said of me turned out to be true for both of us: we put down roots almost before the first boxes were unpacked. Friends came from all over to help us unload the moving truck. Our upstairs neighbors introduced themselves... and offered to cat-sit. In fact, while M. and I were off getting married, just a couple months later, they came in not just to feed the cats who had moved with us, but to check on the recently-spayed half-feral kitten who had adopted us... and we came back to find a wedding gift on our kitchen table, and very happy cats. When Asa came along, a couple of years later, several neighbors gave us gifts, came over to see the baby, commiserated about sleepless nights.
In the LGBT community, we often talk about "family of origin" and "family of choice"; the latter probably has more weight, more impact in the LGBT community than in just about any other. We're lucky to be close to both, and to have meshed the two into one large, complex, extended group; yet for reasons that bear on the whole "family of choice" question, we never expect community building to come effortlessly. We keep antennae up, all the more as our family has grown, for safe spaces and loving people. We consciously create community as a way of creating a safe space around us, in a world in which safety - physical, emotional and spiritual - is not really a given for us. We created a village before we had children - starting with our upstairs neighbors (who now consider us adopted daughters) and extending into the amazing network of toddler-parents we have come to know and love. Asa and Elias have aunts, uncles, and tons of extra parents and grandparents, who watch over them as closely as we do ourselves.
In a month (or so... ah, the joys of limbo), we'll be moving again. We'll be moving out of our community, out of this safe space that we've created around us and for our boys. We're moving into something of a ready-made community, certainly, in our new church home, but still: we're moving away from the people who have been our emergency contacts, our babysitters, our extra hands and eyes and ears. We're moving away from the village that is helping to raise our children. But as we look around, and realize how incredibly lucky we've been in this community, we recognize in totally new ways that the LGBT community has been on to something really big: because although we're moving, we're not really losing very many people. Proximity, yes; easy babysitting too. But while we're losing the village, we're gaining a larger family of choice, a larger group who will be a part of our lives despite distance.
Wherever we land, we're going to need a guest room. And that makes us really lucky.
But then I caught a post from Kristen over at Mondays with Mac, about a part of the village who is helping to raise her little boy. And that post, combined with everything else going on in our lives right now, made me think.
M. and I moved up here almost six years ago. We moved away from the lives in New York City that we had established as single people, the people who had seen us through all the ups and downs of dating, the crazy roller-coaster of our twenties. We moved to a place where we knew very few people - a couple of people at the school where M. would be working, certainly... and we would be about an hour away from a few very close friends. But moving into this town was really moving into unknown, uncharted, very-much-not-NYC territory.
And yet... what my mother had once said of me turned out to be true for both of us: we put down roots almost before the first boxes were unpacked. Friends came from all over to help us unload the moving truck. Our upstairs neighbors introduced themselves... and offered to cat-sit. In fact, while M. and I were off getting married, just a couple months later, they came in not just to feed the cats who had moved with us, but to check on the recently-spayed half-feral kitten who had adopted us... and we came back to find a wedding gift on our kitchen table, and very happy cats. When Asa came along, a couple of years later, several neighbors gave us gifts, came over to see the baby, commiserated about sleepless nights.
In the LGBT community, we often talk about "family of origin" and "family of choice"; the latter probably has more weight, more impact in the LGBT community than in just about any other. We're lucky to be close to both, and to have meshed the two into one large, complex, extended group; yet for reasons that bear on the whole "family of choice" question, we never expect community building to come effortlessly. We keep antennae up, all the more as our family has grown, for safe spaces and loving people. We consciously create community as a way of creating a safe space around us, in a world in which safety - physical, emotional and spiritual - is not really a given for us. We created a village before we had children - starting with our upstairs neighbors (who now consider us adopted daughters) and extending into the amazing network of toddler-parents we have come to know and love. Asa and Elias have aunts, uncles, and tons of extra parents and grandparents, who watch over them as closely as we do ourselves.
In a month (or so... ah, the joys of limbo), we'll be moving again. We'll be moving out of our community, out of this safe space that we've created around us and for our boys. We're moving into something of a ready-made community, certainly, in our new church home, but still: we're moving away from the people who have been our emergency contacts, our babysitters, our extra hands and eyes and ears. We're moving away from the village that is helping to raise our children. But as we look around, and realize how incredibly lucky we've been in this community, we recognize in totally new ways that the LGBT community has been on to something really big: because although we're moving, we're not really losing very many people. Proximity, yes; easy babysitting too. But while we're losing the village, we're gaining a larger family of choice, a larger group who will be a part of our lives despite distance.
Wherever we land, we're going to need a guest room. And that makes us really lucky.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)