“Toxic Masculinity” ≠ “Masculinity is toxic”
Per the current trend, people are taking an idea and getting SUPER offended by it. Instead of stopping, doing some thinking, maybe *gasp, some introspection, they just fire off all these lies about the idea to get others also against it, when in reality, the idea would actually help a lot of people.
The idea of “toxic masculinity” seems to really peeve a lot of people off and start clamoring that it means being “manly” is bad and all men should start acting feminine. This is not at all what that phrase means. That would be akin to saying “apple seeds contain cyanide” means “you shouldn’t eat apples”. “Toxic masculinity” is just taking masculinity too far and pushing it onto others, causing a toxic atmosphere that leads to more problems in society as well as personal lives.
So, masculinity is OKAY. If you’re into that. Lifting weights, going hunting, playing sports, wearing camo, shooting guns. wanting to be protective of women and children, whatever else is considered masculine – these are all perfectly acceptable and even desirable by a certain population. If you’re into it, and it’s not hurting others, GREAT! NO one is telling men they shouldn’t be who they want to be. If being a stereotypical manly man is your thing, I love it. People in general love it. You be you!
What’s NOT okay is the idea that NOT being perfectly masculine is a bad thing and something to be shamed. What’s toxic is shaming men or boys who, for instance, take dance, like pink, cook, do laundry, help take care of their own kids (without calling it babysitting), or worst of all, show emotion. This leads to de-humanizing of people and the trapped feeling men can get from not being able to be themselves for fear of being shamed, bullied, or even physically beaten.
One of the things I see on a daily basis is men in the Euthanasia room, trying their hardest to hold back emotion and tears when they have to say goodbye to their best friend of 15 years. Why should men feel the need to hide that? Why shouldn’t they be allowed to cry without feeling shame? Having an old man, from the “Greatest generation” apologize and look ashamed of himself because he lets his face break for even a moment while trying to remain calm and collected and say goodbye to his best old buddy is heart wrenching.
Or my dad, who was always telling us that we didn’t need a therapist and/or anti-depressants/anxiety meds – we just needed to get out and exercise or eat right or find a hobby. Then, just a few months ago, he called me up to tell me about how he finally went and saw a doctor about anxiety and got on some medication and – can you imagine? ! – it helped SO much! He couldn’t believe the difference it could make!
Could you imagine a world where men were allowed to show emotion? Be themselves? Not have to fit into a tiny mold of what men are SUPPOSED to be? Could you imagine how much less violence there might be in the world? How much less pent up frustration? Can you see the irony in women being more brave to break out of their traditional roles than men are? This is why we give men who show something outside the traditional range of manliness so much attention – it’s called positive reinforcement. It’s not that being “manly” is bad, it’s just that being yourself should be celebrated and people who are being themselves are being SO brave!
So, you want to be a manly man? Have golden calf testicles hanging off your ridiculously large truck that you drive like someone released a bee hive in your cab, and then, inevitably complain about gas prices? Great! Good for you! No one is telling you that’s bad (except, maybe, the environmentalists). But you should also not feel like you have to hold back your tears as you pay the $150 to drive that truck to town and back. Nor should you ruin your son’s life by making him feel like “men don’t cry” and turn him into a domestic violence psychopath. Emotions are okay. Men doing the dishes and being a caretaker is OKAY.
Be a man! Be brave! Be you! Just don’t be a dick. That’s all.
The Parenting Tip that kids don’t want you to know
- Pics from our very indulgent vacation we just got back from…
My children and us were having a conversation last night. We were saying that when they have kids, we will be that child’s grandparent and we will be able to say “you did that when you were a kid” when they complain to us about things. Oscar stated he would be a better parent than us. I said “are we not good parents” to which he replied “yes, but I’ll be better”. I asked what he would do differently and finally, after some coaxing since he knew I was slightly offended, he came up with “I would let them do more things they wanted to”. That’s when I decided to let them in on a little life secret.
I turned to him and said “I’m going to let you know about a super secret parenting fact that, for some reason, parents don’t usually tell their kids. I love you guys more than ANYTHING in the world and nothing, I mean NOTHING makes be happier than seeing you guys happy. But, as a parent, it’s my job to make sure you guys turn out to be good people and respectable adults. If I were to give you everything you want, which I WANT to, you would expect everyone and the world to treat you the same way. You would be one of those awful people who only think about themselves and are spoiled and get super mad when things don’t go their way. I want you all to be loving, giving, compassionate people and sometimes that means dealing with not getting everything you want. In the real world, you’ll go into a job and be expected to get things done in a timely manner – including getting your shoes on – and if you don’t, you’ll get fired. The other reason is that you are children and I’m an adult with almost 40 years of experience and I know outcomes of some of the things you think you want. I have to keep you protected from hurting yourselves or being unhealthy”
Parenting is SO hard and not just because you’re exhausted from being a servant to three little piglets (to a certain age) or trying to wrap your brain around the decisions their little primordial brains make, but mostly trying to decide what you should take care of and what you should not. If parenting were just being a servant to a demanding little idiot, it would be tiring, frustrating, hair pulling, but I think what makes parenting harder on the next level is allowing them to make that decision you would have stopped and letting them learn why it was stupid. A good parent knows that the best way to learn is to experience it yourself, but it’s SO hard to sit there and comfort the tears that you could easily fix, but stop yourself for the lesson learned.
Once, Oscar wanted a watch SOOOOO bad – he picked it out – it was a Pokemon watch (like $10 ) and he loved it! One day he came home crying because he had lost it at school. He had taken it off to wash his hands in the bathroom and left it and when he came back, it was gone. Oscar is my most sensitive child and I love that about him, so watching him cry over this was heart wrenching. All I wanted to do was grab my keys and run out right then and replace it for him. But instead I had to hold him and explain about responsibility and loss while he cried even harder that I wouldn’t get him a new one, ripping my heart in two.
Losing something as small (not in his mind) as a $10 watch that he’d had for a whopping 2 weeks is a much preferred lesson on loss than other things he could and will lose in his life and dealing with loss is a very important lesson in life – processing the emotions and the grief and acceptance, learning lessons from what could have been done differently – slowly builds an emotional maturity ready to better handle the world. Hopefully, now when he’s 30 and his favorite coffee mug breaks, he’ll be sad, but he won’t fall on the floor and think the world has come to an end or worse, scream at his child for knocking off the counter.
So, kids, just know that we are bound by our duty to make you into decent adults and even though we’d love nothing more than to stop your tears with new things and watch your faces light up, we have to make hard decisions about what we can indulge you with and what just needs to be a life lesson. And thanks to this lesson, my kids are very familiar with the Rolling Stones “You Can’t Always Get What you Want”
Raising Future “Leaders” of the World – ain’t nobody got time for that.
Like, seriously, what’s the likeliness my kids will be a president? Like even less than if they were a professional athlete, right?
When I was growing up and even after I was an adult and had kids, I would hear the thing about “raising the future leaders of the world” and just chucked that idea to the side because 1. I certainly was not going to be a leader – I’m average at best at everything I do. And 2. It’s just statistically unlikely that I or my children will every actually be a leader high up in the rankings. So, I never thought much of that saying and even thought it was a little hokey to say. Then, the other night, I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, letting my mind wander when this idea came upon me.
What if that saying does not literally mean that we could be raising the next US president or diplomat or religious leader? What if it just meant that we are raising people who will influence other people throughout their life? I think that sounds much more important. Like every child has the opportunity to influence those around them and, therefore be a leader.
The idea that I, as a single person in a world of billions, can influence the world to be a better place is, at least, slightly less of a daunting and crushing idea if you imagine that every person you come in contact with can be influenced to be a better person, even if they don’t show it right away. But, then imagine your creating little clones of yourself, little helpers (children, not robots) that can then go out and spread the same message as they were raised (after they come back from the dark side of the moon, anyways). If you can influence, let’s say 10 people, now with 3 kids, you and them can get 40. And if they each have 3 kids now, we’ve influenced 100 people to be better.
Obviously, this is all speculative. My kids could resent me for some reason or get into drugs or “the wrong crowd” and not follow this path. Or I could be crazy and just be perpetuating the crazy by spreading it with my kids, but for now, for the idea that we are raising leaders of the world, even if they’re small leaders who spread the love, lets just imagine that everyone does this, and so a multitude of very small leaders leads to a large change and better society.
So, let’s raise our children to be those (small group) leaders who can influence others to do the right thing and to make a better world for themselves. I think that is a much more attainable and worthy goal for our kids. When I think about parenting in those terms, I feel like I’m doing a little more for the world by trying to hold in my temper or fly off the handle about something without the proper pause and introspection. (I still lose my temper with them sometimes, no worries). I try to make sure I treat strangers with respect and give them the benefit of the doubt. I try to quell my children’s anger when they are mad at each other or another kid at school and try to make them think about the situation from the other side or even consider that they may be mistaken in what they perceived happened. I’ve been pretty impressed with their perception of right and wrong in situations, understanding that they are all still very young and sweet.
Things they do that makes me proud of who they are right now: Calvin was having his birthday party to turn 5 recently and when asked who he wanted to invite, his very first people on his list were India and Oscar’s best friends because he “wanted India and Oscar to have a fun time”. Oscar consistently makes sure that others around him are taken care of (when he’s not fighting with his siblings). If there’s candy offered and Calvin or India aren’t there, he will make sure to give some of his candy to them when he finally sees them. He traded one of his toys for another toy he knew Calvin had wanted and surprised him with it.
India, our precious baby girl, is not our sweetest kid, she has been known to be on the spicy side (pummeled a boy with a hippity-hop in kindergarten who was picking on her and the other day threatened any imaginary person who is picking on Oscar in the future) but she’s very fair and responsible, volunteering to help the boys or us to make our lives easier. India has also been more curious in civil rights lately, asking if I think black people are equal to white and then wants to know why other people don’t think they are. I get to take that opportunity to educate her about how awful white people were to black people and see her astonishment that that was ever a thing. Then she asks about last names and I get to discuss how women were also once thought of as “less than”. It hurts to have to educate her on these things but hopefully, it will open her eyes to modern day injustices and continue to spread love and acceptance and that’s all I can ask for.
And, yes, we HAVE talked to India about our vast preference for non-violence. We have talked with her about calling for help, getting an adult, calling 911, all before getting physical.
So, the next time you are worried about your child maybe not being presidential material, and are wondering how on earth you are supposed to influence the world with little ol’, regular you, just imagine creating a loving, caring being in your child who will one day grow up to be someone special to every person they encounter. That your child could be an extension of your own love and and desire for peace and unity. Our children are, literally, the future. We won’t be around in the next 100 years, so let’s make sure our values are continued on and grow even as we wither and pass.
A Kid’s Eye View
It has been an absolute blast (among the eyeball scratching and hair pulling times) raising my three kids and listening to the crazy and insane ideas that come out of their minds as they struggle to grasp what life is all about and how they will manage it as they get older. I have been trying to get some basic ideas about living and adult responsibility in their lives to help prepare them for more intensive lessons and conversations later in life. Some of the questions and answers they give me (and some random, unprovoked comments) make all the frustrations totally (well, mostly) worth it.
Body autonomy – Since sending my kids to daycare or putting them in other people’s care and since they could understand English, I’ve been trying to teach them body autonomy – that they are in control of their own bodies and they decide when and when not to be touched. Obviously, the intent was to make sure they are aware that even if an adult tries to touch them and makes them feel uncomfortable, that they can say “no” and it’s okay. We don’t even force hugs or kisses from us if they don’t want them.
The other night, I was trying to get all three kids bathed in the 30 minutes we had to bathe them, feed them, and then get them to bed after soccer practice. Luckily, we have two bathrooms, but, of course, THAT particular night, they all decided they wanted to take their own baths and not share (we would typically have the two boys share a bath to move things along). The two older ones are mostly reliable for properly washing themselves, but Calvin, at 4, still hates to get his head wet – like he does the whole, jump up, jog in place while screaming and trying to bat the water away. This night was no different and when I rushed in there to change out the boys for baths, I saw that, as expected, Calvin didn’t have a wick of moisture on his head. So, I walk over, frustrated, grab the cup, douse him with water, absorb the following tantrum, get soap, wrestle this wart hog until his whole head and face have been washed all while he is screaming and then says “MOMMY! I said ‘NO’!! Don’t you KNOW what NO MEANS?!?!?” **
**Granted, this is also the child who will find moments like when he’s getting into trouble to look me in the eyes and grab my breast, smile and say “I touched your boob”
Mortgage – The kids were asking us about money one time and about why we have to work. We told them that we have to make money to pay for living – our house, food, electricity, etc. Kids: “What do you mean, you have to pay for the house?? We already own it.” This produced good laughs from Tony and me. We explained that houses are too expensive to buy and that most people have to borrow money from a bank to buy a house and slowly pay the bank back over time. This completely blew their minds. India asked “Well, there are so many houses, why don’t you just go take one that no one owns?” Oscar came up with “So, when we turn 18 and have to move out of the house (this is something we have convinced them of), we don’t just get our first house for free??” No, you don’t, silly, they’re too expensive and you’ll likely have to rent for awhile. Oscar “But why are houses so expensive? They’re just like walls and a roof and stuff” – It’s the “and stuff”
Working for wages – We have been trying to get the kids to help out a little around the house – as much as can be expected from a 9, 7, and 4 year-old. We offer small amounts of money in exchange for doing jobs around the house like unloading the dishwasher or cutting the grass. Depending on the level of difficulty, we pay $1-5 per chore. I was busy one day doing all the normal chores that I do just to keep the household going while Oscar was begging me to buy something for him that he found on Amazon. I told him HE could buy it but he said he couldn’t afford it. I offered him the opportunity to clean the kitchen with the enticing offer of $5 to start to save up for said toy. He reluctantly started unloading the dishwasher, upset and said “It’s not FAIR!! You guys don’t have to do chores to get money!” Hahahahaha – no, we get to do chores for free, but we do have to work for our money.
Going to school – Calvin got to start pre-K this year and he was SO excited. He can’t wait to get to go to the same daycare and school as India and Oscar, but pre-K was the first step. He talked about pre-K for a minimum of 6 months before it started. He knew who his teacher was going to be, he loved her, he wanted to pack his backpack and his lunch and just ABSOLUTELY could not wait for all the magic and glory that pre-K was sure to be. The first morning we had to get them all up for school, it was 6am and I went to wake him up, he grumbled his adorable tiny person grumble, then I told him it was the first day of pre-K and he bolted upright in bed, a huge smile spread across his face and then he leapt out of bed, ready to start his day! The next week, Monday morning, we went in to wake him up, he grumbled, we reminded him that he gets to go to pre-K, bracing ourselves for his burst of excitement, only to hear his tiny muffled voice, buried in blankets and pillows “No, mommy, I’ve already been.” Me: “Oh, sweetie, this is just the beginning!”
How babies are made – Since I knew I wanted children, I was determined to make sure they know how babies are made and not dance around it too much. Obviously when they’re very small, we just said stuff like “You came from mommy’s belly” and that was acceptable. Later it progressed to “Well, how did you get me out?” – “Well, you came out of my vagina” to India and “The doctor cut you out of my belly” for Oscar (footling breach) and Calvin (after hours – no VBAC). Inevitably, the questions got more detailed as they got older. Oscar was convinced that girls came from the vagina and boys from the belly. India finally got to the question I was both looking forward to and dreading. What if I told her how sex works and she thinks she should try it at her age?? I wanted to keep my girl innocent at the same time, make sure she was fully aware of the meaning of sex from the beginning so she wouldn’t be caught by surprise or taken advantage of (cause knowledge is power)
So, armed with the tiny bit of amusement I get from telling someone that the bump next to their dog’s penis that they keep touching to show me is, in fact, his erection and watching the horror on their faces, I told India how the man gets his “seed” which I now changed to “sperm” into the uterus. Upon telling her the exact mechanics of how fertilization happens, she had a horrified, disgusted look on her face. “Ewww, mommy!” Then, a touch of realization entered her face. “Wait, is that what you and daddy had to do make us?!” “Yes” Mouth agape – “Was it GROSS??”
A little while later, all three kids were gathered and the topic came up again. This time, Oscar decided was the one to ask the hard question. “Mommy, how does the man get the ‘seed’ into the woman?” Up pops India, in a heroic effort to protect the innocence of her younger brothers, but also, more likely to keep her own ears from hearing it again, she screams “You do NOT want to know!!!”
The cost of life: Last weekend, India had her first sleepover with her friend coming to our house. We had pizza, I made brownies and some weird unicorn milk shake thing, they stayed up until 4 and had a blast. The next day, her friend wanted her to come over there and Oscar begged and begged to spend the night with his friend. I finally pulled some strings and had Oscar spending the night and also had Calvin staying with his grandma. Then, we stopped at a grocery store to get the team snacks and drinks for Oscar’s soccer game we were going to. You would think we would just have a bunch of happy kids, dancing and singing us praises in the backseat. You would be wrong. Tony went into the store to get the snacks, while I sat there and refereed whiny kids who kept saying things like “it’s not FAIR” until mommy lost her mind.
When Tony got back to the car and noticed the somber atmosphere he entered, he asked what happened. I said, “oh, I was just sick of hearing them talk about how unfair life is when they are ALL getting exactly what they wanted, so I told them about orphans and how babies are given away at birth and they don’t even have a family to love them.”
The 2020 Thomas Family Christmas Tree
I made the decision to go Christmas tree shopping this past weekend. I love Christmas, but I am willing to respect Thanksgiving as a holiday – mostly to eat dressing and macaroni and cheese. Getting a Christmas tree just two days after Thanksgiving would easily be the earliest I have ever had a Christmas tree. My mother’s birthday is mid-December and we never liked to override her birthday with Christmas, so when we were young, we would always wait until after her birthday to get a tree. Slowly, I had wiggled my way back to this day. It was going to be a perfect day! Beautiful Virginia mountains, 55 degrees F, sunny. We couldn’t wait!
Saturday morning came! I had to work at the clinic that morning, but I was just going to grit my teeth and bare it. Working Saturdays at a vet clinic is, at best, a crap shoot. Some people can only make appointments for Saturdays due to work schedules, some wait until the fear that they will have to watch their pet suffer a 42nd day in misery if they have to wait until Monday. At this clinic, I am the only doctor working and end up being scheduled to see a patient every 15 minutes – some easy vaccine boosters, some very sick, requiring extra time and care.
This particular morning, I was swamped. Sick animals everywhere, a very sad euthanasia, and a couple of headache inducing clients. At the end of the morning, ten minutes to the finish line, when the final client called and demanded her dog be seen for a broken toe nail despite our assuring her this is an issue that could be addressed at home – I mean, would you go to urgent care for a toe nail you cut too short? So, yes, we charged an emergency fee – hoping it would keep her away, but instead she spent 10 minutes griping about the price and brought the dog anyway, complaining that it wouldn’t take very long and it shouldn’t cost that much. Looking around, everyone in the clinic was super busy giving fluids to a sick cat, taking x-rays of a limping dog, cleaning, talking to clients in the cars (because curbside), and answering phones. I still had to write up all the records for the glob of cases I saw, make sure everyone was called back who had pressing questions or were waiting on lab work, make sure prescriptions were faxed out to the appropriate pharmacies. So, that, ma’am is why the extra charge.
Now, in my delightfully good mood, I will go Christmas tree shopping!
I finally arrive home, in such festive spirits that, after scarfing Thanksgiving leftovers, I sink down on the couch and contemplate whether today is, in fact, a good day to get a Christmas tree. Tony feeds into my foul mood by suggesting we wait until tomorrow. I consider the full out triple sized tantrum that would ensue if the kids found out we were not going that day and finally decide to get on with it.
We load everyone into the most neglected vehicle we own – “the truck” – the heat doesn’t work, it’s been rained in, the interior is likely rotted, the check engine light is ALWAYS on, but it does the work no other vehicle can do, so we haven’t scrapped it yet. On the way to the farm, we tune into a Christmas music station and the kids all join together in singing that classic yule-time favorite “A-B-C-D…” followed by Calvin screaming “NO! OSCAR!! It’s my turn!!! ABCDE…” then, all the kids joining in a harmonious fight to scream their ABCs the loudest while yelling and hitting their siblings that’s it’s their turn.
Finally, we get “the truck” to the highway where the shuddering of the vehicle in unison with the reverberations of the busted speakers finally silenced the kids into a fearful submission as I try to ignore the angry drivers passing feverishly since I would not go above 60 in a 70mph zone. We, then, get to peacefully listen to actual Christmas music and Oscar shushes everyone when “Frosty the Snowman” comes on and then we make it to the tree farm.
Pulling into the farm, we see it is PACKED! Everyone was walking around, dressed in their holiday best; sweaters, vests, and boots, when my kids jump out of the truck in short sleeves with India taking it a step farther with a flimsy cotton pink skort – Michigan raised kids, amirite? The kids all rushed to grab the deer carcass sleds they let you use to carry your slain tree, they argue incessantly over who gets to pull the thing, then Calvin decides he’ll just sit in the sled, which greatly upsets the other two as you cannot as easily sprint carelessly, demolishing all the baby trees when you have to actually try.
India sings to every tree that it is “the one” and we finally decide on one after, much unlike his choosing a life partner, Tony decides he needs to see every single tree before we settle down. We find a cute one to settle on – it’s not the tallest one we’ve ever gotten, but it’s full, green, and cute. Tony starts with the cutting down after we all have professed that this is “the one”. He gets a few saw strokes into it when I decide to help him out by pressing the tree away from the saw to open up the “incision”. At this very moment, I realize that this is the first any of us have actually touched the tree above the trunk. At this moment, it dawns on me that we have not chosen a tree, but a cactus. I CAN. NOT. TOUCH. IT. Tony asks if he should stop cutting, but we had already damaged the tree, it just was ours now. I picked up the sled to push it and we get it cut down. Tony, wearing work gloves, gets stabbed several times through the gloves to get it loaded on the sled and we consider donating this tree and getting another. “No,” I said, “it just fits with 2020 at this point.”
We get it trimmed and loaded and drive home, welts slowly growing all over Tony’s hands and arms, he is dousing his hands in hand sanitizer to help relieve the itch. India’s allergies and asthma is being triggered, likely by the mold in the interior of “the truck”. And so, we arrive home with the precious cactus, contemplating whether or not to just drag it up and down the gravel driveway until it softens.
Decorating of the tree goes much more smoothly than it could have with a destructive 3 yr. old, only 2-3 ornaments were broken, but that’s why I had my trusty hot glue gun plugged in and ready to go. Oscar ran around the ENTIRE time, hopping on one leg, around the tree, jumping over the strand of lights plugged into the wall, all to simulate being his tyrannosaurus ornament who had lost a leg. We finished adorning the tree with all the favorites, including homemade Pokémon cut-outs, a George Harrison action figure, and a Halloween dragon skeleton. Soon Calvin also joined Oscar in skipping, and then India, and we finished the day with skipping races across the living room.
Here’s to your Christmas/Holiday season!
“Have kids”, they said…
Having children has been a myriad of happiness, frustration, worry, more frustration, and total embarrassment. Sometimes, through all the stress and anxiety of raising young children, you just have to laugh, even if you are also glowing red with embarrassment. One thing I think is important to know about how we have raised our kids for these stories is to know that we do not have any soda (aka Coke for the Georgia folks or pop for the Michiganders) or juices in the house, therefore any cans, bottles, otherwise packaged beverages are either alcohol or milk (the kids mostly drink water).
The Hail Mary
One of the benefits of having multiple children is that at a certain age, you can start to delegate some of your tasks to the older siblings. Sometimes that works and sometimes your son up roots your favorite flowers when you get him to help with weeding the garden. On this particular incident, we were living in Michigan and shopping late at *the best store in the world* “Meijer”. I was by myself with all three kids – ages 6, 4, and 1.5. First, not one person stopped me to tell me how wonderful of a person I was for taking care of my kids like Tony always got when he went to the store with them. Second, I was tired, all three kids were wearing on me. I tried to keep the 4 (Oscar) and 1.5 yo (Calvin) in the buggy with me, but it was getting too full, so I had Oscar feel important by letting him push the cart and tried to convince Calvin that holding onto the side was super fun.
We were almost done shopping when Oscar decided to let go of the cart and start ripping things off the shelves and throwing them in the cart. I went to stop him and Calvin saw his chance. At 18 months, Calvin was already starting to show his true devious self. He took off down the aisle and started across the store. I had no chance to chase him down and keep the peace with Oscar. I felt completely exposed, helpless, frustrated, panicked.. all the emotions. So I delegated. I looked at India and just said “India, go get him”. Like a loyal border collie, she took off across the store, dodging other shoppers, pushing a few over, and when she caught up to Calvin, she took him down. My 6 yo little girl in a sequined tulle skirt body slammed my toddler to the ground right next to an Amish woman and then sat on him until I could get there. The woman just smiled and laughed to herself. India then took Calvin by his arm and dragged him kicking and screaming to the front of the store while we checked out. I just had to laugh and ignore the judging stares.
The Triple Option
My kids attended a Lutheran preschool because of the good reviews it had gotten. They loved that school and were great. One day, they had a dentist come to the school to teach the kids about dental hygiene. When we went to pick India up, she was just as happy and chipper as usual, but her teachers took me to the side for a second. I was used to hearing little stories about how good of an artist she was or how well-behaved and helpful she had been to the class. But this time, they looked a little more concerned. They took me away from where any of the other parents could hear and told us about India’s participation in the dentistry talk.
The dentist had been talking about things that are not good for your teeth and had asked the children to participate by going around the room to each say something. They went around the room and children said jewels like “candy” or “sweets” or any other option but what India decided to add. When it came to be her turn, the preacher asked, “so, India, name something that is bad for you teeth” India spurted out “Whiskey is bad for your teeth!!”
And so, we got a talking to.
Another time, we were at a small group meeting with our church and all the kids were running around in the basement having a great time, while the adults discussed the previous sermon and dug deep into questions and scripture to better ourselves. That’s when Oscar comes running upstairs and says “Mommy, I want whiskey!” Tony and I look bewildered and ask what he’s talking about and he just says that all the other kids have whiskey and he wants some too! Cue all the strange looks between us and the owners of the house – Oscar’s whiskey was another man’s Sprite. They haven’t let us live that one down yet.
The bad call(s)
There were many occasions where our kids lack of knowledge about soda made us look really bad. One, Tony was in line to check out at Meijer and had India with him. The woman checking out in front of them was buying two or three cases of diet coke. India turned to her father and very loudly proclaimed “That woman is buying a LOT of BEER!!”
We went to the Clare, MI Irish festival around St. Patrick’s Day and brought the kids to the craft fair to look at all the amazing things people had created. The kids were actually pretty impressed, but Oscar was most impressed with these model pirate ships someone had made out of soda cans. He dragged me up to the guy who had done it to show me his work and says “Mommy, look at all these boats made out of BEER! I bet daddy would like one!”
More recently, I have been having some stomach issues and went out and bought some sparkling water to get the carbonation without the calories or caffeine to help with the nagging nausea (no, I’m not pregnant – just dying – just kidding). I was picking Calvin up from daycare at a Church and happened to be walking out of the building with another mom and her kid. When I opened the door to put Calvin into the car, he saw my Perrier and shouted loud enough for even Jesus to hear “Mommy, are you drinking BEER?! In the CAR!?!”
Personal foul!
Raising children is a confusing task. No manual comes with them to tell you how to prepare them for the world. At one point in India’s life, I think she was 3, she was very big into Rapunzel and wanted hair like hers and just loved long long hair. She wore nothing but pink and frilly skirts. We were checking out at Target and the young woman checking us out had very short hair – like a pixie cut and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. India was staring at her for awhile and finally spurted out “Mommy, is that a boy or a girl!?!” Mortified, my eyes attempted to leave my skull as my blood rushed to my face. This was just at the beginning of public gender identification issues and I was terrified to have to tell her one way or the other. But I apologized and said, “No, India, she’s a girl.” India said “No, mommy, he’s a boy, he has short hair” I tried to explain to the girl that India was very into Rapunzel and her long hair, but the woman did not look amused or understanding. I felt awful.
Illegal use of hands
Raising boys has been fun in it’s own right. Constantly telling them to get their hands out of their pants, and to pee IN the toilet. Just this weekend, I have had to tell one of the boys things like “You can’t hold your penis and a balloon at the same time!” and at dinner “please wipe your hands off on a napkin and not your underwear!”
The worst time, though was when Oscar was 3 and we went with my brother and his girls along with Tony’s family to the St. Louis Zoo. We were meeting my brother there and were standing in the courtyard just as you walk into the gates of the zoo. People were milling about everywhere, looking at maps, deciding where they would go, reading plaques and signs. If you’ve had kids, you know just how fast they can get away from you especially when you have three and there’s only two of you. Well, we were looking for my brother and Tony’s family was trying to decide which animals to go see first when we lost Oscar. Two seconds and he was gone. We looked around wildly and then found him on the side of one of the walkways, pants around his ankles, peeing into the decorative bushes. He was 3 and just starting to master the art of not peeing in his pants and his tiny yellow arch was already going, so we just laughed and pretended not to see him until he was done, then ran over to cover him up. We were absolutely sure we would be asked to leave the zoo, but I guess no one saw us. Or perhaps, if someone did, they understood what it was like to try and raise young, feral humans.
I hope you had some laughs. I have not been terribly inspired to write lately. If you have any suggestions or topics you would like discussed, please comment.
