The Reward for Training Your Dragon - er, uh - Toddler

Having a toddler is a bit like having a pet dragon; they are both tremendously rewarding, but require an equal amount of effort and trouble.

Fortunately for me, reward and effort often mingle. There are few days that are only trouble, and few days that are just rewards. The result is the lows seem lower and the highs, higher.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I saw my effort and parenting philosophy realized.

"Thank you Mama - for Cheerios, and bowl, and motorcycles."
"Thank you Mama."
"Please Grandad"
"Thank you for strawberries."

I couldn't stop beaming. Every time his sweet little voice spoke those precious words my heart melted in a way I never thought possible.

I was so thankful. I was so proud.

It is rare to hear toddlers say "please," "thank you," or "your welcome" (we're still learning the last one). Actually, it is rare to hear anyone say these things. Maybe it is a result of entitlement, or selfishness, or obliviousness. Whatever the case, I believe in honoring the time and energies of those around me, so I try to thank everyone who is generous with their resources. I thank everyone who serves me or works for me in any way. If it doesn't fit the circumstance, I at least smile at the person, not because it is expected that women should smile, but because I recognize the human being before me and want them to know.

I wanted Kiddo to honor those around him in a similar way. This is something I feel strongly about, and it is why from a very young age, when Kiddo did any desired behavior, I told him "thank you for [insert behavior here]." Some people might think this was a strange thing - a child is not equal to an adult and therefore it is beneath adults to thank children (or to apologize to them etc).

This is complete bullshit and shows just how insecure a person is if they are incapable of recognizing the personhood of a child. A child has agency. They make choices. They choose to act a certain way. Once an adult recognizes this, it makes things a lot easier. Then the adult gives the child reasons to act a desired way (or in our case, say the desired thing).

Normalizing "thank you" made a difference. Thanking everyone appropriately gave a model of behavior for Kiddo. He saw his worth, how other people are valued, and the positive response.

So now, even in the middle of the night, after crying for me, when I go into his room, he immediately says, "Thank you Mama."

*SQUEE!*

Yes, Kiddo had several temper tantrums yesterday. Yes, I wanted to gauge out my ears when he was wailing. But then I heard those precious words, "Thank you Mama," and the tantrums faded into the distance like so many bad memories.

It took a while, but the effort paid off in some serious rewards.

Raising Genderless: Honoring A Toddler's Choice

Outside the box

When Kiddo was born, and even before, I swore I wouldn't pigeon-hole him. I didn't want to keep him from being himself, whoever that was. So I promised, to myself and him, that I would protect and honor his preferences.

I promised I wouldn't push my ideas and preferences onto him.

That is easier said than done, however I think I've done a reasonable job. Sometimes they creep up on me, like when he wanted the Elmo sleepers marketed for girls, covered in pink flowers. I heard myself saying, "girl sleepers" and I had to pick my jaw off the floor.

Since when was that a problem? Sleepers are just sleepers. Who would even see them? Why would that make a difference anyway?! I bought pink and purple cloth diapers for him. How was that any different?

I rationalized my non-purchase by saying they were poly. Kiddo can't wear synthetics coated in flame-retardant. They pill and make him stink from sweat. Plus, they feel awful and the chemicals negatively impact developing endocrine systems. I only let him wear cotton sleepers.

I didn't even touch them to find out what they were. I didn't get close enough because Kiddo was throwing a tantrum he wanted them so badly. I was annoyed, exasperated. I didn't want to get him any more sleepers, that's true, but something else was bothering me. The sleepers were pink.


I was reacting to the fact that he wanted something that was "for girls."

But he's just a little boy. It shouldn't matter that he has a penis or not. It shouldn't matter one way or another what he wears or likes. He should be able to explore himself and what he likes whatever shape that takes.

So I'm grateful for Target's choice to take down their artificial gender barriers. It allows that exploration for all kids. I don't feel weird looking at play food, baby dolls, and remote control cars in the same aisle.Those are all things Kiddo likes. He also likes cleaning, building, and every sport that contains a ball. I'm glad the pressure is off about what is okay for a parent to purchase their child, because frankly, I'm on the cultural border.

Kiddo really likes the color pink. And Abby Cadabby. He sleeps every night with a stuffed Grover and Abby. He likes both a lot. Yes he screams out and giggles when he sees Super Grover, but he also waves his arms like he's a fairy before the Sesame Street fairy school segment.

This may end up being his favorite toy...

Which is why I bought him the Flying Fairy School for his birthday.

It was a great deal. I found it for half the usual price and it gave him two figurines as well as few pieces of furniture along with the school itself. I know he's going to love it. And yes, the characters have wings. And wands. And are purple and pink. Which happen to be his favorite colors.

So what?

Watching Steelers pre-season

Kiddo is a stereotypical boy in many ways. He just collected another bruise today from yet another fall (growing and going TOO fast). He runs around screaming at the top of his lungs. He loves trucks, and cars, and adores
motorcycles. He loves all sports involving balls - golf, soccer, baseball, football, basketball, tennis (yes, even tennis!). But he also likes to pretend to cook and play with figures. His made-up stories often involve hugs and kisses. He loves fairies, butterflies, pink, and purple. He is empathetic, and works hard to make people feel better when they are upset or sad by giving them his toys, hugs, or trying to make them laugh. He shares (I know, but seriously - he does!) at least half the time. He likes sparkles.

And I can't blame him. I like all those things (well, I'm not crazy about watching tennis, but playing is all right. Golf bores the snot out of me, but mini golf is kind of fun.).

The point is his sex organs do not dictate what I give him. And they don't dictate who he is now or will become as an adult. If he wants to wear "girl sleepers," that's okay. That was just a label someone else gave a product that fits any child. And if my toddler loves that product (and I do too), then by the grace of our capitalist overlords, I will let him have it.

A Geek Parent with a Jock Kid

I always said if I had a kid, it wouldn't matter what they wanted to do I would support them. If, for example, they wanted to be a ribbon dancer, I would help them to be the best damn ribbon dancer ever. And this is still true.

I just never thought I, a creative geek, would end up with a super athlete kid. Not really. I mean, I thought it would be funny....but...I didn't think it would ACTUALLY happen.

My husband jokes that he is the least athletic in his family. This is true, however when we say the least athletic, this needs perspective. This is a man who taught himself how to spear fish, who has strung marines up by a single ankle and shook them, who chopped off the heads of baby rattle snakes with a hatchet at the age of 11. He is, in my estimation, a sort of Paul Bunyon type. This is my picture of my husband.

So then, I can tell you about his sisters. His sisters, one of whom had a full ride scholarship to play soccer. Another tried out for the basketball team without never having played, and was placed on varsity as a sophomore, without EVER HAVING PLAYED.

Oh, and did I mention his dad? Kiddo's grandfather? who STILL holds track and field records at his high school? STILL!

Sigh.

So my son, my darling boy, has this in his blood. He watches an inning of baseball and starts trying to pitch. He hits balls off the tee, with a bat that is as big as he is. He dribbles soccer balls without trying. He runs EVERYWHERE. This is the kind of boy I have. An athlete. And I don't even know all the rules to these games. I don't know all the stances. But you can be sure I'm going to learn.

Kiddo will stay still to watch sports. Golf. Baseball. Basketball. Football. Soccer (actually, he doesn't sit still for soccer - he runs around kicking the ball like the players because he thinks it's super fun).

Oh, and then there are motorcycles. He LOVES motorcycles. And bicycles. Pretty much anything with wheels. He likes how they work - another inherited trait from his father's side.

However, he also loves music. And fabric. And animals. And colors. And telling stories. And walking around looking at nature. So at least we have that to bond over.

It is funny that I ended up with an athlete. The irony was too good for it NOT to happen. And that's fine. Even though I don't know much about these sports, I will support Kiddo as he pursues them. He has his uncles and aunts who played all manner of things and will enjoy sharing that with him. And I will go to the games and I will take him to camps or whatever he finds enjoyable. I am committed to that, because that is where his interest lies. That's part of what it means to be a parent.

And he is still extremely young. He could end up being really into writing too. That could happen. Or he could go in a completely different direction. Who knows? Life takes all kinds of twists and turns. However, I'm pretty sure, whatever direction it goes for Kiddo, there will be sports somewhere in the mix. He loves them too much for it not to be the case.

In the mean time, I have to figure out ways to weather all the sports related events. And the other sporty parents - you know, the ones who were into sports themselves and have nothing in common with me except the fact their kid plays on the same team as mine.

Tips would be welcome. I'm going to store them up in preparation. Until then, I'll play ball with my limited skills, hoping I've got at least a few years before Kiddo outstrips me. And then I'll start outsourcing the play time to more competent family members. In a few years. I hope...

Mother Heartbreaker

Mothers' Day has a lot of different meanings for people. It is only my second, and even in the middle of family gatherings, I found myself reflecting on how the day has changed for me. I found myself thinking about the changes I experienced in becoming a mother.

When I was younger I never thought of myself as a mothering type. In fact I thought I was cold, reserved, and awkward around children. I was convinced I would be horrible. Actually terrible.

I learned how to be around kids by being around kids. I started tutoring elementary and junior high students. During that time, I learned a lot about children and realized that while children are at a different place in development, they are people. They are jniust people.

Yes, they have specific needs. Yes they have smaller vocabularies and may struggle to understand some abstract concepts BUT for the most part, they just need love, support, and security.

And I did not understand that once you become a mother, all the training you took in subconsciously from your own mother kicked in. I did not understand that at some point in pregnancy your brain changed in such a way that marks you. Childless women and men do not understand this transformation. It is a biological change that occurs. There is nothing else like it. And I did not know its depth.

I cannot watch children being hurt. The idea of a child going without breaks my heart. Going without food, or shelter, or clothes, or education, or parents, or love. It all hurts my heart. It constricts my chest.

And I cannot breathe when I hear of a parent losing a child. That pain is unnatural. Wrong. But I did not understand how it would be so before I became a parent. I did not understand how gut wrenching even the idea could be.

I know it bothers Christian more now that he is a father, but I wonder about the way it impacts a mother, one whose brain changes during pregnancy...who bonds through breastfeeding.

So when I look at my son, I find myself a stranger. I turned into a super lovey mom. I have to kiss his cheeks. I have to hug and cuddle him. I have to tell him I love him several times a day. I have to pick him up when he is sad and put words to his intense feelings. The sweetest sound is his laugh, or maybe him singing, or just telling a gibberish toddler story. And I know he has more power over me than any other human in this world. Because more than anyone, he can break my heart.

Toddler The Destroyer

"He is all boy."

That's what people say about Kiddo when they see him.

"You are such a toddler."

That's what I say to Kiddo when he's getting into things.

A pool of Tylenol

Kiddo has spilled water and Tylenol all over three Roger Hargreaves books. He has ripped up one Ducati book. He has ripped out pages from his Hello Kitty coloring book. He has spilled cat food all over the floor. He has spilled his water all over...well, everything. He has dumped sand everywhere, resulting in diapers and shoes full of sand. He has dumped dirt on his head, leaving a layer of grit on his scalp.

Often when we try to get him clean up, he has a meltdown, or at the very least, fights me.

Kiddo does still like to use brooms, and enjoys helping with the laundry. Unfortunately, his sweeping makes more of a mess. Kiddo's laundry help usually means he crumples Christian's work shirt into a ball, and then puts it in a random drawer.

This is not the most enjoyable part of parenting a toddler. However, I wouldn't get the smiles, giggles, hugs, and kisses if I didn't have these parts too. I remind myself he is learning and exploring the world and that is a marvel.

Even though I sometimes yell, or need a break, I love my little boy. The awesome parts far out number the tough parts...

"I love you Mommy."

That one gets me every time.

Raising A Gentleman (Part 2): Dangerous Boys

WARNING: This post contains content regarding rape and violence that may disturb readers. Names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty.

“James, you pretend to rape her,” said Jack, pointing from James to me. My whole body tensed.

“Huh?” James looked at Jack in confusion. Then he shook his head. “Nu-uh.”

“Just hold her down. Pin her arms to her side and pretend to rape her,” said Jack in irritation to James. It was Jack's game. Someone was supposed to be a police officer or spy. I can't remember which. Someone else was supposed to be some criminal master mind, some kind of mafia boss, except this was not any cops and robbers game I ever played. I was uncomfortable. Still, Jack was my next door neighbor. My family went to his house for dinner. His parents seemed nice. They did short term foster care placements. By all accounts they were upstanding citizens. They seemed to be a good family.

Except for Jack.

“Come on!” he spat, his foot tapping the broken cement sidewalk. Jack was the aggressive one. He asserted his dominance without caring what other people thought or wanted. But we did want to play. Even though I was introverted I needed to get out of my own head. I wanted to be with people for a little while, people I knew. We wanted to be outside. It was north of sixty degrees, the grass was green, and the sun was shining. We wanted to belong. No one else was out. No other kids were living on the street at that time. We were kids. What else were we supposed to do?

“I don't want to,” mumbled James.

“I don't want to either,” I mumbled, feeling the strength of numbers. I felt the danger of the suggestion – the idea of a boy holding me down, against any surface, in any position. Any way I pictured it, it made me uncomfortable. But I didn't know what rape was. I was only eight years old.

Jack rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine!” he snapped. “Just kiss her on the cheek and we can move on!” This was hard enough. This was awkward enough. Whatever rape was, this tiny peck was meant to stand in for it. To compound the strangeness, Jack knew James had a crush on me. Some perverse part of his eleven year old self knew the whole exercise was awkward for this seven year old boy and he wanted to make him uncomfortable. He wanted to make me uncomfortable. He wanted to both give James an opportunity with his crush even while relishing in the pain it would cause us both.

James flushed, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. My face a mask, I withstood the indignity. Jack grinned impishly.

“Okay, let's go!” Jack spun on his heels and took off running, James following quickly in an effort to avoid what just happened. I hesitated, giving them a head start, because of course, I wasn't sure how I felt about the situation myself.

Because I didn't know, I didn't tell anyone. I'm not sure Jack or James ever did either. If they did, they probably never said anything about that particular exchange. They probably never mentioned the fact that Jack, an eleven year old boy, ordered James, a seven year old boy, to pretend to rape me, an eight year old girl, in the course of play.

When I share this story, my husband tells me this is abnormal. Little boys don't play this way. Relaying the story makes his knuckles whiten and his jaw clench. His eyes water in a combination of frustration, anger, and disgust. He repeats himself.

"That is not normal, Alexis. Not normal."

But this was my experience. This kind of experience has marked my understanding of boys and men.

I can pull out a long list of times I have been hurt by both boys and men throughout my life because of my sex. It is extensive. It is disturbing. It is upsetting. It shouldn't be true, but it is.

So now, you wonder, why did she want to have a boy? Because I did. I absolutely wanted to have a boy. I wanted to have a boy so badly it hurt.

Because for me, raising a son would be redemptive. It would be an opportunity for me to raise a boy into a man who was compassionate - who saw all people around him as his equals - as human beings. I could raise an ally, as opposed to a predator. I could raise a gentleman.

And then there was the other side - the reason I didn't want to have a girl.

I didn't want to have a girl because I knew I couldn't protect her. I knew that no matter what I did, I couldn't save her from the realities of the world. At some point, I knew she would be stalked or harassed. I knew she would be offered a drugged drink. I knew someone would call her "bitch" or "slut" or ignore her very considered and valuable opinion just because she had a uterus and breasts.

I know if I had been pregnant with a girl I would have cried. I would have cried so hard, and long, and been so depressed, I don't know what I would have done. Because of boys like Jack. Because the world is so dangerous for women even still. Because men - and women - still don't admit the danger, and still blame women for it, even though the danger is perpetrated by boys and men.

And we raised them. Mothers and fathers raised these dangerous boys. We raised hecklers, abusers, and rapists. We raised them. We raised them because we didn't think about the shows they were watching. We raised them because we didn't tell them about our experiences of misogynist violence and how it affected our entire lives. We raised them because we didn't filter their music and movies. We raised them that way because we just laughed off their hitting the girl they liked because, "Ha, ha! Boys will be boys!"

I plan to tell Kiddo my story. My whole story. I plan to explain what happened to me and what effects it had. I plan to talk with him about what other boys do and say in his peer group. I plan to talk to him about how he interacts with girls. I plan to filter his music, movies, books, and shows. And if something contains questionable content, I plan to unpack it and answer his questions.

It's never too early to have these conversations. I know this because I knew boys - little boys - who were predators. I knew boys like Jack, who made it seem like this behavior was alright, even when it so obviously wasn't. I know if I wait, there could be consequences, the kind that ripple across people's lives. And I can't allow that. I won't leave my son's treatment of other people up to chance. I plan to raise a gentleman, a compassionate ally, a defender of people no matter their type. That is something that requires intention, and hopefully, a community of like-minded people committed to the same.

We can't have boys like Jack running around the world. Such boys do not turn into good men, and we're lying to ourselves if we think they can. Boys like Jack shouldn't be normal. They shouldn't even exist.

A Real Boy

When you cut a baby's hair, he becomes a real boy.

He laughs at the sound of his farts, or grins before he passes gas. He laughs when he pulls your shirt up to nurse (peek-a-boob?). He bangs his face against the tile floor and wails when he doesn't get what he wants. He launches himself off anything and everything. He gets marker all over his clothes. He dumps his entire cup of water all over the floor. He pulls half of grandma's cookbooks off the shelf. He blows raspberries on your belly to make you laugh. He growls low in his throat just because. He claps when he's happy. He yells at the top of his lungs just to hear his voice.

He becomes a toddler.

Thinking about the transformation gets my throat tight. I looked at every picture in my phone after it happened. I tried to commit that babyish fly-away sweetness to memory. I kept a lock from his first haircut for his baby book. There's no going back.

Walks Like A Duck

Kiddo loves ducks. He really does. He has 2 rubber duckies AND an inflatable duckie tub. He likes the pictures of ducks in several of his books.

He likes them so much he actually will excitedly cry out "Duck! Duckie! Duck! Duckie!" just before or on the duck page.

In fact it was the duck page that got him walking unassisted the end of last week. At first it was just one or two steps towards a book. Then it was 6 to get a much loved toy. Then it was across the room for anything and everything...sometimes.

Kiddo it turns out, is cautious.

Even though his halting gait gets him across a room successfully, he prefers to hold hands. He prefers it so much he will whine, whimper, and finally wail if he doesn't get to hold hands.

His caution extends to people and objects as well. With people he doesn't know or isn't sure about he will cling to me. If they go to touch him, he pulls his body away from them, casting a look of such concern it makes people heartbroken.

When Kiddo explores a new object for the first time, he pokes at it with his index finger. Then he presses it. If it doesn't smoosh, he grabs it, moving it around, switching it from hand to hand. Finally when he has seen every angle and made every sound he can with it, he sticks it in his mouth.

So while Kiddo has a streak of caution that puts a crick in my lower back, I will take it. I would rather have that then the alternative.

10 Month Terror

10 months. Kiddo is almost 10 months old.

It seems like he was born yesterday...that he was a little human pupae and now...

Now he's a terror.

I mean, Kiddo is sweet. He really is. And I'm confident in saying he's probably the most perfect child next to Jesus and Buddha but...but...BUT he's still a baby.

And he's getting into things. And getting sharp teeth that he uses on everything. And purposefully drops his food on the floor. And pulls all the CDs and DVDs to the floor. And eats paper, to the point that NO paper is safe from his tiny chubby clutches. And he whimpers. And he wriggles whenever I try to change his diaper. And he beams whenever I offer him a toy he likes. And then he swings it around so hard it goes flying. And he dumps the kitty food. And he pulls on the drawers. And he chews on any cable he can magically get his hands on. And he laughs when you tell him "no" or scream "ow."

And he grows 2 inches in 3 days. Literally. Thursday night he was short enough to have inches between his head and the table. Saturday he was hitting his head.

He talks all the time. I know he's trying to tell stories, so I respond as best as I can and this seems acceptable. I seem to be fooling him into thinking I understand. This gets him to talk more. Well, a combination of baby babble and real English words.

But he also cuddles, and hugs, and tries to give kisses. And he smells like sunshine and spring. And his eyes are windows into the Divine.

And we made him. He grew in me and came into this world through my efforts. And I think of that every time he falls asleep, twining his fingers with mine.

Nail Art: Staying Girly as a Boy Mom

I'm fancy!

Anyone who knows me knows I'm an active sort of person. This means I'm not very good at keeping my nails in good shape. I wasn't good before I had Kiddo and I'm not good now.

Instead of getting acrylic nails, I got acrylic paint under my nails. Instead of trimming my cuticles, I would rip them. Sometimes I'd just tear part of the nail off if it bothered me. To make matters worse, I'd nervously pick at any uneven portion. I've even been known to bite at ragged ends.

Yes, my poor nails were a hot mess.

They were.

I've been informed that as a mother of a male child, it's important to assert my femininity. Seeing as I'm getting ready for a big family event, I wanted to look cute. Two birds with one stone...or well three if you consider the makeover I basically got.

My soon to be sister-in-law did me a huge favor. She did NAIL ART! For those of you not in the know, that's art on your fingers! Whaaaaat?!?!?!

I've never had art on my fingers (I use my fingers to make art, not display it.). I'm notoriously bad at keeping nail polish in one piece. My longest chip-free stint was probably 3 days...maybe 2.5 if I get down to it. Because of my chip habit, I tend to avoid paying for any kind of anything on my fingers.

Well, I never would have gotten my nails ANYWHERE close to as nice as they are right now except my soon to be SIL is really good at this stuff. Really.

I'm hoping she goes into business for herself I was so impressed. She helped me tie together the color of my dress and the hair clip I'm planning on wearing. So...if you live in SB county, I know a really good nail artist! ;-)

In the mean time, I hope I don't mess them up!