Diamonds & Hammers...Oh My.

Because pushing stereotypical gender toys to toddlers wasn't starting early enough, Fisher Price has come out with a set of rattles, marketed towards babies ages 3-18 months.

Am I shocked or surprised?

No.

Am I disappointed?

Yes.

Princess Free Zone has already written up a well-thought out post explaining all the reasons these rattles are feeding into the problem of gender stereotypes (and nicely addresses the "So What?" argument I hear way too frequently).

Of course, I couldn't help but add my own two cents:

Let's break this down quickly. For anyone who has a kid (or anyone with a lick of sense), we know that a 3 month old isn't going to be swayed one way or another based upon a rattle. An infant girl isn't going to play with her faux diamond, pink, plastic rattle and cement her membership in the girly-girl club, nor will an infant boy demand a trip to Home Depot for some tools of his own after gnawing on his hammer rattle.

So why am I getting so riled up about this?

It's because of the fact that Fisher Price feels that babies this young are already categorized by gender and should be catered to as such. They compound the issue with the accompanying phrases on the packaging.

Sweet Baby Girl  vs.  Busy Baby Boy

These just play into the falsehood of how some of society views babies: Sweet, docile baby girls versus loud, active baby boys. Toys that reinforce this notion simply perpetuate the falsehood.

I'll let Fisher Price in on a little secret...a 3 month old baby girl has no real concept that she's playing with a faux diamond rattle. In fact, she has no idea of the weight that little rattle in her hand actually possesses. Yet, as she grows up, those ideals will continue to be reinforced, over and over again - through toys, clothes, TV shows, movies, and more, until she gets to the point where she starts to buy into it, whether she truly believes in it or not.

Our kid's will be inundated with stereotypical gender messages throughout their entire childhood. Being a new parent is exhausting enough, do we really need to tire ourselves further by dealing with gender stereotypes this early out of the gate?

There are plenty of other options out there...

EZ chomping on a wooden rattle at 3 months old. No diamonds or hammers here!

And really, the mama in me is also kind of against these types of toys in general because...why? Why do babies need all this stuff (another post for another time, to be sure).

EZ playing with a favorite "toy" - a spoon.

Our consumerist culture has pushed us to the point where diamond rattles for 3 month old baby girls is somehow acceptable. If trends like these catch on, I'm almost fearful of what comes next...

(Toy manufacturers...please don't see that last sentence as a challenge. Really.)

How To Make A Baby

This guest post was written by a friend who is frustrated, angry and tired over a process this is supposedly there to help her. She wanted a platform to share her story and I was more than willing to do what I could. While creating a baby for some is as easy as one fun night, for others it's not as simple. And for other's yet, it's a painstaking journey...

We have been going through this crazy process to try to make a baby—build our family. We are two thirty-something women, who have been together for over 11 years, married for over 5 years, own our own house (or at least the bank does for another 20+ years), live in semi-rural New England with our two cats, have post-graduate degrees, and a huge community of loving friends and family that support us from one mile down the road to the West Coast, across the globe, and many places in between. We are financially stable, have good professions, physically healthy, and emotionally (in general) stable. We are culturally Jewish and identify with spiritual teachings from many religions, including Judaism. We have a garden that can sometimes successfully group tomatoes and squash, and we often forget, or simply don’t make the time, to weed.

Our lives have included their fair share of strife and difficulties, just like many, if not most, other people; and at times we have dealt with it better than others. But trying to make a baby has been no small feat. First off- we had to decide on where we would get our sperm. After debating known versus anonymous donor, we opted for a cousin, so that our child would be biologically related to both of us. I am going to be the birth mother with my partner’s cousin’s sperm. We had only the most positive experience and response when discussing this with her cousin- him wanting nothing more than to help us have children. I am ever so grateful for his loving kindness. Now to get the sperm to my egg… he lives out of town, so if he isn’t in town, we have it shipped, overnight, in a kit that keeps it viable for 24-48 hours (thank you gayspermbank.com).

Either we inseminate at home, or I go to my midwife who washes it, spins it, and inserts it past my cervix [Intrauterine Insemination (IUI)]. We know the timing, or hope we get the timing right, because I chart my temperatures and cycles daily, pee on ovulation predictor kits (OPKs) every so often, and sometime I even go and get an ultrasound to quadruple check. This is all because I am blessed with irregular cycles, for which they have found no known direct cause other than possibly Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), although blood tests do not confirm this diagnosis.

So we have been doing this for 20+ months. Friends I was trying to get pregnant with are celebrating their babies’ one-year birthdays. Please, don’t hear that as complaining- it is wonderful to celebrate their lives and it is also a reminder of how long and difficult this has all been.

We started with one midwifery clinic and had an awful, unprofessional experience there. One midwife reprimanded me (for what I still don’t understand), while I was in the stirrups butt naked. She ended up taking a leave and has retired early—something that validates my experience and saddens me for her difficulties. We switched to another midwife center and have received loving, compassionate, and accepting care. I text my midwife when I get a positive OPK and we schedule via texting. We share 1-2 hours a month while she cleans the sperm and I warm the wash.

After six months of trying on our own and 14 months of IUIs, we decided to consult a the local hospital’s reproductive medicine center to see what our next options were. Having completed one cycle of clomid that made me feel so crazy that I thought I was going to jump off a bridge, I needed to know other options. We met with Dr. L, who immediately told us what my health insurance would cover before laying an eye on me. We told her we had a known donor who had been tested for STIs and HIV and with whom I had been inseminating with for 20 months. She commented, “You know we don’t like that here.” She did not look at my charts, my cycles, my medical history, or my wife in the eye. She told us to go right to IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) and switch to an anonymous donor because it would be more efficient. As if our donor decision has not been well thought out and emotionally involved.

Dr. L stated numerous excuses as to why they would not work with us with a known donor unless we quarantined the sperm ($) at a sperm bank ($$) for six months to test it twice ($$$) for STIs, and then freeze the sperm and ship it ($$$$) to their facility. She said it was a waste to do it that way because it would cost over $5,000. [Which at this point in time I would pay $5k for a child in a heartbeat.] I will comment that the actual cost of this is more like $3,000, but the fact that it is put off for six months just because I am not married to him feels ridiculous. Dr. L explained that due to the guidelines that the hospital follows, while a heterosexual couple could move immediately to IVF, a lesbian couple has to quarantine the sperm for six months, even if the individual has been exposed to the sperm prior to IVF. Basically, if I had to come to the clinic with just the donor and we said we wanted to have a child I would have moved to IVF IMMEDIATELY without having to pay any such sperm bank costs.

We argued these points, but to no avail. We were met with even more blatant discrimination (oh did you know, by the way, that sperm banks certified by the ASRM [American Society of Reproductive Medicine]- which this clinic only accepted sperm from- you can’t be a gay male—or rather you can’t have had sex with a male in the past 5 years. There are hundreds of other rules too about being out of the country, so on and so forth, but having sex with a male was #1). Then there was Dr. L’s comment about how we needed to go to counseling (I’m a psychologist) to deal with our “issue.” I inquired about the subject of “issue”—my infertility or the way we are choosing to make our family and was told the latter. And don’t let me forget the moment where my wife told the doctor that we knew it was not her intention exactly, but we felt discriminated against by her actions. She replied, “It’s okay for you to feel that way.”

Dr. L claimed that they could not separate the social (my state-recognized marriage) from the medical (my inseminations with the donor) because they had a “moral obligation.” She explained this with an example of a family in which children had been removed from the home and how the hospital would have a moral obligation not to offer that couple IVF. We, as two women with a known donor, were being compared to a family in which children were removed from the home for abuse and/or neglect. This was Dr. L’s attempt to have a “mutual agreement” as to why the hospital would eventually deny us equal services that would have been offered had I been a married heterosexual woman, a single woman with a male partner, or had I simply just come in with the donor and said that we wanted to have a child (a.k.a. lied—kind of like we are forced to do on our federal tax forms, but I digress…).

Needless to say, they denied us services for what we believe is discrimination based on how we are choosing to create a family. She neglected to send us her policies as we requested and it took over four weeks for me to get a copy of the records I requested and testing I had done there. They charged me $3.25 for the copies after billing my insurance company over $1,000 for the two 30-minute visits and even more for testing. (I had a Hysterosalpingogram [HSG] done and while they gave me a time to arrive, they took me 90 minutes later than my scheduled time. When I inquired, I was told to take deep breaths and relax (have I mentioned I am also a trained yoga instructor?), even though a sign in the waiting room stated “if you are not taken within 15 minutes of your scheduled appointment, please inquire with the receptionist.” Oh, and I was told to take 800 mg of Ibprofen 30-minutes before the procedure which I was now concerned was beginning to wear off.)

Finally we are done with this clinic, and while we are considering letter writing or letters to the editor, we cannot expend our energy on it until we have a child. We really just want a baby - one that is of both of our genetics, and for some reason this is so confusing to the reproductive medicine center at our local hospital.

So we try a second reproductive clinic. This one is two hours away with a satellite office one hour away. We don’t hesitate to go. We are treated with significantly more respect—find out that the owner/medical director is an out gay male—and are allowed to more forward with IVF, with just a few stipulations. 1) We need a contract by a lawyer, reviewed by my wife’s cousin’s lawyer, stating the financial/parental responsibility of the to be child; 2) the donor needs to attend one session of counseling to prove that he knows he is making this decision (have I mentioned that he is a scientist, his father a lawyer and his mother a psychologist?); 3) he needs to have blood tests, again, within 7 days of depositing his sample or “donation” if you will- he has to freeze his donation ($) so that they can ship it ($$) to our facility; 4) I need to have additional genetic testing and infectious disease screening, as well as proof that I have been vaccinated and/or exposed to a host of childhood diseases. I have already had 2 rounds of genetic testing, 3 rounds of hormonal panels, 2 rounds of thyroid panels, 2 rounds of glucose screening, 3 rounds of infectious disease screening, and 2 rounds of blood type screening; 5) I need to have a physical within one year of IVF- apparently they only really need to listen to my lungs and heart, and even though all the reproductive doctors are physicians (and wear stethoscopes around their necks), none can listen to my heart and lungs without a separate appointment; 6) pap smear within a year (thankfully I did that!); 7) hormonal panel on day three of cycle (done!); 8) uterus cavity examination (I have had not just one but two of these) and… screeching halt… 12 cycles of IUI with three cycles using follicular stimulating hormones. Well, even though I have been trying for 20 months, thus exposed to sperm for 20 months, there is a chance that my health insurance company won’t accept that and that they will only count IUIs and unfortunately I have only had 10. (Again, if I were hetero- no problemo!). Oh, and even though I ovulate on my own without difficulty (irregularly, but only 1 out of 18 cycles have been anovulatory), they want to stimulate the heck out of my ovaries so that my hormones are out of whack for the two months BEFORE IVF. I was recently put on an anti-diabetes drug (metformin) for the PCOS. I am hoping that the insurance company will count that because I start a new job next month and the following month my wife has ACL surgery, so I really don’t want to go crazy for all of that. (By the way, my mom has breast cancer and went through surgery, chemotherapy, and now radiation while I was going through all this, finishing a doctoral program, writing and defending a dissertation, my wife had her ski accident, and more people in my life died than I can easily count.) It has been a year of trauma, topped off with disappointment, frustrations, stress, and discrimination.

So here we are, I’m in weekly acupuncture, taking herbs, trying to prepare my body for an onslaught of hormones, waiting to hear what my insurance company, not my doctor or midwife, will dictate about my treatment. I have to get permission from more adults in power for making a wanted child and yet 16 year olds are not taught about protected intercourse and find themselves unknowingly and unwittingly pregnant with little support from anyone, let alone the FDA, ASRM, or any other institution. Why is the government so interested in making this so difficult for us but not in preventing children from mistakes that can’t be undone?

Yes, I am frustrated. I’m sure it is partially a mask for the sadness and monthly disappointment. I don’t know how much longer I can do this and yet I can’t imagine not having children. Three ideally, although I can’t see myself doing this part again. My new mom and pregnant friends have told me that the nine months feels like forever. At this point, it doesn’t feel so long.

I’m not saying that it should be perfectly easy for two women to have children. I’m the first to admit that this isn’t supposed to be simple. I chose to marry a woman (note language here) but I didn’t choose to be discriminated for it. I just think that Dr. L could have been kinder. It was so clear we made her uncomfortable—but I’m a human and like many others that she has helped get pregnant, I want a child. She wasn’t thinking of what my experience was because she was too stuck in her own discomfort to see past it to ours.

I never expected it to take this long and yet somehow I trust that when we finally have a child, it will all feel right that we had to wait this long. I know that there are children out there, whether born yet or just in spirit, that will choose us as parents. I just wish that institutions didn’t get in the way quite so much.

At this point, I would happily take twins because it would mean we were done with this process. Happily.

In closing, it has been emotionally tolling and draining—but it will all be worth it when we hold that child in our arms for the first time.

Abigail Levy, a pseudonym used by the author to protect her identity, is a psychotherapist and has been married to her spouse for 5 years. They reside in New England. A shorter version of Abigail's story originally appeared in The Rainbow Times. 

Back To School

Note the plethora of books in the butterfly net. He's ready.

Almost every day for the past week has started the same:

"Do I get to go back to school today?"

***

When EZ was around two and a half, we started making the rounds to various preschools in the area. We were less worried about getting him on the baby-genius track, and more concerned with giving him a few mornings a week to interact with his peers while mama got a few hours to regain her sanity. If he happened to learn anything while there, even better.

We're lucky to live in an area saturated with schools - private, public, charter - you name it, we've got it. Almost every educational philosophy is represented, and the choices really are limitless (as long as your bank account is limitless as well...).

I started off by checking out one preschool in particular, intrigued by what they seemed to offer. EZ is a January baby, making him just short of that supposedly magic 2.9-by-September cutoff that many preschools adhere to. Perhaps it was my mistake to look at schools who abide by that rule, but there we were, meeting with the director of the program anyway.

She watched as EZ played with some toys that were left out as she described the program to me. Then, she pulled me aside and said that while she'd love to have EZ attend, they are pretty strict with their age minimum.

Had the conversation ended there, I probably wouldn't have thought twice and possibly would have even sent him there the following year. 

But then...

"And it's good anyway. That way, he'll be even older when he starts next year, making him on track with the other kids in the class, especially the girls."

Excuse me? 

Of course, I asked her to clarify.

She talked about how boys are naturally slower learners, how if he started this year he'd be behind and frustrated and wouldn't enjoy himself.

If I knew how to arch my eyebrow in that awesomely pointed way, I totally would have. Instead, I thanked her for her time, scooped up EZ, and left.

While I'm sure this director must have met students who fell into that description, she hadn't met EZ yet. Not really. She didn't know what he could or couldn't do, but because he's a boy, she already had a preconceived notion of what he was capable of.

And that totally sucked.

Now granted, I know that all of our kids are special snowflakes and when they do something it's the bestest thing ever and better than any other little kid doing the same exact thing. No, seriously, when EZ pooped in the potty for the 1st time, I almost held a parade

But, for me, this is beyond being fiercely protective of my son because he's mine, and more about this general idea that boy are intellectually slower than girls that has seeped into our society (and by extension - school systems).

I'm not suggesting that there aren't biological differences between boys and girls. I know there are. Books have been written about these difference suggesting they begin as early as the womb, and studies are always looking at the differences between male and female brains. However, regardless of the biological differences between the sexes, acting upon these theories in a way that could potentially affect them negatively in an educational setting makes me bristle.

I want a teacher to look at my child and see his potential, and not rely on the generality that boys are slower learners - that already puts him at a disadvantage. It could be as subtle as not starting to work on reading or math sooner, or over compensating with over the top attention when he manages to do something correctly.

In the end, we chose a school that happened to be a perfect fit. EZ's teachers look at him as an eager kid, full of questions and potential. They don't teach towards his gender, and in fact, in the two years that he's been there, not one teacher has made a comment about the supposed slow pace at which boys learn, or how he learns "as a boy." We've had discussions about his struggles with fine motor skills and his accomplishments in reading. Neither time were those skills, or lack thereof, connected to the fact that EZ is a boy. They were simply presented as "this is how your child is doing."

This Friday, EZ finally goes back to school. He's beyond happy, and I'm thrilled knowing he'll be walking into a classroom that views him as an individual, rather than a sum of his parts.

EZ at his birthday celebration (blowing out the "sun") at school last year

Schooled.

It's back to school time for most, and with that comes the excitement, nerves and anticipation of the first day.

Apparently, it also bring with it a huge helping of sexism.

JC Penny has made the news for selling back-to-school shirts for girls that reinforce the stereotype that as long as they're pretty, they don't need to worry about their intellect. My friend Melissa over at Pigtail Pals breaks it down and explains why JC Penny screwed up so poorly.

To their very little credit, JC Penny heard the backlash loud and clear and removed the shirt from being sold.

However, they continue to sell shirts that portray similarly sexist messages.

I guess girls are no longer taking Science, Math or History? BTW, I'm pretty certain I received an F in "shopping"

While most people get why the above shirts are offensive, many others have been espousing the whole "if you don't like it, don't buy it" notion. The problem with that is that folks don't need to buy it to buy into it. Just the fact that these shirts exist - pushing the stereotype that girls don't need to be brainy as long as they have their looks - reinforces a falsehood that some little girls might actually buy into.

Of course, I had to be fair. I went through all 22 pages of JC Penny's t-shirts for girls. Not all were this blatant. But, most of them did have qualifying words on them: Princess, Diva, Cutie, etc... Others had messages like "I heart bling." None besides a super cute & nerdy Hello Kitty shirt left me feeling all that groovy, to be honest.

I then decided to look through all 15 pages of the boys t-shirts. Hardly any had descriptive words. Lots of numbers and sports themed shirts, but not much was suggested beyond boys being "Rock Star!" "X-Treme!" or.... "boys."

What's with the disparity? The sad thing is, if I looked beyond JC Penny and compared other big box clothing stores, I'm certain to find similar trends. Girl style automatically equals commentary on looks and attitude, while boys' clothes tend to either be plain or lame.

I'm well aware that awesome kid-positive clothing exists out there. But these kinds of clothes are not available in big box stores where many people shop. These clothes are not the majority. But, perhaps, if more people are vocal about what they don't want to see on their children's clothes, perhaps retailers will start taking the hint...

Quick Hit: Transgender Child

Katie, a reader of this blog, sent me a link to a video clip about a 7 year old transgender child almost week ago, and I've sat on it, trying to figure out the best way to approach it.

In the end, I think it's best if I just share it and allow you all to take from it what you will. I will say that (in my own family) while EZ loves pink, painted nails & dressing up like a princess, he is also very adamant that he is a boy and is both comfortable and confident about that point.

For me, having a son who just happens to dig traditionally feminine things and dealing with a transgender child are two wholly different sides of a similar coin. I'm not trying to compare or contrast, just simply passing along this video (that - for me - is bittersweet)... eager to hear your thoughts.

Beautiful Boy

I never know what to expect with my son, and my parenting mantra so far has pretty much been: Expect the unexpected. 

And it's true. Just when I think I've gotten things figured out, he goes and changes things up on me.

Lately, it seems as if EZ has been way more body conscious than normal. Within the last couple of months he's become much more insistent on his need for privacy when naked around others, which wouldn't be something of note if this wasn't the same kid who refused to wear clothes for most of his first three years of life.

Just last summer on Cape Cod

His behavior has been most notable this summer as we go swimming nearly every day. He demands a rash guard, refusing to swim topless (although, from a sun protection stand point, I'm actually on board with this one!). Whereas before, he would toss off his wet swim trunks wherever he was when it was time to leave, we either have to use the bathroom or create a towel barricade so he can change now.

At the spray park a few weeks ago with his bff

He's even taken to insisting that his best friend (a girl) doesn't see an inch of him if he has to swap clothes/put on a bathing suit. Yet, he's still totally fine with taking baths together with her. Yeah, I've stopped trying to figure out how a 4 year old's mind works too.

Beyond this new found modesty (which we're honoring for sure), he's also much more aware and vocal about the differences in people's bodies...sometimes in a jarring way. EZ has taken to letting MD know that, "you've got a big belly, daddy."

In fact he's shared the same sentiment with my father when he was visiting last weekend, much to my father's amusement.

At first I thought he was being observational, but then he continued to explain that, "they probably got those bellies from eating too much junk food and sweets."

Now, it's not that he's wrong...in fact, he's pretty much on the money, but it was his follow up thought that struck me.

"If I don't want a big belly like that, I need to stop eating junk food. I want a flat belly because it's better."

Sure, all of this can be chalked up to kids say the darnedest things, but it resonates a bit deeper for me. I started thinking about body image and how young it really starts.

Body image is something that has always been on my mind. Despite currently having a healthy sense of self, I've struggled, like many women, with my body image throughout the years. I've found that I've become much kinder and gentler with myself since giving birth (which is a whole other topic, perhaps for another time).

We're bombarded with media images on a daily basis, and given false images of what "perfect" should be, that I feel like I need to work even harder to encourage body-positive language and thought in my house.

Kimoralee Simmons on left/Heavily photoshopped ad of her on right.
Courtesy of Beauty Redefined 

Most people might say, "But you have a son! It's so much easier! You don't have to worry about all the stuff young girls will go through with body image."

And while they're right that I won't be facing the same struggles those with daughters do, I'm also not blind to the very real problem of body image issues and boys. While finding statistics and studies that focus on boys is difficult, the evidence is out there. Boys compromise 5-15% of those struggling with bulimia, and I'm certain that those numbers are under reported for a variety of reasons.

Beyond eating disorders, 60% of preteens and teens feel their lives would be improved if they could change their weight. This dissatisfaction with weight and appearance is not something that is solely reserved for girls, and while it may be more prevalent, the notion that boys can fall into the same trap should not be ignored.

Photoshopped muscles on tennis star, Andy Roddick
Courtesy of Beauty Redefined

In addition to boys succumbing to negative body ideals, I would also like to raise a son who is aware of what women deal with due to the subversive messages regarding body image in the media. I want him to be educated about these issues so that hopefully he will be a body-positive male who "gets it" and doesn't buy in to the falsified media hype of what is "beauty" and "perfection."

So, do I really think my son is headed down the path of not accepting his body or having a possible eating disorder? No, I don't. But that doesn't stop me from realizing that there are those who do fall into these traps. I know of one young boy who started obsessing over what he ate starting at 6 years old. His reasons all boiled down to how he perceived himself and how he felt others perceived him. At 6.

Sadly, he's not alone. The number of kids who "diet" is only growing and they're starting younger as well. Frightening stuff.

When EZ makes comments like that, I remind him that we eat healthy as a family, and that by eating our "growing food," we'll make our bodies strong and full of energy. I don't focus on how our bodies look, but rather the awesome things they are capable of. If we can build up a strong confidence in him at this age, then perhaps it will be easier for him to rebuff the thousands of images he'll see as he grows up that push another message.

Thankfully, I'm not alone. There are wonderful groups out there that promote and support body positive language and efforts. One of them that I've become familiar with, Beauty Redefined, has recently been in the news for creating billboards in their hometown of Salt Lake City, Utah, that promote body acceptance.

Also, coming up: August 7th is Body Positive Day! Do your best to be body positive. Watch this video for inspiration. I'll check in that day with what I did. Can't wait to see what you choose to do! 

What Are The Odds?

The other week I wrote a guest post for Blue Milk's blog. I absolutely love her fresh and candid take on motherhood, and was more than thrilled to answer "10 Questions About My Feminist Parenthood."

Not only did it give me a chance to really think about my own philosophies and parenting style, but it provided some great discussion afterward (via Twitter, Google+, FB, etc...).

There was one comment on Blue Milk's blog, though, that stuck with me...

"JB" wrote:

In terms of adult men, well I have somewhat figured out a process around that with my husband, and the unpaid work I do garners a great deal of respect and appreciation, which is communicated. However everyday when I do the dishes, basically because it makes sense to (even though there is no expectation that I do it) being feminist and a mum can feel somewhat at odds!

This resonated with me, mostly because I find myself at odds with this idea as well. Not a day goes by without some small passing thought on the subject, and I think any mother - feminist or not - has to have similar thoughts...right?

Trying to come to terms with the woman you are today versus who you were, especially with the addition of a child, can be tricky. If you've decided to stay at home, there's a host of feelings that surround that. Even choosing to work and parent must come with it's own set of conflicting feelings.

Do you ever feel at odds as a parent (either as a mother/feminist or even going from non-parent to a parent)? If so, how do you negotiate it?

Some days I can simply acknowledge the thought and let it pass. Other times I spend way too much time and energy focusing on it, wondering WTF this all means anyhow and am I making the right choice? and is this what it's all about? and what if I'm just wasting away my education? and what the heck's for dinner anyway?

Sigh.

I'd love to know if others join me in the sometimes but not always crazy...?

Warrior

Sometimes I wonder if my husband does things just so I have stuff to blog about.

A week or two ago he took EZ out for a bike ride and they didn't return until late in the day. I wondered what they had been up to, as we have lots of great little parks and special places to enjoy in the area. It turns out that they spent some time at a favorite toy store in town and returned with a butterfly net and...some sort of creepy, ugly, battle axe and sword wielding warrior action figure.

Yeah.

MD knew it wouldn't be kosher in my book either, because the first thing EZ said as he proudly held this toy out for my inspection was, "Daddy said you'd be upset with this, but that I could get it anyway."

Yeah.

EZ took his new action figure and ran away, already eager to terrorize a Lego village with it or something.

Action warrior in question

My first instinct was to grab the toy and toss it out in the next day's trash. My own "anti-violence" warrior rose up to resist this toy (ironic, no?). However, EZ had already grown quite attached to it and I could see that any effort on my part to take it away would have been met with a boat load of resistance, tears and grumpy dispositions all around.

So off he went to play while I had a little chat with MD. And talk we did. There was no fighting or angry accusations or lengthy tirades. He knew that I would more than likely be pissed about the action figure, but he felt that in the grand scheme of violent toys, that this was actually okay.

His main argument, beyond the fact that this was more of a fantasy toy than a real one (compared to a toy gun and the like, which he would never buy), was that he grew up with "violent toys" and he "turned out fine."

And it's true. He totally did. MD is not an axe wielding psychopath or even somebody who stomps on ants just for the heck of it. He doesn't yell or shout, use his hands in anger, and is generally one of the more peaceful people that I know.

But there's still some part of me that wonders...does that matter? Perhaps back in the '70s and '80s it was okay to have a so-called violent toy or two because we were only on the cusp of aggressive marketing and kid's shows were a little less intense (for lack of a better word). There also wasn't the immediacy of the internet or apps or other things that have us constantly plugged in.

My mind grew weary thinking of all the potential outcomes of playing with this toy. EZ really seemed attached. I tried in my own gentle way to impart to him why I disliked this toy so much. Yet, it didn't seem to make much of a difference. The plastic warrior had to watch him bathe and slept right next to him. It joined us at the breakfast table and on car rides. It even made it's way into EZ's backpack for our 5 day RV trip this past weekend.

And then...nothing. I haven't seen it since Monday, and he hasn't talked about it since. He's now pushing for a Woody doll (something that despite the abhorrent and fervent Disney marketing, is a bit more palatable in my book).

So where does that leave things?

I still wouldn't have bought it, had I been with him that day in the toy store, but I'm also not in the "this was irreparably harm his psyche and kind heart" camp anymore. That doesn't mean that I'm lining up to buy the next awesome yet violent toy, and neither is MD. I guess it becomes a case by case basis that will only occur more frequently as he gets older.

I just hope I have my own warrior inside of me to deal with it all.

Sexualizing To Sell Swimwear

When my son was born, I had a brief moment of "b-b-but he isn't a girl." It passed in the blink of an eye, but it was still there (I feel almost guilty admitting it, but there you go). We had opted not to find out the sex of the baby beforehand, and I'll admit I had little fantasies of raising a kick ass feminist daughter while pregnant. Of course, since then I've learned that I'm raising a pretty kick ass feminist son, so all is good in that regard.

In the past 4.5 years, I've found myself immersed in issues related to raising boys. My days are mostly relegated to navigating things like long hair, painted toe nails, princess play, and learning to find the balance (if there is any) with gun play, amongst many other things. While issues affecting young girls do interest me, they mostly reside in my periphery, and I find myself giving them time when I can.

There are times, however, when I simply can't ignore an issue related to young girls...as a parent, as a woman, and just as a human being.

Yesterday, my Twitter feed and Facebook wall was abuzz about Submarine Kids, a swimwear line with a questionable marketing campaign. I found myself almost bypassing the link, but ended up clicking, much to my dismay. There I found pictures of little girls in small bikinis, styled to look like young women with heavy make up, wigs and overtly sexualized posing. My heart sank and my stomach turned. How was this any way to market bathing suits to young girls?

Image from Submarine Kids

The young girls I know can't be bothered to stand still long enough to pout their lips, give "come hither" looks or pose their bodies in ways that suggest overt sexuality. They're too busy swimming, splashing and running and generally using their bathing suit for their intended purpose - playing in the water and protection from the summer sun.

This site was first brought to my attention by Melissa Wardy of the fabulous Pigtail Pals. Melissa succinctly summed up the issues I had with the swimwear site in a wonderfully worded letter she wrote to the president of the company.

While I knew that there would be those who would read Melissa's post and say that people were "overreacting," I wasn't prepared for comments from those who not only seemed to be wearing blinders, but accused Melissa and others of looking for trouble where there was none.

While I am completely against sensationalizing things for the sake of furthering a cause, this simply isn't the case with this marketing. Using heavily made up girls in provocative poses sells sex before it sells swimwear.

I have no problem with trendy, well made, adorable swimwear. As a parent, comfort and sun protection are my top goals when it comes to swimsuits, and I can't imagine those would change had my child been a girl. Yet, if a young girl wants to wear a bikini and her parents are okay with that, then it's their choice. That is not my issue.

My issue revolves around the sexualization of these young girls in order to sell these particular bathing suits. There is healthy sexuality, and then there is sexualization, which is something entirely different.

According to the APA, sexualization occurs when:

• a person’s value comes only from his or her sexual appeal or behavior, to the exclusion of other characteristics;
• a person is held to a standard that equates physical attractiveness (narrowly defined) with being sexy;
• a person is sexually objectified—that is, made into a thing for others’ sexual use, rather than seen as a person with the capacity for independent action and decision making; and/or
• sexuality is inappropriately imposed upon a person.

The marketing campaign that greets you when visiting Submarine Kids falls right into the above, with little regard for the potential affect it might have on their target audience.

There is no need to dress up young girls in a manner that clearly brings to mind older, sexual women. Vampish wigs, thick make up and poses that show off body parts that are years from even being developed comes across as not only vulgar but almost predatory.

To place overt sexuality upon these girls to sell swimwear is both out of place and damaging on many levels. It not only encourages the idea that it is okay to sexualize little girls, but it attempts to normalize it, when it is anything but normal.

One commenter on the Pigtail Pals post suggested that perhaps because the owner of the swimwear line is Brazilian, that the lax view of sexuality was cultural. That is a huge leap to make. A lax view on sexuality and sexualizing young girls are two separate things. And perhaps trying to write it off as "oh, it's just a Brazilian thing" further enables the atrocities that actually occur in Brazil. Brazil actually has one of the largest child prostitution problems in the world (after Thailand), so perhaps it is that embedded acceptance that allows for others to gloss over the sexualization in these photographs.

With both child prostitution and child trafficking growing problems in Brazil, it seems even more upsetting that a Brazilian created company would market swimwear using pictures eerily reminiscent of those used in relation to child prostitution.

It is a shame, really, as the company has a variety of truly kid-friendly suits hidden behind the appalling marketing that greets you when you go to the site. Why Submarine Kids chooses these overly sexualized images to be the face of their company when they could easily use more appropriate ones is beyond me. Perhaps these are questions we should be asking the president of the company.

Nothing To Say About A Night Out

Some days I wonder about this whole blogging thing...

There are days when I wake up with an entire post already prewritten in my head, and I'm chomping at the bit to get it down before I forget. Other times I'll read an article or other blog and it sets something off where I absolutely need to respond. There are also times when an idea will stew in my brain until I've found the words to properly express myself.

And of course, there are times when I have nothing to say. And today seems to be one of those days.

Well, that's not entirely true, but you don't really want to hear about bug bites the size of golf balls, the squirrel that got trapped in our basement for 3 days, or my current penchant for Arnold Palmers, do you?

Perhaps I have little to say because I spent this past weekend in NYC, including a night away from EZ (who slept over my folks' house). There was little parenting involved, really (and a Zach Galifinakis sighting, but that's neither here nor there), so what would I have to write about?

The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized that the whole "no parenting for a night" was actually a pretty big event in our household.

It was EZ's first night away from both of us (we've previously had solo nights away for various reasons). Some might think that we waited too long to have a night away from our 4.5 year old - I know my own folks have been pushing us for an overnight for a while now. But to me, it felt just right.

It was EZ's idea, and while there were moments of anxiousness leading up to the big night (for both of us!), we talked through them and he seemed genuinely excited. The evening went off without a hitch...

We got to enjoy subway rides without somebody tugging on our arms showing us every.single.bit of graffiti we passed, and ate a leisurely 3 hour (!!!) dinner with friends at a delicious restaurant.

And an hour and a half away, EZ had a blast with his grandparents, eating ice cream and watching movies. Both MD and I enjoyed ourselves and are already planning our next overnight away, despite the lingering whispers of guilt.

Guilt?

Yeah, guilt. Over, you know, having fun and doing things without my kid. In my head, I knew how illogical that even sounded. Of course I'm entitled to a night away from my son where I can have fun, let loose and not have that responsibility for a while. But that didn't stop my heart from feeling that small tug.

The various feelings battled themselves out in my head (and heart). I enjoyed the night away with MD...we had fun being childless for the evening with little responsibility. At the same time, I missed my son, despite knowing he was having fun and enjoying himself as well. In the end, I figured that there was enough room inside of me to allow for both...I could still have a night out while missing my son.

While I'm sure that the feeling will lessen the more we do overnights away, it's interesting to me that I still had those thoughts. I'm trying not to be hard on myself or judgmental, just observant, really.

It helps when others observe these things as well.

As I collected my thoughts on this topic, it almost felt serendipitous to come across this article by Mayim Bialik. She writes about something similar (although she was away from her kids for longer, for work related reasons) and I appreciate having another voice out there sharing my thoughts.

And, as always...I'd love to hear yours.

Have it all?

I may have applied for a job. (ok, so I totally did apply for a job, but the reality of it is a little overwhelming right now)

It's a part time position doing something that is incredibly interesting to me and I kind of really hope I get it.

I'm also incredibly scared.

Since I've sent in my application, I've found myself thinking about what would happen if I got the job... Could I actually have it all?

That term gets tossed around a lot in mommy-land...the notion that not only can you have a perfectly organized and awesome home life, but you can also land your dream job and make it all work.

That notion feels like something somebody sells you in a late night infomercial by a man in a heavily patterned sweater and Aussie accent.

And really...doesn't it seem like TV perpetuates that notion all the time?

Meaning...the pitch is always way more impressive than the actual thing being sold. I mean really: Snuggies? Pajama Jeans? The Quick Chop? Okay, maybe the Clapper...

But the reality seems to be that it's not actually that easy to achieve. After all, wasn't that the whole crux of the supposed mommy wars? When career moms and stay-at-home moms started "battling it out," it made the notion that you could "have it all" that much more unattainable.

Loving the fishnets on the career mom. 

I'll be honest, I'm not so sure who started this supposed war, but I have a feeling it wasn't actually a pair of moms who faced off against each other. They were probably too busy cleaning the house, watching the kids, running errands and/or working.

Yet, I would also be naive to not realize the very real way this affects women who have children. Regardless of whether or not you buy into the whole concept of "The Mommy Wars" - it still exists and is pervasive enough in our culture that just the thought of applying for a part time job sets my head spinning.

Wow. Those kids look scared.

I'm sure I don't speak just for myself when I say that many of us feel pulled in both directions. Whether it's because we gave up careers before becoming stay-at-home parents, or because we now find ourselves at a job while somebody else watches our babies. There doesn't seem to be a perfect answer...that magical "have it all" notion wrapped up all informercial pretty like.

The more I've thought about all of this, the more I've started to wish that people would think in different terms. Instead of competing and comparing, isn't there a way we can find value in what we do, regardless of the choice?

One aspect I love about feminism and the women's rights movement is the fact that we fought for the right to choose. Betty Friedan vented about her frustrations with being stuck in the home in 1963, because back then there was much less of a choice revolving around what was expected of women. (And I should clarify, that while that feeling was probably shared with many across the country, Betty Friedan really spoke about/to white, married women with children in middle to upper class communities).

Thanks to Friedan and others like her, more women felt comfortable making the choice to join the workforce in addition to having families. And...some women felt comfortable (and validated) making the choice to stay home.

The fact that a war between women eventually developed over this freedom of choice continues to baffle me. Instead of judging the other, why can't we celebrate the face that we can actually make the choice?

Maybe I'm feeling defensive about it because I'm flirting with straddling the line...working part time outside the home while still being a part time SAHM. Maybe my fear is that while trying to do both (because I want to, not because I think I'm supermom or anything!) something will end up suffering.

Or...Maybe I'm just over thinking it all.

What do you think?

Boys Don't Wear Dresses...Today

I had been asked to submit some photos along with a short editorial I wrote up for Bamboo Magazine's upcoming summer issue. The piece takes a look at young boys and gender expression. In addition to some general thoughts, I mixed in a few personal stories as well. The editors asked for some photos of EZ playing dress up, yet all of the candid shots I have didn't quite match the aesthetic of the magazine (i.e. you can see piles of unfolded laundry or dirty dishes in the background), so I decided it was time to whip out the camera and stage a little photo shoot.

I explained to EZ that I wrote an article and needed a few pictures to go with it. I asked if he'd mind playing with his kitchen while I snapped away. He had no problem and I was able to get a handful of cute pictures, yet none that stood out to either me or the editors.

Totally adorable, but not exactly what we were going for...

Then...it rained. And rained. And rained. For almost two weeks. And I was unable to get any good photos outdoors (because we just could not escape the unfolded laundry and dirty dishes indoors!).

Finally, this past weekend we were blessed with beautiful sun (and heat and humidity) and I took advantage of it. I reminded EZ about needing some more photos and asked if he'd be okay with playing dress up with his best friend.

They occasionally spend hours all dolled up in fancy dresses playing Princess, so I didn't think it would be that hard to have him don a dress for a few minutes while I snapped some photos. EZ had other ideas.

"Ima, dresses are for girls. I'm a boy. I'll wear a tie," he informed me as his friend eagerly put on her ruffled tutu.

I paused, weighing my options. There was no way I was going to force him into a costume, even for the sake of an article. The whole point to my parenting philosophy is to allow him to feel comfortable enough to express himself in whatever manner he chooses, and while some days that might be wearing a princess dress, other days it's a tie (and some days it's wearing nothing at all. sigh.).

And...he's 4. Some days he does play around with the idea of stereotypical gender norms like "boys wear ties and only girls wear dresses." So, we talk about it. While I'd never force him to wear something he didn't want to, I let him know that boys can wear ties and so can girls...that whoever wants to wear a dress may do so. I remind him that he's free to make his own choice.

I still had a photo to take, however.

Before I had time to figure out what to do, the kids decided for me.

"Butterfly!" they shouted at the same time.

EZ had spotted a pair of pink, sparkly butterfly wings and a purple silk scarf, asking me to tie it around him.

"I'm a dad butterfly," he explained, in case there was any confusion.

"Great!" I exclaimed, watching as he ran around, fingers atop his head for antennae.

I was able to snap a bunch of really wonderful pictures and can't wait to see which one the magazine ends up using. However, the experience reiterated for me the importance of offering choices and working with whatever comes up...even if that means that my child wants to wear a dress tie butterfly wings! 

My little butterfly

Genderless From Birth

It's no secret that I'm all for pushing the boundaries of antiquated gender norms. My son wears pink, has long hair and frequently paints his nails. We do our best to encourage play of all kinds, from T-Ball to art/music to imaginative play (like "family" or "princess" - 2 current top favs). I strive to check my own language and behavior, doing my best to show that it's not about gender, but rather about who you are that matters.

I write articles about this topic. I tweet about it. I speak about it at length with fellow parents, friends, family and the occasional stranger on the street.

I feel that it's important to have a dialogue about the social construct of gender and what it means in the larger scale of society. However, I also feel that while it's important to discuss, process and unpack issues surrounding gender, it's also possible to go too far.

Recently, this article about two Canadian parents who are raising their 3rd child, Storm, "genderless," popped up in my Facebook and Twitter feed, sending everyone a flutter. The comments on the article range from "Good for you!" to "Oh! The horror! You will screw up your child!"

I tend to fall somewhere in between.

Boy? Girl? Does it really matter. Look at the cuteness. Okay, I'm probably biased.
(EZ at 3 months old)

First, this is nothing unique. I briefly wrote about a Swedish couple who kept their child's gender a secret back in 2009.

Second, while I don't think there's anything "wrong" about attempting to raise your child genderless from birth, I feel that it might be a lot of effort for relatively little output. While it takes time and effort to train yourself to speak without pronouns, etc... a newborn baby is unaware of the concept of gender anyway (and will remain blissfully unaware of the concept until 2-3 years old). This begs the question then, who is this all for?

Rather than keep the baby's sex a secret in hopes that it will help change how we view gender, wouldn't it be more beneficial to actually disclose the baby's gender and explain how it's not such an identifying factor if you don't want it to be? To shroud it in secrecy seems to place more emphasis and importance on it rather than taking away the power, like the parents hope to achieve. In stripping their child of gender, they're making it into more of a "thing."

Going by the descriptions and photos of their two older sons, it seems they have been successful in raising two boys who are comfortable enough with their own gender to wear braided pigtails, whatever clothes they feel comfortable in (even if it means a pink dress), and involve themselves in whatever activity interests them. With seemingly well-adjusted children already, going this step further feels like a social experiment more than anything else.

And of course, the mama in me is amazed that two young boys have been able to keep their infant sibling's gender a secret as well. But of course, this is coming from the mom who's son shares pretty much every single detail of every single thing with every.single.person.

It will be interesting to see what comes of all of this. How will Pop (the Swedish child) and Storm turn out and what lessons will we eventually learn from these attempts at squashing gender right from birth? I just hope that while these children grow up presumably genderless, they don't lose a part of themselves in the process.

Toddlers, Tiaras & T-Ball

Competition.

While I've never thought that there's anything wrong with a little healthy competition (see: heated games of Candy Land, Checkers & Sorry that have recently been played in our house), the last few weeks have reminded me that it can sometimes go too far.

A couple of weeks ago we started T-Ball.

EZ running the bases

I'll admit up front that despite my legacy as JV Girl's Soccer Captain in high school, I'm not much for sports. Beyond the X-Games or the Olympics, I don't really watch sports on television, and will only be dragged to an actual sporting event if somebody I know is playing and demands I attend. However, we thought that T-Ball could be a fun activity for an energetic kid like EZ, and when his bff decided she wanted to play as well, we signed them up.

Now I spend my Saturday mornings watching a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds running around haphazardly,  tossing balls and having fun. We've seemed to luck out since the other kids and parents on his team (he's an Angel) as well as his coach, share the same easy going, relaxed, "let the kids have fun" mentality.

I think they're supposed to be practicing tossing the ball here... 

EZ & his teammates hopping around the field

However, that's not the case for everyone. As EZ runs around (or sits next to me, not in the mood to play), I'm usually checking everyone else out. What I see makes my stomach roll at times: Other team's coaches being a bit too loud and forceful as a four year old stares off into space, unwittingly allowing a ball to fly by... A parent decked out in full Red Sox regalia, standing right behind her son on the field, dictating his every move and getting visibly flustered when he fails to follow directions... A little boy crying because he's just not having fun, yet is still forced to play.

It's that sort of icky behavior and competition that I can't get on board with. Perhaps that means I'm just not fit to be a "sports mom," and that EZ won't go on to bat in the national league. Or...maybe it means he will, because instead of feeling forced, he enjoyed the game. Who knows. (I'm secretly hoping he enjoys it for what it is now and leaves it at that, because otherwise I'll end up being the worst mom in the world who doesn't want to go visit her son at "work.")

There's grumbling and grimacing on my part, none too happy with the fact that some parents were taking T-Ball just a bit too far in my eyes. I realized that this was probably also only the tip of the competitive iceberg as far as kids and sports go. Then, I came home, caught up online, and thanked my lucky stars that I'm only dealing with T-Ball stuff and not Botox and virgin waxes.

What?

Yeah.

Beyond the world of competitive T-Ball, there are other arenas where children battle it out to emerge victorious, and one of them involves fancy dresses, fake tans, and tiaras. Despite my penchant for crappy reality TV, even I can't bring myself to watch as little girls are exploited in the name of pageantry. While I've mostly turned a blind eye to it, the latest news from the pageant circuit made me more than uncomfortable.

When 8 year old girls are getting Botox and "virgin waxes," and others are celebrating and promoting that? Something ain't right.

There is competition and then there is injecting your child with botulism to erase wrinkles. At 8 years old. If there was a line crossed, it happened so long ago that it's a blur in the distance at this point. I won't even get into the messages that are being sent when an 8 year old girl feels like she needs Botox, waxes and who knows what else to feel "pretty." What's going to happen at 10 or 12 or 16 when those aren't enough?

Perhaps it is too simplistic to remember the whole "let kids be kids" sentiment, but in an age where somebody in the medical field is providing Botox for pageant kids, I think I'm okay with simple.

Whether it's T-Ball or tiaras, the push for such fierce competition at such a young age unnerves me. While I'm beyond relieved that I will most likely not have to deal with such things as Botox and virgin waxes, I'm also not so sure what else is simmering beneath the T-Ball surface. This first foray into sports will certainly be an interesting one...

Sort of Sucky

Halloween 2008: I should have known where this was headed...

"Ima. Even if you were a vampire, you wouldn't eat me...right?"

"Vampires don't eat people, EZ. They just suck their blood, remember?"

"Oh. Okay. So, if you were a vampire, you wouldn't suck my blood...right?"

"Of course not, unless you were very, very, very tasty."

The conversation usually devolves into crazy tickles or utter silliness at this point. This conversation has also been occurring every couple of days lately, and sure...it might not seem like your typical conversation with a 4.5 year old, but lately...

It all started month or so ago when EZ came up to me with a book in hand, demanding to know what the picture on the cover was supposed to be. I flipped it over, checked it out, and...

Oh.

I hemmed and hawed as I silently considered my options. I could: A. Lie about it and say the girl on the cover had cut her lip. or B. Tell the truth.

And so began the obsession with vampires in our house.

To be fair, I might have been slightly obsessed with them before EZ even had an inkling as to what they were. And by obsessed, I mean I found myself devouring the more recent versions of vampires geared more towards the young adult set.

These are not your typical vampires, but rather a sanitized version provided for mindless entertainment. I mean, some of these vamps sparkle and pout for goodness sake. When describing them to friends, I liken them to eating Doritos - I know it's not good for me overall, but it's just so damn delicious. (Granted, there are a whole host of other issues with these various books, but we can get to that another day, perhaps)

So here we are...with EZ knowing the basics of vampires and also zombies.

Zombies?

Yeah. You can thank my husband's latest iPad app for that one.

But to be honest? I'm actually okay with it.

For some reason, I am way more comfortable watching my son run around all slack-jawed, shouting "braiiiiiiiiiins," than I am watching him run around shooting things with a gun built out of Legos.

I'm just not quite sure what that says about me.

Storytime

A lot is done via storytelling in our house. If we don't have an actual book open in front of us, it's  not too far fetched to find us making up stories to amuse ourselves or remind us of memories past.

One of EZ's frequent requests is, "tell me about when I was a baby," where I'll regale him with a story from his infancy and he'll laugh and then nod. "Oh yeah," he'll say with a huge smile. "I remember."

We also use storytelling as a way to process our day and usually, beneath the covers before bedtime, we'll sit and share favorite moments from the day or talk through some not-so-fabulous ones that are easier to discuss once some time (or heated emotion) has passed.

The other night, EZ decided to add a new component to our storytelling: artwork.

Granted, this artwork took place in the bathroom and his medium was steam on glass, but his message certainly wasn't lost.

"That's me," he explained. "See? I have curly hair."

I thought he was just drawing a picture of himself, but then he went on to describe the reason he was smiling. He reminded me of how we worked together in the kitchen, making smoothies and then later some fresh pesto for dinner that night. He let me know how happy cooking together makes him.

I may have smiled, giving myself a mental pat on the back for clearly being a rockin' mom in the eyes of my 4.5 year old.

He continued to play around in the shower while I sat in the bathroom, attempting to come up with some serious kick-ass words for a heated Words With Friends game on my phone.

"Now look," EZ said, drawing my attention back to the steamy glass.

I placed my phone down and looked up to see that he had drawn another picture of himself, but this time, he was frowning.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what had caused the little frowny face that just looked so damn sad. I didn't have to wonder long, because of course, he had an explanation.

"It was because you made me sad."

What? I made my child sad!?

"Remember? When I wanted to take daddy's nails and hammer them into the wall? You took them away and that made me sad."

Ah. Yes. That.

It wasn't that hard to recollect. I had gone upstairs to find EZ standing in front of a wall in his bedroom, hammer held high and a pack of nails at his feet. Thankfully, I stumbled across this little home improvement scene seconds before any damage (er, uh...improvement) could have occurred. And we had what I thought was a teaching moment.

I let him know that "tools aren't toys," and suggested a handful of (less destructive) alternatives if he still wanted to do some work on the walls. There was some pouting and some grumbling, but it passed. I had no idea he had been harboring such upset feelings about it.

I mean - did you see that steamy, pouty face?

So, we talked about it, and finally...begrudgingly...he accepted the "tools aren't toys" mantra. And while I wasn't glad that he was upset over it, I was thankful that he found his own way to work it through.

Between the happy self-portrait, the frowny one and the vast amount of cuddly snuggles I got later that evening when I put him to bed, I'd like to think I came out a smidge on top that day...

However, you can be sure that as I went to bed, I certainly replayed the evening's storytime, complete with shower art, over in my head before I finally fell asleep.