File This Under Ironic

"Mama," Ainsley comes wailing to me. "John called me a tattletale!"

The Send Off

Dave and Tim are gearing up for a Boy Scout canoeing adventure.

Responding to an email from my friend Rachel, I wrote: Is it just me or does every mom heave an enormous sigh of relief when the guys and their gear finally make it out the door?


A large part of mothering -- and especially of mothering boys -- involves what I've come to think of as The Send Off.

It begins with pre-school and kindergarten -- you know, spiffy haircuts and new shoes. Then it's on to Cub Scout events and field trips, water bottles and sunscreen. You then advance to Scout Camp and vocations' retreats, backpacking trips and high adventure camp. The list grows long. The price tag inches up.

Mom bakes cookies, locates obscure items, dashes to Walmart for a few odds and ends (sunscreen, fifty feet of bouyant nylon rope, hat with wide brim). That will be $199, thank you very much.

In Mythbusters: The Camping Edition, I marvelled at the amount of gear these adventures demand. Honestly, I thought those days were behind us. Camp this year required a five pack of underwear and some tasty snacks. Done! No cha-ching! We now own it all!

And that is nearly true for general camping. But then we have specialty trips such as this canoe trip that, of course, will not involve a lazy paddle down a stream. No, they're starting in North Carolina and ending in Virginia, hitting class two and three rapids, portaging, purifying water -- the whole primitive camping experience. Fifty miles in three days.

I'll be spending extra time in prayer.

Through an act of the will, I'm putting all Worst Case Scenarios out of my mind and dwelling on what is true and pure and of good report and not on white water and giardia.

The Send Off  follows a predictable pattern. It begins with the initial excitement about the trip, moves into serious quartermaster duties, escalates to They can't get out of this house fast enough, ends with a kiss and a wave.

Mom goes home, brews a fresh pot of coffee, and surveys the debris field. Well caffeinated, she is happy to tackle the mess as long as it doesn't involve rifling through the broiling hot attic in search of some device we're just sure we bought the last time or, worse still, heading out to Sports Authority one more time.

Yes, Tim and Dave will be off canoeing, and we now own dry bags, a water purifying device, and a large number of items designed to wick. Wick -- that may be a new one for you. Wicking materials promise to dry fast and control odor. Where teenage boys and white water meet, these are valuable qualities indeed. Shirts, shorts, socks, and underwear are all armed and ready to wick at a moment's notice.

 As far as equipment goes, we're probably good until we hear rumors about a trip that involves spelunking or mountain climbing through an ice field. The headlamps we pick up for $2.00 at Mistah Harbor Freight probably won't cut the mustard in a cave. I'm guessing Walmart doesn't carry crampons or bottled oxygen.

Sometime in the not so distant future, I envision a different sort of Send Off. At the end of our family line we have this novel creation called a girl. There's so, so much that's awesome about girls in general and this girl in particular. And one of those awesome things is that I'll be on the other end of The Send Off.

Oh, I've attended my share of field trips and visited Scout camp on family night, but Scouting is predominantly a father-son activity (and one that I wholeheartedly endorse). In a few years, Ainsley will join what we call Little Sisters and off the two of us will go to ice skate and to camp, to do crafty things and to bowl.


I'm picturing Dave on the front porch handing me a steaming mug of joe and kissing his girls goodbye.

Of Two Minds

I was snuggling with John and Ainsley the other night and oh! if I could have captured their every word! They prattled on and on for fifteen minutes or so, mostly with Ainsley's running commentary about Disney World. On the divisive subject of It's a Small World, they were of two minds.

Ainsley: Sissy and I rode the Doll Ride. It was so special.

John: I didn't like it.

Ainsley: Mama, John's saying bad words!

If You Throw Up on a Fire . . .

Carpool continues to entertain.

Rachel, my carpooling partner, reports that John posed a riveting question en route to school yesterday: What would happen if you threw up in a fire?

We shared a laugh that John had hit on two topics four-year-old boys find fascinating -- vomit and fire. John later posed the same question to me and then went on to wonder would happen if he pooped on a fire. Quite a lark, to be sure. Even if I could set aside the risk of burns in a sensitive area, I'd rather not dwell on this one.

Little boys . . .  so very interesting. With Ainsley I'm discovering that, yes, there are differences. But, you know, with three older brothers, my girl's a bit of a changeling. I'll just admit it here: My blond-haired, blue-eyed ray of estrogen, sugar and spice and everything nice  . . . laughs at fart jokes.

Oh, she loves shoes and gaudy jewelry. She puts on a dress, spins around, and says, "I da princess." But her brand of humor?  Strictly low-brow.

Lego created quite the furor with its recent launch of Lego for Girls.  About a bazillion of us collectively responded, "Legos for girls? We thought those were already on the shelf. We called them Legos." Dorian writes about this here.

Legos are just one of the many, many toys and games that cross the gender divide. Then there are these: The Five Best Toys of All Time. In the parlance of the day, this is SO last month, but I thought of it again as I glanced out the window and saw Ainsley dragging a stick through the mud. Little boys and little girls find such joy in simple things - a pile of leaves, a new box, bubbles, a wiggling worm.

The five best toys of all time?

1. A Stick
2. A Box
3. String
4. A Cardboard Tube
5. Dirt

As we were walking into the gym last night,
John spotted a puddle.


"I just love puddles. I gotta jump in it," he told me. "I love mud, too."

Having two older sons, I know that some of these tastes will (and should) change. While pricey electronics top any teenage wish list, the older crew still appreciates some simple pleasures. Namely:

1. Fire
2. Danger
3. Waves

With all of these, bigger is better. Scouting is a great way to outsource the top two. One day girls and cars will pique the boys' interest. I'm happy to say that that day is not today.

Hand Prints and Children's Art

Dear Miss Rebecca -

Thank you for making my Christmas. The Christmas doormat is great (but no one's allowed to wipe his feet on it). The reindeer ornament? Too cute. And John's gingerbread house? Well, you teachers must have the patience of Job and a one very washable work area. My friend Rachel and I were oohhing and aahhing over our sons' creations.

Yes, both John and Ainsley produced the mother-lode of Christmas crafts this year.  Wreaths and bookmarks and ornaments and a host of other items that came wrapped and ready for Christmas morning. I squealed when I saw the wreath that Ainsley made.

John made a Santa wall hanging that reads:

Look very closely and you will see
That Santa's beard was made by me
Hang this Santa on the wall
To remember when my hands were small.

I read it and cried. Yes, I cried. The hand print art gets me every time. Mother's Day, Christmas, Valentine's Day -- if it involves a hand print and some over-the-top cheesy sentiment typed by the teacher, I fairly swoon.

Christmas morning I opened a bag with yet another little ornament -- a tiny wrapped box with a tag that read:

I took an ordinary box
As empty as can be
I filled it with a special gift
And wrapped it carefully

But please don't ever open it
Just leave the ribbon tied
And hold it tightly near your heart
Because ... my love for you is inside!

I bawled my eyes out. We have it on video.

You captured a slice of four-year-old John, a slice I will save and treasure. Thank you!

- Kelly

I'm Too Pretty To Do Homework

More news of young girls and fashion ... This one falls more into the category of inane, unlike the situation involving The Learning Channel which was nothing short of reprehensible. JC Penney has been taken to task for marketing a t-shirt that reads, "I'm too pretty to do homework so my brother has to do it for me."

To make matters worse, the description of the shirt on the JC Penney website reads, "Who has time for homework when there’s a new Justin Bieber album out? She’ll love this tee that’s just as cute and sassy as she is."

My daughter is cute and sassy. We're not going out of our way to encourage the sassy part. It's coming along quite nicely on its own, thank you very much.  And we don't plan to tell her she's too pretty for homework.

Years ago, Mattel found itself in hot water after introducing "Teen Talk Barbie" who, among other canned phrases, would pout, "Math is tough!" I don't know how long she lasted, but Mattel had the good sense to delete one of the 270 sentences Barbie would randomly mutter and to apologize for offending the masses. (To be clear, Mattel apologized; Barbie did not).

Marketing is a fascinating field. I have pondered what goes through the minds of creatives sitting around a conference table trying to dream up the next Ferbie or Tickle Me Elmo, the next Trivial Pursuit or Twister. A while back I penned a post delving into those great minds that produced fake vomit, fart whistles, and alien test tube slime (all of which at least two of my children would flat out l-o-v-e).

Fashion is a world unto itself and teen fashion, well, I won't even go there. I gave up clothes shopping for nieces when they turned around nine and suddenly showed an aversion to Peter Pan collars and pinafores. I'd buy them jewelry or a t-shirt. They would thank me politely and, oddly enough, I would never see the item again. Can you say Goodwill? Even their mother began to strike out.

"You're clothes are cute," I remember my sister telling my oldest niece.

"I don't want to be cute," came the plaintive response. "I want to be cool."

I don't really do cool, lacking, as I have shared before, some genetic marker deemed fashionable. I strive for neat, and some days I pull it off nicely. With this wordy disclaimer, I still don't get some of what department stores throw the way of little kids. I get that increasingly younger kids are drawn to phrases that range from funny to mouthy, from edgy to lewd. But who buys these things? Presumably adults.  Parents, no less!

I took a few education courses at a local university. I was surprised at the level of angst and resentment many women felt about the opportunities they were discouraged from pursuing as elementary and high school students. They absolutely picked up a line of thought that said "Women can't do math" and "Women can't do science."

This was not my experience. Every math and science class I took in high school was taught by a woman; most were taught by nuns. Sister Helen O'Connel, Sister Evangeline Nestor, Sister Agnes Joseph Sun -- these women were smart, exacting, and every bit as formidable as their names. I came away from high school thinking that my only limitations were my own drive and initiative. Nobody told me I couldn't do math or science.

T-shirts shouldn't send this message either. And when they do, parents --drum roll, please -- shouldn't buy them. If anyone can do math, it's the accounting departments of huge retailers.

Boys' fashions are not immune to the trend. This piece on back to school t-shirts caught my eye as well. The author shares:

"I’m So Bored” spelled out the words, carefully crafted to look like the periodic table, on my son’s new t-shirt he received for his birthday. As a former chemistry teacher, I hated it —- excuse me, but a class where you have permission to light things on fire is not boring! —- but, of course, my son loved it. He giggled, “Yeah, mom, I hate school!”

For the record, he does not hate school. His teachers do an excellent job of keeping things fun and educational, yet here he was, playing into every lame stereotype. As I discovered when I went to return the t-shirt (mom’s veto privilege!), this shirt was hardly the worst example of boys t-shirts printed with obnoxious sayings. While a lot of attention has been paid to the slut-ification of little girls’ clothing, not much has been said about the dumbing down of boys' apparel.

“My brain hurts” reads one t-shirt with a picture of Bart Simpson and a math book. “Looking for trouble? You found it!” declares a shirt from Target. “If homework is work, then when do I get paid?” quips a boys t-shirt from Kohls. There's the ever popular “My favorite subjects are lunch and recess” shirt, and my personal least favorite reads “Let’s just skip school so I can start my rockstar training.” Yes, these shirts are funny, but I hate the message that t-shirts like these send to boys. School isn’t always a-laugh-a-minute, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s important that kids learn life skills, like reading and math, but equally as important that they learn they can deal with being bored sometimes and that hard things are worth doing, even if they aren’t super fun.

I agree with the writer on all but one point -- the t-shirts aren't funny; they're moronic. "My brain hurts"? Falls flat with me, anyway.

Around here we use apparel to send messages, too - "My Dad Rocks", "Daddy's Little Princess", "Michigan Wolverines".

"I'm So Bored"?  Been there, heard that, don't need the t-shirt.

Let Our Little Girls Be Little Girls

This piece on the sexualization of pre-school girls is spot on. It is repulsive to me that so many people -- from parents to television producers -- think that dressing three-year-olds like prostitutes is entertaining.

Many years before Ainsley was born, I was shopping in a popular department store and sighted a t-shirt in the girls' department that had a graphic and a line that both clearly referenced losing your virginity.

Who manufactures this garbage, I thought, and what parent would actually purchase it?

These were not marketed to teens earning clothes' money while working the drive through at McDonald's. These were sized for six, eight, and ten year-old children who obviously weren't buying their own wardrobes.

I love having a daughter. I love dressing her up. I wouldn't want to know how much money I've spent on bows and clips in the past 25 months. When she was running around in John's Batman cape the other day, I thought it was time we invested in some girlier dress-up clothes.

Padded bras and plunging necklines, however, will not be on our shopping list.

Shame on TLC. Shame on parents who seem to have no qualms about sexualizing their daughters.

Toddler's Morning Out

On Beauty

Here's an interesting take on little girls, big girls, and beauty.

The writer quotes Huffington Post author Lisa Bloom, who in turn says, "ABC News reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. 15 to 18 percent of girls under 12 now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and 25 percent of young American women would rather win America's Next Top Model than the Nobel Peace Prize."

We've all read these sorts of alarming reports, and I don't think they're exaggerated. My friend's six-year-old niece asked him, "Uncle John, do you think my legs are fat?" Whatever was on my mind at age six, jiggly thighs didn't make the list. Was this because my thighs didn't jiggle back then? Or that forty years later we are more obsessed with thinness?

Both, I think.

The obvious comparisons between Marilyn Monroe and modern supermodels are a study in the changing standards of beauty. Let's all go back to the age of Rubens, I say. But, of course, we aren't headed in that direction anytime soon.

So ... Do we, as some say, ignore looks altogether? Do we refrain from saying to our little girls, "You're beautiful."

I couldn't do it if I tried.

The births of my four children produced a euphoria of such intensity, I doubt anything I do in life will quite measure up. My first thought on looking at each tiny face was simply, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on." Swollen faces, ski hats hiding cone heads, eyes smeared with anti-biotic cream -- none of it mattered a whit. Those babies were flat stunning.

Love does that to you.

And as they have grown, I have continued to tell them they are cute or handsome or good-looking or, in Ainsley's case, pretty.

For so-called experts to exhort mothers not to mention beauty reminds me of thoughts I have had on competition and rewards. I shared my thoughts here. Essentially, there is a modern line of reasoning that says if there are winners and losers in some element of life, you simply stop playing the game. Back then I wrote:

Sitting in a waiting room not long ago, I flipped through a popular parenting magazine. An article on encouragement caught my eye. Parents, the author advised, should avoid words that smack of judgment when looking at, for example, a child’s drawing. If your child has done a good job, you certainly shouldn’t say so. Rather, you should comment on the variety of colors chosen or the interesting subject matter.

On no account, the author gravely warned, should you use words like good, excellent, or well done.

In a similar vein, a growing number of schools have eliminated honor rolls and spelling bees because there are winners and losers.

So, too, it is with beauty. Ignore the issue entirely, and your daughter won't struggle with issues about her looks. Fat chance, I say.

I shared a laugh with a friend of mine over girls and Barbie dolls. While growing up, my friend was not allowed to play with Barbies. Anxious to promote healthy body images with her three daughters, my friend's mother had banned the leggy figures from her house. My friend's assessment of this? She still wanted to grow up to be 5'10" and 120 pounds. It's a tough, tough sell.

I love so many, many things about my kids ... including their looks.

Parents should be champions for their children. Certainly this should not be in the sense of "My baby can do no wrong." That line of thinking makes headlines in our fair city when parents attack the school and hire attorneys the second their baby gets into any trouble at school (however deserved the trouble may be).

Certainly this does not eliminate the need to correct bad behavior or to steer children in the direction of real (not imagined) talents. When I lived in England, a friend couldn't believe I didn't play basketball. I'm an American, after all!  As I pointed out to my friend, I'm also 5' 2". Imagining that I'm Shaquille O'Neal just wouldn't take me very far.

We shouldn't live in a fantasy world nor should we gloss over character flaws, but parents should communicate essential messages: You are loved. You are competent. You are capable. God has great plans for your life. I admire you.

And to our daughters, yes, I think we should add: You are beautiful.

I have a friend who has struggled with her mother's tendency to say "You look nice, but... You're paper is really well written, but..."

Let me confess right here: I suffer from the But syndrome. I am a retired teacher. How I wish that means I  am always encouraging. Too often it means I was born with red pen in hand. I tend to correct everyone's work (and manage to do a hatchet job on my own, I might add).

Unconditional love is essential; it is also very, very challenging.

To this day my father will share about my softball career or my high school grades in a way that is slightly out of touch with the facts. To hear his occasional remarks, you would think I was the Valedictorian of my class and Most Valuable Player. In fact, I was a diligent student and a fairly good softball player. But who I am to say my father shouldn't think I hung the moon? My older sister is about to start a new job as an attorney. Dad is excited and has no doubt his daughter will take the legal profession by storm.

As we were leaving church on Sunday, I looked over to see my husband, Dave, looking at our two-year-old daughter, Ainsley. She was wearing the cutest dress in the history of life. Her hair, well, these days of non-compliance with hair accessories will leave her reminding me of a song from the sixties: Long-haired, freaky people need not apply. But on Sunday her bow was in place.  Her growing blond locks were neatly pulled back. Her blue eyes were bright and sparkling.

She was beautiful. And, wow, you could see it in her father's face.

 And that's the way it should be.

Happy and She Knows It

One of Ainsey's favorite expressions is Happy, Happy. This picture captures just that.

Seriously Bad Hair Day

To My Sweet Ainsey-Girl...

Two things you will never fully comprehend:

1. How totally unexpected you were.
2. How much I wanted you.

Love,

Mama