Every parent fucks up.
Even the most devoted, loving, attentive mommy or daddy in the world can drop the ball occasionally when it comes to his or her kids. Sometimes kids go to bed unwashed or with dirty teeth. Sometimes lunches, homework, and backpacks, can be utterly overlooked in the rush to get out the door in the morning. Kids were occasionally dropped off in my preschool class with clothing inside out and/or backward, sometimes with mismatched socks or even shoes. Most of these occasions are met with amusement or, at worst, irritation as the parent frantically tries to undo his or her error while still juggling the myriad tasks that must be completed that day.
But there is one awful fuck-up that can never be undone--leaving your infant or toddler in a hot car to die.
You're probably thinking, No way that could ever happen to me. Those parents were stupid and negligent and never should have had kids in the first place. Well, I have bad news for you. You, too, are capable of accidentally killing your own children, not because you don't love them, but because you are at the mercy of a faulty organic computing system known as the human brain. You may think you've got your shit together and are an awesome multi-tasker, but you can screw up just as easily as anyone else.
Last summer, before I even started this blog, I read this Pulitzer Prize-winning article: Fatal Distraction: Forgetting a Child in the Backseat of the Car Is a Horrible Mistake. Is It a Crime? Once I stopped crying, I started thinking. I had always assumed that this only happened to "bad" parents and there was no way I could ever make such a stupid mistake. Since reading this article, however, I have been vigilant about always checking the back seat before I leave the car, even when I know Han isn't with me. And that is why I encourage all parents to read it, to share the pain of grieving, guilt-stricken, tormented people and to imagine themselves in those parents' shoes. As agonizing as it is to imagine one of your fuck-ups leading to your child's death, doing so could potentially save your child and spare you and your family from a real-life tragedy.
The worst mistake we can make as parents is assuming that we are incapable of mistakes. Once we acknowledge that our brains are not perfectly-functioning machines, and that stress, exhaustion, and a full to-do list can weaken our functioning even further, we can start to compensate for our mental shortcomings. This flier lists simple things you can do to ensure that you don't end up like the parents in the article linked to above. Please, take a moment to look it over and think about what you can do to compensate for your faulty brain. Your child's life could depend on it.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Ow, My Freakin' Ears!
I love bad words.
Not to the exclusion of all other words, and not in every situation, but holy fuck how I do love to swear. I can't help but respect any word or phrase that has the power, completely removed from context, to make people gasp, cry, or laugh (or better yet, all three at once). Such is my fascination with naughty words that I once wrote an English term paper on the origins of the big three: fuck, shit, and bitch, the building blocks that provide the structure for many a creative curse. I had such fun perusing the dusty old volumes of the library's comprehensive Oxford English Dictionary, tracking down the origins of these words (an archaic practice--I just found the same information in five seconds on Wikipedia). It turns out that people have been saying and writing swear words since the dawn of modern English, and the fact that these words have cognates in other Germanic languages suggests that they are even older than that. These venerable words are old school and they are here to stay. Try as we might to wash them from our children's mouths, sooner or later our offspring are likely to let out a "Fuck you, you fuckin' fuck!" in response to some insupportable outrage, thus carrying on an ancient linguistic tradition.
And yet...the other day Han let out an appreciative, "Daaamn!" in response to his own guitar playing prowess (if you can call rhythmically banging on a guitar "playing" it). It was a perfect imitation of me, right down to the look on his face, but I did not feel a flash of motherly pride. Instead, I cringed, wondering how long it would be until my other favorite swears crept into his lexicon, such as my habit of referring to bad drivers as "dildos," calling people on TV "assholes," or my favorite all-purpose exclamation of dismay, "Fucking shit!" As funny as it is (to me) when I say these things, hearing them come out of my son's cherubic face is alarming. After all, he doesn't know that these words are considered "bad" by the world at large. If Han drops an F-bomb in the toy aisle of Target, both of us will have to deal with the disapproving stares of strangers. If, in a few years, he tells one of his classmates to quit being such an asshole, he's the one who'll have to take a time out. Arguing that these words only have power because they're taboo will probably not win him any favor with the parents of his friends or with the school principal. As much as it pains me to admit this, until he's old enough to use these words mindfully and in the appropriate context, he probably shouldn't be using them at all.
But two-year-olds are like parrots with Tourette's Syndrome when it comes to language. They love picking up and trying out new words, especially when those words get a strong reaction from adults. And it can be very difficult not to react when a little kid says "shit." Go on and try not to physically react the next time you hear a toddler let an expletive fly. I dare you.
So, reluctantly, I must learn to curb my natural impulse toward creative swearing, at least while my son is in my presence. To that end I have devised a list of stupid, alternative "safe" swears that will hopefully have the same tension-diffusing effects as the real thing, if not the satisfaction of being truly vulgar. Feel free to use them if you like, or to add your own in the comments. They are, in no particular order:
I'm sure I'll come up with more, as time goes by and I become the kind of mom I used to make fun of. And, despite me selling out completely to lameness, my son will probably grow up to enjoy swearing just as much as I do. But at least I will have taught him a very important lesson: that words have power, some more than others, and should always be used with consideration to other people in earshot. And anyone who has a problem with that can suck my toe, all the way to Mexico.
Not to the exclusion of all other words, and not in every situation, but holy fuck how I do love to swear. I can't help but respect any word or phrase that has the power, completely removed from context, to make people gasp, cry, or laugh (or better yet, all three at once). Such is my fascination with naughty words that I once wrote an English term paper on the origins of the big three: fuck, shit, and bitch, the building blocks that provide the structure for many a creative curse. I had such fun perusing the dusty old volumes of the library's comprehensive Oxford English Dictionary, tracking down the origins of these words (an archaic practice--I just found the same information in five seconds on Wikipedia). It turns out that people have been saying and writing swear words since the dawn of modern English, and the fact that these words have cognates in other Germanic languages suggests that they are even older than that. These venerable words are old school and they are here to stay. Try as we might to wash them from our children's mouths, sooner or later our offspring are likely to let out a "Fuck you, you fuckin' fuck!" in response to some insupportable outrage, thus carrying on an ancient linguistic tradition.
And yet...the other day Han let out an appreciative, "Daaamn!" in response to his own guitar playing prowess (if you can call rhythmically banging on a guitar "playing" it). It was a perfect imitation of me, right down to the look on his face, but I did not feel a flash of motherly pride. Instead, I cringed, wondering how long it would be until my other favorite swears crept into his lexicon, such as my habit of referring to bad drivers as "dildos," calling people on TV "assholes," or my favorite all-purpose exclamation of dismay, "Fucking shit!" As funny as it is (to me) when I say these things, hearing them come out of my son's cherubic face is alarming. After all, he doesn't know that these words are considered "bad" by the world at large. If Han drops an F-bomb in the toy aisle of Target, both of us will have to deal with the disapproving stares of strangers. If, in a few years, he tells one of his classmates to quit being such an asshole, he's the one who'll have to take a time out. Arguing that these words only have power because they're taboo will probably not win him any favor with the parents of his friends or with the school principal. As much as it pains me to admit this, until he's old enough to use these words mindfully and in the appropriate context, he probably shouldn't be using them at all.
But two-year-olds are like parrots with Tourette's Syndrome when it comes to language. They love picking up and trying out new words, especially when those words get a strong reaction from adults. And it can be very difficult not to react when a little kid says "shit." Go on and try not to physically react the next time you hear a toddler let an expletive fly. I dare you.
So, reluctantly, I must learn to curb my natural impulse toward creative swearing, at least while my son is in my presence. To that end I have devised a list of stupid, alternative "safe" swears that will hopefully have the same tension-diffusing effects as the real thing, if not the satisfaction of being truly vulgar. Feel free to use them if you like, or to add your own in the comments. They are, in no particular order:
- Oh, for the love of cake! instead of For the love of God/Christ! --Not that these words themselves are profane, but to Christians it is highly offensive to hear their lord's name taken in vain. I don't want my son to go around randomly pissing off Christians, at least not until he is old enough to be doing it deliberately.
- Mother Hubbard! to replace Motherfucker!-- Thanks to Andy Barker, P.I. for that one (I am one of the literally dozens of Andy Richter fans).
- Fiddlesticks! instead of Fucking shit!-- It's just corny enough to make me laugh.
- Bozo instead of Dildo-- To call out idiot drivers, who are, after all, clowns. I'm also bringing back, Smooth move, Ex-Lax! and I like to encourage people to Pick a lane, Poindexter!
- Son of a biscuit eater instead of Son of a bitch-- This one is harder to stick with due to the three extra syllables, but it is an old Southern favorite and it reminds me of having fun with my friends at church.
I'm sure I'll come up with more, as time goes by and I become the kind of mom I used to make fun of. And, despite me selling out completely to lameness, my son will probably grow up to enjoy swearing just as much as I do. But at least I will have taught him a very important lesson: that words have power, some more than others, and should always be used with consideration to other people in earshot. And anyone who has a problem with that can suck my toe, all the way to Mexico.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
What's In a Name?
My son's name isn't really Han Solo. It's just that I don't feel right identifying him on the internet since he is only two and has no say in the matter. Plus, I don't want people to make fun of his real name.
His name isn't even particularly unusual, comparatively speaking. It was ranked #242 in popularity for the year he was born. It's the name of one of our favorite actors, as well as an astronaut who hails from my hometown. It's a handsome name, one that I feel connotes strength and intelligence. And yet, every time I holler it in public I feel a stab of self-consciousness. Does it sound pretentious? Quaint and archaic? Just plain weird?
So I gave him an out--a perfectly normal, mundane middle name that he can choose to go by if he hates his first name. Because, after all, people will be calling him by that name for the rest of his life. His teachers, friends, girlfriends (or boyfriends) and employers will all know him by a name I chose for him before he was even born. It will be a fundamental part of his identity, influencing every aspect of his life.
Picking a child's name is a huge responsibility. So why the recent trend towards unique and sometimes bizarre baby names? This is particularly prevalent among celebrities--Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon named their twins Monroe and Moroccan. One of TV chef Jamie Oliver's daughters is named Petal Blossom Rainbow and the other one's name is Poppy Honey. Lisa Bonet gave her child the unwieldy (and borderline incomprehensible) moniker Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa. The list goes on and on.
But it's not just celebrities getting in on the weird name action. In New Zealand in 2008, a judge ruled in favor of a 9-year-old girl whose mom and dad had stuck her with the horrendous name "Tallulah does the Hula." She was allowed to change her name to one that does not reflect her parents' "poor judgement". And speaking of poor judgement, there is now a child named "Facebook" in Egypt and one named "Like" in Israel.
Why are we so eager to give our children unique names? Are we worried that they won't stand out in the world, that ordinary names will condemn them to ordinary lives? Have reality TV and internet fame soured us on the idea of living outside the glare of the spotlight? I honestly don't know the answers to these questions. But one thing is for sure: every name more unusual than my son's makes me breathe a sigh of relief because, as uncommon as his name is, at least it won't be the weirdest one in the classroom, workplace, or even among his friends. Maybe he'll even grow to love it, and his "normal" middle name will stay sandwiched between his first and last, forgotten. Then and only then will I breathe a sigh of relief, and know for sure that I made the right choice.
What are some of the weirdest baby names you've ever heard? Do you think parents are helping or hindering their children by choosing something unique?
His name isn't even particularly unusual, comparatively speaking. It was ranked #242 in popularity for the year he was born. It's the name of one of our favorite actors, as well as an astronaut who hails from my hometown. It's a handsome name, one that I feel connotes strength and intelligence. And yet, every time I holler it in public I feel a stab of self-consciousness. Does it sound pretentious? Quaint and archaic? Just plain weird?
So I gave him an out--a perfectly normal, mundane middle name that he can choose to go by if he hates his first name. Because, after all, people will be calling him by that name for the rest of his life. His teachers, friends, girlfriends (or boyfriends) and employers will all know him by a name I chose for him before he was even born. It will be a fundamental part of his identity, influencing every aspect of his life.
Picking a child's name is a huge responsibility. So why the recent trend towards unique and sometimes bizarre baby names? This is particularly prevalent among celebrities--Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon named their twins Monroe and Moroccan. One of TV chef Jamie Oliver's daughters is named Petal Blossom Rainbow and the other one's name is Poppy Honey. Lisa Bonet gave her child the unwieldy (and borderline incomprehensible) moniker Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa. The list goes on and on.
But it's not just celebrities getting in on the weird name action. In New Zealand in 2008, a judge ruled in favor of a 9-year-old girl whose mom and dad had stuck her with the horrendous name "Tallulah does the Hula." She was allowed to change her name to one that does not reflect her parents' "poor judgement". And speaking of poor judgement, there is now a child named "Facebook" in Egypt and one named "Like" in Israel.
Why are we so eager to give our children unique names? Are we worried that they won't stand out in the world, that ordinary names will condemn them to ordinary lives? Have reality TV and internet fame soured us on the idea of living outside the glare of the spotlight? I honestly don't know the answers to these questions. But one thing is for sure: every name more unusual than my son's makes me breathe a sigh of relief because, as uncommon as his name is, at least it won't be the weirdest one in the classroom, workplace, or even among his friends. Maybe he'll even grow to love it, and his "normal" middle name will stay sandwiched between his first and last, forgotten. Then and only then will I breathe a sigh of relief, and know for sure that I made the right choice.
What are some of the weirdest baby names you've ever heard? Do you think parents are helping or hindering their children by choosing something unique?
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Let's Get This Potty (Training) Started!
When it comes to figuring out this parenting stuff, I draw heavily upon my six years of experience as a preschool teacher. Taking care of 9-12 toddlers for 8-9 hours a day is not just exhausting--it is also highly instructive. Most of the children who have been in my care over the years have been between the ages of two and three. This period is a critical one in early development, when the baby gives way to the child and the unique personality emerges. It is also a time when lifelong hangups can be formed.
Using the potty can easily become one of those hangups. Toddlerhood is when kids realize that they have some control over their lives, in particular their bodies. This is the age when they figure out that they don't have to eat anything they don't want to, they don't have to fall asleep if they would rather stay awake, and that they can pee and poo whenever and wherever they choose. Parents who refuse to respect this autonomy are in for a bumpy ride, as they are continually reminded of the limits of their own power over their little ones. Ultimately, the child must decide for him or herself that the potty is the appropriate place to do one's business.
It is not my intention to patent my own "method" or to promise success if my advice is followed to the letter. Instead, I'd like to use my experience to help others navigate the tricky waters of potty training by providing a set of guidelines I developed over the years. I encourage parents to experiment with the guidelines they like, ignore the ones they don't, and to add their own suggestions and stories in the comments section. So, without further adieu, here is the Sane Mom approach to potty training.
Guideline #1: Start when the child is ready.
I prefer to wait until the child can have a conversation, usually between the ages of two and three. Sure, you can plunk a pre-verbal child onto the potty seat and maybe he or she will learn to poo or tinkle on command, but potty training is about more than just getting rid of diapers. It's also about learning the valuable life-skill of being responsible for one's own waste. It is impossible to get this concept across to a child when he or she doesn't know what the hell you're saying.
Guideline #2: Use equipment you are comfortable with.
This can either be a standalone potty or a small padded seat that fits over the adult toilet seat. Personally, I prefer the latter--nothing makes me gag harder than the sight of urine-soaked shit in a plastic container (until I tip it over the potty and hear the mess plopping into the water, that is). The upside of the former design is that your child may feel more comfortable being closer to the floor, and may also be more likely to use the potty if it's located in a play area close to the toys. As for me, I never conquered my gag reflex when it comes to runny, smelly human waste, so we'll be sticking with the flushing toilet.
Guideline #3: Be cool.
It's tempting to make a big deal out of beginning potty training and either start cheerleading (You're such a big kid now! You'll never use diapers again!) or castigating (You can't start preschool or play with big kids until you learn to use the potty!) your child. But the truth is, the more pressure you put on the kid, positive or negative, the more hangups he or she will develop. Why? Because being relaxed is a key ingredient to being able to "go". Think about how hard it is to take a dump in a public restroom, or even at home if people are standing outside the door impatiently awaiting their turn. Using the bathroom is not something that requires audience participation. Just stand by and stay calm.
This doesn't mean you can't bring it up. When I was supervising children on the playground, I would often point out (conversationally) that the big kids wore underwear instead of diapers and went inside to use the potty. Little kids are fascinated by what big kids do and they expect that, in time, they will do the same things. Another good idea is to keep potty books mixed in with the "fun" books. Seeing potty-related imagery on a regular basis can help demystify the process and can reinforce the idea that it's not such a big deal.
Guideline #4: Be consistent.
Taking care of a group of children would be impossible without a strict schedule. This is especially true in a preschool setting, where many groups have to share limited space and resources. I find that the habit of scheduling has carried over into my parenting, as well. While my home schedule is not as strict as my classroom one was, my boy's day is still structured by specific things (like meals and naps) happening at specific times. I plan on making potty training just another part of the day. His mind and body trained to eat, sleep, and play at certain times; now he can learn to poop when it's time.
This may sound rigidly authoritarian, but think about it. When do you go number two? If you have a steady job, chances are you feel the urge at roughly the same time each day, usually correlated with your pre-work ritual or around your break time. This is because your body "knows" when the time is optimal for it to go. Deviations from this schedule often result in embarrassment or dismay. This same biological time-keeping process is at work in children; we just have to wind the clock.
Guideline #5: You don't ask. You tell.
The quickest way to derail the process is to ask your child if he or she wants to use the potty. 95% of the time, the answer will be a resounding No. Kids love having the freedom to opt out, and given half a chance, they will abuse that power. Even if it means shitting their pants.
Instead, just say, "It's time to sit on the potty." That way, it isn't you making the kid do something; it's time. Potty time is like meal time, bath time, and bed time; it's just something that happens. This is where having a schedule really helps--instead of having to interrupt play or a meal to whisk a child to the potty, it can be an "in-between" activity (for example, between nap and snack).
In addition to these set times, toddlers should be brought to the potty any time they ask to use it.
Guideline #6: Have realistic expectations.
There's a reason I say, "It's time to sit on the potty," instead of, "It's time to use the potty." As I explained earlier, kids don't have to go poop and pee just because their caregivers want them to. Each time they sit on the potty, they choose whether they will go or not (unless their bladders are bursting). If we want potty training to succeed, we have to respect this choice.
When I started training a particular group of children, I only expected them to be able to sit on the potty for one minute (having a digital clock in the bathroom helps--kids love watching the numbers count down). If they achieved this goal, I said, "Good job." and went on to the next kid. That minute was enough time to get the first child's hands washed and get him or her seated with a snack before moving on. People looking into my classroom were often amazed at how efficiently I managed to get through such a difficult task, but the truth is, low expectations yielded high results.
As the kids got more comfortable on the potty, I would increase the number of times per day and the amount of time spent. Sooner or later, I would hear the glorious sound of water tinkling on porcelain, and I would return to the bathroom to find a ecstatic, proud child.
Guideline #7: Rewards work; bribery fails.
I kept a bag of gummy bears in my up-high, off-limits teacher cabinet. I never mentioned them, but all the kids knew they were there. They also knew that peeing in the potty was worth one gummy bear, and that pooping was worth two. So, not only did they get lots of praise from me (often in the presence of their parents, an added bonus), but they also received a small bit of sweetness to enhance the memory. This positive association, reinforced over time, led the kids to look forward to the opportunity to use the potty and earn their reward.
However, this is probably the trickiest guideline to follow without letting it spiral out of control. Firstly, it's tempting to trot out the candy beforehand to use as incentive. Bad idea. You're essentially offering to pay the child for something he or she should be expected to do regardless. Kids are shrewd little manipulators, and once they realize their poop and pee is worth something to you, they want to negotiate the best possible deal for themselves (such as: full-size Snickers, up front, then we'll see what happens). The other problem is knowing when to cut the treats off. In my preschool classes, this wasn't a problem: the kids moved on to another teacher, who may or may not offer potty rewards. Problem solved. But deciding when to stop rewarding my son with sweets will be more challenging, and there will probably be conflict involved.
Also, if you feel strongly one way or another about sugar (meaning you either avoid it like poison or constantly pacify your child with candy) then this option is off the table.
Guideline #8: Buy lots of undies and be ready to throw them away.
Over time, the diaper will stay drier longer and successful potty times will become the norm. I recommend waiting to switch to undies until this point, mostly because cleaning up accidents sucks (especially when you suspect it was no "accident"), but also because I don't own enough clothing to change my son's entire outfit several times a day. Your child will still occasionally have accidents, but they will be fewer and farther between depending on how comfortable he or she is on the potty. It helps to get the child involved in the cleaning up, both because it deters future accidents and because it reinforces the idea of taking responsibility for one's own messes.
Sometimes the messes will be horrifying--even a well-trained child is no match for the sudden onslaught of diarrhea. This is why cheap underwear is your friend. If you can't bear the thought of your child's cherished undies getting thrown away, it's probably best not to use them to cover his or her butt. Hang them on the wall or something, if they're so important.
This is neither a quick-fix nor a one-size-fits-all approach. Following these guidelines takes time, commitment, and patience. But it worked for me with dozens of other people's children, and it's the approach I intend to take with my own.
Using the potty can easily become one of those hangups. Toddlerhood is when kids realize that they have some control over their lives, in particular their bodies. This is the age when they figure out that they don't have to eat anything they don't want to, they don't have to fall asleep if they would rather stay awake, and that they can pee and poo whenever and wherever they choose. Parents who refuse to respect this autonomy are in for a bumpy ride, as they are continually reminded of the limits of their own power over their little ones. Ultimately, the child must decide for him or herself that the potty is the appropriate place to do one's business.
It is not my intention to patent my own "method" or to promise success if my advice is followed to the letter. Instead, I'd like to use my experience to help others navigate the tricky waters of potty training by providing a set of guidelines I developed over the years. I encourage parents to experiment with the guidelines they like, ignore the ones they don't, and to add their own suggestions and stories in the comments section. So, without further adieu, here is the Sane Mom approach to potty training.
Guideline #1: Start when the child is ready.
I prefer to wait until the child can have a conversation, usually between the ages of two and three. Sure, you can plunk a pre-verbal child onto the potty seat and maybe he or she will learn to poo or tinkle on command, but potty training is about more than just getting rid of diapers. It's also about learning the valuable life-skill of being responsible for one's own waste. It is impossible to get this concept across to a child when he or she doesn't know what the hell you're saying.
Guideline #2: Use equipment you are comfortable with.
This can either be a standalone potty or a small padded seat that fits over the adult toilet seat. Personally, I prefer the latter--nothing makes me gag harder than the sight of urine-soaked shit in a plastic container (until I tip it over the potty and hear the mess plopping into the water, that is). The upside of the former design is that your child may feel more comfortable being closer to the floor, and may also be more likely to use the potty if it's located in a play area close to the toys. As for me, I never conquered my gag reflex when it comes to runny, smelly human waste, so we'll be sticking with the flushing toilet.
Guideline #3: Be cool.
It's tempting to make a big deal out of beginning potty training and either start cheerleading (You're such a big kid now! You'll never use diapers again!) or castigating (You can't start preschool or play with big kids until you learn to use the potty!) your child. But the truth is, the more pressure you put on the kid, positive or negative, the more hangups he or she will develop. Why? Because being relaxed is a key ingredient to being able to "go". Think about how hard it is to take a dump in a public restroom, or even at home if people are standing outside the door impatiently awaiting their turn. Using the bathroom is not something that requires audience participation. Just stand by and stay calm.
This doesn't mean you can't bring it up. When I was supervising children on the playground, I would often point out (conversationally) that the big kids wore underwear instead of diapers and went inside to use the potty. Little kids are fascinated by what big kids do and they expect that, in time, they will do the same things. Another good idea is to keep potty books mixed in with the "fun" books. Seeing potty-related imagery on a regular basis can help demystify the process and can reinforce the idea that it's not such a big deal.
Guideline #4: Be consistent.
Taking care of a group of children would be impossible without a strict schedule. This is especially true in a preschool setting, where many groups have to share limited space and resources. I find that the habit of scheduling has carried over into my parenting, as well. While my home schedule is not as strict as my classroom one was, my boy's day is still structured by specific things (like meals and naps) happening at specific times. I plan on making potty training just another part of the day. His mind and body trained to eat, sleep, and play at certain times; now he can learn to poop when it's time.
This may sound rigidly authoritarian, but think about it. When do you go number two? If you have a steady job, chances are you feel the urge at roughly the same time each day, usually correlated with your pre-work ritual or around your break time. This is because your body "knows" when the time is optimal for it to go. Deviations from this schedule often result in embarrassment or dismay. This same biological time-keeping process is at work in children; we just have to wind the clock.
Guideline #5: You don't ask. You tell.
The quickest way to derail the process is to ask your child if he or she wants to use the potty. 95% of the time, the answer will be a resounding No. Kids love having the freedom to opt out, and given half a chance, they will abuse that power. Even if it means shitting their pants.
Instead, just say, "It's time to sit on the potty." That way, it isn't you making the kid do something; it's time. Potty time is like meal time, bath time, and bed time; it's just something that happens. This is where having a schedule really helps--instead of having to interrupt play or a meal to whisk a child to the potty, it can be an "in-between" activity (for example, between nap and snack).
In addition to these set times, toddlers should be brought to the potty any time they ask to use it.
Guideline #6: Have realistic expectations.
There's a reason I say, "It's time to sit on the potty," instead of, "It's time to use the potty." As I explained earlier, kids don't have to go poop and pee just because their caregivers want them to. Each time they sit on the potty, they choose whether they will go or not (unless their bladders are bursting). If we want potty training to succeed, we have to respect this choice.
When I started training a particular group of children, I only expected them to be able to sit on the potty for one minute (having a digital clock in the bathroom helps--kids love watching the numbers count down). If they achieved this goal, I said, "Good job." and went on to the next kid. That minute was enough time to get the first child's hands washed and get him or her seated with a snack before moving on. People looking into my classroom were often amazed at how efficiently I managed to get through such a difficult task, but the truth is, low expectations yielded high results.
As the kids got more comfortable on the potty, I would increase the number of times per day and the amount of time spent. Sooner or later, I would hear the glorious sound of water tinkling on porcelain, and I would return to the bathroom to find a ecstatic, proud child.
Guideline #7: Rewards work; bribery fails.
I kept a bag of gummy bears in my up-high, off-limits teacher cabinet. I never mentioned them, but all the kids knew they were there. They also knew that peeing in the potty was worth one gummy bear, and that pooping was worth two. So, not only did they get lots of praise from me (often in the presence of their parents, an added bonus), but they also received a small bit of sweetness to enhance the memory. This positive association, reinforced over time, led the kids to look forward to the opportunity to use the potty and earn their reward.
However, this is probably the trickiest guideline to follow without letting it spiral out of control. Firstly, it's tempting to trot out the candy beforehand to use as incentive. Bad idea. You're essentially offering to pay the child for something he or she should be expected to do regardless. Kids are shrewd little manipulators, and once they realize their poop and pee is worth something to you, they want to negotiate the best possible deal for themselves (such as: full-size Snickers, up front, then we'll see what happens). The other problem is knowing when to cut the treats off. In my preschool classes, this wasn't a problem: the kids moved on to another teacher, who may or may not offer potty rewards. Problem solved. But deciding when to stop rewarding my son with sweets will be more challenging, and there will probably be conflict involved.
Also, if you feel strongly one way or another about sugar (meaning you either avoid it like poison or constantly pacify your child with candy) then this option is off the table.
Guideline #8: Buy lots of undies and be ready to throw them away.
Over time, the diaper will stay drier longer and successful potty times will become the norm. I recommend waiting to switch to undies until this point, mostly because cleaning up accidents sucks (especially when you suspect it was no "accident"), but also because I don't own enough clothing to change my son's entire outfit several times a day. Your child will still occasionally have accidents, but they will be fewer and farther between depending on how comfortable he or she is on the potty. It helps to get the child involved in the cleaning up, both because it deters future accidents and because it reinforces the idea of taking responsibility for one's own messes.
Sometimes the messes will be horrifying--even a well-trained child is no match for the sudden onslaught of diarrhea. This is why cheap underwear is your friend. If you can't bear the thought of your child's cherished undies getting thrown away, it's probably best not to use them to cover his or her butt. Hang them on the wall or something, if they're so important.
This is neither a quick-fix nor a one-size-fits-all approach. Following these guidelines takes time, commitment, and patience. But it worked for me with dozens of other people's children, and it's the approach I intend to take with my own.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Another One Rides the Bus
We are a one-car family; my husband and I share an economical, sensible vehicle that is no larger than what we absolutely need. During the weekday, the car is with my husband at work, leaving Han Solo (my new internet pet-name for my boy because yes, we are geeks) and I sans personal transportation. You may be thinking how noble we are to make such a sacrifice for the environment, to reduce our entire family's carbon footprint to that of just one person. If you spotted me and my boy waiting at the bus stop, his stroller laden down with groceries in reusable shopping bags, you might nod approvingly as you sped by in your air-conditioned SUV, thinking, now there's a true environmentalist.
I wonder if you would think the same thing about the Mexican lady sitting on the bench next to me, who is also toting children and groceries. The thing is, she's probably there for the exact same reason I am--her family cannot afford for her to have a car. Like me, she's probably grateful to have any transportation option at all, and considers a walk (it's a half mile from my front door to the bus stop and I'm guessing that's about average) followed by a five to fifteen minute wait in the sun and humidity while traffic whizzes by just feet away, to be a reasonable price to pay to be able to leave the house and go somewhere. Yet my hypothetical SUV driving environmentalist would probably not notice her at all, relegating her to the background, just another expected part of an everyday commute.
I say this not to point out what a racist a-hole the SUV driver is (though I am starting to dislike this pretend person), but to illustrate how unusual it is for a white woman my age to take her young child on the crosstown bus. Sometimes I catch people looking at us with a quizzical expression, as if wondering what the hell happened to put us in such a position.
For the most part, my bus-riding experiences have been positive. People smile at my son, help me lift my stroller if it's obvious I'm having trouble juggling all the crap I'm carrying, and switch seats just to give Han a better view. But there are also some unsavory characters on the bus, young guys who swear loudly and holler at the young ladies on their way to the community college, folks who are clearly a little deranged, and rundown types who smell like they just crawled out of a bottle of Night Train. Some of the bus drivers are surly cranks who gaze at my son with undisguised hostility, seeing us as yet another in a string of time-consuming hassles putting everyone behind schedule. It's a mixed bag, is what I'm saying, and I never know what to expect.
There are two ways of looking at this. One, it is terrible that I have to subject my son to potentially frightening strangers just to get to the grocery store. It sucks that buses are not only designed without regard to mothers transporting young children, but they seem to actively inhibit them. It blows that it may be up to a year before we get our finances to the point where a second car is even possible. It bugs me that buses are exclusively the domain of poor people, and that the SUV environmentalist will never truly understand the situation that I and the unnoticed Mexican lady share.
All of these things are true, but I still prefer to look at this from a second perspective: every bus ride is an adventure. This sounds stupid at first (at least it did to me) until you remember that "adventure" is not synonymous with "fun." Think about the great adventures of movies and literature--they were each a series of tests, designed to educate and toughen the characters. The heroes of these stories learned from, and were often made better by, the trials and tribulations they overcame while trying to reach their goals.
Now, our goal is just to get to the grocery store and back, and we are rarely tested by anything we can't easily handle. But there's a sense whenever we walk away from the house, of setting off, of knowing where we're going but not everything that will happen between here and there. I want my boy to know that we can handle whatever comes, that we are no better or worse than the people around us, and that fear is normal but you can't let it stop you from going where you need to go.
I wonder if you would think the same thing about the Mexican lady sitting on the bench next to me, who is also toting children and groceries. The thing is, she's probably there for the exact same reason I am--her family cannot afford for her to have a car. Like me, she's probably grateful to have any transportation option at all, and considers a walk (it's a half mile from my front door to the bus stop and I'm guessing that's about average) followed by a five to fifteen minute wait in the sun and humidity while traffic whizzes by just feet away, to be a reasonable price to pay to be able to leave the house and go somewhere. Yet my hypothetical SUV driving environmentalist would probably not notice her at all, relegating her to the background, just another expected part of an everyday commute.
I say this not to point out what a racist a-hole the SUV driver is (though I am starting to dislike this pretend person), but to illustrate how unusual it is for a white woman my age to take her young child on the crosstown bus. Sometimes I catch people looking at us with a quizzical expression, as if wondering what the hell happened to put us in such a position.
For the most part, my bus-riding experiences have been positive. People smile at my son, help me lift my stroller if it's obvious I'm having trouble juggling all the crap I'm carrying, and switch seats just to give Han a better view. But there are also some unsavory characters on the bus, young guys who swear loudly and holler at the young ladies on their way to the community college, folks who are clearly a little deranged, and rundown types who smell like they just crawled out of a bottle of Night Train. Some of the bus drivers are surly cranks who gaze at my son with undisguised hostility, seeing us as yet another in a string of time-consuming hassles putting everyone behind schedule. It's a mixed bag, is what I'm saying, and I never know what to expect.
There are two ways of looking at this. One, it is terrible that I have to subject my son to potentially frightening strangers just to get to the grocery store. It sucks that buses are not only designed without regard to mothers transporting young children, but they seem to actively inhibit them. It blows that it may be up to a year before we get our finances to the point where a second car is even possible. It bugs me that buses are exclusively the domain of poor people, and that the SUV environmentalist will never truly understand the situation that I and the unnoticed Mexican lady share.
All of these things are true, but I still prefer to look at this from a second perspective: every bus ride is an adventure. This sounds stupid at first (at least it did to me) until you remember that "adventure" is not synonymous with "fun." Think about the great adventures of movies and literature--they were each a series of tests, designed to educate and toughen the characters. The heroes of these stories learned from, and were often made better by, the trials and tribulations they overcame while trying to reach their goals.
Now, our goal is just to get to the grocery store and back, and we are rarely tested by anything we can't easily handle. But there's a sense whenever we walk away from the house, of setting off, of knowing where we're going but not everything that will happen between here and there. I want my boy to know that we can handle whatever comes, that we are no better or worse than the people around us, and that fear is normal but you can't let it stop you from going where you need to go.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Circumcision: Let's Talk About Dicks
These days, parents of baby boys are faced with a tough decision: whether or not to have their sons circumcised. Just a generation ago, it was a no-brainer--circumcision was widely known to result in a cleaner, more attractive, and socially acceptable penis. Boys with foreskins were the exception, the freaks in the locker-room covering their crotches in shame while the "normal" boys pointed and laughed.
But the world is moving on, and as the years pass and my peers flood the earth with their children, the practice is becoming less common. In fact, only 56% of baby boys born in the US were circumcised in 2008, down from more than 80% in the 1960's. And thanks to the growing intactivism movement, that number is likely to continue decreasing. Parents are becoming more aware of their choices, as well as the potential risks and benefits to accepting or declining the procedure. We've realized that whether or not to circumcise really and truly is entirely up to us. Unfortunately, this means that we get to take the blame if, someday, our boys decide that we made the wrong choice. With all the shouting surrounding this issue, it can be hard to decipher hyperbole from fact. Here's my attempt to cut through the bullshit and help you make a choice both you and your child can be comfortable with.
What does the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) have to say about circumcision?
AAP policies reflect the current medical consensus among pediatric practitioners based on the most recent evidence. In the case of circumcision, however, they're not much help. While the AAP acknowledges that "existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits," their official policy statement concludes that "...these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision." In other words, the decision is left to parents and their pediatricians. However, the AAP plans to update this policy in light of new evidence about potential health benefits of the procedure. Whether or not this will affect their recommendations remains to be seen.
Why do people have their boys circumcised?
According to this article on PubMed, circumcision reduces the incidence of urinary tract infections (which are especially dangerous in infants), lowers the risk of many types of STD (including HIV and HPV), has a protective effect against penile cancer, eliminates the medical need to have the procedure performed as an adult (well, duh), and improves "sexual function and creativity". One study found that circumcised men enjoy "...a more elaborate sexual lifestyle," and their female partners report being "...more pleased with the aesthetics of the circumcised penis." (I'm not sure if that last part counts as a health reason, but hey, I didn't write the article.)
However, the health issue is kind of a red herring, because most parents make this decision for cultural reasons, such as religion or family tradition. One study found that circumcision status of the father, as well as the parents' education level and ages, are the most important factors in the decision. In this same study, mothers-to-be were given an informative brochure put together by the AAP which outlined the health benefits and potential complications. Not one woman changed her mind after reading the brochure.
What is the history of circumcision?
The oldest documented evidence of circumcision comes from ancient Egypt. Many historians believe that the Jews acquired this practice during their period of enslavement to the Egyptians, though competing evidence suggests that it has been a custom in Semitic tribes going back much further than that. The tradition also has roots in Islamic culture, tracing back to the tribal practice of circumcising both boys and girls. It is still a common cultural tradition among orthodox Jews and devout Muslims.
Circumcision didn't catch on in the United States until the late nineteenth century. Doctors who advocated for the procedure recommended it to curb masturbation, or in the words of John Harvey Kellogg, as a "PREVENTION OF SECRET VICE" (apparently cranks have always had a love affair with caps lock). Kellogg, who helped popularize the practice in the US, believed that masturbation was an act of evil and that the inability (or refusal) to abstain from it constituted a disease. In addition to performing circumcisions (without anesthetic, so the pain would have a "salutary effect upon the mind,") he encouraged parents to force their children to work long and hard during the day so they would be too exhausted to "defile" themselves at night. For younger children, he suggested tying their hands, or, more effectively, "bandaging the parts" to prevent access. Fortunately, his more extreme ideas did not catch on (such as applying pure carbolic acid to the clitoris if a woman proved unable to "exercise entire self control"), but other doctors of the era took his anti-foreskin fervor and ran with it. To this day, many Americans still consider circumcised penises to be cleaner and more civilized than their intact counterparts.
How is circumcision performed?
I always imagined it to be rather neat and precise: the doctor pulls the foreskin up from the penis between his fingers, the way a barber prepares to trim a lock of hair, then pulls out a specialized penis guillotine that resembles a cigar-cutter, and snip snap snip, the penis is circumcised. The nurses dab off the tiny amount of blood with a soft cloth, and the smiling baby boy is delivered safely to his mother's arms.
But it's not like that at all. The Wikipedia page on circumcision goes into graphic, gory, detail on how it really happens (warning: pictures!). There is a clamp involved, used in conjunction with a "restraining device". The inner lining of the foreskin is "bluntly separated" from the glans so that the clamp can be forced into place. Sometimes this requires a dorsal slit, and sometimes the frenulum band near the urethra needs to be "broken or crushed" so the foreskin can be cut. The clamp stays in place until the penis has healed, at which point it should fall off on its own (the clamp, not the penis).
Most boys have pediatricians (or mohels) who follow AAP recommendations and use local anesthtic, either in the form of a topical cream or by a series of injections. But not all practitioners believe that babies feel pain (or perhaps, like Kellogg, they believe the babies deserve pain), so sometimes the procedure is performed with no pain relief at all.
Do the benefits make it worth doing anyway?
In sub-Saharan Africa, where most of the studies showing a positive benefit were conducted, it probably is worth doing. AIDS and other STD's are rampant, people have limited or no access to contraception, rape is commonly used as a tactic of warfare, and access to clean water and adequate medical care is scarce. In conditions like these, medical interventions that even slightly lower the risk of passing on infectious disease make perfect sense.
Here in the US, it makes less sense. The typical American man has the luxury of plenty of hot water and soap in the comfort of his own home. He can dry off with a clean towel and put on freshly-laundered underwear. He can waltz down to the CVS and pick up a box of condoms any time he likes. He is unlikely to force himself upon an unwilling woman.
However, health issues aside, some people do prefer the aesthetics of the circumcised penis, seeing it as cleaner and more streamilined. Plus, circumcised men don't get smegma (which is not a health risk but is still pretty gross.)
Conclusion
Though circumcision's popularity in the US is fading, it is unlikely that the intactivists will get their wish and put an end to the practice altogether. I personally feel that the procedure is unnecessary and opted out for my son, but I also don't buy the more extreme claims of men feeling violated by their parents and mourning the loss of their foreskins. I'd imagine the average guy doesn't give it much thought; his dick is as familiar to him as the contours of his own face and, as long as it works like it should, he should be happy.
But the world is moving on, and as the years pass and my peers flood the earth with their children, the practice is becoming less common. In fact, only 56% of baby boys born in the US were circumcised in 2008, down from more than 80% in the 1960's. And thanks to the growing intactivism movement, that number is likely to continue decreasing. Parents are becoming more aware of their choices, as well as the potential risks and benefits to accepting or declining the procedure. We've realized that whether or not to circumcise really and truly is entirely up to us. Unfortunately, this means that we get to take the blame if, someday, our boys decide that we made the wrong choice. With all the shouting surrounding this issue, it can be hard to decipher hyperbole from fact. Here's my attempt to cut through the bullshit and help you make a choice both you and your child can be comfortable with.
What does the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) have to say about circumcision?
AAP policies reflect the current medical consensus among pediatric practitioners based on the most recent evidence. In the case of circumcision, however, they're not much help. While the AAP acknowledges that "existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits," their official policy statement concludes that "...these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision." In other words, the decision is left to parents and their pediatricians. However, the AAP plans to update this policy in light of new evidence about potential health benefits of the procedure. Whether or not this will affect their recommendations remains to be seen.
Why do people have their boys circumcised?
According to this article on PubMed, circumcision reduces the incidence of urinary tract infections (which are especially dangerous in infants), lowers the risk of many types of STD (including HIV and HPV), has a protective effect against penile cancer, eliminates the medical need to have the procedure performed as an adult (well, duh), and improves "sexual function and creativity". One study found that circumcised men enjoy "...a more elaborate sexual lifestyle," and their female partners report being "...more pleased with the aesthetics of the circumcised penis." (I'm not sure if that last part counts as a health reason, but hey, I didn't write the article.)
However, the health issue is kind of a red herring, because most parents make this decision for cultural reasons, such as religion or family tradition. One study found that circumcision status of the father, as well as the parents' education level and ages, are the most important factors in the decision. In this same study, mothers-to-be were given an informative brochure put together by the AAP which outlined the health benefits and potential complications. Not one woman changed her mind after reading the brochure.
What is the history of circumcision?
The oldest documented evidence of circumcision comes from ancient Egypt. Many historians believe that the Jews acquired this practice during their period of enslavement to the Egyptians, though competing evidence suggests that it has been a custom in Semitic tribes going back much further than that. The tradition also has roots in Islamic culture, tracing back to the tribal practice of circumcising both boys and girls. It is still a common cultural tradition among orthodox Jews and devout Muslims.
Circumcision didn't catch on in the United States until the late nineteenth century. Doctors who advocated for the procedure recommended it to curb masturbation, or in the words of John Harvey Kellogg, as a "PREVENTION OF SECRET VICE" (apparently cranks have always had a love affair with caps lock). Kellogg, who helped popularize the practice in the US, believed that masturbation was an act of evil and that the inability (or refusal) to abstain from it constituted a disease. In addition to performing circumcisions (without anesthetic, so the pain would have a "salutary effect upon the mind,") he encouraged parents to force their children to work long and hard during the day so they would be too exhausted to "defile" themselves at night. For younger children, he suggested tying their hands, or, more effectively, "bandaging the parts" to prevent access. Fortunately, his more extreme ideas did not catch on (such as applying pure carbolic acid to the clitoris if a woman proved unable to "exercise entire self control"), but other doctors of the era took his anti-foreskin fervor and ran with it. To this day, many Americans still consider circumcised penises to be cleaner and more civilized than their intact counterparts.
How is circumcision performed?
I always imagined it to be rather neat and precise: the doctor pulls the foreskin up from the penis between his fingers, the way a barber prepares to trim a lock of hair, then pulls out a specialized penis guillotine that resembles a cigar-cutter, and snip snap snip, the penis is circumcised. The nurses dab off the tiny amount of blood with a soft cloth, and the smiling baby boy is delivered safely to his mother's arms.
But it's not like that at all. The Wikipedia page on circumcision goes into graphic, gory, detail on how it really happens (warning: pictures!). There is a clamp involved, used in conjunction with a "restraining device". The inner lining of the foreskin is "bluntly separated" from the glans so that the clamp can be forced into place. Sometimes this requires a dorsal slit, and sometimes the frenulum band near the urethra needs to be "broken or crushed" so the foreskin can be cut. The clamp stays in place until the penis has healed, at which point it should fall off on its own (the clamp, not the penis).
Most boys have pediatricians (or mohels) who follow AAP recommendations and use local anesthtic, either in the form of a topical cream or by a series of injections. But not all practitioners believe that babies feel pain (or perhaps, like Kellogg, they believe the babies deserve pain), so sometimes the procedure is performed with no pain relief at all.
Do the benefits make it worth doing anyway?
In sub-Saharan Africa, where most of the studies showing a positive benefit were conducted, it probably is worth doing. AIDS and other STD's are rampant, people have limited or no access to contraception, rape is commonly used as a tactic of warfare, and access to clean water and adequate medical care is scarce. In conditions like these, medical interventions that even slightly lower the risk of passing on infectious disease make perfect sense.
Here in the US, it makes less sense. The typical American man has the luxury of plenty of hot water and soap in the comfort of his own home. He can dry off with a clean towel and put on freshly-laundered underwear. He can waltz down to the CVS and pick up a box of condoms any time he likes. He is unlikely to force himself upon an unwilling woman.
However, health issues aside, some people do prefer the aesthetics of the circumcised penis, seeing it as cleaner and more streamilined. Plus, circumcised men don't get smegma (which is not a health risk but is still pretty gross.)
Conclusion
Though circumcision's popularity in the US is fading, it is unlikely that the intactivists will get their wish and put an end to the practice altogether. I personally feel that the procedure is unnecessary and opted out for my son, but I also don't buy the more extreme claims of men feeling violated by their parents and mourning the loss of their foreskins. I'd imagine the average guy doesn't give it much thought; his dick is as familiar to him as the contours of his own face and, as long as it works like it should, he should be happy.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Open Letter to Mayim Bialik: Why Can't We Be Friends?
Dear Mayim,
I hope you'll forgive me for calling you by your first name, but I can't help but feel like I know you. You see, you and I grew up together. No, we didn't live in the same neighborhood or attend the same schools. This relationship is purely one-sided: to me, you will always be the girl who played Blossom. This isn't a bad thing--Blossom was by far the smartest, hippest, savviest, and most confident girl on TV in the early 90's. They just don't make girl's role models like that any more, to the detriment of Miley Cyrus fans everywhere. And it wasn't just your TV persona--judging from what I saw in interviews, you were pretty hip and savvy yourself. I admired your unwavering, uncompromising, you-ness. You didn't wait for others to hand you your self-esteem. You took it as your birthright, and nerdy, insecure girls like me were inspired and emboldened to do the same.
But we arrived at adulthood along very different paths. You went on to gain a Ph.D. in neuroscience while I delivered pizzas, taught preschool, and went into debt to finance my liberal arts degree from a state college. I'm not saying that my way was "better" or gave me some profound insight you are lacking. I don't begrudge you your good fortune or opportunities in the slightest. I'm just pointing out that our respective paths taught us each very different lessons and, as a result, we approach parenting from different perspectives. Yet I'd like to think our core values are still in alignment--we both care deeply about the earth and preserving its resources, we both want humane treatment for all animals, and we share the belief that children are our most tangible investment in the future of our planet and the survival of our species.
So why do we find ourselves on opposite sides of an impenetrable wall when it comes to parenting? Do our families' respective sleeping arrangements and meal habits really matter so much that they would strangle a potential friendship before it is formed? Does the fact that I had a C-section while you had your babies at home make us the Capulets and the freaking Montagues?
It hasn't always been like this. In a past interview you said, " ...everyone does things differently and that’s OK. It’s very important to us to raise nonjudgmental children who don’t go finger-wagging." You were also self aware enough to acknowledge that "...a lot of people hear that term [attachment parenting] and automatically get turned off or automatically assume that you think you're doing things better than them." Based on statements like these, I think we could get along despite our differences as parents.
But then I read the intro to your new blog on TODAYMoms. You start out by condemning labels and distancing yourself from the term attachment parent...but then you go on to state all the ways in which you are, indeed, a full-on attachment parent. You say you don't want to judge anybody, but you also say that "natural" childbirth should be the norm and that "almost all women should [emphasis mine] be able to...successfully breast-feed, barring rare genetic conditons." Mayim, when you say things like these, women who prefer to give birth in a hospital or who choose to bottle feed feel like you are attacking their parenting choices. Your attitude has changed from: "this is how I choose to raise my kids" to "this is the right way to raise all kids, everywhere."
I think I know how this happened. When you first started revealing your particular, somewhat peculiar, parenting choices, the sanctimommies piled on. I'm sure there were plenty of fingers wagging at you as thousands of moms felt it their duty to tell you every little thing that was wrong with every little detail of your parenting plan. No doubt you felt a bit defensive; after all, you made these decisions consciously, with your children's best interest in mind. What right did these people have to judge you? So you did what anyone in your position would likely have done--you looked for support from like-minded people. And, thanks to the internet, you found it in spades. Not only are your choices acceptable, your support group assured you, they are deeply, fundamentally, right. But by this logic, people who make different choices are simply, flat-out wrong. Such is the danger of the echo chamber, where extremism is born.
Mayim, I respect your right to make the choices you feel are right for your family. But if you refuse to extend the same courtesy to others, you run the risk of alienating readers like me, with whom you may have more in common than you realize. I have a feeling that if you and I met as total strangers, in a park with our children perhaps, we would strike up a lively and enjoyable conversation. Let's not let the sanctimommies of the world ruin our chance to get along, and to model for our kids a very important lesson: that just because we're different doesn't mean we can't be friends.
Sincerely,
Sane Mom
I hope you'll forgive me for calling you by your first name, but I can't help but feel like I know you. You see, you and I grew up together. No, we didn't live in the same neighborhood or attend the same schools. This relationship is purely one-sided: to me, you will always be the girl who played Blossom. This isn't a bad thing--Blossom was by far the smartest, hippest, savviest, and most confident girl on TV in the early 90's. They just don't make girl's role models like that any more, to the detriment of Miley Cyrus fans everywhere. And it wasn't just your TV persona--judging from what I saw in interviews, you were pretty hip and savvy yourself. I admired your unwavering, uncompromising, you-ness. You didn't wait for others to hand you your self-esteem. You took it as your birthright, and nerdy, insecure girls like me were inspired and emboldened to do the same.
But we arrived at adulthood along very different paths. You went on to gain a Ph.D. in neuroscience while I delivered pizzas, taught preschool, and went into debt to finance my liberal arts degree from a state college. I'm not saying that my way was "better" or gave me some profound insight you are lacking. I don't begrudge you your good fortune or opportunities in the slightest. I'm just pointing out that our respective paths taught us each very different lessons and, as a result, we approach parenting from different perspectives. Yet I'd like to think our core values are still in alignment--we both care deeply about the earth and preserving its resources, we both want humane treatment for all animals, and we share the belief that children are our most tangible investment in the future of our planet and the survival of our species.
So why do we find ourselves on opposite sides of an impenetrable wall when it comes to parenting? Do our families' respective sleeping arrangements and meal habits really matter so much that they would strangle a potential friendship before it is formed? Does the fact that I had a C-section while you had your babies at home make us the Capulets and the freaking Montagues?
It hasn't always been like this. In a past interview you said, " ...everyone does things differently and that’s OK. It’s very important to us to raise nonjudgmental children who don’t go finger-wagging." You were also self aware enough to acknowledge that "...a lot of people hear that term [attachment parenting] and automatically get turned off or automatically assume that you think you're doing things better than them." Based on statements like these, I think we could get along despite our differences as parents.
But then I read the intro to your new blog on TODAYMoms. You start out by condemning labels and distancing yourself from the term attachment parent...but then you go on to state all the ways in which you are, indeed, a full-on attachment parent. You say you don't want to judge anybody, but you also say that "natural" childbirth should be the norm and that "almost all women should [emphasis mine] be able to...successfully breast-feed, barring rare genetic conditons." Mayim, when you say things like these, women who prefer to give birth in a hospital or who choose to bottle feed feel like you are attacking their parenting choices. Your attitude has changed from: "this is how I choose to raise my kids" to "this is the right way to raise all kids, everywhere."
I think I know how this happened. When you first started revealing your particular, somewhat peculiar, parenting choices, the sanctimommies piled on. I'm sure there were plenty of fingers wagging at you as thousands of moms felt it their duty to tell you every little thing that was wrong with every little detail of your parenting plan. No doubt you felt a bit defensive; after all, you made these decisions consciously, with your children's best interest in mind. What right did these people have to judge you? So you did what anyone in your position would likely have done--you looked for support from like-minded people. And, thanks to the internet, you found it in spades. Not only are your choices acceptable, your support group assured you, they are deeply, fundamentally, right. But by this logic, people who make different choices are simply, flat-out wrong. Such is the danger of the echo chamber, where extremism is born.
Mayim, I respect your right to make the choices you feel are right for your family. But if you refuse to extend the same courtesy to others, you run the risk of alienating readers like me, with whom you may have more in common than you realize. I have a feeling that if you and I met as total strangers, in a park with our children perhaps, we would strike up a lively and enjoyable conversation. Let's not let the sanctimommies of the world ruin our chance to get along, and to model for our kids a very important lesson: that just because we're different doesn't mean we can't be friends.
Sincerely,
Sane Mom
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