Category Archives: Life with 2 kids

Girls v. Boys….Be Honest

I have two little girls. I love having two little girls. And I have three sisters. Having so many women in the family leads to many comments and opinions – and it grates on my every last nerve. For me, it began with my second pregnancy after we decided to find out what we were having. With our first, we eagerly awaited the surprise in the delivery room and well, reality wasn’t quite what the fantasy was in my head:  In the end, I was just so damn glad to get her out of me, that it was really anti-climatic whether she was a girl or a boy.  The second time around, at that joyful 20 week sonogram when all I had to do was sit there moderately comfortably to learn the news, it was declared that we were having another little girl. Almost immediately after telling people the news, I would get these sorts of reactions:

“Oh, well, will you try for a third to get that boy?”

Umm. Well, it hadn’t occurred to me because I was too busy gestating my second baby just then. And further, was it 17th century China and no one alerted me to the time travel? Were we scorning the arrival of another girl-child because her strength would be inadequate in the fields to plow the earth?

My dad faced these comments constantly as the father of four girls, especially when my mom was pregnant the last time, commentary on how he must really be hoping for a boy. The truth was – he was psyched the last one was a girl because he knew what to expect, they had the clothes, etc etc. Oh and he’s also not a chauvinistic pig.

Though I should say I actually find the bulk of the offenders of the sexist comments to be other women.

And so, as my girls grow, my annoyance with this implication that somehow girls are less than boys has evolved from what I view as blatant sexism to an implication that girls are easier than boys:

“You are so lucky you have just girls, my boys wrestle and fight all day long, it is so physical and exhausting.”

You know, because apparently girls aren’t physical and don’t wrestle and fight.

“You are so lucky you have just girls, my boys eat all day long.”

Umm, well, actually, my girls eat all day long too and we are talking about 2 and 5-year-olds, not the 17-year-old captain of the football team, it’s what little kids do – they snack.  Tell me, aren’t there moms of boys out there who have a more physical son than the other might be? And one child who eats more than the other? I have one girl who loves to color and draw and make animal parades though noteworthy – she has absolutely no interest in dressing up like a Princess. Then I have one that has been climbing since she could walk at 10 months, she loves to play with balls and trucks, she’s never met a mud pile that she didn’t delight in and she will tackle her older sister and wrestle her to the ground without any fear or regret. She is all action.  And yet she’s the one who also likes to dress up in Princess clothes. Go figure.

I can’t help but wonder – aren’t these kids just who they are at this age – and shouldn’t we just keep our gender comments and assumptions to ourselves? Just as we should keep our comments on how a pregnant woman looks, to ourselves? Why must we comment?

Further stoking my annoyance, over the weekend I found myself reading in the NYT Economix blog that a new Gallup poll indicates that if they could have only one child, 40% of Americans would pick having a boy over having a girl.  Turns out that Gallup has polled Americans 10 times on this same question since 1941 and the majority always pick a boy over a girl. Interestingly enough, totally contradicting my earlier claim that I think the offenders of these statements are women, is the evidence that it was male respondents who swayed the survey results, women generally answered that they didn’t have a preference.

Realizing that I’m jumping all over the map now – follow along – as I add this into the  mix – how about the fact that if Prince William and Princess Catherine have a girl child and then have a son, the son would become King even though the daughter would be first born. I learned it’s called “male primogeniture” (Read: fancy Scrabble word for sexist and offensive).

And this antiquated law is still set in place in a monarchy led by a QUEEN.  So newsflash to all the little girls out there – we might really hope that a woman runs for President and wins (so long as it’s not Sarah Palin), or runs for Prime Minister and wins (as did Margaret Thatcher) but yet we can’t entrust the monarchy to a first-born girl. Confused much? Can someone start giving me a warning before we keep jetting back in time?

So what’s the deal? Back to my own experience: Are many of the people asking the offending questions not to find out if I am concerned about carrying on the family name through a son but rather because they want to know if I’m hoping to experience the difference of having a boy? When moms of just boys make these blanket statements implying that girls are easier than boys, are they really just tired (like we all are) and don’t intend the latent sexist implication that girls aren’t physical? Were the men in the Gallup poll just more honest than the women, who actually  might secretly be wishing for a little girl but realistically believe that all that  matters is a healthy child, so the results of the 41 years of polling really are just meaningless? Will Kate really have a second born son who will supersede her first-born daughter (cause you  know some gossip pub somewhere out there must be printing that rail-thin-probably-too-skinney-to-get-her-period Kate is already pregnant)?

And finally – in fairness – what kind of blanket statements do moms of just girls (like me) make that might annoy moms of just boys?

Tune in to Crank Time

“M-o-m-m-e-e-e-e-e-, I want it!” shouts one daughter

“No, I want that!” exclaims the other one.

“No, it’s M-I-N-E” asserts the older one again, louder, yanking even harder.

They shout and pull. They fight and argue. I ignore it. I project myself onto a white sand beach where small children are banned and husbands are only allowed if the wife so wills them there.  If I avert my eyes and say nothing, perhaps they’ll forget I’m here to negotiate yet another peace treaty, I think desperately.

No children or husbands in sight...

Meanwhile, back in reality, the young humans are still sparring over some useless fifty cent compass they picked out at the dentist’s office, despite being in a room overflowing with engaging, colorful and age-appropriate toys. Dare I wonder why they must fight over something that they don’t even know how to use, let alone what North, South, East or West even means?

 “Let’s start a show and call it Crank Time,” suggests my good friend on the phone one day, as we blurted out the latest top ten list of egregious kid behaviors executed by our own offspring. We immediately conclude this is a brilliant idea. What better venue could there be for us?  First – we are awesome. Second, we are clearly telegenic, witty and never short on words. With Crank Time, we can stylishly discuss our complaint du jour and invite guests to debate. The truth is, beyond children, anything is fair game: nanny, husband, boss, latest absurd celebrity baby name, the opportunities endless.  Once we’ve exhaled our frustrations, we can move on.  We conclude our show’s mission is cathartic moments for busy moms, a hybrid of commentary and debate.  

“What I really want is a kid-taser,” unabashedly announces this same friend. Topic one for Crank Time, I suggest, because frankly, in some moments, I could go for a Kid Taser. Couldn’t you? Imagine it, kid acting like a maniac, kid spiraling out of control, quick use of the kid-tase and bam, problem temporarily solved. Who has time to read the parenting books anyway, especially when we have a swift and easy-to-use technique on hand.

I think I hear the screeching wheels of child protective services pulling out front of Crank Time’s studios right now. Little do they know I am affiliated with more shadowy figures who suggest other offensive escape route plans for bad kid behavior.

“How about a chloroform wipe, I could really go for one of those on a very rare occasion with my 3-year-old, to just knock her out for a few seconds. The problem is, some jerk out there will abuse it and ruin it for the rest of us,” confessed another friend.

Topic 2 for Crank Time, I suspect, as I’m wrestling with a raging lunatic of a two-year-old who is fighting the injustice of being strapped into the stroller so we can actually make the quarter mile walk home in under 3 hours.  Where can I get one of those, I ask him desperately. I’ll pay anything.  Sometimes the sweet innocence of discovering every mentionable and unmentionable object and thing on a walk is more tedious than sweet, I’m not afraid to admit.

The live debate on Crank Time over the use of Kid-Taser and Chloroform wipes is bound to be a ratings success during sweeps month, I reason, as I wonder if I should really find these two suggestions as amusing and appealing as I do.

Don’t we all have these moments? I know, I know, it’s so shocking to think when you have a sweet 5 month old whose only job is to sit there and giggle when you sneeze and flap their arms and eat whatever you offer them without a fight. I used to lovingly gaze at my baby and remember thinking I couldn’t possibly imagine ever getting angry with her. What in the world could she do that would ever upset me?  My naiveté was almost endearing, right?

The truth is, in those moments of raw-nerve exhaustion when I just don’t think I can take it one second longer, when I actually do wish I had a Kid Taser, my mother’s needlepoint haunts me:

Is it mocking you too?

Cleaning and cobwebs can wait til tomorrow . . .

For babies grow up we’ve learned to our sorrow . . .

So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep . . .

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep

That simple poem she stitched, even through raising four kids, readily mocks my self-imposed ban on mommy guilt.

Some day, I will miss these moments, I tell myself through gritted teeth, as the words to that needlepoint crowd my brain and confuse my emotions. They might be fighting and Machiavellian maniacs unleashing their cruel reign of terror onto me but they are home, and they want to be home, and they love me so much. How could something so small and cute be so awful? How could I love them so much and yet want to taser them?

Isn’t that daily cycle of contradicting emotions in parenthood?

Join us on Crank Time. It’ll make you feel better.

Confessions of a Stroller Addict

Almost six years and four international partners later, I am still seeking my perfect match. Each exotic and foreign mate has been cast aside, kicked to the curb, collecting dust in my house. Is it me? Or is it them?

Clearly my addiction is out of control

Let’s face it, I am a stroller whore. I own four. And yet that’s not enough. With my wandering eye, I stare down other people’s strollers on the street, I study them, and I covet them. Would they want to trade, I wonder, as I’m willing to kick my stroller to the curb on a whim. Like old boyfriends, each of my strollers serves a specific purpose but not one is the perfect match. Is it really ever me? Isn’t it always them?

The Reliable, Loyal Boyfriend

I have a bulky and heavy red Peg Perego, complete with a bassinet which folds perfectly flat and is wonderful for a fussy newborn.  Initially this stroller gave me hours of peace, as the only way my first-born would settle into a nap in those early months was propped on her side, in the stroller. We mind-numbingly walked the streets of my neighborhood for hours. As I slept-walked through life, this stroller was a constant for me. But as baby grew, and I gained the confidence to travel beyond walking distance from home with her, the stroller became too cumbersome to travel with; he got cast aside. My needs were changing and well, he couldn’t adapt. Ciao, Italian.

The Thin, Nimble Metro sexual

Next came the Maclaren umbrella stroller; the metro sexual of strollers. This one was ideal for my sturdier baby, and perfect for chic on-the-go urban escapades or quick maneuvering through bustling airports. Naively thinking it would be my final stroller, I kept waiting for my child to cross that threshold into a walking kid but five years in, she still rides when she can. Ultimately, this metro sexual expired in its usefulness because I was having my second baby and he came prepared only for travel for one. Cheerio, Union Jack.

The Attractive but Unreliable Boyfriend

With the arrival of our second child and the non-walking reliability of my eldest, clearly I needed a double stroller, except from the perspective of my frugal and practical husband. Who doesn’t need three strollers, I reasoned. Like a lion stalking its prey, I patiently waited through the first few winter months with my newborn, using only my original two strollers, waiting until she was sturdy enough to sit up, to pounce on the double stroller idea. I knew the real victim here was my husband (and our bank account), not my strewn-aside, dust-collecting old strollers.  I had to wait until the need was clear to him to get my way. Plus, I wasn’t stalking just any prey. I didn’t want the bulky, hard-to-fold double wide of strollers. My needs were now more sophisticated, discerning and specific with the growth of my family. I needed: agile, compact, and adaptable to fit my hectic life. With two kids, suddenly I didn’t have the luxury to stroll the streets because older children have to go places; school, ballet class, playdates, birthday parties. Along with functionality, I needed style, of course. With the first early warm spring day came my opportunity to pounce, posed as an innocent question: Precisely how we were going to walk them both the park?  Despite my months of stalking other moms walking double strollers, sizing up their choices and weighing them against my needs, clearly the first time this truly occurred to my husband was on that warm day. How shocking . . .

 Off we went to Buy Buy Baby, me realizing the entire time that I was going to come home with the Peg Perego double stroller , back to my first Italian love. Anyone could have read my husband’s mind in the store as he painfully added up the collective price of our three strollers. And in that moment, our eyes locked and we both knew this wasn’t the end. There would be more. I always had a reason. I always found a flaw. Like a true addict, however, I delivered a convincing soliloquy on how this was my last stroller. My insatiable thirst was quenched, my wandering eye was retired, no more children, no more strollers, we were done.  In my lust for a non-Semi-sized double stroller, what I failed to anticipate was that the ever-growing weight of my two children, bearing down on the small, nimble wheels of the lightweight Peg Perego, would ultimately render the stroller useless on long walks. It was like pushing an elephant up a sand dune. Arrividerci, Italian lover . . .

The Meathead Boyfriend

So, I caved. I had to get a bulkier, bigger-wheeled double stroller. I justified it by making it my first purchase off Craig’s List. Staying true to my commitment of avoiding the double-wide, I went for the native to Australia – Valco baby single with toddler attachment – the size of a single with the functionality of a double.  With Crocodile Dundee at the helm, I was paying for his strength and his off-roading wheel durability to ease the weight of my girls as I pushed them effortlessly through the streets. But like all the others, the meathead still isn’t perfect: He’s smart enough to carry them easily but dumb enough to always get his wheels twisted up and turn in only one direction. G’day mate.

Perhaps it’s trying to transport two children peacefully and without drama that is the crux of my problem now, more than the stroller.  Maybe it’s about them, not me, or him.

Sadly, my quest for the perfect stroller mate is still unrealized.  So now I cruise around with a red wagon, a good old American classic.

Is it a conspiracy among stroller manufacturers to keep us purchasing? Have they really not figured out the perfect, most amazing stroller? Maybe it is them . . .

Is DC really the most “Family Friendly” city?

The Washington Post’s new On Parenting Blogger, Janice D’Arcy, scooped us earlier this week when she noted that Parenting Magazine’s July issue names DC as the most “family friendly” city in the nation.

At first my heart swelled with pride for my hometown (well, kind of my hometown. Does 15 years count?)

Then I patted myself on the back a few times for being smart enough to raise my kids here. I did a few victory laps, I relished the notion that my children will be cultural savant’s because of the plethora of museums at our disposal and the excellent public education system.

But then I thought about living here. You know – actually living here – and the reality of it – and there is so much that is wonderful about DC. But I think we’re remiss in not discussing one really important topic as we all swell with pride over raising our kids in this most “family friendly” town in the country.

Umm…family friendly? Really? If you’re sitting in an office right now, are you surrounded by family-friendly policies that encourage you to have a work-life balance, enable you to skip out at 2pm without a care in the world, to take your suddenly ill child the docs and then roll in late tomorrow because little Johnny has a year-end  play?

I didn’t think so.

So yes, I do think that DC is an amazing city and one with so many advantages for raising children over others – starting not just with our free museums and fabulous zoo but with our strong housing market and decent job market as compared to other cities. But where I think DC lacks desperately is in leading the way with family friendly work policies, ones that support both parents in needing flexibility. Policies that recognize that horrible beltway traffic coincides with projectile vomiting child coincides with work meeting at 4pm and something’s got to give and you can choose your kid’s needs over your place of employment and not be judged for doing so. And it being the capital city, I think the onus is on our government (including Senate and House offices) and the companies headquartered here (including all the trade associations) to really carve the path towards supporting family friendly policies – not just including them in the employee handbook – but actually actively supporting them, encouraging employees to partake in flexible work schedules – and realizing that working from home can – and does – actually mean you work at home and, in my experience, accomplish  more than you can at work with all the other disruptions.

And note – I don’t consider things like “back up childcare” and childcare reimbursement pre-tax policies as the kind of family-friendly policies I’m looking for – because those policies help me remain at work – they don’t help me see my kids.

So yes, Parenting Magazine, DC is a fabulous town for so many reasons (though I also question their kid friendly restaurant reasoning – either that or I am spending way too much time at local Mexican restaurants or Pizza joints) – and I am proud that we topped the list. But before we get ahead of ourselves, I ask you what you think ?

What’s your reaction to DC being named most family-friendly? Have you seen an improvement in work-life balance policies at your office? Are others participating in family-friendly programs or is it the kiss of death to be the only person who actively uses these policies?