His Sister--His Beard

I leave in a few minutes to take my daughter to see High School Musical 3. I'm dragging her ten year old brother along with me.

Actually, that's what he's hoping it looks like. In reality, we chose the 6pm movie time so he could come. The 4:40 time we originally chose would have clashed with baseball practice. And he wouldn't miss that for the world.

Poor guy, having to schlep along to see HSM3, right? But that's life with a little sister.

And he's pretty discerning about movies. He actually didn't want to see Wall-E this past summer, and Journey to the Center of the Earth came close to not being, I don't know, man enough? for him. He's more of an Ironman, Hulk, Dark Knight kind of kid.

But he does tend to gravitate towards the TV in the afternoon when the girls are watching Hannah Montana. And as the chief DVR-operator in the family, makes sure to tape High School Musical and other similar movies when he finds that they'll be coming on. Then he usually hounds his almost less-interested sister into watching them with him. Come on! he'll scold, we have to watch this before it gets erased! Once it's on, she'll drift away here and there, but he remains glued, blaming her for making him watch it, but glued nonetheless.



I remember growing up with a sister and being very intrigued by boy stuff. This is definitely one of the perks of growing up with opposite sex siblings. Maximum curiosity-satisfying. My poor son has had friends--boys with older or younger brothers--show up to play with him, and then watched in horror as they've gotten drawn into games of house, or family, or gotten sidetracked by Polly-pockets. Of course now that the boys are all ten they're officially uninterested in the girls' things. Officially uninterested, that is.

Unofficially? Who knows?

Last night he reminded her that the movie was opening today and then whumped in the car this morning when he found out we were aiming for an earlier show that would begin while he was still at practice. He acted like we were over-planning and, in a very casual slightly annoyed voice with the perfect tone of put-outness, suggested why don't we just all go together tomorrow or something? For logistical reasons, she and I decided to stick to the 4:40 plan, and I dropped them off at school. But as the day went on I started to feel bad for him. When would he get another chance to see High School Musical 3? When would the 'ugh they made me do it' moment happen for him, if not tonight? So I picked up some 6pm tickets, and I'll spring it on him at the end of baseball practice at 5:30.

Quietly, of course.

I won't say what we're doing in front of his buddies. I'll just let him complain about it in school on Monday with all the other boys who have sisters. Poor guy.

Average Joe Lane

originally on nycmomsblog, summer 2008

I was watching the Olympics from my hotel room in Florida and noticed a guy named Keith Beavers from Canada preparing to jump in the water to swim in some competition that ultimately resulted in Michael Phelps winning another gold. This Beavers guy had an Olympic Rings tattoo on his bicep (or tricep?)--somewhere on his upper arm. He clearly got this tattoo in excitement about participating in the Olympics. You go guy. Good work, must have been a long hard road to get here, etc. etc. etc. Of course, the race began and he was in lane 2 and he ended up coming in 8th and it's hard NOT to watch and think--hmmm, kinda slow.

Of course this guy's not slow! Of course he's an incredible talent. But we'd just been shown this piece about Michael Phelps' 'genetic superiority' (a phrase that made me cringe as they broke down his parts, "dinner plate sized hands," size 14 feet that "may as well be flippers," the legs of an average man, the torso of a really tall guy...)--and, frankly, everyone else seemed kind of regular after that. Even the guy who ended up being the 8th fastest 200 meter individual medlier in the world.

Which is why I'd like to propose the Average Joe Lane.

How slow do the other swimmers look when the winner blows past them to the finish? Michael Johnson used to make the other guys look like they were stuck in mud or like they thought the race was over half way before they got to the finish line. You kind of felt bad that they even showed up. And let's face it, the guys in the outer lanes in the swimming pools look like they're just there as filler. Wouldn't it help put things in perspective (for all of us couch potatoes, eating York Peppermint Patties while watching the Olympics) to see how fast the average guy could run? swim? I don't know...throw a shotput?

I'm not suggesting that there be regular guy lanes in all the events. It clearly wouldn't make any sense in gymnastics--though it could be awfully entertaining. I've heard that the average American can do zero chin-ups. Does that mean that for every American who can do one there are about a dozen that can't do any and for every American that can do twenty there are two thousand that can't do one? (I'm in the can't do any category, by the way. Full disclosure, and all that.) I imagine an average American guy attempting to do the rings in the gymnastics competition and basically just hanging there from the rings yelling 'ouch' the whole time. I suppose watching Meredith Viera flop around on the gym equipment at Chelsea Piers while Shawn Johnson looks on supportively and amused comes close, but again, I don't need any help realizing how difficult those balance beam moves must be. I get it. I can't even stay on the tightrope in the wii fit game. It's hard, we know.

I am suggesting there be a regular guy lane in any sport with lanes. Any straight up race, that'd be a good place to start. Let's say the lane had a sponsor; we could have the Starbucks Average Joe Row, or the Doritoes Regular Dude Ditch. My sister came up with the La-Z-Boy Lazy Guy Lane. That has a nice ring to it. People could win the chance to be in the lane by tearing off labels or scratching off that silver film with a penny.

Perhaps the Average Joe could be plucked from the crowd minutes before an event. It's important that there be no opportunity to train for it. Average Joes finding out they were about to board a plane to China would be given a pretty broad packing list (swim suit, sneakers, sports bra...) and it would be great if the person could have average measurements or something. But that might be asking too much.

As much as I've been into watching these Olympics (and I never think I will be, it always sneaks up on me), it's not the gather-the-family 'round the tv opportunity I'd hoped it would be since the time difference with Beijing puts all the fun stuff on way after the kids have gone to bed. Having an Average Joe lane would really change it I think. It would, at least, make that Beavers guy seem more deserving of those rings on his arm.

In one swimming event, the announcer said about one of the faster women she doesn't like to do the hard work if she doesn't have to (explaining some rare necessary surge on her part). Hey, me neither! That's why I'm not an athlete, that's why I'm not in the Olympics. I'm like that swimmer, I tell myself, as I pop another snack into my mouth.

See? It's really really easy to sit and watch and feel kind of like 'maybe I could do that if I liked doing hard work.' And it's thoughts like that, coupled with my thinking that the 8th fastest guy in the world is a little slow, that make me realize that I could use a little perspective.

From my couch, in my air-conditioned hotel room, on my beach vacation, far from anything that resembles hard work.

World Wide Day of--Whoops

My four year old woke up Saturday morning and put her soccer uniform on. Navy blue top with flames on the shoulder, maroon shorts, with a scratchy white waistband, 'knee badges,' and those impossibly thick navy socks. I said 'Oh there's a Blue Dragon in my house!' and she nodded in agreement since that's the name of her team. She smiled and added, but not a really scary one.

She then waited patiently at home while her brother and sister were shuffled to and from from their own athletic events. She played with her imaginary friend Sarah (who has several houses: one in Africa, one upstate near a little bridge in Beacon), and sat and played her new Zingo game by herself (I think..but Sarah might have been there) for about forty five minutes. Zingo had been a surprise gift for her yesterday when, after having her walk fifteen blocks under the Brooklyn Queens Expressway with me to fetch our car from a mechanic, I had to drag her to two different Brooklyn neighborhoods to fetch aforementioned brother and sister from various friends' houses.

At eleven thirty she ate half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then went off to soccer where she played like she usually does--running around the field after the ball, waving and beaming at everyone on the sidelines, stopping the ball with her hands to line it up for a perfect kick (a tactic that doesn't fly with the referees), and generally exhausting herself.

When she came home she took a bath and then asked to watch some television and I ushered her upstairs to watch a kids' show, because the guys were watching a crucial Mets game (the one where Santana ended up pitching the entire game). We turned on Noggin and saw a placid little scene with some fish in an aquarium. I checked the guide and noticed that the same 'show' was playing on Nickelodeon, our other favorite channel. Three hours of something called World Wide Day of Play. Hmm, maybe three hours of fun kids' shows? Perfect!

We watched the scene a little bit longer and then some words began to race along the bottom of the screen. Something like: Noggin is participating in Nickelodeon's World Wide Day of Play, a day when we celebrate all things active, so turn the tv off, and go play! We'll be off the air from 12noon to 3pm. Have fun!

My four year old and I stared blankly at the screen, waiting to see if the same words would rush by again, or if we'd just hallucinated. And then, here they come again...is this really happening? A warm sense of community flooded over me, what a great idea! Followed by a tinge of guilt, oh I'm one of the idiots who actually needs Nickelodeon to tell me to spend more quality time with my daughter.

Oh look, I said, playing along. They want us to go play instead of watching tv. Freshly bathed from her muddy midday soccer game, she looked up at me incredulously.

See? Those words are telling us to turn the tv off and go play a fun game! I wasn't sure if I'd have the stamina to keep up with a fun game, but it was still kind of interesting and I was inspired to share it with her. She looked back at the screen. Moose A. Moose walked on from stage right. 'Hey what are you still doing here?' he asked, looking out at us, standing there in the upstairs bedroom. 'You should be playing something! Turn off the tv!' (something like that).

Look, even Moose A. Moose wants us to turn the tv off and go play, I said.

But I want to watch Dragontales, she said.

Ummmmmm (I'd like to think this pause lasted longer, but it really wasn't that long). Okay, I said, scrolling through the higher numbers to find Kids On Demand. Select. Preschool. Select. PBSKids. Select. Dragontales. Select. Some episode about teamwork. Select. And I left her alone in the room, with a tiny bowl of cashews and almonds. A good snack for my soccer star, right?

A World Wide Day of Play a nice idea. But it's also nice to have about a zillion other opportunities to call up some great show for her.

Today is a rainy rainy Sunday, and she just spent the morning playing dodgeball and capture the flag in the backyard with her older brother and seven of his best friends. And once we get back from Gus's birthday party at two, it'll be nice to curl up and watch some kids' shows.

After a World Wide Morning of Play, we're ready to soak in some shows.

To Read or Not To Read

I just got home from Curriculum Night at my kids' wonderful public school. No matter what grade a child is in, the teacher reminds the parents to read to their children. It's a promise that we continue to make, year in and year out, PreK on up to fifth grade. As they get older they're supposed to take on some of the reading, but we are never supposed to stop reading to them ourselves. Apparently it's great for them to hear more complicated passages and ideas--it builds their vocabularies and expands their minds, and makes them ready for higher levels of reading themselves.

I don't do this. Isn't that terrible? It's really the one thing they keep drilling into us. Read to your children. Keep on reading to your children. Read, read, read. I get it.

My kids have never known the feeling of curling up with one of us, hearing Harry Potter or Little House, or Anne of Green Gables, or whatever. I've read to them before. My son and I read The Great Illustrated Classics version of Frankenstein, and The Prince and The Pauper. And I read The Secret Garden to my daughter. But these are the exceptions...the handful of books I can recall sharing with them. And my oldest kids are only eight and nine. Still at that cuddle-up-and-read age (something that, apparently, won't be true forever).

So what's my excuse? I've done some of my own calculations on the subject (never a good thing, given my inability to consider dissenting opinions with a clear head) and I'vecome to believe that it's not about the reading, but rather the quality time with an adult. I choose to share my quality time with them in different ways.

We play lots of games. Skip-Bo is a favorite game of ours, and fantan too. Very simple concepts, but still room for bits of strategy here and there. The Game of Life is too long for pre-bedtime, and Clue should be perfect, except that my mind isn't usually that sharp at 8:30 or so (were there always so many rooms?) and then everyone's mind wanders a bit, and then it takes longer than it should. Qwirkle is a huge favorite--a little known game where you build on shapes and colors with tiles, kind of like Scrabble. Set is fun too.

And then there's the old 'event tv' bit. I know it's a cheap move, but we really do enjoy bonding around American Idol, or a crucial Mets game (like the one being played right now). Huddled under a blanket offering up criticism, taking turns singing during the commercials, or second and third and fourth getting some bad call? It all feels like classic family time to me.

These things are more my speed than curling up with a book. I have plenty of guilt about it--I am a big reader myself, but rarely 'model' it around the kids since much of my reading time takes place on the subway to and from work. Wouldn't it be great if they came into my room at night to ask a question, and found me wrapped up in a novel rather than catching up on last night's Daily Show? Yeah, it would be great. Just not now, not in this lifetime.

Plus I've tried reading to them at night and I really struggle with it. I'm just too tired by night time to be able to keep my focus, and have often reached the end of a passage without having paid attention to a single word of it. What's the point of that then? That doesn't seem like sharing. And there's often more inflection in my voice from trying to stifle yawns than from any kind of animated reading.

So there we were, just a few hours ago, perched on desks and tables at Curriculum Night. The principal smiled her knowing smile and urged all parents to continue reading to their children--she gave a nod and a warm smile in my direction (I have the kind of face that makes people think I'm ultra-responsible) and I smiled back knowing that she heartily assumes that I'm a shining example of a parent who reads to her children. But that knowing smile was a lie. My kids are missing out on something I've promised to offer them. And I won't get this time back, and so on and so forth. But they sure do know how to hold on to a seven in fantan, and how to play the wild cards in Skip-Bo. And maybe they'll be okay after all.

Fakebook

My eleven year old son is mad at me. He's the only one of his peers who isn't allowed to have a Facebook account. I can handle him being annoyed with me about this, it's simple to me. I won't let him lie about his age and claim to be thirteen. That just seems wrong.

It's very clear-cut. In fact it's just about the ONLY clear-cut thing to me these days. When he's thirteen I'll sign him up myself. I have an account. I have nothing against it, and can see how it could even be a useful, if not insanely hovering, way to keep track of him, see what he and his pals are talking about, and so on and so forth.

A few months ago I sat with him to help him sign up for Facebook and it kept refusing him. Eventually I realized it was because he was too young. We tried to sign him up again, and I just kept looking at the birth-years it was offering. Having him claim to be born in 1996 was just so wrong to me.

I'm not always this clear on things. I don't have a firm stance on teeth-brushing (once a day is fine? skip it? no problem), movie ratings (I took him to see R-rated Kick-ass a few weeks ago and we both loved it), and we have very few limits on television--even just let him watch this (particularly brutal) season of 24. And in many ways I'm more permissive than many of these other moms. He's been riding the subway independently since he was ten, and did I mention I took him to see Kick-ass?

I've always enjoyed letting him be as up on what's current as he wants to be; I'm happy to send him out into the world able to keep up with water-cooler conversation. His love of Yu-gi-oh, and his ability to hold his own in a conversation about it, is what firmed up a bunch of his friendships on the first day of kindergarten, when he went off--painfully shy--to a brand new school. In theory I'd love him to have a Facebook account so he could communicate with every other boy in his class who has one. His email box is always full of new invitations to join. He can't believe I won't let him.

And I can't believe I'm the only hold-out. I'm universally undecided about things, and easily swayed.

I have a friend who feels like tattoos are the devil (I don't) and would much rather have her daughter pierce her belly button than ever ever get a tattoo. This baffles me, and reinforces for me how wishy-washy I tend to be about certain things. In my mind the piercing is so much more drastic. But tattoos or piercings? I don't know how I feel about them. And in reality, I'd probably be fine with either one.

But lying to join Facebook? I'm clear on this. I've let him order things online where he's had to check a box saying he was 18--because it was a one-time purchase and he was just the one at the keyboard handling the transaction. But claiming to be two years older to enter into this whole Facebook thing just seems drastic. He'll probably be on Facebook for the rest of his life. It's a longtime relationship, not a one-off like a movie or a pair of sneakers. I had a shtick at one point about how he'd be aging himself by two years, and that that would just be a crazy thing to do since those extra two years would just follow you online--forever (college applications, job interviews). It does occur to me though that you can probably change your age as often as you change your profile picture or your status. Maybe that's what all his friends will do (will the people at Facebook notice that some kids stay thirteen for two or three years?) Still. It just seems wrong.

And all of his friends are doing it? What are all of these parents thinking? Some of the most hyper-worried overly protective moms I know are allowing their eleven year olds to claim to be thirteen? Seriously, I'd love to know why. And not because I'm freaky-prudish about things because I am not freaky-prudish about anything. I'd just love to know how they justify it. I'm very curious to know how I--of all people--am the single unflinching parent out here. I am never THAT parent.

In order to join Facebook you have to be at least thirteen. Sorry kid. You're not.