"Be a nice girl"

Lester asked me the other day if I'd read this column in Motherlode about a woman expressing all the reasons she does NOT want her daughter to be nice:

http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/07/31/i-do-not-want-my-daughter-to-be-nice/?_r=0

Here's a few paragraphs from the post, in case you don't have time to read the whole thing:

My 10-year-old daughter, Birdy, is not nice, not exactly. She is deeply kind, profoundly compassionate and, probably, the most ethical person I know — but she will not smile at you unless either she is genuinely glad to see you or you’re telling her a joke that has something scatological for a punch line.
This makes her different from me. Sure, I spent the first half of the ’90s wearing a thrifted suede jacket that I had accessorized with a neon-green sticker across the back, expressing a somewhat negative attitude regarding the patriarchy (let’s just say it’s unprintable here). But even then, I smiled at everyone. Because I wanted everyone to like me. Everyone!
I am a radical, card-carrying feminist, and still I put out smiles indiscriminately, hoping to please not only friends and family but also my son’s orthodontist, the barista who rolls his eyes while I fumble apologetically through my wallet, and the ex-boyfriend who cheated on me. 

This article reminded Lester of our own little not-so-nice one, although she has years to go to get to the point where the author's girl is: "'Gender stereotypes, among other injustices, infuriate her,'" the author says of her tween. "'This is so stupid!'" she sighs at Target, about the pink rows of dolls and the blue rows of Lego. "'Why don’t they just put a penis or a vagina on every toy so you can be completely sure you’re getting the right one?'"

For instance, this description here reminds me of my daughter: "But when strangers talk to her, she is like, "'Whatever.'" She looks away, scowling. She does not smile or encourage."

Umm, hello Clair.

And this one, too. Oh boy, this one:  "Even as a 2-year-old, she had the determined wrath and gait of a murderous zombie gnome — and my husband and I grimaced at each other, afraid, over her small and darkly glowering head."

A murderous, screaming, swatting, swiping, angry, stubborn, unbudging, "do-not-touch-me-stranger!" zombie gnome. That's my adorable, gap-toothed, haloed little cherub, absolutely. (Love you, Clair!)

But just as Clair has a long way to go before she is strolling the toy store aisles, raging against stereotyping in a feminist fury, I admit to having a long way to go before I can say "I don't want my daughter to be nice."

I totally get this writer's point. She wants her daughter not to be a doormat, or a syrupy, smiley, apologetic wallflower. She wants her daughter to reserve her "niceness" for those who earn it, and to forever hold on to her easy ability to just say "No," no matter if it's a grabby boy making an unwanted request or a societal ill that she just won't stand for.

I love that, and want that for Clair too. I love that she can't say 50 words, but she is not. to. be. intimidated.

But darnit. I'm sorry. (See, there I go apologizing!) I want her to be nice, too.

There's no reason you can't be nice for niceness' sake -- and still be a girl who knows what she will and will not stand for. Nice is good. Too many people think they're nice and really aren't. And too many people try so hard not to be nice, for fear they'll get run over. I don't want Clair to fear being nice.

I once had a co-worker tell me that she didn't "give" anyone respect. Everyone she met had to earn it.

I feel like that's the wrong way to go about life. I think you should treat everyone you meet with respect, graciously dole it out even, unless that person gives you a good reason not to. And even then, I think you should still show (most people) outward respect, even if you don't feel it in your heart.

I feel the same way about niceness. People don't have to "earn" me being nice to them. I'm just nice (or at least I really try to be). And if I get to the point where a person no longer deserves my niceness, well that's a different story. I know when to fold 'em, walk away, run -- or stay and fight.  Ask people at the Baltimore Sun union if I ever rolled over in the face of injustice.

I want my fierce baby girl to be a nice girl too -- in fact, I want all my children to be nice, kind, charitable and considerate of others.

And if they ever have to put someone or something in its place some day, I hope they'll do it with gusto. I also hope they do it with a smile.

Have a nice day y'all. :-)

I'm having a synapse breakdown

Today, Clair is 8-months-old. She's crawling, standing and even beginning to cruise. She is moving so fast, I can barely stand it.

But as she grows, and I compare her to the boys in terms of how much more she can do at this age than they could, I have also started thinking about how much less time she actually gets with us.

Ugh.

Particularly since she is almost always being edged out by her noisier, more demanding brothers, we almost never have time to just sit with her and read, read, read. Or sing and play individual baby games. Or just point out/narrate all the mundane stuff going on while we cook, eat, dress, and go about our days. Frankly, by the time we are wrapping up with C & D, we are SPENT. She gets a lot of love and hugs and a ridiculous overdose of kisses and tickles, but way less one-on-one chatter.

I was already slightly worried about this discrepancy. Then I read this article in the NYT.

These two lines in particular:

Children of professionals were, on average, exposed to approximately 1,500 more words hourly than children growing up in poverty. This resulted in a gap of more than 32 million words by the time the children reached the age of 4.

As the education theorist E. D. Hirsch recently wrote in a review of Paul Tough’s new book, “How Children Succeed,” there is strong evidence that increasing the general knowledge and vocabulary of a child before age 6 is the single highest correlate with later success. 

And now I am freaked the funk out!!

You know me, people. I am synapse-nuts as it is! Reading this just sends me over the EDGE! And yes, I know technically Clair isn't a child of poverty. And yes, I know she has almost 5 and a half more years before she reaches age 6 (so I have a little bit of time). But still!!

STILL!

How come you people with "second' children (I count her as the second, because the boys are twins) didn't tell me that the second one gets such short shrift? And what can you do about it when they're just babies? And does it even out over time??

Can people please tell me stories about their second-born kids and how they're well-rounded/sweet-natured geniuses?

(P.S. Happy 8-months, Clairzee! We love you so much! We really do!!)

Pride, the paper and popped peas

Reason No. 3,247 why having kids is maddening and humbling all at the same time:

One minute, you catch your 2-year-old boys doing this -- taking a Legos break to "read" the NYT magazine, curled up on the sofa like they actually have a clue about what they're doing.

Dean: "You know, even if Mitt Romney didn't approve off-shoring jobs in companies controlled by Bain Capital, you know that $&*@$ would have." Cary: "Word."

The scene is so endearing and pride-inducing, you're like, "Yes, I rock this parenting thing. Holla!"

Ten minutes later, at the dinner table, they're refusing to eat and, instead, are squeezing the peas in their mixed vegetable medley, saying, "I popped it!"
And giggling uncontrollably.
Oh, and then hurling the popped peas across the dining room table.

Awesome.

And the NYT? Here's what's come of it:

Lesson here: Don't get too smug, folks. Lest you get smacked in the head with a "popped" pea.

Wow. That wasn't as bad as we thought.

As the boys have hit the 15-month-mark, I have been reflecting on how I felt about this past year+. For some reason, 15 months seems like a good time to do that.
I was having trouble articulating how I really felt -- at least in a succinct way. If you've read recent entries, you'll note that my boys have been ....how shall I say? ... a handful, so my thoughts were likely being colored in a way I knew wasn't really true to reality.

But Lester sent me this New York Times article to read today, about the growing trend among some women to have selection reduction from twins to a singleton, mainly because they believe that having twins will be too difficult and that they won't be able to be A) financially afford them B) emotionally give enough to both C) physically be able to handle it.

Reading this article prompted me to post a comment on the NYT site, and it occurred to me that the comment really does sum up exactly how I feel.

So here's the comment (which I tried hard to make sure it didn't come off as judgmental, because I really do think there's way too much of that in this world when it comes to parenting):

As the mother of twin boys, I can attest to the sheer terror you feel when you discover you're carrying twins. It really is quite real, and applies to almost every area of your life: Financially, emotionally, physically; how will I (or we) be able to do this?? Will my marriage survive? Do I have what it takes to make it work?

That terror doesn't abate right away, either. I held it until very recently, when my boys hit the year mark, and my husband and I looked up and said, "Wow. That wasn't as bad as we thought!" Don't get me wrong; raising two infants at once is VERY difficult. There were a lot of tears, and very little sleep. We don't travel, go out with our friends or each other much, and our money is stretched to its extreme limits. There have been many, many times over the last 15 months that I thought, "It would be so nice to only have one baby right now."

But the truth is -- and this is something these poor women never have given themselves the chance to know -- those feelings DO go away thanks to time and the ever-giving font of love you feel for those two little screaming, demanding, adorable babies. Now that they're both here, I can't imagine life without either one of them. We're figuring it all out as we go along, true, but somehow, my husband and I have managed to make it work -- happily! We are not "haggard" and "miserable;" actually, these babies have brought just as much laughter and joy into our lives as they have sleepless nights and dirty dishes and piles and piles of laundry. I did not know this would happen when I was pregnant and terrified out of my mind. And it's sad that these women will never, ever know that.

Sometimes it takes considering another's point-of-view to realize just how you truly feel.

Again -- happy 15-month-old day, boys. I'm so glad you're BOTH here.