To the Sweet Old Lady who Mistook My Son for a Girl

We were walking home from school the other day when we caught up with two sweet older ladies from our neighborhood, out for their midday stroll. As we waited on the corner with them to cross a street, one looked into the stroller and remarked on the adorableness of the little blue-eyed girl with curly blond pigtails smiling up at her. Because she was a kind and thoughtful lady, she then immediately turned to Max, standing by my side, holding my hand. "Two beautiful children!" she said, then added, "two beautiful sisters."

My heart jumped.

Sisters?

Oh. Max was wearing his pink, polka-dotted, glittery tiara shirt and black leggings.

I looked down at Max, who seemed to be completely oblivious to the comment. Lost in his own private world of rich, imaginative make-believe, Max often needs a hand on the shoulder or a "Look at my eyes, Max" cue to pay attention to the real world. This often annoys the hell out of me; Standing on the curb that day, though, I was thankful for it. 

Before she could continue, as I had a feeling she would, I smiled and said, "Thank you! I'm a lucky mommy," before crossing the street ahead of them. 

As it turned out, we were heading in the same direction. Despite my attempt to end the conversation, she continued it. (Perhaps she thought we'd be better company than her walking partner?)

"Are you enjoying your walk?"

"Yes, thank you, we are, very much."

"It's a beautiful day!"

"Sure is!"

Then to Max, "I love that sparkly shirt!"

He bounced back into reality with a glance down at the sparkly tiara on his chest and a shy smile back at her. It was then that I realized my mistake. I should have swiftly and immediately corrected her back there on the curb. I should have said, "Thank you! Yes, my son and daughter are both beautiful!" But I didn't, and now it was too late. I kept trying to steer the conversation back to safe topics like taking walks and beautiful weather. Didn't work.

"And what's your name?"

"Max."

"Max?"

"Yup. And that's my baby sister Molly."

"Oh, well Max I just love your haircut. It's so edgy! [Then, to her friend] Just like that Dorothy Hamilton. Remember that girl?"

[friend] "Oh, sure! Dorothy Hamilton was cutting edge back then! I could never pull off that look. It would have made my face look fat."

[to Max] "But you pull off that haircut so well! You look just beautiful!"

At this point, I didn't want to be rude, but I really just wanted to get away from them. The conversation was either about to get really awkward for Max or I was about to shout: It's Dorothy HAMILL, not HAMILTON!

So I smiled and said, "Well, I'd better get these kids home for lunch! Enjoy your walk." 

Then I quickened my pace and gave Max's hand a squeeze. 

As we were sitting down to lunch a little while later, Max looked at me and said, "Mom, you know what's funny about those two ladies?"

Ready for it, I asked, "What's that, bud?"

"They thought I just got a haircut. But I didn't want to tell them that I didn't just get one."

"Well, you could have. It would have been okay to tell them. And I could have, too. Sometimes it's important to correct people when they have the wrong idea about you," I say, wishing I had taken my own advice. But then I added, "but sometimes you can just know in your heart what's true and not worry what other people think."

He got quiet for a minute, then furrowed his brow and with a quiet voice asked....

"But Mommy?.....Why did they want to pull off my haircut?"

Four-year olds are so literal. And I love it.

Lesson Learned:

I ain't mad atcha, Lady. I'm just still trying to figure out when it is important to speak up, and when it's okay to let it slide...and to try to make sure that I'm setting the right example for my watching and listening kids.

identifying, understanding, and labeling

Words matter.

****
I recently joined an online group of parents of "gender creative" children. Children who cross that created-by-humans line dividing boy things from girl things. Boys who like pink and sparkles and princesses. Girls who like trucks and slouchy jeans and short hair. It's a support group. For the parents.

But....
Who the hell would need a "support" group if their boy likes to play with dolls? Just let him play with the doll for christ's sake.

Let your kid play with TOYS! Who cares which side of the aisle your kid found the damn toy?!

Why do we need to label things like toys or clothes as "girl" or "boy" anyway? Toys are toys, clothes are clothes. Who cares what your kid picks to like? Stop making it such an issue.

Your boy pretends to be a princess? What's the big deal? My kid plays dress-up, too. Should I join a support group for THAT?!





But, see....that's not the point. This isn't a support group for kids who play with toys. This isn't a support group for kids who play pretend.

This is a support group for the parents of kids who say things like "I'm a girl kind of boy, is that okay?" or, "So, Mommy....when did you get to turn into a girl? Will I?"

It's a support group for parents who don't know anyone else who has ever been asked those questions. It's a group for parents to share stories and strategies and suggestions that make other parents feel like they're not the only ones walking guardedly, focusing half a block away, ready to ward off the starers, the snickerers, the pointers....

It's a support group for parents, like me, who just want to know that they're doing everything they can to make their kid's life just a little bit easier....to make them feel just a little bit more comfortable in their own skin.

****

When Evan was diagnosed with food allergies at 10 months old, the first thing I did when I came home was throw out 90% of the food in my pantry (because 90% of the food in my pantry contained one or more of Evan's 13 allergens). The second thing I did was to Google "support group for parents of food-allergic children." I found a great one, full of knowledgable moms (a few dads) who had been navigating the waters of Food Allergies for years. Moms who knew how to substitute for eggs in recipes half a dozen different ways....who knew what code words to look out for to determine whether milk--which could cause anaphylaxis in my child--may be hiding in that ingredient list (this was before the clear labeling laws were put into practice), who knew how to fatten up my string-bean of a kid without eggs or dairy or nuts or wheat or olive oil.....who taught me what to say to a prospective preschool to ensure my child's physical safety while he was out of my sight for the first time in his life.

That support group saved my sanity....and maybe even my kid's health. At the very least, the other moms made me feel normal when I hovered over my child at an allergen-laden birthday party the way other parents hover over their toddlers at the edge of the ocean. And they showed me that, even though life just threw me a curveball that I didn't see coming, I could handle it. And my kid? He'd be just fine.

****
But how did I find that support group--the one that saved me?

It started with a label: The Food-Allergic Child

And now, with this new kid and this new "issue" and this new support group, I've gone and done it again: The Gender-Creative Child

Yup. I labeled my child. I know they say not to....just let your child be who he or she is....they'll determine their own labels (or not) when they have the maturity, the psychological development, and the vocabulary to adequately do so. Be careful not to label! they say, or you'll be projecting yourself onto your child's undeveloped ego! You'll create a self-fulfilling prophecy that your child won't be able to live up to, or will want to rebel against!

Dude.

This is so not the same thing.

This is me finding a name for something for which I had no previous reference point. This is me Identifying a part of my child that is confusing and upsetting to him at times, and wanting to know how I can make that confusion go away. This is me using a keyword to search for other parents who are hearing the same questions I'm hearing. This is me seeking to gain the wisdom of those who have walked this path before me....so that I can learn from their successes and attempt to avoid their mistakes.

This is me trying to understand my child so that I know what to say to him (or to others) when someone mocks his dress, or asks him if he's a boy or a girl, or tells him that Tinker Bell is for girls.

This is ME.

This has nothing to do with my kid.
But it has everything to do with my kid, which is why I feel so fiercely protective over it.

We have never once called our gender-creative child "gender-creative." Sure, he'll see it when he reads this blog....which he will someday, it's why I print it out. And when he sees that, he'll also see that I've called him sweet, sensitive, hilarious, thoughtful, smart as hell, handsome, confident, imaginative, musical, artistic, talkative, limit-testing, patience-busting, and a lousy sleeper (although he is the best sleeper out of the three, so that'll count for something). He'll see all of these labels I've attached to him, written in post after post after post throughout his life. I can't help it. I make sense of the world through words. He'll read those labels and he'll know that he was, and will forever be, so loved...but maybe just as importantly? Understood.

Calling my child "gender-creative" is Mommy Shorthand.  It helps me convey a lot of information with just one term because, if you're familiar with the term, it simply means that Max does not adhere to "typical" societal conventions of what boys are like. That's it. We're not talking sex or sexuality or gender-identity.

Max's gender-creativity isn't MAX. It's just one little piece of him.

But it's the piece of him that causes him to ask questions for which I don't have the answers, which is why I was so thrilled to find a support group for PARENTS of kids just like him. It's the same reason that I found food-allergy moms to ask about the merits of Epi-Pens vs. Auvi-Q injectors in the treatment of an anaphylactic reaction. When you have questions, you seek answers from people with experience.

Max's gender-creativity is the piece of Max that I have questions about, too. For example: Should we "edit" his wardrobe selections in any circumstances? I find myself more comfortable saying "I'd like you to choose another pair of pants for the restaurant" to my gender-typical Evan than to Max because I don't want Max to think I'll be embarrassed by the pink jeggings...really, it's the grass stains ON the pink jeggings that make me cringe.

But how can you ask a question about something that has no name? So I read a lot online, and one really great book, and I found a name for it. As I've learned a million times over, it's the mommies with the answers, so I sought them out. And I found them by attaching a label to my child.

In doing so, did I create an identity for him?

Of course not. Just as Evan's food allergies do not make up his Identity, nor are they even his defining characteristic, neither will gender-creativity be Max's. This is just where we are, Right Now.

While I may have put the words together, I did not create this label for Max....I'm following his lead. Doing the very best I can just to keep up.......and using whatever resources I can to prepare myself for what we may face along this journey, knowing full well that this course we're on isn't charted beyond today.

Because that's what moms do.

Lesson Learned:
Words matter.
Words, when used in information-gathering, to identify, and to understand can be helpful.
Even when they're used as Labels.

Brave Mommy

Over the last year, as we have supported and encouraged our princess-loving, dress-wearing boy to Be Who You Are and Wear What You Like, I've had a number of people respond with comments such as "It's so good of you to support your son...no matter what," or "I'm so glad that Max has parents like you who allow him to be who he truly is."

As if we're doing something brave by allowing Max to choose his own interests.

I appreciate the support from my friends, relatives, and acquaintances....but I assure you....this is not a Mommy Be Brave moment. This is actually pretty easy.

There are moms who are having to be very Brave right now.

Did you know that there are Moms who let their children race down an icy track on only a small sled at over 80 mph, FACE FIRST? Of course you did. You've watched skeleton at the Olympics. The moms who say, "Sure, honey. I'll drive you to skeleton practice," are brave.

Brave are the Moms who allow their child to be THROWN, spiraling through the air, OVER ICE, by another person who is wearing ICE SKATES.

Brave are the Moms who watch their children fly off of ski jumps.

And don't even get me started on slope style. Yeesh.

Brave are the Moms who allow their children to endure matches that can last up to SEVEN HOURS of sliding heavy polished rocks, sweeping the ice, wearing funny, mismatched slippy-grippy shoes, and...okay, never mind.

Brave are the Moms who watched and supported their children as they pursued a lifelong dream....and who were there to comfort their babies when their dreams were crushed by four HUNDREDTHS of a second.

Motherhood requires emotional strength and, yes...Bravery.

I'm just glad my kid is raiding the dress-up bin, not risking life and limb, in search of his shiny gold.

Lesson Learned:
I totally watched the Olympics with mommy goggles on this time around. It was exhausting.

Little ones, I want to see you be Brave.

This post has been swirling around in my head for the last few days...and then I read a post about the very same thing last night on Life With Roozle, and now I can't get it out. So it's time to write it down.

Brave.
I'd heard the song before, of course, and then I saw Sara Bareilles perform it with Carole King at the Grammys. But it wasn't until we stumbled upon it about a week ago (in an effort to get Let It Go off repeat) and I listened to it, really listened to it, that I fell in love with it. And I wasn't the only one in this house who did. Max and Molly have been listening to it while performing "figure skating routines" in twirly gowns and slippy socks on our wood floor. Even Evan busts a move when we blare it during our after-dinner dance parties. It's become a sort of anthem in our house, and at exactly the right moment.

And so, with thanks to Sara Bareilles for the inspiration and the words, I would like to offer up a few prayers to the Universe on behalf of my little loves.

***
Evan, fearlessness has not always come easily for you. Rather than diving into something new and figuring it out as you go, you sit back and watch first, becoming an expert from the sidelines. You learn from others' mistakes. You learn from others' successes. And then, when you feel ready, you wade in cautiously, but confidently. I'm grateful for this. You have spared us many heart-stopping moments on playgrounds, near oceans, and while riding your bike because we know that you're not going to go Evel Knievel on us. Thank you for that, sweet love.

I don't want to change your quiet, watching ways. I love your introspection; your mind, always turning. I want you to know, though, that if you do try something and you flounder, or fall, or even fail, that that's okay. You don't have to be Brave before you're ready, but being Brave is not the same as being successful. Don't let Watching stand in the way of Trying. There's room, and time, for both.

Now that you're getting older, we're seeing teeny glimpses of some Big Kid stuff on the horizon. We're starting to see your friends, and their influence, play a bigger role in your life. This is good news. You pick excellent friends, Ev. And they're lucky to have you in their group, too. I want you to have a trusted circle of buds. I want you to run with a pack. You don't need to be the leader of the pack but, whatever your social position, stay an Independent Thinker while in the pack. Be brave if you want to venture away from the group now and again to do your own thing. Be brave and invite others to join your pack....especially those who may not yet have one of their own.

Even when it's hard, be Brave and speak up for truth, or justice, or What's Right, even if you're the only one saying it. (Say, ahem, what you need to say.) And when it's too hard to be Brave on your own, we will hold your hand or give you the words you need, and we can be Brave together.

***
Max, every time I watch you dance and hear you sing along to this song, my heart feels like bursting. I want these words to sink deep within your soul and I want you to be able to dredge them up out of your subconsciousness any time you might need them. I hope you won't. But just in case that you do, I'll keep singing them with you, until they become a part of you.

You whispered in my ear the other day at the bus stop: "Mommy, do you think they know I'm wearing a dress?" Yes, baby. They did. Your winter coat and gloves covered your one-shouldered bodice, but your flowing skirt and pink leggings were clearly in plain view. I whispered back: "They know. Do you think they know I'm wearing jeans and boots?" You smiled. I squeezed your hand. Be brave, baby. Wear what you want. Dance as freely at school and with your friends as you do at home.

Stand up for yourself and for your right to be who you want to be. We'll be standing up (on our tiptoes) for you, too, for as long as we need to...until the world catches up to you...which it will. But until it does, be Brave and help the world along in it's change. Smile, like you did today, when a big kid asked, "Wait, did you say you got a Lego Friends set?!" You smiled brightly and said without a shadow of self-consciousness, "Yeah, and it's Mia's Lemonade Stand, BUT! You can also make Limeade!" Wear your Bravery as a shield against self-consciousness, forever, sweet boy.

***
Molly, it's harder for me to make a wish for you....as much as you've developed from a baby into such a little kid over the past year, the next few years are going to illuminate you and your personality in ways that I just can't even imagine as I look at you now, not yet 2. I don't yet know when you'll need an extra squeeze from me before I send you off on your way, or when I'll stay right by your side the entire time, or when you'll soar, without hesitation, smiling back at me.

So, baby girl, my wish for you is simple. May you always be a Thinker. You'll need to be Brave because the thinks you may think may set you apart from the others. That's okay. Being able to think for yourself will help you to find a healthy path, with supportive friends, lofty yet attainable goals, and confidence.  Have the courage to think outside of the lines. A creative streak will keep things interesting. Think bravely, and with an open mind, before you make decisions...especially in matters of the heart....and in matters of college applications. Never forget: We live within commuting distance of a top-ranked public university. I will write you a killer letter of recommendation. I'm just saying.

Lesson Learned:
Okay, Universe, message delivered.

Thank you, Sara Bareilles, for our anthem.

I Don't Want to Build Any More Snowmen

I haven't felt like an especially awesome mommy lately. I mean, I'm handling all of the daily business well....kids are clean, well-fed, at school on time (weather permitting), busy, but not too busy, and happy...and I'm keeping my cool, staying patient, taking our time, for the most part...but I lately I've felt like I'm just going through the motions.

But I know why. And the problem is two-fold:

1. It's really freaking cold outside. All the time. We need to get outside to play. And...
2. You guys. Frozen. Yes, the movie.

I loved the movie. I still probably do, it's just hard to know since I can't escape it for one single moment of any day. It's like if you had to eat ice cream for every meal of every day, you'd probably eventually stop loving it. You might like it again once you've been given a chance to miss it....maybe.

Like Elsa, who banished herself to her ice palace of isolation, I, too just want to Let It Go. But what I really want to scream off a balcony into the breaking dawn of a new day is "I DON'T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME ANYMORE, MAX!"

You guys. Before 8 am this morning, we had played three different games. The rules were as follows:

1. Third Grade: "I'm Anna and you're Elsa, Mommy. And Molly can be Olaf. And I'm about to go to third grade and you tell me that you're going to miss me." And then we "princess-danced" while singing "For the First Time in Forever." Max carried his "school bag" on his shoulder while he danced.

2. Clock-Tower: We pretended we were those little people who come out of cuckoo clocks and dance with each other and bow and stuff. But Max was Anna and I was Elsa and Molly was Olaf and, instead of cuckooing, the clock "chimed" Frozen music, which we sang.

3. Townhomes at the Beach: Anna and Elsa go to the beach. It's a cold beach so Olaf can come, too.

I, obviously, couldn't take any more after that, so we went to Target.

The endless Frozen pretend-play continued this afternoon until I finally remembered how to effectively and happily break the cycle....

Sensory Play.

It works every time. And it's effective against so many different kinds of negative cycles we find ourselves in...boredom, cabin fever, grumpiness, I'm-not-sharing-with-him-ness, and yes, even when you've OD'd on Frozen.

It works for us because we can all play together...but no one has to talk in a Princess Voice. I mean, anyone can if they want to, but if you don't want to, you're not breaking the rules of Max's Game. Plus, there's something about sensory play...it's calming, it's centering, it helps me reconnect with the parts of mommy-hood that I love, but that can become lost in the daily grind. I try to have a sensory bin or two constantly filled and ready to use...we rotate through some favorites (pasta, rice, lentils + beans, water beads, Gak (? the borax and glue mixture), and, of course play dough and cloud dough)....but we're always looking for new ideas, so shout 'em out!

***

Here's our quick and easy playdough recipe:

1 cup flour
1 cup water
2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 cup salt
1 tbsp. oil
food coloring

Mix in a microwavable bowl. Microwave on high for 2 1/2 minutes, stirring every 30 seconds. Knead until cool and smooth. (You can knead fine glitter into it, too.)

This week, we had a picnic. Max, Molly, and I made the guests...Max provided the fare.

Molly made the little blue guy on the right in front of her. I helped her stick the top to the bottom so it wouldn't fall off, but she did the rest! She's awesome at play dough. And everything.

***
And our cloud dough has been a huge hit....

We fancied it up for Valentine's Day with heart-shaped cupcake cups from Wilton.

I don't usually measure out precise amounts, but it's roughly a 1:8 ratio of oil to flour. I just dump flour in a bowl and add baby oil until the dough holds it's shape when squeezed.

Molly doesn't squeeze it so much as scoop it.

And smear it...

...and want to live in it...

Super fun and super sensory (it smells amazing, too, when you use baby oil), but also super messy. I've recently been hearing lots about Kinetic Sand, which is apparently similar but much cleaner, so I think we may have to check that out. (Although, sorry Kinetic Sand, but no one's buying your "2% magic" ingredient.  I'm pretty sure we all know that it's really called Polydimethyl siloxane. I mean, puh-lease.)

Lesson Learned:
After a quick breather, with us all engaged, together but independently, in Sensory Play, I'll be ready for more singing and dancing and freezing and unfreezing and Let It Go-ing and For the First Time in Forever-ing.

But, sorry. Still no Snowmen.
Because, for real...can we start the countdown to spring?

sweet, sweet acceptance

I've said it before, and I'll say it again....I love Max's preschool. I love his teacher, I love the curriculum, I love the philosophy...and today more than ever...I LOVE his, as he calls them, "schoolmates."

Max's teacher relayed to me the following exchange that she overheard between Max and one of his friends, L, a sweet girl, who appreciates a good romp through the dress-up bin as much as he does.

***

L is dressing up as a police officer as Max is putting on his daily accoutrements...fairy wings, pink sparkly tutu, fairy flower-crown, magic wand, etc.

L: Max, you like to dress up in girl clothes.
Max: Uh-huh, I do.
L: You're a boy.
Max: Yup.
L: You're a boy who likes to wear girl clothes.
Max: Yeah, I am.
L: Max, you're a special boy.
Max: Yeah, I am. I'm a special boy.

***

I want to bottle up this sweetness and light and love and keep it at the ready, just in case my Special Boy needs a little extra someday....

...but maybe....he won't.

Lesson Learned:
These times? Maybe they are a-changin'.