Boys playing with Barbies? Girls playing with Transformers. Heck yes.
“Will that be boy toys or girl toys today?”
I didn’t know if the fast food employee could see me rolling my eyes over their video monitors, but I was cringing at their choice of words.
“What are the toys right now?” I asked the drive-thru window speaker, as the kids watched intently from their car-seats.
“Uh …” There was a rummaging sound over the loudspeaker, then the employee announced it was “just a mix” of toys from previous promotions because they ran out of plastic Minions.
“OK. Well, one boy and one girl, I guess,” I told her, and pulled ahead to pick up our order. The yummy hot french fries calmed me down, of course, but I was still annoyed.
The cashier was making me look like a liar.
Just the day before, I’d stood in the aisle of the Toys ‘R’ Us and told our kids firmly that “there is no such thing as a ‘boy toy’ or a ‘girl toy.’ As we’d wandered down a main aisle, our five-year-old son kept tugging us over to the left — where there were aisles of remote-control firetrucks and Transformers — and our three-year-old daughter kept pulling to the right — where there were aisles of Barbies and Frozen dolls.
I let one of them choose an aisle for us to browse, and then I’d let the other pick the next aisle, and we were weaving back and forth between a very distinctive “boy side” and a “girl side.” I’d hoped they wouldn’t notice, but our son sighed dramatically at one point and said “OK, we can go to the girls’ toys now.”
Oh no. Not on my watch.
I’m a mostly laid-back parent these days, but nothing makes me twitch like someone — a child or an adult — talking about you can or cannot do because you’re a boy or a girl. You should have seen the look of horror on my face when I volunteered at my son’s preschool and a little boy said the girls couldn’t play spies, and that only girls could play with dolls.
I may have grown up obsessed with Barbies (still am), but I also owned a Transformer and action figures and a stuffed Hulk Hogan. I was determined that our kids would not be discouraged from playing with anything (well, except the garbage and computer cords).
When our son was 10 or 11 months old, we bought him his first baby doll and it’s still a special member of our family. His most prized Christmas gift last year was a set with Barbie, Skipper, Stacie and Chelsea with four horses, and our daughter received a firefighter costume this past Christmas. Both kids share sets of Ninja Turtles and My Little Ponies, as well as a massive LEGO collection.
The LEGO has caused problems at first, though. Our kids love watching “LEGO Friends” on Netflix, which is about five best (girl) friends and their pets in Heartlake City. The girl-focused brand includes cutesy pastel-coloured LEGO sets, and our daughter received several sets for Christmas.
When our son made a comment about it being “girl LEGO,” I immediately shut that down. LEGO is LEGO! LEGO is for everyone! It doesn’t matter if it’s pink and purple or red and blue.
I mixed every purple and pink brick into the LEGO bin, declared all of the LEGO belonged to everybody, and no one said anything else about it. But he was right — the new LEGO had been completely packaged as something “just for girls.” Something different than the “regular” LEGO. In some stores, it was even stocked in separate aisles labeled “Girls’ building sets.”
Luckily, I’m not the only parent who feels strongly about this. Just last week, Target made headlines for changing the way they organize their toys and DVDs with “girl” and “boy” labels. I hope they also shake up the content of each aisle, so they’re no longer pairing dolls with strollers, and action figures with superhero costumes.
As much as I’d like to see major changes in the toy industry, I think it’s going to be a long time before we see the smiling face of a little boy on the box of a jewellery-making kit (my son loves making jewellery) or a grinning little girl on a package of a Shellraiser (my daughter loves playing Ninja Turtles).
I suspect this boy toy/girl toy perception is only going to get worse after our five-year-old starts school in a few weeks, and he’s spending recess and lunch with kids who will put ideas in his head about what he should and shouldn’t play “as a boy.” Will he still sleep with his two baby dolls and lovingly tuck them in? Will he still want to play My Little Pony with his sister?
Here at home, all we can do is keep reiterating that toys are for everyone — and hope that it sinks in.
When your firstborn starts school
Dear Mrs. M,
You don’t know my son yet, but we have been talking about you all summer. He is bursting with excitement as he waits impatiently for the first day of school, and checks daily to make sure his brand-new backpack is still hanging in the hall closet. He talks about what you will teach him, and he has the sweetest smile when he practices raising his hand to answer questions around the dinner table.
You don’t know me yet either, Mrs. M, but I apologize in advance if I seem overly keen and wide-eyed (or anxious and unsure) as I get my footing as an elementary school parent. I just turned 32, but I still sometimes feel like I’m in school myself, masquerading as a grown-up. I will try to keep it together as I delight in signing permission slips and bringing in class snacks and chaperoning field trips.
When I clutch my son’s hand on Thursday morning and see the big yellow bus screech to a halt in front of the sidewalk, I’ll probably be crying. I’ll hug him tightly and take dozens of pictures of that dazzling, excited grin.
I’ll kiss his palms like the mommy raccoon in The Kissing Hand and then release him to walk up those big black stairs — where he’ll sit in a seat without a five-point harness or even a seatbelt. I’ll feel like a part of my body is being carted away on that bus, because it is.
I’ll resist the urge to jump in my minivan and follow the bus all the way to the elementary school, because I know you’ll be waiting on the other end, Mrs. M. I’ll squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, and remind myself that you will be there to lead him to the classroom and watch over him. I’ll walk back home and try to work, but I won’t be able to stop wondering how his day is going.
In between phone calls and deadlines, I’ll picture my sweet boy sitting in your classroom and shyly raising his hand. I’ll hope he’s remembering his manners and that he wipes his mouth with a napkin after lunch. I’ll know that you’re making sure he’s having a fun first day at his big new school, and you’ll be the one to safely lead him back to the bus when the bell rings.
I admit that my stomach will be twisting nervously as I wait for that big yellow bus to bring my first-born baby back. My shoulders will drop in relief as soon as I spot that familiar grin, and I’ll hug him and kiss his hair and ask him a million different questions about his first day. He’ll make me laugh as he starts each answer with “Like …” and “Probably …” which is how he talks when he’s trying to act grown up.
And then, we’ll do it all again the next day.
Mrs. M, I don’t need to tell you that this boy is my merry sunshine and my very favourite little boy on the planet, because you already know that. Every student in your class is somebody’s whole world.
You will be the most important non-family grown-up in their lives — the one who finds the balance between letting them know they are special but also that the world doesn’t revolve around them alone. You will be the teacher that gets our son started on a road that will take 13 years to complete — 23 years if he becomes an orthodontist like I’m recommending.
Thank you in advance for taking good care of my little person, and I’ll try not to be too giddy and/or annoying on Parent Night.
Sincerely yours,
a first-time Primary mom
***
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An open letter to my son’s primary teacher
Dear Mrs. M,
You don’t know my son yet, but we have been talking about you all summer.
He is bursting with excitement as he waits impatiently for the first day of school, and checks daily to make sure his brand-new backpack is still hanging in the hall closet. He talks about what you will teach him, and he has the sweetest smile when he practices raising his hand to answer questions around the dinner table.
You don’t know me yet either, Mrs. M, but I apologize in advance if I seem overly keen and wide-eyed (or anxious and unsure) as I get my footing as an elementary school parent.
I just turned 32, but I still sometimes feel like I’m in school myself, masquerading as a grown-up. I will try to keep it together as I delight in signing permission slips and bringing in class snacks and chaperoning field trips.
When I clutch my son’s hand on Thursday morning and see the big yellow bus screech to a halt in front of the sidewalk, I’ll probably be crying. I’ll hug him tightly and take dozens of pictures of that dazzling, excited grin. I’ll kiss his palms like the mommy raccoon in The Kissing Hand and then release him to walk up those big black stairs — where he’ll sit in a seat without a five-point harness or even a seatbelt.
I’ll feel like a part of my body is being carted away on that bus, because it is.
I’ll resist the urge to jump in my minivan and follow the bus all the way to the elementary school, because I know you’ll be waiting on the other end, Mrs. M. I’ll squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, and remind myself that you will be there to lead him to the classroom and watch over him. I’ll walk back home and try to work, but I won’t be able to stop wondering how his day is going.
In between phone calls and deadlines, I’ll picture my sweet boy sitting in your classroom and shyly raising his hand. I’ll hope he’s remembering his manners and that he wipes his mouth with a napkin after lunch. I’ll know that you’re making sure he’s having a fun first day at his big new school, and you’ll be the one to safely lead him back to the bus when the bell rings.
I admit that my stomach will be twisting nervously as I wait for that big yellow bus to bring my first-born baby back. My shoulders will drop in relief as soon as I spot that familiar grin, and I’ll hug him and kiss his hair and ask him a million different questions about his first day. He’ll make me laugh as he starts each answer with “Like …” and “Probably …” which is how he talks when he’s trying to act grown up.
And then, we’ll do it all again the next day.
Mrs. M, I don’t need to tell you that this boy is my merry sunshine and my very favourite little boy on the planet, because you already know that. Every student in your class is somebody’s whole world.
You will be the most important non-family grown-up in their lives — the one who finds the balance between letting them know they are special but also that the world doesn’t revolve around them alone. You will be the teacher that gets our son started on a road that will take 13 years to complete — 23 years if he becomes an orthodontist like I’m recommending.
Thank you in advance for taking good care of my little person, and I’ll try not to be too giddy and/or annoying on Parent Night.
Sincerely yours,
a first-time Primary mom
Another stab at the flab
New month, new me? Let’s hope.
Today is the first day of another fitness challenge at my beloved Zumba studio. We did one last fall and I actually won it, although I think I only lost 5-6 lbs.
(Two of them have returned, but 3-4 are still off, although it doesn’t feel like much of a victory)
I had a light bulb moment last week while reading Better Than Before. Gretchen Rubin was writing about exercise and said how it’s actually NOT proven to help people lose weight.
Shut. The. Front. Door.
Yes, really. Exercise will NOT help you lose weight.
I sat there and thought about that for a minute. I was so sure that exercise was the key. I mean, yes, I knew eating well was a big part of it. But I thought exercise burned off enough calories to allow indulgences. I mean, isn’t that how this is supposed to work!?
I thought about it logically. OK, I go to Zumba classes three times a week, most weeks — although it’s been 1-2/week this summer because of T-ball practices/games and instructor absences. I’ve been doing this since last July, so for more than a full year. Yet I am only down five-ish pounds from when I started.
It’s at this point that I started to decide there was something to the theory. Exercise is obviously great for your health. I certainly feel much more in shape than I did a year ago. I can race up the stairs and jog across a soccer field and generally zip around without huffing and puffing. I’m stronger.
But it’s not getting me down to my goal weight a.k.a. breastfeeding weight. (Remember breastfeeding? That was literally the best diet ever, and the skinniest I’ve ever been as an adult. *tear*)
So while I love Zumba and will continue to do it three times a week — for physical health but mostly for mental health! — this is me grudgingly admitting that maybe food plays a bigger role than I once thought. That whole “abs are made in the kitchen, not the gym” adage is true, it seems.
Twelve pounds will get me down to my breastfeeding weight. Except this time, of course, I won’t have a baby sucking the calories right out of me (darn it). It’s going to take work, and most of that work is a mind game that involves staying away from potato chips and fast food.
Let’s get it started!
Building a huge L-shaped desk
When you’re buried in surface clutter, sometimes one desk is better than two.
My office used to have a small kidney-shaped desk ($60 from the office supply store) and an art desk in the corner for crafting and sewing. It seemed like the perfect arrangement — keeping my professional life separate from my hobbies — but it never worked out that way.
My tiny work desk was overrun by monitors and office-y junk, and the art desk was constantly heaped with supplies and tools — meaning I would drag my sewing machine upstairs and take over the dining room. What I needed was one, huge, clutter-free workspace where I could do everything.
We bought two sheets of 4’ X 8’ melamine panels (5/8 inches thick) that were on sale for $24.99 each (regular $29.99), six 2’ X 4’ boards ($2.99 each), two strips of white plastic edging ($2.99 each), and a package of general purpose 3” screws ($8.99).
We asked the building supply store to cut the melamine panels 36” wide and 6’ long, and the other 36” wide and just under 3’ long. This meant the entire desk surface was literally done for us — we just had to install it.
We decided how tall the desk should be, and cut the 2’X4’s to be four inches shorter than the length of the desk pieces. Then my husband screwed them into the studs to create the base of the desk. He attached support arms coming out from the walls, screwed a leg to each one, and then screwed in support beams to hold the weight of the desk.
Then it was time to lay the pre-cut melamine panels on top and get a look at the desk! I was smitten, but it wasn’t done yet. He used a flat metal bracket to secure the two panels together underneath the desk, because my sewing machine can make any surface rattle.
To conceal the scratchy edges of the melamine panels, we cut the strips of plastic edging to size, applied a bit of construction-grade adhesive, and pressed them against the edges. We also taped them in place while the adhesive dried. This gave the edges of the desk a nice, smooth finish — making the whole desk feel more like a shiny white countertop than a few cheap boards.
To keep the monitors from taking over my new desk, we bought an unfinished MDF shelf ($5.99) and three white metal brackets ($2.99 each). We used leftover white paint to pretty up the shelf, drilled a 2” round hole for monitor cords, and then attached it to the wall with the brackets. It’s now the perfect spot for my two monitors, speakers, and printer — and I can stick my keyboard and mouse up there when the workday’s over, giving me more room to sew.
I eliminated one of my bookcases as part of this makeover, so I needed a spot to hold my tools of the (crafty) trade — scissors, rulers, cutting blades, etc. I’ve kind of dreamed of having a pegboard ever since reading “Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room,” so I bought an unfinished 4’ X 2’ pegboard for $4.99 and a package of 32 assorted hooks ($3.49).
After a quick coat of white paint, we screwed two scrap pieces of wood into the studs — one at the top, one at the bottom — and then screwed the pegboard into the scrap wood. I arranged everything neatly on hooks, and had my handy husband drill holes in some of my plastic containers so I could hang them with strips of wire. It’s been one of those life-changing projects, truly, because I’m no longer losing my gridded ruler (and cursing) every five minutes during a sewing project.
For about $110, we drastically transformed the functionality of my little home office — and for another $80 on fresh wall paint and accessories (like the $30 gallery wall I showed you last week), we had a brand-new look, too.
Easily the best $200 I’ve ever spent on decor and DIY, because this is now a space where I feel inspired, energized, and — most of all — ready to tackle more creative pursuits here at My Homemade Home!
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