Boys and gender issues

It looks lovely with his coloring....

I’m still wrestling with what it means to be the mother of boys. I was always a tomboy growing up, so in many ways I suspect I’m more comfortable this way. I can backpack, paddle a canoe, pitch a tent, play trumpet, program computers, role-play, curse out the pitcher, lift heavy objects, and do stuff without fear of breaking my nails. I’ve always been a bit more comfortable in the guy’s world than the girl’s world. I still don’t wear makeup or nail polish regularly. I don’t dye or style my hair. It’s not that I’m incapable of being girly: I have an extensive jewelry and wardrobe collection, delight in sparkly gel pens, and cook up a storm in the kitchen. But, well, if I were a 19th century heroine who had to cut her hair, bind her breasts and pass as one of the guys, I think I’d do fine.

I’m finally completely comfortable with my own gender and it’s expression. I am who I am, and for the most part I like who I am.

But I’m responsible for helping to raise two young men. And guess what? There is no “default gender” that happens to be male. Just because my boys are boys doesn’t mean that there aren’t gender issues. I think it just means that we’re less likely to confront them.

A few examples.

Grey came home from daycare the other day, and told me that one of the girls at daycare said he couldn’t play with her toy, because it was a girl’s toy and he was a boy. She was probably right in a strict gender-divide definition. If you flip through the 900000 toy catalogs I get this time of year you can more or less mark each page as “boy”, “girl” or “neutral”. It takes maybe a second a page to determine this. The number of neutral pages is depressingly slim. In fact, for more fun, for each page note how many toys have BOTH boys and girls playing with them. There are the blocks. And, um, the blocks. Maybe. If they’re not divided into GI Joe and Hello Kitty colors.

So he wanted to a play with a friend’s toy, and was told he couldn’t because he was a boy and this was a girl’s toy.

I’m pretty sure that if someone had told me, even at four, that I couldn’t play with a toy because it was a boy’s toy and I was a girl, I would have told them to take a long walk off a short dock and promptly spent the next 3 weeks playing with nothing but that toy. (Man, parenting me must’ve been SO MUCH FUN.) At five my favorite night gown said, “Anything boys can do girls can do better”. In fact, if you want to know the #1 reason I became an excellent trumpet player, it was because I was consistently told by the boys around me that girls couldn’t play trumpet. There was only one way to prove them wrong.

Why would I consider it acceptable to make my sons accept gender constraints that would’ve infuriated me when I was a child?

So I told Grey that different people have different opinions, but I’m his mom. And I say that he can play with any toy that’s safe and fun, and that I don’t think there are girl toys and boy toys. And if he wants Shrinky-dink jewelry or a My Little Pony, I’m happy to put Santa’s money where my mouth is.

But… but but.

For one thing, so many of the girl’s toys are absolutely atrocious. Have you LOOKED at those? Fashion designer software. Dolls in 93 outfits of the same pink. (Try to find a boy baby doll appropriate for a 2 year old next time you have time to kill in a toy store.) Bratz. Makeup kits. Hair kits. It makes me, I confess, extremely glad to have boys when I flip through those pages.

And then there’s the bit where, like all mothers, I want my son to be accepted and have friends. I want him to be liked. I want him to feel comfortable in the world he inhabits. These things are much easier when you look and act “right” for how people expect you to be.

I recently read a blog entry (wish I could find it — I can’t — please pass on the link if you read it and remember! EDITED: Here it is — elapsed time for internet audience to find the answer = time it took to go to the bathroom) about a mom struggling with her son’s sincere wish to wear a dress to preschool, even if it meant that people teased him. I admired her pragmatism and courage. I admired his sense of self and determination. I was so grateful that it wasn’t me having to make those choices. So far, at least, Grey seems very comfortable being a boy and doing boy things.

Grey in his pink kitty cat pajamas

But he’s not monolithic. He loves his pair of pink kitty cat pajamas. (He asked for them, and I said yes. Because why not?) The other day he wanted to try on one of my dresses (he hasn’t asked to since). He nurtures his stuffed animals with great solicitude. And sometimes he wants to play with the girl’s toys. He’s not yet afraid to be caught doing the “wrong” stuff — having a pink toy or a brush. I don’t want him to. I want him to look and say: is this fun? Will I enjoy this? I want him to have friends who are girls and friends who are boys.

And most of all, I want two things. When Grey does encounter someone (as he almost certainly will) who does not feel comfortable with the gender expressions assigned to them, I want him to see them as the person they truly are.

And finally, I want Grey to feel free to be the person his is.

One of these things is not like the others

Ivanhoe, or how my son learned to love the classics

The way it never was

The other day we walked down to The Book Oasis (sidenote: how cool is it that we can walk to a local used bookstore?). We were bringing in some old books to trade for some new ones. On the shelf, we noticed one of the Illustrated Classics. It was Ivanhoe. It had pictures. We figured, “Why not?”

Grey loved it. It’s hard to figure out how much he’s actually GETTING from the books, but he begged to read it. He ate it up. Then, when we’d finished reading it together, we got the old Ivanhoe movie and watched it together. (This has been mostly a Daddy and Grey thing.) And again, he loved it. He talked about Ivanhoe and King Richard and Robin Hood.

So we got another one: Treasure Island. There was the treasure map, the Black Spot, Ben Gun, a skeleton used to line up the compass, buried gold, and of course Long John Silver with that parrot on his squinty-peg-legged-salty-taking self. In Treasure Island, boys are treated like men, in the way men wish they were treated.

Between them Ivanhoe and Treasure Island ARE the archtypes of Knights and Castles, and Pirates. They are the stories from whence all the inaccurate hoopla flows. What a delight! What a touchstone of boyhood to encounter these books and begin daydreaming in the way that boys have daydreamed for 150 years now of days that never were — but the world would’ve been a more interesting place if they had been.

Last night, Adam and Grey watched the old Disney version of Treasure Island. Do you see a trend? Illustrated Classics = Have an Old Disney Version appropriate for young people.

I don’t know about Grey, but Adam and I are hooked. Next up: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Or maybe the Three Musketeers (since we already HAVE that old movie).

I had this brief moment as I went on my Illustrated Classic buying orgy where I was like, “But these are abridged! What if I’m teaching him to read the easy version and he’ll never stretch himself to read the real version?”

Then I remembered that my son is 4. Somehow, he’ll survive the abridged version. In fact, no way he has the patience for the unabridged version. So let’s give him good stuff to daydream about. Let’s teach him to love literature. Let’s show him that the old that is strong does not wither, and that a story can be good and still not have action figures available for purchase at Toys R Us. And best of all, let’s get to reading some good stuff at night, so I never have to read another L’il Critter story to THAT child, at least!

Dribs and Drabs

Seriously, when did he get old enough to build towers?

Grey: believes that anything can become a joke with a combination of three elements: “knock knock”, chicken, and Barack Obama

Thane: Somehow learned how to build with blocks and spent half an hour last night amazing me with his Mega-block-abilities

Grey: has finally found a lovey. It’s a $4 white rabbit named “Robby” that was in his Easter basket. Robby did not do well with being washed. Grey will tell you about how Robby’s a baby, but now he’s old (with his bedraggled fur). Why do children not fall in love with their high quality stuffed animals?

Thane: likes to eat corn. One kernel at a time. After carefully inspecting each kernel to verify that yes, this is a piece of corn. His fastidiousness in this regard would be more understandable if he didn’t consider grass an aperitif and leaves a delightful dinner.

Grey: has decided his favorite food in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD OMG is the spaghetti & meatballs I made for dinner on Sunday. Canned sauce (with onions & green peppers added) and IKEA meatballs. But hey, it’s nutritionally slightly superior to Mac & Cheese, so no whining.

Thane: is too busy playing to play with meeeeee! I am sad about this and want to bop noses to make him laugh.

Grey: Learned some good skills on a playdate last night, about asking for what you want, compromising, and talking people into sharing instead of sulking.

Mommy: wishes she were hanging out with her guys right now.

Playing 'together'

The archtype of the holiday

As my eldest son enters into the age of memory, I often wonder what he will recall in his adulthood, and what parts of our life will slip into the background of memory. Periodically, I hope he won’t remember some things — the times I lose my temper or fail to listen. But oh, I hope he remembers this Halloween. More, I hope that forever after, when he thinks of Halloween the imprint on his imagination will be from this Halloween. It was perfect. I can’t imagine a better one.

This is joy

Halloween morning started wonderfully. It was an unusually warm and seasonable day, with fast-moving clouds and downright balmy temperatures. While his father and brother slept, Grey and I wandered around our neighborhood, chasing a wind-driven balloon through crunching autumn leaves and chatting with neighbors.

Eating to keep up their strength

Once the eldest and youngest boys were up, we went to the Middlesex Fells Reservation to go on a hike. We hiked through the autumnal forest, stopping for a snack to reward our efforts, and finally (just past the Doleful Pond) found the playground. The boys laughed with joy on the swings, chased each other through the grass and showed great bravery at the slides.

Swings!

Slide!

We went home for lunch and I got a massage. Ok, maybe that wasn’t part of THEIR great day but it was part of MINE.

I made cookies in the kitchen, and when the time came, we woke both boys up from their naps, poured them into their costumes, put a bowl of candy on the front stoop, and headed to our neighbor’s house. We’re completely lucky to have really neat neighbors, with kids that all line up. There’s three boys in the older generation, and then three babies — Thane is the oldest of the babies. The older boys played with sounds that made it seem like at least two of them were in the processes of being killed, Thane bopped between groups, and the littler babies focussed their energies on looking adorable. The grownups had conversation and shared tips and discussed the goings-on of our neighborhood and our busy schedules. Candy was doled out.

The kids miraculously all together

Fast clouds crossed the full moon in the warm autumn night air when the boys headed out for their trick-or-treating. The swirl of leaves flickered across the warm glow of jack-o-lanterns and porch lights. As a group, they braved doorbells and held out bags and buckets to receive their chocolatey loot. They returned triumphant from their quests, and generous in their plenty — sharing the fine fruits of their labors with hungry parents. The littlest boy went to bed, and all the babies, and then those grownups of us left got together and played Rock Band while our older sons (can you believe it?) entertained themselves without injury in another room.

When we finally put our chocolate-smudged eldest child into his bed, he was happy to find sleep beneath his nightlights.

What joy, my friends. What joy.

Healthy Boys

Today was the day of our well-child pediatrician appointments. I’d been hoping my husband could come, but he had an offsite meeting this morning so it was me.

First, the stats.

Grey is 38 lbs (70th percentile), 41 inches (70th percentile) and has a BMI of 15.9 (60th percentile). So apparently vomiting twice a day for a month hasn’t hurt his growth. That’s actually a bit on the short side, percentage wise, for him historically so I suspect he may be getting ready for a growth spurt.

Thane is 23lbs 1 oz (55th percentile) and 31.5 inches (90th percentile). I’m actually surprised that his weight is so low. The kid feels like someone stuck lead bars in his diapers. Or maybe that’s just because he squirms so much.

Both boys got vaccines. Grey is, sadly, old enough to anticipate the shots with fear. Happily, he got the nasal H1N1 vaccine. Also the seasonal flu and the standard 4 year vaccines. Sadly, there was no H1N1 available for Thane, him being too young for the nasal vaccine. I need to bring both boys back in four weeks for a flu shot booster, so if I can’t get him H1N1 before then, he’ll get it then. Now if only I could find even a seasonal flu vaccine for myself! I tried and so far I’ve failed.

Developmentally, both boys are fine, which is not surprisingly. There was actually a _moment_ though. Grey has been reading to us for a while. But of course, at some point we’ve read him all the books, or read them to Thane. So it’s very likely that he knows the books from context. (Last night he read us “Pajama Time”.) He can do the Boyntons. He can do Hop on Pop. While I was talking to the doctor about Thane, he picked up a book. When I finally took note of him, he was reading Go Dog Go to himself. Correctly. With even some interpretation in his reading.

He’s never seen that book before in his life, as far as I know.

So that’s it. I’m calling it. Grey is a very beginning reader, of course, but he is officially a reader.

And Thane. Oh my Thane. After my love-song of yesterday, I suppose it would be inevitable you’d be a pill today. I think I miss my baby already. Thane is at that age. The age that you block out of your memory. The “My only goal in life is complete destruction and to eat the cat’s food”. The age where desire outstrips ability and ability outstrips judgement. Every room he enters in our not-badly-childproofed house shows clearly that he has been there, with the detritus scattered throughout. He does not yet know or respect “no”. Today I got angry tears that he couldn’t play with my laptop.

I found labor with Thane harder because I knew what I was in for and could dread it better. I’m afraid this is a similar situation. It takes a long long long time to teach a child to obey your verbal instructions. We’re just starting. Grey is finally, for example, BEGINNING to clean up his own messes. So that means I have three more years of not just cleaning Thane’s, but worse yet teaching him to clean up his own.

Have I mentioned I already miss my baby?

Thane Turns 1 Year Old

A year ago at about 9:30 in the morning, in a room crowded with nursing students and onlookers, my midwife placed a white-covered, howling baby boy on my belly. Through my own tears of joy, I found myself swearing fealty to him, telling him I loved him over and over as they wiped him off and I pulled him up to my arms.

There are moments that stick with you. He will never remember, and I will never forget.

Nathaniel Augustus Flynn — my sweet Thane-boy. What a gift you are, and what a gift our year together has been.

The general outlines of what a child learns in their first year of life are the same. They lift their head. They smile at you for the first time. They reach out to play with a toy. They roll over. They sit up. They stand. They crawl. They walk. They call you by name. For a healthy child, the outlines are the same — like lines in a coloring book. But oh the vivid differences that show up!

Thane is my book-reader and belly-sleeper. He’s a nose-crincher and cat-lover. Thane is my thumb-sucker. Thane is my independent son. Thane is my patient child. I hear him tell himself stories in the morning in his crib. When he plays, he’ll every-so-often come over and grab on to your leg, lay his cheek against you and suck his thumb. This lasts for a few seconds of love and reassurance, and then he is back to his play again. At night when he goes to sleep (which he does like an absolute dream, night after night), he refuses to lie down until he’s turned on his crib bubbler. If you turn it on, he’ll look reproachful, turn it off, and turn it back on again. Car rides are far more peaceful than I remember them being at 1, as he gazes out the window, reads his books, and removes his socks.

Thane is, I think, destined to be a gentle giant. For all his quieter ways (and quieter is a comparison — he’s not quiet), when Thane makes a decision he’s very hard to stop. I fear dirty diapers, because Thane twists like a muscular corkscrew on the changing table. He’s far more interested in the “Ba! Ba!” (book) over there than lying down! He is so strong, it’s hard to credit.

Thane follows the cats through the house and eats their catfood if not supervised. The other day in just a moment’s inattention, I came to find him drinking (surprisingly skillfully) out of the cat’s water dish while eating their kibble as though it was popcorn. The cats were rather put out.

Thane is persistent in his skills. I watched him try no fewer than 20 times to both put the Weeble on the Weeble-horse AND spin it, until he finally mastered the effect he desired. He was patient, thorough and unhurried.

When Thane smiles, his noses crinkles up.

Thane is being cautious with language. We will hear a word once or twice and then it will disappear. The consistent words are “Book”, “Mama” and “Dada”. When I ask him to say his own name, “Can you say Thane?” he gives me a reproachful look and says with great emphasis “Mama”. I’m sorry son. I like your name. I know that only native English speakers over the age of 7 can say it, but I still like it.

Thane loves loves loves water. He has no fear of it. He loved swimming this summer. He loves taking baths. He will stay in the water until his skin is blue and he’s all shivers, and weep bitter tears when he has to come out.

Thane gets this amazing expression on his face when he’s trying to explore something by tasting it. I’ve seen him bring his mouth down to experience the busy ball bopper or the carpet or the bathwater, with this same intent expression.

Thane and his brother get along wonderfully, although they do still seem to inhabit largely separate worlds. Grey makes Thane laugh with the least thing he does. Although they periodically have their differences over toy-possession, Thane and Grey seem to really like each other.

Thane learned to walk so he could carry toys in his hands as he wandered from room to room. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he saw a point.

Thane’s favorite food in the world is cheese. He also loves yogurt, but wants to feed himself. He loves bits of meat and enjoys gnawing on pizza crust. He’ll inhale a pair of fried eggs. He finds Cheerios vaguely insulting and expresses his disapproval by sending them all to their fate on the floor.

Thane enjoys fingerpainting with the milk from his bottles.

Oh Thane. How I love your golden curls, your disproportionate smile, your crinkled nose. One year has been wonderful. May we be mother and son for many, many more.

Thane is born

Check out the size of those feet!

Thane at one month

Thane was a brunette

Thane at two months

One of Thane's first smiles

Thane at three months

Thane and the inauguration

My beautiful boy

Thane at four months

Thane begins to play

Thane at five months

He's starting to look like Thane here

Thane at six months

Happy Thane-boy

OK, so I missed seven months. So sue me.

Increasingly Thane-like

Thane at 8 months

Howdy, howdy, howdy. I'm a baby!

Thane at 9 months

Most pictures from this period are in a stroller or high chair

Thane at 10 months

Thane loves swings

Thane at 11 months

Thane is srs reader

Last night

Nose-crinkling Thane on the eve of his birthday

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