Girls Will Be Girls

One of the things I love best about having a girl and boys is watching the gender differences emerge. Very early on both Sam and Jake were interested in cars, action figures, trains - Sam's first word was car. But I didn't think much of it until I realized that at a very early age Abby was drawn to dolls, pretty dresses and tea parties. While the boys will throw on a mismatch of shirts, shorts and sneakers (with or without underwear or socks), Abby can be quite selective and opinionated about her dresses. And, like the stereotypical little girl, she is beginning to emulate me. She tries on my shoes, tries to fix her hair and ... tries to apply makeup.

Tonight while I was fixing dinner Abby was playing in her room. Quietly. Always a cause for concern. When I rounded the corner to check on her she was sitting on the floor rummaging through my purse, her face smeared with foundation and lipstick. (Again, my boys would never go near a purse. Don't even ask them to hold yours.)

"You like makeup?" I asked her.

"I like makeup."

"Why?"

"Because. I like your face."

So I cleaned her up and helped her put on some lip gloss and roller-ball perfume. That seemed to quell her curiosity. And as I was helping her off the bathroom footstool, she said, "Mama, look! Your hair. It has white in it."

I wonder why.

Random Acts of Confusion

Act One: I took Jake to see Ponyo last night. I had read good reviews and am almost always willing to see a kids' movie that doesn't involve talking guinea pigs, fighting and fart jokes. Plus, Sam was spending the night with a friend and I thought a movie would distract Jake.

At the start of the movie I remember thinking, this could be wonderful. But I watched the rest of the movie with the same face I have when I try to do the New York Times crossword puzzle. Let's just say if I am ever a method actor and a scene requires confusion and ambivalence, I will simply think "Ponyo." But Jake liked it. I suppose that's all the matters. "It didn't have a bad guy or a monster!" was his review.

Act Two: We found out today that Jake got into the preschool program at Sam's school. Let me backtrack and say this is no high-brow private school. Sam goes to school at a relatively low-income school with a lot of minorities. Many of the spots in the preschool program are reserved for kids whose parents don't speak English. After those spots are filled, they turn to the wait list (us) to fill the rest of the spots. All that to say, Jake got a spot. That means that next Monday he and Sam will be going to the same school. And it makes me sad. I love his day care, although I do think a move will be good for him. The 7:40 morning bell is a little daunting.

Act Three: I signed the boys up for Fall soccer at the Y across town. Several of Jake's classmates formed a team so we signed him up to play with his buddies. And to keep things easier, we signed Sam up at the same Y, even though he doesn't know his teammates. In fact, I noticed on the roster that 7 of the 8 players go to the same school. That leaves Sam. After I paid the fee, got the game and practice schedule, I started crying, right there at the Y. I'm sure the teenage employee was a little shocked. I tried to explain that I was having reservations about putting him on a team where everyone knew each other and he was the "outsider." An older, female employee stepped over and said, "I understand. I'd like to stand here and say it won't matter, but I see your point." She let me look over the other, closed rosters to see if there was a better option. There wasn't.

I guess I'm a little vulnerable right now. The start of school is a yearly reminder that the kids are getting older, that I'm getting older. And occasionally like today I am overwhelmed by the desire (and sometimes failure) to do and get the absolute best for my kids. To know all about them, love every minute with them, protect them from anything and everything. Add this to a summer that I think was mostly squandered, that I wish would've been spent outside, at the pool, eating ice cream and watermelon.

Oh well. Next summer we'll be here before you know it.

Don't Do As I Do ... Or As I Say

When I was in college I babysat a little boy named Beau who loved the I Spy books. So when my boys were old enough for books, I bought a few, remembering all those times Beau and I cuddled in the rocking chair and poured over I Spy.

I'm not sure what happened in those years since college, but I hate I Spy. Maybe Beau and I didn't 'play' I Spy as much as just look at the detailed photos, but I would rather walk through a spider web or eat a spoonful of cinammon than read I Spy.

However, on many nights, that is what Jake wants to read. Like last night. Jake, Sam and I were reading I Spy and Jake insisted on pointing at every found item with his middle finger. Look, a dust mite ... middle finger point. Look, a grain of sand ... middle finger point.

After awhile the middle finger point started to annoy Sam. "Jake, EVERY time you do that you are saying a bad word. THE bad word!"

"What word is that?" I asked.

"F * * *," Sam spelled out.

"How do you know that word?"

"I heard it from the Cheetah Girls at school." The Cheetah Girls are a group of 9-year-olds who like to dress in animal prints, chase boys and apparently impress them with their salty vocabulary.

I try to look at this as a teaching moment (for Sam, anyway. Jake was too preoccupied identifying microcosms in his book.) so I said, "Let me tell you something. If adults hear you say that word, they will get angry but they will also be disappointed. It is not a funny or clever word. It is used by someone who isn't smart enough to think of something else to say."

And, then, just when I'm about to make my point, I add, "If you are going to say a curse word, that is probably the best one you can say. I mean WORST. That is the WORST one you can say."

Damn it.

Reflections On Toy Saturday

So it's been two weeks since we instituted Toy Saturdays. Shortly after I came with the plan, not very long after I had nearly sprained my arm patting myself on the back at the genius of my plan, I read an online newsletter about how point systems don't work, how they backfire, how they teach kids that the only rewards are material ones and the only things worth doing earn you something tangible.

One one hand, we have had mild success with Toy Saturdays. The boys are doing lots of things they wouldn't do without continual reminders, and even helping with some tasks I dislike if promised a point or two.

But I am starting to rethink Toy Saturdays, especially after a conversation I had with Jake this morning. When I got out of the shower he was using the toilet and for the next 10 minutes he refused to wipe his butt until I promised to award him points.

"I'll give you points for wiping your behind if I get points for blinking," I told him. Because I have to tell you, some days, that takes just as much effort.

Let the Games Begin

I returned to the office yesterday after a week-long vacation and a week working at home due to personal obligations, personal preference and a botched field trip. And I have to say, I was looking forward to it. Sitting at my desk, focusing on work. Peace. Quiet.

I was so deceived by the peace and quiet I decided I would pick up all the kids, run a quick errand, then take them to one of our favorite toy stores and Purple Cow for dinner.

Things were still looking up when I picked up Sam at 5. And remarkably traffic was so light I made it to Jake and Abby's day care around 5:40, which gave us plenty of time to make my errand - picking up a CraigsList purchase in North Dallas at 6:30.

At 6:39 I picked up my item, silently congratulated myself on hitting all my "deadlines" and headed to the toy store, only to find out the toy store had closed at 6.

I spent the next 20 minutes explaining to Jake and Abby that we couldn't break in and take toys, but that maybe after we ate, if everyone was cooperative and patient, we could stop at another store on the way home. After lots of tears everyone agreed and we headed to the Purple Cow. Thankfully we were just about the only people there but it started to fill up as we ate. Or, more accurately, as Sam ate. Jake refused, citing a stomach ache and blaming the cheeseburger for his tendency to get headaches (I think the screaming and tantrums may be the cause, but I'm not a doctor.) Abby wanted nothing but the stuffed purple cows the restaurant was selling.

After a very quick meal, I took Abby to the bathroom, Sam hid the stuffed purple cow, we paid the check and skedaddled. It was then everyone realized no toys had been procurred.

So I came up with a plan. And I sold it ... hard.

Every other Saturday at our house will now be Toy Saturday. On Toy Saturday we will visit two of our favorite toy stores. The kids can buy anything they want, provided they have enough toy points, which they will earn over the course of the week doing simple chores like putting away clothes, feeding Tag the Dog, picking up toys, sharing with a sibling or generally being clean, responsible and nice.

Jake wasn't sold on Toy Saturday. "I won't get a toy NOW," he complained.

We explained the program to Dad, made a chart for the fridge and are going to earnestly follow Toy Saturday for one month. I am hoping it cuts down on the impromptu, point-of-purchase buys we make and encourages the kids to take some responsibility.

In 12 hours we've had some success. Jake and Sam put away their clothes last night, and Jake beat me to Tag the Dog's feeding dish this morning because he wanted his points.

Role Reversal

Two unexpected, ironic side effects of my (and Bryon's ) obsession with Guitar Hero:

1. Today during one of Bryon's "gigs" Sam came into the den. He had been promised a trip to Target, and he was ready to go. "Just one more level," was Bryon's classic reply.

2. I have mastered "The Joker" by Steve Miller. The downside is both Jake and Sam now spontaneously break into the most inapproriate verse, "'Cause I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midnight toker" at the most inappropriate times.