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Put On Your Shoes!

Finally, summer. June sun, flowers blooming, seeds sprouting, every floor in the house dirty. June is when the housekeeping really starts to lag: we’re eating lunch and dinner in the garden, spending the whole day soaking up warmth, pushing back bedtime to make room for fireflies and late evening wandering around the block.

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I’m a better mom when I’m outside. I’m less distracted, more present. I have more patience. I worry less about the details and spend more time enjoying the big picture. In the yard, in the garden, at the park, at the playground, at the beach: these are the spaces where I find myself being the mom I want to be, instead of the crabby mom who yells when I ought to be more patient and reads Mad Men recaps when I say I’m emptying the dishwasher while they watch TV.

Zooble, with habitat. Yes, our sandbox is empty now.

Zooble, with habitat. Yes, our sandbox is empty now.

3 kids into this rodeo, I’ve learned not to just wander out the door empty handed but also not to bother with excess. I keep a change of clothes for everybody in the car, in case somebody pees or falls in the water. I have a picnic basket and an adventure bag. Everybody is required to wear sunscreen and shoes that cover their toes. Beyond that, I don’t bother enforcing many rules.

The essentials.

The essentials.

I’m not packing fancy picnics, to be clear: the picnic basket holds the tie dye sheet that T and I have been hauling around since the early Phish shows we saw together plus whatever snacks and/or sandwiches I’ve thrown together. Spread it all out, call it a buffet, let them eat what looks good. (Calling it a buffet makes it seem fancy, like when I put sliced apples and string cheese on the table while the mac and cheese is cooking and call them appetizers.)

The adventure bag holds sunscreen, bug spray, Band Aids, 3 butterfly/frog nets, a couple Frisbees, a boomerang, and whatever rocks they pile in. I don’t tell them what to do with this stuff: I just get the bag out and they careen around the park scooping up gravel and chasing grasshoppers and trying to figure out how to throw the boomerang. When we play inside, I’m constantly policing how and where and why: Did you put all the pieces back in that box? Are you playing with that toy the right way? Don’t stand on that turtle, it will break! Don’t stamp on the wall! Don’t draw on your face! Why is that door taped shut? Outside, I can just breathe and let them work it out for themselves.

What are they doing with the net and the big stick? No idea.

What are they doing with the net and the big stick? No idea.

And there’s more space outside. D and Lucy aren’t old enough to play completely unsupervised, but if a park is designed with open space that doesn’t bump up against the parking lot, they can explore and run while I watch from a little bit more of a distance.

See those children in the distance? Bliss, I tell you. A well-designed park is such a pleasure.

See those children in the distance? Bliss, I tell you. A well-designed park is such a pleasure.

Even Margeaux can go down a slide, walk around to the steps, and climb back up.
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At the beach flying kites, on the trail, in the garden: this is the mom I want to be. No hurry, no worry, no whining, no housework. Hello, Summer. It’s lovely to see you again.

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Princess Politics

Remember when I took my girls to see Brave about a year ago, and pointed out in my review that the marketing tie ins (Will-o-the-wisp earrings, betrothal dresses, high heel dress up shoes) felt like they were from a different, way less awesome, movie? I wrote:
I think Disney and Mattel are underestimating the audience for this film. I think they could have marketed the hell out of Merida adventure ballet flats and bow and arrow sets, and stocking the shelves with will o the wisp earrings and sparkly hair gems to decorate Merida’s hair is shortsighted. Merida wears one dress for 99% of the movie: it’s the dress she climbs, rides, jumps, shoots, fishes, explores in. Why isn’t the doll in the box wearing that dress?

If you’ve been following any feminist parenting blogs, or you watch The Daily Show, you know exactly where I’m going with this: Extreme Makeover, Princess edition.

Merida comparison from http://www.amightygirl.com

Merida comparison from http://www.amightygirl.com

A lot of excellent activism has been happening around the Merida makeover. A Mighty Girl started a change.org petition that has more than 200,000 signatures. Pigtail Pals and Ballcap Buddies has focused a direct action campaign on Target, which is selling the limited release new Merida dolls.
But I think the issue runs deeper than Merida. For me, this simply highlights what I think has always been the primary weakness of the Disney Princess merchandise: the emphasis on marketing a princess ideal that homogenizes the characters’ personalities and appearances so that they become an indistinguishable blur of tiny waisted flowing haired Stepford wives. The marketing within the Disney Princess line focuses on presenting Merida within the confines of traditional femininity, even when that breaks from the narrative and character of the film. This shouldn’t come as a surprise: it’s exactly what they did to Mulan. And in fact, all of the princesses were “updated” at the same time as Merida. Hello Giggles has side by side images of each princess, original and updated, and the differences are striking. Here are the new princesses posed together, before Disney pulled the new Merida images from their website:

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Many people are complaining about the glitter. Personally, I love me some sparkle. What gets me is how much older and sexier these princesses look than their earlier versions, and how weirdly similar they are in appearance.

This image is from racebending.com: they and others have pointed out that the updated Mulan appears to be white.

This image is from racebending.com: they and others have pointed out that the updated Mulan appears to be white.

The Disney princess line generates millions, maybe billions, of dollars in profits annually for Disney. The products are numerous—not just the original movies, but the direct to DVD sequels, books, dolls, dress up costumes, clothing, bikes, etc—and the marketing focuses not on the individual stories of each princess, which differ in significant ways, but on the lowest common denominator of what it might mean to be a princess.
There are 11 Disney princesses in all. In order of release, they are Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Mulan, Pocahantas, Tiana, Rapunzel and Merida. (Merida is from Brave, which is technically a Pixar film, but Disney owns Pixar and had an official coronation for Merida a couple weeks ago, which is when this make over hoopla began .)
It’s important to realize, if you haven’t been in the princess aisle of the toy store lately, that Disney heavily promotes the re-release of classic films like Snow White and Cinderella. So these older stories don’t disappear as new princesses are added: they are intentionally remarketed as part of an ongoing princess narrative.
And what does it mean to be a princess in these stories?
In the older stories, it mostly means that you wait around for a prince. In the case of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, you don’t even have to be awake while you wait. And even if you’re awake, you can be silent: Ariel trades her voice for her human legs, and Cinderella doesn’t speak at the ball. Because eventually, your prince is going to be swept away by your beauty and purity and rescue you –from housework, or sleep, or your father, or tiny men—and there will be a lot of dancing and a wedding. The prince, incidentally, might be an animal, or a jerk, or a jerky animal. But don’t let that stop you from loving him!
The more recent princesses do have more spunk and personality than Snow White and Cinderella: Belle, Jasmine, and Ariel (despite her silence) all have moments of strength and courage and wit and humor. Mulan is a warrior (although as part of the princess line she’s dressed in the traditionally feminine clothing she hates in the movie). Disney explicitly marketed Tiana as a new kind of princess: one with her own dreams and plans for success.
I think there are some real strengths to Tiana as a character: she has a mother and a father (and 2 parent families are atypical for Disney) who encourage her to pursue her dream of owning a restaurant. She has drive, ambition, focus, and talent, as a human and as a frog, and just as importantly, the prince is attracted by those qualities. He’s not swept away by her beauty, but by her commitment to making her dreams a reality.
The messaging is similar in Tangled: Rapunzel’s desires are a force in the story. What she lacks, in comparison to Tiana, is the guts to pursue them on her own. But in both of those films, I think the messaging about relationships represents a significant shift from the older films: the right partner for you is someone who supports your dreams and goals and wants to help you make them come true. Contrast that to the messaging of Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, for example: the right partner for you is a man who is magically attracted to you when you appear to be dead.
But then there was Merida: she rides fast, climbs tall mountains, shoots a bow and arrow with tremendous skill and accuracy, and is endearingly imperfect. She’s strong, brave, independent, willing to challenge rules and traditions.
When I reviewed Brave, two of things I loved about the movie were that Merida is focused on what her body can do, not how she looks, and that Pixar avoided the two easiest contemporary princess story lines (he’s a jerk/animal/jerky animal but her love changes him and/or she realizes she can fall in love and still be feisty). Brave could have been a movie about a strong, brave, adventurous girl who realizes that the right prince will love her for all of those traits. It is not that movie. There is no love story. There is no wedding. If the message of the Princess and the Frog is, you can be awesome AND find your prince, the message of Brave is, you can be awesome. Period.
Even before the makeover, there was evidence that Disney is beginning to recognize the need to redefine princess for a generation of girls who just aren’t likely to identify with the weak narratives of the early princesses. Check out this Disney video about how every girl can be a princess by standing up for herself, for example. The silence and sexism that defines those early films is only marginally socially acceptable. It’s not who the girls I know understand themselves to be. So if you’re Disney, how do you keep selling Snow White? Do you make over Merida so that she looks more like Cinderella and hope kids and parents don’t notice the difference?
But now that hundreds of thousands of parents, including Jon Stewart, have noticed the difference, it seems that perhaps feminist parenting advocates have a rare moment in the spotlight. I hope we can use it to draw attention to more than Merida, because she’s not the only casualty here. All the princesses were updated; all look older, and sexier,  than their original images; they also look more similar to one another. At this point, the Mulan princess merchandise bears no resemblance to the powerful warrior from the film. Beyond maintaining the integrity of Merida’s character, I would love to see Disney recognize that children and families value these characters, especially the most recent princesses, because of the elements that make the characters and narratives unique. Homogenizing the images and merchandise does a disservice to many of the more recent princesses who frankly have more powerful and interesting stories than the classics. There are real differences between Tiana and Cinderella: rethinking the Princess branding might mean playing up the individual story lines, rather than the lowest common denominators of heteronormative femininity. Yes, let’s keep Merida Brave: but let’s also open up the conversation to ask bigger questions about the princess merchandise and images.

Kindergarten Homework Blues

I have a confession to make: we have been mostly ignoring the homework that comes home in D’s folder.
She’s supposed to do homework three nights a week: a reading worksheet with phonics, sight words and sentences; a math worksheet reinforcing the concepts of the week; and sometimes a short photocopied book based on the weekly sight words. T and I are supposed to sign the reading worksheet indicating that she’s read it aloud each night.
The truth is that we almost never do the homework. The folder languishes on the counter until Thursday night or Friday morning, when it has to be returned, and then I jam it back in her backpack. Sometimes I sign that she has read the sheet all three days when we actually only read it once or twice. Once I wrote a note to her teacher explaining that we had built a new Lego set instead. I don’t know how I feel about this: frustrated, ashamed, irritated?
Our schedule is busy: two working parents, plus gymnastics, plus dance lessons. That’s not an excuse; plenty of working parents make their kids complete the homework, I’m sure. Homework just hasn’t been a priority here. Given a few minutes of extra time in the evening or after school, we are more likely to build with Legos, ride bikes around the block, do an art project, work in the garden (which means I weed and prep beds and they dig holes to look for worms), or just play dress up and Polly Pockets and Zoobles and pet hospital.

Hard at work on a Lego treehouse.

Hard at work on a Lego treehouse.


I’m not concerned about her academic skills. Her math and reading skills are above grade level, she often writes and reads as part of her play, and the completed work that comes home in her Friday folder seems to be completed accurately and thoroughly. But I worry that I’m inadvertently reinforcing the idea that smart kids don’t need to work hard, or that we can pick and choose which expectations we meet, ignoring the ones that are less fun.
Having a child in kindergarten has been a revelation for me in so many ways: so much of her life is simply outside my grasp now, accessible to me only obliquely. She asks questions like “what does it mean to be on sides?” and I piece together that two of her girl friends are fighting, or their moms are fighting, and this has completely disrupted the lunchtime dynamic. She plays lockdown drill with her stuffed animals without ever mentioning to me that they have had a drill, and I wonder what fears she’s working through that she doesn’t want to voice to me. She brings home a mountain of worksheets and writing assignments and math pages and reads out loud to her dolls and writes her stuffed animals’ diagnoses into tiny notebooks and I am amazed by the speed with which her brain has leaped forward in all these academic skills.
Play Doh volcano

Play Doh volcano


But I also know there is so much she is not learning, not doing, not experiencing during the school day. Her questions are endless: What’s at the middle of the earth? Where does all the water from the flood go when the flood dries up? Why is the river brown and the ocean blue? When can we go on a vacation where we will see whales and the Eiffel Tower? What time is it in Korea? Why do mushrooms grow after rain? What kind of flower is that? Do birds know each others songs? How old do I have to be to be a baby dolphin scientist? Are you sure bitch is a grown up word because you say a lot of grown up words and I have never heard you say that.
Strictly speaking, ignoring her homework is probably not having any positive benefit (though I don’t think it’s holding her back, either). But I’m feeling the pull of time powerfully this year: I have fewer and fewer hours with her, fewer opportunities to nurture all the skills and traits that school isn’t designed to cultivate. I want her to be curious, persistent, brave, thoughtful. I want her to know she is strong, powerful, capable. I want her to build, explore, create. I want her to trust her instincts, to wonder, to guess and try and guess again. And maybe selfishly, I would rather walk around the block one more time, watching her go full speed down the hill on her bike, feet off the pedals sticking out to the sides, because she has finally, finally, built the confidence to let herself go.
And yet: I was raised to follow rules, and I am willfully breaking this one. Should I be enforcing a homework routine, even though its light enough to play outside till 8:30 and the rain has FINALLY stopped? I’m singing the kindergarten homework blues today, and I’m even more worried about what’s to come next year.
Ready to ride.

Ready to ride.

Rain, rain, go away.

To whomever is in charge of the weather:
I need the rain to stop.
And not just because my kids want to ride bikes and my kitchen floor is perpetually muddy with dog paw prints and my toes are cold all the time.
Two of my students have been raped. One left a violent relationship because she was afraid her son might also be in danger. So many of them started weeping silently in the classroom when we talked about sexual assault and gendered violence that I stopped trying to teach the textbook material and just started trying to make eye contact while saying things like “You need to know that every single one of you deserves to be safe. You deserve to be respected. You deserve to be heard and believed.”
I walk into classrooms every day to talk about oppression, about violence, but also about survival, about strength and courage and beauty in unexpected places. I teach about rape, yes, but also about movements for peace and social justice. When I can walk out of my classroom and see signs of growth, of renewal, reminders that cold, dark days don’t last forever, it’s easier to feel hopeful, joyful.
But when it rains for days and days on end, when the air never feels warm, when spring still feels impossibly distant? Its hard to shake those soft conversations after class. It’s hard to clear my mind and be fully present with my amazing, beautiful daughters. Its hard to be patient with them when I am so impatient with a cold, grey world.
To everything there is a season, right? Its time to turn turn turn. I need to feel the sun shine on my face and see it splash in through the windows. We need to ride bikes fast and feel the air rush past us. I need to work the earth with my hands, plant seeds, chart growth. Let the rain come soft in the evenings after my girls are in bed. But please, could we have bright, clear, warm sun in the morning and fluffy clouds in the afternoon? Because some of us are drowning over here.

Anticipation

I love this time of year. I can’t wait for the snow from our 3rd storm in as many weeks to melt away and we can start smelling fresh rain and opening the car windows. I always want to listen to Guided by Voices at this time of year; and “The Rain Song” by Led Zeppelin. I fell in love with our house in late spring. We had just started looking in March and I hated all the options in the bedroom community we were in at the time. I found a listing for a place in farm town and one day after teaching, I drove to it before I picked up the girls. I remember pulling up and getting goosebumps, thinking to myself, “So this is what it feels like to drive up to the house that will become your home.” We bought it. I’m going to plant flowers this year, for sure.

Is this heaven? No, it's Iowa.

Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

I’m waiting for my sister to have her first baby. The little one was due about a week ago and my sister is being a very patient and loving Mom. I can’t wait to drive south and help my sis, squeeze a baby, and write and read.

No, you cannot swim with the manatees

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Toes in the ocean, hands on a baby alligator? Must be spring break.
Last year, we went to a manatee viewing park but saw no manatees. This year, success: many manatees, lolling around, surfacing occasionally, drifting down the river. Manatees are the embodiment of chill. A hilarious contrast to the people crowded on the viewing deck who are exclaiming and pointing and, in the case of my children, jumping up and down as the manatee belly rises and the snout slowly breaks the surface of the water.
As if this wasn’t all excellent enough, the guy standing next to me offered this manatee joke: “I think this one is named Hugh.” And then a beat or two later, “Hugh-manatee.”

Cold (30 day poto challenge)

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Substantial Evidence That I’m a Grown Up

30 day photo challenge: inside your wallet

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Debit card, secondhand kids clothing store rewards punch card, social security, faculty id, haircut reminder, health insurance, Costco membership, Target pharmacy rewards, grocery store discount card, drivers license, and $5 Target gift card I scored last week when I bought cat litter. No cash. No photos. Nothing fun at all, really. But hey, check out that fun thermal image! I will learn to be an iPad blogger yet.

Shadow: the third one walks tall

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Do most not-yet-2 year olds sit on the couch eating ice cream pops and watching Free Willy: Escape From Pirates Cove? Because that’s what’s happening here.
My sister has 3 boys, and she always used to the expression “the third one walks tall.” I see it so clearly with Margeaux: she shadows her sisters, watching movies, eating big kid snacks, up the ladder to the top bunk and downstairs to the trampoline. Her language is impressive not just because of the breadth of her vocabulary but also because she uses words to make connections in a way most toddlers (at least in my experience) do not. She says please and thank you and bless you. She points out when her sisters are happy or sad and she knows when she is happy or sad. She can sing the chorus to “I’ve got everything I need” from the Muppets movie. She shouts Map and Backpack when Dora prompts her to, she roars at Dinosaur vs Bedtime, and when she’s sleepy, she crawls up on my lap and says “snuggle me mama.”
I forget, sometimes, how little she is still, especially now that we’re done nursing. The third one walks tall, a shadow of her sisters, shouting “Orca! Happy! Orca!” when the whales are on screen.

30 day photo challenge: Shadow

30 Day Photo Challenge: Partying Partying Yeah!

Photo Prompt: Lunch
Soundtrack: Rebecca Black, Friday

Several near-miraculous things happened on Friday. I crossed off every item on my to-do list. My normally reticent students had an intense, thoughtful, insightful conversation about Into the Wild with very little prompting from me. Tyler and I had two meals, sitting down, together. And even though I forgot my lunch, I discovered a stash of frozen burritos from last semester under a stack of Lean Cuisines in the copy room freezer.
The prompt was lunch, but it seemed silly to photograph my frozen burrito when I knew T was planning a big dinner. Much to his chagrin, I introduced the girls to the pop culture juggernaut Friday, which they took to immediately. We sang the chorus loudly, drowning out his soft jazz, while the girls ate a random assortment of kid foods and T made creamed spinach and miso glazed salmon.

Here’s a foodie style pic of the meal:image

And here’s the real life pic showing the small crowded table, my empty rum and Coke, the Cars washcloth I’m using for a napkin, and D eating a FunDip valentine for dessert:
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