Mendolonium

Jeff and I were chatting in the car on the way to dinner with the kids tonight when Jeff asked me about the outcome of the no-confidence vote for Greece’s prime minister today.  Thomas perked up at the mention of Greece (one of his classmates is from there) and asked what we were talking about.  “The government and economy in Greece are having some problems”, I replied.  “What sort of problems?”, inquired Thomas innocently.  Grasping for an appropriate explanation for an almost five year old I told Thomas that the government of Greece had spent a lot more money than it earns (I left out mention that most other countries in the world are in the same boat; albeit not as extreme – no need to scare the kid).  Thomas stated matter-of-factly that that was a bad idea.  Jeff agreed with him and added that in Greece’s situation, it is borrowing large amounts of money that it cannot afford to pay back.  Thomas then thought a moment and then concluded with satisfaction at having figured how the world works, “Well if that happens then the people that Greece borrowed the money from won’t have enough money and then they’ll have to borrow money and it will be a big mess.”  All I could do was agree and wonder how it is that my not-even-five year old understands world finance and deleveraging better than most adults.

This conversation follows one months ago where Thomas asked me to explain what money is to him and at the end of the conversation brightly announced, “Oh I get it, money is just pretend and we all agree it is worth something.”  Thomas is the only child (other than Theo and my brother and sister) that I have ever known well, but I don’t think these conversations and conclusions are exactly normal for a child his age.  As a parent it sure is awesome though to be able to talk to Thomas about real issues.  I just hope that one day he uses his critical thinking skills for good!

It’s still a bit surprising to me how parenting comes in waves of challenge and ease.  I somehow didn’t anticipate that just like everything in life there are times when the stars seem to align and other times that it seems that the universe is conspiring against you.  Conveniently, a few weeks before their sister is due to arrive the boys seem to have both entered a period of downright reasonable and cooperative behavior.  Perhaps spurred by the realization that despite their age difference they are both “big kids” when compared to Baby Sister, they have turned into more than just brothers, they seem to be truly friends.   When we try to have one-on-one time with each boy Theodore while, certainly having fun and becoming more talkative (without someone constantly finishing his sentences) will proclaim that he “misses Thomas” and look a bit sad.  Thomas will ask what I think Theo is doing?  Whenever one of the boys finds or creates something interesting they now usually summon each other first (rather than me) with a gleeful “Follow me!”  I trail behind to figure out if the object of amazement is a dead beetle or perhaps pellets of raccoon poop.

Thomas, who is now reading actually storybooks on his own such as Widget and Hop on Pop, delights in reading Theo his bedtime stories.  A few nights ago, after a quiet few minutes spent reading stories on the couch, I got up and as I walked away saw Thomas put his arm around Theo and then heard Thomas softly say “I love you Theo.”  The  next morning as I struggled to wake up I heard both boys emerge from their room.  I expected Theo to come and pounce on me but instead Thomas guided him to the bathroom where I heard, “Theo we need to go potty…Here let me take off your diaper…Now sit down on the potty…Good!  You did it!…Now let’s pull up your pants.” Not only is Theo now mostly potty trained, but for the times he is not (night time) his brother is helping to lead the way!  I couldn’t ask for more independence from a not quite five year old and a two and half year old.

Hearing the two of them interact with such care and kindness is one of the absolute highlights of parenting.  When I found out that Theodore was a boy at 19 weeks pregnant I literally cried so hard that I had to leave in the middle of my doctors appointment to go home and sob.  Not because I was disappointed that Theo was a boy but because I was terrified that having two brothers close in age meant that we were doomed to a lifetime of aggression, competition, and animosity between the two of them.  I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t worry at all any more about the boys relationship as children and later as adults.  Although they are still so young, they fight (often physically) on a daily basis, and they know how to push the other’s buttons like no one else ever will, I see such fierce loyalty and caring for one another that I wholeheartedly believe that they have set a foundation for a good relationship for the rest of their lives.  With baby sister arriving in a few weeks I puzzle over how exactly to get three kids in and out of car seats smashed in the back of a Prius and I contemplate private schools and then multiply that number by three and practically fall into a coma but I am not worried about sibling rivalry and relationships.  It is such a nice feeling to have.

For the most part four year olds are awesome.  Three-and-a-half year olds are possessed little tyrants who defy all logic and accept instructions only from some mothership whose sole mission is to test survival of the human race.  But four year olds are, for the most part, awesome.  The change between three and four years old was dramatic.  One night bedtime was an hour long ordeal of running naked through the house, sobbing, and the worst insults a three year old can think of (“You are a bad Dada!  Bad Mama!).  The next night, two nights before Thomas’ 4th birthday, 7:30 pm rolled around, Thomas yawned and announced he was tired, and suggested that he go to bed.  I remember Jeff and I looked at each other in open-mouthed astonishment thinking that surely Thomas must be deathly ill.  But no, as it turned out, he was simply four year old; the insanity-inducing roller-coaster ride of three was over.

We’ve noticed that the half year points, (eighteen months, two and half, three and a half, etc.) are often difficult emotional times for the boys and consequently difficult parenting times for us.  Noted child psychologists Ames and Ilg call the half-year points “phases of disequilibrium”.  Four has mostly been smooth sailing involving such awesomeness as a child who would wake up and get his own breakfast and then play contentedly with Legos for an hour while we slept in.  However, these last few months of four leading up until five remind me of three and half; with the exception that tantrums have been replaced by whining.  Two of my favorite quotes about four year olds from fellow parents are  “Four years old is practice for high school” and “Remember,  there is a reason that they have to be five to go to kindergarten:  because it means they are no longer four”.  Two weeks ago Thomas finished dinner before anyone else at the table (for the first time ever in his entire life) and we had the following conversation:

Thomas:  May I excused?

Me:  No, you may not.  We are all still eating and we eat dinner together as a family.

Thomas:  I am so bored!  We always have to eat dinner together.  It’s so boring.

Me:  Well, that’s what families do and it is always going to be that way.

Thomas:  No!  I’m tired of eating dinner with you, sitting at the table, talking about our day.

At that point Jeff and I just looked at each other across the table, tried not to choke on our laughter, and joked sarcastically about what terrible parents we were for provding our kids with a stable family life.  In addition to forcing my child to sit through a family dinner day after day I have also done such horrible things as give Thomas homemade cake with whipped cream for an afternoon snack, however, I failed to spread the whipped cream on neatly.  After Thomas burst into tears at the injustice of my indelicate application of whipped cream I simply fixed him with a steely gaze and told him in no uncertain terms that he would either stop complaining at once or I would throw his cake down the disposal.  Thankfully, Thomas seemed to sense that complaining about cake and whipped cream for an afternoon snack had crossed a line and promptly shut up and ate his cake.   He’s also literally freaked out for thirty minutes straight over the terror a fig beetle flying around the backyard but then the next day decided that he wasn’t scared after all of “my friend fig beetle”.  I’ve also heard that he doesn’t need to come with me to the grocery store and can just stay home (by himself) and that the music I was listening to was “dumb”*.

Knowing that Thomas’ demands and mood swings are a normal developmental phase does make the process easier.  Often, Jeff and I find ourselves smothering our laughter at Thomas’ ridiculous behavior and eating a hell of lot of ice cream after the kids go to bed to soothe our tired, parenting souls until this phase passes.

*In case you’re wondering it was “Footloose” which is an awesome song.

When you are the parent of a preschooler your weekend social scene revolves around birthday parties.  Perhaps I am hopelessly lame, but I am starting to rather enjoy many of the parties:  someone else provides entertainment for my children for a couple of hours, I get to eat food I did not have to make nor clean up after, and there’s always cake.  We attended one of the more enjoyable parties this past Sunday morning.  It was held outside in a shady, quiet park.  The kids ran around with their friends and I actually found the time to chat with other parents.  The hosts provided brunch, cake, crafts, and a pinata that they had thoughtfully filled with organic treats and goodies such as art supplies and accessories.  After the post-pinata melee Thomas presented me with his bag of loot and as I perused it I sighed; not because it was filled with unhealthy hyperactive-inducing treats (it wasn’t) but because every single non-food item was clearly branded with either a “Spiderman” logo or a “Disney Princess”.  There were rubber Spiderman bracelets and erasers, a heart shaped locket filled with lipstick and emblazoned with Rapunzel, and packages of crayons either boxed and wrapped in red and blue with Spiderman or boxed and wrapped in pink and purple with princesses.  I wondered whether Thomas had noticed the overt gender stereotyping of the goodies – perhaps not.  He had, after all, picked up an equal number of “boy” and “girl” items.   He stuffed his haul into my bag and ignored it until we got home.

Once at home he quickly remembered and began to sort through his treasure.  “Oooo fruit snacks!”  “Oh a necklace…can you put it on me…wait (as he turned it over and saw the smiling face of a princess)…never mind.   Here Mama, you can have it.  It’s for you”  “What are these…crayons?  Oh I thought they were something to eat.  Well, I’ll take these [the Spiderman crayons] and I’ll give these two packs to Theo [the princess crayons].”  I couldn’t help but ask Thomas, “Why don’t you want those [the princess] crayons?”  His answer was direct, “Because, you know, princesses are for girls and Theo doesn’t care yet.”

Thomas has never seen a “princess movie” nor has he seen “Spiderman”.  But he goes to school three days a week, he plays with neighborhood kids, and he is quite observant.  I wasn’t suprised that he had absorbed the pervasive “princesses are for girls” and “superheros are for boys” messages of our cultuure.  And as much as I want to, at times, keep my kids in a bubble free from cultural influences; to do so is neither practical nor truly desireable.  It would be an awfully lonely bubble for all of us and eventually they would inevitably break free regardless.  Instead I am attempting to choose a middle path.  I rather viigallantly control what the boys see in our own home:  no cable TV, very limited viewing (an average of 30 minutes per day) of a pre-approved PBS show or a DVD, no toys that are weapons (they do make some out of Legos, etc. which I have made my peace with), no princess/diva/superhero/action figure toys, books, or movies, no clothes that have gender steroytyped sayings on them (“Daddy’s Little All Star”, “Shopper in Training”), and the boys go to a very gender cooperative/neutral school (they’ve even got two male preschool teachers there which is all kinds of awesome).  And when they are exposed to something like gender packaged crayons I start asking questions.  And so I inquired to Thomas, “Why do they have different packages of crayons for girls and boys?  Are girl and boy crayons different?  Do you know both girls and boys who like art?”  As much as I was annoyed by the stupid crayons by that point, it was gratifying to see Thomas work through the answers to my questions, “I don’t know.  Why are they different?  That doesn’t make any sense.  Art is for boys and for girls.  I don’t think all girls like princesses.”

While we’ve talked about anatomy and gender with both boys time and time again (it turns out that when you are a little boy the concept that not everyone has a penis is quite mind-blowing) we’ve had mercifully little interaction with gender stereotypes.  It seems that we’re just on the cusp of a big change in awareness of gender and culture in general.  I think its going to be a difficult road to walk – at some point at least one, if not all, of my kids are going to test me.  Thomas is going to denounce the pink shirt in his closet, Theo will tell me that there is something that girls “can’t” do, and/or baby girl will tell me that she wants to look “hot”.  In the end the crayons were quickly forgotten for other pursuits.  I hope that some of the questions will be remembered though.  I can’t stop our consumer-driven culture from penetrating our lives but I will keep asking questions, teaching our children to challenge what they see and hear.   Because, damn it, crayons should not have a gender attached to them.  Let’s just let a crayon be a crayon.