Not tickled pink
I like the colour pink. I love dressing my daughter in pink. It brings out her rosy complexion and bright blue eyes. What I don’t like is that in 2012 girl = pink.
When I had my son four years ago I didn’t think much about colour. One day he was dressed head to toe in blue, with a blue spaceship blanket and a blue soother. Someone in Walmart said to me, “Oh, what a beautiful baby girl!” That made me laugh.
My baby pictures include lots of yellow, green, red, white and blue, since I wore my brother’s hand-me-downs. My toy box was a colourful mess of gender-neutral Fisher Price toys, a blue dollhouse, six Cabbage Patch dolls and a huge assortment of multi-coloured Lego. Going into a toy store in the 80s was a colourful, wonderful mixture of toys that girls and boys could choose from. Two of my favourite “toys” were a real hammer and saw from my aunt Kate.
Walk into a Toys “R” Us today and the girls’ aisles are a sea of pink: dolls, kitchens and house-cleaning equipment. I adore watching Little A take care of her dolly and mimic me (and her Daddy) around the house. She is equally delighted with her brother’s castle and knights, farm set and rusty metal sandbox trucks. I’m sure she will go through a princess phase, but for now it’s fun to see her not care what she plays with.
Brother B loves to do “boy” things: race his (obnoxiously loud!) vehicles up and down our hardwood hallway and build Lego pirate ships. On the other hand, he treats his doggas like precious babies and is fascinated by the “girl” toys creeping into our house. Sometimes I listen to the way he talks to his sister and I am proud. He is gentle, empathetic and kind. Of course other times he hits, knocks her over and makes her cry, but that’s to be expected.
Looking at the website for WOW toys, little girls should play princesses and fairies, take care of horses and make cupcakes. They can be pilots, as long as they choose a pink airplane and wear pink clothes. The only non-pink, non-stereotypical girl set in the “Girls Toys” section is an ambulance. Anything else that is active or slightly risky is in the boys’ section.
Maybe I was a tomboy because I grew up on a farm and had strong female role models but I remember playing “restaurant”, “hospital”, “library” and “Lego city” imaginary games with my brother for hours. I also loved taking toys outside in the spring and making floods and disasters in the mud at the edge of the barley field. I remember other games that involved chasing my brother with a big stick but that’s a story for another day.
My children choose their own toys. I hope as they grow they can be who they want to be, the way they were created to be, even if society tells them otherwise.
What do you think about pink?
Related articles:
- Belinda Parmar: Pink Really Does Stink (huffingtonpost.com)
- http://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2012/03/02/sexy-toy-make-overs-polly-pocket-care-bears-and-barbie/
- Are LEGO Friends good for girls? Let’s talk about it. (coolmompicks.com)
- The Female Factor: Toys Start the Gender Equality Rift (nytimes.com)
6 laws on packing with children (Murphy’s Law #10)
1. As fast as you pack, your baby-who-thinks-she’s-a-toddler will unpack.
2.You’ll pack up the rarely-played-with toys first. The very next day your child will demand to see those toys, even though he or she hasn’t asked for them since last Christmas.
3. As you prepare your old house for a showing, your 4-year-old will spill a box of Cheerios and half a jug of milk on the kitchen floor. Your baby/toddler will walk through all of this, slip, fall and start screaming just as you hear the realtor’s key in the front door.
4. The biggest box will become a spaceship.
5. Your children will each try out the tape gun and permanent marker. Hide the utility knife or they will try that too.
6. At least once, you will leave a pink bra and some Buzz Lightyear underwear on the bathroom floor during a showing.
Running in the house (Murphy’s Law #9)
Children running though the house and screeching with glee always results in a huge crash and loud screams.
The same scenario plays out every morning while I’m in the shower and D is playing with the kiddies before work. It begins with sweet, happy-family noises and quickly escalates into exuberant, hyper, all-worked-up noises.
Once I hear both children running around our 1000 square foot bungalow, I hold my breath and wait…wait…then CRASH! “Wahhh!””Wahhh!”
Is it bad that I sometimes wait until the crying stops before I get out of the shower? 😉
Public Tantrums (Murphy’s Law #8)
Spring 2010. Shopper’s Drug Mart. My 2-year-old. He wants Smarties. I say no. Tantrum hits. Naturally, we are in the lineup and there are about 57 people behind us. Of course it is 5:00, the busiest time of day. We leave.
Last summer. At the park with friends. Our friend’s 4-year-old throws the worst tantrum ever. He sits in the car, about 100 feet away, windows open, screaming for 20 minutes. “He never does this at home,” the mom is quick to remind anyone within earshot.
Last night. A 3-year-old boy sits on the sidewalk near the beach. He is wailing. His mom is waiting by her car. She is exhausted. She refuses to give in and pick up her miserable boy. He refuses to give in and go to the car. The Italian tourists watching the sunset are gossiping furiously (in Italian) about how terrible Canadian mothers are.
Why are the worst tantrums always in public? Maybe because as parents, we know we are being watched (and judged) so we don’t handle it the way we would at home. I’d love to hear your best (worst!) tantrum stories.
Six dogs are better than one
B got Dogga for Valentine’s Day when he was 14 months old. It was love at first sight. Dogga became B’s “lovey“. Dogga came on the airplane, into the bathroom, to the park, to the beach, to playgroups, in the car and in the stroller. Dogga saw every first and many lasts. I’m a bit of a wild driver and once when B was barely two I had to slam on the brakes. B yelled, “hold on, Dogga!” from the backseat. I’m surprised he doesn’t have his own carseat.
Dogga has the power to heal cuts, dry tears, scare away monsters and cure loneliness. Dogga is magic. Dogga is practically alive.
Once we realized how important Dogga was we started looking for an extra, just in case. Fast forward a few years and now there are six. The original Dogga had his nose chewed off so “went to keep Grandpa’s dog company” on the farm. Now we’ve got Present Dogga (he appeared under the Christmas tree with a red bow), Girl Dog, Daddy Dog, Mad Dog (the way the fur goes over his eyes makes him look mad, according to B), Scottie Dog and Other Dog.
I’ve noticed the dogs are sometimes left behind now. They always come out for morning snuggles and quiet time. They always go outside for trampolining. They come on long car trips. They don’t come to the store anymore. They don’t come to the beach in the bike basket. They didn’t go to daycamp.
A year from now, B will be heading off to full-day kindergarten and the long, crazy days with two tiny ones at home will be over. Now that a change is approaching I understand what the kind grandmas in the grocery store mean when they say, “Treasure the moments. This is the best time in your life.” Even though some days are like a long, uphill (whining, screaming, chaotic) marathon, this time is fleeting. The tough parts fade away and what is left is beautiful.
Don’t forget underwear! (Murphy’s Law #7)
Forget an extra diaper and your baby has a blow-out poop.
Forget extra socks and your child’s rubber boots get a crack in them at the beach.
Forget raincoats and you get caught in a downpour.
Forget underwear and your toilet-training child has an accident.
Forget an extra change of clothes and a crazy dog will run up to your toddler, lick his face, jump up on him and push him into the ocean! (true story)
Clean clothes (Murphy’s Law #6)
Even if you wait until two minutes before leaving the house to put on a clean shirt, you will need to change again. Today’s culprit was Brother B, a banana and a big hug.
A love I can’t begin to describe
Just when I think I am unable to love any more, I do.
Little A has been “walking” for months by holding onto hands. Anyone’s hands will do: mine, D’s, Brother B’s (which is adorable!). Around Mother’s Day she gathered up her courage and walked from person to person. This week she got brave. D’s parents are visiting and everyone was sitting in the living room. I was banging and crashing in the kitchen by myself when I heard “Mah-Mah? Mahhhhh-Mah?” Then, “thump, thump, thump, thump” as her tiny body and delighted face peeked around the corner. She ran to me with that look that people have when they’ve returned from a long journey and first see a loved one. It was the longest journey she had ever taken. Her shining eyes said, “You are everything to me. Thank you. Thank you for being up in the night with me for months and months. Thank you for putting me first. Thank you for being my Mah-mah.”
If you are struggling with a new baby and trying to find yourself in the crazy new world of motherhood, hang on. Your reward is coming, sooner than you think. Blessings.
Playdates (Murphy’s Law #4)
I hate the word playdate. It fits in the same category as minivans, mom jeans and dads who wear shorts with knee socks. Before kids I swore I would never use it. It’s hard not to when all the other parents are saying “Let’s plan a playdate!”
Brother B had an extended playdate yesterday with the cute little guy from across the street. After 4 hours, 5 timeouts, 2 changes of clothes and 3 bruises the two boys were sharing and having fun. Everything was great for two and a half minutes. Then the dad came and the playdate was over.
Oh, bedtime.
Sunday. The night I love. Time for quiet. The night my freshly-turned-one-year-old decides to become a toddler.
What was once a soothing, relatively easy bedtime routine suddenly turns on its heel and becomes an all-out sporting event. Flipping and flopping like a slippery fish, Little A does not want to wear a diaper. I finagle her onto her back and somehow slap the sticky tabs on the diaper, lopsided. We cuddle for a few minutes, then I slip her a pink soother and put her favourite My First Dolly right onto her face, the way she likes. I turn on the lullabies and tiptoe out.
Two minutes later I’m back, summoned by calls of “Mah-mah! Mah-mah!” She has flung the soother out of the crib (on purpose) and is joyfully banging her head into the mattress and giggling. As I lift her out to rock her, I sing her favourite “Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral” over and over. Her bright blue eyes finally start to waver, closing, closing, almost asleep…then fly open, focused on a tiny speck of light on the ceiling. Her tiny finger points and waves madly at the light. “Ah! Ah!” she yells, willing me to stop rocking and look up at the wonder she has discovered.
I am blessed.
murphy must have had kids 
