Tag: kids

I Gave My Daughter a Dinosaur

It all started when the Littlest Pet army wanted to steal Polly Pocket’s kitty.

In her desperation, Polly called on her big sister, Wonder Woman, to defend her from the oncoming hoard of Littlest Pets. Wonder Woman joined the battle, the tide seemed to turn, but the Littlest Pets called on their Pteranodon freed from Jurassic World for air support. Wonder Woman countered by summoning her dragon, Storm Fly, and together they defended Polly and her pets from the Pteranodon. The battle raged. A pink poodle was decapitated. Then everyone stopped to have dinner.

I’ve clearly screwed up my daughter.

I should have realize it sooner, but it only became clear as I separated the earth-toned reptiles from the candy-colored pets. My daughter is terribly confused, and I have only myself to blame.

I should never have put both super heroes and Polly Pockets in the same playroom. I wasn’t thinking. She’s a girl. It’s not enough that she likes Littlest Pets and Polly Pocket; she must like only Littlest Pets and Polly Pockets. By acting out “Polly has a new pet kitty” and “Epic Battle to the death”, I have no idea what label to ascribe to her. Tomboy? Animal lover? Warrior? Caretaker? What is she?!

If I’m confused, I can only imagine everyone else in her life. How are people supposed to know what present to get her when she’ll play with anything? I can’t ask friends and family to walk down more than one aisle at the toy store.

Also I don’t think these toys can be used together safely. Thomas the Train’s wheels might fall off if he has to pull the Littlest Pets. What if Elsa’s dress gets glitter on the Pteranodon? Dinosaurs that were bred in a lab from DNA preserved in prehistoric mosquitoes weren’t meant to be covered in glitter. Neither are the toys inspired by them. The glitter will probably erode the wings off. I’m worried Batman might combust if he’s made to ride a My Little Pony.

The effects of this cross-play on the toys themselves are actually minor concerns compared to the effects on my daughter. If I had only stuck to tea sets, maybe she wouldn’t insist on climbing the bookshelves. Or leaping off the bed. Or running. Or moving. She would have learned that girls are supposed to sit quietly for long periods of time. If I’d limited her to baby dolls, she would have learned that changing diapers is an important part of care for infants handled exclusively by females. As such, girls aren’t supposed to find poop funny. Human waste management is a serious responsibility and constantly imagining your stuffed animals pooping on your mom’s head is NOT hilarious.

I definitely haven’t bought her enough Barbies. She’s still willing to leave the house with her hair unbrushed. If I hadn’t diluted the effects of the Barbies and princesses by including some super heroes, she’d be obsessed with accessories by now. As it is, she only wants to wear a crown some of the time not all of the time. Since she doesn’t have pierced ears, how are people supposed to know she’s a girl without a tiara and perfectly styled hair?

Allowing all the violent play was another mistake. That battle the Littlest Pets engaged in was brutal and not girly at all. Parenting fail. I bought the swords and shields. My husband and I read her illustrated Greek myths that referenced the Trojan War. We were forcing her to go against her nature when I taught her how to make a fist and my husband recalled his fencing days to teach her to properly thrust and parry. We should have known that having to set the rule “You cannot actually touch anyone when pretending to fight” was an indication our daughter’s development had gone off track.

It doesn’t matter that no scientific evidence has linked war play in kids to aggression in adults. I’m sure that’s only true for boys. A girl playing war is just unnatural. No girl in history has ever wanted to punch something. Girls don’t feel frustration and anger or desire to be powerful and heroic. They only ever want to rock babies, cook dinner, dress dolls, and put someone else’s needs ahead of their own. All girls. All of the time.

As every clothing, toy, and book store here in Vitoria make clear, girls are all the same by nature. So I can only assume my husband and I are to blame for my daughter being different.

I was still reeling from this disturbing revelation when my daughter announced her choice of Halloween costume. She wants to be a knight riding a flying unicorn.

“Like the man and his flying horse,” she said.

“What man?” I said confused. “You mean Bellerophon and Pegasus?!”

“Yes, like Beliphon.”

Great. On top of everything else, we’ve turned her into a nerd.

October 19, 2015
Six Things I learned About My Daughter While Visiting My Parents
Summer in suburban Atlanta

I just returned to Brazil after spending nearly three weeks in Atlanta, my hometown and where my family still lives. It was the first time my daughter and I traveled just the two of us. She’s four. Our trip involved an all-night, nine-hour flight that was delayed two hours both going and coming. I preemptively deployed both the iPad and M&Ms and I’m happy to say that both my daughter and I are going to see our next birthdays. Although probably with a cavity or two. Sanity above cavities, I say.

I don’t know if it was being on active parent duty 24/7 or my daughter’s leap in communicating her feelings and interests since last Christmas, but I learned a lot about my daughter during these past few weeks visiting my parents. Some insights were good, some frustrating, and some have me already looking for methods other than wine to cope with her teenage years.
1. She thinks all kids speak Portuguese. In her day to day life, the only people who speak English are grown ups, specifically my parents via Facetime, my husband, and me. All of her friends, all the kids at school, her cousins in Rio, every single kid she interacts with speaks Portuguese. Naturally, when she approached kids on playgrounds in Atlanta she said “Qual é seu nome?” Every time. Even after I’d tell her “Kids here talk like Mommy. Use English,” she’d continue using Portuguese. On each playground it took a few minutes of the kids not understanding and my prompting for her to switch over to English. Then we’d stop by a different playground a couple days later and she’d say to some kids “Qual é seu nome?” So as far as my daughter is concerned English is the language of authority and Portuguese is the language of her peers. She’s getting to live her own colonial experience. I’m sure that won’t be a problem later.
2. She will eat boogers but not pancakes. And it’s seriously grossing me out. She can’t get enough boogers but she refuses to open her mouth to taste one bite of fluffy, syrup drenched pancake. It’s not just pancakes she refuses to eat. It’s also hamburgers, ketchup, creamed corn, macaroni and cheese, cereal with milk, and scrambled eggs. But boogers she pops into her mouth without a second thought. I’m beginning to think something is wrong with her.
3. She’s never played outside in the dark. I realized this watching her buzz around the Atlanta Botanical Garden while viewing a nighttime light exhibit. I knelt to point out a firefly and realized she had never seen a firefly. We live in a city in an apartment building next to a very busy street. Nature isn’t even in the same zip code. Our city also has unfortunately high levels of violence and crime making the few parks that are here unsafe at night. Running around outside after dark, playing hide-and-seek, capture the flag, or catching fireflies was a HUGE part of my childhood. But hasn’t been and won’t be for my daughter. It makes me sad.
4. If it’s not chocolate, it doesn’t count as desert. She will eat the chips out of a chocolate chip cookie. She will turn down cookie dough for lack of chocolate. She will refuse to part her lips for pound cake. And she will not deign to look at anything called “pie”. Dessert is by definition chocolate. This almost redeems the booger eating.
5. She is stubborn. I knew this about her but sending her to preschool every weekday from 10-5:30 provided a significant buffer that kept me from really understanding the depths of her resolve. If she does not want to do something, she will refuse and she can keep refusing, crying, & screaming for over an hour. I decided she was old enough to start blowing her own nose. She disagreed & snorted snot out of her nose leaving it all over her face & hanging from her chin for over an hour. I told her she had to try one bite of corn in order to get dessert. She refused and demanded chocolate cake repeatedly until long after we’d finished the meal and arrived back home. I told her it was too late to read two bed time books. She screamed at me to read her chosen books throughout my entire going to bed routine and continued after I’d gotten under the covers.
6. She is a one hell of a control freak! She has rules for everything. What cup the juice is in. What order the books are read in. Who takes her to the bathroom. What underwear, what socks, and heaven help the person who offers to put her hair in a ponytail if she’s not in the mood. Everything matters! Everything! And “playing” with her means standing quietly until you are assigned a toy, which hand to hold the toy in, a place to sit, and what you are going to say. And do not screw up your line! If she tells you to say “Hey, who stole my kitty?” do not say “Hey, someone took my kitty!” No improvising! Give dialogue exactly as assigned! She will grow up to be either an award winning director known for making actors cry or dictator of a small Latin American country.
I’m sure summer vacation in December will be full of new insights, although I’m beginning to think ignorance is bliss.
September 13, 2015
Brazil: Children Allowed

Brazil! Where children are always welcome!

As an American, I know that taking a child to any restaurant that doesn’t have it’s menu posted on a wall and ordering her juice while she plays on your phone will get you nasty looks at the least and reported to child services at worst. The US can be a harsh culture in which to go about the day to day activities of parenting. I didn’t know how harsh until I moved to Brazil, and my eyes were opened.

Brazilians are gaga for children!

Women and men, old and young, Brazilians adore kids. Brazil makes the US seem like one giant lawn its crotchety citizens don’t want children stepping on.

I first noticed this difference during a staff lunch at a chic restaurant in Rio. My boss brought her newborn to this very crowded restaurant at peak lunch hour. Exactly one table was available and it was on the opposite of the restaurant. There was a sea of people in expensive clothes and tables covered in glassware between us and that table. When my boss indicated to the staff that we would be claiming that table, I cringed. My stomach clenched at the idea of getting through this fancy crowd with a baby and stroller.

That’s the appropriate response, right? Obviously, a parent should feel ill at the thought of briefly disturbing other people’s lunches on the way to her own table. Ha. How American of me. Two waiters swooped in, all smiles, lifted the stroller up over their heads, and carried that baby like royalty across the entire dining room. Not a single dirty look.

Brazilians have this bizarre assumption that babies and children are a staple part of everyday life. If there are people around, there will be young people and these young people will cry, complain, spill things, talk too loudly, and generally not behave like adults. That’s life. How else is it supposed to continue?

People here also acknowledge kids. They talk to them and include kids as if they were a part of society. Strangers smile and say hello to my daughter on our walks to school. Waiters greet her at restaurants. When she cries in public, people stop and ask her what’s wrong. During a melt down, I’m not worried the stranger approaching is about to helpfully inform me my child is being disruptive or offer some judgement in the form of unsolicited advice. That stranger approaching doesn’t want to talk to me at all. She’s going to console my daughter.

At playgrounds, parents help each others’ kids on and off equipment. They freely offer snacks they’ve brought to every child in earshot. They let other kids run off with their own child’s toy confident it will be returned. Playgrounds in Brazil initially felt to me like loud, sandy communist communes. It was a long time before I stopped apologizing profusely every time my daughter touched another kid’s toy and fearing the wrath of another parent because I offered her child gluten.

If you do bring your baby to Brazil, be prepared. Brazilians love children, and Brazilians are touchy people. I mean literally touchy. They touch other people a lot. A random passersby will want to touch, stroke, kiss, and even hold your baby. One of my daughter’s nurses at the NICU here in Vitoria admitted this was a particular blind spot for Brazilians. Knowledge of germ theory cannot curb their enthusiasm for babies. I dealt with it by reminding myself I’d rather have a request to hold my baby than a request to remove it from the premises.

This habit of baby fawning is not limited to any age, gender, or class. A trainer at my gym once brought his newborn into the weight room and a half dozen of the burliest men were reduced to cooing and clucking incoherently. The school where I taught had preschool through high school, and everyday as the toddlers left the nap room, a crowd of teenagers gathered to squeal and exclaim over the adorably rumpled munchkins.

And of course there are the old ladies. Women over the age 70 must develop a sixth sense to detect babies. I’d be sitting at the cafe, waving a rattle in my daughter’s face, and suddenly an 85 year old woman materialized out of thin air to stroke my daughter’s hair and to tell me my baby is cold.

This is the one sin a parent cannot commit in Brazil. You can leave the TV on 24 hours day. You can feed your kid white rice and french fries at every lunch. But do NOT let your baby get cold!!! If there is a breeze and your baby is not covered with a blanket, every person will stop and tell you your baby is cold. Every. Single. Person. As someone who does not think 65 F requires gloves at any age, I heard it pretty much everyday of my child’s infancy.

The love for and acceptance of children as part of daily life are two of the things I love best about Brazil, and for now, I’m perfectly content to raise my tantrum prone daughter here so as not to disturb my fellow Americans’ lattes.

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May 12, 2015
Children’s Parties: Brazilian Edition

What are they going to do for the 2nd birthday?

We can learn a lot about our own culture by having to explain it to outsiders. What specifically outsiders want an explanation for is telling and then having to explain why can lead to great enlightenment.

For example, as an American I have fielded quite a few questions about guns. I’ve learned that to the rest of the world our obsession with firearms makes us look like batshit crazy people hellbent on our own destruction. Also, no American expat has ever convinced another person that a civilian needs a grenade launcher to potentially fight off a government that has missile launching drones.

Of course every culture has its idiosyncracies. Americans must account for a love of lethal weapons, and I’d like to ask my Brazilian family and friends to explain the Brazilian child’s birthday party.

(This is a totally legit transition. An American gun range and a Brazilian child’s first birthday are, for me, equally intimidating environments.)

This past weekend, we attended the birthday party of my daughter’s classmate. My husband, daughter, and I all stayed the duration, from 5pm to 9pm on Sunday night. There were about 60 people in attendance. The three tables of decorated sweets and cakes on display throughout the event were perfectly arranged. The personalized favors were lovely. The party space had a climbing wall, a bungee-trampoline thing, a three-story playground, a rope walk suspended above everyone’s head, and a ball pit. The trays of fingers foods, soda, and beer swept by with impressive frequency. The boy was turning three.

To be fair not every Brazilian family does this and many cannot afford to do this, but the party I have described is typical of middle class families. It’s not something worthy of a reality TV show. It’s completely mainstream.

I have been to a few 1st birthday parties and they all had more guests than my wedding. I understand that Brazilian families tend be large and stay in the same city where they were born. It is very likely the birthday girl has ten cousins living close by. Ok. I understand that at a young age, it’s appropriate to give an invitation to everyone in the preschool class. I’m totally on board. But why their parents? Why do I have to feed 15 of my kid’s classmates, plus their moms, dads, and siblings? My child doesn’t know little Rodrigo’s grandma. And why your boss and work colleagues your kid has never met?

My nephew’s first birthday had around 100 people. He spent almost the entire party hanging out with his grandpa in the car. The poor kid burst into tears every time he got carried toward the commotion.

I question the value of of a birthday party that the honoree is terrified to attend.

Some beautiful things for the janitor to sweep up…

And why spend so much money and time on the elaborate decorations and sweets? A two year old doesn’t care if the candy is personalized and color coordinated. For guests, those cute wrappers, ribbons, and bedazzled boxes are merely impediments between mouth and candy. Once the birthday song is sung, it’s Lord of the Flies. The smoke is still wafting up from the candles and the dessert tables look like a pack of Labradors was set on them. The kids are aggressive too.

Ok, I’m being mean. This is actually perfectly reasonable behavior considering the kids have been made to stare at these tables of sweets for three hours. All the desserts are beautifully laid out upon arrival but DO NOT TOUCH them until after the candles are blown out!! Scheduling a party at dinner time and making kids stare at cupcakes for hours is straight up torture. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal under the Geneva Convention.

I know some of the moms do everything themselves and I bow to their superior design and art skills. Every child’s party I’ve been to has been beautiful and if they were for a 15th birthday or graduation or even just for older kids who could remember it and not burst into tears at the sight of Great Aunt Roberta, I wouldn’t have any questions. But I can’t help asking when I attend a three-year old’s birthday, who is this party for?

May 6, 2015