Mama Mama Quite Contrary

I have a friend whom I've known since our first week of college.  She was raised in a tiny Northern California town by two often-naked hippies who bestowed upon her a rather unusual name.  She is brilliant but a terrible speller, a fashionista who can't pass up a thrift store, a self-proclaimed baby hater, and a delightfully amusing weirdo. She also happens to be a NewYork Times bestselling author. So when this friend emailed me earlier in the summer requesting my address because she had a present for my girls, I was suspicious.  It is a well-known fact that my friend has no desire for children.  She tolerates them now that most of her friends have spawned but she very much enjoys her carefree, childless existence.  I could not help but wonder what the heck was going to come in the mail. Then the package arrived and well, take a look: That's when I realized that being weird can be perfect.

I like routines.  Like a young child, I find comfort in knowing what to expect and don't do well with last minute changes of plan.  Yet, and the irony is not lost on me, the unpredictable nature of spending all day, every day with children and their own internal schedules is something with which I struggle.  For that reason, I really cling to my evening rituals. There's nothing particularly interesting about my evening routine.  Once the girls are in bed, I putter until my chores (dishes, laundry, etc...) are done.  Then I sit on the couch and read or watch a little TV or pull my sewing machine out.  When I'm tired, I head upstairs, brush my teeth, check on the girls, and then read in bed until I fall asleep.  My husband and I are often doing the same things in parallel. Last night, however, I stayed up late watching crappy, reality TV.  (Hey, I'm not proud.)  By the time I got to bed my husband was already asleep.  This...

I've returned from the familial abyss that has claimed my blogging time for the last three weeks. I don't think I've gone so long without writing since I started this blog so to the two or three people who read my ramblings regularly, sorry about that. You see, we've just had quite a bit going on around here. Vivi turned four.   The Turtles are on the cusp of walking and destroying everything in their path. My washer died and flooded part of our basement in the process. Our beloved babysitter is graduating college and leaving us which has me distraught. And my husband and I celebrated five years of mostly marital-bliss. No picture for that.  Go figure... And you thought I was just busy soaking beans and baking bread.

Well, yesterday it finally happened. While decked out in a poofy pink dress and sparkly tiara, Vivi uttered those fateful words: "Mama, I'm a princess!" I guess I should have seen it coming. There has been no shortage of signs of Vivi's inherent girliness. She loves purses and shoes. She bedazzles herself with various finds from my jewelry box. She loves to rub my Chapstick on her lips and then give me "lipstick kisses." She is a girl, no question about it, but there is something about the whole little girl as princess thing that REALLY gets to me. What does it mean to be a princess? Well, to Vivi, right now it means that she puts on a big sparkly dress at our local playroom. There's no other association and I'm going to try and keep it that way. I would argue that the pervasive attitude in our society, however, is quite different. Being a princess means owning expensive things and possessing a strong sense of entitlement-- at least that'...

When I was pregnant my husband and I decided not to find out the sex of "Junior." We reasoned that there are so few true surprises in life that we wanted this to be one of them. Besides, I was convinced that I was carrying a boy anyway. In retrospect, I think I had convinced myself I was carrying a boy so if one came out, I wouldn't be disappointed. You see, I really wanted a girl although I wasn't able to fully admit that to myself while pregnant. Of course, like all pregnant women, I wanted a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes but if I had been given a choice between a healthy boy or a healthy girl, I would have taken the girl without hesitation. I am sure I would have loved a boy as much as I love Vivi but I just didn't feel like I would have known what to do with a boy. After all, I have four sisters. Well, be careful what you semi-subconsciously wish for. I've tried to be aware of how Vivi's sex might impact my interactions with her and the ...