Disney Princess Recovery

Let the Children Play

2012-01-28T10:49:00.000-08:00

Meet journalist Stephanie Hanes.

(photo source: Stephanie-Hanes.com)

She has covered underreported news stories in Rwanda, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and the Dominican Republic.

She's been funded by the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting to bring coverage to human rights issues.

And now she brings this expertise to examining parenting in 2012.

With her daughter not yet a year old, Ms. Hanes explores the growing body of research that supports the role of play in a child's development.
It's the cover story of the Christian Science Monitor, and is well worth a read.
Let Them Play---Toddlers to Tweens: Relearning How to Play.

Maggie, Rethunk.

2012-01-06T20:26:00.000-08:00

Remember this children's book?

Kivitasku tipped me off to a few more enlightened titles.

Such as this:

And this:

More awesome ideas at Maggie is Beautiful.

Winner is

2012-01-06T20:10:00.000-08:00

Here is a picture of a hat.

(photo credit here).

This is not the hat we used to pick a name.
Because I'm not sure which part of the hat would have held them.

Ahem. The winner is Diamond, come on down.
Drop me a line with your address and I'll send the book right over to Humboldt County.

This one is about Stuff.

2012-01-05T11:18:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year. Is this the year it's all supposed to end?

Well, we are still here, and I hope your December was fulfilling in all the ways a December can be.
And if it wasn't, that's what this month is for.

Our December was notable in two ways:
1. It was mostly green. And now that it is 6 degrees, I'm all indignant. How dare winter arrive?
2. Miss C got her first stitches. On Christmas Eve. The wound acquired while I was upstairs and she played her solo game of 'Jane Eyre' downstairs. This game involved her sprinting around wearing a dress she deems Jane-ish, in stockings, holding a pottery bowl. It took one smooth patch of hardwood floor to end that game in blood. And now I've imposed rules to her game: Jane may only run barefoot, and may not carry pottery while doing so. We stitched her up and she was delighted to look at her arm and find her stitches were purple.

I wanted to mention a couple goodies that entered our home as we frolicked in rampant consumerism.

If you have a Little House fan among your people, I discovered this lovely coloring book from artist and writer Cheryl Harness:

Miss C flipped through until she found a picture of Nellie Olsen.
And then colored her green.

Then there is this book, The Vegetarian Mother's Cookbook, that I received last year.

And then I lost it.
And then I got a new one this year.
And then I found the old one.
So now I have two, and who knows if I'll even make some awesome food from this book?
I put "start liking kale" and "be more vegetarian-ish" on my resolutions list.
But then I end up eating cookie dough and watching Portlandia.
Anyway, do you want it? This beautiful new cookbook?
If you do, leave a comment or send an email (email subject: Cookbook).
If there is one contender, it's yours.
Otherwise, I'll put names in a hat and have Miss C pick one out.
And I'll send it to you.
Even if you live in Georgia.
Especially if you live in Georgia.

Weekend Reading

2011-11-19T18:35:00.000-08:00

The Irish Cinderlad, by Shirley Climo.
Climo also wrote The Egyptian Cinderella and The Korean Cinderella.

In this tale, the cinderlad comes with the cruel stepmother and accompanying stepsisters, and he even loses a ~~glass slipper~~ boot.
The princess has to hunt each village to track him down, making all the other lads try on the boot.

Also, the fairy godmother is a he, a Magical Bull, who provides nightly feasts from his inner eardrum.
(Note to self: Get Magical Bull.)

Chico, by Dan Andreasen.

Before she became the first woman to serve on the US Supreme Court, Sandra Day O'Connor hung out with horses and cattle.

When she was 6, she said, "Ma, I'm going to ride Chico."
And her Ma said, "Yup. Just don't get bit by any rattlesnakes. Or eaten by coyotes. Also, be home by dinner."

Her ma was a Free Range Parent.

Basketball Belles by Sue Macy.

"Raised on a cattle ranch, Agnes Morley was sent to Stanford University to learn to be a lady."

But she ended up playing hoops!
In 1896, Agnes played intercollegiate basketball in a gymnasium entirely filled with women. Because men were not supposed to see women sweat.

I will admit I liked this book better than Miss C.
She thought it would be funny.
And because it didn't have the phrase "poo poo head", it was not.

Theme of weekend reading: cattle ranch girls are tough.
And Irish princesses are relentless.

Sexy Halloween

2011-10-29T08:08:00.000-07:00

Take Back Halloween is "a costume guide for women with imagination."

It has some creative ideas about alternatives to the overused "Sexy _____" theme.
(Sexy Fire hydrant! Sexy Lamp! Sexy Coffee Mug!)
No, seriously, better ideas than even those.

We think there’s a serious lack of opportunities in life to dress up in strange clothes and pretend to be somebody else. Unless you’re in show business, Halloween is pretty much it. Why waste it?

Take Back Halloween is sponsored by the Real History Project, which doesn’t have a snappy motto but is considering “No, Men Did Not Invent Everything.”

Miss C has donned various costumes through the years:

a skunk that sprayed you if you came too close
a wallaby princess
a burlap ghost (not recommended)

This year she has been alternating between two possibilities:
Dorothy Gale, and Mary Ingalls, post scarlet fever.
(Laura is deemed less interesting because she didn't go blind.)
And now she wants to know if we can get a guide dog and call him Toto.

Perhaps we'll go back to the burlap ghost next year.

(un)Wanted

2011-10-22T17:46:00.000-07:00

Over 200 Indian girls whose names mean "unwanted" in Hindi chose new names Saturday for a fresh start in life.

Activists say the name "unwanted," which is widely given to girls across India, gives them the feeling they are worthless and a burden.

"When the child thinks about it, you know, 'My mom, my dad, and all my relatives and society call me unwanted,' she will feel very bad and depressed," said Sudha Kankaria of the organization Save the Girl Child. But giving these girls new names is only the beginning, she said.

This article mentions some of the reasons why the birth of sons is celebrated but the birth of daughters is mourned, and they struck me as cultural, different in only their shades and specifics.

They are not foreign reasons, and have been repeated in every country and culture across time.

A familiar one here that was in practice not too long ago:
Only men can vote.
Because only men can own land.

Why can only men own land?
Because they are voting citizens!

Because because because because. Tiring, circular illogic.

These rules...these rules which are made by mere mortals, and then discard an entire half the world.
I am tired of them.

I am also so proud of these girls for claiming a new name.
And so grateful to the expanded hearts who are facilitating the first step for these girls.

Named, Beautiful.
Named, Generous.
Named, Wanted.

Are You Ready for Some Football?

2011-09-25T18:31:00.000-07:00

I.
The longest I paid attention to a football game was the one I played in, in 11th grade.
The boys dressed in skirts and threw pom poms. The girls dressed in tight pants and wore helmets and shoulder pads. It was the Annual Powder Puff Football Game.

I scored two 90 yard touchdowns.
I was told: when you get the ball, run.
Since I'm good with simple instructions, and not play-by-play handbooks, I did as I was told.

My team didn't win. And the Powder Puff tradition has been discontinued, due to coaches of the girls sports teams objecting to their soccer and field hockey players returning with jammed fingers and bruised tailbones.
(But it was really fun while it lasted.)

II.
I returned from a bike ride today with Miss C around 4:30. The quiet street that we live on was filled with whoops and hollers and neighbors milling around on their front lawn, congratulating each other as if we had collectively won the lottery. One woman was nearly verklempt, "We've been losing for so long, it would have been okay if we lost. But it is so nice to win."

I won't even curse the team they speak of by naming them, but it's not the Rochester Radicals.
And they apparently have had a surprising season. As evidenced by all the people pouring out of their homes at 4:30 each Sunday, gasping for air and looking shocked with disbelief.

Sometimes, it is the fan that is in the arena, as much as it is the man that is in the arena.

III.
Frank Deford is a writer and sports commentator.
Last week he read this piece that he wrote about female sideline reporters,
No Respect for Women on the Sidelines.

If you need a one sentence synopsis, this quote is it

television wouldn't dare allow a female up into the booth to actually call the game.

So while we see what Deford calls highly overqualified and highly attractive women asking asinine questions down on the sidelines, there seems to be some unspoken law that keeps them there.
Despite qualifications.
Despite that women do the job of calling the game in many other sports.

just as football offensive linemen are supposed to be fat, football sideline reporters are supposed to be women –– attractive women.......And so the sideliners are delegated to freeze down on the tundra while the male play-by-play announcer and his hefty old gridiron warrior expert babble on comfortably up in the heated booth.

The most asinine task sideliners are required to carry out is to ask coaches, before the second half, what plans they have for the rest of the game. The coach who's ahead says he wants to keep up the intensity and avoid turnovers. The coach who's behind says he wants to get more physical and avoid turnovers. Back to the booth. And all the guys watching with their buddies laugh at the ditzy babes who ask such obvious stupid questions.

But the irony is that most sideline reporters –– whatever sport, whichever gender –– really have done their homework and really do know their stuff. Most of them are terribly overqualified for the assignment of being a human scroll. But, of course, whereas it has not been uncommon for years for newspapers to have women on the football beat, television wouldn't dare allow a female up into the booth to actually call the game.

The funny thing is –– as I was reminded when I heard Mary Carillo doing tennis commentary during the U.S. Open –– is that when you hear a female voice in tandem with a male voice, the contrast sets off both advantageously –– as TV stations always pair male and female anchors on the local news.

But in sports television, sideline reporters can only go side to side, never up. Their place is down on the field, with the cheerleaders.

Highly overqualified and highly attractive.
And if in Western New York, highly cold.

Lately

2011-09-16T23:07:00.000-07:00

If you've had a hard week, and just want some happy news, go ahead and skip down til you see the word Uppers.
I understand.

Downers:

*Toddlers and Tiaras: Have They Gone Too Far?
What?
No.
It's not like they're up there stripping, for Pete's sake.
They're living every girls dream: getting spray tanned and wearing padded bras.
What 3 year old wouldn't want that?
Is art imitating life, or is TLC making gads of money from this insane minority?

*JCPenney pulled this shirt, after people ~~complained~~ vociferously said, "Wha?"
Sometimes, it pays to say, "Wha?"

*And, the grand finale of Downers: Maggie Goes on a Diet!
Amazon listing this book for 4-8 year olds.
So, if you are looking for a good diet picture book for your 4 year old, call a nutritionist, then your pediatrician, then your therapist. Then give your 4 year old a hug, and don't buy this book.

Uppers:

*Scholastic responds to vociferous "Wha?"

Late last week, Scholastic contacted us to let us know that it was reducing its InSchool Marketing division—which produces teaching materials sponsored by corporations, nonprofits, and government agencies—by approximately 40%. And the overwhelming majority of cuts are coming from its corporate-sponsored materials. You can read more about it in today’s New York Times

This change brought to you by Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood.
They really rock.

*Grand Finale of Uppers: from Pig Tail Pals

There was a time when you were five years old,

and you woke up full of awesome.

You knew you were awesome.

You loved yourself.

You thought you were beautiful,
even with missing teeth and messy hair and mismatched socks inside your grubby sneakers.

You loved your body, and the things it could do.

You thought you were strong.

You knew you were smart.

Do you still have it?

I think you do.

Another Screen Free Week

2011-09-07T08:08:00.000-07:00

Last year at this time, I wrote about our screen-free week, where we cooked gourmet macaroni and cheese, and learned that Gouda is not a popular choice for three year olds.

We recently finished Screen Free Week 2011, where our trio unplugged from our devices and did other things instead.

This year's Week included:

Sesame's Street C is for Cooking, by Susan McQuillan M.S., R.D.

My Life in France by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme

Soar, Elinor! by Tami Lewis Brown

The Watcher by Jeanette Winter

The biggest discovery of this Week was in this book:

Turns out, the land of Oz has a princess.
No, not Dorothy.
Her name is Ozma. And she kicks arse.
(And, like all modern princesses, she has a facebook page.)

Summertime

2011-07-31T19:40:00.000-07:00

Last month we went to visit some very wonderful people in Ireland.

Dave and I haven't been over in nearly four years, and last we went Miss C was exactly 12 months. And she was that baby on the flight over. The one that you wish you weren't sitting behind or in front of or next to because of the nonstop crying. It was an overnight flight, and the first hour, the other travelers were so sweet, making smile faces at her and asking about how old was she? The second hour, there was a feigned indifference, like, If I pretend not to hear your child, then maybe I can actually tune her out and get some sleep. And the third and fourth and following hours? Just downright hostility. Which: I understand, and I'm sorry. I don't expect people to adore sharing their crammed space with vocal babies. But the strawberry gum and vodka I gave her just weren't working.

That experience made traveling over together this time all the more beats traveling with a 12 month old!
Every single part of traveling with a 4 year old I would do over and over again. Nonstop questions I can take far better than nonstop crying. And the questions began as we pulled out of the driveway in Rochester and continued as we drove across the border to Canada, to fly out of Toronto. You keep asking questions, I'll keep drinking coffee, and eventually, one of us will win. Either my responses will get too caffeinated and long-winded or your tongue will get tired of forming words.

"Why isn't the border patrol looking at me? Why did they ask you all the questions and not me? I know where we're going."
Just don't tell them where the drugs are, I said in my head.
And then spotted another Tim Horton's for a re-fill.

My favorite set of questions came as we prepared to go through security at the airport. Dave and I were in the zone: he removing his belt and hiking boots, me removing my sandals, earrings*, every stray bobby pin in my hair. Miss C stood back, looked over at the other line of people moving with ease through the metal detectors, and called out, "Why are you getting undressed? I don't want to take my pants off!"

I was bent over, holding a shoe and wallet in one hand, when I saw us from her perspective: getting naked right there in the airport.

What's that? Canadians don't strip to walk through security?
O Canada. How much you miss.

A line of bemused and fully clothed people watched as we walked barefoot through the detectors, though I only overheard one, who sort of whispered, "That seems quite unnecessary."
I agree, entirely. The problem is I've been trained this way, and I've gotten quite good at taking off rings and things in a matter of seconds flat.

Now, what would you have me do with this skill? Not use it?

I collected my bobby pins, shoved them into my pocket, and called to Miss C, who still hung back and clutched the waist of her pants.

Here I thought the cultural exchange would begin after we'd crossed the Atlantic!

We had a really stupendous week visiting, and the learning did indeed continue, as per demonstrated:
(in a conversation with my dad's cousin)

Me: Have you felt the effects of the recession at all?

Cousin: Of course, of course. At work, you know.

Me: A lot of people have been let go?

Cousin: That, but also the reduced pay, you know. Many people now have a salary decrease in order to pay off the national debt.

Me: Oh, really? So, you guys are paying that back huh? That's an interesting way to approach the problem.

To each their own!

(Now that I've indulged you in a tangent with no relation to this blog topic, how can I tie it all together?)

On our way back to Shannon Airport, with Miss C tearfully waving goodbye to each field and foal that we passed, Dave and I realized we hadn't packed enough snacks. Our goal whenever traveling with child is to always have enough snacks. It became clear then that there is a dearth of billboards on N69. "How are we supposed to know where to shop!" he quipped.

"How will we ever find Tesco without The Billboards!" I wailed.

We never did find Tesco. But we did survive to tell the tale.

Here's hoping your summer adventures are as exciting and informative.

*I don't really wear earrings since the ear-piercing accident of '87. But if I were wearing them, I would have been removing them and my shoes simultaneously.

Imagination Soup

2011-07-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

I'm guest posting over here at Melissa Taylor's Imagination Soup.
Judging by the content of this site, Ms. Taylor drinks a lot of coffee.

Chock full of ideas, a great spot to click around for inspiration.

Negotiations

2011-07-01T07:46:00.000-07:00

Miss C: Josh, pretend you're good.

Josh: No, I'm bad but you think I'm good.

Miss C:   Okay.

Josh:   Pretend you're a robot.

Miss C: Can I be a woman robot?

Josh:   No. Robots aren't people. They're metal.

Miss C: Can I not be metal?

Josh:   Fine. You can be made of animal skin.

Miss C:    Okay. Wait. I don't want to be made of animal skin. Can I be not a person but just have skin like a person?

Josh:   Can you just be a robot?

Miss C:    I'll just be a girl.

Josh:    Fine. You can have human skin.

Miss C:   Okay, I'll be a robot.

Josh:   Okay.

Miss C:   But then I turn into a woman and I have wings.

Josh:   But you're not bigger than me.

Miss C:   Of course not. But my wings are.

Josh:   Okay, but you don't know how to fly.

Miss C:   No, but I learn to fly. And also, my wings are not made out of metal.

Sensitive

2011-05-26T18:10:00.000-07:00

I'm in a waiting room at the dentist's. There is a circle of chairs, a TV on mute, and one other woman.
The woman and I chat on and off. She is waiting for her son, a 14 year old with many cavities, and some anxiety that began when a tornado touched down in New York State.
"I'd told him that tornadoes most certainly don't come to where we live. Wouldn't ya know it, next day, it's confirmed that one touched down here. He's been scared shitless ever since."

She takes the remote and unmutes the television. The newscaster describes a tornado in height, width, level of destruction, and velocity. Photos are shown, live footage slowly moves across piles of rubble. "This used to be a 3 story house. See here that it now is a pile of wood." I bite my cheeks, the woman sucks in her breath.

The reporter gets a gleam and says, "Now watch this."
Cut to a homemade video of a couple in their car as the tornado blows at them with speed and certainty, in agonizing force.
The sound of the car accelerating as they try to get beyond it.
The sound of her wimpering as she films with an unsteady hand.
Him clearing his throat repeatedly.
Her wimpers turning to pleas.

The woman in the waiting room turns to me, clucks her tongue. "And they wonder why kids are so nervous today, you know? Showing this stuff! As if we don't get it with the pile of a neighborhood, they have to show this."

I find myself nodding in agreement. "I wonder too," I say, "if it's desensitized us. Maybe we're so accustomed to seeing these images that we no longer feel..."

"Holy crap!" the woman points to the screen. "Have you seen this one. This is the one---watch this---that motor home right there---BOOM! Yup. He's not gonna make it."

The Good

2011-05-18T07:50:00.000-07:00

Nothing but goodness here.

Two bits:
1.From my friend Katie in Boston:
New website could boost body image in teen girls.

2.Books about Jane Goodall for the little ones:

The Watcher by Jeanette Winter
and
Me Jane by Patrick McDonnell

Review of the books by Steve Jenkins here.

The Bad and The Ugly

2011-05-18T07:49:00.000-07:00

Listening to the news this morning in the car, Miss C interrupted each report 3 seconds in with a list of questions:

What is a levee?
What is a loss?
Will the farmers be okay if the losses keep...mounting?
What is mounting?
Why are the watermelons exploding?

As tired as I am of all things Wizard of Oz, I turned on the soundtrack at the end of the exploding watermelon story, before we got more details about Strauss-Kahn.

There is something strange going on with reporting on this story.
Yes, it is in the early stages.
Yes, more details emerge every hour.
But the radio report I heard this morning was odd.
You know how it is said that if you answer the phone smiling, the person on the other end can hear it?
This is what I hear, intermittently, as reporters comment on this story. There are details thrown in, things that seem so irrelevant to the allegation that a 32 year old woman, a single mother, was a attacked as she tried to do her job.
It seems the gravity of sexual assault is getting old, boring, and we need to spice it up.

Australian author Melinda Tankard Reist is apparently seeing a similar trend: "Not a tale of a charmer and a sexy French maid."

After looking through some of Melinda's writing, I'm including this post of hers below. Because all things are related, and as we sexualize young girls, turn women into sexy little girls, it makes sense that reporting on sexual assault will be, world-wide, littered with winks and smirks.

How come Brad Pitt is never asked to pose as a little boy with a firetruck?

Scholastic...Smooth, Just like Silk

2011-05-16T17:06:00.000-07:00

If you grew up in the US, or if you have a child in school here, then you know all about the Scholastic Book Order form.

The day the books are delivered in the classroom is like Christmas, with the teacher calling out the name of the student like The Wizard summoning the Lion for courage.
Except you'd walk back to your desk with a shiny copy of the latest sad story by Katherine Paterson.
And then bury your nose in the crease and smell that new book smell.

Orrr, you would wait to see what your sister ordered because it wasn't your turn and that's okay.

Or, you just went to the library for your hit of Beverly Cleary.

Anyway, however you got your Scholastic books: first hand, handed down, or through peeping over the shoulder of the student who sat in front of you, they've been around awhile.

In theory, the notion of a flyer going home to advertise books is awesome. Kids looking at a catalog of books, and talking with friends about their favorites is better than them comparing which push-up bra they'll pick when they get to 2nd grade. But in practice, Scholastic has something that detracts form this format. It's called Scholastic InSchool. From their website:

In schools, Scholastic provides partners with integrated communications and education campaigns that reach educators, students, and families. Scholastic InSchool develops and distributes curriculum connected, free educational programs, including behavioral change, pro-social, cause marketing, brand awareness, and consumer loyalty programs, with support from corporations, organizations, and government agencies. From initiatives like the recent 2010 Census In Schools: It's About Us education initiative to health and civic responsibility programs, Scholastic InSchool and our partners provide valuable, free materials for schools, educators, students and families throughout the U.S.

Translation: Scholastic advertises for Disney, McDonald's, Cartoon Network, SunnyD, Claritin, and most recently, the American Coal Foundation.

The Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood, which works to get corporate advertising out of schools, has raised awareness about the connection between Scholastic and it's clients. Why is this necessary?

According to the Executive Director of the American Coal Foundation, hiring Scholastic allowed ACF to dramatically increase its presence in schools—from about 7,000 to 70,000 classrooms. “Four out of five parents know and trust the Scholastic brand,” she explained.

Awesome! I'm going to think of something strange and inappropriate to market to young children, and then partner with Scholastic InSchool. I have so many ideas.

But there is good news. Activism works!

Late Friday, Scholastic, the world’s largest educational publisher, announced that it would immediately stop distributing “The United States of Energy,” a controversial fourth grade curriculum paid for by the American Coal Foundation.

So while your 4th grader may have already told you in very descriptive language why Sunny D is the most satisfying and nutritious beverage available (and so so pretty as a river )

if you want them to extol the benefits of coal, you're going to have to teach them on your own.

Hosanna

2011-05-05T11:09:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, tucking Miss C in, she made an announcement: "There are three people that I don't like."

She paused until she had our attention, and held up three fingers.

"The Wicked Witch of the West, the Wicked Witch of the East, and....Hosanna. Bim. Lobbem."

She said the last one with a question mark, either because she knows that's not quite the name, or because she's not sure about if she should not like him.

"Osama bin Laden?" I ask, just to be sure there's not a new student in her class.

"Yes, that one."

Earlier that day, we'd been having breakfast when my mom called, and it was a brief conversation, but when I got off the phone, Miss C had questions:

Why does Nana want us to listen to the news?
Who is...that man?
What happened to him?
What did he do?

I don't know how other parents have discussed this with their kids, especially when their kid wants to know everything. How do you explain this and this and the past 10 years in between to a four year old?

In that moment, I told Miss C that this was a person who had hurt other people, and he'd just been captured.

What did he do to hurt other people?
Why did he do that?
Who captured him?
Where is he now?
Was he bad?
Did he have some goodness?
Will he become good?
Can I see a picture of him?

I pulled up a photograph of him on the computer. She looked at the bearded face and said, "But! He doesn't look bad at all!"

And then more questions:

Do you think he will become kind?
Do you think he had some kindness?
Was he kind to some people, or did he hurt everyone?

This news comes on the heels of many weeks spent listening to the soundtrack of The Wizard of Oz, and us reading her her favorite sections of the book over and over again.
Her initial questions about the Wicked Witches were along the same lines. She seemed certain that given enough time and a good sequel, the Wicked Witches would shape up and be UnWicked.

Thus, Dave told her about prequels, specifically Wicked, which he has read, but I have not.
He told her that perhaps we only knew one part of their story.
And that Glinda was a biatch in high school.

So some actual news trickles into her world and how she fits it all together looks like this:

People who aren't green are generally nice.
People who are green might be prone to being unkind, but had a hard time in high school.
Classifying situations without green people makes much less sense.

A Voluntary Pledge: A Story

2011-04-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

My husband Dave works for a company that is located on a busy road.
Not a wide road, only two lanes, but a busy one.

Across from his company, there is a grocery store, which includes a cafe, sushi counter, sandwich shop, and salad bar.

To get from Work to Grocery Store, employees must cross this busy road.
There are hundreds of employees, and so at any given time during the day, you can see handfuls of them jogging across the road to go grab a cup of coffee, or a sub, or sushi.

When I say jogging, I should also say, sprinting. Because although it is a direct route, the cars going down the street do not slow down.

A pedestrian cross was installed. And still the cars did not slow down.

A yellow BE CAREFUL sign was installed.

And the cars did not slow down.

I have both crossed this road as a pedestrian (and nearly been hit), and driven this road (and nearly hit someone).

When I was nearly hit, I was infuriated that the driver was not paying attention enough to see me. The nerve!

But, when I nearly hit someone, I saw that this particular spot in the road sort of popped up.
And that while I respond quickly to traffic lights or stop signs, it took me another 1/2 second to register the BE CAREFUL sign, mixed in with the many worker bees that covered the sidewalk on both sides of the road. Be Careful? What should I Be Care....oh look! Someone's on my windshield.

I also realized that while STOP grabs my attention, BE CAREFUL feels more like a suggestion.
The yellow sign feels like, Would You Please Take A Moment And Look Around You, Kindly?
Versus, CUT THAT SHIT OUT.

This was not a pseudo problem, not a mere annoyance. Three employees were struck by vehicles this past year, and sustained injuries.

A traffic light was installed. And guess what? When the light is red, cars stop.
No one has been struck by a car since the installation.
There is no more confusion, or sprinting across the road while trying not to slosh your latte.

I tell this story here because in reading this article in the NY Times, I read this sentence:

Since 2006, 17 major corporations — including General Mills, McDonald’s, Pepsi, Coca-Cola and Burger King — have taken a voluntary pledge to reduce marketing of their least nutritious brands to children, an effort they updated last year to include marketing on mobile devices.

I take a voluntary pledge to drive cautiously every time I get in my car.
But, sometimes I fail.

When I've been pulled over for the occasional infraction, I don't say, "But I took a pledge! Didn't you see the agreement that I wrote up this morning that I signed myself? I said I would try! Awwww man! Why you always on me!"

People who run corporations are people. Some of them are impeccable drivers, and some of them are not. When the rule is the same for everyone, regardless of whether they've made the Girl Scout's Promise, both the consumer and the company are protected. In a way that is fair, and universally understood.

Bossypants

2011-04-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

I meant to pick this book up and read the back cover, and then put it back down and perhaps add it to the goodreads list, but then I went ahead and bought it and have been laughing all night.

But, if you are The Anonymous who hates SNL and feel that every time you have to read or see something redeeming about that show that it kills you, STOP.

I do not want to kill you. I don't.

If you do not have that sensitivity (and I'm not mocking sensitivity, because do you know what I'm sensitive about? Velvet. I actually feel like I am going to die when I touch it, and sometimes my siblings would throw a velvet blanket on top of me as behavior deterrent, and it worked), then risk reading on:

Let's talk about the hair. Why do I call it 'yellow' hair and not 'blond' hair? Because I'm pretty sure everybody calls my hair 'brown.' When I read fairy tales to my daughter I always change the word 'blond' to 'yellow,' because I don't want her to think that blond hair is somehow better.

My daughter has a reversible doll: Sleeping Beauty on one side and Snow White on the other. I would always set it on her bed with the Snow White side out and she would toddle up and flip the skirt over to Sleeping Beauty. I would flip it back and say, 'Snow White is so pretty.' She would yell, 'No!' and flip it back. I did this experiment so frequently and consistently that I should have applied for government funding. The result was always the same. When I asked her why she didn't like Snow White, she told me, 'I don't like her hair.' Not even three years old, she knew that yellow hair is king. And, let's admit it, yellow hair does have magic powers. You could put a blond wig on a hot-water heater and some dude would try to f&@k* it. Snow White is better looking. I hate to stir up trouble among the princesses, but take away the hair and Sleeping Beauty is actually a little beat.

* (I herein omit the full word because it's Easter, and writing fuck on Easter just seems wrong.)

Not My Life

2011-04-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

My parents have lived on the same block in the city of Rochester for centuries.
Eons.
They are a fixture, and can tell you who lived where, and when, and how many kids they had, and what color the house used to be, and what suburb the family moved to for better schools.

On their block, one such house belonged to a family with 6 kids, 2 parents, and many pets.
When that family moved out, a couple moved in.

Each Halloween, the couple would take photos of the neighborhood kids that came collecting candy, and one year they hung a poster on their front walk with 10 years of evidence of my terrible costumes.
I had no idea that I dressed as a waitress 3 years in a row, and can only guess that by the time I got to our attic chest of costume pieces, all the good stuff had been taken.
The 4th year I had a breakthrough and managed to put together some semblance of Amelia Bedilia. Which looks just like a waitress, but with a nametag.
Labels do make a difference.

In December of last year, the husband, Richard Young, passed away.
A documentary he had been working on, which explores the worldwide abuse of children through the sex trade and underage labor practices, will be shown May 1 in Rochester at The George Eastman House.

A quote about the film:

Good films stir emotions and may even spur filmgoers to action. In this case, they will feel anger toward the abusers and deep empathy for the abused and will, hopefully, leave the theater richly, if painfully, informed and deeply moved.

If you are local, or local-ish, and interested in attending, you can read more here.

If you are not local, but are interested in a powerful look at a modern slave trade, here's the trailer:

Product Placement

2011-04-17T18:59:00.000-07:00

Question: When you are on youtube, are you capable of watching one video, the one thing you went there to see?
Or do you click on one of the links on the side, until you find you are watching a video of someone else's cat make strangely human noises? In the nation of Georgia?

If you have self-control, congratulations. Please send me some.

So I am listening to this song, intentionally, on youtube.
And after listening to it, I look over to the list of profiled music videos, and see Avril Lavigne's What the Hell?
And I think, What the hell, and click on it.

Initially, I wondered What the Hell! Because it had nothing in common with the song I'd just listened to. Except that Avett and Avril....what the. Heck.
The video has cr-a-zy product placement: Sony tv, computer, phone, Converse sneaker line-up, Avril's perfume, her clothing line. You must see it now, right? Video and product placement breakdown here.

It's not unlike Britney's video Hold It Against Me, and if the trend continues, it looks like every new pop video done by a female will have them dousing their body with perfume before turning on their Sony product.

Which makes the Avett Brothers video even more salient.

J.Crew

2011-04-13T13:57:00.000-07:00

President of J. Crew is criticized for running this photograph of her son:

Full article by Brett Michael Dykes here.

Dermatology, Then and Now.

2011-04-06T08:06:00.001-07:00

I just finished Jane Eyre yesterday, and it has instilled in me the desire to address everyone I encounter as Dear Reader.
As in, Dear Reader, do you believe Mr. Rochester frightens me? If you do, you know me not!

Anyway, not resisting that urge, dear reader, I will tell you this: I have whiled many an hour in the office of various dermatologists. There was the one in South Dakota when I had that rash, which turned out not to be a rash at all, but scabies, contracted from cuddling with too many stray dogs. That dermatologist, dear reader, would not step past the door, and placed a prescription for very strong drugs on the counter, as I stood near a window ledge, rubbing my back vigorously against it for some relief.
I don't believe he even shook my hand.

Did you know that when you have scabies, someone has to administer a cream on your body to the places you cannot reach, such as your middle back?
And did you know, that when you have just moved somewhere and know each acquaintance about 10 days, it is a great test of humanity to find a person to do this chore? To say, "Hi, I have parasites crawling under my skin, and they are at this moment burrowing tunnels and laying eggs. Oh, and it's highly contagious! Would you be a love and slather this on my back?"

The infrequent cases aside, I began my visits and continue them because I am a freckled person. And sometimes my freckles decide they would rather test the boundaries of their lot in life, and change form.
Sometimes a freckle begins life shaped like Ireland, then revolts and becomes Nigeria in too short a time.

And I seek the dermatologist, and sit there while uprising freckles are examined, and answer questions like, "Have you ever had a blistering sunburn?"

Hasn't everybody? Isn't that how freckled people tan? Because after the blisters have finally burst and scarred, there is one heck of an afterglow.

Having seen dermatologists over much time and in every location in which I've lived, I have noticed a marked change in what is hanging on the walls and set upon the tables.
My first visit, I recall, the waiting room had a poster with photographs of moles that had changed shape or color.
Pertinent information.

This week, upon visiting, there is no trace of such pertinent information. There is however, many a pamphlet letting me know that when this aging process becomes so incredibly uncomfortable, there is relief, such as fillers, and the phantom promise that some man may nuzzle my cheek after I avail myself to such injections.
There are pamphlets letting me know that if I am finally dissatisfied with the length of my lashes, well, Brook Shields can help me with that.

Strangely, the desire arises to thrust my back against some protruding ledge and scratch until there is relief. Though I swear I haven't cuddled a stray dog in years.

Sarah Haskins on DPs

2011-04-06T08:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Brooke for pointing this out.

He Really Signed His Rights Away

2011-03-29T08:08:00.000-07:00

An advertising agency is being criticized for using the likeness of a NYC firefighter in an advertisement.
The ad was created for the company's client, law firm Worby Groner Edelman & Napoli Bern.
Say that three times fast.

The firefighter has objected, stating that he joined the fire department in 2004.
So while he may have been there on 9/11/04, he was not there on the other 9/11.

He was holding a helmet in the original photo, but with a magic eraser, he ends up holding a photo of the crumbling twin towers.

The spokesperson for the advertising agency Barker/DZP, before making a heart-felt apology, slipped and stated that the action was legal because the firefighter "really signed his rights away."

(Full article here.)

Disney School of Acting

2011-03-06T14:30:00.000-08:00

Key Disney Channel acting skills (such as entering on a scooter) provided here from Miley Cyrus on Saturday Night Live.

Reading

2011-03-03T21:04:00.000-08:00

I'm so excited for Outdoor Reading Weather to arrive that today I pulled Miss C's small wooden bench from our garage and set it on the dry patch of our drive, next to a pile of blackened icy snow.
Isn't this how the law of attraction works? Your pretend that it's not still freezing? Or something?
We made it through three books, by which point she had climbed onto my lap, then turned and to me and said, "Please. Can we go back inside now? It so much warmer reading not in all this ice."

Here's what's on our bookshelf this week:

The Arabian Nights by Wafa' Tarnowska

Seven Brave Women by Betsy Hearne

Goldie and the Three Bears by Diane Stanley

Elizabeti's Doll by Stephanie Stuve-Bodeen

Signed, Abiah Rose by Diane Browning.

What stories are keeping you warm until March 20?

Hummus, Homicide, Pringles

2011-02-20T19:10:00.000-08:00

Reading this, I passed it to Dave, who read it, and passed it back to me.

"We live in a very strange world," he said.

Action (iv)

2011-02-15T07:40:00.000-08:00

This action takes 7 seconds. I timed it.

The strangeness of the situation still strikes me.

Imagine coming from gastric bypass surgery, or an appendectomy, or your scheduled lobotomy, and waiting for a post-op on how things went, and then having your surgeon end the update with, "Also, don't forget to sign up for free coupons to Home Depot. Here's your Home Depot jacket. It's waterproof, with thermal pockets."

Let's see if we can take 17 unrelated things and throw them together in the maternity ward. Because entering parenthood is not confusing enough.

The hospital where I had Miss C, along with every hospital in this area, has signed on to this deal. And though I had a good experience there, I also brought a doula with me. She was sort of like a bouncer. She ran interference, talked with the staff, brought me juice, and helped Dave to help me. At one point, in the thick of things, I was sitting buck naked on a giant exercise ball, and the door to the delivery room flew open and in walked a medical student. Nothing against medical students, because many of them become doctors that help people. Except this guy was so excited. To see a natural childbirth. That he just couldn't stop talking about it to me. In a loud and enthusiastic voice.

"Good job you're doing great look at you go what a good job lookin' good you're looking goooooood!"

Since the power of speech had left me back at 8 centimeters, I just held on as he bobbed from side to side, like a cheerleader on speed.

My doula was swift, got in my face and asked, "Do you want him in here?"

I shook my head, and the happy man was escorted out. Never to return.

I think she is the one who should help escort Disney out, gently but firmly.

Disney Looking Into the Cradle for Customers

2011-02-08T10:58:00.000-08:00

The chief executive of Disney is super psyched about an extra vulnerable market: newborns!
And the women who've just expelled them from their body!

"If ever there was an opportunity for a trusted brand to enter a market and provide a better product and experience, it’s this," said Robert Iger, chief executive of Disney. "I’m extremely excited about it."

Coming soon to a maternity ward near you:

Late last month, the company quietly began pressing its newest priority, Disney Baby, in 580 maternity hospitals in the United States. A representative visits a new mother and offers a free Disney Cuddly Bodysuit, a variation of the classic Onesie.

The article is just rich, including mention of the problem that kids don't really get exposed to Disney until preschool, and also, a shout out to those few parents who object to stealth marketing.
Because the ideal consumer is one who believes there is no choice.

One mother commented,

"It surprised me that Disney was in there promoting something right as the baby was born, but we figured as new parents we weren’t in a position to turn free things down."

I know, I know: this is the system within which we live.

Still, I can't help but idealize: what if, rather than visiting brand new mothers with ever more Disney Products, they instead came by with a warm water wash for your ripped vagina?

Or, some of those bulky pillow-pads to absorb all the blood?

At least a card that said, "Well done, uterus. We're so glad to have another customer coming our way. Keep up the good work!"

The Aging 8 Year Old

2011-01-27T18:36:00.000-08:00

Has your tween been looking a little, well, old lately?

Do you look at her across the breakfast table and wish she'd do something to prevent the wrinkles that will be here any minute?

Or, do you gaze at her youthful complexion and wish there were a product to help her preserve that smooth countenance?

Well, fear not. Walmart is here.

The Geo-Girl beauty line will be in stores this February. It is reported to be:

aimed at the 'tween' market of 8-12 year olds, and will include blusher, mascara, face shimmer and lipstick that is 'mother approved', as well as anti aging products.

That's anti-aging products, in case you missed the bold print.

Hopefully, they'll have another line that targets the pre-tween. No need to leave 3-7 year olds out in the cold. They've got their face to think about too, you know.

Lot's Wife.

2011-01-26T09:31:00.000-08:00

Found this while engaging in serious research and study (here).

I bet Dinah knew her name.

Cinderella Ate My Daughter (too)

2011-01-26T09:30:00.000-08:00

It's here.

The author will be doing readings from Connecticut to California.
Check here for locations and times.

Etsy

2011-01-24T08:02:00.000-08:00

I know people who make things, and the way they make things is so much better than the way I make things. And so mostly, I leave the making to them.

My friend Ali made this Rapunzel pillow for C:

And my friend Luc made this Rapunzel notebook:

C loves both of these, and they've sparked some conversations about why one Rapunzel has red hair but the other has yellow.

Her thoughts on this have evolved:

"Maybe the red-hair girl is really Ariel, and she is stuck in a tower?"

to

"Maybe they are both Rapunzel, but different Rapunzels. Like one is from New Jersey."

She's settled on the last line of reasoning for now, but won't tell me which one is from New Jersey.

If you make things, or know someone who does, feel free to leave a link to their site in the comments.

Meanwhile, I will just keep melting bars of chocolate and drinking them: my solemn pledge until the temperature rises above 0.

Is Pink Necessary?

2011-01-23T10:43:00.000-08:00

This morning, while it was 10 degrees outside, Dave and I sat inside dividing up the New York Times between us. Also, I melted two bars of Cadbury Royal Dark Chocolate and made the real deal drinking chocolate. Because when it's 10 degrees, the powdered stuff won't do. I went right to the book review, where Annie Murphy Paul reviews Peggy Orenstein's new book Cinderella Ate My Daughter.

Miss C skipped in and climbed onto my lap. She studied the photograph which accompanies that review, and then asked, "Is that a Barbie? Or, a real live person?"

Jury's out on that one.

Disney Princesses Get Earthy

2011-01-20T07:29:00.000-08:00

I was running through mecca two days ago to grab some of C's favorite cereal, the kind that if we don't have to start the day, we might as well just throw in the towel and go back to bed because the wailing and gnashing that ensue....it's like me when we're out of coffee.

With the box of delicious tucked under my arm, I felt powerful and fast and did a turbo run down a side aisle, one lined with books and magazines and more books, and then I was not moving anymore because there were all these books! And I needed to look at them and read the back covers.
I think this might be called Grocery Store ADD. And I certainly have it.

After I'd thoroughly familiarized myself with the girl who kicked nests and had tattoos and played with fire, I remembered that this was supposed to be a quick trip. A two-minute run to get one thing. I was in a hurry, I reminded myself. But the children's books were right next to me and when I glanced at those, I was made aware of the next holiday approaching. Valentine's Day! Because each book had some sort of heart or pink and red or chocolate theme tied in.

The rack:

There was the typical fare:

Wherein Cinderella, on her first anniversary with the prince, is given a sapphire ring

but then she loses it (and much trembling and weeping ensues)

but then she finds it! and the prince gives her diamond earrings too, and then they have a massive ball:

But what caught my attention, on the other side of the rack, was this one:

Wherein the princesses are all planting trees and picking up litter and conserving water and saving electricity and tending to animals and eating from their gardens and making their own clothes.
And it's printed on recycled paper.

They're practically composting and eating their own placentas!

What's up Disney, this is tripping me out.

That Swimsuit Becomes You

2011-01-16T19:31:00.000-08:00

I grabbed this book at the library while I was checking out:

Like an impulse buy, except with a lower interest rate.
It was filed under "New NonFiction" right next to The Bellyfat Cure.

I'm not far enough in to give My Two Cents on it yet, but there is a study cited that I thought was interesting.

It was run by social psychologist Barbara Fredrickson and explored self-objectification.
The author of the Girls on the Edge, Dr. Leonard Sax, describes it as such:

Dr. Fredrickson and her colleagues recruited college men and women, then randomly assigned each volunteer to wear either a bulky sweater or swimsuit. The men wore swim trunks, and the women wore one-piece bathing suits. Each volunteer was sitting in a dressing room: no windows, no observers. Each volunteer was then asked to take a math quiz while sitting in the dressing room. Fredrickson and her team then compared how women wearing swimsuits performed on the quiz compared with women who were wearing bulky sweaters, and likewise for the men.

The results?

Men can rock math tests in swim wear, and even do slightly better than men wearing frumpy sweaters.

Women can rock math tests in frumpy sweaters, but do waaaaaaay worse while wearing a swimsuit.

Sax goes on

[Fredrickson] found that these women were objectifying themselves. Just wearing a swimsuit made these young women focus on their own bodies as objects to be evaluated and rated.

So the word is, if your daughter is off to school in a midriff shirt and JUICY pants, "at some level she's going to be thinking about, analyzing, and judging her own body when she ought to be thinking about geometry or Spanish grammar." Or when she ought to be thinking about how her mama gonna whoop her when I find out she took my JUICY pants! Give me those.

Now, where did I put that oversized reindeer sweater Miss C got for Christmas? I think I'm going to order a few more, sizes 4 Toddler through 18 I Hate My Mom.

So Tan

2011-01-10T18:53:00.000-08:00

I was 16 when a classmate asked me a very important question: Where was I going to go tanning in order to get ready for prom?
Since I thought he was joking, I told him I'd be rolling around in the snowbanks outside my home to give my skin a nice rosy glow.

But he was serious, and even told me where he'd be tanning.

And I was all, "No you aren't."

Yes he was. And so were a lot of other guys and girls in my class.

To get ready for prom.

My skin comes in two shades: Pasty, and Sun Poisoned Sienna, and in my youth I alternated between these. I'd get red and blistered, then the burn would peel off and I'd be Pasty again, with some fine new freckles. I've since settled into a more permanent Pasty, protected with slabs of SPF 250.

But when I was 16, and sir asked me where I'd be tanning, I began to notice how many of my classmates were glowing.
In January.
In Upstate New York.

Word on the street is that this is still popular.
I know this because I am back in Upstate New York.
In January.
And people are still glowing.
Something is not right here.

This NYT article reports:

Indoor tanning, it seems, has become in many families a mother-daughter bonding ritual, like shopping or going to the hairdresser.

Why not just roll around in a snow bank?
Rosy glow, mood enhancing, and free.

Just sayin.

(Thanks Kristi, for pointing this one out.)

The Feminist Breeder

2011-01-10T18:44:00.000-08:00

Jill Lupescu wrote a guest post over at The Feminist Breeder, titled 'Why Disney Princesses Should Come With Warning Labels.'

Christmas Reading

2010-12-27T18:10:00.000-08:00

As we prepared for Christmas, C had been reading Three Wise Women, by Mary Hoffman.

Then, at my family gift exchange, where last year I received car slippers that had working headlights, and were 2 sizes too big, this year the Christmas Angel took pity on me and my brother's girlfriend drew my name. She gave me this book:

Have you read it? One review:

It is tempting to say that The Red Tent is what the Bible would be like if it had been written by women...

It's keeping me company on this cold winter night, along with my cozy car slippers.

That Smell.

2010-12-21T19:55:00.000-08:00

In the past week, Miss C has made a few requests:

Tuesday: "For Christmas, I want Jesus, the kind that won't break."

Thursday: "For Christmas, I want to celebrate chanukah, so we can eat those pancakes, and light things."

The Menorah trumps the Advent Wreath by a ratio of 2:1. It's simple math. More lighting things equals better. Add in a non-breakable Jesus and you've got yourself a good time.

C has yet to say, "For Christmas I want a Red Rider BB gun with a compass and a thing which tells time." But, I credit myself with nothing because it's only a matter of time before she catches on that most kids ask for goods other than non-breakable nativity figures and new religion for Christmas. Tick tock.

In the spirit of the season, today we went to the mall, and at the end of a very short errand, dropped into a toy store where C played with some Papo figurines, and also some rabbits that wear clothes and live in a house. Whenever we're in a shop, bookstore, anywhere with toys for sale, she quickly drops to the floor and begins to play. Today was no different, except that this store was packed. So crowded that Miss C eventually dropped the well-dressed rabbits and began to observe all the adults around her. She watched people pull things off shelves, take them up to the cashier, pay money for them, and then walk out. She turned to me with her mouth ajar, and said, "Is this the kind of place where you buy things?" Apparently, she thought this mall place was more like a museum of play, where you come in, visit the rabbits, eat a soft pretzel, and go home.

We bid the rabbits good eve, headed out into the snow, and as the blast of air hit us, C asked, "So, what was that smell in there?" And since I couldn't quite explain that it was Yankee Candle mixed with Perfume Hut mixed with Auntie Anne mixed with Abercrombie cologne, I told her that malls have a lot of different smells in them.

"That mall," she concluded, "wears too much perfume."

Ambient aroma: simplified.

Brand-Smart Child

2010-12-21T19:54:00.000-08:00

“I want a hamburger” becomes “I want a Happy Meal.” “Can I get a new doll?” becomes “I need the Twilight Barbie.” Don’t look now, but preschoolers know their labels. Even 3-year-olds recognize kid-brand logos and products, according to recent research."

Has your kid recited a commercial to you yet? In order to get you to buy IT?

This super brief article from Working Mother explains how we can grow a consumer savvy kid amidst targeted advertising.

Teeny Tiny Dancer

2010-12-14T20:33:00.000-08:00

Two stories:

1. Back in September, I signed Miss C up for a weekly dance class for 3 year olds. The class is held within walking distance of our home, at a neighborhood recreation center that hosts all sorts of programs for kids. Several parents had recommended this class, and when C asked to go, I said, "Sure."

I read over the program description before the first class, and then we headed over to the rec center. Miss C was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. We entered the gymnasium turned dance class and were swept into a flood of pink tutus, pink leotards, and pink tights. C immediately took off her sneakers and socks and began running laps around the gym, barefoot. Standard procedure.

During the 40 minute class, I sat in the hallway with a book, and intermittently talked with a few other parents. From these sources, I learned that pink is the standard ballet color. And that the teacher prefers all pink attire. And no barrettes, just pink rubber bands. Because how can you head-butt your opponent ballerina if you're wearing metal hair accessories? It just makes sense.

Since the teacher prefers pink, but does not require it, and since it was a class for 3 year olds and not auditions for the Moscow Ballet, I saw no need to run out and buy all pink gear. I did dig into our pile of hand-me-downs and found a blue leotard and some red tights. And old white tap shoes. So, Miss C shows up each week looking like a 4th of July explosion. Proudest American dancer in the U. S. of A.

On the third week of class, C and I went into the public restroom for a quick visit. She was still in a stall, and I was washing my hands when the dance instructor came over to wash her hands. We said hello, and then she headed out, while I leaned against the wall to wait for C. It was loud, with toilets flushing and water running and the hand dryers blasting, so when another mother, also waiting for her child, leaned toward me and commented, it took me a few minutes to process what she said. Or, maybe I heard her perfectly but just went into immediate denial.
She had her hand to her mouth to indicate the confidential nature of her comment (you know, the kind you make to strangers in public bathrooms) and said, "Is it just me, or is it strange that all the instructors are overweight?"

At that moment, both our girls exited their stalls and I ushered C to the sink and began doing all sorts of things for her that she can do for herself. Like turning on the faucets, pumping the soap. And then dance class began and I dug my nose into my book.

I didn't read because I was so distracted. Did I hear her correctly? Is this what dance culture is about? I was disturbed by both her comment and my silence. The mother sat across from me in the hallway, and as I avoided eye contact with her, I imagined going over to ask her, "Did you say it was strange that the dance teachers are overweight? Or did you say it's strange that they are over eight?"

2. NYT critic Alastair Macaulay reviewed a recent performance of the Nutcracker by singling out a dancer for being overweight. He wrote:

Jennifer Wringer, as the Sugar Plum Fairy, looked as if she'd eaten one sugar plum too many.

Macaulay has been roasted since writing this, and he's responded by pointing out that no one minded when he called a male dancer overweight:

Fat, apparently, is not so much a feminist issue as a sexist one.

In this interview, Jennifer Ringer responds. (The actual interview begins at 2:53):

Perhaps I don't know enough about the world of dance, but I must say that at this point, I'm feeling a little more open toward Fencing for Four Year Olds. Or perhaps, Gladiator Preschoolers. Something with a little heart, where all the instructors are hopefully, over eight.

This Face.

2010-12-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

From fourfour.typepad.com.

Not Awesome

2010-12-06T07:45:00.000-08:00

Oh Reality TV...do you remember MTV's Real World?
Where there were some likable people? Along with Puck?
And we got to watch them, in Trumanville style, form bonds and argue, and hock loogies?

I've been away from reality TV for some time now, except for that episode of Hoarders I watched with Dave a few weeks back just to let him know that a few used teacups lying about? At least they're not 4 month old rotting pumpkins.

Anyway, here's a show about how important it is to have the perfect body and face on your wedding day. Perfection as defined by the re-imaged and computer created model.

On this show, women compete to win the prize of plastic surgery in order to fulfill the dream of the perfect wedding.
According to the show's description:

contestants who are voted off risk walking away with nothing and losing their chance to be the perfect bride.

Because, you only get one chance to be the perfect bride! And if you screw up, none of those life-long vows you mutter will matter one iota.

Can you imagine if they recruited the women for this show, and then instead of filming them fight each other for 4 months, surprised them with a Self Love Boot Camp? And they all won?

A girl can dream.

(Thanks to Ariel for sending this on.)

A is for Awesome

2010-12-04T14:46:00.000-08:00

Someone turned 4 last month, and since July she has been asking for an ant farm.

This request began one morning when C woke up and told me, "I just dreamed about an ant. I want an ant, I want to have my very own ant."

That day, and throughout the next week, every time C saw an ant she dropped to the ground, plastered her cheek to the pavement, and declared that this just might be her ant. She would wiggle along the ground, lifting her cheek only occasionally, and follow the crooked line of the ant, telling me that she should bring this one home "and take her to bed and snuggle her and love her and eat pancakes with her."

While I'm all for extending the love in our home, I'm not in favor of tucking Miss C into bed with a dozen ants each night. This really, really, upset her, and she took it to be a "no" along the lines of refusing her food and water, because bringing an ant home, she informed me, was not something she wanted. It was something she needed. And the ant needed it too, couldn't I tell by just watching how quickly they scurried away from her fingers as they tried to give tiny little ant hugs?

About a week after The Ant Dream, I was pulling C around our neighborhood in a wagon, and she suddenly began shouting, "AN ANT! AN ANT! MY ANT!" She had been doing this, ant spotting, as though finding an ant on the ground in mid-July might be akin to spotting a giraffe wandering the horizon of our backyard. A rare treat. So, I didn't turn around, but said, "Mm-hmm," and kept pulling. Her cries grew more insistent and frenzied, but the wagon was heavy and I had momentum on my side. Starting up a wagon pull from scratch requires a lot more than continuous motion provides, so I wasn't about to sacrifice the roll we had going for an ant, even her ant. So, she bailed, leapt out of the moving vehicle and darted toward the middle of the road where she assumed the plastered position. Next to this:

Now that's an ant I can handle. I will admit that I didn't let her take the ant right away. I thought maybe some other ant-addicted kid had dropped it and would be scouring the streets, moaning and weeping for the beloved single antennae creature. We stopped by the ant area later in the day, and the ant was still there, waiting patiently, with some tire tread marks over it. She scooped it up, brought her ant home, bathed it, cuddled it, and fed it pancakes the next morning. And every night, I'd tuck her in, next to the snuggly plastic ant.

As November approached, the Mr. and I knew that we'd be getting C an ant farm so she could bring real live ants of the world into our home. (Or, as a friend suggested, we could have just sprinkled sugar along our countertops and let the magic happen. Cheaper, I suppose.) We ordered the ant farm, but it came sans ants. Being late fall, there was nary an ant in sight, so we placed an ant order and waited. ( I do not recommend having your kid open an ant farm on their birthday only to tell them, 'The ants will arrive in 5-8 business days.')

5 business days later, it was a balmy Saturday afternoon and C and I were outside chalking when the mailwoman arrived. (When I write that word, mailwoman, Blogger underlines it in red, as a mistake or misspell, but not when I write 'mailman.' So how does one call their female postal employee?) Our mail carrier, deliverer of letters and all things wonderful, as well as holder of bills and other unpleasant surprises, cautiously approached our house. I assured her that The Beast was inside, our Boxer who would viciously kill you with slobber and love were he given any opportunity. She smiled a rather distrusting smile, the kind that you give to people who think their pets are just fine despite any evidence to the contrary, like the Turner and Hooch type things hanging from his mouth. And she deposited not one, but two packages into our mailbox. We opened the big package and it was a beautiful book from my friend Katie.

The book is an alphabet tour of amazing women. A is for Ameila Earhart, B is for Babe Didrikson Zaharias, C for Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, D for Dolores Huerta. The biographies are one page apiece with beautiful mixed-media illustrations. I love this book because I get to learn about living women I probably should have heard of, but have not, such as Maya Lin, who designed the Vitenam Veterans Memorial.

Of Nawal El Sadaawi the text reads,

When Nawal was born in Egypt, the births of boys were celebrated but the births of girls were mourned.

It goes on to quote her beautiful writing,

"Nothing is more perilous than truth in a world that lies."

C and I sat there, chalk aside, reading the book and looking at the pictures. After a long while, we got up and opened the second, smaller package, pulling out the vial of ants.
And the ants? They're just fine.

Reel Grrls

2010-11-28T10:26:00.000-08:00

Reel Grrls is an after-school program in Seattle, Washington that teaches media literacy and film-making to teenage girls.

In 2009, Video Remix Artist Jonathan McIntosh taught a workshop at Reel Grrls.
Participants were given the assignment of mixing together video and audio from toy commercials aimed at boys and those aimed at girls.

Here's a sample mix from participants Sahar and Diana. Enjoy!

Sahar & Diana's video remix from ReelGrrls Workshops on Vimeo.

(thanks to Rivqa Berger for sending this my way)

Disney Will Stop Making Princess Movies

2010-11-22T18:44:00.000-08:00

Tangled comes out on Wednesday (shhhhhh, don't tell my daughter!). In case you don't know, Tangled is Rapunzel.
Except Disney didn't want to call it Rapunzel because they fear they are losing all the little boys of the world to Iron Man and Transformers.

So, two years ago they re-vamped this film and called it Tangled.
Which obviously will trick little boys into thinking it's just like Transformers. They both start with T!

Also, they added more action. Watch the clip and see if you can't tell who they're trying to appeal to.

Maybe they should have actually called this movie The Prince. From the clip, it appears to be his story.

Another reason Disney is waltzing away from Princess films: girls, by age 5, no longer want to be a princess. They want to be "hot."

No comment on that one.
Except, you know, this entire blog.

Alex Bogusky Has Left The Building

2010-11-19T20:22:00.000-08:00

Former advertising super star Alex Bogusky is thinking things over.
Here he's called a media manipulator, daddy of 21st century advertising for some of the famed work he's done in reinventing companies through advertising.

But in an interview with author Susan Linn, Alex is not talking about the Burger King Meat'normous sandwich, or Chicken Fries, or that meat-scented cologne, Flame.

Alex:

"You can't help but deceive a child if you advertise to them because of where they are in terms of their brain growth.... A child cannot understand that someone is trying to sell them something."

Susan:

"They can't understand persuasive intent. They don't understand the fundamental basis of advertising. And that's why advertising to them is inherently deceptive."

What about deceiving men, and the people who love them, with this one:
"a scent of seduction, with a hint of flame-broiled meat."

It's always good to see a creative person choosing to use their power for good instead of smelly, so once he's found his soul it would be so cool if he could revolutionize the company of, say, Broccoli.
And I think the Kidney Bean could use an image make-over, plus accompanying body spray.

Pick-Up

2010-11-17T16:07:00.000-08:00

Today when I drove to pick Miss C up from preschool, it was raining, the winds were blowing about 40 miles per hour, and anything not nailed down was whipping through the air. There was a backup of cars, and while some people proudly claim to be first to pick-up, I am in the mediocre middle.
Today I was at the end.

I waited a quarter block away for my turn to pull up, and sitting there I saw this little pipsqueak sprint down the sidewalk and stop short right at the corner. She looked about 3, a just-turned 3, and was clearly loving the wind. Her massive backpack nearly touched her heels and when she spun around it showed a quintet of Disney Princesses. She spun around one more time, looked right at me, then held up her fist and stuck up her middle finger.
It was unfortunate that I'd just taken a sip of coffee because I sprayed my steering wheel, Did she just flip me off? As if to confirm, she pulled her other hand and gave me the double bird.

The mother, who was jogging behind her, was wearing Betty Boop pajamma pants. And looked like, well, have you ever had family pop-in on a Saturday morning and you're not quite dressed and then half an hour later you find that you've been nominated to go get some bagels, and then you're standing in a bakery wearing that old nursing shirt that and your husband's long-johns and every one else has clearly bathed?

No?

That's never happened to you?

Your family doesn't do pop-ins?

Well, anyway, the mother looked like she had been thrust into the day before she'd fully pulled off the jammies, and it happens to the best of us.

Then, she sees her daughter standing there with the double-bird doing a sort of victory dance, and all I could think of was that time last summer while at the playground with C, I'd been having a lovely conversation with a mother I'd just met. And her son and C were playing together, then sharing a snack, then C dropped her snack in the wood chips next to a puddle, and as the mother next to me called out, "No-o-o-o-o," in slow motion, C held up the goods, blew on it, and then popped it in her mouth.
Then, to soothe the distraught mother, said, "It's okay. It hasn't been 5 seconds yet."
Those moments where your kid does something that undeniably comes from Your Adult Modeling, and it's not the best modeling, but there it is on display for the world to see.

The mother, still jogging, raised her hand in an attempted spank of her daughter, but the beautiful thing was that the massive backpack provided a full body shield, and no matter what angle she tried, there was no getting to that bottom. Giving up, she took her daughter's hand, they crossed the street, and made their way down the next block, the daughter nearly blowing away in the wind, the mom pulling at her Betty Boop pants, looking the other way as her Princess flicked off another vehicle driving by in the rain.

Sexy Cancer

2010-11-14T09:46:00.000-08:00

In today's New York Times Magazine, Peggy Orenstein writes about the new face of breast cancer awareness:

"Hot breast cancer. Saucy breast cancer. Titillating breast cancer!"

Read it here.

Casting

2010-11-12T07:35:00.000-08:00

"I felt it was a weird thing that every time you ask for a strong female role, it's written in this strange way where it uses sexuality far too much," she explains. "Or it's all about being a woman and beating a man. So it wasn't a surprise to me that the only way to do a strong female role properly was to not have originally written for a woman."

--Angelina Jolie, on playing Evelyn Salt, which was originally Edwin Salt, before Tom Cruise turned down the part.

Fries with that?

2010-11-09T08:13:00.000-08:00

"The fast food industry has stepped up their marketing efforts," Harris says.

Harris and her colleagues analyzed ads aired by 12 chains, including Burger King, Taco Bell, KFC and McDonald's. She found that preschoolers are seeing 21 percent more ads for fast food, and older children are seeing 34 percent more — compared with 2003.

"The numbers are pretty amazing," Harris says.

Re-posted from npr.org. For full story, go here.

For some inspiration, though, take a glance at Christina Le Beau's blog, where she recently wrote about banning McEducation.

Today I'm struggling with a little bit of despair. I don't let myself wallow here too long, but this morning I heard three similar pieces of news on the radio.

And yesterday I took Miss C to the park to play. There were 7 other little kids, and 5 of them were not overweight, they were obese. And they were under the age of 8. They were winded after trying to play tag, after trying to climb a slide, and all their little spirits wanted to do was play, but their bodies were not able to sustain it.
One by one, each little one ended up sitting on a bench, swinging their legs and kicking at the ground.
My heart ached.

I see all these tangent efforts because the root of the issue has not been addressed.

I see parents all over trying to find the best way to talk to kids and educate kids in the midst of this nuttiness. And there are organizations that serve as watchdogs, monitoring when companies have something really egregious that is being sold to kids.

We can ban selling cigarettes to kids and we can make laws about child seats, and bicycle helmets.
And we can see this incredible evidence mounting, and multiplying, that advertising to kids is really, truly, making them sick in their bodies and sick in their minds.

But still no policy to protect them.

Awards for Most Sexist Media Coverage

2010-11-08T08:13:00.000-08:00

First, consider these statistics:

*Women are 50% less likely than men to seriously consider running for office.

*Women are 33% less likely to view themselves as qualified to run for office.

*Out of the 13,000 members of Congress in our history, only 2% have been women.

*Only 31 women have ever served as Governor, as compared with 2,317 men.

Name It. Change It. is seeking to change these statistics. Naming sexist media coverage is the first step to Changing sexist coverage.

Here at Name It. Change It. we’re sick of hearing more about what women wear than what they stand for – it’s a tired, sexist trope that we see repeated over and over. Yet the Boston Herald took it to new level when reporter Jill Radsken consulted stylists to analyze Green Party gubernatorial candidate Jill Stein’s fashion sense. The title of the article: “She’s a great candidate…for a makeover!” One stylist suggested her hair looked like, “a Brillo pad that’s seen better days,” while another cycled through a list of complaints about her clothes. Nothing about her policy positions. Nothing about her qualifications. Just that she dresses “earthy crunchy’’ and her hair is an, “unmitigated mop.”

The Boston Herald is not alone:

Columnist Ned Cantwell penned a piece for the Los Alamos Monitor about the New Mexico gubernatorial race between Democratic candidate Diane Denish and Republican candidate Susana Martinez....Cantwell can't seem to wrap his head around two female candidates challenging one another's positions, terming that behavior "bitch-slapping." Mudslinging, when done by women, conjured up for Cantwell images of "mud wrestling" instead. “So far these ladies have displayed such lack of class we’re beginning to think, ‘strip down and get ‘er on, gals’,” he added. Sexualizing women candidates and slurring them as aggressive or bitchy for behavior that's termed normal for male candidates is one of the reasons fewer women run for and win political office.

Remember the statistics on Op-Ed pieces (80% penned by men)?

And it's related, indeed, that women are 50% less likely than men to run for office. Because who wants to step into politics, only to have the lens turned onto her fashion sense? Or her breast size?

When, oh when, do we dismiss men in politics by immediately ignoring their content and instead go straight to their packaging?
"He's a great candidate...for hair plugs!"

If my friend is right that pretty much "everyone in government is freaking hideous" can we just move on?
No?
Well, I guess we just have to keep naming it then, and working for change.
If you notice your local or national news coverage losing focus and paying more attention to a woman's suit color or hair texture than her stance on The Issues, feel free to name it here. Call it your good deed for the day.

Will I Be Pretty?

2010-11-01T07:11:00.000-07:00

When I was 9 years old, the local YMCA held a lip-sync contest.
It was open to all kids, and my name was the first one on that sign up sheet.
Through a promotion at McDonald's fine restaurant, I owned a record.
It was Whitney Houston's single, The Greatest Love of All, and my older sister and I would play it over and over again, screaming into our imaginary microphones about the children of the future. We'd leap from the bed to the floor in a flourish, ending with Find your strength in looooooooove!
Self-love! That song was about self-love! And how to teach it to the children, who are our future.
Even then, I was preparing myself to blog.

In a swift move of overconfidence, I believed that silently bellowing out this song, passionately mouthing the words, would be the same feat in a gym of 350 sweaty kids as it would with an audience of one sibling.

When it was my turn to perform, and the record was playing, I instead did my best impersonation of a Great Blue Heron: stood on one leg, the other leg folded behind me, foot held by hand. The hand unoccupied by foot gripped the microphone, held it directly against my lips, which were parched and imperceptibly moving. If the contest had given points for which kid could remain motionless for 3 minutes and 47 seconds, I surely would have won. But instead I received a sympathy prize, a bag of candy, sort of like, "We felt embarrassed with you, here's some candy."

I thought of this the first time I saw a spoken word poet perform at a poetry slam.
Like, that lady would have killed it at the Y contest.
No shame candy for her, she'd go home with a medal.

This is poet Kate Makkai performing at the National Poetry Slam in 2002.
The poem is called, Will I Be Pretty?

Intense.
Intensely sad.
And powerful.

Action (iii)

2010-10-26T19:09:00.000-07:00

Do you often find that when you are grocery shopping, you miss watching commercials?
Well, Food Lion is here to solve your problem.

Food Lion supermarkets will unleash 3GTv, mini-televisions attached to grocery store shelves running continuous commercials -- right next to the product being advertised.

Screens will be in front of a display of organic red peppers, touting the virtue of this wonder food. Kids will be clamoring for RED PEPPER RED PEPPER and beggggging their parents to please buy me some organic red peppers right now, and then the parent will reach for the Tasty Cakes and the Princess Spaghettios and shout, "Junior, don't fall for them commercials!"
There will be massive meltdowns in the produce department because Junior never gets what he wants and it's just not fair.

I may have a few details mixed up, but seriously: do we need any more advertising in our grocery stores?
Is this not enough?

This action took exactly 5 seconds to complete.
I signed my name (#1391) and city.
You can also sign as Anonymous (for my Anonymous friends), and just put your approximate geographical location.

If you don't plan on signing, at least visit the petition and read signature #1702.
People in Norfolk are just feisty!

(Oh just sign it, will ya? What were you going to do with those 5 seconds anyway?)

Ewwwww

2010-10-24T18:53:00.000-07:00

Ewwww has entered the vocabulary of Miss C.
It made it's debut a few weeks ago, and it's frequency is pretty amusing.
Picked up from erudite peers, it's used on just about everything.
"Ewww, a worm," (as she picks it up and then cradles it to her neck).
"Ewww, rice and peas," (as she takes a mouthful).
Sometimes it's in context, but sometimes she's just thrilled to say it.
Reminds me of when I learned about Jinx Personal Jinx and used it on everything.
Because it was fun to say.

This weekend Dave and C and I went hiking in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, and on our drive back today, we stopped at a diner for coffee and sandwiches. As a waitress made her way past us, Miss C pointed to something on the platter she carried and said, "Ewww, I don't like that food." Then she watched as the waitress placed the plate in front of a customer, and I saw her lips make that motion as though she were about to do another round, a louder one, of ewwww, a round that would bellow through the diner and bounce off the walls, knocking us all over onto our plastic covered seats. A quick chat ensued: "Okay, that's enough ewww."

C: "Why? I like to say ewww."

Me: "I know you do. But, it's not polite to point at other people's food and say it."

C: "Why not?"

Me: "Because that's what they've chosen to eat, because they like it. You don't have to eat it, you can eat what you like."

C: "But what can I say?"

Me: "You don't have to say anything."

C: "But I like to say something."

Me: "Well, you could say, 'That's interesting.'"

C (practicing): "That's intresting."

My tomato and guacamole sandwich arrived, with corn chowder, and C took a look, and said, "That's intresting."

Me: "Sure is. It's delicious, would you like a taste?" She tasted the soup.

C: "But, when can I say ewww?"

Me: "You can say it about pretty much anything, just not about other people, the way they look, or the food they eat, that kind of thing."

We finished our meal, and made pit-stop before getting back in the car.

I waited in the hallway as C finished up in the bathroom. The wall was covered with photographs of local diner patrons, in football uniforms, hunting jackets, and one shot of a large man with an enormous amount of chest hair wearing a cheer skirt and top, holding poms. His mouth was smeared with lipstick and his leg kicked up as if in mid-jump. There was another photo of an actual cheerleader, a teenage girl, standing between her parents. She was wearing her blue uniform, matching blue eyeshadow, and blue glitter all over her face.

Miss C finally emerged, and drawn to the wall as was I, she pointed to the cheerleader and squealed, "A clown! Look at her, look at the clown!"
I took her hand and moved her down the hall toward the car as she pointed at each photo and made comments in rapid succession.
She pulled her body to a halt in front of the cheering man with smeared lipstick.
"Well look at that clown!" She stared in awe. "That is so intresting."

From You, For You: Breast Implants

2010-10-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

At Jezebel today, Irin Carmon writes about breast augmentation which uses your own fat, taken from your fatty places where you don't want the fat, put in your less fatty places where you do want the fat.

Poor, confused fat.

"The procedure's already been successfully tested in Europe and Japan, and now the company behind it is trying to convince the FDA to let them conduct a clinical trial here. The FDA isn't thrilled about injecting "blood-vessel promoting cells into patients who have had breast cancer," though animal trials have so far shown no adverse effects. But it's all happened incredibly fast by scientific standards, so who knows what the long term effects might be.

If all goes well and the procedure is used not only on breasts but to regenerate organs, it would be a unexpected social reward for both the vanity industry and those extra pounds we're carrying around. Hooray for the free market?"

Happy weekend to you.
And, give your fat a little hug today.
She needs love, too, you know.

Action (ii)

2010-10-20T07:02:00.000-07:00

Last week I hosted a screening of Consuming Kids in my living room.

Last month, I emailed my neighborhood listserv to garner interest.
Of the several hundred people this listserv reaches, exactly two replied, "Yes."
A parent's yes, that is, which sounds like, "Josh has soccer and Alicia has piano and I work until 7 but I'll try to be there!"

I ended up with 5 great people sitting on my couch, which may not sound like a lot, but between these 5 great people they had 210 children.
Okay, not 210,but each of them had a small litter at home, which counts statistically for numbers in attendance.
It was all women, and although one father had wanted to attend, he and his wife played Rock Paper Scissors to see who would stay home with the brood.
Paper covers rock, she won.

So, in 6 degrees of separation, there were 210 people in my living room, represented by their mothers, who are out attending these things in the world while the young brush their teeth and get on feetsie pajamas and generally have no idea how much their parents are worrying for them. (Call your mother.)

After the film, one neighbor mentioned that her kids get one hour of screen time daily, and that they determine the device (computer/TV/video games). Also, since she has 4 kids, each of whom has requests about movies and shows they want to watch with their friends, she uses the website kidsinmind.com to determine what is appropriate viewing. Rather, they use this website, the kids, and based on the family consensus, determine if it's something that falls within or outside the boundaries they've determined together.
(Side question: if you watched TV growing up, were there rules around it? Did you watch programs with your family, was it laissez-faire, or violence but no sex, or sex but no violence, or bring it on, all things go?)

One neighbor, an artist, asked honestly, "Okay, I see that there's a lot of this stuff that's marketed to kids. But, why should I be upset about it? What is the problem exactly?"
The cognitive behariorist in me immediately thought, "Don't Should on yourself today!"

Her question led to more discussion, and some sharing of what people were noticing with their own kids, their responses to the world around them, to media, and how they were processing it. It was apparent: no two kids are the same, and each family had different things that top their List of Concerns.

At 11:00 as the group made their way out the front door, I thought to myself, "Well, that was delightful. Maybe next week I'll hold a screening of Halloween 5." And then I checked the website, and there is no way on earth the kids would let their moms watch that.

Helping China, One Child at a Time

2010-10-17T19:34:00.000-07:00

Aren't language classes so boring? Filled with strange words, and references to foreign objects?
If you live in China, you need not worry that your child will have to learn a second language the hard way.
Have no fear, Tinkerbell is here.

Here's the website for Disney English, and the pictures sure do look pretty.

Lest you be thinking cynically, this is a philanthropic move entirely.
"We never saw this as an effort to teach the Disney brand and Disney characters," says Andy Mooney, chairman of Disney Consumer Products Worldwide. "We set out to teach Chinese kids English."

Andy Mooney is a missionary. Oh, wait, no, he's Chairman of Disney Consumer Products.
What do Consumer Products have to do with the 11 schools in Shanghai and Beijing?
Minor detail, there: $100 million in pre-tax profits.
(I think someone totally forgot to tell Andy Mooney that. How embarrassing.)
Hopefully, hopefully, fingers crossed, there will be 150 of these schools in China over the next 5 years.
And then, when class is out, the kids can plan their playdates at Shanghai Disney Land.

Well, at least it's a bargain. You can start your 1 year old at two hours per week for the cost of $2200.00 per year.
That may sound like a lot of money to some, but seriously. Even if every citizen of China signs on, it's not like a lot of people live there. What kind of an impact could this possibly have with a population of 12?

Like Ling Woo Liu said, "You don't throw in the towel in a market with 1.3 billion potential customers."
It is estimated that China's foreign-language business is worth $2.1 billion annually and more than 300 million Chinese are studying English.

Get 'em early on their Little Mermaid flash cards.

Brazil, you're next.

Sexy, Naughty, Disney

2010-10-09T09:11:00.000-07:00

A creative use of Tata Young's song, Sexy Naughty Bitchy.

150ish Days

2010-10-08T06:45:00.000-07:00

It's been well over 90 days now.
This blog started in late April as a way for me to keep myself accountable, and to sort some things out.

More powerful than the absence of "stuff" in our house has been the addition of conversation among family and friends.
One friend said, "Don't get conscious about something, it will really mess things up."
Digging into a symptom has led me to unearth far more than I wanted to know about marketing to children, and the unique role it plays in our country.

I'm going to keep posting (with a focus!) through the end of the year, and then see if I've entirely tired myself of this topic.

Perhaps the next level will be a blog called, "The Enemy Will Surely Kill Us Recovery," which is a little more akin to how Miss C's playing since she started playing with mostly boys.
Or, "Kill Capture Die Die." Something light.
How about, "Light Sabers are Not Magic Wands."
Oh the possibilities!

See how relaxed I am?
And balanced?

The focus will be to track the big and teeny tiny actions, the drops in a bucket.
Of course, it's hard not to notice things like this,

"designed for the stylish women who have grown up with the Disney princesses."

So there will be some "oh, I noticed" along with the actions.

But the actions are supposed to keep me sane.
Otherwise you might find me half-dressed on a corner in mid-December, mumbling, "Cinderella ate my daughter."
Oh, there's already a book that covers that?
Well, onward then.

Unbalanced and UnAmerican

2010-10-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

When the editor of Mamapedia asked me to submit a post from this blog, I scanned through and picked one that summed up the small changes I'd been trying to make, and sent it on.

Several weeks later, I got an email with the date that the post would be published. I re-read it and thought, "Hm, not one of my finer moments, and there it is in print." I read it and thought, "Hm, maybe I could instead re-submit something more neutral, containing more facts and information."

So, I wrote a separate piece, all about advertising to kids and how it impacts families, and sent it on, asking, "Mind if I switch?"

The lovely editor, who was named Ariel, replied to the effect of: I've read both pieces and I think the first post is better written, and geared more toward an audience who don't have a lot of time. But, whichever you are comfortable with.

So I stuck with the first, and it ran, and of the 70 or so comments, these were some snippets:

Why are we blaming a company for something we as parents need to be responsible for. Disney is a company and they don't need to have feelings nor is it their responsibility to watch out for my child's well being. --Michelle

I feel like most parents are so disillusioned and dissatisfied with their lives, that once they have children, they try and make little mini-Me's...only better. --Nyle

Parents have complete control over the degree to which a movie takes over a child's life. -- Lisa

Please let your girls be girls! There is nothing wrong with being a princess. First Daddy's princess, then hubby's princess. --JoAnn

Let's try to keep this in perspective and not create problems where none exist. There are too many other real issues out there! --Amy

I am so sick of people telling us we are doing everything wrong as parents. --Julie

Everything in moderation is the key. In this article Mary, you sound insulting and come across as one of those "I'm a better parent than you" sort of person....And to tell you the truth if a vegen came in my house I would make sure there is something there, but I sure wouldn't feel bad and still have no problem eating my big juicy steak in front of them. --Kelly

Finally,

It is un-American to hate disney and all the marketing that goes with it. If you dont want to be a consumer on any level move somewhere else and take her self-righteous attitude with you. --Kim

There was a lot of great feedback in there as well, some supportive, some mixed, some questioning my deeper issues, and even some resources that people included.

My hesitancy to let the piece run, I think, was that in looking at it months after the fact, that instance felt rather far away, so old, and not where I was, and not where I am now.
But.
At the time, that was how I felt: a little overwhelmed. And I felt that it mattered enough to talk about, and to write about.

Have you ever been frustrated about something, and someone tells you, "Don't worry about it! Relax."

How did that work out for you?

I prefer to say, I was in a mood of critiquing circumstances.
Mainly ours, but perhaps some of that spilled over.

I think the reason a lot of my early documenting of these things feels far away, or not as relevant, is because I have spoken to others about them, and written about them.
Not because I've pretended to relax because someone else suggests I should be focusing on Water for Sudan. You can care about more than one thing. And you can care as much as you need to.

I can't end this one without referring to the unAmerican claim. I've seen this exact statement, specifically for anyone who critiques Disney, in different articles, about 6 times now.
Anti-Disney = unAmerican.

Just curious, but if you are from New Zealand or England or Brazil or Canada, what are some things that might get you called unEnglish? UnBrazilian? I don't even know how to write unNew Zealandin. New Zealandish?
I want to know specifically who started the word, unAmerican.
And also, who connected it with an act of critiquing something.

Because quite frankly, I am so sick of people telling us we do everything wrong as parents.
And now, I must go and let my girl be a girl.
First a daddy's princess, then a hubby's princess.

Where Credit is Due

2010-09-29T18:31:00.000-07:00

Over a week ago, my friend Katie was driving the long distance to Chicago, and stopped in Rochester as her half-way point.
After meeting Miss C for the first time, she commented on how strange it was to meet this person, saying, "I feel like I already know her from your blog."
And then after playing with her for a bit, added, "She is really into being Cinderella."

Miss C really is into Cinderella. That detail hasn't changed since Recovery started back in April.
But what has changed is how she plays Cinderella, and what else she's playing.
When she plays Cinderella, there's rarely a trace of the scripted version, or the focus on looking exactly like Cinderella looks. These days, Cinderella is both a doctor and a garbage truck driver, and her brother, The Prince is often shy.
These days, Cinderella has a sister named Emma, and she loves to tell Emma all about how to do things, and how to navigate the world. When she's not driving the garbage truck.

When she's not playing one of the many forms of Cinderella, she is obsessed with insects, asking me if we can collect every specimen outside and bring them in to give them baths, make them beans and rice, and tuck them into bed with her.
When we find spiders in the house, she loves to lie on her belly and watch them as they scurry away from her nimbly moving fingers.
There have been some compromises: I let her catch the spiders in a jar and take them outside for release. This seems a better option than her showing me how one is climbing up her arm the moment I step out of the shower.

Also, since she keeps asking for a pet tarantula, I've told her about ant farms.
Nothing against tarantulas.
Or, who am I kidding, everything against tarantulas, including the possibility of her slipping one under my pillow for snuggles.
Ants seem a little safer. And really locked into that farm.

I don't talk much about extended family here. But I'd like to take a minute and give some props.
I referred to the conversations that Dave and I had with our parents, the main suppliers Disney Princesses. My parents would show the movies, and Dave's mom, who spends a good deal of time near Orlando, would find all the princess gear. (Have you been to the Orlando airport? Let the experts direct you!)
One thing I've learned through this process is that if young children are the targets of advertising, so are grandparents. Grandparents have that great gift in life: to be able to think of the child's desire and delight. Parents are for consequences, tantrums, time-outs, and torture.
So it makes sense to me that both our sets of parents were all into Disney Princess stuff on different fronts.
(Remember: $15 billion dollar industry.)

Dave and I had a series of conversations to help our parents understand what we object to, and that we're not trying to spoil their fun or bonding.
We'd just prefer them to bond with our daughter over tarantulas.
Is that such a big deal?
I would talk to my parents, he to his.
Dave believed this would give our parents the room to ~~get pissed off~~ openly express frustration if they felt we were being too uptight, demanding, constricting, controlling, unbalanced, or unAmerican.
Over time, the Grandparents have come to support us, and sometimes understand us.
And I'm really, really thankful for this.
Some props:

My parents have pulled out their old videos of my tumbling childhood. Miss C loves watching these over there as much as she loved Cinderella. She loves to watch my older sister, (age 4) pick me up (age 6 months) and drag my feet on the ground to show me how walking is done. Apparently, I was a pacifist from the very beginning, as I never turned and tackled her from the knees, permitting this dragging to go on for hours.

Dave's mom is an expert shopper. She has the kind of skill where she will hold up 27 items from a bag, one by one, tell us what each one cost at full price, then describe how with a coupon, PLUS the 75% off sale, PLUS the one-day discount of 9.4%, she only paid ONE DOLLAR for everything.
Boggles my mind every time.
It could be clothes, kitchenware, or dirt.
It could be any store, any country.
She learned to haggle while in a open air market abroad, and the experience profoundly changed her. She came back like, "This is what they do over there," and Dave was like, "I think you can do that in our public market too."
Now she goes to Bon-Ton and glances at price tags as though they were mere suggestions.
Since we've asked for no more DP stuff (which is just mean, because, again, Orlando) (PLUS, they're always on sale, those DP's!), she, being a resourceful woman, being a shopper, found other outlets.
Like this recent gift:

If it says $6.99 on the website, that means she paid 27 cents.

And this one, which Miss C runs to in the morning:

She loves to stick the magnetic critters all over the pages, and make up stories about the pink crab spider and the tarantula, and then asks me to join in. Since spiders have never been my strong suit, I opt for the ladybug, even though she always gets eaten in the end.

Long post longer: sometimes difficult conversations are worth having.
Sometimes sharing a book or DVD can help back you up.
Sometimes things take awhile to shift, and change seems impermanent.
And finally, learning that asking change of yourself is hard enough, but asking it of others is a pathologically optimistic thing to do.
But maybe, if they are Grandparents, and hopefully, if the end goal is mutual, it just might work toward better.
Or, better enough.

Goodreads

2010-09-27T06:04:00.000-07:00

I've created an account on goodreads in order to track and share all the wonderful books we've been reading, and all the wonderful books you've recommended.

If you've mentioned one and don't see it on there, drop me an email, or leave it in the comments, or even join goodreads and recommend it there. I'll try to add each one to our to-read list.

Right now the list is heavy with books featuring strong female characters, and because Miss C loves Cinderella, there are many versions of Cinderella on there as well (the Korean Cinderella, the Caribbean Cinderella, the Cambodian Cinderella). I figure if she's going to talk nonstop about Cinderella, we can continue to complicate her thinking, and work in some geography lessons while we're at it.

If you are interested in adult reading as well, such as Consuming Kids, or So Sexy So Soon, or Understanding Disney, I'll add a shelf for the big kids.

Happy page turning.

The Point

2010-09-24T08:07:00.000-07:00

68 percent of those who watched Commander in Chief were more likely to take a female president seriously. Yes, even though it was just a TV show. That’s the point of all this—what we see on our screens matters. It shapes our imaginations, and sometimes limits them. “The more we see female characters who are hypersexual, one-dimensional eye candy, sidelined, or not even there,” Davis said, “the more it affects the way boys and girls think about girls.”

--from Newsweek, and thanks to Kivitasku for sending this on.

Action (i)

2010-09-21T19:12:00.000-07:00

What do tomatoes and Princesses have in common?

Nothing!

To combat this, we signed up for this.

Every now and then my husband and I would talk about getting our produce through a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) instead of through the grocery store. But it never seemed urgent enough, or neither of us researched it much beyond the conversation. Or we'd hear that it cost X amount of money and there never really seems a good time to spend X amount of money.

Still, more and more people we knew kept raving about how delicious their local tomatoes were, how incredible their apples from the orchard over yonder. Our neighbor, who joined a CSA, would routinely drop massive bags of vegetables on our doorstep because she would get so much food each week that her family couldn't eat it all.

More evidence mounted. We visited friends in Massachusetts and upon opening their fridge to get creamer for the coffee, it looked like the farm had just emptied it's contents onto their shelves.
When I finally found the creamer, it was in a glass bottle, which I haven't seen seen since I was 8 and the milk man dropped our milk on the front stoop. It was also from down the road, and was the most amazing thing I'd tasted this side of the Mississippi.This family talked about how they would get so much produce each week and they'd challenge themselves to eat it all before the next shipment. (And, how I love a challenge.)

The myth of the high cost was dispelled quickly when we finally tallied up what we're spending weekly and compared it to what you would spend over the course of a season through a local farm. Local won for produce, and for other areas it was a wash.

Still, no action. I'd taken to buying local produce at our grocery store, and as much as I hate to admit it: I am a creature of habit. And old habits can be hard or sometimes scary to break.

I also have great intentions. I've always intended to regularly get to the many farmers markets that happen all over Rochester throughout the week. Or even our public market. But the actual practice was infrequent.

Then I was stuck by the truth that I used to love my weekly trip to the grocery store: the convenience, the getting a coffee from cafe, wandering the aisles and pointing out fruits and veg to Miss C. Mostly, that I could go anytime at all.
But it's hasn't been that way for quite awhile. More often than not, I dread it. C ends up sullen and sad when we leave, and that's on the good days. On the bad days, she's crying because we didn't get the dolls, balloons, candy, or Princess blow-up pool on the way out. And she reeeaaaaaalllly needed them. By that time, there's not much coffee can do for me.

So while many are drawn to their CSA because of the freshness of it, and how it is good for the Earth, and how it draws community together, I am drawn to it because of this: they only sell food. And that's really all I want these days.

If you are a U.S. reader interested in researching what your area offers, take a look at Local Harvest.
This site helped us read through the choices in our area, and pick one that seemed a good match.
Some are straight-up you pick up the food. Others have an option to work with your kids on the farm. All sorts of choices.

(If you are about to comment, "Why don't you grow your own tomatoes?" or, "Why don't you plant an herb garden and an apple tree?", please see above section under Good Intentions. Maybe next spring. )

(If you are a Rochester reader, interested in taking a step this way, The Good Food Collective has a winter option that is quite reasonable. And looks seriously fantastic.)

And as far as I know, none of them are selling Aurora beach chairs with matching bikinis.

Toronto Film Festival: Mei Mei

2010-09-15T08:10:00.000-07:00

When my friend Diana sent this my way, I had to resist the urge to get in the car and drive up to Toronto and find a way into the film.
The trailer is gorgeous, and the story line even moreso:

A little magic helps her understand
that she can only save herself
by saving the world in which she lives.

The TFF description:

Little Sister is a gorgeous film based on one of the earliest versions of the beloved story Cinderella. In this enchanting version drawn from ancient scripts – which filmmaker Richard Bowen discovered in a Beijing museum – we are transported to a time and place where boys are valued over girls.

Inspired by the two Chinese daughters he and his wife adopted, Bowen has skillfully created a family-friendly film that celebrates an important moral – that girls are as good as boys.

Watch the trailer, and if you are lucky enough to view it this Saturday, please report back here promptly!

Back to the Screen

2010-09-13T07:22:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Screen Free Week.
We made a lot of great food, some of which Miss C declared edible.
We read a lot of library books, introducing some of my childhood favorites like Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, and James and the Giant Peach.

I think, for me, being TV-less was a very easy part of this week. I'm not a regular watcher.
From time to time I suggest to Dave, as though suggesting going out to eat, "We barely use the TV, maybe we should just not have one at all."
And he always says, "Sure, might as well toss the computer too."
And then I shrivel up and die in a panic of How will I navigate the world??
I am a regular user of the InTRAnet. And I've come to depend on it for everything from getting a phone number, to mapping something out, to news, to staying in touch with friends.
So shutting it down last week created this kind of quiet space in my brain. I felt a little more connected to the very physical world, the one with wind and fog human interaction.

And I got lost driving without my mapquest.
But, I found a great ice cream shop I'd otherwise have missed.

I never did clean out that closet.

For Miss C, though her TV consumption these days is minimal, and consisting mainly of Super Why, she stretched out one day after an episode, yawned, and said, "TV makes me sleeeeepy."
And we've talked about this since, because it does make her sleepy, and she gets a little crabby transitioning from even a great program to doing something physical. Sometimes I'll have a book next to her to help transition from the end of program, back into play and play doh.
Or I'll tickle her to death saying, "TV makes you sleeeeeeeeeepy! Come back! Wake up!"

Something new is always learned when venturing away from the same old.
We spent the last few days of Screen Free Week in the Adirondack Mountains, and I thought this would be the easiest part of tuning out. We rented a small cabin surrounded by views like this:

Easy Peasey Lemon Squeezy, right?
The small cabin was equipped with the basics: a bed, a kitchen, and the biggest collection of Princess and Barbie DVD's you've ever seen, in your life.
Next to a TV and DVD player.
Beside a stack of Princess Bling books.

Sometimes I think God is just laughing at me.

The explanation to Miss C didn't go over so well the first day, because she believed we'd driven a few hours to camp out in from of the Princess DVDs, right? This is rustic living?
But we quickly got into a rhythm of hiking and canoeing and more hiking, and found her to be so awesome at climbing mountains that we nicknamed her Boulder Girl at the end of a 4.5 mile trek one day, after she scaled to the top of one peak, climbing massive rocks and thick winding roots of trees.

I'd read somewhere that when introducing kids to hiking and mountain climbing, they love scraggly trails and climbing with all their limbs. This was definitely the case. C was lackluster about plain old winding trails with no grade, but sprinted up steeper climbs like a spider.

In any event, it was a successful week. I'm back a little more mindful of my uses of this thing, and that's never a bad thing. I think we'll repeat the week in the future and maybe by then, I'll get that closet cleaned.

On an Unrelated Note

2010-09-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with Princesses, or girl toxic culture, or commercialism, or consuming kids.
But today I'm guest blogging over here.
This blog is written by a creative and crafty person.
And it's read by other crafty people.
And me, who is not crafty.
But who fully admires and supports crafty people.
And is thankful for them.
Because they fill the world with beauty.
And because I am a big believer in process, and I think to be crafty, one must submit to the process in order to get to the product.

But anyways, happy Friday, all you sewers and quilters and knitters and designers and makers of art!

Screen Free Week

2010-09-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Labor Day!
Dave and Miss C and I will be having a screen free week.
We're keeping the computer shut down, turning off Super Why and we'll be spending the week...

*cooking a new recipe every day

*hiking

*reading

*dancing

*spinning in circles

*training for this triathlon (Dave's doing the whole thing, I'm entering with a relay)

*eating a big meal at midday, and then maybe two of us will nap and one of us will pretend the other two are mountains that are to be climbed up and jumped off

*looking at an actual map for directions because I am utterly dependent on mapquest

*thinking I'll finish a novel when I'll actually end up reading 102 children's books

*finally clean out that closet

*but most likely, not

Hope your week is wonderful. I have a little post scheduled for later in the week, and then I'll be back.

What would you conquer, or try, with some screenfree time? What would you miss the most?

Friday Funtime

2010-09-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

(Thanks to Carleen Brice for posting this gem.)

Advice from Belle

2010-09-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

Bunny has left note that Second City has added Belle to the Advice From a Cartoon Princess series (thanks, Bunny!).
I'm having trouble with the embedding (is that a word? It sounds kind of sexual), but click here if you'd like to see her wax poetic on bestiality vs. interspeciality.

Summer Reading

2010-08-31T22:15:00.000-07:00

Mr. Seahorse...wherein the truth is told about certain male sea creatures: they carry the eggs!
While the sea women are off getting drunk with Ariel.

The Last Princess: The Story of Princess Ka'iulani of Hawai'i...biography of a real princess, who works for justice, who is not saved, who dies too young.
I can't seem to find a lunchbox with her visage anywhere.

Wilma Unlimited, another American biography. About a little girl with polio who is told she will never walk, and how she takes that information, tucks it in her back pocket, and goes on to become the world's fastest woman.

And, much to C's relief, she does not die young.

Oh, wait, here's one that does! Frida, who takes her physical limitations and documents it through her unique and expressive paintings. Which were recognized as unique and expressive decades after she died. (I love that this book's artist depicts the young Frida as having her signature serious gaze, complete with a little toddler unibrow.)

The true action adventures of an Iraqi book hoarder. Except she's a librarian and she's saving books from destruction by stealing them and having her neighbors store them. Next to their WMD.
Although C pointed out that she's not following the rules, I used that moment to teach that sometimes, it's okay to steal 30,000 books.
But only sometimes.

Who's Missing?

2010-08-29T22:23:00.000-07:00

One evening, as I was getting ready to shut down the computer, Miss C came into the room. I had 4 or 5 sites up, and C stood by me as I clicked down each one. She inhaled deeply as she saw, for the first time, this blog.
"It's the princesses!" she exclaimed. "Let's just look at them for a minute."

She climbed up onto my lap and gazed at the picture which appears at the top here. We sat, cheek to cheek, studying the group of them. She pointed carefully, naming each one, "There's Belle, Jasmine, Cinderella, Ariel...is she standing on her tail?" she asked, incredulous.

"It looks like it," I said.

She cracked up, "Mermaids don't stand on their tail!"

Then she went on listing, "And Snow White, and Aurora. The princesses."

Sigh. The princesses.

"But you know," she continued, "that's not really all of the princesses."
Except she says really as weeeweeee. Which makes it hard not to eat her up.

"It's not?" I feigned shock. "Who's missing?"

"Princess Tiana!" she exclaimed. "She's not there."

"Well, where is she?"

"Well," she chewed her cheek, "she got married. And then, she died."

"Oh," I said.

"And you know who else?"

"Who?"

She looked at me as this silly creature, always needing explanations.

"Mulan is missing."

"Where is Mulan?"

"She got married. And then she died."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Is that all of them?"

"No. Because you know, Pocohontas is missing."

"Where is Pocohontas?"

Exasperated now, "She got MARRIED and then she died!"

"My my. Well, is that everybody?"

"No," she sighed. "Because Princess Presto is not there either."

"Where is Princess Presto?"

"She is flying around. And she's spelling cat, C-A-T."

Friday Funtime

2010-08-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

One minute provided by Second City---enjoy!

Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique

2010-08-26T07:03:00.000-07:00

From the Disney website:

Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique is a beauty salon where little girls are magically transformed into little princesses at 2 locations: World of Disney Store in Downtown Disney Area and Cinderella Castle at Magic Kingdom theme park.
It's hard not to feel as happy as a princess in this charming little boutique, owned by Cinderella's Fairy Godmother and operated by Fairy Godmothers-in-training. The boutique offers multiple hair styles, nail color, make-up and a total package including Disney Princess costume and photographs.
Girls 3 years old and above can choose from 3 hair styles — Fairytale Princess, Disney Diva and Pop Princess — in 3 available packages.

The packages for your princess range from $49.95 to $189.95 .

But, if you have a boy, he can skate by on $7.50 with the Cool Dudes Package, complete with colorful hair gel.

My favorite of the packages, the Secret Star Makeover, touts:

Be your own star, just like Hannah Montana...

Because you can be your own star (just like Hannah Montana).
For $89.95 plus tax.

Sex Ed

2010-08-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

One day, when I was in 5th grade, my teacher tapped me on the shoulder and told me I could head down to the principal's office. She was going to be beginning a segment on puberty and sex education. As per school policy, a notice had been sent home alerting the parents, and each family was given the option of pulling their kid out if they desired.

My parents took the teacher up on this, and I, the lone student, wandered down to the principal's office, where I sat until the class was done learning about their bodies, their selves.

It wasn't that my parents didn't want me to know about sex, or the impending changes my body would soon undergo. It was just, well, they thought they could do a better job explaining it to me. They could answer my questions specifically, make the presentation fun and exciting, with a puppet show and some graphs and charts thrown in for good measure. It would be the best sex education any 11 year had ever received.

And I bet it would have been, had they remembered to give it.

As it was, somewhere between pulling me out of that course and having lots of permission slips to sign and a brother who was always in the principal's office for other reasons, they forgot. I got my sex ed on the back of the bus. And if you have never been schooled there, I can tell you that it is terrifying.

I sat near the older kids, and they explained all that they knew, none of which came from a proper sex ed course, or their parents. It convinced me that sex should be illegal. And then I started worrying about my parents. Did they know? I mean, maybe they didn't know.

So, one evening, as the plague of this miseducation floated in my brain, I got out of bed and walked into my parents room. I stood beside their bed and asked them:
"Do you know where babies come from?"

I wasn't asking because I wanted to know. I already knew, thank you Maly and TJ and Lucas.
I wanted to know if they knew.
Because parents can seem so innocent, to an 11 year old.

My mom must have been proud, here was her kid, pulled out of sex ed, and now I was yearning for her to explain things to me! I was coming to her.
She started to explain where babies come from. She used terrifying words like penis and vagina and then I started to block out what was coming out of her mouth because although the terms she was using were not the ones TJ had taught me, and although the specifics were quite different, she knew. I left my parents room, relieved that at least I didn't have to teach them anything.

And the next day, and all the days after that, I sat in the front of the bus.

When I got to college, I became friends with a girl whose mother was the leading OB/GYN in Ohio. And she found the differences between her sex education and mine hilarious. Because by the age of 5, she knew all the female organs, where they were located, what their functions were, and whether they were derived from Greek or Latin. She was not schooled on the back of the bus.

My oldest sister and I sometimes compare childhood memories only to find we were raised in entirely different families. She recalls things from my early early days, and I recall things that she has chosen to forget. And I remind her of these whenever possible. We both have daughters, and we were reminiscing about old days, when she mentioned that I was the one who taught her what a vagina was. The oldest three of us used to take our bath together, and although she can't remember exactly what age we were, she knows that I pointed out that she and I both had one, and my brother did not.

It should be no surprise then, that my daughter is moving from her stage of high interest in penises and vaginas, to one that mainly revolves around breasts.

The way this came about is not because I sat her down at the wise old age of 2 and began to teach her, but moreso...well, my youngest sister put it best:

"I know that whole 'Why?' and 'What?' stage happens for kids...but it seems like C has been in that stage for an unbearably long time."

It's been painful for all of us.

The stage of nonstop inquiry: when she asked about What's that? and What's that? I told her. And when she asked more, I would tell her a little more. And then she found a book in my pile of therapy resources, and it's become almost as popular as Cinderella:

How You Were Born, by Joanna Cole.

It is great for any age, and I have yet to find a Joanna Cole book that isn't superb.

We've been reading this on and off for over a year, and every now and then Miss C's thoughts and how she's processing this info will emerge in regular conversation. An example, from last week:

C: "Dad, tell me a story about when you were 3."

D: "Well, one time when I was 3, I went hiking with my..."

C: "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait. Where was I?"

D: "Well, I was 3, so you weren't born yet. But you were in my heart."

C: "You mean, I was in your sperm heart."

Dave looks at me over her head, I shrug. Better than the back of the bus.

D: "Well..."

C: "Yes, I was in your sperm heart, and I was also in mama's egg heart. Okay, so what happened when you were 3?"

This one we could chalk up as sort of funny, but whatever it was, it was in the privacy of our own home. A little lower on the funny scale, a little higher on the Where is the wine? scale would have been several months ago, while at a family gathering, when she greeted each member who entered the home with,
"Hi Uncle Sean. You are a man, so do you have a penis? You don't have a vagina, you have a penis, right Uncle Sean?"
And badgering them until they would claim their junk.

When she gets on this quest for knowledge and the confirmation of it, I can identify. Because don't we all have that same burning desire to know? Mine is a little more quiet, and tends to be satisfied through reading. Or google. Because I will google pretty much any word, except that one, Anonymous Commenter # 12, that one I will leave to you and your expertise, and now you know why I like terms that are for 6 year olds: my sex education just barely passed that age.

I still have no idea how that kid got into my womb, much less this house.

Every now and then I'll turn a corner and shout out of sheer fright that there is third human living here, and then she calmly explains to me that her Dad has a sperm heart, and I have an egg heart, and then I block out everything that follows.

Lady Liberty Done

2010-08-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

Thanks to craftastrophies for pointing this one out.

Porn, a very brief history*

2010-08-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

If you're at work, or in the midst of kids, best to save this one for a little later.

Playboy was the first magazine for men.

First published in 1953, it was so well received that an entire garden of publications grew, attempting to top it in popularity. Such as Penthouse, founded in1965.

Playboy held the #1 spot as America's magazine for men, so a yearning Penthouse became more risque, pushing the envelope in hopes of higher sales and higher ratings. Playboy would respond, matching Penthouse so not to lose their audience and subscribers. It became a game of tag, each pat getting a little gruffer, a little rougher. The competition continued, with women's bodies as the ammunition and the target. This culture of one-upmanship set the stage perfectly.
Enter Hustler, first published in 1974:

Hustler is a hard-core pornography magazine. Penthouse never did top Playboy, but it laid the groundwork for this new type of men's magazine, of which there has been no turning back.

Pornography is a $12 billion industry in the US.
Worldwide, the porn industry earns $97 billion.
Porn is supposed to give the kind of sexual exposure you can't get by opening up Time Magazine or watching TV, or surfing online. So, what happens to pornography as other typically accessed forms of media become increasingly pornographic?
When this is advertising, what happens to pornography?

G is for Gucci, by the way.

So, these are advertisements.
And most popular music videos can credit porn film makers for directing a successful piece.

Curious what actual porn looks like, then?
No?
I wasn't, until I read this study:

Nine out of 10 children aged between eight and 16 have viewed pornography on the Internet. In most cases, the sex sites were accessed unintentionally when a child, often in the process of doing homework, used a seemingly innocent sounding word to search for information or pictures. (London School of Economics January 2002).

Okay, 90% of kids stumble across porn without seeking it, or it POPS UP.

Sidebar:
A nun I worked with several years ago once came running into my office, and was all flustered and upset, "I was googling Prayer and Praise and then it just, it was everywhere and I can't get it to stop!" I went in to look at her computer and it was all penises and popsicals and penises and lollipops and multiplying penises! And all she was trying to find was a psalm, not a penis or a popsical.

Back to 90% of 9 year olds...and what they are seeing pop-up. Because penises and popsicles are so 10 years ago.
Nor are they seeing a giant bottle of cologne dropped into a woman's vagina, because would be just plain ole advertising!
They are more likely to see one of these currently popular phenomenon in porn: 1. Sticky bath, in which men ejaculate all over a woman's face, or into her eyes; 2. Gag my cock, in which a man shoves his penis so far down a woman's throat as to activate her gag reflex and choke her; 3. Every hole filled, wherein each orifice of a woman is filled: oral, anal and vaginal; 4. Defloration, also called "the money shot," where a girls hymen is broken on-camera.

(Fecal incontinence is frequently suffered by women who have acted in pornographic films. There can be muscle and nerve damage from the hours of abuse that the body endures to perfect a shot. A common repeat surgery is having one's anus sewn back in, as it can drop out as muscles wear out around it.)

Let's look at trend #4: Defloration. There used to be a policy in place that forbade porn producers from using girls who were under 18, or who looked under 18 years of age. In 2002 the Free Speech Coalition challenged this, and won. Now producers can use girls who look under 18 years of age.

This is key. Because if you look at the above images, and think of the shock factor that porn now needs to provide in order to compete with an already pornographic culture, they have to be able to do things that are edgy, fringe, different than what you can get by opening up Vogue magazine or looking at a shoe advertisement.
How about young girls?
How about sexualizing children?
How about the defloration of a teen?
How about the money shot of making her bleed?

It's not surprising that films and cites with titles like First Time With Daddy, or Daddy's Girl, have become increasingly popular.
How boring is it to have regular old sex with a regular old woman? Like, an 18 year old?

Porn informs culture and culture forms us.
In porn, women frequently have no pubic hair. (Strangely, neither do 8 year old girls.)
Men who view porn can become grossed out by pubic hair.
So, their girlfriends can become grossed out by their own pubic hair.
And pretty soon: pubic hair, out. Prepubescent vagina, in.

The porn industry has become a popular cause to support by celebrities in the name of free speech, in the name of artistic expression. The only woman to successfully cross over from porn industry to mainstream industry, Jenna Jameson, was on Oprah last year. She showed off her art collection. She showed off the her boat. She showed off her twin babies. And then she sat in a chair and held back tears when contemplating how her children will understand all this.

She holds a common thread with most other women who enter this field: childhood sexual abuse. Degredation is so familiar to them that, might as well get paid for it.
And then claim that it was a personal choice, that it is pleasurable.

Two weeks after appearing on Oprah, Jameson was hospitalized after being beaten by her husband.

Men are not monsters. But in order for the millions who get hooked on porn each year to get hooked, there has to be a separation in their mind that takes place. The woman they see on the screen before them couldn't be their daughter, their wife, or their mother. It has to be a dirty, filthy, slut. It has to be a deserving, ask-for-it whore. It has to be an it. Because the things that are done to women in most porns are not things that PETA would ever allow to be done to their chickens. Yet they hire Jenna Jameson to speak about the importance of pleather. Pleather bras! Pleather panties! Pleather getting your anus sewn back in while being treated for chlamydia and gonorrhea.

As the author of this book said, and I'm finding myself agreeing, "Porn is not about sex. It is about the debasement of women through sexualization."

Now for a little ray of sunshine, if you are so leaning.
If you're stomach kind of hurts and you're wondering how to protect your 9 year old from a pop-up...here's a resource you might find useful.
Action makes everything just a little bit better.
Step by step.

*************************************
*Content for this post was gathered from the book Pornland: How Porn Has Hijacked Our Sexuality and from Gail Dines' lecture at the Media Madness Institute.

Who Wore It Best?

2010-08-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

I have a very old email account through yahoo, the first one that I opened when I first learned of the in-tra-net.
It has 5,027 unread emails. But anyway.
Each time I sign in to that account, there are news stories featured to the right.
Or should I say "stories."

I have not customized this page, so how it selects what it shows I'm not quite sure.
But today, these are the sample titles, with accompanying photos:

'High Stakes Mosque Politics'
'Ruling Costs Golfer at PGA'
and,
'Two Stars, One Shiny Dress'

The last one comes up frequently, under different titles.
Such as, 'Who Wore It Best?'
And,
'Fashion Faceoff!'

Today I clicked on the news story, the one with the shiny dress and the stars, and I discovered two things:
1. I don't know who the stars are.
2. They are wearing the same dress.

And I am supposed to vote for the who looks better. Because that is what women do. We judge each other.

This 'story' pops up at least once a week, and I have yet to see one that features men in the fashion face-off. Because men can (gasp) wear the same thing and it doesn't cause us to think of how embarrassed they might be, or to compare their elbows and triceps and thighs. I tried this at a wedding recently, I put my hand to my mouth and whispered loudly to my brother, "Don't look, but you and Dave are wearing the same thing."
They both had red ties. And all night, all anyone could talk about was who wore the tie better: Dave? Sean? It was a very important question.

I am submitting a fashion face-off story for yahoo and I hope they accept it.
Because I think there is a clear winner in this one:
Two Stars, One Shiny Suit...

Your Body Belongs to You

2010-08-13T21:27:00.000-07:00

One morning, I woke to the most unique sensation.
Different than having your dog leap onto the bed demanding a walk.
Different than having your partner sleep-kick your groin.
I jolted up, my right breast throbbing, and opened my eyes.
Two inches from my face was Miss C.
"I just pinched your thimble," she informed me.
Thimble is her word for nipple.

I looked at the clock, which read 6:03 am.

Now holding my aching thimble, I looked at my daughter, who stood before me, matter of fact. As though she'd just stated that she'd like some Cheerios, with milk please, and a side of toast.

"Why?" I asked her.

"It was there, and I wanted to."

I think I'll hang onto this phrase lest I develop a penchant for kleptomania. It's simple and gets right to the point.

"That's not okay," I told her, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

She stood unmoved.
"Why?"

"Because, that hurt me. And also because those are my breasts."

"But can I touch them if I'm not pinching?"

It was 6:04 am. And since my little one has been highly interested in all body parts lately, I decided now is as good a time as any to school her a little further.

"Do you remember which parts of our body are private?"

"Like some playgrounds are private?" she asked.

"Sort of. What do you mean?

"The ones with a fence around them. Like Allison's."

"Yes," I said."Do we just go on Allison's playground?"

"No," she sighed. "We have to ask her."

"Right. Well, breasts are like that. You can't just touch someone's breasts."

"I have to ask?"

"Yes."

"Can I touch your breast?"

"No."

"Well okay," she said, thinking of a back-up plan. "Can we go on Allison's playground then?"

My clock clicked 6:05, and I decided there is no other job that requires such conversation before allowing you to get your daily caffeine.

"We'll see," I replied.

"Well," she still stood next to my bed, unmoved. "I don't have breasts. And dad only has thimbles."

"Yes," I said.

"So."

"So."

"So, what about our breasts?"

"Dad will not get breasts. Men don't grow them."

"Well okay. But will I grow them?"

"Yes, when you are older, as you become a young woman, you will grow breasts."

"Mmm-kay."

"Okay?"

"Mama, can you say, 'Mmmm-kay?'"

"No, I'd rather say okay. Okay?"

"Mmm-kay. But I say mmmm-kay."

"Fine. Now please go get your pants on if you want some breakfast."

"Mmmmm-kay."

How To Get Hot Chicks

2010-08-11T12:09:00.000-07:00

I just laughed so hard I spit out my tiny baby burger.

Don't Ask; Apologize.

2010-08-11T07:52:00.000-07:00

To ask permission for something you know you oughtn't be doing will get you an immediate 'no.'
However, if you just go ahead and do it without asking, you can always apologize. As though you didn't entirely mean it.

Like when Miss C asks if she can pour a glass of milk onto the floor "just to see how fast it will flow." Versus doing it, looking surprised and saying, "Sorry! It was an accident."
Then getting irate with me, because that was her glass of milk, and here I am judging her intent.

She may have a strong career in advertising ahead of her.

Ralph Lauren last year apologized for this digitally altered photo which ran in Australia:

And then this one in Japan:

Well, they sort of apologized, but mostly they focused on feeling indignant that someone had reprinted their copyrighted photo. Because that was the important thing, not truth in advertising.
Their milk.

And they just wanted so see how small it could get.

But you need not be Ralph Lauren to give this a try.

You could be Ann Taylor, which issued this statement when called out for such tactics:

We agree, we may have been overzealous on some retouching but going forward we’ll make sure to feature more real, beautiful images.

We want to support and celebrate the natural beauty of women, and we apologize if in the process of retouching that was lost.

Be sure to lookout for better photos on our site in the future!

Overzealous! Like, can't you just picture a room of them working away on this picture. But they've had too much coffee! And they're so excited! And they just got carried away! With shaving entire limbs off of their models!

Oopsies.

Also, notice they don't say, "It won't happen again."
Miss C, as she mopped up milk from the floor, said, "It came out faster than I thought."
But she never said, "Whew, that was a mistake. You won't find me dumping milk on our floor again!"

No, Ann Taylor wants to "feature more real beautiful images."
However, if they non-feature non-real images, just know that it was an overcaffeinated excited and honest mistake.

Sexy Flexy and Promiscuous Girls

2010-08-09T09:15:00.000-07:00

An Ottawa pole dance studio offers classes and birthday parties for girls ages 5 and older.
A brief article, with explanation from the instructor here.

(Thanks Kristi, for sending this my way.)

Mamapedia Voices

2010-08-06T05:31:00.000-07:00

Today a post from Disney Princess Recovery is being featured on Mamapedia Voices.

If you stop over, you'll view it before me since by the time this posts, I will be on the road with Miss C and Dave heading to one of those towns in Massachusetts that only the locals can pronounce. Wuhstah? Glahstah? Lahminstah? I'll be working on losing my R the entire drive there. Because nothing is more embarrassing than pronouncing an R within an hour of Boston. People point and laugh at you.

Princess Parent Groups: Are You Still Sexy???

2010-08-05T22:57:00.000-07:00

Three question marks seems about right.

The Disney family website hosts a group called Princess Parent Group.

Not sure if it's right for you? Read the intro to see if it's a fit:

Is it a whole new world with Jasmine at your house? How about Ariel? Do you scour the stores looking for her favorite princess stuff? Do these questions make you grin? Then you fit right in with other parents raising a princess.

There are currently 254 members, and then "family host" members, who pose questions, such as:

"Do you let your princess wear a bikini?"

"Has your princess met a princess?"

"Have you pierced your princess' ears?"

"Although every other day of the year is about your little princess, Mother's Day is when YOU get to be the Queen! So what did your castle do for you?"

"Plan a princess pampering day. If you had $50, would you get a manicure together? Or go to a movie?"

There are also threads tackling these topics:

"Help your princess click with the clique"

"Make-up?!"

"Provocative Princess."

This is a really smart marketing tool, because many of the questions revolve around which products your princess has, or which ones you'll get her. Once parents have been thoroughly schooled on what experiences their daughter is missing out on (haven't met a princess yet? Better get to Disney!), they can then move on to content that is specific to their adult needs.

Here's today's special topic: Are You Still Sexy?

If you're not interested in finding out if you are still sexy (but how can you go on with your day? If you don't know??? If you're still sexy???????), I'll share with you my favorite question:

How regularly do you get a bikini wax?

a. Once, fortunately I'm very good with a razor.
b. I don't even have a bikini, why would I need a wax?
c. I have a standing bi-monthly appointment at the place where I get my upper lip bleached, my lower lips plumped, and my brows plucked and shaped.

Because, many clinical studies have found, having your lips plumped and your pubic hair properly shaped has been linked to a more satisfying and vibrant sex life.

I think my favorite part of the quiz is that on the sidebar, these are the flashing advertisements:

Hershey's chocolate bars
Abilify (try 2 weeks free!)
Clinique Dark Spot Correcting lotion (in which speckled eggs are used to demonstrate what your skin looks like now, as in Before, as in gross, you have speckled bird egg face! And how will you get your daughter to click with the clique? And does your provocative princess wear a bikini? And do you wax regularly?)

No wonder Abilify is on there, good night.

The Op-Ed Project

2010-08-03T22:28:00.000-07:00

When I was 17, I spent the summer babysitting for 4 brothers. I'd babysat these boys since I was 11 years old, had seen them learn to swim and ride their bicycles, and grow into older boys, boys who would become the kind of young men any parent would be proud of. They were a pack, traveled as one unit, and although they fought like the dickens at times, they always watched out for each other and looked after one another.

They lived one block from a neighborhood community center, and summer afternoons, we spent countless hours there, in the gymnasium, the pool, and the playroom. One day, while walking home from a long session of swimming and basketball and foosball (I just had to spell that 5 times, because wouldn't you think it's fooseball? It is not, according to google), Brett, the second oldest, relayed to me how he'd been playing the neighborhood bully at the foosball table, and the bully kept cheating, trying to distract Brett from the fact that he was pushing the ball toward the goal with his hand. Which is completely not how you play foosball, there are no hands allowed. So, as Brett gushed about this, and as I watched the pack, each holding their rolled up towel and two still wearing their dripping swim trunks, Brett continued, "So I told him, I said, 'Cheaters never prosper!' "

I was 14 when this happened, and I literally had to stop on the sidewalk, because here was this 8 year old kid, beaming at me, confirming that a phrase I was always repeating to the boys, was what he had just told the neighborhood bully. It was one of those sharp learning moments for me, when I understood that kids absorb the sage and silly and stupid things we do and say, even when they act like they're not paying attention.

So, three years later for me and this family, and they've gone through a divorce, are living with their mother, have moved from the family home into a two-bedroom rental in a rougher part of town, and I am still babysitting them over the summer, while their mom works 50+ hour weeks trying to hold it all together.
After all these changes, she arranges to take the boys on a road trip down south for one week to visit family, and I am to watch their extremely hyperactive and maniacal dog, Fudge.

I ride my bike to their rented apartment each morning before work, get dragged around by Fudge, feed her; ride there after work, get dragged around by Fudge, feed her, and return one final time in the evening, final drag around of the day. On the third day of this relaxing routine, I arrive for the morning drag-about and when I enter the home, it is wrecked. I can stand in the hallway and barely take two steps because every inch of the floor has been covered with...the contents of the house. I see the kitchen straight ahead, every cupboard open, every dish smashed on the floor, the silverware drawer dumped out, the garbage tipped and spilled. I groan, not in the mood for a massive clean up after this demented dog. "FUDGE!" I roar. She is nowhere, hiding of course. I bound up the stairs, two at time, throw open the door to a bedroom, hollering for the dog, and that's when I see that a back window is open, and a ladder is propped up to it, leaning against the back of the house. I stand there, looking at the mess in the room, the contents of each drawer strewn, the mattresses pulled from the bunks, the lone jewelry box smashed, and begin to shake. I shake as I walk down the stairs, out of the house, onto the quiet street, and find Fudge tied up to the back post.

Within that hour, I learned that a neighbor found Fudge wandering the street at 5 am, and tied her up in the backyard. I called the single mother visiting her family down south and told her that her house was broken into, and robbed. I tearfully gave my report to two police officers, and one looked at me like the naive teen I was, and soberly told me that the house must have been under surveillance and a planned burglary, and that I was lucky that no one was still there when I arrived. Because there I would have been all, FUDGE YOU DAMN DOG and then I'd meed Mr. Robber and be all, "Can you believe the nerve of this dog? Ooh, I love that necklace you're holding, where'd you get it?"

So, not only naive but also deeply perturbed by this occurrence, I did what any person who'd never been the victim of a crime would do. I wrote a letter, to the burglar, and sent it to the Rochester newspaper, and a week later it was printed on the Op-Ed page. Because, you know, the burglar probably goes through the night's loot, then brews a cup of Chamomile tea, and opens up to the Op-Ed to see if anyone objects to his chosen way of life. I told that burglar, in no uncertain terms, that the family he picked (or she, equal opportunity here) was not the ideal family to burgle, Sir Burgler. You jerk.

That was the first and last Op-Ed I wrote. And it was to a robber.
If you've never tried this exercise, I can tell you this: not a real high rate of return on such correspondence. You're better off penning a line to your grandmother.

There is a point! Yes, there is a point indeedy.

This past November, I attended a conference held at Case Western in Cleveland called the Op-Ed Seminar. It was sponsored by the Op-Ed Project and here is the point: Op-Eds, which are run daily in every newspaper throughout the nation, and read by your neighbor, congress rep and president alike....are not written by you. They're not written by your mother, or your sister or your best friend who is so smart and so funny and knows so much.

Because 80% of them are written by men.

This is not because newspapers are throwing out every letter or opinion piece a woman submits, but because, ladies, we're not writing in.

Think of how the absence of womens voices affects public debate.
And how public debate shapes local and national policy.
And how those things shape our daily existence.
The Op-Ed is where producers and politicians turn to see what is on the mind of the people.
If women are talking about things that affect their lives amongst each other, but not sending our thoughts onto the bigger conversation, then we are silent.

While sitting in the room where the conference was held, there were roughly two dozen other women from all professions and walks of life, ages 19 to 89. Their expertise was far and wide, and each was knowledgeable about something. Most were representing an organization.

We did a simple exercise at the beginning, the instruction was: Go around the room, say your name, and state what you are an expert on.

It took us nearly 40 minutes to complete this, and it sounded like this:
"My name is Jane, and, well, expert? I don't know...I'm not really an expert on anything, I mean, I work for X group, and I have some experience doing...hmm, I mean I'm passionate about Y, but I don't know nearly as much as a lot of other people."

The leader of the seminar listened and when we finally wrapped up, she told us that the same activity, when done with organizations that were entirely male, took about 2 minutes.

Not because men have more expertise in any given field, but because they claim it. They are more likely to overclaim, and women, we are often too hesitant to claim anything at all.

One woman in this group was a professor of economics, in her 50's, and was not just an expert, but an actual Expert. She'd been interviewed several times by NPR, the New York Times, and other major publications. And even she took a little too long to claim her expertise in this exercise.
At the end of one of the discussions, she commented, "I always thought self-consciousness was something we grow out of. But that's not true. It's something we choose out of."

At 17 I was so blinded by anger at harm brought to a family I loved that I didn't have an ounce of self-consciousness to keep me from writing my thoughts about it. To the very worldly and daily newspaper reading robber. And since then, has there really been nothing in all these years that's warranted another letter to the editor?

Take note on yourself and your conversations over the next 14 days or so. See what gets you fired up at work, or at home, or in the news. And see what you do with that fire. Do you spew off to your mate? Your mother? Or, do you stew a little at the state of the world and how hopeless it all is? Do you go for a run to work it out and then drop it? Or cut yourself a nice slab of chocolate cake and instead start calculating calories instead of thinking about that thing, what was that thing you were thinking about?

I have been guilty of all of the above, and so I'm going to pay attention to my conversations and cravings for change over the next two weeks, and who knows, I might just pen another note to the local paper. It's been some time, I bet they must get tired of the same old 80% after awhile.

If I saw Brett now, I'd apologize for not dropping more accurate catch phrases into his childhood psyche. Like, "Actually, cheaters sometimes prosper, but you don't have to accept it."
It's a little more clunky, but I think it still works.

Thirsty in the Rain*

2010-08-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

Anorexic young women tend to be popular with the opposite sex. They epitomize our cultural definitions of feminine: thin, passive, weak and eager to please. Oftentimes young women report that they are complimented on their appearance right up until they are admitted to hospitals for emergency feeding.

I think anorexia is a metaphor. It is a young woman's statement that she will become what the culture asks of its women, which is that they be thin and nonthreatening. Anorexia signifies that a young woman is so delicate that...she needs a man to shelter and protect her from a world she cannot handle. Anorexic women signal with their bodies "I will take up only a small amount of space. I won't get in the way." They signal, "I won't be intimidating or threatening." (Who is afraid of a seventy-pound adult?)

---Mary Pipher, Ph.D. (from Reviving Ophelia, p. 175)

*Peter Rowan

Morning Story

2010-07-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

Sleeping Bobby has been a hit this week. It's been the morning story, the bed time story, and the book I find lodged between Miss C and the wall when I peek on her at night.
Which means that she's been getting out of bed and sneaking Sleeping Bobby!

Twists on old fairy tales tend to really make her mind do contortionist twists.
This page has gotten some wear:

It's where 12 Wise Women come to bring gifts to Bobby. (In the Sleeping Beauty version, I believe it's 12 Fairies...but mythology experts correct me).
And the first time I read that, the line, "twelve wise women," Miss C inserted, "and 3 wise men."
Quick as a wink, as if I'd just left off that part entirely.

Because what would a fairy tale be if you didn't throw in a little nativity and mix it all up?
Jesus and Bobby and Aurora and the Virgin Mary: voila.

"Well, I think that's a different story."

"No, they are there..." she traces the page with her finger, searching for the wise men bearing gold and frankincense and myrrh for baby Bobby.

Her finger lingers over one masculine looking wise woman, sort of like, well here's one that could go either way, then looks up at me, questioningly.

"Nope, that's still a wise woman."

"Well," she hems, "to me, that's a man."

And there she goes, just switching up the parts all willy nilly, re-writing the story to suit her own whim.

In moments like this, it pops into my head that sex is mutable for children up until about age 6, meaning that male and female are changeable, not yet fixed.

So, I let it slide.

And I figure, I could learn a lot by hanging out with someone for whom some things are mutable.

91

2010-07-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

As Miss C climbed into the car before swimming lessons, she suddenly reversed and started back toward the house, calling over her shoulder, "I forgot my buddies, I have to get my buddies!"

I trailed her (I'm always trailing her), unlocked the back door and watched her fly into the house. I stood in the doorway, wondering who she would bring this time There was much clomping around, and then rummaging, and finally, she emerged with her buddies:

Cinderella:
(she also doubles as Bonnie Raitt)

Agarvatee:
(he doubles as Agarvatee, and also, the other Agarvatee)

Cinderella--apparently, a shape-shifter-- and Belle (the banana-seat bike-riding duo)

She had her arms full on the ride over to the YMCA, and spent much of the time informing the cast of characters that indeed, she would not be going under water today, but that chances were pretty high she'd be intentionally sampling the delicious chlorinated water. It's just too refreshing to pass up.

You can take the Disney out of the house, but what follows after that is anyone's guess.

90 Days: Status Report

2010-07-28T23:15:00.000-07:00

My first post here was about 3 months ago.

If you'd like to read that Miss C has since moved on from Cinderella and Belle to Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Amelia Earheart, you will be sorely disappointed.

In fact, we talk about Cinderella every single day.
And she still asks for Ariel stories every other day.

But there are some big changes:

1.     She is telling her own stories. This week, the story has revolved around Belle and Cinderella being sisters, sharing a room, and riding a banana seat bicycle together. Belle sits, Cinderella pedals, and Belle makes sure not to dip her feet too close to the spokes of the speeding wheels. (It sounds vaguely familiar, like a story I told Miss C about my sister and I sharing a bike. But, I never copyrighted it, so plagiarize away, my girl.)

2.     She's been insisting on names for the princes. It's complicated, so pay attention. Cinderella's prince is named: Agarvatee. She made it up herself, and she also named Belle's prince Agarvatee, and also Snow White and Tiana's prince...Agarvatee. The catch is: they're not the same Agarvatee. They're all different princes, they just happen to share the very common name of Agarvatee. Sort of like Mike, or Jake. But, Agarvatee. (I think it's #101 on the list of Popular Boy Names.)

3.     Ariel is no longer half-human and half-fish. "She's half woman and half man." When I asked which part of her was which, Miss C took her hand and drew an invisible line from the center of her forehead, down her face, torso and until she reached the floor. So, it's a vertical split, right down the center. Which I'm guessing must make simple tasks like dressing and going to the bathroom a bit of an extra challenge.

The play continues to change, with increasing flexibility and creativity displayed. I think the names of the characters and pieces of their story will remain with us for quite awhile longer, and it's been an honor getting to know the deeper parts of hermaphrodite Ariel and all the Argavatees.

Tsunami

2010-07-23T06:01:00.000-07:00

Grocery shopping: is it like this for you?

Prior to getting to check-out:

Then, directly in front of check out, just in case you missed it while picking up some spinach:

Finally, arriving in the check-out aisle:

Isn't it so strange that so many little girls just love Disney Princesses?

Must be genetic.

Parental Responsibility

2010-07-23T06:00:00.000-07:00

I wanted to respond to a comment left on this post from Rivqa, an editor based in Sydney, Australia.
She writes,

"I'm very sympathetic to parents under pressure of pester power but I think they are the ones who need to draw the line. The kids clearly aren't able to!"

And, this is a common statement which I agree with, with a BUT.

At the end of many discussions regarding sexualized and violent behavior seen in kids, and the rapid decline of the health of the American child (from increase in obesity to increase in mental health disorders), it's typically wrapped up like this, "Well, the parents have a responsibility to protect their child, and to shape their child. And now, let's cut to a commercial."

For those of you who were able to view all of the film Consuming Kids, the final segment deals specifically with parental responsibility and what it means. You can watch the last couple minutes here.

In the wrap up, Susan Linn, Director of Campaign for a Commercial Free-Childhood, says, "We have a $15 billion dollar industry that is working day and night to undermine parental authority."

Enola Aird, of The Motherhood Project, makes this analogy, "It's akin to an owner of a large fleet of trucks announcing that our fleet of trucks, from now on, is going to be barreling down the road, especially where children are, at 150 miles per hour. Parents, watch out, it's your job to take care that your children don't get hurt."

Two things are needed:

1. parental responsibility.
2. help for us responsible parents.

And heck, even help for the irresponsible parents.

Because all them kids gonna be mixed together in the classroom soon enough, so let's all just help each other out, shall we? I won't tsk tsk your terrible and irresponsible parenting if you don't mock the fact that my daughter often strips down to her underwear the moment we get home. Because it just feels better, hanging out in your underwear.

We have now seen what it looks like when there are no rules whatsoever regarding marketing to children.
It is UG-ly.
Since companies don't have a code of ethics, intervention is needed.

I want to work on both fronts.
I want to be more responsible as a parent.
And, for Pete's sake, I want to not step into a tsunami of shite each time I leave my house with my child. It is wearying to the bone.

Booty POPPED.

2010-07-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

One day after I called Bed Bath and Beyond to make a complaint about this, I received a call from Bernice, Regional Customer Sales Manager for the company. She was lovely to speak with, and told me that my concerns were highly valued and would be sent on to the board which oversees marketing. Interestingly, in both phone calls, neither employee would say the name Booty Pop. Bernice, when she called, said, "I received an email about some issues you have with...that you have some concerns."

If I have been calling to complain about my 400 thread count sheets, or Teflon frying pan, I wonder if it would be as hard for the representative to name the product.

"You have concerns about...you wanted to voice your thoughts regarding..."
"My frying pan?"
"Yes, your frying pan," (clears throat nervously).

After relaying my concerns to Bernice, I asked her,
"What do you think about your company carrying this product?"

"Well," she began, "I hadn't seen the flier until getting your complaint. Then, I took a look at it. And...I can definitely see where you'd take issue. I have nieces."

Having nieces helps because often, what gets someone concerned about an issue is connecting it to a face, thinking about how it might impact or harm someone they know and love. I think this is what lights a fire under parents butts, and why many an apolitical college student, once a parent, takes issue with things that never bothered them before. Suddenly, there is a face before them that will most certainly be walking into a world that has been shaped by adults.

I dropped into BBB briefly this evening and made use of one of Lillian's lovely posters.
And, it looked just right.

Problem Solving Deficit Disorder

2010-07-20T19:51:00.000-07:00

Diane Levin coined the term Problem Solving Deficit Disorder and I would not be surprised to see it included in the next edition of the DSM.

Problem Solving Deficit Disorder speaks to the lack of skills that children have when they have spent most of their play time in imitative or instructed play rather than real play. The child, instead of problem solving and learning her own way of doing things, through play, has spent months to years imitating a pre-created story line.

In imitative play, the child is taking a toy that comes with it's own story line, or it's own set of instructions, and is using it as directed. The toy can be a Power Ranger, Spider Man, Luke Skywalker, Cinderella, Ariel, Tiana. The child takes the toy, and knowing the storyline it represents, plays that story over and over. He or she imitates what she's seen without great variation. It is imitative because the way my daughter plays Ariel is nearly identical to how Mia plays it, and how every little girl in our neighborhood plays Ariel. The way a little boy plays Spider Man is not greatly different from how his cousin, friend and neighbor will play Spider Man. It is the outside going into the child, the child is receiving input rather than creating output. Through imitation, the child is internalizing the story and it's message.

In real play, the child is taking what exists in her mind, and putting it into her world in a concrete way. She is taking the things she notices and thinks about, and manifesting them in a physical way. This is why, especially early on, kids can play with pots and pans, rocks, blocks, and sock puppets. The materials need not be complicated, there doesn't even necessarily need to be materials, because the ideas are what count. In real play, the kind that builds a child up, the ideas are the most sophisticated ingredient, and the final product. It is the mind and personal creativity of the child coming out, the child imprinting the world with her way of seeing it.

Toys and materials that promote real play are open ended, non-affiliated: wooden blocks, bubbles, paint, play doh. The way my daughter plays with paint will be different than how Mia paints, and Mia's painting will be different than every other little girl in our neighborhood. They way your son uses play-doh will be different than how his cousin uses it, and different still from how his friends use it.
Here are some teachers examples, as reported to Levin, of how they've seen PSDD manifest in their classrooms:

Kindergarten teacher: Daily, groups of girls argue about who will get to go to the sand table and stand next to the cutest boy.

First Grade teacher: Daily fights among boys as they play, Good Guy vs. Bad Guy, always, always, resulting in someone crying, someone getting hurt.

Kindergarten teacher: Kids, given 15 minutes of free play, roaming around the play area, unsure what to do, not engaging in anything, saying, "There's nothing to do."

First Grade: Boys not knowing how to play without using characters from TV shows and movies, and always these shows have the Good Guy vs. Bad Guy theme, and always they're beating the tar out of the Bad Guys, in the name of justice.

Another teacher that Levin interviewed told how in her classroom, she set a large mass of play-doh on a table, and kids walked around it, not touching it, until one child finally poked it and asked, "What does it do?"

When kids have spent play time from age 1-5 imitating companies stories, they have not used that time to discover a problem and then work at solving that problem. Instead of developing and sharpening problem solving skills, instead of building a foundation to support conflict resolution, they've sharpened their skills of imitating, and will rely heavily on others to provide both entertainment, and solutions to problems.

Prudent Advice

2010-07-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

Remember that most fairytales were written by men.

Some of the greatest writers of children’s fables were male: The Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, even Walt Disney.

You are not a tiny princess awaiting rescue by a valiant man, a symbol of frailty and naïveté, or the punch line in a morality tale. The women in those stories were crafted by a different sex at a different time for a different audience; these days you slay the dragon yourself.

from 500 Pieces of Prudent Advice for My Baby Daughter

More Consuming Kids

2010-07-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

Some of you have emailed and asked how to see more of the film, Consuming Kids.

Here's one way:
1. go to youtube.com
2. in the search box, type in Consuming Kids
3. the rest of the segments will appear, and you can watch them in succession. There are 7 parts, each a few minutes.

If you are so inclined to own the DVD, you can order it from the Media Education Foundation. The cost is $20 for an individual...and waaay more for a high school or college, a couple hundred dollars. (This is due to purchasing the digital license along with other materials such as study guide and discussion kit). I own a copy and have already passed it around to several friends, and family members are next. It's been a very helpful tool thus far.

Here's part 2/7:

I won't be posting any other segments, but if you have further questions about it, feel free to email or post in comments.

Consuming Kids

2010-07-18T15:48:00.000-07:00

If you are at home, sit down and watch this after you've put the kids to bed, or gotten great take-out, or finished spackling, or made some tea, or whatever you do at the end of your day. Give it your attention, I think it is that worth it.

If you're local, and want more, I'm setting up a screening at the library in the coming weeks.
If you're not local, and want more, you can watch the rest on youtube, or see if your library has it. (No, it's not on Netflix.)

It is 9 minutes, so brace yourself for this very long chunk of time in internet world! 9 minutes! I can't give it back to you if it sucks, but, at least you know it was well-intentioned.

Finally, I recommend maximizing the screen (click arrows in lower right corner) for best viewing quality.
Oh, you already knew that? Well, aren't you smart.