Category: Daughters

My Ticking Time Bomb (aka daughter)

3/23/2014

Now I know how my parents felt when I used to play the same song over and over with only a brief pause while I rewound the tape. I used to blare Whitney Houston’s version of “I Will Always Love You” until even I became sick of hearing it. My kids don’t even know Whitney Houston except that she was the woman who took too many pills. A sign of the times when the manner of death precedes musical talent for an entire generation. Nowadays, my Whitney Houston is their MKTO. Never heard of them before? Me either.

Every Sunday, usually mid-afternoon in between musical sets and trampoline routines, my 11-year-old daughter sighs and says, “That moment when you realize you have school tomorrow.” An almost rhetorical expression towards the school week ahead. To echo her phrase, I know how she feels about having realizations only mine are usually something like this: That moment when I look at my daughter and realize that she’s morphing into a woman. I can’t pinpoint the exact timing when the change happened. And I don’t mean the change as in menstruation. Not yet anyway. Her transformation has more been a collection of subtle changes that aren’t so big on their own. But added up, my daughter is careening from childhood into puberty and there’s no going back.

The thing is, I know where she’s headed and I can’t say that it’ll be her best years. The time when hormones fume and privacy is essential. The time when everyone is annoying just because and camisoles must be worn under everything sheer and otherwise just to camouflage what might be budding underneath. The years when girlish bodies fill out, curving and broadening, in all the places that’ll give us a complex later on. Too large, too flat, too round, or too wide. The time when smelling good is just as important as being clean. Perfumes become overpowering contaminants and scented body gels from Bath and Body Works suddenly replace soap. Anything to mask the faint smell of perspiration and general odors from adolescence.

Somehow I felt differently when I watched my son going through puberty. I guess because I’d never felt what he felt because I didn’t have his parts. There also didn’t seem to be as much change going on in him compared to girls. I mean, I know there was it just didn’t seem as obvious. Girls are more like ticking time bombs. The part that has me so rattled is that I see myself in my daughter. And, like me, she won’t listen to anyone. (Side note: I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: sorry mom.) I guess I’ll just have to keep giving my daughter unsolicited advice about less is more when it comes to makeup not clothes; feminine hygiene; and how boys aren’t worth it. And then I’ll just have to sit back and try and survive the ride. Expecting to enjoy it might be wishful thinking. Stay tuned...

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Way Worse Than Vagina

2/24/2014

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No matter how much we try and insulate…wait. Who am I kidding? It’s impossible to raise children in a bubble without pop culture influencing them. Just the other day my daughter came home with a homemade grill from the leftover tin foil in her lunch bag.

I’m so proud. I’m not sure whether to credit Madonna for the hideous fashion trend or some rapper spewing the ‘N’ word. That’s ‘N’ with an ‘a’ and, yes, the ending matters.
That’s not a word that I use or condone. Kids learn this stuff. Just like they learn about sex and porn and everything else that we want to shelter them from for as long as we can.

Even more cringeworthy than the homemade grill is when my 12-year-old son recites the lyrics to popular rap songs, word for word, as if he has a clue about gangsta life or the meaning of misogyny. I’ve told him that I won’t answer to being called “woman” even jokingly. And, because you're white, don't ever say the ‘N’ word even if everyone says it or that's how the song goes. Find a new verse, I tell him. Better yet, find a new song.

I also explain that we have a parrot in the house named Peter. Not an actual parrot, but a 7-year-old who will say whatever whenever, even revealing such personal things like how his older brother’s privates are now hairy. You see what I mean. He repeats everything, including the words he knows are forbidden. He told his teacher that if he was performing in the talent show he’d pick a song with all the bad words. Words that he'd recite if prompted.

I'm always worried that he's going to say something mortifying like calling grown men with ponytails girls or pudgy men with guts fat. He's done both. Over the weekend, I drove my oldest son and two of his friends to the basketball park. I was tense just waiting for Peter to blurt out something offensive to the two black friends. I held my breath as I turned into their apartment complex. Lately he’s been telling me how his classmates live in “mansions” so I expected him to make some kind of comparison. Whew—safe. He stayed quiet.

Then the boys got out of the car and he said it, the ‘N’ word, to his sister who was poking him in the backseat. I flung my head around and told him to never say that word again, thankful that I wasn’t scolding him minutes earlier. I told him that's one of the worst words to say. “Like vagina?” he asked me. “Way worse,” I told him. That’ll have to be the lesson for now.

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According To Society: I'm Culturally Insensitive

10/31/2013

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Here’s a test and only you know the real answers. Do you find these jokes funny? What’s a Mexican without a lawnmower? Unemployed. How do you know an Asian robbed your house? Your homework is done, your dog is missing, and they’re still backing out of the driveway.

I find this humor offensive. However, I must confess: Hi, my name is Catherine, and I’m culturally insensitive. In 2006, I dressed my daughter up as a Geisha girl for Halloween. That summer a friend traveled to the Far East (Thailand, I think) and brought my daughter an adorable fuchsia dress as a memento from her trip. Come Halloween, I ordered a paper umbrella and a large black wig, complete with a metal rod and attached red tassel, which played up my daughter’s already full, poufy hair. I put some white powder on her face, applied black liner, and painted her lips red. Put together, her costume looked just like the ones pictured in the catalogs we’d received in the mail and I patted myself on the back for saving money and not purchasing a full costume. Not once did I think her costume was offensive.

Despite my WASPy exterior, I’ve always thought of myself as culturally inclusive and more progressive-minded than the average American in terms of my acceptance of others. Marrying an Iranian immigrant and having multicultural children has everything to do with how my mindset has evolved. It’s no surprise that I’m astonished when people ask if my husband grew up with a pet camel. (Side note: He sees them in the Zoos just like everyone else.) Now if I were critiqued under the objective auspices of the P.C. patrol, then my perception of myself may be inaccurate, especially after I dressed my daughter up as a cultural stereotype.

From my vantage point, society has drifted into the overly-politically-correct territory. On Monday, every mainstream media and gossip site ran a story about Julianne Hough’s Halloween costume and supposed “blackface.” Here’s a link if you’ve been living under a rock: http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/gossip/orange-new-black-star-offended-julianne-hough-blackface-article-1.1500580. According to society, I should be ashamed to admit that her costume didn’t offend me. Hough wasn’t poking fun of African features or making a caricature of the actress she was emulating. She applied a little bronzer to closer resemble the character. What if she was barefaced with corn rows in her hair? Would that be offensive, too?

I’m certain that society would also condemn me for being a 35-year-old, college-educated, white woman who knows next to nothing about blackface and the minstrel era. When I first heard the term “minstrel” I thought it was spelled the same way as “menstrual” naturally confusing it with the five to seven day period that happens once a month. Somehow I managed to make it to my mid-thirties without knowing the history of blackface. I vaguely remember the brouhaha when Billy Crystal did it. My point is that cultural sensitivity is learned and one’s proximity to discrimination affects the degree to which those lessons are taught. True, there are some universal things that everyone should know, like the five senses, the freezing point of water, the four seasons, the radius of a circle, and the seven continents, just to name a few. I ask you: should blackface be included in that list?

To be truly insensitive, like the accusations hurled at Hough, requires having the intent to stereotype, degrade, or commit any of the -isms (race, cultural, etc.) with added disregard towards a certain group. When I dressed my daughter as a Geisha girl, I never intended to poke fun of Japanese culture. Truthfully, I don’t know much about Geisha girls beyond the superficial. As America becomes more diverse and history becomes diluted with each generation, are we still going to hold everyone to the objective standards of the past, a social construction if you will, that changes over time? So while blackface was meant to denigrate blacks in the 1800s minstrel era, the coloring of one’s skin today doesn’t have the same meaning. Otherwise, if we’re going to attack Hough then we should also attack Tan Mom and anyone else trying to have a skin tone that’s not biologically their own.

Want to check if your costume is offensive? Here’s a flow chart: http://www.upworthy.com/how-to-tell-if-your-halloween-costume-is-a-crime-against-common-sense-and-decency-for-the-reals?c=ufb1

Throwback Thursday: My attempt at being creative with Peter's costume during the year of the Geisha.

Be safe, stay dry, and have fun! Happy Halloween!

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What's Your Makeup Rule? (for the face, not relationships)

10/24/2013

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Nobody could ever accuse me of being a helicopter parent. I let my children play freely, roaming from house to house in our semi-secluded enclave of homes. There are afternoons when they go outside, sometimes by coercion and sometimes by their own free will, doing what kids do, collecting hitchhikers on their pants and canoodling with the neighbor’s kittens. (Spay and snip your pets, people! And for the men, your dog’s balls don’t affect your manhood!!! Sorry to be so blunt, Mom.) Now back to my kids. I usually have an idea of their vicinity, but can’t pinpoint their exact location. My husband gets all uptight if I shrug my shoulders in response to his asking, “Where is everyone?” Or he’ll say, “Did you ask their parents if he could come over?” “He” is Peter and, no, I didn’t ask before he sprinted across the yard to find some friends for a Nerf war. Besides, if the neighbor’s kid can’t play then Peter will just run back home. No big deal. Is it bad if I've adopted an "out of sight, out of mind" mentality?

I think as parents we can judge the degree of hovering required to keep a child in line. And looking ahead to the future, I already know how to position my mostly obedient children against the ones ready and willing to break the rules. I guess having four kids in five years has its perks. (Side note: Remind me to refer back to this post when I’m cursing my life.) And that scientific study about older children being more responsible holds true in our household. As for my two future hellions, there’s Peter (7) who sneaks beer from the refrigerator and tells me that he’s going to smoke cigarettes when he’s older. And then there’s my 9-year-old daughter who pushes every limit by dancing around provocatively while pretending to wear a thong and guzzles my glass of Sangria when my back is turned. That alone should keep me up at night. Yet I have more of a one-day-at-a-time mentality and don’t get hung up on the “what ifs.” Knowing I have at least one tattle teller in the bunch is enough to calm my nerves.

Now I’ve let my both of girls (ages 9 & 11) “play” with makeup for years. They experiment with everything short of foundation and concealer because perfect skin doesn’t need correcting. Isn’t wearing makeup part of the fun of being a girl? Just an aspect of what it means for them to play? I admit that I’m alarmed when my girls tell me about their “You Tubers” who recommend the latest products, after which they advise me which makeup brands I should try. (BTW, the Maybelline volume express mascara does really work.) I’m mostly bothered by the overt consumerism than I am concerned about them experimenting with makeup at a young age. Just the other day my daughter, alarmed to see a Tarte primer on my bathroom countertop, commented, “You have Tarte makeup? That’s very expensive.” Yes, the barely used and grimy bottle from the last decade is still left over from my other life, when I used to shop at Sephora and spend money without thinking. I’d set out the primer to remind me to plug up my worry line like coating drywall with Spackle, to even out the pronounced groove that developed from the harried chaos of raising four kids.

Despite my daughters’ interest in makeup, I'm a minimalist using makeup primarily to camouflage a breakout. And I still prefer coating my lips in Vaseline versus any other lip products. There are also many days when I go barefaced. Makeup isn’t something I need or my girls need to make something out of nothing. I think they feel pretty in their own skin. Yet leave it to social media to make me question my lenient makeup policy. Here’s the FB post:
            Need some preteen girl advice:-). Parents of other middle school daughters, do you allow
            them to wear makeup??? I feel pretty confident with my position, but am wondering if I
            am too old school.
(Gulp!) My girls aren’t even in middle school and have been experimenting with makeup since probably the 2nd grade. Now let me clarify that my daughters don’t wear it to school, but there have been times that we’ve ventured out into public without realizing that they resemble ladies of the night after a heavy handed eye makeup application. That's just a slight oversight on my part.

There were upwards of thirty responses to that FB post, with answers ranging from those moms who forbid makeup except on special occasions, to those that allow a little clear mascara and blush. And then there’s me, the silent outlier, thinking some of the moms need to lighten up a bit or face more trouble ahead. Didn’t we all know that girl with strict parents who was like a freed animal when out of their sight? By far the best advice comes from this mom, who wrote:
            In general with parenting it's always good to go with your intuition on what you think is best...
            and often that changes from child to child & with the years. No right or wrong answer
            really; just what you believe to be best.
As for my daughters, I wouldn’t hesitate to let them wear light makeup in middle school and cover up a few zits whenever they erupt. What’s a girl who isn’t armed with a tube of concealer? I’d say she doesn’t exist.

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Dear Daughters

10/7/2013

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Ahhhh! That’s me slowly exhaling, deliberately and restoratively, after an unusually busy weekend. First, there was the elementary school carnival, and then an afternoon of middle school football with Homecoming festivities on Saturday. Without sounding like a scrooge, I’ve never understood Homecoming at any school other than college. Making it through four years of high school was punishment enough. Why return? It’s no surprise that I never attended those dances that were more a formality than real tradition. (Side note: I only went to prom for the after party. Wrist corsages and formal gowns aren’t my thing. Neither are weddings.)

I’m generally not receptive to anything that forces people to go through the motions for no apparent reason. Like graduation ceremonies from 5th grade? Was it really an optional achievement? I guess that’s why I’m always looking deeper into life and asking questions with no definitive answers. The answers to questions that nobody can explain. The explanations that boil down to, “Just because. That’s why.” Maybe I need to lighten up and stop asking questions. To just live free and stop finding fault with the status quo. I just don’t know how to be that way.

Homecoming celebrations in middle school are the type of formality that provokes those questions. It’s nothing more than a chance for the cheerleaders to dote on the football players by decorating their mailboxes with candy and posters. On game day the cheerleaders are paired up with the players and walk across the field as their names are announced on the loud speaker. Here's my son on the right.

I must admit that I hold some lingering prejudices against cheerleaders. I was never one and never had the desire to be one either. Instead, I played basketball until my headstrong attitude clashed with the parental politics of the game. Instead of adopting the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” philosophy, I quit playing my freshman year. My view towards cheerleaders has changed somewhat over the years because the “sport” seems to have incorporated more gymnastic ability. I respect the athleticism required to do the flips, pyramids, and aerial stunts. However, I never want my daughters to join the squad. Gymnastics is fine. Cheering on the boys is a step back in time.

I hope I don’t impede my daughters’ aspirations who only show a slight interest in cheering for now. They're ages 9 and 11. I have a feeling that I might reach that impasse where my daughters' question my own beliefs. Here’s what I’d like to tell them.

           Dear Daughters,
              Follow your dreams. Not from the sidelines as a supporting player or as eye candy for                          boys that don’t make or break your self-worth. Boys that don’t need to be built up because
           most of them only want what you can do for them. Don't play the part that you're too young to
           understand. Test your physical limits beyond synchronized claps and dance moves that
           simulate sex more than rhythm. Radiate from the inside and not because your hair bow is
           picking up signals for outer space. Cast yourself as the lead in your life. You deserve the
           spotlight.
                                                                                             Love,
                                                                                            Mom

And, Mr. NFL cameraman, I'd like to tell you that it's okay to film the cheerleaders, but pan away before the sideshow becomes more about your own excitement than merely capturing the SIGHTS and sounds of the game. I've spoken (err written) my peace. Ahhhh!

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Self-esteem

7/25/2013

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"If you don't believe in anything, then don't believe in yourself."

My daughter came home hysterical last spring because another girl said this to her while they sat on the bus mulling over Santa's existence. I didn't understand why she was so upset and had trouble getting into the mind of an 8-year-old so I could make her feel better. I still can't figure it out. Somehow she lost all faith in herself by just this one statement.

Positive self-esteem isn't innate, but a trait that has to be nourished. Her breakdown taught me that I have more work to do. She needs to toughen up and stifle those tears. But she's emotional like me. Who knows, maybe she'll have a career in Hollywood?

I tend to be more of an observer than referee when children quarrel. Too often parents have a knee-jerk reaction. They intervene when children are learning to hold their own, discovering themselves, and building their character. I'm not referring to bullying where I'd intervene without hesitating, but normal interactions with peers and siblings that are a part of growing up. And some disagreements just might end in tears. But that's okay. Nobody said growing up was easy.

UPDATE 8/9/13: Yesterday I told my daughter that even though she was being mean, I knew she had a kind heart. What I thought would evoke a smile ended in tears. She was upset and presumed I thought she was a "goody goody." I guess that's her conscience at work. I thought I understood everything about the highs and lows of the female psyche. It's true about payback. Sorry Mom.

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My Ticking Time Bomb (aka daughter)

Way Worse Than Vagina

According To Society: I'm Culturally Insensitive

What's Your Makeup Rule? (for the face, not relationships)

Dear Daughters

Self-esteem

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