So as we speak I am sitting in focus groups listening to 9-year-old boys talk. Some are so cute you want to take them home. Others well...you feel for their parents.
But here's what strikes me the most....the utter conviction with which they speak. I only say this because sadly, many girls at this age don't tend to do this. I don't know when it happens but as some point in elementary school, girls start caring what people think. Not saying boys don't but not in the same way. And this makes me really, really sad.
This is why kids' focus groups are usually just all girls or all boys...the boys overwhelm the girls and they never get to speak. The thing is, in real life, this obviously isn't the case. So what does that mean for the girls?
Right now, A. is only two and doesn't care if her playmates are male or female. And I can't see her not sharing her feelings, since she was born opinionated from the very start. Kept refusing to wear her little hat in the hospital and everything.
But I suppose a time might come when that won't be the case; when someone's opinion will matter so much that she might not speak up at all. I hope it doesn't but it might. In the meantime, she seems quite comfortable asserting herself. I'll remind myself to be grateful for it the next time she tells me "more Elmo" or "ice pop...now!" Not that she'll get what she's asking for...but at least she's speaking up.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Jason the Bachelor is engaged!
Good for him. Hope it works out. Here's the link:
http://tvwatch.people.com/2008/12/10/the-bachelors-jason-mesnick-im-engaged/
The show starts January 5th. Woo-hoo!
http://tvwatch.people.com/2008/12/10/the-bachelors-jason-mesnick-im-engaged/
The show starts January 5th. Woo-hoo!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Sulking in a Winter Wonderland
Everyone has their own holiday memory. Mine happens to take place on a beach.
I think I was seventeen or eighteen and my friend Laura and I went to the beach on Christmas Day. Mostly because we didn't celebrate Christmas and therefore had nothing else to do, unless we wanted to partake in the customary Jewish tradition of Chinese food and movie. We sat on the beach, soaking up the sunshine (long before we worried about the horrors of cancer and premature aging) listening to "Feliz Navidad" on the radio. I remember thinking to myself...why would I ever possibly live anywhere else?
And then I did. I couldn't resist NYC...the grit, the dirt, insert your own cliche here. I moved in the summer, oohed and ahhed through my first encounter with fall leaves and then...it was winter.
And boy was it. I had never owned a pair of boots before unless you counted my white ankle-high ones with fringe I paired with my white denim jeans in high school. And that is something that is worth forgetting.
I quickly learned that while snow appeared fluffy and soft it was actually wet and quickly turned grey. All the leaves dropped off the trees and stayed that way for like, forever. I also learned important lessons such as, just because the sun is shining doesn't mean it's warm.
You would think after more than 15 years here, I would have learned to like the cooler weather. Or at least, not hate it. My northern friends roll their eyes as I start complaining, usually around November. Usually around this time I start to contemplate moving somewhere warmer. My northern friends say "I would miss the change of seasons." And I say "I wouldn't." But I would miss New York. And so I stay.
But don't expect to get me on a sled. Or excited about the first snow. I will admire the white stuff from the comfort of my couch, hot cocoa in hand, dreaming of the palm trees.
I think I was seventeen or eighteen and my friend Laura and I went to the beach on Christmas Day. Mostly because we didn't celebrate Christmas and therefore had nothing else to do, unless we wanted to partake in the customary Jewish tradition of Chinese food and movie. We sat on the beach, soaking up the sunshine (long before we worried about the horrors of cancer and premature aging) listening to "Feliz Navidad" on the radio. I remember thinking to myself...why would I ever possibly live anywhere else?
And then I did. I couldn't resist NYC...the grit, the dirt, insert your own cliche here. I moved in the summer, oohed and ahhed through my first encounter with fall leaves and then...it was winter.
And boy was it. I had never owned a pair of boots before unless you counted my white ankle-high ones with fringe I paired with my white denim jeans in high school. And that is something that is worth forgetting.
I quickly learned that while snow appeared fluffy and soft it was actually wet and quickly turned grey. All the leaves dropped off the trees and stayed that way for like, forever. I also learned important lessons such as, just because the sun is shining doesn't mean it's warm.
You would think after more than 15 years here, I would have learned to like the cooler weather. Or at least, not hate it. My northern friends roll their eyes as I start complaining, usually around November. Usually around this time I start to contemplate moving somewhere warmer. My northern friends say "I would miss the change of seasons." And I say "I wouldn't." But I would miss New York. And so I stay.
But don't expect to get me on a sled. Or excited about the first snow. I will admire the white stuff from the comfort of my couch, hot cocoa in hand, dreaming of the palm trees.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
The plane! The plane!
There are two kinds of airline passengers in this world. People who are flying with kids and everyone else who hates them.
Of course, I am not saying I don't understand the haters. Trust me. I've flown plenty and I've had more than one flight where I gritted my teeth, turned up my headset and counted the minutes until we landed. But still. I never thought kids shouldn't be allowed on planes.
I heard this sentiment today on facebook and everyone was up in arms one way or the other. And interestingly, I've heard this before from other friends...who don't have kids. As someone who has one, it's hard not to get all prickly about it.
Here's why.....I literally do everything in my power to ensure that A. has a good flight. I book our flights around her naptime. She's got ample milk, snacks, water, crayons, books, stuffed animals...we even try to fly Jet Blue so she's got television.
And I can say that about 90 percent of the time, she does just great. Lots of people to flirt with on planes so she's happy. 90 percent of the time, people tell me how good she was. I'm usually sweating and covered with sour milk and Cheddar Bunny crumbs at that point but I always say "thanks."
But then of course, there is that 10 percent. Oh, the ugly 10 percent.
Trust me, we're working hard to make sure she isn't screaming, kicking the chair in front of her, climbing all over the ground or smacking the tush of a flight attendant (which she did on a really small plane once....eek....).
However, I don't think it's worth keeping her off planes altogether because every once in a while, she utters a peep. She deserves to see her relatives who live in other parts of the country. And quite frankly, I've sat near much worse fliers who were a whole lot older. Like the itchy man who scratched (psoriasis?) all the way to Vancouver. Or the exceptionally smelly teenager who made things worse by opening up a bag of Corn Nuts (are you kidding me?) and then Doritos. Or the super loud talkers who should at least have had the decency to be interesting.
You see? I don't think those people shouldn't be allowed to fly. Even though they made my flights less than pleasant.
Until someone comes up with an airline designed just for kids, we're all just going to have to find a way to get along. In the meantime, if kids really bother you so much...maybe YOU SHOULDN'T FLY TO FLORIDA IN THE HOLIDAY SEASON. Or spring break. Or possibly, ever. Because grandparents live in Florida and so technically, all flights to and from Florida are the Grandparents Express. Which means you are actually on the kids' turf, not the other way around. Although they are usually kind enough not to complain about your presence.
That said, I apologize in advance to anyone flying with me to Florida this Saturday. A's naptime changed since I booked the flight. Best to take those headsets they'll be offering you.
Of course, I am not saying I don't understand the haters. Trust me. I've flown plenty and I've had more than one flight where I gritted my teeth, turned up my headset and counted the minutes until we landed. But still. I never thought kids shouldn't be allowed on planes.
I heard this sentiment today on facebook and everyone was up in arms one way or the other. And interestingly, I've heard this before from other friends...who don't have kids. As someone who has one, it's hard not to get all prickly about it.
Here's why.....I literally do everything in my power to ensure that A. has a good flight. I book our flights around her naptime. She's got ample milk, snacks, water, crayons, books, stuffed animals...we even try to fly Jet Blue so she's got television.
And I can say that about 90 percent of the time, she does just great. Lots of people to flirt with on planes so she's happy. 90 percent of the time, people tell me how good she was. I'm usually sweating and covered with sour milk and Cheddar Bunny crumbs at that point but I always say "thanks."
But then of course, there is that 10 percent. Oh, the ugly 10 percent.
Trust me, we're working hard to make sure she isn't screaming, kicking the chair in front of her, climbing all over the ground or smacking the tush of a flight attendant (which she did on a really small plane once....eek....).
However, I don't think it's worth keeping her off planes altogether because every once in a while, she utters a peep. She deserves to see her relatives who live in other parts of the country. And quite frankly, I've sat near much worse fliers who were a whole lot older. Like the itchy man who scratched (psoriasis?) all the way to Vancouver. Or the exceptionally smelly teenager who made things worse by opening up a bag of Corn Nuts (are you kidding me?) and then Doritos. Or the super loud talkers who should at least have had the decency to be interesting.
You see? I don't think those people shouldn't be allowed to fly. Even though they made my flights less than pleasant.
Until someone comes up with an airline designed just for kids, we're all just going to have to find a way to get along. In the meantime, if kids really bother you so much...maybe YOU SHOULDN'T FLY TO FLORIDA IN THE HOLIDAY SEASON. Or spring break. Or possibly, ever. Because grandparents live in Florida and so technically, all flights to and from Florida are the Grandparents Express. Which means you are actually on the kids' turf, not the other way around. Although they are usually kind enough not to complain about your presence.
That said, I apologize in advance to anyone flying with me to Florida this Saturday. A's naptime changed since I booked the flight. Best to take those headsets they'll be offering you.
Oh dear....this isn't good Bachelor news...
http://www.usmagazine.com/news/bachelor-winner-mary-delgado-arrested-again+
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Oh, you have got to be kidding me...
Deanna the Bachelorette has gone Hollywood. Pulease. She is hosting her own show for brides! Unreal, she has to be the most awkward person on television ever. And all that blinking, ugh. Read this link:
http://tvwatch.people.com/2008/11/13/bachelorette-deannas-new-job-wedding-show-host/
http://tvwatch.people.com/2008/11/13/bachelorette-deannas-new-job-wedding-show-host/
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
An afternoon at the germ box
So we're a little obsessed with germs in our house. I think it all started because A. was premature; the doctor got us all worried about RSV and all the terrible things that could happen.
But now A. is two and we still are. We take off our shoes when we walk in. We purell. We Clorox wipe.
Yes, we are those people. The ones I once mocked before I became a parent.
Not that it helps....A. got the stomach flu 4 times last year and too many cold to count. This fall, she's had stomach flu once and two back-to-back colds. So at a certain point, you have to ask yourself if any of your germ prevention is making a bit of difference.
So this weekend, I took a major step. I let A. go into the sandbox. Now if you're a germ freak, this place is like your worst nightmare. I mean, animals poop in there....at least this is what my mother used to tell me when I was a kid. She said it was a like "a litter box for stray cats." Hmmmm. Come to think of it, maybe I inherited this germ phobia.
What did I learn about the sand box? For once thing, A. spent most of the time trying to make it neater. She kept trying to tidy up the sand on the edges of it. She had no interest in actually building things. She also didn't appreciate her hands getting dirty. When she got out, she not only wiped her hands but started trying to wipe down her sneakers too. The germ freak in me nearly burst with pride.
I also learned that parents put their kids in the sandbox so that they can talk amongst themselves. Three hipster dads were next to me chatting with each other as they all tried to defend why they named their sons Jack, the most popular boys' name in our neighborhood and quite possibly the planet. One said "well, we named him after Jackie Robinson." Okay, so why don't you call him Jackie? Dad #2 said, "well, our last name is Lapin which means rabbit, so his name is Jack Rabbit." Oh, you're so cool, dude. The third guy just said yeah a lot so I assume he named him that because he thought it was original. They all stood around in their ironic t-shirts and baseball caps as their sons tried to knock A. over. Yet another reason to hate the sand box.
The good news is, the germ box appears not to have gotten A. sick (yet). Just sandy. We're still finding sand everywhere....all over the bottles of Purell, Clorox wipes and even the giant plastic bubble we keep normally keep her in.
"No sand" A. said to me. I couldn't agree more.
But now A. is two and we still are. We take off our shoes when we walk in. We purell. We Clorox wipe.
Yes, we are those people. The ones I once mocked before I became a parent.
Not that it helps....A. got the stomach flu 4 times last year and too many cold to count. This fall, she's had stomach flu once and two back-to-back colds. So at a certain point, you have to ask yourself if any of your germ prevention is making a bit of difference.
So this weekend, I took a major step. I let A. go into the sandbox. Now if you're a germ freak, this place is like your worst nightmare. I mean, animals poop in there....at least this is what my mother used to tell me when I was a kid. She said it was a like "a litter box for stray cats." Hmmmm. Come to think of it, maybe I inherited this germ phobia.
What did I learn about the sand box? For once thing, A. spent most of the time trying to make it neater. She kept trying to tidy up the sand on the edges of it. She had no interest in actually building things. She also didn't appreciate her hands getting dirty. When she got out, she not only wiped her hands but started trying to wipe down her sneakers too. The germ freak in me nearly burst with pride.
I also learned that parents put their kids in the sandbox so that they can talk amongst themselves. Three hipster dads were next to me chatting with each other as they all tried to defend why they named their sons Jack, the most popular boys' name in our neighborhood and quite possibly the planet. One said "well, we named him after Jackie Robinson." Okay, so why don't you call him Jackie? Dad #2 said, "well, our last name is Lapin which means rabbit, so his name is Jack Rabbit." Oh, you're so cool, dude. The third guy just said yeah a lot so I assume he named him that because he thought it was original. They all stood around in their ironic t-shirts and baseball caps as their sons tried to knock A. over. Yet another reason to hate the sand box.
The good news is, the germ box appears not to have gotten A. sick (yet). Just sandy. We're still finding sand everywhere....all over the bottles of Purell, Clorox wipes and even the giant plastic bubble we keep normally keep her in.
"No sand" A. said to me. I couldn't agree more.
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