Make Up = Makes You Fancy: The Power of Words
Today Elf and I were in the kitchen when she asked to use some of my makeup. I watched her, deeply concentrating as she applied some brownish stuff to her cheeks. Satisfied, she put down the brush. She smiled a triumphant smile at herself for a job she considered well done, dimples fully present. Then she proclaimed, “Now I look pretty.” My heart sank. “Uh oh,” a voice inside my head said.
My little Elf loves my make up. What kid doesn’t? It’s fun, interesting and it can sure make some cool stuff happen to your face. Then again, it can also do groovy stuff to walls. Ask Giant about that. But me and my Magic Eraser digress…
While applying my own make up, which I probably do in a year fewer than the number of fingers I have on my right hand, I know that I must have said it. Where else would Elf have heard those words? An off-hand remark several weeks ago clearly had stayed with Elf. In a wisp of whimsy, not thinking, I had inadvertently transferred a cultural message that I had vehemently sworn I would never, ever transfer to her.
Make up = Makes you Pretty
As Elf’s words came out into the air, I know that Betty Friedan rolled in her grave. It was critical to save the moment because I was most appalled that my daughter had learned that message from me, a staunch feminist. Or at least that’s who I thought I was…
The moment required some spin. I remind Elf that prettiness comes from inside you; it’s not something that’s on the outside of you.
And so I invented a new formula on the spot:
Make up = Makes you Fancy
Seeing as we just went to the circus several weeks ago, this had a desired effect on her and she skipped away happily. “Okay, Mommy!”
Yet deep in my heart – in that sacred sphere of adult knowing – I was humbled at a fundamental truth. Words can lift people up. Words can knock people down. Words have power – especially the words of a parent to a child. Will she remember these few moments in the kitchen when she’s older? Probably not. However, I hope I do.
Here’s to staying mindful, present and thoughtful in your words…
Photo source: http://thestir.cafemom.com/big_kid/107629/young_girls_putting_on_makeup
I’m a Gun-Hatin’ Momma in a Gun-Lovin’ World: Big Bangs at The Little Yellow House
One of the most dramatic and humbling aspects of parenthood is that just when you think you’ve got your kids and the whole dynamics of their current phases pretty well down, things change on you and the learning process starts all over again.
One week, I was a mother to a boy who was happily into building Legos and the next thing I know, he had expanded his interests to include secret agents, good guys-bad guys and things that explode and shoot.
This didn’t happen all on its own, I know. Some young friends have helped things along. And this is where the water gets murky for me. It’s time to confront my contempt for guns, what they represent and for the harm and devastation they can cause so that I neither pass on that fear to my children nor steer them in the direction of doing whatever it takes to spend time with something verboten in their own home. You know, the old Romeo and Juliet syndrome.
I am a mom who for a long time was strictly opposed to guns of any kind here at The Little Yellow House. Sorry, Gramma, not even a squirt gun. But it’s clear that it’s time to find some middle ground. It’s up to me to be the one to teach my children about guns…rather someone or some television somewhere will surely do the job for me. I can not ignore what is becoming a larger part of my son’s and some of his friend’s play. That’s where I pause and let out a long, sad sigh. I am a radical gun hater living in a gun-loving land.
What toy guns and shooters represent to me and what they represent to my children are two very different things. To my children, they’re fun, lively and loud play things. To me, guns are real. They can exact immeasurable harm and damage.
As a young child, I had an experience with a real gun. A shotgun. Late one night, dogs started barking wildly outside my friend’s farmhouse where I happened to be staying for a sleepover. It was just the three of us and my friend’s mother was clearly worried about a possible intruder. She grabbed the shotgun for protection and it accidently mis-fired a bullet close to the room where my friend and I were laying underneath the hot protection of blankets, hearts beating fast.
Many years later, I pursued academic training and professional work experience related to crime and its aftermath. I have been at the bedsides of children and women who have been sexually victimized, some at gun point. Real gun point. I have held family’s hands in courtrooms, awaiting verdicts. I have held court exhibits in my own hands – 8 1/2″ x 11″ glossy, Kodak-colored photographs taken of gun crimes. I have notified crime victims of their offender’s pending release. I have held my breath as parole boards announced their decisions. I could go on, but you get the point. I know crime and violence in a way that many people do not. What I’ve seen, heard and felt is a dark place that completely juxtaposes with the innocence and joy of childhood.
Now having said that, I am a modern mom. I recognize that in order to thrive and explore their world, they can not and should not live in an enclosed fold of parental protection. They must get their hands dirty, interact and be exposed to new and different ideas. If I choose to continue to forbid them from playing with gun-type toys, there will be consequences in their ability to socialize with their peers. And most of those consequences will be negative. I want my children to have diverse play mates, I want them to learn the commonly played games the rules of those games if for no other reason than to be able to, if they choose, fit in. I want to give them a common language with their friends so that their social experiences can be successful, joyful and happy times, rather than times of frustration because they feel left out or alienated.
Before I had children, I had it all worked out: A no guns policy. Now I find myself pushed into a corner. This no guns policy isn’t working against the fact that I am largely responsible for socializing my children. When you have a child who is just learning the ropes of what it means to be a friend and you’re looking for ways to cultivate and teach empathy, guns and shooting toys will never be my first choice of toys. So here I stand at a cross roads. Deny guns and shooting-type toys all together and alienate them – most especially Giant from the experiences that a majority of his classmates are having – or find a middle ground. I’m must find a middle ground.
So I took a very deep and long breath and bought my first shooter for Giant and Elf. You know what? It really was okay. I taught my children the rules of how to use it safely, where they can shoot it and how. We talked about the difference between real guns and toys. Did I like it? Not one bit. But I can live with it. And so can they.
Photo source:
http://tinyurl.com/646og2e
