Tuesday, November 29, 2011
All time low
Just when I thought I had a handle on managing three kids, a part-time job outside the home and a husband who's coaching high school basketball and finishing his second master's degree, I find myself drying off post-shower with a hand towel because all of our bath towels are either in the washing machine or hamper. God love my husband for blotting himself off without the first complaint . . .
Thursday, November 24, 2011
We've come a long way. Or have we?
On the topic of gender stereotypes (see yesterday's post), Halloween was a very eye-opening experience for me this year.
Costume discussions began early in my house. My son locked down Buzz Lightyear right out of the gate and never wavered. That's generally how he makes decisions: swiftly and decisively. I admire that.
My five-year old daughter, on the other hand, entertained multiple possibilities, including Snow White and a bride, before finally settling on a veterinarian. This decision, sparked by a Melissa & Doug veterinarian playset she spotted at Barnes and Noble but couldn't con my husband into buying for her, surprised me for a couple of reasons.
First, she had been talking Snow White since November 1, 2010, the day after she'd romped up and down our street tricked out in a pink Sleeping Beauty costume. Second, a vet didn't seem to present a very exciting dress-up opportunity, and since I couldn't recall ever doling out Fun Sized Snickers to veterinarians in the past, I wasn't sure how many options we'd find for attiring her.
After my initial surprise, though, came pleasure. No disrespect to princesses (I'm personally quite smitten with Kate) or brides (I was one myself once), but I was proud of my girl for choosing a Halloween persona that celebrated a woman's intellect rather than her fashion sense. Though I must admit that she did wear the most darling pink scrubs and accessorized the 'fit with a bright pink headband that sported an oversized bow.
But I digress.
As the sun and temperature started to dip on Halloween, we set out - Buzz, Dr. Bates, my husband and I - on a candy collecting mission. We live in a neighborhood where trick-or-treating is alive and well, so the street was abuzz with activity. Neighbors were parked in lawn chairs, bowls of Tootsie rolls, Nerds and Double Bubble in their laps. Fire pits were aglow. Fairies, pirates and, shockingly, another veterinarian, were already careening through piles of crisp leaves, loot bags clutched tightly in their sugar-injected fists.
Armed with our video camera, I documented a few minutes for posterity and then tucked the camera away so I could better supervise the kids. And it was then, when I really plugged into the experience, that I endured my second costume-related surprise of the season. Only this one was in no way pleasant.
I'd been prepared for my daughter to have to explain her costume since, even though her scrubs bore the words "Critter Clinic" on the breast pocket, most people just don't expect a vet to ring their bell on October 31st. I was not, however, prepared for the blatant gender stereotyping that ensued.
At house after house, as she smiled sweetly and opened her monogrammed jack-o-lantern tote, adults asked, "Are you a nurse?"
Unfazed, my daughter relied, "No, I'm a vet." Then she thanked them and bounded off to the next house, embroiled in the thrill of the hunt.
I, however, was more than fazed. By the end of our outing, I was borderline fuming. A nurse? Every single house - a nurse? Not one person asked if she was a doctor. Or a surgeon. Or a dentist. Or any other medical professional that one would expect to see wearing scrubs. Was it because the scrubs were pink? Or was it because the person in the scrubs was wearing pigtails?
Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive, but I was perturbed to think that, in 2011, people see a little girl in scrubs and assume she's pretending to be a nurse. Not that nursing isn't a noble and intellectually demanding profession, but there are other options for girls these days.
Women have spent the past several decades boldly challenging gender stereotypes by applying to medical, veterinary and dental schools, even when those schools would just as boldly deny them admission based solely on their gender. According to the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, there were actually more women in the veterinary field than men in 2007.
In truth, no real damage was done that night. It never occurred to my daughter that she should be at all insulted that no one would assume she was masquerading as a vascular surgeon. Those well-meaning neighbors certainly didn't intend to offend me or imply to my daughter that her future career options should be limited to traditional "women's roles." The only lasting negative impact that pervasive gender stereotype had was on my college pal's already-entrenched perception of my hometown as provincial, as she sarcastically quipped in response to my recounting of the story, "I'm shocked." But that's a story for another day.
Costume discussions began early in my house. My son locked down Buzz Lightyear right out of the gate and never wavered. That's generally how he makes decisions: swiftly and decisively. I admire that.
My five-year old daughter, on the other hand, entertained multiple possibilities, including Snow White and a bride, before finally settling on a veterinarian. This decision, sparked by a Melissa & Doug veterinarian playset she spotted at Barnes and Noble but couldn't con my husband into buying for her, surprised me for a couple of reasons.
First, she had been talking Snow White since November 1, 2010, the day after she'd romped up and down our street tricked out in a pink Sleeping Beauty costume. Second, a vet didn't seem to present a very exciting dress-up opportunity, and since I couldn't recall ever doling out Fun Sized Snickers to veterinarians in the past, I wasn't sure how many options we'd find for attiring her.
After my initial surprise, though, came pleasure. No disrespect to princesses (I'm personally quite smitten with Kate) or brides (I was one myself once), but I was proud of my girl for choosing a Halloween persona that celebrated a woman's intellect rather than her fashion sense. Though I must admit that she did wear the most darling pink scrubs and accessorized the 'fit with a bright pink headband that sported an oversized bow.
But I digress.
As the sun and temperature started to dip on Halloween, we set out - Buzz, Dr. Bates, my husband and I - on a candy collecting mission. We live in a neighborhood where trick-or-treating is alive and well, so the street was abuzz with activity. Neighbors were parked in lawn chairs, bowls of Tootsie rolls, Nerds and Double Bubble in their laps. Fire pits were aglow. Fairies, pirates and, shockingly, another veterinarian, were already careening through piles of crisp leaves, loot bags clutched tightly in their sugar-injected fists.
Armed with our video camera, I documented a few minutes for posterity and then tucked the camera away so I could better supervise the kids. And it was then, when I really plugged into the experience, that I endured my second costume-related surprise of the season. Only this one was in no way pleasant.
I'd been prepared for my daughter to have to explain her costume since, even though her scrubs bore the words "Critter Clinic" on the breast pocket, most people just don't expect a vet to ring their bell on October 31st. I was not, however, prepared for the blatant gender stereotyping that ensued.
At house after house, as she smiled sweetly and opened her monogrammed jack-o-lantern tote, adults asked, "Are you a nurse?"
Unfazed, my daughter relied, "No, I'm a vet." Then she thanked them and bounded off to the next house, embroiled in the thrill of the hunt.
I, however, was more than fazed. By the end of our outing, I was borderline fuming. A nurse? Every single house - a nurse? Not one person asked if she was a doctor. Or a surgeon. Or a dentist. Or any other medical professional that one would expect to see wearing scrubs. Was it because the scrubs were pink? Or was it because the person in the scrubs was wearing pigtails?
Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive, but I was perturbed to think that, in 2011, people see a little girl in scrubs and assume she's pretending to be a nurse. Not that nursing isn't a noble and intellectually demanding profession, but there are other options for girls these days.
Women have spent the past several decades boldly challenging gender stereotypes by applying to medical, veterinary and dental schools, even when those schools would just as boldly deny them admission based solely on their gender. According to the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, there were actually more women in the veterinary field than men in 2007.
In truth, no real damage was done that night. It never occurred to my daughter that she should be at all insulted that no one would assume she was masquerading as a vascular surgeon. Those well-meaning neighbors certainly didn't intend to offend me or imply to my daughter that her future career options should be limited to traditional "women's roles." The only lasting negative impact that pervasive gender stereotype had was on my college pal's already-entrenched perception of my hometown as provincial, as she sarcastically quipped in response to my recounting of the story, "I'm shocked." But that's a story for another day.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Want to know who you are? Take a look at your kids.
If you ever experience an identity crisis of your own, I recommend having a child. It took me three tries to realize this, but observing your children in motion is like holding a mirror up to your face. Case in point:
My son is a chicken. The list of things he's scared of is a mile long and includes but is not limited to big dogs, heights, the dark, and water. As I watched this trait emerge in him, I grew increasingly frustrated. Sometimes embarrassed (like the time he was the only one of four kids, including a two-year old, who screamed bloody murder when one of them doused the lights while playing in the basement of a friend's house.)
Not one to perpetuate gender stereotypes, I tried not to let it bother me that my boy was more of a scaredy cat than his big sister and, in fact, the aforementioned two-year old neighbor. But it did bother me. And I was particularly peeved by his fear of the water.
Having grown up in the pool and at the lake, I love to swim and have high hopes of scoring a pool in my own backyard some day. It was troubling to me that my son's comfort level with the water maxed out at dipping his feet in, so when my oldest daughter, who adores the water, requested swimming lessons I decided it would be good for her brother to take them as well.
The hilarity of that experience (like the time my brave soldier clung for dear life to a little boy next to him in an effort not to be coaxed off the steps by Mr. Joe the instructor) is fodder for at least two or three posts alone, so I'll stick to my point here. In six weeks, the main thing my son learned is that the instructors wouldn't let him sink. My main takeaway? I'm a coward too.
I'm not afraid of the water, but I am afraid of horses. And big dogs. And taking risks. Like writing this blog, for example. Where's the risk in keeping what amounts to an on-line diary, you ask? I'm afraid of what people will think. Afraid of being judged. Afraid that once I put my thoughts into words I'll find out that I'm really not a very good writer and that I really don't have anything interesting to say.
So after fretting, bribing and seeking advice from my pal who's a child psychologist in an effort to help my son overcome his fear of the water, I began praying. Specifically, I prayed that God would unlock the spirit of boldness and power in my son that we are told in 2 Timothy 1:7 He has given each of us.
Lo and behold, during my son's second-to-last lesson, he showed flashes of boldness, leaping off the side of the pool onto a noodle with the instructor merely standing nearby rather than clinging desperately to the teacher's neck, crying that he wanted to "get on land." My heart felt like it was going to explode I was so proud.
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