Don't Ask, Do Tell

Please, I beg of you, stop asking your kids what they want.

For instance, if you're, say, oh I don’t know, calling your dad on Father's Day, don't hold the phone up to your child's head and ask, "Do you want to say 'Happy Father's Day' to Grandpa?" A lot of the time, you're going to hear a "No." 

This wasn’t really a question, so don’t ask it. You're setting yourself up for a battle:
“But I don’t want to say it.”
“But you should say it.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Well, you have to.”
“Nooo…”
“Alright, this is the last time…you have to—oh, sorry, Dad, hold on, he’s just being—stop crying and say ‘Happy Father’s Day’!”

Or 

"Honey, do you want peanut butter and jelly for lunch?"

"No"

Pause. "Well, that's all we have."

See where this is going?

I know all the parenting magazines tell you to "empower your children" and "let them be part of the decision making" and blah blah but, bloody hell, if you already know what answer you want, don't ask the question.

When You Are Broken...And Have Kids

When you trip, fall, take a spill or in any other way injure yourself, it sucks. That’s just the end of that. But when you have children, there is a whole new set of suckiness that goes along with being broken.

I herniated (another) disc. It’s bad. I had to be hauled away in an ambulance, doped up on pain meds (which I HATE taking), and waited on. I can’t do much of anything. Aside from the lack of movement, the excruciating pain, and the severe annoyance of not being able to do anything for myself, I have my kids.

Kids don’t get it. Not really. They understand the fact that you’re hurt. They bring you drawings of flowers and smiley faces. They say “Hope you feel better” and all that but then it’s all "Why can't you do this for me?" and "OW! Waaaaaah! I hit my hand on the doorknob!"

Seriously? 

When all is said and done, though, I’m glad they don’t understand because, if they did, that would mean they’d been through something like this and I am thankful every damn day that they haven’t.

Boys in Teal Tutus and Pale Pink Ballet Shoes?

When I was growing up, little boys went to little league baseball and little girls went to dance class. Boys got uniforms and mitts, girls got tutus and tights.

Now, thirty years later, we are not stereotyping kids anymore. Right? We are not discriminating. Right? Here’s something interesting (or maybe not). My little boy loves dancing. And he’s damn good at it too. Here’s something else. He hates sports. He’s tried t-ball, soccer, basketball, and skating. He hates them. All of them. He watches his brother, who loves sports, at practices and games and thinks it’s great but doesn’t want to participate.

So, after being the only boy in his class at a horrific dance school last year, we started looking for somewhere else to take him. He kicked ass during the recital. He has an incredible ear for music and can move like no one’s business. Whenever I call a studio, I’ve always been told that “Why of course he is welcome!” but that welcome ends when I hang up the phone.

I just stumbled on the website for our local recreation department which is advertising their newest dance classes. They are one of the ones who spoke with me and told me how bloody welcome my little boy was. I mentioned their constant use of “her” and “she” in the write-up. They changed it. They changed it! How awesome is that? Now, they are careful to use the words “children” and “dancers” and “students” just to undermine their boys-are-welcome theme with the required dance attire which is as follows:

Ages 3-5 Dance attire required: black leotard, white tights, pink ballet shoes, black tap shoes

Ages 6-7 Dance attire required: black leotard, black shorts, pink/white tights, pink ballet shoes, and black tap shoes

And, if that weren’t enough, here’s the picture advertising their boys-are-welcome! dance class:  

I have to say if this stupid site was advertising co-ed soccer for kids and the required attire was Adidas Boys Shorts, Nike Arsenal Boys Jersey, Adidas Boys Metro Socks, and a jock strap, and their picture was this...

...they wouldn't have that page up longer than an hour.