The person who's the hardest for me to surprise isn't our kids, it's the studly 34-year-old who shares my bedroom. It isn’t because he snoops, though. He’s pretty cooperative like that. We’re just such a team and make a habit of being so transparent with each other, that any deviation creates a disturbance in the force.
Buy, buy, buy. I cringed that the verb was dominating my Christmas to-do list, and it wasn't even December yet. Looking back on my childhood, I remember magical moments with my family more than I remember specific gifts. I want my kids to have these kinds of memories, too, and not just a solid lesson in materialism...
This trap is so easy to fall into for moms who don’t work outside the home. Maintaining our appearance is something that we can bump down a long to-do list, until it’s so far buried we forget it was ever a priority.
Apparently some restaurants have recently gambled that they’ll gain more adult business if they ban the below knee-height crowd. The concern about the parents paying for said short children is outweighed by all the single folks who the owners think will be attracted by their less sticky establishments. As a mom, I think I should probably be offended by this, but I’m not. My husband and I are planning a date night out for our upcoming anniversary (go, team), and a sitter is definitely in the works. I’m looking forward to a night without children – and if I’m paying for a night without mine, I probably don’t want to have to listen to yours.
When you're pregnant you run through all kinds of scenarios in your head. You ask your partner if you'd keep the baby if it had Downs Syndrome. (Yep.) You wonder if they’ll go to college. (Damn well better.) And you spend a lot, a lot of time daydreaming about the amazing lives they're going to lead. So of course you consider their future mate.
I understand a man wanting his son to be like him, especially in this particularly masculine way. The thing is, when my husband was circumcised it was because of an actual, honest-to-goodness medical necessity. The foreskin was too small. It was painful. The surgery had to be done. If it were medically necessary, I would do the same thing. But otherwise, why put my son through elective surgery?
If my husband and I aren’t careful, kid-centric talk hijacks our conversations. We talk about things they did that day. (Hilarious. Or frustrating. Usually both.) We talk about dreams for their futures. (Please let them marry non-felons.) And then usually we’re too tired to do much other than watch a re-run of The Rachel Zoe Project. I mean Mad Men.
My husband and I seem to parent our children differently based on their genders, a tendency I never expected, being the enlightened and empowered woman I am. (“Roar” and all that.) Once we had both a boy and a girl, though, this tendency became obvious.
Gender is a funny concept. In our society, we are typically taught as we're growing up that boys act one way and girls another. Boys like trucks and wear blue and all little girls want to be mommies one day. A lot of us don't bother to question it; we just go along with what we're told. But what about the people who decide to raise their children with no preconceived gender whatsoever? Maybe we don't all want to go along with the boys wearing blue and girls are all mommies ideas, but how do we react when someone abandons all gender roles altogether?
When I could barely conceive the meaning of motherhood, Frank slipped seamlessly into fatherhood, showing me what was possible. I'm talking about being a father from the first moment, without faking anything. While I needed months to figure out the motherhood thing, Frank got it—instantly. At 12:59 one snowy night, he was an expectant father, and when his son was born at 1:01, Frank stepped unhesitatingly into fatherhood. Seventeen years later, Frank is still fathering by instinct, still pretty terrific. He's just plain good at his job, maybe because he doesn't really think of it as a job.
Tonight I got off work and did a bit of grocery shopping with the family. Then we came home and I proceeded to sit on the couch, eat bean dip and watch the Heat play while my husband made dinner. Is it a little bit of role reversal? Maybe. But the thing is, in our house and in our marriage, traditional gender roles—mom and dad, man and woman—mean almost nothing. My husband does a lot of the housework, he does most of the cooking and he takes care of the boy when I'm at meetings or working late. And we are remarkably happy with this arrangement.
