Why Zoe Saldana’s Weight Shouldn’t Be Your Focus As A Mom
May 16, 2013 Kids
So Zoe Saldana, all 115 pounds of her, is on the cover of Allure magazine. How do I know how much the actress weighs? That’s printed on the cover too.
Outrageous, right? “115 Pounds of Grit And Heartache” appears to the right of her neck, on top of her curls. The way the title is written reminds me of what’s often written about very thin actresses who also happen to be short: “Five-Foot Nothing of Acting Power!” “Five Feet Tall But Towering Over Hollywood.” If either of those titles appeared on a magazine nobody would bat an eyelash – it’s not like an actress has control of her height.
But weight, for an actress, is a whole other matter. From Amanda Bynes tweeting that she needs to be 100 pounds to Jennifer Lawrence claiming that in Hollywood she’s considered a fat actress, this is an issue that will never go away. But to splash an actress’ weight on the cover of a magazine raises (lowers?) the issue to a whole new level.
Fiona and I were watching Good Morning America this morning and saw the story together. I asked her what she thought about it. “I think it’s mean. They’re making fun of her.” Bless her heart, Fiona thought the cover was calling Zoe Saldana fat. Fiona is nine and weighs 66 pounds, so to her, 115 sounds like a lot.
Once I explained to her that for an adult woman that’s really thin, Fiona changed her attitude. “Well, that’s stupid. Why would anyone care? They should just want to be healthy.”
Yes. Finally.
When Fiona was younger, she went through a long phase (a year? Two?) where she thought she was fat. This would be ridiculous for any six-year-old, but Fiona is thin and active and healthy and I saw a swirling future of eating disorders and anorexia chat rooms.
So, I’ve just tried to drill into her that she’s beautiful. She’s healthy. She’s making good choices. We jog together. I take great pains to hide my weight loss efforts from her. When she does occasionally have a question about what I’m eating or why I don’t want to share some cookies with her, I tell her I’m trying to be healthier.
And it seems to be paying off.
I know that at nine, she still has the hardest years of mean girl judgment ahead of her – we’re not even at the woods yet, let alone out of them. But I’m trying to lay the foundation now. And that’s where my focus will remain: on her. Not on signing petitions or burning copies of Allure.
I’m not saying I’m not mad at the magazine. It was a calculated move on their part to get attention, and every big media outlet is playing into it. People will be outraged, and that outrage will sell more copies of the magazine. Who knows how many young women will see it and call themselves fat for not being 115 pounds?
But my point is, there will always be another magazine cover, another website, another classmate making mean comments, another thinner body that my daughter could compare herself to. Fighting all of the outside forces would not be a good use of my time. Building my daughter up to ignore them is.
So, Allure, you did a shitty thing. And you know you did. But I’m not going to give you any more attention or energy for it. As I always tell my daughter, you can’t control other people’s actions, but you have complete control over your own reaction. And Fiona has decided that you’re stupid. She wins.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
When To Bail Your Kids Out, and When To Take A Nap
May 14, 2013 Kids
I had kind-of a horrendous day. I won’t go into detail, but it involved driving around for 45 minutes looking for a parking spot, managing to miss three subway trains in one two-train trip (that takes talent!), running in a relay race in front of a bunch of elementary school kids, and getting a parking ticket. All while being exhausted from staying up way too late working and folding laundry.
All I wanted to do when I got home this afternoon was sleep. I wasn’t just tired. Something was wrong. I could barely keep my head up. But I had two hours before I had to pick my daughter up, and I was going to spend it in bed.
I picked up my phone to text my son to come in quietly and get right to his homework, and at that moment he called me: “Mom, you need to pick me up right now!”
My mind immediately jumped to an injury or sickness of some kind, or some other sort of trouble. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just got four more boxes of chocolate to sell for band and I don’t want to take the bus. They’re heavy.”
Are you freaking kidding me? In my mind I was already crawling under the covers, sleeping off this day, shaking off whatever was making me feel like I hadn’t slept in a week.
“I’m sorry Jake. You didn’t arrange this with me first. Take the chocolate back to the band room. I got very little sleep last night and I’m about to take a nap. I can pick you up tomorrow and you can bring it home then.”
“But MOMMMMM!”
“Sorry, Jake. I can’t do it. I got five hours of sleep and I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed. Come in quietly.”
“BYE.” And he hung up. He sounded pissed.
I went upstairs, and I admit it, I did feel guilty. If I’d been working, or at an appointment, or in some other way busy, it would be a no brainer. But I was saying no to my son because I wanted a nap.
I fell asleep in about twenty seconds. When I woke up, Jake was home. And so were four heavy boxes of chocolate. I carried five of those suckers to my car once, and it almost killed me. I’m honestly not sure how he navigated public transportation with them. He’s as stubborn as I am.
I sat him down and explained to him that if it’s an emergency, I will drop what I’m doing to help him. But this was a matter of convenience, and my convenience was more important than his in this case. I expected him to be mad, but he said he was just sad – sad that I wouldn’t help him. I told him that I was sad that he thought he could just call me with no notice and expect me to race over.
I don’t really care what lesson he takes from this. Don’t bite off more than you can chew? Don’t expect the world to revolve around you? Life is better when mom isn’t exhausted? Don’t care. As long as he learned something. Even if it was just how to hold four boxes of chocolate while swiping a MetroCard.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Tags: Kids
Brooklyn, Baseball, and Racism: My Unintentionally Sheltered Children
Apr 15, 2013 Kids
One of the reasons I love my Brooklyn neighborhood is the diversity. No, I don’t love the occasional shootings, I don’t love the graffiti, I don’t love the garbage. But I love my neighbors. I love my kids’ classmates. I love the playgrounds. I love the feeling.
From the time my kids were tiny, they were surrounded by people of every shade. Race was just not an issue. And if the rest of the world ran the same way, that would be an awesome and perfect thing. But with the absence of racial awareness comes an ignorance of what the world is really like.
Our neighborhood is not some kind of utopia. There’s plenty of racism, classism, and socio-economic stuff going on, and being white people who moved into a gentrifying neighborhood many people probably see us as a problem. But these are grown-up issues, and all the kids know is that white, black, and mixed-race people are our neighbors and friends. So when I told Fiona that we were going to go see the movie 42, I knew I needed to give her some background on just how bad things used to be for black people in the United States in what is very much recent history – just not her history. I was afraid she would be completely confused, and maybe even think the movie was fiction.
I explained to her about Jim Crow laws, and the more we talked the more I realized that except for one single instance – Rosa Parks on a bus – she knew basically nothing about what’s gone on between slavery and now. We talked about how if we lived in the 1950s, we wouldn’t have black neighbors, she wouldn’t be in school with black and mixed-raced friends. And then Fiona said something as hilarious as it was surprising: “And I wouldn’t have been born.” Confused, I asked her why. “Because you and daddy wouldn’t be together…Daddy’s black, right?”
Let me just take a moment to laugh hilariously, since I managed – somehow – not to laugh at the time.
My husband is Turkish, so he’s a bit darker than I am. He’s the same shade as many of her friends who are mixed race. I can see her confusion. And I love her for it.
So we all went to see 42 yesterday. It’s a solidly good – not great – movie, but it is a great story. The problem is that the characters are all rather one-dimensional, and I have to blame that squarely on the script – the acting is uniformly superb. But in terms of my kids, I just wanted them to get a sense of what people went through – not just a superstar like Jackie Robinson, but average ordinary people – and I think the movie does a great job of getting that across.
The things that Robinson had to endure still happen today – post-racial my ass. But what the film showed was how common and normal they were back then, and how it took bravery on both sides to change the norm.
I highly recommend this film. Be warned that there is a lot of harsh language, but it is in no way gratuitous – it’s completely necessary for the story.
I can explain things to my kids until I’m blue in the face, but nothing can compare to them seeing it portrayed on a big screen. This morning I asked Fiona what her favorite part of the movie was, and she said “How some of the white people were friends with Jackie Robinson, even though other people might not like them because they were.”
She got it. The movie did its job.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Eight Signs That My Little Girl Is Still My Little Girl
Mar 26, 2013 Kids
I struggle with my daughter’s nascent independence. I can’t deny that I worry about her more than I worried about her older brother at that age. Part of me wonders if it’s because she’s a girl, but I think she suffers a bit from Younger Child Syndrome. She never had to do things herself in order to have a bit of independence from us, because her older brother was there to do things for her. From using a remote control to crossing streets to memorizing phone numbers, she just didn’t get to those milestones as fast as he did.
And I don’t see her walking to school alone, having a key to the house, or riding her bike to the park to meet her friends any time soon either.
And that’s OK with me.
Obviously I don’t want to keep her a little girl forever, but at eight, I’m thrilled that she still acts like one. In a world where slutty underwear for teens is a thing and high school kids go to tanning booths and girls get plastic surgery for graduation gifts, I’m in no hurry for her childhood to end.
So, I’m thrilled that her childhood still shows itself, frequently.
1) She still thinks the fastest way to get from point A to point B is skipping.
2) She still closes her eyes and looks embarrassed when people kiss on TV (at least when I’m there, which is good enough for me).
3) She thinks that lacy, frilly, grown-up underwear is “gross.”
4) She doesn’t understand why women are allowed to walk around with their belly buttons showing when they’re not on the beach or at a pool.
5) She can play pretend with her dolls for hours.
6) She wants to put rainbow sprinkles on everything (actually, I doubt she’ll ever outgrow that one).
7) She still wants me to sing to her at bedtime and tuck her in.
8) She still calls us “Mommy” and “Daddy.”
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Tags: childhood, independence, Kids
The Things Our Kids Manipulate Us Into
Mar 21, 2013 Kids, What's Going On
Fiona’s in there, somewhere
Last night Fiona sang in a concert with her after-school chorus and some other choruses taught by the same awesome teacher (seriously, they need to bottle this guy’s enthusiasm). She’s been talking and worrying about it for weeks, because she had a solo. Not a solo song, but eight words. The first line, actually: “She’s just a girl and she’s on fire!” That’s her solo. She was excited and nervous and asked me about a million times if I would be there, and I said yes, because this kind of thing usually falls to me. If a concert happens on a Friday evening my husband can usually get out of work early and get there, but other days are more of a crap shoot.
So, when my husband said that he could make it to the concert, I was elated – not just because it would mean so much to Fiona, but because it was my way out. I love seeing Fiona perform, but I’ve made it to every concert. And since my husband would be coming to the concert instead of going home, I couldn’t leave Jake home alone for the four or five hours we’d all be gone. Jake gets up really early for school – two hours earlier than Fiona, in fact – so staying out on a weeknight wasn’t a good idea for him. Daddy could go to the concert, Jake and I could stay home and watch it on video later. Perfect.
When I broke the news to Fiona that I wouldn’t be there (but daddy will be – isn’t that awesome?), I guess I was expecting something I shouldn’t have. I expected her to say Well, you have been to all of my concerts, and while I’ll miss you, it’s really great that Daddy will be there instead.
Um, have I met my daughter?
No, there were tears, there was pleading, there was foot stomping. There was whining about how it was her first solo EVER. I told her I’d see what I could do.
I decided what made the most sense was to go to the concert, with Jake, but sneak out with him after her solo. She seemed OK with this. And while I don’t like leaving after my own kid performs, I had the other kid to think about too. And me. Honestly, I get bored at these things when my own child isn’t on stage. Real mature, I know.
So, we got there. My husband got there. We settled into our seats, on the end of a row steps from the door. And then I looked at the program.
Fiona’s solo was in the second-to-last song. And the program was loooong.
I ran to the holding area and explained this to Fiona. I told her that we’d wanted to stay for her solo, but Jake had to get home, have dinner, and get to bed. And the tears came again. What was I doing to my daughter right before she was going on stage?
I hugged her and told her I would figure something out. I considered running Jake home, giving him a quick dinner, and racing back in time for her solo, but then I would miss all of her other songs. I also wasn’t crazy about leaving Jake to eat dinner alone and put himself to bed. Talk about forgetting one kid for another (although if given the choice, he probably wouldn’t have chosen that). And I knew I’d never get parking when I got back.
In the end we all just stayed. Fiona beamed at us every time she was on stage, which made it all worth it, and she was great in her solo. But the whole thing really bothered me. I want her to do these things because she loves them, not just for an audience of me. Plus, I have no problem saying no to most things, I really don’t understand why I couldn’t say no to this at some stage.
I don’t remember which performances my parents made it to, but I remember how I performed in every one. It was clear, though, that Fiona’s night would have been ruined if I hadn’t been there. Fiona sings, plays saxophone, and takes three different kinds of dance classes. That’s a lot of performances. I’m really hoping she grows out of this stage at some point. Because eventually, there will come a day when for whatever reason, I can’t make it.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
When Your Kids’ Friends Stink
Mar 20, 2013 Kids
I’ll state right up front that my kids are stinky. What can I say, they come from stinky parents. They both started wearing deodorant when they were about five. At that point I was still giving them baths and washing them, so I knew it wasn’t a cleanliness thing. They just got BO.
I started them both on gentle, natural, Vermont-approved deodorant, but it was almost immediately clear that they needed the hard stuff: big-brand anti-perspirant deodorant. And to this day I can tell from ten feet away if they forgot to put it on.
All of that is to say, I would never criticize someone for having a kid who gets stinky. But I do think it’s weird that so many of them choose not to do anything about it.
My son has a friend who comes over sometimes after baseball practice, and he can clear a room. Some of Fiona’s friends have caused me to hold my breath while they walk by. And to be in a whole room of kids who’ve just finished a dance class or a basketball game? I need to start carrying that stuff coroners put under their noses when a decayed body comes in.
When I mentioned that my son wore deodorant at a young age, I got dragged through the mud by the oh-so-rational commenters over at the NYTimes. And that’s the crazy thing: either people don’t realize that young kids can stink, or they think that kids are too young to do something about it. My husband was worried about our son wearing anti-perspirant so early, so I checked with my doctor to put his mind at ease. (Our pediatrician almost rolled his eyes while saying “Yeah, if he needs it, use it!”)
Taking care of the problem is easy, but how do you tell someone that their kid stinks? And should you? I mean, maybe – maybe – they just can’t smell it. You know, like how I didn’t really mind the smell of my own kids’ diapers, but other kids’ diapers would make me gag. Maybe they’re just immune.
If I’m friends with their parents it’s not a big deal. I just make a joke out of it or casually mention it, just to let them know that yes, I can smell it and yes, it is that bad. But if we’re not friends? If I just know the parents through the kids? Then I’m completely chickenshit. Because if I don’t know you, then I don’t know how you’re going to react. I might as well be telling you your kid is stupid. So, yeah, I guess I’ll just be holding my nose around most of your kids.
Until, that is, the kids discover that kids of the opposite sex don’t have cooties. Then they’ll start to care how they smell, even if you don’t.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Conquering Her Fears, Whether She Likes It Or Not
Mar 15, 2013 Kids
The best advice I ever got before having kids was from a baby book: Start as you mean to go on. It became my mantra, and helped me nip so many things in the bud that I might otherwise have let linger until they were big problems.
My kids aren’t babies anymore, but I still find myself needing this advice. This week has been a good example.
My daughter gets a shower after dinner each night – one fewer thing to worry about in the morning. This week, after having no problem with this for years, she started procrastinating. Finally, she asked if anybody else was going to be going upstairs soon.
Now, I should explain that if you’re on the top floor in our house (where the shower is), and everybody else is on the bottom floor, you really are isolated, since there are four floors. I think a lot of kids have a fear of being upstairs alone at some point, but in our house upstairs is really upstairs. But it’s been like this for years.
When we told her that no, we’d all be downstairs – I was doing the dinner dishes (shocking, I know) and Jake and his dad were watching TV – she said she was scared to be up there alone. I didn’t take her seriously, because like I said, this was new. I thought she just didn’t want to get a shower. I told her to go, and she did.
She raced down the stairs about three minutes later, and I couldn’t believe she had actually showered. But her hair was wet and smelled clean, and she swore that she had scrubbed everything.
Last night after dinner, again, she said she didn’t want to go upstairs. This time there was nothing stopping me from going up there – I was working on my laptop and can do that anywhere. But then I remembered, start as you mean to go on. Did I want to have to relocate upstairs whenever she had to shower? And did I really want to validate her fears like that, make her think that there really was a reason to be scared up there?
I’ll give her this – our house can be scary. It’s old and creaky. But it’s our reality. It’s not practical for her to be afraid of it.
I was scared of showering alone when I was her age, and I didn’t even have a big old scary house. I used to convince my sisters to sit in the bathroom and “practice their reading” while I was showering. And my grandmother’s second floor was seriously terrifying (thank goodness the bathroom wasn’t up there!).
But unless her brother was going to commit to going upstairs with her every night (he wasn’t), she was going to have to work this out for herself. I didn’t want to move, and once again I was letting my laziness make a parenting decision (hey, it’s been working out well so far!).
I asked her if she wanted to turn on all the lights up there, and she said she already turned on most of them, but didn’t want to reach into Jake’s room because something might grab her. I told her that was impossible since nobody was in Jake’s room, and asked her if she wanted to listen to the radio while she was showering, and she said that wouldn’t help. I told her to try it anyway. She protested a little, but I think she knew I wasn’t going to budge, and she went.
She came downstairs about fifteen minutes later – not running down – and said happily “The radio helped! Thanks, mommy.” And gave me a hug.
I doubt this is the last I’ll hear about this, and I don’t mean to suggest that every fear is this easily defeated. But I think there’s something to be said for not feeding in to this stuff. When I’m lying in bed and think that I hear something, if my husband rolls over and says “It’s nothing, go back to sleep” I do. But if he says “Yeah, I heard it to” then I’m trembling wide-eyed for an hour, waiting for an ax murderer to bust through my bedroom door.
So, when my kids come to me with a fear that I think is completely unfounded, I don’t give them the tiniest hint that they might be right. So far so good, and most importantly, I don’t have to get out of my chair. :-)
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Anatomy Of A Stupid Fight
Jan 29, 2013 Kids
By the time Fiona gets up in the morning and comes downstairs for breakfast I’ve already been up for two hours, long enough to have had several rotten things happen, as they did this morning. I’m definitely in a bad mood. And then Fiona and I had the kind of little fight we have all the time. I can avoid them if I’m in a good mood and paying attention. This morning? Not so much.
I was putting Fiona’s lunch together, and after grabbing something from a low pull-out pantry shelf I kicked it closed with the side of my leg.
“Hey!” Fiona yelled at me. “You just did what you keep telling me not to do.”
“No, I tell you not to put your dirty feet on top of the drawer and pull it open with your toes. All of the gross stuff on the bottom of your foot gets into the drawer.”
“No, I’ve never done that! I only kick it closed like you just did.”
Sigh.
Fiona goes down this road all the time. All. The. Time. I can see her do something a dozen times and yet she would swear on the lives of everyone she knows that she’s never done said thing. And she gets so indignant about it, so insulted that I would dare to accuse her of whatever it is I’ve seen her do with my own eyes.
This morning I finally just snapped at her that she needs to stop picking fights or she’s going to ruin both our mornings. She muttered to herself for a while and then dropped it for long enough that we could say a nice goodbye to each other. But knowing Fiona, she will bring it up within ten minutes of getting home tonight.
This is one of those things that I don’t know how to handle, because it’s not a matter of opinion and there are no shades of gray. It’s hard not to laugh in her face sometimes when she screams at us that she didn’t do something, when we saw her do it. She is as stubborn as I am and once she decides that something is a fact, that’s it – she will not give in.
This leaves me with two options: One is backing down and letting her believe that she’s right, which feels so wrong. The other is going nine rounds with her until I’ve basically broken her down and we hate each other.
Perhaps hidden cameras are the answer. Although I’m guessing she would find a way to accuse the camera of lying. “Look Fiona, let me show you a video of you doing this thing you say you’ve never done.” “That’s not me. Someone comes in and pretends to be me and does bad things and you never believe anything I say!”
I never went through this with her brother. Sure, he lies about things he’s done, but when confronted with evidence or a superior argument he gives in. Being right doesn’t seem to be as important to him as it is to Fiona. Like many bad phases, I’m waiting for her to grow out of it…still waiting…
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
