Girls Like Pirates

Hi friends, friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. I need your help. Recently my toddling daughter has been expressing her understanding of gender roles. I shop for her as often in the "boy" section of clothing stores and toy stores as the "girl" section, and I tell her on a daily basis that she is smart, clever, fun, funny, talented, kind, good, creative, brave, beautiful and loved. Nevertheless she has begun to classify what girls can be against what boys can. For example, she said just this past week, that boys can't be ballerinas and girls can't be pirates. She's only two but her understanding of her place in this world is already being formed. I realize I can tell her over and over again (and I do) that she can be whatever she wants to be, but what she sees, hears and experiences in the world day to day is far more powerful than my words. And when she said she can't be a pirate it particularly hurt my Momma heart. She loves pirates.  We go on treasure hunts and talk pirate speak (Arrrr me matey and such), we read pirate books and when she was ready for pullups we bought the boy kind (the blue box is actually labeled "boy") with pirates on them. So when she told her dad she can't be a pirate because "I'm just a girl" my heart hit the floor. I quickly realized that the pirate on her pullups is a boy and the pirates in her books are boys too. My clever girl put two and two together and concluded that only boys can be pirates.

As a mother of girls I have been frustrated, disappointed and at times outraged by the difference in products marketed for young boys versus girls.  I was depressed and pissed as hell shopping for newborn onesies after my first daughter was born. (I acknowledge the absurdity that onesie shopping should elicit outrage but hear me out.) My daughter was born in London and I would shop for her basic onesies at the largest department stores in the city. As with all children's clothing stores the designs were separated by gender. The onesies designed for girls were decorated with hearts, flowers, butterflies and princesses and of course all were pink because they are for girls, duh. The onesies for boys, on the other hand, had numbers, robots, planes, trains, cars, shapes and dinosaurs. Let's consider this for a moment. There is nothing educational or engaging about hearts and princesses. But numbers, shapes and dinosaurs! What message does that send? Should girls be passive and pleasant and boys active and curious? As I said, I was pissed and naively shocked by how such a large company could think it appropriate to segregate the styles in this manner. I knew my daughter would be too young to appreciate the patterns printed on her clothes. She would spit up and stain any design indiscriminantly. But the disparity in style didn't stop at size newborn and the subliminal and explicit messages don't stop there either. I left the store with robot and number onesies and a chip on my shoulder.

I want both my girls, as well as yours to take leadership roles, to demand respect, to say "No" without apologies, to believe NOT that they can do anything a man can do but that they can do anything at all. And I want them to believe it now.

The instagram account @girlslikepirates was created to raise awareness of seemingly benign gender inqualities which end up forming biases in impressionable young minds. Each post will discuss games, products, books, television, music and people who perpetuate outdated gender classifications and celebrate those which positively influence our children.  My hope is to form a community which can influence families, schools, and companies to be cognizant of the way they present ideas, programs and products. And to encourage them to do so in a way which recognizes that boys and girls can share the same interests. This is not a page for girls or mothers of daughters. This page is for every person who would like to maximize the potential of the next generation. My motivation is selfish. The Momma bear in me wants her cubs to be fierce and fearless and to tell anyone who stands in their way where they can take their sexist, chauvinistic, ignorant beliefs. Fortunately most gender cues are made by well-intentioned individuals who would likely make different choices if made aware of the harmful impact of their words or actions. Hopefully through this page we can all become more conscientious while encouraging others to do the same.  Please support this fed up Momma, her daughters and this worthy cause by following and sharing @girlslikepirates. Please tag @girlslikepirates in your own images which highlight gender inequalities. I will share your images on @girlslikepirates as well. 

Today this account has been created and it may never reach 1 million followers or even 100. It may not go viral, or effect change in the companies and communities I dream it will. If it doesn't that's ok, but just what if it does? The best way to teach my daughters to be fearless and fight for what they believe is to lead by example.

Please follow my lead. . 

7 Simple DIY Home Design Ideas for Your Growing Family

I’m not an interior designer, a decorator, or an HGTV host but recently when guests visit my Brownstone Brooklyn apartment their jaws drop. The transition from unremarkable to inspired design happened organically, and involved my entire family. You see, I recently had a second child. My older daughter is nearly three. The NKOTB (New Kid on The Boob) is three months. I am currently a “stay at home mom” and I’m not using that phrase to publicize my employment status. I rarely leave the house.  But I’ve maintained an open door policy for visitors who stop by to see how fucked up I am after my latest c-section.  In the past when expecting guests I’ve placed fresh blooms on the table, fresh fruit on the counter, and fresh linens in the bathroom, but with a toddler and newborn running the home guests are lucky if I’ve placed a shirt over my nursing bra. In fact, my giant leaky nipples have been on display so frequently I feel like a Kardashian.

In the days after bringing home baby I worried about the state of my apartment. Like many of you, I would employ the “run and hide” tidy up method moments before the doorbell would ring. This involved ten minutes or less of frantically shoving mess, toys and clutter into the back bedroom and locking the door. It was when I finally said “fuck it” that the natural happenings of everyday life as a family with two under three transformed my home.  And judging by peoples’ stunned reaction as they enter the door, clearly we have managed to create a look that delivers. Unfortunately, there is no way any one can exactly replicate the look that we’ve perfected. Nevertheless, I am confident that by following the simple steps I’ve set forth below you too can WOW your family and friends!

1.      The Ikea Hack. I’m a huge fan of the Ikea hack. Traditionally this is where you take an Ikea product and customize it in order to hide the fact that you are in your thirties and still shop at Ikea. For this new take on the Ikea hack, take any piece of furniture in your home and have your toddler hack at hit until it is dented, and cracked.

2.      Remove all rugs. Take all of your area rugs – the ones you bought to add a pop of color to your room, or to perfectly frame out the living room from the dining area – and put them in storage. Now that you’ve got a potty training toddler they would only serve as a wee wee pad anyway.

3.      Floor flourish. Now that you’ve removed all rugs from your home the floor may look bare. To add some much needed flourish scatter your disposable nipple pads about. Be sure to leave some behind the cushions on the couch as an unexpected surprise for your guests to discover. 

4.      Add custom wall art. Step away from your toddler for just a few moments. This should be enough time for her to find a marker and cover your walls and possibly some upholstered furniture in a one of a kind design. And joy, it’s a sharpie, the permanent marker you’ve grown to hate and would swear had been removed from your home months ago when you last caught your toddler redecorating.

5.      The new scented candle. Newborns need their diapers changed on average 1200 times a day. I’m pretty sure I read that statistic somewhere. Either way, within a week postpartum you should be carrying diapers in a holster around your waist and be able to change a wet one singlehanded while posting a snapchat of this impressive new party trick. Instead of schlepping to the nursery to change and dispose of every diaper, change some on your bed and couch and simply toss the dirty diaper to a designated corner of the room to be taken out when convenient. The subtle scent of newborn pee and poo will fill the air with a bespoke aroma.

6.      Miscellany. For finishing touches to your home makeover build a block tower then whip the blocks across the room. Hide rogue cheerios, grapes and yogurt raisins under tables and chairs. Throw an entire roll of toilet paper and a half drunken juice box into the toilet. Take all the clothes that were hung on the drying rack and pull them onto the floor. Have your toddler poo next to the potty rather than in it.

7.      Hang a family portrait. Hang a picture of your family in a beautiful frame in a prominent place in your home. That one picture where you are all looking at the camera and even smiling. One that as you scan your barely recognizable apartment catches your eye and for a moment makes you feel at peace with your new surroundings, and beyond lucky to have the greatest people to share them with.  

I Let My Toddler do Bad Things and Get Away With It

It's 8:40 am and my terror, I mean toddler, has discovered two pieces of chocolate left out on a table.  She knows chocolate is a treat not to be eaten at just anytime of day. I am sitting not two feet from her and watch as her eyes widen and a smirk crosses her face as she reaches for the chocolate treasure. She's got them in her chubby clutches and takes a quick glance toward me before bolting out of sight. I sit up momentarily, fill my lungs prepared to shout after her but instead slump back into the sofa and re-fix my eyes on the magazine I have been halfheartedly perusing. Victory is hers. Go ahead and judge me. I'm too tired to care.

My day began at 5:30am - breakfast time for my two month old daughter. After she was changed and settled into a satisfied slumber I prepared to join her. But instead my alarm went off in the form of a tantruming toddler. So much for a Saturday sleep in. In the ensuing hours we negotiated over which plum she would eat, debated over the appropriate toastedness of her bread, bargained over whether she would sit on the potty, and argued over the mess she made on the floor. I reminded her that tables are for glasses not for asses (in toddler friendly terms), reprimanded her for trying to wake her sister by sticking her finger in her ear, and refused her request to color on the (formerly) beige couch. She whined, pouted, cried, and screamed in between each please, thank you and I love you Mama. I took deep breaths, kept my cool, explained good behavior expectations and tried not to over do it with the threat of time out.

As a parent to a toddler consistency in discipline is key but so is picking your battles. Knowing how to reconcile these seemingly contrary principles is a challenge. So is raising a toddler. It's a game of improvisation, a stay one step ahead, fake it 'til you make it type of job. So at times I let exhaustion lead the way as is the case with the runaway chocolate. I confess I even enjoy the thought of my daughter reveling in the fact that she got away with it and savoring her forbidden bounty. Moments after her bolt across the room, my daughter reemerged with chocolate on her breath and smudged across her cheeks. She approached me and said, "Mama do you want a chocolate?" She opened her sticky fingers to reveal the now melty second piece of chocolate.

So she took something shouldn't have taken, and ate something she shouldn't have eaten. At least she knows how to share. 

7 Reasons Why I Am Making A Gift Registry For My Child's Birthday Party And Why You Should Too

My daughters third birthday is not for another three months but today I've decided that when the time for birthday planning arrives, in addition to selecting invitations, entertainment and decorations I will also be choosing her gifts. And I don't mean just the gifts from her father sister and me -that's a given. I will also choose the gifts I would like the guests to bring. In the past, and only when asked, I would make general suggestions which hint at my daughter's interests (books, dinosaurs, art). This time I'm planning to go full on wedding registry style with it.

Registries are widely accepted practice for bridal showers, weddings, and baby showers but it's rarely done for children's birthdays. Every person I've told about my plan is instinctively put off by it. Birthday party registries come across as presumptuous, imposing, and a bit tacky. I won't entirely disagree. But they also make life easier for the host and the guests and benefit everyone especially the birthday boy or girl.

Here's why:

1. Returns, re-gifting and repeat gifts are a massive inconvenience.
If you have a kid or kids I can assume your life is busy. If your kid is still in diapers you can have a full day without ever leaving the house. Returning unwanted and duplicate gifts becomes yet another chore on the endless list of crap that needs to get done. Schlepping to various shops across the city to return these rejected gifts is low on the priority list and over time lost receipts and expired "return by" dates make some gifts non-refundable. In my home these gifts are relegated to the re-gifting box. And because kids gifts tend to be gender and age specific I then have to wait for a 2 year old girls birthday party, and hope that she likes the gift more than we did. I've had gifts taking up space in my closet for years waiting for just such an occasion.

2. Your gifts are great, they just don't fit in my small apartment
I am typing these words on my compact computer from my humble sized Brooklyn apartment which I share with my husband and two kids. I would love for my newborn to have a swing, excersaucer, jumperoo and kick and play and for my older to have a tent, ballpit, art station and all the latest kid gear to keep her stimulated and happy. I also would like to see the floor. Floor beats toys. So I put a ton of research into learning the essentials and that is what we buy and all we have room for. So thank you Aunt Susie, my daughter loved the life sized doll house, we just like having a couch more.

3. These gifts are a big deal so let's get it right.
I see toys, games, clothes and accessories my daughters would love nearly everyday. For several reasons I (mostly) resist the urge to buy them. Money is one reason. Space is another.  But the biggest reason I leave toy stores empty handed is that I do not want to raise spoiled children. When my daughters get a present it should be a special, memorable treat. If they get something whenever they go in a store they will begin to feel entitled to the same every time. And gifts will have to be bigger and more lavish just to impress them. No thank you. For that reason I try to give them gifts only for birthdays and other special occasions and I try unsuccessfully to have their grandma do the same. Which is why on the days when my daughters do get presents they should be things the girls have been wanting and waiting for.

4. Toy stores are often directing you to the wrong gift.
The toy store is laid out in a way to guide you in your gift selection. A pink section for girls, a blue section for boys and aisles divided by category and age range. Not only do I resent the way children's stores are divided by gender in a way that reinforces outdated gender roles but the layout often poorly influences people's purchasing choice. My daughter has only ever received gifts from the "girl" section of the store. And I'd wager some of your sons have only received gifts from the "blue" section of the store. This is a huge disservice to girls and boys alike. At two and a half my well-rounded girl loves architecture, geography, and marine biology. By creating a registry I can ensure that her gifts satisfy all of her interests and balance between being fun, educational and useful. And those gifts may or may not be marked as recommended for her "2+" age group. As parents we know better than toy manufacturers our children’s level of development and are better suited to select which gifts would challenge and amuse them.

5. We have better things to do with our time.  
The summer of 2010 was the summer of weddings. Every weekend ended with me digging through my purse in search of the tiny packet of Tylenol meant to cure the inevitable hangover left from a night well spent. The summer of 2015 is fit to be the summer of babes (think diapers not g-strings). My calendar is full of births, birthdays, baptisms and the occasional bris. So today I found myself pacing the aisles of Toys "R" Us in search of multiple gifts. After twenty minutes in the arts and crafts aisle I paced the puzzle aisle, board game aisle, wandered through the action figures and board books and took a forty minute break to feed and change my two month old daughter. Despite the age suggestions on many products I was clueless as to what would be appropriate for the kids I was shopping for and I soon realized I had spent the better part of my afternoon trying to figure out the right gift for these kids. I left the store defeated empty-handed and fancying a cocktail.  I will never get those wasted hours back but gift registries could help save countless more.

6. Avoid the last minute "good enough" gift 
I love the idea of giving the perfect gift. Something thoughtful, creative and personal and if I found that perfect gift I'm sure I would buy it whether the invitation mentioned a registry or not. But most of the time I lack the time energy and imagination to find the perfect gift and end up shelling out money for a gift I've deemed "good enough". I suppose "good enough" is good enough but giving a gift you know is wanted is far better.

7. It's a suggestion not a requirement
Registries are designed to ensure the guest of honor will receive gifts they want and to eliminate the guesswork for everyone else. They are not however a requirement for admission. If you don't like the lack of thought and element of surprise that comes with buying off a registry you could always get an unexpected side gift. If you found a gift you think the child would love there is nothing wrong with going off script. For everyone else the registry has got your back.

So to my family and friends here's your advance notice. When the invitation slips into your mailbox there will be an added line "registered at" for your consideration. To everyone else if you are in the process of planning a birthday party I hope I've persuaded at least some of you to register. Acceptance comes in numbers and although for all the reasons I've stated above I believe birthday registries are the best way to go I don't want to be the only asshole out there to do it!

These Days

I have had a lot on my mind these days. I should add, even more so than usual. I am full swing into a search for a new home in prime Brooklyn. (If you are unfamiliar with the Brooklyn real estate market good for you! It's a nightmare.) I flip flop, wibble wobble and worry about how to navigate my floundering career. (career?) And just underneath the surface of every other consideration is the constant all-consuming thought: is it time for another baby? And this whopper of a quandary, is all wrapped and tangled into those other preoccupations. How quickly do we need to move into a larger space? Am I willing to put baby on hold indefinitely in order to resuscitate a legal career?  Or, am I willing to sacrifice career opportunities to expand my family now. I also question whether I am ready to bump Siena from the center of the marquee and make her share the stage a la Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly.

When I discussed family planning with Rob before we even tried for Siena we came up with what we thought was a pretty great game plan. 3 kids 2-3 years apart each. Pop. Pop. Pop. and I'm done bearing children by the young-ish age of 35. Wham bam thank you ma'am. There was logic behind our "we have no kids yet know what we're talking about" plan. By having kids closer in age they would be more likely to form a close relationship. Planning vacations for children closer in age would be easier as opposed to catering to a teen and tot. Also we could have a rough idea when all the kids would go off to school and even off to college and plan accordingly. And we would be looking at an empty nest at a relatively young age which appealed to us.

Well as I said, all of that sounded great to us as non-parents. And as I recite them once again they sound pretty sound even today. But here's the problem, that 2-3 year window snuck up on me and now it's like I'm hitting the snooze button on pregnancy every. single. day.

All reasoning and rationalizing aside I do want to have a baby. I even recently started finding newborns I pass on the street adorable again. (After my traumatic labor and birth experience I used to cringe at the sight of a new baby). But every time I give any serious thought to a brother or sister for Siena, my nose starts tingling and my eyes well up with tears. And since this has been my "all consuming thought" these days, I'm turning into a bit of a party trick. Watch me randomly cry on the train, in the rain, on the street, in the heat. (Apparently I'm also turning into a Dr. Seuss book). 

It doesn't make sense. The reason I am pressuring myself to have another child is foremost for the benefit of Siena; to give her a sibling to play with, laugh with, commiserate with and eventually to share the burden of caring for her aging crotchety parents with. But when my thoughts wander to baby number 2 I feel only aching on behalf of my, for the moment, only child. Right now Siena is my favorite child (I've even told her as much), she gets mommy's undivided attention most of the time, and I think she would agree, we have a pretty great thing going. Adding a new kid into the mix seems like a betrayal. She would no longer get my undivided attention, she would no longer be my baby and even if she were still my favorite I could never tell her (that would be wrong wouldn't it?). As I envision life with a newborn I already miss these simpler times and this epic love affair of mother and daughter. It's hard to imagine how adding another child could make my perfect family anything other than less perfect. Does my instinctive crying mean I'm just not ready? 

And what does it say about my career ambitions if I get pregnant before, for lack of better phrasing, figuring out my shit? Choosing baby over career now will certainly make it much more difficult to reenter the world of pant suits in the future. But what's the alternative? Start looking for a job now, who knows how long that will take, then get pregnant after working for a few months? And then have hardly any maternity leave and return to work while my baby is still an infant? I am in the extremely fortunate position where I do not have to work in order to contribute to the family finances. Of course any income I bring in would benefit the family but my reasons to return to work would be much more personal. Pride in the work I do, intellectual stimulation, adult conversation and modeling the role of a working woman for my children. I want that for my life. But I have spent the last two years as a full-time mom and agree with others who have said it is the greatest and most important job in the world. I can't imagine not giving my next child the same time and attention I gave my first. But these competing interests do not sync up. "Having it all" is an absurdity. Having it all cannot be my goal since it is not attainable. So which wins out? 

I almost want to get pregnant just to stop living this constant ping pong back and forth of job baby job baby job baby. Get pregnant and end this Groundhog's Day of baby on my mind. Get pregnant and let the chips fall where they may. 

So that's where my head is at these days. You'll know which side wins out in a few months' time. A baby bump would be hard to hide.   

No worries

When I left New York 2 years ago to live in London, my friends asked, only half-jokingly, whether I would return with a Madonna-esque hybrid American-British accent. I, only half-convincingly, said 'no way', my Brooklyn twang too wrapped in my identity to change. But I couldn't know then just how living abroad would change my accent, or my outlook.

Flash forward 2 years to today, moments ago, when  during a quick exchange at nursery drop-off the manager apologized for a miscommunication and I naturally replied, 'no worries'. I remember Rob and I, new arrivals in London, mocking waiters, bank tellers, shopgirls, Starbucks baristas and everyone else for their over use of that very phrase. You would be amazed by how frequently and in how many contexts 'no worries' is thrown around. Seriously. I'm not sure how long ago it became part of my regular vernacular but there it is. Now as I sit and write this random reflection I worry that it won't remain with me.

I can say with certainty that I return to NY with my Brooklyn-American accent in tact. However, I have adopted some rather British words and turn of phrases which sound a bit off when spoken all 'New Yawky'.  Nevertheless, I love my new lingo, some of which better express a particular mood or moment than any one word I had before. And I already stress that I will lose these words when they are no longer part of the soundtrack of my life.

But an enhanced vocabulary is just one outward manifestation of the many ways living in London has enhanced my life. I hope to continue learning from this journey long after I've settled back into a New York state of mind.  I must accept I will likely switch from saying flat to apartment, lift to elevator, and buggy to stroller. But I will find comfort in the knowledge that losing those words does not erase this experience, it does not undermine it's impact, and will not diminish the lasting impression it has made on my heart.

Britain Baby Brooklyn

I stare at the computer screen. I read the words "...I am thrilled to present to you our formal offer letter." Rob wants me to read through the terms of the agreement which offers him a job in New York City. (Apparently I was once a lawyer and did in fact study contract law.) But the words are blurred on the page as the many thoughts simultaneously racing through my head cloud my vision. Then I see the start date. June 30. It is nearly April. I quickly do the math to calculate when this moment, this experience, this world we created in London would be just a memory. Is it even real now? It feels like the floor is shifting beneath me. This has all been an act in a play and soon the sets will be taken down, lights fade to black. I look around the room now taking mental pictures of everything my eyes meet. The grain pattern of the wood floorboards whereupon 18 months ago I paced back and forth in early stages of labor. The spot on kitchen counter where Siena always sits when acting as sous chef. I can't bring myself to look in Siena's nursery. Or to think of the tidal wave of emotion I will feel closing the door for the last time on the first place she'll ever call home.

I've been expecting the news of a job offer for weeks, actually in a way from the time we arrived in London. But my reaction I could not begin to predict, as much as I tried. My instinct is to write. To put fingers to keyboard in hopes that the free flow of words eloquently articulates what my muddled mind finds difficult to process. I am very much a live in the present type of person which actually makes me more emotional when closing a happy chapter in my life because often the final words are "goodbye" rather than "see you later." I find looking back painful because I know I could never replicate those remarkable, life affirming, character building experiences. I remember hugging my friends in Buenos Aires and boarding the plane back to NY after 6 months living abroad. I had held it together as we said our goodbyes but as soon as I put my carry on in the over head compartment and settled into my seat I crumbled.  Yelping to catch my breath through audible sobs the flight attendant asked if I was leaving my family behind. I replied, "no, I'm going back to them."

Yet there are two vital differences which distinguish all my prior experiences from this one, and their names are Rob and Siena.  So maybe this act in my play is ending but the principal players remain bringing with them the heart of these two years lived in London.

Rob and I each wrote our own wedding vows which we shared with one another for the first time at the ceremony. By sweet coincidence we both ended our vows with these words, "when I am with you wherever we may be, I am safe, I am loved and I am home"

Well New York, we're coming home.