Strollerderby : smackdown

Smackdown: I Need a Time Out!

JeanneSager — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 15:02:00 GMT

The amount of time my daughter spends in her room has grown exponentially as she's gotten older.

She sleeps less. She "times out" more.

Yes, time out is a staple of our discipline diet in my household. Early on in my pregnancy, my husband and I debated the best methods for behavior modification. Neither one of us was crazy about spanking. But the idea that you discipline with love? That's the stuff of temper tantrums - for Mom.

The way I see it, I love her so much that she needs to go to her room and think about what she's done. Or, at least, get out of my hair so I can have a few moments to breathe deep breaths and rip my hair out in little tufts (even more reason to shave the head next month for children's cancer, huh?).

Time out isn't an every day occurrence in our house, and it's not the answer to every infraction. But when my daughter - who at three is now developing her sense of right and wrong - does something she has been clearly told again and again not to do, there have to be repercussions. Like hitting the dog. Drawing on the walls with crayon. Pouring a cup of juice on the floor because it isn't the juice she "wanted."

On the first occurrence or even the second, explaining why we don't do something is enough. But toddlers naturally test their limits. Without someone guiding them back into line, that testing can quickly become habit.

Enter the time out. Because nothing bothers a toddler like being removed from the action. The naughty chair didn't work in our house; because our little ham would promptly hop off and come to see what everyone else was doing. Same went for the corner. She'd turn on her heels and follow us. Now she's sent to her room for the age-appropriate six minutes (two minutes per year of age, although it varies among time-outting parents I know from one minute up to five).

As my colleague Kate points out, I recognize that at three kids are unlikely to do much ruminating up there about why their misdeeds were wrong. What I hope she learns, instead, is that Mommy and Daddy were upset with what she did. Because with the natural affinity of toddlers to test limits also comes an inherent desire to people please. Noticing her parents don't want her in the same room has a sobering affect that a simple "No, don't do that" can't achieve. That disconnect from her toys, her pets and the center of attention is the second benefit for the kids in time-out. Suddenly, bad behavior equals a loss of the things she loves. It's simple logic, and it works.

It works for me too. Because time outs aren't just for kids. I decided early on not to be a spanker, but I don't know a parent out there who hasn't been tempted at one time or another to haul off and whack their child out of pure frustration. What separates most of us from the child abusers is strength against temptation. For me, that strength comes from knowing my limits. Some friends have talked about locking themselves in another room to separate themselves from their kids for just a moment or two while they cool off. I need that separation time to cool off; it makes me a better parent.

While my daughter is in time out, I get a few moments to look at why I'm really angry. Is it because she's crayoned on the wall for the fifth time this week and I feel like all the talking I've done isn't getting through? Is it because she spilled juice on a floor I just finished mopping? Sometimes it gives me time to clean up the mess or devise a plan for her to help me - a second lesson for her in why we don't throw pour juice on the floor or crayon on the walls. Like I said - it's a time out for the parent as much as it is a time out for the kid.

When the kitchen timer goes off, the stressful moment has passed. We can discuss things calmly, and she bears a memory of a punishment that is more distinct than a simple "no" and less emotionally-scarring than a screaming (or worse, abusive) parent. Then we work together to fix it.

Time out works for us. It's helping my curious toddler find her boundaries, and we're doing it with love.

Even better - I get to keep my hair.

THE OTHER SIDE: Smackdown: No Naughty Chair For Us, Thanks

Image: More4Kids

Smackdown: Party On Baby!

JeanneSager — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 14:37:00 GMT

I love birthday parties.

Not the Chuck E. Cheese fifth circle of hell parties, but the sprawling mid-summer lawn parties with the kids running wild through a backyard sprinkler, the adults huddled under the trees with a few bottles of wine, coolers of beer and a big cheese platter.

Somehow, the big guy (girl) upstairs saw fit to ensure I can throw one every year - they made sure I gave birth in June. And every year since my daughter turned one, I've made a trip to the beer store, stocked up on veggie burgers and hamburgers and pulled out the grill.

My colleague Jen says birthday parties for kids under three are silly unless you're inviting immediate family only. I respectfully disagree - and not just because I love me a good party on a warm summer's day.

Our kids' birthdays are momentous not just for the kids. At one or two, Jen's right, they barely know what's going on. They cover their faces and clothes with cake and make feeble attempts to rip through wrapping paper. Those first two birthday parties are as much about the adults in the equation as they are the kids. They're a celebration of a Mom and Dad's proudest little accomplishment; and when it comes to celebrating - I say the more, the merrier.

The mentality comes, perhaps, from having a large extended family. Invite one of my father's siblings and you have to invite all six . . . and their spouses . . . and their kids. The summer birthday thing plays a role too - I'd feel strange throwing an outside party in my close-knit neighborhood and not inviting the neighbors over to join in. Truth be told, it wouldn't be a party without them. When something is worth celebrating, I'd like to make it a truly celebratory occasion - and that means piling on the guest list.

It also means inviting plenty of kids. Because I can't fathom how to make the "invite the number of children equal to your child's age" method work. Most of my closest friends HAVE kids. So cutting down on the number of children would mean cutting down on my own friends as well. And a party - a summer barbecue anyway - doesn't feel like a party to me without kids. Kids splashing in the wading pool. Kids peddling tricyles down the driveway. Kids having juice box squirting contests in the backyard.

For my daughter, there is fun too. Even at one she knew she was the center of attention, and she was lavished with love. The photos to me are priceless memories - not least because the two parties before my daughter turned three were the last two attended by my grandmother. One day, my daughter will be able to look back through the pictures and see her great-grandmother there, alive, vivacious and thoroughly enjoying the chance to spend time with several of her great-grandchildren.

Soon enough, my daughter will beg for the Chuck E. Cheese party or its equivalent. A few years after that, she'll be begging to go to the mall with her friends on her birthday - without her parents. Marking the day that forever changed my life and my husband's will shift entirely to her, and we will have to honor our favorite day some other way, some private way.

Kids are kids for only so long. I say celebrate every moment.

The Other Side: Smackdown: Babies Don't Need Birthday Parties

What Could a Baby Really Do in Four Hours?

Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

Smackdown: Babies Don't Need Birthday Parties

Jen Chaney — Tue, 03 Feb 2009 14:28:00 GMT

I must preface this post with the following disclaimer: My family and I have attended several birthday parties for children under the age of 3. Our son enjoyed each one and we truly appreciated the invitations.

Now that that's out of the way, I can make the following statement: Kids under the age of 3 totally don't need to have birthday parties.

Before you start posting comments that accuse me of hating the Easter Bunny and starting a petition to put a moratorium on trick-or-treating, please allow me to make my case. I love parties and I genuinely enjoy celebrating milestones. Of course, as parents, there are fewer milestones more significant than our children's birthdays.

But throwing a big 'ol fiesta for a child who is only one or two -- and who probably doesn't care about the invitations or goody bags and certaintly won't remember them -- is a nice but arguably unnecessary gesture. For starters, there are very few party options for kids that age. You can either host the thing at your own home, which no one does because they don't want 25 toddlers racing through their family rooms. Or there is Option B: Have the party at Little Gym, My Gym, Gymboree or the local gym equivalent of your choice. Which is what everyone does. And that means pretty much every one of these b-day celebrations is exactly the same. Same bouncey-bouncey on the trampoline, same delivery pizza, same sheet cake.

Then there is the cost issue, which is no small matter given the current economic situation. Throwing a party, even if you do it at home, is not cheap. Once you decide to have a real party, one that extends beyond family, the guest list tends to balloon. Every child in the daycare class and their parents, every friend you have plus their sons and daughters, those neighbors down the street with the kid who always wears shorts even when it's 30 degrees out: suddenly you feel obligated to invite, feed and entertain them all.

But let's say you could keep that guest list under control. Most of the people who show up will feel they must bring a gift. And that means more junk in the house -- again, for a child who is still too young to fully appreciate it -- not to mention an obligation (albeit an unspoken one) that all those friends have to spend money on presents. In short, it just seems like a lot of hullabaloo that misses the point of the day: To celebrate your child's life on his or her terms.

My son turns two this weekend. We certainly don't plan to ignore his birthday. His grandparents will get together with us, eat some cupcakes and open some presents. There will be a little party in his daycare room, again, with more cupcakes. And we might take him somewhere special, too, like the park or the zoo. But that's it.

Next year, when he's three and perhaps a bit more likely to remember what we do to commemorate his third year on this planet, we may take this whole thing to another level. But until then, we'll celebrate in a quiet way. Call me crazy. Call me a party pooper. But I think the little guy will be perfectly happy with that.

The Other Side: Smackdown: Party On Baby!

Smackdown: Damned if You Do, Doomed if You Don't (Breastfeed, That is)

Madeline Holler — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 15:31:00 GMT

Here's the problem with any debate about breastfeeding: you're damned if you do, a shitty mom if you don't. Damned if you do because you're either (1) being gross or (2) being a show-off. A shitty mom if you don't because breast is best and you're not giving your child the best (students of logic will point out this doesn't entail that you are giving your newborn child the worst. The worst would be water, or, you know, battery acid.)

The so-called breast vs. bottle debate is no debate at all. Rather, it's two sides (or nine -- there are tons of baby feeding combos out there that need defending) talking past each other about different things. Formula-feeders want others to know they're good parents; breast-feeders want others to know it's good (and free!) food. From a boob. So what we get are arguments, like Cole's, that breastfeeding has been oversold. Or ones like Brett's that call moms who don't breastfeed too "lazy" to give the best to their child.

A lot of breastfeeders (I'm one of them) think breastfeeding has been undervalued (celebrated, sure, but undervalued in society). Many, many women who do or would like to breastfeed want more support -- at work, at home, from their doctors, from Facebook. But that call for support often gets twisted and interpreted as some mandate that all moms should give up careers, or nurse their toddlers, or wear a smart belt and matching pumps when serving roast promptly at 6 for dinner. (Think I'm kidding? Read this and then this.)

At the same time, many women who wanted to breastfeed but couldn't manage to didn't have the right kind of support and information and modeling. So they think their bodies are broken. And for that, they feel guilty. Guilt plays a BIG role in the breastfeeding discussion. We have to tiptoe around when and how and why to breastfeed because you never know who did what and damn if you don't want to be know as the playgroup boob-Nazi.

But the problem with not talking about breastfeeding -- or dismissing it as a ridiculous, body-destroying little hobby enjoyed by delusional wifey types -- is that new moms are left to figure out breastfeeding in a vacuum. Or our kids don't hear about it. Or we're off in little breast or bottle camps feeling all defensive and judged. Despite what we're told in magazines and TV shows, breastfeeding is not intuitive or automatic once you're holding a newborn in your arms. Still, you don't dare encourage a new mom who's breast-curious for fear of coming across as a bully or a lactivist or, even worse!, a representative from La Leche League (boy that's a group that -- thanks to a small percentage of really aggressive "helpers" -- needs to work on its image).

Instead, you let the breastfeeding class your pregnant acquaintance took six weeks ago -- or the words of some surgically gloved woman she just met and who is now handling the new mom's breast, stroking her nipple against the newborn's cheek! -- get the breastfeeding started. Not only is the long-ago class not so helpful (explaining how to breastfeed is as easy as explaining how to whistle, which is to say it's not easy to explain), the nipple stroker also doesn't go home with the mom, which is when she might really need her.

Sure, there are breastfeeding assholes and smug nursers who will call you out on that bottle filled with formula hidden deep in the stroller. There are also those perfectly happy with formula who stand in the background screaming "just give him a bottle and get some sleep!" when a wannabe breast-feeder calls for advice. Which one is worse? Answer: it doesn't matter, they both suck. Which mom is better? The one who feels guilty about formula or the one trying to breastfeed despite obstacles? Answer: it doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter.

Smackdown: Boob Nazis - Is Breastfeeding that Big A Deal? NO!

Smackdown: Breastfeeding -- Why Not?

Mom of Octuplets Stuns Us With Her Ambitious Feeding Plans

What makes a boob-Nazi?

Smackdown: Boob Nazis - Is Breastfeeding that Big A Deal? NO!

Cole Gamble — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 15:00:00 GMT

By now you’re probably thinking, “Why are two DUDES arguing the merits of breastfeeding? Where do they get off?!” Well, here’s where I get off (that sounds weird): I offered to tackle this subject with any of the ladies at Strollerderby and they were all too scared. The ladies were too scared to argue about breastfeeding. That’s why, for better or worse, you’ve got Brett and me. What would we know about it? We have children and wives who birthed them, don’t we? We were first hand throughout the breastfeeding process and we did the research right along with our partners. So, I’m gonna say we’re qualified.

My biggest beef with some of the breastfeeding advocates is guilt. I’m not a big fan of guilt as a motivator and I’m even less of a fan of fear tactics. You know, like that pro-breastfeeding commercial that had a heavily pregnant woman thrown from a mechanical bull—equating that with not breastfeeding. I’ve also got no love for bullying, as in the La Leche League member who met my wife at a party and upon learning breastfeeding didn’t work for my wife, ended the conversation, turned on a dime and proceeded to belittle my wife throughout the rest of the party. (This woman is still breastfeeding her 5-year-old. Let that sink in)

But my appeal here won’t be emotional. That’s too easy. I’m gonna give you the facts. The cold hard facts that boob pushers and breast bullies obfuscate or completely deny.

1) Mastitis. An inflammation of the mammary gland occurring in lactating mothers. Nipple can get infected and turn into an abscess that must be surgically removed. Although this can occur in non-breastfeeding women, it’s more likely in breast feeders.

2) The Psychological Benefits are False. The conventional wisdom was breastfeeding led to a more focused, less hyperactive child adept at forming peer relations. However, an exhaustive study recently proved these assumptions wrong. Experts and laymen presumed that the constant physical closeness involved with breastfeeding would do all kinds of psychological wonders. Nope.

3) B-Milk in the Bottle is Just as Good. Some women can’t get their kids to latch. Some women simply don’t like the feeling of breast feeding. No problem, just pump a bit of that magic elixir and give it to junior via bottle. Not only is there no shame in it, but now that we know the physical act of breast feeding comes with no special benefits, the bottle is more acceptable than ever.

4) Where’s the D? This news is hot off the presses: there is insufficient vitamin D in breast milk. A lack of vitamin D can lead to rickets. So, if you breast feed, your kid will become a pirate.

5) You Should Never Do Anything Just Because of Peer Pressure. Like I said above, breast feeding is a choice. If you want to get a little breast milk to your kid but can’t or don’t want the suckling, that’s your business. And if you don’t want to do it at all, you are not abusing your child.

The Other Side and More BF articles:

Smackdown: Breastfeeding -- Why Not?

Smackdown: Damned if You Do, Doomed if you Don't

5 Things That Make You a Breastfeeding Nazi . . . And 5 Things That Don’t

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Smackdown: Breastfeeding -- Why Not?

Brett Singer — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 14:15:00 GMT

Cole challenged me to a Smackdown on breastfeeding, and of course I said yes. I never back down from a challenge, at least not one as harmless as a blog face off. (In other words, don't challenge me to get in the ring with Mike Tyson. That, I will decline.)

Breastfeeding is a controversial subject, but it wasn't always. Back in the day (as in, black and white televisions, Uncle Milty, etc.) many women took a pill to dry up their milk ducts. They didn't feel guilty about it, and those children grew up to live happy lives despite being denied breast milk.

There was also a point in our history when women didn't have the right to vote. In other words, times change. We've learned a lot about human health, and there is definitely evidence that breast milk CAN be good for your kids. Is it conclusive? No. So what? If you are able to breastfeed, isn't it worth the potential benefits?

Now for some specifics:

1. The Guilt Factor: No disagreement here. It's wrong to bully a woman, especially a new mother. However, let us not ignore…

2. The Laziness Factor: There are a number of reasons why some women don't breastfeed their kids. I've heard at least one new mom who said that breastfeeding her child made her feel "gross"; she had no problems with her child latching on, she just didn't like having a baby suckling at her "teet." It made her, "feel like a mammal." When someone says that, I want to ask them a simple question: If you are able to do something that has potential health benefits for your child, why wouldn't you? If you can't breastfeed, you can't breastfeed. But if you tried once and just bailed, that seems like a cop-out. Some of the La Leche people may be a little nuts, but many lactation counselors are very good at what they do. If you have trouble with latching or other breastfeeding issues, it's worth trying a counselor just for the potential health benefits.

3. Expressed Milk in a Bottle: Cole, I love ya, but sometimes I wonder if you've been sipping from a different type of bottle. (A glass one. Filled with bourbon.) Who says that expressed breast milk is a bad thing? As I understand it, the debate is usually between breast milk and formula. And I have yet to see a study that says formula is undeniably better for the child. At best, some say that breast milk may not have the benefits that some claim. Which brings us to the next point:

4. "No Proof That Breast Feeding is Healthier": Is there proof that it's harmful? There is certainly evidence that breast milk is good for babies. Again, why not give it to your children if you can? There was a time when doctors said that smoking was healthy. Look at how that turned out.

5. Formulas Aren't Perfect Either: I haven’t done extensive research but I know that whenever there is a product that is mass-produced, there is the potential for problems. Remember the Chinese milk recall? Ever heard of a breast milk recall? I didn't think so.

There's a difference between "can't" and "won't." No one should be bullied into breastfeeding (sorry, La Leche). But if you won't even try because you just don't want to, or you feel like you want to "rebel" against the "breastfeeding nazis", maybe you should rethink your position. Cole is right -- you shouldn't do anything JUST because of peer pressure. But if everyone isn't jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, that doesn't mean you should. (Think about it for a minute, I'm pretty sure it makes sense.)

Read Cole's take on the matter here.

Read Madeline's take on the matter here. (And I didn't say that ALL women who don't breastfeed are lazy. I mean, c'mon.)

What do you think? I'm right and he's wrong, yes? (Even if you think I'm wrong, let us know in the comments.)

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Smackdown: Damned if You Do, Doomed if You Don't (Breastfeed, That is)

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Smackdown: I Don’t Care If My Daughter Has Sex as a Teen

Miriam Axel-Lute — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 15:01:00 GMT

Progressive, feminist, supposedly sex-positive parents are, of course, pretty well united against the absurd excesses of abstinence-only education and the religious no-sex-until-marriage frenzy.

What continues to amaze me though, is how little the positions they do take really vary from the underlying values of the abstinence worshippers.

As a parent, I keep running into a nudge, nudge, wink, wink understanding that even though we know it’s not good to base policy on it, of course really we all want to put off our daughters’ sexual awakenings as long as possible (or at least until they’re out of the house). There are jokes about chastity belts and not letting boyfriends come over until age 30. Every once and a while I feel the urge to get out a calendar and check the year.

I confess that I don’t get it. Not a smidgen. (And neither, for the record, does her father.) I don’t think this is just a matter of my having a defective freak-out gene. I really think that this attitude is not in our daughters’ best interests.

Concerned and thoughtful parents like my colleague Shannon, argue that it’s not really about the squick factor. They think it’s important for their daughters to put off the confusion and emotional drama of sexual relationships in order to get solid in forming their own identities, to make sure that they don’t get distracted by serving other’s needs first.

It sounds good at first, but I have to disagree. It’s not sex that hampers girls’ development, sense of self, or progress toward a career. It’s negative, hysterical, sexist attitudes about sex. (And the unintended pregnancies, abusive relationships, etc. that follow.)

The self-esteem argument is really the religious right’s argument minus the God and marriage specifics. It says this: “Sex is such a god-awful big deal that it will necessarily consume you when it happens and so you must wait for some future time at which you will miraculously be able to handle it.”

I don’t buy it. Sex is a powerful force, sure, but we have a fair amount of control over how much power we really give it. Making it something dangerous to your very identity gives it just as much power as making it central to your very identity.

I think this attitude is partly to blame for teens continuing to mistake sex for love. It also still places far too much emphasis on the importance of the “first time,” leaving girls (and women) feeling attached to first lovers who don’t deserve a third glance (or feeling like failures for choosing a less-than-perfect first lover).

In its usual gender-specific form, this attitude also perpetuates the idea that girls can’t really want sex for their own reasons, that they must be succumbing to the media hype and trying to please someone else and they will automatically lose their sense of self in a sexual relationship.

(Yes, clearly, far too many girls are getting pushed into sex they don’t want. But telling them they should never say yes does not help teach them when/how to say no.)

Of course I also have to wonder why, if people think sex is such an overwhelming cognitive thing to get started at, the conclusion they draw from that is that it’s a good idea to put it off until kids leave the nest and are distanced from familial support systems and previous friends, have easier access to alcohol, are first learning to live on their own, and are facing academic and/or job pressure. Or, for that matter, until they are 30, feeling their biological clocks and suffering pressure (internal and external) to find “the one” and settle down.

Obviously I wouldn’t argue that everyone ought to start having sex in high school. “Ready” is a super complex and individual cocktail (and takes two). Not everyone over 18 or 20 is ready. Not everyone younger isn’t. But high-school does have some potential advantages: financial security, parental backup if needed, and some extra time to be processing, daydreaming (or angstfully writing in a journal). That could all actually form a safer place to experiment than newly adrift in the “real world.”

Of course we all use our own experience as a touchstone. I starting “fooling around” at 15 and having sex at 17 with someone trustworthy I’d been dating for many months and who served, as good friends and partners do, to help me learn more about myself as well as how to have a relationship. I made out with a jerk or two in there first and lived to tell the tale with my self-esteem intact. In fact, those early experiences gave me a very clear and relatively safe tutorial in the difference between attraction and love, flirtation and friendship, passion and trust that has served me well.

If my daughter has the chance to do the same—armed with the facts to protect herself and the solid knowledge that her worth doesn’t depend on her choosing one way or the other—it won’t bother me in the slightest.

Photo by Made Underground, via Flickr.

The Other Side:

Smackdown: Sex Before Twenty? Hopefully Not My Kids

More by this author:

Eggs Are Really Liquid Chickens... and Other Books for Kids

KeriF — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 16:29:00 GMT

I may not throw out any of my kids' books, but that doesn't mean I don't find many of them incredibly annoying. My husband and I try not to make any snarky comments about the books in front of our kids, but sometimes we can't help ourselves. (Like in the Apple Tree Farm series of books by Usborne Books, in which Mrs. Boot is the farmer (no mention of Mr. Boot) and Ted "works on the farm." Um, yeah, we all know where Ted's doing most of his work. Thankfully, my kids don't know what "shtooping" means.)

Perhaps these books would be a little more fun to read...

These mock book covers from the site Bob From Accounting may not ever make it to the bookshelves, but they'll certainly give you a good laugh. A couple of my favorites are posted below. You can see the whole hilarious lot here.

Photos: www.bobfromaccounting.com

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Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

JeanneSager — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 13:27:00 GMT

I used to be on the other side of this Smackdown. Bimbo Barbie wasn't prancing into my house, no way, no how.

Then came Christmas. And Santa at the firehouse. And kindly volunteers in the ladies auxiliary who put a lot of time and effort into being good neighbors and buying goodies for all the little kiddies in my neighborhood.

Damn them.

Because the moment my daughter opened mermaid Barbie (who my gay best friend promptly told her must be named Ariel), she was a kid transformed. "Barbie, Mommy, look, I got a Barbie from Santa!"

I didn't even know she knew who Barbie was. She spent hours that night, ripping Barbie's clothes off. Making me put them back on. Ripping Barbie's clothes off. Making Daddy put them back on. Brushing Barbie's hair. Tangling Barbie's brush in knots in Barbie's hair. It didn't matter what I thought. Barbie had found a home.

She's now up to three Barbies - all gifts - and I've given up on a lot of my feministic outrage. It's a doll. She has impossibly big boobs and an impossibly small waist. But she's hardly the only doll to be lacking in realism.

My daughter's favorite educational doll, the Learn to Play Emma from International Playthings, has a ginormous head, big bulbous feet and a squarish body. No one's picking on her lack of realism, however, because she's A) educational and B) not overtly sexual (not sexual at all, really). But is the Barbie really all that sexual? She's got a plastic non-crotch (trust me, my little brother, as all little brothers do, cleared that one up a long time ago). She's got boobs with no nipples, and her body is made of the most uncomfortable-to-cuddle-with material known to kids.

She has skanky make-up, and skanky clothes; I'll grant you that. But by the time my daughter - or most little girls - gets done with undressing Emma (or her equivalent) and toting her naked around the grocery store, she's looking quite the skank herself. Not to mention what happens when our kids get ahold of some paint and try to put "make-up" on their dolls. They don't have to see it on their mothers; they can see it on the grocery store clerk and think it's "so pretty, Mommy!" Chances are, at some point, they'll try to recreate it on their dolls, whether her name is Barbie or not.

Also making the Barbie concern take up less and less of my time is the amount of her time spent with Barbie. By not making it a big deal, we've managed to make Barbie no more special than her collection of Hess trucks or her art easel. The three Barbies are in the toybox - usually naked - when she wants them. If she wants them. Often, she does, pulling them out as the favored toy for about an hour of fun before she sets her aside and begins begging for Play-Doh (now there, I have true toy hatred). She seems no more attuned to her own body after playing with a Barbie, no more obsessed with hair, clothes, make-up or or weight. And let's not forget the play-acting she does, the elaborate stories she makes up about Barbie going out and having fun (no dating or having sex, clean, wholesome, three-year-old stories of going to play with Mr. Cow or driving a plastic firetruck).

Can we really blame one toy for the destruction of little girls' psyches? My mother didn't buy me Barbies, and I still developed an eating disorder. My neighbor, on the other hand, who has one of the most well-adjusted tweens I've ever met (future babysitter of my daughter, right there), spent hours playing Barbies on the floor with her. That was their mom/daughter bonding time. Now a high schooler with a wide smile, she has the kind of self-assurance I envy even at my age. The Barbies don't seem to have hurt her. Maybe because what's more important are the strong female role models, the moms who are present, available and involved in their daughters' lives (as my neighbors was then and still is).

I'm not calling Barbie the pinnacle of perfect toydom, but as long as Barbie is just one toy in the box, I'm willing to just let her be.

The Other Side:

Smackdown: Barbie and the End of the World

Image: Amazon

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Smackdown: Barbie and the End of the World

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 13:06:00 GMT

We planned this Smackdown awhile ago, not long after my daughter opened a Scuba Barbie for Christmas. Her grandparents, who had refused to purchase a Barbie for their own daughter, were beyond thrilled to buy one for mine.

"Every girl should have a Barbie," they gushed. My wife stared at them in slack-jawed, open-mouth wonder.

"What the hell?" she said, "I wanted a Barbie for years!"

If someone had taken Tiny Tim's crutch and beaten him about his frail, twisted legs while eating all the Christmas goose, it still would have been a merrier scene than the one at our house at that moment.

My wife stewed, my in-laws beamed and I sat on the couch, staring at this plastic creature I had successfully avoided for nearly three years.

I never wanted a Barbie in the house.

Her clothes don't bother me so much. The early Barbie wore some swinging outfits and I've seen some newer Barbies that sport the kind of clothes your cool, older sister might have worn while packing her belongings for college. Unlike Bratz, you have to purposefully find Slut Barbie.

Her hair, her makeup. These things are easily changed, cut, washed off, shaded -- any girl can style the doll to her own liking.

Except, of course, for the body.

Barbie has an impossible body.

Now, before the great Christmas Barbie Episode of 2008, I was originally worried not that my daughter might grow to look and dress and act like Barbie. Rather, I was worried what she might do to try.

A friend's daughter, then 7, told her mother one day that she needed to go on a diet so she could look "more like Sally" -- the name she had given to her Barbie. I'm not saying Barbie is the gateway to eating disorders. But I also don't think dieting fits into the realm of playtime. How fun is that to look at a toy and think you're suddenly not good enough? Yay! And our friend's daughter is not the first to bring this up. And I doubt the same emotion overcomes a girl playing with a chubby Cabbage Patch Doll.

Some young girls see Barbie, want her body and then destroy their own. After all, isn't Barbie a model for the perfect female?

Then Barbie did in fact come into our house.

When she did, my daughter, Emmeline, picked up her new toy, examined it for a bit, played with her clothes and then eventually abandoned the thing for the two dolphin friends that came in the same pack and lent testimony to the fact that this was, indeed, the real Scuba Barbie. (Why the dolphins are wearing mascara, I don't know -- even animals have to be sexualized now, I suppose.) But at this moment, Barbie lays forgotten upstairs, buried underneath a pile of clothes.

I'm not going to throw it away or keep it from her, although now is my chance. No, it dawned on me that I, her father, probably have a lot more sway over how she will one day view herself and her body than some stupid doll. Do I really want to be the person whispering in her ear about body issues? Do I want to make such a big deal out of it that an issue heretofore unknown to her suddenly becomes a cause for serious familial discussion? (And of course a story about Iran banning Barbie didn't help, when it left me thinking, "Great, now I'm the fucking Ayatollah of the toy box.")

But what really sent me over the edge in the past week was when a friend of a boy said, "You've got Barbie to deal with, sure -- but what am I going to do when my son wants a gun?"

A toy gun. I had 35 of them. Cap guns. Laser guns. Electronic talking hippy pacifist guns that fired words instead of bullets, man! And I never went on some drunken rampage and shot up the post office (although I suppose there's still time). I was never the bully. I've been in all of one real fight.

It's just a toy, I caught myself thinking.

But then what of Barbie?

This was supposed to be the side of the Smackdown in which I let loose on the dangers of letting young girls play with shapely molded plastic -- how it's only setting them on a course of crash diets and the latest fasting fads, tweenish liposuction and adolescent insecurities. But now I've seen the actual impact of Barbie up close and I'm not too worried. I still maintain that I'm not going to buy one (there are actually a hundred cooler dolls out there, including the freaky-eyed Victorian-era porcelain cherubs my daughter has come to love) but if another Barbie enters the house, I think I'm the last person who should be making a big deal of it.

The Other Side:

Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

Also, Barbie's Sordid, Swinging History

Smackdown: A Book's a Book, No Matter How Small (or Annoying)

KeriF — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 21:45:00 GMT

When my 4-year-old son Declan was just a few months old, we had brunch with some family friends. Their son was whining for his stuffed rabbit, which he had left in the car. "[Whatever stuffed rabbit's name was] doesn't want to come out of the car," my friend explained to her son. "He's tired and just wants to rest." The kid didn't buy it, and who can blame him? He was a child, not an idiot.

That's why I try not to lie to my kids. And that's why I can't throw out any of the annoying books my kids love. Even if, like "Sheep in a Shop," the far inferior sequel to "Sheep in a Jeep," the meter is poor, the plot iffy, and the moral downright questionable (the sheep trade their wool for some birthday presents). I can't throw it away. I can't simply "misplace" it. Because I can't say, "'Snuggle Puppy'? Haven't seen it," if I know it's buried under leftover mac-n-cheese in the kitchen garbage can. I know I can't do this because I've tried, and I suck at it.

My feeble attempts at lying to my kids, no matter how trivial the matter, have failed miserably. When we went to the Renaissance Faire last summer, I told my sons before we left the house that (plastic toy) swords weren't allowed (as if!). Then when we got there and saw a sword on every leather-clad hip in the shire, I felt like an idiot and spent the better part of the day trying to talk my way out of it. But why? They're 4 and 3. I'm, er, significantly older than that. "Because I'm the parent, that's why," is trite because it's true. We're the grown-ups! We shouldn't have to lie to get our way. That's toddler territory.

So when 3-year-old Ronan wants to read "Curious George Goes to the Hospital" for the 11th time in a week and I simply cannot stomach all 187 pages of it (or at least that's what it feels like), I don't tell him that it's "gone missing." I simply tell him we've had enough George for one week and suggest we read my favorite book, "The Gruffalo." And if he starts to pitch a fit I simply offer the alternative: no book at all. "The Gruffalo" always wins.

The truth is, I find a lot of children's books annoying. Some of them just don't make a lot of sense to me. But that doesn't mean they don't make a lot of sense to my kids. The first time I read "Goodnight Moon," I thought to myself, "That's it? That's 'Goodnight Moon'? It doesn't even rhyme!" But my kids loved it. So I read it to them, and reread it to them, again and again and again, and they learned to recognize the book and smile when they heard the first words.

Now my kids love to read, and the inanity of "Snuggle Puppy" is balanced by the brilliance of John Lithgow's "The Remarkable Farkle McBride." And that's okay with me. Because I don't always want to read "Crime and Punishment." Sometimes I just want a little "Flowers in the Attic."

The Other Side:

Smackdown: I Won't Read That Thing Again

More by this Author:

Smackdown: I Won't Read That Thing Again

Miriam Axel-Lute — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 21:31:00 GMT

"Sheep live on farms. Sheep like to eat grass. Sheep apparently have shiny, reflective, slightly pink fleece in order to captivate small children when the text of a book is too damn inane to do so."

Do you have any books whose actual rendition when read out loud starts to sound kind of like that? I sure do. Or did. They take themselves too seriously and yet are dull, completely unoriginal, have no feel for language. Their messages, if they have them, are pointless or annoying. Some of them get basic things about the world wrong.

When faced with a demand to read one of these specimens (plenty of which have entered our house as gifts or hand-me-downs) more than once a day, I find I have two options: Sarcasm or refusal. The former is probably an unwise long-term parenting technique, but the latter meets with more protest, so obnoxious commentary usually rules the day.

After bedtime though, I have another option: That book just might quietly disappear.

I realize that what I'm looking for in a book and what an under-three-year-old is looking for are pretty gosh darn different. I realize that repetition is part of their cognitive development and I'm just going to get sick of reading even the best of books. I realize that the point of reading to my child is not to entertain me or meet my exacting literary standards.

But here's the thing: If it's totally possible to have the best of both worlds, why shouldn't I? Why should I settle for the dregs that have washed up on my bookshelves? I doubt anyone would argue that parents can't dispose of books that don't match the values they want to pass along. One my values is literary merit. And it's available in plenty.

There are thousands and thousands of really awesome kids' books out there, right down to the most simple reading level. They may not be works I would curl up with on the couch on my own (though I might with Seuss or A. A. Milne), but they have some combination of rhyming and rhythm, playful cleverness, kindness, imagination, style, and beautiful illustrations that not only don't turn my stomach, but even make me smile and enjoy myself (at least for the first three readings per day or so). Oh, and my daughter also loves them. Perhaps not always more than some of the ones I can't stand, but also no less.

Besides, kids notice subtle things, and I'm quite sure mine must notice when she asks me to read something to her and I give a shudder of horror. That doesn't keep me up at night, but it worries me more than facing down a potential fit because Spot's Thanksgiving has gone missing. "Things get lost sometimes" is a lesson that's worth learning. Kids get over it. (Though it helps if you identify the bad apples early, before any deep attachments are formed.)

Will my daughter be mad at us when she finds a couple of titles we couldn't even bring ourselves to pass along to those with different tastes hammered into the bed frame to level the lopsided mattress? She might. But I figure by that time she'll be able to read to herself and have moved on. And hopefully she will have developed better taste too.

Photo by Indie Wench.

The Other Side:

Smackdown: A Book's a Book, No Matter How Small (or Annoying)

More by this author:

Childbirth Smackdown: It’s Called The Natural for a Reason

makeitadouble — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 13:00:00 GMT

We are a Nation doped up on hypocrisy and anesthetized to the double-standard wherein one group is pardoned for the same actions for which another is condemned.

One where the reputations and records of baseball immortals like 7-time Cy Young award winning pitcher Roger Clemens, All-time Home Run Champion Barry Bonds and former Viagra Spokesperson Rafael Palmerio are tarnished forever for a SINGLE positive drug test or for the ALLEGED use of performance enhancing drugs; yet it’s the same country in which women can openly, knowingly and brazenly take drugs during labor to enhance the performance of their delivery.

Am I pushing your buttons yet? If I am just know I’m pushing the natural way; without an epidural.

Natural child birth was all but abandoned in the 1980’s (the beginning of the Epidural Era) and by the early 90’s nearly 50% of all American women used epidurals during child birth; a number that is today closer to 90%. Is it a coincidence that this increase in delivery room drug use parallels the so-called Steroid Era in Baseball?

The hallowed halls of America’s National Pastime echo with the outcry from both the media and public claiming that performance enhancers such as Steroids and HGH have ruined the game, but if that is true than the floral printed halls of maternity wards nationwide should be echoing with the same critical chorus of disapproval condemning women who use Prostaglandins and Epidurals for ruining the miracle of childbirth.

Deep breaths now, there’s more.

Players who never once tested positive for drugs were nonetheless subpoenaed to testify before congress in 2005 and now again in 2008 about performance enhancing drugs in baseball, yet where are the subpoenas, the indictments, and the Grand Jury Testimony from woman who took shortcuts during labor to delivery the baby faster, avoid pain and essentially dishonor their unborn children?

The movie was called “The Natural” for a reason ladies. Roy Hobbs named his bat Wonderboy not Demerol. I’m sure Robert Redford agrees with me.

I demand that Congress get involved to rid childbirth of drugs once and for all and institute mandatory testing for woman one week prior and one week following the delivery of their babies. For mothers who test positive for drugs their children’s birth records should expunged from the public registry and an asterisk legally placed next to their name.

Maybe then expecting mothers will think twice before juicing during labor. Maybe then we can finally clean up the game.

Top Medical Journal Pulls Out Scalpels for Circumcision Smackdown

Madeline Holler — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 19:36:00 GMT

There’s a high-level smackdown going on in a respected medical journal. Two doctors make their case for and against something regulars on parenting message boards and websites have been hashing out for years: circumsizing baby boys.

But instead of calling each other vicious mutilaters or cultural imperialists, they use big words, studies and analogies to make their cases.

One of the writers points out that non-therapeutic foreskin removal continues throughout the world, while body mutilations – female circumcision, scarring – have been widely condemned or made illegal.

He asks:

The law and principles pertaining to child protection should apply equally to both sexes, so why do society and the medical profession collude with this unnecessary mutilating practise?

He says the U.S. and U.K. laws discriminate against boys when it comes to protecting children from genital mutiliation.

As for the evidence that circumcision reduces risk for HIV infection in sexually active adult males, he argues the boys, not their parents, should make that decision for themselves when they are men.

Ding! Next round.

The other writer argues that, if expertly done, male circumcision doesn’t carry significant risk and is nothing compared to female circumcision.

Also:

In terms of evidence of benefit, male circumcision has been associated with a reduced risk of sexually transmitted infections, such as human papilloma virus, chancroid and syphilis. Robust research has also shown that circumcision can reduce the spread of HIV.

Also, no robust research exists regarding psychological impact of the circumcised life for men, so quit claiming that it does.

She says nowhere in the world is male circumcision illegal. She says that considering the long tradition of the practice, it should never be outlawed as a way of ensuring that it will continue to be performed safely by experts.

What do you think? Is male circumcision comparable to female genital mutilation? Should it be outlawed? Are we discriminating against boys when we allow it for them but ban it for girls?

Strollerderby : smackdown

Smackdown: I Need a Time Out!

Smackdown: Party On Baby!

Will Toy Tie-Ins Destroy Sid the Science Kid?

Teacher Taped Kids Mouths Shut

Doggie 101: How to Hug a Baby

Smackdown: Party On Baby!

Kindergartner Gets Best Birthday Present EVER

What Could a Baby Really Do in Four Hours?

Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

Smackdown: Babies Don't Need Birthday Parties

Smackdown: Damned if You Do, Doomed if You Don't (Breastfeed, That is)

Smackdown: Boob Nazis - Is Breastfeeding that Big A Deal? NO!

Smackdown: Breastfeeding -- Why Not?

Smackdown: Boob Nazis - Is Breastfeeding that Big A Deal? NO!

Smackdown: Breastfeeding -- Why Not?

Smackdown: I Don’t Care If My Daughter Has Sex as a Teen

Eggs Are Really Liquid Chickens... and Other Books for Kids

Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

Smackdown: Barbie and the End of the World

Having a Kid Alone? Don't Tell Me Why I Have it Better

Why Do Pacifiers Piss So Many People Off?

Mom Bugs Kid's Teddy Bear to Spy on Ex

Babble Talk: Is Ditching the Baby Monitor Child Abuse?

Smackdown: Barbie and the End of the World

Smackdown: Aw, Just Let Her Have a Barbie

Smackdown: A Book's a Book, No Matter How Small (or Annoying)

Smackdown: I Won't Read That Thing Again

Childbirth Smackdown: It’s Called The Natural for a Reason

Top Medical Journal Pulls Out Scalpels for Circumcision Smackdown