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Sparkle Princess!

Our beloved neighbors, the B's, handed down a princess costume for Ruby a little while back.  I'll be confessing to them through this post that we kept it in a closet for a bit and then took it to the Goodwill store.  Ruby never even saw it. 

If she had, she'd have loved it, of course.  She probably wouldn't have taken it off for two months.  It was sooooooo pretty:  white and yellow with glittery layers of chiffon forming the long voluminous skirt, puffed sleeves, not a stitch of a natural fiber to be found anywhere.  This is the kind of dress that makes little girls go apeshit because it makes them feel like a princess or a fairy or whatever.  I remember having a couple of the old school versions of these from the Sears catalog when I was little.  I wore the blue one one until the silver fell off the sequins and the tulle skirt was a rag.  Girls love these getups because they feel really special in them, like a magical creature of light that we all probably all felt like when we entered this world but have subsequently trained ourselves to believe is childish.

So I have nothing against the fairy princess dress.  The problem is the boys.  I kept thinking about bringing that dress out of the closet in front of Bennett, who's the same age as Ruby.  Because they're twins, they have a pretty well-developed sense of material justice.  Not quite "an eye for an eye" but more like "if he gets an eye, then I better be getting one too."  So if I bestowed this beautiful, dramatic, sparkly, shiny, colorful fantasy on Ruby but told Bennett that it wasn't for him, only girls like Ruby, what does that tell Bennett about the specialness of boys?  He doesn't understand yet the cultural norms we've developed based on gender.  He would just get that he is less . . . special, sparkly, beautiful, colorful.

It reminds me of a mom whose son wanted to dress up as Hannah Montana for Halloween a few years ago.  Really, how can you blame him?  She's one of the most exciting characters out there for kids.  When we tell our little boys that all the lightness, magic and beauty is only for the girls, I think we're doing them a real disservice.  In fact, if I was a little guy, I think I'd be jealous and mad about it.  What do the guys get to make them feel special when they dress up?  Not much.  They get trained to be little tough guys, before they're anything like tough.  This Halloween, I looked around.  Cowboy . . . Jedi . . . zombie . . .Transformer . . . and, no lie, a four year-old pimp with fake money coming out of his hat band.  And people wonder where misogyny comes from?

Bennett's costume did actually manage to fulfill an almost life-long dream (he's two and a half).  For at least a year, he's been obsessed with Humpty Dumpty:  books, videos, acting out his brief story thirty or forty times in a stretch.  We thought it would go away after he learned to walk really well, but apparently that's not what his fascination is about.  So I found him a shiny, colorful plush Humpty costume that made him into the eggman himself, with a little hole for his face and a tiny red hat on top.

When I revealed it to him, he was speechless, and remained so for the better part of a half hour.  At one point, he and I were sitting on the bed so he could see himself in our mirror.  He turned to me, and in the quietest, most reverent little voice, said:  "I wanna break."

So Bennett managed to feel his version of magical at Halloween.  I'm not sure how to do that for him on a regular basis, the way little girls can with their trunks full of princess costumes.  For now, my plan is to do what I always do when I don't know the answer to a parenting question:  I'm gonna kick that shiny can down the road.

Two-riffic

They turned two on Tuesday.  They're obsessed with the moon and Humpty Dumpty right now.  Their grandma from the foothills was here and made some of the most amazing vegan cupcakes (not a dietary thing, particularly; it was a recipe in the NY Times Magazine this week and deemed fate) -- I'm eating one of the dozen or so leftover ones sitting in our freezer.  They have tiny little cows jumping over a white chocolate moon.  Delicious!

 

They are also, thankfully, sleeping very well, although Ruby will occasionally get up in the middle of the night and sing the ABC's for an hour.  Other than that, they are sleeping perfectly, which is no small statement from this family. 

Their party was a giant burst of fun.  We invited a bunch of families we know from the hood (and with whom we have huddled these winter months in a common playroom like passengers below deck of a colonial-era sailing vessel) and some old friends.  And I mean it when I say that it was really fun.  There were tons of kids and good parents and a giant seesaw, bouncy things, a ball pit, blow up donuts to roll around in and much more fun stuff we don't have at home.  I like this part.  Our neighbor, The Littlest B, read an original poem about the mutual love she shares with Rubennett, and it was as adorable and heartwarming as it sounds. 

 

 

Right about that time, when Little B had everyone in the palm of her thespian hand, wrapped around her truly stageworthy little finger, the only adult in the joint not transfixed by her loveliness was Crazy A's dad, T-Wreckage.  That's because he was dealing with Crazy A, who was transfixed by the kiddie rockclimbing wall way in the back of the gigantic play space (did I mention it was gigantic? By New York standards, yes.). 

So, we're seven innings into the Hyperglycemic World Series of Poetry up front, and T-Wreckage notices something.  Or rather, he notices two things.  One is Bennett, in a back room reserved for staff use.  T-W herded him and then turned to, yes, Ruby, who instead of listening to the epic poem written in her honor was trying to figure out how to light this . . . um, what do you call this thing?  Oh, yeah, that's it, a match.

Because, Littlest B, Ruby and Bennett's mom and dad were some of the most transfixed of all.  Did we mention that we think you're awesome?

P.S.  Thanks, T-Wreck.

This is me rolling The Littlest B in a blow up donut.  Fun!

Because No Blog of Mine Would Be Complete (VIDEO)

. . . without the requisite Halloween material.  It's a little late, what with the gigantic distraction of the election and all, but here 'tis. 

I give you, ladies and gentlemen, THING 1 AND THING 2 (who had no say in being so and were made so due to the relative cuteness and convenience of of the idea, which was accompanied by a vow never to make such fools of my children ever again.  But it was cute.  And really easy.)