The New York Times ran an article in the Dining section today about a couple learning to cook silently so as not to wake up their baby. The Gay Uncle supports the idea of kids being allowed to sleep. Without it, they become cranky and irritable. And after being deprived for a few days, they start to hallucinate, which makes them super-whiny, and is really hard on their tender brains. But G.U. also fears that the behaviors described in the article reflect a problematic issue in contemporary child-rearing. He feels that children should learn to adjust to normal adult noises and sleep through them, and they can’t accomplish this if the adults around them are always tiptoeing through the eggshells. He’s not asking that babies be expected to slumber through a Bad Brains show in your crowded basement, or the the three disc set of the original Battlestar Gallactica series played at volume 9 on your new surround sound home entertainment system. Just typical human behavior–chatting, drunkenly knocking into the furniture…cooking. The parents G.U. knows who lived their life normally when their child was a newborn now have kids who sleep through arguments, parties, and even the noisy clatter of pasta making. While baby’s nightly sleep and normal adult time are both important, they are not mutually exclusive. Take a long-term perspective. After all, your kid is going to be around for a while and the patterns you set up early on will carve out the neural pathways they’ll use for their entire life.
Dairy Queens
Moving directly from the frigid depths of winter, to the balmy breezes of the Florida Keys, The Gay Uncle received a missive from his sister Roxy early this morning, describing an example of P.P.A. (Poor Parenting Activity) at the local Dairy Queen. Apparently one of the many diva-moms down in Key West very pointedly used her bratty child’s whining to solicit a line-cut from an ear-drummed patron, and–as if taking cut-sies wasn’t bad enough–she then appropriated the last of the cotton-candy flavored sprinkles. The Gay Uncle’s well-behaved niece Amber, who was waiting patiently for said topping, was disappointed. Now, giving in to whining is a big G.U. no-no (see Whining in the book’s Appendix). But, perhaps more importantly, any improper ice-cream-related behavior is heinously outrĂ© in a tropical climate. Sensing that they’d been doubly wronged, sis Roxy rolled her eyes at Diva-Mom and leaned down to niece Amber. “Uncle Brett would have a field day with this,” she said. Amber nodded, then squinted at her mother. “Mama, what’s a field day?”
Snow Balls
It’s snowing like mad in New York, which reminds the Gay Uncle of the glories of winter in the city, and particularly of the joys of winter with kids. For the record, G.U. is wholeheartedly in favor of allowing kids to throw snowballs. Little in life is more satisfying. (Except, perhaps, throwing water balloons.) But, like most everything else, snow throws come with rules 1) The throw-ee must agree to be a target; and, 2) The throw-er must aim for the area below the face. Of course, snowy day reminiscences remind Gunc of the fact that there are only two real seasons in the pre-school calendar: layers, and sunscreen; the application of either of which took up a good portion of each day. His memory is that the glories of the outdoors far outweighed this. But he’ll be hosting a reunion of his pre-school students–many of whom are now super-cool teenage musicians, artists, and political activists–in a few weeks, and will be sure to ask them if their memories coincide.
Food Fight!
The Gay Uncle heard a good one today in the category of Food-Related-Insanity.
A close friend was visiting another friend around mealtime, and was horrified (and secretly titillated) to hear her peer deliver three contradictory food messages all bundled up at once. The host friend’s two year-old daughter was sitting down to eat dinner, and wasn’t doing as good a job with her meal as mommy wanted (whatever that means) and after a few rounds of useless cajoling (have you ever tried to make an animal eat? It doesn’t really work.) the mom stood over her and delivered the cluster bomb, “If you don’t eat more of those chicken fingers, I’m going to give you a time-out. Plus you won’t get the treat I have for you in the freezer. And I don’t understand why don’t you eat well for me? I saw you eating for daddy earlier.” Now, parents have a duty to provide nourishment for their kids, and clearly there’s some innate evolutionary tie between doing so and one’s sense of worth as a parent. But kids receive enough confounding food messages already, and folks just confuse them further if food is used as a means to an end (or a source of parental competition!) Unless your child is suffering from overt signs of malnourishment–weight loss, weakness, palpitations, diarrhea–just follow the Gay Uncle’s three simple rules:
- Provide sensible portions of a balanced group of foods
- Distribute these foods at a regular and routinized number of intervals each day
- Stand Down! Avoid using food as a bribe, punishment, reward, or weapon
It came out!
Though somewhat drunk from an evening of carousing with his Rock Star younger brother, the Gay Uncle was able to catch a ride with his Designated Driver mother and swoop into the Key’s Medical Center early this morning to celebrate the arrival of Lev Berk Eggers (8lbs., 5oz.) a new niece, born at 1:09a.m. Continue reading “It came out!”
Roxy
The Gay Uncle now finds himself in Key West, Florida, where his mother, nieces, common-law brother-in-law, and once-again hugely pregnant sister live. The rest of his family was headed down for the weekend. Having arranged their visits for a week or so after the due date, the idea was for Roxy to have already given birth, and for the brood””as laid out in the book (Chapter 10 Put Turkey Baby Back: New Siblings)””to celebrate the joyous event with niece Amber, and common-law nieces Faye, and Lucia (none of whom were 100% thrilled at having to further share their parents with yet another girl) by holding a “Big Sister”ť party. As of this writing, the baby remains firmly on the inside, which puts G.U. at risk of having to witness a birth””something he saw once in Amber”s birth video, and which, frankly, he hopes to NEVER have to see again. But it also provides him with more quality and undistracted time with sister Roxy, who he adores. Continue reading “Roxy”
Prediction Chart
While waiting for his new niece to make her way down Sis’ yellow-brick birth canal, the Gay Uncle engaged his existing relatives, young and old, in a little game of let’s predict: an old tactic he used to use as a classroom teacher when one of his students was awaiting a new addition to their family. They came up with a whole bunch of standard guessing categories, like how much the baby would weigh, what time she’d be born, what color her eyes would be, and whether or not she’d have hair. But, being a non-traditional family, the Uncles also came up with other less traditional areas of exploration, such as the nature of her earlobes (attached or unattached), how many suckles she’d take when first latching on to the boob, and whether or not her mother would poop on the delivery table (and, if so, what consistency the poop would be: greasy, runny, watery, pebbles, candy bar, etc.) Answers to be revealed in a future post. Continue reading “Prediction Chart”
L.A. Story
The Gay Uncle is on the road this month. First stop, L.A.! It”s much more difficult to catch a glimpse of parents in Los Angeles (as compared to G.U.’s home town of New York) because there is no one out there pushing strollers and acting stupid right on the sidewalk. In fact, there is often no one on the sidewalk at all. Or no sidewalks. And people look at you funny if you pull up alongside them in your rental car and try to get them to roll down their windows so you can hear the dumb or cruel things they”re shouting at their kids in the back seat. Luckily, Gunc knows a bunch of folks out here, who invite him into their homes to allow for unwitting observation. Best of all, his friends (and perpetual parental whipping posts) Kate and Dylan have transplanted themselves to the west coast. They seem much happier here, with plenty of space for the kids to run around in. But, since everyone’s private insanities reside in their brain, we all take our craziness with us wherever we go. Continue reading “L.A. Story”