It says, “Eight-to 12-year-olds in this country already spend more than $40 million a month on beauty products, and teens spend another $100 million.” $40 million a MONTH on lip gloss, hairspray and glittery nail polish? These girls aren’t even old enough for Clearasil. This is nuts.

But, make up? No. Not yet. One day, there will be mascara on those lashes and shadow on those lids. That day is a long way in the future. I’m not going to commit to a particular birthday just yet. We’ll see.

So, what is the appropriate age to glam up (beyond dress-up play, I mean)?

It is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. 

If this is so then someone call the men in white coats because I am definitely insane.  

Get. Group sleepovers are one of those things you either get, or you don’t. There is no middle ground. By “get” I mean you, as a child, get them if your parents are perhaps insane (see above) or have very short memories and limited attention spans. Much like gnats.  

If your parents are the smart type with long memories and all their synapses firing in working order, you probably had a group sleepover once. Generally this once-in-a-lifetime window of opportunity in your parent’s sanity will take place around a birthday. Said parents will think it a fine idea to have a bevy of children spend the night.  

Rules. Generally this one sleepover will be governed by the International Rules of Small Group Sleepovers in that no one will really sleep, alliances will be made (and unmade numerous times throughout the party) and tempers will fray to the breaking point. International Rules further govern that it’s really not a successful sleepover until someone either cries uncontrollably for no apparent reason or goes home in the middle of the night with their pajama clad parents mumbling apologies.  

The smart parents then vow never ever again to let such a thing happen on their watch. This is why I had exactly one “group sleepover” in the 8^th grade. My mother is no fool. 

I apparently did not get that savvy sense of self-preservation from her.  

We have had someone (sometimes multiple “someones”) sleeping over nearly every single night this week. You may think this is because I’m a Super Fun Mom. You would be wrong. This is because I am a stupid, stupid woman and I forget *every darned time* and say yes to this all over again. Only when it is far too late - both figuratively and literally - to change my mind does it all come rushing back.   

The children are lovely, they really are. It’s just that International Rules of Mob Mentality apply here. Thus, some small guest will inevitably find our food or facilities lacking (I never try to feed a kid liver and onions but a child who will only eat “round food” is a bit of a pill). Someone will try to terrorize Mrs. Seabolt by announcing they “might” be allergic to some food they have just ingested. Finally, a guest will have a meltdown over something or other. Usually a game that is not going their way, that someone has looked at them wrong, or perhaps that the very dust motes in the air were not to their liking. 

I know, I know in my heart of hearts that at 8, 9 and 10 years old this is actually a sign that an otherwise sweet child has had enough and needs to go home, but at what point will I finally learn to cut it short before we get to this point? 

(Note to all my friends reading this with a sinking heart. I don’t mean YOUR children. YOUR children are lovely and could do no wrong. Seriously. This is all about those OTHER kids. You know the types.).  

Still, the truth is, I would – and will - do it all again in a heartbeat. We loving having kids around, really we do. We didn’t fashion this childhood wonderland so I could wave my fists and yell at small children to stay off my lawn. No, Mr. Wonderful and I both agree that it is truly a blessing to have the children around. We really like knowing where our kids – and their friends – are. I just wish we didn’t know by the whining.  

Until then, as the old song goes “they’re coming to take me away ha ha!” and I’m fine with that as long as they take me to a nice, soft bed.

While surfing on the internet the other day, I came across this and this. They’re shirts for little girls which proudly state: “President, Not Princess” and “Doctor, Not Diva.”

Let me start off by saying a loud, resounding, “YES!”

What a brilliant shirt. What a brilliant message.

I may have a son, but I have what feels like 6,789 nieces. Finding gifts for them for Christmas, birthdays or whatever presents somewhat of a challenge since I refuse to purchase anything with the words “Diva,” “Princess,” “Lil’ Darling,” or “Drama Queen.” Yesterday I saw a pair of sweatpants which said “Bootylicious” across the butt. They were size 18 months. I also refuse to buy anything even remotely related to those Bratz dolls which resemble child prositutes.

Now, I’m not someone who generally reads too much into things. I’m pretty selective about the battles I choose and arguing with people about the fashion choices for gradeschoolers isn’t something I generally engage. I mean, I could go on and on about how difficult it is to find a basic pair of jeans for a little girl that don’t have beads, sequins or ribbons attached to them. Or, I could ramble on about the messages of Disney movies (i.e. Sleeping Beauty snoozing away until the perfect man rescues her and the Little Mermaid giving up her voice to have a chance to meet some good-looking dude) and I could prognosticate about the horrors of Barbies, but truth be told, I wouldn’t forbid my daughter to play with or watch any of those things. I think, tempered with the wisdom of an informed parent, Cinderella and her posse and even evil Barbie, are probably OK.

The hardest issue for me to swallow is the almost complete lack of an opposing viewpoint. Where are the cartoons where the princess rebuffs the handsome prince and opens her own 401K and starts a small business? Or, the Barney songs about, “First you get a college degree/Then you work for awhile/Only then, my friend, can you even think about getting married/”

Someday, if I have a daughter, you can bet your ass I’ll be dressing her in those shirts. If I don’t have one, I’ll at least be drilling into my son’s head that he should want to end up with a “Doctor” rather than a “Diva.”

I have two children. My oldest daughter is a “color outside the lines” type of kid. My younger daughter is a “color inside the lines” type.

Both girls are bright but my “outside the lines” kid has a difficult time in school. It’s not that she’s not smart—it’s that she learns and processes information in a way that does not get rewarded in the classroom. My “inside the lines” kid is quite a creative thinker but she learned early how to play the “school game”. My experiences as a parent, with school and teachers has been a real education.

With my older daughter, my parenting skills have been called into question by the teachers and the school. It’s been that way since first grade. My daughter doesn’t TRY hard enough, needs to get it together. The implication is that she would do better if I was a better parent. It’s not the school—it’s HER. And her parents.

My experiences with my younger daughter’s teachers and school could not be more different.

My parenting skills are praised, my daughter is constantly given praise and positive reinforcement. I am not taking anything away from HER as she is a great kid.

But she is so good following directions and knows the rules of the jungle very well. She has learned how to be a better manipulator. It will serve her well in life but it makes me sad.

I found this essay from a great teacher today. It’s old and most of you have probably read it. The author is John Taylor Gotto and it’s the Seven Lesson School Teacher essay. When I read it, I felt like someone punched me in the stomach.

If you parent a kid that colors “outside the lines” you will know what I mean.

Researchers at the University of British Columbia have reported on an experiment that demonstrates that when girls are told they are naturally worse at math, they perform worse on tests.

As one researcher said:

“We told one group of women a made-up story about scientists discovering a math gene on the Y (male) chromosome, and those women got only half as many answers correct as the others ???��??? possibly because they choked under the pressure,” said UBC psychology professor Steven Heine, whose study with PhD student Ilan Dar-Nimrod was published yesterday in Science magazine.

“But the women who were told there is no genetic difference in math ability between men and women did better, possibly because it’s liberating to learn you don’t have a genetic disadvantage.”

CNN also reported on the story (see? I do read news sites besides the TO Star!) and had more details on how the study was administered:

Heine and doctoral student Ilan Dar-Nimrod wanted to see how people are affected by stereotypes about themselves. They divided more than 220 women into four groups and administered math and reading comprehension tests between 2003 and 2006. Their results are reported in Friday’s issue of the journal Science.

The women were given a math test, then asked to read an essay, and then given a second math exam.

In two groups the women averaged between five and 10 correct answers out of 25 math questions. In the other two they averaged between 15 and 20 correct.

The women in the lower-scoring groups read essays that either contended that there is a genetic difference between men and women in math ability, or discussed the images of women in art — a reading which did not discuss math but was designed to remind them of being female.

Those two groups not only fell short of the other women, but their performance declined between the two math tests, meaning they scored lower after reading the essays than before.

It’s a process psychologists call a stereotype threat, Heine explained. “If a member of a group for which there is a negative stereotype is in a position to test the stereotype, they are likely to choke under the pressure.”

What does this mean for parents? In yet another case of Experts Telling Us What We Already Knew, don’t tell your children that they can’t do such-and-such because of their sex. Or their height, or their eye colour, or their skin colour, or whatever. Being reminded of a stereotype that claims one is innately incapable of performing a particular task tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. And if your kids are exposed to these stereotypes from other sources (TV, books, magazines, schools, friends), work with them to understand that the stereotype isn’t true, and even if it was, it wouldn’t necessarily apply to them.