Gender Bender Shmender Lavender

Or: I simply don't understand it.
I admit, i grew up during a time when clothes were made for children. So, upon having them myself I still don't understand the girl-boy rules. Not really.
As you probably know, I do machine embroidery and happily make shirts not only for my kids, but also for my friend's three boys.
So, this is this year's christmas collection:

For the youngest one, age 4

And I admit I happily made one with purple kitties for the gender non-conforming middle child. That kid rocks. He doesn't give a shit about what other people say. He is a sparkling princess for carnival and loves Hello Kitty:

Isn't it cute?

Now, the oldest one is more "traditionally boyish", if by "traditional" you mean fashion that didn't exist 20 years ago. And I chose a combination of designs and colours that simply rocks:

Roaaaaar

I fell in love with it. Sometimes what you plan in your head doesn't quite turn out the way you thought it would. And sometimes it's better than you ever imagined. This one is the latter case. I was like "I want this soooo much. I would so much love to make it for my children, but probably they wouldn't wear it anyway and then those hours would be wasted".
There's nothing cute about this. It's fierce and bold. 
But I thought it would be worth asking.
Well, if the shirt wasn't blue. And with purple. And pink...
My daughter didn't even allow me to wash out the chalk and the hoop burn.

New favourite shirt. And baby rabbit.

 I still don't understand the rules, but I'm glad she has a new favourite shirt!

Who moved the zebra, eh cheese?

You know that idea of "who moved the cheese"? The idea that, if we suddenly find that the provisions we carefully made are gone we're supposed to work harder and find new resources instead of asking who fucking moved the cheese.
Today I noticed that concept in a children's book. Yes, teach 'em young.
The story is about a zebra in the Zoo who wakes one morning to find her stripes gone. She's black all over and sad and scared. Together with her friend she sets out to find new stripes. When she's finally made it she meets the zoo director who tells her that he borrowed her stripes while she slept because he needed a zebra crossing, but wasn't she a good zebra to find new ones for herself so her old stripes could now serve as a zebra crossing forever?
The moral of the story: If you're brave you'll find new cheese, eh stripes.
My daughter didn't buy it. Hearing it again and again (isn't it incredible how often they'll make you read the very same story) and knowing in the beginning that the solution to the vanished stripes is the director, she said "he just shouldn't have taken her stripes without asking. He mad her sad."
Good girl, bad authors.

Your daily dose of sexism #7 Teach 'em young

Just after the kids' evening TV, there was a trailer for a movie they're showing the coming Friday on the children's TV.
So school-kids install cameras in their school and then watch what's happening, for example, in the teachers' room. And then there's, of course, a camera in the girls' locker room. And the boys (whait, you didn't think the cool protagonist kids could be girls or a mixed batch? ) get to see the girls after taking a shower, wrapped in their towels.
Ooohhh.
The poor boys!
Even in a 30 seconds trailer for a movie for tweens they manage to tell us that the actual bad thing that happened in that scene was not the sexual offense (just exchange schoolkids for boss and secretary and you get it) commited by the boys, but that the poor innocent boys got to see some nekkid skin of those eebil girls who probably have cooties!
Nothing spells rape-culture better than that.

The limits of imagination

I'm the first to admit that I'm a fantasy-chick.
LotR, His Dark Materials, Pratchett, Harry Potter, I love them.
Imagination, fantasy, they're important to me, they're wonderful, they're creative.
And quite often, they're settled in a mythical past of our own world.
Obviously, when we're talking about pirates, we're not talking about actual pirates, mostly desperate people who led short violent lives always threatened with execution should they be caught. We're talking about Pirates, like adorable "adopt me" Johnny Depp, kick-ass Keira Knightly and eye-candy Orlando Bloom.
And that's what trickles down to our children. They don't play "die slowly of syphillis" or "drown while simultaneously bleeding to death". They play Sea-fight! Major Treassure Found! Ghost-ship Sighted!
But there's a limit to imagination and I'll show you what it is:

The picture below is out of one of my children's books. It's one of these "search and count books" pretty popular with most kids and this is even better because of Pirates!
Everything is better with Pirates, even Ninjas.
Let's see, what can you spot?
Can you see the sea-serpent?
Can you find Aladin?
Can you see dwarves?
Can you see ghosts?
Can you find the lightbulb?
Can you find Matti, the little boy with a wooden sword who's the protagonist of the book?
Can you spot a woman?
Let me guess, you got the first 6 alright because they are actually there. A woman? Tssss, this is Pirates! There are actually women in the book, a total 8 of them.
A mother with her son
A mermaid chatting with a sailor
A barmaid
A damsel in distress
Four prostitutes
Well, I'm pretty sure that children don't notice that those are prostitutes, but they are definetly depicted as "women who make men happy".
But that's the places reduced for women:
Mothers, barmaids, fantasy creatures and pleasure-givers to men.  That's what our children, sons and daughters alike learn about the world: It's much more likely that there be sea-serpents than women making their place in the world.
And that's neither a bad book, nor a single example. I swear there were more known (not to mention the unknown) female pirates in the actual history of piracy than there are in all the children's books and toy-sets combined.

You can be what you want in your dreams, except a woman

I've been reading and thinking about gender and transgender a lot, lately (I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Skepchick has launched a sister-site called Queerika. What's a straight cis woman like me doing there? Well, shutting up and listening. Learning. I feel privileged to be able to do so.)
And so it came that a little remark made by a friend lately got me all going.
My kids love playing make-believe. We spend half the days as characters from their favourite books/ movies or animals. So, lately we were playing Winnie-the-Pooh and my oldest daughter handed out the roles. She was Tigger, her sister was Roo, I was Rabbit and then she told her dad that he was Mummy Heffalump.
To which she was chastized by a well-meaning, but absolutely clueless friend that "oh, but your dad can't be Mummy Heffalump, he's a boy, not a girl!".
Thankfully, my husband glossed over the awkward moment by saying that he'd love to be Mummy Heffalump, because he loves Heffalumps and because she's so strong .
BUt there were two things about our friend's remark thst struck me:
First, she never said a thing when the three women in the room turned into male characters*.
Secondly, it was absolutely possible that the dad got turned into a purple, giant, elephant-like creature that can tear up whole trees. It was not possible that he got turned into a woman.
Because that's truely unheard of.

*Most series don't even come with three female characters we could use

7 things I'd like you not to do to my kids (or other people's kids)

1.) Do not touch
It's sad that I have to mention that, but really, please, don't touch. I don't touch you, a perfect stranger and you'd be rightly upset if I did. My children are perfect strangers to you, too, and just because they're short doesn't mean they feel comfortable with you patting them. Do you want to look like a creep?


2.) Do not feed
I sound like I was writing about zoo-animals, don't I? Another basic one. It's nice that you want to give them a treat. Just ask me, please. Maybe they are about to have dinner, maybe they just had a huge ice-cream cup. And while my kids might simply puke in the car, there are many kids around with allergies. Your cookie could be lethal.

3.) No, it's not okay
It's nice that you don't mind my kids screaming at the top of their voices or sitting down at your table in the restaurant. I really appreciate that there are still some people out there who have a high tolerance for kids. But honestly, that's a bit too much. I'm trying to teach them some respect for other people's needs and you're not helping.

4.) No, they're not dolls
I know, they're cute. But please, can't you compliment them on something apart from their looks? Come on. You're an intelligent adult, you can come up with something better. You don't want to teach them that looks are the only thing that matters. Do you want them to judge you by that standard?

5.) De-du-du-du, de-da-da-da is only cool when sung by the police
Can you please talk normaly? How do you think they're going to learn language? Surely not by baby-talk. Especially not since they're already fluent in it. It only makes you look stupid.

6.) Wear your big-kid pants
So they're not talking to you? Believe me, they understood you the first time. If they don't want to answer you it's their choice. If that offends you, well, that is of course your choice. But I thought you wanted to be the adult.

7.) Yes, you're a stranger
No, of course you're not one of those strangers who give kids candy and then want to do evil things. You're only one of those other strangers who just give kids candy. Honestly, how are the kids supposed to know that, or for that matter, how am I supposed to know that? Because the bad kind of strangers and the good kind of strangers look exactly alike until the point when they don't. Don't make me worry about what kind you belong to. And please accept that my children will err on the side of safety. Oh, and for candy, please read #2 again.

On the non-existence of parental rights and why mum still knows best

If you're confused by the title, don't worry, it's intentional. I'm trying to explain.
First of all, there's this parental rights thing. We all know it. I'm a passionate mum. Mess with my kids and you find out why the most dangerous animal is a mother with young indeed. And don't start telling me why I absolutely must do X, thank you very much.
Sounds like I really like my parental rights, really?
Only that I don't think that such a thing exists. There are no imanent rights to anything that has to do with a child just because you ejaculated inside a fertile woman or poped a baby out of your vagina.
Because children are people, too.
Shocking idea, isn't it?
But I challenge you to cite a modern democratic constitution that starts with somewhat like "people have the right to life, liberty and free speech provided they're of age". Nope, those rights are granted to everybody, plus a bunch of other rights, like the right to vote and so on.
But rights come with responsiblities and consequences. And let's face it, if you have no clue what "100$" means, you shouldn't be allowed to spend them on sweets. If you can't understand what a pneumonia is, you don't get to make the choice to run around in your swimming trunks in a January snowstorm. And if you think "they promised me a lollipop" is a really good argument to vote for somebody, you shouldn't be allowed to vote*.
So, if you can't understand the consequences, you don't get the right.
Yet some of those rights are necessary for daily life. Unlike voting, which is something a lot of adults don't do, the decissions about food and clothing need to be made constantly. Others, like taking the kid to the doctor, are crucial and can't be left unadressed. So they're given to a responsible adult who's usually also the parent.
So, even though I get to make all those choices, I don't have the right to make them. I'm the stewardess of my child's rights.
I hand them back, little by little, until one day I'm not needed to make them anymore. There's a fully grown human person who can weigh the advantages and consequences of pancakes for breakfast herself.  And if I've done my job well, could make me some, too, please.
Now that I've established that I have no real right on that child, I still know best, well, most of the time. Not because of some magical mummy instincts. Not because I'm infallible. Simply because I know that kid best. I know their habits and characters. My experience tells me pretty well whether it's time for them to see the doctor or whether they just need a day on the couch with choclate cake, hot tea and lots of love.
That's why I generally don't care much if little Johnny is running around on the playground at 9 pm. Unless I've got reason to think that he's there because there's nodody at home or something like that, of course. But maybe little Johnny takes a long nap in the afternoon. Or he needs little sleep in general. Or a bazillion other sound reasons why Johnny's primary caretaker lets him run around that late.
So, don't look away when harm is done, because they have no right to do it.
But also don't judge people because they're making a different decision than you would make.

*I do notice that this is a problem with adult voters, too ;)