My Beautiful Barbarians

This blog post is a combination of one I wrote in 2007, continued in 2013 and finished in 2019, although maybe I’ll add to it in another 6 years.        

My three-year-old daughter just took a parasol out of her baby brother’s hand.

I say, “Miss Annabelle, you can not take toys from Henry.” She glares at me, stomping one bare foot and growling. She’s standing in her Curious George underwear, so small and delicate, her hair in wild toddler curls around her face. She throws the tiny purple parasol to the ground. “Miss Annabelle,” I say again in my stern voice, “We never, ever throw things when we’re mad.”

“I do,” she says, “I’m a barbarian. Barbarians throw things. They also hit and kick,” she says, kicking her tiny bare foot to show me. She turns to strut away from me, her tiny bottom swaying. She looks over her shoulder at me and says, “And they don’t share either.”

And I can tell it’s going to be another humdinger of a day.

All this, plus Henry, my one-year-old mad scientist, chewed up an olive and spit it down the heat vent this morning. This was followed by a quick round of splashing in the toilet, then wielding the toilet scrubber at me like a pirate sword. Then he refused to eat unless he could feed himself. We were having oatmeal, and he promptly turned his bowl over on top of his head with a big smile. He may as well have poured glue over his head.

And all this before 9am.

Thus begins another day in my ever-fluctuating household. The keyword here is flexibility. Our best days are the days when we have nothing we’re required to do. I can follow the kids’ cues as to when they’re ready to eat, go outside, or nap. We go on adventures, enjoying the fact that we get lost quite often, but this makes our adventures all the more exciting.

Where will we end up today?

If Miss Annabelle has any say, she will pick our destination. She likes to be in charge. And not just of our family. She likes to be in charge of the world. Today a little boy came over, a big four-year-old at least a head taller than Annabelle. She decided to bless him with her generosity and gave him one of her little critters to play with. All went well until he stood up to look out the living room window. Annabelle decided she too needed to look out the window, and only the exact spot where the boy was standing would do.

“Annabelle, I say diplomatically, “There is plenty of room for both of you to look out the window. Find your own space.” She’s leaning her entire body into him but doesn’t fall over because he’s leaning back, a pre-k stand off. No amount of cajoling will get Annabelle to move over two inches without screaming. The boy takes off running up and down the stairs, Annabelle in hot pursuit. He finally runs into the bathroom and shuts the door shouting that he needs his own space. “I need your space!” Annabelle shrieks, pounding on the bathroom door before dissolving in tears. She doesn’t even know what space is, all she knows is that she must have what he has. Now.

I understand how she feels. She doesn’t have much control in her little world. She pretty much gets told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. She’s got to take her choices where she can get them. And if that means she has to boss a few people around, well, that’s the way it’s got to be right now. Yesterday we were in the park and someone had a golden retriever puppy, alittle girl waving a stick at the puppy, trying to entice it to fetch.

Annabelle said, “You can’t wave a stick around that puppy. You might poke him in the eye.” A few minutes later I heard her tell the puppy’s owner not to shout around the puppy because she might hurt its ears.

That’s my girl, in charge of the world.

After her speeches to the puppy people, she picked a bouquet of clover flowers and marched across the playground, wearing her polka-dotted bathing suit and puppy dog boots. This is her favorite outfit right now because it makes her look like a majorette from the Mardi Gras parades. As she high-stepped by a much older boy, he said something about her being a baby. She stopped in her tracks and turned to him, her little hands on her hips. “I’m not a baby,” she said, staring him down. He smirked and said, “How old are you?” “Two,” she said, holding up four fingers. “I’m NOT a baby.” He acquiesced in the face of her wrath. ‘Ok, ok, you’re not a baby.” Satisfied, she kept walking with Henry and me trailing behind her, marveling at her chutzpah.

Then there was the other day at Gym Rompers. There was a little girl who was sitting possessively in a corner with a monkey puppet. Annabelle, now in her tutu and cowboy hat, had a cricket puppet on her hand. She swaggered over to the little girl and held up her cricket. “This little cricket says you have to share.”

Even her puppets are bossy.

The little girl held her monkey puppet even closer.

But what was especially thrilling was when the little girls’ mother scolded her for not sharing. This was a great opportunity for Miss Bossy Pants to put in her own two cents.

“See? You HAVE to share!” she said, making a stern face, holding the cricket puppet up.

“Annabelle,” I say, “That little girl’s mother already spoke with her. You don’t need to say anything.”

“Yes, I do!” Annabelle says, glaring at the little girl. “She’s not sharing.”

Annabelle seems stuck in her emotion and needs redirection. I look frantically around the room for something that will capture her attention. “Oh my goodness, Annabelle! Look at that sunlight coming through the window! It’s full of pixie dust!”

She glances over at the window and all the sparkling floating dust which does indeed look like pixies.

She heads over in that direction to investigate, but gets sidetracked by a ball that’s stuck under a chair. Ahhh, problem solving, another favorite activity of hers. She spends the next fifteen minutes trying to get the ball out from under the chair, finally emerging triumphant.

Part 2—Six years later

Now Annabelle is 9, and I so treasure these memories of my little dynamo! These events from her toddlerhood made me laugh and delight in her budding leadership skills and spirited nature, but they also made me wonder—what would she become? If she’s this bossy at 2 years old, what will she be at 9, 16, 25? For now, I can tell you what she is at 9. She still loves to direct other people, and takes great delight in trying to boss around her little brother, but she’s excellent at taking into account the feelings of others now.

Carol Gilligan, an icon in the gender studies world and a professor I heard speak at Harvard when I attended, wrote a book called In A Different Voice. She writes that most child development research has been done on males and that you can’t have robust research if you leave out half the sample. She is well-known for her studies of girls and how they lose their “voices” at a certain age. She notes that girls under (about) 12 are vocal and spirited and not afraid to express themselves clearly. But once they hit a certain age, they stop expressing themselves and start to “please’ others. They move from freely expressing themselves to pleasing others. She has devoted her formidable intellect to researching how adults can help girls keep their vibrant voices and indomitable spirits thriving in a challenging culture.

I am thrilled I have a spirited daughter, and I hope she keeps her spunky personality. One of my jobs, as the mother of this dynamo, is to protect her creative space so she can flourish and cultivate her leadership skills without becoming too “Bossy”. So my challenge is to create activities to teach my kids empathy and compassion. The first place I started? My own actions. Kids take their cues from the adults around them, and whether they want to or not, they will imitate their parents’ behavior. (I know—this can be scary—I often find myself saying, “Do as I say—not as I do!”).

So in order to teach Annabelle and Henry how to take the feelings of others into account in their daily actions, I started focusing on activities with this in mind. The first thing I did was point out other babies to them, commenting on how small and cute they were, and teaching A and H how to smile at them sweetly and play peek-a-boo. This wasn’t a hard activity—I love babies and the babies love the attention, so it’s a win-win for everyone. Even now, at this age, A and H will point out to me any baby in the vicinity and coo at them. Babies are like magic—they seem to melt the world around them into something soft around the edges—people seem to speak softer and move more gently around a baby—one of their many gifts to the world. Also, whenever we heard a baby crying in a coffee shop or on an airplane, I asked them what we could do to cheer the baby up. We made silly faces and clapped our hands and even sang songs with hand movements to re-direct the baby’s attention from their distress. Happily, it usually worked!

Another focus of our attention was pets. We stopped to greet any dogs we saw. And in a group of dogs, if there was an especially cute one that was getting all the attention, we commented on the “underdog” so he would feel happy too.

These small gestures carried over into people, as we went out of our way to help grandparents carry groceries and work in their gardens; picked up a fallen bag of groceries from someone’s who’s arms were full; held the door open for strangers.

I want Annabelle and Henry to notice the world around them, to learn compassion and how good it feels to help others. I want them to take into consideration how someone else thinks and feels and adjust their behavior, while still maintaining their own unique spirit.

Recently, I was thrilled to discover that Henry was visiting our elderly neighbor who reads on her porch in the afternoons. He rides his bike over to her awesome circular driveway and tells her about first grade. She is always interested in what he has to say, and seems delighted by his visits. (I only recently discovered this because Henry often goes on bike rides with other moms who come to visit us while their daughters play with Annabelle. Everyone loves riding my pink beach cruiser!)

The other morning we were having brunch at our new neighbor’s house. Within an hour, Annabelle had corraled the older girls into a show directed by this petite spark plug. They had props, costumes, and set changes. Annabelle created the story and acted as narrator, soloist, and long-lost Princess Bluebell. She has become skilled at directing playtime, but still incorporating the ideas of others. And if the other children feel like being directed…Annabelle’s thrilled to take the reins.

I hope the kids can keep their open hearts AND their vibrant spirits. I want them to be leaders, to always feel confident to offer their own ideas, to create and direct and take charge, but to always stay open to the ideas and feelings of others. In the meantime, Annabelle’s dynamo spirit never ceases to delight me.

Part 3: 2019

Annabelle is now in high school and Henry is nearly 13.

At 15 years old, Annabelle has grown into the most strong, independent, beautiful, radiant, spunky, goofy, theater kid I’ve ever seen, while Henry has grown into a gentle, sweet, kind, and considerate boy, who tells me everything, asks to snuggle with me, and comes up and kisses me on the cheek several times a day saying, “I love you so much Mom.”

The other night I was waiting for a table at a restaurant, and a woman said to me, “Are you Annabelle’s mother?” She said she worked at the high school and was in charge of an inclusion group of which Annabelle was a member. “Your daughter is incredible,” she gushed. “I have never seen a teenager with so much wisdom and insight into social issues. She is thoughtful and articulate and makes everyone else feel comfortable sharing their ideas.”

Wow. Thank you. I didn’t even know she was in an inclusion group, meaning thinking of ways to make sure every single person at the school feels part of the community, no matter their gender identification, background, race, socioeconomic status.

When I saw Annabelle that night, I said, “Are you in an inclusion group?”

She nodded and continued doing her homework. She likes to make a big nest when she does homework, involving sitting on our purple velvet couch with her legs crossed, the dogs on the pink rug at her feet,  books and papers spread everywhere. She is what many people calle “Type A” meaning she likes to work around the clock, is happiest when she’s busy from morning till night, and is 15 minutes early to anything, or she consders herself late. Her room is always impeccable with no clutter or mess anywhere.

However, she removes all clutter and sticks it in Henry’s room or the hallway, and has no problem throwing all our pillows on the floor when she makes her homework nest. Overall though, she is so organized and efficient, her theater directors asked her to assistant direct the Glass Menagerie this spring. She ended up assistant director and assistant stage manager, and understudying the lead, while simultaneously performing in the school play and shooting a short film on location. Oh, and school.

I know that it’s a thin line between being a strong leader, and being bossy, but I have always encouraged both of the kids to follow their own paths, march to their own drums, to step up, speak up, and lead in any situation. I think that this is especially important for girls in our culture, so they don’t lose their “voices” but are encouraged and supported to speak their truth in a strong way.

At this point in her journey, Annabelle is a strong feminist, outraged by bullies, and completely unbendable if she sees an injustice. She steps in to defend others, to help those smaller than her, and is devoted to being kind, but not being stepped on.

The double-edged sword of this strength and outspoken courage, is that my strong and independent daughter has no problem telling her mother and brother when she thinks they are out of line.

However, both of the kids are excited to join me in my classes to teach young children, and I am so thrilled when I see them helping the younger kids. Last week in my Rainbow Unicorn class, Henry got on his knees to help a young boy tie his shoes saying, “Sometimes I have trouble tying my shoes too.” Tears sprung to my eyes. And a teacher pulled me aside to tell me about the extraordinary moment at lunch, when the table was discussing a young girl who was upset about getting a hearing aid. She said Henry told the table, “It’s just like wearing glasses to help you see. Hearing aids just help you hear better.” The teacher said his kindness immediately dissolved the young girls distress and the lunch carried on.

I love hearing things from teachers as I get a peek into their days away from me. Every night at dinner I ask the kids to tell me something good, magical, or funny about their day. It takes them a while to think of anything, so when a teacher tells me something they said or did, I love it.

Yesterday in my fairy tale class, Annabelle came with me, to the great delight of the children, and when a little girl asked if she could perform a dance for us, Annabelle helped her find a song and cheered for her dancing (which involved rolling around on top of a table followed by tiptoeing around the room to the beat of a Harry Potter song).

Then Annabelle helped me clean up and she and Henry both helped me carry my bags to the car.

So, I guess I can say that so far in life’s journey, Annabelle was wrong as a toddler–she’s really not a barbarian.

But she still loves bossing people around.