It is so late and I'm still awake. As I'm saying my goodbyes in Facebook, I thought of my favorite children's book: Good Night Moon. Below is the text. I love reading it to Miss B at night with an increasingly soft voice.
...Goodnight room Goodnight moon Good night cow jumping over the moon Goodnight light And the red balloon Goodnight bears Goodnight chairs Goodnight kittens And goodnight mittens Goodnight clocks And goodnight socks Goodnight little house And goodnight mouse Goodnight comb And goodnight brush Goodnight nobody Goodnight mush And goodnight to the old lady whispering "hush" (from thereon, read it very sofly!) Goodnight stars Goodnight air, Goodnight noises everywhere
I went to a dinner party at a friend's home last weekend, and met her five-year-old daughter for the first time.
Little Maya was all curly brown hair, doe-like dark eyes, and adorable in her shiny pink nightgown. I wanted to squeal, "Maya, you're so cute! Look at you! Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing!"
But I didn't. I squelched myself. As I always bite my tongue when I meet little girls, restraining myself from my first impulse, which is to tell them how darn cute/ pretty/ beautiful/ well-dressed/ well-manicured/ well-coiffed they are.
What's wrong with that? It's our culture's standard talking-to-little-girls icebreaker, isn't it? And why not give them a sincere compliment to boost their self-esteem? Because they are so darling I just want to burst when I meet them, honestly.
Hold that thought for just a moment.
This week ABC News reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. In my book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, I reveal that 15 to 18 percent of girls under 12 now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and 25 percent of young American women would rather win America's Next Top Model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they'd rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.
Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What's missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.
That's why I force myself to talk to little girls as follows.
"Maya," I said, crouching down at her level, looking into her eyes, "very nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," she said, in that trained, polite, talking-to-adults good girl voice.
"Hey, what are you reading?" I asked, a twinkle in my eyes. I love books. I'm nuts for them. I let that show.
Her eyes got bigger, and the practiced, polite facial expression gave way to genuine excitement over this topic. She paused, though, a little shy of me, a stranger.
"I LOVE books," I said. "Do you?"
Most kids do.
"YES," she said. "And I can read them all by myself now!"
"Wow, amazing!" I said. And it is, for a five-year-old. You go on with your bad self, Maya.
"What's your favorite book?" I asked.
"I'll go get it! Can I read it to you?"
Purplicious was Maya's pick and a new one to me, as Maya snuggled next to me on the sofa and proudly read aloud every word, about our heroine who loves pink but is tormented by a group of girls at school who only wear black. Alas, it was about girls and what they wore, and how their wardrobe choices defined their identities. But after Maya closed the final page, I steered the conversation to the deeper issues in the book: mean girls and peer pressure and not going along with the group. I told her my favorite color in the world is green, because I love nature, and she was down with that.
Not once did we discuss clothes or hair or bodies or who was pretty. It's surprising how hard it is to stay away from those topics with little girls, but I'm stubborn.
I told her that I'd just written a book, and that I hoped she'd write one too one day. She was fairly psyched about that idea. We were both sad when Maya had to go to bed, but I told her next time to choose another book and we'd read it and talk about it. Oops. That got her too amped up to sleep, and she came down from her bedroom a few times, all jazzed up.
So, one tiny bit of opposition to a culture that sends all the wrong messages to our girls. One tiny nudge towards valuing female brains. One brief moment of intentional role modeling. Will my few minutes with Maya change our multibillion dollar beauty industry, reality shows that demean women, our celebrity-manic culture? No. But I did change Maya's perspective for at least that evening.
Try this the next time you meet a little girl. She may be surprised and unsure at first, because few ask her about her mind, but be patient and stick with it. Ask her what she's reading. What does she like and dislike, and why? There are no wrong answers. You're just generating an intelligent conversation that respects her brain. For older girls, ask her about current events issues: pollution, wars, school budgets slashed. What bothers her out there in the world? How would she fix it if she had a magic wand? You may get some intriguing answers. Tell her about your ideas and accomplishments and your favorite books. Model for her what a thinking woman says and does.
Editor's note: There’s something you might not know about the star of the year’s biggest television ad from the Super Bowl. Max is only 6 years old and he’s already had eight surgeries for his heart condition. This weekend, he gives Dr. Sanjay Gupta an inside look into his life and explains what he’s doing to help other sick kids. Watch "Sanjay Gupta M.D." at 7:30 a.m. Saturday and Sunday.
In this post, Jennifer Page shares what being Max's mom has taught her.
“Kiss your baby. He has to go to the NICU. We have found structural damage to his heart,” said the neonatologist. In a split second, life changed forever.
As they pulled him from my arms I sobbed, “I love you, Max,” over and over. My tears covered his sweet face. A new mom with a baby I couldn’t hold, a baby I couldn’t protect.
I remember my first visit to the NICU to reunite with Max. He was so small, lying in a scary-looking bed. Wires everywhere and a piercingly loud machine beeping. As the discussion swirled around his head about what was wrong with him, I bent to his ear and kept calling him “my perfect son."
He was mine and he was perfect. Somehow we were going to figure this out.
Max was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. At 3 months old he had his first life-saving heart surgery. A week later he had a pacemaker implanted. When he was 7 months old, we found out he had several spleens and required surgery for a malrotation of his intestines.
The first year of Max’s life was full of surprises. Medically, it seemed that one doctor visit led to two more referrals and four more appointments. He endured more painful tests, procedures and surgeries than I knew was possible. The surprises were relentless.
In turn, I put up emotional walls and felt numb most of the time, afraid it would hurt too much if I let my guard down.
But not Max! He was vibrant and strong. He knew from birth his role was to fight. He cried to get the nurses' attention, then warmed their hearts with his big blue eyes and soft hands.
Somehow, in all that he endured that first year, he never seemed like a sick baby. Alarms beeping every two hours for medicine reminders, chalkboard symptom charts and reams of insurance papers made it seem otherwise.
Focus was Max’s biggest lesson for me the first year. Focus on the task at hand. Focus on the moment instead of the past trauma or future fears. Focus on appreciating the miracle milestones that we routinely take for granted.
Focus on love. I love to listen to his sweet voice float through the air. I love the way he mumbles in his sleep. I love the way he stares into my eyes. I love that we hold hands when we are scared. I love the way the doctors mend him. I love that it is my job to heal him with love.
Focus on today. We have Max - today. He is here right now to be nurtured and enriched. He is here to be challenged and loved. He is here to laugh and sing. He is here to play golf with his family and climb in the park. He is here today and I know I am one of the lucky ones. I get to raise my perfect son.
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I laughed and rejoiced as I watched that VW Darth Vader commercial during the Super Bowl earlier this year. It was a in my opinion the best commercial of all because it alluded to one of my favorite movies of all times coupled with one of the reasons why I love being a mom: being part of a child’s innocent and imaginative world.
Later I found out that the little boy that played Darth Vader, Max, had undergone heart surgeries, but little did I know about the series of surgeries he’s faced throughout his life mentioned in this article.
Every night as I put Miss B to bed we pray together for her guarding angel to always protect her. Every time I kiss her good night, I try to stamp in my memory what it feels like to kiss her lips, to touch her golden curls and smell her sweet smell. In a blink of an eye she will be a grown up and I won’t be able to be there every night to pray, read her stories, tuck her in and kiss her good night. And I will probably be like my Grandma wishing that I could turn back time. This feeling is so insignificant and even shameful if compared to what a mom might feel when a kid is taken away from her for serious medical interventions or even to go to heaven.
We are taught that God won’t give you more than you can bear. I feel I am in no manner qualified to go through something that slightly resembles what Max’s Mom and their little angels have endured. I know I am neither privileged nor free of being subject to illnesses so I pray every day that the Lord guard us and keep us from all evil and sickness in our family at least while Miss B is little and focus on the present.
I can’t imagine how painful and heart wrenching it may be. Yet, those moms are strong, focused and resilient, just like their little angels. Maybe that is the secret, moms get their superpowers from their sick kids. That is possibly the lesson to take away. Kudos to Max’s mom and all the moms out there being strong for their babies.
“ May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift his countenance upon you and give you peace”.(Number 6:24)
Amen.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Vou comecar ja pedindo desculpas pela seriedade do tema mas escrever eh preciso...
Ja estava querendo fazer um voto de nao ler mais nenhuma noticia ruim sobre violencia com criancas, sobretudo quando praticada pela propria familia. Depois da noticia da Casey Anthony ter sido absolvida hoje, esse sentimento é quase uma certeza.
Uma criança de 2 anos é encontrada depois de 6 meses do seu desaparecimento morta em um pantano poucas milhas da casa onde morava sua mae e avos. Durante os 30 dias que se passaram entre a crianca desaparecer e Casey ser finalmente pressionada pelos pais e ser presa, ela ia para festas, saia com namorados e ate fazia tatuagem intitulada “Bella Vita”. Alem de mentir para a familia sobre onde estavam ela e a menina, com que e o que faziam, criava um sem numero de pessoas imaginarias para justificar a sua ausencia. Durante o julgamento, a Defesa alegou que haveria sido um acidente, que a crianca teria se afogado na piscina e que o pai da Casey teria ajudado a cover up. As provas eram realmente circunstanciais, mas eram muitas e na minha opiniao, suficientes para condena-la. Ela foi absolvida.
Muitas perguntas que nao querem calar: Que mae faria um acidente virar um assassinato??? Que mae conseguiria viver uma vida absolutamente normal, ir a festinhas, sabendo que sua filha estaria morta???? Que mae mata a propria filha de 2 anos asfixiada com cloroformio e uma fita adesiva e joga num terreno baldio qualquer em troca de uma vida de festas e promiscuidades? Que Juri ainda a absolve????
As pessoas estao se tornando cada dia mais egocentricas, intolerantes e incapazes de saber lidar com frustracoes de maneira saudavel . Sei que educar filhos nao eh missao facil e estou so comecando.. Sei o quanto criancas de 2-5 anos podem ser challenging e que tiram sua paciencia. Porem, eh chocante e imcompreensivel que pais, os quais pela lei natural deveriam proteger e amar a sua cria, se voltem contra elas de maneira tao vil e desproporcional. E punem suas criancas desmesuramente pondo–as em jaula, espancando-as ate a morte, jogando-a pela janela de um apartamento ou simplesmente drogando-as e silenciando-as para sempre e jogando-a num pantano como se fosse um bicho.
Meu sentimento quando leio essas noticias eh de indignacao e tristeza, muita tristeza. Todas as criancas amam seus pais incondicionalmente por que de uma maneira ou de outra lhe dao abrigo e o minimo de cuidado. Fico imaginando a decepcao dessas criancas, os olhares de magoa e terror logo antes de impiedosamente serem mortos ou seram submetidos a castigos inimaginaveis.
Fico muito preocupada com o mundo em que minha filha vai crescer e se tornar adulta. Esse louco mundo impoe a mim uma responsabilidade extra tambem como mae de filha unica a formar-lhe e ensinar-lhe desde cedo que o mundo nao gira em torno dela, que as coisas nao vem e nao devem vir de bandeja, que eh preciso batalhar honestamente pelo que se quer, que somos responsaveis pelos nossos atos, que gentileza gera gentileza, que eh preciso amar e aceitar o proximo. E sobretudo, eh preciso ter compaixao!
A revolta, angustia e tristeza que me consomem hoje e a vontade de desejar o mal a quem pratica violencia contra criancas me fazem tomar essa resolucao. Chega de ler paginas sangrentas! E abaixo a violencia contra criancas!
Para mim resta acreditar no que me faz mais calma e resignada: que Karma existe e que Deus escreve certo por linhas tortas, SEMPRE!
