Losing The Battle Of The Sexes To My 10-Year-Old

We have tried to raise our children color-blind and gender-blind. And so far, I think we’re doing an okay job of it. Hesitant to pat myself on the back. Eyes wide open enough to see that maybe our bias might slip once in awhile. But feeling pretty confident we’re raising two open-minded young men.

We’re balanced. (And my husband, who practices Chinese Medicine, would be happy with that assessment.) 

That being said, I need to make you aware of a few facts.

1. Our “pediatrician” is a Certified Nurse Practitioner.

2. Our CNP has amazing credentials, works with a group of equally amazing doctors and has been practicing for over 30 years.

3. We, and by we I mean all of us, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE our CNP.

4. We would make our CNP a member of our family if that wouldn’t be crossing any personal/professional boundries.

5. We call our CNP Dr. Alex.

6. Dr. Alex is female.

6. My boys are about to hit puberty.

I purposely schedule their wellness visits smack dab in the middle of summer. Germaphobe that I am, I refuse to take them when their birthdays actually fall, late winter and early spring. And we rarely (Thank you, Chinese Medicine!) need to go the doctor except for the wellness visits.

…

We had their wellness visit this week.

…

“Well, how are my two favorite boys?” Dr. Alex sings as she walks into the exam room. “I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you enjoying your summer?”

Eyes glued to the floor. A barely audible “fine” squeaks out of one boy. I can’t tell which one.

“#1son, are you still playing baseball? How is the season going?” she asks.

“Okay.” Eyes still boring a hole in the tile floor.

“And #2son, are you playing this year?”

“No. I swim,” said almost in a whisper.

“But you’re playing this fall,” I chime in, embarrassed that my boys are being so rude, so quiet, so not like themselves.

The entire exam goes along this way but Dr. Alex barely notices. Chatting along with me like the “old friends” we’ve become. We both have children in the same university. We’re both about the same age. So she and I have plenty to catch up on. She still tries to engage the boys as she asks them to breath deeply, touch their toes, look up. No response.

There is a glimmer of hope when she gets on the computer and shows them where they fall on the growth chart. #1son will be around 6’2″ when he grows up and #2son around 5’11”. This pleases them both immensely. Their father is all of 5’7″ and #1son is the same nationality as his barely 5 foot sister, so his fears are dashed that he, too, will follow that ethnic stereotype.

But as soon as she turns back to them to ask them if they have any more questions their heads drop immediately to their chests and they whisper in unison, “No.”

I’m mortified.

But she acts like she doesn’t notice. Which surprises me. So, I try to engage the boys. To no avail.

We say our goodbyes until next year (wink, wink) and go our merry way.

“What was that all about?” I glare at them in the backseat through the rear view mirror.

“What?” They both ask, innocently.

“You barely spoke in there. Dr. Alex was asking you questions and you barely answered. You wouldn’t look at her when she spoke to you. That was so rude!”

Silence.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

(Insert long, dramatic pause.)

“But Mom! We were naked!”

…

Just to be clear, they were not naked. They had on t-shirts and underwear. But I guess, to a pre-adolescent boy, that’s about as naked as you can get. (Thank goodness!) 

And with every feminist bone in my body I’m fighting the urge to move them to one of the male doctors in the group.

But I have a feeling I’m going to lose this fight.

 

 

 

 

The Pain Never Lasts Very Long

We were all working in the yard over the weekend. Spreading mulch, dividing daylillies, minor repairs. Side by side. The whole family. Ok. So, we had to bribe our daughter with gas money for her upcoming trip. But we were still having a great time. One big, happy family.

A thorn jabbed me under my nail. Deep. And it hurt.

“Ouch!” I cried.

My youngest son, all 7 years of him, rushed over, grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mommy! The pain never lasts very long.”

I smiled. Savoring his wise words. Starting to dismiss them. Because our family has been struggling through a heaping basket full of minor and major mishaps for the past five months.

And then I realized, he’s right. In the huge (and in our case it has to be huge because we still haven’t seen the end to the crap parade that’s been coming down our street) grand scheme of things everything we’ve been going through is going to look like a tiny blip on the radar. Tiny. At least, fingers crossed, that’s what I’m predicting.

Have you ever sat there, in your comfortable life, thinking things were so hard? And wishing for the days when things were so easy? You’re in your forties, with college looming ahead for your daughter, wondering how in the world you’re going to help finance it and wishing you were in your thirties when her biggest expense was a new bicycle. Or you’re in your thirties, struggling to give your children everything they deserve, wrestling with their constant demands, wishing for the carefree life of college. Or you’re in college, struggling with studies and holding down two jobs to help pay for your existence and wishing for the easy days of high school when your biggest dilemma was what to wear or which social activity to attend.

It’s all relative.

And it’s true, the pain never lasts very long.

In a blink of an eye, your daughter is being placed in your arms at the airport. Sweet, cuddly little bundle of joy from Korea. Blink, blink. And she’s 10 years old, doing her adorable judges salute at the state gymnastics championships. Blink again and she’s struggling with a death of a boyfriend, honors and AP classes, essays for college applications.

Or she’s struggling with pain you feel you created for her. A dad, the man you married much too young and later divorced, who is making her feel like a burden, less than valued, an inconvenience. You try to take away her pain. You try to tell her the pain never lasts very long. But your words feel hollow and thin.

As much as this pain that she’s struggling with hurts right now, it is true. It will dissipate.

And be replaced with something new.

And thank goodness, that pain will never last very long either.