11 Month Update

Dear Lana,

You are 11 months old today. You weigh a little over 20 lbs., stand over 29 inches tall, have two teeth with the promise of more any day now, and are 89 percent more likely to be causing mischief* than you were just a couple of months ago.

You’ve spent the majority of the last month crawling at a surprising pace from one room to the next, dismantling anything that can be taken apart, throwing anything that isn’t nailed down, and generally thwarting any attempts I make to keep the house clean and organized. Your messes are so grandiose that we have given them a special name: Lana Bombs. You leave Lana Bombs everywhere – in your room, the bathroom, our bedroom, the kitchen, and even the dining room (where we moved Rico’s bowls and created a special obstacle course in an effort to keep you away from them).

The kitchen, in particular, has become a favorite hangout for you. We cleared out an entire cabinet and filled it with Tupperware, spoons, pots, and other assorted kitchen gadgets for you to play with. You love emptying out the contents of that cabinet. You’ve also become fascinated with the refrigerator and have an amazing ability to wedge yourself into the door in the few seconds it takes to remove a drink. The last time you got in there you pulled yourself up to a stand, opened up a drawer, and began dumping grapes out on the floor. I took a break from saying, “No!” for long enough to snap a photo, because seeing you on your feet is such a thrill for me. Then it was right back to cleaning up the floor.

Fortunately, I get a nice break from cleaning the floor during meal times. The Cheerios and noodles you fling from your high chair are immediately consumed by Rico, who is most pleased by your move to solid foods. In fact, his diet has consisted of more Cheerios than Purina as of late. Between mealtimes, he follows you around waiting to see if food debris will fall off as you crawl, and rarely is he disappointed. Once, after returning from the Chick-fil-a breakfast buffet, he hit the jackpot when we discovered home fries tucked into your dress and bits of biscuit in your diaper. It was a good day for the dog.

Rico had a bad day last week when I discovered that you will now give me five upon command. In the midst of my raving and demonstrating your new skill to John, Rico wandered over with a sullen look. If he could talk I’m sure he would have said, “Look kid, high fives are kind of my thing. Maybe you could learn to play dead or something.”

You’ve also become a big pointer in the last month, stopping at various places throughout the house to point out pictures, wall hangings, and other décor. You seem particularly interested in artwork and have become enthralled with a painting in your room that I did to distract myself just days before your birth. On some occasions, however, your pointing has a more practical purpose. When a mylar balloon escaped to our vaulted ceiling on your Granny T’s watch, I came downstairs from my office to find you all out of sorts. Over and over you pointed to Granny and then to the balloon, your meaning quite plain: “You, woman. Get me back that balloon! Macht schnell!”**

Finally, I cannot complete an update of your eleventh month without mentioning your penchant for rolling your tongue. I posted video of it last week, but I failed to properly emphasize the frequency with which you do it. The purring has become your automatic response when anything makes you happy. A lot like a cat. It’s actually pretty cool because I really like cats but your father is allergic to them. Now if we could just get you housetrained…

Thanks for another wonderful and wacky month, my beautiful Lana Kat.

Love,
Mom

*Note that “causing mischief” is a baby-friendly translation for getting into shit. The latter is actually a better description of what you’ve been doing all month, but I’m trying not to be a potty mouth so I can blame any cussing you do in the future on the television or, better yet, your father.

**In my imagination, you speak German when you are angry. All the better for making your point, ja?

Showoff

In the past week, Lana has begun rolling her tongue whenever anything pleases her. Her purrs of contentment are adorable yet frustrating to me, mostly because I am completely unable to roll my own tongue. The kid has mastered something in less than 11 months that I have been unable to figure out in 30 years. Check out the video below to see her rubbing it in.

Reasons to Love the Suburbs

1. Tennis courts
2. Swimming pools
3. Two-car garages
4. Outrageous lawn decor (see below)

I am certain that this thing (baby, Budha, Chucky?) comes to life at night and terrorizes neighborhood children.

"Do you want to play with me?" it asks right before it lunges at them with a tiny little knife. Fortunately, his potbelly is so large that he moves slowly and the children escape with only emotional scars.









This one has a little something for everyone. Don’t like the impish children holding hands in a circle? How does a boy riding the back of water fowl strike your fancy? Looking for something a little darker? You’re sure to enjoy the menacing head of a devil-being emerging from the middle of this piece of concrete art.

Note: this shares the same yard a Chucky, which makes it 100% more awesome.







Last, but certainly not least, we come to the sphinx that just moved into our neighborhood, likely because it lost its job guarding The Southern Oracle from the likes of Atreyu and other characters from The Neverending Story. Now anyone who dares enter 923 Vista View Dr.* without "feeling his own worth" will find himself zapped to kingdom come.

(*Address changed to protect the identity of owners who purchase statuary with giant racks)

My Princess Problem

I don’t care for princesses. Sure, I’ve seen the Disney movies and don’t have any particular beef with the female heroines – I just prefer a scrappy Little Orphan Annie to the passive Sleeping Beauty. I chose not to swath my baby girl’s room in pink or to buy clothing and accessories with “Princess” emblazoned on it. I thought by doing so I had put the kibosh on my princess problem. I was very, very wrong.

I’ve come to learn that the prevailing princess culture is impossible to avoid as the mother of a baby girl. When I walk into my local Wal-Mart, I’m surrounded by blond-haired, blue-eyed princesses plastered on pink tricycles, pink toys, pink pajamas, pink everything. As I dig through the toy bins trying to find a non-princess-themed ball for Lana, a stranger walks by and says, “What a pretty little princess you have there!” And then this catalog arrives in my mail last week, its cover the visual illustration of almost all my pet peeves (only the vanity license plate is missing). I suppressed my gag reflex and turned the page to look for “Lil’ Princess” alternatives, only to find the next four pages filled with “Lil’ Quarterback” and “Lil’ Slugger” designs in various shades of blue and brown.

When did this rigid segregation of boy and girl begin? Why is it completely impossible for me to purchase an athletic-inspired toy for my daughter without settling for something designed specifically for a boy? What do I do when Lana grows up enough to develop her own preferences, and inevitably becomes obsessed with the pink princess wares? Is there really any harm in it, or am I just pushing Lana toward my own interests in the same way that other moms encourage participation in cheerleading and beauty pageants?

That’s a lot of questions, I know. In my quest for answers, I stumbled upon an interesting article in the New York Times Magazine titled, “What’s Wrong With Cinderella?” by Peggy Orenstein. In it, the likeminded author examines her own reservations with princess culture and the brilliant marketing of princess products by Disney and other companies. According to Orenstein, Disney’s “Princess” line is not only the fastest-growing brand the company has every created, but it is also on its way to becoming the largest girls’ franchise on the planet.

Despite her personal opinions, Orenstein offers a complete examination of the princess craze and its origins. She notes that:

“There are no studies proving the playing princess directly damages girls’ self-esteem or dampens other aspirations. On the other hand, there is evidence that young women who hold the most conventionally feminine beliefs – who avoid conflict and think they should be perpetually nice and pretty – are more likely to be depressed than others…What’s more, the 23 percent decline in girls’ participation in sports and other vigorous activity between middle and high school has been linked to their sense that athletics is unfeminine.”

She also examines other studies that warn of detrimental effects for girls who are encouraged to “have it all,” but instead feel pressured to be it all – athletic, smart, strong, and adorable.

“In telling our girls they can be anything, we have inadvertently demanded that they be everything. To everyone. All the time.”

The conclusion appears to be that there are no real answers, that princess may be just the first of many contradictions our daughters will invariably face while growing up female. The best we can do is love them, support them, and hope that their generation succeeds in finding more answers than their mothers and grandmothers before them.