Teach your Sons to Cook

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*** This was originally written as a Guest Blog post for Momstown.ca. ***

My son is only five, so he’s limited in how much help he can be in the kitchen.  But he’s often there beside us, as myself or my husband cook.  He passes ingredients.  He stands on his stool and chops peppers and cucumbers with his plastic knife.  He sprinkles in spices and seasoning.  He stirs, he pours, he grates.  But mostly, he learns.

He learns to be self-sufficient.  He learns what foods are healthy.  He learns to help out.  He learns that cooking is not a woman’s job, but rather, a person’s job.

I could’ve titled this post “Teach your Daughters to Cook” or “Teach your Kids to Cook”, but that wouldn’t have had the same effect, would it?  Despite living in a society with self-professed gender equality, many of us still quantify household chores in terms of “a woman’s work” and “a man’s work”.  Teach your sons to cook.  And to do the laundry.  And to clean.  Teach your daughters to do the yard work.  To take out the garbage.  To fix things.  Maybe I should’ve called it “Teach your Children to be Capable Adults”.  Don’t pigeon-hole them because of their gender.

I saw a Facebook post recently, from a mother asking other mothers if they “allow” their sons to play with pink toys.  I couldn’t believe my eyes (you may remember my views on things such as this from my “Yes, I Paint my Son’s Fingernails” post).  And then I saw someone post this response:

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Perfect.  Teach your sons to cook.

Bravo.

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I am all about community and coming together.  I’m it-takes-a-village-to-raise-a-child.  I’m many-hands-make-light-work.  I’m about belonging and friendships and comfort and safety.  So when I had a chance to be involved at Assumption Catholic Secondary School’s “Cut for a Cure” last week, I jumped at the chance.  Assumption is a big part of my family’s life, as that’s where my husband has been a teacher for the last 12 years, and it’s also where my children hang out whenever my husband is coaching after school and I’m at work.  It’s our everybody-knows-us place, our this-is-good-for-our-kids place, our let’s-build-our-community-roots place.

“Cut for a Cure” has become an annual Spring event, after the resounding success of last year’s inaugural fundraiser.  This year, it was combined with a Spring sports pep rally.  Picture a school gymnasium packed to the rafters with high school kids.  Add in loud music, my energetic (read: loud) husband as emcee, and sports teams filling the floor seats.  Then add in a long row of chairs and dozens of go-ahead-and-shave-my-head volunteers paired with hairdressers.  And as the volunteers marched in, their hair prepped for wig-making donations, the excitement in the room grew exponentially.  The volunteers were overwhelmingly male.  Some were teachers, some were students, one was my five-year-old son proudly sporting his mohawk.  But some were female.  Some were grade 12 girls, the day before their graduation ceremony, willing to shave off their hair to make a donation.  To make a statement.  To make a difference. image image-2

I can only assume that these girls were like I was in grade 12.  At seventeen or eighteen, confidence can often run low and insecurity can run high.  Appearance is important.  Acceptance is important.  And let’s face it: society says that long hair is beautiful.  Our hair can be our security blanket, our hide-behind, our defining characteristic, and our self-esteem all rolled into one.  So to these girls, I say bravo.  Bravo for seeing the big picture.  Bravo for being mature and wise beyond your years.  Bravo for standing up for what you believe in.

And to my five-year-old son, who bravely got his mohawk shaved in front of hundreds of people, I say bravo to you as well.  As your hair fell to the floor, so did my tears of pride.  You get it, buddy.  And you made a difference.  

Cautiously watching his Dad go first...

Cautiously watching his Dad go first…

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The final product!

 

Some Construction Paper and a Smile

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*** This was originally written as a Guest Blog post for Momstown.ca. ***

I believe that parenting is a group effort.  And so the saying goes:

So when my 2-year-old daughter was diagnosed with amblyopia last month, I turned to my village.

* As an aside, amblyopia is an eye disorder that involves decreased vision in an eye that otherwise appears normal. In her case, this visual impairment is severe, and she needs glasses and daily eye-patching to ‘teach’ her left eye to function.

Someone suggested making a book for her to illustrate the process of what was happening to her.  Brilliant.  At just-barely-two, her comprehension is much higher than her verbal communication skills, and a book seemed like the perfect option to explain this experience.  So, with some construction paper and a smile, I made her this:

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And it worked like a charm.  It’s her favorite book, we read it multiple times a day, and she gets it.  Her glasses are helping, her eye-patching is helping, and we’re gonna be just fine.

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