Changes

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Published 02.13.2009 | Permanent Link | Comments (19)

By Alice Bradley

Three years ago, my family and I moved from Brooklyn to New Jersey. I hated it here. I thought I was going to die. Henry hated it, as well. He told me he thought his heart was going to blow up. Scott was too busy commuting on the weekdays and mowing on the weekends to have strong feelings about it, but when pressed, he admitted that he preferred the city, as well.

For that first year, I cried every day. Henry cried every other day. I think I saw Scott tear up a couple of times. That might have been from seasonal allergies, though. But occasionally, when I wasn't crying, I had pockets of time that were less painful. Even enjoyable. Spring came, and summer, and Henry splashed around in the kiddy pool while I chatted with the neighbors over the fence. We made friends who invited us to even nicer pools than our inflatable one out back, and we made mojitos and sat on the porch, and I thought, well, this is fine. Then I cried some more. But over time I had to admit that I kind of liked it here.

Two years ago, Isabel invited me to write for Alphamom, and I happily accepted. But after a couple of columns, I decided I was in way over my head. Where did I get off, writing about current events? What did I know? Who ever told me I could write about anything going on outside my living room? I didn't think I was smart enough, frankly. I was sure I wasn't smart enough, and that some expert was going to come along and rip me to shreds. Maybe a whole team of experts. I told Isabel I should probably write about something I was more qualified to address, like narcissism, or fine cheeses. But Isabel encouraged and prodded and encouraged some more, and somehow I managed to write and keep writing.

I wrote about evil breastfeeding devils and instructive gifts for girls and health insurance. I heard from smart and passionate readers who cared enough to respond to my feeble jokes and occasional attempts at sincerity. (I also heard from a few humorless types who didn't appreciate my skillful use of irony--but no matter.) I actually felt like I knew what I was doing.

One year ago Scott and I realized that although we've come to appreciate so much about our new neighborhood, it never felt like we were home. We missed Brooklyn, and the family and friends we had left behind. Although we were only a short commute away, we wanted to be right in the middle of things, complaining about the noise and the soot and the obnoxious neighbors. What can I say? We're natural gripers. It's too quiet and polite here. So we started the long and sometimes painful slog toward selling our place, and we told our now-beloved friends and neighbors that we'd be returning to the other side of the river.

So: here I am, in the present day, and you're there, wondering what in hell Wonderland and my imminent move back to Brooklyn have to do with each other. Well, there are going to be changes around here as well as in the rest of my life. This will be my last column for Wonderland. I've got too many projects on my plate, and too little time. And while I'm paring down our possessions, I also need to pare down my responsibilities and focus on the next big thing. Whatever that next big thing might be.

It's going to be hard to say goodbye to New Jersey, and it's hard to say goodbye to Wonderland. I am deeply grateful to Alphamom, and Isabel, and to the faithful readers who brought so much to the conversation. Thank you so much. And think of me while I'm packing boxes.

Empty nesting: not as empty as it sounds?

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Published 01.29.2009 | Permanent Link | Comments (10)

Photo by Muffet

My sister Liz has two incredible boys. They're both men, actually, which even I have a hard time facing. (How could they be grown up when I remember changing their diapers? Sunrise, sunset! Swiftly fly the years! Etc.!) One of her sons is in college and the other is in law school. After years together as a family, she and her husband have found themselves all alone. And they couldn't be happier. She loves it when her kids visit, of course— but it turns out that she loves it when they leave.

I don't know of a more devoted mom than my sister, so what gives? Shouldn't she be pining for her babies? Isn't that what mothers do?

Turns out, not so much. As recently reported in the New York Times, a new study published in the journal "Psychological Science" shows that marital satisfaction increases after the kids have taken their leave.

In the past few years, several studies have shown that marital happiness is adversely affected by children. Which, when you think about it, is really not all that surprising. (Sorry, kids.) Children may be limitless sources of joy for parents, but they don't do much for quality time between a husband and wife. The increased financial stress of supporting a family can be a cause of great unhappiness and conflict. The struggle over sharing household duties can put strain on even the strongest marriage. And there's nothing like fighting over money and/or who's going to do the dishes over the din of a screaming toddler or bickering teens to make you think get me out of here.

But instead of running to a divorce lawyer, maybe all you have to do is wait a few years, or twenty! Because according to this latest study, once the kids are out of the house, the quality of spousal interactions improves, and both partners—but wives, especially—feel happier in their marriages.

I didn't think this was the first time I'd read about a study like this, so I went searching through my bookshelves, and lo and behold: in the book "Stumbling on Happiness," Daniel Gilbert addresses the myth of the empty nest syndrome. According to the four separate studies Gilbert references, marital satisfaction takes a huge dip when the first child arrives and increases only after the last child has left. "Despite what we read in the popular press," Gilbert writes, "the only known symptom of 'empty nest syndrome' is increased smiling."

According to the Times, we may not have to wait until our kids have vamoosed to feel better in our marriages. "The lesson from the empty nest may be that parents need to work to carve out more stress-free time together." After all, empty nesters say that they don't spend more time with their spouses, just better time. So making date night more of a priority might cure the all-kids-all-the-time blues.

So: any empty nesters out there? Anyone dreading or looking forward to their kids leaving home? Tell us your story, below.

Should we all lighten up about Barbie?

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Published 01.16.2009 | Permanent Link | Comments (25)

By Alice Bradley

Photo by Picklepud

Recently in Babble, there was a Smackdown on the topic of Barbie: Yay or Nay? Both writers ended up on the same side, which made the Smackdown decidedly… un-smackdowny. No one was smacked down, in other words. There was no smacking. Down. Jeanne Sager and Mike Adamick both gave Barbie, in the end, a reluctant yay. Actually, more like an naaaa-okay.

Like most of us modern feminist liberal parents, Jeanne Sager never expected to buy her daughter a Barbie. And she didn't. But then her daughter received one as a gift—and fell in love. " I didn't even know she knew who Barbie was," Sager writes. But she did, and she knew it was something to covet.

So her daughter showed a moderate level of interest in Barbie, undressing her and dressing her over and over. Eventually she moved on to other toys. And in the end, what happened to her daughter? Nothing. "It's a doll," observes Sager. Just a doll that doesn't have any more hold over her daughter's psyche than her other toys. "She seems no more attuned to her own body after playing with a Barbie, no more obsessed with hair, clothes, make-up or weight."

Mike Adamick's daughter also received a Barbie for Christmas, much to his consternation. He worried that Barbie was a less than exemplary role model for a girl's evolving notion of herself. He knew of a young girl who wanted to diet, to be more like her Barbie. "Some young girls see Barbie, want her body and then destroy their own. After all, isn't Barbie a model for the perfect female?"

But then he, too, found that Barbie didn't have much of an impact on his kid. Eventually, he realized there's a lot more that influences a girl (or a boy) than just a single toy. "It dawned on me," observed Adamick, "that I, her father, probably have a lot more sway over how she will one day view herself and her body than some stupid doll." So it turned out that Barbie wasn't the evil soul-killing machine out to destroy their daughters' fragile self-identities—she was just a doll. A doll with exceedingly weird proportions, sure. But at least she wasn't a Bratz. Those are insane.

I'm interested to hear what you guys think about Barbies. I don't have a daughter, but I was a girl—a girl besotted with the world of Barbie. I had the Barbie Dream Boat and the Barbie Airplane and the Barbie Corvette. I had an entire tiny Barbie wardrobe filled with numerous Barbie outfits. I can still remember picking out those tiny get-ups in the toy store, with their eensy shoes. I just salivated a little. Over tiny plastic shoes.

I don't ever remember feeling that I had to look like Barbie. I didn't gaze into Barbie's face and dream of someday being that beautiful. Barbie didn't really do it for me, looks-wise. I was more into the Barbie accoutrements than the doll itself. First of all, she had feet that left her permanently on tippy-toe, the better to fit her high heels onto. Her hair was way too big for my tastes. And she didn't even have nipples. Barbie was a blank slate, waiting to be clothed and sent off on an adventure. Barbie often interacted with the Hulk and the Green Lantern or visited my doll house, where she walked amongst all the stubby doll house figures like some benign, mute super model. Barbie was part of a much larger imaginary world, for me.

I have plenty of friends who were forbidden Barbie, and if you were to look at us all together, I don't think you would pick out the Barbie owner among us. I don't wear heels. I am unlikely to dress as a flight attendant. My hair is not bleached blonde. I have never suffered an eating disorder. I don't think Barbie inflicted any lasting damage.

But Barbie today is different from the Barbie I grew up with. I couldn't help but notice, on a recent visit to Target, that the Barbie wardrobe had taken a definite turn for the, well, trashy. I might feel less comfortable purchasing a Barbie for my daughter if it meant that she would parade around my house in fishnet stockings, a yellow mini, and a silver tube top. I don't know what the current Barbie accessories are, so if they've moved away from vehicles and toward, say, princess castles, I would be less than happy. This is where I defer to the current parents of daughters. What's your stance on Barbie? What have your experiences been? Is Barbie dangerous, or benign?