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ailbheYesterday in the playground...
Well, yesterday I was having a truly terrible day. I was tired, Emer was tired, Linnea was tired and cranky. So when Maria called and invited us to the park I was delighted. I got us all fully and properly dressed - at something tedious in the afternoon - and we went.
(Our street has been extended now and run into the new housing development in which the new playground has been built; this is convenient for access and irritating because of the extra traffic on the roads. At some point I will become agitated enough to agitate for proper pedestrian crossings on Beresford Road in particular. Grr.)
In the playground, Linnea and Louis went that way and Emer and Phoebe went that way and all was shrieking, running around almost hitting people with sticks, etc. Then another family arrived and played too. A boy climbed the climbing frame and got his trousers caught on it, ending up hanging from it shouting for help - that was fine, his mother helped him. His slightly smaller sister climbed up to the top of it and was just wondering whether to go over the top or come back down when her mother scolded her anxiously and guided her feet down. After that, she played in the baby section (where teenagers were climbing on the roofs of the climbing frame, must try that some day).
Maria and I remarked to each other that we were watching gender socialisation in action. It was, well, remarkable.
I was sufficiently irritated by it that instead of sticking to the zip-slide as I usually do, I also climbed the climbing frame and put all the kids in the roundabout and span it so fast I felt queasy.
Emer loved it. I didn't.
But I don't like feeling told what to do. I don't like the idea that little girls this and little boys that, when no-one has a control-group raised in a gender-neutral bubble to compare with. I really hate it when it means a competent girl climber isn't allowed to go where a less competent boy climber was encouraged to go.
Grr, bah.
Also, the little girl's shoes were too small; she took them off later and wiggled her toes at me. Her feet were longer than the outsides of her shoes.
Metaphor.
Well, yesterday I was having a truly terrible day. I was tired, Emer was tired, Linnea was tired and cranky. So when Maria called and invited us to the park I was delighted. I got us all fully and properly dressed - at something tedious in the afternoon - and we went.
(Our street has been extended now and run into the new housing development in which the new playground has been built; this is convenient for access and irritating because of the extra traffic on the roads. At some point I will become agitated enough to agitate for proper pedestrian crossings on Beresford Road in particular. Grr.)
In the playground, Linnea and Louis went that way and Emer and Phoebe went that way and all was shrieking, running around almost hitting people with sticks, etc. Then another family arrived and played too. A boy climbed the climbing frame and got his trousers caught on it, ending up hanging from it shouting for help - that was fine, his mother helped him. His slightly smaller sister climbed up to the top of it and was just wondering whether to go over the top or come back down when her mother scolded her anxiously and guided her feet down. After that, she played in the baby section (where teenagers were climbing on the roofs of the climbing frame, must try that some day).
Maria and I remarked to each other that we were watching gender socialisation in action. It was, well, remarkable.
I was sufficiently irritated by it that instead of sticking to the zip-slide as I usually do, I also climbed the climbing frame and put all the kids in the roundabout and span it so fast I felt queasy.
Emer loved it. I didn't.
But I don't like feeling told what to do. I don't like the idea that little girls this and little boys that, when no-one has a control-group raised in a gender-neutral bubble to compare with. I really hate it when it means a competent girl climber isn't allowed to go where a less competent boy climber was encouraged to go.
Grr, bah.
Also, the little girl's shoes were too small; she took them off later and wiggled her toes at me. Her feet were longer than the outsides of her shoes.
Metaphor.