| brucekluger.com |
NickJr.com, June 2000 In the Trenches With Bruce Kluger Dispatch from Ladyville By Bruce Kluger Hoo-boy, Friday night was one for the record books. The baby had a cold and hadn’t napped. Her big sister came home from camp anxious about swimming in the big pool. And Mommy, having just finished a miserable work week, walked in and collapsed on the couch, completely drained of her trademark congeniality. One glance and I knew I was doomed. Within seconds, one was wailing, one was whining and one was wincing at my inability to handle the kids while she unwound. Suddenly I was playing caretaker to three very touchy, very sensitive females—which, in my book, ain’t exactly like hashing it out with the boys. When my second daughter was born early last year, my gender and I officially became outnumbered in my household for good. I began answering the phone, “House o’ Chicks, how can I help you?” Today, the tidal wave of estrogen swamping my domestic life continues to knock me off balance. I am, after all, the youngest of four boys, and until I had children, the only efforts I’d made to decipher the hormonal subtleties of the fairer sex was when I was trying to persuade one to kiss me. Who knew how much harder it would be to get a little army of girls to do life’s simpler things—like going to bed on time or keeping out of the fridge or, God help me, wearing something other than party shoes to school? And I haven’t even gotten to my wife yet. Don’t get me wrong, sharing a roof with Audrey (16 months), Bridgette (five years) and Alene (forever 32) is, at its best, like living in a harem. Girls are by nature—and chemistry—gentler and more nurturing than boys, and there’s nothing better than having three wholly different, equally comforting female hugs to depend on when the going gets tough. But at its most trying, being the sole man in Ladyville is like being caught in a tornado. Yes, some say that disorder is simply a function of parenthood, but I can’t help wonder if any of it is hormonal. Was it this hard coexisting with my brothers and college roommates? Do other fathers of girls suffer from babe overload, too? I asked three experts if there’s any foundation—biological or psychological (hey, at this point I’d settle for astrological)—for this phenomenon. Here’s what they told me. “Homes and schools are perceived as women’s places,” said Kathleen Clinesmith, Director of the Calhoun Lower School in New York. “Therefore, men and boys can be overlooked within these environments. But, frankly, I don’t hear a lot of dads complaining about this. On the contrary, tons of women come into my office telling me they’re going crazy from the chaos in their homes—chaos created by their sons and husbands.” So testosterone clogs up the family-dynamic plumbing too, huh? Interesting. Moving on: I called my buddy, Bill McCoy, author of Father’s Day: Notes From a New Dad in the Real World. Bill wrote the book—literally—on having a girl, then went on to have a boy. Who better to deconstruct the pink-blue conundrum? “To my mind,” Bill said, “the most striking difference between boys and girls is not in the noise they produce, but in the way they express affection. Unlike my daughter, my son thinks Mom’s and Dad’s kisses are yucky so he wipes them away. That’s not learned behavior; it’s anthropological. So now we trick him into being cuddly. Instead of requesting a hug, we ask for a squeeze, then pretend he’s hurting us. That works for him. He laughs, we laugh, everybody gets what they want.” Another surprising answer. Suddenly girls are seeming less the handful. Finally, I ventured into my own backyard, checking in with my father-in-law, Terry, who racked up three in the daughters’ column and none in the sons’. Terry, I decided, would be my own personal Rosetta Stone to deciphering the mystery of the House o’ Chicks. “Living among all females was a heartwarming experience,” he began, “but it wasn’t exactly ego-boosting. If my daughters were involved in, say, a heated conversation at the dinner table, my opinion was often unimportant. I felt like the Rodney Dangerfield of the house—the guy who gets no respect. “But in terms of affection for dad,” he added, “girls can’t be beat.” There you have it. I sought commiseration from three unbiased sources (okay, two unbiased sources and a grandpa), only to have my head turned around: One says boys drive their moms crazy, one says girls are better cuddlers, a third says he’s still trying to get a word in edgewise. Lesson learned? From sugar and spice to puppy dog tails, kids are kids, and the more time we take trying to categorize them neatly, the less time we have to play with them. Which reminds me: Bridgette comes home in 20 minutes and I haven’t preheated the Easy Bake Oven. And we all know the little lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.... |
House o' Chicks: Alene, Bridgette (right) and Audrey.
