Last summer one of my first posts here admired the seemingly hands-off style of 1970’s parenting. Go back and read if you like. Kitty Foreman’s hair shaking is priceless.
Turns out, what I really needed to do was go a little Parisian.
Bringing Up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman, came up on my “must read” radar a while ago. But the sample text suddenly resonated with me after a stream of needy children continually interrupted adult conversation while having friends over for dinner one night.
“When American families visit our home, the parents usually spend much of the time refereeing their kids’ spat, helping their toddlers do laps around the kitchen island, or getting down on the floor to build LEGO villages…When French friends visit, however, we grown-ups have coffee and the children play happily by themselves.”
Though we have and know some pretty awesome kids, I identified with those poor American parents, and inpulse-bought the book.
This text is by no means some kind of revolutionary parenting ‘bible’. It’s a narrative of the American author’s marriage, her move to Paris, and her outsider’s view of the stark contrast between French and American parenting strategies. There are many research references to illustrate the preferable outcomes of the former over the latter. In later editions there is an addendum that includes her list of 100 pointers. – Druckerman calls them “keys to french parenting”. I’d call them “mini kid philosophies”.
This book explores a different overall attitude towards children: Boiled down, you can trust that a child can do things. Things like teaching himself to connect sleep his sleep cycles (without the dreaded ‘crying it out’) and genuinely sleeping through the night at 3 months (this is a very standard milestone at 3 months in France.) Or politely greeting all adults – and in doing so, taking on the behavior of a mutually respected person in the social group. Or, imagine this: self-sufficiently playing alone or with other children, without a need for parent intervention or baggies of goldfish crackers. All you tired-eyed parents who are repeatedly interrupted by your child needing stuff while you try to cook or talk to other adults– are you fascinated yet? I was. I spent July trying to get grad class work done, while my children were in pay-attention-t0-me mode during most waking hours. I wish I’d read this little philosophy book before summer. Or, like, 9 years ago.
Intertwined with the concept that a child can fend for him or herself is the ideal of balance. In other words, the mother and father absolutely cannot lose themselves in the care of their children. The sacrifice-for-the-child valor that I’ve seen so many moms tote around like merit badges does not exist in the same way, in French culture. There is no humble-bragging that you survived quitting the job your were educated for so you could stay home, breastfeeding until age two, or functioning on crappy sleep because the co-sleeping child won’t stay out of your bed. These are not accepted truths of parenting in the French model. The happiness and prosperity of the entire family – the marriage of the parents being the core of this – is valued over the needs of the child. It probably sounds ungrateful and selfish to a lot of American mothers…
And I love that! The eating and the independent playing chapters made me want to wind back the clock and do things differently with my kids. However, we’re working on it now. Already this summer we’ve expanded the girls’ vegetable horizons . Hey family: E eats Brussels sprouts now, and there is no crying! Almost every other section had me saying out loud, to nobody, “Yes! What have I been saying!?!” Disclaimer: I’m going to quote Amy Poehler’s peace mantra of “Good for her, not for me”, but, here’s an example: In my family, kids are not welcome in our bed unless it is family hang-out or reading time. That is our bed, our sleeping and couple space, and we like it that way. Grown-ups time is sacred, even if it really is just “Netflix and Chill”.
Major points of “Bringing Up Bebe”’s message:
Can you tell I like this stuff? Now, I’m fully aware that this model is not solely a “French” thing. Some of these philosophies I’ve had for years, and I know friends who have executed them beautifully all along as well, in one department or another. I also know a lot of moms who would look at aspects of this and wonder why French women bother having kids at all, if they’re just going to put a bottle in their mouths and send them off to someone else’s care?
I guess the impressive aspects of this philosophy for me are balance and trust. In this country there seems to exist an unspoken social norm saying that major sacrifice for your children’s comfort and development is proof that you are a “good” parent – because childhood is fleeting and you have your whole life to talk to your friend on the phone uninterrupted for 20 minutes. I think that’s total crap. We are talking about 18+ years, here. Balance is the goal. Trust makes that happen. This is definitely a goal to work for, in my book. American levels of happiness are reported lower from parents than non-parents, and lower with the birth of each child, despite children supposedly being a major source of lifetime happiness. What’s missing? What can we do differently to feel less harried and stressed?
Maybe try a little Francais.
The book, again, is called Bringing Up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman. (Her website is HERE.)
In the past, I would occasionally witness women I knew, with three or more children, go on to become pregnant with their fourth or fifth. I wrongly assumed that, though I may like and respect this woman, she had one or more of the following major problems:
I know. I said in the title, I’m sorry.
Obviously she couldn’t watch all of those kids at the mall, the playground, and throughout their little paths in life! How could she be so unfair to her older children, saddling them with the caretaking of one or more babies? And how could she leave her little one in the care of *gasp!* upper elementary-aged kids? I know children in this age group who couldn’t keep a pet rock alive. Most tragic of all, how could she do that to herself? Doesn’t she want a life of her own? A moment for her?? So sad.
However, viewing the larger family from the 70’s Mom goggles, I realized…I’m an idiot.
One day at the playground I was talking to a mom with four, count ’em, FOUR kids…double my count. WOW, four! And the youngest was under 1 year old. And she wanted more someday. “How cool!” I said. “How the hell are you even able to stand here talking to me?” I thought. “Lack of sleep has made you delirious, you poor woman.”
I then noticed that her older kid was helping her baby down the slide, way over there. They both seemed fine. The baby made it down the slide alive. The two middle kids were…somewhere. It was a big playground. It’s not like I could pinpoint my own offspring’s whereabouts at that moment either. But I only had two. My new mommy friend wasn’t even looking around. Dang, the confidence.
Playgrounds: A real-life ‘Where’s Waldo’ adventure for your 30’s. Go.
Several generations ago, the older children caring for the younger ones was not only normal, it was survival. Kids were, to be blunt, actually useful. While I’m not suggesting we repeal child labor laws, the change in attitude is something to think about. Only since the invention of leisure time and “Parenting Experts” are children are commodities to be guarded and helped through life. Before that time we needed them to make the family run.
The good 70’s Mom would probably understand that rather than precious flowers to shield, kids are clay that we’re to mold into big, helpful, productive, self-sufficient people. Yes, I just did the MommyBlog “kids-are-clay” metaphor. Blech. First and last time, I swear. Kids will, no doubt, need the skill of caregiving in their bag of tricks someday. We are all caregivers at one point. Likewise, that baby on the slide over there will also learn that care comes from other places, besides Mommy. Mommy will therefore be able to hang with a new friend at the playground and sip her coffee.
Oh.
I’m sorry, Moms of Many, I didn’t know.
Also, please accept my condolences on what I’m assuming must be an epic laundry situation at your house.
At least until you train the oldest to do it. Wa ha ha.
(Dear 7 year old…you have until you can reach the dials on the machine.)
The fields of child psychology and parenting have come a long way since 1970, so this could sound less than complimentary. And I have way better hair than Kitty Foreman.
A friend said this to me at a little gathering at my place. I had off-handedly ‘suggested’ that all the darling but LOUD children there be banished outside until dinnertime. Or until someone was bleeding, whatever came first.
This favorable comparison came to mind again when I found this post by the fun blogger at Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds, called “If 70’s Moms had Blogs.” I highly recommend you go read it, it’s a good time. Enjoy it with a cup of Sanka, I’ll wait.
Welcome back. It worth the click, right? I love where she’s all pleased with herself for warning the kids against combine Pop Rocks and Pepsi. Later the kids play until they fall asleep, unsupervised! Because it’s “Grown-Up Time” downstairs. It’s like she’s in my head and knows my wildest dreams…
Now, her hyperbolic post was intended for entertainment purposes only. So naturally I’m going to take it way too far, and decide that when I grow up, I’d like to be: *cue superhero music*
That means that my children need to be seen and not heard, right? Cause that will happen. The 70’s can sound like a harsher, adult-centered time, when kids were not valued for their feelings or opinions. Fast forward 40 years, and it looks a little different from where my mom sneakers are standing. Kids “need”:
I buy into these needs too. The 70’s Mom frame of mind seems preferable at times, but I’m not going to take up smoking and stop putting the kids to bed. Nor is Hubby is about to ignore the tots and retire to the living room with his glass of something, to read the paper. If anything, that would be me. Guilt, norms, and kids’ incessant need for intervention will keep us from becoming absentee parents in our home. But it’s a fascinating concept; they were allowed to make and take Tang, outside! On concrete patios! In glass glasses! *gasp* Their competence was trusted. Their brains and motor skills and imaginations were trusted. The ability of the older ones to to help the younger ones, teaching all of them the importance of caring for each other, was trusted.
In another time, a kid my big one’s age might have been helping with younger siblings all day. Not asking me to open her Capri Suns, still. So, we children of later generations – did we ruin things for future kids? Did we all wander off cliffs and drink Drano while our parents played Bridge, causing this pendulum swing in the other direction? We must have chewed on things we shouldn’t have, right? I doubt the intensity of parental love has changed at all, but…