From the category archives:

no manual for parenting

 

Fullscreen capture 562012 111825 PM.bmp O rly?

I don’t remember ever sign on a labor division agreement in which I am the designated parent in charge of school projects. Learn from my mistake: Before you get married, in addition to the pre-nup, AND the chore chart, make sure you and the other party agree on 50-50 should you ever become parents, including tackling school projects. Not including school projects in your negotiation would be a serious oversight IF you plan to bring up your children in the U.S.

The panoramas, the volcanoes, the cardboard box buildings, the solar system models. You will come to dread all of them and learn to schedule your family’s weekends around the deadlines. Although the teachers include in their notes to warn parents against TAKING OVER the projects, which I am more than happy to oblige, as parents, we are still expected to be the supervisor, the  ”creative director”, the material supplier, the general contractor. And more often than not, our role turns into that of a bootcamp drill sergeant, “Shut up. Stop crying. Just finish what you are doing!”, and also, that of a motivational speaker, “You will be fine. Your thing looks good. No, it is not that lopsided. And of course it looks like a _____ . Your teacher will not give you an F. This is not the end of the world for Christ’s sake!”

These are the moments when I long for the rigid education style back home that emphasizes mostly rote memorization, i.e. your children do all the work and all you have to do is to intimate the prospect of a good beating.

Mr. Monk, my 3rd grader, has to make a realistic, life-size model of an owl for his class. We had our first breakdown when he read in the teacher’s instruction that the owl has to be within one inch of the actual average size of this specific type of owls. The modeled owl also needs to look realistically similar to an actual owl: coloring, existence of tufts, toes, claws, tail. BUT you are welcome to use ANY material you want, for example, things you find around your house, for the construction of this life-like owl.

Maybe I am dense. Maybe my house is not appropriately stocked for necessities. I looked around the house after I put down the instruction sheet, and I could not think of ANYTHING that resembled any parts of an owl.

Because my son is fortunate enough that his parents’ discretionary income could afford it, off to the crap craft store we went. Since we had no idea whatsoever, we wandered up and down the aisles, looking for inspirations and ideas, bits and pieces to put together into an owl. Kind of like MacGyver. With a glue gun. [Remember: You NEED a glue gun as soon as your child enters grade school]

 

I always get lost, in more ways than one, when I am in one of these stores. I walk in with fear as I am unfamiliar with most of the material and tools sold there. It is wilderness, uncharted territory, the final frontier, as far as I am concerned. As I peruse the exotic goods in each aisle, I am delighted by all the discoveries. “Wow. You can do this yourself?” “OMG. You can make this on your own?” “Ooooo. That’s such a neat idea! What are they going to think of next?”  At the same time, a sense of loss and longing would take hold of me. “I wish I were a domestic goddess. I wish I knew how. I wish I had time to learn the how. I wish I were good with my hands. I wish I had delicate hands and no stupid fat thumbs.”

Soon I am being pushed along by the DIY, Can-Do, “Even I can do it” spirits that fill the air.

Stencil French phrases on plain coffee mugs? Yup. I can do it.

Personalize napkins with monogram stamps? Oh yes. I need those.

Frost a cake with fondant? I would love to do that!

It’s like I have stepped into turbo HGTV land, a dream world where anybody could be a regular Martha Stewart.

Thank goodness I usually come to my senses by the time I get to the cash register. Laziness wins.

 

For the owl project I had to go back three times. I came out unscathed despite the self-doubt each visit to the store elicited in me. It was a good dream while it lasted.

 

Mr. Monk finished making his owl after I brought back the final piece of the puzzle: yellow pipe cleaners.

 

 

Owl model O rly?

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I’m sitting in the train station with the only Starbucks in this town. This has been a routine of mine for Saturday mornings when the kids are at religious class. I like to think it’s free babysitting service provided by the Catholic church for me.

“Awwwww. How cute!” I exclaimed to myself when I saw the father sitting at the table in front of me trying to put up a ponytail for his little girl. The grandmothers from the table next obviously thought the same as they commented on how adorable the scene was.

wpid IMG 20120414 100930 Father and Daughter

I immediately caught myself, wondering WHY, why is it deemed universally adorable whenever we see fathers (attempting to) take care of their OWN children, and whether I ever go “Awww” when I see a woman taking care of hers.

Sometimes, the more clumsy the attempt, the more adorable it appears. The man clearly is trying his best. He gets points for the effort. Do we ever give mothers credits for simply trying without passing judgment?

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Dear Easter Bunny, please accept our sincere apology for banishing you to the land of creepy holiday creatures where you will reign supreme I am sure.

You were slayed when 9-year-old Mr. Monk declared that he no longer believes in Easter Bunny.

Rejoice!

The Husband took the boys to Wal-Mart last night because I had failed to procure pastel things to appease the Easter Bunny. This man loves a great bargain and is not afraid of those greeters; he falls square in Wal-Mart’s target segment. While there, Mr. Monk made the surprise announcement. Now that there’s no need to keep up the charade, they came home with a bow and arrow set, a Captain America shield and two water pistols, and created the bestest Easter baskets at the fastest speed in the history of this household.

 

The boys had given up soda pop for Lent hence the giant bottles of soda in the baskets. Mr. Monk took one long sip of his orange soda and declared, “This is the BEST Easter ever!”

Deprivation is the mother of poetry joy.

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Surviving Spring Break

March 31, 2012 no manual for parenting

Last week I mused about driving by myself with the kids to Mount Rushmore over spring break. 950 glorious miles. I am sorry if I let some of your down. That was just crazy talk. I was under duress: Spring break week happened to be performance review week at work. The boys seemed to be [...]

8 comments

Jumping on the Kony 2012 wagon, no, off, no, on, no…

March 7, 2012 mark my word: twitter will doom us all

Unless you live under a rock, or you are my husband, by now you must have seen (or chosen to skip) this video, KONY 2012 (video at the bottom of this post for all you under-the-rock-dwellers), and it is possible you are already tired of “hearing” about it on your Facebook or Twitter (or even, dare [...]

17 comments

How to show your kid what the 80s is about. The hard way.

March 4, 2012 no manual for parenting

By taking them to the exhibit dedicated to the 1980s at Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, of course!   I am kidding on the square, seeing how this is a hard glance back at the 1980s with a critical eye: feminism, gender politics, race politics, AIDES, political upheavals in the Latin America, Disappeared, Reaganism, [...]

28 comments

Disobedience

February 12, 2012 imho is just a polite way to say I know you don't give a hoot what I think but I'm going to say it anyway

Before we got married, The Husband and I talked about whether we should raise our children Catholic, his mother’s religion. I said “his mother’s religion” because like countless Catholics, he is twice-a-year Catholic. He gives up something for Lent (that usually make me exclaim, “Jesus died for you sin and you are giving up THAT [...]

26 comments

The things I do for my children

January 15, 2012 no manual for parenting

When last summer was over, finding pants that fit all of a sudden became my obsession. Oh not for myself (I mean, that’s another, sad sad story). For the strange teenager that took over my oldest boy. Overnight the pants from BOYS’ department no longer fit him and those from MEN’s department won’t for a [...]

15 comments

Cool Parents. Oxy. Moron.

January 8, 2012 no manual for parenting

Confession: I have been obsessed with this website I came across from my 13-year-old’s Facebook wall. It is aptly named “I Waste So Much Time“. Unfortunately for my reputation, it is not a philosophical statement born from my existential angst. They omitted “On the Internet” in the name. This website is “curated” for middle schoolers… [...]

18 comments

Merry Christmas dear, and oh by the way…

December 25, 2011 no manual for parenting

Santa is not real. I am worried that I may have ruined my son’s childhood. On Christmas eve nonetheless. Before he went to bed full of anticipation for Christmas morning, I decided to tell him THE Truth. Well, I did not really decide per se. He turned 9 this year and he’s always known that [...]

16 comments