Category Archives: no manual for parenting

My mommy cooks. My mommy cleans. My mommy loves me.

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It is almost a month since Mother’s Day and therefore I figure it is safe to ruminate out loud what I thought when I saw these loving and lovable pictures drawn by my 6 year old, with lots of love, without the risk of being accused as mean-spirited, bitter, spoiled, jaded, or worse, unfit-to-be-a-mother…

Turned out that my 6 year-old was more excited about Mother’s Day than I was. The weeks leading to Mother’s Day they had made so many arts and crafts projects at school to celebrate this day, and he was instructed to keep all these projects a secret until THE day so he could surprise me. Bless his heart. I am surprised that he did not burst from all the secrecy, and the trouble of keeping a secret from your mother when you are only 6 years old.

We had gone to the store in April when he decided that he needed to get me a Mother’s Day present. He was rather upset since he couldn’t figure out a way of getting anything without my knowing it.

He burst into tears when I saw the bag of chocolate he’s holding.

“You are not supposed to see this.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“This! This is your Mother’s Day present. Now Mother’s Day is ruined! And it is all YOUR fault!”

“Honey. How about this? Mommy will pay for it and then you can hide it and I promise I will forget about it.”

“No, it won’t work!”

It took me an hour to calm him down, to convince him that yes indeed, I would erase the memory of this exchange from my brain.

When he proudly presented me with the book that he made at school, a book comprised of “Things my mommy does, and therefore I love my mommy” vignettes, I was really moved. Really, I was. He was beaming with pride, and naturally, I was beaming with pride too.

But later, it did give me pause to think my role as a mother. How I see myself and how I am perceived by my children, others, the world.

1. After 20+ years of education, this is what I am boiled down to: cooking and cleaning.

2. My job sucks, at least in my child’s eyes. If I were a hod dog vendor, or a street musician, it would probably be easier for him to draw “What my mommy does at work.” Truth be told, and in all fairness, he has attempted many times to understand what I do at work.

“So you work on the computer… But what do you MAKE?”

A conversation with him about my job always results in days of self-doubt in me…

3. Perhaps in all fairness, cleaning and cooking could be what he sees me do all the time. Is it telling that he did not draw “My mommy does the laundry” since our floor is constantly covered with laundered clothes transported straight from the dryer? And bless his heart that he considers grilled cheese and mac&cheese straight from a box cooking. I guess it is true that what you don’t know will not hurt you…

4. On the other hand, what if this is his ideal of a mother? A mom that cooks and cleans, while wearing an apron with a BIG smile on her face. So happy. So content. Perhaps this is a mother that he yearns for and not the harried, reluctant one he’s stuck with? Staring at the big smile in these drawings, I somehow feel ashamed. Guilty.

5. This is the conclusion I am most reluctant to draw; it took me a whole month to admit to myself: Maybe, just maybe, I am not spending enough quality time with my children. None of the pictures showed me doing things with him.

If I had made more efforts in doing arts and crafts, if I were more willing in playing Go Fish, if I had offered to go to the zoos, the parks, the playgrounds more often, if I had said, “Let’s go fly a kite” out of nowhere.

If. Perhaps he would have something other than cooking and cleaning to draw with.

I’ve never got kicked in the head. Is it me? No. It’s you.

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This morning my youngest was sent to his room for a timeout because he kicked daddy in the head.  Upon further investigation, and actually I witnessed the entire episode, I am not quite sure he deserved the punishment.  
 
What would a normal healthy human being do when they are being tickled on the feet?  
 
They kick.
 
What would happen if you are the one administer the tickling with your head bent towards the said feet?
 
Your head will be in the path of the kicking feet.  
 
It is simple physics. 
 
This incident makes me ponder why, compared to my spouse, I am seldom "hurt" by the children. 
 
It is true I do not roughhouse with the kids.  It's a daddy thing.  I tend to get the crying, hungry, wounded, tired, cranky, punished kids, whereas my husband gets the happy, tussling ones.  That's why I tend to get the crying, hungry, wounded, tired, cranky, punished kids.  Tis a vicious cycle. I am seeing a pattern now. 
 
It is also true that I realize everybody's limits and I stop as soon as I see that the kids are being whipped into a frenzy, and if you continue to sit on them, for instance, their survival instinct would kick in and they would use all the little strength they have to fight back, and you get hurt. 
 
AND, let it be known, TICKLING IS BULLYING.  If someone is laughing against their will, then they are NOT having fun. 
 
Yes. I am the FUN KILLER.  But, let it also be known, I have never been kicked in the head by my kids. 
 
 

Proof for Santa’s existence is everywhere…

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6 yo is listening to the Personalized CD (which guarantees that you can “hear your name more than 80 times!”) that Santa gave him last year.

With great excitement, he came to me and proclaimed,

“Mom, do you know how I am so sure now that this CD is from Santa and MADE by Santa himself at the workshop?”

“Oh. How?”

“You see the back is glued to the cover with sticky tacks! What kind of stores would use sticky tacks to glue their stuff together?!”

So crappy quality is actually the evidence for Santa’s handmade items.

A volcano of love… tis the cross for me to bear

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“My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.”
– Juliet

Always thought this is one of the most beautiful descriptions of what it means to really love someone. (By the way, Romeo is an idiot. Juliet clearly is a better poet. But I digress…)

When I became a mom, I was surprised by the truth in these words. The love I have for my children is such that it hurts to think of the possibility of ever losing them. And unlike other kinds of feelings, a parent’s love does not depend on reciprocity. We will always love our children no matter what.

But that love does not prevent us from getting impatient, annoyed. It does not stop me from becoming a mean witch from time to time to the boys. Stealthily self doubt creeps up sometimes: I wonder whether I do truly love my kids selflessly and unconditionally, whether I am fit to be a mother, after a particularly difficult day of dealing with bickering, whining, willfulness, obstinacy, and flaring up of the mild case of OCD, with too little time. My exhaustion more often than not stems from my youngest’s refusal to let my husband take care of him.

Mommy is the only person he always wants.

Mommy is the person he loves the most, no matter what.

In this regard, I feel extremely guilty and am deeply saddened since there are more than one person for me to make the same claim of. Juliet’s words aside, I lack the time to show the love equally to each.

On those days, when I put him to bed, I would hold my 6 year-old tighter and ask him to forgive mommy’s temper earlier. And Mr. Monk, my 6 year-old, who has a way with words, would say something that at the same time shames me and absolves me.

“I just want you to know that mommy loves you.” (even when she was behaving like a banshee…)

“It’s ok mommy. I just want to show each parent a volcano of love.”

Laughing out loud, I held him even tighter, trying hard to stifle the cry that’s surfacing from my chest.

Sometimes I believe that he loves me more than I love him. And it worries me so….

p.s. Yes yes I know. Wait a couple more years and then he would not want to have anything to do with mommy any more… I will write a new post then….

I GTalked my kid to ask him what he would like for breakfast today…

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As over-thinking, ironically introspective, neurotic, obsessively over-analytical as I am, this incident strikes me as seminal. SEMINAL. Mark it on the calendar.

We have all seen those cartoons, parodying the increasing importance of texting in the life of teens and even preteens, showing kids texting each other while sitting next to each other on the sofa, or kids and parents texting each other while in the car, or family members texting each other while around the table, TXT “Could you pass the salt please?”

We all laugh. Then we tsk tsk and exclaim, “What the world has come to?”, while simultaneously congratulating ourselves for not being like the characters as depicted in the cartoons. And then we worry that it may become a reality. It is in some way part of reality, we begrudgingly admit to ourselves.

It happened on a Saturday morning towards the end of a school year, the rare time when we did not have any place to rush to and my son was playing the ever popular Runescape on the computer in my study. Normally, it requires a lot of yelling back and forth, impatience, frustration, foot-stomping, indignation, accusations of ingratitude and false accusations for breakfast to be served. Since I had my laptop working in the kitchen, I thought, “Hey, why not Gtalk him?”

Ping. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Ping. “What the…” “Mom, is that you?”

Ping. “LOL. What do u want for bf?”

Ping. “Pancake pls.”

It soon evolved into a Q&A session where the 11 yo asked me some words he’d learned from his fellow game-players but instinctively knew were “bad words” that he should not use. First right up:

Ping. “What does Jizz mean?”

Ugh, Jesus. Why can’t his father be doing this? “You don’t want to know.”

Ping. “It is close to jazz.”

“Believe me. It is not.”

Ping. “tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me tell me”

Fine. “Have you learned reproductive organs in your health education yet?”

“No. But 6th graders did. We didn’t go.”

I explained that he would learn about it when he has sex education in the 6th grade. Upon that, he said, “Yikes!” in spoken language which I could hear from the kitchen.

For good measure, I emphasized that it is NOT a shortened form for when you want to say “Jesus!”

Then we moved onto:

“Mom, what does f-g mean?” “It is banned from this other site.” “People would say this to me whenever I kill [their characters].”

Well, the usage originated from The World of Warcraft, I believe. “You know the word ‘gay’ and how we agreed that we would not use it to make fun of people?” “There’s this word that is even worse than ‘gay'”

“Oh. I know that word.”

Me. Thinking. “How the hack does he know? Where did he hear it? And who the F called my kid that word?!”

Somehow it does not seem as lecture-y through Gtalk to make him promise he would not use this word. No matter how common an expression it has become in this game or anywhere else. It is a principle thing.

Although I can only hope that he keeps his promise when I am not around, which will happen more and more often now that he’s 11 going on 30, I am glad that we had this chance to talk. So, so what it is through Gtalk?

We are like The Simpsons. Yellow like The Simpsons.

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My 6 yo drew this picture of us today. This would be one of the 86,337 pictures drawn from the teacher asking “Please draw a picture of your family” before he graduates from high school. Surprised at his choice of color. But thank goodness that they no longer call the pale pinkish color “Skin”. That’s probably why he decided to go with a color that was most likely the closest to human complexion in the meagerly selection of crayons he has left – it is after all towards the end of the school year. I am surprised that we are not blue in the picture…

When they were younger, I pondered whether to be absolutely PC-crazy and shell out for a box of those fancy “People Colors” crayons from Lakeshore Learning Stores. I eventually decided against it. What are they gonna do with those crayons? Take them next to the person they are drawing to match the color? Like at a cosmetic counter when you are buying foundations? Or like paint chips you brought home from Home Depot?

Children are amazingly observant and they are not afraid of asking questions. This is what I have learned from my kids.

I guess tis a sign that Multiculturalism has become a big selling point when Crayola started selling something called “Multicultural Crayons”. Kudos to them for trying. Something is a bit off however … I cannot help but wonder at the colors.

Orange orange and red red? I think I will stick with yellow any time.

Note to Self: Buy ice cream for kid tomorrow. I look thin in the picture.

My Mother’s Day Phobia

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It is the Wednesday after Mother’s Day and therefore I figure it is safe to reflect upon the impact of Mother’s Day on me personally, without the risk of being accused as mean-spirited, bitter, spoiled, jaded, or worse, unfit-to-be-a-mother…

 

 

Although I have always been moved by the origin of Mother’s Day, an internationally recognized and celebrated holiday nonetheless (unlike Father’s Day…), I really do hate Mother’s Day, if I may be allowed to be facetious. For myself.

 

I do sincerely celebrate Mother’s Day for all the mothers out there who so rightfully deserve well wishes on their special day. The Collective Mother. The concept of motherhood.

 

I appreciate the opportunity to wish all the mothers happiness, a day of relaxation, of recognition. I appreciate the fact that my mother-in-law is probably one of the best mothers-in-law out there and I am blessed in this regard. I appreciate the reminder that I owe my own mother thousands of apologies for all the pains I have caused her, and that maybe for once I can talk to her on the phone without hanging up in a hurry because someone in my house screams as if his leg is being sawed off, or in a huff because my mother says something that does not jive well with my pseudo-feminist sensibility…

 

“What are you going to do with the kids when you travel for business?”

“Hmmm, they have a father too?” Click.

 

I hate all the commercials that unfairly raise my expectations of what my husband and children would do to “honor me” on Mother’s Day. I hate my own passive aggressiveness:

 

“What do you want for Mother’s Day? What do you want to do for Mother’s Day?”

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

 

I hate my husband’s taking my reply literally after so many years of marriage. Come on, man, you know the passive aggressive bitch that I am. DO SOMETHING. Anything.

 

I hate despite all my jokes of “lowered expectations”, I cannot help but have that smidgen of hope, that maybe this year, something would be done. A surprise would be planned. The secret conversations. The furtive exchange of looks. The stifled laughter as they worked on a conspiracy. And I would pretend not to notice.

 

Like I said, I hate all those commercials that plant unrealistic expectations even when I try to be rational about it.

 

I once read that, statistically, more people committed suicide on their birthdays than any other day of the year. (Or did a college friend of mine tell me that? After he phoned to check on me, to make sure that I didn’t do anything stupid. I was full of angst in my youth. Hermann Hesse. My husband would not agree on Demian as the name for our firstborn. Lucky kid…)

 

The same agitation I feel on Mother’s Days. I wish I could just forget about it. DON’T PANIC.

The “What the __?!” epidemic

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I am no Miss Manners, let me just come out and say that. (Although writing Thankyou notes is one of the very few rules I am forcing my kids to follow). I have a potty mouth when the kids are not around, or at least, when I think they cannot hear me (which by the way often backfires… So yes, Bad Mommy. *Slap hand*)

We do say “What the…?!” a lot indeed when we are driving. Every time someone cuts in front of me, I mutter “What the?!” under my breath. So it is definitely my own fault then. Lately though I have been noticing the increasing popularity of kids saying, “WHAT THE?!” Even the very little ones. My own 6 year-old and I have overheard even younger ones mouthing their surprise, discontent, disappointment with this now ubiquitous all-purpose expression.

They say it without reservation. No hand “quotation marks” around the words when they shout it out. No whispering. It has become part of the conversation.

“Hey, kids, come see what I brought home for dessert?”

“WHAT THE?! Oh, thank you! I love it!”

“Why is the room such a mess? Didn’t I just ask you to clean it up?”

“WHAT THE?! I already did it but [the other one] messed it up again!”

“WAHHHHH!”

“WHAT THE?! oh, ha ha. You scared me!”

“WHAT THE?! Mom! My new DSi froze again!”

“What the?!” indeed.

Do the younger children know what usually comes after the THE in adult speech? I surely hope not. I was hoping that they think “WHAT THE?!” is the complete expression in itself. There is nothing that’s supposed to come after it. But then my 6 year-old started saying, “What the BEEP?!”

“What the?!” I thought. *Pull hair*

Thinking back, even Buzz Lightyear in his own first feature-length cartoon after Toy Story says “What the?!” once or twice – I remember that one because we had the VHS tape and watched it many many times. The boys were a bit young to pick up on that then. Now this expression appears just about in every cartoon not targeted towards the very young set. That is, NO, don’t worry, Telletubbies do not say this. In fact, they don’t really say much at all. Nor does SuperWhy, Dora, or Bob the Builder.

But I bet that if you turn on network TV on Saturday morning, also known as “Cartoon all morning so you can relax while your kids sit in front of the TV” Saturday morning, you will hear “WHAT THE?!” more than a few times.

At this juncture, I am ashamed to report, I don’t know how to react when I hear the kids say it since the cartoons that we allow them to watch (e.g. Skunk Fu) use this expression, therefore, they are sanctioned by FCC, ergo, we parents should be ok with it too.

Despite the above complaint about my losing control over the upbringing of my kids, I am no prude. I’ll prove it:

What the f*ck?!

p.s. Turns out the answer is once again, “It’s the economy, stupid!” According to MSNBC report in March 2009, “a foul economy is prompting more outbursts of foul language.” *Scratch head* I didn’t know my kids read our 401K Statements…