Category Archives: no manual for parenting

Parenthood makes me feel dumb

It is a cliche that children do not come with manuals. No education prepares one for parenthood. Sometimes I wonder whether a Jeopardy champion would make a better parent since they seem to be better equipped with answering completely random questions.

The series of questions and free associations my 6 year-old child fires from the back of the car often make me grip the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white, because they are not the usual questions of “Mom, why is the sky blue?” Nooo.

“When was [his daycare] built?”
“I don’t know honey.”
“The president of [his daycare] would know right?”
“I don’t think so since there are hundreds of them.”
“When was our house built?”
“2000”
“See you know the answer. So how come the president of [his daycare] does not know when my school is built?”

“Who is the most powerful? The governor of [our local village]? The governor of Chicago? Or the Governor of Illinois?”
“Well, I would say the Governor of the State of Illinois. But you know they are responsible for different things.”
“Well, who is the most power? [The above list of people]? Or the governor of the United States?”
“You mean the President? I would say the President.”
“But you said that he works for us. So how come he’s the most powerful?”

“Mom, when do you want your Mother’s Day party to be?”
“Hmmm. I was hoping that I could just relax. I don’t really feel like a party since I don’t want to clean up afterwards.”
“Hmm, you should be like Obama’s wife.”
“What?”
“Remember how she went to ten parties* and she didn’t even complain? You should be more like her.”

* My guess is that he is referring to the number of Inaugration balls the first couple attended

Can’t wait to grow up and I worry so.

People tell you that every one of your children is going to be different. They don’t tell you HOW MUCH different your kids can be from one another. They came from the same gene pools, the same womb, grew up in the same household, and it amazes me how my 6-year-old boy has a much older soul than his older brother.

I sometimes wonder whether it is true that the questions asked by my youngest child have never been asked by my first-born, or perhaps I simply forgot. I am often caught off guard by my youngest’s questions, especially those stemmed from acute, and sometimes elliptical, observations of people around us and life itself.

Earlier today he asked, “Mom, what does illegal mean?” “Hmm, it means against the law. Like it is against the law to steal.”

“On my birthday, when it is legal for me to drink, I am going to drink a beer.”

I laughed. “You do that.”

Things that you should watch out when they were young…

My 6 year-old has been quite busy with our Xerox machine lately. I
didn’t really pay attention to what he was doing, arts and crafts,
innocent child’s play, right?

This morning, amidst the pile of strewn paper on the floor of my study, I picked
up the two pieces of Xeroxed “Honor Roll” award that his older brother
had gotten. I burst out laughing: So that’s what he’s been doing!

I looked around some more and found “forged” Monopoly money as well.

Do I have a master forger in the making on my hand?

“Man boobs”, or, To raise boys you need great sense of humor…

I was finally going to go to bed but found in the dark something on my pillow. I could tell that they are water-filled balloons since the boys were playing with balloons in the bathtub earlier… I also felt a note under my pillow so I turned the light on again to read it. Imagine my surprise and mixed reactions when I saw the “balloons” in this fashion…

.

What? These are water-filled balloons. Filthy mind!

.

And the note as written by my 11yo says:

It was 6 yo’s idea to put them together like this and call them “man boobs”. He in no way liked this but promised to do something so only 20% his fault.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I will sleep for 3 hours first then decide.

Word Whammer is fun for mommy too!

Actually, my 11 year-old did this, though he denied it. I was laughing so hard when I noticed this I couldn’t properly reprimand him. Who knows how long the word has been up on the refrigerator.

SO, this is how you curse *properly* with Word Whammer…

Posted via email from The Absence of Alternatives

Life seen thru a Kinder: Subway is now a form of measurement

Somebody should give the gal or guy who is in charge of Subway’s “5 Dollar Foot Long” marketing campaign a raise. Oh, whatever. They are probably making a ton anyway. I don’t worry about their financial health really. But when you see a genius move done by a corporation, that seems to be the right thing to say, even though the people may already be up to their ears in stock options.

Here is what my Kindergartener said last night:

MOM! I am 48 inches tall. I am FOUR SUBWAY FOOTLONG!

Report from the burbs: Survived sleepover, mom vowed to never say yes again, until next time.

The boys stayed up until who knows when. I slipped into oblivion at 2 am. They were playing “Truth or Dare” but soon skipped “Truth” completely and went straight to “Dare”. At 11 years of age, their “Dares” were, eh, quite lame. Not that I am complaining though. Ask me again 2 years from now, I am sure I would be guarding his bedroom door with a taser…

Posted via email from The Absence of Alternatives

“Coffee makes grown-ups look better in the morning”

My 6-year-old proclaimed all of the sudden last night when he watched me taking off my face (make-up). I burst out laughing and asked him to elaborate.

“You look funky in the morning when you don’t have your coffee. Then when you come home from work, you look pretty. And then you look funky again when it is bedtime. You and daddy just look better after you have your coffee in the morning.”

Moments like this make me appreciate being a mother.

This morning when he woke me up though, he said, “You should go and have some coffee now. You look funky.” I dared not ask him what he meant by funk-ee…

Ever woner the worst question your child could ever ask you?

I found out tonight. I actually have never even pondered this. But when I heard it from my 6-year-old today, I knew, in my heart, this has got to be the worst question a child could ever ever ask of you, the parent.

Not “Am I going to die?”

Not “What happened to (insert: any family member that just passed away)?”

Not “Where do babies come from?”

Not “What is SEX?”

Not “Are you and daddy having a divorce?”

Not even “Did you and daddy plan to have me?”

Or “How do you use a condom?”

The worst question, if your child asked you the same, your heart would drop like an anvil all the way to your stomach (pardon me for the cliche but I never say I am a writer), and you would have the sick feeling in your stomach, and you would know, with no uncertainty, that somewhere, somehow, you must have screwed up big time. You would wish that you had not yelled at him, had not snapped at him, had not taken your frustration at your own situation (oh, foolish foolish immature girl’s dream that you would grow up to be somebody and not “just a mom”) out at him. You would wish that you were more patient, had more time to spare, were more like “other kids’ moms”, were more content. You would wish that you were happy enough just being, well, you.

My child asked me, quietly, tonight,

Mom, do you hate me?

Towards the discussion of race with a 6 year-old…

Every day is a trial and error in my effort to bring my kids up the “right” way…

Here is an incident happened last month which I have been chewing over and over:

My 6 year-old came home excited one day to tell me all about what he had learned at school about MLK, about Rosa Parks, about the civil rights movement, and about what it was like before for people of color. (Except, of course, he did not use the ultra PC term, “People of Color”…)

“Do you know that the white people had their own sinks, and they wouldn’t even let the colored people use them? And do you know that the white people get to sit in the front of the bus, and the colored people have to go sit in the back. And guess who gets to sit down if there are no seats left? The white people!”

On one hand, I was glad that he learned so much and seemed to be grasping the concept/idea. On the other hand, I winced every time he used the term “colored people”. I sat him down and gently asked him where he’d learned that term, he said from
a book he read at school. My guess was that the book describes the situations in the past, esp. in the South, and there were signs on which “Colored people only” and “Whites only” were shown. But as a Kindergartner, my son did not understand that the term is no longer in use. Political correctness is not factored into his choice of vocabulary yet.

Although he is probably too young to understand the concept of Political Correctness, I did try. I explained to him that we no longer use that term to refer to people with tanned skin, and that now we use the term “people of color”. For example, mommy is a woman of color. He looked at me, puzzled. I am not sure how much he understood.

I wrote the teacher a long letter and here is her response:

“We read the book last week. The book we read showed the signs for ‘Colored Only’ above water fountains and bathroom doors, as well as referring to those terms in the story. There was quite a discussion about unfair laws. We talked about everyone having color in their skin. People are not white or black – there are different tones of color. The phrase you used, ‘people of color’ was introduced. We also used, ‘African-Americans’ as a term as well.

I try to keep the concepts simple and easy to understand because the terms are so abstract. The main goal is to teach how we are all alike and all different as well as respect.”

By god this whole thing is complicated since NAACP has “Colored People” in its full name: National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. It is confusing sometimes even for adults, let alone Kindergartners.

I was caught off guard again when my boys heard on NPR the term “Black women”, when a lot of discussions happened around Michelle Obama’s role as the first Black First Lady, and what it means for Black women, and also, especially, young Black women that are just forming a sense of themselves. My 6 yo asked, “What do they mean by Black?” Probably the first time he heard the term so loud and clear, and it registered in his head that it means more than just a color but something else.

So we started a discussion on “African American” = “Black”, but you want to be careful when you use the term Black because you need to use it appropriately otherwise people may be offended or hurt. And the most appropriate term is probably “African American”.

“Why do they call themselves Blacks? Their skin is not black, just tanned. Like your skin is tanned, just different. But Auntie R’s dad (who is Asian Indian) is not Black even though he has dark skin too?”

(I mused, inside my head, about the usage of the term “Blacks” to refer to any non-white people, including the large population of Asian Indians and their UK-born descendants in the U.K. That would have made my duty as a parent a lot easier! But I refrained myself… Maybe some other time…)

From there, we got into a discussion on why President Obama is African American and NOT African even though his father was from Kenya. And the conversation quickly turned (or deteriorated) into who is American and who is not… And the question inevitably came up: “So Samantha next door is Korean and not American?” “No, no, no! She is American just like you guys. It is just that her grandparents came from Korea and that they still honor some Korean customs and traditions… If you want to label her, she would be Korean American. But you know, it does not matter what kind of American you are, and you shouldn’t label people anyway. It does not matter: you are all Americans!”

So, yeah, I was mentally kicking myself for singing to the tune of “We are the World”… and secretly praying, “Gosh. Please please don’t ask me what being an American mean… Not on this car ride… I need to write a thesis just to answer that question!”