What caused time space discontinuum…
16 Replies
Category Archives: no manual for parenting
Raised by My Child
“All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself.” — Gore Vidal
This is going to make me sound like an awful mother, ok, more than usual.
I know many of you who are kind enough to read my blog on a regular basis adore my precocious youngest child. But sometimes, sometimes, I wish my child would say only “age-appropriate” things and engage me in “age appropriate” conversations. Sometimes I wish he were not such a little old man.
I am kind of tired of having to respond to a comment out of nowhere such as, “I don’t know how a Christian can ever support death penalty!” Seriously? Where did he get that?
Or, “I finally figured out how Batman became so rich. When his parents died, they left him with the inheritance.” Yes, he’s been quite fascinated by the concept of inheritance lately. I am trying to NOT worry about it.
Or when he flipped the channel and decided that a documentary on Freedom Riders was the most interesting thing on TV and he wanted to watch the whole thing. It’s exhausting because to answer his questions oftentimes requires supplemental materials and contextual information that are beyond his comprehension.
On these days I am worried that I am not qualified to be his mother.
I also don’t need a critic that follows me around like Jiminy Cricket, questioning everything that I do or say.
The other day he followed me around the house. “You know. This house is falling apart. We have ants everywhere,” he sighed.
First of all, the house is not falling apart. It was built in 2000 and we are the original owners. The ants? The ants are in our house because he leaves a trail of crumbs no matter how many times I have asked him to please be careful since he freaks out about the ants.
He sighed again. “I think it is going to be very hard when it comes time to sell this house.”
“It is not going to be hard to sell this house. Please don’t say things like this.” I was getting rather annoyed because unfortunately, I have absolutely no patience for Debbie Downers, Pessimists and Worrywarts.
“Ok. I just want to let you know that when you die, and I inherit this house, I am going to sell it.”
“Well, I will make sure you don’t inherit this house then.”
“I am just letting you know, that when you die, IF I get the house, I am going to sell it.”
That’s when I started having this huge headache between my eyes. And it’s still there.
I don’t need someone to constantly remind me how old I am.
“Mom, you are 40 years old. Do you think you should behave that way?”
“You are a middle-aged woman, please don’t jump up and down.”
And he says these things not because he’s embarrassed, but because he has labeled me as such and therefore I should behave in such and such way to conform to that label.
It’s like I am living with the Puritans.
“Are you my dad? You are worse than my dad.”
Like I said in the beginning, I am an awful mother.
It was funny the first time he sprinkled Holy Water on me. It was a lot less funny when I overheard him saying “Yeah, and if your mom does not believe in god, it is very hard when you want to be a good Christian.” To nobody in particular. Again, out of nowhere.
Head. Desk.
It’s like living with your own critic, your very own Simon Cowell who has no filters when it comes to the dissemination of truth.
Yup. My son. The truth seeker.
I know I am the adult here but oh boy does the truth hurt especially when it is pointed out to your face by someone who’s supposed to be looking up to you.
“Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they are going to catch you in next.” — Henry Ward Beecher
Gotcha
The trouble with trying to raise conscientious kids is that I am absolutely not perfect. As a matter of fact, on some days, in some moments, I am absolutely the worst. And my kids would not hesitate to call me out on it. In fact, I believe they cannot wait to catch me with my foot in my mouth. When that happens, I feel guilty and feel like a fraud. Being exposed as a fraud and a hypocrite, to me, is a worse feeling than being caught doing something bad.
And yet I cannot seem to change. Yes, they do keep me on my toes, but I slip up, probably more often than I care to admit to myself.
Number One Son (NOS) told me about his friend’s birthday party, “Oh, and he said that in addition to bringing a gift, we should also bring something for the food pantry.”
“Wow. That is very nice.”
But of course the Miss Manners inside me could not keep her mouth shut.
“But it would’ve been even better if he had said instead of a gift, we should just bring a donation for the food pantry.”
“And what? You know everybody is going to bring a donation AND a gift anyway… You have all these weird subtle rules that you don’t want to tell people but you expect them to just know. Like your passive aggressiveness, silent treatment, death stare, your ways of being polite without bringing attention to it. But if people don’t follow these rules, you judge them on it. You are so judgmental mom!”
I admit: I am the Queen of Passive Aggressiveness. Oftentimes it comes out because I have been taught to never ask for things or for help. Someone else has to offer it to you on their own. But when someone really does offer you something, you have to refuse it at first. It looks bad if you accept the offer right away.
I pointed out to my kids how their cousins in Taiwan always respond with “No, thank you” when they are in someone else’s house and the hostess asks whether they’d like drink or food.
“They are being polite by saying no at first in case the person that did the asking had only done it out of politeness in the first place.”
“WHAT?!” The boys looked at me like I was insane.
I know. After putting these unwritten rules into actual words, it sounded insane to me too. And stupid. But somehow we grew up and we learned without ever having the rules spelled out, and after so many years, it’s still like a pre-programmed automatic switch inside me.
Anyway, after NOS so succinctly summed up the essences of me, there was nothing else for me to do but to mull over this. “Hey, can you tell me the things you said about me just now? I need to go blog about it.” “Ha ha ha. Good one, mom.” But he gave me the laundry list again anyway, not without the nervous side glances to make sure I was not secretly boiling inside. I vowed to watch out for my passive aggressive behavior. I want to be a better parent. At least a parent that does not drive my children to years worth of therapies.
Five minutes later, NOS asked me to do something for him (one of those 100+ random things that your kids ask you to do by yelling, “MOM—–“)
I yelled back upstairs, “I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU. I AM PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE REMEMBER?!”
DOH!
From one of my favorite sites, PassiveAggressiveNotes.com
The Ice Cream Index
Earlier today I learned of these numbers today from Mature Landscaping:
Salary of retired US Presidents ……………$180,000 FOR LIFE
Salary of House/Senate ……………………..$174,00
Salary of Speaker of the House …………….$223,500 FOR LIFE
Salary of Majority/Minority Leaders …… $193,400 FOR LIFE
Average Salary of a teacher ……………….. $40,065
Average Salary of Soldier DEPLOYED IN AFGHANISTAN $38,000
I had been feeling unsettled by a gnawing sense of guilt and shame ever since. That’s probably why when we caught a glimpse of the evening news, I suddenly blurted out,
Did you know how much a soldier that is currently fighting in the war is paid? A year? $38,000. That’s how much!
The boys immediately were feeling just as outraged. “That’s not a lot of money right?” The Teenager got a bit emotional. “And they are risking their lives over there!”
8-year-old Mr. Monk got up on the coffee table and pontificated as he’s wont to.
You know what? What we need is for the economy to get better!
I swear I have no idea where he got this (or any others). We seldom watch TV, let alone news. I wonder whether this has anything to do with his endless viewing of The Simpsons. In fact, he watches The Simpsons so much he’s able to quote some of the episodes the way The Husband is able to quote The Princess Bride.
You know how you can tell the economy is getting lower?
(He is, after all, only 8 years old…)
The free ice cream at ______ Burgers is now so small that you only get the bottom part. It used to be as big as the Dairy Queen’s!
Hold the thought while I contact The Economist about the Ice Cream Index idea.
The Lesser of Two Evils
Yet another interesting conversation with my 8-year-old that makes me worry…
[In the car]
Mr. Monk: Mom?
Me [Distracted by This American Life on NPR]: Huh?
Mr. Monk: What’s the drug that starts with an M?
Me [Paying attention now]: Eh… You mean Methamphetamine? [Crap! How did he know about Meth?!]
Mr. Monk: You know what I think? [He IS the King of Non Sequitur] I think that the best way to get rid of an addiction is to have another one.
Me [Trying hard not to freak out. Deep breath]: Eh… Where did you hear that? Who told you that?
Mr. Monk: Nobody. I came up with this theory on my own. Let’s say you want to quit smoking, won’t the best way to quit smoking is to become addicted to some other drugs?
Me: Ok. It does not work that way, honey. Addictions don’t work like that. You are going to end up addicted to BOTH cigarettes and whatever drugs, and that would be really really really bad.
Mr. Monk: Oh. But wouldn’t it be better if you are addicted to cigarettes if you have to choose?
Me: Ok. Let’s say some crazy god comes down from heaven and says to you, “Thou shall choose an addiction!” Then yes, hypothetically speaking, you should choose cigarettes. Or if someone sticks a gun to your head and make you choose. Then yes, go for the cigarettes.
Mr. Monk: Yeah. Because cigarettes will cut your life short but drugs will ruin your life completely.
Me [Kind of relieved]: Well, I sure hope you never get yourself into a crazy situation where you are forced to choose! Ha ha.
Mr. Monk: Then why do they have Marijuana added gum at Walgreens for helping people quit smoking?
Me [So this is where the FIRST question came from. M is for marijuana. I should feel better about this. But… WILL THIS NEVER END?! And what was the last time we were at Walgreens? Wasn’t it a week ago?!]: What? WHAT?! Oh I am pretty sure you saw it wrong. First of all, it is illegal to sell marijuana. [Yes yes, I omitted the whole exception for medicinal use. But I think I deserved a pass here since I was trying hard not to crash the car!] I don’t think Walgreens would sell some gum with marijuana in it. You must have read the label wrong.
Mr. Monk: Yeah, you are probably right.
[Silence]
Mr. Monk: Mom?
Me [Holding my breath]: Y–E–S?
Mr. Monk: What does CVS stand for?
My son. Champion Player of Free Association.
If I could tell you one thing about parenting
My 8-year-old, known as Mr. Monk here, is singing a song that he improvises right now. In the middle of the Kaleidoscopic of lyrics, I heard,
Thank you for being our mother.
I chuckled. “I honestly do not know how to take that.”
“Well, don’t take it as an insult. I am not being sarcastic.”
“Well, thank you.” I said while remembering what I did to deserve this: Did not get home until 8:30 because I was trapped on the train due to a wind advisory while the kids stayed home by themselves; Fed him leftover chicken from the rotisserie chicken I bought on Sunday but forgot to take it out from the fridge; Gave him half-melted ice cream which I did not remember until an hour after I got home from the grocery store.
This goes to show that whatever you do, keeping the expectations low is going to make parenting a lot easier.
A Reason as Good as Any
Conversations that happened yesterday…
(Proving that thank goodness I work fulltime so I don’t spend too much time talking to my kids…)
[On the way to lunch]
13-year-old: My friend is jealous. He thinks we have the coolest license plate ever! [Be rest assured: It is dorky.]
8-year-old: Oh, mom, we should keep this car forever so we can keep our license plate.
13-year-old: Dummy. We can keep our license plate even when we have a new car.
Me: Actually they have made the rule so that people can pass down their license plates to their kids.
8-year-old: You mean when you die, we can have the license plate?! Cool!
Me (failing to be concerned by his excitement): Actually you two will probably fight over it. We need to get another cool license plate.
[A lengthy discussion ensued regarding what other cool (and equally dorky) license plate we could get]
[At the restaurant]
Me: Ugh. I forgot my ring… Speaking of my ring. I need to update my will. Now that I have lost both my engagement ring and my wedding ring, I no longer have anything to pass down to you.
13-year-old: Nice job, mom!
8-year-old: You mean you have written down what we are getting when you die? When you die, do we get everything?
Me: Technically, no. When a person dies, and if they’re married, their spouse would get everything. That’s how most people set up their wills. Oh, remember that Mr. Monk episode? (Yeah, we are polite to fictional TV characters) Remember the guy had to pretend that his father died after his stepmother? They both already had kids when they got married. The husband left his son everything; the wife left his daughters everything. The man actually died before his wife, so the son would have lost everything. That’s why he went through the trouble to make sure that people think his stepmother died after before his dad.
[Pause while the boys digested the twisted plot line]
8-year-old: Can you do me a favor? Can you and dad never get a divorce so this thing won’t get so complicated?
Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.
Because of my racial/ethnic/cultural/educational make-up, I do not watch what I tell my children: I tend to over-explain everything and over-analyze everything for them. I also like to point out instances of racial/cultural prejudices and stereotypes disregarding whether they may be too young for such identity politics theory talks. Sometimes I feel sorry for them ’cause I have ruined quite a few “plain, good old fun” movies and shows for them.
A downside of such vigilance (or as the mainstream society likes to label it, Paranoia, or as Fox and Friends like to call it, Rampant political correctness that’s ruining this country’s cultural identity and core) on my part is that once in a while I would slip and my kids get to call me out on it.
Then they pile it on thick.
While we were discussing my 13 year old’s birthday party earlier this year, he mentioned that he really would like to go to the penny arcade before the sleepover at our house. Naturally, I tried to talk him out of it.
“Are you sure your friends will like the penny arcade?”
“Duh. It’s the arcade, mom. Of course they’ll like it!”
“How about the twins? They don’t seem to be the kind of kids that would be interested in going to the arcade.” Honestly, I said that based on my observations of how their parents care really about academic performances and how studious these two kids are.
“Mom, don’t be such a racist! Just because they are Indian, you just assume that they like to study all day long and they don’t like to do anything fun?!”
My bad.
On our way home from the blockbuster movie Thor, The Husband asked Mr. Monk, our 8-year-old, who he would like to be if he had to choose: “Thor or his brother Loki?”
“What kind of question is that? Why did you ask him that? Who would have chosen Loki? Of course everybody wants to be Thor!” I interjected because of the whole sibling rivalry thing and I did not want Mr. Monk, sensitive that he is, to dwell on the fact that the younger brother Loki is less than ideal in the movie. (Let me just put it this way so I won’t ruin the movie for you…)
Beside, from a pure aesthetic point of view…
From the backseat a voice immediately piped up, “Oh sure, everybody wants to be Thor. Everybody wants to be the blond-haired, blue-eyed guy.”
Mind you, The Husband is of Scandinavian descent and sports blond hair and blue eyes. (Alas, there ends the similarities between him and Chris Hemsworth… I just need to keep on telling myself that I do not like hairy men…)
“Oh yeah, the blond-haired blue-eyed people are the good guys. And the dark-haired guy nobody likes him.” My oldest continued. “Yeah, let’s just kill the brown-haired guy and the dark-haired people. This is a Hitler movie! A Hitler movie!”
(I have been sitting here for 15 minutes, trying to come up with a tidy ending for this post. I don’t know how to end this post. So I am just going to end it abruptly and go to bed considering how it is 4:43 am…)
Thirteen
My firstborn is thirteen today.
It’s official: I now have a bona fide teenager on my hand.
I am still wavering about whether I should have made this birthday into a big deal or not. I hope he was not expecting a big to-do. I hope he was not expecting a PlayStation 3 this morning as he opened the box containing a bunch of Wii accessories. They are all in black. That should count for something. If he’s disappointed, he did not show. This kid, No. 1 Son, is turning out to be a surprisingly thoughtful young man, despite his natural tendency to be a sarcastic smart aleck. (Well, I wonder where he got that? And son, if you are reading this one day, notice that I did not call you “smartass” on this post dedicated to you on your birthday)
He has shown great capacity for kindness and empathy (even though he could have shown more of this to his own younger brother…)
He has shown great potential for wisdom (despite the day-to-day harebrained ideas and actions).
He’s given me hope that he will turn out to be a-ok when he declared in the first week of being a 7th grader, “I’ve decided to not worry about being cool any more.” THIS and many other small moments were what prevented me from Homer-Simpson-choking him “You Little!…” during the more trying and frustrating hours.
To be honest with you? I am freaking out. I have been at the state of perpetual freaking out ever since I became a mother so nothing new here really. My husband knew me so well that in 2003, when No.1 son was only 5 years old, he flat out told me to skip the movie “Thirteen”, “You are going to freak out even more if you watch that movie.”
My freaking-out state reached a crisis yesterday when I received this SMS from No. 1 son:
By the time I got home from work, he’s already ready to forgive me, well, kind of, because I could not stop laughing even as I was apologizing to him, mind you, with the utmost sincerity.
So what did I do in the wee hours when my oldest was turning into a teenager during his sleep? I made someecards. What else?
Mass at 5
Warning: According to my Blog Advisory System, this post is rated RED for The Touchiest of All Touchy Subjects. I wrote it last week but did not have the heart to publish it because I was worried about losing readership. In the end though, I have got to do what feels right by me and I apologize if when you get to the end you are like, WTF? I did not sign up for this!
My 8-year-old, Mr. Monk, cried during his Religious Class last Saturday because he wanted to attend Mass and his parents, we, have not managed to take him on a regular basis.
Mr. Monk, unlike his elder brother, is prone to taking things 100% and to the extreme. He takes everything that people say in, personally and seriously. He obeys authority figures (his parents not included, alas) with a fervor: whatever they say, you have to follow. He had already come home crying before that because the priest had told them, “Your parents promised to bring you up Catholic and they have to bring you to Mass every week.” Because that’s not how we operate in this household, he has been really troubled. The other shoe has dropped. This twice-a-year-Catholic thing is not going to work for him.
He really wants to BELIEVE, and there is no compromise. He seems to have a hard time understanding “grey areas”. To be 100% honest with myself, I’m worried. Now that Mr. Monk is convinced this is the right way (because OTHERWISE why would we, his parents, send him to RE every Saturday morning?!), he perceives my being a non-Christian as an anomaly. He brings up my being non-Christian more often than I am comfortable with since ideally, I would have liked it to be a non-issue, the way it has been with his older brother.
I do not agree with everything the Catholic Church has to teach and I am not sure about the whole “Immaculate Conception” thing (and I will simply leave it here). Out of respect for my spouse, I do not discuss Jesus with our kids. The old testament part, however, I have no problem discussing it with them, myself being an English Lit major in my youth and all.
I wish, with all due respect to my marriage, that I had given more thoughts to this whole Interfaith thing before I said yes. I did not expect it to be so complicated since I am agnostic; I had expected it to be conflict-free since, heck, I believe in every god, deity, fairy, spirit there is. Growing up in a Chinese society, I was immersed subtly and not so subtly in Buddhist and Taoist teachings and beliefs. The concept of Karma has been driven into my subconsciousness since day one. More importantly, there is no judgement passed. No concept of Sin. No concept of Grace. No threats of going to hell for non-believers.
Back to the story about last Saturday… After RE, the Catechist, Mrs. G (G being curiously a common German Jewish surname) told me, “I could tell that he was trying to be brave, but he was crying and said that he didn’t go to Mass… but he wanted to…” Because in my previous email communications with Mrs. G I had told her how much I appreciate her openness and how she made me want to bring the kids to Mass even if I have to do it by myself (since my husband travels a lot), she gently pointed out, “This is great and just gives you more incentive to bring him to Mass!”
We ended up talking about Interfaith families and how I didn’t realize it’s going to be more complicated than I have expected. I stopped short of telling her I am uncomfortable with the Church because of the whole anti-gay, anti-abortion stance. I simply asked her, “The church. This church. The sermons are not too ‘radical’ right?” She got what I was trying to ask, and she wrote me an email:
I’m obsessing about our conversation (I do that sometimes!)… God makes everyone perfect in His eyes. I can only tell you that the Catholic Church does not teach that they are damned or bad. They see all people as sinners in need of God’s forgivenss, so really we are all in the same boat… Mass is not a time where anyone delves into the “tough” topics like, homosexuality, divorce, politics, etc. It is a time for worship and praise of God. It is a time to come together as a group of people from all different backgrounds, circumstances, and “sin” status (Ha!). There will be no finger pointing. No one will look at you and say, “Clearly, she doesn’t know what the heck’s going on.” You don’t have to pretend to, so don’t worry! Your boys will help out. They’re wonderful people because YOU care so much about their development. Religious or not, you are bringing them up in the right moral way. You are sharing and showing the love that God has for each and every one of us… yes, you too! God loves agnostics too!
I fell in love with Mrs. G right then and there, despite her being a devout Catholic, and I decided to take the kids to the Mass at 5 o’clock that day.
THIS I could deal with, I thought to myself.
If all Christians were open to a calm discussion with open stance the way Mrs. G is, I could stop worrying about this whole Interfaith thing. Maybe they are. Maybe it is not as complicated as I thought. Maybe it is just me.
Unfortunately for me and for my sanity… at the end of the Liturgy, the second Intercession offered by the Deacon was “Let’s pray that the anti-abortion law will be upheld, they are fighting for it in D.C. right now, that we will continue to uphold the sanctity of life.”
I was completely caught off guard and could not believe my ears. Did he really say the “A” word when there were so many children present? I am not the sheltering kind of parents but I certainly do not wish to have to explain to my young children what abortion is. I was also utterly confused because of the “anti-abortion law” that he mentioned. As far as I know, Roe vs. Wade still stands. Did I miss something? Was I caught in some twilight zone?
When I went home, I realized I was an idiot because that day, January 22, marked the 38th anniversary of the Supreme Court’s Roe vs. Wade decision, and two days before that John Boehner introduced the “No Taxpayer Funding for Abortion Act” that would codify the Hyde Amendment by permanently prohibiting taxpayer funding of abortion across all federal programs.
And yes, I believe, this is the touchiest of all touchy subjects that will convince many Christians to vote against Democrats no matter who is running for Prez on the GOP ticket in 2012. This country’s future is going to be fought over the right to our wombs. Imagine that.
.
.
I am so friggin' confused myself!
.
I made this Venn Diagram for a post more than a year ago and, I have to admit, I am still as confused as ever. Back to Square One. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.