Tag Archives: my youngest

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?

 

“I am swamped” sayth Prince Humperdinck. He said it, not me.

I know it is kind of lame to keep on writing posts about how I am totally swamped and apologizing for MIA. I am being a selfish blogger at this moment: all taking and no giving back. I am compelled to write this post because I want to use this quote:

“I’ve got my country’s five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m swamped.”

Prince Humperdinck, as quoted by William @ Poop and Boogies

 

It’s ok though because I have told William that Imma gonna steal this quote. Because it is way cooler than putting up this picture on my homepage.

 

And now I am going to encourage all of your who are also under the water, barely hanging on to your multitasking sanity to steal this quote and post it on your blog.

 

We have a gorgeous day here in Chicago. In the 80s. I took a water taxi this morning to the new office.

I was on a friggin’ boat!

This song really was what I was humming the whole time I was on the water taxi boat.

(Note to self: Do NOT show this to your kids. Too late I guess. Now let’s hope they heed your warning of not repeating the bad words…)

 

Ok. I will come 100% clean. I am posting (instead of writing a check to IRS for the fines associated with our 2009 filing) because I want to pimp this video below…

We are all in this

**The following is a repost from Martin Luther King Day, 2010**

Mr. Monk, my 7-year-going-on-50-old child, asked me last Friday at dinner,

“Mom, is it true that you would not be here if Martin Luther King did not give THAT speech?”

I was caught by surprise, I’ll be completely honest. Although I understand the impact Dr. King’s speech has had on the American history, culture and psyche, it has never occurred to me that what Dr. King said from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on August 23, 1963 would have material effect on my personal fate. After all, I was not even born then in 1963. What’s more, I was born in Taipei and grew up there and did not make my way to the U.S. until 1993.

I looked at my husband, and although he looked as puzzled as I was, he did give me the “a-ha” look that confirmed what was racing through my mind. Mr. Monk was right.

The Chinese Exclusion Act, a federal law enacted in 1882, was not repealed until 1943 (China was, after all, an ally during WWII…) when Chinese already residing in the U.S. were permitted to become naturalized citizens. However, it was not until the Immigration Act in 1965 when the federal law in the U.S. was relaxed enough to allow large number of immigrants, especially from the non-European parts of the world (contrary to the belief by the politicians at that time, I am sorry to point this out), to enter the country legally. The Civil Rights Movement led by Dr. King in the 1960s opened the eyes of many Americans to the rampant racism permeating the country and therefore made the passage of the Immigration Act even thinkable.

“You are right. It is possible that Mommy would not have been allowed to enter this country if the Civil Rights Movement had never happened.”

As I looked at Mr. Monk, his beautiful face, wondering what was inside that little head of his, it came to me: And there was the laws against interracial marriages!

Anti-miscegenation laws were not eradicated completely from the U.S. until 1967. As a matter of fact, as recently as in October 2009, a Justice of the Peace in Louisiana refused to officiate the civil wedding of an interracial couple, citing his concern for the wellbeing of the interracial offspring produced from such a union. (No, I am not making this shit up… I wish I were. Believe me.)

I added, “You are right. Without Dr. King, it is possible that daddy and mommy were not even allowed to get married.”

“And that means I would not even be here!” Mr. Monk said with amazement, looking pleased and proud that his existence on earth was made possible because Dr. Martin Luther King gave that speech, 47 years ago.

And he was right.

Let Them Eat Cake

The night before Thanksgiving my then 7-year-old boy, Mr. Monk, found it difficult to fall asleep because he was giddy with excitement: grandparents and uncle were flying to celebrate the holiday with us, and his birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year.

“Mom, you know why I love Thanksgiving?”

“Why?” I asked, knowing he was excited about his birthday and the presents.

“Because I can ask you to cook and you wouldn’t ask, ‘So are you going to eat it?’ And you wouldn’t be too busy to cook.”

Yeah, I am Mother of the Year.

Because of his temperament, Mr. Monk has never really looked forward to a big birthday party at one of those dreadful places with crappy rides, screaming ruffians and giant horrid animals (Think: Chuck E Cheese). Since his birthday is always in the Thanksgiving week, he is content, and possibly happier, to simply celebrate it with the grandparents.

This year though I feared that he might have been shortchanged. On the morning of his birthday, after I wished him a Happy Birthday with lots of kisses and hugs, I started dishing out assignment for him to help get the house ready for our guests from out of town.

“I know it’s your birthday, but Thanksgiving takes precedence today!”

Mother Of The Year.

To make it up for him, I let him help me prepare the dishes.

The morning after Thanksgiving, I was beat. I slept till 10:30 am when Mr. Monk came to wake me up.

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Wake up. WAKE UP!”

“GO AWAY!”

It took me another half an hour to remember that it was supposed to be his “make-up birthday” day.

Mother. Of. The. Year.

I sort of made it up for him by letting him help crack the eight eggs required for the recipe, zest the lemons, squeeze lemons with the citrus press, bake his own birthday cake, make the frosting, and frost the cake.

This was our first try at making a “fancy” cake (i.e. NOT cupcakes) from scratch complete with homemade frosting: When I saw Velva’s Luscious Lemon Cake on her blog Tomatoes on the Vine, I knew I had to make this for Mr. Monk because

1) he’s been begging for a homemade birthday cake forever (Remember he somehow envisions me to be some sort of a June Cleaver without even knowing about June Cleaver)

2) he loves the lemon loaf at Starbucks (and yes it IS indeed kind of embarrassing how familiar he is with Starbucks)

The results?

The cake was a hit! (Thanks, Velva!)

Mr. Monk had loads of fun in the kitchen with mom and grandma.

And he LURVed the lemon frosting.

It was well worth it even though I burnt the hand mixer making it, with smoke coming out of it and all…

So.

Mother of the Year?

First Day of School – The Obligatory Post

Actually this year, the first day of school IS special:

My oldest will be going to junior high. THIS, is the first day of the rest of his life without his mama hovering over him…

Or at least that’s how it feels to ME. I am pretty sure from his perspective I am a pesky fly that won’t go away.

I could tell he was nervous because he woke up at 6:30 this morning without an alarm or me threatening to pour cold water on him. Well, that and the fact he said, “I am nervous.”

“I am nervous too, honey.” I said. “Ooops. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that, huh? Probably didn’t help…”

Tentatively I suggested that I drive him to the bus stop because of “the huge heavy bag of school supplies” (and not because I wanted to be there on his first day as a 7th grader). He startled me with a brilliant smile, “AWESOME!”

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You can never be sure when they want to be treated like an adult, and when, a child.

Trial and error.

Today, when I thought that he would want to look cool and not be seen with his mom, he asked, “Are you going to bring your camera?”

“I wanted to but I was not going to because I assume you will be mortified?”

“Nah. I don’t care…  Where is [younger brother]? Is he still asleep? I want him to say goodbye to me at the bus stop…”

Today is full of surprises. The two of them sometimes behave as if they were mortal enemies.

“Well, go wake him up then. Tell him that you are going to a different school from now on. That the two of you will never be in the same school again.”

When my oldest came downstairs again, I asked him whether his brother was going to the bus stop with us.

“Nah. He’s still asleep.”

“Oh. He didn’t want to wake up? What did you say to him?”

“Nah. I just said ‘I am going to junior high today’ and then I kissed him on his cheek.”

Today is indeed full of surprises.

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It is still possible that when he comes home from his first day in junior high this afternoon, I am blamed for ruining his life.

For taking pictures of him at the bus stop even though I tried to do it surreptitiously by hiding behind the neighbor’s big SUV.

For standing too close next to the neighbor who was chanting, “Junior High! Junior High!”

For laughing too loudly when she called out, “You guys are moving up in the world! Look, your bus has tinted windows!”

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For raising my hand and waving as the bus drove away. It’s a force of habit. I will try and remember to stop doing it.

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Two little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell down…

Now that his older brother is going to junior high, the quieter, less outgoing Mr. Monk will be for the first time by himself in the school. No more living under the shadows of his older brother. He will be known by his name, not a little brother, and definitely not “So and so’s brother”.

He looks all of a sudden so grown-up. His own person.

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This is so silly on my part since this is not the first “First Day of School” I have gone through. Yet I know many mothers are the same: We cannot help the tears coming out even as we laugh at ourselves.

When they turn around to wave goodbye as they step onto the bus…

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When you look at their anxious faces through the window…

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Something tugs at your heart.

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Nonchalant Parenting. It’s legit.

Many of the things that we do or don’t do can be legitimized if only we could find a proper name for it, in conjunction with a cool, catchy definition.

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Once you settle on a name, remember to capitalize it to make it into a Thing. Like so.

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To further reinforce the legitimacy of your parenting style, google and see whether you can find books written based on a similar premise. And of course there it is, out of the 16,562 books listed on Amazon.com under “Parenting (paperback)”.

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“The Idle Parent: Why Less Means More When Raising Kids” in the UK; curiously, "Why Laid-Back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids" in the US with a less inspiring cover...

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Voilà! You’ve got yourself a legitimate school of thoughts to follow (or continue to do or not do what you have been doing or not doing)…

As this article in The New York Times says, “[Y]ou can turn guilt on its head and call it a parenting philosophy.”

“The one constant over the past century has been parents’ determination to find the right answers when it comes to raising their children. In this latest chapter, we have replaced the experts who told us what a good parent worries about with experts who tell us that a good parent doesn’t worry so much. We may even see parents stop aiming to prove how perfect they are and start trying to prove how nonchalant they are.”

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A week before Father’s Day, I asked Mr. Monk to sign the card for my father-in-law. (Let’s for now park the burning question of WHY as soon as you entered into a committed, heterosexual relationship, all remembering and gift giving for miscellaneous dates and holidays became the woman’s job… Yes, let’s shelf it for now until we have some free time…)

“You should put lipstick on and put kisses all over the card to go with the big hug.” I said, without thinking. I was being witty.

“Can I? Oh, can I?” There were stars in his eyes. This kid has been dying to try on my makeup if it were not for the death threat issued by his father.

“Sure. Why not!” I grabbed the camera, thinking, “Honey, this is what happens when you are not around to sign your own father’s Father’s Day card!”

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The Joker

Image 1 of 3

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Teaching Kids Simple Words: Bees

So we have to worry about our kids learning about Bees now?!

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Here is a translation if you have trouble reading the handwriting…

The question was: If you were a bee, would you be a worker, a drone or a queen? Why?

My 7 year-old child’s answer: If I were a bee, I would be a worker because I get to collect pollen and nectar.

He could have stopped there. But of course, Noooooooooo.

He went on to explain: I do not want to be a drone because it is kind of disgusting in a way. You help her by helping her lay eggs. The end.

The kid’s right though. A drone’s life is something you do not want to wish upon your worst enemies. (Oh who am I kidding? I am the exact kind of person that WILL wish these things upon my worst enemies)

“Should a drone succeed in mating it will soon die because the penis and associated abdominal tissues are ripped from the drone’s body at sexual intercourse.” Wikipedia (where lazy people come to find answers)

So die a horrible death or lead a long, sexless life. Which one would you choose?

If only patience could be bought

I suspect that some of you are tired of me criticizing myself for not being a good mother. Self-deprecating humor can only go this far when you are not a stand-up comedian.  I admit that it does sound like I am fishing for compliments. Or at least, some sort of desperate reach for affirmation. If these were true, or at least intentional, I would not have even brought this up to the light of day. It is easy to keep a perfect facade on the Internet; I could have simply NOT talked about my fear and insecurities.

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"I feel happy when my mom is in a good mood" Oh boy...

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Is it just me? On some days, I get so aggravated by blog posts where the parents seem so perfect: patient, wise, kind, steadfast, consistent, and… Now where is my fucking thesaurus?!… always in a good mood, with “a cheery disposition…. never be cross or cruel”, never raising their voices… Who took my BLEEP thesaurus and didn’t put it away?!

Mr. Monk once told me in amidst of sobs, after a shouting match, “I want Mary Poppins to be my mom!”

*sigh* We all do. Baby. We all do.

“Why can’t you be like the other moms?” He has said that more than once.

The other day he joked, “You don’t have enough patience and you should go buy more patience in the Patience Store!”

I hope this post helps some of you that are reading because like me, you have feared that somehow you have traumatized your child because you are not patient enough and you do raise your voice, nay, you actually do YELL. Unlike “the other” mothers…

Teaching Kids Simple Words: Egg

7 Year Old: Mom, what’s the yoky part of the egg?

Me: You mean the Yolk?

7 Year Old: No, I mean, which part does the baby chick come from?

Me: Ok, honey, the eggs you are eating? These are not the kind that baby chicks come from.

7 Year Old: Why?

Me: These are eggs that have not been… (Oh fuck!)  Sigh.  Ok.  You know how in order to make a baby? … You need a mommy and a daddy together to make a baby?  Well, the eggs you are eating only came from the mommy hen.  There is no daddy involved.

7 Year Old: How come there are single mommies with children?

Me: *Inserting foot in mouth*  There are daddies.  It’s just that the daddy for some reason is not living with them any more…

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Hind sight is 20-20. Why did I go into unnecessary details? I was all of a sudden caught in a panic that he might decide to not eat eggs due to the baby chick situation, he who only eats 5 kinds of food. I needed to reassure him that he’s not endangering any baby chics by eating eggs. I could not run the risk of eggs being off the menu.

Up next: Why honey was almost off the list.