Tag Archives: my youngest

“I want to be different. Deal with it!”

This came from my 6 year-old boy last night when I was putting him to bed.

“I want you to know that you are very special, and I love you very much.”

“Even if you hate me sometimes?”

Alarmed. Pause. Deep breath.

“Why do you think mommy hates you?”

“When you are mad at me and yell at me,” he said, matter-of-fact-ly.

“Oh, sweetie…” Another deep breath. Think. Think quickly. What does the parenting manual say as a proper response to this?  Oh, right. There is NONE! So we have to make it up as we go along…

“Oh, sweetie.  Even if mommy is mad at you sometimes, it does not mean that I hate you!”

Musing on this, he turned his back towards me.  After a second, which felt like an eternity (cliche alert!), he turned towards me again,

“Well.  I want to be different. Deal with it!”

A non-sequitur response.  One that made me laugh out loud and hugged him even more tightly.

“I want to be different. Deal with it!”

I have been thinking about this the whole night and this morning.

Here is a passage from Almost Moon by Alice Sebold that, together with my 6 year-old’s infinite wisdom, will be haunting me for a long time…

“I walked to the center of my front lawn and lay down, spread-eagled.  I looked up at the stars.  How did I end up in a place where doing such a thing marked you for crazy, while my neighbors dressed concrete ducks in bonnets at Easter and in striped stocking caps at Christmas but were considered sane?”

Who wouldn’t love a giant pink puff that squeaks?

kirby

We don’t have cable (not because we are so chi chi, la di da, holier than thou, but because we are cheap… frugal, and know that we have no will power whatsoever when it comes to moving images on the screen and we will just sit in front of HBO all day and yell at the kids to take care of themselves realistic) so our poor kids LOVE Saturday mornings.

My 6 yo boy commented loudly, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, to nobody in particular:

Kirby is really cute, isn’t he?

For some reason, that made me smile.  Later he made me laugh out loud, when apparently Kirby was in trouble because I could hear this voice pretending to be a little girl when in face it is probably a 50-year-old voice-over actor who does all the voices for Saturday Morning cartoons imported from Asia, pleading, “Kirby! Kirby”, my 6 yo commented to the TV screen,

Just pick him up!  He is the size of your head!

No wiser words have been uttered on Saturday mornings…

“It’s the best day of my life!… in Farm Town!”

After weeks of toiling, virtually, on his own farm, i.e. the infamous Facebook application Farm Town where many a woman allegedly have lost their husbands or vice versa, Mr. Monk my 6 year old finally made enough money, all 70,000 coins (which are worth $50 in real life currency), to purchase his own farm house, Small House.

Farm House

“It’s the best day of my life!  In Farm Town!”

He exclaimed, while doing a Gene-Kelly-Singing-In-The-Rain-esque gig.

Oh, the small things in life!

(Eh, I just realized that the real “Farm House”, which looks more like a mansion, costs 300,000 coins. Yeah, like that’s going to happen…  I’d have gotten carpel tunnel for helping him reach that goal…)

If I don’t write this down I will probably forget and it would be as if I never witnessed the genius in my kid

Act. 1 “The Middle Number”

Mr. Monk wondered aloud in the back of the car,

“What is in the middle of all the numbers?”

“Uh. Honey. We can’t know that since we don’t know what the ‘last number’ is.”  Taking a deep breath, I was all too scared of explaining the concept of infinity to a 6 year old while speeding towards the gymnastics practice.  (Not for me. I can only wish. For my oldest).

“Well, I think it is ZERO. Because you know, there are negative 1, 2, 3…”

 

Act 2. “Black and White Chicken”

We were having Boston Market.   To my kids, Boston Market is one of the greatest treats, almost like Thanksgiving, only better.  Well, better for me at least.  Sometimes I am embarrassed by their excitement when I say, “We are going to have Boston Market!”  So easy.  Almost like taking candy from a baby…

I commented on how it was a great deal to pay $2 more for all white meat since nobody likes dark meat especially the thighs. 

“I wonder how they found black and white chicken!” marvelled Mr. Monk

Sunday breakfast: somebody loves me!

Mr. Monk surprised me with a nice, healthy breakfast, much healthier than I prepare for them…

He has been trying to mother me lately:

Are you driving over the speed limit?

Why do you drink so much coffee?

You should have brrrkfast every day you know.

And, this is the best one:

Why are you returning those shirts? I bet they look lovely on you!

“Mommy, is tweeting bad?”

Nope. Didn’t make this up. This came up in my conversation with my 6 year-old, Mr. Monk, in the car today.

Most of our conversations happen in the car now, it seems. Could Mr. Monk be that smart so as to figure out that when I am driving, I am cornered and hence have to provide some sort of answers to the hard questions he throws at me?

“Mommy, why do you tweet?”

Gee. He got the lingo right. Many adults are still struggling with when to use Twitter and when to use Tweet…

“Hmmm. Why SHOULDN’T I Tweet?”

That’s a complete cop-out. I know.

“Is Tweeting bad?” See? He got that it’s a VERB!

“No. Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“I am just wondering why you do it.”

Hmm. Why did he assume it’s bad just because I am doing it?!

“….. Ok. It’s just like how you and your brother play on Runescape? it’s just something fun that mommy likes to do. Mommy enjoys talking to people on Twitter.”

Suave move, mom. Comparing Twitter to Runescape?! Let me turn the table on him…

“Now, why does it bother you so much that mommy is on Twitter?”

“I don’t know. Because you get to do it all the time, without having to ask. We have to ask you or daddy when we want to play Runescape…”

I wonder if I HAD a regular hobby like sewing or knitting whether he would have been so bothered by it.

Now the Fedora is gone, we are into Berets…

For the longest time my youngest had a Fedora, and he did wear it throughout the last winter despite my initial prediction that it would only last one week. It was adorable when he tipped his hat to greet the ladies,
"How'd you do, Ma'am?"
You are allowed to do all these things when you are only 5 or 6. Even wearing a beret…
Since we left our fedora behind on our trip to Taiwan, Mr. Monk has been on my case of getting him a replacement. Recently, he started a campaign of acquiring a beret.
"Mom. I want to be an artist when I grow up. How am I going to be an artist if I don't have an artist's hat?"
Finally I capitulated since I did not want to be the mother who stifles her children's artistic aspirations. Thank goodness we found one on Amazon.com for $5 that he deemed acceptable.
Now he has been wearing that hat every single day. At first he also insisted on wearing his black turtleneck, complete with a plastic, colorful, "pipe" that came with the "bubble blowing kit".
Like I said, when you are 6, you get to do all these role-playing make-believe things, even in public.
I did finally put my foot down and said NO! to the turtlenecks when it was so hot this weekend that his face was all red from the heat…

Mother fail

Mr. Monk (my 6 yo boy) and I got into a fight tonight. The source of it is as always: his need to be close to me whenever we are home. Especially when it is close to bedtime and he’s tired and I am exhausted. I finally lost my marble today and lashed out at him. Yup. Lashed out. I am still feeling shame and guilt from it, and am absolutely convinced that I will go to hell for hurting a 6 year old’s feeling so deeply…

The funny, sad, guilt-inducing thing is? He still asked for mommy when it’s time he go to bed.

In the midst of crying, sobbing, hiccuping, he said, “I am going to run away tomorrow.”

Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.

I apologized for being really mean and we were on our way to reconciliation.

“Please don’t run away. I would be very sad and worried if you do. How about the volcano of love?”

“It’s shattered.”

Those were his exact words.

Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.

“Oh honey. I am so sorry…”

“There is only one left now. But I am rebuilding them.”

Sometimes I believe that I do not deserve Mr. Monk as he is more mature than I am. He is an old soul. It awes me and worries me at the same time. He seems to know how his mind works is different from his peers. While crying about how he’s going to run away from home, he made this statement,

“I don’t fit in. I am different. I don’t fit in anywhere.”

Other than holding him very very tightly, I was utterly lost for words. Motherhood fail.

How do we learn Hip Lingo if we don’t watch TV, OR What you don’t know won’t hurt you

6 yo offered to make me a “pocket” with paper.

“Is it ok if I use pink paper for you?”

“Pink will be great! If you use pink it would be HUGE!” Channeling my inner Paris Hilton for a second over there.

Puzzled look. “What do you mean it will be Huge?”

“Uh. I meant it would be awesome…”

Relieved look. “Oh. Great. I thought you meant the pocket would become Really Big if I use pink…”

.

Bonus Round: My son, the Statistician…

“Mom, I think you will be the first in the family to die.”

“Why?”

“Because you are the oldest. So there will be a 100% chance you will be the first to die, and 90% chance for daddy to be the first to die, and 0% chance for me to be the first to die.”

.

Bonus Round II: Learning human anatomy…

Overheard 6 year-old to 11 year-old:

“Do you know your wiener is not your guts? Your guts are here” (pointing to his tummy)

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

 

 

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.