Tag Archives: my youngest

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….

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.

Parenthood makes me feel dumb

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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.

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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…

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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?

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

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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!

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

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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…