As seen on PostSecret. One of my secrets? I live in fear that Evie and JT will grow up thinking I sucked as a parent. My other secret? I hope I'm not spoiling them. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't. College funds can double as therapy funds I guess. (We're checking it out at a GS meeting the first week of April.)
Monday night out with Evie was a mixed bag of emotions for me even though Evie assures me she had a great time. I wasn’t able to pull myself away from work till around 6pm and was about ten minutes late picking Evie up from her after school program. I was tired and a little cranky and so I couldn’t really muster up much excitement for her when I told her we would have a night out for just the two of us. She was duly confused and excited all at once as she pondered the meaning and significance of a night without her daddy and little brother. (I can just imagine her mental cost benefit analysis, a few hours without toddler brother who might eat something sticky and touch her, pro; a few hours out with somewhat boring and somewhat cranky mommy, con?)
We started out the night by recruiting a few other gals and called my cousin Hongie* (who brought her hubby along). We met at a favorite Japanese restaurant where we ordered Evie some sushi, including hamaguri (clam). I told Evie that we could pretend the hamaguri was for luck since Wikipedia said that a clam soup was a traditional food served for Girl’s Day. I sort of trust the truthiness of Wikipedia which claims that a soy based clam soup (with shells) is good to eat on Girl’s Day as it’s a “symbol of a united and peaceful couple.” I figured luck was a much better thing to be eating clams for than marriage/couple-hood which has no guarantees no matter how many clam shells in your soup. Dinner ended up being a lot of fun for both of us and was surprisingly relaxing. I found myself hugging Evie a lot during dinner as I realized that I don’t get to hug her all that much. I'm either busy or her little brother is usually on my lap whenever she wants one. I watched and listened as she chatted with her auntie Hongie and uncle A. I don’t really remember what we talked about other than the quiet passage of our daily lives and how we’re celebrating Girl’s Day with Hongie’s hubby A.
After dinner we went to Target and met up with Hongie’s sister Vannie to help Evie pick out a doll. Evie owns, not counting stuffed animals (do stuffed animals count as dolls?), maybe two dolls. Both were gifts that refused to stay at the bottom of Evie and JT’s massive toy piles. I think I’ve mentioned how much I dislike dolls in the past as I consider them, particularly Barbie, Bratz, and princess dolls, to be bad influences on young girls and their sense of self. The sheer impossibility of their beauty standards makes me uncomfortable with giving my daughter one of these things. We live in a diverse area with many different kinds of beauty and I’m hoping that Evie can learn to see them before she’s blinded by some unrealistic mass produced and marketed standard.
Still, I’m not completely obtuse on this issue. I do think dolls can help facilitate certain imaginative play for children. Sometimes I think girls benefit from having dolls and other toys which encourage them to think and use their imaginations. Maybe “girls” toys such as dolls, which do very little other than look cute, help girls use their creativity more than certain “boys” toys which beep or do all sorts of other fancy stuff (JT’s Buzz Lightyear action figure comes to mind). So, I guess I was warming up to the idea of giving Evie a doll on Monday. It was just a matter of finding the right doll; that is, no Barbie, no Bratz, and preferably olive toned, dark haired and doe eyed. Following those rules, Hongie, Vannie, Evie, and I ended up spending an hour going through Target’s pink toy aisles. No dolls fit our preferred description and I ended up pointing to an African American Barbie and asking Evie if she’d like that one. Evie, to her credit, said that the doll was pretty, but she didn’t want it because, she “[doesn’t] like brown dolls.”
Say what baby girl? That little comment earned her a gentle (at least I thought so) reminder from both myself and Vannie (who heard as well) on how all colors are beautiful to which Evie backtracked and said, “It’s ok, I like brown, really.” Which, of course, made me a bit frustrated that she basically just went along with whatever we were saying to please us; ARGH! This parenting thing: IT.IS.HARRRD!
We ended up getting a FurRealz Puppy. I don’t know how else to describe it other than it was not a doll and barks when you pet its back. Another toy for the toy pile achieved, we said goodbye to my cousins and headed to a bookstore where Evie was allowed to pick out some books. She chose a Magic Treehouse book (a fantasy series she’s been reading on her own) along with another copy of E.B. White’s The Trumpet of the Swan. I had been reading The Trumpet of the Swan to her for about a week at bedtime (a few weeks ago) when my copy, which I had managed to hold onto since the fourth grade, went missing. A sad loss for me, but I’m happy Evie chose to pick out another copy so that we can finish reading it together. We finished off our book selections with a picture book on Japanese Celebrations that should be educational for all of us.
All in all, it was a nice night out with my little girl. I learned a little bit more about her and she enjoyed having Mommy all to herself. When we returned home to our manly men, JT was sitting up watching Noggin while J was sprawled out next to him, exhausted. Apparently manly men play video games and “jump on daddy” while eating a nuked dinner. Evie went to bed asking when we were going to have a family day with daddy and JT.
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For those of you who remember, Hongie ended up having a parent teacher conference with that crazy parent from a few months ago. She stood her ground and the parent apologized only to accuse Hongie of not preparing her kid well enough despite all the other kids in the class being better prepared. When I was a kid I thought I might grow up to be a teacher. Hongie reminds me why I said, “Nahhh…”
Should I or shouldn't I let Evie join the Girl Scouts? There have been a few flyers sent home and she's very excited to give it a try. However, I'm not entirely sure I support the fact that she'll have to take an oath that mentions a divine figure (non-denominational true, but why do they have to take an oath that mentions God at all?) Nor am I certain if I agree with the obvious, that the Girl Scouts are only for girls. (I mean, what if my Sweet Pea JT wanted to join? He could join the Cub Scouts, but then Cub Scouts don't sell cookies.) I am especially not certain about their anti-discrimination policies that allow local chapters to decide on how to manage and interpret their own rules so that while one chapter might have its own version of don't ask don't tell, everyone is free and equal if you aren't different, but if you are, please keep it hush hush. Another chapter might choose to spell it out that everyone should treat everyone equally no matter what race, religion, orientation. All this to say, really, I'm not sure I'm ready for Evie to be a part of any organization that already limits half the population and has had issues in the past regarding discrimination.
I DO see advantages though. The Girl Scouts is an organized group that empowers girls and allows them to participate in activities that she might not normally try just by her lonesome. And while I've never been particularly close to my sisters, Evie won't have any and so the idea of allowing her to join a sisterhood of sorts is rather appealing in an idealized thinking kind of way.
What do you think? Do you have any experience with the Girl Scouts? Do you think we could get a discount on those fabulous artery clogging cookies if Evie joins up?
RESPONSES and UPDATES: RE: Evolving Evie...and Lien - I had a long internal debate on whether or not to post my picture but in the end I figured that the first step to acknowledging that I'm "not ugly" is to just open up and acknowledge that hey, this is what I look like. This is me. Just as I accept and respect not only Evie, but everyone around me, so too should I accept and respect myself.
Thanks to everyone who commented with compliments and words of encouragement as well as for sharing your own horror stories of mean classmates. Kids really are cruel and I shared your stories and comments with Evie who smiled and seemed pleased that she isn't alone.
Special thanks to HM for the fantastic link! It is hard this parenting thing, especially when you're working on yourself as well.
RE: Birthday wishes - Thank you for all the happy birthday wishes and facebook pokes. J and I spent a weekend away from the kids at one of the Westin hotels in San Francisco. He surprised me with a vase of flowers delivered directly to our room. We spent the weekend sleeping in and watching the Discovery Channel and Groundhog Day. We then had lunch and dinner at two fancy "Vietnamese" restaurants; The Slanted Door for lunch and Thanh Long for dinner with friends. Both reminded me that hey! this tastes like my mom's cooking!
Finally...RE: My aunt - Still no word on whether or not the authorities in Vietnam have done anything. It's pretty clear that my aunt has suffered some brain damage. She can no longer stand with assistance as her head hurts when she does and she can no longer move without shaking. In other words, she will probably not be able to work...for a long time. The horror of this event has made our lunar new year celebrations nonexistent. No one in the family has been in the mood for celebrating. My grandma still has no idea that her youngest daughter has been hurt. I don't know how long we can keep this secret from her. Everyone is afraid of her worrying and demanding to go back to Vietnam only to worry some more. J mentioned how wrong it was that no one is telling her what happened. If something horrible happened to our kids, we would want to know right away. We would be angry and upset with anyone who kept that sort of information from us. There IS no justification for keeping my grandma in the dark. No justification except that we would fear for her health and state of mind.
A few days ago I thought of my aunt and how she looks very similar to my mom. I imagined my mom's face bloodied and bruised and I couldn't stop crying at the thought that my aunt will probably not be able to live her life without pain again; will not be able to return to her business for a long time. She was the sole breadwinner for her family. I come from a long line of strong women who support our husbands and families in times when they are down and out. All this seems so very unfair, unjustified, and hopeless considering the lack of response from the Vietnamese authorities. Being so far away, "helpless"; that is indeed how we are feeling here. I told my mom about all your comments and wishes and they are so very appreciated.
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ANIMAL SOUNDS
Anyhoo, it's been depressing around here...but hey, that's what toddlers are for. JT is my little ball of energy and still speaks toddlerese with a smattering of English and Vietnamese. He's very bright but mischievious and loves to joke and laugh. He disarms me with his charm every time. Yesterday morning, I was tired from a long work and school week. JT woke me up and we ended up making talking about animal sounds before I decided to record him on video. He currently knows that Cows say "moo", chickens say "bawk!", ducks say "quack", pigs say "oink", and sheep say "baa". But obviously, when on camera, one has to be dramatic and moo and bawk! are SO much more fun to say than all those other ones.
For some reason the video keeps getting lighter or dimmer and the title clips are off centered. I don't know if it's my camera or my video editing software. Hmm...might just be user error.
I asked Evie a few nights ago if she liked herself and her answers surprised me in terms of their obstinacy. No amount of persuasion could deter her from the self knowledge that she was ugly, "too small", and fat. Evie, is one of the youngest and smallest children in her grade. There is only one other child who is smaller and that is because he may have some developmental issues. From our conversation, it's clear that some bullying has been happening at school where an unnamed and unidentified fourth grader has been telling Evie that she's too small to do anything and that she's an ugly little thing. Worse yet, some of her classmates have picked up on the teasing.
At one point, I was visibly angry and Evie backtracked to say that her friends don't say those things (her friends now include last year's Mean Girl). However, her physical stature is one that bothers her a great deal as well as her relative age being one of the youngest kids in class. Most of Evie's classmates will be turning seven during the school year while Evie herself only turned six a few months ago. Mentally, she is beyond capable of keeping up with her classmates, however, it sounds like some of her classmates see her as someone different than them.
I've had a few days to think about whether or not to get involved with the school and other parents regarding this issue now and I think, much as it pains me, that the best course of action in the long run, is to encourage Evie to believe in herself and her merits and allow her to develop a thicker skin. She's my first baby, my only little girl and sometimes I want to lock her in a protective cage to keep others from harming my precious child. I wish for something beyond reality, and that's for the world and life to be forever kind to my kids. But if the world is always kind and if they are never hurt, never exposed to negativity; how would they ever see the light and beauty in this world, themselves, and others? How does one, for example, teach the meaning of kindness without having knowledge of the opposite? Besides, I don't think it's even possible to put one's children in proverbial bubbles (though I'd check out the infomercial if someone invented one).
At bedtime, I told Evie once again, that she is beautiful and that people come in all shapes and sizes. Everyone has different abilities and capabilities. I reiterated Rachel's advice from last year of vocalizing her displeasure when someone is mean to her. I'm not sure she believed me, but she was empowered to speak up, and fell asleep peacefully.
I realize, this will be a conversation that we'll be having over and over and over again throughout the years. One friend emailed to say that perhaps little girls mirror the self esteem levels of their mothers despite what their mother's tell them. I appreciate the truth in that and have been trying to improve my own self image as well. Something I haven't remembered in years has been going through my mind in the last few days. I've mentioned in the past that I have some mild agoraphobia. I had been home from college for days without going outside. My little brother on his way out said to me, "You're not ugly you know." I cried after he left, confused because I didn't know what to believe about myself.
I wonder now, how a person who has my kind of emotional history can raise children with any kind of confidence level beyond low. The answer is of course, that I have to be more confident myself. So, to cap this long and meandering post which began with Evie, I'll end with Lien, who both hopes and fears that her daughter is a reflection of her mother.
(In the style of Angie's 3 Things) Here are three things I like about my physical self:
1)I like my face. My sisters and cousins tell me that I have the nicest facial complexion in the family -- clear and peachy. I've had male friends ask if I'm wearing make up when I'm not (I rarely do) so it's nice to know that my features stand out without needing makeup. My eyelashes are reasonably long and thick enough so I don't need much eyeliner or mascara to make them appear thicker. My lips don't need liner and are a decent color without lipstick. I'm a little unhappy with my nose but then so is Sarah Jessica Parker and I like my chin when I can see it and as a resting place for my hand.
2) I like my finger nails, my mom is a manicurist (oi, Vietnamese and nail salons, one day I shall rant and rant about that one) and she tells me I have very nice nails. All by their lonesome, they just need a quick buff to look like a french manicure.
3) Hmm, is it sad that I'm really pressed to come up with three? I'll have to get back to this one.
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RESPONSES:
Thank you bloggy friends for your comments of advice, cyber hugs, and support.
You give great advice. I'm going to stop talking about dieting (I've lost 15lbs since November, weight watchers really does work!) around the kids. I'll definitely keep up with the praise and affirmations. I'll also try to be on my best behavior regarding exercise and activity. I'm currently trying to convince J that we all need to find a family fitness activity that we all like. Some form of martial arts might be in order (as inspired by Ms. FingKASIL)
Sandra, I ordered that American Girl Real Beauty book. It looks like it has some great ideas on how to inspire Evie (and myself) to a better self image. Thanks for the suggestion!
Kim and Kimberley, I know right, SIX! It seems like the half life for an innocent and carefree childhood keeps getting shorter and shorter with every generation.
Alice, you hit on something that I think will be very important and that is consistency. The world can be unpredictable, but our home should be consistently a haven for love and support. In other words, it should be a home. How many ills of this world could be avoided if everyone had a safe and secure place to go to both physically and emotionally?
halfmama and Angela, thank you, thank you thank you for sharing and letting me know my Evie is not alone. HM, the concept of being happy with your looks is totally foreign to me too.
Hedgehog, I hope it's a phase too, but if not, I'm going to make myself ready for the long haul on this one.
PS I know everyone knows what Evie looks like, but in case you don't know, this is what I look like.
4:40 AM and I'm supposed to be studying, but of course, I'm worried about Evie. J and I had an IM conversation earlier today while we were at our respective jobs and he typed, "Kids=Stress, Girls=5X Stress".
The conversation was on a different Evie related topic, but still, it fits. I don't think I worry about JT's emotional health as much as Evie's. There's so much in this world that is meant to break down a person's self esteem in order to make one want to conform to someone's idea of normal. For some reason, it feels as though the vast majority of this pressure is aimed at women and girls. I wonder if I felt this pressure at such a young age.
Evie has already started comparing her body to other girls and has said she's "fat and need[s] to lose weight". She occasionally starts doing jumping jacks while saying she needs more exercise. As someone who's always struggled with weight, it's heartbreaking that she says these things compulsively, as if these are natural things for young girls to be discussing with others. I wonder if J and I made her think about herself this way by mentioning that we need to lose some weight (which we do).
There's just this change in Evie since she began school again after the holidays. She's still the happy silly old soul she was before, but her speech has been colored by sporatic proclamations of self loathing that I can't bear to hear. Who wants to hear someone they love speak of themselves in such a way? I don't know what else to do but be supportive and give her extra hugs and encouragment. What would you do?
Sometimes shy and coy, other times bold and adventurous; Evie's the kind of girl that can't be described in a few words. There is so much about her that is surprising. She's six and a quarter years old. She's "small for her age"; most people assume at first guess assume she's four or five. At first meeting she's usually pretty quiet and seemingly overly concerned with rules and manners. Once she sits around you awhile, she'll open up and start talking. Sometimes she'll be very silly and speak of things that involve a suspension of reality and a belief in things nonsensical.
"Knock knock!" she'll say.
"Who's there?"
"Apple!"
"Apple who?"
"Apple a banana dee doo!" she'll say giggling uncontrollably.
Then, there'll be a pause and she'll compose herself to ask, "Was that funny?" And all you can do is laugh at the strange transition.
Other times, Evie is high strung and serious. She'll worry about who is paying for her lunch, or whether or not you have said please or thank you and that perhaps she should behave a certain way otherwise the adults around won't be happy with her. Evie is the kind of child, who declines chocolate chip cookies because they're not good for you.
Sometimes perfectly six and sometimes as old as 42, I wonder what is going on in that little brain of hers. I wonder if her behaviors are a manifestation of my parenting; if her anxieties are because I tell her too much about reality. Perhaps she wouldn't worry so much about how she behaves, if I didn't keep asking her to "be serious". Are her silly nonsensical jokes a counter reaction to all the expections that are forced on her now that she's a "big girl"? How much of this is hard wired? How much of this little person's soul was in place from the beginning and how much did I have a hand in shaping anyway? How much did God give you my Evie?
I don't know many six year olds, but how many are like mine? At six and a quarter, Evie knows how to whistle full songs and have as many as three hula hoops going at once. If we had more hula hoops, perhaps she could do more. She knows how to blow giant bubbles with her bubble gum and play several songs on her violin (well, Twinkle Twinkle, and about six other songs when she has her notated sheet music). She can understand Vietnamese, and some Spanish. She knows what to do if you ask her to do a plie. She can count by twos and tie her shoes and sing a few dozen songs off key with girlish giggles. She can read "I Can Read" chapter books.
When I was six, I played hopscotch, climbed bushes, caught bunny rabbits and tortured ants with my uncles. I don't know if I could do half as much as Evie does. You see, Evie taught herself how to do the vast majority of what she knows. She taught herself how to whistle, how to blow bubble gum, and how to hula hoop and jump rope and do a cartwheel. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just a bystander to her growth and progress. I just point her in a certain direction and follow in her wake.
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Lately, Evie has been saying things that have made my heart skip a beat. She says, "I'm stupid! I can't do anything right!" or "I'm so ugly and dumb, I hate myself." I don't know where she's getting these words and ideas that are so hurtful to herself and to her parents. We tell her she's beautiful, smart, and so accomplished; we ask her who tells her these things that she says them of herself and she says, "No one." She's six years old! SIX!
Tonight, she practiced on a new violin as she had outgrown her old one and a familiar old song did not sound right to her, "It sounds all wrong!" she cried, "I give up the violin!" She sobbed and sobbed and all I could say was, "Evie, Evie, what's wrong? You sound great! You are such an accomplished little girl. You know how to whistle, mommy doesn't know how to whistle. You know how to hula hoop, you know, mommy doesn't know how to do that. You can play the violin, mommy can't play the violin. You have so much to be proud of, don't quit. You can do this. How many of your classmates can do all these things? You are such a talented little girl."
I wanted to cry myself as I wondered if I said the right things or if these comparisons with others make her feel worse. What does it say then, that she played the song again, perfectly, then put her violin away and went to sleep with tears in her eyes?
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RESPONSES:
Thanks to everyone who wished us well on our NYC trip. It was fun, if stressful with the two little ones. Not that they were badly behaved but stressful in the sense that struggling with bundling up and down due to the twenty something degree weather dampened the fun a bit. Apparently trying to put a toddler in a coat he can barely lower his arms in causes said toddler to flail and cry...a lot.
Jonathan and Angela, I see why you love NYC. There was so much to do and we only visited some of the museums.
Arirang, I loved your city. We'll have to go again in a warmer season. There's so much that we didn't get to see.
Hedgehog and MN, NYC is SO worth a visit, but Kim's right, I don't know about living there. I don't know how Arirang and Metrodad do it. Wouldn't it be great if we could all just meet there? I'd totally be up for a blogging "conference" in New York.
la dra, we didn't get to meet the famous Metrodad. He had mentioned that he might be busy during our visit. Ah well.
And finally, Sandra and SP, zombies are yet another reason why we live in a small(er) city. Everyone knows they only go for the big ones.
On Saturday as Evie and I were leaving the park, we stopped for a bit to let Evie wash her hands. A few feet away from us, a man was refilling plastic water bottles, oblivious to our presence. He was thin and dirty with his belongings wrapped up in plastic bags by his feet. He didn't even glance at us even though we were so near. He looked hungry and I found myself thinking of the holidays and wondering if this man had anywhere to go, anything to eat, or anything at all to look forward to. I found myself digging in my pockets for whatever money I had; maybe cheer him up a bit. All I had was a twenty dollar bill; I hesitated. Twenty dollars would be a lot to give a man who merely looks destitute. I mean, he hadn't even begged for anything, he was just refilling water bottles and ignoring us. Perhaps I should ignore him.
Instead, I tapped him on the shoulder, gave him the twenty and said, "Happy Holidays!" A surprised look passed over his face and he grinned a joy and gap filled smile, he hesitated and then said, "Oh thank you! And a happy new year to you! I mean next year!" His smile became shy and he seemed to shrug at the lack of words.
"I hope you buy something good to eat," I said.
"Oh, I will!" he replied.
As we walked away, Evie asked, "Is it because he's poor?...And he has no one to take care of him? I'm very lucky I have a mommy and daddy to take care of me. We should help poor people."
I only smiled sadly and said, "Yes, we should help those less fortunate." Of course, by then, the cynical side of my brain which had been silent during the exchange chimed in with its doubt.
The day after, I went out for a bit with my cousins and told them I had to stop by an ATM because I had given the last of my cash to a homeless man. One of them admonished me, "Chi Lien! You should have just donated to a homeless shelter or something! You don't know what he was going to do with that money! You could have just bought him some food."
Of course she was right, I don't know what that man did with the money I gave him, he could have bought food or drugs or alcohol. The truth is when I gave him that money, I only hoped that he would do what he felt was best for him. In my mind what was best was food, it may have been different in his mind. Perhaps he thought I was a chump and went to buy his drug of choice to forget the pain of his situation. I don't know. I can only hope and wonder and not regret twenty dollars I probably would have frittered away on snacks or something equally meaningless to me.
I realize now that I didn't judge the man's character because he was homeless. I only judged his need because he was poor. I think sometimes, people put up barriers to justify not helping the homeless. It's easy to think every homeless person is mentally ill or has a substance abuse problem or is too lazy to work. I know statistics prove that many and maybe the majority are, but that does not negate their need for help. It is true that donating to a homeless shelter would have helped more people, but there is something about looking at someone who is right in front of you that makes the need to do something, even a little thing such as reaching into one's pocket more urgent. Sometimes I do look away, but I'm glad I dug down and put my hope in that man. I can't exactly go find him and ask for my money back and so all there is to do is be glad. Being regretful is a waste of time and besides, all charity is hope. I have a small donation automatically deducted from each of my paychecks. That money is donated each quarter to a few charities that I picked. I'm glad my company has a program which allows me to give so effortlessly, but there is no certainty that those funds aren't being abused either. All I can do is make my small difference and hope.
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This turned out a little longer and more meandering than I thought. Maybe I should stick to memes till I have more time. I hope everyone has a lovely day tomorrow (even if you're in a country that doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving). May you always have the loves of your life nearby to be thankful for. Goodnight.
I need to read two books tonight and write a few papers on them by class time tomorrow morning. Short papers true enough, but what with the business of life to be done, I hadn't had time to do this bit of homework. I think the kids miss me. I took Evie to one of the offices I work out of today and she was so excited just to have some time with just me I guess. She claimed she had a good time listening to my entertaining co-workers talk and mingle with their funny stories. In return for a glimpse of my adult non-mommy related life, she was extremely well behaved and impressed the lovely ladies at the office with her quiet ways. "Other kids would have been bored out of their skulls and bouncin' off the walls!"...or something.
I don't think the day was completely boring for her as we did have a nice mommy and daughter lunch. She chose sushi and so we went to a sushi joint near my office and each had a 99 cent ice cream cone from the Rite Aid next door for dessert. I really do enjoy these times alone with my Evie. Sometimes when you have two, it's hard to see the individual qualities of each child. Evie has always been quiet when she is amongst adults. Shy is not the word; reserved? Definitely thoughtful, she drew pictures for two of my co-workers that she interacted with today. In order for the gift to be equal, she drew them both the exact same picture. A small house with a bright blue pond.
It's been awhile since I've spent some individual time with the Sweet Pea and I'm well overdue. Where Evie is quiet, he's rambunctious with a whole different energy that is amplified by this particular stage in his young life. Everything in the world is interesting. Everything in the world must be touched and explored; that lamp, that rock, this vibrating toothbrush, mommy's hand, mommy's eyes, mommy's cheek. Lick! Ewwwwwwww!
Tonight Evie and I were treated to a local private school production of Timberlake Wertenbaker's Ash Girl by my good friend Veronica as one of several belated birthday gifts. The play itself was a modern retelling of the story of Cinderella with the seven deadly sins (amongst others). Considering the play was acted primarily by girls (including the prince who was purple haired) and junior high and high school girls at that, the play was quite well done. They presented some pretty dark material with surprising maturity with many of the performances well acted. Evie loved it despite the darker elements and two hour 8pm to 10pm running time. She even got to take a picture with the lead actress during the reception after the play. The girl's name was Simone, but Evie will forever know her as Ash Girl. She and wants to go again either tomorrow or Sunday but we'll see.
So far Evie has pretty much loved every play she's ever seen. We've been to some local theater as well as school productions and she's been quite happy with all of them. J on the other hand, hates theater. He's been bored with almost every show we've ever seen (except the one that had kung fu in it, that one we both agreed was awesome). Now that it seems that Evie loves theater, I can leave J at home and take her with me when I want to see something instead. Yeah, who needs husbands when your children can grow into your fun companions?
Just kidding J! You know I love you, especially when you fix the faucet and wash the dishes. We need a day for just us. Wanna date this weekend?
PS That awesome hair clip Evie's wearing was made by the incredibly talented Ms Kim E. Lee. Thanks Kim! Hurry hurry and order your own here.
Working tonight, 6pm to 6am helping with our 24/7 production server monitoring. It's as exciting as it sounds. Then I have class all day tomorrow from 8am to 5pm, which means I'll have to drive down as soon as I'm done with work. So uh, no sleeping for me. I'm trying to tell myself that sleep is overrated. As is walking around the neighborhood with my children in costume so that they can beg for candy from strange neighbors. :sigh: I hope the engineer I'm covering will get his beauty sleep. My mom had to rub it in and tell me that the kids had a blast.
Ah well, at least I got to take them to the pumpkin patch on Friday, Evie's school Halloween fair on Saturday along with a city sponsored Halloween fair that evening (where my little dragon knight was freaked out by a dragon), and a pumpkin carving party on Sunday. Yeah, I guess it was only fair to let my parents take them trick or treating.
Here are a few pictures from Saturday. Yes, I do think they would literally die if forced to take a picture together.
I'm in a perpetual state of cramming this quarter as I'm taking two reading and writing intensive courses (17 books in 14 weeks, total of 40-something pages due, not all at once thankfully). Add in my 50+ hour job and you can get an idea of what life has been like for the last few weeks. I realize that I've been starting a lot of posts with something along the lines of "I've been very busy, but..." I like to procrastinate. Which is why I'm in a perpetual state of cramming, which is a direct result of acts like this one where I'm sitting here typing a blog post instead of typing yet another hermeneutics paper which is due at noon (no I don't have 5 hours, I have 3, I have a two hour drive to get to class. No, I haven't fully understood all of the reading yet since I only digested it at 3am this morning and then fell asleep till 6am). What was I going to blog about again? Oh yeah, the things I've been missing.
This morning Miss Evie woke up early due to the light of my lamp and the general sound of J hovering around his wife's unexpected early morning presence (he's usually heading to work by the time we all normally wake up). I got kisses from J and droopy eyed wonder from Evie on how she "...woke up early! It's still dark out!" Like whoa! She went out into the hallway where I heard my dad say with sweet surprise as he's often out the door before she wakes up too, "Good morning Evie!" My mom followed with, "Good morning Evie! You're awake so early today, awww..." The kisses they gave Evie could be heard down the hallway and in this room above my typing where all I could do was record this moment of warmth that I would have missed had I not been cramming.
This thing with the blog posts on special days. It's killing me. Today is Evie's birthday and I am having the hardest time putting into words why she is my special baby girl (she's my only baby girl, but that's besides the point). I'm really supposed to be writing a school paper on Schleiermacherian Hermeneutics but I think I'm having a hard enough time writing this little blog post. How do you people who do freelance work do it?
I could, I suppose start from the beginning and write about how Evie was our little surprise. I could discuss how extremely young we were and how totally unprepared for parenthood with "our whole lives ahead of us" as if parenthood were the end of everything. I could trace Evie's steps through the 6 years of her life so far and write about her every little development, illness, and issue; how we took her everywhere with us. For the first several years of her life, up until a 4 day vacation that her grandparents brought her along for, she was never without at least one parent for more than a single night.
But this post isn't supposed to be about us, our past, or our hopes or our dreams for her. This is about Evie; about how she is special. And terrible as it is, words fail here. How do I accurately convey how proud I am of her, how beautiful she is, and what a great little girl she has turned out to be in spite of me. But again, I'm focusing on me again. Woefully and inadequately; I now have to resort to my lists. Evie is special because she is ours but also because:
1) She's thoughtful. Upon receiving a $20 bill from her grandparents for her birthday, she promptly said that she would save some dollars to buy them something. She thinks of others when we're in the store or out and thinks about what they might like.
2) She's kind. For the most part and with many caveats, most often having to do with her brother and cousin (who are rambunctious boys who don't often share back), she shares most readily and has been known to be very generous. If she sees others who are hurt or need comforting she runs over to help or comfort or asks if they need help.
3) If you ask her why she's special (as I just did because I'm cheating and I really need to get back to thinking about my hermeneutics paper) she would say, "Because I have clothes, house, food, drinks, a mom and dad, a brudder, and toys, and..."
...and many many many more reasons, not least because she is cuddly and cute.
Happy Birthday Evie! My best binary birthday girl (you know, because she was born on 10/11/01...101101, binary for 45? Yeah, she's special because she still loves her extremely dorky parents who discussed how it'd have been really cool if it were binary for 42 but that's 101010 and no way are we having any more babies much less one in 2010.)
You know, some days, weeks, months I feel like there’s a giant invisible thumb on top of me. Sorry for the short and sporadic posts everyone, I’m just getting my ass kicked lately by work and well, work. I don’t even want to think about school which starts on Tuesday. I’m also sorry that I haven’t been commenting as much around my usual haunts because of my day job. I definitely still read all the blogs as much as I can as often as I can, but commenting takes some brain power which I’m not sure I have anymore. Anyhoo…an update as people have been asking…
After her first day of Vietnamese school last week, Evie was uncertain as to how she felt about it. She had initially said that she liked it as she made new friends but later said that she wasn’t sure since she couldn’t understand the teacher half the time. We’re finding that a major impediment to Evie learning Viet is not just that she doesn’t know much in the first place, but that they teach in a different accent and dialect than the Viet we speak at home. My family is from DaNang. The vast majority of the Vietnamese people in the US are from Saigon or near there. The difference between Vietnamese speakers from Saigon and those from DaNang is similar to say, a generic Midwestern American accent and Cletus from the Simpsons. In other words, my family has a funny hick Vietnamese accent. Written Viet Ngu is spelled according to the generic metropolitan Saigonese. So you see our challenge in trying to teach our kids Vietnamese. You see MY challenge in trying to SPEAK Vietnamese in general outside of our house. Yeah…I was made fun of enough during my rounds of Vietnamese school that I’ve always had to modify my accent to something more mainstream. Harder than it sounds so now I have this weird accent in public that makes people think I understand less than I really do.
Anyway…where was I. Today fared much better as she claims she is certain she likes Vietnamese school now. They learned about the letter A (pronounced “ah” in Viet) and made lanterns for the school Mid-Autumn festival. Ah, the mid-Autumn festival...definitely more on that later. We went to the school's festival earlier tonight with my parents, grandma and sister. The kids had a great time and Evie said she wanted to participate next year. The part I loved the most was when the Vietnamese school's board of directors introduced themselves (the school has been around for 20 years!) One of the directors made it a point to say that learning Vietnamese is extremely boring (I love honesty) and that the school was doing its best to try and make it more fun and interesting. Once I heard that I knew I chose the right school for Evie. It is definitely not her mother's Vietnamese school. Thank goodness. See? And some people think I want my kids to do it only because I want them to suffer the way I suffered. (You know how you are.)
Time to go to bed as I have a charity event I have to get up early for; more on that later too. Hope everyone is having a great weekend!
Despite growing up in the United States my first and primary language up until I was in sixth grade was Vietnamese. I certainly learned English in school and can speak it with a Midwestern, Californian, or East Oakland accent (aka Ebonics). The language of after school, home, family, and even entertainment was Vietnamese. My parents were determined that I remember that I was Vietnamese and NOT American. The only music we really listened to at home was Vietnamese music and what was on television was usually either some video game or various Hong Kong kung fu serials dubbed in Viet. I have no idea what was on regular TV in the 1980s (outside of your usual after school cartoons) or who the popular actors and actresses were but I certainly knew who Andy Lau was or Felix Wong. (They were Duong Qua and Quoc Tinh. Duh!) Speaking English was forbidden in our house with my second youngest uncle enforcing via a smack upside the head. In her free time, my mom taught my youngest sister and I how to read and write Viet Ngu, which was relatively easy since we already knew how to speak the language.
Ironically, when I began attending a more formal Vietnamese school was when I started to drift away from using Vietnamese as my primary language. I was in sixth grade and starting to care a bit more about doing and watching what the other kids my age were doing. I openly defied that no English rule at home and started to listen to (god, don’t blame me it was what was on the radio at the time!) MC Hammer, Stevie B, and Janet Jackson.
Perhaps what was happening with me was happening in other Viet families in our area because in sixth grade, the small Vietnamese community in the town we lived in decided to start a school to teach their children a thing or two about Vietnamese culture and particularly language. While my sister and I tested into third grade level lesson books, I remember being very unexcited about the reading material we were given. Full of moralistic tales on how to respect elders with very few of the fatalistic folk tales that I sort of knew and liked.
In a word, it was boring. I HATED the year of Saturdays spent in that school. I hated the reciting and the lines that we had to write over and over again. The adults teaching, not being regular teachers but refugees who had very little Vietnamese education themselves due to the disruption of that little war back in the old country were more interested in recreating the schools that they attended in their childhood than in making classes interesting in any way. They made us wear uniforms (on a Saturday!) and memorize and recite things while standing next to our desks. I remember thinking, why couldn’t it be like regular school? Where I could sit in my assigned seat and not say anything unless I raised my hand? I hated being called on in Vietnamese school. I never had a choice.
We moved to Oakland in the middle of 7th grade. By eight grade we were involved in one of the local Vietnamese Buddhist temples. Instead of sacrificing my Saturdays and my morning cartoons; I had to offer my Sundays up for cultural and linguistic education. Our temple had a Sunday school of sorts where we learned about Buddha, Buddhism, and more Vietnamese. We even learned how to sing the old South Vietnamese national anthem. (Vietnam moun doi! Vietnam forever!)
*****
Fast forward to today. I haven’t been to a Vietnamese school in over 10 years. I’m practically a stranger at my temple. I speak English approximately eighty percent of the time and it shows…in my kids.
Sweet Pea speaks Vietnamese to my grandma and mom with a Quang Nam (central Vietnam) accent and at this point probably knows an equal amount of English and Viet.
Evie used to be like Sweet Pea. My grandma had originally come over to take care of Evie and some of her first words were Viet. When I started telecommuting from home more and kept her at our house with me, she started to forget most of what she knew. She still remembers some songs. She now speaks almost no Vietnamese, she understands simple commands instructions and can count to 20. What she can say in Vietnamese is tinged with an American accent. The fact that she understands and can say as many Spanish words as Vietnamese is pretty telling. (Thank you Dora, Maya and Miguel, Handy Manny, Sesame Street, etc. etc. etc.)
In an effort to help Evie retain what she already knows and to help her learn more Vietnamese, I started to look for a Vietnamese language school in our area sometime last year. (It turns out we have a wealth of schools and community resources in the San Francisco Bay area.) The school we picked is less than three miles from home and started its school year, today. The teachers much more educated than the ones I had. Evie's teacher is a high school teacher during the rest of the week. She's young, pretty, and seems nice.
Still, I don’t think I was prepared for how nervous and worried I was about the first day of Vietnamese school. I had been reading about the hard time that a lot of mixed heritage children have had at a language school their parents signed them up for and I worried that Evie might feel out of place as one of the few half Vietnamese children at the school. I worried increasingly about her lack of comprehension of the language and wondered how she’d take it when she found out she had to speak and understand something she barely used. Although I hated Vietnamese school as a kid, at least I understood and spoke the language.
My worry reached its peak yesterday as I messaged J that perhaps we ought to wait a year. J replied that the longer we wait, the harder it will be for her. If we want her to learn and speak Vietnamese, now is the time to start.
He was right of course. Despite how bored I was in Vietnamese school, I do credit my experience for helping me retain what I know. I did learn how to read and write even more than what my mom taught me and I know more about my heritage and culture if than if I had not attended. I know so many people who regret not learning or regret that their parents didn’t push them to learn. J for example, (well, he doesn’t really regret) could have learned more Japanese from his grandma but didn’t want to hear or speak Japanese when he was a kid. He tried to learn it as a teenager, but it’s not the same. He’s not conversational.
My goal, is for Evie to at least be able to have a conversation with her grandparents in their native language and to learn a little of the history. So this morning, we got up early while J and Sweet Pea slept and went with my mom to the first day of Vietnamese school.
Evie said this morning, that she was scared. She looked a few times like she would cry. She buried her head in my side and barely looked when her new teacher asked her how old she was. She’d shyly raised her hand with her finger splayed. “Five,” she said softly.
“’Five’ tieng Viet noi sao?” her teacher asked. When Evie buried her head back into my side and didn’t answer, she repeated, “How do you say ‘five’ in Vietnamese?”
My mom began to explain that Evie knew very little Vietnamese, but she could learn when Evie interrupted her by looking at the teacher and saying, “Nam.”
Thankfully, Evie is in a small class of about seven students who have about the same level of knowledge that she has and who are of roughly the same age. There’s even one who is hapa with the same color hair as Evie’s and who seemed equally shy. I smiled at him as he said his Vietnamese name. Nghia (meaning).
I stood outside the classroom for the first fifteen minutes and watched as the class attempted to introduce itself. Some students were able to speak clearly in Vietnamese their names and age while others had to be coached. Evie had trouble saying, “Minh ten la Evie. Minh la nam tuoi.” (My name is Evie. I am 5 years old.) The teacher had to repeat the words for her a few times before she was able to say it. Her voice was slightly above a whisper, but she wasn’t the only one who almost whispered and she wasn’t the only one who pronounced some of the words wrong. She wasn’t alone.
By: Evie
Medium: Clay
Critical Review: "Look what Evie made?!...'A hill of cows'. At first I was like, oooh! My kid's making aliens! But no, it's cows. Take a picture! Take a picture!...I was just thinking when I first saw it, 'Yup! That's MY kid!'" -J
Me: "Evie, what would you like the theme of your birthday party to be?"
Evie: "Hmm? What's a theme?"
Me: "It's um...hmm...it's something that you see a lot of in one place that makes things look like they belong together." [Note to self, look up better definition for theme.]
Evie: "Oh! You mean like...I dunno...power rangers?"
Me: [Darn my little nephew and his power ranger love. It's spread!] "Um, no, how 'bout teaparty?"
Evie: "Mmmm...nah."
Me: "Or a flowery theme? Or butterflies?" [Instantly wondering and regretting the girlie ideas.]
Evie: "I can't have butterflies, they'll die!"
Me: "Oh, they can be fake butterflies honey."
Evie: "Ooh! Okay! We can play with them!"
Me: "Okay! Butterflies it is!"
*****
Eh...help? Any ideas anyone? How far should one take a birthday party theme? Are butterfly decorations and invitations enough? Her birthday is in less than a month. It will be for adults and kids, primarily close friends and family with a little something sent to her class on the actual birthday (which is a weekday). And then she'll be six. EEP!
Scene: The home office, about 15 minutes ago, Lien is super busy working her day job after picking up Evie from school. Evie is supposedly busy with her homework. The only sounds are the tap tap tapping of Lien's fingers on her keyboard.
Evie: "Mommy, did you know I was named after a 'pokey mon'?"
Lien falls out of her chair laughing and gives Evie a look that clearly reads, what the fuck?
Lien [Thanking the heavens that Evie will interpret the what the fuck look as a what the heck look]: "No, who told you that?"
Evie: "It's really cute, it looks like a little fox."
Lien: "Uh huh, Evie, so who told you that?"
Evie [clearly not listening to a word her mother said]: "...and it's brown with big eyes and..."
Lien: "Who told you that Evie?"
Evie: "One of my aunties...and it's really cute!" [giggles]
Lien: "I know which one you're talking about, but NO, you were NOT named after a pokemon. Which auntie told you that?"
Evie: "Um...auntie May and Linh and uncle booboo [yes, we really do call him that, he's my 8 year old cousin]"
Lien: "Uh huh, mommy's going to have to have a word with them."
Lien wonders why she finds herself a little annoyed (amused but annoyed); especially considering had Sweet Pea been a little girl, she would have named him...er her Camille, or Cammy...you know, like in Street Fighter.
I realized this morning that the first day of first grade is the first day of a new reality. A year ago, on the first day of kindergarten I had given Evie a hug and a kiss before I left. I had reassured her that she's be fine, that she'd have fun; and she did. Evie loved kindergarten. Of course, all my assurances were so very hypocritical since I wasn't sure of anything. Evie's kindergarten teacher, being the experienced professional that she was, had allowed all the parents to come into the classroom with our children. She had explained to us how the classroom was set up and what was expected of us. Most importantly, she had told us that our children would be alright. We knew logically, just some of us weren't quite so sure emotionally. We were allowed to stand and watch our children a little bit on that first day. Some of the little ones who cried had their parents' arms readily available. I think we all put up a good front for our kids, or at least I did. I needed that last hug and kiss last year.
One would think that first grade would be much easier than kindergarten. In a way it is, I'm certain she'll have fun and learn lots of new things and tell me all about them. (It's a good thing I've forgotten practically everything I learned in 1st grade.) Evie, who just this morning while putting on her uniform had said that she was afraid of going to first grade. "I'm too small to be in first grade! Everyone will laugh at me because I'm so small," she exclaimed. I told her she'd be alright, that everything will be just fine. "First grade isn't all that different from kindergarten. You'll have lots of fun and learn tons and tons," I said.
Of course, she believed me and was the model of calm as I helped her find her seat. There was no handholding for the parents this time. There were still a gaggle of parents standing around the classroom still waiting to find some direction on what was expected of us or of our children. We stood waiting and I had this huge urge to hold on to Evie, to have her be...just mine, my little girl, who depended on me for knowledge and strength and protection. I thought of the first moment when they put her in my arms at the hospital and wondered how on earth we got here so fast. All the things I felt last year repeated again this year only a bit more intense because first graders aren't like kindergarteners. They're not the littlest ones at the school anymore. No one cried. I wanted to give her a kiss because that's what mothers do for their babies. They kiss them to make them feel better, to comfort them. Really, I was the one needing the comfort.
I patted her on the head instead and then we heard, "Parents, we'll see you at 1:10." And just like that, we were dismissed.
When I was a kid, summers were lazy. There was no real schedule or structured activity. I don’t remember doing a darn thing for the vast majority of the summers of my childhood. Most of those free summer days were spent reading, watching TV and that most important of activities, sleeping.
The summers of my elementary school years were spent with my littlest uncles and aunties who lived with us until I was in seventh grade. My three youngest uncles are only 5, 6, and 7 years older than me. My two youngest aunties are only 8 and 10 years older. They were more like big brothers and sisters than uncles and aunts. My little uncles were especially influential. They taught me how to ride a bike, climb a tree, kill ants with incredible efficiency using all sorts of methods and tools ranging from water torture to incineration via magnifying glass, and of course the finer points of a little game called baseball. They took care of me.
My summer memories are filled with their company. Memories like the day when we bought a new refrigerator and my uncles and I rolled down the hill in the gigantic box it came in. By the time we were done with it, the box was so tattered its only possible use was to be torn apart and used as shields for the various battles my uncles had with each other. Forget camp or summer school, I spent the days following my uncles around catching bunnies in a box of pampers (which freaked the heck out of my mom who tried to reach in for a diaper) or riding bikes around town with my aunties. My room was filled with a constellation of fireflies one night as my uncle D and I spent hours catching them in preserve jars and released them inside with the lights off. If I close my eyes I can still see them twinkling and if I think hard enough, I can almost recall the stink of their little bodies as we collected their corpses the next morning.
So much of these memories were out doors with little or no parental supervision. I’m positive that nothing that I experienced was academic in any way; it was all practical and hands on. I knew the parts of a bug before I learned what they were called. I learned that the rate of a friend falling out a tree is faster than that of a blink of an eye. I learned in that same incident that it’s not nice to push your friend out of a tree, even if he and your uncles were being jerks for saying that the tree house was off limits to girls. I learned to be a feminist before I knew the meaning of the word.
The contrast of my childhood with Evie’s this summer is striking. Her days have been filled with day camp, swimming lessons, violin lessons and short family trips to waterfalls, caves, and Disneyland. She read simple books on her own and learned how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on her little violin. She did crafts at camp and had a schedule and calendar. This fall will be equally structured for her since she’ll have violin, ballet, Vietnamese school along with regular school. (My after school evenings were spent watching my uncles play their Atari and watching Hong Kong Kung Fu TV shows dubbed in Vietnamese.) She’s not even 6 yet but she’s already a little high strung. On the one hand, she had about two and a half weeks of no scheduled activities at all this summer. Instead of relaxing and/or wreaking havoc, she’s tested my sanity with whines regarding how bored she was. On the other hand, that whole wreaking havoc thing isn’t really appealing now that I’m the adult and some of the things I was allowed to do as a kid haven’t exactly been purported to have be any good for a developing child’s brain. In fact it’s the opposite, I’m sure I lost a ton of brain cells playing all those hours of Super Mario Brother’s and Duckhunt, or worse, just watching my uncles play Contra or something. (I mourn for my lost genius.)
Monday is the first day of school for Evie; the first day of first grade. No more mid-day naps, no more round carpet and story time. Monday is the first day of a numbered grade – real school. I only wrote about the last day of Kindergarten not too long ago, and all of a sudden there are only a few days left of summer. Still, it was never really summer as I knew it. It wasn’t really a break for Evie or for me. I never really allowed her to roam free and learn dubious lessons on her own. She had a few weeks to do whatever she wanted and she didn’t know what to do other than read books and play video games. There were no broken bones or permanent scars acquired. No blood, no real sweat, just a lot of shuttling and activities with strangers. I’m a little sad about it really. This entire long post to say that I’m disappointed my little girl’s first official summer break wasn’t really free. Maybe I should buy a refrigerator and invite my uncles.
