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.)
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?
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!
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.
A HUGE thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I didn't end up sleeping till around 5am but just typing out my fears was a great release. To wake up, soldier through the day (we had 53 people show up! But not the stranger guy :sigh:) and find such incredibly supportive comments at the end of it was just...I have no words to describe it. All I know is I'm completely humbled by your empathy and compassion for my phobia which I had always thought weird and shameful. Additionally, some of you are too kind in your estimation of me. Thank you so much for your kind words. I do hope that if and when I meet some of you, that it will be the easiest meetings of my life.
Last night was long, but tonight has been equally trying. The Sweet Pea had two night terrors in the span of a few hours (he hasn't been diagnosed with a sleeping disorder or anything, but it fits all the symptoms and we've experienced enough of these with Evie to know what they are). J and I both knew that he was overtired due to the amount of activity in the house and that was a contributing factor. The first time we experienced a night terror with Evie, we didn't know what was going on and freaked out. She cried like she never cried before and I was sure the entire neighborhood could hear her (as I'm sure she heard the Sweet Pea tonight). For both kids, they all of a sudden from deep sleep start screaming; but not your normal everyday kid scream. It is a blood curdling, ear splitting scream that continues and is inconsolable.
As a parent, it is so hard to stand by and see your child in such a fearful state and not be able to comfort them because they won't let you. During a night terror, neither Evie or the Sweet Pea know who I am. They are just screaming "no no no" over and over again and kicking and flailing their arms. All of this, for us, lasts anywhere from 15 minutes or so to half an hour or 45 minutes. I'm not sure what is more disturbing, the shrieking and flailing or the fact that they just don't know who we are when they're experiencing this.
The first several times with Evie were difficult and scary as we had no clue what was going on. The night terrors usually happened when she was recovering from an illness or we had been out or attending to something which caused her to go an entire day without a nap. We would try to console her to no avail and hold onto her flailing body so that she couldn't kick or smack us. We are Evie's and Sweet Pea's favorite people in the world, but during these night terrors, we were the same demons they were running away from. They kick and rolled away if we even came near them. If these happened in the middle of the night with Evie, we'd be SO tired that we'd eventually start screaming ourselves for her to wake up. We even went so far as to splash cold water on her face to try to get her to actually see us for who we are; her loving parents.
These early night terrors lasted for an hour sometimes. We've since been able to handle them a bit better, although the how soon these terrors end are out of our control. We're no longer asking, "What's wrong with Evie/[Sweet Pea]?" or screaming for them to wake up. Instead, I make sure that they are in a safe location away from the edge of the bed so that if they do roll around, they won't fall off. I try to caress or rub a part of them that normally comforts them such as their back or legs as much as I can with the kicking and flailing legs and arms. Sometimes I have to hold them tightly against me so that they can't kick or flail as much and take some of the blows in order to try and soothe them. I say over and over and over again, gently, "Mommy's here, I'm here, it's ok, I've got you, shhhh..." These are the same things I whisper when I hold them close when they're hurt or afraid. Similar words are spoken by mothers (and fathers) everywhere when their children need them as if there is some special power in a parent's murmured promise and smooth touch that takes away pain and worry.
When my kids are having night terrors, I test this magic. Sometimes, it takes a long time and I wonder if it truly works. It's like a mantra that I repeat over and over as I try to comfort them as best I can without distressing them any further. Perhaps the magic is that it calms me and not them and they sense my calm and slowly climb back to recognition. Or, perhaps it doesn't do anything at all and it is just a natural end to the night terror. I hope it is really the former because I do feel more calm when I repeat the mantra and eventually, my little one hears me calling, stops flailing, and buries their sobbing head into my chest and hugs me back.
Note: There was period of a few weeks between the first photograph, which was taken today, and the one at the bottom of my sleeping Sweet Pea. You can tell because he had a haircut between the two pictures. I unloaded our camera this evening to find the sleeping picture sitting in a random folder. He looks so peaceful and beautiful, the way he always looks when he sleeps with his lips slightly parted. I had to post it.
Evie told us that some girls were mean to her at school. These girls made her cry. They told her she was ugly. They made her feel unwelcome by saying she wasn't invited to some party they were gloating about and probably intimated that they would never invite Evie to anything. The main girl who is doing this is Asian so it's not racism at play here. Her mom seems nice, but the school year is over and I'm finding out too late. Too late do anything. Too late to react in a way that would make a difference. Too late to be involved in something that was troubling my child for awhile because I was too worried about going back to school and going to classes. Too late to do anything except tell myself that it will be good for my little girl to develop a thick skin.
I'm telling myself that I can't do anything about the other little girls, but I can certainly try and make my little girl feel better about herself and encourage her not to listen to bullies. Evie herself is not the best behaved child on the planet and she can be a bit insensitive and bossy sometimes. Still, overall she's a good, kind, polite kid who doesn't deserve this sort of treatment from her peers. Unfortunately childhood is not sunshine and rainbows and wisdom doesn't spring from unmarked time. As much as I want to rip those other girls a new one and email or call their mothers about their kids and how they've hurt mine; I can't. I have to let Evie manage these things on her own terms.
J and I are advising her to essentially tell these other kids to stop being mean and walk away. I've been telling her that she's beautiful just the way she is and that those other kids are just rude and don't care or associate with rude people. It's their problem not hers and she should try her best to ignore them. Still, is that enough? Did any of us really believe our parents over our classmates back in the day?
I can't hug her enough, I can't love her enough, and I feel so much pain right now just thinking about how hurt Evie must have been to have cried "a lot" (her words) because of these other children. I wish I had paid closer attention sooner but now all I can do is try my best to make the most of this summer and help her understand that she is a valuable human being. Unfortunately, easier said than done.
Any advice here would be most welcome. What would you do?
There’s something comfortable about having a separate culture, language, and heritage that you can wrap yourself in. Growing up, Vietnamese was a secret language and Vietnamese culture was something that I could talk about with other people and find a special bond simply because of shared cultural experience. It was easy for me to retain the Vietnamese language and some of the cultural practices (as far as my parents knew them anyway) when all my family members were Vietnamese and all our family friends were Vietnamese. In terms of identity, it is easy for me to claim that I am Vietnamese American, because my life and existence has been so engrained with Vietnamese linguistic and cultural knowledge and practice. That practice was only possible for me because of the family and family friends who shared the same heritage. My children however, will have another culture to wrap themselves in, but it won’t be Vietnamese, though it will contain Vietnamese elements.
The Little Goose and the Sweet Pea are going to have a multi-cultural upbringing. Even if I wanted to, no amount of effort on my part will prevent the fact that they will not have a “typical” Vietnamese American upbringing. Their dad isn’t Vietnamese, the 1980s and 1990s are long gone and the people they have surrounding them by the bonds of blood, marriage, and friendship are not only solely Vietnamese. Their upbringing is going to be radically different from mine. It’s my job as their mother to help them appreciate all of it.
My children are blessed with the fact that they have a pan-Asian American heritage and they have a claim to each and every culture. They may not have the experience of children who have parents of the same culture, but they will at least have the option of learning about these different cultures and understanding that once upon a time, an ancestor of theirs was someone of that culture and that they owe their existence to them. Some of these cultures will be more prevalent in their lives than others. I’m fully Vietnamese American and my parents play a huge role in the lives of my children. They are both somewhat bilingual because they spend so much time with my parents. In the fall, Evie is going to be enrolled in Vietnamese school so that she can retain as much of the language as possible. The Sweet Pea will probably be enrolled in Vietnamese school in the future as well and so long as we live near my parents, something of Vietnamese culture will rub off on the many trips to the temple with my mom or perhaps through the stories and songs my grandma sings to them.
In addition to the Vietnamese, they’ll be exposed to Korean culture through their Korean great grandmother and her cooking. Because of their Korean heritage, they understand what it feels like to wear a hanbok. They’ll know that kimbop and sushi are two different things. While J and his mom aren’t really knowledgeable about Korean traditions or language, J would never leave out that he is of mixed cultural heritage and his mom would never say that she was anything but Korean American. Part of a Korean American heritage includes wearing hanboks on special occasions and eating galbi, kimchi, soon du boo, and kimbop while telling your great grandmother that you love her, even though you can’t speak her language you practice saying kahmsahmnida. And maybe, just maybe, when you grow up, you’ll take a class and learn some more to reclaim the history that was lost but was preserved, if only a little bit, by food and love.
Or maybe, just maybe, the Little Goose and Sweet Pea will want to learn more about Japan and their Japanese American heritage. Perhaps they’ll remember all the Anime we have in stock just waiting for them to be old enough to discover. I can only hope that their great grandfather will be around when they’re old enough to ask about the internment camps and what it meant to be Japanese American once upon a time in the land of the free. In the meantime, they’ll spend at least once a month or so with their grandpa, picking fuyu persimmons off the tree in the back yard and occasionally going to a daruma festival or two. J and I will probably take them to a Japanese American museum, like the one in LA so that they can remember where their last name came from. Perhaps I’ll even get them to understand that no family gathering on the Japanese side is complete without Uncle R’s spam musubi.
Of course, to say that my kids only have Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese American cultures to choose from is limiting them to just the cultures of the people they are related to by blood. More than likely, they’ll also be exposed, if only by a little bit to the cultures of the family members who are related by marriage like their Filipino aunties, their white grandfather, their Taiwanese grandmother, their Chinese uncle and future Hispanic uncle; not to mention all our friends who range from African American to Indian American to a whole bunch of things together. Who knows, perhaps in the future as my cousins and siblings get older and marry, they’ll be exposed to even more as new family and friends are added to the mix. No, my kids won’t have Vietnamese American culture to wrap themselves in, they’ll have something even better, they’ll have an upbringing that is as multi-faceted as they are and their culture will be more unique than anything I ever had. That’s a good thing. I’m so glad I get to experience it with them and I can’t wait for more.
No one told me parenting would be such a bittersweet thing. I look at the past five and half years of my little girl's life and it's gone by all too quickly. I remember how excited I was when she first uttered a semblance of "Mama". I remember quietly regretting all the complaining I did about having to carry her around the first time she walked away from me. Potty training was a huge deal. The first time she wrote her name was cause for a lot of fussing and hugging. All the wonder of the simple things fade into sepia colored memory as you mark off all the things on your list of normal child milestones.
Next week is the end of kindergarten. It feels like the end of an era. Before you hit the numbered grades, your baby is still just a little thing really. You may say that she's a big girl once she can walk, say her first word, complete her first sentence, go without a diaper, or walk away from you on the first day of school; but it doesn't really hit you how not so little your baby really is, until she's done with kindergarten. All the milestones which indicate that your child is a normal child (hopefully) are pretty much settled. All the last vestiges of babyhood are gone by the time kindergarten ends. The cheeks aren't quite as round somehow and the legs became too long for chubby thighs and all that's left in front of you is a vast expanse of years marked by birthdays and the ticking off of to do lists. Instead of physical and developmental marks now you'll have to find other marks to celebrate.
I realize that it may seem that I'm writing this in a hushed and reverent tone as if the best years of my little girl's life are over, or rather, the best years of our life together are over; but that's not the case at all. I look out at the expanse before us and I can't wait. I can't wait to take her to a museum and actually have her understand and truly appreciate the art, science, or culture that I hope she learns from those wonderful places. The idea of putting her on a bicycle for the first time and holding on till she's ok with me to let go gives me goosebumps. I think of all the little things I can teach her like where to find Orion and Scorpius, how to make a daisy chain, and how to make baking soda foam over a clay volcano and I get giddy with excitement.
Over the last few weeks we took the kids hiking to see a waterfall, on a tour through a cave, and to the north coast to see tide pools. While she was scared of the cave, she still thought that the fact that the formations could glow was cool. She loved the waterfall and dipping her toes in to the cold pool of water. We saw butterflies and she listed all the species of butterflies she knew (all of two) before she realized that Mommy knew about as much as she did and perhaps less on the subject. And while her brother threw rocks in the ocean, she paid attention and oohed and ahhed at the little sea creatures her Daddy pulled off the rocks for her to see.
Next week is the end of kindergarten. My baby girl is no longer a baby and is no longer little, but now, instead of marking off a list of items her body is supposed to do with or without us, we're marking off a list of what we want to do with her and for her that she can actively participate in. I probably won't throw a party, but I'll remember to hug, and proudly exclaim, "Hey my kid just did her first algebra equation!" I might even get misty eyed, sniffle, and sigh at yet another "milestone", but then, that's a part of the job I guess.
Update 6/13: Evie had her kindergarten graduation. I've added a picture of her and my mom at the event.
4:17am. It's been a very long day for me, but I just had to get a few thoughts off my mind before I put my trusty laptop away.
The Sweet Pea is lying on the couch next to me in just a little t-shirt and his diaper, scratching his tummy and contemplating whether he should wake up and keep me company. At least, that's what I think he's thinking. My baby boy, what wouldn't I do for him and his sister? Our lives are so very routine, everything is planned and expected. My trusty routine and calendar can tell me where I'll be at any given moment on any given day. J and the kids have routines too. There's comfort in ritual. I don't normally worry about my kids during the day since I know exactly where they ought to be and who's watching them (heck, it's even on occasion me). There's nothing wrong with routine really, just that no one believes you're really living when you do the same things over and over. And you know, in this day and age, unless you're doing something dramatic, it's not really living...but it's not really the same every day. No, not really.
Everyday the Sweet Pea changes a little. He grows a little taller, he learns a few more things, and even his face changes. I swear he's getting a new dimple in, where there was once only one, I see the hint of another on the opposite cheek. But it's easy to see change in little ones. Evie doesn't change quite as quickly, but every day, somewhere in our routine, she learns something new at school. There's a new revelation to be had and she's slowly learning to be more independent from her parents. Somewhere in the routine, my babies grow, they change, they do their living. And I take comfort in my absolute faith, that despite the changes and the little moments of life slipping through, the Routine, keeps them safe and will keep them well until they are old enough to go off to college and live a life away from me. Even then, I'll take comfort in knowing they'll just be doing what they are supposed to do. As long as they have a routine that takes them to class and back I'll only have to worry about the vacations and breaks in between.
Yesterday morning (now it is "yesterday"), 32 people were killed at Virginia Tech. The vast majority of those were young students who were following a routine. Many o them probably had parents like me, who would take comfort in knowing their child was going to class. It was just another Monday. Just another day...I'm holding my baby boy tighter now. He's not scratching his tummy anymore. We're just cuddling as I type over his shoulder with my laptop on my knees. We don't cuddle nearly enough. I think I need to change my routine. I think I need to make "life" a bigger part of it. I can't help but think about the families of the Virginia Tech shooting victims. I can't help but wonder if they can ever continue to live "normal, routine" life anymore. I wonder if there are any regrets that there was never enough time to cuddle, to love, to relate.
I wonder, if we all need to find more moments of "pure joy"*...
*Thanks to Superha for the term.
The Little Goose is a dawdler. She will do everything in her power to just not do what you asked her to do. I wonder if it's an age thing? When she was younger she was always happy to get a chore or a command. She loved DOING. No matter what it was from getting her shoes on or brushing her teeth or throwing things away, she'd do them in a flash. Well, those days are gone. I want to say it happened when she turned 5 about six months ago but it may have started when she got a morning routine. I'm not sure. It might just be a kindergarten thing. While she loves school, you wouldn't know it from her morning sluggishness. (Or it could also be that she's still tired in the morning and isn't getting enough sleep, but our sleep issues are huge and are for another post.)
Here's what the routine is supposed to look like:
7:30AM - Alarm goes off, Mommy and Evie wake up and get ready for school
7:45AM - By this time, Evie will have changed into her school uniform and mommy has made breakfast.
8:00AM - By this time, lunch and homework should be packed and in her backpack
8:10AM - By this time, Evie should have her socks, shoes, and jacket on along with her teeth brushed, face washed, and hair combed. Daddy wakes up and takes the Little Goose to school...ON TIME.
8:20AM - School starts
Here is what the routine every morning actually IS:
7:30AM - Alarm goes off, Mommy attempts to wake up the silly goose who is in a death like sleep or SOMETHING. At some point, I say f**k it and let her sleep a little longer because I'm rather tired myself...
7:45AM - Second alarm goes off, Evie wakes up but sits in a dazed little heap on the floor next to the bed and attempts to sleep some more
8:00AM - By this time, I've dragged her into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water so she could WAKE UP after which I ask her to brush her teeth and put on her uniform so that I could make her breakfast and lunch.
8:10AM - She's dawdled and played with her toothbrush instead of brushing and so I stand there and WATCH her brush and then help her put on her uniform, after which she declares that she's hungry and eats her breakfast (or if we're really late, no breakfast, and by this point, it's almost always cereal). Daddy wakes up...sort of.
8:15AM - Everyone is screaming for Evie to put on her damn socks and shoes, which she does with the energy and strength of the slowest little slug on earth.
8:20AM - Out the door...maybe.
ALMOST EVERY SINGLE MORNING! Although it's even worse when my mom's around because she insists Evie finish her breakfast before any movement is made. The ideal routine only happens once every few weeks maybe. For some reason the socks and shoes part always trips her up. She could follow the ideal routine perfectly and then when it comes to socks and shoes time, she just does.not.want.to.do.it. and we have to pry her away from whatever she's doing to get her to put them on and get out the door. When her report card came back, I was shocked that she only had two official tardies, but still, I know for a fact that we cut it very close every morning.
This morning was weird, we all woke up late at 8:07AM, I washed Evie's face, she brushed her teeth, I told her to hurry, helped her with her clothes, gave her socks, which she put on, packed a quick lunch of leftovers (Zachary's Chicago Style Pizza, an apple, and a box of sugarcane juice y'all), and J was up and they were out the door in record time. J actually came back and said she was on time for once. The irony is kicking our asses.
Happy Friday Everyone!
My parents are going back to Vietnam for a month starting next week. They're going for vacation as well as charity. Every time my parents go to Vietnam they make sure to organize distributions of rice and money amongst our poorer distant relatives and their neighbors. This time, they're also going to help build a small temple to honor our ancestors at the cemetery where they were buried as well as others who might be buried in the same area. My parents have been doing things like this as far back as I can remember. We lived poor in the United States, but when it came to family and friends who were living in squalor in the old country, money was no object.
When I was younger, I was always a little bitter about this. Growing up, sometimes all we had to eat was scrambled eggs, rice, and soy sauce because my parents were too busy working for money that we never really saw but was sent back "home" and there wasn't much to cook around the house. It's hard to care about family and people you barely remember half a world away when your stomach's growling and you're a latchkey kid who has to take care of herself and her little brother and sister. (Another time, I'll have to go into the way Vietnamese family hierarchies work, someone convinced me that it's actually interesting and not mundane.)
Despite this bitterness, the lesson of charity, family, and commitment to those who made a difference in your life, no matter where you are and how far they are, have made it to my adult consciousness. The whole cliche about feeling great after you've done good? That actually happens! These days, we're not hungry anymore and we're not poor. My kids have all the clothes and toys they could possibly want with aunties and uncles galore who would fight for the right to babysit them. If they are in danger of anything, to put it bluntly, it's that they could potentially become spoiled brats. Since I really don't get along with little brats, it's in my best interest (and theirs in the end) to pass along these values of family, charity, and commitment.
My plan of attack is basically do what my parents did, and that is being a role model. I'm doing things that I normally do anyway so it hasn't been so hard actually. Things such as sharing with others and doing little things that might help others out when I can such as holding doors open, helping people pick things up if they've dropped them, owning up to my mistakes, apologizing and making a true effort to improve. And of course, being respectful, kind (I try anyway), doing things you say you're going to do even if you do them late (it's better than never).
So far, Evie (I figure I'll call her by her RL nickname now although, I'll probably still call her my Little Goose every now and then) is actually REALLY well behaved for the most part and she does love sharing and helping others. I'm so proud of her. Even when she has a breakdown, when I ask her if she thinks throwing a tantrum is respectful behavior she generally replies, "No." and stops or whimpers...in which case, hugs are in order. Meanwhile, the Sweet Pea, good lord...is it a boy thing?
He's not really up on sharing too often, but he can be a little charmer when he wants to be (don't be fooled by the picture) and he shares food quite often (even when half chewed and drool soaked) so I have hope for him. He is only 23 months after all. Both kids are expected to call people by their proper titles, auntie and uncle (even friends) as well as bow and tell their grandparents when they're leaving. Again, they're not always good at it, but when they do, I'm so proud. Hopefully we can keep encouraging them to keep it up.
When the kids are a bit older and my schedule isn't quite as tight, I'm hoping to do more volunteer and fund raising work as well as get the kids involved. In the past, I've volunteered to man booths where I handed out toys at festivals or taught origami to little ones, but I haven't had time to do much lately. However, each year we do participate in the American Heart Association's Heart Walk in our area. It's a tradition that I began when Evie was just a year old and we've walked with the kids every year since then with only one break due to a huge rainstorm. It's a fun activity for a great cause and I can't wait till I can do even more with them in tow and more importantly explain to them why it's so important to help others and causes we care about.
As with anything, we'll see how it goes.
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In my next edition of Parenting Priorities...I think I'm finally ready to address race, heritage, and ethnicity since Evie and I had the following conversation while watching Sweet Pea's video obsession du jour together. Sweet Pea is really turning out to be a great lover of music. He loves and demands watching and falling asleep to Fantasia 2000 which he calls "doo doo doo DOOOOOOOO" because it begins with Beethoven's Fifth. Anyway, there is a segment that is introduced by Quincy Jones and my Evie says:
E: "Mommy, it's Martin Luther King!
Me: "No baby, his name is Quincy Jones."
E: (Incredulously) "How did you know?!"
Me: "Because I k now who he is...Why do you think he's Martin Luther King?"
E: "Because he looks like him."
Me: "How does he look like him? In what way?"
E: "Because he looks like chocolate!"
Me: (Um...ohhhhkkkkayy) "Oh, yum! it must be nice to look like chocolate."
E: "Yeah. I look like chocolate, white chocolate!"
Me: (Highly amused.) "Oh honey, you're more of a peach I think."
E: "Ooh! I'm a peach? OK!"
I related this conversation to my dear friend O, who happens to be African American. He nearly fell out of his chair laughing. She's so innocent. :sigh: I wonder when she and the Sweet Pea will notice their grandpa is white (J's stepdad).
I’ve decided to write a series of posts on some of the values I want to pass to my kids.
Nothing special really, just some of my thoughts on these things; right or wrong, they’re just what I know I want to teach my kids at the moment I'm writing about them. Please forgive me if these posts seem less well thought out or badly written. They'll usually be written in 15 minute spurts and I may add to the thought or change my mind as I go along. If anything, I think parenting and priorities are fluid things, always changing with the circumstances. Thus...perhaps I should start with something extremely idealistic. =)
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Despite being a minority woman living in
Is it wrong for me to not teach my kids about race? Not yet anyway? I’ve been reading quite a few blogs where race and ethnicity seem to be a top priority. My top priority bar none is to make sure that my kids turn into good people who are kind, thoughtful, generous, and hardworking. I think these values transcend religion, race and ethnicity. I’m hoping that they are the kind of people who treat others as they would like to be treated whether the other people are treating them with the same courtesy or not and regardless of what the other person looks like or believes. I want them to think about how they should respond to hurtful or rude comments and to not jump to conclusions that something might be wrong with them. I’m trying to teach my daughter, who is turning out to have a rather shy and timid personality, that there is nothing wrong with her, no matter what anyone says. I’m trying to teach her that it doesn’t matter if people laugh at us, are rude or mean to us. I tell her that it’s our reaction that counts and our reaction should be one of compassion. What if the person being mean or rude is having a very bad day, or even an entirely bad year or life? What would a bit of kindness and courtesy do for them? It may not change anything, but it would make us feel better for being courteous right?
I don’t always follow my own advice, but I am trying to be a good person too. I know it’s hard to not become offended or hurt by others, but that’s what strength is about right? I want my kids to be strong emotionally.
Some people have told me that it seems my goal is to ensure that my kids become push-overs. But is courtesy and compassion truly that ignoble or weak sounding? Does anyone else’s behavior really matter in comparison to our own?
While I’m not quite sure how to write this succinctly without sounding absolutely ridiculous and paranoid, I’m going to just put my fears plainly. My baby boy plays with baby dolls and girl’s toys. What does this mean??? Does it mean anything at all? (I would take a picture of him carrying around a baby doll while wearing dress up Disney Princess heels like he had been over the weekend but for the life of me I can’t find either of our two cameras.) Is it wrong that this bothers me? He’s only 21 months old for goodness sakes!
This of course, is entirely hypocritical of me. For the longest time, I’ve been absolutely disgusted with what passes for girl’s toys versus boy’s toys. Is it just me or are toys geared towards little girls completely lame? You’ve got your dolls, your toy kitchen, toy food, toy cleaning gear, and if it’s pink, even better. Boys on the other hand, seem to have toys which actually require them to use their brains a little bit. I mean, think about it, Legos, K’nex, chemistry sets, dinosaurs; basically toys which can encourage your kid to become interested in science, math, engineering, archaeology or basically anything not geared towards domesticity is generally geared more towards boys. This is an opinion that I developed long before I had kids and I swore in vain that MY daughter would not own any dolls or toys which would make her think that girls are only good for cleaning, cooking, child rearing, and shopping. Thus, over the course of five or so years, we accumulated a good amount of toys which were pretty universal to either sex (i.e. building blocks, various balls, train sets, hula hoop, teddy bears, etc.)
Enter the relatives and well meaning friends who think that a little girl should have a few little girl toys and all of a sudden, the Little Goose’s mountain of toys now contains two baby dolls, one Barbie, and two pairs of Disney Princess dress up shoes. While the Little Goose has not shown much interest in any of these items, the Sweet Pea has zoomed in on them. The dolls are of special interest him as he says, “baby,” gives them hugs…and then proceeds to throw them around or yells, “bad!” and smacks them on the forehead (I have NO idea where he got that from).
On the one hand, he’s probably just emulating us by caring for a baby doll the way we care for him (minus the throwing and smacking parts) which is fine. It means he has a tender side and kids like to emulate their parents…or something, right? But then there are the shoes, he likes walking around in them. I’ve always kind of liked wearing heels since they make me feel taller, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about my baby boy wearing heels, pink ones with fluffy bows at that!
It bothers me that this bothers me. I’ve always allowed me daughter to play with whatever she wanted to and I’ve provided her with toys which are not traditionally for girls, and so I feel like a total hypocrite for being concerned that my son wants to play with toys which aren't traditionally for little boys. I haven’t gone so far as to take any toys away from him or made any fuss about it that he could tell but part of me wants to discourage him from playing with these things.
So what does one do in these kinds of situations? Just say screw it, right? He's having fun. Hmmm…Although, maybe I should make blue shirts for the dolls. Believe it or not, I detest pink.
Ugh…3:04a.m. I have no work, I have no homework, the kids are asleep, why can’t I??? I have to wake up at 7:30am to help the Little Goose get ready for school! Which reminds me, it’s been awhile since I’ve posted about her progress kindergarten; first trimester down, two more to go.
It turns out; that despite beginning kindergarten as one of the youngest students in class (she started school at 4 years, 10 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days old) she’s doing quite well. We received her first report card and parent teacher conference where J was the epitome of cool and I was the parent to kept babbling about our kid and her entire little life and the issues we had with her and the things we did to prepare her for kindergarten because I was so dang NERVOUS! Which I didn’t have to be; turns out the Little Goose’s teacher is extremely nice, professional, and knows how to keep a bunch of 5 and 6 year olds in line. She basically told us a few things we already knew, but reassured us (well, me) that these are all perfectly normal for a child like the Little Goose.
First, per her teacher, it is extremely obvious that the Little Goose spends the majority of her time with adults rather than other children. This is exemplified by her patterns of speech and maturity level. I had always been a little freaked out that my baby girl seemed a bit different from the other kids in terms of her socialization erm…methods. While some kids liked to run around and play, the Little Goose seems to like discussion, the formulation of plans, execution steps, and general high strung type-A project management. Play is not just a slap and go thing for her, there’s always a well planned methodical purpose to all her activity that’s all in her head and which she only discusses when asked. For example:
Me: “Honey, where are you going with that blanket and those pillows? And why on earth are you moving the chairs?”
LG: “I’m building a tent Mommy. I’m going to put the blanket over the chairs and then sleep underneath it. See? Like this…Then tomorrow I’m going to go to school because there’s school tomorrow.”
(Ok, so that wasn’t a very good example, but it’s just the WAY she says these things that invokes images of what she will look like when she’s 50. It’s the calm and cool, matter of fact speech that is supposedly not…usual.)
Apparently, most 5 year olds who interact primarily with other 5 year olds do not talk like this. And thankfully, her teacher didn’t mention anything about this being bad or anything, it’s just the way the Little Goose is, and that’s ok. She gets along well with the other kids and seems to be enjoying school and having her own little friends. And that’s comforting news for an agoraphobic first time kindergarten parent who doesn’t want her child to be a loner like she was.
Secondly, the Little Goose is doing very well academically, she was able to achieve 100% on all the term review questions which included, letters, numbers, and sight words (that is, the spelling and reading of words like the, there, he, she, one, two, three, we, are, it, no, was…etc…in KINDERGARTEN y’all. Times sure have changed.) The teacher mentioned that the Little Goose appeared to learn new concepts quickly and is able to apply what she learned and that the foundation that we had provided for her prior to the start of kindergarten (i.e. letter recognition, shapes, pattern reading, colors) was obvious. In other words, we did well in that area. Yay!
Thirdly, we talked a bit about all the Little Goose has gone through since the beginning of this trimester. It’s been a hard three and a half months for her since she had had too move from her home a few months before school, adjust to school itself, and conform to a new, earlier bedtime (she’s a night owl like her parents and it’s been rough, she has to be ready and at school by 8:20am :sigh:) As I said, so far so good, at least she gets her homework done…somehow.
And lastly, during the parent teacher conference, the Little Goose’s teacher mentioned lunches that I make and how they were “beautiful”. =D Yay on that too. I don’t normally take compliments well (having never learned HOW to take a compliment since I was taught that I was an idiot who didn’t know how to do anything properly to be modest on all occasions and not let anything go to my head) but I beamed with pride on this one.
I should mention however, that the report card itself indicated something that J and I have been very familiar with as of late. That is, the inability of the Little Goose to listen to instructions. I think this has something to do with her being 5 now. While she’s doing well academically in terms of things like math and reading, she rushes too much on her work and doesn’t do her best work in terms of her handwriting practice and coloring. And, per the report card, "At times…she does not wait to listen for instruction which causes her to become confused with what she is to do.” Gotta work on that.
Otherwise it was a very good report card for a kindergartener. They don’t receive letter grades, however, I’m interpreting the checks and check pluses as A’s and B’s. This is excellent for her first trimester. I’m so proud of her although the feeling of being proud of my daughter for her grades is so ironical to me when I spent most of my childhood anxious about my own marks. I’m just happy that she’s doing well and is neither the top of her class nor the dunce and despite her old soul is still a normal happy child. In fact, so far, the most important thing to me is that she’s making friends.
The pictures are from the Little Goose's first school performance. The kindergarten girls did two different dances (one African dance and one "ballet"), sang three songs, and demonstrated what they had been learning in drama class. It turns out that the Little Goose's school has a performance arts charter program. I did not know this until last Friday! Pictures of the performance can be found by clicking here. Most of them are of the Little Goose and her current BFFs Seph (the beautiful tall one in the middle) and M (the cute little one on the right). When the Little Goose and Sweet Pea are together, I think the Little Goose is a giant, however, it turns out that she's one of the tiniest kids in her class.
It’s no secret in this house that I’ve been in a horrible angry mood these last few days. There are a lot of things going on that have just brought out the worst in me and now I feel extremely sheepish for letting myself get too emotional. I’ve always been a person who becomes easily susceptible to bouts of depression when life just isn’t working out. However, for my husband, for my kids, for my own sanity, I try to catch myself and think positive thoughts. And so here are 10 things in no particular order that have helped to cheer me up today. What cheers you up when you’re down?
10. The Sweet Pea has managed to keep two socks on his feet for the last three days. It’s a miracle! Either that or the thing that’s been eating one of his socks on a regular basis is laying low since I was about to launch a full scale investigation. Let’s hope the Sweet Pea keeps it up. Although now that he’s been managing to keep both socks on, I’m missing the cuteness of his single naked foot.
9. J asked me if he could go before he went out with his friends tonight. Well, he always does this when he goes out, but it occurred to me that he has never needed to ask and it’s very nice of him to do so anyway. We are always in contact with each other and he always lets me know where he is and what he’s up to in case I worry, because if it’s one thing he knows for certain, it is that I’m a worrywart. I highly recommend thoughtful spouses for good humor.
8. The Little Goose and the Sweet Pea were happy to see me. I always wonder if I spend too much time working and if my kids somehow forget me in the course of the day or maybe if I come home cranky and tired often enough they would hate me and not care to greet me at all when I come home. Luckily, it takes more than simple neglect to get rid of my little ones. I received lots of love today. The Sweet Pea even gave me several very wet kisses; the kinds where I have to wipe my cheek on his shirt are the best.
7. My dad and I watched about 10 minutes of a documentary on Pompeii together (before I had to run off for something or other). We even exchanged a short conversation on the poor Pompeiians (Pompeiiese? People of Pompeii) who must have suffered the worst kind of suffocating, burning deaths and yet what a boon for archeology that their town remains so well preserved and giving us a glimpse into the past. I love having conversations with my dad that don’t involve yelling, family, or food. It makes me more aware that he’s actually a human being and not just laconic-Asian-dad-authority-figure.
6. I went to the grocery store and dinner with J and the kids. Not only were they well behaved and didn’t ask for a single thing for themselves (ok, I’m lying, the Sweet Pea broke down near the end and started crying for a “bahwoo” aka balloon, although he didn’t get one and was ok about that). It was nice just being out with the people I love the most in the whole world. It didn’t matter that it was only for an hour and a half and that we went to Denny’s and Safeway. It was precious time.
5. My mom was excited that I was going to Safeway and asked me to buy chicken broth since it was on sale. I’m happy that I was able to help her out.
4. I was able to take a nap. Naps are good. It’s amazing what they can do for your state of mind. Babies truly are geniuses, they’ve been trying to tell us all along that naps were important, not just for them, but for everyone, but no one listens.
3. No one died a violent death in Oakland today, at least, not per SFGate.com. Every time I hear of a murder in Oakland, I get a little depressed. I love this city and I love living here, but it has an incredibly bad rap for being a violent and scary place. One could speculate on the reasons for this; the socio-economic levels of its residents, the fact that it is a minority majority city, the accusation that it’s the industrial backwater of the San Francisco contado, that there is no “there” here, etc. I want the best for my city, it’s a nice place to live with wonderful people, but it always makes me sad and frustrated that there are people here who would solve the issues they have in their lives through violence.
2. It was a beautifully warm day. Not that I actually spent much time outdoors today, but I appreciate the fact that we still have our mild Mediterranean type weather in the middle of October. One of my theories is that people in the Bay Area are laid back because we don’t have snow to shovel or high temperatures to sweat over. Tomorrow also looks to be quite nice, highs in the low 80s they say.
1. I was able to put the kids to bed. I was able to read them a story and sing them songs till they drifted off to sleep. Before I began my educational odyssey, bedtime was my ritual to perform. However, I haven’t really had a chance to put the kids to bed in awhile. At least, not put them to bed properly. In the last month, it’s been a challenge to fit in story time and songs. It’s mainly been about getting them to stay put with a lot of yelling. This is time that is precious to me as well.
These 10 things might seem pretty domestic to you and very small and insignificant, but this is all I ask for to keep me happy. If every day were like today, then life wouldn’t be so bad. It’s the little things that make a life worth living yeah?
Happy Sunday! Oh, day of rest. Or rather, it better be. My first week of workaholic/student/mom/spouse was pretty hectic and tiring. I’m almost tempted to start pretending to be a narcoleptic so that I could get a prescription for Modafinil. I feel like I need every single hour within the day and then some. While on the one hand, I’m extremely glad that my company decided to call me back and give me the hours that I wanted for school; the work that I do has long hours and can be very tedious. At least I get to telecommute when I have to work around 11:30pm on a Saturday night and again at 3am on Sunday (not to mention the call I just got at 10:30am). This of course caps off a week where I worked on Monday for from 9pm to 8pm (my first day back on the job after I had quit and was off for a week), Tuesday from 6am to 2pm and then telecommuted from class (i.e. 4pm to 7pm), Wednesday like Monday, Thursday like Tuesday, with the added bonus of having to drive to UC Santa Cruz from Oakland at 6am to make a 8am discussion session, telecommute from the school library and class and not make it home till 10:00pm where the Lil’ Goose was waiting for me and accosted me with, “Mommy you took too long!”; and finally Friday, let’s not talk about Friday, let’s just say I was up at 4:30am for something that had to be done and started work immediately after and was working till 9:30pm. Anyone who’s been in systems/network administration can relate to what I’m saying, I’m sure. It’s tempting to complain about work and the long hours and how much it takes me away from family and the part of my life that I actually care about, but I don’t. Why? Because my job begs the question, “Are you tough enough?” Pride and a paycheck force me to answer, “Hell yeah, bring it on!” like I’m some mini George Bush with a software quagmire to battle. Ok, since I’m not leading this project, I should say I’m more like captain on the front lines…and fuck did I just compare myself to Dubya? Slap me! Where was I? Oh yeah, am I tough enough. Yes! For I am Superwoman; I program and edit code at work to make me more efficient which ends up getting more work piled my way; I eek out precious time with my family on days when I telecommute and weekend hours when I’m not working; I go to class and work from class whilst taking notes of lecture on my laptop and I participate in discussion; AND I find time to get into situations where my parents can lecture me about all of the above and the fact that I work and work with no overtime. I am Superwoman; hear me snore; because I don’t know about you, but I’m TIRED! Superwoman's kryptonite is that sleep thing. *********************** In other news, Superwoman has extremely good responsible children and husbands (albeit very clingy due to Superwoman’s sporadic physical presence). We went out to dinner with some friends last night before I had to rush home and work and during the course of the dinner, the Little Goose found a ring. There was some debate as to whether it was real, being of the ruby-and-diamond-set-in-a-floral-butterfly-pattern-with-white-gold-band-this-side-of-tacky variety that you’d find at a jewelry store in a suburban mall; however, I did find an 18K stamp on the band and so at least that was real. J immediately said we should turn it in and the Little Goose did not question it at all. She didn’t covet the ring in any way because, well, it wasn’t hers and most importantly, we didn’t have to explain any of that to her. In fact, her biggest questions of the night were, “What’s an ‘Owner’?” and, "What's security look like?" She proceeded to go through various fantastic scenarios where it had been her teacher or her friend who lost the ring and they were this mysterious “Owner” person. My sweet girl didn’t have any problems with us turning over the ring to security (who seemed pretty surprised that someone would turn something like that in) and I’m so proud that she’s so responsible that she would return something she knew to be valuable and pretty instead of fighting to keep it for herself. That’s my girl. The Sweet Pea also was generally well behaved and sat and ate his food cheerfully throughout the dinner as well. He just seemed happy to be with us and out of the house. That’s my boy. All this is in direct contrast to what some members of my family like to say to me that my kids are spoiled and cry too much, the Sweet Pea in particular and that I don't spend enough time disciplining them. It just irks me to no end when people say things like that. He’s a toddler, he’s barely able to say “ewwo” and “bye bye” and when he cries because he can’t articulate what he wants and I finally figure out what he wants and give it to him I get, “Oh! What a spoiled little boy! You give in to him too much. You should just let him cry.” What the fuck? What hurts the most is that these are family members whom I love and whose opinions I truly care about normally. But sometimes, I wish they would just keep their mouths shut because they don’t know what it’s really like between my kids, J and me. They look at us on the outside and judge us whenever our kids whine or cry or when I work too much or that I’m going back to school. They say I’m selfish and I don’t care about my kids but they don’t mention anything about how I get up early to pack my girl’s lunch, how I bathe my boy and sing with him, how I read to them and tuck them into bed, and give them hugs and kisses constantly when I am with them. And these people, they don’t mention that my daughter is smart, polite, sweet, and articulate; and my son is funny, easy going, and loves to give people smiles and lots of hugs and wet kisses. It hurts that people I love would accuse them of being spoiled brats when I know they are not and when they say that I'm selfish for trying to find some happiness for myself in going back to school while working full time. None of my friends or any of my colleagues would ever say those things. These people, they don't have conversations with their kids at 5am like I did with my Little Goose week.
The Little Goose had woken up to go to the bathroom and saw that I was about to leave. “Mommy, where are you going?” She asked.
“I’m going to school sweetie.” She started to whimper and I hugged her and asked what was wrong. “I’m going to miss you!” she cried, and then the little tears were streaming down her face. I put her back in bed and left for my long drive to school, where I cried and cried wishing I could just let go of all the dreams I have for myself and just turn around and stay with her...but nothing worth doing is ever easy.
*********************** And finally, in the news you may have heard. Typhoon Xangsane pretty much hit my hometown in Vietnam head on. I hear my grandma is injured and my aunt’s house completely collapsed. I’m not normally religious, but Sunday is a day for prayer. I find myself chanting a sutra in my head, “Nam mo a di da phat.” Amida Buddha, please take care of my family. God, Heaven, Ancestors...are you there too? (Update: Thanks to everyone who commented and did not mention that I've completely lost my mind. Also, my grandma is ok although my grandparent's home is severely damaged and one of my aunt's homes collapsed, everyone survived relatively unscathed. Yay!)I grew up in a crowd. At the most population dense point, our household consisted of eleven people in a two bedroom apartment on the east side of Salinas. Back then, I couldn’t walk ten feet without bumping into someone when we were all home. There was no such thing as privacy, and I’d have gotten yelled at if I hogged a room all to myself. So how did I get away? I read books and I listened to music and I dreamt I could play the piano and write the great Vietnamese-American novel. My parents couldn’t afford music lessons and they were much more concerned with my math skills than my writing skills. Fast forward twenty years and all I can do is play “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on a keyboard and write nonsensical blog entries with bad endings. Ironically, it sometimes escapes me what 7x8 equals. Part of me hopes that my kids will pick up my dreams of being a musical virtuoso or poet laureate, but then the part of me that’s happy with my life thinks that they could burp the ABCs for all I care as long as they’re happy I would be proud. But I do want to give them all the things I never got and was too poor to have. Did I know that I was poor? I don’t think so, being surrounded by other poor people made it much easier. None of us had fancy dance or music lessons or played organized sports with real uniforms, although all of us got smacked if we messed up. I think I had a vague suspicion that I might have been missing out on some middle class perks based on the kids I saw on TV (Full House in particular) but then the people on TV weren’t real. I wonder if I would have even appreciated any of it anyway. I mean, J had the classic middle class upbringing. He had violin lessons, played soccer, took Tae Kwon Do classes, dance lessons, and figure skating (yes, I make a habit of reminding him of those last two), but can he do any of that stuff now? Not really, to use his words and his calm, matter of fact tone, “Hell no.” Unappreciative punk, imagine how much money his parents spent on all that and he couldn't retain ANY of it? Actually, J ruins all my dreams of having cultured genius children. It's because of him that I face the reality that money and classes and opportunity do not a talented-envy-of-all-neighbors child make. Luckily, he balances that out by making me appreciate having well rounded happy contented children (since he happens to be a well rounded relatively happy guy). Which are much more valuable now that I’ve failed my parents in their educational dreams for me and have resorted to life plan B, i.e. “Be happy.” Thus, some days, when I am looking through catalogs of classes that Little Goose and Sweet Pea could take and dreaming of having a classical pianist or pretty prima ballerina or the Asian Toni Morrison on my hands, I have to shake myself and ask if they even like piano music, ballet, or even books about screwy Asian folk and fucked up white people. Considering they’re 4 and 1, probably not…yet. 'Cause you bet your ass I’m working on it, because what is parenting if not propaganda and manipulation? Plan A so far, work on the musical appreciation. The Sweet Pea loves singing “La la la!!” with me before dissolving into a puddle of giggles and the Little Goose loves singing on the toilet, PLUS they both love banging on a piano. It’s a start, gotta develop those early talents and interests right? Piano lessons here we come. I'll deal with Plan B when the bill for Plan A comes. I mean, just in case I DO have a piano virtuoso literary genius on my hands right? Right? Hmm, world's greatest "La la la!" singer isn't so bad either.
Yet another night of random sleep deprived writing…
KINDERGARTEN PARENT, Week 4
“Children are like springs, the harder you push down, the higher they jump…”
J and I were at the bookstore today and I saw test preparation book for 1st grade standardized tests. I didn’t dare look at the book; however, it reminded me of an article I read in Newsweek regarding Kindergarten being the new first grade. Instead of focusing on play, Kindergarteners now learn what used to be taught in first grade.
The Little Goose in the last three weeks has started early reading and math instruction. Her homework (she has homework every day except Friday) consists of tracing and writing letters, sounding out letters, and pre-math concepts such as before, after, above, and below. Much of this homework is very easy for the Little Goose. She actually, already knows how to add and subtract numbers between 1 and 10. She had begun spelling her name when she was two and writing her name in preschool. She knew her letters, numbers, colors, shapes and many of the phonics by the time she was three and half. The homework is old news, it’s review and preparation for reading.
I know I ranted a little bit about my worry that the Little Goose would be behind her peers, however, I have been preparing her for school from the moment she spoke her first word. I bought and helped her with Preschool workbooks, her toys and the only television shows she’s allowed to watch are “educational”. When she was a baby, I constantly quizzed her on the location of her body parts, the color of her crayons, and the shape of her pizza in two languages. I tell myself, I am doing this for my daughter, for her own good so that she can not only be a good student, but the best student in the class. The more educated she is, the better prepared she will be for the real world…right?? I beam with pride whenever someone says that my Little Goose is “…such a smart girl!” and I find myself frustrated and forgetful when she claims that she “can’t do” things. I tell myself that I know she can do it; of course she can, it’s SO simple, writing your name correctly is SO simple, she’s been writing her name since she was 3, of course writing it on a straight line should be easy for her right? I have to give myself a mental slap to bring me back to my senses. SHE’S NOT EVEN 5 YEARS OLD!
I keep forgetting my own history. I forget that my parents were very hard on me to succeed in school. I forget that I learned the multiplication tables before 1st grade. I didn’t know how to read, but I certainly knew what 5x8 was. I forget that I cried and cried when I got a B+ in Trigonometry and Advanced Algebra. I forget that I had to wake up at 5am to get to 0 hour on time when I was in 7th grade for AP geometry at the local high school. I forget that I skipped my senior year of high school, worked two jobs, and still graduated a year early so I could go to college and get away from my parents and all pressure of all their hopes for their oldest daughter. The oldest daughter of the oldest son, that’s who I am. I forget, that I had an emotional breakdown and said goodbye to school for nearly 10 years. My daughter is the oldest child of the oldest child of the oldest child....
The quote at the beginning of this rambling was recalled during a conversation about Asian parents and educational pressure. A set of Chinese parents had said this to the woman I heard this from. Sitting in on our conversation, was a teenager who had tried to hang himself a few weeks after receiving notice that he had received a full scholarship to
THE INTERNET AND THE FUTURE OF ASIAN MEDIA REPRESENTATION
The Sweet Pea actually doesn’t watch much TV outside of the very diverse
I sometimes wonder about the diminishing importance of “
POPPIN’
Speaking of YouTube and the internet; one of the stereotypes I grew up believing, is that Asians have no rhythm and can’t dance. Luckily, thanks to YouTube, I’m seeing plenty of videos that prove this is not true. I grew up with Hip Hop and loved Breakin’ and apparently, it is very big in
Yo WOokiE!!!
WAZzUp kId! Yo mOmz Axd Me tO hAv A LiL cHaT wIT cHu SiNce Ur dUmb Azz GaVe Ur GF a hIcKY an HeR ReNtz cAmE kNocKin aT yo hOUse. U R OnLY 13 kId so I fiGuRe I bEtTa wRiTe tHis iN a wAy tHaT cHu wOuLd uNd’StAnD dAWg. Az yO OldaH WizAh CoZ I’M oNly goNnA sAy tHis oNCe sO
1 HiCkY’s R fuCkiN taCkY sOn, iF
2 cHU BeTtA NoT coMe RoUnD HeRe Wit nO BabeZ
LiEn bETtER REcOGnIzE!
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Shit, this was an exercise in retardation. I can’t believe kids type like this. That actually took WAY longer than a normal post.
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To translate for Daddy in a Strange Land and all the grown ups out there, here is what I wrote above:
Dear Wookie,
What's up kid! Your mom asked me to have a little chat with you since your dumb ass gave your girlfriend a hicky and her parents came knocking at your house. You are only 13 and so I figure I better write this in a way that you would understand. As your older and wiser cousin, I'm only going to say this once and so please pay attention.
1 Hickies are tacky. If you're going to have a girlfriend, please stop leaving any evidence when you know you're not supposed to have any relationships until you are 35 and your mother will freak out if you do.
2 Don't come 'round here with no babies.
Love,
Lien
The Little Goose loves her little brother very much. She loves to hug him and asks if she can kiss him when he sleeps. All is immediately forgiven when he waves her away or smacks her in the face or steals her toys from her hands. Most of the time, she willingly shares her goodies with him. She sometimes sings to him at night and tells him to “shhhh…don’t cry, Chi Hai* is here…” when he whimpers in his sleep. When J and I immediately got pregnant after we decided to have a second baby (after my mom told me that the all knowing Vietnamese horoscope book said it was a good year for me to get pregnant), the first thing on our minds was how to go about preparing the Little Goose for her new sibling. As J’s style of parenting can best be described as “winging it” (which actually sort of works as he’s got morals and ethics that I believe in and is genuinely a wonderful and caring father, despite not reading a single parenting book), we, or rather, I read dozens of articles and books about how best to prepare an older child for a new sibling. There were actually a few different perspectives on how best to do this without having the older kid hate the new bundle of joy on sight. I don’t remember much of what I read, but I think there was the prepare the heck out of your kid by involving them in every aspect of your pregnancy camp (the hippy new age people), the don’t tell your kid till the last minute and then spring the baby on them camp (the traditionalists), and the in between tell your kid in the third trimester when there’s obviously something different about you and you’re about to pop camp (the moderates). J and I were somewhere between the hippy’s and the moderates as we started to tell the Little Goose about the new baby around the middle of the 2nd trimes
