Womze – Cross Cultural Parenting

This morning, I heard a report on the radio that Chinese students took part for the first time in the Program for International Student Assessment which test reading, writing and math skills.  The outcome was no surprise to me – the Chinese students came out on top.   So I was surprised to hear the follow-up statement:

Some educators are calling it “a Sputnik moment,” like the launch of the Soviet satellite in 1957 that so shocked America.

These are students in a highly competitive school system who spend several hours a day studying, under pressure from both teachers and parents (so I’ve heard from my Chinese friends).  So why anyone is shocked that they came out on top is beyond me.

Despite this success, the school administrators believe that their system is in need of a change due to their overdependence on rote learning and lack of emphasis on critical thinking.  According to a Chinese school principal,

“Why don’t Chinese students dare to think? Because we insist on telling them everything. We’re not getting our kids to go and find things out for themselves.”

Rote learning and critical thinking both have their roles.  But I personally believe that for maximum effectiveness, especially in subjects like math, a combination is needed.  Perhaps there is some research that has identified what the optimal combination is, but I think it will probably vary for every individual.

The lesson here for me as a parent is to provide whatever balance may be lacking.  I grew up under a system of rote learning and I wish I had had the opportunity to develop my whole brain rather than just number crunching.  My children on the other hand have the opportunity for a richer development experience.  But deep within me (and me and Hubby talk about this all the time), I feel something is missing – the rote and repetition that could take them to an entirely new level, that solidifies the basic learnings.

The Kumon workbooks I ordered are on their way.  I had ordered them as I started to formulate plans and goals for 2011.  Now, hearing this report is further justification to make time for rote.  I can’t wait to get the workbooks.

Why Kumon?

I have purchased several workbooks for Math but haven’t found any that provides enough worksheets on a single concept.  They would just provide 2-5 worksheets on a newly introduced concept but I would like something that provides a ton of worksheets on each concept.  I tried to write exercises myself (how hard is it to come up with addition facts?) but it gets tiring.  Someone told me about the Kumon workbooks and thought it will provide what I need.  I am hopeful that they will since there’s an entire workbook for addition, another for subtraction etc.

When the workbooks arrive, I will be sure to write a review.

I don’t think I realized how strong feelings about Santa ran until recently.  Lisa Belkin on Motherlode is posting 4 essays from parents for and against Santa.  Even though only two of the essay have been posted, the comments have been very interesting to read.  I have had people tell me how and when they revealed the Santa secret to their kids, but I just never understood that it was a strongly guarded secret.  Deep down, I suspected the kid already knew and were humoring their parents – the way you would pretend surprise at a surprise party you knew about.  But I must have been wrong.  Some Many parents apparently go to great lengths to create the Illusion of Santa.  I think that is ridiculous.

Equally ridiculous is the fact that some parents are also going to great lengths to break the illusion.  And I find it amusing that the same parents do not take any issue with celebrating the birth of Jesus on December 25.

Just do what I do – let the children be and enjoy the show.

Perhaps my lack of emotion for or against Santa is due to my growing up without Santa.  I grew up instead with Father Christmas.  He looks just like Santa and he hands out Christmas gifts.  But he does not climb down chimneys (we don’t have chimneys in Nigeria).  In fact, he does not visit homes.  He may visit schools or other locations with high concentrations of kids but is most likely to be found at the TV station where kids stream in to sit on his lap and collect a gift pack.

Nobody said Father Christmas was real.  And nobody said he wasn’t.  Kids knew that “somebody’s  daddy” was dressed up in the red suit and when Father Christmas appeared at school, rumors would spread about who’s daddy it might be.  But that did not spoil the magic for Father Christmas, regardless of who was in the suit, always gave out gifts (even if they were cheap and not things you wanted).

So what do my kids believe?

My 7 year old daughter believes in Santa.  I have not influenced her belief in either direction.  She also believes in the tooth fairy.  And that, I have influenced by replacing teeth from under her pillow with money.  Why?  Because I think it is fun.  And I have enjoyed listening to her questions and rationalizations of how the tooth fairy gets into the house.  Similarly, Santa has been undergoing some scrutiny but so far, he is holding up.  If she ever asks me if Santa is real, I will tell her the truth.  But she hasn’t asked me.  She has told me that someone from school said so but she told him that she believes in Santa.  She has wondered why Santa rode a firetruck to our house  last year (we participated in a neighborhood Santa delivery) instead of his sleigh.  She’s wondered how many cookies he can really eat in one night and whether it was healthy.  She’s wondered how he gets around the continents and suggested that each continent probably has a different Santa.  She’s wondered how he makes it to all houses in just one night.  She’s complained about the less than white coloration of one Santa’s beard.   

I hope she’s close to declaring that the whole thing is a fraud but I’m not going to rush her.  At this point, she believes there are some Santa impersonators but she still believes. 

I think this is an innocuous opportunity to allow her to use her own logical thinking to come to the truth.  To learn that things are not always what they seem.  And the fact that millions of people saying something exists does not mean that it does.  But for this to be effective, I believe she needs to reach the conclusion by herself rather than me telling her what she should believe.

Did I push too hard too early?  I’ve fretted over my earlier attempts to potty train and quit in frustration, experiencing highs (”I think it’s about to happen”) and lows (”I was just fooling myself”) in the process.

Then it started to seem like there would be progress, but I couldn’t tell if it would be sustainable.  “I should log our progress”, I told myself.  But I’ve been bitten once too often.  (And I had fallen out of the writing habit anyway.)  And now, we’ve been at it for weeks, I know it is no false alarm.  Big Boy (who now takes offense at the ‘Baby Brother’ label) is getting potty trained.  You may notice I did write “IS potty trained”, but I’m just as excited and here’s the story.

Three weeks before Big Boy turns 3

I no longer have potty success illusions but that doesn’t stop me from wondering out loud, “you will be a big boy soon.  You will be 3 years old and should not wear diapers.”  He smiles for he is forever cheerful (and I wonder if he understands me) but Big Sister takes up the message.

“You are going to be three years old!  You can’t wear diapers anymore!!  3 year olds do not wear diapers!!!  You have to learn to use the potty!!!!”  Her voice rises in shrill cresendoes.  She sounds like a doomsday preacher.  Big Boy’s expression appear to be a combination of amusement and confusion.  The smile is still on his face, like a mask over his true feelings.

Two weeks before Big Boy turns 3

Big Sister has maintained a barrage of daily warnings over the consequences of turning 3 in diapers.  I have no idea if the message is being received, but I did develop a drive to give potty training one more shot.

Weekend in underpants

That weekend I put the diapers away and brought out the underpants.  I explained to Big Boy what we were doing.  He seemed excited to wear big boy underpants.  And he promptly peed in them.  Not what I was hoping for.  But I decided to stick with it – Big Sister continued to chant doomsday warning…3 is coming.

Thin ray of hope

I tried to encourage frequent visits to the potty but the boy resisted.  And he had more accidents.  But he seemed uncomfortable afterwards, remaining standing until I could pull of his absorbent sweatpants, clean him and put on another pair of absorbent sweatpants.  That was my first ray of hope.  Which motivated me to think of ways to capitalize on this…solidify the potty message.

Then came youtube

Perhaps we can find some fun potty training videos on youtube.  We clustered around my computer while I searched.  We watched the Japanese tiger boy.

We skipped from one video to another and ended watching funny videos that were not about potty training but about poop and stuff.   We all sang along with this one…

Big Boy and Big Sister thought they were hilarious.  They shrieked in excitement whenever they heard a fart. 

Then without any warning

…Big Boy gets up, goes to the bathroom, puts his potty seat up, pulls his pants down (while I’m restraining Big Sister from following his in to supervise) and we hear the sound of pee streaming down.  “He did it”, she screamed.  He looked pleased with himself too.  I tried to stay calm.  “I knew you could do it”, I told him trying to act like it wasn’t that big a deal.  I gave him a high five.  Then we all started to sing “It’s my potty and I’ll cry if I want to.”

The following day

He continued going peepee in the potty.

To daycare in pull-ups

That week, I sent him to daycare in underpants.  He had one week left at our neighbor’s home daycare (she’s shutting down and going back to school and work).  And he did good.  Perhaps two accidents during the week – impressive.  We learned that he doesn’t like to be watched while he goes peepee.

But where is the poopoo?

As Big Boy learned how to control his pee, he also put the brakes on the poop.  And after 5 days of restraints, I caught him slinking around behind the couch with a pained look on his face as he grunted.  “Potty?”  He shook his head and ran away.  And hid until he could relieve himself of the burden…into his underpants.

He continued this for the next two weeks (post 3).  Potty champion during the day, nighttime poop for mommy to clean.  “Buzz Lightyear is not happy.  He doesn’t like to be dirty.”  I told him this with a sad expression as I peeled off his character underpants.

New group daycare

I’ll skip the details but they recommended I put him back in pullups for an adjustment period before reintroducing underpants.  We did this for two weeks and I think it was a bad idea because he stopped asking to go potty – peepee in pullups was fair game.  So the next weekend, I put him back in underpants, accident-friendly sweatpants and we watched the youtube videos again.

And on Monday, I sent him to daycare in underpants and multiple change of clothings.  He asks to go potty, he agrees to go potty and he sometimes has accidents. 

As for the poop?

He still reserves that for mommy in the evenings but 50% of the time now, it goes in the potty.  When it does, he demands 3 reward stickers.  So, I’m very hopeful and that is where we stand.

Driving home from work today, I listened to NPR as I usually do (though lately, I’ve been switching to a station playing Christmas carols to cheer myself up while stuck in traffic due to inclement weather  – but today, traffic was good).  I listened to a story about a muslim activist turned goat farmer with only a fraction of my attention as I thought about the various things I need to do before Christmas.  Until the end of the feature where he was asked to comment on his life in the farm.  And he replied,  

“When I worked in various corporations, you’re tied up with all sort sorts of things. There’s very little time for reflection. But while I’m here, it’s nothing but time for reflection. The work on the farm is not really high pressure work, a lot a lot of physical work, but it keeps your mind free enough that you can think about a lot of different things, to ponder over lots of things that I suppose are important.”

Suddenly all my senses were engaged and I was overwhelmed by a desire to become a farmer.  Fortunately, the feeling has subsided which is good since I harbor no deep desire to take care of animals or even plants.  But I couldn’t ignore the root cause of that feeling – unlimited time for reflection – something I feel like I am lacking now.  While ‘unlimited’ would be too unrealistic of a target, ‘some’ time would do.  And I intend to take or make that time.  And writing is a tool to help me on this path.

A new year is approaching and I am still not sure what my goals should be.  I do not know what I want.  I   feel just fine coasting along, but at the same time I feel totally dissatisfied with that type of existence.  Two weeks away from the new year, I do not know if I have enough time to clarify my goals, but starting now, I intend to make time to think, make time to reflect, make time to plan and make time to evaluate where I am and where I want to be.  [As I wrote that last statement, I realized it’s something my hubby does very well – perhaps I can ask him to teach me]

So, I don’t want to be a farmer (I think), but when next Hubby reminisces about his boyhood days of taking care of rabbits and suggests we would perhaps retire someday on a farm, I will not sneer at him.

Even though Halloween is still such a foreign concept to me, it’s obviously becoming a very important tradition for my kids.  This year, I decided to go shopping for Halloween costumes for my daughter earlier (earlier than the day before).  Last year, she didn’t like my costume choice – it was a blue princess dress, the best of the slim pickings available – “it’s nobody”, she said.  However, I appreciated that she left it at that, though I could tell from her facial expression that the pick was a failure. 

So this year, I resolved to shop earlier.  “We’ll get your Halloween costume next Saturday”, I announced at the beginning of October.  And days leading to that Saturday, she expressed her desire to “be a witch like X was last year”. 

“Why would you want to be what somebody else was?” I asked her.  She looked at me like I wasn’t making sense.

Then came, “maybe I can be Dorothy from Wizard of Oz like X2 was last year.”  This time, I made a speech about making your own choices and not copying the choices of others.  She still didn’t look convinced.  So I said, “maybe we can find you a copycat costume.”  She didn’t get the joke.  And she didn’t laugh.  So I said, “we’ll go to the store and make a choice from the selection available.”   That statement seemed to finally make sense to her.  She said “okay”, in a little bit more upbeat tone.

Costume Choices

On Saturday, we headed to one of those Halloween pop-up stores where they sell nothing but costumes.  A little more history – my plan was to not buy my almost 3 year old a costume because (1) the candy corn costume from last year still fits (2) his dad bought him a traditional Chinese attire from China which he would soon outgrow, so dressing like an ancient Chinese Emperor is an option (3) he goes to a home daycare with 2 other kids, so he doesn’t really need to wear a costume.

Well, as soon as we entered the Halloween store, my son who had been silent on the entire subject declared, “I want to be a cowboy for Halloween” and went off to find himself a costume.  It’s still shocks me when he displays these acts of maturity (if only it would translate into potty training).  My daughter also headed in the direction of the costume she wanted.  “I want to be a witch”, she said while pointing to the section that contained girl witch costumes.  About half of the girl costumes were witches – all kinds – so I had no idea which one she wanted.  Nor did I want to know because we ARE NOT buying a witch costume.

“What about this fairy?”  “Do you want to be an Egyptian Queen?  You know Egypt is in Africa?”  “Oh, see Snow White.  Do you want the wig too?”  But she stood firmly, eyes lifted at the witch costumes.  “I really want to be a witch for halloween.”

“Oh no you don’t”, I told her.  “But why not?” , she asked.  “Why not”, I wondered.  I wasn’t sure why not, but I knew I couldn’t do it.  I knew it wasn’t because one of her classmates wore it the year before, in fact, I know it’s hard to be original with any store-bought costume.  But this has nothing to with originality.  She was still looking at, waiting for an answer, and stealing side glances at the witch costumes.  I needed an answer, quick.  “Because we’re from Africa”, I said.  “We don’t do witches.  When we pretend, we pretend positive.”  Not a rational answer, but fortunately, she didn’t contest it.  “Okay”, she said with a long sigh as she shuffled her feet towards another section.  She picked out a doctor’s scrubs.  “I can be a doctor for Halloween since I want to be a doctor anyway”, she said this with a long face.

“We can still do fun”, I said and pointed out another costume.  “What about The Incredibles?”  She seemed happy with the choice.

In the meantime, my son had picked out a Woody costume with the cowboy hat.  Everybody was happy.

Rationalizing the Witch Costume

Later when we got home, my irrationality for not buying the witch costume kept bugging me.  Why should I have a problem with pretending to be a witch when I do not believe in witches?  That bugged me.  Then I was finally able to explain and rest the thoughts.

When my kids dress up for Halloween, I will take pictures and email them to family in Nigeria (because that’s what one does when living remotely from family).  The pictures may be forwarded and then talked about.  And when the word “Witch” conjures a different, more damaging image in Nigeria than it does in USA, it is not something I want associated with my daughter.

A witch in USA is a fairy tale concept – an old hag with a pointy hat and a broom.  Even here, the good witches are rare.  But in Nigeria, a witch is just an ordinary looking person (no special attire), who lives amongst others, unbeknown to others as a witch, secretly doing damage in the lives of those around her.

So, the concept of witch may be fictitious, but my decision to dissociate my daughter from it is completely rationale.  Hurray!

Good Choice

School Halloween party has come and gone.  “How was your party?” I asked my daughter.  “Good”, she replied.  And as we drove home, she went on to tell me who wore what and who did what.  Then a long silence.  Then she said, “Mommy, I think I really like to be unique”.

“Well, that’ nice”, I said.

“And I’ve been unique 3 times”, she added.  She explained that the first time was her first day at her current school and she was the only brown person in her class.  Second was one of the projects she did last year and she felt her project was unique.

“And the third time is when I dressed like one of The Incredibles for Halloween and nobody else was dressed like me.  I really like to be unique!”

I hope she recalls my earlier speech about making your own choices and not just following others.  And I hope it makes sense to her now.

My phone is out of power (almost).  My charger is out of reach (kind of).  I can’t find my camera.  And I feel totally crabby.  Justifiable?  Perhaps.  But my head is telling me that it’s been a great day and I have no reason to feel that way.  Yet, the part of me that controls crabby (doesn’t quite feel like the heart) wants to feel crabby.  But since my head is rejecting the notion, but losing the battle, I think (and it’s my head that thinks) that writing can swing things to my advantage (I’m on the side of my head).

This really started yesterday when I woke up a little too late…perhaps on the wrong side, but not quite.  Just late but can’t recall why.  Rushing out the door, almost forgot my phone.  Then remembered.  Then realized it was almost out of power.  So I grabbed my charger and rushed into the car…with the kids.  Oh yeah, I woke up on the rushed side of the bed because I spent the rest of the day rushing.  Rushed from one meeting to the next and forgot to plug in my cell phone.  Rushing around, I didn’t pause to eat proper…drink water, eat healthy snacks.  I was hungry.  When the time came that I didn’t have to rush, I didn’t have the will to go to the gym.  I was hungry, I needed hydration.  So I got my lunch instead.  Then I noticed the chocolate cake that said “eat me”.  It beckoned and I answered.  Twice.  After all, I was hungry.

End of day came, I looked at my gym bag.  Unused.  I decided to leave it at work so it was there for me on Monday.  One less thing to lug on Monday morning.  I got home and looked at my phone.  Still uncharged.  And my charger is in my gym bag.

My head says “so what?”  How many calls do I get on a typical weekend?  Not too many.  Sometimes none.  And for the call that matters the most, I let hubby know my situation.  So he knows to call the home phone or not worry when I don’t pick up my cell phone.

I stay up late last night filing papers that had piled up.  I was pleased with myself and planned to sleep in late.  But hubby didn’t let that happen.  Then he headed to school and I tried to sleep some more.  By now, both kids were up.  It didn’t work.  Crabby feeling.

We had breakfast and got dressed.  The playhouse square is showing a musical based on the “Puss in boots” story.  The tickets are free so that should feel good.  It’s a preview show, I hoped it was good.  Who knows with ‘free’?  As we drive to the theater, I turn off my phone.  If it has only 5 minutes left to live, then better save it for an emergency.  But I feel queasy.  I need my phone.  By the way, can’t find my phone either.  I have a faint memory of returning its memory card into its slot that rushed morning.  I have a faint memory of putting it someplace.  Could it be my gym bag?  I hope so.  My head tells me it’s a good thing I had just downloaded photos so the camera won’t be a big loss.  It’s pretty old.  3 years old…I think.  Or is it 4?  My head is getting annoying.  I want to feel crabby.

I always have my camera when I go out with the kids.  I have to be prepared to take their photos when they’re having new experiences.  When I’ve taken photos of the stage, at shows we’ve been to in the past, the pictures have always been blurry.  But I take them anyway.

We’re at the show.  All tickets are free.  No seats were assigned.  We get nice premium seats.  But the musical is not a musical.  It’s an Opera.  It’ll be premiering in New York sometime.  We got to see it first.  That’s so cool.  We’re not allowed to take pictures of the show.  So I don’t need my camera.  But I if I had it, I would have taken pictures of the kids sitting in their premium seats (not that you’d be able to tell).  An announcement is made.  All cell phones off.  Mine is already.

I’ve never been to an opera.  I couldn’t make out most of the words in the operatic songs.  Why do they have to sing like that?  But it doesn’t matter.  The story line is clear.  Puppetary was used for the puss and other story characters.  It was outstanding and beautiful.  And funny in the right places.  My 3 year old son clapped with great enthusiasm after every scene.  Though some longer scenes lost his attention, it was only briefly and he quickly got back into it.  My 7 year old daughter was her usual cool show watching self.  But at the end, she thanked me for bringing her to the show.  And asked if we could buy something to eat even though she wouldn’t eat same items if offered at home.  I told her we’re eating at home.  But we could buy something some other time.  I forgot about my phone and camera during the show, but good things don’t last forever (thankfully, neither do bad things).

We get home.  Daughter is asleep.  I decide to drive past home in search of Girls Scout camp which we will have to visit next week.  Next Saturday’s schedule is so full it’s giving me a headache.  Every minute will count, so I wanted to eliminate unknowns.  I know the camp is not too far away but I can’t remember the descriptions I received.  And I don’t have the address written.  So I tried the GPS.  Entered the name and it supplied address and phone number.  Away we went.  GPS said it was 14 miles away.  Surprised…but distance is relative.  Apparently, I assumed wrong.   Down, down, down twisty paths we drove.  I began to have second thoughts about visiting this camp.  I wouldn’t like to drive this path if it’s raining or dark (or snowing).  We head out of the twists unto country roads with “Equestrian crossing” roadsigns.  I see signs for various camps and picnic areas but not the one we’re looking for.  Then the GPS announces, “You have arrived”, but I do not know where we have arrived since it’s more woods, crossing signs but no camp signs (talk less of the one we want).  By this time, Daughter is awake.  Son had napped and is also awake and professing hunger.  I am hungry too.  Daughter, now away from concession stands no longer feels hunger.  Thank goodness.  I continue to drive.  I see a farm with a visitor center and pull into their lot.  I feel queasy over the phone situation.  I turn on my phone and call the number on the GPS.  A guy picks up and I try to make myself understood.  He says something about access required from a particular road.  I turn phone back up.  Queasy.  I figure I’m several miles from where I should be.  “Let’s go home”, my son whines.  I punch the home address in the GPS.  But we’re not going home, we’re going to try again, but not with the GPS.  But I did need it to get back to familiar ground.

I worry that hubby may have been calling home from school to find out about our show.  I turn phone on, send text message.  I turn phone off.  We drive to familiar territory.  I find the particular road but what had the guy said?  I turned phone on and called again.  Got directions and found the camp.  It’s only 5 miles from home and doesn’t involve any steep, twisty roads.  Great!  But I’m tired and hungry.

At home, I thank God for some leftover rice in the refridgerator.  I microwave.  We eat.  Let’s sleep.  But Daughter and Son had had enough sleep.  Well, I’ll sleep.  They can watch TV.  I try to sleep.  But there’s stuff to be done.  And then Son comes and grunts near me.  “To potty, to potty.”  He grunted the poop out into his diaper.  “I’m not getting up from this bed”, I tell him.  “You poop in diaper, it stays in diaper.  It will feel nasty”.  He was okay with it.  He continued to play.  But the smell bothered me.  “Go to your room!”, I yelled at him.  He went to his room.  I wasn’t getting up.  But it did bother him.  He returned and asked me to change him.  “No”.  I repeated, “you poop nasty in diaper, it stays in diaper.  next time, use potty.”  He returned to his room.  Then he came back with his box of wipes.  He wailed as he struggled to get it open.  “Go and play with your nasty”, I told him.  Then I noticed his diaper was off.  I had to get up.  And clean the muck off his butt.  And retrieve the diaper (couldn’t believe how he placed that on the ground without any smearing accidents..lucky) and dispose it.  Felt crabby that I had to get up.

I’m going to stop recounting because not much of significance happened after that.  Since I had to get up, I folded away laundary.  I did other stuff too.  And in recounting, the good outnumbered the crabby (and there was really no bad).  I’ll get my phone charger on Monday.  Hopefully my camera too.  All’s well.  I’m too tired to feel crabby now.

In June, I challenged myself to write everyday.  I failed at it.  I did put in some effort and wrote more frequently (easy considering my usual rate of posting) in the first two weeks.  Then complete failure.  Then one post in July…and August is almost done.  I failed.  But I’m so excited.

Because I chose not to blog.  Because feeling more energetic meant that I didn’t lay in bed with a laptop on my lap while I punched out some lines about my perpetual lack of energy or Baby Brother’s potty training antics (I have now given up hope and waiting for him to do it in his own good time…and praying that his own good time is sooner than his 3rd birthday).  Feeling energetic meant that I have been tackling disorganized closets, haven’t allowed laundary to pile up, watering the lawn (it’s been feeling Hubby’s lack of attention due to his MBA + work), putting effort in serving the kids healthy meals, spending time with my daughter working on math skills (making my own worksheets, each modified based on strengths and weaknesses observed from previous exercises) etc.  And I’ve even done some things that I previously considered ridiculous, like ironing my daughter’s karate uniform.  I used to wonder who had time to do silly stuff like that.  Apparently I do.  And it’s not that I have time…time is still a limited resource.  Anybody figure out how to get more out of the 24 hours, please drop me a line.  But being less tired has meant that I noticed how badly wrinkled her uniform was in karate class which left me cringing in my seat, hoping other parents don’t notice.  And I’ve been ironing karate uniforms since then.

But, yeah, I was talking about blogging failure.  I am not a blogger.  I wanted to be at some point.  When I had unrealistic expectations of how much I could get done in such little time.  When I was too tired to do stuff that mattered.  Don’t get me wrong, I still want to be a blogger.  But having energy and still not having enough time is helping me realize how I need to choose what I do with my limited resources.  Such as time.  And energy (I still run out).  And there’s a WHOLE lot that I want to do.  A HUGE backlog of stuff from being tired so much.  And as I write this, I’ve just decided to put together an action plan to attack the backlog – that way I know when I’m done and just in operations mode.  I should avoid always feeling as if I have a backlog.  Is my backlog even real?  Perhaps some items should be delegated…those African fabrics that I’ve been planning to make into lovely dresses for my daughter for instance…should think about that.

Oh…I really came online to write about the Nigerian Sesame Street.  Read about that, first with excitement, then with my blood fuming as I read about the character with HIV that Nigerian children are supposed to identify with.  That’s just what Nigerian children need.  Thank you Sesame Street!  But that deserves a separate post.

When I got pregnant with my first child, my sleep pattern changed.  I started to sleep a lot more and could no longer depend on my trusty 6 hour biological clock to wake me up.  6 hours of sleep was no longer enough.  Then the child came along with the expected sleeplessness…breastfeeding through the night.  But even after that stage passed, I was still often tired.  What with working a full time job and being a mommy.  Not just to kid #1 but to kid #2 as well.  Tiredness was a given.  But was it?  Really?

I no longer think so.  And I don’t know how many other moms think so.  I have assumed for the past 6+ years that I am supposed to be tired after a full day at work.  But all along, it seems the problem was that I wasn’t paying the proper attention to my diet.  It seems to simple and I don’t know if it really is that simple.  I have tried over the years to exercise, to eat good food, to not overeat, take supplements etc.  And I’ve had my ups and downs with energy.

Last week I mentally evaluated my diet and it was glaring that fruits and veggies were absent (mostly).  I do like fruits and eat mostly those than do not require preparations (washing and peeling) like apples and bananas.  But veggies…very absent.  So I headed to the grocery store, determined to change things and hoping I would feel a difference in my energy levels.

I stocked up on more bananas, cantaloupes, watermelons, cherries, spinach, lettuce and carrot.  And sunflower seeds, pecan nuts and whole grain crackers for office desk drawer.  I washed, peeled and cut up any fruits requiring such preparations.  I reduced my rice portion for lunch and work and included a bowl of fruit.  Spinach salad for snack.

And by day 2, I was feeling “wow! is this feeling for real?”.  I didn’t want to write about it too early.  But it’s been over a week and the feeling still persists.  Still fully awake and alert in the evening and ready to take on stuff.  And that’s what I’ve done all week.  Gardening, cleaning, scrubbing, rearranging, buying and assembling new furniture.  It’s like I’m afraid the feeling won’t last and I’m trying to get as much done while I can.  But now, I intend to hold on to this feeling. 

Problem is, I do not know for sure, which of the foods I’m eating is providing the energy.  Perhaps it is the combination.  Perhaps it is the sunflower seeds.  I read that it’s a great source of magnesium which is needed for energy production.  And so is spinach.  (Remember Popeye).

And the 6 hour sleep cycle…it’s back.  And I have to learn to readjust back to it by staying up later because if I sleep early as I usually try to do, I end up waking up in the middle of the night.  So now I can spend my nights catching up on all my reading.

Thought I would surprise Hubby when he gets back from his trip.  Thought I would have dug out the flowers we don’t like and replaced them with some that we do.  So I got to work this evening.  Darling Angel and Baby Brother were fitted with their Dora and Diego (respectively) gardening gloves.  I planned to take some cute pictures of them supposedly hard at work.  But the work turned out to be really hard.  And the kids just got in the way.  I’m using all my willpower to move my fingers right now…they’re falling asleep.  The good news is that I did dig out one Iris plant (where we planted it is not suited for the wild grass look) and replaced it with something more flowery and colorful.  I’m proud of myself, but I will wait for Hubby before embarking on digging out any other plants with deep rooted roots.

My fingers are tired, but my eyes and brain are awake…sounds like prime time for reading (rare!).

The more I think about energy (or the lack of it), the more I realize how destructive it could be is.  Lack of energy robs me of my long-term goals if I I’m not able to work on them.  Lack of energy has denied me of loads of knowledge (books I have not read).  But worse still, lack of energy robs my children of the proper attention they should be getting.  That is the most destructive aspect of this energy quandary.  And worse yet, lack of energy prevents one from even realizing what is happening.

Fortunately, I now do.  This is not the first time I will focus on how to sustain my energy.   But this is the first time I’m viewing it in such a destructive light.  So I’m more motivated to see actual results…sleeping it off is not good enough. 

My first point of focus is food…a change to my diet.  If that doesn’t work, I guess I should book myself an appointment with my doctor because I already exercise.  But I know there’s a huge opportunity to improve my diet.  Typical Nigerian diet, heavy in carbs even with smaller portions, there’s plenty of room for improvement.  I’ve made an effort to increase fruits over the past week.  That’s easy because I like fruits.  I just need to put in a little effort to buy them and prepare them…chopped cantaloupes and watermelons make very nice snacks (if they are already chopped).   But I’m still lacking in veggies.  And my standard lunch of jollof rice and chicken (even with reduced portions) still left me feeling heavy.  So, tomorrow, I intend to reduce portions even further and eat lots of good snacks instead.  And to make sure I do, I already packed my lunch and snacks - a small bowl of rice & chicken,   a bowl of spinach leaves and carrots (just trying to get some veggies in), a bowl of chopped cantaloupes, a banana.  I also stopped at the grocery store to stock up on healthy non-perishables for my desk drawer – almonds, sunflower seeds, whole grain crackers and peanut butter granola bars.  These are supposed to eliminate my dash to the vending machine to get chocolate chip cookies.  But to make this work, I will also need to reinitiate my food journal, writing everything I eat, otherwise, I will end up fattening up on all the healthy junk in my desk drawer.