Womze - Cross Cultural Parenting

I’ve been rather impatient for my almost two year old toddler son to talk.  My impatient is partially attributed to expectations set by his older sister who was speaking rather well (as far as memory serves me) at the same age.  Everyone keeps telling me that boys speak later, boys potty train later, but I don’t wish to get into these stereotypes at this time.  However, since we are experiencing a prolonged period of babble-talk with my son, I can’t help marvelling at the sophistication of his ‘language’.

He clearly knows what he wants to say.  And I’m starting to understand a lot of what he says.  But it baffles me that I cannot repeat words the same way he pronounces them.  His consonants are soft, it’s as if they were not even uttered.  Yet they were there.  When he says “Stop it mom”, it’s not quite STOP.  The ST combination is there but different.  It’s uttered so delicately I cannot reproduce the sound.  And that’s what gets me thinking - the fact that I cannot reproduce the sounds he makes.  If my vocal cord is more developed, more advanced, should I not be able to make my advanced sounds as well as the less advanced?  Does advancement make us lose the ability to create delicate sounds that are similar and yet distinct?  Or have we simply lost our ability to listen for these differences, hence lost our ability to generate the sounds?

I don’t know.  But I feel we are born with the ability to generate a much broader array of sounds than we end up with as we grow.  The language spoken around us as kids help us select the sounds we keep and the ones we discard.  These are just idle thoughts that pop in my mind every now and then.  But this morning as I listened to NPR on my drive to work, I heard about a research conducted on new born baby cries in France and Germany.  It was found that the language spoken influenced the way the baby cried.  So at birth, babies were already discriminating in the sounds they made.  Which means the vocal cords at birth are more sophisticated than previously thought.  The research, it appears, was carried out in mono-language environments - French and German.  Where a child is exposed to multiple languages, does this automatically set the child up for a greater degree of variability in sounds he can make?  Kinda makes sense.

As for my son, perhaps I should stop harping on about how he should be talking like the rest of us by now.  And let him enjoy what appears to us as babbles for a little time longer.  Perhaps, when he emerges from his babble phase, he will be emerging with two languages - English and Yoruba - despite my lack of attempt at making sure I propagate Yoruba to my kids.

My daughter came to me after school, “Mom, guess what!”

“What?”

“Next week, we’re going to learn how to do research”, she pronounced.

“That’s wonderful”, I thought to myself that they were indeed keeping them busy in first grade.  I started to wonder how much more time I would need to dedicate to taking her to the library to do research.  Then I asked, “So, do you know what research means?”

“It means google.”  Duh!

Five days after the November 1 time change and I haven’t reset my wristwatch.  And my bedside clock.  And the clock on my dashboard.  And I’m loving it.

If I’ve ever wanted to squeeze more than 24 hours into a day, fall back is the perfect time to do so.  For weeks, I’ve been running behind time, now I’m running ahead without changing my pace.

I wake up at 6am.  As I start to think, “Oh no!  I overslept.”,  I remember that the time is actually 5am and I’m up early instead.  Instead of rushing the kids into the car and giving Darling Angel a pop tart to eat while I drive her to school (she loves this by the way), we now sit down and eat breakfast and I get to work on time.  On time!

Okay, so it hasn’t even been a full week and I’m here proclaiming fall-back love.  Will it last until time catches up with us in Spring?  Probably not.  But for everyday it does, I’m loving it!

“Mom, do we celebrate halloween?”, my daughter queried.  She looked apprehensive as if she feared the answer but just needed to be sure.

Last week
The previous weekend we had attended a halloween/pumpkin carving party where I carved our first pumpkin and thoroughly enjoyed it.  I had even gone to the pain of buying her a costume.  It was a pain because I had to visit two stores before finding a costume.  My plan was to go to one store and pick the first thing that I saw except that store was already out of costumes…a week before halloween!  I toyed with the idea of dressing Darling Angel in last year’s costume but felt I owed it to her not to repeat the same costume for the 3rd year in a row!  You see, I had bought a Tinkerbell costume, size 4-6 and she had won it when she was 4 and then 5 (each ocassion at a different school). 

At the second store, there were still a number of costumes left, then I became choosy.  There was no point buying another size 4-6.  A size 7-8 also has the potential for lasting two years.  I picked the only non-gory costume in a 7-8, a blue princess costume.  And picked up a candy cone costume in 3T for Baby Brother.  Since he’s just turning two, this item also has the potential for lasting two years.

Back home, I announce to Darling Angel, “Guess what?  I got you a costume!”

She lighted up as expected.  “What is it?”

“A princess.”

“Which one.  Is it Mulan?”

I said “No.”

“Is it Snow White?”

“No.”  With each No, her face darkened.  I got the costume out.  “Ta da!”

“It’s nobody!”, she exclaimed in disappointment.

“Well then, you can be princess nobody.  But this is what you’re wearing to the halloween party.”

“Ok.  But I think my Tinkerbell costume is more halloweenish.”

Apparently, she wasn’t impressed with my halloween shopping skills, but she went to the party as Princess Smart (she preferred that to Princess Nobody) and had a blast.  Baby Brother detested the thing that I tried to put over his head and kept wrestling to take it off but otherwise he also had fun.  I had enough fun to make me consider bending my personal “won’t be caught in costume garb” policy for next year and wear a t-shirt with a pumpkin picture (or something benign like that).   Anyway, I digress.

Nigerians don’t trick-or-treat
I reminded my daughter of the fun we had last week, but she persisted.  “I know, but do we celebrate halloween?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Do we go trick or treating?”  Apparently, that was her main concern.

I laughed.  “You know I’m from Nigeria and we don’t do that.”  I may be softening halloween policies but it doesn’t extend to cruising the neighborhood and knocking on doors, with or without costume.

Darling Angel started to cry.  The tears were flowing strong.

I gave her a hug.  I explained myself.  This is just something I wouldn’t do.  I had seen a flyer from the Childrens Museum and they were having a halloween party complete with spooky science experiments.  I asked Darling Angel if she would rather go to that than trick-or-treating.  “Children’s museum!”, she chose.  Her smile returned.  The tears receded.  Crisis averted.

The old halloweenish costume
The tinkerbell costume did get worn for the 3rd straight year.  When it came to what she would wear to school for halloween, Darling Angel stood by her more halloweenish option.  Princess Smart didn’t cut it.

No halloween in Nigeria?  Are you sure?
I’ve told friends and colleagues that in Nigeria, the closest we have to recognizing halloween is reading the ocassional newspaper article which would describe this ‘odd tradition’ and the lengths that Americans go to celebrate it.  Then I was telling my aunt about Darling Angels question and she commented that halloween is now celebrated in Nigeria.  Really?  I don’t have any details but I wouldn’t be surprised if it is true because Nigerians love everything American.  Eventually, those newspaper articles must have planted ideas of how to become more American-like.

“So what are you coming dressed as?” my colleague asks.  I had just accepted his invite to a halloween party.  In the 7 years that I’ve been in the US, this will be the first halloween party I’m accepting an invite to.  I don’t feel the excitement around halloween and my Nigerian self thinks it’s ridiculous.  While I was in Nigeria, every now and then, a column will appear in the paper describing this strange and curious celebrations in which Americans indulge.  In fact, I recall a story I heard from someone about an American lady who had just been appointed the principal of a secondary school (think middle school/high school) in Nigeria.  On halloween, she decided to throw the students a treat and had people (perhaps teachers and members of staff) dressed in costume.  While students were at their daily morning assembly, the costumed individuals trooped out.  But instead of excitement from the students, a stampede ensued as everyone ran for their lives.  Well, I wonder why nobody warned the Principal that this might would happen.

“What are you coming dressed as?”, my colleague asked again.

“I could come dressed as a pedestrian.”

Disappointed look.

“I don’t have any costume…I don’t dress for halloween…In fact I’ve never been to a halloween party…I don’t think I want to dress up…” I let out a string of excuses.

“How about you wear your African dress?  You can come dressed as an African woman.  That would be great”, the excitement was building up.

“I don’t know…”

“It will be excellent.  Do it.”

One part of me is thinking, “Not a bad idea.  That way I don’t have to wear something I feel ridiculous in and it is an opportunity to show off my culture”.  But the other part of me is hesitant…I wasn’t sure why, so I thought about it some more.  And I realize why.  From my perspective, halloween costumes are ridiculous or bizzare or based on fictional concepts, and at the very least, they are not things we would wear at any other time (unless you’re in a drama production).  Wearing my ‘African dress’ as a halloween costume would imply that my attire fell in the same category.  Which it does not.  So, no, I’m not doing it. 

I plan to outfit my kids in appropriate costumes while I stick to my original plan of dressing as a pedestrian.  As for hubby, he’s happy to have a reason to decline - study.

My parenting philosophy on education is this - Push the kids as far as they can go! This means stretching them beyond their present limits, introducing them to advanced concepts early to give them a headstart. And of course, providing them with plenty of opportunity to practice their learnings, through homework both assigned by the teacher and additional work given at home. Do I sound like I’m extreme? Fortunately, I’m not. I do believe this philosophy, but I just don’t have the time and energy to practice it after a full day at work. And on weekends, if the million things that have to be done don’t have to be done, then I like to relax. Since I do not have the time to provide my kids with all the stretching opportunities I imagine, I appreciate it greatly when the teacher does it for me.

At the beginning of the school year when Darling Angel started 1st grade, we attended a parent-teacher orientation. I couldn’t contain my grins of joy when the teacher rattled off all the subjects that would be taught, the techniques and the homework - lots of it. Wonderful! Barely two months of school have gone by and I’m now singing a different tune. Enough with all that homework!!!

The homework is not difficult, just reinforcement of what was taught during the day. In fact, by the time I pick Darling Angel up most days, she has already completed most of her homework. But there are the hands-on activities that she’s supposed to do and describe to the teacher the following day. These require adult (i.e. my) supervision or interaction. Activities such as dropping various objects in a tub of water to see which would sink or not. Or quizzing her on a comprehension essay that she has read. Or playing explorer and discussing the objects we discovered.

These are fun and excellent activities for kids and every night, there is no end to Darling Angel’s whining when we do not have time to complete the assigned activity. “But mom, I’m supposed to put stuff in water! Mom, I need to tell my teacher which ones can float!!” “But mom, I need to explore somewhere!!!” While I say, “Shh, go to bed.”

I titled the post, “Homework versus family time”, but in reality, on weekdays we do not even have family time. School ends at 2:45pm but I do not pick Darling Angel up until 5/5:30 because…you guessed it, I work. Then we pick up Baby Brother and head home. It’s dinner time and if hubby is already home, then lucky us because dinner will be done. If not, I’m making the fasted thing I can think of while Baby Brother belts himself into his high chair and chants “eat eat.” While cleaning up, Darling Angel holds up her homework papers in my face. “See mom.” I try to stare at it long enough to figure if she got her sums right and her spellings correct. “Good job”, I giver her a verbal pat on the back while we get ready for bed. As I start shooing the kids into bed, she reminds me of the homework activity that’s not yet done. “There’s no time”, I tell her. She pulls a long face and goes to bed.

The next day when she says, “My teacher said I am supposed to see what things can float”, I feel like an incompetent parent. But there really was no time. And when there is a little time, I am beginning to resent this intrusion of homework into what should be a treasured family time. I love homework, but this I hate.

An article on USAToday advices that “parents approach the teacher in a non-confrontational way, as a collaborator in the education process.” That is what I have to do.

As I got ready to go on maternity leave almost 2 years ago, I thought to myself, this would be a great opportunity to study for this certification exam that I have been thinking about. I went online and ordered the book I would study. The last excuse I needed was not having study material.Baby came. 10 weeks rolled by…very quickly…and it was time to return to work. Then I remembered…”didn’t I get a book in the mail I was supposed to study?!” I pulled it down from the shelf where it had been staring at me unnoticed for weeks and hurriedly browsed the first chapter. “I’ll just have to incorporate the study into my time now, somehow.”Another 18 months rolled by. This time, the exam was not forgotten. Instead, it was a nagging monkey hanging on my back, whispering in my ears every now and then, filling me with guilt. Attempt after attempt to study failed, study groups fell apart as members backed out for various reasons, pushing off exam dates. “I’m going to try for the next one. This one is too close.” But the monkey wouldn’t let go. So I picked a date and announced to the world (i.e. my colleagues and my bosses) that I was taking the exam on that date. I needed them to hold me accountable.But I didn’t figure out how hard studying would be when you have kids, two of them and a full time job. My plan revolved around studying after the kids went to bed except I was often too tired at that time to retain much information. It’s incredible how much a day in the office drains energy.

Getting to work earlier to study for 30 minutes or an hour would have been a great strategy…if I could swing it. As it was, I was barely making it to work on time and I was leaving many things undone just to do that (such as giving my kid a pop tart to eat in the car instead of a good breakfast - not good). Staying later to study was also not a good option because it meant my kids spend even more time at daycare - not acceptable. Hubby’s schedule does not allow him to perform drop-offs and pick-ups except on rare ocassions.

This left trying to cram in some study time during lunch. Which meant eliminating working out at the same time. Which meant my energy level began to dip - counter productive. Which meant it became even more difficult to study at night. Ouch!

But this is not all about complaining. I did do what I could to study, it just turned out to be more challenging than I had imagined. These were the strategies that worked:

1. I put together a study group at work that planned to meet for 2 hours weekly for 17 weeks. Since this group met during work hours, I got my boss’s permission to spend time on this activity. When this group started to fall apart, I kept using that time to study/review practice questions.
2. I purchased audio material that I could listen to while I drive. I drive about 30 minutes each way to and from work so this translated into very valuable study time. I wasn’t always focused on the voice streaming knowledge into my head, but some things got through.
3. I woke up early or in the middle of the night to study. I could do this only if I went to bed as soon as I put the kids in bed. This was most effective when I put the kids in bed at 7:30 and after bedtime stories, they’re asleep by 8pm and I’m asleep shortly after and I wake up at 1am and study for 2 hours. Then I can go back to sleep for a short while before waking up to begin my day. When this worked, it was the most effective study approach. But the problem was that it didn’t work often enough i.e. it was often difficult to fall asleep at 8pm or wake up at 1am. However, I am very grateful for all the times I could do this.
4. When all other strategies were found not be enough, I started taking off days from work…one day each week for the 3 weeks leading up to the exam. Without these, I don’t think I would have ever felt ready to sit for the exam. Actually, that’s an overstatement…I never did feel ready but I would have felt a lot less so.

Last Saturday, I sat for the exam and the monkey is now off my back. And as I await my results, my fervent prayer is that the monkey stays off.

Now that school’s out, Darling Angel has joined Baby Brother at our neighbors home daycare.  So convenient.  The risk of home daycare of course lies with dependence on a single individual’s availability.  Hence, I made sure that I kept up both kids registrations at their former group daycare.  If they’re unable to go to our neighbors, I’ll just drop them off at the group daycare.  Great plan!  Except, er…I neglected to confirm what the drop-in rate was.  You see, I thought I knew.  And you know, what you think you know but don’t know can hurt you.  This did.  Well, almost.

Last night, our home daycare provider received some very bad family news.  Her mom had passed away.  My heart goes out to her and her family.  Of course the news meant daycare is suspended until she’s ready. 

Hubby and I discussed how to work around each others schedules.  “I’ll go to work, come back  at 9:30 so you can go to your 10 o’clock meeting.  You’ll be back at noon, right?”.  “That’ll work, but I have to go back for a 2 o’clock meeting.”  “Hmm.”

“You know what”, I say.  “I’ll just drop them at their old daycare.  That should be no problem.”

This morning we get ready as usual, but before hopping into the car, I made the call to the daycare to make sure they had room for both kids. 

“No problem”, they told me.  “But you know for drop-in you’ll have to pay today.” 

“No problem”, I respond.  “It’s 30-what per day?”

“I’ll have to look it up.”  Clock ticks on…tick tock… “Er, the amount due today will be one hundred and twenty-..”

“What!!!”, I cut her off.  “One hundred and twenty-what!?”

She gives me a break down.  “But I thought it was 30-something per day per child”, I wailed.

She tells me something about that rate applying if Darling Angel was a school-ager but she’s not a school-ager yada yada.  Since we’ve been using a home daycare, I’m no longer used to the rates that group daycares charge.

I take a deep breath and tell her that I’m not bringing the kids in anymore.

I log on to my work email, send notes to my manager explaining that I’m taking an impromptu vacation for the day.  I send a note to people I would be meeting with to explain that I’ll not be at the meeting.  I offer reschedule options.

A vacation day.  I had planned to take a few this summer to take the kids to local attractions but hadn’t scheduled any yet.  “Better not waste today”, I say to myself.

It’s pouring rain outside, so a park is out of the question.  Ha, the Childrens Museum of Cleveland.  We’ll be indoors.  I had mentioned to the kids that we would go to the museum sometime.  Darling Angel had looked doubtful.  “Don’t you want to go?”, I asked her as I pulled up my computer and went to their website.  “I want to.  I want to go.”, she squealed.  She said she thought it was a museum of just statues but his one has toys.

“We’re going to the Children’s museum!”.  Darling Angel danced in excitement.  Baby Brother followed suit. 

I felt a twinge of guilt having fun when someone else was going through one of the most distressful times of her life.  It was, is, more than a twinge of guilt…

Guilt aside, we went, the kids had a blast.  I had to do a lot of begging to get Darling Angel to try on an astronaut suit.  It seems she’s scared that pretending to be an astronaut may cause her to launch into space.  As soon as I took my picture, she quickly scrambled out of the suit.  Baby Brother loved the water exhibit most of all.  I’m not sure if that was because it’s one of the few exhibits that he could also put in his mouth, but that was the very reason that I kept pulling him away from their.

I was exhausted from trying to keep my eyes on both of them.  And after two hours, I extracted two reluctant kids from the center and brought them back home. 

“But we’re not done yet”, Darling Angel lamented.

“Then we’ll come back”, I told her.  I spent $70, just over half of what one day at drop-in daycare would have cost, on a one year family membership.  It was money well spent.

Of course we still have to figure out what happens on Monday.

I won!  I won!!  I won!!!  It’s too early to declare victory but I have a good feeling about this one.  Five and half years after birth and Darling Angel is out of our bed!  Tonight, she’s sleeping in her own bed.  It’s not the first time she’ll sleep in her own bed, but somehow old habits die hard.  But not this time.  Not if I maintain my resolve.  Not if Adoring Father supports the program 100%.  You would think he would, right?  Given that he’s getting back his space on the bed.  Or some of it anyway, considering that we still have Baby Brother to deal with.  That’s another story, but I hope to come back with some happy stories.

A previous attempt
One evening, a few weeks ago when Darling Angel proudly proclaimed (as she frequently does) herself as a big girl, I used the opportunity to broach the topic of her returning to her room.  “Big girls sleep in their own bed”, I told her.  “But I can’t sleep by myself”, she wailed.  I pointed out that she had slept by herself for an extended period when she was 3 years old, but now she wants to act like a baby by sleeping in mommy and daddy’s bed.  “But I’m afraid”, she continued to wail.  “Of what?”, I enquired.  “Monsters”, she claimed.  I laughed, “but there are no monsters.” 

“There are.  There are.” she said emphatically.  “Ok”, I responded.  “But the monster is afraid of daddy and daddy sent the monster away”.  Invoking ‘daddy’ usually works for many things.  And it did, sort of.  She did not respond but looked thoughtful as she imagined daddy chasing the monster away.  I thought we were done.  I talked about how proud I was that she was going to sleep in her room just like a big girl.

But when it was time for bed, she brought up the monster again.  I reminded her about daddy chasing the monster.  But she shrieked, panting heavily (she’s a drama queen), “But I dreamed that the monster ate daddy.  It’s a huge humongous t-rex dinosaur and it ate daddy”.  Tears were streaming down her face as she made herself comfortable on mommy and daddy’s bed once again.

I know that she made up this dream, but she had won this round.  I will wait for another opportunity.

How I did it
Hubby’s away and the kids and I settle to our usual routine.  Dinner, TV while I cleared up, then everyone into bed with mommy.  As we cuddle up to sleep, Darling Angel requests a story.  “A long one this time” she asks, trying to put off bedtime.  I decide to create my opportunity now.  “I can only tell you a story if you’re in your own bed”.

She stares at me.  She still doesn’t get it.  “Big girls sleep in their own bed and I can only tell you story, tuck you in and kiss you goodnight if you’re in your own bed”, I elaborate.  She immediately begins to wail, “But I can’t sleep in my room by myself!  Somebody has to sleep with me.”

“I can think of somebody who can sleep with you”, I say.  “Daddy?”, she asks.  “Oh no, I was thinking of Katie”, that’s her doll.  “But Katie can’t talk”, she continues to wail.  “Do you want me to buy you a talking doll?”  This conversation drags on for a bit when I calmly declare that I know what to do.  Baby Brother gets her room if she doesn’t want it.  “But I don’t want him to have my room”, she screams.  I ignore her and continue thinking out aloud.  She can have Baby Brother’s crib.  I can even move Baby Brother’s crib into our room so that she won’t be sleeping alone.  And we can make Baby Brother’s now old room into a nice playroom.  Or a study?  I ask her. 

“No no no no!”, she’s chanting.  “I don’t want you to give my room to Baby Brother”.  I tell her I can’t think of any other alternative.  Or can she?  It turned out that she could think of an alternative.  “Maybe I’ll sleep in my room”, she whispers.  “Wonderful”, I exclaim.  “And I can tell you a long story too”. 

So she climbs into her own bed, I tuck the covers around her and I tell her a story.  She looks very happy.  No mention of monsters.  I ask her if she wants her bedroom door open.  “Closed”, she says and she goes to sleep.

Back in February, I was very excited when Baby Brother started going to our neighbors home daycare.  His new teacher asked if she could potty train him along with her son who was also one year old and I said “go for it!”  His older sister had potty trained early with some success and I was hoping to have it easier with him, but he wasn’t exhibiting any of the signs his sister had exhibited at 9 months - staying dry overnight and going on a regular schedule.  I pretty much knew what time I had to plop her on the potty.  But with Baby Brother, I couldn’t make any sense of his schedule (or lack of it) and to add to that, a stinky diaper doesn’t seem to bother him.  Left to my own devices, I would not attempt potty training him at this time, but infected with his teachers enthusiasm, I was all ready to go.  And hopeful too.

Starting potty training was exciting.  For all of us.  Baby Brother learned to sit on the potty and very patiently too.  Everyday I would exchange notes with his teacher about how he did at home and how he did at school.  He seemed to be cooperating and we were just waiting for the breakthrough.

One day, the first pee was caught in the potty to great fanfare.  His teacher took a picture.  We celebrated.  Baby Brother seemed happy and accomplished.  Every so often we would catch some pee in the potty and celebrate.  But more often than not (at least, at home), he would get up from the potty to play before the long-awaiting pee came rushing out.  After many accident mop ups, I moved him to the toilet seat.  “Gotcha!”, I thought.  He can’t get down by himself.  So he stayed put on the toilet.  He also got unhappy about his lack of freedom.  And I also suspect we may have missed some opportunities to celebrate pee trickles.  But we kept at it.  For a while.  During this time, poop in the bathtub became the routine.  Perhaps it was his way of punishing me for keeping him stranded on the toilet seat.  “Ah poopoo”, he would call out excitedly seconds after I move him from the toilet seat to the bathtub!

While all this was going on, getting ready for work in the morning was taking longer than usual.  So one day, I just didn’t bother.  No potty, no toilet seat.  I’ve had enough.  I want all messes to be contained within diapers.

Now he’s almost 18 months old, his teacher who’s been searching for solutions to the boys potty-training dilemmas says now’s the time to grab the issue by the horns.  She had success with her older son and is confounded by her younger son and Baby Brother’s resistance to the program.  “We have to be on the same page” she reminds me.  I agree as images of frenzied weekday mornings compounded with floor mopping and mess cleaning flashed across my mind.  But if she’s willing to do, if she can do it, then I will do whatever it takes.

So the potty has come back out.  All I need to do is say the word “potty” and Baby Brother marches right over and plops on it.  I’m proud of him.  But so far, not one drop of anything.  That frustrates me.  So until I have the ’strategy’ conversation with his teacher to put us on the same page (in 2 weeks), I’m not going to bother doing anything.  Except leave the potty right out within sight.  And maybe Baby Brother will just voluntarily walk over, sit and do the business I’ve been looking forward to.  That’s my dream.