Womze - Cross Cultural Parenting

“I think Baby Brother will be a clown when he grows up.”  “No no no…I think he will be a jester.  A jester is funnier than a clown.”  Darling Angel is trying to predict what her brother will be.

Hubby and I quickly counter.  “No no no.  My son will be an engineer”, his dad said.

“But I think he will be a jester”, the girl insisted.  This argument goes on for days, repeated itself ocassionally over the weeks and eventually petered out.  Darling Angel finally accepts that it is unacceptable for her brother to be a jester (or a clown) when grows up.

I did understand her motivation behind the claim.  Baby Brother is a funny dude.  He likes to make people laugh.  As soon as he learned to walk, he would practice several types of funny walks, on bended knees, with stiff legs, just to get a giggle out of someone.  He likes to make faces.  And I’m sure that when we are able to understand what he’s saying, he will say a lot of funny things.  Right now, he laughs hysterically while he lets out his stream of babbles and points to the (I’m assuming) funny thing he just saw on TV.  But I explained to Darling Angel.  Baby Brother can still be funny, but he will have a nice job…like an Engineer (we’re kind of stuck on that for now).

Now, months later, Darling Angel suddenly declared, “I think Baby Brother will be a fire fighter.”

“No”, I quickly responded.  “He will be an engineer.”

Again, she insisted.  I asked her, “Why don’t you be the fire fighter?”.  To which she responded that she wants to be a doctor, besides, she doesn’t like fire.

“Aha, so what makes you think your brother likes fire?”.  “I think he will be an engineer.  Maybe an aerospace engineer.”

“But mom!  He never said he wants to be a space engineer.  He can’t even say that!”

“Exactly!  Neither did he say he wants to be a fire fighter.  But I think he will like being an engineer.  Or the CEO of a large corporation.” I used the mom prerogative.

I made it a point not to ask him yet, because if I ask him, “What do you want to be?”, I wouldn’t be surprised if he says “Arrgh, pirate!”, his most recent funny phrase, said with a squint in one eye.

Note: I do not have anything against clowns, jesters or fire fighters.  I just want my son to be something else.  I do have something against being a pirate.

I could hardly wait for the first teacher conference with my daughter’s new teacher at her new school.  Last school year, discussions with her teacher were uncomfortable because we seemed to be on different pages.  In my estimation, the teacher wanted my child to be average.  I wanted my child to be exceptional.  Two very different goals.  New school, new grade, new teacher, I felt that things were different but I needed to confirm.

As I had hoped, conversation flowed easily with the new teacher.  The teacher had feared that the decision to allow Darling Angel skip kindergarten may turn out to be wrong but thankfully, she was coping incredibly well, both socially and with her school work.  The teacher pointed out the first grade word list we had been given at the beginning of the school year and remarked that since Darling Angel had already mastered all of it, she has upgraded her to the second grade word list.  That’s what I’m talking about!  Keep her challenged.

Then the teacher asked me if there was any area where I thought Darling Angel needed some help.  And I told her, “She needs to learn patience.”

“Exactly”, Teacher chimes.  I’m loving this.  We are so on the same page.  I visualize us holding hands, singing Kumbaya.  We trade stories to illustrate Darling Angel’s lack of patience.  Like when she had the homework to color a brick wall using a pattern of three colors.  She spent ten minutes complaining about how long it would take.  Also she zips through to her homework so quickly, leaving some questions unanswered in the process. 

“How do we fix that?”, I ask.  Teacher tells me that to an extent, it is normal with kids at this age.  But every little effort helps.

Hubby already suggested giving her even more ‘homework’ at home so she can exercise her patient muscles.  Given that homework is often happening while doing dinner, cleaning, getting ready for tomorrow, I haven’t implemented the more homework strategy yet.  She needs to learn to focus on what she is doing instead of worrying about the next task, which is often TV.  Or fractions, which are not in this year’s curriculum. 

I hope she naturally improves over time, but we also plan to enable the improvement.  I just haven’t decided what the plan is.  I’m still basking in relief that we made the right decision in moving her to a new school.  And instead of working at odds with the teacher, we can work together in partnership to bring out the best in my child.  Amen!

While Hubby and I grapple with the news of our daughter’s friend, a six year old girl, suddenly taken by a brain aneurysm, we also dread having to relay the news to our daughter.  Hubby is all for not telling her at all.  We tell her that her friend traveled.  But how long will that hold up when she hears other kids talking about her passing away?  Right now, we have agreed on breaking the news and I’m counting on childhood ignorance to dull the reality when we tell her that her friend has gone to be with Jesus.  However, I plan to delay this as long as possible - until next Saturday, the day before we go to church.

Last night, I picked up one of the books from my “waiting to be read” pile.  The book is Chasing Daylight - How My Forthcoming Death Transformed My Life by Eugene O’Kelly, former CEO of KPMG.  He wrote the book after he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer which claimed his life three and a half months later.  During this time, he shifted his priorities, quit his high-powered job and constant travels and focused on living in the moment and connecting with the people who mattered most to him.  He seemed to embrace his reality and chose not to waste his limited energy on questioning his circumstances.  He decided to live the best 100 days of his life.  His wife finished writing the book when he became too weak and after he passed away, and there, the book transitioned from the joy of living to the strangeness of death.  However, there were some important lessons that I took away (from the joy of living part):

Live in the moment
Enjoy what is happening now and stop obsessing about opportunities you missed yesterday or your hopes for tomorrow.  Definitely plan for tomorrow, but don’t let it compromise your enjoyment of today.   Or your focus for today.  It is amazing how much he was able to achieve in his 100 days and I’m considering setting goals for 3 month increments instead of the usual annual goals.  Also, happiness doesn’t have to wait till something happens tomorrow/someday.  You can find it every single day.

Live at full consciousness
Stop and smell the flowers.  Often we’re rushing from place to place that we fail to appreciate the beauty around us.  Sometimes we’re not rushing but we’re just dulled by routine.  A few weeks ago, I had to pick up theater tickets that I had bought over Craigslist and I was going to meet this lady at a halfway point.  The rendevous location requires me to drive from work along my normal route home, but instead of getting off my usual exit from the highway, I continue for another 6 miles.  As soon as I pass my exit, I notice the beautiful fall foliage of the trees.  It is so beautiful that I feel overwhelmed.  I was also puzzled.  Why the drastic change on this stretch of the highway?  The following day on my usual drive to work, I notice that it is equally breathtakingly beautiful along my normal route - I just hadn’t noticed!

It’s not all about speed
He had an funny story about running in a race with his daughter when she was 9 years old.  When his daughter later boasted to her classmates about how she and her dad had finished the race in 1hr 45mins, another boy boasted that he and his dad had run longer for 2 hrs.  It is a light hearted illustration that carries a significant message.

Channel anger into love
His advice to his brother who was angry at the blow he had been dealt was to channel the anger into love…love for his kids, love for what he has.  This has no logical basis.  His brother did have reason to be angry, but I believe he just meant that it was futile to be angry.  He did say he would willingly take a miracle cure if it presented itself but didn’t see much sense in spending his limited time angry, upset, questioning his situation.  Similarly, those who still have life should use it wisely.  Don’t squander away time being angry, wondering “why?”.  Spend that time loving those you love.

How do you tell your child, not yet 6 years old, that her friend is gone?  How do you tell her that the summer play dates which we could never make time for last summer will now never happen?  That the friend she looks forward to seeing every Sunday in church will no longer be there?  That the tea party they have been planned for months is just that…a plan? 

I can’t remember any other time since I lost my mom that the news of a death has hit me as badly as it did.  A 6 year old girl, healthy, cheerful, full of life.  I’m not particularly close to her parents but admire them from a distance.  But our kids look forward to playing together on Sundays.  “When it’s summer, when school’s out”, we told the kids when they wanted to visit each other’s homes.  Summer came but we were too busy.  Every Sunday, we would mutter a “One of these Saturdays.”  The kids, meanwhile made their plans.  My daughter had a bag packed, ready to go.  It contained doll hairbrushes, some hair accessories, teaspoons and other tea party supplies.  Then summer was over.  “Next summer we’ll do something”, we consoled the kids.  But now, there is no next summer.

A healthy six year old girl.  Bade goodnite to her parents and gone by morning.  Scary…because it reminds you that nobody is immune.  Life is fleeting.  Don’t wait till next summer.

My heart is heavy.  This hurts so much.  But worst of all, I cannot imagine what the parents are going through at this moment.  I pray God gives them the strength to get through it.

Sometime between now and Christmas, there is Thanksgiving, my son turns two and my daughter turns 6.  My daughter has been planning her dream birthday for almost a year.  She didn’t have one last year since we were still recovering from Baby Brother’s first birthday, so we think she we should execute some of her plan this year.  Some.  But my point is, I’m ways off from planning Christmas.  But what better way to get in the Christmas spirit than to enter giveaways. 

5minutesformom is hosting a Christmas Giveaway and I’m salivating for the Veggie Tales collection.  Imagine all the hours of healthy TV I can impose on the kids without them getting bored (the older one is now needing a steady stream of new content to prevent boredom).  And Darling Angel will love love love the Strawberry Shortcake doll and i-dog.

Okay….I’m off to enter into the giveaways rather than just talk about them.

As parents, we need to beware of the danger of too much negative feedback.  It’s so easy to provide immediate feedback when your child does something wrong while staying silent when they do things right.  It is so important to provide positive feedback to your child and enough of it so that when the time comes for the negative feedback, that won’t be the only feedback they’re receiving from you.

Personalities of our children vary and some children may be more susceptible than others.  You know your child best and should pay attention to what they are hearing from you.  Is it helping the child build self confidence or destroying it?  Is it making them better at what they’re doing or is it making them afraid to try?

I thought I was doing okay in this department but I just realized how very easy it is to fail.  “Remind me to get that CD out of the trunk”, I told my 6 year old daughter as we drove to church.  I had cleaned out a lot of junk (CDs included) from the car and dumped them in the trunk for later sorting.  And Baby Brother seemed to be whining for the Backyardigans CD. 

On our way back home, I remembered.  “You didn’t remind me to get that CD out”.  Silence.  Then I glance back and see tears streaming down her eyes.  Alarmed, I ask, “What’s the matter?”

“I’m always forgetting things”, she lamented.  She’s blaming herself for something that is so obviously my fault.  But then, I transferred that blame to her without thinking.  I felt so awful.  What kind of mother am I?  While this incident was completely trivial, I couldn’t help recalling all the times I had just casually dinged her for forgetting something.  “Didn’t I ask you to change into your nightie?”, “You forgot your sweater in class again?”, “I thought I asked you to get a book for your brother?”, “What did I tell you about leaving your shoes in the living room?” etc.  And when she tries to blame me for forgetting something e.g. “Mommy, you forgot to give me a snack today”, I throw it right back, “Well, you should have remembered to ask me.”  Terrible.

Some of the feedback she had received was clearly warranted.  She needs to remember to put her shoes away and not leave them lying anywhere.  And when it’s bedtime, she needs to change to her nightie instead of staying glued to the TV.  But she also needs a praise for the times she’s doing great.  And she does get some but I have to admit that the negative feedback overwhelms it.  Which is unfair because she’s a really great kid and 95% of the time, she is doing just great.  And I take it for granted.  I shouldn’t.

In the car, I tried to play catch up on the praise side.  I reminded her of all the times she’s remembered to tell me what she needs to take to school, she’s hardly ever forgets to pass on her teacher’s instructions, she remembers to put on her seat belt, she remembers rules, she remembers her spellings and how to do her math.  She remembers stuff from years ago, she amazes when she narrates incidents that happened when she was three or four years old.  She’s got an amazing memory and I reminded her of that.  I also reminded her of all the times that I forgot things and she had to remind me.  I reminded her that I also forgot about the CD.  Everybody forgets somethings sometimes, I explained.  By now, she no longer appears upset.

And I’ve learned a valuable lesson in the process.

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!

My baby is almost two…I can’t imagine how time flies.  And I can’t believe how uninterested I’ve become in the whole potty training thing.  I was once eager and full of hope for a future devoid of poopy diapers.  That hope has turned into non-chalance.  Whenever.  I don’t care.  [Is this what happens to you when you attempt to potty train a child that is not ready?  Or when you think success with one child had something to do with your training ability?]

But Baby Brother has now decided that it is time to aggravate his pottied-out mom.  When it’s time to give him a bath in the morning, he calls out “Potty.  Potty.”  With a look of determination on his face, he gets his potty seat, places it on the toilet, positions his step stool so he his able to step up and then calls for help in getting off his diaper.  I feel like telling him “No potty.  No!”  But Hope whispers and tells me, “maybe today is the day.” 

I help him sit, while watching the time.  We should be taking advantage of every minute to get ready and get out.  We don’t have time to waste sitting on the potty doing nothing.  “Book”, he requests while holding out a hand.  I call out to his big sister to get him a book.  He babbles happily as he flips through the pages.  When he’s satisfied, he calls out “Done.”  He looks very happy.  But Hope had lied.  I talk to him like he’s a big boy.  I tell him that the potty is for real business, not reading books.  He smiles at me in a mommy-just-doesn’t-get-it way.  Precious minutes have been wasted.

We finish getting ready and on our way to the door, a message is delivered to my nose…something stinks.

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!