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May 20, 2006
C has these G.I. Joe action figures that are pretty large and quite detailed. They come with all of the various paraphernalia that a real soldier would be equipped with. Anyway, one of them came with a big, black UZI, and he likes it because it's a GUN (what is it with boys and guns?!).
So I was explaining to him that G.I. Joe is a soldier and that soldiers use big guns because they need them for their jobs. He said, "That's right, because they need to protect us from the bad guys." So I said, "Yeah, but they don't always have to shoot at the bad guys. They only use their guns when they really have to, like when the bad guys are trying to hurt them or somebody else REALLY bad." So we talked a little more about how his samchon (uncle) is a soldier and all that jazz.
A little while later, he came running to me and said, "Umma, Halmi and Habaji (Grandma and Grandpa) have guns at their house! I remember!" I CANNOT believe that he remembers that my parents have a gun case with some rifles and shotguns in it. Just shows that this kid doesn't miss a beat and has some pretty good recall. So I said, "Yes, they do, but they don't use them. They're just there to look at through the glass."
So a while later, I'm in the shower and C comes into the bathroom and asks, "Umma, is Halmi a SOLDIER?"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...
Z is turning 5 on the 24th and then graduating from Pre-K four days after that. I can't believe she's starting kindergarten in the fall. My baby girl is growing up!
Yesterday, I was struck with something that made me feel guilty toward my Z. Not that the cause of my guilt was in any way ill-intended.
Because she is the second child, our middle child, we experience almost all of our "firsts" with her older brother, C. Everything that C has done or accomplished since babyhood has been followed by a "Wow," as opposed to Z's accomplishments which are usually followed by an, "Oh yeah, I remember when C did that." Get what I'm saying? Not that we don't praise her outwardly in the same way. Of course we do. But it's just not the same as when you experience your first child doing something for the very first time. You kind of take your second, third, etc.'s development slightly for granted just because it's not new.
Z got the results back from her school's Bracken School Readiness Assessment (whatever the heck that is) yesterday. When her teacher handed me her print-out, I didn't quite understand what I was looking at. I mistakenly looked at the percentile rank, which read "98," and compared it to the standard scores classification and saw that she ranked smack dab within the "average." I thought, "That's OK. It's not like I've put much effort into her academics yet." So I said to her teacher, "Well, this is good. She's right in the average, so there's nothing to worry about, right?" Her teacher looked at me with an alarmed expression and said, "Oh, no! She's not average. Her standard score was 132. She's in the 98th percentile! She is very advanced." She then went on to tell me that Z had missed only 3 questions on the entire exam.
Huh.
So here's where I felt guilty -- I am guilty of "classifying" my children. I always think of C as "the creative, smart one," Z as "the linguistic, entertaining (and pretty) one," and though E isn't old enough to be properly classified yet, I actually think that he is going to be "the athletic one."
Isn't that horrible? I have been pigeonholing my kids! I mean, they can and will be everything and anything they want, right? So why do I think of them in these set, descriptive terms? In part, it's an attempt at understanding them and figuring out, in general, who they are. But it is not all of who they are. They are so much more and capable of so much more than those few words that I have in my mind to "classify" and describe them by.
The thing that really gets me is that when I heard Z's teacher, I was actually surprised. If it had been C's test results, I would have thought, "That makes sense." This is not to say that I have ever thought that Z wasn't "smart," too. I just don't think that I've given her as much credit as I have her big brother.
So it comes down to this: I need to stop pigeonholing my kids in my own mind. I need to be better about celebrating each of them as individuals. I need to be better about my own gender/birth order biases. I need to be better. I need to do better.
But by golly, I do love that girl. And I am so proud of her, 98th percentile or 8th.
Flashback
May 15, 2006
Excerpt
For a few days now, I've noticed that whenever Z asked me for something and I gave it to her, she said, "Thank you." Then, shortly after, she'd follow it up with, "A fishy ate it." I kept asking her why she was saying that and what fishy she was talking about, when it dawned on me this morning that she's been saying, "I appreciate it."
I thought it was nasty when my toddler stuck his hand in his brother's stream of pee several months ago.
Well, that ain't nothin' compared to what he intended to do today.He followed his brother into the bathroom this afternoon carrying a plastic cup. As soon as C whipped it out, E held out his cup as if his brother's "faucet" were an actual water fountain or spout. When I heard C yell, "No, no, no!" I went running and C recounted what had happened. Of course, I busted into laughter when I peered into the cup and saw the would-be beverage. Shortly after, I threw out the cup.I guess he was thirsty.The other day, HS and I were watching the little guy pick chocolate chips out of a muffin. He's got very good fine motor skills, that one. He's been able to wield a screwdriver like an adult for quite a while now. You can just tell that he's going to be good with his hands.
So after watching him for a bit, I said jokingly, "Yeah, maybe this one's going to be a brain surgeon when he grows up."
My husband's perfectly-timed response was, "Did you say drain surgeon? Like... a plumber, right?"Poor kid gets no respect.Guess I should go and give him some apple juice.
C and Z love to draw. In particular, they love to draw for me. It is rare that they go running to their dad with something that they have drawn especially for him. It's always my desk that is littered with mountains of paper that have been penciled, crayoned, cut-and-pasted, and fashioned into "art" just for me. I'm Mom, you see. It's like what they say about professional athletes, etc. who say, "Hi, Mom!" and "I love you, Mom!" on television, with nary a mention of their poor dads. It's true. Moms are just better. Hahahahaha. I'm kidding.
Anyway, here is something that C brought home for me from school for Mother's Day. I got a lump in my throat when I read the words that he chose to describe me. She is the best mom ever. Man, if that ain't pressure, I don't know what is! But seriously, HE is the best kid ever. I just love that boy.
Here is another thing that C brought home for me. It's watercolored and I just adore it. Absolutely love it. I think I'm going to frame it. I need to get that kid into art classes.
Lastly, here is a little something for me from my baby girl. I can only assume that she ran out of time and that is why we have no hands or feet. And I'm going to assume that the slightly more rotund one with the round head is yours truly and that this is some time in the future when she will be ever-so-slightly taller than me. Anyway, she comes home from Pre-K with drawings of the two of us together all the time. I love them. I love her.
Z came up to me this afternoon and said, "Mom, you make my heart super happy."
Sigh.I have no words worthy to follow that.
When I was younger, the only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted to grow up and become a mom. College major? Dunno. Career choice? Clueless. Want to have kids? Most definitely, yes. When I was having fertility problems in my mid-20s, I wondered if that vision of my life would ever come true.
I am so thankful to say that yes, it came true, three-fold.
So on this day-after-Mother's Day, I reflect on my crazy kids who let me have this job and who make me love it more than anything else I do (even though I may run screaming from the house from time-to-time). Thanks, guys! I love you and I love being your Umma!
I guess I should also throw in a little something about my husband here, too. Without him, I wouldn't be the person or mom I am today. Without him, I would not laugh as much as I do each and every day ("Hon, go and grab me a couple of condoms off of that rack..."). Though I may spend more time rolling my eyes at him than hugging or kissing him, I love him with all my heart and would have his spawn all over again (in another life, that is).
My mom is my hero, my best friend and advocate. I am so thankful that I learned how to be a mother from her. She is a rock. She is my rock. And a lot of people don't really know this, but she is hilarious, too. One of the funniest things she's ever said to me out of the blue was, "You must have a really pretty uterus" while referring to the beauty of her grandchildren. Oy. My mom. I love her. She is the best.
Hope you hugged a mom yesterday (and today)!
May 9, 2006
Excerpt
So anyway, the kids were up really early today, so I knew that I could get C to school and make the one-hour trek to Brimfield (Antiques Show) with my daughter in-tow. We got there at about 11:00 and stayed for about three hours. It was fun! I didn't browse all that much, but I got what I went for. Almost annually, I have had a tradition of going to this show and buying myself a plate. I have a few that are Limoges and some that are just hallmarked in Germany or Poland. I kind of have a "look" that I search for - floral pattern with gold trim on an interesting rim/lip. Haha. I am sure that there is a name for this "style," but I don't know what it is. I dunno. I just like it. I have all of the ones I own hanging on various walls. One day, I hope to group them together in our dining room or hallway (IF WE EVER BUY A HOUSE!) for that shabby chic look.
Anyway, Z enjoyed walking around and looking at everything. She'd point at various "artifacts" and yell out what she thought they were.
Antiques or no antiques, I gotta have me my snacks!
Somebody had herself a morning nap in the car on the way there, so though it was a little chilly, this somebody was in quite a good mood!
A fine example of the kind of junk you find there.
Who in their right mind would buy this giant tin rooster?
Z thought it was cool, though... "Big boo ticken, Umma!"
Do you remember when you were a kid and you figured out that plowing through a bowl of ice cream or chomping away at a jawbreaker wasn't such a great idea because it made the magic go away too quickly? Do you remember eating a tasty treat with your sibling and eagle-eyeing how fast they were eating theirs because you wanted to be the last man standing with the last bite of your own? Do you remember counting out your Halloween candy and rationing it so that you could make it last? There was the fact that you simply did want it to last, but there was also that little bit of wanting to be the one to boast, "Ha ha! I still have some and you don't!"
No? Maybe I was just a bitchy little kid.
Well, Z is doing this very thing with a personal-sized container of Dibs. One day last week, I took the kids to Walgreen's to buy them after-school treats. C wanted a popsicle and Z wanted Dibs.
See, there is this sibling rivalry going on between my two older kids. The problem is that Z, the girl, is, well, a girl. She probably causes 70% of the "problems" between them because she simply... can. Even when I give them gum, she waits to make sure that he is going to put his piece in his mouth before she does. Sigh. It's annoying.
So anyway, I swear to you that that container of Dibs miraculously has lasted in our freezer since last week. Or maybe it was even the week before that. I have no idea. It's not like it's a bottomless pit of ice cream bits in those things, but no joke, they are still there. She asks for it and I hand it to her, thinking "Well, that's that" and then I see her put the container back in there saying, "I'm saving the rest for later" (in a sing-songy voice).
"I'm saving the rest for later. I'm saving the rest for later. I'm saving the rest for later."
OK! We got it!
I guess I shouldn't complain. The girl's got a certain amount of discipline and self-control and I don't think we're in danger of her becoming morbidly obese.
It's just annoying. Not for me so much, but if I were her brother, I'd want to tie her hair to the banister and bonk her in the head a few times with my light saber.
(I just realized that I haven't really done many Z-centric posts since I started this new blog and I would just like to assure my readership that she is just as loved as her brothers and there will be no tying of hair to banisters or head bonking in the foreseeable future!)
The highlight of my childhood was making my brother laugh so hard that food came out his nose. -- Garrison Keillor
Boys.
Boys are stupid. Just kidding! Actually, this is something that my girlfriends and I used to say a lot when referring to the idiocy of our husbands and boyfriends. This was of course before I became the mother of two boys. Two perfect, beautiful boys who I am sure no one will ever in a million years have cause to call "stupid." Ha!
Now that E is a little bit older and understands how to play, I sometimes watch them interact. And it awes me. C is a very patient and loving older brother (for now) and plays so well with E that it is really very touching. Even with both an older brother and a sister, it is so interesting to see that E will 10 times out of 10 always choose to wield a foam sword and run screaming at his brother than sit quietly with a Barbie doll, brushing her hair with his sister. And honestly, I am not the kind of parent who forces her children to adhere to gender stereotypes. I bought C a beautiful (and expensive) girl doll before Z was born so he could hold it and I could talk to him about his coming "baby sister." I tried. He showed no interest. Anyway, so mostly I witness E running around after his brother with dinosaur, robot, action figure, ball, or car in-hand. And the way that he looks up to his big bro... the way he watches and examines everything he does... you just know he's thinking in his head, "You're awesome, dude. I wanna be just like you!"
I grew up with one sibling, a boy. So our family had "one of each." And I can say that it was great because my brother and I have a wonderful, loving relationship. We were born five years apart and I had always thought that there should have been another one of us, right smack in the middle. But that makes me wonder now if my brother and I would have then ended up as close as we are. Possibly, but maybe not. Maybe our relationship would be "different." Who knows?
Anyway, when I see C and E together, it warms my heart that they are BROTHERS. There is something special about brotherhood, just as there is something special and significant about sisterhood. I am glad for them that they have each other as brothers. In the same breath, I am also a little bit sad for Z that she will never have a sister with whom to share that same kind of bond.
Such is life. She's got me. And of course she's got them, too. What a lucky girl to have two brothers to make her life hell. Ha!
Sometimes being a brother is better than being a superhero. -- Marc Brown
I swear to you that I did not begin the journey of motherhood thinking that I would breastfeed my children beyond the acceptable 6-month mark. I had no desire to be labeled as "Mother Earth," attachment-parenting, family bed-sharing, crunchy granola, nothing-but-organic-eating Mother of the Year (ha). I just wanted to survive.
When #3 arrived, I put my proverbial foot down and said, "He's not getting more than 9 months of the 24-hour booby buffet and that's final." (My first son had nursed for 15 months and then my daughter for 28 months.) Cut to 2 years and 2 weeks later and I am still E's walking, talking, human binky.
Sigh.
And the thing is that I'm now really torn. I'm torn between the fact that HE HAS HAD HIS SHARE AND NEEDS TO GET THE HELL OFF and the fact that he is my last baby.
Part of me is so tired of being so needed and relied-upon. Part of me just wants to cut and run. And if I did, I don't think anyone would blame me. And then there's the part of me that doesn't want to let go because he's my last. I love my kids, but I also loved them differently when they were babies. And they will never be those tiny little baby beings ever again. It's sad in a way, the thought of "losing" those babies forever to growth and maturity. Does that make any sense at all?
So anyway... I don't even know what the point to this post is, as it's not like I have come to any conclusion about how to get this kid away from my boob. And when I say boob, I mean boob, singular. I'm completely lop-sided because it has been well over a year since he's ignored the other one. I guess it just wasn't his cup o' tea.
(I know, I know... I need to buck up... the kid can't go to kindergarten and say, "It's snacktime? Where's my boob?")
Nancy is the mother of one of my oldest friends. She is an extraordinary woman and teacher and when my dear friend says that she wants to grow up and be just like her mom, I don't blame her. She's a professor of English and is one of the most adventurous people I know. By looking at Nancy, I can see where her daughter has inherited so much of her character and smarts (a few of the reasons why I love that chick!).
Anyway, Nancy has been living and teaching in South Korea for the past several months. She was recruited to be a teacher at a new progressive school in a very "exclusive" neighborhood of Seoul. She keeps a blog where she writes of her adventures and it is just so fun for me to see her point of view as a visitor to the country.
I emailed with Nancy before she left and told her what I could, not knowing if anything I wrote would be of much help to her. She seemed both anxious and excited, as this would be the first time that she will have left home for a substantial length of time. But she seems to have adjusted so easily and with such gusto in such a short period of time. When I read some of the things she writes about her experiences in Korea, I almost feel ashamed that I am sometimes not as open and accepting of my own culture. I fall short in offering grace and understanding and tend to be overly critical of many things "Korean," you see. Nancy, you can tell, is there to learn as much as she is there to teach, and it is so eye-opening and heart-warming. She's an amazing woman with such an accepting, adventurous spirit, you can't help but love her, even from afar.
So here's to Nancy and all of the little ones she's teaching in Seoul. May the country and people inspire her as she undoubtedly leaves her indelible mark on them.
Excerpts
May 3, 2005
Lately, he INSISTS on sitting on the potty with one of his dad's magazines. It only takes him seconds to poop, but then he thinks that he's supposed to sit there and read for a long time like his old man.
May 3, 2006
I got busted twice today.
I need to watch what I say around the kids more. Sigh...Z had been rather whiny this morning and at lunch, I said to HS (husband), "She's being such a beeotch today!" and C said, "Yeah. She's a beeotch!" Oh my LORD! Anyway, I said to him, "I'm sorry, honey, but you shouldn't say that word." "But why?" was his reply. I was tempted to say, "Because I said so," but instead I just explained that that is a grown-up word. I figured if I got into the whole, "It's a bad word" thing, then he'd be more apt to repeat it.
Then, a few minutes later, I was saying something about how I looked really bad today. My exact words were, "I look like A-S-S." C then began to chant, "A-S-S! A-S-S!" I completely forgot that the kid now knows his alphabet! OMG!
Bad Mommy. BAD, bad Mommy!
May 3, 2007
I told them to say "smelly feet" so I could catch them looking like they were smiling, but they both did this instead and busted out laughing about smelling their "fungus." Sigh.
Sweetness
May 20, 2006
