Archives for category: art of parenting

I have a pet peeve.

I dislike pink on little girls.

I don’t hate pink per se but it irks me when I see girls who are dressed from top to bottom in pink (and purple). And are you that surprised when they tell you their favourite colour is pink since that’s about the only colour they’ve seen since birth.

And it irritates me when people naturally assume that girls MUST wear pink.

Hey, it’s my child and anyway, who was the one that made a decree that pink BELONGS to girls? I’ll dress her in pink if I want to but nothing’s gonna stop me from decking her out in black (I did, but actually had someone who commented that I shouldn’t do that).

I really dislike these gender stereotypes. Children do not understand these genderisation but it is the adults who pass along all these silly notions to them. It’s just like how girls SHOULD play with dolls and boys HAVE TO play with cars.

Silly. And this is how the children grow up with narrow-minded viewpoints about gender.

Just today, the son told the husband who was wearing a pink polo, that pink is for girls. This coming from a little boy whose favourite colour is actually pink. I told him that’s not true. You should have seen the son’s face lit up when the husband told him that pink does not belong to girls or boys, and pink happens to be one of his favourite colour.

Why should a boy made to feel wrong for liking pink? Does a girl get laughed at if she likes blue?

Every year, the school has a shopping day where K2 children get to be entrepreneurs and bring wares for sale to the younger kids in school. Last year, the son came home with some snacks and a ‘Hello Kitty’ purse that he proudly showed me.

Hello the Kitty

A few weeks back, he told me that some kids laughed at him. Can you guess the reason?

Because ‘Hello Kitty’ is for girls.

Major sigh.

Now comes the parenting dilemma.

I try not to expose my children to genderisation. But I cannot control other children who chose to tease him because of that, and yes the mummy guilt sometimes makes me think that it’s my fault. What if he keeps getting teased because of my own beliefs? But then, it feels extremely sucky to succumb otherwise. Am I simply making a mountain out of molehill? Perhaps I’m thinking too much and it’s not an issue at all?

____

On a side note since we’re on the subject of pet peeves, why are little girls decked out in bikinis? To me, that’s sexualisation of a child. I think I must be a prude because when I come across pictures like these, I just feel they look so strange.

Shouldn’t a child just look like a child, rather than a mini-adult?

And the notions of princesses (especially Disney princesses)? Gives me a splitting headache.

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Unlike many whose children sleep through when they were young, the son never really did till he was much older. Not that it really mattered to me. The night equals “ME” time which I craved, devoured and needed. Partly also because that was about the only time I could get any work done.

And now with the baby in tow, I have been sleeping on average 3-4 hours every night, and even that is intermittent because she’s still not sleeping through.

After I read this, I can finally establish that my brain has been doing some major shut-down of its own and that is why my vocabulary has been diminishing as we speak (or rather, write) along with other things.

Afterall, I need every good excuse that I can get.

Of late, every night before I fall asleep, I’ll tell myself to be patient and not lose my temper at the son. The very next night, I berate myself for losing it and tell myself the same thing over again. It seems repeating the mantra over and over again does not work very well.

Every night I’ll recall how sensible, considerate and sweet he is and yet, when issues arises (on hindsight, some are honestly minor) , my temper just rears its head.

And then I receive this in my mail. How timely.

I really have to learn to keep things in perspective (and from their perspectives too).

 

Am also reading this and this for ideas to understand the situation better.

I came across this and then realised that being a mother does not require you to be a superwoman.

Good thing. Because I can’t fly that well and can’t bring myself to show my undies to the whole world.

Unlike him.

Superman!

As I was sitting there, cradling the son to sleep at around 4:30am last night, I looked over to the daughter and then I had to take a double-take.

I’m a mother?!

I know, it’s over 4 years but I honestly can’t get it wrapped around my head that I’m really someone’s mother. And I have to be responsible (or possibly worry) for these people for the rest of my life. What did I sign myself up for?! What was I thinking? Must be the lack of entertaining shows on TV.

Before our marriage, one thing I wouldn’t commit on was children. While the husband will gleefully hold up four fingers when you ask him about the number of children he would like, I’ll be the one hemming and hewing away. I wasn’t sure if I could be trusted with one and with no money-back guarantee, it’s a huge risk to take. And I’ll always pass the baton to God. If I’m blessed with children, then I guess He thinks I’m ready for them (let’s not get started on theology questions/lessons).

With every passing birthday, I don’t find myself maturing very much though. I’m afraid the kids might have to deal with a parent who is probably more immature than them in the future. I feel for them. Worse, they might have to deal with TWO! Heh.

Now, my life revolves around them. Not totally but enough to make me sometimes forget what was it pre-children. Honestly, when I’m in a crappy mood, I wish for those care-free days with fewer white hairs but on most days, I’m enjoying motherhood. Which makes me a little surprised. My heart burst at its seams with love for them and in the words of Elmyra Duff, I just want to “hug them and kiss them and love them forever (and never use them up)”.

Say Cheese

Today was one of those days (there seems to be more nowadays) where I wanted to throttle the son. He’s thankfully still alive simply because he’s my son. Otherwise…

I’m calmer now after I laughed myself silly over a certain Korean variety show. And of course the husband had wisely decided to whisk the son out of the house even though we had already made peace and apologised to each other. Afterall a toddler doesn’t need a lot of time to ignite the hidden tigress (and petty child) within.

Since I’m in a good mood now, I shall not revisit the source of the incident but I just wanted to salute those mothers who have never raised their voices at their children before.

*salute*

I initially wanted to write a post about how much I dislike baby talk. And was prepared to find pages and pages of research that would support my belief that talking properly to a baby is way better than all the meaningless “ahgoo-ahgoo” or “gaga”.

And all I ended up were pages of research that showed that ‘by one year of age, children who are exposed to a lot of baby talk have better speech perception skills than others who were not.’ 

And look! Googoogaga is considered as proper baby talk.

Ahhh, so there goes the speech perception skill of my little one. Because even with all these research, it’s against my principles to say googoogaga to her.

Scenario: I was nursing when I wanted to use my phone and was too lazy to scoot over to the table. The son was sorting out his cards next to me.

Me: Could you please pass me my phone?

Son: No.

Me: Please?

Son: *Looks up at me* Can you wait?

Me: No.

Son: Well, you’ll have to learn to wait. Ok?

Sigh. I can only say he picks things up fast.

The other day we had dinner with my mother-in-law and as she was recuperating from her fractured thigh bone, she was still walking with a slight limp (coupled with her already weak knees to begin with).

As she was slowly easing herself into the car, the son stepped up to her, stooped down and tried to lift her leg in. Then he stood up, looked at her, shined her his brilliant smile and gave a huge hug.

I think that must have made her day.

And made my heart swell with pride because having a compassionate and empathetic child is so much more important that all academic qualifications put together.

One of the cons of staying in a new place is that the son has not been settling too well at night. Every turn seems to stir him whereas in the past, he’ll sleep like a log.

A few nights ago, he groggily followed his father out of the room in the wee hours of the morning. Suddenly I was awaken by his small little voice saying, “Mummy, this flower is for you.”

I thought it was probably some tissue paper he folded and thanked him sleepily.

In the morning, I went to search for the flower and saw this.

My 1st flower

And so this is my first flower from him.