Tag Archives: Parenting

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Fairy Tales

One night as we were winding down and talking, I went on a random rant of the day to my husband. His response was “I’m glad we’re not having a daughter.” We both laughed, I’m sure the world isn’t ready for another me and he agreed. My point was a simple comment in response to an episode of Game Of Thrones where Arya told Tywin, “Well most girls are stupid”. I, being the feminist I am, fully agreed with her little statement. Most girls are idiots and I, the pessimist over-thinker I am, figured it out. I figured out why they like boys who mistreat them and waste their time. The answer was simple really: fairy tales. I never cared much for them, but most girls are raised with them as lovely nighttime stories. Let’s be honest here, that’s where parents years and years before us have screwed up my gender. This is why my husband is thankful we’re not having a girl. Next time though, I think the world needs another me.

He thinks I over-think it, I think he’s just a silly boy sometimes. Let’s look at the facts here, and you decide. First, we have the poor but beautiful Cinderella who gets help from a fairy godmother to meet Prince Charming and get married. However, he doesn’t recognize her without seeing if a shoe fits? Really, he couldn’t be bothered to actually remembered what she looked like and if he had come across the Evil Queen herself and the shoe fit, we’d be looking at a completely different story. From that, little girls learn that all that matters is he found her based on a probable foot fetish and it didn’t matter who she was. Also a guy would never just look for a girl based on a shoe, he’d just find another girl because it’s easier.

Then we have Little Red Riding Hood. It starts off innocent enough, a girl wants to give her sick grandmother some food. But why would she get there and not be able to tell her grandmother was actually a wolf, not a human. Is a girl supposed to learn you don’t need to be intelligent, just cute? If you can’t tell that a human is actually an animal than I think you deserve the title of an idiot because, well, if I need to finish that idea than I’m worse off than I thought. The distressed damsel thing bothers me, too. Sure she was a girl against a wolf and needed help but maybe she wouldn’t have gotten there in the first place if she ran when she saw a wolf wanting to bite her head off in the first place. Screw that “My what big eyes you have” comments.

I’m sure if I wanted to I could come up with several more examples of this. I don’t want to read my daughter any feminist manifesto telling her she doesn’t need to wear a bra or shave her legs to get respect in the world. I want a good literature role model for her. We have Bella from Twilight that really just wants to marry a vampire and become one, which passes a message that girls just want to get married and suck the blood of their husbands or wallets depending on your interpretation. Luckily, we have Katniss from the Hunger Games who doesn’t consider love or marriage and kicks a ton of butt. We need more role models like that for our girls not ones that teach them that marriage and playing a brainless wife is what love is about. That’s how girls grow up to be idiots.

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Who Needs Flowers?

My husband is a good man, as I often state. In the years he’s known me, he learned one thing: never send me flowers. It’s not that I don’t appreciate flowers for their beauty, only their beauty actually planted. I don’t see the point in flowers, they are just dying plants that only last a week at best and you pay a lot for. Maybe I’m just too cheap to truly appreciate a bouquet of stargazing lilies, but it causes problems on days like Mother’s Day where it’s customary to give your wife flowers to show your adoration. He always makes do with surprisingly thoughtful gifts that make me laugh that other men get off easy just buying some roses and having their ladies swoon at their feet. Not my husband, he doesn’t like to take the easy way in anything.

Usually he can’t keep his gift a secret from me. 2 years ago at Christmas time, he comes over to me with a box. “I can’t keep it a secret, I’m too excited. You might as well just open in now.” It was barely 2 weeks until Christmas, and his joy in giving me a present he thought I’d love turned him into a kid waiting to open his presents at Christmas time. That is the type of person he is. He doesn’t really care what he gets, but the joy in our eyes when we love our presents turns him into a giddy schoolgirl.

This Mother’s Day was different. He kept his mouth shut though I kept guessing what it was that he got me. He smiled maniacally, playing a game with me of “you’ll never figure it out”. I knew I figured it out though, but I knew I’d be shocked and thrilled when the day came. Sure enough, with a knock at the door and the shrill bark of our overly anxious dogs and in comes my husband and son with my surprise: An Edible Arrangement. Now, I knew this was coming but my fat pregnant self couldn’t help but be giddy and touched all the same. My number one food craving has been fruit, and here was a giant bouquet of my favorite food in gigantic size. The card was signed with a “love” from my husband, my son, and my unborn son. It was adorable, and I don’t normally call things adorable. No other word seems to fit.

I devoured that thing in a day. I regret that now, not just because all that delicious fruit was gone but because my stomach still hurts from my lack of willpower. Apparently, your appetite reaches “bottomless pit” mode at 6 months pregnant. The pain is worth it, so so worth it. Mother’s Day is a day to celebrate the things we do as mothers every day and to celebrate all our mothers for everything they do for us. So all Moms, including all the Moms in my life, you are awesome and don’t forget it. It’s all worth the pain.

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You Know It’s Too Big

One hilarious thing about writing is tricking your audience into reading an article based on a provocative title. I know what you were thinking, silly people but this is at least a PG-13 blog. It’s my “blessing in my belly making my stomach stick so far out” that has gotten to a point that may or not be “too big”. It’s all relative, I suppose. I might find my stomach to be too large, and my body giving out on me seems to agree. It’s more than aches and pains, it’s the hilarious ways it affects your life in the most vain and unimportant ways.

Recently while showering, I went to shave my legs only to find out this might be harder than normal. As if not cutting my leg open isn’t enough of a task shaving, I found my stomach made this more difficult that I had hoped. I did it, barely, while sitting down in an awkward position determined not to be that woman who makes her husband do it for her. I think I’ll go amazon chic before I allow myself to lose that sort of independence. I haven’t decided if having him paint my nails is the same idea, but on principle I’ll go without certain vanities. I bet I’ll give in though, I don’t think I could allow myself to go 3 months with hairy legs, especially with summer on my heels.

Yesterday, I wanted to eat popcorn while watching Game of Thrones or as I call it “the highlight of my week”. This doesn’t seem like it would be overly difficult. I go to the cabinet where the popcorn was and as I reached up to grab the popcorn, I realized that my stomach stuck out so much that I couldn’t reach to grab my popcorn because I was too far away to just grab it. Normally when this happens (a common occurrence when you’re barely 5’2″), I climb onto the counter to reach what I need and gloat how I don’t need my 6ft husband to reach things for me. Stupidly, I attempted to climb, but quickly realized that climbing wasn’t an option either. Not just because my husband looked on disapprovingly with a lecture ready, but because my fat little body was no longer as agile as I was 6 months ago.

So as I waddle around with my fan/spritzer combo to cool me off, I complain about the discomforts of the miracle of life while looking about how large I am in my head. The bright point is every kick I know I’m doing something right and in a few short months there will be a child here that everyone can fawn over and will be there to make me smile and forget about everything before. Then I’ll forget enough to go through it again.

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And Now It’s 3 months

I was sitting in my living room, indulging in a nice salad and rice because that’s what my crazy fetus enjoys. It then hit me that in almost 3 months time, I’ll be sitting in that same spot with a swaddled newborn. It wasn’t the idea of the newborn that sent sudden waves of terror and anxiety in my body, it was the idea that there was only about 3 months left until he appeared. I had only 3 months and a lot less time to get things accomplished than I had hoped.

I looked at my bedroom, which I had destroyed in a fit early on in my pregnancy when I realized nothing fit. Where was I going to put this bassinet? What happens next? Do I baptize him? Who do I choose to be his godparents without offending everyone else? Will I be a terrible mother this time around, knowing that I wasn’t that great my first time? I couldn’t help to think “well with all those kids in foster care or the state’s care, I’m sure it could be worse.”

Then, I cheer up. “I’m sure it could be worse for him.” No that’s not what cheers me up, I’m not that awful. What comforts me is that in 3 months time I won’t have to pee every hour and all these aches and pains will vanish. I’ll have this little life staring at me wide-eyed and excited for what the next day will bring. That’s the best part of being a parent: realizing that you can open this new life’s eyes to something better than what’s actually there. Children are innocent and unaware if you don’t feel like changing out of your pajamas. They don’t care about anything other than whether you love them and are there to take care of them.

Maybe 3 months is perfect time. Time enough to focus on getting everything done and time enough to enjoy it while it lasts. Time enough to prepare for everything, and realize that all the preparation in the world won’t help for all the unknowns parenthood brings. Maybe 3 months isn’t perfect time, mostly because there’s no such thing as perfect time for anything.

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It’s All In Perspective

Parenting brings out different ideals and morals in a person. You see things in the way you hope your child will see them and are more aware of the things you say. With my first child, I definitely learned to watch my language at least in speaking out loud. You also learn that every action you perform, they learn. They learn everything from you, but I think that mostly you learn from  you children.

With my new addition growing inside, I notice that I’m more aware of certain issues this time around that I didn’t need to worry about with my first. My first son is a majority, a white male. My son waiting to enter the world will likely have more challenges we’re both going to have to walk through for the first time, since this society is still a society that struggles with race issues and people who are different. My unborn son will have to hold his head high while slurs are tosses at him because he’s Asian. They’ll hold the skins of their eyes and make a squinty face to imitate him, and mispronounce words because that’s what they see on TV.

Even more, I think about the internment that took place in World War II. I think about the terrorist attacks and how that made our country view Muslims. I get scared thinking about those things, because it makes me wonder what happens if we end up in a war with North Korea. I worry that my children and husband will be taken away just because their lineage is Korean. I worry they’ll get thrown down stairs, have eggs tossed at them, have our house vandalized because we live in a closeted xenophobic society. And by closeted, I mean hidden as well in the closet as Clay Aiken was.

More logically, laws similar to the one being discussed about immigration in Arizona and how if they become widespread how that will affect my family. I would’ve said before who cares if they want to pass a law they think will work though it will probably make racial profiling acceptable. Now I sit there and think, “how do I feel that a law like this means that my child can be pulled over just because he’s Asian and needs to prove that he’s American. Do I need to make him carry around his birth certificate so some tough guy cop doesn’t bully my child?” Lawmakers say that it won’t increase racial profiling, but that’s like saying it just seems like anyone with tan skin and a beard gets stopped more at airport security.

I hope for the sake of my children that I’m being skeptical and paranoid. Maybe things will change between now and then, and maybe I don’t have to worry about the cruel world I’m bringing them into. I can hope that I raised them well enough to not retaliate violently and stand up for themselves in a positive way. Mostly, I can hope that the world is a little more tolerant in the future.

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Pax East, day 1

I learned something important today. When you’re 5 months pregnant at a huge convention, a problem exists: you’re 5 months pregnant. Toting around swag and walking for hours straight doesn’t feel so great. After only a couple of hours, my feet and back feel like they want to run away from my body. Don’t even get me started on my OCD and public restrooms. This made me realize how I should approach my weekend special for Pax: no one talks about being a parent at a gaming convention nor does anyone mention being pregnant and walking around swarms of people.
This is mine and my husband’s 3rd year here. This year, we decided our 9-year-old was old enough to appreciate this experience. This posed a problem for us, as now we had to adapt a new plan and accept that there were certain things we would have to miss that we enjoyed. (I miss you “Make a Strip” panel.) Certain things aren’t kid friendly.

I just rocked the old people's socks off.

This gave us a new perspective on this event. We kept our eyes opened for things our son would enjoy. Then, we saw the “Paint and Take” booth. Perfect! My husband and our son sat there together painting happily together. When they were completed, they proudly showed off their work.

My figurine is awesome. This is my proud face.

Look what I can do!

We also remembered a joy when our son discovered the Classic Console room. While we proudly showed our old age talking about how “the NES was our first game system as kids” and explaining the evolution of games to get to the Wii and Xbox he enjoys today. We showed him how Golden Eye 64 was far more awesome than his Wii version, and then watched him beat us at it. Yes, we were proud. I have a feeling we’re going to spend a lot of time there this weekend.
Another room was also a place of great awe and amazement for our 9-year-old adventurer: the ACAM too. It was filled with classic arcade machines that were free to play. The room was dark, with laser stage lights like arcades should look like. With a backdrop of 80’s music, our son looks at this pinball machine like he’s never seen one in real life, asking “wasn’t Tommy a pinball wizard?” My poor husband’s knee though, he crouched down using his legs as a step stool so our short son could see the screens. This is another place we’ll probably end up spending our weekend.
The agenda for tomorrow is simple. First, we must track down Jonathan Coulton so our son can get an autograph and meet his beloved JoCo. Then more family friendly activities including another visit to the painting booth and classic consoles. Finally, the Saturday night concerts so we can enjoy Video Game Orchestra and Jonathan Coulton.
For you expectant mothers, I do have advice: granola bars or the like are your friends, as are bottles of water. Also taking breaks as often as possible makes you not feel so dead, you know your body. Lastly, a pair of comfortable shoes and airy clothing prevents the overheat and just makes you feel less discomfort.
For now though, we’re calling it a night. My feet have swollen up to a freakish size and my muscles feel like giving up. Tomorrow I’ll know better. Have fun Pax people who are still partying down.

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Family Tree

To start today’s post I had a story about my family. Over the weekend, I finally decided it was time to splurge and get one of those fancy Teavana teapots. We did, bought some tea, and it was fun for my husband. It was like he was a kid, getting a toy he really wanted but never asked. In the process, the clerk offered me a sample of herbal tea. Being pregnant and unsure of what exactly was safe; I declined and stated that I was pregnant. His response? He looked at my husband and asked “is it yours?” Normally, I’d have a witty retort for this person, but I was too shocked someone would ask that. “Well gee, now that you mention it, I was just waiting for the right time.” It almost reminded me of a time my husband accompanied me to the doctor’s for my son, and the doctor looked at me uncertain and asked how tall the father was. When I said “Oh not much taller than me”, he looked at my husband and realized the foot difference between us. He finally let out a sigh of relief, not having to tell my husband that he wasn’t the father. (Because my husband is Asian, and my son isn’t so that was a subtle hint.) This isn’t the point of my blog today, I just felt like a story telling moment.

The point of the story is that I was reminded this weekend how much I love my boys and my future little one. If one of my children came to me and said “by the way, I think I’m gay”, I would love and accept them the same way I had before. As a parent, I think that you love your kids no matter what. Well, I admit if I had a serial killer for a son, I’d probably be a little less accepting of who they are. In general though, I think true parents love their kids unconditionally.

When I read about Kirk Cameron’s interview on the Piers Morgan show, I wasn’t shocked by him disagreeing with the idea of homosexuality since most radically religious people are. I don’t care that he’s “anti-gay”; if I did than what makes me better than him? You can’t preach acceptance for one belief system and not another. I don’t agree with him that gay people are unnatural and disgusting, I believe that thinking they are better than another person is wrong. My problem in the interview was the idea that someone who touts himself as a “good Christian” would ever not love his children for who they are. I think it’s unchristian to tell your kid you won’t love him if he’s gay. This is exactly why I don’t follow a religion. If you preach loving your neighbor, you shouldn’t in the same breath preach not accepting people for who they are.

I may not be a Christian, but I can love my friends and family for who they are. I accept them as people different from me, because it makes us better that way. I don’t need a religion to tell me what’s right or wrong, I had parents that raised me for that and a conscience of my own. Ok, a conscience of my own when I listen to it. I think before you start pushing your beliefs on other people, you should really listen to what you’re saying.

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Parenting 101

There are probably thousands or millions of parenting books on the market, and they make money as flocks of people go to read them. Chapters upon chapters that share what it means to be a parent and what you can do to improve on that. I think they are a sham; parents don’t need a book to tell them how to be a parent. If you need a book, you have more problems than you think.

This isn’t a knock on people who feel a little self-help is in order; I’m all for people improving because no one is perfect. That’s not the point of what I’m trying to say, the point is that basically being a parent isn’t something you can read in a book. Kids aren’t looking for a perfect parent; they are looking for “a” parent.

Now this brings us a question: What is a parent? I can tell you that donating genetics to create a human life doesn’t make you a parent; it makes you a genetic donor. I can tell you that a parent shows up to baseball games or at least just shows up when they tell you they will. A parent cuddles you in blankets with waters when you’re sick, and brags about you to their friends. A parent is simply someone who is there and loves you, and your child isn’t left wondering if you care or even remember they exist. I just told you what a parent is in a paragraph. I told you that you didn’t need any overpriced books to learn how to be a parent. You just need to show that you care.

I don’t think that being a parent is a right that anyone can give you. If you don’t stand up and take any responsibility, I don’t think you have any right to your child or to call even claim them as your child. A child is a precious gift, not one that should be tossed aside until it’s convenient. You don’t need to have that child be genetically yours, as long as you love it like it is. If you can’t appreciate your child, I don’t even know where to begin how incredibly awful people should think of you. With the thousands of people who struggle with infertility, you deserve the looks of shame you get from people who are dying for the chance to have a child to love. It saddens me to see parents take it for granted, sickens me almost, that a parent wouldn’t want to be involved. But since I hate ending posts on a sad note, I’d also love to take this moment to applaud adoptive and step-parents for loving and raising these children as their own. It takes special people to step up like that.