I don't want children

One afternoon, we sat chatting about whatever flew into our heads. Evelyn mentioned mommies having babies. I reminded her that mommies need daddies in order to make babies. "Oh, so they have to be married?" she asked. "Well, yes," I chose to answer her, not wanting to confuse her with too many different scenarios, combinations and alternatives. Lauren piped up and said "I don't want to get married."
"Oh, you don't need to decide now," I said, "you can decide way later. But why don't you?"
"Because I don't want any children."
That, was not what I was expecting.
"Oh... why?"
She answered with a shrug, eyes twinkling.
I decided not to press her for a reason.  "Okay... well, you don't need to decide now. You have plenty of time to decide on that." A safe answer I can offer.
Later on, when we were alone, I brought it up again, and asked why she doesn't want children.
She gave me that impish look and that little smile that seems to hide thoughts unsaid. Finally, she came up with "because I don't want to carry them around."
Hm. When I relay this story to others, people often burst out laughing here. Especially if I told them that prior to this conversation, she just asked me to carry her up the stairs.
Yet I must admit that I am a bit unsettled by this little episode. It might be true that the only reason behind her decision to not procreate is because she hates having sore arms. May be not having children, to her, simply means to not have a child balanced on her hip at all times. After all, she is here to witness how I have gotten creative in say picking things off the floor, make dinner, or even wash dishes when her brother won't let me put him down. But I can't help but read more into her response. What she knows about motherhood, she gets mainly from me. What is she sensing from me that makes the idea of children undesirable? Do I exude exasperation? Do I smell tired? Do I seem stressed? Does my life revolving around them seems trite? It is true that I am often short on patience, on sleep, on organized thoughts, on the freedom to act on impulse (fly to Rome on a whim or drive to NYC for a weekend for example).  But I hope she also sees my joy, my contentment, my happiness that stems from them. From having children. I do not need to travel the world to find beauty and excitement. The sight of their smile, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hands in mine make my life so much better. They fill my heart with a joy that I was never able to imagine before I became their mother. I hope she knows that. I hope she understands that even while I may look bogged down by the minutiae of daily life, I will not trade motherhood for anything.

Dear Lauren (2012)

My dear Lauren,
This is a long delayed newsletter/look back from mommy. Not because there is little for me to say. There is too many stories of you I can tell, but I fear that by putting them into words, it would not do your exuberance, sweetness, and feistiness any justice.
You have a mind of your own and quite strong willed. It's much harder to coerce you into doing something than coercing your sister. But then, you let your sister talk you into sharing a toy or playing a game. I can say you are not all that into books, often loosing interest if the book is a tad longer. But then, I'd remember that you are only three and are supposed to have the attention span of a toddler, and see you go through a book and retell the story from memory. I can say that you don't need friends as much as your sister, and are often reluctant to approach an unknown child. But then, once you make the connection with someone, you cherish it and talks about it proudly. I can say that you sometimes see your brother as a threat who will definitely come for your toy and break it. But then, you also come to him for comfort and hugs when things aren't going your way. I can say you are still a toddler not that much removed from infancy. But then, you will use big words (since, perhaps, disastrous, probably, prefer, separate...)  and sound logic to show me how much closer you are to starting school than to the crib (that you seldom used anyway).

Even at three, you are still a mommy's little girl. When we are home, you will request my company by holding tightly on my arms while uttering "I want  you to be with me". Bed times are always a big concern of yours. You like mommy nights, and could start asking about it as early as first thing in the morning. "Is this mommy night?" you'd ask. And if I give you a positive answer, you'd smile a reassured smile and be at ease. If not, you'd pout a bit until the next distraction. And my oh my can you pout now. Turning down the tips of your mouth, out comes your lower lip, combined with a very sincere looking frown, you look adorable. It is very hard to be stern when confronted with such a face.

You and your sister has a mostly very lovely and sometimes very combative relationship. You play fabulously well when you accommodate each other's imaginary arrangements (you are in the ocean, she is on the ship), fictional identity (you are Susanna the mermaid, she is Lily the sailor; you are Ohana's mom, she is the gymnastics teacher), and story line (you are hiding from the storm, she is putting up a performance). But when you got into an argument (you want to be a child, she wants you to be an audience), it can escalate all too quickly. The laughter and animated talks turn into shouts (mostly from your sister) and tears (mostly starting with you). You know how to annoy her (tagging along staying very, very close to her for example, or repeat her every sentence), but also how to help her. One afternoon, she dumped all the toys out from a drawer/tray so you two can play with it. Soon, you begin to fight over it. At one point, you had the basket and she was complaining to me about your hogging. You grew angry. Then, I saw you rushing over to her while swinging the tray into a hitting position. "LAUREN!" I yelled at you. You slowed down your pace, looked back in all innocence, lowered the tray in front of your sister and told me "I'm just putting it down." Moments later, the arguing commenced again. I have had enough. Instead of trying to sort things out, I told both of you to put the toys back in. Your sister got really mad and threw a toy. Not acceptable behavior. I grabbed her arm and told her "now you made me really mad. I am taking you upstairs for a time out." I swung around to march her upstairs, but was confronted by you, all 37.5 inches in your frilly pink princess night gown (it was a pajama day, your favorite). Your arms are crossed, mouth was set, not quite blocking me: "now you are making me mad!" Yes. I made you mad. By trying to remove your sister from the scene. The sister who was fighting with you. The scene in which you are both trying to dominate. I was the bad guy. It was very hard for me not to break form and burst out laughing. You saved your sister from time out that day.

Often, we forget how big you are already. Three. I re-enrolled you into school a few months ago thinking that you'll still be in the 2/3 classrooms this fall. Preschool? That's ways off. Silly me. Often, we forget just how young you still are. You can recognize all numbers and most alphabets. Argue and act like a kindergartner. You look forward to the day when you can have drop-off play dates. Set behavior goals for when you are older (I'll stay in my bed when I'm four). Are you only three? Some nights, when mommy and daddy look back on our day, we'd think we did not push you as hard as we push your sister. On other nights, we'd conclude that we asked way more of you than of your sister. I suppose that is the peril of being the middle child. You have an older sibling that we can use as a benchmark. However, you never cease to remind us how distinct and unique you are. You have your humor (bottoms are still the funniest thing in the world, so is your brother), your deep belly laugh, your quirks, and a sweetness all to your own.

I woke up briefly last night as you climbed, as softly as you can, into our bed to lay between your brother and father. This morning, I watched as you slept peacefully with your hands pillowed under your cheek. One of these days, we will reclaim our bed. As for now, I'll enjoy the mornings when I wake up to you and your brother right beside me. Tranquil and beautiful.

Dear Nathaniel (2012)

My dear boy,

This was meant to be a year-end letter, looking back at the amazing 2012 since you graced our lives. But like so many of my projects these days, it was delayed. Now, it is my Valentine's love letter to you.

You are my sweet, my cuddly, my warmth. I love how you perk up at the sight of me and reach out to me. I love how you grab tightly onto my shirt or my hair (even though it hurts) as if to make sure I will never let you go (I would not). The way your whole body exude joy, your face aglow and your wobbly steps (with the help of a bigger person to balance and stay upright ) hastes when you sees  me within reach. It always amazes me how my simple presence comforts you. As if by burrowing into my neck, everything will right itself. The trust you bestow me humbles and terrifies me. I am just another human being with all the standard flaws, still feeling a little wobbly on my own feet. Who am I to have such effect on another wondrous human being? What do I have to have such profound effect on you? Regardless, the sight of you staring into my face as I nurse you, or the feel of your fingers grasping mine is enough to make me want to be there. There, no matter where you'll be.

I love how you snuggle into me to hide, or to rest, and how you flash smiles at others in the safety of my arms. You never hesitate to reach out towards people you love; your daddy, your sisters, me. You love to feel our faces, grab our hair. The sight of us always elicits excited bounces and smiles, even squeals from you. You'd stretch and lean in order to get a peak at your sisters, smiling at them, anticipating to be made laugh. When I give you kisses, you'd lean into me and ask for more. When you feel like it, you'd "hold" my face, lean forward, and give me a open-mouthed kiss that is oh-so-sweet and just so wet.

You are also a curious baby, always fighting to see, feel, try new things. You would open cabinets, pull out drawers, bang toys together, shake things, wave things, taste things, explore them in all manners a 8 month old baby is capable of. The shiny towel rod, the microwave, and the faucet are all things that make you leap out of my arms to reach for. Especially the microwave. Every time I activate it, you take a joyful gasp and puts a hand on it to watch the dish inside magically spin itself.

You love baths. Starting your sister's bath is difficult nowadays because I also have to physically prevent you from head diving into the tub. You would stand by it and excitedly pat the tub, smiling and bouncing in expectation. When you do get to take a bath, you'd happily splash the water this way and that. While Lauren freaks out when water gets into her ears or eyes, you have no problem sticking your head right under the running faucet. I've taken to sloppily pour water all over you, hoping that this indifference toward water would remain and you will continue to be a water baby (a water dragon baby?).

You started teething at 3-months old and never stopped. It started with two bottom teeth. At seven months old, you have four bottom teeth and three top teeth. At eight months old, your eighth teeth has also come through. Teething has not be easy on you nor me, especially when the teeth were just coming. You've left bite marks on my shoulder through a heavy sweatshirt. I am the only person that was ever seriously bitten by you. I am not sure whether the bite is from discomfort or your way of showing your love.

You learned to sit around 5 months old, stalled, and finally got the hang of crawling two weeks or so ago. You don't have a "standard" crawl, though. It's more of a sitting scoot with your right leg remaining an upright position. Even though crawling is the best way to move yourself around, you prefer to stand and walk. Yes siree. You start to pull yourself up even before you can crawl. With the help of a friendly upright-able person, you gladly walk (or run) around the house, checking out corners, chasing after sisters. Can't wait to catch up, huh?

Dear child, since your arrival almost 9 months ago, you have grown so very much. All I can do is hold on to you tight, take in your body warmth, feel your weight in my arms, and savor every bit of  it. You are my little boy. My wonder, my tender, my joy. I love you.

Evelyn's 2012

Dear Evelyn,

And now you are six. Six! I watch your joyful stride as you walk out of school, hear your long narratives, and feel your weight as you climb into my lap, all elbows and knees, and wonder at how you grow up so quickly.

This has been such a big year for you. You graduated from preschool and started kindergarten. You love everything about school. The bus, the hot lunches, the school work, friends, classes, and teachers. Every day, you come home a cauldron of excitement, bubbling over with stories of what happened and what you learned and what you saw and heard. We would listen to your tales, and pepper you with a million extra questions so that we can learn as much as we can about your experience at school. Thing is, your stories snowball and grew with each telling, embellished with your abundant imagination until we are not sure which parts make up the true happenings. There were tales of how you all get to play a violin in music class (at kindergarten?) after the teacher closed up all windows and doors; of how each child would get a different colored bracelet for their lunch choices (pink for choice one, blue for choice two, green for choice three, and brown for undecided); or how you played with two friends, no three, no four, actually, it's five of them. The classic case was when we had that snow day in October (or was it November?). You came home and told us about a snow ball fight. How someone threw the first snow ball and how the others responded. Later that week, we received the newsletter from your teacher. In it, it read "The children were so disappointed that they didn't get to play with the snow."

Other than your stories, you also act out scenes in the classroom. You'd play school and assign your sister the role of line leader, leading her to gym and teach her yoga. Or, you'd have circle time. You'd sit on the chair, channel your kindergarten teacher, and begin with something like "Today, we are going to read two books, the first one is xxx, by xxx." You would read the story, and then turn the book around so your audience can see the pictures. From time to time, you would interject a question or a personal observation, such as "what do you think will happen?" or "do you have the same experience?" or "look at this locket here, isn't it beautiful? I hope I have one like it." You'd even lick your index finger to turn the page. I can imagine dear Mrs. H. reading stories, turning pages, and asking questions just the way you do. Speaking of reading, you've started to really read this year. Not by memorizing the text anymore, but sounding out new and sometimes complicated words. Just tonight, you read most of Ms. Rumphius by Barbara Cooney yourself. Sometimes you get inpatient at your slow progress though, and would tell me  you are going to read the book your own way, as in making up the sentences as you see fit.

It was never difficult for you to make new friends, and that continues to be the case. Before you started kindergarten, we worried that you would cling to old friendships and have trouble bonding with new friends. Silly parents, not giving our own child enough credit. Very quickly you started adding names to your best friend list. Apparently, anyone whom you've talked to or plays with  at recess qualifies as a best friend. You have regular play dates with friends who live close by, and constantly bring home requests for play dates with other classmates. Unfortunately your schedule is so packed, there's precious little time for free play and play dates. You have ballet on Monday, gymnastics on Wednesday, piano on Friday, swimming on Saturday, and a monthly Daisy troop meeting. You love all of these activities, and I dare not sign you up for more.

Of all the activities, you love swimming the most. You said the only problem with swimming lesson is that it is too short. Your least favorite is piano, which you are doing very well in the group lesson.  You are doing so well, in fact, that your teacher who recommended you skip kindergarten level has asked for you to discontinue with group lesson and start private lessons instead.

During this year, we see you completely shedding any trailing bits of toddler hood. Yet from time to time, you would remind me just how heart-achingly young you still are. So curious about the world, so ready to take things on, always rushing to check things out, to start something. So anxious to be perfect. Always needing reassurance of our love to you.

Growing up can be hard sometimes, especially when you don't get cuddled as much as your younger siblings do, or when you are asked to do more. But you have to remember, we love you just the same as we always did, if not more. No matter how you try our patience or shock us with your antics (scaling the pantry to fix yourself and your sister breakfasts that start with two pieces of chocolate, for example). I may not like your behavior, but I love you always. And as you grow and grow, we need to help you become more and more independent. In time, you will need to take care of yourself, and the best thing we can do for you is to make sure you can do a good job of it.

Growing up can be hard sometimes, but don't forget the joy that comes along with it. Think of how you can ride a two wheel bike now, how you can swim by yourself, how you can read and write and play music, and how you can take care of your younger siblings.

I hear you monkeying around with your sister and laughing the big, unrestrained laugh of yours. Such happiness. So open and honest. We are so proud of you, and love you so very much.

go back to sleep, mom.

Lauren has been sleeping through the night in her own room for a few weeks. Not necessarily in her bed, but in the room, nonetheless. Then, a few nights ago, she snuck into our bed in the middle of the night again. The next morning, we talked about why she needs to stay in her own room (I love you but I need my sleep, too).
That night, I woke to her foot steps, raised my head and saw the top of her head peaking over our tall bed. "Lauren, go back to your room" I mumbled. She shushed me as she climbed onto the bed, "go back to sleep, mommy. Stay asleep."  The mommy got shushed by the three year old.
Later, she told me she wanted me to stay asleep so I would not tell her to go back to her room. Good logic? Yes. Am I just a tad bit worried about what her teenage years are to be like? Just a bit. Just a bit.

Summer 2012

The starting of school usually signifies the end of summer. Tomorrow, Evelyn starts kindergarten. Tomorrow, I will be seeing her off at the end of the drive way, watching her get on a school bus to spend her whole day at school. I am trying not to be too sentimental, but the flood of emotion seems to be just barely contained behind my eyes. If I don't blink hard enough, or fast enough, the pressure will build and the dam will break. That won't happen though. My little girl is so psyched about going to school, so happy to begin this new part of her life, I will be happy for her, too. I will not stop and mourn the end of her toddler hood. Tomorrow, I will celebrate with her as she embarks on her new adventure. At least, that is what I am telling myself.

It has been such a busy summer. Nathaniel arrived at the start of it. Though having a new born does limit our travelling, it does not mean that the girls were trapped home in any way. There were plenty of trips to the lake, first encounters with a slip-and-slid, and a morning spent at the pool equipped with water slides at One Stop Fun. Evelyn finally realized that she can go without her goggles and still be equally fearless in water. Lauren is getting closer and closer to finally dip her chin in to blow bubbles.

Evelyn had her first summer camp - the little Italian chef pasta making. From a simple mixture of flour and water (and once with a little bit of tamarind for color), she made delicious tofie and bow ties, papadelles and fettuccine. She also had her first piano lessons. After three classes, she was doing well enough that the teacher suggested us enrolling her into the 1st and 2nd grader's class, skipping the kindergarten level.

Inspired by the performances of the London Olympic athletes (even Lauren knows the names of fab five) and the performers of Circus Smirkus, the girls did a lot of gymnastics at home. Cart wheels, hand stands, and backward rolls can take place anywhere. The girls are especially creative on the swing set. Evelyn's most daring move is to hang upside down on the trapeze with only one leg hooked on. After sliding off once, landing on the ground heavily with a solid "oof", she's learned to entwine her free leg over the hooked leg to make herself more secure while still freeing up her hands. She's getting so strong she is able to swing across the whole length of the monkey bar multiple times without help. Lauren is an acrobat in training, too. With a little help of mommy (who often is also wearing their baby brother in a pouch), she can swing half way through the monkey bar, or get herself onto the trapeze.

We went to Plymouth Plantation to visit the pilgrims and check out the May Flower. Visited the Franklin Park Zoo where Evelyn climbed up and down the zebra wall to get down the twisty, super fast giraffe slides, and Lauren showed us just how far those two-year-old legs can walk (far!). Had play dates (and even an early dinner) with Amelia and Kaylie (sometimes with Kasen, Hadleigh, and Wyatt) as well as Alana and Evelyn's future kindergarten griends. Picked strawberries with A-Ma and Nanny, and peaches and blueberries with Ben and Max. Went to Fifer's day fair, Acton's Town Fair, Bolton Fair, and the Middlesex County 4-H fair. Went through a beautifully laid out corn maze that hid 3 wine tasting stations in it, and visited Nashoba winery afterwards on a glorious summer day (I got to walk and nurse Nathaniel while in the maze. Would  have made for a great FB status if I had a smart phone to do so on the spot).

While we weren't able to visit anyone, people came to visit us. A-Yis and A-Gu visited aplenty, making the girls very happy. Evelyn discovered her love of photo taking using A-Yi's cell phone. Sandie A-Yi gave her her phone's password in exchange for a little bit more sleep (Evelyn climbed into her bed before 6), and woke up to a good number of new photos and a couple of videos in her phone. Auntie Liz also came back and took the girls to Davis Farmland with Nanny. Ben and Max came for a weekend. Max became Evelyn's little shadow, following wherever she goes, doing whatever she does, wanting whatever she chooses.

It's a summer with a lot of growing and of learning new stuff. Evelyn started to read. Lauren started to recognize alphabets and numbers. It's a summer full of joy and fun and smiles and laughs. And now it is coming to an end. Tomorrow, Evelyn starts school. It feels like the end of an era. But I will refrain from thinking that way, and only think of it as a beginning.

Roar

When at play, if someone chases Lauren hard and long enough, and mommy is not there to provide her legs to hide behind, Lauren would turn around, curl her fingers into claws, scrunch up her nose, roar like a monster, and give chase of her chaser, reversing their original roles. That is how my two year old takes control of the situation.