Apprentice

Evelyn: Daddy, what's an "apprentice"?
Daddy: It's someone who learns to make things from a master. So a copper's apprentice learns how to make barrels from a copper. A cobblers apprentice learns how to make shoes from a copper.
Evelyn gave it some thought. Then, she said: A princess doesn't make things.
Daddy asks: What does a princess do then?
Evelyn: A princess cleans, dances, and has helpers (ala Cinderella's mice or Snow White's woodland animals).

Yes, that's right, a princess doesn't just sit around dressed all pretty. She cleans and dances, too, and maintain friendships with little animals. I'll take that.

The bubbles must be from the mermaids in the water

I always wondered at the world seen through a child's eyes. Sprinkled liberally with details from their imagination, it must be so much livelier and colorful than the world I see through my wary adult eyes.

Evelyn's world is crowded with imaginary play mates. There's Janey who is sometimes her daughter sometimes her friend; Laney who is her son; the new addition, Abigail who is her baby girl; and the imaginary pet, Fido. Sometimes, she would talk about her "imaginary mom". Yes, as if her real mom is so not up to par that she needs to make up a new one. But then I realized that her real mom, me that is, is firmly anchored in the nitty-gritty practicality of life, and lacks romantic theatrics that could spice up any old day. I mean, just take a look at me, baby on hip, shirt often decorated by the baby with fruit stain and graham cracker, hair roughly finger combed through, dark circles hanging under my eyes; not exactly the picture of elegance that the three-year-old seeks in her fairy tale like world. Besides, the gentle mothers in her stories would never utter harsh phrases such as "don't dip your hair into the milk!" or "kitchen towel is not a veil, put it back". Moreover, her imaginary mom could "die" on command so that she could gracefully wallow in sarrow.

Real life experiences often gets incorporated into her imaginary world. After Lauren's birth, Evelyn has given birth to Janey so many times, I couldn't even begin to keep track. Upon hearing a friend acquiring a puppy, Fido came to life. Evelyn would all of a sudden dash off to a corner to check on him, or stop in mid step to call for him.

One night, I asked her to take off the plastic ring on her finger before she goes to bed. She pointed out that I get to wear my ring all day long. I told her that's because the ring is my wedding ring. It's ultra special , and I don't ever take it off. Right after I told her this, she told me that she married Gentry (a new imaginary character), and the plastic ring is her wedding ring. In fact, she is right now sitting in Gentry's castle. Yes, she loves Gentry and he loves her, more than that, she's actually making a baby right now. See, Evelyn gestured with her hand, her belly is growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger by the minute. She even held up an imaginary sonogram to show me the progress of her baby's growth.

Sometimes, the imaginary world also encroaches upon real life. Actions and decisions were made because of certain imaginary plot. The other day, we let Evelyn choose between two restaurants for Saturday night. She's been asking to go to the first one for a couple of weeks, but her daddy wanted to give her an option, so offered her the second one for choice. At first, she was decisive, she wanted to go to the first restaurant. But then she thought about it and told us that Janey wants to go to the second one, so maybe we should go to the second one. "Really?" we asked, "is that your choice too? We'll go to whichever one you want to go to." She pondered some more. Finally, she told us that Janey would be too fussy in the second restaurant, so we better go to the first one. So the first one it was.

At a family event at Evelyn's school, one of her teachers told me that on a walk in the woods the other day, the children came to a little brook. When they saw the bubbles in the gurgling water, they easily came to the conclusion that the bubbles must be made by the mermaids in the water. Because of course bubbles are pretty and fun and almost mythical, and of course there are mermaids in any body of water. Did I once also see the world this way? I wish I remembered how.

Old

"How old are you, Mommy?" Evelyn asked one day.
"Old," I said, knowing that at the tender age of 3, being 4 means she's quite mature, 5 is all grown up, and at 6, one certainly could drink/drive/get married/rule a country.
So, she pondered a bit on my response, and then, "TWENTY?" She said, in an exaggerated tone, as if that is an astonishingly "old" number and I just could not possibly be older then that.
"Yes," I laughed, "20."

I still remember coming home from school one day after we learned the names associated to the stages of life, and told my mother, who was then in her thirties, that she is approaching mid-life. Upon hearing this, her eyes went wide (not quite wild, but almost), she gasped and stuttered indignantly about how foolish my remark was, and how the label of being "middle age" is not going within 20 feet of her, never mind applied to her.

It's funny how the perspective of time changes as more time passed in our lives. I remember an hour being forever when I was little. Yet now, an hour is nothing. A bat of an eye. A turn of a page. Seasons come and seasons pass. A year goes by faster than I can acclimate to the new number shown on the calendar. My mother, who is now really in her middle age, told me that at her stage of life, 10 years is but a unit. If the passage of time was a little creak winding through sun speckled woods when we began our lives, its force gathers and speed increases as we travel through life until it's a roaring river rumbling by.

I don't know how many times people would stop to smile at the little ones, and warn me "they grow up too quickly." "I know," I always reply, for I really do feel it, even though they are still young. My newborn is about to turn one next month, and the older child did not hesitate to wave goodbye when dropped off at school. If I could, I would be bottling up everything I felt right now into jars to be smelled, tasted, and felt later. Unfortunately, memories don't work that way. I can only take pictures and video tape them whenever I can, trying to capture and archive forever what life is like now. And melt into their embraces every time I hold them, cherishing the feeling of their warm, soft bodies against mine.

Role play

Evelyn has a very active imagination. Often times I'd see her with a far away look in her eyes, walking around dreamily talking to make believe characters. Here's an example. We were at an amusement park this past weekend. We watched as she went on a kiddie Merry-Go-Round by herself. Her father called at her and told her to wave at her sister. I looked at her and told him not to bother. We, on this earth, in this world, were invisible to her who was off in a fairy tale or another. And so it was, she paid us no mind. When the ride was over, I went in to help her unbuckle her seat belt. She slid off the horse, and instead of heading to the exit with me, she paused to "feed the horses apples" first in thanks for their help. Not until the horses were fed did she snap back into this world and raced me off to the next ride.
If I don't have activities planned for her, Evelyn can spend her day spinning stories, pretending to be different people, and interacting with imaginary characters. And of course, I'm often appointed different roles to play. "Your Maleficent and I'm Aurora," was one of the sentences I dread to hear. For it means I would be hunting and capturing her, and she would be captured and then escaped over and over and over again until the cow comes home. These days, though, it's "我是祺祺, 妳是姊姊 (I am Chi-Chi, you are Sister)," that makes me cringe.
It all stemmed from the Chinese children's monthly magazine and DVD. The magazine and its accompanying DVD teach children math and language skills as well as manners and social behaviors, such as ask before taking someone's toy. I wanted it mainly for the girls' Chinese exposure than its content. The main characters are a tiger named 巧虎 (Chow-Hu) and his good friend bunny 祺祺 (Chi-Chi). They learn and navigate through toddler hood with the help of an older girl (Sister) and an older boy (Brother). We've subscribed to it for about a year, and thankfully, it's only this past week that Evelyn began to impersonate the figures in the magazines. While I love it that she strives to speak only in Chinese when she's in Chi-Chi mode, being the sister in this game chafes me in two ways:
1. I don't like to be called a sister by her. I don't know why. I'm her mother, and I want to be called as such. Hearing her call me a sister makes me feel like there's a stick in my shoes, poking at my toes, except, at home, I'm not wearing shoes.
2. Pretending to be a character from the DVD means I have to talk like her. That is, I have to talk in a joyous, upbeat tone with many pauses in the sentence, and end it with a slightly upward tone. Oh, I also have to always be cheerful and have a smile on my face. Who talks like that in real life? Two sentences uttered and I feel so fake, I should be walking with stiff knees and robot hands, like an animated mannequin.
HOWEVER, and this is a big however, when I speak as Sister, Evelyn, no, I mean Chi-Chi, listens and obeys. She follows instructions with a willing and happy "Yeah!"
"Please pick up your toy, Evelyn," gets no response, but "Chi-Chi, please (slight pause) pick up your toy (pause), or you won't be able to find it next time!" and she's swooping down on the mess and cleaning it up in no time.
For this reason alone, I will gladly swallow any dislike of the role playing, and assume Sister whenever called upon. Too bad it doesn't work on the dinner table...

Innocuous

I used the word "innocuous" to describe how poison ivy looks today. "It looks so innocuous," I said.
If you heard my comment in passing, you'd have thought nothing of it. After all, it was a plain, vanilla sentence that contains nothing fancy or worth noting. It was a simple sentence composed of a fitting description chosen from the vast English vocabulary. However, if you observed the deliverance closely, you might have noticed the slight pause in the sentence and the slight twitch of facial muscle before the word was uttered and the sentence was finished.
That pause there? Many things were happening in my head then.
First, there's the recall of the word innocuous.
Then comes the examination. What does the word mean? Does it really mean what I think it means? Where did I learn it? Is that how you pronounce it? Am I going to make a fool of myself by trying to use it?
Following that is the weighing of risks. How sure am I of the word? How stupid would I appear if I made a mistake? How significant would the price be if I used it wrong?
A slight wavering could happen. An internal struggle of whether I should gamble and use the word, or play it safe and swap it out.
Finally, there is the jump. I form the word in my mouth, bring it to my tongue, and let it out.
Once it's out, I secretly hold my breath and wait for the other person's reaction.
No furrowing of brows in confusions? No delay in reaction followed by a "oh, I get it!" realization? Success!

I've lived in this country for 11 years, 7 of which with my English speaking husband. According to him my English has improved dramatically. And yet I find myself still grappling with the language on a daily basis. Vocabulary, especially when speaking, can dessert me like rats jumping off a sinking ship. Grammar is that slippery soap that, just when I think I got a handle on it, escapes my grasp and falls off the floor with a clunk. If I made a mistake in a conversation and became aware of it, oh my, the language turns its cold shoulders at me and pretend that we are strangers. Then the babbling comes in and the sense making goes out the window. In no time, my children will be correcting my speech. And if they dare roll their eyes while doing so, I shall thank them by speaking in Chinese only.

House rules

One.
As the father of the children grew up here and is an avid sports fan:
"Evelyn, what do you say about Red Sox and Yankees?"
"Yeah Red Sox! (with thumbs up) Boo Yankees! (with thumbs down)"
"And what happens if you say Boo Red Sox?"
"No dessert!!"

Two.
We want our girls to be well mannered. Therefore, after each meal, the one that can already speak needs to ask for permission before she can leave the table. Sometimes, getting her to do so is harder than pulling out a tooth. For example, after lunch today she started sliding off her chair without saying anything. Her Nanny (Grandmother) stopped her mid-slid and asked her what she should say. Evelyn begin to play dumb. This and that she'd chat, just not what we wanted to hear. Hints were given. No bite. Finally, I told her she needs to ask the magic question or else she can't leave.
"Today's magic word is Abracadabra!" she declared. "And the longer version is Evelyn-Lauren-Mommy-Janey. Oh, and Janey ate a green dinosaur." On and on she spun a tale of how Janey ate a green dinosaur. The story ended with "And that's today's magic word."
It was clear that she knows what was expected of her. It was also clear that she was not going to deliver and would go to great lengths to avoid doing so. It gotten so bad that her Nanny had to cover her mouth and turn away for her desire to laugh was about to take over. Finally, her Nanny made today an exception and set her free. Or else, I could see us, at 3 in the afternoon, still sitting there with me asking her about the magic question, and with her spinning her tale.

Dear Town House

Dear Town House,

Thank you for the fabulous 7 years you've given us. We've have so many wonderful memories here.

It is here that we went from two single people to a married couple, to the parents of two little girls. It is here that we became a family and really grasped the meaning of home. I will miss the woodsy path behind the complex where I was proposed to, and the leafy shades under which I've sat with my little girl and chatted about nothing. I will also miss the huge evergreens with thick tree trucks perfect for the first hide and seek games. The pool that has generated so much laughter will never be forgotten. The pitter patter of little feet running across your carpeted hall way during the night will forever echo in my heart. The image of my child reading quietly in her room, bathed in golden sun light will be forever cherished. You've provided us wonderful neighbors and showed us what it means to be in a community. Alas, we, as a family, grow, but you remain the same. And now it is time we leave you for a bigger place. We will remember you fondly.

Meal time II

Evelyn ate edamame the other day.
I boiled them in their pods, so to eat them, you'll have to squeeze the beans out of the pod. A fun a novel approach that met Evelyn's approval. But in order to play with the pod, I told her she'd have to eat the beans. And she did. By plopping the beans into her mouth, take a swing of her milk, and swallow the beans like they are vitamin pills. Whole and un-chewed. Righty oh.
"Chew it," her father urged.
"But I don't like it that way," she replied with a bean in her mouth ready to be swallowed.
I watched in disbelief. That is supposedly how her father ate his green beans when he's little. And here she is, doing it without him teaching her. Is it really in the genes?

So then, the question is does this cop out method count as eating a veggie?

Movie time

Being raised on movies, when Evelyn was almost 2.5 years old, we decided that she's mature enough to sit through and enjoy a movie. We took her to see Up! in the theater. She loved the popcorn, loved the candies, and loved the movie. The whole 90 minutes of it. Only at the last few minutes did she start to get distracted by the purse I held on my lap. Since then, whenever there is something suitable playing in the theater, one of us would take her to it while the other gets left behind with baby duty.
I got to take the little princess to Princess and the Frog, her father drew How to Train Your Dragon and Shrek 4. So when Toy Story 3 comes along, it was my turn. Woo Hoo!
We got to the movie theater 15 minutes before the movie started. The little girl of course had to fall asleep in our short short car ride. But she woke willingly and happily in my arms as we raced into the theater, piping up to remind me about the chocolate covered raisins I promised her.
With the box of raisins in hand, we picked out our seats and settled in. We shared the candies, and cheered (quietly) when one preview is followed by another. When the movie started, she climbed into my lap, and we watched it snuggled into one seat. The movie was thrilling, funny, moving, and beautiful. When it was over, we walked hand in hand back into the sun light, back into real life, sharing thoughts about the story. Mother and daughter. A simple way to spend a typical afternoon. It was wonderful.

Chase me, chase me, Lauren.

Lauren started crawling at 6 months old. A early crawler, to which I take no credit. It's a matter of her own desire to catch up with her big sister.

From the very beginning, the sight of Evelyn is enough to make Lauren bounce in excitement in my arms. Especially when we are following Evelyn up the stairs. Lauren would wiggle herself so that she's facing Evelyn, wave her arms and giggle in excitement. If Evelyn is in the mood to interact with Lauren, she would turn back and say "ribbit" every couple of steps. This makes Lauren laugh and laugh and laugh. Now that she's mobile, Lauren wants to follow Evelyn every where she goes. Evelyn took pride in this, too, and would let Lauren chase her. Except the 3 year old is not very good at gauging the crawler's speed. She'd zoom past Lauren on the hall way yelling "chase me, Lauren!" Lauren would sit up to watch her big sister, beams at the challenge, get on all fours and start towards the big girl. At which point, the big girl had done enough waiting and is zooming past again yelling "chase me, Lauren!" as she goes.

Then, they realized that this chasing game would work better if Evelyn is lying down and only rolls around. Seeing Evelyn laying on the couch or in the bed, Lauren could not resist to crawl over (doing an infant battle cry "ah`" along the way) and lay her head down on her sister, which would tickle Evelyn so that she'd giggle and laugh and roll away. Finding herself lying on top of the mattress instead of a cushy toddler body, Lauren would crawl a few inches over to where Evelyn is, and lay down again and so goes the game. Happy screams, laughter, and battle cries would fill the air. And all I have to do is assume the head-bump prevention duty and hope that they'd wear themselves out enough to guarantee an easy bedtime.

I wish they would so enjoy each other always.

When it comes to meal time

Am I the only mom that always approach meal time with unease?

I'd be zipping about in the kitchen, stirring a pot, washing fruit, checking the meat, and all the while hearing a nagging little voice in my head asking me questions like this: Are they going to eat it? Are they going to like it? Will they wrinkle their noses and turn away from their plates? Are they going to leave the table hungry because dinner wasn't satisfying? Am I crazy? I think I sounded crazy.

I would describe it as small scale nerve wrecking. (I put "small scale" in the sentence just so I appear less crazy.)

Let's see, the father of the children is a carnivore in the purest way. He does not eat vegetables, period. Not one iota of it. He will root out any green specks of herb that I sprinkled in a dish before he would even let the food near his lips. He'll spend an eternity on it, going over every inch on the plate patiently and thoroughly in case any little speck escaped his attention while I seethed at the other side of the table. Really? That harmless bit of microscopic parsley just had to be scraped off from your pasta or else it would ruin your whole dinner experience? I love the father of my children. I do. But sometimes it takes a lot for me to not grab his utensils and throw his plat away.

And then there's the fact that seafood can be too seafood-y, tomato sauce could be too tomato-y, and that sort of thing. I can never be completely sure if a new recipe is blend enough or if the pot of my new culinary attempt will be my lunch for the week.

The three year old is, unfortunately, much of the same way. So, every night, I sit beside her, cut up her food, and then try my best to look as though I've nonchalantly move on to other things rather than fighting the urge to bite my nails in wait of her verdict on this food that I served. As though I'm not straining my eye ball in order to watch while not appearing to watch her next move. Every time she takes a second bite of something non-carb without us issuing any threat, I feel like I've won the lottery. At least for now. Because the second bite could also be the last, and she'd just fill herself up with plain white rice leaving behind the rest of her wonderful dinner behind for me to swept into my frustrated mouth.

Now here comes the 8 month old, whom I have not completely figured out. She loves to grab, lick, and suck on the fruit that I'm having. But if I pureed that same piece of fruit into baby friendly mush and spoon feed it to her, she makes this face even before the spoon reaches her. Rejecting it even before she tried it. All the love and labor, thoughts and effort that I poured into making her this tasty, delicious food, gone to waste. I would have been a lot more frustrated if she wasn't so darn cute.

Hair

I so need a hair cut.
I haven't had a hair cut since, oh, let's just say well before Lauren was born. And Lauren is only a few days shy of being eight months old.
The problem lies not in the matter of looks. Goodness knows I'd let my fingers serve as hair brushes often enough. I'm happy as long as I get to shower in the morning and don't have visible drool, spit up, or food in my hair before I leave the house. The problem lies in the matter of my sanity and the preservation of my hair.
You see, Lauren loves my hair. It provides her a safety hand hold and something to chew on. With my hair reaching my shoulder blades, Lauren doesn't need to reach to get to it. Whenever she climbs into my arms or gets picked up, she first gets a fist full of my hair. A stranger comes close? Grab on tight. Mommy lower her onto the floor? Grab on tighter. Occasionally, the grab would be accompanied by a pull, and off comes a few strands of hair. I am forever reclaiming a fallen hair from between her fingers or between her toes. Have you ever noticed how baby toes pick up random things from the floor?

It's rather pathetic, but getting a hair cut seems such an insurmountable challenge.
First off, I have Asian hair. I need someone who understands Asian hair to do the cut. When I told Evelyn I have Chinese hair and need a Chinese hair cut, her father who was right beside me gave snorted in amusement. Dude, you can snort all you want, but you have no idea how serious I am about this Chinese hair thing. Case in point. Every non-Asian hair dresser I've ever came across commented on my straight hair. My straight, silky hair. Let us examine my straight, silky hair a tad closer, shall we. Let us randomly pluck off a few strands of hair, just as Lauren so often does several times a day, you'd find straight ones, wavy ones, and ones that are so zig-zaggy, they look like non-springy springs. As a matter of fact, during my teenage years, some of my straight, silky hair has such a ridiculous tight curl, it was a dry, puffy mane. I often imagine myself as a walking ball of dandelion. When the wind blows, my hair explodes in all directions. Don't believe me? Ask any one who knew me during my 9-12 grad years.
Any how, the crazy hair is behind me. But getting a good hair cut is still a challenging task. My safest bet is to get it in China town, which involves getting a baby sitter, making the 45 miles drive, and dealing with Boston traffic and parking. Just thinking about it makes me tired and lazy.
Writing this much about hair makes me tired and lazy.
So, I badly need a hair cut...

Selective Mutism

Honestly, I don't know why it took me so long to come online and do some research on selective mutism. Perhaps I was simply relieved to know that Evelyn is not the only child who plays statue in certain social situations. Perhaps subconsciously I did not believe it to be a serious issue. After all, she is whispering to her teachers when asked a question, and she had no problem talking to her friends. But what I'm reading this morning yanked whatever covers I've been hiding under off, and shined the bright light of reality in my eyes.

What is selective mutism? The definition of Selective Mutism (SM) given by the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association notes: " Selective mutism (formally known as elective mutism) is a disorder that usually occurs during childhood. It is when the child does not to speak in at least one social setting. However, the child can speak in other situations. Selective mutism typically occurs before a child is 5 years old and is usually first noticed when the child starts school."

The definition describes Evelyn's situation perfectly. Going over the specific features described in the 2000 Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders (DSM-IV-TR) (pp.125-127), Evelyn got a 5 out of 5:
• Consistent failure to speak in specific social situations (in which there is an expectation for speaking, e.g., at school) despite speaking in other situations. (Check)
• The disturbance interferes with educational or occupational achievement or with social communication. (Check)
• The duration of the disturbance is at least 1 month (not limited to the first month of school). (Check)
• The failure to speak is not due to a lack of knowledge of, or comfort with, the spoken language required in the social situation. (Check)
• The disturbance is not better accounted for by a Communication Disorder (e.g., Stuttering) and does not occur exclusively during the course of a Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Schizophrenia, or other Psychotic Disorder. (Check. Thank God.)

Some emphasized the fact that the children with this disorder did not choose to not speak (hence the disorder was renamed from elective mutism to selective mutism). Nor do the children use speech as a power and control tool. These children are inhibited to talk because of social anxiety. This, I've come to observe on my own. When Evelyn turns into stone, it's almost like there's a barrier she cannot cross that is barring her to reach out to the other person. In these cases, her body stiffens. Her steps become shuffles, and her arms hang rigidly by her side. The loving, smiley child freezes up with a intense look on her face. She's not intentionally holding back the "thank you" or the "please", she's just... cast into stone. The material I read also pointed out that this is not just shyness in effect. It's not a phase, and it's not something a child simply grows out of. I'm on the edge of my seat now. If left untreated, the child's anxiety against social interactions may continue to build. What do I do? I scream in my brain. Wait, do I have selective mutism, too?

Then, two sentences from a webpage popped out and just about hit me over the head: "The majority of children with Selective Mutism have a genetic predisposition to anxiety. In other words, they have inherited a tendency to be anxious from one or more family members." It's all in the gene? Oh my poor children, what defective traits have I pass down to you? Since I'm the one writing this entry, let's just blame it on your dad. Then again, I think I'm the more temperamental of the two.

In any case. Like all disorders, the symptoms of every child differs and the severity varies widely. The good thing is I think Evelyn's is at the lighter end of it. Though she couldn't speak in certain situations, she's began to whisper to her teachers. She even whispered to the dentist last time we visited. A dentist she has not seen before, people! It was an event worth bragging.

Another good thing is that we've been doing many things that would combat this disorder unknowingly, such as going to regular play groups (thank God for the mothers support group!) and exposing her to various social environments. I've also, thankfully, given up on forcing her to talk to people, but ask her to whisper her response to me first, then whisper it to others. All these little things may help. But I think the road to a freely communicative Evelyn is still a long one, and we would need and seek professional, structural help. I look forward to the day when Evelyn is able to comfortably tell her imaginative stories and sing her made up songs to friends and family who adores her directly.

Reference:
American Speech-Hearing-Language Association (n.d.). Selective Mutism. Retrieved from: http://www.asha.org/public/speech/disorders/selectivemutism.htm, May 7, 2010.
Selective Mutism Anxiety Research and Treatment Center. Accessed from http://www.selectivemutismcenter.org, May 7, 2010 .

"I love my body"

I forgot what we were talking about, but Evelyn all of a sudden told me "I love my body. I love myself."
Two short sentences that she uttered matter of fact-ly. Life seen from a toddler's point of view. Two short sentences that carry so much meaning in a world in which people battle with body image. I wish I could bottle her self love and confidence up to dole it out if she ever felt down about herself. I wish I could help her feel that way about herself through out her life.

Talking

Evelyn has two sides. One side she shows only to the people that are closest to her, and the other she shows to the rest of the world.
In front of close, close family and favorite friends, she's this talkative little girl who spins stories, invents expressions, and sings at the top of her lung. But if someone from the rest of the world come close and talk to her, they would see a stony faced little girl with her eyes trained on them but gives them only silence. Friends we saw on an almost weekly basis still have trouble getting an utterance out of her. Once or twice someone would overhear Evelyn talking in play, not noticing the adult near by. But once she spots the observer, she would shut up like a clam. Time and time again we would have to tell a friendly stranger, doctor or a waiter who solicited her reaction that she's shy. But while the behavior is easily excused when she's a cute baby or toddler, it cannot continue as she continues to grow. Even more perplexing is how she's shrouding herself in silence in front of her teachers at school.
Evelyn was moved to her current class last summer. She quickly found her comfort level with her teachers. Her teachers make drop-offs in the morning smooth and without problem. She seeks hugs from them and would go sit on their laps at various times through out the day. Yet this close physical comfort is not enough for her to speak to them. They only know that she is not developmentally impeded by overhearing her imaginary plays and conversation with her best friend. With some prodding, they might be able to get her to whisper to them, but that's it. They brought the issue up once again at the latest parent-teacher conference, and asked if we should seek professional help as they are out of tricks to try.
I've asked her why she refuses to talk to her teachers. She told me it's because "I'm shy." But that seems to be just a convenient answer, and that there's more behind it. She's never been teased or laughed at, nor responded poorly towards. Why did she ever need to put up such a defense? I wonder if she is holding on to her silence as her identity. Her badge of honor, almost. As a way of standing out. Except as she progress along in school, the lack of communication with teachers and peers would quickly become a hindrance. How would people know what she understands or not get if she doesn't let on?
Any way, last week her Nanny (granny) helped her make a "shyness" box to store her shyness at home. The second day, she whispered to a teacher. Today, I reminded her to talk to people some more. We shall see how the day goes.
To me, she's a precious little girl with an active imagination and hearty laugh. I just hope she would share it more with the rest of the world.

How much?

The setting: Migo is Evelyn's auntie's dog. She's also Evelyn's "favorite, favorite dog in the whole world." In fact, the day after we came back from visiting Evelyn's aunties and Migo, Evelyn told me that she "misses Migo so much." This conversation took place during our visit.

Auntie Alicia: Evelyn, how much do you love Migo?
Evelyn: So much!
Auntie Alicia: How much?
Evelyn: Two hours much!

I suppose when one has only been in this world for 3 years and some months, an hour could seem so, very, very long. And to love another being as much as two hours long, now that, is an astronomical amount.

Can I still refer to Lauren as a new born?

When Evelyn was a baby, I was keenly aware of how old she was and what milestones she should be hitting. I bounced in my seat with excitement when she approached her four months mark, eager to begin feeding her solids. I wanted her to take her sweet time growing up, but I also can't wait to look ahead and see what's coming, to know her as a child and later as an independent individual. With Lauren, it feels like days bleed into weeks bleed into months. Time is not segmented, but a mass continuous body. An ocean, perhaps, on which life travels. And I set sail with Lauren always in my arms. She's my baby and I have no intention to speed up her development. But time passes regardless of how much or little I care about it. And all of a sudden, Lauren's had her four months check up and ready for play feeding. All of a sudden, she's aggressively attacking her fist, my fingers, my cheeks, or anything within range with her gum to ease teething discomforts. All of a sudden, she's getting on all fours and inching herself backwards (to be stuck under the coffee table). My newborn is not that new anymore. She's almost 6 months old! My, my.

It amuses me how different my attitudes are on caring for Evelyn and for Lauren. A Chinese saying goes "the first child, you rear by book; the second child, you rear like a pig (as in the child's basic needs are your prime concerns. It sounds worse in English than it does in Chinese)." Re-reading my journal for Evelyn, I was taking notes every time an expert comes to give talks at the weekly mothers support group. Develop a bed time routine as early as you can? Of course. Got to start massaging baby's gum before the teeth comes in? No problem. Let the baby nap every two hours? Okay. I took all these advice to heart and carried them out as best as I could, worrying over Evelyn's night time routine (there were 3 journal entries on bed time routine in Evelyn's 4th month), breaking out the baby gum wash cloth, and checking baby websites weekly for mile stones that she should be meeting. With Lauren, I still pay attention to these advices that came my way, but I'm a lot more relaxed and not actively seeking out and chasing after them. This time, I'm letting Lauren lead me, waiting to see what she is going to show me. Rather than marking down the next mile stone and waiting for Lauren to meet it, I find myself in a constant stage of wonderment, looking forward to what ability Lauren's about to reveal. It's been amazing.

Since Evelyn, I'm no longer qualifies as a "new mom" no matter how new my next child is. But honestly, I think with every child comes new experiences, and that makes a mom new regardless of how many children she's already has.

Rediscovering Evelyn

Is it possible to love your child more and more each day?
When Lauren was just brought home, I was off kilter. I was struggling to find my footing as a parent of two and getting used to night nursing again. A new born that also needs my attention and care, the lack of sleep, and the potty training process that seemed to finally pick up combined to make me rather short on temper and quick to snap.
Many nights did I look back at certain events during the day and regretted on my reaction and confined to their father that I've become an awful mother. In fact, I thought it was miraculous that for how impatient I was with her, Evelyn continues to love and demand me so. Then, something even more miraculous happened. We somehow managed to find a groove. While there are still difficult days and exhausting times, all in all, dare I say it, we're managing pretty good. I no longer freak out over vacation week when both girls will be home with me, alone, for consecutive days. I find myself confidence enough on my ability to take care of and entertain them both at the same time that the prospect of being snowed in doesn't send me panicking. With the frustration threshold elevated, I find myself really, truly enjoying Evelyn as a three year old. Now that I stopped pulling my hair out over a spilled toy basket/juice cup/$25-a-small-tiny-tube lotion, many of the horrible three actions sent me laughing instead of count-to-ten-deep-breathing. Such as how she'd squirm all over the place until her chair is far from the dinning table yet keeping half her bottom on it at all times, obeying the "keep your bottom on the chair during dinner" rule. Oh, or the time when she ate cookies while I was in the shower, breaking the "no cookies until after lunch" rule. She was a terrible cookie thief. I knew what was going on when I heard the dining chair being pulled towards the cookie box. Then, there's the child herself who, while managed to wash her hands, didn't care to brush off the cookie crumbs that ringed her mouth. Of course I can't forget to mention the big throwaway. To my question of "what are you doing?", she proudly answered "I ate a cookie!"
There is how she loves to be a princess. If she could, she would be in her Snow White Halloween costume everyday. Her pretty shoes and her pretty dress make it easier to step into her little princess plays. The way she deliberately kicks off one of her sparkling slippers so she could land on the couch to await for her prince just cracks me up.
There is also how she loves her sister. Always wanting to hold her, kiss her, know what the baby is doing. I stepped away from the room the other day, leaving the two of them. Lauren, laying on her play mat on the floor, started fussing, and I heard Evelyn comforting her: "it's okay, I'm here, I'm here". And then she tried to pick the baby up and toppled over, with Lauren on top of her.
The list goes on and on. It's like I'm rediscovering Evelyn all over again, and just loving her more and more every day. It's a wonderful thing.

Evelyn and Lauren together

Evelyn loves Lauren. Lauren is always the first to receive bedtime and goodbye hugs and kisses. When I'm holding Lauren, Evelyn would ask me to sit beside her so she can see Lauren, talk to her, and touch her. Whenever I leave the room for mere seconds, Evelyn would keep an eye on Lauren. In fact, I have to warn her off from trying to rock Lauren in her swing too much, or from picking Lauren up. Lauren loves Evelyn in return. When Evelyn's at home, Lauren follows her every movement with her eyes, watching her play, observing her movements. She is fascinated by her big sister.

The other day, Evelyn was dressed in her Snow White Halloween costume (a costume that was well worth buying) and watching Snow White movie, again. She likes the story so much, and has watched the movie so many times, she remembers some of the lines. This particular afternoon, she was watching the movie while play acting out the scenes. Then came the part where Snow White dances with the Seven Dwarfs after dinner. Evelyn twirled and spun and danced with the princess on screen. Lauren watched and laughed and laughed and laughed. It was one of the most precious moments.

"True love's kiss"

How deep has the fairy tale bug bitten Evelyn?

She made a new friend, Abby, at the play area in the mall today. The two little girls ran around, chased each other, compared their baby siblings, and climbed in and out of play things. Then, I spotted Evelyn lying on the floor, apparently fake sleeping and paying no mind to her confused new friend who just could not rouse her. Abby shook Evelyn, tickled her until Evelyn was squirming away, and asked her to wake up in the persistent way that only a toddler could master, all to no avail. I knew what Evelyn was waiting for, but I reined in the urge to interfere. I wanted to see what would happen. After a minute or two, just when I was afraid that Abby is going to give up on Evelyn, I saw Evelyn mouthed three words to Abby, "true love's kiss". Right... Just what I thought. Poor Abby was even more troubled. It's time for me and Prince Lauren to step in. All it took was a slobbery kiss from Lauren and the world was righted. There goes princess Evelyn, rescued from some unknown, but definitely wicked sleep enchantment, happily engaged with a real world playmate again.

Who are you now?

Evelyn loves to pretend play these days, especially loves to re-enact her beloved princess stories.
Just the other day, I found her slightly bent over in a non-specific living room corner with a hand cupped by her mouth as if silently singing towards the floor. She then tilted her head towards the same spot as if listening for a response. "Snow White?" I ventured a guess, "are you Snow White singing into the castle well?" She looked up and nodded solemnly, and picked up a corner of her sleeping gown as she swept across the floor. I left the poor princess to clean up after breakfast. When I returned, she was perched on her hands and knees upon the pillow stack singing quietly. She then propped herself up, lifted her head, and sang the phrase "part of your world~". Ah, she is Ariel, the little mermaid, longing to become a part of the Prince's world. While the little mermaid was busy swimming across the room, I went to change Lauren's diaper, and came back to find the big sister face down on the floor. Turns out that she was Snow White again, escaped into the forest, tired and frightened, just about to be led to the Seven Dwarf's house by little woodland animals. That whole day, I felt like I was caught in a never ending Scene It game. Every time I return to Evelyn's side, I'd arrive in the middle of a story. Charming little stories. Charming, that is, until I was assigned the role of a big bad wolf or an evil queen and had to chase the heroine around the crowded house, with the baby in my arms.