"He's autistic"

It was only 1:30pm when I found myself glancing at the clock every few minutes or so and wishing that it's really much later then it was. Preferably around 5:30 when soon we would hear the key turn in the door, and the girls' father comes home to share the joy of parenting that seems like a lie people tells to get you to reproduce. Sure signs of a rough afternoon. Rather than stay at home where emotional land minds are everywhere and tantrum triggers hide in wait at every corner, I packed up the girls and escaped to an indoor play area that will distract us all.

What with the wet weather and a scheduled birthday party, the place was packed with kids and parents. Though quite chaotic, everyone seemed to be playing nicely enough for me to set the girls free (with supervision, of course). The girls soon claimed two Tiny Tikes cars (you know, the kind that you drive Flintstones-style with your feet) and drove around town until a boy of perhaps 5 approached Evelyn's car. Judging by his body language, I knew he was ready to try something for the car. I stayed away to see how Evelyn would respond. (We're working on getting her to stand her own ground.)

The boy used no words. He pulled at the car door. Evelyn tensed up but did nothing but looked at him blankly. Seeing that she did not budge, he went and sat on the back of her car. She cried to me for help and that scared him away.

I went and spoke briefly with Evelyn to offer her some comfort and tell her what to do in these occasions. After I left, the boy came back and upped the level of attack. He held on to the car door, shook it hard, and tried to grab Evelyn while she, again, shut down and endured in silence. This time I rushed over before it got out of hand, and told him to stop in my "if you don't listen to me you will be in big trouble, buddy" voice. That sent him running away with a squeal to a corner of the little cafe where two women were thoroughly engaged in conversation. Maybe one of them is his mother, I thought, and would do something to stop him. But no one paid him any mind. While I was talking Evelyn through what just happened, I saw the boy inching back towards us. His eyes were on me and the hand holding a toy was raised. He came near and tried to struck me. ME! An adult who is, what, 1.5 times his size! What the heck! Where's the respect?

The attempt was aborted when I turned towards him to ask him where his parent was. He ran away like before to the same corner. And then, and then, he rush back to tentatively poke my shoulder when I had my back turned. A puny attempt. Such a pathetic, cowardly thing to do. What, you can't even be a proper bully and had to wait until I had my back turned to act? And even then you can only deliver such a sad little poke?

Any way, his mother finally showed up and gave chase as he ran away to hide in a play house. Turns out she was one of the conversing women! While her son was bullying my daughter and then tried to bully me, she was only a few feet away and did nothing! Furthermore, she did nothing about what she just witnessed except offering him the car that Evelyn finally gave up! No stern talking to. No time out. No "go apologize". Nothing.

My blood began to boil. As soon as she sat back with her friend, I went over and told her that her son was physically antagonizing my child, hoping to get some response out of her. She gave a noncommittal answer that was little better than a shrug, and turned her attention back to her friend. What? WHAT? Did you not hear what I just told you? Did you not see what went on? Oh, I'm sorry, is my topic not as fun as what your conversation is about? Are you blind to what's going on here? Your son is only five, probably 3.5 feet tall and already destructive and harmful. What would happen if he continues to get his way? What would happen when he hits adolescence when he grew to his full height and weight? Who would be his targets? Who would not be?

Her lack of reaction made my face flush and my heart pound with anger, but also completely confused. Can any parent really be so indifferent to their child's behavior and upbringing? Was the boy's well being not at all important?

Her ambivalent threw me off. Rather than continue my half-ass confrontation (never good at it), I went back to the girls and proceed to watch the boy like a hawk in case he dare come near us again. The thing was, the play ground was so busy, he never lacked kids to pick on. He followed a 2-year-old girl around with a toy pointing at her as if its a weapon. Then, he joined two boys' rough housing, and carried it too far by hitting one of the boys' head with his toy, repeatedly. His mother chased him as he ran away again, and gave him a few words. A few words, that's it! After he bang someone's head intentionally and repeatedly! As I was watching it unfold, her friend appeared beside me and apologized for what had happened earlier.

"He's autistic," she explained, "it's been difficult..."

Autistic. The word was like a bucket of cold water dousing over my head. The rage that was burning in me? Disappeared with a puff of smoke. The hawk that was watching the boy? Turned into a little dung beetle and scuttled away. Everything that I've read about autism ran through my head. The temper tantrums, the dissociation with other people, and the communication obstacles. It must be difficult, I thought, and came up with some excuses for the boy and the mother. Maybe this was the first day they've gone out in a long while. Maybe the mother really needed a break. Maybe it has been a long time since she had a chance to catch up with a friend. Maybe... Yet hard as I try, none of the maybe's justify how she handled the boy's transgressions.

If the boy's behavior towards others was nothing new, should the mother not be monitoring him even more diligently? The crowds and sounds in the play ground may overwhelm any child, never mind a sensory sensitive autistic child. There were so many possible provocations to outbursts, and so many potentially harmful situations to him and others, should she not be paying closer attention?

I understand a mother's need (especially a stay-at-home mom's) to step out of the house and socialize with another adult, just to verify that there is still a living, thinking individual underneath the hubbub that is also called motherhood. There were times when I was tempted to drag the girls out for a play date, by their hair if need by, even if they kick and scream all the way, because of how much I craved for conversations that does not involve princesses or had to be spoken in mock cheerfulness or include words like "I'm going to count to three...". But you are never relieved of your parenting responsibilities when the child is with you no matter how lively your company, or how engaging the conversation you were having. Is it not our job to make sure that our children grow up to be proper human beings? Even with autism, the boy should still be taught about proper behavior, about boundaries, about right and wrong. Today, him still being just a boy, his actions and the consequences of them are his mother's to bear. What he had done at the play ground was no fault of his. The fault lies squarely on his mother's shoulders. This time, no one was injured and no one made any fuss. What happens if someone was really hurt?

I don't think I will ever forget the boy and his mother. In case you can't tell from this chapter I just wrote, I was quite shaken by the mother's handling of the situation. I sincerely hope that this was an off-day for an usually attentive and thoughtful mother, and that the boy will grow up okay. Or else... or else I wish the boy all the luck he needs to navigate through life unharmed and to do no harm to others.

Part-time? Full-time?

At Lauren's new play group yesterday, a mom asked me if I am a full-time mom. The assumption was that since I'm there on a Wednesday morning, I must be.
Surprisingly, I did not know how to answer her.
Am I a full-time mother when I rely on my mother-in-law to care for my children two days a week while I try to work towards a potential future career?
Am I only half-time then when motherhood is the main responsibilities and duties I perform?
Is it decided by the hours I put in into them? Or could it be measured by how much thought I put into each category?
Neither is never far from my mind. When I am working, the images of the little girls may be reduced to two little bean-like figures crouching at the edge of my mind, but they are never dispersed. When I am with them, the questions and issues I have towards work may be muted, but they never cease to nibble at my consciousness.
If you put school work and motherhood on the table and ask me to prioritize, motherhood definitely wins out. I will never render the primary care taker position of my girls to any one else. When I have the girls, we play, bake, read, sing, dance. I at most sneak a couple of minutes to check my email if I know something important is coming in (or if I am having a minor panic attack about my school work). On those days, I am not physically engaged with the academics. Does this make me a lesser would-be scholar?
But I've also handed a feverish child to her grandmother in order to attend class before. Does this make me a lesser mom?
I know I can't have it all. I am already lucky to have the support of my family to be on my quest for this degree. I dare not ask more of others but of myself to continue and try. Try and reach and pray that the carrot dangling in front of me is not fixed at arm's length, but would finally be within my grasp. More importantly, I pray that the carrot is as tasty and satisfying as I imagine it to be.

Loss

A childhood friend died suddenly of an illness last week.
She was one of my best friends in elementary school. I recall, easily, her smile, her voice, the way she talked. I remembered going to her house for a birthday get together (not many kids have birthday parties back then in Taiwan), and being in the band together. Last I saw her was probably on our graduation day over 20 years ago. And I didn't think of her much until last year, when we were all swept into a torrent of friend requests from long lost elementary school classmates. It was on a bright, sunny day when I saw my email account filled with friend requests from these long lost connections. Grown adult whose faces or postures carried hints of days of yore, but whose English names may give little clue as to who they were. I spent a good deal of time squinting at the tiny thumbnail profile pictures on my computer screen, trying to gather as many clues from the unfamiliar face in front of me to match up with the dusty images of children buried deep in my memory. Brows furrowed and eyes tearing up from hard use, there were many Eureka moments when a name was suddenly recalled, memories were polished and brought forth, and a face given context. Her face though, was not one that needed much effort to place. Even with an unfamiliar English name and a tiny thumbprint, I was able to recognize her in a glance. Still, with a gap of 20 years between us, the flow of old friend being known anew, and both not active status updaters, we never made direct contact. To know that we are connected by FB was somehow enough for me. I shouldn't have felt that way.
While whiling away the time nursing a flu-stricken child, I went online and was shocked to see RIP messages left on her wall. RIP, rest in peace. How? When? Not possible. No. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of an old friend passed away. And yet it was real. I did not even know that she was sick. I obsessively went through her profile, read every message, scrutinized every photo, trying to make up for the chance that I missed to get to know a grown her. Where did she work? What was she like? How tall did she eventually grow to be? Did she still slouch like we both did when we were little girls? Was that picture taken in Boston Commons? Had she ever been in my neighborhood? I never get to hear her grown up voice, see her grown up feature, hear any story of hers. Now I never will. It was my own fault.
Carpe Diem, people say. Seize the day. Treasure those around you. Cherish health. Why does it always take a loss in such magnitude to shake people up?
Seize the day? Sure. To do what? Build new friendships? Reconnect with old ones? Hug your children a little more? Work a little harder toward a potentially fulfilling career? Enjoy life as if there is no tomorrow?
There are only 24 hours a day, and I am but one person with no answers. I make choices, and hopefully not ones that I will regret much later. These days though, I am regretting a choice I did not make, the choice of reaching out to her while I still had the chance. Now she is gone, and all I can do is think of her, and leave her messages on her wall, hoping that it would mean something.

"I'm in love"

Evelyn saw a boy asking a girl out on a date on TV the other day, and asked me what a "date" is. I told her it's how a boy and a girl spend time doing something together, getting to know each other, and they might eventually fall into love. She took this in, gave me a big smile, and told me that "I'm in love with Ryan," her best friend at school.
"Oh," I said, not fully sure how to react to this news.
"I'm going to marry him," she continued.
"Ah, really!" So many thoughts and feelings rushed through my head that I was at a lost for words.
"I'm going to marry him when I grow up," she fallowed up, giving me something to heave a big sigh of relief about.
"How old is 'grown up', Evelyn?" I asked. "16," she said.
"How about 26?" I suggested.

Evelyn's Valentine

Last week, we got a notice from Evelyn's teacher about Valentine's Day. The children will be making a Valentine's Day bag to be hung outside of the classroom. Whoever wishes to hand out Valentines to their friends are free to do so, but must give every children in the class one. Of course Evelyn would love to give out Valentines. That means Valentines for all 21 of her classmates. Now, one disadvantage of not growing up in the same culture and system that I am now raising my daughters in is that I have no experience in these things. I did not know that there are punch out Valentines that you can get in batches to be separated, signed, folded, and given out. My instinct was to make them. All 21 of them. So I went online and Googled Valentine's card ideas (no one mentioned punch out cards there, either), and picked one that I think should be easy to execute. It involves using a cookie cutter to cut out potato stamps to stamp out pretty pictures. It took us two days to complete the cards. Two days of frantic but restrained "Evelyn! Don't smear it!" and "Evelyn! Don't move until I get there!" and "Evelyn! Think before you do something!" By 8:30pm on Sunday night, we had all 21 cards made, signed (all by Evelyn) and ready to go. Evelyn had a blast stamping, making pictures, and signing her name. Her sister had a blast trying to taste painted potato stamps and getting her hands on paint brushes. And I survived with still some hair on my head.

These cards are by no means perfect; there are runny inks, water stains, and innovative word placements, but I can proudly say that Evelyn did most of the work. Not only that, but she did it without screaming, fussing, or giving up. I sincerely hope that her friends know to appreciate the effort that went into these cards!

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.