The Mommy Curse

If I had known how much guilt is envolved with being a mom I would have never reproached my mom for anything. I would have known she had already beaten herself up for every single misstep in raising me.

Every night, when I go to sleep I review my day and give myself a grade. I don't know when I started doing this. Maybe I did it from the beginning. But I've noticed that I'm just like those teachers I hated who would never give students an A+ no matter what.

No matter how good a day I create for my children
I seem to always find fault with my parenting. 

It can be anything; having missed naps, not cooking enough fresh meals, having spent too much time in the kitchen instead of playing with the kids, having uttered too many "no's," having put them to bed late, not having read more than two books, and on bad days (mine or theirs), having yelled at them or threatened them with a spanking.

That could be me, lying sleepless, judging myself
while my husband rests peacefully. 

The thing is, I think I'm a really good mom. I love my children to death, and having worked so hard to become a mom, I protect them and cherish them. I love being a stay-at-home-mom and no amount of money could pull me away from my position. My children are happy, loving, intelligent, polite, kind and healthy. They are the kind of kids who sing while they play.

So why am I so hard on myself? Why do I focus on my mistakes instead of the things I do right as a mom? Why do I beat myself up every night? The guilt does me no good and it does my kids no good. And the guilt about feeling guilty is even more useless.

What I recently learned is that I'm not the only mom who does this. In fact, it seems this condition of self-inflicting flagellation is very common amongst moms. More than two friends have recently shared with me stories of self-grading and self-flogging to the point of tears. I wonder if it's an innate action that somehow forces us to scrutinize everything we do in order to be better parents and keep our children safe, or if it's some sort of mommy curse.

Either way, what I realized as I listened to one of my friends share a self-grading episode with me, is that if we are this harsh with ourselves, when we're really good moms, we will be just as harsh on our children, making them feel the same guilt and self-hate that we bring on ourselves. Listening to her, there was no judgement on my part. It was actually like watching myself in an out-of-body experience and it could've been me telling that exact story. But watching from the outside, what I wanted to say most was "Be kind to yourself. Have compassion for yourself." If we are able to do that then we will be able to be kind and compassionate with our children. If we are able to overlook our mistakes and focus on the 98% good instead of the 2% bad or just "not good enough," we will always be able to do the same with our children.

When my children do something wrong I don't say "You get an 'F'!" I say, "You are learning and mistakes are part of the process." Yelling "You get an F!" would not help them grow or become good people, it would probably have an opposite effect stifling them and killing their spirits. And just like there is no manual titled "How To Become A Human Being And Learn Everything You Need To Know," there isn't a manual titled "How To Be The Perfect Parent For Camila And Mateo." So at the end of the day I can't review the events and cross and circle everything with a red pen, lest I stifle myself with guilt and kill my spirit. Nor do I want my children to grow up being so hard on themselves... or on me. Compassion begets compassion.

What I'll do the next time I start berating myself for not
doing every single thing perfectly every day. 

Sign Language Leads to Spoken Language

When I was a student at the University of California at Davis, I took a course with professor Linda Acredolo, whose research lead to Baby Signs: How to Talk With Your Baby Before Your Baby Can Talk, a book that preceded and probably sparked the baby signing trend. I was fascinated by the idea of babies being able to communicate in infancy and promised myself to teach my children sign language. 

My daughter's first sign -- "more"

When my daughter was born I got a few books and attended a few signing play dates but I had difficulty figuring out the signs from two-dimensional drawings. Still, I used the simple ones; milk, mom, ball, car, dog. I had a total of about twenty words I used with my daughter. The mistake I made was not being patient or persistent. I stopped signing when my daughter was about seven months old because she wasn't signing back to me. I should've read the literature which explains that most children start signing back at around eight months. 


When my son was born the following year I decided to give it a serious go and signed up for an ASL (American Sign Language) class with my husband. It turns out ASL, real sign language, is much simpler to learn than what some call "baby sign language." In the first day of class we learned about thirty words and I felt comfortable enough to start using them all day, every day. My daughter started signing right away too. Though she had started speaking at ten months, she seemed excited to be able to sign and be understood by us more often. To my surprise, she immediately started speaking a lot more words too. Signing expanded her vocabulary and her confidence.  

My daughter's favorite sign. 

My son started signing for milk when he was five-months-old. At six months he started speaking -- "mama, papa, avion (airplane)." By the time he was just over one year-old my son was speaking in complete sentences. People thought he was a midget because he spoke so well. I credit his fluency and ease with words to genes of course -- his dad and I are geniuses. Ha, ha! In all seriousness, I truly believe both of my children started speaking early because we signed with them. 

"Hurt" - one of the most helpful signs
for babies and their parents. 

It seems the act of signing helps children "get" words more easily. Something clicks in their brain when they see mom signing and speaking at the same time. I also believe the ability to communicate long before they are physically ready to formulate spoken words, encourages them to communicate more and to actually speak earlier. 




Seeing my children's excitement and the positive effect it was having on our level of communication, I purchased the Signing Time DVD series. I had seen other signing DVD's but this is the best I found (and it was recommended by our ASL teachers). 


I love the fact that the Signing Time series was created by a mom whose child was born deaf -- a true labor of love. It's easy to learn signs from these videos because they show multiple examples of each sign. My kids love watching them because the signs are taught not only by Rachel, the creator, but by babies and children as well. The songs are cute and pleasant and I love, love, love that the videos are also available in Spanish. 

"Thank you," one of my favorite signs. 

I'm happy and proud that we taught our children sign language and believe their ability to communicate with us decreased the number of tantrums and the level of frustration experienced by both them and us (my husband and me). Now that they speak fluently we don't use signs as much but there are a few, like "be careful," I love to use at parks instead of screaming, and every once in a while we watch the Signing Time videos and review so as not to forget it all. 

"Careful." 

Product link: Signing Time - http://www.signingtime.com/
Image credits: abcmesign.com, athensparent.com, littlesignersclub.wordpress.com, www2.ljworld.com, lifeprint.com

Must-Have Booster Seat

New moms often ask "what are the things I really need for my baby?" One easy answer for me is "the Fisher-Price portable booster seat."

When my daughter was six months old and started eating solids, she was a tiny little thing weighing about fifteen pounds. Her high chair practically swallowed her up and her chin barely made it over the tray. We tried pillows but they slid out from under her and the seat belt was too big to hold her in the center of the seat. 

So we sold the high chair and bought her the Fisher-Price Healthy Care Deluxe Booster Seat

What I love about this booster seat : 

* It's the perfect width to keep baby from sliding from side to side. 

* It has a removable tray for easy washing, as well as a tray cover to keep it clean during travel. 

* It snaps on and off easily. 

* It has adjustable heights so you can lower it as your baby grows. 

* The two exterior seat belts keep it safely in place on the chair. 

* The back folds down so you can carry it with ease. (We used to take this seat with us to restaurants when our kids were babies and I've seen other parents walk into restaurants with the same seat). 

* Once your child is tall enough to sit at the dining table you can remove the tray and continue using the seat. 

Camila and Mateo, now four and three-years-old respectively, still use their booster seats at home. Besides their cribs, I can't think of any other baby product we've used for four years -- it's a definite must-have! 

Product link: http://www.fisher-price.com/fp.aspx?st=2002&e=product&pid=27475&ncat=thumbnail&pcat=bgh

It's Rough Being a Boy

When I was little I wanted to be a boy. Well, not really. I just hated wearing a skirts and dresses and figured if I were a boy I could wear pants every day, even to my private school, parties and church. I was a tomboy and to me it seemed like being a boy would be so much cooler, more exciting and easier. Even as an adult, well past my tomboy stage, I thought men had it easier than women. Clearly, they have more powerful positions, get paid better than women for the same job, and can generally discard being sexually assaulted from their list of things to worry about. But now, as a mom to a little boy, I realize being a boy is really rough. 


My children are only eleven months apart, so it's easy for me to compare the way they are perceived and treated by other people. Both of my children are sweet, kind and loving. They both love babies and are drawn to them. But since the beginning, when Mateo was just one-year-old and Camila two, I saw the different reactions from people. When my daughter approached a baby the mothers would smile and welcome her saying things like "You like the baby? Say hi baby... Your daughter is so sweet!" Even when she would accidentally tumble over the baby or lose her balance and push the baby's head let's say, the mothers would smile and say "It's okay." But when my son would approach, sometimes the exact same baby, the mother would warn, "Be careful with the baby. Be gentle," and usually lift the baby out of Mateo's reach. I saw this happen again and again and each time I saw confusion and sadness in my little boy's face. 


I teach my children to be kind and gentle with those younger than them. I teach them to touch a baby's foot instead of the hand or the face, and to protect smaller children who might need help. When my daughter squeezes a baby's foot with love and excitement the parents say nothing and smile, or they might encourage her to touch the baby's head. When my son does the same the warnings come "Not too hard. Be careful." I see the unease in the parent's face and my son does too, often backing away. At parks where he might approach another child to hug them, hold their hand or help them, he hears "No pushing! Be nice!" 


On the rare occasion when my daughter pushes someone the other child's parents quickly let it go saying "It's okay." When my son pushes someone it's assumed he is starting trouble and for no good reason. Just this past week we attended a gathering with many moms and children. A woman approached me to say my son was "Hitting all the boys" and a second woman added that he was "not letting any of them play." I walked over to find him crammed into the corner of a small play house, surrounded by four boys taller and probably older than him, about to cry. My daughter was outside. I asked what was going on and with tears in his eyes he said "I don't know." "They're hitting him and pushing him mom," my daughter explained. "I hit them so they would leave him alone but they won't stop." After some questioning from me, the boys admitted things had been as my daughter had said. I expressed my pride in my daughter for defending her brother (it's the first time I know of her hitting someone), and helped my son get out of the play house. I thought it interesting that my son was hit and pushed and my daughter did some hitting, but it was my son who was labeled the aggressor.


The fact is, my son is more aggressive than my daughter. He has hit other children and when he gets mad he really gets mad. But I can't recall one single time when he was being aggressive before a mother or father treated him in a defensive way, rejecting his friendly approach towards their child. 


In their book Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys, the authors Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson, talk about how boys' emotional lives are suppressed. The book focuses on school-aged and teen-aged boys, but I see now that the process begins in infancy. I don't think my son's experience is unique and it saddens me to see that boys, from the beginning, are treated with suspicion and even disdain. We complain that men don't express emotion, that they're not nurturing like women, but now I see that as a society, we turn that switch off in them early. My son is now three-years-old and I see him approach babies with hesitation now, watching the parent's face and often briefly touching a foot or a leg before turning away quickly. I know he still loves them because he admires them from a distance and says "Mommy, look at that baby. He's so beautiful. He's so little mommy. I want to carry that baby." 


I believe we're failing boys in this way. Not allowing them to develop into their full human potential. How can we expect them to be loving fathers and husbands? My friend's son was excluded from a class project and reprimanded for writing a story about a superhero who used fire to save others. The story (and thus the boy) was deemed "too violent" by his first-grade teacher. When I heard what happened I recognized it as the same knee-jerk reaction my son gets when he has the intention of being kind but adults focus on the fact that he is a boy and assume the worst. 


In his book Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain, David Eagleman explains that 98.4 percent of those on death row are male and writes "It seems clear enough that the carriers (of the Y chromosome) are strongly predisposed toward a different type of behavior..." But having witnessed events like the ones I've shared with you, on so many occasions, I wonder if it's not the genes that predispose men to violence, as much as the way males are treated and presumed guilty from such an early age. 


Perhaps if we change the way we view boys, simply by giving them the benefit of the doubt. If we force ourselves to focus on their kind intentions; wanting to caress a baby, to hug or help another child, to be a superhero who saves others, rather than on our preconceived notion of what and who boys are, we will end the self-fulfilling prophecy of violent men who cannot nurture. 

Dr. Seuss Habla Español!

It wasn't until I became a mom that I began to read Dr. Seuss' books. The first movie my husband and I took my daughter to see was "Horton Hears A Who!", and I instantly fell in love with the way Dr. Seuss' stories are able to convey a strong message to people of all ages. So I was thrilled to find his work translated to Spanish!


I love "Huevos verdes con jamon" (Green Eggs and Ham), because it helps me remind my children that it's important to try new foods at least once. Often, when they turn away from a new food I recite a few lines from the book. They laugh and usually try at least one bite.









"Yoruga la tortuga y otros cuentos" (Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories), is my favorite Dr. Seuss book. So many wonderful lessons including the perils of being power-hungry and the importance of accepting our bodies as they are.

"Oh, cuan lejos llegaras" (Oh, the Places You'll Go!), is a beautiful book that any parent might have written, or would like to write for their child. It's a story about life that I know I will continue reading to my children for many years to come and pack it up in their suitcase when they move away to college.


My kids love these books and I love that they are available for parents who are raising their children with the Spanish language!

I must say I have read a few other translated Dr. Seuss books and found the translations to be subpar, so I always borrow his books from the library before buying them. 

My Children Don't Speak English

One of my commitments to my children is to pass our language on to them. Being fluent in Spanish is one of the most important educational goals I have for them.

My family and I moved from Venezuela to the United States when I was eight-years-old. At the time we lived in Irvine, California, where there were few Latinos and I was the only Spanish-speaker in my ESL (English as a Second Language) class. The other students spoke Chinese, Korean or Vietnamese. The sounds I heard, especially while we were doing math assignments, when everyone would count out loud, were deafening and I wanted to be a part of it, so I started to pretend I spoke Chinese just to feel like I fit in. My classmates found it amusing and funny and the situation made my initial school days lonely and a little frustrating, but turned into a do or die for me -- either I learned English or Chinese. I was young, but the advantages of choosing English were clear to me.

Within three months I was transferred to a regular classroom, with English-speaking students. Soon I was chosen to work at the school snack bar and the cafeteria, coveted jobs by all fourth and fifth graders. I told my classmates that I had gone to the "bitch" instead of the "beach", and I couldn't understand why the school was so religious (they promised harsh punishment for "swearing"), but over all I made huge strides.

My fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Beachum, valued me and encouraged me to read by allowing me to stay after class to choose books from her "treasure cabinet." I read too many books to count and by the end of the year I was a better speller than a lot of my classmates. In high school I was an an honor-roll student, graduated at the top of my class and later received a double degree from the University of California at Davis.

Some people are surprised to learn that my children don't speak English. Others are not surprised, but alarmed to learn this fact about my kids. After all, my husband and I are college-educated professionals who actually feel more comfortable speaking in English ourselves. But I want Camila and Mateo to favor Spanish for now. I want them to feel strange speaking to my husband and me in English so that they will always hold on to our language which is the portal to our culture. I want them to tell and understand jokes in Spanish. To argue, sing, dream in Spanish. I want them to read Cervantes, Borges, Neruda, Garcia-Marquez and to savor the beauty of our language. And I believe that by speaking to them in Spanish, and only in Spanish, I am giving them an advantage from which they will reap benefits for the rest of their lives.

I have to admit, at times I want to speak to them in English. Especially when I see them struggling to communicate with other children and adults. On occasion I question myself and wonder if I'm setting them back. But I think of all the people I've met who have said to me "I wish my parents had spoken to me in Spanish/Chinese/Tagalog/German/Vietnamese," and I push away the impulse and the doubts. Having lived here most of my life I feel more "me" when I speak in English and in all honesty, the easiest thing for me would have been to speak to them in English from the beginning. But being a parent isn't about what is easy for me, it's about what is best for my children. And I know the only opportunity my kids have to learn Spanish well is by learning it from my husband and me.

They will learn English... they are learning English everywhere already; at school, at the park, the supermarket, at story-time in the library, in swim class and gymnastics, from the radio, and from members of our family that don't speak Spanish. I was able to learn it at age eight, in three months. I have no worries about Camila and Mateo being English-speakers... soon.

So when my family from abroad speaks to my children in English again I will smile and explain that my U.S.-born children don't speak English. And when I see my children struggling to communicate with others I will smile and think ahead to when they'll be able to communicate with a multitude of people in not one but two languages. I will take pride in how competitive they will be in an ever globalized job market. I will peak into their future and hear them speaking to their own children in Spanish.

For now I will continue to explain "My children don't speak English... yet."