The kind of dinosaur I want to be

As I was enjoying my 5 minutes in the morning while listening to the humming of my electric toothbrush doing its thing to keep my teeth from falling out, noises approached and got louder and louder. Not one minute into my teeth brushing, Little Guy hopped into the bathroom with a little ball. I wasn't too surprised by this because he usually joins me in the bathroom, especially now that he's got a new skill. What I didn't expect is his brother dashing into the bathroom after him. 

My bathroom has maybe a standing space of 2ft x 1ft, after you account for the toilet, the sink and the shower. That's not a lot of space. Oh and yes, the door swings into the bathroom when it opens, thereby, taking up half of that precious 2ft x 1ft standing space. I tried to ignore all the commotion behind me (yes, I'm determined to follow my dentist's instructions and brush for whole 2 minutes to keep my teeth in my mouth). Just as I'm getting to my bottom teeth, a sharp pain shoots into my left ankle. 

That did it! The dragon has been unleashed! In an instant the following happened simultaneously (not in the sequence as I have written here).

Me (whipping around … too bad I no longer have my long hair, would've been great for dramatic effect, in a raised voice just below shouting pitch): Ouch! Can you guys please not play in this already impossible tiny space?!!!

Little Guy: Sorry, sorry! (This is when I realized that I had assumed incorrectly and Buddy was not the culprit.)

Buddy, without a word, turned and dashed out faster than I've ever seen him run from the scene of a crime. But, not before I had seen it … that "oh, no" fear in his eyes. I felt so guilty, especially after I realized he didn't do it.

The event continued to play in my head as I drove home after dropping them off at pre-school. The question that kept popping up was "what did I look like to Buddy at that moment when I whipped around?" Taking inspiration from their interest in dinosaurs and dragons, I realized "gosh, maybe I look like this crazy monster dinosaur" (especially since I still tower over them even though I'm only 5ft-2in). It got me thinking … do I transform into a T-rex in their imaginative mind when I get angry? How can I unleash a different dinosaur that's firm but still nurturing? Is that possible?

A quick search on "nurturing dinosaurs" pulled up a few dinosaurs that are thought to nurture their young. Maiasaura and Massospondylus were on the list as well as most birds (which are part of the dinosaur family). I'm leaning towards Maiasaura because I found many images showing them low to the ground with their young … a reminder that simply lowering myself to meet my children at their eye-level might help squash the T-rex in me. 

Little Guy's new skill means the end of my alone time, and so much more ...

A typical weekday morning consists of lots of noises (at the moment, a lot of high pitch screams as the boys egg each other on for anything and everything) and me trying to stay calm. It usually doesn't work. I always end up needing to raise my voice once or twice. What keeps me sane is knowing that after the storm (when the kids are fed, washed and changed), I get a little time to myself as I get ready.

This morning was not unlike any other. The kids were changed and ready so I skipped and hopped (okay - not really, that's just in my head) to my bathroom for "me time". Not one minute after sitting down on the toilet do I hear "ke ka, ke ka" (with a metallic quality to the sound). Yup! Little Guy has figured out how to turn the door knob and open the door with his free will! 

He walked in with a big smile (the kind that's accompanied with a glint in his eyes as if he's got something up his sleeves) and closed the door behind him. He turned around and started knocking on the door as he belted out "Do you want to build a snowman …" from Frozen (he's obsessed with it and particularly Elsa). While listening to him, it dawned on me that I will be going without my cherished alone time for a while until he gets old enough to grasp the concept of privacy and "me time" for mama. 

As I sat there pondering the temporary loss of my "me time", I recognized a certain difficult to name emotion that I had felt once before … when Buddy learned to open the door. See, Little Guy will be 3 in about three weeks. He figured out the door knob a couple of weeks ago. It was still surprising to him that he could do that. I saw it on his face - that mixture of amazement at himself, glee about what comes with this new skill, and a bit of surprise that he can do it. 

"Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." ~Elizabeth Stone 

Yes, it was that mixture of joy and sadness from acknowledging that my little baby is growing up … and taking with him, my heart as he walks through any door he opens. 

Mama, I'm cute … you should see me ...

Little Guy: Mama, pei wo yi xia xia (stay with me a while), ok?
Me: Ok.

That's usually how we transition from bedtime routine to lights out. The room is dark but not pitch black as each of the boy's nightlight provides just the right amount of light for us to see each other. We each share what we're thankful for and I kiss them good night. Buddy likes the same number of kisses as his upcoming age. Little Guy and I kiss through the beams of his crib like it's a game. Then, I lie down and hang out for a while. 

Usually I end up repeating "be quiet" and "lie down" (specifically for Little Guy) so many times I wonder why I'm in here. Other times, I have to resort to a little threat of "I'm going to leave the room if you can't lie down and be quiet".

On this particular night, I had just settled myself on the ABC mat in between Buddy's bed and Little Guy's crib. Buddy shared a thought ...

Buddy: Mama, you know what?
Me: What?
Buddy: I'm cute … I'm really cute. I can see that in the mirra. You should see me in the mirra. I'm really cute!
silence as I thought about what to say … 

[Cutting out to the conversation in my head]

Growing up, I was always taught to be modest. Whenever, an adult gave me a compliment, my parents always responded with "no, no, not at all" or "oh, you're too kind" (accompanied with the appropriate amount of hand gesture to wave off the compliment). That probably did teach me modesty. But, it also added this vocabulary to my inner voice: "hmmm… maybe I'm not that good at [fill in the blank]". The self-doubt.

It took a long time for me to realize that to be modest is different from denying and down-playing my own talents. 

[Returning to the scene from that night]

Me: Yes, you're really cute! You can show me in the mirror in the morning. Ok?
Buddy: Ok!

I really meant what I said … Buddy is really cute (of course, I'm biased!). The thing is … this is the first time he's said anything like this about himself. He makes such sweet comments about Little Guy and other kids easily. At the same time, he often shies away from similar attention even in a kind look or smile from us or his grandparents. 

The thing is it's not important what I think. It's important what he thinks of himself. I imagine we will touch on modesty at some point but not that night. That night I wanted him to go to sleep with a bigger than usual smile because he saw something special in himself. 

A Letter to Buddy, Who Turns 5 Today ...

Dear Buddy,

Five years ago today, you came into my life. You gave us … I mean all of us, including our doctor, a scare because you firmly decided that you would not be coming in the way I had hoped. Labor was going so well … you wanted to enter this world fast … that was until you realized the way through which you’d have to go to enter this world. That was exactly when the contractions got stronger and you thought better of it and said “no, no, no!”

It was truly a miracle that you are here. You see, your heart rate failed to come back up despite all sorts of positions I was in, and the stomach massages and coaxing from our doctor. Then, an onslaught of doctors and nurses flooded to our delivery room. There was no time for paperwork … consent had to be given verbally. It had already been a few minutes since your heart rate dropped to a dangerous level and we needed to get you out. Soon, I was being rolled out of the room towards the OR. On the way another doctor and more nurses came to my bedside. They smiled at me as they introduced themselves - think they were trying to keep me calm. My mind was still grappling with the gravity of the situation and my emotion hadn't caught up. The last thing I could remember clearly before someone tried to put an oxygen mask over my face was our doctor saying “this is going really well for your first baby … let's have this baby", which was a signal that we're ready to push.

After that, things were blurry and somewhat in slow motion for me. I had no idea how quickly I was being rushed to the OR … from what your baba described afterwards, it sounded like a scene from ER (a popular TV show long before your time). There was no small talk. Everyone was focused on getting you out. Your baba was told to get his camera and wait outside until he’s called while someone threw him a set of scrubs. It seemed like everyone, including me, was holding his/her breath until, finally, we heard you - you cried with all the capacity of your little lungs. The tenseness melted away in the OR and I sensed smiles across everyone's face. The first person to ever speak to you was our doctor. She said “you scared me, baby”. 

I couldn’t name you right away because I felt that I needed to really look at you and sense your name. I’m sure it was all post-partum hormones. Seriously! It’s not like I can know you well after only 3 days filled with feeding struggles, reading your cries and analyzing your poops. Frankly, after 5 years together, I am still getting to know you. You amaze me everyday with your kind heart, thirst for learning, determined focus (when something engages you), creative and inquisitive mind, and sensitive soul. You have such an intuitive notion of right and wrong, and show such courage to share your ideas. I love it when you start a sentence with “I have an idea …” because your eyes are so big and bright, full of light, as if the idea from your beautiful mind can’t wait to burst through them.

On the day you were born, you made me a mother … more importantly, each day since, you’ve challenged me to grow in ways I didn’t know I could. Thank you! 

Happy birthday my baby! Here's to many more years of getting to know you and learning together.

Love,

-Mama

Groundhog evenings

6pm: calling out to the kids to the table for dinner
6:15pm: still trying to get the kids to the table for dinner
6:20pm: finally got the kids to the table for dinner
6:45pm: Buddy's almost done though it took several negotiations to have him feed himself (something about being at him that makes him want me to feed him … maybe it's me)
7:00pm: Little Guy has left the table countless times
7:10pm: finally 3 or 5 more bites left for Little Guy
7:15pm: calling out to the kids for bath time
7:20pm: no one has come to take a bath … must be patient and try humor and pretend play to get them to the bath
7:30pm: it worked, everyone in the bath and almost done
7:45pm: fruit and milk time
8:pm: in the bedroom, play, read books
8:30pm: lights out … a round of thankfulness … kisses to each kid (5 for Buddy because he's turning 5 this year and a few for Little Guy through the wooden beams of his crib because it's so fun) … I stay in the room with them for a few minutes
8:45pm: I'm out of the room … hoping that's it for the night (it isn't always)

Yup, that's my evening … everyday. Some days my patience runs thinner. Usually when I'm tired or stressed about something, my tolerance is weaker. It occurred to me recently that my evenings remind me of groundhog day, where the same events repeat themselves day after day until the groundhog doesn't see its shadow and doesn't crawl back into its hole. 

Sharing this comparison with a couple of friends this week … and they reminded me two very important lessons in my story.
1. Yes, it all sounds familiar. I'm not alone. And it's okay to not always have the patience for being on re-run day in and day out … and it's natural to feel bad about not having more patience.
2. Look at it another away … it won't be long before Buddy wants to bath himself, then Little Guy … it won't be much longer after that that Buddy will read to Little Guy … it won't be much longer after that that both Buddy and Little Guy won't want me to stay a little bit after lights are out. 

Thanks to these reminders, I shall cherish these groundhog evenings before the shadow disappears and the groundhog stays out of its hole. Just as winters don't last forever (in most places on earth), this phase won't either.

Adversity. Don't follow my first … or second instincts!

Last week school had a Father's Day celebration. It was the first for the school and the kids. To say that Buddy was excited would be an understatement. However, we only received the notice one week prior to the celebration and GK couldn't change his work travel plans. When we realized that GK couldn't attend, my first instinct was "oh no, maybe I can go to take videos". Upon realizing that it probably wouldn't make sense for me to be there as it was for fathers afterall, my second instinct was "should I keep Buddy and Little Guy at home and do something special with them".

I was more concerned with Buddy because he's at the age where he can remember everything while Little Guy is still at the stage where he half understands and remembers things in spots. Buddy is also very observant and I know he would notice the difference between himself and those whose fathers attended. Although the motivation behind my instincts were to protect, if I had carried out my instincts, I would probably have dug myself into a hole where I had to explain to both kids why they weren't going to school that day and admit that I was worried about them having an unpleasant experience. 

In that same week, I chanced upon this inspiriting talk by  Andrew Solomon on How the worst moments in our lives make us who we are, which was a reminder that adversity and unpleasant experiences are a must in life if we are to learn and grow as a person. Of course, I shouldn't introduce them unnecessarily just to challenge my children and tough them up. On the other hand, I shouldn't overly protect … using "but they are still so young" as an excuse. If I carry on like, how old would be old enough for my children to experience adversity and forge meaning in them such that they become their potential? 

While growing up, I always wished my parents stayed together and that we were a tight unit. During the holidays, while in college, I sometimes held onto that wish whenever I thought about not having a home to return to … no place where I still have my room (or shared room with my sisters) and my stuff. No, all my stuff was with me because I didn't have a home. The truth was, I did have a home - it just wasn't a physical house, rather it was the feeling of being with my family - my sisters, my parents (separately). Once I realized and made peace with that, I no longer wished for anything but exactly the childhood I had. It is part of and makes me who I am today. 

The moral of this story is that I would be wrong to rob my children of opportunities to forge meaning in their experiences, pleasant and unpleasant, to create their own identities. I would do better at supporting them in that endeavor.

What will they remember?

Writing in the midst of packing for a quick trip to Taipei. It's the first time I'll be flying by myself for pleasure since the kids were born. I'm also looking forward to being in Taipei with my sister, just the two of us. It might be the first time since we left in 1985.

Although it's a short trip, my heart is feeling rather heavy today because I'm dreading being away from Buddy and Little Guy. Upon reflection this morning, I realized that I don't want to miss out and I want to be in their memories. Practically speaking, this trip is a little crazy. I'll be on the ground for 36 hours and on the plane for 4 hours each way. So, why do I want to go so badly? It is precisely the fact that my sister will be there and we will have a chance to be by ourselves. It's a chance for a walk down memory lane of my formative years with my sister, with whom I shared many experiences in those years.

Most of the happy memories in my childhood were from those years growing up in Taiwan. Favorite foods that formed my taste buds' preferred flavors and textures. Hot tin lunch boxes that formed the basis of my preference for warm meals. Walks with my grandparents that grounded me and taught me to look for nature amongst the bricks. A broken down temple that served as a playground for imaginary play and offered endless opportunities for social skills development. Family outings at the rocky beaches and rivers that instilled in me a love of water.

What will my kids remember from their formative years? Buddy gave me a little insight about that this week when I asked him what his class was going to do for Father's Day celebration. Instead of telling me what his class was doing, he seemed to be pondering what he wanted to do for his Baba. 

Then, he said …

"I don't know what to make for Baba." - I listened so he can continue to share what he's thinking. 

"I don't want to make anything for Baba." - I replied with "ok" and continued to listen with curiosity.

"I just want to do stuff with him." - I thought "wow!" and said "that's a great idea! we don't always have to make things. sometimes having experiences together is the best gift!"

"Yeah!" - he flashed a contented smile.

We, as humans, are social beings and naturally crave connection. Perhaps this is a way for Buddy to tell us that he just wants to be with us most of the time. It's not about the toys or going anywhere specific (though he does love Legoland)? It's about being together and connecting. So … more walks and more experiences together! This shall be a constant reminder. :)

A screen is a screen. To that Buddy responded "How about I make one?"

This week Buddy and I have been talking about screens. It's a bit of a sore topic because he's figured out that "screens" includes screen time on any device (including the TV). 

Buddy was so excited about the new Star Wars Angry Bird game that he decided he wanted to play it on the iPad Tuesday morning. He sometimes chooses to play something on the iPad for 15-20 minutes after getting ready for school while I get ready. Lately, he's been more enthusiastic about building things with Legos that the iPad hasn't come out to play for a while. However, he's been fascinated by Star Wars (though he's never seen the movie) ever since we went to Legoland in San Diego last winter. Now Star Wars and Angry Bird together … "that's what I'm talking about!" as Buddy would exclaim sometimes in excitement.

All the way to school - a whole 7 minutes - Buddy asked whether he could play Star Wars Angry Bird when he got home later. I calmly explained that he's already used up all of the allotted time for "screen" play. Somehow we managed only to repeat the exact same question and answer three times without anyone getting upset. I thought that was that. But, I was wrong. The conversation picked up right where we left it the minute I got him and Little Guy from school. Buddy has a great memory. So, we continued to discuss why he couldn't play Star Wars Angry Bird for the rest of the day. He was relentless. At some point, it went like this.

Buddy: Why can't I play Star Wars Angry Bird?

Me: I understand you like the game very much but you already played it for quite a long time this morning.

Buddy: <Silent>

Me: Also, when you play the iPad, your body is sitting and not moving. It's important for your health that you move your body often.

Buddy: But, I move my fingers!

Me (caught off guard and amazed): <Wow, I wasn't prepared for that response.>

Buddy: Can I watch something?

Me: Hmmm, your body would not be moving much while watching something.

There was a long pause. Then, there it was … he figured it out and shared with me, not in so many words, that anything with a screen is part of what our family defines as "screen" time. I was expecting him to be sad. But, he surprised me and came up with a uber creative idea. 

Buddy: How about I make one? I'll make a screen out of my Legos! How about that?!

Me: That's a great idea! I appreciate your flexibility and creativity. 

Buddy: We can play Star Wars Angry Bird on there.

Me (a little nervous now): <How will we do that?> 

Me: Uh, yea, maybe we can use the flashlight and shine it on the screen to look like you're playing Stars Wars Angry Bird?

Buddy: Yeah, that's a good idea!

Me (relieved for now): <I love the way he says that.>

The Lego screen took a few iterations. Buddy and I started building our own. Then, he built on my design and made it into a real screen with a flat surface. 

When Baba came home, it was time for a show. My idea with the flashlight flopped. Then, Buddy explained that he wanted to use the flashlight to create shadows that look like Star Wars Angry Bird on the screen. So, that's what we did using tiny Lego pieces. Little 1x1 squares were the angry birds. Tiny lights were the pigs. They sat on top of a pyramid of tiny Lego pieces. The shadows of this scene on the screen really did look a bit like the start of an Angry Bird game! I would've liked to have a picture but Buddy ended up playing the game … all the 'pigs' exploded and the pyramid was dismantled to modify his "souped-up" F1 car. The screen, however, remains intact and I can't wait to see what he wants to do with it next!

The Un-Terrible Twos

"I don't want! I don't want!!!" That was most of what I heard, accompanied by exasperated, head-thrown-back cries, during our bedtime routine tonight. It's actually what I hear a lot these days from Little Guy. Yes … we're in the "Terrible Twos". This is familiar territory and this time I'm prepared. After all, I was just here about two years ago with Buddy. At that time, I was completely unprepared for the so-called "Terrible Twos" stage. I heard about it from other parents, those who have been through the slaughter and came out alive on the other side as well as those heading into it. Being a first time parent, I just assumed that the "Terrible Twos" (or Threes as some people described how their kids skipped it at 2 but got hit hard at 3) was a real thing.

The mentality I had was that I needed to discipline my child during this "Terrible Twos" stage or else I'm in for a lifetime of unacceptable behavior. But, I didn't know how. I didn't have any tools to help me or my child manage his emotional roller coaster rides. By all accounts, Buddy was generally a happy toddler and as sweet and gentle as they come (of course, I'm biased!). However, when Buddy was upset … it was like the world had ended (in Chinese we say "tian du ta xia lai la - 天都塌下來", which literally means "the sky has fallen"). He reminded me a lot of myself as a child in that regard, which gave me the ability to empathize but not enough to keep me calm at times.

Just when I was at the end of my ropes and in utter despair about my parenting skills, I came across a talk about the brain in the context of child development and parenting. The information I learned was just the tip of the iceberg and had me so excited that I wanted to read more and turn the information into actual parenting strategies and techniques. I physically felt a light bulb turn on above my head, sparks flying in my brain, and energy flowing from my body to my limbs. Up until then, I had been searching for parenting books or advice but nothing felt right. The brain and the nervous system spoke to me. The fundamentals of how the brain develops opened the door to true understanding of what's happening in my child, particularly in those unpleasant moments - the tantrums - where the body is on the floor with all limbs flailing in the air along with loud shrieks of cries that speak of the injustice that's been done to him.

I came to learn that emotions (not feelings) are a chemical reaction in the body. Some children experience much bigger emotions than their little bodies can handle and they do not yet have the cognitive ability to express those emotions with appropriate behavior. This was exactly the case with Buddy. During a breakdown, his little body was experiencing an emotional tidal wave that he absolutely had no control over. His body needed to let the tidal wave wash through before he landed on a warm sandy beach facing a calm sea. Any attempt to discipline him during the tidal wave was futile because he did not have the mental capacity to engage with me on that level. However, if I acknowledged the emotion of the tidal wave by naming it for him, he tended to calm down more quickly. That's when I could pull up his little tired body, hold him close while sitting on the warm sand to talk about what was the tidal wave and what to do with it next time, while watching the calm sea in the horizon.

Two years since that fateful talk, which created a paradigm shift in my brain, and two years of determined practice of parenting with the brain in mind, I don't think of Little Guy as being in the "Terrible Twos" or call his emotional breakdowns tantrums. The lens through which I view this stage is just that - a developmental stage that children must go (and we all went) through as part of growing up. It's a stage of great exploration and learning to satisfy endless curiosity and test boundaries, find and gain some independence and self-identify, and exert some control over their world. This perspective has made me more peaceful and creative, which probably diverts my attention away from anger and frustration, when working through unpleasant situations with Little Guy (and Buddy … in his fours). It also encourages me to put myself in my children's shoes so that I can better understand what they're experiencing … what does the world look like from their vantage point? And, as with anything, a little bit of humor helps a lot!

When I got inspired to write this post, I was curious about where the term "Terrible Twos" came from. So I did a quick search on "terrible twos history" and found many links on the topic. As it turns out, the term was coined in the 1950s, long time ago, and not supported by research. Most of the articles from modern parenting resources provide similar information - most common and important one is that this is a normal developmental stage. So, why do we still call it the "Terrible Twos"? Maybe it's time we dropped the label and let the Twos be just that - 2s.

Role play, okay … but not playing roles.

Role play fosters curiosity and learning. It is also a great way to expose children to the various roles people play in a community and the society at large. But, it recently dawned on me that we don't often talk about how every person plays multiple roles in life. Just the other day I was telling Buddy that I would be out teaching Pilates while he naps. He was making something with the fresh play dough we just made. But, I can tell he was thinking. He paused, turned around, with a very concerned face, and asked "Mama, when you teach Pilates, are you still my mama?" Wow! What a question. My heart did a little dip and slowly floated back up as I caught my breath and composed my answer. I told him "Of course! I'm always your mama no matter what I'm doing and even when I'm not with you". He seemed comforted and reassured (for now). However, I went on to share that each person can be many things in life at the same time and that he will also play many roles later on when he grows up. I might have lost him with that last part as he returned to his play dough. :) Someone once told me that signs from the universe come in pairs. A week after that conversation with Buddy, a teacher at school asked Little Guy "what do you want to be when you grow up?" Without any hesitation, Little Guy replied, with his usual upswing singsongy voice and just a little bit of incredulous (as in what kind of question is that), "Just Little Guy!” So simple yet so profound … in that one second Little Guy reminded me that he and Buddy already have their true potential inside. All I have to do is pay attention and don't mess it up! 

Not until I read Siblings without Rivalry did I realize the impact on children when parents peg them into roles. Being the eldest of three girls, I've lost track of the number of times I heard "you're the oldest, you need to give in, let go, control yourself, be the bigger person [or insert whatever good behavior I'm suppose to exhibit because I'm the eldest]". The worst was "you're the oldest so you need to be a good role model for your sisters". My parents probably didn't know it but that short phrase put tremendous pressure on me. I had a vague sense of what "good" meant. Guāi, that's what I was supposed to be. It means to behave well. Chinese parents love to hear their children described by others as guāi because it means a well-behaved child. It is usually a compliment for the parents. Yes, I get it! Who doesn't want a well-behaved child? I do too! But, guāi is so vague when nothing descriptive about the behavior that called for the praise follows. So, in vagueness I tried to be a role model for my sisters. In the process I also embodied the character traits my parents assigned to me. I was the studious one, the organized one, and the serious one. My sisters were given other descriptors. In hindsight, it seems we had to be different from one another.  


Fast forward many years … instinctively I want to say "Buddy, you're older so you need to [fill in the blank]" whenever he and Little Guy get into it or "Buddy, you're older so you need to show Little Guy how to [insert a good behavior]" whenever I catch Little Guy copying Buddy's inappropriate behavior … except I don't say it. I don't say it because I don't want to put that kind of pressure on Buddy. He shouldn't have to mature faster just because he's got a younger sibling. It is also not fair to Little Guy. Little Guy needs the same kind of guidance I gave Buddy when he was Little Guy's age. It is not fair for me to delegate that to Buddy for any reason. It also wouldn't serve them well to position Buddy as the more grown up, responsible one while allowing Little Guy to be the silly and goofy one just because of their birth order. The truth is that birth order is just the order in which a child is born into a family. It doesn't need to dictate a hierarchy. My hope is that Buddy and Little Guy will develop a tight bond that's fluid. Yes, right now the age gap is apparent. However, soon enough it won't be. I don't have all the answers just because I'm the eldest. Sometimes, my younger sisters are the ones who are wiser and give me much needed guidance and support.

It's convenient and easy to categorize people. Categorization seemingly helps us manage our interactions with one another – a perception of predictability. But, people are complex and multi-faceted. Not only that, they change … all the time! As a parent, I can see the attractiveness of penning down what I might want to believe to be character traits in Buddy and Little Guy as I discover them. However, by labeling Buddy or Little Guy with whatever I see at any stage of their development would be inserting my bias into their own narrative. I can't do that! Children already care so much about what their parents think of them … their natural tendency is to please their parents. I know Buddy and Little Guy will care about what I think of them. But, I want them to care more about what they think of themselves. My job is to observe and nurture what's already there but also push a little (because children need that) so they get out of their comfort zone, where learning happens.

Why a walk and not a journey?

I've been wanting to capture and remember (and perhaps share) stories from my parenting experience - inspired by the ups and downs, the ordinary and the extraordinary - for a long time. My initial idea was to call this life-changing and profound experience a journey. But, then it occurred to me that a "journey" usually signifies a beginning and an end, or at least with a goal of reaching a destination. That didn't feel right. I entered into a life-time contract with my children when I became a parent. There's a beginning for sure … but not an end. I can feel that my parents still want to know what I'm up to, want to hear my voice, want to see me, want the best for me, want me to be happy. As a parent of young children, these are the same wants I have and imagine I will continue to have as my little ones grow up. After much pondering … it came to me … this is about a walk.

Why a walk? As I thought deeply about this, I realized that as a parent, I want to walk with my kids - in both the literal and the metaphorical sense. Literally, I hope to be taking walks of all lengths and sorts with my kids. Buddy is 4.5 and Little Guy is 2.5 now. Currently our walks (for these two, it's usually a run) can be from the bedroom to the living room, from our apartment down to our car where we stop and look for snails in the common area planters, or a stroll on the nearby bike-path or a hike in a park. Lots of things happen on these walks - running back and forth with glee between my bedroom and the living room, counting the number of snails we can find on the way to our car, stopping to look at fallen flowers and leaves on the bike path, checking out weird insects during a hike. Most importantly, feeling connected as a family and sharing experiences. It is through these walks that I get to know and learn about them … what they are like in different situations and context, and how I might best support them and enrich their experiences. In a metaphorical sense, a walk feels more appropriate and almost more real because it can describe so many experiences - beyond the physical. Emotionally and spiritually, I imagine being their companion in these walks. This started even when they couldn't walk to now, when they are off running the minute their feet hit the ground outside. They still want to hold hands a lot … want me nearby, want to hear my voice, want to see that I see them in the simplest of activities (e.g., drawing, singing and dancing, going to the bathroom). I imagine one day, not far from now, they will still want me "walking" alongside with them but maybe not too close … definitely not holding hands, especially when their friends are within sight. Soon after that, and probably without anyone of us noticing (but hopefully I will be mindful enough to notice this change), they will ask me to stay back, to walk behind, to be there but not be there. So, I'll walk behind them … just watching but at the ready if they need me. After a while, they might even forget that I'm there. But, I'll always be there … if they want to know, all they have to do is turn around and I'm there. 

I used to take afternoon and evening walks with my grandparents. Often times, my sister and I would run ahead. But, we always knew where my grandparents were in relation to us. Grandfather walked faster so he was always just a few steps behind. Grandmother usually lagged behind Grandfather a good 10-15 steps. As she tries to keep up the pace, we would hear her shout at us to stop running. Something about this knowledge was comforting. As I got older, I would stay back with Grandmother to keep her company because I thought she might get lonely. Although we often didn't talk much, through these walks I saw a softer side of my Grandmother … a side that didn't show as much in the day-to-day. Through these walks, my sister and I built a life-long bond with our grandparents … something we both remember even after they've gone.