"Mommy, is tweeting bad?"

Nope. Didn't make this up. This came up in my conversation with my 6 year-old, Mr. Monk, in the car today.

Most of our conversations happen in the car now, it seems. Could Mr. Monk be that smart so as to figure out that when I am driving, I am cornered and hence have to provide some sort of answers to the hard questions he throws at me?

"Mommy, why do you tweet?"

Gee. He got the lingo right. Many adults are still struggling with when to use Twitter and when to use Tweet...

"Hmmm. Why SHOULDN'T I Tweet?"

That's a complete cop-out. I know.

"Is Tweeting bad?" See? He got that it's a VERB!

"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?"

"I am just wondering why you do it."

Hmm. Why did he assume it's bad just because I am doing it?!

"..... Ok. It's just like how you and your brother play on Runescape? it's just something fun that mommy likes to do. Mommy enjoys talking to people on Twitter."

Suave move, mom. Comparing Twitter to Runescape?! Let me turn the table on him...

"Now, why does it bother you so much that mommy is on Twitter?"

"I don't know. Because you get to do it all the time, without having to ask. We have to ask you or daddy when we want to play Runescape..."

I wonder if I HAD a regular hobby like sewing or knitting whether he would have been so bothered by it.

Mother fail

Mr. Monk (my 6 yo boy) and I got into a fight tonight. The source of it is as always: his need to be close to me whenever we are home. Especially when it is close to bedtime and he's tired and I am exhausted. I finally lost my marble today and lashed out at him. Yup. Lashed out. I am still feeling shame and guilt from it, and am absolutely convinced that I will go to hell for hurting a 6 year old's feeling so deeply...

The funny, sad, guilt-inducing thing is? He still asked for mommy when it's time he go to bed.

In the midst of crying, sobbing, hiccuping, he said, "I am going to run away tomorrow."

Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.

I apologized for being really mean and we were on our way to reconciliation.

"Please don't run away. I would be very sad and worried if you do. How about the volcano of love?"

"It's shattered."

Those were his exact words.

Hell. Is. Waiting. For. Me.

"Oh honey. I am so sorry..."

"There is only one left now. But I am rebuilding them."

Sometimes I believe that I do not deserve Mr. Monk as he is more mature than I am. He is an old soul. It awes me and worries me at the same time. He seems to know how his mind works is different from his peers. While crying about how he's going to run away from home, he made this statement,

"I don't fit in. I am different. I don't fit in anywhere."

Other than holding him very very tightly, I was utterly lost for words. Motherhood fail.

Are we really at odds with each other?

This is an age-old debate and for sure I am opening an ancient can of worms. And for some, this is probably opening up some disappearing scabs from long-since-forgotten battle wounds as well...

But I don't know why something this trivial bothers me. It leaves my working-mother-core shaking. It makes me question myself whether my being a working mother is truly ruining my children's childhood.

Guilt is a bitch.

It all started when my 11 yo was invited to a friend's house for a "playdate".

(They are probably too old to have something called "Playdate"... For lack of a universally understandable term to describe an event when a child goes to another child's house, usually against the latter child's mother's quiet wish while granting the mother of the former child, if she otherwise stays home with the child, some much needed respite, I will use this term for now).

... and the earliest train I can take does not allow me to be there in time to pick him up at the said end of playdate.

The problem with being a working mom with regarding to playdates is that: it is next to impossible for me to reciprocate. And I do feel guilty about it. I do. And I let the mothers who are kind enough to invite my non-reciprocating child to their houses know how much I appreciate it, and how guilty I feel.

You know that I work, DOWNTOWN. My kids go to a childcare facility. I am sorry. I cannot come home during lunch hour to do that. I cannot take off from work just so I can drop off my child at your house to play with your child.

I did that once already: I took a day off from work once just so I could drive my kid, in less than 5 minutes, from the daycare to your house. I know I should not expect you to offer to pick up my kids from where he is and bring him to your house. You do not owe me that. And I am totally sounding like an ungrateful bitch to some, if there is anyone out there reading this, actually.

I contemplated hiring and PAYING someone to drive that 5-minute stretch so he can have the playdate with your child. I did. Would you be terribly insulted if I asked to pay you? You would, I guess. I know the point is not the money, or how easy it is. The point is "the principle" right? That we working mothers are so used to being granted all these special treatments and considerations. We should not take it for granted. I should not even be writing about this on my blog right now.

So I guess our children will never have playdates again.

It is a shame. They apparently played quite well together and that's why you invited him back. Thank you. And sorry that we had to cancel the playdate scheduled for today.

p.s. The irony with this whole crazy shit incident is that I am so shaken with guilt, doubt and undeserved self-righteousness that I may as well go home early. Calling in sick.

My mommy cooks. My mommy cleans. My mommy loves me.

It is almost a month since Mother's Day and therefore I figure it is safe to ruminate out loud what I thought when I saw these loving and lovable pictures drew by my 6 year old, with lots of love, without the risk of being accused as mean-spirited, bitter, spoiled, jaded, or worse, unfit-to-be-a-mother…

Turned out that my 6 year-old was more excited about Mother's Day than I was. The weeks leading to Mother's Day they had made so many arts and crafts projects at school to celebrate this day, and he was instructed to keep all these projects a secret until THE day so he could surprise me. Bless his heart. I am surprised that he did not burst from all the secrecy, and the trouble of keeping a secret from your mother when you are only 6 years old.

We had gone to the store in April when he decided that he needed to get me a Mother's Day present. He was rather upset since he couldn't figure out a way of getting anything without my knowing it.

He burst into tears when I saw the bag of chocolate he's holding.

"You are not supposed to see this."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about…"

"This! This is your Mother's Day present. Now Mother's Day is ruined! And it is all YOUR fault!"

"Honey. How about this? Mommy will pay for it and then you can hide it and I promise I will forget about it."

"No, it won't work!"

It took me an hour to calm him down, to convince him that yes indeed, I would erase the memory of this exchange from my brain.

When he proudly presented me with the book that he made at school, a book comprised of "Things my mommy does, and therefore I love my mommy" vignettes, I was really moved. Really, I was. He was beaming with pride, and naturally, I was beaming with pride too.

But later, it did give me pause to think my role as a mother. How I see myself and how I am perceived by my children, others, the world.

1. After 20+ years of education, this is what I am boiled down to: cooking and cleaning.

2. My job sucks, at least in my child's eyes. If I were a hod dog vendor, or a street musician, it would probably be easier for him to draw "What my mommy does at work." Truth be told, and in all fairness, he has attempted many times to understand what I do at work.

"So you work on the computer... But what do you MAKE?"

A conversation with him about my job always results in days of self-doubt in me...

3. Perhaps in all fairness, cleaning and cooking could be what he sees me do all the time. Is it telling that he did not draw "My mommy does the laundry" since our floor is constantly covered with laundered clothes transported straight from the dryer? And bless his heart that he considers grilled cheese and mac&cheese straight from a box cooking. I guess it is true that what you don't know will not hurt you...

4. On the other hand, what if this is his ideal of a mother? A mom that cooks and cleans, while wearing an apron with a BIG smile on her face. So happy. So content. Perhaps this is a mother that he yearns for and not the harried, reluctant one he's stuck with? Staring at the big smile in these drawings, I somehow feel ashamed. Guilty.

5. This is the conclusion I am most reluctant to draw; it took me a whole month to admit to myself: Maybe, just maybe, I am not spending enough quality time with my children. None of the pictures showed me doing things with him.

If I had made more efforts in doing arts and crafts, if I were more willing in playing Go Fish, if I had offered to go to the zoos, the parks, the playgrounds more often, if I had said, "Let's go fly a kite" out of nowhere.

If. Perhaps he would have something other than cooking and cleaning to draw with.

A volcano of love... tis the cross for me to bear

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite."

- Juliet

Always thought this is one of the most beautiful descriptions of what it means to really love someone. (By the way, Romeo is an idiot. Juliet clearly is a better poet. But I digress...)

When I became a mom, I was surprised by the truth in these words. The love I have for my children is such that it hurts to think of the possibility of ever losing them. And unlike other kinds of feelings, a parent's love does not depend on reciprocity. We will always love our children no matter what.

But that love does not prevent us from getting impatient, annoyed. It does not stop me from becoming a mean witch from time to time to the boys. Stealthily self doubt creeps up sometimes: I wonder whether I do truly love my kids selflessly and unconditionally, whether I am fit to be a mother, after a particularly difficult day of dealing with bickering, whining, willfulness, obstinacy, and flaring up of the mild case of OCD, with too little time. My exhaustion more often than not stems from my youngest's refusal to let my husband take care of him.

Mommy is the only person he always wants.

Mommy is the person he loves the most, no matter what.

In this regard, I feel extremely guilty and am deeply saddened since there are more than one person for me to make the same claim of. Juliet's words aside, I lack the time to show the love equally to each.

On those days, when I put him to bed, I would hold my 6 year-old tighter and ask him to forgive mommy's temper earlier. And Mr. Monk, my 6 year-old, who has a way with words, would say something that at the same time shames me and absolves me.

"I just want you to know that mommy loves you." (even when she was behaving like a banshee...)

"It's ok mommy. I just want to show each parent a volcano of love."

Laughing out loud, I held him even tighter, trying hard to stifle the cry that's surfacing from my chest.

Sometimes I believe that he loves me more than I love him. And it worries me so....

p.s. Yes yes I know. Wait a couple more years and then he would not want to have anything to do with mommy any more... I will write a new post then....

My Mother’s Day Phobia

It is the Wednesday after Mother's Day and therefore I figure it is safe to reflect upon the impact of Mother's Day on me personally, without the risk of being accused as mean-spirited, bitter, spoiled, jaded, or worse, unfit-to-be-a-mother…

Although I have always been moved by the origin of Mother's Day, an internationally recognized and celebrated holiday nonetheless (unlike Father's Day…), I really do hate Mother's Day, if I may be allowed to be facetious. For myself.

I do sincerely celebrate Mother's Day for all the mothers out there who so rightfully deserve well wishes on their special day. The Collective Mother. The concept of motherhood.

I appreciate the opportunity to wish all the mothers happiness, a day of relaxation, of recognition. I appreciate the fact that my mother-in-law is probably one of the best mothers-in-law out there and I am blessed in this regard. I appreciate the reminder that I owe my own mother thousands of apologies for all the pains I have caused her, and that maybe for once I can talk to her on the phone without hanging up in a hurry because someone in my house screams as if his leg is being sawed off, or in a huff because my mother says something that does not jive well with my pseudo-feminist sensibility…

"What are you going to do with the kids when you travel for business?"

"Hmmm, they have a father too?" Click.

I hate all the commercials that unfairly raise my expectations of what my husband and children would do to "honor me" on Mother's Day. I hate my own passive aggressiveness:

"What do you want for Mother's Day? What do you want to do for Mother's Day?"

"Whatever. I don't care."

I hate my husband's taking my reply literally after so many years of marriage. Come on, man, you know the passive aggressive bitch that I am. DO SOMETHING. Anything.

I hate despite all my jokes of "lowered expectations", I cannot help but have that smidgen of hope, that maybe this year, something would be done. A surprise would be planned. The secret conversations. The furtive exchange of looks. The stifled laughter as they worked on a conspiracy. And I would pretend not to notice.

Like I said, I hate all those commercials that plant unrealistic expectations even when I try to be rational about it.

I once read that, statistically, more people committed suicide on their birthdays than any other day of the year. (Or did a college friend of mine tell me that? After he phoned to check on me, to make sure that I didn't do anything stupid. I was full of angst in my youth. Hermann Hesse. My husband would not agree on Demian as the name for our firstborn. Lucky kid…)

The same agitation I feel on Mother's Days. I wish I could just forget about it. DON'T PANIC.

The "What the __?!" epidemic

I am no Miss Manners, let me just come out and say that. (Although writing Thankyou notes is one of the very few rules I am forcing my kids to follow). I have a potty mouth when the kids are not around, or at least, when I think they cannot hear me (which by the way often backfires... So yes, Bad Mommy. *Slap hand*)

We do say "What the...?!" a lot indeed when we are driving. Every time someone cuts in front of me, I mutter "What the?!" under my breath. So it is definitely my own fault then. Lately though I have been noticing the increasing popularity of kids saying, "WHAT THE?!" Even the very little ones. My own 6 year-old and I have overheard even younger ones mouthing their surprise, discontent, disappointment with this now ubiquitous all-purpose expression.

They say it without reservation. No hand "quotation marks" around the words when they shout it out. No whispering. It has become part of the conversation.

"Hey, kids, come see what I brought home for dessert?"
"WHAT THE?! Oh, thank you! I love it!"

"Why is the room such a mess? Didn't I just ask you to clean it up?"
"WHAT THE?! I already did it but [the other one] messed it up again!"

"WAHHHHH!"
"WHAT THE?! oh, ha ha. You scared me!"

WHAT THE?! Mom! My new DSi froze again!"

"What the?!" indeed.

Do the younger children know what usually comes after the THE in adult speech? I surely hope not. I was hoping that they think "WHAT THE?!" is the complete expression in itself. There is nothing that's supposed to come after it. But then my 6 year-old started saying, "What the BEEP?!"

"What the?!" I thought. *Pull hair*

Thinking back, even Buzz Lightyear in his own first feature-length cartoon after Toy Story says "What the?!" once or twice - I remember that one because we had the VHS tape and watched it many many times. The boys were a bit young to pick up on that then. Now this expression appears just about in every cartoon not targeted towards the very young set. That is, NO, don't worry, Telletubbies do not say this. In fact, they don't really say much at all. Nor does SuperWhy, Dora, or Bob the Builder.

But I bet that if you turn on network TV on Saturday morning, also known as "Cartoon all morning so you can relax while your kids sit in front of the TV" Saturday morning, you will hear "WHAT THE?!" more than a few times.

At this juncture, I am ashamed to report, I don't know how to react when I hear the kids say it since the cartoons that we allow them to watch (e.g. Skunk Fu) use this expression, therefore, they are sanctioned by FCC, ergo, we parents should be ok with it too.

Despite the above complaint about my losing control over the upbringing of my kids, I am no prude. I'll prove it:

What the f*ck?!

p.s. Turns out the answer is once again, "It's the economy, stupid!" According to MSNBC report in March 2009, "a foul economy is prompting more outbursts of foul language." *Scratch head* I didn't know my kids read our 401K Statements...

Word Whammer is fun for mommy too!

Actually, my 11 year-old did this, though he denied it. I was laughing so hard when I noticed this I couldn't properly reprimand him. Who knows how long the word has been up on the refrigerator.

SO, this is how you curse *properly* with Word Whammer...

Posted via email from The Absence of Alternatives

Ever woner the worst question your child could ever ask you?

I found out tonight. I actually have never even pondered this. But when I heard it from my 6-year-old today, I knew, in my heart, this has got to be the worst question a child could ever ever ask of you, the parent.

Not "Am I going to die?"

Not "What happened to (insert: any family member that just passed away)?"

Not "Where do babies come from?"

Not "What is SEX?"

Not "Are you and daddy having a divorce?"

Not even "Did you and daddy plan to have me?"

Or "How do you use a condom?"

The worst question, if your child asked you the same, your heart would drop like an anvil all the way to your stomach (pardon me for the cliche but I never say I am a writer), and you would have the sick feeling in your stomach, and you would know, with no uncertainty, that somewhere, somehow, you must have screwed up big time. You would wish that you had not yelled at him, had not snapped at him, had not taken your frustration at your own situation (oh, foolish foolish immature girl's dream that you would grow up to be somebody and not "just a mom") out at him. You would wish that you were more patient, had more time to spare, were more like "other kids' moms", were more content. You would wish that you were happy enough just being, well, you.

My child asked me, quietly, tonight,

Mom, do you hate me?

I declare: Nintendo Thumb = Text thumb = Twitter Thumb. At least in my case…

No more texting for me!

Finally after living with the pain in my left thumb for three weeks, I could not ignore it any more. Luckily a colleague whose wife is an excellent hand surgeon volunteered his wife's time and I was able to bypass the long wait time typical at orthopedic surgeons' offices around the country. The verdict: Yup. I've got it: Tendinitis of the thumb, (or Thumb tendinitis), commonly known in the 1990s as Nintendo Thumb. Now, it is mostly caused by texting.

Dr. M, who by the way is the kind of intelligent, accomplished, generous and beautiful individual that I would wish my daughter to grow up to be like if I had a daughter, put my hand on a splint and delivered the grim news: take 2 Aleves twice a day, and if the condition does not improve in a week, I will have to take a cortisone shot right in my palm. The best way to cure any malaise caused by tendinitis.

I am keeping my fingers crossed (the ones that still can).

I have given birth twice. Somehow, however, I am not too keen on receiving a big giant needle on my palm.

It is kind of embarrassing for me to be getting myself into this predicament. What am I? A high school girl? I don't even text that much, and now I need to swear off texting. Perhaps it is now a good time for me to reconsider a service such as Jott which enables voice to text (text messages that is).

(Too bad Jott was once free during Beta but not any more... )

Here is another realization:

You don't appreciate how good we have it for having the opposable thumbs until you no longer have them! I want my opposable left thumb back!

"You are not going to heaven because you are a bad mommy." Religion? Yikes!

This was not said in a huff or a tantrum. This was said matter-of-factly, more an observation than an accusation. A conclusion drawn by my 6-year-old because, well, he has noticed that we do not go to church on a regular basis. We are not particularly religious although both of our boys were baptized in the Catholic church. We are obviously not regular church-going folks. I am not even Christian. We simply do not talk about god at home. I wonder where he got all these ideas about god, Jesus, and heaven. The other day he asked me whether I am one of God's children, and I told him, no, out of honesty. Later I explained to him that not everybody believes in god, and heaven, and not everybody believes in the same god as he does. and therefore not everybody is going to heaven. In fact, "You and daddy and your brother are going to heaven when you die, but mommy will not be there... Mommy believes in reincarnation."

(Maybe I should have lied? This would have been one of those times when a white lie is harmless and maybe even beneficial?)

Fortunately, at this age, they do have the attention span of the fly, so he was quickly distracted by some other mysteries in life. Crisis diverted. For now.

Note to self: research books on "How to talk to your kids about religion if yours is a multi-faith family"... Yikes! Who says parenting gets easier as they get older?!

"I wish Mary Poppins is my mom..."

The other day when my 6-year-old was very frustrated with me for saying NO to most of his requests, he sighed and said with longing, "I wish Mary Poppings is my mom."

 

Startled but not offended, laughingly I said, "Yeah, I wish she were your mom too."

 

He in turn was shocked by my non-reactive reaction. 

 

Then today, after pointing out to me that I didn't feed him a "proper" dinner (Note to self: Bagel with cream cheese does not count as a "proper dinner"), he said, in mock-earnestness, "I am going to ask Santa for a better mom."  "Oh, I am just kidding."

 

Ah, a great sense of humor is the sure sign of intelligence, I always say. 

 

Being self-reflective to a compulsive degree, I often picture my kids sitting in a shrink's office, discussing their childhood with their unstable mother and her effect on their great novels of the decade.  Perhaps all the tribulations in our repressingly liberal suburban household will become cannon fodder for their artistic endeavors one day.  One can only hope.

 

Coda: Turned out that hot dog on a piece of white bread (since I don't buy buns because they always go bad before we can finish them) is an acceptable entree for dinner.  Thank goodness.

 

p.s. I am well aware of this:

 

self-reflection + lack of action to correct any un-motherly behavior = rampant self-indulgence in the guise of mock self-pity

"Is it difficult to take care of kids?"

My 6-year-old boy asked me this question last night when I was putting him to sleep.  (Actually, I still need to sleep with him every night to get him to fall asleep which has been a subject of heated argument sometimes between me and my DH...  I guess I do tend to take the easier way out.  Sorry, Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken" is simply not for the time-crunched...) 

 

My boy asked, "Mommy, can I ask you a question?  Is it really hard to take care of kids?"  Startled by the innocent yet loaded question, I employed the age-old trick, "What do you think?"  He thought about it and then said, "It must be hard.  But why?" So I tried to explain to him that unlike complicated machines that we have, babies do not come with instruction manuals, and each one is so different, and they behave differently on a day to day basis, so it is very difficult to know what the right things to do.

 

I am such a lame parent...

 

Of course, now I wonder whether I have complained verbally out loud and he has heard me complaining about raising kids.  The natural extension of the complaint is, for a straight-forward thinker not privy to the complexities of parenthood, "I wish I didn't have kids". I hope he did not draw that conclusion on his own. 

 

But I do have a confession to make: sometimes I do wish that I have kids that are more easy-going... which is, probably every other kid that is not mine that I have seen. 

Mom redeemed herself from being the Worst Mom of the Year...

... by dumpster diving for child's missing homework!

Thank goodness they are not perfect...

Questions I ask myself every day (No.1)

Just because I am aware of my inadequacy as a mother, I am able to make fun of myself and I give myself the title "Bad Mommy of the Year", does it absolve me for doing a bad job bringing up my children?

If I call myself out as a criminal, does it make my crime less appalling?

By calling myself a Bad Mommy, does it make me superior to women who are unaware of what a bad job they are doing or frankly don't care?

By calling myself names, does it necessarily mean that I care? Or is my need to call myself names a desperate attempt to prove to myself and the others that I actually do care even though it may seem that I don't?

And I want to make it clear: when I call myself "Bad Mommy" or "Worst Mother of the Year" it is definitely not a "Backdoor Brag" like the "Worst Mother of the Year" in this essay. (This mom certainly reads like a dream mom to me, and I am sure that she knows it and is proud of it even: "I am such a great mother with strong convictions that I do not succumb to my children's whining and blackmailing!") I really really mean it and I live with regret and fear every day...

Overheard at my house (Episode 1)

Scene: after mommy serves them breakfast (oatmeal) with loud bang on the table and great indignation and runs upstairs to take her 1-minute shower before they have to rush to their first activity on a Sunday morning...

5-year-old boy: I wish mommy is less mean. Do you wish mommy is less mean, Older Brother?

10-year-old boy: Ya.

5-year-old boy: I wish daddy is nicer too and does not yell so much. Do you wish mommy and daddy are nicer?

10-year-old boy: Ya...

(Two brothers have a rare moment of peace and camaraderie)

(Bad Mom upstairs has to brace herself to prevent an emotional outburst and hits Sleeping Dad with the pillow)

(Two brothers break out in an argument over some trivial matter)

Bad Mom: (Forgetting temporarily her vow to be a less mean and nicer mother and screaming at the top of her lung) STOP IT THE TWO OF YOU AND HURRY UP BEFORE I COME DOWNSTAIRS!!!!!!!

So, how do you explain Roe vs. Wade to a 10-year-old boy??

Am I a bad mom? Sometimes I worry that in an effort to bring up children that are progressive, tolerant, self-aware, and self-reliant, and to make sure that they become "contributing members of a civil society" in the future, I may have pulled a cloud over their childhood. If they are fortunate enough to not to know about "the world out there", who am I to ruin their parade by telling them the "truth"?

So my 10-year-old had to do a research report on this presidential election. One of the projects was to interview a democrat and a republican, ask them this one question: "What do you think a Democrat (or Republican) believes?" I felt bad for putting our loved ones on the spot: voting is a private matter, in my opinion, and sometimes the true reason someone votes for this party vs. the other is for that person's conscience to know, and their conscience only. The people we ended up interviewing over the phone, surprisingly or maybe not so much, gave similar answers with regarding to almost everything: such as "A democrat/Republican believes that the middle class should receive tax reliefs."

The differences we learned from our friends and families are, based on their own subjective opinions of course, "A Republican believes in a smaller government, whereas a Democrat believes in more taxes," and "A Democrat believes in equality in all people and the responsibilities of the government to come to its people's aid when they are in need."

What strikes me the most was the fact that women from both parties see "Roe vs. Wade" as the main dividing line that separates Republicans from Democrats: one mentioned that Republicans believe in the "Right to live", the other, Democrats believe in "Roe vs. Wade". My son, being 10 years old, naturally had no idea what they were talking about, and our friends and families, bless their heart, naturally did not want to go into details.

So, how do you explain Roe vs. Wade to a 10-year-old boy?

This was why I woke up with self-doubt for my ability to be a good mother this morning: I actually gave it a try last night by giving him a general description of what Roe vs. Wade was about. How successful, I am not sure. My son understandably was disturbed by the concept of abortion, which I didn't go into too much detail of course. He does not even know how women become pregnant yet, oh my goodness... {{surge of more self-doubt}} At one point, I could see in his face his regret for supporting the Democratic Party (i.e. Obama in this election: he thinks Obama is the man, and the democrats will bring equality to the society, without me or my husband steering him either way... in fact we were quite puzzled by his interest in this election since we didn't talk about politics in front of the kids until he himself showed interest in the topic... ) And I was upset with the teacher's naivete in giving them the homework assignment: how does one talk about this presidential election, I mean, really talk about it, without getting into a discussion on the two sides over the "Roe vs. Wade" issue? How am I supposed to explain to my 5th grader, who despite his uncanny maturity still hugs stuffed animals at night? I know a lot of people would argue that this is the reason why there shouldn't be abortion allowed, period, if you don't know how to explain such a procedure to a child. This way you don't even need to explain it. To me, this is the reason why the issue of abortion should not be made to hijack the public political debate. It is a personal choice, and yes, I believe that women should have the right to choose. It is ironic to me that Republicans, for all their push for a smaller government, desperately want to extend their control over private matters such as gay marriage and this, and leave public health care issues to strictly between "patients and their care providers"...

What I learned from my 5th grader's homework this weekend...

My 10-year-old came home with a 10-page homework packet last week, a research report on this presidential election. (Let me not start with the fact that the packet is from 1997 and asks for an example of a printed ad in newspaper or magazine. I don't remember the last time I saw any candidate spending their money on a printed ad, at least, not in publications that we read at home, e.g. The Economist...)

Here is what I learned:

1. It is not easy to find out what exactly the Democratic party and the Republican party stand for. We went to both parties' websites and we ended up frustrated and confused. The "party platform" manifestos put out by both parties read so similar: they both use the same vague, generalized statements to show that they are THE party that will watch out for the little guys, the working American families. Both parties believe in education, better teachers, and the freedom for parents to choose the best education for their children. I had to explain to my son that nobody will come right out to say, "Oh, yeah. We are going to raise your taxes, and we are not going to do anything about the education system nor the health care crisis." You just have to read between the lines. Here is one great example from the "Republican Party Platform 2008" document:

"It is not enough to offer only increased access to a system that costs too much and does not work for millions of Americans. The Republican goal is more ambitious: Better health care for lower cost.

First Principle: Do No Harm

How do we ensure that all Americans have the peace of mind that comes from owning high-quality, comprehensive health coverage? The first rule of public policy is the same as with medicine: Do no harm.

We will not put government between patients and their health care providers.

We will not put the system on a path that empowers Washington bureaucrats at the expense of patients."

(by the way, how many people actually read this document? It is entirely fascinating the wordsmith effort that went into this...)

The GOP certainly did not state that they are against "health care for all" since that, on the surface, will certainly provide bad PR and negative sound bites.

2. The symbol for the Democratic Party has been a donkey since the 19th century: it has its origin in Andrew Jackson's campaign in 1828 when he was called a Jackass, and Jackson, true to his larger-than-life persona, adopted the image of the strong-willed donkey for his campaign. The symbols of elephant and donkey were later popularized by Thomas Nast's political cartoons, (in which neither animal was portrayed in a positive light, therefore, it's curious that both parties readily adopted the images!)