DotMoms

Marriage culture clash

By Analee

I have never ever been seriously romantically involved with anyone raised in my native culture. Apart from my husband, I've only had three other serious boyfriends, including a near-marriage that had it progressed to the next level would have been described, in the same breath, as a near death! All of them were with someone whose culture is completely different than mine.

I've had years of experience at this. Inter-cultural relationships should be my thing. I should be good at this, right? Wrong!

My marriage is, mainly, based on our cultural differences in every sense of the word. We revel in our differences and eagerly learn more about the other. It seems more challenging since it involves adjustment between two people from different ethnic, religious, socio-political backgrounds. With these challenges come countless arguments and misunderstandings brought about by exactly the same factors that make it interesting.

My husband and I have created strategies for understanding each other. If one of us starts to react negatively, the puzzled party (why the heck are you angry now?!) acts like he/she is waving a flag. This "white flag" gives the other a chance to explain further while we both try to breathe deeply and understand more. It usually works to get us through most of our dramas. Most, not all.

Our marriage is still a work in progress. We are creating our own culture by compromising. Both of us are consciously trying to be more open so our relationship will continue to flourish and grow. And just like any other marriages, not just interracial ones, we both just need to work harder and put in more effort.

Coming Soon: Culture clash -- our 2-year-old son's University education

Old self, new self

By Analee

I walked like a duck, ate like a tasmanian devil, snored like a pig, farted like a cow and looked very much like an Asian version of the Goodyear blimp. No, I was not wearing a costume nor did I take part in a horror movie. I was 8 months pregnant with my son. I was ugly as hell and extremely uncomfortable but I loved every single minute of the experience. 

Fast forward...  I have managed to get rid of most of the weight and those lady-like qualities that I acquired while I was pregnant, but that doesn't mean I got my old self back. I will never be the same person again, physically or mentally. My priorities and body have changed. I am a mother. I even look at my body with deference now. Not even the sight of my stretch-marked, loose-skinned tummy will ever make me regret anything. Although, I do feel a bit sorry for my once-perky breasts. But, I digress.

Seeing my son's smiling face every morning, playing with him when I get home tired from work, seeing him sneak morsels of food or whathaveyous from the ground into his mouth, and every little single thing that my son does tells me that it is all worth it. 

My husband and I sometimes feel like we are special. That we are the chosen ones. The only ones experiencing this wonder. But a quick look around shows us that that is not the case. Everywhere we go, people are having exactly the same experience. Moments like this make me believe that there is, in fact, a God!

When half is unequal

By Analee

Guk mal! (Translation: Look!)

Da! (There!)

Auto (Car)

Ja/Nein (Yes/No)

Mehr (More)

Was? (What?)

Those are the words that my 1 ½ year old son has been using, and they are all in German. Even his way of catching our attention is in German: he says Hallo instead of Hello. When he falls down, he says hopalla instead of the easier "ooops." Thank God, he still says Mama and Papa instead of Mutti and Vater.

I know that my bi-racial son will grow up to be multilingual. Apart from German, Tagalog and English will definitely be spoken by him. Not only language, but my culture should also be imbued in him. That is what I aspire to do.

As he grows older and expands his vocabulary, I cannot stop my heart from literally aching everytime I hear him speak more German. And, even this early, I can see him becoming more and more German. This is our reality -- he is half-German and we do live in Germany. I have accepted that fact but my heart and mind still shout "unfair" every time the truth stares me in the face: he is more German than Filipino.

The immature part of me would want it to be equal -- that he would get a fair share of my culture. But, sadly, that is not how it works. I am outnumbered. By the influence of his environment, more than anything else. I am not saying that it is bad for him to be more German than Filipino. Just that, in my mind and in my heart, I would have wanted him to be more Filipino. After all, isn't our home country and our own culture always the best in our eyes?

I guess, in the end, it will not matter so much which culture has influenced him more. As long as he has the right values, it should be okay. Right? Besides, when he grows older, I will probably be more concerned that he does not suffer from the prejudice of others just because he is biracial.

What works for one...

By Analee

Have you ever gone out with your child and seen some onlooker with disapproval on his/her face? Have you ever received unsolicited advice about how you should handle your own child? Have you ever heard a loud tsk-tsk behind you when your toddler starts one of his tantrums? 

This week, I went out with my 15-month-old son. Since I knew that I was going to eat at the fair where they sell mostly junk food, I made sure that I had something for him.  When we finally sat down to rest, I unpacked his little backpack and gave him his drink and cookies. I looked up a few seconds later and there was this old woman shaking her head from side to side, with a look of distaste on her face. For a moment there, I experienced insecurity and wondered if, in this simple act, I did something wrong.

The same thing happens whenever Jan-Patrick would practice his stacking abilities and climb up. Distract him, I will try. Admonish him, maybe. And if he still insists, let him climb up, I will. Most of the time, a frown or tsk-tsk is thrown my way.

There are times when I am guilty of disapproving of someone else's parenting style. However, I refrain from showing even a hint of censure. Because what works for one, may not work for another. The fact that a lot of people forget that fact exasperates a lot of parents, including me.

I let my child feed himself. Even if it means stained shirts and sticky fingers. Nothing that a few wet tissues would not solve. Priceless are the moments when he would beam at me as if to say, "Look Ma, I fed myself!" 

I let my child take risks. Even at a young age, I let him discover his own strengths and weaknesses. If he insists on doing something that might hurt him, even after several warnings, I let him. As long as it would not hurt him seriously and as long as I see that this simple experiment of his would result in him discovering something new. And, if he does get hurt on occasion, mommy will be there to comfort him.

I choose not to be over-protective because I want my son to develop self-esteem and self-confidence. This can only be achieved through practice. If he makes mistakes then so be it. It will not be the end of the world. He may cry, yes, but he will also learn.

My parenting style has been getting a lot of flak, even from friends. Some even choose to misunderstand my approach and say that I neglect my child. Despite the censure, I will encourage him to experiment and try out new things so that he will later grow up with a sanguine temperament -- someone who can deal with changes and can handle whatever it is that life throws at him.

Like every parent, I will strive to be loving, patient and consistent with my child. The only difference is that I may need more wet tissues.

Electric cords? I like!

By Analee

I cannot hear the little guy in the background anymore. Me thinks, he is up to no good. *calls husband to check* That means, he may be trying to get into the kitchen. Or, he could be eating something that he is not supposed to, like his favourite -- electric cords.

One can only do so much when it comes to child-proofing a house. I have even already given up and accepted that some of my things eventually will get destroyed. I've observed that a child is always very good at finding things that one has overlooked. What I have forgotten to put away, he destroys, plays with and/or eats.

As many toys as he may have, nothing beats playing with what you are not supposed to play with. As an adult, I can understand that.

As parents, all my husband and I can do is try to keep an eye on our son and everything that he may be attracted to all the time. Luckily, when we moved some months ago, we were able to start anew with what we have in our house. Our old flat was, for a toddler, an accident waiting to happen. So, when we transferred, we went on a child-proofing frenzy and bought furniture with his safety in mind. It may not look as chic as we want it to be, but at least it's safe -- until he grows an inch or realizes there's more trouble out there, that is. Then, we'll have an entirely different set of fears and child-proofing concerns, which should be solved by a little trip to Ikea and an even more observant pair of eyes.

Traveling toddler

By Analee

Jan-Patrick was 4 months old when I took him with me on his first flight. We flew from Frankfurt to Manila for 14 straight hours. Despite the fact that I did not sleep at all due to paranoia, it was uneventful. A month later, since we were more experienced and confident, we flew again to Paris and then to Amsterdam. The only thing that bothered the little prude in me was the fact that a couple of men seemed to find it normal to start a conversation with me despite the fact that I was trying to breastfeed my son. Whatever happened to discreetly looking away once a woman's breast, a breastfeeding mom at that, is exposed?!

Since li'l Jan has been a good traveler, my husband and I thought that a short trip to Rome would be easy for an 11-month-old. Wrong! We found out later that we should not have compared the reactions of baby Jan to the reactions of now-toddler Jan.

It took three adults to supress his need and want to crawl around while onboard. The stewardess, my husband and I took turns playing with him and distracting him with whatever we could find. His fascination with the 2 new toys from Lufthansa only bought us 10 minutes. Thank God, the flight was only an hour and a half.

Touring around Rome was more difficult. Not the toddler's fault, of course. He was, after all, only acting his age. It was little embarassing though when we joined the 3.5 hour tour of the Vatican. In areas where we were all supposed to hush and look, he was babbling and looking around animatedly. At least, said the guide, he could appreciate the works of Michelangelo at such a young age. If only he knew that Jan has the same reactions when looking around dirty train stations.

Do not even ask what our experience was when he had our first dinner at this chichi restaurant. Let's just say, the succeeding meals were taken in restaurants were they can seat us al-fresco instead of being cooped up inside.

Many times, my husband and I have opined that we would leave Jan with his grandparents on our next trip. I doubt we will, though. As inconvenient as it may have been with a toddler during the tour, I doubt if we would have enjoyed it as much without him. For now, I am looking forward to the time when he is big enough to appreciate traveling.

A working mom's woes

By Analee

I loved being a full-time mother. Everything Jan Patrick did felt like a word of thanks. Whenever he burped, my heart would soar because it was my milk that gave him that satisfaction. Whenever he pooped, no matter how awful it smelled, I felt appreciated because it was my milk that nourished him. Whenever he cried, I felt a sense of pride because he sounded just like me the way I imagined myself as a baby. Yes, at that time, it was me, myself and my baby.

And then, I had to face reality. I had to go back to work and pass him on to someone else's able hands for most of his waking hours. Our lifestyle demands, the kind of life that we also want our son to enjoy, did not allow us the luxury of choice.

I've had my share of sleepless nights worrying about everything and nothing. Nights torturing myself with the thought that my son might mistake his daytime nanny for his mom. I even spent his first full day at the nursery entertaining the thought that I should have given my son a mobile phone so he could call me whenever he missed me. Of course, as it turned out, it was harder for me than for him. He loved having lots of kids to play with.

Four months have passed since I went back to work and I am not yet fully convinced that this is a good arrangement. To keep me sane, I just try to keep in mind that going back to work will give me a bit of intellectual stimulation and make me less grumpy... ergo, a better and happier mom. At least, I have been trying to convince myself that that is true!

I also try to remember his face whenever he plays with other kids. Like other babies, he loves the interaction with his peers. In a way, it does help lessen the pangs of guilt that I get from time to time. And, which I believe will continue to the very end of his childhood.