I'm just using the terminology that Cher used. Don't worry, I don't tell Julia she's a half-breed and if I do, it's usually when she's been bad and after I tell her rainbows are just particles of light, Snow White never existed and her birthday is just any other day.
Prior to having Julia, the idea of having an interracial child never crossed my mind as a negative thing. Ever. Growing up in a multicultural community, I never saw the color of someone's skin. My determination of whether we were friends were based on whether you were an "ass" or not.
It wasn't until Julia was born, did somewhere, in the back of my mind, I breathed a sigh of relief that she came out looking Chinese. It was a thought that surprised me a little because I never even thought I had an "issue" with it, in fact, I never even thought about the issues of having a mixed child. I think I even overheard my mom talking to a relative on the phone and saying "Good thing she looks Chinese!". But that was when Julia was first born, as she's growing, her looks are changing and there are moments when I look at her and I just barely see the Asian in her. My Chinese neighbors, for the first year, constantly commented on how "white" she looked. Seriously. Every time I'd walk out the door, one of the little kids would say "Oh my mom says she looks so white!". I'd go to Dim Sum and the cart ladies would say "Oh she's so white!" Relatives, would say, "Oh, she has beautiful white skin!" Even I, after looking at several pictures with Julia, am often taken aback and think "Who is this white kid on my lap?!"
And I would constantly vent "Why are they telling me she's so white?! She CLEARLY has ASIAN EYES!!! She looks freaking ASIAN!!" and I'd carry on as if looking "white" was a horrible thing...all this venting to my "white" husband and "white" best friend. It'd bother me even more because my parents even seem annoyed by the constant barrage of "white" comments.
And then one day, somebody commented on her "whiteness" and said "She must look like her father". At that point, it sort of all hit home to me. It wasn't that I was bothered by her looking different but by her not carrying on who I am and who my parents are. It's funny, I don't think my parents EVER made the color of our skin a barrier to what we could accomplish and I think that's why my sisters and I came out to be so independent and successful in our own way. But a few years ago, when I was pursuing my certification as a school administrator, my dad said I would never get a job as a director or principal because I was "yellow". Although, I didn't believe him, it still hit me hard that he said that and felt that we were still struggling as minorities. (And my god, he called us "yellow"!!!) So here's Julia, with an opportunity to be more successful because of her skin color and the shape of her eyes, but we're bothered by it. I guess it's the struggle, who we are, how we came to be, our culture and practices that we don't want lost in her. I don't care what Julia looks like, but I just don't want her to forget the Chinese in her...or the Chinese in me.
On faking Supermom and how its totally ok...
For Halloween, Julia's daycare welcomed any food and treat donations. I, naturally, sent Carl out to buy the best looking brownies at our nearest supermarket (as I wasn't going to be that mom who sent in soy brownies with the gluten and dairy free chocolate chips). I unwrapped them, stuffed them into a container from home ensuring each brownie was unevenly cut and sent them in.
I didn't say I baked them, I just said "Oh Ms. Teacher, there's brownies in there", gave my best June Cleaver with my pearly whites gleaming (head tilt and all), and went on my way.
I giggled, devilishly, the entire 30 second walk back to work as if I pulled the best prank ever! (Sad, init?)
I'm not the mom who works hard all week, runs a marathon on the weekend to cure cancer and still has time to go on nature walks with the kids and cook a fantastically healthy, tasty, organic meal for the family.
I'm the mom who after a long, hard day at work, throws herself on the couch, says "Oh, you wanna watch Yo Gabba Gabba? Ok", and wonder what to do in 20 minutes before the show is over or it's time to bring her to the potty. Do I close my eyes? Do I watch Yo Gabba Gabba? Do I check my email? Do I clean? Do I surf the internet? Do I start dinner? Oops, times up! and all I've done thus far was sit up and scratch my head.
So when I can fake feeling organized and prepared, I will. So screw it, let the rest of 'em think I'm spectacular! Nothing wrong with that, now is there?
I didn't say I baked them, I just said "Oh Ms. Teacher, there's brownies in there", gave my best June Cleaver with my pearly whites gleaming (head tilt and all), and went on my way.
I giggled, devilishly, the entire 30 second walk back to work as if I pulled the best prank ever! (Sad, init?)
I'm not the mom who works hard all week, runs a marathon on the weekend to cure cancer and still has time to go on nature walks with the kids and cook a fantastically healthy, tasty, organic meal for the family.
I'm the mom who after a long, hard day at work, throws herself on the couch, says "Oh, you wanna watch Yo Gabba Gabba? Ok", and wonder what to do in 20 minutes before the show is over or it's time to bring her to the potty. Do I close my eyes? Do I watch Yo Gabba Gabba? Do I check my email? Do I clean? Do I surf the internet? Do I start dinner? Oops, times up! and all I've done thus far was sit up and scratch my head.
So when I can fake feeling organized and prepared, I will. So screw it, let the rest of 'em think I'm spectacular! Nothing wrong with that, now is there?
On how I'm a bad mommy (sometimes) and why I'm ok with it...
Today a couple of coworkers at work jokingly asked me if I "ABA" my child. 'Tisn't the first time anyone has ever asked me that, in fact, I've been asked that quite often and usually in an almost rhetorical way.
They'll say, "Do you use ABA on your child?" (Smirk, smirk, smirk). But their faces will read, "Cuz I know you don't, I just know you don't! Otherwise your child would be perfect! And your child is not, because raising a child is beyond all specialized type of instruction and learning, raising a child is speeeshul! And your ABA ain't gonna do nottin' and you know it!" (I'm not exactly sure why they end up speaking with an accent but that's how it translates over to me....)
I could go on and on about how ABA isn't just a bunch of strategies pulled out of an "ABA for Dummies" book that I use or how I apply it to every aspect of my life, but I won't because people never get that. If I do, they tend to look at me as if I've taken a step too far into the world of "crazy", as if I'm one of those Star Trek fanatics that live their day to day lives as a "Trekkie" and speak fluent Klingon.
But I will say this, Behaviorism is how I understand why people do what they do. Most times I use that knowledge and apply it in hopes that it teaches Julia specific behaviors that will help her in life. But Julia isn't perfect, because outside of work, my role isn't always "teacher". There are days, a lot of days might I add, that Julia is behaving badly, but I just don't have the time or energy to do any thing about it. It takes too much effort and the easiest thing for me to do at the moment is to engage in whatever behavior to make the her stop being an evil beast the quickest. It doesn't mean that ABA doesn't work or is impossible to do or doesn't apply to life outside of autism. I still understand and apply the same principles but I don't always apply the right ones. It just means that I am not a "teacher" 24:7. Sometimes I'm a "wife", sometimes a "best friend", most times a "mommy", a "drunk" when I'm with my girlfriends, sometimes an "internet geek" and other times just "Mariann".
They'll say, "Do you use ABA on your child?" (Smirk, smirk, smirk). But their faces will read, "Cuz I know you don't, I just know you don't! Otherwise your child would be perfect! And your child is not, because raising a child is beyond all specialized type of instruction and learning, raising a child is speeeshul! And your ABA ain't gonna do nottin' and you know it!" (I'm not exactly sure why they end up speaking with an accent but that's how it translates over to me....)
I could go on and on about how ABA isn't just a bunch of strategies pulled out of an "ABA for Dummies" book that I use or how I apply it to every aspect of my life, but I won't because people never get that. If I do, they tend to look at me as if I've taken a step too far into the world of "crazy", as if I'm one of those Star Trek fanatics that live their day to day lives as a "Trekkie" and speak fluent Klingon.
But I will say this, Behaviorism is how I understand why people do what they do. Most times I use that knowledge and apply it in hopes that it teaches Julia specific behaviors that will help her in life. But Julia isn't perfect, because outside of work, my role isn't always "teacher". There are days, a lot of days might I add, that Julia is behaving badly, but I just don't have the time or energy to do any thing about it. It takes too much effort and the easiest thing for me to do at the moment is to engage in whatever behavior to make the her stop being an evil beast the quickest. It doesn't mean that ABA doesn't work or is impossible to do or doesn't apply to life outside of autism. I still understand and apply the same principles but I don't always apply the right ones. It just means that I am not a "teacher" 24:7. Sometimes I'm a "wife", sometimes a "best friend", most times a "mommy", a "drunk" when I'm with my girlfriends, sometimes an "internet geek" and other times just "Mariann".
On translating Julianese....
When Julia started talking, as I would drive her to my parents early in the morning, she'd say "Mama die!"
Me, being completely rationale at 6:45 in the A.M. and being a behavior analyst and educator for many years, would freak out and go "What?! What?! Julia what did you say?! Mama die?!" And Julia would happily munch on her seat belt strap, smile widely with her toothy grin and repeat proudly "Mama die!"
I would then continue the drive for the next 5 minutes with my mind running with, "OH MY GOD! She wants me to die! Or maybe she's predicting my death?! Maybe she's a psychic child...oh my god! Why does she want me to die?! WHAT THE HELL IS SHE SAYING!?!? How does she know the word die?!! Oh my god, someone WANTS ME TO DIE!"
Yeah. Seriously. That was me. Eventually, the thoughts would fade out and I'd slurp some coffee, become somewhat rationale again and forget it until the next time. But it bothered me even to the point that I remember calling Carl up and saying "She keeps saying Mama die! Why is she saying that?!?!"
Months later, when either she became clearer or when I began understanding Julianese (or both), I realized she was saying "Mama drive". Oh. Phew. The sudden realization was although relieving and comical- Oh thank god, she doesn't want me to die! I actually understand her! - it became somewhat less exciting too . Oh, so she's not psychic? Someone's not plotting to kill me off through her?
Trying to translate what the hell Julia is saying has been an interesting experience for me. Although I am the one who understands her the most, I have always thought I would just ALWAYS understand her just because I was her mother. But half the time, I am just as clueless as the next person and I end up just making it up when people look at me quizzically and asks "What did she say?"
"Oh she said Don't touch me!"
"She said she doesn't like it."
"She said she thinks your outfit is hideous!"
"She said she thinks you should be nicer to her mommy and maybe kiss her ass a little..."
Now if only I knew what "bugga bugga" means....
Me, being completely rationale at 6:45 in the A.M. and being a behavior analyst and educator for many years, would freak out and go "What?! What?! Julia what did you say?! Mama die?!" And Julia would happily munch on her seat belt strap, smile widely with her toothy grin and repeat proudly "Mama die!"
I would then continue the drive for the next 5 minutes with my mind running with, "OH MY GOD! She wants me to die! Or maybe she's predicting my death?! Maybe she's a psychic child...oh my god! Why does she want me to die?! WHAT THE HELL IS SHE SAYING!?!? How does she know the word die?!! Oh my god, someone WANTS ME TO DIE!"
Yeah. Seriously. That was me. Eventually, the thoughts would fade out and I'd slurp some coffee, become somewhat rationale again and forget it until the next time. But it bothered me even to the point that I remember calling Carl up and saying "She keeps saying Mama die! Why is she saying that?!?!"
Months later, when either she became clearer or when I began understanding Julianese (or both), I realized she was saying "Mama drive". Oh. Phew. The sudden realization was although relieving and comical- Oh thank god, she doesn't want me to die! I actually understand her! - it became somewhat less exciting too . Oh, so she's not psychic? Someone's not plotting to kill me off through her?
Trying to translate what the hell Julia is saying has been an interesting experience for me. Although I am the one who understands her the most, I have always thought I would just ALWAYS understand her just because I was her mother. But half the time, I am just as clueless as the next person and I end up just making it up when people look at me quizzically and asks "What did she say?"
"Oh she said Don't touch me!"
"She said she doesn't like it."
"She said she thinks your outfit is hideous!"
"She said she thinks you should be nicer to her mommy and maybe kiss her ass a little..."
Now if only I knew what "bugga bugga" means....
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