Category: Tov

A son made in my image

Published on by Sophia LeeLeave a comment

When Tov was first born, I started imagining.

I imagined how our son will grow up, what his personality will be like, what interests and passions will drive him, who he’ll hang out with. Would he be into sports? Music? Art?

That’s what makes the Korean tradition of doljabi so fun, but also laced with anticipation: What destiny will my 1-year-old pick? As parents of young, not-yet-formed human beings, we have the power to present to our children certain life opportunities, but absolutely no control over which path they will pick, and that’s what makes doljabi a fun, light-hearted way to play-pretend. We lay out only the desirable options for our children’s doljabi, but ultimately, our 1-year-old babies will grab whatever their heart fancies.

I remember for my niece’s doljabi, my sister-in-law refused to include a ball because she didn’t want her daughter to go into sports. I didn’t want to offer sports as an option either, but David would be apoplectic if Tov didn’t like baseball, so I reluctantly allowed him to include a baseball, comforted by the fact that neither of us has athletic talents, so most likely, neither will our children. Our doljabi was not very traditional. Because I would love for Tov to become a journalist like me, I added a reporter’s notebook into his doljabi options, and I also included a globe because I wanted him to be well-traveled and globalized in his worldview.

Tov chose the globe. I rejoiced, even as I knew all this is just a game designed to please the parents’ ambitions for their child, nothing more. Even then, I thought, “I don’t care what Tov chooses to be when he grows up, as long as he’s just like his name– a good person, full of God’s goodness. I will be content with whatever he chooses.”

That was then, when Tov was still very young and malleable. Now that Tov is 3, I realize I might be more ambitious than my professed noble goal for my son. I know it, because I have been fighting some rather strong disappointment that my son– my wonderful, adorable, good son, who is indeed so much like his name– does not seem to be much literary-inclined.

Often with firstborns, there are childhood stories that parents repeat to prove their firstborn is special (these kinds of stories seem to diminish with the younger siblings, interestingly enough). For me, apparently I was about 2 when my parents searched all over the house for me until they finally found me hidden behind a pile of books. I had been “reading” for hours, completely engrossed. There’s another story that apparently prove my unique brightness. According to my parents’ folklore, as a child I had very curious, observant eyes. I would stare at things and people with intensity, as though analyzing them in deep thought, and I remember my parents constantly admonishing me to stop staring at strangers.

Now that I think about this, I don’t think it proves anything about my specialness or intelligence; it sounds like I was a pretty creepy child indeed. But all that to say, my parents told these stories proudly to anyone who would listen, which showed a value they upheld and instilled in me: Intellect.

I too uphold this value. I value minds that think and read and create. I admire people who are well-read, who can quote literary giants, who can discuss Dostoevsky and Kierkegaard and C.S. Lewis. If I’m completely honest, I probably uphold that value higher than any other virtues such as goodness, gentleness, self-control. And that value system is becoming more blatantly obvious as I watch Tov grow from a baby to a boy, as I take him to the library and offer to read him books, but he’d rather just run and climb between the bookshelves. Or when five seconds after I pointed out the letter “A” to Tov, he’s already forgotten what it is. My literary ambitions for my child is even more abundantly clear when I meet other kids similar to his age who love reading, have a strong grasp of language, and can recite entire books front to back. I can’t stand those kids. I hate them, really.

One evening, I was trying to read a book with Tov, when as always, he kept grabbing the page from me and interrupting me, fixating on that one page with the picture he likes. “What’s that?” he asked, for the fifteenth time.

“Oh my God, Tov, can I just finish this book!” I cried, losing my patience, yanking the book away and startling the poor little boy, who just wanted to look at the orange ball again and again.

At that moment, so many thoughts were flicking through my head, all poking at perceived flaws in my son: Why can’t Tov just sit through a book? Why does he only want to read this one stupid book? Why doesn’t he like books? Are we letting him watch too many stupid firetruck shows on YouTube? Why hasn’t he learned his letters yet? I’ve been trying to teach him his ABCs for months now! Is it the screen time? My niece could memorize the entire Brown Bear book by his age; why can’t he? God, we need to stop letting him watch shows, it must be rotting his attention span!

Oh, the slash of terror: What if…God forbid, my son never likes to read? What if my son is not very intelligent? What if…Good God!– my son becomes an atrocious writer? And, to my self-dismay, what I felt then was shame. Shame, that my flesh-and-blood might not carry this value that I hold so dear. Shame, at the thought of my son struggling with math and spelling and grammar.

And then, of course, I felt instant shame at my shame. Is this what I’m really all about? I, a professed Christian, called to set apart from the world, has allowed secular standards to infiltrate my value system, and it’s going to impact my parenting and shape my children. But is it not an instinctual, parental desire to create my child to my own likeness?

I wrestled with this thought for months.

I don’t think that wanting my children to love and read books, to have deep critical thinking skills, and to cultivate a rich intellectual mind is a bad thing. I know it’s a worthy and good goal to try to instill these values into my children’s education, which will serve them well in life, and raise them as solid citizens of the world.

It’s also healthy and natural for me to want to share my passions and interests with my own children. Just like David can’t wait to take our children to their first baseball game, I can’t wait to read the Harry Potter books with my children, and also The Good Earth, Jane Eyre, East of Eden, The Brothers Karamazov, and discuss them together.

What I struggle with is how much I want it. How much it’s insidiously tied to my own ego, ambition, and identity. And how disappointed, frustrated, and mad I fear I’ll get if they fail to meet my standards.

People say Tov looks like me, which pleases me, because I think Tov is a very handsome boy— no bias at all. And maybe, if I’m brutally honest, I’d like people to also say Tov is sharp and intelligent because that too reflects well on me. Because those are values I hold high and dear. Because I want Tov to fit my ideals of a worthy person, and create him according to my image, when he has already been wonderfully and fearfully made in the image of God.

As a parent, I have the responsibility to raise my children to be the best person they can be, to stretch their weak points and cultivate their strong points. But it’s also my responsibility– and joy– to get to know and understand who they already are as a person, and delight in how God created them, just as they are. There’s a fine balance between accepting who my child is, and recognizing that they have more potential, and then pushing them lovingly and firmly towards it. It’s this fine balancing act that make my head twirl and my heart clench. Man, parenting requires so much wisdom and discernment. There’s just so many life-altering decisions and judgments that I feel, at this current moment, so ill-equipped to make. Lord, help me.

Tov is still only 3. I have yet to see all the hidden parts of Tov. He has yet to emerge from his chrysalis, yet to fully spread his wings. He might still learn to love books. Or he might not. My brother was raised the same way I was, with the same parents, and he is still not a reader, but he has many other interests and capabilities that I don’t have.

So what can I do?

I still want to do what I can to foster a rich intellectual life for my children. So I plan to take Tov and Woori to the library once a week. I can keep surrounding them with books, keep reading with them, and let them see me read.

And also: I can just relax and enjoy who they are.

That’s easy enough. Tov truly is a wonderful person. He is kind and empathetic and sweet and resilient and curious and fun. He loves his little sister, loves his umma and abba, loves his teachers and friends, loves laughing and rolling and the color pink and fire trucks and Lightning McQueen and listening to music and collecting rocks.

I adore 3-year-old Tov. He makes my heart so full. And I’m so proud to be his umma.

Tov’s first Disneyland trip

Published on by Sophia LeeLeave a comment

The last time I was at Disneyland was three years ago with David, when Tov was but a fetus tucked into my womb, his presence only having just been revealed to his soon-to-be parents.

It was our babymoon. We booked a hotel near Disneyland, to which I lugged my new best friend, a giant slug of a pregnancy pillow, and then spent a whole day at Disneyland, grousing about the lines and the crowds. I remember for the first time noticing how many strollers there were at Disneyland. I had previously been completely blind to them, but all of a sudden, I noticed parking areas for strollers, double strollers, four-seat quad strollers, bougie strollers, cheap-as-plastic strollers, rental strollers, everrrrrrrywhere. How had I never noticed the tens of thousands of strollers zipping around Disneyland?

Oh, those were my before-kids days, when my eyes didn’t even register babies, toddlers, or any young children whose heads reached under my waist.

Three years later, I am back to Disneyland, this time with an almost-3-year-old and a 8-month-old, testing out our super-nifty, ultra-lightweight Zoe double stroller for the first time. My last visit to Disneyland, my biggest luggage was my pregnancy pillow and my skincare products. This time, I had two full bags jammed with about a dozen different snacks, water bottles, four extra sets of clothes, diapers, wet wipes, teethers, and God knows what else, and I STILL forgot the kids’ sunscreen.

And man, was I excited! It was Tov’s first ever Disneyland experience! We decided to take him there just before he turned 3– young enough not to have to pay a ticket, and old enough to really appreciate the magic of Disney.

“We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow!” I kept telling Tov the day before, and although the kid had no idea what Disneyland or Disney is, has no idea who Mickey and Donald and Goofy are, he grinned and gleamed as though he knew wherever that was, it was gonna be awesome.

The next morning, we woke him up with excited cheers: “We’re going to Disneyland!”

David dressed him in his favorite T-shirt– a hand-me-down, imitation Lightning McQueen blue T-shirt bought from the Philippines– while I bustled around getting all the snacks and my coffee ready, and then we were off! I was so excited I didn’t even fall asleep on our way there.

Oh, the wonderful magic of Disney! First, we got on the 50-minutes-long “line up to get into the car park” ride. And then, we got on the 15-minute “line up to get on the tram” ride. Then! A “line up for the restroom” ride. And then! The “line up for the security screening” line. And then, dum dum dum, here comes the “line up to get through the entrance” line!

Altogether, it was almost two hours of breathless, thrilling waiting in long lines so that we can line up 40 more minutes for the Astro Orbiter ride, which lasted all of 5 minutes. Is THIS the magic of Disney? We are all magicked into happily lining up for hours and hours under the scorching California sun, grinning and sweating under our Mickey ears, and then leave the park saying, “That was fun! What a great day”

Yes. That’s pretty much how our day went. We spent a small part of our day with my friend Joyce, her husband Tyler, and their sons Cían and Taigh until they left around 2pm, and we chugged on for more than five hours. We rode on a total of four rides. One of them was Pirates, which David was most excited about, except Tov yelled, “I want to go out!” soon after the ride took off.

He loved Astro Orbiter though, and rode it twice– once with David, once with me. It’s this rocket ship ride that lifts you high into the air and spins you round and round, and I HATED every second of it, close to puking and passing out from dizziness. Grimacing, I looked down at my son who was leaning against me, smiling with his mouth open, his hair flailing in the wind, and that redeemed every agonizing second.

After we got off the Astro Orbiter, the ground was still spinning around me, and I felt every ounce of the greasy turkey leg I just ate churning in my stomach like cement in a concrete mixer truck. David tried to take Tov to the Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters, which we know would be so fun for Tov, but he refused, afraid of the dark indoors, too much like Pirates.

So we ambled instead. We got Tov a strawberry ice cream cone bigger than his face– his first real cone!– and while we sat by the sidewalk, watching all the other Disneylanders pass by, he licked and licked and licked his cone until the whole thing was gone into his belly.

Then, because Tov had been asking for a lollipop all day, David caved and got him a cherry lollipop, also the size of his face.

On any other day, I would have gotten very annoyed that we are giving him so much sugar, but I shook it off– eh, it’s Disneyland. There’s only one first experience of Disneyland, and half the joy of Disney is being able to eat all the sugar you want.

Of course, we had to go to California Adventureland, where Tov got to meet his hero, Lightning McQueen, and take a picture with him.

We also got him a set of toy Cars that light up underneath, and oh, the joy on his face! He really doesn’t need more car toys, but really, we bought the set for ourselves– for that momentary, yet eternally pleasing, joy of seeing the delight on his face.

It might have been Tov’s first Disneyland trip, but it was my best Disneyland experience.

I remember the first time I came to Disneyland, I was 12, on a family trip from Singapore to the United States. Back then a Disneyland ticket cost a lot less, but it was still significant, especially for a missionary’s income. I thought it was so magical. I don’t even remember most of the day, but all I remember is how in awe I was of that place, how I deemed it the most magical experience in my life, and to this day, I can still taste the leftover pixie dust from that trip. And I remember too how happy my parents were that day, not because they enjoyed Disneyland, but because they kept looking at our faces, grinning at our grins, excited at our excitement, wondrous at our wonder.

“Did you have fun?” abba kept asking us as the day ended, and each time we nodded happily, he beamed.

And now, full circle, here I am, a mother myself, grinning at my son’s grins, excited at his excitement, wondrous at his wonder, a child again through my child.

I actually did not even mind waiting in line, because that was a rare Tov-and-omma-only time, in which I got to hug him, lift him, spin him, kiss him, for the full 40 minutes we waited in line. I squeezed his hands, still little in my own adult hands, marveling that this boy with a real neck and sweat odor was, last time I was here, a curled, thumb-suckling mystery in my womb.

That chapter of my free, childless days has closed, and then the newborn baby chapter opened and closed, and now here I am, in the last few paragraphs of the toddler chapter, feeling so incredibly thankful and sad at the same time.

While Tov was eating his ice cream and I sat by him, holding Woori and people-watching, I saw an Indian family standing near us. It was an older couple and an old lady in a wheelchair with a long, grey braid, who was, like Tov, licking happily on an ice-cream cone. While we were at Disneyland to treat our child, it was clear they were at Disneyland to treat their mother.

For some reason, that scene moved me. They were enjoying the same moment as David and I, but flipped generationally. For this family, a chapter had opened and closed as well: The chapter of their mother taking care of them had long closed; the chapter of their young parenthood days have also closed; and here they are now, probably with adult children long out of the house, here to relive the Disney magic with their aging mother, before she got too frail for Disney.

I hugged Woori closer to me, as she wobbled on her tippy toes and scratched my face with her sharp tiny nails. She is still a baby now, but the next time we come to Disneyland, she might be a running toddler, and Tov a Kindergartener. And who knows? Maybe one day they’ll be the ones taking David and me to Disneyland in wheelchairs. By then, so many chapters would have opened and closed, opened and closed, each with its dragons and witches, each with its adventures and feasts and magic like this day at Disneyland.

At about 7:30 pm, as both kids started to fade and Tov was no longer running around licking walls and pavements like King Nebuchadnezzar when he turned mad, we got in line to ride the tram back to the parking lot.

In front of us stood a young Arab family, a good-looking couple and their young toddler son. They too were saddled with a stroller and diaper bags and all the goddarn tools a parent needs to keep tantrums and blowouts at bay. As we struggled to hoist all our stuff onto the tram, every one of us weak with exhaustion and overstimulation, the mother commented wryly, “I don’t know why we pay so much to do this.”

But we do it anyway, and we’ll do it again, because that cliche is so true: Time passes so fast. They grow up so fast. And at Disney, time seems to stand still for a day. At Disney, we all turn into a child, from the grey-braided old Indian lady to this young tired mother in a hijab. It doesn’t matter if there are dozens more chapters of our life left, or if we’re on the last chapter— here at Disney, the magic goes on and on, passed from generation to generation.

That’s the magic of Disney.

And as David and I drove back onto the 5 freeway, while Woori shrieked in her car seat and Tov complained that the baby is “too loud,” we looked at each other and said, “That was fun! What a great day!”

Tov is definitely jealous

Published on by Sophia LeeLeave a comment

I tried really hard to not let Tov feel like he’s lost a mother when Woori was born.

The first time he met Woori at the hospital, I made sure she was in the bassinet, not in my arms. I held him and cuddled him and gave him lots of attention. I still bake with him as much as he wants. When I’m nursing Woori and he’s around, I am pushing toy cars on the arms of the nursing chair with him, singing songs with him, reading him books. I leave Woori in the car when I drop him off and pick him up at school, so that he has my full attention and I’m not hip-hugging him goodbye or hello.

But things have changed. I don’t put him to bed as much anymore; David does that. I don’t greet him when he first wakes up; David does that. I don’t give him baths; David does that. I’m not the one pushing his wagon when we go on walks; David does that.

Having two young kids under 3 is kind of like being single parents in the same household, each assigned to one kid. Honestly, it’s helped assuage some of the resentment I’ve had towards David about unequal parental duties, but at the cost of losing undivided time with Tov. When I am taking care of Tov, it’s almost always with Woori sitting on my lap, or me shuttling from one kid’s urgent need to the other’s.

So as much as I’ve tried, Tov is sensing the loss. He’s overall a very affectionate, sweet big brother— he loves kissing and hugging Woori, even though half the time he’s either squishing or head-butting or chokeslamming her, all in the name of brotherly affection. For the first several months, he didn’t show signs of jealousy. He would forget about her, then obsess over her, then run off to his own thing again— all the normal classic toddler narcissism, in which he has little emotional and mental capacity to consider anyone else but himself. But never jealousy.

And then. It’s starting.

Woori is now five months, and around the mid-four month mark, Tov all of a sudden started hitting her— not unintentionally in the spirit of fun, but willfully, deliberately, spitefully. I can see the shift by the expression in his face. It’s not hee hee look what I’m doing! but I’ll show you! He’s not giggling but serious— his lips pursed, his eyes hard, his brows snapped close with intent.

And there’s no guile or sneakiness about it, either. He doesn’t do it behind our backs but when we are watching. As if to make a point.

One morning, I was trying to nurse Woori to sleep when I saw him stomping into the room, his palm up straight and hard like a paddle. He comes stomp stomp stomping with a purpose over to us, and while I’m watching, while I’m telling him to step away, raised that palm up and smacked Woori over the head. Not once, but again and again, smack smack smack! I fruitlessly told him to stop it, trying to lift Woori out of the way, until by the third smack I had to physically push him, and he fell back on his bottom.

“I told you to STOP!” I yelled at him, and he stared up at me in amazement. Then he lifted his chin up to the sky like a wolf and howled. Fat globes of tears ran down his cheeks as he sobbed with sorrow, and I felt both sad and tickled at his theatric, but also very real and sincerely felt, emotions.

By then Woori was also wailing, startled awake from having had her head slapped in the middle of a drowsy feed. I shushed her as fast as I can, then put her down and picked up Tov and comforted the other heartbroken kid. She quieted down quickly, but Tov needed a longer cuddle. He didn’t need words from me about not to hit his sister— he hears that all the time— he just needed a hug that gave him both my arms and both my eyes.

Oh, how he sobbed. Like he had lost his mother, though he doesn’t understand that, doesn’t understand how and why he feels this way, cannot articulate it to me or to himself. It is a tough age to suddenly become a big brother, to share your parents with someone smaller and needier than you are, even though you are still very small and needy yourself.

I, too, was a big sister, though now at 37, I can’t remember how I felt when my parents brought home a newborn baby brother. I must have had big feelings then too, confusing and terrible feelings, but none of those feelings have left a mark on me 35 years later, so I know Tov will be fine, but I also know that right now, all these changes is a freaking big deal to him.

So I try. I try not to get mad at him when he mistreats his sister. I try not to have big reactions, which I suspect is what he wants— attention, any kind of attention, even the bad ones. I teach him to shake Woori’s hand instead of punching her, to cycle her legs instead of kicking her, and he seems to enjoy that. Now whenever he hits her, I look at him and he amends his behavior by shaking her hand, looking up at me for approval.

Still, I know he’s jealous. When I give Woori anything, Tov snatches it away. I give her a rattler; he wants it. I give her a teething toy; he wants it. I give her a wooden bus; he drops everything and rushes over to grab it out of her hands. I give her a ladle, then a spoon, then a Tupperware lid; he snatches them one by one away until he’s amassed a hill of items that he doesn’t care for other than the fact that he doesn’t want his sister to have it.

Poor Woori. Right now she’s defenseless, and doesn’t know even to protest when her oppa rudely wrestles her toys away from her little fingers. But one day she’s gonna fight back. Like the time when Tov rolled over her and her hands closed over his thick tufts of hair and pulled hard, eliciting yelps of pain from her brother.

Did I tell Woori to stop it? No, no I didn’t. Because Tov kind of deserved it, and he needs to know his jealous bouts have consequences.

Tov, you gotta watch out. Woori’s not gonna take this lying down for much longer.