Local Mom "Does Not Negotiate With Toddlers"

January 4, 2014--Boston, Massachusetts.

Local wife and mother Samantha Liang stated at a press conference this evening that she does not negotiate with toddlers. This statement comes mere hours after dinner, during which Liang's 3 year old daughter, Emma, refused to eat her vegetables.

"I am the sole owner and distributor of desserts in this household," said Liang. "All I require is that the other members of my household eat two good bites of whatever vegetable is served. Failure to eat vegetables will result in the withholding of dessert."  When asked if her monopoly over desserts gave her an unfair advantage in negotiations, she replied, "It does give me an advantage, but not an unfair one. I do not negotiate with toddlers. To conciliate differences with a child without them eating their vegetables is sacrifice my position as a parent and reduce me to merely the tallest person in the house."

Most have taken these terms set in stride, eating "two good bites" or more of vegetables at every meal. Two good bites, our sources confirm, is approximately two tablespoons. In a protest demonstration this evening, however, one toddler chewed the same bite of kale for almost 6 minutes, trying at least once to spit it out and feed it to the dog. Eventually she caved into pressure from local authorities and swallowed the leafy green. She was then allowed to have applesauce, in accordance with Liang's terms of distribution.

Giving Up Clothes for the New Year

Don't be frightened. I'm not going nude. Well, not yet, anyway.

I haven't made a New Year resolution since Jimmy Buffet and Martina McBride recorded "Trip Around the Sun" in 2004. But this year I'm breaking my resolution "to never make another one," to give up buying myself clothes. I'm also giving up haircuts and new makeup.

I could tell you that I'm doing this because I want to learn to appreciate what I have. I could also say that I've spent the last year trying to "buy" self-confidence with the things I put on, that I want to teach my children to be comfortable in their own skin, and that I need to learn to love my body as it is. Those things are all true, but the real reason I'm doing it is because of money.

I haven't checked the numbers, (I don't really want to know) but I bet that if I were to add up all the money I spent on clothes, haircuts, and makeup this year, it would be well over $500. That's a lot of spending, and for what? So my 3 year old or infant can say, "Pardon me for saying so, Mommy, you look simply fantastic today! Is that a new top? Eyeshadow?"

I have a whole drawer of makeup, most of which I never use. My closet is packed with clothes, but I only wear the t-shirts. And my haircuts every other month cost upwards of $50. I have plenty of shoes to get me through the year, too. I'm going to spend the next 12 months cultivating independent (free) self-confidence, because the buzz I get from buying a new thing to make me look fabulous is wearing my wallet thin.

Tomorrow I am going to Target to buy some socks, underwear, and a new case of mineral powder, because I'm low on those and it's my birthday. But that's it for the year. If my new socks get holes, I'll borrow from my husband or wear sandels. If I run out of face powder, I'll just have to go natural. If I run out of underwear.... well then I'll have to break my resolution. (But I'm not anticipating another pregnancy so I shouldn't have any problems on that front.) No new dresses in the summer, no new jeans in the fall. The money I'm not spending can go toward student loans, buffering the grocery budget, and paying for all the clothes that Elliot will be wearing this year, because babies need a new wardrobe about every 3 months.

Here's to all the old and gently used things in the New Year. Once I get the hang of not buying, I'm sure it will be a happy one.

The Wrong Paint Job

This is going to sound rude, but I am really tired of hanging out with my Asian girlfriends. Let me explain.

My husband and I, and our two children go out to dinner with my husband's cousin. We order our food. We sip our drinks. The waitress walks by and says to my husband and his cousin, "You two make such a cute couple."

See, I am white. So even though I'm the one sitting next to the Asian guy, I couldn't possibly be his wife. 

Let me explain some more.

I am getting a drink with an (Asian) girlfriend at a nice hotel bar. My husband joins us and we decide to go somewhere else for dinner. My friend picks up the tab. The bartender says, "Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Xu." <<< Our friend's last name. 

See, I am white. So even though my husband greeted the Asian girl with, "Long time, no see," he must be with her, because she is Asian.

Let's see another example, shall we?

I am 3 weeks postpartum, carrying a diaper bag and holding a toddler's hand. Next to me is my husband, lugging a carseat. Slightly behind us is another (Asian) friend, carrying a small, glittery purse. She is approached by a woman walking her dog. "Wow, you sure look great for just having had a baby!" 

See, I am white. So even though I am overweight, and my friend is skinny; even though I have spit-up stains on my shirt and she wears flawless black; even though I am the one answering incessant "Mommy, Mommy!" questions and double checking the carseat buckles, and asking if we packed any formula, and feeling too tired to even put on makeup to cover up the fact that I'm tired; even though the children look incredibly Caucasian, there is an Asian man carrying the carseat, so the Asian woman must be the mom.

"Actually, the baby is mine."

"Oh! Um, well, you look okay, too."

Thanks a lot, lady.

I could go on. You get the idea. I am tired of the message the world is sending me. Sing it with me:

"One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn't belong."

That's me, the one that doesn't belong. Because I'm white. 

And as a woman who gave up her career to raise children, as a woman whose only occupation is a wife and mother, this message is a slap in the face. Because when someone says, "They look so happy together," or "Their kids are so cute," or "His wife is beautiful," what it says to me is "You aren't pretty enough to be his wife." "You obviously aren't a mother." and "You and your husband don't look right together." 

As a dear college friend once quipped, I was born with the wrong paint job. There is nothing I can do to make the world see the rightness in an Asian man with a white woman, except go back out again and be seen, over and over until the world gets it. I guess someone has to. 

Has anyone else ever been snubbed like this? How did you deal with it? Leave your thoughts and handy comebacks in the comments below.

An Open Letter to the Transgender Woman at my Gym

Dear Person,

I'm sorry I can't address you by name.

I first noticed you by your cool headband. I was walking across the lobby of our woman-only gym when the color caught my eye. I turned to look at it, then I did a double take.

I hope--pray even--that the startle didn't register on my face. Then there was the awkward. You looked at me. I looked away. No! I shouldn't look away! This is a person! Look her in the face like anyone else! But you had looked away again. You looked back, I looked away, you looked away, I looked back. It was just unfortunate timing. I saw you smile, though. It was a nice smile.

Panic had set in at that point. I so desperately wanted you to know that I hadn't been staring at you,--that I'd just been looking at your headband. I tried to be casual. Smile back. I wanted to pack as much good will and acceptance into that smile. Was I smiling too much? I probably looked like I was just trying to stare more. I gave up and scurried off to the nursery to get my kids.

I kicked myself as I picked up my kids, walked them to the car and buckled their seat belts. Then I slapped myself for a while on the drive home. What was wrong with me? I'm supposed to be open and accepting. I firmly believe that a transgender woman should have all the rights and respect any other woman has. Why couldn't I just meet your gaze and say, "Nice headband"?

I'll bet situations like this happen to you all the time. I'll bet it gets lonely. I hope I run into you again. Maybe we could have a conversation. Maybe we could be friends. I want a do-over.

I'd like to open these last few paragraphs to all transgender people. Because I am certain this is not the first time this has happened between two people, and it definitely won't be the last.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for all of us that stare without thinking. I'm sorry that some of us are struggling with change, even when we welcome it. I'm sorry that we have a hard time figuring out whether to call you "Sir" or "Mam." I'm sorry for all the stupid things I'm sure we say, some of us trying to prove how okay we are with you, others just being bad at making conversation. While I'm at it, I'm sorry we have anything to prove.

Please be patient with us when we fumble with our pronouns, titles, or other gendered vocabulary. Please don't be discouraged if one of us jumps when you say hello. Please keep smiling if we suddenly look panicked. And please, yes, please tell us if we make a mistake. Tell us if we say something rude or insensitive. Keep us accountable. It is going to take a long time for all of us to learn. Please forgive us when we are thick.

I hope this message is the extension of good will and acceptance I want it to be. I hope it is read by the people who need it most. But I hope, most of all, that it signals a small bit change.

Cheers.

Food and Sanity: Chocolate, Chocolate, Chocolate, Cookies!

Valentine's Day is over, and that means discounted chocolate! Seriously, there is nothing cuter than my husband on Friday, coming home with three bags of peanut butter cups. In addition to the chocolates I bought him the day before Valentine's Day, my parents sent us a care package full of heart shaped chocolates, heart shaped junior mints, and one moderate sized white chocolate bear. The message here is that we have a LOT of candy.

Now, if left to our own devices, we would eat all this candy entirely too quickly. To slow our impending diabetic comas, I have concocted a brilliant plan of pure genius. I call it the Candy Compost Bag!

To keep us happy and not completely deprived of chocolate, I took a small selection of nicer chocolates and put them aside for consumption over the next week. I then took all the rest, unwrapped them, chopped them into little bits and put them in a large ziplock bag in the freezer! Observe.

Here you see two coconut cream candies. Nobody wants to eat them. They are sad

Hiya! I chopped them up with ninja swiftness!

Here they are, combined with other chopped up candy. Now they have friends!

"But, Samantha," you say, "What good are these mangled little morsels of chocolate?" Well, I'll tell you. I now have a magical source of chips for cookies!!!

Use your favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe. I like to use the original Toll House Cookie recipe and add half a pack of instant vanilla pudding for an extra chewy result. Then just add chopped candies instead of chocolate chips!

I'm so jazzed to make cookies tonight! I plan on using half candy bits and half cranberries. They are going to turn out delicious.

Laws of Pregnancy

Your hormones are crazy. 

You are going to cry. 

You will cry over spilt milk. 

You will cry when someone dies in a movie. 

You will cry when long lost lovers in a book are united.  

You will cry when someone says you're beautiful, if someone you love is hurt, 

and when your Pandora radio station plays "Can You Feel The Love Tonight." 

Stock up on tissues.

On Dating Chinese Men: My Three Chinese Romances

Jocelyn Eikenburg over at Speaking of China has asked that some of her blogger readers speak about what it is like to date a Chinese man. Understanding that dating a Chinese man in China and dating a Chinese man in America are two completely different topics, I’d have to say that Chinese men are pretty much like all the other men out there. As I understand it, there is a different set of rules for dating in China, but since I have no firsthand experience on that topic, I’ll stick to what I know.

When it comes down to it, Chinese men are just men. Perhaps they say things differently, show love differently, but I would never try to put all Chinese men into one large category. My three Chinese romances were vastly different.

James was tall, rich, good looking and very full of himself. When he took me to the Valentine’s Banquet my sophomore year of high school, he wore his own tuxedo. I knew he was trouble, but I liked him. He professed undying affection for me and told me I was different from all the other girls. What 15 year old can’t like that? But I knew he was trouble, and so when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I said no.

Turns out, it was a good call. The next day I saw him holding hands with my best friend. Apparently, they’d been “talking” for quite some time and I was the only one who didn’t know. I suppose that was my first “Chinese romance.”

Joe was shy, which made sense because he spoke very little English. He understood more than he could speak, though. I could tell by how agitated he’d get when we all talked about Mr. Least-Favorite-Professor between classes. If a Mandarin speaking classmate were there, he would burst out a short stream of intense feeling to be translated to the rest of us. A conversation with Joe was slow, but always worthwhile, and I enjoyed being with him.

I’m afraid, however, that I frightened the poor guy. I was anything but shy, always willing to share my opinion or jump into a conversation. I tried to be subtle about my interest, but I’m afraid that anyone as shy as Joe would have been scared off by my forwardness. He remains a good friend, but nothing more.

It was almost four years until my next (and final) Chinese romance. In fact, I didn’t expect it to be a romance at all. A blind date with an older man I’d met online was already a bit sketchy. The fact that he was Chinese made him an even less likely candidate. By that time I had encountered a myriad of Asian men, and I found them to be reserved, formal, and a bit awkward. I braced myself for an uncomfortable evening.

The man I met that night completely obliterated my expectations. He put me so at ease that our date lasted well into the morning. After a few weeks of him taking me out to dinner, getting to know my friends, and telling me how beautiful I was without trying to get into my pants, I realized we were falling in love. Of course, the rest is history. I got pregnant (oops), we decided our love would last, and now we’re married with baby #2 on the way!

You can’t generalize about the men of one race. Each man is different. Sometimes I think it would be easier to explain why Mengyao is so wonderful by saying, “Well, he is Chinese,” but the fact is that he is just a guy. Sure, he happens to be Chinese, and that is a big part of who he is, but that’s not what makes him wonderful. He is wonderful because he is wonderful, a fact that would be true if he were Chinese, Taiwanese or Scandinavian.