Thursday, March 28, 2013
I mean, yes, he is a very good kid, but it's not always that way.
There are times, like right now for example while he is trying to catch me with a piece of string and tie me down until I scream, that I want to strangle him.
Obviously, I don't want to harm my child, but it gets to that point where I think to myself "wtf did I get myself into by having a child?!"
I try to set rules and guidelines, but I am also of the belief that children need to be children so I let him do his own thing as well.
For example, I will allow him to draw pretty pictures with markers on his own body or clothing, but I will not allow him to do it on the walls. My reasoning behind it is, the walls belong to all of us, it's something we should respect, but his clothes are his and I don't care if they get stained. He's the one that's going to have to wear them not me.
When it comes to mealtime, we never force him to eat everything. Yes, we encourage him to finish all of the yumminess daddy and mommy worked so hard to make, but he is a such a good healthy eater anyway, so it really doesn't matter if he didn't finish all of the vegetables in his plate once in a while.
What drives me insane though is when he starts playing with food. I loathe it!
Just eat the damn banana dude! You do not have to use the tail of your toy airplane to cut it into pieces...
Recently he has gotten to the point where he likes to yell back. I am not afraid or ashamed to admit that I have raised my voice at him. I refuse to be ordered around by a three year old and my mean voice usually demands attention and respect. But, not too long ago, I heard him yell at Ronald when he asked him to clean something up.
It went something like this:
Ronald: "Luka, go put (insert toy here) away."
Luka: "no.."
Ronald: "Luka, go put (insert toy here again) away please."
Luka: "No!"
Ronald: "Luka carajo guarda ese juguete ahora antes que me moleste!" (Spanish daddy getting angry)
Luka: "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
I couldn't help but laugh, very quietly of course, but I also didn't like that Luka was yelling back. I didn't intervene, I usually don't, unless Ronald comes and asks for help. Then I have to put my angry voice to work to get things done.
So yes, raising this little boy is beautiful, I love that he is his own person that doesn't always agree with me. I mean, I won't admit this to him now, but I am glad that he questions things and pushes boundaries. I want him to carry this with him until he is an adult. Never conform, always ask the why behind anything.
Still, he drives me nuts at least once a day. As he gets older, he finds new ways to test my temper, and the more he does it, the meaner I seem to get. I have to remind myself that I love this child, I carried this child in my now stretch-marked belly for nine months and it was all worth it. Otherwise we might both end up in the front page of all major newspapers saying that some crazy lady hung her kid by the feet while she started chanting to the moon to release the evil spirits from him.
Or something crazy like that...
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Wednesday, March 20, 2013
When I was very little my world were my grand-parents, my hard-working mother and my toys.
We lived very modestly but I had tons of love and I never felt like I missed out.
My mother spoiled me, she bought me everything I wanted most of the time and she even dressed me until I was 10 or 11. Yes, I was that kind of spoiled kid.
Don't judge me, this is not even the point of this post.
The point is, my world was very small, but it was mine.
When I was nine and I came to the US for the first time I learned that there was more to the world than Peru.
I mean obviously, I knew there were other countries out there and oceans and mountains and tons of things, but since I never visited, my world remained small.
As I got older I yearned to go back to Peru to see my family. The older I got, the more I missed it. I would cry at night when nobody could listen to me and pour out my soul with those tears until I became exhausted. My heart ached for my country, my food and my family.
When summer came around each year it was a celebration, I got to go back and enjoy a couple of months with my family.
As far as I knew, Peru was happiness for me.
When it was time to go back to the US, I would cry some more. My grand-mother and I would come up with plans for me to run away or hide for a couple of days so I could miss my flight back and the mysteriously resurface afterwards making it impossible to return.
It sounded good in theory but it was just wishful thinking.
It wasn't until my grand-mother passed away that I understood where my obsession for my country came from.
It was her, it was my grand-mother and everything she meant to me that pulled me towards Peru.
After she died, the idea of Peru wasn't as enticing. Yes, I love visiting, but in the recent years when I have visited, I haven't been jumping for joy yearning for the date to travel. When I am in Peru I go through a mini depression period where all I want to do is sleep and go back home. After a week or so I'm all better and I can enjoy my vacation but the difference is obvious.
I loved going to Peru as a child because I knew my grand-mother would wait for me with tears of happiness in her eyes and all of the wet kisses a little girl could tolerate. She would always ask me what I wanted to be my first meal when I arrived and she would cook it, just for me.
She took me out to do errands, or just ask me to sit with her on the front step of our door to look out at the neighbors. That was true happiness for me. I could sit there for hours with her and not get bored. God I miss that so much, it brings me to tears just thinking about it.
Now when I go to Peru, I sometimes dread going by the house. My mother lives in another house now is more tolerable to be there. But going to my grand-mother's house is like receiving a stab at the heart. I don't talk about this in front of my family often because they won't get it. Yes, I know they miss her too, but the connection I had with her, nobody had and that's one thing I am proud to have had. We were a team, a secret society that functioned underground. Nobody knew what we were up to, just us and it suited us just fine.
So Dear Peru, forgive me if I don't appreciate you enough lately. It's not that I'm not proud of being a Peruvian, but you see, my grand-mother was my Peru. Now that she's gone, I have no real reason to be there. My mother and my sisters can travel to see me if they feel like it, so it's not like I'm never going to see them again if I don't go back. But my grand-mother is gone, so what's left for me over there?
Nothing really, and it's sad.
We lived very modestly but I had tons of love and I never felt like I missed out.
My mother spoiled me, she bought me everything I wanted most of the time and she even dressed me until I was 10 or 11. Yes, I was that kind of spoiled kid.
Don't judge me, this is not even the point of this post.
The point is, my world was very small, but it was mine.
When I was nine and I came to the US for the first time I learned that there was more to the world than Peru.
I mean obviously, I knew there were other countries out there and oceans and mountains and tons of things, but since I never visited, my world remained small.
As I got older I yearned to go back to Peru to see my family. The older I got, the more I missed it. I would cry at night when nobody could listen to me and pour out my soul with those tears until I became exhausted. My heart ached for my country, my food and my family.
When summer came around each year it was a celebration, I got to go back and enjoy a couple of months with my family.
As far as I knew, Peru was happiness for me.
When it was time to go back to the US, I would cry some more. My grand-mother and I would come up with plans for me to run away or hide for a couple of days so I could miss my flight back and the mysteriously resurface afterwards making it impossible to return.
It sounded good in theory but it was just wishful thinking.
It wasn't until my grand-mother passed away that I understood where my obsession for my country came from.
It was her, it was my grand-mother and everything she meant to me that pulled me towards Peru.
After she died, the idea of Peru wasn't as enticing. Yes, I love visiting, but in the recent years when I have visited, I haven't been jumping for joy yearning for the date to travel. When I am in Peru I go through a mini depression period where all I want to do is sleep and go back home. After a week or so I'm all better and I can enjoy my vacation but the difference is obvious.
I loved going to Peru as a child because I knew my grand-mother would wait for me with tears of happiness in her eyes and all of the wet kisses a little girl could tolerate. She would always ask me what I wanted to be my first meal when I arrived and she would cook it, just for me.
She took me out to do errands, or just ask me to sit with her on the front step of our door to look out at the neighbors. That was true happiness for me. I could sit there for hours with her and not get bored. God I miss that so much, it brings me to tears just thinking about it.
Now when I go to Peru, I sometimes dread going by the house. My mother lives in another house now is more tolerable to be there. But going to my grand-mother's house is like receiving a stab at the heart. I don't talk about this in front of my family often because they won't get it. Yes, I know they miss her too, but the connection I had with her, nobody had and that's one thing I am proud to have had. We were a team, a secret society that functioned underground. Nobody knew what we were up to, just us and it suited us just fine.
So Dear Peru, forgive me if I don't appreciate you enough lately. It's not that I'm not proud of being a Peruvian, but you see, my grand-mother was my Peru. Now that she's gone, I have no real reason to be there. My mother and my sisters can travel to see me if they feel like it, so it's not like I'm never going to see them again if I don't go back. But my grand-mother is gone, so what's left for me over there?
Nothing really, and it's sad.
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