Wayne, my seven-year-old, second grader, whined like a newborn baby without his bottle, the minute his eyes blinked open from me waking him up.  I had to sit with him on his bed threatening coaxing him to quiet down and get off his bed to get ready for school.  Of course, it didn’t help that Mother Nature decided to have a cold festival on the same day Wayne had his whine festival, making it more difficult for him to crawl out of his delectably warm bed.  After two hugs, three kisses, two threats to take away his Christmas toys and ground him until eternity, and two promises to buy him a new toy and a Burger King Junior Whopper, he finally calmed down and crept off the bed.

By now, we were running late, so I quickly dressed, skipped combing my hair and rushed to get the monkeys out the door with my hair looking like an old, overly-used mop.  As I held the front door open and hurried the kids along, I noticed Kal trying to sneak out the door with the same dirty clothes he had on from the day before.  Calling him by his first, middle, and last name, I demanded that he tell me why he was wearing the same grimy, muddy clothes that he had worn to the car shop the day before.  Stare and shrug was my answer, so I ordered him to change his clothes.

Five minutes later, he walked back out from his room, claiming that he had no other clothes to wear.  His pants no longer fit him or were too noticeably ripped to wear.  When did this short, bony boy become too big for his britches?  There was no way he could have grown that much, so I spent five more minutes rummaging through his muddled up pile of clothes on the floor, but to no avail as every pair of pants he owned were either high waters on him or looked like they had been thrown mistakenly into the paper shredder.  Whatever creative feats little boys do with their pants to make them look like that, I guess I will never know.  I tried asking my husband once and got this long, long explanation that went nowhere, so since then, I have tried to avoid asking.

However, Kal still had no pants. Lucky for him, his mom was a genius!  I rushed to my closet where I had bags of pre-pregnancy clothes from even before I had my oldest daughter, Autumn.  Despite my husband’s begging, I couldn’t bare throwing out perfectly good clothes that I knew I could fit into again one day with just a little more exercising (which will happen someday).  I practically tore the bags open as I dug through them until I spotted the smallest pair of boyish-looking, baggy jeans that I could find.  Although Kal fussed and sqealed, he finally put the pants on and somehow or another, they fit with just a little slack at the waist, which was nothing that a belt couldn’t fix (Yes, I used to be that tiny *sighs*). I guess my husband will now have to thank me for being such a genius and a pack rat.

Anyway, we were finally ready to head out the door with just fifteen minutes left before 8:00 (which was when school started)!  That’s when my daughter called from the living room, “Mom, school starts at ten today!  It was just on the news.”

1)  Spend more time with and show more appreciation for my family.  I love my family and do all that I can to support my husband and each of my kids.  I am there for them, praise and help them, and do all that I can for them; however, this year, I want to take more time to do special things for each of them to show them that I appreciate them.  Through the busy and hurried confines of everyday life, I think my feelings of gratitude sometimes aren’t conveyed very well.

2)  Grow and manage our finances better so that we can save.  We aren’t people that like to splurge, and rarely do we find ourselves dining in fine restaurants reserved for only the wealthy.  However, if we could cut the costs of unnecessary things (like spending high dollars on extra cell phone internet) or substitute non-name brand items for more expensive items, we could save a little here and there.  We probably won’t become millionaires, but every little bit still counts in this economy.  Finding more creative ways to market and grow our tire and car business to bring in more income will probably also help us in being able to put money away.

3)  Make healthy choices.  I am not talking about stuffing myself with only tofu-made concoctions and salads everyday.  I am not a going to be the food Nazi here.  However, if I moderate what I eat and when I eat it, change some cooking methods (e.g. broiled versus fried), and balance exercise with moderated eating habits, I can still achieve the same results.

After thinking long and hard about these goals, I also realize that these and other goals that I set for myself are not set in stone and that I may need to change them to meet the demands of our busy, ever-changing life and world.  Too many times have I clutched ignorantly to New Year’s resolutions made at the beginning of the year.  Too often have I felt defeat when I don’t meet those goals because things in my life have changed one way or another and I have been too rigid with myself in trying to meet my goals.  This year, I vow to keep my goals attainable by changing how I can accomplish each goal when I need to, or by changing them altogether if they no longer apply to my life. With that said, I hope that you have resolved your own resolution frustrations, if any, and again, have a blessed New Year!

As you may or may not have known, this is our family’s “second” New Year’s celebration.  Our first festivities took place during the Hmong New Year which was observed during the weekend of Thanksgiving.  This celebration was of a larger, more traditional capacity involving the whole Hmong community.  Below is the repost of the Hmong New Year festival (with pictures from Texas) for your pleasure if you wish.  I do apologize for the length and style as this was one of my earlier posts, so the writing may be a little “drier” than what you’re used to.  With that, I would like to wish all of you in my blogging-sphere “Nyob Zoo Xyoo Tshiab,” Happy New Year!

HMONG NEW YEAR NOTES

No, I really am not confused nor am I trying to confuse you. This really is a post on the New Year. I know some of you are wondering why I am not writing a post on Thanksgiving or on Christmas when those holidays precede the New Year. That’s because the Hmong New Year celebration in Texas is this weekend, November 27 and 28. This is our family’s first Hmong New Year celebration in Texas, so we are truly looking forward to it. I can’t tell you much about this New Year celebration yet, as it hasn’t happened. However, I can talk a little about a Hmong New Year celebration in general.

Traditionally, the Hmong New Year, or Peb Caug, is celebrated on December 30; thus giving it the name peb caug which means thirty.  Back in Laos, the New Year festival lasted two weeks and was a celebration of the last harvest of the year.  The New Year is also the only Hmong festival that is celebrated during the same time each year.  My parents and other elders always brag that the New Year celebrations in Laos were grand and included many activities from folk singing to even bull-fighting.

Nowadays, we don’t quite do bull-fighting anymore, but we do still have some unique activities. In many traditional Hmong households, the celebrations can start as early as a week to the night before the actual community celebration with a cleansing of household spirits. Money and incense are also offered to the ancestors at this time.

Brightly-colored traditional clothing are worn on the actual day of the celebration, and a special ball-tossing game is played. Balls can be hand-sewn, or for busy families such as ours, tennis balls make a great alternative! The rules for this game are quite simple. Toss the ball between two people (usually a man and a woman or a boy and a girl as this originated as a couple’s game). Whoever drops the ball must sing a traditional folk song (called a kwv txhiaj ), or for those who can’t sing a folk song like me, give something to the other person (such as a bracelet, necklace, or hat). The game continues until one player admits defeat, runs out of songs to sing, or runs out of items to give away. Usually, items are returned at the end of the game, unless a couple decides otherwise.

Another traditional game is kab taub or katow. This game is a combination between soccer and volleyball and is also much like hackey-sack. Like volleyball, a net is placed in the middle. Players must use their feet or head only to kick or hit a reed-woven ball over the net. Points are scored when the opposing team drops the ball or allows it to go out of bounds. Of course, this game is weather-permitting, since some U.S. Cities do encounter snow by the time the New Year celebration is held. Other weather-permitting games at the New Year can include volleyball, soccer, football, basketball, and tub lub.  In this last game, competitors build their own wooden tops ahead of time. The tops are spun, and the distance traveled by each is measured. The winner is the person whose top spun out the farthest.

My favorite activities are still the cultural dances and qeeb (also known as qeng) or reed-pipe playing. The qeng player is both a musician and an acrobat artist as he plays melodically on the qeng while doing various acrobatic stunts. Traditionally, the qeng player will only be seen at New Year celebrations, weddings, and funerals (where his music is said to be the key to sending the spirit of the dead one to the land of the ancestors). Each song has a message, and those who can understand the message will often be seen with tear-filled eyes as songs can be about love, friendship, kinship, or life.

There really is no such thing as traditional new year food, but many favorite dishes saved especially for special occasions may be served. Such dishes may include: five-spice grilled or fried chicken with sticky rice, qhaub poob or rice noodles and red curry soup, lab or spicy beef salad, taub ntoos tuav or spicy papaya salad, and much more. This year in Texas, each family must contribute a favorite dish, so I will be making my special Thai chicken curry.

With all the activities and special events, I am truly looking forward to enjoying time with my family and friends at this Texas Hmong New Year. I also know that this is especially exciting and important to my kids as this is one of the few times that they get to interact with other Hmong families and see their cultural heritage displayed in so many ways. I do hope to take pictures to share with all of you, so until next time, Nyob Zoo Xyoob Tshiab, Happy Hmong New Year!

It was probably with this same affection then that he woke me up this morning at four in the morning.  “Go-o-o, Mo-mee!  Go-o-o!” he screamed at me, stirring me from the lovely dream I was having.

“Arthur, sleep,” I begged him drowsily but to no avail as he continued pulling on my arm with both of his little, pudgy hands.  “What, Arthur?  Do you want water?” I asked him groggily.

“No-o-o!  Want go-o-o!” he whined.

“Fine,” I said to him reluctantly as I kicked off my warm, cozy blanket.  I was still half-asleep as I allowed him to half-drag me into the living room.

I plopped down on the sofa, ready to continue that wonderful dream I was having before; however, Arthur had plans of his own as he handed me the television remote. ” ‘Mote!  ‘Mote!  V.V. on!” he demanded.  I turned the television on for him and snuggled up against the sofa.  I tried to close my heavy eyelids over the tired pupils of my eyes.  Arthur shook me again and started whining. “No-o-o-o!” he cried.

“What do you want?” I implored him, desperately wanting to go back to sleep.

” ‘Mote!  ‘Mote!” he screamed.  I started to turn the channels, which quieted him until I turned past the Wiggles.  “Wait!  Wait!” he screamed.  Whatever infatuation toddlers have with dancing men in multi-colored shirts and too tight of pants I will never understand; however, I did know that my sleep was calling me.  I was ready to do anything at this point to get back into my warm, inviting bed, so I turned back to “Prancing Men in Tight Pants,” which immediately made him quiet.  Again, I tried to drift back to sleep, but Arthur wouldn’t have it.  He climbed clumsily over my curled up legs and onto my weary lap where he plopped himself.  “Up!  Up!” he cried as he shook me furiously to get me to sit up.  “See, see,” he laughed as one of the Wiggles jiggled around like jello in an earthquake.  I held him and bared through his “Prancing Men” show with him.

By the time the Wiggles sang their good-bye song, he was fast asleep in my lap.  However, all sleep had left me by now.  Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t squint my eyes shut anymore.  It was pointless anyway, since I couldn’t even remember what my wonderful dream was about anymore.  Instead, I looked at his angelic, sleeping face.  He looked so adorable and innocent laying there in my lap.  As annoyed as I was over losing sleep, I couldn’t help but also feel a rush of affection for this little mischief-maker.  Who else but my little two-year-old would want for me (and me alone) to spend quality time watching “men in tight pants,” with him at four in the morning?  I was the apple of his eye at this age, and he was my baby.  Someday, he’ll grow up and want nothing to do with me.  He’ll pound away at his video games and be too busy with his soccer, football, and many other activities.  He’ll fancy fast-moving cars and hot teenage chicks with long flowing hair and big, breasted boobs, but for now, he was just my little boy.  I kissed him on his sweet, tender cheek as I hugged him tightly and blinked away the tears.

Unfortunately, with a five feet four inch tall husband, height just wasn’t in our gene pool.  No matter how carefully I planned and measured each meal or how many bad tasting, vitamin-fortified concoctions I drank during each pregnancy, we still ended up with lethal limbo players instead of tall, lanky basketball players.  Of course, my babies were always the cutest in the nurseries with their petite little bodies and tiny, whimpering cries, and, I must confess, I was a little relieved that they weren’t too big for me to hold, cuddle, and carry around without assistance.  However, I knew that someday someone would make them the butt of laughters because of their size.

That day came when Autumn was in third grade.  She had many friends and was well-liked.  She had grown up with many of the children, and not once had any of them ever chastised her about her height or looks.  However, it is amazing how one child can change the make-up of a group of seemingly normal friends.  “Short stuff!” she would call Autumn as she tried to convince the rest of the group not to play with my daughter.  I listened almost daily as my daughter poured her heart out each time I came home from work.  At first I tried to just comfort her and give her advice as somehow some probably never-bullied before researcher claimed that the more adults became involved, the worse the bully made it for the victimized child.  Back then, being a young mom (and having parents who were first time immigrants that didn’t know how to deal with these types of situations), I swallowed every bull-crap researched advice available instead of listening to my gut feelings.

Finally, I received the call from the principal one day.  Autumn had bitten her bully and was sitting in the principal’s office.  Katie, the principal, who was also a colleague of mine, was trying to decide whether she should suspend Autumn.  I rushed through traffic from the school that I principaled at to Autumn’s school.  The ride seemed like hours even though her school was only ten minutes away.  As I walked into the principal’s office, Autumn looked up at me with her big, brown, frightened eyes which were also puffy and red from crying.  Deep down, I was livid that my poor little girl, the true victim in all of this, was in the principal’s office facing suspension while the little bitch who had picked on her from the start of the school year was out there, walking away free with no noose around her neck.  The calm, reasonable educator in me disappeared as the superhero mom in me raged and began to gain the strength needed to protect my child.  I tried to keep my cool though as I finally confessed everything to Katie, telling her how Autumn had tried every trick in the book to work things out with Nelly, her bully.  When that didn’t work, she tried to avoid Nelly.  She even tried to make new friends just to be away from Nelly’s group of taunting little girls.  By this time, I was so furious that I thought I would have a nervous break-down.  Luckily, Katie was also a mom herself, and understood exactly what I meant.  She encouraged Autumn and I to speak with the school guidance counselor who later worked with Autumn, Nelly, and a group of other girls to help prevent the bullying from continuing.

By the end of the school year, Autumn and Nelly had not become best friends; however, they had learned to respect one another, and the bullying had stopped.  When my son, Kalel, went to fourth grade and encountered his bullies, I no longer sat quietly in the shadows, whispering words of encouragement and giving him strategies to avoid his bullies.  Instead, I went straight to the principal and guidance counselor and demanded that something be done.  Within two weeks, the bullying had stopped.  We cannot sit still and wait for our children to find their own ways of dealing with bullies — ways that may most likely end in someone getting hurt.  Schools claiming that children need to find their own solutions to bullying are in for disasters like Columbine and the Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover case in May of 2009 where the 11 year old victim hung himself.  Instead, we must work collaboratively with other adults and together, as a community, we must help our children build bonds of respect for one another.  We must give a clear message that bullying is unacceptable no matter what age and what type.

After receiving the award, I must continue the rules of the award which are:

- Put the Lemonade logo on your blog or within your post.
- Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude or gratitude.
- Link to the nominees within your post.
- Let the nominees know they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
- Share the love and link to the person from whom you received this award.

This was really hard as there are so many great blogs out there, but I’d like to share my award with (in no particular order):

• Hip2bmom

• Organic Motherhood With Coolwhip

• Small Town Mommy

• My Kids Are Fun

• My Life With Little Girls

• The Single Mothers Chronicle

• Vivianne’s Vista

• The Sewing Mommy

• A Thing For Pink

• Minnesota Meets California

• Mommy Is Green

• Mrs. Blogsalot

TIME  SLIPPED  PAST  ME

Time slipped past me as I
drifted in my sleep
when the sound of weeping
wakens me.

Walking down the hall I watch
as my father crouches
in front of a picture,
tears streaking down his face.

With his hidden mask I’ve
never seen, not once, a tear fall
down his rosy cheeks.  Every tear
cried by him makes a tear of pain run down my face.

With my tears so loud my father turns
and picks me up.  He holds me in his arms.
The words tremble off my father’s tongue
and my heart stops beating.

I understood my father’s cries and wished
I could have said something, but
my heart was as cold as ice and
my mouth couldn’t move.

My tears came down hard like a stormy rainy night
and the moon cried tears
to see my father’s face.
My grandfather had passed away.

I never had the chance to tell
my grandfather that I loved him.
I never got the chance to show him I was proud
to be his granddaughter.  Instead I didn’t talk much.

My grandfather committed suicide
for he hated himself.
He thought he was a bad man and
thought that no one loved him.

As he was being hauled away
his body a statue, I then wanted to hug him;
I then wanted to say,
“I love you.”

I am saddened that now he can’t see who I am.
He just saw what I was–
a mean, sad, shy, little six year old,
whom he thought was beautiful.

On another note, I would especially like to thank my Top Commentors and Entrecard Droppers.  I love knowing that you are out there watching my blog and reading about the mundane life of a superhero’s mom.

TOP ENTRECARD DROPPERS

Teeming With Stupidity and Wierdness

Momspective Reviews

The Sewing Mom

Momspective

A Simple Life

Surviving My Tween Girls

Small Town Mommy

ThePsychobabble

Grampy and You

Positive Men

TOP COMMENTATORS

Hip2bMom

OrganicMotherhoodWithCoolWhip

My Kids Are Fun

The Sewing Mommy

I put down the greasy, glass dish that I was just about to wash (by hand since my dumb dishwasher has been out, but that’s in a previous post), and wondered what crises was causing Arthur to cry as if his favorite toy had just been squashed to smithereens.  I didn’t have to wait long as the plastic floor covering of our kitchen was soon filled with the tiny trampling of toddler footsteps.

“Mo-mee, Nerner noe shae!  He no gee me caw!” he babbled angrily, telling me that Rayner wasn’t sharing a car with him.  Before I could even call Rayner to come over, he had already summoned himself, and was chattering in his defense.  His four-year-old speech was just a little clearer than Arthur’s two-year-old babbling.

“Ahter stoe my Bo-boe-bee,” he declared.  Arthur had stolen his Bumble-Bee Transformer toy.

“No!  Mie…mie…foun i! Foun I!”  Arthur screamed.  I’m not sure where he heard it from, but somehow, he had really taken a liking to the whole finders- keepers concept.

“Can you share it with Arthur?  He wants to play with it too,” I said to Rayner calmly, trying to refrain myself from doing something I might regret later.

“O-tay, bu pease tell Ahter not to hi me.  He gi me a owie,” Rayner replied.

“Arthur, did you give Rayner an owie?”

“Noooo….Nerner hi.  See…owie,” he replied, pointing to his head.  Somehow, I didn’t believe him as he made his big brown eyes look bigger than they really were.

“No hitting Rayner, or Rayner won’t share with you, okay?”

“Taayyy,” Arthur answered, his big, brown eyes looking even more innocent than before.

“Now go play and be nice,” I said to them both.  Somehow though, my extra sixth mom-sense, the one that understood exactly what babbling and gibberish meant, knew that this wouldn’t be the end of it.