If I were to ask Luki three times in the same day what he wants to be when he grows up, it's likely that I'll get three different answers — Fireman! Drummer! Train conductor! But though his answers may vary, there's one thing about these conversations that remains constant. When he finishes telling me about his future plans he always asks me, "How about you, mama. What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I turned 29 last week. As I celebrated reaching the home stretch of my twenties, I couldn't help but feel like I am closing out the most significant decade of my life. Over the past ten years, I've graduated from college, gotten a job, bought a couple of houses, married my true love, and — most importantly — given birth to two beautiful boys. I can't imagine any future events that could possibly come close to giving my life the meaning and purpose motherhood has. Growing babies and pushing them out will forever be my greatest accomplishments.
Still, when Luki asks me what I want to be when I grow up, "a mom" just doesn't feel like it’s the right answer. The truth is that I’m always caught off guard by the question... What do I want to be?
Ever since I heard about Malala Yousafzai, the 14-year old Pakistani girl who was shot in the head by the Taliban for defending her right to an education, I have been thinking about the daughter I didn't have.
It's no secret that, at the beginning of my pregnancy with Pau, I was hoping for a girl. Obviously, now that our second son is here, we wouldn't trade him for all the pink tutus in the world. But before he arrived, we imagined that having a child of each sex would provide us with the best of both worlds. Tony and I are pretty sure (but not sure enough to take any permanent measures) that we only want two children, so the possibility of a little girl in our future is unlikely. Still, Malala's tragic shooting has had me thinking about that improbable little girl all week.
My ever increasing obsession with the presidential election and profound dislike of Mitt Romney led me to make a parenting decision this week which — after much thought and consideration — I’ve concluded to have been a poor one. I attempted to explain the difference between the candidates to my 3-year-old and in doing so told him that Romney was not nice and didn’t like to share.
“Romney thinks that the children who have lots of toys should not have to share them with poor kids who don’t have any toys. Obama believes that we should all share. Who do you think should be the president?” I asked Luki. He thought about it for a second and then answered, “Obama. Romney’s mean.” And my mama chest puffed up with pride. Now, every time he hears the name “Romney,” he immediately associates it with the worst possible offender in a 3-year-old’s mind — the kid at playgroup who hogs all the toys for himself.
But, as I’ve thought about it further, I think my actions reeked of indoctrination. If Luki is too young to understand the complex issues at play during this election, it’s not fair for me to dumb them down for him in a somewhat biased way so that he’ll pick the candidate I support. After all, I hurl things at the TV whenever Fox News does the same thing to its viewers.