Her Moments...

Cookie: “Mana, do you want me to go sit on your lap and give you some love?”
Me: “Oh, yes. I can’t resist love.”

Me: “I couldn’t take the phone to the party, because I was already holding you, the umbrella, the car keys, the two plates of food, and the drinks. I only have two hands, you know.”
Cookie: “The octopus has eight hands. Maybe you could dress up like one and then you’d have more hands.”
Cookie (a minute later): “No, that wouldn’t work. The hands would fall down.”

30 Days of "Her Own Way"

So with the end of the school year (I made it! surprisingly enough.) I’m back to being a full-time sister. Which doesn’t help the fact that God has not rewarded me with patience for the last couple of weeks. I’m freaking out all of the time, about the stupidest things (like the fact that we always have dirty dishes), I yell a lot, and I probably don’t make Cookie feel good, either. I’m deeply ashamed of myself for being such a shitty sister lately, but my beloved child has grown to be so difficult! She doesn’t do anything I ask her to anymore. Forget rules, because now she wants to do things “her own way, not my way”. It’s like we’re in a constant battle over who has the power to say how things will work, and I’m losing every time. She’s talking back to me! My little angel gets angry at me and yells back. Which makes me even angrier, which in turn makes her angrier, which doesn’t help the situation at all. I wish things would go back to normal, you know. I honestly never minded picking her outfits, and I resent it now when we go shopping and she refuses to get the cutest ones. Should I let her dress like an old beggar? Or should I impose my will, like I’ve been trying to do with no success? Such hard choices. I realized that loving a small child is easy; they’re cute and all, they listen to you, they say how much they love you, the obey the rules and go to bed when it’s time. But loving an almost-five-year-old is freaking hard; it is not for the faint of heart. Sometimes my Cookie has to remind me to speak softly to her, and although it breaks my heart, I think: “how the hell am I supposed to stay calm and speak softly when you’re turning the whole freaking world upside down?” I haven’t come up with an answer yet.

While I don’t find the magic formula for good sisterhood, I should just pray for more patience. God knows I love her, but I foresee a long month ahead of us.

The Three Little Pigs and the Princess

Cookie and I like to read stories. Well, she likes to listen while I read, but that’s a start. I read to her every night that I’m home, and if I sleep over, she gets to pick two stories instead of one. She’s learned to pick the big books and count them as one story… she’s got future. Sometimes I forget sleeping over means two stories (ok, maybe ‘forget’ is not the word), and she reminds me: “mana, what about the second story?” and when I ask why, she replies: “because yesterday you said sleeping over meant two stories.” Yesterday, of course, meaning any time from yesterday to four years ago, when she was born. Gotta love it how her world is so easy compared to mine.
While other girls like Princesses stories, mine likes the Three Little Pigs. We read the same story every night, and sometimes we read it a second time, too. I’ve grown smarter now, and started buying her new books so we’d have “more options to choose from”. So far, no success. But then, who can blame her? I read the Harry Potter books eight times, and I’m a happy person.
At first I would ask mom to read to her when I wasn’t home. But you know how it is with moms (or is it just mine?), they’re always tired and full of other stuff to do. Mom also said she couldn’t read in English, and while we can’t find books in Portuguese on Amazon, there’s little I can do. But eventually I realized I don’t really want to share this moment with her. Call me selfish, I don’t mind. It’s my moment with Cookie, and it’s something only we can share. We lie in bed with our blankets and read, one word at a time. Eventually she starts “reading” to me, telling me what comes next and pointing at the pictures. Oh God, how I love her.
p.s. Did you know that something different happens to the big, bad wolf depending on which book you’ve got?

My Grandfather's Tales

Today in class a girl talked about how she was always interested in her family's history, and how they have lived in San Francisco (in the same house) for more than 10 generations. She said that when her grandfather (then 97 years old) got sick, she knew he wouldn't be around for much longer, and so she got her notebook and decided to get from him all the information she could. He has been alive for most of the century, and she wanted to know everything there was to know before she missed her chance and he passed away, carrying with him all the knowledge that only himself could bring into this world.

It made me think of my own grandfather. He passed away a couple of months ago, and he was one of the smartest people I've ever known. I usually say he was a walking encyclopedia, but he was so much more than that, really. I often thought about talking to him about our history, and not just rely on my mother's version of the facts. I've always wanted to share a little piece of his knowledge, of his story. He had lived so much, gone through so many things! I remember the tales he used to tell us kids, and they were nothing like your ordinary tales: they were magical, and yet realistic. The kind that scares you to death and at the same time makes you wonder if it was really a tale, or if it had happened. He has a story for everything, a good one. But then he got sick, and I didn't call. Mostly because I was certain that he knew I loved him, and partially because I was never good at this. I thought he would recover, yes, but even after I knew he wouldn't, I didn't call. And that was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. There was so much about him that I never got to ask. And he died without me having the chance to know it all, without me asking for it. Did he think I didn't care? Did he not know how amazing his stories were, how much I loved his jokes, how much I admired and loved him? I guess I'll never know. And that's what hurts the most: not the fact that our family history is lost, but the fact that my grandpa's history is. The fact that he never sat down to tell me about himself. The fact that my little sister won't remember what a great man he was, and how much he loved her.

I should have called. I should have said the things I thought he knew. I should have chosen to be present, instead of distant. How I wish I had another chance. Sometimes I dream of him... in the dream I know he's about to die, and I hug him and think: "I know this is the last time, so I'll make the most of it". When I wake up I always feel a little better, and a little worse at the same time. If there is any kind of life after death, I hope he reads my blog.

Love...

10/10/10

Eu:
"Cookie, eu amo voce muuuitao. Voce mora bem la no fundo do meu coracao."

Evelyn:

"voce tambem, mana, mora la no fundo do meu coracao, bem la pertinho da barriga."

Psychology Loves Big Sisters

Psychology says that during the child’s second year of life, he or she begins to develop prosocial behaviors, such as helping, sharing, and responding empathetically to emotional distress in others (Craig and Dunn, 2010). According to the study, toddlers’ ability to soothe a parent or other person is created by observing the behavior of their mothers and caregivers: if the caregiver responds with empathy when the child is in distress, so will the child. This study somehow made me proud of myself, of my job as an older sister. It reminded me of all the times when I’ve cried and my toddler sister has come to comfort me. There was this time when she even cried because I was sad. I always thought her caring soul was part of her personality, but now it seems Mom and I have had a say in this. Could it be that we are, after all, good caregivers? Could it be that we’ve managed to suppress our bad behavior and pass along to Cookie something as beautiful as caring for others? Will the same happen with my passion for books and languages? And will she also imitate the bad things? Probably so, which means we’d better behave well from now on. But I am responsible for a little good in my sister’s heart, and that is enough to erase some of my mistakes.

September 2010

My Very First Mother'sDay

Unlike the title suggests, this last Mother’s Day wasn’t my own. To my dismay, not one person in this big world has ever come up with the idea of a Sister’s Day, so I won’t be celebrating family-related occasions for a while. What my title meant to say was that this was the first mother’s day I actually celebrated with my mom. I did when I was a child, but after I grew up, I started ignoring the occasion just like I partially ignored Christmas and birthdays in general. But this year I felt like my mom deserved to be remembered, and I felt ashamed of myself for depriving her of her day for so long.

And here’s how I came to that conclusion. My little sister adores me. She worships me on a regular basis, and truly believes me to be the best kind of person there is. The way she looks at me, with complete and blind admiration, makes me feel so worthy of it all, even when I know I’m probably not. She never misses an opportunity to say how much she loves me, and how much she appreciates the little things I do for her, like washing and drying her favorite blanket or heating up the milk for her cereal; “Oh, Mana! Thanks for keeping me warm! You’re so beautiful for doing that, and I love you so much!” She calls herself Super Girl, and while others are just mom, dad, or family, I’m Super Mana, the only one who gets to be a superhero. I taught her a little song I used to sing when I was a kid, about the frog that lives in the lake and still doesn't wash his feet. Well, Cookie called the other day, with the neighbor by her side, and they left a message when I didn’t pick up. They were singing the frog song, and when the neighbor sang “Mana doesn’t wash her feet”, baby sister got extremely mad at him, yelling that “yes, mana does! She does, too!” I was so deeply moved by that statement. Nothing to do with my feet, of course, but the fact that she refuses to believe I would be capable of anything bad touches my very soul. She loves me. This little creature sees in me the person she wants to be, and she doesn’t know how messed up I am. She doesn’t know about my depressive days, or about my eating disorders, or that I usually hurt people because I talk too much. If she knew, I bet she wouldn’t care, either. I thank God every day for being adored by someone like her.

Then I remembered when I was a kid, and how I used to adore my mother. The world meant nothing to me as long as I had her approval. Many people tried to tell me she wasn’t perfect, and I started hating them all. How dare they, messing with the image of my mother? But then I grew up, and I saw in her the woman I never wanted her to be. I saw her human flaws, the way we think and act so differently, and that heavenly adoration was gone. The moment I realized this I cried, and pleaded with God to please, never let that happen to my sister. I begged God to never let her adoration towards me become any less of what it is today. May her love for me never change, never be diminished. May she always defend me with all her heart and strength, like she does today. But more than anything, I asked God to never let me hear from her mouth the things I have said to my mom. Never let her think of me the things I have thought of my mother. Things I regret deeply, and that I can’t take back. Things that I now know how much must have hurt her, things that should never be said to someone who was once adored. And that’s how I decided to celebrate Mother’s Day. I didn’t do much, but it was a start. It was the first step of an ungrateful daughter trying to redeem herself and change her own fate.

I wish I could tell my mom how sorry I am, and how stupid I was to ever hurt her. But I can’t, not yet. I’m not the perfect person Evelyn believes me to be. I made my sister promise she’ll love me forever, an act of pure desperation. Being the angel that she is, of course she said she would, that her love would never change, but I know better than to expect such a thing. All I can ask for is that her love always be enough to make me feel as loved as I do now. Until her adolescence comes to steal away my joy and happiness, I’m enjoying our morning love, when she wakes up and smiles when she sees me next to her. I enjoy every “I love you” that I get from her, and I reciprocate. I’m also keeping all of my voice messages. That ought to show the neighbor not to mess with Super Mana.

May 2010

Imaginary Crimes and the Clueless Old Lady

My mom just called to tell me that my little sister will be sleeping at her friend’s house today, and I can pick her up tomorrow, since the carpet guy will be at the house washing the carpets and we’re not allowed to be there. Now usually, I would bring the baby with me to school (I live on campus half of the time) and we would sleep after long hours of watching Dora the Explorer. That was the case before last week. My usually safe school was almost sued for my instant death caused by a heart attack. No, I did not die, but I came damn close to it. Someone spotted two guys with guns on campus, and so the police thought it was ok to break into everybody’s rooms at five in the bloody morning, with enormous guns pointing at us to make sure we were alone in the room.

That was good proof that whenever I die, it won’t be because of a heart attack. Bottom line is, my school is no longer safe for my sister. The night the police broke in, I was scheduled to bring her over, and changed my mind on the last minute because her dad said he’d pick her up. I spent hours thanking God that she wasn’t here when it all happened. Maybe I would have died, had she been here. Just the thought of my little one having to presence that breaks my heart into so many little pieces, and scares the living hell out of me. The worst part would be her seeing how scared I was, when I was supposed to remain calm and protect her. Oh God, oh God, I’m glad it didn’t happen.

But my point was, even though I know it’s not safe for her here, I do not favor the idea of letting her sleep at a stranger’s house. Ok, the woman has been “taking care” of her for a year or so now, and she’s good friends with my mom, but everyone that isn’t me is called a stranger when it comes to looking after Evelyn. I always think the lady isn’t feeding her enough (like that time Evelyn told me the lady had only given her old pizza that was in the fridge to eat, and I nearly killed the woman.) I’m just not sure I should trust her.

She’s not very active (but then my mom isn’t, either), and she doesn’t care much if Evelyn is only eating pizza. Trying not to be rude or rip her throat open, I find nice ways of telling her to please feed my child properly, and I teach Evelyn everyday how to ask for food when she’s hungry. Problem is, she doesn’t always know when she’d hungry, specially if she’s doing something else. One has to run after her with a plate, constantly, to get her to eat, and for some reason I cannot picture the old lady doing it.

Ok, she’s not that old (maybe forty), but her child is twenty-three and pregnant now, so it’s been a while since she’d taken care of kids. Besides, she’s just so excited about her grandson that she forgets about my baby. She taught Evelyn how to call her “grandma,” and so it hurt Evelyn when “grandma” said she wouldn’t be coming over anymore once her “first grandchild” was born. Now that I think of it, I came close to killing the woman a number of times. But it should be fine. Evelyn is excited and packing her little backpack; I told mom to pack lots of snacks just in case. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow first thing, and we’re hitting the playground, the library and our Saturday swimming class. Yeah, she’ll probably be safe. The woman wouldn’t dare do otherwise.

February 2010

When did I stop being Cool?

Yesterday was a beautiful day, so I got out of work earlier and went home to take my little sister to the playground. I almost never have the time to do it before it’s dark, and my mom can’t be counted on for any kind of physical activity. I picked Evelyn (sister) up at the daycare, and we headed to the park. The look on her little face was just so rewarding. I had failed to notice how much she’s been growing. Ok, maybe I chose not to notice, because I was afraid that my baby would no longer love me when she became older. Then maybe love is not the word I’m looking for; I was probably afraid that my presence would no longer be required on a regular basis. My fears were confirmed when I told her that she was beautiful and that I loved her very much for being courageous and trying new things on her own, and I heard, “You said that already, Mana.” She had a look on her face that made me feel so out of style, and I wondered … when did I stop being cool?

I spent almost an hour just tagging along, ready to catch her if she fell, dying on the inside every time she went up those dangerous ladders. But she’s not the chicken that I was when I was little, and she did just fine. Part of me was proud of her, part of me wanted her to cry for help. When I grabbed her basket of toys and there was a little spoon that didn’t belong to her, she yelled, “Mana, did you take this spoon?? You can’t take other kids’ stuff!” My baby who was just the other day learning how to say her own name is now giving me moral lessons she thinks I deserve. Again, I was proud of her, but part of me was scared that she was already so conscious. And just when I thought I was no longer necessary, she decided to try a more dangerous adventure, and said: “Mana, I want you to come with me and hold my hand.”
Me: “Well, ok, but my hands are cold.”
Her: “It’s ok, mine are cold, too.”

I don’t think I’d ever felt so … needed.

Februaty 2010

Bad things come to Those who lose their Temper

There are many moments that I dread. Like the day my toddler sister will go to pre-school and find out the other sisters there are cooler than me (check for another desperate post when she starts school next month); or the day she’ll come home with a homework I won’t be familiar with (I didn’t go to pre-school in the states) and find out I don’t have a clue; or the day she’ll start making new friends and hide stuff from me. Even the day she’ll be ashamed of my Brazilian accent the way I was ashamed of my mom’s a few years ago. But the day I dreaded the most came hitting me in the face today. My four-year-old sister said she hates me.

Cookie was mad either because playground time was cancelled today (she didn’t behave very well) or because I said she had to go to the other room if she wanted to watch cartoons. I’m not entirely sure. All I can remember is that out of a sudden she yelled, “I hate you!” The words came out of her mouth like explosives, like balls of fire coming in my direction to extinguish me. I honestly thought I had heard wrong, but then, as if making sure the soul would be wounded as well as the body, she confirmed “I really hate you!”. And I stared at her. I didn’t cry, didn’t yell back, and didn’t go through the emotional crap adults went through with me when I was the toddler in question. I stared at her and wondered what the hell I should do next. Should I expect her to understand how her statement had broken my heart into a million pieces, and how I had never, not in my worst nightmares, thought she would actually say such a thing? How I always thought our connection was beyond hating and all associate feelings? That I honestly hoped she would be the first teenager not to turn against her mother and, well, bigger sister? She’s not a teenager yet! She’s just learned to say she’s not in the “moon” for something.

But again, would it be better if she hid this from me? If she feels she hates me, don’t I want her to tell me, so we can work on the problem? Or do I want to find out years from now that she’s hated me all along? Or worst yet, do I want her to start distancing herself from me because we have an unresolved issue? So I did what any clueless, desperate older sister would do: I closed the door and wonder how we had gotten to this point. I do realize that she doesn’t hate me. She doesn’t even know what hate is (or so I hope). She also doesn’t realize the power that this word has. But it hurt, nonetheless.

In the middle of my meditation, Cookie walked to me with her blanket, like a puppy who realizes it has bitten the one who loves it. She cried and said she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to say any of that. “I only said I hate you because you were mad at me, but I really love you, mana.” I explained to her that she had broken my heart, and asked her to never say that again. She promised, and asked me to never be mad again, and completed with “Don’t say your heart is broken, I don’t like it when you say that.” I looked at her and the pain was slightly forgotten. She was truly sorry, and I could see in her eyes how much she loved me. I promised to have more patience, and she promised to cooperate. All is well in the end … I just hope the damage will be this easy to repair next time.

July 2010

Dancing to the songs of Love

This week my boyfriend and I decided to go see Eddie Santiago playing at a night club in San Francisco. It was Valentine’s Day and Santiago sings romantic salsa songs, so on Saturday night we were in the city nicely dressed and waited for our friends—until they decided not to go. I couldn’t say no to my boyfriend this time, so we didn’t let that bother us.

I called the nightclub to make table reservations, because I knew how packed it would be, but they gracefully said there were no reservations left that day. A friend of my boyfriend’s called and said he had two extra reservations, so after stopping for food at three different places (all packed), we finally left for our salsa night. Getting there, we didn’t spend less than an hour looking for parking. Even the paid ones were all taken. After losing every bit of patience we had left, we found a spot four blocks away. I was wearing a dress and very high heels, so the walk and the freezing air didn’t do much to help. The line, needless to say, was enormous, and the friend had left his spot in line to go pick up something, which meant we had to go all the way to the back. When the friend finally arrived, he had ticket reservations, not table ones.

We finally got to enter the club and the warm (not to say suffocating) atmosphere convinced us to pay the $2 to hang our jackets. Then again, everyone seemed to have had the same idea, and the closet was already full—yay for carrying the jackets around the whole night. Ordering drinks took us longer than waiting for the closet line, and they did not have the drink that I wanted. Santiago wasn’t there yet, so we had these other guys playing to hundreds of people that obviously did not fit into that space.

My boyfriend and I tried to dance, ignoring the lack of space, the heat, and the smell of sweat. We were definitely not going to let anything ruin the night. When Santiago finally appeared, the dance floor (which was already packed beyond explanation) got much worse, and we had to squeeze ourselves back a little. It was not the night we had planned, there seemed to be a conspiracy against us, and we were nowhere near the dance floor (or near the steps we had rehearsed so much), but then I turned around a hugged him, and our bodies started moving in slow motion, dancing to something that wasn’t at all salsa: it was our own rhythm.

Suddenly, all of the other factors seemed small, and it was just the two of us standing there, dancing to a very romantic song that was being played very far away, like the first time we danced. Then it occurred to me: we loved each other, and we had survived the conspiracy. For the rest of the night, that seemed to be enough; we danced to the songs of love.

February 2010

Respectable Sister Material

Some months ago my mom went out of country, and I went to pick my sister up at my aunt’s house. On my way back, I was carrying my sister’s stroller, her car seat, bag of clothes and toys, my own bag, and the baby herself. A man saw me and asked: “single mom?” And I answered, “worse than that: single sister.” Which obviously means I had to take care of my sister and my mom. Don’t get me wrong, my mother is a great, caring person. But sometimes she fails to understand that she is the mother (except when she needs the authority), and I never know which one deserves time out. Mother believes she is the only person in the world that works and has a kid at the same time, especially when I ask her why haven’t she read to Evelyn or bought her favorite cereal: she yells at me that “I can’t do everything, you know? I do everything alone!” So I’m still working on a nice way to tell her that is not the case. She probably also thinks that I spend my days laying around, with a coconut, reading a book, but that is also not the case.

Truth is, I don’t think my mom had much training. I was raised by my grandma, and having to raise Evelyn was the biggest surprise my mom has ever had. I remember when she told me she was pregnant, and I promised that it would always be the three of us fighting together, that a father was completely unnecessary. Evelyn doesn’t think the same, and she’s crazy about her dad, but that was not the point I was trying to make. I understand my mom’s lack of wisdom when it comes to the baby, but I never had a kid, either, and I try to be respectable “sister material” all the time. I would certainly appreciate if I could trust that Evelyn is eating the right things, reading the right books, visiting the playground daily, and so on.

We have an aunt that is really good at it, and I mean good. She has it all down to a science, and knows how to make Evelyn behave and eat whatever she needs to. She knows all the songs she should sing and all the places she should take her niece, and how to teach her stuff. I’m obviously not that good, but I try to learn. My aunt has been around for longer, and has been dealing with kids for longer than I can remember, so she’s a model for me. Gone are the times I hoped my mom would be that model. Sometimes it worries me that Evelyn will someday start calling my aunt “mom” since she’s the fun one, the responsible one, the active one … but we can’t really blame her if she does, can we? Mostly I just wish my mom would get out of her comfort zone and have some fun time with our little princess. I know she’s not easy, and she can get to our last nerves sometimes (ok, most of the times), but she’s a kid, and should act like one. I know my mom’s life isn’t easy, but I’m sure it’s not easy for anybody. If we stop all action waiting for life to get better, princess is going to get old and will be mortified if we ever take her to any place again, and then we’ll have to master in all kinds of new techniques.

February 2010

Morning Love and how much it means to me

Today I left for work early and kissed my sleeping sister on the cheek before I left. She opened her sleepy eyes and asked, “Where are you going, mana?” I answered I was going to work. Then she added, “Are you coming back?” and I responded, “Yes, I always do.”

Then she nodded and fell back asleep, as if saying, “All is well with the world now. My mana is coming back.” The smile on her face as she fell back asleep made my day oh so special.

May 2010

Afraid my Heart will just Stop

I did not give birth to the love of my life; my mother did, although that changes nothing, really. I don’t think my heart could take any higher level of this ridiculously big love that I feel for my four-year-old sister. There are already too many occasions where I think my heart will just stop (like that time when she fell and cut her upper lip, or that time when she fell down the stairs), so I have reasons to believe it would be unhealthy for me to experience any larger amounts of love.

I was always the kind of person who had a steady heart: no strong emotions, no breakdowns, no horrible falling nightmares. I had my life all planned out and my stuff together, my clothes clean, and my free time dedicated to myself. I was never a fan of kids or the messy lifestyle that comes with them. The change of heart was much unexpected, surprising, and intrusive, really. Suddenly I found myself changing my steady plans and my eating habits, my priorities and dreams for life. I find it very interesting that I just can’t seem to remember what my life was like before her, or what exactly were my plans for a child-free future. I believe you grow as a person once you feel obligated to succeed because someone else depends on the outcome of your life; that is extremely encouraging and extremely scary at the same time.

Now my most-played songs are from Barney’s or Elmo’s DVD collections, and my favorite food is whatever won’t be too dangerous for her to eat. My long, sharp nails have been replaced by short, soft ones, and my make-up contains no alcohol or any other harming chemical, so we can share. My vocabulary is limited to sweet, encouraging words, since she’ll repeat anything I say until it is a permanent word in her vocabulary. Even my boyfriends have to be “sister tested,” and only accepted if she likes them around, and vice versa. They also have to accept the fact that, for now, I don’t think I have enough soul to give to another child, and I certainly don’t have the extra breath.

I imagine myself a year or so from now, threatening pre-school kids who mess with my baby, pushing them against the wall, and spending some months in jail. Or maybe giving up my job and school to follow her around and make sure she’s safe and sound, all the time. There are times when locking her in the closet where I can watch her seems to tempting to me, that I feel forced to realize how crazy I’ve become. Of course, I blame it all on how hard it is to protect someone these days, specially if that someone means the world to you. I’ll have to work on my skills eventually, or else, I’m afraid my heart will just stop.

February 2010