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."
Monday, October 11, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
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
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
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
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.
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
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