jueves, 21 de julio de 2011

Who knew it would be this hard?


Raising a bilingual (or in our case, tri-lingual) child raised a lot of questions and doubts that I didn't think it would.

Are we doing this right?

Are we confusing her?

Is she going to end up totally messed up?

I guess it's harder since I was raised only speaking English. That seemed normal to me. Alex was raised bi-lingual, so maybe that's why he doesn't suffer the same agonizing questions that I do.

I guess ultimately, we know that the price of NOT raising her tri-lingual are much higher than making this work. Who would I want to cut out of her life? Who would I decide that she doesn't need to communicate with?

My family? I can't imagine her not being able to talk to my parents, or not being able to sing "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" with her.

Alex's family? Wounaan may be a language spoken by an indigenous tribe of only a few thousand people, mostly hidden away in the jungle. But it's the language her Daddy grew up with. It's the only language her grandmother is fluent in. It's what's spoken in Alex's village. How can she understand what it is to be Wounaan if she can't speak with her family?

And Spanish, well, it's only the language that Alex and I communicate in most, and that everyone else in this country speaks, so unless we move somewhere else, she's stuck with it.

And somewhere along the line, as I contemplated whatever marvelous processes are going on inside her little brain as she picks up these languages, is not so different from other kids, just a little broader. She is learning that Mommy and Daddy talk differently. I say, "let's go to sleep." and Alex says, "Vamos a dormir". But really, how different is that from a child learning that "night-night is the same as "sleep", and that "Daddy went to work", is another way to say, "Daddy went bye-bye."

So maybe she won't be any more confused than other kids. She'll just have a much broader vocabulary to choose from.

Where I am today


Why does everyone have an opinion about what sort of a mother I should be? Every book I read seems to assume that if I am not doing parenthood the way you do, I am wrong, or at least falling short a bit.

Yet none of those assumptions seem to help me much. I already know that I don't have what it takes. I already know that I can't love my little girls perfectly, or rejoice at every dirty diaper I have the privilege of changing, as one author suggested. I am just here, hanging on to God's grace and asking for the strength the get through another day.

I know what I do is important. I love my little princesses, my husband. But I still need God's mercy to get up again tonight when little Rose is throwing up again, the forth night in a row, while Daddy is gone all week. I need love to pick her up again when she falls down and won't get up until I come and help her up. Or the patience to think through how I will react when my Princess says "no" for the 100th time tonight.

Sorry, but telling me how to be a perfect mother is kind of pointless. I will never get there. I don't even want to think about trying. Today, I need to hear about how God still loves me anyway. I need to know that I can go back to him again tonight with the same complaints, same needs, and same weaknesses as I do every night, and know that he will not reject me. I need to know that I can tell him honestly how I feel, the way I can with no one else, and he will still love me wholly.

I know that the ideal mother should be. I see her in my head, seemingly mocking me at times, telling me that my house isn't clean enough, I haven't done enough crafts with my kids this week, and how everyone else at dinner is thinking that my kids or total brats, as I try to get them to at lease sit through the meal, if not eat.

I should go on a diet from parenting advice. I want to do a great job, oh how I want to! I want my kids to have wonderful, loving memories of their childhood, as I do. I want them to grow into all they can be, to see God in me, to find hope and courage for life. But when I use my failings as a starting point, I get lost.

Can I start with God? Know that he loves me, loves my kids? I don't know how to. I don't know how to accept grace here. Can I feel his acceptance? Joy? Approval? Someday before I reach perfection? I see that place in my mind, a place of freedom, release. A place of grace. I'm not there yet, but oh how I yearn to reach it.