Update: Bilingual Baby

Looking for a fun and easy way to prevent Alzheimer's? to get a good brain workout? to better prioritize brain information? I've got the answer for you! Learn a new language! I kind of already suspected this, but it was nice to see it confirmed in recent research: Crossing Borders in Language Science: What Bilinguals Tell Us About Mind and Brain. 

(Looking for language lessons for your baby? Check out Mulitlingual Chicago - right in our neighborhood of Logan Square. They've got a great selection of classes for babies, kids, and even adults.)

I have been keeping up with speaking to baby Pupa (now 17 months old) mainly in Italian. Daddy, a.k.a. Papa, speaks to her solely in Italian. Her home daycare provider speaks to her in Spanish. Her brother speaks to her in English peppered with Italian. I had worried that she would be one confused baby, or at least a bit delayed with her first words, but she has been right on track with her language skills! She talks a lot (though like every toddler, she doesn't always make sense!). She understands more complicated commands (i.e. Put the baby dolly in her highchair, put the diapers in the drawer) in all three languages. She asks for "Agua" and has a thing for bilingual Diego (this morning she insisted on carrying her Diego mini-figure with her to daycare). She says many words in Italian, including "Cuore" (heart - she loved the Valentine's Day decor at home), "Ciuccio" (paci), "Babbo" (Santa Claus) and "Eccoci!" (Here we are!); as well as English: Baby, Cookie, Bath. She also invented a word: "MeyMey"(a.k.a. Blanky, her pastel flower printed lovey). She calls me "Mamma", Daddy "PaPa'" and her big brother, "LO-Ne" (short for Fratellone, a.k.a. Big Brother). Her favorite books are I Love You a Bushel and a Peck, Biancaneve (Snow White), L'Ape Felice (the Happy Bee), Goodnight Moon, Elmo at the Pet Shop (read in Italian), and Io Non Porto Piu' i Pannolini (I don't wear diapers, featuring Miss Piggy).

As always, it brings me so much joy and happiness to watch my little baby girl and growing boy blossom both in language and life.

Jackie and Me

***This post originally appeared on TheChicagoMoms.com

Every once in awhile, I enjoy a date with my main (little) man: Fratellone, age 9. During the years that I raised my son as a single mom, Fratellone was my one and only Valentine and frankly, until I re-met my husband, the only "date" that always managed to make me laugh. Together, Fratellone and I have been on some of the most fun dates ever: We've been flushed down a toilet bowl,  covered in green slime, licked by long giraffe tongues; we've surfed, zipped around the gulf in a wave runner, and bonded over burgers and cupcakes. Since both a new marriage and baby came along, I make it a point to sneak away with my firstborn - just to remind him that he's stuck with me as a mom forever. I'm always on the lookout for creative plays, exhibits - anything that gives us a chance to see a live performance, anything that might spark discussion, anything that will make the both of us laugh.
This past weekend, we left Papa and Pupa at home for a date of their own (which involved watching a few Timon and Pumpa music videos on youtube and an early kiss goodnight at 7:30), and sneaked away to catch Jackie and Me, presented by the Chicago Children's Theatre, at the Ruth Page Center for the Performing Arts (on Dearborn / Oak, in the Gold Coast) . This adaptation of the eponymous novel by Dan Gutman is the perfect fit for elementary-aged boys and girls , especially those interested baseball. The positive messages of the performance really reached my 4th grade son and led to a lot of frank discussion between the two of us after the show.

The plot centers around schoolkid Joey Stoshack, who, when asked to write a report on an African American who's made an important contribution to society, find a unique way to travel back in time and hang out with the man who broke baseball's color barrier, the only and only Jackie Robinson. Along the way, Joey witnesses courage in action. The tone is never preachy yet the messages - always try your best, tune out the negativity, be a positive force - were clear. Be sure to pick up one of the great Jackie Robinson playing cards, which lists Jackie Robinson's values for life, available free alongside some other souvenir tshirts and books.



Looking for a date for you and your (little) Valentine? Check out Jackie and Me, presented by the Chicago Children's Theatre, now playing at the Ruth Page Center for the Arts (until March 27th). Purchase your tickets here.
 

Ten for Tuesday

1.
My husband and I had a great date at San Soo Gab San. Try it! We liked being forced to take off our shoes, delighted in the 20 mini-plate selection of veggie dishes spread before us, and had fun bbq'ing deliciously marinated Bulgogi. 

2.
Last Friday, my son and I saw an outstanding and timely performance, Jackie and Me, presented by the Chicago Children's Theatre ensemble. Check out my review at the Chicago Moms.

3.

Finally we're thawing out from the Blizzard of '11, and that means one thing: We can walk to our favorite local grocery spots once again - without getting the buggy stuck in a snow bank! Woo-hoo! I was offered to test out an amazing new product: The Mommy Hook. City moms, this product made for you: forget trying to stuff all your bags into the under-seat buggy storage unit. Just hook this heavy duty clamp/hook to your buggy handle and shop away. It's also perfect to hook up onto your purse, water bottle, blanky - all that stuff us moms are forever toting around.

4. We go through phases on Netflix. For one spell, we watched every film we could find on North Korea (Don't miss: Seoul Train). For another, we watched every documentary on World War II. Lately we've been watching every Werner Herzog film we can get our hands on. I loved The White Diamond. I really want to see Happy People: A Year on the Taiga - I hope to comes to a theater in Chicago soon. Siskel Fim Center, are you listening?

5.

On  my bookshelf: At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson, Audition: A Memoir by Barbara Walters, and Radioactive: Marie and Pierre Currie, a tale of love and fallout, by Lauren Redniss.

6.
Did you know that Chicago has a number of Sister Cities all around the world? I'm on the committee of one of our sister cities, Milano. Check out the Sister Cities website for more info on events, our sister schools abroad, and  more. I hope that our new mayor supports this important initiave.

7. Pupa hooked on this (guarnteed to put you in a good mood) music video, while Fratellone is totally into this book series (he's read and re-read every one).

8.
Catch this exhibit before it takes flight: Finding Vivian Maier, at the Chicago Cultural Institute, until April 3rd. I dragged the kids with me last week.

9.

I'm making Pasta with Peas, Lettuce and Prosciutto for dinner tonight.

10.
It's not to late to celebrate the Year of the Rabbit! We're always looking for a reason to head to Chinatown for coconut butter buns, a.k.a. Cocktail Buns. Pupa had her first bite of one last week. Our favorite bakery: Feida.


P.S. I am officially a Wyndham Hotels #localnation Woman on Her Way! I'll be checking out Wyndham hotels throughout the year and sharing our travel experiences on the #localnation Sounding Board. I can't wait to pack my suitace and get started!

A Review: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

**This post originally appeared on The Chicago Moms.

Let me preface this by stating this fact: I am not a tiger mom. Under Chinese astrology, I happen to be an ox. Whereas tigers are impatient, quick-tempered, obstinate, selfish and aggressive, stalking their prey with their stealthy ways, the ox manages to be calm while at the same time rigid, and, last but not least, demanding, a quality indeed shared by tigers. I’m calm with my kids, though I’m also, at times, demanding. And like the tiger, I have high expectations. This allows me to understand Tigers. But I’d rather steadily plow the fields than stalk my prey. That is: I’m trying my darnedest to raise smart, successful, polite children – I have high expectations - but you won’t find me forcing them to spend five hours a day practicing the violin.

Yes, I just finished reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, a book I’d been meaning to read ever since my interest was sparked by this controversial article. In the book, author Amy Chua explores the imposition of her Chinese-tiger (read: rather strict) style of parenting on her two daughters. She is quick-tempered with her kids, at times even downright aggressive. But as she states underneath the title on the main cover, where she admits, “This was supposed to be a story of how Chinese parents are better at raising kids than Western ones…”, by the end of the story (spoiler alert!) she arrives at the realization that while there are some aspects of this parenting style that work, they couldn’t stand up to her daughters’ growing strength and determination (both traits, interestingly, that Ms. Chua fostered via her “Chinese” parenting style). Her daughters, thanks in part to their mom, turn out to be strong, successful young women.

There were several uproars over the Wall Street Journal article, accusations that Ms. Chua verbally abused her children, that her type of parenting style would lead to personality disorders and worse. What wasn’t apparent in the article is the fact that Ms. Chua backed up all of her severity with love, dedication and support. She was never outright abusive. She urged her daughters toward excellence – and whatever could be wrong with that? There were (very) few bad mommy episodes when Ms. Chua simply lost it – calling one daughter a “terrible daughter”, for example. And a moment in which she gave back a birthday card for lack of effort – but reading the surrounding story, I tend to side with Ms. Chua. Her daughter’s response, especially regarding the infamous birthday card incident, bolsters my belief that Ms. Chua is not the mean mom the media has presented her to be, but rather, a mom that loves her daughters dearly and would do anything for them.

Here’s my disclaimer: I’m a teacher. In a high school. You would not believe how many listless, unmotivated children I encounter on a daily basis. Yes, there are many reasons for this, but I can’t help to point, at least in part, to the parents. Call it Western Parenting, call it Lazy Parenting, whatever you want: it’s easy being the mom that takes the kids to McDonald’s and buys a toy for a treat instead of taking the kids to the library. It’s easy being the mom that plunks the kids down in front of the tv. It’s easy being the mom that accepts a C grade as a decent effort. It’s not fun – and sometimes it’s downright hard – being the mean mom that forces the kids to sit down at a table and study, the tireless mom that urges the kids to turn off the tv and video games and actively engages them in a creative activity, the un-fun mom that waits for the kids to clean their bedrooms and help fold clothes, the unfair mom that doesn’t let the kids indulge in fast food and forces them to eat their fruits and veggies, the lame-o mom that tries her best to engage a surly teen.

I actually admire Ms. Chua for her perseverance, for leading her daughters on a musical journey that involved nonstop hard work (for everyone involved, in fact, perhaps most of all, for mom). Why is a mom like Chua, who raised two very successful daughters, considered nuts and a monster by so many? If only more parents held such high hopes and expectations for their children.

If you were intrigued or even irked, irritated or angered by the WSJ article, take a moment to read the whole story from Ms. Chua herself, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

Snow day!

Winter in Chicago = UGH. At this time, most every year, I ask myself, "Tell me again, why was I so opposed to my husband accepting a job offer and relocating the family to Hawaii?" But as I always tell my son, "Chicago winters make us strong!"

This past Tuesday night, my husband, son and I were cuddled up in bed, watching the Poseidon Adventure, baby Pipa sleeping upstairs, when the thunderblizzard reached it's peak. Suddenly, just as the passengers of the Poseidon struggled to climb up a Christmas tree and escape doom (or not), we heard a thunder BOOM, our lights flickered and then went completely out. Then it hit me: we can deal with the lights being out - but no lights means no heat. We waited a bit, fingers crossed, hoping, hunkered down in bed with a flashlight, and...nothing. Finally I called (and woke) up a nearby friend, confirmed that she had power, and asked if we could pretty please camp out at her home for the night. But just as we resigned ourselves to heading out into the storm, the lights went back on, and we went back to sleep for the night.

We woke up to a city covered in snow: the husbands in our little corner of Chicago set out early to conquer the snowbanks. I made a Dutch Baby for the kids and relished the idea of day off. Then we dressed up in our best winter duds and joined the dads. I alternated between playing with the kids (even I couldn't resist jumping off the front porch into a pool of snow!) and shoveling. My son joined up with the neighborhood kids for some impromptu sledding on an alley snowbank. I pulled Pupa along on her snowsled buggy. We talked to many new neighbors that somehow we'd never exchanged more than a quick hello with in the summer. With a lot of teamwork (and Toro power), (most of) the street and alley were cleared by the late afternoon.

Chicago winters are a P.I.T.A. - but these two days cozied up at home or playing out in the snow were...dare I say it...Fun! Still, thank God the groundhog didn't spot his shadow, 'cause I can't wait 'til spring.

The *Early* a.m. Shift

Cross-posted at The Chicago Moms.

Every morning, at 6:45 a.m., if you’re passing through our city neighborhood, you may catch a glimpse of a woman who appears a bit off, wearing a rather interesting get-up, scrambling down the streets, grasping the hand of a handsome 9 year-old boy.

That’s my son and I, making our way to the bus stop. Running late again.

Usually, these days, (read: every winter day), I’m still in my pajamas, wrapped up in an old, furry, hand-downed-to-me (but warm!) coat, wearing my husband's Russian style fur cap and even his boots. Always mismatched gloves. I don’t have the time to look decent – it’s too damn early!

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’m also dragging along a heavy instrument case (N.B. think twice when you child says he wants to play the drums in the band. Because it involves carrying a heavy drum set and xylophone, twice a week, to and fro school). Usually, (read: most days), we’re running late, and either we arrive just in time or, as it’s happened on occasion, (read: several times), you’ll hear me running, screaming, “Wait! Wait!” and see me wildly flagging down the bus. We’ve always managed to catch it, though.

Getting out the door and to work, I often say, is the hardest part of my day, even harder than what I actually do on the job, which is teach Chicago Public Schools high school students. Mornings are just so hectic in our home: they start at 6 a.m., with the ringing of my alarm or the cry of the baby: My husband runs up to fetch her and makes her warm morning milk while I cuddle with her in bed. Sometimes, her brother, age 9, catches a cuddle with us, too, but more than often, at 6:30, I’m yelling, “Get down here this minute! We’re late!” and then my son waltzes down the stairs, half asleep. He usually puts together quite an interesting ensemble – it’s always a surprise to see what outfit he’s wearing on any given day. (But I’m all about independence with personal care – so as long as he’s dressed in something seasonally appropriate, it’s all good!)

Papa changes baby’s diaper, feeds her a little quick breakfast. She likes to watch him shave – she smiles and points “Santa Claus! Santa Claus!” in her sweet toddler way, when he has on his white shaving cream beard. I prep breakfasts and lunches, as fast as I can. Before I know it – it’s time to run out the door to catch that darn bus.

There is one other mom who drops her child off at my son’s bus stop. I always envy her a bit because I know that as a stay-at-home-mom whose kids are in school, she’ll be able to walk home and enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee – maybe she even manages to read a morning newspaper (wouldn’t that be grand?!).

After The Other Mom waves goodbye to her daughter, and walks home at a reasonable pace, my marathon continues: I literally have to RUN home because I’ve still got to get not only a. myself dressed and to work on time, but also b. the baby bundled up and dropped off at daycare.

This all means that by the time I get to work, I’m already half-way spent. I take a deep breath and sit down at my desk. And then, they start to trickle in: 30 teenagers, five sets of them, five times a day, ready to learn whether they want to or not.

I always wait to see my son’s bus carry him away to school, and I wave goodbye – really savoring that moment; I really treasure his little smile and hand wave from the school bus window. My life is wildly hectic at times, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Unless of course, the board of education would care to consider changing the school start time to, say, 9 a.m.? Then maybe I could catch that cup of coffee? Ah well, isn’t that what retirement is for?

What do your mornings look like?