California Dreaming

I grew up in the foothills of Northern California and have always had mixed feelings about the place. It is a small town and I grew up in a small house on 2 acres surrounded by oaks, manzanita, deer and silence. It had a way of making me feel claustrophobic at times.

We lived three miles out of town on a dirt road, surrounded by hundreds of crickets who'd chirp all night long. (I only noticed when city folk would mention how loud they were). We could walk all night if we wanted to, just by the light of a full moon and we spent our summers plunging into the satisfying waters of the Yuba River.

Yet, I often found myself dreaming of the long, flat, wide, straight streets of cities - the seemingly straightforward, uncomplicated, matter-of-fact, predetermined benefits of man-made environments. In my hometown, trees and mountains which at times gave me a sense of protection and warmth, at other times made me feel trapped and isolated. The natural, unkempt surroundings of the forest both filled my heart with delight and caused me frustration.

I am here again in my childhood home with my husband and children. We are visiting my mother and brother who still live here. As with each visit, I sit in the same rooms and walk along the same paths as I did as a child. I notice that the trees have grown and that many things have changed.

Yet, what surprises me the most is not the way things are different from when I was a child. What surprises me is the way in which my own childhood memories are slowly being reshaped through the eyes of my own children. The way I remember my days as a child slowly begins to interweave itself with the daily romps and giggles of my children. It is as if I am seeing my world from a brand new vantage point.

Isn't that me sitting in the sandbox under the swaying oak trees letting sand flow through my outstretched palms? Am I not the one collecting moss and branches to create miniature worlds of my own making?

I sit on the back deck, breathe in the dry, familiar air and watch my children dart back and forth across the front yard. I find myself reliving my past through their laughter and overwhelming joy. Magically I slowly forget those things which aggravated me as a child and instead realize that I am savoring the bits which brought me satisfaction and happiness. I know there are downsides to growing up out here in the countryside, yet I easily push them aside as I witness the utter joy on my children's faces as they dedicate themselves to nothing but pure, unadulterated play from morning until night.

Our world seems so simple here. We step back just far enough to see things with a clarity that I fail to grasp when at home (where we rarely take the breaks we so desperately need to let our soul dangle). At home there is always a long list of "duties" which ultimately encapsulates me even more than the tall oaks and wide mountains ever did (and, ironically, are traps of my own making).

Despite the solid sidewalks and expansive streets of our city, it is out here in the wilds of Northern California that I find myself able to breathe again. It is here that I let down my guard just long enough to realize that I haven't been longing for wide city streets at all. In fact, I have been in awe of how high the trees have grown and how tall the mountains seem to have become ever since we drove down that dirt road of my childhood .

Deutsch, bitte!

"Deutsch, bitte!"
Ahhh, those two magical words which have such power, such influence, such resonance.

As I wrote in my last blog entry, we have been entering a new phase in our household - an English phase. The language of choice for my children when playing has become English, English, English. (Luckily they are still speaking German with us.)

In addition, my sons have been asking why they are expected to always speak German at home with one another when my husband and I don't even do it all the time. Good question, indeed! So, my husband and I, supporting this argument, suggested to our children that we would make an effort to speak German with one another more often if they would do the same. Agreed all around.

This doesn't mean that our children now automatically speak German with one another. That would be too easy! But it does mean that a gentle reminder of "Deutsch, bitte," elicits the friendly reply from our kids (in German) "Oh right, I forgot!" followed by at least 10 minutes of German discussion until it slowly spills into more and more English (followed by another gentle reminder). But hey, that's something!

Who knows what will happen in a month or two months or eighteen years but I do know that this current solution to our "German language problem" has brought me oodles and oodles of delight!
No arguing, no fighting, no cajoling, no begging, no long discussions, no defense, no attacks. Just a simple reminder followed by a simple agreement. Ahhh, it makes one want to sit back with a cup of tea and just feel the joy and happiness.

And, as if all of this weren't already too good to be true, I often hear my kids reminding his or her siblings to speak German! Talk about awesome! What kind of magic has taken over my household?

Ok, ok, before I faint from a euphoric swoon, I do know that this is but a temporary hiatus along our usually bumpy language road. I know this isn't the end of our language journey.

But I figure after all of those pot holes, there are bound to be some smooth patches here and there along the way so I'm going to enjoy it for all it is worth.

Has It Come To This?

Has it come to this? Have my children finally stepped over to the dark side? The one where all I hear is English, English, English all day long?

My children still speak German with me and my husband. I can revel in that joy (thank goodness) but that is about where it ends. Outside of the Mama-Papa sphere, English has taken over my children like an annoying virus.

My oldest insists that knights only speak English and therefore feels it is important to speak English when he is being a knight (which is pretty much 24/7 these days). My husband responds with a clearly worded (German) defense about how the shows my son has watched or books that he has read about knights have been translated from German or French or Spanish (etc.) into English. HAH, isn't my husband a tricky guy? He argues that the true language of knights are not English and therefore my son is not being completely authentic.

Ok, let's stop here to accept the fact that my husband is completely tinkering with the mind of our 6 year old - all in the name of language preservation! What will my son say to himself later down the road when he reads about all of those English-speaking knights in the British Isles? Will he turn to my husband and say, "Papa, I have lost all respect. It is over. I will never trust you again. You lied to me when I was 6 and you will forever have to bear the pain of that lie." Or will he simply throw it into the pile with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy (we have yet to add her to our repertoire of fantasy figures who will one day be dispelled) once he learns the truth about them?

Aside from the fact that my husband told a blatant lie to my son to encourage him to speak German, it still didn't work. My son doesn't buy into that kind of weak argument. He is 6 years old and wants proof. We do have ONE book in German about knights which could be used as some kind of proof but what's the point, the English books win out 100 to 1 every time.

My husband feels frustrated and deflated. Course, that is what he gets for trying to win a battle of wits with his own 6 year old son!

I, on the other hand, focus on that age-old method of encouragement: when I hear English spoken between the kids, I call out "Hey, what about German?" Or, "Wouldn't it be fun to also play together in German?" But what is the use? To obtain the desired effect, my kids first have to hear me (HAH, like that will ever happen) and then I have to capture their hearts with my loving appeal which is hard to accomplish since they are still in the "what will I get out of it" stage of life.

The truth is, this is where our best laid out plans go their own merry way and we can't really do much about it other than try to steer things in a general direction.

For example, I insist that they speak with me in German by simply not responding when they speak to me in English (which is extremely rare so I can still go about it in a humorous, fun way). And I still continue to speak German with them (although, I do have to admit that I mix in a good amount of English words when I don't know the German equivalent).

I also know that in the end it is about enjoying the ride.

My husband and I are on the next stage of the roller coaster ride... things aren't as bumpy as before but we are still reminded that we haven't made it back to the platform either. We gotta keep our hands on the rail but other than that, wow, isn't this fun!? Wheeee!

Your Children Are My Children

When the Dalai Lama spoke of fostering compassion at the Seeds of Compassion events in Seattle, he brought up a concept which we often speak of but rarely practice with consistency (myself included). It is a concept which most of us don't even know HOW to foster on a daily basis.

This concept is caring for other children as we care for our own.

When we care for our own children, we want the best for them, no matter how they are behaving. We want to foster kindness in our children and self-esteem. We want them to wake up each morning full of joyful anticipation and snuggle into bed at night overflowing with feelings of safety and comfort. When our children grow older and get into trouble at school or engage in activities which harm them, we still love them with all of our hearts and want nothing more than to help them find their way in life again.

The Dalai Lama asks whether we can learn to feel a similar level of care for children other than our own who come into in our lives. Could we learn to feel a similar sense of responsibility and love for the children in our neighborhood, our children's school buddies, the children of our family friends as we do our own children?

I can't imagine that the Dalai Lama would expect us to have exactly the same degree of attentiveness. The point isn't to exhaust ourselves by focusing on the needs of every child with which we come into contact. If it is possible, then fabulous!

From listening to the Dalai Lama, my understanding is that he believes that we DO have the capacity to experience this level of care for ALL children in our lives. And if we continually fostered this level of care and concern every day of our lives, our world would be filled with a far greater level of compassion on a global scale. Remember: he says that when we give others true compassion, we ultimately foster compassion in the world as a whole.

What I have been doing lately is giving a truly conscious effort to see the good and precious and sacred in every child that crosses my path. Sometimes it isn't easy but I think it is less because I don't feel compassion but that I simply don't have the same natural level of connection that I do with my own children. It takes making an actual effort.

Of course, there are some kids that just drive me up the wall. They grate on my nerves and sometimes even intimidate me. Finding compassion for them can take more concentrated effort! However, they too receive a compassionate attentiveness from me. In fact, what I found is that once I give the effort to truly see these children and foster a care for them, I often end up experiencing an even deeper sense of compassion. It is possible to see the reasons that make them act the way that they do, and how can we not be compassionate for that!

How does the Dalai Lama expect us to get to the point where we can experience this sense of universal compassion for children in our hearts? How do we find what he calls unbiased or unlimited compassion?

He encourages us to perform a kind of contemplate meditation: to give deep thought about what it means to feel compassion toward all children. He firmly believes that it IS possible for each and every one of us to reach this point of compassion. Isn't that an absolutely decadent concept? The richness of a world filled with compassion and the desire for mutual understanding.

All that having been said...

Tonight I'm working hard to experience that abundance of pure and natural compassion for (1) my 4-year-old son who just threw a fit because he couldn't play the Sendung mit der Maus online games because it is way past bedtime, (2) my 6-year-old son who was supposed to be getting ready for bed but instead came into the livingroom with some kind of messy goop all over his foot and cried out, "Hey, look at my new shoe! HAH!" and (3) my 3-year-old daughter who received a sticker for this evening's homeschooling work but in the last 5 minutes has changed her mind about which sticker she wants at least ten times (each time crumpling the current sticker in her hand).

Ahhhh, the joys of finding compassion for our own children. Maybe the Dalai Lama had it all backwards? Could it be that the true task is to learn to have as much compassion for our own children as our sweet, kind, perfect, lovely neighbor children? Hmmm, next time I have the chance I'll ask him.

Either way, I'm sure the Dalai Lama would say to me: "Compassion begins at home!"

Why Should I Speak It If You Don't?

My husband and I often speak English with one another. In fact, we speak English with one another most of the time. It comes naturally since that was the language we spoke when we met 16 years ago on the Emerald Isle of Ireland, in Mary Ryan's Hostel in Galway. Wow, 16 years!!

I didn't speak a word of German at the time and my future husband was in Ireland to speak English - so it all worked out well. Of course, he wasn't looking for a future American wife and I wasn't looking for a future German husband. We were there to meet the Irish! Not other foreigners!

Well, be it as it may, we fell in love and I ended up taking a leave of absence from my studies to spend two years in Germany with my future husband where we finally tied the knot and moved to Seattle, Washington.

While in Germany I spent grueling hours at the Volkshochschule followed by even more grueling hours at the university in Kiel learning German. Textwiedergabe - I remember that word clearly and it can still bring dread up my spine and fear into my heart. The ultimate of torture touted as "learning German." Ugh, I can still remember sitting there with my pencil poised for the moment of truth.

That coupled with trying to pronounce the letters ä, ö and ü while a kind-hearted teacher squishes your mouth into place was enough to make me want to fall to the floor and plead for mercy. "Try saying "eee" while rounding your lips like this," the teacher would say. "Ok, yea, I get it but now how do I remember all of that while trying to use that sound in the middle of a word which is in the middle of a sentence!?" would be my exasperated reply.

In any case, tonight my 6-year-old son heard my husband and I speaking English with one another and promptly said to us (in German), "Why are us kids supposed to speak German together while you two speak English with one another?" My husband and I looked at one another and and said (in German), "You are right! We should be speaking German. Ok, here is the deal, we'll speak German with one another from now on and you'll agree to speak more German with your siblings, ok?" Our son pursed his lips to think about the deal. He clearly smelled something rotten. And then I quickly added, "And you stop calling me Corey and just call me Mama from now on, ok?" Our son started to look at us with clear suspicion while my husband topped it off with, "And you will always call me Papa, ok?"

Well, let's just say that we all eventually shook on it and agreed to the terms. Whether my son has any idea of what he really agreed to will be seen soon enough. I think he would have agreed to anything just to get the heck away from his crazy, begging, pleading parents.

Is this what a bilingual family has come down to? Making language deals over the dinner table? Well, if it works it is worth it right? I guess I had better remember to speak German with my husband from now on! I mean, a deal IS a deal, right?

Stop Calling Me That!

My children have developed a bilingual habit which is starting to drive me crazy!

At the beginning, when my children first started speaking, they called me "Mama." I identified myself to them as Mama and so they followed suit. This all came very naturally and easily and I gave it very little thought.

Me=Mama and their father=Papa.

That was until I started noticing that my children were saying "Corey" much of the time. I noticed it most when they were speaking to one another (vs. speaking to me) and figured it was just a cute way for them to identify me by my given name. Little did I realize that it was going to start driving me crazy with frustration.

It wasn't until recently that I noticed that they were saying Corey when in conversation with one another in English. And that they were even calling out to me saying Corey rather than Mama! For example, if they were playing in the living room in English and wanted to get my attention, they'd call out, "Corey!" And if an English-speaking person was around with whom they were speaking, they would use the name Corey when talking about me to them!

Everyone we know thinks it is absolutely adorable. "How cute that they call you Corey!" they say.

And what about me? What do I think about it? It is making me want to sit those little bilinguals down and give them a long lesson in linguistics.

Instead, I started by asking them (calmly) why they call me Corey instead of Mama. They clearly identified the situation by stating matter-of-factly that when they speak English they say Corey and when they speak German they say Mama. "Mama is German, Corey is English," they tell me full of conviction. As if they were teaching me the translation of my name in each language!

After a while I started bugging them about it. "I wish you'd just call me Mama all of the time. I am still your Mama whether you are speaking English or German." They looked at me with a questionable look and said, "We'll think about it."

Ah, so, is that where things have progressed? They get to decide what they want to call me after a joint bilingual sibling consultation? Am I to have no say in the matter? I'm their Mama for goodness sakes!

As of today, they still call me Corey in English and Mama in German. They have not been convinced by my explanations and pleading in the least.

But little do they know that I have raised the stakes (or lowered my pride) and I now shamelessly complain to them in nothing less than a childish manner. "It makes me so sad when you call me Corey. Don't call me that anymore, ok? Just call me Mama all of the time!" I am delighted to say that I did stop short of bribery: "If you only call me Mama from now on I'll give you some candy!"

In the end, I realize that I have little say in the matter. My 6, 4 and 3 year olds are bilinguals destined to make language choices based on nothing but what makes most sense to them. That is their right to use language as they see fit, isn't it?

I can go blue in the face complaining, begging and insisting but I fear that when push comes to shove, I'll forever be half Mama and half Corey in the eyes of my little bilinguals. I guess there are worse things to worry about! At least they are still speaking German with me.