Mother, Myself and I

Foreword: For a Mother's Day special, I asked my dear friend, colleague and a mother of two daughters, Cindy Chin, to share why she so loves this day that brings out the best and worst in us. Cindy Chin is an editor at Newsday. She is also a life coach specializing in relationship coaching. She loves helping individuals and couples make the most of themselves and their relationships. If you would like guidance on living a more purposeful and fulfilling life or you want someone to help navigate some of your relationship challenges, contact Cindy at emailforcindy@gmail.com to discuss coaching services.

 
Ah, Mother's Day. A day when children lavish us with the sweetest homemade gifts they put together in school. A day when the family takes us out for brunch or surprise us with breakfast in bed. A day when husbands declare that it's “our day” to do whatever we please.

Believe me, I love all these sentiments, but my argument is this: Why do we get the royal treatment only one day year? So sounds like after Sunday, it’s back to the reality of housecleaning, making meals, chauffeuring kids from one event to the next, breaking up fights among siblings, and so on.

The truth is that as mothers we need to create times of pampering, rest and self-care and not wait for Mother’s Day to roll around to say “Calgon, take me away” from our work and chores. But what is holding us back from showering ourselves with love and affection? GUILT! It’s the mother of negative feelings. We often feel guilty saying we want to do something that doesn’t revolve around the kids. We fear others will find us selfish. And when we do venture off on our own or with friends, we feel the need to justify to other people why we’re not with our kids.

Don’t get me wrong: Being a mom is one of the most rewarding jobs anyone could have, but in order to lead a life of balance, don’t lose sight of all the other roles you’ve known and enjoyed: romantic partner, BFF, shopping buddy, outdoorswoman, writer, bookworm, arts and crafts lover, etc. It’s all these elements along with the precious gift of motherhood that round out our sense of purpose and fulfillment.

So on this Mother’s Day, let women celebrate motherhood and everything else that they are!

Cindy Chin is trained under the Institute for Professional Excellence in Coaching, a fully accredited program with the International Coaching Federation. She has nearly 20 years of experience in communications, is a mother of two and active in the community. For more information, visit Cindy’s website at:  coachingwithcindy.wordpress.com

Clothes call: Designing mom fashions a plan

Teen and I have finally found a common thread that binds us together, but the fabric of our relationship is stretching thin.

There’s no skirting around this issue anymore. Now that teen is almost as tall as I am, she has taken to raiding my closet as she sees fit, and, frankly, this trend doesn’t suit me well.  I am thrilled that my children are growing taller but I don’t want them to do it at my expense. Every week, they engage in a pattern that makes me lose my stature before my own kids when all I want to do is stand tall and exercise my maternal authority. Our kitchen wallpaper bears the markings of my weekly humiliation. Teen, almost 15, is an inch or so shy of my 5-foot-1 frame. Middle child and son, still a few years from teenhood, are in a constant race with each other and with me to see who can one-up another. When I feel desperately hemmed in by the three kids I resort to offering motherly advice such as:  Drink your milk everyday so your growth is not stunted like mine to borrowing a line from Seinfeld: “I’m watching my height. My doctor doesn't want me to get any taller.”

But it is my teen’s latest fashion trend – borrowing my clothes whether or not the garments are a sure fit, lose fit or tight fit – that has me all ruffled up and rolling up my sleeves for a fight. Borrowing a T-shirt here or a sweat shirt there has me in knots. But borrowing a pink silk blouse on which I had spent a fortune is out of line. The other day, noticing that a sweater I wanted to wear to work was missing from my closet,  I rushed downstairs, my passions flaring, to give her the boot but I realized the teen also wore my lace-up waterproof footwear to school.

Now that my teen is literally walking in my shoes, I am raring for a catwalk fight. But I tell myself that I should take things in stride. Afterall, I’ve raided my mother’s closet in my younger days. Those Princess Diana-looking blouses and skirts that looked fine and dandy on my mom did not always look chic on me but I was more a fashion-wreck rather than fashion-forward back then.  Indian kids growing up in the eighties were not given an allowance to buy their own clothes and the chic-look was forbidden, lest a boy cast his lustful glance and snares the girl away from the clutches of her parents. Thus, for the earlier part of my teen years, I was doomed to commit major fashion faux pas.

My teen has better fashion sense at her age than I did but I don’t want any boy to have designs on her either (a subtle note of warning to all the boys out there). But I’m tickled pink to learn that teen thinks my clothes are haute couture and that she cares to parade them on her high school runway. She tells me that since she wore my lace-up boots to school, her own fashion stature has been upgraded. And did I say that her friends think I’m cool, too. To think that my teen looks up to me for style points and that I could drive fashion trends among teenagers makes me feel quite hip.

It’s very unlikely I will gain any actual inches to my stature since I am adamant about sticking with the aforementioned Seinfeld diet. But I can still reach the height of fashion, thanks to my teen, and accentuate the positive. Spring is here and I could use a new wardrobe. After all, I have an added parental responsibility now to keep my teen in style. My wallet will bleed but there is a lesson here in maximizing my opportunity. Teen will soon grow out of the skinny jeans and stylish tops that I buy for her, but I am bound to stay in vogue for the rest of my life.

Let's Face It: An FB post trumps nagging, hands down

Note: Today, I had the honor of writing a social-media related guest post for my friend's blog, Social Media Prism. A blogger and a public speaker, Farida Harianawala is an independent communications consultant for small businesses on Long Island and handles public relations, social media and content development through her company, Prism Media Services. You can check out Farida's views on social media and the rapidly changing world of communication and read my guest post on her blog at http://www.socialmediaprism.com

Currying flavor – and some good favor

Get a taste of this. I had the good fortune of being born in God's own Country, aka Kerala in South India, famous for its backwaters and tropical greenery, but it has taken me quite a few decades to turn over a new leaf and become an authentic, or pakka, Malayalee.

The reason, I am ashamed to say, is that when it comes to Indian cooking, I just don’t cut the mustard. Just ask my hubby or my parents. Unlike pakka Malayalee women who grow their own curry leaf (karivepilla in Malayalam) plant in their homes, I am probably one of a handful of Malayalee women in all of America who runs to the Indian grocery store to pick up a few sprigs of frozen or few-weeks-old curry leaves to use in any number of traditional Keralite dishes I normally don’t cook. Substitute basil or any other herbs, and you are toast. (Note to Americans: Curry leaves are NOT the same as curry powder (a mix of dry spices) and pakka Indians don’t use curry powder either. When making a dish, you usually pop mustard seeds in oil and fry the curry leaves with onions and chilies before adding other ingredients/spices.)



Flickr.com/By Mydaas!


Let me make this clear. Long, curly hair (which most Malayalees cut short and blow out or straighten these days) and varying shades of olive complexion do not a Malayalee woman make. The ultimate measure of a Malayalee woman lies in how well she grows and nurtures the small native Indian plant, standing by some estimates about 4-6 meters tall – that can grow taller than an average Malayalee woman – and produces aromatic green leaves that look a bit like bay leaves, are leathery in texture and have a citrusy flavor. Cultivating one or more curry leaf plants is as essential to a Malayalee woman’s status in society as the curry leaf is to South Indian dishes. The plant, a Malayalee woman’s pride and joy, is a testament to her heritage and is key to earning her a top chef star prize at any dinner parties.

Since I don’t sport a green thumb – my two previous attempts at growing the plant failed to take root — I’ve always considered myself a Malayalee cook not worth her salt. Garden-variety Indian that I am, I cook up quite a storm in my house by making Italian, Spanish, Mexican and other non-Keralite dishes, but when the craving for Indian food hits me and mom is not around, I confess I’ve bought curry leaves that another woman grew in her pot. Hubby, always a good sport, has had no choice in this matter but to live by this adage: “If you don't like my cooking, lower your standards.”

But last summer, a relative who cherishes her garden of aromatic curry plants as a mother cherishes her son, sensed that I was really up a tree and offered me a tender plant. Within months, the plant almost died on me, coincidentally, after a good friend remarked why in the world I needed a curry leaf plant, while I served him pasta puttanesca topped with chopped basil, for dinner.

He was probably just green with envy, but my plant has since sprouted fresh leaves and I am back in the good graces of pakka Malayalees – and have found new favor in my hubby’s eyes. Now, I can stand as tall as any pakka Malayalee, or the curry leaf plant. Who can’t relish that!