Him: "Mom. Mom?"
him: "Mom. MOM!"
him: "Mom. That's not how my China mom did that. I know. You're doing it wrong."
me: "Hmmm...well, that's interesting. How did your China mom do it?"
him: "I don't know. Not like that."
Any time I started doing something new, we'd start over. The third time through, I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and looked at him. Calmly, much more calmly than I felt, I said, "Sweetheart? You NEED to go into the other room. NOW. And stay there until I call you for dinner." More quivering lips and teary eyes. I had to get Jim involved, and the results weren't very pretty. But if I hadn't, I'm sure I would have burst out with the thoughts running through my mind:
"I've been doing this longer than your China mommy's been alive. If you don't like it, tough. You can do it yourself, go find someone who will do it to your liking, or learn to like it the way I do it. I'm finished competing with someone you don't know!"
I didn't say it. I wouldn't. But I sure feel that way sometimes. It's funny--one of them has to let me know that his China mommy was absolutely perfect and I never do anything right; the other one says that his China mommy would like to learn from me since I do everything so well.
No wonder I feel like the worst mom in the world. To one child here, it seems that I am.