Our friends at mun2 made a video revealing the real secret as to what really keeps los niños in line.
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Perhaps you were raised by sinvergüenza parents. Perhaps you’re a parent yourself and have yet to discover that, yes, you are shameless and your kids cringe and die a little inside when they see you rocking the curlers and ratty robe to pick them up from school.
Well, El Guapo believes that it’s better to identify sinvergüenzas early before they sneak up behind you and stab you with something rusty simply because they like the color red. So, let’s focus on shameless parents. Consider this an urgent public service announcement.
Parenting is the most challenging and rewarding endeavor that there is…at least that’s what Oprah says. But, like everything else, sinvergüenzas put their own distinctive stink on it. Here are some things we’ve overheard sinvergüenzas parents say:
- “If you’re going to play with that bag of rusty nails and those shards of glass, take it into the neighbor’s yard. That way, if you get hurt, you say you found it there and we’ve got ourselves a lawsuit. Cha-ching!”
- “Your boyfriend seems nice. And cute. Do you mind if I ask him out?”
- “We think it’s time you learned some responsibility in this house and earned your keep. From now on, you’ll be doing our taxes, lying to the creditors, and applying this ointment on grampa’s back fungus. Stop crying. It’s about time you learned adulthood isn’t all lollipops and ponies.”
- “Doctor said you have anemia. Go lick that stop sign for ten minutes, because I’m sure as hell not paying for iron supplements.”
- “I don’t need a doctor to tell me you’re healthy. Give me that school physical and a pen.”
- “The babysitter’s a registered sex offender? Well, he’s the cheapest one we’re going to get – and now we have leverage to negotiate a better price.”
- “Your toys are old? You know that there are little kids in Taiwan who work 12 hours a day to make those toys. Be grateful. They’re always hiring – since they’re constantly sewing their fingers together.”
- “Quite your blubbering. Want to know why I eat name brand cereal and you eat that knockoff store brand crap? Because my parents got me used to the expensive stuff. Guess who’s not making the same mistake? Now be quiet and eat your Kaboom.”
- “You scraped your knee? Sucks. God wanted it that way. I know he can be a prick, but you go take that up with him then and let me watch tv.”
- “Why is there a 10 pound bag of potatoes in your back pack? Well kid, you’re not that bright, so I’m hedging my bets and hoping you go pro in some sport. No pressure, but you’re my retirement plan. Which, as a result, obviously means I’m not that bright either.”
- “What science fair? Fine. See this ice cube in my whiskey? See it melting? Solid to liquid. Now go get a pen and a damn poster board and write it up, Einstein.”
- “I pride myself on having low standards and a knack for hyperbole. With that said, your painting was a Picasso.”
Your handsome and humble servant —
[Photo By Amptoons.com]
Today I am back on the clock. The morning ritual begins at 6 a.m. I walk into the bathroom and pull back my hair and wash my face with cold water. I look into the mirror but I’m not really focusing on the sleepy figure staring back at me. I’m already putting a rundown together in my head of what I need to do to get my son out of bed and to school.
Even though I haven’t been at a TV job in years, I still have the residual habit of keeping time to the minute and even to the second. It’s an instinctual survival skill I learned as a newscast producer where every segment of the news show was broken down into time blocks. End times were counted down to zero by the second — and there was no room for error. This morning my show is called, “First Day of School.” Today he is officially a first grader. This production is a one-woman band. I play a supporting role and also produce the show. We need to end this episode at 8:15 a.m. when the school closes its doors and gives tardy slips after that.
I walk out my bathroom into my closet and get dressed. (Won’t focus on my appearance today. I’m behind the camera.) As I walk into the hallway I begin turning lights on. I go into my son’s room where he is still sleeping, I glance at the clock of his Fios box. It reads 6:25 a.m. I pull out the clothes items that make up his school uniform. A white polo shirt, navy blue shorts, white socks and a belt.
I walk into another bedroom and turn on the iron. I run back to his room and start the process of coaxing my son to wake up. I flip on the lights. “It’s 6:30. Wake up sleepy head.” I see him stir a bit and walk back to iron his clothes. That done, I go back to his bedroom to get him out of bed. I lean down over him and hug him. “Wake up sweetie pie.” He feels warm and his almost too-long hair is a dark messy nest with the clean scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo.
I guide his sleepy body out of bed and down the stairs. I turn on the TV for him and let him get his bearings. He likes to start his morning with a cup of chocolate milk. (I’m very aware of the sugar jolt he’s getting.) I too, get my caffeine jolt. I run into the kitchen and put his lunch together: ham role-ups, grapes, crackers, Capri Sun drink, three Keebler fudge cookies. The oven clock reads 6:45 a.m. I begin to prepare his breakfast, which never varies: waffles. “A little more sugar please.” It’s 7:00 a.m.
I put the plate on the table and my show guest is beginning to come alive as he walks to the breakfast room. The cartoon playing on TV is Ben 10, another part of our morning ritual. Neither one of us mentions the significance of this day. But I can feel a little of the anxiety on this first day of school. I think it’s coming from me. My son finishes his breakfast. It’s 7:30. My iPhone rings. It’s his dad. He’s gonna meet us at the school at 8:50 a.m.
I tell my first grader he should get dressed and he does with a little help from me. I run upstairs to brush my teeth and I yell down that he should do the same. He’s already doing it! I am shocked and pleased. By the time I come downstairs he’s already putting on his shoes. Another surprise! Usually He’s in front of the TV with the toothbrush in his mouth held by a paralyzed hand and no shoes. This morning my guest is stellar. The digital clock over the TV reads 7:40, I grab the hairbrush in the downstairs bathroom and comb his hair. Checklist: backpack, purse, phone, glasses, kid. “Let’s get in the car,” I say. I look at the clock on my dashboard. 7:45 a.m.
We drive through the historic section of town, which is posted with 25 MPH school speed limits all the way to our target school. My show time is getting tight and I begin the instinctual anxiety of a producer. “Should I drop the dad segment? No. Need it. Make it work.” We get to the school parking lot. My watch reads 8:05. We sit in the car and wait. 8:12, Dad drive’s up next to our car. We’ve got three minutes to get to the door.
Our son walks us through the lobby of the school. I am not looking at the clock anymore. Now, I want time to stop. I try to take pictures of him like a paparazzi mom. “Mom! I’m embarrassed.” He says, putting his hand up. The halls are full with moms, and dads, and younger siblings. It’s semi-chaos of crying, flashbulbs, and teachers smiling wide. We find his classroom. Students hang their backpacks on the wall hooks and find their desks.
My son seems relaxed. I, and his dad are finding it hard to leave the room and keep going back to give him words of encouragement and hugs. We join the parents who are lingering a little too long in the hallway. I smile wide and wave at the teacher. “Have a great day. Good luck. Lots a sugar this morning.” We finally leave.
The show is over. I made my hit time. I am relieved. I sit in my car for a minute and let the feeling come over me. It’s a bag of mixed emotions that I’m sure many stay-at-home moms feel. “Freedom!!! I’m gonna miss him. I’m free! I feel a little empty. Freedom!” I love my son and I had a great summer with him. I’m sure he’s gonna have a great day and I’m gonna love hearing all about it. But if it’s anything like last year, when I pick him up and I ask, “What did you do in school today?” He’ll say… “Nothing.”
[Photo By dprevite]
The State of California has tried to remedy this. On the one hand the rights of children and young people are protected, on the other it seems that protection has worked against them because the statistics show high numbers of: juvenile delinquency, alcoholism, early intercourse with consequent pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases, drug use and juvenile prostitution.
Parents do not cease to experience surprise and awe at the reality their children are living.
Given that their children are exposed to this way of life, parents can often feel defeated, or worse yet, if they are strict they feel like their hands tied by the fear of being reported by their own children. It’s a double-edged sword. Knowing that a single 911 call accusing their parents of extreme violence (physical or psychological, real or false) because we do not give our children what they want is leaves adults feeling vulnerable, frightened and confused. Without proper guidance on how to educate, and above all raise children with values, as respectful of their own bodies and ready to join a company with responsibility, they parents are still responsible for raising adults.
Parents or adults responsible for nurturing their children can start planning and project where they want their children to be when they grow up. They need to retain control, order and discipline as heads of the household and stop allowing the unacceptable conduct of their own children.
Stop allowing your children to copy or imitate the habits or behaviors that you as a parent do not agree with. Ultimately, you are the parent and you make the rules of the house. What’s more, you’re the one that largely controls the money, with the access to buy and control the consumption of things in your child’s life.
Do not fear your own children, ask and seek advice from professionals: social workers, police or teachers. How can you guide your children, and more than anything, minimize the risks they are exposed to in the world we live in? And don’t forget, set boundaries and limits in your home. Remember that no one will ever love your children more than you do.
[Photo By lara604]
Question: Hi Martha, I have three children, and one of the girls is always restless and can never sit for very long. How can I cure her of this? When I try to help her study literature or read, she says she can’t do it, she doesn’t know how. She’s a good girl, even though I think she tries to get more attention, since she’s the middle child of three. She’s 6, I look forward to your advice.
Answer: Why do you need her to sit still? Does her school tell you she’s a problem? Are you jut comparing her to your two other children?
Sometimes mothers want all of their children to meet their expectations. If she’s not a problem in school, don’t worry, give her a lot of love and celebrate her vitality. Please do not label her as a problem child.
You’re not responsible for teaching her classes, you’re her mother, you’re responsible for giving her unconditional love.
Be careful and give yourself time to give her a little bit of individualized attention. Take her to buy ice cream, or read her a story, draw with her, etc. Take her by her little hand, caress her cheek, see if she acts with more calm, but make sure you do these things between just the two of you.
If you’re still unsure, ask the school to test her, but then you run the risk that she feels like she’s not meeting your expectations. And, if that’s the case, you’re going to condition her to be the problem child, when all she wanted was to receive unconditional love, be accepted for who she is, even if it’s different than her siblings.
The love of a mother can move mountains.
[Photo By DaveBleasdale]