ShanghaiMamas

The Job of a Mother

Tuesday, September 9th 2008

By Katrina Beikoff* 

As mothers, our obligations are many.  Not the least of which is embarrassing our kids. 

While mine might be aged only two and four, it appears that I have begun doing just that. I’m so proud. China is helping this family hit some developmental milestones so way ahead of schedule. 

It happened because, though I do try, my Chinese language skills are appalling. 

So I have resorted to the foreign language equivalent of that sometimes-handy, but usually-annoying tool for speedy SMS senders, predictive text. 

Faced with a potential conversation in Chinese, just like the texting option, I immediately leap to assumptions. 

With two cherubs usually in tow, I assume (I think fairly safely) I am being asked about my kids. I also consider myself on safe ground assuming that I’m being asked: A) What are their names? B) How old are they? or C) is the small one with the long hair dressed in blue and carrying a truck and alternating between making engine-revving noises and roaring like a lion, a boy or a girl? 

My regular response has been to opt for option C and reply ‘‘boy’’, whilst waving a little finger in what I consider a helpful gesture in bridging the language barrier. 

Alas, it has been not so helpful to my children.

The moment arrived last week when, happily indulging in what I considered a cross cultural exchange, my two-year-old looked at me quite quizzically, shook his head and uttered disapprovingly: ‘‘No mum.’’ 

I stood there foolishly, little finger cocked, as he turned to the Chinese woman I thought I was talking to, told him his name and proceeded to nod as she burst forth in conversation. 

I can only hope she wasn’t telling him that his mother’s ability to cause him great social discomfort was only going to get worse — I want there to be some surprises down the track.

 And so the bubble burst — my son may no longer consider me clever, cool and in control. 

 At least I’ll be able to explain to him one day the acute embarrassment I also felt at that moment.  

As I stood there, my child distancing himself from my faux pas, the memories of teen horror came flooding back as I remember my own mother taking me downtown for the grand purchase of my first bra. 

And I still recall her standing there, waving her own little finger, as she asked the fitter if they had any bras to accommodate breasts the size of a finger nail. Mothers! 

*Katrina Beikoff is a Shanghai-based writer and mother of two. 

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