Time and again, life has shown me that what goes round, does come around. Given how the Man and I were as kids, it should really be no wonder that our kids are boisterous.
Matthew and Megan have a lot of energy and are very imaginative when it comes to inventing play. And they are LOUD. The 2 of them generate enough noise for a class of 10 in school, I believe. And when they are not quarrelling or fighting with each other (make that at least 10 times a day), they play very well together.
Hence I like to call them my monkeys. However, not all appreciate me calling my kids monkeys. I even get chided for the endearment chosen for the kids.
“Aiyoh, why for no reason call them monkeys! Tsk!” “Don’t call them that! They’re just kids!” are the usual responses from those who disapprove, complete with dismissing hand flicks in the air.
I’m puzzled by these reactions. What is wrong with calling my (not their) kids monkeys?
Monkeys are active and noisy, but great problem solvers as those in the animal kingdom. Energetic and imaginative if we use the Chinese astrology/zodiac explanation.
All in all, it is not so bad being called monkeys by their own mother right? Besides, do those disapprovers expect me to sing high praises of my own kids in front of others? Chinese decorum drummed into me since young certainly does not allow me to!
With (overgrown) kids like these on Natalie’s (a 1yo!) toys, circling around PoPo’s living room for a good 15 minutes and laughing their heads off, tell me how they can not be monkeys!
Despite the severe auditory assult they inflicted on my eardrums and head, and the emotional thrashing I suffered following any auditory overload, I’ll take these monkeys to be my lawful kids anytime. So what I am now officially the Mother Monkey. Bring it on!