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If you are a regular reader of my blog, you may remember my post about what i thought was wrong about rising a kid. Yet the hypothesis is proven day by day. 

This time, I am challenged to be a better mom. A better person, by enhancing my listening skill which I thought I am good enough. But one night, I realized that mine was poor. 

I may have listened to what my friends shared. I may have listened good or bad news. I may have listened to what the universe said. Or my heart. But listening to a little kid, bragging about one thing over and over and over again, that is the particular part I need to elaborate (now I sound like an Account Servicing, using the word ‘elaborate’). 

Who doesn’t want to have a kid with a good listening skill? Not only it will bring them to a nice circle of friendship, good listening skill also brings kids to a better cognitive development. Because only with good listening skill, kids can digest the direction given before they do their worksheet at school. But how can they become a good listener if we, parents, are not a good listener themselves. 

I was also challenged to face the reality that my baby boy is no longer a baby boy. He is now a big boy with his personal space and ownership. I must now respect his privacy. 
(Oh, I still cannot take that a little man can also have a thing called prahy-vuh-see


***

I tugged malicca to bed that night. To his room upstairs, together with me and baby Laluna. Like always, he brushed his teeth before bed. While putting the toothpaste to his toothbrush, he told me about his toy. Yes for the two thousands nine hundreds and twenty three times. I was carrying Luna and left the door half-opened while listening to him. Soon as he stopped, I smiled and closed the door. I put baby Laluna to bed. 

And the door opened. There, my beloved son was standing and looked at me in the eye. 
“I had not finished talking, Bunda. I was talking still and when I looked back; all I saw was the door closing. Why did you close the door?” He asked me seriously. 

I got stuttered. “I thought you were finished.” I defended myself. 

“I was not.” He said with a rolling eyes. 

Then he moved to his closet, looked it around and spotted what he looked for: the book section. He picked Dr. Seus’s while saying “... and why did you clean up the closet? Would you ask permission first, Bunda? This is my room.”

I was like ... oh wow. My baby boy is now a big boy and wanted me to put more respect on him. 

"I am sorry." I said. 

Two strikes! Yes, two strikes my son. You stroke me twice in the eye. You want me to respect you more by listening to what you say, and you want me to respect your personal space and I felt bad for having trespassed your privacy. 

Thank you, my son.
Thank you for reminding me to be a better listener. Thank you for reminding me to always put my respect to you. Sorry for taking you for granted; that you are still my little baby boy and so I do everything for you. Sorry I have forgotten that “Let Me” is your keyword now.  And thank you to remind me; that sometimes, a good will can be bad only because we do it wrong.

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