Halloween Happiness the Dress Rehearsal

Somehow we all got out the door today. I'm not quite sure how exactly, but we did. The Little Goose and I had been sick for the last few days and yesterday, she and I both took the day off of school and work to basically try and to sleep ourselves well. While we felt much better today, our sleep schedules were thrown way off. We didn't wake up until about 11am and for some reason J didn't wake up till 1pm and to top that the Sweet Pea refused to take his nap. Woe to ye who forsake the sacred sleep schedule. Every conversation with the Sweet Pea ended up with him screaming something or other that included something that sounded like “mine!” somewhere in the middle and the Little Goose just seemed tired and irritable. It was just one of those days when you just want to stay home and vegge yourself to cheerfulness by sitting around and doing nothing but contemplating your navel as any activity whatsoever would turn the delicate balance to chaos and produce screaming tired children.

Unfortunately for us, the Little Goose had been looking forward all week, sick or not, to the little Halloween festival her school was throwing and we could not miss it lest the anger of her highness be visited upon us peon parents. The festivities were scheduled for 1pm to 4pm; needless to say, we didn’t get out of the house until 2:50pm after scrambling to get the kids bathed and in their costumes and ready to go.

I wish I could say that the festival lived up to the hype, however, the poor Little Goose seemed a little disappointed and shy. She didn’t see any familiar faces from her class, most of the children were older and some were wearing costumes that were a bit scary for her and so she hung close to us most of the time. The Sweet Pea however, wanted to make a mad dash for everything he could possibly get his hands on and fussed and kicked and screamed when he wasn’t allowed to touch or grab things. He was too cool for us and kept trying to run off. And for us, well, I’m still fatigued from whatever it is that’s ailing me (one of my professors has the flu and I’m praying to GBH that it’s not the beginnings of that) and J was just trying his best to help me out by watching the kids, taking pictures, carrying the diaper bag, and bazillion cameras that I always lug around with us (ok, there were really only two, but it felt like a lot when I had the screaming toddler on my hip and the heavy diaper bag practically swinging on my neck).

Anyway, I guess it was all worth it in a way, the kids didn’t have the greatest time, but they didn’t have a horrible time, and I got to have some chicken pho for lunch/dinner/lunner. And it helped that the kids looked great in their costumes. Yup, gotta keep that chin up lest I go insane. That’s my constant fear these days, that I’ll snap or something and go lock myself in the bedroom and binge on some chocolate for a week. Thank goodness J recognizes the signs and bought me some Godiva. Yay.

Sleep Blogging and Drifting on a Memory

When I try to focus on the early years of my life, I can glimpse something small, a pink hat, bunnies in a diaper box, the curve of my uncle's arm as he reached back to throw a baseball, hiding in the bush in the front yard; yet even these are from when I was a kindergartener. I wonder at people who claim they can remember back to when they were in pre-school or earlier. I wonder if they are true memories or if they formed their own impressions based on things their parents told them. For example, for a long time, I held on to a picture in my mind of a straw hat and a piece of sugarcane. Supposedly, this memory comes from when I was a two year old in Vietnam. I don’t recall the first time I thought of this memory but I don’t remember anything of our time in Vietnam or Hong Kong and yet I remembered this and over time, whenever I concentrated, I could recall that I could see my face wearing the straw hat and holding onto the stick of sugar cane. But how can your memories contain your own image? The answer was simple of course; I didn’t remember the hat or the sugarcane. What I remembered was a photograph of myself that I saw at my grandmother’s house in Vietnam when we were finally able to return for a visit, it was the only photograph in existence that marked the fact that I was once a baby. Even my grandmother, now that she lives with us, the only thing she says when someone asks her if she thinks my children look like me is that she only remembers a straw hat and a piece of sugar cane.

Sometimes I look at my children and wonder how much of their lives up until now they will remember. Will they remember the trips we took to Lake Tahoe or Disneyland? How about that two week trip to Indianapolis and Chicago to visit one of my uncles; our first true family vacation with the new baby? Will they remember my hugs, my kisses, my voice, and our songs? Will they remember me as I am now? Will they remember that J and I never took vacations away from them, that they were never without at least one of us for more than one night? Will they remember that I held them tight everyday I could and said, “I love you…”? I can’t imagine that I’ll be giving them hugs and kisses every day and telling them “I love you” when they’re teenagers and adults. (Mainly because my parents never did, and I don’t want to be that sappy overbearing parent they’d want to stay away from.) And if they don’t remember, what is the point of all our activity? Is it possible to make up for any mistakes that we make in the early part of their lives by glossing over them when they start asking about their early childhoods? Why DO we take them to Disneyland?

I look at them and I wonder these things and usually the answer I give myself is this: I love them. It doesn’t matter if they remember the specifics, but if they can remember the feelings of being loved and happy and cared for; then they can always look back and know that at some point in their lives, they were happy, healthy people. The point is that I’m giving them a childhood. They don’t have to remember the specifics, they just have to feel that my thoughts and feelings for them are true, these things didn’t just spawn from nothing, and were built upon years of caring.

I remember being loved as a child even though it is not in our culture for parents to tell children that they love them. I watch my parents interact with my kids, and my normally stoic dad goofing around and hugging and kissing my son and daughter; I can only imagine that that must’ve been what it was like when I was little because I can’t recall the last time my dad hugged me, or said he cared. I can only imagine that’s what those early years meant, if only I could recall.

*****

What I wrote above was inspired by something my dad told me a few months ago. We had been getting ready to go out and I can’t shake what he said. A thing about my relationship with my dad; we never talked as far as I know. I mean we talked, we just never discussed anything of any significance for the first twenty something odd years of my life. It’s only been since the Little Goose was born that I’ve been able to get anything out of him about his life, about who he is, but usually there's a bit of prodding and questioning going on my part. This piece of himself, he gave for free, without my asking.

He said, “I thought I was much older, but I guess I wasn’t, I must’ve only been [the Little Goose’s] age. Your Uncle Lanh, I remember playing with him and your grandma was at the market and your grandpa was out at sea. He was my younger brother; of course you don’t remember him. I remember, he got a fever suddenly and your grandma had to be called home. I remember his poop looked like black tar and he was crying. They weren’t even able to go get the monk to come pray for him before he died…your grandpa was out at sea and so there was no way for anyone to get word to him. This was forty something years ago. I thought I was older but now that I think about it, I must’ve only been three or four. He was only about a year old. He was really cute and sweet…of course we have no pictures of him, but I remember this so clearly…”

And then he fell silent, and while I have no doubt about the authenticity of his memories, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if he needed a hug or any words from me, all I could do was say, "We'll be gone, but we'll be back..." And then we left.

Once upon a time in Northern Cal...

Santa Cruz to be exact and about an hour ago; I was at the Costco with my friend O the 3^rd (son of my dear friend O.D. AKA O the 2^nd) buying some bad for me pastries. I didn’t have a cart and so all my purchases were on the conveyor belt at the check out, behind me was a blond mommy with two cute little ones who were waiting patiently in the cart on the other side of the check out (if you’ve ever been to Costco, you know what I mean). The little ones were blond and blue eyed like their mommy. O the 3^rd is a 20 year old black college kid, our cashier was Asian, and it was our turn to check out, enter surreal scenario…

The cashier started scanning the items in the blond mommy’s cart and I say, “Wait, those aren’t my items.”

Flustered cashier: “They’re not? Which ones are yours?” Me (pointing to my stack of pastries): “Just those things right there.” FC: “Wait these aren’t yours? I’m confused, whose kids are these??”

She asks me this as if she thought the little blond babies were mine. Bless her egalitarian, color blind soul; nonetheless O the 3^rd and I look at each other like, WTF?

Yeah, despite being cute little white kids, yeah, I can see the resemblance; 10 fingers, 10 toes, two eyes, nose, lips…yeah, definitely some resemblance there. The mommy and I exchanged a wordless, “WTF” “Hell if I know,” glance and shrug with each other before I paid for my buttery fresh baked apple croissant break the calorie bank pastries and walked off with O the 3^rd where we discussed how unusual it was for someone to assume that white children belonged to a black kid and an Asian woman.

However, now that I think about it, what was so surreal about this scenario? I’m sure some Asian parents have white children, or children who look white. Why was I so perplexed by this? Am I, GASP!, ignorant? Or has my perception of the world been shaped only by my experience? Perhaps the cashier had seen the very combination that my dull little mind considered unusual? The blond mommy didn't seem too perturbed. Maybe I should just let go of this teensy, didn’t hurt nobody thing, and have a pastry. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do; all is well with the world when you’re munching buttery, flaky goodness. But in all seriousness, was it wrong of me to think it was weird that this cashier thought for a second that those blond, white kids (no they weren't mixed or anything) might have been mine? This is sort of like the reverse of the, "Oh how long did it take to get her?" question that some parents seem to get regarding their own children.

UPDATE! Per a conversation with my friend S, the cashier might have thought I was the nanny. Why didn't I think of that? That didn't even enter my puny little brain...fuck that! Ok, I take back what I wrote about their egalitarian colorblind soul just in case that's what they were thinkin'.

Bento and Babies

Instead of filling up this site with a bunch of pictures of the Little Goose's lunch, I decided to start another blog with just pictures of her lunch and a daily picture of the Sweet Pea and/or the Little Goose (it's HARD to take a decent one of them together!) If you're interested, please check out Bento and Babies. My bare bones bento blog. =) In other news, the Sweet Pea decided that he would do his best impression of a lavender turtle (as captured by J as I was in class, I wonder what other moments I miss):

Procrastination Heaven

This is my second attempt at making a bento style lunch for the Little Goose. Did I need another hobby? Apparently. It's actually quite fun as I got to do a few of the things I love like shop, spend time with family (while shopping), and preparing something special for someone I care about. I spent the last two weekends at Japantown in San Francisco in addition to Michael's, searching for little things that could make cute lunches for my little kindergartener. I dragged J and the kids all over with me in pursuit of the perfect yet cheap bento utensils. Although the results are not nearly as cute as Ngoc's over at Cooking Cute or pkoceres or this girl here (click on the months...'cause daaaaamn!), but hey, gotta start somewhere. Again, did I really need another hobby for my already packed life? Am I absolutely insane you ask? (Well J think so, but what the heck does he know?) I blame Ngoc for making such a cool site. Although really, it's just that I'm a chronic procrastinator. Especially when it comes to school. One would think that 9 years away from the college student life and a relatively successful software engineering career (successful meaning still employed) would break me of these bad habits. It's like there's this little switch in my brain that tells me that all tests and papers should be studied for and written the night before the big deadline. Thus, I have until Wednesday evening before my brain even allows me to think about the midterm I have on Thursday morning. It is just so, I don't know why. If you put me in an empty room with only a pen, a pad of paper, and the books I'm supposed to be studying; I will guarantee you that I will be doodling instead of studying. If anyone has any good advice on how to stop procrastination before it happens, please don't...you know, send them my way. ****************** By the way, the dude in the doodle was supposed to be Achilles as I'm supposed to be reading a specific translation of the Iliad. In the bento box, I packed mini pb&j sandwiches cut into flower shapes, a skewer of fresh mozzarella balls with nori star cutouts (paper punch y'all), cucumber stars, baby carrots, Disney cookies filled with strawberry cream, berry skewers, and heart cutouts of this Japanese melon candy I bought from Nippon Ya in Japantown. The partridge wouldn't fit and that definitely ruled out the pear tree. I also drew a few more doodles for good measure and played around with our cameras. These activities have of course taught me something, and that is I'm an inconsistent writer, doodler, "cook", and photographer. For example, out of a bazillion pictures I took in the last two days (thank GBH for digital), I think I only like this one. It was more fun than reading Homer, that's for sure.

10 Things

It’s no secret in this house that I’ve been in a horrible angry mood these last few days. There are a lot of things going on that have just brought out the worst in me and now I feel extremely sheepish for letting myself get too emotional. I’ve always been a person who becomes easily susceptible to bouts of depression when life just isn’t working out. However, for my husband, for my kids, for my own sanity, I try to catch myself and think positive thoughts. And so here are 10 things in no particular order that have helped to cheer me up today. What cheers you up when you’re down? 10. The Sweet Pea has managed to keep two socks on his feet for the last three days. It’s a miracle! Either that or the thing that’s been eating one of his socks on a regular basis is laying low since I was about to launch a full scale investigation. Let’s hope the Sweet Pea keeps it up. Although now that he’s been managing to keep both socks on, I’m missing the cuteness of his single naked foot. 9. J asked me if he could go before he went out with his friends tonight. Well, he always does this when he goes out, but it occurred to me that he has never needed to ask and it’s very nice of him to do so anyway. We are always in contact with each other and he always lets me know where he is and what he’s up to in case I worry, because if it’s one thing he knows for certain, it is that I’m a worrywart. I highly recommend thoughtful spouses for good humor. 8. The Little Goose and the Sweet Pea were happy to see me. I always wonder if I spend too much time working and if my kids somehow forget me in the course of the day or maybe if I come home cranky and tired often enough they would hate me and not care to greet me at all when I come home. Luckily, it takes more than simple neglect to get rid of my little ones. I received lots of love today. The Sweet Pea even gave me several very wet kisses; the kinds where I have to wipe my cheek on his shirt are the best. 7. My dad and I watched about 10 minutes of a documentary on Pompeii together (before I had to run off for something or other). We even exchanged a short conversation on the poor Pompeiians (Pompeiiese? People of Pompeii) who must have suffered the worst kind of suffocating, burning deaths and yet what a boon for archeology that their town remains so well preserved and giving us a glimpse into the past. I love having conversations with my dad that don’t involve yelling, family, or food. It makes me more aware that he’s actually a human being and not just laconic-Asian-dad-authority-figure. 6. I went to the grocery store and dinner with J and the kids. Not only were they well behaved and didn’t ask for a single thing for themselves (ok, I’m lying, the Sweet Pea broke down near the end and started crying for a “bahwoo” aka balloon, although he didn’t get one and was ok about that). It was nice just being out with the people I love the most in the whole world. It didn’t matter that it was only for an hour and a half and that we went to Denny’s and Safeway. It was precious time. 5. My mom was excited that I was going to Safeway and asked me to buy chicken broth since it was on sale. I’m happy that I was able to help her out. 4. I was able to take a nap. Naps are good. It’s amazing what they can do for your state of mind. Babies truly are geniuses, they’ve been trying to tell us all along that naps were important, not just for them, but for everyone, but no one listens. 3. No one died a violent death in Oakland today, at least, not per SFGate.com. Every time I hear of a murder in Oakland, I get a little depressed. I love this city and I love living here, but it has an incredibly bad rap for being a violent and scary place. One could speculate on the reasons for this; the socio-economic levels of its residents, the fact that it is a minority majority city, the accusation that it’s the industrial backwater of the San Francisco contado, that there is no “there” here, etc. I want the best for my city, it’s a nice place to live with wonderful people, but it always makes me sad and frustrated that there are people here who would solve the issues they have in their lives through violence. 2. It was a beautifully warm day. Not that I actually spent much time outdoors today, but I appreciate the fact that we still have our mild Mediterranean type weather in the middle of October. One of my theories is that people in the Bay Area are laid back because we don’t have snow to shovel or high temperatures to sweat over. Tomorrow also looks to be quite nice, highs in the low 80s they say. 1. I was able to put the kids to bed. I was able to read them a story and sing them songs till they drifted off to sleep. Before I began my educational odyssey, bedtime was my ritual to perform. However, I haven’t really had a chance to put the kids to bed in awhile. At least, not put them to bed properly. In the last month, it’s been a challenge to fit in story time and songs. It’s mainly been about getting them to stay put with a lot of yelling. This is time that is precious to me as well. These 10 things might seem pretty domestic to you and very small and insignificant, but this is all I ask for to keep me happy. If every day were like today, then life wouldn’t be so bad. It’s the little things that make a life worth living yeah?

Halloween Happiness, the Prequel

Yay! The Sweet Pea's Halloween costume arrived today. After much deliberation, I decided that since my baby boy has absolutely no say in the matter of what he's going to be for Halloween, I might as well use this opportunity to use his costume as a metaphor for the stereotypical Asian parent expectations. Nothing over the top of course, and if one did not think about it for more than minute, one could possibly miss the connotation completely. How can I combine subtle social commentary in an 18 month old's costume and not be completely offensive? Well, I'm not sure actually, since it just occurred to me today when the costume arrived. Do you need to wonder? Why, he's going to be a doctor of course! And pretty snazzy one at that, I even bought a lab coat with his name embroidered on it. [Sweet Pea M.], MD Like I said, snazzy. The Little Goose's costume has been a bit harder to pin down as she's been wavering between "firetruck" and "airplane". However, when she saw the Sweet Pea's costume, she mentioned that she wanted to be a doctor too. And then she saw it; it was on the picture of all the costumes from the company where I ordered Sweet Pea's costume...in all its powder blue and pink striped glory...a firefighter costume for girls. Oi. The Little Goose had mentioned in the same breath that she wanted to be a firetruck, that she might settle for being a firefighter for Halloween. Now, I normally am quite the feminist. I fully believe that women can do pretty much anything men can do, however, I have to admit, I hesitated. I didn't order the firefighter costume right away. I'm thinking...1) I figure if I order the costume, I should order one that's more realistic, and say what you will, I don't think they make real firefighter uniforms in powder blue and pink. 2) I'm afraid that if I don't order the girly firefighter costume and just order the one for boys which is much more realistic, the Little Goose might be teased that she's wearing a "boy costume". 3) Who gives a fuck what other people say. I need to teach my kid how to stand up for herself and to defend her choices. She needs to learn how to be secure enough to let people know that girls can be firefighters too and that it isn't just for boys and has not been so for a very long time. (She probably wouldn't have any issues if I order the powder blue and pink one but HELL NO, I am NOT buying no blue and pink firefighter costume.) 4) Maybe I can challenge some thinking and educate some assholes by letting her have her way and buy her an "authentic" fire fighter costume. Yup, I'm all about social commentary this Halloween. Power to the people y'all. I'm of course making up for all the years my Little Goose was dressed as a giant cannibalistic Hershey's kiss, an angel, a fairy, and mini beauty queen. (The Sweet Pea was a mini kiss cannibal last year.) ************** Ah well, if people don't think the female firefighter is a good costume than maybe I can choose something next Halloween. Maybe another costume from the company I ordered the Sweet Pea's costume from...they've got a line of decent adult occupation dress up costumes...hmm...maybe a race car driver, or chef, or soldier, or heck even cowboy...nah...it's gotta be Ninja! That's totally a realistic adult occupation. Hmm...I wonder where the computer geek costume is...someone needs to get on that! Update: I ordered the boy costume with some personalization that says, "Capt. [Little Goose]" =)

Auntie Two

My dad’s cousin, whom I’ll call Uncle H, got remarried on Saturday. While I couldn’t make it to the wedding (dang work) I was able to send a wedding gift and the kids as my emissaries as J decided to stay home and keep me company while I worked a long late weekend technical triage shift (6pm to 6am is no joke, thank goodness I got Friday and Monday off because of it).

Uncle H’s first wife passed away from Lupus related illnesses about three years ago. They had been married for about 17 years. I remember that one of the last family events she was able to attend was our wedding although Uncle H wasn’t able to attend. Although she and I never had any great or deep conversations, she had been a consistent part of my childhood. She used to ask me how I was doing in school and in general; questions that I’ve learned to miss. She was one of the many great cooks we have in the family and always helped out in the kitchen when we had a family get together. And that is what I was blessed with; although I grew up poor I had a large wonderful extended family that I thought would always be there, people who I thought my children would grow up to know as well.

Growing up, people never died, even if they moved away, we always saw them during big family events, and little did I know it was capable for someone like my aunt to die. She had three wonderful children, she had a great and kind husband in Uncle H (one of my favorite uncles), and she was thin and pretty. Wasn’t that all you needed to live a long and happy life? She was only 37. I didn’t even know her real name. I always called her Bac Hai (Auntie Two).

Auntie Two had struggled with Lupus for 10 years. In the final years of her life, the disease began to attack her kidneys and she needed a kidney transplant. I remember the entire family that was in the States, who had known her, went out and got their blood type checked to see if any one of us could donate a kidney to her. I remember telling my uncle, that I didn’t have the right blood type and I remember how happy he was that I even made the effort to try.

I heard through the family grape vine, which tends to be surprisingly accurate when the information is only second hand versus tenth, that one of my dad’s brothers had the correct blood type and that they had consulted with my grandmother in Vietnam as to whether she would let my uncle donate his kidney. My grandmother said no. Not that it made a difference, as my uncle had been afraid to do it anyway. Surgery is not something to laugh at and a kidney transplant is not some small thing. I often wonder if I did have the matching blood type. Would I have given Auntie Two my kidney? In my imagination, I’d like to think that I would have, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way and donated some blood to the Red Cross and found out my blood type had I not been serious…right? The truth is I don’t know and even Uncle H knew that even if they had a donor, that it might not have worked. He’d said to me, “Auntie Two has lots of illnesses child, who knew if it would have worked anyway. I don’t blame your uncle.”

…

I was there, when my cousin Jennifer first found out her mom had passed away. She was 13 and she had been waiting for us at her house while we furiously drove up to visit my aunt, who had regained some consciousness after being in the ICU for months after a particularly nasty lapse. Auntie Two had been awake and alert, and had asked hopefully if she might be able to go home. However, while we were on the road, we found out that Auntie had lost consciousness again, and when we got there, Jennifer was in the drive way on the phone. When we got out of the car, she had just hung up, and she looked at us and just said softly, “I think my mom died. My mom died…” All we could do was hug her. We didn’t say anything…

I couldn’t help but think of that moment on Saturday. It is one of those memories that are burned into your brain. No one ever wants to hear a child say those words and to hear it in a tone that told you that a heart was breaking and hope had failed. In the three years since, Jennifer, Uncle H, and the family have moved on as best they can. And so, on Saturday, on Uncle H’s wedding day, the tone was hopeful again.

I hope and pray that Uncle H is happy. The woman that he’s marrying inherits the title of Bac Hai/Auntie Two. Hopefully, the new Auntie Two can make the rest of his life as comfortable as the first. Hopefully my cousins Tommy, Kimberly, and Jennifer can find someone they can trust to help their dad find some joy again, and perhaps, help them find some peace as well.

…

On Saturday, since we couldn’t make the wedding, J and I decided to take the kids to Japantown in San Francisco to search for some bento stuff (so that I could make some lunches a la cookingcute.com) The Sweet Pea busied himself looking out the window and the Little Goose was happily singing “London Bridge is falling down…” over and over while we were crossing the Bay Bridge when the Little Goose decided to ask some questions.

“Mommy, whose wedding are we going to?”

“Mommy calls him Uncle H, but you have to call him great uncle. Auntie Kimberly’s daddy, do you remember Auntie Kimberly?”

“I remember her, what happened to Kimberly’s mommy? She died?”

“…yes honey, she died.”

“She’s a baby again?”

“If she was reborn, then yes, honey, she would be a baby now…”

“Mmmhmm I know!”

The Little Goose and I have not talked about death much or at all, and have definitely not talked about reincarnation. She said, “She’s a baby again…” so confidently. People say things like, “…from the mouths of babes…” but I wonder, if kids know things that we don’t. If reincarnation is true, it’s as if being a part of this world and this life makes them forget the last or where they were before. Sometimes, I look at my Little Goose, and wonder where in the world I got her and on days when I believe in such things, who or what she was before. Some days I think, based on the way she acts and talks, that my Little Goose is such a wise little thing, an old soul. (Whereas, there is no doubt in my mind that the Sweet Pea is brand spanking new; curious about everything, wide eyed and happy with the world. He sighs of nothing and laughs at everything.)

On Saturday, hearing my little girl say, “She’s a baby now…” and suggest that somewhere in the world, my beloved Auntie is someone else’s pride and joy, a part of someone else's family. It made me cry. It let me hope. And it helped me let go.

Memos

To: Oakland A's RE: Today's game and apology for jinxing Wednesday. I'm sorry, I watched on Wednesday. I have no self control. Today, the hubs promises that we will be doing "stuff" like, actually spend time together, since I actually have a day off (Yay!). (But I have to work from 6pm to 6am, starting Saturday, not so yay.) In theory, I therefore have no time to sit and watch the game and therefore will not be able to jinx you. I will now commence getting all baseball cheering out of my system at this moment. GO A's! GO RICH!!! (Rich Harden for those of you uninitiated.) YOU CAN DO IT!!! WHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! LET'S GO OAKLAND!!! Okay, I'm done. (Update 10/13/06 5:01pm: :BlubberWeepCryBottomofthepitofdespairdepression!: They lost again! I watched an inning while I was Costco when it was still 0-0. Please don't get swept A's! At least win the next one so we can see you here in Oakland again!! Update 10/15/06 4:01am: Dear A's, :sigh: Although it's over, you should still be proud. You guys did an amazing job considering all the relative newbies and all the injuries that occured this year. You've gotta admit, the Tigers just played better ball and had that great momentum after they beat those damn Yankees. It's ok, there's always next year. Thank you for a wonderful season. You guys continue to impress. The Yankees try to do what you do every year with three times your budget and they didn't make it this far. Whatever you lack in talent you make up for with a whole lotta heart. That's why I love you guys and why I can't wait till April '07. Now excuse me while I put my head down and cry...and not try to fall asleep. Just two more hours till my shift is over.) ********** To: Everyone else RE: Apology for being obsessed with baseball lately I'm sorry I've been posting a bit too much about baseball, a subject that I've found, not too many people I know care much about. I was going to post more about the Little Goose and her birthday and birthday party, but J has yet to get the pictures off the camera (that's his job). I was going to post about Sweet Pea's apparent inability to keep more than one sock on at a time but haven't had time to do a full investigative analysis into the issue. I mean where does the other sock go? If I knew baby babble maybe I could just ask him, but since I don't speak the language, it remains a mystery in this house as to how he's always one foot bare of sock when I know I put two on. I have a hypothesis that maybe there is a monster in the house that tears off one sock from the Sweet Pea's little foot and eats it but then is too full to eat the other sock (this monster being related to the one that subsists on socks who lives in the washing machine of course) and that's why the Sweet Pea constantly loses one sock and only one sock. Maybe we brought this monster home with us from the hospital when we brought the Sweet Pea home since it's be happening since then. It's a minor mystery and like all minor mysteries, something in my brain will keep nagging me till I find out the who, what, and why. Maybe I should just safety pin the Sweet Pea's socks to his pants. Hmmm.... ********** To: J RE: Thank you My dear, darling, super, adorkable hubby! Thank you so so much, for getting up at the wee crack of dawn to drive me down to UC Santa Cruz yesterday. Thank you for realizing that perhaps it was not the safest thing in the world to let your wife drive an hour and a half on a famously winding road after she stays up all night working on a presentation for school which she has to present at an 8:30am class. I know it was hard for you to drive me since you are navigationally challenged (I can't believe you had to ask if we were supposed to go "North or South?" to get to Santa Cruz, oi!) and generally do not care to wake up at 5:30am. I just want you to know that I appreciated it. I'm glad you were able to get some work done at the cafe while you were waiting for me while I was in class. It was not the first time you've had to wait for me while I was busy doing something else. You always seem to be waiting for me and you do it so patiently for an ADD guy. Thank you so much my love. I appreciate all that you do and I remember how much I love you every time I see you. Now...it's 10:13am, so are you gonna get up so we can go out and do "stuff" or what? I don't get days off all that often you know! ********** To: My kids RE: Operation Wake Up Daddy Hi Kids, Daddy's oversleeping again. I think he stayed up way too late playing UNO on the Xbox 360 again (why the heck did I let him buy that thing??? To play UNO????). Please commence operation Wake Up Daddy. You know the drill. Step 1: Whine and yell "WAKE UP DADDDDDYYY!!!" at the tops of your lungs. Step 2: Shake him. And if all else fails; you have my permission to jump on him whilst performing steps 1 and 2 simultaneously. ********** To: My parents and Grandma RE: Thank you for watching the kids. Cam on Ba Ma va Ba Ngoai goi hai dua nho gium con. Con biet la Ba Ma bang va con hieu la Ba Ngoai bay gio khong con tre nua, nhung con mong Ba Ma va Ba Ngoai hieu la con thang that cam on Ba Ma giup do con khi con di hoc va lam. Love you, Lien

Dear Barry

It's not your fault, it's my fault; I couldn't help it. I had to check the scores and pay attention to the game. I signed in to mlb.com and watched last night; yes, I know I was in class but I couldn't help it. I HAD to know what was going on. You didn't look so bad, just looked like you had an off night. You'll do better next time. It IS as you say, a 7 game series. I know, this jinx will just look away now. I'll let you guys do what you do and not look because every time I do, you lose. Is this a little silly to think that lil' ole me could jinx a big ole professional baseball team?...yes, but this is sports, all silly superstitious mumbo jumbo counts in the cosmic scheme of sports. I mean, other people do stupid stuff on game day to help their teams out too right? Thus, if I can help just in the teeniest way by looking away. I will do so. :sigh: I believe in you guys! You can do it! GO A's! I'll be celebrating when you win, and even if you don't, I still love ya. I'm so proud you made it this far, and I'll be rooting next year. There's ALWAYS next year. That is, unless you move to Fremont. If that happens then I just don't know. =( Your devoted fan. Lien M. PS Love your blog.

It's Not Easy Wearing Green...

It's actually quite hard for me to take pictures of the Sweet Pea and GBH forbid he have something on his head. He hates hats. So of course, since today is the first day of the ALCS, I HAD to dress him up in some A's gear and take some pics, and of course, he wasn't going to have any of it. I mean... He just wouldn't sit still. I finally got a hat on him. But he wasn't going to have any of that. I mean, he just tore it off... And then, he attacked me!

The Things I Do For The Ones I Love

LET'S GO OAKLAND! (Clap! Clap! Clapclapclap! Clap! Clap! Clapclap!) 14 years y'all. 14 sad sorry years but at last my beloved Oakland A's are going to the ALCS (American League Championship Series for those of you not baseball inclined). This is BIG, HUGE, MOMENTOUS news; well to me and my fellow fans anyway. You see, the A's have been in the playoffs nine times in the last 14 years. The number of times they've gotten this far in all that time? Zero, well it might as well be zero because the A's have had a chance to clinch a post season series by winning only ONE MORE GAME in a five game series NINE times. The number of times they've blown a two game lead and screw it all up? NINE! So you see why I'm excited. I've been a baseball fan since I was 6 when my youngest uncle played short stop on a Little League team and I was in awe of the speed and power of his throw. (The sliding and dust and dirt looked pretty fun too. Ironically, I became a clean freak. That's different from a neat freak J.) Although I was never a Tigers fan when we lived in Michigan, I was vaguely aware of them even though we never watched a game. I just knew I loved it. My uncle and I used to play catch in a hallway before bed. And I loved watching him play his Little League games because he was good. Really good. Sports in some ways, especially for boys, seems to be the great equalizer. I'm not saying that my uncle was a jock, but I think we got a little more respect after he started playing baseball. We, being the only Asian family in town. When my family moved to California, my uncle stopped playing organized baseball, although he still played catch with me in the hallway of our cramped two bedroom apartment before bed. My dad never understood the game and never really encouraged my interest. We lived in a bad part of Salinas, CA (actually, are there any good parts?) but I still took a delegation of cousins to our schoolyard for some informal bat and run games. (Well, mainly running as the ball never went where we wanted it to go.) In school, we played baseball or kickball games during PE and recess and I liked that in actuality, you didn't have to actually run in baseball but rather sprint from base to base. I was never a strong runner, but I could sprint faster than some of the boys. My only claim to fame in anything physical. (Although I DID get MVP when I played softball in high school, but that's because our team sucked and I was the only one interested in the actual game and showing up on time every time.) And so, by the time I started paying attention to professional baseball, the A's were kings. It was during the reign of the Bash Brothers (la la la...steroi...what? I don't want to know) and the Battle of the Bay, and of course, the A's were the favorites to win ('cause you know, the Giants suck! Have sucked, will always suck. Barry's retiring fool! The National League is for old men). Did I root for the underdogs? Hell no, in fourth grade, you root for winners. (That and yellow, white, and green are a MUCH cuter combination of colors than friggin' orange and black. Ick. This philosophy also proves why the Raiders are better than the 49ers.) Of course, the year that I started to pay attention, there was an earthquake during the World Series. Sadly, every year I've paid attention since, the A's have screwed up. They lead and then they falter. It's heart breaking. In fact, in adulthood, the year that I REALLY paid attention to baseball, the A's failed to make the playoffs for the first time in a five year playoff streak. :sigh: I can smell a jinx when I see one. That is why, despite my love for the game and for the A's, I've tried my best to not watch or look. I'd hear bits here and there and my heart would soar when they were doing well and then it'd sigh when they were not (sorry for the cheese, been up since 7am after getting only 3 hours sleep, doing guess what? It starts with a W and ends with K and it's a four letter word). But this year, they were doing so well, I couldn't help myself, I kept peeking at the scores and the standings and I thought maybe they could make it to the playoffs and then they did! YAY! And then it was..."Ok, now maybe, if I don't watch any games or visibly root for them or anything, they'll sweep the Twins and not screw up two game leads like they usually do..." Does J laugh at me? Of course he does. J's never been a sports guy. Even though he played soccer as a kid as an adult he prefers the kind where you move your thumbs and scream at a TV. He KNEW I was kinda sorta paying attention to the A's in the playoffs and yesterday afternoon, he goes, "The A's lost. 3 to 2." And I just lost it. I couldn't help it...damn it, is it THAT much to ask? Can I not just peek at my favorite sport without jinxing my favorite team? I didn't look the WHOLE of Friday morning. I was being GOOD. I just had my head down working like a good member of the flock and how do I get rewarded??????? I did the only thing I could do, I went online and bitched about it. I was still frustrated with the Gods of Baseball when about an hour after my rant, someone messaged me that the A's won. What??? How?? When????? I checked MLB.com and sure enough, proof that J doesn't know shit, 8 to 3. I swear I heard some Handel coming from the Heavens! We're going ALL THE WAY baby! But I'm still not going to pay attention, just in case. *************** FOR THE PEOPLE I LOVE WHO ACTUALLY KNOW ME 1) I stayed up till 3:30am to put together party favor bags for the Little Goose's 5th birthday party today (her birthday's actually on the 11th). 'Nuff said. 2) My maternal grandmother has come over to the States and so J and I have given up our bed so that she might have something comfortable. Yes, we're sleeping on the floor in the office. Yes, she's staying indefinitely; as are we (at least until I finish school). Yes, I will break down and buy a futon or a yo (if I can figure out where to actually BUY a yo). And finally, yes, our house has had a recent infestation of ants. :sigh: I love you Ba Ngoai! 3) One of my million cousins...:sigh: one of my cousins was abused by her boyfriend a few days ago. He slapped her and choked her and in her depression she swallowed some pills and ended up in the ER (HE didn't take her, my sister took her when she finally called somebody a day later even though he had KNOWN she took the pills). GBH, I don't know...the news came RIGHT after I heard about the A's winning and the rest of the day I couldn't think about anything else. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to see her. I kept thinking, "It's none of my business, I should say nothing, I should DO nothing...and damn it, I should contact every relative we have and go and kick the guy's ass! How dare he?! He's not a man...she's just a kid. She's only 20 years old. She's just a kid I used to take care of and babysit and hug and laugh with...but she needs to leave him, she doesn't deserve this...I know she's with him now, I need to say something; but I can't say something. She's and adult now; it's none of my business..." I want to cry and scream and run and get her and take her away and hold her back from herself and the vicious cycle she's gotten herself into because I hear now that this is not the first time. He didn't even look like the type, but there is no type for men...no boys, no...they do dishonor to the entire sex, I would say animals but that would be a disservice to animals everywhere...to monsters like these. How dare he? How dare he lay a finger on my baby cousin??? HOW FUCKING DARE HE?????? J and I went over to her sisters' apartment last night to talk about it and it turned out they were both there. Her sisters had done their yelling and everything seemed so calm when I got there. It was so surreal to me, my raging feelings versus the calm silence in the room. We decided to go somewhere else, to shop for birthday gifts for my baby girl...(without him, I refuse to address him, be near him)...all I could do, despite everything I wanted to say...her eyes were red, her hair was messy, her skin looked terrible, she looked bad...all I could do to stop from crying was to hug her and say, "Are you ok? I love you. Are you ok?? I am here for you..." My baby girl is going to be 5 years old. I blinked and she's going to be 5 years old, I will blink a few more times, and she will be an adult. Like my little cousin. God, Buddha, Heaven...whomever who's up there, help me to teach my daughter in those precious moments between those blinks, that she is good enough, that she is wonderful enough, and she is loved enough, to never ever have to be in that situation, that she deserves better. And help me teach my son, to never tolerate that kind of behavior himself, and to be a real man and respect women completely and utterly.

Superwoman, Week 1

Happy Sunday! Oh, day of rest. Or rather, it better be. My first week of workaholic/student/mom/spouse was pretty hectic and tiring. I’m almost tempted to start pretending to be a narcoleptic so that I could get a prescription for Modafinil. I feel like I need every single hour within the day and then some. While on the one hand, I’m extremely glad that my company decided to call me back and give me the hours that I wanted for school; the work that I do has long hours and can be very tedious. At least I get to telecommute when I have to work around 11:30pm on a Saturday night and again at 3am on Sunday (not to mention the call I just got at 10:30am). This of course caps off a week where I worked on Monday for from 9pm to 8pm (my first day back on the job after I had quit and was off for a week), Tuesday from 6am to 2pm and then telecommuted from class (i.e. 4pm to 7pm), Wednesday like Monday, Thursday like Tuesday, with the added bonus of having to drive to UC Santa Cruz from Oakland at 6am to make a 8am discussion session, telecommute from the school library and class and not make it home till 10:00pm where the Lil’ Goose was waiting for me and accosted me with, “Mommy you took too long!”; and finally Friday, let’s not talk about Friday, let’s just say I was up at 4:30am for something that had to be done and started work immediately after and was working till 9:30pm. Anyone who’s been in systems/network administration can relate to what I’m saying, I’m sure. It’s tempting to complain about work and the long hours and how much it takes me away from family and the part of my life that I actually care about, but I don’t. Why? Because my job begs the question, “Are you tough enough?” Pride and a paycheck force me to answer, “Hell yeah, bring it on!” like I’m some mini George Bush with a software quagmire to battle. Ok, since I’m not leading this project, I should say I’m more like captain on the front lines…and fuck did I just compare myself to Dubya? Slap me! Where was I? Oh yeah, am I tough enough. Yes! For I am Superwoman; I program and edit code at work to make me more efficient which ends up getting more work piled my way; I eek out precious time with my family on days when I telecommute and weekend hours when I’m not working; I go to class and work from class whilst taking notes of lecture on my laptop and I participate in discussion; AND I find time to get into situations where my parents can lecture me about all of the above and the fact that I work and work with no overtime. I am Superwoman; hear me snore; because I don’t know about you, but I’m TIRED! Superwoman's kryptonite is that sleep thing. *********************** In other news, Superwoman has extremely good responsible children and husbands (albeit very clingy due to Superwoman’s sporadic physical presence). We went out to dinner with some friends last night before I had to rush home and work and during the course of the dinner, the Little Goose found a ring. There was some debate as to whether it was real, being of the ruby-and-diamond-set-in-a-floral-butterfly-pattern-with-white-gold-band-this-side-of-tacky variety that you’d find at a jewelry store in a suburban mall; however, I did find an 18K stamp on the band and so at least that was real. J immediately said we should turn it in and the Little Goose did not question it at all. She didn’t covet the ring in any way because, well, it wasn’t hers and most importantly, we didn’t have to explain any of that to her. In fact, her biggest questions of the night were, “What’s an ‘Owner’?” and, "What's security look like?" She proceeded to go through various fantastic scenarios where it had been her teacher or her friend who lost the ring and they were this mysterious “Owner” person. My sweet girl didn’t have any problems with us turning over the ring to security (who seemed pretty surprised that someone would turn something like that in) and I’m so proud that she’s so responsible that she would return something she knew to be valuable and pretty instead of fighting to keep it for herself. That’s my girl. The Sweet Pea also was generally well behaved and sat and ate his food cheerfully throughout the dinner as well. He just seemed happy to be with us and out of the house. That’s my boy. All this is in direct contrast to what some members of my family like to say to me that my kids are spoiled and cry too much, the Sweet Pea in particular and that I don't spend enough time disciplining them. It just irks me to no end when people say things like that. He’s a toddler, he’s barely able to say “ewwo” and “bye bye” and when he cries because he can’t articulate what he wants and I finally figure out what he wants and give it to him I get, “Oh! What a spoiled little boy! You give in to him too much. You should just let him cry.” What the fuck? What hurts the most is that these are family members whom I love and whose opinions I truly care about normally. But sometimes, I wish they would just keep their mouths shut because they don’t know what it’s really like between my kids, J and me. They look at us on the outside and judge us whenever our kids whine or cry or when I work too much or that I’m going back to school. They say I’m selfish and I don’t care about my kids but they don’t mention anything about how I get up early to pack my girl’s lunch, how I bathe my boy and sing with him, how I read to them and tuck them into bed, and give them hugs and kisses constantly when I am with them. And these people, they don’t mention that my daughter is smart, polite, sweet, and articulate; and my son is funny, easy going, and loves to give people smiles and lots of hugs and wet kisses. It hurts that people I love would accuse them of being spoiled brats when I know they are not and when they say that I'm selfish for trying to find some happiness for myself in going back to school while working full time. None of my friends or any of my colleagues would ever say those things. These people, they don't have conversations with their kids at 5am like I did with my Little Goose week.

The Little Goose had woken up to go to the bathroom and saw that I was about to leave. “Mommy, where are you going?” She asked.

“I’m going to school sweetie.” She started to whimper and I hugged her and asked what was wrong. “I’m going to miss you!” she cried, and then the little tears were streaming down her face. I put her back in bed and left for my long drive to school, where I cried and cried wishing I could just let go of all the dreams I have for myself and just turn around and stay with her...but nothing worth doing is ever easy.

*********************** And finally, in the news you may have heard. Typhoon Xangsane pretty much hit my hometown in Vietnam head on. I hear my grandma is injured and my aunt’s house completely collapsed. I’m not normally religious, but Sunday is a day for prayer. I find myself chanting a sutra in my head, “Nam mo a di da phat.” Amida Buddha, please take care of my family. God, Heaven, Ancestors...are you there too? (Update: Thanks to everyone who commented and did not mention that I've completely lost my mind. Also, my grandma is ok although my grandparent's home is severely damaged and one of my aunt's homes collapsed, everyone survived relatively unscathed. Yay!)