10 Things

Here are 10 simple pretty things I noticed today:

1. My glowing friend S. in all her pregnant glory.
2. A view of fog rolling over the Oakland/Berkeley hills as I headed west on Hwy 24
3. Plum trees in bloom.
4. The dimples on my baby boy’s elbows
5. A bowl of Dol Sot Bi Bim Bop from Korean Bulgogi House in Concord, CA
6. A giant apple fritter from Chick’s Donuts
7. The sun peaking through the clouds during a break from the rain.
8. The hills are green!
9. The little wrinkles on my daughter’s nose when she smiles.
10. The glowing lights of the cars and street lights reflected on the wet streets.

Did you see anything nice today?

One Nation Under...

The Little Goose recites what she learned in school.

P.S. What IS it with kids and the F word? It's like magic.

Me: Another Word for Weird

Thanks to Daddy in a Strange Land, I’ve been tagged to throw out some of my weirdness to my internet horde of 10 readers. So here we go. Six weird things about me:

-1 I read textbooks for fun. Or rather, I used to, when I had more time. When I was a kid, we didn’t have very many English language books around and I’d already read the heck out of my Vietnamese language reader. My parents also were strangely obsessed with random child abduction and didn’t let us out to play much. Thus, there was naught much to do other than watch TV, play cards, skate around and around and around on our little back patio. (And when my sister wanted to skate too? Well, we just each wore one skate a piece.) Anyhoo…this led me to find other sources of entertainment and eventually my school books provided this outlet. I always ended up reading ahead of the class or reading stories from my English books which weren’t assigned. I think this is why I have a mild interest in everything.

-2 Related to 1, I read online encyclopedias throughout the day. Each day, without fail, I’ll find something that catches my attention, either through the news or some random conversation and I’ll do a full on search of every bit of information I can find about it. Usually through Wikipedia or Britannica. The internet just makes it so easy to read up on these random things, and then LOOK! they have links imbedded in the articles for you to look up more related stuff. It’s like six degrees of Kevin Bacon but much more geeky. Sometimes it’s six degrees of “almond” or twelve degrees of “Baseball” or nine degrees of “Iwo Jima”. I always learn something new and it's pretty fun…for me.

Weird, I know. I need a “life”? Maybe. Before someone asks, here’s an example of one of my searches and readings. Letters from Iwo Jima to Flags of Our Fathers to Ryan Phillipe (with some side reading along the lines of some of the characters he’s played) to Natalie Portman to Harvard University to Harvard University President Lawrence Summers to UC Santa Cruz Chancellor Denise Denton who refuted him (he basically claimed that women were unsuitable for math and science due to our “innate differences”.) Chancellor Denton jumped off a building in San Francisco June 24, 2006. Usually these searches don’t actually end up that depressing though or contain as many celebrities. Today’s search has begun with ACLU, some interesting prospects. Did you know that Hellen Keller assisted with its founding? Fascinating stuff.

-3 If I see a booger in one of the kid’s noses, I must get it out. I cannot be the only one when it comes to this…right??? It’s just I never want MY child to be one of those children described as, “snot nosed”. I’m sure this has its roots in vanity but really, they look better snot free I think. I’m positively obsessed about it. Out! Out! Damn booger! These days the Little Goose can do it herself, but the Sweet Pea, oi…screams bloody murder if I even look at his nose funny.

-4 I practice raising one eyebrow. I never could do it before and like they say, practice makes perfect. So occasionally when I look in the mirror, I practice raising my left eyebrow a few times independently of my right. I can’t really do it with my right eyebrow yet, but eh, I’ve got one down.

-5 I hate dusk. It gives me a headache. If I’m outside around sunset and dusk, particularly in summer, I get a bit dizzy and my head starts hurting. Generally, I also get really really grumpy. It’s weird, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it’s near dinner time and it’s that part of the day when my blood sugar level is low or I’m dehydrated, but that doesn’t explain why it only happens when I’m outside and can SEE that it’s dusk. I think it has something to do with the light. This also means that I’m not incredibly fond of sunsets. They’re beautiful yes, but afterwards I almost always get a headache.

-6 One of the favorite things is a good back crack. It’s just that I have to sit for work and studying and commuting for long periods of time and I know I’m not sitting correctly. So at least once a day or so, I ask J for a hug which is really asking him to squeeze me hard enough that my back cracks and then ahhh…all better.

Hmm…I guess I tag anyone who reads this along with Hanh, Kim, and my eclectic old buddy Jerome in particular. (Don’t go crazy Jerome, limit is SIX.) Have fun, stay weird y’all.

New Year, New Clothes

Here are some pics of the kids in their traditional Vietnamese clothes (Ao Dai). The both actually have a few sets, but these were bought especially for today. Our camera battery died before I could get very many pictures and they're both off to a Tet Festival with their aunties (so that I can "study for a midterm"). This of course means that by the time they get home, the clothes and kids will probably be completely filthy. Ah well, at least I got a few. Doesn't Sweet Pea look dashing in his bib? Notice how we've truly following the no cleaning lest you sweep away all your luck for the year rule by not making our bed (although I'm not quite sure where that bed spread came from, I think my grandma, but not sure, ick!) Notice also that the Little Goose has lost another tooth. I'm still trying to figure out what the Tooth Fairy should bring her. Maybe a nice little book.

Chuc Mung Nam Moi!

Most traditional first generation Vietnamese families, before being members of an organized religion, are ancestor "worshipers". Before religion (although in some ways this is a religion in and of itself), before country, before self; there is family. Mine is no different. We have a large altar in my parent’s home with a top shelf dedicated to honoring (that's right we honor, we don't worship, he's not a god yo!) Guatama Buddha and one large shelf honoring some of our closest ancestors. On the ancestor’s shelf, there is a framed sheet of lined notebook paper where one of my great uncles had written some information on my dad’s siblings who passed away in childhood. (My paternal grandmother had a total of 17 children, only 11 of which survived to adulthood and my dad, inherited the duties of the eldest son, because he was the oldest son to survive.) I have never really learned how the others died. I just know that there is something written in the archaic Vietnamese Chu Nom (modified Chinese) characters relating to them on our family altar. Next to them, is a copy of a lifelike drawing of one of my great aunts in her youth and beside her, is a drawing of one of my paternal great grandfathers in old age. And finally, at the very right, is a black and white picture of my mother’s father, who loved me when I was a baby and was my babysitter. Thus, we don’t actually have a spot for ancestors in general we just have spots for some special ones who were near and dear. Each framed piece has a small urn for incense and a spot for offerings of fruit and flowers as well as candles. Special occasions might procure treats such candies and cookies or real foods such as rice and main dishes in addition to paper with gold and silver foil or even on occasion paper clothing and other necessities that my relatives might require in the life beyond. A lighting of incense and mumbled or internalized hopes, fears, dreams, and invitations to dine, are sent to the underworld through the column of smoke which rises to our ceiling where it contributes to the to the preservation of a large brown stain. While the incense stick still burns, the lines of communication are open Buddha and my relatives and ancestors are able to savor the essence of our offerings and can hear what we have to say. We all assume that they confer amongst themselves and provide us answers or unconventional signs regarding what they decide to do for us. The paper offerings are burned so that they can be transported to the underworld through more smoke and when the incense stick has burned away, we are free to devour the earthly remains of the food offerings; which usually taste pretty darn good regardless of the spirits’ sampling. In other words, we talk to ghosts. When I was a kid, this used to freak the hell out of me. What do you mean Buddha and grandpa can hear my thoughts? What if I think about something bad?! The electric candles on the altar would be on all night and would bathe everything in a red light. When I was younger, I would fear the light and run to my room and pull the covers over my head just in case the red light would creep into my room and put a light on my thoughts. I would think that if that happened, the people on the altar would find out what I was thinking and punish me for being a naughty girl since I was usually thinking up ways of making trouble or breaking rules. As an adult, those fears have more often than not been replaced by guilt. I feel guilty for thinking certain unkind things about people or for thinking about flaking on something. The Buddha and my ancestors have become my conscience in a way. I see the light and the incense and I think I should do something more worthwhile or think better thoughts. I think I need to devote more time to the quest for enlightenment and helping others. I think I should appreciate and honor my family and their love a bit more than I do.

As of yesterday afternoon, the ancestors are on an extended visit. As is customary for the beginning of the Lunar New Year, we honor and welcome them with a feast and invite them to stay for the holidays. There is food and incense set up in front of the altar as well as at the front door to welcome them in (when I was a kid I thought they came through the smoke stain on the ceiling). While they are visiting for the three day Vietnamese New Year (Tet Nguyen Dan, or just plain Tet) we generally all behave pretty normally (ie have similar new years traditions as the Chinese, blame the 1000 year occupation) considering the new year. We dress the kids up in brand spankin' new clothes, we pass out lucky red envelopes to children and unfortunately unattached young relatives, we play games, and eat, and wish each other Happy New Year. We assume the invisible visiting family enjoy themselves by watching us have a good time and maybe even help some of us out if we happen to be gambling with each other. (Either that or my uncle’s dice are rigged!) I’m hoping my grandpa will help me out this year since I'm not sure I'm all that confident in my poker face.

Actually, to be honest, I don't really believe in most of that ancestor worship stuff (because I've seen one too many ghost related horror movies which have scared the living crap out of me) but I do believe that our loved ones who have passed on can hear us when we think directly about them or want them to know something. I wonder if Angels are related and I wonder at how universal the concept of someone watching over you is. Anyway, this just happens to be the stuff I was helping my parents with all day yesterday. That and buying firecrackers (which I promptly misplaced and lost somewhere), making budding branch arrangements, and stuffing red envelopes with money because I'm a grown up now and have to pass them out too...:sigh: these holidays were obviously WAY more fun when you're a kid.

Chuc Mung Nam Moi! Happy New Year Everybody!!

Working for the Little Man

I’m sitting in a partially darkened living room at an ungodly hour attempting to work and drinking Dr. Pepper for the caffeine. What does it mean this work? Nothing! Just analysis and reports for groups who can’t seem to effectively communicate with each other outside of trading spreadsheets and project plans. I think to myself, if I were to disappear from the face of the earth at this very second, wherever I go, I will regret that I spent so much time on nothing. Of course, this nothing pays the bills, but well, that’s what I’m going to school for right? So that my spreadsheets, databases and programming can be replaced by legal documents, briefs, and law books…one day.

I’m should finish my work and go to bed. I shouldn’t pause to write a blog entry of all things. Yet I do and I am. I need a little break to reflect. I mean really, why am I working so hard? It’s nearly 3:30 in the morning. What’s the point of all this? I’m salaried for goodness sakes and I work for a huge company, it’s not like the bureaucracy will crumble if I don’t get this done by morning (they can wait till the afternoon). Besides, what are they going to do, fire me? I’ve quit before and they called me back…but of course, I look to the left of me and I see him. He’s so beautiful.

My little Sweet Pea…he had been crying for me and I moved him to the living room so that he could be next to me. He calls out, “Mommy! Mommy!” so clearly now. How could I resist when I know that my presence and hugs are still all he needs to feel at peace and sleep. He’s growing so fast. His little hands aren’t so little and his feet no longer fit neatly in my hands. His cheeks aren’t quite as chubby. His breathing seems rapid, much more rapid than usual. His chest moves up and down quickly and his lips are parted slightly for breath. He’s been sick, we all have, but unlike the rest of us my little guy has lost some weight; three pounds. He’s now a 25 pounder.

I tell myself that it’s ok, that he’ll gain it back when he’s well again but the slender face forces me to remember that he’s no longer a baby and we aren’t planning anymore. It’s trite but true, it’s so bittersweet letting babyhood go. I feel like I’ve missed so much of it in the past few months. All of a sudden my baby boy is now my little boy who talks and runs and wreaks havoc on a daily basis. I stare at his sleeping face and try to recall my baby boy. The giant eyes are still there with the long long lashes and rosy cheeks. He still has my unfortunate nose, but the jaw line is different, the roundness of his face is receding and a tiny little mole now marks the middle of his left cheek. His hair is getting long and he needs a haircut. When he was a baby his hair stood on end as if he had experienced an electric shock or was channeling Einstein unknowingly. It was cute and J and I mourned the loss of the Sweet Pea’s signature fluff when one day he woke up with flat hair which remained flat.

But then, toddlerhood has brought its own joys. My boy calls me Mommy and has said he loved me. He kisses and hugs me at random and he runs to me with his dimply smile with arms flung wide when I come home and he throws his dirty diaper in the trash on demand. How great is that? Yes, there are some benefits to having a little boy.

Now it is nearly 4:00 am and I really should get back to work but I reaffirm to myself that this is the real reason why I work at 4:00 am…

Status

In... One Word: Ugh! Two Words: Sick...again! Three Words: Damn Little Goose Four Words: Head cold from hell Five Words: Kindergarteners probably started the plagues. To sum: There may be something to homeschooling after all.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Really busy these days, but just a quick post…

Now that the house is sold and we’re no longer is as tight a financial bind, we don’t necessarily need to stay with my parents anymore. They had asked us to move in with them while we were preparing the house for sale and had bribed us with nearly free and commute friendly babysitting (our babies roll out of bed into their babysitter’s, i.e. great grandma’s, arms) and cheap rent which consisted mainly of paying for the utilities. When we moved back in with my parents, it was with the clear understanding that it would only be temporary until we sold the house. Then it became, when the house sells and J gets a job. Now, it’s looking like when J gets a job and I finish school.

It’s not that we can’t afford another place; it’s that my parents don’t want us to leave. My mom saw me looking at apartment complexes and broke down. “You can’t leave us! Don’t leave us! It would be so quiet without you! Who will take care of the children?” My dad, with his laconic stoicism mentions that having the kids around makes him feel younger and everyone mentions how my parents are so fortunate to be able to see their children and grandchildren everyday. That’s right, lay on the guilt trip Ma and Ba, oi.

What am I to do? On the one hand, it is nice to have in home babysitters and people who will cook and clean and do your laundry for you. On the other hand, the quarters are very tight and getting tighter as the kids are getting older and bigger (much too quickly I say). We sort of want to move further south so that I could be closer to work and school, but that would mean the kids would only see my parents on weekends when we feel like dropping them off. Our old house had only been around the corner (10 houses away) but now we’re considering leaving Oakland.

I can only imagine what that would do to them. I can imagine to them that it would feel like a divorce and sharing custody with kids they practically claim as their own. Our little family moving out of their home and out of town would mean our kids possibly not ever learning Vietnamese and not truly learning as much about Vietnamese culture as if we stay.

While culture means a lot to me (as well as the nearly free babysitting), being able to parent my own way without my parents hovering over my shoulder in my own home means quite a bit as well. My parents at once spoil my kids and care for them like no other nanny or babysitter possibly could. I know they love my kids and they want to be near them, but they could handle what other grandparents have to go through…right? At least we’re not considering moving out of state.

A Happy Happy Unbirthday to Me!

Today, as far as all the official U.S. records of my existence are concerned, is NOT my birthday. In fact, my official birthday is sometime in September. This of course, just goes to show what the government knows. According to my mom, I was born three days before the Lunar New Year in 1978. I missed the Year of the Horse by three days and ended up being born in the wee hours of one of the last days of the Year of the Snake. (A good thing too, since according to all the horoscopes, J and I would've been completely wrong for each other if I were born a horse...well, not completely wrong, but certainly not the awesome couple we are). Supposedly, there are some records of my birth in Vietnam with the correct date (on the Lunar Calendar), but I wouldn't be surprised if they are hard to find and I can get an official "copy" of whatever I want for a price. No, today is not really my birthday, you know how I know? Because I had a party yesterday at a nice "upscale" pool hall (even my parents came) and a bunch of us went Karaoke-ing afterwards at 12:20am. The guy at the counter refused to give me the Birthday Discount because it didn't say it was my Birthday on my Driver's License. I kept exclaiming over and over again, "The Driver's License is wrong! You can call my mom and ask her!" I never celebrate my birthday in September, so I never get any dang birthday discounts. :sigh: How did this mix up come to pass you might ask? How is it that I am about four and a half months younger than I really am on paper?...You'll have to ask my dad about that one. He filled out all the paperwork for all of us when we landed in Hong Kong as refugees back in 1981. In Vietnamese culture, or at least the subset that my dad follows, you don't celebrate your birthday since your age is calculated by the Lunar New Year anyway and so the specific date doesn't necessarily matter. And so my poor dad, who didn't even know his own exact birth date, was asked to fill out all the dates of birth for me, my mom, and his little brothers and sisters who were with us. (He also used this opportunity to change my name from Le to Hong Lien. In Vietnamese, names are written last name first, when we got to the US, they didn't quite understand this, and that is how my name went from, N___ T__ Hong Lien to Lien T__ Hong N___. It's why people call me Lien and not Hong Lien out here in the real world.) My little uncles and aunts all became at least 2 years younger than they really were so that they could still attend public school while I inexplicably became five months older. When we made it to states, our American sponsors wanted to indoctrinate us into American culture by teaching us about all the different celebrations that American families celebrate. Thus, we were treated to mainstream American traditions such as Halloween trick-or-treating, Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and trimmings, Christmas with Christmas trees and gifts, and Birthdays with parties cake and presents. Our American sponsors would throw us a party on the birthdays my dad had made up and we were all too happy to celebrate our births, no matter what random date he had put down. When we moved away from our sponsors, my birthday was celebrated on the date my mom remembered I was born on, which was three days before the Lunar New Year. The date changed every year on the regular calendar and finally, one year in High School, I decided to track down the actual date three days before the Lunar New Year on 1978 represented. I took out one of my mom's horoscope books and checked all the dates of the Lunar New Year listed at the back. The Lunar New Year in 1978 was February 7th. Lo and behold, I was born on, February 4th. =) ***************************** For my birthday party this year, I had to schedule it on Saturday since people were complaining that I have the misfortune of being born on Super Bowl Sunday. To ease the slight of being less important than the Super Bowl, my friends bought me some awesome gifts: -Various gift certificates with strict written instructions to buy something for myself and not other people (i.e. the kids and hubby) -One giant bag of real authentic Thai tea (due to my unfettered love of Thai Iced Tea, THANKS LITTLE O) -One jar of Olallieberry Raspberry Jam -(Not pictured) One pair of pink massaging slippers (they are so completely awesome and comfy that I will forgive the fact that they are pink) -One antique (late 19th century) natural cypress wood and lacquer bento box (I'm don't normally get super excited but I think I squealed a bit when I saw this thing, it is so gorgeous and I've been slacking on the bento and babies site.)