The Book Quiz

I worked really really hard today and had to deal with all sorts of crap and so contrary to what J thinks, I think I deserve to take a mind-bogglingly silly personality quiz, don't you? Here are my surprising and relatively accurate results:

You're The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy!
by Douglas Adams
Considered by many to be one of the funniest people around, you are quite an entertainer. You've also traveled to the far reaches of what you deem possible, often confused and unsure of yourself. Life continues to jostle you around like a marble, but it's shown you so much of the world that you don't care. Wacky adventures continue to lie ahead. Your favorite number is 42.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

In the Still of the Night

A HUGE thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I didn't end up sleeping till around 5am but just typing out my fears was a great release. To wake up, soldier through the day (we had 53 people show up! But not the stranger guy :sigh:) and find such incredibly supportive comments at the end of it was just...I have no words to describe it. All I know is I'm completely humbled by your empathy and compassion for my phobia which I had always thought weird and shameful. Additionally, some of you are too kind in your estimation of me. Thank you so much for your kind words. I do hope that if and when I meet some of you, that it will be the easiest meetings of my life.

Last night was long, but tonight has been equally trying. The Sweet Pea had two night terrors in the span of a few hours (he hasn't been diagnosed with a sleeping disorder or anything, but it fits all the symptoms and we've experienced enough of these with Evie to know what they are). J and I both knew that he was overtired due to the amount of activity in the house and that was a contributing factor. The first time we experienced a night terror with Evie, we didn't know what was going on and freaked out. She cried like she never cried before and I was sure the entire neighborhood could hear her (as I'm sure she heard the Sweet Pea tonight). For both kids, they all of a sudden from deep sleep start screaming; but not your normal everyday kid scream. It is a blood curdling, ear splitting scream that continues and is inconsolable.

As a parent, it is so hard to stand by and see your child in such a fearful state and not be able to comfort them because they won't let you. During a night terror, neither Evie or the Sweet Pea know who I am. They are just screaming "no no no" over and over again and kicking and flailing their arms. All of this, for us, lasts anywhere from 15 minutes or so to half an hour or 45 minutes. I'm not sure what is more disturbing, the shrieking and flailing or the fact that they just don't know who we are when they're experiencing this.

The first several times with Evie were difficult and scary as we had no clue what was going on. The night terrors usually happened when she was recovering from an illness or we had been out or attending to something which caused her to go an entire day without a nap. We would try to console her to no avail and hold onto her flailing body so that she couldn't kick or smack us. We are Evie's and Sweet Pea's favorite people in the world, but during these night terrors, we were the same demons they were running away from. They kick and rolled away if we even came near them. If these happened in the middle of the night with Evie, we'd be SO tired that we'd eventually start screaming ourselves for her to wake up. We even went so far as to splash cold water on her face to try to get her to actually see us for who we are; her loving parents.

These early night terrors lasted for an hour sometimes. We've since been able to handle them a bit better, although the how soon these terrors end are out of our control. We're no longer asking, "What's wrong with Evie/[Sweet Pea]?" or screaming for them to wake up. Instead, I make sure that they are in a safe location away from the edge of the bed so that if they do roll around, they won't fall off. I try to caress or rub a part of them that normally comforts them such as their back or legs as much as I can with the kicking and flailing legs and arms. Sometimes I have to hold them tightly against me so that they can't kick or flail as much and take some of the blows in order to try and soothe them. I say over and over and over again, gently, "Mommy's here, I'm here, it's ok, I've got you, shhhh..." These are the same things I whisper when I hold them close when they're hurt or afraid. Similar words are spoken by mothers (and fathers) everywhere when their children need them as if there is some special power in a parent's murmured promise and smooth touch that takes away pain and worry.

When my kids are having night terrors, I test this magic. Sometimes, it takes a long time and I wonder if it truly works. It's like a mantra that I repeat over and over as I try to comfort them as best I can without distressing them any further. Perhaps the magic is that it calms me and not them and they sense my calm and slowly climb back to recognition. Or, perhaps it doesn't do anything at all and it is just a natural end to the night terror. I hope it is really the former because I do feel more calm when I repeat the mantra and eventually, my little one hears me calling, stops flailing, and buries their sobbing head into my chest and hugs me back.

Note: There was period of a few weeks between the first photograph, which was taken today, and the one at the bottom of my sleeping Sweet Pea. You can tell because he had a haircut between the two pictures. I unloaded our camera this evening to find the sleeping picture sitting in a random folder. He looks so peaceful and beautiful, the way he always looks when he sleeps with his lips slightly parted. I had to post it.

Old Anxieties

We’re having a BBQ at noon for the hell of it. Friends and family only, but of course J invited a stranger. Some guy from one of the IRC channels he hangs out on. It’d be different if I had chatted with this person too. All I can think is “Stranger danger!”

Try as I might to be more outgoing, there’s still a part of me that’s SO incredibly fearful about meeting someone new. Meeting in an open public place for a short period of time is fine. In that situation I could flee anytime, but how do I flee my own party? Friends and family only, how could J do this to me??? Because he didn’t even know; nearly nine years together, six years of marriage and my urge to get out of the house all the time have made him think that I don’t mind meeting new people…and I guess, I don’t mind much anymore, but it took a long time to get here. There was a period the last time I was in college where I didn’t leave my apartment unless absolutely necessary because I was afraid of what I thought were stares. Every trip out the door for a long time consisted of me being gripped by fear of the people OUT THERE! Outside was fine, it was the people. I walked with my face down for a long time because all the eyes I met seemed full of judgment of what I looked like, what I was wearing, that perhaps I should just hide because no one wants to see something as hideous as me.

I’ve come a long way…really. My first college boyfriend helped me feel more comfortable in my skin and I’ve met and kept many great friends in spite of myself. I’ve gone from no-touchie to all huggy with people for goodness sakes. How could J have known that his inviting a total stranger to where we live for the period of several hours is making my heart palpitate? It feels difficult to breathe and my stomach hurts. I can’t sleep…I need to psyche myself up and out of this funk. I can’t believe he invited this guy without telling me. I can’t believe I’m so anxious about this. God what if the food is bad? What if he tells me we’re losers?! God, who cares? I’m over being afraid, I’m not afraid, I can’t keep limiting myself. I’m a grownup now damnit…

I can’t believe I’m crying over this…I need to stop crying…

Refugee Pride

Real quickly and badly written, I'll have to revisit this topic sometime as it is something that's bothered me for a long time. I think I want to put a place holder here so that at least, I can come back to something, even if it's not the full story (like so many of my posts).

*****

I found out in my random readings yesterday that the first Asian man in space (not including Russians) was Tuan Pham of Vietnam (yeah, I know Wikipedia's not the most accurate of sites but I've found this info on others as well when I tried to confirm it) who is currently the head of the Vietnamese ministry of defense.

My initial reaction to reading that tidbit was to swell with a little bit of pride. Hey, I'm Vietnamese and dude, check it out, a Vietnamese guy was THE first Asian person in space. Whoa! Growing up, there were very few Vietnamese I could look up to, in fact, the only Vietnamese people I knew of were my immediate family members, Dustin Nguyen of 21 Jump Street (which I was not allowed to watch) and Ke Huy Quan (aka Short Round of Indiana Jones fame...who's really Chinese from Vietnam, but you take what you can get). When I thought Tuan Pham a bit more however, I thought that perhaps I shouldn't be proud. He's a member of the communist party and a prominent member of a government many Vietnamese Americans don't agree with and whether or not to be proud that the first Asian man in space was Vietnamese touches on some confusion that I've felt for a long time as a Vietnamese person living in the US.

I'm glad that I grew up in the US, had the opportunities to receive an American education, and, most importantly am free to think and question about the world around me with little consequences other than maybe annoying acquaintences and persons normally sitting immediately to my right (aka J). Still, I have some pride that I was cut from the same ethnic cloth as those who in the last century defeated the French, the Americans, and the Chinese; powers with far greater resources than the seemingly backwards and impoverished country of my birth. I can't help but feel self satisfied when I read in the news some accomplishment that people in Vietnam have done, anything from being the first country to contain the spread of SARS to producing an Olympic silver medalist in Tae Kwon Do to the rapid growing Vietnamese economy that reduces the dependency my Vietnamese relatives have on the money that we in the US send back "home".

Korean Americans feel a connection to Korea and Japanese Americans feel a connection to Japan. It is only natural, I guess, to feel something for the country of your birth or your parent's birth. The small difference is, Vietnam was an enemy and the country that won the Vietnam war. To Americans, the first thing that comes to mind when the word Vietnam comes up is not a country but a War and a place of defeat. How can I as a Vietnamese American reconcile feelings of pride in the accomplishments of those who stayed behind with the guilt that I feel for being proud of the accomplishments of "communists"? Many Vietnamese Americans view the current Vietnamese government with distrust and outright condemnation as the goverment which caused them to lose homes and forced them to leave through economic and political pressures and/or reprecussions. I understand their outrage, but I'm still happy when there is success in the old country as well? As usual, as always, the hardest place to be is in the middle.

Throwaway Moments

Just some things that might be forgotten soon, but before I do...

Sweet Pea, when you watch Finding Nemo these days; when Marlin and Dori ask the school of fish for directions to Sydney and they form the Sydney Opera House and sing, "Ahhhhh", you take your fingers out of your mouth and go "Ah!" God, that's so much cuter than it sounds.

J, sometimes when I'm just minding my own business, you come up from behind and stand there without saying anything. You're almost always in my way, but you won't move until I give you a hug, because that's all you really wanted. You're so adorkable. I act annoyed but I love you too.

My little little goose, you're so busy these days with camp, swimming lessons, and violin. There's barely any time to spend with you before you have to be carted to your next activity. Sometimes I think you're too busy and maybe we haven't been spending enough time with you. Today you kept bumping yourself into things on purpose and complaining loudly that you were hurt for the hugs and kisses. It's pretty sad that you have to resort to that. Silly girl, all you have to do is ask you know.

I Rock Therefore I Am

She who rocks the Parenting Magazine blog, Halfmama passed me this Rockin blogger button about a week ago. To be honest, the button is less important than the pretty compliments she gave me from which my cheeks have yet to stop blushing and my head has yet to deflate. One good turn deserves another and so time to pass this baby on. Here are a few bloggers you may or may not have heard of who definitely rock (and who haven't been tagged yet as far as I know):

Halfway between Ca Mau and Saigon - Oanh is definitely someone I admire who totally rocks. She's a lawyer/law nerd from Australia currently living in the UK. She cooks, she photographs, she travels, and writes beautiful posts about her family's experiences.

The Silent I - I have a thing for lawyers. Glennia is a cool and rockin', travellin' Silicon Valley Kimchi Mama. Her detailed travelogues, travel tips, and political reporting are all pleasures to read.

Mamazilla - Not a lawyer, but definitely thoughtful, intelligent, and very fun to read. A totally rockin' mom and blogger who draws and writes really really well. Her posts can be fun and insightful and poignant.

Toronto Gyopo - I have no idea what Angela does for a living, but I know she can write. I love reading her stories on what her kids are doing. She makes me think a lot about my future as a parent.

And finally, because everyone else is doing it and I was a lemming in several previous lives...

FIVE RANDOM THOUGHTS ON FEMINISM

1) It's not about being the same, it's about being equal.

2) "Judge not, that ye be not judged." Listen to the Buddhist girl.

3) My daughter is 5, some days she wants to be a violinist, some days a swimming teacher, other days a doctor, and once upon a time it was a firetruck (no, I didn't mistype that). Me? To paraphrase Chris Rock, I just want her to be happy and stay away from the pole.

4) My son is 2. He's being raised in a family that is overrun by successful and smart women who will smack him sideways and up the wall if he grows up to be anything BUT respectful of women. It takes a village yo!

5) You have to be a strong woman to produce a strong woman. Thanks mom! You rock.

The Sick Day

So I'm sick. The tired, achy, headachey, cranky, nauseaus kind of sick. I knew I was coming down with it, but I was fighting the good fight, working, going to class (spreading disease) and going about my business. That is, until this morning when it just too overwhelming and I just wanted to lie down and whimper. Which I did, I called in sick at work and for fifteen minutes glorious minutes, I got to lie down. After that, I took Evie to camp and came home only to be jumped on by the toddler boy who has yet to understand the meaning of mercy.

Anyhoo, I did what any sick sane person would do...I took the boy to the ballpark. We got decent seats and a lovely view of Mt. Davis. It was nice, the weather was gorgeous and most importantly it was relaxing. I didn't get to sleep and I felt like I was about to fall down all day, but I got to see the A's break a 9 game losing streak 6-0 against the Rangers, I got to see Nick Swisher (the first baseman) accidentally knock down an umpire while trying to catch a stray ball and Bobby Crosby (shortstop) hit a home run in the bottom of the 7th. The Sweet Pea behaved fantastically throughout the entire game and flirted with some girls during the 8th and 9th innings. Best of all, I got to spend some quality time with my baby boy watching my favorite game with my favorite team and afterwards, got to go home and sleep without any interruptions. What better medicine is there?

How to Survive a Zombie Infestation

This post has absolutely nothing to do with anything really, other than a strange thing that happened the other day. I woke up extremely angry at J. Before I launch into my explanation about why I was mad at him, let me just inform everyone that J has a thing for zombies. We have a collection of zombie related movies, books, video games, and comics. Nothing will get J out of the house faster than the suggestion that we will be going to see a zombie movie (last one wasn't so bad, we saw 28 Weeks Later, but more importantly, I got a night out away from the kids and in a restaurant where we ate food that was not prepared by me or a member of my family). Knowing full well of my dear hubby's yucky collection, I bought him The Zombie Survival Guide months ago as a gift for Valentine's Day (I think, or was it Christmas, one of those holidays we Buddhist cherish).

Anyhoo, I don't know what's in the Zombie Survival Guide, nor was I thinking of zombies the other night. As far as I remember we just spent some time as a family at home after work and then went to bed. I don't remember eating any beans or other stomach or mind bending foods for dinner, but for some reason, I dreamt that J and I were on a shuttle bus as if we were going camping at a national park of some sorts. We, along with a bunch of other tourists on the bus, were heading towards a small town where according to the Zombie Survival Guide there was an annual zombie infestation that only lasted from midnight that night till midnight the next. J, being the zombie enthusiast that he is, wanted to see and survive the infestation. I guess if it's marketed as a tourist attraction, what's the worry right? Plus he's had plenty of practice dispatching zombies in his video games.

I distinctly remember my dream self being very perturbed by this logic and suggested that we get off the bus and camp in the jungle. (By the way, somehow the bus to zombie-land drove through a lush green jungle, a desert, a savanah, and finally, something that looked an awful lot like a town from an old spaghetti western.) Of course, dream-J wouldn't hear of it, he wanted to see the damn zombies.

Our arrival in town coincided with the departure of the vast majority of the townspeople, also on shuttle buses; yet another sign that we should leave. Dream-J however, consults his Zombie Survival Guide which comes with a map of the town (which is surrounded at once by Alps, jungle, desert, and those tawny California hills you see in photography coffee books). Dream-J says there's some back alley black market dealer in zombie fighting equipment and we go and seek her out. Of course, all the other tourists are thinking the same thing and we all follow our maps to this dark and dubious ally, up a flight of black painted stairs in bright red brick tower, to this person I don't remember who tells us she's all out of weapons. Great J.

My mind races to figure out how we're going to survive the pending zombie attack and I ask the dark salesrepIdon'tremember whether or not there was a place we could hole up in till the next night. "Of course!" they say, but only for an astronomical price which my poor empty wallet protest. Our only hope is to hide out in the mountains or in the surrounding area. Thanks a lot J.

I suggest we get the hell out of town on one of the last shuttles. The sun is going down and I get extremely nervous. All the buses were filling up and there was a long line of people waiting to leave. Dream-J says we'll be fine, but of course, I'm standing there wondering if Zombies can climb trees and maybe we could hide in a tree.

We cut in line and ask a bus ticket sales rep who is dressed just like an old time train conductor if we can hop on the next bus but she tells us that she's all sold out. I feel desparate and she looks at me brightly and says she has just the thing to ward off zombies. She reaches into a barrel that she'd been using as a table and pulls out a vial of this awful smelling stuff and tells us that it'll keep us safe. Dream-J consults his Zombie Survival Guide and says that the guide totally supports what the woman is saying and the vial is something or other blahdiblah thing that will definitely keep the zombies at bay.

We are just about to walk away when I look back and see a glint in the ticket agent's eyes and I look around to see that despite many people leaving, a lot of poeple are staying. The ones that are staying are eyeballing all the tourists and us with a hungry look. They all look completely healthy and normal. They're all licking their lips. It dawns on me that there is no zombie infestation. The Zombie Survival Guide was written to lure us and other dumb tourists into this town and the foul smelling gunk was probably for the villagers to track us more easily. My dream self is suddenly extremely scared with my mind racing a mile a minute on how to get away because why would they want to track us and why would they look at us so hungrily while licking their lips? To eat us of course! J had gotten us into a nest of sentient cannibals rather than mindless zombies! J looks at me and asks me if I'm all right. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and...

Wake up. In our room and on our bed. J was about to leave for work. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, and told me he'd see us that evening. I was SO mad at him, I didn't know what to say other than bye. I think I wanted to smack him upside the head for getting us eaten.

Do you ever remember your dreams so well? Do you ever wake up mad at someone for something they did in a dream? And most importantly, why the hell did I dream that? Why can't I ever dream of winning the lottery or going on a nice long vacation? My brain is weird.

Busy But Bored

This is what happens when bored people read Halfmama and Superha. Click on our South Park counterparts to create your own.

We went to visit J's grandpa today as his uncle, aunt and little cousins (who are around Evie's age) had driven up from Southern Cal to visit. It was nice, the kids had fun playing together and I was able to talk to the aunties and to his grandpa a bit. After nearly nine years together, I feel like I'm finally able to talk to his dad's side of the family and not feel...like a guest. The feeling of actual comfort at one of my in-laws' homes was so overwhelming (I guess) that I went a little nuts gave the aunties hugs. I've noted before that I'm a hugger. Particularly with family. With strangers eh...no touchie por favor, but definitely, if I know ya, I'll be huggin ya at some point. I dunno, it's just the way I am, but J's family, particularly his dad's side has never hugged or even touched each other as far as I know. The aunties all looked very surprised when I moved in and now I'm all worried that I weirded them out. :Sigh:

(For some reason blogger won't let me create a title for this post. It's very weird. I think it's time to move...wordpress or typepad? Any suggestions?)

Children in a New World

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
—Emma Lazarus

America is the land of promises writ large.  Somewhere on the Statue of Liberty there is a plaque that is engraved with Emma Lazarus’s poem with the words, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”.  The Declaration of Independence says, "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Immortal words that every American knows and often misquotes as if they were guaranteed promises engraved in immovable bronze on a national monument.  The words are the promise of the American dream; that in this country you are free.  You are free to live, be happy and prosper.  There is an idea of sorts that immigrants who come here know something about these words; an implication that there is somehow a choice in the matter.  That somehow, potential immigrants know about this promise.  We didn’t have such a choice.  We’re refugees.  My parents left because they felt they had to leave or die.  There was no romanticism about the country on the other side of the ocean.  America was a place on a map.  A rich country like any other rich country to them at the time; more known friends and relatives in the refugee camp were going to America than any of the other countries.  There was no where else in the world to go; there was definitely no going home, only a bold step forward into the unknown.  That is what America was to my parents, my young uncles and aunts, myself; unknown. 

I was 4 years old when we arrived in Michigan in 1982.  We didn’t see the Statue of Liberty, just a lot of snow.  I forgot all about the tropical heat I was born into.  My body absolved itself of the memories of the old hot and humid country.  While my parents and uncles and aunts shivered, I ran out in the snow jacketless, slid down hills and threw snowballs with the best of them.  I think of childhood in the idyllic colors of a Midwestern fall with forests on fire with a riot of color and crisp air that demanded you put on a sweater.  These things were almost totally alien to my parents who grew up with marble mountains instead of little hills, on the shores of a vast ocean instead of a great lake, and where snow was a word borrowed from the Chinese like some old fanciful fairytale.  Doubtless when I was born they wouldn’t have imagined such an upbringing.  I wonder if they knew when they left Vietnam that their children would no longer be purely Vietnamese, that their grandchildren would be mixed with Japanese and Koreans.  I wonder if they knew that the future was out of their hands.  The promises of freedom and happiness didn’t come with the caveats that you would have to hand over your children and grandchildren to the new country as well.  Vietnamese culture, as is true in many Confucian cultures, is one that values roots to the extreme.  We worship ancestors and revere our elders above all else, but in America, it is only the recent immigrants and the old who still have the altars for the dead.  In America, we’re encouraged to leave the past behind and embrace the future and the American culture of mixed European traditions. 

I write that we are encouraged, but in reality, we have no choice.  Once English became my primary language, once I was educated by American schools, or even turned on the TV, I became American.  The way of life I am used to, has more in common with your average European or African American family than your average Vietnamese family.  I know this because I can thoroughly understand my American friends but the culture gap between me and my parents is VAST.  Try as I might, wish and hope that I might that I could understand my parents and vice versa, it is impossible.  They would have to have had the same cultural upbringing, which they didn’t, try as they might have to instill purely Vietnamese values into me.  My kids are Americans.  There is no way around it; they don’t have a choice in the matter either.  Unless we move to another country, they will be Americans for the foreseeable generations.  They will be lucky in the fact that they will probably not have as large a culture gap and language gap with their parents.

I am writing this because it is Independence Day.  Families will be waving flags and proclaiming that America is the best, most beautiful, most promising country in the world; as if there were a choice in the matter.  The truth is nationality is not a choice anyone can truly make.  Moving between country to country and settling in for the long haul is actually hard work with unpredictable results culturally; with differences that can range from something as major as language and as seemingly minor as temperature acclimation. Still, wherever one ends up, whatever our nationality or the nationality our children become, we have a responsibility to make our home, wherever it may be, a better place.  I may not have a piece of paper saying that I am an American, but I have been here legally for 25 years.  This is where I grew up, this is my home.  This is the home of my children and probably my grandchildren.  This is the place where I want the words on the Statue of Liberty and Declaration of Independence to be and remain true.  I can as a resident and future citizen, do all I can to make my HOME the best place to live, the most beautiful, and the most promising for future generations.

Happy Independence Day Everyone! May today be a day not just to celebrate the Independence of this very nice country but also a day to reflect on what it means to have the freedom to make a difference in oneself, one's family, or one's community. (Sitting around eating BBQ and enjoying oneself counts. =)

Closet Weekend Warrior

This is what I did over the weekend:

Moved the shelf and bar in our tiny closet up and added a second bar for our collection of t-shirts some additional clothing storage.

Cleared a wall and put up bookshelves for a few of our books. (We either need more shelves or more wall as those books are double stacked and then some and we still have a few boxes to go. OR We could :gasp: donate, sell, or throw some of them away J!)

I put together a cheap wardrobe (I love you Ikea) and some thick dowels to create a closet space for some of the kids clothes.

It took all weekend to sort through the books and clothes (still not done yet), but it was worth it to get everything off the floor. It was NOT relaxing, but it was progress, which is its own reward. That said, I think next weekend is going be all about chillin'...in San Jose with the in laws. :sigh: