Where were we...?

Oh yes...staying here, at my parent's house - the house in which Evie has been asking, for the sake of asking because she misses having her own house, "When are we going to move?" To which I have to answer, "Well honey, considering every time mommy even hints at telling grandma that mommy would like to move grandma goes into guilt trip mode and tells mommy about how this other lady that she knows had a grandson that the lady had taken care of his whole life which was only really 7 months but his whole life but the lady's cruel daughter and son in law had to move all the way to Chicago so the poor lady was telling grandma that she was missing her grandson and the pain felt like internal bleeding or severed limb or something and so that's why we can't move out. At least not yet. Does that make sense?" Evie, of course, laughs at me and says, "No."

But yeah, we are still under my mom's thumb for awhile longer. I'm hoping that the guilt will not be so great when I'm done with school (June '09, ALMOST THERE!) and JT is older and not as cute. My mom is still planning on building a second story for us though once she offloads some real estate investments that aren't doing too well.

Other than wishing we could move out and break my mother's heart, we've been doing quite well lately. J is hitting one year at his current Project Management job and enjoying something called Summer Hours in which he gets to leave work early on Fridays. Lucky duck.

Evie is wrapping up 1st grade and her first year of Vietnamese school and violin lessons. I'm not sure she speaks Vietnamese very well, but she definitely understands quite a bit. The results of first grade have been a shift in our collection of children's books from picture books to chapter books with Evie reading at least one short chapter book a day. She wakes up and starts reading. She's beginning to add double digit numbers and starting to learn fractions. I have no idea if that's what 1st graders are supposed to be doing, but she seems to be thriving and ready for second grade. Second grade! Wow, she'll be a 6 year old second grader. Each year I feel as though she's too young to be in the grade she's in but she's definitely ready. In terms of extra curricular activities, Evie is getting pretty good on the violin for someone her age. She doesn't practice nearly enough but she can definitely play well when she concentrates on what she's doing. She loves playing for an audience and has expanded her repertoire of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Mary Had a Little Lamb to include songs like Allegro and some Mozart amongst others. She's quite good at reading music now, which is really cool considering I can't read music. Thanks to the Jabbawockeez she also just completed a slew of hip hop classes. Still no rhythm but I think that may be a genetic thing. And finally...Evie is a Brownie Girl Scout...and, I'm her troop leader. Can we all see now why I'm so busy these days? School, work (which has gotten even busier), family, friends, girl scouts. Oi...Whole other post. But hey, this way I can ensure that the troop leader my kid has doesn't totally suck.

JT turned three in April and had a Super Mario themed party. I had this massive cake made for him which was 3-D and was a ? block with a 1 up mushroom on top. It was awesome. The mushroom was a light blackberry lime cake with whole blackberries in the mousse and the bottom was this chocolate cake with chocolate raspberry mousse filling. And...the rest of the party went pretty well despite my freaking out about everything and forgetting to take very many pictures. Doh! I did make a ? block pinata that no one could break despite many whacks with a baseball bat. Other developments in JT's life included a few hair issues wherein my mother took my beautiful toddler boy who had this longish hair with bangs that were beginning to fall on his nose and chopped off the front with a pair of kitchen scissors so that he looked like Marcus from About a Boy. It was so horrible it was like a bruise on his face, in other words, I felt compelled to tell anyone and everyone that, "it wasn't me! It was my mother! Yeah he's cute, but that's not the point! He was cuter before!" The poor gals behind the counter at our local Boston Market and grocery store were left shaking their heads. My lil bro D tried "fixing" the horrible hair after a week or so because he couldn't take it any longer and none of us had time to take the poor child to get a real haircut. What started as a noble pursuit ended up producing something that every reasonable Asian American parent on the planet tries to avoid...the dreaded bowl cut. "He wouldn't sit still!" D sputtered. :sigh: Two weeks of the bowl cut resulted in several strangers commenting "Nice bowl cut!" Thankfully, we found some time yesterday to have a family haircut day. We have all been professionally sheared.

Lastly, we've taken a number of trips since the last post; Yosemite with my sister and cousins on Mother's Day weekend; Redding for Memorial Day weekend (where we saw some beautiful water falls and I caught a fish! Poor fish. Your soup was pretty good though.) Next week we'll be in the Pacific Northwest and visiting Canada for the first time. If I don't over pack our itinerary, hopefully I'll have more time to blog then. Miss reading and writing. Hope everyone is well!

Nekkid

JT decided today that he liked being naked. I was in class/working all day and so was not a direct witness but J messaged me that our little boy kept taking his clothes off to run around laughing like a maniac. Huh. Whatever makes him happy I guess and as long as he doesn't hop in front of the front window we're ok? **Maybe I should just post short thoughts like this. That's manageable right?**

Lien has been...

1) Feeling really really fatigued for some reason, possibly due to an allergy or anemia or possibly winter depression. Lien had not considered this before but Fingkasil suggested it over at KimChi Mamas so now Lien is perturbed that this might be so thus...

2) Thinking of leafy green vegetables. Have not had spinach in a long time.

3) Told by two different female relatives today that if she were a man, they'd totally marry her; to which, all Lien could say was that she was already married and they'd have to fight J for her. Besides, Lien can't marry them, they're relatives and that would be icky.

4) Booking a trip to New York City in January with her hubby and little ones. She has absolutely no clue why she is going, only that the airfare was cheap and there are museums with art and giant dinosaurs to be had. Too bad about that snow and freezing and winter thing people outside of Cali keep complaining about.

5) Worried about finals. She has a major final paper due next week as well as another one a week after. No. of words/pages typed = 0.

6) Having a lot of back pain. She's been having back pain since March 1, 1996 when she was in a car accident involving her tiny Nissan Sentra and an 18 wheeler. The 18 wheeler didn't even know it had hit her and kept going. The accident totalled Lien's car but she survived with whiplash and back aches that have been bothering her ever since.

7) Meeting up with other bloggers and their families, such as Carol over at Bokumbop who was very nice. Unfortunately, the place where they met was extremely crowded and the timing was bad as it ran through JT/Sweet Pea's nap time and he was a grumpy/hyper/tyrant monster for most of the meet up. Sorry Carol! Next time!

8) Very behind on the whole blogging and commenting thing. Still here, still alive, still reading, just not commenting or posting much. So much for NaBloPoMo. Can't wait till finals are over.

These random things were brought to you today by the number eight, the letter y, the third person perspective as well as Angela who tagged Lien for another 8 random things.

Today's Stuff

So it's 11:13pm according to my system clock. Oh, 11:14, my bad. Only 46 minutes left of Saturday, November 17, 2007. 46 minutes left on my NaBloPoMo deadline for today and I have absolutely no clue what to write about. As usual. Supposedly this whole exercise was to get me write more, but somehow I think in practice it's been more about me typing more rather than writing. A few posts so far have mainly been my typing whatever has come to mind, thus a lot of disjointed posts.

For example, the Sweet Pea went all day without peeing in his pants today. Good. He pooped in his pull up. Bad. What more can I say about that? I'm not in a very descriptive mood since, you know, it IS almost midnight and I'm kind of tired AND I doubt anyone wants to hear about poop. Ooh, Miss Evie and I went to a a friend's 6th birthday party. (Hmm, my friend's kid's birthday party? But my friend's kid is Evie's friend too? Yeah, I guess "a friend's 6th birthday party" is accurate enough without going into too much detail on the exact details of our relationship with the birthday child. You need not know that I knew her parents first.) Where was I? Ah yes, no where. We are at the party which was at an lovely Oakland park of which I had no prior knowledge. I love these kinds of discoveries. It was a beautiful, modern and cool place that was right next to the Oakland estuary so it had a marina view and probably a view of The City (since we're on the left coast, that's San Francisco). We didn't exactly get to stay long to explore or enjoy our friends' company as we had to leave to pick up something that could not be picked up later, but I did promise Evie that we could come back some other time. Which we will. I believe my exact words were, "We can come back tomorrow."

What is it about parenting that makes me a liar? I mean, I try to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help me dude/tte upstairs. But go..odness knows, some promises are made simply to get to where you need to go. My mom later told me that she's going to take the kids out of town to my little cousin's birthday party. Oops, sorry baby. At least this one wasn't my fault.

11:28pm, good enough?

Cravings and Stuff

I missed posting yesterday because as J pointed out, I was passed out from work and school which caused me to stay up an unconscionable amount of time. So that is why, the entire day I've been thinking about what to write about when I got a few free moments. Perhaps something about something I heard on NPR this morning regarding voting. How every vote counts and many elections are much closer than people think; that we live in a purple nation and that the primary colors of red and blue are far to simplistic. I thought about how I when I register to vote, I am not going to pick a party because I too am purple. To describe me as democrat or republican is also far too simplistic as I see positives and negatives in both parties. I admit though that I'm a deep bluish purple.

I was also thinking about another topic relating to the latest post from Matt Harding over at Wherethehellismatt.com. I guess Matt had met a black man, named Lloyd, who had lived in Thailand for seven years but felt that he couldn't belong there because he felt the people were racist. Matt and his friend being white men, replied with the typical white response of how they had similar experiences in places like Africa. Matt realized how inadequate this response was and in my comment, I said I wished white people would just acknowledge that they could never understand. But again, I was thinking about that situation and how nothing anyone could say could make things better or at least more equal. I thought about how, even I, as a minority, but an Asian American, could never understand what an African American feels. We have some stuff in common but to be honest, it's much harder to be black and I can never know what that feels like. I thought about how Matt was honest with how he felt his answer was wrong. I appreciated that.

I thought a bit about how my job sort of sucks and maybe I should write about that. I thought about how I should bully J into writing a post about the kids since he spends more time with them than I do these days. I thought about being honest about how I miss them when I have these long hours that need to be done and how far away my goal of finishing this degree feels. But in the end, you know what I REALLY want to write about now that I'm at it? I really want to write about how I'm absolutely craving a Vietnamese egg roll, a cha gio.

Who the hell am I kidding? I'm craving a whole lota cha gio/lumpia/egg rolls, whatever you want to call them. The crispier the better. I can imagine eating one right now. Dipped in a bit of nuoc mam/fish sauce/nam pla whatever you want to call it; the crunchy, savory, sweet and spicy hitting my taste buds all at once. So that was the real impetus for me tonight, the thought of some egg rolls I don't have in front of me. My diet is SO in trouble and huh, I did write a little bit about what I thought about after all.

Sweet Pea in the Morning Time

My poor little Sweet Pea doesn't actually get out much. His realm is our home where he rules alone during the working days with my grandma as his sole companion and servant. Most mornings he wakes up and goes searching for grandma or spends a few minutes yelling instructions to his sister on how to get ready for school if he gets up early enough to see her off.

Trips out the front door during weekdays are therefore quite rare for the Sweet Pea and so weekends foster fervent excitement for him. This morning was no exception, however, there was the slight difference that the Sweet Pea woke up early rather than late. Normally he wakes up around 10am but today for one reason or another, most likely having to do with my yelling asking Evie to get out of bed before she's late for Vietnamese school; he woke up early. Since he was up early and it was a Saturday, I had mercy on his poor confined soul and took him with me to drop off Evie at Viet school. Had I realized what HE thought of being brought along, perhaps I should have left him at home with his snoring daddy.

Upon dropping Evie off at the school gate, the Sweet Pea started screaming, "Evie! Evie! I'mago Evie mommy!" He kept crying and screaming, "EVIE! EVIE!!!" as if we were abandoning her for eternity as we watched her walk into the school building. "EEEEEEeeeeevvvvvvviiieeeeee!!! I'mago Eeeevvvieeee! [Scream.flail.SOB]"

The only thing I could do was drive away and promise breakfast. Thus with dry tear tracks on his cheeks, the Sweet Pea and I went to the local Whole Foods and he was ameliorated with a morning bun. We then ogled the produce and bought a tub of unneeded snickerdoodles and a sister was temporarily forgotten.

How was your morning?

Quotes and Conversations: After School Special

Scene: The home office, about 15 minutes ago, Lien is super busy working her day job after picking up Evie from school. Evie is supposedly busy with her homework. The only sounds are the tap tap tapping of Lien's fingers on her keyboard.

Evie: "Mommy, did you know I was named after a 'pokey mon'?"

Lien falls out of her chair laughing and gives Evie a look that clearly reads, what the fuck?

Lien [Thanking the heavens that Evie will interpret the what the fuck look as a what the heck look]: "No, who told you that?"

Evie: "It's really cute, it looks like a little fox."

Lien: "Uh huh, Evie, so who told you that?"

Evie [clearly not listening to a word her mother said]: "...and it's brown with big eyes and..."

Lien: "Who told you that Evie?"

Evie: "One of my aunties...and it's really cute!" [giggles]

Lien: "I know which one you're talking about, but NO, you were NOT named after a pokemon. Which auntie told you that?"

Evie: "Um...auntie May and Linh and uncle booboo [yes, we really do call him that, he's my 8 year old cousin]"

Lien: "Uh huh, mommy's going to have to have a word with them."

Lien wonders why she finds herself a little annoyed (amused but annoyed); especially considering had Sweet Pea been a little girl, she would have named him...er her Camille, or Cammy...you know, like in Street Fighter.

The End of Summer

When I was a kid, summers were lazy. There was no real schedule or structured activity. I don’t remember doing a darn thing for the vast majority of the summers of my childhood. Most of those free summer days were spent reading, watching TV and that most important of activities, sleeping.

The summers of my elementary school years were spent with my littlest uncles and aunties who lived with us until I was in seventh grade. My three youngest uncles are only 5, 6, and 7 years older than me. My two youngest aunties are only 8 and 10 years older. They were more like big brothers and sisters than uncles and aunts. My little uncles were especially influential. They taught me how to ride a bike, climb a tree, kill ants with incredible efficiency using all sorts of methods and tools ranging from water torture to incineration via magnifying glass, and of course the finer points of a little game called baseball. They took care of me.

My summer memories are filled with their company. Memories like the day when we bought a new refrigerator and my uncles and I rolled down the hill in the gigantic box it came in. By the time we were done with it, the box was so tattered its only possible use was to be torn apart and used as shields for the various battles my uncles had with each other. Forget camp or summer school, I spent the days following my uncles around catching bunnies in a box of pampers (which freaked the heck out of my mom who tried to reach in for a diaper) or riding bikes around town with my aunties. My room was filled with a constellation of fireflies one night as my uncle D and I spent hours catching them in preserve jars and released them inside with the lights off. If I close my eyes I can still see them twinkling and if I think hard enough, I can almost recall the stink of their little bodies as we collected their corpses the next morning.

So much of these memories were out doors with little or no parental supervision. I’m positive that nothing that I experienced was academic in any way; it was all practical and hands on. I knew the parts of a bug before I learned what they were called. I learned that the rate of a friend falling out a tree is faster than that of a blink of an eye. I learned in that same incident that it’s not nice to push your friend out of a tree, even if he and your uncles were being jerks for saying that the tree house was off limits to girls. I learned to be a feminist before I knew the meaning of the word.

The contrast of my childhood with Evie’s this summer is striking. Her days have been filled with day camp, swimming lessons, violin lessons and short family trips to waterfalls, caves, and Disneyland. She read simple books on her own and learned how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on her little violin. She did crafts at camp and had a schedule and calendar. This fall will be equally structured for her since she’ll have violin, ballet, Vietnamese school along with regular school. (My after school evenings were spent watching my uncles play their Atari and watching Hong Kong Kung Fu TV shows dubbed in Vietnamese.) She’s not even 6 yet but she’s already a little high strung. On the one hand, she had about two and a half weeks of no scheduled activities at all this summer. Instead of relaxing and/or wreaking havoc, she’s tested my sanity with whines regarding how bored she was. On the other hand, that whole wreaking havoc thing isn’t really appealing now that I’m the adult and some of the things I was allowed to do as a kid haven’t exactly been purported to have be any good for a developing child’s brain. In fact it’s the opposite, I’m sure I lost a ton of brain cells playing all those hours of Super Mario Brother’s and Duckhunt, or worse, just watching my uncles play Contra or something. (I mourn for my lost genius.)

Monday is the first day of school for Evie; the first day of first grade. No more mid-day naps, no more round carpet and story time. Monday is the first day of a numbered grade – real school. I only wrote about the last day of Kindergarten not too long ago, and all of a sudden there are only a few days left of summer. Still, it was never really summer as I knew it. It wasn’t really a break for Evie or for me. I never really allowed her to roam free and learn dubious lessons on her own. She had a few weeks to do whatever she wanted and she didn’t know what to do other than read books and play video games. There were no broken bones or permanent scars acquired. No blood, no real sweat, just a lot of shuttling and activities with strangers. I’m a little sad about it really. This entire long post to say that I’m disappointed my little girl’s first official summer break wasn’t really free. Maybe I should buy a refrigerator and invite my uncles.

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. =)

Random Ramblings: Early Morning Edition

4:17am. It's been a very long day for me, but I just had to get a few thoughts off my mind before I put my trusty laptop away.

The Sweet Pea is lying on the couch next to me in just a little t-shirt and his diaper, scratching his tummy and contemplating whether he should wake up and keep me company. At least, that's what I think he's thinking. My baby boy, what wouldn't I do for him and his sister? Our lives are so very routine, everything is planned and expected. My trusty routine and calendar can tell me where I'll be at any given moment on any given day. J and the kids have routines too. There's comfort in ritual. I don't normally worry about my kids during the day since I know exactly where they ought to be and who's watching them (heck, it's even on occasion me). There's nothing wrong with routine really, just that no one believes you're really living when you do the same things over and over. And you know, in this day and age, unless you're doing something dramatic, it's not really living...but it's not really the same every day. No, not really.

Everyday the Sweet Pea changes a little. He grows a little taller, he learns a few more things, and even his face changes. I swear he's getting a new dimple in, where there was once only one, I see the hint of another on the opposite cheek. But it's easy to see change in little ones. Evie doesn't change quite as quickly, but every day, somewhere in our routine, she learns something new at school. There's a new revelation to be had and she's slowly learning to be more independent from her parents. Somewhere in the routine, my babies grow, they change, they do their living. And I take comfort in my absolute faith, that despite the changes and the little moments of life slipping through, the Routine, keeps them safe and will keep them well until they are old enough to go off to college and live a life away from me. Even then, I'll take comfort in knowing they'll just be doing what they are supposed to do. As long as they have a routine that takes them to class and back I'll only have to worry about the vacations and breaks in between.

Yesterday morning (now it is "yesterday"), 32 people were killed at Virginia Tech. The vast majority of those were young students who were following a routine. Many o them probably had parents like me, who would take comfort in knowing their child was going to class. It was just another Monday. Just another day...I'm holding my baby boy tighter now. He's not scratching his tummy anymore. We're just cuddling as I type over his shoulder with my laptop on my knees. We don't cuddle nearly enough. I think I need to change my routine. I think I need to make "life" a bigger part of it. I can't help but think about the families of the Virginia Tech shooting victims. I can't help but wonder if they can ever continue to live "normal, routine" life anymore. I wonder if there are any regrets that there was never enough time to cuddle, to love, to relate.

I wonder, if we all need to find more moments of "pure joy"*... *Thanks to Superha for the term.

Proof of Life

As a human being, there's a physical proof that my mind sometimes needs. I have to touch something before it makes any sense to me that this thing had a life of its own outside of what I see on my monitor. Sometimes when I read blogs, it doesn't always feel real. I know, mentally, that people who read my blog and vice versa are real, but it's all so...virtual. Despite all my history with the internet and despite all our technological and particularly telecommunications progress, I still need to touch and/or see something in front of me to make my brain believe it truly exists.

So this weekend, I got my proof of Daddy In A Strange Land and his lovely ladies La Dra and Pumpkin; the Super Has, Twizzle and Honeybee, ThisIsLarry and family, and Susan behind ReadingWritingLiving. I still had a headache, muscle aches, and sore throat but the drugs were working (for the most part) and no way I was going to miss out on getting out of the house. (I don't do sick in bed very well. My kids don't let me anyway. It's either get up and go or get jumped on.) Somehow, I got over my aversion of meeting new people. There were quite a few moments where I didn't know if I should go (not least because I didn't want to get anyone else sick and I wasn't sure if the Sweet Pea would be able to handle yet another trip out considering the week of flu he's had). But I'm happy to report that I did end up going, we all felt...ok, and that yes, they're all real and they were all just as nice as I thought they'd be.

The kids seemed to get along well. Although Sweet Pea was rather cranky from being sick this past week I think he did end up enjoying himself. Evie made fast friends with Larry's daughter (who kept asking if Evie could come over for a playdate. Unfortunately the Bay Area is a big place and while we live on the East side, they live in the South.) Evie got over being shy as soon as Larry and Co. arrived. It was cute to see them having so much fun. All the little girls including Ashley and the Pumpkin played a bit of ring around the rosies while the Sweet Pea hunted pigeons (or "quack quack" as he called them). Honeybee was incredibly cute in person. The adults all got along and it was a beautiful day in the city by the bay. I'm glad I went, it was...I have no other word right now, nice. =)

I'll probably post more pics later, but here's Sweet Pea chasing after DISL's Pumpkin chasing after Ben Ha with DISL himself taking a picture. Superha has a much better picture (I swear I wasn't trying to hide behind Sweet Pea).

Random Ramblings: Déjà Vu, Names, and Ed

It's ramblin time!

I’ve been experiencing an inordinate amount of déjà vu lately. Either my life has gotten to be so routine that even the most mundane of actions takes on more meaning because I’ve just been doing them over and over again and so there’s an automatic mind body moment of recognition. Or, the universe really does collapse and expand over and over again and events take place on an endless loop through destruction and renewal in exactly the same way through infinity (which would really suck). And, these moments of déjà vu have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I need a vacation badly and should have better things to do with my time than contemplate unproven astrophysics theories derived from a vague memory of a Kevin Spacey movie which I never really liked in the first place…and all because I was peeling a mandarin in front of my computer while reading something I don’t normally read. My god, what does it all mean???
.
..
...
Vacation time yo!

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The Kimchi Mamas and Carol have written a lot about names lately and I thought I’d add to the trend since I’ve had a few thoughts about the subject recently as well. Definitely a coinky dink in that “great minds” kinda way I think…

I’ve always liked the idea of a name having a sort of power; over you, over others. I’ve liked the idea of familiar names evoking cognitive and emotional responses. I like that when I hear or read a name of someone I care about, I can feel a twinge of warmth and happiness and interest. I’m fascinated with the thought that when an authoritative figure in my life is mentioned that I feel a bit of fear or discomfort. It’s an interesting psychological reaction that if I weren’t so lazy right now, I’d look it up and find out everything there was to know about it. And lastly, I’m interested in the sentimental nature of names and about how much of your identity and self image are contained in what you are called by others.

The reason for my interest is simple. I’ve had a few names. I’ve been Le (sorrow), Hong Lien (pink lotus), Lien (oft mispronounced general first name which rhymes with alien and “hey, I got something like that on my house and car!”), Miss N. and Ms./Mrs. M. as well as con (child), chau (neice), mommy, di (pronounced yee, auntie), chi Lien (older sister Lien), em Lien (younger sister Lien). These names represent different times and different states of my life and being. Whichever name someone calls me, I have a small sense of where I stand with them and what they know of me.

Which leads me to the fact that people have been calling me “Lee-in” or “Lee-en” or “Lee-an” lately. (And this is the part where you wonder, if you’re guilty of such, if you’ve been pronouncing my name correctly this whole time. =) When I introduce myself to English speakers, I say something that sound suspiciously like, “Hi, my name is Lynn.” This is not because I’ve chosen an Anglo name for myself, but rather because when I first came to the United States, our sponsors saw my name and thought “Lynn” would probably be a great way to say it.

If you recall, I first came to the US when I was 4 and I wasn’t actually named Hong Lien until I was well…4…AND…my name wasn’t screwed up and Lien wasn’t actually my name until I was well…4. “Lynn” at first was probably just as good to me as “Lien” so I didn’t mind it. In fact, for years and years, I would get very offended if an English speaker pronounced “Lien” as anything other than “Lynn”. However, lately, I’ve mellowed a bit. In one part because SO many people are calling me variations of Lee-something, most likely due to the fact that my work allows me to IM and meet with people to discuss issues via chats and email. Therefore, they read my name and make their own judgments on how it sounds and it makes sense to them before they ever speak to me or meet me (which is actually rare these days). Some folks, are usually so used to thinking to themselves “Lee-in”, “Lee-en”, or “Lee-an” that they keep calling me that even after I’ve introduced myself as “Lynn”.

While at first I was offended that they’ve disregarded my own preference as to how my name pronounced, I’ve come to accept these varying pronunciations. After all, “Lynn” is not the true pronunciation of Lien either and besides it’s actually really interesting to me in terms of the changes that internet business communications have wrought on something as simple or complicated as how to pronounce and address someone’s name…of course, my experience with my name has allowed me some perspective when I was naming my kids.

Like Carol, I deliberately named my kids. In my case, they had to be names that were easy familiar to English speakers yet still had meaning to both J and I and both kids have very special Vietnamese middle names which have great personal and literal meanings in Vietnamese AND sound great in English as well.

When I was in junior high, my parents moved our family to Oakland where we joined a part of the Vietnamese community and helped build a Vietnamese Buddhist temple. The temple had two brothers who were monks. The older brother was kind and happy go lucky, the younger brother was more stern and a bit like my dad, and in time, he felt a bit like my dad as well. Our family lived for a short time on the same block as the temple and we went to the services each week. When I was in high school, we moved out of the neighborhood, but I was dropped off at school and spent the afternoons at the temple where I did my homework. Weekends were spent there learning Buddhism and Vietnamese from the monks. And so, when we were allowed to do the rites and make the vows to become Buddhists, we were becoming disciples of monks who had become like family to us. When I was given my Buddhist name, it was given to me by a man who had become like my other father.

The year before my Little Goose was born, my other father died. It was cancer. I never told him how much he meant to me. I never told him that I’m a better person for having his guidance in my life. My darling baby girl was given the Buddhist name that he had given me for her Vietnamese name. I remember what he told me the name meant since it wasn’t a regularly used word (at least amongst the Vietnamese American community). I remember he pointed at a beautiful yellow Chrysanthemum. He said, “It’s a flower, like that one, only more beautiful.” The name means epiphyllum, types of cactus flower, and if you look them up, they really are beautiful. In Vietnam, they have special meaning as many families have them, although they don't bloom often or for very long. When they do, it is a family event and many Vietnamese poems are written about these flowers and their fragrance. It was only natural, that I would give this name to my daughter and every time I say her full name, I think of him. Oh and did I mention it's easy for English speakers to say?

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For Sweet Pea, his middle name has less of a story, but just as much meaning. His middle name means, fortune, gift, or talent. My mom told me in 2004 during the Lunar New Year that the horoscope books said two things about me; that I would gain “fortune, gift, or talent” that year and that it was a great year for me to become pregnant. And so when the Sweet Pea was born, I did.

P.S. Lien is really written Liên and is pronounced like Leeing, but the g sound is very soft and the name is said quickly as if it were one syllable in a flat tone. You see why I stick with “Lynn”?

P.P.S. For all my efforts to give the kids easy to pronounce names, I guess their nicknames are too difficult sometimes. The Sweet Pea mispronounces his sister’s nickname. (Since I’ve already revealed it in the video I posted a few weeks ago, I guess it’s ok to have it here.) Instead of Evie (EE-VEE), he calls her Ebbie (Eh-bee). :sigh:

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In other news...

I bought a plant today for my new office. It's REALLY cute. I've decided to name it Ed. I don't know, it just strikes me as an Ed. I have absolutely no idea what kind of plant Ed is, but he's definitely an indoor thing. He's definitely tropical with fronds...I guess you could call them fronds with seven or eight elongated eye shaped leaves on each. When I saw him, he was sitting in a mini watering can waiting for me to buy him and 'lo, I bought both he and the watering can because they looked great together. I just want to hug my little Ed. So cute. I'll probably post a picture at some point.

No taking bets on how long Ed will last. Yes, J, I AM a dork sometimes, and no, you don't have to tell everyone about the time I hugged the mini pineapple in the grocery store.

Dearest Doss: Rewrite!

This is a rewrite of an earlier post that I've since taken down. The old post was just...well, not well written (not that this one is much better) and didn't really do much justice to either Doss, Rob, or my thoughts at the time. The points I was trying to make were simply this: 1) I'm honored and happy my words were included in Rob's eulogy for Doss. 2) I'm amazed at this blogging thing. I'm amazed at the empathy I can feel for total strangers. 3) Despite all the shit; life is worth living, especially if you make it so. I don't think I got all that in my post...but I've been playing IT engineer and project manager a lot lately. More lighthearted posts tomorrow maybe...

Rob Barron over at How About Two quoted my email to him in his eulogy for his son Doss; an act for which I am deeply honored. Rob had been expecting twins and had been blogging during the pregnancy which I had been reading about for months. In my original email to Rob, I wrote, "Birth and parenting has become so routine to all of us, we were SO sure that he would make it. It breaks our hearts too that we were wrong but it makes us appreciate a little more the miracles that we have in front of us." My heart still breaks for Rob and his family. I really was pulling for the little guy and I was checking Rob’s blog everyday for updates. Each day I checked, my Sweet Pea would come and give me hugs and (if I was extremely lucky) a few kisses. Always he would give me these brilliant dimply smiles. I dreamt of my baby boy before he was born, I saw him in my mind because we had planned and hoped for him before we even knew we were going to have him. By the time he was born, there was instant recognition; this was the boy of my dreams. I know what Rob is missing. I can't imagine what he and his family are going through. Yet I mourn his loss. When I wrote my email to Rob, I didn’t quite know what to say. I only knew what I felt and what I imagined brave little Doss had tried to do. I wanted to wish Rob and his family, the best of everything. I don’t think I got “everything” in, but I’m glad Rob liked my email. I’m happy to have provided…something.

I live my real life in a nearly complete bubble. I wake up, go to work (or work from home), go home, spend a bit of time with my little family, go to bed; brush, rinse, repeat. I have my family, my friends, and my co-workers. It’s a very small world inhabited by a relatively small population. Before I began my blog, I was pretty sure the only people I would get to know or would get to know more of me were friends and family. I know, everyone who blogs says it at one point or another, but really, little did I know that I would find true interest in an online community of parents and people. Little did I know that I would take a day off from work in honor of a child I’d never met but whose passing filled me with…sorrow? Empathy? Heartache? All of it. I hugged my son tighter that day, knowing a little more how blessed I am.

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I’ve been writing about a lot of serious things lately. I surprise myself in how much I’ve softened. I’m a cynic through and through; or so I thought. There’s something about parenting maybe, or growing older, or just the idea of being a part of a community that’s softened my ideas about life and society at large. Or maybe, it’s just that I’ve experienced a lot of pain and I wished that others didn’t have to feel the same. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here, which is probably why my last post on the subject failed miserably. I just know that, I GET what Longfellow was saying when he wrote in the first two stanzas of A Psalm of Life:

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Why? And Other Questions

Sometimes, I avoid the news. When I'm really busy, I like to forget that the rest of the world exists. It's easy to get caught up in work and make whatever you're doing the most important thing there is, it's easy to focus sometimes when you know that there are some really fucked up things out there that you can't do anything about. Like this incident, it will probably come back later that perhaps the family or some adults around the house were mistaken as rival gang members, but that won't matter; two little girls were shot in the head in a drive by shooting in Hayward, CA on Monday. For all my talk of compassion, there is so much anger I feel as a mother of young children that this could happen. There is so much I can't understand about how coldblooded someone would have to be to open fire where children are obviously playing. What is wrong with our world and society that could have produced such uncaring and monstrous people? And more importantly, what can any of us do? To help? To heal? To fix? To prevent?

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.

The Worrywart Strikes Again!

While I’m not quite sure how to write this succinctly without sounding absolutely ridiculous and paranoid, I’m going to just put my fears plainly. My baby boy plays with baby dolls and girl’s toys. What does this mean??? Does it mean anything at all? (I would take a picture of him carrying around a baby doll while wearing dress up Disney Princess heels like he had been over the weekend but for the life of me I can’t find either of our two cameras.) Is it wrong that this bothers me? He’s only 21 months old for goodness sakes!

This of course, is entirely hypocritical of me. For the longest time, I’ve been absolutely disgusted with what passes for girl’s toys versus boy’s toys. Is it just me or are toys geared towards little girls completely lame? You’ve got your dolls, your toy kitchen, toy food, toy cleaning gear, and if it’s pink, even better. Boys on the other hand, seem to have toys which actually require them to use their brains a little bit. I mean, think about it, Legos, K’nex, chemistry sets, dinosaurs; basically toys which can encourage your kid to become interested in science, math, engineering, archaeology or basically anything not geared towards domesticity is generally geared more towards boys. This is an opinion that I developed long before I had kids and I swore in vain that MY daughter would not own any dolls or toys which would make her think that girls are only good for cleaning, cooking, child rearing, and shopping. Thus, over the course of five or so years, we accumulated a good amount of toys which were pretty universal to either sex (i.e. building blocks, various balls, train sets, hula hoop, teddy bears, etc.)

Enter the relatives and well meaning friends who think that a little girl should have a few little girl toys and all of a sudden, the Little Goose’s mountain of toys now contains two baby dolls, one Barbie, and two pairs of Disney Princess dress up shoes. While the Little Goose has not shown much interest in any of these items, the Sweet Pea has zoomed in on them. The dolls are of special interest him as he says, “baby,” gives them hugs…and then proceeds to throw them around or yells, “bad!” and smacks them on the forehead (I have NO idea where he got that from).

On the one hand, he’s probably just emulating us by caring for a baby doll the way we care for him (minus the throwing and smacking parts) which is fine. It means he has a tender side and kids like to emulate their parents…or something, right? But then there are the shoes, he likes walking around in them. I’ve always kind of liked wearing heels since they make me feel taller, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about my baby boy wearing heels, pink ones with fluffy bows at that!

It bothers me that this bothers me. I’ve always allowed me daughter to play with whatever she wanted to and I’ve provided her with toys which are not traditionally for girls, and so I feel like a total hypocrite for being concerned that my son wants to play with toys which aren't traditionally for little boys. I haven’t gone so far as to take any toys away from him or made any fuss about it that he could tell but part of me wants to discourage him from playing with these things.

So what does one do in these kinds of situations? Just say screw it, right? He's having fun. Hmmm…Although, maybe I should make blue shirts for the dolls. Believe it or not, I detest pink.

Red Light Means Stop

The day was ending late as I finally exited the freeway towards home. The streets were bare. The light rain that we had received just half and hour before lingered on the streets and reflected in distorted colors the streetlights of International Boulevard. I was speeding a bit but I was eager to get home. Babies and a husband were waiting there, ready to give me a warm or gruff welcome. Which I would receive would depend upon whether or not the day had gone well for them. Me? I was returning from my far off school, a few hours of shopping, and dinner with my favorite cousins on the way home; a little time to myself which I wheedled out of my husband after I had told him that I was heading home early because I wasn’t feeling too well. Shopping makes the body much better. Obviously.

Full around my midsection with a diminished bank account, I recounted in my head yet another nice evening of plenty…plenty of fun, laughter, and good food along with an uneventful, though late drive home. I stopped at a red light and yawned contentment when I saw him. He was as old and worn as his one beige overcoat. He was filthy and had a child’s knit hat stretched to the limit of its seams across his head. Shivers caused his corrugated cardboard sign to bob up and down. It read, “PLEASE HELP GOD BLESS."

The luxury of my life suddenly bore down on my shoulders and I sheepishly looked away. The smell of the dinner I bought my husband and kids made me think that I should roll down the window and hand it over to this poor man who was shivering and probably starving in the cold and my internal monologue runs, “Perhaps the extra jacket I have could help, or perhaps the few dollars that I keep in the car would allow the man to take a bus or something to someplace warm. Perhaps…perhaps…the light should turn green and I should just move along.

The homeless are everywhere, my money and my food would be better donated to a shelter or organization devoted to helping the homeless. I will look one up as soon as I get home I think to myself. God this light takes forever. What if there were crazy people about? It’s cold and dark and late and this is Oakland after all. Perhaps I shouldn’t roll down my window, what if that man is crazy? Don’t look, I can’t help him. I need this jacket. I need this food. What if he uses the money I give him on alcohol or drugs? I shouldn’t give him any. But God, it’s freezing out there and getting colder by the minute. Don’t look; compassion should be coupled with correct action. Tomorrow I’ll go through all the old clothes and jackets we don’t use and donate those. Tomorrow we’ll make a difference. Tomorrow will be different…what if I forget? I wonder what he did wrong? I've seen hungrier people (children!) in Vietnam. This is America. I wonder what happened. Could it happen to me? Green!” Go.

Winter Reflections

I can’t believe 2006 is nearly over. The thought that in a week and a half or so this year will be over makes me weep, and laugh, and ponder, and hope. You see, in SO many ways, 2006 has been one of the worst years of my life; or rather one of the worst years of my life as far as I can remember. This will be the year that J and I faced some hard realities about grown up life and had so many roadblocks hit us that we’re almost literally limping to the end. Accentuate the positive they say, and I know I wrote a list of what I was thankful for around Thanksgiving, but this year, there was so much that was absolutely awful that I really have to think positive or I’d go insane. I will give you a hint as to why the year was bad. Let’s just say it had to a lot to do with real estate we couldn’t keep, and yet were unable to sell and other depths of financial despair. As any divorce lawyer can tell you, amongst the top things which can destroy a marriage and family, are money issues. (Of course, being Asian, I would never dream of detailing my money issues specifically.) It’s a testament to our relationship, that J and I have made it through this year still in love and still together.

I tell myself all the time, that I don’t want to be Cinderella, I don’t need to be saved. I can take care of myself. I don’t need someone to come in and sweep me away from everything I need saving from; my family, my past, my present. Still, some parts of me look at stay at home moms and women who don’t make more than their husbands and who don’t have the weight of everything upon them and I can’t help but feel envy. I can’t help but feel bitterness and resentment towards J. Here I am, posting 55 hour average work weeks and making over 90 percent of our family income and failing in the game of keeping up with the traditional societal expectations of house and home with the white picket fence and two children and pet. Not to mention that I felt like I was always in competition with someone else’s child. My parents kept telling me about their friend’s children who made such and such who didn’t have to support their families on their own and goodness, did I know that Auntie X’s daughter’s husband was a doctor and took his wife abroad every summer and bought her a new beamer? What’s my husband doing? He’s in school and takes care of the kids. What? Still??? My mom would ask if my daughter grew up and were in this situation, wouldn’t my heart break? Wouldn’t I want someone who would take care of her and make her life easier? I love my mom and she loves me, this I know. I love my J, more than I love myself, this I know as well. My mom and J don’t get along. Love can be blind and bitter and extremely depressing. This I learned in 2006.

Sometimes I think I went back to school to escape, so that I don’t have to hear comparisons, questions, or expectations. Sometimes I think I need a long commute to clear my head and focus. And when I focused, my path was clear, the road to the future so very well defined. I would do this, this, and this. Easy. Then I actually had to do it. I actually had to take those classes, write those papers, read those books, take those tests, work those hours, feed those children, communicate with that husband, choose the family I chose to have over the family I was born with and they’d actually have to accept it, whether they liked it or not. And it happened, and I made some progress and I found out that I am a lot tougher and a lot more capable than I had imagined. This I also learned in 2006.

And finally, this is the year that I remembered something about the man I love. That he loves me more than he loves himself. I remembered that he is smart, kind, thoughtful, patient, and strong. He tried his best; he finally finished his degree this fall, that one last class was finally, the last class. He was supportive when I quit my job because he was ready to make the sacrifices necessary to allow me to go to school. He found a job that allowed him to work from home and be with the kids while I went out there and did my best to be some superwoman, crazy woman, overachiever to prove to no one but myself that I could. He was civil when people accused him of being a lazy slacker husband. And he was patient when I forgot all that he had done for me and our family. My husband is a wonderful man. This I had forgotten for most of the year, for most of our married life. This I’m most grateful to have relearned in 2006.

On one of my long drives, I thought of the equilibrium of life. I remembered the true connotations of yin and yang. That no matter how bad things get, there are always an equal number of things to be happy about. For every end, there is a new beginning to look forward to and that you only have to know where you’ve been to know that you’ll survive the road ahead. I'm sure that you don’t want to read a bunch of clichés so let me just end this long post with these wishes.

Happy Holidays!

- May your celebrations bring you the company of those you hold most dear - May your joys provide you with happy memories - May your sorrows leave you with great wisdom - May your New Year be filled with new beginnings and the completion of accomplishments great and small - May you remember the important things, and if you forget, let it only be for a little while

With much love to you and yours, Lien

What Comes After Four?

Ok, so generally, I consider myself an open book in terms of the not so deep and dark secrets and really, there’s not all that much to me. So, when Carol tagged me on this meme, it actually took some thought and all I could come up with were some intensely personal things. Most people who know me well already know these things, but I think I can go ahead and share them with my internet buds too. Here we go: Five Things You May Not Know About Me 1) I’ve actually been engaged three times. – No, I’m not hot or incredibly desirable or anything. I’m actually quite frumpy. What really happened was the first guy didn’t know what the hell he was really asking (being in that first love, college sweetheart kind of mood), AND I was only 19 years old, so that was a no. The second guy I just didn’t love. And the third guy, well…you know the results. Although the proposal can not be described as “romantic”: J: “You want to get married?” Lien: “What? YOU want to get married?” J: “Ok.” Lien: “Ok.” Or something like that. I think he had me at “get married?” Things were sort of helped along by the fact that we had just gotten pregnant. And that conversation went something like this (to put this into context, we had sort of discussed my suspicions of being late beforehand). Lien: “Guess what?” J: “You’re pregnant.” Lien: “Yup.” J: “Ok.” 2) I am slightly agoraphobic. – This actually stems from childhood. Before my family moved to California, we lived in areas that didn’t have all that many Asian people and so there weren’t all that many petite little Asian ladies around (other than my mom and aunties) and per pictures, I was your average American sized kid. In other words slightly chubby but in no way what you would consider fat. When we moved to California, my parents made contact with the small Vietnamese community in Salinas (the town where we lived). I was always a shy kid before, but I never really considered how I looked. Anyway, one of the four foot something, ninety something pound ladies that we got to know, took me aside one day and pinched my arm and put her arm next to mine and said something along the lines of, “Look at your arm, it’s almost as big as mine, you’re so fat, what do you even bother going outside for? People will think you’re ugly.” She also had her kids call me the fat girl from then on out. This, in addition to the sudden rash of kidnappings reported in the news and my parents’ sudden need to keep us all indoors, plus my naturally shy nature sort of combined into producing an extremely anti-social person who hated going outside and meeting anyone. And for a few years, I didn’t go outside if I could help it. Things got better for me as I got older and had to leave the house for school and I did have friends at school, but still, the prospect of meeting someone new, always produced a mild anxiety attack. And I always felt that everyone was staring at me and wondering why someone like me would bother being in public or think that there was something wrong with me. I still get anxiety attacks when I have to meet someone or go to places where I might receive some attention. I hate people looking at me, I hate being stared at; my heart starts beating much more quickly, I’d start to feel light headed, and I have to tell myself over and over and over that people meet people all the time and no one is going to judge me. It feels like I’m being self absorbed and I have to will myself into not being so self centered and I have to tell myself that most people aren’t like that lady who said those mean things. And most importantly, that I don’t have to smile and take it anymore if someone did say those types of things. I’m a grown up now…I think. 3)I love looking at little things. – To me some of the most beautiful things in the world are small and fleeting. For example, I love it when it rains and I can look through the rain drops on my window to see a reflection of something ordinary as if it were painted in watercolor. I love looking at leaves and trying to see all their little details. And I love to hold and stare at my babies’ feet. And when I was a kid, I used to watch insects and how they moved and lived. They still fascinate me even though, somewhere along the way, I became too dainty to touch them. (Image borrowed from http://www.rene-schwietzke.de/) 4) I like to take walks, even though I haven’t done much lately. – Before I was married, I used to walk about six miles a day (around Lake Merritt twice) alone. I’ve never been able to run due to the fact that my lungs are scarred (tuberculosis when I was kid), but when I walk, I get lost in my own thoughts and I like to look at things along the way. Now-a-days I walk maybe 500 steps a day (desk job, plus homework, plus children who generally don’t need running after). I can’t stand walking on a treadmill (there’s something completely unnatural about treadmills), but I think I’m going to have to start soon, for my own sanity and health. The Oakland area has a wealth of hikes and walks that I could take; now I only have to find time during daylight hours. 5) I’m very blessed. – I have a loving husband; beautiful, joyful, happy children; a job that pays the bills; and a disposition that thinks that these are the only things truly necessary in life, everything else is gravy. Like the A- I got in one of my classes this quarter. Booyah!