Stress Remorse

I'm sitting in class half listening to lecture and allowing work to weigh down on me. My classes start at 9am at a school an hour an a half away from home by a road that is constantly congested. I have a conference call at 8:15am each morning, that means that I have to get to school either before my conference call or close to it. That means, I have to leave home by 6:15am each morning. My kids don't wake up till around 10:00am during the summer. They wake up later to stay up later, to see me when I get home, at 10pm.

So I'm sitting in class, missing my kids like crazy. When I miss my kids like crazy, I go look at the pictures I have of them. Nothing in the world is important when all I want to do is go home.

Photo from months ago, before the infamous haircuts.
The cake and the birthday boy. No goombas at the party, though that would have been cool, sorry Superha.
Evie and Lower Yosemite Falls on Mother's Day.

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!

When to Call It Quits?

I'm thinking of retiring or seriously revamping this blog. Not because of the lack of things to write about. I have plenty of that. Rather, I'm thinking about quitting because I'm looking back on my last several months of posts and realizing that I'm doing none of my subjects justice. I think up a lot of topics while I'm driving to and from class (1.5 hours each way) or when I'm in meetings (hours and hours of my life GONE!) The thoughts are usually quite elegant and well formed; sometimes even profound, but these thoughts invariably end up being truncated into something short and trite that only my most loyal bloggy friends would care to peruse. (Thanks for that loyal bloggy friends, and new ones, hi So Yun and H. in Portland! H, what a small internet world that you know my real life buddy Wayland and I had no idea you even existed till he said his friend H. in Portland reads my blog religiously even though HE didn't know I had a blog and only found out that I did because he had mentioned to you that he was heading over to see his buddy J who happens to be married with two little ones called Evie and JT. Small small world, I never even knew you were a reader until he told me about you. Thanks for reading! Where was I??) Never mind balancing full time work, school, kids and marriage; what about my parents? Siblings? Cousins? Friends?

In the past few months, we've done a number of things I haven't had time to really write about. We've been to our good friends' wedding where J was the officiant (he was sworn in, over the phone for one day only as associate deputy of marriages of Alameda County or something like that) and Evie was a flower girl who had her two boy friends from babyhood fighting over her at the reception. We've hosted a few dinner parties where we had a crab and pho feast. (I only cook when there's a lot to be cooked.) Signed Evie up for hip hop classes (she starts in May) because she loved the JabbaWockeez but didn't think that girls could dance like that till I showed her Kaba Modern. Worried and worried about my poor sweet JT who has zero friends his age and who spends his days playing by himself or with great grandma. Celebrated the start of baseball season by heading to two games with two different sets of friends and because we just haven't seen them in months. Worried and worried about my good friend who only retired a few years ago but found out a little over a year ago that he has a debilitating disease. Realized that all I can do is enjoy our time together and our team (Go A's!) didn't win that day but we still shared resigned sighs and spurious hope of "maybe next time" (BOO Red Sox!) and he could still smile and make my little boy laugh even though he can't speak much anymore. (He doesn't read anymore I don't think, but my blog used to have a black background with white text. I changed my design for this particular friend.)

I have so much to write about but I have a lot to worry about too. Blogging has been bumped down the list of activities that I want to maintain. But then, this blog is my main journal for where I keep some things I want to remember and not only that, there are so so many people whom I've learned to care about in this blogosphere that I'm not sure I really want to completely let this go. How else would we keep in touch? I feel so bad for not commenting or having the chance to catch up on your blogs (you know who you are).

I wish so many of you were nearby so that we could just hang out. Some of you ARE nearby and I've had the opportunity to meet some of you. I'm so thankful for the new friendships that I've made from this little blog. I'm also thankful for this little outlet where I've occasionally felt free enough to let out some very personal matters. SO...what to do? What to do...?

Overheard in New York

The lotus life family is currently in New York City enjoying the sites and trying not to kill the two smallest members due to perpetual whining and running off without their leashes (I keed! I don't put leashes on my children...yet). We've been going on a trip every weekend for the month of January; taking advantage of off season travel sales and comp time off. There's so much to write about and very little time these days. This quarter I am attempting a full time course load as well as full time work and so blogging has been bumped down a few notches on the priority scale.

Anyhoo, back to our being in New York City. There are so many things I want to remember; our trip to the American Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museam of Art, the fact that we raced through much of the latter due to our lovely children and their need for naps and things to touch, the discovery that the food in the San Francisco Bay Area is SO MUCH BETTER; the realization that due to our being so incredibly spoiled by our area food scene, every destination will probably be a disappointment foodwise. Ah, so much to write about and remember. The kids will probably not remember much of anything about this trip (so we'll have to bring them back again sometime), but J, he has only one real memory that he'll cherish forever.

While we were rushing through the Met Museum, through a section devoted to nekkid ancient Greeks to be exact, J burst out laughing inexplicably while I was eyeballing the details of the impossibly high ceiling. I gave him a quizzical look thinking he might have spied a disproportionately tiny winky or something, however, he responded to my look by explaining that he had just overheard some museum guards say, "...if the zombie invasion happened during the day, we'd probably die at the museum..." Ah, I (heart) New York.

Hope

On Saturday as Evie and I were leaving the park, we stopped for a bit to let Evie wash her hands. A few feet away from us, a man was refilling plastic water bottles, oblivious to our presence. He was thin and dirty with his belongings wrapped up in plastic bags by his feet. He didn't even glance at us even though we were so near. He looked hungry and I found myself thinking of the holidays and wondering if this man had anywhere to go, anything to eat, or anything at all to look forward to. I found myself digging in my pockets for whatever money I had; maybe cheer him up a bit. All I had was a twenty dollar bill; I hesitated. Twenty dollars would be a lot to give a man who merely looks destitute. I mean, he hadn't even begged for anything, he was just refilling water bottles and ignoring us. Perhaps I should ignore him.

Instead, I tapped him on the shoulder, gave him the twenty and said, "Happy Holidays!" A surprised look passed over his face and he grinned a joy and gap filled smile, he hesitated and then said, "Oh thank you! And a happy new year to you! I mean next year!" His smile became shy and he seemed to shrug at the lack of words.

"I hope you buy something good to eat," I said.

"Oh, I will!" he replied.

As we walked away, Evie asked, "Is it because he's poor?...And he has no one to take care of him? I'm very lucky I have a mommy and daddy to take care of me. We should help poor people."

I only smiled sadly and said, "Yes, we should help those less fortunate." Of course, by then, the cynical side of my brain which had been silent during the exchange chimed in with its doubt.

The day after, I went out for a bit with my cousins and told them I had to stop by an ATM because I had given the last of my cash to a homeless man. One of them admonished me, "Chi Lien! You should have just donated to a homeless shelter or something! You don't know what he was going to do with that money! You could have just bought him some food."

Of course she was right, I don't know what that man did with the money I gave him, he could have bought food or drugs or alcohol. The truth is when I gave him that money, I only hoped that he would do what he felt was best for him. In my mind what was best was food, it may have been different in his mind. Perhaps he thought I was a chump and went to buy his drug of choice to forget the pain of his situation. I don't know. I can only hope and wonder and not regret twenty dollars I probably would have frittered away on snacks or something equally meaningless to me.

I realize now that I didn't judge the man's character because he was homeless. I only judged his need because he was poor. I think sometimes, people put up barriers to justify not helping the homeless. It's easy to think every homeless person is mentally ill or has a substance abuse problem or is too lazy to work. I know statistics prove that many and maybe the majority are, but that does not negate their need for help. It is true that donating to a homeless shelter would have helped more people, but there is something about looking at someone who is right in front of you that makes the need to do something, even a little thing such as reaching into one's pocket more urgent. Sometimes I do look away, but I'm glad I dug down and put my hope in that man. I can't exactly go find him and ask for my money back and so all there is to do is be glad. Being regretful is a waste of time and besides, all charity is hope. I have a small donation automatically deducted from each of my paychecks. That money is donated each quarter to a few charities that I picked. I'm glad my company has a program which allows me to give so effortlessly, but there is no certainty that those funds aren't being abused either. All I can do is make my small difference and hope.

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This turned out a little longer and more meandering than I thought. Maybe I should stick to memes till I have more time. I hope everyone has a lovely day tomorrow (even if you're in a country that doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving). May you always have the loves of your life nearby to be thankful for. Goodnight.

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.

Grease Monkey

I am, to put it simply, somewhat of a failed hypochondriac and germaphobe. Whenever I'm sick, something in the back of my mind nags at a more sensible lobe the fact that I just might be dying. I wash my hands innumerable times a day but can actually function in the world by touching surfaces I need to touch without breaking down. I always wonder and think about the amount of germs present when I allow my kids to follow the five second rule but I don't do too much about it. I think a lot of my failure as an OCD crackpot has to do with the fact that I married a complete slob and together we produced children who are also slobs.

Without going into too much detail, I think I just gave up. Nine and a half years with a man who pretends the laundry basket doesn't exist and that is why his dirty socks remain on the ground is enough to drive anyone...WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POSTING TO ALLOW THE DEFENDANT (WHO IS NOSY AND SHOULD MIND HIS OWN BUSINESS) A CHANCE FOR A REBUTTAL: "A least they're not all over the house! At least they're not under my desk! Wait a minute! What dirty socks? Where?! Where?!" (So you've been good lately J, but you know you're guilty. GUILTY!) NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG POST...batty in a different way. Of course, socks are the least of my woes and worries. What really and truly broke my quacky ways, was my dear disgusting hubby's oily forehead and nose. The man is in desperate need a better skin care regimen because that T-zone is GREASY. AND, he'd try to touch my forehead with it in some moment of hypothetical tenderness as I recoil in disgust. Eskimo kisses are another favorite form of torture...and...

I totally forget where I'm going with all this as a child is nagging me to feed him in order to demonstrate how his hands are much more useful as food delivery systems than chopsticks, spoons, or forks, but NaBloPoMo day 2 down? Eh...All this TMI? You betcha...

Pumpkins

Yesterday, after a morning of volunteering (Evie and I helped clean up a local park, I need to write a post detailing all our volunteering efforts), our little family went to our friends' annual BYOP Pumpkin Carving Party. Here are the results of our efforts minus J's as his was too dorky to be saved. (He carved an XBox 360 on/off button. Yeah. I know.)

Our pumpkins from left to right. Sweet Pea (everyone says his pumpkin resembles him), Lien (hand-carved without a template or design y'all), Evie (who really did carve her pumpkin on her own).

Someone I Know...

Update: I've given my mom some numbers from the International Institute of the East Bay to give to the lady. Since her initial conversation with my mom she's downplayed how bad things are. I had asked my mom if I could speak to her directly about the violence but my mom feels that this lady would be offended and angry that I know. I guess the only thing to do now is wait and see. Thanks to everyone who provided the very useful links and information and for the compliments. I don't think I'm doing much at all, although I wish I knew how to do more. I don't feel like I'm doing anything that any decent person would not do just as many of you have not stood idly by and read this post without searching for resources to help. Thank you, it's good to know I have such kind and compassionate readers.

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I've been very busy lately, but do you ever have days when you have someone or something in mind and just can't shake your thoughts until you let it out? Today is one of those days. There's a woman I know. I've only met her twice, but the two times that I have she didn't smile or talk much. She hadn't been in the US long and so I thought that it was just that she missed Vietnam. Her daughters and I had been friends in Jr. High. When I met her I was shocked that when my mom told me she was L and H's mom. They had told me that their mother had died.

I had thought about her unspeakable sadness when I first met her. I barely said anything to her other than, "Hello auntie, it's nice to meet you. How are [L and H]? Are they married now? Do you have any grandchildren?" Her husband had answered. She didn't smile the way the visitors normally smile when making small conversation. She had barely looked at me at all. I had told my mom that she seemed lonely. Perhaps she missed home. It must be hard for her to come over to the US so long after her husband and daughters have been here. Twenty or so years is a long time to be away from people you love. I felt pity for her; I can only imagine how hard it must be to be for her to be here in this strange country with grown up children you barely know and who barely remember you.

Our family was acquainted with her husband and daughters through our temple. They were just more members of our community. Not family friends but not strangers either. I knew who they were at least and didn't really have an opinion one way or the other on them. I remember her husband had chastised me for not going to temple. "Buddha's in the heart," I said and it's true.

Buddha, God, faith, kindness; it's all in the heart. You could go to temple or church your entire life and mouth the words to scripture and chants and yet still not understand what it means to be a pious person. You could lecture all you want about kindness and righteousness and never know what it means to feel proud that you've given someone a helping hand because you've never done so in your entire little life. Many people squander their existence yet think of nothing about telling others that they're wasting their lives on art or music or other things that bring them joy.

This man who lectured me. It turns out he's been beating his wife. Severely. My old junior high school friends' poor mother whom I didn't even know was still alive; whom I've yet to see smile - I feel like I should do something. She had told my mom in confidence and my mom, who tells me everything, told me. I know now why she doesn't smile and I feel just as hypocritical as her husband for not knowing how to help. She doesn't speak any English, I don't know if her daughter's know. To go back to Vietnam would be shameful for her as it's never the men who are blamed for broken relationships in these Confucian cultures, it's the women.

So I'm thinking about this lady today and about her daughters. I wonder if they know or if they were abused too. I'm taking a little time to find Vietnamese language helplines in the Bay Area for her and coming up empty. If anyone knows of any, please drop me a line. Sometimes, you can't just think about a person, about faith, or kindness, you have to act right? Unfortunately, acting out loud seems so difficult. There are many many well known stories of abused wives who left and were murdered or harmed by their husbands, very few about women who left and were able to live normal lives. Even if I found a hotline and a place for this lady, what then? Would she leave the only home she knows in this country? Would she be able to face the condemnation of the community here and in Vietnam for leaving her husband? How many people could she really tell about the beatings? How many would believe her? How many would defend her husband by believing that he was justified? I know most likely she won't call a hotline and will stay trapped even though that's the worst possibility of all.

Labels

Earlier this month I finally, after an over 9 month wait, went to the US Citizenship and Immigrations Services (former INS, sometimes I wonder how much they spent on the name change) in San Francisco for my citizenship interview. Some of you may know that I'm not yet a U.S. citizen. Whatever the real reason, citizenship for most of my life did not seem so important. American, Vietnamese, Asian, Immigrant, Refugee; I make claim to all these labels. What could an oath and a passport tell me and the rest of the world what I didn't already know?

It's like two people who love each other and who have already made every commitment possible to one another. Is a wedding and vows before god or court really going to change how you already feel? I mean, people perjure themselves before these holy and man-made institutions all the time. My status as an American to me, has less to do with how deftly I can maneuver the rules and regulations of a giant government bureaucracy and in passing a citizenship test (that I could do with my eyes closed with hands tied behind my back) than in the fact that I was raised and educated here. My past and present are here. I was your typical apathetic teenager and young adult but now I have a vested interest in where this country and my fellow residents are going because my future is here as well. Changes to the test might stop poseurs simply looking for a ticket to the world rather than seeking any true settlement or assimilation. Me? I'm already settled and I'm already assimilated and I DID practically pass that citizenship test with my eyes shut. My brother in law who applied for citizenship when I did and who barely speaks English or cares about voting or being "American" or American History, had his test the same day as me. He passed too.

Which is all great and good, because now he'll be able to stay and he'll be able to get a passport and be able to go back and forth from Vietnam whenever he pleases because he now has that key to the world that is US Citizenship. He joins my younger sister who was a US citizen before she even set foot in the US when she was 16 because my parents became citizens. I was 18 when that happened and wasn't naturalized with my parents. My life is full of little ironies.

If you ask my brother-in-law and sister what nationality they are; they will say Vietnamese. Me? I will say Vietnamese-American. It's too bad though, because even though I passed the test, even though I speak English without an Asian accent and even discussed whether or not we can take into account the 9 or so Presidents of Congress as the first executive officers of the United States with my test administrator; I am not and will not be a citizen for awhile yet. The USCIS lost my entry papers. Instead of a little Vietnamese girl from a Hong Kong refugee camp, the entry papers in my file had a picture of a little infant Filipino girl who was born in 1981. The officer said he couldn't approve my application at that time. He was sorry. They'll put the Filipino girl's papers back in her file, but mine could be anywhere. Suddenly having my piece of paper to prove who I am, what I am, and what labels I have a right to mean the world to me.

I've been checking my case status for nearly a month now. It keeps saying, "case pending"...pending...pending...pending...Who am I? Where do I belong? What am I? I am sure I know the answer, but apparently my proof is lost somewhere.

Happy Mid-Autumn!

Today is the fifteenth day of the eight lunar month, better known as the mid-autumn moon festival. For those of you who don't know, this is an important holiday for many cultures including Vietnamese and Korean cultures. Today, Koreans visit their hometowns and families and do a bit of ancestor worshipping. Vietnamese, well, my family at least, sit around and eat moon cakes and play with lanterns (we do some ancestor worship stuff too but it's usually the big people who handle that). See Sweet Pea and my nephew D for an example of proper lantern handling. Happy Autumn everyone!

PS because J is paranoid that people might think that we're bad parents. That lantern had a bazillion holes in it, especially considering it was actually individual panes of saran wrap smaller than his head glued around a wood frame that was duct taped together. Evie had made that lantern in her Vietnamese class. No toddlers were harmed in making or playing of/with that lantern. That and he only had it on his head for half a minute. There J, ya happy??? Sheesh.

Addiction

I'm counting the seconds. Is it 5pm yet? That's the earliest I can leave this office. I don't live near one, but one of my offices is near one so when I go into this office, I always feel the need to drop by and explore a bit. Oooh, 9 more minutes. I can handle 9 minutes! It mean, I microwave certain things for 9 minutes sometimes and I can handle that wait just fine!

Crap! Has my clock stopped? How come I still have 9....OOOH 8 minutes! 8 minutes till shut down time! YAY!...YAY!!!!

God, this is pathetic. I need a new hobby. This is so sad. Counting seconds to get out of work to do what? I mean really. I should go home and see my kids or something. It's not THAT far of a drive from home. I mean. When I get there, what am I going to do? I shouldn't spend too much money anyway. We need to save for our year end vacation.

7 minutes! Whooohooo!

Ok, time to stop typing and shut down. Then? It's off to Target! YAY!

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.

Heaven is Air Conditioned OR Our Trip to Disneyland

Hello everyone!

We’re back after a nice four day weekend in Southern Cal (aka the land of confusing freeways and crazy ass drivers). After some very stressful days (weeks, months, years) a short break from school, work, and home was just what we needed. J and I took two days off from work (he was stressed too, poor guy; he had worked eight sixteen hour days in a row and was really just getting comp time). We weren’t entirely sure what we wanted to do until a week ahead, but towards the end it I didn’t care where we went as long as it was away. And so, of all the wondrous activities available in our great humungous state such as Yosemite, Mt. Lassen, Mt. Shasta, LA, San Francisco, San Diego; where did we go? Disneyland!

For a lot of people, Disneyland, rather than being a place of peace and happiness is the stress and line filled capital of an evil corporate empire which seeks to brainwash our children into loving an anthropomorphic rodent, his pals, and a bunch of brainless princesses with the intent of selling cheap, mass produced trinkets the proceeds of which go towards said evil empire’s plan for total global domination. Me? I love the place. (I was brainwashed at an early age.) I don’t give a shit what they’re trying to sell me, I have a right to spend my money as I see fit and I’m happy to report, we made it out of there in one piece, with two stuffed animals, a few souvenirs for friends and colleagues AND had a great time. I think my buying these things had less to do with politics and more to do with the fact that a lot of these cheap mass produced trinkets are actually really cute.

Our previous trips to Disneyland, while not exactly disasters, had been rather disappointing as we were stuck in line more than half the time, tired, hungry, and grouchy due to all the waiting, lack of rest and the crowds in general. The fact that we weren’t tired or hungry on this trip was success enough.

So what did we do that was different? Five things seemed to make a HUGE difference:

1) We stayed at a hotel within walking distance of the main gates. This was awesome and so worth it. We actually have relatives in Southern Cal whom um…we didn’t visit because we were on a trip to get away from family. Still, since we were going mainly to visit Disneyland, it was worth staying in a location that was convenient for naps, rest, and air-conditioning (it was 90 degrees with 70% humidity!)

2) We brought drinks and snacks with us and generally left the park to eat. There are several restaurants around Disneyland and maybe a 5 minute walk from the gate. Still, thank the heavens for the invention of personal sized coolers and double strollers with baskets.

3) We got in line to get into the park an hour before it opened. Getting into Disneyland right as it opened seemed to be the key to not having to wait in line for the rest of the morning (also the kids ate breakfast in line and it was a short walk from the hotel). By the time noon rolled around, we had already ridden every ride we wanted to ride. Some of the ones the kids liked the best (Buzz Lighyear Astro Blasters and Winnie the Pooh), we rode three times in a row without any waiting. Sweet Pea was so spoiled that when we did have to wait in line for the 5th and 6th times we went on the Buzz Lightyear ride, he was annoyed that these people had moved in on his space and he had to wait all of 5 minutes to get on. When we had gone earlier in the year, the Buzz Lightyear ride had a 45 minute wait when we went there at 3pm or so we had skipped it. Nice to know that if you go early in the morning or late in the evening after the fireworks, it’s pretty easy to get on with little wait.

4) We had an itinerary of what we wanted to do and when. We paid for a subscription to something called Ridemax which created a ride itinerary for us based on the rides we preselect. A Ridemax plan was supposed to help use maximize our time at Disneyland but I’m not entirely sure if the great results we got were from following the Ridemax itinerary or arriving extremely early, taking naps in the middle of the day, and returning in the late evening. Still, it was great having a list of what we wanted to do along with the approximate times we were going to do them that was fairly accurate. We deviated from plan a few times but mainly to skip something we thought we’d wanted to do or add on a few extra trips around something the kids loved. Worth the $15 subscription fee I think.

5) Simple as this sounds, we included naps in our plans…LONG naps. For everyone. With all the waiting and food out of the way, the next thing that we really hated about Disneyland was the weather and the exhaustion because of having to move in that sort of weather. This time, we planned long breaks during the hottest parts of the day where we ate lunch and slept in our nice air-conditioned room. I swear Disney is diabolical. They turned up the AC in the stores to entice people like me who can’t survive in temperatures above 75 in. (Seriously, SoCal folks, y’all are on crack for living down there in that heat and humidity. I breathed a sigh of relief when we got back to the Bay Area with our low 70 degree weather.)

With some careful planning and the help of some cool software, we were able to ride 41 rides, watch 2 parades, 2 shows, and 1 fireworks display, all on a two day pass; much more than on our previous trip which had spanned three days. All in all kids had a blast and the best part is, we were able to rest and relax as well. And that was our trip to Disneyland.

On the way home we dropped by Bakersfield to visit the BakPak folks for lunch (aka the Superhas and the Parents in Some Spot). They were awesome; DISL cooked an amazing spread of kalbi and pancit with gourmet homemade ice cream for dessert. Outside of the great food and company the kids seemed to play alright together for the most part. Evie, I think, felt a little lost having to interact with little people that were not her brother (she kept getting upset that the Pumpkin and SuperGirl weren’t saying “please and thank you” ALL.THE.TIME; sorry guys, my girl is sort of anal. Takes after her daddy I swear.) Was a very nice visit and we went away with a generous bag of the biggest and sweetest seedless grapes I’d ever seen! (Thanks guys! You’ll have to come visit us in the Bay Area some time so that we can not cook and treat you to a nice meal here.)

We also stopped at our friends SandK for dinner and for me to cuddle their newest member, a little three month old baby girl. I think I was hogging the little one a bit since I was practically squealing over the tiny hands and feet, not to mention the baby smell. If only they could bottle that up, I’d dump it all over Evie and Sweet Pea and just sniff them all day. :sigh: No more babies though.

So that was my weekend. My parents missed us (well the kids) and they seem to be getting along. My little brother and cousin came back from Europe (separate vacations) and expanded Evie and Sweet Pea’s cheap Italian T-Shirt collection. Work was just as busy as I’d left it. I’m done with my summer classes (I’m not sure I passed but I’m done). J and I were able to spend a few hours alone today as my mom volunteered to babysit. All is not well but it’s ok; it’s workable. That’s the funny thing about taking a break; things look a little different when you get back. Things don’t seem so urgent anymore. I’m still making my rounds around the sites I usually visit. This work thing keeps getting in the way. I hope all is well with you! =)

Love, Lien

PS Sadly, this was the best picture from our trip. I really wished we had stopped to take more decent pictures. Our kids are growing so fast, sometimes I just want to stop and capture a moment. Unfortunately, until we get a decent flash unit (the Ha's inspired us) most of our photo memories as in our minds, will be a bit blurry.

My Dears

Some of the things I wish I could say…

****

Dear Dad,

All the things you taught me about faith, religion, and honor; I truly believe. When I say I’m going to do something, I try my best to do it. When I say think of my soul, I think of what you taught me about our ancestors, about Buddhism, and about having faith without religion. When I think of bravery and sacrifice, I think of you. You were brave, that’s why we’re here. You made huge sacrifices for your family, that’s why you work nearly seven days a week sometimes, for that extra bit of overtime to provide for not only family here, but in Vietnam too.

But Dad, do you have to tell us we’re stupid because we’re women? Do you have to feel so threatened that you refuse to acknowledge the accomplishments of your daughters? Do you ever think that perhaps heaven is punishing you for your sexism by granting you three daughters and a son who wants to be nothing like you?

Still, I love you dad. You're my dad, it doesn't matter what you do, how much you hurt us, I still love you. I do everything in my power to make you happy. I don’t remember you ever telling me you loved me. You believe actions speak louder than words. You didn’t beat the shit out of me that one time because you loved me too much to touch me, but you beat someone else out of frustration. I would be frustrated too if I had your life. I'd be even more frustrated if I had mom's life but you know, you could help with that a bit more.

You know, you and I are the same in many ways. When we come to the end of our lives in the courts of hell where souls are judged for their next lives, our good deeds and bad deed will probably weigh the same.

All that to say, I forgive you dad. I understand why.

****

Dear Mom,

I love you. If you want him to appreciate you, don’t be a martyr.

****

Dear J,

Thank goodness you’re home. I missed you so much, but we were too tired to even hug each other and you were too pissy from your flight and long week away. I don’t know if you’ll ever know how sad I was that you just didn’t hug me when you saw me instead of having me mention it first.

****

Dear kids,

Mommy’s been sort of upset a lot lately. I know it’s hard on you guys, but mommy’s going through a lot right now. What, between work, finals, family drama, Sweet Pea’s new penchant for hitting and Evie’s not so new custom of just taking it and crying/whining, you’ll have to forgive me if I start to show some cracks. You’re too young right now to understand but I hope you remember that even if I’m yelling, I love you. You are still perfect to me even if your antics drive me up the wall. Yeah, mommy’s priorities are all messed up right now. You should be first rather than last (well, not last but behind a few other things). Maybe this is too much to ask from a toddler and a 5 year old but please be patient. Finals are on Thursday and mommy and daddy took some time off work. Just a few more days and we’ll go away; away from everything. We’ll put you back on top of the list again and pretend that the reality of providing that comfortable middle class life we’re so accustomed to won’t bump you down again.

I love you. We’re going to get through all this crap together. Don’t worry dears, even if you grow up to need therapy, it is actually not so bad once you find the right person and the world is so much more valuable on the other side. Still, here’s hoping you forget this period in time and we can start over soon.

What I WILL say instead...

I love you.

Smile!

Somedays, all it takes is a flip through the ol' photo archives to find that little something to make things bright again. This one was taken 3/8/06. Sweet Pea was only 11 months old, Evie hadn't started kindergarten, and we hadn't put our house on the market yet. It's hard to get them to take a picture together these days.

PS Sweet Pea is still a little guy. We finally made it in for his 2 year check up (he's about 28 months now). He's now 28.5 lbs and 34 and 1/4 inches tall. This puts him in the 25th percentile for height and somewhere in the middle for weight. The doctor said he was perfect. Yup. =)

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.