New at This

I haven't been using Blogspot for very long, so I'm still getting used to all of the ins-and-outs of it. I just figured out how to enable comments for those of you who are not Blogspot users. Oops. Sorry about alienating those of you who may have wanted to leave a comment but couldn't!

A Little While Longer

Recently, my daughter graduated from Pre-K and celebrated her fifth birthday, both with great pomp and circumstance. Turning five and leaving preschool behind just seem like big, important milestones, don't they?

My baby girl is growing up and starting kindergarten in the fall. I can't believe it.

I can remember when she was just several months old, how she would pat my back with her hand when I held her over my shoulder. Pat, pat, pat, ever so gently, as if she were trying to comfort me or lull me to sleep. She was sweet even then, before I was even sure if she understood "things." She did. She knew how to express love early, my Z. Sigh... all sweetness and innocence wrapped up in a beautiful baby girl.

Sigh.

I worry about so many things with my children. I worry that we have brought them into a world that is harsh and ever-changing... for the worse. I worry that they will reap the ills that we sow. I worry that we cannot protect them enough from the "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad" things of this world. I worry.

Today, I learned that a 3-year old girl at my daughter's former preschool came forward with allegations that the male teacher on-staff had touched her indecently during naptime.

Immediately, my heart breaks and goes out to this little girl and her family, wherever they may be. God bless them. Secondly, my thoughts go to this man's own wife and children. I cannot begin to imagine how this has and will affect them. God bless them, as well.

All day long I have been wondering "what if?" What if it had been my daughter? I have spoken with her thoroughly and repeatedly throughout the day and have no doubt that she has been untouched and unscathed, but it could have been her. The idea of this leaves me with such a fear in the pit of my being. It makes me want to put all three of my children into a giant bubble and keep them there, never ever to be affected by such unspeakable things.

A few days ago, Z confirmed with me that I will always be her mommy. I told her, "Of course I will always and forever be your mommy. You don't need to worry about that" and she smiled, giving me a big hug.

I then made the mistake of saying, "You know how Halmi is your grandma, but she's my mom? When you have kids, I will be their halmi, but I will always be your mom."

Silence. Tears. Uncontrollable sobbing. "What in the world? Why are you crying, baby?" is what I asked.

More tears were followed by more uncontrollable sobbing and then a loud, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME AND LIVE IN ANOTHER HOUSE!! WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF ME?? WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU??"

There will come a day, of course, when Z and her brothers will be raring to get the heck out of our home. They will be ready to leave and spread their wings apart from us, their family. And I will be sad when that day comes.

For now, a little while longer, I want them to stay innocent and pure. I want them to stay my babies, even if just at-heart. For a little while longer, I want them to stay snug in this nest, under my wing. For just a little while longer. Because, you know, it really is just a little while.

And it's going to take every bit of that little while for me to gain the faith I need to let them fly.

Flashback

May 20, 2006

C has these G.I. Joe action figures that are pretty large and quite detailed. They come with all of the various paraphernalia that a real soldier would be equipped with. Anyway, one of them came with a big, black UZI, and he likes it because it's a GUN (what is it with boys and guns?!).

So I was explaining to him that G.I. Joe is a soldier and that soldiers use big guns because they need them for their jobs. He said, "That's right, because they need to protect us from the bad guys." So I said, "Yeah, but they don't always have to shoot at the bad guys. They only use their guns when they really have to, like when the bad guys are trying to hurt them or somebody else REALLY bad." So we talked a little more about how his samchon (uncle) is a soldier and all that jazz.

A little while later, he came running to me and said, "Umma, Halmi and Habaji (Grandma and Grandpa) have guns at their house! I remember!" I CANNOT believe that he remembers that my parents have a gun case with some rifles and shotguns in it. Just shows that this kid doesn't miss a beat and has some pretty good recall. So I said, "Yes, they do, but they don't use them. They're just there to look at through the glass."

So a while later, I'm in the shower and C comes into the bathroom and asks, "Umma, is Halmi a SOLDIER?"

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

Kid Classification

Z is turning 5 on the 24th and then graduating from Pre-K four days after that. I can't believe she's starting kindergarten in the fall. My baby girl is growing up!

Yesterday, I was struck with something that made me feel guilty toward my Z. Not that the cause of my guilt was in any way ill-intended.

Because she is the second child, our middle child, we experience almost all of our "firsts" with her older brother, C. Everything that C has done or accomplished since babyhood has been followed by a "Wow," as opposed to Z's accomplishments which are usually followed by an, "Oh yeah, I remember when C did that." Get what I'm saying? Not that we don't praise her outwardly in the same way. Of course we do. But it's just not the same as when you experience your first child doing something for the very first time. You kind of take your second, third, etc.'s development slightly for granted just because it's not new.

Z got the results back from her school's Bracken School Readiness Assessment (whatever the heck that is) yesterday. When her teacher handed me her print-out, I didn't quite understand what I was looking at. I mistakenly looked at the percentile rank, which read "98," and compared it to the standard scores classification and saw that she ranked smack dab within the "average." I thought, "That's OK. It's not like I've put much effort into her academics yet." So I said to her teacher, "Well, this is good. She's right in the average, so there's nothing to worry about, right?" Her teacher looked at me with an alarmed expression and said, "Oh, no! She's not average. Her standard score was 132. She's in the 98th percentile! She is very advanced." She then went on to tell me that Z had missed only 3 questions on the entire exam.

Huh.

So here's where I felt guilty -- I am guilty of "classifying" my children. I always think of C as "the creative, smart one," Z as "the linguistic, entertaining (and pretty) one," and though E isn't old enough to be properly classified yet, I actually think that he is going to be "the athletic one."

Isn't that horrible? I have been pigeonholing my kids! I mean, they can and will be everything and anything they want, right? So why do I think of them in these set, descriptive terms? In part, it's an attempt at understanding them and figuring out, in general, who they are. But it is not all of who they are. They are so much more and capable of so much more than those few words that I have in my mind to "classify" and describe them by.

The thing that really gets me is that when I heard Z's teacher, I was actually surprised. If it had been C's test results, I would have thought, "That makes sense." This is not to say that I have ever thought that Z wasn't "smart," too. I just don't think that I've given her as much credit as I have her big brother.

So it comes down to this: I need to stop pigeonholing my kids in my own mind. I need to be better about celebrating each of them as individuals. I need to be better about my own gender/birth order biases. I need to be better. I need to do better.

But by golly, I do love that girl. And I am so proud of her, 98th percentile or 8th.

Flashback
May 15, 2006
Excerpt

For a few days now, I've noticed that whenever Z asked me for something and I gave it to her, she said, "Thank you." Then, shortly after, she'd follow it up with, "A fishy ate it." I kept asking her why she was saying that and what fishy she was talking about, when it dawned on me this morning that she's been saying, "I appreciate it."

The Drain Surgeon

I thought it was nasty when my toddler stuck his hand in his brother's stream of pee several months ago.

Well, that ain't nothin' compared to what he intended to do today.

He followed his brother into the bathroom this afternoon carrying a plastic cup. As soon as C whipped it out, E held out his cup as if his brother's "faucet" were an actual water fountain or spout. When I heard C yell, "No, no, no!" I went running and C recounted what had happened. Of course, I busted into laughter when I peered into the cup and saw the would-be beverage. Shortly after, I threw out the cup.

I guess he was thirsty.

The other day, HS and I were watching the little guy pick chocolate chips out of a muffin. He's got very good fine motor skills, that one. He's been able to wield a screwdriver like an adult for quite a while now. You can just tell that he's going to be good with his hands.

So after watching him for a bit, I said jokingly, "Yeah, maybe this one's going to be a brain surgeon when he grows up."

My husband's perfectly-timed response was, "Did you say drain surgeon? Like... a plumber, right?"

Poor kid gets no respect.

Guess I should go and give him some apple juice.

You Make My Heart Super Happy

C and Z love to draw. In particular, they love to draw for me. It is rare that they go running to their dad with something that they have drawn especially for him. It's always my desk that is littered with mountains of paper that have been penciled, crayoned, cut-and-pasted, and fashioned into "art" just for me. I'm Mom, you see. It's like what they say about professional athletes, etc. who say, "Hi, Mom!" and "I love you, Mom!" on television, with nary a mention of their poor dads. It's true. Moms are just better. Hahahahaha. I'm kidding.

Anyway, here is something that C brought home for me from school for Mother's Day. I got a lump in my throat when I read the words that he chose to describe me. She is the best mom ever. Man, if that ain't pressure, I don't know what is! But seriously, HE is the best kid ever. I just love that boy.

Here is another thing that C brought home for me. It's watercolored and I just adore it. Absolutely love it. I think I'm going to frame it. I need to get that kid into art classes.










Lastly, here is a little something for me from my baby girl. I can only assume that she ran out of time and that is why we have no hands or feet. And I'm going to assume that the slightly more rotund one with the round head is yours truly and that this is some time in the future when she will be ever-so-slightly taller than me. Anyway, she comes home from Pre-K with drawings of the two of us together all the time. I love them. I love her.

Z came up to me this afternoon and said, "Mom, you make my heart super happy."

Sigh.

I have no words worthy to follow that.

Day After

When I was younger, the only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted to grow up and become a mom. College major? Dunno. Career choice? Clueless. Want to have kids? Most definitely, yes. When I was having fertility problems in my mid-20s, I wondered if that vision of my life would ever come true.

I am so thankful to say that yes, it came true, three-fold.

So on this day-after-Mother's Day, I reflect on my crazy kids who let me have this job and who make me love it more than anything else I do (even though I may run screaming from the house from time-to-time). Thanks, guys! I love you and I love being your Umma!

I guess I should also throw in a little something about my husband here, too. Without him, I wouldn't be the person or mom I am today. Without him, I would not laugh as much as I do each and every day ("Hon, go and grab me a couple of condoms off of that rack..."). Though I may spend more time rolling my eyes at him than hugging or kissing him, I love him with all my heart and would have his spawn all over again (in another life, that is).

My mom is my hero, my best friend and advocate. I am so thankful that I learned how to be a mother from her. She is a rock. She is my rock. And a lot of people don't really know this, but she is hilarious, too. One of the funniest things she's ever said to me out of the blue was, "You must have a really pretty uterus" while referring to the beauty of her grandchildren. Oy. My mom. I love her. She is the best.

Hope you hugged a mom yesterday (and today)!

Flashback

May 9, 2006
Excerpt

So anyway, the kids were up really early today, so I knew that I could get C to school and make the one-hour trek to Brimfield (Antiques Show) with my daughter in-tow. We got there at about 11:00 and stayed for about three hours. It was fun! I didn't browse all that much, but I got what I went for. Almost annually, I have had a tradition of going to this show and buying myself a plate. I have a few that are Limoges and some that are just hallmarked in Germany or Poland. I kind of have a "look" that I search for - floral pattern with gold trim on an interesting rim/lip. Haha. I am sure that there is a name for this "style," but I don't know what it is. I dunno. I just like it. I have all of the ones I own hanging on various walls. One day, I hope to group them together in our dining room or hallway (IF WE EVER BUY A HOUSE!) for that shabby chic look.

Anyway, Z enjoyed walking around and looking at everything. She'd point at various "artifacts" and yell out what she thought they were.

Antiques or no antiques, I gotta have me my snacks!








Somebody had herself a morning nap in the car on the way there, so though it was a little chilly, this somebody was in quite a good mood!

A fine example of the kind of junk you find there.
Who in their right mind would buy this giant tin rooster?
Z thought it was cool, though... "Big boo ticken, Umma!"

She's Got Dibs

Do you remember when you were a kid and you figured out that plowing through a bowl of ice cream or chomping away at a jawbreaker wasn't such a great idea because it made the magic go away too quickly? Do you remember eating a tasty treat with your sibling and eagle-eyeing how fast they were eating theirs because you wanted to be the last man standing with the last bite of your own? Do you remember counting out your Halloween candy and rationing it so that you could make it last? There was the fact that you simply did want it to last, but there was also that little bit of wanting to be the one to boast, "Ha ha! I still have some and you don't!"

No? Maybe I was just a bitchy little kid.

Well, Z is doing this very thing with a personal-sized container of Dibs. One day last week, I took the kids to Walgreen's to buy them after-school treats. C wanted a popsicle and Z wanted Dibs.

See, there is this sibling rivalry going on between my two older kids. The problem is that Z, the girl, is, well, a girl. She probably causes 70% of the "problems" between them because she simply... can. Even when I give them gum, she waits to make sure that he is going to put his piece in his mouth before she does. Sigh. It's annoying.

So anyway, I swear to you that that container of Dibs miraculously has lasted in our freezer since last week. Or maybe it was even the week before that. I have no idea. It's not like it's a bottomless pit of ice cream bits in those things, but no joke, they are still there. She asks for it and I hand it to her, thinking "Well, that's that" and then I see her put the container back in there saying, "I'm saving the rest for later" (in a sing-songy voice).

"I'm saving the rest for later. I'm saving the rest for later. I'm saving the rest for later."

OK! We got it!

I guess I shouldn't complain. The girl's got a certain amount of discipline and self-control and I don't think we're in danger of her becoming morbidly obese.

It's just annoying. Not for me so much, but if I were her brother, I'd want to tie her hair to the banister and bonk her in the head a few times with my light saber.

(I just realized that I haven't really done many Z-centric posts since I started this new blog and I would just like to assure my readership that she is just as loved as her brothers and there will be no tying of hair to banisters or head bonking in the foreseeable future!)

Brotherhood

The highlight of my childhood was making my brother laugh so hard that food came out his nose. -- Garrison Keillor

Boys.

Boys are stupid. Just kidding! Actually, this is something that my girlfriends and I used to say a lot when referring to the idiocy of our husbands and boyfriends. This was of course before I became the mother of two boys. Two perfect, beautiful boys who I am sure no one will ever in a million years have cause to call "stupid." Ha!

Now that E is a little bit older and understands how to play, I sometimes watch them interact. And it awes me. C is a very patient and loving older brother (for now) and plays so well with E that it is really very touching. Even with both an older brother and a sister, it is so interesting to see that E will 10 times out of 10 always choose to wield a foam sword and run screaming at his brother than sit quietly with a Barbie doll, brushing her hair with his sister. And honestly, I am not the kind of parent who forces her children to adhere to gender stereotypes. I bought C a beautiful (and expensive) girl doll before Z was born so he could hold it and I could talk to him about his coming "baby sister." I tried. He showed no interest. Anyway, so mostly I witness E running around after his brother with dinosaur, robot, action figure, ball, or car in-hand. And the way that he looks up to his big bro... the way he watches and examines everything he does... you just know he's thinking in his head, "You're awesome, dude. I wanna be just like you!"

I grew up with one sibling, a boy. So our family had "one of each." And I can say that it was great because my brother and I have a wonderful, loving relationship. We were born five years apart and I had always thought that there should have been another one of us, right smack in the middle. But that makes me wonder now if my brother and I would have then ended up as close as we are. Possibly, but maybe not. Maybe our relationship would be "different." Who knows?

Anyway, when I see C and E together, it warms my heart that they are BROTHERS. There is something special about brotherhood, just as there is something special and significant about sisterhood. I am glad for them that they have each other as brothers. In the same breath, I am also a little bit sad for Z that she will never have a sister with whom to share that same kind of bond.

Such is life. She's got me. And of course she's got them, too. What a lucky girl to have two brothers to make her life hell. Ha!

Sometimes being a brother is better than being a superhero. -- Marc Brown

His Cup o' Tea

I swear to you that I did not begin the journey of motherhood thinking that I would breastfeed my children beyond the acceptable 6-month mark. I had no desire to be labeled as "Mother Earth," attachment-parenting, family bed-sharing, crunchy granola, nothing-but-organic-eating Mother of the Year (ha). I just wanted to survive.

When #3 arrived, I put my proverbial foot down and said, "He's not getting more than 9 months of the 24-hour booby buffet and that's final." (My first son had nursed for 15 months and then my daughter for 28 months.) Cut to 2 years and 2 weeks later and I am still E's walking, talking, human binky.

Sigh.

And the thing is that I'm now really torn. I'm torn between the fact that HE HAS HAD HIS SHARE AND NEEDS TO GET THE HELL OFF and the fact that he is my last baby.

Part of me is so tired of being so needed and relied-upon. Part of me just wants to cut and run. And if I did, I don't think anyone would blame me. And then there's the part of me that doesn't want to let go because he's my last. I love my kids, but I also loved them differently when they were babies. And they will never be those tiny little baby beings ever again. It's sad in a way, the thought of "losing" those babies forever to growth and maturity. Does that make any sense at all?

So anyway... I don't even know what the point to this post is, as it's not like I have come to any conclusion about how to get this kid away from my boob. And when I say boob, I mean boob, singular. I'm completely lop-sided because it has been well over a year since he's ignored the other one. I guess it just wasn't his cup o' tea.

(I know, I know... I need to buck up... the kid can't go to kindergarten and say, "It's snacktime? Where's my boob?")

Nancy in Korea

Nancy is the mother of one of my oldest friends. She is an extraordinary woman and teacher and when my dear friend says that she wants to grow up and be just like her mom, I don't blame her. She's a professor of English and is one of the most adventurous people I know. By looking at Nancy, I can see where her daughter has inherited so much of her character and smarts (a few of the reasons why I love that chick!).

Anyway, Nancy has been living and teaching in South Korea for the past several months. She was recruited to be a teacher at a new progressive school in a very "exclusive" neighborhood of Seoul. She keeps a blog where she writes of her adventures and it is just so fun for me to see her point of view as a visitor to the country.

I emailed with Nancy before she left and told her what I could, not knowing if anything I wrote would be of much help to her. She seemed both anxious and excited, as this would be the first time that she will have left home for a substantial length of time. But she seems to have adjusted so easily and with such gusto in such a short period of time. When I read some of the things she writes about her experiences in Korea, I almost feel ashamed that I am sometimes not as open and accepting of my own culture. I fall short in offering grace and understanding and tend to be overly critical of many things "Korean," you see. Nancy, you can tell, is there to learn as much as she is there to teach, and it is so eye-opening and heart-warming. She's an amazing woman with such an accepting, adventurous spirit, you can't help but love her, even from afar.

So here's to Nancy and all of the little ones she's teaching in Seoul. May the country and people inspire her as she undoubtedly leaves her indelible mark on them.

Flashbacks

Excerpts

May 3, 2005

Lately, he INSISTS on sitting on the potty with one of his dad's magazines. It only takes him seconds to poop, but then he thinks that he's supposed to sit there and read for a long time like his old man.




May 3, 2006

I got busted twice today.

I need to watch what I say around the kids more. Sigh...
Z had been rather whiny this morning and at lunch, I said to HS (husband), "She's being such a beeotch today!" and C said, "Yeah. She's a beeotch!" Oh my LORD! Anyway, I said to him, "I'm sorry, honey, but you shouldn't say that word." "But why?" was his reply. I was tempted to say, "Because I said so," but instead I just explained that that is a grown-up word. I figured if I got into the whole, "It's a bad word" thing, then he'd be more apt to repeat it.

Then, a few minutes later, I was saying something about how I looked really bad today. My exact words were, "I look like A-S-S." C then began to chant, "A-S-S! A-S-S!" I completely forgot that the kid now knows his alphabet! OMG!

Bad Mommy. BAD, bad Mommy!

May 3, 2007

I told them to say "smelly feet" so I could catch them looking like they were smiling, but they both did this instead and busted out laughing about smelling their "fungus." Sigh.

Sweetness

Growing and Becoming...

My husband and I are first-time home owners. We were renters from 1996 until 2006 and when I think about all the money we threw away, it makes me sick to my stomach. Anyway, we have been married for almost 13 years and for all that time, one of my "dreams" was to someday own a house with a yard so that I would be able to learn the art of gardening.

This is our first spring here in our home. Needless to say, I am a bit excited. For the past several weeks, I have been doing research and frequenting the local garden centers, thirsting for information. You see, I have no idea what I'm doing. But that is part of the fun of it all! I have come to learn that gardening takes a great deal of patience and patience is something that I inherently lack, so this is good for me. Also, there is just so much to know. Like, what exactly is propagation and how is it done properly for each type of plant? Or did you know that perennial bulbs "split" and that you can plant even the teeniest bulb and it will eventually bloom? And there is all the stuff you have to learn about fertilization and pruning, etc. It's a lot. But it's so much fun!

I've thought about this and I think that there are basically three reasons why I love gardening and growing things. One, obviously, is the beauty and art of it. I love the look of growing things. I love arranging plants, including pots and containers, and the placement of seedlings and the re-location of something from here to there. That's not to say that I'm great at it. I just love doing it. The smells are also beautiful. One of the most "green" smelling things in the whole world is a tomato plant. I used to wear tomato cologne (Demeter), as a matter of fact, because I loved the fresh greenness of the scent. Anyway, seeing green, growing things just makes me happy.

Then there is the nurturing aspect of it. I think that I am a natural nurturer, even if I may seem a little rough around the edges. It is in my spirit to want to take care of people and "things" and always has been. I think that I have been playing the role of mom since I was a kid in lots of ways. I would much rather care for someone else than have someone else take care of me (I have been told that a flaw I possess is that I try to do too much on my own). So that makes sense, I think.













Lastly, I love bearing witness to the transformations. It is truly amazing to see something go from seed to something entirely different and beautiful. It's a reminder of the sheer greatness that is God. It is the hope, after all, that we continuously evolve as people, right? That we grow from start to finish? I think about the person I was in my 20s and hope that I am a better person in my 30s. And in my 40s, I hope that I will be thankful for the person I will have become by then. And at the end of my life, I hope that my loved ones will be able to say that I was a beautiful, full human being.

So anyway, gardening is my new "thing." Let's hope I don't kill anything.

Photos:
1. Recycled pots, germinating ranunculus in the back yard.
2. Calla lilies growing in my front doorway.
3. Another pot of ranunculus in the front doorway (I started out with 100 of them and haven't even planted them all!)
4. The kids' strawberry plant, which started out tiny and wimpy, now has a plethora of lush, green leaves, and the first flower petals have given way to the first signs of fruit...

Flashback

April 29, 2006
Excerpts

This morning, C did something nice (he put Z's dirty clothes in the laundry hamper without being asked to do so) and I was thanking him profusely for it. He said, "Umma, do you a-pwee-shuh-late me?" It took me a second to realize that he meant "appreciate." But yes, I told him that yes, of course I a-pwee-shuh-late him.

C is afraid of flying insects. It's probably because I've freaked out about mosquitoes and told him that some bugs "bite," so now he's like, "Get them the hell away from me!" So anyway, this morning before My Gym, we went out for a little walk. I swear, these kids are addicted to walks around the neighborhood now. Anyway, while we were out walking, we saw a bumble bee around some dandelions. C freaked out and jumped away, but Z just stood there. You know what he did? Even though he was afraid himself, he ran back and got in front of Z with his arms outspread and said, "You can't get my sister, you bumble bee!" I swear, I must've had a huge smile plastered on my face because moments like that just make me really proud and happy.

Remembrance

My mom returned from a 2-week trip to Korea just this morning. The last time I traveled to Seoul was in 2003 with my son, C, when he was just 15 months old. My grandfather's health was beginning to fail at that time, so I decided that he and his only great-grandson needed to meet before it was too late. My grandfather passed away later that December.

When my grandfather died, I was pregnant with our daughter. I remember when I first got married, I made my mom promise me one thing. Knowing that with my husband in dental school, finances would be tight for us for quite some time, I made her promise me that if my grandfather passed away, she would loan me the money to fly to Korea for his funeral. And she made that promise. What I didn't expect was that when that time came, I would be pregnant and unable to fly.

I remember so very clearly the last time I saw my grandfather's face. We said our sad good-byes and walked out the front door of his house, dragging our many pieces of luggage behind us. He was already having difficulty walking by then, so we told him to stay inside the house. But no matter how many times we told him to stay, he insisted that he had to see us out. My last image of my grandfather is of him crying, sitting on the front stoop of his house, bent over his walking stick as we pulled away in a taxi.

I still cry whenever I think of my grandpa not being alive and well "somewhere" over there in the Motherland. And it goes without saying that it breaks my heart that I have still not made it over there to visit his grave (though I know that that is not where his spirit lies).

Before my mom left on this trip, I gave her a rock from our backyard. I asked her to take it to his grave and lay it there, from me. I can just picture how happy he would be to know how well I'm doing and how happy I am with my life. I can still hear his voice and his laughter. If I could talk to him on the phone, I know that he would laugh and laugh, saying, "When did you grow up and have three kids? What do you know about taking care of your own home when I can still remember you crawling around in a diaper?"

Mom picked a wildflower for me from his grave site. It's a little purple wildflower, native to Korea. She pressed it in a book and brought it back to give to me.

So here I sit today, thinking about and missing my grandpa, who was such a great man. I love you, Halabuji.

"Awah"

As I mentioned in my very first post, E just turned two. He is the least verbal of our children. By the age of two, his sister was saying all sorts of things like, "a volcano goes BOOM!" His brother was also on the slow side with his speech, but was still saying more than E is now at this stage.

So I took E to the pediatrician for his check-up and aside from the fact that he is a wimpy 25th percentile in both weight and height, he is apparently substantially behind in the speech department as well. When I say substantially, I mean substantially. I was given a sheet of paper regarding 2-year old development and it states that "by the age of 2, your child should have a vocabulary consisting of 200 words."

WHAT? TWO HUNDRED WORDS? What wahoo put together that figure?

We're talking, E says a grand total of 18 words. These 18 words consist of both English and Korean ones, plus words that he has made up. "Awah" is ROBOT. I know, I know. It sounds and looks nothing like robot, but I promise you that it is robot to him.

I'm working under the assumption that he is "suffering" from third child syndrome on top of the fact that he is a boy (boys typically develop speech later than girls). Right now, he is surrounded by two parents and two older siblings who understand everything he needs and wants before he has to express it. We anticipate everything for him. His siblings speak for him. So he's being a lazy ass. Sigh.

See, if he were my first child, I would be freaked out of my mind right now. I would be calling up the specialists, asking them what is wrong with him and what I've done wrong. But he is my third child. This is not to say that I love or care about him less than my first or second. It simply means that I have come a long way as a mom.

In the beginning of motherhood, I was filled with such insecurities. I worried about everything. Is he eating enough? Is he pooping enough? Is his poop supposed to be that color? Does he have a low-grade, mild, or high fever? Why does his face turn so purple when he cries? Why does he like one boob better than the other? Has one of my boobs gone bad?

I truly believe that one BECOMES a mom. When they hand you that baby in that fated delivery room, you don't just automatically become a mom then. You don't know which way is up from down then. It takes time. It takes time to figure things out. To figure your kid(s) out. To figure yourself out. And sooner or later, it happens. You "get" everything about them. You know when something is wrong and when something is right and no piece of paper with some arbitrary numbers is going to tell you otherwise. But until you get there, it's OK to freak. It's OK to ask questions and to be unsure. Just know that when you know, you know. You actually start to know your kids better than you know yourself. You know things about your kids in the pit of your heart.

So anyway, I'm just going to go with the flow and call it an "awah" because it's all good. And I "get" him. I really do.

Flashback

Here's an excerpt from a post I did after a day at the Boston Public Gardens with C and Z three years ago.


April 26, 2006

There was one thing during our visit to the statues that really annoyed me. A stupid parent. At one point, Z walked over to the mother duck statue because no one else was riding it. Suddenly, this little boy about her age came running over and stuck his hand in her face and SHOVED it as hard as he could. WHAT THE? And the mother wasn't paying attention, so I said to her, "Your son just shoved my daughter in the face with his hand." She didn't even apologize and just went to the boy and went, "No, no" in this teeny tiny voice. UGH! So when he reached over to do it AGAIN, I spoke up and said, "NO, NO, that's not nice." Shoot, I didn't give a crap what his mom thought. I was about to drop-kick her skinny ass. So I thought that was that. Well, about 5 minutes later, Z was sitting on a different statue. I saw the woman dart across toward Z and snatch up her kid. I walked over there and asked what happened. She looked like she didn't want to tell me, but then said, "My son threw his bottle at her, but she's fine." HOW DID SHE KNOW THAT Z WAS FINE WHEN SHE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT HER? Z looked STUNNED! I bent down and asked if she was OK and she looked like she was halfway between shock and crying. There were red marks on her nose and between her eyes! And you know what? I didn't see that woman even come close to chastising her son for what he'd done. She just put him in the stroller and walked off. OMG, I HATE stupid parents. No wonder your kid is a freakin' juvenile delinquent at the age of two, you #$%&*! I'm sorry, but I think that if a kid at that age is deliberately hurting other children and choosing to cause pain to others, then there's something you must not be doing right at home. That's my opinion and I'm sticking with it. Any of you readers out there who disagree with me can also bite my butt. (Can you tell I'm getting really pissed off just thinking about it? You should hear how loudly I'm typing.)

Little Things I Love

I'm a fairly low-maintenance person and have been pretty much since I got married and especially since I became a mom. I "suffer" from the typical ills of being a full-time mom, which means that I haven't had a haircut in well over 6 months, my shoes are not fashionable but "comfortable", and my daily uniform consists of jeans and whatever shirt is clean and can be used to wipe a runny nose if need be. Oh, and what is the deal with getting acne in my 30s?? ME is an area of me that I really need to work on. But that's another story.

Every other week or so, I get away by myself for a few hours. I usually don't venture too far from home. There is thankfully and gratefully an antiques mall less than 10 minutes from here, so I go there a lot. A LOT. I don't buy something every time I go, but I have to say that it is my favorite place to spend my free time. I would rather go there than go shopping for clothes or make-up any day.

I love the look and feel of old, vintage, retro, antique junk. It is a love that began when I was in elementary school. Our babysitters lived in an old Victorian house with a wrap-around porch. It was filled with antiques and their sitting room, in particular, stunned me. It is because of that sitting room that I knew that one day I would have to have a church pew in my own home. Not only that, but my maternal grandmother has always been a collector of Korean antiques. And Korea being as old as it is, the antiques are OLD. Really old. There is a neighborhood in Seoul that is my favorite place to visit. It is made up of nothing but art galleries and antiques shops. Anyway, so my mom inherited a love of old things from her mom and I guess I caught the bug, too.

When I was a kid, in addition to piano lessons, there was a time when I took organ lessons as well. My mom had acquired a vintage organ that sat in one of our living rooms and decided that I needed to learn the lost art of the organ. She always talked about buying a harpsichord, but I don't think we had the space. You get the point.

Anyway, I go out from time to time and buy little vintage tchotchkes. They might be from an antiques shop or mall, a yard sale, or a thrift store. I'm not picky. I don't have the space in my home for the large pieces that I really want and covet, so I settle for the little things that some people might think are garbage. Oh, and I also like the idea that these cast-aside things are being recycled. I kind of wish that there was a junkyard nearby because I'd probably go and camp-out there on the weekends.

One more thing -- the smell. I absolutely love the smell of must and dust in antiques shops and antiquarian booksellers. It's the smell of age and history.

Anyway, so to explain these photos... I framed a postcard from 1910 that I bought a while back. I liked the colors and what it says: "May each return of this glad day/ More blest by fortune find you/ And set you on a fairer way/ Than that which lies behind you." I'm still trying to figure out a place on a wall to hang it, so until then it's sitting atop an antique Korean chest that my mom had shipped over here years and years ago. In the second photo is today's $1 find, which is the brass apple bell. It has a nice, soothing sound when you ring it and I knew I had to have it.

So there you have it. I'm a frumpy old bag lady trapped in the body of a 35-year old Korean-American mother of three.

Flashbacks

April 25, 2006

I (did) read an interesting little article in Smithsonian magazine earlier about forks. Did you know that forks were looked at as satanic instruments and weren't allowed to be eaten with until about 200 years ago? It's true. The Church said that Christians should not be eating things that would be required to eat with a fork anyway, so forks weren't to be used as eating utensils, lest a person be looked upon as un-Christian and/or satanic. Can you believe that? This just goes to show... you can never tell. One thing can be frowned upon and viewed as evil for a good many years before people finally wake up and realize that all along they've just been stupid as shit.

April 25, 2007

At naptime, I was talking to the kids. Rubbing my belly, C said, "It's a lot smaller now." I replied, "Yup, because the doctor took the baby out, right?"

Z then said, "You're still fat."

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...

Of course, ever my sweet boy, C offered, "But you're skinnier than you were, Umma, even if your belly is still kinda' fat."

If those two statements aren't so telling of my two elder kids' personalities, I dunno what is. Z is your "tell it like it is and don't make nice for no good reason" girl and C is my sensitive, "doesn't want anyone's feelings to be hurt" boy. And the funny thing is that that is exactly the way I would want them to be.

Of course, I want Z to be a kind, sweet and thoughtful person, but there is also that element to her personality that I hope will last as she grows up... the part that makes her kind of tough and that makes her the type of chick to "tell it like it is" and not waste time with pretending that things are something that they're not.

C... he may get teased for being overly sensitive and kind-hearted, but in the end, I want those things to be the foundation on which he will build himself up to be a well-rounded, strong, and broad-minded man. A macho guy who can't be empathetic and sympathetic to others is pretty worthless, you know what I mean?

So anyway, I laughed and laughed and then sat and thought about my kiddos today... sigh...

H.R.H. Princess Z

Our daughter is our middle child. Let's call her "Z".

My in-laws live in Korea and come to the States for an extended visit every summer. They arrived this afternoon and my husband's side of the family all came over for dinner this evening.

Z is the only granddaughter on both sides of the family. She is quite literally "the princess." The grandmothers are both practically reduced to tears merely by looking upon her "stunningly gorgeous, perfect, beautiful, unbelievable, amazing, etc" face. My own mother says on a weekly basis, "What would I have done without her??" Tonight, I heard her other grandmother utter the words, "How can a child be this beautiful?" as they walked hand-in-hand from one room to the next.

Sigh. This can't be good.

The Runner

My eldest son is a first grader. Let's just call him "C".

C had a fundraiser "fun run" at school today.

I think he's going to be a track star.
I've been saying this since he was a toddler.
He's a good runner. And he has good form.
(for a first grader)

This is my 2-year old. Let's call him "E".

In this photo, I think that E is saying, "HA HA, bitches!"

C ran the max 35 laps well within the allotted time this morning.
And that was great...
but the best part of watching him run
was that every time he came 'round the bend,
he would wave to his little brother and smile.
And then at the end when I asked him for a kiss,
he didn't hesitate for fear of someone seeing him
kiss his stupid mom.

Guess I better eat it up while I can, huh?

"Good job, bro. You kicked ass."

(click on the images for full-size view)

Bad Blogger

Fourth day in and I'm already slackin'...

Like Two Peas in a Pod

This is my 2-year old and my dad. My dad isn't a "kid" person even though he's a doctor and has delivered countless babies in his time. When it comes to this kid, however, the man turns into one giant puddle of mush.

Flashbacks

I was a Xangan for four years. I'm now a Blogger. It was time to move on, even if it makes me a little sad to say goodbye to my blog's first home.

I think it makes me sad because my old posts covered our last few years in Boston. I started blogging when my daughter was just a baby and my eldest son was just a toddler. She's turning five next month and he is seven. And the birth of our third was also blogged on Xanga. So many things, so many places, so many observations, so many feelings, thoughts and frustrations all blogged on Xanga. Oh, and lots of funny things said and done by my crazy kids, too.

So going forward, I plan to backtrack and pull snippits of interestingness from my old blog. They'll be stuck in here from time to time, at random.

Just so you know.

Etsy Dallas 2009 Spring Bash

My uber-goober, talented friend, Silla, is a member of Etsy Dallas. She makes the sweetest hairclips, brooches and other doodads, painstakingly, all by hand. Anyway, Etsy Dallas is gearing up for their annual spring show at Southside on Lamar on May 16th. Here's the link for more info. And while you're there, click on Silla's face and it will direct you to her shop (silla soup) where you can see some of the sweet things that have spewed forth from her creative genius! (By the way, if you happen to specialize in hand massage, you may want to leave her your contact info. Microtipped scissors be damned!)

How do I know that it is a recession?

Today is my baby's second birthday.

This afternoon I took my kids to Baskin Robbins to buy an ice cream cake for my 2-year old's birthday. My 7-year old son asked me if Baskin Robbins ice cream is "reasonably priced". Kids are funny... and intuitive.