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.