Wit and Irreverence

Response, plus "Don't you hate it when...?".

2009-04-28T23:33:00.005-04:00

Well, Oh, big-sis-O'-mine, if you ever buy Harem Pants/Shorts I promise to slap you and then burn them in a barbeque grill. Capri pants are one thing-they can be excuted in an aesthetically pleasing/body flattering way, but HAREM PANTS?? Nope. Never. Not Acceptable. No way. Uh-uh!

I AM glad to hear that I am not the only one in our family who hates being told what to do... though I think we can both agree that I am a bit more... comprehensive (!) when it comes to that.

On a similiar note, I have been brewing a post about little things that I find irritating, like Don't you hate it when:
-you are the soberest person in the room? (AKA- you are sober and everyone else is drunk?)
-the grocery store stops carrying your favorite Olives/Chocolate/Pasta sauce?
-you get your seasonal clothes out and discover they don't fit?
- your favorite shoes make your feet smell like Fritos?
- the battery on your camera runs out just as you've framed the perfect shot?
- you realize one bathroom trip too late that you need more toilet paper?
- You have a sharp booger in your nose, but can't just pick it since you're in a public place?
- you get stuck next to a person who chews loudly/ talks incessantly/ has body odor?
- you accidentally smear mascara on your face when your makeup looks really good?

...What? I love those Napa Valley Bistro Almond Stuffed Olives!! I LOVE THEM, I TELL YOU!!!

Feel free to add your own in the comments. I could go on and on, but I think I'll spare you all for now!!

I Hate New Fashion

2009-04-28T19:15:00.005-04:00

Today I opened an e-mail, the subject line of which read "The Must-Have for Spring." Already we were off on the wrong foot, since I hate being told what to do and instinctively rebel. Second, I hate it when people who make their living off you buying stuff from them tell you what you need, for the low low price of three payments of $39.95 etc. etc. Thanks but I'll ask someone without a financial stake in it if I want advice.

But all that is prologue to the real kicker, because then I opened the e-mail and saw this:

And all I have to say is, Harem Pants? The, um, coolest shape of the season, as the copy claims? Blecch. Is it just me, or don't these just look like a cut-off version of those '80's "Hammer Pants"?

Of course, saying this brings to mind a memory of driving to work with my husband one day in the late '90's. I observed a woman who was clearly on the cutting edge of fashion walking down the street in capri pants. The essence of what I said at the time was "Ugh, those are so ugly, but give me a year and I know I'm going to want them in three different colors." I believe this was followed by a tirade about it not being enough that designers change the hemlines on skirts from year to year to make us buy new skirts, but now were going to do it to pants, too. Or maybe that tirade came when they brought back "clamdiggers." Or bermudas. Now they're dropping the crotch. What culture remains to rob? Next it'll be the essential loincloth or something.

I'm just a fashion curmudgeon. A late-adopter. So for those of you out there whose job it is to buy them now and convince me by wearing them around for a year or two as I gag, Harem Pants, ho!

Unwittingly Supporting a Neologism

2009-04-16T18:55:00.004-04:00

Neologism: ne·ol·o·gism (\nē-ˈä-lə-ˌji-zəm\) n. 1. a new word, usage, or expression. 2. a meaningless word coined by a psychotic. [French: néologisme, from ne- + log- + -isme -ism, 1803] -- ne·ol·o·gis·tic \-ˌä-lə-ˈjis-tik\ adj.

If you've been reading some of my entries, you'll know that my kids on Spring Break, and we certainly are not in Cabo or Daytona Beach. No, we are home. They are home building forts out of couch cushions, having i-Pod dance parties, playing far too much Nintendo DS, biking outside, wrestling on my bed, and inventing new and destructive games usually involving some combination of a ball, swords, Darth Vader helmets, superhero capes and "blasters" constructed out of large toddler Legos. I am home feeding them and feeding them and checking my e-mail far more than is necessary and looking at the clock and wondering in what creative fun way I will feed them again tonight.

See, I had a fledgling idea to go to San Diego for a long weekend, a mere eight hours by car in good traffic. "A road trip!" I said to husband, "load the car with lots of snacks, drinks, DVDs for the kids, trash magazines for the passenger, and just drive at our own pace! No security check, no flight attendants, no smelling like an airplane and praying you won't lose your luggage. We can stop whenever we want! Eat every two hours if it suits us! And after all, the kids will be strapped in the whole time! Come on, let's take to the open road!" He looked askance at me, pursed his lips in a skeptical half-grin and said "You and your road trips." (He is anti, so we've never taken one, despite frequent lobbying by yours truly.)

But when I reminded him we have friends we could stop in with in L.A. for a night, splitting up the trip into just two four-hour driving stints, and then upped the ante by offering to drive THE WHOLE WAY, I could tell I just about had him. "Hmm" he said, with that important upward intonation, "May-be."

And then the accountant called to tell me I could pick up our taxes. Yee-owch. Reality. We have very complex taxes this year, since we just moved back to the U.S. from overseas and own a house we're renting out in another state. Because they don't withhold overseas for U.S. taxes (understandably) we knew we'd owe some, but it still hurt a bit more than expected, especially since California state taxes are high.

So here I am, and while excessively checking my e-mail this week I have stumbled upon a neologism not once but twice from different sources: "staycation." It appears that this is the new term for what I am doing: spending my vacation at home instead for economic reasons. You know it's getting established when Wikipedia has an entry for it, to wit: Staycation.

Yuck. I am a linguistic curmudgeon, and furthermore am anti-trend, linguistic or behavioral. Additionally, staycation seems a particularly inelegant new construct. It reminds me of "stagnation." I am not enjoying "staycating" and I certainly didn't ask to be a part of a tacky neologistic and economic trend. Boo hoo. Take me to San Diego!

I'm checking last night's lottery drawing numbers now. Come on, mama needs a vacation!

Convince me I'm wrong!!

2009-04-16T09:45:00.002-04:00

Okay, Internets:

I have a dilemma. Well, not a dilemma so much as a need for answers. Here's the Problem:

My Daughter, being our first and only child, has managed to accumulate quite the menagerie of stuffed animals. Naturally, she is only really aware that about five of them exist, but we have at least 20-30 in rotation through our house at the time, and about 20-30 in a Rubbermaid bin in the basement. So...

In my ideal world, she would pick the five she couldn't live without and we would give the rest away to charity. But, of course, anytime she is asked to identify the ones to give away to children who don't have ANY stuffed animals, she wants to keep them all, and then when I find them all a "place" to live in the room, she sees them all lined up nice and neat and immediately has to play with them. All. So the stuffed animals end up two days later back in the regular spots- between the bed and the wall, behind/under various pieces of furniture, or piled in a pile and forgotten for a a few months until we start the dance all over again.

Now, I have never understood the importance of stuffed animals. I never slept with them and I never took them everywhere I went. By the time I hit middle school I had two stuffed animals which were kept more for my mother's nostalgia than for mine. I told all my boyfriends that they were never to give stuffed animals at any approaching gift-giving occasions. So now I feel equally ambiguous toward all but maybe two of the stuffed animals my daughter owns, and I would really like to not spend any more time shuffling them from place to place. I also should note that The Girl has never become especially attached to any one of them, nor has she ever even noticed whether or not we take one when we travel.

So, do I just do the surreptitious mommy-cleaning-while-kid's-away routine and make them all disappear one by one? Or should I find a way for them to live with us until the girl is old enough to move them out by her own decision and/or manpower? And most importantly, if I'm keeping them... HOW?? What are your best ideas for stuffed-animal storage that keeps them out of the floor but accessible/visible for playing??

I need your help, Internets. You're my only hope!!

Strange Things I Find in My Purse

2009-04-15T20:35:00.014-04:00

So it's Spring Break around here, which means I have three rugrats under my feet all day every day, arguing, waking the little one up early from his nap, demanding sandwiches, and spilling yogurt on the reasonably new yellow couch.

Which means the weather turned unseasonably cold and windy (and I don't just mean a strong breeze, I mean the kind that makes men with combovers run for cover and creates an obstacle course of blown-over empty garbage cans and lids on garbage day).

Which means it's amazing that I made it to Wednesday before we had a session at the McDonald's PlayPlace down the road.

Which means Happy Meals. THREE Happy Meals.

Which means germs, countless germs, but we won't think about that any more now, will we? After all, I did make them wash their hands afterwards. It was sanity wersus a potential cold, and sanity wins every time.

Which means I came home with a purse full of three identical forgotten useless Happy Meal toys that should consider their days numbered until they are chucked into the garbage or donated to Goodwill. Really, I want to know the percentage of landfill clutter nationwide that McDonald's Happy Meal toys are responsible for creating.

Anyway, as I took them out of my conveniently mommy-sized purse, I remembered some blog tagging thing I saw on a MommyBlog I followed a couple of years ago where you were supposed to blog about the weirdest thing you had in your purse at that moment. Clever. I know for a fact that since I've become a mother, my purse is, at any given time, home to quite a number of things I don't know about. So I thought I'd look into it today, and since I know you are out there clamoring for more details on my fabulous life, I thought I'd share the results with you. Aren't you just the luckiest!

Now let's not count the basics. You know, wallet, phone, sunglasses, keys, lipstick, various receipts, supermarket lists, scary-old-looking emergency-use feminine products and loose change. Those are just commonplace. Instead, let me dwell on the more random.

- A Bible verse puzzle made by my son in Sunday School
- Three bobby pins (whaa? no idea when I last would have used bobby pins)
- Chocolate chip cookies (in a bag, thankfully, which is not necessarily a given)
- One (1) tic-tac
- A lollipop (not surprising, really)
- Two pair of 3-D glasses (saw Monsters and Aliens Saturday night with the fam)
- A halogen book light
- A nametag with my name on it
- A nametag with hubby's name on it
- One Hot Wheels car (surprised there weren't more)
- A projectile made to look like ice from some past Happy Meal toy
- Valentine's sticker sheet with most of the stickers gone
- Neutrogena sunscreen
- The muzzle part of a foam cow mask from my middle son's early March class play
- Program from same
- One dark chocolate bar (56% Cacao)
- One tube of Clinique Black Honey Almost Lipstick, still in semi-smooshed box
Wonder what MacGyver could do with all that. And I'm not cleaning it out, either. No way, you never know when I might need one of those things to save the world from destruction (or at least save me from any one of a number of ravages of toddlerhood). Yup. That's just how I roll. (*Blows on knuckles, shines them on lapel*)

Since I know you're wondering now, yes, my purse is the size of a small suitcase. I have quite the developed right shoulder. It's a wonder small animal nests and garden gnomes didn't come tumbling out of it.

Aight, I'm out. I think it's Pizza Night. More good nutrition for the shorties; I'm really having a banner day here.

Children's Programming: the Stupid and the Sublime

2009-04-13T18:29:00.005-04:00

Okay, so as a parent of three successive children and having logged almost nine years on the journey now, I thought I'd seen it all in the way of children's programming. Especially with my unfazeable know-it-all tendencies.

IMHO (or maybe not so "H"), there is a definite spectrum, ranging all the way from "that's pretty cute," such as the Wonderpets and Little Bill, to "end my misery now," such as Barney or Max and Ruby. There are also some shows that are too smart, like Ni Hao Kai Lan, too dumb, like Wow Wow Wubbzy, or just a bit too weird for me, a la Yo Gabba Gabba or Oobie (um, "grandpoo?").

I have also found that many kid's shows divide: some adults love Barney and hate Elmo and some feel exactly the opposite. (In fact, some people who might otherwise represent themselves as being in their right mind actually disagree with the categorizing I've done above. Gasp!)

If you want to see kid's shows divide, you just need to hang out with my family when the youngest (two and a half) tries to watch The Wiggles or anything on Playhouse Disney. The walls reverberate with groans and "come on Mom!"s from my two older ones (ripe old six and nine year olds).

So imagine my shock when I stumbled upon The Upside Down Show on Noggin (a channel that, I might add, is usually otherwise rather unremarkable). Long story short, it's a uniter, not a divider. The Upside Down Show's main characters are two Australian guys who are known Down Under as a comedy duo called The Umbilical Brothers, and it is simply the most original kid's programming I have ever seen. In certain ways it reminds me of Sesame Street, but is closer in spirit to The Muppet Show, perhaps. We all love to watch it, adults and kids alike. It's just hilarious.

You'll get a kick out of the following outtake from the "Camping" episode, where Shane and David discover camping because they can't find their bedroom (the show is set in their living room and the rooms behind the doors leading off of it are an always-changing variety, e.g., the Very Hairy Room, the Wind Room, the No Fun Room, the This Way room, etc.). Before they find themselves in this conundrum, though, they help some of their friends, the Schmuzzies and Puppet, get off to sleep, as follows:

Puppet's lullabye -- and especially his reaction to it -- are some of my all-time favorite bits on this show. If only bedtime was that easy! Incidentally, Puppet's lullabye always makes me think of my brother-in-law, The Irreverent One's husband, since I think that, if he could, it's just the kind of lullabye he'd sing to their monkey. He may just try it now.

Sidenote: Unbelievably, it was cancelled after one season, thirteen episodes, in 2007 (sob). We have it on DVR, but some episodes accidentally got deleted (note to self: lock 'em down!) and now I find that Noggin isn't even showing it anymore. Boo. Bad form. Way to not live up to your name, Noggin.

Easter Egg-stravaganzas

2009-04-12T20:13:00.003-04:00

So, being that I am the Irreverent One by title around here, you may count on me for some Irreverent thoughts/happening regarding Easter.

"Jesus is a zombie, let us celebrate by impersonating a freakishly large Bunny who distributes candy and chocolate to our children." - Me

I decided to skip the floor-show known as Easter-sunday church and sent my daughter along with the Grandparents to show off her $30.00 dress bought specifically for this one day in her life. My Agnostic Hubby decided to go with them to "see" the church that the Grandparents like to take the girl to on Wednesday evenings. Once they arrived there, I received the following text-messages from Hubby.

10:38am- "Kill me now. There are Disciples and Centurions in the lobby*."

*Um, I believe the correct religious term is Foyer ( often pronounced a-la-midwestern-francais "Foy-YAY")

10:53am- " I think they're gonna crucify somebody. These cats are hardcore!!"

Note: There was apparently no children's church or nursery offered during the service today, so that all the kids could experience the gruesome spectacle of Jesus' crucifixion followed by his resurrection, complete with Gold-glittered beard. Apparently the afterlife has Bling.

I keep evaluating the occasional pangs of guilt I have had today for skipping the whole church thing, but the fact remains that I do not attend church the rest of the year, so I felt the most truthful thing to do was to carry-on as usual. I know how to do the dance and sing the songs and talk the lingo, but that carries no meaning for me anymore and I'm kinda proud that for once I had the Balls to just be who I am.

And the $30.00 dress is going straight into the dress-up area- not like she's gonna need it again before she's outgrown it, so I may as well let her get my money's worth out of it!

2009-04-11T21:55:00.003-04:00

20 Baby Products Great For Traumatizing Infants | Cracked.com

20 Baby Products Great For Traumatizing Infants. Diapers and milk. Anything else is excessive.

View >>

Um, Holy Crap. I laughed until I cried reading this post from Cracked.com. I am proud to say that I own none of these products. See, I prefer to traumatize my child the old-fashioned way- one embarrassing social-interaction at a time. Still, if anyone owns these, I'd love to hear your praises or complaints about them!

The Irreverent One

You know you missed us. Not (ting Hill).

2009-04-10T18:27:00.011-04:00

We're back, and we know, we disappointed you. And this is how you felt:

After all, we were the ones who knocked on your blue door (even if we were maybe a little too desperate to be making decisions at that point). Nonetheless, you couldn't help it about your strange, Welsh roommate. We just kept insinuating ourselves back into your lives with our oddball posts and strange timing, and despite any misgivings you may have had, we persuaded you with our quirky sense of humor and disarming honesty.

We hooked you, made you laugh, led you on. Then we left you cold, crying into your tea, without even so much as a goodbye. Or maybe you were on to hard liquor by the time the itch hit us, we can't really remember, which is also reflective of our neglect. It wasn't you, it was us. Really.

We just weren't ready for the commitment. We thought it would be easy to move on, to start other blogs, to just jot things down occasionally on scraps of napkin. And plus, there was MySpace and Facebook and so many other non-committal ways to enjoy the internet that we just...had to sow some wild oats, we guess. Plus, the demanding film schedule, you know. But it just wasn't the same.

So that's it. We're back. No really, we're ready this time, and it's gonna be different. We know it will. We've dumped our selfish Hollywood caricature of a boyfriend played by Alec Baldwin and we brought you a painting. Can't you see we're nothing without you? Can you find it in your heart to come back to us again?

Here, have this:

It's, uh, $22.99 at AllPosters.com. Sorry, but, you know, the economy and all that. Anyway...

Because after all, when it really comes down to it, we're just a couple of girls, standing in front of you, a bunch of strangers, um, asking you to love us.

Hmm, somehow that didn't come out sounding like I imagined it would.

But this time we promise it'll be all Chagall-esque, what with violin-playing goats floating in a dark-blue sky and things. And in the end shot you'll be lying there pregnant with your head on our laps in a private London park. (or maybe we have to be the ones with our heads in your lap, in this analogy, in which case, ix-nay the pregnancy part. What do you think we are, some kind of ho's?!)

So come on, give us another chance? You'll be glad you did.

(And just to stave off the inevitable inquiries, I really don't know where that came from. I have seen that movie maybe twice; last time two or more years ago? Although I just love the song. Go figure.)

Make Like Vinnie Barbarino and welcome us back!

2009-04-10T17:32:00.002-04:00

Okay, so we've only been gone for ... 3 years? I guess the Witty one has the bug again, because she and I have decided to re-animate this blog! I have been around, trying my hand at a Solo Blog here, and though it is fun having my inde-blog-pendence, I just missed my sister so!!! Also, I think I am funnier when she is my audience/cohort/partner-in-cyberspace. So, hang onto your hats, kids, and start checking this one more often 'cause we're BAAAAAACK!

The Irreverent One

another productive evening

2006-06-04T22:56:00.000-04:00

Once again, I sit in front of my computer, child-free due to the Grandma who likes to babysit, wasting precious off-time surfing the 'net. I have already visited my favorites:
mightygoods.com
babycenter.com
gofugyourself.com
postsecret.com
ebaumsworld.com
fark.com

and now I am on the search for a new 'web distraction. I have a folder in my favorites list labeled "Funny Blogs and Timewasters" and I go into that folder so often I practically have the order of sites on the list memorized. Hubby and I will often take to sitting 15 feet from each other and IM-ing to each other. giggling out loud to our respective jokes, both PG and R rated. This is the modern day family: multiple computers, IM-ing instead of sitting and lookingat each other, with the numbing glare and murmer of the history channel populating the background. The monkey has no idea what fun she is missing, and since she doesn't know, we sure won't mention it when she hits the IM age and we force her off the computer "because it rots your brain" or some such vague mom-esque, not-really-threatening taunt that she will one day use on her children.

SSSSHHHH! It's our secret, 'kay?

Primetime special: Mothers after 8pm

2006-05-31T20:12:00.000-04:00

the first choice I've made for myself today is whether to have Ice-cream or Beer first.

Beer. Then Shower. Then Ice cream. Then gluttonous slumber.

Ahhhhh, Bedtime truly is the most glorious hour of a mother's day.

out of the mouths of monkeys

2006-05-24T20:04:00.000-04:00

well, the monkey has a new party joke. Hubby taught her that a squirrel says "I'm Nuts!" so the next time hubby asked monkey "What does a Squirrel say?" she replied "I'm NAKED!!!!"

It is our best achievement to date, I think.

rain, rain, go to hell...

2006-05-18T15:06:00.000-04:00

Our weather lately has been a recreation of the first six days of the forty days of rain that sent noah to live in a boat with a bunch of smelly animals. I guess that makes me noah, 'cause we all know who the smelly animal is. She is 21 months old, screams and has a runny nose.

Grandmom's visit was a success (for the fast-food vendors in town) and I spent most of the weekend drinking the cost of my bridesmaid dress in martinis. yum... Grandmom gave me a one-pound box of my favorite chocolates and a 25.00 gift card to TJ Maxx for mother's day. yay Grandmom! She also watched over my monkey with more love and krispy kremes than I could have, so everyone is happy! I did make hubby buy his first suit since junior year in high school (and no, that one hasn't been in the clothes-that-get-worn pile either, thank god!) and now he can go proudly forth and be generally fabulous when the occasion calls for it.

We are now coming to the close of my recovery-week, and the manicure is fading, the bridesmaid dress sits in its plastic bag- having completed it's first week of eternal-polyester-life, and I haven't taken a shower in one or two more days than is recommended by the surgeon general. Now that things are back to normal, I gotta get to work on those shows again. (2 down, 2 and a class to go). Where's my time-traveling phone booth a-la Dr. Who or Bill and Ted? I need august. now.

Movin' is Groovy ... in Korea

2006-05-12T08:33:00.000-04:00

I am back, with very very good excuses, too. First my in-laws were here for a week and a half (hadn't seen them since Christmas), during which time hubby also finished the grueling process of coming to an agreement with his employers on a new 2-year contract, and then we moved to a new apartment last Wednesday. Whew!

Oh, and did I mention that all the while I was five months pregnant with my third son? Yeah, I've been a little busy.

However, through this all I have come to realize a great thing about Korea. I speak of one area where Korea is way ahead and the U.S. is way behind. Realizations of such instances do not occur every day here, yet are crucial to an expat's sanity, so I will memorialize it in writing: Korea rocks for moving people. This country makes an extremely stressful and dislocating process a lot less painful, and for that, I am deeply grateful.

First, the standard moving arrangement expected by every Korean who moves is that the movers will arrive at 8 am on the morning of the move and begin packing their stuff. YES, THEY PACK FOR YOU! EVERYTHING! And this is not some extravagant foreigners-who-throw-money-around moving method. This is how Joe Schmoe-Kim here moves! Really! We had three guys in the apartment and two at the truck for the furniture, etc., and two ladies that dealt with the kitchen area only (including cleaning out the refrigerator).

Then there is the ladder-truck. I am told it can be used for up to 30-something-storey buildings. It is an average-looking truck with a mechanism on the back that raises two tracks up to your window. They pop a balcony door off its track, and a platform is raised and lowered on the tracks with your stuff on it. So much faster than dealing with an elevator! Our team was done in the house by about 11:30 a.m.!

And yes, after they get the stuff to your new place and place it all where it goes per your direction, they UNPACK FOR YOU. I'm talking underwear in drawers, TV and DVD player plugged in, milk in the fridge, silverware put away and pictures hung where you'd like. Then the ladies steam-cleaned the wood floor! Everyone was gone by 4:30 p.m. and we ordered a nice pizza.

No wonder that when I've tried to explain the concept of a U-Haul truck to my Korean friends it just earns me puzzled looks. The bill will go to my husband's company, but I am told that for our amount of stuff, that level of service for a move will probably cost around $900. I think we paid that for our last U.S. move when they just mainly lifted and left some lovely bootmarks on the carpet.

So, I think you'll agree, this makes moving in America look like the Dark Ages. Chalk one up for Korea: they can justifiably claim themselves to be superior in the moving arena. Hmm, wonder how you put that one in the Olympics...

Blue's Insults, and spring 'aint the only thing that's sprung around here!

2006-05-08T10:11:00.000-04:00

As further proof that Macy Gray is not the most sane-looking individual, the artists on Blue's Clues felt the need to pretty her up (and thinned her down- not lovin' that) to appear as an animation on the show. There was no doubt that it was her with her kooky voice, but the animation wasn't exactly true-to-life. I don't know whether to laugh or growl!

We have the monkey's Grandmom ( hubby's mom- who calls herself "Ga-mama" and signs cards to monkey this way... *insert pregnant pause here*) coming to stay this weekend, and of course I'm thankful that I'll know the Monkey will be in trustworthy though excessive-amounts-of-milkshakes-and-icecream-wielding hands while I participate in the long awaited and spendy wedding of a dear friend this weekend. I think I need not say that house-guests are a blessing and a curse, much less the woman who raised Hubby (her only child), so I am also a bit anxious about the added stress of having her here cooing and ga-ga-ing over Hubby and Monkey. ( but maybe that'll take the burden off of me to goo-goo and smoochy-smoochy when I'd rather be napping).

I have had a busy last two weeks, working at two shows, and working on designing another show, while missing a meeting for yet another show I am designing. So although the festivities (which begin two days before the wedding) include a manicure/pedicure party, an elegant luncheon at a historic tea-room, a rehearsal dinner at one of my favorite nouveau-restaurants, and the hair-appointment and makeup parade which takes place in preparation for the wedding itself, at this point I'm just aiming for Mother's day. then I pass out in exhaustion. I even have "Pass Out" written on my calendar on Mother's day- it is a planned event for me, and one which benefits no one but me, which is perhaps why that nap is going to better than any of the bride-centric pampering I'll be partaking in.

Another fun happening around here is the leak in our dining room ceiling. We are in a two floor house, and no, the dining room is not on the top floor. So, what does that mean? It means that after one of us took a shower last week, we noticed there was water dripping from the bottom-tip of the dining-room chandelier. no problem that a bowl on the table, and (we thought) some Caulk can't fix! Another shower, and the water began leaking from a point about a foot away from the chandelier. Dang. Last Friday, a week and a half and several bird-baths in the 1st floor bathroom sink later, a plumber arrived and ripped an angular s-shaped hole on the dining room ceiling. Then he went home to enjoy his weekend, leaving a trail of drywall crumbs and a large dirty paint-bucket on a sheet of plastic on the floor to catch the dripping water. Reasoning that at least the leaking water was dripping direcly into the bucket, and not onto the soggy ceiling drywall, we enjoyed showers and baths this weekend, for the first time in ten days. Now I sit with the phone in my back pocket, anxioiusly awaiting a call from the plumber to say he's on his way. I guess "I call you Monday Morning" means "I'll call you no earlier than 11am Monday Morning" I had stuff I could've done and all the regualar spiel... urgh. At least we're renting so someone else gets to foot this bill. (leaving the rest of my bank account to go toward the required wedding manicure, pedicure, hair-do, parking, etc. etc. etc. )

I'm betting I'll have some colorful mother-in-law and wedding stories to share next week, so stay tuned!

Spring has sprung

2006-04-23T23:01:00.000-04:00

... and no, this is not a R-rated post. sorry to disappoint.

We have finally reached the mild-summer temperatures of spring ( and yes, I mean mild-summer, not what you would think of as spring temps- recently the springs tend to get drowned out by the heat of summer. Spring lasts two days, then it rains for five days, then it's mid-to-upper 70's summer weather) but I digress. The weather is warm, the sun is (usually) out, and that means it's time to GET THE KID OUT OF THE HOUSE! No, not by herself, you DCFS-reporters... but we are enjoying having a fenced-in yard for the first time. I can sit and read a book while Monkey brings me sticks and fills her belly with dirt and dandelion-fur. I'm actually glad my tulips have succumbed to the freak hail-storm of last week and the following 75-ish temperatures, because getting Monkey to be "Gentle! Gentle!" with the Tulips was seriously cutting into my life of leisure. The barely used sunscreen bottle of last summer has been replaced with a new, shiny one, and we have used it the last several weekends. Another new pasttime is taking walks outside around our sweet historic neighborhood. It is SO NICE to be out of the Apartment complexes with thier man-made "lakes" and miles of Asphalt (though I know I'll miss the air-conditioniong and community pool when it gets into July and August. But then again, I'll enjoy the absence of pounding bass-riffs through the walls and or floor, and the total lack of ceiling height or storage room. Oh, and I think my FAVORTIE part of the werm-weather/no-air-conditioning combination is going to be the popularity of Grilling dinner. that saves some dishes, and Hubby gets to do the cooking. Hooray!

So Spring has sprung here and we're all cultivating nice farmer's-tans on our arms and legs. Hope you're getting to enjoy some outdoor-friendly weather as well!

Some things are sacred.

2006-04-18T18:39:00.000-04:00

Last week I learned a couple of new things:
1) A large part of the reason I did the whole easter basket thing for my daughter this year was so that I could have the extra candy laying around for me to eat.
2) No matter how small the person, I am unable to raid another being's candy-stash.

Hubby and I had as much fun buying the candy and reliving our childhood memories of easter candy, as we did seeing Monkey have a ball finding those plastic eggs and shoving as much of their sugary contents into her mouth at once as possible . We (hubby and I) also managed to polish off the leftover mini-candy-bar mix by sunday night. My role as "Mom" in this family means that I am one-half of the "keepers of the easter basket", monitoring and doling out the easter treats at some reasonably slower-than-she'd-like rate until they are gone. So there I was Monday afternoon, in the midst of PMS, when I caught the glimpse of the little Almond Joy bars and Reeses-cups peeking out of Monkey's easter basket. I am proud that almost as soon as I thought "she'll never notice if I were to have one or two of her candy-bars," I found that place in myself where a person's candy-stash is sacred. Raiding my daughter's candy was as disgusting a thought as... say, dressing her up in a giant floofy dress and fake lashes, and entering her in a toddler-pageant (and to me, that's really frickin disgusting...). So I just ate some of the leftover gumdrops and sat back with the contented smile of a woman who could look her daughter in the eye when she woke up from her nap. I do have the feeling, though, that there will be a day when life is just too much and I do take that tiny morsel of chocolate, with the knowledge that once upon a time, life was simpler and I saved my "keeper-of-the-candy" priviledge for this moment that would make or break my sanity.

My Favorite Poem

2006-04-12T19:00:00.000-04:00

I don't remember how I stumbled on this poem about five years back -- maybe on a calendar? -- but it has been my favorite poem ever since. I'm not the kind of person who sits around steeped in poetry either, but, as I hope you will agree, this poem makes me smirk knowingly. It has an understated wit about it, to me, that shows what an art there can be to writing. This poem makes all those treacly, hyper-rhyming poems you get forwarded on e-mail run and hide their blushing cheeks, because this is the real thing.

But enough geekiness. I have been waiting for a while to post this poem, since it talks about April. So enjoy!

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

See what I mean? Hope you enjoyed. If you want to see more from Edna St. Vincent Millay, or other poets, I have found a wonderful database of poetry. If you want to go poke around, it's at http://www.poemhunter.com/

To build on the sentiment from the I.O.'s post below, poetry is just a wonderful antidote to all the humdrum Disney/Nickelodeon/Barney garden-variety kiddie rhyming our parent-heads get pounded with daily. Those Backyardigan writers, while talented enough, have to churn out about three new rhyming songs per episode, and they are exhausted. You can hear it. Today I had to listen to Barney sing some song about dancing on a bridge in Avignon, and if that wasn't bad enough, the verses alternated English and French! I tell you, that -- Barney. Singing. In French. -- will make anyone run for the hills...or for Edna St. Vincent Millay, where said hills are overrun with flowers, now that April has come and strewn them "like an idiot, babbling." A breath of fresh air.

Deep thoughts about Children's Programming

2006-04-10T13:22:00.000-04:00

I think I just watched/listened to an entire episode of Dora The Explorer during the Monkey's naptime, because they were looking for a chocolate tree. PMS, anyone?

Who would have ever guessed that Dora's Map's song ("I'm the Map I'm the Map I'm the Map I'm the Map I'm th Map I'm the Map I'm the Map I'm the Map I'm the MAP!!!!!") would be way-more annoying than Diego's Camera, Click, being voiced by the Uber-annoying Rosie Perez?! Wow.

Who thought that naming a Backyardigan "Uniqua" was a good a idea? agh! I know they're trying to be cute using "Unique" as a jumping point for a character, but come on! And I'm annoyed every time by the valley-pronunciation in the theme song "Your backyard friends thah Back yaaaard-AH-gehns..." yeesh! it's back-yard-I-GANS, not Back-yard-agains. PHONICS PEOPLE!!

Is it just me or are The Wonderpets the cutest thing you have ever seen? I mean a little Chick named Ming Ming who can't say her r's ! Oh my god the cuteness! "This is Sewious!"
Not to mention a Guinea Pig with a cape and Turtle with a little sailor outfit! Love it!

I know Elmo is cute and all, but if I was Maria (or any of the other humans who have been on that show since I was a sesame street watcher as a child) I'd be a little bitter that Elmo has about 50% of the show now. And Snuffalppagus being visible is just SO boring! It was much better when only big bird got to see him.

I got a new drug

2006-04-03T09:50:00.000-04:00

Myspace is like Meth (or at least it is like what I hear Meth is like...) One visit and you're hooked! I have spent about 70% of the time I was at home this weekend on Myspace.com. Oh. My. God. I have found friends from middle/high school, and college and grad school! I am so addicted! I felt a little like the super-uncool mom at first, realizing that all my single friends were on there and obviously having a great time. It's strange how just having them on my friends list makes me feel younger and cooler already. I even DREAMT about myspace this weekend- no lie! my daughter is loving my addiction too- that means that when I'm not looking, she can climb on the coffee table, dining table, the back of couches, etc and just have a great old time until she falls down and decides "mommy needs to know about this!" But do not alarmed, dear reader, though i have admittedly spent alot of time online this weekend, I have also taken time to play with my girl and go out to eat a couple of times and actually get some work done. So I guess it's not exactly like Meth in that I'm still eating and sleeping and getting work done. If I ever stop eating and sleeping, you know I'm actually on Meth 'cause those are my two favorite things to do! although when you think about it, they do both start with M, and all my friends are doing it....

Sick and Tired (but getting better)

2006-03-31T04:11:00.000-05:00

Bronchitis bites. Take it from me and hubby, who have been taking turns keeping each other up with a symphony of hacking for about three nights. He coughs so loud I'll bet the neighbors were hoping I'd smother him. I'd say we've gotten a cumulative eight hours of sleep between us, over those three nights. I don't want to calculate the cumulative weight of loogies we have generated. Nast.

Yet Korea is not at all where America is on "hey, you're sick, go home, don't get us sick." You're expected to be at your desk. So it's off to a doctor, by utter necessity and unavailability of quality over-the-counter medicines like you find at a supermarket Stateside. And being intelligent adults, we have now gamed the medical system(s) here, as follows.

If we want the staunch U.S. "I'm sorry it's a cold so go home and turn on the humidifier" treatment we go to our favorite international clinic -- this is usually the approach we now take with our boys, since, after all, you don't want the tender young things developing antibiotic resistance or taking unnecessary medicine. Plus, I can always keep them home to let them heal.

For us already-messed-up, weakling adults who are on-duty no matter how we feel, we take our wimpy selves to the local Korean internal medicine practitioner's clinic. There, a very qualified and sympathetic doctor listens to our breathing, "barely" looks at our throats (says Hubby), and pronounces some form of infection. This promptly gets us a nice steroid/antibiotic shot in the butt, plus about five day's-worth of additional medication, which is probably an antibiotic, cough suppressant, and pseudoephedrine. (We can't exactly tell what we are taking really because Korean drug trade names are different and the prescription sheets don't tell you what each drug is targeting.)

Thus we go through some decision about whether to pick the U.S. "body, heal thyself" approach versus good ol' down-home aggressively reactive care each time we get sick. Korean medical system to the rescue! It's funny, because once you do this enough you can kind of steer the outcome of the appointment if you want to, by well-placed comments: e.g., about the tone of the mucus, the location of any pains, the duration of your problems, and of course noting fevers, real or not.

So yesterday, after said three nights of hacking and choking on phlegm, Hubby and I went to the local Korean clinic. Being pregnant, I didn't get all the meds he did, but I got some inhaled corticosteroid to help calm down the bronchial tubes, which is deemed reasonably safe in pregnancy (yes of course I looked it up on http://www.safefetus.com first). We both slept much better (only one waking-up-coughing episode versus about four per night on previous nights) and I think we both felt much better today. This morning, Hubby noted "You know, we're going to miss this getting to dictate our prescriptions whenever we go back to the States." I know he's right. Score one for Korea.

On a side note, all four of us got the same cold, but the boys have been done with it for at least four nights. Maybe all that hard livin' in college. Or maybe we're just getting old. Tsk tsk tsk.

So Very Prodigal

2006-03-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

I have been very bad, dear reader, I have been absent without explanation or reason. I am putting myself in the "Penalty Box" for 31 1/2 minutes and not letting myself out no matter how loudly I scream. Then again, this technique doesn't seem to work on Mankey, so maybe I'll just put myself in bed for a 31 1/2 minute NAP! Yeah, that's more like it.

Despite my absence, I see that the Witty One has been shouldering the load and for that I am grateful. I have had many "I should Post this" moments, but haven't actually posted. so yeah- deal. ( gotta earn my Irreverent title, y'all!)

some postable moments:
Watching VH1 Classic, bopping to some videos circa 1980's, and looked over to see Monkey and a Hubby also bopping along to the synthesized drumbeat. I had a vision in that moment of Monkey in High School, being dubbed totally cool because she knew all these great 80's bands. I think she was wearing a "Relax" T-shirt...

The Moment Monkey decided to add "Aww, Maaaan!" to her vocabulary, a-la Swiper the Fox of Dora the Explorer Fame. Yummy cuteness.

Monkey's first playground kiss- even though it was a mall playground and maybe she hit on the boy who was in the plane she wanted to get into. Nontheless, he leaned over, cupped her face in his hands and planted one on her. We are so in trouble.

Monkey putting her shirt on as pants- it's a first effort at what I'm sure I will later remember as "the moment I lost image-control" as Monkey leaves the house to go to high-school wearing something that the rest of the adult world has a difficult time classifying as "an Outfit."

Our first family foray into the animatronic wonderland known as Chuck-E-Cheese. It was Hubby's 30th birthday request, and the token-fueled frenzy engulfed us all, culminating in Hubby's Mom's minor nervous breakdown when the portrait "sketcher" machine didn't spit out her portrait. Luckily I was there to manage the crisis by alerting a bored-looking teenage staff member of the malfunction. The portrait was retrieved without further violence or tears.

So, much has been going on here. We are looking forward to getting out in the warmer weather which has blown our way this week, hopefully resulting in long, long, long peaceful naps for all.

'till next time...

Enough Jealousy of the Flowers Already!

2006-03-20T20:43:00.000-05:00

I am so done with Winter. Winter is now that steak from that great place that used to be appetizingly medium-rare, then was rendered into well-done leather by the microwave. Can't even mask the overdone with A-1, baby.

Where at first happily I pulled out all my jackets (weather-enforced instant accessorizing!) and donned my vast array of turtlenecks (instant chic that flatters my long neck!), I am now glancing longingly at my sandals and cotton skirts. (Though not so longingly at my dry, white legs.) In fact, I have already pre-emptively given myself a pedicure. Native Americans do a Rain Dance to bring the rain, I do the Spring Toenail Scrunch to bring the Spring (the fumes can send one into a trance, after all). Take THAT, Old Man Winter!

But hah, who am I kidding. My toenails dealt no death-blow to this winter. Korean weather has been downright schizophrenic lately. We have had days at 30 degrees and days that are 58 degrees and sunny, only two days apart. We have had one last spit in the eye of winter snow and our first heapin' helpin' of springtime yellow dust from China, all in the same day. (I could explain how desertification there causes the loess to erode and become airborne and prevalent winds at times blow it into Korea for the Spring, lucky us, but you didn't check this site out cause you were having trouble sleeping now, didya.) Suffice it to say that this was just ONE day's weather in Seoul last week. Yowza; End of Days or somethin'.

Now in English we use sophisticated, colorful phrases under weather circumstances such as these: we say "the groundhog must have seen his shadow," we call it a "cold snap." Ooo. But the Korean language definitely tops us in this department. When a nice, balmy spring-like interlude is interrupted unexpectedly by three or so days of bone-chilling, cloudy, near-freezing weather, the Koreans poetically term it "ggo-ssem-choo-wee." That may not sound poetic at first blush, but, translated, it literally means "the cold that is jealous of the flowers." Meaning that, having seen and envied people's reaction to the warming weather and the budding flowers, Winter comes back for one last hoorah to see if it can get that reaction. (Hah! No chance. Go 'way.)

So don't get me wrong, these cold snaps BITE, but to hear my Korean neighbors talk about it, they just sound like something out of a fairy tale.

What is not even close to fairy-tale-esque, however, is the experience of keeping my two active boys inside when we get a little snap of that "jealous cold" over the weekend -- which seems to happen every weekend. It's more like a nightmare, especially by Sunday night. So anyway, I am here just wishing that Spring would spring, already. I'm beggin'. Cross your fingers for me. Do your own Spring Toenail Scrunch. Do SOMEthing.

Or else I may just have to hole up with the chocolate. Hmmm...

These are the Days

2006-03-08T23:08:00.000-05:00

Funny fact of the week: when Son the Younger gets ready for bed, he takes off his shirt like that hunk in the Diet Pepsi ad (I think) from several years ago. You know, the one where all these professional women are ogling the well-built contruction worker who happens to be too hot for his white t-shirt? My son, like said beefcake, pulls it off by grabbing it at the back of his neck and pulling it over his head. Neither I nor his father, nor his older brother, taught him this. So I'm asking, what is this? An inner hunk-instinct? Should I start worrying now? Today he pulls off the t-shirt thusly, tomorrow I'm answering the phone every five minutes and it's a different girl, always for him?

You really have to have amazing powers of Projection to stay neurotic like me.

Speaking of inner hunk-instincts, I witnessed an amazing interaction between Son the Older and a girl at his school the other week ("she rides my bus" he tells me after, by way of explanation). I say amazing mainly because, keep in mind as you read this, he is five and a half, and she was probably 13. We are walking to the music center for his piano lesson -- admittedly not a very hunky after-school activity, but he can pick up guitar later, after he can read music and practice regularly for the lessons we're paying our good money for! -- and the girl is leaving the music center. In typical cheery preteen girl fashion, she chirps "Hi, [she knew his name]!" and flashes him a bright smile. So how does normally garrulously talkative, like-me-like-me-notice-me-notice-me, friendly in a puppy-dog sort of way Son the Older respond? He tips his head kinda sideways at her and shrugs one shoulder up a bit as he says, with a totally straight face, "Hey." So cool, you woulda thought he had a new set of fronts and was suckin' on gin and juice (actually, he only has one wiggly tooth and his beverage of choice was blue Powerade; maybe that's how it starts). She waltzes off, glossy young hair bouncing, and he, reaching the parent lounge area, sets his backpack down and skips down the hall to his practice session with a slight blue moustache.

As long as they both get similar numbers of girls calling later on, I guess I probably won't end up worrying too much.

And so we have two chapters in the book of parenthood entitled, "Where Did You Learn This?" I never know what to say when we have one of these moments. I usually fall mute, looking on with a "what being is this that I have wrought" puzzlement, and let it pass. I suppose they will slowly increase in frequency, and then one day I'll have to buy them deodorant, then razors and shaving cream, and I shall wither and pass on into the West with all the others that have gone before me, chatting of my children's doings over coffee with "done" hair and calm sweater sets, and annoying my daughters-in-law.

Which is why I always say moms of boys have to get to know each other now, while we're raising them, and keep in touch. If we do this right, we're gonna need each other as shopping/coffee companions later. Just wait. Once they get to the age where I can send them golfing with Dad, it's just gonna be a perpetual Girls' Nite Out! Woo-hoo!

So that's when I'll have to savor memories such as one from two nights ago, when, whilst watching a movie together as a family, neither one of them would sit with Daddy, who is normally The Coolest Parent and in perpetual demand. "Hey, [Son the Younger], sit with me!" he tried, but received an emphatic "No, I want Mommy!" He then climbed onto my right thigh, joining Son the Older, who had already planted himself on my left thigh for the duration. And so it was that I enjoyed most of The Chronicles of Narnia with a (now-diminishing) lap full of Squirming Boy, having the dialogue drowned out by observations like "I'm Peter." "No, I'm Peter." "No, you can be Aslan."; "Mommy, that's you!" (fortunately not while indicating the Witch); "I'm Peter" (yes again, and repeated endlessly);"That's a real sword, it's not a toy."; "He broke her ice stick!"; and "Where did Aslan go?" Between all that and many cautions to them to 'ow, watch the tummy!', I got the impression that it must have been a very nice movie.

And as for the experience of them both singing in unison the "Chicken Little" version of Queen's "We Are the Champions" (which goes, "I am the champion") most of the way to our friends' house the other night, I'm afraid I just can't do it justice in writing. See the movie and then imagine a three- and a five and a half-year old singing it, with all the right notes and inflections but slurring the "r" sounds. Priceless.

Vacation day four= now i'm broke

2006-03-01T10:48:00.000-05:00

Day four started in the customary leisurely way and featured a shopping trip with my fave shopping buddy, Erica. She is a fellow fashionista and makeup-whore and we have great fun in the consumerist tradition.

We meet at noon at our favorite place, Sephora, and spend an hour or two browsing the goods and dodging the rabid salespeople (these are unlike any salespeople I have encountered- they will latch on to you in a given area of the store and you literally have to signal your friend to "call you over" to get out their clutches. I know they are paid to sell, and paid even more when they do make an actual sale, but geez-oh-pete... It makes shopping there a bit like a safari- hiding in the bushes until the salesperson leaves the aisle you want to go to, then dashing over and looking while you keep one eye out for the salesperson's return path). We both make admirably small purchases and eat at a yummy bistro for lunch. then it's off to the MAC store. This place is the first entire store I would purchase (after paying off all the money I owe and buying a fabulous house and car and spa-vacation) if I won the lottery. I. Love. MAC. Erica and I each leave with two new eyeshadows, a lipliner, and a lipstick- another admirably small purchase considering that we both want a little MAC store attached to our bathrooms for our daily beautification needs. We browse the rest of mall, resisting shoes and handbags that we can't justifiy paying for, and decide we've done all the damage we can allow to our wallets and feet and part ways.

I return home, take a nap, eat a delicious soup-and-salad dinner and journey to the last movie I have to see in a theatre for the Oscars. Memoirs of a Geisha. I have read the book and forgotten the plot, except that it's about a geisha. I remember that I liked the book, however, and I need to see the costumes becaseue i know they'll be breathtaking. Now, I prefer to see a movie made from a book after I have read the book, especially when I read it long enough ago that other important facts have crowded the plot out of my mind. This way, I enjoy the book and I enjoy the movie. Well, I really enjoyed this movie. I had totally forgotten the ending, which is the best part, and the costumes were beautiful as expected.

I also heard from the hubby that he and monkey are going to head back tomorrow, instead of driving overnight tonight as planned, so I have a partial day of freedom left for tomorrow. so, coming up, Vacation Day 5.

A Smorgasbord of Minor Annoyances

2006-02-28T21:12:00.000-05:00

My apologies in advance for what may be a whiny post, but sometimes, you just gotta get it off your chest -- and what better way to do that than on the internet, to total strangers?! I tell you, sometimes I think that blogging just may qualify as a symptom of a diagnosable mental disorder.

In Korea, today, March 1, is a national holiday called "Samil-jul." It commemorates the 1919 protest movement for Korean independence against the Japanese occupation that had started in 1910. At a designated time, people all over the country gathered, pulling homemade Korean flags out of their cloaks and protested. Independence didn't happen, of course, until 1945. For the March 1 uprising, scores were jailed, tortured, and killed; only some names are remembered. Any participant, though, is eligible to be buried in the National Cemetery in Daejeon (don't know how you prove it). And almost a hundred years later, their bravery is commemorated every year. Quite a commendable thing, don't you think?

Nice back story, and "national holiday" would normally mean a mid-week rest day for the family, together. Very Norman Rockwell-Kim, no? BUT, hubby's division at work decided they'd have a little overnight workshop/retreat for everyone. Koreans would never use a work day for such things. So I am at home with two restless boys until such time as he appears from this meat-grilling, soju-swilling, mountain-climbing "team-builder." And ugh, to this pregnant nose, he's gonna smell! (Admittedly, he'd rather be here than there -- none of those activities appeal to my dear man -- but I'm not above collecting the brownie points and whining a bit anyway. There's a fine line between cool wife and doormat that MUST be maintained.)

As if that weren't tough enough, it is COLD here! We even got a dusting of snow overnight. I know it's only the first of March, but there is something in the human animal that senses the coming of Spring instinctively. Son the Older begged me to wear shorts today. I, too, am very tired of winter, and being cooped up inside, but the Siberian winds here just do not allow for anything else. Over the weekend we decided to brave it and go to the playground, but after about five minutes, even the boys were saying they wanted to go back inside!

So inside it is today, and it ain't always peaceful. We can't do Play-Doh for a while because Son the Younger, who Knows Better, inserted a ball of it into his nose the other day (when?! I still don't know), which took two days to work its way out. (I take after my nurse-mother in the way I am maybe too not-hysterical about such things.) Markers and crayons went on the Thomas Trains, tracks, and the computer screen a week before. That leaves, what? Inviting a glue disaster? Rotting their brains with Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, and Cartoon Network all day? I am perilously close to undertaking another potentially disastrous collective baking project just to stay afloat. Someone stop me now!

Oh, and just one more to pile it on, we were very excited to find Rice Krispy Treats at Costco the other week. We hadn't eaten any in quite a while, and they're perfect for young son and pregnant snacking. So we bought the mammoth box. But guess what? There's no acounting for pregnant aversions, and the strong vanilla scent emanating from the first mouthwatering bite turned my stomach immediately and turned me off of food the rest of the day! WHY do they add vanilla? Now I want non-vanilla-ey Rice Krispy Treats, but Rice Krispies cost about $8 for a small box here at the import supermarket. And I'd have to get someone to send me marshmallows. And it's just not that important, but it sure is annoying. That nauseating box is just staring at me from the top of the fridge. C'est la vie.

So Happy March 1st to you. Give thanks for your independence, and that you probably didn't have to put your life in peril, or lose a family member, to enjoy it. Gotta go make peanut butter sandwiches now; naptime is coming, hooray!

Vacation Day 3- this is the life

2006-02-28T09:54:00.000-05:00

I think I've finally figured out the whole vacation thing: planning is still necessary to avoid long hours in front of the tube. Today I actually have an hour or two of work to do (which was the whole bargaining point my argument rested on for Hubby taking the monkey with him- it may be weak, but it worked!), so I awaken at 10am (woo-hoo!) get ready and have my breakfast and surf the 'net some. I get to work about 12:30, and am out of there by 1:30, leaving me a whole day and night to frolic. I promptly head to the nearest movie theater where I order a bagel-dog and settle in for Brokeback Mountain. The movie was fine, but I think alot of the Oscar-nomination comes from the amazing nature-views and the fact that the cowboys are gay. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal are yummy, Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway are attractive and sweet, but do we really need to give these boys an oscar just beacuse they made out onscreen? I think that's a little generous don't you? ( and it smacks of the "Eww, Gay" attitude- which, being a theatre-techie myself, is just rude and unacceptable in this day and age). And do we give the oscar to the guy holding the camera, or to freakin' Mother Nature? my vote is with Mother Nature. All in all, it was a fine movie, delivering everything it promised, and the experience was completed by the seemingly naive twentysomethings behind me who had to express their pleasure at looking at Heath and Jake as well as their "shock" at seeing a little front-end or back-end exposure on the boys. (Puh-Lease!)

Next up, Barnes & Noble. I cruise on over to the bookstore, pick a few magazines and settle in with that most sinful of coffee treats- a Frappucino. Yum. Several hours later, I feel a rumbling and realize it's time for dinner. I head over to Panera and have a little salad and a little sandwich and head over to movie #2. Chronicles of Narnia. I really enjoyed this one. The computer graphics are always noticeable to me, but excuseable here because how else are you gonna give a man goat-legs? I liked that they actually tried to cast kids who looked like each other to play the siblings, too. I know that sometimes it's more important to cast the ones who can actually act, but it's nice to find the best of both worlds when you have the entire child-population of the universe to pick from. So, good movie, It followed the book nicely and we did get to see a short scene where the children are grown kings and queens of narnia- again, good resemblances to the children (and yow, that King Peter!) and a book-faithful, sequel-encouraging ending. I do hope they make at least one more of these movies. Oh yeah, and Tilda Swinton rocks. She could be reciting "Green Eggs and Ham" for all I care and I would still give her an Oscar.

So, all in all a good day. Tomorrow: shopping!

Vacation day 2= fate is against me

2006-02-27T10:39:00.000-05:00

*yawns and stretches*

Day two of my mommy-vacation started off well.
-Woke up at 9am, started coffee and took a long, hot shower.
-Leisurely drank coffee as I beautified for the day. Decided to go with a smoky eye look that takes longer than 15 minutes to complete.
-Had a sausage egg and cheese croissant (from the freezer, but I luv 'em) for breakfast.
- Figured I should do the dishes and scoop the kitty litter, so that no work would be involved when I got home from my day's outing.
- checked movie times and wrote a couple down, just in case.

The plan for the day was to go hang at Borders for much longer than any toddler could stand, do a little shopping for my friend's wedding shower next weekend, and maybe catch a movie after dinner. I arrived at my preferred Borders location to find that the cafe was being renovated- which was a major bummer since without the cafe functioning, I could not feed my now growling tummy. Decided to check out Barnes N' Noble... As I approached, I noticed their parking lot was jammed with the cars of those earlier-risers who had the same alternate plan I did, so I went a little further to Panera- same parking lot scenario, so decided on Starbucks. Starbucks was nice and empty with a cushy chair open just for me, so I settled in with a latte and a scone to read my book. The last quarter of my book turns out to be something of a tearjerker, so I decide to save it for home where I can blubber uncontrollably if need be.

Before I left home, I had looked online at the gift-registries of my friend, and decided that perhaps hubby wants a say in what we get her, since this will likely be the only gift we can afford after my buying the bridesmaids dress, shoes, alteration costs, etc. so the shopping is cut from the schedule, and I notice that it's ten minutes 'till the start-time of one of the movies I wanted to see (the frugal-mom in me has decided that the same movie for more money in the evening is ridiculous, so a matinee must be chosen) and I took off like a flash to try to make the movie time. Arriving at the theater ten minutes late, I ask how long the previews run and am told that since this particular movie is longer, there's only five minutes of previews, and I have missed the first five minutes of the movie. Now, I am one of those people who hates getting to a movie even during the previews- I prefer to sit in the theater and watch at least ten minutes of those stupid ads and trivia questions before the previews start- to me the previews are just as much of a draw as the movie itself, so five minutes missed of the feature presentation is unacceptable, and I walk away. I find myself driving back to my quiet house about four hours before I'd planned, and spent the rest of the day watching the tube and trying not to eat myself into a bigger pant-size.

This single life wasn't all its cracked up to be- thank goodness I found re-runs of Project Runway on for a couple of hours, at least.

Vacation Day 1 =La-HOO-sa-herrrr! (loser, a-la Jim Carrey)

2006-02-26T22:13:00.000-05:00

Every frazzled stay-at-home-mom has a moment at least once every other day when she dreeeeeeeeams of having one day, or better yet one weekend, off of mommy duty. Well, let me tell you, perhaps the biggest curse of mommyhood is never really appreciating what you've got (oh, wait- that's the human condition... the grass is greener and all that jazz) . So anyway...

Due to my fortunate marriage to a man who has no problem taking care of of his own child and some artful southern-belle manipulation on my part(thank you for the lessons, mom), here I am on Day two of four days off of mommyhood and I. Am. Bored.

After watching hubby take off through the security line juggling Monkey and her various acoutrements, I turned around and Giggled all the way out of the airport. I may have even done a little bouncy-walking to the car. I then had the rest of the day to DO WHATEVER MY HEART DESIRED. So, what did I do? I went to the Mall and walked around "just browsing" and found myself wondering why my purse seemed so heavy- oh yeah, that's cause I usually stash it in the stroller (dang!). So I found a couple of things to buy (yes I actually needed them) and jaunted my way out of the mall. What to do next? ah yes, go to the grocery store with no list and wander leisurely through it, making spur-of-the-moment decisions about what non-nutritious food items I will eat during my 4-day sabbatical.

Armed with new PJ's, and the calorie-laden, vitamin-free spoils of my relaxing two hours, I return home and settle in for an afternoon and evening of L-A-Z-Y. By 8 pm, I have watched and old romantic movie(2 tissues), consumed a dinner that no mother would feed her offspring, and now, I'M BORED. I finished off Day 1 in bed with the TV on. Sleep was fitful as there was too much room in the bed, and too little noise in the house.

Green grass, anyone?

Olympics and armchairs

2006-02-23T20:56:00.000-05:00

You know why Americans love TV so much? Judging. I've only got a few shows I try to watch regularly, and even then, Life is more important (and they'll be showing re-runs of them all in a month or two anyway), and the thing I notice is that I sit and make judgements about each character's choices, their outfits/hair/makeup, their skill, etc. I have been watching the olympics just like the rest of you, but I have decided that the Judges' commentary really screws the whole thing up. It's the perfect example of what happens at home every day when a person sits in front of the Tube to watch something. Instead of appreciating the sheer skill and mad-genius of deciding to jump off a perfectly good ramp with a couple of boards strapped to your feet, or to dedicate your entire young life to repeatedly chaining yourself to a couple of small strips of metal and see how fast you can plunge down a half-pipe of ice, we -like the judges who comment- are sitting in a safe, warm place making comments like "I just wish she would tuck in the laces on her skates. It's really about the WHOLE look. The laces flying around just takes away from that quadruple-mega-flying-flip she just did..."

I MEAN COME ON PEOPLE! I have never gotten to the point where I can let go of the wall on a pair of ice skates, let alone balance my entire body weight on a 1/4 inch strip of metal and then Jump and flip through the air, land on only a 1/4 inch strip of metal and never fall down!

Who am I to catch myself making comments like "she didn't get down far enough into that spin. There was no energy in that routine at all!" Oh, right. That's what the term "armchair quarterback" was made for. Me.

Now I see that with my advanced degree in Design I have much more of a right to criticize when I watch Project Runway (and good lord do some of those outfits and designers need some criticizing!), and that must be why Hubby HATES watching this show. Maybe he really just hates watching it with me. So I promise to stick to what I know and shut my mouth with the sports critiques.

But I'm sure Hubby will still stalk out of the room when Project Runway comes on.

Guess What?!

2006-02-20T23:58:00.000-05:00

The other week I was reading a funny entry in a mommy-blog I like, and I laughed so hard I started crying. THEN, the crying threatened to turned into a melancholy full-scale sobbing fest. Wha?
Three nights ago, hubby was already snoring and I was trying to sleep, but I suddenly got so hungry I had to get up and eat two brownies and drink a glass of water just to settle down.
While my boys were watching a video, I stretched out on our leather couch to get forty winks. A full hour later, I woke up with a thin layer of drool that had effectively adhered the entire left side of my face to the arm of the sofa.

So yes, if you haven't guessed it by now, I am pregnant. That would be with baby number three! Can you believe it? I'm insane!

I am basically knocking on the door of three months along now. So it's pretty real. I figured it was time to break the news. After all, it has been rather hard to find something to blog about when I have been on 24-hour nausea-watch for a while here. Very hard to come up with amusing anecdotes about one's life that get around how transcribed one's life has become since eating applesauce and drinking coke and sleeping in between are one's main activities of late. ("So, after my nap I got on the elevator the other day and I could tell someone who just ate kimchi had been on there moments before -- had to breathe through my coat sleeve the whole 17 floors down to keep from pukin' up my applesauce! Har har har!" Yes my sense of smell really is that sensitive.)

Just so you know, this was all planned, and we really are very happy about it. We're ecstatic, in fact. It's just that the beginning is not the fun part, as most women would agree. Not to mention the fact that I get to spend this most nauseous and smell-sensitive portion of my Journey to Motherhood (Again) in Korea, land of kimchi, poorly constructed sewers, roadside ppondaegi/silkworm larvae vendors (also helpfully available in cans at the supermarket), and food leftovers required by law to be left out for the garbage collectors in thin leaky transparent plastic bags along the street! I can only thank God it's not summer!

So that's what's happening dans chez moi -- very literally, as moi has now become a chez. I confess that the morning/all-day sickness has now abated almost completely, but, having astutely read my bulleted presentation above, you see that that's not all the fun pregnancy has to offer. There were a few nights I had to carry arounda cup to spit my excessive saliva into, for one. And though I do not have pica symptoms, per se, I can hardly characterize my sudden constant need to have a pocketful of Starburst wherever I go as a positive contribution to my nutritional state. (Also, I don't like the orange ones now.) Oh well. I suppose once I get over the desire to sleep every waking moment that I'm not eating or driving one of my sons somewhere, this will actually make for quite a bit of fun blogging material. I'm due in early September, so exalt, ye weary readers! There are many more months of pregnant fun to come! Hey, no, don't all turn off your computers at once...

A Valentine for Hubby

2006-02-15T20:54:00.000-05:00

I Love you because:

You always rub my back/feet when I ask- even if you are about to drift off to sleep.

You bought Monkey a Rose and candy for valentines day

You never ask if I'm PMSing when I have a crazy fit about something stupid

You like to get up on Saturday morning and make Biscuits and Gravy from scratch

You make a great White Russian

You like me even though I'm crazy

Love always,
Irreverent

Potpourri is Evil, but here's some anyway

2006-02-06T11:11:00.000-05:00

...some random observations:

1) why is it that whenever Hubby decides to "upgrade" or "down load something onto" my computer IT STOPS WORKING CORRECTLY?! Hubby swears I'm crazy, but I swear it's true. 99.9% of the time the upgrade or download involves something I never encounter or never noticed I was living miserably without. My first clue that the "Addition" has been made is the moment my computer freezes up and refuses to respond to any amount of high-pressure key-combination-pounding. It is then that I turn the thing off and turn to Hubby and say in my horrible I-Hate-You-Right-Now voice "Have you been on my computer?!"
I don't blame you for rolling your eyes, hubby, but I swear on all that is holy that my computer and I get along just fine until you get between us.

2) It is my first day off today since last Monday, and I will be spending it doing all the dishes we have dirtied since last Monday.

3) Monkey now knows that Two and Three come after One. So if I start with "One," she goes "Too, Teee, Too, Teee, Too, TEEE! I had noticed this several weeks ago but Hubby just caught it yesterday- oops, I guess I forgot to tell him.

4) I have officially joined the ranks of all the Mothers in the world who have something to get done and praise God for PBS's Children's Programming. Sometimes having a couch potato for a child is a blessing.

5) I Love being a Stay-at-home Mom. This working mom thing is for the Birds. I've been working part-time since january 2nd, and I'm anxious for Wednesday, when I'm back to being a mostly-stay-at-home mom. I realize I'm lucky to have the choice, and I have no end of admiration for all the moms who work full-time outside the home and full-time at home too. I think Hubby is also anxious for Wednesday when the dishes will begin to get washed regularly again.

A Tale of Two Sons

2006-02-05T21:57:00.000-05:00

After a week with Son the Older home last week (Lunar New Year break - ha, *I* was going Lunar) and then 48 hours this weekend spent indoors with my husband and sons (it's been really cold here), today feels like vacation. Finally I may read the newspaper, blog, or breathe without someone asking me to play with them or make chocolate milk every 2.5 milliseconds.

There is a cold fear that enters a housebound mom's heart by day three of vacation any time her child intones, with that particular whiny-ish nasal twang, "Mommy, come play with me." Ooh, will it be another round of Batman, Legos, or (particularly stultifying) Chutes and Ladders? Gee, I really should unload this here dishwasher, an activity that never looked so appealing until this very moment. Or maybe an elective dental appointment -- yeah, that'd work. Add to that the guilt, borne by the imagination of moms worldwide chirping happily "Sure, hon, I'll be the Joker today!" (Even though one knows this is really an illusion created by commercials, wherein moms also enjoy scrubbing the soap ring on the bathroom tub, whipping up Hamburger Helper meals, and smiling over their husband's shoulder as he asks his doctor about Viagra.) The couple of playdates we had saved my life (but don't even get me started on the concept of "playdates").

Yet after that, I must say that even in close quarters all weekend I was able to keep my cool. (Maybe the International Herald Tribune crossword puzzle helped.) And I emerged with a new appreciation of the happy-go-lucky simplicity of my three-year-old's life. Each day, his day would go something like this:
1. Get up, whenever, then either a) bound into Mommy and Daddy's bed right away and ask for chocolate milk and cartoons or b) play Thomas the Tank engine trains until mood changes, then go to a).
2. Watch cartoons, whilst drinking chocolate milk, maybe ask for cereal. Take off overnight diaper; sit around half naked if that's comfy. Maybe play trains while watching/drinking/eating.
3. See what Mommy and Daddy are doing when mood hits. Get hugged, kissed, tickled, fed, chased, or dressed then go back to #3.
4. Lunchtime: half a "red jelly" sandwich. Leave some on face so Mommy or Daddy will chase you and wipe it and tickle you later.
5. Naptime.
6. Wake up, wander out, climb into someone's lap, ask for and receive chocolate milk. (When reminded to "ask nicely" rephrase as "May you give me chocolate milk, pwease.") Play with brother or play trains.
7. Wander into computer room, observe color of screen, identifying its color by referencing appropriate Wiggles character. Ask to play "Thomas" computer game. When denied, refuse to be consoled until snack is offered. Tickling and kisses may also be required.
8. Dinner time: choose between pizza or chicken nuggets.
9. Bath time: lots of naked running and jumping on Mommy and Daddy's bed with brother before and after. Refuse to stop for pajamas until it feels a little too breezy. Optional request for additional chocolate milk.
10. Bedtime: make sport of rinsing after brushing teeth with brother, then play while Daddy reads story. Next, whisper-play in bed, interspersed with sips of water, plaintive plea to find blankie, and an unnecessary bathroom trip, then fall asleep when utterly unable to think up any more diversions with which to trick Mommy and Daddy.

Just watching him bop around all weekend, sampling from the smorgasbord of affectionate attention that is his to claim, I just thought it seemed quite idyllic, adult tendency to over-romanticize childhood notwithstanding. No point to this really, just wanting to share the toddler cuteness. It passes by too fast. I can definitely attest to that, having spent an entire week as a pawn of the complex mindgames that are the province of the five-year-old: "If you don't play with me I won't be your best friend." If the creation story in Genesis were an allegory for life, the garden of Eden would be years 0-4.

Imitation is the truest form of flattery

2006-01-27T10:58:00.000-05:00

Yes, Monkey has reached the parrott-stage. She is trying to repeat things I say more and more, and has begun to imitate actions she sees me doing regularly. For example, in the morning we brush our teeth together- I give her her little baby toothbrush and she walks around chewing on it, then I sit her on the toilet and brush those tiny teeth before giving her a drink of water from the cup. She Imitates my dancing- which admittedly i don't do that often, but if I see her getting into the groove, I join in and she copies. A 16-month-old headbanging is hella-cute! She watches me putting on my makeup from the other side of the bathroom barrier and now puts any wet substance she comes into contact with onto her cheeks with a gentle rubbing motion.

Unfortunately, she does not discriminate when it comes to what substance she applies to her porcelain skin. Also, she does not really understand the difference between Milk, drinking water, bath water, toilet water, spaghetti sauce and peanut oil. This was particularly problematic the other day when I turned around from filling the sink with dish-water (yes, I do dishes and no, we don't have a dishwasher) to find her splashing gleefully in the sauce-pan of peanut oil my dear Hubby decided to store in the under-the-oven drawer. Now, in all fairness, he has been storing that sauce pan full of oil in there since I can remember, and it was covered with a lid, and Monkey had never found that pan before, though she had most definitely found things to play with in that drawer as of late. So, there she is, splashing in the peanut oil and delicately applying generous amonts of it to her face and hair. I began the "oh, no! Monkey! nononononono! routine and she thinks it's time to play chase... she takes off through the house dripping oil from her head and face and hands, as I chase her in a half squat with that horrified face that says "PLEASE GOD DON'T LET HER TOUCH THE COUCHES!!!!!!!!"

Luckily, I caught her before she got her hands on anything and of course she promptly got a bath featuring copious amounts of baby-shampoo. The dishes didn't get done that day and we had leftovers for dinner because I spent the next two hours cleaning oil off the pans and drawer and oven and linoleum. When Hubby arrives home from work, I fill him in on the day's excitement and he says with a giggle "See Monkey, that's why I'm always saying not to play in that under-the-oven drawer!".................................WHA?!!?!?!!!!?!!????

So instead of seeing that monkey has taken a liking to that drawer and REMOVING THE PAN OF OIL, he has been saying "No!" and maybe putting her in her penalty-box ( which, by the way HASN'T WORKED FOR ANYTHING ELSE WE WANT HER TO STAY AWAY FROM SO WHY DID HE THINK IT WOULD MAGICALLY WORK FOR THE PAN OF FUN-OIL!!!!!!!!) and now I can really fully blame him for the three or so hours of my life which were hijacked by that damn pan of oil. Men.

On the upside, I didn't have to put baby-lotion on her after that bath.

Cold Pizza and Spam

2006-01-26T23:24:00.000-05:00

So here I am again, guilty of not posting in a while. And I know you were all (all three of you readers, that is) crying into your dinners at night, going into Funny Withdrawal because hey, I bring the Wit, right?* And the Wit was M.I.A. Just when you needed an injection. *(Actually, that's a joke; the Irreverent sis is more simultaneously funny AND irreverent than I am irreverent AND funny. I am not irreverent, I am Saltine Crackers, but she can be funny.)

Anyway, there were many/several/some scattered very good reasons that kept me away from the keyboard...none of which I can actually remember at this moment, but hey, last time I checked YOU weren't my MOM. So get over it. Ha. I guess I told you.

I don't really have much new to write about -- kids are fine, hubby's fine, Christmas has passed but we're still listening to the CDs and watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." That's just the kind of happenin' family we are. I'm just sitting here on a friday afternoon, killing time before I go meet the bus, eating cold Domino's pizza dipped in their garlic dipping sauce (does Domino's have that in the U.S.? They should, lemme tell ya) and blogging.

Cold pizza is actually my favorite way to eat pizza. I guess it reminds me of being a teenager: we'd have pizza for dinner Friday nights and I'd eat a couple of leftover slices for breakfast Saturday morning, cold. I think it tastes best cold the next day, actually. (You'll remember, last night, Thursday, was pizza night here.)

Writing about pizza reminds me of something I've been wanting to amuse you all with: the pizza peculiarities of Korea. Garlic dipping sauce aside, you think, pizza is pizza; how "peculiar" can it really get? Haha, ye novices. Kinda funky, I tell ya.

For one thing, every pizza comes with a small container of sweet pickle slices. Some chains send sweet relish instead. One is supposed to eat these along with the pizza. Yeah.

Sure they do expectable things like have a cheese crust option and toppings like pepperoni, mushroom, "Hawaiian," etc., but how about sweet potato? No, not as in sweet potato slices on top, as in a thick ring of mashed sweet potato piped just inside the crust edge. That's a really big thing here. There's steak and broccoli, too (with sour cream), which I can't imagine on a pizza. Of course there's also the obligatory bulgogi pizza. I guess we should just be glad they don't offer kimchi pizza anymore (but there was a time).

But the funniest thing by far about ordering a Domino's pizza here is the delivery box. Witness: (those are the containers of sweet pickles) See the motto thing? It's some kind of picture of a swiss chalet-lookin' place and it says "Enjoy Cheese! Enjoy Domino's!" Whaaaa? I laughed so hard the first time I saw this -- it's as if cheese = Domino's pizza! As if no OTHER pizza chain offers cheese. In my mind, there can be no way Domino's HQ in the U.S. knows about this. It just about belongs on The Irreverent One's favorite site, engrish.com.

(In other news, I just figured out how to upload an image onto this blog! Woohoo! Dire events may soon follow.)

So, I'm off to call hubby and see if he's not getting home early today. This Sunday is Lunar New Year, which is Asia's equivalent of Christmas in the U.S. (even in largely Christian countries like South Korea) because this is when they do all the gift shopping, make the pilgrimage to the in-laws' house and make the gigantic holiday belt-loosener of a meal. Except that here, an acceptable Lunar New Year's gift for your aunty might be a luxurious Spam gift set. I'm serious. How much easier would Christmas shopping be in the U.S. if we could give Spam, or several bottles of canola oil, or a prepackaged set of housecleaning products?

Sweet pickles aside, there is much to learn from Asia, young grasshopper.

Hello. My name is Irreverent.

2006-01-13T11:16:00.000-05:00

... and I am addicted to craigslist. It is on my list of favorites and I visit just to poke around my city's page at least once a week. Some people get a weekly manicure and pedicure, some have a weekly shopping trip to the mall, some go on e-bay and bid on things no person actually ever needs. I surf craigslist. I found our fabulous rental-house there last may and ever since, I have to go back and check that I'm not missing any other amazing deals. I look at jobs, classes, and sale ads- but only the sale ads with pictures. I have never actually purchased anything from craigslist, but I'm just hoping that someday I'll find a fabulous rolltop desk for $100.00 or some other amazing item that I don't yet know I need. So far I've been able to resist buying clutter, but I'm not sure how long that will last. Wish me luck!

Mini me

2006-01-05T23:18:00.000-05:00

I have been off gallivanting in the warmer climes of the Northern American continent, and yes, I had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New year. I hope you did too. No, I didn't send out Christmas cards this year- and I'm not gonna feel guilty, so stop tryin!

For the first time since the monkey hit this planet's oxygenated atmosphere, I have been employed for a stretch longer than two weeks. I don't know how all you 9-5 working moms do it... Between the never-seeing-the-baby-guilt, the oh-my-god-I'm-so-tired-so-why-don't-we-eat-dry-cheerios-for-dinner-guilt, and the if-my-hubby-hasn't-had-an-affair-yet-from-lack-of-sex-yet-then-thank-god-for-internet-porn-guilt, I bow to you, oh working mom. I am pooped. I love my work, and it's mostly on evenings and weekends, but it's really tiring and takes up all my evenings and weekends. Weird how that works, eh? Anyway, I'm sending a Ellen DeGeneres-esque "HOLLA!" to the full-time working moms out there. ( of course if you're a working mom without TIVO, you probably don't get the Ellen reference, but oh well.

I am told that tonightwhilst I toiled away, my Monkey threw an all-out cookie-monster fit. She didn't want the Crackers, Graham cracker sticks, or the honey-nut-cheerios (all of which are referred to as "COOKIE!!!) but tearfully demanded nothing less than the contents of the giant bag of bite-sized candy-bars- apparently now also called COOOOOKKKKKKKIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I'm not sure if we should go ahead and count this as her first raging PMS craving or not. I think the PMS cravings will last longer than a half-hour (God Help us!) and for now, I'd prefer to have the PMS market cornered in this house.

Calling Julia

2006-01-04T02:45:00.000-05:00

Sigh of relief #1: Son the Older is back in school today. School lasts until 3pm. Momma like school.

Sigh of relief #2: Son the Younger will return to Korean preschool tomorrow. I pick him up on the way back from picking up the Older. He even gets a hot lunch there, all for 1/3 of the price American daycare costs. Korean preschool rocks.

HOWEVER, all is not well, being as we have on the horizon a...

Crisis requiring immediate attention: what the heck is for dinner?

See, we came back from Hong Kong on Saturday night (oh yes, Hong Kong was terrific) and ordered pizza. Sunday night we went out to a nearby Korean restaurant. Then Monday and Tuesday I made use of the meager remaining contents of my pantry to compose some reliable, yet simple, favorites.

So now it is Wednesday. Because I am spoiled with the childcare options outlined above, I have been waiting till the munchkins are out of my hair to make my first foray to the supermarket since coming back from vacation. Go ahead, call me a wimp; words will never harm me - just the melee that ensues when I try to take both boys to the supermarket.

Alas, pizza night isn't till tomorrow. Hence, the only dinner options I have right now are pretty much plain pasta, Eggo waffles, or a buffet of sidedishes: instant mashed potatoes, broccoli, boxed herb rice and kimchi.

(Several different varieties of kimchi are pungently perfuming the fridge right now, which seem to have been bestowed upon us during our vacation absence by Hubby's generous aunt, oblivious to the fact that I don't see a blue moon coming on the calendar when we would be pulling it out to consume. So for now, it's just making me think twice before holding the fridge door open for too long.)

So I need Julia Child. Or that Surprise chef from that show where they show up at your house and make a luscious dinner with just what's in your cupboard. (I'd like to see 'em TRY.) Or, actually, my cleaning lady. She can always seem to whip up a soup and several sidedishes from thin air. HELP.

Well, it's off to stare at my cupboard again, since I can't bring myself to experience the Angry Fighting Kimchi smells in my fridge. Anyone up for Betty Crocker box cake for dinner? Why must men always demand meat? Ugh. Bye.

If I'm Hoarse From Yelling It Must Be Christmas Baking Day.

2005-12-17T08:01:00.000-05:00

There was a time, in college, when my mom and I had ourselves goin' on the "Witty One should be a teacher, yeah, it's 'portable,' and a good fallback-type professional qualification for a woman to have" trip. You'da thought we were living back with Laura Ingalls Wilder. Bonnets and all. Well, thank God, I woke up before I took a single education course and majored in politics, because I'm not cut out for this hands-on with kids thing.

I'm telling you, after today we just may have to rename the blog "Drooling Freak Lady Driven Crazy by her Shorties and the Irreverent One" or maybe just "Sucky Mom and the Irreverent One." Because today, TODAY we made sugar cookies. And decorated them.

(Did I mention I have two sons, ages five and three?)
(Did I mention that I have recurring delusions of being Mary Poppins?)
(When I'm really just Sucky Mom and I should go back to my blog instead of trying to BAKE FROM SCRATCH while ALONE with my Very Young Sons?)

So now I'm wondering if I wouldn't have had a better day if I'd just repeatedly poked myself in the eye all day instead. Well, yeah, probably. Or it would have been the same but my kitchen wouldn't so resemble an area that's seen a raucous Keebler Elves party.

It went something like this. "Boys, guess what? Today we're going to make Christmas cookies!" Excited boys cheer and commence running a lot, occasionally injuring selves and each other, while I place the ingredients on the Splat Mat (best purchase I ever made.) This is followed by the who gets to push the mixer button crisis (during which Son the Younger finds the turbo button accidentally and sprays us all with powdered sugar), followed by the "NO DON'T LICK THE RAW EGG OOZE LEFT IN THE SHELL!!!" crisis, followed by the this is MY measuring cup and he can't have it crisis. Five minutes have now elapsed and I am thinking this was a bad idea, but we don't even have cookie dough. (Must I even mention that the easy-peasy refrigerated stuff isn't even an option, living as I do in Korea?) I soldier on.

Fortunately once we have dough, it has to cool for an hour or so. Peace reigns as the boys watch "Frosty the Snowman" and "Santa Clause is Comin' to Town." Then all aitch-e-double-hockeysticks lets loose 'cause it's time to roll the dough and they BOTH want to roll the dough and the rolling pin is Son the Younger's favorite toy in the world beside Thomas the Tank Engine. The problem is compounded by the fact that the dough is too cold/hard to roll by mere boys' hands yet, and that flour is needed so it will roll and not just stick to everything. Reality is very hard to process in the face of such enthusiasm.

Oh, and have I mentioned that I am an incurable perfectionist? The kind who, even as she knows in her head that this should be a crazy, messy, fun process to be enjoyed feels her teeth grinding, her gut twisting into angry snarls and needs a paper bag so she won't scream at the thought of the totally ruined cookies that will come out of this project? Okay.

So let's just admit that by the time one set of cutouts have been placed on a baking sheet into the oven the boys are drifting away from the table toward their toys, and I'm guessing it has something to do with the inordinate amount of clenched-teeth frustration and bitey commentary that is coming from their mother. And, secretly, because I'm Sucky Mom, I'm not terribly unhappy about being left to do the rest of the cutouts myself. 'Cause then the angels don't have their necks all cricked, and the snowflakes don't look like they've been through an industrial accident.

I will say that for the decoration process I was pretty cool and indulgent. I let them make a decent mess and half of the decorations/frosting went in their mouths, on their face, or on the floor. (Bath night!) But I have to give half of that credit to the Splat Mat, because I think I would have had an underlying edge if I had to watch excess frosting and sprinkles and sugar directly encrusting my table.

Because I'm a control freak, I then insisted that they wait until after dinner to eat their creations, but then I did let them each have two. TWO. "Only after you eat a good dinner," I said in my Sucky Mom voice. Can you believe God let me have children? If I was cast in Willy Wonka I'd be the dentist dad who throws out all the Halloween candy.

Please don't sing the Psycho shower-scene theme yet; my husband generally has the whole indulgent let 'em roll in it scene, not me, and he's been out of town for nine days now. He's all Yang to my Yin, yadig? I guess I'm allowed to be a little keyed up, but I hope I didn't just spend the day imbuing my boys with a deep-seated avoidance for holiday cookie-making. (The year is 2027. In a therapist's office, a handsome young man says, "For some reason, doc, every time I see The Exorcist, I want to make Christmas cookies...")

Sigh. I will now wretchedly crawl into bed alone. Sucky Mom. (Hubby usually reassures me on this point.) Lucky me, I get the whole bed to myself, but the shine has worn off. Hubby comes back tomorrow at 5 pm, but then there's jetlag. But then we get a week in Hong Kong. I think I'll deserve some good shopping. Next year I'm baking cookies when they're asleep. Sucky Mom.

Shopping Absurdities

2005-12-16T18:10:00.000-05:00

I've just finished the book "Big Fish" by Daniel Wallace -- you know, the one they based a recent movie on, which starred the currently-ubiquitous Ewan MacGregor? Anyway, my favorite joke in there goes like this: Man sits down in cafe. Waiter asks, "What will you have, sir?" Man says "I'd like coffee without cream, please." Waiter returns after a few minutes, says, "Sorry, sir, we're all out of cream. Would you like your coffee without milk?" I like this one because it feels similar to situations I've encountered living in Korea. In Korea, this joke would go "I'm sorry sir, we don't have cream, so no coffee for you." That or, "We don't serve coffee without cream. Goodbye."

Like last week, I found a store for new brand of clothes that I like, which is tough here in Korea, where everything is generally festooned with lace or ruffles or sparkles or puffed sleeves. Ick. Anyway, this brand, Uniqlo (don't ask me re: the name) reminds me of an early Gap. I actually found a pair of boot-cut indigo wash jeans for about $35 that don't have man-made crinkles somewhere or extra buttons on the back pockets. I'm telling you, that's hitting the jackpot here.

So I find the jeans and a pair of stripey socks and take them to the counter. The sweet girl with extra eyeshadow and a slight lisp behind the counter tells me that, sorry, honored customer, but one can only buy three pairs of socks. They're not bound together, but she says there's a sign up (didn't see it). I clarify: so it's not that I get a better price if I buy three, it's that I MAY NOT buy one pair. Yes, indeed; why am I not surprised? Didn't buy the dumb socks.

I could go on. The customer is not yet king in Korea. Often to get what you want you must persist and be what would be considered "difficult" in the U.S. It's frustrating because if you're not in a mood to be a squeaky wheel, no one will bend the rules for you. You get the feeling there are no fixed rules, and indeed, often if you ask two people about something you get two different answers. Example:

A Korean friend was interested in two silk pillow covers for sale on a table marked "between 15,000 and 30,000" (about $15 and $30, respectively). She talked at length with the salesgirl there, decided on a particular two pillow covers, at which point the girl said, "oh, honored customer those are $60 each." My friend, being thrifty and Korean, argued, but they are on a table marked with an upper price of $30, how can you price them at $60 apiece? That's not right, etc. So you know what the salesgirl did? She let her buy them at $30 apiece! Now 1) this was not a street market, it was Korea's equivalent of Nordstrom, a department store; 2) these were pure silk dupioni pillow covers, 3) they were already on sale at half-price, and 4) they were marked $60 apiece. Dude, in the U.S., that salesgirl is SO fired.

In a way, it is refreshing, because salespeople here have mostly not clued in to the Money is God mindset, so no, they won't do anything to make a buck. Koreans are more interested in avoiding and quickly resolving confrontation. But that means that often, you have to be willing to look like you're going to start one. The lesson is, yeah, if I had been willing to make a stink, maybe I could have gotten the dumb socks. It can be exhausting. Soemtimes I just want fixed rules and prices. It can feel like living on shifting sand.

And I'll just end with this: why did I just see an ad on Korean TV for a baby doll that farts? Is there really a consumer demand for this here? Are toddler girls all over Korea throwing tantrums screaming "I hate it: she wets, she cries, but SHE DOESN"T FART!" Okay, I'm done.

A new ... Milestone?!

2005-12-15T22:39:00.000-05:00

Today the Monkey and I crossed a new and disturbing Milestone. The poop-in-hand. I had stripped mokey our of her one-piece fuzzy sleeper to change her diaper today and she made a quick escape, as has become her routine. Figuring her little Bum could use the fresh air, I let her wander off and waited for her to return. She Returned all right! With a plum sized ball of poo in each hand! She sweetly walked up to me, handed me one, and as I realized with amused horror what was in my hand, I also saw her putting her other hand up to her mouth (it's one of those things you remember in Slow-motion) about to Eat the OTHER plum sized ball of her own poo! I quickly grabbed it from her, realizing I now had a ball of baby-poo in EACH hand, and after checking that she had no other poo-in-hand, deposited the poos in the dirty diaper, and attacked her with a wet wipe. The rest of the day her nickname was "poo-face" and I'm 99% certain I confiscated all poo, since no more poo surfaced as the day progressed and there are no "strange-smelling corners" in our house. At any rate, I can now add that to my list of disgusting things I willingly cup in my hand for the sake of my children. It goes right under the puke I willingly caught, more for the sake of her clothes than her health, but gross nonetheless. and if I HAVE to hold poo, at least it's Monkey's and not Hubby's, yes?

And No, I'm not certain that there wasn't a third poo-ball that made the whole trip past the teeth- Maybe her handing it to me was her way of saying "Hey mom! Try this!" Oy...

New ettiqutte

2005-12-10T23:59:00.000-05:00

Putting "Adults Only" on an invitation is ALWAYS going to offend the people with Children. It's akin to saying " please wear an outfit that makes you look like Poo because I'm more important." Use this phrase at your own risk. If you don't want kids there, designate a House/Area of the house where a babysitter is provided and children will be accomodated.

If you enter your name into a "Secret Santa" round YOU MUST COMPLY WITH THE GIVEN RULES- NO EXCEPTIONS OR EXCUSUES ACCEPTED!" If it's too much committment in ANY way, don't enter.

When in doubt, TIPthose who help you look Hott!

Do not marry a movie/TV/entertainment-of-any-kind Star or you will end up divorced. Just date them long enough to get lots of gifts/perks/fame.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

2005-12-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

Um, ahem...(tap tap tap)...is this on? Uh, yes, well, here I am. Hallo then! How have you all been?! Back from the presumed-dead, I suppose, itinerant witty person that I claim to be. Sorry for the absence; will try not to let it happen again. (Pity that one can not write in accent, as the foregoing is being imagined with distinctly John Cleese-like inflection. Oh well, carry on, then.)

So here I am. I think I may have begun falling out of the writing habit in some kind of decisional dilemma over what exactly my blog 'identity' or focus should be. Should I be political? Maternal? Simply witty? Sarcastically expatriate? Trite? Deep? Antidisestablishmentarian? (ha ha ha, I kill only me.)

But I think about what makes me want to write, and I think who gives a crap what category it falls into. It's mostly mommyhood, really -- probably because kids have a disarming way of making off with your very soul and making you think you willingly gave it away (not bitter, just honest) -- but I'm all those other things to and so they'll surface too and we can just see which way the wind blows us, y'know?

All this being an extended lead-in to telling you that I have really now arrived at mommyhood and I know it because I discovered tonight that I have a gigantic blue-green a$$-bruise. Its size, location, and tone indicate that I really should know exactly when and how I got it, but I have no flippin' idea. This, to me, is why it announces so assertively that I am a full citizen of Mommyland and there is no turning back. Well, both the cluelessness that I had it AND vivid memories of my mom having blue/purple/green bruises on upper thighs and legs and also never knowing whence they came. (Do NOT ask me why my mom showed me her a$$-bruises. I think it was mainly to say, passive-aggressively "you all are killing me like this daily and I'm so used to the pain I don't even feel it anymore.") So far the worst thing about the a$$-bruise is it hurts when you push it (uh, so for my list: don't push on a$$-bruise) and it makes my a$$ look really really blubberlicious white in contrast (next for my list: buy spray-on a$$-tan).

I'm likin' the dollar signs for 's' thing, so that I'm not really cussing (sez your filter).

Other than that, hubby is away on a 10-day business trip {insert cry of anguish here}, and Christmas vacation for Older Son starts next Wednesday, so actually this blog may be the only key to preserving my sanity. In any case, I'm back. I'll try to do better, 'cause I actually love doing this, it's just I get addicted. Bye for now. Missed y'all.

winter....Wonderland?

2005-12-08T23:25:00.000-05:00

After having a foot of snow dumped on my fair city in five hours, I have decided that the writers of the song "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" had silk long-johns and multiple servants. The Long johns to keep them warm while walking, and the servants to drive them around, make them hot cocoa and a raging fire in the hearth. My drive-time to work this evening was quadrupled, and I was accompanied on the road by all the SUV's that think they own the universe, and the inevitable person in a car which has nothing to lose, swerving and darting and fishtailing thier way around all of the sensible drivers (i.e. ME!)

When you live in Florida, you think snow is so pretty and romantic, and considering that I learned to drive in Florida, I was and still am terribly uncomfortable with driving in the snow. I always think I'm sliding, and find myself chanting "Turn INTO the fishtail" as I drive along, fully tensed form headto toe and all big buggy eyes and white-knuckles. Today was also the first day I was rewuired to venture out into the snowy streets with a child buckled into the carseat. Yes, we experienced winter-driving in the Monkey's first winter last year, but never in such freshly dangerous conditions. Thankfully, we arrived at our destination unharmed, and in my joy at ariving, I locked the keys in the car. Hubby waited around the mall for an hour, then discovered I had never locked the car, just left them in the ignition of the Unlocked car. This is where I smack my forehead with the heel of my hand and promise "favors" to my perfect hubby.

I am hoping to stuff the Monkey into her snowsuit tomorrow and head out to the yard to make a snowman, or at least eat some unmarked snow before heading back onto the road to work. I am also hoping that we get some pictures, so we don't get any beatings from scrapbooking relatives this christmas. At least not for lack of pictures.

A Father's Love

2005-11-26T21:05:00.000-05:00

Happily going outside to Monitor, when underage-female-Cousin volunteers to take baby outside and Mommy doesn't fully trust Cousin. You Rock, Hubby. I think I loved you more in that moment than ever before. I'm really such a simple girl ( If you don't count the fashion and makeup obsession).

Belated Real-life Thanks-Givings

2005-11-26T20:32:00.000-05:00

Here's what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving: (Besides all the normal thankful stuff)

-Hubby's parents didn't spoil the Monkey too much while she was in their care last week!

-Hubby and Mom-In-Law and I each cooked two parts of the Big Feast so we all had time to take a nap. hee hee!

-I was PMS-ing and didn't turn into a she-devil!

-We have a spare room for the grandparents to stay in when they come here! No more cots!

-I have purchased a small purse to move back into since Monkey is more predictable now. *KNOCKS ON WOOD!!!!*

-So far I haven't had to find a menial 9-to-5 job.

-Mom-in-law and I went shopping ( event #1) and I found four items on super-sale ( event #2) to buy from ONE STORE( event #3) ! Whoa, this is a big deal. And the pants I bought were one size smaller, but not one size tighter (event #4)! Wheeeeee!

-Monkey loves her grandparents and trusts them like they were her parents, but she still needs me every once in while!

-I didn't have to sit beside a certain member of parents-in-law at mealtime and listen to their eating noises! NOT ONCE!! ( My family knows how big an annoyance eating-noises are to me...Some things never change!!)

-Cranberry Juice really does cure UTI's and if you add a little Vodka, it's a colorless, odorless way to Really enjoy the Holiday in the company of uber-religious, teetotaling In-Laws!

-The Exclamation point!!!!! :)

Just a few real-life things to be thankful for!

One down, two Holidays to go!

A Happy and Relaxing holiday sesason to you all!

Hmmmm....

2005-11-17T21:45:00.000-05:00

I am noticing a pletthora of drunk references.... Gotta stop that- the referring, that is.

Moments of Clarity

2005-11-17T21:26:00.000-05:00

I have been told that I can have a pretty bad temper. My mental response is "What you don't realize is that I was angry for a long time before I said anything, and how come you didn't realize that and STOP BEING STUPID?!!!" So, I do this thing sometimes (okay twice a week maybe) where Hubby and Monkey I are out and he does something involving Monkey and I feel like I am fixing chilcare-situations he's created and I get really terse with Monkey or Hubby or just to myself. Hubby was gone at a convvention for week, and I didn't have any of these monts- I was feeling pretty proud. We went to pick Hubby up at the Airport today and he walks up to us, gets monkey out of the stroller and then I see his bag on the carousel and inform him "there's your bag" He doesn't see it and I get annoyed a little, then he sees it and puts monkey down with one of her feet in the strap of his laptop bag. Monkey ineveitably begins to take off after him, and trips because her foot is in the loopy bag-strap. IMMEDIATELY, I go into "terse" mode, cursing Hubby under my breath while picking up Monkey and trying to keep her from walking off. It is in this moment that I realize HE IS MY PROBLEM!!! Okay, he's not actually my problem- if anything he's usually the antidote to my psychotic personality- my problem is having two people watching Monkey at the same time. If I'm in charge of her, I like things MY WAY- and when he enters the scenario and alters it, I am left in a "terse" moment. Thankfully, I believe that the first step of recovery is realization. So now I see that I have to go and get drunk before I let him help me with the monkey.

Dang, Kahlua is so expensive...

Fat-predjudice

2005-11-12T20:27:00.000-05:00

Ah Saturday... a day to relax, Kick back and enjoy the companyof your loved ones.
Today I experienced the joy of Bra-shopping, followed by the glee of getting fitted for a Bridesmaid (-matron?!) dress. The Bra shopping was tolerable, except fo the saleswoman who pointed out "The Oprah Bra" to me and then proceeded to ignore me completely. I don't care what bra Oprah wears, though I am aware that 90% of the female population of the earth does. I do not own Oprah's Boobies, therefore I don't give a damn which bra puts them in their socially acceptable position. I do however, care that I walked into the big schmancy store and because I didn't look like whatever pre-concieved picture the saleswoman had in her mind as a person who deserves to be helped, I was brushed off and left to fend for myself. I didn't feel bad at all when I pushed the Monkey's stroller through the barely-big enough aisle between a bunch of bras and knocked some off with the side of the stroller. If they don't wanna help me, then they can pick the bras up when I leave a trail because you made me have to push that damn stroller through the precious aisles of your lingerie department. I feel a little better now.

Then I went to the cosmic-fart-cloud which is known as a Bridal dress store. They took me to the back, measured me in three places and charged me a couple hundred bucks for a dress which I was not even shown. Now, I am not a Small, or even Medium sized person- I have been blessed with a love of food and the Boobs to hold it, so I had to buy a tent and they'll take it in when it gets here. I was informed that for the Tent-sized dresses, there is an extra $30.00 charge- I assume it's for the extra 2-6 inches of fabric it takes to get a dress around tent-sized people. I notice, however, that most companies have no problem charging adult prices for Children's clothes. Perhaps I should begin informing people that I take a $30.00 discount for any size below a misses size 0. Mind you, I am not bothered by my size, and I think that most people would consider me to be sized appropriately for a 31 year old woman with an E cup. So the numerical value of the Dress size is not of consequence- it's that extra $30.00 they expect I should be embarrased enough to cough up without argument. "Hey, you obviously have extra money for all that cookie dough, so gimme an extra $30.00 for having to associate with people like you." I almost feel totally better now.

Now, let's talk about being a bridesmaid. First, you are told what you must wear, (sometimes) all the way from hair to shoes. You are expected to pay for this honor- (sometimes) including airfare and hotel and rental car, etc. Your job is to google appropirately on the Big Day and cater to the every need of the Bride. I now see that the rehearsal dinner and the reception are the least the Bride and Groom can do to say thanks for eating beans-and-franks for two months to pay for the priviledge of standing in a line on a stage for an hour. One thing's for sure- I'm gonna get real drunk at that reception- especially if there's an open bar!

Whew! Now gimme a cigarette!

A Mother's Love

2005-11-12T20:26:00.000-05:00

I give her all the good French fries and I eat the pointy ones, the tiny ones and the ones with bits of Potato Eye on them.

a silent partner / a brothel in Thailand

2005-11-05T23:24:00.000-05:00

So the W.O. is off jet setting and too busy hobnobbing with the goobersmoochers to stop by and say hello these days. Because she is my sister, I will forgive her, and I hope you all forgive her 'cause she's so damn hott. (you owe me a $20 now, W.O.) We hope she returns from her globetrotting with a crapload of Wit for us, and in the meantime, I shall carry the torch here.

What does my house have in common with a brothel in Thailand? The "mood lighting?" No. The group of barely pubescent girls tricked into thinking this is a good way to provide for their families? Not exactly. The continuous flow of sorry-ass men who think this is a valid way to get some lovin'? Definitely not. The Wallpaper? DING DING DING! Yes! It's true, I am watching a documentary/expose and notice the wallpaper in my downstairs half-bath matches the wallpaper on the walls of a brothel in thailand. Proud is not the word- not exactly. The only real difference is that my bathroom wallpaper is also stained yellow except for that spot where the previous owners must have had some nas-tay hotel print hung on the wall (For your bowel moving pleasure? Ick) I was gonna paint over it, but now that my wallpaper is famous on TV and all, I gotta find a nas-tay hotel print for that rectangular non-yellowed spot...

Fair food and Holiday Musings

2005-10-29T13:57:00.000-05:00

Today we introduced monkey to the joys of the neighborhood Halloween Festival. We live in a sweet historic neighborhood which hosts its own little holiday fun, and we witnessed dogs dressed up as princesses, hotdogs, ladybugs, Wonderbread, and even a playboy bunny-dog. That was creepy. It's probably the scariest thing I've seen this Halloween season! We also got to pass down the fair-food tradition. She didn't get her own elephant ear, but we did share ours. Maybe next year she will get her very own. We still have to introduce the Funnel cake, Italian sausage and peppers, the Lemon-ice and the Tenderloin- a delicacy in this part of the nation, apparently. Hubby gets a Tenderloin every time he has the chance, but I don't really get the appeal of pork pounded thinly and deep-fried and put on a bun on which it hangs over the edges by at least an inch or two all around. I can also honestly say I will never dress up as tigger in a full-body, disney-factory produced orange fuzzy Tigger costume. NEVER. nevernevernevernever. (Yes, we saw that very scary sight today as well.) I expected alot of fairy princesses, but not as many as I saw (and most were bought from the disney store, again!) I may let Monkey dress as a fairy princess, but I hope my will is stronger than her pleas for the Disney licensed version. Then again, she's got a pretty strong grip on my will these days, so perhaps she'll get her way after all, and I'll walk through the fair with that look of "I'm whipped- just look at my kid's $50.00 costume. She'd better get alot of chocolate in that trick-or-treat bag this year" look that I saw on some parents' faces today. In the end, the holidays really are for children. The adults spend the season slaving over the stove and oven, jack-o-lantern and christmas tree, all so that their kids can experience the joy of anticipation for the magical day when they get a crap-load of candy or food or toys. The real holiday for the adults is after the kids go to bed and they can pull out the hard-liquor.

Tidbits

2005-10-24T10:53:00.000-05:00

Paul Rubens is a comic genius. We recently added the movie Mystery Men to our home DVD library and I gotta say, who else could pull off a character like The Spleen?! I have always loved him, even through the exposure incident, and I'm so glad that someone gave him another chance.

The downside of not having a dishwasher is that you can't blame the dirty-after-washing dishes on a machine. You have to blame another person. Sorry honey, feel free to point out to me when I haven't gotten a dish totally clean, okay? You rock.

The Monkey has added a very important word to her vocabulary. It's "Pizza" pronounced "PeePah!" and even recognizes the culinary delicacy by sight on coupon sheets! I'm so proud! She also says that every animal makes a "moo"-ish sound, so if you ask her what the right animal says, she's a genius!

The Monkey is also now showing a real flair for acessorizing. I have added some of my old long chiffon scarves to her toy-box (never could figure out how to wear them without looking a tick after a drinking binge) and she hapily drapes one around her neck, one over her head, and prances around like a beribboned My Little Pony. She is also very fond of bangle bracelets, employing all manner of household items as bangles for her arm- i.e. masking tape roll, round insert for her intellitable, plastic ring attached to her travel-size glowworm, etc. I myself am the kind of person who has a pair of diamond studs and a pearl/diamond pendant that never leave my body unless water is involved, so perhaps she will teach me a few things about the wonders of accessories- or pronounce me "So Uncool!" as she nears puberty...

Serendipity and the household-object-as-hat-obsession

2005-10-17T10:05:00.000-05:00

Today I got the best idea for a kid's product by accident. This morning as I was making a nutritious breakfast for the Monkey, Hubby decided to put an empty plastic coffee container on the monkey's head as a hat, (putting things on Monkey's head is a fave pasttime for him) and didn't look inside first to make sure there wasn't any leftovers in the can. So, all of a sudden hubby makes the "uh oh!" sound, and starts giggling- he had dumped the remaining teaspoon or so in the can onto Monkey's clean head. the first thing he did was reach for the dustbuster to suck it out of her hair (!!!!) and realized that wouldn't work so he brushed it out with his hand. Flash forward to about an hour and a half later, I am snuggling with Monkey while reading the mother goose book for the fifth time in an hour, and realize monkey has grounds still left in her hair, and Hey! They smell pretty good! So the idea is for a line of cofffee-scented bath-products for kids, so that when they wake mommy and daddy up in the morning, all you have to do is lean over and take a good sniff to get that first dose of morning coffee smell, a-la the folgers commercials, complete with flaring nostrils and contented sigh! Genius, I know! Thanks hubby, for your mistake turned GENIUS IDEA! ( I think I've got most of the coffee grounds out of her hair now, by the way, but she's still gonna need a bath tonight... It will smell a little like coffee, but we can't drink it- you'll have to be strong).

The I.O.

The "Neo" of the Coat-Matrix

2005-10-13T11:02:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I love everybody and everything, but y'all need to remember that if I don't answer the phone, it's for a good reason. Now that I'm a mommy, i have very little time to myself for being quiet, reading, taking a nap, taking a shower, etc. etc... So, know that I love you and leave a dang message! I just got out of a leisurely hot shower to hear my phone ringing downstairs- now, due the restricted time I have to do anything not approved by attention-loving toddler-monkeys, I also don't yet have curtains up on all my windows so going downstairs to answer was not an option. So of course, the caller decides to call back again, then call my husband and have him call me yet again! So by now, The Monkey has been woken by all the dang phone rings, and I am stuck with an hour less of time to do things like get dressed and get my hair dried, toddler-free, much less relax and have another cup of coffee. Apparently, it was an EMERGENCY that I talk to my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law because they were in the middle of buying multiple coats for Monkey to add to the one we already have which is still not The One.

It is very important to me that this winter's coat should be The One, because a) she has to wear it basically everyday for a whole season, b) she has slowed her growth down so that clothes last almost a whole season now, and c) I didn't get to choose either of her two coats from last year (her first winter on this earth), so now it's raised the bar so that I must be the one to pick it out, and it must be The One. I know I have several winters still until she will be telling me that she has to be the person to pick out her coat (and it must be The One) but until then I declare mommy's priviledge on coat-picking. And don't you try to stop me.

Oh, and they're returning those coats- I had Hubby call them back and advise them to let me pick it out. My hubby rocks for being my go-between when I'm P.O.'d

Babes in Love

2005-10-13T09:58:00.000-05:00

It's the sweetest thing: my little one has a girlfriend. Her name is Yoon-jung Jung. Not to project too much heterosexuality onto what may be just a sweet friendship between preschoolers of differing genders (the "When Harry Met Sally" maxim on male-female friendship notwithstanding), but it sure does look like puppy love.

I have not seen the doe-eyed object of my son's attachment yet, but there must be something about the young Ms. Jung, because my son displays signs of deep devotion. His teacher tells me that if, as they start lesson time, someone else tries to sit next to him, he informs them that, no, this is Yoon-jung's place.

The other day he objected a bit when I announced it was time to leave for preschool (Disney Channel is just too good!), so I tried out the hook. I told him if we were late Yoon-jung might be lonely and wondering where he was. He immediately dropped what he was doing and as he ran to get his little backpack, exclaimed "I'm coming, Yoon-jung!" Already such a good, caring little boyfriend, isn't he?

Aww, his first girlfriend. I wonder what it is about her, and can't wait till he can tell me why he likes her. Last year, my then-four-year-old oldest son told me that he liked the object of his attraction "because she sometimes wears pink dresses." I was amazed at how early children have internalized the boy-girl thing, despite my hardly ever wearing dresses -- and certainly never pink (I am a proud redhead)!

My big boy's gotten over that girl now, and has a new girlfriend since he changed schools. (I'm with ya on the long-distance relationship thing, bub. No good.) It impressed me when he told me he doesn't like it when certain of his playmates laugh when he says she's his girlfriend, and he's not going to play with the laughers anymore. My little knight!

Sigh. Anyway, these are the things that I love about being a boys' mom. I'm raising future husbands and fathers (I hope) and it makes me proud when they show me they're off to a good start. They are so earnest they don't even know how sweet they are being. What can I say? They steal my heart again every time.

Nothin better than a good bear-hug!

2005-10-12T21:02:00.000-05:00

At the prompting of the Hubby and W.O.'s puppy love post, here's a cute toddler moment from the mall today:

As a reward to the Monkey for waiting patiently in the stroller (and only twisting 180 degrees around in her seat, and only removing one shoe and sock) while I shopped and paid for tax-exempt costume purchases, we got a cookie and went to the giant play area in the mall food court. Monkey found a couple of playmates at the slide, and proceeded to follow them around the play area and squeal with glee for approximately 20 minutes. Apparently unsatisfied with her ability to show her happiness at making these friends, Monkey began to walk up to them and give them big bear-hugs. The children (mostly older) accepted with politeness, and when they tried to disengage and walk away, Monkey simply hung on tighter and took steps with them to keep the loving flowin'. It was really very sweet, and she had all the mommies giggling by the time she decided "Heck, everyone needs a bear-hug!" and proceeded to half-attack any child who crossed her path. So yes, she is a friendly one, and I'm glad that she has no idea that maybe some kids don't/won't want a big bear-hug from squealing blonde toddler. Because really, who doesn't? I just hope she gets a little more discriminating by the time she hits high school, or her daddy really will have to lock her up!

Shamefully Basic

2005-10-12T18:11:00.000-05:00

I am so happy. I am happy because a shipment has arrived and in that shipment, a new white t-shirt. Hooray, a white t-shirt! Oh, it's gorgeous. It fits really nicely. It's not too 'boy' and it's not too 'girl.' Can be dressed up or down. I can tell this is going to become my new 'best white t-shirt' that I will closely guard the washing and drying of so that it is ready to be donned whenever I have an important mommy/casual social event. I may even need to order a second identical one to bear the traffic.

This happiness is, honestly, absurd. No, really, it is. Because as you may be able to tell, I am a little 'round the bend about white t-shirts. I love them, and I have many of them; about 17 to be precise (yes, I just counted) in varying moods, styles, and sleeve lengths. I am not counting another half-dozen or so white sweaters and button-fronts.

I would be happy to wear a white t-shirt almost every day if it wouldn't turn into a joke or be boring. ("Look, there's that chick who always only wears white shirts! Try to spill something near her!") With my white t-shirts and khakis or jeans whenever I get the chance, I am a Gap executive's wet dream. Dress up occasion? Then white top BLACK pants/skirt, of course. You can't go wrong. Attention, Banana Republic/Gap: Hire me for your next ad campaign! (Or maybe pay me to dress differently.) At least I've learned how to drape a bright cardigan over my shoulders for some color, when appropriate.

Did you remember this about me, I.O.? Yes indeed, internet, this has been so for many years now. I used to jealousy guard my favorite white shirts when we still lived in our childhood home, and it seemed like EVERY TIME I lent one to I.O. it would be spaghetti food fight day day in the school cafeteria. With so much practice, I am excellent at stain removal. Bring it on.

By now I have learned to accept my pathologically basic self. I have even learned to view it as a certain signature style (albeit a lame, unimaginative one). So indulge me, and believe me, I may have found the queen of white tees this time. I'll probably wear it tomorrow; it's good cardigan weather here. Can't wait!

Do you need a good ass-whuppin?

2005-10-12T16:08:00.000-05:00

you do if you own or wear the following:
1) Gaucho pants- the name sounds bad, the "pants" look even worse. Even the coke-addicted citizens of the 1980's could tell this was an unattractive look. It went out of style FOR A REASON, PEOPLE!
2) Tie-neck Blouse- We are SO over the needing a female eqiuvalent of the man's Neck-Tie. It just makes you look tired and chubby-faced.
3) Sportswear with writing on the butt. 99% of the time, these are worn by people whose butt one would like to avoid looking at, much less watch a word in contrasting-colored letters jiggling to the left, then right, then left, then right.
4) Fake hair- and by this I mean the ponytail holder or clip with hair attached. It always looks exactly like what it is- plastic hair attached to your head. It's the same as silk flowers- they ALWAYS look fake. And I always feel sorry for the unappreciated nubbin of unseen real hair underneath which is doing it's best to grow out and make you gorgeous, but it's just never enough for you, is it?!! Ungrateful....
5) Shrug sweaters. The irony here is that they're selling you 1/3rd of a sweater for the full price. And besides that, these things make everyone look like they raided the closet of a 10-month old. Pick on someone your own size and steal THEIR sweater, and only if it's made of a natural fiber- preferably cashmere.

Can you tell I went to the mall in the more affluent side of town? Just goes to show you, money can't buy you taste!

The I.O.

Initiation

2005-10-12T10:49:00.000-05:00

I am going to introduce my Monkey to the art of Costume shopping today. no, I don't mean Halloween pre-packaged costumes, I mean costume-design-as-a-career shopping. I have to find a grey granny/victorian blouse and a blue short-sleeved men's shirt as well as various other items required by a show I have designed. She will experience the lightning-fast sizing up of a store's merchandise to determine if they have what I need, the Lunch at a fast-food joint (okay, so it won't be the first-time on that one), the more shopping, more shopping, the trying to find a sales person with half a brain to find the "Tax Exempt" key on the register.... And she will hopefully experience the deep sleep of exhaustion at her remaining naptime while I take a chocolate-break on the couch (that'll be a new addition to my costume-shopping routine- and a welcome one!) And so shall begin her love or hate relationship with costumes and dress-up and marathon-shopping.

Pizza For Everyone!

2005-10-06T04:39:00.000-05:00

Hoo-ray for Pizza Night!
Oh yes, it's Thursday, so it's Pizza Night!
Maybe the only dish everyone here likes:
Mom, Dad and BOTH tykes.
Thank God for Pizza Night!

(You may sing this to the tune of "Hooray for Hollywood" if doing so doesn't make you want to hurt yourself. Can you tell I'm ecstatic that I don't have to cook tonight? I mean, I'm makin' up dang SONGS, for cryin' out loud.)

Yes, Korea has Domino's (and Pizza Hut, and Papa John's, to be fair) and Domino's delivers. Although I'm not sure the ordering thing works in English, which is a big reason it's so handy that I speak Korean. Because I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't order a pizza for my helpless, western-food-starved, foreign self (uh, family, I meant 'helpless, etc., foreign FAMILY'). Plus, Domino's here seems to send with every delivery a coupon for a free 1.25L Coca-Cola with your next order of a large pizza. And I am definitely a Coca-Cola girl. No Pepsi, thank you (and YES, I can tell in a blind taste test, thankyouverymuch: Pepsi is nas-tay).

Anyway, the Irreverent One may notice certain similarities in this practice to a tradition in our childhood home, namely Friday night Pizza Night (I'm SO original). Somehow in our house it migrated to Thursday, and I don't have the willpower to move it back to Friday; it's like an early start to the weekend. Gotta go now, pizza's here!

The Korean Art of Hwe-shik

2005-10-05T22:26:00.000-05:00

Oh, I am tired. My two sweet, rambunctious boys are in bed, but it was only me here tonight, so I am tired. Hubby, you see, had what Koreans call a "hwe-shik." Roughly, this translates as a business dinner, which one would think is an understandable practice that can also happen on occasion in the West. But thinking that means you do not understand the way the Koreans do it. Oh no, they take it to the Next Level; they are the Evel Knievels of business dinners. It is a finely-honed art here.

The first difference is the frequency. A Korean man often has to attend hweshik several times a week. (Fortunately, hubby's company is quite progressive and understands how to keep its expat employees' wives happy, so his colleagues only make him go twice a month or so.)

The second difference is that hwe-shik are mandatory. Korean society is still very collective in nature, so if the boss says "hey, let's get some kalbi (Korean barbecued beef)" then the WHOLE office attends. It's akin to the "face-time" concept that is still important in some Western places of employment (wherein being visibly present at the office for long stretches of time counts more toward advancement than being visibly productive).

The third difference is that hwe-shik are ALCOHOLIC as heck. It starts at dinner with copious amounts of soju with dinner, which one is hierarchically obligated to drink unless one has true health or religious reasons for abstention (and by that I mean, such as being a liver transplant survivor or being Mormon, where it is on the books that you may not consume alcohol). Then it continues at a bar after dinner with beer (there, hubby says, one may be able to get away with nursing one drink for long periods). THEN, it continues at, maybe a karaoke place, where I'm not sure what is consumed, or how many are left standing at that point to a) get to the karaoke place and b) hold breakable containers of any beverage.

Which brings me to the fourth difference: hwe-shik are LONG. Western business dinners are just that: dinner. As described above, a hwe-shik typically involves three locations, thus extending into the wee hours of the night. I am told by female friends that husbands often stagger in at 3 am and such. (Hubby, fortunately, is sent home by his progressive colleagues by 10 pm most times, and by midnight if there was a big occasion to celebrate, so fortunately I have been spared this.)

(And I haven't even mentioned the fact that some companies' hwe-shik are not exactly G-rated once you get past dinner. Hubby's company is NOT like that, to either of our knowledge. And yes, Hubby would a) tell me and b) likely quit in disgust the very next day, if not on the spot. Because, ladies and gents, my hubby ROCKS.)

Then the next day, all are expected to show up at the regular time and act as if they aren't hung-over and exhausted after only 3-ish hours of sleep. I am told that along with hwe-shik drinking comes a suspension of the normally-stringent Confucian behavioral standards and so it is no longer taboo to discuss things with one's superiors and colleagues that would normally be off-limits. Or so I am told. And then the next day, all is forgiven and forgotten (assuming anyone remembers anything at all) and it is back to business as usual. Productive way to run a business, eh?

I'll tell you what, it's a difficult way to be a wife. I have nothing to complain about, since hubby only goes infrequently, but I can't even begin to imagine the poor Korean wife, staying at home raising two young kids and literally only having her husband present to help on the weekend. Not because he likes going out, but because he has to if he wants a future at his company. The only good thing I can say about hwe-shik is that you get a break from that nagging question of what should I make for dinner tonight. We Westerners just don't know how good we have it sometimes, with these workplaces that take family into consideration. Korea is getting there, but I'm sure it could take a while to change a 5,000 year-old culture.

Sue me, sue me what can you do me?!!

2005-10-04T23:49:00.000-05:00

Why is it a crime to be educated? Apparently nobody told me (or any member of my family) that if you are young you are not allowed to be smart. AH, the politics of the workplace. Here are the reasons I am despised

1) I got my Master's degree in a field which I love
2) I am willing to work my butt off if you're willing to hire me.
3) Because of #1 and #2, the people I work for tend to like me being around and take it upon themselves to spread the word.

Apparently those things give my coworkers a right to be pissed. Why? Because:

1) They didn't choose to go to school for this occupation or possibly anything.
2) They choose to show up to do the minimum possible work for the maximum amount of money.
3)They choose to get all pissy when they don't get recommended or requested specifically by employers (because they have a bad attitude, and don't know as much as other people and like to take smoke breaks- A LOT!)

So, I ask you, dear faithful reader- Should I feel guilty that my employer asks for me by name even when I tell him I work through a certain organization which means he must pay more for my services? No, Absolutely not. DO I Feel guilty? Of Course, because I want to be LUUUUUUVED! I read a good book the other night for free while sitting in the cafe at Borders called "Nice Girls don't get the corner office" ( So I guess those that have paid for that book have a right to be pissed at me now...) I don't remember any word for word quotes for you, but the gist is that women tend to sabotage their own career advancement in an effort to remain LUUUUUUVED by all those who come in contact with them. I am guilty of this, most certainly. I'll leave it to you to educate yourselves if you're interested in reading more.

I refuse to apologize for my advanced degree which I paid for dearly in blood (yes, literally) and sweat and sleepless nights/mornings, and gas-money and sheer exhausted tears and student loans (still paying). I took the time to get a degree with the goal of skipping those years of "experience" and dues-paying at the bottom of the ladder. So, should you, my cowroker, hold it against me that my hard work is paying off? NO, YOU DAMN WELL SHOULDN'T! But of course, with "office" politics being what they are, I will not say this to your tobacco-shriveled faces, because I at least want to be treated civilly if not invited to dinner when the gang all goes out. In the end, what you should realize is that I am just like you, only smarter and prettier and younger. But I'm still really nice about it.

the I.O.

Childrearing Ironies, Part 2

2005-10-04T17:47:00.000-05:00

Children sick with your garden-variety cold/flu that involves fever, copious amounts of snot and likely middle-of-the-night coughing are too sick to go to school and/or preschool, but not sick enough for prescription medicine and so must stay home and fork up any preconceived notions you had of getting something done this day (or possibly for the entire week);

YET, once given Children's Tylenol/Advil, THEY ARE COMPLETELY FINE and able to tear all over the house they're not allowed to leave, request endless videos, refuse naps, and Harold-the-Purple-Crayon all over their pretty bed in which you are forcing them to try to nap for Their Own Good. The sympathy and his poow widdew sad face only last until the medicine takes effect, I'm telling you.

(NOW for crying out loud GO TAKE A NAP, Mama needs one, don't you? You kept us both up coughing half the night, so why are YOU so perky? Go, go get better or something; don't you know I had a LUNCH tomorrow? And stop sneezing on your brother -- the last thing I need is you both at home. Stop. Throwing. Playdoh. *sigh* Okay, we can watch the Thomas video one more time, but then that's seriously IT, I mean it.)

The Ironies of Childrearing, Part 1 (since surely there are many more to come)

2005-09-29T18:05:00.000-05:00

WHY is it that this magical Trust that develops in the bond between parent and child does not manifest itself in the child believing its parent when said parent wants to introduce a new, delicious food (e.g., caramel-covered popcorn, for crying out loud!), BUT ONLY when said child has something nasty to get rid of (e.g., chewed-up food, newly-picked scab, large freshly-harvested booger, wrapper of any kind) and so hands it to parent/all-purpose garbage receptacle? WHERE IS THE TRUST?!!!

(And so verily, verily I say unto you, my dear oldest son, that Poppycock is indeed a snack food worthy of a child's love, the very nature of which is sweet, buttery and delicious, just as I have tried to convince you of for, like, forty days and forty nights. Its taste is entirely something wonderful and not like to that of festering insects or vegetables, as the look on thy scrunched-up face doth indicate thou seemst to believe. Behold, there, your younger brother, who stuffs his face even now with an abandon befitting this heavenly treat. Dost thou think he is crazy? Dost thou wish us alone to eat it all and feel disgusting? Why, then, dost thou also not sample this feast to which thy mother, in some unbelievably permissive mood, is inviting thee wholeheartedly? Ugh, whatever.)

She may LOOK like her daddy, but she's all woman!

2005-09-29T11:20:00.000-05:00

I am so proud. My Monkey loves shoes. Since we got her new (pink) sneakers, she will bring them to me repeatedly during the day so I can put them on her feet. I wrestle one on, then the other, and off she goes marching around the house listening to the sound they make on the floor, staring at her feet the entire time. She does not need to be wearing daytime clothes- or clothes at all- to want her sneakers on. They are not functional to her as they are to most walking humans. They are decoration, like a sparkly shirt or the computer mouse she likes to wear on her neck like a feather boa. So maybe her taste is still a bit indiscriminate, but then maybe the next big thing in Winter Fashions is the computer-component as accessory- Watch out John Galliano.

The I.O.

Ironies

2005-09-29T11:04:00.000-05:00

here are the ironies of my life:

I want out of the house most days but I don't want to go back to "work."

I Love my hubby but sometimes he annoys me.

I can't post anything vent-like on my blog about said hubby since he is probably our most faithful reader (I *sigh* with love!).

I Love my Monkey though she also annoys me sometimes- especially on days like yesterday when from three pm until 6:30pm (the moment hubby walked in the door) she was red-faced screaming and crying if I dared to look at something other than her face- including the delicious chicken and pasta I was cooking in order to satiate her Hungry-man sized stomach.

I hope Monkey will learn to love her veggies though I gorge on Totino's Pizza Rolls and Oreo cookies for one solid week each month.

My In-laws are sweet and love me and Monkey so much, yet I mostly do not like when they come to visit.

Having a budget (which I created) makes me want to go out to dinner.

I want my friends to call more often, but I do not EVER call them.

Dance Fever

2005-09-27T23:09:00.000-05:00

Raising a child is such a wild experience. There are times when you're blown away by your kid's wisdom or talent or personality, and there are times when you just say, "what the ?!" The indeterminate interplay of nature versus nurture makes watching them grow so interesting ... and so nerve-wracking.

Case in point: tonight. We have just finished watching The Lion King 1.5, and with the rolling credits, on comes a song by Raven (of "That's So Raven" fame). It's a pop-ish kinda number, with a contagious beat, and I give both my boys credit for just feeling compelled to move to it spontaneously. Then came the aforementioned "what the ?!" moment, as I witness my five-year-old begin to perform what could only be described as an unmistakable kindergartener version of The White Man's Overbite. He was thrashing around a hair's breadth away from looking like he was having a seizure, with some impromptu break-dancing-ish moves thrown in, but you could see that he KNEW those moves were SWEEEEET.

Now of course he's only five, and no one's ever shown him how to dance or nuthin', and of course I am imagining a trajectory that may be unreasonable, but too many school dances either pitying or being the Girl Who Came With the Bad Dancer Who Thinks He's Good made me instinctively recoil internally. I began to worry and project. The girls will run! The guys will beat him up! My son is Urkel-in-waiting! Or worse yet, Screech!

See, I can dance quite well (though I.O. was always a smidge better) and hubby can dance pretty well (though he has only, like, three moves, he has good rhythm). Look a little further up the family tree, however, and the horror begins. My mother can dance (if she's biting her lip and closing her eyes and it's a 50's song), but my father, well he can only embarrass -- a point he last proved with a stunning performance at our youngest sister's wedding in 2000. No one knew what to say or do except look on in wonder. There were a lot of thrashing, tribal-slash-hillbilly-type moves, all executed with great enthusiasm and a red face from the exertion. I don't think he'd had more than Coca Cola to drink, either. None of us will ever forget it.

So should I be worried? The two of them (my son and my father) have proved to be quite similar to date in many other ways. Like their love of rocks. And a fondness for pick-up trucks. Although my boy can sing in tune, and my father loves to sing but does so somewhere in the vicinity of the tune's parking lot. Maybe there's hope. Plus, I always have another son.

It's Life, Jim, but not as we know it

2005-09-26T22:36:00.000-05:00

Should I be sleeping right now? Yes. The only problem is that my mind was just blown by a little factoid the Hubby shared with me. Voyager one is now outside the known solar system and transmitting data. Woah. I hope there's a bunch more systems out there with non-violent goverments who can give our pres. a good talkin' to ( or maybe they call it "A Boot in the Ass" in Texas...) I want to see pictures of other solar-sytems. Maybe they'll find the planet where all the lost socks and orphaned power-cords go to live a life free from war and poverty.

Meanwhile on our little green planet, I have joined the ranks of the Camera-phoned. Yes, dear brother in law and family, I have stayed brand loyal to put some crumbs on your table, so unbunch those panties and relax. In the words of wireless-company guru Eva, "you get a phone free, so you might as well get a camera-phone." (subtext- "just buy a dang phone so I can get out of here") So, now I can take pictures at the flip of a phone and charge myself a quarter for getting to use them anywhere other than my phone, or I can flip the phone open at the pool in the summer and make like those new-parents I saw three years ago who I wished would slip on a wet-spot on the textured-concrete pool deck and get a nasty case of deck-burn. Here's why (and I quote):

"ETHANLOOKATDADDY-LOOKATDADDYETHAN-HEYETHAN-ETHAN-SMILEETHAN-SAYHIETHAN-LOOKATDADDY-ETHAN-ETHAN-HEY-LOOKATTHECAMERAPHONEETHAN-HEYETHAN-ETHANLOOKATDADDY!!!!!!!!! etc etc" I swear this went on for at least three sets of ten minutes, with a minute or two pause between sets. It was like circuit training for annoying locution.

So I got the dang camera phone, "'cause why not" and now I promise and solemnly swear never to try more than three consecutive times to get a picture of my sweet monkey girl. (at least in public). By the way, Ethan was like, three months old. yeah.

I also sold out to the brand-name-sneakers-for-little-newly-walking-children set tonight. To jusitfy, they are SO DANG CUTE and we only paid half of the 29.95 for them due to a well-meaning grandparent who got the Monkey some shoes without trying them on her first. So we returned the small shoes and replaced them with Sketchers, so now Monkey can grow up to be just like Christina Aguilera. Oh Crap, now I've gotta return those shoes- because though she may have a phenomenal voice talent, Miss Aguilera's sense of style is definitely lacking (okay, so it's really just clothes in general that she's lacking. Oh, and modesty.) Those of you who know me know how important the sense of style is to me. Monkey and hubby and I spent saturday morning at the mall play-area identfying fashion dos and don'ts and crawling through the plastic tube-tunnel. Thankfully, Monkey and I are in total agreement so far about who should appear on the back page of Glamour magazine. But then again maybe that pointing finger and the accompnying "UNGH!!" meant get me some of those pink shiny hot pants made especially for toddlers complete with the big-butt allowance for diapers!! NOW!!!!

God, help me!

The I.O.

Frankenportraits

2005-09-21T20:35:00.000-05:00

Who came up with the idea for family portraits anyway? I mean the posed, let's make an appointment for us all to get together in one room with matching shirts and try to all smile in the same direction at the same time kind. Yes, we just had our family portraits done, and since the lst experience at Wal-mart was economical but not totally satisfying, we went to Sears. I figured if they're more expensive and they take appointments, they must be better, right? Well, maybe that's true, but I'd never know it. Picture this: me, hubby and Monkey show up all pressed and primped to find ONE photographer at the studio with her TWO CHILDREN (ages apprximately two years and five years) running around because her boyfriend showed up with them and then left. So, we're trying to get the one-year-old pictures done ffor monkey while two-year old boy runs into the frames and Monkey's toddling out of the frame to him and his shiny toy the rest of the time. We are also informed that the photographer has to follow some ridiculous "Pose list" before we can move on, so we get the one I like (and we later buy) first, and I mean first-shot of session, here, then we have to go through this circus of poses that WE WERE NEVER GOING TO BUY IN THE FIRST PLACE. After one hour of us trying to get monkey to do all but back handsprings into roundoffs into cartwheels, while taking breaks for photographer to yell and run after her children, we move on to the family poses. By now Hubby and I are exasperated (okay, it's just me that's exasperated, but that's my role in this family) and we sit down to try to get now-bored Monkey to look at the camera and smile through the pain of her permanently blinded retinas. Need I say here that IT DIDN'T WORK!

So I have decided that I have one year to come to peace with the fact that every family portrait for at least 17 years will be off-center in the frame, with one member of the family looking somewhere else and/or not smiling. Oh well, I guess they'll be good for stories later, or perhaps I'll dedicate a scrapbook page each year to a family photograph which I cut and paste out of various different pictures throughout the year where we each look our best and are smiling at the camera. That's actually a great idea.... Frankenportraits, Mwahahahaha!

2005-09-20T03:47:00.000-05:00

Shhh! I'm here quickly to explain my absence. See, September 18th is the mother of all Korean holidays: Chuseok (pronounced, um, well, like 'chew-suck.' So bad it must be true.) While the name sounds very foreign, it's a time when Korean families get three days off to gather from far and wide and enjoy a pasttime altogether too familiar to Americans -- pigging out.

It's a three-day eating extravaganza, and I had a good time. I love Korean food and my husband's aunt, who lives nearby, is an awesome cook. So I had to break out my denim overalls yesterday to get some temporary waistline allowance. I'm telling you, my husband, after seeing me change into pajamas the other day, affectionately called me "tubby."

My in-laws also flew into town from their home in Beijing to take part in the festivities, and I haven't been logging much keyboard time as a result. They're staying with us, you see. I love my mother-in-law dearly -- and I know she likes me too -- but we have different energy levels. She can't stop moving and I ... can. So it seems the minute I sit to read the paper or drink some water she's off to the kitchen preparing another full meal for four, while answering the phone, playing with both my sons a moment and picking up and washing out all the stray dishes left around on the way. All in the time it takes me to mutter, "Oh Mom, you don't haaaave to do that..."

So guilt must be the theme of the week. The guilt is keeping me away, and because she's never ever made me feel the slightest bit bad about it I feel worse. (In fact, sometimes I think she enjoys visiting us because she knows she can do her thing here and I won't get in the way!) The only reason I'm posting right now is because, in a rare human turn, she is taking a nap. So give me something affirming to chant, won'tcha? Ugh, I am so inadequate compared to the caretaking skills of my mother-in-law, or the cooking skills of my aunt-in-law. And now I am 'tubby' to boot. There's nothing like a big family holiday to make ya feel loved and worthy.

Does anyone really own some of those cute juice glasses?

2005-09-15T23:48:00.000-05:00

I spent my Mommy night reading books on toddler behavior and handling. Turns out there are lots of "experts" who give you their "technique" for the "bargain price" of $14.99. I was looking for a way to make the Monkey understand that she is not allowed to touch the buttons on the stereo/tv/cable equipment, and for ideas of things to do that would make me feel less like I'm raising a tv addict. I got an answer for the latter one so far, and bought the advice of the Baby Whisperer to read in my down time to get an answer for the former. Apprently I am to establish a daily routine, and they all make it sound so easy. Of course, for them it probably is easy because the best indicator of expert-dom is making it look easy. Of course, I now have an image in my head of Monkey and I dressed in non-stained/flattering clothes respectively, playing educational but entertaining games and making little crafts involving popsicle sticks, and eating nutritious meals which include that cute little glass of orange juice at breakfast and perfectly ripened and sliced piece of fruit at lunch, going on stress-free outings and lunchdates and playdates, and generally existing in a world of warm hazy lighting and neatly creased Khaki Capri-pants. HA. That's all I gots to say about that.

My mommy guilt is in full swing this week about the regularity of chicken nuggets in Monkey's diet, and the everpresent tv noise in the background, and the abundance of clothespins in that not-yet-unpacked box in the kitchen, which Monkey loves to play with but pinches her little fingers in at least once a week, if not once a day. So I spent my Mommy night thinkng about my Monkey, and how bad a mommy I am some days, and blahblahblah guilt! I suppose that's the joy of motherhood, and also why you appreciate your own mom more than words once you have kids of your own. (Although I never want to experience the "joys" of four children! Mom, you are a saint!)

So I will attempt to establish a routine starting tomorrow which includes "Roomtime" and "Structured Play" and "Family Time" as suggested- but I have a feeling it'll end up more like less TV and Chicken nuggets and more story-time and vegetables and hey-man-at-least it-ain't-spoiled-yet fruit.

It's okay Monkey, I thought my parents were weird too...

lylas,
The I.O.

El Slakeroo

2005-09-15T10:16:00.000-05:00

We haven't been too witty or irreverrent lately, eh? Sorry 'bout that. Right now I am writing this instead of taking a shower. My hair is moisturizing itself, and for curly hair that's actually really helpful. I've been productive this week, though, getting shots done for the Monkey (Red-Faced Screaming...lots, in case you wondered how it went) and then post office and yesterday design meeting. Now those of you who are familiar with the Family Tradition of "never-going-to-the-post-office" are gasping, I'm sure. Well, let me just say that I have not bucked tradition- this package was supposed to have left my hands by the 1st of september but it took me until the 12th. Needless to say it went priority mail. My mom is possibly one of the bigggest customers at Amazon.com because they pack it up and ship it to the recipient, thereby bypassing the house where care packages wait for thier owner to come and pick them up. Usually, it is a good idea to leave some space in your luggage so that you have room to take home all the stuff that Mom meant to send you but just didn't get to the post office. It's okay, Mom, we all inherited it, so I mock you with LUV, okay?

I have another package due out by the 1st of October, so maybe if I put it together today, I'll get it out within 7 days of the deadline. Maybe.

The I.O.

This Just In

2005-09-13T18:17:00.000-05:00

Authentic conversation from my house just now:

Setting: Computer room. Mom is checking e-mail. Distant bedroom door opens, sound of small feet running follows. Two small boys run in, with Younger Boy being pursued by Older Boy. They are clearly in the middle of a dispute.

Older Boy: Give it BACK! (sniffling) Mom, he snatched the sword from me!
Mom: No crying over silly things. Calm down. Now you have a lightsaber already. You need to have a sword AND a lightsaber?
Older Boy: Well, that's what I was selling, for pretend.
Mom: Well then maybe you have to let somebody pretend BUY it. But okay; hey, {Younger Boy}, did you snatch that sword?
Younger Boy: (a little breathless, and pleased with self) Yeah.
Mom: Then, { Younger Boy}, first, why aren't you wearing any pants? And second, we don't snatch. Give the sword back. And {Older Boy}, you can't just hoard all the swords; be fair and let others have some if they want.

Younger Boy gives sword back.

Older Boy: Okay, Mom. (runs out)
Mom: (to retreating half-naked Younger Boy) And what happened to your pants? Come back and bring me your pants ... and your underwear!

Bedroom door closes. Satisfied chatter indicates Older Boy has resumed pretend-selling weaponry to naked-butt Younger Boy wanna-be guerrilla. Mom, shaking her head, posts to blog. It's gonna be a breezy mock battle. The pants will have to wait.

A Little Yellow Rain for Your Parade?

2005-09-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

So you should know that this is one of those cute child sayings posts. I can't help it; I am a parent. The urge to relate such things far and wide must be either instinctive (alongside 'bare teeth and growl when kid in sandbox snatches offspring's shovel') or hormonal (part of the helpful team of chemicals that sends the brain a message to tear up at otherwise moronic commercials if they involve children running to/hugging parents). You have been warned: stay and read, or run screaming to another waystation on the Web, at your own peril.

So we're driving along and my newly-potty-trained 2.5 year old (the one who likes to go commando) is reciting the latest addition to the Big Boy Potty Rules: No peeing in the car. First, imagine why we might now have instituted this rule. (Big kid car seat covers are no fun to remove, I must say.) Okay, so he is saying it over and over and I figure, to put a stop to it, I'll reinforce the Order of Things by saying, "That's RIGHT, we don't pee in the car, we pee on the POTTY, right?!" in that annoyingly bright, cheerful way I've heard other moms use to, subtly as a trainwreck, steer their young ones away from undesirable behavior. Imagine my surprise when my young one responds, "No, Mommy." Me, surprised, "What, honey? We don't pee on the potty?"

"No," he confirms, "we pee on the PARTY."

So there you are. Given the vagaries of toddler pronunciation, perhaps he's been saying this all along (i.e., since 'party' with his imperfect 'r' becomes 'pawty' and thus, very similar to 'potty'). I suppose this is what he thought we were saying, but then again he corrected me today when I said 'potty.' I guess I'll never know. In the meantime, I'm glad we haven't been invited to any birthdays in the near future.

Back to the Salad days

2005-09-12T20:22:00.000-05:00

Well, my reason for junk-food overload is gone, so now it's back to being good. I guess it was time anyway, or we'd be eating m&m's and wine coolers for lunch soon. Have to go get shots for the kid tomorrow- her first Chicken pox vaccine... Do they make a scrapbook stamp for that? I forget.

Yes, It's true. I got a phone call from my mother-in-law last night asking me how much of my new scrpabooking materials I want her to send now (the rest to be trickled into holiday presents between the new pieces of our dishware and silverware for years to come). I never thought I'd get into scrpabooking- just looking at the how-to books with all the special hole-punches and die-cuts and stamps and inks and buttons and grommets and .... well, you get the idea- My head just starts to pound. But I have been informed that even if I never scrapbook, I have my own starter kit on the way with love from "Ma." I imagine I'll try it once, not finish a page, and then have to put it away- and never get it out until Sam and any siblings to follow leave for college. At which point I'll be dripping empty nest tears onto it and then it'll just be a mascara-caked mess. At least I can say I didn't have to pay for it!?!

Die cuts and ribbons and stamps, OH MY!!!

lylas,
The I.O.

The Comforts of Home

2005-09-10T19:37:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah. Continuing on my sister's food train, I guess, here I am, buzzed on Costco-bought premixed margaritas and my yummy total splurge of a dinner tonight: tacos.

"What?" you might say, "tacos a splurge and an amazing luxury; on what planet?" (Because we all know margaritas are that, right?) And I would answer you: Planet Seoul, South Korea. Here, tacos take Major Planning. I can't get taco seasoning, taco sauce/salsa, sour cream, avocado, monterey jack cheese, or flour tortillas at my local supermarket. (Go ahead, take a moment, collect yourself.) So there's the 45 minute (one-way) trip to the city's main imported goods supermarket -- lovely traffic we have here. Then you can calculate that each of the ingredients above cost at least twice what it would cost in the U.S. (import duties - a country's gotta make a living, don't you know). Monterey jack we had to grate ourselves: $8. McCormick's Taco Seasoning (1 packet): $2. Chowing on Tacos Like Momma Used to Make for the first time in six months: Priceless.

In short, you gotta really want tacos here to get them. I'm not saying there aren't restaurants here that try to do South American cuisine, because there are (three, maybe?). I'm just not that impressed. See, we were spoiled in the U.S. We had this place called Rio Grande Cafe where we lived; now them was good eats. O Rio Grande Cafe, can't you come to Seoul? Koreans like sizzling beef.

So once we had everything sliced, diced, and sauteed, we pigged out. Judging by the ecstatic grunting my husband was doing on the other side of the table, he experienced an extended gastronomic orgasm of tantric proportions. Sting would have been jealous. Now we're both lolling in post-taco bliss, but it was over really fast for all the preparation we had to do. I guess that's always how it is. Nothing but the taco burps to remind us...until next time. Maybe we'll have expat friends over for a taco orgy.

So anyway, I.O, just be glad for your Totino's pizza rolls. I don't want to tell you what that afternoon would have cost over here. One time I paid about $7 to get a package of two frozen Croissant Pockets. Desperation will do that to you. Gotta go digest now.

Vegetable Oil Reflux

2005-09-09T20:57:00.000-05:00

Nice Title, eh? A little too graphic in the mental-images area, if you ask me. The result of my earlier post? Hubby called and told me he was cooking dinner tonight. I guess my tale of many preservatives scared him, so he came home from work and made Baked Ziti from Scratch! Yum! The Chicken liked it so much she ate, like, two pounds. Needless to say she is now in her crib passed out from the seismic carb-crash. But hey, whatever works right?!

The I.O.

Vegetable Oil Paradise

2005-09-09T14:52:00.000-05:00

I think my dream of having a child who accepts only fruits and vegetables as snack foods are dashed. Okay, I don't think, I know. Why? Because I declared today Fast-Food Friday and the Chicken and I ate our chicken nugget/ tater tot/ pizza roll lunch in front of the TV. She in her pink Bean-bag chair, and I on my Chaise Lounge watching Kathy Griffin's Reality show. So there we were, muching on our well-preserved and deeply fried lunches, getting a buzz off of all the sodium and additives in our unnaturally delicious food, all puffy bellies and elevated feet, with oil slicks on our fingers and giant smiles of contentedness on our faces. She must get that from me- I'm so proud. Can you imagine the hell of a junk-food junkie mom having to live with a vege-frutarian exercise junkie? I'm thinking that would be about the sixth ring of hell. Maybe even the seventh ring. So now I have a new goal for my little Chicken's future. I want to instill in her a deep appreciation of the arts of laziness and junk-food diet-planning. Lets just hope she likes her Dad better and decides to take up gardening and jogging while knowing better than to criticize Mommy for her well-developed talent of growing fat-rolls.

lylas,
The I.O.

My Fast Food Nation

2005-09-08T14:49:00.000-05:00

Y'know how many Totino's Pizza Rolls it took today? 16. Ack. I should eat only brown rice and vegetables for the rest of the week now, a la poor Nomi Malone in Showgirls. And then my stock response will become "It doesn't suck!" You will want to shoot me, and I will want you to shoot me, so if that happens, shoot me, okay? However, since we all know the evil nature of PMS, we know that there will be neither brown rice nor vegeatbles in my diet for at least one week now- even if they're deep fried and rolled in powdered sugar. The Monkey's afternoon nap is turning out to be the downfall of my "I'm gonna try to be good and eat healthy so my Monkey doesn't end up as one of those 200 pound 5 year olds you see on Maury Povich" pledge. Really, it's not for me, or for my hubby, only so that the Monkey doesn't find herself eating 16 pizza rolls as a snack in the early afternoon at the age of 31. Oh well, I usually don't restrict myself, since cramps and bloating and half-hour increments of Devil-dom seem to warrant unlimited chocolate and junk food.

Tonight is Mommy-night, and I'm psyched! Several weeks ago, after my hubby almost had to pummel me out the door to get away and unwind, we decided that it was best for all of us if I had a planned night off of Mommyhood, so I chose Thursday night since its half-price martini night at my favorite Martini bar. No, I don't go there and sit alone getting smashed and hitting on the bartender, I just thought it'd be good to have considered the possibility of going there with the "peeps" on mommy-night. Hubby even suggested I not worry about dinner tonight so I can just get out and go ASAP. I think I'm taking him up on it, but he better not touch my Pizza Rolls! And I will be counting them to make sure.

lylas,
The I.O.

How many Reese's did it take?

2005-09-07T14:39:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wondered how many Reese's cups are too many? I have found the answer. Five.
After four you should really stop. PMS sucks and now so does my day. Goodnight.

the I.O.

so many naps, so little time

2005-09-07T10:17:00.000-05:00

W.O., you got too much time on your hands- I am insanely jealous. Is it wrong for me to wish my monkey were old enough to go to school and leave me alone for six-hours each day? I never get out of the house before 11:30am because god fobid I interrupt the Monkey's naptime. Then, if I want Monkey to have a nutritious lunch I have to give both of us lunch before we leave, and then it's 12:30 before we can leave, and then I only have one and a half hours unitl naptime and god forbid I interrupt naptime, then monkey wakes up at four and it's time to think about making dinner and watch Gilmore Girls re-run 'cause who can get anything useful done in an hour with a kid in tow and then it's five and time to watch clock as I cook dinner waiting for Hubby to walk in the door and rescue the potatoes from Monkey's fangs of mutilation, if he doesn't walk in soon, then we can consider the potatoes a casualty of war and start tooting that funeral dirge on the trumpets. Then hubby gets home about 1 1/2- 2 hours later and it's time for dinner and trying not to be mad that hubby got home at 7, and then it's bathtime and bedtime for Monkey and time to ignore the dishes in the sink, and by then it's too late for a leisurely trip through Costco. You suck.

I will go wash last night's dishes now and turn off the tv. We got lotsa stuff to get done in one and a half hours this afternoon. Can I just take a moment here to say how ridiculous it is that Harry Connick Jr. sang "How it feels to miss New Orleans" to the evacuees holed up in the Houston superdome? here's the picture: Harry and another well-known New Orleanian musician playing/singing this song from the announcer's booth, to a dome full of people who are TRYING TO GET SOME SLEEP? The contrasts are just ridiculous. I know life can't stop for everyone else, but to follow a story of a man who possibly has lost his family in the hurricane with a performance by HILARY DUFF? Nice try Ellen, but it's grotesque (and I'm not just talking about the mere existence of Hilary Duff).

lata playas,
the I.O.

Black Snake Dream Update (gratuitous site plug)

2005-09-07T08:47:00.000-05:00

In response to my own question about my dream (see below), I found www.dreammoods.com via a Google search. Cool site! It's free and has an "interpret" function where you can type in your dream image and get the common meanings of said dream imagery. Whoa, take a look at what I found about snake! Especially the sentence at the bottom where it zeroes in on "rattlesnake=passage of time." Rings so true, since Son the Older just recently started kindergarten and I'm reeling about how big he's gotten. Mystery solved, and I feel relieved that the dream wasn't some harbinger of impending doom! (Lest you think I'm naive, I've heard that finding the correct dream interpretation is all about what "strikes a chord" regarding the meaning when you hear it. This really strikes a chord with me, so basta!) Bye now.

Flotsam and Jetsam

2005-09-06T22:30:00.000-05:00

Recent thoughts floating about my head. Not necessarily in order of importance.

1. Son the Younger is now almost 100% potty trained and I can't believe it. The diapers are thirsty in the drawer, the wipes are drying out. But there is a catch (there would be): he won't wear underpants. Yup, my little man, going commando all the day long. This is partially because I trained him by letting him go naked waist-down, so wearing shorts is progress, but I didn't expect that he'd like it so much. Every day I tell him about the cool array of (hand-me-down) underwear he might want to try and every day he says "NO!" I am sorry, future daughter-in-law.

2. I had a bad dream the other night that Son the Older got bitten on the calf by a black rattlesnake that came out of a hole in the wooden floor of a cabin I dreamed we were living in in Seattle, WA. Um, detailed and random I know, but yikes! In the dream, Hubby and I argued about what to do (Hubby insisting that it wasn't serious and my dream-muddled brain trying to recall why he might be wrong -- um, rattlesnake venom maybe?!) then fumbled to call an emergency number. Anyway, my question is, what does this mean? Is there something a black snake bite symbolizes? I hate bad dreams.

3. I was listening to Janet Jackson's Design of a Decade album today and "Control" came on. I.O., it reminded me how that song always makes me think of YOU in high school! Remember how you could dance just like Miss J. back then? And you had the naturally curly long hair to boot (though yours is red). And you used to looove to sing that song. I think I believed you could BE the next Miss Jackson If You're Nasty phenomenon. I used to be so jealous that I was just the geeky brainiac and you were the One Who Could Dance in the family. Anyway, just sayin'.

4. Katrina. Yikes. I get all my news from CNN International here and I think they don't show all the heart-wrenching images domestic tv does (judging from what people are saying they saw on other blog sites), but I'm still feeling the collective shock and sadness. I just have to say that, all issues of blame aside, it still makes me embarrassed that it happened in America. It just shouldn't have. America is not a third-world country and Katrina wasn't a sudden, unforeseen tsunami. That is just neglect and blatant disregard. It's so wonderful that people are stepping up now and pitching in, but it seems like a bad sign when private citizens are now filling in the hole when the U.S. has a half-dozen Federal entities whose job description it is to plan for, prevent and cope with the aftermath of these types of calamities. And there is this, too (e-mailed by a friend). 'Nuff said. May God be with them.

Crash Test Dummy

2005-09-05T23:25:00.000-05:00

So I just finished internet-sharing the photos from my little girl's first birthday, and what a world this has become! Just over a year ago, I was numbed out from the waist down and totally unaware of the changes a baby would bring to the simple task of life. I know that I used to have lots of things to do (i.e. go to work and wish I were somewhere else), but somehow nothing I ever had to do was as all-encompassing as "Staying at home" with my girl. To respond to W.O.'s question of what did we do before kids? We did a whole lot of what you now call "Clock-watching," only then it was the most important thing we had to do that wasn't at work.

I have lived through all sorts of indignities now that I never would have imagined would make me happy. It's true that your own child's poop doesn't smell as bad as someone else's child's poop. (now notice here that I did not say it doesn't smell bad- 'cause we all know that would be a lie- it smells REALLY bad!). I have not minded being ripped apart and sewn back together (at least I didn't mind it as much as my Hubby minded it...) I have not minded getting sucked on, puked on, peed and pooped on, having my hair/skin/earrings pulled almost completely off of my body. I have not minded not eating or showering until 4pm, or not sleeping a full five hours in a row for four months (and I had it good in that case- some aren't so lucky), or spending most of my "disposable income" on disposable diapers and "disposable" baby clothes every two months. I'm tellin' ya, those babies are cute for a REASON, y'all. It's so they can control us without ever saying a word. (except now my girl says "Hiiiiiiiii!" whenever I get that tone of voice that means "I'm trying to be stern and angry- grrr." And I have to fight a smile every freakin' time! It is so annoying to want to avoid future monster-hood as much as possible, but to literally have to fight to be mean or stern or scolding.)

Now my little girl is walking, mimicking sounds and actions, and generally getting into anything in her reach- and her reach is growing. The other day I came out of the kitchen from washing dishes to get my girl out of the high-chair where she had been eating breakfast, only to discover her sitting in the middle of the dining room table, munching on my car keys! Yes, I made the mistake of forgetting that a quiet child is a dangerous child. It is totally true that when you can't hear your child, they are doing something you don't want them doing- like "playing" with the cell-phone or chewing on the raw potatoes, or pulling each and every item out of the trash-can and throwing it on the floor, only after identifying it with thier mouth. I swear if I don't lose a few pounds chasing her this year, it will be because I have had to increase my chocolate and wine intake to deal with the aftermath.

So, when nostalgia kicks in, I look at the really early baby photos, and think of those first days of motherhood and sigh and wipe a tear, and then I realize I can't hear my girl, and find her in the bathroom playing in the trash and unrolling the toilet paper directly into her mouth. Ah, Kids. They're such a blessing!

Lylas,
The I.O.

A Hole New World

2005-09-05T17:10:00.000-05:00

It is 3pm and I sit here at the computer, without any kids in my house running/shouting/wrestling/making each other cry/watching too much tv/eating too many cookies because Mommy's on the internet. I thought this would be sooo good. For two-plus years now I thought that. It is not entirely good. It is weird.

This new set of events is because 1) Number-One Son has started kindergarten, and the bus does not arrive until 3:43 pm (turrible accurate they are, those bus-schedule people); and 2) because I have to drive to the bus stop during what is otherwise Number-Two Son's naptime, I leave him in preschool until 4pm (which is approximately when I return from said stop with the other son.) It is only 1 and 1/2 hour longer than the previous 2:30 pm pick-up time, but that is truly long enough to get bored and eat way too many potato chips. I'm going to have to wipe down this keyboard after this entry. Just blame any typos on the slickening surface.

So what do I do with this Gift of Time? Do I get pedicures or massages? Read that list of novels I've been meaning to get through? Save all my bowel-movements (sorry, our mom is a nurse) so that I can finally have some privacy? No, I blog. You people must be spe-shul, lemme tell you, to merit such exclusive attention.

I guess this is some kind of mini-empty nest syndrome. It's practice. I'm going to have to take golf lessons, find some friends to lunch, volunteer somewhere and take those Mandarin Chinese lessons sooner than I thought. (I'm actually half-serious about the Mandarin Chinese. 'Cause didn't those people sound SO COOL in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? If you saw the subtitled version? And Chow Yun Fat is HOT; what was Michelle Yeoh THINKING resisting jumping his bones all those years? Okay I remember way to much about a movie I saw twice three-ish years ago.)

Look at these fantasies of mine. Hilarious. 1.5 extra hours and I'm talking language lessons. I sound like the Koreans who, when given a whole second weekend day off for the first time a year ago, started clogging the air routes flying to Malaysia and Tokyo, since dude, what were they gonna do staying HOME for an entire TWO-DAY WEEKEND?! (Yes, there really was a news story about the entirely real phenomenon. And yes, a two-day weekend law only went into effect for certain busnesses in 2004. Some smaller companies didn't have to abide by it until this July, I think. Kids, of course, still go to school half a day Saturday. That's how Momma and Daddy like it.)

Okay so I strayed a little from the topic. The point of which was, what is the DEAL with kids? You have this life before them and it's cool, you're hangin'. Then you and the Significant Other get tired of the dinner and a movie routine and think, babies are cute and fun, let's get us one! Ten months later (they lie about human gestation length, o you uninitiated) you start the squirming, pink Descent Into Chaos that is Baby #1 (unless you adopt, in which case it takes longer; or you have multiples, in which case you also have my sympathy) and VOILA: your life as you knew it is gone. Unrecognizable. Finished. (Though most times in a good to tolerable way.) Slowly you piece together something resembling a routine, a new reality, then just when it's getting manageable POOF, along comes the next one. Total destruction again. (Repeat this process for as many children as you have, although many lying liars out there will make claims about how going from two to three or going from three to four "isn't really that different." Pah! Lalalala I can't hear you.)

Then you send them off to preschool or whatever and, like me, they reach some age where their schedules end up leaving you alone for a whopping 6 hours a day. So you recover you old Life, right? You stretch, purr, and say "ah, back to Me Time now" right? Turn to philosophy, meditation and contemplation? Wrong, it seems. You writhe instead in some "where are my babies" state of nonexistence. Look at me: I straightened the house and made a trip to Costco (yes, thank you, God, they have those in South Korea, too). Then I read some of the newspaper, checked my favorite blogs, and am writing this. That all sounds good and useful, except that, after putting away Costco goods at approximately 1 pm, all the other activities have just been just glorified clock-watching. I am hopeless.

That's humans for you, I guess. The poop is always smellier, the puke stains more apparent, the noise louder, the silence emptier when it's your own kids.

Oh, lookee! Yay! 3:05 pm. Time to go get Big Boy, then Little Boy, then feed snacks, then video and/or fighting over toys, then playground, then Somewhat Tired Mommy cooks three dinners, most of which get thrown out, then Tired but Fun Daddy bathes, then jointly we put 'em to bed, then Revitalized Daddy makes Adult Suggestions to By-Now Probably Exhausted Mommy. (Except when Mommy catches a second wind, in which case some rule of the cosmos mandates that Daddy must be the one that night who is exhausted, fed-up, or already asleep on the couch.) Accept or refuse and repeat tomorrow. Now you know my whole entire routine and you can stalk me. I'd be the redhead in South Korea (well, there may be a few others, but mine's natural.)

Ah, I love my life. (No, seriously, I do.) Bye!

I will NOT go gently!

2005-09-04T11:14:00.000-05:00

Showered just now. While putting on my now-routine facial lotion (nagging internal voices chanting "you end up with the face you deserve") I noticed something different, up at my hairline. THREE small curly white hairs, each about one inch long. Not one; not two; three. I only just turned 33. I am young. But I am not helpless, so with the help of my diabolical tweezers, they are no more. Until they grow out again. At that time I promise I will report back on whether the myth -- that if you tweeze one white hair out, several more will grow back in its place -- is true. I seriously hope not, because then we may just have to have a small fire to clear the brush, as it were. Yikes, I may have to go buy myself something young and hoochie this next week. Clear platform heels, anyone?

Oh yeah, speaking of hoochie, I had totally forgotten the porch light code, I.O. I was dying when I read that.

Eww, have to go. One of my Korean neighbors downwind must have decided to make double fish soup with fish fritters for breakfast or something. The kitchen window will now be bolted shut and a candle lit. Ugh.

Zen and the Art of Unpacking

2005-09-03T22:46:00.000-05:00

Unpacking is only a slightly stranger task than packing. As you pack, you have moments of "Hey! I remember when Betsy gave me that pink fuzzy elephant-shaped paperweight! Those were the days!" followed by moments of " Honey, are you SURE you need the shadow-box sclupture with the false teeth and random mechanical parts!" and those are always followed by the "Good LORD! WHY do I have all this CRAP?!" moments. Usually I find that I have more of the latter than the former- especially the closer I get to Moving Day.

While unpacking, the moments are more like "WHY THE H*LL DID I MOVE THIS?!" down from the shelf, into the box, labeled carefully, down the stairs, into the van, out of the van, up the new stairs and onto the new shelf- to be finally unpacked and thrown into the garbage! For example: the little sheath containing five Ritz crackers held closed by a clothespin to keep them from going stale, or the coffee can full of pens that no longer work because they've been sitting in a coffee can for the last three years- no exaggeration, or the bag full of little scraps of fabric (TRASH) from some long-unfinished sewing project, or the ziploc baggie full of orphaned keys and picture mounting hardware. I pulled all these things out of a box today and threw them in the trash. Alone, they seem small and harmless, but together they are nearing a full kitchen trash bag.

Normally I pride myself in my ability to get rid of the things which aren't worth moving (a talent honed by moving at least every one and a quarter years on average for the last ten years). I don't understand how I still have those moments of defeat knowing that I lugged a trash-bag's worth of completely usless and worthless odds and ends all over God's green earth just to chuck them into the trash in a different area of the city/country/world. Does anyone REALLY make art out of the orphaned keys and screws and picture hanging hardware? What about somebody making a quilt out of the scraps of fabric two inches square or less which are left over from a productive day of sewing? And if anyone does those things, are the results really pretty enough for yet another person to BUY? Somehow I doubt it. I have seen the pictures of that house decorated on the outside and inside with "trash" and y'know what? It looks like they glued and nailed trash all over the walls- what a frickin' surprise!

Now, being an Ar-TEEST myself, far be it from me to tell you that your flower-shaped wall-hangings made of old discarded doorknobs is not "art", but c'mon, it's not exactly like people who aren't related to you are approaching you asking to hire you to create a sculpture for their home!

But I digress- Unpacking has it's positive moments too. Like the moment when you see the empty box on the floor, knowing that all your precious ceramic corn-cobs are safe in a cabinet in the bottom, back corner of your basement, right beside the 29-year-old potty chair you're saving for your future grandchildren (I wish that one was hypothetical!!!). That's a good moment. And I'm betting an even better moment is when you finally get to unload that potty chair on your innocent, unsuspecting "next generation." I'll have to keep that potty chair and see how good it feels to give it to my grandkid about 22-25 years from now! Oh, and I will definitely be watching for the disguised look of complete horror that my son-in-law gives me when I say "Here, this belonged to Sam's Father, and now it's for little Joey to learn to pee and poop on! See? You can even fold the back of the seat down and it's a step-stool!!!!!!!"

Lylas,
the I.O.

here I is

2005-09-02T13:50:00.000-05:00

Neener on you, W.O. There's a typo in your post. I thought you were all about the grammar and language stuff. Anyway, I have decided to dedicate this naptime to Blogging, so the outside world sees that I do more than sit on the chaise lounge eating bon-bons all day. (BTW, I've never encountered a single bon-bon in my life. I think they're an urban legend)

Here's my deal. Everyday I have to cram all the useful things I have to do into a time slot that lasts 1 1/2- 2 hours, known to the outside world as "The Kid's Naptime" so mind you this is precious time I'm spending with you time-wasters! (And I know that about 99% of you are reading this at work, so surely you have something really important and official-looking document minimized to click back to if the boss walks by). I am mostly a "HomeMaker" and I occasionally get to leave my house and go to work as a costume designer or a wig/makeup/wardrobe assistant. It's not regular work, but it's flexible and fun, and I haven't had to subject my honey-'chile to the Daycare experience yet, so I love it. We've also just moved into our first non-apartment dwelling, so I am sitting surrounded by boxes and un-hung pictures (something else I should be doing!) thinking about making brownies instead.

As W.O. mentioned, we are sisters- I the younger, she the older- and I am artsy and she is cerebral (a.k.a.- nerd!) We have shared everything from barbies to training bras, to a code with the driveway-light that meant "GET INSIDE NOW BEFORE MOM COMES OUT AND FINDS YOU MAKING OUT WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!" Okay- so that one was mostly for W.O., that hoochie... But anyway we're pretty tight and we both think the other one is funny, so time and blogs will tell if we were sorely mistaken. We hope you enjoy this delicious slice of our grey-matter, and make sure that you don't get caught!

LYLAS!
the Irreverent One

The Scoop on the Blog

2005-09-02T13:49:00.000-05:00

So hi there. We're figuring this thing out, as neither of us are programmer-type geeks or nuthin' (but hey, couldn't you tell, due to the mail-order blog format service choice?). We promise it will get more witty and irreverent once the process is a little further along.

So the deal is this: we've decided that I'm The Witty One (The W.O.) and my sis The Irreverent One (The I.O.), although both of us are also simultaneously possessive of the other quality. (Because, you know, what is sisterhood without a little labeling, right?) I think once we do this some more, the tendencies in each of our commentary will become apparent, and you, dear reader, will say to yourself, "why yes, very aptly have they named themselves." Well, maybe you'll say it differently, unless you're Yoda.

To add a twist, I am an expatriate homemaker (on "extended sabbatical" from a career in international policy), raising two young boys in Seoul, South Korea, for the moment. My sister is a homemaker who is a part-time professional doing design and makeup on the side in while raising one daughter in Indiana. We both have pretty cool husbands, but they'll definitely be fair game from time to time. Of course there will be the mandatory exploits of the rugrats to slaver over, as well. We'll try not to bore you, bwa-ha-ha.

We don't have an agenda and we don't plan to have a cause to harp on, we just figure we have our own viewpoint and lives that, with a little hyperbole, could be mildly amusing. Raising kids has to be done with humor. We have a lot of enthusiasm about this endeavor, some inspiration, and some good ol'-fashioned moxie. We just hope you'll read it, laugh, maybe pee yourself occasionally, and want to tell your friends about this awesome thing you read the other day. So welcome, and we hope you like it. 'Cause if you don't, it's our dang blog. Toodle-oo.

Introduction

2005-08-30T15:11:00.000-05:00

Dood, give us a minute!
LYLAS,
Irreverence