Geisha School Dropout

A Letter to my Friend

Dear Sherry,

It's been 2 weeks now.  In your memory, I got to reconnect with some of our old friends, and when we were hanging out at TGI Friday's the evening of your service, I kept thinking that you should have been there, sipping on champagne and smoking a cigarette like a supermodel, putting people in their places when they started acting uppity. 

You were my first friend when I started at my new school in 4th grade.  Thank you for reaching out to me, for coming to my birthday party when you didn't know me for that long.  You also lost your dad that year, and shortly after that you became my first bully.  At the time I was too hurt and confused to know why, but now I see that you were angry at me for still being a starry-eyed, happy-go-lucky baby when you were forced into maturity too early. I couldn't join you on that journey, and for that I am sorry.

In high school, you were the queen bee of the alternative kids.  You and your friends were the most beautiful girls in our class, a living Benetton advertisement, way too cool for us nerds.  Always with precociously impeccable taste, years ahead of everyone else in regards to music, fashion, hobbies.  Come to think of it, you were possibly the only truly interesting person in our class.  Everyone else was still so cautious and eager to please, not ready for the real world, still kids in that way.

I remember Hollywood.  Countless nights driving up the 101, singing along to Britpop anthems, getting off on Sunset, winding down that great boulevard with nothing but a pack of cigarettes and a desire for adventure.  You knew all the bouncers, and the ones you didn't know let us in anyway.  Once inside, you picked out the men and boys who would become our patrons for the evening.  In spite of the booze and recreational drugs, it was seriously good, clean fun (as clean as LA gets, I suppose).  It was a gift to see you laugh and enjoy yourself.  I enjoyed being your wingman, thank you for the memories.  In my mind, that stretch of Sunset will always be yours.

I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch.  I had so many demons to face between then and now, I'm sorry I couldn't help you with yours. Another journey I couldn't follow you on.

I'm sorry,
Julie

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Elegy:

Come as you are sweetheart, come as you are
You know you've got nothing to prove
I'll put you to bed, you can let it all go
You've been playing too rough lately

You burn too bright
You live too fast
This can't go on too long
You're a tragedy starting to happen

Just as you are, perfect just as you are
I'll give you the time you deserve
Don't make those promises
Don't tell me again
That dust is gonna settle your nerves

You burn too bright
You live too fast
This can't go on too long
You're a tragedy starting to happen

Vive la Difference!

After our meeting with Emily's teacher, Tim and I knew there was a cosmic disconnect between our philosophies and core values.  Teacher yammered on about the importance of obedience and respect in the classroom, which of course we agree with, but hello, once again, Emily is 2 and has no idea what those concepts are.  Where we disconnect is whether she should know or not.  I think Emily's not ready cognitively to not make a stink when she doesn't get her way.  Her teacher thinks she is, so when Emily screeches and throws a book on the ground because Teacher says it's not reading time, I say she's just frustrated and doesn't have the ability to control her emotions, and Teacher sees it as purposeful rebellion and insubordination.  (Of course, the devil in me wonders, why the hell wouldn't you just read her the book?)

So I asked a friend of mine about her daughter's school, and yesterday we paid a visit.  We brought Emily and when we entered through the white picket fence, we were immediately greeted by extraordinarily happy kids, playing outside with a variety of kid-friendly, hands-on activities.  They all got to choose what they wanted to do, and were free to switch at any time.  There was one teacher reading a story to a small group of kids, a few kids around a sand and water play table, a bunch of kids on a huge playground, a few kids even chilling out on lounge chairs.  The director greeted us warmly, and when we reached down to introduce Emi we noticed she was long gone.  She even made a friend, and the two of them just stood in front of each other, saying "Hi!  Hi!  Hi!"  She was absolutely giddy, and only looked at us occasionally, as if wondering why we haven't left by then.

There were 14 kids in total, ranging from 2 to 4, which is a lot larger than our current daycare but didn't feel chaotic because there were 4 super-observant teachers keeping things in line.  There were hardly any conflicts because there were so many resources, all the kids felt comfortable and non-possessive.  Apparently most of the day is spent in child-centered free play, with directed activities sprinkled throughout in 15-30 minute chunks.  We told the director what Teacher said of Emi, and she immediately asked us, "Is she bored?  She sounds like she's bored."  We shrug and say maybe, we're not sure.  She frowned slightly and said, "Oh, 2-year-olds all have their moments, it's up to the adults to help them through the moments, not alienate them."  She told us how teachers in So Cal generally do not try to use distraction as a discipline technique and are especially punitive, as if they were still learning about early childhood education from textbooks from the 70's.  I also think Teacher is overstretched and wants the same formula to apply to all the kids.

So Emily will smell you later, Teacher.  And you can keep the quiet, easy kids, since apparently that's all you can handle.  And Tim and I will trust our instincts more and not allow any teachers bully the Mangs into compliance.

Sit Tight

I just got some bad news: an old friend has died.  Our relationship was a complicated one, so this is hitting me in a weird place.  I might be gone for a few days.

To bide the time, you can stare at this for 10 minutes a day.  It really does look like me!

(Taken from Horkblog)

My Daughter Breaks the Geneva Conventions

Dear Tim and Julie,

Today's meeting is to address my continuing concern regarding Emily's behavior.  Concerning behavior is as follows:

1. Screaming/grunting/whining to obtain needs/wants
2. Screaming/grunting/whining due to not getting what she wants
3. Screaming/grunting/whining due to not wanting to do something asked
4. Screaming for abnormally long periods of time
5. Throwing things in anger/frustration
6. Shouting "NO!" and refusing to comply with/to teachers
7. Continuing to seek/use the pacifier when problem arise

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God, doesn't Emily sound like a total shit or what?  And, at the same time, she sounds like she's 2.

But wait:

This behavior has been observed and addressed not only by me, but by the 4 substitute teachers that have worked in the schoolhouse as well as parents of other students within our school family.  Our students have been affected by this behavior both emotionally and physically.

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Doesn't that sound horrible?  She is inflicting more damage to her fellow classmates than the CIA is supposed to inflict on terrorism suspects.  There is now a huge line in the sand: SHE IS HURTING THE OTHER KIDS, YOU FUCKS, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?

At home, Emily definitely does the things listed above, but not to that scale, not to the level where we would think she was abnormal.  She definitely acts worse in school.  Her teacher chalks it up to us coddling her, or undoing the lessons she's teaching her.  Or maybe it's because Emily feels loved and listened to at home.  I have no idea.

When Isaac was her age, he went to daycares where he became part of a family.  This place is more like a school, full of things they are only allowed to touch at certain times, and only in certain ways.  There's no room in the schedule for a willful, bellowing whirlwind.  Plus there's a philosophical disconnect:   When I see Emily at her worst, I see spirit; her teacher sees disrespect.  How does one reconcile that?

I think it might be time to start looking for a better place for Emily.

PS: To explain why I am so angry and defensive, it's because it hits so close to home.  I was probably like this too...and my mom dealt with it the only way she knew how: she beat it out of me.  Even doing that, though, it still took a few years.  And it took me even more years to heal from that and get my spirit back.  So yeah, there's more than a bit of projection going on.

Shut Up, Dummy

I usually hate confrontation, but sometimes, it just has to happen.  I was over at the Red Cross giving blood when my Conservative Blowhard Spidey-Sense starting tingling towards the direction of the recovery snack table.

"Hey Obama, you stand him next to Lenin, there's no difference, man.  Well, except for THAT difference, huh huh huh."  I groaned and concentrated on bleeding.  When that didn't work, I stuck my nose into the novel I brought with me, "The Namesake," and I wondered what Jhumpa Lahiri would say about this man.  That was enough to drown him out.  But I did hear him claim he wasn't a conservative, he was just "a free-thinking independent."

Once I was done with my donation, I shuffled over to the snack table and grabbed some Oreos.  The Blowhard walked towards me and rubbed my shoulder, "You feeling okay?  You feeling strong?" 

"I would feel better if you stepped back a couple feet."

"Oh, sorry."  He obeyed.  "So, what did you do for Easter?"

"I took my kids to an Easter egg hunt and paid my socialist taxes."

"So, uh, guess what I learned the other day?  You know how most people think men choose babies?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Like, whether the baby is a boy or girl.  Most people think the sperm chooses?  Well, guess what?  It's not true!  I, you know, hang around some PhD guys, and they told me the truth."  Then he went on to tell me that women create an "environment" for the sperm, and if the environment is nice, the "male sperm" is faster and gets to the egg faster.  But if the environment is not nice, then the "slower, clumsier female sperm" survives longer than male sperm, and will wait around for the egg.  I kid you not.

Then he started talking about immigrants.  "Oh, you don't gotta speak English anymore, all this ESL and the road signs in Spanish.  Listen, I don't have cable so I watch a lot of Spanish TV, and you know what?  All they show are ways illegal immigrants can get government money.  THEY'RE learning how to take OUR money through the TV!  Is that legal, I dunno."

I started clearing my part of the table just then.  I had no time for anti-immigration rhetoric.  But he fucking kept going.  "Hey, I know we're all immigrants here.  My ancestors were Irish.  When they came here, oh, 1801 or so, guess what?  It was learn English or get the hell out of Dodge, right?  Did you know the Irish have their own language?"

"Yes, I know that."

"Right!  Well, I don't know it, because they came to America, and learned English.  Like look at you, your English is good.  The Mexicans, they don't gotta learn any, they have all these government services."

I grabbed my purse and stood up.  I felt a little dizzy, but I couldn't handle it anymore.  I decided to let 'er rip.  "Listen, when your ancestors came here, the Americans didn't like them either, for the same exact reasons.  I don't appreciate you spewing your bullshit to people who are doing a great service for their communities, many of which are immigrants.  EXCUSE ME!"  I yelled to the Red Cross staff.  "This man is a racist creep and he needs to get out of here!"  Then I exited.

On my chest is a sticker that says, "Be nice to me, I gave blood today."  That just about sums it all up.

A Mang Easter

Baskets pre-loaded with gifts from the grandparents Easter Bunny.


We later went to my parents' country club (gag) for Easter Brunch and Egg Hunt. Emi makes full use of the buffet.


The children were both frightened of this Easter Bunny, which was similar to the creepy bunny from Donnie Darko.



The kids waited till The Easter Bunny left to take a piss, then fooled around in his Throne area.


And the Hunt begins!






This is my mom elbow-deep in shrubbery looking for Easter eggs. She was barking military-style orders to Isaac, things like "You can get a better view from above!" and "I'll take this quadrant, you stake out the perimeter!" At one point she cried, “Got an egg!” but she was holding a driving range golf ball. Sigh, my mom rocks.


Emi, Emi, quite contrary.


Easter kiddie putt. Isaac drew a crowd but didn't sink any. So off to golf camp he goes.

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If you want to read about how our friend-making hamburger and hot dog night went, I wrote it up as a guest post at Kimchi Mamas.  Lots of interesting comments there as well, it turns out we're not the only dirty hippie Asian family in the world.

And if you want to read a horrific story of What Happened to the Children While Mama Went to Get a Pedicure, check out Tim's sad account of what went down.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.

I've Been Pwned

Lately Tim has been getting really agitated by my speaking style.  I am the Cerberus who guards the gates of Intelligible Discourse:

One head only says "Like".

The next, "You know".

The last head says other words, but it upspeaks.  That's referring to my way of speaking?  Like I was asking a question?  Even when I'm actually teaching you something?

All three combined make me sound like you should not take anything I say seriously?  Because, like, you know, I talk like I'm pre-menarche?  As in, like, not what a 30-year-old Mom should, like, say? 

I'm working on it, but it is harder than quitting cigarettes, carbs, and sex all at the same time.  Getting rid of all my verbal crutches is especially impossible when I'm nervous in any way, because then I just talk faster and change my mind mid-sentence and pretty soon my audience has no fucking clue what I'm trying to say at all.  Poor Tim, I can't just email him what I really mean.

Anyway, here's poet Taylor Mali totally putting me in my place:

Letting the Family Freak Flag Fly

Today was pretty weird.  The day was stained by some drama going down in the nonprofit group Tim and I are volunteering for (we pick fruit from people's backyards, then give the pickings to local food banks).  The leader doesn't get along with Tim and wants us both out; I, however, want to work things out because in my opinion, we're all adults here, working for a great cause, no ego tripping allowed.  But apparently my point of view is not shared by the founder; anyway, today was tinged with bitterness because of that.

The kids picked up on our tension and started going nuts, so outside we went.  We visited with a couple of our neighbors we hadn't seen all winter; it's funny how the first few warm days will bring out the conversationalist in anyone.  That felt nice.

Then off to lunch at Long Beach Fish Grill, and a stop at the nursery to pick up the newest members of our family, a grapevine and a grape tomato plant.  In they went into our ever-improving soil.

Then Emi napped while we watched a couple episodes of "Planet Earth."  Which got me thinking about the whole picking club drama again, and my hackles started raising.  So off we went to Chik-Fil-A for dinner while the kiddos played in the play structure.

We then went to Whole Foods to buy stuff for a cookout we're having tomorrow with some potential new friends.  Finding family friends is seriously 10 times harder than dating; all possible permutations of connections have to mesh, plus it seems like people nowadays view each other as disposable sources of entertainment: they bail out so quickly when things get a little bit hard.  Tim and I just want some buddies.  And if they have kids, hopefully our kids would be buddies.  That's all.  But again, personalities clash, people flake, then it's over.  But we have high hopes for this family.  We are feeding them hamburgers and hot dogs.  Hopefully they'll stick around. 

On the drive home, there were two teen boys with a sign saying HUNGRY and they also wrote down their ultimate destination.  They had a dog with them, and I felt a twang of sympathy but also excited for their adventure.  Isaac rolled down his window and waved Hi.  They snarled, "Hey!  We could so totally grab your kid and pull him out of the car right now, or break his arms.  We're not kidding."  Isaac continued waving, saying "Hi!  Hi!"  They didn't reciprocate, obviously.  The light turned just then, and I thought maybe if they weren't such pricks, they'd have better luck in their journey.

Why are we having such trouble with people lately?  Are we the assholes?  If so, what the hell do we do about it?

As a form of therapy, Tim and I belted the chorus of Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There For You" full blast, harmonized and everything.  He was Jon Bon Jovi and I was Richie Sambora.  We sounded awesome, and I couldn't stop laughing.  If we are assholes, at least we somehow found each other through the haze of human body parts.  For this alone I know we are lucky, but I can't shake the feeling that mankind loses out when people separate into these disparate clans, little nuclear families going through the same phases but not helping each other through them, having no idea how much they actually depend on other people to survive.

Update on the Family

I haven't written about the other members of the family in a while, having had my attention focused on my middle finger.  So here's a quick rundown on how we're doing.

Tim got laid off from Google and times have been tough.  We tried to live on my salary alone, but quickly fell behind on our mortgage payments, so we decided to rent our house out while we lived in the backyard.  The weather has been very pleasant lately, and the kids are really learning how to enjoy themselves with very little.  As for the adults, we still have our computers and use our neighbors' unprotected wireless networks for Internet access.

Here is little Emily asleep in her doggy bed:

(Where are the poor dogs, you may wonder.  Well, Riley decided to head west to seek his fortune, and Maggie has returned to her ancestral estate in Wales.  Occasionally she sends a few tuppence home from her shepherding revenues.)

We're hoping this situation is temporary, but along with millions of other Americans, we're forced to take on other jobs to make a little extra money.  Since I'm still working full-time, there's very little I can do, but I realized, the kids have all this free time during the day, we decided they had to start pulling their weight.

So Isaac and Emily pick fruit twice a week (you can see the economy is affecting other families with children as well):

And on his off days, Isaac plays Pachinko for some fast, easy money.  He is actually quite good!:

Then, for some variety, on the weekends we participate in some old fashioned street corner busking.  Isaac draws chalk figures on the sidewalk:

Then Emily sings and dances and really reels in the spare change:

Look at her taking a bow!:

So, the Mangs are sticking together, even in these hard times.

We wish you and yours a wonderful April Fools' Day!