Geisha School Dropout

It's Good to be the Emi (and Giveaway Winner)

This week's random number out of 4 was 1, so congratulations to Erin for winning the Tarte True Blood Book of Shadows palette.  Her sexual fantasies, like mine, lean Sapphic, so I definitely approve. 

Okay, remember about two years ago when I thought Emi was growing up to be a sassafras?  Well, I spoke too damn soon.  3-year-old Emi has got nothing on 5-year-old Emi right when she wakes up.  She definitely isn't a morning person.  

Two recent examples:

Mommy and Daddy were having a boring grown-up conversation in the living room.  Meanwhile Emi wanted to do yet another puppet show.

Emi: “Guys! Enough consequence already, let’s play!”

Dad: Emi! Wake up. What do you want for breakfast?
Emi: Nothing. I’m so sleepy.
Dad: Come on! How about some toast? “Toast is the Most”!!!
Emi: No. “Toast is the Least”. Go away.

And look at the expression on her face.  Tell me that's not the look of total dismissal.  I thought we wouldn't get this from her until she was a teenager!

I swear, she's lucky she's as cute as she is, because heaven knows I would not have been able to get away with that kind of backtalk when I was her age, or any age really.

Also, those of you in Trader Joe's areas, have you guys tried the Fruity-Os?  They are a Fruit Loops knock-off, but they are sooooo delicious, it's not even funny.  Their colors are Pinterest-approved pretty (I assume because they used natural dyes),  they taste like lemon bars, and they stay crunchy in milk.  Our whole family is addicted.

Silent Sunday: Then and Now

Questions from the Audience #3

Anonymous IMer asks: How has your love story with your husband changed since you first fell in love?

Oh, jeepers.  The short, smart-ass answer is, "A shit ton, give or take a shit."  The long answer deserves more time and thought than what I'm about to say here, but I'll limit the focus to just the "love story" part of our relationship (i.e., not our co-parenting, the daily banalities of marriage, or what-have-you), and just from my point of view.

First and foremost, I think it's important to point out that I was 23 when we got married.  I was a baby, and didn't know myself and/or my potential selves, let alone all of the intricacies of Tim's psyche.  All I really knew was that our connection ran deep, like animal-brain, pheromone-level deep.  I could just stare at him for hours, talk to him for days on end, memorize every pore.  My heart rate would palpably slow down if I just leaned into his neck and breathed him in.  And of course, there were fireworks every time we touched.

(Sounds so cheesy and stalkery now!  But I shall go on.)

Because this kind of affection inevitably cuts both ways, and probably also because I was still very much at the mercy of my depression, I really, really needed him.  I had this juvenile desire to spend every moment together, so any meal, movie, or laundry folding session spent apart wounded me.   I also thought the relationship would end quite often, so I would constantly miss him, sometimes even when he was right there next to me.  As you can guess, Tim felt suffocated and would pull away at times, which made me feel worse.  The whole thing was pretty unhealthy, and I really had to grow up quite a bit and learn how to be my own person.  Unfortunately, this was when I was also trying to figure out how to be a mother, so Isaac's early years were tumultuous for Tim and I couple-wise.

Nowadays, things are much more stable.  I still like to smell him, but I'm more comfortable in my own skin.  I've developed and nurtured my own self-identity, learned to recognize where I end and other people begin.  So now I'm fine being alone, with or without the kids, and that's very much a good thing.  Having a home to call our own with the little family farm out back helped me greatly, too.  Once we were able to put down roots somewhere, my spirit really started growing.

We still can talk for hours, make each other laugh, and we go out a couple times a month to concerts, movies, dinners, drinks, etc.  But now the stakes aren't so high, perceived rejections aren't constantly plaguing me, and I feel more relaxed.  There are still fireworks, but toned down a smidge because our house is small and Emi has an uncanny "business time" spidey sense.  I think she wants to ensure she's the baby of the family.

So, moral of the story is: relationships are extremely tough to sustain because you are not just dealing with two people over a certain period; you are also dealing with the people they morph into over the years as well as the shifting whirlpools of their environment.  So at any given slice of time, are the partners compatible at that moment?  Hopefully so, but chances are there will be time periods of incompatibility.  And I think that's okay.  If you're really in it for the long haul, when you look over at your partner and find an almost-complete stranger who isn't up to snuff, at some point you will have to think, "I will wait; this person is worth waiting for."  Of course, the two of you could always find other people who are already at the levels you need, but what's the fun in that?  :P

Happy Birthday, Isaac!

Hey, sleepy little conehead baby, guess what?  You are now 8!!!  Can you believe it?

Little boy no more, you're pretty inarguably a big kid now.  However, I'll still call you Bu.  Hey, 23 hours of labor and almost dying from blood loss earns me the right, don't you think?

Yesterday, you asked me what was the primary reason why I loved you.  "Is it because I'm your son?"  And I said no, it was your big, kind heart that fills me up with such joy and love.  Lately, we have been on your case a lot, trying to help you learn how to pay attention to people around you; recognize them as full-fledged human beings with their own history, desires, and feelings; and to act accordingly.  And ironically, by doing so, we are starting to get on your nerves.  :)  However, I assure you that no matter how many times we lecture you or seem frustrated, we never doubt your sincerity of spirit and best intentions, and will never, ever stop loving you.  

Just a quick little story to illustrate how adorable you are: As a Thanksgiving baby, you take Christmas Creep personally. "Why can't they leave November to Thanksgiving and Christmas to December? What's the big deal about Christmas anyway? Presents? But there's no LOVE in presents! Thanksgiving's so much better!"

May you always be Isaac the Brave, Isaac the Determined, Isaac the Just, Isaac the Strong, Isaac the Inquisitive, Isaac the Resilient, Isaac the Hungry. 

Questions from the Audience #1

Sonya writes: What would your 33 year-old self say to your 13 year-old self?

Okay, attempting to channel myself at 13...seventh grader at a 7-12th grade academic magnet school, falling in love with every junior and senior boy who walked passed me in the halls, all perms and bangs and glasses and braces and biker shorts.  I was on the chubby side and clumsy, but was very interested in current music, movies, and fashion.  Basically invisible to the popular people, especially the upperclassmen, but my friends and I were tight.  Our clique was known for being goodie two-shoes, and within that group I was already deemed a bit of a loose cannon with the loud laugh.

First and foremost, I wanted to be a cheerleader.  At the time, they represented all that was awesome about America.  I loved the uniforms, even in our school's colors of brown, gold, and white, and dreamed about one day being able to get a set of my own, putting my hair up in a ribboned high ponytail, and having a smiley sorority of friends.

To that end, I auditioned for the junior high pep squad early in the year.  It was my first time learning a choreographed routine, and my try-out was abysmal at best.  Needless to say, I didn't make it, but one of my best friends did, and although I was crushed, I was sincerely thrilled for her.  She actually went on to be a member of the pep squad every year, and was the varsity squad captain our senior year.  She even let me try on her uniform (didn't zip up, but still thrilling)!  And although I was sad, I knew I had a lot of specific skills to work on, so I wasn't too discouraged.

Life went on.  I didn't try out for cheer in 8th grade, recognizing that my body was getting even more uncoordinated as I was going through some uneven growth spurts.  But I did try out for junior varsity mascot, thoroughly convinced that my combination of goofiness and sassiness would be such a great asset to the noble field of Mascotry, but I still wasn't what they were looking for.  Then every following year, I auditioned for mascot again, giving it my best at the time, and every year my biology teacher would frown sympathetically and tell me the bad news.

Until junior year, that is.  I finally was able to dance convincingly enough and choreographed a hilarious routine with my audition partner.  Because I would be a senior the following year, that officially made me varsity mascot captain!  (Oh, the power and the glory!  Ha ha ha!)  But during mascot camp, something really clicked between me, my team, and my mascot instructor.  We were awesome!  I was even invited to audition to become an instructor myself.  I was on top of my little bitty world, and I was so grateful for every second of it.

Therefore, I don't know what I would tell that 7th grade girl.  She had more gumption and guts than I do now.  If I told her not to attempt the things that would absolutely break her heart, would she really benefit?  So much strength, courage, and humor came from that suffering.  

I would just hug her and tell her to just do her thing, but maybe tell her to not get so sad when things do start to get harder in the later teen years.  That people were and will be cruel to her, and to realize that it was their problem, not hers.  That Kurt Cobain is going to kill himself the next year, and from then on, the romanticism of suicide will crawl into her psyche and take residence there, seemingly harmless, until it really threatens her life in college.  Maybe just watch out for that, and don't let it cut her so deep.

Also, in college, keep her head up; keep going to class, no matter how dismally she performed on her first midterms.  There is so much glory in redemption, none in self-destruction.  Don't give up.  Channel the girl who tried out for pep squad every single year with the same optimism and spirit.

Oh, and if she want to dance with that boy, go up to him and ask.  Lots of dances wasted on waiting.

---------------------------------

Do you have a question for me? You can ask me anything, about motherhood, depression, not living up to your parents' expectations, my personal Top 5, hobbies, what I'm wearing, anything!  Please comment below or email me.

Writer's Block Again! Embarrassing Story Time!

Today's embarrassing story brought to you by Oasis!

Okay, so I was at an Oasis concert at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in San Francisco when I was a sophomore in college (so that would be around 97/98).  They were playing "Champagne Supernova" and the crowd was going wild.  Then the really long guitar solo part came on and Liam Gallagher started wandering around the stage, dead-eyed, trying to convince girls to flash him.  He looked STRAIGHT AT ME and made a motion with his hands to pull my top up.  I did the whole "Who, Me?" shrug and pointed to my chest.  He nodded and tilted his head, like he was saying, "Well, come on, then!"  And so I took a moment to think about it.

I must have taken too long because the instant I yanked my shirt up, he pivoted and started walking the other way.  Therefore, I flashed the people in the audience staring at me instead.  I was so mortified, I didn't want to pull my shirt back down and show people my face, so I was frozen there.  However, Liam did turn back, took a glance, and gave me and my "girls" a thumbs-up.  Whew! 

----------------------------------

Please help me from future embarrassment!  I will blatantly copy my Kimchi Sister jooliyah and take questions.  You can ask me anything, about motherhood, depression, not living up to your parents' expectations, my personal Top 5, hobbies, what I'm wearing, anything!  Please comment below or email me.

 

Here's the buzzer...it's confession time!

 

I told myself that if I stared at an empty "Compose New Post" screen for too long, I will force myself to cough up some embarrassing story.  And now it's almost 11:00 pm, and I need to post something or else I'm disqualified from NaBloPoMo!  Ack!

I've already told you all pretty much everything.  My fetish for distinctive noses, my tendency to get mistaken for someone with mental handicaps, my traumatizing one-night stand that made me hate Valentine's Day forever.  What else is there to confess?  Oh yes, there are TONS.

I was actually reminded of this one last week on my birthday.  One of my former students wished a happy birthday to a someone with the initials GBK.  And again, today, my friend left me a voicemail saying that she thought at first she didn't have my phone number in her new phone because there was no entry for "Julie," but lo and behold, she found me under "GBK."

GBK is an unfortunate nickname bestowed unto me my sophomore year of college.  I was hanging out with my next door neighbors, and as was typical for us, the conversation drifted towards pornography.  There may have been alcohol involved.  There were definitely red Dixie cups involved, and we all know those mean nothing but trouble.

Do you know the porn name convention of your first name being the name of your first pet, then your last name being the street you grew up on?  We were laughing at each others', and then it was my turn to figure mine out, and it was Bunny Stonegrove, which I thought was an amazing porn name.

Then the heavens split open, and my friend Mike widened his eyes like he was touched by the wang of Ron Jeremy himself, and he said "Noooo way, Julie.  Your porn name would be..." and when he uttered the words, my spirit crumbled into a million pieces because I knew this one was bad enough to  stick.  And it did.  To this day, my best friends and closest acquaintances lovingly refer to me as Gang Bang Kang.

Hopefully now I have embarrassed myself into taking NaBloPoMo more seriously.  I shudder to think of the Google search keywords that will now show up on my analytics report.

Guess Which One's Goofus

Remember these morality tales from "Highlights for Children"?  I observed one in real life, although of course, things were not as cut and dried as in the comic.

Isaac had a playdate yesterday with a classmate we'll call Bobby.  Bobby is a good kid from a very warm, kind family, and the two boys make very natural friends.

Today, though, my mama spidey-sense tingled as I heard them argue about something.  Apparently, Isaac was rooting through Tim's change bowl for quarters to add to his state quarter collection, and Bobby was afraid Isaac was stealing from his father.

"Isaac, no!  You can't steal money!"

Isaac was confused because our family has more of a community property vibe.  Aside from our laptops, underwear, and a few other private things, everything else is pretty much fair game for the kids, as long as the reasons for exploring are legit, as in this case.  Bobby didn't know that, though, so he went on as Isaac continued grabbing coins from the change bowl.

"Isaac, I'm going to tell your mother if you keep doing that."  

I'm sure if Isaac was a more aware or a stronger verbal person, he would explain that it wasn't actually stealing, but being the boy of few words and little introspection he is,  he just kept going.

"Isaac, stealing is wrong!  Please don't do it.  Isaac, I will give you a quarter if you stop stealing."  

Isaac stopped then, and said, "Really?  Where is it?  Give me a quarter."  

Maternal FACEPALM.

Bobby is not even seven  years old, yet he has such a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong.  I couldn't help but admire him and his parents for that.  We really struggle with Isaac in that area.  His empathy skills are not fully developed; he honestly cannot put himself in other people's shoes without a full hands-on guide.  He also cannot analyze a situation as it is unraveling.  So instilling values into him is a bit like teaching a goldfish values.  He is eager to please, he really wants to learn, but the lessons don't stick, so we end up just repeating ourselves over the years.

Example: we've been telling him to stop touching people's faces without their permission since he was 1.5 years old.  And still, to this day, he occasionally will just reach up and squeeze my cheeks together or cover my eyes with his grubby hands.  It's not an everyday occurrence anymore, but still, his ego has a ways to grow before catching up to his id.

Don't get me wrong; Bobby learns from Isaac in a lot of other areas, and they always have a great time together.  Isaac encourages him to be more adventurous, to crack jokes, to find their own solutions after a conflict or a mess.  Like now:

"Ooh!  Bobby, I found Hawaii!  Let's see if we have Hawaii!"

The boys scurried towards Isaac's desk and high-fived each other when they discovered that indeed, the slot for Hawaii was vacant.

---------------------------------

PS: In case you're wondering why I didn't step in, I think it's important to let children at least make a first attempt at handling things themselves before stepping in.  I learned this when trying to teach Emi and Isaac to say "Thank you" when people give them things.  I used to just automatically say, "Now what do you say?" and they will parrot back "Thank you!"  But then it turned out that they learned to just wait for me to prompt them and would forget to say it when I didn't, so I stopped myself.  And now, they remember do it themselves (most of the time, heh heh).  It's definitely a very fine line between directing kids towards the correct behaviors vs. micro-managing their every move.

Why There Needs to be a Different Standard of Depression for Koreans

When I feel like shit, it's hard to tell the cause: is it stress in my life, my mood disorder, or merely because I am Korean?

Talk to any Korean person of my parents' generation about depression, and most likely they will equate it with laziness ("When we don't want to get out of bed or work hard, we don't call it depressed"),  privilege ("They don't have to worry about anything else"), or  insanity ("Are you going to tear up your clothes and put flowers in your hair?").  They just don't view it as a real chronic illness.

But yet, it obviously exists, even for Korean people.  Domestic violence, alcohol and drug abuse, and suicide are major societal problems, and those often are side effects of mood disorders.

I'm starting to wonder if the problem lies in the usual criteria for diagnosis.  If you look at the normal list of symptoms for depression and you knew Korean people at all, it seems like we are ALL depressed!

According to the Mayo Clinic, depression symptoms include:

• Feelings of sadness or unhappiness
• Irritability or frustration, even over small matters
• Frequent thoughts of death, dying or suicide
• Crying spells for no apparent reason

In Korea, these are all considered normal.  We even have a word for it: han.  An excellent article in the LA Times on han can be found here.  We all carry around a sadness and trauma that is so ingrained it might as well be part of our genome.  Suffering and death are recurring themes in our art, our folklore, our history.  Hell, it's even the main philosophy of kimchi: preserve everything you can for the day -- and that day definitely will come -- when there is nothing.  It is the reason why when you piss off your mom, she says things like "Do you want me to die now?  Will that make you happy?"  Sigh.

• Reduced sex drive
• Feelings of worthlessness or guilt, fixating on past failures or blaming yourself when things aren't going right
• Changes in appetite — depression often causes decreased appetite and weight loss, but in some people it causes increased cravings for food and weight gain
• Agitation or restlessness — for example, pacing, hand-wringing or an inability to sit still
• Unexplained physical problems, such as back pain or headaches
• Loss of interest or pleasure in normal activities
• Insomnia or excessive sleeping

These things are also very common...but these I put the blame squarely on nurture, not nature.  I am still convinced that my parents had sex only two times in their lives: that is why my sister and I exist.  And Korean parents are the kings of the extreme guilt complex, unconstructive criticism, harsh-ass punishments, mysterious aches and pains, the neverending war against dust and hair on the floor, and equating food with love...which take care of the rest.  Again, a Korean would look at that list and think, "Yeah, so what?"

• Slowed thinking, speaking or body movements
• Indecisiveness, distractibility and decreased concentration
• Fatigue, tiredness and loss of energy — even small tasks may seem to require a lot of effort
• Trouble thinking, concentrating, making decisions and remembering things

These might be real bellweathers for us, but then again if I told my Korean doctor that I felt these symptoms, he would probably give me some nasty Chinese herbal potion to flush out my liver and reprimand me for being fat (in all seriousness, my childhood doctor's nickname for me was "Cow" and would constantly nag me to take diet pills.  He was a friend of my dad's.).  Maybe some Korean-specific research needs to be done, so we can get an idea of what depression looks like for us, or maybe we are indeed all afflicted with it.

Poetry, Oh No-etry!

Tim was toodling around with Garage Band this weekend, and he asked the kids to spit out some song lyrics.  Here is a sampling of what they came up with; I was very surprised (and more than a little heartbroken) by the dark imagery:

there's a flower that's prettier than the others
it spins when the wind hits it
the flower wants to have 18 petals
right now it has no petals
people picked them all 

Isaac (age 7.5)

 

home was home
home was fragile
i saw a sign that said no thank you.
when i was old,
i was strong and i flipped through the air
one day i saw a little star in the morning
i saw a sign that said No!
one day i went into the garden
and i saw myself floating on a lily pad

Emi (age 4.5)

Man, was that depressing or what?  Isaac's little petals ravaged by the envious hordes, and Emi sounds like Ophelia floating down the river!  I resolved to start playing less Radiohead and more Mother Goose around the house.  My poor little babies!

Which reminds me: I have discovered that my kids have huge gaping holes in their nursery rhyme knowledge bank.  When prompted, Isaac couldn't fully recite "Humpty Dumpty," and he had never even heard of "The Muffin Man."  How was that possible?  I totally freaked out and went into intense stage mom mode, drilling him on the last line of "London Bridge" and barking at him to repeat it back to me.  I then freaked Tim out while maniacally singing all EIGHT verses of "Mary Had a Little Lamb," and so I recomposed myself for fear of additionally scarring the children.  I couldn't help the gusto; nursery rhymes were the bread and butter of 1980's ESL classes, and they brought back lots of very old memories!

Apparently the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences (NIEHS) also takes Mother Goose and Raffi way too seriously, because they have compiled a comprehensive list with links to full lyrics and MIDI files on their website.  Let the educatin' commence!