Geisha School Dropout

The Legacy of Bullying, Continued

I feel like I left the readers in a lurch at the end of my little anecdote last week.  Reliving the moment when Kevin (who is now the godfather of my children) rebuked me back into existence rendered me incapable of blathering further.

So let's see...I barely got through college.  Tim actually helped me in my last semester, being my project partner when no one in my actual class would pair up with me (that is a whole separate can of worms).  But Cs get degrees, and I finally received mine the June of 2002.

Nowadays, I am good.  I purposefully opted out of the ambitious rat race the Stanford Computer Science department trains you for, but I still have a toe dipped into the pool of technology.  Just a toe, though, so I don't get too overwhelmed again.  I still get to show by example that whether you're a man or a woman, you contribute your talents and make your own living.  I get to work with colleagues I respect and adore, in an industry that fascinates me, earning a decent wage, while I get to be home for my children.   It's unorthodox and probably doesn't make sense to my old academic advisor or to anyone really, but this life has its own unique balance and harmony, much like me.

Every time I hear that another observant, empathic, sensitive, beautiful kid gave up after too many battles with the cruelty of others, a part of me also dies.  I have felt that viscous sludge of helplessness and loneliness that comes with knowing I didn't fit in anywhere.  And I know first-hand that those kinds of kids are experts at concealing their suffering.  In the past, I have tried to distract myself from my misery by being the busiest, most helpful, most outwardly happy person in the room.  I have at certain times worn the ache like a fur stole, a status symbol of dysfunction, rolling my eyes at those unfamiliar with the DSM-IV and the rest of the mental health world.  How ignorant they seemed in their little bubbles of shallow happiness!  Other times, I was punk rock confrontational, daring the normal people of the world to label me a freak, then scaring them to pieces with my I-have-nothing-left-to-lose antics.  Other times, I would only have the energy to poke at the ache like a downed power line and relish the jolt of fresh pain, occasionally remembering to eat or call my mother and regale her with more stories of how well I'm doing.

I am better than most at recognizing the children who hurt, but am still at a loss at what to do to help them other than offering my story and my shoulder to lean on.

I wonder if all our children would benefit from an emotional intelligence curriculum, taught alongside reading, writing, and mathematics.  There is a certain literacy to understanding human behavior...to recognize what you are feeling and how to safely express the feeling, and how to interact with others and their myriad of feelings.  Some of it is instinctual, but more and more I see that very important parts have to be learned.  For example, it may be instinctual for most children to see a crying face and recognize that the person is sad, but it is not instinctual for kids like Isaac to remember to regularly scan his friends' faces for that feedback.  In the past, he would heckle and tease to his heart's content without realizing his playmate's feelings were getting hurt.  The friend would then walk away in a huff, and Isaac was left thinking to himself, "Geez, what's his problem?"  It took a lot of training to get him to REALLY look at people's faces, to observe, to ask permission, to cooperate, to seek the opinions of others, and he still doesn't do it all the time.  It would be amazing if he and his classmates got the same message from his teacher as well.  In the meantime, we forge ahead, hoping that he and Emi will be happy and depression-free, but will know who to turn to if they are not.

The Legacy of Bullying

Please watch this video!

 

"To This Day," by Shane Koyczan

Like most good poetry, this video made me realize that I had known this truth, "They were wrong," but didn't have words for it until the poet uttered them for me.  Instinctually, the other day when Emi came home in tears because a boy in her class said her pig drawing was ugly, the first thing I asked her was, "Do you believe him?  Do you think your drawing was ugly?"  And when she said no, her pig was fabulous, I knew deep down she would be fine, for now at least.

Three words form the key to taking all power away from a bully, to know in your gut that they're full of shit.  Or at the very least, to briefly entertain the notion: what if they were wrong?  What if they were lying just to make you feel bad, and make themselves feel better because of it?

I remember the what if, that infinitesimal possibility that maybe I wasn't a crybaby, or a freak, or a "retard," or a fat walrus (or was it elephant seal?).  Most of the time I definitely believed their words.  I remember walking on my tiptoes everywhere because a boy once told me I made the windows rattle with every step I took.  I remember the day my so-called friend printed and distributed a newsletter about me to everyone in my class, pointing out all of my imperfections, from my belly to my laugh.

But somehow, my soul must have asked at the right times, "Wouldn't it be totally funny if they were wrong?" because I survived all that.  

Stranger in a Strange Land

The kids and I sat down at our local teriyaki place, next to a couple in their 50s with their buddy. They were very conspicuously complaining about all the taxes they have to pay this year, including a THOUSAND dollars to THAT OBAMA (I assume they make the check straight out to him?), and how they're not taking it anymore and they're going to just not pay it because that money is going directly to welfare queens and aborting babies and death panels and Muslims and...

...so I told the kids to pack up their stuff because we're moving to another table.

I tried to give them my best Korean Mom Death Stare along the way. They quieted down after they realized that they were out of their usual bubble.

This happened in Long Beach, California, a diverse city compared to most of the country.  And yet, it is apparently not diverse enough, since people like them still feel like they can proclaim their misinformed, bigoted thoughts without repercussion.  Obviously, people are entitled to their own opinions, but it's the pure vitriol in which these opinions are uttered that disturbs me.  And of course, if they were the first people I encountered bad-mouthing the poor, the disabled, or the race, nationality, supposed religion, or character of our president, I wouldn't have bothered writing about it.  But attitudes like these are prevalent here.

Even my next door neighbor, whom my children adore and who has many times helped us settle into our home, holds frightening views on Latin Americans and other  immigrants.  He doesn't know that I, like many other permanent residents and naturalized citizens, was at one point an illegal immigrant.  

A family who lives a few houses down sent their two young girls canvassing the neighborhood in support of Proposition 8.  When I tried to explain to these girls how I aligned myself with the gay community and believed in marriage equality for all, they looked sincerely frightened of me.

Across the street from them, another lady runs a daycare in her home, and she told Tim to watch out for other daycares in the neighborhood who hire minorities and illegals, when he called her to enquire whether she had room for Emi when we first moved here.  Since the conversation was over the phone, she did not know she was talking to a minority family.  Since then, we have seen her take her charges for walks around the neighborhood, always 6-8 beautiful blonde children in a red wagon.  I do not think it's pure coincidence that the children are always white.

And so, after almost five years here, this corner of Long Beach doesn't quite feel like home.  I feel like a tourist, an alien, and I worry my motley little family will always feel that way, no matter where we settle.

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A Kimchi Mamas reader expressed some concern regarding my statement about being an illegal immigrant at some point in my life.  Here is my clarification (although honestly, I don't know the whole story, since I was a young child when this all went down):

My family and I did not COME here illegally, my father was sponsored through his employer and he did everything by the book. However, there was a very, very long waiting period between applying for a green card and receiving it, where technically our status was up in the air (or maybe his status was still okay, but my mom and I were not? I'm not clear on the details). We couldn't go visit relatives in Korea, for example, because we would have trouble coming back into the US.

During that waiting period, which I believe took about 10 years, I grew up as a normal Korean American kid in southern California. There was no way you could line up other typical Korean American kids and point out those of us who were technically visaless, or social security number-less, and those who were born here, even if you opened a window into our brains.Once we received permanent residency status, things were hunky-dory, and it didn't take long for us to become naturalized citizens after that. This was a pretty typical immigrant story for the time period, although I do not know what the process is like now.

 

Cross-posted on Kimchi Mamas.

Why, Hello There

I would wish you a happy new year, but seeing that it's already February, I'll wish you a happy President's Day instead!

So, what's going on in House Mang?

Emi is doing GREAT in school, thanks to a multi-pronged strategy that includes:

1. Pulling her out of the on-site afterschool program and having her picked up and taken care of by one of my best friends and supernanny extraordinaire until Isaac comes home from school.

2. Tim taking over the morning routine, since he has a lighter touch with Emi than I do at that hour.  I'm a cranky drill sargeant ("Move IT move IT!") and he's more reasonable.  Plus, he and Emi get to bond and she feels more secure about her world as a whole, and feels less of the need to act out for attention.  It's all very awwwwwww.

3. The leaps she made in therapy about identifying and coping with the huge emotions she feels.  In fact, she's so much happier now, we went down to seeing the counselor once every two weeks, and next week's session will be a "goodbye-for-now" session!

Emi still gets into tiny bits of trouble at school, but it's for things that seem refreshingly normal: talking to the person behind her in line, forgetting to raise her hand, and one time she didn't come home with a good behavior slip because she made a snoring noise because she thought a story was boring.

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Isaac is slowly turning into a tween.  Sometimes, he stiffens when I grab his head to kiss the top when I drop him off at school, or he snaps back at me when he feels unjustly chastised.  Other times, he starts stammering and falling over himself when he encounters a pretty girl (usually MUCH older than him, harrumph).  He just started up a new season of his basketball league, his class is currently working on a musical, he just finished up reports on the Island Fox (California's only native carnivore, found only on the Channel Islands, didn't ya know) and Marco Polo.  For a while, he was devouring the Harry Potter books, but stopped near the beginning of Order of the Phoenix, which I actually think is appropriate for his current stage of emotional maturity.  He is currently reading books like the How to Train Your Dragon series, the Warriors series, and Dragon Rider.

The other day, I was getting ready to assemble a digital piano, and as Tim rushed over to help me, Isaac shooed him away, saying "This is woman's work!"  Since when was working with heavy pieces of furniture woman's work!?!?!?  So, later on, I decided to pick his brain a bit about gender roles.  Interpret as you will, because I just crawled up into a ball and rocked myself back and forth:

Me: So...working with assembling furniture is woman's work, eh?

Isaac: Yup!  It's because you are careful and Daddy does not read the instructions.

Me: What else is woman's work?  How about cooking and washing the dishes?

Isaac: Daddy washes the dishes.  And the cooks at Polly's Pies are men.

Me: Hey!  I cook at home too!  How about earning money?

Isaac: You both earn money.  But Daddy earns more money.

Me:  Why do you think that is?

Isaac: Because women earn 70 cents for every dollar a man earns for the same job.  Which is weird, because I think women do most of the real work, and men stand around and make plans and blueprints and say, "What if we did this?  What if we tried that?" and then laugh really loud, which doesn't seem like real work.

Me: Where on earth did you get this impression?

Isaac: At Daddy's office.

Me: I work too, but at home.  And I work hard, even though I'm often in my pajamas.  Do you think that's real work?

Isaac: Yeah, I know that because you yell at me to leave you alone when I ask you if I can watch TV.

Me: ...  Sorry about that.

Isaac: It's okay.

Me: So when you grow up and become a man, you expect to stand around and make plans?

Isaac: No, I'd rather work with all the women.

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As for me, I'm doing well.  I still get excited about a lot of shit, currently I am gagging over the current season of "RuPaul's Drag Race."  I'm rooting for Detox, Honey Mahogany, and Jinkx Monsoon.  I want to marry Ivy Winters because he looks like a young Morrissey and dresses like the 11th Doctor.  Which reminds me...I will be attending Gallifrey One this weekend; really looking forward to it, as it will be my first one!

Just caught up with "Game of Thrones" and "Sherlock," and I don't think my nervous system can handle cliffhangers anymore.  

My alma mater won the Rose Bowl this year, and we were there to witness it in person!  It was so much fun!

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Tim is only slightly mortified by the props given to his singing voice.  He's still totally hot.

Happy New Year, MotherFathers! Drunk Post FTW!

Tim and I reporting live from our office/den/shit pile room, drunk as skunks, and we just recorded the next best rendition of "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" since Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I lied.  It's terrible.  But hopefully it's funny!

Introducing...Tim on lead vocals and bass piano, Julie and backup vocals, treble piano, and assorted chortles and cuss words (hover over widget and press play):

What_are_you_dong_new_years_Eve

 

Happy new year!!!!!!!!!!!!1111  I love you all.  Yes, even YOU.

PS: I'm drunk, so please forgive grammar errors.  But not spelling.  No excuse for poor spelling.  Except for poor Tori Spelling.

PPS: 새해 복 많이 받으세요!

PPPS: I'm going to the Rose Bowl tomorrow.  I hope.

 

"Christmas Wish List," by Isaac

Isaac wrote a startlingly accurate portrayal of our family's current mental state for school:

Here is what my family would want if I could give them anything. This is what *I* would get them, at least.

First of all, my mom would want a trip to Hawaii, alone. In Hawaii, it’s peaceful, so she could take a trek from all the chaos in my house. Mom would also want a heated toilet because she adores the one in my grandparents’ house. Also, she’d want a piece of paper of all the Clippers autographs because she goes crazy for them!

My dad would want a new car because his aged, blue car is worn down. Another would be a whole collection of the world’s greatest books because he loves to read. Last, he’d love a king-sized bed because the one he’s using is getting cracks.

My sister, Emily, would want a Barbie because she’s always aching to get one. She’d also want an unlimited supply of donuts because she loves to eat them.

I love my family very much.

Talking to Isaac about Sandy Hook

I talked to Isaac about the school shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary on Friday evening.  I was in the middle of dropping the kids off at my parents' house so Tim and I could attend his office Christmas party, and my parents had the news blaring on the television.

I saw Isaac read the headline on the bottom of the screen, and his brow furrowed.  "What does this mean, 20 children are dead from school shooting?"

I sat on the ground and pulled him into my lap.  "Isaac, a crazy man with a bunch of guns went into an elementary school this morning and shot people.  He shot students and teachers, and they think about 27 people are dead.  20 of them are kids."

"Did they catch him?  Is he in jail?"

"He is dead too.  The police found him and he's dead.  He won't hurt anybody else."

"Okay, that's pretty good I guess."

"Emily, come over here now.  Isaac and  Emi, I'm going to tell you something that you have to promise never to forget.  If something terrible happens at school, if there is a fire or an earthquake or a burglar or a person who wants to hurt people, you need to listen to your teacher, okay?  If it's an intruder, your teacher will probably tell you to stay quiet and to hide somewhere, and if she tells you to hide somewhere, you stay hidden until the police come get you, okay?  Even if things are quiet."

They nodded.  And then I hugged them way too hard for their liking.

That night, Isaac had a pretty cool dream:

Last night I dreamed that in the future, when babies are still in the mama’s belly, that creatures that look like ticks and spiders try to attack the baby inside. But then in my dreams I invented a tiny machine, a tiny robot, that stood at the opening and attacked the ticks and spiders.

Also I wanted to make the babies safer even more, so I tried to make pills that would make a hole or ditch that the baby could hide in inside the mama’s belly, and the pills would put a cream on the baby so that anything that touched it until it was born would get a bruise and limp away. But at first the baby just fell into the hole and cried as it fell in because it was too deep. So I went back and fixed some things and tried again.  It took me four times to perfect it. Then when the baby *was* safe, I woke up.

Here are some of my more immediate thoughts during the weekend:

I understand that the US will remain a gun-toting nation for the conceivable future, and apparently yesterday's tragedy is the price the rest of us have to pay for other people's obsessions with them. I get it, and that is why I am choosing not to try to convince any pro-second-amendment folks to reconsider things. If they slept well yesterday, then they won't be convinced ever.

Perhaps I am stuck in the anger phase of mourning, but right now, if I see any of you talking about YOUR precious rights after 20 babies were taken from their families...I sneeze in your general direction and will make sure you have no influence on the minds and souls of my own children.

...

It's the tone that I object to most, I think. The pro-more-gun-control people are hand-wringing and navel-gazing and wondering about how we as a society can prevent another tragedy like this from occurring again. Meanwhile, some pro-NRA types are making jokes, being sarcastic, toting slogans. I fucking hate that. You are doing nothing for your cause.

Yes, still in anger stage of mourning.

It is now Tuesday, and not a half-hour goes by without thinking about those babies and the adults who tried to protect them.  These beautiful souls, whom I never met, yet love and miss as if they were friends, did not deserve to die that day, especially in such a violent way.  And I don't know if I handled things well with Isaac and Emi, although they do seem to be acting normally.  All tolled, I'm a mess.

My friend, WSJ columnist Jeff Yang, came up with this brilliant comic with his 9-year-old son Hudson, which got published on the NY Daily:

Twitter Party and Giveaway Winners!

Congratulations to Carly and Dusty for each winning a $30 Lane Bryant gift card!

Need a little fashion inspiration for an upcoming holiday party? How about tips on how to keep your look fresh this season? Sure it’s cold outside, but that doesn’t mean we can’t feel and look sassy, stylish, and maybe even a little flirty through the winter! Come one, come all, because we’re talking holiday fashion with our friends at Lane Bryant! Join our @LaneBryant “Holiday Fashion Fun” Twitter Party this Monday, 12/17 at noon PT/3pm ET! Fab prizes! RSVP to win prizes, including more $30 Lane Bryant gift cards! RSVP: http://clvr.li/128tjBx

 

The Details:

What: Lane Bryant “Holiday Fashion Fun” Twitter Party

When: Mon 12/17 noon PT/3pm ET

Where: On Twitter! CleverTweets: http://clvr.li/SYaCNf

Follow: Hashtag #LBHoliday @CleverGirlsColl @LaneBryant

RSVP here: http://clvr.li/128tjBx

Prizes: 18 $30 Lane Bryant gift cards

 

I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective, and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

My Lane Bryant Holiday Look and GIVEAWAY!

Today is Day #5 of the 12 days, and I am so excited to be chosen for this opportunity, as Lane Bryant is already one of my favorite places to shop!

I headed over to the Long Beach Towne Center location yesterday to pick out a holiday outfit.  My style can be best described as quirky retro rock star, and I was on the lookout for neutral colors with bright or metallic accents: something comfortable enough to wear during the day, then I can just throw on some gold chains and smoky eye shadow and be able to take on the big city by night.  

Right when I entered the store, I was greeted with sassy, uplifting music and lots of adorable clothes just BEGGING me to try them on and take them home.

 

Wonderful day-to-night outfits: black with flashes of gold

Check out the gold foil skulls on this baseball jersey-inspired shirt! So playfully edgy -- just my style!

I definitely bought the skull shirt, and also this silky safari-inspired blouse:

 

Bubble Hem Utility Blouse in Moon Rock. Again, love the gold detailing.

It looks a little on the casual side on the model, but it fits me tighter all around and I paired it with dark jeans, so I truly believe it can be dressed up for a night out:

Just for kicks, this cowl neck sweatshirt also caught my eye.  It has the perfect California casual, effortless chic vibe:

And of course, I gotta give props to my photographer, Emi:

After a nice, relaxing hour of shopping with my pint-size bestie and a couple awesome new tops, and I'm totally ready to kick off my holiday season!

What's even more amazing is that I can share the love with a giveaway!  Two of you will also receive $30 gift cards.  All you have to do is pin your favorite Lane Bryant looks to your own Pinterest account using the #LB12Days hashtag. Then leave the link to your pin in a comment below to be eligible for a prize.  Easy peasy, puddin' pie!

Today's special surprise offers are: 

In store and online: Select sweaters are $20 (Rayon V, Dolman V and Shaker sweaters), 40%-off all sleepwear
In store only: All earrings $5

I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective, and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

Another Confession: Corgi Edition

(Because I can't think of anything else to write.)

For all of you who have visited my home, you know the first being to greet you is Maggie, our lovely, well-mannered little corgi.

Well, Maggie has a very shameful secret: she is a pill-popping junkie.

 

Hello, my name is Maggie, and I'm an addict. Hello, Maggie!

 

GASP!!!  For shame!

It all started when Maggie started limping.  At first the vet thought it was normal arthritis and hip dysplasia setting in, so he gave her a prescription for Tramadol, a mild opiate that you can take long-term.  He referred me to a specialist anyway, just in case there was more to the picture, and it turned out Maggie blew out her ACL on her right leg.  We hemmed and hawed about the surgery for a couple weeks, then finally decided to fork over the dough because Maggie was still young, should recover quite well, and enjoy her new bionic knee for many years.

So she had her surgery and the recovery process was supposed to take about 12-16 weeks.  She was supposed to stay on the Tramadol for 4 weeks, then stop.  And when we ran out of pills initially, she was fine for a couple days.  Then something kicked in hardcore.  She was panting, she couldn't sleep, she wandered around the house like it was too uncomfortable to lie down, and she kept vomiting.  I called the vet, afraid that she had an infection or her body was rejecting her new orthopedic hardware.

Turns out she was going through withdrawal!

We agreed to put her back on the dope, at least until she fully recovered.  Then we will put her on a doggy 12-step program.  If that doesn't work out, I wonder if I'll have to send her to rehab!

 

They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said "Bow, wow, wow"

 

One day at a time, Maggie!