Geisha School Dropout

Lord, Have Mercy

It's a familiar trope that kids grow up to rebel against what their parents held dear: pastor's kids turn into wild heathens, Alex Keaton was the president of the Young Republicans to the dismay of his liberal parents (if you need to Wikipedia that shit, you are way too young to be reading this blog, baby).  

Well, Isaac is no different.  Case in point, this is what he yelled at us today because we made him go to bed:

Well ,when I grow up, I'm going to be a LAWYER and make you pay all your TAXES and you will DIE in poverty and the rest of the citizens will congratulate me!

I consider myself a pretty chill parent, to a fault sometimes, but I'd just like to see.  Him.  Try.

In other news, guess who has joined the bespectacled masses:

Life with a 5-Year-Old

With so much drama at the JCC, it's kinda hard being Emi D-O-double-G...

Yup, Emi had to move to yet another new preschool, this time because she kept getting into these epic battles of will with her teacher, to the point where she was kicked out of  the classroom into the hallway by herself over things like playing with the Velcro of her shoe (which I thought was unnecessarily punitive), and she started shutting down at the very mention of school.  So we bid the them farewell.

And since it was during the middle of the school year, the only school who would take us in was the one across the street.  It turns out they actually are the best school we've ever experienced, but they only have a half-day program, so twice a week I get to spend my lunch hour with Emi.  It's actually been a lot of fun hanging and dishing with my girl, but man, the conversation topics are starting to get heavy.

"Mom, what does God look like?"

"Mom? Someone at school said heaven is a fluffy cloud. How come I don't see angels in the sky when there are fluffy clouds?"

"Mom, have you ever seen infinity?"

"Mom, when will my belly get as big as yours?"

If I had a collar, I would pull on it and gulp like in the cartoons.

Normally, I would BS my way through by saying, "Wow, that's a great question!  What do you think?"  However, she is not so easily distracted anymore.

So I hem and haw and give overly-complicated explanations full of caveats and exceptions with tidbits from my own spiritual journey, to the point where her eyes glaze over, so now Emi no longer thinks of me as a reliable source for information.

Luckily, my sister's boyfriend offered a cheat sheet:

-God is present in everyone, you can't see him.
-You can't see the angels because they're on earth doing good already.
-Infinity... um, yeah, you'll discover it in college. Don't tell mommy, just have fun.
-Belly when you get pregnant, but that won't happen until you're 35 so don't worry.

Bada-bing, bada-boom!

What I want to know is: how would you answer these questions?

My Personal Prophets

There are a few people in the world whose words I trust completely.  Not only do I have the utmost faith in their intelligence and competence, I also believe that they have nothing to gain by fooling people with meaningless rhetoric and other shenanigans (for that reason, I don't think a politician would ever make it on this list, but pre-presidency Barack Obama comes close).  Basically, if they take the trouble to say something, it's usually because they know what they are talking about and have evidence to back it up. 

Not to say that they are perfect (except for Mr. Rogers, whom I believe to be infallible), and this is definitely not a complete list of my personal heroes, but I just find it so reassuring (and increasingly rare) to be able to say at times, "I believe it because he/she said so."

Personal Jesus:

Fred Rogers

The Apostles:

David Attenborough

Ellen DeGeneres

Rachel Maddow

Kurt Vonnegut

Jane Goodall

Garrison Keillor

Levar Burton

Neal Stephenson

Michelle Obama

Grace Lee Boggs

Carl Sagan

Noam Chomsky

Douglas Adams

Nate Silver

John Cleese

Fictional Characters I Similarly Revere:

Albus Dumbledore

Dexter Morgan 

Yoda

Data

The Doctor

L'Shana Tova!

Emi regales us with holiday song:

Emi has been singing this song for a couple weeks now.  She has been so excited about Rosh Hashanah, in fact, that at Trader Joe's yesterday, she insisted we buy honey, and not just any honey, the kind that comes in a bear-shaped bottle because "that is what they have at my school."  I don't know where honey bears show up in the Torah, but whatevs.  I'm just glad she added honey toast to her miniscule food repertoire.  She also loves apples, but apples AND honey?  "Don't be silly, mom."

I also wanted to share the awesomest thing Emi has learned so far at her school:

Ben Zoma says:
Who is wise? The one who learns from everyone...
Who is strong? The one who controls himself or herself...
Who is rich? The one who is happy with what he or she has...
Who is honored? The one who honors others...
(Pirkei Avot Chapter 4, Mishna 1)

Words to live by, no?

A Centenarian in the Family

Tomorrow, Tim and Isaac will get on a plane to Missouri for a boys-only trip to celebrate Isaac's great-great-grandfather Roy's (GGGR) 100th birthday!

You may recall my little anecdote about GGGR from last Thanksgiving.  Apparently he's still doing just fine!

I did some reading on how to live to be 100, and many studies have been done on centenarians in Okinawa, and researchers found a few behaviors they tended to have in common:

1. A diet that is heavy on grains, fish, and vegetables and light on meat, eggs, and dairy products.
2. Low-stress lifestyles, which are proven significantly less stressful than that of the mainland inhabitants of Japan.
3. A caring community, where older adults are not isolated and are taken better care of.
4. High levels of activity, where locals work until an older age than the average age in other countries, and more emphasis on activities like walking and gardening to keep active.
5. Spirituality, where a sense of purpose comes from involvement in spiritual matters and prayer eases the mind of stress and problems.

(source: Wikipedia)

Man, just reading that list makes me hungry for some kale and quinoa.  I don't know if GGGR eats much fish, having lived in the Midwest for so long, but he does live in what seems to be a bustling, state-run senior housing community and of course, he has spirituality in spades from all his years as a traveling minister.

I wonder what kind of present one gets a man for his 100th birthday.  Tim and I talked it over a few times, and we really couldn't think of anything.  For all intents and purposes, he has what he needs, and is doing everything right already.  

My halmuni will be 100 in 3 years.  I have full confidence she'll make it and then some, if only out of spite.

Do you have anyone in your family who's 100 or older?  

Mixed Feelings

I first heard about the death of Osama bin Laden through Facebook.  I was able to live-stream President Obama's remarks and hear some of the analysis immediately afterwards.  I thought about my friends who lost loved ones on 9/11 and hoped that the news brought them some peace or closure.  I was awe-struck at the realization that while President Obama was pwning Donald Trump at the White House Correspondents Dinner the previous night, he knew all this was going on.  Man, our POTUS has a thing or two to teach us about zen mastery.

I really thought the tone of Obama's announcement to the world was spot-on.  It was appropriately sober and direct, the words were obviously carefully chosen to show deep respect for the victims of 9/11, our military, and the other nations who have lost so many of their own people in this war.  I was also amazed that the mission lasted just a couple hours and resulted in no American casualties.  My favorite part of the speech:

As we do, we must also reaffirm that the United States is not –- and never will be -– at war with Islam.  I’ve made clear, just as President Bush did shortly after 9/11, that our war is not against Islam.  Bin Laden was not a Muslim leader; he was a mass murderer of Muslims.  Indeed, al Qaeda has slaughtered scores of Muslims in many countries, including our own.  So his demise should be welcomed by all who believe in peace and human dignity.

But after I saw images of my own countrymen basically holding a frat party outside of the White House, hanging off of trees and singing "Nah nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye," I didn't feel so good anymore.  I felt strangely panicky, in fact, and wanted to announce to the world that I was also an American and didn't feel celebratory at all, that we are not a hateful people.  After the initial shock, I now just feel empty by how quickly this has turned into a bit of a farce, our real world version of "1984," complete with the Two Minutes of Hate.

This morning, I read this statement from the Council on American Islamic Relations (this and other Muslim reactions can be found on Goat Milk):

We join our fellow citizens in welcoming the announcement that Osama bin Laden has been eliminated as a threat to our nation and the world through the actions of American military personnel. As we have stated repeatedly since the 9/11 terror attacks, bin Laden never represented Muslims or Islam. In fact, in addition to the killing of thousands of Americans, he and Al Qaeda caused the deaths of countless Muslims worldwide. We also reiterate President Obama’s clear statement tonight that the United States is not at war with Islam.

Although very tactfully worded, it reminded me of who was actually conducting the majority of the Muslim deaths worldwide: we are.   9/11 did not just kill over 3,000 people over the course of one day; over a million people died in Iraq alone, and those people had as much to do with the 9/11 terrorist attacks as I did.  Does the death of Osama bin Laden justify or bring closure to their deaths as well?  Does the fact that "he started it" make him the only person responsible for the millions of lives lost or displaced in these 10 years?  I'm not sure, and I don't know what to do about it.

Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction. So when Jesus says "Love your enemies," he is setting forth a profound and ultimately inescapable admonition. ... The chain reaction of evil — hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars — must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Debating the Niqab, with Additional Commentary by Isaac

A friend of mine recently posted the following clip of two Muslim women discussing the niqab ban in France:

Both sides were very well-debated, which is a rarity on TV these days.  On one hand, Mona Eltahawy (right), although she considers the reasoning behind the French ban to be racist, would like to do away with all facial covering.  She calls it "the pinnacle of objectification" of a woman, to have one's primary source of communication and  identity virtually erased.  Definitely a valid point, of course, especially since many, many Muslim women are required to cover their faces, but that doesn't necessarily apply to women who choose to wear the niqab in countries where it is optional.  Hebah Ahmed (left), a blogger for Muslim Matters, actually covers herself to avoid a different kind of objectification, the kind any woman living amongst men knows all too well:

Basically, I want people to know that when I choose to cover this way it’s because I am fighting against a systematic oppression against women in which women’s bodies are being sexualized and objectified. This is a different perspective and a different form of empowerment in which I think when I’m in public, my sexuality is in my control and people have to deal with my brain and who I really am and not judge me by my body. And if we want to really talk about the oppressive situation of women, let’s talk about all the eating disorders, all of the plastic surgery, all of the unhealthy diets that are being done, all in the name of having the perfect body. To me, this is liberating and this is empowering. 

WOW, right?  I can't really describe this as anything other than punk rock.  In fact, it already has gotten me thinking on the image I present to the greater world.  

When I was younger, I was very image-conscious, not in the traditional way of staying on-trend, but more like making sure I  portrayed a small amount of rebellion and counterculture in everything I put on my body, and it gave people a little clue into what I was about.  Nowadays, I just wear my mom uniform of t-shirt and jeans, and I do see people having difficulty sussing me out.  The good part is people don't pigeonhole me into some simplistic caricature, but the bad part is when given nothing to go on (except for my obvious race and body shape), most people don't want to take the energy to get to know me even a little bit.  There must be some happier medium.

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

One funny story: while I was engrossed in this debate, I didn't realize Isaac was also watching it behind my shoulder.  When it ended, he was indignant on Hebah's behalf, saying, "But Mom, how can she do her job if she can't cover her face?"  

I didn't recall them discussing her job at all.  "Huh?  What do you think she does, Bu?"

"Well, she's a ninja, right?"  

O_o

I will never look at a niqabi the same way again!

In My Bedroom

    

I am working in bed, my favored office of late, listening to my corgi, Maggie, sigh into the blankets.

We are not very different, Maggie and I.  Fill us with food, water, and pats on the head and we are yours forever.  And we both find nothing more luxurious than doing the downward dog on a down comforter before surrendering to the fluffiness.  Can I get an Amen up in here?

I now realize that this room and the lives it shelters are a long-running love letter to myself.  In my haphazard, wandering way, I have assembled these pieces into this house, each an offering of hope and healing to my battle-worn heart. 

Dear Julie, here is a nice bed to make up for all the nights you were too afraid to fall asleep.  Love, Me. 

Girl, I painted these walls celery green to celebrate that this is our house to decorate as we will, and no landlord can boss us around or kick us out anymore.

Hey, here is a closet full of what everyone used to tell you doesn't exist: cute plus-size clothing.  Fight the good fight; stay fabulous.

Dear Julie, you dragged yourself out of the murky swamp of self-loathing, figured out how to love, and now you have a family of your own.  Amazing!

This bedroom is security and sanity, even when there are toys, clothes, and books strewn around the floor.  Right now, it doesn't seem like a mess.  It's more like kid confetti.

I wish I could send this moment to 8-year-old me, 16-year-old me, 21-year-old me, during various crisis periods.  This moment would push the hair back from their faces and make a quiet promise: 31-year-old me will be happy in her own skin, processing lab data while lying next to a Welsh Corgi, while her beautiful children are at school. 

To top things off, the most perfect song will be playing in the background:

Now the world can be an unfair place at times
But your lows will have their complement of highs
And if anyone should cheat you
Take advantage of or beat you raise your head
And wear your wounds with pride

You must stick up for yourself son
Never mind what anybody else done
Stick up for yourself son
Never mind what anybody else done
Stick up for yourself son
Never mind what anybody else done

This post was inspired by Mrs. Flinger's {W}rite of Passage Challenge #9: Looking Around. Below is a list of other participants. Feel free to explore!

Flooded

Our part of Long Beach was one of the worst-flooded areas during last week's storm.  We live down the street from a major storm drain and pumping station, and when the pump shorted out during our lunch hour (and coincidentally the time of hardest downpour), Tim and I came home to this:

The muffled voice in the background is mine, and it steadily grew more panic-filled the more I tried to steer our dinky Honda Accord through a foot and a half of water.  All around us were people pushing their cars through the lake, their engines waterlogged and useless.  Only the dudes with the jacked-up pick-up trucks flourished, and they gleefully roared passed us, gifting us with 10-foot sprays of Long Beach's best water-soluble street grime.

 

The only thing worse than driving through the flood was stopping.  Because then we were able to hear the water lap against the side and bottom of our car, and we started bobbing up and down in our non-amphibious vehicle.

When we were stopped, I saw a single shoe float by us and I immediately thought of Katrina.  Although the rational side of my brain knew it wasn't nearly as bad as that, that shoe began this terrible anxiety growing like a tumor in my chest, and it overtook me.  The anxiety was why I was glued to weather websites all day, why I picked my kids up from school at absurdly early hours every day that week, why I could only go to sleep with some pharmaceutical help, along with a flashlight and a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese by my bed, just in case.

Funnily enough, that particular flood cleared out within half an hour of restarting the pump.  But my worrying about it lasted much longer.

Later in the week, the winds started to pick up and brought us all sorts of surprises, like pieces of our roof, other people's flower pots, and hail.  But no flooding.  I looked outside the window during an especially harsh spell and saw the telephone pole stationed in our backyard sway alarmingly.  I tried not to imagine what kind of damage that would bring to our house and our bodies if it fell on us, but I did.

Why was my mind in such a strange space, I wondered.  Was I depressed?  I felt my brain, like that pumping station, was just filled to the brim with everyday mommy-stuff and Julie-stuff and work-stuff and wife-stuff and hobby-stuff and future-stuff and friend-stuff, that once a little rain started falling, I immediately flooded.  It was time for a time-out.

So I decided to meditate.  I thought of all those tall palm trees that dot the LA landscape.  They have survived decades of harsh weather, and still they stand, some more than 100 feet high.  They move with the wind, they let it push them over a little, but they stay rooted.  I called upon the immutability of those palms, standing like hundreds of middle fingers shoved into the faces of the gods, and I willed my anxious mind to stand with them.

Give Him Something to Believe In

(You're welcome for the Poison reference.  You can watch the music video here.)

Isaac has been convinced lately that he is a bad kid.  He does have a mountain of evidence, since everyday we get on his case about something: for forgetting his jacket at school, for splashing in the puddles after we told him 5 times not to, for interrupting us when we're talking, etc.  It's not like we are totally hard on him, but he's taking the reprimands more to heart now, and even more disturbingly, he rejects positive feedback.

Anyway, with the holidays quickly approaching, Isaac asked me one day if he was on Santa's nice list or naughty list this year.  I asked him what he thought and he said without any doubt that he was naughty.  "Oh I dunno, Isaac, Santa doesn't care if you do naughty things from time to time, he just looks for whether you WANT to be good or not."  But no, Isaac said he doesn't even want to be good.  So all I could promise him was that I'd email Santa and maybe if he had time, Santa would write me back and let me know.

Coincidentally, my blog friend Renee alerted me to these free videos from Santa. She lives in Canada, so the URL for us Amurcans is http://portablenorthpole.tv/home. The video is very well-done, and you can customize it with your child's name, your hometown, and you can upload a picture and tell Santa what your kid wants for Christmas, among other things.  Even cooler, if your kid's name is common enough, Santa will even SAY his/her name, which is ultra-magical.  There are even separate versions for younger and older kids, as well as teens and adults who could handle actually being on the Naughty List.

So Saturday morning, I excitedly woke Isaac up and told him Santa had something to say to him!  He looked so nervous, bless his heart!  And the video started, and when Santa said, "Can you hear me, Isaac?" he stammered, "Y-y-yes, Santa!"  There was no room for skepticism when Santa showed him on a map that he knew where we lived; Isaac was thoroughly convinced. 

Then, when he saw his picture and his name in Santa's book, he started to cry.  And when Santa confirmed that Isaac was indeed a good boy because he tried extra-hard this year to be nice to his sister, Isaac started bawling with shock and relief.  When it was done, I asked him if he wanted to hear Santa's message again, but he said no, he didn't want to bother Santa during the busiest time of the year.  And we hugged and kissed and snuggled and laughed.  He was absolutely transformed.

I was deeply moved as well!  I guess we've gotten to a point where Mom and Dad's approval doesn't appear to be completely unconditional anymore, and since we don't worship a God or any other impartial judge of character, Santa just rose to the occasion and did so beautifully.  I learned that Isaac needs a "From a Distance, the World Looks Blue and Green" type of all-seeing, all-loving, all-forgiving eagle eye in his life in order to have a sense of self separate from us.  That is some major food for thought right there.

You can watch Isaac's video here!