"Dress better than everyone in the room; as a minority, you will always be looked down on."
"Do everything properly; never part way."
"It's better to be small breasted; they won't sag when you're old."
"It's better to marry a lazy smart man than a hard-working dumb man. A smart man, even if he's lazy, will be able to figure his way out."
"I want my sons to marry Korean women, and my daughter to marry an American man." (You got your wish, mom!)
"You can marry a Chinese man, but don't marry a Japanese. They are the worst toward women."
"You have to give men hell every once in awhile."
"You can love a rich man just as much as a poor man, so you might as well marry a rich man."
{By the way, the proper response is to chuckle,slightly shocked, but not offended.}
6.22.2011
6.19.2011
The Final Sunrise
"The hours go slowly but the years go swiftly."
or something like that.
Each day, often filled with the drudgery of responsibilities - being at the office, going to meetings, shuttling your kids around, picking up toys, weeding. Somewhere in there you rest, relax, enjoy the family. Then you flop down into bed.
Only to find at each birthday, each anniversary, each milestone, that the years have gone by. Your 2-year old is now 9, 18, 24. I love watching Boo grow, I love seeing the person he is, the person he is growing into. But I also feel a sadness as I watch him. Why?
I am also a bit sad as my husband and I mark our anniversaries. I know that one day, one of us will be left here without the other. Will the remaining one find another to fill the days? I don't know; I can't say. I know now though that I never tire of him, he is my best friend and confidante. I can't imagine finding anyone else to be with.
We mark each hour. The days go marching by. Then it's a year gone by. Then 5. Then 10. Why the wistfulness at life going by? Are we mourning the coming of the end of our story? Do we have a longing in us to be eternal? Is that why men build monuments? leave a legacy? I never felt this way when I was young. Is it that as we age, we crest the hill and see in the horizon our Final Sunset?
Do we not enjoy the beauty of the sunset, only because we know there is a sunrise?
Am I not wistful and sad because we were never meant to see the end?
Death Be Not Proud
Death is the Enemy
What if after the Final Sunset, we knew there was an eternal Sunrise? Here in the quiet hours, as I have faith that there is a tomorrow, and the sun will rise again, would I continue to mourn at each passing year if I knew there were more years to come? That I could live eternally?
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that
whoever believes in Him
shall not perish but have everlasting life."
.
6.09.2011
6.08.2011
A Player
Boo is an enthusiastic player. I mean, that boy knows how to play. Anything and everything. I am so grateful. I've had parents tell me they had a second, third or fourth child so the kids would have playmates. I assume there was more to it than just that. As an Only, I can't help but feel that parents pity him a bit, pity me a bit.
We were told by his foster family that even as an infant, he loved the water and being outdoors. Neighbors may see him in our yard, playing with sticks and stones and water and running through the grass, making piles of dirt and collecting bugs. At the pool, he is busy pretending and making up games, swimming and squirming like an otter.
Although not particularly athletic, he has great balance and we took off his training wheels before his fifth birthday. We are not a particularly athletic family, preferring the outdoors, the arts and culture. On the other hand, he never showed much interest in sports until recently.
I saw other families spend much of their free time running from one activity to another, giving up much of their weekends to sports teams and tournaments. There's even a recent book called Until It Hurts: American's Obsession with Youth Sports & How it Harms our Kids. I heard an interview on NPR with the author who was a "soccer dad" type and how he drove his kids to perform. There was a time when kids didn't start sports until they were maybe 11, 12. Now of course, you start at 5 with tee ball. That is not the life I wanted for us. Given Boo's history, we wanted as much family time, relational time and bonding time as possible.
I also wanted him to "be a kid," like we were when we were young. Not out of mere nostalgia but because of the rich benefits we derived from wandering around, feeling different textures, smelling all the smells, discovering God's handiwork. And yes, even sometimes, getting bored. It turns out that our brains develop from all the sensory input by being around nature.
Because of how our culture has become, it is a natural question to ask if Boo is involved in sports. I find myself explaining, almost apologizing for not, as if I were a bad mother. It's not that I think they are judging me; they are just making friendly conversation. But I do get that question a lot and I haven't been able to find a gracious way of replying, without apologizing, without explaining all of Boo's neurological weaknesses, without sounding righteous.
We were told by his foster family that even as an infant, he loved the water and being outdoors. Neighbors may see him in our yard, playing with sticks and stones and water and running through the grass, making piles of dirt and collecting bugs. At the pool, he is busy pretending and making up games, swimming and squirming like an otter.
Although not particularly athletic, he has great balance and we took off his training wheels before his fifth birthday. We are not a particularly athletic family, preferring the outdoors, the arts and culture. On the other hand, he never showed much interest in sports until recently.
I also wanted him to "be a kid," like we were when we were young. Not out of mere nostalgia but because of the rich benefits we derived from wandering around, feeling different textures, smelling all the smells, discovering God's handiwork. And yes, even sometimes, getting bored. It turns out that our brains develop from all the sensory input by being around nature.
Because of how our culture has become, it is a natural question to ask if Boo is involved in sports. I find myself explaining, almost apologizing for not, as if I were a bad mother. It's not that I think they are judging me; they are just making friendly conversation. But I do get that question a lot and I haven't been able to find a gracious way of replying, without apologizing, without explaining all of Boo's neurological weaknesses, without sounding righteous.
6.04.2011
Strawberry Fields Forever
One of our favorite things to do - a sure sign of summer: pick-your-own strawberries. There's an organic farm over the river and through the woods that we go to. With Boo traipsing through the rows and eating right off the plants, I'm glad they're pesticide free. He might end up eating a bug or two, but, eh! Even the Husband went, but I didn't get any pics of him.
.
.
.
.
.
.
[There is just no way to be stylish when going to the farm.]
.
.[There
Perspectival
5.29.2011
Spring
I know I'm the serious sort, but I needed Spring in my blog. Some Happy. Do you think it's too cheery?? I mean, I wouldn't want people to think I was happy or anything. HA!
I have some posts in my head. I just quit my job so I have oodles of time [and energy] to write.
Do you know about my other gigs?
All Things Chic
and
Eat Local Philly.
Both by my friend Jo-Lynne. Check out her Spring.
See you soon!!
I have some posts in my head. I just quit my job so I have oodles of time [and energy] to write.
Do you know about my other gigs?
All Things Chic
and
Eat Local Philly.
Both by my friend Jo-Lynne. Check out her Spring.
See you soon!!
5.09.2011
Three Years Old
Three years ago today, I let my friends Jo-Lynne and Sarah talk me into spending even more time on the computer. Doing this thing called "Blogging."
I didn't really know what I was doing. Like the new girl starting school in the middle of the year. I had some thoughts that had been percolating in my mind for awhile. Months. Years. Thoughts I wanted to get out. Set out.
I'm an architect, and my college professors will tell you I AM NO WRITER. Not only that, I always felt a bit handicapped by being raised in a family in which I was the only fluent speaker of English.
I was just shy of 7 when I moved to Long Island, NY. My brothers were 13, 12 and almost 11. My mom and dad, arriving in a new country as adults, would never master the English language. And, as it turned out, neither would my brothers. They would never catch on to why it was "I'm going to school," but "I'm going to the hospital." They would always carry a Korean accent and never internalize the subtleties of the new language, and yet, through lack of use, lose most of their Korean, too. Rock and a hard spot. Coming or going. Here nor there.
I would slide into the slithery mystery of English and slip right into it like a new pair of pajamas. I shed my Korean accent without looking back; without knowing that I had lost something.
I often share the story of my first trip to the public library. It was a one room, wooden building, dusty and with that faint smell of old charcoal. It was the librarian who first said those magic words, "Nancy Drew." What could my mom or dad tell me about American books? Nothing. What could they do to help me with my English? to expand my vocabulary? They couldn't read to me, nor would they know what to read. My brothers had their own difficulties adjusting to a new culture.
When it was time to prepare for college, my SAT scores reflected my home life: 95th percentile in Math and a 50th percentile in Verbal. I heard Korean parents say their children should stay away from fields like Law that require a mastery of language; that they were handicapped because of their immigrant families. It's an essentially Korean way of thinking - to put people in boxes, fence themselves in.
Through blogging, here's what I found out. Somehow, while studying vocabulary for the SATs, reading voraciously, writing business letters over and over again, somewhere along the way, I must have figured out how to write. My best friend said I should write more. I scoffed, given my background, my Korean fence. She scoffed right back at me, giving me that quintessentially American,"You can do anything" speech. It's an essentially American way of thinking - to see the vastness of the land and sky and know you can do anything.
Three years ago, I started with a little word: CAN.
And now, three years later, I see that I can write. I can! I think.
Thanks to all my friends, who have stuck with me and supported me.
I didn't really know what I was doing. Like the new girl starting school in the middle of the year. I had some thoughts that had been percolating in my mind for awhile. Months. Years. Thoughts I wanted to get out. Set out.
I'm an architect, and my college professors will tell you I AM NO WRITER. Not only that, I always felt a bit handicapped by being raised in a family in which I was the only fluent speaker of English.
I was just shy of 7 when I moved to Long Island, NY. My brothers were 13, 12 and almost 11. My mom and dad, arriving in a new country as adults, would never master the English language. And, as it turned out, neither would my brothers. They would never catch on to why it was "I'm going to school," but "I'm going to the hospital." They would always carry a Korean accent and never internalize the subtleties of the new language, and yet, through lack of use, lose most of their Korean, too. Rock and a hard spot. Coming or going. Here nor there.
I would slide into the slithery mystery of English and slip right into it like a new pair of pajamas. I shed my Korean accent without looking back; without knowing that I had lost something.
I often share the story of my first trip to the public library. It was a one room, wooden building, dusty and with that faint smell of old charcoal. It was the librarian who first said those magic words, "Nancy Drew." What could my mom or dad tell me about American books? Nothing. What could they do to help me with my English? to expand my vocabulary? They couldn't read to me, nor would they know what to read. My brothers had their own difficulties adjusting to a new culture.
When it was time to prepare for college, my SAT scores reflected my home life: 95th percentile in Math and a 50th percentile in Verbal. I heard Korean parents say their children should stay away from fields like Law that require a mastery of language; that they were handicapped because of their immigrant families. It's an essentially Korean way of thinking - to put people in boxes, fence themselves in.
Through blogging, here's what I found out. Somehow, while studying vocabulary for the SATs, reading voraciously, writing business letters over and over again, somewhere along the way, I must have figured out how to write. My best friend said I should write more. I scoffed, given my background, my Korean fence. She scoffed right back at me, giving me that quintessentially American,"You can do anything" speech. It's an essentially American way of thinking - to see the vastness of the land and sky and know you can do anything.
Three years ago, I started with a little word: CAN.
And now, three years later, I see that I can write. I can! I think.
Thanks to all my friends, who have stuck with me and supported me.
5.08.2011
Who's Your Mama?
First mom.
Tummy mom.
Birth mom.
We chose to use "tummy mommy" because...well, because.
HH asked Boo this morning if he thought about his tummy mommy on Mother's Day.
Tummy mom.
Birth mom.
We chose to use "tummy mommy" because...well, because.
HH asked Boo this morning if he thought about his tummy mommy on Mother's Day.
"No - I don't even know her. I love my mom."
It simultaneously makes me smile and break my heart.
Where ever you are, whoever you are - the woman who grew my son in her body, then suffered the breakage of giving him up - Happy Mothers' Day.
You will be happy to know that he is well. I am doing my best.
I promise you one day we will look for you. And if you cannot see him - for whatever reason - I will understand, if Boo won't.
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