Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Hello 2009
The New Year has come and gone. We spent the first 2 weeks of it in Hawaii with my family. And now we're back and I've been adjusting to life after vacation ever since.
Hawaii was beautifully green from an abundance of recent rainfall, nice and humid for Naomi's delicate skin, and sunny enough to spend days at the beach. Most mornings we sat outside on my parents deck nibbling toast with peanut butter and the guava jelly made by Auntie so-and-so. Eating fruit and drinking milk, the girls took to exploring the landscaping for interesting bugs, rocks, leaves. I'd brew some coffee and we'd sit and enjoy the cool breeze blowing down the valley through the great old trees lining the stream; the trees that remember the days of my Okinawan immigrant great grandfather and great grandmother, Jiji and Baba; the days before statehood; the days of my father's youth, 50 years ago when he ran the streets and went to school across the stream; even the days of my own childhood--little red boxes of raisins with crunchy black ants crawling out of them, Baba's strict hand administering the thick red cough syrup that burned going down. I always dared to ask for a sip of water after a dose and she would refuse saying the water would dilute it's effectiveness. Somehow, even though she didn't speak English and I didn't speak Japanese, I understood.
The original house is no longer standing. It was old, termite eaten and unsafe. My dad demolished it and rebuilt a new home for my grandfather. Unexpectedly, Grandpa T. never saw it's completion passing away only a few months before. He would have enjoyed this new house; the old breeze, in the new house.
Hawaii was nice. I spent a lot of time with my children, not as much time as I'd hope to with my husband, and a good amount of time with my parents, grandma, aunties and uncles.
I ate a lot. My mother cooked or planned a big meal almost everyday. My grandmother treated us to the best brunch in Hawaii one Sunday and a super ono Hawaiian food lunch the next Saturday. My auntie made desserts for our various get-togethers and conveniently left what was left over in our refrigerator.
I decompressed from my hectic life in the gentle rocking of the ocean's waves, it's familiarity like being back in my mother's arms. My heart reconnected with the beating of it's rhythmic pulse as the sun warmed my pale winter skin. I swam a few strokes away from shore in the salty water I was raised in, away from my kids and husband into deeper waters, away from life in LA, away from stolen cameras and chaos, broken plumbing and budgets. I feel free--free from all those responsibilities constantly pulling on me. I am a limp noodle floating in a bowl of chicken noodle soup--a metaphor my dad gave me all those years ago when he taught me to float one day after school. I feel peace as I roll through the cool water. Swimming is what I imagine flying to feel like. I often dream I'm flying. Except in my dreams, I don't fly like Superman with arms outstretched. I fly doing my swimming stoke in midair. I return to shore, refreshed and happy having reconnected with the good parts of my old self.
The best part of being in Hawaii was reconnecting with people, places, my history, parts of myself I've forgotten living so far removed. I loved seeing old friends in their new lives--married with kids. I loved seeing the old places that evoked memories of my childhood. I loved sharing these places and memories with my children. I loved being cared for by my mother, my father, my grandmother, my auntie. I loved being my mother's daughter. I loved being in her presence.
We caught the red-eye home to Los Angeles. We left in a frenzy similar to the way we flew in. There was no time for a sad goodbye.
Hello 2009.
Hawaii was beautifully green from an abundance of recent rainfall, nice and humid for Naomi's delicate skin, and sunny enough to spend days at the beach. Most mornings we sat outside on my parents deck nibbling toast with peanut butter and the guava jelly made by Auntie so-and-so. Eating fruit and drinking milk, the girls took to exploring the landscaping for interesting bugs, rocks, leaves. I'd brew some coffee and we'd sit and enjoy the cool breeze blowing down the valley through the great old trees lining the stream; the trees that remember the days of my Okinawan immigrant great grandfather and great grandmother, Jiji and Baba; the days before statehood; the days of my father's youth, 50 years ago when he ran the streets and went to school across the stream; even the days of my own childhood--little red boxes of raisins with crunchy black ants crawling out of them, Baba's strict hand administering the thick red cough syrup that burned going down. I always dared to ask for a sip of water after a dose and she would refuse saying the water would dilute it's effectiveness. Somehow, even though she didn't speak English and I didn't speak Japanese, I understood.
The original house is no longer standing. It was old, termite eaten and unsafe. My dad demolished it and rebuilt a new home for my grandfather. Unexpectedly, Grandpa T. never saw it's completion passing away only a few months before. He would have enjoyed this new house; the old breeze, in the new house.
Hawaii was nice. I spent a lot of time with my children, not as much time as I'd hope to with my husband, and a good amount of time with my parents, grandma, aunties and uncles.
I ate a lot. My mother cooked or planned a big meal almost everyday. My grandmother treated us to the best brunch in Hawaii one Sunday and a super ono Hawaiian food lunch the next Saturday. My auntie made desserts for our various get-togethers and conveniently left what was left over in our refrigerator.
I decompressed from my hectic life in the gentle rocking of the ocean's waves, it's familiarity like being back in my mother's arms. My heart reconnected with the beating of it's rhythmic pulse as the sun warmed my pale winter skin. I swam a few strokes away from shore in the salty water I was raised in, away from my kids and husband into deeper waters, away from life in LA, away from stolen cameras and chaos, broken plumbing and budgets. I feel free--free from all those responsibilities constantly pulling on me. I am a limp noodle floating in a bowl of chicken noodle soup--a metaphor my dad gave me all those years ago when he taught me to float one day after school. I feel peace as I roll through the cool water. Swimming is what I imagine flying to feel like. I often dream I'm flying. Except in my dreams, I don't fly like Superman with arms outstretched. I fly doing my swimming stoke in midair. I return to shore, refreshed and happy having reconnected with the good parts of my old self.
The best part of being in Hawaii was reconnecting with people, places, my history, parts of myself I've forgotten living so far removed. I loved seeing old friends in their new lives--married with kids. I loved seeing the old places that evoked memories of my childhood. I loved sharing these places and memories with my children. I loved being cared for by my mother, my father, my grandmother, my auntie. I loved being my mother's daughter. I loved being in her presence.
We caught the red-eye home to Los Angeles. We left in a frenzy similar to the way we flew in. There was no time for a sad goodbye.
Hello 2009.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Ouch!
Naomi helped Hannah put on her silver sparkly shoes today. Naomi was so proud of Hannah's accomplishment that she said, Good job Hannah! You did it! Gimme 5! As Hannah put up her hand to five her sister, I see Naomi shirking back onto the floor with her eyes closed, flinching multiple times, waiting for Hannah's hand to come crashing down on her own daintily poised one.
I could not keep my amusement to myself at the sight. I burst into big, bold, laughter mostly because at that moment, I recognized a pattern. Everyone but Jerold, flinches when Hannah's around! It's so sad and tummy-achingly-hilarious at the same time. Aww...my Hannah...I see so much sweetness in her and yet, she can be such a bruiser.
Sequoia whimpers and turns away when Hannah greets him. He knows by now what's coming. She either grabs his head with her 2 hands and gives him a big kiss, or squishes his soft mochi cheeks with her aggressive little fingers.
Even I flinch when she jumps into our bed in the morning. She digs in her elbows and knees as if unaware my body is under the comforter. Or maybe she just thinks the comforter is big and poofy enough to protect me from her iron like appendages. I wince and groan as she crawls toward my face to cuddle. Oh, the pain especially when I'm only half awake! Okay, I take it back. It's not funny. Even so, I love this child with all my heart; so much that it hurts...literally.
I could not keep my amusement to myself at the sight. I burst into big, bold, laughter mostly because at that moment, I recognized a pattern. Everyone but Jerold, flinches when Hannah's around! It's so sad and tummy-achingly-hilarious at the same time. Aww...my Hannah...I see so much sweetness in her and yet, she can be such a bruiser.
Sequoia whimpers and turns away when Hannah greets him. He knows by now what's coming. She either grabs his head with her 2 hands and gives him a big kiss, or squishes his soft mochi cheeks with her aggressive little fingers.
Even I flinch when she jumps into our bed in the morning. She digs in her elbows and knees as if unaware my body is under the comforter. Or maybe she just thinks the comforter is big and poofy enough to protect me from her iron like appendages. I wince and groan as she crawls toward my face to cuddle. Oh, the pain especially when I'm only half awake! Okay, I take it back. It's not funny. Even so, I love this child with all my heart; so much that it hurts...literally.
Monday, December 22, 2008
A Taste of the Islands, a Meal for the Heart
The girls are napping. Sequoia is inching himself along the floor toward me with his drooly grin. I am taking advantage of his immobility (for the time being) and am sitting on the floor 2 feet in front of him typing away while keeping him entertained with silly faces.
Behind him under the Christmas tree sits the unwrapped Crock Pot, The Original Slow Cooker, I bought yesterday for my brother, a single 27 year old man who has no time to cook for himself. Is this the most boring Christmas gift ever? My brother just helped us recopper our entire plumbing system for 2 weeks (for free!) and I give him a crock pot. I'm lame.
I've been pregnant for several Thanksgivings in a row. Some may see this as the prime opportunity for me to consume to my bursting without guilt. I wish. I was in the infamous first trimester with Hannah on Thanksgiving 2005. Nausea had not yet completely taken over my life, but I was right on the cusp. I prepared all the food including the cold, dimpled, raw turkey with my bare hands. Ack! That was enough to send me over the cusp to 8 weeks of misery. Since that holiday, 3 years ago, the smell of garlic mashed potatoes and turkey is embedded in my memory and linked directly to my gag reflex. Too bad...so sad. I will forever mourn the loss of my Thanksgiving food appetite.
This year, as a result of my scarring, I made the traditional Hawaiian dish, Kalua Pig. Usually a whole pig is smoked for a day in a deep underground pit (imu) with hot rocks and leaves and not quite sure what else. Foregoing the effort to dig a pit in my front yard, I took the pork butt roast and rubbed it down with Aunty Gwen's homemade Hawaiian salt and placed it in my crock pot with shoyu (soy sauce), garlic, worcestershire sauce, ginger and liquid smoke and oh, da ting was ono. After 8 hours on the low setting, the pork fell apart and shredded easily with 2 forks. Ideally served with poi (purple mashed taro root) or with rice, it makes a satisfying meal, especially for the Hawaiian at heart, someone like J (my bro). This meal is so easy, he could make it Sunday morning and eat it during the week instead of deciding amongst the usual fast food options. Another simple meal he could make is pot roast with VEGETABLES. Now there's something he doesn't see regularly.
So this is my gift to my brother. I hope he likes it. I hope he uses it. If not, there's always the gift receipt. I know it's not the coolest and latest toy or gadget, but it's a symbolic gift. Crock pot = Hawaiian food = good for the soul.
Behind him under the Christmas tree sits the unwrapped Crock Pot, The Original Slow Cooker, I bought yesterday for my brother, a single 27 year old man who has no time to cook for himself. Is this the most boring Christmas gift ever? My brother just helped us recopper our entire plumbing system for 2 weeks (for free!) and I give him a crock pot. I'm lame.
I've been pregnant for several Thanksgivings in a row. Some may see this as the prime opportunity for me to consume to my bursting without guilt. I wish. I was in the infamous first trimester with Hannah on Thanksgiving 2005. Nausea had not yet completely taken over my life, but I was right on the cusp. I prepared all the food including the cold, dimpled, raw turkey with my bare hands. Ack! That was enough to send me over the cusp to 8 weeks of misery. Since that holiday, 3 years ago, the smell of garlic mashed potatoes and turkey is embedded in my memory and linked directly to my gag reflex. Too bad...so sad. I will forever mourn the loss of my Thanksgiving food appetite.
This year, as a result of my scarring, I made the traditional Hawaiian dish, Kalua Pig. Usually a whole pig is smoked for a day in a deep underground pit (imu) with hot rocks and leaves and not quite sure what else. Foregoing the effort to dig a pit in my front yard, I took the pork butt roast and rubbed it down with Aunty Gwen's homemade Hawaiian salt and placed it in my crock pot with shoyu (soy sauce), garlic, worcestershire sauce, ginger and liquid smoke and oh, da ting was ono. After 8 hours on the low setting, the pork fell apart and shredded easily with 2 forks. Ideally served with poi (purple mashed taro root) or with rice, it makes a satisfying meal, especially for the Hawaiian at heart, someone like J (my bro). This meal is so easy, he could make it Sunday morning and eat it during the week instead of deciding amongst the usual fast food options. Another simple meal he could make is pot roast with VEGETABLES. Now there's something he doesn't see regularly.
So this is my gift to my brother. I hope he likes it. I hope he uses it. If not, there's always the gift receipt. I know it's not the coolest and latest toy or gadget, but it's a symbolic gift. Crock pot = Hawaiian food = good for the soul.
Friday, December 19, 2008
the latest...
I am happy and relieved to post that the Ohana household is up and running again. Except for a few minor details to be completed this weekend, we are living in our home again. The pipes are working, the toilet is flushing, and we are bathing. For the first time ever, I am thankful to do laundry. I have a new appreciation for modern plumbing and a sincere gratitude to friends and neighbors who offered their showers and toilets in our time of need.
While living without a kitchen for 2 weeks, the kids and I spent just about everyday either at the McDonald's drive-thru or dining in the restaurant. I have no desire to ever have a chicken nugget again. Their coffee is pretty good though...and cheap...which makes it even better when my coffee maker at home was covered in construction dust. I'll likely return for the coffee and to visit our new friends who work the breakfast shift.
I also returned to Trader Joe's for their cheap milk and bread, pre-made salads and their free sampler cups of juice. I must confess, I've avoided Trader Joe's for a long time. Their parking lot is usually a disaster, their food aisles--narrow and over-crowded, their produce on several occasions--not so fresh. All very good reasons for me to completely give up on Trader Joe's. I was desperate one day, however, and braved it with the 3 kids. Sequoia sat in the cart facing me, Hannah was in the back of the cart, and Naomi walked. While precariously making it toward the free juice, an employee stopped to talk with us and asked if we wanted balloons. He returned with 3; one for each kid. That made us all happier. On our way out, the cashier chatted about his sister who has 4 kids and was currently taking a 7 day vacation away from them, and then commented on how cute my kids were. I am now a loyal fan of Trader Joe's. I was grateful for the reminder and relieved to feel that I am not the only struggling mom in the universe. It's hard to remember my kids are cute especially when my life is chaos and they are driving me crazy. Of course I know they can't really help it. What's a 2 year old supposed to do when there's a saw and blowtorch in the living room where she's used to playing with her puzzles? How can I blame her for regressing to peeing in a diaper when there is no toilet in the house?
This is one of the most difficult living situations I've been in. I do have to say though, that I feel truly blessed that this is the extent of my struggle. I am blessed that it was temporary. All the tools are put away in the garage, and at the end of the day, I have a home. I think of the struggling moms out there who don't have homes. Where does a woman and her family sleep? What do they eat? They have no kitchen, no running water. Do they even get a chance to bathe or wash their clothes? I was stressing about my kids getting their clothes dirty because I didn't have a way to wash them. They're kids. They are going to get dirty. But when you have no where to wash and you want to appear somewhat presentable, it's stressful. How does she have hope or strength for her kids? When you feel like no one understands, it's hard to have hope. I am troubled by these questions having been through probably just a fraction of that kind of hardship.
I don't know what to do with this. I don't have a neat conclusion. I don't have any answers. Just a place in my heart with a little more compassion for those who are going without and the hope that I will be good enough, strong enough, to do something about it.
While living without a kitchen for 2 weeks, the kids and I spent just about everyday either at the McDonald's drive-thru or dining in the restaurant. I have no desire to ever have a chicken nugget again. Their coffee is pretty good though...and cheap...which makes it even better when my coffee maker at home was covered in construction dust. I'll likely return for the coffee and to visit our new friends who work the breakfast shift.
I also returned to Trader Joe's for their cheap milk and bread, pre-made salads and their free sampler cups of juice. I must confess, I've avoided Trader Joe's for a long time. Their parking lot is usually a disaster, their food aisles--narrow and over-crowded, their produce on several occasions--not so fresh. All very good reasons for me to completely give up on Trader Joe's. I was desperate one day, however, and braved it with the 3 kids. Sequoia sat in the cart facing me, Hannah was in the back of the cart, and Naomi walked. While precariously making it toward the free juice, an employee stopped to talk with us and asked if we wanted balloons. He returned with 3; one for each kid. That made us all happier. On our way out, the cashier chatted about his sister who has 4 kids and was currently taking a 7 day vacation away from them, and then commented on how cute my kids were. I am now a loyal fan of Trader Joe's. I was grateful for the reminder and relieved to feel that I am not the only struggling mom in the universe. It's hard to remember my kids are cute especially when my life is chaos and they are driving me crazy. Of course I know they can't really help it. What's a 2 year old supposed to do when there's a saw and blowtorch in the living room where she's used to playing with her puzzles? How can I blame her for regressing to peeing in a diaper when there is no toilet in the house?
This is one of the most difficult living situations I've been in. I do have to say though, that I feel truly blessed that this is the extent of my struggle. I am blessed that it was temporary. All the tools are put away in the garage, and at the end of the day, I have a home. I think of the struggling moms out there who don't have homes. Where does a woman and her family sleep? What do they eat? They have no kitchen, no running water. Do they even get a chance to bathe or wash their clothes? I was stressing about my kids getting their clothes dirty because I didn't have a way to wash them. They're kids. They are going to get dirty. But when you have no where to wash and you want to appear somewhat presentable, it's stressful. How does she have hope or strength for her kids? When you feel like no one understands, it's hard to have hope. I am troubled by these questions having been through probably just a fraction of that kind of hardship.
I don't know what to do with this. I don't have a neat conclusion. I don't have any answers. Just a place in my heart with a little more compassion for those who are going without and the hope that I will be good enough, strong enough, to do something about it.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
7 Months Old
Sequoia turned 7 months yesterday.
He's rolling around the floor now; not in a hurry to get anywhere yet (thank God) but he's proficient enough to end up stuck feet first under the baby bouncer or head first under the Christmas tree.
Now that he's rolling, he sleeps on his tummy like his daddy. He still sleeps in our bed, a routine that I know is going to get harder to break the longer I keep it. He's just so cute and cuddly. Plus having to wake up out of bed, take 10 paces to the crib in the girls room, pick him up and come back 10 paces to my own bed is torture in the middle of the night. It's so much easier to give him his midnight snack with him sleeping next to me.
Sequoia is my spoiled third child. Naomi was sleeping through the night in her crib at 6 weeks. I just wanted to have a full night's sleep again--get back to what sleep was like before a baby. We sleep-trained her spending painful minutes waiting outside her door, listening to her cry, praying she'd fall asleep.
Hannah slept in a pack-and-play next to our bed and woke up once a night to nurse until I fully weaned her at 14 months. I accepted a certain amount of chaos now having 2 babes. Waking up once in the middle of the night didn't seem so bad anymore.
And here we have Sequoia, reaping all the benefits of coping parents, eating his fill all night. It's great for burning calories in my sleep though...and birth control...
Going on that tangent, today a dear mommy friend of mine called Sequoia anti-birth control. She said You know how some kids are crazy and they're like birth control? Sequoia is anti-birth control. Aww...how sweet. I have to agree...my baby is adorable.
He's rolling around the floor now; not in a hurry to get anywhere yet (thank God) but he's proficient enough to end up stuck feet first under the baby bouncer or head first under the Christmas tree.
Now that he's rolling, he sleeps on his tummy like his daddy. He still sleeps in our bed, a routine that I know is going to get harder to break the longer I keep it. He's just so cute and cuddly. Plus having to wake up out of bed, take 10 paces to the crib in the girls room, pick him up and come back 10 paces to my own bed is torture in the middle of the night. It's so much easier to give him his midnight snack with him sleeping next to me.
Sequoia is my spoiled third child. Naomi was sleeping through the night in her crib at 6 weeks. I just wanted to have a full night's sleep again--get back to what sleep was like before a baby. We sleep-trained her spending painful minutes waiting outside her door, listening to her cry, praying she'd fall asleep.
Hannah slept in a pack-and-play next to our bed and woke up once a night to nurse until I fully weaned her at 14 months. I accepted a certain amount of chaos now having 2 babes. Waking up once in the middle of the night didn't seem so bad anymore.
And here we have Sequoia, reaping all the benefits of coping parents, eating his fill all night. It's great for burning calories in my sleep though...and birth control...
Going on that tangent, today a dear mommy friend of mine called Sequoia anti-birth control. She said You know how some kids are crazy and they're like birth control? Sequoia is anti-birth control. Aww...how sweet. I have to agree...my baby is adorable.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
...but not quite yet
I am blogging from the local coffee shop. You know...a place with a working toilet and running water.
I am losing it people...losing it.
I stomped out of my apartment tonight, cursed in the middle of the street and kicked a trash bin.
I got home after dark with the kids hoping to find...I don't know...a working toilet?? But came home instead to a construction site, the taste of dry wall dust on my tongue and the friggen toilet in the the tub--again.
One of the children had to #2 before bed, thus, sat on the baby potty. I took 2 plastic bags and dumped the dump into the double-lined bag. It was only a few seconds before I felt dripping onto the jeans I've been wearing for the past 2 weeks. I looked down and yes, apparently both baggies had holes in them and were connivingly leaking onto my leg and dribbling down onto the already nasty carpet I have come to hate so much. At that point, Naomi starts whining about how she doesn't want to go to bed. Her crying wakes up Sequoia who then starts wailing. Meanwhile, I'm scrubbing the poopy pee off my jeans and carpet with baby wipes, a drill is going off in the laundry room and the pressure is building. Eventually I'm yelling "I'm losing it!!! I'm losing it!!"
So here I am, paying for internet access and having an eggnog latte. I'm laughing and cringing and almost crying as I recall the last half hour of my life. I feel slightly guilty for leaving Jerold and J in that claustrophobic clutter. (What's up with that mommy/wife guilt whenever I do something for myself?) I really need a few minutes to stew in my annoyance so I can move on, collect myself and keep perspective.
This will all be over soon and I will no longer have to worry about leaking pipes. Just the thought that someone might read this, feel my struggle and laugh at my s**t makes me feel tons better. I'm sorry if my use of expletives has offended anyone...but as you can tell, I'm not having the best day, week, month...
Just keeping it real people. Pray for me.
I am losing it people...losing it.
I stomped out of my apartment tonight, cursed in the middle of the street and kicked a trash bin.
I got home after dark with the kids hoping to find...I don't know...a working toilet?? But came home instead to a construction site, the taste of dry wall dust on my tongue and the friggen toilet in the the tub--again.
One of the children had to #2 before bed, thus, sat on the baby potty. I took 2 plastic bags and dumped the dump into the double-lined bag. It was only a few seconds before I felt dripping onto the jeans I've been wearing for the past 2 weeks. I looked down and yes, apparently both baggies had holes in them and were connivingly leaking onto my leg and dribbling down onto the already nasty carpet I have come to hate so much. At that point, Naomi starts whining about how she doesn't want to go to bed. Her crying wakes up Sequoia who then starts wailing. Meanwhile, I'm scrubbing the poopy pee off my jeans and carpet with baby wipes, a drill is going off in the laundry room and the pressure is building. Eventually I'm yelling "I'm losing it!!! I'm losing it!!"
So here I am, paying for internet access and having an eggnog latte. I'm laughing and cringing and almost crying as I recall the last half hour of my life. I feel slightly guilty for leaving Jerold and J in that claustrophobic clutter. (What's up with that mommy/wife guilt whenever I do something for myself?) I really need a few minutes to stew in my annoyance so I can move on, collect myself and keep perspective.
This will all be over soon and I will no longer have to worry about leaking pipes. Just the thought that someone might read this, feel my struggle and laugh at my s**t makes me feel tons better. I'm sorry if my use of expletives has offended anyone...but as you can tell, I'm not having the best day, week, month...
Just keeping it real people. Pray for me.
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