Goodbye 2005

It's nearing the end of January, and in my mind, it is now officially the beginning of 2006. This is when I get it together and stop making the mistake of writing 2005 on all our checks, when I get my butt in gear because I can no longer use the "post-holiday" excuse, and it's also when I start looking forward to the new year and what goals I need to make and achieve.

2005 was a landmark year for us in many ways. In fact, every year is significant in the growth and development of a child. This past year, our children celebrated their first and third birthdays, which included a garden party and a fish-themed party. Our eldest was potty-trained, asserted her position as big sister in our household and began school for the first time. Our youngest, started talking in full sentences, dressing up in princess clothes, copying everything her older sister would do, and fighting for the right to her own toys. Joe committed to stay at his group and become partner, finally traded in the old Civic and got his first new car, and we moved into our own single family home complete with a big backyard. I was busy constantly thinking of new ways to make our new home more our own, exploring a new community, getting to better know and love the sisters at our church, and embarking on the beginning of a new career. When I reflect upon the past year and look on this year, there are just a few things I can think of that I want to do better:

• Listen to myself and my needs more
• Listen to my children and be calmer and more patient with them
• Fight the urge to retreat when things get tough with the girls, Joe, or my parents. And "seek the truth" as Joe always says
• Say "I love you" more to those I truly love
• Be wholly devoted to God
  

Side note: there are a whopping 12 pregnant ladies at our church right now. That number will go down to 11 this week when one of them gives birth. Just to give you an idea of how significant this is, I did a bit of number crunching. There are roughly about 40 women of childbearing age (I defined this to be post-college and pre-menopause) at our church and of those, 30% are pregnant! Out of 40 women 65% are married, so if you calculate the percent pregnant out of married women only, the percent goes up to almost 50% (I know, I'm a biostats nerd). It's gotten bad, but it's a funny sight to see the parade of bellies every Sunday and whenever we get together. Yesterday I went to church in this empire waist, tunic top and everyone started asking me how I was feeling, as if I might be pregnant. AS IF!

Not my usual self

The new me
Originally uploaded by hyuhan.

For the past several days I have been another woman. I have transformed into some kind of supercharged, handywoman, task master, OCD cleaning machine (I decided to get some photos taken just to prove it ---->). Here are just a few examples of the strange behavior I have been exhibiting: I went around the house and hung up almost all the pictures that have been sitting against the wall of the office for the past year (total of 8), I obsessively chased after the contractors who were working on our family room remodel with a Swiffer mop, I fixed a droopy shelf in a closet (which was not as easy as it sounds; it involved a power drill, 5/8" drill bit, stud finder, 4 2-inch wood screws and some muscle), and attempted to fix a running toilet (in the end, I decided to leave this one to the hubby). I hate touching toilets, even though ours were brand new when we moved in and get cleaned on a regular basis. In the process of fixing that droopy closet shelf, I had to pull out all the boxes of junk I chose not to deal with when we first moved in. At the time (1 year ago on Feb. 1), I was too overwhelmed with the task of unpacking hundreds of boxes; some of which by the end of our packing were full of pieces of miscellaneous odds and ends we couldn't decide whether to throw away. It was just too, too much at the time. But NOW was the time that God had chosen for the closet to get an enema. I flushed and purged it. And it felt GOOOOD!

I think I will go around and patch all the cracks and dings in the walls and moldings next, and then paint all the spots that need to be touched up. And then I will pop open an ice cold beer and scratch myself. What is up with me? I think it has to do with the fact that we've had contractors working diligently on our home for 3 days straight. Being around people who are working hard inspires me to work hard too. It feels great. My soul feels at peace. Is this what neat freaks feel like all the time, or do they just have more anxiety because they're constantly thinking about the next thing they need to straighten up? In any case, I wonder how long this will last.

Hello, McFly!

Ever since my pregnancy with my first child, I became an extremely cautious and careful person. Let's step back. Let me take you back to my early years when I either had fresh, bloody scrapes or a huge scab on my knees, at all times. I can't even begin to guess how many times I've fallen down in my life: 500, 5000, 5 hundred thousand? I once fell in the middle of the street in NYC and looked down to find that I had tripped on absolutely nothing. I've fallen up and down flights of stairs. I have an embarrassing falling-in-the-nude-in-public story, which I will not elaborate on any more. Speaking from experience, it is particularly important that you are more careful when you are in such a vulnerable situation. As a mature adult in the corporate world, I fell over a half-flight of stairs in front of the fountain, which is in the middle of the plaza at my office building. That was particularly memorable because while I was falling in slow-mo, I heard hundreds of loud *gasps*, but somehow landed victoriously on my feet and spared myself from a very nasty spill.

Well, I thought the curse had left me when I got pregnant, because miraculously one day I was accident-prone no more. But, to my dismay, it has mysteriously returned. Today I made a big boo-boo and smashed the back window of my 1-year old minivan while backing up into my garage, which is going to cost me $400 to repair. My bruised shins and bluish black toenail have returned, too. Oh well. Now that the curse is back, I guess I should start setting aside an accident fund.

Family Room reDesign VI

Before
Originally uploaded by hyuhan.

Demolition is underway and our old, outdated wetbar is being hauled away. That thing was built to last. They definitely don't build things like they used to. What's really cool is that we found an old calendar hidden behind some of the boards, from 1956. I wonder if it was put in there intentionally. I think I want to insert something in the base of the cabinet too before they start building it up. Wouldn't that be a cool find for the next owners when they demo our cabinet in another 50 years?

By the end of this week, we are assured that all the demo will be complete and the doorway between the living room and family room will be closed off halfway. I am told that it will take about a year for the editing to be complete on our episode. So unfortunately, you will have to stay tuned until Spring 2007 (!) to see the results. Or if you want to see the reveal sooner, you'll have to make a personal visit to our home. We will start charging admission and open doors as soon as construction is complete in about another month.

The eternal question...

for women, that is. What should I do with my hair? For the first time since the year 2000 I am allowing my hair to grow significantly past my shoulders. It is now almost down to my shoulder blades. What is it about hair that makes us crazy? They're just dead cells like finger nails. Why must we obsess about cutting it, styling it, flat-ironing it, blow-drying it, curling it, dyeing it, and perming it? I am even considering the latter choice. From the time I was in junior high through junior year in high school, I had a different hair style about every 6 months. Some of the times I was daring enough to cut my own hair, using a mirror and a pair of clippers or scissors. That's why I have such amusing school photos.

I have virgin hair. It has NEVER been dyed and the last time it touched any sort of chemicals was in the 6th grade when my mom gave me a home-perm. Bad move. I had a fro for months and was traumatized. What to do. To perm or not to perm. This is an even bigger deal because if I make a bad decision, the disaster will be forever recorded on TV when we air on reDesign. Can anyone dissuade me or assuage my fears?

Severe Weather Alert!

Oh dear. The news and weather forecasters are advising residents to stay indoors until at least 4 PM today. Classes have been cancelled for the second day in a row at Cal State Fontana and traffic is at a standstill. All this because of some wind. We Californians are TRULY WEAK. At least it's still sunny and 75 degrees.

Mother bear

Lately, I have been watching and studying my eldest daughter's relationships, especially at church and since the start of school. This year in particular it seems has been more challenging. And as a result I've been paying extra special attention to whether her school is fostering her social skills and whether she is developing healthy friendships in all her various social circles. It's a tough world and it's even tougher for girls. That's why growing up I had more guy-friends. Girls are just too complex and have too many issues and sensitivities.

Today, a fellow mother mentioned to me her regret that her daughter had been less than nice to mine today and in the past. I truly appreciated her apology and expressed that I too have been concerned about this. I'm not trying to single her out (I think we're cool in terms of this topic), since this is a common "playground" issue for children. But I often wonder how much I should get involved in situations such as these. It's not that my daughter has trouble making friends. To the contrary, she is one of the most outgoing youngsters I've known. As soon as she was old enough to learn people's names, she would walk around before church and greet all her friends as if she was on the welcoming committee. It's just that when she is rejected, she takes it particularly hard. She will have to learn that in life there are different types of people and when difficult situations arise, you have to come up with your own solutions and move on. Not all people were meant to get along and be friends. Like I've said before, people are different. Even though I've tried to explain this to her over and over, I realize it's a tough lesson, which I'm not sure a 3-year old is ready to learn. I fear sometimes the negative effects of this sort of discouragement and social rejection at so young an age. I myself was often on the outside of most social circles growing up and although I'm fairly confident in myself now, I find that I still have a hard time asserting myself or putting my opinions out there, for fear of not being accepted.

I know as mothers we have to refrain ourselves, because we would do almost anything for our children, from giving them the food off our plates, to physically stopping a moving truck. It's difficult to strike a balance between protecting them and allowing them to experience trials, so they can learn to solve problems on their own. I can't protect my daughters forever from all hurt or disappointment, although I often wish I could. What good would come out of it though? They would learn that mom and dad will fix all problems and never learn to depend on themselves. But, as a mom, it's hard to see your child hurt and not have it break your own heart as well.

Superhero Quiz

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 100% Robin 80% Iron Man 75% Wonder Woman 67% The Flash 65% Supergirl 62% Superman 60% Hulk 60% Green Lantern 55% Catwoman 50% Batman 45%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...

Being Rich

This is an interesting debate, since I have never been rich. So, it's easy for me to speculate how my life would be if I were rich. Although, if we cashed out our home and moved to Nebraska, we would be sitting pretty. I'm sitting here thinking of this subject because I'm reading a book, which I am embarrassed to name (Rich Dad, Poor Dad: What the Rich Teach Their Kids About Money - That the Poor and Middle Class Do Not!). I saw it at the library last week and was curious to see what it is that the rich teach their kids that my parents didn't teach me. It's not that profound or novel, so don't waste your time, but I was sitting here and thinking about my middle class upbringing and even the times in my life that were less than middle class. As a child, I didn't know the difference. I take that back, I think I sensed a difference, but didn't recognize it. I think I appreciated what I had so much more because it wasn't just mine for the asking. It wasn't so easy to get what you wanted and a lot of times you had to give up on the dream of having something or just become resourceful.

Joe and I frequently have conversations about the lure and power of money and what it does to people. We try to be very wary of its influence in our lives. We almost pride ourselves on the fact that we struggled growing up and understand the value of money a bit more than those who lived comfortably their whole lives. Even when my parents became more financially stable, they didn't let my brother and I know about it. I think they feared they'd spoil us. I went to college with a huge lump of guilt in my stomach because I thought my parents couldn't afford it. Not until I went to the financial aid office to question the meager loan package they had offered me, and the loan officer laughed in my face, did I realize that my parents weren't as poor as I thought. My parents did pass on some incredibly valuable financial lessons growing up. Because my mom is so extreme in her view of money (the woman doesn't have a single cent of debt - not even home or car), I adopted the same ethics. In today's world, instead of saving for the future, people are constantly borrowing from the future. Look at Social Security. In my mom's world, if you didn't have the cash up front, you didn't buy, whether it was a car or a loaf of bread.

I often worry that our children will grow up too comfortably, because what do we do when we think our children are in need? We provide, the best that we can. I would hope that my first inclination wouldn't be to buy them what they need. But so often, without thinking, that does seem to be the quickest and most direct solution. Will we have to hide our income from our children, too, until the day they get laughed at by a loan officer and deemed unable to qualify for all the low/no interest loans because of our financial status? I guess that wouldn't be so bad. In the same way that trials make us stronger and more resourceful, will our children become weak and unwise in terms of money because they never tasted struggle or financial difficulty?

I admit, it's nice not having to worry about money. I don't like having to worry about how we're going to buy the things we need or what our future holds. I like not thinking about money and having just enough of it, so it doesn't become a burden or an obstacle. I also worry that having money will change us and influence us to make choices that are not prudent. Fortunately for us, we live in Southern California, so we will never be rich.

Money really is evil, isn't it? Once you have it, you can never go back. Money doesn't calm our fears about being materially comfortable. In fact, the more you have, the more it seems we fear losing it. I catch myself thinking sometimes, if we had a bit more money, we could do this or do that. I think about ways we could make more money if we only had a little more money. It' s never enough. And that's the danger with money. Much like a drug, the more you have, the more you want and the harder it becomes to get out of our dependence on it. It's an insatiable need.

Inconsistencies

This is why I am a hard person to know, really know. On the outside, I appear to be a fairly sedate, mild-mannered individual, but inside I can be extremely passionate. For example, when it comes to food, I all of a sudden become a critical, articulate, meticulous, intense, exuberant, lustful person. Which makes me wonder, is this the real me, but I just suppress my inner longings to be accepted by the outside world? I know we sometimes have different moods depending on our surroundings, but how can I seem so callous and nonchalant about the majority of things in my life, but so compassionate and concerned when the cause hits a nerve?

I find that I am a very middle-of-the-road kind of person - I never stir the water too much, don't cause arguments unnecessarily (unless provoked), seldom use the words "always" and "never", and am generally very accepting. But when it comes to my passions, my loves, my angst, I go extreme. I have argued with my husband for 6 hours straight, because I'm stubborn as a mule (and he's stubborn as a mule's mother). I have sat at a pottery wheel for 8 hours straight without eating or peeing. I took on 4 jobs simultaneously one summer because I wanted to save up a little money for the school year AND get a fulfilling internship on my resume. This week, our new piano was delivered (my favoritest purchase ever) and I think I played for about 3 hours straight, with 2 noisy, distracting toddlers trying to hog my keyboard space. When I was growing up, my mom had to chase me down to keep my butt glued to that piano bench for more than half an hour.

I suppose it would be draining to have the same level of passion and care for everything that crosses my path. Am I really that two-faced? One of my biggest concerns in life is to be fair, yet I am far from fair when it comes to the people, places and things that I choose to love/not love.

I find myself envying all those people who know how to ask all the right questions at the right time and know just the right thing to say when someone needs it. I am not that person. I really DO care even though it may seem the contrary. My sensitive husband and I had an argument on this subject early on in our marriage. He was basically hurt because I would ask the same question to him every day after he came home from work, "How was your day?" He said it was apparent that I really didn't care, because I never asked follow-up questions. I was always satisfied with, "Fine." Why wouldn't I care how my husband's day went and how he is doing? Of course I do. But why do I come off as such an insensitive prick? How is it that I can ramble on and on about the subtle hints of herbs or spices in a dish and critique its balance and texture (think Iron Chef, when they critique the two opponents based on use of ingredients, presentation and originality), yet when it comes to people or things that should matter, I'm an absolute dolt? I am reminded of something a wise friend once said to his class, "People are different." Oh so true. You can take me or leave me. I could care less.

Family Room reDesign Part V

Friday (the 13th) was our third day of taping for the home remodeling show reDesign. I wish I had some cool pictures to post from the shoot, since it involved Joe with a big sledgehammer, safety goggles and the demolition of our 50s style Formica wet-bar. I'm sure you can use your imagination. This time I just stepped back and let Joe get all the glory, even though in our household I'm usually the one operating the heavy equipment and power tools. After a little coaching from me, Joe gave it a good whack and successfully brought the structure down. The room remodel is officially underway now that the ground breaking has begun. When is it going to be completed, you ask? That's a good question. Stay tuned for more.

Bride turned mother

Last night I caught a bit of one of my favorite movies, Father of the Bride. I cried like a baby the last time I saw it, which was the day before I got married. This time, now that I'm a mother, it had a completely different meaning to me. I realized I was now watching it from the opposite perspective. It still made me cry. I know, I know... my girls are still practically toddlers, but it makes me sad to think that someday they will no longer live in our home with us. My babies.

Where did I come from?

I'm currently reading Still Life with Rice (Thanks, Cha) and learning so much about myself. It's amazing that I can learn something new about myself or stir up new emotions that were dormant inside of me by reading a simple book. It's a cultural thing, I suppose, for Koreans to not communicate very well. We keep inside the majority of our emotions and thoughts unless they have some value or pertinence to the outside world. There are so many things that my parents choose not to explain to me for this reason. And there are parts of my culture and who I am that I still don't understand at times, because of this.

In this novel, the writer, through the eyes of her grandmother, tells the story of her arranged marriage and all the customs surrounding marriage: the extensive background check to ensure the bloodline is pure and untainted, the gifts that are lavished on the bride to be, the wedding celebration, the severing of the bride's family, the taking on of a new family as your own, and all the responsibilities and obligations as a daughter-in-law. First of all, I am so thankful that I did not have to endure such oppression in my lifetime. The stories of my mother-in-law pale in comparison to the devaluing and the oppression of so many Korean women for so many centuries. When I was married, my mother chose not to warn me or prepare me for the expectations that would be laid upon me. I was so simple and happy-go-lucky, thinking that I was marrying the man that I loved and that was all that I needed to concern myself with. Perhaps my mother did this to shield me from the parts of marriage that don't make it onto the pages of the storybooks. Certainly, I would face these issues head-on for myself, soon enough. Unfortunately, I really had no example of inter-family relationships to refer to, as my family left when I was only two to come to America, thousands of miles away from all living relatives.

As I was reading about the grandmother's account of her wedding, I was nearly moved to tears. On her wedding night, she was basically told by her mother that she was to set aside her own family and take on her new husband's family as her first family. As I was reading, a wave of emotions rushed over me, remembering a test I was given upon my presentation to my new family in LA and remembering my harsh introduction to a culture that was in fact my own. My husband and I were married in Houston and 1 week later we attended a reception in LA for my in-laws' family and friends. In front of these family members and family friends I was given a test. I was told to present a drink to my father, but the trick was whether I would serve the drink to my own father or to my father-in-law. The expectation of course was for me to serve my new father. With that simple act, my heart was broken and I could feel from the momentary glance toward my father's direction that his heart had been wounded too. My husband and I have had many discussions about my lack of understanding for Korean culture. I tend to be suspicious of tradition, any tradition, while my husband, being raised more traditional, tends to have more respect for customs, unless detrimental. Many traditions seem harmless enough and it's hard to judge whether a tradition should be abandoned when the Bible does not always provide clear answers on these gray issues.

It is apparent to me now that there are traditions that my parents chose to end with me and my brother. I used to be upset with my parents for not teaching me throughout life about even some of the most basic and principal Korean customs, but now I find that I actually have a deeper respect for the paths they took and the choices they made. Much like the trivial thoughts and emotions that lie dormant in so many Koreans of our parents' generation, they chose not to express from inside themselves the things in life that had no pertinence to the world and did not make me a better person. They chose to set aside the customs that were so deeply entrenched in the very fabric of their being to start fresh in America with their own teachings and customs. These customs would become my own and my daughters' and would ultimately shape how I viewed the world and my place in this world.

The Big Apple

Happy New Year
Originally uploaded by hyuhan.

Happy New Year To All. That's something I can safely wish everyone without offending anyone's religion/customs. This New Year's we celebrated at midnight (EST) with the girls and watched the Big Apple drop at Times Square. There's something so classic about that. I remember many years in my childhood staying up way past my bedtime just to watch that apple make its way down to the bottom. We also enjoyed making and eating candied apples while waiting for the big event. Good times. Today, after church, we meet with the dozens of extended relatives on my husband's side to collect seh-beh money from all the other aunts and uncles - this is the real reason why Koreans have children.