Brave New Web

Today at Parenting: Brave New Web.

Boy I’ve been slacking on blogging lately. I figured I should write about where I’ve been lately… And in case you didn’t read it before, I’ve been Facebooking.

As much as I love Facebook and the Internet, technology scares me. I worry it will be one of the wedges in my future relationship with my kids. For example, when I have to call them and ask them how the hell to turn on whatever futuristic gadget they have gifted us and then demand to know why I need it. And start every sentence with, “You know, back when I was your age…” etc.

At what age will I be over the learning curve hill? Is it going to be apparent when they know more about technology than I do?

Click here to read more.

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Bean, The Teen

Today on Parenting: Three-Going-On-Teenager:

Anyone else have a three-year-old hitting puberty? 

Click here to read.

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Kids 101: How To Give Your Parents A Heart Attack

Over Labor Day weekend, while away at our friend’s summer cabin, we all decided to take the kids to the pool. Buddy was in front of the group with G. He walked right up to the edge of the pool, paused for a moment, and without any notice — with his shoes and shirt still on — jumped right into the deep end.

He can’t swim.

G jumped in after him — backpack and all — swam down to a quickly sinking Buddy, grabbed him and pulled him up to the surface.

This happened so fast I don’t think I moved. I froze as if I was watching it on a movie screen and had no influence on the scene at all, except to watch it unfold. When he was lifted out of the pool, he cried and cried, scared absolutely shitless. Somehow he managed not to swallow any water, as he wasn’t choking or complaining about his nose hurting or anything, so maybe G showing the kids how to hold their breath and blow bubbles in the bathtub paid off in some way. Or, maybe it was just instinct.

When we asked him later why he jumped in the pool, he answered: “Because I jumped in the pool.”

After five minutes of holding him (okay, clutching him and practically suffocating him), cocooned in a towel, he ceased crying and said, “Mommy I want to go in the pool now.” Well, okay then.

He had a great time after that, seemingly unaffected by the FACT THAT HE HAD ALMOST JUST DROWNED.

I think G and I were still shaking at the end of the day. But, we’re thankful that we were all there (rather, I’m glad G was there as I seem to freeze during moments of pressure like I’m Cindy Brady on-air), and that Buddy was still willing to get in the pool after that and wasn’t traumatized, like I was.

Yesterday, I got the kids some down vests for the fall weather (if it ever arrives). Buddy was wearing his for awhile, looking like he couldn’t move. After several minutes, he asked me, “Mommy, this jacket is for the boat?”

First of all… no, you funny little bugger.
Second of all… what boat?

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A couple of weeks ago, I was parked on a busy street and needed to get the kids in the car. I had Buddy climb in first so he could get into his carseat, which was on the street side. While I was pushing his bum up, I glanced sideways and noticed Bean was no longer waiting patiently next to me, which she usually does.

I zoomed around the car door, looking for her on the sidewalk, then ran to the back of the car, and saw her about to step into oncoming traffic. I screamed at her, lunged and pulled her back, completely scaring her in the process.

She was confused that Buddy was getting in on her side, so she assumed she should go to the other side.

Before the twins were born, this was something I worried about constantly. I had read books about twins running in opposite directions in parking lots. So when they first started walking, I was a dictator about holding hands. Luckily, they usually never wander too far, and when we call them, they usually listen to us.

Just goes to show that I can’t assume anything. At all.

In the car after that, my heart was thumping.

I lectured them about running into the street, always staying close to me, never jumping into pools, etc. etc. (Actually, Buddy brought up the pool thing, since I was going down a checklist of things they should never do anyway.) I told them whenever they cross the street, they always have to hold an a-dolt’s hand. I told them they needed to hold my hand or Daddy’s hand. Then I asked them who else’s hands they thought they could hold.

Buddy offered, “We can hold Aunt FingKASIL’s hand!” (Clearly, not her real name. I thought FingKASIL would appreciate this —number three on the list of a-dolts! Awesome, considering they haven't seen her since they were 14 months old or so.)

Bean offered, ”We can hold S’s hand!” S (a friend of ours) is her crush — the one that causes her eyelashes to get all Betty Boopy.

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Lawd. I’m close to not bringing my kids out in public anymore.

When the kids were smaller and people said things to me like: “I don’t know how you do it, with twins,” I snorted and told them that our kids were going to grow up to be like those Flower in the Attic kids — i.e. three feet tall mutant adults from lack of sunshine or fresh air. I was too scared/tired/lazy to take them out by myself. I could usually tell if I would get along with people by their reaction to my joke.

But seriously. These kids! My heart is going to bust out of my chest soon.

Shit. With each passing day, all I learn about parenting… is that I really know jack shit about parenting.

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Miscellaneous Parenting

I seem to have fooled everyone into thinking I’m some kind of rational being. Ha. Ha ha ha.

The truth is that I have quite a temper. I’ve always been pretty over-reactive and gotten into way too many unnecessary arguments. So what’s changed?

I’m too tired. Whether it’s to care or to put up a fight, I don’t even know. Okay, maybe I’ve matured a bit. Mostly, I think I just want to be someone my kids respect. I mean, who doesn’t?

However, it doesn’t mean my temper doesn’t spill out on occasion. Probably too many occasions. And then I worry that my kids do what I tell them not because they respect me, but because they are scared of me. In reality, it’s probably a little of both. It kills me to admit that, but it’s probably true.

So, I just continue to work on it. And apologize to them when it rears its ugly head. Hopefully at the very least they’ll learn that I’m trying my best, but I have many faults.

As for dealing with the teacher… it’s still early in the school year. I suspect this won’t be my last serious-issue conversation with her. I needed to start on the right foot with her.

Still, I now know why my mom would stay up worrying about us all the time. I always thought it was silly, but wow — I’ve had a few restless nights over this punching and the (seemingly) planned attack. As Mama Nabi said, That’s some fucked up kid mafia shit. Yup. Yup it is. And LMKR (and truthfully, her parents too) is still on my suspicious-as-shit list.

However. I’ll behave. For now. But if it happens again, I’ll probably go a little apeshit. Just call me Bruce Banner.

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Ok, to further prove that I know the Beanster is not a perfect child… I’m not sure what is going on with her but she has been having a lot of mini-breakdowns. Fake crying when she doesn’t get her way. The girl has got her acting on. And it developed before school started so as much as I would like to blame someone else, I really can’t.

I did speak with the teacher about it. She is definitely asserting this defiance at school as well. The teacher thought maybe she was trying to define herself differently from Buddy and test her boundaries. Didn’t we go through this already, at two?

I’m not sure if she’s tired, needing more attention, going through a phase, testing us, all of the above…? She seems to have a lot of pent-up emotion, so when she gets upset I try and talk to her about what she is upset about, but it seems to be about more than whatever little thing it is — something that she used to handle with no problem in the past. So I tell her to cry and let it out, and she does. Then she asks to go to bed, because this exhausts her. A little while later, she emerges with a smile on her face and tells me she feels better.

The mood swings! Holy crap. I thought I had a few more years until this girl turned exactly into me.

Fucking karma.

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Every night, we ask the kids how school was and what they did that day. We get a lot of shrugs and raised hands and “I don’t knows” and “Nothings.”

Hello? When did they turn into teenagers?

I need to research the Montessori materials so we can start asking them specifically about their day. Anyone have any online resources?

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Finally, I have a post up on Parenting. To go with my theme of the week, it’s long as shit so proceed with caution (if you choose). It’s about familial traditions. Click here to read.

Another Long Ass Crazy Post: (Or, An Update)

Thank you all so much for your support and advice and affirmation. You all had great advice too (um, including the hitting back which, to be honest, has been on my mind and I’m SO relieved others would not find this totally unacceptable — as a last resort, obviously), and I’m so glad I have my own blog to use as a reference guide to parenting. Kick. Ass.

So, I spoke with the teacher on the phone. My basic points were the following:

1. That I realize I might be overreacting to the incident on the playground, and that I didn’t want to sound like an overzealous or ‘helicopter’ parent. I think after knowing so many teachers and hearing their stories about parents who approach them throwing accusations and not accepting any blame, I am probably paranoid about being that parent. But also, I wanted to immediately put it out there that I wasn’t blaming her. I did not want to make her feel defensive and if the conversation started out that way it would have immediately gone downhill.

2. To make sure that this has not happened before.

3. To make sure that if she sees it ever happening again, I would be notified.

4. To make sure that Bean was not being bullied by LMKR or anyone else.

5. To find out if Bean and Buddy were excluding themselves from the rest of the class.

6. To relay exactly what I saw, and the whole Closed Fist Punch part.


This is what I found out:

1. She has not witnessed this before. Of course, it’s only the second week of school and Bean and LMKR are both new students. New students need some adjustment dealing with school, and obviously with each other as well.

2. Along those same lines, she has not witnessed any bullying in the classroom or at the playground. While she can’t say that this kind of thing won’t happen again, she will definitely make it a point to keep her eye on this more now.

3. That Bean and LMKR both have strong personalities. I knew that already about Bean, and from I witnessed, I gathered as much about LMKR. Going back to Point 1, they are going to need to figure out how to deal with each other.

4. That when she had Bean and LMKR talk it out, she asked if they had anything to say to each other. They immediately both apologized. Yikes. I knew exactly what that meant, and I’ll get back to that in a second. What she tried to do was figure out why LMKR had hit Bean in the first place, and to ask Bean how she had felt about that (exactly what Rachel advised).

5. That after we left the playground, she talked to LMKR again, and then again before LMKR left school for the day. She told me that LMKR relayed that Bean had been doing something to her and Girl 1 (the swing-stealer) prior to The Punch — something about pouring dirt on some rocks they were playing with and they had asked her to stop and she hadn’t. The teacher also added, “Of COURSE that does not excuse any kind of hitting at all and any kind of aggression like that is absolutely not tolerated.” Her point was that she was trying to get to the root of the problem with LMKR so they could figure out how to handle it differently should a similar problem arise.

6. That the teacher was absolutely mortified that she had not only turned her head away for a moment and not witnessed any of it, but that my ILs were there for it all too. MOR. TI. FIED. It was actually the second time she said that to me. I may have been more cynical about that, had I not been there everyday watching her count the kids every minute. I told her I didn’t blame her at all, and she obviously cannot keep her eyes on everyone at all times. Still, she was clearly embarrassed about this.

7. It seemed to me that she was also concerned about the Closed Fist Punch, but she was trying not to let on to me that she was. She’s very calm and collected, as she should be, and I predicted she would be as much before I spoke with her. If she had gasped or acted disgusted, it only would have fed into my anger and I know that she shouldn’t do that. And I’m glad she acted as I expected her to — I have more respect for her. But, she did say in very diplomatic terms that the Closed Fist was ‘of concern’ and that in her many years of teaching, it has been a long, long, LONG time since she has seen or heard about that from a child. Maybe I was reading into it, but I think she was trying to circle around the idea that it’s a learned behavior without actually saying those words, as it obviously sounds accusatory.

8. Finally, I found out that Bean and Buddy do still stick close together, but Montessori is also based on a lot of individual play. Still, during group play, they are together. Eventually they are going to be separated into different classrooms (in a few weeks) and I’m hoping that helps more than it hurts.

I also thanked her for the background information (Bean not stopping with the dirt when they asked her to). I don’t want the teacher to think that I believe my kids are perfect or without fault. It actually made me a little relieved to know it wasn’t just a random act of bullying, and although the punch was clearly not the right solution, at least there was a reason for it (from LMKR’s POV at least).

As for Bean apologizing… I acknowledged that this was probably our fault. Apparently Bean has been apologizing a lot at school, without really knowing or explaining why. As the teacher said, “It’s very sweet, but what I’m trying to get out of her is an explanation and not an apology.” I think at home, we are teaching both kids to apologize just to apologize. (What can I say; we are passing on our guilt.). When the twins do something to upset each other, we are probably too quick to tell them to apologize to each other so we can all move on. Clearly, they know when to say it, but they don’t know why. Yikes. That has everything to do with our laziness as a parent and not taking the time to figure out how either one is feeling about it, or working out a solution. So, I told the teacher that we would work on that.

Overall, the conversation went very well. To be honest, I think we were both dreading it a little. At the end, the teacher told me several times that she was so glad I called.

My first parent-teacher serious issue conversation. What a milestone... for me.

Fifteen more years of this though? Seriously?

And despite having a better understanding of it all, I will say that LMKR is still on my shit list. I probably brought up the Closed Fist Punch a few too many times; I blame my vindictive and grudge-holding nature. She might be fine... but dude. Girl HITS WITH A CLOSED FIST. What the fuck? Just keep that shit away from my kids please.

***

This morning, G told me that Bean saw him packing some oatmeal packets in his briefcase for work. She eats oatmeal every single day for breakfast without fail. So she suddenly was very upset that he was taking her oatmeal.

When he pointed out that he was taking the oatmeal flavors that she doesn’t like (we buy the variety pack boxes), she went from CRYING to huge smile in half a second.

In the meantime, my MIL was asking Bean, “Can you tell us why you are upset? Can you say, ‘I feel…?’”

Bean slowly said, “I feel… MUCH BETTER!”

*sigh*

Small steps.

***

Again: crazy if you read this far. Maybe I’ll get better at the parenting thing and the blogging thing. Right now I feel like I’m only making right turns. With every milestone... I start at Step One again. Phew.

There’s Nothing To See Here Folks, But A Long Ass Post

I have been dried up from blogging. Because I’m a visual person, I always think of a friend of mine when I think of the words dried up. She used to be a pharmaceutical rep for v*ginal cream. She always liked to tell us how our vags dried up after age 30.

Yes, I’m one dried up vag.

I’ve been busy — with work and trips and dragging the kids around the city before school started, visiting museums and conservatories and landmarks. I honestly don’t know how people blog everyday.

Blogging is so weird. How do we get so involved in each other’s lives? I know more about some bloggers than I do about my family and friends. I honestly have strong feelings for some of my fellow bloggers (to sound utterly creepy and weird) but I feel like I need to reconnect to real life again. I’m trying to reconcile the two because I seem to be getting sucked in by one or the other and not properly balancing the two.

Anyway, this is the latest.

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The kids absolutely love school so far. I have to crouch down before we reach the door just so I can get my arms around them for a second before they wriggle free and run inside while I wave like a loser and yell, “Bye! I’ll see you later!”

My ILs are in town, and on Friday they came with me to pick the kids up from school. I’ve been meeting the teachers and the class at the playground this past week. For various long-story-that-isn’t-relevant reasons, I am the only parent who picks up at that time.

Usually when I pick up the kids, the teacher will barely look at me when I talk to her. She listens and responds, but obviously (and thankfully) doesn’t want to keep her eyes off the kids. Every minute or so she takes count of all the kids.

On Friday she actually stopped for a moment and turned to talk to my ILs while I watched Bean, who was pushing an empty swing. A girl came over on the opposite side of Bean — a taller, slightly older girl — and suddenly grabbed the swing from Bean. Bean immediately yelled, “No, that’s mine! That’s mine!” Another girl — a bigger, slightly older girl — grabbed Bean by her arms and pushed her several feet aside. I watched from afar, not wanting to helicopter, wanting to let her resolve it on her own, but holding my breath nonetheless.

Girl 2 (let’s call her Little Miss Kid Rock, or LMKR) now had Bean several feet away from the swing. She talked quietly to Bean with her hands still on Bean’s shoulders while Bean watched Girl 1 with the swing she had just been playing with. I couldn’t hear what LMKR was saying to Bean, but she was serious. Bean finally looked back at LMKR. Suddenly, LMKR lifted her right hand off Bean’s shoulder, closed her fist and PUNCHED MY LITTLE GIRL IN THE FACE.

I gasped. I heard my MIL gasp behind me. And I started running towards Bean, turning around only to tell the teacher, “That girl just punched Bean!”

Bean, stunned, had walked to an empty swing and sat down on it. She was facing the other side of the playground. I swung around to face her and said, “Bean, are you okay?” (I realize this may have caused more harm by bringing attention to it but I don’t care. It was my gut reaction and personally, I don’t think pretending something didn’t happen is wise either.) She had a large red mark on her cheek. She reached for me and whimpered, “LMKR hit me.” I picked her up and started to carry her over to the ILs.

Halfway there, the teacher called LMKR over, and asked Bean to come over too. I let Bean down so she could go talk to them, and walked back to the ILs. We watched and waited as that big bully LMKR made some kind of forced, half-ass apology to Bean.

We left to go home after that. When we got in the car, Bean waved out the window and cheerily yelled, “Bye LMKR!” Which broke my heart even more. Because, you know, I like to hold serious grudges. And what am I if I don’t pass on my messed-up philosophies to my kids.

I am probably making too big of a deal of this, but I’m honestly beside myself. I think I must be repressing some kind of past history where I myself dealt with this, because I keep replaying the scene in my head and feel absolutely sick to my stomach.

However, I like to think I’m not an overreactive parent. I try not to be anyway. Of course, trying and being are not always the same in my life. I’ve seen other kids push my kids over. I use all my energy to wait and see what their reaction will be first before I run over and drown them in motherly concern. But punching? With closed fist? That is fucking learned behavior.

The whole thing plays out like a fucked up, ganged up, aggressive playground attack in my head. What the fuck? It all bugs me: from LMKR pushing Bean out of the way, then (seemingly) intimidating her verbally while grasping Bean by the shoulders, then PUNCHING HER. Did I mention with a closed fist?

Holy shit I’m pissed. That LMKR is on my shit list.

This weekend one of the school’s parents hosted a cocktail party for the parents. It’s a small school, and I think most of the parents attended. I waited wearily to meet LMKR’s parents, not really wanting to, trying to will myself not to interrogate them and ask them what the fuck was wrong with their fucked up bully daughter. We all wore name tags with our names and our kids’ names; dorky but helpful as we made our way around the room. I was speaking to a parent in one corner while G chatted it up with another on the opposite side of the room when I saw a familiar face; someone I had met when we had both volunteered to help paint the new school. He walked towards me and I smiled and waved hello. My heart sank when I saw his nametag.

Dad to LMKR. Dammit.

I met his wife. Made niceties. Smiled pleasantly. Laughed at their jokes. Laughed at my own attempts. Told them It was good to see you again, It was nice to meet you, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.

And I judged judged judged. Silently I judged.

Before we left, we made final rounds around the house, thanking the gracious hosts. Then found the teacher to say good-bye. We made small talk; discussed the kids. Before we parted, I told her, as calmly as I could, that I wanted to speak to her about something when she had a chance. I’m sure I made her night. Because isn’t that what every teacher wants to hear when she has a cocktail in her hand on a Saturday night? That a parent wants to talk to her/him? Awesome.

Whatever. At least G told me that I had a smile on my face when I said it.

I don’t want to be overzealous. I don’t want to helicopter, but what concerns me is 1. Bean is being bullied 2. I have noticed that Bean and Buddy stick close together at the playground. The first few days it seemed none of the kids were playing with each other. Several days later, some of them seemed to be playing together, while B&B still stuck together. The last few days, the twins seem to have branched out and played with the other kids as well. I figured, they have that twin thing going on, but they’ll eventually branch out and make friends with everyone. But are they excluding themselves? At the cocktail party, a parent of one of the older students (it’s Montessori, so they are all in the same class), told us her daughter comes home everyday and tells her all about the other students. She said to us, “Oh, Bean and Buddy. Yup. I’ve heard about them.” That’s it. What the fuck does that mean? Isn’t that weird to say? When I met a parent of a child I had met or seen or heard about, I said, “Oh W! He’s adorable.” (Everyone, of course, except LMKR’s parents)

Also, 3. the closed fist. Punching. And the fact that the teacher didn’t see it. I don’t blame her for not seeing it — you can’t catch everything, I understand that — but I only told her once, That girl just punched Bean. Did she think it was a slap, or a shove, and that I was overreacting? I need her to know it was a Closed-Fist Punch. I think LMKR’s parents should know it was a Punch. And I want to be assured that if it happens again, that I will know about it.

Maybe this sinking feeling in my stomach is just knowing I have to let go. My first instinct was to go and shove LMKR to the ground and get all Fight Club on her kid ogre ass. Of course, my mind is the only place where that plays out as morally correct. Maybe this sinking feeling is just knowing that my kids will have to face these things. Maybe this sinking feeling is not knowing at all how to advise them on how to handle them.

Weren’t we all taught to walk away? Not to fight?

This is a tangent (and I know, already way too long) but reading what I have read about racism, it seems a lot of us were taught to walk away by our parents when other kids exhibited racism, whether physically or verbally. It seems to me that many of us now have some issues with that. We were told we were better than them; that they were ignorant and stupid and didn’t know any better. But, did it make any of us feel better? It doesn’t seem like it now, but maybe I’m talking out of my own ass. Personally I don’t feel any better than them. I feel weak and a little lost about how to deal with it.

Do I tell my kids, if they are being bullied, to just walk away? I mean, hell yeah, I think Bean is ‘better’ than LMKR, but would she believe that? From my own experience, probably not.

And Bean saying goodbye to LMKR from the car? It kills me because if Bean was being bullied, does she not realize it? Does she consider LMKR her friend? And maybe she is, I don’t know. I hope so, and I hope this was an isolated incident.

I’m overanalyzing. Shit I need to go to sleep.

I’m fucking not ready for this next step in their lives.

I’m sure I’ll feel better after talking to the teacher. And then I’ll learn some mantra and meditate about letting go of some of the control in my kids’ lives. And my heart will break a little with each chant. You might hear it. *Crack. Crack crack.*

But all I really want to do is show up at school tomorrow with a shirt that says, Don’t fuck with my daughter. And hope that LMKR can read.

***

[You people are crazy if you made it to the end of this.]

Questions

Today on Parenting: Questions/Quiz.

Life has been crazy lately. A trip, then work, then more work… I’m hoping to catch up to my Google Reader later this week. Anyway, my weekly post is up on Parenting with some questions:

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1. If, while in a restaurant, your child has snot blockage setting up house in their nose, causing them to nasal-whistle and speak like Elmer Fudd despite not having a cold, do you:

a) Leave it and let said blockage catch flies and have a party until it leaves on its own?

b) Let child pick it out on his own?

c) Lean child back, perform remedial surgery with any available tools, and ignore surrounding public/waitstaff/poor customers just trying to enjoy their food as you pull Titanic-sized carnage from child’s nostril?

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Click here to read more.

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ESPN Guide To Parenting

Today on Parenting: My ESPN Guide To Parenting.

Don’t let this fool you. I’m not a sports person. But I guess I’ve managed to retain some of it over the years, trying to date nerds but somehow ending up with athletes. Give me a whistle and a scoreboard and our house could be an ESPN reality show.

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Assign Numbers To Each Child. Their ‘lucky number’ may come in more useful than you think, especially in moments of indecisiveness. In our case, Bean has claimed 5, while Buddy has claimed 6. This is directly related to their pull-up sizes, which in essence kills two birds with one stone, since they now have pre-printed uniforms.

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Click here to read more.

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Updated Résumé

Today on Parenting: My updated résumé.

…
2004-Present
MOM/MOMMY, Mother to Bean & Buddy and Co-President of Our Household Inc.
• Played key role in conception of twins.
• Incubated for 36 weeks while effectively combating nausea and nonstop hiccups and fights in utero.
• Strategically gained 45 lbs. by eating while sitting on swollen buttocks.
…

Read the rest here.


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By the way, in regards to POWN from the biz meeting video:

pown
A misspelling of the word “PWN” which is a misspelling of “own”.
The act of Power-Owning someone.
• “You got pOWNED little kitty”

[Courtesy of Urban Dictionary]

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Let’s Talk About Race, Baby

Today's topic: race.

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My parents, who came to America from Korea in their 20s, owned a jewelry store. As a kid, I spent much of my time there helping out. One day, two teenage girls were browsing the display cases. They wasted my time asking to look at this and that, and I obliged because that was my job. At one point one of the girls fiddled with her bracelet and accidentally dropped it in the crack between two display cases. I told her to hold on, and asked my Dad if he had something long with which to it fish it out. He walked back over to the girls to take a look, and then asked them something I did not hear as I searched for a rescue tool.

One of them answered, “Ching chong chong chong?” They looked at each other and laughed hysterically.

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Click here to read more.

It felt cathartic writing it (and a bit emotional so excuse the incoherence), but felt a little weird posting it on Parenting as opposed to Kimchi Mamas. I’m feeling a little bit exposed there as opposed to the safe havens that are Kimchi Mamas and this blog.

However, I suspect part of the reason I was hired in the first place was because of my minority status. So… there it is. My token post about race.

Plastic Surgery

Is anyone else getting annoyed about all these toxic plastic warnings? I’m talking about the plastics that occupy almost every room of my home; their toxins supposedly burrowing into our bodies like rude cancerous house guests. I don’t know if these articles are alarmist or not because for every article I read that says PLASTICS ARE BAD, there is another one that says PLASTICS ARE JUST FINE AND BY THE WAY, HERE’S HOW TO THROW A TUPPERWARE PARTY. Fan-fucking-tastic. All it does is make me feel guilty for potentially exposing my kids to anything bad. For the love of God — I just want to buy whatever I want to buy and not worry that it will give me The Plague or leach Bird Flu bacteria if I put it in the freakin’ microwave.

So. Anyway. I’m on a kick to slowly rid our house of this alleged-crap.

But GODDAMMIT it is not easy. I’m not kidding when I say we essentially bathe in PVC. And I hate feeling like some kind of hipster parent; hate buying into hype and jumping on any kind of bandwagon. If you see this little family of four walking down the street in The Emperor’s New Clothes, carrying our Sigg bottles and eco-friendly shopping bags and nothing else, I give you permission to point and laugh. (By the way, IKEA bags are less than $2 and if any of you have that stupid “I am not a Plastic Bag” bag and paid more than $15 for it please come here so I can mock you. To your face.)

I’m also doing a half-ass job of buying organic and hormone-free food. Half-ass because first of all, it’s impossible, and secondly, it’s stupidly pricey living that way. And since I like to do things half-ass, this is my stance. I have never been an extremist; my motto is ‘everything in moderation.’ (Unless you put me in a bar with a whole night (i.e. three hours) ahead of me. Shee-it, they don’t call me bottle rocket for nothing, people.)

Anyway… if my half-ass efforts keep my kids a little bit healthier in the future, and keeps them from hitting pub8rty at the age of, I don’t know, five, I guess I’ll feel a little better. However, they are probably growing extra n1pples and limbs as. I. blog. since we used to heat their Avent bottles in the microwave before we knew better. Back in the olden days when we thought doing so was safe. You know, three years ago. Oh, Lawd.

In an effort to get other people to join this bandwagon with me, I’ll pass along these links:

I like angry chicken’s post on how she is slowly ridding her house of plastics. This pace — I can follow. Even though we haven’t used some of our plastic kid utensils and cups in awhile, I just can’t bear to trash them for some reason.

Like I said, organic eating is straight up expensive. I like this article in Smart Money about Buying Organic Without Breaking the Bank.

One last link: what to avoid. Which might mean your kitchen will be entirely empty by the time you are done removing the offending items. (Canned foods are bad?? Are you f’ing kidding me?) I can’t rid us of all of this... I just can’t. We have a huge cabinet dedicated to canned items: soups, vegetables, diced tomatoes… And when I make some Fra Diavolo sauce, I’ll feel bad about it, but shit I will still enjoy it. Doesn’t it count for anything that I get the Organic Brand of Cancerous Metal Canned Diced Tomatoes?

How do you all deal with this? Am I the only one buying the hype?

And can anyone else tell me how they clean their Sigg bottles? I am tortured by these products that are not dishwasher-safe but have bottle necks that are as large as my pinkie. I bought a brush, discovered it was too large, and gave it an embarrassing haircut. Seriously. We have a brush with a mohawk sitting on our sink. Please tell me your Sigg-cleaning tips.

A Step-by-Step Guide to Remembering Why You Had Kids

I’m over here today with a recap of our Saturday. Poor G had to deal with a vomiting spouse, then a vomiting child this past week.

I know, he’s so lucky it’s a wonder he doesn’t have a parade showing his appreciation.

Read here. Thanks!

APG

Today at Parenting: my fascination with APG (Alpha Playground Girl). You know what I’m talking about, right? The Alpha Kids we’ve all known at some point in our lives. Or maybe once were at some point in our lives. (I was more of a Sidekick/Beta or Omega Kid myself.)

There are also some random photos of the twins' odd fashion choices. They are in context. (Sort of kind of.) Really.

Join me over there today! Thanks.

Buddy-isms

Since my post yesterday at Parenting was about The Bean, I thought it only fair to focus this post on Buddy. So here are some Buddy-isms (I’m taking a page from Superha’s Ash-isms. Thanks Superha and Ash!):

Buddy continues his quest to be ultra-attuned to emotions. This morning at camp I gave Bean a kiss goodbye and then walked over to Buddy who was looking around as if he was trying to decide on an activity. I pointed out one of his adorable camp mates who was also wandering a little aimlessly: “Why don’t you go play with [Wandering Boy]?” Buddy looked at WB for a moment, then turned to me and said matter-of-factly, “No, he’s too angry.”

Embarrassed that his parents might overhear, I looked around and quickly said, “No he’s not! [WB] is fine!” Then I caught the teacher’s eye, whose eyebrows were raised, clearly amused. She nodded at Buddy and quietly said, “He’s very perceptive.”

Doh! I smiled at her, gave Buddy a quick kiss and got the hell out of there.

::::::::::::::::::

Everyday, I pick the kids up from camp and the three of us walk home. I can pick them up in the stroller, but I enjoy spending that time walking hand-in-hand, asking them about the fun things they did that day.

Yesterday, G came along to pick the kids up. On the way home, Buddy moaned that he was tired and asked G to pick him up. (Mind you, he never asks me to pick him up and always asks G to pick him up. Everywhere. Draw whatever conclusions you will with that info. It can go any way you want.) When the drama started, I said, “[Buddy], we walk home everyday and I never pick you up! Come on, you can —”

Buddy half-turned towards me and GAVE ME THE HAND. A flat-palmed, Whitney-fied, attitude-fueled, HAND. He interrupted me with furrowed brows, clearly peeved, “Mom, PLEASE. Don’t talk to me! Don’t talk to me, Mom.”

G and I looked at each other and double-Doh’d! Then laughed our asses off the rest of the way home.

::::::::::::::::::

On the first day of camp, the teachers asked all the kids to help them make the “Class Rules,” then posted them in the hall for the parents to see. Bean’s rule was, “We all stay together.” The other kids’ rules were, “Share our toys,” and, “We should be nice to each other,” amongst others. This is Buddy’s:


If you know Buddy, you know that his eyes are huge (obviously not inherited from moi) and, while he has gotten better about it, he is occasionally prone to staring. Without blinking. In fact, he had a staring contest with Cluttered Mom once. And won. When he was about six months old. So, this was quite funny to us.

To be honest, I was a little surprised that Buddy even said that, so I asked the teacher about it. I guess he said, “Watch the teacher,” but she said she extrapolated since he kept pointing to his eyes. So I don’t think I can give him full credit for that one. Still, funny to us.

::::::::::::::::::

The twins are LOVING camp and quite honestly, I’m a little scared about how they will react when it ends. Everyday they run into my arms when I pick them up and they ask immediately when they can come back. There’s nothing like seeing your kids so incredibly happy when you’re not around! In all seriousness, I love this place and I love their teachers and I’m grateful to them for making our kids so happy.

::::::::::::::::::

Happy Friday everyone!

Part the sea!

Today I am a man.
Tomorrow I will return
To the seventh grade.

And so begins FingKASIL's new blog: shiksa, please. A bar mitzvah haiku. Love. It. She is the (awesome) wife to my (awesome) brother. They live too far away so we don't get to see them often, but I always feel lucky to have FingKASIL in the family. She's just... cool. Intelligent. And very very funny.

Not to mention that my nephews are some of the cutest and sweetest kids. I know, I'm biased. But they call me Mo' Komo (as in More Komo, as in my sister is Komo and I'm More Komo) and really, that's just adorable in itself. They call G Funcle because honestly, he is always Fun Uncle amongst the little people in our family.

Please give her some love. She will post more than Cluttered Mom, whose blog has an inch of dust by now. Pathetic showing, CM. Get off ebay and write a freakin' post already.

Welcome FingKASIL! (As previously noted) you rock!

Dear Anonymous Commenters of My Blog,

I welcome you to comment on my blog and agree or disagree with me, but if you wish to do so, I only ask that you don’t leave behind shit droppings replete with condescending, preachy tones. Let me explain something: I do not read your comment and then smack myself in the head and say, “DUH! Anon commenter number one is right! What is up with my lack of understanding? When will I EVER learn?” Nor do I read anon comment #2 and feel the need to immediately call camp and withdraw my son. While I appreciate your concerns (albeit phrased in the most derogatory of manners), it’s just rude. But at least now I have a post. So spanks… spanks a lot.

AC #1 (signed Cece): Are you bitter about something? Did I harm you in some way? Do I know you? I think the only thing I will look back on and be amazed about is the need for some people to criticize strangers in such a manner. Is there a reason why you want to make other people feel smaller when you know nothing about them? Truly, it’s bad manners. I mean, it did make me laugh, but I don’t believe that was your intent. I promise you that I won’t look back on this and be amazed at my lack of understanding. I know my son. You do not. And by the way, I don’t believe I was expressing any uncertainty about bringing my son to camp, so thanks, but there is no need to dispel anything. This is the second time you’ve had something to say about the way I think or parent. If you don’t like me or what I have to say, you can leave. I won’t be hurt. I swear.

AC #2 (signed Alissa F.): Sometimes our parents force us to do things. Sometimes we must force ourselves to do things as parents. In my opinion, learning independence at any age is important; perhaps, in your opinion it is not. To each her own. If my parents did not force me into things that I wasn’t ready for, I would still be living at home sucking my adult-sized thumb. I was sent to a boarding school at 14 and I may not have been ready for it, but as an adult, I can honestly say it was one of the best experiences of my life. Some of my closest friends today are from that school. It shaped me into the person I am today. And I am forever indebted to my parents for ‘forcing’ me to attend, even though I know my mom cried and cried the whole way home after dropping me off, and even though I would call home and cry at times, completely homesick. You see, I understand that my parents were teaching me to be independent, and on top of that, providing me with an incredible opportunity. For that, it was worth any resistance.

I’m happy to hear that you have well-adjusted grandchildren. Hooray for you! (I’m sure this condescending tone is not winning me any points—you see how that backfires works?) If I took a moment to reciprocate judgement, I may wonder if your kids are too dependent and if you had a different approach than I about ‘forcing’ your kids to do things (e.g. dragging your kids while they are kicking and screaming). However, since I don’t know you, I’m not going to judge you or assume anything. I will hope that your kids did not learn to be as judgemental as you. Sheesh.

We (I am speaking for myself AND sffamilee here, who is my SIL) are good parents. Fuck that—we’re fucking kick-ass parents. My SIL is one of the best parents I know and if I could bottle her parenting skills I would do that and sell it for a lot of money and call it Skillz of the FingKASIL and I might have even offered you a discount had you been a bit nicer. It sounds like you could have used it when you were raising your young’uns (according to you). If you are implying that we could not possibly have well-adjusted children because we ‘force’ them to go to school or camp, I invite you to come see us in action. Seriously, we’re good. Our kids are sweet, compassionate, well-adjusted little people. In fact, we are complimented quite often on their behavior and their general dispositions. My kids and my nephews… well… they kind of kick ass. Really. I do not lie.

So. If you ACs (or anyone else for that matter) cannot comment in a more civil manner, I hereby cordially dis-invite you to my blog. No need to RSVP. I won’t get all up into your business and tell you all the things I think you are doing wrong to F up your own kids, grandkids, whatever (not that I can, since you either don’t have a blog that I can judge or you are posting sans links so as to leave no trail). Your kids, your family—do with them what you will; parent/grandparent however you wish to. I care not. Please reciprocate this favor, not only to myself but to anyone else’s blog where you have an urge to leave shit droppings. You have better things to do with your time, I promise. You can go home now and care about something else.

One final thing to you both though: Thank you, because there’s nothing like realizing the kind of shit lessons and manners that other parents pass along to their kids to make me think I’m the fucking Mother-of-the-Year. I’m awesome and I F’ING ROCK!

Sincerely,
halfmama

P.S. Obviously AC #1 and #2 don’t care because they have pre-conceived notions about the kind of parent I am, but to FingKASIL and other FTB (Friends of This Blog): The evening after Buddy told me he would “be hurt,” we attended Camp Orientation. We wanted to show the kids where they would be going and also introduce them to their teachers and their classroom. By the end, Buddy didn’t want to leave. And asked the next day when he would be going to camp. And again the next day. When I finally dropped them off for their first day, Buddy gave me a kiss goodbye and sat down happily for his new adventure in camp. Who would have thought that gentle easing could work for transitioning your kids to new things? To quote Cece: Duh!!

So I don’t believe he is too traumatized by my harsh parenting tactics. He seemed quite happy at pickup as well. Thank you, FingKASIL and FTB, for caring about Buddy (in a sincere and nice way). You guys have open-ended invitations to MY BLOG. And if you want to disagree, feel free! I know you will disagree respectfully. (Since, you know, you guys aren’t total douchebags.)

The Problem. Period.

What a fucking few days. I’ve been sick reading the crap happening over at SVMB and then over at Kimchi Mamas. I’ve made numerous nonsensical and blubbering comments because I’ve been PISSED OFF and unable to articulate my thoughts clearly. And I’ve desperately tried to explain why a certain someone’s post about Asian parents not participating in the PTA was offensive, only to be told that I’ve chosen to be offended, and to have the focus move to the analysis of words, phrases, comments. Goddammit, I’m not on the fucking debate team here. I’m fucking offended. Now leave me alone!

Part of me wishes I hadn’t bothered because 1. it is obvious that some people are not only clueless, but wish to remain clueless (the worst combination IMO), and 2. I wasted too much energy (WAY too much energy) trying to explain myself. When, Goddammit, I shouldn’t have to explain anything. A certain someone should have to! (And this is MY blog so if you disagree with me, go away and write about it on YOUR blog. Now shoo. SHOO!)

So why do I bother? To paraphrase Mama Nabi: we do it for our kids. And not that I thought that ignorance and undercurrents of prejudice don’t exist all around me, but… holy shit it’s been a fucking sobering several days. I hate that I’m letting it get to me, but it pisses me off that my kids are going to have to deal with people like this when they grow up. Not only people who are ignorant, but people who will turn it around and try and make it sound like it’s OUR fault, OUR problem for getting offended for their ignorance; people who JUST DON’T GET IT.

How do you teach ignorant, close-minded people not to be ignorant and close-minded? How? HOW?

When I finally get my kids into school, are people going to assume certain things about me because I’m Asian? Or assume my kids are a certain way because I’m Asian and I’m influencing them with all my Asian-ness? And our Asian-ness is going to rub off on their kids and Asian-fy them? Because, you know, I’m Asian, in case you didn’t notice.

::::::::

Yesterday, I took the twins shopping and let them choose backpacks to take with them to camp. I’ve been a little worried about leaving them there, despite bitching and moaning about feeling like a glorified babysitter at times (will someone come pick these kids up already??). The truth is, I miss the hell out of them when I’m away from them for awhile. On top of that, I’m a control freak, so I get freaked out at the idea of other people controlling them.

I’ve been particularly worried about Buddy. He might need a little more help with the whole idea. So, when they picked out their backpacks, I explained to them they would be taking them to camp and won’t that be fun and look—new backpacks!

I watched Buddy’s face as it dawned on him. He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Mom, you going to drop me off? At camp?”
“Yeah Buddy, but then you’re going to play and have fun and meet other kids and then I’m going to come back and pick you up!”
“But Mom, I don’t want you to drop me off.”
“Buddy, you’re going to have so much fun at camp! You’re going to play, and—”
“Mom, please don’t drop me off,” (now starting to sound a little more desperate), “Mom, you drop me off, I will be very hurt.”

I don’t think there is an emoticon for what I felt at that moment but if I may plagiarize from my own son:


He understands hurt at three-years-old. Three!

Goddammit, what is he going to feel when someone says something mean to him. And what will he/they feel when someone says something to them about their race, or about the way their mom looks?

I know, I know—he’s talking about being dropped off at camp, not racism. But bear with me, I’m upset and admittedly, all over the place. I know he’s going to have to suck it up and deal and it’s the real world and he’ll learn from it and blah blah blah—I know all that. But I’m his parent. It kills me that that shit even exists. And it kills me that he knows what hurt even feels like. Period.

The New Gig

A short while ago, Parenting Magazine contacted me and asked about the possibility of joining their weekly blog team. Fast-forward through some ‘tests’ and forms, and the first of my weekly Thursday blogs will post today. I feel a little flattery-whorish (blogging began just for myself and family/friends) but I will dorkily admit that I’m beyond touched by the offer. (Moral of this story: if you pay me a compliment, I’ll probably come over and do your laundry, wash your dishes, and follow you around for awhile.)

My first post talks about judging moms; specifically, my role both as ‘judger’ and ‘judgee’. I know it’s a very tired watercooler subject by now, but I guess it never is for me—I still struggle with my split personality all the time. I hate admitting that. Unfortunately, the truth lies in my craziness and insecurities.

Hope you guys will join me over there as well. (Oh, and in case you don’t know by now: Hi, my name is Janet. Bean reminded me of this morning when she woke up, saw me, and said with a wave, “Oh, hi Janet!”)

I’ve Been Watching Too Much Law & Order

Speaking of phobias, I have a very unhealthy phobia of kidnappers and ped*philes as I’m sure, everyone does. This phobia affects me to the point where I can’t sleep at night. And according to Oprah and The Secret, I am only going to draw these criminals right to us which makes me even more paranoid. So I try very hard not to think about it. But in turn just think about it more. You understand the cycle.

A few weeks ago, we went to a playground. The playground is sandwiched between two walkups, so the back of the playground (where the swings are) abuts the alley behind the buildings. When the twins first got on the swings, I noticed a guy with a bucket and mop standing under a deck next door to us. He was pretending to work (no idea what the hell the bucket and mop was for). A few minutes later, I looked over and he had moved directly to the opposite side of the fence, was leaning against the mop, and staring at my kids in a dream-like state. WTF? I looked at him, trying to catch his eye to say, “Dude, I see you.” He caught my eye for a second, and kept staring, i.e. he completely ignored me. Which made him even creepier. He stared the whole time we were on the swings. I couldn’t take it anymore and finally got the kids off. As we walked away to the other side of the playground, I noticed an older guy approach slacker-creepy-guy and reprimand him for standing around and doing shit (besides leer at little kids).

I panicked for a moment and asked myself, “What the hell were we thinking, moving our kids into a city?” Because according to Family Watchdog, there is an offender approximately every two houses around our neighborhood. (Warning: after staring at that website for an hour, looking at disgusting face after disgusting face, I didn’t sleep well for several nights.) Then I had to relax myself because I love this city. I love our neighborhood. I love it here already. And remembered a story my friend told me once about growing up in a suburb and how a man in a car approached her and her two sisters while they were playing in their front yard and tried to get them in his car (he was, thankfully, unsuccessful). I know, unfortunately, this shit happens everywhere. And I know a lot of people who grew up in cities who are fine.

I have my eye on my kids at all times when we’re in public. If I lose sight of them for a second, I FREAK. OUT. Because they are on the other side of the playground behind that stupid slide that’s blocking my vision. And twins, upon entering a playground, tend to run in opposite directions. So I avoid large playgrounds. Large playgrounds give me an ulcer and someday I will have a stroke and have those damn large playgrounds to blame.

We haven’t yet started talking to the kids about strangers. I’m not quite sure where to start. Bean waves to every single person on the street: “Hi boy!” “Hi girls!” “Hi dog!” We need to reign the girl in. My parents fed me story after story growing up, not so much about “stranger danger” but just about not trusting anyone in general. (It’s the Korean paranoia rearing its ugly head.) I want to try and avoid that. But at what age do you start telling your kids about the ugliness in the world? And how do you do it effectively? Every time I read about a news station putting a fake kidnapper in front of kids (all kids who have been taught thoroughly about strangers) to try and lure them away, the kids fall for whatever line the kidnapper gives them. So why are they not learning what their parents/schools are trying to teach them and how do I make sure my kids listen to and hear me?

And… should I have said something to Creepy Guy in Playground?

Sofaking Blog

In an effort to clean up my language and get back into the good graces of the DDR Police, I’m going to try really really hard to be 2-legit-2-quit over here. (Or at least curse in code.)

My last post was over a month ago but I feel like I’ve been gone for twelve years. I followed the VT shootings on TV while I packed box after box, anxious to get back to everyone’s blogs, mourn for these victims, commiserate with fellow Koreans/Asians about the shooter’s background. I can’t even comment on that right now because it’s an entire blog in and of itself, plus I’m late on the news and won’t have much to add that hasn’t already been said anyway. But, I still have to add my condolences to all of those who lost loved ones and to the rest of us who didn’t, but mourn with you. I am deeply saddened for what those victims had to go through, what VT has gone through, and for all the families and friends involved. Truly, the courage and unity shown in the aftermath was inspirational.

Now in the worst and most awkward segue, I’ll move on to much lighter, much less-important crap about what we’ve been up to on my blog hiatus. I apologize for not making a smoother transition:

Sofaking Confused
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before we moved, we took the kids and spent a night in Boston. First we took the kids to the MFA, where they recognized Degas paintings and a huge portrait of George Washington. A woman turned, surprised, to look at Buddy after he said, “Look Dad, it’s John Adams! Hey, where’s Thomas Jefferson?” (This is the kind of trivial crap we teach our kids strictly to entertain ourselves because they are, in fact, put on this earth solely to entertain us, you know.) While we walked down Comm Ave, Buddy kept telling us he wanted to go to Boston.

“[Buddy], we’re in Boston.”
“No, I want to go to Boston!”

We had no idea what he was talking about so after a minute of debating, we gave up. Later, his eyes lit up as he noticed some larger buildings in the distance.

“Wow! Look at all the Bostons!”
Oh shit. We’ve been living in the suburbs too long. He thought city buildings were called Bostons. Get this kid to a city, STAT.

Sofaking Tired
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Luckily, we did just that. After packing for two weeks straight (I don’t exaggerate when I say we packed morning to night while making our raggedy kids entertain themselves with empty boxes) and shutting ourselves off from the world, the movers came, picked up our stuff, and we headed west. Well, first we headed south to NY to visit my family. Then we headed north to upstate NY (or what we southern NYers refer to as Canada) to visit G’s family. Then we drove to Ohio to stay with friends of family. And finally, we made it here.

Sofaking Anti-Racist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First order of business: get these kids into school for the fall. We are way too late getting our kids into a pre-K program in most schools. However, there’s an excellent program near our house, and I’ve been trying like mad to get the kids into it for September. The most fascinating and mind-boggling thing to me in this experience has been the little bit of extra attention I’ve/we’ve received due to our race. Shocking. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I knew some schools were looking for diversity, but because I’ve only really experienced the opposite (subtle but less attention due to my race), it’s a little bit shocking. Who knew that just showing my face would be such a positive thing? Seriously. Not used to it. Not sure what to do with it.

Sofaking Gentile (or Koreantile?)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Second order of business: get these kids into camp. Mama needs a break. We enrolled them in the JCC Summer Camp program. Awesome. If you haven’t read about the theories of Jewish-Korean linkage, do so here.

Sofaking Not Ready for That Talk
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Our new place has been a chaotic mess. At one point, I had some pantiliners lying who-the-hell-knows where. G told me that Bean came up to him one day, holding one.

“Daddy, what’s this?”
“Ummm... that’s Mommy’s. Can you put it back please?”
“Daddy, is it for cleaning? Like this? I clean like this?” And she pretended to wipe something down with it.
“Uh... sure [Bean]. Can you put it back now please?”

Sofaking Embarrassing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Until we get our bearings here, we’ve decided to rent for now (plus we still have a mortgage to pay until we sell our house). We have a lovely apartment near the lake. We also live on the floor above our very nice landlords, who are sensitive to noise and who warned us (indirectly through their broker) that they didn’t want noisy people living above them. They were somehow all right with us living here, kids and all, and after looking at some very disgusting fraternity-level apartments around the city, we jumped at this place.

The apartment has a very long hallway that just begs to be sprinted down, and it’s an effort in restraint with two three-year-olds. To assuage their temptation, we tell them that our landlords are sleeping downstairs. And that’s all they do. All day. Constantly. Sleep. Nap. Then sleep some more. They are very, very tired people. One day, G took the kids out for a walk. On the way out, they saw our landlord. Buddy, surprised upon seeing him, pointed and excitedly said, “Look! [M]’s awake!!”

Sofaking Restrained...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Along the same lines, shortly after we first moved in, Buddy walked down the hall slowly with his hands in his pockets talking to himself: “No running. No jumping. No hopping. No stomping...” These poor kids.

... But Not
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
However, we are within two blocks of two playgrounds, a library, too many restaurants, too many drugstores, many modes of transportation, and the lake. So we have a lot of running around to do outside. And we are loving every minute of it. The twins constantly tell us that they “love our new house.” Joy. Success. Relief.

Sofaking Experiment-Gone-Bad
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Boston, they had their own rooms. That’s because at four months old, they were constantly waking each other up while I was constantly ripping my hair out (although it didn’t need much help at that time—did anyone else have chunks of hair falling out? Another thing other moms don’t share with you *grumble grumble*). So once we got here, we decided to let them share a room. Bad idea. We’ve since learned that Bean will do anything to try and get Buddy to laugh. ...Or cry. Whichever mood they’re in. And she will do it Lionel Richie style: All Night Long.

Sofaking Nice
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midwesterners are some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. Period.

Sofaking Pissed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m still navigating the policies and politics of playground etiquette. I’m not sure if it’s because the twins are older and running with a different crowd/age group now but at times, I’m at a loss. At what point do you step in if the parent/caretaker is not paying attention to their child and try and assist-parent in the least obtrusive way possible? I don’t helicopter my kids; God knows with two, I can’t anyway. But if I see one of them not waiting their turn or potentially about to run over a smaller kid, I’ll go over and tell them they need to wait, or be considerate of the other kids around them. They’re kids of course, but they have to learn somehow, right?

Last week, a little girl had bubbles at the playground that she was blowing in Bean and Buddy’s faces. The twins happily started chasing the bubbles and popping them, at which point, the little girl yelled at them to STOP! They were HER bubbles! I looked at her caretaker (grandmother? nanny? I’m not sure) only five feet away, who was busy looking in a bag. So I asked the little girl if she wouldn’t mind sharing her bubbles, after all, she was blowing them RIGHT IN THEIR FACES. (Okay, I didn’t say that last part.) To which she adamantly answered, NO. They were HER bubbles.

The twins were frozen, uncertain how to proceed. So, I gently guided them to the other side of the playground and explained to them that the bubbles were the girl’s, and she didn’t want to share them right now. They hesitated for a second, then accepted it and slowly walked away. Then I suggested to the girl, as nicely as I could muster, that perhaps if she wanted to play with her bubbles and didn’t want anyone to pop them, that she could blow them elsewhere.

Honestly, I wasn’t upset with her—I realize she’s just a little girl—but I was sofaking pissed with her caretaker. Are you f’ing kidding me? You’re going to bring bubbles to the playground and expect other kids NOT to run after them and try and pop them?

Snickollet asked others what they thought about kids sharing... I understand under certain circumstances, it’s difficult for some kids to share. But if that’s the case, it’s perfectly acceptable to explain the situation. If the reason is solely that your child doesn’t like to share—I’m sorry, but what kid does? Shit, I don’t like to share sometimes!

In any case, this girl was perfectly pleasant up until she brought out the bubbles so I don’t think she had any problems with other kids or people. We were talking to her and having a normal conversation. And—go figure—we saw her again a few days later, and the twins played with her the entire time we were there. She and Bean bonded over their identical Dora sunglasses. And she was very sweet the second time around. But woman-who-was-with-that-little-girl: Listen up! Kids don’t learn to share unless they are taught. So please, get your act together. Or, don’t bring the damn bubbles to the playground.

(Sidenote: How am I doing with the cursing? Nah... I didn’t think I’d get far either.)

Sofaking Proud (an