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| Further revising my 'easier child' assessmentWhile I was curled up in a little ball on the couch trying unsuccessfully to ward off a migraine, the boys demonstrated their respective characters.
Both boys
- whined about being hungry and pushed a chair over to the babygated kitchen doorway in search of food; Micah climbed over to fetch a snack while Shiloh egged him on
- stuffed their fists into the Rubbermaid cereal container and shoveled half of a box worth of dry cereal into their mouths as fast as humanly possible
- scattered a quarter of a box worth of dry cereal all over the table, floor and chairs
Micah
- kept me company in the living room
- played industriously with his legos and made me a gas station
- brought me a pillow
- turned off the dining room light because it was giving me a headache
- checked on Shiloh for me when the silence became too suspicious to ignore
Shiloh
- took advantage of my weakened condition and took himself off to greener pastures
- played industriously in (as it turned out) my top desk drawer
- decorated my white comforter with a blue Sharpie
- (re)decorated the bathroom door with a blue Sharpie
- decorated his body with a blue Sharpie
- showed no remorse
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| No Kidding
me, on the way home from Santa Cruz, after a loooooong day without DH to act as my audio buffer: Micah, I want you stop talking until we get to Alpine. I need to concentrate on driving right now, and you need to give your mouth a break.
Micah: My mouth doesn't have brakes. It just keeps going and going and going and going and...
Speaking Shil-ish
- moo-mee: movie
- moo-goo: music
- bippo: slipper
- mummyboody: hummingbird
- la-la: glasses
- nack: snack
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| Learning from the eldersThe Hmong call their old folks "elders," which I've always liked...
I spent 4 days last weekend hanging out with my Grandma and her cronies, a very entertaining collection of funny and flirtatious and vibrant and quirky people. We ate lunch and dinner (at 4.30, on the dot...) with Mrs. Mizuo, a tiny, irrepressible, 90-something-year-old lady, who sits with her head cocked just like a little bird, spilling out gleeful stories about the bus driver (poor kid; he was just learning, and he ran a stop sign -- you can only imagine the cacophony of admonitions and reprimands and bossy driving tips he received from his ancient and opinionated passengers  ), the old Japanese man sitting half-asleep at the next table (he always wants his ice-cream before his dinner, Mrs. Mizuo informed me), and the beaming white-haired woman who walks into the dining hall every night at 5 ("Just wait, she gonna say 'I so sleepy!'" ... and she did).
We also ate with Aunty Betty (my maternal grandfather's sister-in-law -- I think; too many relatives to keep track of!). Aunty is very dignified, deliberate and controlled. She shows up to activities and meals immaculately outfitted and in full make-up (actually, almost all of the women put on make-up before meals; I definitely sported the nakedest face the whole time I was there); she considers what she says before she says it; she moves regally; her demeanor is calm and thoughtful.
We met an old gentleman "from PI" (the Philippines); he talked about serving in the US Navy during the war, and then coming to Hawaii to work on the plantations so he could make money, go back to PI, and find a wife. I thought he'd make a great interviewee for my book... but he keeps on telling the same story over and over, and he carries a little note card with his room number on it because he can't remember where he lives. He walks all over the complex carrying a big, plastic department store shopping bag, occasionally stopping outside other people's doors and jiggling the knobs.
Charlie, a stooped white guy, kept on flirting with my cousin's grandma. Gramma Okada is the hot mama of the Regency. She swims every day, and she teaches the tai chi class (which Charlie faithfully attends), where she tolerantly ignores the suggestive comments from the front row, only occasionally shaking her finger at these old geezers like they're junior high boys. For all his teasing, Charlie follows her gracefully-flowing arms intently, concentrating as he gingerly moves his weight from one leg to the other and maneuvers his arthritic limbs into the next position. My cousins and my aunt do not approve of Charlie.
And my Grandma. She's all the time tired, and she's frustrated because the pain medication makes her sleepy, and she is tottery and frail. She always tells us, "Wait! Wait!" -- as we're helping her into her chair, fetching her slippers, wheeling her to the dining hall, retrieving her cup, helping her wash up, lifting her legs into the bed. It's a constant murmur: "wait, wait..." -- I think at some level, she's afraid that life is slipping away from her, that her family is moving too fast and she can't catch up with us.
Between Grandma and Aunty Betty, I felt convicted to slow down: Why am I always in such a hurry? What's so important? Why am I a crabby, naggy slave to busyness and rush? (Because I waste too much time on xanga and facebook, that's why...  ) I need to embrace the moment, live deliberately, and grab hold of the people I love before they start moving too fast for me, too.
In many ways, it was a difficult visit. But my Kauai family is hysterical. They thrive on jokes and absurdities, they are all accomplished story-tellers (and their pidgen deepens when they're in the middle of a good one), and they think Grandma is hilarious. The general consensus is that Grandma has no sense of humor -- she takes everything very literally (perhaps this is a vestige of having English as a second language??), and if you try to explain a joke to her, she looks at you quizzically, wrinkles her nose, and, exasperated, demands: "How dat funny??" On at least three separate occasions, Gramma Okada spent a long time attempting to convince Grandma that her joke about God's other name was, indeed, a knee-slapper. Grandma just stared at her blankly, and a little pityingly if you want to know the truth; no doubt she was silently muttering, "Why you go waste time li' dat. God's other name. God's other name is God."
But then, Grandma told a joke!! A joke she made up herself!!! One of her aides came in in the morning, and Grandma wanted to introduce her to "my gran'dottahs come all da way from da mainland and [and this was the kicker] from HONG KONG. Dat in China, you know." (You get some serious props from the rest of the residents if you have visitors from abroad.) So she looked at Jenn and me, and totally deadpan, told us, "This is Pua. Her name Pua, but she really rich."
HAHAHAHAHA
Jenn and I laughed for about 10 minutes, and then we told everybody we saw. But later, as Jenn was (re)telling Pua-rich to mom on the phone, Grandma looked at her and said "I no get it. Is dat funny?? Why dat funny??" Then we realized how she managed to show off her mad pun skillz without cracking a smile: Grandma didn't get her own joke!! Which of course was even funnier.
So we did a lot of laughing, some crying, some singing, a lot of chatting. We also did a lot of eating Hawaiian junk food and watching The Price is Right. And we furthered Lor's mission to introduce Grandma to Technology.
Lesson 1: Using the distort feature.
"Heey.... I no like dat one. Dat ugly kine peekcha."
Lesson 2: Black and white
Smile, Grandma! Oh crap, someone needs to get their eyebrows waxed.
Post-script 1: In case you're interested, God's other name is Andy. You know, "Andy walks with me; Andy talks with me..." HA! That's FUNNY!! Unless you're Grandma.
Post-script 2: After spending time with the elders, I made a sincere and abiding commitment to living joyfully and deliberately, being patient with my boys and not yelling at them anymore, and stepping off of the busy bus and forsaking the headless chicken dance. This deep-seated peace and Aunty-esque dignity lasted for approximately four hours after I landed at SFO -- in other words, until Micah got out of mini-day camp.
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| Foodies and fashionistasDon't you hate blog entries with cutesy alliterative titles?? I just couldn't help myself. It was begging -- BEGGING, I tell you!! -- to be written.
This morning, as I was getting Shiloh out of his car seat, I noticed him chewing on something. "Shiloh, what are you eating??" I asked warily, given his amazing poaching abilities (and who knows what toxic thing he could have swiped from the backseat of our car...). He paused mid-chomp, smiled brilliantly at me, and answered happily: "Booguh!!" I will leave the translation to you.
We were eating dinner a few days ago, when DH decided he'd rather steal Micah's ketchup than get his own (because as we all know, it doesn't count as eating salt-laden junk food if it's not on your own dish) (does the FDA still categorize ketchup as a vegetable?). Micah, righteously indignant, yanked his plate away and scolded his pops: "You swooped in just like a bird and took my ketchup!" Where does he get this stuff?? We don't talk like this at home, I swear!!
En route to Hawaii, my sandals finally bit the dust (they were seven years old -- I guess it's been a good run), so I made an emergency Macy's stop and bought these cute wedges:
(I enlarged the picture so you could see the detail of the beautiful sparkly jewel-y flower. You're welcome.)
Micah watched me put them on this morning, and said, "Mommy, I really like those sandals!" "Oh yeah, bud?" "Yes, I like them better than your other sandals* because these ones have flowers." I started thinking, Wow, my kiddo's quite the metrosexual -- and then he continued. "I'd like them even better if they had Spiderman or Superman on them." Never mind; take Micah off Mommy's Potential Personal Shopper list.
* Although I can't fault his taste; here are the offending sandals:  Definitely not as cute.
And I would like to state publicly that I am a perfect size 6... in shoes.
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