Kimchi Mamas

Hump Day Links

Kristen Chase over at Motherhood Uncensored gives some perspective to the perception of Dads and our roles as Moms. (Did you know she's a Kimchi Mama? Probably explains her HAWTNESS.)

 

Speaking of sexy: I guess women of colour aren't sexy anymore? According to VS we're not . . . When I grow up I want to be Jen and Diane at Disgraisan.

 

Is the kid in this video Kimchi? Someone help me out here.

I *heart* this video because:

1. I love Green Day - don't care what you say, takes me back to high school and college

2. I love that this kids gets to play on stage with the band

3. I wish I had muscical skillz...

 

--Angie in Texas is going to practice her trumpet now. (Because trying to learn a new instrument at 30-something is FUN and not TOTALLY FRUSTRATING, okay?!

 

 

 

Because Middle School is Tough . . .

Just in case looking and talking with your own Small Talk isn't enough:

http://vimeo.com/40923539 

Gah! My ovaries!!

Angie in Texas considers making more babies when she sees videos like these!

To Specialize or Not To Specialize. That is the Question.

(Please forgive the "first-world problems" feel of this post.)

As my children have gotten older (they are now almost 10 and just a touch over 12), I have noticed a disturbing pattern that I may have been unaware in the past: specialization.

My daughter's into soccer. She plays in a youth sports group and they practice for about 1 hour once a week, play once a week and the season is only about 2 1/2 months long at a time. She plays probably 2-3 "seasons" a year. Though she is 12, most of the girls on her team are 10 and 11. They "play up". Playing up is based on the theory that if you raise the level of competition they will play to meet that challenge (or something like that).

Many of the girls on her team will probably leave in the next season or two to move into "club" soccer. Club soccer here is more . . . specialized. This is when teams practice 3-4 times a week for an hour or an hour and a half each practice and will play 2-3 games a weekend. They will also travel to surrounding areas (and in Texas that could mean 3+ hours of driving) and play in tournaments that go on for entire weekends (Saturdays and Sundays).

My son was participating in Tae Kwon Do and in tennis.  A few months ago, he had to make a very difficult choice: he had to choose.  He is 10 years old and he was being forced into specializing. As a 10 year old he would do tennis 2 times a week and then TKD 2 times a week and depending on visitation weekends, TKD sparring on Fridaysa and TKD tournament team on Saturdays or a tennis tournament. Tennis was 2 private lessons a week plus 'clinic' for a total of about 7 hours of tennis a week. This wasn't enough . . . his new schedule is tennis 4 days a week (about 10-12 hours a week) and an average of 2 tournaments a month (tournaments begin on Fridays and end on Sundays if you're playing well).

I look around and I see it amongst many of our friends: a 12 year old who plays club volleyball - tournaments are all weekend long and consist of many games per day, a 14 year old who is now home schooled so she can pratice tennis 8+ hours a day, and a 17 year old who has been taking tennis lessons for 12 years.

And this is just the sports side. I know children who practice piano 15-20 hours a week, a neighbor's child plays drums for school, church and 2 bands (he's 16) and on and on and on...

In all of these cases (and from personal experience) I have been told that kids HAVE to specialize if they want to remain competitive. Competitive for school, college, scholarships, professionally.

As parents we want what's best for our children.

We want opportunities for them that we didn't have.

We give them the best so they can be their best. 

We want them to be competive and have an edge.

To have THE edge.

 

 

But what does that mean? And at what cost?

Happy New Year

It's the Solar New Year!

I hope everyone had a restful time off and spent lots of time enjoying their families... although I gotta say that taking care of both kids all day is way harder than being at work. Even if one of them looks this cute:



Anyway, anyone got resolutions for the new year?

I'm not one to make resolutions (anymore, since I never seem to be able to keep them) but I have one word themes for the entire year. The simplicity of one word seems to work for me. My word for this year is humility. I hope the lessons aren't TOO painful. Humble pie can taste rather bitter some times.

My word last year was love. I feel like I still have no clue what love is all about, but I think in some strange way, it helped me to show love to my kids more intentionally.

Oh, did ya'll eat ttuk gook? 떡국? I swear, it's the easiest meal and we probably eat it at least once a month. Leftover rotissarie chicken carcass makes the best soup base too!

- Brought to you by, ramblin' Mary

Control Freak?

I think I had a break through in my thinking about my relationship with my family.

Just for some background, I do not have close relationships with my sister, mother, or father. There were domestic violence and alcohol issues when I was growing up along with the whole immigrating thing. My dad did his best to provide for us and he did that well enough. My sister was the rebel and I was the obedient one. Currently, I live 400 miles away from my dad and my sister lives on the other coast. My mom lives in the South somewhere.

Challenging Allegiant Air

Being a sucker for getting the best deal and finding the cheapest way to do something, I was happy when I was given the brilliant tip of flying into Bellingham, Washington and driving into Canada instead of flying directly into Vancouver. I had to get myself up there for a wedding and it didn't really matter to me how I got there, by land or plane or sea. Flying into Bellingham instead of Vancouver saved me about 300 dollars. International air travel sucks.

Anyway, I was also told about this airline called Allegient that supposedly had the cheapest rates from Oakland to Bellingham. I did my research and lo and behold they do. I book it and I had a decent flight with no beverages or snacks (not even juice or peanuts!) on my way there. However, the way back was a different story. I was late for my flight. Border crossings, I learned, were somewhat unpredictable. I know, I know, I should have left at the crack of dawn for my 9:15 AM flight but I didn't. I was at the check-in counter at a little before 9:00 and needless to say, it was too late. I was TOO LATE.

Asians in the library

Saw this on Facebook. Have you seen it?

 

 

I thought this video response was pretty hilarious. Warning: profanity

 

I appreciate her "apology" and am glad that at least with the benefit of hindsight, she realized she made a HUGE mistake. What in the WORLD possessed her to post such a thing in the first place, I'll never know.

- Mary

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Recent conversations, FB status updates and varying degrees of parent status of fellow parent friends have me wondering about the great myth of “the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  ***

I don’t know what’s in the water, but I have what seems to be a lot girlfriends who are expecting in the upcoming months.  All of them are looking for the light at the end of [their] tunnel.  (*I apologize for the crude joke . . .) Some have spent a blissful 6, 7, 8, or 9 months of pregnancy; others have suffered swelling, nausea, and “tummy issues” for 4, 5, or 6 months; while others have had a combination of both the sweet and the sour.

Then there are my mother-in-arms who have infants and toddlers.  The tantrums, sleepless nights, crying, screaming and disciplining.  And those are just the parents… Their light at the end of the tunnel comes down to wanting a semi-regular schedule, a little person they can reason with without the tears (mom's or child's) and maybe getting into the shower before 2:30 in the afternoon or eating a hot meal that does not include partially chewed-on rice and ghim rolls.

There are my parent pals who have school-aged children. The light at the end of their tunnel is blocked by soccer/basketball/t-ball/baseball practice schedules, music lessons, language school, Sunday school/CCD, gymnastics, endless birthday parties/slumber parties and ensuring their well-roundedness as responsible, compassionate members of a global community on top of burgeoning school assignments and other academic pressures.

And of course there are the tween/teens.  Changing bodies, changing voices . . . changing smells(?!).  Hormones, tantrums, sleepless nights, crying, screaming and disciplining (it’s infants and toddlers re-do but super-sized!). New fears about sex[ting], drugs and rock and roll in the car while driving… Where has the child who used to fit in your lap gone? And who replaced him/her with this giant, taller-than-mom, locust eating his/her way through this week’s groceries in 3 day’s time?  The light at the end of the tunnel is a well-rounded child who will take their place in our world and a fridge that’s no longer raided by marauding teenage school-band gangs . . .

But alas, then it’s onto young adulthood.  You’d think watching your son/daughter get through college, medical an/or law school (Tiger Mom moment) and develop their place in our world would be the light at the end of the tunnel . . . Instead, it’s the time to see your offspring become the adult you always knew was in there, meet and fall in love with someone who makes them happy . . . and then observe as you watch them journey through their search for the light at the end of their tunnels.

--Angie in Texas knows not all tunnels are dark . . .

You Win Some, You Lose Some

My son, Isaac, is currently in first grade, and this academic year has proven to be one full of self-discovery and -actualization.  I always thought hearing his first words was the most breathtaking parenting moment, but witnessing him trying to place himself along the myriad of spectrums of identity, has been nothing short of magic.

The other day, he told me how some boys like to play rough while others liked princesses, and how he was somewhere in the middle.  Believe me, that is some pretty insightful analysis from a boy whose favorite YouTube video features a cat hiccuping and farting at the same time.

A few weeks ago, while I was volunteering in his classroom, I came upon a pen pal letter he had written.  It went something like this:

Dear Pen Pal,

Hi!  How are you?  My name is Isaac and I am Korean.  Are you Korean too?  I am very good at addition and pretty good at subtraction, and I am a good listener.  What do you like to do?  I hope you write back soon.  Bye!

Isaac

Did you see that???  He said he was Korean.  Be still my heart!  I can die now, my work on earth is done.

So when it came time for this month's show and tell (the assignment was to bring something that symbolizes your family's winter traditions), I asked him if he wanted to bring in his han bok and talk about how Koreans celebrate New Year's, namely how we go to our grandparents' house, bow to them and get money, then eat a huge meal involving soup, fish, and the like.  He was keen on the idea, and we rehearsed a few times to make sure he was prepared.  

The morning of his presentation, we had another walk-through and I nearly fainted when he said, "My name is Isaac and I am going to talk about New Year's.  This is my, uh...my...Hong Kong, which is a kind of Chinese or Japanese thing you wear."

I suppose we are all works in progress, right?

Nosey Ajummas

I dislike nosey Korean ajummas (even though I may be one of them.) I do my best to smile, nod, and ignore them... let it go in one ear, and come out the other. You see, I don't care what you know, until I know that you care. (Sorry folks, I did not come up with that awesome quote myself.) I discovered that I dislike nosey White ajummas too.

 

I got a great dose of it this past weekend. It was a rather strange experience. I walked to a local cafe with the baby and boy. While we were there, this White ajumma started talking to my son. She completely ignored me. Didn't even say hi or ask me any questions. But she went on and on and on and on... and on... talking to my son. Even to my 1 year old. Her topics ranged from why pirates weren't the "bad guys" to how infants can sign before they can talk to what the meaning of "sick" is when teenagers say it. I was too amused and stunned to say anything while in her presence. It wasn't like she was trying to have a conversation with my 3 (almost 4) year old. She was talking "at" him. He was struggling to just say some stuff he wanted to say. I laughed.