Week 60: Sometimes life boils down to the ironic trade-off between time, money and energy

 

Here is the sad irony of life:
When you are a youngster, you have time, energy but no money.
When you are an adult, you have money, energy but no time.
When you are an elder, you have money and time but no energy.

The simple truth is, there are shortages.  Those wealthiest in life are ones that maximize the return of their scarce resources.

fall'en in love

Friday night held steady the scorching summer weather at high eighties as the sun goes down. After indulging my girl with some sidewalk chalk fun in our backyard, our bodies were covered in the residual dust. I had this great idea to just turn on the hose and let her clean herself up with it. She usually loves water, but she loves the spontaneous bout of playing with water that much more...

With most transitions, the change in season is drastic. The following day, fall officially arrived and it brings with it crispier weather that calls for sweaters and pants. 

Though it is expected to be in the nineties again this coming mid-week, the weekends conveniently drop to bone-chilling seventies that requires me to dig further into my closet to pull out the heavier clothes that were tugged away during the hot summer months.  I welcome it like I welcome most fall activities: hot cocoas, warm green tea, hot grande white mocha instead of the usual caramel frap I typically sport in hands on most summer weekend days. 

My dear husband knows me well enough by now to get me the appropriate drink at Starbucks depending on the weather outside: hot drink with whip and cold drink without whip.  He casually asked me this weekend the reason behind my discriminatory preference regarding whip and I couldn't come up with one legitimate reason since I ordinary don't really care for whip.  After some soul searching minutes to come up with an answer, the only one I can come up with is that I feel self-conscious to be seen with an additional 300 Calories on top of the 700 Calories I'm ingesting in 3 large inhales because the cold drink comes in clear plastic cups.  Whereas, the hot drink containers conceal whip's existence in my lovely caffeine that I'm able to convince myself that I'm not consuming my whole day's allotted caloric intake in one grande Starbucks drink.  Ahhh, the things we are able to convince ourselves to believe. My husband thought it was a ridiculous answer, one that would only come from his sometimes ridiculous wife's head.

The question my dear husband simply posed actually was quite eye-opening for me not only in that it revealed the fact that I should just take coffee without whip if I don't even care much for it, but also in that why do I care what other people think about ridiculous things that people probably don't even notice kind of way.

I like to think that in many ways I know myself well enough and am confident enough in my vessel to be immuned to the terrible habit that plague mankind, and in particular, woman-kind, of letting how others perceive us dominate our every day lives.  We let it dictate our habits, and more often than not, our major life decisions in such a subconscious way that we don't even think about it.  So, while I don't pretend to make any immediate change to get back on the "I don't care what others think about me" course, I am now consciously aware.  But one of the more fulfilling fact in awareness is the ability to differentiate to myself the satisfaction I derived from how others perceive me and the satisfaction derived simply from how I perceive myself, and the ridiculous way I like my coffee - whip with my white mocha and no whip with my caramel frap. 

:: :: ::

I always indulge in a grande drink of choice from Starbucks before we head out to our weekend adventure.  It was no difference this weekend when the arrival of fall get me in the urge to do some apple picking.  So, on Friday night when my husband and daughter is tucked away neatly in bed, I stayed up and did some research for an orchard within reasonable proximity.  I informed my dear husband early next morning of my plan, and with a nod, we got ourselves ready and headed down the highway, 45 miles south, coffee in hand, to Watsonville.

The fall colors greeted us was a welcoming sight.

Our girl happily trotted along side us as we walked aisles planked by deep fall hues of greens and purples, often pointing to the many things that caught her budding attention span.

We stopped to pick the fruits that call out to us.

Once she realizes that these fruits are not just fun for picking, but they are great for eating too, there is no stopping her from digging her mouth around its round orb.

She would have been perfectly content with being pushed around so long as no one takes her apple away.

Until we move on to the strawberries field. Our girl does love her fruits.

While we waited for Joe to get an apple pie, we stumbled upon a cute little pumpkin patch and I couldn't help myself with a fall photo op.

We have many more fall activities planned for the coming three months, but the ones taken to satisfy an immediate urge and the consequent stumbled-upon gems always prove to be the best kind of activities, where memories are made and family time is best spent. 

It's fall, I'll drink apple cider to that...

doing it

The season is shifting. While the late summer sun still allows for bikinis on most mid days, the mornings and nights are now calling for cozy blankets.  After a fleeting summer I am ready for the change. My leather boots are patiently waiting and hot cocoa is calling my name.

The summer of 2011 will go down in history as a summer of change. My darling husband started a new job and soon after that, I quit mine and took on a new one. Mixing one of life's biggest stressors into a budding family has a way of testing the boundaries of our love. Our new jobs required us to change our comfortable routines and sure enough the day-to-day life has gotten fricking hard. It is in these challenging times that I am reminded of our wedding day.  In front of our closest friends and family, we pledged honesty and loyalty and honor. Inherent in that declaration is a promise to push each other, to support and nurture each other's pursuit of passion and happiness. At the time, I really didn't understand what all of it means; I was way too high on happiness.  Even when I came down from the high, I don't think I truly understood what it all entails until the day to day push us to hold each other to those promises. Joe's work, at least at this stage of his budding career, takes him away from home more often than I would like. Even when he is home, he is buried in the thick of it with very little time left for family other than an occasional dinner or brief weekend event. The combination of two parents at extremely demanding jobs was too much burden to ask of our infant girl, so I quit my job and took another that allows more time and flexibility. It is a choice I make readily, just as readily as the one Joe made only months earlier. 

Undoubtedly, being a parent is hard, but when the responsibility of caregiving shifts towards one parent is downright demanding.  I don't know how some single parent do it frankly.  There are days where I want to write, to make, to create so bad, but had to settle for a jotted note on a napkin (and hope that I don't lose that napkin) to capture the fleeting creative idea and hope that the spirit will return when my girl goes down for a nap. Similarly for my dear husband who would halt his productive energy the moment his family demands it. And when he notices my creative itch that I need to scratch, he shifts priorities, take our girl and brushes me off with a I got her so that I can dwell in my passion even if it is only for an hour. Sometimes, the project is a masterpiece, sometimes, it is a complete bust, but the need to let the creative monster out is necessary every single time.

It is in my role of being wife and parent that I continue to hone the learned habit of halting and transferring the wonderful creative energy, not knowing when it will occur again.  We count on each other, to help us make time for ourselves, because we so readily make time for each other.

Thinking back to the vows we made to each other, we said it then, we are doing it now.  We are true to our words through execution in actions.  We were playing house, we are making home.  I am so proud of us my dear husband. 

Week 59: Going down the slide is my best analogy for the fluid motion of life

 

There will be moments when you'll find yourself ugly-grabbing the slick, round, un-grippable edges of time.  There is no graceful way to do it.  It's like going down the slides at the park.  You can repeatedly try to slow yourself down or stop, but the pitch and smoothness just won't allow it.  As much as you want to be graceful in life and to age gracefully, you will find yourself learning some real, hard and awesome lesson in grace. 

house and home

We spend a lot of time at home.  This was not always the case when we were younger.  The weekends were for exploring and the nights were for fun.  As with every parenting story goes, things changed when you mixed a baby into the picture. 

With the baby in bed by nine every night, we have more time within the familiar walls of our home.  And when she isn't sleeping or out with us, she is exploring and demanding more out of our home than ever before.  It is important to me to have a safe and functional home, but it is also nice to have an aesthetically pleasing space to look at.

I have always asked a lot of my house.  Every little space has a purpose, and no space is goes unused.  They are not always tended to, but I am constantly reimagining uses to maximize our humble abode.  Now that it has been three year since we became its latest occupants and in between, we added its newest occupant to the mix, I thought it was high time to finally put up the gallery frame wall that I have been craving since seeing it peppered around the internet and eventually became a big decorating trend.

Admittedly it was an intimidating project.  Believe it or not, my biggest fear is the thought of the swiss cheese wall we would have to live with from putting up all the nails if the project is a bust.  I took the chance, and I love love love the result.  It makes me smile every single morning coming downstairs. 

I love the Rainbows print so much.  It adds such a fun character to the space, in both the saying and the colors.

Found these vintage keys on eBay and turned out to be such a good fit for the space. 

This old typewriter was a Christmas gift from a few years back from the dear husband.  He scoured Craigslist to find it and I love the thoughtfulness behind it.  It's still to date one of the best gifts I received.  Hands down.

The peacock was a new addition, purchased from Singapore on my recent work trip.  And while it was an expensive buy, it could have been much more expensive as the purchase of it almost make me miss my flight home at the airport.  Luckily everything worked out.

The fan is so functional, has an old feel to it, but is actually a fairly new purchase from restoration hardware when it was on sale about a year ago.  It is hard to love an appliance, but I really do love this one.  We use it on the daily this summer.

The yellow in the space is absolutely unintentional as the project was done cheaply with items we already have in the house. But when you complete a big project like this, there is bound to be some discovery when it's all done, like the fact that I really do love the yellow, as evident by the stuffs I purchase over the years and in the enjoyment I get out of seeing it everyday now. To top it all off, I added two sets of these pillows recently scored at the Target sale when I braved the Missoni madness this week.

I couldn't leave Target empty-handed of Missoni. No, I am in love with the items I managed to dig through after all the madness is settled.

shaken

This week's Friday feels different from other weeks' Fridays.  Maybe it is the dramatic shift in the season now observed through the chiller air, but today, a Friday, doesn't hold the same level of optimism and promises that Fridays usually bring.  This Friday, I just wanted to go home and curl up under the warmth of the blanket to a good old fashion movie, maybe Titanic, or the Notebook or Love Actually, but the prospect is only exists in the corner of my mind as surely my return home from work will prompt my energetic girl to come rushing to the door, greet me with open arms and demand to be entertained by ways of a different variety than those that grandma had been doing all day.  This typically results in us buckling ourselves up and driving somewhere, away from home.

With her daddy working late tonight, this exhausted mama will have to draw deep within my core to muster up any ounce of energy left in my tired body to obliged my eager girl.  Somewhere along the way, I have gotten use to this rallying routine, of but the prospect it is enough to make me mentally exhausted this afternoon.
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Warning! There is going to be a big shift in this rambling.  The above portion sat in draft as an afterthought from a mundane afternoon that looks to a bleaker weekend ahead.  The trip home from work proved to be the wake up call I needed to shift focus back to the things that are important.

At hindsight, it is now clear that there was a series of things that led me to where I was.  It was because it was Friday that I left work earlier than usual, it was the traffic that made me veer off the highway and turn into the back road, it was my state of mind that needed a wake up call.  It worked.

I was driving mindlessly through the familiar neighborhood.  My brother and his family live down the street from there and I made a mental note to visit more often.  I wondered why we lived so close in proximity yet haven't seen each other in more than a few weeks.  Ever notice how fast the conversations you have with yourself in your mind is accelerated?  It was literally only a millisecond that I went from being lost in thoughts to being at a dead stop, with my car facing a direction that was perpendicular to my original direction.  It felt like I was in a movie, reacting in slow motion to get myself to safety.  There were gun shots, four of them.  There was a car coming straight at me and I veered out of the way.  There were cops and there was a chase.

All of the sudden, it was quiet again.  Traffic continued on as it should, other than the few strangling cars still facing the direction it shouldn't, mine included.  I began to operated the appropriate functions in my car to right it again, and I continued on to the next traffic light where I stopped on red, and my body shook.  I shook so uncontrollably that I had to pull over to collect myself.  And after a few minutes of just sitting there alone on the side of the road, hearing more sirens wheezing by probably to assist the ones that left, I had this uncontrollable urge to just get home to my girl.

I drove, cautiously but urgently, to get home, where I squeezed my girl tight and whispered over and over again how much I love her, letting go only when she fought to get free of my gripping embrace.

The event consumed me for the rest of that night and into the weekend.  I watched news and read the stories.  There was a man shot earlier in a nearby town. There was woman kidnapped and her car hijacked.  Apparently, both connected to the man who operated the hijacked car that almost ran straight at me on the road.  Despite being shot at, the suspect got away, but the kidnapped woman turned up dead.  And I, who was caught in the middle of this series of event, returned home safely to hug my girl to sleep that night.  We stayed in for the most part this weekend, where we indulged in family time and doing the things I love doing the most with my weekend.

Recently, I have found a new sense of self in my writing, in stringing words into cohesive sentences that together they becomes more powerful and captivating than the individual words alone.  They are my voice, captured in a moment in time, and is forever logged for a new audience.

Deep thoughts often dwell in self-discovery or rather rediscovery, and I often find myself looking at my daughter and wonder what kind of person she will grow up to be.  I hope she will be happy. I hope she makes good choices.  I hope she is kind.  I try not to think that far into the future, because the weight of it often overwhelms me.  Instead, I think about the near term, imagining her next discoveries and capabilities, because what is capable of now has surpassed my wildest dreams.  I have to capture them all, in words and in pictures, because I don't want to forget them.

*Lia shares our bed, and I enjoy it much more than I'm willing to admit.  There is something very taboo about having a toddler in the same bed as the parents, and no parent would proudly admit it.  It's almost like it's a sign of failed parenting.  Well I tried it both way, and getting to be a witness to the scene of my girl searching for her binky in the middle of the night, in the dark, while she's more than half-asleep and finding the right position in her mouth before going back out for the night is one of those treasured moments that is forever etched into this mama's heart. 

*She seeks for my arms, for warmth, for comfort, for security.  When she is unable to fall into a deep sleep, she seeks for my arms and always find comfort it them once found.  I always oblige.

*I love being witness to the relationship between my daughter and my husband.  I love that it is so unique in its own way and that it is so different than the one I have with her, in some ways.  He is rougher, and that in and of itself is more fun for her.  He would throw her in the air, but always catching her.  He does tricks with her that only a father is physically capable of.

*From the very first moment when we lay our eyes on our girl, there was no denying that she is her father's daughter.  I have gotten used to hearing it since then that I subconsciously look for traits within her or growing with her that more resembles me.  One of my favorite physical traits of hers is her hair, a perfect blend between her father and me, dark and fine like mine but the curls...the curls are definitely a non-Asian trait.

*There are moments in my life where I live in fear because of the external environment I cannot control.  For instance, having a child, especially a baby girl, can often send a mother's mind into dangerous and overwhelming future that I often have to reign back in before I'm forced to take drastic measures such as locking my daughter in our house and not let her out until she is grey and old.  I admit that I don't do a very good job at teaching our girl about God and creation and the spirituality of this world, but I often can be found whispering a prayer to the heaven above to keep my daughter safe from the worst part of humanity.  That is really all I could do short of taking any drastic measures to ease my mind. For now, we enjoy her while she is still ours to keep.

Week 58: The best of humanity will overcome the worst hate

One day I will explain to you the tragedy of 9/11.  But on this tenth year anniversary of the tragic event, I am humbled by the recovery of this nation and the forgiveness inherent in humanity.  I have no doubt that you will be part of the best of humanity. 

habits

On my way to work this morning, I noticed my favorite gingko trees that lined the sidewalks of the expressway I always take to and from work are starting to change color.  The usual green flimsy leaves are starting to be etched with a yellow tint that will eventually take over the currently green canvas, the tree and the surrounding with its gorgeous hue that, in my mind, signifies autumn the best.  Gingko trees and its changing color is my best indicator of fall in the seasonless Northern California.

Last Sunday brought along one of the our many favorite fall activities, including pizza eating and football cheering for our beloved team.  Football season has officially kick-off (pun intended) and it brings with it friendly competition as our house fills with die-hard fans and fantasy football match-ups.  On most autumn Sundays, we can often be found glued to the television, taking breaks in between to run errands for the coming week, and this past weekend was no different.

Our girl is a little temperamental lately, exhibiting this habit of hitting people, on purpose, if she doesn't like something.  I am often on the receiving end of her new found temperament, and I admittedly struggled a bit at my new task of discipline.  It was just so much easier before where I can chalk it up to reflexes or her lack of understanding of her behavior and not having to teach her the consequences of her actions.  But when she hits me for the fifth time following every single time she hears no, I realized it is due time for some disciplinary habits to be put in place.

On the topic of habits, we have been trying to instill into her some good daily habits, including brushing her teeth.  So far, she has found it to be an extremely fun task, often times wanting to do it herself.

She also takes on the habit of wanting to drink out of Mama's cup, often time resulting in a complete mess.  At least we had the foresight to switch all of our dinnerware to plastic so that the mess we have to clean is contained to just food (most of which our dog is the primary vacuum) and not pieces of glass and ceramic.

ten years

I sit here on the eve the 10 years anniversary of 9/11, my eyes gluing to the multitude of media coverage to grieve, to pay tribute and to remember that tragic day 10 years ago.  Throughout the day, I listened to stories on the television, I read stories on the world wide web, I even retold my own version to those willing to listen.  Every single one of us in this nation who lived through that day has a version of where we were and how we felt, some more affected than others, but every single one affected one way or another.

Mine is one that is more far removed, being 3,000 miles away from ground zero and 3 hours behind, embodied in the mind of an 18 year old who had just started the first semester of college.  I woke up early to drop my sister off to an early class before heading home to get ready for my own class.  On the way to and from, the typical pop music blasting on my preset radio station suddenly changed to a more serious coverage, one that informs, of a plane crash into a building in New York City, a tragedy that still paled in comparison, at least at that exact moment, to me making the next traffic light.  I didn't connect with it, yet, and I was slightly annoyed that the song I was enjoying was cut short.  I made it home in 5 minutes, curious about what I heard, I informed my mother nonchalantly on my way in the door to turn on the TV to see if there was anything more.  The images that greeted me through the TV floored me.  And as I was still trying to digest what was happening, the interrupted breaking news of the crash to the second tower validated the extent of what I was seeing, an act of terrorism. 

I was late to jump in the shower to get ready for school, but into the shower I went, and I braved the traffic that is usually present on the way to school just to make it to an economic class so that my eyes can yet again glue to the TV in different companies and with different perspectives.  Though that day and the day that followed consist of a lot of grieving for America's darkest day, and for those who are personally affected by the event, the years that follow also brings its own clarity of what happened that day beyond the immediate reaction.

It is one of the most tragic ironies for me is that I had and took the time to shower while thousands of people were fighting for the lives they eventually lose, but that usually mundane task will forever be etched in my memories as the most thought provoking shower I had taken. It is usually at hindsight that we see the clarity and importance of the small moments in time that we take for granted.

As I find the balance between enjoying the small moments of today, which includes some much needed time as a family with football games peppered with tributes, I continue to reconcile with how the tragedy of the past will influence my future.  Ten years had passed, I am no longer that naive 18 year old unable to fully comprehend the tragedy at hand.  I've had a child and my girl will one day recognize those burning images as a tragedy and I will be tasked with explaining to her little mind the lessons of the worst kind of hate.  As my mind trails off dangerously to an overwhelming future, I realize that I have an opportunity to show and teach my girl that the best of humanity will overcome the worst hate of this world.  It had been demonstrated so over the last 10 years.  I will teach her compassion and kindness so that she take part of that best part of humanity, by living compassionately and with kindness, today...

my happily ever after

Lia sleeps in our bed.  I have came to term with it and have even became unapologetic about it.  We tried the sleeping in her own room thing for about six months, but life changes, and you roll with it.  One of those changes include us needing more sleep to better function as an adult and the easiest way to do that is to bring her to our bed.  She sleeps well, we sleep well, win win.

Despite many precautionary tales that had been bestowed to us by other well-intentioned but totally unsolicited parents, we are continuing with this approach so long as it is beneficial.  It is beneficial, and not just from a quantity/quality of sleep perspective.

My girl and I often head to bed around 8:30 every night, unless something more important keep us out later at night like dining with friends.  But on most week nights, we are in bed by that time.  We read, we sing, and we turn out the light, at which time is Lia's queue to create havoc.  She rolls, she crawls to the edge, she wants down, she pushes me into a one-foot corner of a queen size bed, she sucks on the binky, she drops the pinky, mama put back her binky and repeat.  All of this goes on for about fifteen to twenty minutes in the dark, until she gets tired or bored or both, and finally start drifting into a slumber.  This is where my favorite part of the night begins.

When she begins drifting in and out of sleep, she tends to move frantically, from the nook of my arm to the pillow to the comforter, whatever which way to find a comfortable position to rest her head.  Recently, she has also develop this habit where she would sits straight up in the middle of all that havoc, in a trance-like dream state, frantically searches for my hand (and I suspect unknowingly at that), grabs it, puts it against her cheek and lays her head on it, rolls her eyes back and goes out for the night.

Obviously, it is not a position that can be maintained comfortably, at least for sleeping anyways, so I would lower her down onto my chest where she rest until she falls into her deep sleep before I move her to her side of the bed.  And sometimes, even when I know I should be moving her, I held her there just a little longer, so that I can make sure I have enough time just to etch the memories of these nights into my mind so that I can never forget, the time when my baby seeks and finds comfort in my arms and I find comfort right back in my sleeping child.  And we sleep peacefully through the night and live happily ever after.

Week 57: Everything in moderation

I hope to instill in you a balance in your approach to life, that everything in moderation is a good default recipe.  But if you have to go to the extreme, I hope it is in your passion for a good cause.

a non-laborous weekend

Our family of three rose early Saturday morning excited for the day ahead.  We had plans and it was going to take us 45 minutes out of usual hiding spot into the "city" (as we locals call the city of San Francisco).  While I had grown up in the Bay Area and frequented and know the usual hidden gems well, there were two spots that I never set foot on, Crissy Field and Chinatown.  We were going to dedicate the day to exploring them, with the intention of taking some much overdue family/one year old pictures our of girl who coincidentally turned 13 months on Saturday.  These are my favorites.

We can always count on being able to find someone who knows how to use a DSLR with a picturesque background such as that of the golden gate bridge.  A kind stranger took this only portrait of our family.  I kinda dig the candid of my crazy hair in an unsurprisingly windy and cold day and our girl pulling her shirt up. 

I love these pictures because they captured exactly how our girl acts at 13 months of age, always pointing at things to an embarrassing degree and the way her face crunches up when she is curious at something.  In this case, her object of affection was a dog that just passed by. 

The remaining two days of our weekend was spent lounging around the house, makeup-less, tackling some much needed home project, including completing the gallery framed wall that I have started a long time ago but never finished.

While the new work week is back in full swing, a productive yet relaxing weekend certainly eases the blow.