Ting-Do

The Last Mile

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 17:31:00 +0000

You have to hand it to the ancient Chinese. They really had a handle on things, like truly effective home remedies for stomach flu -- rice porridge (shi fan) rocks! -- which I have been relying heavily upon over the past 48 hours, and wise old sayings about life's truths, like that one about the last mile being as hard to finish as the first 99 put together.

I'm in that last mile on a long overdue paper right now, and I've totally lost my steam. All I have left is one paragraph in one section, on the use of intravenous immunoglobulin for the treatment of anticonvulsant hypersensitivity reactions, and all I can do is stare at the yellow legal rule on my desk with "IVIG" written across the top. It is as if all my cerebral presynaptic boutons (I just love that word, boutons, so very francais, oui?) have been squeezed dry of any useful molecules of neurotransmitter and the reuptake receptors have packed up and gone home for the day.

Of course, I did this to myself. My administrative assistant knows me well, that I can't focus and get much done until a deadline is breathing down my neck. Why is that? Is it how my parents raised me or is this something hard-wired into my genetic make-up? Was it an evolutionary advantage for my ancestors to sit back and wait to harvest the rice only when the fields were threatened by an impending monsoon? Did my great-great-great-great-great-great aunt secure a better match for herself by waiting until the night before the lunar new year to clean the house of a year's worth of grime?

This time, 2 or 3 deadlines have come and gone, extensions have been granted, and this is it -- now or never. By golly, I'm going to finish this last mile, bound feet be damned!

Too close to home

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Fri, 02 Mar 2007 19:26:00 +0000

Poor Pig, Poor Me -- Pig gets no sympathy from Goat, nor I from Bob.

Say what?

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 18:07:00 +0000

Bob was complaining to me last night that I don't listen. I find that kind of humorous, because I can recall many a time when I've told him over and over again about a planned family activity, the day arrives, and it was as if I had been talking to the wind. That's why I have a particular appreciation for this joke my office mate dropped on my desk today, I'm still laughing :)

Man driving down road
Woman driving up same road
They pass each other.
The woman yells out the window, "PIG!"
Man yells out window, "BITCH!"
Man rounds next curve
Crashes into a HUGE PIG in middle of road and dies.

Thought for the day:

If only men would listen...

Sumptuous Rice

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 20:13:00 +0000

I attended an Indian cooking class with some girlfriends this past week as a new exotic venture. The class, "Sumptuous Rice," was not exactly what I expected. Instead of stirring our own pots of biryani, we mostly watched the teacher cook at the front of the home ec room of a well-to-do high school.

Just getting to that home ec room was a stressful affair. Not so much because we had to navigate unknown halls, following cryptic signs, but because everywhere we turned there were banners and trophies declaring the stunning accomplishments of over-achieving, mal-adjusted, over-pressured, angst-ridden teens. A John Waters spoof of wealthy suburban Maryland life could not have been more disturbing than the reality. Passing the cafeteria, we saw pint-sized teeny-boppers defying gravity in a verticle pyramid under a plaque for State Champion Cheerleading. Professionally printed mega-banners in the stairwell congratulated the school for having two Westinghouse semifinalists and two Intel semifinalists. Their National Merit Scholars were proudly displayed, like a list of champions from the Pan Asian games -- C. Jao, J. Sun, J. Tian, W. Xiong, and L. Yu -- Can you blame the white flight from neighborhoods harboring these unreal kids? How can students possibly survive that kind of academic environment unscathed?
I'm not even white, and it's enough to make me want to run far, far away with my little yellow babies.

After recovering from my scary high school flashback, I settled down to making rice stews with an authentic Indian cook. To be honest, she lost me at "masala" and "pressure cooker". Even so, I did enjoy diving into the sumptuous bounty when it was all done, while believing, even for a short time, that I might be able to recreate it on my own.

The highlight of the class was really the instructor's story-telling. She had a gift, like Rachel Ray, of chatting away while not missing a beat with the cooking. One story she shared with humor was the evening she met up with her newly-arranged-to-wed husband in NYC after flying 22 hours from India. She was anxious to make her way to their new home in Maryland, so they hopped in the car and drove an additional 5 hours after her long flight. When they finally arrived, she was nearly sleep-walking from the fatigue, but perked-up when her hubby said he had a surprise for his new bride.
"Flowers? Jewelry?", she thought to herself.
He asked her to close her eyes as he steered her through the house. "OK, open your eyes!"
She found herself facing the kitchen as he smuggly declared, "Here is the kitchen, I will never have to step foot in there again!!!"

Remind me now, what they say about men and pigs?

By the Grace of God

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 17:53:00 +0000

By God's grace and thanks to my fellow blogger, Angela, I found out today that my brother made it into cyber news (Yahoo AP) with his family in Boston.

Church Elder David Ting holds his son Tobin, 2, as the congregation stands at the beginning of Sunday service at Grace Chapel in Lexington, Mass., Sunday, Feb. 11, 2007. Grace Chapel is one of many megachurches altering the segregated landscape of Sunday worship, with African-American, Haitian, white, Chinese and Korean congregants singing along with a guitar-playing pastor. (AP Photo/Michael Dwyer)

...David Ting, a physician at Massachusetts General Hospital and a Grace Chapel elder, has seen this firsthand. When he and his wife first joined the megachurch a decade ago, they were 'very much in the minority' as Chinese-Americans, he said. But at a recent church Christmas pageant, he realized that the children's choir had transformed: about a third of the singers were Asian.
'Look,' he told his wife, 'this is the future of Grace Chapel.'

What strange chance that my brother should make the news, less than a week after our own appearance in the Baltimore Sun. I think it's kind of neat, especially since I learned something new about my brother's multiracial megachurch, I guess I've been remiss in asking him more about it. By another uncanny coincidence, I also have been, albeit sporadically, attending a Grace megachurch in my own neck of the woods, as a token Chinese. For some reason I never put two and two together, his Grace megachurch and mine, until I read the article. I suppose even church preferences can run deep in one's bloodline. It's just too bad I can't tap into this cosmic twist of fate and, somehow, coincidentally, win the lottery.

Happy New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 20:17:00 +0000

This past weekend, I was in my first stage production in years since our med school spoof, "Sleeping with the Enema". That's me behind Connor in my groovy pants in the annual Chinese New Year variety show put on by the Howard Community College Chinese School. As amateur and brief as our little dance number was, all of us in the bilingual class had nervous butterflies waiting backstage for our time in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, oddly including some non-Asian faculty members from our neurology department. But all the practice, despite ice and snow, paid off, and we had a great time, including the kiddees. Afterwards, I asked Connor how he managed his stage nerves and he said very maturely, "I tried not to think about it."
We'll be capping-off our week-long celebration of the new year of the pig this weekend over dim sum with a festive serenade of drums and a lion dance. So for all you Mandarin speakers out there happy eating, XIN NIAN KUAI LE, GOONG SHEE FAH TSAI!!!

Our 15 minutes

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 20:06:00 +0000

By now, many have already heard of our time in the limelight over Valentine's Day when Connor and I made it into the Baltimore Sun's local section. I now have a new respect for journalists and photo-journalists who have to extract quotable quotes from mumbling subjects in the field as well as keep an accurate account of names on a host of strangers in their pictures. And boy, can they be resourceful. Somehow, the reporter tracked me down from my blog, of all places, and emailed me some last second questions to clarify her statements in the article, including the fact that Connor has a different last name from me. Luckily, she made it under the deadline for printing and it was all good. I'll include my favorite excerpts from Laura Shovan's article below (i.e. the "important" quotes from yours truly).

Connor Shin can't wait to celebrate the Chinese New Year with his family Sunday. The first-grader, who attends Hollifield Station Elementary School in Ellicott City, will watch a dragon dance and have a traditional meal at a restaurant in Gaithersburg.

But Connor got an early jump on the new year - the Year of the Pig - last week when he participated in the Miller branch library's Chinese New Year event. The children's story time was part of Cultural Connections, a library outreach program targeting Howard County's ethnic communities. Lew Belfont, Howard County Library's head of customer services, said, "A significant population that is served by the Miller library [is] Chinese and Korean." Belfont and information services librarian Fritzi Newton applied for a grant from the Maryland State Department of Education. The Howard County Library received two Library Services and Technology Act grants totaling $50,000.

The Miller branch used the first Cultural Connections grant to advertise in Korean and Chinese newspapers, buy Korean and Chinese materials and hire two cultural liaisons. The second grant is being used at the east Columbia library, where it will serve the Hispanic population.

"The people who are interested are not just Chinese and Korean," said Tricia Ting, Connor's mother. "It's a nice way to bring the community together," and teach other children about Asian culture, she said.

The Big 4-0

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 16:22:00 +0000

It's finally happening. Our friends, family, and neighbors are dropping like flies around us as they alight from their up-and-coming thirties and hit the windshield of the big four-oh. I remember feeling "old" when I exited my twenties. Now I realize I was just being a foolish ostrich with my head in the sand. What did I know about "old" until after I had been married 10 years, had three kids, bought a minivan (sorry, Angela), gained 10 pounds in pear-shaped bliss that won't shake off, and discovered my first wrinkle? Now, I'm convinced that we will be officially "old" when we hit 40. The Adonis at the gym already broke that realization yesterday when he called me "Ma'am".

Did you just call me 'Ma'am'? I'll have you know that I got carded at the ticket window for Who Framed Roger Rabbit, rated PG, when I was in college! Then again, I suppose I'm no where near being college-aged anymore.

Before I start preparing for my mid-life crisis, I would like to first consider how I will "celebrate," if celebrate is the correct term for it, this milestone event of turning 40. Quite honestly, I felt a little gipped of my 30th birthday/millenium celebration because I was still recovering from the birth of our first child and completely overwhelmed by the trials of breastfeeding and sleep deprivation. Sweet Bob did his best, however, to cheer me with diamond studs, my two best friends, how could I complain? And we even had some fun giving 7 wk-old Connor a tiny little taste of bubbly when the ball dropped for Y2K -- mmmm, hit me with more of that high-octane "breastmilk", mom!

Still, it wasn't a carefree, kick-off-your-shoes, all-out-hoe-down of a birthday bash. Nor was it a 'reflect upon the world and your place in it from atop the Eiffel Tower' sort of moment either. So here I am, waiting to see what my brother and sister-in-law will come up with this year to celebrate their 40ths in the hope that I may be inspired for my own turning in a couple of years. An intimate and elegant gathering of close friends? Just me and Bob off somewhere remote and romantic? A girl-only away retreat for days of exquisite pampering? ... A hoe-down?

The anticipation alone must beat out the actual affair, nevertheless, it's fun to imagine something wonderful to help take the sting out of leaving your best years behind you.

Victorian Max

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 13:52:00 +0000

My ol' roomie from Duke, Addy, finally asked quite candidly what many have probably wondered, why I dress baby Max up like a girl. In my own defense, I like to think of his outfits as unisex (purple, yellow, beige) since I don't actually put him in dresses or skirts. But I'll admit he has, until recently, had a little ponytail on the top of his head or a barette which is inarguably girlish.

Hey, everyone, give me a break! I have THREE sons, one Korean husband (i.e. another boy to care for), and a eunuch cat. I am the only XX chromosome in the household. I refuse to be drowned in oppressive black, blue, and camo wherever I turn. So while I still have a say in the matter as the Queen Bee, I choose to add female touches to the house, including to my boys. All of them have had the privilege of going through a "girl" phase with a little pony tail. It's really Connor's fault that he was born with such a gorgeous head of thick naturally curly hair that grew into a curly mane fit for a fairytale princess. It was just impossible to cut that off, at least until he was three and the other kids refused to believe that he was a boy. After Connor, I had to give Benji and Max the chance to grow beautiful hair too, although theirs was never as thick or curly. Lucky for me, none of my boys talk much in toddlerhood so they never could complain. So to spite fate, I enjoyed, for a time, playing with them like little dolls, and went so far as to buy a great Barbie video for them, the Princess and the Pauper, to nurture their feminine side. Lacking prejudice and judgement in their innocent years, they absolutely loved it, music and dancing and all.

On a philosophical level, I hope that my boys will grow up exposed to a range of gender roles so they will feel secure in themselves and capable as adults. I like to think that my mom, who went back to work in defense after we were in school, provided me a model of women's lib before her time. Today, my sons already see Mommy and Daddy both working in the same profession, both earning money, both driving the van, and taking part in school activities and child rearing. They see both boys and girls participating equally in martial arts, even paired up against each other to wrestle and spar. Connor will be dancing next to boys and girls in the Chinese New Year production next week. I had hoped that they would see more of Daddy cooking in the kitchen, but you can't have everything! Society's influence on gender roles is so pervasive (particularly in Asian cultures and the Church) that I only hope to play a small role in maintaining some healthy balance in our home.

That is why I was so tickled to find this article in Saturday's Washington Post, about President Wilson's personal doctor, Dr. Cary T. Grayson, who apparently had three sons of his own. The photograph (above) shows the youngest dressed in post-Victorian times as a girl. How progressive of them, even in the 1920's. So, my short-answer to why I dress little Max up like a girl should probably be simply that I'm a big fan of the Victorian era. How's that?

Walk and Chew Gum

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 15:30:00 +0000

You've heard of the saying for a clutz who can't walk and chew gum at the same time. That's just an extreme example of incoordination. No one really has such a hard time chewing while taking a walk, right? Nevertheless, I heard that New York may soon be passing a law that forbids pedestrians from chatting on cell phones or wearing headphones while walking a crosswalk. At first, I thought that was a little ridiculous, but then I thought about Bob who has an unusual deficiency. Bob is overall a very athletic and coordinated guy, with a special gift for martial arts. His forms are all grace and beauty. And his golf swing's not half bad either. But he can't make a basket worth squat (I'm serious about that, I mean, not even a diaper into the can) and he simply cannot walk and drink simultaneously. It's kind of funny to walk next to him while he's holding a bottle of soda. He has to stop completely before taking a sip. This is true whether he has a bottle or a cup. Out of courtesy, whoever is walking and talking with him has to also stop and watch him take a sip before proceeding forward.

As talented as they may be, perhaps New Yorkers share in Bob's unusual handicap. For everyone's safety, I sure hope they pass that law soon, or at least start passing out the straws.

Lego Wars

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 20:17:00 +0000

"The Force is strong in you...You little, little man."

We have been literally taken over by the invasion of the minifigs. One must tread lightly in the Shin-Ting household lest you crush a little jedi, or princess, or wookie, or droid underfoot. It's hard to believe that this sci-fi movie that I vividly remember at age 8 lining up with my family for a first showing in a line that wrapped around the block of D.C's Uptown theatre, is now still a phenomenon that my 3 and 7 year olds are just crazy about. Benji still doesn't say much for a 3.5 year old. But he does say "Han Solo" -- over, and over, and over again. And he does request to "Watch Lego" which is his way of requesting that we all go downstairs to watch Connor play Lego Star Wars on the X-Box. So it was with great consternation that, somehow, our favorite Star Wars minifigs disappeared. I'm guessing that Benji must have taken them lovingly out with him somewhere, clenched in his little fist, and now they are on a mission of no return. Unfortunately, that has left us without our Han Solo and missing our version of Luke Skywalker (who is actually Wedge Antilles in head but Skywalker in spirit -- apparently Connor found the "smiley face" of Wedge Antilles more appealing than the serious, determined look on Skywalker and switched the heads).

So what's a mother to do? As it turns out, Lego doesn't really sell the minifigs separately from their sets. So one option would be to buy another $50.00 X-wingfighter -- not! Ebay would be a good alternative if it weren't for the stunning prices, with some figures commanding up to $20.00 each, plus you have to artfully outbid the other crazies -- sigh! With little hope left, I called up the closest Lego store in Virginia where a salesman was kind enough (he must have received many similar calls from despairing moms) to direct me to a hard-to-find window on the Lego website for lost parts. So with a little over five dollars and a prayer, Han Solo is being shipped to us from Denmark!

If he makes it into our eager little hands, what a journey he will have made, as will have I.

Ant-icipation

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 15:55:00 +0000

A nice way to deal with the little frustrations in life is looking at them freshly through the eyes of a child. Last night, after what seemed like a long day, I found myself on my hands and knees in the kitchen, trying to sweep brownie crumbs up off the floor and muttering to myself the whole time. I must have piqued Connor's curiosity: "What are you doing, Mom?"

"I'm trying to clean up these brownie crumbs or we'll get ants."

"Oh, that's great," he exclaimed, while I wondered why it would be great to have ants in our kitchen. "Then, we can put the ants in the gel colony, with brownie crumbs in there for them to eat with some water!"

My good-hearted child delighted in finding a simple solution to our ant-less ant farm which has been ant-free since Christmas due to risk of the ants freezing to death in shipping.

Oh, to be seven again...

7 is Magic

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 15:31:00 +0000

I have been compelled to return to my blog for the simple reason that my mind is fading fast at age 37 and I cannot trust myself to remember these special conversations for very long. Bob used to record on a little post-it note my quirky "ting-isms" as they would spew forth from God knows where. Just last night, for the cliff hanger of One Tree Hill, the evil protagonist Dan (their version of "J.R."), who had gotten away with killing his brother Keith point-blank, was mid-mouth with a bite of roast when his ex-girlfriend-renewed-flame declared, "Luke doesn't think that Jimmy killed Keith".....

I turned to Bob and said in all seriousness, "It's never good to murder someone."

Getting back to the real meat of this post, I think my son has inherited my knack for saying crazy things. Recently, Connor has really embraced his 7 years with a host of heartfelt exclamations that we have no idea from whence they came:

In reaction to extreme annoyance at my pestering him about doing his homework:
"Mom, I wish I could see the real you, who doesn't boss me around!"

The morning after crying himself to sleep because the snow had melted:
"Dad, sorry I was such a fool about the snow."

And on discussions about world history:
"It's a good thing that when Martin Luther King was killed, they caught the man who shot him...who was the enemy in World War I?"

"World War I started because a man was killed," I answered.

"Was it Martin Luther King?" Connor asked.

"No, it was the Arch Duke Ferdinand," I clarified.

"Was he a very important person?" He asked.

"Actually, " I said, "he wasn't that special, but the countries in Europe used him as an excuse to fight each other."

He thought about it a while before asking,"Was the Arch Duke-guy a lawyer?"

The Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 23 Oct 2006 16:50:00 +0000

I had that moment that alcoholics, drug addicts or gamblers must experience when self-realization hits them like a bullet train. When they wake up in unfamiliar surroundings, without a penny left to their name, utterly alone in the world. That moment hit me today when I stumbled out of the Starbucks with a bag and a half of Guatemala's best, a cup o' joe AND a soy latte, all for Moi.
In years past, I was proud of the fact that I never drank coffee all through college and med school, and even most of residency, in fact, I hated it, except for the smell. But then in pregnancy, I found I could not survive without the stimulant boost of caffeine holding my eyelids open. It started as an innocent single soy latte once in a while, then once every morning. I could take it or leave it, I told myself. Bob would tease me about being addicted to coffee and I would just laugh him off. Then this weekend, in the rush of getting the kids out the door for ZooBoo -- trick-or-treating at our local Zoo -- I had little time to feed the dependence. The result was a nagging headache all day long that I had to chase with mega doses of ibuprofen.
So today, my subconscious directed me to the closest Starbucks, afraid that I would forget what my body clearly needed. I walked in for my usual tall latte. Then, lured by the politically-correct displays of third-world fair trade certified coffee farms, I grabbed a pound of whole beans "for the cause". Up at the counter, after ordering my latte, the barista offered a free cup of coffee and an extra packet of whole beans as part of a special promotion, "This is your lucky day!" How could I pass that up? So that's how I ended up juggling two cups of coffee, chasing sips of pumpkin spice latte with sips of bold Cafe Estima, with two bags of whole beans tucked under my arms.
I would say that I have a problem. That's Step 1, right?

444

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 12:43:00 +0000

I had the unusual occasion to give a talk in the hospital emergency department this morning before 7 am. It was so out of my schedule that I nervously laid awake in bed at 4:44 am. Being Chinese, I wasn't sure that was a very good omen since that is the number for death (in Cantonese, the number 4 sounds like the word for being dead, so three "deaths" in a row is usually not a good sign). On a tangent, I remember in high school that my best friend's boyfriend's mother had a license plate with a string of 4's in it because she had specifically requested that she be issued a license number that was easy to remember. Good thing she wasn't Chinese.

It was still as black as night when I left the house, and the roads were shiny wet in the drizzle. When I made my way to the ED through the hospital, I passed the frosted windows of the chapel on the main floor and caught a glimpse of a few staff members in scrubs with their heads bowed in morning prayer. Above me a surgical resident crossed the catwalk to the O.R. without making a sound in his sneakers. The wide expanse of the main corridor I walked was empty and white. It was all very peaceful, a moment in time that I don't often see, absolute serenity in this place usually bustling with activity and work. It was a very nice way to start the day.

Losing Grip

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 22:38:00 +0000

Blessed Monday! A return to peace and control at work. I very nearly lost it yesterday evening, despite a relatively happy weekend, maybe because it was just too packed-full of good times for everyone. I had simply reached my limit. And like a child who has missed a critical nap, I just snapped. I was thoroughly engrossed in watching Akeelah and the Bee on DVD as 7 o'clock came around; the kids (and probably myself included) were hypoglycemic and I was in no mood to warm-up dinner, let alone face the usual struggle of hand-feeding the little guys. Worse even, the movie was approaching the climatic National Bee and I was about to miss the whole thing to prepare dinner. So finally, while trying to watch the finals out of the corner of my eye from the kitchen, and while trying to feed Benji something he wasn't too hot about, which caused him great distress to the point of tears, I just started cursing like my dad in a traffic jam. Bob and I really hold our tongues with bad language in general, so part of me felt very guilty for letting it out right there in front of the kids.

I have come to realize that as much as I have been thankful to my parents for encouraging me to have a professional career and supporting me through training, I am also somewhat resentful that I was never prepared for this life of "hardship" as a working mother of three. In some ways, my childhood was too easy. I only had to worry about being a student. I never had to work and study, I barely even had any chores that I can remember. I never had to cook or babysit. And all of a sudden, I am expected to do it all. It's just not fair.

My mom, on the other hand, had to single-handedly raise her younger brothers and sister, feed the animals, cook the meals, and keep the house, while upholding her number one status in the class -- all at the tender age of eleven. Clearly, her early struggles made raising her own family in the U.S. a piece of cake. But my coddled upbringing has left me ill-equipped to handle the same pressures. I have been reduced to this whiny ingrate who crumbles at the slightest show of willfulness from her 3 year old.

I-Ting Do

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Wed, 04 Oct 2006 01:26:00 +0000

I really must be losing it. I caught myself today talking to a hospital robot like it was a sentient being. I had inadvertently bumped into the boxy self-propelled R2D2-like pharmacy robot when pushing through a hallway door, "Oh! Excuse me, Clara!"

Her name is emblazoned on the front of her "face" right above her cyclopian "eye" which functions to detect any hindrance, human or not, in her path. Should she come upon an obstacle in her way, she stops and patiently beeps until it gets the message and gets lost. If, say, the gurney in front of her doesn't pay heed, Clara will pause a bit (one could imagine her heaving a silent sigh of exasperation) before navigating herself around the uncooperative bed.

Clara really is cute in her own pre-programmed way, gently rolling down hallways, deftly taking corner turns to exactly where she needs to go. She's just cute enough to make you want to engage her in friendly conversation, like a lunatic.

Be careful out there

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Shin) — Tue, 03 Oct 2006 01:46:00 +0000

On Sunday I woke up at 5:00 am to drive up to NYC (Queens) to attend a special martial arts seminar to benefit someone who had been critically injured in a motorcycle accident. She had spent three months in the hospital with a fractured pelvis and cerebral injuries. She's making a remarkable recovery fortunately, but a slight misalignment of her eyes, some broken teeth, and a cautious gait were a reminder of how serious her injuries had been.

On my way up, while driving on the New Jersey Turnpike through a heavy rain early in the morning, I watched as the car in front of me made a sharp turn to the right, then skidded out of control, spun off the road, knocked over a streetlight and disappeared over an embankment. I called 911 but there was no way I could turn around to check on the driver.

On my way back from the seminar, I saw a thick plume of dark smoke off to the left side of I-95. A Greyhound bus was engulfed in flame. The fire must have just occured because traffic was still speeding by the bus, and it looked like the police and fire fighters had hardly arrived. As I drove by in the other direction, I snapped the picture above out my driver's side window. I could feel the heat on my face even though I was five lanes away.

The whole day seemed surreal and frightening, so it was a real relief to arrive home safely that night. Thinking about the randomness of the three accidents has made me realize how lucky Tricia, the boys and I are to be alive and healthy and safe.

Monkey Business

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 02 Oct 2006 19:22:00 +0000

Bob noticed for the first time a stuffed monkey hanging from a kitchen chair the other night --
"Is it a toy?" he asked me innocently.
Hearing him wrong, I looked at him in disbelief, "Bob, that's the monkey's TAIL!"
He started cracking-up: "I didn't ask 'Is it a boy?', I asked, 'Is it a toy?!'"

Goodwill Games

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Mon, 02 Oct 2006 18:22:00 +0000

Connor's ears perked up upon hearing mention of Hurricane Katrina on the radio. He has had a fascination with natural disasters and accidents in general. So he pressed me for more info, "What did they say about Hurricane Katrina, Mom?"

I explained that the people of New Orleans were thrilled to have recently won a football game against Atlanta, in the SuperDome of their once devastated city, having lost everything to the hurricane a year ago.

"But, how did they play football if they lost everything in the hurricane?"
"Um," I fumbled, "the other team must have brought the ball with them."
"Oh," he exclaimed enthusiastically, "that was SO nice of them to share!"

Useless Talents

noreply@blogger.com (Ting) — Wed, 20 Sep 2006 18:12:00 +0000

I finally have 2 minutes out of the past 2 months to post a new entry to my long-forsaken blog. It has been admittedly my own fault as I have joined ranks of Scary Parents everywhere who have enrolled their 6 year olds in every extracurricular activity under the sun, leaving the entire family with practically no free time whatsoever. Nevertheless, my mind does occasionally wander back to my dear blog and I have wanted to write this one for sometime.

I am a woman of few truly useful talents. I'm not super bright, especially in terms of common sense. I never enjoyed or excelled at any sport. My piano is barely passable to all but the ears of my dear children. I can safely say that I have achieved mediocrity in pretty much all of my childhood and adult endeavors -- ballet, tap, tae kwon do, roller-skating, ice skating swimming, girl scouts, speed-reading, jazz band, math club, track, flag team, cello, voice, horsebackriding, and so on.

On the bright side, I do proudly possess some completely useless talents. I have an extaordinary sense of smell, enough to assault my olfactory bulbs with even a molecule of circulating stench, usually from a dirty diaper, and in unfortunate instances from the armpits of passing strangers. I can do wonders with leftover food, re-creating gustatory delights for my family with the nearly-expired contents of practically ancient doggy-bags -- stir-fry with some frozen edamame and, voila, a 4 star meal! I have a fantastic ability to recognize familiar faces and link them to different entertainment media (i.e. B-list actors who appeared in a particular movie 7 years ago). This talent is completely removed from any ability to name these thespians or to remember anyone's name at all, even neighbors who we see nearly everyday and at every community event. (I had wanted to suggest nametags for our annual neighborhood block party, but Bob nixed that idea out of embarassment that we would be the only ones needing them.) Last but not least, I can guesstimate to within 5 percent the total value of any restaurant or shopping bill, with or without tip included. It's admittedly a skill that is amazing to behold, especially after a multi-course, multi-person meal. It's as if I have a cash register tucked inside my frontal lobe. I am a freak of nature, an idiot-savant. Hmmmm, where did I put those toothpicks?

Connor gets his orange belt!

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Shin) — Thu, 17 Aug 2006 03:32:00 +0000

Connor tested for his orange belt today. He had been working hard on his forms and stances, but he was especially nervous today (not knowing that all of the kids who test generally pass). Even though he was "a little scared" (in his own words), he did a really great job (in my somewhat biased opinion) and I was very proud of him for trying his best.

When is 1777 coming out?

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Shin) — Thu, 10 Aug 2006 12:01:00 +0000

Just a quick update. Tricia finished reading 1776. To her surprise and disappointment, the book ended in December 1776. Now, she'll never know who won...

Max, a misnomer?

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Shin) — Thu, 03 Aug 2006 11:57:00 +0000

We've decided that Max is too small. He eats a lot, but seems to be getting wider only, not taller.

Perhaps totoro magic will help ...

What happened to Tricia's blog?

noreply@blogger.com (Bob Shin) — Fri, 21 Jul 2006 01:56:00 +0000

There's a lot that's been happening with Connor (myringostomy tubes and chalazia), Benjamin (potty training ... not), and Max (walking but not talking), so by the end of the day, Tricia's pretty exhausted and hasn't mustered up the creative juices to add entries to her blog.

She usually spends a half an hour reading before bed, however, which has proven to be a good way to decompress. Currently, she is engrossed in 1776 by David McCullough, a book about the Revolutionary War. As she puts it, "It's very exciting because I don't know what's going to happen. I have a feeling that we might win though ..."