Ting-Do

The Last Mile

2007-03-13T13:31:00.000-04:00

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

2007-03-02T14:26:00.000-05:00

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

Say what?

2007-02-26T13:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-23T15:13:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-22T12:53:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-20T15:17:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-20T15:06:00.001-05:00

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

2007-02-12T11:22:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-09T08:52:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-08T10:30:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-06T15:17:00.000-05:00

"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

2007-02-01T10:55:00.000-05:00

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

2007-01-30T10:31:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-23T12:50:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-20T08:43:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-09T18:38:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-03T21:26:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-02T21:46:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-02T15:22:00.000-04:00

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

2006-10-02T14:22:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-20T14:12:00.000-04:00

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!

2006-08-16T23:32:00.000-04:00

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?

2006-08-10T08:01:00.000-04:00

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?

2006-08-03T07:57:00.000-04:00

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?

2006-07-20T21:56:00.000-04:00

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 ..."

Dilbert Rules

2006-07-03T15:10:00.000-04:00

For the epileptologists, neurologists, and frustrated state employees among us...

Thank Goodness I Have Three

2006-07-03T14:12:00.000-04:00

I always knew that one day my child would venture out on his own and leave me pining away for the days when he was little and sheltered under my wing. Of course I always imagined that it would be when he was a tall, strapping young lad with a hint of peach fuzz on his lip, not when he was only six and a half years old.

Connor surprised us all yesterday when he enthusiastically accepted Gong Gong's lighthearted invitation to sleep over at his house. At first we all thought that he didn't understand fully that he would be going alone, that Mommy and his baby brothers would be staying home. But after I asked if he wanted Benji to go with him, he said, "No, just me, Gong Gong and Pau Pau." So after dinner, we packed his swim trunks, karate outfit, pillow and soft cat. And before I knew it, he was happily rolling out the door with his Scooby Doo Mystery Machine suitcase towed behind him and a favorite book and car in the other arm, heading for Gong Gong's car. He had absolutely no reservation whatsoever.

A tear or two (from him, not Mommy) would have been nice. I suppose this is what I can come to expect from my boys, my first taste of the empty nest. Oh, how fast they grow up. But, I've still got my two little ones clinging to my apron strings, at least for the next three years...

"Natural" Disasters

2006-06-23T15:40:00.000-04:00

Bob and I have been guilty of many things -- financial ignorance, laziness, do-it-yourself-opathy, and now eco-egocentrism -- the belief that we can disturb the cosmic balance of chaos by our mere presence in a given location. This realization came after our most recent trip to the Southwest to visit the Grand Canyon and Sedona (otherwise known as Red Rock country). While we were south of Sedona in Oak Creek the wild fires started, quite a spectacular vision at night (click on my cool pic!), and now, a few weeks later, the fires continue to burn and decimate vast areas requiring evacuation of Sedona. Similar disaster had struck shortly after Bob and I enjoyed the Big Easy together, when New Orleans was washed away by Katrina. This is not to mention the numerous medical emergencies that have stricken those around us on planes, trains, buses, and restaurants (i.e. "Is there a doctor here?!") over the years.

If any of you follow the "Lost" series on TV, and have seen the "Numbers" episode where Hurley believes that he was ultimately cursed by the numbers that won him the mega millions jackpot (i.e. because of his curse, the plane went down in the first place, and ill befalls all those around him), it's possible that Bob and I share the same sort of fate. As an eerie footnote, one of the cursed numbers on that Lost episode, 23, is in my birthdate -- coincidence? I think not!

We might have inherited this gift of destruction and chaos from a husband and wife team at work who had travelled to Alaska shortly before the infamous Exxon Valdez Oil Spill, to Israel immediately prior to the start of the Intifada that sparked a wave of unrest engulfing the region, to Kasmir directly ahead of the violent labor strikes, and to Kauai which was buffeted by a massive hurricane after their vacation there.

Which leads me to conclude that you should not recommend your favorite vacation spot to us unless you're willing to lose it.

Z is for Zombie

2006-06-21T14:37:00.000-04:00

As a refreshing change to our usual evening routine of vegging-out in front of the TV or laptop, we gave into one of Connor's whims to "go camping" in our backyard. Father and son pitched the 5-person tent under the shade of the largest of our piddly backyard trees and Connor took special care to spread out a blanket in the tent and set up some beach chairs inside. By the time darkness fell and the little ones were in bed, we were ready with food tray and flashlights in hand to camp-out with our Camper's smorgasborg of s'mores, chips, fruit chews, cheezits and lemonade.

But the fun really got started when we zipped ourselves in the tent's darkness for ghost storytime. Having no actual ghost stories prepared, we decided to make-up a game based on a favorite morbid children's alphabet book called Z is for Zombie (one of the most highly circulated media center books in Connor's kindergarten class). The rules of the game were simple -- we passed the flashlight from person to person as each recipient named a scary monster starting with the next letter of the alphabet. I must say that Connor and I were the most creative while Bob had to be repeatedly reprimanded to offer another monster because his were so NOT scary! Here are some of the highlights from our creepy monster game...

A is for Alien, who uses mind control to turn you into an alien!
D is for Dung-beetle who rolls pieces of poop into your tent to sink it up!
G is for Giant Godzilla that poops all over the city and stinks it up!
S is for Smelly Slime monster who slides into your socks and stinks up your shoes!
X marks the grave of the X men who poke your eyes out!
Y is for Yogurt Yo-yo which bounces around your stinky lunchbox! (Ok, I got the big thumbs-down on this which was admittedly a stretch.)

Oh, the Shame

2006-06-19T13:19:00.000-04:00

Bringing Home the Bacon

2006-06-19T12:23:00.000-04:00

One of our church group friends recently shared a cute story about their 6-year-old daughter. Caroline was immensely proud of her Daddy who worked long hours as a lawyer in D.C. to support the family. On his return home one evening, Caroline caught her father emptying his pocket-change from the workday, and exclaimed enthusiastically, "Good job, Daddy!" Apparently, he was literally working for pennies.

Connor's 6-year-old's concept of money is not too far from Caroline's. While unwrapping numerous toys from his birthday party last year, he barely blinked twice at some of the gifts that were likely worth well over $10. But when he opened a birthday card and 6 dollar bills fell out onto his lap he jumped and danced for joy, singing, "Look, Mommy! Lunch money!!!!"
We certainly know the way to Connor's heart now.

A Daddy Moment

2006-06-16T12:03:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of Father's Day, I just wanted to share a sweet moment between Connor and his daddy. I love that daddys everywhere get to have these moments that may have been less common in earlier times when fathers were not as involved with their kids.

While getting ready for bed, Connor got to talking about the movie Back to the Future. He asked Bob if it was real, because he wanted to drive to the future just like in the movie. "Daddy," he said, "I want you to go with me."

When Bob told him it was only make-believe, Connor was sadly disappointed, and in the infamous words of Swiper from Dora the Explorer exclaimed, "Oh, M-a-a-a-n!"

For Grownups Only

2006-06-15T12:10:00.000-04:00

Against my better judgement and at the bidding of one of our blog team members (ahem!) I am posting this somewhat risque material because it had me slapping my desk and laughing out loud. So censor yourselves now or forever hold your sides laughing...

In Pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade
name and generic name. For example, the trade name
of Tylenol also has a generic name of acetaminophen.
Aleve is also called naproxen. Advil is also called ibuprofen.

The FDA has been looking for a generic name for
Viagra. After careful consideration by a team of
government experts, it recently announced that it
has settled on the generic name of mycoxafloppin.
Also considered were mycoxafailin, mydixadrupin,
mydixarizin, dixafix, and of course, ibepokin.

Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon
be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by
Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a
mixer. It will now be possible for a man to
literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can
no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new
meaning to the names of "cocktails" and "highballs".
Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of:
MOUNT & DO.

Thought for the day: There is more money being
spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on
Alzheimer's research. This means that by 2040, there
should be a large elderly population with perky
boobs and hard XXXXs but absolutely no
recollection of what to do with them.

Deep Thoughts by Connor Shin

2006-06-14T12:25:00.000-04:00

"Why do they call this PEPPER-mint if it is not spicy?"

Wild Ting

2006-06-12T14:09:00.000-04:00

I never understood the appeal of the Wild West until I attended the 6-year-old birthday party of Connor's buddy, Lawson, this weekend. The party theme was Bionicle, not at all Western mind you, and it took place in a cool, modern warehouse that incorporated a jungle gym, mini golf, and rock wall. The real gem for parents, though, was the arcade. Tucked away behind the Skeeball and coin rides was a treasure hidden behind dark curtains -- a Jurassic Park shooter game for two. The passivist-Anti-NRA-lobbyist in me screamed to run away. But my boys had already climbed into the dark womb of the machine, and I had to get them out, but not before I swiped the gaming credit card and had a go at it first.

The raptors and rexes came roaring forward and before long, my half-hearted attempt to simply appease the kiddees transformed into a single-minded effort to slaughter the meat-eating beasts. That was until "Uncle Larry" swiped-in with his card taking over the other gun, at which point it became a partnership in gun-slinging destruction.

"Out of my way Benjamin!" Mommy screeched like a Dilophosaurus, caring little for the nightmares that were bound to invade the dreams of her children that night.

Shoot-reload, shoot-reload. It was addictive and so very satisfying. Images of weapons-savvy movie heroines (a la Mr and Mrs. Smith, Aeon Flux, and MI3) came to my mind as we covered each other with gunfire and ran up the score. When one of us died, the other would carry-on, buying time until the other could swipe back in. It was all fun and games until the brachiosaurus raised her enormous tail above us and POOPED right on our heads. No amount of ammo would get us through that fecal matter.

And then the fun was over. All too soon reality called us back to our normal roles in safe, normal lives. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for the dangerous thrill of shooting to kill, even if it is just in a electronic land of fantasy in a kiddee arcade.

I'm B-A-A-A-C-K

2006-06-09T15:13:00.000-04:00

I have finally returned to haunt the blogger, like Damian from the Omen. All I can say is that it's been a crazy month, so bad that I barely had time to check my email, let alone do decent blogging. But it's good to see that my fellow bloggers out there are still going strong. One lesson I have learned since returning from a relatively short vacation is that emails don't just go away if you ignore them, however much you would like that to be the case. I have, over time, convinced myself that if I don't read a message asking me to do or commit to something, then I am somehow absolved of the responsibility altogether. It's the passive-aggressive beast in me trying to hold back the flood of obligations. The beast has much to thank for my recent discovery of the 'out-of-office' email bounce-back option on my server, what a revelation! A perfect way to exculpate my guilt from leaving my email unread, at least temporarily. All I have to do now is send an annoying email out to all our blog friends, begging them to sign-on again. They wouldn't dare ignore my message, would they?

Nothing to Wear

2006-05-19T09:23:00.000-04:00

Being a mommy gives new meaning to the age-old conundrum of having nothing to wear. Not only have we lost our girlie figures to multiple pregnancies, lack of formal exercise, and one too many goldfish crackers, but the clothes we do have are stained beyond repair with God knows what that rubs off of the kids' mouths, noses and sticky little fingers (and in rare tragic instances, from their leaky little tushies).

I remember reading an anecdote by a well-known correspondent who recorded a whole interview of a Hollywood Hunk-du-jour with baby spit-up on her shoulder, which was later embarassingly pointed out by her interviewee.

This morning, I nearly walked out the door to give Grand Rounds as a guest speaker in a black suit with a huge white chaulky patch of something plastered on the front thigh. I would have wondered the whole time I was speaking whether my fly was undone judging from all the staring at my pants.

Well, just another badge of honor that we mommies wear with pride and love.

Mother's Day Moments

2006-05-14T21:05:00.000-04:00

My mother's day was full of interesting moments, some sweet, some special, and some just downright perplexing.

The first one came just as I was opening my eyes when Connor crawled into bed with a mischievous grin, ready to share a riddle of his own making, his very first:

"Mommy, what did the V-wing fighter say to the TIE Interceptor?" ... "Happy Toilet Day!!!"

Then I got his homemade Mother's Day card that he had worked on in school. It was a booklet along the lines of Madlibs where the kids had to fill in the blanks on each page:

Her name is: trisha
She is: 24 years old
When I am at school, she: goes to work
She is really good at: playing with me
Something special she does for me is: Help do my Homework
I love her because: She is Budafull

Happy Mother's Day!!! I love you: Connor

Ah, true love :)

Later that evening, the grandparents came over for dinner and, as usual, my father unloaded several packages from his car on arrival. The first was a huge box with an electronic drum set for Benji. The next was a sizeable toy helicopter for Connor, and a styrofoam chest of food. Then he hands me a small package the size of my hand, saying "Here, this is for you." My interest was piqued, feeling the small gift in my hand, thinking it might be something pretty nice since we all know that good things come in small packages. I look down to see that I'm holding a new kitchen sponge.

"Gee, thanks dad!"

7th Heaven

2006-05-09T17:12:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe it's over. Not that I was a very faithful viewer, but who could not feel a hint of melancholy with the closing of one of TV's longest-running family shows and the realization that nothing lasts forever, even in TV-land.

The end of a great TV series always hits me hard. I could not bring myself to say goodbye to my first love, Remington Steele <sigh>, which no Knight Rider or McGyver could ever replace. Then there was Northern Exposure, which I tried to immortalize on reams of tapes, before I realized that it's just not the same watching reruns, when you know there's a final episode in the mix. I still long for the days of Starfleet Academy and the Next Gen crew before they went to the big screen, Jean-Luc, Beverly, Deanna, Number One -- I never really warmed up to Voyager or those guys on the space station. Let's be honest, there's no better entertainment than watching a Klingon try to put on a poker face for his friends around the card table.

Most series finales, in my book, are duds. The last episodes of Seinfeld and Ally McBeal, for instance, left me with a deflated, humdrum feeling. Maybe subconsciously the actors had given up on their acting or the writers had given up on their writing by the last take. Or maybe out of goodwill, the writers intended to soften the blow to their loyal fans, making them feel less badly about losing their favorite show, by turning their fervor into indifference with horrible writing.

My vote for best series finale goes to Felicity. It was all you could hope for in a finale with a feel-good denouement to an ending that provided closure as much as it promised a happily-ever-after. Just look at Felicity now, doing us proud in MI3. And we remember when she was just an insecure college freshman, way back when.

Neighborhood Bully

2006-05-04T15:16:00.000-04:00

Bobby and I have come upon a rude discovery about one of our neighbor's kids. He is bound to grow up to be a big bully. We first suspected this about a year ago, when he would have occasional run-ins with Connor who has got to be one of the biggest, sweetest chickens on the planet. At this point, Connor who loves calling on all sorts of kids in the neighborhood to play, specifically avoids seeking out the Kid (names have been radically altered to protect my kids) because "he's mean", although Connor happens to be great friends with the Kid's little brother.

We have witnessed the Kid taking Connor's toys and calling them his own, chasing and threatening little Benji with a baseball bat when he thought no adult was watching, and yesterday, the Kid and another monster grabbed Benji by all four of his little arms and legs in an attempt to throw him into their basement. The Kid is all of 7 years old. Luckily, Benji took it all in stride and was shrieking in laughter the whole time, while Connor stuck up for his little bro in protest.

That same evening, the Kid's mom shared with me how 'scary smart' he is. Scary, yes. Smart, I'm not so sure. But clearly he has a wicked streak in him, and an evil genius doesn't make a good combination in my book. We'll just have to keep our cubs closer to the den with that kind of kid around. It just so happens that Pearls is running a series of strips about scary neighbors, how a propos...

A Room of My Own

2006-05-03T15:57:00.000-04:00

The thought actually crossed my mind today that I could be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Even Bob thought I looked a bit stressed over lunch. Objectively, I can honestly say that life is good all around -- great job, great hubby, parental supports, happy kids, and a decent nanny. Yet, I'm starting to feel overwhelmed by the thousand little crises that seem to have assaulted me over the past week. What should have been a no-brainer, having my willing nanny watch three older girls for an hour after school this week, has turned into a neighborhood drama to rival Desperate Housewives. Benjamin's terrible three's has only escalated with his recent illness, although he's mostly recovered. Our struggling little church fellowship group has been navigating the treacherous waters of hurt feelings, and I'm the midshipman. My nurses at work have been getting on my case for not wearing a permanent smile on my face. Plus I missed Secretary's Day!

A woman journalist recently wrote about her journey to a modern-day monastery for lay folk, a place to get away from it all. No phones, no TV, no talking, period. She found it extreme and not exactly life-changing for the weeklong experience. Yet the concept is intriguing. Just to have some time to yourself to decompress and hear yourself think without worrying about getting decent food on the table or getting the kids to bed.

After our lunch, Bob said we needed to plan for some quality time tonight vegging in front of the TV. It may not be anything like a cloister. But I think he's got the right idea.

An Easter Treat

2006-05-02T21:27:00.000-04:00

Slowly, little by little, I am being lured away from my trusty ol' 35mm SLR by the sirens of digital imaging.

Through the eye of Old Reliable, I have captured views from the glacier peaks of Alaska to the misty valleys of the Yangtze river gorge. It has seen me through graduations, weddings, and births. It has survived tropical humidity, scorching heat, and Benjamin (although its cap never stayed on after that crash of '04). Most importantly it has taken every shot asked of it without hesitation, without delay. Even so, my parents' new nifty lil' digital waif of a camera has sneakily made its way into my diaper bag where my 5-pound Canon Eos has never been able to go. And there's the catch. For all its failings -- need for charging/downloading, graying skintones, shutter delay -- at least the little newby is there in the field to capture the magical moments.

Like this Easter egg hunt at our friends' house. Somehow, I caught this instant after Connor picked-out and unwrapped a miniature Krackle bar from his basket, when he tried to hear the crackle. It still makes me laugh just looking at the picture.

Not bad lil' Coolpix, not bad at all.

I May Need That Someday

2006-05-01T21:17:00.000-04:00

Ah, blessed May! With the end of April goes the end of my month on service and a return to relative normalcy and my blog!

Our usual weekend frenzy was punctuated by a visit to the ER for Benjamin and Bob. Poor Benji had been fighting hay fever all week and was particularly fussy all day Saturday such that by the end of a dinner party that night, Bob was sufficiently concerned to whisk him to the ER for his wheezing. You know us, our kids have to be practically coding before we'll get them professional help.

Earlier that day, we tried breaking out Connor's old nebulizer machine to use on Benjamin. I was so proud that I knew exactly where it was packed away in the closet, along with the albuterol solution, for use should it ever be needed. Now, four years later, it was clearly needed. And it worked -- well sort of, for about an hour at a time before Benji would get fussy and wheezy all over again. Lucky for him, the ER had the good stuff and he responded readily. As it turned out, the ancient albuterol I had saved with the nebulizer was probably long-expired and degraded.

I just cannot get myself to throw anything away, since almost everything could be potentially useful at some point in the future. My rationale is that there's nothing I dislike more than being without something that I need. Whether it's ribbon, or a plastic spoon, or those paper towel cardboard rolls, I stash it away for safe keeping. I can't tell you how many random requests I have gotten from Connor's teachers for those cardboard rolls. Really!

Admittedly, it's hard to justify keeping 3-year-old expired jars of baby food from Connor's infancy for Benjamin's use. Although it pained me, I did throw them out after much consideration.

So perhaps there is a lesson to be learned from dear Benjamin's suffering. Somethings are just not worth keeping. But then again, I may need that...

Holy Grail

2006-04-24T22:31:00.000-04:00

Many apologies for a too long absence from my blog. It has been another crazy week, having gone to Atlanta for several days on business/pleasure and with another big work deadline coming up in a few days. The upside is that I should have new fodder for the blog from it all. The downer is that I haven't had time yet to commit it all to key strokes. Need to catch some ZZZs but I will leave you with a promise, in the words of Monty Python --

"I'm not quite dead yet!"

So don't give up on my blog. I shall return!

Death And Taxes

2006-04-17T11:35:00.000-04:00

It has been a while since my last post and I almost didn't make this one because something hit my GI tract last night and I was in PAIN. In fact, on my drive to work, I had to stop at Safeway for a potty break, plus stock up on Rolaids, Pepto, rice cakes and apple juice. Not sure whether to blame our post-Easter-service run to McDonald's playland. Serves me right for venturing out to try something I don't usually get, the Big-n-Tasty. I have many new names for that sandwich now (the Big-n-*@~#$%!), which had to be censored from this blog.

Bob and I are thankful that the Easter holiday gave us a few extra days to submit our tax forms because we ended up preparing them last minute this year. Last night, I was trying to explain to Connor about taxes, and he was having some difficulty over the concept of our government.

"Does the Government live in the sky?" (i.e. like God -- well, sort of I guess)

After a myriad of questions like that one, I tried to simplify it by telling Connor that if Mommy and Daddy don't pay our taxes, we'll go to jail, and he would have to live with his grandparents. Perhaps that was too graphic.

When my parents came this morning to take him for the day to D.C.'s Air and Space Museum, Connor kept asking them, "Did Mommy and Daddy pay their taxes?"

Finally, Gong Gong asked him why he was so concerned and he tattled on me about his new fear of us going to jail. I am a horrible mother, although I suppose he has to learn about this fact of life sooner or later, right?

What I Have To Live With

2006-04-12T14:47:00.000-04:00

I kid you not, a glimpse into Bob's psyche...

B is for...

2006-04-06T14:15:00.000-04:00

Bright, brilliant Benjamin
Beautiful boy
Bonny and fair
With bedazzling eyes
Babbling and beaming
Balloons, balls and buses
Bouncing to music that gives you such joy
Boisterous and brave, even brazen at times
Boldly balancing perilously all by yourself
Blankie brings comfort
And big brother too
Blow kisses to baby and to Two-Step so true
Birthday blessings be yours
On this beauteous day
And be mine forever
Beloved Benji, my boy

Deja Vu All Over Again

2006-04-05T13:29:00.000-04:00

The most strange and beautiful phenomenon occurred on my drive to work this morning, just as I entered the city. Sudden gusts of wind blew through the streets scattering what appeared to be a wondrous flurry of cherry blossom "snow". Pedestrians ducked down into their jackets instinctively to weather the storm of petals swirling about.

Ha, I thought to myself. The only time it ever really snowed this late in the season in Maryland was at Mitch and Majel's wedding -- oh my gosh, exactly 9 years ago today! They were dressed in traditional Filipino (i.e. short-sleeve tropical linen) attire for their Catholic wedding when the snow storm descended. They might have expected rain in April, but not snow. I still remember the procession of cars slipping and sliding on the road from the church to the reception, what a surprise for their relatives from the Philippines...
But, this isn't really snow.

Then I looked more closely at my windshield and realized that the "petals" were melting on contact. I was, in fact, driving through a snow flurry in April. The surreal, magical storm lasted all of five minutes before the sun came out again. Too bad it didn't happen on April fools day :)

Butros Butros

2006-04-04T13:22:00.000-04:00

The name of the former UN Secretary General struck me as fitting for the title of this post about butt rash. (What was his mother thinking?)

Anyway, several of our blog team members have been asking how Connor's butt rash has been faring. We did get quite a scare after trampsing around in our backwoods weeks ago, when we discovered a silver-dollar-sized red patch on Connor's bum. Being neurologists and knowing absolutely nothing about rashes except to fear the target lesion of early Lyme disease, we frantically sought electronic consultations with a host of friends and family in much more useful medical specialties (family med and dermatology) by circulating g-rated digital pics of Connor's lil' tush across the eastern seaboard. Thank goodness after some thoughtful consideration from highly-trained doctors the verdict was unanimous -- ringworm! We finally realized there was a reason that parents need to bathe their kids, either that or slather them with fungicidal creams on their way out the door.

Well, the next day the grandparents happened to be giving Connor a bath while babysitting (probably realizing that we never bathe our kids), when Gong Gong discovered Connor's butt rash on his own.

That evening, he brought it to our attention -- [in Cantonese]: "You know, Connor has a skin lesion on his bottom, frequently seen in China; if left unchecked the rash can be very disfiguring. It's a fungus, you have to apply fungicidal cream."

Who knew we should have just asked Grandpa in the first place? Looks like we still have a lot to learn from our parents, like about butt rash. By the way, Connor's rash is all better now, and he's a whole lot cleaner too!

For Mei Lun

2006-03-30T15:03:00.000-05:00

Within our close circle of med school buddies, Mei-Lun and Larry take the prize for receiving the absolute worst wedding gift ever (although I'd like to eventually share a doozy of our own). They unwrapped a large box of chocolates with anticipation, only to find inside the box a little printed note:

"YOUR FREE GIFT WITH PURCHASE"

No doubt, Mei would have hired the services of Rat.

Wearwy Me

2006-03-29T16:42:00.000-05:00

I am wearwy, so wearwy that I can't even say the word properly. So this is what it feels like to really work hard. I believe I have truly reached the edges of my mental capacity after a 2-day marathon session of frantic preparations for a group project on a deadline. I used to be pretty proud of my womanly multi-tasking abilities, but I almost let the ball drop today with forgetting Connor at his after-school Chinese class were it not for the call from my wonderful nanny (thank goodness she is back!). I would have come home and wondered where my dear son had gone. If nothing else, I must teach my children to look out for themselves at a young and tender age because it's clearly survival of the fittest in our household. Mommy is just a husk today, a mere shell of her former self -- Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream...

Have His Cake and Eat It Too!

2006-03-28T09:30:00.000-05:00

At the encouragement of his big brother (why can I see only trouble ahead), Benjamin dove right into his baby brother's first birthday rice cake which tastes sort of like a dense version of the dough in steamed roast pork buns -- yum.

After multiple passes and licks by both mischievous little boys in front of a full table of company, Bobby's dad piped up as the host, "O.K., everyone, let's have cake!"

I have never seen a room full of such nervous smiles before!

The Max Has Chosen

2006-03-27T11:01:00.000-05:00

The Prophecy has spoken. Our lots have been cast. With the passing of the Korean first birthday rite this weekend for our youngest son, Max, Bob and I are now secure in the knowledge of what lies ahead of us. Along with the usual festivities, feasting, and fotos, the Korean first birthday celebration typically includes a ceremony where the child is presented a choice of objects to foretell his future -- an ink brush symbolizes scholarship, rice the seeds of many offspring, noodles long life, paper currency great wealth, and so on.

Six years ago, Connor's first choices were not traditional, a neurology reflex hammer and a golf club. At least Bob and I know that one of our sons will inherit our profession and an expensive hobby to boot, which is too bad because as much as his Gong Gong tried to force the dollar bills into his little hand, Connor would have none of it. I guess that means he won't be going into private practice either.

Benjamin on the other hand will be the son to populate the earth with the descendents of the Shin/Ting tribe. Fitting, if you think about it, given his Old Testament namesake. The little guy was so hungry by the start of his ceremony that he went straight for the steamed rice with gusto.

Finally, sweet little Max, bless his heart, will have the greatest fortune and longevity of the three, having chosen the money and rice noodles -- go Max! I guess Bob and I will need to stay in his good graces with the hope that our youngest will take care of us in our old age, a good thing since we won't have a dime to our name after raising three kids. Who needs retirement plans anyway?

Sticks and Stones

2006-03-24T11:42:00.000-05:00

The well-known childhood mantra -- Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me -- is well-meaning, something I have even taught to Connor, but lacking in truth. The reality is that words may often hurt a lot more than any physical injury. This may be why some people say that boys, being more rough and tumble, are often not as cruel as girls, who in the words of a patient of mine, can be downright "wicked" with their words when they want to be.

Having seen the movie Walk the Line this week (a Redbox gem), I have been thinking a lot about the lifelong damage that parents can inadvertently make with callous remarks to their children. In the movie, Johnny Cash (Joaquin Phoenix) is haunted his whole life, and driven to drug abuse, by the belief that he had contributed to his beloved big brother's accidental death. He had left his brother behind at a wood-splitting job when the deadly accident occurred. Into adulthood, he hung onto the accusing words of his father after the accident, "Where have you been?" ... "The Lord took the wrong son!"

I remember vividly remarks in my childhood that must have stuck because they were so hurtful. I was probably less than 10 years old, playing with my mother's lint brush, the kind that scrapes off lint in one direction and is cleaned of lint in the other direction. I thought I was being clever when inspiration hit me to grab one of my velvet tops and one of my mother's and use her lint brush to clean lint off my top while simultaneously transfering the lint onto my mother's top. When my mother walked in the room, I said very proudly, "Mommy, look what I did!". I must have caught her at a particularly bad time, because as she gazed upon her lint-covered top, she said, "You are such a selfish girl!" and stormed out of the room. I stood there perplexed, not even knowing what the word meant, and still remember my poor father coming in to comfort me and try to explain away what she said.

I know Connor, at least, is a sensitive sort, and I wonder how Bob and I can avoid such verbal blows, perhaps we cannot. Once Connor stopped going to his favorite Karate class for a whole month, simply because one of the boys said to him during an exercise that his pose made him "look like a Barbie doll". Connor is like an elephant and doesn't forgive and forget easily. And though Benjamin may be preverbal, he clearly knows what we are saying. So we must beware. Sometimes, even compliments can be misinterpreted. Saying that one child is smart while another is athletic may hurt the one child who is not as academic, or the other who is athletically-challenged. How sensitive our little hearts can be. God help us hold our tongues!

One Fine Day

2006-03-21T10:05:00.000-05:00

I'm not a terribly superstitious kind of person, but the signs were undeniable that this will be a good day. I'm wearing my new stretchy-waist feel-like-I'm-wearing-nothing pants, I got a parking space near the garage elevator, and on arrival at the hospital rotunda elevators which is usually the start of a 15 minute painful journey to the 12th floor, there was no one in sight, and the service elevator was waiting for me with an open door, granting me a miraculous non-stop express ride to the top; that just does not happen.

Of course a superstitious person would worry that things were starting just too well today, perhaps fortelling trouble ahead. But like I said, not being a superstitious sort of person, I just may buy that lottery ticket today :)

What Bob Must Feel

2006-03-20T11:30:00.000-05:00

My Favorite Things Uncensored

2006-03-17T09:31:00.000-05:00

-A dead deer on the side of the road, one less pest in my garden
-Retrieving a big chunk of wax from Connor's ear
-The end of my period
-Passing an obnoxious driver who got stuck in traffic
-Getting away with finishing the last bit of really, really old leftovers without poisoning the family
-Letting it fly with abandon after being uncomfortably bloated in a social setting for a whole evening
-Bringing home cool toiletries from a five-star hotel
-A Wegman's run with a girlfriend in the middle of the work day
-Not being charged extra for soy milk in my latte
-A fantastic find at the Dollar Store or the Redbox at McD's

My Favorite Things

2006-03-15T12:59:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to celebrate the Spring in the air with a list of things that make me smile:

-Flowers coming to bloom and new buds on the trees
-New green grass
-News that a Wegmans grocery is coming to town (as good as winning the lottery in my book!)
-A thankful, happy patient
-That first sip of a Starbucks single soy latte in the morning
-Pay day or getting a nice fat check in the mail
-Seeing my bathroom after the cleaners have been through
-Finding a personal letter in my mailbox amongst the bills and junkmail
-Gleeful peals of laughter from any of my kids
-When they eat all their dinner and it's not from a can or Mc-D's
-Watching my parents enjoy their grandchildren at their most charming
-Getting comments on my blogs :)
-Email from friends
-Seeing the boys playing well together
-Sleeping in as a family on a Saturday morning
-Laughing 'til it hurts with Bob over something only we would laugh about
-A newly decorated christmas tree all lit up with a star on top (yes, a bit out of season, but it always makes me smile)
-A "100% Wow!" on Connor's math assessment
-Getting Benji a coveted spot in the toddler library program
-Pulling into a primo parking space at the mall
-A spa facial without the comedone extraction
-Bloomingdales <sigh>

The Method

2006-03-13T22:18:00.000-05:00

I have been struggling, really struggling, with my dear middle child, Benjamin, who is in the throes of the terrible twos. As sweet, adorable, and precocious as he is, he can also really challenge the frontal lobes, the only thing holding me back from outright murder. Like tonight, what was meant to be a spontaneous fun outing to Rita's water ice turned out to be a night-out for tinnitus as he nearly blew out our ear drums from screaming in the car for his blankie. This experience led me to brainstorm for better nonviolent means of child control, and it dawned on me.

Like our cat, there is no reasoning with a preverbal two year old. So all you can hope for is finding an annoying yet safe stimulus that can be applied as negative reinforcement for bad behavior. Perhaps such a thing would work for kids.

While people have used newspaper whacking and even electrically charged collars to shock their dogs into submission, I am intrigued by the rapid and foolproof response we had training our cat with a water pistol. Boy, wouldn't that catch em by surprise.

At the first sound of a tantrum, Psssft!! right between the eyes; no more tantrum. And if Connor even dared peep a whine about going to bed, Pssssft!! up you go! Hey, maybe it can work on spouses too --"Hi, Honey, sorry I'm home late agai-Pssssft!"

All in the marketing

2006-03-10T08:42:00.000-05:00

Bob asked me to help him design a flyer to advertise for his martial arts class, a filipino martial art involving hand-to-hand combat with edged weapons and bull whip stuff, so I readily offered my opinion. Of course, I thought he might be trying to attract other guys so here was my suggestion -- include the words "Edged Weapons," the latitude and longitudinal coordinates of the class but absolutely no directions or maps, and anime-type images of boobs, legs, whips, and a can of beer. That ought to draw their attention right away.

So Bob gives me this look, his look that he often throws my way, and says, "I'm a guy, I don't need to know that!

So I offered him suggestions to attract girls to the ad. Substitute the words "Self-Defense" for "Weaponry," include a very easy to read set of directions with landmarks, an image of a hunky guy, with a great backside, and a fantastic pair of heels, on the flyer, not the guy.

Perhaps I have missed my calling.

The Usefulness of Man

2006-03-09T10:21:00.000-05:00

Connor on death:

"Mommy, do you know that after the daddy and mommy spider have their babies, the daddy spider dies,
because his work is done."

Makes me wonder why we keep em around at all.

Part II

2006-03-07T09:58:00.000-05:00

Don't Ask

2006-03-06T10:00:00.000-05:00

Don't ask me why I find this hilarious. We Tings just have an unusual sense of humor in a Pearls Before Swine kind of way:

They get what they want

2006-03-03T10:30:00.000-05:00

Connor really wanted a Transformer Deceptacon and saw a way to his heart's desire in Gong Gong's wallet. All he had to do was convince his grandfather to take him to the store. The following conversation ensued:
C: Gong gong! Can you buy me a Deceptacon?
G: Hmmm, I'll have to go look around for one this weekend, and I'll bring it Sunday.
C: You can buy them anywhere. They have lots and lots of them at Target, Walmart, Toys R Us...I can show you. Can you take me tomorrow?
G: Tomorrow won't work because I have to take Po Po to a doctor's appointment.
(Connor flips through a Transformers catalogue in disappointed silence, then perks up)
C: Can Po Po drive herself to the doctor's appointment?
G: Well, Po Po doesn't drive well alone.
(Quiet again for a moment in deep thought, he suddenly turns to me with a revelation)
C: Mommy! YOU take Po Po to the doctor's appointment!
There was no resisting the perseverance of a 6-year-old. Needless to say, Connor got his Deceptacon with Gong Gong the very next day.

A thoughtful cup

2006-03-02T09:30:00.000-05:00

Sharing a wonderful quote from my Starbucks cup today:

The Way I See It #27
Do not kiss your children so they will kiss you back but so they will kiss their children, and their children’s children.

-- Noah benShea, Poet, philosopher and author of Jacob the Baker, Jacob’s Journey and Remember This My Children.

Spirit Day

2006-03-01T09:59:00.000-05:00

Ash Wednesday today and it's like a spirit day for Catholics and orthodox christians, the one time of the year that they can declare, right there on their forehead for all to see, their religious affiliation. Wouldn't it be nice to expand it to everyone, of all religions, on the same day, just like they do at school... Connor has a spirit day where all the kids are supposed to wear to school their extracurricular uniforms -- for scouts, sports, ballet -- to show their friends what they are involved in. I think we should do the same on Ash Wednesday. Everyone picks some standardized symbol for their religion, a tattoo or stamp, to affix to their forehead so there's no more guessing. You'd be able to tell right away whether that coworker in the next cubical over is of the christian persuation, someone who could share in the fellowship. Better yet, it could help JAPs identify eligible Jewish bachelors in their midst. Hindus wouldn't have to go out of their way to find the right stamp that day, just business as usual. The North Koreans could affix a tiny portrait of Kim Il-sung on their heads, or substitute the trident of Satan. Atheists could just use a little extra Botox to smooth out the lines on their empty foreheads. This would generate a real feeling of comraderie and connection that is so absent in our society. Instead, today, I simply feel a pang of jealousy that I don't have a little ash cross on my brow.

Kid Wars

2006-02-28T09:39:00.000-05:00

How is it that children can be ornery little storm troopers one day and perfect little Padawans the next? (Perhaps God wonders the same of us grownups as we run amuck). Something in the cosmos converged yesterday, the biorhythms of all three kids must have peaked simultaneously, because they charmed the pants off of their grandpa and grandma all day long. More often than not, they choose to turn to the dark side when company is over or when portraits are taken. But once in a great, great while they do you proud. I guess that's how the little rebels keep the evil empire at bay and get spoiled silly to boot.

Rich Corinthian Leather

2006-02-27T10:06:00.000-05:00

I am seething inside, livid because what was supposed to be my academic day for catching up and making progress on a hundred things at work has turned into a day of a thousand obligations imposed upon me. But through the anger, I hear a little voice with a soft Mexican lilt, Ricardo Montalban in miniature sporting a fresh white suit perched on my shoulder saying over and over again, "Smiles, everyone, Smiles!" Not quite the angel on my shoulder I would have expected from attending Sunday service yesterday for the first time in months, which by the way was very rejuvenating, and a topic of another post to come. Alas, Mr. Roarke, with his eternal optimism, has suppressed the demon within me helping me to see past the flash of anger to the blessings that I do have -- two sets of helpful grandparents nearby, a flexible schedule at work, healthy, happy kids, and never the need to have breast-reduction surgery, which my dear nanny is having done this moment. Ah, I feel transported to a far away island of fantasy already...

On My Own

2006-02-24T16:19:00.000-05:00

...pretending he's bes-i-ide me...
Sorry, no Les Mis on this blog. Just me lamenting, like Eponine, over the fact that Bob's away tomorrow for a half week at a conference and I'll be in charge of the kids myself -- well sort of. You see, I'm like Rodney Dangerfield, I don't get no respect. So being in charge is more like helplessly calling to the wind. I've tried the idle threats, the stern looks, but unlike the Shins who have a deadly "stink-eye," I don't have the arsenal to really scare my kids into submission. They know I'm a softy. So if you don't see any new posts in the near future, you'll know that I've been tied down and held captive by my lil' rugrats. If you don't hear from me in a week, please send help.

Happy Birthday Max!

2006-02-23T08:05:00.000-05:00

At this very moment exactly one year ago, my little Maxi came into the world and his brothers' lives were changed forever. For his first birthday, I found the perfect quote for Max on my Starbucks cup. I hope that being the youngest will inspire him to keep reaching and achieving more in life -- like the ability to walk:

“Having two older brothers is a healthy reminder that you’re always closer to the bottom than you are to the top.”

--Andy Roddick--
who finished 2003 ranked as the No. 1 tennis player in the world – the youngest American and second-youngest player overall to do so. He also holds the world’s record for fastest serve at 246.2 km/h, and recently named his older brother, John, as his new coach.

Called to Iraq

2006-02-22T10:48:00.000-05:00

The most disturbing news came to one of Bob's residents. Her husband, who had been a reservist with only 3 months left to his 5-year obligation, was just called to deploy to Baghdad for the next 18 months. I hate to imagine losing a spouse so suddenly, for so long, under such dangerous circumstances. My cousin, an only son fresh out of flight surgeon school, must also deploy to Iraq soon, which just breaks my aunt's heart. It's hard enough to see coverage of soldiers overseas whom we don't know personally, even harder to see the effects of their deployment on loved-ones whom we know. It makes me stop and consider the real blessings I have in my own little household, and see the inconsequentiality of our daily struggles and stresses.

Queen of Mediocrity

2006-02-20T13:36:00.000-05:00

I am recovering from a weekend spend hosting dinners that I owed people for more than half a year. There's a reason I procrastinated because cooking formal dinners is not my forte. Add to that the fact that I was totally psyched-out for the first party by our neighbors, certified gourmands who own a Viking range and a wine cellar of more than 300 bottles, vacation in Bordeaux, and caramelize their homemade creme brulee with a handy blowtorch. In the end, I don't think I killed anyone with my cooking, or they were too kind to call with the after-effects. But I can't shake the fear that when the evening ended, they ran home to cleanse their palates and satiate their hunger with pan-seared foie gras. Some days, it's all I can do to put edible food on the table, keep the kids happy and bring home the bacon. Thank goodness for today's Style section in the Post, where I found consolation in a quote from Jon Stewart, the comedian chosen to host this year's Oscars while running a TV show and having a newborn baby: "Some people will burn themselves to the nub. I've decided to exist in a sea of mediocrity. That's allowed me to do all my tasks, but to in fact, do them poorly."

Ready, Set, Go!

2006-02-15T22:32:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like the suspense of the Olympic start gate, particularly when a skier is about to hurl himself down a quadruple black diamond slope at 70 miles an hour. The tension in the air is palpable as he plants his poles, preparing to push off, then a disembodied voice from behind the start gate shouts, "Come on Bode, you can buy your momma some roses!!!"

Bode probably spent the entire run puzzling over what the guy meant instead of applying himself because he promptly came in 7th.

Why don't we make our own Top 10 list of inspirational exclamations that could help Bode do better than he has. For example,
1. "Come on Bode, there's a Guiness waiting for you down there!"
2. "Come on Bode, the Olympic officials are coming up here with a breathalyzer!"
3. "Come on Bode, Cheney's comin' and he's got a gun!"
4. ?

A Cold Valentine

2006-02-14T21:27:00.000-05:00

For those of you whose honey didn't make good this Valentine's Day, here's a cold idea for sweet revenge.

Oh, no!

2006-02-13T21:33:00.000-05:00

At the risk of being politically incorrect -- what the heck, this blog is all about risk-taking -- I would like to share some insight I gained upon watching the Apolo Ohno speed skating fiasco last night. Let me start by saying that Bob really dislikes Apolo Ohno, he claims, because the guy cheated his countryman out of Olympic gold four years ago. You and I know that he's probably not so fond of Apolo's name either, for obvious (i.e. wife's ex) reasons. Nevertheless, I was wondering all night why the Koreans seem to dominate in this particular Olympic sport, one that even Bob's grandfather (3rd from left above) excelled in. Then it occurred to me while I was watching the Flying Tomato get the gold in snowboarding, when the newscaster commented on why the Finns were such strong competitors in the half-pipe because "the mountains are so small in Finland, all they have are half-pipes!" -- that must be it! The Koreans are so great in short-track speedskating because, being from a very small country, all they have are lots of little ice rinks!

Snow Day!

2006-02-12T19:40:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Ting-Do!

2006-02-11T21:09:00.000-05:00

This is my very first posting ever. For Valentine's Day, I surprised my dear magical hubby, Bob, with tickets to see David Copperfield. In return, he gave me my very own cyber soap box. I never thought of myself as technically able-minded, but now that I have my own web and blog site, I feel truly empowered and defined as a person. Mind you, this was not easy to come by, which came as a surprise to me since I grew up with a fairly unique name. I have never known another Ting in the world aside from my family and I almost never came across another Tricia in my classes at school. So it was something of a shock to find out when I was trying to select a username for my new gmail account that triciating, tting, tyting and tinger were all already taken. Who in the world is out there using my name? I'm thinking maybe there's some Chinese geekess in silicon valley with my name, Bob guesses someone in Canada perhaps. So when he said that triciating.com was still available, I jumped at the chance to cyberize myself and become immortal in the digital web of life. Most importantly, I beat out my alter ego, that other Tricia Ting out there, from owning my dot com -- take that!

Alas, what to do with all this freedom and power? Your guess is as good as mine. My primary objective is to assail the world with my opinions as profound and important at they are, and hopefully, as an added bonus, amuse, entertain, and encourage along the way. I hope to feel connected through this blog, so I welcome any comments as long as they massage my ego.

So welcome, friends, to my wacky world. And Happy Valentine's Day to all :)