The Next Level

I was going to write a sarcastic and, no doubt, inciteful post last week about Sarah Palin, but I just can't get motivated to finish it. Is there anything I could say that hasn't already been said? I do not personally know anyone who remains undecided about this election. But if any of you are, please let me know, as I will do my best to offer compelling reasons to vote for Obama. Otherwise, I think I'm just preaching to the choir.

I am finally getting into a groove with the whole kindergarten/preschool transport thing. We have a system going that takes me 90 minutes, door-t0-door, to cover about 8 miles. Don't get me started. The Handyman can only offer sporadic assistance, so it's on me. Part of the commute involves taking the Express Bus downtown, just the Caboose and me. It's kind of our "special time." I bring magazines, flashcards, or workbooks to pass the time. Then, once we're downtown, we look for Cable Cars, F Trains, or other exciting vehicles. After the Express, we take a local just a few stops to his school. This involves waiting at a bus stop in the Financial District. Every morning, inside the bus shelter, sits the same benign old homeless man. He has a shopping cart full of the usual trappings of homelessness, though he is also usually reading the New York Times. He always greets us enthusiastically, then launches into some stream of consciousness monologue that leads me to believe he is bipolar and off his meds. He has told me I look like Shirley Temple, Margaret O'Brien, and "a movie star." He calls the Caboose, "young man." He has regaled us with stories of his career at General Dynamics and his travels around the country.

This morning when he saw us, he said to the Caboose, "Hey! I recognize you! I've seen you here before. You and your Mommy!" Then he started to talk about Yogi Berra and Yankee Stadium. Poor thing had no idea what he was getting himself into. He didn't get two sentences out before I hijacked the conversation and started rattling off the most interesting factoids about Yogi Berra, starting with the fact that he has appeared in a record 14 World Series. He didn't know any of them, and was thrilled to learn. Soon enough, our bus arrived and we were off with a promise to see him again tomorrow. Now I'm curious to know how this man became homeless.

For those of you who don't speak Yiddish, the above is what we call a shana punum, or beautiful face. It can also be called a zeesa punum, or sweet face. We just call it Booper. And Booper took his test this weekend at martial arts class and is now an Orange Belt. He was so proud of himself, but not nearly as proud as I was of him for sticking with martial arts despite the rough early going. The test involved him doing some things alone, in the front of the class, and I thought for sure this would spell disaster. Instead, it spelled O-R-A-N-G-E. Woot!

Kang-gangsulle

Surprised you, didn't I? Well, Kang-gangsulle is one of the many things I learned at the Chusok celebration last week. This special day at school was a BLAST! We did the traditional Chusok dance, cooked songpyon, and made han bok-wearing paper dolls. Posting photos is a bit of a challenge, as I don't want to "out" anyone's kids. So here is a small sample to give you the general idea.


The children, all in han bok, walk to the auditorium for the Chusok assembly. The school supplied han bok for those who did not have them.

The teachers all wore han bok. This is Ms. Kim, the second grade teacher. Her han bok was gorgeous (and she is pretty great-looking, too. Booper talks about her a lot, and I think he has a crush on her.) She is reading a Chusok story to the assembled children. A lot of the moms wore Han Bok. I don't currently have one, but I am considering a purchase since there will be many more of these Korean celebrations in the future for Booper & The Caboose.

Another "line-up." Here you can sort of make out Booper's kindergarten teacher, Ms. Lee.

Later that evening, the moms from Booper's class all met for Korean food at a local restaurant. This particular establishment has a program in place where they donate 20% of your bill to the Korean Immersion Program. We had a private room in the back. Lots of laughing, eating, and planning ensued and we were there for nearly 3 hours. When I arrived home, the Handyman said, "I have this vision of you sitting at the table with, like, 8 Korean women." I told him, "You're close. It was me and 11 Korean women." And I loved it! Some of the moms speak hardly any English. Some speak hardly any Korean. Some are fully bilingual. And all are thrilled to pieces to have gotten our kids into this wonderful program. The feeling of community is inspiring.

I brought home some leftover kolbi, which was served the following evening for dinner and quickly devoured. I went to the Korean Market yesterday and bought some more to serve for dinner tonight. Check me out, getting all Jewrean on yo a$$. I asked the Handyman the other night, "so...you didn't start out married to a Korean woman, but it looks like you're going to end up that way. How's that going for you?"

Time Marches On

This morning at kindergarten drop-off, one of the Dads turned to me and said, "They grow up so fast." We've all heard this innumerable times, but I don't agree. In fact, when my kids were babies, I felt like the newborn stage was interminable. (Above a photo of the two of them the day after we brought the Caboose home from the hospital. It almost looks like the Caboose is smiling, but I think he's just trying to push his fat cheeks out of the way so he can breathe.) I know, not very maternal. But there it is. At least with the Caboose I realized that it would eventually come to an end. But not soon enough for me. I am not someone who does well without sleep, so the lack of rest along with the difficulties of breastfeeding (I can only use one boob, so supply is a chronic issue, but there were many others) and the never-ending tedium of diapers, feedings, pumping, baths, housework, regular work, cooking, etc. felt at times like more than I could bear. I would daydream about what life would be like when my kids were preschool age or older, able to walk, talk, and do things for themselves. In fact, sometimes I would have to chastise myself about wishing away their entire first year and instead try to get my head in the game, enjoying the present.

Now I find myself in this curious position of having these older, more independent kids that I dreamed of, and feeling some pangs for the past. For example, last night Booper informed me that he would like to get his homework done early so he can help me cook dinner. He explained that he wants to learn to cook so he can make dinner every night! He also offers to help with laundry and vacuuming. He is the sweetness, absolutely. But don't be too impressed. He now receives an allowance for the performance of certain basic chores (tidying his room, putting away laundry, clearing the table after dinner), and he can earn more $$ by doing extra chores. So this may all be a clever ploy to fill his coffers.

Lately, the Handyman and I have discovered the ease and convenience of asking Booper to get things for us so we don't have to get up. I remember when I was a kid, my parents would ask me to "get my purse," or "bring me a napkin." I would always think to myself, "what's the matter? Are your legs broken?" But now I see the beauty in the bottomless energy of an eager-to-please child who is proud to help.

In any case, while I am loving all this new maturity, I also find myself nostalgic for his younger self. The soft feet, silky hair, sweet breath. I crave more snuggles now with the Caboose because he still has that delicious toddler body, buttery skin, and plump cheeks. I can lift him and easily carry him. He stealthily climbs into our bed at the crack of dawn every day and burrows in next to me for a morning cuddle. Booper likes to cuddle too, but he is getting so big that I can now rest my head on his shoulder, instead of always the other way around. When he climbs into bed, it usually involves a knee in my (full) bladder and an elbow to my face. He has morning breath. He is a boy. He is turning into his own person and I am fascinated by getting to know him. So there is all this ambivalence about nostalgia for the old and admiration for the new. But did it happen "too fast?" Not for me. It feels like I've been being his mom for a looooong time. Here I am serving the brownies at his 5th birthday party. Check out his smirk.

On an unrelated note, have you heard this expression, "it is what it is?" I loathe this expression. I think it's meant to explain a position of Buddhist-like acceptance of the inevitable, but to me it sounds like giving up. A verbal shrugging of shoulders at something that is just not worth caring about. That attitude annoys me. It's like the new "whatever."

Clueless

Booper likes brownies.

That much I know. But here's something I don't know. Can you serve brownies on Chusok? Am I even spelling that right?

His class is going to be celebrating this holiday next week at school. He is supposed to wear his han bok to school, but we don't have one. The kids in his class dress in their han bok and parade around the school for the other kids. Then they go to their classroom for a celebration. We are invited to come and take part in a Chusok feast, but I don't know what to bring. The Handyman says that his family didn't celebrate Chusok when he was a kid, so he has no clue either.

Suggestions welcome.

Otherwise, things are going well. As a reward for doing all his homework this week, Booper is allowed to participate in show-and-tell. I thought he'd want to bring his new baseball mitt or maybe one of his trains. Instead, he surprised us by taking his guitar to school. (This was one of his birthday presents.) He looked like quite the Bohemian with it sticking out of his Cars backpack as he shuffled into his classroom.

Yesterday, the Caboose walked up to me and said, "kom-som-nee-dah." No reason. Just felt like practicing, I guess. He slays me. Currently he is trying to learn all the words to Last Train to Clarksville.

Week Two

After the beautiful long weekend, it's back to the salt mines for Booper. Actually, he returned to kindergarten enthusiastically, even after telling me in the car that he doesn't understand what his teacher is saying most of the time. The Caboose has moved to a higher class at preschool, so he is feeling pretty proud of himself, too. Can't wait to hear all about his day.

On Friday, I spent about 90 minutes in Booper's KIP classroom for that August Birthdays party. During those 90 minutes, I think I heard his teacher use 10 English words. Total. She speaks to the class almost exclusively in Korean. All the literature about Immersion told us she would do this, but it's a bit shocking to see it in action. I felt like a fish out of water, so I can only imagine how the kids feel. When I arrived, the children were sitting in their seats, utterly silent, eating cupcakes. (I was a few minutes late because the Caboose fell asleep in the car on the way there.) Ms. Lee, his teacher, was walking around the classroom saying, "Does this taste good?" in Korean. Don't be impressed. I know three Korean phrases: Thank you, Have a nice day, and This tastes good, so she happened to throw one into my wheelhouse. I also know the words for mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, older sister, older brother, aunt (both sides of family), uncle (mother's side only) baby, rice, butt, penis, and fart. Thanks to a commenter, I now know the word for friend. That's it.

In any event, she speaks to them in Korean even when they address her in English, which is pretty much always. Somehow, they get the message, though she often has to repeat herself. She had them clean up after themselves, choose an activity, line up for dismissal, and learn the word for House, all in Korean.

Meanwhile, I sat at a little side table with three of the other moms, preparing homework sheets, while the Caboose took a long nap in my arms. Of those three moms, two were 100% Korean and spoke pretty much only Korean and to each other. The third was born in Korea, but moved to the U.S. at age 3 and hardly speaks Korean at all. She tried to talk with the other moms, but was frustrated at her own inability to find the words. I chatted with her quite a bit, and we hit it off nicely. What we both realized is that this little class of 20 kids is going to be together from now until they complete 5th grade. Sure, there will be minor changes. But this "little family," as she put it, is our reality for the next 6 years.