Christmas Comes Early

For some time I've been itching to learn to play an instrument. I played percussion instruments and the flute in school, and have been known to pick up our ukuleles once in a while. Doug will learn the girls' favorite songs on his guitar and we'll sing along, so there's really no need for me to pick it up. But lately I've become infatuated with the bass or the drums. When the Black Friday advert came around for The Guitar Center, I thought it might be time to check it out.

Despite the incredible amount of noise in there, I managed to fool around a bit on a bass with the assistance of a salesperson (Thanks, Matt!). After hearing him play "I Want You Back" by The Jackson Five, I was giddy to learn more. But eager to make an informed decision, I hit the drum section as well.
It's definitely gratifying to hit something hard without causing much damage. They even had a tiny-sized drum kit that Phoebe just dove into. We were all amazed by her, especially another customer who snatched up a kit for his niece, who is about the same age.

After experimenting - and going partially deaf - I decided on the bass. They had a pretty awesome beginner's kit which included the bass, an amp, headphones, cords, a strap and an instructional DVD. Pretty cool!

It's barely been 24 hours and I've already had a mini lesson from Doug's cousin, Larry. He showed me  "So Lonely" by The Police and "Louie Louie." I feel like kids playing squeaky violins, but it's amazing! It's almost therapeutic to sit there and play the same notes over and over, just getting the feel of the instrument. I'm hooked!

Yesterday was Doug's birthday and the poor guy had the flu. We had planned to see The Weepies at CityArts Fest, but since he couldn't attend, I hit the Croc with cousin/gal pal MaryBeth.

MB and I both have kids, so a night out with the young and hip is a rarity. Hanging at an iconic (and recently re-opened) venue like The Crocodile Cafe is a bonus. We arrived on time -- the show was slated to begin at 7 p.m. -- only to find the line for ticket and wristband holders snaking around the block. After waiting about 30 minutes, we finally made our way to bar for our pre-show drink.

Have you ever stood at a bar in a club and wondered what the hell to order? Despite the popular resurgence of working-class beers, I really feel like my Olympia/Bud/PBR days are behind me. Not that I was ever much of a beer drinker, but I don't know, it feels odd to be drinking a tall can of PBR pretending I'm under 35. But I could have kissed MB for asking if she could get a Mint Julep. And snaps to me, who as a good date, asked the bartender if they served Mint Juleps. "NO," was the unflinching response I got before he turned to the cuter, younger, hipper girl next to me. I don't think I gained any street cred by then asking for a Rum and Coke, but at least I had a back up.

Lucy Schwartz was one of the opening bands. I had never heard of her, but she had a sweet, haunting voice. The other opener was The Head and The Heart, a local band creating a lot of buzz right now. I've barely heard anything from them, but from the minute they took the stage I was mesmerized. Amazing harmonies and intricate song arrangements. Very warm, heartfelt lyrics. I could easily see how this band's popularity has grown.

It seems that Dave Matthews is another fan of the band. Because MB and I were on the fringes of the crowd before The Head and The Heart began, I saw Dave come into the venue. Before I could help myself, I said, "Hey!" then stopped, because maybe it wasn't too cool to go tromping up to the guy if all he wanted was to hear some music. He made eye contact and sort of nodded. It just happened that we stood behind him and his friends during the show - and we weren't the only ones trying to snap pictures incognito. One slightly tipsy girl next to me goes, "Doesn't that guy look just like Dave MATTHEWS?!" and when I whispered, "That is Dave Matthews," she said, "What?! Yeah I THOUGHT that looked like DAVE MATTHEWS!" I have to give it to Dave, he was totally cool. He was just there, enjoying the music and seemingly open to whoever wanted to say hello. While I was standing at The Weepies merchandise booth before they took the stage, he was behind me talking to another woman. I asked him how he enjoyed The Head and The Heart and he said, "I'm kind of obsessed with them." Wow. It's great to see that people who are considered awesome talents and sources of great inspiration are also fans.

The Weepies sounded great. I really love Deb Talan's voice and look forward to the twisty tidbits in the lyrics. After hearing The Head and The Heart, the commercial aspect of The Weepies' music was more obvious than I remember. Very tidy songs. Not that I loved them any less, but I enjoyed getting a wonderfully unexpected taste of great music that evening.

Doug and I fell for The Weepies maybe five years ago after I heard Mandy Moore recommend them on an iTunes Celebrity Playlist. They just happened to be playing shortly afterward at The Tractor Tavern, a favorite spot here in Ballard. Their album, Say I Am You, is in constant rotation on my iPod. My only regret for the evening was that Doug wasn't there to enjoy it with me. Thank goodness KMTT has audio of The Weepies' Live from the Mountain Music Lounge show.

Baby Blues

I have very vivid memories of picking fruit at the U-Pick farms in the East Bay when I was a teenager. My family and I would pick cherries, blueberries and strawberries for ourselves, but also to take back to Hawaii when we visited. One year we took a huge bucketful of cherries to my family, where we sat in the living room eating fruit until our fingers were stained red and our bellies ached.

Because our previous house had a number of flourishing garden beds (thanks to the previous owners), we simply stepped out back to pick blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. My garden beds in our current house aren't as established, so we got the girls in the car and headed to the Eastside for berry picking.

If you get a chance to hit a U-Pick farm near you, do it. Our little people felt a tremendous amount of pride eating what they picked and our oldest daughter now understands just how hard our farmers work.

Ran It!

Me, shouting, "Hey, I'm over here!" at my husband as the race begins.

 The Torchlight Run went well. I was nervous, mostly because I don't usually run with anyone and I wanted to keep up with my running buddy, Pei-Pei. And I know you're supposed to be able to talk easily while you run or you're running too fast (so all the running guides say), but I don't like to talk. When I run I'm focusing on my breathing, or mostly on remembering to breathe.

Breathing is supposed to be the most effortless activity our bodies engage in, right? We do it unconsciously, while we sleep. But I tend to hold my breath. When I was dancer, I held my breath a lot, sometimes coming out of a combination panting like crazy, not sure why. It wasn't until I began pre-natal yoga with my first child that I realized I had to work at breathing. If I remember to start slow, keep an even pace and concentrate on an even breath, my run goes well. It helps my head space, my self confidence, my motivation.

So I didn't want to get caught up in trying to go out fast or impress my running partner during the race. Luckily, because of the number of runners, I didn't have to. We were pretty jammed in between runners, then went straight to a hill. We ran on part of the Torchlight Parade route, which would begin an hour after the race. Families had already gathered, sitting in folding chairs on the sidewalks, cheering us on. Kids high-fived us as we ran past. It was uplifting and inspiring.

The tougher part came while running on Highway 99. It was the second half of the race, so I was getting tired. There weren't any cute kids cheering. We had to run through the Battery Street Tunnel to get to the final block of the race. Steady breathing helped my body, but knowing someone ran beside me helped my morale.

Pei-Pei and I shrieked when we saw the finish line. She asked if I wanted to sprint, but I opted to continue steadily. It felt great to complete my goal: I ran five miles in a race, something I'd never done before. I felt energized, ready to run again.

Red Shirting

Tomorrow is the Torchlight Race, my first entry into a race I plan to run. Road Runner Sports had bibs, timing chips and race shirts available today, so I went down there to ensure I had everything before the butterflies took over tomorrow.

When the woman handed me my race shirt I almost began jumping up and down. Quite tactfully, she pointed to my info packet where it said, "38/F" and asked, "Is this information correct?" I must have wrinkled my brow at her because she went on softly, "I don't want to yell out, 'ARE YOU 38?'"
"Oh, yes, that's correct," I answered.
She pointed to her gray hair, "Because when you're 50, then we'll talk."
I found that inspiring and said, "Well, I hope I'm still doing this at 50!"

I worked out a bit harder over the weekend, but took it easy this week to give my body a rest for the race. Since I was nursing a hamstring strain, I didn't want to go crazy beforehand.
Next on my training regimen: Chocolate chip pancake carbo load tomorrow morning!

The Race to the free Clif Bars

I went to a training run tonight sponsored by Super Jock n Jill to prepare for the Torchlight Race. There will be one a week until the race on July 31st, so I thought I'd check out this first one. It's my first race, so I have no idea what sort of perks go with registration.

It was held at Green Lake, a familiar and favorite spot, but since it was in the evening and I'm used to getting to to the park in the morning, I was not prepared for the crazy amount of people and traffic clogging every arterial. This is Seattle after all, and when the sun comes out, so do the people. Needless to say, I was 10 minutes late despite my best efforts.

Facilitators told me the group had "just left." I saw them up ahead as I forgot about my one-song-walking-warm-up and tried to push forward, on the off chance that the group took a breather and I could join them. I could see them, a few wearing dark green shirts from the recent Rock 'n Roll Marathon. It became an amazing incentive when I began to get hot and tired. Deep down I knew I would never catch up to them, but I kept thinking, "Maybe....maybe...."

I didn't catch up to them on the running loop. But at the meeting spot organizers had put out Clif bars and Talking Rain drinks. There was a raffle (for some pretty good gift certificates, shoes, gear) and just happy endorfin riders all around. Even though I was a bit behind and outside of the group, I felt closer to being a "runner" than before. And guess what? I even decreased my time!

I'm coming for you, Torchlight!

Getting the Digits

Remember when my husband brought home a scale? Well, I didn't mention before that he's also monitoring his caloric intake, keeping an Excel spreadsheet and looking at online options to help improve his physical fitness.

I think improving one's physical fitness is admirable. I admire him. He is fit.

But I still want to weigh less than him. Even if it's just a pound or two.

When he shows me a new gadget or tracking system, I do the kindly, "That's nice, honey," and turn in a wifely way to the dishes in the sink or the brownies that need to come out of the oven. But now that I'm running more, and will begin to cross train on my non-running days (yes, I just found out what a 'burpee' is), I've been doing some physical fitness monitoring of my own.

The first, is keeping a running log. I started writing down the distances of my runs -- now that I think about it, I should probably be writing down the times --  how they went (easy, tough start but went okay, had to walk, etc.). While browsing around online, I came across the fitbit. I love the idea of tracking your rest as well as your activity. I know I don't get enough rest, but a constant reminder might be a good motivator to even the stats out. I also like that it tracks moderate activity, not just calories burned or mileage, but the activities that parent might engage in that could count as 'staying active.' Like playground time, or chasing a ball together, or hula hooping.

After surfing around the site, I realized hubby had shown me the fitbit months back. I'm not sure if I was doing dishes or eating brownies at the time, but I'm pretty sure I nodded. Now I want it. Maybe if I suggest his and hers...

It Keeps You Runnin'

 It's confession time: I haven't gone running in almost two weeks.

Life happens. Relatives visit, the end of school ushers in the beginning of summer, the two-year-old refuses to sleep between 2 and 4 a.m., lice, all of these issues can put a damper on anyone's training schedule, right?

If I were one of the super-moms in the book I'm reading, "Run Like a Mother," I would be running early in the morning or pushing my toddler in the stroller while my older daughter rides her bike--or whatever it is that fit moms do to log miles and stay in shape.

I haven't graduated from Mommy Fit Club yet, but judging by my run yesterday, I still might get the chance. I began early in the morning by walking. It's not my best time of day for anything. I convinced myself that walking at my favorite running spot is better than moping around at home, not running at all. Two weeks may not seem like a long period of time, but even a few inactive days can take the physical progress you've gained back to zero.

The walking warmed me up and got me loose. Tying my windbreaker around my waist, I broke into a slow jog. I probably spent a mile and-a-half struggling: my breathing was uneven, my shirt kept riding up and my windbreaker falling down. It was just messy.

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point my breathing found an even rhythm. I barely noticed my clothing. I started to feel good. On the paved path someone had marked the miles in chalk. As I passed a marker, I thought, "That was okay. I could probably run another," continuing on to the next chalk line. As I passed the lamp post where I started out, I thought, "I'll just go to the next line," and I ran on, breathing, pumping my arms, fueled by Black Eyed Peas' "Pump It." I recognized oncoming runners, from the intense guy with the 'Portland Marathon' shirt to the older woman with the "Danskin Triathlon" shirt. In "Run Like a Mother," the authors mention the race shirt as a means of motivation for finishing a race, and I really did want mine at that point.

Following those chalk-marked miles, I made it around Green Lake twice. Twice! Granted, I did walk the first ten minutes, but I completed more than five miles, which is what I'll need to do for the race I'm entered in at the end of the month. I was elated. Even with a bad start and a chubby-schlubby attitude, I could turn it around.

My body is a bit creaky today, but otherwise, I feel good. I feel like doing it again.

Watch out, Torchlight! Here I come!

Daring to Return

You know my adoration for the movie, "Xanadu." So you understand my complete giddy delight upon seeing the latest video from the band, Rooney.

I was up at a ridiculous hour due to a sleepless night minding the two-year-old. From the first frame, where they showcase the exterior of the club that becomes "Xanadu," (formerly the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in Los Angeles),  I knew this video would cheer me up. Just a little somethin' to hold you over until the "Grease Sing-along" comes your way.

Put Your Art Into It

I am currently obsessed with the reality show, "Work of Art," on Bravo. It's basically a group of artists who create works based on challenges that are evaluated to see if their "art works" for the judges. "Project Runway" on a canvas.

I love this show for the same reasons I love "Project Runway."  The creative process is fascinating. I like seeing what mediums the artists choose, what risks they take and how they resolve issues about their early concepts versus the finished product. I enjoy watching how they incorporate simple photographs (or in one episode, a photocopier image!), pen and ink, chalk, even computer programs like Photoshop to convey their interpretations of the challenges.

In one episode the contestants were asked to make book covers for classic novels. The winner would have their art published on the cover of the book. So awesome. The image above is the winning Penguin Books cover of "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells, art by John Parot.

I grew up with three older, sports-playing brothers, so I'm no stranger to four-letter words. In fact, I use them quite a lot, despite the chastisement of my nine-year-old ("Mom, that is inappropriate language!").  But here's a four-letter word I cannot bear to utter, even in the best of circumstances: LICE.

Yes, my child has brought home lice. This isn't the first time - and probably won't be the last - but the first time was so traumatic that I have a hyper sensitivity to the mere mention of it. The first time we found lice on Emma was the day I went into labor with Phoebe. Two weeks early.

I don't think the lice induced labor, so let's not lay anymore lifestyle aggravating blame on them than necessary. But the feeling of sheer hopelessness while I watched Doug walk out the front door to go to work as I looked at the heaping piles of bedding I needed to wash and the head of hair I needed to comb through is still pretty fresh almost three years later. I was psyching myself up to face the lice, the laundry, the breathing mask I'd have to wear as I washed Emma's hair with the chemical shampoo I was yet to buy and the intense fine-tooth-comb-comb-through when I went to the bathroom and found I was bleeding.

This was not unusual during my pregnancy with Phoebe, but something felt off. Odd. So I called my doctor's office, who gave me the go-ahead to come in to see if my water had broken. (Incidentally, having your water break isn't always the large gush of fluid one thinks it is, a la Miranda's water breaking all over Carrie's Louboutins. It didn't happen that way for me with Emma, and I was finding, it wouldn't with Phoebe.)

More panic set in. What the heck do I do with a kid while the doctor is giving me a pelvic exam? Am I even allowed to take her in with me? What happens if I actually have to deliver and it's just me and Emma? Is it bad form to ask the friends on our "Emergency Delivery Check List" to leave work to take my child to their house and oh, by the way, deal with her lice? What the hell do I do?

It was almost 10 a.m. Doug would be going into a meeting at 10 that could last 15 minutes to an hour, where it would be difficult to reach him. Luckily, I reached him before he got into the meeting and asked him to meet me at my appointment. He could help Emma and be available if we needed to make any major decisions should something go wrong with the baby.

I was running around the house, throwing books, a laptop, DVDs and snacks into a bag for Emma. I had no idea how long we'd have to wait to see the doctor, for test results, for Doug. If there was an issue, I wanted her to be plugged into a Disney film happily munching on cheese sticks. With a hat on her head.

To my great relief Doug got to the doctor's office before I did. To my horror, yes, my water had broken. We needed to get to the delivery center to get placed on a monitor. If I didn't deliver within 48 hours, there could be great danger. Doug's greatest comedic timing came when after this announcement from the doctor, he turned to her and said, "Yeah, and by the way, would you mind checking us both for lice?"

We went home. While Doug went nuclear on Emma's head with the lice shampoo and the fine-tooth comb, I put new bedding on the beds, started the super hot water wash, vacuumed and managed to throw an overnight bag together. His parents were on their way (and to this day, I'm not sure they understood what they were walking into).

As we said goodbye to Em and her grandparents, I felt a huge load lift from my enormous belly. Now all I had to do was push the baby out of it. Incidentally, it took longer to deal with the lice drama that morning than it did to deliver Phoebe that evening.

Flash forward to four days ago. The dreaded louse on Emma's head. The toxic shampoo, the comb through. We had plans to visit friends for the Fourth of July weekend on Orcas Island, but that wouldn't happen. Em was such a good sport about it all despite her obvious disappointment. Phoebe watched a lot of movies while I sifted through Emma's hair over and over again. We've been washing and rubbing with so much Tea Tree that our house smells like the Australian outback.

But nobody else in our house got lice, thank goodness. Em's been clear since yesterday morning. Our vacation turned staycation became a nice excuse for us to hunker down and spend time as a family. Although I hate dealing with lice, the notion that we survived the first time and managed to deliver a healthy baby, then got our act together the second time so the lice remained contained, helps reinforce my confidence in us Kims as a cohesive unit.

'Lice' isn't the only four-letter-word that brought our family closer, but the best four-letter-word I can think of also had a hand in it: Love. In my mind, no nit will ever louse that up.

Heavyweight

My  husband bought a scale. I am mortified.

I'm not one of those people who are 'anti-scale.' I do step on them, dreading where the numbers will stop. If it were more like Wheel of Fortune, at least we'd get 'Lose a Turn' and just be disappointed we didn't get to play the game. But with scales you have to watch as the little black line wavers back and forth until it decides that you played far too hard in the preceding hours and now you'll have to pay with a huge tab: your undesirable triple-digit score. Or, if you have a digital display scale (which is what Doug brought home), you can watch the numbers climb up and up as the lines go from '4'...no, no, wait...'7,' no...oh, '9.' Ugh.

Like most modern-day women, I'm not 100 percent satisfied with my body. I don't usually get caught up in the numbers game, but I would like to weigh less than my husband. I would like to have more firm parts than jiggly parts. We eat well, stay fairly active and don't smoke. We aren't in a health risk range. But a scale? I'm just not sure I want to be tempted to step on it and feel crappy about the numbers. Is this the test? Is this where I'm supposed to say, "This is an opportunity! You can step on the scale and choose to feel great about how much you weigh!"

Well, I'm not buying it. I've already stepped on it twice and I've taken the opportunity to scrunch up my face and hiss at it.

Sore sport

I'm sore today.

The "I-must-be-getting-old-and-I-am-out-of-shape" kind of sore.

And I didn't even run.

Sunday morning I got up and at 'em, out the door before 7 a.m. I am not a morning person, nor do I enjoy getting out of bed for any reason before 9 a.m. But knowing that this was my only opportunity for a run/walk before Tuesday, I had to grab the chance while I could. So, in an effort to prepare for my upcoming 8K, I decided to walk it.

I'm having some trouble wrapping my brain around the time necessary to run this race. Based on my 11+ minute-miles, I figure it will take me about an hour and-a-half to complete it. To knock down some mental barriers (and because I don't think I could run it), I decided to walk twice around Green Lake.

I've walked around twice before, but always during gab-fests with girlfriends where the time and distance melted away with our chatting. This time I had Regina Spektor.

It was great. It was the day after the Rock 'n Roll Marathon, so I'm guessing lots of folks ordinarily running Green Lake on a weekend morning were rightfully asleep. The weather was cool, with the sun peeking out. I was invigorated for the rest of our Sunday, which consisted of our weekly visit to the Ballard Farmers' Market, the library, yard work with the girls outside. I felt good. Until I didn't.

My neck started its old flare around 10 p.m. Ibuprofen and ice helped until I fell asleep around 11 p.m. When my two-year-old climbed into bed with us at 2 a.m., I was so twisted and turned that I couldn't handle lying down anymore. I went downstairs to the La-Z-Boy.

Despite watching, "Behind the Music: Courtney Love," most of "Apollo 13," "Far and Away" and every horrible informercial you can imagine, I still couldn't sleep. By the time "Flight of the Conchords" came on at 6:30 a.m., I drifted off just in time to be awakened by Doug, who was getting ready for work despite not getting any sleep, either.

Today was rocky. I felt better after more ibuprofen and lots of water. Stress, coupled with not replenishing fluids hit me hard. If I'm going to continue training, I'm going to need to fuel my body with stuff it can actually use. I thought a 2-year-old's 2 a.m. wake-up call was rude, but our own bodies can be very convincing.

Bankin' On It

There's a food bank in my neighborhood. It's on one of the main streets leading from our house to our neighborhood's downtown area. Passing it upsets and confuses me. Not because it's an eyesore or that I don't agree with having a food bank in a residential neighborhood, but because there are people waiting outside.

The food bank is open three days a week, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. When I drop my girls off at school before 9 a.m., oftentimes a line has already formed. Rain or shine, clients wait with their books and their boxes for the food bank to open. Some have children with them. Most look like anybody else you'd see on the street, in the grocery store, at the movies. A couple of older Chinese ladies, their dark hair curled in place, their clothes tidy and fitted, smiled at me, nodding, "Ni hao, ni hao."

I'm conflicted about the food bank because it saddens me to think there are so many people without enough to eat. Yet I'm relieved that the food bank is there. I hate that it's necessary. I love that there are volunteers donning plastic gloves sorting through my donated clothing, glad to know their clients will have more choices for job interviews.

I wait in line for tickets to a show, to buy an electronic device, to get on a treadmill at the gym. These people are waiting in line to eat. I'm not sure what to do with that. Of course, there's guilt, especially since I was raised by a single parent who didn't let me leave the table until I'd eaten everything on my plate (a habit I have to force myself not to do with my own children). But there's something more, a challenge perhaps, to myself and my family. Are we biting off more than we can chew? Can we examine how we buy and consume food so that we're happy with 'enough'?

I snack a lot during the day. I'm home, I'm chasing my girls, the only meal I usually sit down for is dinner. I watch my daughters eat until they're full and when they say, "I'm done," they're done. They take their plates into the kitchen and go on with their days. I finish the food on my plate without paying much attention to it. I usually finish what's left on theirs by the time the dishes have to be washed. For whatever psychological reason, I'm hungry "for somethin'" an hour later. It's an odd cycle.

Seeing people line up at the food bank challenges me to rethink how I think about food. Right now there's a huge food movement happening - slow food, organic food, all natural food, locally grown food - "Foodie" has entered our lexicon. People are concerned about where their food comes from, what's in it, who makes it. It's all a heavy, distended stomach weighing us down.

My challenge to myself is to lose some of that weight. To ask, "Why do we have so much food?" "Why are we compelled to fill our pantries and refrigerators?" To just enjoy the sensation of satiation.

BTW:
While making a donation to the food bank today, I learned that they're moving to another location. It's not on my direct route, but it's still in the neighborhood. I think about the change that means for their patrons - and for me. 

Running Doesn't Really Suck

I ran four miles the other day. Ahhhhhh!

I have never envisioned myself as a runner. When it came time to complete the Presidential Physical Fitness testing in school, I was always at the end of the line during the 1-mile run. On the eve of the big run one year I actually ran around my house playing "Manic Monday" by The Bangles on a 45 record four times in a row. The song clocks in at about three minutes and I figured if I could jog for over 10 minutes, then I probably just ran a mile. (I still can't hear that song without picturing the hallway between my room and the living room, which acted as my track.)

Ever since we moved to Seattle 14 years ago, I've enjoyed walking around Green Lake. It's a little oasis nestled between State Highway 99 and Interstate 5. The paved trail around the lake is about 3 miles, there's a community center and pool, playground, and water enthusiasts can row, paddle, canoe and fish. It's also pretty flat. And did I mentioned paved?


For a non-runner like myself, this is the ideal place to walk - and I did - before kids for romantic strolls with my husband, with girlfriends to catch up on the latest gossip, and with kids (in carriers, strollers, on bikes with training wheels). While power walking one day, I just wondered what would happen if I jogged a little. Just picked up the pace a bit. It felt pretty good, so I kept going. I may have lasted about a quarter of a mile before I gave up, but the seed was planted that day: running doesn't really suck.

Over time I built up my running intervals so that a trip to Green Lake by myself usually means I'm going for a run. I still love to walk it when I'm with friends or the kids, but if I can sneak out of the house for some exercise on a clear day, I'm usually at Green Lake. And after the first quarter mile speed walk warm-up, I'm usually jogging.

Don't get excited, though. I'm not going to break any records. I don't mind being slow, but I do want to challenge myself. Which is why I signed up for the Seafair Torchlight 8K race at the end of July. I've never even run a 5K race, but since I already know I can do three miles fairly comfortably, I decided to push it a bit.

So on Tuesday when I explained to Doug that I needed to get out to run and he mentioned he needed to run an errand, our bargaining for who would manage the kids ended up motivating my training.
"Why don't you run down there and meet us? I'll take the girls in the car and we'll drive you home," Doug suggested.
"How far do you think it is?"
(Consults computer) "4.3 miles."
Oh.

I can't complain, since an early chunk of the route is downhill. I walked at points. I learned a lot about running on city streets versus on a pristine path near a lake. Car traffic aside, there's a lot of pollution you're breathing in. Much of my route curved through an industrial area with smoke, diesel fuel fumes and trucks kicking up dirt and gravel. But I made it. I finished the route-the longest route I can ever remember running in one go-and I was still standing at the end of it. The three most important people in my life met me there, holding a water bottle, giving me hugs and holding the fruits of Doug's errand: a huge bag of chocolate.

Socially Acceptable

My blog has been languishing lately, which doesn't really effect anyone in the world, not even me, since it just frees me up. But I feel guilty about not posting because an old friend of mine I've known since middle school (and haven't seen in over, ahem, 15 years) actually reads it! So, Chris, I'm back mostly because of you.

If you keep up with me in other online social arenas, you know that I do post to Facebook and twitter on a regular basis. I hit posterous for interesting photo ops on occasion and I try to keep up the print to pixel blog. And yes, I confess to a dorky pride in the badges I've earned on foursquare.  (One does see why even small companies are hiring social networkers to represent their brands online these days. Maintaining an online presence takes a lot of time.)

I don't usually hurt for things to talk about, just the time it takes to sit down and write about them. The beauty about FB and twitter is that they require fewer than 200 letters to get the gist of what's going on. I even logged into tumblr because I thought that format might be a good means of getting something out into the world while my toddler is napping.

Social networking is interesting on many levels, but fascinating to me in just how isolating it can feel. I opened my FB account in 2006 because I was back in college and I wanted to get a slice of what students were into. This was still when you needed a .edu e-mail account to access FB and the exclusivity of it appealed to me. As a 30-something back in college for a fellowship, it became a fascinating arena in which to observe college students.

Despite the ridicule I endured from the other fellows in our program (including my husband), I loved making connections with the students in my classes. Following them online made the gaps in age and experience between us narrow. But however many people "friended" or "followed" me, I still felt (and continue to feel) the screen between us. Naturally, there is a safety for all parties when there's a piece of hardware between them. I look at the sites I frequent as a means of making connections with people because I'm fairly isolated in my life as a stay-at-home-parent. It's a chance to not only chat with other parents near and far, but to breach other communities in which direct access might be difficult (my love of letterpress, typefaces, technology, writing, gardening, keeping chickens...). I love knowing what buzz is humming.

But that's really what it feels like: Buzz. A constant swirl of noise that distracts, perhaps detracts from direct experience. Don't misunderstand me--I love knowing what's "trending." I love getting instant updates about what people are eating for breakfast and what they thought of the 'Glee' finale. I love the illusion that by following Brooke Burke on Twitter I, too, might be able to have the career, the hot husband and the family all while maintaining double D's and size-4 jeans.

It just feels like integrating our avatars into our real lives is a delicate dance where I wonder, "Who am I actually dancing with?" and "Why am I doing it through a computer screen?"

I would love to eventually meet up with the people I meet through the internet, but I really love that most of the people I interact with are people I've met in person, but continue to bond with online. The goal is to stay connected, and that in itself feels good.

Utter Glee

Last night, "Glee" resumed its second half of the television season. To celebrate, organizers at One Degree put together a flash mob here in Seattle last weekend. And guess what? I was there!

I learned the choreography online, though I could not convince my nine-year-old to take part. She half-heartedly agreed to come with me to the events, but only if she could bring a book.
We weren't sure what to expect once we got there, but once everyone started dancing and jumping around, I could feel my entire body become uplifted and tingly. I love music and dancing, but coming together with a group of people who are there simply because they love feeling joyful--gleeful--made more of an impact. There were older people, children, teenagers, people my age. I met a woman who participated even though she'd never even watched "Glee." She didn't really know the music, either. I finally asked her, "If you don't mind, can I ask why you're doing this?"
"Because I just love to dance."

This crazy mob of happy people were frolicking and connecting to one another in my city. It made fall for Seattle and its quirky mix of techies, hipsters, soccer moms, business people and their kids even harder.

Take a look for yourself here.

There's an app for that

I recently downloaded the Hipstamatic application. I haven't done extensive tests to compare the lighting of the three lenses that came with it because they're all pretty interesting. Yeah, the retro quality of the pictures is cool, but I love how the varied light dimensions bring out greater depth and energy to the subjects. In an era where HiDef and 3D televisions become commonplace, it's nice to celebrate the imperfection of the subject.
Here are a few photos I shot that I absolutely love:

Non-census

I just filled out my 2010 census. I'm a little conflicted about it.

Before the 2000 Census I remember that 1. I didn't know much about why we did it and 2. Ethnic groups were marketing heavily in order to get people to choose their box on the forms. I remember this clearly, because as a person of Hawaiian ancestry, the word was out in my community to "be counted" in order to get money. That's pretty much what I associated with the census-a government mandate that created competition between racial groups to fight for funds.

Not only did the numbers create conflict between minority groups, it created discord within households as there was only one designation for race--for all members of that household.

My husband is of Korean ancestry. I am Hawaiian, Chinese, Filipino, Portuguese, English, Irish, Spanish and French. Because my husband is the main bread winner in our home, usually his name appears first on our legal paperwork such as taxes, insurance papers and the like. So when we have to choose a representative for our entire household, it's likely that we use my husband's information. But because I am a part of an indigenous group that could use some money, I was inclined (and encouraged by the Hawaiian community) to check the 'Native Hawaiian' box regardless of my other nationalities or those of the others in my home.

How did I answer the 2000 Census? I didn't. When they came to my house asking me to fill out another, I didn't. It wasn't until an auditor called and asked me to provide the information that I finally answered, claiming 'Native Hawaiian.' It didn't feel entirely representative of myself or my household.

I don't like the boxes they make you check to classify yourself, mainly because for a very long time, 'Native Hawaiian' was not an option. Choosing more than one box was not allowed on certain forms, alienating myself and other multi-racial or multi-ethnic people. Most forms neglected to provide a write-in option. Therefore, I spent many years checking the infamous 'Other' box.

Interestingly though, this census has a number of races listed on their form. With multiple check-offs encouraged and write-in options. It's a step in the right direction.

Part of my conflict is because this time I actually feel for the 'White' category. This year's census has break-downs for 'Other Asian,' where one could print in Hmong, Laotian, Thai, Pakistani, etc. Or 'Other Pacific Islander,' with Fijian, Tongan, etc. But Europeans? They get 'White,' and that's it. Here I am, excited to finally be able to check off every Asian race I embody in individual boxes, plus the 'Native Hawaiian' box, but I actually had to write in 'European' under the category of 'Some other race.'

For a long time my philosophy was to check 'Other' because it didn't feel right to claim one race or nationality if I couldn't claim the others. Some people who are multi-racial identify with one group, so they feel free to check one box. Fine. But for me, I want to be able to give it my all or nothing. (And what's up with the point that "For this census, Hispanic origins are not races."?)

I began filling out this year's census with every intention of completing it to the best of my ability. After having done so, I feel like I gave away too much information without being as thorough as I'd hoped. Essentially, I was asked about my identity and given fewer tools than necessary to answer. I'm glad to see ten years has expanded the lens of our government, but I'd love to see the 2020 Census envelope contain a single sheet of paper that reads, "Tell us about yourself. Or better yet, draw a picture."

bird sighting

Here are a few pictures of the birdies I made for my valentines. The nest was difficult, but a very good lesson in patience, the importance of building on a solid foundation and the merits of mother birds.

Enjoy!

Love birds

I was determined to make valentines cards for friends and family this year. I experimented with a few little card doodles and shapes, finally deciding on a love bird theme. Then after seeing the movie, "Bright Star," I was totally inspired by the letters John Keats sent to Fanny Brawne. Deeply in love with words, especially coupled with the tactile sensation of holding paper with lovely handwritten script, I fell hard for the idea of sending that kind of emotion to people I care about.

I'm pretty excited with the results. It was gratifying to spend the time making something with love and care, and even more wonderful to get a message from a friend saying they were happy to receive it. I wanted to take it a little further for Doug and the girls. Since I've been home with them, much of my time is spent preparing our home, cleaning, washing, arranging. I decided to make a folded bird card, connecting the birds at their beaks. And I wanted to make a nest to sit the birdie in.

We have a lavender bush in our front yard which I've neglected. The lavender stalks have grown tough and dry, but I thought they would be sturdy while emanating a wonderful scent. Being a busy mom, naturally, I had other things to do besides get started on this nest. Late last night I began assembling the nest, and I tell you, I have a new found respect for birds. I have a number of tools to use and opposable thumbs and it was really really hard.

The good news is that the birds in the nest looked great. The bad news is that I was up so late making them that I was completely zonked out and didn't see my family's reaction to them! But we had a wonderful day, sharing lots of sweet treats and special hugs. I hope all of you were able share your love and aloha with the people who are close to you.

Olympic Opening Ceremony

I get pretty choked up during the Olympics. I don't consider myself hugely patriotic, but I do take great pride in the determination and dedication of the athletes. They're giving everything of themselves to excel at their sport on an international level and we don't have to deal with ridiculous talk of salaries or teams leaving towns. These athletes are our countrymen and women. They kick ass at their sport. I dig it.

What helps suck me in are those mini biographies the TV channels host, where you get a glimpse of the athlete's background. I love their childhood photos, hearing from their neighbor or pastor or their parents about how special little Shaun or Julia or Apolo was when they were younger. I have a vivid memory of watching Ekaterina Gordeeva's bio blip and how they dubbed in "For Your Eyes Only" over a final picture of her performing, her face cropped in tight onscreen. Cheesy, but memorable.

The Opening Ceremonies were very entertaining. It's amazing what you can do with some fabric and lights! When the huge bear popped up from the floor, I was excited, but the whales were, well, killer! Very very cool effects. I loved watching the teams enter. They are full of wonder and excitement, hope so tangible it tingles toward you through the television.

I haven't been keeping up with the team, so I don't have any picks or predictions. But I will be cheering for Apolo Anton Ohno, Seattle golden boy, Dancing with the Stars champ, and really, soul patch and Cosby sweaters aside, just an all around great guy.

Good luck, Team USA!

Howlin'

Last weekend we made the trek to The Great Wolf Lodge. It's a large hotel, about two hours south of Seattle. They have a large, indoor water park in the lobby-a huge draw for the gray days of February in the Northwest.

Friends of ours who have already been twice gave us the lowdown: Check in is at 4 p.m., but you can come earlier in the day to get access the water park. Pack a snack or lunch, since there aren't many economical places to eat, most rooms have a fridge to keep food overnight. There are lockers with showers so you can even swim after you check out. Maybe we could get through the weekend with minimal damage to our wallets and maximum enjoyment after all.

We arrived to find the huge hotel packed. The line to check-in went down the entire desk, then back again. There was a lot of commotion, framed in the back by large windows looking into the water park. Luckily, the line moved briskly and our room was ready. Time to hit the park!

I don't know how big the physical space of the park is, but every inch is maximized. We spent much of that afternoon in the wave pool, but there is also a large toddler water play area (equipped with slides, replicas of water skis where kids can climb up to "ride" them while pointing water hoses at their parents, fountains, the whole bit), an indoor and outdoor hot tub, a centralized play area with water spraying everywhere and an enormous bucket of water that "spilled" every few minutes. I haven't even gotten to the three water slides, two of which extend out the back of the building and are lit up at night.

The girls loved it. Emma didn't seem to mind getting rolled around in the wave pool while Phoebe enjoyed the toddler slide. Doug and I remained in a state of shock at the size of the place and the sort maniacal frenzy that occurs when kids run amok. Not to mention the body content.

I've never been much for running around scantily clad in public, so I'm never really prepared for others who do. Living in Seattle, it's sort of nice to know that I'm required to wear multiple layers more than six months out of the year. But in this water park, it was all there-the bulges, the man-boobs, the fake boobs, tattoos-much more information about the people staying within close proximity of me than I wanted to know.

And of course, when you have kids in an isolated place, you have stuff for sale that their parents get sucked into buying. There's a game happening at the lodge called MagiQuest. There are a series of "quests" you have to complete using a wand. The kid waves the wand in front of a treasure chest, a raccoon statue, or whatever has the MagiQuest symbol and that object animates or makes a noise. Naturally, the wand costs money. If you want it to actually make the treasure chest open up or the jewels the light up, you have to buy in to play the game. Then there are the "toppers" that decorate your wand, the ribbons that hang from the wand and the holster to hold your wand. It's maddening how totally captivated they have you and your kids. Just standing in the store I eavesdropped on three arguments between parents who couldn't agree on how much of that stuff to buy.

We got wands for both girls (without accessories) and bought the game for Emma, making her promise to animate the objects behind Phoebe if she figured out the wand waving. I have admit, if I was a kid waving a wand at a picture that suddenly lit up and started talking to me, I'd think that was super cool. Our girl felt the same. Emma ran around the lobby with very elaborate flourishes of her wand, even yelling out spells from "Harry Potter." Phee caught on right quick when a treasure chest opened for her shining with jewels and exclaimed, "I did it! I DID it!"

I loved that they were engaged, relatively safe in a hotel of other families doing the same thing, and feeling totally empowered by their newfound magical abilities. We were joined in the merriment by our friends, The Angulo Family, as well as Doug's cousin and his family (The 'L Kims'), so the girls had familiar faces to explore with them. It was far too late before the kids hit the hay, but that's what "crazy-up" time is about, right?

Throughout the weekend I thought a lot about the difficulties of taking the family out, whether it's on vacation, to a restaurant, or even to the grocery store. Everybody has their own agenda: The kids want to be entertained and have fun while the parents worry about logistics, safety, expense, avoiding tantrums and where the coffee and alcohol are located. As I watched one couple argue over the cost of the MagiQuest wand, it was obvious that they were not following the same agenda. The father was enamored with the light-up topper, perhaps even more so than his son. The mother flatly refused to pay for it. When the mother-in-law got involved, I wished I could turn my ears off.

I stood there asking myself, why do we do this? Why do we plunk down a lot of money for places like these? Why do we literally buy into the fantasy being sold to us? Why do we encourage it in our children? Looking around the shop, I saw couples conflicted, at odds with their children's expectations as well as their own. Just getting the car loaded up and the kids ready was stressful enough, then you have to navigate around the other families, the hotel merch, and keeping track of your kids amidst the sea of other crazy little gnomes.

Standing in line to buy our wands, Doug had turned to me and said, "Can we just come back and do this later?"
I answered, "We're already in line. It might be worse later."
But I wish I had realized what I was hoping for then. We were there together-as a family. We wanted our kids to have fun, and have fun with them. We wanted to give them the unexpected thrill of riding a water slide. We wanted them to be free to splash and laugh, swallowing water and gurgling to the surface. We wanted our girls to feel empowered when they made a bear statue light up or chipmunks sing them a song. In times like these, their joy becomes ours because we feel like we're finally doing something right.

That happiness. Knowing how difficult it can be to keep everyone in line, yet growing - thriving even - then seeing a crooked-toothed grin or hearing the spontaneous cry, "That was the best weekend of my life!"
It's totally rewarding. When Doug and I first talked about having children our goals were relatively simple. We just wanted them to be happy and well-adjusted. It may be too soon to tell, but I can't help but hear Phee's little voice, still clear in my mind as she shouted, "I DID it!"

Something Sweet

One of my favorite up-and-coming musicians is Kina Grannis. I first heard about her when she entered the Doritos Crash The Super Bowl commercial contest a couple of years ago. Although I prefer her original, "Message From Your Heart," the video that aired that Super Bowl Sunday must have spoken to people, because she won.

Kina's album, Stairwells, is available for pre-order today. But you can also check out her video, "Valentine," here. Just a little pre-Feb. 14 cheer to share. I love the simplicity of the video, especially paired with a sort of domino-meets-flip-book animation scheme. It's the perfect sweet treat to brighten your Monday.

I admire how tenacious Kina has been regarding her musical career. She obviously loves music very much, using it to connect with her sisters, who regularly sing on her videos, as well as a means of connecting with viewers on her blog and youtube channel. In this age of consistent consumption, it's refreshing to find someone generating and utilizing their creative gifts to spread positive energy into the world.

Congrats, Kina! All the best right back at you.

Lose Yourself

Okay, I know a ton of folks were on the "What's going to happen on 'Lost'?" bandwagon before last night. Now we're all on the "What the hell happened on 'Lost'?" bandwagon. Seriously, yeah, questions were answered, but so many more sprouted up in their places.

If you aren't up to date and don't want to hear the spoilers, stop reading.
(Even if you haven't caught up, I still care about you deeply. But come on, people, it's not the like this is "The Crying Game." Lost news is all over the place. Full episodes air on Netflix.com and Hulu.com If you're reading this blog you probably have some computer savvy. So if you care about hearing the spoilers GET CAUGHT UP, YOU NINNY!!) Ok. 'Nuff said.

The main point weighing on my brain:

*The Evil Twin Effect.
Alternate planes? (Get it?!) Seeing our beloved flawed heroes at their most intensely flawed? It seemed so bewildering, so bizarre...and SO RIGHT. Where else could we go? Nowhere - except on the Jughead H Bomber Express back in time. It was fun to see our old flirty, dirty Sawyer. It was amusing to see Jack "fixing" Charlie. I could only shake my head as Kate worked yet another evasive maneuver. But the absolutely most painful dark doppelganger to watch was Jin's. I cringed as he told Sun to button up her sweater. I cringed until I had to just shut my eyes so I couldn't see the subtitles as he was marched away by customs. Chagggeeeeaaaahhhh!!!!!

The idea of metamorphosis is not new to Lost. Change, evolution-we've watched these characters develop for the last five years. It isn't easy to see them revert back to their previous selves. It reminds me what great leaps we humans can make, even in the course of 108 days. The situations that arise, how we handle them, the choices we make that influence the paths we take. Then, what happens when a host of new choices present themselves. Like Jacob said in Season 5: "It only ends once. Anything that happens before that is just progress."

108 days ago it was the end of October. Since then I've learned how much happier my body feels when I stay away from dairy. I've learned to be kinder to myself during the holidays-after all, this one went well with a very limited amount of fanfare. I've learned that people are who they are. We can't really change them no matter how different we'd like them to be and despite how much we plead or cry. Simply standing next to someone as they make their own path can be enough. I'd like to think I've learned to let go a little bit.

Not all of these lessons are new. I, for one, continue to be amazed at how many instances it takes to learn something. It seems like I have to experience them in a variety of ways before my understanding is enhanced. And it will probably never be complete. Even after this last season of Lost is over, we'll probably have more questions than ever.

But isn't that what this life is all about? Searching, questioning, processing? Our inherently human ability to ask is one aspect that helps drive me each day. What lies before me? How will I act? What can possibly lie ahead?

New Technology

I wouldn't ordinarily say that I'm technologically savvy. In college I used to hand write all my papers before typing them into my typewriter, just to be sure I had it just right before committing it to ribbon. But compared to some colleagues and friends, I guess I have a comprehensive understanding of how technology works. At the very least, I'm comfortable enough using programs and applications to make the few gadgets I've got function.

I recently purchased a Wacom Bamboo Tablet. I wish I was an arty type who needed the freedom to manipulate pixels with a flush of the pen, but it was really more to help my carpal tunnel. I am a supreme mouse user, so I was in a lot of wrist pain before I broke down and looked at alternatives. Trackballs are okay, but after comparing a Logitech Trackball to the Tablet, I went with the latter.

It's taking some time, but I'm finally getting used to it. There's an elongated click button on the stylus, which has been the trickiest part for me. You can differentiate single and double clicks by where you click on the button. Luckily for me, you can also double tap with the stylus, so after I'm frustrated with my lack of stylus-clicking, I just tap-tap, and I'm there.

What's super cool is that the tablet came with some software! I haven't played around with it too much, but I feel totally cool 'signing' my name using the stylus. Leave it to me to love new technology that allows me to hand write!

Sick speechless

I've been sick this week.

I am not good at the state of being unwell. Instead of lying around sipping Ginger Ale watching bad television, glad to have a break, I lament the chores I won't cross off my To-Do list and begrudge the sun for shining since I can't be out in the yard pruning the fruit trees or going for a run. But I'm trying to listen to my body, which this week has been screaming, "Your toddler has infected you with germs! Stay in bed! Drink more Pedialyte!"

I was relieved to have enough energy to tune in to the State of Union address. I streamed it on the laptop while the girls and I ate dinner. I figured it was educational, and therefore okay to have it on at the table (I grew up eating a lot of dinners in front of the TV, which is probably why now I insist we all sit down together without the TV, newspapers, books, etc. and actually converse with one another at meal times).

Emma got into it right away. She was interested in the crowd assembling, if Sasha and Malia would be there and what the President would say. A few minutes into the speech, as Obama discussed the difficulty that lie ahead, Emma emoted, "Wow. He's like Aslan."

As we sat there watching, I realized that I was also very sick during President Obama's Inaugural Speech last year. Doug had taken the girls to school because I was totally out of it, dragged me to the couch to watch the speech and put me back to bed when it was over. Is is just the time of year? That after the rush of the holiday season and Emma's birthday, my body finally gets permission to crash?

I'm not sure what it all means. But I did feel inspired by Obama's passion, his sense of humor and his ability to detach himself from the perceptions of his job performance. I love his message of hope.

I eventually got better after last year's illness, and I'll get better after this one. It seems that from Obama's speech, he's hoping our country can recover from the woes it's suffered. I guess listening to him speak is the best thing someone under the weather can do--to feel that at the very least, one person is the symbol of the resilience of our nation. If we can all hold on to the belief that we can rally (and really, anybody who's had the flu knows that once all that yucky stuff comes out, you do get better), and if we can rally together, then eventually we will all become stronger. Individually and as a whole.

Wow. I guess he really is like Aslan because I just compared having the flu with the state of our nation. Or I've had too much Pedialyte.

Rainy Day Sunday

After getting chased away from downtown Ballard by the rain, we Kims came home with nothing but relaxation on our minds. Doug went in for a nap, Em retired to her room to devour the new books she got for her birthday, Phee had a book and bottle before her nap and I went down to the green room to sketch some ideas for a Valentine's Day card.

After a while Doug and Em came downstairs, anxious to work on the press Doug made me for Christmas. We experimented with a few leaves they brought in from the yard, as well as these textured foam puzzle mat pieces I failed to unload on craigslist. Emma really got into inking up the items to press. Ever the enterpriser, Doug used some wooden letters from one of Phee's alphabet puzzles to make a few cards with Emma's initials on them. We wanted to get a jump on 'Thank You' cards for friends who kindly thought of Emma on her special day, and these handmade cards will be just the right touch. Em is excited to do another run with varied textures or colors. She's also plotting to work her mixed media magic by incorporating a few collage elements.

I really love spending time together as a family, whether it's working on art projects, cooking or just throwing the ball around. Being the youngest of four, many of my most vivid and happiest moments are simply when my mom, my crazy brothers and I were together. We didn't have much money growing up, but we knew we always had each other-something I truly value today. It is so rewarding as a parent to be able to provide these moments for our kids. And for us, too.

A Place Nobody Dared To Go...And Perhaps Shouldn't Again

As I mentioned earlier, I am a musical geek. For months I've been itching to go to New York to see a few shows - okay, mainly "Xanadu." So I was tickled when I saw the ads for the touring company, which performs the show at The Paramount Theater this weekend. I just got home from seeing it with my (newly sainted) husband, Doug.

I fell in love with the movie at around nine years old. I think I saw it in the theater while having a sleepover at Kimi Rodriguez's house and I was completely hooked. I loved Greek myths (my "D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths" was well-worn), I loved Olivia Newton-John, I loved Gene Kelly and I loved musicals. No brainer. (My apologies to the girls at my birthday party sleepover who sat through it, obviously bored while I hummed along happily).

I clearly recall getting the soundtrack as soon as possible and singing the songs for hours. I looked up "Kubla Khan" at the library using the first line reference index. And of course, I practiced roller skating endlessly. I cannot express how totally awesome I felt in my white boot skates with the blue flames. It only got better when my step-sister made me some blue ribbon barrettes to wear that matched!

The movie is ridiculous. It borders on hokey and just plain bad. But from the first moment Olivia Newton-John wiggles her fingers in the wall mural, coming alive, to Gene Kelly on roller skates, I'm sucked in. The soundtrack, featuring ONJ and ELO, is amazing. Poppy and upbeat to soft-rock ballad, combining ELO's synth-infused energy with ONJ's sweet voice was an inspiration. I don't have my 8-track anymore, but the vinyl is still easy listening.

I'd heard there was a new take on the musical for the stage production, which I researched a bit on the site and by listening to clips online. It was much more satirical and silly. Although I was prepared for this going into the theater, Doug said my face looked crestfallen for the first two or three songs. It picked up a bit in the middle and wrapped up with a cool pegasus ride and a fun, disco-ball finale. Keeping the show to 90 minutes without an intermission helped.

After years of loving the music and the film, I'm a bit underwhelmed by the production. I'm glad I got to see its evolution, but I prefer to stay wrapped up in those crazy leg-warmer fashions and hopelessly romantic songs. The movie will always hold my nine-year-old self within it. I am happy I can revisit her whenever I put the record back on the turntable.

On the Day You Were Born

When I turned 16 my mother re-enacted the day I was born. Talking me through the entire episode from first contraction to delivery, she gave me an elaborate picture of how freaky and speedy delivering a child can be. Odd to me as I got older, she would re-enact my birth story every year on my birthday until I left home...or until she told my husband the entire thing after I was married.

It wasn't until I had children of my own that I realized just how important that birth story is to a parent. The day you bring another person into the world is an amazing one. For me, both times were scary and full of uncertainty. The experiences didn't go exactly as I planned, but they were miraculous nonetheless. And when we finally had our babes in arms, we were captivated by new life and completely bewildered by the fact that we had created them.

I've been musing about birth stories because my oldest daughter turned nine last week. It's been somewhat awkward for me. Nine is the age where I remember my body changing, my relationships becoming more complicated. I'd just found out I was moving from Hawaii to the Mainland. There was a lot of transition and change in my physical environment, my family life and my body. Though it looks like Emma's life will remain relatively the same during this year, much for her will change and I'm reticent about how to handle it myself, let alone guide her along.

One issue for certain is how to talk about sex. A good friend recommended the book, "It's So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families" by Robie H. Harris. I borrowed it from the library and sat with Emma to read it. She wanted to read it silently to herself while I read my own book, which frankly, was preferable to me. She would stop from time to time and go to a second book, then return to it again. At one point she even turned to me and asked, "Has Dad ever had what you would call..." (here she turned back to the book for reference), then said to me, "...a 'wet dream'?" Oh. My. God.

When we were expecting Phoebe we had a sort of mini "birds and bees" discussion with Emma. She has always been very pragmatic, very literal. When she asked how babies were made we kept it strictly to eggs and sperm: Women make an egg and men make sperm. They put their sperm together with the egg and that's how a baby grows. At age six, this was sufficient for her. As she read, "It's So Amazing!" at age eight, the only question she asked was if her Dad had ever had a wet dream. I told her he probably did have wet dreams, but that it was more common for young men to have them as their bodies grew. If she wanted to know for sure, she had to double check with Dad. And then I warned Doug immediately that he may have to make some pubescent confessions to his eight-year-old daughter.

We kept the book about a month, with me renewing it as long as I could, asking Emma repeatedly if she wanted to talk more about the book. Nothing. So the book went back to the library and I could breathe a bit more. That is, until my mother's gift came in the mail.

For gifts, Emma usually just asks for books. My mom called and Emma even had a few titles for her. Unable to find the exact titles Emma requested, my mother, (the birth story re-enacter from earlier in this post), improvised. All the way to the puberty section of the bookstore.

Along with a few chapter books came "The Care & Keeping of You: The Body Book for Girls," and
"The Girl's Body Book: Everything You Need to Know for Growing Up You." My mom had also sent stickers, a 'Girls' Feelings' journal and an electronic Rubik's Cube game.

If "It's So Amazing!" made me uneasy, these books took me straight to freaked out. Like my library book, there were illustrations accompanying the featured copy. There were matter-of-fact guidelines for the importance of hand washing, bodily cleanliness and dental care. But there were also illustrations showing a girl shaving her underarms, examining a pimple and...inserting a tampon. Red flag my uneasiness and there's a bull butting its horns at me.

As you may have guessed by now, my mother is very open. I don't really remember a time when I wasn't aware. Of sex or my body or the changes happening to me physically and emotionally. I remember being horribly embarrassed when my mother put me on the phone to tell my older brothers that I had gotten my period for the first time. But we all knew it would happen eventually and to their merit, they never let on if they were as mortified as I was that we were sharing this information.

I never thought I would be one of those parents who couldn't talk about sex with their kids. I'd like to think that from Emma's perspective, I've been perfectly frank with answers to the few questions she's had. I don't want to push too much information on her but I don't want her to get her information from the playground, either. As the weekend of her ninth birthday draws to a close, I've had to face my fears about this stage of her life--and mine. It was easy for me to see myself as a new mother. To have a baby whose hardest lessons were to learn how to eat, crawl, walk. To have a toddler who learns to wait their turn, to use their words, to use the toilet or brush their teeth. To have a child who learns to decipher letters in order to read and write, numbers in order to add and subtract. But I never saw this stage, or any thereafter, coming for me.

I no longer have a small child. I have a big kid now. She is sweet, naive, articulate, active, sulky, sensitive, shy, caring, loyal, intellectual, headstrong, individualistic. She is perfect. As she matures physically, emotionally, intellectually and yes, sexually, I want to do everything within my power to keep her that way. She deserves to be exactly who she is, without alteration from the outside world, especially from me.

I think I'm beginning to realize why my mother continued to re-enact my birth story each year on my birthday. She wanted to remember the tiny person that was born that day-and remind me that essentially, that is who I will always be. And for my dear Emma, I wish the same. Her birth was uncomplicated and steady. I didn't labor long. When she pushed forth into the world I felt surprised, but a kind of inevitable continuity despite her leaving my body. She is a steady rhythm, a faithful heart. And I wish that for her. Always.

Makin' It

After fooling around a bit with the tabletop press that Doug made for me, here are a few results.

I'm pretty excited, since one of my favorite people in the world, my friend, Katie, is celebrating a birthday this week and I can send her something made on my press!

I started with a few leaves from our yard. The evergreen leaves were so fragrant when I pulled them off of the press! I wish I could bottle of little of it to spray on the finished product, just to send that sensibility along with the visual.

It felt completely decadent to have a couple of hours this afternoon--kid free--to play with the press. My home-made card and letter designs are usually pretty basic. This added texture will be a great feature to play with to mix it up.

Thanks, Doug!!

Merry Christmas, Baby

I do realize Christmas has come and gone. But I finally used this fantastic present my husband made for me and I do have that over-excited-kid-ripping-open-the-wrapping-paper-and-going-bazonkers-with-that-new-toy feeling.

After taking a letterpress class last summer at Pratt with Lisa Hasegawa of Ilfant Press, I asked Doug to make a tabletop press. There's a cool instructional through ReadyMade magazine as well as Instructables, and he was game. But as many of you gals know, asking your honey to 'do,' doesn't always yield results. So imagine my shock and awe when come November he said yes, he was working on putting a press together.

He tweaked the plans a bit, combining the two. Since I want to use the press for basic print making, flower/leaf pressing and (if I'm ambitious) book making, I don't need anything complicated. As I play with it more, we might make some adjustments, but I'm thrilled that my partner in life actually made something for me-and that I, in turn, can make something for him--or somebody else.

Notice from the Seattle Public Library

Those are some of the sweetest words to ever show up in my e-mail box.

I am an avid library goer. Back in the day I frequented the Thurman G. Casey library in Walnut Creek after school most days. It was in that library I discovered Robert Cormier, S.E. Hinton and Madeleine L'Engle, among others.

We usually go to our neighborhood library branch once a week, after our pilgrimage to the Ballard Farmer's Market on Sundays. But when I get an e-mail with the subject line, "Notice from the Seattle Public Library," I perk right up since it usually means one the books I have on hold has come in and is ready for me!

When I arrived today, not only did I find the book listed on the e-mail notice, but another book that the library hadn't even told me about yet (double bonus). The titles are:

Good Mail Day, A Primer for Making Eye-Popping Postal Art
by Jennie Hinchcliff and Carolee Gilligan Wheeler

Graphic Design, The New Basics
by Ellen Lupton and Jennifer Cole Phillips


Words could not describe the elation I felt finding those two gems on the holds shelf. I could feel my smile radiating off the spines of the books on the stacks as I meandered around the library, sending elegantly lovely cards and letters out into the world before I'd even cracked open the books. My fingers tingled as I fondled their covers.

It got even better when, after scanning my favorite art/design/craft section I found two other superstars:

The Crafter Culture Handbook
by Amy Spencer

Pattern Sourcebook: Nature, 250 Patterns for Projects and Designs
by Shigeki Nakamura

Huzzah! The rain is falling on this gray day, but my room with the bright green wall is buzzing. I can't wait to get started!!

Hired hand

Just when I had accepted the fact that I wouldn't get the writing job, it's coming around again.

After thanking my potential employer for his time and telling him that I was more interested in writing than modeling, he came back with a specific number so I could "get in on some of the writing parts." I'm glad he's re-offering what he passed on last week, but now I'm just plain confused.

I've wondered if my quote was realistic, or if I got too pumped up with questions of "my worth" or "the worth of my time." But I honestly don't think I'd change how I handled these interactions. As a freelancer, dealing with an incessant amount of changing variables is probably the norm. It's good practice for me to have these situations arise, and very good practice to gauge what exactly I want from them. In the past, I would have said, "Yes!" to anything, stretching myself thin in order to cross off these 'busy-work' business items off my task list. I'm realizing now that I don't simply want to be busy. I want to feel balanced. And whether than means I'm getting as much as I give or simply learning enough to keep my footing solid for the next baby step, then so be it.

Practice....practice....practice.

The Face That Launched...

I agonized over what to charge for a possible freelance writing gig and maybe I should have saved myself some time.

After discussing what I imagined would be a fair rate with colleagues and my (former editor) husband, giving myself permission to value myself at 30 cents a word, and sending my rate to the potential client, I was "respectfully declined."

However, instead of researching and writing content for an instructional booklet, was I interested in posing for its cover?

Huh?

I was (and am probably still) confused. I had not discussed modeling work with the client before. I answered his ad for a writer. During our face-to-face meeting, we spoke only of writing. And I was totally honest with him about having limited experience with this type of writing. I asked if he had any questions for me. I asked him about his comfort levels. I did not imagine mine would be so effected.

Naturally, I'm flattered. Somebody thinks I'm attractive enough to be on the cover of his book. Maybe even attractive enough to sell some of those books. But that same person doesn't seem to think I'm smart enough to write those books.

I thought about it most of the day. I thought about the opportunity at hand. At a time when people are looking for work, someone was offering me a job where all I had to do was smile. This was positive.

I also thought about working with someone whose expectations are unclear and unpredictable. When we met he did not talk about money. He wanted me to come up with a number and get back to him--which he refused and turned around to ask if I wanted to pose for a photograph. "Unpredictable" and "pose" are not words I like to associate when pondering a potential job offer. This is not positive.

So I guess I won't be a model anytime soon.

I'd much rather be a writer anyway.

Year-end Duties

While most people tend to think about the year ahead after the rush of the December holidays, I like to tidy up the year behind.

Throughout the year I file receipts in this accordion-style folder. I've used larger folders with printed labels, paper sacks, paper clips, rubber bands-if there was a low-budget way of gathering receipts, I've used it. This handy plastic organizer has plenty of pockets for each of my categories (ie. "Gifts," "Car/Gas," "Dining out,") and I like that it's waterproof. (One reason why the paper sack idea didn't last too long in a damp basement)

We began this system so we could easily itemize my husband's work expenses, but it also became a convenient way in which to contain unruly receipts and organize them if we needed to return something.

The end of the year gives me a certain satisfaction as I put the last of the receipts in their places. It feels great to feel the heft of the folder, remembering a few exceptional meals we've had or a gift that was well received. Even those gas receipts seem happily contained and categorized for the year.

I haven't really made any New Year's resolutions or mapped out my To-Do list for the first quarter of 2010. I'm still wrapping up the loose ends from 2009, and that's just where I want to be.

I love a fresh start just as much as the next person. But I really love a tidy ending.