Kirk Out

Dude. I just watched Star Trek. Let me start here by saying I am NOT a trekkie, more of a general purpose geek. So, I can live with all the revisionist history. Of course, I KNOW that Kirk's father didn't die the day he was born, and Spock's mother was not killed when the planet Vulcan was destroyed by rogue Romulans, because THAT DID NOT HAPPEN. Or, maybe it did.

I don't love time travel used as a literary device to dismiss an entire body of knowledge. But do you know what's funny? Before the plot was entirely revealed, I wasn't asking myself, 'Hmmm, have I seen this in a movie or show before?' No, I was thinking, 'Is this REAL, or did they just MAKE IT UP for this movie?'

Hello? Star Trek=ALL IMAGINARY! There is no Enterprise cruising the universe, ensuring our safety from all enemies, foreign and domestic. No pointy-eared, logical geniuses protecting us from evil. So it doesn't really matter if the new Star Trek movie conflicts in some way with a television show from 1963, now does it?

But there are some things I can't get past. SPOILER ALERT HERE: Spock and Uhura have a 'thing' in this movie. This, I cannot tolerate. Spock.does.not.have.girlfriends. I do not care how beautiful she is, how fluent she is in all three Romulan dialects, or how short her Starfleet uniform skirt is. Spock goes into the pon farr every seven years and is driven to dereliction of duty, even violence, in his efforts to mate. He does NOT get involved in casual relationships with his co-workers. EVERYONE knows that. Well, except for I had to look it up, because I'm totally not a trekkie. Really. I swear.

Old Spock and young Spock cannot have a friendly chat. That is just wrong and creepy. I was thinking it was actually impossible but I can't seem to find anything to back me up. Wrong and creepy will have to suffice.

And finally, just a fashion tip for James T: No eyeliner is required to command a starship. Anna out.

Shopping for friends

Am I the only one who thinks that adding friends on Facebook is kind of like online shopping? Say I'm looking for my cousin. Her name is Jill X. I type in what I'm shopping for, 'Jill X', and up comes a list of Jill X's. I look at each picture, choose the one I want, and click 'Add Friend' to put her in my basket. It's a little creepy, like a mail order bride catalog, don't you think?

Friend shopping makes me feel a little inadequate, too. Who's to say I'm getting the right friends? Before Facebook (BF), I had no idea there were so many options. I mean, my friends are great and I like them and all, but maybe the other Jill X's are cooler, funnier, more interesting. And they can be mine, as long as they accept my currency. Sure, they might be a little more expensive. I would have to expend my limited capital explaining to them how great I am and why they want to be MY friend. But I deserve the best, right?

BF it never occurred to me that my friends weren't totally top of the line. But now I might want to upgrade. Why, the Jill X right under my cousin is a model! My Jill is pretty cool, but she's just a regular teacher. More of an economy model, say, and maybe I want a luxury one. It's the American way and I have an image to uphold, you know.

Of course, I've always been an avid bargain hunter, so I might need to wait for a sale. Jill, you're safe. For now.

I'm a winner!

But you knew that, right? No, really, I'm not kidding this time: I'm a winner, for real! I won Helen's parenting word of the day contest for my entry for lug. Here's my entry:

I have invented a new game show. It's called LUG, SLUG, CHUG or HUG. Two parents face off, each with 4 buzzers in front of them labeled LUG, SLUG, CHUG and HUG. The contestants are presented with various parenting scenarios (tantrum in the supermarket, dirty diaper and sleeping baby crammed into the window seat on a totally full plane, etc.) and they race to push the buzzer with the appropriate response. The contestants' responses are judged by an audience made up of childfree yuppies.

I won and I didn't even describe the penalty round, where you have to transport two kids, an overstuffed diaper bag, a car seat, a portable potty and 63 stuffed animals through an obstacle course while the yuppies throw imported beer bottles at you. The prize, my very own 'Parenting Bag of Tricks', is pictured above. It has wine in it! It is chock-full of parenting goodness, and did you see the wine?

Thanks, Helen! I can feel my parenting skills improving right now. At least, I think that's what that crushing pain in my head is. Either that, or I drank way too much wine.

Witness

It's not everyday that you read a book that changes your life, but I just did. Could it change your life, too? Well, maybe. If you're one of the few, the proud, the former Jehovah's Witnesses children, you will definitely want to read 'I'm Perfect, You're Doomed' by Kyria Abrahams.

This book jumped into my hand at the library before I even knew what it was about. The title and cover art were a beacon for me, because I'm a sucker for those crazy-people memoirs. The wife that ran away from a polygamist sect, the drunken gay schizophrenic writer, the professional athlete with multiple personalities, the transsexual dwarf that does pet psychotherapy; I've read them all. Imagine my delight when I saw that this nutball memoir was one I could actually relate to!

You are probably familiar with the Jehovah's Witnesses- they're the very earnest folks trying constantly to save you with the Truth that only they know. Interestingly, there is a very active group right here in Songtan. Not too long ago, I had a very fascinating conversation with a lovely young Korean girl named Monica. She had a perma-smile and was utterly unconvinced that I could possibly have heard about the upcoming Armageddon before I so fortuitously met her on the main drag downtown. I wonder if she's met Songtan Sally yet? Now, there's a girl who could benefit from some good old-fashioned Jehovah talk. Me, not so much.

Now, I know what you're thinking: This is all very interesting (or not), but how, exactly, did this oh-so-fascinating book change your life, hmmmm?

Well, I'll tell you, you lucky dog! First, the book is a pretty funny look back at my childhood. Did you know the Smurfs were nothing but cute little blue tools of the devil? I did. Reading a book about your own experience makes you realize you're not quite as crazy and alone as you might have thought.

More importantly, in Kyria's experience, I saw reasonable explanations for some things I have long disliked about myself, things I just assumed were character flaws: my bizarre fascination with centipedes and popsicle sticks, my previously inexplicable phobic aversion to dusty cardboard. Right, right. I'm kidding. Sort of. It's for your own good, though- you definitely don't want to read about what a freak I REALLY am. But as it turns out, I'm not the only freak. Besides the book, there is a whole movement for former JW's. Check out this and this, for example. Why, Kyria even has a Facebook group!

Seriously, I had no idea.

Funklet

*****WARNING: GRUMPINESS AHEAD (and maybe some swearing)******


I am in a funklet. Not a full-blown dreary funk, but about a half-funk, or a funklet. I like the word 'funklet' but it doesn't mean at all what it sounds like. It should be a little fun junket, like a trip to a cupcake store, fabulous junk store or museum, instead of a long crappy mood.

I don't even know why. Well, I sort of know why: part of it is this place. This is a crazy place. At first, it seems very foreign and weird. Some of it just the same as any stateside Air Force base- the sound of freedom blasting in your ears all the time, the brown and tan decorating scheme. Here are some stories from when we first got here about all the strange things I noticed.

But after a while, all the bizarre things both on and off base just seem normal: Fake casualties strewn on the streets, sniper battles in the parking garage, grocery store devoid of molasses and toddler toothpaste for months on end, counterfeit designer purses on every arm and all the latest movies for five bucks a pop. Check, check, check, check, check!

Now, many of my pals are leaving for better different places: Germany, Hawaii, Texas. Yes, even Texas is better different than here. Louisiana, now, that's a different story, and one for another day.

So many people leaving, along with our upcoming trip to Seattle (Target! Goodwill! Cupcakes!) makes me realize how freakishly abnormal this place truly is. Missiles, razor wire and faux bodies on a walk? Not normal. Crowds in the street pawing at your kids? Not normal. Breathing contaminated dust from China all spring? Not normal. Not knowing where you'll be come New Year's? Not normal. Never mind that one. Being crammed in a sardine can with hundreds of your closest friends all the damn time? NOT NORMAL.

Okay, I'm done now. All of a sudden I have a hankering to go out on the deck and beat some crawfish to a pulp. Please send your best funklet cure to storiesfromkorea@gmail.com, or share in the comments. I'm pretty sure some of my closest friends could use them too. After all, they have to live in the can with me.

Blame by numbers

It has been five days since I have posted. In that time, two children have had three infections, requiring two ointments and one liquid, three times daily for seven days each, as well as three cleansing baths and/or warm compresses daily. After each bath, the tub has to be rinsed with 16 squirts of Clorox. I thought of asking the doctor more about the unfamiliar things of which she spoke: 'disinfect' and 'sanitary' but she already thinks I'm a dirty hippie, so I came home and googled them instead.

All together, this has resulted in approximately 67,000 tantrums, 1,003 thrown items (three by me), 38 night wakings and zero blog posts. I was a little concerned that my blogging might suffer after I was absorbed by the collective but Facebook is innocent, this time.

Good Enough

The other night, Weston and I were reading 'The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear'. In the book, Sister Bear is a little nervous after Mama asks her if she's been good all year. She remembers the time she got in a fight with Brother Bear, the time she told a lie, and how she let her room get messy. Mama reassures her, saying that Santa Bear doesn't expect cubs to be perfect, just good.

For some reason, Weston was really intrigued by this and spent a good half hour telling me how the next day he was going to be perfect and not make any mistakes. He was going to be the best boy ever and be super polite. I told him that no one can be perfect and everyone makes mistakes every day, and he continued to insist that he was going to be perfect. Here is what I can remember from the list of things he was planning:

Eat all his greens;
No interrupting;
No whining;
Pick up all his toys;
No pushing;
No lying; and
Talk to people he doesn't know or doesn't like

I told him it sounded like he was going to be very busy doing all those things, and he nodded very seriously and said, 'Yes, I am going to be very busy, indeed'.

When he first started talking about it, I was thinking, 'This is great! I'm going to read him this book EVERY DAY!' I was even planning some bits I could add in, since he can't actually read yet. But as he went on, and on, and ON, I started to get alarmed.

Don't get me wrong; those are all great things, and I would love it if he would do them, along with about a jillion more I can think of. What bothers me about this is that I don't want him thinking his value lies in what Santa Bear or the people he doesn't know think. Or even what I think.

He's good enough just like he is; he doesn't have to be or do anything different, or 'better'. All those crazy people you know? The insecure friends? The ones that are afraid to wear a bathing suit or take a risk? The ones that keep dating or marrying the same creep over and over and over? Chances are good they're that way because they grew up being taught that they weren't good enough. They didn't get all A's, they weren't thin enough, they didn't have the right friends, they didn't rush for enough yards, or they didn't win the spelling bee. Over and over, until they believed it. And now they live as if it were true, and still is.

I want him to grow up knowing he's good enough, so you can imagine my relief the next day when he woke up the same messy, chocolate-eating, brother-pushing whiner he's always been.

Assimilated

It's true what they say: resistance is futile. I've always been a late adapter. Sometimes even a non-adapter. My cell phone only makes phone calls. No pictures, no texting, no video, no gps, no internet, no voicemail, no precisely calibrated death ray. Hell, we don't even have a microwave. This usually works out really well for me, because I get to act all smug and superior. Plus I save a lot of money that can then be blown at the thrift store. Or the liquor store.

But sometimes, refusing to adapt to what's become standard in society just makes you a giant pain in the ass. Like when answering machines and call waiting came out and some people wouldn't get either one and you just got an annoying busy signal when you tried to call. Or when plumbing was invented and some stubborn clowns just kept insisting that their outhouses were just as good. That's fine for a while, but eventually people will stop calling because your phone is irritating and stop coming to visit because your backyard stinks.

Until today, I have been resisting Facebook. I have lots of great reasons: privacy issues, their outrageous terms of service, the ridiculousness of 'friending' people you haven't seen since third grade and don't really care about at all and the bizarro pseudo-world that is online social networking.

Like the Dukes of Hazzard and all other good things, my resistance has come to an end. It's a fact of life as a military accessory that friends depart at dizzying speed. PCS season is here and every day there is another friend being packed out by a kimchi-swilling, sidewalk-hogging moving crew. And snail mail, telephones, even email are part of a lost world; a civilization gone with the wind. But they are all on Facebook, and now I am too.

Somewhere, the Queen is pleased.

Riveting

You might have noticed that my stories from Korea have been a little different lately. I have been trying to write less about Weston as he gets older and might have objections to living his life as blog fodder. For a while, I was worried that if I stopped ridiculing him I wouldn't have anything to write about. I could certainly mock Lloyd a lot more, but apparently not everyone takes it in quite the same good-natured way I intend it.

Lucky for me, not so much for you, I have a lot of very random, miscellaneous and useless thoughts, and not all of them are related to parenting, thrift stores or communism, either. Sandwiches, for instance. I have a lot of thoughts about sandwiches.

I love sandwiches. I could eat sandwiches for every meal. If they're the right kind of sandwiches, that is. Cheeseburgers should have a sesame seed bun and a light char, and are excellent for breakfast. Salami sandwiches should be on french or italian bread, chewy crust and soft inside, with just a smidge of butter. Well, okay, a nice thick smear of butter, the more the better! And better give me two while you're at it. A good french dip is one of my very favorites. It should be on a french-type roll, toasted on the stove top in butter. The meat should be thin enough so that you can easily bite through it and not tear out a whole big piece of meat with one bite. And it should definitely have french fries with it; the kind with the peel on, good sized, nice and crispy.

Tomorrow, my thoughts on pancakes! No, wait, I'm totally kidding. Please, come back! NO, don't goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Parenting Contest at Helen's!

Everyone is invited! Helen has a clever Parenting Word of the Day contest up at 'Tips From the Trenches'. Each day for a week, she will have a new parenting word up and she is looking for the most interesting story, post, poem, joke or other submission. Heck, she might even accept art work; she's not picky. The first word, posted yesterday, is 'antagonize'. So get your creative juices flowing and win a fabulous prize!

Goods

I have been volunteering at the thrift store here on base for a while now; maybe about a year, because it's for charity, blah blah blah and it gladdens my heart to help those less fortunate I like to find giant bags of neat stuff for myself, the more the better!

But I haven't been for more than two weeks. It wasn't very fun the last couple of times, so I'm on strike. So far, no one has seemed to notice but soon the unsold inventory will start oozing out of the windows and they'll be begging me to take them back! In the meantime, I have seen some interesting effects:

1. I have saved a ton of money. Babysitting costs + thrift store budget = surprisingly large amount of cash retained.

2. The BX is infinitely more appealing. Is it because I simply must feed my shopping habit somehow, or because the BX goods are new to me because I didn't shop there as much prior to the thrift store strike? I don't know and I don't care! Look at my goodies! Huh, my picture won't post. Here, read my long-winded description:

Super cute black, silver and red Timex sports watch (15.95, purchased with my Mother's Day Gift of a BX gift card) and extremely cute red plastic egg carriers with handles, like you would use to take eggs camping(2.29 each). I have no idea why someone would want to take eggs camping; all you REALLY need is beer and puffed wheat. Oh, and meat to put on a stick, but they didn't have carriers for that.

I suppose, possibly, you might be wondering why I NEED those egg carriers. No? Oh well, I'm going to tell you anyway. They're for our upcoming trip to Seattle. One for each boy, for treats and little toys! Oh, and eggs. My brilliance knows no bounds, my friends.

Branching Out

Weston has always been a kid who has decided when he was ready for something and then just did it: eating real food, sleeping in his own bed, giving up the boob, giving up his binky and potty training (not necessarily in that order).

We fretted and worried and tried various techniques to accomplish these things, all to no avail. When he was ready, he just..... did. For the most part, we have given up trying to cajole him into anything and let him do what suits him.

This has proved to be a super effective method for us, but best of all it requires absolutely no effort. It's so easy that I'm thinking of writing a parenting advice book, but I can't get past the opening sentence: Just let your kids do whatever they want whenever they want and reap the effortless rewards! I really need some filler- it seems like all the most successful parenting books are really thick and heavy. It's going to be called 'Parenting Advice from Korea'. You would totally buy it, right?

Anyway, he has decided to begin taking care of all his personal grooming needs. In general, I'm all for him doing things for himself because it's much less work for me, but I'm getting a little scared. He has always hated having his hair washed and he loathes any activity that carries the slightest risk of a teeny-tiny drop of water splashing his face. Last night, he yelled to us from the tub to come look, he had washed his own hair. And indeed he had. He had wet the top of his head somehow and slopped a good-sized glop of baby wash on there. Unfortunately he had neglected to rinse it off, and he resisted our delicate efforts to convince him that we needed to 'help' him finish the job. We didn't want to discourage him from from washing his hair in the future so we just let him go to bed with goo on his head. I MEANT to go in after he was asleep and wash it off with a wet cloth, but I had a glass or two of wine, and you know how that goes.

The next day, he came out of the bathroom reeking of a chemical smell. The scent was familiar and not completely unpleasant, but I couldn't quite place it. I was getting pretty alarmed trying to figure out what he'd gotten into until he waved his hands in my face and I realized he had covered his fingernails, fingers, toenails, toes and the bathroom floor with light blue nail polish. It looks pretty good but he's going to have to get a little neater and rinse his head if he wants to make the book cover.

Fabulous Prizes!

And the winner is.... Anonymous, for Guest Post 7: Irony. Fortunately I know who Anonymous is and I can deliver her prize. The prize is the mug pictured above, which I snapped up at the Chosun Gift Shop at Yongsan this week. The inscription reads: 'Ugly Mug for Ajima and MIL to share. Dishwasher Safe'.

I decided to give a runner-up prize to Jennifer, for Guest Post 6: The Way of the Woo-woo, mostly because I spotted the perfect prize while at the Chosun. It's the elephant shaped tea-pot, cute and the perfect size for floating above someone's head.

Congratulations, ladies, and thank you!

Short Stories from Korea

I may have mentioned from time to time how crazy it is around here. Lest you think I alone am a touch unstable, let me just reassure you that all my friends are crazy too. Not so long ago, a bunch of us moms were sitting in the BX on a Saturday when all the dads were working AGAIN, having lunch and watching the kids whale on each other in the play area.

I'm not exactly sure how we started talking about clever ways to kill someone, but I'm pretty certain it was right after I related my story about how I had just broken the lid to the my stone rice cooker by slamming it down after Lloyd ate both ends of the bread I had just made AND mashed it down when he was cutting it, damn him! Oh wait- I was supposed to be telling you how everyone else is crazy, but that only makes me sounds nuts. Hmmm. You'll just have to trust me, the rest of them are at least as wacko as me. Really, it's true. I promise!

So, anyway, we had a loud and inappropriate conversation about clever murder weapons, which reminded me of some short stories I had read. I was thinking there was a Sherlock Holmes story about an icicle murder, so I did a Google search for it. This is what I found. Can you believe these people sit around looking for ways to kill someone? Freaks.

The other one I thought of was Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl, who is quite famous for his (often somewhat deranged) children's stories. It's an elegant little tale about a woman who kills her husband with his own supper and you can read it here.

Then, because I have too much time on my hands, and I'm just a little bit close to the edge, I started thinking about some other memorable short stories: 'A Rose for Emily', by William Faulkner, can be read here, and 'The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas' by Ursula K. LeGuin can be read here. 'The Picnic at Hanging Rock' is a novel and a film, but it's stuck with me, too, and you can read about it here. Thanks, AP English! Thanks, too, for the day I dressed up as the Canterbury Cathedral for Chaucer day. That box was really comfy.

As I post this, I notice these stories that have remained with me for decades have something in common- they are just a little bit twisted. Now that I think about it, maybe I should post some of my own twisted fiction. I could post the (totally imaginary, made-up, not the least bit autobiographical) fictional story about how Lloyd made me so mad when he ate the best part of the bread and mashed it down that I cleverly... Oh, never mind. Maybe it's not such a great idea.

Giving Notice

Ever notice how some people, well, NOTICE things? Usually these people are neighbors or co-workers, not actual friends. I call them Noticers, and they are close relatives of the Mentioners. Sometimes they are even the same people. Here are some things they might say, just in case you're not sure who I'm talking about:

Nosy neighbor 1: I NOTICED your flower bed is getting pretty weedy and I just thought I'd MENTION it.

Nosy neighbor 2: I NOTICED water ponding up on your driveway and I thought I would just MENTION that if you get down on your hands and knees in the mud and scoop the crap out of the drain it would go away.

Guess what, nosy neighbors? I don't care about the mud in the driveway and I also don't give a rat's patootie about what you think of it. Oh wait, I'm getting off track here. Because those (actual, true-life) nosy neighbors are not the point of my post, and thankfully they live far, far away.

Sometimes the Noticers would like to mention, too, but they are just a little bit too passive-aggressive for that, so they mention in what they consider to be a subtle manner. Here's an example of this type of charmer:

Nosy, not-especially-welcome guest: I'm surprised Shane's knees aren't all banged up because he's only wearing a diaper.

Guess what, nosy guest? I don't care about the pantslessness! I don't care whether Shane's shoes match. I don't care that our walls are two different colors. Oh, there I go again. The point, the point: You see how they both notice and mention, without calling it that? They think that's clever and above reproach. But it's not. It's just rude.

If only they would use their formidable and finely honed powers of observation for good instead of evil and notice something important like the ongoing genocide in Africa, wounded veterans getting shafted and the starving and abused children in their own neighborhoods. Dare I even suggest that perhaps they could notice their own teeny-tiny flaws? Surely they must have one or two. After all, the rest of do....

Irreconcilable Differences

For a while now, the two halves of Stories From Korea have been growing apart. I started writing it to keep my family and friends up on what is going on with us here in Korea, but I quickly found it was more satisfying as a medium to shoot my mouth off about whatever foolishness I happened to be thinking of. Sadly, the posts with video and pictures of the boys and the general family updates don't really get along with the entries about rabid badgers, psychotic chickens or boogers anymore. They've been trying to work it out but unfortunately there's no local English speaking blog therapists experienced in this kind of tricky situation.

So, enough is enough. The family update posts have moved out. Their new address is Chaos Family Rules. You can follow the link, or keep up with CFR from the SFK sidebar. The first post, 'Orange you glad I wear pants?' is up now. This is probably a surprise to most, but I know some of you have seen this coming. My mother, in particular, thinks SFK is a real loudmouth and I'm pretty sure she'll be relieved to not have to look at it any more.

Don't worry about the children; CFR and SFK will share custody. CFR gets the cute pictures, updates and the funny conversations, while SFK gets all the hard work, vexations and agony. Cross-posting may occur as we all adjust to our new situation. I know it all sounds tragic, but really, it's all for the best.

Osan Improvement Plan

Sisters of Osan, take up your arms! Or cross your legs, or whatever. I think I know a way to recalibrate the ops tempo around here more to our liking, and resolve some other issues while we're at it.

Maybe you recall a Greek play called 'Lysistrata', written by Aristophanes. If not, you can click on the link, or I can refresh your memory: Lysistrata, sick of the Peloponnesian war, rallies the wives of the soldiers and convinces them to withhold their, shall we say, favors, until the war is ended. It works perfectly and everyone lives happily ever after.

So I say, if it worked for them, it can work for us! First we have to decide what we want. Here's my list:

40 hour work weeks. I'm flexible on which 40 hours, but I prefer the daylight ones;

Stroller ramps on ALL the crosswalks;

Commissary operations 7 days a week;

CDC spots for everyone; and

A Target. I know space is tight on base but there is plenty of room on the golf course.

That's reasonable, don't you think? Let's start right away! Who's with me, ladies?? We'll know we're getting somewhere when we start seeing scowling, grumpy faces everywhere we go. More than the usual, I mean. And on the men this time!

Pinata

Or 'Fagoda', as Weston calls it. We made pinatas out of balloons, cut-up scrap paper and flour water paste. We were practicing, because Weston really wants to make one for Shane's birthday party. We learned that it's a little messy and flour water paste is impossible to clean up once it dries. Also, a flour and water mixture left in a warm laundry room for several days turns into a very odd-smelling and hard-to-find fermented brew. But the whacking is very, very fun:

Guest Post Entry 8

This is the last entry. I'll put up a poll tomorrow, so start thinking about your favorite!



From Tori:

Mind Your Own Beeswax, Please

I have learned in my one and a half years of parenting, that everyone parents differently. Everyone has their own individual values. Some people may have similar parenting techniques, but I've never met two people that have the exact same parenting styles. To me, that is great. Everyone should be able to raise their children how they please (as long as they are being fed, clothed, washed, etc.). For example, some parents choose to keep a family bed until the child decides to go to their own bed. Some parents want the baby in their own crib from day one. Others, choose to have the baby in the parent's bed for a period of time, then transfer them to their crib. These differences can range from what to feed the child, how long (if ever) to use a pacifier, discipline, attention, and the list goes on.

I have discovered in the last two days, that there are some people out there that are extremely pushy about what they think is the "right" way to parent. In the last two days, I have had two discussions where I felt like I was being judged and pressured into taking the pacifier away from my son. Both, mind you, were from other parents of toddlers, not even my parents or in-laws. It isn't like my son is five or something, he is 15-months!

I think I need to branch out and try to find more accepting friends that understand that even though you may have different methods of parenting, you can still be friends, and don't have to agree on everything.