Beach

You may or may not be pleased to know that I am, in fact, not dead. Yet. It makes me giggle to gross you guys out but I try my hardest to model my nicest manners whenever I can muster them up, especially now that Weston can read, so I will spare you the play-by-play of the boil-bursting episode. Let me just say, though, that cheesecake with strawberry sauce is probably ruined for me forever. Also I may be blind in one eye. It's too soon to tell.

Potentially more deadly than the giant suppurating carbuncles of doom, however, was the six day 'vacation' with Weston, Shane, my mother, my sister, her daughter and her miniature Godzilla charming twenty month old son. Seriously, I thought I would expire from exhaustion just watching my sister. She was constantly lunging after him, her face was haggard, and there were always raisins stuck to her pants. Not an especially good look, if you were wondering.

'What is wrong with this kid?' I asked myself from my comfortable vantage point as the mother of an oh-so-mature almost three year old. Until I went back and read about the times I was handily humiliated at the post office, the office party, the barbecue, the boss' house, and the sidewalk. Then I was a little bit more understanding, but I'm still pretty sure Shane never attacked a pack of other kids with a kite, or kicked them until they ran away, or pig-piled them while evilly chortling. It could be because I kept him tied up in the closet for about eight months, but I prefer to chalk it up to his inherently better nature, or perhaps to my superior parenting skills. The other kids, including Shane, were surprisingly tolerant of the tiny tyrant, and didn't once smack him back, despite what must have been a major temptation. Lucky for Teddy, he's a cute little monster.

We hit all the hot spots of the Northern Oregon Coast: the Tillamook cheese factory, Fort Clatsop and the pizza place on the corner. Okay, we went to the pizza place twice. Whatever. We went to the beach seventy zillion times and ate forty bucks worth of candy from Bruce's. On the way home we stopped overnight to visit Aunt Ina in Portland and visited the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI).


And now we're back. The floor Lloyd did while we were gone is gorgeous; I have a vanload of wet filthy clothes; and Jennifer is probably crumpled up at home like a wrung-out rag, waiting for Monday when she gets a nanny day. And there are sure to be tons of new things at the thrift store! It's good to be home.

The best laid plans

What is it again that paves the road to hell? Best laid plans? Good intentions? Whichever, because I have all of that stuff in SPADES. Tomorrow, my sister and I are taking four children, two minivans, one mother and 800 cubic yards of supplies (ramen noodles, bubbles, peanut butter, etch-a-sketches and wine, along with a few other, less important things) to the coast, where we will meet up with two aunts to enjoy the February weather and the sand and surf. While we are gone, Lloyd will be moving about a million pounds of furniture, ripping up carpet, tearing out the hideous asbestos-laden tile underneath it, and refinishing the fir floor that is the bottom layer. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, AND I have two giant boils for which I cannot receive medical attention unless I waste a half a day at the emergency room because after four business-hour phone calls, multiple web attempts, three emails and an aborted 'live chat', we have so far been unable to change our medical benefits to the appropriate status so that I can go to a regular doctor. Or at least one that is desperate or altruistic enough to accept the poor substitute for health care coverage that is foisted on military families. This is called 'Tricare', if you are lucky enough to be unfamiliar with it. I could, of course, go to a military facility. The question is, do I want to die at the hands of a military quack, or would I rather keel over and have a stroke from the skyrocketing blood pressure associated with trying to even SEE a civilian quack? Or just wait and die from the untreated boils? It sure is great to have so many choices. I'm tempted to put up a poll so you guys can help me make up my mind but I think I better go to bed. I can't be sure but I think I might possibly be starting to get just the slightest bit irrational, and that's no good when you're trying to make such major decisions. Or when you're setting out on the highway to hell. There's plenty of time for that when we get there. See you in a week or so! If I'm not dead, I mean. Of course. But if I am I will be so totally pissed if you don't all come to my funeral. Now I'm starting to scare myself. You can't really die from boils, right? RIGHT? Okay, I'm going to bed for real this time. I mean it. Right now. Goodnight.

What, are you still here? I said I was going to bed, and I meant it. Seriously.

Progress

Today I am pleased to announce that I am finally starting to really believe that I'm really back home: Bossed around by sister? Check. Thrift store clothes and hand-me-ups piling up faster than I can wear them? Check. Dad nitpicking my writing attempts? Check. Mom giving me the stinkeye for crumbs on the counter and naked children? Check! If I had a Magic Eight Ball it would totally be saying 'All signs point to yes'. We all know that a toy that exists solely in my imagination would never lie so it must be true.

Now that I have had a chance to catch my breath a little, I fear I might have left out some salient points in my previous post where I was comparing the relative merits of Korean Air and United Airlines. I know this because I have been laying awake at night thinking about it. It drives me crazy when I think I have left something out or used a badly constructed sentence or a less than optimal word. It's actually possibly slightly obsessive (see all those '-ly' words all in a row? Sure to elicit a comment- CHECK!) In fact, I know it is, because one time in about 1990 I used 'prescription' when I meant 'subscription', and I STILL THINK ABOUT IT.

Anyway, she typed, dragging her attention back to the matter at hand, now that I'm in a one computer/three addict house, the situation around the singularity can get a bit dicey and I might have been rushed off the computer at icepick point before my thoughts were fully unveiled. But after I've had a few nights to ruminate over the issue, I've come to the logical conclusion: A new reality show! You take any random KAL trans-pacific flight and a similar United flight (or any other airline if you're really feeling saucy) and give them some zany in-flight challenges to overcome while still fulfilling all the standard responsibilities. For the opener, the teams would have to design and then make a gown for an extravagant wedding and simultaneously deliver twin lambs. KAL would kick United ass, because I swear, those flight attendants keep springing fully formed out of the overhead compartments or something, each one more charming and accomplished than the last. They would have that mother sheep parked on a business class seat with their arms up inside before the beleaguered United crew could even adjust their trusses.

Sadly, the reality show idea is perhaps not an entirely practical one for security reasons. Most of my challenges involve sharp implements and/or fire, but wouldn't it make an outstanding series of commercials? I can picture it now: the smiling KAL crew is turning backflips down the aisle and building a go-kart in the galley while their rivals lumber around, banging into each other with stupid looks on their faces. If anyone from the KAL marketing department is reading this, my ad concepts are available at a low, low price and an advantageous exchange rate. Rest assured, there's plenty more where this one came from. Call me!

The Longest Birthday

Geez, where to start? Not at the beginning, that's for sure. It bores me half to death just thinking about it. Maybe with the pictures. I tried to put them in chronological order but this stupid program rearranges them randomly, as far as I can tell. SO, the one of the truck is the first glimpse of our very own moving truck taken out of our former dining room window. It was a glorious sight, let me tell you. Then the boys sitting on a packed box in our former living room, then the boys in our former hotel room, then Shane in the snow on our former sidewalk on our last day at Osan.

Missing photos include our last meal at our former Chili's, our enormous pile of bags, our sumptuous feast at the McDonald's at the Tokyo Airport, and our luxurious United Airlines accommodations. I had intended to document all these important milestones, of course, but I lost my camera somewhere between the last trek in the snow and the enormous pile of bags and have just now unearthed it, so sadly, these few will have to suffice.

Our trip was long but relatively uneventful. It was my birthday, you know. It was my birthday when I got up at 4:45 a.m. (note: military time has been retired here at Stories from Korea). It was my birthday at 5:30 p.m. when we left Japan. It was my birthday after we flew for 8.5 hours and arrived on the west coast at approximately 9 a.m. It was my birthday when the boys crashed at 6 p.m. And when they woke up at 10:34 p.m. for about 4 hours? STILL MY BIRTHDAY. I milked it for all it was worth: 'Honey, Shane has to poop. Can you take him while I eat these fries? It's my birthday, you know'; 'Honey, you sit next to that guy with the typhoid because it's my birthday and I don't want to die today'; and 'Don't forget it's my birthday, can I have your drink? I dropped mine on the floor all over your backpack.' Not much, I know, but I have always been a take-what-I-can-get kind of girl.

It wouldn't have been quite such a long birthday had we been able to fly direct from Seoul and not change in Tokyo, but we had to fly United instead of Korean Air, and United doesn't go direct. Lloyd and I were both apprehensive and with good reason. Me because United Breaks Guitars, and Lloyd because he really likes the lithe Asian babes that are the flight attendants on Korean Air. There's like a million of them and they're there to help you out at the drop of a chopstick. United, not so much. The cabin crew consisted of a stooped old crank who closely resembled one of those grumpy old man Muppets, and a woman who had to have been Miss Dairy Maid of 1942. Instead of fetching us hot towels and cunning little toys for the boys, they strung up some kind of curtains over six rows of seats and closeted themselves for hours. But they did rally to give us the most vile breakfast I've ever seen, and I'm pretty old, and a product of public education. Lloyd's descriptions would be MUCH less flattering than mine, so don't even think about asking him.

But now we're done, and here we are. I still can't believe it. Happy Birthday to me!

Giddy

I am giddy, my friends. Giddy with delight and sleep deprivation after the long, strange trip home. It was not without incident, of course, and I am just itching to tell you all about it. But alas, not tonight. I should have done it earlier, but I couldn't resist the siren song of the Goodwill and I blew all my writing time buying shirts without dryer holes and completely unnecessary toys.

So, that's all for tonight- I'll try to post the rest tomorrow, and if you don't like it, you can just shut it. You know who you are. Helen and Lauren, that's so everyone else knows who you are too.

Ivan and Weston

It's almost Weston's birthday, and I've been thinking about the time just before he was born. We were living in Pensacola and Lloyd was gone. Usually when I tell this story I'm all vague about where he was so everyone will feel sorry for the poor hugely pregnant military wife who was abandoned and left to fend for herself in the face of a hurricane while her husband was off fighting for freedom and democracy or some BS like that. But you know I never lie on here, so the truth is that he was elk hunting in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, where there is no phone service of any kind. Also, as it turns out, no elk, but that's Lloyd's story to tell, if you can stand the swearing. Luckily for me, my lovely Aunt Ina came to stay with me while he was gone.

When you evacuate in advance of a hurricane, there are many items you should take with you in your hurricane evacuation kit. Some of the commonly recommended essentials are cash, a battery operated radio, non-perishable food and water, prescription medication, and blankets. We were a little tight on space and had to prioritize our supplies, so we couldn't be bothered with a lot of that crap. Here's the more important stuff we had instead:

Salami sandwiches

One extremely large pregnant woman

One lovely aunt who despises hurricanes and dogs

Two large dogs

Directions to hospitals with NICU facilities in three states

Emergency Baby Delivery Kit

Infant car seat

Dog food

Cocoa butter

Alas, we didn't have room for some other vital items, such as Georgie and Sandy, our two little rabbits, and Bella the cat, who you may recall from yesterday's post. We put Georgie and Sissy in the bathroom with tarps on the floor and loaded it up with hay, rabbit pellets and water, and left Bella to roam the house with bowls of food and water in every room and the laundry room filled with boxes of litter.

The trip was about exactly what you'd expect. The first day it took us all day to travel from Pensacola to Birmingham, Alabama, a distance of about 250 miles. The next day, we went to Memphis, where we stayed in a ratty dogs-allowed motel on the bad side of town for a few days. We had a nice visit to Graceland, where the photo of me above was taken. If you look carefully behind my enormously swollen body, you can catch a glimpse of the dead cat tote. After we spent a few days there, we decided we might as well keep going, since we had nothing better to do. So we went to Branson, Missouri, dogs and all. We took in a few shows and saw the sights while we waited for news of how Pensacola had fared after an almost direct strike from Hurricane Ivan, and for Lloyd to come out of the woods. After about a week, Lloyd flew in, sans elk, and Ina could not leave fast enough, shaking off the dog drool and coarse brown hairs as she went. You would think she would have learned her lesson, but I guess not, because several years later she came to stay with me again when Lloyd was gone and I was hugely pregnant with Shane. That time Lloyd really was in the sandbox, though. Before she came, she made me promise no hurricanes, no babies, and no snakes that time. Two out of three isn't bad, right? Because Shane was born in the early morning the day she was leaving and Lloyd was coming home. Sucker!

Anyway, we loaded up the now-filthy Honda with supplies from WalMart and headed back home. Seriously, it looked like the whole place had been carpet bombed once we got within 100 miles of Pensacola. We even had a hard time finding our way home because the street signs and landmarks had all been destroyed and it looked entirely different. We only had minor damage at our house, but a major mess. The cats and rabbits were fine, and the power came on shortly after we got back after having been gone a little over a week. Weston was born two weeks later.

Happy Birthday, Weston! And Ivan, may you rot in hell.

North

Woo hoo! Time to go, an entire day all to myself! I hope I have enough food, a whole day is a long time if you don't have enough snacks.

Boy, this bus sure is filling up quick. Maybe I should get off and do something else instead, all by myself for an entire day. But what? Dammit, I guess I'm trapped on this bus. I hope I don't have to pee, why do none of these Korean buses have toilets?! I REALLY hope I like the ONE book I brought. Yay! Time to go, no one sitting by me. NO! don't sit by me... no, no, no. Especially not you, Vin Diesel.

Sweet! I have the only empty seat on the bus next to me, SUCKERS!

Hmm, this History Channel DMZ program on the bus television screen is interesting. I had no idea they were such nasty bastards up there. I don't think a lot of people realize how evil they really are. Fifty-nine years of failed diplomacy, dead soldiers and civilians, terrorist attacks, kidnappings, torture, drug running, counterfeiting, threats and oppression. I'm definitely a boobs not bombs kind of girl but those kitten-munching Dick Cheney types might be on to something when it comes to Kim Jong Il and his buddies.

Boy, this sure is a long bus ride. It's a good thing I like this book. I knew I was going to have to pee! Are we ever going to get there? Rice paddy, rice paddy, rice paddy..... Hungry, hungry, hungry... this bus ride is FOREVER. Mmmmm, jerky and chocolate, much better!

Oooh, here we are at Imjingak Resort Park. Right, great, where's the bathroom? Carefully check the door sign, and.... success! Ah.... Let's see, peace bell, Bridge of No Return, Prayer Wall, war memorials. This memorial for Japanese American Korean war dead is interesting; Koreans hate Japan after centuries of occupation and oppression. Boy, Korean history sure is depressing. Hey! Where did that guy get that coffee from?? Ahhh, much better. This stuff isn't half bad for Korean tourist park coffee. The stones of peace wall; that's pretty cool. I'd like to have a better look if those stupid Homers with their cameras would get out of my way. Cool, some rusty found object art. Back on the bus, Gus.

Dude! Look at these ugly-ass North Korean shoes and underwear. If that doesn't ruin communisn for you, nothing will! What the hell is this reunification propoganda? The path to reunification wall takes up the entire building and they are exactly nowhere. Good luck with that one, optimistic suckers. Oh look, a lady with a baby. That's weird; I miss the boys. That wasn't supposed to happen. Hey, lunchtime! I definitely have to learn to make that kimchi stew. I'll pass on those crinkle cut fries and white dinner rolls, thanks. Time to head out of here, where is that stupid bus? Driver's not back yet. Rats, left my book on the bus and I'm so tired of looking at North Korea. It's so boring; they don't DO anything. No roads, no cars, nothing going on. Maybe I should meditate! Really take advantage of my kid-free day. Ommmmmm.... oh, wait! Maybe this border town parking lot isn't the best place to close my eyes and zone out.

This train to nowhere sure is strange, and they're really proud of their visit from George Bush in 2002 (note: George is in the background of the photo, NOT the foreground).

Jeez, this tour guide/armed guard talks fast. What? What? I can barely understand you! Oooh, now I'm in South Korea, now I'm in North Korea. South Korea, North Korea. Cool, heh heh.

What? A tunnel? Oh, hell no; there is no way you're getting me in there. It's a good thing I'm not in charge in keeping South Korea free of tunnel-bound invaders, because I'd just let them have it. Is it time to go yet?

Phew, home again, home again, my fat hen. I wonder if the boys missed me. What? You kind of forgot about me all day? Huh.

Envy

It's a dang good thing I think I look good in green, because I'm jealous of lots of things: blogs that are cuter than mine, people whose jeans aren't constantly on the verge of revolt, and people who don't have ziploc baggies of molding bread in their laundry rooms. Mostly I can stand it, barely, but today, I left drool marks all over my 'dining room' window.

Behold: here's the scene from a lucky someone's moving day. It's a little hazy, between the saliva and the ever-present small particle pollution, but you can still clearly see those big brown boxes of kimchi pots and knockoff purses eagerly awaiting their trip out of Korea, never to return. We started moving in our hearts and minds, and out of our storage room months ago, but things aren't progressing quite fast enough for me. It's sort of like being pregnant with an elephant. Not that I would know, no matter what it looked like.

We have made a list of all the last things we want to do in Korea, and we have been faithfully checking them off. Purchase Kimchi pots, check! Purchase Korean kitchen sink (this one was totally Lloyd, I'm sure you realize), check! Next on the list is the DMZ tour. Now, I'm extra-specially careful not to broadcast my movements in advance or share information that would come in handy for North Korean terrorists, so details later. And you can rest assured, your dirty little Osan secrets are safe with me!

Back

Well. Back at Osan. Yep, here we are. The flight was about what you'd expect. Long, and, ummm, LONG. We had a great trip but it's nice to be home, too. I had considered staying a few weeks more while Lloyd came back alone but I don't think my parents could have taken it, since we had pretty much already sucked them dry.

We came home to a bunch of great stuff we inherited from some friends that moved: new toys, some furniture, plants and chocolates. Outstanding.
And, it's monsoon season here! I'm pretty enthusiastic about it because last year we didn't get a single monsoon and I was very disappointed. The sandbag dikes around the buildings were high and dry all summer. But now we're having a proper season. The ground is soggy and the worms are out. My friend Heidi was a little alarmed when she saw a little old Korean man building a boat in front of her building, but I say unless he's got a pompadour and funky glasses, everything is perfectery rovery. Pass the oars! And the rum. Yo ho ho, me hearties.

Unfortunately we have yet to get adjusted to Osan standard time. This is the third morning and our wakeup times have gotten progressively earlier each morning. I was optimistic the first day when we got up at 4:15, but yesterday it was 3:08 and today it was 2:45 am and I am barely functional.

Well, that's all the latest. I have to go throw the kids in the washing machine and toss the recycling in the oven. TTFN!

Report

So, okay. I haven't REALLY been spending ALL my time at the thrift store, even though the thrift stores here are GLORIOUS. And, it is true that I am sore and aching all the damn time but it's probably not as a result of my strenuous shopping habit. Here's a fascinating more detailed rundown:

The raspberries here are ripe and we have been picking them to freeze. And eat: One for the freezer, one for my mouth. One for the freezer, two for my mouth. Weston and Shane have both quickly become accomplished raspberry pickers. The dog is also surprisingly adept at picking, though he is pretty stubborn about giving up his booty for the ziploc freezer bags.

We went to Remlinger Farms, which is a very nice little farm with a petting zoo, working train and kid-sized rides. The boys loved it. We have also been going to the park, the playground, the Target, the Starbucks and the wine store regularly. We have been traipsing around the countryside looking at real estate, and waiting for the Air Force to ream us yet again.

Today I took Weston to the movies with his cousin Paloma. We saw 'Madagascar 2', which was entirely ridiculous, even for a kids movie. While we were there, I saw the most shocking breach of parenting skills ever. A little tiny kid, maybe around two, stepped onto a down escalator, alone. He went down a couple of steps, turned around and started scrambling back up to the top, then tripped and fell on his face. About the time he got halfway down, still sprawled out on the ground, the rest of his family finally got on the escalator. There were two adults there, presumably his mother and father, and apparently neither of them was worried at all that he might be ground up in a giant metal conveyor belt of death. I try not to criticize other parents, because hello, I sometimes feed my kids butter on a fork and leave the same clothes on them for multiple days (no more than four, of course, I have substandards), but come on, people!

Finally, for my favorite heckler, the fabulous burnt orange cords are from my sister's swap party stash. The party isn't til Sunday but I got a sneak preview and I could hear them singing my name from their hefty bag home: 'Annnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, we are deliciously snug yet compellingly baggggggggggggggggggggyyyyyyyyyyy. Put us on and have some beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr......... You cannot resist ussssssssssssssssssss....'

And, they were right.

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.