Sprung

So! I hope you are all having a fabulous new year. I am not a fan of resolutions, but I HAVE been trying to eat a little better and exercise more for several weeks now. The 'Osan 15' is a common phenomena here, so I am right in the thick of things. Well, let me rephrase that: I have heard rumors that perhaps I am not the only one carrying around a few extra margaritas, but I have seen no such evidence on any of my slim and statuesque friends, acquaintances or assorted Osan beauties. In any case, soon I will be in the land of Target and Goodwill and I will be ever so sad if I can't fit into the ratty cargo pants of my choice fifty-three times a week when I need to go shopping.

Tonight, Lloyd and I went to the BX and Chili's, which is the standard big night out on the town here at Osan. I sucked down my fair share of wings and a couple of margaritas, varying the position of the straw so as to cleverly avoid the tequila abrasion. When we got home, I virtuously pounded out some sit-ups, dips, push-ups, leg lifts and stretches. Don't I sound ATHLETIC? Hahahahaha, I totally have you fooled. You should see me, for real. Oh, how you would laugh. After that strenuosity, I didn't want to 'run' the stairs, so I jumped on the mini-trampoline for a while. And by 'a while', I mean about 2.5 minutes. But at least I wasn't smoking deep-fried twinkies, right? Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has tried that?

While I was jumping, Weston weighed in:

Weston: Mama, are you sure that trampoline is strong enough for you?

Me: Yes, I'm sure (pant, gasp)

Weston: Well, those springs have to work awfully hard. You're so HEAVY.

Me: It's fine.

Weston: But look how much they're moving! They go almost to the ground!

Me: Grrrrrrrrrr (pant, gasp)

Bring on the twinkies! I might as well load up; I'm going to die soon anyway. I didn't used to be so fatalistic but I recently had a VERY interesting conversation with Shane. He likes to rub my scars, scabs and rough skin with his grubby little paws. Yesterday he was trying to pick at a spot on my chin, and when I told him to stop, he replied, 'I'll pick your owies WHEN YOU'RE DEAD'. I'm not sure what he has planned but I might as well give up the jumping for the good of trampolinekind everywhere, since my days are numbered. I can see the headlines now: 'Police Baffled by Mysterious Scab Free Corpse; Trampolines Rejoice in Streets'. I just hope they don't try to pin it on the poor twinkies.

Hodge Podge, plus pictures!

We had some pictures taken recently by our fabulously talented friend and neighbor, Christa. She did a great job and we were really pleased. I am not so photogenic myself, and she actually got a few nice ones of me, so hurray! Shane was in a real mood, too, and you would never know it from the pictures.

And, I am considering submitting one of my 2009 posts to a blog anthology effort, but I have no idea which one to send in. If you liked one in particular, please let me know. Don't worry, I wasn't thinking of sending in the booger one, even though it WAS especially satisfying.

Weston made me a peanut butter cookie dough sandwich for lunch, and it was every bit as delicious as it sounds. He must have been in an especially creative mood today, because he also installed weather instruments on the deck: pipe cleaners, straws, paint brushes, crayons and a coaxial cable, all stuck into the bottom of our hanging planter boxes. Now, he can determine the weather conditions: if the wind is blowing just a little, the smaller instruments like the pipe cleaners will move. If the wind is stronger, the coaxial cable will move. Believe me when I say he will be at least as accurate as any weather forecast I've ever seen around here. Take that, AFN and Yahoo! You've been outmaneuvered by a five year old boy wielding toys and art supplies. If you want some weather forecasting advice you can email me at storiesfromkorea@gmail.com; I'll see if he can pencil you in. On the other hand, if you're here from the Food Network, you might want to check back in a few years.

True

Here are two conversations from this morning, free of any embellishment or commentary whatsoever:

Lloyd (getting shirt out of drawer): This shirt is dirty!

Me: So?

Lloyd: I can't wear this! It smells like underarms!

Me: What are you complaining about? It's a miracle any shirts even get into your dresser. You should be grateful. And if you don't want your dirty clothes and your clean clothes mixed up, you should put your dirty clothes in the laundry room, instead of on the floor where the clean clothes are.

Lloyd: I don't even know what to say to that.

Then, after Lloyd went to work in a huff, I was took a leisurely 30 second shower and came out to this:

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Weston: Shhhhhh, you're okay. Want me to kiss it?

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Me (picking up Shane): He sounds like he's really hurt, Weston. What happened?

Weston: Ummmm, we were playing.

Me: I see that. How did Shane get hurt?

Weston: Welllllllll, I hit him with this ('this' is a hollow, hard plastic tube, about 18 inches long and 1 1/2 inches in diameter). On accident.

Me: Where did you hit him?

Weston: Ummmm, in the face. On accident. Twice.

Me: I see that this is too dangerous to have out; I'll have to put it away.

Weston: Why?

Shane: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

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.

Back

Well, I'm back. I didn't really mean to take a blogging vacation. I guess I just... did. So here's the latest.

The picture is of Weston playing with some new and dangerous dinosaurs. We were walking to church this morning and saw this set of pewter dinosaurs. There are four of them and they were approximately $17. I know I am a total sucker, because I am completely unable to bargain and Lloyd wasn't there, but I had some won burning a hole in my pocket and couldn't resist. After church we had lunch at a little Korean restaurant off the beaten path, followed by an ice cream cone at the Baskin-Robbins on the 'strip'. The lunch was 11,000 won; the cones were 12,000 won. Funny, huh?

I have some posts in the works; my favorite one is all about how hard it is to be a man. Really, it's true! This is a subject that troubles me deeply and I have some VERY important thoughts about it that I positively need to share with everyone. And, you probably haven't noticed, but I took my counter down. I found that I was entirely too concerned about how many hits there were. It was very freeing to do away with it, kind of like when you toss the scale in the closet and cover it up with broken toys, dirty winter coats, shopping bags and shoes. Or when you switch to the wine in a box so you don't have to watch the level drop and ruin all your fun. At the same time, I am quite interested in knowing what kinds of posts people like the best, so I'm thinking of putting up a poll later this week. I often have vicious internal debates about what to post, and I think a little bloggy input would be most welcome.

Other than that, it's all quiet on the northern front, my friends, and we all know how that ends, right?

Salute

Every weeknight at 5:30, the giant speakers play the Korean national anthem, followed by 'The Star-Spangled banner'. At 5:29, people all over the base scurry indoors so they won't be forced to stand still, facing the flag for the interminable 4 minutes and 33 seconds it takes to play the songs.

When the warning horns sound, cars on the road stop, joggers halt in their tracks, and Weston and Shane run out onto the deck.

Weston takes protocol VERY seriously, and stands solemnly with his hand over his heart for both anthems. Shane is, how shall we say, a touch more cavalier about the whole thing. He points at the cars parked in the road: Taxi! Dat taxi!' He shrieks at the people stopped on the sidewalk: 'Hey, who dat? Hey! HEY!' Oh, and he usually has no pants on. At our house, everyone salutes the flag in their own way. And that's okay. God bless America, land of the free and home of the brave.

Conundrums

Lately I've been thinking about things I'm pretty sure I should know but don't. These are real, actual questions with answers I just don't know, not rhetorical un-answerable questions like why can Lloyd fly an airplane to a tiny spot in the dark halfway around the world but can't find the ketchup standing right in front of him in the refrigerator:

1. What is wiki mean, and how does Wikipedia work? They claim anyone in the whole world can edit the entries, right, and they don't do any oversight. How is that even possible and what keeps it from descending into constant chaos?

2. Scientific notation; do you count the zero in the 10 as an extra one, or do you just use the number in the superscript? This one I might actually need to figure out soon, because Weston is supremely interested in really big numbers. We told him googol was the biggest number with a name, and he wrote it out, a one followed by a hundred zeroes. Then he said, 'Nine with a million zeroes is the biggest number with a name. I named it!' I asked him what he named it, and he said, as if I were stupid (and maybe he's onto something here) 'Nine with a million zeroes!'

3. Is it better to buy organic produce that had to get a passport to get to your supermarket, or local produce that's conventionally grown?

4. What does 'preternatural' mean?

5. How do I cut and paste lickety-split with my new Mac, without using the edit menu? And does it need virus protection that I don't have? And why can't I watch Helen's videos?

Boy, I better stop now or you all will think I'm a total moron. Oops, too late!

Fins: Don't send Lloyd to the BX

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Fins to the left, Fins to the right, and I'm the only bait in town.... isn't that how it goes?

This is the newest member of our family, Neptune. As you may know, we have another fish, Mars. They are both Siamese Fighting Fish.

Lloyd went to the BX last night. We needed one of those booger-sucking bulb things (BX FAIL), Flinstones vitamins and a few other things. He came home with beer, two tabloids, and Neptune. Sadly, this did not surprise me. And I was not altogether disappointed, I must admit. Except for the fish; now THAT was disappointing.

Now, as you are probably aware, you cannot put two Siamese Fighting Fish in the same tank. They are called 'Fighting Fish' for a reason. This is why they are always in teeny-tiny individual bowls at the evil fish-selling store. Apparently, this was news to Lloyd because he had fully intended to just dump Neptune into Mars's tank, 'because he needed a friend'.

I hate to say it, but Lloyd's fish care skills leave a little to be desired. While I was scrounging a bowl for Neptune, Lloyd gave the plastic bag holding him to Shane. I'm sure he thought Shane would hold the bag gently and lovingly, and was beyond shocked when he started agitating poor Neptune like a human blender or a Korean washer. Then, he mocked me when I insisted on dechlorinating the water for Neptune.

Miraculously, Neptune did get safely into a tank and survive the night. It was touch and go for a while, though, because Weston really wanted to sleep with him.

Lloyd is already working on a plan to smuggle the fish back to the states come PCS time. Thank God he has found an adoptive home for his turtle, that's all I have to say. Oh, and now she feels like a remora......

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.

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.

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:

Certainty

I am far from certain about many, many things:

How computers talk to each other, how germs make you sick, why the base would give me paint that doesn't match my walls, and where every single pair of sunglasses I own is.

One thing I do know for sure is that I live with a four-year old boy. Here's how I can tell:

I hover over my own toilet;

I say things like 'You can't snap your pants with that drumstick in your underwear';

I believe that throwing dirt at the wall is a good idea, because the alternative is a skewer fight;

I am actually pleased when Weston and Shane want to sit still for three seconds to watch TV, even if it is Tom and Jerry; and

All day long, I hear 'Sorry, Shane!' (Sorry I accidentally cut you with scissors. Sorry I hit you in the head with a truck. Sorry I spit at you. Sorry I ripped a toy out of your hands. Sorry you screamed and made Mom come in here. Sorry I had to go to time-out).

Easter Video

The Easter Bunny made a visit to the garden and deposited and enormous number of eggs, after leaving giant bunny tracks in the garden (naughty bunny!)

And here is a link to Helen's much longer and nicer video.

Conversations with Weston: Sustainable living

Tonight, Weston was getting ready for bed. While I was waiting for him to finish, I was tidying up the bathroom. There was an individual-sized pack of kleenex that had been soaked in the aftermath of the day's activity of mixing water, shaving cream and Avon body paints all over the countertop. I tossed it in the trash, resulting in this:

Weston: Why did you that away?
Me: Well, we try to use things until they're gone, or compost them, or recycle them, but some things we just have to throw away.
Weston (nodding sagely): Yeah, sometimes you can't recycle it or put it in the compost or give it to someone else, and you gotta throw it on the floor, or out the door.
Me: Like what?
Weston: A dead cat.

So, if you come to visit, watch where you step, and don't let the dead cat hit you in the ass on the way out.

Stories from Saturday

Conversations with Weston: Peer Pressure

Today I was talking to Weston about the words 'Jack' and 'Weston' written on our dining room wall in fat blue marker.

Me: Why did you write on the wall?
Weston: Jack said it was okay.
Me: You know better than that. You make your own decisions. Don't listen to Jack.
Weston: But Jack makes me think I want to do what he wants.

Think it would work for me? I'm going to see if I can make him think he wants to fold laundry.

Conversations with Weston II: I should tell them

Weston: Why doesn't Mercury or Uranus or Neptune have water?
Me: I don't know.
Weston: We should look in my space books.
Me: We can look, but there's a lot of things about the planets the scientists who wrote the books don't know.
Weston: I know all about the planets! I should tell them.

Conversations with Weston: I don't always tell the truth

I just told Weston a story about an 8-foot tall man with bright green hair named Mr. Pixie. In the story, Mr. Pixie wants to go to Jupiter but is too tall to fit in Weston's rocket ship. Weston and his friends Pippi, Mr. Nilsson, Tom, Jerry and George are retrofitting the rocket so Mr. Pixie can go on an intergalactic cruise. Weston's mom calls him for dinner but he tells her that he needs to keep working so Mr. Pixie can fit in the rocket, and she says okay.

Weston: Does she know Mr. Pixie?
Me: No.
Weston: Then why does she believe he's real?
Me: Because Weston told her, and she knows he tells the truth.
Weston: I don't always tell the truth.
Me: What do you mean?
Weston: Sometimes I tell you I washed my hands but it's not the truth.
Me: Why would you do that? It's important to tell me the truth.
Weston (very matter-of-factly): Because I don't like to wash my hands.

Conversations with Weston: I didn't think you'd find out!

This afternoon, Weston had a friend over. Yes, the infamous Jack again. When Jack comes over the boys love to play in the hallway. This works out nicely since we are never leaving home again after yesterday's foray to the BX. Jack is older than Weston and is allowed to go in the elevator by himself. Jack had dropped a toy on the way to our house, and wanted to go look for it.

Conversation not heard by me:

Jack: I have to find my toy!
Jack's mom: Okay, but Weston can't go in the elevator.
Weston: I can go!

Jack's mom was then distracted by some other brewing disaster and I was none the wiser until I heard the door slam and then:

Weston: We went on ALL the floors!
Me: You went on the elevator?
Weston (giggling with excitement): Yes! On all the floors!
Me: You know you're not old enough to go on the elevator with Jack, right?
Weston: Yes.
Me: Then why did you go?
Weston: I didn't think you'd find out!
Me: We'll talk about this later.

And, here's one more. I was just finishing this while Weston watches Land Before Time #458734, and he had to go to the bathroom.

Weston: Sometime, can we get a television in the bathroom?