Well, let me start by saying my last post was in September, so that's less than a year ago. Things are already looking better. Not really.
Now, a lot of people will read this and go Hey, that's not that bad, and you're right, it's probably not, but the thing is this is not an isolated incident. These is basically a summary of how every day here is, you just change some of the locations.
When we moved to Korea, or rather when we were getting ready to move to Korea, we talked to several people who had lived here before us and they all had the same thing to say: It's just a little bit off. You'll see a lot of things that look familiar from a distance, that sound familiar, but when you get right down to it they're just a little bit...well, wrong. And I want to say that after living here for 14 months I completely agree. There are things here that look very much like things you see in the states, but they are NOT THE SAME. Like cheesecake. Valuable lesson: Never sample cheesecake in a Korean store. Because it's a lie. Also McDonalds and Outback. Korea, be serious. You should not even be allowed to call them by those names.
Then there's all the stuff on post. I'm not sure, maybe all military installations are run this way, but at least on other posts you are dealing with people who speak English. Maybe that's my biggest problem here. All the people who run the places on post are not very good speakers of English, and I am not a good speaker of Korean. Their language has an awful lot to do with stressing certain syllables and voice inflection and the like and you know, I'm from Georgia. I have a friend who was born in Arkansas but spent a good amount of time in Tennessee. Her husband told her once that he could tell when she'd spent the day with me because she sounded like a hick. So, needless to say, my voice box is not capable of producing sound that a Korean will understand. Ever. And don't even get me started on having to deal with them on the phone.
We have a cat named Gary. He's a Korean cat, so basically that means he doesn't understand anything I say to him, and he ignores me. He speaks Korean. I know this because the sound he makes when he meows is unlike any sound I've ever heard a cat make before in my life. And he makes that sound every single time Haley leaves the house. Gary likes to sit in the front window and gaze outside, like all cats do. We had blinds in that window. Gary tore them down. It's been a while since this happened, and we've just been living with the window bare so all of Itaewon Acres can look right in, and finally Scott started to complain about how I needed to do something about it.
I called the number to Kohom, the company that manages the houses on post, and asked for more blinds. They gave me another number. I called the second number and asked for more blinds. You have to take a second here and think about what it sounds like when a southern person asks for blinds compared to when a normal person asks for blinds. The people at the second number had no idea what I was talking about but were relatively sure they didn't have it so they gave me a third number. Fast forward to the phone call to phone number #6 and I finally got an American on the phone who said he'd take care of it. The next day someone called, maybe Kohom, maybe not, but definitely Korean, and wanted to come measure for blinds, and could they come at 2:45. So this is my side of the conversation:
Uh, isn't that when school gets out?
Yes? Then no, you can't come then because I won't be here. I'll be back a little after 3 though.
No, you can't come right before 3. You can come right after 3.
If you can come at 2:55 why can't you come 10 minutes later? 10. T-EH-N. No, not 10:00, just a little after 3.
Well, whatever, but if I'm not here I guess you'll have to wait.
3:00. I get back at 3:00.
No, not usually before 2:55.
Yes, I'm here right now.
No, I'm not going anywhere until I pick the kids up from school.
Well, USUALLY NOT LONG BUT NOT UNTIL 3.
Yes, now would be a great time for you to come.
(3 minutes later they are here. No lie.)
And my point is why? Why Why Why? Why do they have to do this to me?
So they show up and need to measure the window. There is a table in front of that window with all my machines on it, and Korean dude is all climbing all around on the table trying to measure. Nevermind that the old broken blinds are RIGHT THERE with the measurement on them. The window could have changed sizes since those were hung, right? We've got to re-measure. So he does, and then is genuinely surprised when his numbers match the numbers on the old set.
"Now we measure, we find cost you pay voucher cash collection at housing bring us paper we come you all finished about one day."
Uh, what?
"We call."
They called the next day, and that phone call didn't go so well either, but finally I got that the next step was taking place at housing and I needed to be there. Scott and I went to housing and told the girl at the front desk the story about the cat, and the blinds, and the measuring, and we needed to pay, and she told us Mr. Lee wasn't in and he was the only person who could do it and we'd need to come back, probably tomorrow, but she wasn't sure he'd be in, he might be out, so maybe we could call. This girl wasn't Korean, which gave me a false sense of hope, but she turned out to be something other that Miss English Is My First Language, and it rapidly went downhill, because I do not understand why somebody other than Mr. Lee can't hand us the piece of paper we need. And "he's the only one here who does that" doesn't make any sense to me, because what if Mr. Lee died? What would all of us who needed new blinds do then? And when I asked her that Scott had a small heart attack and said it was time to go. We were pulling out of the parking space when the girl came running outside and guess what, Mr. Lee was back! Yay! So we went back in, told Mr. Lee what we wanted and lo and behold Mr. Lee doesn't even handle those pieces of paper. See that room right there? That room with 4 people twiddling their thumbs? THEY do that. THEY can help you. And they did, and we got the paper, and then we went to finance to pay.
Finance is in another building here. You have to drive and you have to find a place to park in one of the two spots that are full, so you have to go all the way to the bowling alley and hike back a quarter of a mile to the office. Oh, finance closes at 4, and it's 4:10. Sorry, come back later. So we went back the next day, but it was a holiday or something for Finance so strike two. I went back last week on Thursday. You know, Finance is closed on Thursday. All day long they are closed. They are open 9 to 4 every day except for Thursday when they are closed all day and the hour and a half they are closed for lunch each day. People, are you thinking of joining the military? WORK IN FINANCE. We obviously need more people there, because we don't have enough to fill an entire duty week. Who works 9 to 4? Good Lord. Today I went back to Finance and you have to have cash. This is totally my fault I guess because I thought you could give them a check or a debit card. It never occurred to me that I'd need actual dollars, but still. That's 4 times I've gone over there and it's just not working out. God does not want me to have blinds.
So shortly after that I was leaving to pick the kids up from school, and I'm driving, and Skylar's in the carseat when all of a sudden she goes two steps beyond hysterical. It honestly was the fastest turnaround any of my kids have ever displayed and she's screaming "It's stuck!" and "In my nose!"
You have got to be freaking kidding me.
Why? Why Why Why would you be EVER be holding something and get tired of holding it and think "I'll just put it here, IN MY NOSE."?? I had been sewing before we left the house, and she'd been going through all my stuff, hiding it, and she'd picked up a pink rhinestone roughly the size of a button and decided to take it with her, because it was a beautiful magic treasure that she was going to keep forever because it was so special. Special enough to shove up her nose not 90 freaking seconds later. And blood is going everywhere, and I'm all "Blow! Blow into this ATM receipt!" and IT ISN'T WORKING and I'm going through my mental list of all the people I can call to help me. Do you know how many people are on that list? ONE. One person could actually help me, but the logistics of it were just impossible for me to figure out as I'm on my way to the ER, worried about
1. Ashlyn has volleyball today, I can't call her and change any previously given instructions because she wasn't involved in them to begin with.
2. Haley doesn't have a cell phone. She's only 10, and she'd annoy the hell out of me calling me every 10 minutes if she did have one so I can't call her.
3. The other two girls that ride home with me have a cell phone. I don't have that number. I also don't have their mother's number. How that is humanly possible is beyond me.
4. I can't call the school. The lady that answers the phone is Korean.
5. I'm speeding on post.
6. I'm talking on my cell phone while speeding on post.
7. TWEEZERS. I NEED A PAIR OF TWEEZERS.
I pull into the shoppette area and there's a little store there called Daiso. I have no idea how to pronounce the name or explain the purpose of this store, but it's about the size of a bathroom and they sell an assortment of things that boggle my mind. It's so random I can't even begin to list it all. All the parking spots are full, so I go all Korean on them and MAKE MY OWN and scream "Stay here!" to Screaming Her Head Off in the back seat and go tearing inside. Don't turn the car off, not even completely sure I closed the door. And hey, how good it that? That whole 'stay here' part? She's locked into a Britax, bleeding all over the place about to faint because her most prized possession in the whole wide world is lodged in her sinus cavity and I'm out of my mind but still enough of a parent to be concerned about her POSSIBLY WANDERING OFF.
I go running in and tell the girl I need tweezers. And she's Korean. Apparently they don't call them tweezers. Really? We have to play Charades now? For the love of all that is holy, I'm standing there with my car illegally parked, my car illegally running without a driver, and my unattended 4 year old still inside (also illegal of course) and I'm miming tweezing my eyebrows. And I guess you don't have to be a rocket scientist to work at Daiso because it took her a good 25 seconds to figure out what I was doing AND I WAS ILLEGALLY USING WORDS. Turns out Daiso has two kinds of packs for sale that contain tweezers, and I wanted to just buy the first one I saw, but she wanted to make sure I saw the second kind, because it was a little different, and I'm all I WANT TO BUY ONE RIGHT NOW JUST SURPRISE ME. $1.60 later I'm hauling back to the car and I fling open the back door and Skylar's all sunshine and happiness "It's okay Mommy, I blowed it out!"
We parked in plenty of time to pick everyone up from school, btw.
Then we went to CYS, which is Child and Youth Services, to pay for ballet for March, and I would like to say that CYS on this post is the worst run establishment in the history of the world. It took an hour to pay for ballet. One. Hour. Because the teacher for her Thursday class told me it might be canceled for March, and I might have to move Skylar to another time slot, so I had to check with the people in charge, I couldn't just put a check in the box, so I had to sign in and wait to be called, and finally when it was my turn I had to explain that I was checking to make sure the class time was still available blah blah blah and if not then I needed a new class time but if it was open I just wanted to pay and THE LADY WAS KOREAN and I totally understand why some people just go sit alongside the highway sometimes and randomly shoot at passing cars.
It's not that it's hard, even though it is. It's not that it's frustrating, even though it is. It's that I have a certain list of things I have to do each day and a certain way I need to do them and Korea does nothing except work against me. And as far as I know I've never done anything to Korea to provoke it.
So I came home and called Scott, because I honestly was about to go off the deep end and when that happens the only thing I can think to do is spend an obnoxious amount of money on something we don't need but promises to make your life easier, like a George Foreman Grill, which makes no sense to sane people but in my mind Hey, it makes your life easier! I need for things to be easier! I'll buy this grill! And Scott said he thought I should go to bed early.
Hmmm.
Good advice, except that leaves no time for me to go buy and play with unnecessary kitchen appliances.
I just need a break. Just a little one. Only I don't see one coming for over a year. Boo.
28 February 2011
23 September 2010
The funny thing is it's all HIS fault!
(Owen reading a book about South Korea)
Scott: Hey wait, that figure is wrong. 10 million people in Seoul? When was this book written?
Owen: 2008.
Scott: There are 14 million people in Seoul. So, in 2 years the population of Seoul has grown by 4 million. Wow.
Me: Well, you know what they say...
Scott: Yeah. They say "The Starrs are here."
Scott: Hey wait, that figure is wrong. 10 million people in Seoul? When was this book written?
Owen: 2008.
Scott: There are 14 million people in Seoul. So, in 2 years the population of Seoul has grown by 4 million. Wow.
Me: Well, you know what they say...
Scott: Yeah. They say "The Starrs are here."
03 June 2010
By definition
Little Korean man: You lotta kids! You are catholic?!
Me: No, we're not catholic. We're baptist. And sort of unlucky.
Me: No, we're not catholic. We're baptist. And sort of unlucky.
28 May 2010
Awareness
(at the commissary, on the laundry detergent row)
Scott: Do you need anything off this row?
Me: Uh, oh yes, I need bleach!
Scott: Bleach?
Me: Yes, bleach. We haven't had any bleach in, like, 3 or 4 days. Haven't you noticed the whites have looked dingy?
Scott: Whites?
Scott: Do you need anything off this row?
Me: Uh, oh yes, I need bleach!
Scott: Bleach?
Me: Yes, bleach. We haven't had any bleach in, like, 3 or 4 days. Haven't you noticed the whites have looked dingy?
Scott: Whites?
25 May 2010
Help yourself
We have a self-help store here on post where you can go and get various household items for free. Apparently they have these types of places on all military installations, but the only one I've ever used was in Hawaii, when I used to go get mouse traps to use to catch mice that we would then feed to the wild pigs that routinely hung out in our yard. That sounds mean, I know, but what else are you supposed to do with the mice once you catch them? I mean, they were snap traps, so the mice were most of the time still alive, so you couldn't really put them in the trash can. Plus, the pigs were hungry, so it was win-win. Another reason? We were bored. We were on an island in the middle of the ocean. And contrary to what that show would have you believe, the smoke monster didn't live there in 2002.
I would like to take this opportunity to say that I love Hawaii and everything about it, I miss Hawaii and everything about it, and I pray really hard every night that the Army will call and say "Oh, we made a mistake, you're supposed to be in Hawaii, so go there RIGHT NOW."
Anyway.
So we live in field grade housing now, which is military housing for Majors, Lt Colonels, and Colonels, and I am feeling a little bit of pressure to make the yard look presentable. And by "presentable" I mean I make an effort to get out there around twice a week to pick up all the dog shit so the Chaplain who lives next door doesn't have to smell it. But here lately I decided we needed to plant some flowers.
I've never been one to plant flowers in the yard. In Hawaii we had beautiful flowers, because the weather in Hawaii is perfectly conducive to beautiful flowers, so basically you plant them and then you're done. The weather there never changes, so the flowers just live and live. But I can't remember living any other place that was nice enough to make us want to do anything in the yard. Though there was this one time in Texas I let some Hispanics cut a few branches off a tree in the front yard that were touching the power lines. So maybe that counts.
Well guess what? Self-help here on post has free flowers. You just go over there and pick your flowers and they give them to you to beautify your yard with. Everybody here has them. And you can look like a pulled together family, or rather I can look freaking awesome, because not only, NOT ONLY, do I have three kids in school, I have a disagreeable toddler I stay home and take care of, a dog, a cat, andfarmville various household tasks like cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc. to do, not to mention Owen's baseball practice, and I can still manage to plant beautiful flowers in the front yard.
(I have now totally gone off subject in two sentences that I wrote, erased, re-wrote, and re-erased because I have the distinct feeling I will offend someone. There are a few of you who probably have an idea of what those sentences probably said. Yes, it was mean of me. Whatever.)
Last Saturday morning Scott and I went to self-help and picked out some lightbulbs, a sink stopper-God we are so wild it's barely legal-, three bags of mulch and 14 flats of flowers. Which, in case you don't know, is 168 individual flowers to plant into the ground. There was a limit, the guy said, of 10 flats per house, but that was only for the first little bit they had them, and now we could get however many we wanted. Well, I wanted to get ALL OF THEM, all 2 million, but Scott was all "Jennifer, they won't fit in the van and I'm not making two trips blah blah blah" so we only got 14. And when we left there I was absolutely giddy with the thoughts of just how domesticated I was going to look outside planting flowers for everyone to see.
Saturday afternoon I halfway killed myself. So what eventually ended up happening was Sunday afternoon everyone got to see me sitting in a chair on the front patio while Scott planted all the flowers. And that's fine, just fine, it was all some crazy pipe dream anyway, and I did manage to get one wife to comment "Now, THAT'S what I call gardening!" which she probably said because Scott had his shirt off. haha! Not really. Though it could have been the huge margarita glass on the table right beside the bottles of percocet and valium.
Wednesday my cell phone rang, and after I said "Hello?" a distinctly Korean man said "Hello?" so I said "Hello?" again and kind of held my breath, because this is what Koreans do on the phone. They repeat you. They are thinking so hard about what point they want to get across and how to speak it in English that when you finally answer it all goes right out the window and you kind of just greet each other for a while until they snap out of it. And the Korean man says "Starr?" so I said "Yes. Starr." This is another thing they do, they have a problem with first and last names and which order they write them and which order we write them and which order the Army writes them and really, it makes SO MUCH sense to have a bunch of Koreans doing so many of the civilian jobs here.
And the Korean guy says "Where the ho at?"
And for a few seconds I am speechless; I am trying to figure out what he's trying to ask me, because really, WHAT IS HE TRYING TO ASK ME, and finally I'm all "uh, I'm sorry?"
And he goes "We self-help. Where the ho? The ho your husband got from self-help."
WHAT THE HELL? Self-help has hos? I mean, I know Itaewon does, but self-help? ALL I SAW WAS LIGHTBULBS AND FLOWERS. My husband got a ho from self-help? So I say "Uh, ho?"
And then he goes "Yes. Ho and shovel."
OH. HOE. As in garden hoe. To plant flowers with.
And suddenly I lost all interest in the conversation.
So Scott comes home from lunch, and I tell him, and he thinks it's hilarious of course, so he goes out to get the hoe and shovel and put it in the van and I ask "Don't you think you should clean it off, it's kind of dirty."
BECAUSE EVEN AFTER 14 YEARS, I STILL HAVEN'T LEARNED.
Because of course Scott says "Nah, she was dirty when I got her, and it was all good. Hey, thanks for making sure she gets back okay."
haha. He's so funny. It's too bad he has a day job.
So we took them back, and while Scott was signing the receipt another couple walked in and the guy was all "LIGHTBULBS!" and went running in that direction. And the wife just kind of shrugged and said "He gets all excited about free lightbulbs." and I was all "That's nothing. WAIT TIL HE FINDS LAWN AND GARDEN."
I would like to take this opportunity to say that I love Hawaii and everything about it, I miss Hawaii and everything about it, and I pray really hard every night that the Army will call and say "Oh, we made a mistake, you're supposed to be in Hawaii, so go there RIGHT NOW."
Anyway.
So we live in field grade housing now, which is military housing for Majors, Lt Colonels, and Colonels, and I am feeling a little bit of pressure to make the yard look presentable. And by "presentable" I mean I make an effort to get out there around twice a week to pick up all the dog shit so the Chaplain who lives next door doesn't have to smell it. But here lately I decided we needed to plant some flowers.
I've never been one to plant flowers in the yard. In Hawaii we had beautiful flowers, because the weather in Hawaii is perfectly conducive to beautiful flowers, so basically you plant them and then you're done. The weather there never changes, so the flowers just live and live. But I can't remember living any other place that was nice enough to make us want to do anything in the yard. Though there was this one time in Texas I let some Hispanics cut a few branches off a tree in the front yard that were touching the power lines. So maybe that counts.
Well guess what? Self-help here on post has free flowers. You just go over there and pick your flowers and they give them to you to beautify your yard with. Everybody here has them. And you can look like a pulled together family, or rather I can look freaking awesome, because not only, NOT ONLY, do I have three kids in school, I have a disagreeable toddler I stay home and take care of, a dog, a cat, and
(I have now totally gone off subject in two sentences that I wrote, erased, re-wrote, and re-erased because I have the distinct feeling I will offend someone. There are a few of you who probably have an idea of what those sentences probably said. Yes, it was mean of me. Whatever.)
Last Saturday morning Scott and I went to self-help and picked out some lightbulbs, a sink stopper-God we are so wild it's barely legal-, three bags of mulch and 14 flats of flowers. Which, in case you don't know, is 168 individual flowers to plant into the ground. There was a limit, the guy said, of 10 flats per house, but that was only for the first little bit they had them, and now we could get however many we wanted. Well, I wanted to get ALL OF THEM, all 2 million, but Scott was all "Jennifer, they won't fit in the van and I'm not making two trips blah blah blah" so we only got 14. And when we left there I was absolutely giddy with the thoughts of just how domesticated I was going to look outside planting flowers for everyone to see.
Saturday afternoon I halfway killed myself. So what eventually ended up happening was Sunday afternoon everyone got to see me sitting in a chair on the front patio while Scott planted all the flowers. And that's fine, just fine, it was all some crazy pipe dream anyway, and I did manage to get one wife to comment "Now, THAT'S what I call gardening!" which she probably said because Scott had his shirt off. haha! Not really. Though it could have been the huge margarita glass on the table right beside the bottles of percocet and valium.
Wednesday my cell phone rang, and after I said "Hello?" a distinctly Korean man said "Hello?" so I said "Hello?" again and kind of held my breath, because this is what Koreans do on the phone. They repeat you. They are thinking so hard about what point they want to get across and how to speak it in English that when you finally answer it all goes right out the window and you kind of just greet each other for a while until they snap out of it. And the Korean man says "Starr?" so I said "Yes. Starr." This is another thing they do, they have a problem with first and last names and which order they write them and which order we write them and which order the Army writes them and really, it makes SO MUCH sense to have a bunch of Koreans doing so many of the civilian jobs here.
And the Korean guy says "Where the ho at?"
And for a few seconds I am speechless; I am trying to figure out what he's trying to ask me, because really, WHAT IS HE TRYING TO ASK ME, and finally I'm all "uh, I'm sorry?"
And he goes "We self-help. Where the ho? The ho your husband got from self-help."
WHAT THE HELL? Self-help has hos? I mean, I know Itaewon does, but self-help? ALL I SAW WAS LIGHTBULBS AND FLOWERS. My husband got a ho from self-help? So I say "Uh, ho?"
And then he goes "Yes. Ho and shovel."
OH. HOE. As in garden hoe. To plant flowers with.
And suddenly I lost all interest in the conversation.
So Scott comes home from lunch, and I tell him, and he thinks it's hilarious of course, so he goes out to get the hoe and shovel and put it in the van and I ask "Don't you think you should clean it off, it's kind of dirty."
BECAUSE EVEN AFTER 14 YEARS, I STILL HAVEN'T LEARNED.
Because of course Scott says "Nah, she was dirty when I got her, and it was all good. Hey, thanks for making sure she gets back okay."
haha. He's so funny. It's too bad he has a day job.
So we took them back, and while Scott was signing the receipt another couple walked in and the guy was all "LIGHTBULBS!" and went running in that direction. And the wife just kind of shrugged and said "He gets all excited about free lightbulbs." and I was all "That's nothing. WAIT TIL HE FINDS LAWN AND GARDEN."
17 May 2010
Pain in the neck
It's no secret I spend a lot of time at various ERs around the country with all these kids. We've had 5 broken bones (3 arms, 1 finger, and 1 toe), two sets of stitches, and one encounter with some face glue. There was also the near broken bones (twice) and the to-this-day unexplained body rash that I'm thinking was some type of allergy to Korea in general. I'm not going to count the fever/ear infections or anything like that because, well, I've blocked a lot of them out. So, needless to say, I'm some kind of expert at knowing exactly just what to do to jump to the front of the line and drastically cut into the amount of time spent waiting around.
The top two ways to jump to the front of the line are:
1. Go into the ER covered in blood, holding a child that is covered in blood, wrapped in a towel that is covered in blood, and be screaming. I cannot even guess how many people we jumped ahead of in Hawaii that time when I did that.
2. Go into the ER holding a child who has an obvious bone deformity, like, say, having a wrist bone where NO ONE should have a wrist bone. This worked one time in Arizona and one time in Georgia.
Saturday night Scott had to take me to the ER. I would like to preface this entire story with I AM NEVER SICK. I never get allergies. I never get colds. I never get stomach viruses. I leave that up to all the sicklies I live with. I do, however, get sick when I'm pregnant. Terribly, violently sick. And now that that's taken care of, KNOCK ON WOOD, I don't plan on being sick anymore.
So. Saturday. Well, it all started when I said I was going to take a shower and Scott followed me upstairs, like he always does, JUST IN CASE I'M JOKING when I tell him to leave me alone and play with the four kids we already have that are all his fault. And of course the AFN movie channel had some crap movie on, and it just sucks you into it, so instead of taking a shower I decided to watch the movie, and I laid down on the bed and one of our bajillion remotes was right under my back. So when I tried to reach for it I felt a little twinge.
And everything was a-okay until about an hour later, when we were trying to leave for Owen's baseball game, and he had no idea where his cleats were. So I came bouncing into my room and dropped down onto my hands and knees to look under the bed and you know what? I couldn't get back up. And I couldn't move my neck. So I whined for a minute, then somehow got back downstairs and told Scott Hey, you know what? I just really hurt my neck. And Scott was like Whatever, go get in the car, we're going to be late.
So while we were at the game my neck got stiffer and my shoulder started to hurt a little and I started to whine more. After the game Scott and I had to go to the commissary because we had no groceries. We had no groceries because I usually try to go on Friday, but Saturday morning the people in charge of the all the electricity here decided to shut all the power off from midnight to 6am. I handled the commissary beautifully, so I mistakenly thought I was okay. Plus, whenever I started to mention that my neck or shoulder hurt, Mr. Compassionate would roll his eyes and tell me for God's sake to just put the loaf of bread down if it was too much for me to handle. When we got back from the commissary we decided to walk over to the electronics market.
There are several reasons I thought this was a good idea. Firstly, I don't know if you know, but Friday I went to get my hair done and while I was gone Owen smashed my laptop. And guess what was on my laptop? My bodystep music. Yes. The music I need June 1st when I start teaching bodystep to all the soldiers during PT. So I really, really need that music off the hard drive. Secondly, I seemed to be able to walk fine, it was just sitting that was causing me pain. Thirdly, it was supposed to rain the first half of the week, plus it'd just be me and Skylar, and she sucks the fun out of EVERYTHING so I wanted Scott to go with me.
Well, we got over there and the guy who knows all about MACs was closed, which figures, so we kind of walked around a little bit looking at all the crap they have spread out all over the streets over there and then turned around to come back. And while I was walking fine, I was not able to really move my head side to side or up and down, which wasn't a problem until I stepped kind of half on-half off a curb.
I wish I could tell you that I handled the trip with grace, that in one fluid move I caught myself and just went along my merry way, but no, I didn't. It was ugly. And OH MY GOD it hurt. And it was so bad I immediately started crying from the pain and I think I might have blubbered a little bit about separated ribs and a punctured lung. People, I honestly didn't think I was going to be able to make it back to the gate. With every breath I felt like someone was twisting a knife in my back, and my entire right arm was numb and I couldn't move it.
So things were sucking really really badly, and then, THEN, Skylar peed all over herself. And you know, I'm not sure how that happened, because at one point I'm pretty sure I blacked out from the pain while we were walking, but Scott was yelling and there was crying (but that could have been me I'm not completely sure). After the fact I was told it had something to do with her shoe, that she couldn't get her shoe on, and she was fussing with it and all of a sudden she peed. I mean Gawd. Have you ever in your life?
So we get back home, and I try to sit down and I can't, because it hurts so badly, and I'm crying, and the kids are freaking out because Mama is hurt, and Scott? Scott is cleaning the kitchen. You know, unloading the dishwasher and getting the house straightened up. AND I'M DYING ON THE LEATHER COUCH. Then, when he realized I was crying uncontrollably he took me to the ER, which brings me to the #3 way you can jump to the beginning of the line at the ER.
#3: Hobble into the ER with your husband and when they ask you "What happened?" look uncomfortably over at your husband and just kind of mumble "I don't know, I just hurt myself." Because you know what they think happened? They think your husband has beat you up, and the reason you can't answer what happened is not because you're embarrassed that you honestly don't know what on earth you did to make the right side of your body st0p working, but because you are afraid to say "My husband beat me up" while he's standing right beside you. Also, when they ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, and you say "Well, as long as I stand very still I'm fine but if I move ever so slightly I'll either throw up or have diarrhea." THAT HELPS TOO.
And I didn't realize the part about the spousal abuse until we were back in the little curtained area, and Scott was of course bored so he was acting like he was going to poke me with his finger, which was making me tense up, hurt more, and call out STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT. Because that's then the nurse came back in immediately and asked me if I ever felt threatened at home and if I wasn't comfortable answering in front of my husband they could make him leave. So, you know, we all got a good laugh out of that one, because no, I don't feel threatened by my husband. Embarrassed? Um. Kind of. On a scale of 1 to 10? How about 19.
The doctor decided it was strained muscles and pinched nerves and here, have some percocet and valium. Which normal people would have probably thought was AWESOME, but I immediately started freaking out, because celebrities take these pills all the time and you know what? THEY DIE. These pills aren't safe, and you can't mix them, and what kind of doctor are you, giving me pills that will kill me? NOBODY EVEN WEIGHED ME. How do you know the correct dosage if no one weighed me? I know how it works people, I OWN STOCK IN EMERGENCY ROOMS. And they assured me, repeatedly, that it would be ok, that they were safe to take together, or apart, or however I wanted to take them, and I shouldn't worry about it. And I must not have looked convinced, because then the nurse told Scott he might want to start out with two valium, that it might help EVERYONE get some sleep. And I was still arguing when Scott drug me out of there; I was still double and triple checking exactly how to safely administer the narcotic drugs. BUT I TOOK SOME ADVIL THREE HOURS AGO. Did you count that? Nobody asked me about that. CAN YOU MIX IT WITH ADVIL?
And I'm pretty sure the nurse and doctor think I'm crazy. And I'm also pretty sure if I went back in claiming spousal abuse they would probably side with Scott.
The top two ways to jump to the front of the line are:
1. Go into the ER covered in blood, holding a child that is covered in blood, wrapped in a towel that is covered in blood, and be screaming. I cannot even guess how many people we jumped ahead of in Hawaii that time when I did that.
2. Go into the ER holding a child who has an obvious bone deformity, like, say, having a wrist bone where NO ONE should have a wrist bone. This worked one time in Arizona and one time in Georgia.
Saturday night Scott had to take me to the ER. I would like to preface this entire story with I AM NEVER SICK. I never get allergies. I never get colds. I never get stomach viruses. I leave that up to all the sicklies I live with. I do, however, get sick when I'm pregnant. Terribly, violently sick. And now that that's taken care of, KNOCK ON WOOD, I don't plan on being sick anymore.
So. Saturday. Well, it all started when I said I was going to take a shower and Scott followed me upstairs, like he always does, JUST IN CASE I'M JOKING when I tell him to leave me alone and play with the four kids we already have that are all his fault. And of course the AFN movie channel had some crap movie on, and it just sucks you into it, so instead of taking a shower I decided to watch the movie, and I laid down on the bed and one of our bajillion remotes was right under my back. So when I tried to reach for it I felt a little twinge.
And everything was a-okay until about an hour later, when we were trying to leave for Owen's baseball game, and he had no idea where his cleats were. So I came bouncing into my room and dropped down onto my hands and knees to look under the bed and you know what? I couldn't get back up. And I couldn't move my neck. So I whined for a minute, then somehow got back downstairs and told Scott Hey, you know what? I just really hurt my neck. And Scott was like Whatever, go get in the car, we're going to be late.
So while we were at the game my neck got stiffer and my shoulder started to hurt a little and I started to whine more. After the game Scott and I had to go to the commissary because we had no groceries. We had no groceries because I usually try to go on Friday, but Saturday morning the people in charge of the all the electricity here decided to shut all the power off from midnight to 6am. I handled the commissary beautifully, so I mistakenly thought I was okay. Plus, whenever I started to mention that my neck or shoulder hurt, Mr. Compassionate would roll his eyes and tell me for God's sake to just put the loaf of bread down if it was too much for me to handle. When we got back from the commissary we decided to walk over to the electronics market.
There are several reasons I thought this was a good idea. Firstly, I don't know if you know, but Friday I went to get my hair done and while I was gone Owen smashed my laptop. And guess what was on my laptop? My bodystep music. Yes. The music I need June 1st when I start teaching bodystep to all the soldiers during PT. So I really, really need that music off the hard drive. Secondly, I seemed to be able to walk fine, it was just sitting that was causing me pain. Thirdly, it was supposed to rain the first half of the week, plus it'd just be me and Skylar, and she sucks the fun out of EVERYTHING so I wanted Scott to go with me.
Well, we got over there and the guy who knows all about MACs was closed, which figures, so we kind of walked around a little bit looking at all the crap they have spread out all over the streets over there and then turned around to come back. And while I was walking fine, I was not able to really move my head side to side or up and down, which wasn't a problem until I stepped kind of half on-half off a curb.
I wish I could tell you that I handled the trip with grace, that in one fluid move I caught myself and just went along my merry way, but no, I didn't. It was ugly. And OH MY GOD it hurt. And it was so bad I immediately started crying from the pain and I think I might have blubbered a little bit about separated ribs and a punctured lung. People, I honestly didn't think I was going to be able to make it back to the gate. With every breath I felt like someone was twisting a knife in my back, and my entire right arm was numb and I couldn't move it.
So things were sucking really really badly, and then, THEN, Skylar peed all over herself. And you know, I'm not sure how that happened, because at one point I'm pretty sure I blacked out from the pain while we were walking, but Scott was yelling and there was crying (but that could have been me I'm not completely sure). After the fact I was told it had something to do with her shoe, that she couldn't get her shoe on, and she was fussing with it and all of a sudden she peed. I mean Gawd. Have you ever in your life?
So we get back home, and I try to sit down and I can't, because it hurts so badly, and I'm crying, and the kids are freaking out because Mama is hurt, and Scott? Scott is cleaning the kitchen. You know, unloading the dishwasher and getting the house straightened up. AND I'M DYING ON THE LEATHER COUCH. Then, when he realized I was crying uncontrollably he took me to the ER, which brings me to the #3 way you can jump to the beginning of the line at the ER.
#3: Hobble into the ER with your husband and when they ask you "What happened?" look uncomfortably over at your husband and just kind of mumble "I don't know, I just hurt myself." Because you know what they think happened? They think your husband has beat you up, and the reason you can't answer what happened is not because you're embarrassed that you honestly don't know what on earth you did to make the right side of your body st0p working, but because you are afraid to say "My husband beat me up" while he's standing right beside you. Also, when they ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, and you say "Well, as long as I stand very still I'm fine but if I move ever so slightly I'll either throw up or have diarrhea." THAT HELPS TOO.
And I didn't realize the part about the spousal abuse until we were back in the little curtained area, and Scott was of course bored so he was acting like he was going to poke me with his finger, which was making me tense up, hurt more, and call out STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT. Because that's then the nurse came back in immediately and asked me if I ever felt threatened at home and if I wasn't comfortable answering in front of my husband they could make him leave. So, you know, we all got a good laugh out of that one, because no, I don't feel threatened by my husband. Embarrassed? Um. Kind of. On a scale of 1 to 10? How about 19.
The doctor decided it was strained muscles and pinched nerves and here, have some percocet and valium. Which normal people would have probably thought was AWESOME, but I immediately started freaking out, because celebrities take these pills all the time and you know what? THEY DIE. These pills aren't safe, and you can't mix them, and what kind of doctor are you, giving me pills that will kill me? NOBODY EVEN WEIGHED ME. How do you know the correct dosage if no one weighed me? I know how it works people, I OWN STOCK IN EMERGENCY ROOMS. And they assured me, repeatedly, that it would be ok, that they were safe to take together, or apart, or however I wanted to take them, and I shouldn't worry about it. And I must not have looked convinced, because then the nurse told Scott he might want to start out with two valium, that it might help EVERYONE get some sleep. And I was still arguing when Scott drug me out of there; I was still double and triple checking exactly how to safely administer the narcotic drugs. BUT I TOOK SOME ADVIL THREE HOURS AGO. Did you count that? Nobody asked me about that. CAN YOU MIX IT WITH ADVIL?
And I'm pretty sure the nurse and doctor think I'm crazy. And I'm also pretty sure if I went back in claiming spousal abuse they would probably side with Scott.
05 May 2010
It's the thought that counts. I think.
My birthday is April 18th. The kids started talking about it around February 23rd, when Ashlyn had hers. After that there aren't any until mine, and that was discussed at length: "Guess who's got a birthday coming up?" and "Guess who's getting presents soon!" and "Can we buy Mama that wii game I want?" So anyway, it's not like the day actually snuck up on anyone. How can people say that anyway? "Well, it snuck up on me." What? It's the SAME DAY every single year, and the calendar works the SAME WAY every single year, so it's not a trick to fool you into missing it. That's a bad excuse. Instead of saying it snuck up on you why not just man up and say you weren't paying attention, or you procrastinated to the point of where it was too late? Or that you flat out don't care one?
We live in Korea. At Christmas we found that Korea doesn't have a lot to offer in the way of gifts. I thought at the time that it was because we didn't have a car, and there was all that snow everywhere, and we just didn't know where to look. The PX here is bad, really bad. The toy section is bad and the clothes section is bad and the list just goes on and on. I had a hard time, a really really hard time, coming up with stuff to buy for the kids for Christmas, and I had a hard time finding things for Scott. And when Scott went out on December 23rd to pick up some gifts for me, he had a hard time too.
We talked about it at Christmas, how we were going to have to start birthday shopping weeks in advance because whatever we bought would have to be shipped from somewhere other than Korea, so for it to get here in time it needed to be ordered about 2 weeks in advance and shipped priority so we could then sit back and cross our fingers and hope and pray it got here. So for Skylar's in January I found a really cute doll house online and told my mom about it, she ordered it from ToysRUs and then I ordered all the extra rooms along with a couple other small things. They got here in plenty of time and I wrapped them up and all was good. And Skylar plays with that doll house every single day. Good call, Jennifer!
As we perused Korea and the various shopping establishments off post Ashlyn found a really soft, really warm blanket for her bed. She'd take one of those for her birthday, thanks, unless we wanted to buy her an iPod touch, which I thought about for about half a second before saying ARE YOU CRAZY? I mean seriously, do you even know where you DS is right now? Or your digital camera? Or the charger to either one of them? No? Well then, let's by all means go out and spend several hundred dollars on another piece of electronics you can lose; now, how about a blanket? We also did go ahead and get her a cell phone, the prepaid kind, with something like 1000 minutes for $9 that I gave to her along with a threat that I would absolutely string her up by her toes in the closet under the stairs if she started texting people or giving out the number to her friends. We will not, I told her, buy minutes more than once a month (the way Korean pre-paid cell phones work, or the way I understand them to work, is your minutes keep adding up but you have to renew each month for $9, for which you get an additional 1000 minutes. I could be way off here; the guy spoke very limited, very broken English.) Because the second she used all her minutes doing that kind of thing and I went to pick her up from someplace and she wasn't where she said she'd be and she couldn't call because she'd been yakking to all her buddies an her minutes were all gone was the same exact second she would start walking everywhere she needed/wanted to go. Scott said under no circumstances would we be spending more than $9 a month on a phone for an 11 year old who only needed to use it to get in touch with me when chorus got out 15 minutes early. There was also that other time it came in really handy though, that time Skylar, Lisa and I accidentally got on the wrong subway train and didn't realize it for a little while, and didn't get back in time for school to be let out. So, other than when her mother does something stupid, she doesn't really need it, and of course most of the time she doesn't even carry it. Like MOST OF THE TIMES I TRY TO CALL HER.
Then. My birthday. I imagine a window opening up in the sky and a ray of light shining down onto that specific date on the calendar. Not really. But anyway, Scott's mom came to visit and she left the morning of the 17th, which was a Saturday. So that afternoon we all went to the PX so I could browse a different aisle from the rest of them, who were going to be buying PRESENTS!! Well, it didn't go as planned, because there's just nothing there to buy for you, mama, we just couldn't find anything. And they decided not to buy something just for the sake of buying something, which I can't argue with and won't argue with. I appreciate not being given something they don't like, that they aren't sure I'll like, just so there will be a present there. At one point though while we were in the PX I was looking at a rack of earrings, not "real" jewelry mind you, just the costume stuff and I pointed out to Ashlyn a couple of pairs I thought were cute, so that's what they bought.
And Scott was in a bad mood for the rest of the night, because he was in Iraq last year so I basically bought my own presents and this year he was back and he wanted to buy me stuff and he couldn't find anything to buy. And he didn't even like the earrings, but he wasn't going to not give me anything at all, and the girls were upset because they thought the earrings would be fine, so he just bought them until he could find something else, something better. This was just like at Christmas, when we found that shopping the day before was a bad idea because when you couldn't find anything to buy it was already too late to look on the internet.
The next day, my actual birthday, we went to the food court here to eat dinner. There are no restaurants here that you can count on, they don't understand consistency here, so rather than go out and spend a lot of money on bad food that isn't satisfying, we went to Subway, because have you had their new flatbread? It's so satisfying. And you can count on it to consistently taste the same, so there are no awkward surprises and tears and shouting. Afterwards, we went over to the Baskin Robbins counter to buy an ice cream cake. Have I mentioned how much I love birthday cake? I love it. Love, love, love it. I like cheesecake, and peach cobbler, and stuff like that, but nothing beats birthday cake. Nothing. Well we walked over to get one and they didn't have any. So we just went home. And for two days Scott apologized about not getting me any presents, and not getting me a cake, and giving me a crappy birthday, and not putting gas in the car the last time which made me think I was going to run out, and that one time two years ago when he said my hair looked bad and I cried about it.
Five days after my birthday is Scott's birthday. And you know what? Scott loves meatloaf. Now, I think meatloaf is one of the nastiest things on the face of the earth, along with coconut, feet and the sound of someone brushing their teeth. I don't know why, because isn't it basically just a hamburger shaped like a loaf of bread? It just seems so heavy, I guess, that I don't care for it at all. You know what else Scott likes? German chocolate cake. You know, with coconut frosting. So guess what we did. I got Becky The World's Best Baker to send me recipes for meatloaf and german chocolate cake, went out and bought all the stuff, and started at 2:00 in the afternoon on Scott's birthday cooking and baking. Oh, and the girls made cupcakes, because nobody else was willing to commit to eating the german chocolate cake and we needed something to enjoy too.
Let me tell you, this meatloaf was the bomb. I had to finely mince carrots, and onions, and celery, and put in various sauces, and hamburger meat, and italian sausage, and spices, and then, THEN I had to put my hands in the bowl with all of it and mix it up. With my hands. And I think it was at that point Ashlyn said "Oh I feel so sorry for you, mom." and even Haley teared up a little bit and asked what the other choices were for dinner, like, what side dishes were we having again? Because maybe she needed to have another after-school snack.
Oh, and I have to add that right in the middle of all of this water started coming out of the bottom of the refrigerator so I called the housing people and they sent a small Korean man to my house, who proceeded to take all the food out of the freezer and the top two shelves of the refrigerator, spread it out on the counter, and then start working on the refrigerator with a screwdriver and a hair dryer. So there was me, Ashlyn and Haley, and the Korean man all in the kitchen, with both the refrigerator and the freezer door wide open, and every dish I own out on the counter, along with all the food we had that needed refrigeration.
Then we made a german chocolate cake from scratch. With flour and cocoa and buttermilk, which, oh by the way, they don't sell at the commissary, so we had to get the next best thing, some powder in a can, and MAKE OUR OWN FREAKING BUTTERMILK. I am not even joking. And after that we had to wash all the beaters and mixing bowls and then make two batches of strawberry cupcakes, which we did not make from scratch, and looking back we should have because it would have made the story so much better. Then we had to let it all cool while I finished up mixing the meatloaf and peeling 10 pounds of potatoes because I have a lot of kids and I didn't feel really secure in the fact that they would be eating meatloaf. Next was the huge fight over how many cupcakes SHE was icing, and how SHE did two more than I did, and how SHE was hurrying so she could do the most, and where are the sprinkles, LOOK MOM, SKYLAR IS EATING THE SPRINKLES STRAIGHT FROM THE SPRINKLE JAR, and Owen came in wanting to help, so he and I made the coconut pecan frosting, after we TOASTED THE STUPID PECANS because there's nothing half-ass about me and DON'T YOU FORGET IT, and Owen decided that this couldn't possibly be the stuff I was going to put on that chocolate cake over there cooling on the racks, because it didn't look anything like frosting and he wasn't going to eat any of it, he'd just have a cupcake. So basically I'm making a meatloaf that no one is going to eat besides Scott, and a cake that no one is going to eat besides Scott. And I'm sweating like nobody's business, so on top of the onions and the celery and the cocoa smell I also smell like feet.
HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, EAT YOUR MEATLOAF AND YOUR CAKE AND YOU'D BETTER FREAKING LIKE IT LIKE YOU'VE NEVER LIKED ANYTHING BEFORE IN YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE FREAKING LIFE.
We also went and got some presents, some new nike running shorts and shirts because Scott runs off post in the mornings and you're not supposed to be advertising Army PT off post by wearing the uniform. Actually, you're not supposed to advertise Army anything here off post, you're supposed to blend in. Which is difficult for us because we don't really look Asian. Or speak Korean. We also got him some dark jeans, which look so awesome on him I've asked him to wear them every single day when he gets home from work and takes off his ACUs, and a computer game for his computer, because I have the same game on my computer and he hogs it all the time, which cuts into my Facebook time. And I mean, come on. I HAVE TO HARVEST.
Five days after Scott's birthday is Owen's birthday. And Owen is really into nerf guns and shooting nerf darts at that cat we got, so he had one already, Meena bought him one while she was visiting, and I bought him another one and lots and lots of darts, along with a movie and a wii game. Then, we made a brownie pizza on the pampered chef pizza stone (hint: if you put parchment paper on the stone and spread the brownie batter on it the batter won't run off when it cooks and you can make a big brownie pizza!), topped with marshmallows and chocolate drizzle. For dinner Owen had his choice and he chose...wait for it...Taco Bell. He's going to make a great husband one day. It's my birthday. Taco Bell and brownies, please.
Five days after Owen's birthday is our wedding anniversary. Are you starting to see a pattern? (Amy, I know you see it and I know I'm making you absolutely giddy with all my "tendencies") So, two days before my anniversary Scott takes Owen to the PX to "try to buy a new Wii". This whole "we need a new Wii" thing is a totally separate story, but a good one nonetheless, and I will be featuring all of THOSE sordid details in an upcoming post. When they got home they didn't have a Wii, and Scott looked dejected again, saying Oh well, I was gonna try to get you a picture from the PX but it's not going to work.
--(there's a guy at the PX annex who takes a picture and then burns it into wood, and it's absolutely amazing. i cannot believe the detail he gets into them, and I comment every time we pass them about how pretty they are.)--
Scott took my favorite wedding picture to the guy, along with a poem the girls helped him pick out online somewhere, for the guy to burn into wood. It turns out it would take him 2 weeks to get it finished, so there's no way it'd be ready anytime near our anniversary (2 days away), and also the picture Scott took had that "soft glow" look to it and the guy said he couldn't get enough detail from it to make it look right. Scott apologized for striking out, again, and made the executive decision that we weren't buying each other anything for our anniversary this year, because he couldn't find anything to buy me. We also didn't go out to eat, instead I made taco salad, so the hamburger meat wouldn't spoil.
So, you know, it kind of started off on a slight downward slant and by the end it was a flat-out free-fall. And Scott has been in a continuous state of apology, and I can't figure out if I'm sad, hurt, mad, or indifferent to the whole situation. He's a male, after all, and he understands the planning that goes into birthday/anniversary present buying about as well as he understands the planning that goes into getting all the separate food dishes to be ready to eat at the exact same time when you make dinner. What? It's all going to be ready at the same time? Without one or two parts having to sit in the microwave for half an hour? WHAT MADNESS.
Yesterday Haley came home from school with a flower she planted for me for Mother's Day, one that she was supposed to keep in her classroom and bring home Friday, but they apparently planted these flowers on Earth Day, last month, because her teacher thought it would be easier to only get the potting soil out with all the 3rd graders ONE time. So these flowers had just about lived out their life expectancy in the classroom, and the teacher was shocked they had started dying, and everyone was afraid they were going to die before Sunday so she sent them all home. Even better, to ruin the surprise even more, she sent out an email BEFORE school was out, letting us know our children, our sweet little 9 year olds who absolutely live for surprises, had patiently and lovingly planted us flowers and they were now half dead so they were bringing them home today, Happy Mother's Day, SURPRISE!
(last night, when Scott got home:)
"Daddy! Look at the pretty yellow flower I planted for Mama at school."
"Why did you plant a flower for her?"
"Because Sunday is Mother's Day!"
(looking rather alarmed and looking at me) "Sunday is Mother's Day?"
"Yeah! Didn't you know?"
"Sunday is Mother's Day. Shit. I CAN'T CATCH A BREAK."
And he's already apologizing for how badly Sunday is going to go.
Well, there's something to be said for NOT living in a state of anticipation, I guess, for not wondering what's inside all the nicely wrapped PRESENTS!! Needless to say, since moving to Korea, I've lowered my bar. Actually, you can't really even see the bar anymore, because it's covered in dirt.
We live in Korea. At Christmas we found that Korea doesn't have a lot to offer in the way of gifts. I thought at the time that it was because we didn't have a car, and there was all that snow everywhere, and we just didn't know where to look. The PX here is bad, really bad. The toy section is bad and the clothes section is bad and the list just goes on and on. I had a hard time, a really really hard time, coming up with stuff to buy for the kids for Christmas, and I had a hard time finding things for Scott. And when Scott went out on December 23rd to pick up some gifts for me, he had a hard time too.
We talked about it at Christmas, how we were going to have to start birthday shopping weeks in advance because whatever we bought would have to be shipped from somewhere other than Korea, so for it to get here in time it needed to be ordered about 2 weeks in advance and shipped priority so we could then sit back and cross our fingers and hope and pray it got here. So for Skylar's in January I found a really cute doll house online and told my mom about it, she ordered it from ToysRUs and then I ordered all the extra rooms along with a couple other small things. They got here in plenty of time and I wrapped them up and all was good. And Skylar plays with that doll house every single day. Good call, Jennifer!
As we perused Korea and the various shopping establishments off post Ashlyn found a really soft, really warm blanket for her bed. She'd take one of those for her birthday, thanks, unless we wanted to buy her an iPod touch, which I thought about for about half a second before saying ARE YOU CRAZY? I mean seriously, do you even know where you DS is right now? Or your digital camera? Or the charger to either one of them? No? Well then, let's by all means go out and spend several hundred dollars on another piece of electronics you can lose; now, how about a blanket? We also did go ahead and get her a cell phone, the prepaid kind, with something like 1000 minutes for $9 that I gave to her along with a threat that I would absolutely string her up by her toes in the closet under the stairs if she started texting people or giving out the number to her friends. We will not, I told her, buy minutes more than once a month (the way Korean pre-paid cell phones work, or the way I understand them to work, is your minutes keep adding up but you have to renew each month for $9, for which you get an additional 1000 minutes. I could be way off here; the guy spoke very limited, very broken English.) Because the second she used all her minutes doing that kind of thing and I went to pick her up from someplace and she wasn't where she said she'd be and she couldn't call because she'd been yakking to all her buddies an her minutes were all gone was the same exact second she would start walking everywhere she needed/wanted to go. Scott said under no circumstances would we be spending more than $9 a month on a phone for an 11 year old who only needed to use it to get in touch with me when chorus got out 15 minutes early. There was also that other time it came in really handy though, that time Skylar, Lisa and I accidentally got on the wrong subway train and didn't realize it for a little while, and didn't get back in time for school to be let out. So, other than when her mother does something stupid, she doesn't really need it, and of course most of the time she doesn't even carry it. Like MOST OF THE TIMES I TRY TO CALL HER.
Then. My birthday. I imagine a window opening up in the sky and a ray of light shining down onto that specific date on the calendar. Not really. But anyway, Scott's mom came to visit and she left the morning of the 17th, which was a Saturday. So that afternoon we all went to the PX so I could browse a different aisle from the rest of them, who were going to be buying PRESENTS!! Well, it didn't go as planned, because there's just nothing there to buy for you, mama, we just couldn't find anything. And they decided not to buy something just for the sake of buying something, which I can't argue with and won't argue with. I appreciate not being given something they don't like, that they aren't sure I'll like, just so there will be a present there. At one point though while we were in the PX I was looking at a rack of earrings, not "real" jewelry mind you, just the costume stuff and I pointed out to Ashlyn a couple of pairs I thought were cute, so that's what they bought.
And Scott was in a bad mood for the rest of the night, because he was in Iraq last year so I basically bought my own presents and this year he was back and he wanted to buy me stuff and he couldn't find anything to buy. And he didn't even like the earrings, but he wasn't going to not give me anything at all, and the girls were upset because they thought the earrings would be fine, so he just bought them until he could find something else, something better. This was just like at Christmas, when we found that shopping the day before was a bad idea because when you couldn't find anything to buy it was already too late to look on the internet.
The next day, my actual birthday, we went to the food court here to eat dinner. There are no restaurants here that you can count on, they don't understand consistency here, so rather than go out and spend a lot of money on bad food that isn't satisfying, we went to Subway, because have you had their new flatbread? It's so satisfying. And you can count on it to consistently taste the same, so there are no awkward surprises and tears and shouting. Afterwards, we went over to the Baskin Robbins counter to buy an ice cream cake. Have I mentioned how much I love birthday cake? I love it. Love, love, love it. I like cheesecake, and peach cobbler, and stuff like that, but nothing beats birthday cake. Nothing. Well we walked over to get one and they didn't have any. So we just went home. And for two days Scott apologized about not getting me any presents, and not getting me a cake, and giving me a crappy birthday, and not putting gas in the car the last time which made me think I was going to run out, and that one time two years ago when he said my hair looked bad and I cried about it.
Five days after my birthday is Scott's birthday. And you know what? Scott loves meatloaf. Now, I think meatloaf is one of the nastiest things on the face of the earth, along with coconut, feet and the sound of someone brushing their teeth. I don't know why, because isn't it basically just a hamburger shaped like a loaf of bread? It just seems so heavy, I guess, that I don't care for it at all. You know what else Scott likes? German chocolate cake. You know, with coconut frosting. So guess what we did. I got Becky The World's Best Baker to send me recipes for meatloaf and german chocolate cake, went out and bought all the stuff, and started at 2:00 in the afternoon on Scott's birthday cooking and baking. Oh, and the girls made cupcakes, because nobody else was willing to commit to eating the german chocolate cake and we needed something to enjoy too.
Let me tell you, this meatloaf was the bomb. I had to finely mince carrots, and onions, and celery, and put in various sauces, and hamburger meat, and italian sausage, and spices, and then, THEN I had to put my hands in the bowl with all of it and mix it up. With my hands. And I think it was at that point Ashlyn said "Oh I feel so sorry for you, mom." and even Haley teared up a little bit and asked what the other choices were for dinner, like, what side dishes were we having again? Because maybe she needed to have another after-school snack.
Oh, and I have to add that right in the middle of all of this water started coming out of the bottom of the refrigerator so I called the housing people and they sent a small Korean man to my house, who proceeded to take all the food out of the freezer and the top two shelves of the refrigerator, spread it out on the counter, and then start working on the refrigerator with a screwdriver and a hair dryer. So there was me, Ashlyn and Haley, and the Korean man all in the kitchen, with both the refrigerator and the freezer door wide open, and every dish I own out on the counter, along with all the food we had that needed refrigeration.
Then we made a german chocolate cake from scratch. With flour and cocoa and buttermilk, which, oh by the way, they don't sell at the commissary, so we had to get the next best thing, some powder in a can, and MAKE OUR OWN FREAKING BUTTERMILK. I am not even joking. And after that we had to wash all the beaters and mixing bowls and then make two batches of strawberry cupcakes, which we did not make from scratch, and looking back we should have because it would have made the story so much better. Then we had to let it all cool while I finished up mixing the meatloaf and peeling 10 pounds of potatoes because I have a lot of kids and I didn't feel really secure in the fact that they would be eating meatloaf. Next was the huge fight over how many cupcakes SHE was icing, and how SHE did two more than I did, and how SHE was hurrying so she could do the most, and where are the sprinkles, LOOK MOM, SKYLAR IS EATING THE SPRINKLES STRAIGHT FROM THE SPRINKLE JAR, and Owen came in wanting to help, so he and I made the coconut pecan frosting, after we TOASTED THE STUPID PECANS because there's nothing half-ass about me and DON'T YOU FORGET IT, and Owen decided that this couldn't possibly be the stuff I was going to put on that chocolate cake over there cooling on the racks, because it didn't look anything like frosting and he wasn't going to eat any of it, he'd just have a cupcake. So basically I'm making a meatloaf that no one is going to eat besides Scott, and a cake that no one is going to eat besides Scott. And I'm sweating like nobody's business, so on top of the onions and the celery and the cocoa smell I also smell like feet.
HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, EAT YOUR MEATLOAF AND YOUR CAKE AND YOU'D BETTER FREAKING LIKE IT LIKE YOU'VE NEVER LIKED ANYTHING BEFORE IN YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE FREAKING LIFE.
We also went and got some presents, some new nike running shorts and shirts because Scott runs off post in the mornings and you're not supposed to be advertising Army PT off post by wearing the uniform. Actually, you're not supposed to advertise Army anything here off post, you're supposed to blend in. Which is difficult for us because we don't really look Asian. Or speak Korean. We also got him some dark jeans, which look so awesome on him I've asked him to wear them every single day when he gets home from work and takes off his ACUs, and a computer game for his computer, because I have the same game on my computer and he hogs it all the time, which cuts into my Facebook time. And I mean, come on. I HAVE TO HARVEST.
Five days after Scott's birthday is Owen's birthday. And Owen is really into nerf guns and shooting nerf darts at that cat we got, so he had one already, Meena bought him one while she was visiting, and I bought him another one and lots and lots of darts, along with a movie and a wii game. Then, we made a brownie pizza on the pampered chef pizza stone (hint: if you put parchment paper on the stone and spread the brownie batter on it the batter won't run off when it cooks and you can make a big brownie pizza!), topped with marshmallows and chocolate drizzle. For dinner Owen had his choice and he chose...wait for it...Taco Bell. He's going to make a great husband one day. It's my birthday. Taco Bell and brownies, please.
Five days after Owen's birthday is our wedding anniversary. Are you starting to see a pattern? (Amy, I know you see it and I know I'm making you absolutely giddy with all my "tendencies") So, two days before my anniversary Scott takes Owen to the PX to "try to buy a new Wii". This whole "we need a new Wii" thing is a totally separate story, but a good one nonetheless, and I will be featuring all of THOSE sordid details in an upcoming post. When they got home they didn't have a Wii, and Scott looked dejected again, saying Oh well, I was gonna try to get you a picture from the PX but it's not going to work.
--(there's a guy at the PX annex who takes a picture and then burns it into wood, and it's absolutely amazing. i cannot believe the detail he gets into them, and I comment every time we pass them about how pretty they are.)--
Scott took my favorite wedding picture to the guy, along with a poem the girls helped him pick out online somewhere, for the guy to burn into wood. It turns out it would take him 2 weeks to get it finished, so there's no way it'd be ready anytime near our anniversary (2 days away), and also the picture Scott took had that "soft glow" look to it and the guy said he couldn't get enough detail from it to make it look right. Scott apologized for striking out, again, and made the executive decision that we weren't buying each other anything for our anniversary this year, because he couldn't find anything to buy me. We also didn't go out to eat, instead I made taco salad, so the hamburger meat wouldn't spoil.
So, you know, it kind of started off on a slight downward slant and by the end it was a flat-out free-fall. And Scott has been in a continuous state of apology, and I can't figure out if I'm sad, hurt, mad, or indifferent to the whole situation. He's a male, after all, and he understands the planning that goes into birthday/anniversary present buying about as well as he understands the planning that goes into getting all the separate food dishes to be ready to eat at the exact same time when you make dinner. What? It's all going to be ready at the same time? Without one or two parts having to sit in the microwave for half an hour? WHAT MADNESS.
Yesterday Haley came home from school with a flower she planted for me for Mother's Day, one that she was supposed to keep in her classroom and bring home Friday, but they apparently planted these flowers on Earth Day, last month, because her teacher thought it would be easier to only get the potting soil out with all the 3rd graders ONE time. So these flowers had just about lived out their life expectancy in the classroom, and the teacher was shocked they had started dying, and everyone was afraid they were going to die before Sunday so she sent them all home. Even better, to ruin the surprise even more, she sent out an email BEFORE school was out, letting us know our children, our sweet little 9 year olds who absolutely live for surprises, had patiently and lovingly planted us flowers and they were now half dead so they were bringing them home today, Happy Mother's Day, SURPRISE!
(last night, when Scott got home:)
"Daddy! Look at the pretty yellow flower I planted for Mama at school."
"Why did you plant a flower for her?"
"Because Sunday is Mother's Day!"
(looking rather alarmed and looking at me) "Sunday is Mother's Day?"
"Yeah! Didn't you know?"
"Sunday is Mother's Day. Shit. I CAN'T CATCH A BREAK."
And he's already apologizing for how badly Sunday is going to go.
Well, there's something to be said for NOT living in a state of anticipation, I guess, for not wondering what's inside all the nicely wrapped PRESENTS!! Needless to say, since moving to Korea, I've lowered my bar. Actually, you can't really even see the bar anymore, because it's covered in dirt.
29 April 2010
Venti, nonfat caramel chai, please.
Toby Keith is singing about half a mile from my house. Right now.
I don't know if that "does it" for any of you, but I'm kinda on the fence. I'm just not the type of person who thinks going to musical concerts is a big deal. I mean, I've been to some concerts before; once I saw Vince Gill and Reba McEntire, and one time I saw Aerosmith, and one time I saw a third group/person (apparently that made such an impression I cannot even manage to remember who it was, and no, I wasn't on drugs at the time, I only did drugs when I was pregnant). And I will say the Aerosmith concert was one of the best things I've ever seen, and to this day they are my most favorite group in the whole wide, wide world, and Stephen Tyler is so freaking awesome that I can't even talk about him in front of Scott because it feels like ADULTERY. But to be the type of person who camps out for tickets, who feels like if I don't get to go a piece of me will be lost forever? Hmmm.
So here's the deal. They started putting up posters all over post that TOBY KEITH IS COMING about a month ago. And boy oh boy did tongues start wagging. Suddenly all the people here in this craphole had something to live for. OH THE ANTICIPATION. It was like pure heaven. Toby Freaking Keith. Here. In Korea. For all of us to go see!
And then. Then the S Korean navy had to go get blown up bythe N Koreans some unseen something or another floating independently of the ship.
Let me take a second to say that I am truly, deeply, sorry for all their losses. Their Army is not a voluntary army, so the government makes these young guys serve a tour. And for them to take these young men, and make them serve, and promise their mamas they were going to be fine, and then put them on a ship and lose them, not only to death, but to the sea (as some were not recovered)? It's very sad. The whole country is in mourning. Right now, when Toby Keith is here to sing to us.
I am not saying this in any way to take anything away from any soldiers/airmen/sailors/marines the US has lost in combat. It makes me all kinds of angry when people dismiss the hardships of a military family by saying "Well, they signed up for this."
"They chose to be in the military, so it's their problem if they have to live in Korea where it smells like wet cabbage."
"They chose to be in the military, so it's their fault their kids will be brats."
"They chose to be in the military, so if they are worried about their Daddy/Mama never coming home from Iraq/Afghanistan, well, they chose that life. It's their problem. Don't feel badly for them."
Ahem. At least we didn't choose to be asses about it.
Anyway, I totally understand that when a tragedy of this magnitude occurs it's kind of hard to cement a timeline into place that will appease everyone. Heck, they were still looking for bodies, and here all us ugly Americans were, shopping for what we were going to wear when we all went to see Toby.
So someone from Korea stepped up like, on Tuesday or some day ridiculously close to the concert, and decided that it was totally inappropriate for all us Americans to have an outdoor concert full of good times while S Korea was in mourning. I've heard people ask, and I have even wondered myself about, just how long the period of mourning is going to last. I know realistically you cannot put a time period on grief; each person moves through grief at their own speed. But because there could be no outdoor singing and whatnot, the USO moved Toby from the golf course to the inside of the gym. And the seating accommodations went from "there's room for everyone" to "1200 people can come".
And my goodness did it hit the fan after that.
So people took to Facebook, and it was ugly. And the page I frequent on there, the one I like to read to Scott in the evenings because people get on there for no reason other than to stir up crap and it's hilarious, it literally crashed. They even started to police the site, and you could watch it in real time, and comments would pop up, and when the page refreshed they would be gone, blamed on some "facebook glitch".
Then, someone decided there should be tickets. You must get issued a ticket to get into the concert. And somehow, someway, 1200 tickets are going to be equally distributed between units and companies made up of 25,000 soldiers AND THEIR FAMILY MEMBERS. But it would be fair, mind you, so there could be no complaints. Let me tell you something: "fair" is a state of mind, not a state of being. That's what I think, anyway. There's NO WAY this is going to come close to working. You want to know what would make this fair? Lower enlisted get to go. Period. Those guys, the ones who live in the barracks and don't have a car, that you see at the mini mall at night eating tacos and watching basketball on the big screen from two days ago that everyone already knows the final score to? Letting those be the ones who get to go. THAT would be fair. Only, guess what? The Army didn't ask me what I thought would be the best way to handle it, so instead they just gave out tickets.
And what do you know, it turned out kind of badly. And people went on Facebook and trashed the system, while others said they didn't know what they would do if they didn't get tickets, because their life would be over if they didn't get to go see Toby because he was their favorite and they had waited their whole life to see him and they had gotten a babysitter and everything and NOW WHAT? WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?
And little by little people started getting tickets. People who had been trash talking suddenly came up with tickets. There were units that were given a total of 10 tickets, and suddenly there were people with 4, 5, even 6 tickets. Today people were actually UNFRIENDED on Facebook because of this. I am not even joking. Lines were drawn, people were called names, bad names, and insults were hurled and the poor moderator of the Facebook page kept pleading "Remember the fallen Koreans!" and it didn't matter. Everyone had moved past the "why" of it all and were too busy feeling cheated to care anymore.
This afternoon someone decided to give out "space-A" tickets. I sincerely hope all 10 MPs here are hanging out near the gym when THAT has to be dealt with. Because I'm sure no one is going to get pushy over who was in which position in line. This will be talked about for months. Months. Not the fallen S Korean sailors, but the fact that so-and-so didn't get to go to the Toby Keith concert because a: the S Koreans were being unreasonable, or b: someone hogged all the tickets because they're in good with so-and-so. And it's a shame, because it's such a small, small thing. Or maybe I just feel that way because I've never seen him in concert, so I don't know what I'm missing. Or maybe it's because I'm just not a concert type person. I'm not sure. I just think it's a big overreaction. I don't feel in any way that my not going to this concert takes anything away from my quality of life. A month from now Toby will be a distant memory and you know what? I'll still be living in Korea. And it will still stink like wet cabbage.
I mean, let's talk about shutting down the Starbucks here if you are concerned with quality of life. (shudder)
Gawd.
I don't know if that "does it" for any of you, but I'm kinda on the fence. I'm just not the type of person who thinks going to musical concerts is a big deal. I mean, I've been to some concerts before; once I saw Vince Gill and Reba McEntire, and one time I saw Aerosmith, and one time I saw a third group/person (apparently that made such an impression I cannot even manage to remember who it was, and no, I wasn't on drugs at the time, I only did drugs when I was pregnant). And I will say the Aerosmith concert was one of the best things I've ever seen, and to this day they are my most favorite group in the whole wide, wide world, and Stephen Tyler is so freaking awesome that I can't even talk about him in front of Scott because it feels like ADULTERY. But to be the type of person who camps out for tickets, who feels like if I don't get to go a piece of me will be lost forever? Hmmm.
So here's the deal. They started putting up posters all over post that TOBY KEITH IS COMING about a month ago. And boy oh boy did tongues start wagging. Suddenly all the people here in this craphole had something to live for. OH THE ANTICIPATION. It was like pure heaven. Toby Freaking Keith. Here. In Korea. For all of us to go see!
And then. Then the S Korean navy had to go get blown up by
Let me take a second to say that I am truly, deeply, sorry for all their losses. Their Army is not a voluntary army, so the government makes these young guys serve a tour. And for them to take these young men, and make them serve, and promise their mamas they were going to be fine, and then put them on a ship and lose them, not only to death, but to the sea (as some were not recovered)? It's very sad. The whole country is in mourning. Right now, when Toby Keith is here to sing to us.
I am not saying this in any way to take anything away from any soldiers/airmen/sailors/marines the US has lost in combat. It makes me all kinds of angry when people dismiss the hardships of a military family by saying "Well, they signed up for this."
"They chose to be in the military, so it's their problem if they have to live in Korea where it smells like wet cabbage."
"They chose to be in the military, so it's their fault their kids will be brats."
"They chose to be in the military, so if they are worried about their Daddy/Mama never coming home from Iraq/Afghanistan, well, they chose that life. It's their problem. Don't feel badly for them."
Ahem. At least we didn't choose to be asses about it.
Anyway, I totally understand that when a tragedy of this magnitude occurs it's kind of hard to cement a timeline into place that will appease everyone. Heck, they were still looking for bodies, and here all us ugly Americans were, shopping for what we were going to wear when we all went to see Toby.
So someone from Korea stepped up like, on Tuesday or some day ridiculously close to the concert, and decided that it was totally inappropriate for all us Americans to have an outdoor concert full of good times while S Korea was in mourning. I've heard people ask, and I have even wondered myself about, just how long the period of mourning is going to last. I know realistically you cannot put a time period on grief; each person moves through grief at their own speed. But because there could be no outdoor singing and whatnot, the USO moved Toby from the golf course to the inside of the gym. And the seating accommodations went from "there's room for everyone" to "1200 people can come".
And my goodness did it hit the fan after that.
So people took to Facebook, and it was ugly. And the page I frequent on there, the one I like to read to Scott in the evenings because people get on there for no reason other than to stir up crap and it's hilarious, it literally crashed. They even started to police the site, and you could watch it in real time, and comments would pop up, and when the page refreshed they would be gone, blamed on some "facebook glitch".
Then, someone decided there should be tickets. You must get issued a ticket to get into the concert. And somehow, someway, 1200 tickets are going to be equally distributed between units and companies made up of 25,000 soldiers AND THEIR FAMILY MEMBERS. But it would be fair, mind you, so there could be no complaints. Let me tell you something: "fair" is a state of mind, not a state of being. That's what I think, anyway. There's NO WAY this is going to come close to working. You want to know what would make this fair? Lower enlisted get to go. Period. Those guys, the ones who live in the barracks and don't have a car, that you see at the mini mall at night eating tacos and watching basketball on the big screen from two days ago that everyone already knows the final score to? Letting those be the ones who get to go. THAT would be fair. Only, guess what? The Army didn't ask me what I thought would be the best way to handle it, so instead they just gave out tickets.
And what do you know, it turned out kind of badly. And people went on Facebook and trashed the system, while others said they didn't know what they would do if they didn't get tickets, because their life would be over if they didn't get to go see Toby because he was their favorite and they had waited their whole life to see him and they had gotten a babysitter and everything and NOW WHAT? WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?
And little by little people started getting tickets. People who had been trash talking suddenly came up with tickets. There were units that were given a total of 10 tickets, and suddenly there were people with 4, 5, even 6 tickets. Today people were actually UNFRIENDED on Facebook because of this. I am not even joking. Lines were drawn, people were called names, bad names, and insults were hurled and the poor moderator of the Facebook page kept pleading "Remember the fallen Koreans!" and it didn't matter. Everyone had moved past the "why" of it all and were too busy feeling cheated to care anymore.
This afternoon someone decided to give out "space-A" tickets. I sincerely hope all 10 MPs here are hanging out near the gym when THAT has to be dealt with. Because I'm sure no one is going to get pushy over who was in which position in line. This will be talked about for months. Months. Not the fallen S Korean sailors, but the fact that so-and-so didn't get to go to the Toby Keith concert because a: the S Koreans were being unreasonable, or b: someone hogged all the tickets because they're in good with so-and-so. And it's a shame, because it's such a small, small thing. Or maybe I just feel that way because I've never seen him in concert, so I don't know what I'm missing. Or maybe it's because I'm just not a concert type person. I'm not sure. I just think it's a big overreaction. I don't feel in any way that my not going to this concert takes anything away from my quality of life. A month from now Toby will be a distant memory and you know what? I'll still be living in Korea. And it will still stink like wet cabbage.
I mean, let's talk about shutting down the Starbucks here if you are concerned with quality of life. (shudder)
Gawd.
26 April 2010
Modeling 101
I think we had been in Korea about 2 weeks when one day we were walking to the PX from our house in 12 feet of snow and sub-zero temperatures, each of us mumbling about how we hated everybody else when we were approached by a Korean lady. Actually, we were walking one way and she was on the other side of the street and she started screaming "Oh, Hello!" over and over while trying to cross the road and not get run over by the taxis that routinely go 70 mph, rain, shine, or 12 feet of snow.
She then proceeded to ask me if she could take some pictures of my kids. Now see, this might bother some people, but we got used to this type of behavior from Asians when we lived in Hawaii and had two small, blonde children who tanned very nicely. Back in those days we went to the beach almost every day and spent hours having Asians walk up to us, hand us their camera, and then go stand beside our children and smile. That was about the same time Ashlyn and Haley became masters at getting their picture taken. No matter what else is going on, you say "Smile" and they snap to attention and make an awesome picture. Then along came Owen who, if it is possible, takes a better picture than his older sisters. Finally, along came Skylar, and it all went to hell in a handbasket quicker than you can say "Obama Health Care Reform".
Anyway, this lady is babbling about how the kids should model and she's an agent and SMILE! SMILE! SMILE! I'd heard of this from several people, that agents would approach you and try to represent your kids, because they want good, clean American kids selling clothes to Koreans. "Look! If you wear these clothes you will look just like this blonde, tanned American kid with bright blue eyes!" And they fall for it hook, line and sinker, much like I fall for it EVERY SINGLE TIME I buy something from the Victoria's Secret catalog.
So she took the pictures of Haley, because she pulled a tape measure out of her purse and measured Ashlyn and decided she was too tall. She called me two days later and said Haley was squinting in the picture so she needed to take another one, and could she come to the house sometime. I said sure, just give me a call whenever, what else do I have to do anyway, and that was that. Since then we've been approached by two other people who took pictures of all 4 kids, and really I'd forgotten about it because it's just not important to me for them to model.
Well, they called for Ashlyn. There was a company, the Korean lady said, called "Peer Garden", who chose Ashlyn to model some of their clothes and could we make it? We didn't have anything planned and Ashlyn said she wanted to try it out so I took her and off we went. And the whole time we were waiting for Ashlyn to get finished with hair and make-up I had a conversation with another parent (there were two girls and two boys) about exactly which company it was the children were modeling for. I would like to say before I finish this story that I feel totally vindicated about this because this other parent, who is in the military herself and is a very high ranking person in the medical field and therefore extremely bright, also heard "Peer Garden" and also had never heard of it before, but gosh the clothes hanging over there are really cute and a little expensive looking.
So there were two hair and make-up people, and each child had their own handler-type person who followed them around and helped them get dressed and hung up the cute, expensive looking clothes when the kids took them off and left them in a wad on the floor. There were also two or three seamstresses there pinning and sewing if needed; I'm not really sure how many of them there were because they kept moving and boy do these people look alike here. On top of that there was a photographer and two of his assistants, along with about three other people who seemed to have no responsibilities whatsoever except to comment and ooh and ahh. And they gave us fruit and breads and bagels and something resembling cream cheese, which I decided immediately not to eat because I'VE TOTALLY FALLEN FOR THAT BEFORE SINCE I'VE BEEN HERE, and we're sitting on comfy couches reading fashion magazines like Vogue and another parent comes up and mentions that her son modeled for this company for their last shoot back in the fall. At that point the second parent asks "Oh really, well what is the name? Peer something? We couldn't really understand..." And the lady starts laughing and says "Oh, that's just the Koreans not understanding the way Americans stress their words. It's not Peer Garden. It's Pierre Cardin."
What? Pierre Cardin? Like, in Italy and France and IN THIS VOGUE MAGAZINE? Good Lord. So I acted totally cool about it, probably most likely because I was thinking that maybe that really WAS cream cheese after all. Oh, and Ashlyn (Ash-a-leen as they liked to call her) help model their spring line for what I'm assuming will be some of their print ads. And she got money and a free pair of shoes while I ate croissants and drank sparkling grape juice.
I am such a pimp. But hey, life is good for a pimp.
She then proceeded to ask me if she could take some pictures of my kids. Now see, this might bother some people, but we got used to this type of behavior from Asians when we lived in Hawaii and had two small, blonde children who tanned very nicely. Back in those days we went to the beach almost every day and spent hours having Asians walk up to us, hand us their camera, and then go stand beside our children and smile. That was about the same time Ashlyn and Haley became masters at getting their picture taken. No matter what else is going on, you say "Smile" and they snap to attention and make an awesome picture. Then along came Owen who, if it is possible, takes a better picture than his older sisters. Finally, along came Skylar, and it all went to hell in a handbasket quicker than you can say "Obama Health Care Reform".
Anyway, this lady is babbling about how the kids should model and she's an agent and SMILE! SMILE! SMILE! I'd heard of this from several people, that agents would approach you and try to represent your kids, because they want good, clean American kids selling clothes to Koreans. "Look! If you wear these clothes you will look just like this blonde, tanned American kid with bright blue eyes!" And they fall for it hook, line and sinker, much like I fall for it EVERY SINGLE TIME I buy something from the Victoria's Secret catalog.
So she took the pictures of Haley, because she pulled a tape measure out of her purse and measured Ashlyn and decided she was too tall. She called me two days later and said Haley was squinting in the picture so she needed to take another one, and could she come to the house sometime. I said sure, just give me a call whenever, what else do I have to do anyway, and that was that. Since then we've been approached by two other people who took pictures of all 4 kids, and really I'd forgotten about it because it's just not important to me for them to model.
Well, they called for Ashlyn. There was a company, the Korean lady said, called "Peer Garden", who chose Ashlyn to model some of their clothes and could we make it? We didn't have anything planned and Ashlyn said she wanted to try it out so I took her and off we went. And the whole time we were waiting for Ashlyn to get finished with hair and make-up I had a conversation with another parent (there were two girls and two boys) about exactly which company it was the children were modeling for. I would like to say before I finish this story that I feel totally vindicated about this because this other parent, who is in the military herself and is a very high ranking person in the medical field and therefore extremely bright, also heard "Peer Garden" and also had never heard of it before, but gosh the clothes hanging over there are really cute and a little expensive looking.
So there were two hair and make-up people, and each child had their own handler-type person who followed them around and helped them get dressed and hung up the cute, expensive looking clothes when the kids took them off and left them in a wad on the floor. There were also two or three seamstresses there pinning and sewing if needed; I'm not really sure how many of them there were because they kept moving and boy do these people look alike here. On top of that there was a photographer and two of his assistants, along with about three other people who seemed to have no responsibilities whatsoever except to comment and ooh and ahh. And they gave us fruit and breads and bagels and something resembling cream cheese, which I decided immediately not to eat because I'VE TOTALLY FALLEN FOR THAT BEFORE SINCE I'VE BEEN HERE, and we're sitting on comfy couches reading fashion magazines like Vogue and another parent comes up and mentions that her son modeled for this company for their last shoot back in the fall. At that point the second parent asks "Oh really, well what is the name? Peer something? We couldn't really understand..." And the lady starts laughing and says "Oh, that's just the Koreans not understanding the way Americans stress their words. It's not Peer Garden. It's Pierre Cardin."
What? Pierre Cardin? Like, in Italy and France and IN THIS VOGUE MAGAZINE? Good Lord. So I acted totally cool about it, probably most likely because I was thinking that maybe that really WAS cream cheese after all. Oh, and Ashlyn (Ash-a-leen as they liked to call her) help model their spring line for what I'm assuming will be some of their print ads. And she got money and a free pair of shoes while I ate croissants and drank sparkling grape juice.
I am such a pimp. But hey, life is good for a pimp.
Baby Genius
"Oh good Lord. What happened in here? Who made this mess? What is that on the floor"
"I don't know."
"What is that liquid on the carpet? Who tore up all that paper? Who wrote on the dog? HOW LONG WAS I IN THE BATHROOM?"
"Mommy, you know what would make it ALL better?"
"No, Skylar, I have no idea. What? What would make it all better?"
"A margarita."
"I don't know."
"What is that liquid on the carpet? Who tore up all that paper? Who wrote on the dog? HOW LONG WAS I IN THE BATHROOM?"
"Mommy, you know what would make it ALL better?"
"No, Skylar, I have no idea. What? What would make it all better?"
"A margarita."
25 December 2009
Christmas 2009
Well, Santa managed to find us all the way out here in South Korea. There's no hiding from that guy. I think he was here around 1 this morning and thank God nobody got up until a little after 9.
There were many challenges for Santa this year, as Lucinda was telling Will, Santa used to make all the toys but now it's cheaper to buy them in China and that's why Santa brings will the same stuff he sees over at WalMart. Well, it's the same here, Will. It's just plain cheaper for Santa to just pick stuff up at the PX here on the post rather than haul it all the way here from the North Pole in his sleigh. With the cost of gas these days it's best to keep the ride light. Unfortunately the PX here is the definition of SUCK and he didn't really want to venture out into Seoul because SANTA DOESN'T SPEAK KOREAN. So, you get what you get.
Santa brought Haley a karaoke machine. I'd like to shoot Santa in the face for that moment of weakness, but I'm sure it was just nerves because he had nothing for Haley to open and was desperate. By the way, Owen sings a rousing rendition of "Take me out to the ballpark" that will absolutely bring the house down.
Santa also brought some Hershey's Bliss creme de menthe meltaway candy. Score one for Santa, those things are awesome. If I wasn't married I'd marry him for bringing those. Oh wait...nevermind.
And if you don't already own a pair of Elmo Tickle Hands and Santa doesn't bring you any, you need to get some JUST SO you can watch the accompanying sing along/dance along DVD. That's 5 minutes YOU DON'T NEED TO MISS. It's worth whatever you have to pay for the hands.
Scott got me a Sony ereader, so I can download books and read them instead of buying books over and over because BOOKS COUNT AGAINST OUR WEIGHT ALLOWANCE, QUIT BUYING HEAVY, HEAVY BOOKS, JENNIFER. My ereader holds about 350 books. Take THAT, Army.
I took some pictures this morning of the kids opening their presents. It's been awhile since I've posted any pictures, I KNOW, but what do you know, I can still kind of work the camera.
21 December 2009
And that's why we can't fly Delta anymore
There's something about being on an airplane that makes a child have to use the bathroom about 47 times an hour. Especially if you are nine, like Haley.
The plane we flew on from Atlanta to Seattle was one of those with three seats, then an aisle, then three seats. I'm sure there's a specific name for a plane with this layout, but I don't know it and don't care to know it. I hate flying, it doesn't make any sense to me how it's all possible, and I don't want to learn about flying, because I hate flying.
We were lucky enough to have an entire row, and so we sat Owen near the window, then Skylar, then Scott on the aisle; I sat across the aisle with Haley in the middle and Ashlyn by the window. I would like to point out that Scott got the better end of this deal, mainly because Owen is a male and is therefore amused by the smallest of things, like, oh, say, looking out the window of an airplane for five straight hours, and Skylar is two and can be entertained by a piece of paper and fart noises.
Ashlyn, being a little on the boring side like me, spent her time reading and playing her DS, not making so much as a peep. Haley, on the other hand, made enough noise for all of us. She fidgeted, she asked questions, she dropped things, she kicked me, she whined, she picked at Ashlyn, and she climbed over me to go to the bathroom. MANY MANY TIMES.
I'm not sure what all was happening on the other side of the aisle, as I was busy perfecting my whole I'M NOT WITH THEM m.o.; all I know is everyone was perfectly entertained, and the peals of laughter and fart noises didn't seem to be bothering anyone. However, at some point Skylar noticed Haley repeatedly getting up and going to the back of the plane and asked where she was going, to which I said "nowhere" and Haley said "the bathroom" all at the same time. Skylar sat there for a second as it sunk in and she kind of half asked, half stated "This place has a BATHROOM?!"
And well, after that it was all over.
Have you ever been on an airplane? If so, did you frequent the lavatory? They are terribly small. Too small, in fact for an adult to be in there with a child. I mean, I'm sure an adult can be in the lavatory on an airplane with a normal child, one whose hair is of normal size, but Skylar's hair takes up so much freaking room we decided-
Let me take a second to explain that when I use the term "we" I use it in the loosest possible fashion and I really mean "Scott" because WE WERE ON AN AIRPLANE tens of thousands of feet above land and I was in no position to make any decisions regarding anything because I was too busy willing the plane not to fall out of the sky. Which is hard work.
So anyway, we (loosely) decided that since Haley was probably going to the bathroom all the time anyway that she could just take Skylar with her. Because Haley is accommodating if she wants to be (NEVER) and Skylar is good when she wants to be (NEVER) and this had THIS IS GOING TO GO WELL written all over it.
The first few times they went to the bathroom together there were slight disagreements over who was actually going to "go" first, which led to heated discussions inside the bathroom. These discussions were heard throughout the rear of the plane, as Skylar is unnaturally loud. Not surprisingly, Skylar got her way and from what I gather the way it worked was Skylar used the bathroom and Haley sent her out of the lavatory and back up the aisle to us and then, once Skylar was out and the door was closed again, Haley used the bathroom herself. This system seemed to work, so why mess with a good thing? Why? BECAUSE YOU ARE HALEY.
Then Skylar had to poop, and for some reason Haley wanted to exercise her rights as the older sibling to get her way, and so she insisted on "going" first, and Skylar didn't like it much, and she screamed about it, and then Skylar told Haley there was no way she would go after Haley went, that the toilet must be flushed first. This in itself is a joke, because Skylar does not flush the potty. No way, never. She will even tell you, "I'm not going to flush right now, because I'm not finished going, but I'm watching Dora and when it's over I'll come back and finish and then I'll flush." So Haley obliged and flushed.
Getting back to my question about have you ever been on a plane and used the lavatory...do you remember flushing the toilet? The sudden surge of power, the LOUD noise, the sucking down of anything not glued down that might be lying on the vanity beside the sink? Well, Skylar had never had the pleasure. And it scared the bejesus out of her. The screaming was really, really loud, and I looked at Scott and he looked at me and I was all "Are you kidding me? I'm singlehandedly KEEPING THE PLANE IN THE AIR and I can't go back there and deal with that." So we (loosely) decided Haley was doing fine and nobody needed to get up.
Haley came back without Skylar and reported that it didn't go so well, that Skylar was terrified to get on the potty after that, but Haley insisted, and Skylar fought her pretty hard, and, well, they got a TINY bit of poop on the bathroom. And on Skylar's pants. Meanwhile, Skylar is still in the bathroom, howling. Scott decided to go, because really, it was better that he deal with it so I could keep us all from plummeting to our death. He handled it brilliantly, got them all back in line and back in their seats in no time flat. Good job, Scott!!
And Delta, you're welcome for that pair of size 2T/3T panties that we (loosely) left on the plane.
01 September 2009
Military Wives
Each one may look different and each is wonderfully unique, But this they have in common:
Lots of moving...
Moving...
Moving...
Moving far from home...
Moving two cars, three kids and one dog...all riding with HER of course.
Moving sofas to basements because they won't go in THIS house; Moving curtains that won't fit; Moving jobs and certifications and professional development hours.
Moving away from friends;
Moving toward new friends;
Moving her most important luggage: her trunk full of memories.
Often waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting for housing.
Waiting for orders.
Waiting for deployments.
Waiting for phone calls.
Waiting for reunions.
Waiting for the new curtains to arrive.
Waiting for him to come home,
For dinner...AGAIN!
They call her 'Military Dependent', but she knows better:
She is fiercely In-Dependent.
She can balance a check book;
Handle the yard work;
Fix a noisy toilet;
Bury the family pet...
She is intimately familiar with drywall anchors and toggle bolts.
She can file the taxes;
Sell a house;
Buy a car;
Or set up a move...
.....all with ONE Power of Attorney.
She welcomes neighbours that don't welcome her.
She reinvents her career with every PCS; Locates a house in the desert, The Arctic, Or the deep south.
And learns to call them all 'home'.
She MAKES them all home.
Military Wives are somewhat hasty...
They leap into:
Decorating,
Leadership,
Volunteering,
Career alternatives,
Churches,
And friendships.
They don't have 15 years to get to know people.
Their roots are short but flexible.
They plant annuals for themselves and perennials for those who come after them.
Military Wives quickly learn to value each other:
They connect over coffee,
Rely on the spouse network,
Accept offers of friendship and favors.
Record addresses in pencil...
Military Wives have a common bond:
The Military Wife has a husband unlike other husbands; his commitment is unique.
He doesn't have a 'JOB'
He has a 'MISSION' that he can't just decide to quit...
He's on-call for his country 24/7.
But for her, he's the most unreliable guy in town!
His language is foreign
TDY
PCS
OPR
SOS
ACC
BDU
ACU
BAR
CIB
TAD
And so, a Military Wife is a translator for her family and his.
She is the long- distance link to keep them informed; the glue that holds them together.
A Military Wife has her moments:
She wants to wring his neck;
Dye his uniform pink;
Refuse to move to Siberia;
But she pulls herself together.
Give her a few days,
A travel brochure,
A long hot bath,
A pledge to the flag,
A wedding picture,
And she goes.
She packs.
She moves.
She follows.
Why?
What for?
How come?
You may think it is because she has lost her mind.
But actually it is because she has lost her heart .
It was stolen from her by a man,
Who puts duty first,
Who longs to deploy,
Who salutes the flag,
And whose boots in the doorway remind her that as long as he is her Military Husband, She will remain his military wife.
And would have it no other way.
Lots of moving...
Moving...
Moving...
Moving far from home...
Moving two cars, three kids and one dog...all riding with HER of course.
Moving sofas to basements because they won't go in THIS house; Moving curtains that won't fit; Moving jobs and certifications and professional development hours.
Moving away from friends;
Moving toward new friends;
Moving her most important luggage: her trunk full of memories.
Often waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting for housing.
Waiting for orders.
Waiting for deployments.
Waiting for phone calls.
Waiting for reunions.
Waiting for the new curtains to arrive.
Waiting for him to come home,
For dinner...AGAIN!
They call her 'Military Dependent', but she knows better:
She is fiercely In-Dependent.
She can balance a check book;
Handle the yard work;
Fix a noisy toilet;
Bury the family pet...
She is intimately familiar with drywall anchors and toggle bolts.
She can file the taxes;
Sell a house;
Buy a car;
Or set up a move...
.....all with ONE Power of Attorney.
She welcomes neighbours that don't welcome her.
She reinvents her career with every PCS; Locates a house in the desert, The Arctic, Or the deep south.
And learns to call them all 'home'.
She MAKES them all home.
Military Wives are somewhat hasty...
They leap into:
Decorating,
Leadership,
Volunteering,
Career alternatives,
Churches,
And friendships.
They don't have 15 years to get to know people.
Their roots are short but flexible.
They plant annuals for themselves and perennials for those who come after them.
Military Wives quickly learn to value each other:
They connect over coffee,
Rely on the spouse network,
Accept offers of friendship and favors.
Record addresses in pencil...
Military Wives have a common bond:
The Military Wife has a husband unlike other husbands; his commitment is unique.
He doesn't have a 'JOB'
He has a 'MISSION' that he can't just decide to quit...
He's on-call for his country 24/7.
But for her, he's the most unreliable guy in town!
His language is foreign
TDY
PCS
OPR
SOS
ACC
BDU
ACU
BAR
CIB
TAD
And so, a Military Wife is a translator for her family and his.
She is the long- distance link to keep them informed; the glue that holds them together.
A Military Wife has her moments:
She wants to wring his neck;
Dye his uniform pink;
Refuse to move to Siberia;
But she pulls herself together.
Give her a few days,
A travel brochure,
A long hot bath,
A pledge to the flag,
A wedding picture,
And she goes.
She packs.
She moves.
She follows.
Why?
What for?
How come?
You may think it is because she has lost her mind.
But actually it is because she has lost her heart .
It was stolen from her by a man,
Who puts duty first,
Who longs to deploy,
Who salutes the flag,
And whose boots in the doorway remind her that as long as he is her Military Husband, She will remain his military wife.
And would have it no other way.
(thanks, Amber)
10 August 2009
My nervous tic
Friday we went to St. Mary's to meet everyone's teacher for this school year. While we were visiting the kindergarten room I found out about a specific book that Owen needed to read before going to school this morning. So, yesterday we went to Barnes & Noble to buy the book.
There were several things I'd wanted the kids to get done around the house before going to bed last night, things like PICK UP YOUR CRAP, and I told Owen we'd read the book as a bedtime story, which I thought was a great idea because when they discussed it today in class it would be fresh in his mind. When we got home from the store Skylar was asleep, so I carried her in and the kids brought various things in from the car (meaning just their bodies--clothes, shoes, and anything else they may have taken when we left is obviously optional upon deplaning) and I forgot about bringing the book inside. And I guess because I did not say directly to one person "Go outside, open the car door, get the book, close the car door, and bring the book inside" it didn't get done.
Later in the evening Owen remembered about the book and went outside to the car to get it. He announced it to everyone, that he was going outside to get in the car and get the book, and one day people around here will start to catch on to the idea that if you want to do anything and not have a bunch of people in your face trying to do it "with you" then you need to keep your mouth shut about what your plans are. I have learned this, and I routinely go about my business in the house without making any formal speeches, and I also routinely answer questions from the peanut gallery regarding my intentions with "None of your business, go away."
Anyway, Owen told everybody what he was about to do, and Skylar decided she'd go with him. I guess when they got out to the car there was a small disagreement about who was going to carry the book inside and whose book it was and who was in charge of the universe and it ended with Owen crying and shutting Skylar in the car. Skylar retaliated by mashing her nose against the window and screaming "Rowena Rowena!"
-Rowena is a name we all the kids call Owen when he is whining, because it's a girl name but it still has "owen" in the middle, and oh let me tell you it gets his fur up.-
Owen got upset about this, and instead of leaving her in the car to overheat and die he came inside and got an egg.
Does anyone see where this is going?
And if any of you were wondering where I was while this was happening, I was writing a book report on the 5th grade summer reading assignment, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, while simultaneously writing a summary of the book Dinosaurs Before Dark, the 3rd grade summer reading assignment.
Thankfully Owen took a boiled egg out of the refrigerator instead of a raw one, because, as he told me later "they all look the same." Apparently Owen does not realize that when I boil eggs I put them in a bowl rather than stick them back in the egg carton. Anyway, Owen went back outside with the egg (and I really don't know what he was going to do with it, because I know he's only 5, but for Pete's sake surely, SURELY he would have known better than to do something to Skylar with what he thought was a raw egg while she was inside the car). Skylar saw him coming, saw that he had an egg, got nervous (this is pure conjecture, the nervousness part) and peed in the car.
And Owen has the nerve to come back inside and act surprised and totally uninvolved.
Ashlyn put Skylar in the shower while I went outside, got the carpet mat things out of the car, and took a tire brush and some kitchen soap and the hose and began to scrub them. The story should end there, but, you know, it doesn't, because as I was finishing up I look up and Skylar is standing in the middle of the driveway, naked and wet, babbling something about Cinderella panties and Elmo panties. When I tell her to go back inside she wants to stand there and argue about the fact that her rights as a potty-trained 2-year old should include being able to choose whichever pair of panties she wants instead of having someone else choose for her, that they are her panties and her butt, and she should be in charge of them both. And really, if this is how she feels she's going to be pretty upset when she starts having to pay taxes.
Now the mats to the car are outside in the front yard laying across the chairs from the picnic table, sunning themselves. Periodically I have to go out and check on them, flip them over so they don't get tan lines, and basically check on their well-being, as we have two dipshit dogs that live across the street that routinely come over here and take my stuff. I'm serious, I used to have a mat on the front porch that I'd find in the ditch or in the driveway or in the neighbor's yard that finally disappeared for good. So I'm just making sure that the mats make it back into the car once they are satisfied with their UV content.
Today was the first day of school.
THANK YOU SWEET JESUS.
I thought Skylar would like to sit on the bed and watch some Dora, so I left here there and did some laundry, but when I came back she wasn't there, and I found her (again) on a chair in the kitchen with the dog treats chunking them by the handful at Heidi, who was moving as fast as her seal-like, 24 pound body can move. Now I'm going to get in the shower, and I guess I'll just hope that she doesn't burn down the house. Which would not be as big of a stretch for her as you might think.
07 August 2009
Why I plan on getting the International Calling Plan
because it'd just be a cryin' shame to miss out on phone conversations like this:
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"Oh, not much. Just watching this t.v. show on how to grow pot."
07 July 2009
Memories
Remember when I was pregnant with you, Skylar, and I was so very sick almost the entire time?
Remember when you were a baby, Skylar, and you cried all the time? Every day? Every single day? For hours and hours?
Remember a while back, Skylar, when you began to stomp your foot whenever I told you "no" and say I wasn't your friend anymore?
Remember when you were a baby, Skylar, and you cried all the time? Every day? Every single day? For hours and hours?
Remember a while back, Skylar, when you began to stomp your foot whenever I told you "no" and say I wasn't your friend anymore?
Remember today, when you said I never do anything for you?
Remember all the times I've been so incredibly tired and you've refused to sleep?
Remember when you colored the wall?
Remember when you colored the dog?
Remember when you flushed the telephone down the toilet?
Remember when you hit Ashlyn with the bat?
Remember when you hit Haley with the bat?
Remember when you hit Owen with the bat?
I bet you got a good laugh out of all that stuff, didn't you?
WELL BABY, WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?
29 June 2009
Orange!
Owen recently tested for his orange belt in his karate class. This is a video of basic form 1. (I would link to the form but good grief I have no idea which version he's doing here) The best part is if you listen to what the teacher, Mr. Ricky, is saying about focusing vs. letting your mind wander, and then watch and see what Owen is doing.
Even though he totally messes up about halfway through, for his test he did the entire form (among other things) for the teacher all by himself and didn't mess up any.
He is by far the smallest in the class, and I would say that makes him the cutest, but honestly, he doesn't need any help with that!
25 June 2009
Divided attention
"Mama, will you read me and Skylar this book?"
(me on the computer on facebook) "Mmmhmm."
"Ewww, Skylar look at this picture! Look Mama!"
(me never taking my eyes off the computer) "Mmmhmm. Yeah."
"Look! He's NAKED!" (LOTS of laughing)
"What book are you read--ASHLYN!!!"
19 June 2009
And here it comes
"Hey Mama, I'm finally reading the second part of this book. What's this word?"
"Fah-low-pee-an. Fallopi--What book is this?"
"It's called The Changing Me."
SHOOT ME. SHOOT ME NOW. IN THE FACE PREFERABLY.
05 June 2009
FORE!!
I thought this might be a good way to kind of take control back from Skylar's hair, to stick a headband on her head and let all that curl poof out the back, but it turns out I'm still just fooling myself. There is not a chance in hell of containing this stuff. I mean, it works for like 15 minutes, right up until the sheer force of the curl pushes the headband past its limit and it shoots off the back of her head and takes somebody's eye out. Which is fine and all at home, but random people eating in restaurants don't particularly enjoy it. Go figure.
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