Happy Father's Day, Mr. D

My husband, father of my three children, asks me a lot of questions. Most of the time, I do not have an answer for him. Just last night he asked me, while his 2 1/2-year-old "mini-me" sat on the kitchen counter playing with cooking utensils happily, "Why is Henry sitting on the counter?" I thought about it for a second and decided that I will ask the source myself. Using my very serious, judicial assistant, voice, I asked "Henry, why are you sitting on the counter? Your father wants to know." Henry smiled his big smile and said "Maaaameee, nooooo...." Obviously he didn't know what the heck I was asking him. But I persisted, "Henry, your father really wants to know why you are sitting on the counter. If you cannot articulate yourself, I expect you to write a 5-page report detailing the reasons and explanation as to why you are sitting on the kitchen counter." I tilted my gaze towards Mr. D and, quickly, he said "I got it, I got it, smart aleck."

Instances like the one mentioned above is nothing new in our daily life, which will be 22 years this October, and he is still learning that, although as intelligent as I am, I do not have all the answers. Some of his questions I can answer with an educated guess, like "Where is my U of O shorts?" "Try the laundry room?" "Where are my dress pants?" "In the closet." But some questions, unless Santa finally brings me the crystal ball which I've asked for since I knew of his existence, I will never, ever, be able to respond, i.e. "Why can't the kids pick up after themselves?" "??" "Why does Henry have to destroy everything we have?" "??" "Why couldn't it rain AFTER I mow the lawn?" "??" "Why do people have to drive like idiots?" "??"

Then again, he always know how to answer my questions. Pulling up a pair of Levi's, I asked him "Do I look fat in this?" He didn't even blink "Welcome to my world." Shopping together at Macy's, I said (in reality, indirectly asking) "Oh, this ____ (you may use "shoes", "purse", "skirts", "necklace", "bracelets"...etc., to fill in the blank.) soooo cute." He said "Get it if you like it." Never mind that the walk-in closet is filled with my stuff and he keeps most of his suits in his office. Came home from work one evening, I announced "I am taking a girls' trip to Washington D. C." He didn't even raise an eyebrow "Have fun." I wanted to learn horseback riding, so I can ride with one of my best friends. "Sure. Be careful." he said. The most outrageous thing I said to him was "Do you think I can run Pear Blossom 10-miles next year?" He knew I hadn't run since elementary school at that time but he said "Do it."

Oh, all right, he did say "no" to me a couple of times: I really, really wanted a Smart car before we knew of the existence of our "unexpected blessing." He said "Not a snow ball's chance in hell." citing the danger of such a car which is no bigger than a golf cart. I texted him while I was at Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History, inquiring the possibility of his obtaining the Hope diamond for his beloved wife. He didn't even bother to reply - I took that as a "No." Imagine how crestfallen, how disappointed I was which is a darn good justification for retail therapy, right? Darn right!!

And what was he doing when I was out riding horses, running or touring the Capitol? Vacuuming, doing laundry, yard work, hanging out with the children and, once in a while, taking naps. This is in addition to 50 plus working hours per week. I often think and truly believe that marriage is a lottery and I've won a big prize. He is the consistent and solid segment of my life when everything, everybody is changing and becoming. Without having to understand every single strain of my thought and every details of my ideas, he takes me as I am - moody, sentimental, cranky and maybe at times, crazy - and he says "It's all good."

As usual he doesn't want anything for Father's Day or Birthday or Christmas... So I am dedicating this post to him. As he would no doubt agree that it's "cheap and cheerful." Happy Father's Day, Mr. D.

The Flight from SFO to BWI - D. C. Adventures Part I

“Everybody knows, everybody knows where we are going, yeah, we are going down…”

We all are experienced travelers with plane rides; the three of us: LCG, KG and I. And we all agreed that the flight from SFO to BWI was the most eventful of all rides we’ve been on.

We were warned: the weather was not nice over the East coast; there was a tornado going on at the Midwest; there were going to be quite a few turbulence; the air was not friendly for planes; oh, but we will get you there. Yeah, we were warned only after we’ve sat down in our seats and the buckle was tightly fastened. None of us was going to be the world’s biggest wuss and stood up, raised our index finger and said “Uh, sorry, I don’t do bumpy rides. Thanks but no thanks.”

It all started with children (of which we were NOT warned) and, boy, was I glad Henry was not on board. He would’ve been the band leader of the screaming, crying tots; of the cackling teens and of the never-ending-talking-giggling-high-pitch-laughing girls. While all these noises were going on, accompanied by several rocking and shaking of the plane; we saw a rabbi who was seated two rows ahead of us jumped out his seat and ran toward the back where the stewardess was. Following him was the man sat next to him who looked a bit uncomfortable, a bit embarrassed. The stewardess ran past us with a blanket in hand and I heard this moaning of a woman “Help me, please help me.” I put my book down and got into my best eavesdropping position (Don’t tsk-tsk me or you might not know what’s going to happen next!) For some reason, the woman must’ve not agreed with the stewardess on something because she yelled again “Help me, somebody help me. I don’t know what’s going on!!” A kind faced woman came over and told the stewardess that she is a nurse and that she would be glad to help out. The stewardess was all too happy to hand over her responsibility, in this case, the blanket which she wasn’t able to put on the woman.

Thanks to my outstanding eavesdropping skill, apparently this was what happened: The woman is diabetic and her blood sugar was low; on top of it, she had a panic attack. (Honestly, with the way the plane was bumping up and down, I could have a nervous breakdown myself.) In the mist of her panic, she took her shirt off and was naked from the waist up; hence the rabbi’s and the male passenger’s reactions and the blanket. The poor woman finally calm down and the nurse sat by her most of the flight. And you might think that we should have a quiet flight from then on – no such luck!

I was feeling physically ill as if I was going to be car sick with the plane going up and down; up and down. Unlike the Disneyland rides, I couldn’t even scream at the top of my lungs. Or stripped like the diabetic lady. It seemed like the pilot came on the intercom every five minutes to tell us to fasten our seat belts; and each time he warned us of the bad weather ahead. KG slides the window up and took a peek outside and we could see the lightening bright and threatening. If all the rocking and bumping weren’t scary enough, seeing the lightening so close was enough to make me take a big gulp of vodka (which I did not do, children.) LCG, KG and I exchanged a look that says "I know what you are thinking, but please don't say it out loud... WE-ARE-GONNA-DIE!"

After a while, I just gave up being scared. If it's my time to go, there would be nothing I could do about it. My children have a good father and Mr. D is young enough to attract others for marriage again; and he is older and wiser NOT to father anymore children so he can focus on MY kids. If there were any regrets, issues need to be resolved – well, it’s too late – so I might as well enjoyed the ride and that’s exactly what I did - except I did change my music from OneRepublic to Elton John. It wasn’t helping that they kept the chorus of “Said, Everybody knows, yeah, everybody knows where we are going, yeah, we are going down…” going and going…

I know a thing or two about a thing or two ... about you

Dear Daughter:

So you graduated from High school last night. The first part of "punishment for being young" (quoting your comment on the year book) is over and done with. Congratulations and here is to the next phrase of punishment for being an adult - cheer, cheer!

I don't wish to offer any advice or tips for your future; rather I want to take you for a walk down the memory lane. I've been asked by many how do I feel about my little girl graduating from high school. Most of the time I smiled and said, I'm so glad she made it. The truth is, from this point onward, I am not going to be a major part of your future; an essence to your existence. In other words, for the past 18 years, your life is part of my life and mine yours. For better and for worse, our life intertwined and mingled in the most precious and volatile way. And now I have to let you be ripped away from me; let you out of the safety net. I shall not disclose the emotions associated with this separation because you will find out one day - when you have your own children.

It is a miracle that you have not developed cross eyes for all the eye-rolling that you've done. Can't tell you how thankful I am of these small yet singificant miracles. One of them is my tongue which is still functional despite all the biting I've done during our many a conversation. It must've taken more than a miracle that my heart works as well as it does for many times it nearly jumped out of my chest when I was in the passenger seat of your driving. Another miracle is hair - yours and mine - you look great in about just every color you've tried on and that mine has not turned all gray. Of all the miracles happened during your teenage years, I appreciate this one the most: your laughter.

O that wicked sense humor of yours - brutal, sharp and lightening quick - had me cracked up; made the I-can't-believe-your-daughter-just-said-that face to your dad; choked up water through my nose and tears streaming down my cheeks. Yeah, you are funny, witty and sarcastic (wouldn't you agree that is a family trait?) and, yes, sometimes I've hoped that I wasn't at the receiving end of your remarks. Then again, one has to wonder where do you get your sharp tongue and quick wit, eh?

Fondly I remember those nights when you were a toddler and we whispered to each other before we went to sleep "We are going to be best friends forever, right?" "Right! Best friends forever." Daddy was forever in school studying, working on projects, completing assignments. It gave us lots of girls' time, didn't it? My favorite sound at the end of a work/school day or night was to come home and before I opened the back door, I would hear your footsteps, tap tap tap, rushing towards me. You've been sitting at the kitchen window waiting for me to come home. Your grandmother would tell me about your day and you clinging in my arms allowing me to give you many, many kisses. Now we do only air kisses...

The first clue I knew that you are going to be the one who follows a different drum beat is when you tied Pocahontas (remember her?) upside down on the bathroom door knob. You were about three years old and were fascinated with ropes. So instead of dressing your doll and be a “mommy” to it, you tied her up with ropes and made a maze with the ropes around the area. One year we took you to the State Fair and, instead of asking for stuffed animals, you wanted the toy set of handcuff and guns. But you have the most sensitive spirit, so tender and fragile at times. Many things you kept to yourself, many struggles you took to your heart. Your parents were clueless at times or too busy going about their business - this competent living business. And you know what, it's too late to apologize for that, isn't it?

I was amazed how you were able to recognize the stores and places we went if the store has a big sign; and you were not quite 3 years old. At the same age, you could pick out the right books by the writing on the spin of the book. You read by yourself when you were five years old. At 6th grade, your teacher, Ms. Rose, was certain that you're destined to be a great writer. Telling you this is to remind you that you do have certain talents. How you wish to use it is your discretion; but do not say that you are not blessed. Do not deny that you are special in the eyes of your parents, your family and some people who've known you since day one - before you even have solid flesh and bones - you know it.

I said that I wouldn't give you any advice, though I need to share this thought with you - as a friend to a friend. Honesty makes one vulnerable. There are going to be times that you simply cannot be honest – please be kind. Being kind is not a weakness as most perceived. It doesn’t take less courage to be kind than to be honest; the action you take will heavily depend on the situation you are in. If, one day, you figure out how to be honest and kind at the same time, make sure you share your discovery with your mother, ok?

Enough of this old woman talking, let's hear it from some old men, shall we?

"Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nets!" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow(1807-1882) U.S. poet.

"Youth, large, lusty, loving -- Youth, full of grace, force, fascination. Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?" Walt Whitman (1819-1892) American poet.

Love you always and forever,

Mommy