Category Archives: Family

Sorcery

I’ve been working on my wheat belly since the day I started on solids. My mother’s culinary witchcraft has led to a lifetime of chronic overeating. I simply couldn’t stop eating her magical food. No one was immune. My friends would literally beg to be invited over for dinner. After each meal, when we finally let the spoons drop from our limp fingers, we would clutch our distended bellies and whimper with pleasure and pain.

I remember one day I found my mother standing over her bubbling cauldron stirring something that looked delicious. The tantalizing aroma made my knees go weak and my mouth water.

“Can I try a little?” I pleaded.

“NO!” she replied indignantly, “It’s for the dog!”

When she wasn’t transforming random scraps into three star Michelin guide-worthy dog food, she was conjuring up wondrous meals for us. Each bite would make you want to weep with joy and fall on your knees and beg for mercy because surely you must be committing a mortal sin by eating something so impossibly, wickedly delicious.

One day there was a piece of rubber hose lying around on the kitchen counter. My husband wandered into the kitchen just as my mother was throwing it away.

“I’m so disappointed,” he said as he watched her put it into the trash can, “I thought you were going to whip up a delicious casserole with that.”

It had been a long time since we’d been to Arlington, and this weekend my mom pulled out all the stops for us.

On Sunday morning the smell of bacon, pancakes, and eggs lured the kids out of bed.

“I wish breakfast could be like this every day,” my son said dreamily as he tucked into the feast set before him.

“Dream on, kid,” I said as I crammed mouthfuls of magic into my mouth.

All day long, my mother would disappear into the kitchen at intervals and come out bearing some new triumph. The kids ate as if in an ecstatic trance…

One time she emerged from the kitchen with a crumpled paper bag that looked vaguely familiar.

“Look what I have!” she said, “It’s a Royal Cookie!”

“MOM?! Is that the cookie I bought at the rest area on our way home from Christmas in New Jersey?!”

It was. She divided it up and we ate every last crumb. And yes: somehow even that three month old cookie stored in nothing but a paper bag tucked away in my mother’s cupboard was magically delicious.

It’s called sorcery.

Driver’s Ed

We made a very quick, long overdue trip to Arlington to see my parents this weekend. The last time we saw them was at Christmas when we were all together at my sister’s house in New Jersey. The kids have been missing their grandparents. As for the grandparents? When I talked to my dad over the phone a few weeks ago, he said in a forlorn little voice, “So…you’re not going to visit us anymore?”

We had a lot of catching up to do. My oldest son is about to turn 15 in a couple of weeks and so at the top of the list of discussion topics was the astonishing fact that the state of Virginia would be prepared to give this baby a learner’s permit a mere six months after his 15th birthday.

EYES ON THE ROAD!!!

I’ve written before about the conversation I had with my son a couple years ago when he was about to turn 13 and was already then excitedly musing about the fact that he could legally get his learner’s permit in less than three years.

Obviously, I couldn’t shirk my moral responsibility and duty as his mother to disabuse him of the notion that this was a given. “Killjoy,” “Wet Dishrag,” and “Party Pooper” happen to be my middle names. This is why I get paid the big bucks after all.

“It’s not just about how old you are,” I replied. “We would have to see that you were really ready for the responsibility of driving. We’d want to make sure that you were mature enough to handle that responsibility.”

I watched the light die in his eyes. He was silent for a moment as he pondered my words and performed some mental calculations before coming to an unwelcome conclusion, “If T (his sister who was then 7) is driving me around when she‘s fifteen and a half, I’m going to be really, really mad!”

The fact that his brother may soon be driving has apparently been weighing as heavily on my 12 year old son’s mind as it has on mine.

“N. will be learning to drive soon,” he said to me one day as I was ferrying him back home from some activity. “That’s a pretty scary thought…Can we make sure he doesn’t drive with me in the car until he’s at least 18?”

I reported this conversation to my dad and we chuckled about it. Our conversation reminded me of the day my mother finally got her driver’s license at the age of 50 after years of trying. She never actually failed the test, she just lost her nerve every time she was about to take it. It wasn’t her fault. Every time she would screw up the courage to start learning how to drive, she would get into a serious car accident. I don’t even think she was driving the car any of the times that it happened. It was just extraordinarily bad luck and timing.

When she finally came back from the DMV clutching her brand new driver’s license, she was giddy with triumph.

“You got it! That’s amazing, Mom! Tell me all about it!”

“Well, the man told me to drive around the block and so I did. But THEN, he told me to do a U-turn! I said, ‘WHAAAAAAAAAT?! I don’t know how to do a U-turn!!'”

“Uh-oh…So then what happened?”

“He reached over and turned the wheel for me,” she replied as if this should be perfectly obvious.

Here’s where the story got confusing. Who pulls a stunt like that and then actually passes the test and gets her license? My mom. That’s who.

“And that’s when I knew she had magical powers!” I said to my dad, “I mean I’d always suspected it, of course, and I knew she could get people to do whatever she wanted them to, but that was definitive proof that she really is some kind of a witch.”

To this day, I have a recurring nightmare in which I find myself in a car with my mother at the wheel. But to her credit, the day she got her license was the last day my mother ever drove a car. It was enough that she had slain the dragon. The best witches know their limits.

She Said…

Here are just a few of the things I’ve heard from Miss Sassy Pants in the past 24 hours:

I got my children all excited by attempting to replicate my mother’s legendary mackerel for the first time. She always cooks this for my children and it has magical, highly-addictive properties…kind of like crack cocaine.

My daughter took a bite and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way…I’m not saying it’s bad…it’s just not the same as Grandma’s.”

This morning when she came downstairs in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt I told her, “It’s not going be that warm today.”

She replied, “Mom. I was sweating so much yesterday, I practically drowned.”

As I was driving her to school this morning she said out of the blue, “You should enjoy being taller than me. While it lasts.”

Birthday Blessings from Auntie Harpy

Today is the first birthday of my niece – the youngest member of my gigantic family…

My little niece gave us a preview of her 1st birthday hanbok at Christmas.

May she always be surrounded by people who adore her:

May she always have girlfriends who would do anything for her:

May she recognize true love when it looks her in the eye:

May she always be curious about the world:

May the world let her remain as gentle as a lamb…

and as fearless as a lion:

May she never lose the twinkle in her eye:

And may all her days be filled with love and laughter:

Related posts:

First Birthdays

How my brother foretold his future when he was 1 year old

Hangin’ with the Harpies in Minneapolis

Weekend Snapshots 20

Last weekend was perfect, because of all the things that didn’t happen. The snow wiped clean a full slate of activities, and we got to stay home in our pjs all weekend long, reading and napping and drinking hot cocoa. This weekend was perfect, because of all the things that did happen…

Friday

My beloved book group met this Friday. My friend, who has been hosting us for years, always puts out a lavish spread, which includes a decadent dessert she’s made and tea served in beautiful heirloom tea cups. Last month Calamity Jane here broke the handle of the one in the front. My friend let me back into her house anyway, and she even managed to repair the handle with some super glue. Our book group nights are always such a special occasion, and so I like to get dressed up appropriately:

What could be better than kicking off the weekend hanging out with dear friends who love you even when you break their precious things, and to do it in my pjs?! (Pajamas seem to be the common denominator for all perfect weekends).

Saturday

On Saturday morning I got an impromptu private concert with two of my favorite musicians:

Later that day another group of old friends and I got together over lunch. It was especially lovely, because it was a mini-reunion with our friend, who has moved away from Charlottesville. Drat! Forgot to take a photo! Next time, friends, next time!

As I drove away to the next appointment on my schedule, I got the news that the house we’ve been trying to sell is UNDER CONTRACT! Yahoooooooo!!!

Saturday was the first night of the two weeks that our church will be hosting PACEM, a roving homeless shelter that operates during the cold winter months in various churches around Charlottesville.

PACEM 2012

It was my first time ever being the nightly meal coordinator. My husband volunteered to make his famous lasagna:

and I had a willing crew of helpers, which included these three hooligans:

Sunday

I wrote about Rite 13 here and here. The last time I went through this brutal and sadistic ritual, I had some warning and time to prepare myself for the ordeal. This time I was completely caught off guard and the consequences were absolutely devastating.

After the service, I recovered enough to insist on taking a photo to commemorate the momentous occasion of my son’s Rite 13 and my public breakdown. Predictably, he began to complain about having to stop and take a photo. What I could never have expected were the shocking words that came out of his older brother’s mouth:  “She gave birth to you. Take the picture!”

Holy smokes! There is a God. And He and now I’m thinking more likely – She is good. Really, really good. 

The kids all insisted on closed-mouth smiles, because they were afraid goldfish crackers would be stuck in their teeth…

Goldfish cracker smiles all around.

And I even got to get a photo with my son, because I did give birth to him after all!

Me and my almost 13 year old boy

The Snow Queen and Other Snow Day Tales

With a son in high school and another in middle school, we’ve been flirting with the idea of letting all three kids stay at home alone without adult supervision. I know it might strike some as ridiculous that this would even be an issue at this point. As an eleven year old still in elementary school, I was babysitting infants. As a “safety patrol” armed with nothing but a frayed vinyl orange belt and a cheap badge slung over my scrawny little shoulder, I was in charge of a whole bus stop full of kids far from the watchful eyes of any of our parents. But that was a very different era. These days in our peaceful little neighborhood nestled in the bucolic countryside, I sometimes see parents waiting at the bus stop with their high school-age kids.

"The Voyage of Life: Youth," Thomas Cole, 1840.

“The Voyage of Life: Youth,” Thomas Cole, 1840.

The last time we asked the boys if they would feel comfortable staying home alone and in charge of their little sister, they looked at us wide-eyed with fear and vigorously shook their heads. Could it have been the fact that we began the discussion with exhortations to hide if they heard anyone at the door, to NOT answer the phone unless they recognized our number, and to call 911 IMMEDIATELY if their sister so much as coughed a little? Could it have been the scenarios we role-played in which evil sickos disguised as sweet old grannies would plead with them to open the door, because their car had broken down and they were hurt and needed to come in to use our phone and by the way they had a cute little puppy and sacks full of candy too? Possibly.

"The Voyage of Life: Manhood," Thomas Cole, 1840.

“The Voyage of Life: Manhood,” Thomas Cole, 1840.

We were very close to finally taking the plunge last week when the fairly modest snow we got here in Charlottesville shut down the school system for an entire week. Every day last week I would get a text from the county announcing that school would be closed for another day. Like clockwork, the next text I would receive shortly thereafter would be a one word expletive in response from my husband, who would be losing yet another day of work to stay home with the kids. Towards the end of the week, his one word text bombs would literally make me LOL.

We just couldn’t quite bring ourselves to leave our nine year old daughter home alone last week, even in the care of her older brothers, and despite the fact that my son has openly acknowledged her superior level of maturity. And so my husband and I traded our daughter back and forth throughout the entire week, while we fulfilled our various work obligations. This kind of shuffling has been going on for years. Once when my husband didn’t get back home in time to take over parenting duties, I was forced to bring my infant to a class I was teaching. I’ll never forget having to change my son’s diaper in the middle of my lecture on Russian literature. I’m sure the students will never forget it either. More recently, the kids have had to spend many a snow day or sick day sitting in on their dad’s political theory lectures. I’ll be so bitterly disappointed if after all this, they don’t have enough credits to earn their B.A.s by the time they get their high school diplomas.

It snowed again late last night and early this morning. School was cancelled for all three kids, but alas NOT for the parents. This morning we debated back and forth about how to handle this latest development. Finally, we decided that it was at last time to cross the Rubicon. We would leave all three kids at home.

A little while after getting to my office, I called home to check up on them.

“Mommy?” my daughter asked as she picked up the phone.

“Yes, it’s me!” I answered, “Oh YAY! You haven’t burned down the house yet!”

“MOMMY!” she replied. Did you know it’s possible to actually hear the sound of rolling eyeballs?

“Have you gotten any homework done?”

“Yep! I’ve done some math and I’m going to do some word study.”

“And what are you guys going to have for lunch?”

“Actually, we’re in the middle of lunch right now,” she replied.

“Really? Already? It’s only 11:20…”

“Yeah!” my daughter replied, “We’re having a big fat cooking showdown.”

My heart sank.

“Big fat cooking showdown sounds really scary to me. Are you guys making a big fat mess?”

“No. So, N and T both made me dishes and I’m deciding which one tastes the best.”

“What are the dishes?”

“T made me macaroni & cheese and N made me some delicious noodles.”

I guess I know who won the showdown. I have to laugh as I imagine the boys microwaving the  ready-made macaroni & cheese and pouring boiling water over the instant noodles and then presenting their “dishes” to their sister with a flourish. I should probably start planning my outfit for the James Beard Award Ceremony.

I also have to laugh as I envision my daughter dispensing judgement upon her loyal subjects. It reminded me of the time a few years ago when I took the kids swimming. Eventually, I noticed that the boys were not frolicking and splashing about as one might expect two carefree kids on vacation to be doing. Instead, they were assiduously taking turns giving their little sister rides on their backs and then anxiously asking her to rate their performance. It turned out that my daughter had ruthlessly pitted her brothers against each other in a  “Best Brother Contest.”

“Well…I’d say you’ve got a 7.5 so far. N gave me a smoother ride, so he gets an 8.2, but maybe you could improve your score by giving me a longer ride.”

On her way to total world domination.
Keep up the good work.
Not bad, not bad.
Subjugation with a smile.

More bitter disappointment is coming my way if that girl doesn’t become Ruler of the Universe in my lifetime…

Until then? I’m pretty sure they’re all going to be just fine.

Lost and Found

IMG_0573First posted 2/12/13.

For weeks now I’ve been asking my son to find the brand new winter coat I bought him. He wore it to school one day and it hasn’t been seen since. I’m sure it’s buried deep in the Lost and Found bin at his school. The snowfall and the frigid temperatures last Friday prompted me to ratchet up my usual low-level nagging into a full-throttle turning of the screws. I let him borrow one of my coats that morning and I must have told him at least four or five or thirty-eight times to MAKE SURE TO BRING HOME BOTH COATS. BOTH. COATS!!! I conscripted my husband to reiterate this directive as well, (the old double-barreled shotgun approach).

Of course, (as I half knew would happen), he came home without either coat. I admit it. I blew like Krakatoa. I got the kids in the car and we headed to my parents’ house for a quick overnight stay to celebrate the Lunar New Year. For the first fifteen minutes of the journey I barked and lectured and threatened and droned on and on and on and on…I couldn’t stop myself. I was like a runaway train whose brakes had failed.

Hell-bent on riding the poor boy like a witch on a flaming broomstick for the rest of the trip, I had him pull out his science notebook and start taking notes for his genetics project due this week. The assignment was to create a family tree that included inherited traits from both sides of his family.

“What have I inherited from you, Mom?” he asked.

“Well, think about it…What do you think you’ve inherited from me?”

“Ummm…thick, dark hair?”

“Uh-huh. Go on. What else?”

“Shovel teeth…” (Side note: Did you know that Asians and Native Americans have concave top incisors, also referred to as ‘shovel teeth’)?

“I’m sure you can think of other examples. There are some really obvious similarities,” I said impatiently.

“Well, I’m not very physically flexible…”

“Yeah, that sounds like me too. But there are even more obvious similarities.”

“Oh, uh…brown Asian eyes?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“…And I think we have the same type of personality.”

Ahhh, there it was…He’s right. We do have similar personalities. I flattered myself by entertaining thoughts about some positive traits we might share – generosity, creativity, a compassionate nature…

He continued his thought: “For both of us, it’s absolutely inconceivable that we could possibly be wrong about anything.”

Oof. Oh yeah. He said that. Verbatim.

When we arrived in Arlington my kids went straight to bed. I stayed up for a little while to chat with my mother. She asked me how the kids were doing and I immediately launched into a litany of complaints about my son’s forgetfulness, about how he slaves over homework assignments but then forgets to turn them in or loses them between home and school, about the two coats that did not make it back home…My mother just shrugged her shoulders.

The next day, after a traditional Korean New Year’s lunch of Dduk Gook (see New Year’s Soup), we headed back home. I called my mom to let her know we’d arrived home safely.

“Mom, I think I left medicine on your kitchen counter by mistake, but don’t worry, I have extra bottles at home.”

I expected her to be anxious about this and to ask if she should express mail it to me. I was surprised when she merely said, “O.K.,” as if it were no big deal. But then she added in an emphatic and pointed voice, “AND you forgot your sweater. So don’t blame your son for forgetting the coats. He gets it from YOU!”

Sorry, kid. Sometimes genetics can really come back to bite you in the ass.

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