Archive for May, 2012

Quick Notes

May 21, 2012

Toddler J says, “Winnie-ma-Pooh.”  It’s frickin’ adorable.

And Henry will dance around, singing “penis power.” Also, he sang “Old McDonald has a farm” where one of the things on the farm was lava.  W loved that one.  Also, finding out about the Peeing Tree. Which I understand, from the name alone, is probably very little like the Giving Tree. Well, it does make some people happy. The things you find out about as a parent of a little boy.

(I find it difficult to believe that J would be as knowledgeable about the Peeing Tree, except through rumor. Henry seems a little too… familiar with the tree for me not to be suspicious that he has perhaps partaken of the Tree. Maybe he’s just jealous of the kids who do get to use the tree, as opposed to uptight parents like myself who constantly check when/if he has to go potty as we’re about to leave any building.)

And I watched the end of Transformers 2. I’ve just learned I will watch anything if Optimus Prime and the Voice is on. (Geez. It looks terrible, from the last 20 minutes, but still. I love the Voice.)

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Because I’m a lady…

May 11, 2012

Warning: post contains talk about female body functions. (Which I hope will turn off no one, because all of my 2 readers are women.)

So, I went to the bathroom today and found out I had started my period. No biggie. (Although it seems ridiculous, I’ve been having a period for nearly 30 years of my life, paying my biological dues, and there really isn’t a better way of figuring out I’m having a period than going to the bathroom and looking down with an “Oh?”)

I pull up my underpants and do that little scuttle you do to the dispenser. (We have dispensers that dispense sanitary items for free in the bathrooms of my workplace.) I turn the crank, get a box and go back into the stall.

I pull down my pants, prepare to place sanitary item in my underwear, and then open the box. Nothing is inside the box. I actually stick a finger in the box while looking inside to make certain nothing is in the box. What the – ?

Are they kidding me? This is not something very nice to do to someone starting their period – I’m just saying. It’s sort of infuriating. It’s like a trick, or something.

I pull up my pants again and scuttle over to the dispenser again. (I’m hoping nobody sees me. It’s awkward enough, really, when I’m by myself.) I turn the crank, get second box. Go back into stall, and this time, I do not pull down my pants. I will not be fooled!

I open the box and it is only after I make sure there is something in there that I proceed with this most delicate of operations.

Anyway, even though the sanitary items were free, I still sort of felt ripped off.

Update

May 8, 2012

My mother guilted me into going home this weekend and attending the first birthday party of my sister’s twins.  Yes, it’s very important.  It’s also a bit annoying to discover I am so easily moved by guilt into doing something that is really inconvenient for me.   Then my mother guilted me into buying gifts for the twins, when I had a perfectly good check to give, so I ended up giving both things – all the things.  Then I ran around a bit running errands for her (my mother/my sister – it doesn’t matter in this case as the end result was the same).  No matter how old I get, I am never going to be immune to my mother’s guilt-inducing powers.

It was an okay weekend for other reasons.

I had a couple of conversations with my father about what it was like to live in Korea after the partition but before the war.  He tried to explain about the  mandatory ‘critical sessions.’  Once a week, everybody in the village would go to the meeting hall and there somebody would be selected to be criticized.  “You’re bad!” or “You’ve done bad!”  is what he said lots of people would say, and he demonstrated a lot of pointing.  He still remembers this, having attended these meetings from when he was seven.  He said it didn’t really matter how old you were, you still got yelled at by everybody in the village.  Also, you had to speak quietly in your own house, because you didn’t know if somebody from outside would report you.  People also disappeared from the village.   He said that years after they had crossed into South Korea, his father, my grandfather, caught up with some people from their home village.  It had been rumored that my grandfather’s name was next to be “disappeared.”  (I’m not remembering it exactly, but some people might have shown up a day or two after my grandfather had crossed over, presumably to make him disappear.)

I also learned that this one adult from my childhood wasn’t just a random friend of my father’s.  He was actually a kind of cousin.  (Head, meet desk.)  I am so oblivious, somebody should just whack me on the head periodically, just because.   My brother and sister did a bout of eyerolling because I just am so clueless.   But this explains so much!  Why he felt so free to drape an arm around me and pat my head.  It seems suddenly less  weird (it wasn’t very really creepy, because he wasn’t a creepy guy, but just I had no idea who this guy was which was what made it weird).

Talking to my parents make a lot of my childhood seem less random.  Perhaps I should talk to them more, but because I want to and not because I am guilted into it.

This post is getting long, so I’ll just end it with this:  remind me to tell you the story about my grandmother – it’s like something out of a soap opera.