indian summer vacation

The way Joe and I schedule our lives we end up planning most of our family vacations more than a year in advance, and around the Spring of 2011 we made plans to rent a cottage in Jamaica for summer vacation the following year. Well, turns out that despite my neurosis about planning things well ahead of time, you actually can make plans too far in advance, because it turns out we were a little busy this past July. Luckily, the rental place was very nice about allowing us to reschedule once we told them the reason, and so we took our family summer vacation and moved it to a week in the fall. To this week, as a matter of fact.

It actually doesn't take that long to fly from Atlanta to Jamaica, but we did have to take a car to a shuttle to a monorail to a plane to a van, so it ended up being a fairly grueling trip for the three kids. Luckily we now have no other plans for this week other than to hang around and let the kids beach and pool themselves stupid.  So you know.  Vacation.

We invited my parents to come along with us for the trip too, because it's nice for the kids to be able to spend time with them, and also (selfishly) it's nice to have another two sets of eyes around to make sure no one's playing with anything dangerous/inadvisable/flammable.  Here are each of them holding the only remaining grandchild who will agree to sit on their laps.  In the picture on the right, Nina, like Kuato, wants you to open your mind, Quaid.

(I should also note that my dad came into town one day early so that Joe could do a blepharoplasty on him, which is why his eyelids still look a little bruised.  He would also want you know to know, however, that he got this done only because his lids were drooping and obstructing his vision, and not for purely cosmetic reasons.  Now, I don't know nothin' about no oculoplastics, but I do know that doing a good blepharoplasty is sometimes a tricky and subtle business--particularly on Asian people--but even just three days post-op, I have to say that Joe did a really amazing job.  First off, my dad can see better, so already: success.  But as someone who has been looking at my dad for my entire life, I also have to say that even this soon postop, he also looks really good and natural and himself, which is important.  So good for him, and less good for, you know, Kenny Rogers.)

Anyway, so we're here.  Cal's having fun swimming, Mack's having fun bobbing, and Nina's having fun lying in a variety of shady spots and looking at the ceiling fan in the bedroom.

I suppose there might come a time where our travels might not so reliably involve going to the beach.  Just probably not anytime soon.

Vacation!

spring break 2012

Apologies for the lack of updates, but it’s been a pretty busy few weeks at work leading up to Spring Break—my penultimate entry, the one about organ donation, I actually wrote in my cubicle while on call on a Sunday, killing time between OR cases. But enough of this work talk. I WANT TO LIVE AGAIN.

So…Spring Break!

We’re spending the first half of the week at a rented house on Hilton Head Island, which sharp minds will remember as the exact same place we spend Spring Break last year. But that’s the kind of people we are—it’s the same with restaurants, actually, because once I find something on the menu that I love, it’s very difficult for me not to order the same thing every time. Occasionally I think, “Self, it’s a big menu, maybe I should try something else, and I will like that other thing equally or even more!” But then I think, what if I don’t like it as much, and then I will have wasted one of my eating-outings with a meal that I know I could have enjoyed better? And the worry about that haunts me, for real, because clearly I have psychological problems. So with that, and with things in general, our motto is to stick with what works. Confession: we’ll probably be back here again next year. But maybe, if we’re feeling daring, we’ll rent the house next door. Maybe. ADVENTURE.

Anyway, here are some pictures. You may have seen some of these if you follow my Twitter or Tumblr mini blog (the mini blog is where I post a lot of my pictures on the go—-I know everyone loves them some Instagram but I like to make my own space for archival purposes). And if you’re not following me in those places, well, why the hell not?

The thing I really like about this area is that for a lot of the day, it seems like we're the only ones at the beach. It's actually a pretty busy time at Hilton Head--aside from it being Spring Break, there's also some kind of crazy golf tournament going on--but our rental house is at the end of this little appendage of land in this cove, so we're off the main beach somewhat and it feels very isolated. Which is great, because of my fear and loathing of other humans.  (Mostly fear.)

Like last year, we're here with Joe's parents, which has been really nice for the kids. It also means that they end up with twice as many beach toys as they had originally. Here they are flying their new kites. Mack highly approved of his new Angry Birds kite. (Yes, Mack is wearing 3D glasses as sunglasses for some reason, like some kid in Atomic Age America.)

Mack has this stuffed animal that he likes--a blue Baby Gund soft puppy that I think someone gifted us before Cal was born, in which Mack has started taking some moderate interest these past few months. He calls it, quite imaginatively, "Soft Puppy." I mean, he's not inseparable from it or anything, but he likes it quite a bit.  I asked him, several times, if he wanted me to pack Soft Puppy in our luggage to take to the beach house.

"No, because I don't want him to get sandy," he told me.  Sounded reasonable.  My fault for not just packing the damn dog anyway.

Our first night in, after being on the road for eight hours, Mack asked me if we could go home.  "Can we go home, get Soft Puppy, and then come right back to the beach house?"

Uh...

I explained to him that it wouldn't quite be possible to drive home just to get Soft Puppy, but that he would be safe at home and that we'd see him in a few days. Partially I blame road fatigue, but he just completely decompensated. I'm not going to say anything else about it except at one point I quite calmly told him he should probably stop screaming or one of our neighbors might call the police. Finally we managed to calm him down (luckily I had brought along a collection of his familiar books from home, as well as a cache of prickly plastic dinosaurs that he indeed decided to sleep with instead), but the next day we headed to the nearest local general store and Mack chose this new stopgap measure stuffed animal, which he has named "Sister Bear."

So now he's walking around with a pink bear and that makeup brush to his left.  He likes the feeling of the hair on his fingers, kinda like Lenny from "Of Mice and Men" with the dead mice in his pocket; I got him the makeup brush purely as an act of self-preservation because it was either the brush or having him hang onto my hair like a baby orangutan. My sensitive young man.

Speaking of sensitive young men, here is the other one, asking us sullenly if he could please go into the house and play chess already. On Spring Break. At the beach.

(To be fair, he also was requesting to play "Kung Fu Rabbit" on my iPad in addition to chess.) We quite cruelly forced him to continue playing outside to fortify his anemic humors and rachitic bones, but we're on a vacation with grandparents, so everyone's being a little indulged.

Anyway, we'll be here until Wednesday, and head back to Atlanta on Thursday. Hope you're all doing well and enjoying each other as much as we are. Meanwhile, I will continue to wear a series of increasingly inadvisable tank tops with horizontal stripes.

all romantical and shit



So, Valentine's Day! How was yours? Ours was fine, if utilitarian--Joe's mom was in town to visit the kids (still feels weird to say that--I can't believe I have kids, plural) and demanded to babysit for us so that we could have Valentine's Day dinner out, though for a variety of reasons, Joe and I decided to call it an early night and were home by 7:30pm. However, it was a good dinner, and certainly more romantic than my original instinct, which was to take the opportunity for some free babysitting and run to the supermarket, because just think HOW EFFICIENTLY we could do our shopping without all the carseats and wrangling and no-you-cannot-buy-that-cereal-it-is-a-rip-off-and-I-don't-care-what-percentage-of-the-profits-goes-towards-saving-the-rainforests. It's these magical moments that make a marriage special.

The flowers, by the way, were from Joe, and very lovely. Before he showed them to me, he warned, "I just want to prepare you, they're a little...Tim Burton-esque," which made it a lovely surprise that they were actually pretty, just ornate and a little gothic (black tulips, twisty vine accents etcetera) as opposed to what I was thinking when he said "Tim Burton-esque," which was, like, a single dead daisy. I expect the flowers will only continue to become more Tim Burton-esque as the week goes by, anyway, due to my habit of never, ever throwing out flowers until they're basically putrefying. I just get so attached is all.

double happiness

Hey all, happy new year. Thanks for all the e-mails regarding restaurant recommendations--I guess the Atlanta restaurant scene is not quite the New York restaurant scene, but I keep thinking SOMEONE must know how to make a good tandoori chicken nearby and be willing to sell it to me, right? I know the Buford Highway is where I'm going to have to go to get any good ethnic food, but it's just such a production to get there. It involves PLANNING and DRIVING and GETTING LOST and U-TURNS IN FRONT OF EARL'S CLASSIC GUITAR EMPORIUM. So maybe I should learn how to cook.

Chinese New Year was fun. Cal was super excited to have my parents here, and Mack pooped himself with glee at meeting his grandparents. (Well, he pooped, anyway.)




Oh, and a tangentially related story, I went to Krispie Kreme the other day, because--well, it's a really boring story, but basically, I went to the bank, and then I was trying to find things to do to keep me out of the house for longer to practice being away from the baby for at least an hour and a half, because, dude, cut the cord already, and there was a Krispie Kreme, and I knew my parents were coming, and Cal had mentioned wanting to eat some donuts, and--yeah, see, I told you it was boring. Anyway, I got six donuts, which seemed like more than enough at the time, and the person at the register told me that the total was six-something, but was I sure I didn't want to just get a full dozen for just seven-something?

Oh no, I demurred, we couldn't possible eat A DOZEN DONUTS. And then I took the donuts home and ate three. And then Joe ate two. So by the time my parents got here, there was only one donut left, and it wasn't even the kind that my dad liked. (Original Glazed, for you dad-stalkers out there. Now you can entice him into your trap, consisting of a basket held up by a branch tied to a rope, under which is stacked a pile of donuts. You're welcome.)

After my dad grudgingly ate the last donut (he doesn't like custard filled, because he's CRAZY and hates deliciousness) I relayed the story of, "but for only a dollar more, you could super-size your donut order" etcetera etcetera, with the moral of the story being, and that's how they get you, and that's why America has a 95% left main occlusion, The End. Which is true. I waited for him to start telling me how right I was, and how cunning I was for not getting sucked into their commercial enticements.

But instead, my dad looked at me like I had just confirmed what he knew all along, namely that I was NOT VERY SMART, and said, "Yeah, you'll never make that mistake again. NEVER just get six donuts at Krispie Kreme. Either get four, or get the full dozen. Six is not a good deal. Usually I get a dozen, and if your sister is home, she'll eat two, and I'll eat ten."

HE EATS TEN DONUTS? And before you start thinking that my dad is some gigantic fatty fatty fat fat, let me just show you a picture from this weekend:




Clearly, he is Kobayashi. Anyway, Joe went out the next morning and bought a box of a dozen donuts. And then we ate them. And lo, they were good. Happy New Year.

(Fin.)

(What? I didn't say it was a good story.)

(Full picture set here.)

(Parentheses! Who doesn't love 'em?)

moo

So my parents are coming to visit us this weekend! For Chinese New Year, don't you know. Year of the cow. (Ox. Whatever. I don't think that in Chinese there is a difference between "cow" and "ox" but people just call Year of the Ox because it sounds better. Can't say as much for Year of the COCK. I call it year of the Chicken myself. But anyway, that is neither here nor there.)

Joe was inquiring at work about good Chinese restaurants in the area (he said he asked a Chinese optometrist at work, but the name on the e-mail he forwarded me was, like, Trang Vu Pham [not her real name] so I'm thinking Vietnamese) and we got some recommendations that are, of course, outside the city, where the ethnic food corridor is. However, it occurs to me that we don't have any way to transport all of us any distance by car--now that we have two carseats in the back, we are one seat down in the car, and really, even the seat between the two carseats has been whittled down to near nothing. I'm pretty skinny, but even I have to sit sort of cockeyed with one hip jutted out just to wedge myself between all that unforgiving plastic and strapping. So it looks like we'll spend Chinese New Year's Eve eating either very bad local "Chinese food" (which I'd really rather not--I mean, why bother?) or white people food. Or we could cook. So...white people food it is!

Oh, speaking of ethnic foods, is there a place to get good Indian food in Atlanta? Preferably in city limits? I don't mean fancy Indian food or fusion or any of that stuff, I'm talking about good, cheap Indian food, in a restaurant like the types that taxi drivers used to stop by at 3am in New York to get a gigantic styrofoam partitioned tray of steaming whatnot. I don't think I've seen a single Indian restaurant since we moved here, and though (admittedly) I haven't really looked around that much, we do live in a neighborhood with a lot of restaurants, some for the more daring palate, and not one of them has been Indian. Any good suggestions, shoot me an e-mail, I would love to know.

33 weeks

First, a pictoral update




Biggie Smalls is getting more biggie, less smalls, and, I can only imagine, a little disgruntled at the increasingly cramped conditions of his living quarters. As, frankly, am I.

Cal's third set of grandparents came to visit us this weekend, which was fun. Cal got to do his cute act (like many kids, I imagine, he is always much more cute with adult guests than he is with his parents) and got to natter on about all manner of topics, each only tangentially related to the last. This last exchange amused me, though.


CAL
(lifting up Grandpa Bart's shirt)
Why is your belly big?

GRANDPA BART
(Patting Cal on the head)
Too many good meals.

CAL
Do you have a baby in there?

GRANDPA BART
No, just too much food.

CAL
Does the doctor need to fix your belly?

MICHELLE
(Explaining)
Cal's other grandpa has an umbilical hernia that he's getting fixed.

GRANDPA BART
(To Cal)
No, no doctor, just me. I just need to make some lifestyle modifications.

CAL
(Pause)
No. You need the doctor to fix it.


Reminds me of that "Simpsons" episode where Milhouse, upon being told that he needs more exercise asks, "Aw, can't I just have the surgery?"

come for the credits, stay for the grandchild




So my mom is flying in tonight to visit for a few days! Of course, I would like to think that she would have visited us anyway, and the fact that the American Academy of Ophthalmology annual meeting (with all its magically delicious CME credits) is in town this weekend is just a COMPLETE CONICIDENCE.

gold star

So today was Cal's "Gold Star Day." I know, I didn't know what that meant either. Apparently, it's this thing in his class where every kid gets a turn to lead circle time, which so far as I can ascertain involves something with pointers and calendars and talking about the letters and numbers of the week, not unlike on Sesame Street. There may be singing and hand movements somewhere in there. Oh, and by the way, your parents are encouraged to come for the morning to witness your GLORY.

Joe and I could not go to Gold Star Day.

I mean, I suppose we could have if we absolutely needed to, but it would have involved taking a day off work, and since I just started my job a few months ago (and am incidentally hoarding vacation days for maternity leave) and Joe is but a lowly serf fellow, it wasn't exactly something that seemed economical or practical to do, to take a whole day off work just to go to school for forty-five minutes. However, Cal is the last person in the class to have his Gold Star Day, and I have been observing (from the pictures that we get sent home) that everyone's parents goes to their Gold Star Day. Definitely at least one parent, oftentimes both. One kid had four relatives showed up, each with a different piece of photographic or video equipment. I think Cal would have had a fine Gold Star Day regardless of whether Joe or I showed up (he's too young to notice or remember that everyone else's parents were there for their Gold Stars--I'm hoping he'll save the comparisons and recriminations for adolescence), but the precedent that had been set certainly made me feel guilty to think about not being there.

Honestly, how can all these parents just take off work to go to school for the morning? How is that possible? Are they trying to make us look bad? It must be that either one parent doesn't work (outside of the home), one parent works part-time or has extremely flexible hours, or (also highly likely), the parents are so high up at their jobs that it doesn't even matter when they decide to take off or not. You know, like they're the Executive Vice President of Delta Airlines or something like that. Who knows. Or, more likely, they're just better parents than us, and love their kids more. Probably.

Luckily (and this was not planned, though it was fortuitous), Joe's parents are visiting us this weekend. So, like Obama sending the Clintons and his wife out to campaign for him by proxy, so were Joe's parents at school as parent substitutes. Taste great, less filling! Joe's dad even read a story to the class, which went over very well. (He's a retired school principal, so he loves that kind of stuff. Remember, the Principal is your Pal.) And Cal, after some initial shyness about having them there, ended up having a great time. So this allayed the guilt of Joe and I not being there somewhat. Not 100%, but somewhat.

Hopefully they can schedule Cal's next Gold Star Day for January, when, presumably, I'll have some time off.