Yesterday, we fit in an hour's worth of an Ayyam-i-ha party on the windward side, before going home to finish packing before the cab came. Thank goodness our driver was so patient - we had to fit the three of us, four l-a-r-g-e bags, a stroller, and MrMan's carseat in the cab. I was sad to say goodbye to Honolulu and my life there, but it was made a little easier by the fact that it was raining.
MrMan gets not only 500 frequent flier miles for his travels, he gets ten huge gold stars from me. He really was great - sleeping most of the time and chilling the majority of the rest. We were lucky to get a bassinet and he was quite content in it. The only bump was on our first takeoff which was capped off by the contents of MrMan's stomach spewing all over the front of my shirt. I guess the pressure was too much. I was afraid that it was a sign of things to come. Thank goodness I was wrong.
So, now we are in New Orleans. New Orleans of a parallel dimension. Driving around this city I knew so well, I've lost my bearings, as my visual landmarks are altered. Some areas look virtually normal, others are so very not. Yet I feel like I'm looking through a haze, as tears have not come. I expect they will fill my eyes as I hear a marching band.
For now, I will focus on... the Mardi Gras celebrations of tonight and tomorrow... the Ayyam-i-ha celebrations (and seeing old friends) of tomorrow... saying goodbye to Sam on Wednesday morning... trying to comfort MrMan as he struggles with the strange sights and smells and time of day. I'm sure he'll adjust soon enough. On Saturday, we took him to Ala Moana beach to dip his feet in the ocean for the first time. I expected tears at the new sensation, but he liked it. The boy is ocean type.
Dear MrMan,
I started this letter to you yesterday morning, on the day you actually turned 14 weeks old. And I actually intended to write to you last weekend on your three month birthday. But things got a little busy, both times. You've probably noticed lots of busy-ness lately, since you and I are moving to the mainland tomorrow. Your first womb-less flight.
We celebrated your three month birthday by going to the pottery shop and stamping your foot on a tile, to memorialize its largeness (and smallness). We also took pictures of a school bearing your name - you slept through that part of the celebrating. And we took you to the beach, despite the overcast and windy weather. You are a true Hawaii boy - you felt sand before you felt grass. I know what you're thinking, "Three months old and never felt grass?" You'll have to remember that we live in an apartment building in a very densely populated area. (I call you my urban baby - sleeping through sirens, construction down the street, helicopters flying to the nearby hospital....) While it wasn't intentional to keep you off the grass, now that I've realized it, I think it's just as well, as most of the good grass here is likely treated with chemicals. People, maybe including you, will think it contradictory of me to now take you to a city described as being covered in a toxic sludge less than six months ago. I'm okay with that. Don't worry - you'll feel grass soon. Probably in a few days, in Maman Jan and Papa Joon's yard.
These days, you continue to love the thin cloth diapers. So much so, that we just refer to them as "beloveds." We don't leave home without one - all is well in your world as long as you're clutching a beloved. You've added to your favorite toys a musical caterpillar: you're seem quite enchanted by it, and are not happy when we end a musical caterpillar session. You still like "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes," but it doesn't bring the smiles quite like it used to. The big smiles are now reserved for "I Think You're Wonderful," which I can understand, because who doesn't like to be told they're wonderful. However, you do think it's funny when I sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" really fast - it makes you laugh.
Laughing is one of your new skills. We love it! Things you laugh about: the three of us dancing together, my pretending to eat you and Daddy while Daddy pretends to be scared, and, once, you and I had a session of laughing at each other's laughs. Your laughter makes joy bubble in my heart.
So does watching you with Daddy. I'm glad that I decided to go back to work these past couple of weeks and that Daddy could (and wanted to) stay home with you. He's so good at making up songs to calm and amuse you. He's patient with your tears and frustrations. And when people see you out with Daddy, they're even more impressed by you and your enchanting eyes, as it's not every day you see a man out with an infant. Most importantly, the two of you are getting in lots of MrMan and Daddy time before you have to be apart for a while. Thinking about the apartness makes me cry, especially since I'm not big enough for you to sleep on in your little monkey style.
You seem to recognize us, and even prefer us over other people. You're not in a "Stranger Danger" mode, but you do seem to find more comfort in our arms. You can now pick up your head and look around, while on your belly. You brace your arm against us, holding yourself upright, when we carry you. You're still not so in control of your limbs, but you're getting there. You now intentionally grip things in your hands. With your fingers, you try to pick up lettering on our shirts. Letters fascinate you, whether on our shirts, on magnets, or in books: you stare at the words as if willing them to reveal their secrets. Cause and effect is still a mystery to you, of course, but we sometimes forget and think that you're pushing milk away when, really, you're just pushing against us. You now like to be held up in the air; it used to scare you.
You like kisses and to have your face touched and stroked. We know this won't always be the case, so we get in as many kisses to you as we can. Seeing you smile in response was one of the many reasons I decided not to work for a while: it made me realize that a daycare provider wasn't going to give you kisses like I do. And not only do the kisses seem to make you happy, them make me happy. I love you, MrMan.
Love,
Mommy
These days, I'm often in the position of saying I'm leaving Hawaii soon. Sometimes to friends, sometimes passing acquaintances, but usually followed by their asking where I'm going. "New Orleans," I say, waiting for the look. The look may express shock, or pity, or concern, or confusion, but it always comes. If I see the look turning into something that may be accompanied by a verbal attack on New Orleans, I quickly say that it's where I'm from, to save both of us from embarrassment.
It's hard to explain, without getting teary, but returning to New Orleans is something I have to do. Part of it is my desire for MrMan to spend time with his grandparents. Part of it is that our leaving allows Sam to really focus on finding a job. But I have to wonder if I'd be going to New Orleans if it weren't in the condition that it's in. It's like going to visit a sick relative. They may be recovering, but you want to show you care, give them your support, help in whatever way you can. Even if it's just by sitting close by. And showing that you believe that they'll be up and about soon.
As anyone who's lived there knows, New Orleans is more of a village than a city - the kind of intimacy that exists, how closely everyone is interlinked. It's hard to go places without seeing someone you know, likely someone who's known you since you were a little kid (or, now that I get older, vice versa). While I'm excited about going back home, I'm a little scared that I won't run into people I know, because they're all gone. I want to shout out to them, and everyone else, "Stand by our city! Stand in our city! If we don't, who will? This city that filled our souls with music and our bellies with red beans and rice. This city that helped make us who we are."
When I made the suggestion almost six months ago, I wasn't sure that I would be able to carry it out myself. I'm cutting it close, and I'm achieving it in a way more extreme than anticipated, but in six days, on Lundi Gras, I'll be standing in our city. I encourage you to do the same.
Sometimes, I'm so Monk. Just now, presented with a bowl of milk chocolate hearts, wrapped in foil - some pink, some silver - I had to take a pink one. Why? So that the number of pink ones left in the bowl would equal the silver.
During the later part of this morning's milk parade, a coworker (currently carrying the pregnancy torch for our office - fifth boy in a row) said, "Cute milk!"
What could I say, but, "Thank you."
Walking to lunch today, I calculated that we will leave here on MrMan's 100th day in this world. At least his name will tie him to his birthplace.
Last night, we got food from a Korean restaurant I've been wanting to try for a while, but just hadn't gotten around to. Nothing fancy. But I was drawn by the idea of their specialty: black noodles in an icy broth (Naengmyeon). Since MrMan had passed out across my lap, Sam went to pick up the food: Korean cold black noodles, black noodles with spicy sauce, and kimchee seafood pancakes. He came back with so many containers (noodles with spicy sauce, noodles with some condiments, broth, vinegar, daikon, hot mustard, pancakes... everything in its own container), we weren't sure what to do. But we channelled our excitement and dug in. Mmm, mmm, good. The Naengmyeon was topped with cucumber, hot sauce, sesame seeds, hard-boiled egg (which I ate), and beef (Sam ate that). We also added daikon. It reminded me of a dish I used to eat and love in the warmer months in China: due to its location, Shenyang had a good amount of Korean food.
If you can get your mouth on some Naengmyeon, I highly recommend.
As my days here in Hawaii become fewer and fewer, I find myself getting teary about the things I've come to take for granted, but will no longer have in a couple of weeks.
This past weekend, it was while sitting with Sam in the church he attends: I looked around at the diversity of people, the various shades of skin, the varying formality and kinds of dress, and was sad to think that nowhere else will I find the unique ethnic makeup that exists here. And I'll be hard pressed to find a woman in a muumuu on the mainland.
The weekend before, it was while at the aquarium, watching a video, hearing one of the voices say, "people like lure us" with food and "give us one stomach ache." How I will miss the local pidgen. I'll have to adjust to using all of my articles and arranging sentences in their "proper" order. I'm even sadder about having to adjust to conversations sounding less interesting.
On a happy note...
There is nothing sweeter in my life these days than seeing my two guys in the early morning hours, snuggling in bed.
Three times a day, I have my very own, one-woman, milk parade. It starts in the bathroom or the kitchen, where I wash my hands and grab a few paper towels. Proceeds to my cubicle where I assemble the boobcones-valves-bottles into two collection devices and don the pump in its backpack. Then in the direction opposite the kitchen, carrying the collection devices (dominated by the boobcones), passing most of my coworkers, to reach a spare office serving as milk central for me and another pumping coworker. There, I fill the bottles, while staring out the window at the palm trees on the Palace grounds, wondering if people in the nearby buildings (including the glass elevator across the street) can see me, but not really caring. (My boob modesty flew out the window our first night home from the hospital when my milk first came in and my mom and I worked to get it out while Sam carried around a crying MrMan and then I fed MrMan while standing in the living room, my nightgown hiked up around my neck, my mother commenting that I probably never expected to be so "earth mother." That was also around the time I started calling them "boobs," instead of "breasts." Just a couple of weeks before that, I asked her to close her eyes before she gave me her opinion on a nursing bra, before realizing that she needed her eyes open.)
Bottles full and capped, in one hand, backpack zipped and over my shoulder, boobcones in the other hand, I then march my parade back to the other end of the office, silently high-fiving my boobs along the way. I stop at my desk to label the bottles with date, time, and MrMan's name (the last, just in case someone thinks it would be fun to make latte from a little bottle), and drop off the pump. Then on to the kitchen, where I put the bottles in the fridge, behind the gallon of cow's milk. And dissasemble and wash the boobcones and their attachments. Then back to my desk, where I place them to dry, until they're used again in a few hours.
Sounds like a lot of work. It is. But I find it harder trying to find something to wear in the morning, with my body in this weird, hopefully temporary, shape.
Four jobs I've had:
1. Bookshop staff
2. Receptionist at Public Relations firm
3. English teacher
4. Epidemiologist
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Dirty Dancing
2. Girls Just Want to Have Fun
3. Legally Blonde
4. Garden State
Four places I've lived:
1. New Orleans, LA
2. New York City
3. Shenyang, China
4. Gambia, West Africa
Four TV shows I love:
1. Gilmore Girls
2. The Amazing Race
3. Monk
4. The Today Show (I just love the gang's banter)
Four places I've vacationed:
1. Costa Rica
2. Italy
3. Big Island, Hawaii
4. Door County, Wisconsin
Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Ash-e reshteh (thick Persian soup with herbs, legumes, and noodles)
2. Ghormeh sabzi (Persian dish of herbs and beans)
3. A really good bean taco
4. Red beans and rice
I knew I liked beans, but I didn't realize quite how much until now.
Four sites I visit daily:
1. Google
2. CNN
3. Hotmail
4. the blogs of various friends
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. With MrMan
2. On the North Shore (of Oahu)
3. In the ocean
4. Can't really think of someplace else I'd prefer to be at the moment, as it will all come in due time
Four bloggers I am tagging:
1. Lisanne
2. Hannah
3. Steph
4. Emily
Thanks for the tag, Delara.
It's only my second day, but coming back to work hasn't been so bad. It's been kind of nice to put on real clothes and interact with other adults. MrMan has handled the car rides, to drop me off and pick me up, quite well. And, if it's possible, I think I love him even more. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, after all. Yesterday afternoon, once we'd gotten home, the three of us danced around the living room to Black-Eyed Peas. MrMan thought it was hilarious, laughing more than we've ever seen. It was great! I know that sounds corny, but it's true.
I guess this time of transition is made easier by:
1) knowing that Sam is home with MrMan, loving and entertaining him (with the likes of going to the garbage chute, listening to music, looking at our wedding pictures, and rasslin'), and
2) knowing that it's all temporary:
For those of you who guessed my change was moving to the mainland, Gold Star! My last day at work is the 21st and we fly out of here on the 26th, in time to make it to New Orleans for Mardi Gras day.
MrMan and I will be staying with my parents for a few months. Sam will stay here and continue working until he finds a job on the mainland. What comes next, we're not sure, but I think this is the right thing to do. And I'm thankful that I work in an office where people agree with me on that. I'll miss this place that I've called home for the past 3.5 years, but it's time to move on. Leaving a piece of my heart in yet another place.
It's nearly 2 am, and I just put in motion the start of a big change. Why does it seem that big changes are usually initiated in the wee hours? More information on its details will be made known in the next week or so. The funny thing is that about 24 hours ago, Sam were discussing the above change and how it might play out, what various forms it might take. I was wishing that I would receive a clear indication of what to do. I even went so far as to wish Tom Cruise had given me a message in my dream the night before, but then realized that would have confused the issue even further.
So, the funny part - this morning I had an email waiting for me, containing input that helped me make the final decision. The email was kind of out of the blue, much like the email, from the VERY SAME PERSON, that was the catalyst for our move here nearly 3.5 years ago. I don't think this person realizes what impact he has on my life.
My first waking thoughts on Tuesday morning:
1) I am married, with a child
2) Did you forget that he's a crazy man who jumps on couches and pays big money to get to the special level that exists on a cruise* ship?
These are the thoughts of a woman who's just awakened from a dream in which she was embracing Tom Cruise, happy about their budding romantic relationship. Do not judge me. I cringe. Teenage celebrity crushes must linger somewhere in the subconscious. Maybe the other major part of the dream - cars speeding the wrong way on a one-way street, without their headlights, at night - was trying to warn me away?
*Cruise. Cruise. Get it? Maybe that's why he's attracted to Scientology - its elite celebrate his name.