Baby Talk

Published on by Lisa Category: Isaiah

Random Sunday Funny:

Isaiah calls the vacuum KIKI. If you’ve spent any time with him in our home, you know that there are four of us that live here: Me, Nick, Isaiah, and Kiki. Kiki is talked about everyday and if she doesn’t make an appearance at least twice a day, it’s not a good day for Isaiah. I should add that because of Isaiah’s affinity for Kiki, our floors have never looked cleaner.

So you can imagine my nonchalance when I was walking Isaiah up to church in his stroller and he starts yelling KIKI! KIKI! I figured it was his daily shout/invite/demand that Kiki make her appearance. I was about to inform him that Kiki doesn’t make appearances outside when I saw him pointing and shouting at an elderly woman, with plastic tubes coming out of her mouth, gingerly rolling her oxygen tank on wheels toward the church entrance.

Isaiah, excited that a mini Kiki lookalike did, in fact, make outdoor appearances, only grew in certainty that Kiki can do and clean and manage all things – carpet, bare floors, AND SIDEWALKS.

He kept pointing KIKI! KIKI!

It was the first time I wanted to gently put scotch tape over his mouth.

Women Should Drink Up! – Caffeine, Women, and Depression

Published on by Lisa Category: Uncategorized

I’m not an advocate for coffee or caffeine. Not by a long shot.

I think the parade of lines that flow out of chain coffee shops like Starbucks is ridiculous; paying as much as $3.50 for a cup of coffee that you can make for less than a dollar at home.

I think that frequently putting caffeine, artificial sweetners, and straight sugar in your body is more harmful than good.

I think coffee is a culturally accepted drug.

I think that caffeine is a culturally accepted addiction for children and teens (soda) and adults (coffee and espresso drinks).

All that being said, I had to point some attention to this article I found from some Harvard folks who did an “observatory” study and found that there might be a relationship between caffeine consumption and fighting depression. While the researchers are not yet ready to make a recommendation, for the 1 in 5 women who will be diagnosed with depression in their lifetime, this could be some interesting news for them to consider. I write that with a cup of coffee next to me. I average 1 cup/2 weeks or so. And I must say, I like how it feels.

Caffeinated coffee is a mood elevator and, coming off a hard week of work, and it being Friday, I let myself have a nice cuppa Joe with a swig of Silk Hazelnut to keep it vegan. Delicious for my tongue and my brain which is propelling my thoughts forward.

However, depression is a whole big animal that cannot be solved by one cup of caffeinated coffee (wouldn’t that be great, though, if it could be?) and good habits of diet and exercise should be evaluated and practiced before women reach for a pot of happy liquid. And it’s essential for my readers, mostly women in the age bracket of 22- 44, to know that women are twice as likely to develop (major) depression and that is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s also critical to know the difference between clinical depression (as described in previous link) and the general forms of depression that nearly everyone experiences with the everyday cycle of life which exposes us to trauma, suffering, and loss. Again, this is nothing to be ashamed of.

So, I would answer Winston Chung’s question in combatting depression as an inflammatory (link in his article), “Could it be as simple as taking the time to smell the aroma or savor the flavor?” No. There are too many conditional factors that contribute to one’s depression.

But, even knowing all that complexity, if the question was, “As a working writer and mother of a toddler, trying to make ends meet and support your spouse through his graduate program which eats up ungodly hours of your life and spits you both out every day and night on your couches, does that cup of coffee help stimulate your energy, thoughts, and productivity and, in turn, make you feel better about yourself and work?” The answer, then, is quite simple: YES.

Family Matters

Published on by Lisa Category: Uncategorized

The more stories I hear of people’s lives, the more I am convinced that the issue of family is, by far, the most dominant issue of our lives.

Our opinions may be torn on fiscal responsibility and the true factors of the economic downturn, but, get 10 people in a room, ask “Would you rather have the problems of the nation or the problems of your family resolved?” and you will get one unanimous answer: FAMILY.

There are so many things in my heart and I wish I could share them – and all the stories of others I’m pondering – but instead, I just want to offer this piece of counsel to those who find themselves in family struggles, fights, drama, cold wars, and brokenness.

Sometimes being a family member feels like you are on an endless cycle of hurt and healing, but oftentimes it’s our underlying expectations of what our families should be AND who we think WE ourselves should be in concert with those familial expectations that gets us in trouble. Much turmoil begins when we fail to cap our own preferences on our lives and let them bleed into the lives of how we think other people should live their lives. (Cuz, you know, family members always believe they know what’s best for you…)

It’s ok to have scars from family. We all do. Just don’t be another person in this world carrying baggage.

Scars, not baggage.

Covered in Mud

Published on by Lisa Category: Parenthood

I took Isaiah to the park this evening, trying to take advantage of the 74 degree evening. We lapped the empty baseball diamond as I showed him how to hit a homer, run the bases, and jump up and down at home plate. He giggled furiously.

He got so hyper so started running away from me, in ecstacy, squealing all the way. He got a little far from me and I noticed he was heading toward a grass puddle of rain water. I started after him, “ISAIAH!” I called, but, thinking this is more baseball fun, starts running even faster away from me.

In my attempt to grab him before he hit the puddle, I myself find myself falling, ass on the ground, then on my right side, sliding 3 feet in a mud pile of God only knows what. Involuntarily I yell SHIT as I look at my work clothes now caked in mud.

Isaiah just looked at me with big eyes, “Home?”

It takes a village, people…

Quote from WonderHub

Published on by Lisa Category: Uncategorized

Nick is not one to give quotes but last night he told me that he read a quote that had stayed with him all day:

Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is prioritizing something else over your fear.

I getting in touch with my fear. Like, the tranquil pond of fear that lies still, almost deceivingly still. But it’s there. I’m lighting all kinds of headlights and flashlights around it, investigating its depth, source, and damage to the land it sits in (read: my life).

I suppose I could dive in, but I don’t feel ready for that. Not yet.

But soon. Yes.

Soon, I will dive in and come back, soaked in truth.

Spiritual Grub: God on 9/11

Published on by Lisa Category: Spirituality and Religion

In reflecting about the anniversary of 9/11, it seems that the deeper the tragedy, the more media has to say. We are saturated with pictures, images, and voices, each network competing with documentaries, interviews, reruns of original news coverage, and sports teams opening their games with moving ceremonies to fill our minds and hearts with surface level reflection. But, why is it during times like these – when we need heartfelt transformation – we only have moments of silence? It seems like we need at least hours of silence to genuinely reflect on how we as individuals, as a society, and as a world were divided and united on that day.

“Where were you that day?” is a question that seems to ring over and over again when people talk about 9/11. It’s natural. We often mark tragedy and triumph by the moments preceeding the event that changed us. Sadly, though, we can become so consumed by the event itself and not stop to ask ourselves, “Where was I with God that day?”

Where were you standing with God that day? Where are you standing with God today in comparison to ten years ago?

Has your relationship with God changed? Have you let it change? Was 9/11 a day that simply scarred your heart, or did you open up you faith, as painful as it may be, and bring your burden – including your anger, disbelief, rage, confusion – to God?

Take more than a moment of silence to reflect on how 9/11 changed your relationship with God and your neighbor.

Let yourself sit in the challenge of identifying who is a neighbor and who is an enemy, and how Jesus teaches us to forgive both.

A Letter to My Son on the 10th Anniversary of 9/11

Published on by Lisa Category: Uncategorized

Dear Isaiah,

You’re almost 21 months old and full of unpredictable moments.

TEET TEET is what you say when asked what noise a bird makes.

You are obsessed – OBSESSED, I tell you – with bikes. So much so, your father hid the one bike we do have in our basement. Taking it from the garage and hiding it so you wander in teh garage anymore and stand by it and having a loud crying episode when we ask you to go in the house for dinner.

This past week you said, Mama. Work. to the sitter, explaining you know where I am during the day. This revelation made me cry when I read it in the sitter’s note that day. You blow kisses to everyone and anyone.

One of the most touching moments that I’ll never forget happened Thursday night. I carefully laid you in your crib, gently laid the blanket over you and told you I loved you. For the first time it looked like you understood the words. You smiled and blew me a kiss.

With so much love coming out of you, it’s hard to explain what today, September 11, 2011, means.

The 10 year anniversary of one of the most tragic days of our lives. I remember I was living in Aberdeen, Washington. Just months out of college and living on the west coast, I was 3 hours behind and woke up to my roommate, Mike, yelling from the downstairs, “Everyone wake up. The Pentagon’s been attacked. We’re at war. Everyone wake up. We’re at war.”

We turn on the television and I watch my roommate Lauren, from New York, break down at the images of what we were seeing. We had no idea what was going on except something horrible had just spun out of control. I tried to call Gretchen, my best friend in Manhattan, and wondered where all my NYC relatives were…

It was a day you will only hear about. Like how I only heard about the JFK assassination. Like Pearl Harbor. Like the story ghosts that remain after death comes in sweeping violence.

Today your cousin, Zach, 6 years old asked if I had heard anything about two buildings being attacked by people who hated God. I paused and said, “Yes, I’ve heard about the buildings.” I looked at you, wandering aimlessly toward the kitchen table trying to sneak potato chips into your round little mouth, and wondered what kind of world you would grow up in. But no matter what, no matter what kind of tragedies you will face in your lifetime, remember a very simple, probably overly simple thought that gets me through every September:

No matter how wide or endless the stench of death might be, love always – always – endures.

Love,
Mama

Things I Learned in Therapy: #1 The Here and Now is Pretty Fabulous

Published on by Lisa Category: Psychology and Mental Health

D* my wise therapist says we all have an inner brat.

Not inner voice. Not egocentric tendencies.

A BRAT.

I picture a pigtailed girl, arms crossed, sitting in her closet till she gets here way.

The BRAT in all of us is the warped and self-centered part of our souls that truly believes (despite all the convincing evidence around us) that we, in fact, ARE the center of the universe. And we deserve what we want. And everyone around has us needs, yes, but it’s not nearly as important as the needs of the BRAT.

D* tells me this matter of factly, “Oh you have brat alright. Alive and kicking in there. She’s a live one!” D* seems almost amused at my stories about inner conflict, anxiety, unreasonably high expectations that lead me to feel like a morose failure. I want to release the BRAT on D* herself and watch with popcorn as the BRAT eats her alive and triumphantly holds the DSM-IV above her.

Instead of engaging this fantasy, I tell D* that I am very aware of others’ needs. So much so, that I don’t even see mine anymore.

“Well, that’s why you’re in therapy,” D* says with a kind but self-satisfied smile. “Bigger perspective.”

I suddenly hate *D and all the ways she seamlessly weaves my troubles down to a simple hand held mirror with gentle advice to simply look deep enough into the mirror and I’ll find my answers to my questions.

So, I muse aloud, this BRAT you speak of. Is she someone that I can shut-up or do I have to live with her until I’m dead?

*D is typing away, probably adding a secondary diagnosis to my crazy label. I simply wished she would diagnose me on a MAC instead of an HP. I’m a computer snob and am offended. “Oh, yeah,” she says nonchalantly, making a mark on my genogram, “I suspect you’re going to have to struggle with the BRAT all the days of your life.”

Well, this is encouraging.

Laughter. Only I’m not laughing with her.

“What I mean is, “she tries to comfort me and reaffix her glasses on the bridge of her nose, “you are a person who is high passion, high energy, high creativity. And you tend to think in “if only, if only” mentalities. And your BRAT feeds off of that. So, as long as you are a creative person, you will have to struggle with the BRAT who feeds your tendency to think the grass is greener on the other side.” She looks at me, waiting for my reaction.

So, what you’re saying is that as long as I am ME, a person who creates and thinks with her brain, I will struggle with my inner BRAT who is, by nature, ego centric and whiny?

*D nods.

I knew therapy was a mistake.

*D disagrees, “You’re growing. This is what growth looks like. You revisit the same issues you have struggled with in the past, except this time, you are able to approach it in a different way. I bet you are talking about this much differently than you would have at 22 years old.”

At the thought of my 22 year old innocent yet cocky self, I laugh outloud.

“And I suspect that when you’re 42, you’ll look at this differently, too.”

The thought of aging to 42 years old sobered my giggling. Oh yeah. Growing older. I guess it won’t surprise you when I say that both myself and my inner BRAT are completely NOT EXCITED about being 42?

*D shakes her head. “Not at all.”

I run out of things to say, but *D has not. “I don’t know you well, but I suspect

How many things does she suspect in one hour?

that you have not been able to grasp and appreciate who you really are because you keep listening to that BRAT of yours. When you listen to anything or anyone that focuses your attention on the past or the future too much, you lose focus on the here and now. And the here and now is pretty fabulous.”

The here and now is pretty fabulous.

Perhaps. I’m open to the concept of fabulous, yes.

Social Media Experiment: Go Back in Time

Published on by Lisa Category: Uncategorized

I recently read an article announcing that FB will be adding a music platform to their service. At the end of the article I said to Nick who was sitting across from me on another couch, “Think back to your 1998 self. I’m going to read four sentences to you. Think back to 1998 and try to think what your response would be if I read this to you back then.”

Facebook and Apple butted heads after Apple’s music event last year, when Apple rolled launched its Ping social network. Ping included Facebook integration, but without Facebook’s blessing. Apple removed tight Facebook integration from Ping, and has since partnered more closely with Twitter, a rival social utility.

The social media jargon has gotten so intertwined in my news that I can not remember a time when it didn’t make sense to me.

Nick, on the other hand, says, “I probably would’ve asked, ‘What the eff is a TWITTER?'”

Interracial Dating

Published on by Lisa Category: Isaiah, Marriage

Up at Racialicious, there is a roundtable about interracial dating and I served on the South Asian panel (holla Pinoys! represent!).

I wish I had more time and energy to expand my thoughts and reflections on the topic — it’s always good for me to remember where I’ve been and how I want to raise Isaiah as he goes out into the world someday to find a person to share popcorn with, hold hands with, love and maybe bring home to meet his crazy mama.

I am often reminded that Isaiah will not have the same experiences as I did growing up. Racial conflict and tension was such a HUGE part of my identity formation and for Isaiah who is fair skinned and likely will pass as a mixed kid, will likely NOT have such tumultuous times when he develops feelings for someone. What’s weird is that I’m both glad and upset that he’ll have it easier than I did.

Reasons why I’m glad my kid will not face the same emotional battles when it comes to interracial dating:
Uh, yeah. I don’t want my kid to suffer because of some effed up system that dictates who you can and cannot be attracted to. Dumb. Unnecessary. Did I mention it’s also bullshit?

Reasons why I’m a little upset he will have it easier than me:
Is this wrong? I grew from those experiences. A lot. It talk me to think on my own, to believe in myself, and to identify my true thoughts and values based on my lived experiences, not by what other people told me to believe. Adversity creates strength, or as Frederick Douglas said, “Without struggle, there can be no progress.”

I want Isaiah to understand the complexity of race and interracial relationships. I want him to understand his very flesh and bone is made up of ancestors from two different parts of the world. One is not better than the other, but they are extremely different. Both need to be honored and I guess I’m worried that without anything providing a bump in the road, he will cruise through his life without giving a second thought to the implications of culture, heritage, tradition, and race.

But I guess that’s why I’m the parent, right? To make sure that he does think about it and, someday, comes to appreciate that his mixed blood came from two people who faced a lot of cultural differences and learned how to incorporate those differences into love.