Oh, and…

M. got ‘recognized’ as Lance Ito.  Again.  It’s starting to bug him, and he can’t figure out why it’s only African-Americans who tell him he looks like Lance.

Which, for the record, he kind of does.  Sans blonde wife.

Five freaking minutes…

to myself, that is.

Since we’ve been back, everyone under the age of 4 has been a little crazy. It’s especially bad with the toddler, who I think is going through jealousy issues, getting older issues, and lack of comprehension issues all at once. All she knows is that the baby is getting a little more needy (not helped by the fact that he greatly prefers the breast over all other modes of food transferral, including spoon/cereal. I was sure he’d take to solid food immediately, but he’s not very interested right now), that she has more freedom than she had before – but not as much as the older kids – and that we went and visited people (following some kind of required purgatory in an enclosed capsule for four+ hours) who we are unable to visit now. And she doesn’t really understand why.

So, she’s special. Baby Boy, who has now rejected both the bottle and (sort-of) the spoon, is special. But, and this cannot be said happily enough, they’re both sleeping right now. For however long it lasts, I finally have a few minutes to myself in which to write a little more about our trip.

The Rental Car

As I had anticipated, getting to the rental car place on our arrival was long and arduous. Seriously. It was made all the more difficult because we had to trek from terminal 7 to terminal 6 to get our bags, then back down to the shuttle stop in front of the terminal 6 exit, then onto the shuttle (a time-consuming process when the scooter is involved), then to a bus stop out in the middle of nowhere, where we waited and waited and waited for the rental company shuttle to come, then to the company where we…waited some more. They did have the car seats, but all of us were completely in the dark about how to install them. Their solution – which I discovered later that evening – left me really thankful that we hadn’t had an accident of any sort: the guy basically took the LATCH belt and used it to tie the handle of the baby carrier part to my headrest. I had naively assumed that there was something on the bottom – say, a seatbelt – holding the carseat down, but no. My SIL fixed it for us, but I was really mortified.

I will give them a little credit, though, for realizing that the two-shuttle slog was a lot for us to handle, and one of the guys at the office told me to just leave everything packed up in the car when we returned and he’d drive us over to the terminal. Which he did, and we were grateful for the help.

My personal jury is still out about whether we should rent from these guys again. The price is definitely right, but it took an awful lot of work to rent the car. It was a lot easier before our usual people (Ace Rentacar) began outsourcing to them.

California Adventure

Or whatever it’s called. Don’t pay money for this. Seriously. My SIL was able to get a two-fer deal that got us in to both CA and Disneyland proper, and that was about right. But there is really so little to do over at CA, and they seem to have pinned most of their ideas on that oh-so popular Pixar movie, A Bug’s Life. Now, I love 9/10 of what comes out of Pixar, but I never saw this and I really don’t feel like I’m missing anything. The kiddie rides seemed to run for a fraction of the time that kiddie rides go over at Disneyland, and that made one toddler pretty irate. She did love the Disney Playhouse live show (and this is a kid who never watches Disney Playhouse) – so much so that she wanted to “do it again” afterwards (cue requisite beating of chest and furrowing of brow), so that was a hit. And they’re supposed to be opening some Toy Story-themed ride later next month, although I don’t know if that’s appropriate for little kids or not. But otherwise, it was a strange, dead place with little to recommend it (kind of like the Sea-themed one in Tokyo…can’t remember the name, but it was also pretty lame and had miles of unnecessarily roundabout walking to boot).

Buffets and Casinos

The tally: one buffet and NO CASINOS! For me, anyway. M. got away with two buffets and two casinos, where he lost all but $40. He should not be allowed to gamble, because he doesn’t believe in walking away unless he hits some kind of substantial jackpot. He did say that there were some fun new machines – notably an Ebay one that it cost him $20 just to get the hang of – and I was a little sorry I couldn’t go along. But I was much more grateful that I was allowed to stay behind, watch the kids, and pack. We all needed the down time (as evidenced by this week’s ongoing deflation). While everyone was gone, I packed the kids into the Highlander (yes, we got an SUV. Not intentional, but it wound up working well for us) and drove down to In ‘n’ Out to get some takeout for dinner. It was goooood.

We gave M.’s parents $200 each to gamble with, and this produced such a wave of cash-infused euphoria in his mom that she actually thanked me for putting up with M.’s “bad habits” (he was in the bathroom at the time – definitely one of his bad habits, since he tends to go right before we leave for someplace, and he stays for upwards of 20 min. once he’s there). She told me that he’s a good person, but he has bad habits and her “bad temper” (this one I don’t see, since M. really is a paragon of tongue-biting civility. He almost never snaps at anyone and is generally just this very amiable guy). I always figure, though, that the money is worth it if his parents have a good time; they can’t get around very well anymore, but M. always notes that his mom has significantly improved mobility when she’s ambling around a casino. They like it, so it’s a small price to pay.

Family History

I really did learn all kinds of cool stuff. From M.’s father, I learned that he met Mrs. M. at a PX in South Korea where he was stationed, having requested a transfer from Japan. He showed me some pictures of her when she first came to the States, and she was seriously movie-star beautiful. She kinda sorta resembled a mid-career Li Xianglan/Ri Koran/Yamaguchi Yoshiko (and with all those names, you start to get a sense of the complicatedness of her career as a Manchurian-born Japanese star in the pre-war period):

Obviously they’re not identical, but M.’s mom had the same large eyes, same kind of high cheekbones, and a similarly well-defined nose (that, for the record, the toddler inherited. Along with the cheekbones. Color me not unhappy). His dad said that she’d actually dabbled in either TV or stage work prior to the Korean War, but that it pretty much came to a halt when things got dangerous. Their wedding picture is very formal and nice – even M.’s dad was a nice-looking guy, and they made a good couple.

I asked M.’s mom a little about the circumstances surrounding his birth – was he premature? She said yes, she was 7 months pregnant when she went into labor with him; her dog had just been killed when it ran out into traffic, and she didn’t know if it was the shock of that or not, but she went into labor and delivered him early. He spent a long time – she wasn’t sure – in an incubator, where he contracted pneumonia, and they were asked to sign a death certificate (or something…since parents don’t usually sign death certificates, I’m thinking maybe a DNR order?) in case he died in the night. It is true that M. had a death certificate dogging him for years, getting in the way of things like driver’s licenses, etc., until he finally had the thing destroyed, so I do know that the hospital jumped the gun there.

I asked her if she had any of her own family in the country while she was going through all this, and she said, “No, just my husband’s family. I was alone.” That really touched me; I know she had her husband and I’m sure he was supportive, but I think they were estranged from M.’s grandparents at that point (his grandfather cut off contact for years because his son had married a Korean, and they didn’t reconcile until M.’s grandmother basically told him to get over it) and I don’t know what kind of support she had otherwise. But I’ve been sick overseas before, with piddling things, and even then I know that you just want someone you know and trust, who speaks your language, to comfort you and tell you things will be okay – and she didn’t have that. M. is hard on her sometimes – and rightfully so, I’m sure, although I think they’re a lot more alike than he likes to admit – but I really have a lot of respect for her. She’s been through so much in her life, and she’s still fighting. I never knew her before her stroke, but people say she was “so strong” then; all I know is that, as frustrating as it has to be not to be able to do all the stuff she once did, she’s not down for the count yet. She hasn’t given up, even when she’s been terribly depressed, and that counts for a lot in my book. She may not think much of me, but that’s really neither here nor there. She loves my kids, and in her I have a wonderfully strong woman to point to when they ask about their history.

___

So, during this time, baby boy woke up once, groused a bit, and went back to sleep. He made very pathetic sounds, but, dammit, he has to learn to put himself back to sleep! I’m getting tired of this no-napping crap. Mommy needs a break too, sometimes.

We’re back

A good, uneventful (in terms of bad events) trip was had by all.  The plane rides weren’t exactly pleasant, but they both went a little more smoothly than I had expected.  Baby Boy slept for a good part of both, and was charming enough with people sitting around us that we didn’t get any glares when he screeched (which he likes to do just to hear himself, but he had gas on the way back so it was more pronounced then).  Toddler was pretty good on the way out, but a week’s worth of dissipation and overextendedness made the trip home a little more difficult.  She finally gave in and fell asleep at about the halfway point, which made the rest of the ride more pleasant for everyone involved.

Since we came away thinking that we hadn’t spent enough time there, I judge the visit a success.  Grandma and Grandpa doted on both of the kids, they had plenty of cousin time with my nieces and nephews, and the older ones (all but one) were incredibly sweet and patient with the toddler.  We did Disneyland (made a bigger impression than I had originally thought, based on all of the Little People/Teacup Ride tableaux I keep discovering around the house), and we visited the aquarium in Long Beach.  It was a go-go-go kind of week, and I think everyone had a good time.

I also had the chance to talk with M.’s parents a bit about family things – history, that sort of thing – and the conversations were very interesting.  Probably the stuff for another post (since Toddler is currently bugging me about something), but it was nice to have some holes in M.’s stories filled in (M. says that what they said was just the current version of events, but I liked the stories so much that I’m sticking with them).

Our flight home had some star power in first class: Mickey Rooney, on his way to be the honorary Grand Marshall of the Memorial Day parade in DC, and Mo Rocca.  I never mind having celebrities on my plane too much, since it lowers the chances of the plane going down in flames.

So far…

I’ve:

• bagged the twigs/branches I left by the side of the house
• picked up the serious twigs/branches around the yard (in hopes that my Dad might come and mow while we’re gone, since the recent deluge of rain left the yard very green and fuzzy)
• bought two pairs of pants (yay!)
• bought two onesies for the baby
• discovered that the baby has decided he’s too good for bottles, which is seriously going to impede my ability to get away anywhere without him while we’re in CA
• bought some faux Crocs and sandals for the toddler
• discovered that the toddler has bigger feet than I thought, so the sandals have to be exchanged or returned
• given up on doing the bug spray before we leave
• washed a load of laundry
• offered to set up a blog for my father (I run his woodworking website, but ever since the toddler arrived on the scene I’ve been pretty delinquent about it; I’m thinking we could do much the same kind of site on a blog with pages…we’ll see.  It would certainly be easier to maintain…)

That’s about it.  I need to dry the kids’ clothes and do one more load of clothes for me and M. so I can start packing – if not tonight (I’m thinking not) then tomorrow morning.

Have I mentioned that I’m having serious stress about all the logistics involved here?  We’re going to have to leave for the airport at about 4:15 am on Friday, since our flight is at about 6:30.  Normal families wouldn’t need this much lead-in time, probably, but we’re such a production that we need as much time as we can get.

Bah.

Argh!

Our car rental company is now working through an affiliate at LAX, and getting to their office has become one step harder.  Specifically, now we have to get everyone (and the scooter) onto/off of not one, but two shuttle buses – one that goes to a car rental pickup terminal, and one that goes to the office.

Makes me want to take a freaking cab.

On the plus side, they say they can get us car seats for both kids, so we’re going to take a leap of faith and leave ours here.  The toddler is at the point where her car seat allows her to kick the seat in front of her, and I think it’s a pretty safe bet that no one on our flight wants to go there – least of all us.

So, things that need to happen between now and when we leave:

• bundle up and toss twigs in yard
• mail G.’s letters
• send pics to Japan
• send back pants
• get one pair of pants that fit, dammit
• do laundry/ironing
• pack
• pay outstanding bills
• spray for bugs
• turn off air conditioner
• water plants
• pick up around the house (optional, but I HATE coming home to a messy house)

The toddler’s birthday is a week after we get back, so I have her presents (two books and a kiddie camera) being sent to my parents’ house.  What am I forgetting??

White people

This is not a particularly racially charged post. I’m simply having flashbacks to when I first met M.’s family, on the occasion of his younger sister’s wedding. M. and I had been seeing each other (= I spent most weekends and half the week over at his place) for about five months or so, and it seemed like a good opportunity to do a round of our respective families (mine was attending a family reunion in Texas, so we roadtripped from SoCal to West Texas while we were in the States).

A lot of the trip is a blur, but one thing I remember clearly was feeling incredibly white there. It was a strange feeling, and even now I couldn’t quite say why. I’d been a racial minority in East Asia for a total of 15 years by that time, so it wasn’t the feeling of being the only Caucasian face in the crowd. Rather, I think it was the fact that M.’s family didn’t quite know what to do with me because of my race. His sister commented at one point that she’d never really hung out with, or been around, white people much, so she didn’t really know what to expect. I think what was different about the experience of being white there for me was that I was “white” on essentially equal ground; that is, in Hong Kong I was white in a colonial context, with all the privilege (and covert hostility) that came with that position. In Japan, I was white in a country where Caucasians were either fawned over or laughed at, always implicitly singled out as different while still remaining comparatively safe in my difference because of the sociopolitical implications of whiteness – especially in the American context – in Japan.

But with M.’s family, my whiteness came with a lot of assumptions about what white people are like. You could say the same was true of the other places, but it was easier to dismiss what I perceived as misconceptions and stereotypes in foreign countries than it was to do so with M.’s Asian-American family. It kind of confounded things a bit when they discovered that I could understand conversation between M.’s parents pretty well (honestly, I understand it better than any of their kids, although I feel kind of stealthy and guilty about this…I always feel a bit like I’m eavesdropping, since his parents tend to forget that I understand and sometimes talk ‘amongst themselves’ in my presence); but even so, I’m pretty aware of my whiteness when we visit. I really stand out like a sore thumb when M.’s sister and her husband (Chinese/Vietnamese) have a barbecue with both families – there are Chinese people, Vietnamese people, and the Japanese/Koreans of M.’s family, and…me. And, of course, what makes those gatherings really weird for me is that my BIL’s family mostly speaks Cantonese – which is a sound I associate with my childhood and with ‘home’, even though I only know a few words/phrases.

It’s a strangely alienating experience. But, then again, so is receiving ultra conservative spam from my own aunt, so there you go.

I’m not sure what the purpose of this post is…just some random thoughts I’m having as we get ready to leave.

Logistics

We’ve got a trip to SoCal coming up this Friday…and I’m completely unprepared. The whole thing is shaping up to be one logistical nightmare after another; to wit:

1. I’ve got to pack everything we need into two smallish bags, because
2. Our car is already packed to the gills with two car seats and a scooter in the back, and because
3. We’re going to have to negotiate two airports with a baby, a toddler, a scooter, a suitcase, a soft-sided bag, a car seat, and a diaper bag, which will likely work out something like: me + baby in Bjorn (perchance to fall flat on my face again and bang out whatever brains I missed the last time we fell together) with rolling suitcase and toddler carseat; M. with toddler on lap, soft-sided bag under his scooter seat, and diaper bag slung on the back of the scooter seat. We can carry no more than this.
4. We also have to get all of the above to the offsite car rental office, which involves getting everyone/thing onto the shuttlebus; heavy scooter included.
5. I also have to figure out how to breastfeed on the airplane. I’m thinking this is simply easier for women with nice, slopey breasts. Mine are huge and round; juggling them is a trick even when I’m mostly naked from the waist up. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to just whip them out discreetly on the plane.
6. Jet lag. Baby. Toddler. Kill me now.

And all of that isn’t even taking into account having to fight M. about our plans for the week. His usual M.O. is to arrive at his parents’ house and immediately sink into a sullen pit of silence. He distracts himself by going out – something I’ve been okay with doing up until now, since the toddler was bottle-fed and could be left alone with her grandparents without any problems. This time, baby boy is entirely breastfed and, while he’s not adverse to taking the occasional bottle (nor I in giving it to him), if we spend too much time apart my boobs are going to unilaterally decide that we must be done breastfeeding. So we’re simply going to have to spend more time together, which may seriously cut into M.’s sulking/hiding. I’ve warned him about this, but it remains to be seen if he really means it when he says “I know.”

And then there’s my inborn fear/dread/terror of in-law visits to contend with. It’s not M.’s parents’ fault at all – they’ve never been anything but pleasant to me, and they loved the toddler when we brought her out to see them. Good enough for me. But every trip out there is colored by a blowout my mother and grandmother had back in the day – and I mean WAY back in the day – that I’ve never really gotten out of my system. Seeing your mother cry, in public, sticks with you, and now I always go to my own in-laws half expecting some horrible argument to materialize seemingly out of nowhere, leaving me blubbering in its wake. Despite the fact that, to date, I have no reason to expect this from them.

I’ll miss my comfort zone. And we’re only going for a week. Very pathetic.