tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368233662024-02-29T01:56:54.002+09:00Ramblings of a 30 somethingbethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-14308046278965446232008-09-24T23:00:00.002+09:002008-09-24T23:13:15.796+09:00Kids.I love kids who can't pronounce things clearly. My current favorite kid is at E's hoikuen. He can't pronounce the "-sei" sound for "sensei", which makes it even more funny that his name is Taisei.<br /><br />So instead of calling me sensei (teacher), he calls me shensei. He calls himself Taishei.<br /><br />Cute!<br /><br />E has been giving me back a fair number of things recently that I've said to her. She is always wondering where our neighbor is, what he might be doing, why he's where he is. I have often responded that I don't know where he is and that it's not really my business to keep up with him. I guess it should come as no surprise when I asked her something that I don't really even recall and she answered, "It's not your business."<br /><br />At times endearing and at times heartbreaking, she says what she thinks. When we've been out and she's tired, she will often ask for her binky when we get in the car. Some time ago she was still permitted to use her binky when we drove, but those days are gone. When the question is asked, I know that I'm in for a spate of tears when I tell her that I don't have it--it's at home. And, I respond with nervous/tired laughter when I tell her this as I try to brace myself for her response.<br /><br />This past weekend we had been out for some time. The usual question reared its head when it was time to set out for home. I calmly said that I didn't have it and that we don't use it for riding in the car anymore. I expected tears, protests, and lots of whining. In return I heard, "Thank you for not laughing at me."<br /><br />What can you say when your heart is in your throat?bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-25046639158606018022008-09-02T22:35:00.002+09:002008-09-02T23:01:10.227+09:00Hate to ruin the surprise....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImkykWQbJD5vQsI02iw-DD5kPO9U14P6rBDsgWzib2_G9xzGtF6wviQHIxpX4bJkUeSME4qh_k3de595NduV7yM4py_5kCQKxofB2fhsjVKyTuyj8kEnYmyWTZV0PJukPn2xFhg/s1600-h/emi+753+with+bear.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImkykWQbJD5vQsI02iw-DD5kPO9U14P6rBDsgWzib2_G9xzGtF6wviQHIxpX4bJkUeSME4qh_k3de595NduV7yM4py_5kCQKxofB2fhsjVKyTuyj8kEnYmyWTZV0PJukPn2xFhg/s320/emi+753+with+bear.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241423682932822594" /></a><br />Currently in the postal system are pics to my parents from E's pics for Shichi-Go-San<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shichi-Go-San"></a> While the date is not observed until November, we've been seeing ads for some time about getting pictures done. I was itching to do it because<br /><br />a) my daughter is lovely<br />b) I can live out my fantasy to dress up through her<br />c) it needs to be done, and why do it under duress if you don't have to?<br /><br />Feast your eyes on my 3 year old!bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-41377635834481001862008-09-02T21:46:00.002+09:002008-09-02T21:54:34.475+09:00First day back at school.Today was my first day back teaching at my regular job. I was substituting today for a teacher who hasn't returned from holidays yet, and it was my first time with these particular students: 3 little girls, aged 4.<br /><br />I realized how incredibly rusty I was and my Japanese team teacher did a lot (read MOST) of the teaching today. I had gotten their snack together and asked about what song we needed to sing before we ate. I started in on a song and I realized part of the way through that that wasn't it. So, it was a game then of making up songs until the light bulb would eventually dawn in my brain. I kept asking, "Are you sure that's not it?" as I tried to recall what we did sing. Eventually it came to me. All's well that ends well.<br /><br />Now I'm trying to sort out what I'm doing at E's daycare for tomorrow's classes. With school back in session, I should have my normal number of kids there and all classes rather than combining the two older classes because so many of the kids have been away. Slowly it will come to me....any recommendations for a website with a dismembered teddy bear so that I don't have to make my own?bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-45815589607690321782008-08-25T10:11:00.003+09:002008-08-25T10:15:29.979+09:00Trading up.Recently E has started a lot of sentences with, "When I get bigger, I'm gonna....." It might be that she's going to eat spicy curry rice, drive a car, or grow big breasts.<br /><br />The funniest one lately was in regards to trying to give her an incentive to giving up her pacifier. I told her that maybe we could think of something that she'd like to trade for her binky, trying the replacement tack with negotiations. She said that when she got bigger she'd trade her binky.<br /><br />So, when I pressed further about what concrete thing I might be able to trade with her, then came her response:<br /><br />"When I get bigger, I'm gonna trade my binky for a BIG BINKY. A HUGE (pronounced hooj) BINKY!"bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-51121902807573180552008-08-21T16:29:00.002+09:002008-08-21T16:58:27.747+09:00Unscheduled Fun.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVNPnZ6YHuyxNEctbnD2AeppPUOlXs0J0lTh8gAqXmEBk2SdpBfv-BeGu3CT1zKYwzgOmjQMqMbRsD9R8uCx3JRYtVVuX-uApjpzbxK5zWJwIC8i2WeURqSnbCfPf0P0Da8B8iQ/s1600-h/DSC01907.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVNPnZ6YHuyxNEctbnD2AeppPUOlXs0J0lTh8gAqXmEBk2SdpBfv-BeGu3CT1zKYwzgOmjQMqMbRsD9R8uCx3JRYtVVuX-uApjpzbxK5zWJwIC8i2WeURqSnbCfPf0P0Da8B8iQ/s320/DSC01907.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236870163375921522" /></a><br /><br /><br />Today was a day that I had many thoughts of how to fill. However, the idea of filling up the day and being productive or whatever didn't win out. Since I am living in Japan and my friends and family are all 13 hours behind me, mornings are usually the only time that I can make those vital connections. Yes, I could have gone to see my doctor for a prescription refill that is not especially dire at the moment on his Thursday in the office. But, I wanted to call a friend, and so I did.<br /><br />Life is not always planned or scripted. Yes, we all have things that need to be done and even jobs (gasp!) that require us to show up at certain times and to be available to only them. I often spend far too much time trying to make life efficient or figuring out the best schedule to accomplish many things in the least amount of time or mileage. For all that time spent, I have yet to ever feel that I've really mastered it.<br /><br />Recently I was talking with a mom from playgroup, and she was asking me about how much I worked and when. I confessed that I often worried about the timing and how E misses out on naps on those days and we end up in tears and screams while I'm trying to get dinner ready. Between that and thinking about preschool starting next year, I often wonder if I've done/am doing the right thing. She told me that like her, I think too much. Now, while things could have gone downhill quickly, and I could have uttered that oft fatigued phrase, "You don't know me!", you can't deny it.<br /><br />I often wonder if a study could be performed on my DNA, how much more closely related I am to cows than the average human. Something in my ruminations absolutely feels bovine at times. The ability to stand and stare while chewing on something over and over, or alternately in my case- sit and stare- gives me pause. Some people I admire for their ability to get stuff done. And by stuff, I mean, it seems that they can cram an entire week's worth of life in one day. I, on the other hand, am feeling pretty impressed that I had a phone call, laundry, and have aired out the futons today. I took E to the agricultural center where we took along some sandwiches for lunch and checked out some animals. As I type, E is napping and I've got curry on the stove for tonight's dinner. And, I want to say, "See! I'm not such a loser! Yes, I spent far too much time wondering how to use up lots of veggies and am wondering what to make for tomorrow night's dinner, but hey, I'm functioning!" I was able to break out of my ruminations long enough to MOVE and do something, anything.<br /><br />So, yes, I do think too much. I am thinking about the resume I updated last night and the cover letter I drafted. Yet another painful task for me to see my paltry set of experiences pasted on a standard size of paper, wondering if I can sell myself to someone having an off day. I think there must be a place for me....somewhere. But, despite my hesitations, reservations, and ruminations, I was able to experience the wonder of newly hatched chicks at the agricultural center and tried to impart some of that wonder to my daughter. Watching the chicks- wet, eyes closed, and stumbling- it was peaceful. Other eggs on exhibit showed signs of their inhabitant's efforts to get on with their living. I peered in close to watch an egg with a small hole begin to futher deteriorate as its shell was being outgrown. E can't have the patience to stay around and watch the progress, but I flung a small wish heavenward hoping that the chick would be strong enough to endure that process and then the beaks of it's roommates in the bin. <br /><br />Rumination replaced by wonder, if only for a short time....it was a good day.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-90769069313552461462008-08-19T15:00:00.001+09:002008-08-19T15:02:26.996+09:00Summer Festival<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxcdffKse0r8d5DxYBWgh8up1PBBh6ebf0HLJ3V8JtazXJUB9_Jc6rR2rSfzg6b4rW8nsMFxZP9entw_HQ1mWZWasJBtigBILHp5oIzqlBfR8liQnuzxROJss_1BxV_J7x-vdiA/s1600-h/DSC01895.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxcdffKse0r8d5DxYBWgh8up1PBBh6ebf0HLJ3V8JtazXJUB9_Jc6rR2rSfzg6b4rW8nsMFxZP9entw_HQ1mWZWasJBtigBILHp5oIzqlBfR8liQnuzxROJss_1BxV_J7x-vdiA/s320/DSC01895.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236104821051479474" /></a><br /><br /><br />We attended a summer festival about a week ago. E is usually quite the kid who loves to dance, but she just couldn't seem to get involved with the dancing going on there.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-67313949147533501142008-08-04T14:04:00.002+09:002008-08-04T14:08:06.949+09:00Dreams Deferred.I recall this poem by Langston Hughes, and I am thinking a little more about it in relation to my own life. And, I'm thinking of my big brother who is embarking on a goal in life that he's making a reality.<br /><br /><br /><em>A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes <br /><br />What happens to a dream deferred? <br /><br />Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? <br />Or fester like a sore-- And then run? <br />Does it stink like rotten meat? <br />Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? <br /><br />Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. <br /><br />Or does it explode? </em>bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-73930944875186403222008-08-03T16:14:00.002+09:002008-08-03T16:19:30.676+09:00Tantrums.If I were a 3 year old, I would be put in time out. I have been having a whole series of "I hate Japan/my life/my limitations/my English teaching suckiness" days. Naps help, but I wake up to find my life exactly as it was, and I'm not really sure what to do about it.<br /><br />I want to alternately scream and cry and then find a way to get a life. The getting a life part seems especially hard for me. But, having a nap and putting off preparing for what little work I'm doing this summer is not really helping.<br /><br />Save me!bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-80369100396876525072008-08-02T00:26:00.003+09:002008-08-02T00:32:15.665+09:00More books for thought.I'm reading how many books at once at the moment? 3 or more, I think. Can I keep them straight? Not really, but they are all things that I want to read at the moment.<br /><br />Women and Money: Owning the Power to Control Your Destiny by Suze Orman<br /><br />As I'm trying to streamline our finances and get all things in order on paper and in files, this is very helpful. It's made me actually look at the percentage rates of our accounts and see how little they're making. Next step is to wiggle things around and get the money in accounts that are actually yielding something more.<br /><br />12 Simple Secrets Real Moms Know by Michele Borba<br /><br />Sort of written in response to Perfect Madness where the moms all seem to be running around at the speed of sound trying to give their child every opportunity. I'm not so far in at the moment, but it resonates with me about focusing on what is important and not falling under the spell of what every other kid is doing.<br /><br />Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert<br /><br />Enlightening but not self-help and speaks about happiness and how our brains work to seek it/predict it.<br /><br />What are you reading?bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-81094508868983493812008-07-28T15:21:00.001+09:002008-07-28T15:23:25.209+09:00The Great Outdoors.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13u2LuNtYeQudPC47ZiNsWewzAXUWt_3Yj9JruNOAippDEa4ZkGNo4mZ1-hWfQ9Ja9rA1vOyfic0h3tY5LvS-D0s8VEn8dPtmpdjXe0n3MQePyIyK_d1kr0_zHmrk_3cOw2KlCg/s1600-h/DSC01887.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13u2LuNtYeQudPC47ZiNsWewzAXUWt_3Yj9JruNOAippDEa4ZkGNo4mZ1-hWfQ9Ja9rA1vOyfic0h3tY5LvS-D0s8VEn8dPtmpdjXe0n3MQePyIyK_d1kr0_zHmrk_3cOw2KlCg/s320/DSC01887.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227946547848192098" /></a><br /><br />E and her tree that we dubbed a giraffe.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-85095605160639461862008-07-28T15:20:00.000+09:002008-07-28T15:21:14.500+09:00Why do we live in the city?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixfnLjUBbq7R8ljiA2v1EMTqCyzyHnfXkBcWD8AFVrDUnASia5Wbh7iMcpKP4eH6kjXsGxJqGwB6V9dJZLk-mjoj5rYOxsXRximaR0ceKp64x4bp6QCGJhMHbd_DjXO3uLwnjEOA/s1600-h/DSC01824.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixfnLjUBbq7R8ljiA2v1EMTqCyzyHnfXkBcWD8AFVrDUnASia5Wbh7iMcpKP4eH6kjXsGxJqGwB6V9dJZLk-mjoj5rYOxsXRximaR0ceKp64x4bp6QCGJhMHbd_DjXO3uLwnjEOA/s320/DSC01824.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227946117157220210" /></a>bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-35044819099370894792008-07-28T15:11:00.002+09:002008-07-28T15:19:32.581+09:00Summertime.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZqXqSaKiIo8ueR6bBbIRcvWytU4G5fgkXVmDciGX2E1bH2lGIfe7bYSn1lPdvsRxy5MVmLuqSBpNrxx4Au1RPeZ6a8-f2LVSmRr9ZgxPFTPE3W_q1T1uUJtHTnBga04019Ib-w/s1600-h/DSC01861.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZqXqSaKiIo8ueR6bBbIRcvWytU4G5fgkXVmDciGX2E1bH2lGIfe7bYSn1lPdvsRxy5MVmLuqSBpNrxx4Au1RPeZ6a8-f2LVSmRr9ZgxPFTPE3W_q1T1uUJtHTnBga04019Ib-w/s320/DSC01861.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227945685003867090" /></a><br />"When I was young," the tale normally starts, "we didn't do X because of (insert wildly exagerated hardship)."<br /><br />It's summertime, and I don't want to think about what needs to be done or what should be done or what has to be done. I want something easy like summer vacation from school. While my memory of school summer vacation fails, I'm sure I complained of being bored or some other terrible malady that my mom must have had to hear. As an adult, I like to think of summertime as the time to throw off obligations, to recharge, to think about what you want, or to just not think and have fun.<br /><br />This past weekend we met up with another family outside of the heat and humidity of our area and joined them on their own turf. Cooler temperatures in the mountains with the sound of water running by was our oasis. Driving hairpin turns where the mirrors at the corner that are supposed to give you a view of what's around the bend only reflect an image of the rock that you are driving around, well, let's just say that I was partially grateful for being in the passenger seat. If I had to listen to my backseat driving I'd be mental.<br /><br />We had a nice time though back for a second time in Kamikochi. Much better weather and beautiful views of the mountains and the water....bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-17995484121759894192008-06-16T18:27:00.002+09:002008-06-16T18:33:59.899+09:00Befuddled.So, I'm a bit surprised at myself. After posting my last blog about wanting IRL friends, my daughter woke up from her nap. After a snack and hearing a boy from downstairs outside playing, she wanted to go out. I noticed a couple other moms out and about, but I really just did not want to go.<br /><br />What gives? What about IRL friends? Sometimes I don't mind going outside, but I wish I could first put on my invisibility cloak. I don't want to have to make conversation when it's so painfully apparent that my conversation doesn't measure up for 3-5 year olds. I came away from Japanese class today just wondering what I had spent the last 90 minutes doing.<br /><br />I'd like to believe that it's all language related, but some of it is just that I'd like to be outside of my apartment and yet in a private domain. That does not exist. I don't know if we lived in a house if that would be the case or not, but I like to tell myself that I could do whatever I liked in my own yard without having to make chit chat. <br /><br />I am a study in contrasts.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-2179082556031549722008-06-16T15:21:00.002+09:002008-06-16T15:36:24.655+09:00IRL.IRL, in real life.<br /><br />I spend far more time on the computer than I wish to. I feel like I am often sitting down, and hours later (with bits snatched here and there) I emerge with no real communication achieved or information learned. I shudder to think how much time is spent in front of it.<br /><br />I am wanting more friends IRL than online. I can't seem to keep up with my friends IRL, so what makes me think I can be a friend to someone online? Is it because expectations are vastly different? I don't know. I just feel a bit disconnected, and I feel like my inbox taunts me with all the information that arrives each day. Some of it is useful, some of it is information, and very little of it is real communication.<br /><br />I'm trying to figure out what it means for me. I seem to have something on my calendar for each day of the week. With a small child, I feel that I cannot traipse from one event after another in the course of a day. I do it at times, and I feel the effects of a missed nap. And, if I do something out with someone, then other things have to fall by the wayside as a result. I was hoping for a more laid back week, after this week, I told myself. Just push yourself through to next week, and life will slow down. No, it doesn't happen, without me putting on the brakes and having to say "no". <br /><br />"I'd really like to get together with you, but I'm busy this week. Next week I'm free on Friday. How about that?" <br /><br />"No, okay, well the following week I'm free on Tuesday and Friday," blundering around trying to make myself more available.<br /><br />Does it feel like a blow off to the other person when we have to schedule so many weeks in advance? On the other hand, I feel like I'm blowing off myself when I schedule so much that naps are missed. The tantrums begin and I look forward to bedtime with a hint of remorse that I've missed my daughter in the course of the day and what she needs. <br /><br />Maybe I'll figure out the balance IRL.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-71902079569809433622008-06-09T18:48:00.002+09:002008-06-09T19:11:23.426+09:00Lack of Acceptance.Recently I've found myself in many a funk, and the central issue is my lack of acceptance of reality. While I would like to hide away, isolate myself from others while I hunker down and try to wrangle out an appropriate response, believing that no one else feels the way that I do or would understand or perhaps it's a personality fault that would be cured with a little more faith or a little less critical thinking on my part, all of those coping mechanisms fail. Why? Because slowly I am realizing that it is the human state.<br /><br />I've recently been reading a book of essays and Johnathon Franzen writes about his experience growing up with the Peanuts comic strips. He relates that he learned about disillusionment from Charlie Brown when he was spurned by the little red-haired girl. He is sitting with Snoopy and says that he wishes he had two ponies so that he and the little red haired girl can go for a ride together. After some thought, he looks at Snoopy and demands, "Why aren't you two ponies?" <br /><br />While my rendering lacks Franzen's eloquence, it seems to be the way that I relate to various issues in my life. Why can't my spouse be more communicative? Why doesn't my work fill me with confidence? Why can't I make that leap into a new level of Japanese language? Why? Why? Why? <br /><br />I've been reading another book some nights before my eyes give out on me and the book falls, whacking me on the nose and forcing me awake. In it the author writes about simply letting go and accepting people and situations for what they are. While it is a simple solution, he states that obviously it is not a simple task. But, what do we gain by weighing in on our judgment of situations? Does it change anything? Do complaints, arguments, or obstinance change persons or situations?<br /><br />Food for thought.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-37020592325389365562008-05-16T03:54:00.002+09:002008-05-16T04:11:37.939+09:00Uninvolved Fathers.While it may not be seen exactly the same throughout the world, I think there is a view that Japanese fathers are largely uninvolved. Uninvolved at least by Western standards meaning that perhaps they serve as chief financier but leave all of the particulars to their spouse and other formative people in their child's life.<br /><br />While much of that is believed as truth, and in some cases I can see it's truth, it is not the whole picture. Each weekend whenever we are out, we see countless fathers out with their kids alone having lunch or playing at the nearby park. I always wonder if it's simply a break for Mom, or if it's "If you want this living space to look like something other than a disaster zone, you will take them out and leave me to clean."<br /><br />A couple weekends ago we were at the park together, and a father was there with his two kids. One I estimated to be possibly 18 months, not much older. He was pushing his daughter on the swing next to E and was being called away from time to time by his older child. When his daughter slowed almost to a stop, I started to crank her up again. He came rushing back, apologizing and thanking me all at the same time. F was in front of E pretending to try to catch her as she swung up "high in the sky". I noticed the little girl's head looking down and wondered if she might be getting sleepy. The dad came back over, slowed her to a stop, and removed his sleeping daughter from the swing. He told F that she often falls asleep on the swing, so it wasn't like it was a one off.<br /><br />I've just started teaching English classes as E's daycare, and I was granted a back stage pass to the view from the teacher's side. I always would like to creep up to the window and peer in without E knowing that I am there to get a look at how and what she's doing there. Things change when your child knows you're on the premises. It's sort of comforting to see that they are able to adjust happily to the outside world.<br /><br />On Wednesday, the first day of my teaching there, I looked out the window of my room to the entranceway of the daycare. There I saw a dad in a suit come to pick up his child. Notable at first, a father is there before 6 pm, I daresay even 5:30. Next I noticed the broad smile on his face as he had caught sight of his child playing. And, finally, the cherry on top, I see him launch into a wild jumping jack style wave trying to catch the attention of his child who had obviously not seen him first. It was sweet, endearing, and oh so very human in a place that sometimes feels rather emotionally stunted. It still brings a smile.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-25834433648246488652008-04-25T15:18:00.004+09:002008-04-25T15:54:22.270+09:00A Day Well Spent.Today we met up at the park with a friend and her son. My friend recently returned from Poland where she spent about 2 months with her family. She sounded quite happy with her time at home, and she is starting to settle back into her life here.<br /><br />The park was full of 4th graders today who were enjoying a day out of the classroom. Their teachers were there, of course, but they were free to play however they wished. Fortunately, they took an interest to E and K, and G and I had time to chat. While it's a little frustrating to see 4th graders trying to carry around our kids, and wondering if they could carry someone more than half their weight, they seemed quite happy to play with little kids. They just wanted to play and try to be big brother or sister to them. <br /><br />Here are a few pictures from today's outing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X5jnVlRJnNGKokHW7tyCpGKrwsq9nDZMopxpn4JntNHGS77NOaK7E5JgB0-hdRHCstdFgPUzhbEyGgKmi9SjNskzSN0-nr12KKHRCwzXhM1wBYYt5Xm9OVRSzMhMvCC9AoK7Yw/s1600-h/DSC01708.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X5jnVlRJnNGKokHW7tyCpGKrwsq9nDZMopxpn4JntNHGS77NOaK7E5JgB0-hdRHCstdFgPUzhbEyGgKmi9SjNskzSN0-nr12KKHRCwzXhM1wBYYt5Xm9OVRSzMhMvCC9AoK7Yw/s320/DSC01708.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193072050821089186" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzB8ZJ_wZsiYPy49-lU6YlXsUb4P1zdwptmn57piR-ZvRyyYvlQHTKbpLuQ1uoBAALxpFWHxA9YxjEMB8xumdwY0U_P2kpxzxDRhNRnVVF1sWSC-RcqDWx0lM9xLNIO9vpFyNnQ/s1600-h/DSC01711.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzB8ZJ_wZsiYPy49-lU6YlXsUb4P1zdwptmn57piR-ZvRyyYvlQHTKbpLuQ1uoBAALxpFWHxA9YxjEMB8xumdwY0U_P2kpxzxDRhNRnVVF1sWSC-RcqDWx0lM9xLNIO9vpFyNnQ/s320/DSC01711.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193072059411023794" /></a>bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-37411845623195404532008-04-24T20:28:00.002+09:002008-04-24T20:31:36.778+09:00The Nearly Naked Chef.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG62t5VMU_RZgZmKnPSIvuA9OsRGr_CC38j7OmPKC5HPjz18Sa1mKqNl2XnCTgz8OPBVgKeCEAboqycU0unHhUFg4MztPt3u_45_AhzLw_6Qaq5q8fRox-pTGHMZC6KBQlnGf7g/s1600-h/DSC01692.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG62t5VMU_RZgZmKnPSIvuA9OsRGr_CC38j7OmPKC5HPjz18Sa1mKqNl2XnCTgz8OPBVgKeCEAboqycU0unHhUFg4MztPt3u_45_AhzLw_6Qaq5q8fRox-pTGHMZC6KBQlnGf7g/s320/DSC01692.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192772421017618322" /></a><br /><br /><br />Someone really likes helping me make things in the kitchen. Recently she's operating the food processor for me, mixing, or eating bits that I'm chopping. She also enjoys washing dishes which I have to "accidentally" spill something on and have to re-wash them after she's moved away from the sink. Good times.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-31004890671537660202008-04-24T20:15:00.002+09:002008-04-24T20:27:58.420+09:00Illness III have a cough that's been keeping me up at night. Yesterday I broke down and went to the doctor seeing as how I am off to Switzerland in less than a week. I didn't want to have to stand in the drugstore and try to guess as to what might be good and listen to the drugstore's recommendations.<br /><br />Medicine I wanted, and medicine I got. When the doctor checked me out she said it was a cold, which is just as I expected. She told me she'd give me 5 medicines and a breathing treatment to go on. I inhaled the moist oxygen with E by my side. A woman of ninety came struggling in under her own steam and laid down on a bed in the treatment room with me. The doctor was walking through and told me the lady was 90. Her daughter or daughter-in-law sat at her side while the old woman laid down, shaking. Parkinson's, I wondered. It was sort of a shock to me in the room that smelled of sour sweat. After I finished my breating treatment, out to the lobby I went while they prepared my drugs.<br /><br />I left there with 7 medicines. Usually I google the names in order to learn what it is that I'm given, but I didn't bother this time. One is supposed to make the phlegm a little thinner, and that's about all that I know. I could look up the rest, but why bother. I took my 4 pills with dinner along with liquid syrup and am starting to feel a little warm and sleepy at this point.<br /><br />It's been a long time since I've had a bout of laryngitis, 12 years or more, best I can remember. And, a gnawing pain in my side has returned from about a 10 year absence as well. While it might be triggered by the volume of medicine that I'm taking, I'm suspecting it has more to do with the amount of things I seem to have myself caught up in and am stressing over. <br /><br />Dinner has been eaten. E fell asleep on the way home from daycare. And, F is still working at 8:30. I'm watching Dr. Zhivago as I type and am thinking about calling it a day just because I can. The dishwasher is going, and a pile of laundry needs ironing, but we'll see. I think I'll take out the contacts and lay on the floor in front of the tv. Lots more things need doing, but I am but one mortal.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-84452339461342700052008-04-16T13:25:00.002+09:002008-04-16T13:41:15.717+09:00Illness.E appears to have hand-foot-mouth disease. Quite an uncomfortable condition at the moment, but she's happily esconced in front of the tv watching the same Playhouse Disney programs that we watched earlier this morning. It will probably be a day spent like yesterday: watching tv and doing whatever she feels like doing just to try to minimize the discomfort.<br /><br />Last night I started with a fever of my own. At first I thought it was the glass of wine I had that had me feeling off. But, as my mind started racing and I generally felt unwell, I checked the temperature and it was elevated. So, I started thinking about what that would mean for class on Thursday and decided that I'd have to work regardless. And, I'm basically right as rain this morning except for feeling like I have a cold starting. No problem.<br /><br />E will be going to her grandparents' house tomorrow instead of daycare while I work. I do not usually consider this an option because they live 35-40 minutes in the opposite direction of where I work. Because I am teaching an afternoon class, it does not require me to wake E at an unheard of hour. And, I don't really want her to be at daycare while being ill. Her cousins have a calligraphy class after school and possibly even dance practice, so hopefully that will minimize their contact time with her. We don't need to be spreading our germs any more than necessary. I have an inkling that her aunt will probably skip dance practice though in order to watch her, so I'm trying not to feel guilty about that.<br /><br />Trying to be patient Mommy but it doesn't always work. Especially with broken sleep, it reminded me of when she was a baby. I don't know if I was more patient then or just had no expectation that it would be different. Because she has sores in her mouth, her pacifier is not capable of pacifying. That would require sucking which is far too painful at the moment, so we went for a drive last night in order to drift off to sleep. When I mentioned a drive, we had to gather her wallet, a bee toy, her drink, and her pacifier in order to just get out the door. Those were her requests. We returned 30 minutes later with a sleeping child and bated breath that we could get her down on the futon without waking her. It was not entirely successful, but with a few more moments of holding her and disentangling myself from the sleepy little girl, we were down for about an hour before the next crying jag. I expect more of this for the next several days, but this is the stuff of memories. Unexpected drives, worries about fluid and food intake, and generally a lot more text messages about how she's doing and if I need anything.<br /><br />Not all bad.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-31504228221927349482008-04-10T23:19:00.004+09:002008-04-10T23:40:27.606+09:00On the emotional gerbil wheel...Seeing as how I post so frequently here, I took a minute to look at my last posts: one for this year and one late last year. The one written for late last year is indicative of the place I find myself in yet again.<br /><br />Insert the deep sigh that is best performed by mothers who do not wish to verbalize their disappointment or dissatisfaction but yet make it known nevertheless.<br /><br />One would think that at the ripe age of 35 one would sort of have some things figured out, squared away, settled. Not me, I'm on the rent to own plan. I prefer debilitating analysis rather than the humble acceptance that I am a mortal--a broken human being who puts on a brave face to make things right for everyone else. And, when things cannot look okay or I feel I can't find that silver lining, well, it's time to hunker down.<br /><br />Last week I went to my routine doctor's visit to have my prescriptions renewed and thought as I was walking along, "When you know what to do to make yourself feel better, why don't you do it? Why don't you take better care of yourself instead of pushing yourself?" When I relayed this to my doctor, he pronounced me <em>erai</em>. <em>Erai</em> in this sense is sort of a phrase meaning "great, or capable of doing many things".<br /><br />While it's nice to be praised, it does not sit well when you do not believe it about yourself. I have been trying to figure out when this started, and I can't pinpoint it. I was disappointed when I turned 16 and then 17 because I hadn't "accomplished" more. (Roy, can you hook me up with the end quotes?) All the faults, mistakes, and not being able to answer email in a reasonable time because I can't get my shit together because I need to have happy shining stories to make everyone okay, it just wears on me. I guess I'm an average human. <br /><br />Apartment's a mess, but I did manage to start packing away winter clothes yesterday. I did get some things mailed off and picked up at the post office. I grocery shopped, got a crockpot going for dinner, and even made E's dinner that she ate at daycare this evening when I dropped her off at 1:30. She fell asleep on the way home so I've been eating, cleaning out the inbox, and generally mulling over the current state of affairs.<br /><br />Let's go to the house, boys.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-50698801213446920932008-02-22T16:22:00.003+09:002008-02-22T19:21:44.220+09:00Today was one of those days where you have high hopes and then some things start to go wrong and you start building on that momentum.<br /><br />First issue was going to the post office to open an account (like a bank account) to transfer money when I want to buy something from someone or receive money. Since there is no system like this in the States, I have no idea of what is available. Add to that the linguistic challenge that I face. So, I go in and due to my nervousness begin to make mistakes here and there.<br /><br />"Ummm....I don't have an account. Regular account I start."<br /><br />Okay, Rain Man, get it out.<br /><br />"My Japanese is quite strange, and I don't have the words. I'm sorry."<br /><br />Still looking at me and probably wondering what he did in a former life to have this brush of karma's fate, he begins to make that sucking sound that is sort of the Japanese equivalent of a deep sigh. This begins to further affect me.<br /><br />He asks if I want an account for depositing and withdrawing money. Yes, now we're talking. But I have to make sure that we're clear on this.<br /><br />"Interest is not interesting to me. I don't want interest."<br /><br />He looks over his shoulder for an available person. He asks someone to please help me in English. WAIT, I want to scream. Don't go calling in the foreign minders yet! I haven't yet exhausted all the possible ways that I can make an illiterate ass of myself. You might think this is bad, but I can really build up to much more!<br /><br />"No interest, you can't do that?" I ask.<br /><br />The friendly female foreign minder smiles enthusiastically as I have written down the kanji character for interest that I just looked up prior to walking through the door. "No interest, okay."<br /><br />I am handed a form to fill out of course in Japanese because I am in Japan. Fortunately I have had to fill out these forms before, but they seem to be encouraging me strongly to fill them out in Japanese characters. I usually use the alphabet, thus <em>Romanizing</em> the words, so I am still practicing my Little Engine that could spiel. Yes, I think I can, I think I can. But, he wants to hold my foreign registration card that marks me a foreigner (as though there is any uncertainty about that) to make a copy. I'm screwed. If the space were small enough, I would probably have tried to put one paper over the other and traced the characters. Except of course there's carbon copy in between, and I would not be able to see through the top layer. So, game as I am, I start on it and appear quite stuck.<br /><br />I am summoned back to the counter for some reason that I can't remember, and I am making it painfully apparent by not having written the address yet that I am kanji challenged.<br /><br />"Can you do it?"<br /><br />"Um, well it's quite difficult."<br /><br />"Here let me write it larger on another piece of paper for you to copy from on your form."<br /><br />Actually, it would be so much easier if he would simply write my address for me. My pride and also having been through this at another post office to send cash to renew my passport, get in the way of my grovelling. After all, if they could do it, wouldn't they? Spare a sister the embarrassment? But, no, he writes the characters that I am particularly struggling to write on a larger piece of paper for me to copy with sharp inhales when I do the strokes for the characters in the wrong order. It's almost like surgery, it seems---the tension and finally the relief when it's all over. I'd ask him to go grab a beer with me except I don't drink beer. Ah well....<br /><br />But, wait, there's more. I have written my name in both kanji (as the last name is technically kanji) and katakana (a system for dealing with foreign words). I know as soon as I've done it that it will no doubt be another issue. Because names may be similar sounding, it is imperative that the character matches that person's legal name. I have one form of I.D. which has my name written in romanized alphabets. It was then changed and is stated so on the back that my name is kanji and katakana, though I just realize after it is pointed out to me today that they did not romanize my middle name. <br /><br />"You can't do it?" I implore knowing the answer already.<br /><br />"I'll be right back."<br /><br />I rejoin my daughter sitting on the vinyl covered dark green sofa that has been used by many bottoms in the past. I see him on the phone as he is wanting to clarify what he can do with this situation. I know that probably it will result in me having to start all over fresh on a new piece of paper, struggling through the whole mess again. How do I know? Because together with my Japanese husband, we slew many a tree at the bank when we changed my account. It is The Way of the Foreign Wife. And, let's not forget that if there is a way to do something wrong, I'll find it.<br /><br />I'm called back to the counter and explained that it can be done but we have the problem of the name. What would I like to do?<br /><br />"Can I just take a new document with me and bring it back later?" I don't want to endure this debasement any longer. I just want to leave, find the closest ,and drown my sorrows in a Value Meal followed by whatever crap that looks enticing but ultimately disappoints me at the grocery upstairs.<br /><br />"Yes. Do you not have time to do it today? When do you think you'll bring it back?"<br /><br />I promise to bring it back Monday, and they further ask me if I have another appointment that I'm in a hurry to get to.<br /><br />"No," I begin, "but I've made far too much trouble for you," as I stumble to find the words that are not found in my brain when embarrassed and under a state of wanting to bite the nearest person who provokes me.<br /><br />"Oh, it's nothing. Here just strike through this....do you have your <em>inkan</em> (a registered seal for stamping important documents) with you?"<br /><br />"Yes, I do," sweet God in heaven, I fortunately prepared for this knowing that I'd need it.<br /><br />After a little more back and forth, being told to wait a few more minutes while he manually entered my information into the computer, and then told to start thinking about what I'd like my 4 digit numeric password to be (with four fingers held up to make sure that I'd understand 4), I am called again and given my beloved passbook. A green little book that now holds within it the reward of having completed something on my own without waiting to know how to do or having someone bail me out.<br /><br />But, given my emotional state, I couldn't help but to draw more nervous energy to myself. E ensconsed herself in the kids' play area of the store when I wanted to look at hair barrettes for her. Okay, I remind myself, she was very well behaved at the post office. Let her play. What else do I really have to do today?<br /><br />A little boy comes into the play area a bit later, and he's either hopped up on sugar or allowed to run wild. He comes with his grandmother who then tells him that she's going to wash her hands and will be right back. I don't know whether or not that is the truth, but true to her word, she does come right back.<br /><br />He's already trying to keep E away from all the toys that he rounded up, even the ones we were playing with but didn't have our hands on. I told E to be patient and we need to share, ask him to play with you. And she does. And he laughs at her and says no.<br /><br />So, she comes to me, and I encourage her to have another go. He finally admits her into his lair, but he is alternately trying to push her out as well. While she's not happy about it, she keeps going back. I tell her we can leave and don't have to play with him. I finally engage both of them in something, but he wants more of my attention. <br /><br />When he is playing, he is quite rough. I estimate him to be possibly a year older than E. I ask him politely several times in my sing-song Japanese, "Play nicely. Let's play together nicely." His response is to laugh. He starts to squeeze E's cheeks and then harder. I remove his hands calmly and explain, "That looks so painful." <br /><br />"No, it's not," he laughs.<br /><br />He has repeated go's at her, and I still retain my invested but partially detached teacher modus operandi. "That's painful. Let's not do that."<br /><br />More laughter, "No it's not." It seems that all the world is a stage for this little guy.<br /><br />I begin to look at the grandmother, who is leisurely relaxing by putting her legs up on the cushions. No response from that direction. Actually she seems to be quite pleased with him when he runs over and speaks to her. I see that I'm on my own.<br /><br />I tell E that we can go and she doesn't have to play with him if he's going to hurt her. If he's going to be mean, we don't want to play with people like that, do we?<br /><br />He has another couple rounds with her. She has gone to get her remaining drink from lunch, and I am sitting on the other side of the padded corner that denotes the end of the play area. I look as he has gone in that direction as well. He wants her drink. Quite understandable, and I tell her to put it away. She does not want to, and so he has a much stronger go at her cheeks. I tell him to stop as that hurts, and I tell E in English to put it away. I go around the corner to get my purse, and when I return, his back is to me as is E's. But, what I can definitely see by the straining and shaking of his arms is that he is either choking her or squeezing her shoulders with all the cheese he can muster.<br /><br />I immediately go there and try to retain a thread of sanity and say that it hurts and to stop. <br /><br />More laughter.<br /><br />I look him dead in the eye and give him the voice that means business. "This is bad. This hurts."<br /><br />He laughs more, and I wonder about grabbing him by the arm and thrusting him at the uninvolved grandmother. I ponder it for a nanosecond and see how it might play out: she clucks happily and says that he is a boy after all and boys will be boys which follows with me planting a middle finger in her direction and saying, "Do you understand that, Grandma?" I quickly decide that perhaps that is not the best road to take.<br /><br />"You are mean. This hurts, and you are very very mean."<br /><br />I do not look at him further as I jerk E up, grab our shoes, and try to get out of there before I lay hands to this child. I realize that my theatrics will probably be lost on him and the grandmother. I put our shoes on as quickly as I can while he is waiting at my side for some recognition. I give him none. I put E in her stroller, and of course have to fumble with bags and such, but do not give him the requisite high pitched sing-song, "Thank you so much for playing with us. We really enjoyed it."<br /><br />I want to scream. I want to lash out at anyone who comes within my path next. I want to complain to my husband about the culture we are raising our daughter in at his bequest. But, part of me knows wisely that the same thing happens with kids of the same race all around the world. The issue is that I don't have the words to deal. Defeat at such a small thing makes me wonder how I'll manage when E goes to school. Trial by fire?<br /><br />Sigh.bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-2873804069708599792007-11-09T15:30:00.001+09:002007-11-09T15:36:53.740+09:00Too much time inside my head.I've spent far too much time inside my head lately. I turn everything over, look at its tender underbelly, and generally find fault with what I'm doing or who I am. <br /><br />So for this moment, I am celebrating me. Me who wonders if what I'm doing as a mother is good enough. Me who wonders why there is not a made from scratch meal on the table every night. Me who wonders if I'll ever be a person that someone else admires. Me, for better or worse, I'm a person who lets all these thoughts run unchecked so that I'm unable to move in any direction as I'm constantly analyzing things. Analysis paralysis is the phrase that comes to mind.<br /><br />But, if I start to make friends with me, then maybe I can find the strengths and weaknesses that lie within. I read on a blog recently something that cut a little close to the bone...this person said that many people can always say what they don't want, but they are hard pressed to verbalize what they do want. Human nature, maybe? <br /><br />Still thinking...bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-38557832729251810392007-11-09T15:24:00.000+09:002007-11-09T15:29:50.095+09:00Monkey Park.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfnydsVaElZvEiuiHa9zbygxypy7ZFHu2fVVGZo_Zk49D8CUpPdqxVWmJYPKBAHeGgq_vidvj8jcokpx7ci5Mb6vFFIyZ60QMYSJYa6v5Nvp7wU6L9LByVKAhyphenhyphenn2qcXo-GGjK_A/s1600-h/2007-11-2+Lemur+on+Coffee_edited.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgfnydsVaElZvEiuiHa9zbygxypy7ZFHu2fVVGZo_Zk49D8CUpPdqxVWmJYPKBAHeGgq_vidvj8jcokpx7ci5Mb6vFFIyZ60QMYSJYa6v5Nvp7wU6L9LByVKAhyphenhyphenn2qcXo-GGjK_A/s320/2007-11-2+Lemur+on+Coffee_edited.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130723937348374818" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZQ9-MCa4p1RdNS-oM5NfkRM_APEN1_76E4Rw78xdd6wfPF7yI1fQ7IdpY2mNPLXZ5ysncGt16p5qqHyKlquB8ynXqjW6DX0IU8WiWBYTV3rpDvGUKiUBN9ZDKk_eWOcuFzcAzg/s1600-h/2007-11-2+Fumihiko+%26+Monkeys.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZQ9-MCa4p1RdNS-oM5NfkRM_APEN1_76E4Rw78xdd6wfPF7yI1fQ7IdpY2mNPLXZ5ysncGt16p5qqHyKlquB8ynXqjW6DX0IU8WiWBYTV3rpDvGUKiUBN9ZDKk_eWOcuFzcAzg/s320/2007-11-2+Fumihiko+%26+Monkeys.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130723666765435154" /></a><br />These are lemurs. Which one had too much coffee?bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36823366.post-67581211800733055732007-11-09T15:15:00.000+09:002007-11-09T15:24:16.187+09:00Time Passes So Quickly.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDjwzHB5YSbUz3s0fYycUPlD1E3kLR7EPT9_s3833S06LXjG8wevu_Y3VU5i8SDVuamsWXk8ENtaNl5m8omxgavVdJ_rWo__z27OzwmoHuVnypB-5SO-FlWyRUKjNlyl4I83V9Q/s1600-h/2005-8-5+sillyemi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDjwzHB5YSbUz3s0fYycUPlD1E3kLR7EPT9_s3833S06LXjG8wevu_Y3VU5i8SDVuamsWXk8ENtaNl5m8omxgavVdJ_rWo__z27OzwmoHuVnypB-5SO-FlWyRUKjNlyl4I83V9Q/s320/2005-8-5+sillyemi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130722580138709250" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx0Fu9BFXYEQaCX4r6B8a7Gt67PJYGOMfXDT4cuncKndF8_chhsut44y5OBEnIQ5ts-RGiNeymtOHcyNC4RvqsvrziiUOt2uiTa5Qo3AQUinmJocYI2HAsQWkU1COLNjqyj_ikw/s1600-h/2005-8-5+bigeyes+Emi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx0Fu9BFXYEQaCX4r6B8a7Gt67PJYGOMfXDT4cuncKndF8_chhsut44y5OBEnIQ5ts-RGiNeymtOHcyNC4RvqsvrziiUOt2uiTa5Qo3AQUinmJocYI2HAsQWkU1COLNjqyj_ikw/s320/2005-8-5+bigeyes+Emi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130722395455115506" /></a><br />We're almost mid-November now, and the rest of the year is soon going to become a race to the finish. While I never thought I'd be one of those people who answers "Busy" when someone asked how I was, I feel like the days go, emails remain unsent, and vital connections are not maintained.<br /><br />This morning I dropped by a friend's house to return something she left in my car this week. Holding her little girl, 4 months old, made me think about my own. This 2 year almost 5 month headstrong girl that calls me "Mommy" or sometimes says "I'm coming, Betty" alternately causes me to want to push her into older toddlerhood and hold tight kicking and screaming. You can see where she gets her bipolar attitude, Sissy.<br /><br />So in order to remember the small baby that was, here's my own gratuitous memory...bethylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11729685168575610831noreply@blogger.com0