If You Give Zoe...

If you give Zoe a hug, she is going to ask for another one.

You will hug her, the smell of your hair, thanks to peppermint shampoo, is going to remind her of candy canes, and she will ask for one.

You will give her a candy cane, she will want to make candy cane crafts.

You will find the papers and crayons for her, then she will ask for her Hello Kitty scissors.

You will look all over the house, only to find the cover for those scissors, which will remind her of the fun trip she had buying those scissors at the mall. She will ask you to take her to the mall.

You will take her to the mall. Upon entering the mall, she will see the pretzel shop and she will want to have a pretzel.

You will buy her a pretzel, and she will gobble that up. Then she will want a drink from Nordstrom's cafe.

You will take her to the cafe for some Italian soda. When you are there, she will remember that Nordstrom sells shoes. She will ask for a pair.

You will take her upstairs to try on shoes, and she will choose the most expensive pair.

You will pay for the shoes, she will see some red and white striped pajamas in the children's section, which will remind her of the candy cane. She will then ask you to get those scissors and go home to make the crafts.

She will show you her finished crafts, and chances are, she will look so cute that you will give her a hug.

When you give her a hug, she will smell the peppermint, and she is going to ask for some candy canes to eat.

Colts' Christmas Classic 2011

The month of December flew by, just like that. Actually, all of 2011 just flew by. It might as well be 2015 next week, I am sure it will go by like a blur anyway.

It is really crazy that I will only have Aidan in this house for 10 more years. Then, adios! Good luck, amigo. This mama will be done. Finito. Good. Bye. Meanwhile, I am counting on these ten years going by super quickly. This way, my expectations are set: I will hardly remember any of this.

I am hoping that once Aidan is off to college, I will have three precious years of having Zoe as our 'only' child. She doesn't know it yet, but I plan on hanging out with her as much as I can. (She probably won't want to, but that won't matter.) I am going to micromanage her, the same way I micromanaged Aidan from 0 to 3. It is going to legendary. (I am also hoping that she will have Hubby's personality- he did hang out with his mother a bunch as a teenager.)

Meanwhile, the children are busily ice-skating. Zoe is practicing figure skating, although, we will be getting her a pair of hockey skates soon, and have her try being a goalie. She does have quick hands! =) Aidan participated in a tournament this past week- their team was the undefeated champion! However, the other teams (all two other teams) weren't very good. Still, Aidan played well, he was focused, energetic, and listened well. This mama is proud!

Silver Stick 2011

'Twas the night after Thanksgiving, not a soul was stirring, except for this mother. While Hubby and I had gone to bed after midnight- because he needed to buy some tickets via a Black Friday special to go see the Sharks with Aidan- I was wide awake at 3:30. As much as I tried to go back to sleep, I just couldn't. I got up at 4:20, got dressed, and dashed out to The Home Depot to get in line to buy $0.99 poinsettias and $5 wreaths. By 5:15, I was driving away with 4 wreaths and 15 pots of the gloriously red plants. Quietly, I tip toed back into the house after getting the other car ready, scooped my 60 pound hockey player, and loaded him in the car. By 5:25, we were speeding down the highway to get to his third silver stick game.

Silver Stick sums up our Thanksgiving. This tournament is a big deal. The winners from various regions meet up in Michigan for a national championship tournament, and the winners do go home with silver sticks! Aidan played his first game on Wednesday evening and won. On Thanksgiving Day, they played one of the top teams in the country. The other team, The Phoenix Coyotes, were amazing to watch. Accordingly to the coach, five of the boys had NHL players for fathers. As much as Aidan's team had tried, they lost, 0:9. Aidan cried at the end. It was a tough, tough game.

There is something special about taking Aidan to a very, very, early hockey game. He is as sleepy as can be, I get to hold his little body, although it sure is getting heavier, and he sits so quietly in the car. As I am driving zooming down the dark highway at 75 mph, he tries really hard to go back to sleep. But he never can go back to sleep. As twilight comes up, his sweet little voice asks for a story on CD. I try to make him eat something, he invariably says no thanks. I love being with him then, just the two of us, especially when he is kinda sleepy. Our energy levels are equally matched.

This third game, Aidan played against a local team, and I had really wanted Aidan's team to win. But they lost. 0:9. It was truly a sucky, sucky, game to watch. The coach was MAD, and I couldn't blame him, as the boys played like fecal matter. Actually, I can blame the coach- he didn't get the boys warmed up! (But that is a different story for another day.)

After the game, Aidan and I had wanted to get some breakfast, but we couldn't find a McDonald's with a drive-through. This is another thing I love to do with Aidan, just the two of us, getting a breakfast sandwich from the Golden Arches after a game. Instead, we found a Lee's Sandwich and he asked for 'the special sandwich you get for me in a paper bag.' Oh dear child, they don't sell a sandwich in a paper bag, Mommy makes the sandwich for you to catch all the crumbs! As we zoomed back home, we ate our sandwich-in-paper-bags, and listened to the adventures of Charlie Bucket at the chocolate factory.

This morning, Hubby was the one who couldn't sleep past 3:30 am, and the two of them went for game #4. Game #4, apparently, was AWESOME. Aidan scored! And they won, 7:0! Yes, Hubby got to watch an awesome game, while I watched a sucky, sucky, game.

They didn't make it to the semi-finals, in a way, I am relieved: we get to have a free day before school on Monday, on the other hand, it would have been SO cool to advance to the semifinals. Maybe next year.

I suspect, as long as Aidan is playing hockey, we will always be doing Thanksgivings with the Silver Sticks.

Focus, Perseverance, and Obedience.

"Do you want to have fun or do you want to be good?" That is something I jokingly say to my kids these days. Of course, while it helps to have fun and be good at something, that usually doesn't happen for a while.

Hockey is fun, but probably more fun when your team is winning. Definitely more fun when you succeed in defending your goal or scoring a goal on your opponent. Or stealing the puck away from the other guy. In order to do all that though, it is just hard work.

One of my favorite movies these days is The Miracle, you know, about the US Olympic ice hockey team from decades ago. My favorite part is when the mean, mean, coach made the assistant coach send the players to spring across the ice, over and over again. "AGAIN!" "AGAIN!" "AGAIN!"

Aidan's coach doesn't do that, not to my knowledge anyway. They do work hard though, Aidan is all sweaty after his practice, while I am always shivering just waiting for him. He is practicing Tuesdays, Fridays. He has games on Saturdays and Sundays. We are trying to get him some extra coaching on Mondays. Perhaps that is a lot, but really, "Do I want to help Aidan to be good?" You bet.

Even though he has only been skating since last Christmas, he is FAST. Possibly the fastest kid on his team. He also happens to really like it, and doesn't oppose us pushing him a bit. It definitely helps that I know nothing about hockey, and therefore, I can't make him do anything, but pay for his coaching and get him to places.

I am just so proud of him. Not just because he is fast. Or that he works hard. I am also so pleased that he is the kid that can get his gear on and off quickly. Through the task of getting the gear on and off, I am working on my patience, and he is working on his focus, as the locker room is inevitably always buzzing with activities.

They have played against a few teams from our area already- some teams are, umhum, not very good. Some teams are frightening awesome. Through it all, Aidan is learning and getting better at it.

Meanwhile, the other time sucking activity continues here- the piano. While completely different than hockey, he is also learning very much the same skills. We are learning focus, perseverance, and obedience. Strangely, he prefers to have me sit by him at every practice. (Whereas I had learned long ago, to get my mother to leave me alone.) Therefore, I sit there, and correct the misfingerings, the wrong notes, the incorrect rhythms, speeding/slowing down tempos. And I say, "Again." "Again." "Again."

He tells me today, "But you said I needed to do it three more times, but then you kept saying AGAIN!" It is true. What is the point if the three more times were all incorrect? I want three more times correctly. Believe, sometimes it is really unpleasant. In piano, he has to focus to keep up with his two hands and for now, one foot, read music, and count. He also must keep trying, again, and again, and again. Then there is obedience, "If I say you played a wrong note, you did just play a wrong note. Again."

He is really sounding better and better on the piano every week. And looking better and better at hockey. Here he is #11 in the white jersey.

3 Hours

We have been so busy here, what else is new?

On Friday evening, Hubby said, "I am feeling so stressed out about this weekend!" I reassured him that he can relax, "I have it covered."

HA!

On Saturday morning, after we saw Aidan off to an all-day ice hockey event, I realized I needed to make some urgent phone calls about my credit file, thanks to the ever-mounting regulations our beloved government kept piling up in the refinance of our abode. Zoe had a doctor's appointment then soccer. I had planned on taking her, but it just wasn't going to happen. So Hubby went instead of me, and took one for the team.

After a quick lunch, Hubby left to go to Aidan's hockey game. Zoe and I got to hang back, shop, and relax. He took another one for the team.

Our friends came over for a Schubertiad late in the afternoon, before Hubby and Aidan even got home. It was delightful to see all the children play with each other, and of course, tickle the ivory.

As much as we enjoyed our friends, it was good that everyone had dinner plans so that we had some downtime as a family.

This morning, Aidan and Hubby went to a hockey game, I went to Home Depot with Zoe to take care of life stuff. We went to worship, and despite hearing about how God bestows undeserving grace on me, I was utterly unable to do the same for Aidan and Zoe. I was irritated, annoyed, and frustrated with them. While we did homework, Kumon, and piano lessons, I was just, irritated. Irritated that God gave me these kids to raise. Annoyed that these kids had/have so much to learn. Frustrated that I was irritated, annoyed and frustrated.

After we finished all the 'must-do enrichment activities', Hubby said, "Even I was scared." True, this mother's teaching voice really is scary. Even as I use that very stern and loud voice, I always think, "Man, I sound just like my mother. This is probably not fun for them." However, it is like they are deaf until the stern, angry, loud voice is screeching.

Somehow, my loving Hubby intervenes on behalf of Jesus, and takes yet another one for the team. "I am leaving with the kids for ice skating. You take 3 hours to take care of yourself."

Let's face it, the weekends are never going to be restful for Hubby. Not just because we have kids, but because he married me.

I am counting on Jesus to take care of him, because I, really, just, can't. As much as I try- I do have blueberry muffins in the oven, beef stew and chicken soup on the stove, yet I know, that Hubby needs more than that.

Isn't that just the summary of a sinful mother who needs Jesus? As much as I try, I really can't fix my life. I need Jesus.

Working on a Cruise Ship

This definitely speaks to my guilt about hiring people to do things for me.

As wonderful as the cruise was, I felt so awful about having Nerissa clean our stateroom twice a day. Whenever I saw the towel animals, I thought about how she must be so tired. I felt guilty about Daniel and Noti bringing me tea, water, food, cutting up food for my children, entertaining my children...

Hubby tried to break it down for me:
They are making an honest and fairly good living, all the tips and wages they make, essentially are their to keep after their tax liabilities, as they do not need to pay for room and board, and there are very few ways of spending money while working as a crew member. They go on vacation, 2-3 months at a time. And, they do it so they can travel and see the world.

Still, I feel the compulsion to ask them for a social history, to be sure they are having a good time, that they are not suffering from loneliness, depression, anxiety. Professional hazard, what can I say?

Brain Washed

We just spent 7 glorious nights being brain washed by Disney Cruise Line.

Did I say glorious? It was possibly the best vacation I have ever had. I take that back, our honeymoon trip was the best ever vacation. These past 7 days though, were probably the best days since Aidan and Zoe were born.

I didn't cook anything, I didn't clean anything, and I didn't even need to discipline any children. (I saw them for meals, swimming, and bedtime. There wasn't time to discipline them!)

Ahhhh..... Hard to imagine that Heaven is going to be better than a Disney Cruise- therefore, I can't wait to see Heaven! (As a side note, as we were about to land on our way home today, I actually did have this thought: If the plane were to explode, I am totally ok with that, I am here with Hubby, Aidan and Zoe, we are happy, delighted, and simply, content. I am ready for Heaven.)

Disney knows how to entertain people. They know what they are doing, and there really is no reason to fight it. We listened to Disney theme songs in the hall way, saw Mickey and Minnie many times, met a few princesses, got their autographs, and just delighted in how unrealistic the experience really was.

The food was great, the portion sizes were humane, and lots of healthy options were available. My particular favorite was the poolside fruit/sandwich/salad stand. We got plates and plates of watermelon and just gobbled them all up. Our servers were gracious, friendly, and amazing. Aidan asked to go to the dining room for breakfast and lunch, just to see them. I, of course, experienced a lot of guilt by having people serve me. Hubby assuaged my guilt by convincing me that they too, were having a good time. (More on the staff later.)

We went with my parents and brother's family. It was great to meet H, my nephew, to hang out with W, my SIL. My parents were well rested, relaxed, and very happy. We just all had so much fun!

Upon re-entry though, Aidan and Zoe left for a math/reading challenge contest, and I dashed off to Costco and unpacking. I had 25 voice mails, and 14 e mails to get back to for work, which was actually much less than I had anticipated.

We are back. Rested. Relaxed. But not so ready to jump back into real life.

The Complaints of a New Hockey Mom

We recently found a video of Aidan, when he was about 4 and 1/2, and Zoe was 1 and 1/2, documenting a Saturday of that stage of our life. We basically fed the kids over and over again, and in between eating, the kids played a variation of ice hockey in the living room. Instead of hockey sticks, Hubby and Aidan used cooking spatulas. Instead of a puck, they used a plastic toy waffle from Zoe's kitchen set. Instead of a Zamboni, Zoe pushed her baby stroller around the 'rink', which was our living room floor, with the carpet rolled away.

Little did I know, that activity would evolve into hours, and hours, at the ice rink.

It started last fall, when Aidan asked to start skating again. Because we were, and still are, very committed to his Chinese school, he couldn't participate in the group lessons for hockey. Instead, we enrolled him in figure skating classes, and arranged for some private lessons. By spring time, he had accumulated all the ice hockey gear. By late spring, he got himself onto the in-house league. By late summer, he got on the traveling league.

I can go on for hours, complaining about how the rinks always smell, a weird, humid smell, like listeria is always brewing somewhere, or about the intensity of this sport, or the time it is taking me to get him to the rink. For instance, every other Tuesday, I leave work at 3, to pick up Z, then our carpool buddy, then taken Aidan out of his Chinese school lesson, to drive 27 miles away for an hour of practice, and 1/2 hour of 'team building' activity. The children get dinner in the car on the way home, and we arrive at our final destination at 7:15.

But I am really trying very hard to not to complain, because, my 'hardships' are nothing.

There is a family, whose 11 year old child plays in a league in SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA: 400 miles away from here. They drive down there on Saturday am, he practices in the pm, they stay over night, then he plays in a game, EVERY WEEK.

Or, the 14 year old who chooses to go to boarding school in MINNESOTA, so that he can play.

Or, the goalie who has to see his goalie coach at 6 am every week. The child is EIGHT years old! 8! 8!

Isn't it just insane?!

In 2 weeks, I am going to get up at 5 am, throw Aidan in the car, and drive to a 7 am game. It is going to be awesome. I will try to keep the perspective that at least I am not driving down to SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA every week.

More Practice

This blog is rather neglected, not because our lives are boring, it is precisely the opposite.

To sum up though, we are spending a lot of time practicing.

Hubby changed jobs about a month ago. Basically, I started telling him that he needed to move on, to a more challenging place, to do something new about a year ago. Perhaps 'telling' is an understated verb for this, nagging may possibly be more descriptive. After a few months of telling/whining/nagging about it, I decided to stop. I may be the neck that turns the head, but I really don't want to tell Hubby what to do, I mean, I am not his mother, after all. Instead, I decided to pray, I prayed for patience for me, wisdom for him. In early spring, Hubby decided that he probably needed to start looking. He did look, but it didn't look good. In general, in this awful recession, who would want to switch jobs?! By early summer though, an opportunity landed in his lap. After much careful consideration, Hubby took the job, said good-bye to the good folks at GW, where he had worked for the last seven years, and moved on. He is now busily practicing his skills as a product manager (what is that, exactly?!) at the place. He is also practicing his bike riding skills. This new place is about 8 times further from our house than the previous job. He rides to work at least once a week, it takes him about 70 minutes each way. He is in really, really, good shape. =)

Zoe is doing a lot of practicing too. She tends to speak very, very, rapidly, therefore, dropping syllables and skipping words. The practice, with her therapist, is to sssslllooooow down, be mindful of her syllables, and make minor adjustments to her jaw. We are very happy to report that her speech has improved dramatically. With kindergarten just around the corner, this is something we must spend more time practicing. Figure skating is also something that she practices. With her own skates, and figure skating pants ($65 for a pair of PANTS for a FOUR year old?!) she is one enthusiastic skater. Because she is advancing in her classes, our family dinner time is somewhat messed up. For the last 3 Wednesdays, Aidan, Zoe, and I have eaten our dinner in the trunk of the CRV. One of these days, I actually heated up our dinner at work, picked up the kids, and fed them in the parking lot at Zoe's school. Good times, good times.

Aidan is practicing a lot of ice hockey. That deserves its own post, and I am really going to try to get it done soon. Our piano practice sessions have been so frustrating, for me, and for him. For the last few months, I have been thinking that Aidan doesn't know how to read music. We would talk about it, I quizzed him on it, we practiced it, and a day later, it was like the sponge in his brain was refusing to learn it. Then... we got a notice from school, that Aidan's vision was needing further assessment. In the end, Aidan got glasses. (I am quite possibly a negligent parent, as the optometrist told me that his vision likely had been worsening over the last THREE years.) With his new glasses, he is now reading music like a pro! Piano practices have gotten SO. MUCH. BETTER. He is doing really well academically at school, and that is with him not being able to read the board! I am very excited to see how much better school will be for him! Socially, Aidan has been a bit frustrated at school, Hubby and I talked and talked and talked about it. My conclusions? He needed his ears cleaned out. (Done, and the hockey coach said he no longer needed to repeat instructions to Aidan.) He needed to get to know his classmates better, we arranged for some playdates, with great success. He needed more fluids in the morning and during school- a dehydrated child is a cranky one. Finally, he needed to be able to SEE.

I am also practicing, aside from practicing how to use my electronic medical charting system, I am practicing the piano, as much as I can. Although I have been banned from playing Beethoven sonatas, first and third movements, (except for the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata) before the kids go to sleep. Hubby has complained that it is much too agitating. My mother would be so proud.

Now, I am going to go practice the skills required to study the back of my eye lids.

EMR

When I started my private practice in the fall of 2007, I had many decisions to make. For instance, did I want to do mostly therapy or mostly medication management? Did I want to set up my office completely on my own, or join a group? Did I want a paperless practice?
Back then, Zoe was 6 months old, Aidan was 3 and 1/2, and I was just starting to go back to work. Did I have time to think through all these issues? Actually, did I really think through the issues of starting my own practice?
I ended up joining a group because of happenstance, and I started seeing patients. Using papers. Lots and lots of papers. My pile of files grew, and grew, and grew It grew out of my little work bag, then I moved on to a bigger bag, with wheels. Then I got a file cabinet in my office, then I got a bigger file cabinet. Then I moved the files to the back office.
Now, some 500+ patients later, I really needed to move on to a paperless practice.
Over the last decade, most hospitals had moved away from papers to electronic medical records, which had grown into a very large, and profitable industry. For my little one woman shop, I did not have the luxury of hiring consultants to figure these things out for me. On the other hand, Hubby had been with me, growing this practice, and he did used to work as a consultant. On his advice, we made the switch.
Let me just make the record very clear: It is a pain to make the switch. You don't need to hear about the nitty gritty details of scanning charts, uploading charts, and blah, blah, blah. I now hear the scanner in my sleep.
What is interesting, is that electronic medical records are so widely accepted. Do people not realize that digital data storage is just NOT safe?! Sure, I am using a government certified program, my patients' information are stored in the cloud, it takes two login names and my very secure password, involving a capitalized letter, and numbers, and 10 character length password. However, do we not know about hackers? Hackers that broke into people's phones? Government e mails?
With paper charts, it is behind two locks, and about 10 people in this whole world, plus all the locksmiths, can have access to. With digital information, thousands are hackers are just waiting and working on it all the time.
Moreover, the way diagnoses are kept will be changing. The ICD-10 process will be in place, and there will be over 140,000 unique codes to describe the medical condition being treated. It is no secret that these codes are being used so that information can be extracted, so that 'they' can understand more and more about 'us.'
I am probably paranoid, but to not be, I think, is a bit naive. So anyway, I am moving forward with turning my practice into a paperless one, because I think the government is going to make me soon anyway, and I will, in fact, be more productive. My own doctors also use EMR, and I am kinda ok with that. But still, the whole thing is just alarming.

New School Year!

The other day, Aidan was telling me about how he was busted during recess for squabbling with another child about the wall ball court. When he told me that the other boy was in second grade, I thought, "What a lame boy! Picking on smaller kids!" Then it occurred to me, that Aidan IS in second grade!

HA!

When Aidan was an infant, I thought I would forever be living with a baby/toddler/needy one. Then, voila! He is in second grade. SECOND! GRADE!

He is assigned to a highly coveted classroom, according to another mother in his class. Because, his teacher, Mrs. W, assigns a lot of homework, which, if one is the 'drill and kill' kind of parent, works great.

I like to think that I am not the 'drill and kill' kind of parent, but I know for a fact that at least one person out there thinks I am a 'drill and kill' mother.

Over the summer, I had this med management appointment with F, who was in the process of getting his teaching credentials. He was telling me about how he got a job working at a summer camp, as we talked about it, I realized that he was going to be working at Aidan's summer camp. I had a decision to make: just tell him that Aidan is there, or, wait until I see him there when I pick Aidan up from camp. Of the two options, I thought to risk it and wait to see if I would run into F at camp would be far more awkward. In the split of a second, I made the decision to tell him. So I did. "Really? That is where my son will spend a couple of weeks this summer!" F said, "Cool! I will see you there then!"

I actually never saw F there, probably because we used aftercare, and most of the instructors were gone by then.

This past Friday, he came back for another follow up. F said, "Oh, I met your son, Aidan, right? He is really smart. When I did the orientation, the site director told me that if I didn't know what the routine is, to ask Aidan, that he can be really helpful." (What a nice compliment!) Then, F said, "I bet you are the 'drill and kill' kind of parent. That is how your son knows so much."

Ironically, he said that when he has his own class, he won't be assigning much homework, because he doesn't believe in the drill and kill methodology.

Personally, I like to think of my method as 'drill and thrill'- it is thrilling to play that piano technique song 15 times, isn't it?

SKATE!

When Aidan was 4 and half years old, he gladly went for a season of AYSO with The Green Knights. It was a very fun season. While he played, we cheered on the side lines, and Zoe very much wanted to join in and play, at a year and half.

Zoe is going to be starting in AYSO this summer, she has already decided that her team will be The Lollipops. (The XX chromosomes are just different than the XY chromosomes, no matter how much we want to deny that fact.) She has been practicing with Hubby, which is so cute to see, because she has Hubby's muscular legs. And she is just so focused, "Finally, my turn."

Aidan, on the other hand, will not be playing soccer anymore. Instead, we are becoming more and more entrenched in the world of hockey. Hockey is nothing like AYSO. AYSO doesn't keep score, but it is ALL about the score with hockey. While parents cheer at AYSO, parents are hockey scream, "SKATE!" to their children, never mind the kids can't hear anything with those helmets. AYSO is relatively inexpensive, hockey is very much unlike that. While not the most expensive sport ever, (horseback riding is, probably?), I am dreading buying a whole new set of gear when Aidan outgrows his current stuff.

Why are we doing this? I ask myself that EVERY time I drive to the rink. Just why am I freezing here, taking in the very unique odor of ice hockey gear? Do I really want to continue?

Apparently, though, we are continuing. Aidan has a tryout tomorrow for the traveling league, and according to his coaches, the ice rink Zambonie driver, the guy who hands out skates, and the figure skating director, Aidan has improved SO much. Just last December, he was barely going in a straight line. He loves it, and so I love it. But I am definitely, a bit concerned about the schedule. So concerned that I had a dream last night, that Aidan and Zoe needed to be at two different rinks at the same time. Yikes!

Midsummer Report

Summer goes by so quickly around here- with year round school, Aidan has just two weeks left.

Perhaps we planned a much too intense summer, that child is exhausted. After our vacation to The Big Apple, he spent a week of ice hockey camp in the am, and science camp in the pm. That schedule drove us crazy- he needed to get to the ice rink by 8, and one of us had to pick him up at 11, and take him to the afternoon camp. This past week, he did the skating camp, which was fabulous, because he was just already at the rink for all the ice hockey activities. Next week, he will be at soccer camp for six hours a day. I am exhausted just thinking about it. Then, one more week of science camp, and it will be all over.

Because this is the first summer for us as a hockey family, I have learned a lot. For instance, we need to schedule our vacation around the hockey training camp so that he can do two full weeks of it. Also, for those weeks, at 11 am, he will just need to either hang out with me or Hubby, to relax, eat, and sleep.

I never thought I would be a hockey mom, yet here I am, dreading the nasty smell of his gear (it isn't too bad yet, as he still has his very cute little pre-puberty body, and non of the sweat glands, yet.) He is going to try out for the traveling league in a few weeks, and let's just say that hockey is intense. He will have practice twice a week, and one of the practice is at a rink about 26 miles away. Ironically, about 2 miles from where I grew up. There will also be traveling games, therefore, oh sweet Lord Jesus, what are we getting ourselves into?

He loves it. He just absolutely loves skating. We are happy to along, because when kids are busy with a time consuming activity like hockey, they don't have time to get into trouble. They are just too tired. I am also not opposed to having hockey help him to get into college. His dream, or mine, hard to distinguish between the two, is that he will get to play hockey at Dartmouth College. We joke about asking his coach, who has coached for twenty years, if he has gotten any kid into an Ivy.

Along with playing a fairly isoteric sport, I want Aidan to pick an isoteric instrument also, like the bassoon, trombone, or something odd like that. Forget the flute or the violin, tons of kids do these instruments, but the bassoon? Not so many. Including Aidan, he really doesn't want to play anything other than the violin. So I will have to manipulate, I mean, work on, that.

Meanwhile, Zoe is thriving in figure skating. She is just so cute, going backwards and doing cross overs. Interestingly, at the rink where Aidan plays hockey, the figure skating is in a 'friendly' league, but there is a much more competitive league not too far away, which brings all kinds of options. She is quite proficient at reading the treble clef, but the bass clef, that, is her nemesis. Therefore, possibly, no cello in the future. However, I have high hopes, for another woodwind out of her. Interestingly, she asked for swimming lessons. "I remember when we used to go see Aidan's lessons, I want some lessons of my own."

With the activities of these two kids, I am slowly becoming unglued. Yet it is so fun to see them learn new skills. When I get a chance, I will post some videos of the kids doing their stuff.

No Longer a Native

When we lived in New York City, we often yearned to move back home to California, to be away from the skitters, the humidity, the yellow snow, the crowds, for a land of beautiful weather, great facilities for laundry, and basically, comfort.

Ever since we left though, I have been dreaming about moving back. Go figure.

However, as we become more and more entrenched in our careers here in California, the likelihood of that diminishes so greatly. (Really, am I going to move to a new city, and start over with a private practice? Probably not. Am I going to find a job, and not be my own boss anymore, even less likely.) Instead, we go there for vacations. Aidan is now 7 years old, and that young man has been to New York, twice, as a fetus, and thrice, as an actual human. Other than Tahoe, we go to New York City the most. Not Disneyland, not Yosemite, but Manhattan.

All the other times, I still felt like a New Yorker. This time, however, I felt like a tourist. How the mighty has fallen... These are the ways that I was a tourist.

1. I didn't even carry my own Metro Card anymore. When I lived there, my little yellow card had its own slot in the wallet. This time, I threw my wallet in Hubby's backpack, and it was just too much of a hassle to ask for my wallet, to retrieve the card, and swipe it every time. So Hubby carried it for me.

2. I couldn't even swipe it right. "Please swipe again" was the message that I got EACH AND EVERY TIME, for the first five days of our trip. Good grief. I became the annoying tourist who hogged the turnstile and could not get in.

3. We were carrying a BACKPACK. New Yorker's DO NOT carry backpacks, unless they are going to the grocery store. Women there carry purses, men use messenger bags, NOT BACKPACKS.

4. We had our kids with us. It was really weird, actually. Other then the obvious kid places, like the park, museums, Time Square, Herald Square, we were the only people with kids. What do Manhattanites do with their offsprings? I know there are some, but where were they?!

5. As much as we tried to keep our stride like the natives, we just weren't able to.

Ahhh, I am no longer a New Yorker. Isn't that sad?! I think it is. I love how tough NYC is, the grittiness of it. One must toughen up, to be able to push past all those annoying tourists to catch a train, to snake one's way through crowds of people, to endure the brusqueness of the city. Our children, are definitely California kids. When we left, Zoe said, "Our house has so much more space than the apartment." Aidan said, "New York City is so dirty." These are soft kids. soft.

We had a great time though! Aidan and Zoe LOVED the playgrounds- we went to 9 playgrounds over our trip. Most of the playgrounds had water play, and THEY JUST ABSOLUTELY loved it. We had great food, great company (some old friends, my sister and her husband, my parents), and tried a lot of different things.

If you are lucky enough to live there, you must check out Barge Music. It is the only floating music hall in the world, and it is docked in the East River, on the Brooklyn side. They do free concerts every Saturday at 3 pm.

We also saw Mary Poppins via TKTS. Awesomeness. If I have a chance, I will detail the expert logistics involved with that event.

It is clear, that if we manage to move there, it will have to be in retirement. It makes great financial sense: let's move to the most expensive city in the country, when we are no longer making money. Are you with us?

Father's Day!

Father's Day often gets so neglected- Zoe's class didn't even make a craft project for Father's Day. (Remember how I said the head teacher is really lazy? No joke.) Which is really too bad, because Hubby is an awesome Daddy.

I hear about absent fathers from patients frequently, and it always makes me very sad, either emotionally absent or physically absent. Especially, because Hubby is anything but absent. It is remarkable, actually, that he is around as much he is. I am sheepish to admit that we eat dinner together every night at 6 pm, and then I basically hand off the kids to him, he plays with them, and gets them ready for bed. Often times, I just saunter in to kiss them good night.

My own father wasn't as available. He just worked so hard, all the time. (Not that Hubby doesn't work hard, but I think it speaks to the change of times. My Dad had to stay late at work because there was no such thing as the internet. These days, Hubby tucks in the kids and works some more.)

Anyway, I know I was a difficult child. Most nights, my Dad came home about 9:30 pm, and the first thing he usually wanted to do was to take a shower. However, I would wait to shower until he came home, and because he was, and has always been, more concerned about us getting enough rest, he would let me go first... (I know, I suck.)

I am like my Dad, very concerned about my kids getting enough rest. But also about many other things, for instance, I like a very, very, clean kitchen. Something that my Dad wants, but never got, thanks to three kids who were constantly eating. When we were teenagers, he would say that he never knew we had this or that to eat at home, until he took out the garbage, because then he saw the wrappers/packaging. My poor Dad, under-rested, and under-fed.

I also am blessed to have an awesome father-in-law. Whereas I hear about in-law troubles at work, my FIL goes out of his way to make my life easier. He takes Aidan to Kumon weekly, just so I don't have to make an extra stop. He invites us to dimsum, just to catch up with us. Most of all, he taught my dear Hubby to be sacrificial, which makes being his wife a breeze.

Of course, I have the ultimate sacrificial Heavenly Father. I really am so blessed.

Mixed Bag

I can't believe Aidan is going to be a second grader in just a few weeks. When I left his classroom yesterday, after logging my last hour of volunteering for this academic year, I started to CRY. We have ALL loved Ms. Z. Ms. Z is awesome. First of all, she attended an all-women college. Secondly, she is just about my age, yet has a daughter in high school! Thirdly, she is super organized, resourceful, encouraging, and just awesome. We are going to miss her, although the likelihood of Zoe being her student in three years is actually quite high, so I am not TOO upset.

As for Zoe, she is going to be promoted to the last level of preschool in just a few weeks, and for that, I am grateful and eager. Two reasons, good riddance to her current head teacher, and hello to new head teacher! Teacher M has been lackluster, and Teacher L is basically the best thing since sliced bread. Teacher L is organized, enthusiastic, and fun, all that you want in a preschool teacher. By contrast, teacher M has been resistant, not enthusiastic, and actually, just lazy. (I wonder, if any of my readers actually send their brood to Zoe's school, and I am pretty sure teacher M will remain anonymous.) Zoe's year has been redeemed by her primary (the kids are assigned to a specific teacher in the class, so that they have primary groups). Her primary has been absolutely wonderful. She is loving, kind, organized, enthusiastic, and fun! Moreover, this wonderful teacher will also be transitioning into Zoe's new class, almost as if she is also trying to get away from M. Coinkidink? I think not.

If I have learned anything at all after having A&Z, is that God is in control. God is also their Yahweh. He is going to take care of them so much better than I ever can, and therefore, He is going to be sure that they always have just the right teacher to take care of them, that there will always be someone to meet their needs. ALWAYS. Even with M. While we have been disappointed by M, Zoe thinks M is hilarious. (Hilariously lazy, I think.) She still has gotten something out of trying to figure out a grown up who would give kids snacks on the NAP MATS. NAP MATS, people. Did M not get the memo, that children EAT at the TABLE?!

God is always in control, and it is a good thing, that Z has had M. She now knows that some adults don't make good decisions.

Worthwhile?

There are four days of the year that I really can do without. April 15, June 15, September 15, and December 15. What are these days, you ask. These are days to turn in quarterly estimated taxes to both the California Franchise Tax Board as well as the US Treasury. (Quarterly is really a misnomer, obviously...)

Because I don't get paychecks as I am my own boss, there are no withholdings, instead, I have to actually write these checks and send them my money. It is entirely a different experience to GIVE them money, than to just not see the money but rather a number on a pay stub. Trust me, it hurts so much more this way.

I understand I have to pay taxes, but I don't think my tax dollars are well spent. But that is a different blog entry.

After catching up on our 2010 taxes in April, and having to pay the estimated taxes, Hubby and I decided that we really need to figure out how we are spending our money.

Imagine my shock after seeing how much money we spend on food. Incredulously, I spend about $1000 for food for the four of us per month! What exactly am I buying?!

Hubby and I are taking an austerity approach. We are going to half that budget. No more steaks. Sea bass at $12.99 per pound? No more. (Well, maybe for special occasions.) I am going to one grocery store per week. If I need something else, tough. I will have to wait for next week. Bread? No more. We are making our own. Cut up fruit? No more.

I have been doing this for two weeks, so far, it is better in some ways. I am saving time- if there is just one grocery store to go to, my shopping is now about 1/2 hour long. I also save time because I no longer think about what I am making for dinner, I see what there is, and I just have to do something with it. In order to accommodate the one shop practice, I no longer go to Costco every week. We are eating a more varied menu, and wasting much, much, less.

In some other ways though, I am not sure if this practice is worthwhile. If I make my own artisan bread, it costs me about 1 dollar, instead of about 3 bucks from someone's industrial kitchen. But the planning of this is a wacky process- I have to time it so that I am around at hour 18 to do something with the dough, and then 2 hours later, be there to bake it. (The bread is AWESOME though! It is truly, STEAK SAUCE! Quoting from my latest, favorite, TV show. How I Met Your Mother is awesome! If you haven't seen it, you must make time for it.)

I am also growing our own vegetables and herbs, from seeds. It is quite economical, actually, to grow lettuce- I clip what I need, instead of wasting 1/2 of the container. Of course, growing from seeds also makes it whole lot less expensive. However, with water prices going up by 30% next month, it may not be economical anymore. I am expecting a crop of 60 pounds of tomatoes, according to Martha Stewart, I will have to figure out the true cost of these tomatoes this fall.

With managing a household budget, doesn't it seem like if you do X to save Y, you end up spending more on Z?

A Thorough Musical Education

Now that I am directly responsible for Aidan and Zoe's musical education, I have been thinking about mine.

I am not sure why, but my parents enrolled me in a music program back in first grade. It was a program that students had to apply to, be evaluated, and then admitted. (There were no tone deaf kids in the group for sure!) While the memory of the test itself has been completely forgotten, I do remember my mother buying me school supplies right before the test- she got me a translucent red clipboard. I spent hours looking at the world through it...

My class had about 30 kids, and we all picked a primary instrument and we were pulled out of school to get private lessons. Instead of PE, we had ear training, in lieu of art, we had music history. We also had a practice log that our parents had to sign nightly to show that we practiced. By third grade, we all picked up a second instrument, and piano was a required instrument, whether primary or secondary. By then, we also had a class orchestra, and we played the overture to Le Nozze di Figaro by Mozart by fourth grade.

I was pulled out of the program half way through 4th grade, because my mother decided that I was not actually learning regular school well. Apparently, I hardly knew how to do basic math. (I disagree, but that is neither here nor there. I actually think the reason I got pulled out was that my violin teacher was, hmm, how do I say this nicely, a pervert.)

Let me get back to this very intense music training. I think the program was designed to be a pre-conservatory kind of environment. Everyone already knew how to read music by the time we started, so things were introduced very quickly. The ear training teacher would play the middle A, count the beats of the measure, and play a melody for us to transcribe. She played it four times, then put the actual music on the board for us to see what we missed. We also had these books for rhythm training. We clapped and clapped and clapped. There was also the lesson on intervals- I could not understand what they were talking about. (By the time I took music theory in college, it was so clear and logical! I am convinced that the teacher who taught it did not actually understand it himself.)

Anyway, I believe that the ear training I did in college, as a music major, was not as difficult as the stuff we were doing in third grade. It actually is a bit shocking, actually... Of course, in college, things actually made sense, and I could articulate the concepts to someone else. Still, it is a bit astounding just how much I had learned all before I was 10.

Therefore, it is a bit worrisome, as I teach A&Z music, just how on earth am I going to get them to the level that I know they can achieve? We don't have that kind of time! I want to teach them how to sight read super well, to develop perfect pitch, to be able to transcribe music, to play two instruments, and basically, to be just like me.

Oh my!

From time to time, I double book people. It usually goes like this, Guy A has 10:00 appointment for 1/2 hour, then he cancels. I then offer 10:00 to Gal A. Gal A takes a while to call me back, then I put Guy B into the 10 slot. Then, I suffer from amnesia and forget about how I have given the slot away. Gal A texts me back and wants the time. I look at the text, thinks for one second, texts back to confirm, but neglect to actually check the calendar. When 10 am rolls around, I sometimes will find Gal A sitting in the reading area, but that isn't the one on my calendar! I see Gal A and wonder what is going on with Guy B, then say good bye to Gal A and apologize to Guy B that I am 'running late'.

Rarely, both people are sitting there at 10. I have to make some kind of decision, and I will ask if one of them is more willing to wait. I feel like a prime idiot, but go on to offer medical advice.

Imagine my shock, when I walked into the waiting area at 12:00 on Friday, while I felt pretty good about 'being on time!' To my surprise/chagrin/dismay/utter despair, I saw THREE appointments waiting. There was L, an every-other-week therapy patient who didn't want to go for a month without an appointment due to Memorial Day. L was actually on my calendar. There was G, who was there for a med check, and he was not on the calendar. Then, there was C, with her parents for a family meeting, and they were not on the calendar. (Lucky for me, P, had canceled her 12:30 just days before, so that I could slot L for her usual full hour.) Anyway, there I was, 5 people, all there at the time I asked them to come, and I had one hour to do all this work. My thought? A particular synonym for fecal matter.

I apologized like crazy, and they were all incredibly gracious. I saw L for a quick check in, then onto G, and finally, 30 minutes later, I was with my last 12:00. Out of my guilt, I waived all the copays for these people.

Thankfully, my 1:00 accidentally pushed the wrong button when he was checking in, and so by the time he realized his mistake, I was also finishing up with the family for their hour long session. Most amusingly, I eventually caught up with my schedule, by 2:30.

I really need to be either better about managing my schedule, or find a secretary.

Up Late and Incredulous

I was all tucked in, ready for a night of slumber. It was going to be a wonderful night of dancing fairies, but alas, something woke me up twenty minutes later, and I just couldn't go back to sleep.

I got up, did some work, and caught up on my reading.

Then I got worked up. Sometimes, people are really, really, silly.

In November, San Franciscans are going to vote on if a medical procedure is legal in San Francisco.

I fear that Americans are getting stupid. First, there was an uproar about vaccinations causing autism. Lots of people started believing celebrities instead of real science. Out of these choices, there is now an uptick of whooping cough. For whatever it is worth, it is the right of these parents to choose whatever it is they want to do for their children. At least as a society, we have allowed people to continue to have this particular choice. I don't agree with the choice, but we are Americans, we are free to make bad decisions. My bad decision is your good decision. Knock yourself out, I say.

And now, there are over 7000 people in San Francisco that want to outlaw circumcision?!

First of all. While circumcision is painful, so are lots of things. Yes, male babies cry after the procedure, but you know what, they also cry when they are getting their diapers changed. I am not disputing that it is painful. Pain is a well documented sensation that a fetus experiences. However, we have already decided as a society that abortion is legal, and hello! Being aborted is probably a very painful experience. Yet according to the law, it is OK! How can these people then seriously put this on the BALLOT that circumcision is not allowed due to pain?! HELLO!

Secondly, it is a choice that parents make. We are a society where parents can choose to breast feed, to sleep train, to deprive babies of sleep, is the government going to start regulating all those things too?

Thirdly, it is a religious ritual for many. FIRST AMENDMENT. Enough said.

Is it genital mutilation? Here is the definition of mutilation.
mu·ti·late (mytl-t)
tr.v. mu·ti·lat·ed, mu·ti·lat·ing, mu·ti·lates
1. To deprive of a limb or an essential part; cripple.
2. To disfigure by damaging irreparably: mutilate a statue. See Synonyms at batter.
3. To make imperfect by excising or altering parts.

Circumcision is not depriving of a limb or an essential body part. As matter of fact, 70% of men are circumcised in the US, and they seem to be fine. I think. I don't know for sure, I am not a man. I will have to ask around and check for sure. Is it disfiguring by damaging irreparably? I think the whole reason people do male circumcision is that they don't want the extra skin! So is it disfiguring? I think most people think of it as IMPROVEMENT. Therefore, they are probably actually achieving perfection, not making imperfect.

Of course, as a woman who attended an all-women college, I am thinking about female circumcision. I do think female circumcision is mutilation, because it is depriving a girl/woman of her clitoris, which has an essential function, unlike the flap of skin. Moreover, female circumcision often involves suturing of the labia, and that is damaging the function of the anatomy. Moreover, the idea of female circumcision is about power and control. Definitely an awful thing, but does it require a law for physicians/rabbis to not perform this procedure? No! Use common sense people!

Really, are people getting more and more stupid? Sometimes I think we are.

Again!

If I have learned anything about motherhood, it is this, "If it isn't one thing, then it is another."

When Aidan was about six weeks ago, I had heard about this gripe water, that had magical properties of making a baby sleep well, eat better, and cry much, much less. I was determined to find this elixir. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I had it with all the screaming that I had to listen to. Hubby and I had tried to watch Bend it Like Beckham, and we heard no dialogue whatsoever, because all we heard was Aidan's crying. I even remember heating up some dim sum that Hubby's auntie had brought over to us. Anyway, as I got in the car, Hubby wisely said, "You know, the water probably won't make it any easier." Probably, I gave him a deathly stare and drove off.

When I got it home, I was stumped. Aidan refused the bottle, and therefore, just how on earth was I going to get a sufficient amount of this water into him? After more screaming from Aidan, as he protested vigorously about a plastic intruder in his mouth, the bottle went on the shelf and I never bothered with it again. Instead, I put myself in the process of embracing this fact: Aidan=Screaming. I better learn to tolerate it.

Over the next few months, physiologic fussiness resolved, but then we had to sleep train. When we finished with sleep training, then it was getting him on the bottle. When we did that, then it was back to sleep training, because then he learned to crawl. (To all non-parents, babies like to keep themselves awake every time they learn something new, which, actually, means, EVERYDAY.) If it wasn't one thing, it was another.

In the intervening seven years, I have learned to mother more efficiently. Basically, work on one thing, then another. Teach the kids one thing, than another. Therefore, we add on one activity at a time in this household.

With Aidan and Zoe both set up with piano, Aidan then got set up with an ice hockey coach privately, and then with an in-house league. It was time to figure out what to do about Zoe's ice skating. She had been taking group lessons, but let's face it, to learn a skill, any skill, learning individually means more progress quickly. Thus, my task was to find her a coach. Sounded so simple, you would think, and absolutely, it sounded so simple. But I should have known, getting a coach for Aidan took me MONTHS. MONTHS! With all the back and forth, back and forth, and BACK AND FORTH, I finally found a coach for Zoe today. She is reliable, sweet, and very good. I can't wait! Neither can Zoe!

I know I am probably not going to be raising an NHL player or an Olympian figure skater, but they love skating, the rink is so close to our house, and why not? A sport that will make them tired? Sign me up!

Happy Mother's Day!

I have a bit of fear about Mother's Day, mainly, that I will forget all about it.

Because we don't have a TV to watch, I am not inundated with commercials about buying stuff for Mother's Day, therefore, the fear is that I would forget to call my mother/send her a card.

Not this year. This year, I took care of it by the end of April. That's right, I put my siblings to shame, I think. (I am not entirely sure what they did for my mother- my mother doesn't really talk about it whole lot. Interestingly, she doesn't say whole lot about my siblings when I talk to her, either she is hiding stuff or she doesn't want to create controversies. I think she is hiding things for my sibs.)

Anyway, my mother is awesome. Her awesomeness made me who I am today. As awesome as she is though, we do our best in different states, probably because I still act like a baby. As much as I am an adult, and even more so that I am a psychiatrist, I still, really want her to approve of all my choices. (The irony is so thick, I can't even move.) Seriously. I want her to say, "Good job, honey." That day though, will probably come in November of Never, because, she never calls me Honey/Sweetie/Pie/Endearments. My mom calls me by my name, or 'little sister.' Even though I am not really the little sister, my little sister is the little sister.

4 and half years ago, she and I had a HUGE fight, at a train station, by the Vatican. We were both yelling wildly, in Chinese. Hubby and Aidan walked away for us to have our 'moment.' I can still recall what we were arguing about, and it essentially came down to this, "MOM! I want you to say that I am a good kid. That I am just AWESOME."

After that trip, I got a letter in the mail, stating the fact that I am awesome, the best daughter ever. (Probably not true, since my sister is a REALLY good daughter.) I can tell you, at this exact moment, where that letter is, in my house. (Which is no small feat, considering how many sheets of paper we have around here.)

In honor of my mom, I did something that she did plenty of when I was growing up: I worked in the garden. As a kid/adolescent/single-person-without-a-property, I told her that it was purely a waste of time to garden. "Mom, just let it be, who cares?!" How foolish was I? Gardening brings rest to a mother's soul, precisely because her children despise the hobby. I can count on gardening as quiet time, sure, A&Z might hang around, but they are also busy, either looking for bugs, or jumping rope, or roller blading. They. Leave. Me. Alone. To. My. Thoughts.

That is what I did this afternoon, while Hubby napped, and children played quietly. I pulled weeds, preened it all, fertilized some, and brought in flowers. Then I called my mom, and guess what she did just before I called? All the way in DC, she, too, was working in the garden with my dad. Although the advice she gave me about gardening was a wee bit untraditional: "Just let the ground get really hard, don't plant anything, because once you loosen the soil, weeds will grow. To deter weeds, don't grow anything."

Interesting.

Happy Mother's Day!

Also, some pictures to make this blog more alive.

Offspringitis

This blog is dying, ever so slowly, but it is dying. I mean, there hasn't been a picture here in ages, and the last I posted was 3 weeks ago! What is the cause of this deterioration? I think it is offspringitis.

The disease has an insidious onset, with symptoms in all spheres of the biopsychosocial model. Biologically, it typically beings with weight changes, either weight gain or loss, likely due to either not having time to eat, or becoming the human garbage can. Alopecia is also likely. Overall, one's physical health takes a dive. Psychologically, one becomes emotional, irritable, much less patient than one ever thought possible, yet enthusiastic, alternating with exhaustion. Mood reactivity is a good description. Finally, socially, the symptoms include either utter isolation, or becoming overly scheduled and extroverted. The social symptoms are rather polarized. One gets into either the tiger mom group or the lazy mom group, either the working group, or the stay-at-home group. And no matter what you do, you feel off socially.

How this is playing out in my life is that I am trying to not be a human trash can, I am trying to eat, and I am keenly aware that when I eat too fast, which is always the case (did I tell you that I can eat a whole hot dog while riding the elevator from 1st floor to the 12th floor, without the elevator ever stopping?) My reflux is returning because I eat too much too fast. Blergh. I am totally losing hair, and causing clogged drains because of that. On the upside, I am trying to exercise regularly. Psychologically, Aidan and Zoe make me want to hug them to death one moment, and five seconds later as Aidan teases Zoe, "I am going to pour this water over your head!"I want to send them to boarding school. Socially, I am Just. So. Busy. SO. BUSY. SOOOO. BUUUSYYYY.

My schedule with the kids:

Monday, get to work at 8:30, work until 3:50. Get Zoe, take her home for speech therapy, leave her at home with therapist, get Aidan at 4:30, bring him home. Supervise homework, if any. Say goodbye to therapist at 5. Get one child to practice piano, make dinner, get the other child to play the piano. Yell about wrong notes, bad rhythm, off-kilter tempo. Dinner is at 6... Practice piano myself. Bath. Bed for the kids.

Tuesday, get to work at 8:30, work until 4:30. Get Zoe, take Zoe to Kumon, where Aidan is already at, (many, many, thanks to Grandpa.) Leave the kids there. Go home to make dinner. Hubby picks up the kids at 5:30. Get someone to play the piano. Dinner is at 6. Put away dinner, get the other child to play the piano. Bath. Bed for the kids.

Wednesday, get to work at 8:30, work until 3:50. Get Aidan, get Zoe, take them ice-skating. At 5:15, take Aidan home, leave Zoe there for her lesson. Get Aidan to practice piano. Hubby brings Zoe home at 6. Dinner. Bath. Bed the kids. (That's right, Zoe skips piano on Wednesdays.)

Thursdays, take kids to school. Volunteer at Aidan's school. Exercise. Errands. Lunch with Hubby. More errands. Pick up kids at 4:30. Home. Piano. Make dinner, eat dinner. Bath. Bed the kids.

Fridays, get to work at 8:30, leave at 2:30, pick Aidan up, take him to ice hockey league, go exercise. Pick Zoe up at 4:30. Go home with Zoe, make her practice piano. Hubby brings Aidan home at 6. Dinner. Bath. Bed the kids. (Aidan skips piano on Fridays.)

Oh My. I am tired. What is a parent to do when one has chronic offspringitis? Say no to their love of ice skating? Love of work sheets at Kumon? Love of piano? (For now, they really like all those things. Seriously. I tell them this when they have bad attitude about piano, "we are just not going to do it anymore. Mommy wants to play herself." It makes them CRY. CRY. Then they come and apologize for bad attitude and beg to play.) That's right, I am the grand puppetier.

For the record, they do play, in between, you know. When one is playing the piano, the other is really just playing and hanging out. By hanging out, I mean, reading the finest literature ever.

One more symptom of offspringitis is denial, by the way.

Without a Schedule

On Friday afternoon, I had drinks with a Dana. We had become friends on FB for over three years, yet never really sat down to talk, even though we share lots of common friends. By drinks, we had flavored water and iced tea. It was great getting to know her, and as we chatted, it was very obvious that my household was, and still is, like an army post. Breakfast is always at 7:45, (at least during the week), and dinner is always at 18:00. Dana asked me what do I do about having dinner at friends' homes, if I make my friends put dinner on the table at 6. Well... Sheepishly, I admitted that we don't share meals with friends often, and when we do, yes, we make our friends eat at 6.

After that, I rushed to pick up the children and got them situated with our favorite sitter. Sean is our favorite sitter, because we have known her since Aidan was 6 months old. Aidan's first picture from school is of Sean feeding him mushed peas! Secondly, Sean does not need a TV to hang out with our kids. In fact, she does not even want to know how to use our TV. I. Love. That. Anyway, after she sat down to eat dinner with A&Z, Hubby and I took off to celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary.

For 23 hours, we were completely without a schedule. We ate dinner at 7:30, stayed up well past our bedtime, slept way in, ate breakfast (in bed, no less) at 9, dessert came at 1, and lunch came at 2:30. It was so fun!

Happy Anniversary, Hubby!

Modern Medicine

It is question that my patients ask me often, "Do I really need these medicines to help me?" They say, "I don't want these medicines to change me!"

Of course, I am a prudent psychiatrist, I don't tell everyone who shows up that they need medicines. Sometimes, I just tell them what they don't want to hear, "Look, meds are not going to help. You need to do x, y, z."

However, I do tell people who would benefit from medicines, "Of course these medicines are going to change you. You don't want to be depressed/anxious/psychotic anymore, do you?"

I am a firm believer in modern medicine, in fact, if it weren't for modern medicine, I would be dead, probably.

I probably would have died about 3 months after marrying Hubby, from sepsis.

For a person who never had an ear infection, rarely with headaches, hardly ever vomit, I am a victim of gram negative germs. My urinary tract met gram negative germs on my honeymoon for the first time. (The experts are not kidding when they call it 'honeymoon cystitis.') Dysuria, frequency, it was awful. Not awful enough for me to seek medical treatment, and the symptoms went away after a few days with a LOT of fluids.

Three months later, we went to church, met up with a close friend, had lunch, then went shopping together. Dysuria came along, and Oh. My. Maker. It was incredibly awful. We cut the trip short and went home. I started loading on fluids, especially cranberry juice. But it was too late. Within a few hours, it was no longer just cystitis, but hemorrhagic cystitis. I thought I was going to die from pain. Hubby and I ended up rushing to the ER, and the attending on call saw my urine in the container and didn't even wait for the results and just handed me a prescription for some antibiotics. Within hours, I felt SO much better.

Without it, I would have gone on to fever, chills, with an ascending infection, then it would become pylonephritis, and probably, a collection of pus, then sepsis, then death. Or, if I miraculously recovered, then it would probably have harmed my renal functions, and then I would then die young.

Modern medicine is a very good thing.

Last Ski Trip

We just got back from Lake Tahoe, or as Aidan wrote about it in his writing journal at school, "Licktohow".

It was a terrific trip, marking the perfect ending to an awesome season of learning how to ski. On the day after Christmas, just a bit over 3 months ago, I thought I was going to die on the slopes. Zoe had refused to go to her ski school, and I was ready to call it quits. Three trips later, Zoe was skiing on her own, down the intermediate slopes, carefully following MY trail. My beautifully curved out S turns. (Hubby skied behind us, and picked her up when she fell over.) Aidan, of course, became a pro at skiing as fast as possible, in as straight of line as possible. (Although he did acknowledge that he probably ought to work on his parallel turns.) We skied all day, with a lunch break between, and basically stayed until the lifts closed! I could not have possibly done this without Hubby- the ever patient companion.

I have to recommend skiing to all you parents out there. It is a great way to hang out with your kids without being driven insane. There is stuff to do, challenges to overcome, fun to be had, and at the end of the day, the kids are exhausted and they always go off to bed early. (They also always eat well, because they are simply, starving.) That then, leaves a perfect opportunity to hang out with your spouse in the evening, without the distraction of household chores, work related stuff, and all-things-that-suck-up-time. (Like blogging.)

We have also stayed at 3 different vacation homes, found through a vacation rental website. It is very intriguing to stay at other people's houses, to say the least.

Our first was Quincy's condo. Her condo was a ski-in-out place at Squaw, and it was a beautiful condo. It was cozy, clean, bright, and void of family pictures. There were, however, hand printed directions of how to use her stuff all around the house, which we appreciated. Her linens matched, as were her towels. She had All-Clad pans there(!), and she even left a bottle of wine for us.

The second house belonged to Tim. It was very spacious, and our kids enjoyed spying on their family vacation pictures. We brought our own linens, I illegally drank a bottle of sparkling water, and it was fine.

The third house, belonged to Dave. OMG. It was awful. AWFUL. While it was ski-in-out, (so I can't complain about the location), good grief, it was terrible. They left WOODEN boards outside the windows (to shield the windows from snow?!) and also, to keep the condo like a CAVE. Dave also owned a lot of stuff. Like a Christmas wreath on the front door. (Dude, it is APRIL!) He must be some kind of lamp collector, because there were so many, yet only a few worked. A dining chair was missing a leg, while there were lawn chairs in the middle of the living room. The heaters stopped working on our last day. And the wifi, apparently, was knocked out during a storm, weeks ago, and never got fixed. Even the kids said this condo was terrible. It was a good thing that there was a washer/dryer combo there, because I washed all the mats for him. Hubby said we left the condo in better shape than how we found it. (If you are going to Tahoe Donner, let me know, and I will help you to avoid this hole.)

I must become a better skier to go back to Squaw, so I can stay at Quincy's again.

March Madness

March is a very good month here. Chronologically, we mark many milestones: my parents' anniversary (37th this year!), Aidan's birthday (7!), match day, my brother's birthday (36!), our anniversary (11!), then Zoe's birthday (4!).

It is kinda insane.

So insane, that I forgot my brother's birthday this year. Oops.

I also list Match Day, because, as a former medical student, one cannot go through March without the excitement/dread/wishful thinking that Match Day brings.

When I was a first year, I watched the fourth years open their envelops, and while I didn't really know any of them, I was so jealous- these people could move away soon! As a second year, I was again, green with envy, but I was quite preoccupied with something else: my own wedding. By third year, I was away doing rotations and didn't see it, but wished I had, not because I was so envious anymore- but because I was incredibly curious. By the time my own match day came around, it was actually kinda anti-climatic. You see, I was pretty sure I was going to match at my first choice. Not because I was such an awesome candidate, but because of God's grace. I. Just. Knew. It took forever to take the bus from NYC to get back up to school, to wait for the official time, and finally got my envelop. It was really just, "Alright, now we know for sure, let's start figuring out what Hubby is going to do back in California."

And life back in California has been fuller than I ever thought it would be. For two reasons: Aidan and Zoe.

They are cute. Energetic. Sweet. High maintenance. Occasionally annoying. And always on my mind.

Happy Birthday, sweet kids. Happy Anniversary, best friend.

Rink, Rink, Rink

I am finding that our weekends are increasingly more and more intense. So much to do! So little time!

This weekend started off with an early pick up for A&Z. For the first time in my life, I used the drive through circle at Aidan's school to pick him up. (Usually, his Chinese school program picks him up. And man, it is way worth the money.) The line for the pick up circle was looonnng. All these parents swarmed the area and waited for their prized children- this really summarizes this generation of children well, they are not allowed to walk home, they are driven everywhere... I had actually planned on finishing my day at 2 pm to make the bell dismissal at 2:35. Alas, a patient called last minute and needed to be seen, so I didn't even leave the office until 2:31. I ran to the parking lot. Drove rather aggressively, and made it to school in time to hear the bell ring. We then picked up Zoe. The early pick up was for a much anticipated ice hockey lesson, but alas, the coach had his wisdom teeth removed and couldn't give the lesson. Instead, Hubby met us to skate with the children.

Then on Saturday, while Zoe went to dance class with me, Hubby took Aidan to play roller hockey with some neighborhood kids. Then the guys went back to the ice rink for some more skating.

While Zoe and I did manage to get some rest, I obviously didn't find my head even with a more rested state of mind: I took the children to a birthday party on Saturday afternoon, but the party was really scheduled for Sunday. HEEELLLO!

After church today, Aidan begged to go back to the rink, and Zoe chose skating over shopping with me. (WHAT?!)

Basically, we spent the whole weekend going to the rink. I yearn for the days when I just studied all day in my room.

Different Difficulties

Aidan and Zoe find piano challenging for different reasons.

Zoe, being almost 4, has smaller hands, and can't read yet. Therefore, she works hard at reaching for a the correct notes. She also has a harder time learning how to read music. However, she is great at playing notes in a very lovely legato. She also really, really, wants to play.

Aidan is so involved in his playing- his whole body moves up and down as he counts the beats. He is progressing very well with reading music too. We are flying through the book. But, oh dear, the attitude. "I am trying!" But child, not trying is not the problem. The technique is the challenge!

For them, learning piano is a very good challenge. I can almost see the wheels turn in their cute little heads, as they try to figure out what note they need to play, the rhythm, the fingers, keeping the body still, and of course, to obey.

In some ways, all the things these kids do, I see the tasks as secondary, but the primary reason for doing these things? To obey. When I say use your first finger on the middle C, there is no need to speak. Just put your first finger on the middle C. It doesn't matter if you like it or not like it, you just do. It is just warm ups for obeying the curfew.

I also am finding out why my mother used to do all these kind of annoying things while I practiced. She sang along, she counted out loud, she tapped on my shoulder, she pounded on the piano... Yup, I am doing all that stuff. (And it is all driving A&Z crrrrrazy!) I think, the process just TAKES SO LONG, that I sing, tap, count, to get the knowledge to them, by sheer force. Which, of course, doesn't work.

What works? Just lots of practice.

Summer Camp

This school year is just going by all so quickly- Aidan already celebrated the 100th day of school- the end is near. That means, time to figure out summer camps.

We are blessed that Aidan goes to a year-round school, so that I only have about 6 weeks of summer to plan. While he is in school for the same number of days (just 180 days!) as a traditional calendar includes, his break happens in short chunks. As a working mother, it is far easier to figure out breaks in snippets than a huge 12 week block.

The downside is that it is hard for me to ship him away to an intense summer camp. You see where this post is going...

When I was a kid, my summers were very 'productive'. My mother, who worked as a teacher, had the same schedule as us. As far back as I could remember, on the very first day of summer, she drew up a schedule for my brother and me. My sister came later and by the time she started having summer breaks, my mother was already too tired to do this for her. (Lucky girl, or unlucky girl, hard to tell.) Anyway, between the two of us, my mother instructed us pretty much all day long, although we did have nap time. While I practiced piano on my own, my mother did stuff with him (I still am not sure what they did), and while she sat with me, my brother was sent off to read on his own. We were kept BUSY. She also brought home books about how to teach other people to do things that she actually didn't know how to do. Like roller skating. We were coached in roller skating by a lady who had never been in roller skates herself. (Pretty awesome, don't you think?!)

Anyway, while we didn't do camp, we were at basic training. Math, writing, reading, music, and of course, roller skating.

I want to give Aidan summers like that. Full, productive, and fun. (It was fun learning how to roller skate, in our apartment, on the fourth floor. No need for sunblock!)

However, camps here are not like that! They are not full and productive enough! I had picked up an info sheet for a skating camp. Get this: for a 3 hour per day camp, the kids are only on the ice for 1.5 hours each day. WHAT?! What are they doing the other 1.5 hours?! Sitting around?! Wasting time?! While the Chinese figure skating trainees are skating, skating, and skating!

Moreover, why are camps only 3 hours long each day?! Camps ought to be 8 hours long! Work, work, work! Arbeit macht frei!

While there is an intense camp for swimmers locally, my Aidan does not like to swim. And he is too young for it anyway. So I am going to make him swim at a less intense camp. (This is going to be SO fun for Aidan!) No, seriously, it is important to know how to swim. Swimming is fun, when you know how. He is going to swim.

Aidan is actually chosing to do something that sounds WAY too intense for me: an outdoor soccer camp for 6.5 hours daily for a week. In the hot summer sun. Running around. I have said it is outdoors, right?! But that is what he wants to do.

He will also do a couple weeks of 'science camp.' Of course, we have a family vacation scheduled- and I will be sure to take him by Julliard/Lincoln Center, and perhaps catch a concert there. This is going to be one educational, productive, exhausting, summer. =)

p.s. I am not sure how I feel about overnight camps, actually. There has to be a reason that in all these teeny bopper movies, there are references such as, "one time, at band camp..." Who supervises these kids after hours?

Work Dads and Moms

Possibly the benefit of having an older brother who has always been very precocious is that I prefer friends/colleagues who are older than me. Basically, I like old people. There is just so much more wisdom, depth, life experience that old people have, that I want to have. (Also, I am being facetious, while I do like truly old people, I actually just mean anyone who is older than me, which is actually most of the world.)

I also have this habit of picking up 'parental figures' at school and work. Remember C? My school mom from college? Hello C! How are you? =)

In med school, I seriously lacked a school parent. There just wasn't one available, there were so many students, and we went through so many different parts of the hospital, and I do think not having a med school parent made the experience more difficult than necessary. Not that I didn't try. I did try to pick up a med school parent at church, but it was just too hard, for starters, I didn't have time to develop that kind of relationship.

In residency, my residency director was like a parent. He taught me almost everything I know about psychiatry. I also had a residency mom- who was a supervisor. Ann taught me about therapy, as well as life as a working-mom. She passed last year- miss you Ann!

At my first job out of residency, I found a perfect work dad in my medical director. He was, and still is, incredibly kind, smart, and wise. While I only worked for him for five months, he was the best kind of boss. He never made me feel bad about being pregnant, in fact, he told me, if I didn't like the job, if the job interfered with my life as a wife and mother, I could just quit. He also called to tell me, that if I didn't want to be on back-up call, and round on 1/2 of the unit, he would do it for me over the weekend. (The census was low, and he didn't mind doing the extra work- he got paid for doing the work, so I didn't feel bad.) That gave me an unexpected weekend off! Most of all, after Zoe was born, when I called him to tell him in July, "Um, sorry, I know I said I was going to go back in September... I won't be. So sorry. I just can't do call with a new baby." He never gave me a hard time.

I had lunch with him today- and he was just as kind, wise, and supportive as ever. I definitely would not be where I am today without him- he gave me excellent advice, even though it became clear, that we would never work together again. He didn't have to, but he continued to help me grow my career. What a great work dad. Thanks Tom!

Of course, at my second job post residency, my unit director became my work dad. Every week, we met for supervision- he taught me a great deal, skills I still use everyday at work. Eventually, I moved on, yet he still looked out for me and made sure I could use all my leave for the year before I resigned mid-year. What a nice guy! He didn't have to, but he did anyway. (Maybe this is when you realize that government employees are misusing your tax dollars, but hey, I was the net recipient of your hard earned money.)

I still have a work dad in private practice. Whenever I need to move furniture, I ask him to move stuff for me. When people owe me money and won't pay, he gives me advice on how to hunt them down and make 'em pay.

I am a lucky girl, to have an awesome Heavenly Father, who gave me a great Biological Dad, and so many fabulous Work Dads.

Possibly a Wee Bit Obsessed

I am possibly a wee bit obsessed about learning how to ski.

Remember how I threw myself down a blue slope and thought I was going to be picked up by ski patrol? And how I did actually get picked up by ski patrol, just four hours before I thought they would come for me?

Because I am a determined kind of woman, the next step is to obviously get more ski gear, then plan a trip to go back and do it again.

Over January, Hubby and I acquired our own ski boots and more ski clothes. It felt a little odd to be throwing money at something we didn't really know how to do well, (or for me, how to do it at all!) but alas, we had heard that the trick to skiing was to be 'comfortable' in the boots. How exactly would one be 'comfortable' with all this plastic tight against my feet was a mystery to us, but alas, we did it anyway. I can now say that the most expensive pair of shoes I own is my ski boots. My most expensive pants are my ski pants. Just to get my money's worth, we had to go back.

So we did this past weekend. It took us forever to get to Tahoe- Hubby had to install chains on his own, which he insisted on doing, so I didn't really feel badly for him. However, we got stuck on the interstate because they had CLOSED it. CLOSED IT! We essentially made peace with the fact that we were going to stay overnight in the car. (Because we are both determined people, the idea of turning around to spend the night somewhere, and possibly miss the reopening of the interstate was not, is not, an option.)

When we got to the condo, we couldn't find it! All that deep, deep snow covered everything. As Zoe said, "All that deep, deep snow, all that snow had to go!" (She loves, loves The Cat in a Hat Comes Back, because, she is our little cat Z!) It took us, actually, just Hubby, nearly an hour, of running around in four feet of snow, to find the right building, the lock box, and to get us in. We had to carry the kids in- remember that four feet of snow? Oh dear, carrying kids who weigh so much, at altitude, while freezing was really hard work...

This time though, instead of going to Squaw, we went to Tahoe Donner, which was a really good choice for many reasons. Squaw is a great place if you know what you are doing, if you don't know what you are doing, all those black diamond slopes are not enjoyable. Some friends of ours, avid skiers, had made the recommendation to Tahoe Donner, and they were absolutely right. The kiddie area was adjacent to the lifts, and it was less fancy, which suited us just fine.

Aidan and Zoe took lessons, but Hubby and I decided to just practice. The idea was to practice coming down the hill, but somehow, we were much more hazardous at getting off the lift. Hubby fell there once, and took me down with him. I accidentally tried to jump off (?!) the lift, and totally ate it. I also stuck my poles in the snow as I was getting off (?!) and ate it again. I ate it again, once more, when I rode it with Aidan, and our skis got all tangled up (?!), oh, and that time, the next chair came and hit my butt. (I now have a very nice bruise to remind me of my folly.) Seriously.


As for skiing, I got better at it. I even got good enough to take Zoe down a green slope, albeit Tahoe Donner green slope (so it was probably actually flat...), and a very short one at that. She had cried and cried when we got off the little magic carpet ride, because she couldn't get her skis in place. "Mommy! I wanna take off my skis and walk down!" (WHAT?! There was no way I was going to let her do that! It would kill her confidence in skiing! It would kill MY confidence in skiing!) We did make it down, as we made "ice pizza." And if I may say so, it was a very nice wedge of ice pizza.

Aidan, on the other hand, was ready to go down black diamonds. He was flying!

Hubby was so excited to take me down Tahoe Donner's "One Mile Run". I was rather concerned about it- because my last run-in with something called "Run" was a complete disaster! Anyway, after he scoped it out, I was going to try it on the second day... however, with so much snow, they had closed it.

Looks like we will have to go back!

Piano Pedagogy

I have mentioned here that I am teaching A&Z piano, right? I can't remember. While I remember what people tell me at work, I am finding it increasingly difficult to remember what I am saying myself. The irony is so thick, isn't it?!

Anyway, because I can't find a teacher, I have decided to start myself. The thinking is, I have been taught, I have a mother who taught, might as save some money and time.

Well, time saving this exercise is most definitely not.

Money saving? Yet to be seen. I am finding myself buying all kinds of piano books, not for the kids, but for me.

What am I learning?

I really just want to push these kids off the piano bench and practice myself. When I practice, no one talks back, no one giggles, I don't need stickers. I just work. I like it.

But alas, it is the children I am trying to expose to music, not myself.

I have abandoned the Suzuki method for Aidan. We may return to it when he READS music. For now, Sebastian is the series for us. It is actually the book I learned to play 30 years ago. If it was good enough for me, I am sure it is good for these two kids.

A&Z bring up different challenges for me as their teacher, because they are just such different kids!

Aidan likes to converse during piano lessons. I say, "Listen. This is how you are playing it. (Choppy.) This is how you want to play it. (Legato.)" He says, "Ok! Why?! You are not using ball fingers. Out of position!" Good grief! Finally, this morning, I have told him: "Look, piano lessons are not for you to talk. What you think about it does not matter at this time. You need to close your mouth and just listen. Musicians start by listening. If you talk one more time, I am going to sit on you."

Zoe gets very emotional when she can't play the pieces. To her defense, her hands are just so tiny that it is hard for her to use one finger for each white key. When she keeps playing the wrong notes, I get really annoyed. Not annoyed at her, but annoyed that she is only almost four years old. Maybe she is getting started too early?(Remember how I really want to push the kids off the bench so I can play?!) Then she shows me her puppy eyes, and says, "Are you mad at me?!" We have decided that she is going to cry less and I am going to be more patient. She has also made it clear that she doesn't want to stop because she is just three years old.

I am learning a lot about patience.

These kids are not very good about practicing on their own. Basically, they have come to expect that they will get lessons DAILY. (See, it is NOT a time saver.) They want new music to practice, they don't want to play the same piece 10 times, like I tell them to.

We have a lot to learn.

After the kids both played today, I practiced myself. After an hour of it, I told the kids, "Did you hear how I practiced? I played the same page, over, and over, and over again."

I am one inspiring teacher... Don't these kids know? The joy of piano stems from playing the same piece five thousand times.

The Ideal, for now

I can't believe that I wrote about how school needs to be longer, in this blog last year. That was truly, a stupid idea.

We love Aidan's 1st grade teacher. She is super organized, kind, focused, and, basically awesome. Of course, it helps that she also attended an all-women's college, so we are really like kindred spirits. I also think she assigns just enough homework- probably because I actually never have to ask Aidan to do his homework. According to his after school Chinese program director, while the other children are running around, Aidan is getting his homework done. (I have to brag a bit about it, because it is utterly not my gene. I went through a stretch of time when I refused to do homework...)

Back from my tangent, as much as we love his teacher, it is school, and there are 23 other children in Aidan's class. I volunteer for an hour weekly, during the 'reading center' time. This has enabled me to see where each of the kids are with their reading and writing skills, in addition to getting to know all the kids. There is simply a huge range of skills- there is a girl who writes in cursive, very beautifully. Although, this said girl does not like to stay on task so she does very little writing... There are children who are reading beautifully, chapter books, and with excellent comprehension. Then there are two kids who are considerably behind. Perhaps in any other school they wouldn't be 'behind', but with this bunch of kids, they are dramatically behind. One child has made tremendous improvement, but the other, not so much. I am asked to spend more time helping them, to get them up to speed, because, 2nd grade is going to require a lot more reading, and these two kids, if they don't catch up, are going to be hurting.

It is a bit astounding to think that 2nd grade kids can be behind. SECOND grade!

I haven't seen either of the movies, but I hear, Waiting for Superman and Going Nowhere are two documentaries about our educational system, from two very different perspectives.

I love how we, the American society, like to polarize EVERYTHING.

Get this, people. Different kids will require different kind of teaching! A child who has a hard time reading/writing must be encouraged/forced to read a lot, write a lot, ad nauseum. A child who has a hard time with math will need to write the multiplication table, again, and again, and again. A child who hates to sit down and learn stuff, then will need to have different ways of practicing math skills, like going to the store with Mom and figuring out the cost of each item, per ounce, as a way of practicing math. Kids who don't need homework, because they have mastered the concept, has already done the homework, perhaps not in the exact same form, but trust me, they have done the work. There are no short cuts about learning spelling, arithmetic, and the basics. By looking at words A LOT, one eventually learns how to spell. But if a child isn't exposed to looking at words, how on earth can a child learn it?

If I had more money/time to throw at the problem, this is how I want Aidan's day to be structured.

I would hire Aidan's teacher to be our 'governess'! And every hour, he would have a specific subject, they would fly through the material, and all the academic learning will be done by noon.

Then, after lunch, a Chinese tutor would come for an hour. He will then be whisked away to do ice hockey, with a team, you know, for socialization. He will then return after an hour, for some independent play, then, piano for another hour. Voila, by 4 pm, he would have mastered lots of new info, played, exercised, socialized, and then I can send him to weed, or send him door to door to collect money for some kind of philanthropy project.

Honestly, I think he will probably be bored with this schedule. He likes his friends, he likes to tell people about our fat cat, and it is good that he likes people. But I do think our children waste a lot of time at school, public or private.

LASIK

Once upon a time, when I was young and dumb, I wanted to wear glasses. All my favorite people wore them: My mom, my dad, my brother, my teachers.

Oh, to be young and so stupid.

In 7th grade, when I was really given glasses to wear, for the first few weeks, I kept forgetting them at home. My mom had to bring them to school for me, eventually, she made a sign by the front door: DO YOU HAVE YOUR GLASSES?

I moved on to contacts by 10th grade, thank the Lord. Over the years, my right eye kept getting worse, and my left eye maintained its sight relatively well. Eventually, I met 'medical necessity' due to the drastic difference between the two eyes, which meant, I could get either glasses or contacts, for free, every year. Still, in my new found older age and relative wisdom, I preferred to go all natural, sans glasses, whether on my nearly non-existent nasal bridge, or on my eye balls.

So I had Lasik done last week. The plan was that I would go and get it done, then call Hubby to take me home for a valium-induced nap. Alas, the surgeon's schedule fell behind, and by the time Hubby came for me, I was still in glasses. Boy, was I thankful that the surgeon was delayed. Due to my 'small palpebral fissures', it was a bit challenging to get my eyeballs totally flat and ready for the laser. (What was the surgeon thinking? Didn't he see that I am Asian?! Of course I have small eyes!) There were moments, when the suction cups came to my eye balls, that I was thinking, "giving birth without an epidural was better than this." It was better, because I had actually seen women give birth sans pain management, therefore, when I had to do it, unexpectedly, it wasn't so terrible.

As for eyes, my two weeks of ophthalmology rotation as a fourth year boiled down to three points:
1. I saw a lot of people with bad eyes due to high blood pressure or diabetes.
2. I was coughing on my patients for about a week, and I actually got sent home, so I actually did not have a 'two week' rotation in ophthalmology.
3. I really know nothing about eyes.
A totally useless experience for my own Lasik procedure.

Due to the difficulty with my small palpebral fissures, it was difficult to flip my cornea for the laser... so my poor eyes endured some 'bruising'. Dear God, my eyes HURT. It was like someone poured a WHOLE CUP of sand in each of the eyes, and then stomped on them.

The valium didn't really help. I was rather intrigued about taking some valium- people seek out this substance all the time, they run out early, 'lose them', and frankly, I wanted to know what the big deal was. I was utterly unimpressed. The valium did help me to go to sleep, but before I fell asleep, I was rather anxious! Probably didn't help that my eyes were tearing like two ginormous waterfalls, and I couldn't open them! So I heard thumping noises in my ears- probably my own heart rate, or someone really stomping on my eyes.

Anyway, I woke up four hours later, with excellent vision. Although, A&Z kept asking, "What happened to your EYES?" I told them, "I am secretly a dragon, just getting ready for Chinese New Year's." They didn't believe me.

These days, I still look for my glasses, out of habit, only to then remember, oh yeah, I did pay someone handsomely for lasering my eyes. I don't need glasses anymore.