EDIT – I think I’m finally done. Come see! No more updates here, so please update your blog rolls. Thank You!

milktongue.com

Ok, the layout is still getting worked out — but due to a fortuitous turn of events (aka free hosting) I registered milktongue.com and I’m moving over. Same content, new cooler name.

It’s cool, right? Everybody update your links. Thank you!

In 4th grade I had a crush on a boy named Jason. We lived a few streets apart and had been playmates since we were small. Our parents would joke about how someday we’d get married and after awhile I found this speculation rather comforting. I felt very proprietary toward him although I don’t think he ever really returned my feelings.

One afternoon in science class, our teacher thought of a demonstration to show how 2 pieces of matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time. She asked Jason to sit in a chair at the front of the classroom and then asked someone to volunteer to sit on his lap. I wanted to be chosen so badly but I knew I couldn’t raise my hand.

Too sensitive to put up with the teasing that would follow and too proud to give Jason the satisfaction of knowing I liked him, I sat in my seat, hands demurely in my lap and stared. I mustered all the attention and focus at my 10 year old command and in a Matildaesque moment of glory, my teacher and I made eye contact. She picked me! I rose from my seat primly and as though I could barely be bothered to, walked to the front of the room and found my place in my beloved’s lap.

Today is the first day of 4th grade for Mitten. I’ve had an astonished “I can’t believe you’re in ___ grade” moment every year since preschool though this year feels different because I remember my own 4th grade year so very vividly. I was on the cusp of adolescence and all the social trials that go with that time occupied my full attention. Mitten is no different. I’m hoping I can guide her through this with a bit more grace than I had. It would help if she inherits my psychic powers.

(p.s. Jason married his high school sweetheart. They have 5 kids. They named their first daughter Katherine.)

Today as I pulled into the parking lot of New Seoul Garden, I sang a little song to myself.

“…kalbi chim, oh kalbi chim – I will eat you, kalbi chim…”

I love kalbi chim and yooke jang and bibimbap. I like them even better than mashed potatoes when I’m feeling run down though I certainly don’t have to be sick to enjoy them.

Here is The Boy, sucking on the bones.

My husband and I recently caved to family pressure and agreed to have Toot and Pickle baptized. Recovering catholics ourselves, we weren’t going to go through all the rigamarole of attending baptismal classes but we told our parents that if they could make it happen without us, we’d show up with the kids on the appointed day. Well, Halmoni got it done and the kids are scheduled for their “dunking” in early November.

Free from original sin? Pffft. I get to buy baptismal clothing!

I ordered this dress for Toot and a matching, fully functional miniature tie for Mr. Baby from Bellasofia on Etsy. I know where to get him a white dress shirt but I’m still looking for the perfect pair of pants. Time to visit Janie and Jack.

I was on the phone with a friend this morning when I heard Toot shouting something at her sister. It took a minute to resolve the sound from background noise Toot-speak to standard English but when I did, I realized she was shouting “night of debauchery!” over and over. Thank you, Spongebob Squarepants. I cannot properly express how happy it makes me that she knows and uses this phrase.

Just a few minutes ago she was standing on our bed rocking a notebook and singing the first verse of rock-a-bye-baby. In tune.

I have a feeling that the deployment of her father’s ultra-withering “Your continued existence offends me” look is not far behind.

Two anecdotes proving that I am well on my way to decrepitude.

Coming from the park, I was turning on to Maple Road when two of these guys jumped out into traffic. They were aimed at a bar on the other side of the street. Annoyed that they were too cool to use the crosswalk provided, I paused and then went around them. Through the open window of my mini-van I heard one shout, “……soccer moms!” I gave them a “hand signal” as I stopped at the crosswalk only a few feet away.

My mother looked at me in amused disapproval.

“Sorry” I said. “But he called me a soccer mom! He gets the finger.”

____________________________________

Later that day I was talking with my dad about the guitar lessons he’s offering to members of his church youth group. In an effort to engage the kids, he asked them for the names of current bands whose music they might like to learn. Since names were not forthcoming, my father mentioned a few bands he thought they might like. He also told them a horrible groaner about Kurt Cobain and “decomposing”.

*crickets*

Probing why his “hilarious” joke had fallen flat he realized that not one of them had ever heard of Nirvana.

After 3 glorious months on a local project, my husband is back on the road.

It’s been a great summer though.

Spook Country is on deck now and its not fairing well in comparison. I like Gibson’s tech heavy multi-culti aesthetic and his wasabi mashed potato comfort plots but I think his characters are getting a bit aggressively something. Like everyone has too many /’s in their descriptions – afro-chinese-cuban/midget/ninja/hacker/conceptual artist. Anyway, I’ll report back when I’m finished.

Spook Country got better but not that much better. When Gibson wrote about the mysterious footage in Pattern Recognition and Cayce Pollard’s obsessive search for its creator, it felt truly genuine – you got a heroine working on resolving much more than just the central mystery and a web phenomena that I could easily picture myself becoming involved with. This one never got there. The plot was limp and the most interesting characters were sorta peripheral.

Random other observations: to my great relief, the most obvious moralizing re: the Iraq war was delivered in a semi-oracular style by a stoned benzodiazepine addict.

Is “the old man” Winn Pollard? Other than mutual comparison to William Burroughs, I don’t think the text supports it – thank god.

Why are the recent heroines of Gibson’s work so prone to getting expensive haircuts on Blue Ant’s dime?

Here’s hoping the last book of this series turns Spook Country into a pleasant pause in the real action.

Yesterday, the AC crapped out on us for the second time this month. Since it was hovering around 100, I spent the day wringing my hands over the possibility of having to install a new furnace and wringing out my t-shirts. By 10pm, I was crabby and the kids (+1 friend) were wilted. Faced with the prospect of nursing a sweaty baby in our sweltering 2nd floor bedroom, I booked a room at the Sterling Inn. Yasuro, wonderful man that he is, opted to stay home with the dogs, the better to meet the repair tech scheduled to arrive between 8 and 12 the next morning.

A quick stop at Meijer snagged a 2$ bathing suit (score!) for our guest, 2 bottles of orange soda and a pack of Oreos. I checked in at 10:30pm, The Boy in arms, a 9 year old, a 7 year old, and a 28 month old trailing behind. The room seemed a bit dodgy but the sheets were clean. I cranked the in-room AC as high as it would go, turned on the Disney Channel and started handing out sugar. Everyone but me was fast asleep by midnight.

I lay across the end of the bed and read Alternadad till bleary eyed at 2:30, I passed out. Morning came (a bit too) quickly and we proceeded to check out, have breakfast at Tim Horton’s and return to the inn’s attached waterpark till 2:30pm today. Having 4 to keep a close eye on and entertain is exhausting but the kidlets all had a great time and the AC repair at home only cost 144$. Less than last time and not a new furnace! Woo!

My mother in law and I were destined for one another. She may not have seen it at first but I think she’s coming around. From the proprietor of our favorite sushi/bibimbap joint telling her that she and I have a similar bearing to our mutual love of shopping – all signs point to “daughter you never had”.

If only I could speak Korean…

Today we had lunch at Steve’s Deli (Husband, Mom, the kids & I) then we went shopping at a boutique stuffed to the rafters with really cute and correspondingly expensive European children’s clothing. Thanks to Halmoni’s munificence, no one went home empty handed. I appreciate her generosity – but even more so, her happiness with constantly holding the grandson who is now approximately 1/5th of her total body weight.

paul frank skullie