My amazing parents

I turned 38 this year, a rather uneventful number, as it really is only a number.  I don't know what it is, be it this number or that it's been almost a year since I left my career in science to stay at home and raise my family.  But, something has changed.  No.  A lot has changed.

I have looked more closely at my parents, and really tried to understand things from their perspective.  It's not easy.  I have portions of their genetic makeup, been taught their morals and values, fought against these very same ideals, and watched them change as they raised their children in a foreign country.  And, I've watched them age.  It's not easy.

By the time my mother was my age, she had given birth to six children.  She held her youngest in her arms, and herded the other three as she escaped her war-torn country.  During the escape, as she headed towards China Beach to meet my dad and remaining two kids, she watched other escapees get gunned down by Viet Cong snipers, fall to the ground, get roughly kicked out of the path to make room for others running where everyone else was going, rivers of blood marking the road in a macabre map to safety.  All the while, holding her baby in her arms, keeping a watchful eye over her other children, counting to make sure the number was right: "Yes, yes, they are all here."  

In the midst of the confusion and hysteria of the escape, she was separated from my father, and did not know if she would ever see her country, her husband or her extended family ever again.  As the overly-crowded American ship transported the hundreds of refugees to Guam, a storm brewed around the ship in the night.  My mother, alone with her thoughts that have not been given voice to this day, stood on the deck, gripped the railing, and stared blankly into the night.  The rain and ocean mixed together in a furious fight with the winds, hitting her from every direction, soaking her and whipping her face and long hair.  But she stood, serene, and watched it.  Watched her life as she had known it simply disappear.

She and my father were eventually reunited, and waited months in desperate hopes the remainder of their families would also successfully escape from what was once South Vietnam, but now fallen to the Communist North.  They waited until they realized their family would not arrive, and waited as fate took them here, to the United States.  They were both 35.  Every day since that fateful day in April when they left Vietnam, then reunited and were brought to this country, they have thanked God for His many blessings.  They made it out with all of their children, alive.  

I have watched as my parents age, slowly losing their memory, but unbelievably growing stronger every day in their gratitude for the graces God gave them, and their love for their children and grandchildren.  Their love is boundless.  They are amazing, this little old couple with such a tremendous story.  A story I've been told I should share, but I simply do not have the words.  

I don't know what made me write this entry; I only know I've been wanting to talk about them for a very long time, but the words just would not come.  We sometimes drive each other crazy, but they are the most amazing people I have ever known.  I am so grateful and proud to be their daughter, and as I watch them, I hope that I make them happy.  And I hope that as their memory dims, they don't remember the times I lose my patience.

My home is protected by warriors. Be warned.

Ethan woke this morning, full of fire and energy, as usual.  He wanted to show what would happen to us if we did not respect his power--remote control, dismantled! He bites his lower lip to emphasize the sheer strength he has stored up in his deceptively small arms--GRRRR!!!

This earns him the title of Kung Fu Master Ethan.  When you are a Kung Fu Master, it does not matter that your bandana is light purple.  You can see Ally is really intimidated.

Moving onto other things to destroy...this is now Kung Fu Master Godzuki.

But somehow, Mommy is still the ruler of all things fun.  Kung Fu Godzuki and his sensei resume their duties and clean the house, still in uniform.

Sledding adventures with Daddy

After last week's blizzard, Sam and I insisted the kids get bundled up and out of the house.  Johan was the most reluctant, followed very closely by Ethan.  I do not count myself because my intent was to get all of them outside, lock the door, and enjoy some peace and quiet.  But someone had to capture evidence of attempts to freeze our children, right? 

Ally was very excited to go sledding with her Daddy.  The slope from our front-to-backyard is pretty impressive for a small child, and serves well for sledding.  Turns out it works best if the snow is not knee-deep in some spots.  Here, Ally is assessing the situation as she heads down the "hill" to the backyard:

Poor child kept falling out of the sled, and her Daddy had no idea until she was almost frozen to the ground:

They finally made it to the top (after tipping over several more times), across the front yard, and to the other side...only to have Ally tip over again:

Johan and Ethan would have none of the tipping over.  I think they figured out that it was intentional on Sam's part.

Finally, my babies were allowed back in the house to make a mess and lounge in front of the TV as God intended:

A blizzard brings clarity to our family

I am not blogging about the three consecutive snow days that almost lead to mass hysteria across the nation. Because you, too, experienced it and do not need a recap on that nightmare, nor do you need to be reminded that you came this close to doing what virtually every parent and child thought on the third day: I am going to just walk outside and freeze myself to a slow death because that would be preferable to this unending hell. No, I do not need to talk about that.

I will, however, talk about what happened to Sam's ongoing plea to have a third child as we came upon our third snow day. You see, Sam chose to risk life and limb and go to work, and NOT allow us to meet him for lunch because after 1 1/2 days, he had HAD it. When he got home from work, he found the kids and me in such foul moods with each other. Honestly, it was not because any one of us was misbehaving; we were just TIRED of seeing each other. So as Ethan was screaming like a pterodactyl at everyone and everything in his path, Ally was picking fights with her mini-dinosaur brother and I was offering both of them to go for a nice walk outside in the nude, Sam commented "Ok, I have decided I'm okay with only 2 kids."

Then this morning, the beautiful sound of reason came from none other than my sweet, perfect Ally, age 5. The thought must have been growing in her mind for some time until it finally found voice, out of nowhere:

"Mommy, there is only one me, and I cannot take care of more than one baby. If you guys have another baby, you should wait until Ethan gets older. But you know, if you give Daddy a third child, he'll just want another and then we'll have four children in this family! Let's just get a dog."

That child is perfection.

Kindergarten has changed. A lot.

In celebration of 100 days of school, Ally was asked to put together a "Collection of 100".  I have virtually no artistic or creative ability.  Thank goodness the instructions were to let the child's imagination direct this project.  I imposed my OCD to make sure everything was somewhat aligned, and the following is the result:

This required the use of a hot glue gun, and it is nothing short of a miracle that we both emerged NOT glued to the poster board, nor did we suffer any serious burns.  I was very proud of what we had accomplished together, and thought "I might be able to pass kindergarten after all."  While admiring our work, Ally told me "All the other kids have 100 of the same thing on their projects."

WHAT?!?!

I just know I am going to get a letter from school.  And, I may not pass kindergarten after all.