shiso mama

Well, no, that’s not really the baby’s name. But our friends are expecting a baby pretty soon - he’s Polish and she’s Japanese (even if she did grow up in Amish country) - and that’s my vote for the combined last name they should give to their new baby. Speaking of names, my friend’s name is Yassy - we’ve been friends since freshman year of college - and years later, my family still calls her Yatzee. And they STILL refer to my old high school friend, Kenji, as Kimchee, or just “Pao Tzai,” which is Chinese for kimchee.

I made these lovebird rattles for Baby Chodkomoto. I hate loud, garish toys, and these things jingle softly, which I’m glad for. We have another friend, J, whose love for All Things Quiet led him on an extended search for a metronome that wouldn’t tick too loudly, and F and I now measure things by the J standard. If it’s quiet enough, we turn to each other and say, “Now, Jeremy Goldman would approve of that!” We think J would approve, of the tinkling anyways.

PS - Mr. and Mrs. Kwong, I haven’t forgotten about you!

I think Otis will end up being one of those kids who ends up getting expelled from preschool for inappropriately touching all the other kids.  Everywhere we go, he’s got his paws all over other little people, no matter how old they are.  No sense of personal space.  And he’s never bothered by the curious or hostile looks directed at him.

Otis’s girlfriend, Tyrah, came over yesterday.  Oh happy reunion!  He started out acting coy, burying his face in my shoulder.  That’s his act, you know.  Then he started in on the affectionate bit.  He ran up to her and hugged her, and when he dropped his arms from her shoulders, he grabbed her hand and held it.  I think maybe the day went downhill from there for poor Tyrah.

Here he is going in for YET ANOTHER hug, after he cornered her:

Here he is, about to make a grab for her butt, with a knowing glance at the camera:

Here he is, trying to make sure that she didn’t get out of hugging/grabbing distance:

Here she is, politely removing his grabby, grubby little hands:

But it couldn’t have been all bad for her, since they did end the day like this:

I was sitting here, looking at the poor kid and thinking that I dress him like a hobo.  Then I remembered that I’m yuppie scum, and the horrible realization sank in that I actually dress him like a boho.  Oh, despair!

I worry that Otis eats too much meat. When I buy the roasted chickens from Costco, the kid just sits there and rips the meat to shreds, leaving only the clean bones to throw away. Oh wait, that’s me, and I prefer picking at the carcass rather than eating the proper chicken-y parts. Does that sound gross? If so, you’re not Asian are you? Where was I? Right, so I always try to offer Otis some sort of balanced meal - protein, vegetable, carbohydrate - and I spend a lot of time trying to encourage him to eat his vegetables. And I do that worrying about the too much meat and try to think about alternative sources of protein. We’ll never go vegetarian, but I think it’s smart to have a more varied diet.

Evidently, this goes against the grain of everything my family stands for. For them, meat is the cure for all ills. Whenever F goes back to Taiwan with us, my family tries to press meat upon meat upon him. They always go back to their old standby of “F will like this pork dish, since he’s from the South! Shiso, dish F up some more pork!” For this very reason, my grandmother made the same pot of stewed pork three times in a row while we were in Taiwan and kept a mental tally of how much he ate at each meal. Courtesies abound at the Chinese dining table, and meat gets tossed around every which way.

And of course, a toddler should eat lots of meat too. Fifth Aunt Grandma K came over today, as she often does on Wednesdays, and asked me for the latest Otis report. Fever a few days ago, not eating as well. “Oh no! Poor baby! Let’s take Otis out for lunch! Some place where they have lots of meat!” Of course, I can’t complain, I’ve been freeloading tasty lunches every Wednesday for some time now, and I have managed to satisfy several cravings for Korean BBQ. Here’s what happened at lunch today:

K: Let’s order lots of meat.
me: Sure, that Gal Bi we ordered last time was pretty tasty.
K: Yeah, but I don’t think it was enough. Maybe we should order MORE meat. Last time you only ordered the lunch special. Maybe we need a big order.
me: Are you sure? I think it was quite a bit of meat.
K: I think there were only like 2 pieces.
me: I don’t think so. It’s like half of a full dinner portion.
K: It just didn’t seem like that much. But whatever you think.
me: I’m pretty sure it’ll be enough. That’s a lot of meat! He’s just a baby!
K: Well, um, I guess. If you think so. Looks at me extremely skeptically while pretending not to care.

Fast forward to food on the table.

K: Bebee! Bebee! Eat some meat!
me: It looks like he’s more interested in the rice and the pancake.
K: I don’t know what’s wrong with him today. He ate so much more meat last time!
me: I think he’s OK. Sometimes he just wants to eat one thing more than another thing. He’s eating enough.
K: Bebee! Here’s your meat!

Otis trying to get attention of the people at the next table and and generally not interested in eating his meat.

K: The meat today is better than last time. Here, bebee, here’s some meat!

You get the picture. I think even if was seriously entertaining the thought of going vegetarian, or even cutting his meat intake significantly, I don’t know that my family could handle it, much less approve. Oh right, and I’m lazy. I sometimes check in with Vegan Lunch Box, and I’m astounded that this mom can make veganism look so tasty, and the fact that her kid seems to get REALLY excited about eating boiled brussels sprouts.

Babies like to look at themselves in the mirror, don’t they? I remember when Otis was about 6 or 7 months old, we took some pictures of him sitting in front of the mirror. My professor aunt, whose tendency towards professorial inquiry permeates every facet of her life, inundated me with questions via email after she saw the photos. What does he do when he sees himself? Does he know that he’s looking at himself? What do you think he’s thinking about? She followed up with a suggestion that we try some sort of experiment with him - to place a red dot on his forehead and watch his reaction to gauge if he knew that he was looking at himself. We never did it. We’re pretty lazy, we were still somewhat sleep deprived and harried at the time, and we just don’t possess the intellectual curiosity. Oh, and we’re lazy.

Today, Otis and I were hanging out upstairs when he caught a glimpse of himself in the big mirror down the hall. He did his little Frankenstein walk down the hall, happy to see someone else his size. He pressed his face up close to the mirror, whispering; he practiced a few different fake smiles; he squinted at himself; he gave himself a kiss or two. He amused himself for some time. And then he decided to move on. Before he walked away, he gave himself a wave and a smile, said, “Bah!” and blew himself a kiss.

I guess it’s still a little unclear to me whether he knows he’s looking at his own reflection or not, since this is what he normally does with real people, only he didn’t try to put his head into his own lap. He’s gotta have this one figured out, doesn’t he? He’s not that dumb, is he?

Oh, and for those of you Sweet Juniper fans wondering, he did literally just tumble out of bed in these photos. It’s not my expert styling or hair cutting skills.

I read a great art and craft blog called whip up, and they have invited their readers to introduce themselves and their handicraft. Welcome if you’re here via whip up, and thanks for visiting! If you don’t know about whip up, go on over there and check it out (use the link below to check out other whiplash introductions). I started blogging as a way to keep my family and friends updated on life with Otis, my 15 month old. But as I’ve been writing longer, I’ve found that the content of the blog has changed, and I’ve started to post more about my own work and interests.

I recently started my collage-a-day project as a way to make sure that I do something creative each and every day. Between life with a toddler and the paralyzing feeling that a larger project can inspire, I’ve had little time and energy to create. I thought that this would be a way to take the pressure off; all I had to do was make something, and it didn’t matter if it was good or bad, took a long time or was just a simple scribble. It’s been incredibly pleasureable and although at times I feel lazy or uninspired, it’s something I look forward to each day. I started my project on May 6, and I’ve been fairly faithful to my project, with some spotty patches during our trip to Asia.

This is my collage for today:

If you click on the “collage-a-day” category, you can see the rest of those collages. If you click on “paper” then you can see those collages plus others. The collages have turned out to be a visual diary of sorts, although most people wouldn’t be able to say how. I’m so pleased that I decided to do this. I love the scale of the work, and I enjoy how it forces me to think creatively each and every day. And it’s even inspired me to finally get off my duff and work on some of the other projects that I’ve been mulling over.

Here are some of Otis's favorite jokes:

When it's bedtime and F's around, it's our normal routine to nurse and then call "Baba!  Baba!" for the boys to brush Otis's teeth, read a story or two, do the "room check" and then go to sleep.  Lately, when we call for F, he'll wait in my arms expectantly, with body slightly tensed up.  And as soon as F appears, he'll giggle, lean his body all the way horizontal and grab the door to shut it in F's face.  Then he'll laugh and laugh and laugh.  When F pokes his head through the crack in the doorway, more uproarious laughter and desperate closing of the door.  It's his favorite joke.   F says that it'll be his saddest moment thus far in parenthood when Otis decides that joke isn't funny anymore.  

Otis has been refusing to sit on his potty lately.  I bring him all his toys, I sit on the adult potty to show him how! much! fun! it is, but the kid's not convinced.  Often I just try to sit him down on the potty, but now that he's walking around and getting stronger, he'll do this "crazy legs dance" where his fancy footwork, combined with jellyfish spine and defiant, stony-faced expression, make it virtually impossible to set him down on the seat.  I tried to keep a straight face the first few times he did it, but it was really hard.  Eventually, I had to bring F in to see the dance, and we've both been laughing hysterically since then.  Nowadays, Otis will just break out into crazy legs dance and then sway his head back and forth like Stevie Wonder all the while looking at you to make sure you're getting the joke.  

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Speaking of funny things, WordPress has this feature which shows you what searches people do to get to your blog.  I don't get too many, but yesterday morning, someone found my site by typing "spank me I've been a bad boy Nurse."  F points out that I couldn't have come up very high on the hits, so this person must've been really really desperate to find some naughty, disciplinarian nurses.  Hm, maybe this post will bring me more traffic.