Labels: anything syndrome, appreciative, By Dawn Yun, grateful, Honda Insight, iPhone, IPhone 3GS, money, Prius, recession, something/aynthing, stuffed animal

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Labels: artistic, artistic daughter, By Dawn Yun, camping, East Coast Jewish girl, godparents, hotel, love ununconditionally, rock star, Seattle, second mother

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Labels: A minor chord, By Dawn Yun, cat scrams, D Minor chord, family support. doors closing, guitar playing, mid-life crisis, noise, own kind of music, rock one

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Labels: back to school, BFF, By Dawn Yun, children's reading choices, kids camping, lounge, Palo Alto, Seattle, summer vacation, write

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The baby and toddler years will always be amongst my most memorable memories. It wasn’t easy finding a group of women who felt the same exact way I did about mommying.

We shared insecurities, secrets, tips, and truly gave each other what was left of us that we didn’t give to our children.

Then -- something changed.

Maybe when my youngest went to kindergarten. When I began to work again. When I got diagnosed with an unexpected illness.

Suddenly, I could see clearly what I could not observe, or did not want to notice: true friendship.

And one person, who I thought was the most giving of people, upon closer inspection, really was not. Oh, there was so called generosity. Groceries in particular. She always came laden with them. And liked to present me gifts with that I neither needed, sought nor could use.

What she had trouble giving -- was herself. I noticed when I talked, she rarely listened. I babysat for her child way out of proportion to her watching mine. Then there were the unkind words that sometimes found their way out of her mouth. They were always so shocking that I was speechless in reply.

One day, after a particularly virulent spiel -- I could no longer ignore my internal voice. It yelled: MOVE ON!

The problem: her daughter and my daughter are great friends and I don’t want that ruined. We also run in similar circles.

This is where being a mother and the wisdom I’ve hopefully gained must come into play. This is not about me. This is not about her. This is about our children.

Still, there is sadness for what once and for what will no longer be.

I’ve always tried to create family from friends. My best friend at 11 is still my best friend today. I laugh as hard now with my college friends as I did with them back when we were in our 20s (a-hem, that being just a year or two ago).

I’ve been fortunate to have lived around the country and have friends in each place where I have resided. And I have incredible mommy friends who will be my sister-friends forever.

I am happy that by putting an end to something that once was beautiful but is now toxic, I am taking care of myself and I will be watchful for my daughter.

I will also be something else – mature, graceful and kind. The qualities I want my children to have.

Still, I am sad to lose a friend or the friend who I thought she was only to realize that person was an illusion.

Labels: baby, By Dawn Yun, childhood memories, Dreams, illness, illusion, kindergarten, toddler, true friendship

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Labels: By Dawn Yun, deadline, grief, happy, sucks, Sunday New York Times, upbeat, writer's block, yellow smiley face

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Monday was my daughter’s first day back at school after a two-week break. We went shopping so I could return some sweaters.

That was the plan. What resulted was anything but. The trip to the mall was one big exercise in getting something/having anything.

I was trying to look at bras with my five-year old. Now, a woman cannot be rushed when deciding on a bra. Mimi put one around her neck. “Does this fit?” she asked.

I laughed, but stopped when she darted. “I want something!” she yelled while grabbing underwear. “Please!?! Just this one thing?”

“Mimi, you’re too young for a thong,” I tried to reason.

There was no reasoning and it soon became apparent there was even less reason to stay. This resulted in a full-on tantrum. I led her by the hand to the car, her screams trailing behind.

There was a van parked extremely close to us. Its wheels were on the white line that should have separated our two vehicles. Mimi flung open the door and it hit the van, which was impossible to avoid.

I got her into the car seat and sort of noticed a guy getting out of the van and back in. When I opened my door, it scraped his. I got into my car and he bounded out.

It took me a second or two to realize how angry he was. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you have any respect? What’s wrong with you?”

My first thought: Fuck you. (Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.) But just as quickly, I thought: I have a child. So I calmly put the key in the ignition and said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was inconsiderate. It was my fault. I’m sorry, sir.”

He took a step toward our car. I wondered if he was going to smash the window.

“I should kick your fucking ass,” he said. “I should. I should do it. I should kick your ass.”

It is not so unusual to see this in New York, but in suburban Marin, it is. And, it was made more surreal because my child was there. I apologized, looked away, calmly closed the door, LOCKED it, put the car in reverse, and drove away.

“Why was that man so mad, Mommy?” Mimi asked.

“Some people are just mad, Mimi." I realized the irony as five minutes earlier I was that angry. “And sometimes people act out because they can’t express their feelings.”

She seemed to consider my words. I thought about them, too.

“Mimi, I know that being a child is really hard for you. You don’t like being told what to do. But you’ll get older. It’ll get easier. And no matter what, I’ll always love you. Always.”

I reached my hand out behind me and she held it. I smiled at her reflection in the mirror and she smiled at mine.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: bra sizes, By Dawn Yun, crazed man, mall, spoiled child, thong, underwear

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Labels: artistic daughter, Bravo, breast cancer, By Dawn Yun, clinical medical trial, ego boost, first grade, hugging, kindergarten, Parents' Night

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Anniversaries usually represent happy times. But the latest anniversary in my life was not a celebration. It was a remembrance of my mother’s passing.

I had sought a sign from her last year. Something that indicated to me that she was somehow still around.

It was night and nothing.

I was putting my then 4-year old daughter to bed when she suddenly turned, stared at the ceiling and said, “Whose face is that?”

I didn’t see anything, except maybe lint.

“I don’t know, Mimi, whose face is it?”

“Grandma Rae,” she said. Rae is my mother.

I smiled. I had my sign.

This year I was so busy that though I was aware of the date and sad, I didn’t really think about receiving a sign.

I had a meeting that day with my daughter’s teachers to discuss her progress and to ask for advice on how to get her to do her homework.

Since she loves art, they suggested that she draw a picture and then write a sentence describing it.

In the evening Mimi drew a picture. It was a unicorn with a rainbow below it.

“We need to write a sentence and sound it out,” I explained.

“The unicorn flies over the rainbow,” she said.

My mother’s favorite song was Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

I smiled. I had my sign.

Though my mother and daughter have never met, I somehow get the feeling that somewhere, some place, they have.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: anniversaries, By Dawn Yun, celebration, mother's passing, sign, Somewhere Over the Rainbow

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The baby and toddler years will always be amongst my most memorable memories. It wasn’t easy finding a group of women who felt the same exact way I did about mommying.

We shared insecurities, secrets, tips, and truly gave each other what was left of us that we didn’t give to our children.

Then -- something changed.

Maybe when my youngest went to kindergarten. When I began to work again. When I got diagnosed with an unexpected illness.

Suddenly, I could see clearly what I could not observe, or did not want to notice:true friendship.

And one person, who I thought was the most giving of people, upon closer inspection, really was not. Oh, there was the giving. Groceries in particular. She always came laden with them. And liked to give me gifts that I neither needed, sought nor could use.

What she had trouble giving -- was herself. I noticed when I talked, she rarely listened. I babysat for her child way out of proportion to her watching mine. Then there were the unkind words that sometimes found their way out of her mouth. They were always so shocking that I pretended they were unsaid.

One day, after a particularly virulent spiel -- I could no longer ignore my internal voice. It yelled: MOVE ON!

The problem: her daughter and my daughter are great friends and I don’t want that ruined. We also run in similar circles.

This is where being a mother and the wisdom I’ve hopefully gained must come into play. This is not about me. This is not about her. This is about our children.

Still, there is sadness for what once and for what will no longer be.

I’ve always tried to create family from friends. My best friend at 11 is still my best friend today. I laugh as hard now with my college friends as I did with them back when we were in our 20s (a-hem, that being just a year or two ago).

I’ve been fortunate to have lived around the country and have friends in each place where I have resided. And I have incredible mommy friends who will be my sister-friends forever.

I am happy that by putting an end to something that once was beautiful but is now toxic, I am taking care of myself and I will be watchful for my daughter.

I will also be something else – mature, graceful and kind. The qualities I want my children to have.

There is legacy and lesson in that.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: baby, By Dawn Yun, kindergarten, toddler

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I never feel more stupid than when I volunteer in my daughter’s kindergarten class.

Her teacher snaps out instructions. My job, I think, is to help the kids draw three pictures that describe their weekend and then write a one-sentence summation.

I’m supposed to help my daughter, Mimi, her friend, Anni, a boy, David, and a girl, Samantha.

“This way!” I say. Mimi goes the other way, as does giggling Anni, while David heads straight to his seat, as does Samantha.

“Mimi! Anni,” I admonish. The giggling girls slowly come over. “Okay, let’s draw!” David sketches, as does Samantha. That leaves the other two, who do not.

“How are things going?” asks the teacher.

Obviously, not well.

“Mimi and Anni, start drawing please,” she says. “We’re running behind.”

Running behind? I look around at the other parent-volunteers. Paul and his students look extremely absorbed. He seems to display quiet authority.

I can try that. Not that I get the chance. Somewhere between looking up and looking down, another parent-volunteer swoops in and takes over teaching David and Samantha.

Is this a parent-volunteer-student steal? Is somebody saying I can’t handle teaching four children at once, which I obviously can not, but still. . . And why take those two? The easy ones. Why not my daughter and her friend? The challenging duo.

“Good work!” the parent-volunteer-student stealer says proudly to David and Samantha, as they continue to draw. She smiles at me.

After much cajoling, my two remaining little students finally draw their pictures and write a sentence.

“Can you stay for a few minutes?” the teacher asks.

She leads me to a table in the back upon which sits several sheets of black construction paper, a white pencil and scissors. She holds up a circle.

“I need you to make twelve of these.” She draws a circle in the air with her finger. “Think you can do it?”

I look nervously from paper to pencil to scissors and finally nod. “I think I can.”

I carefully lay my pre-cut sample against the very edge of the paper and trace. I leave an inch of space between and then draw another circle and repeat the pattern. I precisely cut, taking deep breaths along the way.

“Your daughter is smart,” says another parent-volunteer who approaches my table.

I protectively cover my circles with my hands, fearful she may take them.

“Your daughter does her work. She’s just taking advantage of you because you’re here.”

“Oh!” I shriek. “I was really worried because I thought she couldn’t draw. I thought she couldn’t write. . .”

I suddenly stop externalizing my internal insecurities. I don’t even know this mother. “Thank you!” I say displaying all my teeth. 

The woman gives me a small, knowing smile back.

I return to my circle cutting.

Sometimes, the most mindless tasks can provide the greatest peace of mind.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: By Dawn Yun, children's school volunteer, construction paper, kindergarten, nirvana, scissors, teacher

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Labels: aunt, By Dawn Yun, declining health, good person, health, mother-in-law, quality of life, stroke

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No matter how early I get up, I’m always late in bringing my daughter to school.

After spending a couple of hours at my desk writing in the morning, one would think that this initial sense of accomplishment would propel me to ensure that I would succeed in getting my daughter out the door, in the car and into her classroom on time.

It doesn’t.

It seems like there is always something. And that something always seems to come during the last, critical five minutes before school departure.

My five-year old will suddenly have to go to the bathroom; need me to admire her output; wipe her bottom; want a different breakfast; have a stain that can’t be hidden; can’t find a sock; doesn’t like her shoes; hasn’t brushed her teeth; asks if she has to go to aftercare; cries that she has to go to aftercare; wants to have a spirited discussion on why she has to go to school at all.

Those five minutes are the difference between getting to school on time and missing the second bell.

I always think, “Made it!” when the bell hasn’t rung. When it already has, I have to make a decision. Do I press my daughter through the classroom door, where all the other children are already sitting neatly at their desks, and smile at or avoid the teachers, or admit defeat and trudge into the school office and ask for a late slip.

Gail, the women at the front desk, already knows my name. I can only attribute this to our tardiness.

I wish I could figure out a way to magically make us arrive at school on time. But the truth is that I have been late for everything my entire life, including my own wedding, so it’s really no surprise that I’m late bringing my daughter to school.

Or that my daughter is late on her own.

The thing about progeny is that they inherit the good and the not so good.

Oddly, for some reason, I’m always one of the first mothers for school pick-up. And Mimi is always one of the first kids in line waiting to be picked up.

She loves to possesively shout, “My mommy’s here!” her hand waving wildly in the air, while her Hello Kitty! backpack wiggles behind her.

While school mornings usually have insane beginnings, afternoon pickups almost always have happy endings.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: back to school, bathroom, breakfast, By Dawn Yun, Hello Kitty, late, late slips

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My husband has taken the kids camping and left me to have a precious twenty-four hours to myself.

It is a gift.

I walked them to the SUV, gave kisses and hugs and waved as the car descended down the hill. Then I opened the gate, skipped down to the house and ran inside.

I noticed something unusual.

Quiet.

I liked the sound of it.

I checked e-mails without fear of being interrupted.

I read four stories online in The New York Times.

Four!!!

Then I felt guilty. The running To Do List in my head noted we were out of everything: paper towels, napkins and, perhaps more importantly, dinosaur chicken nuggets, my daughter’s sole source of protein. It looked like I’d have to go to Costco.

Just the thought made me tired so I decided to take a nap -- because for once, I could. As I walked to the sofa, a thought occurred to me – you’ve been given a present – open it.

Costco could wait. Suddenly, I was no longer tired, I was energized! This really could be all about ME, instead of Mimi, Jay and John.

I love them beyond human comprehension, but sometimes the requirements of family can be taxing. Sometimes, I just need time alone.

I changed course and drove to the DVD store. I luxuriously walked from one end of the store to the next without having to go to the children’s aisle first.

I could get an adult drama. Capote. I could get a comedy. The Squid and the Whale.
I felt like the little parent who could.

John had given me this gift once before. Then it was for two days. I remember the first twenty-four hours I was giddy with freedom. By the second, I couldn’t wait for them to come home.

I knew then that my single days were over. But I could pretend now.

I popped in the first DVD. With my cat curled in my lap, a blanket swathed around us, I would enjoy this private time.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: By Dawn Yun, Capote, cat, DVD, family away, free time for mom, husband, movies, quiet, THe Squid and the Whale, time alone

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It has been well documented that after a baby comes, a woman's brain cells go.

Labels: By Dawn Yun, guitar, independent children, listening, math, please, singing, tantrums, vet

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I was sitting in a café with another woman having coffee when she told me she had something she wanted to share.

“I used to weigh twenty-five pounds more than I do now.  And I’ve kept it off ever since,” she said with a self-satisfied nod.

“R-e-a-l-l-y?” I said. “That’s, that’s great!”

Another time, in this same café, a younger woman who I was having coffee with said, “I lost twenty-five pounds on Weight Watchers. I’ve kept it off ever since.”

“R-e-a-l-l-y?” I replied. “That’s, that’s great!”

If one more woman shares her weight-loss success story with me ever again I’m going to tell her to, well, I’m afraid what I’m going to tell her.

I get the sharing. I appreciate the encouragement. But it’s not like I don’t know that I’m fat. I used the F word. Let me say it few more times; fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat.

FFFFFFFFF-----------AAAAAAAAAAAAA------------TTTTTTTTT!

I’m a big mama.

When my daughter lays on me she says there is more to love. She has also said hurtful things about my weight, which have led to long talks about accepting people for who they are, not what they look like.

My son has never said anything negative about my weight and has told me that it doesn’t matter. He has been heavy himself and is now thin. He claims that he doesn’t feel better or worse about himself. He feels the same.

I came by my weight gain honestly. First by having a baby when I was older. Then I lost the weight. Gained some back. Lost some more. I exercised like crazy. I took long, intense walks.

Then I was diagnosed with cancer, insanely volunteered for a clinical medical trial that nearly drove me insane. During the course of it I gained 40 pounds. One might think one of the doctors -- I’m being kind here, they were not doctors, they were researchers and I was not a patient, I was a research subject -- might have said something? No, they just gave me more medication to apply to my now larger body.

My blood pressure steadily increased over the 18-month long study. Twice, nurses jumped back at the high numbers. I said it was just nervous. Who wouldn’t be afraid when the outside of the building says, Advanced Cancer Care. Just that word.

The researchers never said anything about my high blood pressure, either. Gotta get results!

The study finally ended. Today I take a variety of medications. Some can cause weight gain. Last year I finally had long-put off foot surgery. I stupidly thought I would be up and about in a month. I slowly learned that it takes about a year to fully heal. But the original problem has led to other troubles. I sometimes fall. I fell two weeks ago outside the mall. Last week my ankle caved and l landed on my desk, papers flying, pain going wah-wah.

My husband pines for my former, thin self. He gently suggests that maybe, perhaps, um, if I just lost a little weight, my foot problems would disappear. My surgeon and physical therapists disagree. It would help, they say, but it’s not the cause.

The other day my nephew, Alex, in Chicago, asked how I was doing. Then he abruptly said, “Have you lost weight?” I was crushed. My sister asked when I was coming to visit. “Not for a while,” I said. I used the cold as an excuse.

That’s my last pretext. It IS time to lose weight. Today I began eating healthy. It’s not a diet. I won’t ever diet again. I tried Jenny Craig and actually gained weight on it. Can you imagine? And I didn’t even cheat! Basically I paid hundreds of dollars to get fatter (that word again!).

I’ve been a vegetarian, though an irresponsible one, for more than twenty-five years. I know how to eat well. I realize that Cheetos and Dreyer’s Slow Churned Rich & Creamy Cookie Dough ice cream do not count as vegetables. But, oh, are they ever delicious!

My exercise simply can no longer be at the same intensity as it once was. I can’t walk up or down hills. I’ll have to find flat areas. I will have to start at the gym with an exercise bicycle and see what else I can use. I tire easily. I know I will watch longingly as I see others exercising hard, while I do my “soft” routines.

My hope is that by eating healthy, not going near the scale, and exercising and walking as I can, I will be able to drop a few sizes.

Minorities and certain religions experience the greatest prejudice. I might also argue that it is the overweight that suffer, as well. They are ignored, made fun of, and pre-judged. As a formerly thin person, I can attest to this – because I am guilty of those things, too.

A few months from now, just as my son said about himself, I will still be the same person. Only I will be smaller. When people see me they won’t do so with fear. Afraid that if I gained weight, so might they. For some, nothing is more frightening. I’ve already experienced greater horrors.

For me, losing weight will mean meeting a simple goal: I want to be able to tuck.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: big mama, By Dawn Yun, Coffee, diet, exercise, heavy, Jenny Craig, overweight, Weight Watchers

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Making the bed is a metaphor for my life.

If I make it -- the day will go well. If I don’t -- bad things can happen.

I make my bed.

Since I can’t reach my son’s top bunk bed, I leave it undone. But I figure that since it’s up so high, I get a metaphoric pass.

I stop in front of my daughter’s bed. Her Hello Kitty! sheets and blanket are askew.

The bed must be made.

I arrange her stuffed animals at the end, tuck the sheets tight into hospital corners and take care to evenly spread the blanket.

As I sit on top of the bed, near the headboard, this is where the sheets and cover really need to be evened out.

But I am overcome with the thought that rather than make them, I want to go under them.

I don’t have time for this. I have too many things to do. This is too much of an indulgence.

I lie on the bed and tuck the covers all around me up to my neck, and then I draw them over my head.

This is nice.

I have time alone. Nobody knows I’m here. I don’t have to deal with my son not doing his homework. I don’t have to explain to my daughter why I won’t buy her something/anything new. I don’t have to tell my husband why it was necessary for me to buy Orgins skincare products from Nordstrom's rather than ones at Walgreens. I don’t have to throw the ball to my cat. I don’t have to worry about my cancer. I don’t have to answer the phone. I don’t need to return e-mails. I don’t have to feel guilty about not writing.

I -- can -- just – be.

“Mommy?”

Or maybe I can’t.

“Why are you under the bed like that?” my daughter, Mimi, says. “Are you hiding!”

“Yes.”

“Can I climb in with you?” she asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. Together we snuggle, in the dark, under the covers.

“I like to hide,” she says.

I do, too, but when you’re a mother -- it's not often that you get the chance.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: breast cancer, bunk bed, By Dawn Yun, cats, daughters, Hello Kitty, hospital corners, Norstrom's, snuggle, Walgreen's

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It was that time of the day again.

Unlike the five to six p.m., witching hour when kids go insane due to a) lack of food, b) overstimulation, c) boredom, or d) the usual need for attention: the discussion of wounds usually begins upon school pick-up.

“Mimi!” I scream when I see her walk out of her classroom. At seven, she still lets me give her a big hug.

“Mama,” she’ll say pulling away, her face scrunched into seriousness. No jokes. No asking what she learned (not that wants to share that anyway).  No. None of the above.

It’s Scar Time!

Mimi pulls up her dress to reveal the latest mark to add to her vast collection of scrapes, cuts and other wounds.

This is followed by a long, very detailed cause of said scar. Most often it is a fall.

“Did you cry, baby?” I ask with concern.

If it’s a big, one, sometimes she does. Mostly, she holds it in. “I wanted to but I didn’t,” she says proudly.

“Brave girl!” I say.

Then she reveals to me in intense detail, complete with recreations, of how it all happened. She will hold up the scar, even if this means contorting her body, and hoisting the dented body part an inch from my eyes.

It is terribly important that I SEE it. So close, how could it be missed? It’s practically in 3-D.

Like watching geese gather, often children spilling out of other classes will notice her demonstration and come running over to see the wounds, or, rather, medals.

Then, of course, the other kids are compelled to roll up their sleeves, lift their shirts and tug on pant legs to share – and compare -- their bruises.

There can be competition.

“Mine is so much redder than yours.”

“You wouldn’t believe the blood that came out of that cut.”

“I almost had to go to the hospital.”

“I DID go to the hospital.”

“I went to the hospital and got stitches!!!”

Clear winner! Clear winner!

Scars – nature’s tattoos for kids.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: bruises., By Dawn Yun, children's scars, scrapes

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