Tiger kisses.

November 25, 2014

Just now, I was playing with Ian and pretending to be a tiger looking to eat him.  He laughed as he ran away here and there around the room, looking for somewhere to go.  Deciding there was nowhere better to go, he ran to me with his mouth open, stooping over to kiss my tiger mouth.  I just had to laugh and squeeze him.

Currently reading through The Measure of Success: Uncovering the Biblical Perspective on Women, Work, and the Home by Carolyn McCulley and Nora Shank.  I’ve been following Carolyn McCulley’s articles and interviews on this topic for a year now, and I was really looking forward to her book release.  Turns out JE knows me better than I imagined, because the book came in the mail before I even had a chance to order it!  He heard about it and had it delivered to our home.

And … I promised JE I wouldn’t launch out on any crazy work ventures until I finished reading through this book.  Haha.  It’s giving me opportunity to reevaluate my priorities in this season of life and pray about what my “work” is to look like — in the home, toward my family, and other endeavors — all as unto the Lord.  That last part is trickier than I would have thought, and culture has informed my views of work and success more than I thought.  I wrestled with “ambition” in the past.  What ambition should look like for a believer and specifically for a believing woman (here, here, here).  Mostly generalities, and more questions than answers.  But with some understanding for my life as a single and then as a wife with no children.

But it’s time for a fresh application.  More on this to come.

On a completely different note, we discovered that Ian already inherited something from me.

That ugly cry.

Some people look really pretty while crying.  Sorrow still looks attractive on them, if that makes sense.  They can talk through their tears — some can even sing.  I don’t cry very often, but when I do, my face contorts and the well of pent-up emotion erupts all over my face.  JE says it’s a face of absolute pain and misery.  And nothing comes out but accompanying ugly sounds.

Ian has the same ugly cry, where his face contorts into a mixture of several emotions mixed into one look and sound of anguish.

Haha, sorry baby boy.  If you ever have a sister, I hope she cries prettier than we do …

What Ian ate.

March 16, 2014

Random post from time to time about what Ian ate.  Not that I’m encouraging this kind of diet, but I’m not omnipresent and he gets into things before I can stop him sometimes.

So I’m making a list to show him later:

The past few weeks, Ian has eaten labels, price tags, stickers, and the corners of holiday greeting cards.  And by “eat” I mean chew and either successful or unsuccessful attempts to swallow.

A few days ago, he ate the first half-page of his daddy’s Bible.  Good thing it wasn’t actual Scripture.  He almost succeeded in swallowing it, but I fished it out in time.

Today, I fell asleep on the couch in his room, and he grabbed the little tupperware of coconut oil that I use for him sometimes … and he ate it all.  Licked it clean.  Maybe 2.5 tablespoons of it.  I woke up to a greasy-faced little boy.  No wonder he was so quiet.  And I only slept for a few minutes.  I googled whether this would be an issue, and they said it’s good for him.  Good for his skin, too.  So I fed him his lunch as usual and left the oil on his face.

Whew.

A baby, school field, & pups.

February 24, 2014

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Our usual late afternoon walk.  Today, we went to the grassy field behind the elementary school near our home.  Soft, overgrown grass, clovers, patches of dirt and wiring where the kickball field? baseball field? is supposed to be, children, and pups.  And the warm, late afternoon sun.

I put Ian down.  A little island of boy in a sea of grass.  He’s initially a little icked out by the grass.  I smile at him.  It’s okay.  He brushes his fingers against the grass, his expression softens.  Soon, blades of grass in his chubby hands.  Not for eating, Ian.  He pulls his hands away from his mouth, disappointed.

Plop!  A wet frisbee lands to my right.  I look up, and it’s a … border collie mix?  He pants, looks at me, looks at the frisbee, and his body jerks with impatience.  Throw it! his eyes say.  Ian is intrigued.  I throw it as far as I can.  Off he goes!

His owner calls to him, but he races the frisbee back toward us instead and plops it down again.  I throw it.  Off again!  This repeats several times.

Around the 5th time or so, Ian cracks up whenever the dog races to retrieve the frisbee.  He thinks it’s hilarious.  The dog’s owner laughs, too.  I wish I had a free hand to take video, but I’m too busy throwing the frisbee.

Then swipe!  Another dog, no clue what breed, charges to Ian’s face to give him a wet kiss right on the chompers.  He runs off and then speeds back over again for another swipe!  Then he tries to repeat this, but the third time, I hold his face at bay.  No more kisses on my baby’s mouth!

The sun is sinking lower.  The dogs are still running around, now at the far end of the field.  I wave to the first dog’s owner.

Time to take my wet, grubby pup home for a bath.

Joys.

January 10, 2014

Just a few memories from the end of 2013 and beginning of 2014 I want to tuck away here:

5. We missed our flight on Christmas and spent 5 hours at the airport.  Ian was a meltdown mess by the time we arrived in SoCal, but those 5 hours were somewhat of a welcome respite in the midst of the holiday hustle.  But.  We’re driving from now on.

4. Ian’s first Christmas, and he blossomed over the holidays.  He really thrived under all the love and play with family.  Even at 7.5 months, he knows when he’s being loved.  He would break into a smile just at the sight of his grandparents or uncles.  He even started to charm.  He crinkles his eyes in a syrupy, smiley way and blinks at you.  Oh my.  God help us when he discovers girls.  And.  He started crawling today.  He and Bambi suddenly have a lot in common.

3. My father-in-law made me cry.  In a good way.  He and my mother-in-law went to morning prayer the last day we were in SoCal, and on their way home, they bought Jack in the Box for us for breakfast.  Ian was taking his morning nap, and JE and I were munching on some kind of waffles sausage breakfast sandwich.  (This has nothing to do with the point of the story, haha, but that salty-sweet flavor is so seared onto this memory.)  My father-in-law asked if we wanted to hear a story their pastor shared that morning, and he began to tell us about a poor man who lived in China.  This man only had a horse, and one day the horse ran away.  All the neighbors said, “Poor man.  His only possession is gone.”  But the man was unruffled and said, “No, this could turn out to be good.”  Some time later, his horse returned with a mare.  The neighbors couldn’t believe it.  “You’re a prophet!  This is wonderful and turned out just as you said!”  But the man was unruffled and said, “Well, it’s possible this could turn out to be not such a good thing.”  And some time later, his son was maimed while riding the horse.  The neighbors said, “He was right.  What a tragedy.”  But the man was unruffled and said, “No, this could turn to be good.”  One day, China went to war and called all her sons to the battlefield.  But since this man’s son was maimed, he couldn’t go.  All the neighbors’ sons died, but his was spared.  And you can imagine the neighbors’ reaction.  My father-in-law went on to say that this man wasn’t a Christian, but his pastor spoke of this: taking both trial and blessing from God’s hand as they come, trusting Him and not hanging our hopes on the ebb and flow of circumstance.  He explained everything in Korean, but I got the gist of it.  At this point, I tried really hard to hold it in.  I looked to JE, knowing what was coming, and the dam broke.  Not that I was unfamiliar with this kind of encouragement … but at the end of a very up and down holiday season, it was what I needed to hear.  And all the pent up pain and disappointment gushed out.  In a good way.

2. JE’s kind sense of humor.  Sometimes when I take things too seriously or am worked up or angry or frustrated, he just looks at me … and laughs.  Not in a mean way but in a way that conveys love and pity — and perspective.  It makes me laugh at how illogical and ridiculous I’m being.  This happened a number of times over the holidays.  More than I can count.  The man is a gift.  He never gives me what I deserve. ♥

1. One of my “little” cousins wrote me a letter.  She now knows and loves Jesus.  Answered prayer.  Nothing else matters, does it?  My heart is fulllll.  Brimming over.  Acts 20:24.  Nothing else matters.

Little boy thrills.

November 12, 2013

Ian loves being tossed up in the air.  It thrills him and scares him at the same time, so he shrieks with laughter but his thumb will find its way into his mouth, too.  And then he clings to our necks in an “excited but don’t-let-me-go!” fashion afterward.

Stay this small forever?

4:45 am at the Kim home.

October 15, 2013

This is an account that will probably be boring to anyone who is not JE, Ian, or myself.  Or our parents.  No, I take that back.  My dad will get bored.  Dad, don’t read this.  It will bore you.  But I’m writing this out so I don’t forget the lesson in it. :]

Ian has been waking up consistently around 5 am every morning because of an alarm, because of noise, because of some disturbance or another.  And I’ve been worried about it training him to wake at that hour.  So we’ve gone to extremes (read: I’ve truly been a bossyhead) to keep noise levels minimal in the morning.  White noise machine on.  Phones and alarms under our pillows.  Clothes set out the night before.  Walking slowly on the balls of our feet so the floor doesn’t creak and so we can sneak by Ian’s crib without stirring him.

Baby sleep idolatry at its (un)finest.

4:45 am this morning, I hear a high pitch chirp!  I’m immediately awake.  I listen, don’t hear it again, hear Ian’s easy breathing, and start to drift off to sleep agai … chirp!  This time, I tap JE and whisper, “Do you hear that?  I think it’s the smoke detector’s battery.”  JE stumbles out of bed.  “Shh!” I whisper.  He goes outside to investigate.  Chirp!  Ian’s doing leg lifts by now.  Meanwhile, chirp!  Long pause.  Chirp!

Noises outside the room.  I go outside to ask JE to investigate more quietly. Chirp!  “It’s the carbon monoxide detector!  Low battery!”

JE has his headlamp on and goes back in the room, looking for the detector.  Chirp!  “Turn off the light!”  JE turns it off and looks for the carbon monoxide detector in the dark.  Thud.  Tink.  “Shh!”  Chirp!  Ian is looking at all our crazy activity by now.  I’m burying my head in my hands.

Finally JE finds it and takes the battery out.  I look for the bathroom in the dark.  When I come back in the room, JE is wrestling a blanket from Ian’s hands and — from my perspective — “overstimulating” the baby.  I pull JE away from the crib.

We get back into bed.  Ian is playing in his crib.  5:00 am.

I’m rubbing my face with frustration.  JE is falling asleep already.  I hear more leg lifts from Ian’s side of the room.  And occasional “anyone there? come feed me and play with me!” sounds.

And as I lie in bed, tired but so frustrated and disgusting-hearted that I can’t sleep, it occurs to me: there’s no one to blame about that battery just happening to get low enough to set off the chirping at 4:45 in the morning today … except perhaps God’s sovereign sense of humor and timing.

5:25 am.  I ask JE for forgiveness for being so mean to him.  As if he set it off.  He’s loving and quick to forgive.  I quickly feed Ian and go back to sleep.  Kind of.

Later that morning, JE and I laugh about it.  Seriously?  The night we decide to go to extreme measures to create the perfect sleep-past-5-am environment for Ian, the carbon monoxide detector decides to chirp and wake him anyway.

Someone must have been praying for my sanctification.  Stop it.

Just kidding. :]