Noah Smacks One...

Ball. Ball. BALL!

Enough already!

Now that we're married, I feel like it's time for the truth to come out. I know...I know...David could very possibly feel like he bought into a lemon, but one can only hide behind a mask for so long before the ugly truth comes out.

And since we're married, that makes it a done deal.

I feel that under the safety and protection of marital contract, I can now be honest and show my true colors. Because what's he going to do? Last time I checked, though children come with return policies, spouses do not (I think unless you're Catholic?)...

I *like* baseball. And that's about it. And as the end of baseball season slowly comes to an end, I feel as though there is a light at the end of the tunnel and soon our family can function like a normal one without the ever present lurking of MLB -- hovering around us, in my home, my car, my husband's soul, and my child's young and impressionable mind.

I am almost afraid of the day that the Giants win the World Series. David could very possibly request that we permanently mark our bodies with the orange and black letters to memorialize the monumentous occassion. Thank goodness we are not of Hispanic descent; GIGANTES is a lot of letters.

Oh, gosh...

Now, I'm feeling guilty. Sorry, David. I know, I am violating the vows I made on our wedding day:

I, Grace, take you, David and the SF Giants, to be my husband and home team, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

Minds grow less and less malleable over the years. So David's attempt to completely brainwash me has been marginally successful. Like I said, I *like* the Giants. Since Omar's retirement, there has been less of an appeal, but Lincecum is fun to watch on occassion. Most entertaining are the idiots who scramble and clamor all over each other for a worthless foul ball. I was at Walmart the other day and you can buy a whole bucket for $20 bucks.

But take a brand new baby with a blank canvas for a mind; a person could do horrible things. David has been programming the child to be a Giants FUH-NAH-TICK. He insists that it is inate. An inborn, internally driven interest that we should nurture and cultivate. But I think some foul play is at work when my two year old screams "COFFEE!" whenever we pass a Starbucks and cries out "Giants!" at the sight of the Bay Bridge.

Members of the Jury, I present to you my case:

At two years of age, Noah has developed an obsession.

He is OBSESSED with baseball. And, yes, I would categorize it in the fanatical range. Possibly requiring some rehabilitation.

1. The first thing he asks for in the morning is milk and ball.
2. The first thing he does in the morning is grab his ball, bat and glove.
3. He plays ball when he wakes up.
   
4. He plays ball before he goes to sleep.
5. His favorite movie is 'Fever Pitch'.
6. He sees YouTube on the browser and expects to watch 'Ball'.
7. His bed time song is 'Take me out to the ballgame'.
8. He prefers KNBR over 'VeggieTales'.
   
9. His preschool teacher noted the Giants backpack, Giants lunchbox, and Giants jacket.
   
10. We fulfill his vocabulary quota at doctor's visits with baseball terminology. The average 2 year old should possess about 50 words. At our last visit he had about 15. 10 of which were related to various activities on the field: ball, pitch, homerun, 'Caught it!' (that counts as two), bat, 'Out!', 'Go Giants!', 'Strike!'.

I know...it's cute right?

But, put yourself in my shoes. It's not just my kid. David's all up in that madness too. Fo' reelz do! Now, is it home fritters or home fries? See, I get so worked up, it makes the ghetto come out in me.

I leave you with these images as my closing statements:

Facebook vs. Blogger

Since my (relatively) recent adoption of Facebook, I haven't been blogging as much. I love the social aspect of Facebook, but I think I prefer blogger yet still. Probably because I feel like the quality of social interaction on blogger is 'quality time'.

I wish more of you blogged...and if you do, I wish you'd tell me where you blog so that I can keep up with your posts.

If you don't blog...well, my loss I guess.

Noah and Emma are growing up. I've introduced solids this past week and unexpectedly while I was feeding her yesterday, Noah wanted to participate. It was an interesting moment that made me realize how fleeting these years are, how quick life passes us by.

Recent Pictures

Long time no see...

Hi All,

Life's been so busy. BUT I do have a monumental occasion to share with you all.

Okay. Maybe not monumental, but it's a big deal for me because I've been wanting it for so long.

We finally bought an SLR.

Looooooooove it!

Take a peek, the pictures are amazing:


That lasagna looks good, doesn't it? It's been a work in progress. The culmination of a very long arduous process finding the perfect balance between cheese, sauce and meat. Each component requiring numerous trials in the great search for cheesy, saucy, lasagna perfection.



These gorgeous little gems are quick, easy and delicious beyond belief. Make sure you buy good tomatoes. These are Sun Golds and Sweet Reds. Toss in olive oil to coat along with finely diced garlic*. Drizzle 2-3 tbsp of good aged balsamic vinegar over the tomatoes; good balsamic vinegar is sweet and a little thick almost like a reduction. A typical bottle will cost ~$20, but trust me -- well worth the money. Drizzle the vinegar over the tomatoes, toss and you will see that they form tiny beads on the tomatoes...add sea salt and pepper to taste and you have a very savory summer salad that could make you weep with joy. Seriously, takes less than 5 mins to create.

*Note: you want to make sure to put the garlic in with the olive oil. Add later, and the balsamic vinegar will stain the garlic. It's prettier this way. Remember: you eat with your eyes!

[Forgot to mention the basil. Sprinkle with a chiffonade of basil. Now, it's perfect.]

Since we spent so much on our camera, I've resolved to eat at home for the rest of the month. Perhaps posting pictures of our dinner will allow me to use my camera and force me to cook every night!

Anyhoo...goodnight dearly beloved. I'm falling asleep...sweet dreams, Everyone.

It's Too Funny...

Reading this article will make you younger.

I say this because the article will make you laugh.

And laughing is proven to keep people young.

...Ah, so correction:

Reading this article will keep you young.

Because laughing is good for you and some sort of anti-aging treatment.

So go. Read on. Laugh. And live longer.

You can pay me later when you look in the mirror and see the fine lines magically fade away...

http://babble.com/The-Sleep-Trainer-How-I-gradually-came-around-to-the-cry-it-out-method/index.aspx

Babyshower? More like Baby-monsoon!

A few weeks ago, Susie's closest friends threw her the biggest babyshower that I have ever been to, heard of and/or seen. She had close to 40 people and her friends did such an amazing job. I was amazed at what a fabulous shower her friends put together for her. My sister-in-law, Grace, hosted the event at her home and we had a wonderful time.

I made a diaper cake for the first time.

And made soup shots for the first time.

It was quite the fancy affair. Hence Baby-Monsoon.

Noah learns his A...maybe B?

A-B-C's. Slowly but surely Noah WILL learn! I'm inclined to say that he made it to E in this video...but then again, I am his mother and prejudiced to the touch of genius I am certain he possesses. Ok, maybe not touch...more like the iron fisted smack down.

Potty Training...Training

We've begun potty training...kinda.

It's called "progressive training"...we haven't really gotten to actual elimination into the potty, but we have been introducing Noah to the potty and having him sit on it every now and then.

Unfortunately, Dave and I need 'Potty Training Training'. It's a lot of work trying to remember to get Noah on the potty 3 times a day, one minute at a time, 7 days a week. I should make a sticker reward chart for ourselves for remembering to potty train.

As you can see, we got Noah on the potty once last week. It's unfortunate that Noah must pay for our sins. He doesn't get his buggy rides because he doesn't get the opportunity to earn the stickers to get him his ride. Bum deal!

Please & Thank You.

Noah has begun to learn his words. Slowly but surely we are getting Noah to use words!!!

The World According to Grace...back, before when, before Dave, before kids...

I was checking an old blog account and came upon this. Too funny. Thought I would share a little of the old Grace with some of you, back before when...before marriage, before kids...before stretchy-waist capris...

***

Upgrade to a better life.

March 13th, 2006 by gracie-yu

I was eating a sandwich at Subway today. A woman came in with her three children and I watched the group as they made their way down the sandwich assembly line from "What kind of bread would you like?" all the way down to "Would you like salt and pepper and oil and vinegar on your sandwich?"

It was painful watching the mother give orders for each of her finicky children. "She wants white bread with nothing but ham and cheese…oh, I’m sorry. She wants a little mustard on that…Just a little." The little girl was pouting because Mommy had forgotten about the little bit of mustard. The other orders were a bit more involved so I’ll spare you the details. But watching this woman and her children made marriage and parenthood look so–unappetizing. I imagined being in her shoes, and my goodness, even the momentary imaginary expedition into the private lives of others was painful, even in brevity.

How unhappy and dissatisfying life must be when your day consists of ugly stretch waist capris and three whiny kids who pout because you forgot to mention the mustard. I went through the rest of the woman’s day and imagined going home to a messy house and tired grouchy husband, foodstained upholstery and mismatched bed linen, plastic diningware and vinyl placemats. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

But then again…why would, why should my life resemble rubberband waist lady’s life? Perhaps my children will be interesting and delightful with undiscriminating palates and engage me with cheerful banter about art and philosophy. And it just may be that my husband won’t be tired grouch, but an energetic and electrifying personality with an intellect to match.

I think we often choose (or reject) certain paths in life based on the models of others. And sometimes, we model our lives after others because it is easier to immitate and mimick, like chimpanzees, rather than take the road less traveled. We’ve seen so many disfunctional and unhealthy relationships, they have become the norm. Mediocrity has become the reference point for the majority and the baseline for measuring fulfillment and satisfaction. Very poor departure points in the journey of life, I think.

I’d like to think, I HOPE that if and when I do get married and have children, I won’t be the object of pity and suffering to the outside observer.

Don’t wear stretchy-waist anything.

Teach your children to place their own orders (Obviously I mean this within reason. But if they are old enough to sass you, I’m confident that they’re old enough to ask for a ham-and-cheese-easy-on-the-mustard).

Sit down and define what you want to extract from life. According to YOU, not anyone else because most likely one person’s prescription to a satisfying life is not going to be yours. And DO IT.

I suppose, one could say that my rant is premature and I should refrain from criticism until I myself have given the domesticated life a whirl, however, I think there is no harm in learning from the mistakes of others. Watch, observe, criticize, and judge (privately, of course) so that your life is an upgraded version rather than a sloppy prototype.

Emma @ 27 days

The Plague.

First it was David.

Then it took Noah.

Now Emma's got it.

I -- like the last of the Mohicans -- stand alone as the one healthy uninfected individual in our home. But not for long. I do feel a slight tingling in the back of my throat.

David has been seeking out soup all week long. But because Noah is sick, I haven't been cooking; too busy tending to him. Last night David ate Cream of Mushroom soup and I had Taco Bell. Tonight David picked up some soup from Baja Fresh (which strangely smelled like the Korean Yuk Hae Jang soup) and I had MacDonalds. It is amazing how marriage suddenly causes you to feel so deeply responsible for your man. Especially when it comes to the food filling his stomach. I cannot even begin to express how guilty I felt watching David eat Cream of Mushroom soup. It just seemed so sad and wrong. There he sat with a bowl of canned soup, the glare of the computer screen reflecting off his eyeglasses. He said it was good...and he seemed to genuinely enjoy the stuff. He has to because he was the one that bought a whole box of it from Costco one day and every time I open my pantry I am tortured to find ways to use it. But once you've had a taste of homemade cream of mushroom soup...it's almost torture to have to eat the canned stuff.

I digress.

There comes a time when enough is enough. I felt badly for David to say the least. Enough is enough and it is time that I get some wholesome cooking into that man's stomach.

So after David and the kids (it still sounds weird to me to say this; 'the kids'. It's hard to believe that I am actually a mother of two) went to bed I began to make chicken soup...from scratch. You will never ever catch me eating chicken soup outside of the home or from a can. It's so easy to make and so much tastier when homemade, I vile (I don't care if that is improper use of an adjective...I find it rather effective as a verb) the thought of having it otherwise.

Given that it is flu season...I'm sharing my recipe with you, in the hopes that you will find reprieve from winter flu blues with a bowl of this tasty chicken soup.

For the most part I am a purist/minimalist when it comes to cooking. I prefer recipes that use the fewest ingredients necessary because it keeps the dish tasting clean, simple and fresh. Hence my love for simple vinagrettes and sorbets.

But I have a cupboard full of spices that I need to use and, unfortunately, tonight I thought I might make some good use of them and add 'layers of flavor' to the soup. Let me save you the misfortune of messing up a good batch of chicken soup. Less is more. I added bay leaves, rosemary, parsley and thyme to the soup and though it tastes good with the additions, it adds unecessary busyness to the soup. So here's the recipe sans the frills.

Guilty Wife Chicken Soup

2 Cornish Game Hens
5 cloves of garlic

2 Carrots
1 medium sized onion
3 stalks of celery
1 large potato
1/2 c Orzo Pasta

French Sea Salt
Fresh Ground Pepper

Prep Work

Clean and rinse chickens.
Chop carrots, onion, celery and potatos into desired size. I like them in 1 centimeter cubes, the uniform size lends a more visually pleasing end product.

Phase 1

Place chickens & garlic in a large pot and fill with cold water. Bring to a roiling boil and turn down to a simmer. Skim the fat and oil as they surface (45 mins). Remove the chickens to a separate dish and strain the stock to remove the fatty funk and gunk from the poultry. I suppose you don't have to do this if you like dirty soup water, but I like having clean clear soup stock. It's purely aesthetic and only absolutely necessary for individuals with a minor psychosis. Dump the garlic if so desired.

Phase 2

Return the strained soup stock into the pot (I normally use a fresh pot or clean the pot to make sure that the funky chicken gunk is completely erradicated) and throw in the chicken, chopped veggies and orzo pasta. Bring to a boil and turn down to a simmer until the veggies and pasta are tender.

Veggies: I did add green beans to my soup because I had them in the fridge. Feel free to add whatever veggies that rock your world.

Phase 3

Salt and pepper to taste.

Now to address the French Sea Salt. I am not trying to be pompous or pretentious. Yes, it does make a difference. As a rule, never use table salt in your cooking. It will ruin the taste of your food. Kosher should be the standard and use French Sea Salt when salt is the dominant and primary ingredient of flavorization.

Easy. Simple. Wholesome. Homemade. And all for around $10 bucks.

If you're too lazy to skim and strain, you can just dump all of the ingredients into a pot all at once and boil until chicken is cooked and veggies are tender. Then eat and enjoy with fatty chicken scum and all.

TV Makeover...

A few days ago I looked in the mirror.

I didn't like what I saw. Having babies and being married has aged me by ten years.

(No offense, David.)

So I told David I wanted him to nominate me for one of those TV makeover shows. You know, TLC's 'Ten Years Younger' or 'How Not to Dress'.

You know what he said?

"Why? Those shows only change your clothes. Those shows are all about how you dress."

Now, YOU tell me how I'm supposed to interpret that?

Did David mean that those shows only address wardrobe and, *clearly*, I'm in dire need of a little bit more help than a A-line skirt and tailored jacket.

While I'm thinking intervention. He seems to be thinking rehab--more along the lines of 'Nip Tuck 90210' or 'Jerry Springer'.

I let it go because as a man, he obviously can't help saying all the wrong things.

So today, when I was at the cosmetics department at Nordstrom's I decided I would get a makeover. I had to throw all my eye makeup out a couple days ago because something I was wearing was irritating my eyes. I went in hopeful and optimistic. These people are professionals. They are trained to make you look glam-fab...RIGHT?

I scanned the department store floor and headed straight for the M.A.C. counter. One look at the girls working there and I knew that they had what I needed. The girls at the M.A.C. counters always look like the line up at a nightclub entrance. But today, as I was walking by the mirrored columns of the department store I realized that I needed heavy artillery. The dark circles under my eye were going to need some serious heavy-weight coverage. Looking at the made up faces of the girls working M.A.C. they had coverage and then some more.

I got assigned a makeup artist...and sat there holding the hand mirror watching as she transformed me from a tired worn out mother into a scary black-and-blue-eyed Frankenstein's bride look alike. I will never ever go back to the M.A.C. counter for a makeover ever ever again. I walked out of there looking half man...like a transvestite made up for Mardi Gras.

It was a sad day.

Boys Only.

CORRECTION: David did not come in last. Joe did. David was second to last.

***

It was a small gesture. Something to commemorate and memorialize the man David Lee was before the arrival of our second child and the end of life as he knew it.

Last month, I planned a small outing for Dave and couple of his buddies. The day started out with a gentleman's shave at St. Moritz in SF. Some of you may be wondering what that is. It's an old fashion razor shave. You know, the kind you see in mobster movies. Dave said that it was 'okay', not something he would probably ever do again. I had hoped that it would be a more luxurious experience but it sounded like it was just an 'okay' experience. He said it was 'interesting' but Dave uses that word to describe an entire spectrum of persons, places and things that include but are not limited to the fantastic, wonderful, amazing, bizarre, grotesque, disappointing, hideous, breathtaking, unremarkable...be wary when Dave calls anything interesting. When I first met him, I took his use of 'interesting' at face value and assumed that he literally meant it. That it WAS interesting. But, later I found that it meant nothing but...what it really was was a tactic to avoid speaking the terrible and ugly truth. So, the shave was 'interesting'.

Then off to lunch at Steelhead Brewery. From what I was told there was a lot of talk about the life altering experience of having a second child. Sue, so candidly said: "It will rock your world". She also told me that marital satisfaction is at an all time low when a second child is introduced into a marriage. "So, if you feel like you don't like David, it's not really him..."

If Sue said that, I can only imagine what the boys said over lunch.

After lunch, it was off to the tracks and the guys went to Go Kart Racer. David came home later that day and asked me to guess who won first place. I said, Paul. He looked at me surprised: "How did you know?".

I've seen Paul drive.

There was additional commentary about making the turns and times and records and such, but I won't bore you with such nonsense. As long as they had a good time...my job was done.

I suppose it's only fair that I mention that Joe had the fastest track time, but he came in last because he spun out. Guess he got a little over-impassioned and NASCAR kinda took over. David came in last, but it was because 1) he was trying to follow the rules and not bump into people, 2) he was the biggest guy on the track and the extra weight added to the time lag...3) [insert more lame excuses].

My favorite part? Loved the outfits.

Tanning Session...Strike a pose!

Check out our little girl getting her first tanning session :). How cute is that little pose! We had to take Emma back to the hospital to get treated for jaundice. She spent two days in that little tanning booth getting photo/light therapy. No worries, Dear Friends! All is well and Emma is a healthy and lovely child.

She seemed to enjoy her stay at the hospital. She literally spent two days in that pose. Relaxed and oh so chill :).

Emma Grace Lee
January 30, 2009
6:06pm
6lbs 10oz, 20 inches
San Ramon Regional Medical Center

Dear Friends,

Our little girl arrived Friday, January 30th. It took awhile for us to decide on a name. But we are proud to announce the birth of our daughter, Emma Grace Lee. Derived from 'Emmanuel' -- God is with us.

Isn't it beautiful?

The story behind the naming of our daughter requires an entirely separate blog entry :) ... so we shall save that for another day.

On Friday, January 30th, I went in for my weekly checkup at the doctor's. I was full term at 40 weeks and the estimated arrival date was the 31st, so we had been expecting ANY day. Of course, in the days leading to Friday, I had two false alarms and poor David, both times, got up in the middle of the night ready to rush to the hospital. Sadly, both times I had to recant and an exhausted David would watch me crawl back into bed just as dawn was breaking. At the time I felt bad that he would have to start his day with little sleep. But in hindsight after having given birth naturally without the aid of anesthesia, I find myself left with little to no compassion for others' pain.

You: I lost my leg in a shark attack.
Me: Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that. I gave birth naturally.

You: I was bit by a brown recluse spider which caused my flesh to rot. It hurt.
Me: I bet not as bad as giving birth naturally.

You: I was struck by lightening.
Me: You think that hurt? You should try giving birth naturally.

You: My body caught on fire while I was trying to deep fry my turkey last Thanksgiving.
Me: Hmm...wow...that sounds painful. But you know what's really painful? Natural childbirth. There's this thing they call the 'Ring of Fire'...

Anyways, my doctor accidentally broke my water. So I called David and asked him to meet me at the hospital with a Subway Club. You would think that he would have brought me a foot long given that I would be taking on the task of giving birth to life. A six inch sandwich provides enough sustenance to fuel the remainder of a workday. You know, emails, telephone calls, meetings...You eat a six inch before heading to the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Six inch sandwiches are eaten by construction workers, mailmen, teachers, kids, and soccer moms on Friday afternoons. A pregnant woman about to give birth on a Friday afternoon needs a foot long.

Things at the hospital were at a standstill. I had not gone into labor. No contractions, so they sent us off to walk around and see if labor would kick in. We were told to stay on campus at the hospital, but I made Dave help me bust the joint and we went to Baskin Robbins and had some ice cream. I ordered 'Wild and Reckless' and Dave had the 'Gold Medal Ribbon'. Then we went next door to See's Candies and bought a box of chocolate. And I ate that too.

In life, we get little messages. Sometimes we see them, sometimes we don't. But hindsight always reveals the small tokens of foresight that life tries to offer. Eating ice cream labeled 'Wild and Reckless' is not a normal occurance--for anyone. I should have avoided eating anything called 'wild' or 'reckless' before having a baby. You've heard of the saying: "You are what you eat"...

We returned to the hospital around 4pm and still no contractions, so they gave me potocin to induce labor and 15 mins later, I was going to have a baby...soon.

So here's where my life came to a fork in the road and I had to choose.

Epidural.

Or natural.

I asked: "What's the time difference in labor with epidural and without?"

The nurse told me that I would have the baby much quicker going natural, and that, usually, epidural adds time to the labor process.

I asked: "How much time?"

The baby could come as quickly at 15 mins going natural versus an hour with epidural. The time difference was significant enough for me to forgo the epidural because all I was thinking about was Baskin Robbins. I had been regretful all afternoon long about getting only one scoop instead of two.

Sadly...very unfortunately...I had been asking the wrong question. What I SHOULD HAVE asked was "how much more does it hurt without epidural?"

This, I can answer for you:

Natural birth hurts so bad that the birth of my second child will go down in my medical history as a near death experience. I almost died that day. I asked David if he saw any bright lights or little glowing orbs floating around in the room that day. He said, 'No'. But I'm sure he had his hands full trying to stop me from getting violent with the hospital staff and yelling at strangers.

But, here I am. Alive and well.