Archive for the ‘family’ Category

Passing peacefully

Tuesday, September 20th, 2011

Grandma's 100th Birthday
Grandma’s 100th Birthday on Aug. 13, 2011

On Saturday, September 17th, a little over a month after my grandma turned 100, she passed away peacefully in the company of family. I was supposed to go over to her house that night and see her one last time, but I just couldn’t do it. I knew I should, but I just couldn’t get myself to go. I went to work instead. And while I was there, I got a text message at 8:44pm telling me she’d just passed away. I went right back to work.

I wasn’t close to my grandma. We didn’t speak the same language so we couldn’t communicate, but her sons and daughters, my aunts and uncles and my mother while she lived, loved her like mad. They all took care of her as she got older. She was the family matriarch and ruled over all of them. She was fierce and unpretentious, and expressed her unabashedly uncensored opinions freely. She was a kind of hellion and smoked and drank beers all day until she was in her 70s. She still drank beer even at her 99th birthday.

She had an arranged marriage to my gangster grandfather whom I’ve never met. He died when the kids were still young. My mom was nine, but she was the 2nd to youngest. The older ones took care of her and the family. She was of a generation of women that were completely uneducated. She didn’t even know how to count money. But her kids all grew up to be successful, and they all took care of the matriarch.

At her 100th birthday, I noticed one of her socks had fallen off. She sat in a wheelchair, and used an oxygen tank. She slept a lot. Her mind had been sharp for a long time, and she’d been physically fit into her 90s, but by 100, she was less sharp, more quiet. I wasn’t sure she recognized me at all.

I put the sock back on her foot. I told her I was going to do it then bent under the wheelchair and she lifted her leg up. Her foot was so small but swollen. I put it on and she left her foot up until I set it back down for her. And I wondered if it was because she was so used to having people physically manipulate her body for her, or if she couldn’t tell I had finished putting the sock on, or if she hadn’t understood at all what I was doing. I wondered if the simple act of replacing a sock and the physical motions involved and the physical sensations it produced was now out of the range of comprehension.

And that’s what I think about now. Her swollen foot. How small and fragile it looked without that sock on. How cold it already was from missing that sock for just a little while. And that’s what breaks my heart. That and the fact that my aunt called me today to make sure I knew the funeral was tomorrow and then broke down crying. I can deal with the passing of my grandmother. She lived a long life, surrounded and loved by family. But I can’t deal with the pain my aunts and uncles feel. I can’t do anything for them. And it makes me feel useless.

Mother, son conversations

Sunday, June 26th, 2011

The other day I asked my son, “Do you know two girls, one cup?” and he gets this horrified look of disgust on his face that I’ve never seen before and says, “yeah.” I thought the look was indicative of his distaste for the trailer, but it turns out he was mortified at the thought of having to explain a video like that to his mother. But the boy is a trooper because he dives right in and says, “it’s this video with these two girls and there’s shit and vomit…” and I tell him, “oh no, no — I know the video” because the thought of him continuing to tell me the premise of the trailer was starting to make me feel mortified.

All I wanted to do was tell him this sexual harassment story I’d heard recently that was related to it and wanted to know if he knew the reference. Someone in a work place was fired or reprimanded for saying something along the lines of “cup,” but someone overheard and knew it was a reference to 2 girls, 1 cup and complained to HR. It seemed ridiculous to me that anyone could file a complaint on such tenuous grounds: a word uttered; an assumption made.

But I do appreciate that he and I can openly talk to each other about things. Even when they are completely uncomfortable.

Family is the heart of everything

Monday, April 4th, 2011

Maybe it’s my biological clock, or maybe it’s just becoming more mature and less selfish, or maybe it’s just being physically closer to my family that makes me so sentimental about the ties, blood or not, that make up a family. One of the girls I call a niece even though she’s not technically or legally my niece had her bridal shower today and it made me look at the kids in our family and think of how mature they’ve all gotten. Why is it that we remember children, no matter their real age, as children? I remember Klarisa as a little two year old girl because that’s when I first met her. She made my heart melt. I remember my son as a tiny little bean, but he’s a gorgeous, full grown man now. I remember his sister as a baby, less than two years old because that’s when I first met her. Bald, quiet, but sweet. Now she’s got an amazing and thick head of hair, and the maturity and attitude of a 30 year old in her 21 year old body. Family bonds can tie and restrain us, but goddamn, they set our hearts on fire that melt us irreparably. Once touched, never the same. Love for family is both sweet and bitter, but you couldn’t go on living without it.

me, dad, jess, and josh
Josh, Dad, Me & Jess

Mothers: Tina, Me, Lisa
Mothers: Tina, Me, Lisa

My Tiger Mother

Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011

I just started reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.It’s the controversial book on parenting the Chinese way, and I kind of like it. Actually, I really like it and I find it educational. And a little nostalgic. Maybe it’s because I grew up with a Tiger Mother (not one quite as fierce as Amy Chua, though fiercer in other ways) and maybe because I’ve lost her I appreciate her more than I did before she was gone, but I see the positive aspects of this type of parenting.

There are studies that have shown that being outstanding at something has more to do with years of practice and training than with any innate ability, and Chua’s parenting method takes advantage of this to drill sargeant her daughters into what they are: amazing students and amazing musicians.

My parenting method is as Western as it gets. According to Chua, “Western” parenting comes in a variety of forms, and she uses the term “Chinese parenting” to not only mean Chinese mothers (and not all Chinese mothers), but also some Korean, Indian, and other mothers using this parenting method.

The parenting involves strictly regimenting the child’s life, allowing her only limited social time. It includes harsh criticism when the parent’s high expectations are not met, hours and hours devoted to studying and practicing, and an expectation she will excel at everything and if she doesn’t it’s because she didn’t try hard enough and not because she can’t. The possibility that she can’t excel at everything doesn’t exist: a tiger mother believes her child fully capable of achieving what she expects of her. The desired outcome is a child who grows into a successful adult who believes she is capable of anything she puts her mind and focus into. Now, who wouldn’t want a child that grows into that kind of self confident, high achieving adult?

I think we focus on the belittling and the harsh words and forced hours of work, and get caught up in how abusive and cruel those things seem to be. But we see it from a very Western perspective that teaches us that we are all individuals and should be respected to make our own choices. But children don’t make good choices. They’d eat candy and sit in front of the TV all day if you let them.

I haven’t finished the book yet, but so far, I think it may be limited in scope. Chua’s girls are good girls so the outcome of her parenting — whatever we think of it — is positive. But what about those kids who have been parented like this and don’t succeed? I wonder if they exist and if there are any studies about them.

I don’t think I could parent quite like this, but I could definitely benefit from some of the lessons from this book. Because kids do make poor choices and a parent’s role is to prepare them for adult life.

I always say that I was such a rebellious teen because my parents were so strict. And that may be true, but I also grew up into a strong and independent person who believes she can do anything she wants to. But success requires hard work. “Chinese” mothers really just want their kids to live the American dream, just better than everyone else.

Another year…

Wednesday, January 19th, 2011

1947-2006. We’ve made it through another year. That makes 5 now. Still miss her.

Mom at the beach in California 1970
Mom at a Southern California beach in 1970

The devil in disguise

Sunday, January 16th, 2011

My son just did something awful and I saw this commercial at the gym and it made me think of him. He looks like an angel and can be such a sweet kid, but I never forget that he’s 17, almost 18, and can sometimes be the devil in disguise. The youtube video below isn’t as good as the commercial they play on TV. On TV, the “devil in disguise” part is much louder and makes the commercial funnier.

The smell of her hair

Friday, August 13th, 2010

I found this box of shampoo today. A small UHaul box full of shampoo bottles. I think my sister must have gathered all the shampoo in the house and put it in a box to donate to somewhere and then left it in the garage. And every time I walk by it, the smell reminds me of my mom.

It’s sort of funny to think about how cheap the shampoo is. I’m sure there are only that many bottles in the house because she got them dirt cheap on sale somewhere. Dirt cheap shampoo on sale for even cheaper. It’s funny because she liked to dress in Chanel and St. John, carried Louis Vuitton and Gucci purses (the genuine article, not the knock offs). And she took care of her skin with any number of department store brands, but her hair — eh, her hair could stand the cheap stuff.

And now that I think about it — it makes sense. Because our hair is pretty sturdy stuff. Thick and heavy and silky. I guess if you had to skimp on any particular beautifying product, the hair would be the most reasonable choice when it’s as luxurious as ours. Every little penny counts. My mother is quintessential proof of that.

Hello from Japan

Monday, June 28th, 2010

I’ve already lost track of the days but here we are in Kyoto! And we have wifi at the hostel. For a super techie country, it’s been hard to find wifi that works for us. I thought I could easily buy a prepaid 3G card for the shiny new ipad I bought especially for this trip. The ipad i thought would be so great because: don’t have to take it out at airport security, can buy 3G data plans by the month, can type pretty well when it’s rotated to the side so I can blog, dump photos onto it, can read books on it, and it’s lighter and smaller than a laptop for everyday carrying around.

Well it is lighter than a laptop. And I can play games on it and read. But airport security not only randomly patted me down, but also made me take my iPad out and ran my carry on bag back through the scanner. And that was after the security line we were originally in got shut down for some unknkown reason and we had to walk to another gate to go through security and I was starting to get scared we’d be late for our flight because everything at LAX took a bazillion times longer than i thought it would.

Then there was the problem of getting an affordable pre-paid 3G card in Japan. I’d read that it was possible in Japan but should have done more research to be sure because it’s sort of expensive and I’m not sure I need it that much. And Apple hasn’t come out with their USB adapter for the iPad yet so no dumping photos from my memory cards, and of course, no blogging unless there’s wifi somewhere that I can use and this hostels the first place I’ve been able to.

But no complaints! Because it’s actually kind of nice to be disconnected. I don’t waste my time blogging :) Let’s see…the Harajuku girls, the maid cafe, the cute rockabilly girl (and boys) in Yoyogi park, the onsens, the manga museum, the cute hidden alleys full of lovely things, Japanese food, and walking everyday and seeing something new and different…and that’s just the start of our visit! Yeah, really can’t complain.

Reminds me…

Wednesday, May 5th, 2010

I love the animation in this video. The music is catchy, the lyrics…not so crazy about them, but they remind me of my mommy.

Like mother, like daughter

Wednesday, March 31st, 2010

I’m back in socal cleaning out my mother’s house. It’s an endless chore and I make slow progress. What’s been interesting to me lately is discovering how some of my behaviors are inherited from my mother even though I might have never known they were her behaviors (or at least not consciously been aware of knowing). For example: saving receipts. Like every single receipt for everything, and organized by year. I’ve decided finally to start shredding old receipts — anything not from the current year — but apparently my mother didn’t own a shredder. I’ve found 20 year old receipts. In fact, lots of other 20 year old documents. And receipts and documents for all the years since then too.

I found this binder the other day full of magazine and newspaper clippings. Which is a new habit of mine — instead of keeping whole magazines, I rip out the few pages I want to keep and organize them in a binder. I guess I got that from my mom too.

It’s amazing how much of someone’s life you can piece together by her accumulated bits of paper: travel routes via gas receipts, favorite foods by restaurant receipts, personal interests by saved clippings. Some of it I save because sometimes I discover something new or because I want to remember some moment with her, but most of it I shred. Because I’m trying not to be a hoarder.

Ah, the shopping season…what torture

Friday, December 4th, 2009

I hate shopping for Christmas. It’s so much pressure to come up with the perfect gift. Or not even the perfect gift, how about just any gift that the recipient will actually and genuinely enjoy. I usually want to give up year after year. I know I’m like years behind, but last month I started an Amazon wish list because sometimes I do things I wish other people would do. I wish everyone I had to shop for at Christmas had a freaking wish list!!

I was reviewing my list last night so I could email my loved ones and was thinking to myself what a random mix of stuff it was. I mean, it’s all stuff I want and I purposely picked items in a range of prices, but I wonder if it takes the fun out of getting Christmas gifts because it takes away the element of surprise.

In recent years, I’ve begged family members to send me Christmas wish lists and sometimes I look at the things on there and think…I can’t get them this as a Christmas present — it’s too practical, or not special enough. My father is the worst to shop for. He has everything he needs, doesn’t send a list, and never intimates he has an especial desire for anything. And this year I missed his birthday because I was out of the country and now I have to make sure his gifts are doubly wonderful. My sister is the best at giving gifts; she always pleasantly surprises me with something. Special too is when you get an unexpected gift from a family member — that’s always sweet.

I’d like to put cash on my Christmas list. I think we Americans are too ambivalent about cash gifts. Other cultures seem to think nothing of it, but we seem to think it’s a cop out or impersonal, and only gift it when specifically asked for it. I say cash is the universal gift. Give it freely people. I’ll distribute it equally into in my writing fund, my whisky fund (almost the same as my writing fund), my new car fund, and my bathroom remodel fund. But before I do that, I’ll buy a drink and toast you for your special gift.

And in case you thought I had no holiday cheer, I leave you with one of my very, very favorite holiday songs. I listen to this song every year and I love both the original Vandals version and the No Doubt one below:

Sisterly love

Thursday, September 24th, 2009

I’m back in Southern California working on cleaning out my mom’s place again. I’m pretty sure we won’t be done until at least the end of the year because there is so much stuff.

We had lunch with my favorite aunt and uncle, and my dad. After lunch my aunt told us stories about my mom — stories I’d never heard before. My mother never told us stories about herself. I always knew this aunt was her closest sister, but hearing about their lives together made me miss my mom, wish I’d made her tell me stories, wish I spoke Korean fluently, and made me realize once again how much my aunt loved her and still misses her.

I looked in vain for a good photo of my mom and my aunt when they were young. Then I decided I’d settle for any photo of the two of them, but couldn’t find one in the stash of photos here. They’re probably in my stash of mom’s photos in San Francisco. But here’s one of my favorites of my own sister. She and I weren’t as close as my aunt and mom when we were younger, but we certainly are now.

My sister and me in Ohio
My sister and me: Elementary school years in Ohio

Visit to Southern California

Monday, September 14th, 2009

I’m tarrying here with my blog so I don’t have to do any real writing. Things I noted about southern California on this last trip: it’s hotter than I like — I think I’ve gotten too comfortable with San Francisco weather. There are more fat kids than I would have imagined. I realize childhood obesity is on the rise but somehow thought the vanity of southern California would have mitigated this. Speaking of vanity, the women at the gym are about 1000 times hotter than the ones in my SF gym — by magazine/media standards. I’ve never seen so many pairs of perfect breasts or so many women working out with makeup on and hair done. Another odd thing I noticed about the gym — strength training equipment and cardio equipment do not mix and are kept on completely separate floors. Like somehow they’ve ignored the fitness trend of the past 10+ years regarding intermixing the two.

All silliness aside, a trip to Southern California means family time. I love the north and I love San Francisco, but I always hate leaving my son, sister, dad and the rest of my family behind in the hot south.

Josh and his cousins. Mike & Lisa and kids dropped by for some Korean bbq at our place.

Jess, dad, and me. My dad is still the apple of my eye.

My cousin and me. She’s my hardcore yet girly cousin so you can imagine how much I looked up to her as a kid.

My aunt and me. My aunt and uncle are so cute and active. They go mountain biking for reals.

Cousins. My cousin is engaged! We got to meet his fiancee and friend while they were visiting.

Fear and paranoia…run in the family

Friday, May 1st, 2009

My uncle called me this morning at 5:47am. I only have a fuzzy recollection of the conversation, but it went mostly like this: Is Jess ok? I got a call just now from D’s phone and when I checked the message there was nothing but the sound of running water. Ok. Did you try calling her? Yes, but her phones don’t work. A little bit of panic creeps in…They don’t work or she’s just not picking up? She’s not answering. Whew.

He was genuinely concerned. He was thinking about driving down to her house to check up on her. I told him I’m sure D (Jess’s husband) just butt dialed his number while he was getting ready for work (though it did seem awful early to be getting ready for work). My uncle: No, I don’t think so. D never calls me. On the message…all it was…just the sound of…running water. Water, like from a faucet. He was so upset about that running water.

I told him that I thought she was fine. He asked when we’d last talked, I said we’d just texted a couple of days ago and she sounded totally fine. Ok, but if he doesn’t hear from her soon, he’s driving down there…then, How are you doing? I wanted to tell him I wanted to go back to sleep, but I told him I was fine instead.

After we got off the phone, it occurred to me that this jumping to the worst conclusion when something slightly awry occurs and strikes a chord of fear, or even just a twang of fear, must be a genetic thing in our family. Just a couple of weeks ago my sister texted me to say she thought someone was going to kill her. I’ve thought the same thing before in the same irrational way where the fear isn’t based on any real threat, just the imaginary one I’ve built up in my head. And I myself have done the same thing my uncle has done — a good friend of mine butt dialed me early, early one morning and left a message that was nothing but street noise and of course, I immediately thought she’d been kidnapped and raped. And I too called her immediately and got no answer.

All of these situations turned out just fine — just products of overactive imaginations. But it makes me start to wonder about the genetics of paranoia…

There’s always a good side

Saturday, January 31st, 2009

Family gathering

The upside to a funeral (at least for us) is that you get to spend time with your family and see people you haven’t seen in a while. I wish I’d gotten one good photo of my aunt because the only one I posted doesn’t do her justice. She sat with us night after night to hang out and enjoy each other’s company. We only gave her the tiniest sip of bourbon or scotch, but she drank it with us and we ate and talked and spent time together like we never do otherwise.

I don’t get to see my cousins that often. A lot of them are married now, some of them have families. We’re all adults with our own lives. In the last few years, we only get to see each other at weddings and funerals. I guess that’s probably normal for many families.

Whenever I get together with my cousins and their kids, it makes me want a bigger family. My cousins’ girls are so incredibly sweet and wonderful. I got to do homework with my 7 year old 2nd cousin on Sunday night — something I never got to do with Josh — and I loved it.

I’m lucky I have such a large family. I’m glad we get together when we do. It’s not always the happiest of circumstances, but the fact that they’re there for us and for each other is beautiful.

In a year and a half, my grandmother will turn 100. Now, that’ll be a party to be remembered :)

Dead people don’t look right

Saturday, January 24th, 2009

I’ve only been here for less than two whole days and it feels like an eternity. This intense grief I feel isn’t for my uncle — it’s for my mom. And my cousin and aunt. I know exactly what my cousin is feeling and it reminds me of losing my mom. And my aunt reminds me so much of my mom.

My cousin’s eulogy was so touching. I was sobbing by the end of it thinking about three years ago. We, my sister and I, weren’t even able to give a eulogy. I don’t even know what I could’ve said because I knew so little about her. And at the time, I don’t think either of us was clear headed enough to write one.

Wednesday night I pictured my mom in my head — alive and moving and breathing. And I realized why it is I don’t think about her much because when I do, it makes me sob for missing her.

My favorite aunt tonight was telling me how she thinks my mom died of loneliness. And I can believe that. My mom liked to swim and jacuzzi with my aunt and uncle. They’d drive up from their place to my mom’s to go to the pool with her. And my aunt told me how my mom said she was afraid to go home because there was no one there. So they’d take her home. She missed my dad so much. She was so heartbroken. So heartbroken. And I didn’t understand. I wasn’t understanding.

You can’t regret the past, right? Because there isn’t anything you can do to change it. But it can haunt you.

Feeling useless

Friday, January 23rd, 2009

I’m feeling sort of useless over at my aunt’s house, but at the same time I feel guilty if I try to work or read or do anything else and it’s only because she’s resting in her bedroom now that I feel comfortable blogging. She has her ups and downs. Today’s the wake so I know she’s not feeling either emotionally or physically well. When I first saw her yesterday she immediately reminded me of my mom and I started bawling.

I wish I could be a little more comforting to her, but it’s hard to do that with anything other than my presence and what little help I can offer around the house (and that’s not much since the daughter-in-law takes care of that). I don’t speak Korean fluently and she doesn’t speak English fluently. I’m starting to feel like time is starting to chip away at my family and I’ll lose them for good and lose their stories and I’ll never know them. I should really learn Korean.

I missed the night where they told stories about my uncle, but I heard one of them yesterday. He came from a well to do, established family in North Korea and just before the demarcation and closing of the DMZ between the South and North, he left home and went to South Korea all on his own. He was completely penniless, but he studied and worked and established himself as a reputable pharmacist. I didn’t know he had such strength! He always just seemed sweet and quiet and gentle to me. And he was that, too. My cousin says his dad was the steady one, that he married his father — his wife is gentle and steadfast in the same way.

Not being able to do much and sitting around I feel a weird boredom combined with guilt. I’m watching a lot of Korean TV though. And eating enough pickled vegetables to last me the next six months. I need some industrial mouth wash to get the kimchi off my breath, but at least it’s yummy!

Compounding loss

Tuesday, January 20th, 2009

Another year has passed since my mom passed away. This year, my uncle passed away on the day before my mom’s anniversary (on my sister’s birthday, poor sweetie). I didn’t know him that well, but his son is probably the cousin I’m closest with out of all my cousins. I feel immensely for my aunt and my cousin. Especially for my aunt because she’s been with her husband for I don’t know how many years — at least 40+ years and I can’t imagine losing someone after spending most of my life with that person, and just before the anniversary of the day I lost my youngest sister, too.

I know exactly what my cousin is going through — the guilt about not spending enough time with your parent, the wondering and worrying about what his/her life was like at the end. No matter how much time you have, it’s never enough. And when you start having your own life, everyone else’s diminishes a little. It doesn’t mean you don’t love them; you just have other, more immediate family members and concerns to think about.

Parents are so complicated. Just like love is complicated and life is complicated with a richness and variability in flavor and warmth combined with the rawness and vulnerability of new skin getting sunburnt. Real, genuine love will always break your heart. It can fill you to the rafters, but is the only thing that can also disappoint and hurt with the same intensity with which you love.

I think about my mother sometimes. Not all the time. Not even that much on the anniversary of her death. Ineke sent me and my sister this poem and it was probably the most heart wrenching part of my day. That, and thinking about my aunt. Because love for your parent isn’t the same as the love you have for a partner. Your life partner. I look at my SO and have no idea if he’ll be my life partner or just my partner for the time being. I don’t know what loss like that must feel like, but I can imagine. And even just in my imagination it’s heartbreaking.

The cure all

Thursday, August 14th, 2008

There’s nothing a hot tub, a bath bomb, and Nine Inch Nails can’t make better. Uplifting? No. But dark contemplation and a sense of relief and relaxation? Yes.

I won’t let you fall apart
We’ll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide
I’ll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side

Relationships are complicated things. My sister got robbed at gunpoint in Oakland just recently and it scared the hell out of me to hear her tight little voice on the phone just after it happened and I didn’t even care about it — about everything she’d lost — all I could think after I realized she was safe, was that she was safe. They didn’t hurt her and she was safe. And what a vulnerable place that is — loving someone so much that you’d give anything for her safety.

We’re in this together now

None of them can stop us now.

When it comes down to giving things up and making decisions, everything’s a compromise. A setting aside of one thing for another. Someone told me once that every time you make a decision, you grieve for the things you decided against. Maybe I’ve mentioned it before because it’s been stuck in my head ever since, but she’s right. You give up one thing to pursue something else and it’s a loss, and a part of you grieves for what could have been. In love, in careers, in life and life threatening situations, you can’t have everything you want…you wouldn’t possibly know what to with it all.

It didn’t turn out the way you wanted it do, did it

My two favorite albums are The Fragile (Left) and Things Falling Apart. I love all of Trent Reznor’s music, but these two albums let me sink into myself and let my thoughts run their course.

Do you know how far this has gone?
Just how damaged have I become?

How we know we’re getting old

Friday, May 23rd, 2008

The father of my son called me the other day and told me this hilarious story. So he was at the gas station/diner/liquor store early in the morning one day — he travels a lot for work so probably gas station — and this young chick in her early 20s wearing a tiny little mini skirt and looking like she’d been up all night drinking and partying starts chatting him up asking about his tattoos and stuff. And he’s thinking, hey, yeah, I’ve still got it…rock on when she asks him if he has any sons.

Um yeah

Can I have their number?

Yeah, well, he’s 14

Yeah, can I have his number?

Uh, no…he’s fourteen.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him our child was 15. Though to be fair, he couldn’t been 14 when the event actually occurred.

My son’s father is charismatic — he could always talk to the ladies, so I don’t doubt that this little young thing saw potential in him as a sire of fine young sons she’d like to meet. But you know you’re getting old when you cease to have potential as a mate, but the fruit of your loins sure looks interesting.

And he’s not the only one getting older. It’s fascinating to me to see how my body is changing — all these years, I foolishly thought I was safe from all the bad things that happen to women’s bodies as they get older, but gosh, was I wrong. This last year has been especially enlightening in this regard. Weight that I used to drop easily is much more tenacious. And exercise which I never used to get enough of — is becoming more and more of a pain in the butt to make time and energy for. My body is more tired, my feet ache, I want more sleep.

But for all that, I can’t complain about getting older. At least no one’s asking me for my daughters’ phone numbers yet ;)