tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10884288401675672082024-02-07T22:26:12.481-08:00A day in the life of a would-be rockstar turned blissfully frazzled stay-at-home-momA day in the life of an art student turned dilettante rockstar turned corporate rat turned knitaholic newlywed turned blissfully frazzled stay-at-home mom.lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.comBlogger361125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-67703240766551258152014-01-10T19:46:00.000-08:002014-01-10T19:48:13.321-08:00Let Me GoCalliope's new favorite cartoon character is Queen Elsa from Disney's animated chick flick Frozen. Queen Elsa's anthem is the power ballad "Let It Go." Since Calliope loves all things Elsa, "Let It Go" has become Calliope's anthem, too. It's a great song, but there comes a point after the fourth or fifth-HUNDREDTH time of hearing it screeched out at top volume in the confines of your home (or car, or grocery store, or whatever) that you want to throw yourself off the balcony. Instead of doing that, I decided to come up with my own version of this song. I think of it as a mommy anthem of sorts. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/m8pEkDsbEa8" width="640"></iframe>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-12265017349685883282013-12-24T09:00:00.004-08:002013-12-24T09:04:09.704-08:00Princess Calliope<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gqN_Dk5jres4hz4BWh3G_uClIL3OX5wyNbT3tIrfmp9DcWeDjf750Kklw_3CI9PwzGB2Hso2nqOc1VyZRdz2DqnbeOnv3pGIN__iPA1HgLYrPjub9G8qbQrCclr8H2MtXMVvuEQM-gQ/s1600/photo-2.JPG"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gqN_Dk5jres4hz4BWh3G_uClIL3OX5wyNbT3tIrfmp9DcWeDjf750Kklw_3CI9PwzGB2Hso2nqOc1VyZRdz2DqnbeOnv3pGIN__iPA1HgLYrPjub9G8qbQrCclr8H2MtXMVvuEQM-gQ/s640/photo-2.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
I overheard a conversation the other day between Calliope (who was sitting outdoors on a blanket dressed in one of her many princess costumes and playing with dolls) and some random boy who was at least a year older and a head taller than she.<br />
<br />
<br />
Boy: You're not a princess. <br />
<br />
Calliope: Yes, I am.<br />
<br />
Boy: You're not a REAL princess.<br />
<br />
Calliope (puts down dolls, stands up, and actually flicks her hair at this kid): I have long hair like a princess, and I have a princess dress, so I AM a princess.<br />
<br />
Boy: (Silence.)<br />
<br />
<br />
I have never before been so proud to have a little princess for a daughter.lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-89086184504857409862013-11-24T10:14:00.003-08:002013-12-24T09:04:03.051-08:00A Tale of Two Blood DrawsA couple weeks ago, I was dropping Benjamin off at school when he turned his face up to me for his goodbye kiss and I noticed that he was looking pretty yellow. Not just regular Asian-skin yellow, but extremely yellow. "My-hemoglobin-is-dropping-mommy-take-me-to-the-doctor" yellow. Then I looked at Calliope, and would'ja know it, her skin was looking pretty damn yellow, too. And her eyes? The whites were so yellow that I felt like I was being stared down by two gigantic lemon-glazed donuts. Sigh. Off to the doctor we went.<br />
<br />
Both of the kids have had more than their fair share of blood draws and transfusions, but Calliope has the dubious distinction of having had more. She's the queen bee of blood draws. The phlebotomists always urge her to look away, but she just takes a deep breath, steels herself, and fixes her eyes on her arm while they stick the needle in. It's downright freaky.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ67bEormGJzCAe5fKkSF1hyWpFlKUrF5pnEqCetXkTPWmS6Q_aAL-0HgZ6H_6rXcvkASbhiABw36vOF0nb3zFUfzTdfE2FPc_WEDQkYgxam0Q8p1NzCljEZRiYVEqkDPxTZfolS4eEgg/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ67bEormGJzCAe5fKkSF1hyWpFlKUrF5pnEqCetXkTPWmS6Q_aAL-0HgZ6H_6rXcvkASbhiABw36vOF0nb3zFUfzTdfE2FPc_WEDQkYgxam0Q8p1NzCljEZRiYVEqkDPxTZfolS4eEgg/s640/photo+1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Benjamin, on the other hand, isn't quite as stoic when it comes to getting his blood drawn. The tears started flowing before the phlebotomist even touched him, and I was powerless to comfort him. I asked his sister to please offer her support. "Calliope," I said gently. "Your brother is scared. Can you please comfort him and tell him it's going to be ok? Tell him it doesn't hurt. Help him be brave." Here is what she said:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_a9NxxoUNoFdas-Gc6pnogO6_K0Gkun9B54bpl_6lfsDAR7R3xUfvLAwV3Iy33UrC_Ep9O50_ru8c77lfmK5LYf9jKk-Rkxrt5Jrw3WPh9PT7h8BX1IorAA-8OjRpF5IUx2-BdyE-gw/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_a9NxxoUNoFdas-Gc6pnogO6_K0Gkun9B54bpl_6lfsDAR7R3xUfvLAwV3Iy33UrC_Ep9O50_ru8c77lfmK5LYf9jKk-Rkxrt5Jrw3WPh9PT7h8BX1IorAA-8OjRpF5IUx2-BdyE-gw/s640/photo+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
"Ben Ben, it doesn't hurt. Ben Ben, you're crying, but *I* didn't cry. *I* was BRAVE. YOU are crying! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"<br />
<br />
In addition to being freaky, I think she may also be a bit evil. Let's get a closer look at that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfaKeMZcy_G3luY4HqsZFAkcoNfdb9ouUK6QIa1jbrRS4W583KwXv9CF_MWvNkbKVM0DSfgvqwfVo4_ETxvB85s5F7xUye4g9bxrmkw6MDWBcV_jE7-rt-yKEgdTCO5Ex-CzXKwZNkG0/s1600/photo+2_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfaKeMZcy_G3luY4HqsZFAkcoNfdb9ouUK6QIa1jbrRS4W583KwXv9CF_MWvNkbKVM0DSfgvqwfVo4_ETxvB85s5F7xUye4g9bxrmkw6MDWBcV_jE7-rt-yKEgdTCO5Ex-CzXKwZNkG0/s640/photo+2_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
{{shudder}}<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, their test results weren't what we'd hoped they'd be, and they both needed transfusions. At the same time. This was a first. Usually, they take turns getting sick, becoming anemic, and getting transfused. This time, they'd be going in at the same time. So what's a mom to do? Take them across the street to the mall and buy them a crapload of toys in a failed bid to make them feel better. Oh, and pray, pray, pray that the nurses would be able to get the IV started in fewer than 10 attempts.<br />
<br />
Usually, I have to argue, wheedle, and beg the nurses to call the hospital's IV Team to come start my kids' IVs. The IV Team members are like the Green Berets of the hospital. They're the ones they send in when nobody else can get the job done. Almost every other time, the nurses won't call the IV Team until after my kids have been poked no fewer than six times over the course of six or seven hours. They're sympathetic to my pleas that my kids are difficult to stick, but they still try themselves until they realize that mama wasn't lying about needing the specialists. This time, as soon as we stepped on the ward, I was pulled aside by one of the nurses who confessed that she followed me on Instagram and remembered how difficult my kids were to stick. She said in a conspiratorial tone, "I've already called the IV Team." I nearly cried with relief. Every time someone else even tried to look at my kids' veins, she would park herself in front of him or her and firmly say, "The IV Team has been called." The look on her face and crossed arms brooked no argument. Sure enough, the IV Team showed up shortly, and got the kids going with only a few attempts. Hallelujah!! Looks like we have a guardian angel, and her name is Amy.<br />
<br />
My wonderful hubby left work early and came to the hospital so I could go home and get some rest, but I got this picture before I left:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AuzKysOO3b5QjIiGlAoz2FwBVvuTJ9eVtrOEGPV-IKJV75WZxoJtU9XWDmCSTq0fxFkbpceEukCaScu4ajgZaSTfmUXAh443NSSUxC7W9tBZJVWu1pnzu7563vWAkiozwRE7LzDD8X8/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AuzKysOO3b5QjIiGlAoz2FwBVvuTJ9eVtrOEGPV-IKJV75WZxoJtU9XWDmCSTq0fxFkbpceEukCaScu4ajgZaSTfmUXAh443NSSUxC7W9tBZJVWu1pnzu7563vWAkiozwRE7LzDD8X8/s640/photo+3.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It was really sweet to see them cuddled together in the same hospital bed. Nothing brings siblings together like blood bags and tubing. Oh, and an iPad. That helps, too.lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-19776462823839931862013-11-14T21:25:00.000-08:002013-12-24T09:04:03.046-08:00"How Do You Make a Baby?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5X4-7RwKYpDrn-Iq-0_qWABrgsg_DeQFY7PMrquXLMzU49C-QlTFro6HKK28CqIywfIONiH0xf-F4ObBtE-tJYJm2YnALxWZZr4bJZFb1VhO6P-zzjY0oGAKnXb2UQc4QmshyphenhyphenZieRcM/s1600/1461072_10152039121653081_333383543_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5X4-7RwKYpDrn-Iq-0_qWABrgsg_DeQFY7PMrquXLMzU49C-QlTFro6HKK28CqIywfIONiH0xf-F4ObBtE-tJYJm2YnALxWZZr4bJZFb1VhO6P-zzjY0oGAKnXb2UQc4QmshyphenhyphenZieRcM/s640/1461072_10152039121653081_333383543_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />This was our dinnertime conversation at Pitfire Pizza the other night…<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Benjamin: You remember when Calliope came out of you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: Huh?<br /><br />Benjamin: How did she get out? <br /><br />Me: A doctor helped her get out. <br /><br />Calliope: But how did I get inside you?<br /><br />Me: ...<br /><br />Calliope: How do you make a baby?<br /><br />Me: You mean out of clay? Why don't you guys show me!<br /><br />Calliope and Benjamin: Yeah! Ok!!<br /><br /><br />I don't know how much longer I can stall these guys out!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-23866230931053169992013-09-06T14:14:00.001-07:002013-09-06T14:14:31.318-07:00Truth Hurts<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkDXNaEp7NzZITkA5UDEIZzlLDm-NmH73w1yf6ZWO2wOc3YOXsuhVDa6F29jT2GNqtosgSEjIxXLLNESAJshuFY0n9duJNRDtlAkZCUq6BcMxXfurCMceFPw7qov7HvbMN5vilYVM7zY/s640/blogger-image--1090059567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkDXNaEp7NzZITkA5UDEIZzlLDm-NmH73w1yf6ZWO2wOc3YOXsuhVDa6F29jT2GNqtosgSEjIxXLLNESAJshuFY0n9duJNRDtlAkZCUq6BcMxXfurCMceFPw7qov7HvbMN5vilYVM7zY/s640/blogger-image--1090059567.jpg"></a></div><br></div>And that's God's honest truth. Sigh. lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-46554337811949537482013-09-01T09:55:00.002-07:002013-09-01T15:27:41.795-07:00It's Been a While<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulsvFTvgf-xSXCe-Ar71iLvEtAp7Qs8wnrRr5G0w9ab5iJVAln5gWuerRyFBm3JLopYtIGXAn_F0Pv6GJy6ajBfFLdBPnbE9c68IZR0KLnUX2ZjiaS56biXCUpFLtgOTBeFDOrVKaqms/s1600/beentoolong20132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulsvFTvgf-xSXCe-Ar71iLvEtAp7Qs8wnrRr5G0w9ab5iJVAln5gWuerRyFBm3JLopYtIGXAn_F0Pv6GJy6ajBfFLdBPnbE9c68IZR0KLnUX2ZjiaS56biXCUpFLtgOTBeFDOrVKaqms/s640/beentoolong20132.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I know, I know.... It has been ages. Since my last post over a year ago, here are a few things big and small that have happened...</div>
<br />
<ul>
<li>We went to Kansas City to see friends and family.</li>
<li>We went to Disneyland. About 20 times.</li>
<li>Calliope started taking hip hop classes with her brother.</li>
<li>Benjamin started doing martial arts. </li>
<li>Calliope appeared in print ads for Janie & Jack, Splendid Littles and Lands End. </li>
<li>I went on a Bar Method bender that lasted all of one month.</li>
<li>Vince started playing paddle tennis again.</li>
<li>I stood in line at 2:30 in the morning to register Benjamin for a spot in a reknowned Mandarin immersion elementary school. </li>
<li>Calliope started preschool. </li>
<li>Benjamin graduated from preschool.</li>
<li>Benjamin started Kindergarten (in aforementioned Mandarin immersion school, thank you very much)</li>
<li>Benjamin learned how to write his name in Chinese.</li>
<li>Calliope learned how to write her name in English.</li>
<li>I got walking pneumonia.</li>
<li>Benjamin got one blood transfusion.</li>
<li>Calliope got five blood transfusions.</li>
<li>Vince's office moved from Malibu to Agoura Hills.</li>
<li>We tortured the kids with swim lessons.</li>
<li>I got my first ever really bad sunburn.</li>
<li>I cut of all of my hair a la Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby and had enough to time to grow it all back.</li>
<li>My parents visited from Asia twice.</li>
<li>We ate at A-Frame three times.</li>
<li>We ate at Humble Potato five times.</li>
<li>We ate at Pitfire Pizza about three dozen times.</li>
<li>I shot over a hundred photo sessions.</li>
<li>Vince's work week averaged between 55 (a good week) to 85 (a bad one) hours a week.</li>
<li>Vince's company went public.</li>
<li>My father-in-law celebrated his 70th birthday. </li>
<li>I bought four new strollers.</li>
<li>I sold three old strollers.</li>
<li>I read "Freckleface Strawberry" at bedtime a dozen times.</li>
<li>I sang "Over the Rainbow" at bedtime over four hundred times.</li>
<li>My friend and sister Deb moved away.</li>
<li>We went to two weddings.</li>
<li>Five friends had babies.</li>
<li>One friend passed away.</li>
<li>We celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary.</li>
</ul>
<div>
As I type up this list, I realize how very blessed I am in this life. I promise to write more. </div>
lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-13887317688914626992012-06-25T09:30:00.000-07:002012-06-25T09:30:17.389-07:00Tiny Terror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RonNlnVCVBIyoddIFKN1B7mzSvMhfL21tiaHxDKEa4S928fw5bEWM8DuQU6B8W1WprUBjqTAJ8eoYP77EONGIaEWqIIqt8ZGTQaufB8_ZBLcLmGmAcXxiFXMrqRlhPgPkLG9H5pSZYE/s1600/comicstrip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RonNlnVCVBIyoddIFKN1B7mzSvMhfL21tiaHxDKEa4S928fw5bEWM8DuQU6B8W1WprUBjqTAJ8eoYP77EONGIaEWqIIqt8ZGTQaufB8_ZBLcLmGmAcXxiFXMrqRlhPgPkLG9H5pSZYE/s800/comicstrip.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-73757073034631133752012-06-19T07:46:00.000-07:002012-06-25T07:49:36.060-07:00A PSA on Anatomy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPZ7rQxzfQAgGgKyNrMC3ExKXS70z8pXj_H0a2M-rw27XQBaHKcUnAQ7luSHt6gUGxjd5yST6ihMRETC7hxU8UWHB0QpbpRbHQwyoxYlrZ_BZ03RnSl7K6baaVVznlYJZdtQ_ujnd26k/s1600/vginaboo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPZ7rQxzfQAgGgKyNrMC3ExKXS70z8pXj_H0a2M-rw27XQBaHKcUnAQ7luSHt6gUGxjd5yST6ihMRETC7hxU8UWHB0QpbpRbHQwyoxYlrZ_BZ03RnSl7K6baaVVznlYJZdtQ_ujnd26k/s800/vginaboo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Last Friday, the unsuspecting customers at the local Tanner's Coffee got an impromptu lesson on anatomy. <br />
<br />
Benjamin (while I'm drinking my mocha): Mommy, you don't have a penis. <br />
Me: No, I don't. <br />
Benjamin: What do you have?<br />
Me (in as quiet a voice as possible): A vagina. <br />
Benjamin (in a louder voice to make up for my quiet one): A VAGINA??<br />
<br />
I suppose I should say they got a lesson on <em>my</em> anatomy.lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-4027112336083778912012-04-24T07:59:00.001-07:002012-04-25T22:14:04.501-07:00The Look That's Not Sweeping the Nation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm not a girly-girl. Ruffles and lace and pink princess frilliness just ain't my style. So after I had Calliope, I prayed, "Please, Gods of Fashion, don't make my daughter one of those girly-girls who wants to dress like a frilly princess." The Gods of Fashion listened.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4s0vEDa6eCAmz5iiv1nbpKVyt-dDa8aRaI9nWxUJjyJBN_JBv-rhmaltg_lK6U9WhuOPA_AnjkCv59l6sZ3zvw1dH9qsRhIoFOLAFc_tIij1FKRkUOaOoTB6g_8Lsf7Urd8kjhbCwBw/s1600/1thelook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4s0vEDa6eCAmz5iiv1nbpKVyt-dDa8aRaI9nWxUJjyJBN_JBv-rhmaltg_lK6U9WhuOPA_AnjkCv59l6sZ3zvw1dH9qsRhIoFOLAFc_tIij1FKRkUOaOoTB6g_8Lsf7Urd8kjhbCwBw/s800/1thelook.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Instead of a princess, my daughter likes to dress like an 80-year-old man. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHJ2G8O_Nq6bsrhJ2HXnpW890FNXGTna4Nj0QiXrB_jqKjT3lJCMoUfBipI9gmbcAtEdTywNYXr2eHJyymOnk1Xp4nyYCDZfcfMXqnKqL4VEnIjuRMQd_aYEPBL0u14XP3CoHBpXy69o/s1600/2thelook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHJ2G8O_Nq6bsrhJ2HXnpW890FNXGTna4Nj0QiXrB_jqKjT3lJCMoUfBipI9gmbcAtEdTywNYXr2eHJyymOnk1Xp4nyYCDZfcfMXqnKqL4VEnIjuRMQd_aYEPBL0u14XP3CoHBpXy69o/s800/2thelook.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Careful what you wish for!lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-19577630100982002472012-04-04T13:21:00.000-07:002012-04-25T21:39:16.746-07:00Double Whammy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-zxFGr_cF9Ms9NsKQucqqr9LUsOZ54y2rGku7VjgdFSxkmaoxihJ6tQcYzl6SOoBwmyQCi87ZlBwHk9ZmYHCGwgtxoFFdbQq92hi0A2vIWHgxpgVG_Mf5XIxb8_EPJrBp3cbhAmrWdM/s1600/1doublewhammy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-zxFGr_cF9Ms9NsKQucqqr9LUsOZ54y2rGku7VjgdFSxkmaoxihJ6tQcYzl6SOoBwmyQCi87ZlBwHk9ZmYHCGwgtxoFFdbQq92hi0A2vIWHgxpgVG_Mf5XIxb8_EPJrBp3cbhAmrWdM/s800/1doublewhammy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I used to dread cold season when the kids were younger. Because of their blood disorder, run-of-the-mill sniffles would lead to a fall in their hemoglobin, which would lead to pale, yellowish skin, which would lead me to take them for blood tests, which would sometimes lead to blood transfusions. No fun! By their first birthdays, my little vampires had each received a bunch of blood transfusions, but as they got older, they needed them less and less. So I have to admit I got complacent. I'd see them looking pale and yellow and think to myself, "Well, they're <em>always</em> anemic... So they're just fiiiine." And when they started looking REALLY yellow like a real-life Bart and Lisa , I'd say to myself, "Well, they're anemic AND they're Asian... So they're still fiiiine." Luckily, they have amazing people in their lives who aren't quite as inured to their sallow complexions and who aren't shy about speaking up when they'e looking a little too Simpson-esque. That's what happened a few weeks ago when the director of B's preschool, the wonderful Ms. Romy, called me up to tell me that she thought he was looking a bit off. I drove to his school right away, but though I thought he did look pale, he was going to be fine. After all, it had been over a year since his last tranfusion. Even so, Ms. Romy insisted that I take him to the doctor for testing. I remember thinking to myself, "Geez, she's pushy!" but I grudgingly schlepped our asses to the ER anyway. And thank God I did, because Ms. Romy was right - Benjamin was, indeed in need of a transfusion. Thank you, Ms. Romy!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFzsIjmsph2uz1VVcE6hxAgS6eABZ1yS85Ll5ckMRqUBROJIuahMSzDPAqQpHMRI8BGWAXRZGurPTonBCq7C347gYXDavsNYpKifl7t0o9sSLy2tp5FWpoKyoKMrOk0xyI3oXA69hfnQ/s1600/2cedarsfun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFzsIjmsph2uz1VVcE6hxAgS6eABZ1yS85Ll5ckMRqUBROJIuahMSzDPAqQpHMRI8BGWAXRZGurPTonBCq7C347gYXDavsNYpKifl7t0o9sSLy2tp5FWpoKyoKMrOk0xyI3oXA69hfnQ/s800/2cedarsfun.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
<br />
Poor Benjamin wound up needing not one, but two transfusions. Two transfusions take a loooong time to complete, but luckily, the Cedars peds ward is filled with fun, kid-friendly stuff like a playroom and mechanized beds that, with the push of a button, go up and down and up and down and up and down and--- you get the picture. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXeYzPuzCLQhaIM6o038G-a6EZWg7R9kpQBbSUyuB0-5AJT0uW1egJCp3BoP0qy85ImUTIGZi9qi-YkZpWPI7qEKSyShjivVmxgPaaOPvbp7Zgp00c7qKxHkOyLg0iqoN2anycoTAKAg/s1600/3ellasfirst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKXeYzPuzCLQhaIM6o038G-a6EZWg7R9kpQBbSUyuB0-5AJT0uW1egJCp3BoP0qy85ImUTIGZi9qi-YkZpWPI7qEKSyShjivVmxgPaaOPvbp7Zgp00c7qKxHkOyLg0iqoN2anycoTAKAg/s800/3ellasfirst.jpg" width="548" /></a></div>
<br />
In between his transfusions, Calliope and I slipped out to attend my Goddaughter Ella's first birthday party. Yes, I did feel slightly guilty for leaving the menfolk in the family at Cedars while we we womenfolk partied, but I needed a break from the rollercoaster ride of a hospital bed!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09Ogd8_utghQmJ8X17_S9k26SE_7Y-IX1ou7yR9DO5eR2PHLUzuFCtBBW_Gc-wqQouGP3IIfroNVHU8DPTCdinBvDGEeiuckP8yo80jAyY8qlAQFbPpPq5hmdT-YwrggHS4OA0PDN-0c/s1600/4sleepyB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09Ogd8_utghQmJ8X17_S9k26SE_7Y-IX1ou7yR9DO5eR2PHLUzuFCtBBW_Gc-wqQouGP3IIfroNVHU8DPTCdinBvDGEeiuckP8yo80jAyY8qlAQFbPpPq5hmdT-YwrggHS4OA0PDN-0c/s800/4sleepyB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Benjamin didn't miss us too much, anyway. The mix of Benadryl and blood always makes him really sleepy. Within minutes of the start of his transfusion, his eyelids grew droopy, and soon, he was out.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0iHqDcbxHed4lMDr9DnHYqPnPJxhcGZwAKIxYIkrHa_9cCEdM0YUEDXsHlQak_joez6Mh6dkP5Yy6vk5pJ5uZOmIW5xocbCH7dRV9Mk2iGfVnNMnfySGlJ5carujjkn0FMGcO_u7iTI/s1600/5scrumptiousB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV0iHqDcbxHed4lMDr9DnHYqPnPJxhcGZwAKIxYIkrHa_9cCEdM0YUEDXsHlQak_joez6Mh6dkP5Yy6vk5pJ5uZOmIW5xocbCH7dRV9Mk2iGfVnNMnfySGlJ5carujjkn0FMGcO_u7iTI/s800/5scrumptiousB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Aren't they yummy when they're sleeping? <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvEhfNtLeLNJudz9HEeZaBgSokITl510wl7D53fjqWFcK3yR4yRPrWnGYiNxLV_W9qUZRnnNOBSlS4WBp9kGXoblsWNqeOEHlGJtk-ylXeDo9NBmATQE40DXoZGXEHZVslQZF4s-sYeg/s1600/6scrumptiousbrother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvEhfNtLeLNJudz9HEeZaBgSokITl510wl7D53fjqWFcK3yR4yRPrWnGYiNxLV_W9qUZRnnNOBSlS4WBp9kGXoblsWNqeOEHlGJtk-ylXeDo9NBmATQE40DXoZGXEHZVslQZF4s-sYeg/s800/6scrumptiousbrother.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Calliope sure thinks so. She cozied right up to her big brother, and my heart just melted into a big puddle. I have to freeze this image in my brain for the next time the two of them are tearing the house apart. <br />
A few days after Benjamin's transfusions, we dutifully visited his hematologist for a follow-up. While we were there, she kept asking questions about Calliope. "When was the last time your daughter was checked?" "Do you think she looks a little pale?" "Are her eyes always so yellow?" I started to get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. A blood test confirmed that Calliope was anemic, and that night, she was admitted to Cedars. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeSuc1NTdKgRVFsVfTNkQN7Q-wpJFlFNnwM7fJJQgBNxHb8QRCIdVJdKdt5g9WfZuEX0IKGL-DrPdfl3YZPe1UgBFxQ_ktsm83btXFWYmpUjMcwLNrYl6h52roGxAfymOBKJTzLZWdkw/s1600/7friskyvampire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeSuc1NTdKgRVFsVfTNkQN7Q-wpJFlFNnwM7fJJQgBNxHb8QRCIdVJdKdt5g9WfZuEX0IKGL-DrPdfl3YZPe1UgBFxQ_ktsm83btXFWYmpUjMcwLNrYl6h52roGxAfymOBKJTzLZWdkw/s800/7friskyvampire.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Though it was waaaay past her bedtime, she was wide awake. Guess she didn't get the memo that anemia is supposed to make you lethargic. As I watched her bounce off the walls, that line from the Energizer commercial played in my head: She just keeps going and going and going and going...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitub4kbjBT-reaZNnc360r8N4flH4SHoe60K-mmSBpUhHpHZzU632poKiOYwmo42Yfe1QMHV4_bYo-voWevyK-yDST1KZYCjOGPX6qzrbcac2GpUV_YWJKdsTeeyIYLiDqzcE8L4TeSLo/s1600/8sleepyC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitub4kbjBT-reaZNnc360r8N4flH4SHoe60K-mmSBpUhHpHZzU632poKiOYwmo42Yfe1QMHV4_bYo-voWevyK-yDST1KZYCjOGPX6qzrbcac2GpUV_YWJKdsTeeyIYLiDqzcE8L4TeSLo/s800/8sleepyC.jpg" width="536" /></a></div>
<br />
But even my little Energizer Bunny isn't immune to the lulling effects of Benadryl and blood. Like her brother, she knocked out into a peaceful little lump within minutes, and her Grandpa Chan had the pleasure of holding her as she drifted off to lullaby land. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZV6YnCQZMOkDeSQINQ36taCRZJhWnjU31_weaKU25L-Wri5T71JJHlNYXkkHnhvZsQdLNzj4jhGeqN9v6trax1EU7ZShRRSfFzaUmAPgorDc7DiMvXnqM9lmNr4UyJFNAVQ0m1EVgPQ/s1600/9beforeandafterCandB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZV6YnCQZMOkDeSQINQ36taCRZJhWnjU31_weaKU25L-Wri5T71JJHlNYXkkHnhvZsQdLNzj4jhGeqN9v6trax1EU7ZShRRSfFzaUmAPgorDc7DiMvXnqM9lmNr4UyJFNAVQ0m1EVgPQ/s800/9beforeandafterCandB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Like her brother, Calliope received two transfusions. And like her brother, the procedures transformed her from a yellowish Simpsons character into a rosy-cheeked babe. Look at how absolutely stoked she is to be in that hospital bed!! Even so, she was even happier when she finally got the ok to go home. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/V8ufGu787_8" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If I hadn't been so absolutely exhausted from the double whammy of having both kids in the hospital within days, I woulda been dancing, too!</div>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-26448482588796138502012-03-25T11:30:00.007-07:002013-09-01T20:32:06.720-07:00Rise of the Humpdacat<div>
Four-year-olds have healthy imaginations. They don a superhero cape and magically develop superpowers. They're able to spend hours playing inside pirate ships or fortresses that to the rest of us looking cardboard boxes. And they think that having ice cream for dinner is possible if they ask enough times. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised at the existence of the humpdacat - a creature birthed from Benjamin's very active four-year-old brain. </div>
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723904771529709426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxCvmwp-u-c85ikO5WbvjhveExCXbhiZD-aBHqCPh62poKTfpvUGG2HQnx7gTG3ha3IUf8PxEAIVjxURVpDIDUiee4qWkMRWwp98TU8p7X00M-lffYNnSGfGQIwBNFLykPXV8xLCfXek/s800/1humpdacat.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 603px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 640px;" /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
A month or so ago, I noticed a figure popping up again and again in Benjamin's drawings - it looked vaguely anthropomorphic with wide-set eyes, two arms, two legs, and a thick torso. After watching him furiously putting the finishing touches on yet another one of of these creatures, I finally asked Benjamin what it was. He shrugged his shoulders, and said, "It's a humpdacat." I assumed that "humpdacat" was a mouthful of gibberish that Benjamin made up on the fly, so I didn't think I would hear the word again. But I was wrong. Colorful humpdacats continued to show up in his watercolors, hastily doodled humpdacats decorated the margins of his workbook, and the word "humpdacat" peppered his speech. The humpdacat was here to stay. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I decided it was time to get to know the humpdacat. What is it? What makes it tick? I sat Benjamin down for a humpdacat Q & A.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Mommy: How big is the humpdacat?<br />
Benjamin: THIS BIG. (spreads arms out wide and stands on tippy toes)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
M: What is the humpdacat's favorite color?</div>
<div>
B: Black and red and orange and brown and purple. That's a lot of colors.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
M: Is the humpdacat quiet or loud?</div>
<div>
B: The humpdacat is very quiet and very loud and very noisy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
M: What is the humpdacat's favorite toy?</div>
<div>
B: Messy dump trucks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
After that last question, Benjamin stood up and demanded ice cream for dinner. The interview was over, and I felt as though I were no closer to understanding this enigmatic creature.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PG0po4KV12gJs3S-8PLvpUOCaU4gjfnuv0YMnMQrs21px5q6mkB2C-5MRQc2aJDRf1pN1lr2vhx9N_mm_iDMV7KoK5ZzK0dzJCMspjtnAzitPG3Ie-AZ0lC4F6tKx0YlZGYZjY4nWwk/s1600/2humpdacat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723904761999777986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PG0po4KV12gJs3S-8PLvpUOCaU4gjfnuv0YMnMQrs21px5q6mkB2C-5MRQc2aJDRf1pN1lr2vhx9N_mm_iDMV7KoK5ZzK0dzJCMspjtnAzitPG3Ie-AZ0lC4F6tKx0YlZGYZjY4nWwk/s800/2humpdacat.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 640px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 611px;" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
One day, I saw Benjamin writing his name in large letters right next to a humpdacat. A-HA!!! I excitedly asked him, "Benjamin, are YOU the humpdacat?" He rolled his eyes at me and said, "No, Mommy, CALLIOPE is the humpdacat." Hmmmm...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4GOSjzUm3oDvUlxUZWIu1NZ2PtrI4i2KxWBwgVCKxuiTCNR4pPpUQDs5jlCPX6E-AoHNSY8gTIKdd7E4tBUue-roaMOeXF265FZMFwZ2c93QhCbrxMEsO_b5FUKQ3f7mZqE6n93S7Iw/s1600/humphumpdacat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723904754486800946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd4GOSjzUm3oDvUlxUZWIu1NZ2PtrI4i2KxWBwgVCKxuiTCNR4pPpUQDs5jlCPX6E-AoHNSY8gTIKdd7E4tBUue-roaMOeXF265FZMFwZ2c93QhCbrxMEsO_b5FUKQ3f7mZqE6n93S7Iw/s800/humphumpdacat.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 282px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 640px;" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
She does have humps...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmda7RjdyVwassIt1GvgV9coerLPMTgX9mpAHplXqUE5rqHn_HfNHrWcRF775OrBYsESOQMGRk7QoatbSaveZR7oVUqhyphenhyphen3pdrXgg-jyQ1_D49cw6u-weI_e06xY61AJ3b4yLBQBQ7j9tM/s1600/cathumpdacat.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723904279842333410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmda7RjdyVwassIt1GvgV9coerLPMTgX9mpAHplXqUE5rqHn_HfNHrWcRF775OrBYsESOQMGRk7QoatbSaveZR7oVUqhyphenhyphen3pdrXgg-jyQ1_D49cw6u-weI_e06xY61AJ3b4yLBQBQ7j9tM/s800/cathumpdacat.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 427px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 640px;" /></a><br />
<br />
...And she does sort of look like a cat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JfyEEWCKifRHOaXhv3VG9_U2o0ICL1gMCrJ_dO-uDK3Cxr3rGvHA7pHf1dwkOzKEphj_Kj8ui-RYt4S1J4VYuqfPCE0NS1My0aqTRM2LvFHDDYcpnOr_CMIJ4LgUbyTeEbebjfH_nCo/s1600/humpdaC.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723904275263709042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JfyEEWCKifRHOaXhv3VG9_U2o0ICL1gMCrJ_dO-uDK3Cxr3rGvHA7pHf1dwkOzKEphj_Kj8ui-RYt4S1J4VYuqfPCE0NS1My0aqTRM2LvFHDDYcpnOr_CMIJ4LgUbyTeEbebjfH_nCo/s800/humpdaC.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 486px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 640px;" /></a><br />
I can't believe I didn't see it before!lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-49338931132829853802012-03-14T11:37:00.003-07:002012-03-14T11:40:20.976-07:00The Indigo Chans<iframe width="640" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PNpJIFrDZuE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-24770378073102029252012-03-10T13:05:00.031-08:002012-03-11T15:37:24.144-07:00It's the Little Things<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMaWw2ESoGhA9Vlj1Prw5lcTmyyPIByDr7QiZ0ZgbCBvHQ2cqiUi0tqYBqWH9GufRl5CSXhrcOCdWCCXFHKxHJypBbsIS554pihsHjZXD-mnK3WNSmVc8Y0elcztv2Ft4prDb31TvkvA/s1600/1bandCdrawing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718471453706441138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMaWw2ESoGhA9Vlj1Prw5lcTmyyPIByDr7QiZ0ZgbCBvHQ2cqiUi0tqYBqWH9GufRl5CSXhrcOCdWCCXFHKxHJypBbsIS554pihsHjZXD-mnK3WNSmVc8Y0elcztv2Ft4prDb31TvkvA/s800/1bandCdrawing.jpg" /></a>I know... It's been ages since my last post. So that means that now that I'm finally writing, I should have something phenomenally, fantabulously exciting to report, right? Well, no. Not really. See, the thing that's finally inspiring me to update you isn't all that exciting or important. It's not a milestone, a major occurence, or anything to really write home about. Not that there hasn't been a lot going on in our lives. Come to think of it, there have been any number of things that I could have devoted multiple blog posts to. Such as our recent trip to Hawaii.</div><div><br /><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-FI97dBOoDtyHljFJq4kO4-XBLjjZwAxgsAOYIygy5PcmDT87EsVRYSOtDUKad7rISM73IlRmL1Cpn4vzCFer4kkrTIN6ZWuG74-iK121RwP-g03Y0FjZA6vqLuWl3U_qVAeyH9tkRQ/s1600/2hawaii1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 512px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718464199920577122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-FI97dBOoDtyHljFJq4kO4-XBLjjZwAxgsAOYIygy5PcmDT87EsVRYSOtDUKad7rISM73IlRmL1Cpn4vzCFer4kkrTIN6ZWuG74-iK121RwP-g03Y0FjZA6vqLuWl3U_qVAeyH9tkRQ/s800/2hawaii1.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>What made this trip so remarkable was that we took it <em>sans</em> kids. Yup - our first vacation as a couple since our first child was born! A real grown-up vacation! One that included real grown-up meals in real grown-up restaurants followed by dimly-lit, romantic and passionate real grown-up se-- Nevermind.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienLHoZlLZhE657rUS1WCjY-SDsZ3GC3xJiwXkrFkbQ8uO-mJCWoJVV0bdI1fp4nTSCFfogL2mY_M1lzsyxYvHDU3-Scsnt7FYV4EQXqDYQkcMybY3nllXkw-b_JCEbljAKQoHFgyOTQQ/s1600/3hawaii2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 512px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718464192245370562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienLHoZlLZhE657rUS1WCjY-SDsZ3GC3xJiwXkrFkbQ8uO-mJCWoJVV0bdI1fp4nTSCFfogL2mY_M1lzsyxYvHDU3-Scsnt7FYV4EQXqDYQkcMybY3nllXkw-b_JCEbljAKQoHFgyOTQQ/s800/3hawaii2.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>We had greatly anticipated this trip for months before, so it seemed like a cruel trick that seemingly everything we saw reminded us in some way of our two rugrats. Sigh. Guess that's parenthood for you.</div><div><br /></div><div>A week after our trip to Hawaii, we packed up the entire family for a trip to Asia. The excruciating plane ride over there deserves a blog post all its own. The thirteen hour flight broke down like this:</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong>HOUR 1 - </strong>Calliope sleeps. I give myself a smug pat on the back and start reading People magazine.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>HOUR 2 - </strong>Calliope abruptly wakes up, realizes she's in a tin can hurtling through thin air and begins to wail.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><strong></strong><br /></div><div><strong>HOURS 3-8 - </strong>Calliope does an incredible impersonation of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. I alternate between feeling horrified by the realization that I am the parent of THAT screaming baby on the plane and being in awe of my daughter's sheer stamina.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>HOUR 9 - </strong>Calliope passes out. I use the restroom for the first time in eight hours. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><strong>HOURS 10-12 -</strong> Calliope wakes up and stays calm enough to eat something and watch the first five minutes of all two dozen DVDs I've brought with me about five times each. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>HOUR 13 -</strong> Calliope starts to get upset again and ramps up for another epic Linda Blair impersonation. Thankfully, we land before her head starts spinning.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /> </div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 483px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718432619889866690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2w9I82rtX8CZFCxn32HqYCX85nEQSmpqtJwFx5K9Xnil8Mq-mUH3-SolYFNbGVt6oSkRV1tcKgKwHSDOfP-4z8lf6X4jEZCPpzMVekofVIdKMsj11xn607ibobsR1TXzTleSsXfQeTY/s800/4taiwan.jpg" /><div> </div><div>Torturous flight notwithstanding, our stay in Taiwan was wonderful. It was great to visit with family we hadn't seen in years and introduce our relatives to Vince and the kids.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXf54PFMaxuqA-b_StfQtA85HvNyv6jSC2PkiO1ZtLiyTqL8UBh7zK2D-GqIIzLjsUTTypPvs2_Ktr1lHA-pyZd48iCl2nWzVZuuTrp7syS33fX25hHIS1CT6N0gadHzOgnJvyjmi8LU/s1600/7planestrains.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 491px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718432604779993010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljsXJt4RCC22UUlAyusPgvz5PawD3jm8aZ4yTtCFFc0ZzQW0kJTy9VSedvo399zVFFl0QgF222e1nyOD6bh1GK8D-Fl2vHWkKP5_f0GfBmyparXVqJAxXNAPsyIYacMnHwhUheHPMnBg/s800/5singapore.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>After Taiwan, we flew to Singapore, the country where I lived before going to college, and the place I consider home. We visited various museums, historical locales, famous restaurants, old friends and the world-reknowned zoo, but what did the kids love the most about Singapore?</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrRhJDzZITvY1aFKBmn3gMsXaFF44hSF-MEnWRc5mUmC4HPaqdLAAReMLjJITSdSR5oXREGVdjuulOpXEanaE4-x0g5VzttPH80Abc9nUWTfT7jPjJ_xlF9Zo6Q6cPj1JhAADASBQfew/s1600/8singaporebed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 384px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718432111244716082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrRhJDzZITvY1aFKBmn3gMsXaFF44hSF-MEnWRc5mUmC4HPaqdLAAReMLjJITSdSR5oXREGVdjuulOpXEanaE4-x0g5VzttPH80Abc9nUWTfT7jPjJ_xlF9Zo6Q6cPj1JhAADASBQfew/s800/8singaporebed.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>The bed in our Four Seasons hotel room. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 470px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718432598430082098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXf54PFMaxuqA-b_StfQtA85HvNyv6jSC2PkiO1ZtLiyTqL8UBh7zK2D-GqIIzLjsUTTypPvs2_Ktr1lHA-pyZd48iCl2nWzVZuuTrp7syS33fX25hHIS1CT6N0gadHzOgnJvyjmi8LU/s800/7planestrains.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>Aside from the bed, I think what made the biggest impression on them during our Asia trip were the various modes of transport. Forget national monuments or breathtaking natural vistas. Bring on the planes, trains, and automobiles (not to mention the subways and monorails). Speaking of modes of transport, I picked up a nice souvenir while I was in Singapore - a nice new stroller. I also got a nice new...</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEH4jM1Hm5ekgU4XeakD-qGX8LD9aoIjSQWCtyV-fytGsJlR3SKFE3qY35bKgJvClOCXy0_2H5UUoimCEEjdMyWqIIOWBqAbfc2lXzHOOpnz4XQkHL2mSGvUC6_06bXBCxD9JdVNQRTLQ/s1600/9singaporesouvenirs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 442px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718432102323821666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEH4jM1Hm5ekgU4XeakD-qGX8LD9aoIjSQWCtyV-fytGsJlR3SKFE3qY35bKgJvClOCXy0_2H5UUoimCEEjdMyWqIIOWBqAbfc2lXzHOOpnz4XQkHL2mSGvUC6_06bXBCxD9JdVNQRTLQ/s800/9singaporesouvenirs.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>...tattoo! Well, technically I didn't get a NEW tattoo; I simply added onto an existing one. You see that dragon? That's the tattooI got on my last trip back to Singapore in 2001. See the cherry blossoms and the Chinese characters? That's the new part. In case you're wondering what the characters say, it's "midlife crisis." Just kidding! It's the kids' Chinese names.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBE6Vcl6GvpdF8vMTCx1uCuz7xJNV6gcw5xtxsx_R3iT5T_PjXGoqCfqAIsueDIHoiD3skAnUNwj5b22100VACkn-sdv4CgCQT6l7Ti8uNMXZXFivwkXtyHs8PHcCTJabFLyS4vZN0ixQ/s1600/10chaktat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 427px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718431886735843714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBE6Vcl6GvpdF8vMTCx1uCuz7xJNV6gcw5xtxsx_R3iT5T_PjXGoqCfqAIsueDIHoiD3skAnUNwj5b22100VACkn-sdv4CgCQT6l7Ti8uNMXZXFivwkXtyHs8PHcCTJabFLyS4vZN0ixQ/s800/10chaktat.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>I was lucky enough to have the same guy who's been tattooing me since I was a teen give me my latest one. His name's Chak, and he's the one who gave me the dragon tattoo eleven years before, as well as some of my other ink. When I first met him 18 years ago, he was just one of the artists at Johnny Two Thumbs Tattoo. Now he owns the place. I'm hoping that that means that when I go back again in another ten years, he'll still be there to add the names of all my new children to my arm. ;) </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>It seemed like we barely had a chance to recover from the jetlag of our Asia trip before the holiday season got into full swing. </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718476977406960978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJIWD8L2aDtwCJjgozM12Dr01g7gwg8PbLltKdhMGv8Nrdpe89P5jix6OcguAXNTqAbxdZPUrv1jvI-94CpCzc72riCmV5-85-KzIyO4QhpdYnrM8TaaRB0L1gY_yRJDYJVyt4aIQMCU/s800/11redwoodshow2011.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Keeping the Asian theme going, Benjamin melted our hearts with with a spirited rendition of "Jingle Bell Wok" in the preschool holiday show.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpqJ6PFRTJ8u2h7O5S_ncP2lZmYR1V9BR3J1-sc6nFcFLLgmadnIh7YEbH8PcS_B8AOSQH20aDe6dtHuIXtLLJ3h7LxiF8CokPQUZFiA8jgMdFwNsooqm_DyyUUogptGF0vnOAjHv6So/s1600/12xmas2011.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 427px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430627508489490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpqJ6PFRTJ8u2h7O5S_ncP2lZmYR1V9BR3J1-sc6nFcFLLgmadnIh7YEbH8PcS_B8AOSQH20aDe6dtHuIXtLLJ3h7LxiF8CokPQUZFiA8jgMdFwNsooqm_DyyUUogptGF0vnOAjHv6So/s800/12xmas2011.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Then before we knew it, Christmas was here! We got the best gift ever when Benjamin rode a two-wheeled bike (with no training wheels!) on Christmas Day. </div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><iframe height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vKGsN8SMzyk" frameborder="0" width="560" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Not to be outdone, Calliope decided to surprise us by giving up diapers a few days later.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUi1ONB5AmxD9pkMxxtNTybOT-NNW2xjvBdyPBr4-gyd1HR22G_AsV3ePoBC41L6_S70XX3d0uheAqcJaIfc-gQ1QvZc-0yP776RkM-cKjA1jT7PANwMO0gx06nprVpNIQmRmny2YGw8/s1600/13rubypotty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 478px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430620020624146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUi1ONB5AmxD9pkMxxtNTybOT-NNW2xjvBdyPBr4-gyd1HR22G_AsV3ePoBC41L6_S70XX3d0uheAqcJaIfc-gQ1QvZc-0yP776RkM-cKjA1jT7PANwMO0gx06nprVpNIQmRmny2YGw8/s800/13rubypotty.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Along with diapers, it looks like she also lost her sense of style. Luckily, her modeling career didn't suffer from her fashion <em>faux pas</em>.</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzz5cXe-uX4wxgYJtWq4EEzbz23kkUBODXeg1NmsgV6q34NPcNSoj4Xf5Pt4_4BroMBOoOPNNSUUdZqzRYqa7Kwlt_Rln0c9eepTxn6bJuncbVLOoiGhpj_44hZqQX_a0YsXU-18iDC8/s1600/14cmodel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 435px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430613184976290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwzz5cXe-uX4wxgYJtWq4EEzbz23kkUBODXeg1NmsgV6q34NPcNSoj4Xf5Pt4_4BroMBOoOPNNSUUdZqzRYqa7Kwlt_Rln0c9eepTxn6bJuncbVLOoiGhpj_44hZqQX_a0YsXU-18iDC8/s800/14cmodel.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to walk unawares into TJ Maxx and see a larger-than-life-size poster of your child hanging over your head? Most people don't realize that just because you're hired for a modeling job doesn't mean that the company that hired you tells you when or even if your photos! So believe me when I say that it was a shock to suddenly see this picture of Calliope. As for the pic on the right, that's for a costume company called Disguise. Little do they know, dressing my daughter up as a witch can hardly be called a "disguise."</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 570px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718480437652253538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhod_vQyUmm_m8XDcGzLqknzqBV2ElXLHhe81djU4otdlwvzfVYMLdE_sgvGIeIdJzNWSBzjrSyvL6VSAZznllG7D5sgIdt2oqKnnO_3lKwcEtZSdV81Bz2W8uV8m_l90YYML2QiN8ZM2g/s800/15birthdayparty2012.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>The most recent of the many milestones that have happened since my last blog post was the kids' birthday. We celebrated with a rock star party at Music Stars and Masters in Westwood where Benjamin channeled Billy Joel and Calliope dressed up as an 80s fashion victim. </div><div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>So you can see that a lot of pretty major things have happened, any one of which I could have devoted a blog post to. But it's not the big things that made me want to get off my butt and start writing. It's the little things.</div><div><br /> </div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 518px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430123341106466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeUh1DeW8LciNtSto-ow8V8h26WpynI5mQ83jJgJENp7a5NNwldrpy5rzI6zVOswkunt6RAVuFRECEv3zgauyy7uUXjStC4koJ6-gLLByLoW1kvsw0ghjFcwpgVKutHNDECr6ccmIvJxU/s800/18peekaBOO.jpg" /><div> </div><div> </div><div>Like the fact that Benjamin still doesn't understand a critical aspect of playing hide-and-seek.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 371px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430611101205250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_Sg92TqumOaVtOXJKMHlE2y8jxaFmY-_LDfdcBS081SJBu7FkdY6ocipRXn5YJk13IQrpVc43QYKaENUF2a03UNUDag37PFI8XC8eS7Uj3Wr08TemICE8BNrxMExX6IdYcim1qMVT_Q/s800/16bigappetite.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Or my constant wonder at the size of my daughter's appetite...</div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xsj5ZJXzfSqDrnwCHzFkxqm0fQwxZpFiKINU71PGtjnmsiCg_VSs5qZ6hyEX2jGLLlrmcBh0a2sBBK_nDlnEAXY6pJw10oOoMB371Bpqtza-eWd_UPdX5Z3GZE2LyC5Y1NmEXVjjSRY/s1600/17bigtemper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 371px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430129252301698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xsj5ZJXzfSqDrnwCHzFkxqm0fQwxZpFiKINU71PGtjnmsiCg_VSs5qZ6hyEX2jGLLlrmcBh0a2sBBK_nDlnEAXY6pJw10oOoMB371Bpqtza-eWd_UPdX5Z3GZE2LyC5Y1NmEXVjjSRY/s800/17bigtemper.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div>...and temper. Lawd have mercy!</div><div><br /> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiJ2mNJTqlmM2ILeDbqsh5dInNaG9nAwBLV1_-u0kpt5Z09V1FTqFfwYZXbphQbXmdM6g2yGHvROoO2j_Xm7fd8cQu5ANcWPnWEI_acrHBFWbfECOP27NkJoU6JPHsZFE64bX7rvSzVo/s1600/19humpdacat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 462px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430114718926354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixiJ2mNJTqlmM2ILeDbqsh5dInNaG9nAwBLV1_-u0kpt5Z09V1FTqFfwYZXbphQbXmdM6g2yGHvROoO2j_Xm7fd8cQu5ANcWPnWEI_acrHBFWbfECOP27NkJoU6JPHsZFE64bX7rvSzVo/s800/19humpdacat.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>It's Benjamin's recent strange new creation, a creature he calls a "humpdacat." </div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 442px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718484125158614018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIDTB1_qn_tZ5Ysv7CreABEEGjwLW8jvpkKq8eqtuw8nqUhUg_Bpnhb6Li8lqsEIa8Mbs3vTkjRxDiuUUCNra_GsXm34rVxkWjvYt3f8GBmIXLsfqcYHzSFEECHWLOopJoNX8cYpEy1o/s800/20supermanprincess.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>And speaking of strange, it's Benjamin's cross-dressing tendencies. After he put this outfit on, he proclaimed that he was a Superman Princess. I find this endearing but distressing. Any child of mine should know that that cape doesn't go with that tutu! </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>So yes, it's the little things that want to share with you. Which brings me back to the first image in this post:</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 640px; height: 640px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718430093601677778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9u-uWLPVRQcyUAgvDeZ_DBiaLykZcW8zfRvNcgK0xWKZ_iEQjSQlWb4SH3F7AXEOu8OUUNs5ofI43JJkqGq3u4Q14xs5CxNGaJ0RV7Rqq-UOj5MC-8cFerd8yQZcGgERp7Cl2V_5MACg/s800/21bandCdrawing+-+Copy.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div>This is Calliope using a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nosefrida-The-Snotsucker-Nasal-Aspirator/dp/B00171WXII/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1331438647&sr=8-1">Nosefrida Snotsucker</a>. On herself. The Nosefrida is a nasal aspirator for babies and children. The pointy end of the plastic receptacle goes in the nostril, the end of the tube goes in your mouth, you suck, and a little blue filter prevents you from gagging on your beloved's boogers. Yum! Last week, Calliope was sitting on her potty and somehow got her hands on this Nosefrida. I thought it was pretty funny that she was using it on herself, so I took a pic. A moment later, I heard the sound of bubbles blowing. I stopped and saw that she'd put the nostril end of the gadget into her potty and was blowing bubbles into her pee. WARNING: If you think that's gross, stop reading now. Ok, ready? The next thing I heard was silence, which I correctly assumed meant that she was now sucking her pee UP. EEK! I shrieked, grabbed it out of her hands, and took it apart to be cleaned. I was pleasantly surprised to find that none of her pee had made it past the filter into the tube. I guess that thing really does work! </div><div><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>You'd think that I'd be more excited to share stories of our world travels or my son's first bike ride than stories of my daughter sucking pee up with a nasal aspirator. But in a way, I'm not. I have a hunch that, more than these big trips, it'll be these little things which I'll remember and treasure in the years to come. You see, people take trips all the time. Everyone eventually gets potty trained (I think) and learns how to ride a bike (except for my mom who rides an adult-sized tricycle). And everyone has birthday parties. But humpdacats, Superman Princesses and unfortunate Nosefrida-pee incidents? Those are special, because those are the stories that make my babies all mine. </div></div></div></div></div>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-74757536390591361072011-12-20T08:22:00.000-08:002011-12-20T08:32:16.433-08:00The Naughty ListWith Christmas fast approaching, I spent a recent night wrapping gifts. Lots of gifts. So many gifts that I didn't go to sleep until after midnight. I figured I'd earned the right to sleep in the next day, which happened to be a Saturday when Vince would conveniently be available to watch the kids. I left my wrapping paper and ribbon in a neat pile on the dining room table and retired to bed.<br /><br />The next morning, I slept until the late hour of 8:00 am, took my time getting ready in the morning, and entered the living room refreshed and ready to tackle the weekend. This is the sight that greeted me:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjl6Ht0-8P9gRZKL_1XnOD6_5uqVNK54pXFm5hEyKEkKQaWqDo1Pu9FjoQwKRLY7rEFMh3jkKaPGmWEsBpgCn8gWG2RBTj9I2SyD_ptbtldAqwCQtS1Nbjsq5Y2crCYSCr24Z08p7jIS4/s1600/ribbonfrenzy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688247145047230706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjl6Ht0-8P9gRZKL_1XnOD6_5uqVNK54pXFm5hEyKEkKQaWqDo1Pu9FjoQwKRLY7rEFMh3jkKaPGmWEsBpgCn8gWG2RBTj9I2SyD_ptbtldAqwCQtS1Nbjsq5Y2crCYSCr24Z08p7jIS4/s800/ribbonfrenzy.jpg" /></a>Looks like someone's gonna be on Santa's naughty list, and it ain't gonna be the kids.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvruSIrYi5jhsXfBqhYol5tjIOLn5rJHAe2w-eMjID0SMYDTzx33iR1uO7W2Uttq_55ZQ9K-t5V6UugoDRm3ZKeq8y66sxQ8HG2e4KdG8rKqKDOtM8Wxyqu9meCNAZ7KjwdNmVhZZfxao/s1600/ribbonsV.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688247143869957362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvruSIrYi5jhsXfBqhYol5tjIOLn5rJHAe2w-eMjID0SMYDTzx33iR1uO7W2Uttq_55ZQ9K-t5V6UugoDRm3ZKeq8y66sxQ8HG2e4KdG8rKqKDOtM8Wxyqu9meCNAZ7KjwdNmVhZZfxao/s800/ribbonsV.jpg" /></a> Perhaps this was Vince's way of discouraging me from sleeping in ever again? Who knows. Well, like the kids, it's a good thing he's cute, because I think there was enough ribbon left over to wrap around his neck!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbw4Au7DCkUr5hPZiUETGYmHZ03zXGNxIekbYJ-6GNJoPSIC-YMcKpMJehAN7KKQtRbi-0Imb7xbyohIg5zP-4K-lU9oco3I7QdQXKf0yL7L0YmL3cOiEywh7wyHKL9I3_4FdkuWUXzeM/s1600/ribbonsfamily.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688247138914043074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbw4Au7DCkUr5hPZiUETGYmHZ03zXGNxIekbYJ-6GNJoPSIC-YMcKpMJehAN7KKQtRbi-0Imb7xbyohIg5zP-4K-lU9oco3I7QdQXKf0yL7L0YmL3cOiEywh7wyHKL9I3_4FdkuWUXzeM/s800/ribbonsfamily.jpg" /></a>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-34154861659713088752011-10-11T20:55:00.000-07:002011-10-12T07:39:51.268-07:00Tulle Be, Or Not Tulle Be?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WMQRjSAMNJkRMqUdtnTk1TSV0fX1tH7Dd9-LGibPj9EPwtuA8k8deXG21QS9d8QshwGs-OHcUBg4pcQzNwaYNwzOac5guYRrWGH4RdKqxt9SKySd-_BU5k8bJZeUa727GtQSdhiXld4/s1600/1Little_lady.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 458px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662453079475514082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WMQRjSAMNJkRMqUdtnTk1TSV0fX1tH7Dd9-LGibPj9EPwtuA8k8deXG21QS9d8QshwGs-OHcUBg4pcQzNwaYNwzOac5guYRrWGH4RdKqxt9SKySd-_BU5k8bJZeUa727GtQSdhiXld4/s800/1Little_lady.jpg" /></a>I'm not a girly-girl. Never have been. I'm not a big fan of ruffles, frilly undergarments, beauty pageants, or pink lip gloss. So I guess it's no surprise that my daughter would be the same. At the tender age of 19 months, Calliope already has a definite tomboy streak. Some might even say that her behavior at times is downright unladylike. Though I would prefer that she leave her pants on and refrain from using her breakfast as hair gel, and though sometimes I find that her stubborness borders on outright insubordination, I have to say that I love that my daughter is such a rough and tumble little girl. <br /><br />Even so, part of me wonders what Calliope would look like with a poufy princess dress on. With her big round eyes, chubby cheeks and pigtails, she'd probably be pretty cute! So on a recent afternoon, I took her to the mall to find out. I found the biggest, poufiest, glittery-ist, most tulle-filled princess dress in the store and put it on her. Unfortunately, it didn't go over well.<br /><br /><iframe width="640" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ou9KgvEc8LM?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Guess I forgot who I was dealing with here. :(<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfUcxhfym5urG3BCkdhD9V70LuiXL1Dib5h7FoP6ZxknaF8iaZSZwb9wO8u37hJ4xVALjfnDrb8lbTffACJZSKc9WR310_r6chSZztQTGHPistJRLFZES2B0NCSHqOUJWXJ6NHabzFVA/s1600/1tantrumC.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 414px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452853403474210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivfUcxhfym5urG3BCkdhD9V70LuiXL1Dib5h7FoP6ZxknaF8iaZSZwb9wO8u37hJ4xVALjfnDrb8lbTffACJZSKc9WR310_r6chSZztQTGHPistJRLFZES2B0NCSHqOUJWXJ6NHabzFVA/s800/1tantrumC.jpg" /></a></p><br /><p>I realize that it's been almost two months since my last post. Yes, I feel really guilty about neglecting my blog. No, I haven't been spending all my free time torturing my daughter with tulle. I've actually been insanely busy! </p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKVAugvwOXoqB8bX7nAHRZAqa4s2BXYllVoku8Q6I8rE4MJya9v8eOu9-GPfTxg2tzO7rsDJEsBezVYO1If87QKSX4lW6o3n-FHlSdI9D2M0p5LIZlAoyzh_EJgNQrP-j_wAdb3x7AWM/s1600/2benbenkayla.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 285px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452840295200018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKVAugvwOXoqB8bX7nAHRZAqa4s2BXYllVoku8Q6I8rE4MJya9v8eOu9-GPfTxg2tzO7rsDJEsBezVYO1If87QKSX4lW6o3n-FHlSdI9D2M0p5LIZlAoyzh_EJgNQrP-j_wAdb3x7AWM/s800/2benbenkayla.jpg" /></a> For one thing, our dear friends the Ilardis came to town. As you can see, Benjamin was over the moon to see his love Kayla again.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcLhyphenhyphenS2DA6Uw9xQ6m0OSKm7Sv2dnGAgS_gs69EwArFKhuUl1e6vlijK2fBps-3GTUmYOHoL1Fv7p8xEn_dD6BbB9nhFgbhD6s7JACKpJdGeZOJFgi2mjFRavss7LRn5KwzrfORZfpCLM/s1600/4calliopekayla.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 448px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452817438021714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcLhyphenhyphenS2DA6Uw9xQ6m0OSKm7Sv2dnGAgS_gs69EwArFKhuUl1e6vlijK2fBps-3GTUmYOHoL1Fv7p8xEn_dD6BbB9nhFgbhD6s7JACKpJdGeZOJFgi2mjFRavss7LRn5KwzrfORZfpCLM/s800/4calliopekayla.jpg" /></a><br /><div>On the days that Benjamin was in school, Calliope and Kayla had a chance to bond. I think Calliope really liked having a big sister to pal around with. And Kayla seemed to love having a little sis to take care of, too. Ahem, Marco and Sheila, I think your daughter may be trying to tell you something! </div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPRB_yjfxFpLonjvYOi7JwsEtXrgVswguWbdmXlK5uE9xfaTSBLfXPQKU4TM5jpDpo-TkhCvRdwDQtKwQP-89_ynIeaNiFTuSUS_r3dbgO4pI9vulq85e2zKGwc6j43HsuKvtHpDV1YA/s1600/3disneyC.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 378px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452823880260834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnPRB_yjfxFpLonjvYOi7JwsEtXrgVswguWbdmXlK5uE9xfaTSBLfXPQKU4TM5jpDpo-TkhCvRdwDQtKwQP-89_ynIeaNiFTuSUS_r3dbgO4pI9vulq85e2zKGwc6j43HsuKvtHpDV1YA/s800/3disneyC.jpg" /></a>During their stay, we squeezed in a visit to Disneyland - and Calliope squeezed into a pair off too-small shorts.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoz_zVz_5hxznuF0nB_p_jeugqvFxqCYM35IczsQf7yoLIvY0Q-m9_lUZ6-SPo63ZfE2ZbOmJhZlPf13Y1GGNoyizd_zOBO5p4Q99RlkniRQdUTrhPlHJ7-drA6WtNbOlIvhNlGguz08/s1600/4haogonghaopocentralpark.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452813918014418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoz_zVz_5hxznuF0nB_p_jeugqvFxqCYM35IczsQf7yoLIvY0Q-m9_lUZ6-SPo63ZfE2ZbOmJhZlPf13Y1GGNoyizd_zOBO5p4Q99RlkniRQdUTrhPlHJ7-drA6WtNbOlIvhNlGguz08/s800/4haogonghaopocentralpark.jpg" /></a>My parents took a vacation and paid us a visit, too, though I'm afraid that with the amount of running around they did with the kids, it wasn't very relaxing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtafvhmCjgrLvBaToCDeq_gne5aUq3kYpMvZKwEo79bRleYKA2Fzuq6qpdymvCVRJX8WWLPIiAmMcFa0rpRYme7pemjEkk4eRZElDrgpMJS7VB88gXHkLYenws8qtDFu_Wr8eSFqNJ5FQ/s1600/5summerparties11.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 475px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452409715913170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtafvhmCjgrLvBaToCDeq_gne5aUq3kYpMvZKwEo79bRleYKA2Fzuq6qpdymvCVRJX8WWLPIiAmMcFa0rpRYme7pemjEkk4eRZElDrgpMJS7VB88gXHkLYenws8qtDFu_Wr8eSFqNJ5FQ/s800/5summerparties11.jpg" /></a>The summer's been filled with birthday parties galore. It seemed that we had one almost every weekend these past six weeks. It's crazy how many kids had birthdays in September and August. Hmmm... Looks like the holidays were a popular time for getting frisky! ;)<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdNJ-H7GO04le2LGOBWMBERkqj02G3U1CJvQWwsNa3GlbVvN4ijUKajzv-ceZUv0R_Ek1-C7GuRNl6-uzxrRkMjf64jN3AkIR25zLeTGSTGIdGqg8gmiPa1Fj37JcezQqMgZ4AqL_qLI/s1600/6summerpool.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 539px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452401330182114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdNJ-H7GO04le2LGOBWMBERkqj02G3U1CJvQWwsNa3GlbVvN4ijUKajzv-ceZUv0R_Ek1-C7GuRNl6-uzxrRkMjf64jN3AkIR25zLeTGSTGIdGqg8gmiPa1Fj37JcezQqMgZ4AqL_qLI/s800/6summerpool.jpg" /></a> Summer didn't seem heat up until after July, so we've been spending a lot of time at the pool...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q8B0qTZcuQUipsI2vBD3AvwhWnJcRZiOED-ysDzqeW7G-YjxT78f0rdid_dVnecmSgdGE7ZPuvJjmxHYJ9LQC0fbprFClX9Fm7uNOoiaNznB-8gqWGpJYEuLwT8QFF9Znr8FS162yLQ/s1600/7beachRVCC.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 451px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452385855451106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q8B0qTZcuQUipsI2vBD3AvwhWnJcRZiOED-ysDzqeW7G-YjxT78f0rdid_dVnecmSgdGE7ZPuvJjmxHYJ9LQC0fbprFClX9Fm7uNOoiaNznB-8gqWGpJYEuLwT8QFF9Znr8FS162yLQ/s800/7beachRVCC.jpg" /></a> ...and at the beach. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghYi_XzuU4hRzjhGM-PpyvWUEqJYMQcRUtTQCfJDmM-6NHEo8MRwRZfa_1qswvN0hc1oM9mVZfumz914P3NsZ02eQe5bwvSs3n7ZAi2OOWhV1JtzSucixwFO6LCagG7RhmZXLSJcQEt4/s1600/9boocut.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 294px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452380646409474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghYi_XzuU4hRzjhGM-PpyvWUEqJYMQcRUtTQCfJDmM-6NHEo8MRwRZfa_1qswvN0hc1oM9mVZfumz914P3NsZ02eQe5bwvSs3n7ZAi2OOWhV1JtzSucixwFO6LCagG7RhmZXLSJcQEt4/s800/9boocut.jpg" /></a>You may notice that in all of these pics, Benjamin's mohawk is MIA. That's because he's decided that he wants hair "like Daddy's." What better way to get him Daddy's haircut than by taking him to Daddy's hairstylist, Chika Furumiya! Though Chika doesn't usually cut the hair of anyone under four feet tall, she agreed to make an exception for Benjamin. We had to improvise ways to keep him covered up while she was working on him, but the end result was well worth it. Look at that smile on the Boo's face! It says, "I'm so handsome that I'll never let you save money by cutting my hair at home again, SUCKAS!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqEHS6nufa2vDPfZYi7dx7fV3COrMlUQGiInLX9VOPrgF9hdAC62iUa9T7RYY_9nL4qpJgxzmSBK2Ydks1lbRBauDCFCVigkkSwYOjtRw64Fvm_gRpV3R-5CrQW997Gc2b9GBiJRgvEc/s1600/8CALLIOPEFEATHER.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 282px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662452384427769538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqEHS6nufa2vDPfZYi7dx7fV3COrMlUQGiInLX9VOPrgF9hdAC62iUa9T7RYY_9nL4qpJgxzmSBK2Ydks1lbRBauDCFCVigkkSwYOjtRw64Fvm_gRpV3R-5CrQW997Gc2b9GBiJRgvEc/s800/8CALLIOPEFEATHER.jpg" /></a>Though Chika didn't cut Calliope's hair, she did give her some uber-trendy feather hair extensions. They looked absolutely adorable - until Calliope ripped them out three days later. I guess hair extensions and tomboys don't mix.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xrELDhsYgD3tsjvFF5kbPF_AzL9J7WOIRODoKfn9gC5nfkkjy3hwTVI2f9B0FlfAwfUmvgbULCukgRbcHMTGCtplSVlGAgk4gxhzwTj_u3AkaSSO4wHHXxbFUvpAjhTel2eH7mJd1Os/s1600/10_cMDO.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 613px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662451909363777522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xrELDhsYgD3tsjvFF5kbPF_AzL9J7WOIRODoKfn9gC5nfkkjy3hwTVI2f9B0FlfAwfUmvgbULCukgRbcHMTGCtplSVlGAgk4gxhzwTj_u3AkaSSO4wHHXxbFUvpAjhTel2eH7mJd1Os/s800/10_cMDO.jpg" /></a>To get some of that tomboy energy out (and to give her poor mother a break), Calliope is now in Mother's Day Out two days a week. One of those days she goes together with her brother. It's funny to watch them clinging to one another at drop-off, especially since by the time pick-up rolls around, they're pretending not to know one another. I suppose this is a preview of what high school will be like. <br /><br /><div>So as you can see, it's been a busy summer. But it's not just the days at the beach, trips to the pool, birthday parties, long days with the kids, commitments to the Playa Vista Moms Group/preschool/elementary school fundraising committee/Mandarin playgroup, or out-of-town visitors that have kept me busy. It's WORK.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yELtGmXo-u28own_8ba1d0XsTdVL5vBzn4hndgtpu0-dllSpMptxenMdVBKDt6I4EAkGxzjLR3KCnQKmfvNa8G-G4TQ7tiJnowuNCIHwe5gxjPH5ZNMkGDYROY8n1bIbmfUPSRvylYA/s1600/11_LCPFAMILIES.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 349px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662451902162131810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yELtGmXo-u28own_8ba1d0XsTdVL5vBzn4hndgtpu0-dllSpMptxenMdVBKDt6I4EAkGxzjLR3KCnQKmfvNa8G-G4TQ7tiJnowuNCIHwe5gxjPH5ZNMkGDYROY8n1bIbmfUPSRvylYA/s800/11_LCPFAMILIES.jpg" /></a>I have been shooting up a storm these past few months. And though my eyeballs are dried out from editing, though I'm in a constant state of panic about keeping up with my clients and orders, and though some days my right hand feels like it's going to fall off if it has to click the shutter one more time, I am LOVING it. I get excited before every shoot, and as soon as it wraps, I can't wait to get home to look at the pictures.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rbJPINEDxaTzsTUi-J7kPIR3Iz8PAJiTOIHtlcG7-uLFqPbyEWryYA7smrmduxdswaId2w0J-qtQIHKrKKic6aT7oLsrxQVD53mFpILP-iJ1ifdSQXht1UMMS3HLv4Gn5m7E43ksy2I/s1600/12_lcpKIDS.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 478px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662451877275338050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rbJPINEDxaTzsTUi-J7kPIR3Iz8PAJiTOIHtlcG7-uLFqPbyEWryYA7smrmduxdswaId2w0J-qtQIHKrKKic6aT7oLsrxQVD53mFpILP-iJ1ifdSQXht1UMMS3HLv4Gn5m7E43ksy2I/s800/12_lcpKIDS.jpg" /></a>Especially the ones of the kids! Photographing young children is exhausting, but no matter how worn out I am after a session with them, I always find myself sitting there with a dopey grin as I'm going through their pictures. Their enthusiasm and pure joie de vivre is contagious even through a photograph. </div><br /><br />Which brings me back to my own two children. <br /><br />I see them growing up, and I can't help but feel a pang. It's all happening too fast. Just four years ago, it was just me and Vince living alone in our home. Now we're a family of four. And wasn't it just the other day that I had two BABIES? Now one of them is making his own hairstyling decisions and the other is giving me attitude about what clothes she wants to wear. I love seeing them grow, but is it so wrong of me to want them to grow up just a little more slowly? I asked my mom if she remembered what it was like when my brother and I were this young.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6CiaYZOsLgJfzl9y4RgNSoUFexrcCsOaDxeKF-RVIPWYgXdKjnTkXANXzpiiliuUnTR1pOybiu0Ql2ABkanENM-56OVdWdYKJbIgu_gwg1SsthQHkUBYNrMnhohyphenhyphen-GmrCt63sq9WqZY/s1600/13_appletreeC.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 390px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662451874568448834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6CiaYZOsLgJfzl9y4RgNSoUFexrcCsOaDxeKF-RVIPWYgXdKjnTkXANXzpiiliuUnTR1pOybiu0Ql2ABkanENM-56OVdWdYKJbIgu_gwg1SsthQHkUBYNrMnhohyphenhyphen-GmrCt63sq9WqZY/s800/13_appletreeC.jpg" /></a><br />She said that she remembered it all as if it were just yesterday.lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-9305758699026349362011-08-17T15:18:00.000-07:002011-08-17T15:34:19.746-07:00Itty Bitty Bootylicious<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tGxGl8Y0xlr1lxOJRf75roWOA9eIHpiNKjKVSRPvtnlblISvmMJg1BGnBhtK5XpYtut1op3Lu0G2ZC9yZZvHLll6J6fgrosUdlx55goBm5Blrxsulhd2IQieM4wMvYBwta80eaYEnFE/s1600/2011_08_17_littlebuttb-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641953621034189682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tGxGl8Y0xlr1lxOJRf75roWOA9eIHpiNKjKVSRPvtnlblISvmMJg1BGnBhtK5XpYtut1op3Lu0G2ZC9yZZvHLll6J6fgrosUdlx55goBm5Blrxsulhd2IQieM4wMvYBwta80eaYEnFE/s800/2011_08_17_littlebuttb-1.jpg" /></a>Just now, after Benjamin went to the potty and was putting his underpants back on (backwards, I might add), he bent over to inspect his posterior and said to me, "Mama, I have a little butt." I chuckled affectionately and said yes, he did indeed have a little butt. He then came up to me, inspected MY posterior, looked me dead in the eye and said, "Mama, you have a big butt." Oh, Benjamin... I have ended relationships over words less cruel than those. Good thing I'm legally stuck with you for at least another 15.5 years. Besides, I don't put much stock in what other people think.
<br /><span style="color:#000000;">.</span>
<br />Especially when the person in question has his underpants on backwards.
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgado4MFAQV4vjWm6WXHgBabY91cMj_dGKh7wsqQl4CH0Z-gMoObiKkSJRzI2-Q0eFZyddeM0s4OkrTVBPS5H0uIzm2SbTu67qgYTG4cKAaf84IDqCbusbKTmHzX2WJiWYMGaR3_mhUotE/s1600/littlebutt.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641953629085420818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgado4MFAQV4vjWm6WXHgBabY91cMj_dGKh7wsqQl4CH0Z-gMoObiKkSJRzI2-Q0eFZyddeM0s4OkrTVBPS5H0uIzm2SbTu67qgYTG4cKAaf84IDqCbusbKTmHzX2WJiWYMGaR3_mhUotE/s800/littlebutt.jpg" /></a> I realize it's been an age since my last post. Despite what my son would have you believe, it's not my lazy fat ass that has prevented me from updating this blog; it's the royal time suck I call <a href="http://www.lilychanphotography.com/">Lily Chan Photography</a>. But even aside from LCP stuff, a lot has happened recently, so I promise you I'll post again soon.
<br />
<br />Stay tuned!
<br />lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-48359382945976325072011-07-06T21:37:00.000-07:002011-07-06T22:16:59.636-07:00LCP'ed to the MAX<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvJIt9syGnDEkGHkM0VFkJfSbKC23brpDz66MJMUQ4qB-RiX6EEtXtcu3Q-Lkt-zULF5bPBhsh6wtPEgYJrYamcSf2RCeCXfCcN2wSkt-1UWcIbmJPurEiAY_pnSXCeBe5jsyxyX-XLo/s1600/1wolfson.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 478px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626466134700658194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvJIt9syGnDEkGHkM0VFkJfSbKC23brpDz66MJMUQ4qB-RiX6EEtXtcu3Q-Lkt-zULF5bPBhsh6wtPEgYJrYamcSf2RCeCXfCcN2wSkt-1UWcIbmJPurEiAY_pnSXCeBe5jsyxyX-XLo/s800/1wolfson.jpg" /></a>Remember that "new baby" I told you about in my last post? The one named Lily Chan Photography? Well, like a real newborn, it's been a needy little thing. I spend so much time tending to it that it might as well have colic.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwQ_Arh8KiLk8RdDyG3E1BtVY0CLjK3k3jypxTljSIwob1nmFd7jawF_tpvQL8r-KWm3VyKlxiP9Xc0n5HuKZNGNSfMA-5cX9PMGiebrtaQJn79ymeJ56w_hesgBs854pqxdBfmVyuEc/s1600/2callanen.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 458px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626466046179129682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwQ_Arh8KiLk8RdDyG3E1BtVY0CLjK3k3jypxTljSIwob1nmFd7jawF_tpvQL8r-KWm3VyKlxiP9Xc0n5HuKZNGNSfMA-5cX9PMGiebrtaQJn79ymeJ56w_hesgBs854pqxdBfmVyuEc/s800/2callanen.jpg" /></a>Someone asked me recently how much time I spend each day on LCP, and I broke it down like this: on an average day, I spend about two hours working on <a href="http://lilychanphotography.com/html_home.cfm?menu_itemID=843451&load=html">my website</a>/marketing/answering emails, two hours on post-production, and two to three hours on research and education (be it on gear, technical stuff, software, or whatever). At this rate, I'm not even making minimum wage. It's a good thing that I am truly enjoying what I'm doing. And I really thank God that I have a husband that is so understanding. You rock, Vince.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2yCy_-1EMXp9nZNaix5656nENsb4LnDatK7iSJAVn2LyDIawp9nASAFLrtIWiryxt-kEW0S1DAhK-Jcnt5X9aioU8HiuSfpNUsFLsTRa3CkXV7P-ukMZobn9tJZSMbLRdwAxL3P-ryM/s1600/3balino.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 456px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626466026915398594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2yCy_-1EMXp9nZNaix5656nENsb4LnDatK7iSJAVn2LyDIawp9nASAFLrtIWiryxt-kEW0S1DAhK-Jcnt5X9aioU8HiuSfpNUsFLsTRa3CkXV7P-ukMZobn9tJZSMbLRdwAxL3P-ryM/s800/3balino.jpg" /></a>And none of that time includes time actually spent on a job shooting pictures! Because of the <a href="http://lilychanphotography.com/html_info.cfm?menu_itemID=843455&load=html&parentID=843452">Dirty 30 </a>special I'm running right now, I've been able to drum up a fair amount of buzz. This is great because as a new photog, I need all the buzz I can get. This is not so great because other areas of my life as suffering. Well, maybe "suffering" is a bit harsh. I mean, eating leftovers three days in a row is hardly "suffering," right?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H4PQ0tCDiJ32_TeSD4evuaftIkirQ9X1L9TR4_bZqWjQDP2DieWIgNIsPDoZmUPHwOt5ff3uHfzobtINZEY2oBHq3WkYk_CbSRUT7gJqgRdT86CU9Gjr-dIkXAdepH7OHuq9AEDgCS4/s1600/4sills.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 477px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626466019478000834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H4PQ0tCDiJ32_TeSD4evuaftIkirQ9X1L9TR4_bZqWjQDP2DieWIgNIsPDoZmUPHwOt5ff3uHfzobtINZEY2oBHq3WkYk_CbSRUT7gJqgRdT86CU9Gjr-dIkXAdepH7OHuq9AEDgCS4/s800/4sills.jpg" /></a> So just to give you an idea of how my new baby is faring, I thought I'd give you a glimpse into some of my recent photo shoots.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQWO-yHZLXEzTdl8rWvqglFxIhtEJFHqHIz7ADZIKu5NQ6RbYZnlmH3M0P6Qo6aOc3fBmU-Knf892A4p4I8yJNJn79_69mRe1qa9ZfzxRGfKD_knGmX2rhESHFOBD2fU2TpBJL3TZ2GM/s1600/5olsen.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 454px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626466004961559234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQWO-yHZLXEzTdl8rWvqglFxIhtEJFHqHIz7ADZIKu5NQ6RbYZnlmH3M0P6Qo6aOc3fBmU-Knf892A4p4I8yJNJn79_69mRe1qa9ZfzxRGfKD_knGmX2rhESHFOBD2fU2TpBJL3TZ2GM/s800/5olsen.jpg" /></a> Yes, all of these shoots happened at different times within the two weeks since my last blog post. No, this isn't all of them. No, I don't know where I'm finding the time to do all this. Yes, my home is a complete disaster.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xT_AZ0kmA-Clv_XPLeeXYrjFFcyZt6e2FcmD-1mXW3utE3GBMiCrMdMR-5h1-Ee9W0hiNoXrp3kpGDQM76szHGgomEEhJ3Bz1ZDhpmpP7q4oMSgR56eGoV2L4uILWQST11aGL3n7T7g/s1600/6kendall.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 528px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626465986038206850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xT_AZ0kmA-Clv_XPLeeXYrjFFcyZt6e2FcmD-1mXW3utE3GBMiCrMdMR-5h1-Ee9W0hiNoXrp3kpGDQM76szHGgomEEhJ3Bz1ZDhpmpP7q4oMSgR56eGoV2L4uILWQST11aGL3n7T7g/s800/6kendall.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>You may be wondering who some of my new clients are. Most of them are people I am either friends with or friends of friends with. A few are total strangers. All are pretty awesome for taking a chance by giving a newbie family photographer a shot.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Get it? A "shot"? If this photography thing doesn't work out, maybe I should become a stand-up comic. NOT! </div><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AAXgeDhVZJUGD5n-MrkZ7nFZKvbzjfTXsEUs0RxSgJVdaSD1VkFAUq4SGVAttMKmAiqQPbWlfb-iRSN5-BovfPr1BunCLwYEfNiVlbGgOWZB3FPjnpwpEAtvzsj-5kSmJ5lk_blvr5M/s1600/8johnson.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 475px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626465459725633890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AAXgeDhVZJUGD5n-MrkZ7nFZKvbzjfTXsEUs0RxSgJVdaSD1VkFAUq4SGVAttMKmAiqQPbWlfb-iRSN5-BovfPr1BunCLwYEfNiVlbGgOWZB3FPjnpwpEAtvzsj-5kSmJ5lk_blvr5M/s800/8johnson.jpg" /></a>Like I said, every one of these families is wonderful. It's been truly incredible having the chance to meet them and see them through my lens. I feel as though each shutter click is an opportunity for me to capture something that is here and then gone in just a blink of an eye. Like the fuzz on a newborn's arms. Or the toothless grin of a baby. Or the acne on a teenagers face. Wait, scratch that - my acne lasted for-EVER. <br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dY_hMGRQkdnf3s4U-xdFxpt-wpibcj8D0ycpiblGmjgYcZVuhR5HNcPXV2CRwbKD0lHHnObwYq5r5yqKeHV5Oi4_f7q1z1tXO7RQrJJpi1D5nE7z0d2BFHOeNAGo8fL5yCeRgax-6nw/s1600/9jones.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 430px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626465389388240754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8dY_hMGRQkdnf3s4U-xdFxpt-wpibcj8D0ycpiblGmjgYcZVuhR5HNcPXV2CRwbKD0lHHnObwYq5r5yqKeHV5Oi4_f7q1z1tXO7RQrJJpi1D5nE7z0d2BFHOeNAGo8fL5yCeRgax-6nw/s800/9jones.jpg" /></a>I have to give props to several peeps in particular - my good friends Julie, Lisa, Deb, and Clara. They've been so enthusiastic and supportive of my new endeavor and have helped in so many ways. Julie and Lisa with their expertise in the business side of things, Clara with her financial savvy (and her mass-mailing of friends), and Deb by sending me crazy hyper emails and texts filled with ENDLESS SMILEY FACES :):) AND CAPITAL LETTERS AND OUT-OF-PLACE PUNCTUATION THAT JUST SHOUTS HOW EXCITED AND PROUD SHE IS OF ME???!?!??! :):):) God, Deb, do your emails ever give me a headache, but I still love 'em. Keep 'em coming!!!! :):):)<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnt3xkoqUIc04SNVxARnS870Z_egvYgExxwRvj5ExSsXNTsQmMKuWPEda4a1oow-s-xlqhBZHUE2907aOQC0gP6llh5swQaZ5KcXZ6AiEcijXS9zvwG586ziV9Ik0Z96m5IohGJjHIwc/s1600/10burns.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 493px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626465375130881042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnt3xkoqUIc04SNVxARnS870Z_egvYgExxwRvj5ExSsXNTsQmMKuWPEda4a1oow-s-xlqhBZHUE2907aOQC0gP6llh5swQaZ5KcXZ6AiEcijXS9zvwG586ziV9Ik0Z96m5IohGJjHIwc/s800/10burns.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><div>And again, I must thank my wonderful husband Vince. He's been a veritable single dad these past few weekends, schlepping the kids around by himself while I've been off on shoots or mired in editing. I am so, so grateful for how supportive he is and how much he's encouraged me. Little does he know, all of this exposure to adorable little babies has been scratching my itch for a third little Chan to round out the brood.<br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wW3YJXH8kR5pnAa1h6hvR3xlIjUv39_LUopAl_yIcZPqBwfntDFK6bgZjUFa6Ndm5BhpvqD_YBgVeiao8RI_aPPliSPFO3jzwooE7Pl-om2gqz3EphnC2jqohV3YTKH4A-z_thyphenhyphenQeSw/s1600/11gabby.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 430px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626465357396648850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wW3YJXH8kR5pnAa1h6hvR3xlIjUv39_LUopAl_yIcZPqBwfntDFK6bgZjUFa6Ndm5BhpvqD_YBgVeiao8RI_aPPliSPFO3jzwooE7Pl-om2gqz3EphnC2jqohV3YTKH4A-z_thyphenhyphenQeSw/s800/11gabby.jpg" /></a></div></div>Vince you're gonna get lucky tonight!lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-26704109202870475072011-06-22T14:12:00.001-07:002011-06-22T20:41:40.218-07:00Lily Chan Photography<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUGDLv6yTbHJ03PqYJuNlavEIVflAY5WjWdxzy7cRFo94JeuR81ErZz7AahFsCOugyx772bqTNiNJRq2G6_67oyl0UvVkgXHoxToZyAr6Z4km0eD4TzRvDBKyBnA4y82yhfnnFA2RTk0/s1600/1LCP_Brady_Boo+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 486px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621238482165989170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUGDLv6yTbHJ03PqYJuNlavEIVflAY5WjWdxzy7cRFo94JeuR81ErZz7AahFsCOugyx772bqTNiNJRq2G6_67oyl0UvVkgXHoxToZyAr6Z4km0eD4TzRvDBKyBnA4y82yhfnnFA2RTk0/s800/1LCP_Brady_Boo+copy.jpg" /></a> You may have noticed that it's been a while since my last post. Did I fall off the face of the earth? Contract gangrene of the fingertips? Get really, really lazy? No, no, and maybe a little. The truth is that I've taken on a new project, one that has eaten up what precious little free time I have. I've decided to start my own business: Lily Chan Photography.<br /><br />I've always loved taking pictures. I got my first camera when I was 11. It was a blue plastic point-and-click from K-Mart that used 110 film. Remember those? These days, I shoot with the humble but perfectly serviceable Canon Rebel XS outfitted with a 50mm 1.4 lens. One day, I hope to graduate to the Canon 5D Mark II (or even III). I say "one day" and not "next week" because the 5DM2 doesn't come cheap. It costs the same amount as several pairs of Loubotins. Or a large Louis bag. Or 850 Coffee Bean chai tea lattes (note to self: stop buying chai tea lattes from Coffee Bean). Vince, if you're reading this, don't freak out - I promise I won't dip into the kids' college fund to pay for it. Instead, I'm hoping that my new business will take off enough for me to finance the new toy. Or, if that doesn't work, I'll sell myself on the corner of Hollywood and Vince. There's gotta be a market for aging moms of two, right? KIDDING.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqG_79Gsi_0twd3Q2YPAlP0txYF_YnzM463rH9L3jYPHptkKRzybM4DZcKk1KU5W0f0ItnGqZQSLE-lJPT46PFHQOzQuJKKN3qechLG97XS9UgZ5zGYdKxk4395NP18CFuDNHSfM2bk4/s1600/2family.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 326px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621238466123838418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqG_79Gsi_0twd3Q2YPAlP0txYF_YnzM463rH9L3jYPHptkKRzybM4DZcKk1KU5W0f0ItnGqZQSLE-lJPT46PFHQOzQuJKKN3qechLG97XS9UgZ5zGYdKxk4395NP18CFuDNHSfM2bk4/s800/2family.jpg" /></a>So, like I was saying, I have always loved photography. I loved it so much that I chose it as an area of concentration in my studies as an art student at UCLA. I lived, breathed, slept, and ate photography until the day I received my diploma. And once I got it, guess what happened? I'd become so sick of it that I tossed my enlarger into a dumpster the week after graduation. But then, Benjamin was born, and with him, so was a renewed love of photography. Sure, I'd take snapshots between college and kids, but it felt different now. There is something so special about shooting children. I think it has to do with the fact that they change so damn fast. Those chubby cheeks and gummy smiles are there so briefly, soon to be replaced by skinned knees and gangly limbs, which then metamorphose into broken curfews, cheap Wet 'n' Wild kohl eyeliner, and a bad attitude.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zOPJCUB4Fkg55YG5Hb0CNPIS-Rl04AK2iBe2ZVRkOtuRCUXlqVo3bAm6S0gq5ntYzatblRyjUCgensyqK5I1HQYRtWnZfjxCA1nDbc_Twhk9GzVNtv_K10tiEmL5qiuRj5sFpT_VHaY/s1600/3LCP_Brady+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621238453110713426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zOPJCUB4Fkg55YG5Hb0CNPIS-Rl04AK2iBe2ZVRkOtuRCUXlqVo3bAm6S0gq5ntYzatblRyjUCgensyqK5I1HQYRtWnZfjxCA1nDbc_Twhk9GzVNtv_K10tiEmL5qiuRj5sFpT_VHaY/s800/3LCP_Brady+copy.jpg" /></a> Until recently, my portfolio consisted largely of shots of my own kids. As adorable as I think they are, I realized that in order to successfully market a family photography business, I would need pictures of families. Other people's families. Luckily, my good friends Clara and Eddie agreed to be my first Lily Chan Photography clients. We met at a local park, and I snapped away for about an hour.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRESAfCRh890qSiCuN-TxoAqePPHBVPISN19V2xHEy4vjnfioakN-4rjMzcW2Q-S2GzOlaD2QZ6KGYkzLeSriovFy6hgLEjzO6feTRzXOEig2mw8f9tyI-k-w7W-OWV4Vs726acKMmnfE/s1600/4LCP_Chanshoot+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 429px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621238444014357042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRESAfCRh890qSiCuN-TxoAqePPHBVPISN19V2xHEy4vjnfioakN-4rjMzcW2Q-S2GzOlaD2QZ6KGYkzLeSriovFy6hgLEjzO6feTRzXOEig2mw8f9tyI-k-w7W-OWV4Vs726acKMmnfE/s800/4LCP_Chanshoot+copy.jpg" /></a> My first official LCP session was so much fun! Still, it was not without its challenges. For one thing, it was as hot as hell and the light happened to be super harsh that afternoon. What happened to June Gloom? And then there were environmental concerns, mainly phantom puddles of peed-on grass to skirt like squishy landmines. At one point, I flopped my whole body down in the grass only to realize that I was in a giant puddle of-- I don't even want to think about it. Luckily, the resulting shot was pretty durned cute (above, top left).<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX6I5n4eK5IIgWhytLGHPtaYsavQg4xXiCHYjx1lkknlxbTm3163Am-VBJFWSdGkAgyLl9hH-42uNbC-nKbu7B50GM2Mhfx1Wzb4R1tYmPEGWvdxVBdQOOaLvTuJEAgMK36PXyBy9B10/s1600/5_kiss+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621238433663053746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX6I5n4eK5IIgWhytLGHPtaYsavQg4xXiCHYjx1lkknlxbTm3163Am-VBJFWSdGkAgyLl9hH-42uNbC-nKbu7B50GM2Mhfx1Wzb4R1tYmPEGWvdxVBdQOOaLvTuJEAgMK36PXyBy9B10/s800/5_kiss+copy.jpg" /></a> All in all, I would say the shoot was a grand kickoff to the start of Lily Chan Photography. Many thanks to Clara, Eddie, and baby Brady for being such a pleasure to work with! I have a few more gigs coming up, so keep an eye out for those pics soon. I'm also in the process of getting a website up, but until then, I'll have to harangue my blog readers with LCP crap here. Right now, I'm running a grand opening special that I'm calling the Dirty 30. Why "dirty"? Because it's rhymes with "thirty" - DUH! Anyway, here's the Dirty 30 in a nutshell: you get a 30-minute session, an online gallery for proofing, and 5 digital negatives to keep for $50. Steal!! See the fine print below* for more details. If you have more questions or want to book me for a shoot, then contact me. Thanks, and stay tuned! Viva LCP!</div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">*The fine print: The Dirty 30 is a limited time offer. To take advantage of it, your session must be scheduled before the end of July. I have a limited number of spaces available. Once all slots are filled, the offer will end. The Dirty 30 includes one 30-minute session at an outdoor location of your choice within 5 miles of Playa Vista (90094). If you are interested in setting up a slightly different package (such as a longer session, an indoor shoot, or a location outside of the 5 mile radius), let me know and we'll work something out. Email </span></em><a href="mailto:lily@lilychanphotography.com"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">lily@lilychanphotography.com</span></em></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> for details and booking. Thanks!</span></em> </div></div></div>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-6694048276523189992011-06-09T06:55:00.000-07:002011-06-09T06:57:30.317-07:00She's Got Style, She's Got Grace, She's a Winner...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNHRzmdaMQ5dGQxpAc1hK2kO6MMcgitbGqF4H5pLiPMkP0N-wMUHi3aPcQ2QNh6OvtZmyqfLHWxQwAWD22xvFnFl9QeroVkR2UHF9IXEH_DEvxxXE9aGON1H0OxB0I-Doj7L7GaPrcDY/s1600/shesalady.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 323px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616218476034333058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNHRzmdaMQ5dGQxpAc1hK2kO6MMcgitbGqF4H5pLiPMkP0N-wMUHi3aPcQ2QNh6OvtZmyqfLHWxQwAWD22xvFnFl9QeroVkR2UHF9IXEH_DEvxxXE9aGON1H0OxB0I-Doj7L7GaPrcDY/s800/shesalady.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:180%;">SHE'S A LADY!</span>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-73350191671223960822011-06-05T20:23:00.000-07:002011-06-06T14:21:52.221-07:00Bento Blahs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUKthXjVp70SEcKDA2kgcbU6TsOx0lmbFir23jDigdYCBwim-s33x2OTbGfc7_CBx2gt3oY6EO3eDEO9pHVHJyabgEJRh6lJmpzpiR9mMt4eOde4_GdBLOeP6qmN8uO8hRs4HNDOz7ZI/s1600/1heartonigiri.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 563px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614943014516290850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUKthXjVp70SEcKDA2kgcbU6TsOx0lmbFir23jDigdYCBwim-s33x2OTbGfc7_CBx2gt3oY6EO3eDEO9pHVHJyabgEJRh6lJmpzpiR9mMt4eOde4_GdBLOeP6qmN8uO8hRs4HNDOz7ZI/s800/1heartonigiri.jpg" /></a>You may have noticed that it's been a long time since my last bento post. You know why? It's because I'd been hit by a serious case of the bento blahs. It seemed that almost every bento I packed included a PBNFSM (Peanut Butter Nutella and Flaxseed Meal) sandwich. BOOORING! Thankfully, I discovered a new way to get some grains into the Boo's bento boxes: onigiri, AKA, rice squished together into a little ball (or fun shape) to be picked up with bare hands and popped into the mouth. I'd included plain onigiri in Benjamin's bento before, but they were met with little enthusiasm. I decided to add some flavor by quickly frying the sides in a mix of olive oil, sugar, mirin, and soy sauce, which he seemed to like. I'm sure the cute heart shapes appealed to him, too.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZZMIeBU5cC-JbZOscmj1srTwFd9xE4OMYePPXvh2-BLA4fc9FVR1Dg1fJwzR5WFCKS0fMhyphenhyphen9Y_ddL953dCisRNer1_0U0P1hUbnH9YXXDxaTLgFo2KZJWQrytvzUrQdnItv_31UouLg/s1600/2strawberryonigiri.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 563px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614943010869013218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZZMIeBU5cC-JbZOscmj1srTwFd9xE4OMYePPXvh2-BLA4fc9FVR1Dg1fJwzR5WFCKS0fMhyphenhyphen9Y_ddL953dCisRNer1_0U0P1hUbnH9YXXDxaTLgFo2KZJWQrytvzUrQdnItv_31UouLg/s800/2strawberryonigiri.jpg" /></a>Benjamin liked the savory onigiri so much, I put a sweet spin on things and made some strawberry-flavored ones. I did this by making a ball-shaped onigiri, creating a little divot in the center with my fingers, spooning in a bit of strawberry preserves, and reshaping it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsp7LzjC8ux0Ga-TohCaICJvp6DgtXTRjSXdejdf0e-Q3ieCv9Q_1MIA-i16ikzwtvnLvKglmfsGilhj3ONqbDKml-_CMq217vs5giuFR2jC6sSjHE4rx229sdfY6acep0lVeH3iHh1M/s1600/3chocolateonigiri+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 413px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614942823589306082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsp7LzjC8ux0Ga-TohCaICJvp6DgtXTRjSXdejdf0e-Q3ieCv9Q_1MIA-i16ikzwtvnLvKglmfsGilhj3ONqbDKml-_CMq217vs5giuFR2jC6sSjHE4rx229sdfY6acep0lVeH3iHh1M/s800/3chocolateonigiri+copy.jpg" /></a>He didn't seem terribly excited about the strawberry onigiri, so I made some with Nutella filling instead. I first tried it with plain Nutella, and when that went over well, I mixed in some flaxseed meal to give it some more nutritional oomph. I was worried that the texture of the flaxseed meal would turn him off, but Benjamin didn't seem to notice. His Nutella and flaxseed meal onigiri bento came back looking like this: </div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8URuzfuGZY7-TQnXqOqyauMqUgd3yaLyRtDOlPkmeW-igWVVbujahUvBPwAm6yHRYb8huJPFYEU65WBBCe6CFesDGHwfopPORPWuW7PS-0q_U3K0x2Ul1f4ULPP-ynSxOxIfHW8su4M/s1600/4yummyonigiribyebye.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 536px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614942814860163826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8URuzfuGZY7-TQnXqOqyauMqUgd3yaLyRtDOlPkmeW-igWVVbujahUvBPwAm6yHRYb8huJPFYEU65WBBCe6CFesDGHwfopPORPWuW7PS-0q_U3K0x2Ul1f4ULPP-ynSxOxIfHW8su4M/s800/4yummyonigiribyebye.jpg" /></a>Mmmm! I don't know if you can tell, but it appears that he ate through the onigiri until he got to all the chocolate stuff. Smart kid, that Benjamin! Unfortunately, those smarts were stumped by...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaDIBpn4UxzW2VRo8HW9b8RqmoYb_daCwRbiQyh3-dqMP0jmfoyTlP9ZR5hCSzh8E3m579UW4BxWv-mU4tJNLOvyBtL3ozyUETIkJVCQH6pfSiUJX1NYoQUYuatHQP784bhyLPyCY7k0/s1600/bentowithnote.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 333px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615216855816398882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaDIBpn4UxzW2VRo8HW9b8RqmoYb_daCwRbiQyh3-dqMP0jmfoyTlP9ZR5hCSzh8E3m579UW4BxWv-mU4tJNLOvyBtL3ozyUETIkJVCQH6pfSiUJX1NYoQUYuatHQP784bhyLPyCY7k0/s800/bentowithnote.jpg" /></a>I'm assuming that note was not written by Benjamin himself, but was dictated to his teacher Ms. Gisele. The kid is smart, but not <em>that </em>smart! Even so, I was surprised to receive that note. I mean, the kid can do this...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ps2dW3HlPr_Fzaljw_15Ma_xiQUTG-m6jAYE8xdAbvGxaQG4DlxTCNuzJouuIf_T3jCMvFfBOjRLHkCx12rZJR6srz3xcJ0bNT-fnQZPZhsnAq2t-nlOvMTrzIez2RQPvo8JIaM37gc/s1600/7citiblocsboo+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 566px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615205027899417970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ps2dW3HlPr_Fzaljw_15Ma_xiQUTG-m6jAYE8xdAbvGxaQG4DlxTCNuzJouuIf_T3jCMvFfBOjRLHkCx12rZJR6srz3xcJ0bNT-fnQZPZhsnAq2t-nlOvMTrzIez2RQPvo8JIaM37gc/s800/7citiblocsboo+copy.jpg" /></a><br />...but he can't figure out how to use his lunchbox? I'd like to think that the reason why is because he is driven witless by his excitement to eat the delicious lunch his mama packed him!lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-6688500342980532112011-05-30T22:07:00.000-07:002011-05-30T22:16:38.934-07:00Diminutive DaredevilThe weather was sunny over the weekend, so we took the kids to the pool. It was only Calliope's third time in the water, but you wouldn't know it by watching her.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4HdZ5Y5lEfk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Lord, help us all.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAatoLtuVr3iOCjVw1VtWvtQk3y61Axy2-rbxGi-dxTN9p0KYXpVrsLrMok03f7OlgiDOGA5iwaYnNdziDGsZPxa_D7DZ65zE0Wem4Z93C_cXweQcnKR-YZ2IYuV17wIO5T3XS4kNI53Y/s1600/crazycalliopestill+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612744126258904130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAatoLtuVr3iOCjVw1VtWvtQk3y61Axy2-rbxGi-dxTN9p0KYXpVrsLrMok03f7OlgiDOGA5iwaYnNdziDGsZPxa_D7DZ65zE0Wem4Z93C_cXweQcnKR-YZ2IYuV17wIO5T3XS4kNI53Y/s800/crazycalliopestill+copy.jpg" /></a>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-58515535690479210542011-05-22T14:21:00.000-07:002011-05-22T21:11:32.984-07:00Mama's Day 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYfVx3U8e-X7pXMV7QvqBy1DVegL4wpgfw0HcQkj9CYLDkOufRBRi8RENtAnOtLkBG6m1F9Gp8gOqPCACWn5Q4NRVzU51No5ipTIrk5gZpn5zy30sZBPlsTgHzCwGs2-1Cm0a8hbczzLc/s1600/2sheplayswithbenben.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 269px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654346016510722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYfVx3U8e-X7pXMV7QvqBy1DVegL4wpgfw0HcQkj9CYLDkOufRBRi8RENtAnOtLkBG6m1F9Gp8gOqPCACWn5Q4NRVzU51No5ipTIrk5gZpn5zy30sZBPlsTgHzCwGs2-1Cm0a8hbczzLc/s400/2sheplayswithbenben.jpg" /></a> Ever since Benjamin and Calliope came along, most holidays have lost their sheen. Christmas? It's for the little ones now. Birthdays? Bah! Valentine's Day? Too much trouble. But Mother's Day? Well, Mother's Day is what it's all about. It's the one day I get to bask in all the glory that being a housewife, homemaker, and full-time mommy gives me. Yes, I realize that sounded delusional. Sleep deprivation will do that to you.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 581px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654458234502898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2WjKqt1awynAglN7hbQte3fRNViAchDBbFNuHoDLu-smjx4fBu_e-2sFrNQ2jErXerAHYbQEW-vWTi_Ej8Wb_RntrOz0p22hdTO1ZOaxqIC2rKOkF0zX3rz9Ekm7geJXfZwOQvalfXg/s800/1redwoodtea.jpg" /> I kicked off Mother's Day 2011 with a Mother's Day tea at Benjamin's preschool. Ben Ben and I sat with friends Nolan and Julie, and we dined on cucumber sandwiches, tiny cakes, and yes, tea. I was surprised to see that the tea was being served in actual teacups. I was even more surprised to see how delicately Benjamin handled that porcelain teacup. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKx6B1uQIsIgImbVC2J0r4jCXiS8mgX4DHiGhizHRCqhaLWlC_JGA3wCy9cO_iAkmfGA-9jWvr7StbM7KZCtrE1RzsymRDVt7ophYAZXOE29zCHj-HDqv-imKJX09waWX7EfXSt4sBpA/s1600/3teafood.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 525px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654343692449874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKx6B1uQIsIgImbVC2J0r4jCXiS8mgX4DHiGhizHRCqhaLWlC_JGA3wCy9cO_iAkmfGA-9jWvr7StbM7KZCtrE1RzsymRDVt7ophYAZXOE29zCHj-HDqv-imKJX09waWX7EfXSt4sBpA/s800/3teafood.jpg" /></a>He wasn't quite as delicate when it came to stuffing his face with madeleines and brownies, though. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTPvSlYs5mZKau0Xpfv10O93_cxF588CNdYtOvdEirIwRLUoIQ49DXGMvzDZ1frVouV0vFinuTEr-txg5_ERnW2UhxyP_XznrQqXmBLbS8AcCGD2WZVO_aUhlKKKZV2RLl_iwmohxlyM/s1600/4mommyportrait.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 310px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654337399503266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVTPvSlYs5mZKau0Xpfv10O93_cxF588CNdYtOvdEirIwRLUoIQ49DXGMvzDZ1frVouV0vFinuTEr-txg5_ERnW2UhxyP_XznrQqXmBLbS8AcCGD2WZVO_aUhlKKKZV2RLl_iwmohxlyM/s800/4mommyportrait.jpg" /></a>As a touching surprise, each student had drawn a portrait of his or her own mommy. Benjamin's rendering of me brought to me tears. I loved how he had carefully layered orange and yellow watercolors to create a sunny background for my portrait. I loved that he had drawn eyes, a nose, a mouth, and limbs and had placed them all in the right places. I loved that he (probably subconsciously) obeyed the rule of thirds when it came to the composition of his masterpiece. And I especially loved that he made me look so damn skinny. Thank you, Benjamin. You really know how to make Mommy happy! </p><br /><p>That evening, I went to an intimate baby shower dinner for my friend Brooke, who is due with her second baby in just a month. I didn't get a chance to snap any pics at dinner, so this image of the card I made for Brooke will have to do: </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDjo1W-xvnKQud_9UEg8gxPj2TB8vRWRGl5XFTggW2Zon7uqSbOiUpORcKNULjwhjUrWzTH0Eg8AFCB5UQd-oALsSp8ntQMfJIJm1qqsKniiSbANh7vBK4r-upkARYkwXiD5qZnx21Ng/s1600/5brookecover.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 480px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654337151585282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDjo1W-xvnKQud_9UEg8gxPj2TB8vRWRGl5XFTggW2Zon7uqSbOiUpORcKNULjwhjUrWzTH0Eg8AFCB5UQd-oALsSp8ntQMfJIJm1qqsKniiSbANh7vBK4r-upkARYkwXiD5qZnx21Ng/s800/5brookecover.jpg" /></a>Yes, that's Brooke's face on Demi's body, but if you ask me, Brooke's preggo figure is much more fetching than Demi's was. Just ask the peeps in the cardio classes she continued to take into her eighth month of pregnancy. Yes, her EIGHTH month! I think the only exercise I was doing when I was that far along was attempting to have a bowel movement once a day.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cFtdLWfxqeGLOO92uMV_eChRw_qMGURfkhUhdm0mgrdqiKX8rwdXiEEeZu0thTTBdnHYEXkzBb_-qDYqPdWdROdZqlzAIBBE45xt8iX892m0I1uYHdn0svPzoECqq3u1xYu99HojFIA/s1600/6momsdaycc.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 322px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654331794482898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cFtdLWfxqeGLOO92uMV_eChRw_qMGURfkhUhdm0mgrdqiKX8rwdXiEEeZu0thTTBdnHYEXkzBb_-qDYqPdWdROdZqlzAIBBE45xt8iX892m0I1uYHdn0svPzoECqq3u1xYu99HojFIA/s800/6momsdaycc.jpg" /></a>We had plans to visit friends in San Diego on Mother's Day itself, so the day before, the kids and hubby treated me to breakfast at Nichols. After that, we strolled around Century City Mall. As an early Mother's Day gift, the kids behaved themselves during the car ride there. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQb_tQfEVr8tWbw9SrCorUlG85UR75Q2lNvM7OGo1eXvlNfwIDRO00mbajHX_d4DwVvn_n40cKCGjT7KJLlpom5w6JHDjmckAkPaIgeQPaO_XfhR4HtOhVbIjj3iS2ZXYvfWrNRqMMKg/s1600/7mothersdayboos.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654074005292194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQb_tQfEVr8tWbw9SrCorUlG85UR75Q2lNvM7OGo1eXvlNfwIDRO00mbajHX_d4DwVvn_n40cKCGjT7KJLlpom5w6JHDjmckAkPaIgeQPaO_XfhR4HtOhVbIjj3iS2ZXYvfWrNRqMMKg/s800/7mothersdayboos.jpg" /></a>I awoke the next morning to the words no woman wants to hear from her baby daddy on Mother's Day: "I'm sick. I can't do anything today." Noooo! That meant that not only would we not get to see my friends in San Diego as planned, but I wouldn't get a free pass out of mommy duty for the day, either. Isn't it ironic that what almost every mother wants on Mother's Day is to forget that she's a mom? Well, head cold nothwithstanding, everyone still made me feel special. Benjamin and Calliope presented me with gift cards to Amazon and iTunes. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI8SWIxo0CkbGZTzW4BBAYFtYysnmuYARBqJ0Y9VqpVnViRPJJfnjDoAzvooyLVsd5vNMN78iIaTyIV-KhTb4jKO0jDZWtDvqoFz8Xwbyu3hyezKwFMMLE8a9Qd8WtlEn16OqraP4P20/s1600/8thirdstreetxino.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 570px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654066729751394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdI8SWIxo0CkbGZTzW4BBAYFtYysnmuYARBqJ0Y9VqpVnViRPJJfnjDoAzvooyLVsd5vNMN78iIaTyIV-KhTb4jKO0jDZWtDvqoFz8Xwbyu3hyezKwFMMLE8a9Qd8WtlEn16OqraP4P20/s800/8thirdstreetxino.jpg" /></a>And later, we went to Third Street where Vince bought Calliope and I matching Toms shoes and treated us to dim sum at an Asian fusion place. Actually, what I should call it is "dim sum-thing-else," because I don't recall ever being offered a complimentary bottomless Mother's Day mimosa at any dim sum place I've been to. So though Vince's inconvenient cold may have stuck me with mommy duty on what was supposed to be my day of relaxation, I did find a way to relax.</p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRRmVxqEy372_vDoHkaiV7zEspfYKLIkuLds-_ZaTnKsgB_R_JZFdfkztg8PwfN9PZTAvMpvhfIlts2jEgmacJdiZid_Ab5-I33Jgtv4ePe-t8sqVjnKnMJfSEknSjUnmnZsGtl66NOiI/s1600/9momsdaymimosas.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 488px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654057066781458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRRmVxqEy372_vDoHkaiV7zEspfYKLIkuLds-_ZaTnKsgB_R_JZFdfkztg8PwfN9PZTAvMpvhfIlts2jEgmacJdiZid_Ab5-I33Jgtv4ePe-t8sqVjnKnMJfSEknSjUnmnZsGtl66NOiI/s800/9momsdaymimosas.jpg" /></a><em>Three </em>ways, rather.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrGdbp5zk-RiKSmmvJYNbZtU11C_khGhn06PKeBkCP7KqXcSP5Y-OE77ZpcV24uWwhGxolQse-zvOwnajMnvH_HcGnbHQ5qhXKJhtX6CKxMdHsn3gCDs3Lr56p3CsZ422tkmFNdwZh1s/s1600/10mommydrinking.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654051917330898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrGdbp5zk-RiKSmmvJYNbZtU11C_khGhn06PKeBkCP7KqXcSP5Y-OE77ZpcV24uWwhGxolQse-zvOwnajMnvH_HcGnbHQ5qhXKJhtX6CKxMdHsn3gCDs3Lr56p3CsZ422tkmFNdwZh1s/s400/10mommydrinking.jpg" /></a> Oh, come on, Calliope, don't look so horrified. Sometimes, mommies need their special mommy juice. One day you'll understand.<br /><br />So although our original plans got scrapped, I still had a wonderful day filled with the things I cherish most: presents, shoes, and booze. No, no, just kidding! What I cherish most are Vince, Benjamin and Calliope. And as far as the presents are concerned, though the gift cards and mimosas were nice, the one that I will treasure the most is the most humble one of all: my sweet little boy's portrait of me. </p><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbzu-UqFwkiEZ_h7wyjt8GXSziGEqDx53Uorsotf_FxkT8fFSxuiY0hkFS82c_ZXq3ac2uO8NdoawaHN22UPYmc8G1KmbDldDKy4kcI8thNyvNVvrkLkUxza252d_qp35qjoy6uPs7Z8/s1600/11myartistboo.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 450px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609654046488625298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbzu-UqFwkiEZ_h7wyjt8GXSziGEqDx53Uorsotf_FxkT8fFSxuiY0hkFS82c_ZXq3ac2uO8NdoawaHN22UPYmc8G1KmbDldDKy4kcI8thNyvNVvrkLkUxza252d_qp35qjoy6uPs7Z8/s800/11myartistboo.jpg" /></a>Is it just me, or do I see a touch of the artist himself in this rendering?<br /><br />I hope all my mama friends out there had a wonderful day, too. Happy Mother's Day to you all!<br /></p>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-84793058813001105042011-05-13T14:43:00.000-07:002011-05-13T14:52:56.305-07:00Smile and Make UpThere's been a lot of this going on lately:<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/oKPr3w4GDxk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Are they singing a duet? Having a wordless free-flow face-off? Or maybe they're arguing. Hmmm... Come to think of it, Vince and I have had a few spats similiar to this one, but without the hand-holding. Or the smiling. Maybe that's the key to working things out: always keep a smile on your face, and when things get tough, reach out and hold hands. I'm gonna keep that in mind the next we have a disagreement. Like when I catch him playing video games on his iPhone. Again. At 3 in the morning. Or in the middle of dinner in a restaurant. With friends. After I've already gone apesh*t crazy on his ass about it at the playground earlier that same day. But is is alllll good. You know why? Because I am SMILING as I type this. <br /><br />:)lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-82977020027597192572011-05-10T13:06:00.000-07:002011-05-10T13:27:38.817-07:00She Wore An Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Little Ruffled Pink Bikini<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8Gs8NGajVLOUIqnnnT008cmEH_8QdJUyDNKPyiLFymGjL42kDGmqflwbdn-aZpNMAVC3C7yn1h9kmQqD8BuSjVJeyq820c_G8TlxGwh2bckICuT4B6RPguRJTN5SrymJ0y7LCjqQQ5o/s1600/1bikiniCpink.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 478px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605181965860439794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8Gs8NGajVLOUIqnnnT008cmEH_8QdJUyDNKPyiLFymGjL42kDGmqflwbdn-aZpNMAVC3C7yn1h9kmQqD8BuSjVJeyq820c_G8TlxGwh2bckICuT4B6RPguRJTN5SrymJ0y7LCjqQQ5o/s800/1bikiniCpink.jpg" /></a> Now that the weather has gotten warmer, we've been hitting the pool. Benjamin has never been a big fan of the water, but Calliope is a different story. As soon as we arrived, she behaved as though the cabana was her runway. It started with her walk from the lounge chairs to the poolside.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2W-kA9c5vz-58jaF9jCd9l8bsdJ89M9BsHuERUtAr3RIIRE9u43Dd-pfRtXxF9rgBEJWXkFrqAdYvDlB6qhw_p-C4gpDHMuOfVb_ytOkWnevUNN_d4qEIqyxxzvRJCEjdfT1-1U0yVo/s1600/2walkingtopool.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 362px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605181958781911074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2W-kA9c5vz-58jaF9jCd9l8bsdJ89M9BsHuERUtAr3RIIRE9u43Dd-pfRtXxF9rgBEJWXkFrqAdYvDlB6qhw_p-C4gpDHMuOfVb_ytOkWnevUNN_d4qEIqyxxzvRJCEjdfT1-1U0yVo/s800/2walkingtopool.jpg" /></a>Or should I say it started with her STRUT from the lounge chairs to the poolside? She may have learned to walk only weeks before, but she was working it with every step after chubby step. As my friend Lisa said, she was very proud of her "convex exposed belly." Then as soon as she had a chance to test the waters, she began jumping from the side of the pool into my arms. Sometimes she'd miss and inevitably bob below the surface of the water, which totally freaked me out, but as soon as I grabbed her and lifted her up, I'd see that she was giggling. My goodness... Only 14 months and already scaring the sh*t out of me. </div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWFu9ARJIadEd6hHXnQHB0ehE1AJpFCALehK6iWZKs9MtmX_TFh3lgN9S2se_IsIJoInHdSwLrch9zq-JFqTc_bkd7yFHsmOflRsLbf5mcBB-E1P1560pvZmOimlkO0BFAd0FM3eB52w/s1600/3poolboos.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 307px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605181950939600514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWFu9ARJIadEd6hHXnQHB0ehE1AJpFCALehK6iWZKs9MtmX_TFh3lgN9S2se_IsIJoInHdSwLrch9zq-JFqTc_bkd7yFHsmOflRsLbf5mcBB-E1P1560pvZmOimlkO0BFAd0FM3eB52w/s800/3poolboos.jpg" /></a> When she wasn't busy trying to give her mommy a heart attack, Calliope sat on the steps with Benjamin where they enjoyed splashing and kicking at the water. </div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SA28zF1MAAbiOpDp9GrEirPWU7aYTkgMA8KMrEcDFWQAUPrbyJEZQXbINYeX_nDt42BOt7vEAkyxZA1W70P7vubU4dEiGR7DfXwGLL9BPkH_QbTc832Y2VYp6UHYQ66na-NvkyK2X0/s1600/4lastyearsbikini.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 307px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605181942122548994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SA28zF1MAAbiOpDp9GrEirPWU7aYTkgMA8KMrEcDFWQAUPrbyJEZQXbINYeX_nDt42BOt7vEAkyxZA1W70P7vubU4dEiGR7DfXwGLL9BPkH_QbTc832Y2VYp6UHYQ66na-NvkyK2X0/s800/4lastyearsbikini.jpg" /></a>We had such a great time that we went back again the next day. If you think that Calliope's bikini looks a little, er... small, you're not imagining things. It's the same suit she wore to the pool a year ago when she was just a few months old. </div><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimffkRl1sdpE-BNgFd-ak1v2uCcASV0JcaO_wlR6Jf2gT1CoNSSly5sr3xdGB0Z0Oxc3QpdwKya4mNZtDHbEZD2wqH4GQppT-8C2fRDkCHKOdEKx-X89I04TvoYdYr-JoEgaL8S3hoxMA/s1600/5thennowbikini.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 509px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605181937892810242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimffkRl1sdpE-BNgFd-ak1v2uCcASV0JcaO_wlR6Jf2gT1CoNSSly5sr3xdGB0Z0Oxc3QpdwKya4mNZtDHbEZD2wqH4GQppT-8C2fRDkCHKOdEKx-X89I04TvoYdYr-JoEgaL8S3hoxMA/s800/5thennowbikini.jpg" /></a> I, too, had to don an old bathing suit, but it'll be a cold day in Hell before you see a picture of that! </div></div></div></div>lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088428840167567208.post-26533572234925484192011-04-27T13:35:00.000-07:002011-04-27T13:55:51.273-07:00Feelings... Nothing More than Feelings<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Uq56Yd-hJcY6O0cVxqcmJs-EM-RPAmcIacSR33t98crnf26Hw3y71h0PutxEXs9qqsx3lrHyRGOdiItmtndh_Oi_RkBUDpSoapSHg9EWya101JIUMlofSQJmBnHI_FsbSGlPHF2sfj0/s1600/sharkfeelingscoloring.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600365222586707762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Uq56Yd-hJcY6O0cVxqcmJs-EM-RPAmcIacSR33t98crnf26Hw3y71h0PutxEXs9qqsx3lrHyRGOdiItmtndh_Oi_RkBUDpSoapSHg9EWya101JIUMlofSQJmBnHI_FsbSGlPHF2sfj0/s800/sharkfeelingscoloring.jpg" /></a> Last Sunday morning, I found Benjamin in his playroom quietly coloring in his new coloring book. He seemed so fixated on the task that I stopped to see what it was that he was coloring.<br /><span style="color:#000000;">.</span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjNPT5wM157C0diX8XtnIzj_3wECEQRkM_lJsAeDvMinXET9t5pbQOBfeA35VYQCMxK5PmwskabyWn-d4_nIvWQHtxrNygmDK7-KXNTnFAsnVTJ3Sgk9goqlWHpmtjksNYladdikU2bw/s1600/sharkfeelings.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600365216178346994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjNPT5wM157C0diX8XtnIzj_3wECEQRkM_lJsAeDvMinXET9t5pbQOBfeA35VYQCMxK5PmwskabyWn-d4_nIvWQHtxrNygmDK7-KXNTnFAsnVTJ3Sgk9goqlWHpmtjksNYladdikU2bw/s800/sharkfeelings.jpg" /></a> A shark. With green... Um... protuberances.<br /><span style="color:#000000;">,</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddP2p5emmB2iWJ7MGE1tWUTjpiM3w1mGw-ThOGabQrRgizNAfGVRXt_ngWCBa9xehyphenhyphenbZ6E3ls7u3MNGQdlzGPfwUlWt6xEtf1Ah3eAw8Bq55bqa83qNsqm16ENByajol2AuVNFwgRSx0/s1600/sharkfeelingscloseup.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600365205689210242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddP2p5emmB2iWJ7MGE1tWUTjpiM3w1mGw-ThOGabQrRgizNAfGVRXt_ngWCBa9xehyphenhyphenbZ6E3ls7u3MNGQdlzGPfwUlWt6xEtf1Ah3eAw8Bq55bqa83qNsqm16ENByajol2AuVNFwgRSx0/s800/sharkfeelingscloseup.jpg" /></a> "Hey, Ben Ben," I asked. "What are those green things?" Continuing his coloring, he mumbled something unintelligible. "What, Ben Ben? I didn't hear you." He stopped coloring for a moment, looked up at me, and with an almost exaggerated patience replied, "Those are the shark's feelings, mama."<br /><span style="color:#000000;">.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yM7cePtVYlvBfKeeCpcRPRtv9Zl6QPknNU2KjHkbFzyOgGQEWd5poQCNv6TSEKGu9p2H1zazT1EMY4XSL0iuG-JEG5WVyYH6GPIsxOeVfuX__KM-RvZ76TeBlrZOpAZcDz-v5Q1vDWc/s1600/sharkfeelingsboo.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 640px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 427px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600365200815569586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yM7cePtVYlvBfKeeCpcRPRtv9Zl6QPknNU2KjHkbFzyOgGQEWd5poQCNv6TSEKGu9p2H1zazT1EMY4XSL0iuG-JEG5WVyYH6GPIsxOeVfuX__KM-RvZ76TeBlrZOpAZcDz-v5Q1vDWc/s800/sharkfeelingsboo.jpg" /></a>Most men would have said those were the sharks brains. Guess I'm raising a sensitive soul!lilyliuchan@gmail.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07132452091031773368noreply@blogger.com0