Wishing you all a merry Christmas and a happy 2012!

(See more pics at picasaweb.google.com/taffystay)

If due dates were fool-proof, I should’ve been in the hospital yesterday giving birth. But, as I’d hoped, our baby arrived 12 days early. It’s odd, though, to think that I could’ve just gone about my normal routine and could still be pregnant – which is what Matt and several of my co-workers expected. While this would’ve allowed me more time to finish up some assignments at work, I couldn’t imagine not meeting our baby any sooner.

Miles Emerson was born on Monday, Nov. 14, at 6:56 a.m. He weighed 5 lbs., 8 oz., and supposedly measured 16.5 inches. I say “supposedly” because at our pediatrician appointment four days later, Miles measured 18 inches. Rather than assuming Miles grew an inch and a half in a short amount of time, the doc guessed that the nurse who measured Miles didn’t fully stretch him out before announcing his length.

His arrival was a bit of a surprise. We went to the hospital on Sunday evening for monitoring, since I hadn’t felt much of the baby’s movement throughout the day. To make a long story short, we were asked to stay overnight at the hospital to undergo further monitoring throughout the night and testing the following day. But my contractions intensified in the middle of the night, resulting in Miles’ arrival the following morning. I have yet to journal my birth experience, which seems like a blur, but when I do, maybe I’ll post it here.

He’s a fun little guy with a full head of hair like Matt. When he has milk coma, his eyes roll around and he smiles spontaneously. When he’s awake, his curious eyes take in the world, and he seems to sleep best when he’s close to us. He’s a joy to have around, and we are loving our time of getting to know him.

(Miles at birth)

(A few days old)

With our baby’s birth approximately four weeks away (possibly sooner; hopefully not later!), the concept of family has been strong on my mind – what it means, what it looks like in my life, etc. I thought about it even more when my family was planning the celebration for my grandpa’s 90th birthday at the end of August.

For months, the relatives on my dad’s side exchanged emails about how we’d celebrate my grandpa’s birthday. We kept this a surprise from my grandparents, who had no idea that all of us (minus a few spouses) would be flying in for the occasion. The biggest surprise probably would be the appearance of one of my uncles who has been working in Japan for the past few years.

One of our gift ideas was to put together a photobook using old and recent photos, which I volunteered to gather and put into an album. I received old photos of the grandkids, hanging out with our grandparents; graduation and wedding photos; and photos from my dad’s and his siblings’ childhood both in Hong Kong and in the States. Some of the photos were even older, showing my grandpa as a teenager, a young man and a young father.

I had no idea so many old photos existed, stashed away in photo albums in my grandparents’ house. I’d known my grandparents as being elderly for so long that I’d never really thought that they were once teenagers or young adults. Even seeing my dad, aunt and uncles as kids and as teenagers threw me off. I didn’t expect the photos to impact me so much, but it got to the point where I couldn’t work on the photo book at night or else I’d lay awake thinking about the past.

At the age of 13, my dad and his family immigrated from Hong Kong to the U.S. on a cruise ship. The year was 1964. They packed up their furniture and other belongings and made their way across the ocean, making a short stop in Hawaii. (My grandparents still have the kitchen table that they brought from HK.) My dad talks about how, for the first few days, all the immigrant kids ran around the ship in their pajamas until the crew told them they had to wear regular clothes.

One of the photos that impacted me the most was from this trip (click on the first photo below). My grandparents, another couple and my dad are walking along a big street in Hawaii (looks like Oahu), palm trees visible in the background. My grandma’s hair is nicely curled, and she’s dressed in a stylish skirt suit. My grandpa, who I don’t even recognize, is wearing slacks, a collared shirt, and a thin dark tie. My dad, a scrawny little boy with big plastic glasses, is following closely behind my grandpa.

It’s my dad’s expression that caught my attention. He’s looking off ahead, like he’s taking everything in. He’s not necessarily in awe, and he’s not scared – he’s just curious. I see this look on his face even now as an adult, when he’s taking in his surroundings. As I look at the picture, I wonder what he’s looking at, what he’s thinking…and then I wonder what it’s like for a young teen to start new in a country that is so different from all he’s known. I wonder what it’s like for my grandparents to move their four children across the world, taking a risk that life will be better here. And then I realize, sadly, that there’s so much about both my parents’ childhood, their past, and my grandparents’ past that I’m unaware of.

I’m very fortunate that all of my grandparents are still alive, and I even remember when my two great-grandmothers were alive. But I know my grandparents won’t be around forever. I feel like there’s so much wisdom and experience that I haven’t gleaned from them, and I know the language barrier is what prevents me from having deeper conversations with them. I know there are ways around it…letters, asking my parents to help me when I don’t know the words in Chinese…I just need to make it a priority. On the other hand, I know that I can still take advantage of my relationship with my parents, especially the fact that they’re still in good health and speak English. I’m sure having our own kids will give me a new understanding and appreciation for them.

Another outcome from my grandpa’s celebration was a greater sense of unity among our family, especially among the cousins. All of my cousins are younger than I am, so I remember when many of them were very young. I remember holding some of them when they were born and playing hide-and-seek with them in my grandparents’ house. I also remember when they got older and feeling clueless about talking to teenagers.

But now that we’re all out of college and, in a sense, in the same stage of life, there’s a greater desire to keep in touch and to be family. We’re spread all over the country, so it’s a huge deal when we’re all back in Sacramento together. The night after our grandpa’s birthday dinner, all the cousins came back to my parents’ house to play Taboo (a rematch from the night of Kim and Mike’s wedding) and Mafia. It was probably after 10 p.m., we were visibly tired, but we all knew it was important to have that time together.

Little did I know that the next day, grandpa’s “second birthday celebration” was actually a surprise double baby shower for Kim and Mike (who had their baby a few weeks ago!) and me. Auntie Anna cooked all the food, and the girl cousins did an amazing job decorating and planning everything. I don’t like to use the throw the word “blessed” around, but I truly felt blessed to celebrate our baby with the family and to have them be a part of this exciting time. (My cousin, Traci, who is a wonderful writer, also wrote about the occasion on her blog.)

I couldn’t help but wonder what holidays will be like when my grandparents are no longer around. As the younger generations grow our families, will we branch off and have our own family gatherings? I honestly can’t imagine celebrating Christmas without being with aunts, uncles and cousins – whether they be on my side or Matt’s side. That’s what holidays have always been like, and it wouldn’t make sense not to still be a part of each others’ lives. Just thinking too far ahead makes me sad about the unknown, so once again, I have to remind myself to enjoy the present.

Next month, we hope to be driving back to California with a new baby in tow, and I’m incredibly excited about celebrating this new life with all our loved ones. I’m especially glad to have a new Christmas to get me over the hurdle of last year’s painful memories. Even hearing Christmas music is still difficult for me. But I pray that the joy of this year’s holidays will be healing.

Happy November, everyone!

(In the big family photo, my grandpa’s giving my grandma a look that says, “Who ARE these people?!”

Over the past few weeks, I’ve visited two amazing bookstores. The first was Green Apple in SF’s Richmond District. I love this place probably more for nostalgic reasons than anything else, but also for its rough charm, creaky floors and handwritten signs. Then there’s Powell’s in Portland, an unpretentious monster that claims to be the world’s (yes, WORLD’S!) largest independent new and used bookstore. Oh how I love going into independent bookstores, which always seem to have mazes of aisles, just the right amount of clutter and personality – all of which are lacking in the big box bookstores. And the smaller the store, the creakier the shelves and floors seem to be. The best ones are those with tight aisles and wooden shelves that threaten to fall over if you shove a book too firmly back into place.

Despite my awe of bookstores, I left both of these places empty-handed (well, except for a toddler t-shirt from Green Apple), but empty-handed in terms of books. I entered the bookstores hoping to come out with an exciting new book, but each time, I choked when faced with options.

Unless I have a specific book in mind, I tend to get overwhelmed in bookstores. It’s usually hard for me to focus once inside because my eyes are wandering faster than my feet. My first stop is usually the sale section, where I might spot something interesting – but not interesting enough for me to buy it. My second stop might be the reference section, where I read spine after spine of writing and grammar books. Several of them might sound interesting…but how do I know they’re worth my money or my time? I would be taking a huge risk if I just bought a random book without knowing what other people said about it!

Even if I found a book that I thought was worth my time, I’m just too frugal to buy a brand-new book. Even used books could cost as much as a new book, depending on the store. And as much as I want to support indy bookstores, let’s all be honest and say that amazon.com will usually get you a better deal. So do I pay $15 for a used book, or do I opt for the “Like New” version from amazon.com for $6, including shipping? I’m the type of person who compares the price per ounce or pound between brands when I go grocery shopping, so you could guess where I buy my books.

Over the years, I’ve drastically reduced the number of books I buy. After moving so many times over the past 10 or so years, I’ve realized that – aside from furniture – boxes of books are the heaviest things to move. I’ve purged a lot of my books, which pains me every time. Each book has a memory – of whoever gave it to me, where I bought it, what the content makes me think of. But over time, I’ve only kept books that I really enjoy, could see myself reading again or are good reference books for the future. Real estate on my bookshelf is precious, so I need to make sure the books I have are ones that mean something to me.

I used to spend a lot of time in bookstores – reading magazines or sitting among the shelves reading books I was too cheap to buy. In college, I worked at Learningsmith, which was located right next to a Waldenbooks (or something like that). Sometimes during my breaks, I’d go to the bookstore, sit on the floor and read. I think I even kept a bookmark in the book that I was reading so I could always pick up where I left off. But now, I go to bookstores less and less, for the reasons I mentioned above. I still read a lot – but my books always come from the library. If I like a book enough, I’ll buy it – but never at full price.

This whole post may sound like I actually dislike bookstores because they overwhelm me and charge more than I’d like to spend. But that’s not the case. What I get most out of bookstores is inspiration. When I’m browsing through the reference section – even while I’m feeling overwhelmed – I’m also inspired and excited to be a better writer, to have a stronger vocabulary, to write more often, or to revisit the rules of grammar that we once learned and forgot. Or I walk through the section of classics and think about how I need to read more of these books that are classics for a reason – either for their subject, writing style or both. Bookstores make me want to become a better, smarter, more well-rounded person. And even though I leave empty-handed, the inspiration that I’ve gained is priceless.

Over the weekend, Matt and I visited one of his college/church friends who is now living in Portland. We checked out an art fair, which seemed more interesting on the website than in person. It was incredibly crowded, and it was a hot day. (Californians, don’t laugh – 90 degrees is hot when you live in the Pacific Northwest!) The best part about the art fair was buying an overpriced sno-cone ($5 for ice and syrup?!) and eating it in the shade.

The second best part was stumbling upon this illustrator. He’s illustrated children’s books, but his work also appeals to adults. I feel like I could easily get lost in his drawings. There are visual elements to enjoy, but the emotions behind the drawings take me deeper… into my memories and my imagination.

Of the work in his gallery, I’d say my faves are: Date Night, Snow Giraffe, Lurking and Davey’s Dream.

What do you guys think?

The first time we met in person, Matt told me that he wasn’t romantic. He set my expectations really low, but he’s managed to surprise me several times. Sometimes I wish he’d verbalize his emotions more, but over the years, I’ve learned that he’s more expressive with his actions than his words. 

A few nights ago, toward the end of the workday, he said he had a surprise for me. I asked him if I’d like the surprise, and he said, “I think so.” As we left the office, I tried to get more information from him. “Is this a surprise like, ‘Surprise, we’re going to work on the yard all night?’” He replied, “Maybe, maybe not.” Hmm… 

He drove us to Chinatown where we had dinner at the Uwajimaya food court. Already, the night was turning out well, because it meant I didn’t have to cook dinner. Always a bonus for me! At first I thought maybe Matt got tickets to a Sounders game, since we’ve been wanting to go to a game. But then I saw a lot of people wearing Mariners gear – so I suspected he got free last-minute tix to a baseball game. I wasn’t quite as excited, but also didn’t complain. I certainly didn’t want to discourage any future surprise date nights! But I really was convinced that we were going to spend the night watching baseball. 

After dinner, we drove past the stadium and into downtown Seattle. As Matt parked near Benaroya Hall, I suspected we were going to a performance there – maybe of the symphony? But we walked away from Benaroya Hall and into The Triple Door, a small bar/lounge/concert venue. I think Matt wanted to keep the performer a secret for as long as possible, but as we were ushered past the check-in desk, I scanned the calendar of events for any recognizable names. One immediately jumped out – Lisa Loeb. 

I still don’t know how Matt found out Lisa was performing, but I was really excited and touched that he got tickets for us to see her. I’ve seen her a handful of times since high school, and have always enjoyed her performances. She tends to play in small venues, and always seems like she’s just playing to a bunch of friends. She’s very casual, approachable, witty and just plain fun. 

After her set, we hung out near the back of the venue, and asked her to sign one of her children’s CDs. And, after all these years, I finally got a picture with her! 

Thanks to some sneaky relatives, this isn’t the only surprise that I’ve had within the last week, but I’ll have to save that for another post…

It’s been an emotional few weeks for me, for a number of reasons, although I’d like to think that some of it can be blamed on pregnancy hormones. But being emotional isn’t always a negative thing. In fact, we have a lot to be joyful and thankful about. We are now 20 weeks pregnant and had a very positive, exciting ultrasound last week. The baby was moving and kicking a lot – already quite the capoeirista, although I have yet to feel intense movements. He/she is healthy and growing well, and I can’t ask for anything more.

We went back to LA over the July 4th weekend for a friend’s wedding, and had an enjoyable time with family and friends. All of the Ip “kids” were back in the house at the same time, although everyone was in and out so much that we actually didn’t have a moment all together. We caught up with old friends and – the highlight of my weekend – celebrated the world of Harry Potter in anticipation of the upcoming movie.

We landed in Seattle the night of July 4th, just in time to catch the fireworks being set off by our neighbors two houses down. One thing I’ve learned about people in Seattle – they’re not into the skimpy fireworks that fly 10 feet into the air. They’re all about the big ones that explode high above and then rain down. I doubt they’re legal, but they’re beautiful to watch, although a bit scary when they’re so close to our house.

The weather was perfect that night – cool, but not cold enough that I needed a shirt with sleeves. Our neighbors were laughing, listening to music, and setting off fireworks. As I watched the fireworks burst overhead, I was overwhelmed with how happy and content I felt, and just how perfect the night was. A minute later, though, I felt very sad and alone. I was hit with the thought that I should’ve been holding a newborn baby. For awhile, I’d been dreading July 4th. It was the due date of the baby we lost in December. Every time I’d heard the date, I didn’t think about the holiday, the fireworks, or getting a day off. I thought about the baby.

Being pregnant and having a great pregnancy so far definitely made July 4th much more bearable. In fact, I didn’t feel much sadness that day until that evening. I’d been more moody about the date in the two weeks leading up to it. But being pregnant also doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the other pregnancies or wish I hadn’t lost those babies. If anything, being pregnant makes me wonder about them even more. What would those babies have been like?

I allowed myself to cry for a few minutes, but then remembered all that I had to be thankful for. And then I wiped my eyes and went inside to continue unpacking.

On a very different note, we’ll be lining up for the midnight screening of the second installment of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” tomorrow night. It’s the final movie of the entire series, and it’s a bittersweet day. I know the movie will be amazing. There are some really powerful scenes that will hopefully translate well on the big screen. Today, I read an article in which the writer referenced a scene where Harry is surrounded by deceased loved ones as he prepares to face Voldemort. Even just reading the brief dialogue between Harry and his mom made me cry. Imagine how I’ll be tomorrow when I see it on screen. Eek.

In addition to reacting to all the emotional scenes, I’m well aware that once the movie is over, it means everything is over. No more books and no more movies. Last year when we finished watching HP 7.1, I was already sad – and there was still one more movie to look forward to. Not only has the HP series been a fun destination for my imagination, it’s also helped me to create strong bonds among friends and has been a great source of escape when I needed it most. Thank you, J.K.R.!

In the middle of writing a letter, I gave my hand a break and checked out someone’s blog, which (as it always happens) leads me down a trail of other blogs, eventually bringing me to the music of Rachel Wagner. Listening to track 11 (Psalm 131) while reading the lyrics brought me to tears. Without looking up Psalm 131, I went straight to the Matthew Henry commentary, which said the following:

Our hearts are desirous of worldly things, cry for them, and are fond of them; but, by the grace of God, a soul that is made holy, is weaned from these things. The child is cross and fretful while in the weaning; but in a day or two it cares no longer for milk, and it can bear stronger food. Thus does a converted soul quiet itself under the loss of what it loved, and disappointments in what it hoped for, and is easy whatever happens. When our condition is not to our mind, we must bring our mind to our condition; then we are easy to ourselves and all about us; then our souls are as a weaned child. And thus the psalmist recommends confidence in God, to all the Israel of God, from his own experience. It is good to hope, and quietly to wait for the salvation of the Lord under every trial.

What a perfect reminder for where I am emotionally and spiritually. So what does this psalm say exactly? I was very curious. I finally looked it up…

… I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
² But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.
³ Israel, put your hope in the LORD
both now and forevermore.

The funny thing is, I remember reading this for the first time maybe a year or so ago, and I really liked it. The idea of accepting that there are many things beyond my control and understanding, but being able to be still and hopeful in God, especially resonated with me. How could I have forgotten this? And now, I have a song to help me remember.

(BTW, this musician also has a blog that combines some poetry with her insights and music news…and the latest posts quote from Emerson and Emily Dickinson. Pretty cool. :))

I’ll admit it – I take my mom for granted. I don’t always think about how she stayed home full-time with Na and me until we were in elementary school. At that point, she began working at the same school so that she could bring us to school and bring us home. Until then, she took us to the library for storytime and community puppet shows and performances. She allowed us to help her bake, usually for our teachers or other people. Her specialty was persimmon cookies and bread, using the fresh persimmons from the two trees in our backyard.

Some days, she would take us downtown to visit dad at work. I remember playing on a concrete slide (that is no longer there), and occasionally getting to buy Swedish fish (at a store that also is no longer there). We’d check out dad’s office and play with all the knick-knacks on his desk, and I’d marvel at all the colors of markers he got to use. One day, when I was in maybe in 1st or 2nd grade, mom let me get my ears pierced at Bedazzled, located downstairs from dad’s office. Years later when I wanted a third hole – but only on one side –  mom also got one ear pierced with me.

I really liked having mom at the same school. When I needed lunch money, I only needed to run to her classroom. After school, we’d go to her preschool classroom to wait. While we waited, we either played out in the preschool playground or played with the kids. I remember my classroom even went on a field trip with my mom’s kids, with each student in my class paired up with a preschool buddy.

Na always remembers that, when we were kids, mom killed a snake in the backyard with a shovel. I think adrenaline kicked in when she saw the snake and thought about how it could hurt us. Talk about a mother’s protective instinct. I don’t remember that, though. But I do know that my mom is tougher than she looks, and I’ve seen her assert herself many times. That’s something I could learn from her.

One of my strongest memories of my mom is not as dramatic as Na’s. It’s from the day of my high school graduation. The ceremony was in downtown Sacramento, about 25 minutes from home, I think (without traffic). I’d forgotten the golden sash showing my participation in the California Student Federation, which I was supposed to wear around my neck during the ceremony. To be honest, I can’t even remember what I did to earn it, or what it meant. Regardless, my mom wanted me to be able to have it. Right before the ceremony began, she dashed home to get the sash. I was already lined up in the hallway, about to enter into the auditorium. I remember her rushing to me, sash in hand, just in time.

Since becoming an adult, moving away from home, and being pretty independent, I know I haven’t been the easiest daughter to build a relationship with. I make a point to keep in touch, but I’m aware that I can put up walls sometimes. I may not want to be taken care of like a kid, but I have to understand that a mother will always act like a mother. And that’s probably a good thing.

So, mom, happy mother’s day…and thank you for all you’ve done for me – and continue to do. Happy mother’s day, also, to my mother-in-law, and thanks for raising a great son. :)

And happy mother’s day to all the other special women out there who are mothers, mothers-to-be, women who care for other children as their own, and to those who have had to say goodbye to their own. You are loved.

These few days in May always bring a lot of reminiscing for me. The first significant date is May 7 – our wedding anniversary. Today, we celebrated six years of marriage. Coincidentally, yesterday I stumbled upon my outdated Shutterfly account, which was full of photos from my life in LA. Some of the ones in there included our engagement and wedding pictures. Sometimes I feel like the six years has gone by really fast; but, at the same time, I feel like those years of being in LA were eons ago.

Last year, I posted about the beginnings of our relationship and reasons why I love Matt, so I’ll spare you all the sentiments this year. All I’ll say is that I’m thankful for him – the things I really admire about him and, dare I say it, even the things that drive me a little batty.

These dates also are significant because exactly five years ago, we packed up a U-Haul and drove up to Seattle with my dad and Matt’s mom. We had never seen our apartment until we pulled up to it. It was a warm, sunny Seattle weekend (in May!), and after we unloaded everything, we launched right into hitting the Seattle spots – Pike Place, Kerry Park, and Ezell’s Chicken (made famous by Oprah). We were newlyweds on a new adventure – and we haven’t regretted it since.

When I looked at the pics from Shutterfly, I felt like the experience of living in LA was a distant memory. I felt like there was a lot of emotional adjustment upon moving there, and I look back at those years almost like I was a different person. Then again, I know Matt would agree with me that we’ve both grown a lot since moving here.

A day after we unpacked and our parents flew back to California, I started my job at WV. It has been five years now that I’ve been there, and I haven’t grown tired of it yet. There have been many, many hard moments, but also many good, good ones, too. It’s funny to think back at my first few months there and how my relationships with my teammates, comfort level, and familiarity with everything has changed. I am so thankful to be there, and am glad that Matt can be there, too.

Here are a couple of pics from my Shutterfly account…

(We totally staged this photo. Matt tried to catch the real moment, but the camera went off a little too late. So we reenacted this. hehe. I look so cheesy.)

(Engagement shot by Susan in San Diego. I remember we had a disagreement on the way down to SD because the directions I wrote down weren’t right – and I, unfortunately, hadn’t brought Susan’s number with me. I felt horrible about being late – and unable to contact Susan – and Matt was giving me a hard time for not being more responsible. Somehow we made it – and Susan was still waiting for us at our meeting spot – and we managed to make peace with each other and look like we loved each other in the photos.)

(Wedding day – pics also by Susan! I still love, love, love the pink and green combo and our polka-dot motif!)

(View of the smoke from the Porter Ranch fires on my way home from work. At night, from my apartment building, I could see the flames in the hills. Crazy. I don’t think wildfires are much of an issue here in western Washington.)

(Taken at a mall in Sao Paulo in 2002. I paid to jump on a big trampoline and was ambitious to try a flip. I managed to do it, but couldn’t control my landing. All of my momentum propelled me forward onto my face. You could imagine I got a lot of laughs. Fortunately, I didn’t get hurt.)

Life sure has been interesting.