Sticking it to THE OTOKO

According to Google Translate, otoko is Japanese for "man." And in this case, I'm sticking it to the owners of a new Japanese restaurant here in town. Because I'm cool like that.

Last night, Skip had a function at work. Keola was playing at a friend's house, so I decided to take Mika and Noe to the new Bento spot. We all like sushi, and I wouldn't have to cook.

I am still wondering why we stayed.

We got there at 6:04. The place is super small, with only 12 tables. It's kind of a dive, so don't be thinking it's a high-class spot with twelve EXCLUSIVE tables. It's teeny and not high-class. We waited about 10 minutes for a table, and then we waited until SEVEN FIFTEEN for our food! That is so totally unacceptable. The worst part was, FIVE OTHER TABLES got served before us, and they all came in AFTER WE DID.

*I hope all these capital letters adequately express my irritation.

Anyway. I made a stink, as I'm prone to do when I feel so justified, and ended up with squat. I insisted on a discounted bill, and the poor lady couldn't figure out how to do a discount on the register. So she gave me a $7 credit for our next visit. As if. Mika was mortified and kept asking me to stop asking for a discount. I told him if he had twenty bucks of his own hard-earned cash that he was willing to fork out for cold food and an hour's wait, then so be it. (yes, I realize twenty bucks is super cheap for a Japanese meal. But still...)

So today, I made bulgogi for my family. While I do realize this is a Korean dish and not a Japanese dish, it was still one of the items on their menu. I don't need the stupid Bento. I can do it myself. And so can you. Here's how:

Buy a beef roast. (Sorry, Trinity) Ask your butcher to slice it thinly for you. Take your thinly sliced beef, and slice it into strips. (Think fajita-style). This is easiest to do if the meat is partly frozen.

Next, combine one onion and 2 kiwis in a blender or food processor or chopster or whatever you use when you're too lazy to mince. Throw in 2-3 cloves of garlic. Puree.

Add about 3 Tbs of cooking wine (I prefer red); 3 Tbs of rice vinegar (although any kind of vinegar will work. I use pomegranate and it's super tasty as well); 3 Tbs of sesame oil and about 1/2 c of soy sauce. That's your marinade.

Soak the thinly sliced beef strips in it for a few hours. The kiwi sounds weird, yes, but it tenderizes the meat in a delightful way. Stir fry it in your wok. Or on a griddle. Or in a pan. Whatever you have. Sprinkle some sesame seeds over it. Serve it with sticky rice. Wrap each serving up in a lettuce leaf and eat it like a Japanese burrito. I would post some pictures, but I didn't take any. I realize that makes this post a teeny bit lame, but it makes my life a teeny bit easier. So I'm willing to trade off. Although I CAN swipe a pic off Google images. Here's what it looks like. Although mine didn't have whatever that red stuff is on top. My whole family loves it. And it takes hardly any time. And you don't have to get into it with an irritated Japanese head waitress and her angry sushi-chef boss. And your kid won't be embarrassed. And you save twenty bucks.

Love Is...

Remember these cheezy cartoons from way back when? I loved them when I was little. Probably because I thought the naked cartoons were hilarious. But I digress.

This morning I had a fabulous glimpse at what love really is. But first, a bit of background:

Keola came to me on Tuesday morning and told me he was out of clean pants. I told him as soon as he sorted his laundry, I would be happy to wash it for him. By Thursday, he was really tired of pulling dirty pants from the hamper, and sorted his laundry. Good effort on his part; bad for me because now I had to make sure and wash it for him. I threw it in the washer Thursday night and told my husband, "Don't let me forget to put these in the dryer tonight. It's bad enough when the kids have to pick through dirty laundry but at least they'll have clothes. But when the clothes are all wet, there's nowhere to draw from."

Of course I forgot.

Friday morning, a knock on my door from my middle child. "Mom? I can't find any pants." I am struck with horror knowing that they are soaking wet in the wash, and will not dry before we have to leave. I run to the laundry room and what do I find? My super fantastic husband had moved the load into the dryer for me when he left for work at 5:00 that morning. Dry pants for everyone. Dry, CLEAN pants. What more could a kid and his mom ask for??

Thanks babe. I owe you one.

Click here for Me-n-B life updates.

Tunesday: DOUBLE WHAMMY!

As you may or may not know, or may or may not care, my friend Happyback has recently broken up with Blogger to go out with Facebook. He misses Blogger though, and sent me this little clip so he could blog vicariously through me. It was his request for Tunesday. I couldn't say no.


As I watched this video, it raised some interesting questions and points of interest for me:
1. Do you or don't you know sign language?
2. Is your face actually made out of epoxy?
3. Do you realize that the reason you can "hear him as he prays" is that you are stalking him at a church???
4. There are words that rhyme with "go" other than just "know." Try "bimbo" or "DOH!" or "NO, NO, NO, please make the auditory torture stop!" Well, that last one doesn't really rhyme, but it conveys my exact sentiments.
5. Delta airlines called. They want their uniform back.
Please... feel free to chime in with your two cents. *Don't download this one.

On a more serious note, here is one that you SHOULD download. Don't know if you caught the Hope for Haiti telethon the other night. You may or may not be familiar with my thoughts on telethons. I overlook the things I dislike about them and try to see the greater good. This most recent one brought a very interesting mesh of genres. I LOVED the Bono/Rhiana/Jay-Z number. Also digged on Mary's (J.Blige, that is) gospel tune. I think my favorite, though, was this version of Lean On Me by Sheryl Crow, Keith Urban and Kid Rock. Who'da thunk? So downlaod this, instead of Pardon Me.

Game On

I love basketball. HUGE Celtics fan. Mika asked me a trivia question the other day that started with "Who stole the ball..." and before he even went on I screamed "JOHNNY HAVILECEK!!" He was confused and amazed. I felt proud. Some things you just know. You just know that Havilecek stole the ball in 1965 and put the Celtics into the playoffs. You just know that Johnny Most's gravelly voice made that play infamous in history.


Or maybe you don't know that. Maybe you had absolutely no clue. Do you ever step outside yourself sometimes and really look at your life? I find it remarkable how many situations we are thrown into that we really have no clue about. The ones where we just know what to do feel really good. They feel comfortable and familiar. For me, spending time with my husband is like that. It comes naturally, it's easy, and it's enjoyable. But other aspects of relationships? They're like asking a non-sports fan who John Havilecek is. You just don't get it.

So what do we do about that? We learn. Take parenting, for example. How do we figure THAT out? We just learn as we go. We ask people who seem to have a good idea of what's going on; we may read a few books; take a few classes. We try to figure out these complex little people that God has thrown onto our team, and in the process, we learn a whole lot about the game.

Anyone who has ever been involved in organized sports knows how much work goes into it. The parallel with relationships is obvious. Parenting, friendship, family ties... whatever the case- they all require work. They require you to commit a part of yourself with the goal of forming something successful, something rewarding, something winning. In the process, you work hard to better yourself. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose.

The losing part is hard, because you wonder why you bothered to invest all that time and energy into something only to fall short. But in the case of parenting, your teammates are still there and they are still depending on you to do more than just back them up.



So you renegotiate your strategy. You redraw your plays. And you get back on the court. And on a really good day, everything falls into place. You steal the ball, score the winning basket, and throw your team into a championship series. But on a bad day, you are the guy who had the ball stolen from you. And you stare blankly at the scoreboard wondering where you went wrong. When no one is looking, you may even cry over your blunder.



At the end of the day, you know you will get back on the court because not only do you love the game that much, but you love your team as well. So here's to Havilecek, the Celtics, and the five children and one man who all make my game worth playing.

Tooth Lost

My angel child lost her first tooth at school this week. She is beyond elated, as most children her age have already lost at least one. She was feeling left out.

She brought the tooth home in a plastic sandwich baggie and after spending hours examining it, replaced it in the baggie and left it on the counter. In my attempts to maintain order and cleanliness in my home, I inadvertently threw it away whilst tidying up. As any good mom would, I sort of leaned over the garbage can to see if it could be retrieved. The baggie was there, but upside down. Applying your powers of deductive reasoning, you will quickly discover that the tooth itself was in the trash, alone, tiny, and lost forever.

Noe left a note for the tooth fairy that said, "Sorry about my tooth. It's in the trash." and tucked it under her pillow that evening. She then told me, "If you see the tooth fairy, can you tell her to look for my tooth? It's small and white, and there's a little blood on the bottom." Because our tooth fairy is often delinquent and therefore driven by guilt to perform, a very special note appeared under Noe's pillow that night. Written in delicate lilac ink on soft pink paper, embossed with X's and O's, it read, "My dearest Noe. I am sorry to hear about your tooth! I looked through the trash and I found it! Here is a dollar for you. With love, The Tooth Fairy."

Noe came out of her room crying that morning, holding the lovely pink note and accompanying dollar. Confused, I asked her what was wrong. In her best Eloise voice she replied, "I'd RAWTHER like to have my tooth back! The tooth fairy is a STEALER!"

And then this note under her pillow last night:

We explained to her that the tooth fairy uses the teeth to build her castle. Funny thing, the tooth fairy left another note last night that said, "My dearest Noe. I'm sorry to tell you that I have already glued your tooth to my castle wall. It was very shiny and had no cavities, so it's on my special wall. Next time, I will leave your tooth under your pillow. Love, T.F." This note was not written on special paper, and was more hastily scrawled with a pencil. We'll see what this morning's reaction is.

Tunesday: I Am

I'm sure you all know by now that Mary has a new album out. I say album, but what I really mean is "songs available for download on cheap sites like mp3panda.com". I'm sure they don't make albums anymore, and does anyone really buy cd's still???

If you didn't catch her performance on the AMA's the other night, you missed out. Mary is Mary... kind of like Queen Latifah, she mixes just the right blend of thug and class. Her voice commands respect, and frankly, I am obsessed with her silky smooth mocha skin. IT IS FLAWLESS. How does she do it? I long to know.

Anyway. Stronger With Each Tear seems to be a nice compilation of tunes. My favorite by far, however, is this one called "I Am". No deep message in the song or anything. Just a super smooth set of vocals and piano, with a beat that makes ya head bounce. Enjoy.

Racing All Over

We started off New Year's Eve with a family 5K in the morning. It was pretty cool. Two of my friends have started a foundation to provide caskets at no charge to families who lose a newborn. One of my friends designed the casket- it's amazing. But its patent is still pending, so it's all still hush-hush. As soon as it gets approved, I will do a huge post about how remarkable it all is, and I will probably ask you to donate to the cause. Very worthwhile.
Anyway. Skip came in first place in his age bracket, and Mika came in 2nd place in his group. I walked part of the way with Samie and Noe, and then their feet got super cold and we turned around and filled our roles as Race Photographer and Snack Eaters.























After the race, we drove to the city for First Night. It was tons of fun. Much smaller than the First Nights I grew up with in Boston. I liked the smaller crowds. Do you know why small crowds are great? Of course you do. But here's the reason I really liked the small crowd...

Look who I ran into! My Jessicas. Love them.

For more pictures and details on the festivities, please take a peek over here.

Signs of the Post-Holiday Bliss

1. Socks with no holes! Pants that actually reach the ankles! Thank you Santa!

2. Adorable ornaments still making me smile.

3. One warm young man, all wrapped up in seven years' worth of soccer and football jerseys.

4. A second warm young man, all wrapped up in Dad's old BDU's.

5. A very happy mom, sporting the new Canon 85mm f 1.8 portrait lens. For further evidence of its amazing capabilities, join me in my Focker circle of trust for a peek here.

and PS... yes I DID make those blankets myself. And yes I DID hoard soccer and football jerseys for seven years with this very purpose in mind. And yes I DID break at least five machine needles trying to sew through army uniforms. And yes, it was all completely worth it because Mika and Jordan LOVE them.

*and yes, I DID swear more than once in the process of trying to sew.

Do You Know What Today Is? It's Our Anniversary.

Guess what? We have been married for THREE WHOLE YEARS now. In some ways, it feels like I've already spent my life with this man.


We have had a super year. It has not been without its trials, but I am continually amazed at how much we continue to learn how to work together to overcome them. A friend once told me that her turning point through marital discord was when her husband told her, "We are on the same team here." So often, it's easy to play on your own team... setting out for the highest score, the fastest time, the best record. And while you think you're doing it for the right reasons, if in the end you have no teammate... what have you won?


This guy is so hot! I love him.

In honor of our three years together, I have picked the three things I love most about my marriage.
1. We talk. All the time. Companionship is very comforting, particularly in the form of someone you enjoy so much.
2. We have learned how to fight. Both of us are very stubborn, very determined, and very impatient. This could be a trainwreck. We've figured out what works for us, and we try really hard to apply it.
3. We are still ridiculously in love. We are affectionate and passionate and happy. The highest compliment I've ever received was when Mika told us, "When I get married, I want my relationship to be just like you guys'."



The first three years of eternity. Time well spent, I'd say.

I love you, baby. Happy Anniversary.

Things For Which I Feel Only Semi-Grateful

1. My daughter's "HELP" in cleaning her room, and her new vacuity of toys.
I have been under the impression that my daughter's room was clean.

MY BAD.

Her idea of clean, albeit resourceful, is a bit lacking in actual cleanliness. She has been taking all her stuff, putting it into bags, and hiding the bags around her room. Here are a few I found today. They were literally packed with toys, papers, and laundry.


I figured since Christmas is on Friday, an "out with the old, in with the new" approach would be appropriate. So we sorted through her clever bags of stuff, and made two piles: Good Will, and Trash. I allowed her to choose which items went into each pile. Do you know what she did?




She got rid of almost every single one of her toys. Barbie walkie-talkies? Gone. Baby doll stroller? Gone. All Polly Pockets? G-O-N-E. She still has all her board games and her Play-Doh. A small box of stuffed animals made the cut. Other than that, she got rid of it all. I am grateful she "tries" to clean her room, not grateful for the actual result. I am grateful she got rid of all that junk, not grateful for the fact that she has nothing to play with for the next five days of winter break.

2. Fed-Ex
I am grateful for Fed-Ex because I didn't have to go to the post office today to mail my BFF Lisa's present. I am not grateful that I had to pay Express Shipping due to my procrastination. I am grateful that Fed-Ex is thorough and secure. I am not grateful I had to contemplate the question "Are there any interred human remains in your package?" Also, kinda bugged that he used the word "interred", which in my opinion would not apply to this situation. Am I wrong in thinking that should be used in reference to something buried in the ground? Not neatly packaged in a festive holiday box?

I guess my list only has two items on it. There are a lot of other things for which I am indeed grateful. My house is decorated, my cookies are baked, my presents are bought and delivered. I have 2 weeks off from work to spend with my kids. Now if those darn stamps would just get here...

*ALSO: Noe got her hair cut. It's adorable. If you are in my inner circle of trust, head on over to IYGAMAM to see just how cute it is.

Postal Pressures; Internet Ingenuity

My Christmas letter is written. No DVD this year. Last year's was so long, you are probably still watching it. The family picture is printed and tucked along with said letter into an envelope. Your name may even be on one of my envelopes! (I know, I know. Contain yourselves...) I have used my adorable and free St. Jude's Hospital return address labels to identify the red envelops as being from me.

And now what? They sit on my nightstand, holiday cheer not spread too far. What key component am I missing here? The stamps. Yes, the stamps. Call me a Scrooge if you will, but I refuse to go to the post office. Have you seen the lines there? I get out of work around 4:00 every day. We usually have about an hour's worth of errands to run... with three kids in tow. Three kids who have been working hard at school all day and need to go outside and play for a bit. Not three kids who need to behave in line for 40 minutes so I can get my stamps. And for some ungodly reason, the post office removed their stamp vending machine. So there's not getting around it.

Last night, however, the stroke of genius hit me. I ORDERED STAMPS ONLINE!! I know, I know, from what font does she draw her brilliance? Hard to say, really. All I know is that while my husband was confused over my spending money to have stamps mailed to me, I knew that there was no price too high for such a luxury.
So in 3-5 business days, I will have stamps. And you will have your Christmas card. And I will have my nightstand back. Can we see how this is win-win all around? Happy Holidays.

Tunesday: CHRISTMAS!!

My husband has some Grinchy tendencies. While I would begin the Christmas playlist on the day after Thanksgiving, along with decorating the house, he gets a little uptight if I start that early. So we compromised, and started everything this past weekend. Don't you LOVE playing your Christmas music? Everyone has their favorites. I have a lot, but I chose 2 for this post.

What would Christmas be without a little soul infused into it? The Little Drummer Boy and Do You Hear What I Hear are my favorite songs. This version of DYHWIH by Destiny's Child tops the list for me. Sorry the video is non-existent. But listen to the song. Then download it. MP3panda.com gives you downloads for five cents. Can't beat that.


My mom is from the West Indies. She grew up on the tiny island of St. Lucia. Growing up, she had this song... I think on reel-to-reel, and she LOVED it. She would listen to it and do her cute little rhythm of the islands dance. She searched and searched for the ALBUM, and then after a few years, the CD, and finally, when the almighty internet came along, we found it in digital format. Now, it's on YouTube, for crying out loud. It's called "Mary's Boy Child" by a growp known as Boney M. These guys are Jamaican, but came out of Germany. This song topped the holiday charts in 1978. Every time I hear it, I feel happy. It has great memories tied to it, and now my kids know it as well. The video is hilarious. Pay special attention to the lone male's dance moves. Wow. It's a good thing brotha can sing, because he ain't makin money off his groove.

Look What We Found...

My super sleuth husband found this clip. It goes with the post below. Hate it with me, if you will.

In My Free Time...

We had some free time this weekend, and we watched some TV. Specifically, Kung Fu Hustle. It was on television. We LOVE this movie... it's one of the funniest I have ever seen. Skip and I were rolling on the couch while watching it. But that's another story, not fit for the blog...
Anyway. If you haven't seen it, you should. It's got Chinese Jazz Hands, Paige. (And Tiff... I still have vivid memories of you and Jenny doing your own Kung Fu Hustle... ah. good times.)



Anyway. There were several commercials that caught my attention during the movie. The first was this. I loathe and despise it. It doesn't even make sense to me. I could see if it was for breath mints or something, but a cough drop? Who gets turned on by cough drop breath?? Even if it IS fruity? Isn't there an underlying dose of Mentholatum? Not sexy, even for a desperate cougar mom and a nerdy roomate.



But the network redeemed itself by playing this bad boy. I almost jumped up out my seat and started dancing on the coffee table. I mean, HELLOOOO... IT'S BIZ!!! OH, SNAP! If you don't hear this song and have an instant happy memory, then there is something wrong with you. I still know every single word to this song. And I can still do just as crappy a job as Biz in singing it. Speech impediment and all.


There was one other commercial for an obscure cell phone company that showed a claymation Mrs. Claus in bed with Frosty, defending her actions by saying "WHAT? Santa's gone. I have NEEDS, you know." It was confusing and tacky, and I couldn't even find a YouTube clip of it. All I know is that the clear implication of Frosty melting by the fireplace, leaving nothing but his carrot nose, was totally offensive. Thank goodness I still had Biz and The Kung Fu Hustle to redeem the evening.

The Husband's Rebuttal

Otherwise Titled,

Excuse me Mrs. Lincoln, But I am Afraid That I Will Have to Ask You to Remain Seated Until the End of the Play.

Got this email from my husband today, with the subsequent blog post:
Babe! You’re killing me! I must be taking a crazy pill because I don’t remember the dinner going down that way. I mean, sure you described the menu well but I think your memory is a bit fuzzy on how it all came about.

Paige, you are absolutely right. Thanksgiving is all about tradition and I am a stickler for tradition. I think that we as Americans have forgotten what Thanksgiving is all about and that’s FOOTBALL. Now it’s true, my lovely wife did mention to me that since we were not having anyone over for the holiday, she did not feel like making an elaborate dinner; plus the fact that she would be on her feet for over 20 hours preparing dinner did not compute when it would just be me, her, and the kids. So I, being the gracious and loving husband that I am, said “Then don’t cook”. Now this phrase might appear to the non-military mind to be a simple, non-salient phrase. But to the more keen intellect, it was the start of a major coup that would further strengthen my legitimacy as the favorite parent. But before I could start engraving the plaque that was to go over my throne, I had to choose my next words carefully. My entire Kingness hinged on the next words out of my mouth. The words came to me as if Al Bundy himself was sitting next to me on my couch. “Let’s just have Man Food” Three little sets of ears perked up. Man Food?!? Did he say Man Food? And from there, the rest was easy. We woke in the morning and lounged around the house in our pajamas. We sat on our couch with one hand in the waistband of our pants and watched football (even Noe), knowing that there were not going to be any timers going off or pots needing cleaning, only to be dirtied again. We pondered the age old questions of "What exactly are Buffalo wings?" and "Why are they called pizza rolls if they have corners?" Anyway, Andrea can keep the points because I’m much bigger than that (note in her post how she had to keep playing until she scored higher than me) as long as you know that I was the puppet master behind the scene.

I know, ladies. I'm a very lucky woman.