We make our weekly pilgrimage to Taco Bell, about a half hour walk, depending on our enthusiasm. We have started fortifying ourselves with ddeokbokki and ddeokgochi from a little rice cake shop on the way. It is one of our better ideas. Over the weekend, we took the camera to make use of a moderate investment and to take pictures of some of the trees. I don't know if it's all of Korea, but Anyang has such a variety of trees, which make for nice layers of variegated foliage.

Joash, the baker.

Two Walks

Walking around. Falling down.


He carried this pot around for much of the day. I'm not sure what he thought it should be doing that it wasn't. That happens a lot, though.

The strangest thing just happened. Dan is working late tonight, and Joash and I were having our pre-bed cuddle, looking out the window at our dark city in the rain. For whatever reason, I decided I'd snuggle until he wouldn't let me anymore, and, before I knew it, he had snuggled himself to sleep. We make liberal use of the breastfeeding in this family. I never saw any reason not to (I don't adhere to any of the parenting religions: whispering, montesorring, attaching. I adhere to getting through the days). I like the proximity, the ease, the regular and gentle admonition to take a break. Mastitis taught me early on to welcome breaks or suffer the consequences. Anyhow, I can count generously on one hand the number of bedtimes he's seen unassisted by breastfeeding, and now on one finger how many times it happened here at home and not in transit after an evening out.

And of course I cried. He is growing up, and tonight I felt it for the first time the way people are always talking about. It reminded me so much of the morning naps we'd take in Hapjeong when his whole body fit on half of mine, how sweet they were without fail, regardless of how many cups of chocolate I'd needed that day or how many bathroom sob breaks I'd taken, how many pleas I'd made to Dan or my mother about my ineptitude. I can barely remember any of that already.

Last year I read The Pearl by Steinbeck. It was small enough to cart around everywhere, and I'd read it when Joash and I were sequestered in some dirty bathroom stall for breastfeeding. I wanted those magic words to whisper in his ear and calm him, the Song of the Family to keep us all from harm. I wanted to feel like a real and primal mother. And I didn't then, but I think now I'm really starting to. I know this kid. It feels natural to nurture him, even as he outgrows his physical need for me. We have the same sense of humor; we like the same foods. We're so related. Until a week from now when everything changes again, but right now I'm feeling good about feeling good.

I dressed Joash like a duck this morning, mostly so we could compare pictures to him dressed like a duck a year ago. Last year we made him a Mallard, though, and this year we went with the standard Pekin duck. My favorite book growing up was The Story About Ping, which I always remembered being called Ping the Duck. And I also really liked a non-fiction children's book about how ducks were waterproof. I think I got that for free with another book called Germs Make Me Sick! And, now we're thinking about childhood, I have "I'm Proud to be Me" stuck in my head. Anyway, here's my baby dressed like a duck.