just another day in "paradise"

It rained until noon -- thunder, lightning, the works -- then abruptly stopped and the sun came out.

Just when we'd decided that nursery school wasn't going to work out, because Liam didn't want to go, he pitched a fit that Matthew was going to return his backpack. So Matthew took him to school, paid for June, left him there crying, and...this was the first day he didn't bite anyone. He was in a great mood when I picked him up.

At the playground, some kids let their dog crap all over the playground. I supplied the "water tissue" (baby wipes) to clean up the dog poop. Maybe 10 minutes later, a dead mouse seemingly materialized from out of nowhere. One minute everything was fine, the next minute one of the moms was standing on a bench screaming. All the other moms kind of wandered off, leaving almost a dozen elementary school kids to poke at the poor, dead, most likely disease-infested rodent. My friend finally went to fetch a doorman to dispose of it. He apparently just threw it on top of the bagged garbage in the dumpster area.

On the way home, waiting for the elevator, a grandmother was trying to figure out Rowan's gender. Another mom told her that he's a boy. So then she asked me if both boys were, well, boys. And she actually gestured at herself, like, "Do they have penises?" I replied in English, "Yes, they have penises." (I also told her in Korean that they are both sons.)

The last thing was actually yesterday, but I got stuck in the elevator going down with nosy grandmother. She was babbling away to Rowan, then suddenly reached out and touched my breast. What? I told her (in Korean), "Don't touch me," and looked at her like she's insane, which I seriously think she may be.

Seriously weird. Is it a full moon?

a head wound, a domestic disturbance and infernal itching

No, these things are not really connected. Maybe someday I'll write a story in which they are.

The head wound is actually part of the continuing (even though I said it was over) saga of Bossy Grandma. She struck again.

I met up with Min Jeong, my Korean mommy friend, at the playground one evening. I was sitting on a bench, feeding Liam a snack -- and therefore captive -- when Bossy Grandma sat down beside me. She had the nerve (THE NERVE!) to touch my belly and start telling me AGAIN that Liam is too young for me to be having another baby. She used her concerned face and everything. In English, I told her, "Yes, you've already told me that. And it's none of your business." I tried to ignore her after that, although the kids who were watching Liam eat his fruit leather kept translating for her.

Perhaps 10 or 15 minutes later, Liam started one of his favorite pastimes: jumping off a bench. His friend Jun Min quickly followed, and so did Little Chunk (grandson of Bossy). Liam probably made a dozen successful, unassisted jumps before his foot caught and he went down headfirst onto the gravelly sand. Of course, Bossy Grandma jumped on him before I could take the two steps between us. I had to practically push her off my child so that I could comfort him. I was cuddling him and heading for the nearest empty bench to assess the damage when Bossy Grandma started talking to me. Of course, I ignored her, but then one of the kids started saying "pee, pee," which means "rain" or "blood" in Korean, and pointing to Liam's head. At that point, I pulled him off my shoulder and looked at his head. Sure enough, there was a patch of bright red blood in his white-blond hair. I quickly said goodbye to Min Jeong, grabbed my bag, and headed up to the apartment with Liam, shooing away the future ambulance-chasers who tried to get a good look at Liam's head.

The conclusion of this story is that once I cleaned the blood up, the wound obviously wasn't very serious. We ran into Matthew's pediatrician friend the next day, who said it was just a "surface abrasion." He has a little scab that his hair mostly hides. I haven't run into Bossy Grandma since then, but I'm sure when I do, I'll get an earful about my poor child and why I shouldn't let him jump off benches. Oy vey.

The domestic disturbance occurred last night. Liam went to bed early and I was checking e-mail and otherwise wasting time, when I heard a man's angry voice. After a few minutes, a woman started yelling back. I realized it was our next door neighbors. The windows to the hallway were open, so I could hear (but not understand) every word they were saying. I wasn't trying to understand. Then their son (about three or four years old), started crying. I shut the windows. I find this incident worth writing about not because it's that unusual. The same thing could happen in any apartment complex in the U.S. But I didn't know what to do. In the U.S., I would either stick my head out the door and ask if everything is okay, or call the police, depending on the severity of the argument. Other than the raised voices and tone, I don't know how serious it was. I could ask if she's okay, but would I understand her reply? Is that socially acceptable here? I could call the police, but what would I say? Matthew took some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls over this evening and said the mom and son were home and seemed fine. (Hopefully they split the third cinnamon roll before the husband came home!)

And, finally, the infernal itching. Liam and I have about a brazillion mosquito bites each, including on our faces. They don't seem to bother Matthew much. He is either not as sweet as we are (very possible), doesn't visit the playground as often (but I'm positive we get most of the bites while we're sleeping) or drinks enough alcohol to keep them at bay. ("Move on! This one ain't tasty!") I cannot wait for a nice dry autumn. Death to all mosquitoes!

Photo documentation of my poor little man's bites:



And thus ends my whining. Until next time.

I'm done.

This is the final chapter in the Bossy Grandmother saga, because I've dealt with her for the last time.

When Liam and I got into the elevator early this morning (en route to the beach), she was there. She suddenly realized that I'm pregnant, although I swear she asked me the first time I encountered her. Maybe she thought I hadn't lost my baby weight from Liam, or maybe she pesters so many foreign women with toddlers that she has me confused. (That was sarcasm, as I think I'm the only foreign woman in town with a toddler.) At any rate, she proceeded to tell me that Liam is too young for me to have another baby. I said he's 20 months now. The new baby isn't due until January. They'll be 25 months apart. I don't know why I bothered. She kept insisting that they're too close together. "Whatever," I said in English as I fled the elevator.

What an evil, toxic woman. She has never said a positive word to me, other than to refer to my son as "friend" (chingu) when talking to her grandson. (All Koreans seem to do this when they have a toddler anywhere near Liam's age.)

So I'm done. When I see her from now on, I'm going to ignore her. I don't speak or understand any Korean when she's around. That's one perk of being a foreigner.

I've figured out...

The bossy grandmother that I talked about in my old folks post is my honorary Korean mother-in-law.

One day, Matthew, Liam and I got into the elevator to head down to the park for an evening stroll. Bossy Grandma was already in the elevator with Little Chunk in his stroller. She scolded us for not having Liam in a stroller. "You can't carry him everywhere," seemed to be her argument. We pantomimed that he walks most of the time. Matthew was a bit surprised by her behavior, until I told him that she is the grandmother who tells me everything I'm doing wrong with Liam.

The sad thing is that Little Chunk is probably her son's little boy, meaning that her actual daughter-in-law has to put up with CONSTANT nagging. I'm assuming that she also works, considering how often I see Grandma Bossy with Little Chunk. That poor, poor woman that I don't even know.

Recently, Matthew ran into Bossy Grandma in the elevator, minus Little Chunk. She seemed to be complaining to him about how Little Chunk pinches her, as she was showing him bruises. I know it's evil of me, but I had to chuckle. I wonder if her daughter-in-law has trained Little Chunk to pinch Bossy Grandma.

old folks

I think in any society, the older people are the most eccentric, but this is definitely true in Korea. A lot of older people here really show their age. When you consider how far South Korea has come since the devastation of Japanese occupation and then civil war, this country really has been built on the backs of the older generation. This is literally evident in the stooped backs of some of the older women. I suppose I notice it particularly in the older women because there don't seem to be as many older men. I'm assuming that the average lifespan is longer for women than for men, as it is in most of the world. Soju (AKA "Korean vodka" probably helps those odds.)

Here are some of the more interesting encounters and observations I've had:

I often see a rather frail-looking older man getting his daily exercise. He is the slowest power-walked I have ever seen. It's as if someone shot a video of a normal person power-walking, arms pumping away, etc, and then slowed it waaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy ddddddddddoooooooooowwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnn. But the point is, he's out there. More power to him.

In the traditional market, there is one aisle with particularly crazy old women. The craziest of the crazies has on more than one occasion, grabbed (or tried to grab) Liam by the wrists. I'm not 100% sure what she wants to do with him, as it turns into a power-struggle between my 30 pound son and the old woman. Matthew has had to intervene with a respectful, but forceful "ani-yo" (no). Liam is learning to stick close to me when we go through that area.

Old people get suited up in full hiking gear to hit Mt. Seorak or Mt. Cheongdae: matching hiking vest and pants, with the legs tucked into Nordic-style hiking socks, which in turn are tucked into expensive hiking boots, with high-tech backpacks and hiking sticks at hand.

Matthew came home somewhat alarmed and somewhat amused the other day. As he had been waiting for the elevator, a grandmother who lives on the first floor had fallen. He asked if she was okay, but felt he should tell someone, as there were no other adults around. Our building ajashi (doorman or security guard, roughly) wasn't in his little room, so Matthew ran over to the next building, found their ajashi, and pantomimed to him that a halmoni had fallen. They ran back, where the ajashi attended to the woman. The adolescent that rode up the elevator with Matthew informed him that halmoni had been hitting the soju. Aaaaahhhh...

This revelation shed some light on another incident that happened the previous week.

MinJeong and I had been watching the boys play outside my building. The ajashis have recently put up fences made of wooden stakes and heavy ropes, presumably to keep foot traffic off future plantings. An old woman shuffled by and asked MinJeong a question. She translated for me that the woman asked if Liam and JunMin are twins. (See the photo below for evidence that this was a ridiculous question.) Before I could ask if the woman was joking, she stumbled and fell to her knees, catching herself on the new rope fence. MinJeong helped her to her feet and made sure she was okay. As the woman shuffled off, I asked for clarification. "No," MinJeong said, "I don't think she was joking." I quipped that if they are twins, Liam must be an albino. It puzzled me at the time, but the weird question and fall all make more sense when soju is at work.

Another (more sober) grandmother from our building takes her grandson (two months older than Liam) to the playground. Since most toddlers aren't taken to the playground, I give her full credit for that. However, the first time I encountered her, she felt the need to lecture me (in Korean, of course) about everything that I should be doing differently. Now, my Korean isn't very good, but between her pantomiming and a little translation from some kids, this is what I understood. I should not put shorts on Liam, since he will scrape his knees when he falls. (Then she pointed out that he already had a scab on one knee.) This was a warm day, but her grandson was dressed in long sleeves and long pants. When the boys collided, Liam fell down, scraped his knee again, and of course proved her point. She continued to lecture me as I comforted my crying son and put a bandage on his knee. Liam also should not be wearing sandals, but instead should wear sneakers like her grandson. (I'm not sure of the reason on this one...possibly a tripping hazard.) He shouldn't play in the dirt. He shouldn't climb playground equipment. Either I should make him sit down or I should stop chasing him around so much. After trying to be gracious, I began replying "conten-eyo" (it's okay) and walking away.

This encounter really rubbed me the wrong way, but I should mention that it's an exception, rather than the norm. Most grandparents (and parents) at the playground are content to greet me and that's about it.