Life in Piecemeal

It should come as no surprise to long time readers that I am an extreme personality. There are no half-ways in my world. There is either all or nothing. Feast or famine. All in or all out.

Perfection or Abject Failure.

It shows up in all aspects of my life and makes it difficult for me to ever feel as if I am living the life that I want.

I either bang out 3-4 posts in one marathon writing binge or radio silence for weeks at a time.

I disappear down the rabbit hole of blazing through thick, doorstopper type books or I accrue $12 in library fines because I haven’t gotten to the stack of unread library books by the bed.

I either have fits of Angry Cleaning wherein I scream at the kids and throw a bunch of their toys into the donate pile, or all their toys are strewn all over the floor and we live in the filth of our own making.

The kids either only subsist on chicken nuggets, pizza, and snacks while they wander back and forth from the kitchen table, or they only eat food I make quickly and in silence.

We either homeschool hardcore all day or the kids are left to Lord of the Flies themselves and figure shit out on their own.

I am either not mad or HULK SMASH WHY YOU NOT DO WHAT I SAY WHEN I SAY IT?!?

It is a hard life with no room for softness. And children (and I, I guess) need some softness. Something with which to cushion the hardness of life that can grind us into a fine powder if we allow it.

Plus, a life bouncing in between extremes is confusing for the kids and they never get the stability children crave and need. They never feel safe.

And truthfully, life is lived in the in-between.

I need to embrace what my friend, Not Another DB MBA calls The 差不多(cha bu4 duo) Lifestyle. (Cha bu4 duo means “almost” or “close enough.”)

It is possible to write a post at a time or even a few paragraphs at a time. Harder, but possible.

 

 

It is possible to read a book a few chapters at a time versus reading 1000+ pages in one sitting. Annoying, but possible.

It is possible to go back to a time when we all put away what we take out, and the house can resemble some state of happy equilibrium of “lived in-ness.”

It is possible for me to cook 95% of the time and then eat nuggets or pizza occasionally as pinch-hitting meals when I don’t have time or energy.

It is possible to homeschool a little bit every day and just let the rest go.

And it is possible for me not to be angry all the time (this one is super hard and I will be addressing this in a later post).

All these things are possible, I just have to suck it up and get used to living my life in piecemeal.

A life of spurts.

I also have to remember that just because I mess up once or twice (or a lot), that it doesn’t mean I just throw in the towel and swing to the other extreme.

That life allows for hiccups.

And so, I live a life in the constantly interrupted trenches of parenting small children.

Slowly, but surely, I am getting more okay with writing partial posts, sneaking in reading a chapter here and there, paying bills and sorting mail immediately, watching parts of shows, folding and putting away just a few items of clothing at a time, and washing a few dishes at a time.

It is hard, but chips away slowly at the giant mountain of THINGS I NEED TO DO. Of course, the mountain gets constantly added to, but I am satisfied with a sense of treading water with the occasional leisurely swim versus feeling as if I am constantly drowning.

Ok, that was an egregiously mixed metaphor but in the spirit of The 差不多(cha bu4 duo) Lifestyle, I am just going to point it out but not fix it.

Adventures in Christmas Decorating

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Welp, it’s that wonderful time of year again. You know, Christmas and holidays and trees and presents and magic. Which is great to witness in movies, but a PITA to experience.

Ok. Fine. I have a somewhat squelchy heart made of coal. (How can coal squelch? Wouldn’t that require more soggy material? Clearly mixed a metaphor or two back there. I digress.)

Anyhow. The only reason I even care about Christmas is because I want to create traditions for my children. (Ok, not the ONLY reason since I do believe Christ’s birth and its incumbent scandal is worthy of remembering and celebrating.)

I don’t particularly care for decorating and all of that stuff but my kids LOVE it and actually are old enough to remember doing things in previous years. So, because I love them, I force myself to go through with all this folderol.

Also, I am a sucker for making memories. I know. I am just overflowing with Christmas Spirit.

And since we don’t do Santa (I personally don’t like connecting an old white dude who lives in the North and knows if you are naughty or nice and rewards good kids and punishes bad kids with Jesus’s birthday because it sounds suspiciously like a draconian god and when kids find out Santa isn’t real, why would God and Jesus be real and OMG I AM THE WORST BUT MY KIDS ARE STUCK WITH ME SO TOO BAD FOR THEM), nor do I give the kids individual presents (we do communal presents from Hapa Papa and I but they get presents from family and teachers) —

breathe —

So pretty much the only thing we do is buy and decorate a tree and our bannister with a bunch of crappy shatterproof ornaments from Target, cute crafty ornaments made from their hand and footprints when Cookie Monster and Gamera were very little, and make new ornaments and crafts for the tree this year.

I quite enjoy seeing the old ornaments come out even though some are falling apart already. I guess my heart isn’t entirely ossified. (Don’t tell anyone.)

Anyhow, this is all just to say that the tree and decorating it are THE THING WE DO AT CHRISTMAS TIME in the Mandarin Mama household so even if it’s a royal PITA, I suck it up and do it because this is all we do.

Geez. I really am a kill joy. But I tell you what: I am never stressed out at Christmastime and I don’t have to find presents for the kids or anyone else other than my nephews and my mother and my kids’ teachers.

Anyhow, with that preamble out of the way, here is how our yearly tradition went this year.

1) Bought a Christmas tree with all four kids. BY MYSELF.

Seriously. This is one yearly solo with kids tradition I could do without. I hate it. Hapa Papa hates it. I may or may not have passive aggressively texted my dismay to Hapa Papa.

Good man that he is, he cleaned the house and prepped the corner for the tree and brought out all the Christmas stuff from the garage as an apology. (He also washed the cloth diapers.)

Apology accepted.

2) Had to use clippers and hand cut off more branches because I forgot to tell the Home Depot guy to trim 1.5′ off the bottom instead of the usual 8″ they do.

I have a deep stand, ok?

Try not to make that sound too dirty.

3) Put up Christmas tree and had to go out and buy new lights because I forgot that I threw out all the lights last year.

Bought lots of chocolate as a reward. Kids stole half my chocolate.

4) Put up new lights.

Realized I didn’t have the heart to toss the star last year because it is pretty but should have because I forgot it is broken and doesn’t light up so now I have to go out again and get a new star because Cookie Monster insists.

5) Successfully did not yell at kids for their help decorating the tree. After all, nothing makes warm Christmas memories quite like Mommy yelling because you aren’t decorating right.

6) Listened to Christmas music because it is Hapa Papa’s favorite part of Christmastime. I think. Either way, he is a big fan of Christmas music.

7) Last year, Glow Worm’s favorite thing at Christmas time was to take ornaments off the tree and throw them. This year is no exception.

8) My kids can make even Christmas decorating a dangerous sport.

9) Glow Worm also thinks the ornaments are toys (same as last year) and uses them as balls, food, whatever. He has been driving them around in his Little Tikes Cozy Coupe (which he also) did last year. Glad to see that the more things change, the more things stay the same.

10) And despite my alleged dislike for all the effort it requires, seeing the tree and bannister lit up every time I pass by makes me feel happy.

11) Of course, my entire house is littered with scattered ornaments and the little green hooks from which they hang.

These will conspire to trip me as our tree gets barer and barer and our floor gets more and more treacherous.

I could pick them up and put them back on the tree but then Glow Worm wins.

12) I must have succeeded in hiding my actual feelings because Cookie Monster kept commenting how I must love Christmas (or something to that effect). So yay, me!

Anyhow. May your holiday traditions be in full swing and full of joy for you and your families. Happy Wednesday!

I Can Still Be Surprised


Hello friends! Thank you so much for your patience and forebearance with my spotty posting these past few months. The last trimester with Baby4 was rough. I pretty much put myself on self-imposed bedrest because being physically upright was painful and hard and awful.

Thank goodness Hapa Papa has a flexible work schedule and job because otherwise, my children would have been orphaned. Or I would have been even more miserable.

But it was all worth it (already, the pain and discomfort and ooze of pregnancy are fading into my typical post-partum amnesia) because now, Baby4 aka Sasquatch is here!

I must confess, though. I thought since Sasquatch was my 4th child, I would be prepared for most things. Certainly I wouldn’t be surprised by anything, right?

Oh, how lovely it is to be wrong in only the most delightful of ways.

Here then, are a few of the ways I have been surprised by the arrival of baby number four. (Or as Hapa Papa occasionally calls him, “The New One.”)

1) All new babies are the same. 

No, I am serious. At first I just thought all my babies were the same. But then I realized that all babies are the same.

They all are squishy and lovable and new and have that smell! That glorious smell! And they all mewl and mutter and burble and snarfle and their sounds are perfect.

And they all scrunch up their faces and do moose hands and have funny expressions and get milk drunk (or formula drunk) and are fantastically new.

2) I never get sick of judgmental babies. 


Few things are as hilarious as angry nursing and angry babies. I mean, they are so dramatic. But I guess everything is new to them so yes, being hungry is the worst thing that has ever happened to them because hey! They have never been hungry before! Or wet. Or tired. Or hot. Or cold. Or out.

Everything is new.

3) It is possible to call a brand new baby the wrong name before they have even heard their actual name. 

I may or may not have called Sasquatch by Glow Worm’s name within seconds of holding him in my arms. And also, perhaps for the first 2-3 weeks of his life.

I am only finally now getting used to his name. Until very recently, when people asked me how Sasquatch was doing, I would be confused momentarily and go, “Who?” before I realized who they were talking about.

Yes. I know.

Worst mother ever.

To be fair, I do have a lot of children and he is brand new.

Thank goodness I am Chinese so when in doubt, I just call him 弟弟 (di4 di5/little brother).

4) Who knew that some of the best parts of having a new baby was watching your older kids fall in love?

Cookie Monster and Gamera were a little too young to process or understand what was going on when Glow Worm was born, but they certainly are old enough now.

They adore Sasquatch.

I wasn’t expecting just how much they would love him or want to be near him or hold him.

I mean, I wasn’t expecting them to be indifferent, I just wasn’t prepared for the outpouring of love and devotion.

Glow Worm isn’t in love with Sasquatch but he isn’t jealous, either. He has been surprisingly good about the whole thing (though I know he misses me).

5) I never realized I would be tandem breastfeeding. 

This is how I know Glow Worm misses me: he started nursing again.

That’s right. Glow Worm has decided to restart the boob.

He only nurses briefly when he wakes up and right before he goes to sleep. It doesn’t really bother me because I know it’s his way of claiming me and reassuring himself that he is still my baby. I find it rather sweet, actually.

But wow. I did not see it coming.

6) I am likely jinxing the whole thing but I am shocked at how easy things have been. 

I don’t know if it’s been easy for Hapa Papa since he’s the single father of three kids while I’m the single mother of a newborn, but I thought it would be more difficult.

Quite possibly, it is because we are both deaf to crying and screaming so it just doesn’t phase us – no matter who is doing the crying or screaming.

Don’t be too mad at us. Sasquatch is still new. I am sure he’ll knock our smugness out of the park with something soon.

7) As soon as I gave birth to a small sized turkey from my vagina (did I mention he was 9lbs 6oz?!?), my shitty mood for the last 39 weeks and 5 days disappeared. 

I guess being in constant pain and discomfort can really wear on a person.

Again, I really hope I’m not jinxing this, but I haven’t been in this good of a mood in a really long time. And trust me when I say that I am pretty tired still and feel overwhelmed on occasion but ultimately, STILL BETTER THAN BEING PREGNANT.

8) I missed Glow Worm the most during my time spent with Sasquatch. 

I am not sure why it doesn’t seem as if I am not spending less time with Cookie Monster or Gamera. Maybe it’s because they are older and better communicators. But whatever the reason, I miss Glow Worm the most.

Perhaps because he was the baby for three years and is still so small and cuddly and needy (though he sure doesn’t act like it). And perhaps because though he recently finally started talking (and talking a lot), he still babbles like a toddler and I feel as if we do not connect as much unless it’s us spending actual time together.

Whatever the reason, I am grateful for our cozying at night when Sasquatch is asleep and I can hug and kiss Glow Worm to my heart’s content (or at least until he’s had his fill of my affection, pushes me away, turns his back on me, and falls asleep).

Alright. This is probably all the coherent thought I can string together at one time. Mostly because I am starving and don’t want to get hangry.

See you Wednesday!

Things I Didn’t Realize I Needed to Teach My Children


I have had quite a day full of mishaps with my children. I swear, they are smart kids, but also extremely dumb. If we were early on in the evolutionary chain, humankind would have died out.

Our branch would have come to an immediate and abrupt end. And it would be deserved. Utterly and totally deserved.

Is it sad to say that my kids would win the Darwin Awards? Or some other awful kids do the darndest things awards?

Here then, are some of the things it never occurred to me to tell my kids NOT to do.

Clearly, the fault is all mine.

1) Don’t stick your finger in your butthole and then put your finger into your mouth.

2) Don’t push your sibling off a five foot retaining wall.

3) Stop shoving your finger into your butthole and finish your bath.

4) Don’t draw all over the piano keys. Oh, and the bookshelf. And the books on the bookshelf. And the wall. And the carpet. And the window sill.

In fact, please only draw on paper. BLANK PAPER. No, not your homework.

No, not your siblings’ homework, either.

5) Don’t dump Elmer’s glue all over the carpet.

6) Don’t jump from the couch to the rocking chair. For God’s sake, please stop jumping onto the rocking chair.

7) Don’t climb the toy kitchen. It will topple over. In fact, please stop climbing everything in the house. I don’t feel as if I should have to bolt down every item in my house.

8) Don’t crawl into the washing machine.

9) Don’t sit on my face with your naked butt. Sit on Papa’s face instead.

10) Don’t poke holes into a brand new Amazon box with pencils. Especially when the box is full of air/heater filters.

Hmmm… after reviewing this list, I realize that the main one I didn’t expect to say was the first one. After that, I get it. My kids are just kids. Stupid and not really good at figuring out natural consequences from their actions. But the first point? THAT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS.

My Love is an Act of Will

LoveIn case you missed my performance back in May, here is a video of my reading for Listen to Your Mother SFI’ve included the transcript of my piece after. Also, please do check out the entire line up for Listen to Your Mother SF 2016. They are hilarious and moving and fantastic women with wonderful stories. You will not regret!

“Mama,” said Gamera. “I love Daddy more-er. He’s the funnest.”

Twice a day, my 4 year old daughter, will inform me without fail that she loves my husband more than she loves me.

She has her reasons.

He was her first word. He’s way more fun. He plays with her (especially that awful Cooties game that I would rather stab my eyes out than play). He takes her to McDonald’s and indoor play spaces and to the park.

He calls her “Sweetness” and “Baby Girl” and cuddles with her at night and throws her onto his shoulders and plays Tickle Monster until she collapses into giggles on our bed.

He is the funnest.

And most of all – he rarely yells at her.

For the first eighteen months of my oldest son’s life, I never yelled or raised my voice in anger. I used to be so proud of myself.

Gamera never got to meet that person. She was six months in my belly and had another three months to go. By the time she showed up, I was tired and overwhelmed and had made yelling a way of life.

It was slow at first. A slow ramping up of fury until it broke over my small children in a consistent wave of screaming and yelling.

And later, at two and a half, she would defend herself and her older brother, holding her ground. “You don’t know what you talking about it!” she would stomp, face red with scowling, arms crossed in indignation. “Mama, you’re NOT kind!”

So I totally get why she loves my husband more-er. Who wouldn’t?

Before I had children, I thought love would be effortless, flowing through me as water from snow melt.

Who would have ever predicted it would be like squeezing blood from a stone?

Who knew love could be so hard – especially when it sent the dark corners of my heart into stark relief?

Of course, I knew that love was not always easy. I had plenty of experience of that in my romantic relationships. And I knew from growing up with an abusive father that love for our children could look much different than what I wanted for my own kids.

But I had thought – I had hoped – that I would be better. I would be different. I wouldn’t let my father win.

But I was broken still and my inner beast, the echo of my father – his script, his cadence, his very words – spilled hot and rushed through my trembling lips and clenched fists.

Of course, she loves her Baba more-er.

I accept that she may never know or understand that my loving her is an act of will.

Not because she is not lovable. She is. All my children are.

But I hope and pray that they will never understand firsthand how I clawed my way up from my despair, buried under decades of lies, denial, and self-protection.

That I love her when I ensure that the cycle of abuse will end with me and not be passed onto them.

I love her when in November 2014, I decided enough was enough and asked for help.

I love her when I choose to do the hard mental and emotional work when I go see my therapist every Friday and plonk down $150.

I love her when after a year and a half of weekly counseling, I have finally turned a corner and now rarely yell.

I love her when I get enough sleep.

I love her when I pay attention to what my body is telling me – and when I listen to my body.

I love her when I drop my armor of anger and apathy and allow myself to feel and process pain, fear, and anger.

I love her when I look at the hard truths of my growing up, my coping mechanisms, and their consequences.

I love her when I choose to walk away from her instead of scream.

I love her when I humble myself to apologize and ask her for forgiveness.

I love her when I let her feel what she feels and say what she thinks – even if it’s messy and dramatic and overblown and infuriates me to no end.

I love her when I model how to pursue healing.

I love her when I tell her that even if she loves Baba more-er than me, or is angry at me, or even hates me, that I will love her. That she can never lose my love.

I love her even though she loves her Baba more-er than me.

It doesn’t matter.

Because every day, my love for her is a hard won act of will. And that is enough.

Now That I’ve Lost My Mind

So, I have been MIA these past two weeks because I am utterly exhausted. I have been going to bed with the kids and waking up with the kids. And since I usually write when they are sleeping, I haven’t been writing.

During the day, I am also tired. And though I used to go out on weekends to write (especially in the evenings), I haven’t been going out because I am sleeping.

The reason for all this exhaustion? Turns out I am forming another human being in my uterus and am 8 weeks pregnant.

We have lost our damn minds.

I am reluctant to post about this pregnancy so early, but then I figured if I did lose the baby, I would definitely talk about it so there really is no reason not to talk about it. Especially since I have not been shy about telling my friends in real life.

I am not cut out for a life of secrecy, people. For real.

Truthfully, I have been somewhat in denial. Not of being pregnant. Moreso denial of my body’s changing needs while being pregnant.

I have been feeling utterly betrayed by my body.

How can I possibly be this tired? I have only been awake two hours.

I need to nap constantly.

I am always feeling slightly nauseous or slightly hungry. I couldn’t really figure it out. I have finally settled on slightly hungry.

I already don’t fit into my pants. Nor do I fit in the after pregnancy pants (you know, the ones that are several bigger sizes but aren’t maternity pants anymore). I have to wear maternity pants because even though I’m only 2 months in, since it’s my 4th pregnancy, I’m thicker already.

I can’t wear the bras I used to be able to wear while 9 months pregnant because I can’t breathe in them. If I use the bra extenders, my breasts fall out from under the bras. I’m back to nursing bras even though I finally weaned Glow Worm.

I am incredibly irritable. Like, hair trigger kaboom. I mean, not that general idiocy by humans on the internet (and Earth) have ever been my favorite (or rare), but lately, my threshold for tolerating asshattery is at a minimum. One needs only to scroll through my Facebook feed to see the evidence.

I already have carpal tunnel syndrome.

My stomach feels okay at the beginning of the day, but by the end, I can barely breathe because I feel as if my skin is not big enough to hold my stomach. It hurts.

I have been having cramps and contractions a lot earlier but no sharp pains so that’s good. (This happened with my third pregnancy, too.)

I already have round ligament pain. WTF.

All I want to do in my spare time is sleep, watch TV, or read.

It took me at least a month to finally come to terms with the new state of being and just accepting the fact that yes, I am worn out simply by the act of being awake.

And as much as I hate not meeting a schedule for writing, I hate screaming at the kids because I am cranky even more.

Hence the MIA.

So this is fair warning that posting on the blog may be erratic until I can string more than a sentence or two together -or stay awake later than my 2.5 year old.

In the meantime, even though I mentioned it on Facebook and The Twitter, I totally forgot to put it on the blog.

LTYM SF 2016 Cast; image courtesy of Tarja Parssinen of The Flying Chalupa

I GOT CAST IN LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SF 2016!

So if you are missing my ramblings, might I direct you to the LTYM rabbithole on YouTube? Bring a tissue (or 5,000) and prepare to watch some amazing women (and a few men) share their stories.

Our cast had our first rehearsal today and I pretty much alternated between sobbing my brains out and laughing my ass off.

I have to tell myself I deserve to be there and am not just the token Asian. Of course, Hapa Papa, ever the helpful one, suggested that I was token when I expressed my insecurities. Bastard.

Oh, and this is not meant to be a fishing expedition for compliments. Merely me in awe of the other women who are in the show with me. I’m really excited.

Alright, it’s already way past my bedtime so unless I want to be screaming at the current babies, I’m going to sleep.

See you Wednesday.

Finding Your Tribe

Finding Your Tribe

I love the internet.

I know there is a seedy underbelly, but on the whole, I don’t venture in those parts. Instead, I worship at the altars of Facebook, Amazon, Google, and Wikipedia.

As an extrovert, one of the hardest things about being a SAHM is the isolation. It’s not so much that I need to be surrounded by people and constantly in networking/party mode. (In true fact, I HATE those modes. Nothing is worse to me than the same vapid conversation over and over again and my face hurting from plastering a friendly smile on my face when I have zero actual desire to smile. I digress.)

I think I just don’t like being alone. What I love is the comfort of someone else being around me – but not talking to them or interacting with them unless I have something to share (which is more often than not). Once I have the security of guaranteed company, I am more than glad to ignore them.

As a result, even though I choose to be with my children all day, I crave and desire company. Unfortunately, it is not enough.

It’s not as bad as it used to be when Cookie Monster was first born. I didn’t leave my house for four months and it took me nine months before I finally sucked it up and ventured out to meet other first time mothers. I am grateful for that first playgroup – it gave me structure and I committed to going every week. But even though I enjoyed their company, it wasn’t the type of deep, soul-connection I was longing for.

I was still lonely.

Fast forward six years and I am flush with kindred spirits. I have finally found my tribe. (Well, tribes, really.) And it is all due to the internet.

I love you, Internet.

So, what do I mean by “finding your tribe”?

I mean, you have found where you belong. Your Cheers bar where everyone knows your name. Your home. Your people. Your soul mates.

You have found a people who are like you in the ways that matter to you – be it your passions, your hobbies, your interests, your humors, your loves, or your hates. Although, I would avoid the hates because I think that’s a sad and empty way to model your life. On second thought, commonalities in the stuff you dislike has its uses. But ultimately, a better way would be to find people who love the things you love, and might love it in similar enough ways.

So what happened? How did I get from being super lonely to happily belonging to several tribes?

I did mention that I love the internet, right?

I want to say the turning point came when one fortuitous day, I saw a post in our local Asian American Parenting Meetup Group about a Mandarin Playdate at an old elementary school friend’s home. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Until that moment, I had spent the first 15 months of Cookie Monster’s life just muddling through, wanting to find Chinese preschools and teachers but not knowing where to go or who to trust or ask.

All I did was speak to him in Chinese all the time (and that was really weird). I risked feeling uncomfortable in public, at English speaking playgroups, at the park, etc. It was very lonely and I was starting to panic. I only had a vague sense of what I wanted to do – but no real plans other than some vague “speak Chinese a lot” and “send to Chinese school.”

I was so lonely.

But because of that playdate, I reconnected with Irish Twins and met Tiger WooNot Another DB MBA, and Fleur. I felt an instant chemistry and for a blissful few years, we were nearly inseparable. Our husbands would complain that we were always hanging out with each other and never at home.

Because of these women, I found two amazing Chinese preschool teachers who have taught (or will teach) all three of my children. We have all chosen widely varying paths to Chinese fluency for our kids, (to varying degrees of success), and they have enriched both my life in general, as well as eased the lonely marathon of teaching my kids Chinese.

And thanks to my iPhone, even when we are not all together in person, it feels as if we are because we are constantly texting. We text so much that it is almost like we’re living in that commune we so desperately wish we lived in together. One day, I will have Varsity Jackets made with The Boba Ramen Crew embroidered on them and give them to each of us. We can wear them while trolling people we hate, sipping on boba, going to Korean scrubs, and slurping up ramen.

A girl can dream.

Also through pursuing Chinese fluency for my kids, I met one of my new besties, GuavaRama, through the Raising Bilingual Children in Chinese & English Facebook group. I basically am her biggest fan. In fact, I think The Boba Ramen Crew members are all her fangirls and eager acolytes.

Somehow, I’ve conned her into wanting to be my friend and now we have an art co-op for our kids at my house and we go on “Working” Mom’s Night Outs where we blog, plan curriculum, and discuss Chinese books and Mandarin immersion and language nerd stuff until 1am when they kick us out of a local Hong Kong cafe.

Plus, I have given her all of my money to support my drug addiction of choice: Chinese books. Seriously, if GuavaRama didn’t have her own blog already, I’d call her The Dealer because she is such an enabler.

Also, through friends of friends and constant commenting on each other’s posts and about my blog, I have met a few other women with whom we’ve all formed a loose sort of community based around our shared mediocrity. We have a lot of laughs over keeping each other accountable and on task for the things we have to do during the day. It also helps that we’re on board this Chinese immersion train.

And now?

Now, I stay out until 1:00am talking with old friends about books. I remember driving home in the middle of the night energized, a ridiculously goofy grin on my face. I could have geeked out all night.

We were there for a book club that I had started because I was sick of the run of the mill book clubs that chose books I was only marginally interested in. Our book club focused on science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels. We’ve only had two meetings in the last 6-7 months, but I am certain it will be one of my favorite outings.

Now, GuavaRama and our mutual friends stay out until 1am talking about Chinese books, our kids learning Chinese, homeschooling curriculum, and Mandarin Immersion. I am always reluctant to end these gatherings and am bitter that the Bay Area doesn’t have more 24 hour options.

Now, I tricked a few of my fellow moms into playing monthly mah jong with me where we stay up until past 2 or 3am and nonstop smack talk in Chinese as I give all my pretend money to the other players. (Incidentally, that would be one of my children’s preschool teachers talking the most shit; she has been very educational).

Now, I have blogger friends that I met at my first Type A Con and have kept in touch through Facebook. This group of kickass women support me and my writing goals and understand my crazy life and choices. Plus, there are also a few who get me and my social justice leanings.

Now, I am finally known and no longer adrift and I am ever so grateful.

So my friends, if you are lonely, if you are feeling isolated and unknown, I encourage you to use the shit out of the internet and find your tribe. The world is much smaller and fuller than you think.