Cell Phones - The Next Great Debate

They say the average age for children to get their first cell phone in the UK (where rates are cheaper than the US) is 8 years old.*  Hmmm...Hong Kong also has cheap cell phone rates, and Guinness is 8 years old.  So, OH MY GOD!, even if we get him a cell phone now, he can only be average, and it is certainly too late for him to be ahead of the curve!  What kind of parents are we?

I really am considering getting Guinness and Cayman their own cell phones.  Michael, of course, thinks this is absolutely ridiculous.  But sometimes I think he's too out of touch with the kids' needs (read: my needs).  My internal arguments thus far:

PRO - The kids now have conflicting schedules and I can't be in more than one place at once.  So, they would be able to reach me anytime to be picked up from an after-activity or a play date.

CON - The kids would be able to reach me anytime, including times that I would have preferred to be incommunicado, like when I am at the spa or at lunch with my friends, or when I am hiding behind a locked bedroom door.

PRO - Cell phones have GPS tracking capabilities, so if they ever got lost or separated from us, we'd be able to find them.

CON - OK, I read that in an online article.  I actually have no idea how that type of technology is used, and wouldn't truly be able to find them if they were hiding in a closet in our house.  My knowledge of GPS is limited to Hertz's Neverlost lady telling me to take a left turn in 50 yards, and then passive-aggressively scolding me for missing the turn by telling me that now she has to "recalculate the route."

PRO - By giving them their own handsets and pay-per-use SIM cards, we would be teaching them responsibility.

CON - Guinness is guaranteed to drop his phone at least twice on concrete flooring within the first hour of owning his phone and will use up all his minutes in one phone call. 

PRO - They'll have their own games to play while we are waiting around in random places so they won't ruin my game statistics, and it will leave me more time to check my email and update by Facebook status.  

A winning argument if I've ever heard one!  Now that I think about it, I think Ellington needs his own phone too....

*Survey completed by the Personal Finance Educational Group

25 Random Things

Rules:  Once you have been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you.  At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged.  You have to tag the person who tagged you.  If I tagged you, it is because I think you'd have some interesting things to share.

(To do this, go to "Notes" under applications in Facebook, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

25. I always drag my feet in following a trend.  Sometimes it is because I'm lazy.  Sometimes it just takes that long for me to get used to the look of certain fashions or the sound of new music.  I picked up Survivor and American Idol late in their first seasons.  I still wear pointy-toed shoes.  And it's taken me weeks upon weeks after receiving my first 25 Things About Me tag before writing my own.

24. People usually think I look younger than I really am.  At the age of 18 and again at 22, I was offered a 12 and under child's discount.  The first time I was vaguely offended and declined.  The second time I eagerly accepted the fraudulent discount.  However, my appearance seems to be catching up with and surpassing my age at last.  Last week, I met someone who was surprised to learn my real age and then told me that it must be because I "dress kind of old."  Maybe it's the pointy-toed shoes.  I'm going shopping tomorrow.

23.  I've been mistaken as my husband's daughter on two separate occasions.  However, it is unclear if it is because I looked so young or because he looked so old....

22.  I've been mistaken as a Filipino helper more times than I can count.  It usually happen during pick up at school.  I think it is because I always wear jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops, weather permitting.  One time I went to the Immigration Office with our helper, Josie.  The guy behind the desk thought I was the helper and Josie was the employer.  That pretty much made Josie's week.

21.  I am also regularly mistaken for being Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese - usually by people of that respective ethnicity.  If I were an actress, I could make millions as the Asian female response to Lou Diamond Phillips, playing any Asian ethnic role. 

20.  Supposedly I am 100% Chinese, but I have suspicions that my grandmother or great-grandmother had a little somethin-somethin on the side.  How else can you explain my supposedly 100% Chinese father's naturally curly hair and hairy legs, and the fact that he is always mistaken for an Italian when he travels alone in Europe?

19.  I love reading.  No matter how late it is, I have to read at least half an hour in bed, or I won't be able to fall asleep.  I've read all of my favorite books at least 10 times.  If I find a great book, I can rip through it in less than 24 hours.  Then, upon finishing the last page of the book, I will immediately flip back to the first page and start all over again at a slower pace.  And I derive an equal amount of pleasure with that second reading.

18.  I pretty much enjoy all genres of books, but I particularly love romance novels.  I prefer discreet covers, but I am not ashamed to buy a bodice-ripper cover.  However, I have never read a book with Fabio on the cover.

17.  I also love chick flicks.  Give me a teeny bopper flick over an Oscar contender drama any day.  High School Musical 3 was one of my favorite movies last year.  Thank God I have kids to take with me!

16.  At one point while we were living in California, we simultaneously owned four cars for just the two of us.  Our neighbors seriously thought Michael worked at a car dealership.  At that time, I accidentally hit every single one of those cars while trying to park or pull out of the garage with one of the other cars.  I was pregnant during many of those accidents and I still argue that it was the hormones that screwed with my normally excellent driving skills.

15. One of the things I miss most in Hong Kong is driving.  Especially singing while driving.  When I go back to the States, the first thing I do is strap the kids n the car, turn on the radio full blast, and go joy-riding for at least an hour with no particular destination in mind.

14.  I also miss Barnes & Noble and Target.  I could spend hours in those stores, happily browsing around.  Part of their allure is the fact that they both usually have Starbucks retail outlets in them.

13.  I am completely addicted to Starbucks.  And it's not even the caffeine.  For years, I visited Starbucks to order a grande soy steamer, which is just warm soy milk.  Acknowledging it was ridiculous to pay over $3.00 per cup, I tried bringing in a carton of soy milk to work and heating it up in the microwave.  But it just wasn't the same, and I admitted defeat after 2 weeks of misery.  Of course I am not addicted to my grande skim latte.  But there are much worse vices one could have, so I don't fight it.

12.  As a junior in college, I got one of three A+ awarded in an economics class willed with both undergrad and grad students.  I actually think I got that grade because of one specific office hour visit with the professor when I wore a sundress with a loose, low cut bodice.  At one point during the meeting, I bent over to get a pencil out of my backpack and looked up to find him staring down my cleavage (I had one back then before the three kids).  I swear it wasn't planned!  But in retrospect, I should have worn that dress around campus a lot more.  My grade point average would have thanked me for it!

11.  I always wanted to be a writer, but I am too lazy to actually finish anything.  Once every could of weeks is about as frequent as I can get with my blog, and I don't even want to say how many entries I've started but never gotten around to finishing.  In fact, I'm doubling this Note as a blog entry.  That's how lazy I am.

10.  As a child, I once told my dad that I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up so I could wear suits to work.  My dad then suggested that Century 21 real estate agens also wore suits, so maybe I should add that to my short list as well.  I ended up working in product management at Internet companies with casual dress codes.  The only times I've had to wear suits were for job interviews.  Now I am a Hong Kong tai tai/Filipino helper who only wears jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops.

9. I used to believe that everyone had one special talent, that if only they could discover and nurture it, they could become one of the acknowledged "bests" in their field.  I lived in terror that my life would pass me by without discovering my talent, or even worse, that mine would be something like "best garbage collector in the world."

8.  I only have the wherewithal to take on one self-improvement project at a time  Last year, I started tennis and am now completely addicted.  This year. I'd like to begin guitar lessons.  Somewhere deep down and unacknowledged, I think I have a secret fantasy of becoming a rock star.  This must be my form of a mid-life crisis.

7.  I have a secret desire to lose enough weight to be disparagingly called a waif and have random busybodies on the street tell me to eat a Big Mac.  However, I've finally come to terms with the fact that I love food way to much for this to ever happen.  If they ever brought back those diet pills with the tapeworms, I would seriously consider them for at least a minute.

6.  The first time I ever described myself as "fat" was in the 6th grade.  Some genius public health program required that everyone in class be publicly weight.  I did not actually think I was "fat" at 80 lbs, but all the other girls were lamenting their weight, so I did too.  When our daughter was born, I promised myself that I would teach her to have a positive body image.  Her early nicknames, Chubby Too in utero and Chunky Butt as a toddler, are probably indicators that I need to work a little harder at that.

5. Michael and my parents are family friends, and we've known each other since I was at least 9 years old.  We started dating during my sophomore year in college.  Despite our jokes, there is no proof that money, goods, or other financial incentives were ever offered by either set of parents for us to begin dating.

4. I used to always give Michael a box of much needed socks and boxers for Christmas, and he would always give me a completely unnecessary but much anticipated new cell phone. I think I got the better end of that deal.

3.  On a regular basis, I try to remind myself of all the things I love about and am grateful for in Michael.  He is solid and dependable.  He's a great father who can make the kids giggle at the drop of a hat, yet still be able to scare them straight with one stern look.  Not least on the list is the fact that he lets me read in bed with the light on, even if he's trying to go to sleep, and he keeps the light dimmed when he gets ready in the morning so I can sleep in.  Now that is true love.

2. The last time I kissed Guinness goodbye in front of his friends, he didn't say anything but looked so uncomfortable that I made a mental note to not do it again.  However, he is still fine with holding my hand in public, and I treasure the feel of his warm little hand in mind.

1. I honestly believe that a hug from your kids every day will keep the doctor away.  And every kiss will add an additional day to your life.  Luckily Guinness, Cayman, and Ellington are willing (at least at home) to give me so many hugs and kisses (fish kisses, piggy kisses, butterfly kisses, Eskimo kisses....) that I just might live forever.

Someone shoot that fiddler on our roof

They say that traditions are a valuable way to keep kids grounded and help them feel like an integral part of society.  I say traditions are just a way to force parents to keep doing things that originally might have seemed like good ideas, but maybe not so much anymore.  

Like Christmas presents from Santa?  Three gifts seemed so cute when Guinness was 1 and the gifts consisted of a stuffed animal, a sippy cup, and a ball.  Still reasonable when Guinness was 1, Cayman was 6 months old, and the gifts were two stuffed animals, two sippy cups (you can never have too many!) and two other assorted, small toys.  It is absolutely ridiculous now that the kids are 8, 6, and 4.  Hamster cages, Wii games, Legos and six other assorted, relatively expensive toys from Santa, plus one each from Mom and Dad, plus one from each of them to each other.  Our Christmas went from a tranquil Norman Rockwell scene to a Jackson Pollack explosion of strewn gift wrapping paper.  But the kids all know that Santa always gives three gifts each. It's a tradition.

I  just finished baking 80 heart-shaped sugar cookies to staple to the kids' Valentine's Day cards.  It's an early night for me to finish by 11:00 pm.  I must be getting good at this, because last year I was still baking after midnight.  Fortunately, Ellington's teacher specifically asked that we not send in candies or cookies as some kids have food allergies and cannot be depended upon to self-regulate.  Next year, I'll be baking 120 cookies, so I'll probably be back to my midnight baking sprees.

Why?  Tradition, of course.  I blame Hallmark for turning this into a kids' holiday of exchanging Valentines to classmates they don't necessarily love or even like.  Last year, I intercepted a card Cayman wrote for a frenemy that actually said "I hat [sic] you" and had to explain why that might not be appropriate, especially on a Valentine's Day card.  I continue to blame Martha Stewart for convincing me that store bought treats are tacky.  And I blame Williams-Sonoma for tempting me with adorable but time- and labor-intensive decorating ideas.

Of course, I blame myself for being such a sucker.  A couple years ago, I decided to go part-time after the Christmas holidays.  Valentine's Day was the first holiday I could throw myself into for the kids.  The night before, I sat in the family room with reams of red and white tissue paper and spools of ribbon around me, putting together candy bombs for Guinness and Cayman to hand out at school.  (Ellington was still in daycare at the time and the choking hazards would definitely not have been appreciated by anyone.)  Michael came home, took one look, and just asked "Why?"  I replied, "Isn't this why I went part-time?  To do more for the kids?"  He thought about it for a minute, said "Actually, yes."  Then went off to play computer games while I continued to sort, gather and tie.  I didn't mind at the time.  I only had to make 30 total and I was doing it in front of American Idol anyway.

And that started the Valentine's Day tradition of homemade cards and treats that I just can't get myself out of now.  The kids came home from school today asking when I was going to make the Valentine's cookies.  "Do I really have to?" I whined.  Yes, I whined.  The response was pure bafflement from them.  Of course Mommy has to make cookies to go with the cards.  It's a tradition.

At least the kids were all old enough to make their own cards this year, though quality control was an issue.  

Ellington started out by stuffing blank paper into envelopes.  Luckily I intercepted them and explained why it might be nice for him to draw a picture on the paper and sign his name before stuffing them into the envelopes.  He did eventually make a couple more creative cards.  One of them had a bunch of little pom poms with googly eyes glued on them.  I was so tempted to write in "I only have eyes for you", but decided to let him keep his creative integrity.

Guinness spent too much time on the first half of the cards, with long messages written in secret codes inside. When we ran out of envelopes, he wrapped them in colored tissue paper.  Of course, these were for the boys in his class.  The girls' cards consisted of sloppily folded pink construction paper with "Happy Valentine's Day.  Love, Guinness" scrawled in pencil.  That's it.  I supposed I should be glad for his innocence.  I am sure I will rue the day his priorities get reversed and the girls get all the time and attention.

Cayman's cards were elaborate pieces of artwork, with cut out hearts and crunched up tissue paper flowers.  Then at the end, she counted her cards and realized that she had forgotten someone.  "There are 20 kids in my class, but I only made 19.  I think I'm missing a girl.  Alex, Alexandra, Jaik, Samara....  Who did I miss?  Who did I miss?"  "Hmmm...could it be a silly girl named Cayman?"  Silence.  "Oh."

One more holiday tradition over and done with.  St. Patrick's Day is coming up and the thought passed through my mind that I could do some fun stuff with Guinness.  The beer, I mean.  And the kid too, I guess.  I heard there is a great recipe for Guinness flavored ice cream....  But do I really want to start another tradition that I will be stuck with for the foreseeable future?  Nah!  Thank God we are not Irish!

Deep End of the Ski Slope

They say you have three kids so that any one can be expendable.  Well, based on the incredulous reactions I get from others whenever I say that in front of my kids, I think I actually might be the only one who says that.  But my bluff was called yesterday.  I lost Guinness, or rather, he lost me, when we were standing less than 15 feet away from each other.

I was picking up the kids from ski school yesterday afternoon and was directed to a nearby station where they were selling class pictures.  Cayman was walking right next to me, and I thought Guinness was on the other side of her, but it was really just another kid in red.  Red, as it turns out, is really popular in ski wear.  Next year, I just might dress the kids in a slightly less popular color like puce.  

The place was teeming with kids, parents, and instructors, so I wasn't worried at first.  He isn't the type to wander off by himself, and he was carrying his skis, so he couldn't have gotten far anyway.  But as time passed, the crowd started to thin out out, and there were fewer kids, parents and instructors, and more scary, bearded, sketchy looking people.  I wouldn't say that I started to freak out, but at times like these, your mind inevitably replays every child abduction movie and show you've ever seen.  Ransom, Deep End of the Ocean, Without a Trace.... 

Michael had been with Ellington, bringing the car around.  I was hoping Guinness had some how bumped into him and was waiting in the car.  No such luck.  So we left Cayman and Ellington in the car (with responsible adults!  We were down one, so they weren't expendable anymore), and spread our search out into the rest of Whistler Village.

By now, the scenes were flashing through my mind like lightning.  There is always that moment of irony when the parent passes right by the child, so I started memorizing things just in case.  That guy with the van with the tinted windows shut the door right as I was approaching?  He looked a little sketchy, so I gave him the gimlet eye so he knew I was onto him and took careful note of his license plate number.  I saw an adult holding hands with a child wearing a red ski jacket and started speeding up to catch them.  Realized that it would take more than 10 minutes to bleach Guinness' black hair blond and slowed down.  Wig!  And sped up again.  

At one point, I checked my phone to see if Michael had texted me that he found Guinness.  It was 4:44 pm.   Holy crap, I didn't need to see that!  (As many of you know, the number 4 is considered unlucky in Chinese because it sounds like the word for "death").  I started to wonder when we should involve the police.  Luckily, I had in my hands a photo that was just taken of him that morning - the darn cause for my losing him in the first place!  I could already read the newspaper headlines, "Child Abducted from Whistler Ski School, Mom Busy Shopping", and was just about ready to prepare my grieving mother's plead, when I got Michael's call that he found Guinness.  

As it turns out, Guinness had dropped his skis just as we set off to the photo station.  When he looked up, Cayman and I were gone.  I can just imagine how the noise seemed to get louder for him and the crowds and colors started to swirl around him as he spun around looking for me.  Well, that's how it goes in the movies.  He waited about one minute and then told an instructor that he was lost and was taken to the ski school office where they texted Michael and then waited and waited and waited for him to check his phone.  And once Michael found Guinness, he took another five minutes comforting Guinness and bringing him to the car before he called me.  All told, Guinness was "lost" from me for just under an hour.

Lessons learned:

-Make sure your children have memorized your cell phone number (which Guinness has), and then check your phone regularly in case someone actually tries to contact you.  Unless you know it is near 4:44, in which case you should wait a couple extra minutes between your phone checks.

-If you are picking your kids up from a school or an organized activity, check the main office first, as that is generally the "lost and found" station for both kids and inanimate objects.

-Once you have found your child, let him cry an extra minute or two while you notify the other parent who is frantically searching for the child and spare her from falsely accusing sketching looking men with dark tinted vans.

-Dark vans with tinted windows should be avoided if you don't want to look like a sketchy child abductor. 

One hen, two ducks, three Pokemon battles

They say the average human being only uses 10% of his or her brain.  I want to know, does that estimate include all the useless trivia that is clogging up my brain, or am I even worse off than the average human?  

I took the kids for our regular "one hour walk."  It actually ends up taking about two hours at the kids' pace, but they would freak out at the thought of a "two hour walk", so the little white lie continues.  It is supposed to be our chance to hang out, get some extemely light exercise, breathe some slightly less smog-filled air, and basically spend some quality time bonding.  Today, I found myself ignoring the kids' chatter and, instead, chanting a little ditty I had to memorize in 7th grade in order to trade seats in Industrial Arts class.

One hen

Two ducks

Three squawking geese

Four limerick oysters

Five corpulent porpoises

Six pairs of Don Alberto's tweezes

Seven thousand Macedonians in full battle array

Eight brass monkeys sitting on an ancient sacred crypt of Egypt

Nine apathetic, sympathetic, diabetic, old men on roller skates with a marked propensity towards procrastination and sloth

Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who haul and stall around the corner of the quo, the quay and the quivery at the very same time.

Why I remember this but still haven't fully memorized my home phone number of two years, I do not know. The useless stuff is there, burned into my brain, using up precious grey cells and squeezing out important information that I could use in real life.  It is far too late for me to do anything about it.  But I do worry about my kids' useless information.  I wouldn't mind if they knew things like that kid from Jerry Maguire.  Maybe as doctors, they might need to know that the human head weighs 8 lbs. 

But what, in twenty years from now, is Guinness going to do with all the useless Pokemon facts he has knocking around in his head?  Is anyone going to care that he can rattle off the name of every Pokemon by type, evolutions and favorite attacks?  "Mommy, guess what Torterra evolves into?"  "I don't know.  Aquadoodle."  "No, trick question!  Torterra doesn't evolve into anything!"  Why can he memorize all these details, but not be able to name 10 animals in Chinese - after having taken two years of Chinese class in school?

How can Ellington not be 100% sure of his letters yet, but be able to use the word "capice" properly after having heard it once in Alvin and the Chipmunks?  Well, grammatically properly, not necessarily a how-a-four-year-should-talk-to-his-mother properly.  "Mommy, I want you to wipe my bum bum now, capice?"  "Yes, I do capice.  And no, you can wipe your butt yourself, you little stinker."

Meanwhile, Cayman doesn't seem to have her own font of trivia.  Of course, she's good at a lot of things, just none that lend themselves to spouting off random bits of information.  

Art, gymnastics, swimming.  Reading, writing, arithmetic.  Emotional manipulation and subterfuge.  Hmmm...I guess she'll do okay in life.  

Visitors Beware!

They say that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.  I think that definitely goes for a visit to Casa Chen.  Oh, we'll tell you that we have a free guest room.  And as we give you the tour around the house, you will see that the master bedroom and the kids' bedroom  both have en suite bathrooms.  So you might assume that you will have private use of the guest bathroom.  Well, you know what they say.  Don't assume or it will make an ass out of u and me.  In our case, you will just have to see one of our kids' asses.  

Just this afternoon, Michael's cousin Mike was taking a leisurely shower when Ellington burst through the locked door (our kids have ways....), quite anxious to use the potty.  Well, they're both boys, and to be honest, Mike would have been at a slight disadvantage if it came down to an argument.  So, he made no demur and then stood by helplessly while Ellington sat down on the potty and started to go number two.... He's just lucky Ellington didn't ask him to wipe his butt afterwards, is all I have to say.  :-)

Actually, this is just cementing the close relationship between Uncle Mike and Ellington.  In the middle of Mike's stay with us in Las Vegas a couple years ago, we traded the twin bed for a queen, and told him it was because Ellington had accidentally peed on his original bed.  To his credit, Mike didn't even blink.  But for the record, and in Ellington's defense, I have to say that it was just a joke and Ellington had not peed in the bed that day.  Though this doesn't necessarily preclude his having peed on any bed or on any floor in the vicinity any other day.... 

So come on out and visit!  We've got a free guestroom and bathrooms to spare.  But may we suggest that you take really hot showers so the steam can help preserve your modesty?

Santa rocks!

Some recent emails sent from Guinness to Santa (Yes, Santa has an email address.  Didn't you know?):

Guinness:

Dear Santa,

The super smash bros is broken.  When I put it in the wii it said it couldn't read the game.  You can pick it up and bring me another one.  Email me when your [sic] ganna [sic] come

From, Guinness

Two days later, Santa still hasn't replied yet.  One presumes that he has taken Mrs. Claus on a much deserved vacation.  Or maybe they have just returned from a vacation, say Thailand, and haven't gotten around to dealing with "real" life yet....

Guinness:

Dear Santa,

When can you come to pick up super smash bros?  let me know.

from, Guinness

My first thought:  I need to give Guinness some etiquette rules in letter writing.  He skips all niceties and is pretty demanding.

My second thought:  I need to give Guinness some etiquette rules in life in general.  He skips all niceties, is pretty demanding, and has deplorable table manners.

My third thought:  I guess this answers the question whether or not he still believes in Santa.

My fourth thought:  Damn!  And Santa was doing so well this year compared to year's past!

Aside from the malfunctioning Wii game (and online research indicates that it is our Wii console that is at fault, not Santa's), Santa rocked this year.  He read their minds perfectly and got what they most wished for.  Cayman got her hamsters, and Ellington got his gingerbread cookie - the kid is too easy for words.  And though SSBB wasn't actually on Guinness' wish list, he told me on Christmas morning that he actually wanted it, but didn't think Santa would give it to him.  Oh, but the items that did actually make the list seemed so much more possible: an Xbox 360, Guitar Hero World Tour, and Rock Band 2....

I can't say that Santa has always been so successful in reading the kids' minds.  Three years ago, Cayman had asked for a Barbie doll and a Woody doll from Toy Story.  Little suspecting that the Woody doll was the "must have" gift of the year, Santa didn't start his Christmas shopping early enough and found Woody was on back order until after Christmas and only available on eBay for more than twice the MSRP.  Not one to be fleeced, Santa chose to give Cayman the Barbie doll instead.  

Come Christmas morning, Cayman came running to the Christmas tree yelling, "Where is my Woody doll?  Where is my Woody doll?"  She ripped through all her gifts, including the Barbie doll, literally tossing them over her shoulder.  Alas, there was no Woody doll.  I think we still have on video tape Michael muttering "Santa sucks...."