Archives for December 2010

Monday Dare: guilt trips? i run the travel agency.

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Try, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please, feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Learn to forgive myself.

Since Chhichi came into our family last week, I’ve experienced a deeper love and a greater sense of peace. I used to look at Cal and wonder how I could love anyone as much as my amazing daughter, but now, I know that the heart has enough love for two.

Wait, are you still with me? Did I just compare buying a doll to birthing a second child? Did experiencing a hiccup in my Project psychically shatter me?

I’m feeling a lot of guilt.

I haven’t felt this much guilt since I took Cal for her one week check-up. The doctor gave Cal a thumbs up for her health, and he gave me a pat on the back for being such an amazing mother. I mean, I had managed to keep her intact for a whole week. As I left the office, I broke into a huge grin and decided to treat myself to a milkshake as a reward for my awesomeness. Parenting was a cinch. When I got to the car, I realized that something was missing. I patted my pockets down for my keys. I checked to make sure I had my purse and my baby bag. What was it?

I forgot my baby, yo.

I set Cal’s carrier down to make her next appointment, and I forgot to pick her back up. Good thing I remembered my keys. Lordy, I hate it when people are irresponsible and leave their keys all over the place.

I felt like a failure. Even now, I think about that incident. Thankfully, I am not agile enough to kick myself in the ass, but don’t think I haven’t tried.

I’ve decided not to return Chhichi. I feel a deep sense of guilt that I goofed, but I’m pushing forward.

Thanks for all of your kind words, compassion and support. Y’all are a bunch of enablers. Bless you.

Have you ever left your keys, er, baby anywhere? At the very least, someone’s got to have picked up the wrong kid from daycare. Or forgotten to pick up their kid at all? This actually happens to other moms, right? Right?!

photo via

i failed. shit.

When my family moved from a podunk town in South Korea to a slightly-less-but-still-relatively podunk town in Texas, I had two things working against me. One, I was a dumber-than-average 5-year-old, and two, I didn’t know a lick of English.

Shortly after we moved, my mom got wind of the Great American Concept- garage sales. Every weekend, she convinced my reluctant dad to drive around while she scoped out random neighborhoods for steals and deals.

As we were walking home after kindergarten one day, my mom spotted a garage an apartment sale in a unit close to our own.

I was still trying to learn to speak me some American, so I didn’t understand what the mother-and-daughter duo were saying.  Before I knew it, we were inside their apartment. Were we taking a tour? Were we looking at additional items for sale? Who the hell knows; I was five.

In the daughter’s room, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. Yes! I’d been eyeing one at the local five-and-dime, and I couldn’t believe I was going to get one that day…at garage apartment sale prices, no less.

I started carrying it around. In my mind, we were already at home and I was adoring it and loving it and playing with it. God, I loved America. I asked how much they wanted for the doll in broken English as we were about to exit.

The next five minutes were a little fuzzy. All I could piece together was that the doll was NOT for sale and the little girl was getting a little worried that I was doing some sort of immigrant five-finger discount.

I didn’t take that baby home. My mom refused to buy it for me full price. Damn you, garage sales, for teaching my mother to think everything should cost a quarter.

At Target this week, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. I wanted to bring it home for Cal so that she wouldn’t have any repressed Monchhichi doll issues as an adult.

Who am I kidding?? She doesn’t even know what a Monchhichi doll is!

I wanted it for myself, but shiz, you knowThe Project. I stood in front of the display for nearly ten minutes. I gave myself a little pep talk. Surely, if I could resist the temptations of sparkly dresses and butter-soft sandals and manicures and pedicures and fast food and Starbucks and gorgeous sweaters and even new socks, I should be able to walk away from a furr-baby.

Apparently, the market rate for doom is $9.29. I bought it. It’s official. I’m a Project Fuck-up.

I thought about returning my new friend, Chhichi, but I’ve already kissed her and petted her and licked her face, so I’m not sure Target wants her back.

A DOLL did me in, folks. I hate myself. But only when I’m not busy kissing Chhichi’s face.
Is there anything you desperately wanted as a kid but never got? Would you still buy it today?
top photo via