Ish

Last Wednesday, my daughter and I were on our way home after her school. While I was getting irritated by Chicago traffic, my daughter was happy to eat peanut butter jelly sandwich in the back seat. Once she finished eating, she talked about a boy named, Ramon. I listened to her story.

"Ramon loves to draw. He draws anytime, anywhere," said my daughter. At this point I thought Ramon was one of her classmate. Although I couldn't recall any boy whose name was Ramon.

"One day he was drawing a vase," she continued her story, "but his older brother made fun of his drawing because it didn't look exactly same." Her tone of voice was getting intense. "He was mad and he gave up drawing, then later his little sister told him it was vase-ish drawing. She said it was her favorite."

"Is it something Ms. Brown read in the classroom?" I asked.
"Yes. The title is ish," said my daughter. 

I knew something sparkle had occurred in her mind. Knowing my 5-year-old daughter well, I had to check it out to make myself understood as well. This is ish by Peter H. Reynolds.

What's the story? 

Drawing is what Ramon does. It's what makes him happy. But in one split second, all that changes. A single reckless remark by Ramon's older brother, Leon, turns Ramon's carefree sketches into joyless struggles. Luckily for Ramon, though, his little sister, Marisol, sees the world differently. She opens his eyes to something a lot more valuable than getting things just "right." Combining the spareness of fable with the potency of parable, Peter Reynolds shines a bright beam of light on the need to kindle and tend our creative flames with care.(less)                                                                                   - An excerpt from Goodreads    

Once again I experienced the sheer power of children's book. I found myself very lucky to get to know this beautifully illustrated book, combined with depth of messages. On the corner of my head, I hoped to be read it when I was little. One more thing, its message wasn't for only children. As a parent, as a writer, as a wife, I'm living in 24/7 stress-generated life. I am easily discouraged by negative remark or result. I am trying real hard to make everything "right", but often I ask to myself "what is really right?" 

After a few research about Peter H. Reynolds, I think I'm deeply inspired by his work and his career. Thanks Peter for doing what you are passionate about. 

My daughter's "ish" drawing. This makes me happy. :)

Charlotte's Web

Summer 2012, I had a grand project for my daughter and myself; we will read a book everyday including chapter books. She started reading at three, and I knew it was time to move on to the next level. Every night we read a book, which becomes our cozy ritual. During bedtime story she points out my mistake and corrects my words or mispronunciation. To my defense I make same old excuses, "English isn't my first language. I don't know all the words or how to pronounce correctly." So far, I didn't receive any refutation.

I have heard of name of the book, Charlotte's Web by E.B. White. But I haven't read English version. (Nor Korean version...) In fact, having acquainted the author E.B. White from One Man's Meat, was good stepping stone for me to embark on reading Charlotte's Web.  

“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.”
― E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

What's the story?

When Fern convinces her father not to kill the runt pig of the litter, she names him Wilbur and raises him with a bottle. Soon Wilbur goes to live in her Uncle Homer Zuckerman's barn down the road, where she visits him every day. But when she's not there, Wilbur is lonely -- the sheep, cows, geese, and even the rats don't want to play and be his friend. Then he meets Charlotte, a gray spider whose web is in a corner of the barn door, and they become good friends. But soon after, they learn that Wilbur is to be slaughtered next Christmas to make ham and bacon. So Charlotte hatches a plan to make the Zuckermans want to keep Wilbur around forever.                                                                   

  

It has twenty-two chapters. That means we needed to be persistent and patient. Each chapter has at least seven pages. So we needed roughly a month to read. Some nights we read three chapters until I got thirsty, other nights we skipped to the picture book.

At the end of August, we finished reading Charlotte's Web. It was my own victorious moment, howling 'YES, I MADE IT' in my heart, patting my shoulders. I didn't give up nor rush it through. I managed to keep the momentum of reading chapters so that my girl was still interested in. 

     "Mom...it's too sad," my daughter said after reading the last line of the book, "My heart really hurts and I don't like it. I don't like sad story."
     "I know how you feel," I hugged her and rubbed her chest, trying to heal the pain. "It's ok. The way you feel now is normal, and if you feel like crying you can cry out too."

Seeing her trying not to cry, instead being angry at book, reminded me my immature version. This was one of the coping mechanism that I had developed since I was little. Being grumpy and angry at others made a lot easier to deal with heart-bent situation, and certainly it worked. (Funny thing is lots of people do that too.)

After reading the whole book, I understood the small words - All Ages, at the bottom of the back cover. It wasn't only for the young children, because it also made me paralyzed from its impact after reading. Charlotte's Web was published in 1952, yet after 60 years it still touches many readers' heart. The truth of life says itself.

 “After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die.”
― E.B. White, Charlotte's Web

The Kissing Hand

 

Last Wednesday my daughter and I went to the Round Up meeting at her school. She is going to kindergarten and she will stay seven hours from Monday to Friday. I've been busy buying school supplies, planning lunch menus, driving a school route. I think I'm ready or am I? 

During the Round Up meeting parents and kids sat on the colorful rug, which was settled in the middle of the kindergarten classroom. A teacher sat on the small chair, and introduced the book, The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn. 

After reading we were asked to move to the craft center and to draw our hands on the construction paper. My daughter and I traced each hands and decorated them with flowers, hearts, and a nail polish as well. A teacher walked around and asked friendly questions to my little girl. She answered without hesitation, "I am a good illustrator and I write a story like my mom." A teacher showed me a big smile, I smiled her back. 

My hand will be placed on top of my daughter's cabinet, so whenever she misses me she will go and touch my hand. Her little hand is already laminated and will be placed in our car rear mirror. 

School starts in less than 36 hours. Although I'm thoroughly done with her prep, I still can't get out of the haze or in a shock that my little baby is going to kindergarten. My girl, however, gave me a strong assurance that she would be fine when the teacher had asked, "are you all going to miss your mom and dad?" 

"No, I'm not going to miss my mom. I'm ready," she answered. 

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

 The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein is a recent my emotion-breaker. It blew me up like a dynamite. I've been training myself as a tough mom, emotion-sealed parent. My compressed emotions were burst out by this book.  This simple story halted me from my mundane life.

     "Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy." So begins a story of unforgettable perception, beautifully written and illustrated by the gifted and versatile Shel Silverstein. 

     Every day the boy would come to the tree to eat her apples, swing from her branches, or slide down her trunk... and the tree was happy. But as the boy grew older he began to want more from the tree, and the tree gave and gave. 

     This is a tender story, touched with sadness, aglow with consolation. Shel Silverstein has created a moving parable for readers of all ages that offers an affecting interpretation of the gift of giving and a serene acceptance of another's capacity to love in return.  

-Excerpt from The Giving Tree

The book cover is a lime green, a color of new life.
The blank space on each pages make me to write, to fill the gap.
But I learned, long time ago, a blank space is an artist's active device to the passive readers.
Staring simple black lines in pictures and words, I can't flip the page too fast; I want to live in this space.

For a moment I put down everything in my life.
I jump in this story; I become a little boy, I become a tree.
As this little boy grow older, I mirror myself.
This boy wants more and more, the tree give him again and again.
The boy takes for granted everything the tree gave him, but it doesn't matter to the tree.
She was happy to give; she was happy when the boy was happy. 

I have to confess; I'm an extremely emotional person. The strong waves of feelings sway me from here and there, they pause me from keep moving forward. Life is already hard without emotions, and my sensitive intuition makes my perception tougher to control, to neutralize. While reading The Giving Tree, my effort being tough and resilient was in vain. I fail to numb myself from it, but I'm glad to be failed. Because The Giving Tree satisfied my heart and my soul. 

*   *   *

From Where the Sidewalks Ends by Shel Silverstein

 

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

My daughter was quiet. It was unusual for her being silent when I ask her to choose for the bedtime story. She picks her book without taking too much time, but tonight she was awfully quiet. I peeked at her and found her looking at the cover image, almost studying it. I knew her questions would follow in a minute, "Mom, how come meatballs fall from the sky? and why this guy carries a spoon, fork and knife in his pocket?" 

Leading her to the bed, I answered "I guess we will figure it out soon." 

I read the title, "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, written by Judi Barrett, drawn by Ron Barrett."

She interrupted immediately, "mom, they have same family name."

"Yes," I took deep breath, "I think they are family members." 

The tiny town of Chewandswallow was very much like any other tiny town except for its weather which came three times a day, at breakfast lunch and dinner. 

     But it never rained rain and it never snowed snow and it never blew just wind. I rained things like soup and juice. It snowed things like mashed potatoes. And sometimes the wind blew in storms of hamburgers. 

     Life for the townspeople was delicious until the weather took a turn for the worse. The food got larger and larger and so did the portions. Chewandswallow was plagued by damaging floods and storms of huge food. The town was a mess and the people feared for their lives. 

     Something had to be done, and in a hurry.         

--Excerpt from Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

While we were reading it, I laughed and laughed. I was amazed by these phenomenal ideas. 

     'Wouldn't it be nice if we live in Chewandswallow? I don't need to fuss going grocery and cooking,' I imagined happily. My daughter, on the other hand, was perplexed. 

     "Mom," she frowned," if Orange juice falls from the sky, it's gonna be sticky everywhere. And if a hotdog falls from the sky, what would I eat? I don't like a hotdog." 

I didn't answer. I was having a good time imagining all the nonsense. I kept laughing and laughing out loud. 

   "Look, honey," I giggled, "can you imagine Gorgonzola cheese falling from sky? Can you imagine the smell? What about overcooked broccoli in a romantic dinner? Brussel sprouts and peanut butter with mayonnaise for a birthday!! Isn't it so funny?"  

  For the first time, I laughed out loud just like a kid during the bed time story. I really enjoyed reading a picture book along with my little daughter. It was a refreshing fact that I can have fun in her story time. It was a moment of epiphany that I don't need a fancy gadget to be entertained. I had a wonderful time reading a children's picture book.

Why the Wild Things are Mean?

When I heard this book for the first time, I thought 'hmmm..I heard about it somewhere.. oh! the movie!' And time passed. I am easily distracted just like my daughter. And few weeks ago, I came across the article about Maurice Sendak, from New York Times. I still didn't think of reading his book. I thought it would come across again if I need to read. Few days ago, I was researching children's book list, and Where The Wild Things Are was one of the must-read. I realized it was time to check it out from the library.

Max dons his wolf suit in pursuit of some mischief & gets sent to bed without supper. Fortuitously, a forest grows in his room, allowing his wild rampage to continue unimpaired. The wild things--with mismatched parts & giant eyes--manage somehow to be scary-looking without ever really being scary; at times they're downright hilarious.

 --Excerpt from Where The Wild Things Are, Goodreads

My daughter was interested in the illustrations of Where The Wild Things Are. 
"Mom," she asked, "why do the wild things look scary and act mean?" 

"Hmm..," I hesitated and answered, " that's a good question. I need to think about it." 

Can anybody answer this question? Why the wild things are mean? Does every wild things are mean? Are they born like this? Do we stereotype on everything, everyone? Is it our mere perception? Hmm.. 

What is your opinion?

"Make Them Be Good!" - Tough Chicks

Did I ever mention that I love to go to the library? I do, I really do love going to the library. It's almost like I'm scheduled to a blind date. (Shhh.. my husband would not like this name calling.)

Few days ago, I checked out nearly twenty books from my library, Lincoln-Belmont. Tonight my little girl and I read a book, Tough Chicks by Cece Meng.

From the moment Penny, Polly, and Molly hatch from their eggs , the whole farm knows they are truly tough chicks. They wrestle worms, rope roosters and are often found under the hood of the tractor. All the other animals, and even the farmer himself, tell Mama Hen to make her chicks good. "They are good!" Mama Hen always replies. But could her chicks be too loud, too independent, and too tough?         

--An excerpt from Tough Chicks

It has adorable illustrations. These cute chicks kept making me laugh. My daughter kept pointing out the colorful images and funny face expressions. The message of this book was very clear to me from the beginning.

"Make them be good!", "make them be good!" call the animals. "They are good!" Mama Hen clucked. But sometimes even she worried. When I read this page, I had to pause a little and wondered if this story was about me. It made me think. It was very similar portrait of what I have been dealing with.

My daughter came up with lots of WHY questions. I tried my best to answer, but there were things I just couldn't explain why Mama Hen was worried so much. I'm worried a lot just like Mama Hen. I know my girl is good, but people keep saying "make her be good!" Whenever I'm stressed out, it's hard to communicate with others. Tough Chicks, however, demonstrated it precisely with a sense of humor and the playful illustrations. I understand why it was taped "best of best" by our local librarian. She knows good books!

Bed time Stories

Every night I read a book to my daughter. Bedtime stories routine started since she was a toddler. Since I became a mom I had numerous wishes for my little one, but one particular thing was for her getting close to books. I wanted to install the habit of reading books in her.

My girl at age 1

When I moved to Chicago in 2007, I didn't know anyone and I didn't know where to go. For several month I stayed at home with my little baby and I noticed in me being scared of outer world. The world out of the house didn't seem so safe. Or, I was in a postpartum depression, which converted me into an introvert. All I know now is I was extremely lonely and isolated. 

When the weather got warmer in spring 2008, I started to feel better. I pulled out flower print blouse from the drawer and white pants to match with it. I decided to discover the neighborhood or simply take a walk around the block. I pushed the stroller, my daughter being sit tightly, her favorite toys and snacks on the stroller tray. I went out. Getting out the door was a big step, but once I got out I became more ambitious. I wanted to walk further. So I pushed the stroller about one mile, and I stood in front of the neighborhood library. 

My neighborhood library, Lincoln-Belmont

When I grew up, in a little town in South Korea, there wasn't a section for children's book. In my memory, the library is a place where you could find an ultimate silence and stillness. It was scary and dark, very small windows on top of the dark green painted cement wall and there wasn't any sun lights in the reading room. (The smell..the sound.. I could write those on a next story.)

*     *     *  

In May 2012, I still read books to my 4-year-old daughter at night. It's our intimate time. We lie on the bed, I lean on the piled pillow, she snuggles into my arms, and we read the title and an author and an illustrator's name. Then we flip the first page. 

Last night, we read very interesting book. 

The Journey of Oliver K. Woodman

My daughter enjoyed following Mr. Woodman's journey across the country. In fact, I learned quite a lot from it too. Speaking of bed time stories, I might start the children book's review blog. Hmm.. I'm getting excited for my next project! :)

I pledge allegiance

Once in a while I wake up myself from the mundane life to the realization that I live in a different country from where I grew up. I have volunteered quite often for my daughter's classroom during this school year, and one thing struck me from the beginning was to pledge allegiance to the flag.

This photo doesn't belong to me. I googled it under I pledge allegiance.

When my 4-year-old daughter started to attend her preschool from last September, everyday she followed the 8 steps as a school routine. All the little kids stood up from their tiny square spot from the colorful rug in the middle of classroom. One kid held up the American flag in front of them and the others put their right hands up close to the heart. And they started to recite, I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I reminded myself I should learn about the pledge of allegiance. In fact, the word "pledge" and "allegiance" were quite foreign to me. To a certain degree, I have a good excuse; I grew up in South Korea, I haven't had any education for the other country's pledge of allegiance. During my grade school years, I had to recite my own country's pledge of allegiance, 나는 자랑스러운 태극기 앞에 조국과 민족의 무궁한 영광을 위하여 몸과 마음을 바쳐 충성을 다할 것을 굳게 다짐합니다.

Takwondo athletes from around the world pledge the allegiance to the flag

Few days ago, I went to the local library near by our house. Once I'm in the library I head straight to the children's book area. During my book searching to read to my daughter for the week, I found a book that I needed so badly, I pledge allegiance by Bill Martin Jr and Michael Sampson, illustrated by Chris Raschka.

I always remind myself if I want to receive respect from others, I should respect them first. As much I put the high value for my own culture, custom and history, I shall do the same to others. And this is how I show my respect to the country I live in now, by learning the pledge of allegiance from a book, contemplating the deeper meanings and values. I am gonna share my own learning experience with my little daughter. I will also remind her being a daughter of native Korean, native Canadian (my husband is French-Canadian), who mostly living in U.S.A. It's gonna be a challenge for her to accept the culture differences per se, she might feel overwhelmed as well. But we keep try to understand where we come from and where we are now.

The Sun vs.The Wind

   {This story continues from the earlier short essay The contest between the Sun and the Wind.}

The Wind bragged to the Sun, "I'm the strongest one! I'm much stronger than you!"

"Really?" said the Sun. "Then I challenge you to a contest of strength. Let us see who can take the coat off that man on the road."

  "Oh, that's too easy!" howled the Wind.
"I'll huff and I'll puff, I'll blow to the brim. I'll RIP his coat off of him! I'll SMASH him against the trees! I'll take his coat off with ease!"

So... The Wind blew harshly down the road. The man clutched tightly to his coat. The Wind grew loud. The Wind grew cold. The shivering man buttoned up his coat. The birds clung to the trees. The world was dust and leaves. But the harder the Wind blew down the road, the tighter the man held onto his coat.
Discouraged, the Wind blustered off with a gust and a swirl.

Then... The Sun peeked out from behind a cloud, warming the air and the frosty ground. The man on the road unbuttoned his coat. He lifted his voice and sang out loud. 

The Sun grew even brighter, and brighter, and brighter, and brighter.

The man began to feel so hot, he took off his coat and sat down in a shady spot. The Wind returned and said to the Sun, 

"I huffed and I puffed and I blew to the brim but I could not force the man's coat from him.. I can't imagine that you were able to either!"

The Wind stopped howling long enough to look down. There was the man, sitting under a tree. Lo and behold! His coat was folded up like a pillow under his head.

"How did you FORCE him to take off his coat!?" the Wind asked in amazement.
The Sun replied, "I did not force him at all. I lit the day! Through gentleness I won my way." 

"There MUST have been a TRICK!" grumbled the Wind.

"It's not a trick," said the Sun. "It's a choice and a skill. Would you like me to show you?" 
The Sun just smiled...

*   *   *

 I love Aesop's fable. Among so many of his stories, my favorite is still the contest between the Sun and the Wind. Since the moment I became a mom, this story has shown me quite different aspects and very clear messages in terms of parenting. 

The moment of waiting has arrived to the final on last Friday. I brought the electric fan, I also brought my Halloween witch wig, and I managed to draw grumpy, boastful, wind face on the hardboard. I did my best to create the mood of the Wind. Kids were excited to see me dressed up as a Wind, and my partner, the Sun, which was acted out by other mom from the class. She and I did our best to dress up as similar to the characters that we were going to play. Her big, bright yellow sun which made from the construction paper, and matching hair band and even sunshine socks were amazingly well prepared.

The main reason that I chose this book for the dramatic play during my daughter's class was that I wanted to observe how kids would react to these two characters. Obviously, these two are strongly contrasted, so it would be easy for them to distinguish. Regardless my name is -in fact- Sun Hee, mostly pronounced Sunny, I chose to play the Wind. It was my chance to play the BAD guy in the play, which I wanted to express the mean side of me without reluctance. However, I had to tone down a little during the act, because I could see the kids' eyes and they sent me a message they aren't fond of bad guy even in a story.

   "So, kids!! I'd like to hear any comments of this story. Who's gonna start?" my daughter's teacher asked questions excitedly after our act was over.

   "I liked when the Sun was brighter and brighter!" the first one answered with shy smile. 

   "I also liked when the Sun peeked out from the clouds!" the second one added with raising hand. 

   "I liked to see when the Wind was bragging!" this comment was made by my daughter. I tried to think positively that my daughter wanted to praise my act, not because she reflected herself into the Wind. 

   "So, who do you think won this contest?" the teacher asked once more. 

   "The SUN!!! The SUN!" every kids were yelling out loud as if they have been waiting to answer this question.

   After acting out this little piece of play in front of 3 to 4-year-old children, it made me think deeply but also it confirmed me certain things that I knew it was right.

  All people -regardless the age, gender or race- gravitate the warmth of others and kindness from others. We are merely a child in eyes of God, and we need to be loved unconditionally. Sadly, the society that we live in isn't the warm place. There are more the Wind than the Sun. And we are taught that we need to endure the Wind and accept its nature.

   Now, here's my question. What kind of person would I like to be? Would I be more like the Wind or the Sun? Well, who said the name is virtue? I need to follow what my name points me to follow, Sun Hee, Sunny.

  

   

  

The contest between the Sun and the Wind.

When I was a little girl, I loved reading picture books. Some of books became pretty bad shape because I carried it everywhere and as a result, the edges got worn out, few pages torn apart. Specifically I remember when my favorite book, 백설공주와 일곱 난장이/ Snow White and seven dwarfs got destroyed, I burst out into tears. My favorite page was worn out and I couldn't see the face of Snow White any more. I could imagine it anyway but the book wasn't the same any more.

Since my daughter was born, I decided to read to her everyday and take her to library every week so that naturally she could learn the importance of reading books. As I grew up in a book friendly environment, I strongly believed she also deserves to be surrounded in same ambiance.

Reading books is the best way to introduce the world to the little ones in my opinion. I still remember the lines from the text book in the middle school, which was there are two major experiences in life; direct and indirect. Direct experiences might seem to be effective to learn the lesson but there are potential dangers and obstacles might be waiting for you. If you weren't notified these similar issues beforehand, you might be puzzled and confused, frustrated and depressed, you might declare giving up.
  
Indirect experiences, however, such as reading books will offer the opportunity to simulate the same situation and make us realize what it would be like. Readers will have better understanding of the situation, possibly able to see the bigger picture and empathize the characters in the story, by using our imagination.
Our imagination is such a gift. Often we don't value much of this huge gift, and sadly we have tendency of taking it for granted.

In my childhood, I used to read lots of fables. Among millions, I always loved reading Aesop's fable. The story was very easy to understand, the character was clearly contrasted, and there were moral lessons underneath. Luckily, my daughter's school topic of the month has been a fairy tale. And I wanted to use this opportunity to enhance her background knowledge. We went to the neighborhood library and filled tons of fairy tale books tightly in the grocery bag. Even librarian was surprised by our one angled selection choice.
I started to read one episode every night to my 4-year-old daughter. Reading a book before going to bed is our ritual. Sometimes when she doesn't behave during the day, I give her serious warning, " If you don't listen to mommy, I'm not going to read a book tonight." Then, she understands.

Tomorrow, I decided to act out the story of The Contest between the Sun and the Wind during her class. Fortunately, one of my daughter's class mom could participate in acting out in front of kids and we planned out for the little entertainment for the little ones. Will they guess that I also acted out a Lady Macbeth in my freshman year? I chose the Wind. I like to play the bad ones, I don't know why. They are interesting characters in a story, in regular life too.

I just finished preparation; a wig, a fan, a wind drawing on a hardboard and my mean looking. I practiced in front of the mirror, reciting my lines in a story. I feel like becoming a child! This feels GREAT! I'll write about the follow-up story tomorrow. I am so excited!