Listen, Peeps, I'm Not Sorry

Just because I've been gone for more than a month doesn't mean that you can judge me. So what if I haven't been posting? I've got reasons! I've got excuses! You can't just say that it's laziness or a failing on my part.

Well, none of you have said that, technically. In fact, I'm sure most of you haven't even noticed I've gone missing other than saying to yourself, "I haven't heard much about any Slytherin scarves recently". FINE! So you're saying I've been avoiding my own blog out of shame for no particular reason?!

Here's what happened. In my last posts, I was going to visit Paul in Massachusetts where I was going to knit like mad during the Olympics. That was a success. Then, I got home, and was preparing myself to finish up my scarf during the second week of Olympics when Nathan came down with a cold.

As some of you might guess, this was not a small thing in which my baby clings to me for a few days and I nurse him with juice and soup. This was warfare on my part. See, Nathan is prone to asthma attacks and ear infections while sick and his last three colds had ended in hospital stays. With this cold, I promptly went on the attack right back at it with regular doses of nebulized drugs and warm steamy baths and humidification of his room and baby Motrin. This meant that approximately two hours of any given day was spent holding him while I gave him breathing treatments. Another few hours would be holding him while he watched television or played with trains. I was sleeping approximately five hours a day, broken into hour or two hour sections. After approximately ten days, Nathan was better, and I was sick and the Olympics were over and I knew I wouldn't finish the scarf in time for the end of winter.

This is when I gave up hope of ever knitting or sewing or cross stitching again. (Remember, I was sick and delusional.) I laid around, coughing, and watching season one of Psych. By the time I was better, I was also bitter at the world for making me fail at Ravolympics. I decided my time was better spent reading and playing Final Fantasy XIII.

So, it's only within the last week that I've actually pulled out my knitting again. As it turns out? I'm about twenty rounds from finishing this scarf. See, I didn't buy the second skein of grey yarn like I thought I had, so this scarf will only have thirteen unlucky striped sections before I finish it. If I manage to knit tonight, I might actually get this scarf off my needles in time for the eighty degree weather we're having this week. Awesome.

Anyway, welcome back to my blog. I'm sorry I avoided you and tried to pretend you didn't exist. It was me, not you. I'd spend more time chatting you up and getting a feel for where you are, but I've been avoiding my Flickr account and my Facebook games and I need to go make up with them too.


Kiss Me, I'm A Quarter Irish!

One of the strangest things I have found with raising Nathan is cultural identity. If this sounds strange, let me elaborate. I was raised by a mom who was one hundred percent Korean. Though I speak little Korean and do not associate with an all Korean social group, I often culturally identify myself as Korean or Asian. Sure, I'm one hundred percent 'American', but almost any person you talk to in the States can discuss their parentage in some detail, giving you fractions of where their grandparents or great-grandparents came from. I cheer mainly for Korean in the Olympics. I prefer receiving Korean boutique clothes for Nathan. I watch Korean dramas. I like Korean manhwa. I own hanbok, as does my son. I am fifty percent Korean by blood, and those fifty percent count for a lot. My father wasn't around when I was being raised, so my mom's culture has strongly shaped my own.

However, when it comes down to it, Nathan's only a quarter Korean, and that's not that much. I mean, I'm a quarter Irish and you don't see me freaking out about St. Patrick's Day or cheering for Ireland in anything. I don't know much about Ireland. I don't want to visit it that badly. I barely acknowledge that I am Irish other than to curse my fair skin and uber-freckled face. And due to luck, Paul's a quarter Irish too, which makes Nathan a quarter Irish. He's as Irish as he is Korean. He's got the same pale skin I have, and, most likely, he'll freckle over the next couple of years like I did.

I know that due to his exposure to my mom and myself, Nathan will probably tend to favor his Korean heritage when it comes to what he considers his heritage, but I'm still weirded out sometimes.