COSTCO

The South Korean equivalent to "Disney World" is Everland.  With tons of rides, characters in plush costumes and the usual awe and wonderment that accompanies a quality amusement park, it is the stuff dreams are made of.  Or so my students tell me.

While it is one of my goals of living in Korea to venture to Everland and see what all the fuss is about, this particular goal was not accomplished last weekend.  Over the weekend I found my own Everland. My own place that is accompanies with awe and wonder.  What can top a "Disney World-esque" park?  One word.  In capital letters.  COSTCO.  

After  nearly 14 months of living in Korea, I was finally taken to the holy mecca of COSTCO by a few of my fabulous girlfriends.  With products I have only dreamed about, I was quite literally a kid in a gigantic candy store.  Walking in I was reminded of growing up in the 'burbs of Indianapolis and going to Sams Club with my mother to stock up for the week.  With everything in bulk, it always seemed like quite the steal.  300oz of mustard for $3.20?  Well, I probably won't be able to use it all but it's so cheap that I feel obligated to take advantage of this amazing deal.  This was my general mentality during our 2+hour excursion into the happy land of COSTCO.  If any of the girls were pondering whether or not they really needed that oversized item, all they would have to do is look at me, see my exuberant childlike nod and toss it into the cart.  

I was able to control myself at COSTCO, though it took some effort, and spend far less than I thought.  Included in my haul was Febreeze, cleaning wipes to try and battle the upcoming beach months, flaxseed for smoothies, multivitamins and a huge towel (naturally in red) for the beachside days coming soon.  My next COSTCO trip is in the works and I now have a more realistic view of what I can find.  Hopefully by then my extreme ADD will be in control and I can be allowed free reign of the store instead of being that tiny child that has to be in sight of his mother at all times for fear of what he will throw into the cart.

Routine

My dad is someone who likes structure, tradition and routine.  Like clockwork, he is up every morning before the sun even thinks about rising to get that cup of coffee and his bowl of honey bunches of oats.  He reads the paper, fills his green metal thermos, kisses my mother and is out the door.  He is a man of routine.

My dad is also a man of few words.  He doesn't feel the need to say something in 10 words that can easily be said in 3.  I'm sure if you have had even the most casual of conversations, you know about his dream of someday having a secluded cabin in the Black Hills of his home state, South Dakota.  He loves our family.  With a burning passion.  He also is a big fan of  Harley Davidsons.  The list goes on and on.  Throughout my life, I learned all of this and more by just watching him.  He may not have realized it, but I was paying attention.  I watched how he talked to his friends.  Our family.  Strangers on the street.  I learned more about him this way than any combination of conversations.  I learned alot about how to treat the people around me by using what I learned from my dad. By simply following his example.

Now, I told you that story to tell you another.  The vast majority of Koreans hate the Japanese.  The current population hates the Japanese because their fathers hated the Japanese.  And because THEIR fathers hated the Japanese.  Get the picture?  When the earthquake shook the country and the tsunami ravaged the towns, there were Koreans that rejoiced.  According to my students, the people of Japan are finally getting what they deserve.  Here is a direct quote from one of my students.  "The Japans are bad people.  This is God.  He is happy."   Keep in mind that the majority of my students are around 5 years old.  Clearly they did not come to this conclusion on their own.  They didn't get it from me.  They got this from their parents.

We don't realize how much of what we say or do is soaked up by those around us.  Even now at the age of almost 25, I still don't like asparagus because my dad doesn't like it.  I think the hills of South Dakota are beautiful because my dad always reveled in its beauty and untold adventure.  Flannel shirts will forever make me think of Norm Abram and the New Yankee Workshop.  I still drink Folgers coffee when I am at home because I remember my dad and of those cups of coffee enjoyed at daybreak.

Life is about tradition.  Life is about routine.  The children I teach day in and day out have been routinely taught that the Japanese are bad people and that this tragedy is what they deserve.  My dad's morning routine involves coffee and cereal.  There are some Korean children whose routine involves being taught that the people of an entire country are disposable.  I sincerely hope that the next generation begins to bridge the gap with the Japanese people and begin to think of them as neighbors, instead of the enemy.  

It's unreal to think how different routines can be...

[Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs.  There are many Koreans who will never forgive Japan for the egregious crimes in the past.  However, it has been said that many Koreans would be willing to forgive Japan if it vows to never repeat the tragic history they share.  If you want to know more about the history behind why Korea and Japan have such an aversion to eachother click here.  While it did help me understand why both sides are so rigid in their beliefs, it made me more concretely believe that some routines or traditions do not need to be passed along to the next generations.]

Ugly Duck

I am not artistically inclined.  The best form of art I can manage is a doodle on the cramped edged of a paper placemat.  I'm a doodler, not an artist.  Even though I have NEVER been able to draw, paint or sculpt with any great finesse, as a child I thought my "art" was fabulous.

When I was in second grade, I made my mother a clay duck.  It took me until the final minute to finally finish and do the best job I could.  I remember coming home and being embarrassed by the uneven wings.  The crooked bill.  The less than stellar painting skills of an 8 year old.  When I presented that misfit clay duck to my mother, I may as well have given her a handful of diamonds.  I can still remember her face lighting up as if she just received a rare gift.  Every single piece of art that I ever gave her was met with the same joy.  

Whether it was a painting of a dinosaur or the meticiulous drawing of a wasp that took me the majority of science class, through the eyes of my mother I was Picasso.  Da Vinci.  Van Gough.  She kept every single painting or clay art project I ever gave her.  Kept, not because they were masterpieces, but because they were made by me.  

This little trip down memory lane comes from the art projects I do with my kids at school.  I see their parents reactions and I am disappointed that I don't see their faces light up as mine did.  They see the "art" as little more than pieces of paper to clutter an already cluttered house.  The "sculptures" as just another thing from school to create more chaos in their organized living room.  I have been to the houses of my kids and even though there were toys galore and more clothes than they could ever wear, I was hard pressed to find very many of the crafts or paintings made at school.

Almost 17 years after I gave that ugly duck to my mother, it is still kept in her china cabinet.  Kept alongside other creations from my sisters as well as pieces of a more intrinsitic value.  

Growing up I knew I wasn't an artist.  I knew that sculpting or painting wasn't something I was good at or really even enjoyed.  What I did know was that my mother would have supported me if I did.  She would  have been the first in line to see my gallery opening of ugly ducks with ill-proportioned bodies if it made me happy.

Thank you Mom for always making me feel like the Picasso of the Comer household.  

Wordless Wednesday: A Pohang St.Patty's

As you all know, last week included St. Patrick's Day.  Here are just a few pictures of my all little kids enjoying all things green.

Sunny, with his new shamrock

With my little Wendy

Lia showing off her face painting skills

Little Mattie

With little Sam

All of the morning kiddos in their face painted glory

Oh Korea

This is what awaited me when arriving home tonight.  He was sitting directly in front of my keypad (naturally) and had clearly peed his pants.  In a huge way.

Only in Korea...

Wordless Wednesday: Cooking Class

Here are a few pictures from a recent cooking experience at Kids College.  We somewhat successfully made cereal bars.  Yes, even simple cereal bars can sometimes be difficult for me.  With our combined cooking skill set we were able to make some quite delicious concoctions that consisted of peanut butter, lots of sugar, cereal and more sugar.  With those ingredients how can it NOT taste amazing?!

Everything you need to make sweet treats

Makeshift kitchen

Neal

Ann

My little Anna

It sort of stayed together...

It may not look all that delicious but the kids loved it!

The finished product.  Yum!

Aunt Jean

While there are countless perks to living in Korea, being on the other side of the world when a close family member is rushed to the hospital is most definitely one of the downsides.  I woke up today to a facebook status update about my Aunt Jean being in the hospital for an aneurysm. What a way to wake up.

Since recovering from the intial shock that my beloved Aunt Jean was in the hospital, I immediately reached for my imaginary phone (yes, I am refering to skype)  and called my mom.  She has lost so many brothers during the past few years that I just couldn't imagine her losing another close member of our family.  This time, a sister.  All I wanted to do was rush home and be with her, even though I knew that it was completely unnecessary and impossible.  I also knew that even if the impossible were to happen and I got home to her, there would be absolutely nothing I could do.  I couldn't fix my aunt.  I couldn't make my mom stress any less.  I can't cook, so I couldn't even make the comfort food most people do in these situations.

I spent my day on edge, waiting for more information and praying as hard as I could.  She is improving by the hour and is almost breathing on her own now.  Please send a prayer to whoever you call God for my Aunt Jean for a rapid recovery.