Waiting for my Life to Change

It’s rare to know an event is about to happen that will completely change your life. Even more rare: Knowing a life-changing event will happen any day… but yet not knowing which day.

A baby can safely arrive anywhere from 37 to 42-ish weeks into pregnancy (estimated due dates are 40 weeks). At 39 weeks, I’m feeling ready to go. The car seat is installed; the nursery is done; our hospital bag is packed. And—if you haven’t seen my belly—yeah, it looks ready to pop. Is it weird that I’m excited for labor to start? Well, I am.

Here are a few things I’ve learned while waiting for my world to change (I wish they were deep life lessons, but unfortunately I’m not great at waiting—see point #4—so these are mostly shallow):

1. Male strangers feel compelled to have a reaction to very pregnant women.

Some good, some bad.

For example, a few weeks ago as I was swimming, a military guy treading water for his workout joked that I needed to work on my abs (Ha. Ha. Ha.). But he went on to tell me how helpful his wife found swimming when she was pregnant, and he was all-around encouraging and happy for me.

Then last week while waiting for an oil change on base, a couple of Army officers—one with NINE children, the other with three—told me all about their experience as fathers. Very sweet.

On the other hand, as I paid the cashier, the manager (I assume) came out from his office and said, “Woah! You should be lying down at home!” And, this is something I’ve heard multiple times: “I am so glad I am not a woman!”

My typical response to this, more for my own benefit than theirs: “But you don’t get to feel a baby moving around in your belly, and that is the most amazing thing!”

I even had one Korean man in a base store look at my belly and shake in mock-fear. “Oh!!” he said. “Ohh! So painful!”

Thanks, dude.

My response, again, more for myself: “Actually, it’s going to be great! I’m practicing being very relaxed so it won’t be bad.”

2. Some Koreans don’t like or don’t understand American maternity clothes.

I get some funny looks when I’m out. I get some for just being foreign and blonde, I’m sure, but it seems the belly really attracts the eye. It took a visit to Joe’s grandma to understand why. I was wearing a coral sleeveless maternity shirt and a skirt. Oh, I have a picture:

Anyway, she asked Joe, “Don’t Americans have maternity clothes?”

She thought I should be wearing one of the big tent dresses Korean pregnant women often wear (if you even see Korean pregnant women out and about, which is kind of rare).

I tried to explain that there was plenty of extra material the way the shirt is designed, and that these kinds of maternity clothes look better on me than a tent-dress.

Well, the next time I saw her I wore the dress pictured at left, which hangs loose. But she asked the same question once again. Sigh. I can’t win.

3. Everyone has a theory for how to induce labor.

Walk up hills. Do lots of squats. Eat spicy food. Walk a lot. Bounce on an exercise ball. (And, of course, the PG-13 techniques I won’t detail here).

4. Patience is not my forte, particularly when it involves being alone.

I’m really excited to meet my son. Yes, I’m also ready for the feeling to return to my right hand’s fingers and for my feet and ankles to go back to their normal size, but I mostly just can’t believe a little person is going to make his entry into my world, someone who looks like me and like Joe. I can’t wait to see Joe as a dad. I’m thrilled to learn what it is to be a mom.

Plus, this first tour in State Department is my experiment in being a stay-at-home mom… but so far, I’ve been a stay-at-home person. If you know me, you will know that this is not particularly in keeping with my personality. My 11-week Korean language course gave me out-of-the-house purpose for a little while, but mostly I’ve been taking care of the homestead.

Some days I’m great at waiting: I swim and read and do laundry and make creative popsicles and go for walks and (sometimes) visit neighbors. It’s great! Other days, I do the same exact things… but the day ends and I’m drained.

A couple months ago, I scored a part-time freelance editing gig for a Korean tourism website… that is, until I learned that U.S. diplomatic spouses aren’t allowed to freelance on the Korean economy (anyone know of freelance editing jobs at U.S. companies??), so I had to turn it down.

I realize that hiccup is probably a gift—a chance to really give stay-at-home-mothering a chance like I planned. And I know I will be extremely busy once the baby is born… but, well, I am not very good at the long view when I’m at home so often and when it seems like my son will never arrive. I know that’s silly, but it’s true!

So, come on, little son! I'm so ready to meet you!

The Real Life Wicked

Last weekend, Joe and I went to see one of my favorite Broadway shows, Wicked.

But first—here’s my belly at 35 weeks, defying gravity.

The performance was awesome, just as it was when my sweet husband took me to the New York version for my birthday a few years ago, with two main differences: the Korean subtitles and our very close proximity to North Korea.

The stage where we watched the Wizard, Madame Morrible and Glinda manipulate the masses of Oz is just a few miles south of a country where propaganda, prison camps and a dictator rule. Where a person is worshiped as god. Where the extreme political storyline of Wicked is not at all far-fetched.

Was this awareness as poignant for the Koreans in the seats around us?

To me, the show became less an entertaining musical take on one of America’s bedrock cultural films and more a statement, or a warning. Wicked portrays a weak man drunk with power who will use and abuse others to keep it—and will make those others enemies of the state if they refuse to help. He creates a façade of frightening grandeur to comfort those under his power into thinking he can care for them, and to scare them away from questioning.

When I read the novel Wicked and saw the show on Broadway, of course these themes stood out as a cautionary tale of where human politics can stray. But this time, Joe and I couldn’t help but think: This is happening now, and not far from here.

My other (slightly more shallow) question for the Korean viewers around me was this: Have you all seen The Wizard of Oz? Did Wicked make sense to you? There are definitely segments of the play and major plot points that would make no sense without mentally filling in those classic Judy Garland scenes.

The subtitles were an interesting addition—particularly because I kept looking over to see how they were translating the songs and whether or not I could understand any of the green letters on the screen (I could understand some!). They did use a lot of Konglish—which, as you may know from my previous post, I love translating.

Often, a large swath of the audience laughed just a beat before the actors got to the punch line. I wonder how disorienting that was for the actors.

But the excitement certainly translated just fine, because people were lining up near any Wicked sign or paraphernalia to take photos before the show and during intermission. Before the show, we laughed about how we’d never seen that in the U.S.

…But during intermission, we decided to follow suit and joined a short line to stand by Glinda.

Hey, if everyone else is doing it…

Mallie Learns Korean // 말리가 한국어 배워요

The Korean language is like a masterful secret code.

Remember your childhood secret language? Or Pig Latin, the silly way kids say words backward? Well, think about the time before you learned how to understand that secret code. Frustrating, right? There was a whole world of communication going on among the other kids that you weren’t a part of.

And once you figured it out—voilà! The world is your oyster.

Well, unlike what you may think when you look at those non-Latin-based symbols used in Korean, the Korean alphabet is just that—an alphabet (unlike the crazy-hard Chinese characters!). They are phonetic letters. They work differently than our ABCs, but once you figure out the letters, you can read anything... or, well, at least sound anything out!

The first week of my 11-week intensive Korean course at Sogang University here in Seoul was focused only on getting the sounds right. And Korean sounds are not the same as English sounds! For one thing, there is no way to end a word on a hard consonant like S or T—hence some Korean English speakers adding a “suh” or “tuh” on the end of many words (i.e. “gohl-puh” for golf).

In class, we chanted something similar to “Ahhhhhh, awwwwwww, ohhhh, uuuuu…” as though we were those weird mystics in The Dark Crystal (see video if you don’t get the 80s-fantasy-muppet reference).

But it worked! Pretty soon I was driving Joe crazy by sounding out the signs around town: “Joe, what does this mean? What does this mean?”

I’m so grateful to have a patient husband.

The best thing, though, is sounding out Konglish signs. Like, for example, on my way out of the subway one day, I sounded out this word: “에스컬레이터.” It sounds something like: “eh-suh-kohl-lay-ee-tawh.” Oh! Escalator.

Since there is Konglish everywhere, this is one of my new favorite games.

Take American movies currently in local theaters; I’ll roughly sound them out for you (again, the sounds are hard to transliterate):

맨 인 블랙 3 = Mehn een bul-lake 3.

어벤져스 = Awh-bayn-jyawh-suh

스노우 화이트 앤 더 헌츠맨 = Suh-no-uu hwah-ee-tuh ane-dawh hawhn-chuh-mayn

Can you guess them?

Shortly after learning the Korean alphabet, I was riding in a taxi and sounding out the store signs around me when I noticed the driver was talking under his breath: “Een-tuh-nay-shun-al keen-dah-gah-den.”

I looked out the other side of the car and saw a yellow bus with the English words “International Kindergarten” plastered on the side. We were doing the same thing, but opposite. That taxi driver and I were totally simpatico.

The class got far more complex very quickly. As proof, here’s my notebook from week 1, then week 3, and then week 9:


Whew. I honestly can’t believe how much I learned! While I’m not confident enough yet to boldly strike up conversations with strangers (it’s hard for me to understand when people speak quickly!), I really am proud of what I learned. My teachers were amazing—they took our class from not even knowing Korean sounds to conversations about our families, vacations, the weather, plans, hobbies, shopping, food, and more. Basically, we really rock the small talk.

And the class itself was a unique way to make friends from all over the world. Of course it was easiest to make friends with the other English speakers, but it’s amazing how much you can communicate without a common language. And then, it’s also amazing how much you can communicate when you all know a little bit of a third language.

I joined my classmates for several extracurricular activities—excellent chances for us to practice Korean conversation:

Cherry-blossom gazing, ...




...a picnic in a park, ...






...random lunches here and there, and even a visit to Asia’s favorite cartoon cat at the Hello Kitty Café (which, as you would imagine, feels just like being at a 4-year-old girl’s birthday party).

















As I mentioned in a previous post, continuing class got a little tricky around week 8 or 9 since my pregnancy hit trimester 3 and Seoul’s weather suddenly shifted to hot, but I’m glad I stuck it out—and passed with flying colors! Ok, ok, I know it doesn’t count for much in the scheme of things since I was doing the course for fun, but it is still nice to know I have the capacity to learn such a difficult language.

I wish I could keep going with level 2, but… well… I plan to be happily busy with the new baby come July. And now I will be able to read him baby books in Korean!

Kim Family BBQ

I have officially restored order to our kitchen in the wake of yesterday’s Kim Family Barbeque—that is, after a much-needed Monday morning of rest.

If I thought my Korean exams were over last week, I was wrong. Yesterday was the true test: my Korean grandmother-in-law and 10 other relatives—some of whom hadn't seen each other in a decade—came over for an American-style barbeque in our backyard. Three of those relatives speak fluent English, and several others can get their point across, but my grandmother (“Halmonee” in Korean) speaks none.

And she speaks Korean very quickly, with an accent.

My first weekend here in January, Joe and I celebrated Lunar New Year with Halmonee and some other relatives, and boy was yesterday a change. At the time, I blogged:

“Have you ever listened to Korean language? It’s beautiful, but it is HARD to pick out words if you don’t know the language. When I listen to French, Italian, or (especially) Spanish, I have a general idea of what’s going on. Not so with Korean.”

It is a testament to my teachers and the language program at Sogang University that this time, I could at least pick out the words! And I had a whole conversation with my grandmother in Korean. Part of it went something like this (in Korean, unless otherwise noted):

Halmonee: (Something I couldn’t understand.)

Helpful relative (in English): She asked, do you like living in Korea?

Mallie: Yes, I like my friends and I like the food.

Halmonee: What do you like to eat?

Mallie: Kalbi, Soondoobu jiggae, paht bingsu, kimchi, kimchi jiggae. I like lots of things!

Hamonee: I brought you some kimchi, it’s inside.

Mallie: Thank you! (literally—she brought us a GALLON of kimchi.)

Halmonee: (Something about kimchi.)

Mallie: Hm? Can you say that slower please? Writing in Korean is a little bit easy, but speaking is hard!

Halmonee: (Something about kimchi.)

Helpful relative (in English): It means let kimchi ferment.

Mallie: ?

Helpful relative: Joe—how do you say this in English?

Joe (in English): It means something like ‘ferment.’

Mallie (in English): OK, but why? Why are we talking about fermenting kimchi?

Halmonee: (Something about kimchi.)

Helpful relative #2 (in English): She says, when you make kimchi jiggae, you have to let the kimchi ferment.

Mallie: Oh! I can’t make it! I eat it at restaurants.

Family in general: (general laughter and repeating my stunned remark: “I can’t make it! 못 만들어요!”)

Halmonee: You should keep talking to Korean people. (Something positive about my Korean that I couldn’t really understand.)

Mallie: Yes, I need to practice. I’ve been practicing with Serin (a.k.a. helpful relative #2, who is also an English teacher).

Immediately after the barbeque, Halmonee called her daughter (my mother-in-law) in New York to tell her how impressed she was with my Korean progress and my accent. Major score!!

The family was really curious about our living situation here on the military base. Halmonee said she felt like she was in America. Stand-alone houses (or duplexes, in our case) are rare in this part of this overcrowded city, or really in any part of Seoul. It would be like having a suburban ranch house with a yard smack in the middle of the high-rises of downtown Los Angeles or New York. People in Seoul just don’t have yards. But the U.S. government has had this property for ages, so it basically looks like 1950s suburbia. I had a friend describe the embassy housing complex on base as eerily similar to the Dharma Initiative where The Others live in the show Lost. So that is what my city-dwelling relatives walked into.

We served up America’s finest: burgers, chicken shish kabobs, and salad. But calling this an entirely American-style barbeque would be a bit of a stretch.

Halmonee brought several kinds of Korean side dishes, and others contributed Korean food as well. Suffice it to say that the flavor mixture was unique, though definitely delicious. It was a good thing people brought food, too, because charcoal cooking chars food a little bit, and apparently most Korean grandmothers won’t eat charred food (they believe it causes cancer).

Dessert, though, was classic Americana: brownies and ice cream.

My brownies were a huge hit. Halmonee and Joe’s uncle both said I should make a business and sell them. Several people went back for seconds or thirds.

The truth? They were Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Brownies from a box. It is not an understatement to suggest these are the best brownies ever created. I’m not kidding. Just undercook those puppies a smidge, and bam! Your Korean relatives will be telling you to start a bakery. (Don’t be fooled by the same brand’s “Triple Chocolate” offering—eh, not so great.)

The barbeque overall was a lot of fun—though my body was not thanking me for the hard work later. But that hard work was worth it: Joe and I have realized that each time we host people in our house, the house feels more like a home, and we feel more settled.

And that feeling is multiplied when an event brings family together.

Now how to bring order to my refrigerator… Looks like it’s leftovers for dinner this week!

*Pictures courtesy of Serin Kim and one taken from a cousin's Facebook page!

Pep Talk To Myself

If you asked my mother to use one adjective to describe me as a child, I have a sneaking suspicion of what that would be: stubborn.

The most obvious manifestation? Picky eating. If I was convinced I didn’t like something, I was not going to like it (i.e. turkey, avocado, chicken pot pie, soup, potatoes). When I was 10, my family went to Russia for a few weeks, and since I wouldn’t eat soup or potatoes, I basically lived on the Cheese-Its and peanut butter I’d stashed in my suitcase. I was not at my healthiest when we got home (sorry Mom and Dad).

Eventually my mom created the if-you-don't-like-the-dinner-I-made-you-can-make-your-dinner-yourself rule. So I ate lots of Chef Boyardee's raviolis in junior high.

My tastes have definitely expanded, and I will try nearly anything a few times before giving up on it (other than pot pies. What in the world is the draw…?), but at least one aspect of my stubbornness has remained: When I set my mind to something, I will do it. And if someone pressures me to do otherwise or doubts my ability, I am all the more determined.

This is part of why I never drank in high school and why I avoided a lot of other youthful misdeeds.

The point, you ask? Well, at week 29 of my pregnancy, an internal switch flipped. Hot and stuffy rooms became impossible. Mornings found me lightheaded, unable to think clearly and all-around worn out—particularly after taking Jihachul (Seoul’s subway), which left me in no condition to learn.

Helloooo, third trimester.

The problem? I still had three more weeks of intensive Korean class, from 9am to 1pm every weekday. And in a highly stuffy classroom—that is, until we discovered how to use the window air-conditioning unit.

Each week seemed to stretch out into infinity… could I make it?

Immersion classes (you know, every day and with no English) are the best way to learn a language quickly, but anyone taking intensive language can attest: there’s a cost. It’s brain-and-body exhausting.

A friend who is taking intensive Korean in a different program asked me recently, “Have you been able to use your Korean a lot when you go out in Seoul?”

Ha. “Honestly, I don’t have energy to go out in Seoul and practice. I really only have energy for class and homework.”

Her response? “Actually, I’m not even pregnant and I feel the exact same way!”

It’s easy to question why I keep going. I have already learned way more Korean than I had even hoped in the last 10 weeks, and I’m really only doing the class for fun at this point; if I keep practicing what I’ve already learned, I’ll be able to get around town, shop, order food, maintain small talk and make appointments in Korean just fine.

But such questioning actually helps me: I signed up to do this. I wanted to do this. I can do this. I will finish this!*

The two-and-a-half weeks since that internal switch flipped have seemed twice as long, and every morning has been a bit of a struggle (especially since this belly of mine makes deep, long sleep elusive).

But I found ways to make do: Last week I started taking the $5 taxi ride to school in the morning, rather than trudge through Jihachul, and in class I plant myself in the chair directly in front of the air conditioner. (And the baby wiggles and pokes and kicks me enough these days to provide a happy distraction.)

So here I am now, in the middle of my last week of instruction before our exams. I really only have two more days of learning, then it’s all review, review, review and test, test, test. I’ve basically made it!

That end-of-the-tunnel light is tangible, just around the next corner.

I can do this!

Then, on to the next challenge I’ll need my stubbornness—strike that—determination to fulfill: drug-free childbirth!*



*[Disclaimer applies to both asterisks: That is, as long as the baby and I remain healthy enough to do so. Obviously I wouldn’t risk my child’s health.]

8 Reasons Why Jihachul Beats D.C. Metro (and 2 Reasons it Doesn’t)

Don’t get me wrong, I love D.C.’s Metro (sometimes), but I have to admit that Seoul’s subway system, Jihachul, kicks D.C. Metro’s butt overall. Here’s why:

1. Stations are cleaner and brighter

Ever get the feeling you’re in a bomb shelter, but really it’s just Gallery Place? Well, it's true that Jihachul does have survival gear and can serve as an actual bomb shelter in case the North attacks (see right), but the stations are well-lit, clean and happy. In fact, it’s possible to forget you’re even a few stories below ground in a subway station here—something Metro’s dirty, concrete walls would never let you forget.

2. Glass blocking the platform from the train

I hated standing at the little yellow bumpy rubber line, feeling the rush of wind as the train whooshed into a Metro station. Maybe I’m morbid, but the thought of getting hit or falling on the tracks was often on my mind. And sadly, that happened more often than it should have, whether by accident or intent. Easy solution? Glass with sliding doors! I can stand right up by Jihachul's door with no fear.

3. Trains come more frequently, and I’ve never seen delays

At first Joe and I just thought we were lucky as we explored Seoul, hitting the subways at just the right moment to hop on the next train. We never waited more than 3 or 4 minutes. But I take the subway to and from school every weekday and I’ve never stood waiting more than 5 minutes, even at 1 in the afternoon. In D.C., I often waited 10 minutes during rush hour for an Orange Line train at Foggy Bottom. And don’t get me started on those off-hour waits!

As for delays, I won’t pour salt on continuously open wounds for you D.C. dwellers.

4. Stations aren’t nearly as crowded

Ahhh, the Red Line in downtown D.C. Where you can frequently lose yourself in a crowd of suits and watch two trains go by before getting close enough to squeeze onto one. (These pictures are on the Blue Line before Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's Rally 4 Sanity And/Or Fear in 2010, but I've seen the red line stations look like this, and it isn't rare.)

Here in Seoul? Yes, there are a lot of people in the mornings, but I’ve never seen a sea quite as huge as Gallery Place during a weekday rush hour.

5. Built in Wi-Fi

This needs no explanation, but I will say that people watch TV on their smart phones on the subway. Yes, TV.

6. More routes and options to get from A to B

Check out this map:

It looks confusing, but once you get the hang of it, it is almost as simple as D.C.’s Metro, with A TON more routes and options. Even when/if D.C. gets the Silver Line and Purple Line, Jihachul will still be more convenient.

7. Respect for the old/injured/pregnant people

Yes, on D.C.’s Metro, people will often get up for injured or pregnant people or women with children, but Jihachul actually has a 6-seat section that no one sits in unless they are old, injured or pregnant. And this section is often full, which brings me to my next point:

8. Old people actually RIDE the subway

Have you ever seen an old person on D.C.’s metro? OK, I’m sure it happens, but here, Jihachul is the way to go—for all demographics, it seems. It's the way avoid the traffic in a city that holds about half of the nation’s population, and I always see old people on the trains during rush hour and during the off hours.

But Jihachul isn’t quite perfect. Here’s where the system scores lower than D.C. Metro:

1. Stairs. Stairs, stairs, stairs.

There are a lot of escalators and some elevators in Jihachul stations, but I only know of one that allows riders to avoid stairs altogether. In D.C., the escalators break often and take ages to fix, but if stairs are really hard for a rider, I believe there’s always an elevator, albeit a slow one with a long line.

But right now, man, I would wait in that line!

I talked in a previous blog about how difficult stairs are now that my pregnant body apparently contains extra blood and less oxygen than normal. Seriously, I swim hard core and do Zumba, but steep stairs leave me out of breath with Jell-O legs. I imagine the aforementioned old and injured people share my struggle.

2. It doesn’t go where I want it to go

What? Didn’t I just say Jihachul has so many options of where to go and routes to take? Ok, yes, true. But it doesn’t stop at Eastern Market, where I can taste and buy fresh local fruits and veggies, or where I can visit my church and see lots of close friends. It doesn’t go to Woodley Park, where I can have a girls’ night with Tara and Kate. And it doesn’t go anywhere near the Jefferson Memorial at the tidal basin, where cherry blossoms have been blooming in the last couple weeks, and where Joe asked me to be his wife.

So, yes, Jihachul wins hands down in a side-by-side comparison, but you won’t catch me complaining about taking Metro when I get to visit home (at least not for the first couple days).

Check out each system's fan video below:

My Meeting with Obama (…and 200 of my closest neighbors)

I got to shake the president’s hand!!

Two weeks ago, President Barack Obama came to town to talk nuclear security at a summit of world leaders, and happily for us, his schedule included a few minutes with embassy staff and their families.

Ahead of time, some friends and I thought there would be about 500 to 800 people there (it's a big embassy), and maybe a few of us would actually get close enough to meet the guy. AND we would have to wait about two hours in a hotel ballroom for the pleasure.

But, sigh, how could we not show up since even that distance would be much closer than most of us have been—or would ever be—to the leader of the free world?

Once we were settled, though, about 200 people were in the room, and the rope line was very long. The crowd would only be about four to five people deep! Some people planted directly at the rope line right away for a good spot and stood there for hours, but Joe and I (for the sake of my easily-tired pregnant body) mostly sat in chairs at the back of the room until the time was close. A good spot wasn't worth killing my lower back and feet over!! So I assumed we would be watching more than participating.

The president was late (understandably, as he’d just flown in and had already been to the DMZ that morning). So we stood waiting the extra half hour, Hail to the Chief and other patriotic music blaring, presumably just to tease us.


I wondered: What must it be like to walk into a room of people knowing they’ve waited hours to see you?

I think I’d feel pressured to be amazing. Or maybe I’d let it go to my head.

Whatever the president felt, though, when he walked in, none of us seemed to remember the long wait.

Wow. The president of the United States of America! Right there! In Seoul! Political leanings aside, everyone cheered loudly enough to make the ambassador laugh. “See, they can be just as rowdy as the military,” he told the president.

And, oh, what an effect on the room.

We were all feeding off each other’s excitement, I’m sure, and I don’t get star struck easily, but President Obama really does have a presence. To me, he seemed important yet humble, regal yet all-around likeable. You have to admit, he really does look presidential.

Not to say I agree with all of Obama’s policies—or all of any politician’s policies—but one thing I love about our democracy is that different people with different viewpoints get a turn to lead the nation. That’s also why I get annoyed at hyper-partisan vitriol on both sides shouting that if the other side gets (or keeps) power, the country will fail. I think every American should want every president to succeed since that’s good for the country, even if it’s bad for a certain party.

And that’s why I think it’s pretty amazing to meet the president, regardless of political camp.



Obama shared a few words of encouragement and gratitude for the diplomats’ work building and maintaining relationships and for the family members’ sacrifice of living far from home and family and country. It was what you’d expect him to say to such a group, of course, but it was still encouraging to hear him say it.

And then came the fun part.





Flanked by Secret Service agents, he walked down the rope line, shaking hand after hand after hand and yet still looking people in the eye and saying a word or two when appropriate.

I was three people back, not expecting a handshake but happy to be close to the action.

Then he was right in front of me, and somehow a window appeared at the perfect time and the perfect spot for my arm. I reached out and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Good to see you,” he told me as he shook my hand.

I wanted to say something like: “I’m praying for you! I know you have a tough job!” but there really wasn’t time.

Joe, unfortunately, was right behind me (he’d let me go up closer, like a sweet husband) and didn’t get a shake. But it seems like most people did! Obama must have shaken 150 hands in the span of about 10 minutes, which is quite the skill—a prerequisite for being a politician, I’m sure.






On the bus ride home, the excitement was palpable:

“Did you shake his hand?!”

“Yes!”

“I did too!!”

Someone commented that the president’s 15 minutes with us had worked wonders for morale.

And it really did. It’s funny, but since we live here expressly to serve our country, meeting the president mattered to me more than I thought it would.