Tale of Two Homes: An Ode to DC and Oakdale (yes, Oakdale)

DC was gorgeous the week we arrived. The sun warmed each afternoon, the sky was clear, and the cherry blossom trees budded pink. The spring air was full of anticipation and welcome.

Joe and I truly felt we’d come home.

Home to the place we met, where we built a friendship and then decided to risk it on love. Where we built a community over four and a half years, a community that we were grateful to discover is still largely in tact.

Our friendships barely skipped a beat.

Each day, I spent time with a treasured friend I hadn’t seen in two years—as well as a couple good friends I made in Seoul. Fellow church members at Christ Our Shepherd welcomed us back on Sunday with smiles and hugs, and exclamations over Luca’s health and vitality. These are people who love us as part of the family, who prayed for us consistently while we were away. I could not be more grateful to call such a community my home.

Returning to this beloved place was fantastic. Refreshing. Comforting.

I had a full-on honeymoon with DC: the friends, the vibe, the restaurants, the Metro, the museums, and perhaps most of all, the pleasant memories. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that we made our first legitimate Target visit (Oh, how I love, love, love, love Target) and we stayed very close to a Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s.

Just, you know, strolling on the Mall.

Luca also had a ball.

The first time I took him on the Metro, he was fascinated by the doors opening and closing, by the people coming and going, and by all the announcements. He told me to hold on to the bar, like the other riders (even though I was sitting), and he repeated, “Step back! Doors closing.”

Later, wandering the American History Museum, we found an exhibit with a Chicago L train we could board. We spent about 15 minutes on the train, with Luca diligently holding that bar. On every subsequent Metro ride, he did the same.

Playing by the White House

I get it, the White House. Now let's go!

I had mixed feelings about leaving DC just as the cherry blossoms were about to open up full force and many friendships there were back in full swing, but Joe reminded me it is better to leave on a high note.

Regardless, any sadness was promptly dispatched at SFO, when I turned a corner to see my dad waiting for Luca and me.

Oakdale may not be a place I’ve chosen to reside as an adult, but it certainly feels like home. It is familiar, it is beautiful, the weather is fantastic, and it is where I can find some of my favorite people in the world: My family.

Luca and I definitely miss Joe, who is back in DC preparing for our next post, and we miss DC in general—Luca keeps suggesting we "Go on meh-ter-oh train?"—but we feel blessed to be surrounded by people who love us. Luca feels right at home and happy in “Nana Papa’s house." In fact, occasionally he wants me to go away so he can have his Nana or his Papa all to himself. What a relief to be with family.

And Oakdale welcomed us to town with the most Oakdale of experiences: The Rodeo Parade. The essence of small-town charm. Luca enjoyed watching the horses and trucks and classic cars and Shriner clowns with his cousins and grandparents (pictures below).

It was an excellent way to kick off our short season in California.

If things continue as Joe and I expect, we will keep making temporary homes abroad and building new communities every couple years. We will keep developing some temporary and some lasting friendships with people who will also move around the world. It is a fun and adventurous lifestyle, but of course a lifestyle with challenges. We miss being present for the people we love, for birthdays and celebrations and milestones and hard times and changes. We miss having those people present, in person, for us.

But this month reminds me that in all that transience, I am blessed with two homes, both filled with people I care about. When I feel lonely in a new country, which is bound to happen, I should remind myself that I can always treasure—and visit—two places rich with good memories and with love.

Truly, there is no place like home.

Home Leave, or Embracing Transience

LAST DAY IN SEOUL—March 6

“I made it,” I thought to myself as Luca’s breaths deepened into sleep, his head cuddled on my chest.

From his mattress on the floor, I waited to move him until he was completely out. I looked at his room’s bare walls above me. The sailboats are gone. The whales are gone. Just beige paint to comfort him during naps and nighttime.

Maybe that’s why he skipped a few naps this week.

Wait, what? My toys are going away?

The whole house is bare, really, and Luca hasn’t been quite himself since last week after the movers packed out the trappings of our past two years in Seoul: He clings to me more; he spills things more; he needs more attention; he skips more naps.

Those days—the skipped nap days—are the hardest for me. Between organizing our packout, attempting to eat through our pantry and give away food we won’t finish, purging cleaning supplies and clothes I never wear and humidifiers we won’t need and so on and so on, there’s plenty I’ve had to accomplish for our international move. Plus the emotional toll of preparing for my entire life to change, again.

"Big Lellow Truck!!"

I can’t really get much done if Luca doesn’t nap. Even in normal times, he needs a lot of my attention. But now, he is going through his own emotional crisis, watching his entire home transform into a bare beige blah. Looking for the basketball hoop, foam letters and favorite sippy cups we sent away.

He loved watching the men load everything into boxes when he dropped by during packout with the woman who was babysitting—he decided the mover’s scales were better suited as seats for him—and he adored the big “lellow truck” waiting outside. And, at first, he liked the new discoveries afforded by a near-empty house.

"Don't Pack me!!"

But then he realized everything was gone.

It’s hard to hang around after all the arrangements are made, after everything is packed. If I’d known how hard Luca would take life in our empty house post-packout, I might have tried to follow the movers out the door and leave Seoul early.

But then, I would have missed precious goodbyes. I would have missed that last trip for delicious dalkkalbi, that last kimchi jiggae. That last ladies’ night in with wine and chocolate and chatting. That final Bible study, when the women who had been a lifeline for me the past two years prayed for me and for my family.

With the ribbons of our Seoul tour tied neatly in bows, all I have left is the leaving.

I thanked God Luca fell asleep today, allowing me a little bit of a break to eat lunch, catch up on emails, and try to prepare as best as I can for tomorrow. Our departure.

I am so ready to go.

* * * *

LAST WEEK OF HOME LEAVE—March 25

“Phew,” I thought to myself as Luca finally drifted from sobs to sleep on the floor mattress in Joe’s parents’ spare room. I kissed my son's cheek and deftly slid the sippy cup from his arm’s grip, replacing it with his stuffed sock monkey, one of the few favorite toys we packed in our suitcases to help him transition.



He spent the morning blissfully playing with his grandparents while Joe and I had an errand-running-and-gyro-lunch date, but by the time we got home at naptime, Luca was toast.


It happens, or so I’m learning.

It’s been rare in Luca’s lifetime that I’ve gotten to go out on my own. Like now, I sit solo, sipping a caramel macchiato at a Long Island mall Starbucks while Luca naps under Halmonee’s care.

Four Generations of Kim Men

We’ve spent the past week at Joe’s parents’ house, catching up with relatives, celebrating Joe's grandfather’s 97th birthday, and easing back into normal American life.

For foreign service officers and their families, home leave is a required and valuable time to reconnect with family and culture after living abroad for a few years, and before taking any necessary courses for the next posting. The idea, in my understanding, is to keep diplomats American enough to represent the country well.

Peek-a-boo!

Since my parents were on vacation at the beginning of our home leave, we decided to spend the first week and a half soaking up vitamin D under Southern California’s sun and visit my immediate family later. We got to spend the first few days at my Auntie Irene and Uncle Jimmie’s house, catching up with dear relatives and playing peakaboo with my cousin Mike.


I got to spend a morning with one of my best friends and college roommates—there’s something invigorating about friendships that span decades and life stages.

These last few weeks of home leave have been as wonderful and peaceful as those last two weeks in Seoul were stressful.

Luca settled quickly into life in Huntington Beach. It was only four days, but all three of us were delighted to decompress in such a comfortable and (for me) familiar place. Once he recovered from jet lag, Luca was ecstatic to see the boats and the tiny beach of Balboa Island.

One afternoon after a couple days at my aunt and uncle’s place, Luca looked at me. “Home? Home?” he said, his usual method of telling me he’s ready to head back to our house.

I sighed. How to explain it?

“Well, Luca, today, this is our home.”

The look on his face changed, curious. He took in the room as if seeing it for the first time. Oops. I quickly tried to correct myself.

“No, um,” I fumbled. “Right now we’re on vacation! We’ll go to San Diego next week, to the beach, and then we’ll take a plane to Halmonee and Harabogee’s house.”

How can I explain to a toddler that we won’t be at a home of our own for months?

But he seems to have settled into the rhythm of moving around, and he seems to grasp, to some extent, the concept of home for now. He was thrilled to arrive in our San Diego rental apartment, and quickly started to refer to it as “home.”

And boy did we all wish San Diego could be our new home.

The sand.

The waves.

The sunsets.

The tacos.

And, surprisingly, the friends.

Going into our home leave, I could barely think past luggage and carry-ons and Luca’s toys and snacks and allergen-free meals. I couldn’t get my mind around specific plans, other than housing and transportation. If I knew before arriving how many friends we’d see in San Diego, I would have been completely overwhelmed. But thanks to spontaneous friends—including a high school friend I hadn't seen in 14 years—we made plans on the fly, as we felt like it.

It was such a rich time catching up with people Joe and I care about, and we were over the moon watching Luca’s joy in chasing waves and digging sand with his construction toys.

There is something infinitely satisfying in watching my son’s elation. With all the drastic changes for our family, we could simply enjoy each other and the beauty of the sea.

Have you ever said you needed a vacation from your vacation?

Well, there’s not much rest in a vacation with a toddler: We played hard, and we slept hard, and like all good vacations, the end came far too soon. But at least we had more wonderful times to look forward to.

Luca was a champ on the five-and-a-half hour flight, and, after he got a solid meal in him, he was delighted to be with Halmonee, Harabogee, and Samchun (Uncle Albert)—and with all the awesome toys they thought to prepare for his visit.

"I like RIB!" Luca loving Halmonee's cooking.

This week, we’re trying to move at a slower pace and to take advantage of Joe’s parents’ generosity in helping us take breaks.

Seoul seems a world away. Our two years were full of fun, exploration, excellent Korean food, challenges, struggle, and growth.

We learned the subway system. I learned some Korean and Joe improved his. We made friends who were more like family. We became parents. We learned what it means to watch our child suffer. We learned what it means to watch our child heal. We had 5 emergency room visits, 4 hospitalizations (including birth), and one medical evacuation. We sold the car Joe bought the day of our first date.

So many things can change in two years.

In San Diego, we visited a church one Sunday. The sermon was about relying on God for our daily bread, and though most of the examples the speaker used were to do with money, I realized the message was fitting for my own heart in this transient phase of life.

After several days in the United States, the shiny newness of vacation wore off, and as the jet lag fog started to clear, I was thinking of the mountain we have to climb as a family in these next few months: The travel, the waiting, the separation from Joe when I go see my family. How could I help Luca with all the change and uncertainty? How could I deal with it myself? The questions pulled at the bottom of my stomach, telling me I couldn’t simply relax. It’s hard to focus on the current day when big changes are rolling in like the waves off Pacific Beach, one after another.

What, that's not how you put it on?

But God is faithful, the sermon reminded me. I know he will provide the emotional energy to get through tomorrow, for me and for my family of three. I can live freely in each day; I can be present. Tomorrow has enough worries of its own.

Seoul is in the past for us now, and though we have months before we are settled into our new post, this transition phase is a gift. If I blink, I’ll miss it. If I worry through it, I’ll forget to treasure it.

This life Joe and I chose is transient. We might as well enjoy it.

Korean War and …Peace?

Saturday morning was so sunny we couldn’t bear to stay inside. So, we loaded up Luca and strolled off base to the Korean War National Museum where he could run around underneath all the war airplanes.

“Aypayn! Aypayn!” he announced as he ran under the wings of the fighters. All the times we’ve driven past the museum, which is right outside the U.S. military base where we live, I’ve often seen kids wandering this outdoor collection. Fun idea, right? But as we walked through, the cries of glee from Luca and other children suddenly seemed a little bit out of place.

Farther back, other vehicles sat in a menacing row: monstrous tanks and truck missile launchers, some Soviet made—left behind when the North fled the South—and some American. Harsh reminders of a part of the Cold War that is technically still going on.

Even more poignant is this statue memorial pictured below. I’d seen it from the road, but never really allowed it under my skin. The men at the top are fictional brothers who met and embraced on a battlefield, one soldier fighting for the North and the other for the South (you can guess which is the bigger dominant man, I’m sure, considering we live in the South).

The crack in the base represents the divide, but the sign out front suggests the brothers’ embrace represents the hope of reconciliation. To me, though, standing at the base of this statue, the true tragedy hit me: It is as if the U.S. Civil War never resolved, but resulted in two unfriendly countries. Even more intense since Koreans are all one ethnic group—it was and is truly brother against brother; cousin against cousin.

And worse: From what I understand, many young men and boys were drafted by one side or the other (as in, forced into a truck to go train as soldiers), through no ideology of their own, and others were put in prison camps.

Joe’s grandfather was one of those men. He, his wife and young children had escaped the North, where they lived after the nation split. When the North (with their Soviet and Chinese backers) took Seoul and almost the entire peninsula, he was captured and imprisoned for supporting the South. He eventually escaped the prison camp through cunning and the grace of God, and his entire life story is dramatic and inspiring and should be made into a movie.

Joe's grandmother had a brother who was conscripted by the North during the war; she always told Joe his looks and personality reminded her of that brother, and Joe held a special place in her heart because of it. For years after the war, she checked newspapers for any sign of him or news of what happened to him. Nothing ever came.

Though his grandmother passed away last year in New York, surrounded by children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, his grandfather lives on. He is a piece of history.

A "danger" sign on missiles is always off-putting,
even if you know they just don't want you to hit your head.

His piece of history seems so long ago to me, though, and for better or worse, it’s hardly a thought or conversation topic here, less than 40 miles from the DMZ. When dire threats from Pyongyang filled U.S. cable news last year, most Koreans here were hardly bothered. Heard this before, they said. In fact, such warnings are annual, coinciding with the huge military readiness drills the U.S. and Korean armed forces conduct.

But there’s a reason the U.S. military has such a huge presence here. And there’s a reason subway stops have survival stations with gear, food and gas masks.

The truth is, however prosperous and peaceful and low-crime and gun-free Seoul may seem, and however low risk there is of the North acting out, this peninsula is not at peace. And its history is not a peaceful one. Saturday was a good reminder.

The Wedding Hall Phenomenon

When I took my semester of Korean language, some of my classmates—mostly from Japan and Taiwan—asked to see a wedding photo.

I showed them the one pictured here, a wide shot of the Oak tree and the whole event, flower petals and all. My wedding was not unheard of for the United States—many people, especially in California, have gorgeous outdoor weddings. Mine was awesome and perfect for me, but it wasn't featured in Modern Bride or The Knot.

“Oooh, it’s like a Korean drama!” One chimed.

“It’s like a movie!” another said.

I laughed a little; I hadn’t intended to show off—they were simply fascinated by all the aspects of me, a white Westerner, marrying an ethnically Korean guy.

That kind of wedding is not commonplace in Asia. In fact, in Korea, weddings are a different animal altogether. Did you ever have prom in a big hotel? You know, when there were at least three proms going on at the same time in different ballrooms? This is essentially how so-called “wedding halls” work here in Seoul.

Joe and Mallie, bowing at our Korean wedding in New York

Western-style, walk-down-the-aisle weddings are a relatively new phenomenon in Korea. The traditional ceremony involved the bride and groom bowing in return for advice from the older generations, a bride-and-groom piggyback ride, and other symbolic and entertaining activities. Some couples still include such traditions in the festivities, usually just in front of family members.

The weddings here, now, are almost factory produced—and in a place as crowded as this city, such a system seems to work well. Or maybe the system works because it fits better with a culture that isn’t concerned with each individual having it her way. Maybe there are elaborate wedding halls like these in the United States, but I haven't seen them.

Brandy in a "Bride's Room" in 2012

When my sister Brandy visited shortly after Luca's birth in 2012, we explored a wedding hall at a nearby shopping mall (yes, you can even tie the knot in a mall)—sneaking into the Bride's Rooms to snap photos when the security guards weren't looking—and it was fascinating. Several beautiful “chapels” are pre-decorated in various styles, some more formal and others modern (think clear glass floor aisle), and buffet rooms are always set up, ready to go. You basically check off some boxes and the work is done for you. What color? What time? Which flower? None of this whole American way of planning from scratch, finding and decorating a church and a reception hall, and so on. Less personal, maybe, but more efficient.

In fact, the system may have crossed the giant pond. We initially planned to have our Korean wedding at a Korean restaurant with a reception hall in New York, though we ended up in my in-laws’ gorgeous backyard. Now that I think about it, the restaurant’s room was pre-set for a wedding and reception, and all I had to do was pick flowers and colors. I remember being surprised by such a room; I never saw anything like that in California.

Me in another "Bride's Room" in 2012

Here in Korea, I haven’t made it to any of the few weddings I was invited to over the past couple years—something Luca-related always conflicted—but from what I hear, the ceremony is broadcast in the buffet room, and some guests go straight for the food and watch the couple wed on screen. At some point, someone will take a centerpiece, and suddenly there will be a run on centerpieces, all gone in minutes. This is expected: Staffers wait with plastic to help wrap flowers.

Maybe it is because so many of movies come from Hollywood, but other than Greek and Indian weddings, I never thought about how such ceremonies might be fundamentally different around the world. Once an Italian diplomat and his wife visited our home, and the wife fawned over one of my wedding pictures. “So it’s true?” she asked. “You have the... maids? What do you call them? It’s just like the movies!”

I guess that’s the fun in living abroad: I get to see integral aspects of society done differently. I get to be surprised by details I wouldn't have thought to research. I get out of my American bubble.

Insanity, a Workout... Success?

So, I did it.

I climbed the Everest of dvd workout bootcamps.

I completed the nine-week Insanity workout, missing only two workouts (one each month on days my little toddler refused to nap).

And I feel great. Suddenly, I can do pushups without completely dying. And pushup jacks, and all sorts of crazy moves in plank position. My results from the Fit Test (8 exercises at 1 minute each) improved dramatically, some even doubled from my original score on day 1.

I look great, too, not that you can tell in my winter clothes. My abs are strong enough to hold in that little mom pooch (yup, still got it) with little to no effort, I actually have a butt now, and I'm a bit more streamlined. At a gathering in the midst of Month Two, some friends (who couldn't see my tummy since I was sitting) asked if I was pregnant; I had a glow about me. Nope, not pregnancy (sorry, Mom). Just health. Or maybe confidence.

Wondering about pounds and inches? Here are my results:

Weight Lost: -3.5 pounds
Inches Lost (combination of all the places you'd measure): -6.5 inches

Wondering if you read that right?

Yes, there are negative symbols in front of those numbers. I gained weight and gained inches all over my body (see note on having a butt, above).

Now, I did Insanity as a challenge to myself and in order to get in shape, and honestly, I wasn't all that unhappy with my weight to begin with (about 30th percentile, according to this body mass index calculator). But I mean, what average woman doesn't want to lose 10 pounds? So yes, I was a little bit disappointed.

I can only assume I didn't shed pounds and inches for some combination of these reasons:

1. I lost fat while simultaneously gaining muscle, which is denser and weighs more. 
Maybe? Maybe? Please?

2. I overate... it was Christmastime, after all.
Mmm, fudge! Holiday roast! Pie!

3. I didn't eat enough. 
I didn't follow the 5-meal-per-day manual that comes with Insanity since planning meals for one food-allergic toddler is enough food stress for me, thank you. I did feel constantly hungry, tired and craving steak... but I suspect my post-workout protein shake gave me the extra calories I needed.

4. My body never adapted to the workout and kept releasing cortisol.
According to BeachBody, the people who sell Insanity, these intense bootcamp workouts put my body in a state of emergency and cause me to release cortisol, a stress hormone that enhances my performance but makes me store extra fat.

In any case, I wouldn't mind if a move to more sustainable workouts pushed the scale numbers south over the next few months. And, well, maybe I should share more of those Christmas goodies with friends.

In any case, I really am proud of myself for completing such a difficult workout program. And I did get in shape.

Insanity is designed to bring participants basically to muscle failure; even the people in the video have to take breaks during the crazy sets! Shaun T, the trainer, keeps reminding viewers, "Do what YOU can do; don't try to do what we're doing."

Shaun T calls the workout style in most of the videos "max interval training." He takes regular interval training (working out at a moderate level with short bursts of high-intensity) and turns it on its head: About 3 solid minutes of high-intensity exercise punctuated by 30-second breaks. Basically, he makes you do a few incredibly difficult moves, then once you think your body can't do anything else, asks you to do something even more difficult. And then you repeat all of that after 30 seconds of breath-catching. And then you do it all one more time.

It. Is. Hard. The warmups are more intense than the peak of most regular workout videos. I even had to modify some of the jumping moves (like high knees) after injuring my knee a little bit in Month One. But something about Shaun T is motivating. It sounds cheesy, but at critical moments, when he looks right into the camera and points straight at me, and says: "You. Can do it!" I keep going. Sometimes I felt like a machine following orders; it is amazing what the human body can do, even fighting through extreme muscle fatigue. Oh, man, do you SWEAT! I haven't sweat so much since junior high summer basketball camp.

During week one, I thought I actually might die... or become an Olympian. By the beginning of the second week, my abs were already showing more definition than they'd had since high school swim team. At the end of Month One, I got to where I could almost do the workouts without extra breaks. Almost.

Recovery Week was a breeze, though even the "recovery" workout video was harder than any other exercise dvd I've done.

During the first week of the longer, harder workouts of Month Two, again, I thought I might die... or maybe climb the actual Everest. Seriously, month two of Insanity was the first time in a workout program where I had to take breaks during the warmup. But the moves kept chiseling out more and more muscles, and I got better and better.

And then I finished and breathed a huge sigh of relief. But I'm a little tiny bit sad it's over.

It's only been a couple days off, but already I miss that daily adrenaline rush of attempting something nearly impossible. For the first time in my life, I look to working out as a way to reset a bad morning or to get out of a bad mood.

I'm taking it slow this week to let my body recover, but I can't wait to dive back into to regular workouts, alternating between a couple dvds I used to use, to help me keep these awesome abs.

...Maybe I'll even throw an Insanity dvd into my rotation. Maybe. I still have to decide if I'm crazy enough.

A Happier Holiday with the Kims

This holiday season is tucked away into memory now, and I feel as if I’ve let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. A sigh of relief I didn’t expect.

Because this year was not like last year.

On the surface, last year should have been the better holiday season. This year, we stayed in Seoul and missed seeing our families. Last year, we spent Christmas with my family on Kauai and a second week in Honolulu. The beach! The sun! Shave ice! Fun relatives!

Sounds awesome, right?

Notice Luca's face. Typical of the trip...

The kicker, though, is that the holiday season a year ago was the peak of the hardest time in our lives so far, when Luca was sick. Hawaii kicked off a run of ER visits and hospitalizations.

This holiday season, I tried not to pressure myself, but I felt like it was truly Luca’s first Christmas: he’s healthy, he’s thriving, he’s aware of his surroundings. He gets excited.

I couldn’t wait to see the magic of the season come alive for him, and that sense gave me a burst of creative motivation.

I prepared... and started to understand Clark Griswold’s obsession with making his family Christmas absolutely perfect.

I made some Pinterest-worthy Christmas crafts, the best being Luca’s felt tree, which he liked to decorate at first, but soon decided was more fun to undecorate and pull from the wall. Hey, at least it distracted him from the big tree.

And, in addition to our Advent wreath and candles, I introduced a new tradition for our family: the Jesse Tree, which tells the story of the Old Testament, leading up to Christ's birth.

I had high expectations.

But Advent came, and we all got sick. Luca was sick for half the Christmas season. Two out of three colds since August had landed him in the ER for breathing problems, so I stressed and vigilantly puffed his inhaler to keep his lungs from freaking out.

I kept up with the Jesse Tree for the most part—hanging one ornament to represent someone in Jesus’ genealogy each day (or, you know, two every other day), and reading applicable Bible verses—but we never once got to our Advent wreath candles on a Sunday. Hey, it still counts on Monday, right?

Even the final candle—we lit it the day after Christmas instead of Christmas Eve.

It was hard to really bask in the Advent season in preparation for Christmas, as I’d hoped.

One saving grace, though, came in the form of three people Joe and I love very much: visitors! More on them in another post, but suffice it to say that there is something so wonderfully precious about watching people I care about meet and care for my son.

Reindeer sweater!!

A few days before Christmas, everything was coming together. Our colds were over. We had a Saturday night carol service at our church (Luca danced to the music and didn’t cause too much of a scene when he got bored, and he even cooperated to let us stay for the dinner afterward). We planned to attend a neighbor's small party on Christmas Eve and a food-allergy-friendly dinner with close friends on Christmas Day.

Christmas was shaping up to be wonderful.

But then, late the night before, toward the end of our friends’ party, Luca started coughing. A lot. Some barking coughs. Some Gollum coughs.

He slept horribly and coughed often. His skin felt warm. I just knew he’d get a fever and feel terrible on Christmas Day. I was already scheming to move our gift-giving to the weekend and arrange for to-go plates for dinner. I was disappointed at the thought of missing the shared Christmas meal we had planned.

But, no, Christmas was magical. Yes, Luca felt sick, but he didn’t get a fever, and he didn’t struggle to breathe. We still got to give him presents; we still got to spend time with our friends.

It was just fun:

The night-before preparations.

The discovery.

The wonderfully slow process of opening each gift and playing with it a while before taking interest in the next.

The crash.

After Luca’s nap, he came out of his room with a curious, almost worried look on his face.

Was all that real? His expression seemed to say.

Focused, he walked right past me into the living room and around the couches. There, after seeing his new toys hadn't vanished, he grinned, relieved and excited. He made the rounds to each one, saying its name and playing with it a little bit.

His favorites? The dump truck (“dump uht”) and excavator (“eh wawa”) Joe and I picked out. He wouldn’t let them go when we left for our food-allergy-safe Christmas dinner with close friends a few minutes later.

There’s a joy to knowing we gave our child something he delights in. I’m proud, watching him stack blocks in his dump truck, move it around with a “Vvvvvv” and lift the back, shouting, “Dump!” as blocks tumble out.

Side note: I can't imagine giving Santa credit for the best gift of Christmas. Maybe that's selfish, but I'm still figuring out my position on the subject...

Anyway, I can’t help but remember that Christmas gift-giving is a small reflection of the greatest gift in history: God giving up Heaven for a time to become one of us—a human, a baby, Jesus—so that we can be close to him despite our imperfections. But it's also a reflection of the gifts God gives in the day-to-day, like health, a better Christmas and a better New Year than the last.

When I rang in 2013, dinner found me sitting on a hotel couch in one of Joe's t-shirts eating Round Table Pizza and sipping wine from a plastic cup while a suffering Luca laid on my lap. I woke up several hours after going to sleep and heard fireworks from the direction of the beach, and prayed they wouldn't wake my son.

This year, we still didn't make it until midnight, but our moods were light, carefree, happy.

On New Year's Day, Joe and I took time before bed to look at photos of last Christmas and New Year's, and some from the rest of the year. It was amazing to see how much has changed, improved.

I couldn't get through it without grabbing a tissue.

Seeing Luca delight in the gifts I've given him or the crafts I made for him gives me so much joy, but the photos reminded me that the gifts God has given me are so much grander than a toy construction set or a felt tree.

It's emotional for me to bring to mind all we faced last winter, but at the same time, I'd never before felt God's hand so firmly at my back, supporting me. His comfort was never so real to me as that time when I truly needed him. And he provided friends and family to surround us as well, propping us up when we felt so close to falling.

So this year, I am taking a cue from Luca and basking in a gift from God: His presence. He was there last year when I needed him so badly, and therefore I am confident he is here this year, hiding in the glories of a happy holiday.


* * * *

“Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” Luke 11:11-13

Well-Being: Korean Bath House

Korean culture is all about “well-being,” pronounced “wellbing” as one word and prolific (in English) on signs and labels throughout Seoul. And why shouldn’t it be? Everyone should want to feel healthy inside and out.

Men are often told certain dishes or drinks will enhance their “vitality” (wink wink), and ginseng tea is a staple in the diet of elderly Koreans.

Sometimes the intent misses the mark, like in these “well-being smoothies” that are somewhere on the health scale below 7-11 Slurpies.

But some wellbing efforts Korea gets absolutely right, like jimjilbang, or the traditional Korean bathhouse / sauna house.

My brother-in-law Albert is in town and feeling under the weather, so we spent one chilly winter’s morning at a local jimjilbang, the Dragon Hill Spa, a place Joe and I have used as a way to knock out colds in the past. Better yet, it is cheap. Dragon Hill is about $10 for as long as you want to stay, up to 24 hours.

Each jimjilbang is different, but the basic layout includes a same-gender locker and bathing area (complete with showers, hot tubs with various massage jets, medicinal pools and perhaps a steam room or sauna) and a co-ed area with saunas made of materials like salt, charcoal or red clay, said to help with ailments from asthma to joint pain.

Chatty old people are the main guests, but young people go also, and—surprisingly enough, considering the unattractive shorts-and-t-shirt pajamas everyone must wear—jimjilbang is apparently a popular place for a date.

And (lest you start to think this is a perfectly relaxing experience), it is completely acceptable to allow a toddler to run around the common area while we take turns in the saunas. In fact, Luca gets a lot of attention from loungers who think it’s so adorable he threw his Pororo ball in their direction, or grabbed the straw from their wellbing smoothie.

This time, Joe and Albert were kind enough to allow me plenty of time in the ladies’ bath.

Oh—before I continue, I should clarify that the same-gender bath areas do not allow clothing. My first introduction to jimjilbang was Spa World in Annandale, Virginia, not far from DC. The ladies in the group decided we could wear our swimsuits. What could they say, really? They couldn’t possibly make us strip.

…Well, um. Yes, they could. But, seriously, you faint of heart: Just keep your eyes at eye-level, don’t be too awkward, and you’ll get over it after 5 minutes of relaxing in the jade bath, or whatever. They give you a 2-foot-by-1-foot towel to awkwardly position where you will, to give at least a small shred of modesty to those who care.

Those old ladies I mentioned? They do not care.

Anyway, I spent my precious alone time soaking and relaxing and reflecting. Great for the body; great for the soul. My favorite was the outdoor medicinal hot tub with a wooden spout waterfall. It was awesome until my ears froze (and don't worry, it is blocked from public eye). Only slightly unnerving was the reclining jet tub—you lie back and look up, only to see yourself, your whole self, reflected back on the ceiling mirror. It is just so dang comfortable, though…

But even with a homerun like Dragon Hill Spa, there are a few things (ahem, the ceiling mirror) that are just slightly off, like the somewhat gaudy Las-Vegas-style decorations and especially the bright, casino-loud video-game arcade area guests must pass through to reach the saunas. There’s also something called Indian Barbeque Village on the top floor (advertised with a life-sized statue of a Native American in traditional garb, complete with feather), but we haven’t made it up there.

I hear they sell beer and fried chicken. Obviously, foods that evoke the true meaning of well-being.