Fun in San Francisco (oh, and Luca is still allergic)

Luca has been so healthy, I started to think I was overdoing it.

Maybe I was too particular about his bathing and moisturizing routine, too protective over what he puts in his mouth.

I thought maybe—just maybe I’d get to introduce wheat, maybe soy, maybe sesame. A few things to make eating out and traveling that much easier.

I was holding out hope that I wouldn’t have to worry about putting him in church nurseries, where goldfish and graham crackers are the snacks de rigueur.

But, no. It turns out his blood still reflects high numbers for the major allergens: nuts, egg, dairy, wheat, soy, sesame—meaning he is likely allergic. Way too likely to make it worth trying them with a child so young.

The bright side? We tested seafood for the first time, and thankfully, his numbers were low. That means an allergy is unlikely; that means we can try some fish.

I’m clinging to the bright side.

The other bright side? It could be much, much worse. Yes, I’ll stress over any preschool or nursery Luca attends. Yes, I won’t be able to relax at any party with food.

However, my son is healthy. His skin is gorgeous.

Let me say that again for the comfort of my year-ago self: Luca’s skin is gorgeous. He is healthy. I am so, so, so very thankful for this.

Now I know our hard work and diligence, every single day, has been for a purpose. But now I know our hard work will continue, at least until the next time we test.

Happily, I hardly had a chance to register the mixed emotions that came with our allergist appointment. The UCSF visit was sandwiched between classic Pier 39 escapades with my parents and time with a couple great friends.

Luca had a blast on our mini vacation with Nana and Papa. He particularly loved the hotel room, accented with his favorite color (orange). 

Here are some pictures from the weekend that make me smile:

"Pewie, sea lions!"

My sweet boy

I like Nana and Papa, but not so sure about sea lions... yet.

Warms my heart...

Ahoy!

"Ride it??"

The horsie.

The dragon.

"Ride it again? AGAIN??"

Luca, you WILL pose with me!!!

"Look! Sea lions!"

Who is pushing my stoller, Mom?!

Squatting, just like creepy Elmo man.

Julie!!!!!!

Feeding Allie his gluten-free pretzel

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.