The Never-Aging Guy

   Effective 1 September 2013, my husband finally reached the point where he outranked me.  No, not talking about being "the boss" of the house or anything (because we all know he lets me do that job), but I mean that literally, Andy now outranks me.  He got promoted to Major in the United States Army, a rank I never saw before I left active duty.

   Since our time together at West Point, Andy and I have always taken each "step up" at the same time.    From Day 1 when we were plebes, we had our promotion to "Cadet Private First Class" on the same day even though we didn't really know each other.  Then every promotion after that was together - including the one that made us commissioned officers on graduation day, as was the one in Iraq followed by the one in Germany.  

   Then just recently, Andy was all grown up and finally became a field grade officer and pinned all by himself.  The funny thing though - that is clearly evident in these pictures - is that he hadn't aged a day since his first day at West Point.

   Take a look and tell me this guy just will never get old.

Exhibit A) Andy as a brand new Plebe.  Year 2000.

Exhibit B) Andy as a brand new Yuk.  Year 2001.

Exhibit C) Andy as a brand new Cow.  Year 2002.  Terrible haircut, but still the same face.

Exhibit D) Andy as a brand new Firstie.  Year 2003.  *Note, glasses have been ditched, but still looks the same.

Exhibit E) Andy's next promotion during Firstie Year, second semester to Regimental Staff.  Year 2004.

Exhibit F) Andy as a brand new 2LT. (Hat head from the Dress Cap, but still looks the same.)  Year 2004.

Exhibit G) Andy as a new Medical Service Corps Officer.  Another short haircut.  Year 2005.

Exhibit H) Andy as a new 1LT.  Year 2005.

Exhibit I) For some reason I didn't have pictures of our promotion to Captain.  But here's one of us shortly after at his change of command ceremony when he became Company Commander.  Year 2007. (Kaylee apparently skipped all previous ranks and went right to 1LT)

Exhibit J) Andy as a brand new Major.  2013.

Exhibit K) 3 days ago.  2013.

Side by side, then and now.  

New Cadet Chung, Summer 2000 

Major Chung, Summer 2013

Except for the slightest bit of wrinkle forming near the corner of his eyes and the occasional request to pluck out some of his white hairs, this guy most definitely has youth on his side.  Though I am extremely jealous that he still gets carded every time we go out for drinks (or even at Rated R movies!), I'm fairly certain it's his spirit that keeps him so young.  And that is one thing I would never want to change about him.  Proud of this guy.

ABC's = Ga-Na-Da?

   I remember as a kid, some of my Korean friends from junior high were forced to take violin, piano, and go to "Kuman" (math enrichment courses) after school.  I prided myself on the fact that yes, while I took piano and violin, I did that by choice (or did I?) and that I had a genius big brother to do my math homework for me.  I certainly did some "Asian-y" things, like go to weekend orchestra practice and summer music camp, but I was far from the typical Asian-American kid growing up in the 90's.  I never hung in huddles of other Asians in my school, didn't dress nearly as well as some of the Asian girls at my school, and I certainly didn't speak exclusively (or at all) in Korean as some of the others did.  I wore Chuck Taylors, baseball hats, and unnecessarily large sweatshirts everyday, unconsciously avoiding the large Asian crowd and sticking with the few acquaintances I met through orchestra.  Some of the Korean kids that I did hang out with were busy on Saturdays attending Korean school, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to have dodged that bullet because I would much rather be cooler by participating in the discus at my track and field meet.  While I didn't speak much, I felt like I understood a whole lot more of the language than I led on, and for me that was always enough.

   Until now, that is.  Me not knowing the language was OK for me until the day my then-3 year old daughter approached me to tell me she knew Chinese.  And when I corrected her to tell her that we were, in fact Korean, she responded with, "What's that?"

   It was still OK for me then, justifying that I still had some time until I realized that my kids would have a stunted relationship with their grandparents simply because of the language barrier.  One of my biggest regrets in life was that I never got to sit down and just have a chat with my grandmother before she passed away.  This was the same grandmother that raised me, the one who taught me Korean before I knew any other language, the one that I promised I would visit after I graduated West Point.  Every month or so, I would call her and just say Hi, simply because that was all I knew how to say, but I was desperate to see her in person because surely she would know that I cared for her by my expressions and tone of voice (in English).  She ended up passing away 2 days after graduation and just a few days before I was going to visit her, and I promised myself that my kids, at least, would have a different relationship with their grandparents because at a minimum, their Korean would be like mine and my mom actually knows English fairly well.

   But witnessing Andy's parents struggle to communicate with the girls has been very tough to see, and I soon realized that their Korean wasn't just like mine - it was way worse.  They didn't understand a lick of it. No DVD or book would teach them the Korean they needed to know in order for them to be able to communicate with their grandparents.  And I was the weakest link in this mess.

   So the day has come - the day I never imagined I would bring upon the girls (or myself, for that matter).  We started Korean School.

Girls were all smiles...at first.  Balloons do that.

    I had to go register them because Andy was busy entertaining his aunts back at the house, so yes, this is a big "we".  This was a very big step for me.  I had emailed my mom the registration form and she filled it out and submitted it for me, so I thought everything was taken care of.  But when I showed up with the girls, I realized there was much more to it.  Everyone had started forming a line outside the school, and my blood pressure skyrocketed when I saw there were these little stations where we had to stop and fill things out, pick up envelopes, make a payment, write out name-tags, and introduce ourselves to the ladies working there.

Station 1 - I handed the lady a wad of cash, pretending to have pre-counted it. 

   Oh boy, was I in for a disaster.  I stood in line, following the blue tape on the ground, staring at the person in front of me.  Other Korean moms chatted away in perfect Korean, clearly evident that they were from Korea.  Two people ahead of me was this white elderly couple who had brought their mixed granddaughter in.  They were obviously getting a lot of help and I tried to strain my ears to hear, but they were just out of earshot for me to grasp any information.  When it was my turn, I just turned in a blank form, and my face was just as blank when the lady said to me, "You need to fill this out" in Korean.  I gave her my most sincere (apologetic almost) look as I said, "I'm sorry, I don't know Korean very well."  Eeek.  I always hate having to say that.
   The lady apparently knew little English, so she pointed to a corner where I realized she was shoo-ing me to so I could fill the forms out.  With the help of my iPhone and google, I was able to fill out most of the forms within 15 minutes.  By the time I was done, I was sweating, embarrassed, and needing to explain to my impatient children why they were still hanging out waiting for me instead of going with their "Korean friends."  They seemed to sense that I didn't know what was going on, and I could see the anxiety on their faces as well.  I just reassured them that next time Daddy will come and he knows everything in Korean and to not worry.  Then I went back to the forms and left them staring at all the other kids chatting away in the language that they never got the chance to learn.

   And that was only the first station.  There were 3 more.

Station 2 - Binder pick-up 

   Let's just say the other stations were not as bad, but each time I faced it with a new conviction that damnit, we're going to do this.  We're going to learn Korean.  So finally, when it was time to send the girls off, I turned them around, got down to their level and looked them straight in the eye.  I said to them, "Hey.  Check it out.  I'm going to practice this with you.  You'll learn this and so will I, okay?  Don't be afraid, just remember that you are smart and you can do this."

Off they go!

   And just like that, I sent my two brave little girls to face something that had been my biggest fear, challenge, and embarrassment for the past 25 or so years of my life.  The guilt that I felt, imagining them sitting there absolutely clueless for 3 hours, was so overwhelming that I literally apologized out loud as I saw them walk down the hall.  I felt like they were finally doing something FOR me, when I should have done it for them instead.  Nevertheless, I'm proud of them for taking this on, and maybe they will hate me for it afterwards.  But, at least they can resent me for trying instead of for letting them down.

"Chungs Never Give Up."

   There's a reason why people say that parenting just gets harder with time.  When your child is new, you are deprived of sleep and energy just trying to keep your baby alive.  Then come the toddler years when you are cleaning after their constant dribble of bodily fluids and your energy is zapped from ignoring all their temper tantrums.  Then there's preschool time when emotions start getting involved when your feelings actually get hurt when your child directly disobeys you and you have to lay down the law to show who is boss.  Then they start PreK and Kindergarten and then things get intellectual, where you need to outsmart your smarter-than-you child and convince them to do things not just because you said so but because it's the right thing to do.
   Obviously this can't possibly be the worst time - there's always the time in the near future when I can no longer help my kids with their homework or in the very far future when <*gasp*> boys will enter the picture.  I don't even want to think about those teenage years.  But currently, I'm stuck in the here and now - in the early school-age years when the biggest challenge for me is to instill a good foundation of character and values in my little people that will stick with them for years to come.
   How does one actually teach values to little minds?  What is the balance between setting the example and reinforcing by reminding them over and over again?  When does it become nagging and where their little ears begin tuning out your voice even before you open your mouth?  Can they even appreciate, at this young of an age, the meaning of confidence, perseverance, and courage?  And would they recognize it even if they saw it?
   The past few years we've worked on the basics - no lying, no cheating, no stealing (courtesy of West Point's Honor Code) - and I'm pretty sure we got that down pat.  There is no tolerance in our household for any violation of that code, as Kaylee learned at a ripe young age of 4.  

Kaylee's punishment after lying to Mom

But now we are working on other values to instill in our kids - things that both Andy and I like to believe we share in common.  These days, it's been that value of steadfastness and - for lack of a better term - guts.  This in particular has been a challenge to "teach" simply because to some degree, well, you either have it or you don't.  But for two West Point parents to have bred a child without "it" can be a very painful truth to accept, so instead we have parented with a style that just doesn't tolerate the lack of these so-called guts.  We've both been very callous through the years to falls, bumps, and bruises, responding to their cries of pain with some story of how we once got injured when we were kids and never shed a tear and then would ignore their requests for a bandaid.  I repeatedly told them stories of how I missed my hands on the balance beam but yet still got back on it to finish the routine in a competition, or how I got hit in the face with a baseball but never stopped trying to catch, and I even would show them my surgery scars and tell them I was cut open (without mentioning anesthesia) just to get them to shut their whiney mouths about their paper cuts.  But there's only so many stories we can tell, and eventually they will have to figure it out themselves.
   Kaylee learned that the hard way just recently when she crashed her new bike into a tree, badly scraping up her chin.  It took a few weeks, but Andy forced her back on her bike to face her fears, and she eventually passed the very tree that beat her up to ultimately build back that confidence.  I'm so very grateful that she is learning this lesson, one crash at a time.

   Lately Megan has been having a hard time in swimming.  She went from practically doing laps on her back by herself just a few months ago to being completely afraid of the water for the past 2 weeks.  Last Thursday she got a little spooked when her teacher let her get under water when she wasn't expecting it, and since then she has just been plain old frightened.  On Monday, Meg even expressed anxiety at school about her next swim lesson to her teacher and told me for the first time that day after I picked her up, "Mommy, I don't like swimming."  In fact, every day this week she reminded me that she "just doesn't like it", and my response was always the same: "Meg, I know you don't.  It's okay to be scared.  But I need you to try, because once you get it, you will like it.  And plus, our family doesn't give up."  Then on Tuesday it took some convincing to get in the water, and after a pretty decent lesson, I figured she was good to go.  But then today, two days later, it was as if she forgot she had overcome her fears on Tuesday and she had a rough start at today's lesson as well.  I had gone so far as to buy her a new swim suit to give her extra swimming "powers", and I even brought a donut to use as bribery if words alone wouldn't get her in the water.
   I watched carefully tonight as Megan somehow mustered enough courage to get back in the water.  For the next 30 minutes, I could see the anxiety just riding on her face.  She wobbled on the styrofoam noodle, reaching out for her teacher and struggling not to swallow too much water.  She would kick as hard as her feet would let her to just get to the other side, and at any hint of her teacher letting her go she would quickly flip over and grab her teacher's arm.  When on her back, she was pretty much floating on her side and kicking in circles because she was so insecure and wanted to lean in towards the teacher, and I could easily recognize the momentary relief when she would reach the wall and have something to hold onto.  
   At first I admit I was slightly annoyed.  Meg had reverted back and actually gotten worse in swimming, and to me it was silly that she was freaking out when her teacher is obviously holding her.  But when I really looked at her - standing from the bleachers - I could see her little eyes through her foggy goggles - and I saw fear.  It was definitely there, and no matter how silly it was to me, to her it was a very real, raw emotion.  Throughout the entire lesson, her expression never changed - she was terrified, but yet she managed to keep herself together and just push through it.  I was amazed - by changing the way I looked at the situation, my feelings went from annoyed to instant pride.  This thing called "guts" - my kid already has it.  She probably always had, but I just never gave her credit for it.
   When Megan came out of the water, she gave her teacher a high-five and she ran over to me smiling. I wrapped her in a towel and gave her a big hug, telling her how proud I was of her for doing it.  I said to her, "See?  Megan, you did a great job!  There's nothing to be afraid of!" to which she responded, "Yeah!  My last name is Chung.  And Chungs never give up!"

   That's right, Megan.  I know next Tuesday for your next lesson, you're going to be afraid again and I will have to remind you once again that you can do this.  But this time, I'll take your words to heart and remember what you said, that Chungs never give up.  So I will never give up on you.
   
  

   

The Parenting Low's

   Well, can't say I feel like a Champion Mom today.  In fact for a good while there this afternoon, I felt like the world's worst mother (and still kind of do).  The good news is that I'm pretty sure every mom out there has felt like this before, so I'm not alone.  The bad news is that your kids don't care if other moms are the worst - they only care if that "world's worst" title applies to their mom.

   I should start out by mentioning that a huge change recently occurred in our household, one that deserves a post of its own (and I promise I will once I get the circus that is my life under control).  Little Carter Chung joined our family 1 month ago today; and while I am completely in love with life as a new mommy with a fresh slate, I am grieving at the thought that I just tainted the one I had kept somewhat clean for the past three years of Megan's life.  Everyone says the middle child is the hardest to deal with.  I was so unbelievably determined not to let that happen - I had bought her the obligatory "Bigger Sister" T-shirt, talked about how great it is to be a big sister and no longer a baby, and did all the things I thought I should to properly welcome Carter into the world without all the jealously and problems typically associated with new babies.  The first few days were good - in fact they were great.  I was convinced the birth order theory didn't apply to my children with how much love was going around for the new baby.  But sure enough, within 30 days, here I have it - my little Meg Bug has the "Middle Child Syndrome."  And I totally was blind to it.

   For some reason I was looking for all the wrong signs.  I thought that if Megan started hitting him or purposely shoving him or sticking his binkie in her mouth that I would have a problem.  She did none of those things, and in fact she has been quite the opposite.  She absolutely adores her little brother, visibly much more than her older sister does, and she is quick to bring him a blanket or a toy when he is crying or read him a book when he's awake.  She is gentle, loving, and filled with care when she is around Carter.  She prays for him at the dinner table and thanks God for making him "so cute."
   All these things made it so much harder for me when I realized today just how awful things had been for Megan these last few weeks.  Things have been so busy I hadn't had much time to study (I'm supposed to be taking national board exams here soon), and today I had the opportunity to sit down for several consecutive hours at the library.  Literally within 10 minutes of arriving there, I received a call from the girls' summer camp telling me that Megan had been crying ever since I left and was inconsolable.  Admittedly, my first reaction was "Well, she shouldn't be crying - leave her alone!  Heck, leave ME alone I'm trying to study!"  But I quickly realized something big must be going on, and especially after talking to Andy (who they also called and who ultimately talked to Meg on the phone to calm her down), I discovered she'd been acting "off" all week long and doing things very uncharacteristic of the sweet girl she is - she'd been disobedient, hitting others, and crying every day.
   I sat in my car for a good 10 minutes thinking things over before I went to pick her up.  I thought back to the past few weeks and strained my memory to try to figure out where I'd gone wrong.  Looking through my eyes, I actually saw things going well.  My mom got here to help out about a week and a half ago and she'd been taking Megan to her swim lesson in the morning while I took Kaylee to her team practice at FT Meade at about the same time.  I was able to work a deal with the camp to let them do half days instead of full days so they could get their swim time in the morning and not get burned out with the same mundane activities of a smaller camp.  On occasion, like yesterday, when Kaylee didn't have morning practice I would take the girls both to Megan's pool and would swim laps with Kaylee while Megan was at her lesson.  In my head, I rationalized that I was doing good for the girls because I was taking away my "study time" in order to give them "fun time."  And the times that I was swimming with Kaylee was an added bonus because now I'm giving Megan swim lesson time, Kaylee one-on-one coaching time, and me some physical activity time (Lord knows I haven't had that in a while!) all at the same time.  I thought it was a win for all.
   Well, clearly I was wrong.  And once I realized just how very wrong I was, my heart just shattered into a bazillion pieces.  I thought back to how Megan had wet her pants twice in the past week and how she had actually pooped in her swimsuit just yesterday at her swim lesson (something I didn't find out until we got into the showers afterwards - boy was I furious!)  I thought, for the first time, through her eyes and tried to imagine her day and what that was like...and I realized just how much I had been neglecting her.
   Yes, she may have had morning swim lessons, and no doubt the girls loves swimming.  But in her head she went to swimming with Grandma while Mommy was at a different pool with Kaylee and Carter.  Then after camp she comes home, where now Daddy takes Kaylee to evening swim practice while Mommy holds Carter all evening.  There's no wonder why she pooped yesterday because even though I told her to come get me if she needed something, all she probably saw was that Mommy was busy swimming with Kaylee.  To make matters worse, Kaylee's birthday party is Saturday and all our "girl time" at home had revolved around packing treat bags and prepping for the party and Megan's birthday comes way after both Carter's and Kaylee's.  Sure, she's a big sister now, but really how special is that title when it's just yet another hand-me-down title that her sister had first?
   So, knowing that this would take some time, I decided (with Andy's help on ideas) - to pack up my bags and pick Megan up to take her on a date.  We went to the mall - and shamefully I did run some more errands for Kaylee's party - but I presented it as Megan's official "Big Sister Party" with Mommy and Mommy alone.  Of course within 15 minutes of arriving at the mall, my mom called me to tell me to come home because Carter had been fussing inconsolably for the past few hours and I almost lost my mind right then and there at Old Navy.  But thankfully he stopped and Megan and I were able to enjoy our afternoon out.  We bought her an outfit to wear to Kaylee's party, then got frozen yogurt, picked up a few books, and rode those stupid carnival rides that eats up your quarters.
   I realize this doesn't fix anything or make anything much better, but I took some pictures to at least remember my pathetic attempt at helping my daughter regain her sense of self-worth, security, and place in the family and this world.  

   Perhaps the thing that is eating away at me is that she has no idea why she feels the way she does.  She has no idea how to verbalize her emotions much less understand them herself.  Each day she would go to swimming and to camp happy as a clam, only to later break down in a wreck of emotions making her cry out for her parents.  She didn't know why she was having so many accidents, and she probably didn't understand why she was getting punished so much for them.  Meg definitely didn't understand why I picked her up without her sister today, and as we walked the mall she kept pointing out things that she thought Kaylee would like for her birthday.  At one point she stuck her finger out at "Monster's Oooniversity" by the Disney Store and specifically asked, "Can we buy that?" at a pack of Monsters, Inc. figurines.  In all her life I had never heard her ask to buy anything - it had always been "Look at this, Mom!" "Wow, I like that!", but never "Can I have that?"  So of course I caved and spent the $21 on cheap PVS toy figurines that will soon find their way under the couches and beds.  But for the day, it made her happy.

   It will be a while before I get over this guilt.  Andy and I both noticed a few weeks ago that Megan had been so quick to run upstairs and play by herself in the playroom while the rest of the family would hang downstairs, and we just chalked it up to her enjoying her own space.  The more I think of it, the more things keep popping into my head that I now recognize as signs that things weren't going well for our young daughter.  I have no idea how to unload some of this guilt - I almost don't want to because I feel it will make me a better mom in time.  But I also know that I won't make it past her 5th year of life without dying from guilt if I can't find a way to let it go because surely I'll be messing more stuff up in the near future.
 
   And thus lies the not-so-great moments of parenthood.  The times that make your heart ache and brings you to desperation to pray day and night for weeks and months that your child does not become affected long-term by your poor choices and actions.  The times where you wish that your claim of "I tried my best" actually will mean something to your kids one day.  The times where you genuinely would turn back time to do things differently.
   Megan has to be the sweetest kid on this earth, with a heart full of love and compassion for other people.  I am so lucky she is like that because although I know I don't deserve it, she has forgiven me.

Parent Teacher Conferences

   Andy and I recently went to the girls' Parent-Teacher Conferences together, an event I had to miss last quarter due to my own schooling.  This time, though, I made every effort to be there and even got an excusal slip signed by my general practice manager to send to the Dean's office.  When I knocked on my manager's door and handed him the slip, he read my "excuse" and laughed at me.  "Teacher conferences for Kindergarten and preschool, eh?", he smirked.  "Well, go do what you gotta do."
   I already felt horrible that I missed the first conference in October and I certainly didn't appreciate his sarcastic tone implying that my time in clinic was more important.  I realize how ridiculous it sounds to have teacher conferences for a 5 and 3 year old, but when you're a parent who spends 85% of your children's weekday awake time away from them, there's nothing more exciting (and nerve-wrecking) to go chat with the people who see and spend time with them the most.  There was no way I was going to miss this!
   I may have underestimated how nervous I felt for this conference.  Boy how things change when kids grow up.  When the girls were smaller, teacher conferences were so much more exciting.  There was nothing they could say about a 1 year old or even 2 year old that would concern a parent.  In fact, it was quite the opposite, where all our conferences during those ages were all fluffed up about how "bright", "smart", and "caring" our girls were.  I'm sure all the other parents got the same speech to make them feel like their kid is the most fabulous child in the school.  I remember the girls' teachers would pull out some scribbled sheet of paper to show me their "work" and tell me how amazing it was that they could navigate the paper with the crayon.  And like all parents of really young children, we went home pleased and not at all shocked of all the great things the teachers had to say about our kids.

   Then the kids started growing up and now my girls are in a private Christian school where not only are the academics a bit more challenging, but the social interactions are much more complicated due to the nature of the smaller classrooms and the fact that they are older.  Just a few weeks ago, we received an email from Ms. Shannon, Kaylee's kindergarten teacher, expressing some concerns regarding her "bully-like" behavior towards another little girl in the class.  The email just about devastated me - I cannot even describe in words how bad I felt about it.  Not just for the other girl and her family, but simply because I felt like I had failed as a parent because I somehow had allowed my daughter to think it's ok to be a mean girl.  I played things over and over again in my head in how I had not taken time out to talk to Kaylee about bullies and regretted not being able to "see" this kind of potential behavior exist in her personality.  With Megan, we repeatedly had received notes home from Ms. Natalie stating that she did not finish her work at school and thus had to complete the worksheets for homework or that she refused to take a nap that day.  Again, for the past several months, I hated myself for not pushing her harder to learn to sit down and listen to directions and give her the same type of attention I had given Kaylee when it came to teaching her the alphabet and her numbers.  
   The guilt of failing my children gnawed away at me with each note or letter that we received stating whatever problem the girls had that day.  Academically, I knew Kaylee was fine if not excellent, but I constantly worried about her social behavior, competitiveness, and confidence in the classroom.  For Megan, I knew she would have no behavioral issues, but I had some serious concerns about her attention span, ability to follow directions, and general respect for authority.  All these concerns were things I as a parent should and could have worked on with my own children, and now I was going to face these teachers for the first time to hear what they have to say.

  We spoke with Megan's teacher first because Kaylee's was running a little behind schedule.  Ms. Natalie immediately pointed out in a very exaggerated tone, "Megan's coloring is BEAAAUTIFUL!  It is absolutely GORGEOUS.  It's AMAAAAZING."  It was kind of funny but also concerning because I couldn't help but wonder what she was covering up.  She told us that Megan's attention had improved significantly since last quarter and that she is much better at focusing on her schoolwork.  She told us that Megan is very good with other children and that she has never had to worry about her acting poorly in a social setting (whew) and that once again, her artwork is "ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE."  We had to stop there for a few minutes because Kaylee's teacher was now available and the next set of parents for Ms. Natalie had arrived, so we excused ourselves and told her we'd be back in a bit.
   On the way out I took a glimpse at the classroom's bulletin board, and saw all the Preschool kids' snowman pictures.  One stood out fairly quickly to my eyes, simply because it was colored to completion and was relatively neat compared to some of the other scribbled snowmen.  I squinted to read the name - and was stunned to see that it was Megan's!!  Wow!!  Ms. Natalie was right!  She wasn't lying at all....Megan's coloring really IS beautiful!

Meg's snowman - top left

   I smiled in realizing that my little Megan was becoming the budding artist I never knew she would be and stepped into Kaylee's classroom, where my anxiety quickly suppressed my good feelings from just a second ago.

  Things started out really great to my surprise.  Ms. Shannon was quick to point out that Kaylee had since stopped her mean tendencies towards that other girl and in fact starting standing up for her.  "Whatever you did with her at home, whatever you said, it worked!  We have had no problems with her since then."  If only she could see my joy on the inside - boy was I relieved to hear that.  What had been eating away at me for 2 weeks could finally be put away, and in its place came pride.  Pride not just for me and my tactic of talking to Kaylee about what it was like for me to be the little girl being bullied at my elementary school long ago, but pride for Kaylee.  I was so happy to hear that she was smart and mature enough to understand that she was wrong and that she was actively working to fix herself.
   From that moment, the rest of the conference was smooth sailing.  We chatted a bit about Kaylee being a bit hard on herself and not wanting to try new things (which Andy and I both agree that we may have been too hard on her when she fails at stuff at home from an early age), but Ms. Shannon mentioned that when Kaylee "ran" for class president and was voted second for VP, that she took it really well and that she has been participating in gym class and has had no issues with her.  Ms. Shannon showed us her report card and we were really pleased with our smarty-pant's performance.  Kaylee had almost a perfect score across the board (got a few 80's in math, which Andy quickly pointed out, "What's up with that?!") - but she has over 100% average in all her other subjects and admittedly, we rarely ever worked with her to study for tests or anything like that.  These grades are all her.   

Kaylee's 2nd quarter report card

   We went back to Ms. Natalie after Kaylee's conference and she showed us Megan's report card.  Apparently Meg knows her letters up to "I", which Ms. Natalie assured us was ok because that's how far they had gotten to in class.  It made Andy's eyebrows go up for a minute though, slightly concerned that we are more than halfway done with the school year but not nearly halfway through the alphabet.

Megan's report card

   I left the building of the school overall really happy.  Andy and I enjoyed a hot chocolate from Dunkin Donuts on the way back, "celebrating" that the conferences went OK.  They weren't bad at all, but they weren't great either.  I realized that the days of the 1 and 2 year old conferences were gone where the teachers would tell me that my kid is the best in the class.  Now it is time for addressing some concerns and coming back next quarter to see how much they've improved.  I started realizing that there will always be work to be done at home and that it's really not going to get any easier than this.  And "this" is hard - has been hard.  But I also realized - to my relief - that much of the things we need to work on at home are all the result of what I did or didn't do as a parent.  Whether it be Kaylee's fear of trying new things or Megan's inability to recognize the letter "L", it's all stuff that I - as their Mom - need to work on with them.  As far as they are concerned, it was clearly evident that Kaylee and Megan both put in their fair share of the work and proved that they as individuals are excelling in their own ways.  We never really sat down with either of them to do schoolwork, and yet Kaylee managed to consistently score high on all her tests and she obviously can pick up the new information.  As soon as Andy and I addressed her behavioral issues in the classroom, she listened and immediately stopped.  For the letters and numbers that Ms. Natalie DID teach, Megan could recognize them all, which tells me that she is paying attention and learning on her own.  What more can I really ask of them?
   While I realized there was some work for ME to do, I quickly came to the conclusion that the girls were right on track and did everything that was asked and expected of them.  For this, I was filled with extreme pride for both of them and instantly turned my car around.  Instead of going back to school in Baltimore as I had already planned, I chose instead to go to the Arundel Mall.
   At the mall I visited the Disney Store where I scored on a "buy 1 get 1 free" deal of stuffed animal princesses.  Kaylee had been asking for a Tinkerbell, so I got her that and Megan a Jasmine doll (both for just $10!).  

   It's not every day that I spend money on them to buy them material things, but I felt like with how hard they've worked, they deserved it.  

     Once again in this journey called "parenting", I learned yet another lesson: Gotta keep working.  Kids will do what is asked of them, but it's up to me to be asking the right things for them to do.  Kids will stop if they are told to stop, but it's up to me to identify what needs to be stopped before it's too late.  And this will never end.
   I may not have really deserved anything, but stopped into Modell's to get myself a Raven's shirt.  Since there really is no "end" to this parenting job, I figured I could treat myself for what I considered to be my own progress report and self-evaluation.  Heck, the whole family deserves a shirt, right?  The success of one is the success of all in this family.  And that, my friends, is how I believe all parents get through the hard times.  Even when they think they are doing a horrible job, when they see their kids do something great, the parents must have done at least something right....right?  At least that's how I justified everyone winning a shirt for the day.

Why Dental School is a Lot Like Being a Parent

   It's now 2013 and I find myself reflecting a lot lately.  I just turned 31 28 for the 3rd time and I guess I'm just in awe of how fast those 3 years went by.  It really feels like yesterday that we moved here to Maryland in 2010 yet so much has changed since then.  When I think back to the 2.5 yo and 8 mo old girls I brought with me from Germany and the person I was before dental school - I realize we all have grown up - and I came upon a stunning realization that the course of my parenting adventure has amazing similarities to my expedition through dental school.  

   It probably isn't apparent to most people that being a Mom or Dad has anything to do with being a dental student.  But it definitely does, and I will have to start from the beginning to explain this phenomenon.

   Thinking back on receiving my acceptance letter to dental school, I can easily remember those feelings of surprise, joy, and complete excitement that I actually was going to become  a dentist.  At first I didn't believe it, then I jumped up and down a few times, called my family to share the news and celebrated with my husband.  Similarly back in 2006, after the initial shock wore off from first seeing that pink line on the pregnancy test, I recall a very similar event in which I most definitely didn't believe it, then called my family and celebrated with my husband (while he threw down a few drinks for other reasons I'm sure).  People around us even reacted in similar ways to both instances.  We received many congratulations regarding my future as a dentist just as I had with my future as a new parent. In both these situations, I was overjoyed, proud of the dentist/parent I would become, and vowed to myself that no matter how hard it is that I'll push myself to be the most fabulous dentist/parent ever.  I had day dreams of making my patients love and trust me just as I had dreams of my children wanting me to be their best friend.  

   Then as time went on for about 6-8 months since my acceptance letter / positive pregnancy test, I started doubting myself.  The anxiety began to set in.  Can I really do this?  Is this really happening?  Am I ready?  What else can I do to prepare?  There is nothing worse than that gut wrenching feeling around 3 weeks before dental school starts / before your due date where you feel like you can't run away from what is to come.  I remember distinctly in both situations, I had a talk with myself to say - face it, and just be confident.

   Then the day came.  The first day of dental school.  That day when I marched into the building, standing tall and ready for all the challenges that lay ahead.  I was on a high, not even phased by the fact that I couldn't sleep all night.  Similarly, the day my first daughter was born, I don't remember being tired at all despite the fact that I had been up since 10pm the night before.  Suddenly I became a parent - I had a new challenge, and I told myself that I'd be the very best that I can be.  I said the same thing when I first donned my white coat.

   By Day 3 of being a brand new student/parent, I realized the high was gone, and I was exhausted.  For the next 8-12 months, I slept very little.  I was up at weird hours of the night  and waking at ridiculously early times in the morning.  In becoming a dental student just as I had as a new mom, I distinctly threw away any motivation to make myself appear remotely put-together.  My daughter did learn to sleep better with each passing night, just as I learned to study better with each passing exam - but that didn't stop her from waking up at night just as my exams never stopped coming.  Even though I expected it, both first years of parenting and dental school always brought upon unfortunate events that just slapped me in the face, no matter how prepared I was.  No parent can prepare for a poop/vomit combo blowout just as no student can ever prepare for dropping a case full of teeth during a practical exam.

   Somewhere in that first year, I hit some milestones.  Those were what kept me going as a parent and also as a surviving first year dental student.  I went through the rites of passage of gross anatomy lab and picking up a handpiece.  Similarly, during the first years as a parent I witnessed my child's first spoon-fed meal and first steps.  I realized though that those milestones were there to just make me feel better.  As soon as you pat yourself on the back for getting this far, your kid rolls off the bed and bonks her head or you stab yourself with a running drill.

   At the 1 year mark, I started feeling more "advanced".  Not really, but I desperately wanted to feel it.  In school I saw new freshman coming in and I recall thinking how glad I was to not be them.  When my daughter turned 1 I remember feeling like a pro when I saw new young parents in the pediatrician's waiting room as they wooed over their newborn thinking "Hah, just wait."  By that 1 year point, I had a rhythm, a schedule and had things relatively under control.

   The problem is that starting Year 2 of dental school or Year 2 of being a parent is that it's still hard, if not harder - and no one really cares anymore.  People stopped asking how I was doing, and it was as if they seemed to think that since I'd been doing this for a year now, what's the problem?  Let me tell you what the problem is.  Year 2 is a lot like Year 1, except the novelty had worn off.  Being a Year 2 dental student is like being in a forgotten dungeon.  People forget all about you - all the attention goes to the first year students to help them get adjusted, the 3rd year students to help them begin clinic sessions, and 4th year students to help them graduate.  Likewise, being a parent of a 1 year old is old news because your kid is not the innocent little newborn anymore but you don't really get "credit" for dealing with the "Terrible Two's" because, well, they're not 2 yet.  It's awful.  My 2nd daughter didn't sleep well her entire first 2 years of life, and I most certainly didn't snooze right through that myself. My 2nd year of dental school was equally sleep-deprived as it was academically far challenging than my first year - I took more exams, had more lab hours, but just like being a parent of a 1 year old - it was a year to simply "suck up."

   Then 3rd year began - and in both my experiences as a dental student and as a parent - that was the year that everything changed.  My role suddenly changed.  Instead of taking care of the very basics (learning what's in the books / changing diapers and feeding), I suddenly became responsible to actually put all my skills into play.  I started clinic sessions as a 3rd year student, and in my 3rd year of parenting I suddenly had a comprehending, curious and very smart kid to deal with.  I had to learn to communicate better - with my stubborn toddler and stubborn patient alike.  I learned that chairside manners mattered more than book smarts for my patients, just like my behavior and quick wit mattered more than "What to Expect" books for my children.  This was the year - the 3rd year of being a dental student / parent - that I learned to manipulate and convince the patient/child that I was right.  I had to bribe my patients to brush their teeth and scare them into doing home oral hygiene just as I had done with my kids to simply behave and listen to me.  A big part of both working with patients and with kids is that I had to convince them that whatever I was proposing was their idea to begin with. 

   While I haven't gotten to my 4th year of dental school yet, I did reach my 4th year as a parent and I can easily predict what this year of school will be like.  In the 4th and final year of dental school, I will really be tested in pretty much everything I've learned and accumulated in the past 3 years.  There are national boards, regional/state board exams, endless competency exams and applications to residencies or jobs.  It's as if one test is not enough to prove that I know how to be a dentist.  I can see that being a parent of a 4 year old is oddly not much different.  Everything I'd practiced (or didn't practice) came out of the closet by this stage.  Just like being a 4th year dental student, being a 4th year parent is filled with tests.  My daughter asked endless questions, quizzing me, testing me - not just on my patience but on every. single. thing that she was curious about.  But why?  How does that work?  Why does it do that?  How come you don't know why it does that?  All I wanted to say was "Just because that's the way it is!!" but just like any patient who wants answers, a kid can see right through it.

   Then in 2014 I'll be done with school, and I'm curious if the similarities between my dental career and parenting will continue.  Just the other day, I sent my very first patient that I started working with in June 2012 home with her new set of partial dentures.  It had been a long, arduous process involving appointments on a bimonthly basis (minimum) and hours and hours of work, re-work, and more work.  When I completed her final adjustment yesterday and watched her walk through the doors outside from the reception desk, I felt a pang of some feeling similar to that when I first sent Kaylee off to Kindergarten.  Just as I had taught Kaylee to keep her legs crossed, use nice words, and be friendly towards others before sending her off, I had worked with my patient for 8 months, giving her the tools and instruction to take care of herself and her teeth, and sent her home.  Funny when I look back and compare the two events, I found myself reflecting on all that I've learned throughout these few years and realized it's far more than I could have imagined.

   Both parenting and dental school certainly made me age.  I feel, act, and look older.  Both experiences gave me anxiety at some points where I thought I would break, and I felt like I was falling off the edge a few times in both my parenting and educational adventures.  I found comfort in seeking friends in dental school or parents that could relate to my frustrations, and more than once in my parenting path or school experience did I ask myself "How did I get here"?

   I know it doesn't get easier.  Just because I graduate from doesn't mean my professional life now will be easy.  Just because my kids are potty trained and can tie their shoes certainly doesn't mean that my job is done.  I guess what I learned from both these experiences is the similarities that in the end - life in general just gets harder.  As it should.  After all, where is the joy in overcoming those challenges if everything were easy?  

Accidental Dental

   I realize that I don't write much about school in here, and there is a reason for that.  Well due to the sheer fact that students spend nearly 9 physical hours during the day in that building plus an additional 2-5 hours at home just learning dentistry and medicine, I hardly doubt anyone wants to be writing about the subject in their free time.  But mainly, these past few months in clinic have been the most challenging times for me and the overwhelming frustrations that have manifested inside would probably be spewed out in a highly inappropriate and irrational manner if I tried to write about it as they happened. 
   
   I've always known that I'm a bit clumsy and tend to drop a lot of things (understatement).  I've faced lots of disappointment in my past when I caused more work for myself....especially that first summer at West Point when I would drop my rifle during (every) road march and had to pay for it by doing push-ups with a ruck on my back (lots of pushups for me that summer).  For my H.S. senior art project I spilled ink all over a piece I'd been working on for 2 weeks, and then just last year I dropped a provisional crown and rolled over it with my chair 20 minutes before the practical exam was over (I failed). 
   But really, when things really counted, I always thought I could rely on myself to pull through.  After all, I never dropped my babies on their heads or anything, although they managed to do that themselves by rolling off my bed once or twice (wonder if it's a heritable trait?)
   Anyway, all the times that I've fallen, gotten hurt, or dropped something, has really just affected me.  Now that I am in clinic as a 3rd year student, all my mistakes and errors suddenly began having grave implications for other people, too...and had I known just how bad it would be, I am not sure I still would have thought this profession would be good for me.

   Let me introduce you to Patient A: Mrs. K.  Mrs. K. has been waiting for her partial dentures (both upper and lower) for over 2 years as she was passed on from student to student before coming to me.  She was so embarrassed of her teeth that she quit working entirely, and she pleaded with me to try to get them to her by Thanksgiving so she could get a job to start right after Christmas.  I filled her cavities and got her free of infection within 2 appointments, and now I was ready to start denturing.  This was in June, she was my first real patient, and I thought I was awesome.  So of course I told her "Oh yes, maybe by October!"  It is now late September.
   
   Now onto Patient B: Mrs. J.  Mrs. J came to a fourth year student who already fulfilled his dentures requirement and asked me to do the case with him.  Therefore, I got to jump right in as a co-therapist to work on her case without all the prior paperwork that typically takes weeks to get through.  She needed a complete upper denture and a lower partial.  That was in later June, she was my second real patient, and I still thought I was awesome.  So of course I told her "Oh yes, maybe by October!"  Guess what?  It's still late September since I wrote that last paragraph.

   For you readers (that would be Andy, and my mom) that don't know dentistry, let's just say that the first appointment, all you do is make a mold of the patient's mouth.  With that mold, you make a custom tray to make an even more accurate of the patient's mouth.  Then you have a second appointment, where you get a final impression of the teeth, make a final mold, and that is what you work with to make the dentures or to send it out to the lab.  In total, a complete dentures can ideally be delivered to the patient in 5 appointments from start to finish.  
   Between Mrs. K. and Mrs. J, I've had over 11 appointments, and technically only got to the "second" appointment each time.  I had uneventful first appointments for both, but I repeated the second appointment 5 times with Mrs. K and 3 times with Mrs. J.  It has been a long road.
   For Mrs. K., the final cast mold came out with a broken tooth.  Obviously, no good.  

Yep, there was a tooth in that big space!

   But I wasn't entirely upset because these things happen.  So I brought her back for another appointment.  This time, the cast came out great, then when I went to trim it, I dropped it onto the counter top and a tooth went flying away (zing!)  I held back some tears as I called to explain what had happened.

The premolar had broken off....here it is sitting on top of the cast.

   Somewhere in between these appointments, I saw Mrs. J.  It was at her appointment when I was doing a final impression when the custom tray slipped from my hand and I watched it agree with gravity (in slow motion, of course) as it flew gracefully through the air and cracked in half on the hard floor surface.  Since this was my first screw-up with this patient, I wasn't all too upset at this event and managed to keep it together.

My custom tray.  Bye-bye, 2 hours.

   Back to Mrs. K....by the third appointment, I had some help.  My dear friend, Andrey, is totally a lab-rat and he assisted taking the cast out of the mold.  I was ever so grateful, that I completed the design and was walking up the stairs to get it checked by the lab tech guy and wham!  Faceplant up the stairs.  A different tooth fell off.  I cried a single tear.  I went to the lab tech guy and asked him if he could use the different casts I had, each with a different tooth that had fallen off.  He said no, and I shed another tear.  I figured I may push graduation back a few months.

   For Mrs. K.'s next visit, things went well during the appointment but up in the lab, disaster struck when my knife I was using to peel away the mold slipped and cut off a lower incisor.  I tried to glue it back on, but it was a little obvious and was easily called out when I went to the lab tech guy.  I'm pretty sure I cried in the bathroom.  I decided I'd make it up to Mrs. K. somehow, even if it meant baking her some cookies as a consolation prize.  And then I realized she had no teeth to eat them with....and that was all my fault!

See that crack on the front middle tooth?  Yeah, so do I.

   I will spare the rest of the details of how each appointment went.  You can clearly see a pattern forming.  My faculty forbade me to come to an appointment without an assistant.  My other lab-rat friend Wes helped me that last day with Mrs. Kim, and I flew through that appointment.  By then I had gone through that same appointment 8 times between 2 different people, so I felt pretty confident I could at least go through the motions.

   The last appointments I had for both patients was just this past week.  And finally, FINALLY, today I can say that I'm making progress.  After pouring up and separating the cast molds, I probably put in a good 3 hours combined readjusting the designs, doing the paperwork, working with the faculty and getting the approvals I needed to get things moving and sent to the lab.  And ever so carefully, I tucked these casts in bubble wrap that I brought my house, stuffed them in my lab coat pocket, and slowly made my way to the elevators upstairs to print out my lab form.

Lab order on the computer.

 Then I took this bucket and placed the casts in there, and ever so carefully walked to the lab office to turn it in.

My two casts for upper and lower with design approved.

 I was greeted by Mr. B., who saw what I had and said, "OH!! Wow!! You're getting somewhere now!!" Apparently I'm well known in the prosthodontics department as someone to NOT accept to their post grad program.

The awesome lab tech guy who was wondering why I was taking his picture.

Mr. B let me take a photo of the final lab order printout.

    I couldn't believe when I headed back to get my bags that I had DONE it.  I had FINALLY done it.  Something was finally getting done.  I was so overwhelmed (and hungry), that I decided to celebrate my achievement by treating myself to an overpriced cheese and tomato sandwich from the Student Center.

Seriously, 7 bucks for this??

   I know that this is only a small victory.  For the month and a half that I'd been working on the same appointments over and over again, I'd brought in zero dollars to the school in terms of production because they were all no-cost visits for obvious reasons.  So in that sense, I've accomplished nothing.  Also, there is MUCH work ahead once the lab sends me back the framework...since after all, it's just a piece of metal with no teeth on them.  But to me, I've just climbed a dental school mountain.  There sure is another valley with a larger hill up ahead, and many more after that, but I really don't care right now.  It's these small blessings I need to start counting and celebrate these little "hooray" moments with myself.