Baby Feet!

Baby feet have become a whole new thing around the house. At first, they just poked adorably out of the wraps. But, suddenly in the past week, feet have become terribly interesting.



You can play with them.



You can stick them up on things.



You can stand on them!

And, in the middle of the night, you can lift both of them up and drop them really hard making the whole mattress quake and Mum and Paw roll over and groan (oh, so quietly). (no photo available)

Boiled Eggs on a Stick

If you read my recent post "Pancakes on a Stick," you will certainly still be mulling over the thought of boiled eggs on a stick. As luck would have it, on Sunday Amnat and I ran into a boiled-eggs-on-a-stick lady sitting on the sidewalk not far from the house. Boiled eggs on a stick, like many Thai street foods, are sold by peddlers who carry, push, or drive stuff around. You know they are coming, because they have a honky horn and they honk their way down your street.



I've discovered that if you say, in Thai, that you have a website, people WANT their picture taken. The boiled-eggs-on-a-stick lady hopped up from her little plastic stool to shoulder the load and make a proper presentation. She carries two baskets from a bamboo bow with a charcoal burner in one basket to keep the eggs hot. Yes, hot charcoals walking down the street in 90 degree weather. Unfortunately, a few words spoken with convincing accent sets people to thinking you actually speak their language. She told me an awful lot about the eggs, but I only caught about every seventh word.



The eggs were still warm when she put them in a bag for me, but Amnat wouldn't let me eat them. He's quite fussy about food, as he's had a lot of bad food over the years. When I asked why we couldn't eat them, he just said - salty. I've learned to trust his judgment. Thai people eat from a very long list of unpalatable things. And, strong flavors are what drives Thai cuisine. If he says it's salty, it's SALTY.



From what I could piece together from Amnat and the boiled-eggs-on-a-stick lady, the eggs are boiled, then brined and then skewered and heated over the charcoal fire. Seems like you'd need a beer with them for sure, but there was no ice chest in that second basket.

What We Learned from Our First Play Date

Blocks taste good.
Babies are exciting, and it makes you want to squeeze them really hard.
Crying is contagious.

Luckily, this time it was just the babies crying.

Pancakes on a Stick

Thai people love to eat food on sticks. I've had watermelon on a stick, and fish balls, Fanta and Coke popsicles, porks balls, hot dogs (deep fried.... oi), boiled quail eggs (in the shell), and I've even seen fetal chickens - in the shell - barbecued - and put on a stick. Didn't try that one, needless to say. But, this week at the local street market I saw a new take on stick cuisine. Pancakes on a stick.

Because they are Thai pancakes, they are beautiful and fun and anything but dull. These pancakes come with cartoons, of course, but the secret to this cart's success is the jelly swirl embedded in the cake. The pancake-on-a-stick lady squeezes on the jelly swirl then overlays more cake batter from a squeezy bottle to hide it. All this, AND you can have it with jellyfish decoration!

Nearby, the competition offers fish waffles with various fillings. The griddle is just the coolest, and if it weren't cast iron, I'd ship one home. The fish-waffle guy uses little hooks to flip open the hot waffle maker, and the sound is hypnotic, as is the smell. He offers about seven filling flavors all (kind of) fruity and very artificial tasting. The brown one is chocolate. There's a lot of brown-flavored stuff here, no real chocolate to speak of. But, none of the fish waffles actually tastes like fish.


You laugh. Two weeks ago I brought home from the little neighborhood baker some "chocolate chip" cookies. They had curious looking chips, but everything is a little askew here anyway. First bite seemed a little fishy, but I'm a tad sensitive about people sneaking me fishy shit all the time, so I munched on thinking I was just sleep deprived and delusional. Second bite, the chips were definitely chewy and brownish. Dried shrimp, no kidding.

You gotta' watch these Thai people all the time....

Welcome to My World

Every day I walk past this sign about four times. It is as big as me, which makes the mosquitoes about as big as Jimmy. The sign is mounted on the motorbike parking lean-to of the Chiang Mai Women's Correctional Institution, our neighbor across the street. Believe me, our little family doesn't need the reminder.

We spend a good bit of every day incinerating mosquitoes with our little re-chargable tennis raquet/mosquito electrocutor. We've nicknamed it "The Zapper." On many occasions I have even caught my Buddhist, I-was-a-monk-for-16-years husband OUTSIDE incinerating mosquitoes in the garden. He regularly yells, "Die" (in English) while doing this.

We will probably all come back in our next life bug-born for our efforts, but with malaria and dengue fever in the city, we are taking our chances. Can't wait to get back to the great Northeast where the mosquitoes die with the first frost, and they can't actually kill you.

Jimmy's Four-Month Family Self-Portrait

Gosh, I love these digital self-portraits, even when they are slightly out of focus. And who doesn't look better slightly out of focus, anyway? We had to take quite a few before we could get Jimmy away from the booby. We'll just save those for family consumption.

With just a few days to spare, Jimmy managed to check off the last of his development hurdles this month. He lifted his head to full vertical on his tummy. When was the last time you had yourself in such a position? It looks exhausting and usually ends with a wimper which quickly turns to a more direct plea to be put in any other position. It's hard to be a baby.



Amnat and Jimmy are both tucked in as I'm typing away, so I'll be brief. Actually, there's no tucking in going on, with the days still hovering around 90 degrees. We just sprawl under the mosquito net. Before living here, I thought sleeping under a mosquito net would be terribly exotic. It turns out to be a big pain, especially on the rare occasion when you trap a mosquito IN with you. But, some day we will likely look back on these photos taken through filmy netting and feel wistful.


We're doing fine, even when we're not. We have a lot to be thankful for.

Baby Visits His First Museum (of sorts)

About a month ago, I felt compelled to find something educational to do with my 12 week old baby. (You see the problem already.) After puzzling over where one can take a baby in this city, my friend Nong and I decided to head to the Chiang Mai University Art Museum. I'd been there before, so my expectations were in check.

The show this time was an homage to the King of Thailand, who celebrates the 60th anniversary of his coronation this year, thus making him the longest reigning monarch in the world. The second gallery (of sorts) featured thesis projects from the university's MFA program.

I've said before that the definition of a Thai artist is any man with hair below his ear lobes and any woman with hair above her ear lobes. Thai people are "flock thinkers," which is very hard for a westerner to wrap the mind around. Some time ago, I came across an article by a western business guy talking about working with his Thai staff. He offered sales bonuses for individual achievement, and his staff didn't take him up on the idea. They preferred to SHARE the cash with every member of the team. How thoroughly un-American. So, I sometimes struggle to understand the viewpoint of my family, neighbors, and the population at large

The result of this "flock thinking" in the field of new art is that the flock dress alike and paint alike - mostly multiple copies of big flowers and illustrations of a standard repertoire of romanticized historical Thai cultural icons. If you're decorating a spa, it's just what you're in the market for.



Thai culture is in flux, as are all cultures at all times; but Thai people have witnessed a rapid change in lifestyle and are aggressively romantic about the recent past. Given that my mother-in-law is still living in that recent past, and I've experienced it first-hand, I don't find it romantic. It's traditional, for sure, but it's also physically very uncomfortable, at times very unsafe, and can be quite unhealthy. Amnat is the generation with one foot in each world, and he is balancing there quite well. Moving to the U.S. may tip his scales, but we have some time before that happens.



Back to the museum.... It fulfilled expectations. Lots of romantic illustrations of chickens, sunsets over grass houses, and temples. Baby slept through the entire visit, despite a total lack of ventilation in the cavernous (and leaky) concrete hulk of a building.

I amused myself (and perhaps, you) by taking photos of baby contemplating the art. Nong didn't really get the joke. I hope you will.

Next year, the Metropolitan, if all goes well!

News of the Day

Here we are, at the end of the rainy season in Chiang Mai. We have started to feel a slight up-tick in the number of tourists in the city, which is very good news. Having a baby and building the new massage studio definitely took a dent. Despite floods and mud-slides in the north which stop the trains and busses, tourists are still making their way here. Infrastructure is good, but not great; so a mudslide can significantly effect the number of people in guest houses each week. Water management and erosion are huge problems here, as development moves forward largely unchecked and poorly planned.

The six-month low season is drawing to a close, and we are very much looking forward to bigger classes of Thai massage students and cafes full of interesting people to talk to. Amnat has four students in the Massage Studio this week, an American, two Brits, and a lovely Irish woman. Amnat is so well-liked by his students and very popular, that I seem hardly to be missed. A blow to the ego, for sure; but I'm very content with my new job. As with anything, it has it's deadly dull spells, but there's something new every week.



Jimmy is starting to really enjoy his own strength. We stand him up - Ray Bolger style - with his scarecrow legs buckling out sideways. We all get a big thrill from it. And, he can almost lift his head on his stomach. The screaming phase has passed, thankfully. Being on his stomach was not a favorite, shall we say.



His head still bobbles in the most silly way when he's excited, and his legs and arms kick out rigid when something really good is going on.



We spent a spent a relaxing hour this past weekend sitting over coffee, and Amnat snapped these photos of me. The first I'd title, "How I Look Now;" and the second, "How I Feel Now." A little out of focus and hang-dog, for sure. But, I keep busy staying out of the sun, swatting mosquitoes, and writing. Lots of new topics in mind, these days.
Made a nice re-connection recently with my old friend Bernie, my thesis advisor from grad school, who says he's just keeping busy thinking thoughts. Thinking thoughts is a pretty good way to spend your days, and it's what I (still) do best (despite the sleep dep and the caffeine buzz).



I'm working on the curriculum for a new advanced level Thai massage course for pre-natal and post-partum chicks. I'll be teaching it at the end of next year, when we get back to the U.S.A. I have something to say on the topic, which was a blind spot for me before. With some forethought, we took photos for the book when I was still pregnant. I got to be my own model, which was quite nice. Hope to be appearing in a town near you for our training courses next year. Amnat could use a nice tour around the U.S. as a welcome to his new home.

The Tired Family Visits the Zoo

The Tired Family Visits the Zoo

On Thursday last week, the day after tanks started bumping around Bangkok and Chiang Mai, the Tired Family took a day off and headed to the zoo. We went with our friend Nong, a truly gracious Thai woman (of course, "gracious" and "Thai" are redundant) who is "practicing" to be an au pair in "America" (as they insist on calling it here. When you say you're from the United States, blank stare. I'd point out that "America" is a hemisphere, not a country; but what would be the point?).

Back to Nong... Her "practice" means three weeks of baby care and some cool field trips for us, as Nong has a car! No need to pile into the back of the pick-up taxis (or songtaew) and sit on the welded bench to get from place to place. Did I mention the rich mix of exhaust which filters through? What I wouldn't give for a week of Germantown air.


Our day at the zoo started with coffee! As you might have guessed. This one an iced latte with a frangipanni flower drawn in pure cane syrup on the foam. Small things here can be quite beautiful, though the landscape is a concrete wasteland. After coffee, we folded ourselves (I did, anyway) into the little red Diahatsu and headed to the gates of the Chiang Mai Zoo.



It's a humble little zoo, really. The animals look reasonably well, for the most part. The enclosures are, to my eye, small and heavily trodden from fence to fence; but we found a way to have a nice time. Jimmy met his first giraffe, who ambled right over and said hello. Then Nong wanted a family photo of us on the zoo tram, so we all three hopped into the back seat. Then, the tram took off. Nong jumped on, and we quickly realized we were being whisked away, far away, from our little red Diahatsu and the diapers! We made a loop around the whole zoo, back to the car; which gave a quick view of the essentials. By this point, Amnat was threadbare (which happens to at least one of us hourly), so we did a couple of feedings and diaper changes before picking one more animal to visit. The penguins.



We trammed over to the penguin house, all alone, I might add. The zoo was essentially devoid of visitors and rather threadbare itself. We climbed up a good twenty concrete steps, each one hand-formed and completely unlike the others in rise and width, for a vertical climb of about twenty-five feet. Not a visit for the feeble, or the heavily sleep-deprived, I might add.

Concrete and air-conditioned, the inside of the penguin house was like a tight drum. Jimmy figured this out in about sixty seconds. The penguins were clumped together on their concrete shoreline looking a little bored, when Jimmy started to squeal and squeak in a most delightful baby way. One penguin, and eventually another, ventured into the water to swim over and check him out. It was the thrill of our day.

After cavorting with the penguins, we slid back onto the tram; Jimmy holding on to his Paw's shirt with tight little fists (the wind through his hair was definitely a new experience), and we folded ourselves (or I did anyway) back into the little red Diahatsu for the ride home.

A Happy-Kind-a-Tired

Jimmy's Three-Month Birthday Family Self-Portrait



We have re-named our little family group from "The Khunchamnan's" to "That Tired Family." We push the stroller around the city in a slow saunter, blissfully numb. It's a happy-kind-a-tired, and we are not complaining.



When Amnat is really pooped, his hair gets bushy and wild. I fade out around the edges. And, when Jimmy is absolutely threadbare, he mashes his fists into his nose. Believe me, I would do the same; but it would smear the thin film of lipstick which keeps me from fading away completely.

For a woman who has taken pride in being pretty put-together, this numb-happy-tired thing is a real trip. I've never been so loopy, and I could frankly care less. It's enough to wash out a little baby laundry, kill a few dozen mosquitoes, and find that precious latte each day.

Sorry, I do go on about the coffee. My pal Jennifer-Phoenix-Aroha said I could kiss the coffee shops good-bye. She gave up on it after her Rufus was born. I think I took this as a challenge. Jimmy regularly naps in his little pram in various nearby coffee joints, with the espresso machine happily hissing along in the background - that and the ghastly-sweet Thai pop music. What I wouldn't give for some jazz, blues.... hell, I'd even take the Dixie Chicks, at this point.



Jimmy is a love. Even-tempered and happy. This week he's started a shrieking squeal, which he amuses himself with regularly. It's terribly expressive, but of what we are unsure. The massage students definitely get a kick out of it.



His hands remain a major source of amusement. He wrings them as if he were working away on solving some big problem. Then he shoves them into his mouth and slobbers all over. We find it completely charming, if very wet.



Sometimes, however, the photos sessions go on just a bit too long.

Until the next peaceful interval...

Recent Photos

Jimmy looking dapper this week in his new suit from Grammie.



I don't know who looks sillier, the adult with the camera or the baby with the focus issues. This is definitely a 5x7 in the irreverant family photo album.



Having a latte with Mum this week. Only 12 weeks old, and he knows that tight, glossy, dense foam is a little cup of heaven. (And the baristas are really cute.)



The Khunchamnan's family self-portrait, just four weeks into the big adventure.

Baby Yoga?!?

Paw loves this Thai yoga stuff ... but, I'm not quite sure I get it.





Jimmy stretching with his paw at three weeks old, before the students arrive for Thai massage class. Since then we've built our new bamboo Massage Studio with the grass roof (which still smells sweet), and Paw teaches the yoga out there. Jimmy and I usually visit in the afternoon. Jimmy loves to watch people do things. Any people. Any thing.

My Little Chicken

When did my little chicken turn in to a side of bacon?



He's round and lovely and has one most adorable dimple when he smiles.

This week he has learned to put his hands together. The preamble to this was recognizing that his hands are his own. I watched him early in the week go cross-eyed bringing a hand to his face. Realization, for sure.

A Land Without Words

Our second night at home with our new baby boy, my milk came in. This meant one baby intent on getting as much as he could get. And, one new mom trying to figure out how to get the little man onto the boob quickly with no wrangling.

I had thought of everything before going to the hospital. That little rolling black suitcase had in it, completely untouched, a hot water bottle, an iPod loaded with “massagy” music, Amnat’s bathing suit for hot shower massage, snacks, three outfits for me, the breastfeeding book, on and on. You get the idea.

The first urge to push came at the front door of the hospital, my water broke as I was getting into a gown, and Jimmy was born less than an hour later. iPod? What was I thinking?

At home we had the same level of preparedness. Little baskets of cotton balls, bins of diapers, basins for washing, on and on. But, it never occurred to me that you need to be able to see to learn how to breastfeed a hungry newborn in the middle of the night.

Our rooms are all lit the same way. One three-foot flourescent strip on the ceiling. You could perform oral surgery under them, but it does not set the proper mood for midnight breastfeeding.

Jimmy was born on the full moon. In what was left of the full moonlight, Jimmy and I were struggling for a latch. I couldn’t see a thing. The little guy was getting frustrated. Amnat was on full alert with no idea how to help. The three of us bolt upright in the middle of the bed with no solution forthcoming. Then, Amnat made a move. He headed for the little black rolling suitcase and came back with the breastfeeding book.


I was in a land without words. Thrilled that he was trying something, but how the hell was I going to thumb through the index at that particular moment?

And, I was touched. You see, my husband and I don’t really share a common language. He is Thai, and neither of us have any advanced skill in the new languages of our married life. I thought - how great, he actually knows what the book I’ve been pouring over is about.

And with that thought in my mind, my husband started flapping the leaves of the breastfeeding book feverishly over our heads. Having decided that Jimmy was hot, that was the problem, he grabbed the first fannable object he could find. Here was my husband violently waving those pearls of lactating wisdom over our heads, without a clue to the irony of it.

In the light of day, with the little boy in a good latch, I started laughing until great big tears rolled down my face. With the little boy bouncing around on my laughing belly, I explained to Amnat so that he could see the humor in it.

In the days that followed, I learned not to break into uncontrolled peels of laughter when the little boy is latched. It just makes my stomach bounce up and down and the little boy has to hold on tighter.

Impressions

Ten weeks ago, my husband and I had a baby. He is remarkable (to us) in many ways, but on day three he began to distinguish himself as a unique talent. He started doing impressions.

Given his communication skills at present, which consist of involuntary emissions like wails, slurps, burps, and farts, the impressions are largely gestural. I’ll give you an example.

Day three, the day my milk came in. Our tiny trooper had been nursing away on breasts bigger than his sweet little face, when suddenly he faced breasts big as his head. The little guy was undaunted. In the middle of the night, with a mum not quite sure what had changed and an oh-so supportive but totally clueless dad, Baby K managed his first impression. He wrinkled up one side of his face, opened wide and plunged forward. I could almost hear him growling, “aargh.” A pirate intent on attainable riches. This impression lasted about a week.

As the drama of the new milk subsided, Baby K refined his second impression. After a milky meal, his head lolled back over my arm, eyes rolled back, half closed. He just laid there with his little mouth lax, breathing slow. He had his milk stone on. Accurate in every detail of lax muscle and blank expression, my little baby's stoner impression.

As the pleasure of the meal became more mundane, he affected a new impression, this one moving away from the “type” and in to the specific personality. He started doing Jack Benny. After finishing at the breast, he would bring one hand up to his chin, rest it there coquetishly, the other hand across his middle. I could almost hear, “Oh, Raahchester.” Where he got this one, heaven knows.

Recently, as Mr. Benny has gone the way of the pirate and the stoner, our little guy has taken on The Keebler Elf. I’m hard pressed to say how he’s doing it, really. Something in the way he holds his upper lip, and of course the leiderhosen and the ridiculous hat are a dead ringer.

Look out Rich Little. Vegas here we come.