02.22.09
Another weekend comes to an end…
…and here I am on the PC at 10:34 p.m. Funny thing, too, because I was dog tired today, from about 4:00-6:00 p.m. On the way home after five, I was barely able to drive back home from the local Jusco supermarket.
It’s weird that now that night has rolled around, I’m not tired. Despite the fact that I usually go to bed with my kids and often get up before them, my body sometimes seems want to revert to a night-owl schedule. But I won’t be up too long tonight. I had the writing bug and thought it would be best to get this out of my system.
I just put Milo to sleep—little Milo, about three-and-a-quarter years old, is no longer so little. He was funny. I was sitting in bed with a book, ready to read to him, but not ready to lie down, as my hair was still wet from my bath. Usually, he would want to sit up for the first couple of stories before lying down to go to sleep. But tonight he said that he wanted to lie down and for me to do so along with him. And then he changed his mind and told me to stay seated. Sleepiness does that to kids: it can make them a bit fickle.
Well, as I sat beside Milo and read him the first story, he quickly fell into dreamland. That was unusual, too, because it often takes three or four stories. The kids just love storytime before bed. And I just love my children. Sitting there beside Milo, stroking his head as he drifted off to sleep, I thought to myself: “Well, I think maybe this is as good as life gets, as fundamental in purpose as life can be. Here I am, stroking my son’s head, full of love for him, doing my best for him. And my ancestors must have done this with their children. And one day I shall grow old and Milo shall have children of his own, and give them all his love.”
Life is a pretty strange thing. Quite the mind-fuck, as I like to think of it. We are only allotted a finite number of years on this earth. We are usually (barring tragedies like accidents at a young age or other unfortunate twists of fate) given the chance to seed this earth with our DNA. Part of our DNA will thus mingle with the DNA of future generations. And that might be all that it is about. If you’re not religious, as I’m not, then our existence on this planet might just seem like one, huge, improbable, galactic contingency. I don’t want to spend too much time dwelling on what it means to exist, but the universe ultimately seems to me a dumb, blind, insensate and therefore amoral thing. Our existence here is pure chance, though much of our existence involves a struggle to put a meaning to it. When your family could at any second be taken away from you, through an earthquake, a car accident, or a stray bomb, you can’t help but wonder that life itself might not really have any meaning. This is probably the hardest truth of all to accept. We need the concept of “God” to tell ourselves that this can’t all be for nothing, that the universe can’t be so blind and amoral, that it just can’t be possible for the evil to live long, self-serving lives and go unpunished in the afterlife, that it just can’t be possible for a man to lose his family and that be the end of it.
Back to more mundane matters, lots of funny stuff happens with the kids. We tell the kids ghost stories, and they seem to believe in ghosts, Milo in particular. I have a ghost story I tell about “The Ghost of Sagamiya [a local supermarket].” Told in a deep, ominous voice, it goes something like this:
In the dead of night,
Everybody’s sleeping,
It’s dark outside,
Sagamiya is closed.
In the dead of night,
When everybody’s sleeping,
The ghost of Sagamiya rises.
From across the way,
Down the road,
Over the bridge,
Down towards the rice paddies,
Turning at the pile of rocks,
Down through the rice paddies,
Around the bend,
Down past more rice paddies,
Into the dark forest,
Over the highway,
Down the road,
Towards our home,
Into the parking lot,
Under Daddy’s car,
Under Mommy’s car,
Around the sandpit,
Up the stairs,
Ringing the doorbell:
Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong, ding-dong-ding-dong-ding.
But can the ghost get in?
No! We are in bed,
Like good boys and girls,
So the ghost can’t get us!
Don’t ask me why I chose to associate the ghost with the local supermarket, it just came into my head that way. These days, the ghost is one of Milo’s main conversational interests. At night, he is very willing to snuggle into bed with me, asking “Ghost coming?” “Yes,” I say, “so we’d better get in bed and go to sleep.” Our ghost story draws on the lore from this Japanese ghost story we read, which is about a ghost that will take you away from your home if you’re not in bed when it’s late at night. The ghost takes the child away and the child turns into a ghost. Quite funny, really.
Mickey usually sleeps next to Mommy in bed, but sometimes he wants to sleep between me and Mommy, which means Milo sleeps next to the wall. On those occasions, Mickey wants to be close so he can better listen to the stories I tell, and better see the storybooks. Sometimes, Mickey is funny about things, saying “I want to see story,” but unwilling to sidle over closer, wanting instead to remain next to Mommy.
The kids show a lot of wit. I don’t get a chance to write it all down, but I try to take some notes so that I can later blog about it. Here’s one anecdote.
During the winter holidays late last year and early this year, we all drove to Jusco for some shopping. We parked the car in the parking lot and Mickey, who I think was sitting in the front with me while I was driving (it must have been some short trip), fell asleep in my arms. I was also sleepy so I decided we would wait while Milo and Mommy did some shopping. Later, when we got home, Mickey was somewhat jealous to learn that he didn’t get to go shopping at Jusco that day. A few days later, we drove down to the house of the father of Yoshiyuki, our friend. After eating and playing, Milo and I had a nap in our car while Mommy and Mickey hung out inside the house. When we all hooked up again, Mickey told me, “[paraphrasing because his grammar wasn’t correct] Today Mommy and I went to Jusco. Milo and Daddy slept in the car.” I love how kids’ minds work.
Mickey seems to be the more social of the two, and he is often the first to greet others. The kids like to talk about the man who lives downstairs or the man/men who drive the delivery trucks that bring packages and mail to the residents in our little complex. When the kids are playing outside, and one of the aforementioned men arrives, Mickey has been known to run up and say, “Hello, downstairs man!” or “Hello, truck man!” I like how they try to be friendly even if they haven’t got the polite forms down pat. The kids don’t usually get an answer in English, because English is not the lingua franca here, but I applaud them for trying. It’s a little sad, too, that they can’t interact properly with others in English here. Anyway, you gotta love their earnestness.
Another anecdote. Once, when it was time to put them to bed, Mickey wanted to watch a video on the PC with me, but I was too tired and said, “No video tonight.” Mickey got angry and pinched me, so I felt a little guilty and changed my mind. I thought I should be less selfish and just watch a couple of short videos on YouTube with him. But then Mickey said, “See tomorrow.” So nice and cute.
Another story. The kids are progressing in their toilet training and now learning/trying to wipe their own bottoms. Several weeks ago I was surprised to see Mickey and Milo in the bathroom together. Mickey was wiping Milo’s bottom for him. How sweet. Mickey is only the older brother by one minute or so but he sure plays the role well, sometimes acting a little more mature. He is even physically bigger/larger/heavier. I can’t imagine Milo being the older brother, nor can I imagine them swapping names. Certain notions must have been preconceived and become fixed in our minds.
From about age two to age three-and-a-bit, Milo wanted only Mom to put him to bed. (When he was littler, I used to give him formula and put him easily to bed, though then he started crawling back to Mom’s bed when he woke up in the morning.) Now, though, Milo waits up for me every night, and won’t go to sleep without me. Even Mickey, who has basically needed Mommy every night since he was tiny, sometimes falls alseep listening to my stories (after Mom has already gone to bed). (Though I can remember when Mickey was about one or two, I used to take him for walks along the river on hot summer nights, pointing out the things around us in the dark, holding him in my arms until he nodded off, his head falling softly onto my shoulders.) It’s nice to be needed. It won’t be forever. One day soon they’ll be more independent. But in the meantime, I love having little ones. I love being a dad. And a husband.
Like I said, I think life is in the simple things. The simplest things always bring the most joy and happiness. I like to live life mindfully, trying to soak in and soak up the details in my surroundings. No walking around with a cell phone glued to my ear for me. I want to get the most out of life. I give thanks every day that I am young, healthy, and able bodied. I think about all those people in wheelchairs who would give so much just to be able to walk. I try not to complain, knowing that someone, somewhere, always has it much worse. Life is both beautiful (blossoms on a tree) and terrible (random violence and brutality), but I love it, and will always try to make the best of it. Over and out. Keep living.
