(Forgive me for another post on running. Next one will be about food, promise!)

I’m one you could call organized. But one thing I seem to have no control over is my running schedule.

Every day varies and, more often than I’d like, usually strays from my original plan that I set out the night before. I sleep in on my morning runs all the time. I can never seem to motivate at lunch (maybe I shouldn’t dive into those chips so early). By the time I come home, I need to run but we already have plans, so often it’s a tight squeeze (or a fast one). If I manage to get out in the morning, I’ll sleep in just enough that I have to cut my original 7 miles down to 4.

When I do stick to my plan, like actually getting out of bed early enough to run the Wild Cherry loop (that’s the 7 miles), I am so proud of myself for the rest of the day. It’s not that I ran, but I ran when and what I said I would. I should just post “Wild Cherry!” on my Twitter/FB status and you’ll know what that means.

Why haven’t I learned yet to just do that all the time? My day would have one less thing to plan.

Or maybe it’s trying to exercise in the morning? The NY Times posted an article last December on the question of exercise performance and time of day. I find most studies related to running generally inconclusive and this one is only a semi-interesting read. Still, here I gather I should run at 2pm, right in the middle of the work day. Bah.

This week I came across a new running term on RunWithPaula’s blog called streaking. In 2009, recovering from an injury, she decided to run every single day of the year, or streak. And apparently, she’s not alone: meet the United States Running Streak Association (USRSA), who officially define streaking as running one continuous mile a day under your own body power. They even track active streakers, you know, should you be a streaker seeking another.

Though I think it’d be a crazy and fun challenge, streaking does not interest me as much as having time and energy for other things (tennis and climbing come to mind). But what definitely made me doubt my success was her comment:

Day after day I would record my miles and before I knew it, the chore of running became a little like breathing, involuntary. I knew I was going to run each day so it was less about whether or not I was going to run, but when. As crazy as it sounds, having the goal of running everyday made running easier.

I know what she means, but uh oh, I’d fail!

One guarantee that I won’t flake is making plans with other people. But as many know, I even dread running with people. It’s totally unfounded silliness: I stress I won’t run fast enough; I don’t like being late but hate the pressure of sticking to a schedule; and what if I’m feeling anti-social? I know: I’m impossible, as Slow Boy says. Fortunately, the running group has helped me break out of my hermit-like running personality. They can’t make it easier by meeting at my house; I feel guilty as I lay in bed only 15 minutes before our meeting time, knowing that they’re already driving or biking over.

I think I’ll try a different approach, a weekly plan where I commit to a weekly mileage and break it down however I want. Five or six days of running, how about only some in the morning? A little leeway is what I need.

Or maybe some tips! If you’re a regular exerciser, what time do you work out? And what’s your secret to sticking to your plan?

2010 Vancouver Lake Half Marathon report

You all must have been thinking fast thoughts because our PDX running group raced awesome this weekend! So, thank you. But next time could you do the weather dance too?

Pre-race

The morning was ominous: 40 degrees, pouring rain, and 15 mph winds waiting for us at the lake. Maybe rain doesn’t cross state borders, we hoped.

As usual, I spent most of the car ride debating on what to wear, which I claimed was not my being nervous, just preparing! It’s tricky because I didn’t want to overheat from running hard nor be cold and wet. I decided on capris, wool t-shirt, wool long-sleeve, fleece gloves, headband, cap… Ok, maybe I was a little nervous because, quite obvious to me now, it ended up being way too much.

I also wasn’t carrying anything (over 2 hours is my guideline) but wanted to have some energizin’ electrolytes in me. About 20 minutes before the start, I took two GU, which was the right amount but not the best combo of flavors. Who knew orange and pineapple didn’t go?  My stomach did, only later.

And we’re off

For the first time, I warmed up right. It helped that Slow Boy had convinced me to go for an easy run the day before to loosen up the legs. Since the race was not chip timed, I coaxed Allie to the front of the line. The race started and as we weaved our way into the open road, Allie was so encouraging, “Annie, go. You need to go.” So I went.

Just a reminder, my goal was 1 hour and 35 minutes, or 7:14 pace. Slow Boy had advised me to “go out hard, but not too hard.” He knows all too well how easy it is to settle into one pace and how hard it is to change, faster or slower. My goal would not be accomplished by doing just another weekend long run; I had to start out pushing myself and sustain it.

My first mile was 7:05. A little fast but nothing to regret later. Sweet, 9 seconds in the bank, I thought. I slowed down for the next mile: 7:18. Ok, make that 5 seconds. And that’s pretty much how the rest of the race went.

The first three miles were out and back to the start, and I was right on target, at 21:44, when TC jumped in with me. I tossed my cap at Slow Boy and CP, cheering on the side. My legs were comfortable and I focused on relaxing my shoulders and stomach which were starting to tighten. TC said her coach used to tell them to run comfortably hard, or as she sometimes thought of it, hardly comfortable.

The weather had eased up and I was much too hot! I didn’t want to be sweating too much since I wouldn’t be rehydrating. Fortunately, as TC turned off at mile 5, she kindly offloaded my headband and gloves.

Turning around

Normally I don’t like out and backs, but it’s a great way to see everyone. The leaders came through, with the first place woman tight in the pack. She was a machine (and looked like one!). I loved cheering for the fast women and tried to keep count (apparently I was 12th). Then I got to see our running group! Allie wasn’t too far behind me, followed closely by Nickie and Aimee, all looking strong. Dorothy came by, enjoying her race, and I recognized several other runners. The two men who had been keeping pace right behind me asked, “So Annie, how many people do you NOT know?” Funny: they had learned my name from all the cheers.

Not long after we turned around, the wind hit. No wonder 7:12 pace felt so comfortable. I knew I was slowing down but couldn’t push any harder. A 7:25 at mile 8 was a wake up call that got me recalculating what was in the bank.

We turned back towards the start where Slow Boy was waiting to pull me through the last out and back. It was a great race for spectators and therefore runners, because I get energized knowing people are watching me, taking pictures (thanks CP!). Starting to cruise again, I pulled out a 7:09 mile at mile 10.

I also was steadily passing people in front, including two women, which meant I was 10th! The running ladies came past on the other side, with much more enthusiastic cheers than I could return. Thank you! Then I heard someone behind me. A woman, who was clearly feeling good. She hung back for half a mile and then made her move. We instantly recognized her as this older woman we see at every race who is damn fast.

It had started to pour again. My body was cold, my head hot, my shoulders tense, and I was starting to dry heave. Slow Boy told me to shake out the arms and take deep breaths. “Keep this pace and we’re going to New York!”, he hollered as he pulled out at mile 11 to let me finish on my own.

I’m D-U-N

The end of the race has always been a challenge for me. It’s where I tend to give up; my mind shuts down and sends the message to my body that it’s OK to slow down. I definitely had that moment in the last mile. The older woman was too far to catch, my stomach was turning inside out, and my stride was getting heavy. But you’ll be so disappointed if you miss it by a few seconds, cried the competitive-me. It’s this fickle internal battle.

What was my time anyway? So focused on each mile, I realized not once had I looked at the overall time. With a 1/4 mile to go, I saw 1:33-something. The finish line was in sight; my house, who had suffered in the pouring rain to see me do this, was still cheering. TC yelled, “Only a 100m! It’s like racing Oso home!”. And apparently Slow Boy promised a ticket to New York.

I was elated to cross the finish at 1:34:44.

Apparently my body did shut down. A woman asked for my race tag and I tried to warn her as I leaned over. For my first time ever, I threw up…multiple times. I’ve had the urge before from running hard, but the feeling always calmed. Fortunately, the rain immediately washed any trace of what I think was pineapple colored water.

Mugged all around

Everyone PRed. Allie ran 1:36:46, Nickie under 1:40, and Aimee blew away her 7:45 pace goal (but we all knew she would). Awards were mugs for the top 10 overall finishers and top 6 in each age group. Allie and I were fourth and third in our age group, but because it was one award per participant, Nickie and Aimee, who *really* wanted a mug, were surprised with mugs as well. So cheers to the PDX running group for all getting mugged!

As for New York, I went to the website the next day and saw that they had adjusted the qualifying time to…1:37! So Allie sneaked in too, and I ran faster than I needed to It’s guaranteed entry for this year and the next, so we might wait until 2011 as we have a lot of trips planned already and Slow Boy could qualify too.

Thanks to the CCRC running club (we seriously need something like this in Portland) for putting on an excellent, well-marked race, followed by the most amazing spread of homemade cookies I have ever seen. I’m so proud of our PDX running group–hey, the training paid off! And of course, my house rocks. They were cold and wet (and likely miserable) but they were there.

More pictures at CP’s site: www.maicamera.com/2010-vancouver-lake-half-marathon/ (If you like commenting, go to her Flickr.)

Every Monday the email threads start. Who’s in for a track work out Wednesday? I just signed up for a half next month. Can we do the long run on Sunday? And how long was yesterday’s run (to so-and-so with the fancy watch)?

Our PDX running group is such a bonus to my week. It started out with just the girls, but then the guys decided it was nice to have someone organize their runs for them. Now the list is long–some I haven’t even met yet! But there are the regulars–the ones who usually start the email–who are great company on a cold and rainy long run (like that one time where we got lost going up FL4…).

My house is the common meeting place because I’m lucky to have Forest Park as my backyard. Only a 5 min. warm-up from my house, Forest Park is one damn big urban park that stretches 8 miles long. Winding up and down inside is the Wildwood trail, the 30.16 mile single track trail that is home to most of our runs. Down the hill is Leif Erikson, the “flatter”, straighter version through the park. The two combined make for so many possibilities of loops that it’s hard to keep track of what we’ve done.

What I love about our running group is how hard core yet chill everyone is. A great example: last December, after an unexpected dry spell, I proposed on a Tuesday to run the Wildwood–that is, the whole thing–and by Sunday, four were committed, two of whom had never done it before. Many others jumped at the opportunity to hop in and run “a couple miles” with us. Even with a late start (keys locked in the car), a leisurely pace, and photo ops, everyone had a great time.

Last winter, track workouts started to train for the half marathon…this Sunday! I have a very, very stretch goal of 1h35, which is 7:14 pace, or in other words, much faster than I can probably run. I chose this time because it’s the qualifying time for the New York Marathon (it’s a lottery but you can use a half marathon time to qualify). My only saving grace is that the race is along side a lake, so definitely a flat, and hopefully if not windy, fast course. It’ll be an interesting race for me because I’ve never tried running that distance at high effort. I’m used to 5k or 10ks, which hurt but will be over soon, or really, really long runs where I try to never breathe hard.

But I’m excited because of all the ladies joining me (not to mention my faithful house cheering squad)! Think fast thoughts as we try to PR in the half distance!

And here are a few flashback Friday moments, these during the Wildwood run of 2009 (that I somehow didn’t blog about!). I’ve run the Wildwood end-to-end five times now, and I’m ready to do it every year in which someone in our running group wants to. But boy, the list is growing…

The 2009 Wildwood crew... at the end and still standing and smiling!

Mr. Toed and the girls at the top of Pittock

My flashback Friday goes back to the summer before 6th grade, when my dad decided that we should all learn how to touch type. And I thank him to this day for finding the best program ever: Typing Tutor.

Sure, being an obvious name, there are many versions, but this one–an old school DOS program–was superior. It was simple, a classic blue screen with white Courrier font; but something about the words it chose (kumquat and zealot come to mind), or the variety of tests (so you couldn’t cheat and just get good at typing paragraphs about tigers), or the classic yet exciting games (letters falling down from the sky, type fast before they hit the ground!) never made learning to type so FUN.

I sound like an ad but seriously, in that one summer I learned to touch type–with numbers and characters–at 60 wpm. Not too shabby for a 6th grader!

Now I type twice that fast (ok, with no special characters). I am a type addict. I even pretend to type, rather frequently and often sub-consciously, words and phrases like these:

• the chorus to “Oh L’amour” by Erasure: “broke my heart now i’m aching for you” (no caps)
• another (try it, it’s SUCH a fun word to type)
• what you are saying, which can bother people–sorry!

That summer I remember falling asleep one evening and my sister asking me, “Are you typing?”. Um, yeah. I would LOVE to find this program again. Show it how much I’ve improved.

That is, Vietnamese American looking for authentic Vietnamese food.

This week we celebrated Slow Boy’s parents’ 36th anniversary at Silk, a Vietnamese restaurant in the Pearl. It’s actually owned by Pho Van, a decent local chain that serves your usual Vietnamese fare (pho and bun), but being in Portland’s upscale district, Silk is fancy Vietnamese.

Fancy Vietnamese? Is that, like, an oxymoron? A few years ago when I first saw the new menu at Silk, you could quote me saying I’d never pay $9 for pho or $15 for thit kho (caramelized pork), but I’m becoming desperate for some good, authentic Vietnamese food. And now I see that making Vietnamese cuisine trendy is the right step towards making it popular, because really, does Portland need another Thai restaurant?

My short summary: Silk is not entirely authentic but the food and experience are delightful. The bun and soup are more true to Vietnamese cuisine, and I enjoy the high quality of the broth, but the rice dishes tend to have Chinese and sweet flavors. Still, the menu is different enough that it’s worth the extra few dollars for better ingredients, lighter cooking style, and interesting dishes that I normally wouldn’t make at home.

My first test is always cha gio. If it comes out like crunchy egg rolls, then it’s a fail. Vietnamese use rice paper, not egg, and Silk, much to my delight, got it right. The wrap was sticky and crispy, the filling, often too meaty, had the right balance with vegetables (and mushrooms!), and the nuoc cham (dipping sauce) wasn’t too sweet.

We also ordered goi cuon, which is harder to mess up as long as you have fresh vegetables and a good piece of pork and shrimp. The art is more in the rolling, which should be firm–but not too tight–and the shrimp visible (next time I’ll take a picture!). The peanut dipping sauce favored hoisin sauce a little too much for my preference.

I ventured out with tom kho (caramelized shrimp on a noodle nest), something I’ve never seen my mom make or order. The prawns had a nice bite, so not overcooked, and the caramelized coating was more like a glaze, a pleasant crunch. It was only slightly too sweet and could use some hotness or pepper.

My favorite dish was surprisingly ca ri ga (chicken curry). I’ve always had a problem with Thai curries and the amount of coconut milk. Silk’s curry tasted more like my mom’s: yellow indian curry spices with more nuoc mam and less coconut and used dark meat to give that extra fat and flavor. But they added a twist that I enjoyed: yams, instead of potatoes, and oyster mushrooms (can you tell I’m a fungus fan?).

I recommended ca hap (steamed fish with a soy, mushroom, and ginger sauce) for Slow Boy’s dad because I had confidence that a proper restaurant would know how to make this light and delicate dish. We normally eat a whole fish and use more nuoc mam with piles of ginger and scallions, so the mushroom-flavored soy sauce was a Chinese touch. Still, you know the restaurant is good if they can achieve the right taste that isn’t bland or overpowering the fish.

Slow Boy quickly observed that the thit kho to was different than my mom’s, but that’s because it’s a different dish from thit kho! The “to” part means dry (I think?), and like pho, each family has their own version of braised meat. Silk’s version did not use the fatty pieces of pork; instead the tenderloin was sliced more like one would expect on a skewer. The sauce wasn’t as intense, which was a wise choice, because normally thit kho is a side dish that you need to balance with several other flavors.

Another Chinese influence: the only side leafy green offered was bok choy with shitakes, instead of rau muong (spinach) sauteed with garlic.

A unique dish on the menu was ca Ha Noi, which looked like the Pacific NW rendition of cha ca (Slow Boy’s favorite, remember?). It used salmon instead of catfish and as there was no mention dill (a must for this dish), I didn’t dare. Slow Boy has tried bo luc lac (sauteed tender, cubed beef) before and it was disappointing; it takes skill to correctly sear and “shake” the beef. Last summer, CP nursed her wisdom tooth extraction with mi hoanh thanh (wonton noodle soup), and since she couldn’t chew, I got to enjoy the light and shrimpy wontons, just how we like it.

I should compliment the decor: simple and large pieces with a lot of texture, all in similar tones so nothing was too noisy or bright. Throughout the meal, we continued to notice and enjoy the art, the wall coverings, even the lamp shades that were six feet across.

Everything could easily use a hot pepper or four, as my dad would have it. Though he prefers traditional Vietnamese, I appreciated the subtle changes that Silk incorporated into some of my favorite dishes. I felt their focus was not to serve authentic Vietnamese food but to create a sophisticated dining experience with Vietnamese cuisine (and it turns out, that is their focus).

Right now it’s my best option for good quality Vietnamese in downtown Portland. But really, $15 is a lot. Do you know of any other places? I’m happy to try and always looking for an excuse to eat Vietnamese!

You knew I’d post something about resolutions. But actually, though I probably come off as SO-the-resolution-setting-kind-of-person, I hadn’t thought of it until a friend’s recent post. Sure, I’ll come up with a few and share them.

1. Cook. I should explain, since 6 out of 7 nights we usually cook and, ever since 2006 when we were gearing up to pay a mortgage, we pack lunch for work everyday. But we’ve fallen into the same repertoire of a dozen or so (tasty!) dishes. Grocery shopping has never been so efficient, grabbing the same stuff in the same aisle-order (plus whatever is on sale). My mom recently revealed to me how it disappoints them that CP and I don’t eat together more often (I might be reading too much in the lines but I think it was more that I, the bigger sister, don’t cook for her ). It’s not that we don’t; we just don’t cook elaborate meals regularly, what with the climbing, dragon boat, and everything else on the schedule. So my first 2010 resolution: to try out new recipes, in my dozens of cookbooks, and serve it to the house of course.

2. Be more spontaneous. I’m a Google calendar user. I *try* to plan things only the week of, but that includes the meals, runs, get-togethers. When our climber friends ask us to go out after a session at the gym and we don’t because we already have plans to go home and cook dinner, that is sad.

3. Play tennis. Maybe even enter a league or tournament! Then my 3a my resolution would be to NOT say “sorry” to my opponents.

4. Not sure what to do with running. Maybe get faster, or how about run that sub six-minute mile (end-of-2009 attempt and new PR was 6:05). I have a half marathon coming in a few weeks, and we’ll see where I stand in terms for qualifying for the New York Marathon. It is a lottery to get in, but you can also use a half time to qualify. For women in my age group, it’s 1 hour 35 minutes, or 7:14 pace!

5. Take pictures. It’s too cushy having CP around but she’s not always here (like now). I need to document things myself and actually use my (paid) FlickrPro account. First step: send my camera in for a cleaning.

So here’s to 2010: new dishes (or disasters), running work outs, smashing the ball at my opponent–and photographing it all.

[Update] I forgot #6! Go to Hawaii or Alaska. These two states are easily accessible from the northwest and yet we’ve never ventured that far up north and the last time we were in Hawaii was 2005.

Dear family and friends,

We’ve given up on writing a Christmas letter since we’ve never actually sent one on time, so we hope you enjoy our “annual letter” of 2009.

We started our new year—and Annie’s two month sabbatical—in a different hemisphere. Singapore is officially our warmest new year’s yet. Then it was just a “short” hop to New Zealand, which it turns out is a really long way from anything.

At the boulders in Castle Hill, NZ

We fell in love with New Zealand—it’s like a whole country of Portland, a runner’s paradise (except for the British-influenced food) and the original home of extreme sports. It seems like half the country is part of one park or another, and tiny towns are separated by miles and miles of roads winding through valleys right out of Lord of the Rings.

With only 12 days on the South Island, we crammed in as many “tramps” (Kiwi for “hikes”) as possible. The four days on the Routeburn Track with Ben’s parents and Kerry were the most spectacular, traversing alpine slopes with glacier views all around. And we must thank our gracious hosts in Dunedin for the single yet precious penguin sighting.

Then on to Vietnam, which was a change of scenery to say the least. The air is opaque from the exhaust of a million mopeds and crossing the street takes a leap of faith—but if you look lost enough, a tiny old lady will take your elbow and guide you across. You can see the pressure of rapid development. Everyone works all the time; some are getting rich fast, carrying HD-TVs on the back of their mopeds, while old women still walk barefoot selling fruit door-to-door out of wicker baskets. The people are friendly and welcoming while always trying to take you for an extra buck.

A floating market in the Mekong Delta

Ben had only nine days to absorb the fast-paced culture, while Annie set up camp for a month. We traveled the length of the country, from Saigon to the historical silk-trading town of Hoi An, then to Hanoi and the Sapa mountains near the Chinese border. The Hmong children in Sapa were irresistible and we came home with far too many bags, bracelets, headbands, and blankets. Ben’s favorite dish was cha ca, a Hanoi specialty, and Annie’s cousins showed us all the best, local street food in Saigon. Annie spent a week at the beach of Mui Ne and after seven hours of (cheap) kiteboarding lessons, she stood up for maybe two seconds. What a ride.

But for Annie, this wasn’t just a sight-seeing trip. She spent time in her parents’ native country, practicing her Vietnamese, fighting with taxi drivers (we’ll keep this letter civil), and eating as many small meals as possible to taste everything. After several weeks of struggling to be accepted, she came to understand the difference between Vietnamese and Vietnamese-American; though she spoke the language and ate the food, she wasn’t a local. But that’s OK; she loved her stay and we’ll be back for sure.

Back in Portland, we continue to enjoy our home and city. Ben is an enthusiastic gardener and weekends go by fixing up the house and yard. Not all of the upgrades are voluntary: in February, the water main burst and 250,000 gallons of water somehow vanished under the sidewalk unnoticed. Our car got stolen from the driveway… twice. Now we have a club, so good luck next time!

Our house: Chippy, Annie, Tara, Ben

We started a tradition with our friends called Family Friday where everyone comes over every other Friday for a potluck. It’s been a big hit and great fun to see our friends so often and watch their babies grow. The house is slowly becoming toddler proof.

The house—Chippy and Tara included—has been climbing strong. Two exciting trips were to Leavenworth, WA and an epic road trip down to Bishop, CA where we drove overnight both ways. For her big 3-0 birthday, Annie was given such a special party: a bouldering and camping trip in Lost Rocks, CA. She thanks everyone who made the journey that entailed bushwhacking straight down a steep and overgrown hillside.

Climbing in Bishop, CA

There were several ultra and trail marathons this year, which always leave us motivated for the next one. Unfortunately Ben got a little too motivated (he never learns) and injured himself. Now he has caught up on many movies that Annie won’t watch via the bike trainer in the basement.

The Anniemaniacs (yes, we are still dragon boating!) paddled strong through their seventh season. Though we didn’t take home hardware, we raced in San Francisco for the first time and in Vancouver, BC, we moved up to a higher division and got the honor of competing in the 2000-meter “Guts n’ Glory” race.

In family news, Ben’s mom is retired—but busy as ever so get in line. Ben showed Annie around Westtown at his 15 year high school reunion and we even got a tour of Ben’s childhood home, the Pin Oak farmhouse. Annie cherished seeing her grandfather, who is 98 and very healthy, in Vietnam, and she’s gaga over her new nephew, Yohan. She can’t get enough of his photos and videos!

We are thankful to be healthy and happy and stable at our jobs at Intel. We hope this letter finds you the same, and that 2010 brings you adventure and joy.

love,
ben and annie

Happy New Year everyone! Hope you had a lovely holiday. We are back from our Christmas celebration in Santa Cruz with Slow Boy’s parents and long stay in Maryland with my family.

I have more details below, but this picture sums it up well. Note:

• I am with Yohan.
• I am lying down. Folks, I was lazy!
• We are still in our pajamas (both gifts from Tati Chippy).

Tummy time with Yohan

It was a wonderful, relaxing trip–a pleasant surprise since we were doing the bicoastal thing. It did help that we snagged first class both ways (we fly a lot so they upgrade us).

Slow Boy’s parents have a grand Victorian home in Santa Cruz in which they plan to retire with friends. We arrived Tuesday night and the next day, they gave us a taste of what their Wednesdays were like: hike, movie, movie discussion group, half-priced steak et frites and wine. What a life. The surf conditions weren’t optimal (at least for us rookies) so we never hit the beach, but enjoyed several walks in redwood forests and strolling along the downtown strip (to do last-minute shopping).

On Christmas day, it certainly didn’t feel like Christmas as we walked along the coast in t-shirts. But the traditions of opening presents first thing in the morning and eating a feast, which included the British must-have minced meat pie and black pudding, at 2pm sure did. I admit I skipped over the British desserts, but it was a grand meal! One of the tenants upstairs was a former Cordon Bleu student and made an amazing kale dish by massaging–not cooking–the kale with amino acid. She also supervised in the kitchen as Slow Boy did the beef roast and I attempted to display my avocado and grapefruit salad.

We flew to Maryland (early–thank you Roger!) the next day and I could not wait to see my family. They had celebrated with the extended family the night before while I watched longingly on Skype as my cousins laughed and stole from each other during the White Elephant exchange. And of course the big excitement was to see Yohan!

As an official aunt, I will state that he is absolutely adorable! Every moment revolved around him. I never slept in past 8am, which was when we were allowed to take him out of his crib. I had to remember to ask my sister’s husband if he wanted to hold his son (it was his vacation from work too) but they didn’t seem to mind the break. I bought him an “I love my aunt” bib which I think I earned since I fed him all the time. And I loved watching him learn! He started to imitate our sounds; the table conversation was never quite the same again.

Unfortunately, Yohan brought us the gift of the French cold. All of us fell ill at some point, my dad getting hit the worst. I was sick New Year’s Eve so we decided to stay in and play Settlers to kill time until midnight. My super mom had to keep up with nursing us, babysitting Yohan, and cooking up meals, though she acted like it was no big deal. For NYE dinner, she served Slow Boy’s favorite, cha ca, which in her mind isn’t cooking…somehow.

Over the years, I’ve become more relaxed about coming home. I don’t need to run–and that should say it enough. Maybe my body is asking for a break; though there is always tennis as I will take any chance to hit with my big sister. But we become serious homebodies (with no car and a napping baby, it makes sense) and spend a lot of time just sitting around the kitchen table talking. If we do go out, the whole family–I mean uncles and cousins and cousins–join us. Slow Boy always says “Your family!” but we love it.

Slow Boy and I did do a little work. We are almost done with our annual (note: not Christmas) letter which I will post here as soon as we get them out in the mail. Now we are soaking up our last weekend before reality hits.

Today is a special day for my mama, mommy, maman (or even mother at times).

We try so hard to spoil her on this one day of the year. Cook her breakfast in bed and take her out to dinner. Give her presents (she always loves new pjs) that aren’t combined with Christmas ones and are for her enjoyment only (so kitchen accessories doesn’t count). We know it never even compares to what she does for us every other day in the year, but being Mommy, she just smiles entertainingly.

My mama is an amazing woman. I often feel like she took over Ba’s role as the central matriarch of the family. She’s strong and bossy, but welcoming and a great listener. She’s incredibly patient; she has to be in our family of difficult people (ahem, yours truly included). She’s not one to tip toe around things and I respect her for that. She’s sensitive and I know what that feels like. And hands down, she’s the best cook.

Damn can my mom cook! We’ve been spoiled our whole life; now we’re extremely picky eaters. Not too much fat, the right crispiness, always add a little sugar, the pan needs to be hot, and don’t flip the meat yet–it needs to sear! Like a true chef, she knows when things are right, which also makes it impossible to get a recipe from her. Even when the family gatherings are hosted elsewhere, she brings the main dish and her must-have apple tartes. We’re selfish about her famous almond bread that she has to make two if she wants to share, which she loves to do.

My mom is so generous. She’ll feel like trying out a new jam and will make enough for everyone to enjoy with their breakfast. She packs an extra lunch for her brother which must include canh (soup). But that’s just food. My mom takes care of the family. Her siblings call her every day to talk about life. We girls all regress when we come back home. She’s a natural care taker–just one look at her garden and orchid collection and you can sense the amount of attention she gives things.

During my teenage years, I didn’t appreciate my mother enough. She is sharp and I interpreted her sincere observation about my afternoon snack (evident from the dishes and trash) as an invasion of my privacy. I didn’t want to share anything for fear of giving her bragging rights (it’s been known to happen in our circle of family and friends). What can I say…I was an adolescent.

As I matured, so did our relationship. It was still an adjustment when I moved out to Portland and started my grown-up life. I was becoming indepdendent and had to reassure her that I wasn’t leaving her or my roots–and still needed her. After all, she still sends me back to Portland with a box of frozen pho.

I love my relationship with my mother. Hey, we IM practically every day. Sometimes we talk about real stuff; other times, we just go gaga over Yohan (my sister’s baby) :) Instead of hiding in my room when I was in high school, now I practically write this blog only so she can know more about our life here. I know I could always call more–she always appreciates the call–and I do love talking to her. The conversation often starts out with listing out the dishes she’s making (because it seems like no matter when I call, she’s cooking).

The best part abut watching and being with my maman is that I realize I’m becoming exactly like her. I know what CP ate for lunch and that the countertops were cleaned. We have the same body, except she has better taste so I always borrow her dresses and shoes. Slow Boy even says we share the same expressions. I only wish I could cook like her, but nothing ever tastes as good as Mommy’s.

I get my strength from my mom. She waterskiied while seven months pregnant! She plays hours of tennis and golf every weekend. After three kids, she still has a six pack. She does everything with no trace of stress or effort, really. Slow Boy can’t get over how many dishes she can cook up for a last-minute meal for so many people, all the while talking up a storm.

All this and the fact that I’m growing up to be like her gives me so much to look forward to. Happy birthday to my mommy!

Rose Garden, Portland, 2003

Growing up, every Friday was a family reunion at my grandma’s house. We ate delicious home-cooked Vietnamese food (I’d argue my ba made the best ca kho) and we cousins played in the basement until our parents forced us to go home. Some days were more special than others: birthdays, the French side visiting,  the lunar new year (and here I claim that my grandaunt makes the best dumplings). I loved it, and miss it terribly.

This year I tried to recreate this tradition with our Portland friends. We started this thing at our house called Family Friday.

It was getting difficult to meet up with our friends, who in the past year or two started their own families. Email threads would reach double digits and spontaneity was lost; instead, we’d be picking out dates a month in advance and who knows if their child will be sick or need to go bed early that evening. So this last April we kicked off our first “Family Friday” and told everyone our plan:

Every other Friday, come over after 5:30pm (yes, that’s early but people have kids now!) and we’ll be here to hang out. It’s a casual potluck; bring whatever you like (and Slow Boy will secretly wish every time we may just end up with all desserts). No need to RSVP, though the planner in me appreciates the gesture, and we hope to keep it as simple as that.

We thought likely many wouldn’t be able to make it, but it’d still be nice to have a few people over. What a pleasant surprise it has been to have had such a turnout each and every time! People enjoy these Fridays and they make a sincere effort to come, fresh off the plane from China even. Now we regularly see our friends and their adorable children. Everyone knows I take any opportunity to hold their kids (I miss when my younger cousins were babies!), so it’s wonderful to not be a stranger to them. Look at how much they’ve grown (in numbers too) in the past year.

The first Family Friday

Eight months later

Naturally there have been exceptions when Family Friday was cancelled or moved, but for the most part we’ve hosted it regularly at our house. Hosting is always open to anyone, but we know it’s an effort. A big thanks to TC and CP for adjusting their chores (and Fridays) to the Family Friday schedule. And we love hosting: it’s one of the reasons why we bought our big, old house. Not to mention a party at 5:30 on Friday gives us a good reason to end our work week a tad early.

We enjoy watching how smooth it’s become: there’s always plenty of food and drink, no house disasters (knock on wood), friends have been helpful in cleaning up, and most are learning where things are in the kitchen (I do take pride in my choice of kitchen organization–just try unloading our dishwasher, which is such an efficient and practical experience). I’m waiting for the day when the kids clean up, like we had to at Ba’s house.  

This past weekend was the special holiday one. We were motivated to get our tree early and put up lights; I even made a wreath from the trimmings and berries in our yard (this is not normal of me but I was resting up for a big run and desperately needed to expend some energy). Our presents to the kids were a “home run”, as one dad pointed out after his adorable son gave the best reaction ever. The food was delicious, including two competing versions of mac n’ cheese, and the cookie exchange was impressively festive– it’s good thing we added powdered sugar to ours!

We do hope the Family Friday tradition continues. Maybe not always at our house or on a Friday (but rescheduling, let me tell ya, has its toll), but that it’ll happen regularly and easily. It’s great fun watching the kids play together and our friends here are our Portland family.

It’s hard for me to be so far away from my family back in DC and France, missing not only the great occasions but even just the tennis parties or last-minute get togethers where there’s guaranteed good food and talk around the table. This year I’ll be spending Christmas day with Slow Boy’s parents, but I intend to participate in the Bui cousins’ white elephant exchange over Skype. I also cannot wait to hold my nephew Yohan (Cookie, be prepared to take the week off!).

The NYT Lens blog posted an entry today titled “What makes a family?”. I’m not a photographer (my sister is!) but I am a sucker for family photos and enjoyed their selection. I was especially moved by this comment:

my former in laws invited me and my husband to their christmas dinner after the death of my enitre family….as my former sister inlaw said to me “the definition of family changes all the time”

Family Friday doesn’t have my ba’s cooking (no offense Portland friends) nor is it with my cousins whom I’ve fought and played with before I could walk the talk. But it is something we hope to have and give to our Portland family. It’s loud and wild as the toddlers do laps around the house, the adult party is still in the kitchen where the drinks are, and it’s something we look forward to… every time. Soon enough the kids will be be up to no good in our creepy basement–just wait until they discover Harry Potter’s room.