Cruisin' Away

This past weekend was the annual Woodward Dream Cruise weekend here in Detroit. It’s an event that combines classic cars with the 50’s and 60’s pastime of cruising. Now being a native of Detroit, I have to admit that the concept behind this event is excellent. Not only does it celebrate the history of Detroit as the Motor City, but it certainly gives the surrounding cities a nice economic boost.

The part that bothers me, though … is although the official Woodward Dream Cruise day typically falls on the third Saturday of August every year, people start cruising (or even just sitting on the side of the road) at least one week beforehand. And since I live less than a mile away from that famed Woodward Avenue (aka M-1), by the time the official event starts I am completely sick of the traffic, the noise, and the general hassle that comes with even attempting to cross Woodward.

So this year, hubby and I decided to “skip town.” At the last minute, we decided to head up to Traverse City and enjoy some well-deserved quality time together.

You might think, when don’t the two of you have quality time together? No kids, no other responsibilities except for work and keeping up with our daily activities. Well for hubby and I, sometimes it’s the every day things that keep us from spending time together. Hubby commutes approximately 160 miles roundtrip at least four days a week. This means he spends about three hours of driving a day and then typically doesn’t get home until almost 7 pm every evening. Luckily, I don’t have to deal with such a commute. However, my work schedule consists of 10 hour days. This also means I don’t get home until late as well. Our evenings after work consist of eating dinner, unwinding for about an hour and then off to bed so we can get up early and start our work day again.

Anyway, we decided to leave early Saturday morning and stay overnight at the Great Wolf Lodge in Traverse City. Yes, I know … why would two adults want to spend time at a family and kids’ play place? Well, let me tell you … it was FUN! We spent the afternoon playing mini-golf while waiting for our room to be ready. And then once we got settled into our room, we changed into our bathing suits and hit the water park. We splashed at each other, rode on the waterslides together, played water basketball, and relaxed in their whirlpool. Being the typical Cancer water-sign, I loved being in my element. The rest of the evening was spent wandering about town. We had dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant downtown and then headed to the local movie theatre to watch “Superbad,” where we laughed our behinds off. After all the activity of the day, it’s no wonder we just crashed the minute our heads hit the pillow.

Even better that the water park adventure was our full body hour massage at the Elements Spa within the resort the next morning. (I have to add that the massage was a result of a bet that I won in regards to our trip to Chicago.) If you ever head up that way and decide to partake in a massage, make sure you ask for Theresa as she was excellent on working out the kinks in my neck, back and shoulders.

Then it was time to return home. But not without our quest to find the Wendy’s that specifically made Cherry Frosties in the midst of the Cherry Capital of the World. Any time we headed up to Traverse City, we made it a point to get one of them Frosties. But wouldn’t you know it … just like the Virgin Megastore in Chicago, the Cherry Frosty was no where to be found. Oh, the humanity ….

I’d love to tell you more about our lunch at Hooter’s (which was an adventure in itself), but I suppose I should quit rambling for now. If you’d like to see more pictures, feel free to click on the album below.

Dream Cruise Getaway

Comic Relief

So this past weekend, hubby and a good friend of ours made a trip to Chicago. The reason we went to Chi-town is to attend the 2007 Wizard World Comic Convention (a.k.a. The Chicago Comicon). We’ve made this (insert “Star”) trek every year for the past five years so that my favorite “fanboys” can get their fill of all things comic-related.

I usually go to the “Con” for at least one of the three days to check out what’s going on. Mostly it’s to check out all the latest toys, games, and movies coming out in the next year from major companies like Sony and Marvel. For hubby and our friend, it’s about the hunt to find those comics or graphic novels, statues or busts or any pop-culture related toy for a decent price. For hubby, it’s also about being able to participate in Heroclix tournaments.

For me … it’s all about the costumes. Where else can you see grown men in spandex bodysuits made to look like Superman or Spiderman? Some can pull it off, but the majority … well, I give them an “A” for having the guts (literally) to dress up. The cute ones definitely are the kids; who can resist an adorable Supergirl or cool-looking Cyclops? I just wish I could have seen a dog dressed up as Yoda or a cat dressed up like Puss-in-Boots.

As luck would have it … this year’s trip wasn’t strictly about Comics. While trying to find directions to the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center, I found out that the Midwest Stitches knitting convention was happening at the same time as the Comicon. Yes, definitely more up my alley. Aisle after aisle of beautiful luscious yarn, knitting “tools”, and embellishments. If they could only schedule their conventions EVERY year at the same time as the Comicon …

Well, we couldn’t very well be in Chicago without heading downtown or meeting up with some friends. The goal was to head to the Virgin Megastore off of Michigan Ave and then over to Lincoln Park to meet up with our friends for dinner. So we boarded the Blue Line at Rosemont only to find out that, since service was being done on the line, we couldn’t head directly downtown. Instead, we were ushered onto busses that would eventually take us to “The Loop“. After finally making it to the Magnificent Mile, we were disappointed to learn that the Virgin Megastore permanently closed … Oh, the humanity!

So then it was off to find the Red Line to take us to the Lincoln Park area. After a quick rest stop at the corner Starbucks for some intense “fanboy discussion,” we met up with friends to enjoy some great sushi. And because I had to get my fix of dessert somewhere, we made a stop for some home made ice cream. Eventually, we had to find our way back to the Blue Line in order to get back to Rosemont. Unfortunately, the only way we could get back to the Blue Line from the Lincoln Park area was to take another bus. And well, after being out and about all day long in quite warm weather (it was about 94 degrees outside during the day) … let’s just say being in a pretty crowded bus was not a quite comfortable experience. Once we got back onto the Blue Line, it was smooth sailing back to our hotel.

Overall, the trip to Chi-town was so much fun. Trips around town became major adventures. Conversations about every day life became interesting discussions about philosophy. While the main reason that we make the yearly trip is to head to the Comicon, it really was more about spending time with those friends who make life interesting.

To view more pics of our Chicago Adventure, click on the album below:

Chicago Comicon 2007

Fear and Loathing in R.O.

My nephew, Liam, is in the Neonatal Intensive Care unit (NICU). He was born prematurely at 31 weeks on May 19th and has been in the NICU since. It was known that Liam would have some congenital anomalies by the time my sister-in-law was at her 18th to 20th week of her pregnancy; they suspected an omphalocele and a cleft lip/palate during an ultrasound. What they didn’t expect was that he would be born so early and that he would still be in the NICU today.

The good news is that rather than having a cleft palate, he only has a cleft lip which will be corrected once he is medically stable. He also had a surgical repair of the omphalocele within five days of his birth.

The bad news is that after 2 and a half months, Liam is still having difficulty breathing on his own. They have tried to wean him off the ventilator at different times, but ultimately he has had to go back on. They just recently did some testing (bronchoscope and esophagram) which has come back inconclusive and they are currently trying to keep him off the vent as I type. The entire family has got Liam in our prayers and we pray that Liam, the little fighter that he is, stays strong.

I can’t deny that I have very mixed feelings about Liam. Not about who he is, because I do love him with all my heart and soul. Nor about his condition, which I know is very hard both physically and emotionally for all involved.

No, my mixed feelings have to do with my struggle with infertility. Because it has been over 10 years since my husband and I have been trying to start our own family, my sister-in-law’s pregnancy and Liam’s subsequent birth has brought out what I think is the worse in me.

His birth was such a contrast to his older brother, Tyler’s birth. Tyler is now 11 years old and when he was just an infant, I was just beginning my role as a new wife. Children were always on our mind, and we knew that we wanted to start our family within a year of our wedding. So I have such fond memories of Tyler as an infant, spending as much time as I could with him.

And now with Liam, it’s much more difficult to spend the same amount of time with him that I did with his brother. First of all, he is still in the NICU which makes holding and playing with him very difficulty. And second, emotionally it’s just very hard for me to connect with him or with his parents for that matter.

You would think that me being a registered nurse, I should have the capacity to take care of both Liam and his parents’ needs as well as help them navigate through such a difficult time despite my own personal struggles. And I can tell you honestly; I have always tried to put my feelings and struggles behind those that I felt needed it more than I did. Except now, I’m in desperate need of some of that compassion that I feel I have given to others for myself.

Before receiving the news of my sister-in-law’s pregnancy, I thought I had dealt rather decently with my infertility. Sure, it still stung a bit when I received word of other friends and extended family members who were pregnant, but overall I was pretty happy for them. Upon hearing this news, however, I was absolutely devastated. Here I spent the past ten years trying to get pregnant and have endured disappointment after disappointment and my sister-in-law, who just recently remarried 5 months prior to the big announcement, is pregnant with her second child.

I can’t say that jealousy had absolutely nothing to do with my major meltdown after hearing of the news, but it certainly wasn’t the primary reason for it. The word “failure” comes to mind, along with the words “inadequate” and “unworthy.” Those are the words that I thought of when I thought about myself. And they still do ring true even now two and a half months after Liam’s birth.

I have honestly wanted to spend more time with Liam and “bond” with him the way I did with his brother, to be there for him when he needs the most strength. But something just keeps me from making that next step. It’s my innate fear that I’m going to release some of this anger over my own issues onto this child … or that my stinky attitude is just going to cause more harm than good to his parents and any other family members. And quite honestly, I don’t think I have enough strength right now to put one foot in front of the other and be strong for myself, let alone for anyone else.

How bad of an Aunt am I that I feel these things about a child; a helpless baby? How horrible am I that I can’t set aside my own struggles to help out another family member in need? How undeserving am I to be a parent if I feel these things for someone else’s child?

Logically, I know I have a right to feel the things I do. I’ve learned that I haven’t dealt fully with my failed IVF attempt and that I obviously have very low self-esteem issues. What I don’t know now is how to snap out of this… to gather that strength that I’m sorely missing and make that first step towards healing myself.

To see pictures of Liam and family, click on the album below:

Liam

Ya Ya Sisterhood

Last week, I had the opportunity to go up to northern lower Michigan (oxymoron, I know … but Michigander’s would understand) to spend time with a few co-worker’s at one of their weekend houses. Her place is situated just west of Grayling right on the Manistee River. This is the third year in a row that I’ve went and it’s always such a wonderful time.

Despite the fact that I work with these people day in and day out and that I do feel pretty close to them , every year I find myself initially hesitant to go. Part of it is because I’m extremely close with my husband and, although he understands the need for “girly time,” I hate to be doing fun things without him. The other part is that sometimes I think that I’m not as in touch with my “female ya-ya sisterhood” side as most women are.

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I grew up as the only daughter in my family; the youngest of two with my brother being a couple years older than me. It was overall a sheltered environment; having been a first-generation Filipino-American and having gone through 12 years of Catholic school. Based on that bit of history, I feel many times that I grew up in two different worlds. There was the world of school; where most of my friends were caucasian and maybe never encountered another person of a different culture before. For example, I can recall being called “My Little Shogun” by one of my friend’s parents, as that Made-For-TV movie was quite popular when I was in grade school. How wrong is that? First of all, wrong ethnicity. Second of all, Shogun is typically reserved for a male military rank in the Japanese army. And being only 9 of 10 years of age at that time, how does one respond to that?

The other world was the Filipino Family and Friends world. These are the other Filipino kids that I’d hang out with whenever Filipino social events would be thrust upon us. They were probably the only other people that could relate to how it was like being the only “Asian” in our class, but none of them went to the same school as I did. Therefore, how could we fully support each other in social awkwardness if we didn’t even run in the same social circles outside of these Filipino events?

Having lived in the two separate worlds has made it difficult to get close to someone … anyone. I think maybe that’s the reason that I feel very guarded when meeting people for the first time. Heck, it’s probably the reason I don’t feel comfortable telling people my deepest darkest fears. It would’ve been nice though, to have that type of person growing up. To experience what it would be like to be really close to another female person. To experience some sort of sisterhood.

I’d say the closest I ever felt to feeling that sisterhood was growing up with my three female cousins (all sisters) in London, Ontario. There are many summers and holiday breaks that I can recall staying at each other’s houses for weeks at a time. During those times we would do just about everything together. But the older I got, the more difficult it was to maintain such a closeness. Life and distance just got in the way. We just couldn’t spend as much time together as we used to, especially once we graduated from high school. Now the only time we tend to talk to one another is at big family events like weddings. But whenever I see the three of them together, I can’t help but feel just a tad jealous that, despite their ages and the distance between them all, they still manage to remain close. They still manage to have that bond of sisterhood.

So it’s that lack of “sisterhood experience” that initally made me hesitant to head up north with my female co-workers. Would I be socially awkward in situations? Would I commit a social faux pas? Would I snore too loudly or make other embarrassing sounds of bodily function? And because I’ve been emotionally bursting at the seams for the past few years, would one conversation about how infertility has affected my life throw me into embarrassing sobs?

Well, it turns out I did turn into a blubbering idiot that weekend. And even though I was initially embarrassed by my uncontrollable sobs or my rants and raves about work issues, I eventually felt more and more relaxed around them. I think there will always be a part of me that feels that I missed out on the female-bonding experience, especially while growing up. However, making that trip “up north” and talking to these girls has made me feel more aware that I do have them opportunity to experience sisterhood … I just got to take that leap.

To see more photos of the weekend, click below:

Girl’s Weekend

Erasu(red)

The last time I saw Erasure was my senior year in high school. I can remember that entire day clearly. It was unfortunately the night after my Godmother (Ninang) past away. I hadn’t cried yet; I was still in denial. I was close to her, and particularly her son who was the same age as I was. During her sickness (she died of ovarian cancer), we spent a lot of time with her and those people that were close to her. After all, these were the Filipino families that I spent most of my childhood growing up with. It certainly helped they were the families that my parents would spend their weekends either playing in bowling leagues or otherwise gambling through the night playing mahjong. Us kids would spend those long nights either playing in the arcade room at the bowling alley or entertaining ourselves by playing board games, listening to records (yes, records), or even making random prank phone calls a la-Bart Simpson-style. So when we finally got the news of my Godmother’s passing, I didn’t know how to feel. This was, after all, the first time I had experience the death of someone really close to me.

Since I was a senior in high school (and therefore “old enough to make my own decisions”), I had every intention of still going to the Erasure concert as I had already paid for the ticket, and let’s face it … I knew every single word of their songs. My Mom, however, had other ideas. She felt that I owed it to my “God-brother” and Ninong (Godfather) to be there with them. That feeling of being torn between responsibility and escape was ultimately what broke me down into tears over my Ninang’s death.

I can clearly remember secluding myself in my bedroom closet and crying. At first it was over the argument that my mom and I had. Then it was about feeling guilty about letting my “Godbrother” and Ninong down. And finally it was about the loss I felt over my Ninang’s death. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t stop crying, why I suddenly felt so alone and so lost for any other emotion other than sadness. I must have stayed in my bedroom closet for what seemed like hours just crying and eventually napping on and off. Ultimately (and I’m not sure if she just felt bad for me), my Mom let me make the decision as to what I wanted to do. And well, as you already know from the first line of this entry, I chose to go to the concert.

I have a feeling my Ninang was looking after me that night. It’s as if she knew I needed the distraction of this concert to let me experience a little bit of happiness in the coming days. My friends had picked me up in the midst of what ended up being one of the biggest snow-storms that year. We ultimately made it to the Masonic Temple in Detroit (after our friend made quite a few unintentional 180-degree spinouts along the freeway) over an hour later than when the concert should have started. Lucky for us, Erasure also just arrived and still had to get the stage set up. An hour after arriving, Vince Clarke and Andy Bell treated us to a great performance, allowing me to forget for a moment how sad I was actually feeling inside. I sang my little heart out that night and was able to laugh at all the silly flamboyant outfits that Andy Bell would put on. And afterwards, as we made our way to Greektown for a late-night Pizzapapalis fix, my friends and I recounted all the adventures that we had that night. I didn’t end up getting home until after 2 am that night; well past my curfew. But the next morning, nothing was said. Again, I’d like to think that my Ninang had something to do with that as well.

Now, why am I recounting such a memory at this time? Well, it’s because this past Tuesday I had the opportunity to see Erasure again, more than 17 years since that winter evening back in high school. Come to think of it now, I’m more than twice the age I was back during that initial concert. (Yikes!) It’s also brought back memories of singing and harmonizing to Erasure songs on road trips to Chicago. And it brings back yet another memory of driving to Ann Arbor in the midst of another snowstorm just to visit hubby in college.

Anyway, the concert this past week was such a great time. It gave me the opportunity to sing all the classic Erasure songs that I used to harmonize back in high school and dance that “old-skool new-wave sway.” It’s also given me an opportunity to think of my Ninang again and remember her fondly … the way I do every time I sing one of their songs.

Click on album below to view more pictures from the concert:

Erasure Concert