The Silent "I"

How I Became A Mother

The MOMocrats are helping spread the word about the Mothers Day Every Day Project, part of the White Ribbon Alliance's efforts to raise awareness of maternal death worldwide.  Over 500,000 women die in pregnancy and childbirth each year, due to lack of necessities like clean water and basic medical care. To honor this effort, we are sharing our birth and adoption stories.  Here's the story of how I became a mom.  Please share your story on your blog and leave a comment over at MOMocrats and we'll link to your post on Sunday, in honor of Mother's Day.

I've written before about my feelings about being the mom of a boy, with some trepidation, but ultimately, much joy. My pregnancy was uneventful.  I had some morning sickness, but nothing debilitating.  I never had to go on bedrest, or worry that anything was wrong. All the worries I had were of my own making.

I delivered Alex by scheduled c-section, probably the least dramatic birth method every invented.  I went in for a routine prenatal visit at 38 weeks, and had an ultrasound. 

"Oh, my!" the ultrasound technician exclaimed.

"Is that a good 'oh, my' or a bad 'oh, my'?" I asked.

"Well, your baby is measuring a bit um,...large," she said.

"How large is large?" I asked.

"He's looking like about 10 pounds," she paused dramatically.  "Plus or minus 15%. I think you should discuss this with the doctor."

I could handle the "minus 15%", but giving birth to an 11 and a half pound baby was not exactly something I was prepared for.

Sleepless in Silicon Valley

I've never been particularly good at sleeping.  When Alex was born eight years ago, I didn't mind being up four or five times in a night.  I've been a restless sleeper and insomniac most of my life, so I am pretty well acquainted with late-night TV shows, and the bizarre infomercials that appear between 2 and 3 am.  As far as I'm concerned, Tivo is the greatest invention known to mankind, ranking right up their with fire and the printing press.

When I do sleep, my husband can always tell if I'm stressed by the horrific teeth-grinding that goes on.  Frank describes it at as something akin to a recycling trucking being driven right through our bedroom.  I woke myself up with it once, and was super-annoyed that someone upstairs was moving furniture at 4 am, only to realize that we didn't have an upstairs and that sound was emanating from inside my head. 

I was a little surprised when my doctor suggested that I might have sleep apnea, and ordered a sleep study for me.  Snoring has not been a problem as far as I know, and as far as my husband will tell me.  He's more concerned about my grinding my teeth down to little nubs and needing dentures by the time I'm fifty.  At any rate, the doctor seemed to think that this could be the cause of a persistent cough I've had for about 3 months now, and ordered me to go to a sleep clinic for a test.

Hair Through the Ages

I walked into the swanky Juut Salon in Palo Alto on Saturday, after a fairly lengthy hiatus from the chi-chi salon circuit, and felt a little nervous.  I had received a coupon in the mail to receive a free make-up consultation and lipstick if I came in for any salon service.  I can't resist a coupon featuring conspicuous use of the word "free," so I booked a long-overdue haircut appointment, and hoped for the best.

Like many women, I have a love-hate relationship with my hair.  My hair has either been a source of pride or an unruly monster that needed to be tamed.  As a child, after one disastrous Pixie cut in second grade, where I feigned illness to avoid school for two days, I vowed never to cut my hair again.  I let it grow long and straight until it reached my waist in junior high, and ran away shrieking any time my mother came near me with a pair of scissors. 

In high school, I finally succumbed to the trend of the day, and cut my waist-length hair short, into a Carol Brady shag, and then attempted a Dorothy Hamill wedge, neither of which suited me terribly well.  In college, I went through a big hair perm phase. My Asian, chemical loving hair soaked up the stinky Toni perm and exploded into frizz that would rival Sideshow Bob on The Simpsons.  After much trial and more error, I went back to the long, straight hair of my childhood.  I managed to narrowly avoid the Rachel cut in the '90s, which all my single women friends had.

A Natural Born Running Mate

At the end of 8th grade, I decided to run for Freshman Class President.  I narrowly won the election over a popular cheerleader whom everyone else thought was a shoe-in.  She was one of the ruling clique, dated the quarterback, and had a rich dad who drove a Corvette.  I was the brainy girl who organized charity events, had a motley, socially-awkward crew of equally brainy boys and girls, and whose dad drove a sensible Ford. I was deemed "exotic" due to my mixed Korean-Caucasian heritage, and thought the football team was full of hormonal nimrods. 

I put together a coalition of voters, befriending stoners, brainiacs, nerds, freaks, and pretty much everyone outside the social realm of the "in-crowd."  We were legion and we were pissed.  My message of "hope for the disenfranchised" and "change from the status quo" was well-received by people who were tired of being looked down upon by the ruling elite.  It was a sweet, sweet victory.

Our history teacher and class advisor was also the official vote-counter and announced my win.  Letting my political success go to my head, I joyfully told him, "Next stop, the White House!"

He laughed, and said, "I'd love to see you in the White House, but I'm afraid you would be disqualified since you were not a 'natural born citizen.'  The Constitution requires that you be born on American soil, and you were born in Korea, right?"

You Can Call Me Glennia Hussein Campbell

Over at MOMocrats, we're standing in solidarity with Barack Obama today against right-wing nutjobs who think that a person's name is fair game in their never-ending battle to take the American political process right into the crapper.  We're calling it "Just Call Me Hussein" day, and telling our name stories. 

Go over to MOMocrats and read the post that inspired this little impromptu blog action, and blog about it today, use "Hussein" as your name, or leave a comment with your story. 

This is my story and I'm sticking to it.

Long-time readers of this blog (all three of you) know that the reason this blog is called "The Silent I" is that the "i" in my name is silent.  Yes, my name is pronounced "Glenna", but I have gone through life being called, alternately,  "Glen-nee-ya," "Glen-ya," and my favorite: "Glen-NIGH-ya" (think Shania, as in Shania Twain). 

Telemarketers seem to have particular difficulties in pronouncing it, and it comes out, "Glenina," "Glenda," or "Glennis."  This came in handy in my twenties, when I was avoiding those calling about my late student loan payments, and would say, "Nobody named 'Glenenis' here."

I grew up in the '70's and at the time, there was a popular TV variety show hosted by country singer, Glen Campbell.  He had the annoying habit of opening the show with "HOW-DEEEEE, I'm Gleeeeeyun Campbellll!"  Needless to say, I heard that "Howdeee!" refrain on the playground a lot.  A whole freaking lot.

Even as a young adult, people would often ask if I was either named after Glen Campbell or related to him. (No on both counts).  Luckily, his star faded in the 1980's until a drunk driving arrest brought him back to the spotlight.  Moms, before you name your kid Britney or Madonna or Clooney, think of this as a cautionary tale.

Having a last name that was also a popular brand name did not help matter much either.  "Hey, Soup!" kids would shout, "Are you chicken noodle?  Get it? Chicken? Noodle?  Are you a chicken or a noodle?" har-de-har-har

When you're eight, you know people will find a way to razz you about your name. When you're a 47 year old candidate for President, the first African-American President of the Harvard Law Review, and a member of the United States Senate, it's beyond juvenile and ridiculous to insinuate that you're somehow aligned with terrorists because your parents named you after your father.  Last time I checked, most people outside of Hollywood don't have much say in what their names are. 

You got that, Bill the Pill "Cunnilingus-ham"?

Glennia Hussein Campbell

Race and Collaborative Blogging

Here's what I guest-posted over at BlogRhet on Wednesday. The discussion is ongoing. I'm honored to be a part of it.

...I am a Korean-American, the product of a Caucasian father and a Korean mother.  For my entire life, I've embraced the duality of my heritage, faced being the "Asian girl" in my all-white school in Ohio, and the "white girl" when visiting my relatives Korea.  I am always checking "Other" on government forms when asked about my race.  I am the perpetual "other."

I started my blog, The Silent I, nearly two years ago, to share information about a Katrina relief trip that I took with my friend, Jill Asher.  After the torrent of words and stories spilled out, I realized how much I loved writing.  I then started blogging the stories of our family travels, the small details of places and people we met.  I blogged so that I would not forget.  I blogged to capture memories for my son to read when he grows up, when the places we've been to as a family are only distant echoes to him.  I am an observer and storyteller, bearing witness to the small details and nuances of life.

After blogging on my own for a while, I started to contribute to two collaborative blogs.  As a mixed race person, it is probably only fitting that I contribute to two very different group blogs, one with a Korean-theme and the other made up of primarily Caucasian women who live in Silicon Valley.  My experiences with these two communities have been as different as the two sides of my heritage.

As American as Mom and Kimchi

My mother immigrated to the US from Korean in 1961.  She was a tiny, 19 year-old powerhouse with a 10 month old baby girl, a fairly good grasp of the English language, and a love for my father that defied her family, her culture, and all common sense.  I was that 10 month old baby, and according to family lore, I was a cranky, colicky baby who shrieked non-stop all the way from Seoul to Louisville, Kentucky.  We were greeted in Louisville by my beloved Granny, my aunt whose first name I bear, and my Grandpa.  According to the tale, I immediately stopped crying, reached out for Granny and never gave my mother a second thought, nor shed another tear.

Nearly nine years after our arrival on American soil, my mother became a US citizen. I was in second grade, and the story of her journey from Korean to American is one that the two of us shared every stop of the way. 

When I was in first grade, my mother and I were watching TV together when we saw a public service announcement reminding all "Permanent Resident Aliens" to renew their green cards and visit the immigration office.  I asked my mother what an "alien" was, and she said wistfully, "Me."

She looked pained.  I asked if I was an "alien" too, and she told me that since my dad was an American, even though I was born in Korea, I was an American, too.  She explained that my younger brothers were both American because they had been born in America.

She explained that anyone who was not born in this country was considered an "alien" unless they became a citizen.  She confided in me that she wanted to become a citizen, but there was a test, and she didn't think her English reading and writing skills were good enough to pass. 

I hit upon an idea.  Now that I was in school, I could teach her to read and write.  I was an early reader, and excelled at spelling and grammar.  I asked my teacher for extra copies of my worksheets and to be allowed to take my textbooks home "so I could practice."  The teacher either thought I was an apple-polishing suck-up, or the most dedicated student she had ever met.   I don't think she suspected that the real student was a proud 27 year-old woman with three children.

Introducing: The Silent I Speaks

Occasionally, I get offers to review books, products and services.  I've started a new site just for that purpose, called  The Silent I Speaks.  I've posted an introduction and a book review that I did previously.  I have a couple of product and book reviews in the queue and will let you know here when something new is posted. I might do so contests or giveaways over there.  You just never know!

The lovely banner was designed by The Aitch, and all the photos are ones that we've taken on our trips.  Stop by and check it out.

If you have a product or service you would like for me to review, just e-mail me at glennia <dot> campbell <at> gmail <dot> com.

Virtual Cocktail Party

I was tagged by CityMama for a meme that's a kind of Virtual Cocktail Party and a game of Blog-Tag.  As usual, I'm late for the party, so it will have to be a post-holiday celebration.  Maybe in honor of MLK Day?  CityMama was tagged by Lisa Stone of BlogHer, so that's some mighty fine company to be keeping, if you ask me.  The meme requires that you tell five things about yourself that your readers might not know about you and tag five other bloggers to do the same.

Here goes:

• When I was born, my dad was in the Army and was out on field maneuvers that day.  His buddies at the command post designated my arrival as "Operation Snow Tiger" and when they got word my mom was in labor, they radioed him, "Operation Snow Tiger is underway!"  He was allowed to leave the field to complete his special mission and used to call me "Snow Tiger" when I was little.
• I got my first US passport in order to immigrate to the US from Korea when I was ten months old.  I didn't renew it until I was thirty, to take my first trip back to Korea to meet my grandmother on her 80th birthday.
• Since I got the second passport, I've been to 43 countries in the last 15 years, and have nearly caught up with the one-country-per-year-of-life goal. 
  
• I hate pretty much all condiments other than salsa and seafood cocktail sauce.  I won't go near mustard, mayo, tartar sauce, or ketchup.  I have no idea why, but that stuff makes me gag.
• When I was in high school, I was on a TV quiz show called "As Schools Match Wits."  I was on the only all-girl team on the show during my sophomore year.  We came in second in the Dayton area to an all-boy team from a school that was five times larger than ours from a much wealthier area.  I therefore have a longstanding history as a nerd and can totally kick ass in Trivial Pursuit.

My birthday is next week, so I'm tagging people to join me for a virtual birthday party:  Liesel of Dante's Inferno with Children, Ana of Bonggamom, Pamela H. & Jill A. of Silicon Valley Moms Blog, Pierre of MetroDad, and Kate of Itisi.  If you do it, put a link in the comments...

100th Posting

We've been traveling for the past ten days in Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky, with no internet access other than what I could muster on my new phone (a Christmas gift from Frank).  So, it's been pretty silent here at The Silent I.  I realized that I was about to let another milestone pass, since I missed my one year blogaversary in October.  I realized that this is my 100th posting.  Some bloggers hit that in a few months, but since I'm more of a once-in-awhile type, it's taken me a bit longer.

I started this blog in October 2005 to chronicle the trip that Jill and I took to Louisiana to deliver a truckload of baby gear, backpacks and household items to the hurricane-ravaged St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana.  At the time, the only blog I had ever read was my friend Enoch's, a local physician who has been blogging for years.

I worked for several days to finish this series of long postings, with the goal of directing the sponsors of our trip, members of the Parents' Club of Palo Alto and Menlo Park, who lovingly donated items, sorted, boxed, and carried all the things onto the truck and donated the funds to rent the truck and helped pay our way.  I wanted them to know how appreciative the people we met were, and how grateful I was for having been given the experience.  I didn't have any plans for continuing the blog after getting that story out.

After that, I stopped writing, too busy with holidays and a new school for Alex to think about it much.  We were planning a trip to Egypt and Libya, and so I thought it might be fun to write about that trip and some of the shorter weekend trips we take now and then.  I thought I would make this a travel blog, never having read a travel blog or having any idea what that meant.  Then I added a few postings about volunteer efforts, just in case anyone read it and might be inspired to help out or do something in their own communities.

I never actually thought anyone outside my family and friends and maybe a few people in our community would care to read what I wrote.  The first comment I received, I deleted because I thought it was kind of creepy that someone I didn't know was ready my blog (and it wasn't even a negative comment, I just didn't know any better).  I even heard from one of my youngest brother's ex-girlfriends, someone who I hadn't heard from in fifteen years.  That seemed sort of amazing to me, a bit of serendipity.

In April, Jill and our friend Pamela had the idea that we should do a blog about life in the SV and the Silicon Valley Moms Blog was born.  I started reading blogs, and developed my blogroll of people I know and people whose blogs resonate with me because they are funny, relevant, or have something beautiful to show the world through photographs and words.  I've "met" some truly wonderful, smart, funny people on-line, strengthened a few off-line friendships, and discovered that writing is something I love to do.  I'm particularly grateful to the amazingly talented Sheryl of Paper Napkin, who designed my blog banner, to Karen and Irene of Momster and Love is All Around, for their inspired and loving efforts to making the blogosphere a better place, and to Stefania and all the Kimchi Mamas for allowing me to join their ranks, to Liz of Mom-101 and Pierre of MetroDad for writing that makes me laugh so hard I cry, and Erica of Littlemummy, who asked me to join the Career Mom Radio podcast.

I sometimes struggle with the idea that this blog is like Seinfeld, not really about anything in particular. I'm a mommyblogger, I suppose, because my first and foremost role is that of Alex's mom, but I don't care to chronicle his bowel movements or every cute thing he says. I write about politics occasionally, TV shows that I watch, local events, the transition from stay-at-home to working mom, and some of my brother's ventures into the entertainment world.  I write about whatever I want to write about, whatever I am currently doing or thinking about.  I think if I had to write about only one topic all the time, I probably wouldn't be posting my hundredth post by now.  I would probably have moved on to stamp collecting.

Some amazing things have happened as a result of blogging.  For one, I am continually surprised and delighted that anyone actually reads my blog and takes the time to comment.  I started out with four or five readers a day who wandered in here by typing in the wrong combination of Google search words, and now I have a few dozen on-line friends who come and comment here from time to time.  I got to meet Elizabeth Edwards, our future First Lady, an amazing writer and truly extraordinary human being.  I got some free coffee, but failed miserably as a taste tester.  I got invited to submit something to a new exhibit at the International Museum of Women. I raised money for Donors Choose and a Kindergarten class in St. Tammany Parish, Louisiana sent me a dozen lovely hand-made thank you cards.  Without blogging, my life would not have been enriched and emboldened by these experiences.

At BlogHer, the question was posed, "Who is your audience of one?" meaning, who are you writing to in your blog?  I'd like to think that I am writing this to a grown-up Alex, so that he will know what our life was like during this time, what his mom was thinking about and worrying about; what made me laugh and what made me tick.  I try to be kind and thoughtful, but sometimes the snark seeps out anyway. This blog is my little valentine to the future, a hope that someday my boy will read it and laugh or cry or just understand.

I want to thank you for stopping by here, for your comments, and for your contributions to the blogosphere, whether it's as a writer or a reader. I am grateful to all of you who have shared your comments with me, and love to read your blogs and look inside a life that's different from mine. 

Blog On, sisters and brothers, Blog On!  I wish all of you happiness, health, love, and safe travels in 2007!