sing like wildflowers

Since adolescence, I dealt with a constant urge to check the stove before leaving the house. Even if the stove had not been used that day, I still needed to check. My rational mind told me that if I didn’t see the blue flames from the burner, then the stove is officially turned off. However, the irrational thought kept nagging me: maybe I didn’t see it correctly the first time. For more reassurance, I had to place my hand on top of the burner. If my palms burned, then it meant that my hunch was correct. Often I felt slight warmth from earlier usage, but never have I burned myself. I’m a slow learner.

My struggle with the stove began when a hearsay story circulated about a junior high classmate who burned down a part of her house with her curling iron. Although the facts may have altered through the hearsay process, this story frightened me to the core. I wondered about the events leading up to it: maybe the hot iron part was close to something flammable; maybe the curling iron got too hot too quickly; maybe it touched a faulty wire that went berserk; maybe she forgot to turn it off and left the house. How could an unassuming beauty tool become so dangerous?

I didn’t have a curling iron, but the closest thing for me that could lead to a catastrophic event was the stove. It was an electrical appliance I used occasionally to cook ramen noodles. The blue flame created a dreadful feeling in my stomach that a raging fire could consume me and everything around me.

This obsessive thought didn’t just occur; it was fueled by an underlying fear of the unknown: what if my reckless behavior burned down our house or caused some irreparable damage? This type of experience would take years of intensive therapy to get back to my old self.

This fear was prominent growing up in my parent’s home. They were first-generation Korean immigrants who struggled with the language barrier, held various low-paying jobs, and tried to find their niche in American society.

Through years of saving and sacrifice, they finally achieved a bit of the American Dream. They became proud owners of a spacious ranch-styled home in an affluent neighborhood. I was extra vigilant to keep it pristine as they intended. Also, it saved my head from getting chopped off: in case I chipped the marble floors, broke the stain glass windows by the front door, knocked over the porcelain lamps, or broke the Lladro collectible figurines.

After I got married, the tendency was still there to check the stove. Chris found it odd that I always had to take a long look at the stove before leaving our apartment. Blowing my cover was inevitable because the kitchen was right next to the front door.

He was a graceful listener and quick problem solver; he decided to do the checking for me instead. This was a relief, because I could finally let myself off the hook. Also, I could trust him with this job because he’s naturally observant and keen on details. Yet I also wondered, wasn’t this a form of enabling?

Now that I have two young kids, it’s not convenient to stall in front of the stove too long. In the background I hear protests, whining, crying – they want something or to go somewhere NOW! These two little souls motivate me to change for the better. Checking the stove should be just as it sounds. It should not entail sweating, wondering if what I’m seeing is accurate, talking to myself, or staring at the knobs.

It taking time to shift this irrational thinking. The obsessive thought didn’t develop overnight, so I might as well enjoy the ride of learning to undo it. Lately, I’ve even come to laugh at this kooky part of myself; I think this bodes well for me for the future.

caterpillars just arrived

getting ready to become chrysalides

assortment of foods for the new emerged butterflies

empty chrysalises; the red stain is not blood but extra liquid not used in their stomachs for metamorphosis

so content to see and feel the butterfly on his finger

We love butterflies in this house! They remind me of pretty thing that make life more pleasant: green meadows, quiet afternoons, blue skies, and dancing clouds. So we decided to take a closer look at their awesome metamorphosis.

For this project, I bought a netted butterfly habitat and mail ordered caterpillars from an online company called Insect Lore.

They arrived a few days later: inside were 2 lidded clear cups and five tiny caterpillars in each of them. The bottom part had a layer of brown-colored paste that would sustain them as caterpillars.

Right out of the box the caterpillars were sluggish. However, in the following days they became avid explorers and ravenous eaters leaving big holes in the brown paste. Web-like strands, which is actually silk spun by healthy caterpillars, according to the Insect Lore instruction booklet, also appeared around the cup’s interior and around their bodies.

Of the 10, 8 eventually formed chrysalises where they hung in a J-shape on the bottom of the lid. A brown golden-specked shell covered their fuzzy bodies and the outline of their wings could be seen as pointy dots.

Most hung still except for 2 feisty chrysalides that swung back and forth. I feared early demise for them; as the kids commented, they may “get dead soon.”

When we finally witnessed the results of the metamorphosis, our whole family was amazed and awe struck. Cognitively we knew what to expect but actually seeing the process made the process more dramatic and exciting. Their small wings gradually expanded with the wing colors becoming more colorful over time. As indicated in the instructions, drops of sugar water, orange and cantaloupe slices, and garden flowers became their main food sources. To our surprise, the butterflies did not immediately devour the food, so the kids drew pictures to cheer up the butterflies and to stimulate appetite.

Three days after their metamorphosis, they were fluttering faster and stronger in the small habitat. We realized that they needed more space and nectar from new flowers.

When I shared this update, Elliot seemed ambivalent. He said, “Maybe they want to stay with us longer.” Ellis agreed and chimed in saying that butterflies liked being in the wild. When I said “yes,” she looked downcast for about a second; then she immediately smiled and asked if she could dip her finger in sugar water so that Snowflake, her pet butterfly, could walk on her finger before letting it go.

Overall, this experience taught me that for something beautiful to materialize it takes time. Also, it reminded me to look with child-like eyes at the world around me; a butterfly is a special house guest who needs fresh flowers and fruit to eat on a daily basis, a cracked window to keep them cool, and colorful pictures to adorn their habitat.

Elliot wonders if they will come back to say “hi” to us. With the kids saying they want to do this project over again, I’m reconsidering whether we should try raising goldfish again. Last summer (2016) the kids and I took a spontaneous field trip to PETCO and walked out with 2 goldfish and its supplies. I didn’t quite realize how often I had to replace the water and the kids didn’t understand that overfeeding the goldfish would kill them.

Maybe this time around we’ll have more insight into raising goldfish and coming up with names other than Hamburger and Ice Cream Flower. I do feel a name change will likely occur since those names are already taken by 2 goldfish that are swimming with the dolphins in the ocean somewhere.