We have a baby girl: Joanna Pham Millman

The process was difficult. Phuong shared a bed with another pregnant woman. They were in a room with 38 other pregnant women and their families. Phuong's cervix didn't dilate in time despite a painful process to prepare her for a natural delivery. When doctors couldn't force the cervix open after her water broke, a caesarean section was performed.
Despite the difficulties and challenges, the end result was perfect. Phuong is OK and we have a healthy baby girl. Joanna Pham Millman was delivered at 6:20 p.m. on July 9. I found out by watching a TV screen, where new births would pop up and list mom, mom's age, baby's weight, time of birth, and baby's sex.
I wanted a girl and I got my wish. I have two daughters in the United States -- Jessica and Caroline -- and they're both talented, successful, kind and caring young women. I know Joanna will be the same.
Fathers aren't a big part of the birthing process in Vietnam. Phuong's mother was the primary caretaker, and I was asked -- make that told -- to leave the room when Phuong was being examined or cleaned. Nobody I had contact with could speak any significant English, including Phuong's mom. We checked in Thursday and the baby was delivered on Saturday evening. I never spoke or had any meaningful exchanges with a doctor or nurse the entire time. I saw Phuong for about 20 minutes Saturday morning before she was carted away. I never spoke with her or saw her through the decision-making (on the c-section) or birthing process.  I got to see the baby for five minutes about two hours after she was delivered, and then I was told to sign a paper and come back later. I got to bond with Joanna and see my wife the next day. The hospital wasn't overly friendly, but it's crazy busy because of its reputation for prenatal care. For me, Joanna and Phuong are beautiful and special, so I couldn't be happier.
Phuong is doing quite well, considering she had a major surgery (36 percent of births in Vietnam are by c-section, according to NBCNews.com). Phuong and Joanna have begun breastfeeding, and that provides its own challenges and frustrations. But I know Phuong and Joanna will persevere.
Nurses, family and friends say Joanna looks like me. Well, she can have some of my features, but I sure hope she doesn't LOOK LIKE ME. Babies change so much that it's hard for me to tell who they resemble. Health and happiness will mean a hell of a lot more than looks as Joanna gets older. I would prefer that she looks more like Phuong than the White Monkey, but again, as long as she's happy and healthy, life is wonderful.
Phuong says we now have a little diamond in our life. I already had a big diamond in my life with Phuong. I feel like a very rich man these days, and it has nothing to do with money.
I got to spend a little time in Ho Chi Minh City, and I didn't like it.  There are way too many motorbikes, way too many food stands on the sidewalks that force you to walk in the street and almost get hit by the way too many motorbikes, and way too many shady characters everywhere. I walked up to a coffee shop in the morning and before I could get inside a girl came striding toward me saying "No, no, no!" and giving me that god-forsaken hand wave in the face. As I walked away I saw that the coffee shop also had a "massage" parlor in the back and was packed with men, who I'm guessing were johns waiting for their tricks. One of the "johns" stared at me like he wanted to kill me. I don't think he's a real coffee lover.
One place I loved in HCMC was a French bakery next to our hospital. Tous les Jours had tremendous fresh baked pastries and a pretty good cappuccino. I went there two or three times a day.  Their smoothie machine was broken, but I haven't found a working smoothie machine in Vietnam yet. The staff at Tous les Jours did speak a little English, and were very friendly.  I highly recommend it.
Finally, I want to thank everyone who congratulated Phuong, Joanna and I on Facebook or by email. I'm happy to bring Joanna into a world that has so many kind and thoughtful people. Thanks again, everyone.

Baby deadline; tardy students; lotto ripoff

The doctor in Ho Chi Minh City gave Phuong a July 7 deadline for our baby. In other words, if Phuong doesn't go into labor before then, doctors will take steps on July 7 to induce labor and deliver our baby.  The baby weighs close to 8 pounds so the doctor doesn't think waiting much longer is a good idea. Phuong is calm and practical about everything. I'm a mess. I'm tense when I teach (sorry, kids), and wherever I go I wait for a phone call from Phuong. Of course, she doesn't call, so I'm even more tense and more of a mess.
Let's talk about something else ...
My students, who I really respect and enjoy, have taken tardiness to a whole new level, and it's not cool. I have anywhere from 10 to 16 students per class, and lately no more than two students show up on time for any of my classes. I wouldn't care so much -- they're wasting their time and money, not mine -- but the students stroll or strut or scurry into the room 5 to 10 to 15 to 20 minutes late, make a big deal of apologizing to me and interrupting my lesson, and finally sit down to talk with friends at an unacceptable volume level.  Sometimes, I stop teaching and tell the late chatterboxes that it's rude to talk when someone else is talking. So I suggest they share whatever they were blabbing with the class and I'll shut my pie hole to show respect to them.  I even offer to go home and let them teach the class since they love talking in front of the group. You see, the thing that really upsets me is that the late catwalk, followed by disrespectful chatting, happens around four times per class.  So if I teach 10 classes a week, I have to put up with 40 catwalks/chatwalks a week. Not cool. I had to deal with the same thing in Peru. But Peruvian students have been exposed to more English and American culture than students here so they knew to enter the room quietly when they were late. But Vietnamese students are very bright and willing to learn, so I'm sure they'll eventually learn to either show up on time for my classes or shut their pie holes when they enter my classroom late. After all, the two or sometimes three students who show up on time deserve to get a full 90-minute lesson from the White Monkey.  I may not be the greatest teacher, but I prepare (my wife will vouch for this) and try to do my best for the students.
Word on the street travels quickly in Bien Hoa, and that's not great news for me. I have been buying lotto tickets lately for Phuong, and the sellers must have spread the word because when I get coffee at my favorite cafe on a busy street corner, I deal with a parade of ticket sellers every day. I relented one day, and a woman stole 10,000 dong from me. How? Well, tickets are 10,000 dong each (about 50 cents) and I gave her 20,000. She basically refused to give me change after I took one ticket, so I told her to go home and keep the money to avoid a big scene. I'm sure she would have started arguing and I've learned after three motorbike accidents that I'm always wrong in Vietnam, even when I'm right. The lotto woman doesn't speak English, of course, but she understands theft in any language. My fault for engaging her in the first place. But many business people here don't think long-term. They would rather steal 50 cents from you today than keep you as steady customer for years to come. Maybe it's a "now  culture" thing and I just don't understand. Even some Vietnamese agree with me on this point, but they're more willing to accept this philosophy than I am. I really shouldn't care. I can just take my business to the folks who treat the White Monkey with respect.

Still waiting, Amway, sad kid

Phuong jokes that our baby is waiting for Wimbledon to really get under way before it's born. Right now, our baby is sticking with Phuong. Doctors extended the due date from July 4 to July 6, but I don't put much stock in their predictions. We'll just wait -- and as the Vietnamese say, waiting is happiness. (If waiting is happiness here, why does everybody cut in line?) Wimbledon started Monday, so I expect to see our baby real soon. I think of Phuong all the time and I want her to have the best experience possible delivering our baby.
My walk to and from my new favorite coffee shop has become a circuitous and complicated journey through Bien Hoa. All to avoid motorbikes on the sidewalks. But it's not really working. I go through the park, down a couple of alleys, along the railroad tracks, down on a side street, and on the main road for a short while. I'm not on the main road much because of the bikes, but I still manage to almost get hit a couple of times a day. I'm OK, though, because I've learned the art of defensive walking. Unbelievable! But this isn't a pedestrian-friendly town. In the White Monkey's view, there's a class system here: Car drivers think they are gods, motorbike riders are heroes, bicycle riders are mere mortals, and pedestrians either sell lottery tickets, or can't afford a car, motorbike or bicycle.
All that said, most people along my zig-zaging route recognize the crazy, singing, cane-carrying White Monkey. And they're very nice. Lots of smiles and nods from the locals make the walk pleasant, despite the motorbikes. I wear big headphones and listen to music when I walk -- I've gone through about five pairs of headphones this year -- so I don't have to tell people my name or where I'm from.
Part of my routine includes a stop at Hancook, a new Korean restaurant on the main street near the language center where I teach. The kim chi is very good, and there's a quality mushroom soup as well. In fact, all the food I've had there is good. Needless to say, I'm burned out on Vietnamese food, and I'm not that crazy about it in the first place, other than the chicken. Obviously, Phuong has slowed down a little on her cooking, I often work 5 p.m. to 9 p.m., so we cobble together meals from the Korean restaurant, a little home cooking, and Phuong's mom. We're eating well.
It's interesting, but the folks we've encountered who work for Amway here think they're super hot stuff. Really. They mock products not sold by Amway and warn that you're making a big mistake by buying whatever the hell you buy that's not Amway. Some Amway folks down the street had a huge party that closed part of  the street and included live music -- to celebrate their daughter's first birthday. Overall, our neighbors are OK. The ones that are weird, and that's just about all of them, keep to themselves. Our next-door neighbors have a six-year-old boy who screams and cries, and I mean screams and cries, about four hours a day. We'll hear him screaming and kicking the walls or whatever at 10:30 at night. God, I hope our kid isn't like this. I feel bad for the little boy. He seems bored in addition to unhappy, but Phuong and I have almost no interaction with this creepy family.
I'll see kids riding bikes alongside cars and motorbikes, and playing in the streets, but I'd like to see more parks and playgrounds here for kids and families to gather. It's a different culture from what I'm used to, and really, I have to remind myself of that quite often. I'm like everyone else: I think I know what's best for the world and everybody in it, and that my ideas are not only the best, but the only ones that matter. Maybe I should get a job with Amway.

No baby, trash hoagie, lipstick craze

The big news with our baby is no news … yet.  Phuong is huge and she gets an occasional contraction. But no signs of honest-to-God labor. The due date remains July 4, but doctors don’t expect the baby to wait that long.  Of course we’re anxious, hoping and praying for a safe delivery and healthy baby. No choice but to keep waiting.

I altered my walk route because motorbikes kept hitting me when I walked on the sidewalk. I was going to get into a fight and clobber somebody – or get clobbered – if I stayed the course on the sidewalk. Sad, but that’s how it is.  So now I walk along the railroad tracks. It’s trashy, but there’s a little bit more nature and green. There’s still a motorbike or two on the paths next to the tracks, but not like the sidewalks, where people suddenly pull in and park their motorbikes to patronize the shops.

 The other day during my walk, I saw something that shook me up. There was a man  ahead of me squatting next to the tracks and it looked like he was rummaging through some stuff. You see people looking for recyclables this way all the time. But when I got next to him I saw that he was filling a loaf of bread with discarded food that had been sitting next to the tracks. He was making a kind of trash hoagie that I assume he was going to eat.  It smelled rancid. Maybe I’m wrong, but countries like the United States and England seem to do a better job of hiding and segregating their poverty. In countries like Peru, Bolivia and Vietnam, the poverty is more visible, and is readily seen alongside the well-to-do.

It’s a fashion statement that’s blowin’ up in Bien Hoa. Young girls all over town, from ages 12 to 30, are wearing red lipstick. You betcha. Lipstick has come to Dong Nai province in Vietnam. I noticed my coffee shop girls wearing it. Staffers where I work are now wearing it. So are students. I even see random lottery girls and food stand girls wearing lipstick. This fashion “craze” has taken off in the past month or so. The girls aren’t shy with application. They’re still learning, I think. Personally, I’m not enamored with lipstick. In my opinion, Vietnamese girls are pretty and don’t need this kind of embellishment, but it’s not like I have a voice or say in the matter. People will do as they please, and if slopping red wax around your mouth makes you happy, then go for it. I wanted to get some pictures, but I couldn’t figure out how to get close-ups and not look perverted at the same time. I’ll work on it when I can.

I had more to write, but the internet is brutally slow so the blog stops here.

Park is the place for White Monkey

I spend more time in the park near our house because it's relatively clean (compared to the city) and there aren't many motorbikes, although an occasional duckface will race his motorbike on the park's concrete paths to get somewhere really important, like a coffee shop or video gaming room. I can do tai chi in the park, though, and passersby don't seem to really care. It reminds me of Hong Kong. The Vietnamese stare at me less in the park when I do tai chi than when I walk on the sidewalk to my new, favorite coffee shop. In the park, there are wedding photo shoots, which are rather pleasant, a few birds in the trees, and lots of butterflies. All of this is serenaded by unseen cicadas. The litter is minimal, and the park workers always smile or nod at me. All in all, a good scene. The canal near the park can smell sometimes, but since it's rainy season the water gets flushed out, so to speak. I'm mystified by the guys who fish in the canal. I don't think you can catch anything there except a serious skin rash. When I went to the park at dusk, I saw lots of birds zipping around the trees and canal while I worked out. Phuong was with me and said no big deal, they're bats.
An old friend Eric suggested I walk myself back to health after my two motorbike accidents. And he's absolutely right. Actually, I've been a walker for some time. I'm completely recovered from the motorbike accidents thanks to Phuong's massages with Chinese oil, walking, tai chi, and not smoking. Yes, I'm closing in on three months without a puff. Smashing your ribs and lungs on concrete is a drastic method for quitting, and I don't really recommend it, but whatever works.
Sadly, my walk is not a pleasant experience. A motorbike rider banged into my back (the fourth time this has happened) as I walked on the sidewalk near this craphole market next to the train tracks. No damage to me, but I was popped pretty good and stumbled a bit. The rider's reaction? He laughed at me. I approached this fishface with my cane in hand, ready to swat his ugly pug into next week. I showed restraint, however, and merely screamed curse words at him so loudly that the losers who work in the market gawked at me even more than usual. The guy rode away -- on the sidewalk. Three days later, I smacked a girl's bike with my new cane when she was about to hit me as I crossed the street with a pregnant lady (in a crosswalk). Really. The girl didn't make eye contact with me when I asked her "What's up, apeface?"
Speaking of pregnant ladies, my beautiful and lovely wife Phuong looks ready to give birth any moment. Phuong is incredible: 9 months pregnant and she's still cheerful and beautiful. The baby keeps moving, but it's obvious there isn't a lot of room for the baby to maneuver. We'll see elbows and knees and feet and hands move across Phuong's BIG belly.  And when I curse, which I do on occasion, Phuong tries to cover the baby's ears by putting her fingers on her stomach. You'd have to see it, but it's cute and quite funny.
The rainy season has cooled things off ever so slightly -- it's 92 or 93 every day instead of 97 or 98. But the humidity is brutal. I went into the staff room at my school and a Vietnamese staffer was tutoring a little Vietnamese girl.  I go in there to get my attendance folder for class and organize any papers I have for class. The Vietnamese staffer had the air conditioner on 32 degrees celcius, which is 89.6 degrees farenheit. That's warm in any culture. I prepared for class in the hallway, where it was probably a brisk 85. I understand it's all genetics, physical stature and such, and the heat doesn't bother these folks as much as the White Monkey.  But when a 210-pound White Monkey is wearing dress clothes and a tie and teaching in an 88- or 90-degree classroom, life becomes a sweaty mess. I don't do my best work. A student wearing a micro-miniskirt asked me why I was sweating in the 89-degree classroom when I was teaching. I responded: "Because I'm wearing clothes, I guess."
I included a few pictures of bikes cutting into oncoming traffic or riding against the grain to make a turn. Signals aren't necessary when riders pull this stunt. It's really shocking I've had accidents here, isn't it?
I've got some great kids and teen classes these days. For whatever reason, I relate to these guys. Maybe it's because they're young and their minds are open to new ideas, new ways of thinking, and new points of view. They get over their shyness pretty quickly and will try to speak English in class. I love that. Youth is great.  

An explosion at home; baby wants out

We had a crazy kitchen incident last week. It was a near miss that could have been horrible. Really. Phuong was using the percolator to make my morning coffee. I went to the fridge to get milk and Phuong was washing some spoons in the sink when the percolator blew up. And I mean BLEW THE HELL UP. Coffee grounds were everywhere -- the walls, the ceiling, the kitchen table, in the fridge, on Phuong, on me. Crazy. Phuong got sprayed with a tiny bit of hot water, but she was mostly out of harm's way. The percolator handle was across the room. The screwed-on top had blown off and was on the stove. It sounded like a bomb. Phuong's dad came over and with a smirk on his face said it was like the war. I knew what he meant and we laughed together. Funny, but a really scary moment that could have been much worse.
I'm happiest here when I'm with my wife or in the classroom teaching. Phuong is a remarkable companion, great cook and funny person. When I broke one of the free bowls we got with a purchase of spaghetti sauce while I was doing dishes, Phuong immediately said, "I guess my dear didn't like their promotion." She made an incredible dinner of salmon and shrimp with cream sauce on Saturday night. That's typical. She always prepares unique vegetables. And she's pampered me through my motorbike injuries. Remarkably, I'm all better now and pain-free. No easy feat with two sets of banged-up ribs and a mashed right ankle. She's an incredible woman and I'm a lucky man.
Almost all of my students and classes are wonderful. I have to clamp down on some of my little kids classes early, but they get it and their English improves quickly. Kids -- and teens -- are like sponges. They soak up the language, including the pronunciation. I'm happy to report that teens exhibit similar behavior all over the world. They pout, sulk, push the limits, disrespect the White Monkey, and love to curse. I've tossed a few teens out of my classes, but only when they violate a school or White Monkey classroom policy. But the teens and practically everyone else here never hold a grudge. I've booted teens out of class and the next time I see them we're laughing or joking or sharing a moment. I believe that will continue. In more than three years living here, only one chucklehead -- a co-worker -- will not speak to or acknowledge me after an incident two years ago that was clearly his fault and/or responsibility. That's actually a pretty good testament to the Vietnamese people. Too bad they're chuckleheads when they're riding their motorbikes or behind the wheel of a car.
The motorbike has become the bane of my existence here. I don't like it and I don't trust the people who ride them. Many folk have their left turn signals on and then turn right. The positive -- sort of -- is that very few people use their turn signals. Nobody yields at intersections. I walk much more these days, but motorbikes ride on sidewalks and I've been hit by bikes (not real hard) while walking at least five times. And the bike riders glare at me like I'm the ass clown for using the sidewalk to WALK. (This is why I carry the cane even though my body has healed.) At night, about 10 percent of the bikes have no lights whatsoever and about 50 percent have no rear lights. Kids drive stupid and weave in and out of traffic. Bikes come out of side streets onto the main roads and never yield or give a rat's rump about oncoming traffic or right of way. In short, motorbike riders follow no rules or laws, have no etiquette, and care about no one but themselves. Sadly, I've chatted with two people at Metro Supermarket who told me their children were killed in motorbike accidents. And two students told me about family members they lost in accidents. It really upsets me when I hear these stories, but I'm not shocked since I have first-hand experience with how dangerous the bikes here can be.
The rainy season has arrived and, of course, our new house floods. In fact, just about every house seems to take on water. The streets flood quickly because the litter blocks the drains. The temperature isn't quite as high -- in the low 90s -- but it's very humid. It's a real treat when the power goes out, which happens about once a month for three-hour stretches. (Peru was much worse in terms of power outages. And some of us who lived in California know about Enron.)  So, the motorbikes and weather are practically killing me - literally -- but I've got the best wife in the world and awesome students.
Phuong's belly is huge and it's only a matter of weeks -- if that long --  before she gives birth.  She now has weekly hospital visits and so far, so good. The baby is quite active, kicking and stretching. I think it wants out of there.

Bad language and purple toenails

The Vietnamese language is a real enigma for me. My wife and mother-in-law understand much of what I say in Vietnamese (God bless ém). But when I go to a coffee shop and order "cafe sua nong", which translates, more or less, to coffee milk hot, the young girls and guys working there look at me like I'm speaking Swahili, or Klingon. I get the hand waves in my face, and screwed-up looks like I'm the biggest butt face in the world. That may be the case, but my Vietnamese isn't as bad as these folks act. Sometimes, I become irritated and get up and leave. The kids couldn't care less if the White Monkey is a satisfied customer or does business there.  But if the owner happens to be in the vicinity when I order, the kids shockingly show more patience and understanding trying to understand the White Monkey. In fact, the kids suddenly seem to understand what I'm ordering. Hot coffee with milk. After all, it's maybe the most popular drink in the coffee shops, so what the hell else would I be ordering .... a double chubby chuck burger?  On three occasions, at three different coffee shops, the owners gave the waiters or waitresses hell for treating me like, well, a White Monkey. And that's the God's truth. The owners understood my order and barked at the kids to stop acting stupid and get my cafe sua nong. I love those guys. And at Hanh Phuc bakery today (May 28), the girl said, "Your Vietnamese is very good."  By the way, I love that girl, too. I'm surprised I get ridiculed as much as I do because I am trying to speak the language, but perhaps some people enjoy having the upper hand over someone like me who they perceive as wealthy, arrogant and condescending. Well, other than wealthy, they're on the mark. But all that said, what I really want is a HOT COFFEE WITH MILK.
The doctor told Phuong to cut back on her eating a little because our baby is getting quite big. The baby weighs more than six pounds and there's more than a month until the due date of July 4. The doctor also said the baby could come any time before July 4.  It's difficult to say. We don't know the sex, which shocks the locals, but I feel we're having a girl. I'll say it again and again: We don't care boy or girl as long the baby is healthy and normal and all goes well with the delivery. Phuong is doing everything in her power to make that happen. God, I love that woman.
Phuong looks great for a pregnant woman. But I'm a mess. My back is hurting all the time since my second motorbike wreck. I can't lay down without pain, so I can't really sleep. I watch Richard Quest on CNN all night and try to nap during the day. Pain and lack of sleep have almost destroyed what little patience I had in the first place. Again, Phuong is incredibly understanding. No one else gives a crap and I don't blame them. I'm bored with me as well. And here's a weird item. The nails on my two big toes have turned  purple because the shoes Phuong bought me here are too tight. But they're the biggest size they sell so I'm screwed until I go to the U.S. in November. I won't post a picture of my purple toenails because I want people to look at my blog.
The other day I was doing some tai chi in the park and a young girl selling lottery tickets -- these girls are all over town -- approached me.  But to her credit, she didn't interrupt me. I was so impressed with her behavior that when I saw her on my way home, I bought a lottery ticket from her. I put on my headphones, got in my post-chi groove and continued on my way. Then, in an alley near my house, I unexpectedly felt a hand on my shoulder. I almost crapped my pants and had a heart attack, in that order. I spun around and there was the lottery girl with a lottery girl buddy. The buddy held out a cell phone to me and from what I gathered, wanted to exchange phone numbers. I waved her away. The whole scene was a little too weird. That's what I get for being nice, I guess.
And damn-it, I'm still not smoking cigarettes.
I'm calling "slow life", "Hollygood", and "summarize" Phuongisms. These are Phuong's way of saying American words and phrases ... in her style. A new Phuongism is "smash potato" instead of mashed potatoes. Unbelievable!