The Heusens

Let me just say this. My man is H-O-T HOT. He has the cutest butt I've ever seen.

Tonight, he wore his birthday suit while he washed the dishes and scrubbed my breast pump.



I knew within a week of meeting him that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. It was so easy.


He takes care of me. The lattes he makes me every morning are his little gifts of love. He makes me food whenever I ask for it. All I say is "I'm hungry" and he makes me a grilled cheese. Or scoops some ice cream for me. Or if I say "I'm thirsty" he goes and gets me a glass of ice water. If I hold out my arms to him, he knows to scratch them for me.


He made a beautiful baby with me, and loves her so much. He takes care of her. He never gets frustrated with her. When she is crying and my nerves are shot, he patiently cuddles her until she calms down. He reads to her, plays with her, and gives her a bath at night.


I talk to him for hours every day. He knows every aspect of my life, and every detail of my day. And he only gets a little annoyed when I tell the same story for the nth time.

He calls me "Beautiful" and "Sexy" like they are my names. And he wants me all the time, even when I am truly disgusting.

I love his mind. He is brilliant with science and math and all that. Honest-to-god, mind-blowingly brilliant. But it is really his approach to life and way of viewing things that are unlike anyone I've ever met. He taught me to live my life without fear, to live an intentional life, and to free myself from ideological constraints. From him, I learned that money is only money. And that our love is our heaven on earth.


He reaffirms that we will always be partners and that he will always be here for me, in any way that I need him to be.

And how can I not love a man whose last three Google searches were:
Matrix norm
Static Equilibrium
Black hole of Calcutta

Posted by Ashlyn at 1:43 AM | Permalink | Comments

I have white hair. I blame this on my dad, who went prematurely gray in his late twenties. Even though - ahem - I do not believe in the existence of the "late twenties", if we must be technical about it, I am there. And I have the white hairs to prove it. (I subscribe to Anita's theory that there are only the "early twenties"...ages 20 - 29... and "thirty").

One time last year I asked Maryn, "Are my white hairs really obvious? Do I need to think about coloring my hair?"

Her response: "I would if I were you."

I pause, waiting for some sisterly validation after that blow to my ego. Something like "Although they do look like really awesome highlights that you spent a lot of money on."

Instead, she says this: "I'm just being honest." And shrugs.

Spooky. Am I right?

Also, this: a few years ago, I went to the beach with my hot new boyfriend Kris. We were lying out in the sun when I noticed a sole white hair growing out of the middle of his hairless stomach. It was like three inches long! I said "Hey! You have a weird white hair growing out of your stomach!" I reached over and plucked it out.

Now the scary part: Kris said "So do you!" I looked down, and to my horror, I also had a sole white hair growing out of the middle of my (not-so-hairless) stomach. It was also, like, three inches long!

It was truly a bizarre experience. Spooky, if you will. I took it as an omen that we were meant to be together. FOREVER.

Also. I had this weird pimply thing on the bottom of my chin for like three years. I'm not exaggerating. Turns out that it was a wart. White hair...warts...I am basically a witch. Except broomsticks are nowhere to be found. Because I live in filth.

Posted by Ashlyn at 1:22 AM | Permalink | Comments

Happy Halloween folks! In the Halloween spirit I'll be sharing some recent scary, spooky stories.

Poopless days. There's a certain creeping terror when you're heading to bed, and realize that Saya hasn't pooped all day. "Oh god... that means tomorrow I'm going to have to wash poopy clothes, sheets, blankets, car seats, strollers, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Sleep deprivation insanity. Just the other night, a frantic Ashlyn called me into the kitchen. "Am I going insane, or are the numbers on the microwave vibrating?" My thoughts: "I'm betting on insanity, but I'd better check this out." So we're staring at the LED clock on this microwave, waiting it for it to move. Nothing... nothing... "THERE! IT MOVED!" she says. I saw nothing. We stare and wait again for a few moments. "IT MOVED AGAIN!" "Uh... is everything ok, sweetie? Nothing happened."

I contemplate institutionalizing my wife as I endure a couple more rounds of this. Then I noticed a pattern. Every time Ash sees the elusive dancing numbers, I hear a crunching noise. She's taking bites from a crispy biscotti. "Try taking a bite of the biscotti," I say. She stares at the LEDs and takes a bite. Her face instantly flashes horror and embarrassment as she realizes the vibrating is perfectly in sync with her crunching.

We had a good laugh. We're kinda losing it over here.

Stalkers. Ashlyn has a friend Meg who was in grad school with her 6 years ago. She now lives in Menlo Park too, and our paths have randomly crossed a brazillion times. We'll see each other on the street, going to the same restaurant, next to each other at a stop light, at the BBC, etc. One of us is definitely a stalker.

McCain's campaign. Campaign = zombie. It keeps shuffling forward, on and on and on. Embarrasing VP interviews? Half of its head may be blown off, but it's still going. Suspending the campaign to deal with the financial crisis? Those legs may be gone, but it's still dragging itself along by its arms. McCain may be way behind in the polls, dragging a stumpy body along by its hands, but it's still trying to claw it's way through your window. Ayers! ACORN! Terrorist! Socialist! Brains! Brains!

UC Berkeley's bureaucracy. I was hired as a postdoc, and supposed to start my employment near the end of September. After not working all summer, these HR folks said they were absolutely swamped with paperwork for the new school year, and they were too busy to get me started until at least 10/15. The prof I'm working for told me, "You have to get yourself noticed over there. Bring them flowers." I laugh. He replies, "No seriously, I'll reimburse you".

So I brought both flowers and Saya to the HR office. I was thanked for the flowers... and then the entire office of around 10 people shut itself down to ogle and coo at Saya. The commotion brought in more admins from nearby offices. So suddenly about 20 people are crowded around Saya, pushing the stroller around the building, bouncing her, giggling at her. This continued for about 15 minutes as I filled out paperwork for a temporary assignment (signing me on as a full postdoc would just have to wait as more paperwork trickles through).

As I was wrapping things up, Saya started fussing. So I elbowed my way into the crowd as some lady was trying to soothe her. "She's hungry," the lady said. "Where's her bottle?" "It's in the car." "Let's go." So she followed me out to the car, carrying Saya the whole time. She sat down in the front seat and fed Saya. For 20 minutes.

I wonder how many employment forms, insurance benefits, and pay stubs didn't get filed because of Saya's little visit.

I don't think I'm officially a postdoc yet.

Trader Joe's pizza dough. It's a bag of gooey dough sittin' in a bag. Gross. (Makes a good pizza though)

I'll end this Halloween post in honor of my ol buddy Gaurav, who went to a 49ers game dressed as an Indian cricket Olympian (that's sort of a costume, right?), and made history at the half time show. His story is too awesome for words. Definitely worth the read. You rock G.

Posted by Kris at 11:42 PM | Permalink | Comments

So, I'm totally not holding it together right now. I am totally overwhelmed.

I always have this vision of how I want my life to be. And when my life doesn't match up with that, I feel totally inadequate. I don't know whether I should strive for what I want my life to be like, or recognize that it's a pipe dream and just lower my expectations.

Here is what I strive for:

10 pm - 6 am: Sleep
6 am: Wake up, feed Saya
6:30 am: Run
7 am: Shower, get ready, eat breakfast, have a latte
8 am - noon: Work
noon - 1 pm: Eat lunch, play with Saya
1-6 pm: Work
6-8 pm: Make and eat dinner, clean up, hang out with Kris and Saya
8-9 pm: Bathtime and Bed routine for Saya
9-10 pm: Relax with Kris

Here was my reality today:

2 am: Saya wakes up. I feed her and go to sleep for the first time.
4 - 4:30 am: Saya wakes up to breastfeed.
5:30 - 6 am: Saya wakes up to breastfeed.
7 - 7:30 am: Saya wakes up to breastfeed. Kris takes her out of the room so I can sleep.
7:30 -9 am: Sleep
9-9:30 am: Kris brings Saya in for breastfeeding. I try to sleep some more.
9:30-11:30 am: Sleep
11:30 am - noon: Oh crap. I slept in way too long. Saya needs to breastfeed again.
noon-1 pm: Madly answer emails and eat a grilled cheese sandwich
1-1:30 pm: Shower and get ready for the day
1:30-2 pm: Continue madly answering emails
2-2:30 pm: Breastfeeding
2:30-4:30 pm: Work
4:30-5 pm: Breastfeeding
5-6:30 pm: Nap
6:30-7:30 pm: Work
7:30-9 pm: Dinner
9-10 pm: Meg and Leena stop by
10 pm: Put Saya to bed (no bedtime routine)
10 pm - 2 am: Oh crap. It's time to get some work done. Work.

I should also mention that my vision includes living in a very clean house, having a great social life, and having clean teeth. In an ideal world, makeup would be applied and hair would be blow-dried. But let's not get too crazy...

Any tips? I know I need to shift my schedule up by like four hours. But it's SOOOO hard to wake up on time after a night with no sleep.

Posted by Ashlyn at 1:18 AM | Permalink | Comments

A few weeks ago, I finally caved and joined Facebook. Wow, Facebook is time-consuming. It's like having another email account! It is definitely fun, strange, and addictive. An old high school crush found me on Facebook. That was cool! And I feel so special when someone pokes me or writes on my Wall. I don't like getting cause invitations or getting random plants though.

Last week, my old friend Amy found me on Facebook. I haven't talked to Amy since I was a sophomore in high school. She found me and told me that she has a baby girl and that I should be proud that her name is Ashlyn! Whoa! I felt so cool!

This was particularly crazy because a year ago, my elementary school buddy Tina found my other elementary school buddy Sarah on Facebook. And guess what? Tina had twin girls and told Sarah to tell me that she named one of them Ashlyn! Isn't that cool?

I know they're not naming their kids after me, exactly. But it does feel cool. I figure that if they hated me or had terrible memories of me, they wouldn't give their kids my name.

Speaking of things with my name: last weekend, we were eating brunch at a crepe place. This dorky guy was sitting outside, at a table with his dog. The dog started getting all tangled in her leash, and the guy yelled "AIKO! No!" This was totally weird. My Japanese middle name is Aiko and it is not a common name to hear thrown around...particularly by random dorky white guys in their mid-twenties! So of course I confirmed the spelling of her name with him. And the dog was indeed named Aiko! Huh!

It reminded me of this other time when I was having one of those polite airport conversations with some random dude. I was only half paying attention, until he mentioned his girlfriend Maryn. This was sooo weird. Every once in awhile, you hear the name Ashlyn. But I have NEVER heard the name Maryn! I think I've heard "Maren" before (but pronounced like "Mare-in"...not like "Marin County"). Like a psycho, I whipped my head around and practically barked in his face "WHAT IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S NAME?!" I think he was a little taken aback. But seriously, what are the odds?

Let me end with an awkward moment. I was getting a coffee at Moonbeans yesterday with a bunch of people from my office. Saya and Kris were with me. At some point, Eileen pointed out that a woman in line (who looked like a professional photographer...she had a fancy camera around her neck) was snapping photos of Saya. I didn't know what to do. Eileen was indignant that this woman went ahead and started taking pictures of her without asking. I was annoyed, too. But it was also flattering...I mean, she's so cute, who wouldn't want to take pictures of her? And it wasn't like the photog was some creepy dude who was sending out weird pedophilia vibes.

Once again I found myself in one of those situations I've been warned about: people crossing personal boundaries with your kids. I didn't want to be overly rude and say "No you DI-IN'T just snap photos of my daughter without asking!" And it seemed weird for me to give her a spontaneous lecture on politeness like "You know, I really would have appreciated it if you'd asked me first if you could take pictures of her." And if I tried to say something like "Oh, she's cute, isn't she?" I doubted that the woman would sheepishly acknowledge her inappropriate behavior and apologize. So in the end, I said nothing, but wish I had said something.

I guess what irks me most is that I would never in a hundred years just assume that I had the right to start snapping photos of some random person's baby. Apparently, this isn't a universal value. Who knew?

More importantly, when Saya's anonymously submitted photo wins $500 in the "Cutest Baby of the Year" competition, I want royalties!

What should I have said?

Posted by Ashlyn at 12:42 PM | Permalink | Comments

I love my dad so much.
I don't even know how to write this post because it's not going to do him justice.

My dad is incredibly loving and affectionate. He calls me a few times a week "to remind me how much he loves me." When I stayed with my parents during my maternity leave, he came home from work for lunch to hold Saya.

He is a man of integrity. He keeps his word and is always honest and ethical. He always tries to do the right thing.

I trust him absolutely and completely, always. I would follow my dad into hell if he told me it would be okay. Because if he said it would be okay, it would be.

He would do anything for his family. And I have never felt threatened because he has always protected me.

He is compassionate. He takes the responsibility of the world on his shoulders and never complains. He tries to shoulder others' burdens so they don't have to. I can say with complete confidence that if given the choice, my dad would experience any pain I have ever had, tenfold, so that I would not have to experience it myself.

He has complete confidence in me and my sister, in every way. To him, we are the best!

He is self-made. I am proud to say that my father came from having nothing and was able to provide a beautiful life for our family. He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has earned everything he has worked for (even though he worked far harder and provided far more than he has ever needed to do).

He lives his life to the max. He takes advantage of every moment and makes the most of it. "Relaxing" is not in his vocabulary...unless it involves surfing or cycling or flying.

I respect his opinions, even if I don't agree with them.

Let me tell you a short story about my dad. It's not about a particularly remarkable event, but I have always remembered it as symbolic of who my dad is as a person and as a father.

I was in junior high and got in a huge fight with a girl at school. I don't even remember who the girl was, or what the fight was about...only that I was upset and had been crying all day. I didn't know what to do, except call my dad. These were the pre-cell phone days so I called him on the pay phone at lunch. I was about to burst into tears and tell him everything when the girl I'd gotten in the fight with walked up behind me to use the phone. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell my dad what had happened when she was right there behind me!

When my dad picked up the phone, I awkwardly said "Hi Daddy" in a pinched voice. My dad asked immediately if I was okay. I had no choice but to answer "yeah." He could tell that something was wrong, though. He asked, "Did something happen today?" I told him "yeah." When I didn't elaborate, he asked, "Is there someone there listening to you that you can't talk in front of?" I wanted to burst into grateful tears. How's that for dad telepathy? I think my voice cracked and I said "yeah." He then said all sorts of reassuring things about how we would talk all about it as soon as I got home from school. I don't remember the rest of the conversation. But I will always remember that day. It seems like an insignificant story, but I always remember it as emblematic of the many, many times when my dad came through for me (like he has always done), comforted me and reassured me.

Even in my toughest times, my dad always made me feel supported and that we could get through anything together, because he would always be on my team.

This is a short list of why I love my dad. And it doesn't even scratch the surface.

Posted by Ashlyn at 1:02 AM | Permalink | Comments

This weekend, we found our small digital camera, which was missing (in Kris' coat pocket) for the last two weeks. And so it came to pass that we found these pictures:



Yesterday I worked. And worked. Today, we went to breakfast at the local crepe place. Saya was decked out Thugz Life style:


Then we went on a three-mile hike in the local mountains:


And ended our day with quite the feast at Evvia (muchas gracias to Alicia for babysitting). I am not angry in this picture. Just in the middle of a food coma:


After talking up how incredibly HOT the rest of our evening would be, Kris came home and promptly fell asleep at 8 p.m. Although, to be fair, falling asleep at 8 p.m. is fantasy-worthy for new parents. It's practically pornographic.

Let me treat you to some of my other hot and naughty new parent fantasies (a girl can dream, right?):

1. Not having feces smeared on some part of my body
2. Having a brain with neurons that work and stuff
3. Being able to make lists of more than two items without getting too tired to continue

If this list doesn't make you feel HOT and BOTHERED, then I say that you are setting the bar too high, my friend.

Posted by Ashlyn at 12:10 AM | Permalink | Comments