HOME SWEET HOME . . .

I am such a sappy cheeseball. I cry at those cotton commercials, Kleenex commercials, episodes of "The West Wing," AT&T long-distance service ads. Add to the list the "Welcome to New York" sign that greets me as I walk out of the airplane into the terminal at JFK airport. I love that sign. I love New York. I love being home, even though I was at a home away from home.

I have so much to say, including some commentary about some characters I observed on my flight back. Is it California? Is it New York? Is it the clientele of JetBlue? I don't know -- all I can say right now in my semi-pooped-out slightly-jet-lagged do-I-really-have-to-go-to-work-in-the-morning state is: there are some weird people out there. And they were all on my flight this evening. But you wait till tomorrow when I'm more coherent (and on a faster server).

C was gracious enough to pick me up and drive me home with only two big-head jokes thrown in. En route, I saw the sonogram prints of his and M's twins! They are almost 2 lbs apiece and they are CUTE, even for such tiny little things. CC2 was just lying there with her arms at her sides, with what appears to be a slight "get that sonogram probe off of me" frown on her face, eyes closed in peaceful repose. MC2 had a thumb in his mouth, the other fist up near his chin in boxing stance, all ready to fight his way out (but not yet!). Adorable. I shall teach them all I know . . . which should take just a few hours, and then I shall play with them until my arms fall off and coo at them until I lose my voice. And then I shall dance for them to make them laugh. I can still hear the sweet gravelly tinkle of Baby's laugh in my ears . . . what a great kid! Ha and Co. are super-lucky, and I bet C & M will be too.

One last note: I walk into my house and it's done! Apparently, the painters have wrapped up and left, and we are left to settle back into normalcy again. My poor parents -- while I was in L.A., they rearranged all the furniture in the three rooms that were uprooted; ran dozens of loads of all the dishes and pots and pans we own to cleanse them of the thick layer of dust that pervaded our home for the past month and a half; and started to slowly replace all our knick-knacks and valuable display things after doing a meticulous cleansing of each.

The walls are painted, the new hardwood floors are shiny, and the furniture is arranged differently. It looks like . . . a white person's house. I know, I know, that's a weird thing to say, but it's true. There's just something about us Korean-Americans -- 1st-generation Korean-American immigrants, in particular -- that makes it virtually impossible for us to keep a clean, dust-free, well-decorated, not tacky or kitschy, modern-looking, cool house that isn't over-accessorized and doesn't have boxes or crates of Korean food stuffs or other random items in every corner of every room. But our house -- our brand-new, shiny, paint-smelly, bare-bones new house -- isn't like that!

I choose to look upon this as a new beginning for our family. From now on, we shall not be tacky. We shall not be messy. We shall not leave random items in places that are "convenient" to us, even though no logical person would see the efficacy of leaving 2 pairs of scissors, a box of red pepper powder, toe-nail clippers and a case of napkins from Sam's Club in the formal living room. We shall not clutter up our display cases and table-tops with meaningless knick-knacks. We shall Swiffer the shiny new floors weekly.

Eh. I'll let you know where we stand in September.

Ahhhh, my New York bed beckons from my New York bedroom. My New York car sits outside, ready for me to hop in and get to my New York job. Tomorrow (today), I will see my New York friends and get back into my New York groove. This is not to say I didn't love being with Ha and Co. and didn't appreciate their hospitality and never-ceasing love, but . . . they should really move to New York.