Tantrum Tuesday = Bargain Movie Night

Posted on September 26, 2012 by ajummama

“Look, Jihee-yah. We’re just gonna leave and let you eat dinner in peace. Exhale. TAKE YOUR TIME. Don’t worry, we will find something to eat at home.”

Don’t have to tell me twice. I did not protest. Raise up, boys. Let me exhale after Micah’s Tantrum Tuesday. If mama could, she would even order some wine with her Polish platter.

Second time this month my boys left me at a restaurant during dinner. But honestly, I welcomed the ditching. Eating with a happy toddler still takes some patience and wrangling but an unhappy one? Oy.

This time, it was even before ordering. M had been throwing a few tantrums, wanting to look at my P-H-O-N-E so that he can watch videos of himself. He had gotten better the last couple months but regressed a bit lately maybe because I’ve been on it more. I can’t leave all emails and online business for nighttime especially these next few weeks.

We met Daddy at a nearby restaurant after Gymboree (where a public tantrum went down). Packed on a Tuesday night for Yom Kippur. We may have been the only Gentiles. Upset customers due to slow service. M is also upset because he wants more diluted apple juice which we ran out of. I could tell it’s only going to get worse so I say, “Let’s just go. I don’t have it in me to sit through this after today.” When Kevin told me to stay and unwind, he tried to place M in the stroller but M was so upset, he used it as a slide and came right out.

A handful of senior citizens watched shamelessly as if we were the dinner show. Almost beaming that they got a free show to add some fun to their uneventful meal, having nothing to talk about other than the slow service. One lady even said, “This is SO funny!” while Kevin huffed and puffed to calm him down and get them on their way. Glad we could amuse her. The boys left and a party of six sat by me. They had a toddler who (happily) threw his toys throughout their entire dinner.

Last time this happened, it was after our food had arrived at an Italian place in our neighborhood. The boys went home to leave me at peace, and also to look like such the stereotype for Very Pregnant Lady with a seafood linguine, fried calamari, and pizza for One. Sure, we hadn’t come with ANY toys or distractions for M as we wanted to be carefree and just walk across the street for a family dinner for once. How smart of us.

After our separate dinners and M’s bath, our friends came over to sit at our place while M snoozed away. They wanted us to treat ourselves to a final(?) date night before we become a Family of Four. What a weeknight treat thanks to Uncle AO and Auntie NK. I was so frenzied from Tantrum Tuesday that I didn’t even get to look up the movie choices the way I usually do. I actually let Kevin narrow it down on his own. Something I never do because I am so damn picky and difficult about what I’d watch. It was between a Cop Movie (action, suspense, mystery, humor?) or a Clint Eastwood-Amy Adams father-daughter flick which would also interest me because I love family dynamics (but not as critically acclaimed).

We went for the Cop movie.

Kevin is usually overprotective about what I am “allowed” to watch during my pregnancy. Koreans say that women should only watch lovely things during their pregnancy. Nothing scary or emotionally jarring. So he had banned me from many movies, including the Final Destination series that always seems to pop up on our HBO channel when I’m in my final few weeks before due date.

So why did he take me to the movie that included oh, let’s see (SPOILER ALERT for “End of Watch”):

babies wrapped up with duct tape, human trafficking, blood and gore, gang violence, babies nearly catching on fire, rotting dead bodies, knife in the eye, beat-up-to-a-pulp unrecognizable face…

I actually LOVED the movie because it took place in South Central LA (where my folks used to run a Chinese takeout joint when I was a little girl, which gave me the street cred I still carry proudly to this day, yay, yay.) Also about brotherhood/friendship and racial tensions, again riveting fave topics of mine. But oooh, not now, not after Tantrum Tuesday and while THIS pregnant. I had to cover my eyes especially in the couple scenes with the babies.

Kevin was sheepish. He looked to me and said, “Feel free to cover your eyes whenever,” as I was already covering my eyes and ears. Because it was Bargain Tuesday, some parents had brought the whole family! I heard little kids’ voices behind me saying, “Cover your eyes, Lupe!” when a striptease came on the screen. Though their ears and eyes were exposed to everything else. Again, it was a GREAT, memorable movie but just the wacky timing. The Koreans would’ve steered me towards the Eastwood-Adams flick though this was my usual style.

As we drove home to relieve our friends, K was carsick because the camerawork in the movie had triggered his motion sickness. We were laughing at our comical choice for final movie night. Drove by a car accident that again reminded us of the movie as we prayed for those involved.

Found out after the movie that while I surprisingly didn’t go into labor from the medley of jarring scenes, a Due Date friend of mine had given birth to his second baby exactly at 38 weeks along yesterday. It really struck me that I got next.

Okay, no editing for this post but starving and M may wake up soon.

Our First Time

Posted on September 21, 2012 by ajummama

I didn’t think that our first time hiring professional cleaning services (thanks to LivingSocial) would include a moment in our tiny kitchen with my consoling and nearly hugging M, the cleaning lady sent to us at 9 a.m., as she broke out in tears. I knew this day would come. The state of our kitchen made someone cry. I’ve been close myself.

When she arrived promptly at 9 a.m., I thanked her for her punctuality and offered her a bottle of water. I told her which three-to-four rooms we needed cleaned during the three-hour time slot. I showed her the supplies her boss had asked us to provide. She said she wouldn’t even need the mop we had bought for the occasion since she gets down on her hands and knees for a good old fashioned scrubbing. I was feeling so blessed and grateful to have this timely service before Baby arrives.

She started in the kitchen at 9:05 a.m. Micah and I were reading books and playing in the living room. I had to corral him a few times as he became curious about what was going on in the kitchen. After all, we hadn’t ever had a guest come over solely for the purpose of cleaning for us (unless you count CA Grandma). I noticed that it was 10:40 a.m. and she hadn’t moved onto any other room. I popped my head into the kitchen to say, “Hi, M. Are you going to have enough time to move onto the bathroom and living room soon? I just noticed the time since we only paid for three hours.” She said something about how I should’ve paid for more time because she couldn’t leave it the way it was. I said well, this is just our first time to check out the services and I will call the company owner to ask about paying for additional hour(s).

When I called her boss lady, another M, she said this has never happened in all her years of running this service. That this M was new and a perfectionist but should’ve called her early on to say she was going to need more time. She was a savvy businesswoman as she explained very charmingly in her French(?) accent that this happened because M wanted to do such an excellent job for me. And thank you for being SO understanding, unlike some other clients.

I said that everything was fine and that I understand she probably ended up doing a deep cleaning of the kitchen, rather than the basic cleaning that we paid for. I said I am fine with paying for additional time as long as she can get to the bathroom and living room while she was here. We worked out the fees and all was well…

Until M broke out in tears saying, “I do my best. I cannot leave it undone and now my boss is mad at me. But if I had left it the way it was, you would have complained.” I had even heard her tell her boss that she had moved onto the bathroom when she hadn’t yet. I knew she was scared to be reprimanded or even fired. The sweat on her face was mixing with her fresh, new tears. Then I got verklempt because I could imagine so many other immigrant women having to work such a labor-intensive job just to live, while also fearing the loss of these dirty jobs, their only livelihood.

“Nooo, M, no one’s in any kind of trouble! I just had to pay for additional time. Your boss knows you’ve been working hard, not resting. I told her twice that you’ve just been doing a VERY thorough job in our kitchen. She is not upset. No one is upset. She just wanted you to call her as soon as you noticed that it was going to take longer than what I paid for.” I put my arm around her and patted her on the back. Micah peeks in and starts to play with the debris and cleaning supplies. I tell him, “NO TOUCH!” and he thinks HE’s in trouble so HE starts crying. I am consoling the both of them. Oh, Lawd.

I told her not to worry about the rest of the kitchen. I can do the dishes. DO NOT WORRY ABOUT A THING! No need to put the stepstool away. I can do it later.

After the original three hours, she moves onto the bathroom. When her boss calls me to check in, I make sure to say AGAIN she is doing so well so that M does not fret. I had to pop in to use the bathroom again after checking that she was done. “Sorry I have to pee so much!” She tells me she knows all about that. I ask her how many times she’s gone thru it. Three kids, though one passed away at age four. Okay, now I’m about to cry. I just say, “That must’ve changed you forever.” “Yes, deep shock.” Why I gotta ask about her kids? But that is how I am wired!

After paying double the amount we originally paid, not including the handsome tip I have to give her, after seeing her sweat all morning and through lunch, all with a sprained right ankle. Maybe because it was my first time, but I don’t think I feel comfy with this role of lady of “leisure” (blogging while she cleans and my boy naps) v. The Help. It feels so blatantly classist even though it was a much-needed service at a steal of a price.

I keep offering her more water but she said she is fine. She must be hungry. I sure am. But our kitchen is so spotless that I am afraid to step in. We have half an hour more to go. What a surprising half-day it has been.

King Kim

Posted on September 18, 2012 by ajummama

A storm is on its way here in NYC. Outside my window as of now, only gusty winds and gloominess, the perfect backdrop for someone to write a page-turning murder mystery. I should be nursing my mild headache by lying down during Micah’s nap, but I was itching to jot down some thoughts, with a little Mozart on for dear Belly Baby who isn’t getting his/her share of music while in the womb.

Sorry, #2. It ain’t that kinda pregnancy this time ’round. My o.b. told me that second and subsequent children suffer from benign neglect while in utero. She herself had kept thinking, “OK, Belly Baby, I will pause and think about you now,” as she approached the delivery of her second and third children but bam!, it came time for their delivery. She assured me that it is normal and natural. Completely benign.

Last night, after 1 am, we heard Micah wailing through our baby monitor. Very unusual as he sleeps soundly through the night and even if he does wake up once, it’s usually to regroup for a moment and kiss and cuddle with his animal friends. But last night, he wailed so sorrowfully and persistently, like he had had a nightmare he just couldn’t shake.

Kevin and I lie there wondering what we should do. On the one hand, we really should leave him be as he ain’t gon’ be able to creep once newborn becomes our roommate indefinitely. Two’s company, three’s a crowd – is that the saying? Then four will be a zoo. But on the other hand, let’s give the man some love since his world as he knows it is about to be turned upside down.

When daddy went to spring him, he refused to be held and ran into our room squealing, shouting, “Daddy, Ahppah/Ummah!” like it was a Saturday afternoon, not past 1 am on a worknight. He still likes to call me “Ahppah” (“daddy”) as a term of endearment though now he is switching off with both “Ahppah” and “Ummah.” I tried to lie very still and whispered to K, “Do not engage. Just close your eyes or else he’s gonna think it’s party time,” to which K responded, “Shutta the mind, and shutta the mouth,” (his simple advice for my recent bouts of insomnia).

M was babbling with bright, alert eyes and trying to get me to respond. He had brought his animal friends along for the sleepover. It was quiet for a few moments so I peeked with one eye and gasped. He had brought his little face nearly nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead with mine in the dark, grinning so cheesily, proud that he had surprised me with the face-off. He looked like a mischievous kindergardener, not my baby. I woke up in the morning, completely forgetting we had a visitor in our bed, when I maneuvered my massive body to the other side, and saw this little dude with a grown-out buzzcut, cuddling with my Snoogle, completely konked out. He slept in a bit longer than usual, nestled in between his two favorite warm bodies. And a hidden third in mama’s belly.

As I got my bearings, I heard the boys in the kitchen. Daddy was washing some dishes and M was crying. “What’s going on you guys? Where’s Micah and why he crying?” Micah walked out from the kitchen in his footed pajamas and wiped his tears when he saw me approaching. Daddy explained, “He’s crying because I wasn’t paying him attention while I washed the dishes.”

It hit me all over again. Li’l Kim, his Majesty, had never been ignored until now. As typical first-time parents of today, we have been so very doting, responding to every sound he’s ever made. If he says, “hi, hi, hiiiii” 23 times from his carseat, I match each “hi” with my own. With enthusiasm. If he babbles nonsensically to me about his animal friends, I always let him know that I understood each sound coming out from his little mouth, though I had no idea what he said and why he continues to call a penguin “babo.” So today, when Daddy was so exhausted that he didn’t engage his boy while doing a few dishes, M got so hurt.

He is in for a rude awakening.

I am so curious as to how he will react to his little sibling. I know whatever jealousy he will experience is so natural and even good for him, to realize early on that he cannot be the center of everyone’s universe. But it is so fascinating to think about the changes he will face, the emotions he will go through while not being able to articulate them.

His world right now consists of stopping in the middle of Costco to ask us to bring it in, bring it in, to surround him in his shopping cart seat, and shower him with multiple double hugs and kisses on each cheek. He loves to hold both of our hands while walking in the middle, pausing to peer up at both Daddy and Ahppah. Those hands will soon be full with another bundle and we can’t respond to every laugh or whimper. I know. Parents with three or more children are laughing at me right now for my scrub status in parenting.

Waiting for the Click

Posted on September 17, 2012 by ajummama

“Whitaker! Declan! Deschel!” These are some of the oh-so-2012 names I heard a mama calling out at the playground last month. The search for our baby’s name is once again one of my favorite to do’s in this journey from conception to birth. The Nameberry website is full of name aficionados who weigh in very thoroughly on different names and even have complete names picked out for future offspring.

After Micah was born, we were handed the paperwork for his birth certificate. Though we had a first and middle name in mind for a while, it was too final. We possessed too much power as his parents. Once we wrote down “Micah Logan Kim” in black ink, we would be presenting him to the government and to the world as none other than Micah Logan Kim, though yes, I know he can go off to college and have folks call him “Jeremy” or just a symbol.

One general “rule” for coming across the perfect name is that it must click for us as a family. Who WE are. Our general essence. This has largely been a process of elimination and sometimes knocks out solid names:

We are not hippies. (Poppy.)

We are not first-generation Chinese. (Harrison).

We are not Southern. (Rhett. Wyatt. Graham.)

Nor do we have an inheritance. (Preston. Greyson.)

We are not strippers.

We are not WASPs.

We are not actually Black though one of us claims so much flava to save yo neighba’. (Denzel. Oprah. Le’Jihee.)

We are not hipsters or even hip. (Chance. Jazz.)

We are not truly Jewish no matter how much we love Hebrew names (Nevaeh. Noam.)

We are not as Korean as I think. (rejecting almost all Korean names just based on sound and strict Kim family naming rules).

No, Kevin, we cannot name baby after a Met, a Celtic, one William Joel, one Kemba Walker, or someone else with the middle name Walker!

It must not clash with the family surname. (Faye. Shea. Cam.)

Watch out for bad initials.

Some names we do not even consider as fine as they are because they have just become way too popular in recent years.

We love Biblical names but meaning matters so much. Example: I love “Abel” but I believe he was the first murder victim in the Bible. At the hands of his brother. I cannot overlook that.

Meaning of the name in general is key. “Griffin” is a cute name but it means “hooked nose.” Another name we still like means “raider” or “fighter.” “Russell” is “little red.” “Drake” can mean dragon (cool!) but also duck. Occupational names like Mason or Jagger are also cute but can influence their fate. (I had a librarian named Mrs. Read. My friend’s doctor is named Dr. Wells.)

We would love the name(s) to consist of five letters to match the three of us. We think we’ve committed to a first name for either boy or girl but are still brainstorming for the middle names. Looking for that elusive click.

There is still some time. We would love to hear some suggestions. Goodnight!

35

Posted on September 6, 2012 by ajummama

When I was around 35 weeks along with Micah, I stopped working. I ended up having less than four weeks before he arrived and that in-between time was such a blessing. I had been able to commute on the subway and work full-time because I thought, “That’s what you do. Work! There ain’t no baby just yet.” But once I let go of this rule I had imposed on myself, I realized I was able to do it only because I was on auto-pilot – it was something I just did because of course I should keep working as long as I was physically able. But there was no intentionality behind it, just a (natural) drive to receive a few more paychecks to cover increasing baby-related expenses. I ended up trading in money for time.

When I stopped working, my body started exhaling, melting into the bed and basking in rest, like a turtle sunning on a rock. I was able to invest in quality rest everyday. Something not readily valued in today’s society, especially in rush rush rush NYC, but oh-so-necessary and healing. I’m pretty sure I moaned in my sleep a few times. The rest was so delicious, the kind where you sleep with a small hand towel under your face as you cuddle with your Snoogle because the drool will flow.

I would wake up whenever my body told me to. If I had had insomnia during the night, I could catch up by sleeping in. I didn’t have to run errands on my short lunch break. For the most part, I would find myself with only one item on my to-do list for the whole day like, “Try making scones,” “Meet Anna for lunch on Austin St,” and of course, “Daydream about baby.” Enjoyable, short to-do lists. I could take walks. Or not. I was wealthy with time. I also tried to learn to be kinder to myself for once. I didn’t have to DO anything if I didn’t want to, other than hydrate, eat well, and think pleasant thoughts for baby. I didn’t have to feel accomplished by checking off a long to-do list. Very unnatural for this child of immigrants who is naturally hard on herself.

This time around, I am not as wealthy with time or rest. I do crave some more of each before we are in the thick of it again, the sleep deprivation and exhaustion. Two other life-improving features I find myself craving: a parking spot preferably in the driveway of an actual house and a washer/dryer unit within that house (our co-op will not allow it). I should be content with our present home as it is a blessing that we prayed for in 2010, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

Instead, I am wealthy with cuteness via my toddler who toddles around all day with his bright eyes and smooth dolphin skin. Yesterday, we started the rainy morning off with a load of laundry in the basement. The load consisted of all of his stuffed animals and some of his drooly bibs. Such a small task requires much more energy with a toddler because he will turn it into an adventure. We have to wash his friends often because they are overkissed daily.

Once we get into the elevator, he immediately finds all the slivers of reflective surfaces so that he can give himself loud kisses. “Mmmuahh! Mmmmuahhh! Mmmmuuahhhhhhh!” I also have to cover the panel of alarm buttons that is perfectly within his reach. We walk down a long underground hallway to get to the laundry room. While walking, he feels very affectionate towards me and hugs my leg. He stops to look up at me with pleading eyes like the Puss in Boots Antonio Banderas cat in the Shrek movies. “Up? Up? Up?” He would like to be in my arms. Down the looong hallway. I hate to refuse but I do. I would love to always cuddle with my morsel, too, but I need him to get used to my not being able to pick him up for a while.

I try to distract him from the rejection by making it into a chase. He squeals. He just has to stop at the boiler room to check out what the workers are doing in there. I wrangle him away. We finally get to the washing machine. I’m worried he may be shocked to see his friends, Bear, Elephant, Mr. Mets, Lion, and many more, get dumped into a machine that will spin them silly, drowning them in suds, looking like a scene from Titanic. “Micah, it’s bathtime for them, okay?” He actually helps me by placing them in there one by one, solemnly, like we are performing a ritual.

Still carrying a bottle of detergent, I decide to let him walk outside in the courtyard for a little bit before the rain returns and we are forced back home to wait for the wash to be done. But he refuses to come back into the building as he checks out every gutter, dead leaf, bush and puddle. No matter how many times I pretend to walk back into the lobby without him, he doesn’t care. He wants to roam free. No separation anxiety since he knows I won’t really leave him. Dude is confident. I hide behind a tree so he will come looking for me and we can get home so I can sit for a spell but he is not falling for it.

He’s had it with my fakeouts. When I walk farther away, acting like I don’t have my eye on him at all, he throws himself on the ground. Lately, he wants a LOT of attention from me, almost like the baby has already arrived. And why not? He has always received 100% of my attention. We are always together. He is in for a rude awakening come October.

I am panting and sweating. I just want to sit down. I’m still holding the damn detergent. He wants to stay out. Finally, he hears one of the groundskeepers’ walkie talkie go off loudly with static so he runs over to me, about to cry. I soothe him and explain it is like a phone, that it was loud but not scary (“No ah-yah, Micah!”). We get home after more elevator kisses to his reflections and my pleading with him not to climb stairs once we got to our floor. After just a few minutes, we have to go back down to transfer his friends into the inferno, the dryer.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator. Grey roots, sweat beads on the upper lip and lower eye regions, disheveled low ponytail in 80s leopard-print scrunchy, no bra, in the most comfy rainbow “dress” I should not wear in public even though it’s still within my building, wishing I could look only half as elegant and accessorized as Mrs. Roper.

That was about one hour of our morning. The rest of the time we play, read, dance to his favorite song, John Mayer’s “Heartbreak Warfare” while I’m making sure he doesn’t fall off our high bed when gets too excited during the chorus. He also climbs my stomach from time to time because it is big and inviting. Oh Lord help me when I do this with a newborn attached to my teat.