Pick Me Up

Posted on July 31, 2014 by ajummama

When I was a little girl, I used to do this weird thing when my little brother and I would get into a particularly bad fight. He would start bawling so I would feel bad and want to rewind the clock to a more peaceful time. So, I would leave the scene abruptly, walk back into the room with a new, kind face and say, “OhmyGod! Why are you crying, Sang!? WHO…WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?” Sang would be bewildered because the answer was, “YOU did this to me! I’m crying because of you!” (Sorry, bro. Your Nunah has always been a tad crazy).

I was reminded of this as I realized this week that My Most Effective Comforters on my hard parenting days are the very ones who got me in a tizzy in the first place. When Ellis Mr. Still Chubby Cheeked Circle Eyes pats me softly and says, “Mama!? MAMA!? Soh-wee!” and when Micah the Earnest says, “Mommy, you smoove like baby – I want to squeeze you! You look like a baby when Daddy hugs you,” I feel like I was completely crazy for ever getting exasperated with them.

The precious moments carry you through the tough moments. I read somewhere that it is Mother Nature’s design for babies to be so damn cute to fuel parents to want to take care of them. Or something like that.

A couple weeks ago, we were at a park when some older boys, ranging from five years old to ten years old, made a beeline for our picnic blanket and asked Micah and his homey, E, if they’d like to join in on their pick-up soccer game. Our boys looked at each other, sheepish, surprised, and excited. E first declined their invite immediately and Micah agreed.

Just as immediately, they changed their minds and got up for their first pick-up game.

I looked over at my friend and said, “Well, this is just gonna be too cute!” as I felt some Feelings again about how my firstborn is growing up so fast.

The Captain, the ten year old, started reciting the rules in rapid succession. Going over fouls and goals and other jargon that Mama’s mind shuts out automatically, just like when Daddy tries to tutor her on football. Micah and E also had similar quizzical expressions on their faces like, “Whaddid we just get ourselves into?”

“You, you’re on my team. You, you’re on his team.” Being the youngest, our boys were assigned to opposing teams.

As a few of the boys began constructing the goals with rocks, Micah and E ran around hugging each other. Being on opposing teams wasn’t sinking in, apparently.

When they were told, “Alright, let’s start the game!” E quickly responded, looking worried, “I don’t want to play any more!” Micah chimed in, “Yeah!”

This mental picture is one of the gazillions I need to recall when Micah just won’t listen and I forget that he is still only three.

I will remember just how innocent and little they looked among the bigger boys, not understanding or caring about the rules, instead just wanting to hug their friend all over the field on that beautiful summer day.

Thanks for comforting me in those hard moments by just being yourselves, my sons.

Check Yourself Before You…You Know the Rest: Symptoms of a False Self

Posted on July 27, 2014 by ajummama

We had to cancel our Sunday plans other than church due to exhaustion. Well, my exhaustion.

Kevin is in denial. His throat has been hurting since yesterday but he just took Micah to Trader Joe’s with him in the spirit of, “If I don’t go fetch the milk and kale and eggs, who will?” I volunteered but he was already out the door with an excited Micah who echoed, “Yeah, who will!? And remember Dathy, I need a haircut.”

I went to bed last night at 6 pm. I meant to close my eyes as I have been experiencing some anxiety and tension lately but my eyes opened at 1:17 am when Kevin joined me. I took out my contacts and washed up. Konked out again.

Good thing I banked some sleep as we were woken up at 3 am when Micah walked over from their tiny room and climbed into our bed. He started demanding that Daddy go out to lie on the couch with him as they’d done in the past.

Kevin is exhausted too because the poor man was nearly weeping as he pleaded with his first son, “MICAH! Daddy is SO SO tired. Please. Just go to sleep in the middle of this bed!” Thankfully, Micah listened. Whew!

Then at 6 am, the other son ran over to our room, bewildered that Hyung (“big bro”) had disappeared. He climbed in. We all got to sleep in ’til 8 am though I had to spend some of the two hours positioning myself as a human guardrail so that Ellis wouldn’t fall out. He has a scar on his chin from falling out last week. Not while sleeping but while playing with Hyung.

I’m so glad I went to church this morning. My back was aching from too much sleep, though I wouldn’t rub it in by mentioning that to Kevin again.

I was hungering for a meaty sermon. Here is the link for the sermon entitled “Listening to the Small Screen” aka “Stop Pretending and Live.”

Pastor Peter Scazzero spoke from Colossians 3: 9-14:

“9 Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices 10 and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. 11 Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.

12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. 13 Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. 14 And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

I was excited to hear him speak on something I think about only daily: Where do we derive our worth from? If we want something too much and we become enslaved by our desire for it, that’s when that thing becomes an idol. And that’s when things get dangerous.

He went on to say that our Pretend Self includes the striving some of us do through name-dropping, dressing to impress, collecting the most toys and boasting about it, one-upping our peers just to feel like we are worth something.

Even something good like pride about our ethnicity can be too much of a good thing if you solely rely on that to identify you. (I may be paraphrasing him poorly here so I apologize).

Pastor Pete provided a “Symptoms of the False Self” checklist:

1) I am reluctant to admit my weaknesses and flaws to others.
2) I look for the approval of others more than I should.
3) I am highly “offendable” and defensive when people criticize me.
4) I often become harsh and impatient when things are moving too slowly or my expectations are not met.
5) I say “yes” when I would rather say “no.”
6) I beat myself up when I make mistakes.
7) I have difficulty speaking up when I disagree or prefer something different.
8) I have a hard time forgiving others.
9) My fears often cause me to play it safe “just in case.”
10) My body is more often in a state of tension/stress than relaxed.

(Pastor Pete said he will post this checklist on www.emotionallyhealthy.org.)

A lot to chew on. I don’t struggle with #1 at all. I am quick to point out my flaws and weaknesses because it’s not like they are big secrets! Yet #10, I’ve definitely been feeling tense and anxious through this entire month of July. I kept telling folks that it is because I entered a new phase of parenthood with the boys either loving on or fighting with each other from the moment they arise. And all the sounds that go along with that. But probably other things at play, too.

Pastor Pete shared the above quote with us to conclude his sermon. He challenged us with, “How could you make more room in your life for silence in order to listen to God?”

Perfect timing: Half the family is back from TJ’s so now is not the time to seek out silence. Kevin deserves a nap.

Wishing y’all pockets of silence this week.

When that “F*CK YOU” slips out…

Posted on July 22, 2014 by ajummama

Today I yelled at Micah while we were out with others.

It wasn’t too loud in terms of decibels but I felt a rage within. I should have taken some deep breaths instead as my thoughts and emotions come charging way too fast. I had given him a few chances before the outing, nearly canceling the trip altogether to show him that consequences are real.

But of course, being cooped up all day in our small apartment on a gorgeous summer day in NYC sounded more like a punishment for Mama and I hadn’t misbehaved at all!

It wasn’t just his not listening to me in that moment but other factors, too.

Isn’t it ALWAYS other factors though?

Stuff in my head that was begging to be paid attention to as we stopped at our usual spots in the zoo, after observing for the umpteenth time that Micah is sensitive like his Mama and how that word is so loaded.

How often has it been used to absolve the offender after he/she hurt me with their INsensitive words and actions: “Oh, but you just sensitive.” Or from my parents, “Why are our children so sensitive? Why can’t they be strong like ______?”

Throw in intense sun. Crowds of kids on fieldtrips with their daycamps. And though preoccupied, always on high alert. Making sure the kids don’t fall, run ahead, or pull each other down.

Then sheepish and judging myself for being the only one to yell during this outing with a few other buddies.

After both Micah and I got it together, I apologized to him for yelling and asked him to forgive me. I also asked if he would like to apologize to me for anything. We talked it out and resumed our lunch, meaning they hardly ate because they wanted to go throw sticks and I was famished but waiting to eat at home if/when things were less frenetic.

Right around this time, a stranger, well, acquaintance of an acquaintance, began to comment on the lunch I was feeding the kids. I was feeding them some bahb and gheem (rice and roasted laver aka seaweed) since my kids almost never eat sandwiches.

“Oh! I didn’t know you could do that!” watching our food like a hawk. “Wrap rice in there like that! Ohhh!”

I know she was trying to be friendly over some chitchat about our kids’ respective lunches. No malicious intent.

Seemingly innocuous comment and if it came from my friends, I’d be straight or at least I’d clown you…but hey ma, I just met you and you got me during a moment where I’m just coming off another er…moment.

I’ve always had less patience than Kevin for the times we have to provide the Land of the Morning Calm tutorials at restaurants. I’m fine until it gets really nitpicky and acquaintances start asking about each of the 12 bahnchans in a more National Geographic way than I’m comfortable with. “What IS that!?! WHOA!” when it’s perfectly obvious that it’s a pickled garlic. I wanna say, “Gnarled toad testicle. You’re not down unless you try it!”

Back to the mama at hand. When I mumbled about how it’s just crazy raising these little ones, MY attempt at being friendly by talking about our commonality, she said something about how her girl is SUCH a good girl instead of throwing me the obligatory parenting bonding bone.

“Yeah, this is seaweed. The same thing they use for sushi rolls. Of course, you can wrap it around rice.”

“But that’s all crispy. It looks different. My kids like that stuff but augh, I don’t like it. It smells. I mean, I like sushi but…”

“Fuck you.”

Okay, I didn’t say that but my face did for a split second. First of all, WHILE someone is eating something in front of you, don’t be saying that you think it STANK. Basic manners.

But the silent “FUCK YOU” in my mind made me think.

…of how so many of our hurts and unexpected “FUCK YOU”s that leak out of seemingly nowhere are not about ONLY the present moment. It’s oftentimes the SUM of past hurts PLUS the brand new one, however small or trifling. They are all added up together and then suddenly, you hear yourself, whether out loud or in your brain, let out a “FUCK YOU” like a fart that surprises you during a meeting or crowded elevator, surprising you so much that another fart honks in aftershock.

For instance, seaweed is loaded for me. When I was a little girl, being bussed to my gifted magnet elementary school with rich white kids whose families were movers and shakers in Hollywood, with a few classmates even missing school to audition for parts or be in a movie, some of them made fun of my packed Korean lunches. Squealing and pointing at me, staring and surrounding me at lunch screaming, “Ewwww, she’s so gross! She’s eating black paper with fish eyes!” (Seaweed and anchovies). Yes, my mama packed me some KO-rean lunches while I wished that she could gift a girl with some PB&J or bologna samich.

Decades later, those kids are now crowding up my sushi joints and banh mi spots, talking about algae and tofu and the benefits of an Eastern diet and my initial reflex, before I can catch myself, is “Fuck you.” The reaction is unexpected but visceral and Kevin has had to process my childhood stories with me over and over again.

So when this lady I had just met seconds AFTER I felt like a jerk for yelling at my 3.5 year old was talking about how she thought that my black paper stank, my initial response in my head was “Oh fuck off and go hump a meatloaf,” but I checked myself, tucked away the “Fuck you” so that I can be a productive member of society and instead said, “Really? You think it smells? Must be a cultural thing ’cause I don’t smell anything.”

Thankfully, we kept it moving and moved on to other small talk. Well, after she asked me how to make rice.

This mini-interaction made me think again about how everything is connected. If you’ve never healthily processed a grievance, or fully let an emotional wound heal, don’t be surprised when you find yourself overreacting in an unrelated, new interaction or relationship with a new person, be it spouse, friend, or child.

In the meantime, if you talk shit about my gheem, consider yourself warned.

Happy Birthday Umma!

Posted on July 17, 2014 by ajummama

Umma,

Today is your birthday. Happy birthday!

I miss you so much even though I get so irked when you overreact on Skype while getting a peek at your only grandchildren. I can’t change your alarmist ways.

“Jihee-yah! Don’t leave the room, not even for a second. In that split second, they can get a serious brain injury if they wrestle down low like that. JIHEE-YAH! Look, look, ummunah! The little one is climbing something. The image is fuzzy. They are grabbing each other now – quick! AHHHHHH!”

“Umma please! Stop. They wrestle like this all day long. I know when to peel them off each other.”

I remember how I was waiting to exhale, imagining that once you arrived in NYC for a visit when Micah was still very little, I’d be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

I went to take a long, leisurely (celebratory) trip to the bathroom when you arrived. The baby started crying and I thought, “Girl, you good. Halmoni here.”

Next thing I know, you sprint into the bathroom with the baby in your arms and place him in my arms WHILE I AM STILL SEATED ON MY THRONE.

“A baby needs his mama. He was crying for YOU.” Thus began a series of squabbles and your usual vow to never return.

But Umma, I know it is all out of love. I am sorry for my harsh words over the years. You and Kevin see me at my worst because y’alls’ love is the love I am most secure in.

Today, on your birthday, I think of you mothering us, first in Korea until I was nearly five years old, and then in a foreign land where you couldn’t communicate all that you were going through.

And unlike Kevin, Daddy didn’t help out much at all so it was all on you. It was a different era.

Throw in the language barrier and idiots screaming loud English at you, thinking that if they screamed it, suddenly you’d become fluent. I remember fighting for you guys even back then. “She is not hard of hearing so stop screaming!” How many maniacs hurling, “Go back to your country!” at the end of an argument at the store when THEY were the ones caught shoplifting.

I guess it is no surprise then that one of our kids is named Ellis. (Ellis Island – much love to all immigrants).

Oh, the shock of this latchkey culture you had no choice but to throw us into as you and Daddy ran various small businesses throughout our childhood. You told me how you never got used to it, this country where young kids had to separate from their mamas in order for the parents to make a living.

I don’t remember if I consciously thought this when I was a kid, but it would have been nice to see you more. I was a sensitive and inquisitive child and would have loved to talk things out with you. My sea of emotions and thoughts – to bounce it off someone safe and loving.

Once I saw your car in our apartment parking space and I couldn’t believe it. YOU WERE HOME FROM WORK! BEFORE DARK! I ran home the rest of the block, excited beyond belief.

My MOMMY WAS HOME!

Then I quickly realized that something was very very wrong. You were lying on the couch, eyes glazed over in shock. You were only home because you had been held at knifepoint at the store that day. Daddy sitting by on the other couch, making compassionate sounds, looking downright dejected.

Perhaps this is why I chose to stay home despite so many doubts on the hard, crazy days. I wanted time with my kids, above all else. I wanted to raise my own little morsels these early years, despite the high highs and low lows of motherhood.

Umma, this is getting too long. And I’m scared the boys will wake up. I love and celebrate you today.

History is repeating itself with me immigrating from California to New York, doing this motherhood thing without an extended family, but you actually left your home COUNTRY to immigrate to this wacky land where kids talk back to their parents and are given timeouts or “consequences.” Unlike you, at least I can communicate and be heard. And unlike you, I didn’t lose my mama while still in high school.

Today, on your birthday, I am taking this lunch hour to appreciate what you went through.

I wish I could travel back in time to tell you you were doing a damn good job.

Hope to celebrate your next birthday in person.

Love,

Your One and Only Daughter,

Jihee

7.11 MLK, LeBron, LeJeremy, LeKeith

Posted on July 12, 2014 by ajummama

Oh, Life. You can be devastating but also bewilderingly beautiful. Sometimes I wanna hold a grudge but you have that way of charming me back.

Last night, when Kevin walked in the door, I started blubbering. I haven’t cried in a good long while but oooof! From 9 am to 6:30 pm, I…I have no words. To give you a brief glimpse into the very long and agonizing, heart palpitatious day, lemme leave you with just one of my screaming thought balloons from The Day That Wouldn’t End:

Can Mommy just insert her tampon in a public bathroom without you two MacGyvering out of the stall onto the street!?

With Mommy running seconds behind you, growing two years older in two seconds, heart beating frantically, eyes darting everywhere?

Wondering if God forbid you guys had wandered into the *^&%ing street without me!?

Only to find you in the closest spot outside by the bathroom door, nowhere near the street but sprawled out on the branches of your favorite low hanging NYC sidewalk tree?

As if this tree weren’t a sapling next to a NYC sidewalk but a magical banyan tree in Hawai’i?

As if you two aren’t 3.5 and 21 months old but Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, chewing on a blade of grass, beaming about the getaway you just pulled off.

hanging out at their favorite tree last month

Then 11 other things followed.

Though I’m happy that you two are fast becoming best friends, just like we prayed for, I hope you realize that how fast your mama is aging is directly proportionate to you two egging each other on.

homies

I took a breather last night. Literally concentrating on taking some deep breaths as I hid out in our bedroom, shaking my head, wondering if I had a Korean drama white washcloth to tie around my head.

Then, this morning, we woke up to a brand new day. Birds chirping, the scent of summer. Blank canvas.

Micah and I took an early morning walk to the mailbox across the street to mail a birthday card. He blew it a kiss as he slipped it into the metal flap. I like to squeeze in a bit of special time with him after our gnarly days. Just to check in with my guy.

On the way back:

“Mommy, when I grow up, my kids will hold my hand like this, right?”

My heart melts into a puddle onto our courtyard. With his perfect little hand in mine, any residue from the previous day is washed away.

“Oh, Micah, yes, you will hold your child’s hand just like this and give it a squeeze just like this!”

“And I will be the Daddy, right?”

“Yes, and I will be the Halmoni and I will hug him and kiss him allllll over, just like this! How many little kiddies do you think you want to have?”

Serious. Thoughtful.

“31.”

Today also turned out to be a memorable 7.11 Friday in the world of sports. Basketball news strangely reminded me of how my toddler’s (mis)adventures can be forgiven easily by their adorable shenanigans the next moment.

LeBron will be returning home to Cleveland four years after “The Decision,” after literally being burned in effigy and having an open hate letter addressed to him by the Cavs’ owner. My guy friends could not stop spewing venom at LeBron for the last four years.

I didn’t understand all the hatred. Why couldn’t it be all business? I’m not knowledgeable about sports but I do enjoy me a good feature story and today, the sports world delivered a doozy. LeBron’s unexpected return showed me that it ain’t all business, even in this billion dollar industry. He going back home! All is forgiven. No such thing as pride.

And Linsane LeJeremy will be in my hometown of Los Angeles! While he was not reviled like LeBron, he was buried in Houston’s rotation and not given a chance to run his style of offense. (Special thanks to Kevin for supplying that way technical sports sentence above for what I wanted to convey about redemption.)

We were saddened to see him leave NYC for the Houston Rockets but now, he will be in LA where the Asian-Americans will go buck wild. It will feel like World Cup 2002 when we Koreans of Los Angeles were jumping out of our Japanese cars to give each other tearful hugs, from youth to halmonis and halabujees. (I am fully aware that Jeremy ain’t Korean-American but c’mon, throw me a bone, I’ve had a tough week.)

In a totally unrelated baseball event, we also made a quick stop to our neighborhood Citibank thanks to a heads up by Uncle Anthony that Kevin’s beloved Keith Hernandez would be signing autographs. Micah spouted off with, “I don’t like him!” when he saw the macrocephalic, dopey Mr. Met coming our way for photo opps, so we became nervous that upon meeting one of Daddy’s idols, Micah would lash out with, “I don’t like you, Mr. Keith Hernandez,” which would have made it Daddy’s turn to blubber.

When I think of 7.11 next year, I hope to remember my early morning walk with Micah, LeBron, LeJeremy, LeKeith: all the kooky ingredients for a magical, redemptive summer day in NYC.

Seven years ago on 07.07.07, I. Thee. Wed.

Posted on July 7, 2014 by ajummama

Around this exact time seven years ago (the time I started this post, not after resuming seven hours later), I was getting my bridal herr and make-up did. It was the crack of dawn in my hometown of Los Angeles, CA, as my dad fed me fried Trader Joe’s perogis in the middle of the Korean hair salon because he knows how intensely I fear hunger, even on my wedding day.

My bridesmaids were ready and willing to assist me to the spacious, handicapped toilet to make room for my big poofy dress, but my nerves hit, not about the wedding but about the audience around the toilet. Thankfully, I didn’t have to poo minutes before walking down the aisle.

Marriage has kicked my ass, setting a mirror before me, forcing me to look at sh*t I never wanted to look at, like what am I really really REALLY afraid of and why.

Sometimes I wonder if above ALL other fears, I’m most afraid of letting the joy flow. Afraid of taking a deep breath and gasp!, not blocking my own joy. I got so used to emotional turmoil in the household growing up, though those years are decades behind me, that it became a comfort zone of sorts.

So if I were to let the joy flow, what would that look and feel like? And what if I get robbed of it and end up in more pain than ever before? Now how searing would that pain be?

I’m just taking a stab at it. I don’t know.

It’s been a tough couple years, raising our two blessings 99% on our own, forgetting about who we ever were as a starry-eyed couple.

I used to think that when couples cited “communication” as the reason for their failed marriage, they just didn’t want to tell us the REAL, scandalous reason for the divorce, but seven years later, I get it.

I didn’t fully get it when fellow Christians would say, “Jesus MUST be part of your marriage. You can’t do it on your own, no matter how much you think your love conquers all.” Now, in the middle of full-blown fights, I scream, “PRAAAYYYYYYY! I’m too weak so YOU BESS PRAY! RIGHT NOW, let’s just stop fighting and you pray. Out loud!”

I used to think “date night” was as gross a term as “playdate.” “Date night” as in, “Don’t forget to do date nights!”

In all honesty, I was like, “OK, white papples, RELAX about date nights!”

And now, though I still don’t like those two words together, I get the spirit behind it.

You MUST remember what it feels like to be the bride and groom and not just co-parents discussing sexy topics like diaper prices, grocery lists, soccer classes, Sunday School, naps, preschools, bath toys, chicken tenders v. pizza, naps, naps, naps, bedtimes, birthday parties, timeouts, free shipping and acceptable french fry intake per week.

It has been a real challenge to do these DATE NIGHTS without local grandparents to provide free childcare (and bonding time with their grandkids). To give us a breather TOGETHER. Makeshift date nights in our toy cluttered living room have also become impossible for the past year since bedtimes for our firstborn are late no matter what we’ve tried. Excuse after excuse, he wants to join us and because he shares a tiny closet of a room with baby bro, we don’t let him wail it out.

This is one source of deep bitterness on my part, a real inability to radically accept that this is how we must do parenthood, without real breaks to exhale TOGETHER. At least for now.

This means that whenever one of us is released to get some Me Time (most of the time, ME, since Kevin feels so bad that I moved to NYC for him and have no childcare in the early stay-at-home mama years), I am out alone. Necessary but not sufficient. Me Time started becoming just plain Lonely Time since it’s nearly impossible to have time alone with the boy I married.

And I dreaded writing this because I imagined choruses of, “Well, at least you have Me Time/ two healthy boys / a helpful husband…” or a variation of that. (As a blogger, I always fear them imaginary responses from my eight readers).

So I can’t wax poetic about how I wouldn’t have it any other way(!) on my seven year wedding anniversary. Because I would be lying. And because that is yet another phrase that annoys the hell out of me.

But I can say this:

For better or for worse, this sweet kind man I married seven years ago has been my Ride or Die. Sure, sometimes, we focus on the Die part, wanting to straight kill each other for the argument (different configuration). The infinity loop of communication roadblocks.

I want to do better. I want to break the cycle. We both come from homes where marriage equals deep pain, blame and unrealized dreams. We want to do better. We must do better. Not just for the kids but for us. And for the vows we took before God.

Thanks to our church and spiritual communities, we have been blessed with marital teachings and resources galore. THE HARD PART IS TO ACTUALLY FOLLOW THROUGH AND OBEY.

And I have such a rebellious spirit under all this model minority packaging.

Please pray for us as we go forward in our seventh year.

[P.S. I loved the spirit of Ride or Die so much that I was going to end with yet another phrase “‘Til the wheels fall off…” then looked it up to doublecheck and realized that that is exactly the opposite of wedding vows.]