Home is Where the “Hart” is

Posted on August 15, 2013 by ajummama

This past weekend was an especially kid-centered weekend. Lots of fun playing and celebrating at three little friends’ birthday parties, including one Dol, one Bounce U. party, and one Gymnastics party. Thoughts about kiddie parties of 2013 deserve their own post for another time.

On the way there, I did something I rarely do these days. I looked in the mirror. I was sitting in the passenger seat as my husband drove us to the first party.

Some mamas of small children are able to swing it but for me, mirror-checks don’t happen with a toddler and infant around.

The vibe is almost always loud and harried. I’m just happy to be able to wash my face without having to carry on a conversation mid-splash, so a gaze into the mirror isn’t even on my radar. “Yes, Micah, Mommy do seh-soo, right now. Please be patient. Mommy get you Acai berry juice after!”

Constant conversation and negotiations.

Packing sippy cups and a bevy of snacks.

Putting on shoes and tiny socks.

Sniffing butts.

Pleading with the boys to not cry or whine after being belted into their doublestroller and almost out the door when Mommy realizes she has to dig up her keys from another bag.

Running back to the living room from the bathroom because all is too quiet.

Rushing back to the gated play area to make sure #2 didn’t climb to new heights.

Even when their naps overlap, I have to take a deep breath, calm myself for a moment or two before eating some leftovers, making phone calls, responding to emails, and cleaning up messes. (And maybe some blogging on a good day).

The bright light from the passenger seat mirror revealed something I hadn’t seen before. A chin hair. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve sprouted a different, lesser strain before: a long, fine, almost invisible hair the color of straw. So even if it was as long as half my finger, it was magically invisible. But this new guy was short and wiry and black, with an attitude. I named him Kevin Hart. He had been planning to roll to all three parties with me that day, trying to steal the show! He sounded like the Budweiser “WASSSSSSUP” commercial circa 2000.

For some reason, this Kevin Hart made me think about the concept of Home.

Not a metaphorical Home like in the movie “Garden State” or the Home mentioned in one of the most earnest and heartfelt wedding toasts I’ve heard (“May you find a Home in each other”) but an actual physical Home that embodies such longings and sentiments.

As a Christian, I do believe that this world is not my Home in the eternal sense, but as a human, I can’t help but yearn for a worldly home.

A fortress. A sanctuary. A haven.

Perhaps because I keep catching myself waiting to exhale during my current joyful but frenzied life stage.

I don’t have one childhood home I think about when I think about Home.

We immigrated to Los Angeles (Koreatown) a couple months before I turned five, then moved around every few years within different parts of the Los Angeles area. (Realized I’m writing this on the eve of our Coming to America anniversary date).

Each place felt like a Just For Now. Until we move on again.

Even after I moved away to Berkeley for college, my parents moved a couple times so I would visit different homes during my breaks. After Berkeley came graduate school, a few years of working, then law school. All the places I lived in felt so temporary, almost like extended business trips.

I am now a mama of two and a wifey. We are trying our best but have yet to carve out a Home for our new family. I will definitely remember our current place as the home we brought both boys to from their respective hospitals, where they experienced many Firsts and where we nibbled on them probably close to a million times, but it is not where we will lay our heads down for years to come (Lord willing).

I picture a Home where I can be ensconced in a plush bedroom I don’t have to hold my breath and tiptoe into lest I wake up my Baby Beluga second son. Have some space to exhale, read a novel, write my stories. A kitchen that is open and inviting, more of a gathering place.

A home where I don’t have to resort to wearing earplugs that my husband had to buy me (in bulk) so I can sleep in from time to time.

Where the boys can run around and compete in our family talent show. Where we can all have some healthy space apart before we reconvene for mealtimes and storytimes.

Where we can park in the driveway.

Where I can pause to notice a stubborn chin hair or two and pluck away in a leisurely fashion.

I know I am beyond blessed to have my fellow denizens ready to inhabit this future Home with. Am excited to dream and move towards that place.

For now, I’m just going to work on at least installing a full-length mirror SOMEWHERE in our current place because raising a toddler and infant is no excuse to never really see yourself.

Naps, Penis Envy, and Bruce Lee

Posted on August 12, 2013 by ajummama

Naps.

Something I never thought about before I had kids, other than daydreaming about taking them while stuck at the office.

However, for parents of young children, naps are as crucial as feedings. Scientifically, a lot happens during these little guys’ naps. Brain development and whatnot. Practically speaking, naps nourish them and keep them from becoming overtired monsters. Naps also provide parents with much needed quiet and Halleluyer time to regroup. More than an incidental benefit for us.

Commonly heard among parents:
“We won’t be able to make it because that’s during Little Timmy’s nap.” “Maybe we can swing by if he gets his morning nap in.” “Too bad our kids’ naps don’t fall in the same range – we’ll never see each other at this rate!”

While I know all too well the importance of naps, I still imagine folks judging me when I can’t avoid factoring in naps when planning just about anything. It sounds so rigid and square and what’s-the-big-deal?

So recently, we went to our friend’s lovely new house on Long Island. The boys were having an extra fun time playing in the sprawling finished basement with their buddies, then taking a lovely group stroll to their local playground that our Queens boys had never been to. We enjoyed some pizza together for lunch and normally, this is when Mama would peace out with our crew, wrangling the kids into their carseats so we can rush home in time for naps.

The other playmates all napped later on in the day or had retired from nap life altogether. Plus they all lived within five minutes of each other, unlike us.

But next up on the fun agenda was playing in their POOL.

I decided to be Cool Mama instead of Nap Nazi for once and tried to sound like I hadn’t been worrying about this nap issue throughout the pizza party.

“Hey, it’s a special occasion. It’s not everyday we come out for a pool party so we’ll stay. I’ll just aim to leave before 3:30. I mean, I’ll just suffer a little by carnapping them on the drive back. I’ll just be stuck in the car for a while but…oh well, if that’s the worst of it, I’ll be fine.”

We all cheered about staying longer as I struggled to get them into their swim trunks and slather sunscreen all over them.

We had a blast. Ellis was brave and trying to be all Baywatch, acting like he could swim on his own, even though the water was surprisingly cold. Micah had fun though always gravitating towards the steps, my ever-cautious firstborn.

But alas, all good times must come to an end. Loaded them up, thanked the hostess once again and we were on our merry way. While driving, I couldn’t help but smile about the wonderful memories we had made that day. And both boys had konked out as soon as I started driving so Mama was able to work the radio without my Warren G. Regulator car DJ weighing in from his carseat.

This was practically Me time, driving with my snoozers.

Hmmm…I could’ve used one more trip to the bathroom before I drove off but ahh well. (A common theme ever since I had the boys. Just seems easier to hold it in than to take the baby off of me or to ask someone to watch him when they are busy watching their own little ones).

We get to our parking spot 2.5 blocks away from our building. Ellis wakes up first. Micah still snoozing away so I bring Ellis to the driver seat with me.

Um, you know what? I really have to pee. Can’t front no mo’. I had been holding it in for over an hour, I realized.

Ellis is quickly growing into a toddler so I can’t just contain him on my lap, nibbling on him the way I used to just a couple months ago. He wants to drive, stand, climb, jump. He starts reaching for the cross hanging from our rearview mirror and STANDS ON MY BLADDER.

straw that broke the camel’s bladder. Ellis using my bladder as a stepstool.

Whoa, there. Elevated Risk of Peeing officially heightened to SEVERE RISK. Code Red. Code Red.

I quickly looked at the empty water bottle next to me. I hadn’t grown a penis in the last few minutes so I don’t know why I looked at it so longingly.

Code Red. Code Red. This did not feel quite like labor but this must be what appendicitis or a kidney stone feels like.

It was still bright and sunny out and I was parked in an area with heavy foot traffic. Many employees walking to and from their offices and nearby stores.

Wait, didn’t FEMA work in this building next to my car? They are government workers so I can ask them to watch my babies while I go pee and they wouldn’t dare kidnap them since they got job security for life. Unbeatable benefits. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize that. There goes an ambulance driver. Should I ask him to sit in the car while I pee behind his ambulance right quick?

Damnit, damnit, damnit. No. Time. To. Deliberate.

I can see my friend’s building from here. Should I call her to run out here so I can pee? But what are the chances she will pick up her phone in time? And by the time she gets her little twins to walk out with her, I will already have peed myself. Father Lord please help me.

I scanned the premises. Wait, is this the FEMA building or does the FBI work here?

Let’s go over the most logical positioning for the public urination that was about to go down. If my butt faced outward towards the sidewalk, then all the government workers would come up on my kimchi squat and possibly turn me in for public urination.

TIME IS RUNNING OUT.

I rushed Ellis back to his carseat so Mama can take care of business. Thankfully, he didn’t protest and cry. Micah still snoozing away.

Hopefully this will just take a few seconds and no one will walk by. Here goes nothing.

I kimchi squat real low in front of my car.

THIS WAS NOT TAKING A FEW SECONDS.

Apparently, I am half-Korean and half-racehorse. The pee just kept flowing and flowing down the asphalt. Looked like my car was part of the BP oil spill. I even said to myself, “Self, slow up. Just try to relieve yo bladder halfway. Like folks who get half a tank of gas and fill up later. But in reverse. You can pee in private later. Have some dignity, girl.”

My bladder said, “Bitch please,” and peed even harder. The pee just kept coming. I think some of this pee was from 2011. Potentially, any of the other car owners in this uncovered parking lot could walk up behind my bare ass at any moment. That thought seemed to only encourage my pee to gush out some more.

Good Lord, I was finally done. Zipped up and ran back into the car, heart beating fast and furious. A man in a suit walked by on the other side of the car. I needed to unload to someone so I messaged my friend a mysterious, “THAT JUST HAPPENED.”

Little did I know that my wacky afternoon was just getting started.

When Micah finally woke up, he woke up pissed (no pun intended). Therein lies the danger of napping on the go. They are not as deep or comfy for my little dude so he tends to wake up cranky and needy.

Note to future parents: sometimes, a shortened/disrupted nap can be worse than skipping a nap. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

He threw the biggest tantrum of his life thus far. I was wearing Ellis and three bags. I did not have the stroller on me. Micah demanded to be carried up all the way home because he was so needy. While he WRAPPED HIMSELF AROUND MY LEG, bawling and screaming, I just took deep breaths and pleaded with him.

Onlookers in cars pointed and looked away when I caught them watching.

A woman came up to me and I was sure she was a fellow mama who was going to try to divert his attention from his meltdown. I was grateful in advance for this angel as more cars drove by and watched us.

“Hi, um, excuse me, sorry but do you know where Union Turnpike is?” she dared to ask me.

I was going to reply, “Am I on candid camera? Where is my boy John Quinones? Can’t you see that I am wearing one kid on my body, three bags, and a wailing little boy is glued to my leg? I can hardly hear your question!”

Instead, I figured, I ain’t getting home any time soon so might as well be of help. I replied, “If you just walk up that way and make a left, you’ll hit Union Turnpike. Just keep going. Yup, no problem.”

I realized that Micah was not going to relent until I carried him home. I was about to cry myself.

An elderly couple watched us in horror, went into their building, got changed for an early dinner, came back out AND WE HAD NOT BUDGED. Micah was still not taking “no” for an answer. “Oh dear! Is something WRONG with him? Is he sick or something!?” they asked.

“No, he’s just uh, well, clearly very upset. He wants me to carry him home all the way over there.” I pointed. I wanted to add, “Carry on, unhelpfuls. Raise up and git to your earlybird dinner if you ain’t gonna help at all.”

Finally, my knight in shining armor walks along our path. Asian-American dude. Chinese?

“How can I help? Do you want ME to try carrying him home? Which one is your building?”

“Thank you but I don’t think he’s going to let you. Thank you so much for trying to help. I don’t know how I’m going to get home. He has never gotten this upset.”

“Let me carry your bags home at least. I’ll leave it with your doorman.”

“Thank you so much. Can I just tell you? You are the only one who offered me any kind of help. Everyone else just watched us. What’s your name?”

“Bruce. No problem. Glad to help.”

I carried the both of them home. It took an hour to walk the 2.5 blocks. I had to take breaks as the sweat fell into my eyeballs. Once I carried him, he started to breathe normally again. I walked by our doorman shaking my head. And sure enough, Micah was all smiles once we walked in the door. LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.

“Mommy?” he smiled his Denzel smile. “I want to watch Do-ra!”

When Kevin got home that day, I told him about our day. He responded with two questions:
1) WHERE EXACTLY DID YOU PEE? Obviously the best positioning would have been to open both doors on one side of the car to build yourself a cubicle. Please tell me you did that.

Um, no, because that would’ve been too logical duh! I peed where it was MOST VISIBLE, at the nose of our car, because I’d rather have one of the other drivers, one of our co-op neighbors or maybe even my friend with her twins, walk in on my bare ass, rather than squat BEHIND the car and have a FEMA worker/FBI/CIA report me! I was banking on the other drivers quickly looking away because you know when you are embarrassed FOR someone and you have the decency to avert their gaze?

2) Why did you make your load even worse by carrying the three bags in addition to the two kids? I could have fetched that stuff later.

BECAUSE I COULDN’T FORESEE THE NEAR FUTURE?! BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW MICAH’S TANTRUM WAS GOING TO BE THE WORST EVER! BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW WALKING 2.5 CITY BLOCKS WAS GOING TO TAKE ME ONE HOUR, 28 MORE GREY HAIRS, AND A SLIPPED DISC!

Shout out to Ellis who was patient the whole time except for one squawk when I carried his big bro right on top of him for a split second.

And to my hero whom I have since dubbed “Bruce Lee”: never will I forget. Respeck.

And last, but definitely not least, to my sphincter for not trying to join my bladder’s party.

Didn’t wake up knowing that public urination would be far from the low point of my day. Never a dull moment these days, I swear.

I hope our co-op doesn’t waste our maintenance fees on something as silly as surveillance cameras for our parking lots.

My Royal Week

Posted on July 27, 2013 by ajummama

Ever the drama queen, I was hoping Kevin would walk in on me Doin’ Work, chunks of hair escaping my ponytail while feeding Ellis and wrangling Micah. Ellis had developed a habit of grabbing spoonfuls of butternut squash soup and splashing it all over his hand-me-down “I Represent Queens” romper I had JUST changed him into.

Of course Micah saw that I was giving Ellis way too much undivided attention. He climbed onto my lap, asking me to blow bubbles with his cheap bubble wand that wouldn’t even yield one measly bubble after my earnest attempts.

It had crept up on me on this Thursday but I was exhausted. Mentally and physically.

I didn’t know things were building up inside me.

I was clock-watching like a mofo but Kevin was still not walking in through the door to grab the baton from me, to grant me my Halleluyer time.

He came home only about 15 minutes later than I had anticipated, but I had been waiting to exhale. When he did walk in, the scene had shifted. It all looked too dang peaceful for me to get the proper pity I was entitled to.

I had wrested Micah off my lap and Ellis was no longer throwing his food around with his forearms bulging like Popeye’s.

I said sarcastically, “Hiiiii Daddy! They’s ALLLLL yours!” sighing dramatically and stomping off into the bedroom we share with Ellis. Tried to lie down and hopefully eke out a good cry before I had to bathe and nurse Ellis. Lately though, I am not able to cry.

I begged myself not to beat myself up for not getting to the gym again or not getting some other stuff done during their naps. I just needed to freaking exhale but I had forgotten how to do that. As I shifted back and forth in bed, I started getting hurt and pissed that Kevin was not asking me what was wrong.

I hollered at him to leave the kids and join me in the room for a moment. I felt an urgent need to remind him that a girl just wants to be asked sometimes, YA HEARD ME? And after six years of marriage, it was damn embarrassing to have to spell it out. Of course he said what I expected, that he was giving me the space and rest that I deserved. Completely understandable and logical. And dude was prolly skurred when he seen the wild look in my eyes.

But I don’t do well with logic.

It is my kryptonite.

It was not premeditated but I ended up beating up a half-bag of Popcorners (Butter) until they became dust all over my bed and floor, under Ellis’ crib, everywhere. Disaster. This was a shameful adult tantrum. I was famished but we had nothing yummy to eat, and dabnabbit, after a really tough day (details of which I didn’t fully get into here), I only wanted something delicious, not the bahb and gheem (rice and roasted seaweed) I had been subsisting off of. Sad fact of adult life: Food does not just appear by sheer magic. And them damn Popcorners tasted like shit. How did I ever think they were bomb?

I WANTED “AMENITIES” as the mean troll on “Princesses: Long Island” shamelessly repeats. Someone to clean the apartment from top-to-bottom like we’ve been meaning to since Micah was in my belly and make wonderful meals so that Kevin and I don’t have to scrounge around to whip up something. Someone to just come in and say, “How can I help you? Go for a swim please and don’t come back until you’ve finished reading that novel you’ve been dying to read.”

Kevin shrieked, “Look at this mess! Jihee-yah! You are something else, you know that! You screaming about how everything is just too much work and how you don’t have a break but then you go all crazy and make more of a mess. You gon’ clean this up? I MEAN, LOOK AT THIS HUGE MESS! I don’t believe you sometimes.”

I started wincing so that I could TRY to summon the tears to flow but they just wouldn’t. I just wanted my body to myself, not as a jungle gym, and only sometimes (please). I just wanted to be able to lie down in a QUIET ROOM without someone needing me all the damn time, even if the someones are my most beloved humans. I wished someone would clean up after MY big messes and wait on ME hand and foot. I wished I could be f*cking ROYAL too! (Obviously Royal Baby frenzy had infiltrated my psyche. So now, it wasn’t just our local librarian losing it yet again, screaming, “I need to apply for a job as the Royal Baby’s librarian! I am not your babysitter! I am not your disciplinarian!” to all the wide-eyed toddlers in her Bootcamp, I mean, Toddler Storytime).

Picking up after toys, diapers, choking hazards, and food over and over and OVER again had landed Mommy in a looney moment.

I got over it by breaking it down to Kevin about how I was feeling when I beat up those Popcorners, and apologizing for my uncute 36 year-old tantrum, especially since he does help me so much and oftentimes picks up the slack, treating me quite Royally, in fact. The meltdown caught me by surprise as I had had a few great weeks of being patient while wrangling the kiddos. (Kevin so graciously cleaned up the mess for me even if he had a pounding headache after a long day at the office and a weird breakout on his eyelids).

I also told him that we need to do a better job of having the apartment stocked with wine to decrease the whine.

The sheer wear and tear had built up without even my being aware of it.

Parenting: Even the most joyous and adorable moments are not without exhausting elements.

For instance, before my Popcorners violence, I had dared to lie down on the job when the boys were playing in the living room. I had lied(?) down on the playmat so that I can still pop up if Ellis took a nosedive from climbing too cockily. Dude began climbing the couch, using my throat as a stepstool while Micah saw that Mommy the Jungle Gym must be signaling that she is ready to be ridden on since she was sprawled out. He would charge from the corner of the room and crash down on my engorged breasts while laughing uncontrollably. OOF! At first I pleaded with him to stop, but ended up turning it into a game where I would growl and halfway sit-up like Pilates whenever he charged towards me.

All of this made me realize that as a stickler for accuracy, I needed to be more accurate in my rants. It’s not, “I ain’t got time for (insert some home/child-rearing chore that needs to get done).”

It is more accurately, “I ain’t got nothin’ left in me to give of myself even a little bit more.” It is not a time thang. I have TIME to cut up the fruit at night so the next morning is less chaotic. I have TIME to do another load of dishes by hand. I have TIME to go to the basement of our building and do loads of laundry. I have TIME to pack the diaper bag for the pool the night before. I have TIME to refill the sippy cups. So yeah, I have plenty of TIME at night to get shit done, definitely a few hours after my good sleepers konk out.

It’s an energy thang. It’s a sanity thang.

If I give of myself any more at night after being a human jungle gym, chauffeur, stroller reconfigurer, (lazy) cook, consoler, cheerleader, storyteller, teacher, snack dispenser, drink refiller, sippy cup retriever, shit-collector, potty coach, butt-wiper, nose-blower, sunscreen applier, teeth-brusher, clothes-changer, pool floatation device, bubble-maker, guardian, adorer, I fear I will truly be walking down Queens Blvd rapping to myself and laughing maniacally as I spit my own rhymes.

That is why, late at night, I am on the Internet reading articles I wanted to read earlier, wasting time on Facebook or typing up posts like this. I have to allow myself these guilty pleasures instead of thinking, “Well I SHOULD be….” Even bad tv ain’t doing it for me any more. I itch to write more and more.

And this is all to set the stage for my next post. Working title (subject to change): Yup, That Really Happened.

Just Another Monsoon Monday

Posted on July 22, 2013 by ajummama

We were out since 9:30 am for some good ol’ fashioned tree-chasing at our local park with some neighborhood kids we had so much fun playing with last time. The weather channel failed us once again. It had only warned of a 30% chance of “isolated thunderstorms” starting at 1 pm but before it hit noon, I got drenched. I shouldn’t be surprised since the weather website says “0% chance of rain” WHILE it is raining on me. Kids stayed dry thanks to the Metro North tracks (see pictures below) and plastic stroller cover.

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. It is almost spiritual how unfazed they are since their protector (Mommy) is there with them. Lightning, thunder, who cares, Mommy’s here. Micah asking for better snacks in the midst of it all. Ellis calmly taking it all in, seated in the farther back, bottom bunk, stroller seat, unlike our usual configuration.

My heart swelled when a couple passersby commented on how calm my kids were while having to sit in their stroller until the worst of it was over.

Once it finally turned into a drizzle, I told them we were going to try walking home. Micah kept asking me to play “I Spy” with him while I could hardly grip the stroller handle from all the water and sunscreen.

“Micah, Mommy has to watch the road. Concentrate. Big rain is gone but little rain is here and Mommy has to watch out for the Big Rivers all over the streets, OK?”

“Big River? Mommy like Dora? Micah Boots? Cross Big River!”

Thanks for the memories, Monsoon!

seconds after the drizzle turned into torrential downpour, we found shelter under the Metro North tracks. GOOD LOOKIN’ OUT, METRO NORTH!

my zen baby

“mommy? i want new snack. what’s this?” as my own stomach growled.

seconds before, a man sought shelter with us. he wrung out his t-shirt, put it back on, and went back into the storm.

jolly

The Day They Cancelled Church

Posted on July 18, 2013 by ajummama

Lying is an unavoidable part of parenting.

My very nature is to be honest to a fault, like Jim Carey in “Liar Liar.” I suspect I drank truth serum instead of breastmilk when I was a scrawny newborn. I’ve told beggars on the subway, “Sorry, I only have my credit card on me today,” and, “Well, I do have a Luna bar. It’s a nutrition bar for women, but if you don’t mind that, you’re welcome to it. S’mores flavor.”

So when we made the family decision to skip church to go to an MLB event called All-Star FanFest, only because Daddy said something about how NYC may not host another All-Star game again in our (healthy) lifetime, I naturally thought we would have to explain to Micah, “This is a very special event so we decided to skip church but church is VERY important to us and we do not want to make a habit of skipping, OK? We love church but today we will not go, OK? Do you understand, Micah? And at least we went yesterday for Ellis’ baby dedication.”

But Daddy beat me to it. On Sunday morning, he looked Micah straight in his eyes, while changing him into his little David Wright jersey.

“Micah, there is no church today.”

“Dah-thee? We go to church? Big church and Micah church?” (Big church is for us parents and Micah church is his preschool class at church).

“No church today, Micah,” Daddy responded barely above a whisper.

I see, only now, that the vague lie was the way to go. How would we explain that the next All-Star game in NYC would most likely be when his parents are dead and buried (or at least so far down the road we return as grandparents)? And how baseball is a competing religion for Daddy. And how do we define “special event” since we may likely miss another day of church for an upcoming birthday party scheduled during service. (On a deeper note, wondering if we need to have firmer convictions with no exceptions?)

And I am a hypocrite. I seem to have no problem telling lies like, “Micah, you see that policewoman standing right there? She is here to make sure you hold Mommy’s hand when you cross the street,” or “Auntie Nicole told me that you can’t come to her lake house if you don’t listen to Mommy and finish your pasta.”

I can’t finish this post because I think I am having some form of heatstroke after telling pregnants and non-pregnants alike, “Drink plenty of water,” but not heeding my own advice while wrangling the kiddies. Feeling lightheaded and slow.

What lies have you told?

Peace.

Roadtrip to CVS

Posted on July 17, 2013 by ajummama

I was crossing Queens Blvd. (Lotta my stories can start with that line).

My usually observant self hardly noticed that another (younger, whiter) female was crossing with me.

If we had both been heading to a popular deli with bomb sandwiches to go, I would definitely have noticed her as I would have broken out into a jog so that I can avoid waiting behind her in line. Especially because usually, there is a car full of men waiting for me to get back into the passenger seat.

I purchased the one item I needed from CVS (birthday card) and started writing in it at a Starbucks just a few doors down. I had to write my love messages fast as my mama’s birthday was approaching and the mailboxes in our ‘hood do 9 am or 10 am pick-ups(!). I wouldn’t be able to celebrate her 60th with her because she is clear ‘cross the country as usual, though I plan to make it up to her this year. The 1st and 60th birthdays in Korean culture are the hugest milestones.

I then noticed the Queens Blvd. gal from earlier. She had hardly registered in my peripheral view but I recognized her now as she was CLEARLY not headed to CVS like me.

UNLIKE ME, she was headed to her PARTY LIMO to meet at least seven of her friends who had already gathered with overnight bags, coolers, outerwear. They were a diverse bunch, brown and white, male and female. They looked and sounded really happy and excited. Co-workers, I guessed.

After I mailed my card, on my way back home, I sauntered over to them and asked, “Where you guys off to? It looks so fun! Jealous.”

One of the guys already seated in the limo, with the doors still open answered, “We’re going to Vegas for the weekend. We got room for one more. You wanna join us?”

“You guys DRIVING to Vegas from here in a limo!? That is cray…” I pause to shake the rust off my brain. “I mean, you guys headed to the airport in the limo, then spending the weekend there?! That’s cool. Sounds fun. Y’all look so refreshed and relaxed, by the way.”

They proceeded to flatter me some. I wasn’t surprised (I had just dyed my greys). Note: they proceeded to flatter an octogenarian who also stopped by to ask them where they were off to.

“Sounds fun. Um…are you all single? I remember those days I could just pack up and go anywhere, any time. Now I got two little kids waiting for me at home.”

“Two kids?! No, no, no, no! You know you can’t bring them along, right? You better get home now!” he teased.

I did get my butt back home, then off to my second son’s Baby Dedication. Talk about opposite plans.

This limo crew reminded me of a couple life stages ago, when I was free to hit up Vegas for my friend and her friend’s double bachelorette party. Or free to do anything really, though my goody goody self was known to be a buzzkill at clubs, asking philosophical and existential questions like, “Is this really a good time for you guys, talking about how faded you are? What about meaning though?”

The black stretch limo dared me again to try to live in the present EVEN MORE, since I will yearn for many of today’s moments years down the road.

Back in earlier life stages, I may have fretted a bit too much about “Where my husband at?” though a natural and honest concern as a single gal of “marriageable age.” And even now, I worry about what type of job/career to resume and when. Where our family should settle down. How to maximize precious time with the kids without going broke and while still cultivating my own interests apart from them.

But looking back, I really didn’t need to fret so much about the unknowns. ESPECIALLY in my tenderoni years!

My roadtrip to CVS prodded me AGAIN to savor my NOW though so tempting to OVER-wonder about the next life stages. My now is not a whirlwind Vegas trip or even a spontaneous trip to go swimming in Manhattan, but my firstborn calling out, “MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY watch me!” every other waking moment and my second-born bootyshaking to different beats and protesting his highchair so that he can bum a cuddle in Mommy’s sweaty lap instead.

Sometimes I get wistful for my freedom but this is my NOW. Blogging while the clock on their naps is ticking like the clock on “24.”

The limo crew also made me pause to think about my friends in other life stages, how they, too, should savor whichever stage they’re in, because somewhere out there, someone is thinking how nice it would be to have the freedom to jet to Vegas, have childless moments with spouses or single moments with closest girlfriends, or travel the world on sabbatical or during retirement.

Next roadtrip: RiteAid.

Play

Posted on July 12, 2013 by ajummama

When I first started putting Micah in timeouts, I felt sheepish. I could actually hear my Korean ancestors laughing from their knolly graves.

I’m trying to learn what kind of parents we are. Sift through the noise and parenting junk emails overflowing in my inbox. So many loaded terms. Attachment parenting (you mean what the rest of the world does)? Waldorf schools? Montessori? Charter schools? Homeschooling? Unschooling?

Sometimes, the labels just make things more intimidating and confusing than necessary. I have almost always followed the rules (except at movie theaters) but I do have an unnecessarily rebellious side, too. If someone too hungrily wants to know all my business while remaining private about their mess, I don’t want to tell them anything and have even privatized my Facebook page to a couple acquaintances. (Or if I am Facebook-friended too prematurely. Yes, this dates me as young kids these days friend anyone and everyone). But if someone couldn’t care less about my life, I want to reveal all. In detail.

I still refuse to call Manhattan “The City.” It ain’t the only one.

Before I became a mama, I didn’t want to “schedule playdates” for my future children because it sounded too yuppie and ridiculous for my little babies. (I’ve since matured and realized there is no getting around that one.) But words mean a lot to me.

So while I am still trying to figure out where I fit in as a parent, which philosophies I adhere to, all I know is that today, in this perfectly breezy 75 degree weather, my boys and I had so much fun literally rolling around in the grass with kids from the neighborhood. At first, Micah looked at me like I was actin’ a damn fool but once I got into it, he cautiously started rolling with me and other playmates.

Then we played treetag with Micah’s cheeks shaking as he ran, no longer a baby but not yet a boy, first wide-eyed and tentative, then with delight. Even little Ellis got in on the action, playing in the grass and rolling about. We even built houses with twigs (I hear this is called “fairy house” – more new lingo.)

Does my closet hippie make me a follower of Waldorf pedagogy? YO, I dunno! I just think kids should play outdoors as much as possible. Good for their health and souls. Found a blade of grass in my baby’s diaper from our outdoorsy play. It was a good, no, GREAT day.

Thanks to my kids, I have bonus childhoods to enjoy at my age. Memories of my own childhood flood me as I play with them. Handball with the neighborhood kids behind our yellow apartment building in Koreatown LA, until it was night. Rollerskating down too-steep apartment driveways with no helmets or kneepads while my parents worked long and hard in their store, to pay for our piano lessons and future SAT classes. Digging for buried treasure with my little brother with my dad’s finest silver spoon next to graffiti’d walls. Devouring book after book at the public library until my parents closed up shop and came to pick us up after the sun set so late in the summers.

[Speaking of outdoors, Happy Birthday to Henry David Thoreau:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”]

Monkey Bars, Swings, and Bubble (Burst)

Posted on July 11, 2013 by ajummama

Watching Micah on the monkey bars is a treat. His arms outstretched above him, head smushed into his chest to create a slight double chin, and his head looking a bit large for his little body brings me back to his baby days. He is full of glee as he associates the monkey bars with his favorite gal, Dora the Explorer. My 5 feet 2 1/4 inch self was holding him up as best as I could, though sometimes ending up with his groin smashed up against my sweaty face.

turning everything into monkey bars

Ellis was deprived of his morning nap by tagging along today. I had reclined his seat and placed a swaddle blanket over it so that he can take his morning nap in peace, even at the playground, but it didn’t work out as he was wide-eyed the whole time we were out. Didn’t let out a peep but I still felt sorry for my Baby Beluga. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things but ever since I read about how naps are key for their development, as important as food to these little guys, I like to protect their naps if at all possible. However, the plight of a second-born is that life almost always revolves around big bro’s activities.

I found myself giving extra hugs and kisses to Micah as he even FEELS more grown-up when I pick him up, too tall for the baby swings now, though still squeezing into them. I was also giving extra hugs and kisses to Ellis. I just couldn’t resist him as all his rolls trembled with fright when first seated on the swing next to big bro, with the loud roar of the Long Island Railroad train speeding through behind him, until his fright turned into open-mouthed glee.

pure joy

I was teaching Micah to pump his legs out and back so that he can control the speed of his own swing. I sat in my own swing to demonstrate while both gazed over at me. “Out and back, out and back, Micah! Look at Mommy’s legs! I go so fast!” (You know you’re getting older when even swinging too high and too fast causes vertigo). I was telling them stories about what we did before we got to the playground and what we will do after.

Micah asked solemnly with his clear, wide eyes, “More talking, Mommy? More talking?” He loves my stories and is starting to tell more elaborate ones of his own, although with nonsequiturs like, “Obbah gangnamstyle! Sexy lady! Your eyes!”

These days, especially in the heat, I admittedly have a chip on my shoulder about how I have no local relatives to help out regularly, how both kids are home with me full-time with no hired help.

Of course motherhood should not be a contest but sometimes, even while reading my trifling Facebook Newsfeed, I find myself stung with envy, saying out loud, “MUST BE NICE!” at acquaintances who have plenty of help and plenty of REGULARLY SCHEDULED child-free breaks, not just on their own but with their husbands. They must be healthier for it all around.

But watching my two favorite guys swinging back and forth, beaming at me with smiles reserved only for their mama, I was thinking, “Man, this motherhood thing is WILD. I am the most joyful woman in the world during priceless moments like these, and then there are those Updating Resume moments where I just wanna pull my hair out and go lie down in a clean, white room for at least four days.”

Just then, I noticed a nanny watching us and smiling. She was very warm towards us, especially at little Ellis as he squealed. She kept watching and smiling.

I started swelling up with pride, as she SURELY must be admiring how hands-on, doting, and active I am with both little guys, as a noble, sacrificial sweat dripped down my face. And how obviously in love with them I am and how I am only thriving as a mama, without a hint of ever being overwhelmed, insecure or grappling with questions of identity. EVER. Not a struggle in sight.

Yeah, I got this. Even a professional childcare provider recognized this gem. POP MY COLLAR TIME!

I packed up the kids, bracing myself for a visit to our Key Food with its narrow, cluttered aisles, clinically depressed cashiers and senior citizens balking at our huge stroller being there at all.

The nanny rushed to catch up to me before we strolled away for good.

“Are you looking for some help? I have a nanny friend looking for work if you need someone.”

Wait, what?

Unmoored: Dropping Stones is Hard To Do

Posted on July 1, 2013 by ajummama

I had a bad weekend.

I am learning something about myself after repeated headbutts with the mysterious underbelly of a persistent pet peeve.

One of the common themes of my many pet peeves is that I cannot stomach feeling invisible or like I don’t matter. This explains why it bothers me exponentially more than it bothers others, when people consistently don’t say hello or if they talk OVER me. Or if they act like I simply don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I am not talking about when someone is having a bad day (or days), completely unrelated to me. (I check myself all the time, to make sure I am not taking something too personally).

I’ve been in a toxic work situation where the co-workers treated me like I was invisible since Day One, when I, as the excited and hopeful new girl, had to go up to each of the other attorneys and introduce myself instead of the other way around. It escalated from that bad first day to stories you would accuse me of making up.

I talked myself into staying for the full year despite the emotional distress and stress on my new marriage. I was close to tears every Sunday night (at the very least) and even Fridays couldn’t cheer me up as Monday was a’comin’.

As the office elevator took me to my floor, I would place my palms up towards the sky, praying for strength to get through the day. I see pictures of myself from that year, my face with so many shadows cast upon it that I look like an abstract painting.

Those punk asses didn’t even have the decency to call me a racial slur so that I could have had a basis to sue. Dirty bullying at the junior high level, but nothing actionable, unfortunately.

Back to this past weekend. I was on the phone, talking very heatedly in Korean, while pacing back and forth on the streets of Manhattan, near Union Square. I realized I was talking pretty heatedly but I didn’t care because I was in a lot of pain.

I never have the luxury of talking freely, at any decibel, in our own home because it is so small. I could wake the kids. This, and the constant construction and turbo leaf-blowing outside my window for hours on end, does not make for great mental / emotional health these days.

A white lady in her 50s, with her two grown sons, pops out of their fancy Manhattan apartment building. I am about to cry at this point as I continue to talk into my phone. She stares at me like I am a wild animal, a total beast, or more accurately, a piece of trash that happened to fly under her snotty nose. She proceeds to stand there and stare at me, frowning.

This is in broad daylight on a public sidewalk. While I realize I was being loud and emotional, it was not to the level of disorderly conduct.

She walked away ever so slowly, overdramatically, as if to show me that it is very hard to walk away from such a spectacle and 3…2…1, bam! Her sons pretend to turn around to look at something but they turn to look at me, the low-class banshee that their mom was horrified by.

For some reason, her look has made an impression on me more than the rest of my shit weekend. Or maybe because it’s easier to focus on her look more than other things that have hurt me.

When I see someone practically crying on the phone on the street, desperately unloading, I do the decent thing and LOOK AWAY, suddenly busying myself with my very fascinating third fingernail or that cool new billboard, to give them some privacy in their vulnerable moment, even on the public sidewalks. I also say a quick, silent prayer for them.

My heart goes out to them because EVERYBODY hurts. Life is messy.

This lady’s look. It made me want to run down the street after her and call out, “Hey! So what, I was having a very emotional outburst in public. What gave you the right to look at me with such disdain and disapproval? Are you not human, do you not bleed? You entitled, privileged bitch! And why you gotta be so passive aggressive, you coward. You didn’t have the balls to say anything to me. Was my language offensive to you? My cacophonous Oriental speech?” (Yes, a lot of unhealthy mindreading and projecting).

Whole lot to unpack from a brutal weekend, including why this stranger’s look had the power to unmoor me.

Also ironic that our pastor preached on “Drop Your Stone” yesterday, a sermon I have yet to listen to as we were at a Baby Dedication class during service.

A sermon I could very well be avoiding and not quite ready to hear.

My most repeated prayer for my kids is that they may find their worth in God and God alone – how God views them, not how the world may view them, and not based on fleeting accomplishments or failures. That they may be wholly anchored deep in His love.

I suspect their mama needs such prayers, too.

I Spy

Posted on June 25, 2013 by ajummama

There are two types of parents: those who rise to the “I Spy” Challenge and those who say, “Ask Daddy.”

On any given day, I can hardly find my keys (same place every other time). So I’m not the best parent to solicit help in finding “three flags, a flamingo, a surfin’ fella, a small steering wheel, and a fancy umbrella” at the end of a long day, especially a heat advisory day, complete with jungle thunderstorms, to kick off a NYC summer.

Yet somewhat surprising since I Spy so much in real life, way more than oblivious Daddy who will usually respond with “Huh?” when I ask, “Did you see that?”

I Spy a quiet, serene mama sitting in our music class, while the kiddies bang away on their drums, triangles, and cymbals. I am wearing my sweaty infant and trying to cover his ears after his glassy eyes have no choice but to succumb to his morning nap. I am pleading with my toddler to please listen to the teacher instead of jumping around with a little buddy he made all on his own. I Spy small earplugs in Serene Mama’s ears! Wait, THAT IS ALLOWED? I, with my supersonic hearing, could have done that ALL ALONG when toddler turbulence hits?

I Spy another mama (or nanny) crossing Queens Blvd., strolling a toddler girl. The little girl is carrying a huge rolled up wad of cash in her bare fist. I want to warn her with my characteristic, “Uh-oh, watch out!” but for once, I leave it be. (Note to self: Walk their route tomorrow and scan the black asphalt.)

I Spy a short-torso’d, slight man in office attire, walking behind us, screaming into his cell phone, “…sex?…sex? Was she a Boston Six or Beer Goggles Six?” Curious what a Boston Six is. His convo grossed me out as I rushed home with my two, still-innocent, males, but I, too, have been guilty of talking loudly on the phone in public, on gross-to-overhear topics like coaching girlfriends on how to spot quality cervical mucus for babymaking.

I Spy our friendly, androgynous Malaysian waiter/waitress who leans into Kevin and asks, “Where are you FROM?” Kevin recognizes The Look and proceeds to answer, “Korea,” just to save time, even if he was born in Flushing, NY. He/she responds with, “Are you here on holiday then?”

“Oh, no, we live here!”

“Oh, okay! Then WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

“OH! Forest Hills. Er, here. Few blocks away.”

Script. Flipped.

As I finish typing this, I Spy our DVR with our delicious, weekly treat of the worst yet most enjoyable programming (“The Bachelorette” and “Mistresses”). I Spy a good time.