Mother’s Day 2013 aka The Threepeat

Posted on June 21, 2013 by ajummama

This was my third Mother’s Day with Micah (outside my belly) and first with Ellis (outside my belly).

Last year, Kevin surprised me with a trip back home to LA, just me, myself and I (with Ellis in my belly, gender unknown) the week BEFORE Mother’s Day. My first time EVER separating from my baby (at 18 months old) and last hurrah before I became a mama of two (though I’d like to think of it as the first of many more to come, amen?)

This year, I asked for something very low-key. Just heaps of time together with the ones who made me a mama.

Perhaps because we ALWAYS spend heaps of time together and the man knows how much I enjoy (good) surprises (not like the time he let me go to my own Baby Sprinkle unshowered with the telltale unwashed hair / makeshift ponytail, thinking we were just headed to Costco), he had planned another.

So the night before Mother’s Day weekend, he reveals to me that we are headed to…

wait for it…

…

CoCo Key…(What!? I ask for low-KEY and he takin’ us to Coco KEY in the Caribbean?!)

I had told him to save money this year and not make Mother’s Day too crazy. He need not one-up himself every year. Too much pressure and too much coin.

He explained:
CoCo Key, CONNECTICUT, not CocoKey / CocoCay, Bahamas.

On that gloomy, drizzling Saturday before Mother’s Day, he was whisking us away to CoCoKey Water Resort in Connecticut, like an indoor Raging Waters where it is 84 degrees all year long.

“Wait, what about the boys’ swimsuits? Dunno if Micah’s still fits and if Ellis even has one?”

“Already taken care of,” showing me a stuffed Gap bag.

I feel ashamed that after all his planning and surprising, my strongest reaction was, “Did you buy their swimsuits AT FULL PRICE!?” (But this is coming from someone who haggles at the dentist office). He had packed and planned marvelously, knowing how much his plant-like Californian wife needs water and sun.

The drive from our home was going to take up to two hours. We also had to stop to buy mama HER swimsuit because I had misplaced mine. I suspected my (jealous) friends who had been clowning my brown and white floral mumu for years now but there was no time to suspect and interrogate. We headed to the most obvious place one would score a last minute swimsuit.

Costco.

Kevin warned me to just pop in while he kept the car running so that we can get to the water park in a timely fashion. Even without a shopping cart, I did not heed his warning. So, a cool, hip grandpa of three small children, who was also there to make a single purchase (a huge tv), had to give me a shopping cart ride back to our still-running Honda as I had picked up boxes of assorted nuts, Goldfish, and freeze-dried fruits for the kiddies.

(The shopping cart Gramps told me a joke while showing me pictures of his grandchildren on his iPhone.

“Why do grandparents get along so well with their grandchildren?”

I guessed the usual punchline, “Because they get to go home?”

“Nope. Because they have a common enemy.”)

By the time we arrived at CoCoKey, it was raining and even gloomier so I was extra excited to set foot onto the manmade “island.”

When I think back to my third Mother’s Day, I will replay images of Kevin and me going on waterslides in tag-team succession. While I climbed up the many stairs to get to the top of the adult waterslides, Kevin and the kids would watch me eagerly from the base of the slide, then cheer me on when I came flying down. Then, it would be Daddy’s turn while I clutched them against my wet bosom.

I have to confess that even still, I managed to feel pangs of “woe is me” when I saw other families with their grandparents, lending all-around helping hands so that the parents could go have a relaxing drink together or get on the waterslides without taking turns but I tried to shake it off, like the communal water beading on my body. A waterpark with an infant and toddler is not easy as we can never exhale, but how memorable was it to see my little morsels wide-eyed as they saw their mama plunk down into the water at the end of the slide? Their first waterpark experience, Ellis’ first outside-the-bathtub, water experience.

Mother’s Day 2013 – my heart and arms full

all pajammied for the long drive home, past their bedtimes

Daddy had lined up a whole host of other activities the next day, a whole lot of togetherness all over Queens and Brooklyn, just like I had asked for. Finally writing this in late June but the gratitude and memories are still fresh.

Brooklyn Bridge, Mother’s Day 2013

I See You

Posted on June 12, 2013 by ajummama

It is already June.

Have been itching to blog more frequently but also to improve my writing.

However, as of right now, the itch is too great. I just don’t have the energy or the time at the end of the day to commit to the editing process that is required to improve my quickly-cranked out posts.

Instead, per my usual stylo, I am opting to sneak this post in hurriedly during this sweet spot of the boys’ naps overlapping. I should be eating a real lunch instead of this tray of watermelon while typing (I know I will be too hungry to workout tonight at this rate). I SHOULD BE vacuuming the remnants of their lunches but I will gift myself with this half hour of expressing myself first. If I tended to all the “should’s” that hang out in my head, I wouldn’t get to blog until fall.

This past Saturday, I woke up too early, sleeptrained by our roommate, Little E.Z., who is prone to cry, then get sprung from his crib anywhere from 5ish, 6ish, or 7ish to nurse and crawl around in our bed.

I woke up thinking it was a weekday, then realizing it was Saturday.

Yet I didn’t hear the Hallelujah chorus go off once I realized the weekend had arrived.

This made me pause. Why wasn’t I ecstatic that it was Saturday, the bedazzling beauty of the week!? Kevin would be with us to do all the heavy lifting, corraling, disciplining, and pleading. A partner in crime to keep our kiddies alive and fed and entertained and napped.

A-ha! It dawned on me slowly in my just woken up fog. It was because I was SPENT. My body felt clammy and my throat sore. Saturdays = family fun days. Sometimes, too much fun. Marathon fun days where we allow the boys to sleep in the car so that we don’t let long naps cramp our style. Memories to create with all four of us present. Longer than typical work days.

My body was On Break. With a “B*tch, PLEASE. HAVE MERCY!”

I knew that I had to invest in rest or else the following week was going to be too much.

So, Kevin took Micah to soccer alone, then to our friends’ place on Long Island for a potluck with other parents and toddlers. I was going to allow myself to “waste” this Saturday by staying home and relaxing. I almost backslid and called Kevin to just swoop me up after soccer so that our family can be together as a foursome.

But I set myself straight. It was just one Saturday, not a North Korean – South Korean separation.

And CAN I TELL YOU? It was GLORIOUS.

It felt like spa day even though I was in my cluttered home with my Li’l Kim.

It reminded of the days when Micah and I had so much one-on-one time to fall in love all through the week, everyday, all day.

This past Saturday, I was really able to look at my younger son and drink him in. Who are you, you chubby little morsel with your jolly temperament? You who waited until Gramma Lee touched down at JFK to burst out of me. You who we didn’t know would be a boy, a gentle, laidback, delectable boy.

I didn’t have to rush so that I can feed big bro. I didn’t have to peel Micah off of him or time everything perfectly so that I can be there for the both of them. I didn’t have to rush. Period.

We rolled around on the floor. He crawled over my face. Stood up using my body for support, just beaming. Peered deep into my eyes and grabbed my face, like, “I SEE YOU, MOMMY. I REALLY SEE YOU!” We told Yo Mama jokes (Wait…). I read to him. I talked to him.

Highlight of the day was when I fed him some dinner while he was seated in his stroller in our courtyard, instead of the usual frenzied dinner scene at home in his highchair and his bro in his booster. It was a balmy evening and I fed him some messy pasta baby food while he coo’d at me. I took my time showing him the flowers, the fountain, the squirrels, the birds. I strolled him in the SINGLE stroller and called my girlfriends back home (left voicemails) while Kevin continued to stay out with Micah for my sake (Costco and BuyBuyBaby runs).

My “spa day” with just the one son also made me recall a scene from this past Mother’s Day. I had struck up a conversation with a family while sitting on a bench near the Brooklyn Bridge. I was wearing a napping Ellis while the two other boys went to pick up some pizza for our impromptu picnic on the grass. I asked the dad what life was like as a family of five, as I admired his three daughters (ages 10, 7 and 5).

“Three is the new TWO,” he told me. “Most of my good friends have three or more kids. I think it may be a reaction to 9/11. We just crave connection. Family time. And more family members.” (paraphrasing here)

I said, earnestly, “I heard that once you’re outnumbered, you have to go on one-on-one dates with them so that you can really spend quality time with them.”

He laughed. “All or nothing in my house. Who has the time?”

I laughed, too, TOTALLY understanding where he was coming from. It’s hard enough running a happy household juggling everyone’s demands and needs, and spending rare quality time on the weekends as a cohesive unit, family of four, so how can we devote ourselves to just ONE kid regularly?

And yet.

I realized how much I enjoy these rare times with just one of my kids. Just like any other relationship. As much as I love hanging out with a group of local Mommy friends or my girlfriends back home, it is extra special bonding when we can go deep one-on-one and really SEE each other. Hear what makes us happy, what makes us sad, what we want to work on. Just what gives us LIFE overall.

It also made me think of Avatar’s simple yet profound tag line, “I SEE YOU!” And when my first son says, “Look at ME, Mommy, look at ME!” craving my undivided attention.

We all want to connect and be seen. To be heard without multi-tasking or being told, “Not now. Be patient while I…” “Maybe soon…”

What a gift it was.

I can’t wait for another “spa day” with just one Kim.

I see you. And your cape, SuperEllis. [photo credit: Jenny Tang]

It Don’t Start with a “G”

Posted on May 28, 2013 by ajummama

When we opted not to find out the sex of our second baby, my best friend, K, told me I would be having another boy. I told her to shuddup and not tell me what the Chinese Gender Predictor Calendar was revealing to her as we talked on the phone. I KNEW she would be tinkering with an Internet search as soon as I told her we’d be keeping it a surprise.

“Aight, dawg. I won’t tell you what you’ll be having. I’mma just tell you this though. It don’t start with a ‘g'” she said, howling with laughter.

“Eww, why you all SURE, too? You being cocky right now! Augh!” I said, feigning anger.

“I dunno. I just picture you as the only girl of the house. Outnumbered. Queen Bee. It’s dope!”

I thought about this conversation during recent moments where I am clearly the only lady of the house:

After receiving a hand-me-down puzzle called Diggers & Dumpers, Micah has become very interested in the different types of specialty vehicles. This is out of my realm of expertise as I am not a cool gal who knows about cars and machinery. Zero interest. He asked me what the difference between an excavator and backhoe is.

“Why not same – same, Mommy?” he asked, as he loves to match up same objects these days.

I was thinking, “Um, one sounds like the better punchline to a joke?” I explained that um…er, an excavator is bigger than a backhoe(?). Yeah, that’s it.

His earnest, wide-eyed response: “Micah backhoe. Daddy excavator. Micah small, Daddy beeg.” (I just googled “difference between excavator and backhoe” as I write up this post. Apparently, I taught him wrong. The excavator was only the bigger puzzle piece in this particular puzzle.)

Every time Micah would see the GEICO gecko on display in the window of a store we stroll by regularly, he would start screaming, “Gecko! Let’s go Mets, raahhhhh! Gecko, let’s go Mets, ahhhhh!” He would make me stop in front of the store so he could cheer properly. I just thought he was a quirky kid but today as we drove by Citifield, Micah started screaming, “Let’s go Mets, Gecko!” Sure enough, we saw a billboard with the GEICO gecko across the highway from Citifield, right from his vantage point as a little passenger in our backseat.

You right, Micah. “If you see something, say something.” Reminded again to listen to our kids. They are always making connections and what sounds random isn’t quite so.

When I heard Kevin raising his voice at Micah as he wrangled him for a bath, I said, “Hey, you know if you keep yelling at him, it won’t be effective when you really need to raise your voice at him. He’ll think Daddy just yells.”

“Don’t worry. I have a different octave for that. You gotta put some bass into it.” And sure enough, who does Micah listen to more? The one who has bass to put into it.

And finally, I had been working on getting Micah to wean off his perfectionist tendencies. I had initially thought that it was a toddler’s developmental milestone to become almost obsessed with getting everything right, i.e. when working on puzzles. I talked to a few friends with toddlers and they informed me that this is actually a part of his personality, a trait, not part of a toddler’s development. I noticed he would want to make sure he’s right, before trying to put a puzzle piece into the puzzle, or matching a picture in a book.

So I said, “Guess what, Micah? Let’s just have fun and get it all wrong. Mommy wants to show you that getting it wrong can be fun and there is nothing, er…well, wrong, with getting things wrong sometimes!”

But Micah didn’t like this game and proceeded to put every piece in its rightful place. “TA-DAAAA!” he exclaimed with pride.

Just then, Kevin walks by and busts out with, “Whooo-hooo! Micah got it ALL RIGHT! My man! High-five!”

Great. We just took a few steps back(hoe).

LeJihee Signing on For Another Season

Posted on May 23, 2013 by ajummama

Sometimes, the decision to stay the course, involves just as much risk and faith as pursuing the path of change.

I officially decided on Monday, after more than a week of deliberating with the babies’ daddy, that I will be staying at home longer instead of pursuing an opportunity that would have me working full-time as early as June.

We went over this time and time again last week, listing the pros and cons and how it would affect our family.

We sought wisdom in Scripture, sermons, and people, though I tried to avoid talking to too many people but I needed prayer. It is tricky to consult people as we naturally dish out advice based on our experience and justifications for our own life choices. I also didn’t want my head to be needlessly cluttered with unhelpful “I would NEVER leave my kids!” or “I would NEVER be able to just stay at home.”

I also looked for signs everywhere, sometimes not so wisely, like in the season finale of my current favorite sitcom, The Mindy Project – “…sometimes you just say ‘Yes.'”

This opportunity and crossroads came at a time I had been praying for confirmation that I should continue to stay at home 2.5 years after my firstborn had arrived.

Would Mama be taking her talents to South Beach or would she sign with the Cleveland Cavs for an eighth season?

Micah will be starting preschool a few mornings in the fall so we have to be responsible for that additional monthly payment. My bringing in an income would be WONDERFUL. I miss that luxury, that cushion.

We’d be able to save substantially more and move into a bigger space as we burst at the seams in our current place. We’d be able to get stuff from our Wants List, like eating out often, taking exotic vacations, and signing the kids up for unlimited extracurriculars, without having to deliberate carefully.

I told Kevin that part of this pull towards rejoining the workforce immediately was 70% due to income. But I had to dig deeper and examine the remaining 30%.

A paycheck for my time and efforts was about more than just the scrill, the cheddah, the greenbacks. It was largely tied to how I measured my worth. While the efforts of moms are priceless, I wasn’t satisfied with “priceless.” I craved a price! I wanted a quantifiable measure of my contribution to my family. Digging even deeper, I wanted to set myself apart from the stereotype of a stay-at-home mom whose only identity is linked to her kids, having no recollection of who she is apart from them and when her kids become more independent, she has nothing left to call her own.

And finally, it represented freedom from some really hard days with no relief. It would allow me to thump my chest and say, “I am MORE than just mamamamamama. Mama gets paid! Mama gets haircuts and trendy (while age-appropriate) new clothes and huge tubes of Bliss lotion from Nordstrom Rack just because she can! Mama will eat lunch whenever she wants to at Hale and Hearty, not at 3 pm after the kids’ naps overlap, while glaring at an avalanche of toys and clothes that needs to be picked up.”

I also longed to go to work to escape the thankless duties of motherhood. Just to name a few:

Pleading with the toddler to please refrain from doing his repeated, giggly pelvic thrusts while mama wrestles him to change his poopy diaper. (What the hell is this about? I have to BEG dude to let me change his diaper because it is such a lovely task that I look forward to daily?).

Pleading with said toddler not to beg for Mommy’s phone and make emergency calls featuring Chinese characters on the screen while mama at dry cleaners.

Pleading not to ride his infant brother like a horsey though #2 plush and solid.

Pleading not to touch all public surfaces, then proceed to place four of his five fingers in his mouth, like a dust and germ lollipop he whipped up.

Turning each mealtime into a game with mama telling overly animated stories and making Jim Carey faces so that he will be interested enough to eat a decent portion.

Eating leftovers just to soothe my growling stomach, not actually tasting the food, while feeding baby his avocado banana mush and toddler some chicken noodle soup. And constantly picking up food and drinks that toddler keeps dropping, both accidentally and on purpose.

Recently, the boys and I visited their daddy at the office. I quietly strolled in with the boys in their double stroller, having taken the subway from home. I was surprised by just how out of touch with that prior life I was, even though I have the same expensive degree. His co-workers were going for lunch and contemplating what to eat at their desks. Without two warm cute little bodies to factor in. One of our friends held Ellis for a few moments and then announced half-jokingly that that’s enough for him since he has to take care of his babies at home.

Had to pause right there to really let it sink in.

I, too, wanted to be On Break. And GET PAID FOR IT. Of course I know that working outside the home is not a true break but in that frazzled and overtired phase I was in, Kevin’s office seemed like the freaking spa. The quiet. The food. The peace.

This whopping 30% of my temptation to rejoin the workforce was turning out to be a disproportionately huge “30%!”

There is no need to make this a Stay-at-Home v. Working Mama debate. Absolutely no need. I learned this past week just how personal this decision is. I needlessly beat myself up for “not being like other moms” who go back to work after a standard maternity leave. I also felt it was too “luxurious” to stay at home for my second to grow into toddlerhood, like I couldn’t justify it. (And yes, I know I am SO blessed to even be able to weigh the options but we have been practicing living on one income since we got married).

After having made the choice to STAY THE SAME, to continue being at home for now, just like I’d been doing for the past 2.5 years, I am surprised to feel a change. I feel excited to form and solidify our own value system, for just our own little family, no one else’s, after surveying friends, acquaintances and strangers alike.

So this is The Decision. FOR NOW, FOR ME, FOR US. Never set in stone. Always up for reassessing periodically. FOR ME, I want to be the one to NOT get paid to play with my boys all day, for better or for worse. FOR ME, to take them to music class and see their faces light up with delight. FOR US, to pick #1 up from his first preschool and let him know that Mommy will always be there for him. FOR US, to nuzzle on both at home on our playmat and after taking a fall at the playground. FOR US, to tell stories to while strolling them in different configurations in our double stroller. FOR US, to discipline and chase and plead with.

To not miss out on Micah saying, “Be ‘shareful’ Mommy!” when he sees me opening the oven door in our cluttered little kitchen. To hear him say to his little brother, “Don’t cry, Ellis, Mommy’s hee-ah,” and even to hear him saying, “Go office, Mommy. I miss Daddy.”

An unexpected answer to prayer confirming that I would choose this same path all over again even with the whining, the diaper battles, the incessant demands.

Sure I can still experience my kids’ milestones and moments even if I went back to work now, but I don’t want to juggle FOR NOW. I want to be here for all of it, as Micah transitions to part-time preschool after being with Mommy his entire life, and as Ellis gets better at crawling without crashing head first into the TV stand.

FOR NOW, FOR ME, FOR US.

Like a Baby in a Storm aka Wear Me, Lord!

Posted on May 10, 2013 by ajummama

We had just parted ways with our little buddies at the library. I was wearing Ellis in a baby carrier against my warm and plush torso so that he can fall asleep though overtired, way past his naptime. Mr. EZ Kim had graciously given up a proper nap in his crib yet again in order to accompany his big brother to his Wednesday activity. Secondborn’s lot in life.

On the way home, the raindrops that initially fell intermittently from the trees started coming down faster and even fatter. Micah was sitting in the double stroller, facing me, Ellis still on my body, his seat empty. I adjusted the raincover for their stroller accordingly but it was pouring so furiously that a pool of water was already gathering at the bottom of both seats.

Micah pleaded with me to take off the raincover as it was annoying him. This was going to be a long walk home.

I pleaded back with him to please please just be patient as we had many blocks to go.

I was carrying an umbrella, wearing Ellis, fidgeting with the wet, steamy raincover, trying to stroll as fast as I could when the front wheels started locking so that I could not maneuver them. Locking every other step I took. So I would have to crouch down, wearing Ellis, blinking through the rain, trying to figure out why it kept locking on us.

Thunder. Lightning. So loud that car alarms started going off in succession in the parking lot of a funeral home, and up and down Queens Blvd. Micah asked for snacks in the midst of all this. I pleaded with him again to please be patient as Mommy could not reach down and rummage through for a snack of his choice.

Toddlers are not too compassionate during a harried moment.

My stomach was grumbling from hunger.

Brakes locking repeatedly.

Passersby looked at me trying to get our little crew home safely as they waited under awnings. I thought about seeking refuge under a bodega awning or at the Chinese restaurant our friends are grossed out by due to the “C” grade, but I was nervous that Micah would get restless and demand to walk. I would rather deal with the storm than a tantrum. Drivers snug in their cars watched us, too, as we were quite a spectacle.

Because I was wearing Ellis and Micah was seated in the seat closest to me, it looked like I had three kids with me.

Ellis stirred awake. I was nervous that he would cry from hunger or from being startled by the elements. Instead, he looked around, looked up right at me and smiled a gummy smile. He sighed with content as he watched the outside world, hanging from my shoulders.

By looking at his serene face, you would not know that we were walking clumsily through a crazy storm. At that very moment, like J. Lo said about her second husband, Chris Judd, in an Oprah interview shortly before their divorce, he was my peace.

When I got home, I had to towel myself dry and catch my breath. Thankfully, the kids were dry and my phone had kept Micah from bombarding me with any more requests. I WAS FAMISHED but diapers don’t change themselves.

Micah proceeded to play with his toys all over the living room without picking up after himself. Of course, I tripped on them as I tried to rush and change Ellis’ diaper. Micah then chose that moment to get jealous. “Mommy, Hold me?! Hold meeeeee! Hold you!?”

I wanted to transport myself to the Grand Canyon to belt out all the stress of that moment, deep from within my gut. Not just that moment but other storms that have been raging within me for months now. I wanted to be as loud as that thunder and lightning we had just walked through. Set off car alarms.

If I had been able to write this post immediately after that storm, I would’ve ended it here. Just a scene from our week. TGIF, whatever.

But today, as I nursed Ellis from the right boob while feeding Micah with my left hand and myself with my right hand (a rare occurrence, this terrible timing, but we were all so hungry at the same time), I realized that the most memorable part of that storm was 1) the entire walk home, including the end when we finally got to our building and someone who tried to help me push the stroller inside couldn’t do it because it was just too heavy. This was a scene that was so chaotic for 20 minutes but something I will tell the boys over and over again, how “when they were little,” we walked through a scary storm together and they were so brave and happy…

and

2) how they didn’t bat an eye through the loudest of storms because MOMMY WAS WITH THEM! Ellis looked like we were taking a stroll on a perfect day like today.

As Micah is prone to say, “Don’t cry Ellis! Mommy here!”

What a beautiful and innocent stage they are in. Nothing is troubling as long as Mommy is here!

I’m thankful for this new visual I can use when I pray to my Lord and Savior. I will conjure up Ellis’ face in the midst of that storm as I pray through my own struggles. To trust that I don’t have to be afraid.

Most Reviled

Posted on May 10, 2013 by ajummama

Fondly remembering last year’s Mother’s Day. Ellis was living in my womb and we didn’t know he’d be a boy (though I was not able to imagine a girl poppin’ out). Continue reading for more…

ajummama

A few months ago, my husband asked me to save the dates, the weekend before Mother’s Day.

“Schedule nothing – no playdates, no kiddie birthday parties.”

He knows how much I savor (good) surprises, the build-up of anticipation even MORE than the actual event sometimes. So when I learned that he was going to take 1.5 precious vacation days off for this surprise, I knew what was gonna go down.

Obviously, only one possibility. To visit his groomsman and his family in his new home in Portland, Maine. Totally made sense – quick plane ride, close enough to spend only three days there, a place to stay, and we had been talking about visiting ever since they moved there last year. I didn’t bother to guess any more until the actual day of our trip, as I was completely sure of myself.

No brainstorming necessary.

One thing that threw me…

View original post 1,178 more words

“Go Work in Office, MOMMY!” aka Thursday

Posted on April 25, 2013 by ajummama

I am recovering from a 6.5 or 7 tantrum on the tantrum Richter scale (I reserve the right to change magnitude after experiencing more tantrums in the future). What a dramatic way for my firstborn to turn 29 months old today.

A seven-minute walk from the playground ended up taking us approximately 45 minutes (door to swing). Don’t know what set him off. He has been battling a pesky, persistent cough for about a week now but something else set him off on a whole ‘nutha level.

Some guesses:
He was annoyed that I didn’t bring his scooter while the other kids scootered ’round and ’round? (He started scootering on an imaginary scooter). He saw me adoringly place Ellis back into the stroller first? He heard me cooing at Ellis as Ellis faces me in the stroller? He asked for milk and alls I had was diluted juices (apple and orange)? He is two years old?

As we left the playground, Micah demanded to be carried. I explained to him that I could not carry him on the street while strolling his brother. “We can hold hands, Micah. But Mommy cannot carry you up. Too heavy for Mommy, ok? Mommy hold you at home, okay!?” This made him throw himself on the ground and scream, “Mommy! Carry up, carry up. I’m baby. Carry up, carry up.” This broke my heart because Micah never exhibited any jealousy when we first brought Ellis home from the hospital but lately, he’s been saying, “Mommy, put baby down. I’m baby. Carry up. Hold me.”

I crouched down and held him in a big soothing bearhug to let him know that I hear how upset he is. But holding was not sufficient. He wanted to be carried all the way home while I strolled the double stroller!

I tried to keep him in the stroller but he was thrusting around so much that I let him loose. I was not strong enough to force him back down, which is what his daddy always advises. He bucked so much that his snack tray fell off and onlookers watched me pick up all the dried strawberries, dried bananas, and animal crackers from off the ground.

“Micah, do you want to live here on the sidewalk of Queens Blvd.? You have a home. You don’t live on the streets. I see our home from here (pointing). Let’s walk like good boy and Mommy will give you big hug and read you stories when we get home.” Made him more pissed.

While he cried and carried on on the sidewalk, an obese lady walked by with her brown poodle. She saw me struggling with Micah and she just shook her head at us, laughing derisively! I wanted to pause from our scene to tell her to go suck a bag of…(it wasn’t an empathetic laugh. It was a ridiculing, “I hate f*cking bratty little kids” laugh.) Few other passersby walked by and were much kinder, one saying that he’s a grandpa of three, and that they can get like this at this age. I told them about the lady who laughed at us.

Man of the hour: li’l bro EZ who waited patiently ON THE STREET FOR nearly 40 MINUTES, in the chilly shade, while his big bro was working it out. Shout out to neighbor doing laundry in the basement who ESCORTED us to the elevator as I had to carry hysterical Micah after all while she strolled Ellis. If I didn’t carry him, he would walk right under my feet so that I couldn’t even walk without tripping over his body.

Man of the Hour, waiting patiently (pictured here before tantrum erupted)

Micah understands everything these days so when he heard neighbor lady say, “Wow, your little sister is so good and quiet. She’s waiting patiently,” (about Ellis), he started crying more.

At one point, I tried to carry him under my armpit, like a huge clutch but he got even more upset by that. I reasoned with him that I can hold him to his heart’s content once we got home. That didn’t work.

More aftershocks at home when I tried to put him down for a nap. He actually said, “Mommy, go! Go away,” (which is not uncommon for him to tell both Mommy and Daddy when he poops or wants to play alone with baby) but for the FIRST TIME EVER he also said, “Go work in office!” Excuse me, little boy? I’ll have you know I always update my resume after one of your big tantrums anyhow but you told me to do what now? Like you aren’t the same boy who hadn’t been able to separate from mommy or daddy in Sunday school until two weeks ago?

TGIThursday at the very least. Two Trader Joe’s tamales later, I am still wondering what made him get THIS upset. Maybe I’m still new to the Terrible Two’s club, but this was a doozy. Gotta go now. A resume don’t update itself you know.

‘Cause I Gotta Have Faith, the Faith, the Faith…

Posted on April 25, 2013 by ajummama

Kevin just left for his Wednesday night ritual. Looking for parking.

“Do what you need to do Jihee-yah! I’ll be BOCK,” he said as he left.

I’ve been wanting to write for so long but have been burnt out the past couple weeks. Since the kids have been battling a persistent cough and runny nose, I have been running after the one who can run and wrangling the other tender morsel to wipe their faces multiple times an hour. NONSTOP. The second one has to succumb to my sucking his snot out with my beloved Nosefrida but the first one just starts running like Peter, the chubby white boy on “The Cosby Show” whenever I threaten him with, “You’re next, Micah!” My days are filled with snot, spit-up, tears, drool, “Cover your mouth when you cough, Micah!” and, “Ellis, Ow, ow, ow, let go of mommy’s hair,” and a dozen requests for Mommy to do something else right then and there. Micah has also been a bit sensitive lately to our adoration of his little brother, acting up more when he sees me caring for or nibbling on Ellis.

As I started typing this, I got a whiff of a distinct gnarly smell. I began looking around the living room to see if I missed a puddle of spit-up from when Ellis practices crawling too soon after a meal. Nope. Couldn’t find anything. It turns out it’s my shirt. Just a general stench from wearing it two days in a row while carrying the kids around.

As thoroughly spent as I am, if I don’t write, I feel incomplete and even melancholy, just a shell of myself. I have to write but I’ve been confused about the medium: what belongs in a journal, in an email to a close friend, in a blog post, or even in a letter to my kids (moments to read about when they are older).

Since my last post, so much has happened in the world, namely the Boston Marathon bombing, which I don’t have the energy to string together words for at this moment.

When I want to write about 17 different things, and don’t get to jot them down, I lose them all.

(Okay, I need to take off this smelly shirt before I can proceed).

Two Sundays ago, Kevin and Ellis stayed home from church to nurse their colds. Kevin rarely misses church and I was tempted to stay back with them to gladly declare the day as Family Rest Day but I ended up driving just Micah and me to church. I acutely craved church after hearing about Pastor Rick Warren’s son, Matthew Warren, taking his own life at the age of 27, after battling depression all his life. A lot to unpack.

Quick drive down Queens Blvd. Micah is talking to me about what he sees on the road or singing along with the chorus of Taylor Swift’s “Trouble, trouble, trouble, Ohhh!”

We get in the vicinity of church and I start looking for parking. We pass by a crew of firemen washing their firetruck. Each time we pass, Micah exclaims, “FIRETRUCK!” At first, it was a cool sight to see, but each time we pass by them, it becomes a reminder that we STILL ain’t found no parking!

I start sweating profusely as I struggle to withhold my choice curse words. It is maddening to deal with parking even to get to church! I am very close to just driving back home since we are already half an hour late and I can’t stomach such tardiness. I can imagine myself surprising sick Kevin by stomping back into our apartment and throwing myself onto the couch, crying about how we couldn’t go to church due to PARKING! I know how much little Micah loves his Sunday school and this pisses me off even more.

I pray for patience, calm, and a parking spot. I explain to Micah, “We just need to park the car and then we can go into the church. You can go into your Little Lambs class but we need to park our car, okay?” (I used to wonder why parents bother to give play-by-plays to their toddlers but now I see how it can prevent tantrums if they know what’s going on, and how they are part of the action).

I start muttering while breathing deeply, “For the LOVE of GOD, please, please give us a parking spot!” Micah starts to parrot back, “…Love…God! please…parking! Love…God…oh, Mommy, firetruck!”

As the radio starts to blast George Michael’s oldie “‘Cause I gotta have faith, the faith, the faith, I gotta have faith!” I come up on a parking spot, like an oasis in the desert. A big space too! Now I see how God was teaching me patience and timely provision. I can make it to church after all. He had prepared this spot for me while I of weak faith doubted. What a great lesson, a story to tell on my blog perhaps? Almost too good to be true, especially with the perfect song playing on the radio!

Our friends pull up beside me in their bigger Honda. I say hello and check with them, “Hey, I finally found parking after more than 30 minutes! This is fine, right, this parking spot?” He checks for a few moments and informs me, “No, this is a construction site. You can’t park here.” Sure enough, I see that there is a sign on a makeshift wooden facade indicating that it is a construction site and that cars will be towed. It looked too good to be true because it was.

Moments ago, Micah and I had been high-fiving and cheering, “Yay, parking! Awww, jeahh!” but I sheepishly scoop Micah back into his carseat and explain that we cannot park there after all. Somehow, I am no longer tempted to return home to have an adult tantrum. I continue to look for parking. A huge truck ahead of me swoops in on a huge spot that I had been salivating for. In order to not give up, I keep picturing Micah learning songs in his Sunday school class. Keep my eyes on the prize.

We eventually find legal parking.

That Sunday ended up being the first time Micah stayed in Sunday school by himself. I kept sneaking peeks through the window in disbelief that he was able to separate. Initially, he started crying when I left but after I took him into the sanctuary for a few minutes to show him that this is where Mommy and other adults will be singing and listening to sermon, he looked at me firm in the eyes and solemnly said, “Bye Mommy!” I knew then that this was going to be it. He was ready.

Sure, parking is just parking, not a matter of life or death and this is a long-winded rant but when I thought I had found a spot with that George Michael song so aptly setting the mood, I thought I had come across a sweet little nugget, a neat story about having faith and God providing even something as insignificant as parking in moments of “darkness.” (I was really reaching, I know).

But life is messy and complex. God does not provide everything that can make for a sweet anecdote about faith or fit easily into a chapter of “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” Instead of the gift of that initial parking spot, I was gifted with resolve and self-control by not succumbing to my quick temper, by not driving home dejectedly. And the unexpected gift of Micah staying in Sunday school on his own for the first time.

In this wilderness of staying home with two very young children, I often feel lost in terms of next steps. The How of it all. When do I go back to work? In what form? How do I pour out all my heart and breath for my kids and family while still remembering to dream for myself and figure out what is life-giving to me apart from being their mama? And how can I contribute income to my family doing something I enjoy, while still being able to spend heaps of time with my kids? Is this even possible or must I white-fist it through some job just to provide?

I don’t know.

It may not be a simple story I can put a bow on and present as a neat chapter of my life but I want to keep searching. I may sweat profusely and throw tantrums along the way but I want to keep on keeping on. Goodnight.

“They’re Out of My Organic, Gluten-free Kale Chips!” and Other First World Problems

Posted on April 2, 2013 by ajummama

“I’m looking at the list right now. Yup, there are about 80 people ahead of you on the waitlist for a parking space.”

“(Sigh). Well, thanks for double-checking. I was hoping y’all were April Foolin’ me about how there really are that many people ahead of us for parking since we bought our co-op over two years ago, but I guess the joke is really on us. But thanks for at least understanding what it’s like to look for parking with a toddler and infant in the backseat.”

“Wish I could help. It is even awful with my older kids but yes, there are about 80 people ahead of you.”

After I drove home with my two little morsels in the backseat today, trying to keep #1 from falling asleep so that he can clock at least a two-hour nap at home (don’t rob mama of her Halleluyer time), I could not find parking. AS ALWAYS. When I say I could not find parking, I don’t mean parking on my block. I mean parking within 10-12 blocks of our home. Time was of the essence and I grew more desperate as I saw #1 drowsily drop his apple chips and burrow into the sides of his carseat to drift off closer to REM sleep.

I had been praying for parking as I looped around and around the neighborhood but I knew I had to give up.

I parked in the first metered parking spot available. “Oh, so you have metered parking available you drama queen!” one might exclaim. Metered parking allows you to pay for only two hours at a time until 7 pm. This means after I pay for the first two hours, I have to come back at least two to three times to feed the meter. Not a huge deal if it were just me but this means no exhaling the rest of the day as I have to bring the kiddies out every two hours to avoid getting a costly ticket. Coax myself out of my pajama pants, coax my toddler back into his outside clothes, put him in his socks and shoes, wait for the elevator, give daps to the doorman again, wrangle my boy to come directly to the parking spot and not go wandering off to a puddle or patch of grass that happens to interest him. And wear my infant. And plead with #1 not to demand being carried when he catches mama cooing at his chubbier, roll-ier baby bro as she wears him.

Parking and weather are two of my greatest woes living in NYC. They affect me deeply. “Cuts me to the white meat”(!) as The Real Housewives of Atlanta say.

And yet…

I feel I cannot vent properly about them and how they affect my quality of life, how they zap me of my mojo, because of three STFU words that are getting on my last nerve because they are being overused and wrongly used: “First World Problems.” YES, the problems we face are largely problems that can exist only in the First World but it is not fair or helpful to minimize everything down to “First World Problems.”

At first, I liked the label. “First World Problems.” Catchy. Calling out our spoiled Americannness. Puts you in your place as you whine about how the organic market ran out of your favorite kale chips. The phrase was sassy and punchy. Could really shut it down in one fell swoop if anyone dared to complain about something that is not a problem at all, like stuff I’ve wanted to status update about even in a joking manner.

But I just couldn’t because they were so annoyingly First World: “My hands are all scratched up from shelling that juicy dungeness crab for dinner,” or, “You know your purely functional SAS-looking Mom shoes have reached new heights of hideousness when at a gathering, when it’s time to put your shoes back on, you pretend they ain’t yours and that you still looking for your pair when there ain’t no other shoes around.”

But then I caught myself calling EVERYTHING First World Problems and I choked myself out of sharing what I’m fighting through. And as an external processor, if I don’t feel free to talk about stuff that I’m struggling with because they sounded, well, too First World, then it could definitely mess with my mental health.

I already tend to compound my problems by judging myself for HAVING them in the first place. How dare I complain about how, sometimes, it can be SO hard to stay at home with my two kiddies when they are such gentle and agreeable kiddies, especially the jolly, roll-y infant? It’s not like I have triplets or even twins! I am SO blessed to be able to stay at home and still pay the bills. (And it doesn’t help when my MiL expresses that exact sentiment. “WHAT HAVE YOU TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!?”)

But I want to give myself permission to express how I long for some Me Time even by way of commuting to and from work without two little warm and smushy adorable bodies depending on me for food, entertainment, poop and pee disposal, clothing, shelter, general staying alive-ness, but I can’t make peace with someone else watching them. How I didn’t enjoy the actual work at my office jobs but boy I crave the Alone at Pret A Manger lunch breaks after which I can run a couple errands, just me myself and I, without a double stroller nearly knocking down a display as I enter or exit a CVS.

How I can feel more hairs turning grey when dealing with #1’s tantrum, as rare as they are, on the street for 40 minutes while the infant patiently coos at me and the staff at our co-op look at me with compassion as the sky starts to thunder and the parking space I scored is not really a parking space because of the damn fire hydrant rules.

And how I nearly tear up with envy when I hear local mamas say that THEIR local mama is coming over to relieve them here and there so that every outing doesn’t always have to be as a family of four. And how the long winter of 2012-2013 and the parking situation only exacerbated these feelings. Oh, and how I want to be able to have a washer/dryer unit INSIDE our home. And a dishwasher other than my husband.

It just becomes a slippery slope when we cannot validate someone’s struggles because someone else has it so much worse. Then how can we ever share what gets us down or trips us up?

Now White People Problems on the other hand…

to make a long story short

Posted on March 25, 2013 by ajummama

To show people that I am actively listening to their stories, I tend to ask a lot of questions. I am also a naturally curious person, like a kid in some ways. I have to work on engaging in listening but with more silence.

Thankfully, there is a Cliffs Notes version of listening as the following previews have clued me in on what’s about to follow:

1) “…to make a long story short…” –> with all those tangents, first and last names, what year it was, what you were wearing, EVEN LONGER STORY AHEAD. Better to just tell the long story without this inaccurate signifier.

2) “Not to sound racist or anything…” –> hella racist and ign’ant shit (i.e. ex-co-worker Mean Girl leader, “Not to sound racist or anything but do you even celebrate Thanksgiving since you’re Korean? Am I allowed to ask that or like, am I gonna be receiving an email from HR?”). Note: her question would have been perfectly fine had it been, “Hey, do Koreans even celebrate Thanksgiving?” or “Do Korean-Americans generally observe Thanksgiving?”

3) “I’m just keepin’ it real…” –> real rude and hurtful. Usually, users of this phrase can dish it but can’t take it when you “keep it real” with them.

4) “I love her to death but…” –> lemme break it down to you about aspects of her personality that I can’t stand.

What else? I’m sure there are SO many more out there.