Deactivate

Posted on March 14, 2013 by ajummama

I love blogging for the thrill of instant gratification. The publish option I choose is always, for better or for worse, “publish immediately.” Oftentimes, I know I should edit and make it better but I am like a little kid in a very grown body and I can’t wait to share my thoughts.

I realized that however drained I am after taking care of my toddler and infant all day, I am able to sneak in some Facebook and sometimes blogging too. What made me feel wistful/”jjing” is that Facebooking and blogging had replaced journaling, something that has been a part of my life since my dad bought me my first diary in the third grade. For me (and for others, too, I would imagine), blogging should never replace journaling because while I try to stay true to myself when writing for an audience, it is still writing with a knowing that others will read it.

What I blog about is only a sliver of who I am. There is always the fear of sharing something too personal and regretting it. The fear of how permanent it is once it’s out there. The fear of being misunderstood. Of being labeled. Categorized. Dissected. Judged. And of course, not every story is wholly my story to tell.

Everything is for public consumption these days. A while back, when I was trying to resist the Facebook craze, I watched some teenagers on the subway. They were taking so many pictures of themselves during the entire ride. They weren’t satisfied with each photo so they kept posing and reaching their arms out to take more selfies (self-pics) instead of carrying a conversation and being present with each other. Not just on that subway ride but everywhere. Restaurants, theaters, malls, parties, playgrounds, churches, living rooms, hospitals, cubicles, you name it.

While I was trying to relax for my first Mother’s Day at Spa Castle a couple years ago, I noticed a gaggle of teenage girls taking so many selfies in the dry sauna. AT THE SPA! “No, I don’t look cute here. Take it again.” I knew it was because they were dying to share on Facebook/Twitter in that very moment.

IT’S EVERYWHERE! I saw a first-time mama excitedly walking into her sonogram appointment, but only after she paused and checked in on Facebook. I can hear people thumbtyping away on the toilet in public restrooms. It’s become second nature, like flushing those very toilets people are Facebooking from.

As soon as our plane touched down on the runway on a recent flight, people turned on their gadgets and checked their Facebook even before their voicemails or emails. Props to Zuckerberg for world domination.

So many of us live like this now, including myself. I do this with pictures of my boys. I was always camera-happy even before I joined social media but now that I can share instantaneously especially with my friends and family back home, I am itching to share. My Newsfeed is full of check-ins, selfies, look what I’m reading, thinking about, watching…RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT!

Something that happened yesterday is old news.

How connected we are in 2013 never ceases to amaze me, but it does make some moments just a bit faker than back in the day. Living each moment while trying to record and share it right away lends itself to being less organic, more staged. I sometimes get grossed out when I think, “Oooh, I wanna blog about this.”

While I was trying to work some things out in my head and heart after leaving sunny LA and returning to grey NYC, I realized that my inner voice and God’s voice were too hard to hear with the noise of Facebook traffic constantly inundating me with tidbits from acquaintances’ lives. I deactivated for about a week just to clear my head. Deactivating the account proved to be too extreme because practically speaking, most acquaintances communicate via Facebook message instead of email, and with my not having text message there really would be no way to communicate.

I’m back on Facebook for now but I’ll always remind myself of those simpler times when people could just be happy or excited or _______ without taking a picture of being happy or excited or _______ and sharing that moment with 423 “friends.”

(Don’t) Text Me

Posted on February 12, 2013 by ajummama

“Yeah, we should get together with the kids, after their naps some time,” I said to a friendly local mama I met at Gymboree then at the park. This was over the summer when I was pregnant with my Ellis and savoring my playtime with my OCUO (Only Child Until October).

“I know. We live pretty close by. Give me your phone number and I can text you when we come back to the park,” she responded.

“Oh, I don’t have text. Er, I mean I never allowed texting on my phone even if it’s a smartphone and I end up checking my emails too much. I know, my friends find it so annoying. Do you check your emails?” I asked.

“No, I don’t check my emails regularly at all. Should I find you on Facebook? I check that all the time although I am under a different name and it gets sort of complicated,” explained the nice mama.

“Hmm…I prefer email because I’m actually trying to wean myself off of Facebook. I guess everyone just prefers texting. I do see why it’s necessary.”

Needless to say, we never got together.

“Text me.” “Let’s Skype.” “Email me.” “Private message me on Facebook.” “Do you FaceTime?” One of my cousins in Korea even said, “If only you were on kakaotalk, we’d be able to keep in touch more.” Yet another medium! Not to mention Twitter and Pinterest. I can’t keep up!

I know I am practically the only one who still doesn’t text. I promise I’m not doing it just to have a quirk because that would be so lame and so sad. In fact, I don’t enjoy always explaining to people how or why I don’t have text. Now I can refer them to this entry.

Around 2000, I gave in and finally acquired a cellphone. The prior year, I had borrowed my dad’s very basic cellphone when I had to take my Master’s Exam at UCLA. I was worried about having car problems on the way to the exam. When I did become a cellphone owner, I asked Verizon not to turn on this “text” option as I started hearing about friends sending and receiving too many texts and owing way more than their usual bill each month. People started warning people, “Hey, call me, don’t text me because I went way over this month.”

I have a tendency to resist technology that makes life easier. I know I am dating myself but when I was a senior in high school, I heard about something called “electronic mail.” I heard it was like a letter but NOT USING THE POSTAL SERVICE! You received the “letter” within seconds. This scared me. This level of technological advancement sounded like some voodoo black magic. E-mail? I am a Christian for God’s sakes! I declared, “Well, I don’t care how popular this E-MAIL is. I do NOT want any part of it.” I have since come around.

I have yet to come around with texting. It started with a conviction that everyone was becoming too easily reachable. Only doctors need to be reached at all hours of the day and night!

These days, both socially and professionally, people are too connected via some medium of communicating. Texting seemed to be the most direct, like someone tapping you on your shoulder no matter what you were in the middle of, and asking you to respond. “Did you get my text? You never texted back!” This makes it the most efficient way of asking someone something really fast and it bites me in the butt to not be able to do that yet I haven’t budged because of the pressure I would put on myself to respond even faster than I already do to emails.

This neurosis is related to being a people-pleaser. I try to respond to all emails and voicemails though not everyone reciprocates with this courtesy. But good for them, to be able to cut themselves a break and flake at times. I’d love to be able to allow myself to not respond sometimes but I feel a monkey on my back if I don’t. I never want to be thought of as unreliable or unresponsive. I sometimes catch myself responding to emails when I shouldn’t, like while nursing my baby in bed or while I’m supposed to be fully engaged and present, working on a puzzle with my toddler. The thought of being judged or even perceived as unresponsive drives me nuts. I pride myself in being responsive to other people’s needs so when I feel that I am failing in this, it consumes me and I am driven to try and fix this. I don’t even know why this bothers me so much since “unresponsive” isn’t synonymous with murderer or arsonist. I may have to talk to a shrink about this.

I am not able to turn this self-pressuring off. I fear that texting will only exacerbate it.

So even if I still respond to almost all emails and vmails, I want the OPTION to not respond right away because it will stress me out. Yes, I know I am overthinking things but somehow, not texting has become a vestige of a time we weren’t so unhealthily connected ’round the clock.

Sure, I am on my gmail and Facebook way too much these days, thus defeating the purpose of being unreachable at times but they are vehicles I’ve chosen. Sidenote: There is a timestamp feature on Facebook messaging, where it says, for instance, “seen at 9:01 pm,” letting the sender know when exactly you read their message. It tattles on me and I feel pressure to respond right away, much like a text would, and I don’t like it at all.

I am not sure if texting will become obsolete since so many have email capabilities on their phones now or if I will have to give in because more people, like my boys’ future schools, may choose to communicate via text.

My husband said, “Jihee-yah, if you were at a college like Virginia Tech where they’re going to start warning students of shooters on campus VIA TEXT, you’d be the only one not evacuating. You’d be in the computer lab, trying to eat your snacks and not knowing that there is a shooter on campus all because of your no texting policy. So can I please just get it for you?”

Many years ago, Kevin and I were playing a game of Amazing Race around Manhattan with a group of people from our church and they texted me the final clue. My not being able to receive texts nearly robbed us of our victory. (We still won because we were able to prove we were the earliest to the pit stop.)

I know, it’s weird. I do reconsider when I hear that someone texted me and thought I was just not responding since they don’t receive an error message from Verizon stating that recipient does not have text messaging.

You think this is beyond weird? Then don’t even get me started on my fear of video games. I don’t think it takes a psychiatrist to figure out why seeing the word “FAIL” in bright neon letters with sound effects does a number on me.

cauliflower steaks

Posted on February 12, 2013 by ajummama

On this rainy Monday, Micah and I were watching his beloved Mickey on Disney Junior after his nap. I almost fastforwarded through a commerical, a how-to demo for making “Cauliflower Steaks.” But during the fastforwarding, I saw that she had just rubbed some salt and parsley into cut-up cauliflower and put them on the grill for five minutes. That’s it? Even *I* can do that!

I realized again that names mean everything to me. Just because she had called them “cauliflower steaks,” I had gotten needlessly intimidated and wanted to glaze over the way I do for all things kitchen. The name sounded more serious than what it was, which was “Cut and Salted Cauliflower in the Oven” or even “Roasted Cauliflower.” I had assumed that cauliflower steaks would involve some elaborate voodoo that I didn’t want to attempt (I promise I did not think it involved the alchemy of turning cauliflower into steaks).

Same goes for places. When I first moved to NYC seven and a half years ago, I immediately went to go look at Astoria for an apartment rental because the name sounded so enchanting, like from The Never Ending Story. Like I would be exploring NYC’s nooks and crannies with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, along with our entourage of Atreyu, Bastian, and The Luck Dragon. I grimaced when I heard of a land called Flushing.

After watching “Saw,” my husband asked me if I liked it. After deliberating whether or not I did in fact like it (I did), I said, “Yes, but the title.” “What about the title?” “I wish they didn’t call it ‘Saw’. I wish they had named it straight up ‘Kill Yoself Killa.'” I dismiss many movies based on poor titles like “Tower Heist.” Not catchy or creative. I cannot imagine my ordering tickets at the box office for one “Tower Heist.” Yet I appreciate juvenile titles like “Crazy Stupid Love” because it just works! I don’t know how Kevin convinced me to go watch “I Heart Huckabees” though.

During my first full-time job as an Account Associate at a public relations / strategic communications firm in West Hollywood, CA, we were hosting a literacy convention for The LA Times. Our Vice President was trying to impress our client and explained in her most schmoozy voice, “Please do not worry about any of the preparation on that day as my staff will take care of all signage for you.” Signage meant that I was going to make some signs with a black Sharpie. Nothing fancy. Not even involving a computer.

I became consumed with that word and what it represented at that time in my young career. I called my friends to explain that I don’t think I can work in an office setting because people think they can just throw words like “signage” around without laughing. I wanted people to say, “My staff will make the signs.” I know I totally overreacted but I realized I have word allergies. “Signage” was one. “Treatise” was another I encountered years later in law school.

I can go on and on but I have to make my cauliflower steaks now before it gets any later.

“The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” v. “Washington Heights”

Posted on February 8, 2013 by ajummama

Blizzard looks freaking beautiful outside my window. I love hearing the crackling sound as the snow pellets hit my window.

Both my morsels are knocked out, though #2 will soon suck on his fists vociferously, looking for some nourishment to sustain the swollness of his cheeks. The dude is so chill, making him even more adorable to me. Yesterday, big bro finally became too curious about little bro’s Albert Einstein hair and yanked it hard after fronting like he was going to be gentle. EZ hardly let out more than a yelp though I had to reprimand Micah to never do that again.

I should lie down for a bit because I still feed EZ around 2 am and 6ish am though he is over 4 months now. He doesn’t cry to be fed but I hear him sucking his little fists hard and I see his black eyes open in the dark like a squirrel looking for a nut and I know he’s hungry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the ladies of the The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (“TRHOBH”) and the cast of Washington Heights (“WH”) cannot be more different.

I watch TRHOBH with such disdain that I shouldn’t watch, if I’m gonna be such a hater. Eyes hurting from rolling my eyes too much. Maybe it stems from envy on some level but only of their bank accounts and how money is never a factor to weigh. These ladies have money coming out their ears but are the opposite of bombdig80 in every way.

Their posh gatherings are almost always catered even if it’s just hanging out at their crib. I wouldn’t be mad at that because who wouldn’t want tuna tartare on the regular but they don’t even have real friendships while gathered around said tuna tartare, despite all the cheek-kissing. Their gatherings are always about the decadent food or the poshness of the event/trip, not that they actually enjoy each other. Their “friendships” are so wack that I always thank God for my real friends whenever I watch these clowns. They just try to keep up with each other, make sure they are as bling’d out, lipglossed, Spank’d, hair-did, dieted as their “friend.” They are competitive about their pet projects/side hustles that they couldn’t have landed without this show.

The recent Vegas trip hosted by Brandi was cringeworthy because she was trying so hard to fit in with these hens not because they are quality friendship material but because of their wealth, power, connections. They tried so hard to crack up over unfunny banter (“ba-gi-na!”) and act like they are truly bonding. I’ve been in professional situations like that, where I have to fake-smile and sustain the smile for the whole evening that I leave the dinner with aching facial muscles.

I know they are not friends from childhood so I shouldn’t expect their bond to go deeper than for the cameras but I can’t help but compare them to the kids on WH. (I actually don’t know how old the cast of WH are but much younger than me).

I just started watching WH because one of my best friends told me about it. I wasn’t going to tune in because I need to be doing other things offa my to-do list and the cast looks too young to interest me. But these kids are BOMB!

They may not have ends/scrill/cheddar/greenbacks right now but their friendships are so genuine and strong that they want to bring each other up when they do come up. No jealousy or sizing each other up. Always genuinely supporting each others’ endeavors, be it rapping, singing, poetry, art, baseball. They pool together their limited funds to just buy some fried chicken and hang on the rooftop or have taco night but make sure everyone comes through to spend time together, just clowning each other, and checking in.

I know the hens on TROBH always show up to everything to “support” each other but it isn’t convincing. There is such a contrast with WH. These kids really care. They listen to each other, are loyal, and not transactional. Whether it’s someone’s birthday or Open Mic Night, they are so there for each other and celebratory of others’ successes.

Their friendship makes it less tough to deal with problems like a younger brother’s incarceration, not having both parents around, or having to pass out flyers as a day job so that he can chase his pro-baseball dreams.

Unlike some would be, these kids are not ashamed of their humble backgrounds. Ludwin’s grandma sells shaved ice from a cart and he runs after her, not from her, so that he and a friend can score some ices for free. J.P. beams as he hands over a few hundred dollars to his mama, money he made at a rapping gig, money they needed to pay their electric bill.

TROBH would never be okay with slumming it and their “problems” are never about how to pay the bills or having a roof over their heads but about nerves before getting her nose done or feeling awkward at a cocktail party because someone defamed someone else.

And the difference in the LEVEL OF CONVERSATION and humor! The hens on that other show are so dull even though they travel to exotic places and attend high society events. These WH kids just flow with each other and talk so well about matters of the heart – their dreams, fears, relationships, families, issues. True, Frankie needs to walk away from Ludwin because she WILL get hurt but overall dynamics is that everyone can talk about anything and everything. No stupid small talk or hiding their real selves.

OK, this post sucked as I couldn’t drop examples (too time consuming to describe) but if I wait to edit, I’m never gonna post so here it goes. Fat Cheeks woke up anyhow. Peace.

superbowl (of ramen) saturday

Posted on February 3, 2013 by ajummama

Today was a Saturday not unlike other Saturdays since we’ve become a family of four.

But for some reason, today, I kept thinking, “This is my life.

Not when it gets easier or when I get thinner or when it gets warmer or when our home gets bigger.

When I am 62, I will look back at these moments with heartfelt longing. When I touch my grown sons’ stubbled cheeks, my mind will replay these mental pictures.”

Moments like:

Leaving the house at 9 am for Micah’s small soccer class. Packing double diapers, double stroller, double emergency outfits. Watching him grin bashfully as he learns his “squish-squash” toe-stop toddler soccer drills. His European coaches cheering “GOAL!” in encouragement.

Rushing to get both kids in the car as temperatures continue to drop (now ending with snow on the ground as I write this). “I got Micah, you get baby.” “Did you pack his juice?” “You sure you didn’t leave your wallet/phone/purse at soccer?”

Watching Micah play with his little church friends as we adults gather in our friends’ basement to discuss what Shalom in the City means. Amazed that he can now separate and stay with a babysitter. He started attending this Family Small Group when he was only a few months old and now here he is, in his huge soccer jersey, playing with puzzles and strumming a toy guitar, with a little brother in tow.

Driving from Long Island to Astoria to make it to a one year old’s birthday party. Just as we had planned, Micah konks out as soon as we belt him into his carseat. Nap, check. Relieved he won’t be dazed and looney at the party. We crack up as we see a European man in his black Escalade driving next to us with his stubble and sportcoat, eating an instant bowl of Shin Ramen! I do a double-take to make sure he really is eating ramen out of the styrofoam ramen bowl, not recycling and reusing it to fill with chips or peanuts. He has chopsticks in them so he is actually eating this as he drives! Amazing. Ballsy. Quirky.

Escalade Ramen Man inspires our lunch. We happen to drive by a Japanese ramen house once we get to Astoria so I run in to get our ramens to go, though Taco Bell or Subway would’ve been easier to eat. To Go means eating it in our car as Micah continues to sleep and passersby peer into our car, windows steaming from the marriage of hot broth and cold outside air. We have to assemble the contents of the hot ramen very delicately and cautiously in the front console, setting different bowls of food on the dashboard. We tagteam eat as Ellis has woken up and is seated in Daddy’s lap, just taking in his surroundings and grooving to Eminem’s new song (or what we think is his new song). While it took some juggling and it wasn’t as convenient as dining in at the restaurant, we are content, our bellies warm and nourished.

We get to the birthday party exactly on time, but Micah is still snoozing away so we leave him be. We find out there are two flights of stairs at the party so Daddy helps escort Ellis (in his heavy infant carseat) and me as our friend who we ran into while parking, stays with sleeping Micah.

Micah joins the party and explores the venue with his neighborhood friends. Friends he met when he was Ellis’ age. They are now climbing, jumping, calling each other by name, getting their pictures taken by at least three iPhones at once. All of us have second kids now.

The night gets colder. Snow is falling. Micah does his pre-bath routine of running around nekked then sprinting into my arms for a final bearhug before heading to the bathtub with Daddy. Ellis has developed a strange quirk in the past month, of nursing only while lying down, and only in the bedroom. Can’t bear to make him get hungry enough to break the habit. Today he takes lots of breaks even while lying down, blowing bubbles and making fart noises with his little lips, which he seems to have discovered anew. We put Micah to bed together, noting that his posse of stuffed animals needs to get capped off at six.

What a full, blessed day. No big milestones and not unlike others but sometimes the best days are when I can clearly see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Lazy Susan

Posted on January 27, 2013 by ajummama

Don’t you just cherish those moments when you get so inspired and renewed with hope?

Last night, when half my family, K and M, went out in the fresh snow to fetch the family some Chinese food for dinner, I used the half hour to unwind by playing on Facebook.

I came across a video clip called, “Oprah: ‘This Is Gonna Shut Your Mouth!'” It’s really too late at night for me to summarize the clip accurately but basically I got to “meet” Nick Vujicic, a young man born without arms or legs. Sure, I’ve heard inspirational stories before but this dude really got to me. He had such lively eyes as he broke it down for us all – how he is now able to truly rejoice in the Lord though he was tormented in his childhood, feeling cursed and worthless.

His journey to self-acceptance and blessing others all around the world is beyond astounding. Visually, he is jarring to lay eyes on, especially for the first time, as he is only a handsome face/head set atop a torso with no arms or legs. All you see is a torso making its way around effortlessly. No prosthetic limbs so he is sometimes carried around like a baby.

Nick sports a huge smile like he just can’t contain all his joy and has that twinkle in his eye as he speaks. He plays soccer, surfs, golfs, and is more active than most of us able-bodied folks. He just recently married the love of his life (gorgeous, of course), and is expecting his first child (a boy) in just a few weeks (I think).

I started reading up on his organization, Life Without Limbs, and was truly inspired to overcome my own deep-seated self-doubts and negativity that sometimes have their way with me. This guy was born without LIMBS yet he is able to THRIVE and live life to its fullest.

As I basked in this moment of Church right at my cluttered desk, my boys arrived with our warm, fatty meal in honor of TGIF. Kevin set up the Korean sahng (table) on the floor, where we eat our dinner.

As I reached for more Beef Chow Fun, Yang Chow Fried Rice, and Walnut Shrimp, I realized I had to get up yet again to grab water and napkins from the kitchen.

I growled, “Man, we can’t be eating on the floor no more! Do you know how hard it is on me, to get up to grab stuff? You know I have a bad back…and a long-ass torso!”

milkshake apéritif

Posted on January 25, 2013 by ajummama

When my husband comes home soon, I get to go into our poorly lit bedroom for a little bit (until our congested #2 needs to be nursed) and BE STILL, after a day of meeting our kiddies’ demands, without a playdate or an outing to break up the wintry hours.

It is comical to me, a Californian, how cold it is this week. It’s a joke. And it’s doing nothing for my VERY LOOSE plan to slim down before seeing my best friends. The husband is an enabler when he asked all on his own yesterday, the Day Micah Didn’t Nap, “Do you want me to get you your peanut butter/chocolate shake from your spot? I have to move the car anyways and you’ve had a rough day.” Even more ridiculous than this week’s arctic temps is that we still have to move our car. And yes, that is my usual “beverage” of choice.

Being at home with the kids makes me feel like I have multiple personalities. When I’m squeezing and kissing them, or watching the gorgeously fat-cheeked one beaming at the now-lean one, upside down, from his Boppy pillow, with a milky smile, I think, “I SO understand the Duggars. How can we stop at just two of these morsels?” Same for when I see the boys bonding, or #1 beaming at his music class or at Sunday School, or feeding me tons of imaginary food.

But when I still don’t have it together enough to plan and cook nutritious, delicious meals for them or run the home like a small preschool, all the while being a Proverbs 31 wifey, I feel like I am only surviving, not thriving. Not being the best mama I can be while blessed enough to be at home.

Or when I see myself, really see myself a la “Avatar,” on a day like today, dressing PURELY for comfort, wearing the same hole-y tore-up loose grey t-shirt and navy elastic pants that aren’t so elastic any more, with dried milk stains on or around the chest, smelling not unlike cheese because of said milk, and hair falling out of ponytail holder like I’m actually TRYING to look like the BEFORE on The Ricki Lake Show, makeover episode circa 1991, with my teef knocked out (not really, but the gheem I overate while waiting for the husband to make his entrance, makes it look like I lost a couple teeth), I think, “How am I gonna revamp myself to look and feel as presentable as working Jihee? To be motivated in the mornings to not be a slob just because I knew we weren’t going out at all today?” Big ups to my hair, though, steadfastly thick and sustaining a gal through some blah moments, though not able to be held in place.

During this free time, I should finish at least one of the Christian books I’ve started.

I should at least START the book on toilet training that I procured from the library. But how does one read more on parenting after a whole day of parenting? NO THANK YOU!

We really should change the lighting in our home to not look like we’re filming a PSA against domestic violence here.

We really should do something about the clutter that enrages me yet never goes away completely. We just seem to rearrange shit into different corners of the home, a stupid game of Hide-and-Seek, where everything is actually in plain view.

We really need to move into bigger space. Already. After having bought this place so recently (Sept. 2010). But the bank is so unreasonable, not willing to accept Monopoly money for the monthly mortgage and maintenance payments.

All I want to do is tune out for a bit and be on this heavy laptop that Micah forbids me from using during the day, tune out by reading a blog I found called “People I Want to Punch in the Face.” Today, I want to add to that list “people with unlimited free time.”

My time is up. I didn’t get to read that blog but at least I got to type a sliver of my own thoughts. And yes, I know this is all just a season and soon I will find my groove and I need to be kinder and more patient with my self, blah blah. Let a girl get her therapy on via blog, though, won’t you, please, my dear seven readers? Peace.

It’s the Thuggish Ruggish…

Posted on January 12, 2013 by ajummama

“Excuse me? Hi. I received an email this morning that my book had arrived. But it’s not there.”

The man behind the desk looks up from surfing the ‘Net to say, “You sure it’s not on the reserve shelf?”

“I already checked under my last name and library card number but it isn’t there.”

After he checked two other spots, he apologized and said he didn’t know what to tell me. The book was just missing.

My theory for my missing copy of “Toilet Training Without Tears” was that one of the many local parents of toddlers saw my copy set aside in the reserve section and swiped it for their own pee pee, poo poo needs, all the while knowing that it was pre-ordered for a Ms. Lee and her clearly marked library card number (last four digits).

My vengeful nature flared up. I was tempted to retaliate by swiping the pre-ordered copy of “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” that was hovering next to the other book I had requested. It could be easily mistaken as an accidental borrowing as the other patron’s last name was also LEE.

I’m proud to say I didn’t follow-through with such an immoral act, as tempting as it was.

I AM a mom after all. I have to set an example.

Library Beef. That was how a fraction of my Friday unfolded, with my two boys waiting for me patiently in my tall-ass double stroller.

What happened to my street cred (shout out to Slauson Swapmeet, Crenshaw Blvd)? My hard core South Central upbringing where people would retaliate for more major offenses like, say, KILLING THEIR LOVED ONES, not for borrowing one’s pre-ordered How-To book? Did my thuggish ruggish bone get replaced with sorry shelving woes? card catalog catastrophes?

(Truth be told, Library Beef is quite in alignment with my nuanced flava of street cred, i.e. my doing homework diligently Joy Luck Club style in the back of my Korean parents’ Chinese takeout store in a neighborhood where drive-by shootings were as expected as the mail).

Such a fruitful week in terms of playdates and other activities but by today, (thankGodit’s)Friday, I am wiped out. Too wiped out to write about the mundane details of my day other than Library Beef, like about how Micah wanted to pick out his own clothes (blue shirt and black pants), how Ellis has become real quirky wanting to nurse only in strange and uncomfy positions, like lying upside down next to me on the bed, at which point, Micah will join us in the high, King-sized bed jumping up and down with all his might, squealing with delight, not caring that he’s giving me small heart attacks because he could fall onto Ellis, the frame, or the wooden floors while I am helplessly latched onto / occupied;

how it has become a bigger production to get out of the house now that Micah has such strong 25+ month-old opinions about what he’d rather be doing than getting bundled up and strapped into the stroller, and how Ellis pooped so much after skipping a day, that it went up his back and onto the shoulder blades, while they were supposed to have already been strapped into the stroller.

Later on in the day, after taking apart all the dried-up blue PlayDoh all over crazy messy living room, Micah told me he has to pee, by which he meant, he had already peed into his training briefs, into his sweatpants, and onto some part of the living room.

One of those days I get real grouchy towards the husband for simply providing for us via a desk job where he can run out to buy some premium olive oil without two kids and a Transformer-looking stroller in tow. Punk!

Tomorrow is Saturday. I’mma drive up real slow to the library…

(after stopping by the charming French bakery)

and find out what happened to my book (thumping chest, adjusting bandana).

Wisdom from “The Bachelor” aka “I Just Know My Wife Is In This Room”

Posted on January 8, 2013 by ajummama

Happy New Year! 2013. Year of the Sssnake. Hard to follow the dopest year around, Year of the Dragon, but perhaps this is the year, the snake can redeem hisself from the Garden of Eden associations.

Since I may not be able to write a more thought-out post until later, I’ll just get something down to get into the practice of posting more often. I had so many deep thoughts during the holidays but sho’ ’nuff, since I didn’t jot them down, they may be lost for good.

Whether I’m five years old or 36, I have to tattle when I witness bad or unbelievable behavior. It is a compulsion. I was a precocious kid, not a cool one.

When Micah was around five months old, our little family was roaming around Roosevelt Field Mall. A mama of twin infants started chatting with me and said, “Wow, another one on the way already,” pointing to my “bump” (upper stomach fatty fats).

I was not even a little bit pregnant. She was embarrassed so I actually made her feel better by saying, “Yeah, I guess my stomach can give off a pregnant look” but I just had to vent immediately to someone who would be just as indignant as I was at this woman’s comment. I nearly ran into one of my favorite baby stores, Janie and Jack, and vented to an employee there while Kevin strolled off with Micah to change his diaper.

Homegirl said, “Wait, I’m confused. You’re NOT pregnant?”

Double Ouch!

Kevin walked in on my asking her, “Wait, so you thought I was pregnant too!?” He said, “Jihee-yah! I knew it. I knew you were gonna go off and tattle so you can get a satisfactory response from someone out there. That’s what you get for tattling and fishing for compliments.”

I was mortified and wanted to hide myself in the clearance rack, under the basket of miscellaneous items (hats, ties, socks) but my stomach would probably protrude and a customer might congratulate me on the twins I was carrying. But I have to confess…STILL tempted to find someone else to tattle to. Someone who might say, “Clearly, you don’t look pregnant.” But even I have a little bit of shame. Not much but a seed-sized amount of shame.

Today, I wanted to tattle on a woman I’ve interacted with at least 16 times with our toddlers yet she NEVER says hullo or even looks at my boy or his mama like we human, while I’ve tried so hard to continue to be my warm and gushing, kid-loving self.

Sure, this must be my own deeper issue, something about how not greeting or even acknowledging my walking into a room makes me feel invisible or small or unworthy (oh, starting to remember some of my deep thoughts at the end of 2012 now…some fetal position profundity), but I think non-greeting is SUCH a huge pet peeve of mine, I treat it as a form of immorality.

Extremists will be out there picketing abortion clinics with me across the street with a sign painted, “SAY HULLO!”

Kevin came home to my tale of No Greeting at 17th meeting with Nongreeter:

K: “Jihee-yah, do you know what today is?”

Me: “Of course. Season Premiere of The Bachelor.”

K: “Have you not learned a thing from your faithful viewing of all previous seasons?”

Me: “Of course I have. But remind me in your own words.”

K: “The girl who tattles and causes unnecessary drama? It NEVER works out for them. That girl never gets picked!”

Who would’ve thought that this vapid show would be teeming with such rich life lessons? Life lessons that I cannot apply overnight but life lessons, nonetheless, to guide me throughout this new year.

And I will not hoard them. I will share them with you. (“The Bachelor” also scoffs at greed, those who already had a one-on-one date AND secured a rose should NOT hoard quality time.)

Tree Skirt

Posted on December 25, 2012 by ajummama

As a follow-up to my “Starting with Stockings” post, here are the stockings we’ve added to our home, as a commitment to create holiday traditions for our third-generation Korean-American boys.

I never thought I’d go Mrs. Claus but I chose her at the end because choices were very limited and I am the mama after all.

KK went Santa. Clear choice for him, even from the beginning of our deliberation. Never any wavering. Always steady.

We chose Black Bear for Micah as his beloved best friend is his Pooh Bear.

We chose this Rudolph for Ellis because he currently looks like him. Plush.

We are FAMILY. Micah enjoys pointing at each stocking everyday, doing roll call on his family members.

I also learned just THIS YEAR that the bottom covering for hiding Christmas tree roots actually has a name. “Tree skirt” for all you other latent FOBs. We had to stop displaying the cards on the tree skirt as more and more started coming in and it looked like a hot mess:

Each year, we will buy one ornament for each boy. Bear is the obvious choice for Micah once again, and this other little creature looks like Ellis.

Aight, I am not enjoying this process of posting pictures via blog. It is taking way too long. I bet I’m doing something wrong. I’mma take it to Facebook instead as that is what I’m used to and I also get to control who sees a gang of pictures of my boys.

Merry Christmas to all!