Merry Sparrow

Posted on December 23, 2014 by ajummama

As the kids get older, we want to teach them that Christmas is a time to celebrate and a time to be extra grateful to have more than enough.

A cozy home, running water, meals and snacks EVERYDAY, a family that is crazy about each other, and our different communities.

BUT…

One can’t be completely immune to commercialism this holiday season.

Our family visited LIC Flea & Food this past weekend to check out the Christmas scene. We hoped to score some good eats for lunch before heading to a White Elephant party in the evening.

I told Kevin that I wanted to pick up a li’l sump sump for myself. Without feeling guilty about spending money on something I don’t NEED. A special little something for me, not for sharing with the kids or the family.

The only rule I set was that it had to be inexpensive and MEANINGFUL.

Kevin wrangled the kids in the small, cold warehouse while I went on my focused search. I was given 20 minutes as we had our eventful Saturday (and kids’ car naps) all mapped out per usual weekend adventure scheduling.

It was freezing so he couldn’t let them burn energy outside. Daddy was sweating bullets just trying to keep the quick-handed Ellis from snatching the holiday cookies on sale on vendors’ tables. He even bribed them with vintage Batman and Spiderman magnets he hadn’t planned on purchasing.

Mommy was released to do what she loves.

HUNT.

I love the hunt at flea markets. I usually just “know” when I’ve landed on the right table or vendor.

This time was no exception.

I chitchatted with the vendor for a while. She was from Spain but has been living in NYC for more than two decades, raising her two grown children here.

She tried to guide me along to the right piece of jewelry even though I had told her that I would just KNOW when I found it.

“How about jade?” I don’t like jade in any form – not yellow or green.

“Cats?” Never.

“Swans?” Beautiful but no meaning for me.

“Gnomes?” Gno!

“Butterflies?” Again, beautiful but no meaning for me. And I feel like Mariah Carey claimed them years ago.

“Mother and child?” Maybe – but they are white so no connection for me. And I think the child is a blonde. Blonde girl.

“How about this lady? You liked her before.” Yes, I liked that there was Asian representation among the jewelry but not enough to take her home. Still no meaning.

“How about this bird? You told me you liked birds?” Yes, but those weren’t it.

“Some birds,” I murmured, preoccupied, eyes darting while scanning her table, wondering if I would be able to find something special after all within my allotted timeframe.

And then I saw it.

Two birds – possibly SPARROWS. For my Micah. For my Ellis. For my Micah and Ellis. And for my mama who always told me that the sparrows were chirping just for me when she walked me to kindergarden.

Merry Christmas! May you find meaning in big and small ways as you create your holiday memories this year.

Whoooosh!

Posted on December 10, 2014 by ajummama

I went out on a rare date night on Saturday. Not with the husband but with a girlfriend. To catch up, blow off some steam, and unwind. It’s crucial to unload onto a few good girlfriends so that the husband isn’t left alone to decipher all that femaleness.

We went out late night after the kiddos were put to bed. Well, hers, at least. Mine were probably negotiating one more story or one more drink.

It had been raining 100% of that day continuing into the night. We linked arms under my bigger umbrella and speed-walked into the theater after coming up on some decent parking. We laughed about my coat’s secret compartment. Perfectly sized to sneak in my contraband Twizzlers purchased from Target earlier that day while Christmas decoration shopping with the family.

As soon as Wendy Williams described this movie as a modern day version of Whitney Houston’s “The Bodyguard,” I was feeling it hward. Kevin, on the other hand, was relieved that I was able to go watch it with a girlfriend, sparing him from having to go with me one day if we were to get blessed with childcare again.

I was a bit nervous about our movie selection when I saw the kiosk at the theater spelling the title, “Beyond the Lites.” Thankfully, it turned out to be just the theater’s spelling, not the movie’s. I mean, it sure wasn’t going to win any Academy Awards but it was still enjoyable and just what we needed for a night out as two gals, as free as the wind for the next couple hours. A much needed break from running checklists, responsibilities and hyper-vigilance that can suck the marrow out of me at times.

My friend drove me home after the movie. It was still raining steadily as she hooked us up with seat-warming amenities in her car.

It was around midnight and it felt so nice to be out. We were talking about different scenes from the movie when I shared a memory that the movie had triggered, of me and my high school sweetheart spending a day at the beach. Sounds like such a generic memory but while I was recalling it aloud to my friend who I’d only met after I had become a mama here in NYC, the memory became so vivid.

The intense emotions from that senior year in high school when I suffered from depression, what I was wearing – a faded button down GAP denim sleeveless over plain white Esprit t-shirt, and light brown Esprit shorts, squinting at the sun, redoing my ponytail in the ocean breeze, the seashells, how young (and thin) I was, how kind my boyfriend was, the sea air…

Suddenly, to keep from getting lost in my own memory and to keep our conversation flowing before I had to get abruptly dropped off, I forced myself back to the present by asking, “So, whaddid you think of parent-teacher conferences last week?”

That is when I experienced the WHO-OO-OOSH(!) of time travel. I truly felt like I had been yanked back into 2014 from two decades ago. Almost like a brain freeze sensation. Very Marty McFly.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? I was 16 in my hometown of Los Angeles, mentally preparing to go off to college a moment ago and now I’m back in the passenger seat of a girlfriend’s car, a friend so grown that she has two kids and attends parent-teacher conferences!? THAT’S BECAUSE *I* am adult enough to attend parent-teacher conferences myself!? As a PARENT, not as a student!

Whoa, there, what, *I(!)* am a mama to two active boys who have names that we daydreamed about for approximately 39 weeks and why is it so cold? Oh yeah, because I’ve been living in NYC for nearly a decade! And I also have the babies’ daddy waiting for me at home, a husband who wears adult clothes like slacks and a Brooks Brothers work shirt everyday as he hoists his weary body onto the subway to get to his lawyer gig in Manhattan.

WHOOOSH!

The only other time I felt a similar sensation was when I woke up in the middle of the night to pee when we lived in Astoria (NYC). I was enjoying such a deep, yummy sleep that it took me a moment to get my bearings as I went to the bathroom. What day is it tomorrow? Weekday? So I have to catch the subway by what time again to avoid the crowds? Where am I? WAIT, WHAT!? Why do I have a huge belly? Holy…I am 34 years old and knocked up!? Happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life (see belly). I was just dreaming that I had to take my college finals again because I was one unit shy of graduating.

What a wild ride, these mind-freeze, time travel moments.

Life is wild. What a trip. Moves so damn fast. Not DURING the difficult moments of course, just after the fact.

I can hardly believe I am about to spend Micah’s FIFTH and Ellis’ THIRD Christmas with them. And that I’m learning how to create my own family holiday traditions. I mean, I even got us an Advent calendar, a Christmas wreath, and another live tree. Who am I!?

And now, once again, here we are, weeks away from a brand new year. 2015. Blank slate.

I hope I am fortunate enough to experience another WHOOSH as I unload my luscious-cheeked grandkids from their carseats to go swimming in the ocean with grandma, squinting in the sun.

True (S)tori

Posted on December 3, 2014 by ajummama

I’m not going to make fun of Tori Spelling any more. At least I’m going to try my darndest.

When I talk about folks from my real life, I (usually) feel bad for gossiping / talking trash. But I seem to give myself license to make fun of celebs because they are public figures and many are so ridiculously privileged that it boggles my mind. I especially talk bitterly about those who have benefited from nepotism like Miss Tori Spelling of Aaron Spelling legacy fame, though my real beef with her was how she and her now-husband cheated on their ex-spouses to get with each other.

Both my boys were home with me today fighting a powerful cough once again. Micah is particularly susceptible to such cough attacks around this time of the year, but little E has also been suffering the past couple days. At one point, it would’ve been comical had it not been so pitiful – both of them performing a cough duet, fighting to be the one who gets to sit on my lap, not able to use their words because they were coughing so much. Just droppin’ ‘bows on each other and crying, grabbing at me.

While it was a tough day, I felt flattered by how much they just wanted their Mama. They won’t always want me and they are growing up so fast.

Kevin came home to relieve me after a trying day, gifting me with some halal cart food he had picked up to make dinner easier on me. The boys could hardly even drink their beef broth through their coughing so we didn’t force it. After tending to many cough episodes, Kevin declared that he, too, wasn’t feeling well and fell asleep with Micah in the boys’ room, both of them on the floor.

E is right next to me in our big bed as I type this.

Back to Tori Spelling. Because all the boys were down for the night by 9 pm, a rarity, I decided not to read my book and instead tuned into Truly Terrible Television.

“True Tori.”

Sure we’re both from Los Angeles, but our upbringings could not be more different. I could not relate to any of the issues this girl has.

Until tonight.

She was crying at her therapist’s office, talking about how she gives her daughters extra hugs throughout the day because they remind her of when she was a little girl and how she just yearned to be loved. How she felt starved for her mother’s love.

That touched me.

Don’t get it twisted – I felt loved by my parents even though they expressed it by working long hours at whichever small business they owned at the time in order to provide for us. They didn’t have to say “I love you” or always affirm me to make me feel loved. But as a sensitive and inquisitive kid, it would have been nice to have gotten more time with them, to just talk to them freely about my many emotions and thoughts, have them truly see and hear me more than their store hours would allow.

But, like Tori, I catch myself doing things as a mama to my beloved boys because I know I would have wanted those things when I was growing up. Affirming them, cupping their precious faces in my hands to tell them how much I love them and how they are the only Them in the whole wide world. And always apologizing when I mess up.

Also, take the holidays, for example. Why was I scrambling to order an Advent Calendar for Kids today in the midst of reading them library book after library book so that they wouldn’t think Sick Day meant TV Overdose Day? We even sat in our tiny bathroom with the hot water running to create a steam room, with piles of library books which I could hardly read through my fogged up glasses.

Because my parents had to work EXTRA long hours at their store during the holidays, it was understood that they wouldn’t be around much. I didn’t realize the deep melancholy that triggered in me until decades later when I became a parent. I suspected it earlier when I would feel funky as the holidays approached but after I became a mama, I would find myself in fetal position sometimes during this Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

While I understood that the holidays meant longer work hours for my parents, I never grieved the sadness and envy I felt during the season.

The holidays meant loneliness. Feeling left out from general merriment that the entire damn world seemed to be partaking in without us. Joining our second cousins for their tight-knit family festivities but feeling like outsiders as we weren’t truly a part of their crew. Watching my well-meaning relative slip some money into an envelope to gift it to me and my brother whispering to another that they hadn’t accounted for our attendance during the gift exchange.

Inevitably, we all fail in some ways as parents. Kevin’s mom once commented, “You’re so picky about how much juice or sugar the kids are allowed to have yet you and Kevin fight in front of them. That’s much more harmful than them having candy.” That stung because it was true.

We do what we do NOT want to do. And sometimes it just kills me that I can’t provide them with the most loving home environment due to our failings.

But that doesn’t stop me from trying again the next day.

This month, trying comes in the form of making their holidays magical. I want our family to spend extra time together this month, counting down the days before Christmas on their Advent calendar that should be arriving in a few days. I know I have to exorcise more holiday demons but I’m hoping that with lots of prayer and equipping myself with the Word, I will be able to gift my kids with magical holiday memories.

We are all broken. Whether you a skinny blonde daughter of a Hollywood mogul or a Korean-American daughter of immigrants, we have deep wounds. Thanks to my children, I’m able to wrestle with them and move forward.

My dudes taking a hug break in between coughs. Please Lord help me to do right by them.

Use Your Words

Posted on November 23, 2014 by ajummama

I am typing from my bed after another argument with Kevin. He is out in the living room building Legos with the boys before bedtime.

Just yesterday, I had commented on my friend’s status update about her counting down the seconds’til her husband walked through the door. She was sick while taking care of her little ones, about the same ages as my kids. I told her something like, “I feel you. There are days where Kevin will walk through the door and announce that he has to use the bafroom for just a li’l bit and I’m like, ‘Oh uh-uh, you don’t even know what the past two hours have been like. You needs to do that on your own time. I’m on break.'”

Then I read a blog tonight with some other mama saying the same thing so I mentioned to Kevin while he was feeding the kids dinner, “Hey, so it’s really not just me. This one blogger lady and other commenters are all saying it really bugs when they desperate for the husband to walk through the doors to give them the relief they been waiting for, only to have them say they gon’ use the bathroom right quick.”

Kevin responded logically. I loathe logic. He was annoyed. “So now I’m not allowed to use the bathroom when I get home?” Did I mention he was feeding the kids dinner as I recovered from a sore throat and earlier Charles E. Queso festivities, sprawled out on the playmat?

“NO! I’m actually NOT saying you can’t use the bathroom! I’m saying I need you to USE YOUR WORDS as soon as you walk through those doors. To express that you understand what kind of mental and emotional energy I expend when pouring out for the kids – the diaper chase, the disciplining, the repeating myself, the breaking up fights, the vagina kicks, the spills, the refills after the spills, the sitting down just to get back up again for something else. When you only rush off to the bathroom after I have been starving for someone to pass the baton to so that I don’t lose it, I feel crazed.”

We went back and forth, our voices getting louder and louder and even continued to argue in the bedroom while the kids were in the middle of their dinner, probably wondering why Mom and Dad were fighting again.

He then said, “Don’t actions speak louder than words? The minute I get home I try to take over to show you that I care.”

AUUGGGHHH! We always end up back at this Love Languages argument! Tired of it.

Kevin shows his love through acts of service. I express my love through words. I guess I also withhold love by withholding my words of affirmation. And yes, I do agree that actions speak louder than words. If he was gushing with his words but never helped me manage the household or raise the kids, I would call “bullshit!” on his love.

But actions NEVER replace words.

Kevin is one of THE MOST HELPFUL BABY DADDIES I HAVE EVER MET.

BUT I NEED BOTH ACTIONS AND WORDS.

Sometimes, I feel like man, close mama friends just get it more than the husband ever can, by virtue of being a fellow mama, like when we can safely share Mommy fails and Mommy stress with each other without having to swear up and down that we truly madly deeply love our kids. Only with a select trusted few can you say, “The other day, I totally messed up…I…” and before you can finish, they will completely understand and even share a worse Mommy fail if they your people.

Meanwhile, the husband swears up and down that he understands the emotional and mental roller coaster of being an at-home mama but I feel like he only expresses it to me in the way I need only when I ask him directly, “Hey, do you get it? Do you really get how sometimes I just wanna escape from everyone and everything? Just to recharge and regroup?”

HE SAYS HE GETS IT but when he is saying it AS A RESPONSE, rather than as an uninitiated affirmation, I feel like I cornered him into it and he is only saying it to assuage my rage. Keep the beast at bay.

In his defense, since I’m the one who has a blog to mouth off on and he doesn’t, he says he would love to affirm me DAILY but I don’t give him a chance because I criticize him immediately or use a mean tone.

I get it. Therein lies the tug-of-war.

I want the affirmation first while he wants me to back off from the criticisms first.

So after the kids go to bed, I have to show him this blog post instead of yelling again. OF COURSE HE CAN USE THE BATHROOM WHEN HE GETS HOME.

I am not really THAT bad, dag.

I just want to be understood first – that I’ve been desperately waiting for someone to pass the baton to.

I just want him to gift me by SEEING ME before he rushes off to the bathroom for even a second. To look me in the eyes, even when I try to take the stress out on him and can be downright cold, and say, “I know you must have been counting down the seconds ’til I walked through that door. I GOTCHOO. I’mma take the wheel now. I really gotchoo. How was today? You need not wait any longer. Well, only until I come out the bathroom.”

Sure, I may still sass him but deep inside, I would feel like he GETS IT. That I can still love my kids more than life itself but also feel like, “EVERYONE LEAVE ME THE F ALONE!”

And I know that the key to marriage is clear communication and asking for what you want, but maybe I’m wired differently because when I have to ask for what I want, like ordering from a menu, I don’t appreciate it as much if / when you say them to me. If I demand specific affirmations like the above, then it feels like you just parroting what I demanded, just to keep me from bitching, though to be fair, even when Kevin has made specific requests of me, I’ve flat out refused. At least he is more than willing.

I once had a tiff with one of my closest, oldest friends because I noticed that she would never ASK me how I’m doing when I was newly pregnant for the first time. So we didn’t talk much most of my pregnancy. I finally told her that when she didn’t ask, I felt like it would be weird to be all, “So, this is how I’m feeling now…”

She got emotional and was hurt. “Well, then why didn’t you just tell me how you’re doing? Why do I have to inquire?” I told her it’s because I feel stupid to just tell someone how I’m doing when they don’t express that they would like to know.

I never claimed to be low maintenance.

Actions do speak louder than words but just like I tell the little ones: USE YOUR WORDS.

And THEN go relieve yourself.

Fast.

I’m on break.

Three Blocks

Posted on November 19, 2014 by ajummama

Lately I’ve been thinking about how our thoughts shape our lives and even our emotions.

Be grateful.

Be mindful.

Spewing forth negative words will make them come true.

Naturally, my rebellious spirit is kicking in.

Yesterday was a windy, cold and bitter day with temps in the 20s. The dreaded polar vortex of last winter had arrived once again despite rumblings that the almanac was wrong about another harsh winter befalling us.

I noticed one woman pushing her stroller across Queens Blvd. with a plush-lined hand-warmer on the handle of her stroller for her freezing hands. Probably no sales in my hometown of Los Angeles, CA.

After I was able to testify about my recent good fortune, I became discouraged to fight very familiar inner demons once again.

I can still testify as it was NOT just a fleeting mountaintop experience but I have been lured back into bad (thought) habits.

I am once again craving radical acceptance of where we live and how we live.

I had truly been delivered from anger, bitterness, and envy when the Lord brought my rings (and watch) back to me after 22 days.

Then the cold hit and I found myself struggling again in the same areas as pre-deliverance days.

I talk about this all too often on this here blog but it’s because it’s a recurring struggle for me. When I park our family car in the outdoor lot about three blocks away and stroll or walk home with the boys, I am accompanied by an angel and a demon on my shoulders, vying for my thoughts.

In warm weather, I didn’t mind it as much though still annoying at best.

It’s not just “boo hoo it is so damn cold and I have to hoist these little warm bodies home.”

It has become:

“How was I ever grateful for just getting a parking space after 80 people were ahead of me on our co-op waitlist? Sure it’s 100 times better than having no spot but with the elements and the little ones, it’s not enough any more! Reminders to be grateful only make me feel like I am failing.

This is no way to live with two active young boys. I want amenities. I need all the help I can get emotionally and mentally from the golden sun yet here I am feeling imprisoned and raging as soon as the cold hits. I know it’s only JUST arrived but it may be here for long, just like last year.

Don’t tell me to think positive because that only makes me feel worse. Yes, I know that today is less windy and ‘warmer’ (30s and sunny – oxymoron). Please don’t tell me that Others Have It Much Worse or At Least…At Least you have two healthy boys, At Least it’s only three blocks. ‘AT LEAST’ makes me not want to talk to you. I hope I never ‘At Least’ at someone.”

I am not proud of this but boy, do I compare. I think about my friends who have a parking space in their driveway or in their building and I feel angry all over again.

And those who tell me that they don’t get mad about the same things over and over again, I don’t even believe them unless they’ve dealt with my set of particular challenges or beyond. Not that I have it the worst BY ANY MEANS but unless you’ve walked in my shoes, don’t speak from them.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons I enjoy nurturing my friendship with my friend who has six children. She can say anything to me and I know I will take it to heart because she always has a fuller plate than I do. I don’t want to become such a small person who only wants to spend time with those who have more to deal with but sometimes, it helps. Not to be lectured but to gain natural perspective, by watching a friend live out her full life.

This is not meant to just be an itemized complaint about those Three Blocks. I want to know how I can change my thought life by using these three blocks for growth.

I feel beside myself as I am back on this useless, dark path of regret. I KNOW IT IS USELESS AND STUPID but I keep thinking, “Why did I marry someone so geographically undesirable? Why did I underestimate my sacrifice when my younger self said that I would leave CA to follow the love of my life to NY? I even volunteered to be the one to move! Joking that it’s not a huge deal since they speak English there too! Why didn’t I say CA or Bust, take it or leave it. Why can’t I get over the past? Why do I keep resenting him over and over again when it not only hurts him but me, too? And the boys!”

I don’t WANT to be so negative but I also have to be able to express my less-than-grateful thoughts before I can release them. I can’t just Be Positive without expressing then exorcising them. And repeat.

In fact, I can’t quite trust those who only share the positive. Holler at me when you can share some raw thoughts, too. Otherwise, I can go browse the cards at Hallmark, thanks.

I find myself getting annoyed with every saying:

“Choose Happiness.” Shut it.

“If you don’t like it, change it.” SO EASY! WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?

“It is what it is.” It blows.

I’ve tried them all. I need new sayings.

On my good days, I can wrangle my beloved boys home gratefully but when I’m struggling, like walking home with them during Monday’s rainstorm with pain in my forearms from strolling so much weight or not being able to feel my hands today as I lifted them out of their carseats to trek home.

My rebellious nature says, “I’mma feel whatever I want to feel instead of constantly editing my emotions and willing myself to think more noble thoughts.” But that doesn’t serve me well at all!

Lord, I’m sorry for all my grumbling so soon after I was testifying. You know I am full of flaws, messy emotions, demons, bad habits, whatever You wanna call them. Even Your Word feels like extra pressure on me – something else I’m failing at – Philippians 4:8: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

I don’t plan to wallow in this. I just know that I operate best when I allow myself to throw a quick pity party, then clean up after myself.

PLEASE just help me not to party too hard.

(And yes, I know tomorrow, we will be blessed with a balmy 41 degree high but that don’t appease me either as I hail from a land of 80 degree weather and palm trees all year ’round.)

“I Once Was Lost…”

Posted on November 13, 2014 by ajummama

The night of October 18th was the last time I saw my engagement ring, wedding band, and watch.

I had just gotten better from a cold that had me in bed for a couple days, sleeping off the clamminess, while Kevin had to take over my duties as caretaker.

Finally strong enough to partake in activities again, I was back to packing in activities galore that Saturday: I rolled to Micah’s homie’s 4th bowling birthday party while Daddy and Ellis enjoyed some dim sum together. We then rushed through the pumpkin patch for some seasonal family photos before Small Group/Community Group on Long Island with our church friends.

After realizing that the rings and watch were truly missing, I couldn’t help but replay vivid images of my diamond engagement ring from that final day it was on my finger.

I recalled my diamond against the delectable, explosive cheeks of an infant in our group. I remembered it flashing as I talked with my hands in our friends’ basement.

Never saw it again after that.

I was so wiped when we got home that Saturday that I couldn’t retrace my steps. The standard question folks always ask: “Where did you last put it?” I DON’T KNOW! That’s why it’s missing!

I don’t wear my rings and watch daily so I didn’t even know they were missing until that Wednesday when I thought it’d be nice to wear them again. I mentioned it to Kevin on my way out that rainy night, commenting that I ALWAYS put them in the same place.

I imagined that after I got home that night, Kevin would shake his head at me and say, “Hey, I found them. Be more careful next time!” or that I’d just missed them in my cluttered jewelry armoir.

But they never turned up.

I had to ask Kevin to stop saying, “It’s gotta be in the house somewhere! It’s just got to!” It was too painful to hear.

Turning the house upside down became our nightly ritual after Ellis would finally succumb to sleep.

Praying, sighing, crying, searching…repeat. Not able to enjoy much.

All scenarios were possible now. I could have left them on my nightstand though I never do. I always slide the rings onto my watch “band” so that the rings are never on their own. That was supposed to make it easier to find them.

I felt sick thinking that they could have been thrown out with the diapers. Since any scenario was possible, they could have fallen from the nightstand into the OPEN trashcan full of dirty diapers that I take out at least once a day.

Though highly unlikely, they could have been flushed down the toilet or thrown into any of the trash cans lying around our small apartment.

We deposed the kids though they provided unreliable, fickle testimony, ranging from:

I didn’t do it. (The other brother) did it.

I saw Daddy do it, yeah. When I was sleeping, I saw Daddy ‘doed’ it.

I promise I never put them in the trash or toilet, Mommy, but Ellis did.

No, Micah did.

Sorry, Mommy, we promise we never never never did it.

I cried. I cursed. I shook my fists towards the sky. I asked Kevin to get mad at me. We prayed some more. We repeated ourselves – “So right after we got home that night, where did you go?”

I told some people about it. When I got drained from telling a few people about it, I didn’t bother telling others. Why rehash it?

I wanted to cancel every activity I had to show up for so I can either find the damn rings or grieve them properly. Everyone else’s rings would flash on their hands and I would imagine mine on my ring finger all over again.

I cut myself while cutting a carrot for our breakfast smoothies a couple weeks after the rings went missing. Micah, a fellow sensitive and perceptive soul, inquired with his bright eyes, “Mommy? Are you crying because you cut your finger or are you really crying because you still can’t find your ring and watch?”

The kids would pray with us too. “Please God help Mommy and Daddy find Mommy’s rings and watch.”

I went through a range of emotions. The nights were the worst. I was mad at God. “Why can’t You have mercy on me if You are so damn omnipotent? I know I am the one who lost my rings – that was ALL ME, I get it – but if YOU are God, why can’t You intervene? I came home from studying Your Word with church folk when I misplaced the rings. You can’t show some compassion? You are NOT just some genie in the sky, but LORD, You know You can receive all glory if You recover them for me. You can even return them to me in an undeniably God moment and people will bow down! Like have a posse of ants carry them to me? That would be all YOU!”

Then I felt guilty for getting so irate at God as I knew this was NOT a life or death situation but a loss of an earthly possession, and for treating Him like a genie in the sky though I kept confessing that He is more than that. But damn it, it was my most valuable and valued possession.

Of course, I also beat myself up for having misplaced them. I negotiated with God – “Just the engagement ring then? Let THAT materialize before me. I can let the other two go!”

Wondered if I was being punished for not just the negligent care of my treasures but negligent care of my marriage. I remember when I first wore those rings as a newly engaged gal. I didn’t even want to wear winter gloves lest the lining mess up the raised platinum prongs! I treated the ring so gingerly in those early days, and now they might have been thrown out with shit.

Fitting for how I treated my marriage – handled it with care in the beginning, but negligently over the past couple years, blaming Kevin for our less-than-comfortable life here in NYC where the weather can be a beast, parking issues galore, family support scarce, and constant sensory overload.

I even threatened God at one point. “Aight then. You gonna show me no mercy? You gonna stay THIS silent? Then I’mma go collect on my own. I’mma have to rob a jewelry store and get mine. That’s what it’s come to.”

Lesser threats of a non-criminal nature: “This loss cannot be in vain. If my rings don’t come back to me, I’mma go ahead and foolishly have a third child and name him Tacori Kim after my lost ring!” (Kevin said, “So you really gonna become one of those people who name their kids after labels? Gucci, Prada?”)

I ended up praying with different folks from church about this loss. Last Sunday, one of my friends prayed that He would be a flashlight unto my path. I forget her exact phrasing as we prayed for each other in a group setting but I do remember the word “FLASHLIGHT.” Even after we prayed, I cried saying, “I don’t actually believe that they can be found after 22 days of being lost. I bet He’s gonna try to build some more character in me as I learn from this loss. It makes me sick to think they were thrown out like trash! Build my character but gimme my rings back!”

I tried to rest after church and Costco last Sunday but the sadness wouldn’t let me exhale or enjoy. I couldn’t get into any of my fave TV shows or magazines. I said to Kevin, “Hey, let’s pray again. I’m just so sad about this and I feel like just peeling off my skin. Let’s just pray again.”

The kids were screaming and crying, fighting bedtime, begging us not to close their bedroom door. We can’t even lock the door any more since they know how to unlock it and walk out.

We were on our knees on the Pororo playmat, praying. I repented some more. My anger. My blaming God. My allowing the kids to rule our household. My not seeking Him out more prior to this loss. My blaming Kevin when life wasn’t exactly how I imagined it would be in terms of ease and comfort.

I took a break from the prayer because I needed a break from Micah pleading with us to come back into their room and lie down with them, a habit we are trying to break.

Kevin called me from the living room, “JIHEE?” His voice was weird.

As soon as I heard the way he called out, I was hoping it was what I thought it was. But also scared to hope.

I ran out and he was crying, on bended knee on the step of our sunken living room. “Will you marry me?”

We were bear hugging and crying together.

Kevin had taken a break to stand up to grasp the boys’ bedroom doorknob to keep them from escaping. While he stood there, holding firmly onto their doorknob, he sensed a voice in his heart.

“Open it.”

OPEN IT.

So he did. Kevin looked down, right at the boys’ toy kitchen by their bedroom door and bent down to open the oven door.

My rings and watch fell out, one by one, SEPARATELY.

My boys had NOT played with that kitchen recently.

I must have placed them on the top of the kitchen as I ended up cuddling with Micah before he fell asleep late night on October 18th though I had proclaimed that I wasn’t going to have anything to do with bedtimes.

We still don’t know how they fell into the oven as it would require a lot of synchronizing. And if it fell in, who shut it closed without looking inside? The boys would have told us.

They were missing for 22 days. My boys are 22 months apart. No significance – I just love my numbers.

When I wore them to breakfast the next morning to show the boys what we had found while they were sleeping, Micah smiled and commented like an adult, “Is that what I think it is?” He was beaming. “Daddy found them? So, does this mean I don’t get a present for finding them?”

When he found out where we had found them, he said, “Oh, I checked there already. They weren’t there before. I saw a hand put them in there and then they popped out.”

Kids say the darndest things but I almost feel like they did supernaturally rematerialize. Whether they rematerialized or we simply overlooked the play oven, their discovery WHILE we were crying out to Him has been working small miracles in our family.

We are praying more than ever. My anger has been shed, though I know it is always a work in progress. My struggle with envy has been lifted as of now. I am happy to have MY life, MY struggles, MY rings. No one else’s.

I truly believe that God cares about the details in my life. NOT that it means happily ever after in all situations but He knows what I need…and when…and how. Kevin said that if he had found them while searching like a madman, he would not have attributed it to God.

Also, had I not found them, He still could have transformed me through those desperate prayers alone.

I thought that finding them would be the highlight of my week but the happiness continued to flow as I shared with different people about how He found them for us. From good friends to church acquaintances to our doorman – folks being so happy for me has doubled my happiness.

Thank You Lord for adding another love story to my rings. Not just of Kevin’s love for me but how You looked out. I will share this story now.

The story of how You met us.

Crazy Saves

Posted on November 6, 2014 by ajummama

I’ve been struggling due to a personal matter. I felt like I couldn’t handle one. more. thing. and dreaded the extra maintenance a rainy day requires when wrangling the kiddos outdoors.

After picking up Micah from school, I was strolling Ellis from our parking lot, carrying the boys’ stuff on the crooks of both arms and not bothering with an umbrella for myself because How? I also couldn’t use my left hand to grip the stroller because I had accidentally knifed myself while rushing to cut a carrot for our breakfast smoothie the other morning.

Micah hasn’t done this in ages but suddenly he starts crying and screaming, while I am trying to get us all home on this drizzly, dark afternoon. He starts begging me TO CARRY HIM HOME. When he did this a while back, a stranger had to help me get home.

He was pulling on my jacket as we crossed the busy street, blocking Ellis’ stroller so that I was forced to run into him. My body heat started to rise and I prayed silently for help. I was getting pissed.

After crossing the street, I paused to go down to his level, hold him in an embrace, and tell him, “I know you want Mommy to carry you. Sometimes you want me to show you how much I love you by carrying you but I just can’t right now. I’m sorry. Will you be my big boy and walk home for me?” I lost my balance and plunked my butt right into a puddle.

“Carry up! Carry up! Piggyback!?” He was not relenting.

Our three blocks home was going to be hell. Like I said, I was fragile this week and couldn’t stomach a meltdown. His or mine.

I suddenly remembered some advice I had heard ages ago.

Act crazy to throw a mugger off his game.

Reasoning wasn’t working and more rain could hit as the afternoon sky looked more like it was 11 pm out.

I raised my hands to the heavens and started hopping in place while bellowing, “CARRY UP! CARRY MOMMY UP!? SOMEONE HELP MOMMY? CARRY MEEEEEEEE! CARRY MEEEEE!” I started dancing to my own beat while cars drove by and the kids gazed up at me.

Micah paused for a beat. His face broke out into his Denzel mega-watt smile. He started cracking up. So did little E. So much that Mr. Pillow Cheeks started gasping for air while cackling away in his stroller, watching Hyung laughing and Mama actin’ a fool.

“Again, Mommy! Do that again!”

I know Crazy won’t always save the day but it did today.

our mom cray.

Tiger Groom and Fox Bride Got Married Today

Posted on October 21, 2014 by ajummama

It drizzled on my sunglassed face today. Ellis and I were basking in this last gift of a bright and sunny fall day with temps in the 60s, playing with our friends in the park before lunch, nap, and picking up Hyung.

When it rains while still bright and sunny out, there is a Korean saying: “The tiger groom and fox bride must be getting married today.”

I wanted to know more about that so I asked my mom via our Skype session during Ellis’ lunch. She guessed that it must mean that it is both a hilarious and unlikely event so you laugh AND cry at once, like the rain and sun at once? I guessed that it means a bright, sunny, rainy day is as likely as a tiger marrying a fox. Just a super-colorful and eccentric metaphor, confirming that if I could come back as any ethnicity, I would choose Korean all over again.

While trying to feed Ellis his oxtail soup and rice, he started getting upset, pushing his bowl away and pointing to something else. It turned out that he saw my bowl full of the same soup and rice but with kimchi floating around. He wanted to eat that one. I don’t even know how he saw my bowl hidden behind the open laptop and why he was so interested in having his first taste of kimchi today of all days.

I obliged as my mama said, “Make sure you tear the kimchi into small pieces for him. Wash it real good.”

Then again. “He’s eating like a grown man. But make sure you tear the kimchi into small pieces. And wash off the spices.”

And again. She said it a total of five times. I spoke up and said, “Can you PLEASE not say it again? Unlike OTHER FAMILIES, we take care of these guys MOSTLY ON OUR OWN, so I know how to feed him and if I cut it too small, he gets upset. I know what I’m doing.”

This fell on deaf ears because she immediately said again, while beaming at Ellis, “The kimchi should be torn into small pieces.”

“UMMA! I know we’ve had this conflict before. You keep saying the same thing over and over again and then when I ask…no actually, when I BEG of you to just stop, you say, ‘Hey, you really need to know I’m only saying this aloud for my own sake. Can’t you just let it go and lemme say what I say? Let it roll off your back? I’m just talking to myself.’ But that’s not fair, Umma! I obviously can’t let it roll off my back after you repeat it six times in a row so it’s not just Bad Jihee, Good Mommy. You can also try to help out by not saying things that I ask you to PLEASE PLEASE stop repeating.”

I should have added that it also hurts because it seems like she doesn’t trust my parenting skills when she repeats herself like this. Our Skype sessions sometimes end with my hanging up abruptly because I only hear repeat instructions in lieu of something that is pretty foreign in my family. AFFIRMATION. That is why when I see my friends get affirmed for just about anything from their parents, my mouth falls open like I am watching science fiction unfold before me.

Also, this reminded me of how sometimes, conflict with my parents is usually explained away with, “This is just a cultural and generational difference. If you were raised in Korea, you would know that we don’t mean any harm by _________.”

When my mama graciously helped us out by taking an unpaid leave from her job to stay with us for about a month or more after Ellis was born, Kevin and I had to take Ellis for one of his first doctor visits. Micah started bawling when he saw us trying to leave without him. My mom brought Micah to the elevator as we waited for it, trying to make the most peaceful getaway. As he bawled, she started to fake cry with him!

I snapped at her, “Please take him AWAY and back into the apartment. Distract him. Don’t let him stand here and bawl as he WATCHES us leave. You’re making it worse.”

I couldn’t believe that I had to not only watch him bawl, which was making me sweat like crazy and my boobs squirt more milk into my nursing pads, but watch my mom, his caretaker for the moment, also fake-cry as she held him.

She said this was a cultural difference, that Korean adults of her generation always try to cry along with the baby in order to distract the baby who may stop to watch the adult “crying.” I guess I can understand that but he was near hysterics and it clearly wasn’t working.

Also, when I had my first baby, nursing round the clock, each time he cried and I was frantically unclasping my nursing tank top to feed him, my mom would say, “mma-mma jooh seh yo, mma-mma jooh seh yo!” meaning, “please give me food, please give me food.” It added so much stress as I practically ripped off my shirt to feed him, as an overly ambitious first-time mama. Again, she said it is a cultural difference and her just talking by herself.

I guess this is my Korean entry. I don’t know if it is just a cultural difference or a difference in personality but it keeps recurring because we both won’t give in. She wants me to just LET her keep saying things OVER and OVER and OVER again while I want her to just refrain from saying stuff.

Though it may be a cultural / generational difference, that blanket statement doesn’t help actually resolve anything. How about we both try? I will try not to let it get to me as much but she should also try to stop saying it so many times!

I love her dearly and believe me, I appreciate having a living mama who cares so much for her grandkids but it struck me again that communication in any love relationship can be such a challenge.

However, I must admit that her original song “mma-mma jooh seh yo, mma-mma jooh seh yo!” has become a staple in our household. God bless Gramma Lee. I must go wake up Ellis to go pick up Big Bro now.

It is pouring outside.

Happy Two…while it drizzled at the zoo

Posted on October 2, 2014 by ajummama

Dearest Ellis,
Today, our little Kung Fu Panda Mong Sheel-Ee dared to turn TWO on us! The baby of the family thinks he’s allowed to grow up like this!?

Of course I reminisced about your birth. How your dad and I were watching the season premiere of “Homeland” (Season Two) when I went to the bathroom and saw a little blood on my underwear. Your brother had arrived within 24 hours after the bloody show so we knew that most likely, you were on your way, ten days before your due date, JUST LIKE YOUR MICAH HYUNG!

You were gracious enough to let me (mostly) sleep through the night though some painful contractions did wake me up and I decided to jot down a quick letter to Belly Baby Gender Unknown.

The morning of October 1st. Your Lee Halmoni/my mama was scheduled to touch down at JFK but because my contractions were coming regularly, we sent her a Korean cab instead of picking her up ourselves. We were getting ready to go to the hospital when the contractions slowed down.

I told your dad to go to work to save his days off.

You so kindly allowed Halmoni to arrive and learn the ropes of how to take care of your big bro before you called Game Time on us. I was able to school her all day on all things Micah before your dad finally came home from the office. He came armed with a Buffalo Chicken Panini for me to take me to the hospital that evening. I am always fearful of getting hungry so I even ate through tearful contractions because a girl dunno when the next meal comin’ through with all that laborin’ in between.

It was still gorgeous and sunny that early evening. As we drove over the RFK/Triboro Bridge to get to our hospital, we realized this was it. We had to finalize your name. We joked that it had to be RFK.

We were already set on the first name. We had chosen “Ellis” a few weeks after finding out we were expecting, whether you were a boy or a girl, though now I see that I strongly prefer “Ellis” for a boy. We wanted everyone in our family to have five-letter names but broke the rule for your middle name as we thought the “Z” initial was too cool to pass up. Your dad wouldn’t let me go through with “Zion” and we both really felt peace about the “Zachary” you ended up with. “Zachary” means “remembered by God” in Hebrew.

Within a few hours of checking in at the hospital, you arrived. Those few hours were beyond painful but I can hardly recall the pain now because I only see YOU. It only took about 15 minutes of pushing and the doctor yelling, “STOP” instead of “PUSH!” for the final push because you were shooting out so fast.

Sorry, this letter hardly sounds like me. I’m rushing to write it because Mama is so wiped from this week of nervous weather-stalking for your (early) birthday celebration yesterday. I ended up postponing it at the last minute due to the threat of rain after a whole day of showers yesterday for the outdoor gathering. Not too Accu, Accu-Weather! Was praying for a flood of Noah’s Ark proportions after I ended up canceling but of course, not a drop.

So today, on your actual birthday, I wanted to hook you up with SOME kind of outing to commemorate your special day. But it turned out to be the same deal as yesterday, only worse. Rained all morning AND threat of continued rain in the afternoon. Even darker skies.

Mama said, “Not again, Accu-Weather. You don’t fool me! Mama taking her birthday boy to the ZOO!”

So naturally, I got lost driving to the zoo we go to only every week! The GPS led me to some shady road behind Citifield, the U.S. Open Tennis Courts, and some United Nations Drive. It went from, “You are three minutes away” to “You are 26 minutes away.”

I still don’t know what happened.

When we finally arrived at the zoo, your bro had fallen asleep. I took you guys out and placed you in the Strollerus Prime.

We were the only ones there. It was drizz…it was raining.

But I will always remember how happy you were to look at your bears and feed your goats with Mama on your one and only second birthday. With your brother sleeping the whole time and waking up only as we pulled out of the zoo parking lot, thinking he must have dreamt that he had been asleep near a sheep’s face.

Thank you for joining our little family two years ago today.

You too EZ to love!

Your biggest fan and paparazzo,
Mama

Gush Hashanah – Gushing with Gratitude

Posted on September 25, 2014 by ajummama

I don’t know what it is about today.

The continuous wind and rain while safely tucked away at home (ours and a friend’s).

Keeping Micah home from school (his school does not close for the Jewish holidays).

The holiday feel in the air as many other schools have off for a four-day weekend and the temps slowly dropping.

I AM GUSHING WITH GRATITUDE. Different from those days where I have to WILL myself to be more grateful.

Here are some items from my Gratitude Gush:

1. Keeping Micah home from school.

I need to do this more often. After all, he is not yet four and this is only pre-Kindergarden. Something about the storm hitting and having him home with us for one of his best buddy’s birthday celebrations was so toasty and well, just plain good.

In between Micah helping me make our breakfast smoothies, Skyping with my parents, and jumping around with little bro and their stuffed animals, Micah still in his superhero pjs and Ellis in his dinosaur footed pjs, I would grab Micah and make him fall into my lap so that I can BLESS him.

I read one of the best pieces on a parenting skill called BLESSING our children, written by a missionary from our church, teaching the youth in Cebu, Philippines, with his wife and two kids (and one belly baby).

Here is the post by Rick Harner.

I didn’t get to read the post as closely as I need to but the spirit of the post has stayed with me all week.

I really want to INTENTIONALLY bless our kids, at the very least, WEEKLY, by staring deep into their still-innocent eyes and encouraging them very specifically. God knows how valuable this is as criticisms and curses stick to us so much more easily, at least for me.

Words have power.

I hadn’t quite thought out this first blessing session today but because my boy was home, I gathered his thin preschooler body into my lap and grabbed his face with both of my hands. I just went into default blessing mode, which always means I become Aibileen Clark from “The Help”:

“You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”

Of course I wouldn’t straight copy. I customized it for Micah: “You is a good brother. You is compassionate. You is sensitive to others’ hurts. You is chak-heh.”

Yes, I gotta work on this blessing skill but how exciting that we can empower them with our words.

It was such a treat to have him home with us as the storm brewed outside.

2. Good lookin’ out, storm!

As of last night, the forecast declared that it would be 100% chance of rain, all day today, every hour, with rainfall of more than an inch. Our buddy ended up having to cancel his birthday party.

Today, despite the stronger downpour in the morning, we ended up being able to join Micah’s buddy’s “Plan B” celebration and the storm cooperated. Only light rain on the way there, then even lighter rain a few hours later when we were driving and strolling back. Even found parking right in front of her place on my first try!

Since it’s not driveway-to-driveway driving in these parts, I really appreciated the storm being gentle enough so that we could join our friends.

BEYOND grateful that we did not get drenched and rain-skurred for the next storm, though I know we won’t always be this lucky.

3. I love my girlfriends.

I love those moments when my chest puffs up with pride because I see my friend in action and I feel almost parental over them: “You see that gracious hostess who just keeps pouring out to her guests, she MY friend. She’s awesome, right? Yup, one of my close friends.” This is because I not only care about my girls but look up to them in SOME way.

4. I think this parenting thang does get easier in some ways.

I thought nothing of speed-changing these two wriggly worms so that we could rush out before the storm worsened. I packed everything up so fast and even threw our Strollerus Prime in the trunk as if it wasn’t no thang. It was the adrenalin from wanting to outrun the storm but it was one of these days I felt like, “Ah, no big deal. I can handle at least one mo’. You need me to lift a fridge or anything tonight?”