Just “Cute” Me!

Posted on November 1, 2013 by ajummama

Dear Micah,
Thanks to you, I’ve been gifted with a memorably cute week, with some trick-or-treating as the grand finale. When Ellis joined our family, Grandma Lee called it while looking at the Kim boys: “Alvin Simon Theodore!” so that’s what y’all went as this Halloween.

Halloween 2013

Yesterday, the night before Halloween, was my first Parents’ Night. There have been so many moments, following your birth, where I thought, “I have NOW arrived. I am REALLY a mom.” One such moment was when we visited a baby music/dance class at Dragonfly Dulou in Los Feliz, CA on your first trip back to LA, to escape the many snowstorms of NYC. You were ridiculously young to be in the class, even for overeager modern parenting or Korean parenting (achievement-obsessed) standards. Grandma Lee came with me and she cracked up, commenting, “I dunno how much baby Micah enjoyed this class since he’s still a fetus but his Mama was delirious with excitement throughout the whole thing. I was just watching your face.” I nearly teared up as we danced around, making silly sounds and trying out musical toys, looking good and crazy. I AM IN A BABY MUSIC CLASS WITH MY SON! I AM A MAMA. I AM FOREVER CHANGED.

I felt like this again last night, attending PARENTS’ NIGHT as a newbie. Daddy stayed back with you and your brother, while I was gifted with the chance to enjoy a nice walk to your school, in perfect fall weather. I thought, “This is a trip. I am attending my son’s PARENTS’ NIGHT with other PARENTS. I am REALLY a mama now, maybe a year away from wearing jewelry he will make with flour and bake in the oven, under the careful supervision of his teachers.”

Naturally, I sat in the front row. Just so you know, all the cool kids in school sit in the front row, so as not to miss anything the teachers have to say, or get distracted from watching the people who sit in front of you. Reminds me of Grandpa Lee getting pissed when someone too tall sat in front of him at your uncle’s 6th grade graduation. We laughed because Mr. Too Tall happened to be Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, his classmate’s very famous daddy. But I digress.

I listened to your teachers explain early childhood development theory, how even during something as simple as snacktime, you are learning so much. I was touched by how much your teachers genuinely desire for you and your little classmates to feel valued as a member of their school community. I soaked up every word, and nearly teared up hearing about the details of your mornings, including how you and your classmates are learning to develop conclusions on your own: “That red paint and yellow paint that Miss B poured separately made the new orange paint!” Miss B also informed us that soon we are going to take a “field trip” around the neighborhood, on a Shape Walk, a trip that will make you guys look for shapes everywhere you go. Mommy and Ellis will go on that little trip with you, if we don’t cramp your style too much. They ended with a slideshow presentation and when I saw you up on the screen, larger than life, I just felt so lucky to be your mama, sitting in that front middle seat in that auditorium.

yup, yo mama took a picture of your picture, from the front row. no shame.

I have to admit that for a few months, I found myself stuck in a rut of “Get It Over With” parenting. I wanted to get all the tough stuff over with just so I can exhale and rest and tune out, fast forward to the end of the day when I can just have some peace and quiet. Mealtime battles, discipline issues, answering your many questions from the kitchen while nervously running back and forth from the living room to make sure you are not closing Ellis’ eyelids shut, talking about, “You can’t watch TV, baby! It’s mine!”, repeating myself and still not getting listened to. I confess that I just wanted to phone it in. And I sighed. A LOT.

What helped me slowly START getting out of the rut was you. You made me marvel again the way I used to during your earlier years, before I let the wear and tear of daily demands of two toddlers get at me. When you were an infant, or even a less verbal, more baby-like toddler, everything you did was amazing and I had boundless energy because of this marveling and wonder. You helped me remember to marvel again as you’ve been growing up so swiftly these days, sometimes in the course of one day.

Your humor is coming along quite nicely. How did my no-necked, soft little baby with fine wisps of hair, develop such a sense of humor. You think you George W. Bush, giving everyone a nickname? I ask you who you like to play with at school and you get that mischievous smile on your face before you answer, “I play with Carry Up and Phone.” Turns out you like to play with a little girl named Carrie (maybe because you are drawn to her name, as you love to beg Mommy to “Carry Up” especially when she is wearing your little brother and steering the heavy stroller) and a sweet guy named Cameron (“Mommy, I call him Camera, like CameraPhone. I call him Phone now.”)

You love to dance HARD when we play some of your favorite songs. A couple days ago you would mimic Robin Thicke singing “hey hey hey..” in “Blurred Lines,” squealing, “This is my Daddy’s song!” You sing songs that you learned at school, songs that Mommy doesn’t know. I heard you sing the end of one school song, “…October brings the harvest…” and when I tried to learn it you said, “No, Mommy, don’t sing! I sing it.” And of course, “Don’t Sing, Mommy!” is not complete without a “Don’t Dance, Mommy!”

I don’t know where you learn some things that I’ve never heard you say before. A few weeks ago, your teacher told me that you fell off the tricycle during playground time, but that it was a complete accident and that you were fine. I later asked you more about that accident and you finally told me more about what happens at school. You calmly shared that your classmate hits you, but “not everyday, Mommy! He only hit me sometimes.”

Upon hearing that, Micah, Mommy’s body got hot with fury. I wanted to do what I usually want to do when I get furious. Strip off all my clothes and beat my chest, howl, revert to animal DNA.

“Did he hit you today?”

“Yes, he hit me today but he only hit me sometimes, Mommy.”

“Did he hit you in the face?” (Really trying not to rip off my clothes as my body heat rises)

“No, he didn’t Mommy! He hit me in my nose. Are you mad Mommy? Are you mad at me Mommy?”

“OF COURSE NOT, MICAH! Where are you getting this from, Micah? Why would Mommy be mad at YOU for telling me like a big boy what happens at school. Mommy feels mad and sad right now but not at you. I feel mad that I couldn’t protect you. I feel sad that my Micah got hurt and I didn’t even know. I will NEVER be mad when you tell me what happens at school. I sometimes get mad when you don’t listen to Mommy but when you tell me that someone hit you or pushed you, I am only PROUD that you were brave enough to tell me.”

“Is Daddy proud of me, too-oo?”

“OF COURSE, MICAH! DADDY IS SO PROUD OF YOU!”

“Do you love me Mommy? You love me?”

You slay me with these questions. How do you even know to ask such things? Apparently I knew nothing about nearly three-year-olds before I had kids. I didn’t expect such profound questions so early on.

I just wanted to say thanks to you, my dear first baby, Micah, Mommy had an extra full, extra cute week. I love you always and I am proud of you always just because you are you, not because of anything you do. You can ask me about that as much as you want, but I hope you know it and feel it…always.

cuteness overload

Evite Reminder: MLK’s (Theme-to-Be-Determined) Ko-Mitzvah 11.25.2023

Posted on October 21, 2013 by ajummama

I can write at least 58 different posts on this one topic alone, the topic being “Things I Used to Judge Only to Do Them Now.”

When I was pregnant with my firstborn, MLK, I had somehow developed a stance against kiddie pay-to-play classes like Gymboree.

I’d be all, “Augh! Why would I pay more than my own adult gym’s monthly payments so that my kid can LEARN to PLAY? That is too yuppie for my taste. I’m old school. I’m au naturel! Why would my kid attend some sorta hakwon as a baby!?” [“hakwon” = Korean prep academy / afterschool enrichment]

Then I happened to take him to a trial class. Not only did I promptly sign him up, we became loyal Gymboree members, referring more than a dozen other kiddos and continuing our membership for longer than any of our peers. It wasn’t about learning to play as I had initially thought, but rather, having a colorful, inviting space to play in regularly, other than our same ol’ same ol’ living room or other buddies’ living rooms.

Micah started looking like Billy Madison among babies, when we finally quit two whole years later, at 31 months old. I almost couldn’t go through with terminating our membership because Gymboree was so beloved by both Micah and Mama, such a big part of our lives as newbie mama and first baby, but it was time. (Ellis as second-born never got to join Gymboree as you’re not allowed to bring your older sibling to the younger class. Too Godzilla-like).

When I was pregnant, people warned me mostly about sleep deprivation, or made vague and ominous declarations like “Your life will never be the same again,” but not about how my weekends would usually include a kiddie birthday party, sometimes back-to-back, before and after naps. Thankfully I still enjoy them, especially watching these little guys light up, but I used to judge elaborate kiddie birthday parties. Hward.

My natural gut reaction was to scoff at how fancy these parties were becoming compared to my childhood where my McDonald’s birthday party was my most pimped out.

We recently went to a sprawling gymnastics birthday party for a cute little three-year old friend of Micah’s (who we met at Gymboree as infants). The gymnastics academy was one of the best venues I’d seen for these active toddlers to tumble around in, complete with a foam diving pit and largest parachute ever. The hosts were so inclusive of their many little buddies that this was the biggest party we had been to…since her 2nd birthday party.

I was wearing Ellis, having a hard time side-shimmying through the crowd during lunch as everyone had to squeeze in behind their seated little ones on a long table and accompanying bench. I watched all the parents obediently file into line, shoulder-to-shoulder, behind their children, amidst commotion, to receive their standard party rations: pizza and cake. Because this party was so big, the tables and benches kept you from mingling about. Strictly single file line. You bess stay at your station.

I saw my good friend multi-tasking, feeding her son and looking out for Kevin by asking him quickly, “Did you get your pizza? You were able to eat?” Kevin, while keeping Micah and Micah’s juice from falling off the bench and table respectively, quickly responded, “Yup, yup, I ate, I ate. Plenty, thanks. You got one, too, right?”

It was heartwarming. They were Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman lookin’ out for each other in the prison mess hall.

Before I had these kids, it was all too easy to snub my nose at these modern day birthday parties because they just seemed too fancy compared to my own childhood. I’m talking gymnastics, carousel, museum, zoo, petting zoo, circus, water station, sprawling “treehouse,” Gymboree, My Gym, Bounce U, farm, and more.

Just yesterday, Micah came home excitedly after attending his buddy’s birthday party with his Daddy while Ellis and I had to miss due to Ellis’ fever.

“Did you have fun at E’s party? Was it fun on the schoolbus!?”

“Mommy! It’s not schoolbus! It’s Fun Bus.”

He had had a blast at the Fun Bus party. A Fun Bus is a schoolbus painted all cute with its insides gutted out so that kids can tumble and swing around.

Micah taking a break from Fun Bus er, fun, to peek out at his Daddy / photo credit: his Daddy

photo credit: Claudia Douyon

I remember a childhood friend telling me, “Jihee, my son went to a party where they had a Bubble-ologist. The weirdest part is that he called HIMSELF that. With a straight face.”

I used to think that I would be able to resist this party culture for my kids but just like with Gymboree, I saw how much he enjoyed himself and how his little buddies, especially now that they aren’t babies any more, really understood that it was their special birthday celebration. Plus, many of us live in small NYC apartments so it’s a matter of practicality. There is just no way to host a party in our own homes unless you invite only two little friends and their mamas.

I’ve slowly come to realize that I can’t keep comparing to my McDonald’s party of yesteryear because this is a whole new world. I was learning this new invention called “computer” on an Apple IIC or IIE in our elementary school’s computer lab, stressing about learning how to play a new game called “Carmen Sandiego” while some toddlers these days have their own iPads. Naturally, the landscape of birthday parties, especially in cities like NYC or LA, would get suped up.

I know I’m a dinosaur but what is up with themes? These days, great parties and weddings all seem to have a theme. Was just thinking that today’s hipsters may throw an ironic McDonald’s-themed party, complete with retro uniforms and modernized purple fondant Grimace cake.

“Does Ellis have a theme for his doljanchi?” asked one of my best friends recently, as she planned her son’s in LA.

“Watchoo mean ‘theme’? The ‘THEME’ is that he turnin’ One and we feeding our friends and family a gluttonous amount of food and dduk. And hiring his music class teacher to do some dope kiddie songs for 45 minutes!”

“No, girl, a THEME!”

Online stores like Etsy make it easy to choose a theme like “Carnival” or “Rock Star” and buy accompanying decorations but it’s just one more thing to have to make a series of micro-decisions about. That is what I am allergic to in event planning: how tending to just “x,y, and z” soon sprouts into tending to “a thru w, and don’t forget the x, y, and z,” even though it’s all for such a happy occasion. So, no, we didn’t have no theme for both boys’ doljanchis other than, “Get Yo Grub On, and Watch Our Son Crawl Towards The Object Which Scientifically Foretells His Destiny aka Doljabi.”

I got married more than six years ago and thank God people didn’t ask me “What is your theme for the wedding?”

My “THEME” is marriage. That by God’s grace, my crazy ass is getting hitched.

So, back to these modern birthday parties. Special venues do allow parents to relax as they usually have most of the details covered. Most of the time, even a built-in THEME!

I recently heard my girl, Wendy Williams, talk about her 13 year-old son’s Bro-Mitzvah complete with a celeb date for him to walk around with and recording artists for entertainment, fancier than my wedding. Also on “Basketball Wives,” Shaq’s son, Shareef, got a Bro-Mitzvah with a stylist picking out his multiple couture outfits and of course, per his request, fire.

While I did end up booking the gymnastics academy for Micah’s 3rd birthday party (with a very short guestlist to keep it intimate), I do draw the line at throwing him a Ko-Mitzvah.

For now.

Conversation Crushers

Posted on September 27, 2013 by ajummama

I have been having a hard time this past year, maybe acutely so the past few months, not just because I am so very tired but because I have forgotten how to allow myself the right to feel feelings. AND NOT JUDGE MYSELF FOR THEM.

I imagined the reactions of Others, to the point that I would actually have two-sided conversations in my head. It wasn’t purely my active imagination. I had been receiving messages from strangers and acquaintances alike that my feelings were not valid. More on conversation-crushers later.

October 1, 2012. The night before, on Chu-seok (Korean Thanksgiving), the husband and I had finished watching the season premiere of our favorite show, “Homeland.” After being thoroughly riveted by Claire Danes and Mandy Patinkin, I went to pee and noticed some brown spotting on my undies, like a very light period.

So this is how it was gonna go down. My body was going to give my second baby a nearly identical birth story as big bro, even down to the Thanksgiving arrival (first one was on American Thanksgiving). Down to the day – ten days before their respective due dates. Big bro had arrived within 24 hours after the spotting. So I knew that once there was blood, baby was a ‘comin’ despite doctors shaking their heads, schooling me about spotting not necessarily meaning imminent birth.

Please. I knew my body.

After hours of fitful sleep with lots of cramping, knowing that baby was going to show up that day, the contractions intensified and became more frequent at dawn. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect as my mama was supposed to touch down at JFK from LAX to take care of my firstborn that very morning, while I go birth her second grandchild. We ended up sending her a Korean cab in our stead because it was Go Time. We threw a few essentials into the hospital bag, wrote a quick note to Belly Baby about how we felt as we were hours away from meeting him/her, and were about to drive on over to the hospital.

Until we didn’t.

My mama was dropped off at our place and immediately, my contractions slowed down. I even told Kevin to go to work that day so that we wouldn’t waste one of his precious vacation days. Just like when I went into labor for big bro on the eve of Thanksgiving 2010.

Apparently, I had been watching too much “Parenthood” (another one of my fave shows) because I pictured my mama coming through the door to the rescue, with some great background music to beautify an already beautiful moment. Offering me my final moments of tranquility and soothing affirmations as she swooped in to take care of my 22 month-old so I can labor with dignity in our dark bedroom. I even pictured our bed enveloped by a gossamer canopy while I breathed through the pain. How poetic. Cue cool, alternative music. Circle of life. My mama arriving to taking care of her child while I got ready to birth my own.

But of course, my life is the opposite of critically-acclaimed dramas on NBC. My mama touched down, sho’ ‘nuff but it got more chaotic than ever. She was so excited to arrive and wanted to tend to All Things Micah that I got sucked into her Tasmanian Devil flurry. I was wincing from my contractions as I showed her where everything was. Micah’s diapers and wipes and other necessities. Explaining how to care for him.

I was doubled over in pain at times, completely hunched over and she would ask, “Where is the sesame oil, Jihee-yah? I have to make Micah some lunch.” Not because she is heartless but perhaps because I wasn’t making a big deal about my contractions and she was really diving into her role as Micah’s caretaker.

I didn’t feel like I could rest. Or pause to tell her that what I needed at that time was a “Parenthood” moment with the imaginary gossamer-canopied bed symbolizing much needed rest and mental space and a perfectly scripted Mother-Daughter chat as new background music started for my visit to the hospital.

It was already near the end of Kevin’s workday when I nonchalantly called him to say, “Hey, it’s Game Time. I haven’t eaten all day. My mama got distracted and so did I, so can you please bring me enough food from near your office? You know I am NOT trying to give birth on an empty stomach.”

Kevin brought home a buffalo chicken wrap. My mama was so whupped on her first (and only) grandchild that she started tearing off pieces of MY final meal to harvest for her beloved Micah.

I tell you this story to say that since then, ALMOST EXACTLY A YEAR AGO, I have been SO. VERY. TIRED. Shouldn’t come as a surprise because looking back, even as I labored to bring my second child into this world, I couldn’t get NO REST!

This state of constant unrest, day and night, sleep deprived and recovering from tantrums and spills and failed disciplining and mealtime battles and other soul-wearying scenes, with breaks that only the husband gives me since we have no REGULAR village, has wreaked havoc onto my mental and emotional health.

And marriage.

me and the husband in 2009, well-rested as a mofo, ringing in my birthday in mykonos, greece, when our children weren't even glimmers in our eyes

me and the husband in 2009, well-rested punks, ringing in my birthday in mykonos, greece, when our children weren’t even glimmers in our eyes, photo-edit credit to Jason Kim

I realize that I mention lacking a Village all too often yet I cannot stop. “Village” as in at least one set of grandparents, other relatives or family-like friends who will say, “I GOT YOU.” Not just watching as I take care of them, alerting me to their soiled diaper but to really GOT ME so I can leave. Not even for something as luxurious as mama hitting the spa but just so we can run an errand that is not conducive to the entire family rollin’ or to declutter the home without tripping over a toddler or infant, only to get completely distracted by their noises and needs. I get pissed all over again when I hear others call in their Village People to give them REGULAR, healthy breaks from child-rearing, offering mental health breaks as often as weekly. So heads up: I will keep mentioning this until I get to a healthier space.

While more joyful than I ever imagined when I nibble on my kids, I also find myself feeling so very angry that I have to do motherhood in this particular way. Simultaneous joy and anger ARE possible.

All made worse because I haven’t been able express myself adequately after experiencing conversation-crushers like:

“Billions of women do the motherhood thang so I figure, how hard can it really be?” (Actually, this one was an innocuous comment one of my best friends made before she had her first child. After her first few months with her newborn, she ate her words).

“Oh, but you know you have to ENJOY EVERY MOMENT! It goes by SO fast.”

“But you are so blessed! Some people can’t have kids and here you have two beautiful, healthy kids.”

“My friend’s child is special needs and she never complains. My other friend has four kids and she is always keeping it positive. I try to do the same.”

“Oh please. Not everyone has a Village.”

“At least ________________.”

And most recently, when I was sighing during dinner as another harried scene unfolded, my mother-in-law chided, “C’mon, you have to admit that it’s all better than NOT having kids, right?” At least she seems to have retired her favorite: “I had it MUCH harder than you,” after I asked her to please stop saying that to me.

With all those conversation-crushers, how can I feel safe enough to say, “While I realize I am SO BLESSED, this is SO VERY HARD, in ways that I could never have imagined, not just for one reason or because of ONE bad moment but an accumulation of so many moments and factors at play…”

TO BE CONTINUED…or at least I plan to continue in some future post…

And shout out to a new season of “Parenthood” airing tonight on NBC.

Home is Where the “Hart” is

Posted on August 15, 2013 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

Constant conversation and negotiations.

Packing sippy cups and a bevy of snacks.

Putting on shoes and tiny socks.

Sniffing butts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fortress. A sanctuary. A haven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where we can park in the driveway.

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

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

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

Naps, Penis Envy, and Bruce Lee

Posted on August 12, 2013 by ajummama

Naps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was practically Me time, driving with my snoozers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TIME IS RUNNING OUT.

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

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

I kimchi squat real low in front of my car.

THIS WAS NOT TAKING A FEW SECONDS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bruce. No problem. Glad to help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Royal Week

Posted on July 27, 2013 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t do well with logic.

It is my kryptonite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Day They Cancelled Church

Posted on July 18, 2013 by ajummama

Lying is an unavoidable part of parenting.

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

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

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

“Micah, there is no church today.”

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

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

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

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

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

What lies have you told?

Peace.

Monkey Bars, Swings, and Bubble (Burst)

Posted on July 11, 2013 by ajummama

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

turning everything into monkey bars

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

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

pure joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, what?

I See You

Posted on June 12, 2013 by ajummama

It is already June.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And CAN I TELL YOU? It was GLORIOUS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet.

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

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

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

What a gift it was.

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

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

LeJihee Signing on For Another Season

Posted on May 23, 2013 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOR NOW, FOR ME, FOR US.