Precious Moments

Posted on September 13, 2017 by ajummama

As I grow older, I am realizing time is as much of a commodity as money. In some cases, more.

Right now, I have to use the bathroom but I want to write so badly before Olive wakes up from her mini-nap. I would choose writing over eating, depending on my mood that day.

Once Olive is up, we have to be on our way to fetch the boys who will stick their sweaty heads into her Snap N Go to give her kisses all over her chubby face as I repeat myself, “Give her space! She is a person! Here’s some Purell!”

Hours later, I will get to hand the three off to Daddy as soon as he gets off the subway to release me to Parent Engagement Night, aka Back to School night.

As packed as our days (and nights) are, I can tell these are the very days Empty Nesters will remind us to enjoy every moment of.

I’m not sure what I want my blog to be. I often wish I could be the blogger who writes about tips on taking trips with kids, or recipes, or other how to’s but I’m not wired that way. I am prone to confessing, sharing too much, and talking about my inner life, aka being a Non-Monetizing Blog.

My kids take my breath away. I won’t be able to share much as they get older but for now, I can still share these mundane but meaningful moments:

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Photo #1: Alone but Together

My big one wanted to assert his independence by riding alone on the kiddie ride this past weekend at Six Flags. This was a precious moment as Ellis and I beamed when our ride would line up with Micah’s and Micah would beam back with his one missing tooth. I will carry that moment in my heart and hopefully conjure it up when they are pre-teens.

He wanted to be on his own but did not find it uncool yet to be thrilled to see us next to him.

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Photo #2: I Spy with My Blue-Lashed Eye

“Micah, can you make sure Olive…”

“Yeah, I’m already holding her hand and foot so she knows she isn’t alone. I checked to make sure the sun is not in her eyes. She has some tears on her cheeks so I wiped them. She has some on her lashes, too. And I’m gonna sing to her now.”

Though Big Boy and I butt heads from being wired too similarly during our low moments, he blessed me so much when he told me yesterday, unprompted:

“I appreciate you taking us to the library program even though it was crowded and loud. I’m proud of you, Mommy.” HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY.

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Photo #3: These are the Days of Our Lives

When there is a new baby on the scene, folks immediately and naturally relate it to their own stage in life. “Oh, we are SO done! I can’t even imagine going through that again!” “Now we get to travel! No diaper bags! We sleep so well.”

It’s been extra busy with Back-to-School events and forms that have got me cross eyed, those darn blue cards with fonts shrinking every year, this time in Spanish first, then nearly invisible English.

Kevin and I have not been able to soul-talk after a big fight because we have to talk about the more mundane but necessary items like how to keep us all clothed, fed, bathed, hydrated, schooled, homeworked, and bedtimed, and other -ed’s. And yet, I can just feel that these are the very best, most tender days of our lives, while the kids are still so pure and while we are still not decrepit.

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Photo #4: My Olive Royl at 3.5 months old, post Baek-Il

Cracking us up by being so calm, down for every family adventure, suddenly drooly like Biggest Bro was, sucking on her whole fist and wrist like she workin’ on a jokbal (Korean roasted, seasoned Pig Foot). She has moved on from smiling to trying out this sound called Laughter and splashing lots in the bath. I must capture on video.

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Photo #5: Don’t Forget Me, Mommy!

My Middle has expressed that he would like to be born again so that Mommy can love him again as a baby. Awwww. Imagine being snuggled so much until a smaller, cuter thang arrives out of your mom’s swoll belly, monopolizing her time, energy, and teat.

With three kids, there isn’t as much of Mommy and Daddy to go around. I pray that we can still make each FEEL loved.

Olive is up and we must get going. Thank You Lord for each moment. Please give us more energy for the second half of our day.

Behold: New Things Have Sprung Forth

Posted on September 8, 2017 by ajummama

I know the timing of this post sucks. Hurricane Harvey hit Houston about a week ago and now Floridians are bracing themselves for Hurricane Irma.

So I feel sheepish and rude to share that while catastrophes swirl about on our green globe, in my personal life, I am happy. Quite possibly the happiest I have ever been.

I recently realized that I respond to “How are you?” by sharing laments or struggles because that seems to be the easier way to connect to others. I know I can’t connect to someone if they only share green pastures, Happy Happy Joy Joy, perhaps because there is no risk involved in sharing only the shiny moments.

But because I am the opposite and lead with difficulties first, I want to work on sharing praises more, without worrying that others might be like, “Well, congrats to you, bitch. Can’t relate.”

I’m repeating myself but having a baby at 40 was an answer to a couple years’ worth of prayers, asking, “Please remove this impractical desire for a third baby OR somehow work it out for our family as I am consumed by this desire.” I shared before that Kevin had a vision from God and it was realized when I conceived at the age of 39.

Sure, we are tired because we have a wide-eyed baby with no official bedtime yet, in addition to two growing, active boys who need our attention, in some ways more than when they were babies. But even in that sharp tiredness, we sing and laugh each night, as our cheeky girl shimmies to our pitchy serenades.

We shake our greying heads in amazement that she has joined us when for years, she was a fantasy I tried to excise, only joking about it, wiggling my eyebrows and quipping at Costco, “I’mma just buy some prenatal vitamins, eh? My obsession won’t go away,” and Kevin saying, “Not funny.”

Also, after many of our weekends were devoted to house-searching, our prayers for a house were answered in the form of, “Nope, NOT YET!” Surprisingly, staying in our imperfect town has added to my happiness. I appreciate living closer to couple close friends, our non-family village.

Just a few weeks ago, we moved to a slightly more spacious apartment in the very town we wanted to graduate from, and we love our new amenities.

We sit on our tiny terrace to have family dinner together while the weather is still gorgeous. Kevin and I people-watch. We saw a dad screaming at his kid because the kid didn’t listen, causing some groceries to spill out. Now that we are parents, we completely judged the kid and commentated, “He should have listened. How many times the poor dad gotta repeat himself!?”

Biggest quality of life update: We have a second bathroom. Glory be! Even with such upgrades, by the grace of God alone, I remain down-to-earth puahahaha.

Because we live a quick jog away from our old co-op, we were able to drop by twice before we gave it up completely. Though we outgrew that space almost as soon as we moved in in the fall of 2010, all the memories came rushing back as we looked around the vacant space:

My parents, fresh from the airport, walking in to see their first grandchild, just days old, six pounds of fragile newborn, laying in his bassinet.

Another son joining his more laid-back parents two years later.

Hoisting my pregnant self off our high bed once again in 2017 and my water breaking for the first time, to meet our first daughter.

Just as Micah and I became teary-eyed about the memories housed in those 900+ square feet, Olive let out a rare yelp, as if to say, “Enough. Let’s roll out. I only had a couple months of memories here and I’m ready to make more with you guys.”

19″Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert.”

Isaiah 43:19

Thank You, Lord, for letting us say goodbye in installments, to our old home. And thank You also for new things springing forth. I am so happy and learning to enjoy green pastures. Every good and perfect gift comes from You.

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If These Walls Could Talk

Posted on August 10, 2017 by ajummama

In less than a week, we will be waking up in our new home, our unexpected new home for just one year, while we soul search about where to lay down roots.

I might have to force the family to do vision boards.

Goodbye to our first home as parents.

Seven years, three babies, 900 square feet.

Thank You, Lord, for watching over us, through the laughter and awe, through the screaming and tears. ALL OF IT. Only You knew the answers to all of our questions.

I waddled in here on September 28, 2010, with baby Micah in my womb.

Now we walk out as a family of five. Grateful beyond belief.

What words

have smashed against
these walls,
crashed up and down these
halls,
lain mute and then drained
their meanings out and into
these floors?

What feelings, long since
dead,
streamed vague yearnings
below this ceiling
light?
In some dimension,
which I cannot know,
the shadows of
another still exist. I bring my
memories, held too long in check,
to let them here shoulder
space and place to be.

And when I leave to
find another house,
I wonder what among
these shades will be
left of me.

“The New House” by Maya Angelou

6.24.17 (photo credit: Keri Tan Photography)

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That Robin Life

Posted on August 2, 2017 by ajummama

When we arrived at our annual retreat in NH last month, Ellis exclaimed that a mama robin was feeding her babies. Since we were unpacking, we didn’t really hear him until we saw for ourselves, right outside our window: these scrawny baby robins with their mouths open crazy wide, expectant for Mama Robin to drop juicy worms into them.

Perhaps this is a common sight in certain areas but for us living in Beep Beep Honk Honk NYC, it caught our breath. We watched in amazement. The birds’ beaks were open so comically wide it looked painful, almost 180 degrees. They never doubted that their mom would return and drop in some sustenance. They never said, “I ain’t no chump, opening my mouth like a fool. I’mma front like I ain’t hungry and when she comes, THEN I’ll open up.”

I told Kevin: I had no idea that the mom has to fly off as soon as she drops the worms into their beaks! Why does she leave so quickly like she in witness protection? Where is the dad?

“I don’t know. I don’t have a PhD in Bird. But yeah, I wonder why she has to leave so fast.”

We arrived Sunday afternoon. We watched this family several times a day. The scrawny birds grew up and their wet tufts started looking more like their red-chested Mom. I teared up when the teen robins started practicing their hops and flying skills, their growing girth now overflowing out of their starter home nest.

And on Thursday, they were gone when we came back from the lake. In the span of just four days, they had become completely independent! Their empty nest of twigs was the only remnant left from their formative days outside our window, the nest that had been overflowing with four robin siblings, weighing down the tree branch.

It was an honor to watch their lives unfold. It also made me think about praying expectantly, like those baby robins who cried out until their moms dropped worms into their beaks. I want to cry out like them with bold confidence that I will be cared for.

I want to cry out like a baby robin for big things like our friend’s baby who needs God’s healing touch. For small things, like moving with three young kids and no grandparents to ship them off to.

My Olive girl is no longer a newborn as she is more than two months old now, my baby-est robin.

I want to memorize the beaming smile that emerged at Week 8. I want to remember yesterday’s discovery that she may hate her carseat in the car, like on the way to NH, but she’s down for taking a walk in the summer evening with a breeze softly caressing her chins, the very chins we can push to lure a smile out of.

I want to remember my 6 1/2 year old son’s new jack-o-lantern smile with his first missing tooth that he was so excited about.

I don’t want to forget my nearly five year old son’s earnestness, crying when I forgot to roll down the window in time for him to yell out a final goodbye to his summer camp teachers.

And how much they love their baby sister, asking if we can show her to their classmate playing in the courtyard or to their summer camp pastor. Unpacking schoolwork that says, “I am thankful for pizza and my baby.”

Now that I’m 40, I feel life moving even faster. I see why older folks nudge us to enjoy every moment. My hair is greying even more swiftly, my teeth yellowing, my back aching, my kids talking like teenagers, and my baby outgrowing baby clothes she used to swim in.

The other day, I couldn’t drive home because another car was blocking a one-way street, trying to score a coveted parking space. It took so long that drivers behind me were honking, one guy got out and tried to walk over to see whassup, Olive was crying in her sweaty carseat, Micah was updating me on each detail of Olive’s cry, and Ellis added, “I have to poo.”

I started laughing maniacally and actually bursted with tender gratitude for the moment. This was my life, my Mama Robin life before my robins fly away.

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5.26.17 Clementine, a pre-birth story

Posted on June 9, 2017 by ajummama

Since the last post, we have officially become a family of five. Thank You, Lord.

Our tiny Olive Hope Kim is already 12 days old today and just about 6 lbs after losing then gaining lotta ounces. She was nearly Olive Poema Hope but a family vote knocked (my) choice out pretty much immediately though I campaigned for it after I heard a sermon on Ephesians 2 on our being God’s “Poiema,” God’s workmanship and masterpiece.

I also considered “Clementine” for a split second when I had to rush to the hospital two days before her birth, but the back story is just gross and not meaningful. She is the only one of my kids who took me to the hospital before their official arrival.

I am itching to write for the sake of writing and sharing and feeling more myself, though some of this is while holding Olive. I want to feel more balanced as I’ve been nursing ’round the clock and trying to catch up on sleep in short little spurts during the day. Sleep deprivation is a beast especially after I’d been sleeping soundly for years.

I took the boys to get their hair cut yesterday when they were home for Chancellor’s Day, one of THREE days off from school this month of June.

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Their barbers were asking me details of how I want their hair to look and I loved that they cared enough to ask. But I closed my eyes for longer than I had planned and said, “Can you please excuse me for a moment? I haven’t been getting enough sleep so I can’t even answer the most basic of your questions. Just one moment. Please forgive. Thank you.”

Where do I start? Lemme back up to 5.26.17, Friday before Memorial weekend.

Micah had been home with me four out of five days that week, with a bad cough attack similar to what had landed him in the hospital nearly a year ago. I felt bad for him as his cough shook his skinny little body but I confess I also felt sad that this possible final week of being pregnant was not as restful for me as I had daydreamed about.

I went to go use the bathroom while Micah coughed away on the couch. When I wiped, a clementine-sized sac protruded from me. Though I knew it was NOT the baby’s head as i was in no pain, I completely freaked out and started crying, imagining myself on a reality show, Geriatric Multigravida Gives Birth in Co-op Toilet While Son on Nebulizer.

I called my doctor and the nurse told me not to get up. But how could I not. I had to pack for hospital and get someone to come over.

I called my friend, our emergency contact that God had provided. My biggest fear of going into labor was that no one could take care of my big kids especially if I had to go in the middle of the night. Our friends graciously and gladly offered their help, a true answer to prayer.

I got Micah’s albuterol treatment started as my friend rushed over. Her husband was ready to pick up Ellis from pre-K later that afternoon. I was beyond grateful for these helping hands that allowed me to get to the hospital without worrying about my boys.

Once I got to the hospital, the nurses asked me lots of questions. I told them that all morning, I felt something different down there, almost like I was sprouting a penis. I kept telling them it was a clementine sized flesh sac/water balloon that decided to hang out when I was on the toilet. The nurses tried to make me re-enact what happened but the clementine hid itself. They also told me that my descriptions were disturbing and terrifying.

Since they could not figure out what happened, I was discharged. They said even if they had figured out exactly what was protruding, the baby was doing fine and there was no reason for me to stay in the hospital.

They advised that next time, I take a picture of the clementine. I berated myself for not doing that in the first place. Kevin assured me that I was normal and not a perverted sicko, to not think of taking a picture of my privates during that alarming moment.

So that is the story of how 5.26.17 was an alarming day leading up to her actual birthday. We ended it happily eating Chinese food with our dear emergency contacts, not knowing that baby would be arriving within 48 hours.

“Immeasurably More…” – Mother’s Day 2017

Posted on May 17, 2017 by ajummama

Mother’s Day 2017 started out with the boys scurrying around with their homemade cards and origami flowers while I enjoyed a prolonged snuggle with my Snoogle, our old pregnancy pillow that we miraculously didn’t throw out over the years because Kevin liked it for himself.

The boys presented me with their bounty and also did their Mother’s Day choreography to Boyz II Men’s “Mama you Know I Love You,” directed by Daddy since 2015. Kevin made me a veggie omelette, which Ellis also nibbled on.

Micah’s one gift was a handmade heart that said, “I love you so much it’s as easy as drawing a heart.” He also added, “And you’re also easy to draw, Mommy, because I’m good at drawing fat people now.”

We went to church and all the adult females were gifted with a single pink carnation. Ellis asked, “But Mommy, why you take the flower when you said we can’t buy you any kind of plant because then you have to take care of it?”

Pastor Rich Villodas spoke from Ephesians 3:20:

²⁰Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, ²¹to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Now he pointed out that though many focus on “immeasurably more” as in blessings in our personal lives, the passage is actually referring to how God can bring opposing groups together, immeasurably more than we ever imagined.

But I was marinating in the “immeasurably more” as in more blessed than I’d ever imagined. There were two times in my life where I struggled with a debilitating depression.

While in the pit, I informed my parents that fine, I will stay alive because I have to but that I won’t ever thrive in this here life. Sorry for being so broken and such a burden but you guys will have to take care of me for the rest of my life because of the darkness I just can’t emerge from. As a parent now, I think about how devastating that would be to hear from your child who “should” be having a blast in those much anticipated college years.

Talk about immeasurably more than I ever imagined. Despite those earlier dark times and even tough times in more recent years as we struggled in our marriage, here I was, sitting in the balcony at my colorful church in Queens, NYC, with a bonus baby in my belly, my two sons who crack me up daily, and a husband who just may be the Most Reviled husband for making others look bad.

But I have to put myself on blast as the day took a different turn. I swear I was thinking about my Immeasurably More Blessed status even as we drove to Brooklyn for the Mother’s Day Brunch that Kevin had reserved.

On the way there, Ellis warned us he was getting carsick so we parked very far from the restaurant to get him some fresh air. Whew, vomit averted. We walked many blocks to the restaurant. One block before the restaurant, Ellis gagged and bent over, vomiting onto the sidewalk, like a little man hungover. Passersby commented, “Aww poor kid.”

As far as vomit goes, this was ideal. Sidewalk vomit, only a mild spittle on my shoes.

I don’t know if my bad attitude started brewing then but once I saw the set menu, I went from basking in my Immeasurably More Blessed status to griping for Immeasurably More than the limited fancy egg or samich on the menu. I still don’t know how I went from beyond grateful to pissed off so fast.

I started getting crabby as the boys fought over the phone, which I had hoped would not have made its appearance but Kevin was worried about Ellis’ stomach so he thought it’d be a good distraction. Then I noticed all this glassware on the table that no one else seemed to be mindful of while I could picture spills in slow motion.

No kids’ menu so they were gonna have to order same overpriced egg or samich from the adult set menu. The waiter said he would bring the kids some pistachio ice cream for their dessert later and because we were harried, we both said, “Yum.” Then I called him back to say, “Oops, he’s allergic.”

My attitude spiraled down from there, as I thought, “Man, I wanted to just tag along today. Clearly, I can’t just be passive for one day. Mama still has to be hyper-vigilant.” Again, unfair since Kevin totally holds it down so that I can mostly be passive.

Ellis remarked, “Mommy, you MEAN on Mother’s Day.”

I just wanted to confess this Mother’s Day attitude that I later apologized for. I dunno if it was the hyped up holiday or my hormones, but even at my most grateful, I jacked up AGAIN. I might have stayed up too late the night before, finally trying to catch “Catastrophe” with Kevin, or I just had too high expectations, unbeknownst to me.

After I apologized, I asked Kevin to not surprise me next year as his veggie omelette was way better than the $40 egg I had at Glassware Galore Restaurant. He reminded me that last year I had requested brunch ambience aka White Papple ambience, so that is why he chose this place but that next year, I can chime in since my cravings are ever-changing.

Anyone else’s Mother’s Day take a topsy turvy turn?

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At least the $40 egg included homemade cinnamon donuts with caramel sauce.

Watch the Sky

Posted on May 5, 2017 by ajummama

The other day, I took a quick solo drive to the out-of-town public library to grab Micah some more difficult chapter books per his request. Our local library is closed for repairs and due to parking issues, I prefer driving out of town anyhow, especially if I get to do it alone.

No work, no doctor appointments, no urgent tasks to complete other than purging before another (mini) family member joins. Not having to rush from point A to point B or respond to urgent emails, running no other errand than the library run was rejuvenating.

I admired the spring flowers on our block as I walked to fetch our car.

Minutes later, I was driving on the highway with zero traffic, sun shining bright, when this ditty came on the radio:

If you wanna go and take a ride wit me
We three-wheelin in the fo’ with the gold D’s
Oh why do I live this way? (Hey, must be the money!)

HEY! Must be the money! I could imagine my girlfriends from two decades ago riding with me, turning up the volume and laughing. Even in present day mini-van with our garish McDonald’s Happy Meal emoji hanging from our rearview mirror, I felt 20-something and extra grateful for the day.

Grateful for breath, my life and the life pop-lockin’ inside of me. Grateful for the sudden surge of energy this week, after last week’s sluggishness where I would just have the kids gather ’round me in my bed. Then another great song came on:

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow.
A wave tossed in the ocean.
A vapor in the wind.
Still You hear me when I’m calling.
Lord, You catch me when I’m falling.
And You’ve told me who I am.
I am Yours, I am Yours.

Who am I, that the eyes that see my sin
Would look on me with love and watch me rise again?
Who am I, that the voice that calmed the sea
Would call out through the rain
And calm the storm in me?

Life truly is about the simple things. A solo drive. No traffic. Two great songs on the radio.

The night before, I needed to konk out after staying up too late to review some boring, time-sensitive documents (adult life). I could have drifted into dreamland right then but I felt jipped of my sacred, quiet time after kids had gone to bed. So I left my lamp on so that I could read just one exquisite short story from my new library book. I reread certain passages and it was time well spent. It felt like a square of fine dark chocolate or hot red tea after a meal. Recalibrated my brain.

This reminds me to add a simple joy to my day in the raw postpartum days to come, when hormones are off from nursing while adjusting to the new normal of a helpless little babe completely dependent on me.

My parents did not appear to value self-care. They believed that they could not afford to, that it was a wasteful luxury just for the unencumbered upper crust folks with margins in their lives. Or maybe that’s what they told themselves as it was too painful to admit even to themselves that they could use some sweet time just to exhale and enjoy life.

I don’t fault them for this way of thinking as they had to work as much as possible to pay for life’s necessities. They didn’t get to collect a paycheck from some air-conditioned office.

I used to follow my parents’ standards as an excuse for why I, too, thought self-care was fluffy and for folks who weren’t diligent and hard-working enough. I went so far as to judge those who prioritized self-care in a way that was foreign to me, coming from my background.

“Another massage? Another date night? Didn’t you just come back from vacation? How ’bout you take a break from taking a break?” But now I see that my parents would have fared better had they not just worked all the time, had they somehow carved out small pockets of leisure.

When my mom owned a small gift shop in Panorama City, CA, working at least six days a week, ten hours a day, she would comment that the moment she heated up her lunch, customers would barge in. And nine out of ten times, these would be annoying customers, those who would ask the price of her whole inventory with their eagle eyes and too many extended family members in tow, and then leave without a single purchase. This is why to this day, I don’t like going into someone’s small business or vendor booth just to look, chitchat, or merely compliment an item without buying.

My mom would sometimes feel chained to her store. Once, when I was in high school and visiting the store, she sighed and said, “Sometimes, I wish I could just run across the street and lie down on that patch of grass, just roll around and look at the sky.”

I now wish I had insisted that she do just that. Go right on across Roscoe Blvd., Umma, and lie down on that patch of grass in front of the old drive-in movie theater. Exhale. Watch the sky. Watch the clouds drift. Grab a cold beverage. Think about something that makes you laugh. I got you.

I remembered this when I was in Bryant Park last summer, and I purposely lie down on the grass in the middle of my day. A homeless man was to my left, damp green grass under me, and the blue sky above me.

I am going to create more “Watch the Sky” moments. Priceless.

We are not to walk on the courtyard grass but I just had to get close to these beauties. They looked like they were made of pink Kleenex.

I mean, they were bigger than my kids’ faces. Nature is astounding.

Vision of Hope

Posted on March 31, 2017 by ajummama

We recently heard a sermon that asked us to ask ourselves what good came out of a dark time, that if it weren’t for that struggle or storm, we would not have been able to receive the good or learned that lesson.

A few years ago, Kevin and I were fighting one night. Nothing new during that era. Lotta fighting after the kids would go to bed. Our church tries to equip us with marriage tools so that we don’t fight dirty but when I would get upset, the last thing I would think about were them tools.

Not that I forgot about them but I would scream, “F*CK those tools! How am I gonna talk like a robot and speak in the MF ‘I’ when I can tell that I am NOT being heard!?! And just so you know, we ain’t getting away with sh*t just cuz the kids are ‘sleep. They can absorb this toxicity even in their dreams. We hurting them but we keep doing this. I hate us.”

Kevin would try to fix things by resorting to logic, coming up with solutions and that would, of course, enrage me even more. Looking back, I think I just wanted him to say, “I hear you. You are hurt. I really hear you.” (He may have even said that but oof, my fury burns hot.)

One particular night, we escalated ’til our throats were hoarse and he had to take a walk. While walking, he prayed, “I just can’t do this. It’s too hard. It’s not getting better, Lord.”

He came home and seemed different.

He told me, “It makes absolutely no sense and you’re gonna laugh at me or get furious when I tell you this. While I was praying outside, God gave me a vision of you sitting in a hospital room with a newborn baby _________ in your arms, smiling. I saw the number 39 and the letters ___ and ___ and I sensed that God was telling me something, that it will get better and this vision of a new baby, even though there is just no way.”

“Lemme ask you something. Did I have a husband in that vision and if so, who was he?! Cuz right now, it SHO don’t seem like it’s gonna be you. We oil and water. That vision be MEAN and maybe something your mind spat out because you Christian and you don’t want to divorce? And how do people divorce anyways, especially in NYC? Pay for TWO homes!?”

Months later and years later: “Dang it, why you gotta tell me about that vision!? I am praying for peace about no more baby but that vision of yours keeps nagging at me! What if it’s supposed to play out and we blocking it?”

Kevin logically explained, “So maybe it wasn’t a vision-VISION but something God just gave me to encourage me in that moment because I just wanted to give up. Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Fast forward to my 40th birthday, when I got official word from peeing on my pregnancy test at my gym (more privacy than in our apartment), I did the calculation and realized that just like in Kevin’s vision with the prominent #39 that caught his eye, I had conceived our child during my last few weeks of being 39.

The dark years of fighting dirty and repeatedly hurting each other gifted us with not only Kevin’s vivid vision of hope but ways to fight better. No counselor, church, book, or friend could have gotten through to me about how I must stop fighting dirty; I had to experience the cost of fighting dirty and how it truly got me nowhere.

Without those dark years, I would have prematurely tried to fanagle one more baby because time was ticking, without learning how to communicate better. Had I been blessed with child a couple years ago, all three kids would have been so young, my hormones barely regulated and our marriage may have fallen apart.

I’m extra grateful with my hands to the heavens and hopeful as the June due date draws near, but I’m also being realistic about tiredness, lack of margins, and being much more worn out nearly five years after our last newborn. Prayers for us, please – to break the old cycle and create new cycles of hope and clear communication even with a new human to care for.

my first two babies in 2013 – sorry for fighting loudly when you went to bed

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older and hopefully wiser mama in 2017, though I wrote “1st tri” instead of “3rd tri” and didn’t notice that the “c” in “coconut” had gotten wiped out and baby labeled as an “oconut”

Like Sands Through the Hourglass…

Posted on March 6, 2017 by ajummama

FullSizeRender (5) FullSizeRender (6) FullSizeRender (7) FullSizeRender (8) FullSizeRender (9) FullSizeRender (10) FullSizeRender (11) When deliberating where to go for our last hurrah vacation as a family of four, we were able to narrow it down to L.A. vs. Orlando. Thankfully, we didn’t have too many options to cull through as our passports have not been renewed and other Florida spots were known for Zika outbreaks. As much as we would have loved to go back to my hometown, we opted for Orlando as Escaping the Cold and Relaxation were our #1 priorities.

You know how we all say, “Where has the time gone!?”? I can recall a few moments from this delightful break where I actually could pinpoint my kids growing up before my very eyes.

As much as our Wild Florida Airboat ride, Gator and Wildlife Park, Legoland, Crayola Experience, and other excursions made the trip fun and memorable, I replayed the precious growth moments over and over in my head during our week together. They may sound mundane but I still recall them vividly:

When we arrived at Crayola Experience on the one rainy day of the week, I immediately looked for a bench to hobble towards as I had been having acute back pain. It was so bad that we looked into renting an Electric Convenience Vehicle at Legoland. Anyways, the boys were dancing in front of some moving crayon images while I watched. Suddenly, a massive group of students on fieldtrip entered the space between the boys and me, while Kevin was in the admissions line. I still had my eye on them but they could not see me. I craned my neck to keep my eye on them and watched as Micah’s face morphed from slight panic to great resolve.

“Ellis, come!” Micah looked ever firstborn in that split second as he grabbed his compliant little bro’s hand and starting walking away from the crowd.

“Micah! Mommy still sees you! Where you going? I never lost sight of you.”

Micah, looking relieved: “I was taking us to the workers to report that we had lost our mom.” (Of course I thought about the movie, “Lion,” all over again. Gulp.)

For some reason, this moment has left a mark on my heart. My boy is growing up. I don’t see the drooly toddler who soaked through 15 bibs a day, no exaggerating, as we watched the big kindergardeners go off to school. This is a bonafide big brother who snatched his cheeky little brother when he thought that this was finally the moment his mom had warned him about, “If you ever get lost, go up to someone who works there OR go up to another mom!”

He is ready to become Big Bro of two.

Second moment: When we hit the pool, Ellis usually asks one of us to hold him as he gets adjusted to the water. I didn’t realize how much I savored that babyish habit until this time, in our Orlando pool, he said, “I don’t need you any more, Mom-oo!”

I paused to take the moment in. “My Pillow Cheeks has grown up so much. You don’t even need Mommy any more!” I sheepishly swam away backwards while facing him to watch him grow before my very eyes. He must have felt this moment too as he added, “I don’t need you. But I still want you.”

And the final moment was at the airport. We were strapped for time as I had kept us another 15 minutes at Disney Springs. Instead of trying to manage with my jacked back, one sleeping Ellis, and too many bags for Kevin and Micah to carry on their own, we flagged down a porter. When I told the porter our flight time, he said, “We have to hurry.”

But I could not hurry. I could hardly walk as I felt stabbing pain on my lower back, even with a belly / back brace on. The rest of my family ran with the porter. I tried my best but I could only walk. My eyes started watering from the pain and I looked up to see my Micah’s concerned face. “My mom…she can’t run. She’s coming. Mommy, you can do it, you can do it!”

Now, my eyes were watering from the love my growing boy had for me as I hobbled to keep up. I always imagine him from a few years back, where I did everything for him. I guess it didn’t dawn on me that as he grows up, he will be the one cheering ME on. I had underestimated the six year old boy before me.

His stricken look didn’t go away until I was able to join them in the elevator to make our flight. I realized that our family being together was just as important to the kids as it was to us.

Thank you, Orlando, the host of our precious moments! Happy 40th Birthday to Kevin, who took care of all of us on the trip!

Flipping the Script on Envy

Posted on February 10, 2017 by ajummama

As I’ve shared before, I am euphoric when pregnant. I imagine soundtracks playing as I subway to work or walk in the frozen tundra to pick up the chil’ren:

Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed Be Your name

Blessed Be Your name
When I’m found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name

I feel like I won the lotto to be able to experience this all over again even with a growing, peach-fuzzy stomach,

linea negra faint black line down my belly,

gagging while brushing teeth,

burping on the drive to church and being shocked by more than a burp,

and popping Tums for dessert night after night.

However, I am still a three-dimensional human being and find myself struggling with envy even during this abundant season of verdant pastures.

Pastor Rankin Wilbourne once shared that he would never be envious of Kobe Bryant’s basketball skills. He is more susceptible to becoming envious of another pastor whose church is flourishing in a way his church is not. I get that.

I’m not envious of most things because I couldn’t care less. You thinner than me? Congrats! So are many. I don’t care. I want to eat more empanadas.

You have a great science mind while I was happy to earn my “B” in AP Bio? Cool – maybe you can drop science on my kids one day while I watch Wendy Williams.

You have a fat salary but have to work crazy hours? That’s great that you have that drive but for me, for now, no thanks.

However, there are wounds I carry and if you are blessed in those areas, I feel the wounds getting picked at again, or at least my armpits getting sweaty. Currently, we are blessed enough to have four living grandparents for our children. But all four of them are not geographically available and three of them are not available in the way I yearn for. I also don’t have a dad who can pour into my life. THESE ARE SOME RAW WOUNDS.

As abundantly blessed as I am, when I see doting grandparents, I tear up. When I see my friends get affirmed by their dads even at our mature ages, I cry. (Hell, I’m crying now, typing this).

I want my kids to know and FEEL that other than their loving but imperfect Dad and affectionate but limited Mom who still hates to cook, there are a couple others who love them to pieces and would sacrifice for them, not just connect on the phone once in a blue moon.

But I don’t stay sad because my default emotion is anger. I spew out and release my “Fuck Yous.” I don’t actually hate on my friends with blessings in this area because they handle their blessings with gratitude and grace, but when an innocent stranger posted on a FB Mom group about how both sets of grandparents watch her kids, NEVER LEAVING HER ALONE WITH THEM, and how one of them dared to ask for carseats for their own car so that they can go on adventures with their grandchildren, I had to bite my tongue because I want to say, “FUCK YOU VERY MUCH YOU FUCKING PRINCESS!”

Everything is relative. I KNOW THIS IN MY HEAD but my heart ain’t feelin’ it at times.

Someone could very well be thinking the same of me as Kevin does the heavy lifting in our household. In that way, I am pampered and ever grateful. But he also does this heavy lifting partially because he knows I have NO ONE ELSE and that it grieves his emotional wife. People have advised that I look for friends or “spiritual family” to lean on but I don’t dare lean on non-relatives when I know their plates are full, too. And frankly, friends have their own extended REAL families.

I also think about my friends and what they must struggle with. Friends who have suffered baby losses while they see pregnants all around. Friends whose kids have received diagnoses while they see neurotypical kids going about their regular school schedules. Friends who pray for a spouse. Friends who pray for healing of their illnesses. Friends who beg God for a baby.

HOW DO I/THEY FIND PEACE in our respective areas of need!? I know one solution is to stay in our own lanes and be grateful for everything we do have. But I need something more because in this real world, we don’t live in a bubble and we can’t help but notice each others’ lanes.

I want to grapple with envy in a different way. I don’t wanna become Bitter Miss Fuck You or only want to play with people who have my exact same struggles. I will protect and distance myself from folks who subconsciously enjoy being the object of my envy because they feel elevated from my raw confessions that I wish I had what they have.

Lord, give me tools to flip the script on envy. I know that it is not a single battle but a life-long journey but mature me in this area and teach me to deal with this in a healthy manner, and not resort to anger. Please guide me when the going gets tough and I hear Satan whisper in my ear, “Bet you wouldn’t be struggling if you had grandparents around like so many of your friends!”

I will hold you to this verse I love for 2017 – please spring forth a new thing within me:

Isaiah 43: 19 (NIV): See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

(photos of my blessings below)

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Me being held by my beautiful Mama Love, who may be geographically unavailable but emotionally available and still wrestles with her grandchildren because it makes them squeal