5.5 on 5.25

Posted on May 23, 2016 by ajummama

This is a time capsule letter for my firstborn, my GloWorm, our MLK,

I meant to write you a proper letter for your 5th birthday but now, you are already about to turn five-and-a-half on 5.25.

Today is your first day back at Kindergarden after missing three days last week, including your step-up ceremony. You were hospitalized for asthma for two nights and two-and-a-half days after the doctor could not get your oxygen levels up, even though she had given you three back-to-back-to-back doses of albuterol and steroids.

When we heard that you had to go to the ER, we all reacted differently.

Daddy became even calmer. He said he had to.

I started crying as Daddy pressed the elevator button with you in his arms, after he had packed a few things. “My podoh-ahl [grape pulp], the last time you had to be in the hospital was when you were born. I want you home and healthy!”

Ellis was still his funny self, asking for second dinner and for Mommy to play hide and seek because Mommy was so preoccupied. I snapped at him that I need some quiet and that I was sad. But at night, when he realized that you and Daddy weren’t going to be home, he said, “I’m going to punch the doctors in the face for taking my bruddah away.”

Micah, when you and Daddy weren’t here, even for just that first night when Daddy slept over at the hospital with you, the apartment just felt wrong!

I felt like my heart was outside my body, sleeping over at the Children’s Hospital, wheezing and struggling to breathe.

I even missed your whining, which usually drives me mad. Actually, I didn’t miss your whining but I wished you were healthy ENOUGH to whine, in theory (where I could not hear you).

I wanted to crawl into your lungs and make them come correct, damnit.

On Friday morning, I called your dad to tell him that you most likely would not be discharged until the afternoon, so no use coming by in the early morning before heading out to the office.

Your dad said, “No, I just need to come by and see our whole family together.”

Your recent hospital stay reminded me of just how much we love you and how this family needs each member. It also made me realize that on a universal level, one is beloved just by being born. Not into a perfect family by any means, but by virtue of being born, you are beloved by someone or some ones.

Also made me think we need to recruit more family members but I digress.

I also remembered the times you left me breathless (oof, no pun intended), just by being you.

Like when we recently went on a spring break getaway to the Berkshires, Daddy and I were sitting in the hot tub with you guys, but beating ourselves up for forgetting to bring swim floaties.

“How we gonna forget swim floaties on a hotel-swim vacation? Where is our head?”

Micah: “How about we just thank God that we are here?” (Word. Schooled by our young son.)

Or when we went to hike to a waterfall on that same vacation, you and I were able to have the most special time, walking among the logs and dead leaves, and you said, “Mommy, you know when I just don’t listen to you? That’s my bad. I will do better. I know it’s not easy.”

Or when we went away just to the nearby suburb of Plainview for Mother’s Day and we said we won’t have bedtimes and we were going to eat lots of chips even after dinner. You grew very serious and said, “This is a big night, guys.”

Or when you were lying on top of me on a bench at the Museum of Natural History in LA and I said, “Oh, I wish I had my sunglasses!” and you said, “I’ll be your sunglasses,” as you covered my eyes with your still-small face.

That was my favorite moment of our most recent trip to LA because I know that soon you will be too grown to agree to lie down on top of me like a blanket so that I can cuddle you and caress your face and tell you how you is kind and you is beautiful and you is beloved.

I even addressed that with you again, during our special hike to the waterfall, about how our relationship will change as you grow older and you answered in your usual thoughtful and literal manner.

“Mommy, when I turn into a man and you keep wanting to hug me, and you said I won’t want to hug you as much, I will at least stand there so that you can hug me. And of course, I will visit you – my kids have to play with you!”

Thank you for getting better and breathing better today.

Thank you for joining our family and being exactly who you are, even though you prefer your Daddy these days. And now is not the time to blow up your spot by including other less precious moments when we are butting heads down Queens Blvd.

I love how you instinctively grabbed my wrist so that I won’t slide down.

growing up before my eyes – hiking in North Adams, MA

you said you didn’t know how much you actually missed ellis until he was able to visit you once you got transferred from the intermediary ICU to the regular ward

Learning to Listen: Consolations and Desolations (Part 1)

Posted on July 13, 2015 by ajummama

I woke up on Sunday morning, wondering if I should skip church. I usually look forward to church but I was also on the brink of developing a twitch from NYC livin’:

The crowds, the heat, the smell of garbage wafting IN the heat, the strategic search for parking while the kids ask for snacks and car radio DJ duties, crazy congestion while driving in my ‘hood (all those one-way streets!).

As much as I enjoy church, it is a big church so I wouldn’t be able to avoid crowds.

If I hung back while the boys went to church, I would be able to relish the rare occurrence of being Home Alone.

Silence.

Space.

Solitude.

But I ended up joining them after all. As much as I craved solitude to hear myself think, especially after being out with them for most of Saturday, I also craved a good sermon in real life, not online.

Pastor Pete’s sermon was called “Listen.” Very timely as the boys seem to be listening-challenged this summer, especially while playing hward.

Also timely because I often refuse to listen to Kevin. Ever logical, he asked me how I can demand more communication from him yet refuse to listen once he starts talking. My reasoning that only makes sense to me is that once I hear him start talking, I know it’s not going in the specific direction I need it to go. Yeah, I know: wack.

So, I had a hard time listening to the “Listen” sermon. My firstborn started a new phase where he refuses to join Sunday School and wants to sit with me at adult service. I wasn’t going to force him to go nor was I going to sit with him in his class. So the deal was that he sit QUIETLY next to me throughout the whole service. Old school quiet with no i-anythings or even a crayon.

Kevin warned me not to reward him with hugs and cuddles. Oops. But he was being so good, making motions of zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. Kevin also had to serve time by staying with E in his Sunday School class, although he managed to get released in time for some of the sermon.

The point is, I was distracted, making sure M wasn’t sliding off his chair, “whispering,” kicking the lady next to me or otherwise disturbing the peace.

Towards the end of the sermon, Pastor Pete passed out this handout so that we could spend a few moments doing a listening exercise together as a church body, using Consolations and Desolations as a tool:

In case that handout is hard to read, here it is, directly quoted (minus my handwritten notes):

Introduction: One of the ways God speaks to us is through our deepest feelings and yearnings, what Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556) called “consolation” and “desolation.” Consolations are those experiences that fill us with joy, life, energy and peace. Desolations are those that drain us and feel like death. Consolations connect us with ourselves, others and God. Desolations disconnect us. The questions below are one simple way of discovering the interior movements of God through which He is speaking and leading.

Take about a few moments for silence, becoming aware of God’s presence. As you consider the activities of your day, ask yourself these two questions:

1. Where am I experiencing feelings of joy and peace? Where am I sensing connection with God (consolation)?

2. Where am I experiencing sadness, apathy, and a sense of life draining out of me? Where am I sensing disconnection from God (desolation)?

End with prayer for grace to be more aware of God’s presence and leadings.

Pastor Pete directed us to look back on the past two days for this exercise.

Here is my list:

Consolations:

1. Being outdoors in warm weather, preferably by the water. Brooklyn Bridge sprinklers on Saturday, jumping the waves at Jones Beach on Sunday. Watermelon, figs, olives, Korean pork jerky and cheese pizza only added to the joy and energy.

2. Family time with all four of us present.

3. Connecting in person with people I enjoy, not people I “should” hang out with. It’s always a treat when we can see friends in person rather than on a screen.

4. Taking in gorgeous scenery without rushing to next event.

5. A good book.

6. Writing.

7. Holding babies.

8. Swimming, yoga, hiking, walking, jogging. I would love to be outdoors for all of this.

This is turning out to be long so I will have to save my desolations for another post.

I also see how my consolations and desolations can collide or overlap, how too much of a consolation can end up becoming a desolation. More on that another time, I hope.

I just wanted to start a conversation for now.

Ladybug’s Landing

Posted on March 24, 2015 by ajummama

It’s been a couple months since I blogged. First, different things came up so I didn’t have the luxury of writing at night. Then we made it back to LA for our annual trip home. Well, MY home.

It’s been hard adjusting back to NYC life, my home of nearly ten years, after getting a taste of what my life could be like in a sunny, palm tree-lined land where I could see my family weekly instead of annually, and where my kids could grow up with my best friends’ kids. I’m sure I said that exact same thing about a year ago. I just feel so done with everything. The weather, the congestion, the potholes created by the snow, the commute to our car, the repeating myself over and over again as I hear the boys going back and forth between lovefest and fighting every few moments.

Even blogging and Facebook make me say, “Eh, why bother?” Life feels “thinner” or less full here away from the different way of life on the West Coast, away from the folks who’ve known me since I was a kid. Or from birth.

Daily tasks are just plain harder to accomplish here where space is at a premium and you don’t know how freezing it will be on any given day. To walk out the door still requires pre-bundling. Don’t even get me started on the huge disparity in customer service in SoCal vs my ‘hood. Folks be asking how it’s going while they SMILE at me, assuring me to take my time, asking if I need help with anything!

Finally, at the risk of sounding REALLY Californian, people’s auras were downright different. People were happy and light as they hiked through the canyons, not pummeled by constant cold weather and rush rush rush. I’ve been sighing too much. I’m still surprised by adult life even at my mature age. It sure takes a lot of energy to maintain a household, a family, a marriage, not to mention friendships, individual needs, wants, and goals.

Then I go through a cycle of guilt when I hear about a young mama passing away suddenly at the age of 30, or yet another unsuspecting soul being stricken with cancer.

In my recent rut, I wake up with my hands outstretched to the heavens, praying that God will give me strength for the day ahead when I don’t FEEL the motivation I used to have. The spring in my steps. The extra boost of mom stremf. My mojo is lost or at least temporarily misplaced.

It’s funny that in my slump, when the last thing I want to do is take care of other humans, my kids end up encouraging me when I least expect it. Just last week, I was probably sighing again as I refilled their drinks and got up to fetch another library book to keep them from asking for TV. While up, I put away a few toys, threatened to throw away Starscream if I stepped on him again, and peeked at the cable box’s clock to see when I can just sit in silence with no one asking me for one more thing.

Ellis climbed right up onto my chest with his huge round eyes. Like a cat. He peered right into my “I’m So Over This” gaze and pointed out solemnly and loudly, “Mommy, you so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

I didn’t feel lucky in that moment. I felt like the kids’ fat maid who needed to get fired.

“Why is Mommy so lucky?” I itched to know. He got even closer to my face, with his wet tulip mouth and no sense of boundaries. He placed his pudgy hand on my forearm.

“Because a ladybug landed on you, Mommy. At the beach, the ladybug landed on YOU. You lucky, Mommy.” He looked very serious like a little preacher.

I remembered. I remembered how we got to play at the beach on Kevin’s birthday during our trip to LA. It was around 85 degrees that day, the day after NYC had yet another snowstorm. So hot that we even got to go in the water. I was able to wear short shorts. And my beloved Crocs.

A light grey ladybug landed on me while we were eating our gas station samiches. I wanted to take a picture because I treasure magical moments. He flew away before I got to memorialize him. We all oohed and ahhed that the ladybug had landed on Mommy of all people!

That memory had stayed with little E. And he had felt the need to mention it now when I felt so very uninspired. The night before Ellis reminded me of this moment, a couple weeks after it had occurred, I had actually Googled “meaning of grey ladybug” while I was supposed to be using the bathroom. Just sniffing around for some magic or meaning as I struggled with the minutiae of life.

My dumpling son is right. I am lucky. Even when I don’t feel it. It sounds so much better coming from his innocent face instead of well-meaning adults.

And even when I couldn’t yield a Google search result explaining that a light grey ladybug landing on you while at the beach can only mean that you will win the lottery that month.

Saturday Night Live

Posted on January 21, 2015 by ajummama

2:30 am Saturday night. More like Sunday crack of dawn. The banging was getting so intense that Kevin poked his head out to ask the police officer, “Hey there, we have little kids so I was wondering if we need to evacuate.”

He apologized for the noise and assured us we didn’t have to evacuate.

The officer was there with about eight other firemen standing in our hallway. 2:30 am! Two firetrucks and an ambulance standing by outside.

Though I am the queen of rubbernecking, Kevin wouldn’t let me poke my head out lest a flying piece of door or wall get me. I couldn’t make out much from our peephole but I did know that the firemen were using an axe to force our neighbor’s door down.

The door that is inches away from ours. So close that when she and I are both unlocking our doors, we are practically touching.

We were shy about asking what was going on because er, they were busy AXING DOWN A DOOR. However, Kevin did manage to find out that our elderly neighbor had called 9-1-1 because she was sick and needed help. She could not come to the door.

Imagine being so sick that firemen have to bust down your door at 2:30 am. The loud banging, the drama, the walkie-talkies, the expense. The shame.

I was only able to think from the vantage point of a healthy, able-bodied thirty-something. I couldn’t fathom someone NOT being able to at least CRAWL to the door to avoid all that, if they were alert enough to call someone. My privileged, healthy ass just could not wrap my brain around it no matter how hard I tried. I would only understand if I ever found myself in her predicament.

Soon we heard her talking to the paramedics. Whew! She was alive.

Around 4 am we heard more commotion. I chose sleep over inquiring about new developments but Kevin, being the head of our household, got up to talk to the police officer in our hallway.

Our neighbor is a hoarder. When we first moved in, we had no idea but other neighbors told us. With disdain and digust.

The police officer told Kevin, “I don’t know how anyone lives like this.” Kevin agreed as he had to help her out during a storm. Kevin came back that day and said, “Let us never speak of this day again. My eyes have seen things I cannot unsee.”

I keep thinking about her as I stroll past her damaged door with the boys. Even as I type this, various workmen are tending to her home. Imagined her slumped over in her filthy apartment, helpless while listening to firemen break down her door to rescue her.

Does that mean she had NO ONE to call?

[Here, I have to confess that I also thought about how she has a three bedroom apartment that she pays below market for since she’s been here for decades, before it went co-op. Kevin and I both confessed that it had crossed our minds – if the co-op insisted that we buy her place for next to nothing, as long as we clean and fix it up. Even as drooled over the fantasy of THREE MORE BEDROOMS and ALL THAT SPACE, we didn’t know if we would take it due to the conditions. Anyways, I digress.]

I wondered what her life had been like before she started hoarding. Before she got so sick that she had to be rescued by police, firefighters, and paramedics. Was she lying there thinking, “How did I get here? How do I have no one? What happened to me? When did it get THIS bad?”

We have all experienced a Before. Before we got jaded. Before we became so resentful. Before we lost our way. Before we lost hope.

Unlike my neighbor, whose mental and physical health issues were on display this past weekend, many of us may LOOK like we are going about our lives, well-packaged and presentable, functioning in society with our own more tucked away demons. Even those of us with the shiny, happy Facebook profile pictures, have something that keeps us up at night.

Habits we have yet to break after years of trying. Addictions. Hopelessness. Anxiety. Insecurities. Emptiness. Feeling like failures in certain areas of our lives.

And not just the obvious addictions like drug, alcohol, gambling, or sex but other seemingly more innocuous “habits” like those who cannot be left alone, always having to avoid sitting with themselves by going on social media to avoid pain under the surface.

WE ALL HAVE SOME BROKENNESS.

So at first, I gasped at the Saturday night scene. And then I felt extra grateful that I have people to call before I call the paramedics (though just to be sure, I’mma have to email a few local friends and ask if they’d be willing to be my Pre-Paramedics phone call). And then I felt guilty for counting my own blessings at the expense of what our neighbor was going through.

And finally, I started praying that upon her return, she can find hope again.

Brotherly

Posted on January 8, 2015 by ajummama

I’ve always been drawn to unexpected things. And moments.

Unexpected things like miniature or giant versions of common, everyday items, still perfectly proportioned in their exaggerated sizes.

My sterling silver miniature abacus charm with moving parts, as big as my thumbnail. The gigantic bright green deck chair at a garden in New Jersey that can easily fit a family of six in one seat, making us mini ourselves.

Unexpected moments like when I walked in on a mother and daughter bickering at the acupuncturist’s waiting area about two decades ago. What’s so unexpected about that?

The mom was well into her 80s and the daughter in her 60s. Unexpected because I often think that certain moments are reserved for certain life stages and ages. Aren’t you then forced to graduate and evolve, having to behave the way grown or elderly folks OUGHT to behave?

I was fascinated. So much so that I can still conjure up a cloudy visual of the daughter getting visibly upset at her octagenarian mama. It also taught me that people are people, no matter what the age. You don’t stop fighting with your parents just because you became a grandmother yourself.

Recently, at my friends’ gorgeous doljanchi (Korean first birthday bash) for their one year-old daughter, I collected another such moment. Even more than the decadent pink and gold decorations, including a candy bar holding perfectly pink rock candy and gold chocolate coins in exquisite apothecary jars, this moment replayed on my mental movie reel.

My friend was holding his beautiful one-year old daughter, the star of the show. He was catching up with a few friends he hadn’t seen in a while, after moving to another state. While he was holding baby girl and chatting, laughing, his eldest brother suddenly swooped down on him with a bright smile and eyes so lively.

He fired off, “Hey, you’ve GOT to try this!” as he deposited a piece of gold-dusted peanut butter and jelly macaron into his “baby” brother’s mouth. Baby brother is now a 30-somethang doctor. Eldest brother, a pharmacist and dad to three. Baby bro opened his mouth wide, completely trusting his Hyung.

Our family drove home in the hail. In just one Saturday afternoon, NYC had provided snow, rain and hail as dramatic backdrop for the party.

As my firstborn played quietly by my feet and the other two boys napped in each others’ arms in our King bed, I kept replaying the brotherly moment in my head, smiling as if I held a juicy secret.

Why was I still savoring this seemingly ordinary moment?

When Eldest Bro swooped down eagerly to feed Baby Bro that delicious morsel, he was no longer this grown man with a receding hairline and fatherly responsibilities. And Baby Bro was no longer this physician, husband, father.

In that moment, they transported me to when my Micah was nearly three and Ellis nearly one. Ellis had just discovered Goldfish and Cheerios and other crunchy REAL snacks and Big Bro was more than delighted and eager to feed his baby bro. It was a whole new world as Baby had never been able to eat those foods before.

I would catch Baby sitting around in his turquoise Bumbo seat, mouth wide open, gurgling, accepting anything his big bro threw into his mouth. Brother could have thrown Legos into his mouth and he would have gladly accepted.

Upon further savoring of my friend’s brotherly exchange, I recalled another moment between my own brother and me when we were in the second and fifth grades. Our school bus transporting us to our gifted magnet school in an affluent area away from our home in Koreatown, Los Angeles was more than two hours late!

We didn’t know what to do. The adults at the bus stop were conferring. My brother was confused and scared. And hungry. I told him to go ahead and eat his packed lunch. He was still hungry.

So I fed him my own lunch. I watched him eat it while my stomach growled. But I felt so fulfilled as if I were eating the sandwich, too. I thought to myself, “This must be what it feels like to be a Mommy.”

I love these seemingly ordinary but magical moments that transport me back in time. So rich and unexpected.

Definitely experienced another Whoosh!

still feeding baby bird, er, bro at ages four and two

One. Five. One Five.

Posted on January 5, 2015 by ajummama

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

That is my favorite greeting of the year. I like to belt it out through the entire month of January though I wouldn’t mind saying it through the first couple weeks of February. Of course I love Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I can say “Happy Thanksgiving” only for the few days leading up to it because Black Friday (and Cyber Monday) take over and “Merry Christmas” is something I can only say once I know the greetee also celebrates, lest I offend anyone.

During this holiday break, Kevin used his vacation days to spend quality time with us. I ended up hanging out with my family for 14 consecutive, activity-filled days with only about 1.5 days of down time, let alone Me Time. So by the time 1.4.15 arrived, I was actually itching to go to the gym, to hear myself think. I made it out despite the rain and Ellis holding my sneakers for hostage.

There were three TVs side-by-side-by-side before me.

First TV: NY1 coverage of Officer Liu’s funeral in Brooklyn, NY.

Second TV: CNN coverage of more bodies found in the wreckage of AirAsia.

Third TV: ESPN tribute to their very own Stuart Scott who passed today at age 49.

Life seems predictable at times in this here First World – you’re born, you’re a cute morsel, you grow up, get some education, get a job, pay them bills. But these news stories reminded me that life is only predictable if you are fortunate enough.

A newly wed 32 year-old cop eating lunch in his patrol car is shot dead, execution style. 162 people board a plane that crashes into the Java Sea. Beloved pioneer sports anchor dies of stomach cancer at the age of 49.

Even with our stressors, triggers, entanglements, failures, insecurities, repeat failures, addictions, and pain, waking up to a new day is a GIFT.

New mercies every morning.

I went to a luncheon at church today to hear more about our friends’ short term mission trip to the Philippines. I heard about how the long term missionaries in Cebu, Philippines, Rick and Jiji Harner, tutor 200+ kids four nights a week, every week, while homeschooling 15 children during the week, including their own two children. Jiji just gave birth to her third baby girl on 1.2.15 and at the time of her birth, was getting ready to host a team of 12 American volunteers(!).

I was touched and inspired by how they just poured out and gave of themselves to their community, standing in as loving, dependable parental figures to some of these children. As a reflex, I was tempted to compare myself to them and how much they do in one day, but I had to catch myself.

We are all given different gifts and strengths. And limitations.

The Harners’ dynamic and countercultural way of life, as well as the stories of the people taken too soon inspired me.

In 2015, Year One-Five, I want to Thrive because I am Alive. To wake up to another day is a big fat gift that I want to gulp down.

Here’s to the New Year!

(And here’s to writing more).

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice. ” – T.S. Eliot

“It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.” ― Vita Sackville-West

Merry Sparrow

Posted on December 23, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

BUT…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mommy was released to do what she loves.

HUNT.

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

This time was no exception.

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

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

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

“Cats?” Never.

“Swans?” Beautiful but no meaning for me.

“Gnomes?” Gno!

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

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

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

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

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

And then I saw it.

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

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

Whoooosh!

Posted on December 10, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHOOOSH!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Blocks

Posted on November 19, 2014 by ajummama

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

Be grateful.

Be mindful.

Spewing forth negative words will make them come true.

Naturally, my rebellious spirit is kicking in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has become:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I find myself getting annoyed with every saying:

“Choose Happiness.” Shut it.

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

“It is what it is.” It blows.

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

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

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

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

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

PLEASE just help me not to party too hard.

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

“I Once Was Lost…”

Posted on November 13, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

Never saw it again after that.

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

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

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

But they never turned up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, Micah did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We were bear hugging and crying together.

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

“Open it.”

OPEN IT.

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

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

My boys had NOT played with that kitchen recently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The story of how You met us.