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

Whoooosh!

Posted on December 10, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHOOOSH!

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

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

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

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

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

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

True (S)tori

Posted on December 3, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True Tori.”

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

Until tonight.

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

That touched me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tiger Groom and Fox Bride Got Married Today

Posted on October 21, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is pouring outside.

Father Knows Best?

Posted on September 17, 2014 by ajummama

I acted like a teenager yesterday, abruptly hanging up on my parents via Skype. I just said, “BYE!” after getting salty towards my dad. Usually I let Ellis and his grandparents do at least seven rounds of goodbyes and air kisses to the computer screen before finally hanging up.

I never have the chance to talk to him these days as he spends most of the year in Japan without regular Internet access.

So when he is in LA, I try to Skype as frequently as possible to show him his swiftly growing grandbabies.

I ended up pouring my heart out about things that hurt and anger me in my current life stage. I was getting riled up just talking about it. Nothing to do with him. As always, the angrier I got, my Korean game stepped up.

I really wanted my folks, especially my dad, the person I seek the most validation from in the whole wide world, to just say, “Yes, I understand. I can imagine.” After all, I had been vulnerable enough to share my heart again instead of just hiding behind my baby, making chitchat only about him.

“WE FEEL YOU, BELOVED DAUGHTER,” would have hit the spot, too.

Instead, my dad said something like, “Aigoo, don’t say a peep more! THESE ARE THE HAPPIEST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE. Trust me.” Of course, he said it in Korean, so some of this is lost in translation.

I said something snarky like, “Oh really, Daddy? This coming from someone who said he can never babysit again because it was too damn hard when he was only SECOND-CHAIRING IT? Too hard even when only helping my mama out here and there during our annual trip to LA? That’s all you can say? These are the happiest days of my life?”

Today, I was beaming as I enjoyed Ellis at our Mommy and Me Zoo Class, a class I had been wanting to attend for so long with one of my boys, but wasn’t allowed to bring a tag-along sibling to. The zoo understandably said we must adhere to a one child-one parent ratio, or else it’d be too distracting. So after Micah went off to full-day pre-K, Ellis and I were able to get our zoo class on.

I just drank him in as he sat on my lap, petting Nona the Turtle and Emma the Snake.

A mental picture flashed before my eyes: how ecstatic our family of four was when Micah overcame a potty-related fear in our tiny bathroom while Daddy was giving Ellis a haircut in the bathtub. We hooted and hollered as if Micah had just received the call for his Nobel Peace Prize nomination.

I thought about how happy we are to reunite with any member of our small family after any departure, however short. “Mom, you back from the gym!? We missed you. Did you miss us?” “Daddy! Did you miss me SO much when you was at office? Did you keep thinking about me and go, ‘awww, Micah!’?”

Damn it. These ARE the happiest days of my life. While my dad and other first generation immigrant parents can work on being a bit more affirming, he was right.

I’ve said this over and over again but despite being stretched so thin, these are the highlight reels of my life.

One of my beloved bridesmaids so eloquently wrote to me this week, “Isn’t it so interesting how we can straddle so many different emotions at once?”

Tough in so many ways – marriage, finances, inner life, nurturing my faith, limited career options on the Mommy track – but yes, these ARE the days that I will look back on and crave the smoove, perfect cheek of my still-innocent boys.

See? See?!

Posted on September 15, 2014 by ajummama

My guilty pleasure, “Bachelor in Paradise,” came to an end last week. One moment that stayed with me was when Claire poured her heart out to the camera about wanting to finally find a man who would just SEE her for who she is and say, “Hey, I want you. You are it. I’m signing up for all of it.”

Last week was my firstborn’s first week of full-day school. Pre-kindergarden.

It surprised me by turning out to be a bigger week than I had imagined. After all, he had already been attending nursery school in the mornings so this was just an extension of that, right? Not quite.

And it wasn’t just about getting the logistics down, driving to and from another neighborhood everyday, timing Ellis’ and my morning activities, lunch, and nap so that they would all be completed in time to walk to our parking space three blocks away (though I’ve still had to wake up Ellis from his warm, toasty nap each day). Then, we finally get to go pick up Big Bro just in time for us to be waiting eagerly on the sidewalk by his school door, like paparazzi. I even snap a pic of him on my iPhone just to record how happy he looks after enjoying school all day, and also about reuniting with his family.

That is our favorite time of day, to catch a glimpse of our very own Micah, strutting down his school stairs with a radiant Denzel smile and a backpack bigger than his torso, exclaiming, “Mom! I only cried so little today!” We are his own little entourage of two. Ellis has even cheered loudly as Brother walks down to us.

Back to Claire from the Bachelor. She just wanted a dude to see her for her and say, “Yup, I see you, even your weaknesses, and I still want to be with you.” Somehow this reminded me of my boy starting school.

I have been at home with him since weeks before his birth. I see him. All of him. I know everything about him, from bowel movements to quirks to weaknesses to stremfs. I know his body better than I know mine. I know what sets him off, what makes him happy, what makes him sad. This is such a precious time because it won’t always be this way.

I see him for him and because all of his traits are a part of him, and I am the one who birthed him, he is the one for me. Now that he will be spending his days with his two teachers and 17 classmates, I wondered, “Will they be able to SEE him? Beyond him winning the #1 Crier award at dropoff the first few days, will they be able to SEE my Micah as I see him?” I hoped so.

Of course it takes time but slowly, I wanted them to be able to see the boy that I see. I’m sure all parents want the same for their precious little ones. And big ones.

Before his first week, I observed him at Orientation. He and his new classmate were playing house when she said, “You spit when you talk.” I gave them their space and just observed. He asked her, “Me? I DO? Me?” while rivulets of drool rolled down his chin.

So this is what it was going to be like to let him do his own thang for a full day. I wasn’t going to be there to run interference when classmates said things, or pushed him. He tends to freeze when attacked and I wasn’t going to be there to remind him to use his words.

And I know he ain’t perfect either. If he don’t act right, I wasn’t going to be there to tell him to come correct right quick.

Definitely some growing pains for Mommy. To send him off to grow and learn on his own.

I also didn’t think about the effect this going away to school business would have on Little Bro. I had heard on Facebook that many little siblings were having a hard time. Though my dude does ask about Micah hyung wherever we went, especially when we saw things that reminded us of him, which was pretty much everything since we three were rollin’ deep, homies 24-7 over the summer, my little guy also relished that Mommy was able to SEE him, just him. In fact, he loves to say, “See? See!?” after pointing at anything these days. “See? Supe-man!? See? Bah-Man!? See see? Mommy, see? Animals, see!? Squirrel, squirrel ova they-ah!? See?”

Yes, I see you and everything that you’re pointing to. What a treat it is to see you without having to split my attention. I get to see you with laser-sharp focus, with new eyes now that brother is off to school for the day, and I am honored. I am excited to see you grow up this upcoming year.

I love this concept of truly being able to see someone.

When you make friends in your 30s, you want them to be able to see you beyond your current struggle with your job or your spouse, or even your life stage, that you aren’t JUST the circumstances you met them during, but a whole person.

The question always seems to be, “Who do you even WANT to see you? More of you?” As I get older, the answer is, “Not as many as befo’!”

Therein lies the beauty of childhood friends, your people you can use shorthand with to say, “This is me. You’ve seen me, warts and all. And you’re still around!”

When you start dating someone, you want them to be able to see your quirks and weaknesses and not just put up with them but welcome them as they are a part of you.

And even as I write this very typical Mommy post, I hope that folks can see that while I sound like Just Another Mommy, waxing poetic about her kids, this is just a part of me. Just as I am, though I fear eyerolls and being insufferable as I am fully aware that anecdotes about your kids are usually only interesting to you or their relatives.

Speaking of “see”? I’ll SEE y’all later. It’s almost our fave time of day!

Honk!

Posted on September 8, 2014 by ajummama

This is Part Two from the previous post, so it may not make sense as an independent post:

I was relieved to hear Kevin challenge me instead of agreeing with whatever I said in my agitated state. “But I think it’d be good for you to go to church. You always feel better. Then afterwards, you can have the rest of the day to exhale.”

So I drove me and Micah to church the next morning since runny-nosed E needed to stay contained at home. I saw a parking space on the street so I pulled over to the left to grab the spot. Immediately, the car behind me honks.

I have Honk Rage. HONK HONK HONK. As SOON as the light turns green here in NYC, HONK HONK HONK, HONKY TONK TONK! Honk You! Most Honking City I’ve ever lived in (Seoul doesn’t count because I was too young).

Perhaps I should have pulled over farther to the side? Had I not signaled? Not sure. I just know that honks invite the Michael Douglas from “Falling Down” from within me to come out and play. They transform this Calculus Camper into a wannabe thug who wants to respond to your honk with, “Oh, aight, you wanna go in? Let’s go! Just don’t hit me in the face, son.”

As the car passed by me, I thought, “And I’ll just bet it’s someone from my church, too. Augh! Why do we even bother, coming to church week after week, trying to come correct, then go forth and honk away in this nasty concrete jungle. I AM SO OVER EVERYTHING! I should have stayed my ass home.”

The car passes me and the driver looks right at me, to see who had the audacity to pull over to park and cause an inconvenience. Sho ’nuff, it IS someone from church. For some reason, it makes my agitation grow though no previous ill will towards this person. Even though rationally, I know that maybe they were honking only to tell me to move over a few more inches.

But I don’t want to be rational. Just one of those “F*CK EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!” moments as I was already agitated.

After a tough Saturday, I CRAVED some rest in the form of sitting in the sanctuary and hearing a life-giving, refreshing sermon. I needed it. Spiritual spa.

Because Micah was having a hard time staying in his Elephant Room without his friends there on his first day, with mostly kindergardeners, I took him with me to the sanctuary to show him how close I would be to his new classroom. In a moment of wishful thinking, or denial, I LEFT MY JOURNAL on my seat, perhaps subconsciously thinking that by leaving it there, I would get to come right back by myself. To shed my negative thoughts and replace them with Word.

However, when we got back to Elephant Room, I saw just how out of place Micah felt on this first day and I promised I would stay the whole time, and would never sneak off.

During his Elephant activities, I told Micah that Mommy needs to run back for less than 30 seconds and get her notebook from the sanctuary since she was staying with him for the rest of his class. He started shaking his head vehemently and crinkling his face. Since I had left him earlier and Micah had started bawling, I didn’t want him to cry again if we could avoid it.

“Fine, Mommy will go back right after service and get the notebook.”

We went back and it was gone.

I asked the ushers and everyone was really good about looking for it. I checked the Lost and Found, and spoke to the person in charge.

I started feeling really weird, like my face was going to crumple up just like Micah’s. I felt really prickly, worn and fragile. PLUS, THIS WAS MY JOURNAL.

“I’m sure it will turn up,” assured a friendly face. But this didn’t comfort me at all. In fact, it made me feel similar to when Kevin says, “Calm down!”

I couldn’t believe it but I just sat down in front of the sanctuary and started to cry. I wished I had stayed my ass home. I didn’t need any more irritations.

Obviously, it wasn’t just for the journal though I did feel mighty naked and out of control to have it floating out there for anyone to pick up and read through, even without malicious intent. MY JOURNAL. As open as I already am, blogging for my tens of readers to see, the words in my journal are on a whole ‘nutha level of raw and uncensored thoughts and emotions. For anyone to pick it up and peer into made my eyes water and my heart beat fast.

Just then, a familiar face saw me crying and let me fall onto her and cry. “It’s my journal – I can’t leave and just hope it turns up.”

She promptly ran downstairs and found it for me in the one place I had neglected to check because I was moving too frantically from spot to spot, literally running through the church, holding Micah’s hand. Someone had turned it into the front desk. I hadn’t checked there after someone told me there is no staff at front desk on Sundays, only on weekdays. I felt beyond foolish.

The tears were for a lot of things. Stress. Frustration. Exhaustion. Burnout. Worry about the future. Not anything new. How I can’t get extinguish my envy when I see grandparents helping out regularly so that friends and acquaintances alike can reclaim their couplehood without the kids in tow. In fact, lotta grandparents were helping out even more as the kids grew older.

It was such an appropriate analogy, my having to choose between fetching my journal (WRITING/ME TIME) or staying with my kid (MAMAHOOD).

Before I had kids, I needed long stretches of quiet for myself to devour books, write, think, swim, decompress. Just because I became a mama doesn’t mean that my natural constitution immediately reconfigured itself and I can do without those life-giving things. I am still at my best if I can have longer, more frequent blocks of quiet for my overthinking brain to cool off.

But reality is that my kids come first to my wants. Most of the time, I’m okay with that as that is what a Mommy does. I even embrace it because it feels like I was born for this. But I’ve come to also realize that if I neglect to take care of myself in these ways I have labeled as pure luxury, I won’t perform at my optimum level..

I felt so annoyed that Micah wouldn’t “let” me go fetch my notebook, though I know he was really thrown by his new surroundings. Then, I started beating myself up over a lot of miscellaneous, irrelevant crap, including my crying about the damn journal.

It’s just hard sometimes, and even harder to say that especially using these trifling examples of “sacrifice.” Big deal – I had to stay with my boy at his Sunday School. But it wasn’t just that. It was an accumulation of thangs. And I know I should be thankful. Always. That guilt makes me feel worse.

As a Mama, I expect myself to be selfless but oh, how selfishness rears its ugly head. I want uninterrupted time to myself. I want to watch MY TV shows. I want to listen to MY music in the car. I want to attend MY service at church. I want to be able to talk to Kevin without interruption. I don’t want to share my mochi ice cream.

Why I gotta be the adult all the time? Just because I AM one?

YES. The answer is Yes.

Growing up is hard to do, even for a Mama. Growing pains are not just for the youfe.

How Did You Get Here?

Posted on September 2, 2014 by ajummama

I just got off the subway after a topsy turvy day on Roosevelt Island with the boys and our small group of buddies.

It also happened to be the hottest day of “summer” on this second day of September, the day after Labor Day.

I learned that I should follow my gut about certain excursions with the kids, like the Rockettes Christmas show that Micah wasn’t ready for, a Central Park picnic I didn’t take a stroller to, the 12 hour day in Manhattan, and several others in the Kim Outings Hall of Fame.

Despite a nagging feeling to pass on this group excursion, I went because I wanted to catch our buddies before our respective first days of school. I couldn’t shake this feeling that it was going to be a tough, raisin-in-the-sun type of long day with unexpected stressors.

Oh, and it was going to be a humid 92 degrees out, but I wanted to seem down!

The subway elevator that went eastbound from Roosevelt Island was unexpectedly broken on our way back home, after tram rides, playground, my failed attempts to feed them, sprinkler fun, rest stops, sunscreen applications, and bathroom breaks. And stroller protests. And my eye abrasion/infection that showed up out of nowhere.

Did I mention 92 degrees?

Our other little buddies went home earlier and didn’t need the elevator because they either didn’t have a stroller or had a Daddy to carry down their Strollerus Prime.

My friend and I were forced to take the only working elevator down to catch a train in the OPPOSITE direction, westbound into Manhattan, farther from home, to get to another elevator subway stop in Manhattan that would eventually take us in the right direction.

Of course, by then, it turned out to be rush hour so we were lucky to even be able to fit our huge doublestrollers onto the subway at all.

As I was shoving my butt into a seated passenger’s face in order to fix Micah’s stroller seat, the young man asked, “Would you like to sit down so you can fix his seat?” I thanked him profusely and we got to chatting, while my friend was crammed in on the other side of the subway car.

He ended up telling me his story. I love stories.

He is a 21 year-old Puerto Rican from East New York and he just got released from his second prison term. We chatted about our respective days, first about how we were experiencing different types of exhaustion, then onto racial dynamics and implications (one of my favorite topics), his time in prison, NYC, God, and more.

I noticed that my stop was coming up so I said, “I’m totally gonna have to interrupt you to ask you a question as a mama. When you look back at your life, what do you think could have helped you stay up? What could have helped you from going down this particular path? I have to ask because I’m the mama of these two young men konked out in the stroller and I gotta do right by them.”

I confess I was fishing for an affirmation in the form of, “If only my mama had been a stay-at-home mom until I was at least five years old, taking me to museums and playgrounds all over NYC, including the Roosevelt Island tram on a hot day like today.”

His answer?

Idle time. He had gotten into trouble because he lived in a bad neighborhood and was bored after school let out. He didn’t have an afterschool center where he could have discovered creative outlets for his restless energy.

This conversation with a perfect stranger on the subway is still percolating. I had already been thinking a lot about the different trajectories our lives take.

Our head pastor is also Puerto Rican and from East New York. Rich has mad Brooklyn pride, always trying to hoot and holler, “I’m from BROOKLYN, y’all” any chance he gets when he preaches. In fact, HE GREW UP ON THE SAME BLOCK as the young man I met on the subway!

Somehow, Rich was able to stay out of trouble and today, he is a pastor of a deeply impactful church in Elmhurst, Queens.

Though Rich is a bright dude, it wasn’t that he was simply “better” or smarter than the Subway Guy.

Sure, one can argue that we all have to take personal responsibility for our choices but it isn’t so black and white. The factors that lead to the different paths our lives take include different influences, decisions or series of decisions, missteps, a case of wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time, serendipitous good fortune, and most of all, timing.

Any one of these things can change the entire arc of our lives.

Ultimately, he was the only one who could take responsibility for certain choices that he made. However, different factors were at play to shape the mind of a young boy in the projects, leading up to his being incarcerated at the age of 16, then again at age 19.

I have always been fascinated by how so many different “ingredients” make up our lives and trajectory they take.

The family we are born into. The class we’re born into. The country we’re born into. The person we end up marrying. Having children. If those children have special needs or become ill. Just to name a few.

Sometimes, I wonder, what if I hadn’t met and fallen for this boy from CT/NY? What if Kevin hadn’t met this crazy girl from Cali? What if neither one of us had ever gone to law school? (Then we wouldn’t have such student loans! But I digress…)

And also about the future, “What is our family’s vision? Is our next step only to move into a bigger, nicer space and live the picket fence dream or should we do something radical and countercultural?”

Though I often wonder, “How did they get here?” about others, like the young man on the subway and millionaires, the pressing question I am grappling with these days is, “What is next, Lord? What am I called to do? Who am I called to be?”

But right now, I am called to join my family for dinner.