“Just”

Posted on June 3, 2014 by ajummama

I’ve stayed away from the Stay-at-Home Mom vs. Working Mom discussions.

They simply don’t interest me.

Even though I’ve been an at-home mama from the moment my firstborn arrived, I get turned off by memes on Facebook that are “rah rah rah Stay-at-Home / ‘Full-time’ Moms (both labels sound off to me).

You know, those posts about how being a mom is the hardest job in the world and how at-home mamas’ tasks as chef, chauffeur, entertainer, consultant, if assigned a $ amount per task, would command a six figure salary.

I prefer “At-Home Mama.” Dropping the “stay” makes it more true for my experience.

Yesterday, my well-meaning working mom neighbor paid me a “compliment.”

She always asks, “How are the kids?” and wonders how I can wrangle the both of them as she finds even one toddler to be a handful.

I like her.

So I know she didn’t intend to give me a small jellyfish sting when she said, “People think that just staying at home is easy but I’m telling you, I know that just staying at home is not always easy. It’s a hard job. I have two jobs myself. I work at my job then come home and work at home, taking care of my baby.”

Reminded me of when working moms say, “Well when I have a sleepless night, *I* have to go to work the next day!”

As much as I don’t like the tired old debates, I do see why at-home mamas feel compelled to toot their own horns. To try to glean some respect and appreciation even though you won’t really understand.

I didn’t like her repeat use of the word “just.” I struggle with the “just” myself in a society where multi-tasking and being too busy is revered. I no longer bow down to multi-tasking because we don’t know what lurks beneath. What is the hidden cost of all that juggling? I’m sure it’s high.

Neighbor went on to share that she needs a break so she’s going to have brunch with girlfriends and run errands to have the day all to herself. I have to confess that as much as I abhor the SAHM v. working mom judgments, I found myself thinking, “Yo, it’s Sunday. You away from your child at least five days a week, so what you yearning to take a break from exactly?” I thought this KNOWING that when I worked outside the home, I was spent from my work week by the time Friday rolled around, all that commuting on the subway and office politics.

I knew that this mama can have whatever the hell break she craves but the martyr within sized her up against me, myself and I, a mama who generally spends seven days a week with her kids, all day, everyday (though I’m working on this as martyrs die before their time).

But for a moment, I found myself judging as a reflex to her earlier statements about “just staying at home” and “I have two jobs.”

Tooting thy own horn is a defense mechanism to society viewing you, subconsciously or very consciously, as Less Than.

I remember speed-strolling with Micah when he was an infant when I had to say, “Excuse me, can we please get by?” to a sidewalk hog.

After she grudgingly let me by, she said loudly, “You see her? She ain’t got nowhere to go! Rushing with nowhere to go!” Of course, as rushed as I was, I made time for a quick U-turn to drop some knowledge.

She had immediately assumed that because I was strolling with my infant, I ain’t got nowhere to be. Or if I did, it wasn’t that important, “important” in the worldly sense. If I were wearing my Theory slacks, Banana Republic blouse, heels, thumbtyping frantically on my Blackberry, carrying something akin to a briefcase, my rushing would surely be justified because clearly I have an office to get to.

But no, I am JUST a mom.

just a mom cleaning out her car

The underbelly of the age old Mommy Wars is about worth. Who is more worthy? Society answers that it’s the multi-taskers and income-earners.

Tonight, I didn’t want to fall into the trap of trying to “rest” at home once Kevin walked through the door because it is straight up the opposite of rest when the kids know that I am not really gone, just tucked away in the bedroom. They even knock frantically like an episode of “Cops.” I have to leave the house.

I ran to my gym with my earbuds in.

I caught a glimpse of the same neighbor mama once I crossed the street. She was just standing on the street, sipping on a large Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee, looking weary from a long Monday.

We looked at each other for a moment, smiling, nodding our heads. I waved as I ran by.

At first, I speed-judged again! “Why isn’t homegirl rushing to be with her baby she’s been away from ’til 7 pm!?” Then I realized I have no idea what her day was like, just like she has no idea what mine was like. She was standing there on that busy street, under that awning, decompressing before she went home to her family.

I realized why I loathe the tired old debate about which type of mama is more of a superhero. Rarely have I seen a balanced debate because both sides are too busy passionately defending their choices without considering the perks of both sides.

Too busy demanding to be heard and understood, like quarreling spouses.

As an at-home mama, I confess that I DO have down time when their naps overlap. Down time to sneak in a blog post or crack my toe knuckles as I go over my to-do list until one of them emerges. But then again, working moms can also zone out at their offices and phone it in from time to time, sitting in front of the Internet (with the exception of some jobs like surgeons – I pray that you never phone it in). I was part of the workforce for years to know that some days you’re getting paid to sit on your butt in your cubicle.

Making judgments or rather, forming “impressions,” is part of being human. But we can work on gifting each other with grace, cutting each other a break.

I enjoyed the micro-moment from tonight, as I ran by that fellow mama. My fleeing from my beloved rugrats as she braced herself for what awaited her at home.

We just trying our best.

Not Just the Most Popular Korean-American Girl’s Name

Posted on May 30, 2014 by ajummama

When I happen to score some down time during the day, like now, about one hour of nap overlap between the boys (if and when Big Bro succumbs to a late nap), I have plenty of tidying up, organizing, planning, or preparing to do.

I am choosing to write instead. For mental health reasons. I gave Kevin a heads up about this. I let him know that if I can squirrel away some quiet moments during the day, I will most likely use it to open up the laptop without one monkey trying to convince me that it’s YouTube time or another monkey climbing up my body, babbling, “mmmma-mmmmmmaaa!” in such an irresistible way with his Puss in Boots eyes and delectable cheeks that the next thing I know, I got him banging on the keyboard with his strong little fingers and mama forgetting which email she had to respond to.

In case people are wondering, it’s not just the physical work of looking after little ones all day, the hypervigilance I wrote about before, but the invisible emotional energy you are expending. So I choose emotional health by doing something calming and enjoyable during these precious breaks, even though I technically have the time to do the pile of dishes or get the stroller packed up for our evening excursion into Manhattan.

Emotional energy like:

Being patient spill after spill,

tantrum after tantrum,

after someone makes a run for it, out of the playground with a proud smirk on his 20 month old face,

running to grab the little guy who is more fearless than Big Bro at the same age, climbing up some advanced apparatus while you were adjusting Big Bro’s scooter helmet for him,

watching Big Bro slide down a new, steeper slide then realizing that Little Bro’s bedtime prayers were answered: the perfect Distracted Mommy opportunity had presented itself to jump into a shallow lagoon that had accumulated during the rainstorm,

speaking calmly, like a hostage negotiator, to convince both boys to climb down “slowly…slowly…easy…” from something they got attracted to.

So this morning, I had exactly 30 minutes to get ready and out the door. I really need to get everything ready the night before but again, I plead mental health reasons for wanting to completely exhale late at night and NOT have to be a responsible mama in advance.

Well, I learned my lesson. I hate having to rush so I will definitely prepare what I can the night before. I can’t even watch my husband’s favorite show “24” because the countdown stresses me out way too much (and that movie “Before Sunrise” where Ethan Hawke HAS to get to the airport and I’m freaking out way too much about the countdown to actually enjoy the movie).

I kept hearing the countdown in my head as I made a smoothie, one cheese quesadilla for Micah to eat at the playground after school, one egg and cheese quesadilla for Ellis, packing small fish boocheengeh for them to nibble on, their drinking cups, Oh, Ellis you climbed onto the table and spilled the water on a book, lemme change you, doh, I gots to brush my teef and tie my hair and change, Ellis, get down from that chair, you will Ah-Yah! Ellis please, we have to get into the stroller now. No Ellis, we can’t take that outside. Oh, Ellis, Mommy just has to run and grab the library books.

Then things got real harried as I scrambled to grab Micah’s scooter from our tiny coat closet, where everything fell out as I tried to finesse his scooter parts and helmet out. The entryway had a few stray toys and shoes that I ran over with our huge doublestroller, thereby breaking Micah’s toy saucepan.

I can’t make a clean getaway as a HUGE BOX OF DIAPERS we got delivered yesterday had the audacity to CONTINUE TO REMAIN THERE.

That is when things go left in my head and I start going down a familiar path.

“I told Kevin that one of the big obstacles to peace in my day is the damn lack of space, especially this entryway. I told him a countless number of times that if he and I can both do our part to at least clear the entryway so that when I’m rushing out the door, I don’t have to try to maneuver my way out, RAGING. And by ‘he and I’ I clearly mean ‘he’!”

“I guess he just doesn’t care enough to actually move this HUGE BOX OF DIAPERS for me. God forbid he make my life any easier even after I’ve asked him so many times to please help in this way.”

Then, I caught myself. There was a flash of a word that zapped onto my brain, not unlike the countdown I kept hearing earlier. Holy Spirit, is that You?

The word was GRACE. Not just a common Korean-American girl’s name.

GRACE. Something Kevin pours out to me daily. And Kevin does more than most husbands I know.

Yet when there is a huge box of diapers that just happened to be impeding my path, something I didn’t even notice myself until I had to rush out, instead of tapping into some GRACE towards my husband whom I used to shower with grace (in the B.C. era – Before Children – and even more so during our long distance dating era), I went down a dark path that sometimes ends with a dramatic (rerun) finale called, “Does He Even Truly Love Me?”

So tonight, I’m going to think and talk about Grace and why I hoard it these days. One reason is because I’m skurred that if I gift him with too much Grace, he won’t respond to my requests for change, or receive them as Urgent. Even though he explains to me that it would only spur him on to do better, I keep thinking that my angry outbursts would do a better job of getting him to never dare leave the huge box of diapers in my path again.

Grace seems too soft.

Maybe, just maybe, to hold myself accountable, I will choose Grace over Criticism for the next week and see what happens.

See why no Korean parents ever name their girls “Criticism.”

The Dark (K)night

Posted on May 30, 2014 by ajummama

Micah is so obsessed with this cool Batman character that when we finally introduced “Frozen” to him, he kept singing what I thought was, “Let It Back, Let it Back!” instead of “Let It Go, Let it Go!” I thought, “Man, this son of mine done flipped the script and remixed the song about shame by saying Let the Shame Git Back On You. Should I be concerned?” Then I found out, he was singing, “Let it BAT, Let it BAT…” as in “Batman,” even rebelliously pointing at Elsa and Anna, scolding them, “No, you Batman and Batman!”

He even told me somberly with his signature earnest expression, slight drool pooling on his tulip bud mouth, on his smoove-skinned three-and-a-half year old face, “When I am Micah, people say to me sometimes, ‘you cute, oh you nice’ but when I am Batman, people say, ‘Who is that!? Cool! I feel safe, wow!'”

This struck me as profound.

I feel lost these days, even with the anchor of husband and two sons I get to hug and kiss in buffet portions.

I’d take “cute” or “nice” any day, but I am amazed by this little human’s assurance in his Batman identity that he can assume simply by donning his worn out, cheap Batman costume. His whole posture and countenance is different when he comes home from school and puts on his Batman garb, complete with sunglasses he added under the mask and Little Bro tagging along as a superfly Superman.

I wonder what my Batman costume looks like. I don’t feel like I’m enough these days, pouring myself out for my kids. I feel like there’s so much potential in this 37 year old brain and body that I’m not able to tap into. And it’s not as simple as “Well, why don’t you go work outside of the home then?”

In some ways, being an at-home mama is truly my calling. Not in the domestic duties as I get overwhelmed easily with all things housework but in the engaging my kids and gobbling them up and showing them affection and telling them stories for days. Plus, now that I’m a mom, I have to be more selective than ever regarding what type of paid job is worth being away from my kids. Can’t be whitefisting through some meaningless job just for that paycheck. Anyways, I don’t want to digress too much as this is a loaded topic, something I’m not ready to blog about.

Micah has also expressed sadness about the upcoming end of his school year. We’ve been blessed with a good first school experience. He said he wants to take his teacher with him and that if he gets new teachers at a new school, he will be very mean to them. It touched me as I recalled how quiet and serious he was on his first day of school.

It also made me think about how different toddlers are from us grown folks. Change scares him. He loves his current everything. His routine, his classmates, the objects around his small classroom, his teachers.

On the other hand, Mommy feels beyond ready for change. Almost idolizing it. As blessed as we are with our lives, we’ve outgrown our current life in so many ways. Many families in our ‘hood are making the grand exodus away to the ‘burbs for their next chapter. Makes me wonder what’s next for us, how we can clearly identify our individual and family goals, and how we can achieve those goals to break out of our status quo.

So, to combat worry, I am practicing mindfulness. It is hard! I wake up, pray for strength for the day with the kids, and purposefully pause to listen to the birds chirping outside the window. I look into my kids’ eyes as they talk or try to communicate with me throughout the day. I enjoy the warmer weather and our enchanting courtyard.

I even try to play mind games with myself, to trick myself into fully embracing and even enjoying the annoyances of life which persistently chap my hide. I try to change my perspective by reminding myself that I am blessed enough to have a parking space albeit three blocks away, and a laundry room we have to visit in the basement of our building. They will someday be part of the Kim family narrative, “Remember when Micah and Ellis were three and one, we’d have to go visit our car blocks away and make a little fieldtrip to the laundry room?” And it will make me appreciate what we’ve (hopefully) moved onto.

Sidenote: I have noticed that when trying to Change Perspective, the “At Least…” method does not work for me. “At least you don’t have bigger problems than this, you should be lucky that you only get annoyed by these mundane factors…” It makes me feel needlessly guilty and pissy.

What is next for our little family. I’m nervous. What if we don’t figure it out? Sooner than later please? What if I’m a loser? What if I never realize my potential? What if my husband doesn’t feel the same urgency I do?

Please Lord help me to be still and stop striving. To know that I am enough because You made me and therefore, I don’t have to grasp and claw for my worth. To know that You are Lord and take comfort in that. That even though it may not be evident that You are on the throne, You are. Please gift me with patience, the very thing I try to teach my own kids, while we wait on You for direction. Thank You for Your Word:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

“Taste and See…” even when you can’t feel it yet

Posted on May 22, 2014 by ajummama

I feel strongly. With every cell and through every pore and arm hair, especially the big emotions like joy and sadness. Sadness which speeds right along to anger many times, anger being my default, though I am working on slowing down this synapse.

So when I hear about others’ milestones like getting married or expecting a precious baby, I get so thrilled, even for strangers. I’ve hugged many upon getting wind of their news, and walked away wondering if I even knew their last names. Fine, first names.

The hope of a new beginning. The big milestones you’ve always imagined and wondered about (though I don’t think I ever dreamt about walking down the aisle, other than wondering who the dude at the end would be).

I remember attending many weddings in my 20s. The night before each wedding, I would feel my stomach doing somersaults, wondering how the bride could possibly go to bed before such a big life event.

This means I also feel the dark stuff with full force. When I heard about our friends’ son’s/Micah’s little buddy’s diagnosis and ensuing battle for his health, it was something that shook me to the core.

And please, I hesitated to write about any of this as I know FULLY well that this ain’t MY story, MY pain. Actually, ever since I heard about the hospitalization, I didn’t want to write any more.

Even as a mere outsider looking in, trying to walk alongside our beloved friends as best as I know how, everything else seemed pointless. Beyond stupid. Why bother?

How can I write trifling status updates on Facebook per usual when someone I know beyond acquaintanceship is going through something so tough? Am I gonna blog about my still normal life? Why? How?

It’s not the type of news I can hear and keep it moving.

Then I heard of more stories of suffering within the past month. All involving young boys ages five or younger.

Of course, not the first time I heard of suffering – just turn on the news. But something about this time, hitting a friend so suddenly, as the rest of us prepare for the summer and sort out preschool plans.

It is some bullshit.

I know that life and love, every good and perfect gift, comes from You, Lord. They are just that. Gifts. We are not entitled to any of it, but come now. When the health of a little one is involved, I can’t help but cry out to the heavens with my fists clenched.

“O taste and see that the LORD is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!”
Psalm 34:8 (NASB)

Lord, I’m having an Israelite in the wilderness moment but it’s hard to see your goodness and wisdom right now. I’m sorry that I look at You with suspicious eyes.

I’m also feeling like a fat roasted luau pig being able to enjoy this glorious weather we’d been longing for, tagging along on my firstborn’s first real fieldtrip, while my friend’s family will be in the hospital for at least a few more weeks, then figuring out their new normal.

I take it to another level by looking at all of us with “normal” problems as fat luau pigs even though I know I shouldn’t compare. By the way, I don’t know why I keep thinking of fat roasted luau pigs as the image for spoiled, without something real to worry about.

But I find myself doing it, judging any complaints that still fall in the realm of minor. “Really? You complaining again about parking issues? That your child won’t sleep well? OUR FRIEND IS IN THE HOSPITAL and probably wishing for these mundane problems!”

Or people who say bonehead things, speaking too assuredly when they haven’t walked through the same trial.

God has never ever promised us a healthy, wealthy life, free from pain. But I guess unbeknownst to me, I’ve been banking on it for me and my loved ones, though it makes no sense at all and it is downright entitled thinking on my part.

Kevin urged me to write again. So I’m here, clumsily testing out the waters again on my tiny blog.

Lord, can You please allow us to taste and see that You are Good?

I Love You, Bros

Posted on May 7, 2014 by ajummama

Oof. Lots of pain. In the news. In friends’ lives. Just too much these past couple weeks.

In our own home, too, when Kevin and I just cannot communicate effectively or hear each other since we are fixated on getting heard and understood first. Built-up resentment. Disconnection.

I want to thank the two dudes who help me to pause. Drink in their juiciness, their innocence. Force my heavy heart to shift during those moments I gaze at them.

My boys.

You TWO. TOGETHER.

First of all, my Ellis. I have to confess that when I found out at your birth that you were, just as I had suspected, another boy, I thought you’d be Micah 2.0 and that it would be a case of, “Oh, I already have one of those at home!” Blessed but not as exciting.

Quite the contrary. You look nothing like your brother, for one. Although…you look exactly like my mom. You’ve shown yourself to be my first Ellis, my only Ellis. The roundest, cutest circle eyes like Puss in Boots and a comical pout. You are more anime than flesh and blood boy.

I have a tendency to record my harried moments with you guys more than the perfectly delicious moments.

Thought I’d at least capture a couple brother moments with Micah nearly 3 1/2 and Ellis 1 1/2.

Oh, how you both love John Mayer’s “Heartbreak Warfare.” You both squeal with delight and throw yourselves on our bed, entranced while the CD has a few second delay before the track begins. Ellis even beams and says, “shhhhhh!!” before the song comes on, with his little pointer finger to his pouty mouth.

A few weeks ago, you guys were so quiet, which I thought could only be a bad thing but when I walked into our bedroom and saw you both sitting on our high, King-sized bed, in deep thought. You were studying on your own, Micah his Jesus Storybook Bible that he loves so much, and Ellis staring at his Story of Easter book, at the page with the Asian family singing at church. Oh, my little Korean Flanders boys. What a sight.

At that moment, I wanted to pull out another sibling from my womb just to see him/her perched along with you two, on the big spacious bed. Who am I kidding? There have been plenty of other moments, too.

It warms my heart to see you guys as best friends already. Even as you run around with other little cuties at the playground, no one is your Boy, like only your Bro can be. You hug each other so tightly that you end up on the floor of our lobby, with passersby having to go around the small heap of Korean boys.

You guys hug at least four times in the morning, as if Micah is going off to war instead of 2.5 hours of school.

“Bye, Baby! I’m going to miss you, Baby! I see you later with Mommy, OK?!”

I love that your second name is Baby. Actually, we hardly ever call you “Ellis.”

When I mentioned to Micah that Ellis cried at Mommy’s Women’s Bible Study meeting for the first time, Big Bro asked if it could have been because he missed his brother too much.

When Ellis accompanies me to pick up Micah from his school, Micah is so proud and announces, “This is my baby brother Eh-wiss!” as if the teachers and classmates hadn’t known that already.

I recently corrected Micah’s pronunciation of “Eh-wiss” but I do regret it now. Preschool speech need not be corrected in its unadulterated, adorably imperfect state.

You guys want to horse around so much that I paused mid-stroll to reconfigure the stroller seats so that you guys can face each other. Of course you guys promptly began to swat each other and kick, my two stooges.

You two imitate each other and yelp whenever you are reunited. Micah likes to do fake falls from his little scooter so Ellis started doing the same. Micah eggs Ellis on to say “Ahpuhdah!” (Korean for “it hurts!”) even though I ask him to at least give him a more positive message to mimic.

I never knew that brothers would bond this deeply and this early, while one is still a roly poly baby (at least in my mind). It is a type of cuteness that makes my teef itch.

I am blessed to be able to watch your moments daily. Feeds my soul though I do get crazed by all those spills.

I hug and kiss you guys about 77 times a day. Though Micah asks me, “Mommy, do you really love me?” almost everyday, I hope you do know that I am so very in love with you both.

Thank you for being my sons. You are my only Micah and my only Ellis. And I don’t mind one bit when you guys get obsessed with me because I know that I will yearn for these days soon enough.

“Set your minds on things above…”

Posted on May 5, 2014 by ajummama

Never say never.

I never thought I’d be interested in shows like “Wife Swap,” “Celebrity Wife Swap,” or “Supernanny” and I wasn’t until fairly recently. Now I look forward to “Celebrity Wife Swap” and save space for it on our DVR when I remember to record it. And I wish “Supernanny” was still on the air.

In fact, I was affected by an episode of “Celebrity Wife Swap” the other night.

Here is how ABC synthesizes this episode that I was impacted (poisoned) by:

Robin Leach is best known as the host of the long-running television series “Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous.” Today, Robin keeps a lavish lifestyle in Las Vegas, NV complete with expensive cars, elegant dinners, fine wines and champagne, and his “Lifelong Heartstring,” Joan Severance. Robin and Joan enjoy spending almost every evening out on “The Strip.” Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, CA, Eric Roberts and his wife Eliza live a quiet life, complete with a squirrel sanctuary in the backyard. Eliza, an actress in her own right, is not only Eric’s partner in life, but partner in work as Eric’s manager and radio show co-host. Eliza is constantly working and even built a bicycle workstation where she multi-tasks the majority of the day.

But it’s not all “champagne wishes and caviar dreams” when Eliza arrives at Robin’s house and shares that she does not drink alcohol nor enjoy Robin’s love of fancy dinners and late nights on the town.

In Los Angeles, Joan feels out of her element in her new environment, which includes lots of pets – and the job of feeding the squirrels – a task that Joan does not immediately take to. Joan also soon learns how busy Eliza’s days are. From chauffeuring Eric to his numerous auditions and answering calls and sending emails to running a household, Joan yearns for her pampered life back in Las Vegas.

When it’s time for rules change, these women have a few surprises for their new families with Joan bringing more work/life balance into the Roberts’ home and Eliza giving Robin a lesson in the art of simplicity.

After we turned off the TV, I said to Kevin, “That’s IT! I want Robin Leach’s life. NOW. Champagne wishes and caviar dreams, not leftover almond butter and jam sandwiches that the boys refused to eat during our playground run. And I’m not talking about just having a little more disposable income no mo’…I want to MAKE IT RAIN!”

Another Warren G(hee) moment, with a Robin Leach additive.

I want to be able to spend as much time with my kids but still be disgustingly rich. Even though I know how blessed and rich I am to be able to stay at home, albeit on a budget sandwiched between two sets of law school loans, I plead greed after watching Robin Leach stuff his face with his nightly caviar.

I bet he doesn’t have to choose between buying a nicer eye cream or going out for Mexican food as a family. Again, I know that I am still DAMN rich compared to most of the world, with many having to choose between feeding themselves or their kids, but please indulge my First World greed for this post and maybe a handful more in the future.

He and his lady friend could fancy any of their extravagant whims at any time.

Then boom, I found myself sitting in church the next morning, listening to our Pastor Rich, launching a new series from Colossians, specifically on being “Raised With Christ” and the directive from Colossians 3:2 to “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.”

Rich reminded us that being raised with Christ means that God’s FUTURE life is available to us in the present to ENJOY and DISPLAY, like an advanced movie screening of joy and peace.

He also provided us with a quote from Soren Kierkegaard: “Purity of heart is to will one thing.”

While my champagne wishes and caviar dreams may remain as mere wishes and dreams (or lust and greed), I must set my mind on things above. And I will be better for it. I can have joy and peace by willing one thing – GOD.

With my fleeting lust to be filthy rich a la Robin Leach or Jihee Lee(ch), it was easy to come correct and reset my mind on things above.

However, when I heard news about a lovely and dear friend’s little boy getting sick, it was much harder to ONLY will one thing. No, not just God but healing healing healing NOW NOW NOW. And while You’re at it, Lord, health of all loved ones at all times, please!

I was comforted by yet another quote Rich shared with us. Even the esteemed Henri Nouwen struggled with double-mindedness. Wanting GOD and…:

“Indeed, how divided my heart has been and still is! I want to love God, but also to make a career. I want to be a good Christian, but also to have my successes as a teacher, preacher, or speaker. I want to be a saint, but also enjoy the sensations of the sinner. I want to be close to Christ but also popular and liked by people. No wonder that living becomes a tiring enterprise. The characteristic of a saint is, to borrow Kierkegaard’s words, ‘To will one thing.’ Well, I will more than one thing, am double hearted, double minded, and have a very divided loyalty.”

Teach me Lord to will only one thing. YOU.

But I have to be honest with You, especially since You know all my thoughts and desires anyhow. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE heal our friend.

Please.

Thank You for giving us a blueprint for life through your commandments that will only set us up for Hope especially when nothing makes sense. Not necessarily champagne and caviar but something immensely richer.

You Fed Me Fried Fish(tail)

Posted on April 28, 2014 by ajummama

We rolled to Smorgasburg in Brooklyn Bridge Park on Sunday after church. About 100 food vendors.

Always nice to enjoy the waterfront and milder weather with, well, a smorgasbord of savory and sweet to nosh on. The downside is that food “fairs” like these are deceptively pricey. You don’t think about it because you’re not going to a fancy sit-down restaurant with cloth napkins.

You think that because you’re eating standing up, outside, from makeshift booths, you’re feasting on cheap eats but as you leave, strolling the kiddos on the cobblestoned streets of Brooklyn to your car, you come to realize that you paid $9 for six, tiny lumpia, $6 for an ice cream cookie sandwich, and $3.50 for a blueberry corn popsicle, just to name a few.

And you ain’t exactly full.

As usual, I ended up chitchatting with people among the crowds, asking people what they were eating and if it met up to the hype. Met a Chinese-American dad and his mom, with four kiddos and two cousins who are now living with them. Talked to a couple mamas with their double strollers.

The most memorable part of the food frenzy was when we sat down briefly at a picnic table to feed the boys. We ended up sitting next to an older couple who was doing work. The grandma, her chicken and waffles, and the grandpa, his fish n chips. It was a whole fish, fried, tail and all.

The line for the fish fry was absurd so I asked him if it was really that good. He was going to town on them, his hands full of fish juice and accompanying herbs.

He came up for air just to break me off the fishtail to try. He handed it over near my face, like we were family. I felt sheepish and shy, and honored, to have this stranger break me off a piece of the fish, no boundaries screaming, “I do not know you.”

I said, “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that! I don’t wanna take your food…” but he wasn’t gonna play this game.

And I got my taste of the deep fried whiting.

I sat there for a few moments, taking in the sky, the crowds, the music, the water.

I felt like weeping.

I missed my dad.

Even though I am now a parent myself, I think there will always be a vacuum in my heart, hovering around or encased within the God-shaped one, to be loved DEEPLY by my parents. I KNOW they love me so much, but to be able to bawl into their bosom/chest and feel the love of a mama/papa bear for her/his cub.

This isn’t something I consciously think about daily as I Mama Bear my own cubs but once in a while, as I fall asleep at night, or wake up from a vivid dream, oh, how I long to bare my soul to my earthly parent and be truly seen, heard, accepted and prized.

Kevin has noticed it in more recent years as my dad has become less and less accessible, spending more and more time overseas just to cobble together some income in his twilight years.

Kevin said that I seem to be yearning for the love and guidance of a father, and that sometimes, even when he is loving me as best as he knows how, as a best friend and husband, I seem to be looking past him, searching for that fatherly love.

I told this Irish man and his wifey that his gesture was so touching, to be offered food like we was family. He shrugged it off and said with his charming Irish accent, “It was good. I wanted you to try it.”

His Irish-American wifey, born and raised in Brooklyn, added, “He talks to everyone everywhere we go.”

Me, too. I don’t plan to and it’s just in spurts here and there, not whole life stories a la Forrest Gump but I do like these micro-connections.

And then I stumbled upon this article from The New York Times last night before I finally succumbed to sleep. The article states: “When we talk to strangers, we stand to gain much more than the ‘me time’ we might lose.”

Thank you, kind sir, for feeding me that fishtail. It hit the spot.

The Pressure of Going Viral

Posted on April 25, 2014 by ajummama

So…

my previous post, “You Set Me Up,” went viral.

I’mma stay down-to-earth though and not let it get to my head.

Mind you, “viral” is all relative. I think talking blog stats is a sensitive topic, maybe like sharing one’s weight, but I’ll just put myself on blast.

“Viral” for my tiny blog is about 250 views in two days, after sharing it only on my personal and Ajummama Facebook pages. For professional bloggers, they may wanna off themselves after reaching such a small audience, whereas I was downright giddy.

I don’t know the rhyme or reason behind why some of my posts get more clicks than others. I write about different things but the reader doesn’t know what it’s about UNTIL they click on it. This post that went “viral” was about HOPE, a universal topic, but y’all didn’t know that UNTIL you clicked on it. So how did it get so much love?

Anyhow, the day after I went viral, I woke up thinking that it was going to be another inspirational day of testifying. I wanted more “Glory Be!” moments.

Felt downright sheepish. After all, I had TESTIFIED! I was in “Can I get a witness?” mode.

Instead, the next day turned out to be so gnarly that I will keep it to myself (for now).

And THEN, when I wanted to write more of a snarky post, which was writing itself inside my head, I felt like, “How you gonna go out like that? Your 18 readers like the Hope stuff! You can’t Debbie Downer them.”

But back to being myself. We are all complex creatures. All of us are grasping for Hope as well as not so inspired in our less-than-best moments.

So lemme be True and tell you about a pet peeve that I encountered today. See if I go from Viral to Incubated – experiment with this blog game.

I took Ellis to his gym class. (Wish this could be anonymous at times like these but alas.)

Noticed that the teacher doesn’t hide her preference for certain mamas. For those of us she isn’t quite feelin’, she insists that you MUST call ahead to see if you can do a make-up. If she likes you more, she will let you just show up informally while she is extra sweet to you and your child.

I’m in the former category. Prolly have to call her TWICE. She’s a loud kooky lady. I’m a loud kooky lady (in a different way, in corporate packaging). Sometimes other loud kooky ladies don’t take to me and prefer other types. That is fine.

She was asking the little ones if they wanted a turn in the Donut. Other moms ask their Littles, “Do you want a turn in the Donut?”

This mom just grabs Dude and puts him in the Donut.

You gonna ride in the Donut unless you cry and shriek. Mama paid for these classes so you gonna try everything. Twice.

I placed him in there as we sang “Row Row Row Your Boat.” He looked frozen but like he was secretly enjoying himself, too.

He has this look often.

Teacher says, loudly and kookily, while trailing off from singing, “You never gon’ win an argument with YOUR Mommy, are you?”

So this post ain’t about something as beautiful as Hope. Just a pet peeve of mine when people categorize you after three total hours of interacting with you, over the course of three weeks, and then speaking to your child about that impression, loudly and kookily.

I also don’t like it when a teacher doesn’t do a better job of hiding her preferences.

I ain’t no PUREBRED Tiger mama just because I placed my still-small child in a little ride without asking him. I’m sure there is part Tiger in me somewhere (I AM Korean) but don’t assume! I’m all mush for my kids.

I’m sure we form our impressions of each other within SECONDS of meeting each other BUT don’t be speaking on it to my toddler.

Just keep it to yourself.

The only acceptable adult-to-toddler commentary of When I Met Your Mother would be, “Now I know where you got your pretty brown eyes from,” or “Your mom looks like she lost at least 1.2 pounds this week!”

Can I get a witness?

You Set Me Up

Posted on April 24, 2014 by ajummama

Today was tough. The boys fought oh-so-noisily to be the only recipient of my love. Flattering but tough.

Ellis at nearly 19 months old has been blossoming from EZ (Ellis Zachary) baby to a little dude, roaring his way towards the big Two.

roaring on the way to Easter brunch

Fight after fight,

excruciating headbutts (both accidental and deliberate) into my cheekbones,

both climbing me with their grabby little feet, using my forearms as makeshift rungs and gifting me with skin-burn,

both refusing to eat their lunch and dinner,

a tag team of whining and defying,

big old spill on the couch from Ellis insisting on drinking my water on his own,

big avalanche of toys and blankets all around,

no energy or will to regroup and take control of the scene.

Only the temptation to flee.

As I made them their dinner, I was daydreaming about the fetal position I would clench myself into as soon as Kevin walked in the door. And how I would greet him icily with, “You have no idea. Please don’t talk to me. Not a word…”

Premeditated ice was on the evening’s agenda.

Instead, I took a few deep breaths in our tiny, cold kitchen even while the boys continued to fight and demand that I put the other one down. I ended up cooking while holding Ellis and began to marinate like the sukiyaki dinner on the stove, marinate in thoughts about how I am surrounded by too many needs and zero glamour and luxury.

NOISY ASS NEEDS.

But something shifted.

I felt like either I was maturing in that moment or I was being showered with GRACE, or both.

I didn’t feel the urge to break down or take to bed or plan to take it out on the husband as soon as he walked in the door.

Sometimes, fetal position is overrated.

Sure, it was still an objectively relentless day but I felt a moment of, “This is Life. THESE HAIRY MOMENTS. Noisy, annoying, relentless, unpaid, insane, not the least bit glamorous but pretty dang abundant.”

Reflecting further, I feel like I’ve been getting setting up in the past handful of months.

Getting set up for Hope.

I had told the Lord with a scrunched up face and my hands raised in surrender, months and months ago, that I do not know how a good marriage actually plays out. I’d only witnessed cautionary tales. Tales that have unfortunately become my default when the going gets tough.

Last December, He led us to a real life example of Happily Ever After through a marriage retreat that we were miraculously able to attend. Childcare for two full days straight had been downright UNHEARD of in the 3.5 years we’ve been parents.

Marriage is still SO hard but I always think of the couple who led that retreat. I sat in the front row and studied them like they were a different species. They broke it down for us – how they are able to truly live in love more than four decades and TEN kids later, actively seeking God’s grace. I was in awe.

I also told the Lord I don’t know why I love to write and NEED to write, but that I do and I want to do more of it. Soon after, an email about an Artflow workshop awaited me in my inbox. I spent a quiet, rainy Saturday in March, learning that He cares about my desire to create, my desire to write, and that it’s not trifling or something that needs to be killed because it’s not in alignment with real life duties.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I am getting set up for Hope.

Sure, I regress here and there and it is DAMN painful when I fall back into unhealthy default modes, but lately, I do feel like I am getting injected with hope through community, books, blogs, sermons, moments, my boys, emails, Facebook and even this here tiny blog.

So consider this a belated Easter post.

“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance.”
John 20:1 (emphasis added)

Our pastor, Rich Villodas, preached from John 20:1-16 on Easter Sunday, that WHILE IT WAS STILL DARK, He had risen!

So while we are wandering about in our own darkness, whether it be infirmity, loneliness, sorrow, lack of finances, or just the general tough stuff of life, we have Hope. Glory!

It’s nice to be set up.

(True) Love Handles

Posted on April 10, 2014 by ajummama

One of my favorite episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm is the one where Larry is about to fall off a roof, so he hangs onto his assistant’s bare muffintop for dear life. His feet were dangling while his hands desperately clung to both sides of her bulging spare tire that she had been proudly displaying at work.

Today Ellis used my hair to keep himself from falling when he had helped his juicy self to a piggyback cuddle when I was seated on the floor, while his big bro had occupied my front.

These days, whenever my kids see me sitting on the floor (or resting in any form), they rush over and fight for my lap. Or, if they are feeling zen about my lap already being occupied by the other, one will graciously piggyback himself onto my back.

But today’s acrobatics ended in pain. Mine. I shrieked and my eyes teared up. But for little dude, it wasn’t no thang. He laughed. Mommy is always there to lend a helping hand. Or hairs.

After dinner tonight, Micah helped himself to a small dessert his Daddy had brought me as a pick-me-up. Micah went to town on them, with no shame, with a chocolate mustache and one word requests of “More?”

This is just what they do these days. Help themselves to whatever it is that’s mine. My body, my privacy, my time, my chocolate-covered strawberries, my chips. Of course sometimes I wish that I could just have some peace or some PIECE of my own food but generally, I love how they are so entitled.

Why?

I think it is BEYOND beautiful. They are so confident and secure in Mommy’s love that, of course, they are entitled to anything and everything of hers. My body is theirs; after all, they lived in it for nearly 39 weeks each. My boobs were theirs up until 13 and 14 months old for Micah and Ellis, respectively.

I am floored by the beauty of their presumptuousness that what’s mine is theirs. At my age, I cannot think of ANYONE I can be THAT comfortable with other than perhaps my husband and my parents. Although, even with my own parents, I am too grown to take what’s theirs. Especially as they age, I feel I should be providing for them more. And even with close friends, I try to be a polite guest, not overstay my welcome, or otherwise impose on them, unless they insisted I eat off their plate.

That is what I’m marveling at these days. It never crosses their three-year-old and 18 month-old minds that they may be inconveniencing me in the least.

They are polar opposites from their grown Mama. I am working up the nerve to ask for help from people in my church community and it makes me SO uncomfortable.

If anyone helps me out in any way, I feel that:

I owe them,

or they now have something to lord over me,

or that I’ve burdened them.

I excessively thank people all the time because I feel indebted. Even for something as simple as holding the door open for me and the boys in their doublestroller.

My kids will grow up and learn about boundaries and about reading people, about how you can’t just take. So for now, I will thoroughly enjoy their brazen claims on my green juice, my miso soup, my face, my lap, my boobs, and even my hair to catch their fall.

But I draw the line at my love handles being used as a lifesaver. Because after their precious lives have been spared, I would have to go and jump off a roof my damn self.