5.5 on 5.25

Posted on May 23, 2016 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

Daddy became even calmer. He said he had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you for getting better and breathing better today.

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

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

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

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

E’s Notable Quotables

Posted on March 17, 2016 by ajummama

I’ve been taking a break from blogging for various reasons but I’m back for this drive-by post just so I can preserve precious moments.

I mean to write them all down in my journal but it seems like I am more willing to type it out if in blog form.

Both my boys crack me up daily.

Here are a couple notable quotables from the mouth of my nearly three-and-a-half year old Ellis:

Before hitting up the playground after school, the boys scootered as I chased after them to the Japanese market in our ‘hood so that we can pick up a few onigiri (rice balls in the shape of triangles, covered with dried seaweed).

When I noticed that only the spicy ones were still available that late afternoon, I announced to the boys that the non-spicy onigiri were all gone.

E’s round eyes got even bigger as his tulip mouth pursed seriously, and he exclaimed, “Call the police!”

Another:

Ellis started a bad habit only this week, of trying to stay up past their bedtime. We did not want to give in so we started resorting to dirty tactics when we saw him trying to sneak out of their shared room right before our eyes.

“Hey, Daddy! Let’s get ready to watch monsters on the TV. In the DARK like a movie theater!” (me trying to prey on his current fears)

Ellis: I know you guys are trying to trick me. That is NOT nice.

One more:

On the way home from church, I was explaining to Micah:

“Being smart is so relative. Some people are blessed to be smart in one way, while other people are smart in another way. You should never feel bad because someone else, like a classmate, seems smarter than you, because you probably smarter than them in another way.

Also, you should never show off about your smarts, either, because in life, you will always meet people who are smarter than you.”

Ellis, from the carseat next to Big Brother’s: “Like me.”

And that’s all for today. I hope to stay awake for Grey’s Anatomy and ease on into weekend mode early on this Thursday night.

Learning to Listen: Consolations and Desolations (Part 1)

Posted on July 13, 2015 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Space.

Solitude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is my list:

Consolations:

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

2. Family time with all four of us present.

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

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

5. A good book.

6. Writing.

7. Holding babies.

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

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

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

I just wanted to start a conversation for now.

Dear Sizzler (and Facebook): Sharing is Caring

Posted on July 9, 2015 by ajummama

On the eve of our 07.07.07 wedding anniversary, I happened to be left alone with a sliver of quiet and my big iPhone while Kevin bathed the boys.

As usual, I looked at the many photos on my phone.

I noticed our recent family selfie from our evening drive to the beach.

We were all smiles and for once, I was IN the picture instead of behind the camera(phone). I wanted to share it but I also couldn’t stomach plopping another perfect photo into the sea of perfect moments on Facebook.

Perfect moment overload these days. Maybe it’s the humidity, but I just needed a break.

The picture tripped me out because we were in one of the worst weeks in our marriage thus far, but there we were, beaming at the beach. Posting the picture without an accompanying “confession” felt incomplete.

This was the picture:

And this was the caption:

[6.25.15 – the story behind this “perfect” family pic is that Kevin and I were doing horribly. At least a week and a half or so was spiritually dark.

We remembered that water is life-giving to me/us so we drove to the beach in the evening, after the workday, following wack GPS directions through alleys as if we were trying to lose the cops, hoping that the backdrop would help, even just a little.

Just felt like sharing that in case people assume that everyone ELSE on their Newsfeeds is living perfect lives that have somehow eluded them. As if there was such a thing. Chile, please.

Tomorrow is our 07.07.07 wedding anniversary. Praying that I can shed some bad habits of explosive anger, criticizing, and blaming. Pray for us when we pop up on your Newsfeed. Thanks!]

I was blown away by the feedback I received. The number of Likes alone was mind-boggling. I had only received that sort of Facebook love for the birth of my sons.

People were actually expending energy in their thumbs to comment and write me personal messages. Facebook friends kept thanking me for being “real” and “honest,” and for “sharing what no one seems willing to.”

I was touched by the feedback but also couldn’t help but think that I hadn’t shared anything too radical. I wondered why Facebook lacks more vulnerability in general since there was a swell of immediate response to it.

I sure didn’t invent it and I sure don’t have a monopoly on it but it felt like I had flipped the script on unspoken social media rules: I had shared a chunk of my interior life instead of the 777,777th photo of my beloved boys in our courtyard.

I wonder why there isn’t more sharing? Isn’t it only natural as we do life together and bother to update regularly? No adult is going to be shocked that *GASP* your life is not perfect. That you are not perfect!

We can still share the gorgeous photos and emoji-filled updates and viral baby dancing videos and 2.5 more parenting articles that will revolutionize the way I raise up my kids but how about a dash of Real Talk here and there?

Just from the response to my photo caption, I sensed that others are also feeling the void of two-dimensional Facebook. Sure, we love to see what our friends are up to, what they are eating, where they are visiting but those updates alone don’t help us to connect on a deeper level and get to know each others’ insides any better.

Many Facebook users, including me, have reported more feelings of depression, isolation, and envy after scrolling through their friends’ highlight reels on their Newsfeeds. This is because we almost never share back stories of our photos or go a little deeper in our status updates. Maybe not full-on confessions like I’m naturally inclined towards but just a little something more?

Sure, there are some topics one should save for a safe, select few. However, there are universal struggles and fears we have all gone through, are going through, or will go through by virtue of being human. And by sharing, you may touch someone else.

This was not meant to be yet another rant against social media for only displaying people’s highlight reels instead of their real lives. Hey, it’s not Facebook’s fault. Facebook is not a living, breathing organism. We, the users, make Facebook what we want it to be and lately, we’ve been keeping it pretty damn surface level.

My happy photos are NOT fake. But they only tell part of the story. And no matter what I may be going through, I am genuinely happy in those moments I hug up on my boys for a photo.

Just like my brother and I scribbled with a shorty #2 library pencil on a comment card at Sizzler, decades ago in response to their “No Sharing” policy at their establishments: Sharing is caring.

One. Five. One Five.

Posted on January 5, 2015 by ajummama

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New mercies every morning.

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s to the New Year!

(And here’s to writing more).

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

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

Merry Sparrow

Posted on December 23, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

BUT…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mommy was released to do what she loves.

HUNT.

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

This time was no exception.

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

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

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

“Cats?” Never.

“Swans?” Beautiful but no meaning for me.

“Gnomes?” Gno!

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

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

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

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

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

And then I saw it.

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

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

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.

Use Your Words

Posted on November 23, 2014 by ajummama

I am typing from my bed after another argument with Kevin. He is out in the living room building Legos with the boys before bedtime.

Just yesterday, I had commented on my friend’s status update about her counting down the seconds’til her husband walked through the door. She was sick while taking care of her little ones, about the same ages as my kids. I told her something like, “I feel you. There are days where Kevin will walk through the door and announce that he has to use the bafroom for just a li’l bit and I’m like, ‘Oh uh-uh, you don’t even know what the past two hours have been like. You needs to do that on your own time. I’m on break.'”

Then I read a blog tonight with some other mama saying the same thing so I mentioned to Kevin while he was feeding the kids dinner, “Hey, so it’s really not just me. This one blogger lady and other commenters are all saying it really bugs when they desperate for the husband to walk through the doors to give them the relief they been waiting for, only to have them say they gon’ use the bathroom right quick.”

Kevin responded logically. I loathe logic. He was annoyed. “So now I’m not allowed to use the bathroom when I get home?” Did I mention he was feeding the kids dinner as I recovered from a sore throat and earlier Charles E. Queso festivities, sprawled out on the playmat?

“NO! I’m actually NOT saying you can’t use the bathroom! I’m saying I need you to USE YOUR WORDS as soon as you walk through those doors. To express that you understand what kind of mental and emotional energy I expend when pouring out for the kids – the diaper chase, the disciplining, the repeating myself, the breaking up fights, the vagina kicks, the spills, the refills after the spills, the sitting down just to get back up again for something else. When you only rush off to the bathroom after I have been starving for someone to pass the baton to so that I don’t lose it, I feel crazed.”

We went back and forth, our voices getting louder and louder and even continued to argue in the bedroom while the kids were in the middle of their dinner, probably wondering why Mom and Dad were fighting again.

He then said, “Don’t actions speak louder than words? The minute I get home I try to take over to show you that I care.”

AUUGGGHHH! We always end up back at this Love Languages argument! Tired of it.

Kevin shows his love through acts of service. I express my love through words. I guess I also withhold love by withholding my words of affirmation. And yes, I do agree that actions speak louder than words. If he was gushing with his words but never helped me manage the household or raise the kids, I would call “bullshit!” on his love.

But actions NEVER replace words.

Kevin is one of THE MOST HELPFUL BABY DADDIES I HAVE EVER MET.

BUT I NEED BOTH ACTIONS AND WORDS.

Sometimes, I feel like man, close mama friends just get it more than the husband ever can, by virtue of being a fellow mama, like when we can safely share Mommy fails and Mommy stress with each other without having to swear up and down that we truly madly deeply love our kids. Only with a select trusted few can you say, “The other day, I totally messed up…I…” and before you can finish, they will completely understand and even share a worse Mommy fail if they your people.

Meanwhile, the husband swears up and down that he understands the emotional and mental roller coaster of being an at-home mama but I feel like he only expresses it to me in the way I need only when I ask him directly, “Hey, do you get it? Do you really get how sometimes I just wanna escape from everyone and everything? Just to recharge and regroup?”

HE SAYS HE GETS IT but when he is saying it AS A RESPONSE, rather than as an uninitiated affirmation, I feel like I cornered him into it and he is only saying it to assuage my rage. Keep the beast at bay.

In his defense, since I’m the one who has a blog to mouth off on and he doesn’t, he says he would love to affirm me DAILY but I don’t give him a chance because I criticize him immediately or use a mean tone.

I get it. Therein lies the tug-of-war.

I want the affirmation first while he wants me to back off from the criticisms first.

So after the kids go to bed, I have to show him this blog post instead of yelling again. OF COURSE HE CAN USE THE BATHROOM WHEN HE GETS HOME.

I am not really THAT bad, dag.

I just want to be understood first – that I’ve been desperately waiting for someone to pass the baton to.

I just want him to gift me by SEEING ME before he rushes off to the bathroom for even a second. To look me in the eyes, even when I try to take the stress out on him and can be downright cold, and say, “I know you must have been counting down the seconds ’til I walked through that door. I GOTCHOO. I’mma take the wheel now. I really gotchoo. How was today? You need not wait any longer. Well, only until I come out the bathroom.”

Sure, I may still sass him but deep inside, I would feel like he GETS IT. That I can still love my kids more than life itself but also feel like, “EVERYONE LEAVE ME THE F ALONE!”

And I know that the key to marriage is clear communication and asking for what you want, but maybe I’m wired differently because when I have to ask for what I want, like ordering from a menu, I don’t appreciate it as much if / when you say them to me. If I demand specific affirmations like the above, then it feels like you just parroting what I demanded, just to keep me from bitching, though to be fair, even when Kevin has made specific requests of me, I’ve flat out refused. At least he is more than willing.

I once had a tiff with one of my closest, oldest friends because I noticed that she would never ASK me how I’m doing when I was newly pregnant for the first time. So we didn’t talk much most of my pregnancy. I finally told her that when she didn’t ask, I felt like it would be weird to be all, “So, this is how I’m feeling now…”

She got emotional and was hurt. “Well, then why didn’t you just tell me how you’re doing? Why do I have to inquire?” I told her it’s because I feel stupid to just tell someone how I’m doing when they don’t express that they would like to know.

I never claimed to be low maintenance.

Actions do speak louder than words but just like I tell the little ones: USE YOUR WORDS.

And THEN go relieve yourself.

Fast.

I’m on break.

Three Blocks

Posted on November 19, 2014 by ajummama

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

Be grateful.

Be mindful.

Spewing forth negative words will make them come true.

Naturally, my rebellious spirit is kicking in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It has become:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I find myself getting annoyed with every saying:

“Choose Happiness.” Shut it.

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

“It is what it is.” It blows.

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

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

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

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

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

PLEASE just help me not to party too hard.

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

Crazy Saves

Posted on November 6, 2014 by ajummama

I’ve been struggling due to a personal matter. I felt like I couldn’t handle one. more. thing. and dreaded the extra maintenance a rainy day requires when wrangling the kiddos outdoors.

After picking up Micah from school, I was strolling Ellis from our parking lot, carrying the boys’ stuff on the crooks of both arms and not bothering with an umbrella for myself because How? I also couldn’t use my left hand to grip the stroller because I had accidentally knifed myself while rushing to cut a carrot for our breakfast smoothie the other morning.

Micah hasn’t done this in ages but suddenly he starts crying and screaming, while I am trying to get us all home on this drizzly, dark afternoon. He starts begging me TO CARRY HIM HOME. When he did this a while back, a stranger had to help me get home.

He was pulling on my jacket as we crossed the busy street, blocking Ellis’ stroller so that I was forced to run into him. My body heat started to rise and I prayed silently for help. I was getting pissed.

After crossing the street, I paused to go down to his level, hold him in an embrace, and tell him, “I know you want Mommy to carry you. Sometimes you want me to show you how much I love you by carrying you but I just can’t right now. I’m sorry. Will you be my big boy and walk home for me?” I lost my balance and plunked my butt right into a puddle.

“Carry up! Carry up! Piggyback!?” He was not relenting.

Our three blocks home was going to be hell. Like I said, I was fragile this week and couldn’t stomach a meltdown. His or mine.

I suddenly remembered some advice I had heard ages ago.

Act crazy to throw a mugger off his game.

Reasoning wasn’t working and more rain could hit as the afternoon sky looked more like it was 11 pm out.

I raised my hands to the heavens and started hopping in place while bellowing, “CARRY UP! CARRY MOMMY UP!? SOMEONE HELP MOMMY? CARRY MEEEEEEEE! CARRY MEEEEE!” I started dancing to my own beat while cars drove by and the kids gazed up at me.

Micah paused for a beat. His face broke out into his Denzel mega-watt smile. He started cracking up. So did little E. So much that Mr. Pillow Cheeks started gasping for air while cackling away in his stroller, watching Hyung laughing and Mama actin’ a fool.

“Again, Mommy! Do that again!”

I know Crazy won’t always save the day but it did today.

our mom cray.