Evite Reminder: MLK’s (Theme-to-Be-Determined) Ko-Mitzvah 11.25.2023

Posted on October 21, 2013 by ajummama

I can write at least 58 different posts on this one topic alone, the topic being “Things I Used to Judge Only to Do Them Now.”

When I was pregnant with my firstborn, MLK, I had somehow developed a stance against kiddie pay-to-play classes like Gymboree.

I’d be all, “Augh! Why would I pay more than my own adult gym’s monthly payments so that my kid can LEARN to PLAY? That is too yuppie for my taste. I’m old school. I’m au naturel! Why would my kid attend some sorta hakwon as a baby!?” [“hakwon” = Korean prep academy / afterschool enrichment]

Then I happened to take him to a trial class. Not only did I promptly sign him up, we became loyal Gymboree members, referring more than a dozen other kiddos and continuing our membership for longer than any of our peers. It wasn’t about learning to play as I had initially thought, but rather, having a colorful, inviting space to play in regularly, other than our same ol’ same ol’ living room or other buddies’ living rooms.

Micah started looking like Billy Madison among babies, when we finally quit two whole years later, at 31 months old. I almost couldn’t go through with terminating our membership because Gymboree was so beloved by both Micah and Mama, such a big part of our lives as newbie mama and first baby, but it was time. (Ellis as second-born never got to join Gymboree as you’re not allowed to bring your older sibling to the younger class. Too Godzilla-like).

When I was pregnant, people warned me mostly about sleep deprivation, or made vague and ominous declarations like “Your life will never be the same again,” but not about how my weekends would usually include a kiddie birthday party, sometimes back-to-back, before and after naps. Thankfully I still enjoy them, especially watching these little guys light up, but I used to judge elaborate kiddie birthday parties. Hward.

My natural gut reaction was to scoff at how fancy these parties were becoming compared to my childhood where my McDonald’s birthday party was my most pimped out.

We recently went to a sprawling gymnastics birthday party for a cute little three-year old friend of Micah’s (who we met at Gymboree as infants). The gymnastics academy was one of the best venues I’d seen for these active toddlers to tumble around in, complete with a foam diving pit and largest parachute ever. The hosts were so inclusive of their many little buddies that this was the biggest party we had been to…since her 2nd birthday party.

I was wearing Ellis, having a hard time side-shimmying through the crowd during lunch as everyone had to squeeze in behind their seated little ones on a long table and accompanying bench. I watched all the parents obediently file into line, shoulder-to-shoulder, behind their children, amidst commotion, to receive their standard party rations: pizza and cake. Because this party was so big, the tables and benches kept you from mingling about. Strictly single file line. You bess stay at your station.

I saw my good friend multi-tasking, feeding her son and looking out for Kevin by asking him quickly, “Did you get your pizza? You were able to eat?” Kevin, while keeping Micah and Micah’s juice from falling off the bench and table respectively, quickly responded, “Yup, yup, I ate, I ate. Plenty, thanks. You got one, too, right?”

It was heartwarming. They were Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman lookin’ out for each other in the prison mess hall.

Before I had these kids, it was all too easy to snub my nose at these modern day birthday parties because they just seemed too fancy compared to my own childhood. I’m talking gymnastics, carousel, museum, zoo, petting zoo, circus, water station, sprawling “treehouse,” Gymboree, My Gym, Bounce U, farm, and more.

Just yesterday, Micah came home excitedly after attending his buddy’s birthday party with his Daddy while Ellis and I had to miss due to Ellis’ fever.

“Did you have fun at E’s party? Was it fun on the schoolbus!?”

“Mommy! It’s not schoolbus! It’s Fun Bus.”

He had had a blast at the Fun Bus party. A Fun Bus is a schoolbus painted all cute with its insides gutted out so that kids can tumble and swing around.

Micah taking a break from Fun Bus er, fun, to peek out at his Daddy / photo credit: his Daddy

photo credit: Claudia Douyon

I remember a childhood friend telling me, “Jihee, my son went to a party where they had a Bubble-ologist. The weirdest part is that he called HIMSELF that. With a straight face.”

I used to think that I would be able to resist this party culture for my kids but just like with Gymboree, I saw how much he enjoyed himself and how his little buddies, especially now that they aren’t babies any more, really understood that it was their special birthday celebration. Plus, many of us live in small NYC apartments so it’s a matter of practicality. There is just no way to host a party in our own homes unless you invite only two little friends and their mamas.

I’ve slowly come to realize that I can’t keep comparing to my McDonald’s party of yesteryear because this is a whole new world. I was learning this new invention called “computer” on an Apple IIC or IIE in our elementary school’s computer lab, stressing about learning how to play a new game called “Carmen Sandiego” while some toddlers these days have their own iPads. Naturally, the landscape of birthday parties, especially in cities like NYC or LA, would get suped up.

I know I’m a dinosaur but what is up with themes? These days, great parties and weddings all seem to have a theme. Was just thinking that today’s hipsters may throw an ironic McDonald’s-themed party, complete with retro uniforms and modernized purple fondant Grimace cake.

“Does Ellis have a theme for his doljanchi?” asked one of my best friends recently, as she planned her son’s in LA.

“Watchoo mean ‘theme’? The ‘THEME’ is that he turnin’ One and we feeding our friends and family a gluttonous amount of food and dduk. And hiring his music class teacher to do some dope kiddie songs for 45 minutes!”

“No, girl, a THEME!”

Online stores like Etsy make it easy to choose a theme like “Carnival” or “Rock Star” and buy accompanying decorations but it’s just one more thing to have to make a series of micro-decisions about. That is what I am allergic to in event planning: how tending to just “x,y, and z” soon sprouts into tending to “a thru w, and don’t forget the x, y, and z,” even though it’s all for such a happy occasion. So, no, we didn’t have no theme for both boys’ doljanchis other than, “Get Yo Grub On, and Watch Our Son Crawl Towards The Object Which Scientifically Foretells His Destiny aka Doljabi.”

I got married more than six years ago and thank God people didn’t ask me “What is your theme for the wedding?”

My “THEME” is marriage. That by God’s grace, my crazy ass is getting hitched.

So, back to these modern birthday parties. Special venues do allow parents to relax as they usually have most of the details covered. Most of the time, even a built-in THEME!

I recently heard my girl, Wendy Williams, talk about her 13 year-old son’s Bro-Mitzvah complete with a celeb date for him to walk around with and recording artists for entertainment, fancier than my wedding. Also on “Basketball Wives,” Shaq’s son, Shareef, got a Bro-Mitzvah with a stylist picking out his multiple couture outfits and of course, per his request, fire.

While I did end up booking the gymnastics academy for Micah’s 3rd birthday party (with a very short guestlist to keep it intimate), I do draw the line at throwing him a Ko-Mitzvah.

For now.

Can’t Go Home Again

Posted on October 17, 2013 by ajummama

My mama recently came to NYC for her annual visit. The last time she was here, the timing was serendipitous as Ellis waited for her to arrive to take care of not-so-big (22 month-old) Big Bro before emerging from his mama’s womb.

Some parts of the visit made my heart swell with joy. Watching her finally be able to squeeze and hold her precious grandbabies instead of only peeking at them via harried and choppy Skype session. Watching her fall in love all over again, this time with her newer grandson as he has developed into a real person from the newbie he was the last time she saw him back home in LA. Watching her watch Micah with fascination (and sometimes with intimidation), her first grandchild now a young boy, complete with a new, strong will, dance moves with gangsta face and fist pumps, his own sense of humor, and tantrums.

But some parts of the visit made me crazy. I’m sure that her being clear ‘cross the country adds to her not being able to accept and conform to our routines as easily as a local grandma would but it was still exhausting to receive push-back on how we do things. When you are an adult child who has lived away from your parents from the age of 18, being under the same roof for an extended period of time, with child-rearing up in the already cramped mix, can really press some hot buttons.

In some ways, I felt like we were experiencing role reversal, like when I had to lecture her on how handwashing is a MUST after changing E’s diaper:

Ma: But my hands didn’t touch anything! This is excessive! My hands are peeling.

Me: No, Umma, I can’t believe *I* have to tell you this as the daughter! You MUST wash your hands when you change any diaper – pee or poo. You can’t see or feel germs, but they get on our hands. YOU HAVE TO DISINFECT to prevent the spread of germs.

Ma: But my hands stay clean! And if you are so obsessed with germs, why don’t you care more about the dust around the house? And your fridge is a mess. I cleaned it out.

Me: Poo germs are more urgent. Just don’t fight me on everything. Please don’t make me repeat myself. WASH YOUR HANDS EACH TIME. WITH SOAP!

Ma: You are so picky.

Me: And you just won’t listen.

Same convo about 17 times.

It was constant:

“Why do the kids have to sleep at regular bedtimes each night? They are humans, not robots. Like we sleep at different times each night depending on how tired we are.”

“YES, but they are not adults. They thrive on structure. Please don’t mention this each night. HAVING TO FIGHT YOU at the end of the day drains me even more. I don’t have any reserves left to do this.”

Oh, the intricacies in the relationship between Mother/Grandma with an adult daughter-with-her-own-kids in a small space.

And I shouldn’t have been surprised that we had the same issues we had on previous visits, both in LA and NYC. Time doesn’t heal when we both behave the same as we did before. Generational, cultural and personality conflicts. Language as a barrier (which I didn’t notice as much growing up but now that I’m trying to talk woman-to-woman, mom-to-mom, the stuff of epiphanies and deep talks, my Korean words won’t come as fast as my thoughts).

Sometimes, because I didn’t know how to communicate without it leading to another fight, we would only talk about the safe topics, like something cute the boys did or if they’re wearing enough sunscreen or…about food. Talking about food in and of itself is not bad, but I wanted to really connect. It was all too loaded and unsafe, so we would sit at our meal in Punta Cana, talking about the manchego cheese and razor clams instead. I felt so frustrated and resigned. So much love but so hard to really hear each other.

Essentially, I had been hoping that when she made this annual visit, I’d be able to exhale. I’ve become so irritable lately that I actually started hating on well-rested status updates on my Facebook. “Leisure-time-having mofo…” I would unfairly hiss.

So many factors that added to my inability to relax this year: My hormones have registered as off the charts low since I’ve been nursing Ellis, we’ve definitely outgrown our space so there is nowhere to retreat, Ellis sleeps in his crib in our room since he has nowhere else to go…until he creeps into our bed in the middle of the night, Micah has been going through a bad nap/sleep phase since August, plus his recent cough/asthma(?) attacks. AND HAVING TO REPEAT MYSELF all day. These are roughly just a few reasons why I, with the supersonic hearing and nervous personality, haven’t been able to “Poook Shee-Uh” (FULLY FULLY REST) like my body and mind has been desperately craving.

Thankfully, my kids are both healthy and these are just day-to-day stressors but they have still done a number on me.

So when my mama arrived and we ended up WATCHING THE KIDS TOGETHER, I kept thinking, “What a damn waste. Why do we end up watching the kids together!? Her visits are the only real time I can leave the kids for an extended mental health break but here we are, BOTH feeding them, BOTH making sure Ellis don’t climb over the baby gates. A waste of manpower.” I expressed this to my mama but she said that because she hasn’t taken care of them BOTH at their current ages, she doesn’t feel confident, especially with Micah being more strong-willed and vocal now.

When their naps overlapped after much cajoling with Micah who is now nap-resistant (and we have to go through a whole THING before he succumbs), I told my mama I will just go across the street with my laptop. She seemed to be okay with that since they were both napping (and I was all hurt that she wasn’t all, “Go for it!” She seemed more like, “What if the big one goes hysterical for you?”).

Soon after I scoped out my leather loveseat at Starbucks, ordered myself a warm fatty beverage, and opened up the laptop, my mama called me with a hysterical Micah who had woken up from his nap looking for me.

I felt like he was cranking up the drama because my mama was so reactive.

I told her to calm him and that I’d be right there.

But it ain’t 2011 no more and he ain’t a newborn so I surprised myself: my ass was not rushing home. I was DRAINED in every way. I took my sweet time closing up my laptop and willing my feet to start moving from this refuge.

I know mamas always say their disclaimers about HOW MUCH WE LOVE OUR KIDS before we complain about anything. And I do. They own my heart forever. But so much has accumulated upon this mama this year, that tired piled atop more tired atop “Can I FREAKING Sleep or Be Able to Have a Cough Attack in Peace in My Own Bedroom Without Waking Up my Baby Beluga?” makes for a different kind of mama. I dunno how I used to have boundless energy when it was just Micah and me, running off to the playground or playdate sometimes twice a day, strolling a mile each way.

When I finally started walking down our courtyard, my mama called me again saying that Micah wants to come look for me. Before I could say anything, sho’ nuff, my mama was already in plain view, with Ellis tied to her back with a huge piece of fabric like she used to do in Seoul circa 1976 thru 1980, and Micah scanning the premises for me like Carrie Mathison on Homeland. When Micah gets hysterical, so does Grandma Lee. This has been a recurring challenge for us – how she gets hysterical with them instead of being the calming influence, even when we tried to go to Ellis’ newborn doc visit. She had even left our apartment door slightly ajar because she rushed to get the kids to me.

We love you Halmoni. Thanks for feeding us better than our mama can.

I’ve had to remind her that while it is hard to bear, Micah crying doesn’t mean he’s dying. But she believes that it will have an effect on him long-term so she gets frenzied.

Now that she’s back in LA, I realize that while we have legitimate conflicts and communication barriers, some of it is the stage I’m going through. The notion of not being able to ever take a break from being a Mommy, as blessed as I am. Of course I knew that you can’t ever really be On Break from being someone’s Mommy but to actually live it is different from just knowing it as a notion.

I remember coming home from undergrad finals or law school finals for winter break and I would spent lots of that time just refueling by eating my mama’s homemade stews and boocheengehs, sleeping like a bear on my parent’s electric mat, and repeat. I needed that time to POOK SHEE UH before facing a new semester and its stressors.

I can’t “go home” again in that way again. (And I’m guessing most of y’all reading this can’t either with your grown a$$es).

No one can ever step in for me and be my kids’ mama. I mean, on the one hand, thank God, but on the other, man, it’s been overwhelming. The 24-7 needs of little humans.

One of my working mama friends called me as she was stuck in rush hour traffic and she casually remarked, “But you BEEN home since Micah was born. Why is it any different from before?” It’s just the accumulation of drained upon drained in ways I am too drained to even type out, now with two toddlers in my care, one of them fearlessly climbing everything and another thinking it’s so funny to say “no” to every directive.

Basically, my chapter as Eager Beaver Disney character newbie mama has come to an end. This new chapter is still adorable with the first son talking up a storm and even cracking jokes, and the second son booty-shaking to any beat, but I definitely notice some wear and tear. I do have to think about ways to improve the next visit with my beloved mama, not letting the wear and tear get the best of me.

Motion Detector Mini Monday Post

Posted on October 14, 2013 by ajummama

Hoping to get one real post in regularly (weekly!?) as I’ve quickly learned that if I don’t get my thoughts down, they will be lost in the Black Hole, hanging out with many missing baby socks.

I’ve wanted to write about too much, including When Your Firstborn Picks His Fave Parent (and It Ain’t You, Even After Being the One to Exclusively Nurse Him for 13 Months), family dynamics and pain, expectations, the poison of envy, watching “Parenthood” = watching National Geographic, waiting to exhale, and kiddie birthday parties in NYC.

We were out so much again this weekend, we only came home to feed the kiddos and put them to bed. We maximize our weekends by usually being out from morning to night, but there is a cost. We miss out on time to declutter, organize, plan and prepare meals for the week. But my rationale is that because our NYC co-op is so small, we have to be out as much as possible, exploring NYC, especially when daddy is present for 1:1 adult:kid ratio and before winter hits.

I ended up spending my final moments of the weekend in a spotless Manhattan public restroom with gorgeous tile work on the floor which I had multiple opportunities to stare at during a 3 year-old’s birthday party. Thankfully, it was the eve of my mama’s departure so she was able to wrangle Ellis while Kevin had to stay by Micah’s side at the gymnastics party.

When you are having embarrassing moments, with cartoon-like sound effects, in a public bathroom, that motion detector light sure kicks a girl while she’s down. Making me flail my arms wildly with beads of sweat on my face, hoping that Heath/Leo/Olivia’s mamas won’t be needing to pay a visit any time soon, and fingers crossed that a Heath/Leo/Olivia won’t have a moment and crawl up into my stall, mesmerized by my duckie socks. (By the way, I blame you, The Strand’s Smotheres’ n Smoked Chicken & Biscuit, for this ordeal. So good but so wrong.)

After I joined the party, I told Kevin in detail (in Korean) why I went MIA a handful of times…when I realized that the dad and toddler next to his ear are native Koreans.

Stomach still hurting a bit, Mama/Gramma Lee done returned to LA, Ellis napping, Micah counting down the minutes ’til he is reunited with his beloved fave parent tonight, and mama hoping to write soon, get a real blog post in!

Just Another Monsoon Monday

Posted on July 22, 2013 by ajummama

We were out since 9:30 am for some good ol’ fashioned tree-chasing at our local park with some neighborhood kids we had so much fun playing with last time. The weather channel failed us once again. It had only warned of a 30% chance of “isolated thunderstorms” starting at 1 pm but before it hit noon, I got drenched. I shouldn’t be surprised since the weather website says “0% chance of rain” WHILE it is raining on me. Kids stayed dry thanks to the Metro North tracks (see pictures below) and plastic stroller cover.

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. It is almost spiritual how unfazed they are since their protector (Mommy) is there with them. Lightning, thunder, who cares, Mommy’s here. Micah asking for better snacks in the midst of it all. Ellis calmly taking it all in, seated in the farther back, bottom bunk, stroller seat, unlike our usual configuration.

My heart swelled when a couple passersby commented on how calm my kids were while having to sit in their stroller until the worst of it was over.

Once it finally turned into a drizzle, I told them we were going to try walking home. Micah kept asking me to play “I Spy” with him while I could hardly grip the stroller handle from all the water and sunscreen.

“Micah, Mommy has to watch the road. Concentrate. Big rain is gone but little rain is here and Mommy has to watch out for the Big Rivers all over the streets, OK?”

“Big River? Mommy like Dora? Micah Boots? Cross Big River!”

Thanks for the memories, Monsoon!

seconds after the drizzle turned into torrential downpour, we found shelter under the Metro North tracks. GOOD LOOKIN’ OUT, METRO NORTH!

my zen baby

“mommy? i want new snack. what’s this?” as my own stomach growled.

seconds before, a man sought shelter with us. he wrung out his t-shirt, put it back on, and went back into the storm.

jolly

The Day They Cancelled Church

Posted on July 18, 2013 by ajummama

Lying is an unavoidable part of parenting.

My very nature is to be honest to a fault, like Jim Carey in “Liar Liar.” I suspect I drank truth serum instead of breastmilk when I was a scrawny newborn. I’ve told beggars on the subway, “Sorry, I only have my credit card on me today,” and, “Well, I do have a Luna bar. It’s a nutrition bar for women, but if you don’t mind that, you’re welcome to it. S’mores flavor.”

So when we made the family decision to skip church to go to an MLB event called All-Star FanFest, only because Daddy said something about how NYC may not host another All-Star game again in our (healthy) lifetime, I naturally thought we would have to explain to Micah, “This is a very special event so we decided to skip church but church is VERY important to us and we do not want to make a habit of skipping, OK? We love church but today we will not go, OK? Do you understand, Micah? And at least we went yesterday for Ellis’ baby dedication.”

But Daddy beat me to it. On Sunday morning, he looked Micah straight in his eyes, while changing him into his little David Wright jersey.

“Micah, there is no church today.”

“Dah-thee? We go to church? Big church and Micah church?” (Big church is for us parents and Micah church is his preschool class at church).

“No church today, Micah,” Daddy responded barely above a whisper.

I see, only now, that the vague lie was the way to go. How would we explain that the next All-Star game in NYC would most likely be when his parents are dead and buried (or at least so far down the road we return as grandparents)? And how baseball is a competing religion for Daddy. And how do we define “special event” since we may likely miss another day of church for an upcoming birthday party scheduled during service. (On a deeper note, wondering if we need to have firmer convictions with no exceptions?)

And I am a hypocrite. I seem to have no problem telling lies like, “Micah, you see that policewoman standing right there? She is here to make sure you hold Mommy’s hand when you cross the street,” or “Auntie Nicole told me that you can’t come to her lake house if you don’t listen to Mommy and finish your pasta.”

I can’t finish this post because I think I am having some form of heatstroke after telling pregnants and non-pregnants alike, “Drink plenty of water,” but not heeding my own advice while wrangling the kiddies. Feeling lightheaded and slow.

What lies have you told?

Peace.

Play

Posted on July 12, 2013 by ajummama

When I first started putting Micah in timeouts, I felt sheepish. I could actually hear my Korean ancestors laughing from their knolly graves.

I’m trying to learn what kind of parents we are. Sift through the noise and parenting junk emails overflowing in my inbox. So many loaded terms. Attachment parenting (you mean what the rest of the world does)? Waldorf schools? Montessori? Charter schools? Homeschooling? Unschooling?

Sometimes, the labels just make things more intimidating and confusing than necessary. I have almost always followed the rules (except at movie theaters) but I do have an unnecessarily rebellious side, too. If someone too hungrily wants to know all my business while remaining private about their mess, I don’t want to tell them anything and have even privatized my Facebook page to a couple acquaintances. (Or if I am Facebook-friended too prematurely. Yes, this dates me as young kids these days friend anyone and everyone). But if someone couldn’t care less about my life, I want to reveal all. In detail.

I still refuse to call Manhattan “The City.” It ain’t the only one.

Before I became a mama, I didn’t want to “schedule playdates” for my future children because it sounded too yuppie and ridiculous for my little babies. (I’ve since matured and realized there is no getting around that one.) But words mean a lot to me.

So while I am still trying to figure out where I fit in as a parent, which philosophies I adhere to, all I know is that today, in this perfectly breezy 75 degree weather, my boys and I had so much fun literally rolling around in the grass with kids from the neighborhood. At first, Micah looked at me like I was actin’ a damn fool but once I got into it, he cautiously started rolling with me and other playmates.

Then we played treetag with Micah’s cheeks shaking as he ran, no longer a baby but not yet a boy, first wide-eyed and tentative, then with delight. Even little Ellis got in on the action, playing in the grass and rolling about. We even built houses with twigs (I hear this is called “fairy house” – more new lingo.)

Does my closet hippie make me a follower of Waldorf pedagogy? YO, I dunno! I just think kids should play outdoors as much as possible. Good for their health and souls. Found a blade of grass in my baby’s diaper from our outdoorsy play. It was a good, no, GREAT day.

Thanks to my kids, I have bonus childhoods to enjoy at my age. Memories of my own childhood flood me as I play with them. Handball with the neighborhood kids behind our yellow apartment building in Koreatown LA, until it was night. Rollerskating down too-steep apartment driveways with no helmets or kneepads while my parents worked long and hard in their store, to pay for our piano lessons and future SAT classes. Digging for buried treasure with my little brother with my dad’s finest silver spoon next to graffiti’d walls. Devouring book after book at the public library until my parents closed up shop and came to pick us up after the sun set so late in the summers.

[Speaking of outdoors, Happy Birthday to Henry David Thoreau:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”]

Monkey Bars, Swings, and Bubble (Burst)

Posted on July 11, 2013 by ajummama

Watching Micah on the monkey bars is a treat. His arms outstretched above him, head smushed into his chest to create a slight double chin, and his head looking a bit large for his little body brings me back to his baby days. He is full of glee as he associates the monkey bars with his favorite gal, Dora the Explorer. My 5 feet 2 1/4 inch self was holding him up as best as I could, though sometimes ending up with his groin smashed up against my sweaty face.

turning everything into monkey bars

Ellis was deprived of his morning nap by tagging along today. I had reclined his seat and placed a swaddle blanket over it so that he can take his morning nap in peace, even at the playground, but it didn’t work out as he was wide-eyed the whole time we were out. Didn’t let out a peep but I still felt sorry for my Baby Beluga. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things but ever since I read about how naps are key for their development, as important as food to these little guys, I like to protect their naps if at all possible. However, the plight of a second-born is that life almost always revolves around big bro’s activities.

I found myself giving extra hugs and kisses to Micah as he even FEELS more grown-up when I pick him up, too tall for the baby swings now, though still squeezing into them. I was also giving extra hugs and kisses to Ellis. I just couldn’t resist him as all his rolls trembled with fright when first seated on the swing next to big bro, with the loud roar of the Long Island Railroad train speeding through behind him, until his fright turned into open-mouthed glee.

pure joy

I was teaching Micah to pump his legs out and back so that he can control the speed of his own swing. I sat in my own swing to demonstrate while both gazed over at me. “Out and back, out and back, Micah! Look at Mommy’s legs! I go so fast!” (You know you’re getting older when even swinging too high and too fast causes vertigo). I was telling them stories about what we did before we got to the playground and what we will do after.

Micah asked solemnly with his clear, wide eyes, “More talking, Mommy? More talking?” He loves my stories and is starting to tell more elaborate ones of his own, although with nonsequiturs like, “Obbah gangnamstyle! Sexy lady! Your eyes!”

These days, especially in the heat, I admittedly have a chip on my shoulder about how I have no local relatives to help out regularly, how both kids are home with me full-time with no hired help.

Of course motherhood should not be a contest but sometimes, even while reading my trifling Facebook Newsfeed, I find myself stung with envy, saying out loud, “MUST BE NICE!” at acquaintances who have plenty of help and plenty of REGULARLY SCHEDULED child-free breaks, not just on their own but with their husbands. They must be healthier for it all around.

But watching my two favorite guys swinging back and forth, beaming at me with smiles reserved only for their mama, I was thinking, “Man, this motherhood thing is WILD. I am the most joyful woman in the world during priceless moments like these, and then there are those Updating Resume moments where I just wanna pull my hair out and go lie down in a clean, white room for at least four days.”

Just then, I noticed a nanny watching us and smiling. She was very warm towards us, especially at little Ellis as he squealed. She kept watching and smiling.

I started swelling up with pride, as she SURELY must be admiring how hands-on, doting, and active I am with both little guys, as a noble, sacrificial sweat dripped down my face. And how obviously in love with them I am and how I am only thriving as a mama, without a hint of ever being overwhelmed, insecure or grappling with questions of identity. EVER. Not a struggle in sight.

Yeah, I got this. Even a professional childcare provider recognized this gem. POP MY COLLAR TIME!

I packed up the kids, bracing myself for a visit to our Key Food with its narrow, cluttered aisles, clinically depressed cashiers and senior citizens balking at our huge stroller being there at all.

The nanny rushed to catch up to me before we strolled away for good.

“Are you looking for some help? I have a nanny friend looking for work if you need someone.”

Wait, what?

I Spy

Posted on June 25, 2013 by ajummama

There are two types of parents: those who rise to the “I Spy” Challenge and those who say, “Ask Daddy.”

On any given day, I can hardly find my keys (same place every other time). So I’m not the best parent to solicit help in finding “three flags, a flamingo, a surfin’ fella, a small steering wheel, and a fancy umbrella” at the end of a long day, especially a heat advisory day, complete with jungle thunderstorms, to kick off a NYC summer.

Yet somewhat surprising since I Spy so much in real life, way more than oblivious Daddy who will usually respond with “Huh?” when I ask, “Did you see that?”

I Spy a quiet, serene mama sitting in our music class, while the kiddies bang away on their drums, triangles, and cymbals. I am wearing my sweaty infant and trying to cover his ears after his glassy eyes have no choice but to succumb to his morning nap. I am pleading with my toddler to please listen to the teacher instead of jumping around with a little buddy he made all on his own. I Spy small earplugs in Serene Mama’s ears! Wait, THAT IS ALLOWED? I, with my supersonic hearing, could have done that ALL ALONG when toddler turbulence hits?

I Spy another mama (or nanny) crossing Queens Blvd., strolling a toddler girl. The little girl is carrying a huge rolled up wad of cash in her bare fist. I want to warn her with my characteristic, “Uh-oh, watch out!” but for once, I leave it be. (Note to self: Walk their route tomorrow and scan the black asphalt.)

I Spy a short-torso’d, slight man in office attire, walking behind us, screaming into his cell phone, “…sex?…sex? Was she a Boston Six or Beer Goggles Six?” Curious what a Boston Six is. His convo grossed me out as I rushed home with my two, still-innocent, males, but I, too, have been guilty of talking loudly on the phone in public, on gross-to-overhear topics like coaching girlfriends on how to spot quality cervical mucus for babymaking.

I Spy our friendly, androgynous Malaysian waiter/waitress who leans into Kevin and asks, “Where are you FROM?” Kevin recognizes The Look and proceeds to answer, “Korea,” just to save time, even if he was born in Flushing, NY. He/she responds with, “Are you here on holiday then?”

“Oh, no, we live here!”

“Oh, okay! Then WHERE ARE YOU FROM?”

“OH! Forest Hills. Er, here. Few blocks away.”

Script. Flipped.

As I finish typing this, I Spy our DVR with our delicious, weekly treat of the worst yet most enjoyable programming (“The Bachelorette” and “Mistresses”). I Spy a good time.

Mother’s Day 2013 aka The Threepeat

Posted on June 21, 2013 by ajummama

This was my third Mother’s Day with Micah (outside my belly) and first with Ellis (outside my belly).

Last year, Kevin surprised me with a trip back home to LA, just me, myself and I (with Ellis in my belly, gender unknown) the week BEFORE Mother’s Day. My first time EVER separating from my baby (at 18 months old) and last hurrah before I became a mama of two (though I’d like to think of it as the first of many more to come, amen?)

This year, I asked for something very low-key. Just heaps of time together with the ones who made me a mama.

Perhaps because we ALWAYS spend heaps of time together and the man knows how much I enjoy (good) surprises (not like the time he let me go to my own Baby Sprinkle unshowered with the telltale unwashed hair / makeshift ponytail, thinking we were just headed to Costco), he had planned another.

So the night before Mother’s Day weekend, he reveals to me that we are headed to…

wait for it…

…

CoCo Key…(What!? I ask for low-KEY and he takin’ us to Coco KEY in the Caribbean?!)

I had told him to save money this year and not make Mother’s Day too crazy. He need not one-up himself every year. Too much pressure and too much coin.

He explained:
CoCo Key, CONNECTICUT, not CocoKey / CocoCay, Bahamas.

On that gloomy, drizzling Saturday before Mother’s Day, he was whisking us away to CoCoKey Water Resort in Connecticut, like an indoor Raging Waters where it is 84 degrees all year long.

“Wait, what about the boys’ swimsuits? Dunno if Micah’s still fits and if Ellis even has one?”

“Already taken care of,” showing me a stuffed Gap bag.

I feel ashamed that after all his planning and surprising, my strongest reaction was, “Did you buy their swimsuits AT FULL PRICE!?” (But this is coming from someone who haggles at the dentist office). He had packed and planned marvelously, knowing how much his plant-like Californian wife needs water and sun.

The drive from our home was going to take up to two hours. We also had to stop to buy mama HER swimsuit because I had misplaced mine. I suspected my (jealous) friends who had been clowning my brown and white floral mumu for years now but there was no time to suspect and interrogate. We headed to the most obvious place one would score a last minute swimsuit.

Costco.

Kevin warned me to just pop in while he kept the car running so that we can get to the water park in a timely fashion. Even without a shopping cart, I did not heed his warning. So, a cool, hip grandpa of three small children, who was also there to make a single purchase (a huge tv), had to give me a shopping cart ride back to our still-running Honda as I had picked up boxes of assorted nuts, Goldfish, and freeze-dried fruits for the kiddies.

(The shopping cart Gramps told me a joke while showing me pictures of his grandchildren on his iPhone.

“Why do grandparents get along so well with their grandchildren?”

I guessed the usual punchline, “Because they get to go home?”

“Nope. Because they have a common enemy.”)

By the time we arrived at CoCoKey, it was raining and even gloomier so I was extra excited to set foot onto the manmade “island.”

When I think back to my third Mother’s Day, I will replay images of Kevin and me going on waterslides in tag-team succession. While I climbed up the many stairs to get to the top of the adult waterslides, Kevin and the kids would watch me eagerly from the base of the slide, then cheer me on when I came flying down. Then, it would be Daddy’s turn while I clutched them against my wet bosom.

I have to confess that even still, I managed to feel pangs of “woe is me” when I saw other families with their grandparents, lending all-around helping hands so that the parents could go have a relaxing drink together or get on the waterslides without taking turns but I tried to shake it off, like the communal water beading on my body. A waterpark with an infant and toddler is not easy as we can never exhale, but how memorable was it to see my little morsels wide-eyed as they saw their mama plunk down into the water at the end of the slide? Their first waterpark experience, Ellis’ first outside-the-bathtub, water experience.

Mother’s Day 2013 – my heart and arms full

all pajammied for the long drive home, past their bedtimes

Daddy had lined up a whole host of other activities the next day, a whole lot of togetherness all over Queens and Brooklyn, just like I had asked for. Finally writing this in late June but the gratitude and memories are still fresh.

Brooklyn Bridge, Mother’s Day 2013

It Don’t Start with a “G”

Posted on May 28, 2013 by ajummama

When we opted not to find out the sex of our second baby, my best friend, K, told me I would be having another boy. I told her to shuddup and not tell me what the Chinese Gender Predictor Calendar was revealing to her as we talked on the phone. I KNEW she would be tinkering with an Internet search as soon as I told her we’d be keeping it a surprise.

“Aight, dawg. I won’t tell you what you’ll be having. I’mma just tell you this though. It don’t start with a ‘g'” she said, howling with laughter.

“Eww, why you all SURE, too? You being cocky right now! Augh!” I said, feigning anger.

“I dunno. I just picture you as the only girl of the house. Outnumbered. Queen Bee. It’s dope!”

I thought about this conversation during recent moments where I am clearly the only lady of the house:

After receiving a hand-me-down puzzle called Diggers & Dumpers, Micah has become very interested in the different types of specialty vehicles. This is out of my realm of expertise as I am not a cool gal who knows about cars and machinery. Zero interest. He asked me what the difference between an excavator and backhoe is.

“Why not same – same, Mommy?” he asked, as he loves to match up same objects these days.

I was thinking, “Um, one sounds like the better punchline to a joke?” I explained that um…er, an excavator is bigger than a backhoe(?). Yeah, that’s it.

His earnest, wide-eyed response: “Micah backhoe. Daddy excavator. Micah small, Daddy beeg.” (I just googled “difference between excavator and backhoe” as I write up this post. Apparently, I taught him wrong. The excavator was only the bigger puzzle piece in this particular puzzle.)

Every time Micah would see the GEICO gecko on display in the window of a store we stroll by regularly, he would start screaming, “Gecko! Let’s go Mets, raahhhhh! Gecko, let’s go Mets, ahhhhh!” He would make me stop in front of the store so he could cheer properly. I just thought he was a quirky kid but today as we drove by Citifield, Micah started screaming, “Let’s go Mets, Gecko!” Sure enough, we saw a billboard with the GEICO gecko across the highway from Citifield, right from his vantage point as a little passenger in our backseat.

You right, Micah. “If you see something, say something.” Reminded again to listen to our kids. They are always making connections and what sounds random isn’t quite so.

When I heard Kevin raising his voice at Micah as he wrangled him for a bath, I said, “Hey, you know if you keep yelling at him, it won’t be effective when you really need to raise your voice at him. He’ll think Daddy just yells.”

“Don’t worry. I have a different octave for that. You gotta put some bass into it.” And sure enough, who does Micah listen to more? The one who has bass to put into it.

And finally, I had been working on getting Micah to wean off his perfectionist tendencies. I had initially thought that it was a toddler’s developmental milestone to become almost obsessed with getting everything right, i.e. when working on puzzles. I talked to a few friends with toddlers and they informed me that this is actually a part of his personality, a trait, not part of a toddler’s development. I noticed he would want to make sure he’s right, before trying to put a puzzle piece into the puzzle, or matching a picture in a book.

So I said, “Guess what, Micah? Let’s just have fun and get it all wrong. Mommy wants to show you that getting it wrong can be fun and there is nothing, er…well, wrong, with getting things wrong sometimes!”

But Micah didn’t like this game and proceeded to put every piece in its rightful place. “TA-DAAAA!” he exclaimed with pride.

Just then, Kevin walks by and busts out with, “Whooo-hooo! Micah got it ALL RIGHT! My man! High-five!”

Great. We just took a few steps back(hoe).