Like a Baby in a Storm aka Wear Me, Lord!

Posted on May 10, 2013 by ajummama

We had just parted ways with our little buddies at the library. I was wearing Ellis in a baby carrier against my warm and plush torso so that he can fall asleep though overtired, way past his naptime. Mr. EZ Kim had graciously given up a proper nap in his crib yet again in order to accompany his big brother to his Wednesday activity. Secondborn’s lot in life.

On the way home, the raindrops that initially fell intermittently from the trees started coming down faster and even fatter. Micah was sitting in the double stroller, facing me, Ellis still on my body, his seat empty. I adjusted the raincover for their stroller accordingly but it was pouring so furiously that a pool of water was already gathering at the bottom of both seats.

Micah pleaded with me to take off the raincover as it was annoying him. This was going to be a long walk home.

I pleaded back with him to please please just be patient as we had many blocks to go.

I was carrying an umbrella, wearing Ellis, fidgeting with the wet, steamy raincover, trying to stroll as fast as I could when the front wheels started locking so that I could not maneuver them. Locking every other step I took. So I would have to crouch down, wearing Ellis, blinking through the rain, trying to figure out why it kept locking on us.

Thunder. Lightning. So loud that car alarms started going off in succession in the parking lot of a funeral home, and up and down Queens Blvd. Micah asked for snacks in the midst of all this. I pleaded with him again to please be patient as Mommy could not reach down and rummage through for a snack of his choice.

Toddlers are not too compassionate during a harried moment.

My stomach was grumbling from hunger.

Brakes locking repeatedly.

Passersby looked at me trying to get our little crew home safely as they waited under awnings. I thought about seeking refuge under a bodega awning or at the Chinese restaurant our friends are grossed out by due to the “C” grade, but I was nervous that Micah would get restless and demand to walk. I would rather deal with the storm than a tantrum. Drivers snug in their cars watched us, too, as we were quite a spectacle.

Because I was wearing Ellis and Micah was seated in the seat closest to me, it looked like I had three kids with me.

Ellis stirred awake. I was nervous that he would cry from hunger or from being startled by the elements. Instead, he looked around, looked up right at me and smiled a gummy smile. He sighed with content as he watched the outside world, hanging from my shoulders.

By looking at his serene face, you would not know that we were walking clumsily through a crazy storm. At that very moment, like J. Lo said about her second husband, Chris Judd, in an Oprah interview shortly before their divorce, he was my peace.

When I got home, I had to towel myself dry and catch my breath. Thankfully, the kids were dry and my phone had kept Micah from bombarding me with any more requests. I WAS FAMISHED but diapers don’t change themselves.

Micah proceeded to play with his toys all over the living room without picking up after himself. Of course, I tripped on them as I tried to rush and change Ellis’ diaper. Micah then chose that moment to get jealous. “Mommy, Hold me?! Hold meeeeee! Hold you!?”

I wanted to transport myself to the Grand Canyon to belt out all the stress of that moment, deep from within my gut. Not just that moment but other storms that have been raging within me for months now. I wanted to be as loud as that thunder and lightning we had just walked through. Set off car alarms.

If I had been able to write this post immediately after that storm, I would’ve ended it here. Just a scene from our week. TGIF, whatever.

But today, as I nursed Ellis from the right boob while feeding Micah with my left hand and myself with my right hand (a rare occurrence, this terrible timing, but we were all so hungry at the same time), I realized that the most memorable part of that storm was 1) the entire walk home, including the end when we finally got to our building and someone who tried to help me push the stroller inside couldn’t do it because it was just too heavy. This was a scene that was so chaotic for 20 minutes but something I will tell the boys over and over again, how “when they were little,” we walked through a scary storm together and they were so brave and happy…

and

2) how they didn’t bat an eye through the loudest of storms because MOMMY WAS WITH THEM! Ellis looked like we were taking a stroll on a perfect day like today.

As Micah is prone to say, “Don’t cry Ellis! Mommy here!”

What a beautiful and innocent stage they are in. Nothing is troubling as long as Mommy is here!

I’m thankful for this new visual I can use when I pray to my Lord and Savior. I will conjure up Ellis’ face in the midst of that storm as I pray through my own struggles. To trust that I don’t have to be afraid.

Most Reviled

Posted on May 10, 2013 by ajummama

Fondly remembering last year’s Mother’s Day. Ellis was living in my womb and we didn’t know he’d be a boy (though I was not able to imagine a girl poppin’ out). Continue reading for more…

ajummama

A few months ago, my husband asked me to save the dates, the weekend before Mother’s Day.

“Schedule nothing – no playdates, no kiddie birthday parties.”

He knows how much I savor (good) surprises, the build-up of anticipation even MORE than the actual event sometimes. So when I learned that he was going to take 1.5 precious vacation days off for this surprise, I knew what was gonna go down.

Obviously, only one possibility. To visit his groomsman and his family in his new home in Portland, Maine. Totally made sense – quick plane ride, close enough to spend only three days there, a place to stay, and we had been talking about visiting ever since they moved there last year. I didn’t bother to guess any more until the actual day of our trip, as I was completely sure of myself.

No brainstorming necessary.

One thing that threw me…

View original post 1,178 more words

“Go Work in Office, MOMMY!” aka Thursday

Posted on April 25, 2013 by ajummama

I am recovering from a 6.5 or 7 tantrum on the tantrum Richter scale (I reserve the right to change magnitude after experiencing more tantrums in the future). What a dramatic way for my firstborn to turn 29 months old today.

A seven-minute walk from the playground ended up taking us approximately 45 minutes (door to swing). Don’t know what set him off. He has been battling a pesky, persistent cough for about a week now but something else set him off on a whole ‘nutha level.

Some guesses:
He was annoyed that I didn’t bring his scooter while the other kids scootered ’round and ’round? (He started scootering on an imaginary scooter). He saw me adoringly place Ellis back into the stroller first? He heard me cooing at Ellis as Ellis faces me in the stroller? He asked for milk and alls I had was diluted juices (apple and orange)? He is two years old?

As we left the playground, Micah demanded to be carried. I explained to him that I could not carry him on the street while strolling his brother. “We can hold hands, Micah. But Mommy cannot carry you up. Too heavy for Mommy, ok? Mommy hold you at home, okay!?” This made him throw himself on the ground and scream, “Mommy! Carry up, carry up. I’m baby. Carry up, carry up.” This broke my heart because Micah never exhibited any jealousy when we first brought Ellis home from the hospital but lately, he’s been saying, “Mommy, put baby down. I’m baby. Carry up. Hold me.”

I crouched down and held him in a big soothing bearhug to let him know that I hear how upset he is. But holding was not sufficient. He wanted to be carried all the way home while I strolled the double stroller!

I tried to keep him in the stroller but he was thrusting around so much that I let him loose. I was not strong enough to force him back down, which is what his daddy always advises. He bucked so much that his snack tray fell off and onlookers watched me pick up all the dried strawberries, dried bananas, and animal crackers from off the ground.

“Micah, do you want to live here on the sidewalk of Queens Blvd.? You have a home. You don’t live on the streets. I see our home from here (pointing). Let’s walk like good boy and Mommy will give you big hug and read you stories when we get home.” Made him more pissed.

While he cried and carried on on the sidewalk, an obese lady walked by with her brown poodle. She saw me struggling with Micah and she just shook her head at us, laughing derisively! I wanted to pause from our scene to tell her to go suck a bag of…(it wasn’t an empathetic laugh. It was a ridiculing, “I hate f*cking bratty little kids” laugh.) Few other passersby walked by and were much kinder, one saying that he’s a grandpa of three, and that they can get like this at this age. I told them about the lady who laughed at us.

Man of the hour: li’l bro EZ who waited patiently ON THE STREET FOR nearly 40 MINUTES, in the chilly shade, while his big bro was working it out. Shout out to neighbor doing laundry in the basement who ESCORTED us to the elevator as I had to carry hysterical Micah after all while she strolled Ellis. If I didn’t carry him, he would walk right under my feet so that I couldn’t even walk without tripping over his body.

Man of the Hour, waiting patiently (pictured here before tantrum erupted)

Micah understands everything these days so when he heard neighbor lady say, “Wow, your little sister is so good and quiet. She’s waiting patiently,” (about Ellis), he started crying more.

At one point, I tried to carry him under my armpit, like a huge clutch but he got even more upset by that. I reasoned with him that I can hold him to his heart’s content once we got home. That didn’t work.

More aftershocks at home when I tried to put him down for a nap. He actually said, “Mommy, go! Go away,” (which is not uncommon for him to tell both Mommy and Daddy when he poops or wants to play alone with baby) but for the FIRST TIME EVER he also said, “Go work in office!” Excuse me, little boy? I’ll have you know I always update my resume after one of your big tantrums anyhow but you told me to do what now? Like you aren’t the same boy who hadn’t been able to separate from mommy or daddy in Sunday school until two weeks ago?

TGIThursday at the very least. Two Trader Joe’s tamales later, I am still wondering what made him get THIS upset. Maybe I’m still new to the Terrible Two’s club, but this was a doozy. Gotta go now. A resume don’t update itself you know.

‘Cause I Gotta Have Faith, the Faith, the Faith…

Posted on April 25, 2013 by ajummama

Kevin just left for his Wednesday night ritual. Looking for parking.

“Do what you need to do Jihee-yah! I’ll be BOCK,” he said as he left.

I’ve been wanting to write for so long but have been burnt out the past couple weeks. Since the kids have been battling a persistent cough and runny nose, I have been running after the one who can run and wrangling the other tender morsel to wipe their faces multiple times an hour. NONSTOP. The second one has to succumb to my sucking his snot out with my beloved Nosefrida but the first one just starts running like Peter, the chubby white boy on “The Cosby Show” whenever I threaten him with, “You’re next, Micah!” My days are filled with snot, spit-up, tears, drool, “Cover your mouth when you cough, Micah!” and, “Ellis, Ow, ow, ow, let go of mommy’s hair,” and a dozen requests for Mommy to do something else right then and there. Micah has also been a bit sensitive lately to our adoration of his little brother, acting up more when he sees me caring for or nibbling on Ellis.

As I started typing this, I got a whiff of a distinct gnarly smell. I began looking around the living room to see if I missed a puddle of spit-up from when Ellis practices crawling too soon after a meal. Nope. Couldn’t find anything. It turns out it’s my shirt. Just a general stench from wearing it two days in a row while carrying the kids around.

As thoroughly spent as I am, if I don’t write, I feel incomplete and even melancholy, just a shell of myself. I have to write but I’ve been confused about the medium: what belongs in a journal, in an email to a close friend, in a blog post, or even in a letter to my kids (moments to read about when they are older).

Since my last post, so much has happened in the world, namely the Boston Marathon bombing, which I don’t have the energy to string together words for at this moment.

When I want to write about 17 different things, and don’t get to jot them down, I lose them all.

(Okay, I need to take off this smelly shirt before I can proceed).

Two Sundays ago, Kevin and Ellis stayed home from church to nurse their colds. Kevin rarely misses church and I was tempted to stay back with them to gladly declare the day as Family Rest Day but I ended up driving just Micah and me to church. I acutely craved church after hearing about Pastor Rick Warren’s son, Matthew Warren, taking his own life at the age of 27, after battling depression all his life. A lot to unpack.

Quick drive down Queens Blvd. Micah is talking to me about what he sees on the road or singing along with the chorus of Taylor Swift’s “Trouble, trouble, trouble, Ohhh!”

We get in the vicinity of church and I start looking for parking. We pass by a crew of firemen washing their firetruck. Each time we pass, Micah exclaims, “FIRETRUCK!” At first, it was a cool sight to see, but each time we pass by them, it becomes a reminder that we STILL ain’t found no parking!

I start sweating profusely as I struggle to withhold my choice curse words. It is maddening to deal with parking even to get to church! I am very close to just driving back home since we are already half an hour late and I can’t stomach such tardiness. I can imagine myself surprising sick Kevin by stomping back into our apartment and throwing myself onto the couch, crying about how we couldn’t go to church due to PARKING! I know how much little Micah loves his Sunday school and this pisses me off even more.

I pray for patience, calm, and a parking spot. I explain to Micah, “We just need to park the car and then we can go into the church. You can go into your Little Lambs class but we need to park our car, okay?” (I used to wonder why parents bother to give play-by-plays to their toddlers but now I see how it can prevent tantrums if they know what’s going on, and how they are part of the action).

I start muttering while breathing deeply, “For the LOVE of GOD, please, please give us a parking spot!” Micah starts to parrot back, “…Love…God! please…parking! Love…God…oh, Mommy, firetruck!”

As the radio starts to blast George Michael’s oldie “‘Cause I gotta have faith, the faith, the faith, I gotta have faith!” I come up on a parking spot, like an oasis in the desert. A big space too! Now I see how God was teaching me patience and timely provision. I can make it to church after all. He had prepared this spot for me while I of weak faith doubted. What a great lesson, a story to tell on my blog perhaps? Almost too good to be true, especially with the perfect song playing on the radio!

Our friends pull up beside me in their bigger Honda. I say hello and check with them, “Hey, I finally found parking after more than 30 minutes! This is fine, right, this parking spot?” He checks for a few moments and informs me, “No, this is a construction site. You can’t park here.” Sure enough, I see that there is a sign on a makeshift wooden facade indicating that it is a construction site and that cars will be towed. It looked too good to be true because it was.

Moments ago, Micah and I had been high-fiving and cheering, “Yay, parking! Awww, jeahh!” but I sheepishly scoop Micah back into his carseat and explain that we cannot park there after all. Somehow, I am no longer tempted to return home to have an adult tantrum. I continue to look for parking. A huge truck ahead of me swoops in on a huge spot that I had been salivating for. In order to not give up, I keep picturing Micah learning songs in his Sunday school class. Keep my eyes on the prize.

We eventually find legal parking.

That Sunday ended up being the first time Micah stayed in Sunday school by himself. I kept sneaking peeks through the window in disbelief that he was able to separate. Initially, he started crying when I left but after I took him into the sanctuary for a few minutes to show him that this is where Mommy and other adults will be singing and listening to sermon, he looked at me firm in the eyes and solemnly said, “Bye Mommy!” I knew then that this was going to be it. He was ready.

Sure, parking is just parking, not a matter of life or death and this is a long-winded rant but when I thought I had found a spot with that George Michael song so aptly setting the mood, I thought I had come across a sweet little nugget, a neat story about having faith and God providing even something as insignificant as parking in moments of “darkness.” (I was really reaching, I know).

But life is messy and complex. God does not provide everything that can make for a sweet anecdote about faith or fit easily into a chapter of “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” Instead of the gift of that initial parking spot, I was gifted with resolve and self-control by not succumbing to my quick temper, by not driving home dejectedly. And the unexpected gift of Micah staying in Sunday school on his own for the first time.

In this wilderness of staying home with two very young children, I often feel lost in terms of next steps. The How of it all. When do I go back to work? In what form? How do I pour out all my heart and breath for my kids and family while still remembering to dream for myself and figure out what is life-giving to me apart from being their mama? And how can I contribute income to my family doing something I enjoy, while still being able to spend heaps of time with my kids? Is this even possible or must I white-fist it through some job just to provide?

I don’t know.

It may not be a simple story I can put a bow on and present as a neat chapter of my life but I want to keep searching. I may sweat profusely and throw tantrums along the way but I want to keep on keeping on. Goodnight.

“The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” v. “Washington Heights”

Posted on February 8, 2013 by ajummama

Blizzard looks freaking beautiful outside my window. I love hearing the crackling sound as the snow pellets hit my window.

Both my morsels are knocked out, though #2 will soon suck on his fists vociferously, looking for some nourishment to sustain the swollness of his cheeks. The dude is so chill, making him even more adorable to me. Yesterday, big bro finally became too curious about little bro’s Albert Einstein hair and yanked it hard after fronting like he was going to be gentle. EZ hardly let out more than a yelp though I had to reprimand Micah to never do that again.

I should lie down for a bit because I still feed EZ around 2 am and 6ish am though he is over 4 months now. He doesn’t cry to be fed but I hear him sucking his little fists hard and I see his black eyes open in the dark like a squirrel looking for a nut and I know he’s hungry.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the ladies of the The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (“TRHOBH”) and the cast of Washington Heights (“WH”) cannot be more different.

I watch TRHOBH with such disdain that I shouldn’t watch, if I’m gonna be such a hater. Eyes hurting from rolling my eyes too much. Maybe it stems from envy on some level but only of their bank accounts and how money is never a factor to weigh. These ladies have money coming out their ears but are the opposite of bombdig80 in every way.

Their posh gatherings are almost always catered even if it’s just hanging out at their crib. I wouldn’t be mad at that because who wouldn’t want tuna tartare on the regular but they don’t even have real friendships while gathered around said tuna tartare, despite all the cheek-kissing. Their gatherings are always about the decadent food or the poshness of the event/trip, not that they actually enjoy each other. Their “friendships” are so wack that I always thank God for my real friends whenever I watch these clowns. They just try to keep up with each other, make sure they are as bling’d out, lipglossed, Spank’d, hair-did, dieted as their “friend.” They are competitive about their pet projects/side hustles that they couldn’t have landed without this show.

The recent Vegas trip hosted by Brandi was cringeworthy because she was trying so hard to fit in with these hens not because they are quality friendship material but because of their wealth, power, connections. They tried so hard to crack up over unfunny banter (“ba-gi-na!”) and act like they are truly bonding. I’ve been in professional situations like that, where I have to fake-smile and sustain the smile for the whole evening that I leave the dinner with aching facial muscles.

I know they are not friends from childhood so I shouldn’t expect their bond to go deeper than for the cameras but I can’t help but compare them to the kids on WH. (I actually don’t know how old the cast of WH are but much younger than me).

I just started watching WH because one of my best friends told me about it. I wasn’t going to tune in because I need to be doing other things offa my to-do list and the cast looks too young to interest me. But these kids are BOMB!

They may not have ends/scrill/cheddar/greenbacks right now but their friendships are so genuine and strong that they want to bring each other up when they do come up. No jealousy or sizing each other up. Always genuinely supporting each others’ endeavors, be it rapping, singing, poetry, art, baseball. They pool together their limited funds to just buy some fried chicken and hang on the rooftop or have taco night but make sure everyone comes through to spend time together, just clowning each other, and checking in.

I know the hens on TROBH always show up to everything to “support” each other but it isn’t convincing. There is such a contrast with WH. These kids really care. They listen to each other, are loyal, and not transactional. Whether it’s someone’s birthday or Open Mic Night, they are so there for each other and celebratory of others’ successes.

Their friendship makes it less tough to deal with problems like a younger brother’s incarceration, not having both parents around, or having to pass out flyers as a day job so that he can chase his pro-baseball dreams.

Unlike some would be, these kids are not ashamed of their humble backgrounds. Ludwin’s grandma sells shaved ice from a cart and he runs after her, not from her, so that he and a friend can score some ices for free. J.P. beams as he hands over a few hundred dollars to his mama, money he made at a rapping gig, money they needed to pay their electric bill.

TROBH would never be okay with slumming it and their “problems” are never about how to pay the bills or having a roof over their heads but about nerves before getting her nose done or feeling awkward at a cocktail party because someone defamed someone else.

And the difference in the LEVEL OF CONVERSATION and humor! The hens on that other show are so dull even though they travel to exotic places and attend high society events. These WH kids just flow with each other and talk so well about matters of the heart – their dreams, fears, relationships, families, issues. True, Frankie needs to walk away from Ludwin because she WILL get hurt but overall dynamics is that everyone can talk about anything and everything. No stupid small talk or hiding their real selves.

OK, this post sucked as I couldn’t drop examples (too time consuming to describe) but if I wait to edit, I’m never gonna post so here it goes. Fat Cheeks woke up anyhow. Peace.

superbowl (of ramen) saturday

Posted on February 3, 2013 by ajummama

Today was a Saturday not unlike other Saturdays since we’ve become a family of four.

But for some reason, today, I kept thinking, “This is my life.

Not when it gets easier or when I get thinner or when it gets warmer or when our home gets bigger.

When I am 62, I will look back at these moments with heartfelt longing. When I touch my grown sons’ stubbled cheeks, my mind will replay these mental pictures.”

Moments like:

Leaving the house at 9 am for Micah’s small soccer class. Packing double diapers, double stroller, double emergency outfits. Watching him grin bashfully as he learns his “squish-squash” toe-stop toddler soccer drills. His European coaches cheering “GOAL!” in encouragement.

Rushing to get both kids in the car as temperatures continue to drop (now ending with snow on the ground as I write this). “I got Micah, you get baby.” “Did you pack his juice?” “You sure you didn’t leave your wallet/phone/purse at soccer?”

Watching Micah play with his little church friends as we adults gather in our friends’ basement to discuss what Shalom in the City means. Amazed that he can now separate and stay with a babysitter. He started attending this Family Small Group when he was only a few months old and now here he is, in his huge soccer jersey, playing with puzzles and strumming a toy guitar, with a little brother in tow.

Driving from Long Island to Astoria to make it to a one year old’s birthday party. Just as we had planned, Micah konks out as soon as we belt him into his carseat. Nap, check. Relieved he won’t be dazed and looney at the party. We crack up as we see a European man in his black Escalade driving next to us with his stubble and sportcoat, eating an instant bowl of Shin Ramen! I do a double-take to make sure he really is eating ramen out of the styrofoam ramen bowl, not recycling and reusing it to fill with chips or peanuts. He has chopsticks in them so he is actually eating this as he drives! Amazing. Ballsy. Quirky.

Escalade Ramen Man inspires our lunch. We happen to drive by a Japanese ramen house once we get to Astoria so I run in to get our ramens to go, though Taco Bell or Subway would’ve been easier to eat. To Go means eating it in our car as Micah continues to sleep and passersby peer into our car, windows steaming from the marriage of hot broth and cold outside air. We have to assemble the contents of the hot ramen very delicately and cautiously in the front console, setting different bowls of food on the dashboard. We tagteam eat as Ellis has woken up and is seated in Daddy’s lap, just taking in his surroundings and grooving to Eminem’s new song (or what we think is his new song). While it took some juggling and it wasn’t as convenient as dining in at the restaurant, we are content, our bellies warm and nourished.

We get to the birthday party exactly on time, but Micah is still snoozing away so we leave him be. We find out there are two flights of stairs at the party so Daddy helps escort Ellis (in his heavy infant carseat) and me as our friend who we ran into while parking, stays with sleeping Micah.

Micah joins the party and explores the venue with his neighborhood friends. Friends he met when he was Ellis’ age. They are now climbing, jumping, calling each other by name, getting their pictures taken by at least three iPhones at once. All of us have second kids now.

The night gets colder. Snow is falling. Micah does his pre-bath routine of running around nekked then sprinting into my arms for a final bearhug before heading to the bathtub with Daddy. Ellis has developed a strange quirk in the past month, of nursing only while lying down, and only in the bedroom. Can’t bear to make him get hungry enough to break the habit. Today he takes lots of breaks even while lying down, blowing bubbles and making fart noises with his little lips, which he seems to have discovered anew. We put Micah to bed together, noting that his posse of stuffed animals needs to get capped off at six.

What a full, blessed day. No big milestones and not unlike others but sometimes the best days are when I can clearly see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

milkshake apéritif

Posted on January 25, 2013 by ajummama

When my husband comes home soon, I get to go into our poorly lit bedroom for a little bit (until our congested #2 needs to be nursed) and BE STILL, after a day of meeting our kiddies’ demands, without a playdate or an outing to break up the wintry hours.

It is comical to me, a Californian, how cold it is this week. It’s a joke. And it’s doing nothing for my VERY LOOSE plan to slim down before seeing my best friends. The husband is an enabler when he asked all on his own yesterday, the Day Micah Didn’t Nap, “Do you want me to get you your peanut butter/chocolate shake from your spot? I have to move the car anyways and you’ve had a rough day.” Even more ridiculous than this week’s arctic temps is that we still have to move our car. And yes, that is my usual “beverage” of choice.

Being at home with the kids makes me feel like I have multiple personalities. When I’m squeezing and kissing them, or watching the gorgeously fat-cheeked one beaming at the now-lean one, upside down, from his Boppy pillow, with a milky smile, I think, “I SO understand the Duggars. How can we stop at just two of these morsels?” Same for when I see the boys bonding, or #1 beaming at his music class or at Sunday School, or feeding me tons of imaginary food.

But when I still don’t have it together enough to plan and cook nutritious, delicious meals for them or run the home like a small preschool, all the while being a Proverbs 31 wifey, I feel like I am only surviving, not thriving. Not being the best mama I can be while blessed enough to be at home.

Or when I see myself, really see myself a la “Avatar,” on a day like today, dressing PURELY for comfort, wearing the same hole-y tore-up loose grey t-shirt and navy elastic pants that aren’t so elastic any more, with dried milk stains on or around the chest, smelling not unlike cheese because of said milk, and hair falling out of ponytail holder like I’m actually TRYING to look like the BEFORE on The Ricki Lake Show, makeover episode circa 1991, with my teef knocked out (not really, but the gheem I overate while waiting for the husband to make his entrance, makes it look like I lost a couple teeth), I think, “How am I gonna revamp myself to look and feel as presentable as working Jihee? To be motivated in the mornings to not be a slob just because I knew we weren’t going out at all today?” Big ups to my hair, though, steadfastly thick and sustaining a gal through some blah moments, though not able to be held in place.

During this free time, I should finish at least one of the Christian books I’ve started.

I should at least START the book on toilet training that I procured from the library. But how does one read more on parenting after a whole day of parenting? NO THANK YOU!

We really should change the lighting in our home to not look like we’re filming a PSA against domestic violence here.

We really should do something about the clutter that enrages me yet never goes away completely. We just seem to rearrange shit into different corners of the home, a stupid game of Hide-and-Seek, where everything is actually in plain view.

We really need to move into bigger space. Already. After having bought this place so recently (Sept. 2010). But the bank is so unreasonable, not willing to accept Monopoly money for the monthly mortgage and maintenance payments.

All I want to do is tune out for a bit and be on this heavy laptop that Micah forbids me from using during the day, tune out by reading a blog I found called “People I Want to Punch in the Face.” Today, I want to add to that list “people with unlimited free time.”

My time is up. I didn’t get to read that blog but at least I got to type a sliver of my own thoughts. And yes, I know this is all just a season and soon I will find my groove and I need to be kinder and more patient with my self, blah blah. Let a girl get her therapy on via blog, though, won’t you, please, my dear seven readers? Peace.

It’s the Thuggish Ruggish…

Posted on January 12, 2013 by ajummama

“Excuse me? Hi. I received an email this morning that my book had arrived. But it’s not there.”

The man behind the desk looks up from surfing the ‘Net to say, “You sure it’s not on the reserve shelf?”

“I already checked under my last name and library card number but it isn’t there.”

After he checked two other spots, he apologized and said he didn’t know what to tell me. The book was just missing.

My theory for my missing copy of “Toilet Training Without Tears” was that one of the many local parents of toddlers saw my copy set aside in the reserve section and swiped it for their own pee pee, poo poo needs, all the while knowing that it was pre-ordered for a Ms. Lee and her clearly marked library card number (last four digits).

My vengeful nature flared up. I was tempted to retaliate by swiping the pre-ordered copy of “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” that was hovering next to the other book I had requested. It could be easily mistaken as an accidental borrowing as the other patron’s last name was also LEE.

I’m proud to say I didn’t follow-through with such an immoral act, as tempting as it was.

I AM a mom after all. I have to set an example.

Library Beef. That was how a fraction of my Friday unfolded, with my two boys waiting for me patiently in my tall-ass double stroller.

What happened to my street cred (shout out to Slauson Swapmeet, Crenshaw Blvd)? My hard core South Central upbringing where people would retaliate for more major offenses like, say, KILLING THEIR LOVED ONES, not for borrowing one’s pre-ordered How-To book? Did my thuggish ruggish bone get replaced with sorry shelving woes? card catalog catastrophes?

(Truth be told, Library Beef is quite in alignment with my nuanced flava of street cred, i.e. my doing homework diligently Joy Luck Club style in the back of my Korean parents’ Chinese takeout store in a neighborhood where drive-by shootings were as expected as the mail).

Such a fruitful week in terms of playdates and other activities but by today, (thankGodit’s)Friday, I am wiped out. Too wiped out to write about the mundane details of my day other than Library Beef, like about how Micah wanted to pick out his own clothes (blue shirt and black pants), how Ellis has become real quirky wanting to nurse only in strange and uncomfy positions, like lying upside down next to me on the bed, at which point, Micah will join us in the high, King-sized bed jumping up and down with all his might, squealing with delight, not caring that he’s giving me small heart attacks because he could fall onto Ellis, the frame, or the wooden floors while I am helplessly latched onto / occupied;

how it has become a bigger production to get out of the house now that Micah has such strong 25+ month-old opinions about what he’d rather be doing than getting bundled up and strapped into the stroller, and how Ellis pooped so much after skipping a day, that it went up his back and onto the shoulder blades, while they were supposed to have already been strapped into the stroller.

Later on in the day, after taking apart all the dried-up blue PlayDoh all over crazy messy living room, Micah told me he has to pee, by which he meant, he had already peed into his training briefs, into his sweatpants, and onto some part of the living room.

One of those days I get real grouchy towards the husband for simply providing for us via a desk job where he can run out to buy some premium olive oil without two kids and a Transformer-looking stroller in tow. Punk!

Tomorrow is Saturday. I’mma drive up real slow to the library…

(after stopping by the charming French bakery)

and find out what happened to my book (thumping chest, adjusting bandana).

Tree Skirt

Posted on December 25, 2012 by ajummama

As a follow-up to my “Starting with Stockings” post, here are the stockings we’ve added to our home, as a commitment to create holiday traditions for our third-generation Korean-American boys.

I never thought I’d go Mrs. Claus but I chose her at the end because choices were very limited and I am the mama after all.

KK went Santa. Clear choice for him, even from the beginning of our deliberation. Never any wavering. Always steady.

We chose Black Bear for Micah as his beloved best friend is his Pooh Bear.

We chose this Rudolph for Ellis because he currently looks like him. Plush.

We are FAMILY. Micah enjoys pointing at each stocking everyday, doing roll call on his family members.

I also learned just THIS YEAR that the bottom covering for hiding Christmas tree roots actually has a name. “Tree skirt” for all you other latent FOBs. We had to stop displaying the cards on the tree skirt as more and more started coming in and it looked like a hot mess:

Each year, we will buy one ornament for each boy. Bear is the obvious choice for Micah once again, and this other little creature looks like Ellis.

Aight, I am not enjoying this process of posting pictures via blog. It is taking way too long. I bet I’m doing something wrong. I’mma take it to Facebook instead as that is what I’m used to and I also get to control who sees a gang of pictures of my boys.

Merry Christmas to all!

Starting with Stockings

Posted on December 5, 2012 by ajummama

Growing up, I felt acute loneliness during the holidays as our nuclear family of four was on our own in the States, with all of our relatives back in the mothaland. We had second cousins but they were all first cousins with each other so I often felt like we were the outsiders when they were kind enough to include us in their family gatherings. The holidays also meant my parents had to work extra long hours at whichever small business they were running at the time. I remember my mama literally collapsing when she came home from the store. Though my exhausted parents managed to put up a tree each year and we attended Christmas and New Year’s church services, a melancholy would wash over me as it felt like I was missing out on something magical that other families, like those on tv, as well as those I went to school with, would be partaking in from Thanksgiving through the New Year.

The beauty of having my own little family now is that we can create our own magic and wonder during the holiday season. I want my boys to be in awe of this time, to associate it with lots of time doting on each other and truly being merry. So many traditions to choose from! Or we can create our own (like lobsters for Christmas perhaps and doing an Advent study together each night).

While still deliberating on what type of tree to bring home, Kevin and I decided late last night that we were going to order our very first personalized family Christmas stockings. We figured it would take about 15 minutes before we went to bed, but this is how it went down:

K: Okay, Jihee-yah. Choose yours. (handing me the laptop)

J: This should be fast, uh, cuz I’m trying to watch Parenthood. Lotta them are already sold out so fewer choices to go over. Since I’m the only girl, I should get the ballerina or doll stocking. I did do gymnastics but no ballet so I’mma go with doll. Yes, I like that. I am the DOLL among you mens.”

K: Okay. You gotta choose light-skinned or dark-skinned doll, Jihee-yah.

J: Come on now. Do you even have to ask? Do you KNOW me?

K: Yes, poseur, but the dark-skinned doll is DARK. Sorry to say but you look more like the light-skinned.

J: Yes, Connecticut, I see what you mean, but the SPIRIT is dark-skinned so put the dark one in our cart. No further discussion needed.

K: Wait, you sure you wanna go with Doll because now I see that there is an Angel and you always going on about your chunsah birthday.” (My birthday is 10.04 and if you say 1004 in Korean, it is the same word for angel – “chunsah”.)

J: This is true – and there is a light-skin, dark-skin option for Angel, too. But what if I choose Angel and then that choice makes me die early and y’all be crying saying she should’ve gone Doll, not Angel that one Christmas?

(Kevin does not dignify with a response.)

K: I’m thinking reindeer stocking for Micah.

J: But the reindeer is a baby so let’s go reindeer for Ellis.

K: I was thinking snowman for Ellis because he fat. Tri-rolls like Ellis. They got same body – look!

J: True again! And the reindeer look real sweet like Micah and resembling him in the eyes. You sure you don’t wanna go with Train for Micah though? He loves choo-choo!

K: But what’s train got to do with Christmas for real though?

J: True true true. You on a roll!

K: I’m choosing the Santa for myself because I am the head of the family.

J: Right, obvious choice. What color should our names be on the stockings? You know Koreans say writing your name in red is imminent death.

K: Screw that. We’re going with red because the green looks stupid.

J: Should my stocking say Mommy, Mama or Umma? Micah or MLK? Ellis or E.Z.?

More deliberating and yawning. WA-A-A-Y MORE THAN 15 MINUTES LATER:

J: Cool, so when are they arriving?

K: Never.

J: Why?! Noooo! Did they get sold out while we were deliberating?

K: I read the reviews. All recent customers said poor quality. They suck.

So back to the drawing board tonight. Gotta get some traditions going ASAP. Already December 5th!