Holidays and Emotional Fireworks

Posted on July 5, 2016 by ajummama

When I struggle emotionally, I’m prone to feel like a freak, utterly unrelatable, like no one else suffers from my particular malady, be it anger explosions or self-loathing or battling envy.

And man, what is up with the holidays and emotion overload? I swear I start off excited to enjoy a special holiday with my family but many times, I sabotage my own happiness.

On Friday night before Fourth of July Monday, we set off for K’s mom’s house in CT. During the tornado watch. But we didn’t just set off as easily as that prior sentence sounds. I only worked on Monday so that I can be with the kids the rest of the week after M’s school let out Tuesday at noon . We kept active and social with playground runs, a trip to MoMA, and playdates, but by Friday, I was feeling agitated. Spent.

When K got home that night, I was already in a mood. I was taking the boys’ not listening too personally. Also, unbeknownst to me, I was nervous about our CT weekend, an emotional minefield. We hadn’t seen his brother’s family in too long so I became nervous and also subconsciously flashbacked to how unsafe I had felt with these in-laws in the past (though we are now pleasant with each other the few times we meet up, thank you Lawd).

During a jog around the neighborhood after K got home to relieve me, the damn sabotage cycle commenced.

My thought balloon formed as I jogged: “Why can’t I just stay home? That way, I don’t have to feel nervous and not be all self-conscious about how to do my face while on this other planet called Greenwich. It doesn’t have to be terrible like when K and I had a huge fight on a previous holiday and they actually left without me. Why can’t I calmly just state that I am sorry to cancel but I will be taking three days for myself, without it turning into drama?”

But I knew I was wrong. I had agreed to this CT weekend weeks ago and part of our recurring fight cycle is that for holidays, emotions overwhelm me and I want to bone out, when most of the time, word is bond for me and I do NOT flake.

I have open wounds about living across the country from my own family and friends for almost every holiday, previous holiday sabotaging and fight cycles, childhood wounds and all sorts of lovely shit.

Only in hindsight, as in NOW, as I write this four days later, I realize that I wanted K to connect and engage me after my tough day with the kids. Instead, because he does not get as emotionally overwhelmed when taking care of them (he advises that I learn to tune them out sometimes), he does not fully know how to connect with me when I am pissy about a bad afternoon with them. Pissy because I feel like I failed, pissy because I feel like I’m not the more patient version of myself from just a few years ago.

And he also wants to give me space to breathe. I want that too but I also want him to come alongside me and help me untangle my feelings.

So when I said I may stay back, I think I wanted him to affirm me. I wanted him to say, “You can gift yourself with some Me Time next week, I assure you, but this holiday weekend, I beg of you, to please join us because *we are not the same without you.* We need you. You bring a fun spirit to our family and make everything more magical. I know you are feeling nervous about CT and I understand, but I will not abandon you or leave you to otherwise fend for yourself if you feelin’ unsafe…” (BECAUSE YES, DON’T ALL MEN SPEAK JUST LIKE OPRAH?)

To K’s credit, he did try to cobble together a version of this statement but he also got frustrated when we started squabbling and said what I could not take at the time: “Don’t worry, we will be JUST FINE without you. No problem. You will just regret not coming because you love to be out in nature and you will miss out on your kids.”

I was hurt so I lashed out, “FINE?! NO PROB?! MISS OUT ON NATURE?! Oh, don’t worry about me! I can get with some nature all by my damn self while you guys are just fine without me in CT! AND I AM SO FUN. I BRING THE FUN TO THIS FAMILY.” (See? When I don’t get affirmed, I start affirming myself but also insulting K, who is pretty damn fun.)

So many times, my emotional response is to skip Sadness and land on Anger. Sadness feels like it could crack me wide open. Sadness feels like I have no power. Anger deceives me into thinking I have power in the explosive fireworks I unleash.

After much delay, we got on the road late at night. Not all was well but at least I was able to get in the car this time. I felt like a failure for keeping the boys waiting as we fought, and now that M is bigger, he even started imploring me to join them on the CT trip and laying out reasons why I should go. It hurt my heart to hear him try to persuade me.

Going forward, I need to be able to VULNERABLY take a risk and say, “K, I am feeling all kinds of things re CT especially after a tough afternoon with the boys. Can you please remind me of why I should go and also why I am needed in this family, though you seem to be able to handle it all without me?”

But OMG, who can speak like that?! I think I am a very raw and vulnerable person but to ask exactly for what you need emotionally!? It feels like I am giving him ALL THE ANSWERS on the Scantron test so all the correct “answers” are cheating.

To be continued…I hope? Maybe. (Because I gotta write about Saturday, too).

bonding with Daddy’s friend’s family

I’m so glad I went.

Look what washed up in Madison, CT!

P.S. In this age of social media, I need to remind those who are struggling during the holidays to know that the perfect red-white-and-blue photos are only part of the story. Beautiful memories WERE created but there are demons to slay to get to the Kodak moments. At least with me and my family.

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

Freed People Free People

Posted on July 20, 2015 by ajummama

1,199,377,832 : number of Internet searches for pornography since January 1, 2015.

With that unfathomable figure on the black screen behind him, one of our church leaders shared his very personal addiction to pornography and how he was delivered from it in 1995.

I didn’t take any notes as I hung on to every word. The sermon is not on our church’s website yet as he delivered this sermon only yesterday. I will share it once it is up.

This was one of the most powerful sermons I have ever heard because of its very personal and raw nature. I saw people wiping their tears as he shared his private pain.

Redd also mentioned how he came to decide to share this testimony with such a large audience. He realized that sharing his story can bless others: Freed People Free People.

This was particularly encouraging to me, the born Public Confesser. Many times I wish I weren’t wired this way. I feel like a damn fool. Why do I always want to share? I ain’t getting paid.

Why do I have such a compulsion to share my innards instead of keeping my status updates casual: “Tried the new watermelon flavor blaster gum today. YUM!”

As I sat there, watching Redd take a huge risk by sharing his secrets, I, too, wiped away a few tears that had slipped out. I, one who has never even watched porn, connected with what he was saying.

I understand about bondage and what Apostle Paul talks about in Romans 7:15: I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

Redd also clarified that his sermon isn’t only addressing addiction to porn but to ANYTHING that makes us feel imprisoned.

Anger, overeating, eating disorders, drugs, shame, sex, fear, unforgiveness, blame, and so much more. And in 2015, I’m sure there is a whole host of new addictions like addiction to our smartphones and social media so that we aren’t left alone with our own thoughts.

Redd asked the congregation to whisper in our own seats: “I WANT TO BE SET FREE FROM ________.”

I want to be set free from ANGER.

It may be getting worse, not better, as I age. I know that beneath the anger lies hurt but I seem to skip right over the Hurt to rush to the release of Anger. This release is false as I don’t feel any better even after unleashing.

I am well aware of my triggers. For one, it’s when I see others enjoying what I lack. I know in my HEAD, that we all have different blessings but in my FEELS, I don’t see why I can’t have what others have.

*This is risky to share because I also have experienced folks enjoying being the object of my envy because it makes them feel better about themselves but that’s another topic altogether.*

I saw a woman in the locker room at a Korean spa on Saturday, the first day my MiL came over this calendar year so that Kevin and I could have a belated anniversary day to ourselves. A whole entire day – Glory!

This woman walked in with her infant, her mom, and her MiL (or aunt). She, herself, never tended to the baby as the doting grammas cooed over him and handled everything he needed – the undressing, the diapers, you name it. The young mom just followed their lead and changed into her own spa uniform AT HER LEISURE.

Her leisure made my body hot. Yes, I realize that you come to a spa to relax but how dare she relax with an infant? THAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE IMPOSSIBLE.

I judged her for being lazy and spoiled(!) just because she was richly blessed with a day at the spa with generations above and below.

Then I checked myself and said, “Hold up, ajumma, why are you hating on that woman you’ve never met? What is going on in there?”

I realized it was because I haven’t fully grieved being on our own these last five years as parents. Sure, I talk about it A LOT, but I don’t think I really know what to do with the sadness I hold about my kids seeing my parents once a year. How Kevin and I, for the most part, raise them up on our own. When a couple church friends expressed interest in watching our kids, I actually cried because I felt SO LOVED and supported.

I have to clarify that we have great friends I’ve made since M was an infant, and we do regular playdates, but I’m talking specifically about the Family Village, which we lack.

And believe me, in my head, I know that things could be worse – at least both sets of grandparents are alive and well, at least Kevin’s mom was able to come over on Saturday. (I also struggle with GUILT for feeling my feelings!)

I also know that I am a very energetic and competent mama perhaps because it’s either Kevin or me tending to their every need, but when I see a mom of young children hardly lifting a finger because she knows that her Village will run over to her child walking dangerously in front of another child on the swings, something is triggered.

I want to learn to say, “I feel sad that my parents live so damn far away and can’t get to know my morsels as much as I’d like,” rather than, “Fuck these lazy spoiled princess mamas who don’t know how to do jack shit on their own.”

I want to be set free from my default emotion of ANGER.

I want to be set free from the guilt I feel for some of my feelings.

I want to be set free from blaming my husband when our lives aren’t quite what I pictured.

I want to be set free from criticizing.

I want to be set free from self-hatred.

Redd reminded us that FREED PEOPLE FREE PEOPLE. What do you want to be set free from? Let’s help each other. Here is the passage we studied together yesterday – Isaiah 61:

Exaltation of the Afflicted:

The Year of the Lord’s Favor

61 The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,^[a]
²to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
³    and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.

⁴They will rebuild the ancient ruins
    and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
    that have been devastated for generations.
⁵Strangers will shepherd your flocks;
    foreigners will work your fields and vineyards.
⁶And you will be called priests of the Lord,
    you will be named ministers of our God.
You will feed on the wealth of nations,
    and in their riches you will boast.

⁷Instead of your shame
    you will receive a double portion,
and instead of disgrace
    you will rejoice in your inheritance.
And so you will inherit a double portion in your land,
    and everlasting joy will be yours.

⁸“For I, the Lord, love justice;
    I hate robbery and wrongdoing.
In my faithfulness I will reward my people
    and make an everlasting covenant with them.
⁹Their descendants will be known among the nations
    and their offspring among the peoples.
All who see them will acknowledge
    that they are a people the Lord has blessed.”

¹⁰I delight greatly in the Lord;
    my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
    and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
    and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
¹¹For as the soil makes the sprout come up
    and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness
    and praise spring up before all nations.

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.

Unintentional Hurts Still Hurt

Posted on April 14, 2015 by ajummama

“I thought about it and I want a baby sister. Then one day, when Mommy and Daddy are gone, I can have Ellis as my dad and my sister, Sarah, as my mom. Words have power, right? So now that I said that, I might get a baby sister?”

Micah laid that on Kevin when they stepped outside for some fresh air during a lovely Manhattan wedding this past Saturday. I may have schooled him too much on the power of words. For a time, he and Ellis have said they only want each other as siblings because they love each other the most but Micah has amended it here and there. Micah wants two more siblings named Sarah and Ope. No “H.”

He is four so it makes sense that he wants to be mothered and fathered, even setting up provisions so that he can ensure a lifetime of being parented.

At my age, however, it shocks me when I feel an acute need to still be mothered and fathered, almost like physical hunger at times.

Yesterday was Sunday, Bonus Day TWO of Truly Spring-like Weather. Folks in NYC were NOT taking it for granted. In fact, we were treating it like a holiday weekend, just Halleluyerin’ as we soaked up the much needed rays. It was in the 60s and windy at times but for us on the East Coast, it was everything.

I had already left my meeting at church to meet my family in the parking lot. I had beat them to the car for once.

When I spotted the boys walking down the stairs, I beamed and put out my arms for them to run right into. It’s always such a treat to catch their expressions when they first notice me watching them from afar.

We were whoopin’ and hollerin’ like we hadn’t seen in other in months and bear hugging.

I began to beam even more when I heard that Micah had been able to go to the older kids’ class instead of redshirting himself to stay with Ellis in the younger kids’ class. Micah was smiling so big, like Denzel and Matt Damon, proud of his milestone, as he stepped onto a tiny ledge on the side of the building. Right at that moment, I leaned down towards him to pull him into another bear hug.

His skull connected with the bridge of my nose. We couldn’t have synchronized it better.

Everything appeared in slow motion as I winced and rivers of tears began to flow. I was blown away by the pain. I wanted to curse but the pain had rendered me speechless. I had been beaming just seconds ago but now I wanted to get to the car as soon as possible to bawl my eyes out in private without worrying about running into a sea of familiar faces.

I glanced at Micah. His eyes had teared up, too, from some pain but he seemed to be recovering without a peep. It hadn’t hurt him as much since it was his skull hitting my nose.

As we walked to the car, I noticed Ellis walking right behind a car that was going to back up. I yelled out for him and snapped at Kevin, “Really? I can’t even deal with my pain without having to worry that you have your eyes on the kids properly?”

Once I got in the car, I started crying audibly. Straight blubbering.

I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. I became downright mean to Micah. It even surprised me since it was clearly just a mishap, an unfortunate accident and he is my four year old baby, not some clumsy adult who had clocked me.

In that moment, though the pain was legitimately causing me to shut my eyes tight as I continued to cry, I started crying about other things. Things I had been lamenting but not been able to cry about. Deeply personal things.

Kevin noticed that somewhere post blow to the nose, things had gone south and my scolding Micah was out of character. My kids have unintentionally harmed my body parts many a time and I had never reacted like this. Kevin tried to remind me, “It was an accident. He didn’t mean to crash into your nose like that. You’re taking this too far. Something’s going on.”

I suddenly screamed, “UNINTENTIONAL HURTS STILL FREAKING HURT. AND THIS FREAKING HURTS! WHAT BAD TIMING TOO. WE HAD JUST HAD OURSELVES A PERFECT MORNING AT CHURCH!”

Flashback to a fight we had been having the night before. Kevin had said that he NEVER hurts me intentionally. I had said something similar to what I was screaming now. UNINTENTIONAL HURTS HURT JUST THE SAME.

We had fun plans after church but I asked to be dropped off at home. On my own please.

I later apologized to Micah for overreacting. “Micah, Mommy was in a lot of pain when you jumped right into my nose but you didn’t do it on purpose so it was wrong of Mommy to be so mean to you. I don’t know why I was so mean. I think Mommy must have been sad about some other things and when my nose got hit, it just made all my tears and anger pour out. Can you forgive me? I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you Mommy. But I have a question. Why did you stand right there when I was about to jump?” Good point. The dude had flipped the script on me. I had been livid that he jumped right into my nose when I was clearly in his path, but he logically asked the inverse of that. Why did Mommy step into my jump?

Back to the wanting to be mothered and fathered even at my age. I miss the times when I could call up either of them and just pour out my heart, no censoring. What a gift that was.

I went to yoga tonight and at the end, when we were just lying there in corpse pose with our eyes closed, I felt such a warm presence on my forehead that I peeked to see if the teacher had stopped by my face.

It was a warmth I had never experienced before. Perhaps it was the first time I had truly been able to relax in the last couple weeks but it felt like a parent was placing their warm palm onto my forehead, as if checking for fever.

Brotherly

Posted on January 8, 2015 by ajummama

I’ve always been drawn to unexpected things. And moments.

Unexpected things like miniature or giant versions of common, everyday items, still perfectly proportioned in their exaggerated sizes.

My sterling silver miniature abacus charm with moving parts, as big as my thumbnail. The gigantic bright green deck chair at a garden in New Jersey that can easily fit a family of six in one seat, making us mini ourselves.

Unexpected moments like when I walked in on a mother and daughter bickering at the acupuncturist’s waiting area about two decades ago. What’s so unexpected about that?

The mom was well into her 80s and the daughter in her 60s. Unexpected because I often think that certain moments are reserved for certain life stages and ages. Aren’t you then forced to graduate and evolve, having to behave the way grown or elderly folks OUGHT to behave?

I was fascinated. So much so that I can still conjure up a cloudy visual of the daughter getting visibly upset at her octagenarian mama. It also taught me that people are people, no matter what the age. You don’t stop fighting with your parents just because you became a grandmother yourself.

Recently, at my friends’ gorgeous doljanchi (Korean first birthday bash) for their one year-old daughter, I collected another such moment. Even more than the decadent pink and gold decorations, including a candy bar holding perfectly pink rock candy and gold chocolate coins in exquisite apothecary jars, this moment replayed on my mental movie reel.

My friend was holding his beautiful one-year old daughter, the star of the show. He was catching up with a few friends he hadn’t seen in a while, after moving to another state. While he was holding baby girl and chatting, laughing, his eldest brother suddenly swooped down on him with a bright smile and eyes so lively.

He fired off, “Hey, you’ve GOT to try this!” as he deposited a piece of gold-dusted peanut butter and jelly macaron into his “baby” brother’s mouth. Baby brother is now a 30-somethang doctor. Eldest brother, a pharmacist and dad to three. Baby bro opened his mouth wide, completely trusting his Hyung.

Our family drove home in the hail. In just one Saturday afternoon, NYC had provided snow, rain and hail as dramatic backdrop for the party.

As my firstborn played quietly by my feet and the other two boys napped in each others’ arms in our King bed, I kept replaying the brotherly moment in my head, smiling as if I held a juicy secret.

Why was I still savoring this seemingly ordinary moment?

When Eldest Bro swooped down eagerly to feed Baby Bro that delicious morsel, he was no longer this grown man with a receding hairline and fatherly responsibilities. And Baby Bro was no longer this physician, husband, father.

In that moment, they transported me to when my Micah was nearly three and Ellis nearly one. Ellis had just discovered Goldfish and Cheerios and other crunchy REAL snacks and Big Bro was more than delighted and eager to feed his baby bro. It was a whole new world as Baby had never been able to eat those foods before.

I would catch Baby sitting around in his turquoise Bumbo seat, mouth wide open, gurgling, accepting anything his big bro threw into his mouth. Brother could have thrown Legos into his mouth and he would have gladly accepted.

Upon further savoring of my friend’s brotherly exchange, I recalled another moment between my own brother and me when we were in the second and fifth grades. Our school bus transporting us to our gifted magnet school in an affluent area away from our home in Koreatown, Los Angeles was more than two hours late!

We didn’t know what to do. The adults at the bus stop were conferring. My brother was confused and scared. And hungry. I told him to go ahead and eat his packed lunch. He was still hungry.

So I fed him my own lunch. I watched him eat it while my stomach growled. But I felt so fulfilled as if I were eating the sandwich, too. I thought to myself, “This must be what it feels like to be a Mommy.”

I love these seemingly ordinary but magical moments that transport me back in time. So rich and unexpected.

Definitely experienced another Whoosh!

still feeding baby bird, er, bro at ages four and two

Whoooosh!

Posted on December 10, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHOOOSH!

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

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

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

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

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

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

True (S)tori

Posted on December 3, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True Tori.”

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

Until tonight.

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

That touched me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.)