“I Once Was Lost…”

Posted on November 13, 2014 by ajummama

The night of October 18th was the last time I saw my engagement ring, wedding band, and watch.

I had just gotten better from a cold that had me in bed for a couple days, sleeping off the clamminess, while Kevin had to take over my duties as caretaker.

Finally strong enough to partake in activities again, I was back to packing in activities galore that Saturday: I rolled to Micah’s homie’s 4th bowling birthday party while Daddy and Ellis enjoyed some dim sum together. We then rushed through the pumpkin patch for some seasonal family photos before Small Group/Community Group on Long Island with our church friends.

After realizing that the rings and watch were truly missing, I couldn’t help but replay vivid images of my diamond engagement ring from that final day it was on my finger.

I recalled my diamond against the delectable, explosive cheeks of an infant in our group. I remembered it flashing as I talked with my hands in our friends’ basement.

Never saw it again after that.

I was so wiped when we got home that Saturday that I couldn’t retrace my steps. The standard question folks always ask: “Where did you last put it?” I DON’T KNOW! That’s why it’s missing!

I don’t wear my rings and watch daily so I didn’t even know they were missing until that Wednesday when I thought it’d be nice to wear them again. I mentioned it to Kevin on my way out that rainy night, commenting that I ALWAYS put them in the same place.

I imagined that after I got home that night, Kevin would shake his head at me and say, “Hey, I found them. Be more careful next time!” or that I’d just missed them in my cluttered jewelry armoir.

But they never turned up.

I had to ask Kevin to stop saying, “It’s gotta be in the house somewhere! It’s just got to!” It was too painful to hear.

Turning the house upside down became our nightly ritual after Ellis would finally succumb to sleep.

Praying, sighing, crying, searching…repeat. Not able to enjoy much.

All scenarios were possible now. I could have left them on my nightstand though I never do. I always slide the rings onto my watch “band” so that the rings are never on their own. That was supposed to make it easier to find them.

I felt sick thinking that they could have been thrown out with the diapers. Since any scenario was possible, they could have fallen from the nightstand into the OPEN trashcan full of dirty diapers that I take out at least once a day.

Though highly unlikely, they could have been flushed down the toilet or thrown into any of the trash cans lying around our small apartment.

We deposed the kids though they provided unreliable, fickle testimony, ranging from:

I didn’t do it. (The other brother) did it.

I saw Daddy do it, yeah. When I was sleeping, I saw Daddy ‘doed’ it.

I promise I never put them in the trash or toilet, Mommy, but Ellis did.

No, Micah did.

Sorry, Mommy, we promise we never never never did it.

I cried. I cursed. I shook my fists towards the sky. I asked Kevin to get mad at me. We prayed some more. We repeated ourselves – “So right after we got home that night, where did you go?”

I told some people about it. When I got drained from telling a few people about it, I didn’t bother telling others. Why rehash it?

I wanted to cancel every activity I had to show up for so I can either find the damn rings or grieve them properly. Everyone else’s rings would flash on their hands and I would imagine mine on my ring finger all over again.

I cut myself while cutting a carrot for our breakfast smoothies a couple weeks after the rings went missing. Micah, a fellow sensitive and perceptive soul, inquired with his bright eyes, “Mommy? Are you crying because you cut your finger or are you really crying because you still can’t find your ring and watch?”

The kids would pray with us too. “Please God help Mommy and Daddy find Mommy’s rings and watch.”

I went through a range of emotions. The nights were the worst. I was mad at God. “Why can’t You have mercy on me if You are so damn omnipotent? I know I am the one who lost my rings – that was ALL ME, I get it – but if YOU are God, why can’t You intervene? I came home from studying Your Word with church folk when I misplaced the rings. You can’t show some compassion? You are NOT just some genie in the sky, but LORD, You know You can receive all glory if You recover them for me. You can even return them to me in an undeniably God moment and people will bow down! Like have a posse of ants carry them to me? That would be all YOU!”

Then I felt guilty for getting so irate at God as I knew this was NOT a life or death situation but a loss of an earthly possession, and for treating Him like a genie in the sky though I kept confessing that He is more than that. But damn it, it was my most valuable and valued possession.

Of course, I also beat myself up for having misplaced them. I negotiated with God – “Just the engagement ring then? Let THAT materialize before me. I can let the other two go!”

Wondered if I was being punished for not just the negligent care of my treasures but negligent care of my marriage. I remember when I first wore those rings as a newly engaged gal. I didn’t even want to wear winter gloves lest the lining mess up the raised platinum prongs! I treated the ring so gingerly in those early days, and now they might have been thrown out with shit.

Fitting for how I treated my marriage – handled it with care in the beginning, but negligently over the past couple years, blaming Kevin for our less-than-comfortable life here in NYC where the weather can be a beast, parking issues galore, family support scarce, and constant sensory overload.

I even threatened God at one point. “Aight then. You gonna show me no mercy? You gonna stay THIS silent? Then I’mma go collect on my own. I’mma have to rob a jewelry store and get mine. That’s what it’s come to.”

Lesser threats of a non-criminal nature: “This loss cannot be in vain. If my rings don’t come back to me, I’mma go ahead and foolishly have a third child and name him Tacori Kim after my lost ring!” (Kevin said, “So you really gonna become one of those people who name their kids after labels? Gucci, Prada?”)

I ended up praying with different folks from church about this loss. Last Sunday, one of my friends prayed that He would be a flashlight unto my path. I forget her exact phrasing as we prayed for each other in a group setting but I do remember the word “FLASHLIGHT.” Even after we prayed, I cried saying, “I don’t actually believe that they can be found after 22 days of being lost. I bet He’s gonna try to build some more character in me as I learn from this loss. It makes me sick to think they were thrown out like trash! Build my character but gimme my rings back!”

I tried to rest after church and Costco last Sunday but the sadness wouldn’t let me exhale or enjoy. I couldn’t get into any of my fave TV shows or magazines. I said to Kevin, “Hey, let’s pray again. I’m just so sad about this and I feel like just peeling off my skin. Let’s just pray again.”

The kids were screaming and crying, fighting bedtime, begging us not to close their bedroom door. We can’t even lock the door any more since they know how to unlock it and walk out.

We were on our knees on the Pororo playmat, praying. I repented some more. My anger. My blaming God. My allowing the kids to rule our household. My not seeking Him out more prior to this loss. My blaming Kevin when life wasn’t exactly how I imagined it would be in terms of ease and comfort.

I took a break from the prayer because I needed a break from Micah pleading with us to come back into their room and lie down with them, a habit we are trying to break.

Kevin called me from the living room, “JIHEE?” His voice was weird.

As soon as I heard the way he called out, I was hoping it was what I thought it was. But also scared to hope.

I ran out and he was crying, on bended knee on the step of our sunken living room. “Will you marry me?”

We were bear hugging and crying together.

Kevin had taken a break to stand up to grasp the boys’ bedroom doorknob to keep them from escaping. While he stood there, holding firmly onto their doorknob, he sensed a voice in his heart.

“Open it.”

OPEN IT.

So he did. Kevin looked down, right at the boys’ toy kitchen by their bedroom door and bent down to open the oven door.

My rings and watch fell out, one by one, SEPARATELY.

My boys had NOT played with that kitchen recently.

I must have placed them on the top of the kitchen as I ended up cuddling with Micah before he fell asleep late night on October 18th though I had proclaimed that I wasn’t going to have anything to do with bedtimes.

We still don’t know how they fell into the oven as it would require a lot of synchronizing. And if it fell in, who shut it closed without looking inside? The boys would have told us.

They were missing for 22 days. My boys are 22 months apart. No significance – I just love my numbers.

When I wore them to breakfast the next morning to show the boys what we had found while they were sleeping, Micah smiled and commented like an adult, “Is that what I think it is?” He was beaming. “Daddy found them? So, does this mean I don’t get a present for finding them?”

When he found out where we had found them, he said, “Oh, I checked there already. They weren’t there before. I saw a hand put them in there and then they popped out.”

Kids say the darndest things but I almost feel like they did supernaturally rematerialize. Whether they rematerialized or we simply overlooked the play oven, their discovery WHILE we were crying out to Him has been working small miracles in our family.

We are praying more than ever. My anger has been shed, though I know it is always a work in progress. My struggle with envy has been lifted as of now. I am happy to have MY life, MY struggles, MY rings. No one else’s.

I truly believe that God cares about the details in my life. NOT that it means happily ever after in all situations but He knows what I need…and when…and how. Kevin said that if he had found them while searching like a madman, he would not have attributed it to God.

Also, had I not found them, He still could have transformed me through those desperate prayers alone.

I thought that finding them would be the highlight of my week but the happiness continued to flow as I shared with different people about how He found them for us. From good friends to church acquaintances to our doorman – folks being so happy for me has doubled my happiness.

Thank You Lord for adding another love story to my rings. Not just of Kevin’s love for me but how You looked out. I will share this story now.

The story of how You met us.

Crazy Saves

Posted on November 6, 2014 by ajummama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I suddenly remembered some advice I had heard ages ago.

Act crazy to throw a mugger off his game.

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

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

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

“Again, Mommy! Do that again!”

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

our mom cray.

See? See?!

Posted on September 15, 2014 by ajummama

My guilty pleasure, “Bachelor in Paradise,” came to an end last week. One moment that stayed with me was when Claire poured her heart out to the camera about wanting to finally find a man who would just SEE her for who she is and say, “Hey, I want you. You are it. I’m signing up for all of it.”

Last week was my firstborn’s first week of full-day school. Pre-kindergarden.

It surprised me by turning out to be a bigger week than I had imagined. After all, he had already been attending nursery school in the mornings so this was just an extension of that, right? Not quite.

And it wasn’t just about getting the logistics down, driving to and from another neighborhood everyday, timing Ellis’ and my morning activities, lunch, and nap so that they would all be completed in time to walk to our parking space three blocks away (though I’ve still had to wake up Ellis from his warm, toasty nap each day). Then, we finally get to go pick up Big Bro just in time for us to be waiting eagerly on the sidewalk by his school door, like paparazzi. I even snap a pic of him on my iPhone just to record how happy he looks after enjoying school all day, and also about reuniting with his family.

That is our favorite time of day, to catch a glimpse of our very own Micah, strutting down his school stairs with a radiant Denzel smile and a backpack bigger than his torso, exclaiming, “Mom! I only cried so little today!” We are his own little entourage of two. Ellis has even cheered loudly as Brother walks down to us.

Back to Claire from the Bachelor. She just wanted a dude to see her for her and say, “Yup, I see you, even your weaknesses, and I still want to be with you.” Somehow this reminded me of my boy starting school.

I have been at home with him since weeks before his birth. I see him. All of him. I know everything about him, from bowel movements to quirks to weaknesses to stremfs. I know his body better than I know mine. I know what sets him off, what makes him happy, what makes him sad. This is such a precious time because it won’t always be this way.

I see him for him and because all of his traits are a part of him, and I am the one who birthed him, he is the one for me. Now that he will be spending his days with his two teachers and 17 classmates, I wondered, “Will they be able to SEE him? Beyond him winning the #1 Crier award at dropoff the first few days, will they be able to SEE my Micah as I see him?” I hoped so.

Of course it takes time but slowly, I wanted them to be able to see the boy that I see. I’m sure all parents want the same for their precious little ones. And big ones.

Before his first week, I observed him at Orientation. He and his new classmate were playing house when she said, “You spit when you talk.” I gave them their space and just observed. He asked her, “Me? I DO? Me?” while rivulets of drool rolled down his chin.

So this is what it was going to be like to let him do his own thang for a full day. I wasn’t going to be there to run interference when classmates said things, or pushed him. He tends to freeze when attacked and I wasn’t going to be there to remind him to use his words.

And I know he ain’t perfect either. If he don’t act right, I wasn’t going to be there to tell him to come correct right quick.

Definitely some growing pains for Mommy. To send him off to grow and learn on his own.

I also didn’t think about the effect this going away to school business would have on Little Bro. I had heard on Facebook that many little siblings were having a hard time. Though my dude does ask about Micah hyung wherever we went, especially when we saw things that reminded us of him, which was pretty much everything since we three were rollin’ deep, homies 24-7 over the summer, my little guy also relished that Mommy was able to SEE him, just him. In fact, he loves to say, “See? See!?” after pointing at anything these days. “See? Supe-man!? See? Bah-Man!? See see? Mommy, see? Animals, see!? Squirrel, squirrel ova they-ah!? See?”

Yes, I see you and everything that you’re pointing to. What a treat it is to see you without having to split my attention. I get to see you with laser-sharp focus, with new eyes now that brother is off to school for the day, and I am honored. I am excited to see you grow up this upcoming year.

I love this concept of truly being able to see someone.

When you make friends in your 30s, you want them to be able to see you beyond your current struggle with your job or your spouse, or even your life stage, that you aren’t JUST the circumstances you met them during, but a whole person.

The question always seems to be, “Who do you even WANT to see you? More of you?” As I get older, the answer is, “Not as many as befo’!”

Therein lies the beauty of childhood friends, your people you can use shorthand with to say, “This is me. You’ve seen me, warts and all. And you’re still around!”

When you start dating someone, you want them to be able to see your quirks and weaknesses and not just put up with them but welcome them as they are a part of you.

And even as I write this very typical Mommy post, I hope that folks can see that while I sound like Just Another Mommy, waxing poetic about her kids, this is just a part of me. Just as I am, though I fear eyerolls and being insufferable as I am fully aware that anecdotes about your kids are usually only interesting to you or their relatives.

Speaking of “see”? I’ll SEE y’all later. It’s almost our fave time of day!

Honk!

Posted on September 8, 2014 by ajummama

This is Part Two from the previous post, so it may not make sense as an independent post:

I was relieved to hear Kevin challenge me instead of agreeing with whatever I said in my agitated state. “But I think it’d be good for you to go to church. You always feel better. Then afterwards, you can have the rest of the day to exhale.”

So I drove me and Micah to church the next morning since runny-nosed E needed to stay contained at home. I saw a parking space on the street so I pulled over to the left to grab the spot. Immediately, the car behind me honks.

I have Honk Rage. HONK HONK HONK. As SOON as the light turns green here in NYC, HONK HONK HONK, HONKY TONK TONK! Honk You! Most Honking City I’ve ever lived in (Seoul doesn’t count because I was too young).

Perhaps I should have pulled over farther to the side? Had I not signaled? Not sure. I just know that honks invite the Michael Douglas from “Falling Down” from within me to come out and play. They transform this Calculus Camper into a wannabe thug who wants to respond to your honk with, “Oh, aight, you wanna go in? Let’s go! Just don’t hit me in the face, son.”

As the car passed by me, I thought, “And I’ll just bet it’s someone from my church, too. Augh! Why do we even bother, coming to church week after week, trying to come correct, then go forth and honk away in this nasty concrete jungle. I AM SO OVER EVERYTHING! I should have stayed my ass home.”

The car passes me and the driver looks right at me, to see who had the audacity to pull over to park and cause an inconvenience. Sho ’nuff, it IS someone from church. For some reason, it makes my agitation grow though no previous ill will towards this person. Even though rationally, I know that maybe they were honking only to tell me to move over a few more inches.

But I don’t want to be rational. Just one of those “F*CK EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!” moments as I was already agitated.

After a tough Saturday, I CRAVED some rest in the form of sitting in the sanctuary and hearing a life-giving, refreshing sermon. I needed it. Spiritual spa.

Because Micah was having a hard time staying in his Elephant Room without his friends there on his first day, with mostly kindergardeners, I took him with me to the sanctuary to show him how close I would be to his new classroom. In a moment of wishful thinking, or denial, I LEFT MY JOURNAL on my seat, perhaps subconsciously thinking that by leaving it there, I would get to come right back by myself. To shed my negative thoughts and replace them with Word.

However, when we got back to Elephant Room, I saw just how out of place Micah felt on this first day and I promised I would stay the whole time, and would never sneak off.

During his Elephant activities, I told Micah that Mommy needs to run back for less than 30 seconds and get her notebook from the sanctuary since she was staying with him for the rest of his class. He started shaking his head vehemently and crinkling his face. Since I had left him earlier and Micah had started bawling, I didn’t want him to cry again if we could avoid it.

“Fine, Mommy will go back right after service and get the notebook.”

We went back and it was gone.

I asked the ushers and everyone was really good about looking for it. I checked the Lost and Found, and spoke to the person in charge.

I started feeling really weird, like my face was going to crumple up just like Micah’s. I felt really prickly, worn and fragile. PLUS, THIS WAS MY JOURNAL.

“I’m sure it will turn up,” assured a friendly face. But this didn’t comfort me at all. In fact, it made me feel similar to when Kevin says, “Calm down!”

I couldn’t believe it but I just sat down in front of the sanctuary and started to cry. I wished I had stayed my ass home. I didn’t need any more irritations.

Obviously, it wasn’t just for the journal though I did feel mighty naked and out of control to have it floating out there for anyone to pick up and read through, even without malicious intent. MY JOURNAL. As open as I already am, blogging for my tens of readers to see, the words in my journal are on a whole ‘nutha level of raw and uncensored thoughts and emotions. For anyone to pick it up and peer into made my eyes water and my heart beat fast.

Just then, a familiar face saw me crying and let me fall onto her and cry. “It’s my journal – I can’t leave and just hope it turns up.”

She promptly ran downstairs and found it for me in the one place I had neglected to check because I was moving too frantically from spot to spot, literally running through the church, holding Micah’s hand. Someone had turned it into the front desk. I hadn’t checked there after someone told me there is no staff at front desk on Sundays, only on weekdays. I felt beyond foolish.

The tears were for a lot of things. Stress. Frustration. Exhaustion. Burnout. Worry about the future. Not anything new. How I can’t get extinguish my envy when I see grandparents helping out regularly so that friends and acquaintances alike can reclaim their couplehood without the kids in tow. In fact, lotta grandparents were helping out even more as the kids grew older.

It was such an appropriate analogy, my having to choose between fetching my journal (WRITING/ME TIME) or staying with my kid (MAMAHOOD).

Before I had kids, I needed long stretches of quiet for myself to devour books, write, think, swim, decompress. Just because I became a mama doesn’t mean that my natural constitution immediately reconfigured itself and I can do without those life-giving things. I am still at my best if I can have longer, more frequent blocks of quiet for my overthinking brain to cool off.

But reality is that my kids come first to my wants. Most of the time, I’m okay with that as that is what a Mommy does. I even embrace it because it feels like I was born for this. But I’ve come to also realize that if I neglect to take care of myself in these ways I have labeled as pure luxury, I won’t perform at my optimum level..

I felt so annoyed that Micah wouldn’t “let” me go fetch my notebook, though I know he was really thrown by his new surroundings. Then, I started beating myself up over a lot of miscellaneous, irrelevant crap, including my crying about the damn journal.

It’s just hard sometimes, and even harder to say that especially using these trifling examples of “sacrifice.” Big deal – I had to stay with my boy at his Sunday School. But it wasn’t just that. It was an accumulation of thangs. And I know I should be thankful. Always. That guilt makes me feel worse.

As a Mama, I expect myself to be selfless but oh, how selfishness rears its ugly head. I want uninterrupted time to myself. I want to watch MY TV shows. I want to listen to MY music in the car. I want to attend MY service at church. I want to be able to talk to Kevin without interruption. I don’t want to share my mochi ice cream.

Why I gotta be the adult all the time? Just because I AM one?

YES. The answer is Yes.

Growing up is hard to do, even for a Mama. Growing pains are not just for the youfe.

YOU the Mom, SuperDad!

Posted on August 25, 2014 by ajummama

Kevin was doubled over in the corner near the sanctuary at church yesterday.

On September 7th, the boys will be moving up in rank in their respective Sunday School classes. Since he will be turning two in October, Ellis will be officially stepping up from Nursery to the Giraffe Room and Micah, as a preschooler, from the Giraffe Room to the Elephant Room.

I had told Kevin that we should just drop off Littlest Kim in his future classroom so that he can get adjusted and have a Sunday or two where he can attend WITH hyung (Big Bro).

Kevin mumbled something about, “Well, he could poo so maybe I should stay,” and some other excuse like, “But will he be able to follow direction?” Kevin has been gifting me with time to go to service when one or both of the boys needed a parent during service time. (Though he is an altruistic and selfless dude and always has been, this act ain’t completely saintly, since I am much kinder after I’m fed a good sermon.)

Kevin was hesitant about sending off our baby to an actual Sunday School class instead of the baby nursery he’s been hanging out in during his entire church attendance. But Daddy had no choice because in one split second, Micah grabbed Ellis’ hand and they both walked into the Giraffe Room, without looking back even once.

We kept peeking in to see if one or both may need Daddy to hang around.

Nope. They sat with their backs to the door and started coloring like it’s their job.

Just as I was thinking, “Wow, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS!?…that we have time to run out before service and grab me a Chicken Mushroom bun,” I looked over at Kevin who had literally doubled over in the corner like his appendix had burst, while carrying the diaper bag I had told him we didn’t need to bring in.

When he finally straightened himself out, I noticed that his eyes were red and he was breathing hard, with his hand over his heart. He was sheepish and laughing at himself but he managed to spit out, “But that’s my baby! He can’t be sitting in a classroom like that!? NO! I’m not ready.” He even confessed that the excuses he had made earlier about why Ellis should still stay in the nursery were bogus reasons.

As I processed this, I judged myself. Here I am, the mama, and I don’t even bat an eye when her baby marches right into the Bigger Kids’ room for the very first time without a parent. What’s wrong with me?

And then I realized it’s because of who he is. Sure, he’s the baby but he is pretty much P.I.M.P.: laughing after diving head FIRST off a steep slide, toddling up to all of our co-op staff to give multiple high-fives and daps, grabbing museum employees’ hands to carry him up so he can see an exhibit better when Mommy and Daddy were otherwise occupied, and singing along in the car.

Big Bro, on the other hand, was still wearing a drenched bib at age two, and would let other kids hit him as he stared wide-eyed, ever cautious and observing, always standing back and observing. I was emotional when HE, my only child at the time, was ready for Sunday School.

In other ways, though, Ellis seems like more of a baby than his big bro was at this age. After all, Micah had already become a big bro at 22 months old. But because of Ellis’ outgoing personality, he didn’t seem like he should be “confined” in the baby nursery any longer.

But Daddy had been the one who stayed with him in the church nursery on many a Sunday, when there weren’t enough volunteers to leave him with. Daddy was the one to witness Ellis still playing with the other babies and playing peek-a-boo from the communal pack n play.

This was the first Sunday in MONTHS where we were able to sit together to worship. I kept looking over at him and each time, Kevin was about to lose it. Tearing up, laughing at himself, taking deep breaths, then tearing up again, shaking his head.

You the Mom, SuperDad. When people told us that this ALL goes by so fast, I didn’t realize the specifics. FAST as in YOU ONLY HAVE THE FIRST THREE YEARS to attend Mommy-and-Me type activities together. TWO YEARS in the church nursery, apparently. After that, it’s school for a big chunk of the day and soon, birthday parties and baths on their own. NO WONDER parents are always chanting, “ENJOY EVERY MOMENT!”

I’m so glad that Kevin, our rock, was the one who was overcome with emotion this time.

A real man won’t be ashamed to get verklempt over his boy growing up.

A real man won’t be ashamed to weep and convulse when emotions hit deep.

A real man won’t be mad at his babies’ mama when she publishes this while he at the office.

In Pursuit of Magic

Posted on August 21, 2014 by ajummama

People are always looking for signs. For meaning. For something more.

At least, I know I am. I know I can be completely ridiculous and try too hard at times. Recently, a friend who prays a lot asked me during a casual conversation, whether we’d like to have more kids. I raised one eyebrow and peered intensely into her face as I thought aloud, “WHY? Do you know something? Has He mentioned something? Who sent you? ARE YOU A PROPHET?”

Even on my “Bachelor in Paradise” guilty pleasure show, there is a scene where Claire is having an emotionally intimate moment with her dude on the beach, sharing about the death of her dad. Suddenly, she squeals as she notices a turtle going out into the ocean after laying a bunch of eggs. She says it is a sign from her dad. New life=new beginnings.

I especially love stories where parents have DREAMED of their child’s name, gender, or arrival.

My heart hurts when I hear of the signs that parents receive after they’ve lost their children. When they are dealing with their unimaginable grief, their child’s favorite animal just happens to show up in their backyard, or a red cardinal ends up visiting them EVERY SINGLE DAY while on vacation.

Or in the case of Kevin and Marina Krim whose two beloved children, Lulu and Leo, were murdered by their nanny in NYC in October of 2012.

Marina posted on Facebook:

“I accepted that Lulu and Leo’s physical presences were no longer with me and I needed to learn to connect with their spiritual presence. I needed to use my 5 senses ‘outside the box’ to connect with Lulu and Leo. Once I started to do that, little everyday things began to take on new meaning. This was the beginning of my lifelong scavenger hunt — clues that my Lulu and Leo were leaving me to find.”

[The title from this blog post is from Marina Krim’s post “My Pursuit of Magic” which I could not find a link for.]

One can argue that such signs are frivolous and reaching for connections when there aren’t any. Sure, there is no proof of any connection and it can all be chalked up to coincidence but you also have a choice.

To look for magic or not.

Today, I ended up being out with our boys from 8:30 am to 5 pm, for three back-to-back-to back activities. I just wanted to eke out the remaining sliver of summer.

During our second activity of the day, around the sixth hour of being out, AFTER the lucky little guy emerged from his beauty sleep in the car+stroller, I was WIPED and started to beat myself up.

“You have no one to blame but yourself. Being out like this all day, about to fall flat on your face when you should have gone home after lunch and before naps.”

I had hoped that I could rest a bit if both of them had fallen asleep during the ride over but alas, Micah and I ended up cruising all over the park and zoo while Baby Bro snoozed.

I really didn’t know how I was going to make it, strolling about 100 pounds after an already active morning, wrangling both of my wriggly guys who had just MacGyver’d out of the public bathroom stall at the zoo to expose me in my huge Korean underwear.

Thankfully(?), I only exposed myself to a friendly nanny from our co-op who happened to be visiting the zoo to pick up her charge. I was able to exchange warm greetings while the door remained open.

The boys and I ended up in the aviary. That was when things started getting magical.

Recently, we had only speed-walked through the aviary because we were always with our little buddies. I would chat with the mamas as we chased our kids up and down the ramps. We never really stopped to admire the macaws and blue-billed ducks and other winged creatures.

I noticed for the first time today, just how mesmerized my baby was. Micah, too, but especially Ellis.

And just as I had started beating myself up for being out all day and burning myself out with two more days left in the week, a skinny white bird perched in front of us, within touching distance from us.

He showed no signs of flying away.

We were beaming, thrilled to be in his presence. To have him stay awhile.

As cheesy as this sounds, I felt all this love and gratitude gushing out in that moment. So grateful to be alive and for the very reason I was so wiped out: TO BE PLAYING WITH MY KIDS TOO MUCH!

Just minutes before, I was sighing as I zipped up my shorts, about to konk out in the bathroom while peeing but as I clenched my boys in my arms with this amazing white bird with blonde tufts of “hair” joining us, I was gifted with a precious memory I can tuck away for good.

I received the “sign” to be, “It is all worth it, Mama. Your toiling away for them is NOT for NAUGHT.” I got pumped with a jolt of energy to last me a few more hours.

The thing about the pursuit of magic? The more you look, the more you’ll find.

8.8.gr8.

Posted on August 8, 2014 by ajummama

8.8.14: You delivered.

You don’t just LOOK fwine with your double 8s lookin’ like curvy infinity loops but you are a BEAUTIFUL Friday after an abundant week of museums, library, zoo, “safari”, pool, playgrounds, and of course, our courtyard.

Baby Bro is ready for WWF. Wrestling Name: ThirdWheel

I kept thinking Kevin was a safari employee thanks to his shirt.

On this 8.8 we ended the week by enjoying a picnic in the park with our good friends, some who we’ve known since Micah was not even four months old and Ellis was only a glimmer in his parents’ eyes, and some other good folks we’ve picked up along the way.

In honor of 8.8, here are eight simple thangs I am so gr8ful for (gross, but I couldn’t resist!) in addition to this weather I have long been awaiting:

1) a handful of buddies we can be ourselves around, to lay down our picnic blankets together to cobble together a nice quilt on our patch of grass and dirt

2) being able to witness these buddies grow up. When they were infants, we’d place them down on any blanket and just take pics of them in their Mets gear or their “Who Wore it Best?” Carter’s ensembles. This was the extent of their “playdates” as they couldn’t walk or talk so they had no choice but to humor their camera-crazy moms. Now they are playing, learning about conflict and how to apologize, how to love their friends while giving them space, and so much more.

3) summer watermelon on our picnic blanket “quilt.” even sweeter and more mouth-watering when shared.

4) fellow mama friends you can leave your kid with for a few minutes when you washing sand out of your other kid’s eye.

5) the handsome older gentleman who works at or owns the local Japanese market. I couldn’t fit our doublestroller (Strollerus Prime) into the small store so I parked the kids right in front of the door while I was in line to pay for a few rice balls (I was famished after feeding the kids).

They looked right at me, smiling, then smirking, as Micah got out to release his baby brother(!) Baby Bro smirked right back, looking right into my eyes, as he started to climb out. The gentleman told me to finish paying while he watched the kids for the next few minutes.

What was touching was that he not only watched them but ADORED them. He was squeezing Ellis’ cheeks and patting Micah on the head. He has three grown kids and was so kind to my boys. Made me feel like I was living in a small town for a moment.

6) We love our museums but hands down, nothing beats good ol’ dirt and grass and trees and boulders and rocks for our kids to explore. Here’s to you, Mother Nature!

7) the perks of living on the East Coast where a roadtrip means you can knock out a few states at once. Excited for the rest of our summer.

8) TTLIF! Thank the Lawd it’s FRIDAY! Daddy will be around to help out all weekend as we explore more fun places together.

8.8 Eve aka 8.7

Pick Me Up

Posted on July 31, 2014 by ajummama

When I was a little girl, I used to do this weird thing when my little brother and I would get into a particularly bad fight. He would start bawling so I would feel bad and want to rewind the clock to a more peaceful time. So, I would leave the scene abruptly, walk back into the room with a new, kind face and say, “OhmyGod! Why are you crying, Sang!? WHO…WHO DID THIS TO YOU!?” Sang would be bewildered because the answer was, “YOU did this to me! I’m crying because of you!” (Sorry, bro. Your Nunah has always been a tad crazy).

I was reminded of this as I realized this week that My Most Effective Comforters on my hard parenting days are the very ones who got me in a tizzy in the first place. When Ellis Mr. Still Chubby Cheeked Circle Eyes pats me softly and says, “Mama!? MAMA!? Soh-wee!” and when Micah the Earnest says, “Mommy, you smoove like baby – I want to squeeze you! You look like a baby when Daddy hugs you,” I feel like I was completely crazy for ever getting exasperated with them.

The precious moments carry you through the tough moments. I read somewhere that it is Mother Nature’s design for babies to be so damn cute to fuel parents to want to take care of them. Or something like that.

A couple weeks ago, we were at a park when some older boys, ranging from five years old to ten years old, made a beeline for our picnic blanket and asked Micah and his homey, E, if they’d like to join in on their pick-up soccer game. Our boys looked at each other, sheepish, surprised, and excited. E first declined their invite immediately and Micah agreed.

Just as immediately, they changed their minds and got up for their first pick-up game.

I looked over at my friend and said, “Well, this is just gonna be too cute!” as I felt some Feelings again about how my firstborn is growing up so fast.

The Captain, the ten year old, started reciting the rules in rapid succession. Going over fouls and goals and other jargon that Mama’s mind shuts out automatically, just like when Daddy tries to tutor her on football. Micah and E also had similar quizzical expressions on their faces like, “Whaddid we just get ourselves into?”

“You, you’re on my team. You, you’re on his team.” Being the youngest, our boys were assigned to opposing teams.

As a few of the boys began constructing the goals with rocks, Micah and E ran around hugging each other. Being on opposing teams wasn’t sinking in, apparently.

When they were told, “Alright, let’s start the game!” E quickly responded, looking worried, “I don’t want to play any more!” Micah chimed in, “Yeah!”

This mental picture is one of the gazillions I need to recall when Micah just won’t listen and I forget that he is still only three.

I will remember just how innocent and little they looked among the bigger boys, not understanding or caring about the rules, instead just wanting to hug their friend all over the field on that beautiful summer day.

Thanks for comforting me in those hard moments by just being yourselves, my sons.

When that “F*CK YOU” slips out…

Posted on July 22, 2014 by ajummama

Today I yelled at Micah while we were out with others.

It wasn’t too loud in terms of decibels but I felt a rage within. I should have taken some deep breaths instead as my thoughts and emotions come charging way too fast. I had given him a few chances before the outing, nearly canceling the trip altogether to show him that consequences are real.

But of course, being cooped up all day in our small apartment on a gorgeous summer day in NYC sounded more like a punishment for Mama and I hadn’t misbehaved at all!

It wasn’t just his not listening to me in that moment but other factors, too.

Isn’t it ALWAYS other factors though?

Stuff in my head that was begging to be paid attention to as we stopped at our usual spots in the zoo, after observing for the umpteenth time that Micah is sensitive like his Mama and how that word is so loaded.

How often has it been used to absolve the offender after he/she hurt me with their INsensitive words and actions: “Oh, but you just sensitive.” Or from my parents, “Why are our children so sensitive? Why can’t they be strong like ______?”

Throw in intense sun. Crowds of kids on fieldtrips with their daycamps. And though preoccupied, always on high alert. Making sure the kids don’t fall, run ahead, or pull each other down.

Then sheepish and judging myself for being the only one to yell during this outing with a few other buddies.

After both Micah and I got it together, I apologized to him for yelling and asked him to forgive me. I also asked if he would like to apologize to me for anything. We talked it out and resumed our lunch, meaning they hardly ate because they wanted to go throw sticks and I was famished but waiting to eat at home if/when things were less frenetic.

Right around this time, a stranger, well, acquaintance of an acquaintance, began to comment on the lunch I was feeding the kids. I was feeding them some bahb and gheem (rice and roasted laver aka seaweed) since my kids almost never eat sandwiches.

“Oh! I didn’t know you could do that!” watching our food like a hawk. “Wrap rice in there like that! Ohhh!”

I know she was trying to be friendly over some chitchat about our kids’ respective lunches. No malicious intent.

Seemingly innocuous comment and if it came from my friends, I’d be straight or at least I’d clown you…but hey ma, I just met you and you got me during a moment where I’m just coming off another er…moment.

I’ve always had less patience than Kevin for the times we have to provide the Land of the Morning Calm tutorials at restaurants. I’m fine until it gets really nitpicky and acquaintances start asking about each of the 12 bahnchans in a more National Geographic way than I’m comfortable with. “What IS that!?! WHOA!” when it’s perfectly obvious that it’s a pickled garlic. I wanna say, “Gnarled toad testicle. You’re not down unless you try it!”

Back to the mama at hand. When I mumbled about how it’s just crazy raising these little ones, MY attempt at being friendly by talking about our commonality, she said something about how her girl is SUCH a good girl instead of throwing me the obligatory parenting bonding bone.

“Yeah, this is seaweed. The same thing they use for sushi rolls. Of course, you can wrap it around rice.”

“But that’s all crispy. It looks different. My kids like that stuff but augh, I don’t like it. It smells. I mean, I like sushi but…”

“Fuck you.”

Okay, I didn’t say that but my face did for a split second. First of all, WHILE someone is eating something in front of you, don’t be saying that you think it STANK. Basic manners.

But the silent “FUCK YOU” in my mind made me think.

…of how so many of our hurts and unexpected “FUCK YOU”s that leak out of seemingly nowhere are not about ONLY the present moment. It’s oftentimes the SUM of past hurts PLUS the brand new one, however small or trifling. They are all added up together and then suddenly, you hear yourself, whether out loud or in your brain, let out a “FUCK YOU” like a fart that surprises you during a meeting or crowded elevator, surprising you so much that another fart honks in aftershock.

For instance, seaweed is loaded for me. When I was a little girl, being bussed to my gifted magnet elementary school with rich white kids whose families were movers and shakers in Hollywood, with a few classmates even missing school to audition for parts or be in a movie, some of them made fun of my packed Korean lunches. Squealing and pointing at me, staring and surrounding me at lunch screaming, “Ewwww, she’s so gross! She’s eating black paper with fish eyes!” (Seaweed and anchovies). Yes, my mama packed me some KO-rean lunches while I wished that she could gift a girl with some PB&J or bologna samich.

Decades later, those kids are now crowding up my sushi joints and banh mi spots, talking about algae and tofu and the benefits of an Eastern diet and my initial reflex, before I can catch myself, is “Fuck you.” The reaction is unexpected but visceral and Kevin has had to process my childhood stories with me over and over again.

So when this lady I had just met seconds AFTER I felt like a jerk for yelling at my 3.5 year old was talking about how she thought that my black paper stank, my initial response in my head was “Oh fuck off and go hump a meatloaf,” but I checked myself, tucked away the “Fuck you” so that I can be a productive member of society and instead said, “Really? You think it smells? Must be a cultural thing ’cause I don’t smell anything.”

Thankfully, we kept it moving and moved on to other small talk. Well, after she asked me how to make rice.

This mini-interaction made me think again about how everything is connected. If you’ve never healthily processed a grievance, or fully let an emotional wound heal, don’t be surprised when you find yourself overreacting in an unrelated, new interaction or relationship with a new person, be it spouse, friend, or child.

In the meantime, if you talk shit about my gheem, consider yourself warned.

Happy Birthday Umma!

Posted on July 17, 2014 by ajummama

Umma,

Today is your birthday. Happy birthday!

I miss you so much even though I get so irked when you overreact on Skype while getting a peek at your only grandchildren. I can’t change your alarmist ways.

“Jihee-yah! Don’t leave the room, not even for a second. In that split second, they can get a serious brain injury if they wrestle down low like that. JIHEE-YAH! Look, look, ummunah! The little one is climbing something. The image is fuzzy. They are grabbing each other now – quick! AHHHHHH!”

“Umma please! Stop. They wrestle like this all day long. I know when to peel them off each other.”

I remember how I was waiting to exhale, imagining that once you arrived in NYC for a visit when Micah was still very little, I’d be able to breathe a sigh of relief.

I went to take a long, leisurely (celebratory) trip to the bathroom when you arrived. The baby started crying and I thought, “Girl, you good. Halmoni here.”

Next thing I know, you sprint into the bathroom with the baby in your arms and place him in my arms WHILE I AM STILL SEATED ON MY THRONE.

“A baby needs his mama. He was crying for YOU.” Thus began a series of squabbles and your usual vow to never return.

But Umma, I know it is all out of love. I am sorry for my harsh words over the years. You and Kevin see me at my worst because y’alls’ love is the love I am most secure in.

Today, on your birthday, I think of you mothering us, first in Korea until I was nearly five years old, and then in a foreign land where you couldn’t communicate all that you were going through.

And unlike Kevin, Daddy didn’t help out much at all so it was all on you. It was a different era.

Throw in the language barrier and idiots screaming loud English at you, thinking that if they screamed it, suddenly you’d become fluent. I remember fighting for you guys even back then. “She is not hard of hearing so stop screaming!” How many maniacs hurling, “Go back to your country!” at the end of an argument at the store when THEY were the ones caught shoplifting.

I guess it is no surprise then that one of our kids is named Ellis. (Ellis Island – much love to all immigrants).

Oh, the shock of this latchkey culture you had no choice but to throw us into as you and Daddy ran various small businesses throughout our childhood. You told me how you never got used to it, this country where young kids had to separate from their mamas in order for the parents to make a living.

I don’t remember if I consciously thought this when I was a kid, but it would have been nice to see you more. I was a sensitive and inquisitive child and would have loved to talk things out with you. My sea of emotions and thoughts – to bounce it off someone safe and loving.

Once I saw your car in our apartment parking space and I couldn’t believe it. YOU WERE HOME FROM WORK! BEFORE DARK! I ran home the rest of the block, excited beyond belief.

My MOMMY WAS HOME!

Then I quickly realized that something was very very wrong. You were lying on the couch, eyes glazed over in shock. You were only home because you had been held at knifepoint at the store that day. Daddy sitting by on the other couch, making compassionate sounds, looking downright dejected.

Perhaps this is why I chose to stay home despite so many doubts on the hard, crazy days. I wanted time with my kids, above all else. I wanted to raise my own little morsels these early years, despite the high highs and low lows of motherhood.

Umma, this is getting too long. And I’m scared the boys will wake up. I love and celebrate you today.

History is repeating itself with me immigrating from California to New York, doing this motherhood thing without an extended family, but you actually left your home COUNTRY to immigrate to this wacky land where kids talk back to their parents and are given timeouts or “consequences.” Unlike you, at least I can communicate and be heard. And unlike you, I didn’t lose my mama while still in high school.

Today, on your birthday, I am taking this lunch hour to appreciate what you went through.

I wish I could travel back in time to tell you you were doing a damn good job.

Hope to celebrate your next birthday in person.

Love,

Your One and Only Daughter,

Jihee