Unmoored: Dropping Stones is Hard To Do

Posted on July 1, 2013 by ajummama

I had a bad weekend.

I am learning something about myself after repeated headbutts with the mysterious underbelly of a persistent pet peeve.

One of the common themes of my many pet peeves is that I cannot stomach feeling invisible or like I don’t matter. This explains why it bothers me exponentially more than it bothers others, when people consistently don’t say hello or if they talk OVER me. Or if they act like I simply don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I am not talking about when someone is having a bad day (or days), completely unrelated to me. (I check myself all the time, to make sure I am not taking something too personally).

I’ve been in a toxic work situation where the co-workers treated me like I was invisible since Day One, when I, as the excited and hopeful new girl, had to go up to each of the other attorneys and introduce myself instead of the other way around. It escalated from that bad first day to stories you would accuse me of making up.

I talked myself into staying for the full year despite the emotional distress and stress on my new marriage. I was close to tears every Sunday night (at the very least) and even Fridays couldn’t cheer me up as Monday was a’comin’.

As the office elevator took me to my floor, I would place my palms up towards the sky, praying for strength to get through the day. I see pictures of myself from that year, my face with so many shadows cast upon it that I look like an abstract painting.

Those punk asses didn’t even have the decency to call me a racial slur so that I could have had a basis to sue. Dirty bullying at the junior high level, but nothing actionable, unfortunately.

Back to this past weekend. I was on the phone, talking very heatedly in Korean, while pacing back and forth on the streets of Manhattan, near Union Square. I realized I was talking pretty heatedly but I didn’t care because I was in a lot of pain.

I never have the luxury of talking freely, at any decibel, in our own home because it is so small. I could wake the kids. This, and the constant construction and turbo leaf-blowing outside my window for hours on end, does not make for great mental / emotional health these days.

A white lady in her 50s, with her two grown sons, pops out of their fancy Manhattan apartment building. I am about to cry at this point as I continue to talk into my phone. She stares at me like I am a wild animal, a total beast, or more accurately, a piece of trash that happened to fly under her snotty nose. She proceeds to stand there and stare at me, frowning.

This is in broad daylight on a public sidewalk. While I realize I was being loud and emotional, it was not to the level of disorderly conduct.

She walked away ever so slowly, overdramatically, as if to show me that it is very hard to walk away from such a spectacle and 3…2…1, bam! Her sons pretend to turn around to look at something but they turn to look at me, the low-class banshee that their mom was horrified by.

For some reason, her look has made an impression on me more than the rest of my shit weekend. Or maybe because it’s easier to focus on her look more than other things that have hurt me.

When I see someone practically crying on the phone on the street, desperately unloading, I do the decent thing and LOOK AWAY, suddenly busying myself with my very fascinating third fingernail or that cool new billboard, to give them some privacy in their vulnerable moment, even on the public sidewalks. I also say a quick, silent prayer for them.

My heart goes out to them because EVERYBODY hurts. Life is messy.

This lady’s look. It made me want to run down the street after her and call out, “Hey! So what, I was having a very emotional outburst in public. What gave you the right to look at me with such disdain and disapproval? Are you not human, do you not bleed? You entitled, privileged bitch! And why you gotta be so passive aggressive, you coward. You didn’t have the balls to say anything to me. Was my language offensive to you? My cacophonous Oriental speech?” (Yes, a lot of unhealthy mindreading and projecting).

Whole lot to unpack from a brutal weekend, including why this stranger’s look had the power to unmoor me.

Also ironic that our pastor preached on “Drop Your Stone” yesterday, a sermon I have yet to listen to as we were at a Baby Dedication class during service.

A sermon I could very well be avoiding and not quite ready to hear.

My most repeated prayer for my kids is that they may find their worth in God and God alone – how God views them, not how the world may view them, and not based on fleeting accomplishments or failures. That they may be wholly anchored deep in His love.

I suspect their mama needs such prayers, too.

Most Reviled

Posted on May 10, 2013 by ajummama

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

ajummama

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

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

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

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

No brainstorming necessary.

One thing that threw me…

View original post 1,178 more words

Most Reviled

Posted on May 16, 2012 by ajummama

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

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

No brainstorming necessary.

One thing that threw me off was that said groomsman was posting pictures of his family in Disney World. Either this was an elaborate ploy to throw me off (which I squashed right away as his family is on his Facebook and he wouldn’t want to confuse them) or aha! I got it. We were going to meet them in Florida and stay at E’s father’s condo. I even teased Kevin, “Hey, can I write ‘see you soon’ on E’s Wall before our flight so that he knows that I already know. Why am I your fave wrestler right now? Just call me Triple H because I am that damn good!”

Kevin just smiled. Oh, I knew that smile. I’d embarrassed the poor guy by guessing the whole weekend correctly in one fell swoop, after all his efforts to surprise me!

Kevin came home from a half-day, with a kale/apple/lemon juice on the rocks from a juice stand by his office to healthily kick off my early Mother’s Day adventure. He impressed me by showing me all of Micah’s clothes he had packed for the trip. He asked me not to look through his own suitcase as some clues might get revealed. He packed a lot of my stuff, including my hideous bathing suit and a couple dresses. I added some staples like maternity pants and cardigans. I asked him if he had told our doorman that we will be away for the weekend and he said he had taken care of it a while back (I confess that Nervous Nelly me snuck away to remind him even after Kevin had assured me).

It was game time – we had to raise up out of our apartment and get to JFK.

But M was not dressed in his “public clothes” as he was wearing some worn hand-me-downs that should not be handed down to one more generation of babies. I asked K to please change M’s outfit but K said, “Just let him wear this. It’s comfortable.” I said, “We really need to stop choosing comfort over everything. He can still be presentable while comfy!” So K relented and changed M.

We got to JFK two hours before our flight. We wheeled all of our belongings while K carried M who was excitedly looking around in the parking lot. I ended up strolling K’s suitcase as I told him to just watch out for M, I can totally handle strolling their stuff at the very least. K also assured me that leaving our car in the parking lot over the weekend was not going to be too pricey. He also assured me that someone would be arriving at our destination with a carseat for M. I said, “Of course. E or E’s dad will be picking us up then? How sweet of them!”

Once we got inside JFK, K looked around for seats. I said I don’t need to sit but he can go ahead and catch his breath before security. He said, “No, let’s all sit together as a family.” OH SH*T. I started to feel weird and less cocky about my certainty that we were going to Maine/Florida that day.

We sat down and he handed me a pink envelope. “Jihee-yah. First, just read the card, then you can look at what’s inside.”

OH SH*T, OH SH*T, OH SH*T. Weird feeling. Not so cocky now.

I opened the envelope and read the sweet Mother’s Day card inside. Then I opened up a folded up piece of paper inside. Tears started flowing down my cheeks like the drool from my boy’s drooliest mouth.

ONE boarding pass for ONE Jihee Lee from JFK to LAX from Thurs night to Sunday redeye.

“No, no, no…I don’t need a break. Really. Don’t send me away. Dontsendmeaway! I’m good right here.”

“And wait, how!? I just talked to my parents today and they knew something but…but not this!? They couldn’t have kept THIS to themselves, their big mouths! And I’ve been emailing with J and S. J even asked me where I was going on FB today. I’ve never been apart from Micah – EVER! Go from zero to FOUR nights away!?” He assured me that he had already planned a fun-filled weekend with his boy and that I need not worry about a thing…that I should just savor my last moments with M here before I walked through security.

He had planned this since the moment our second pregnancy test said “PREGNANT” (with baby #2). SINCE FEBRUARY! My girls were in on it since then, too!

UTTER SHOCK. (AT THAT MOMENT AND FOR ABOUT A WEEK AFTER).

Once I started getting used to the idea that in about six hours, I would be back home in LA, on a flight all by myself again like back in 2010, maybe even reading trashy magazines instead of wrangling in my boy in the aisles of the plane, I told K not to prolong the inevitable. We should just say goodbye right then or else it will be too hard for me to go through with. Let’s just rip off the band-aid.

All this time, M was just running around the airport and excitedly exploring. He did reach out for me as we said goodbye but I hugged him lots, made only one U-turn before security lines to give one more hug and kiss.

Then I was off for one night with my parents and the rest of the weekend with my girls. I was in shock while I waited in the security lines. Everything was falling into place. K’s fake luggage turned out to be filled with a bag full of M’s old clothes that we needed to put away for storage. K had never talked to our doorman because there was no need. He didn’t want to change M out of his tore-up clothes because he knew he ain’t going nowhere! My girls, too, were suspect, now that I think about it. They didn’t ask their usual million follow-up questions about K’s surprise project. They too easily said, “Alright, then, have fun!” instead of gushing about K and how they liked him more than they liked my crazy ass.

The weekend was legendary. For both me and my boys. Sure I thought about my boys constantly, like a movie I couldn’t turn off in my head, but I was incredibly gifted with this last hurrah before baby #2 to recharge and exhale and remember me, myself, and I once again. My boys went to the Hall of Science, the park, a Mets game with our friends, and more.

When they visited some friends on Long Island that Saturday, the men, all fathers of toddlers, tried to deny entrance to K as they claimed that he had lost his man card for sending me away for that long and giving their wives some funny ideas. So, this is the story of how my husband, for one weekend in May, became the Most Reviled Husband in NYC (or as much as I could crank out during M’s nap!).

moments after being surprised!

5.6.12 my boys holding it down at Mets game while mama away (pic by Uncle AO)

1.7.12 welcome to sherman oaks! with (no) love, from the douches

Posted on January 7, 2012 by ajummama

LA, my hometown. nothing but love for you, especially for this glorious weather in January. “NOW HAVING SAID THAT” (see “Curb Your Enthusiasm” episode about how this phrase negates and contradicts everything you just said before it), sometimes the parody of a place is spot on. characters: a stringy, stuck-up LA/Hollywoody couple, BOTH with strawberry blonde hair and long limbs, who were oh-so-cold to micah while worshipping only THEIR li’l strawberry blonde offspring. giving him unwarranted stern looks, zero smiles when he played around their toddler, minding his own business. eerily quiet other than talking shit with their eyes. can’t stand it when people give each other KNOWING mean looks in front of others because hello, it ain’t your living room. i can see yo eyes. SO OBVIOUS when they gave each other looks about my mama because she was hyper and playing all goofy with her grandbaby, by rocking back and forth, completely engrossed in him, not caring about the haters. i wanted to push them so badly or shit in their diaper bag because DON’T NO ONE TALK MEAN ABOUT MY MAMA, even with YO EYES, douches! but i had to behave myself for the sake of chandler, riker, fiona, clarke, archie and all the other 2010 named babies. the whole scene was just gross, all of us with our trendily named babies, yuppy vibe in the air with everyone only into their own babies, not saying hullo. my dad found someone’s camera lens for them while they stared icily at micah and not even a “thank you.” very surprising because this is not the LA i know but a stereotype i’ve seen in sitcoms. i just notice way too much. wish i were more oblivious or just didn’t give a crap but i always do. now we will go enjoy the day some more despite the douchey morning.

Peek-a-Boo

Posted on December 13, 2011 by ajummama

Like mama, Micah may love exploring new places. He was beaming in his highchair when we went to eat in Williamsburg for a change of scenery on an unseasonably warm November day. This is the dude who usually doesn’t want to be confined to anything, be it highchair, carseat, or stroller. But he must have felt at one with the hipsters as he was ‘fitted in his own little flannel shirt and bib decked out with cassette tapes. He was extra smiley and even swiveled around in his seat to give confident, lingering smiles to all the customers. A bit uncharacteristic of him as he tends to be bashful. He gave extra drooley smiles and his thought balloon appeared to say, “heeeyy, where da white women at?” as the waitresses doted on him.

I didn’t want him to bother any customer for too long since they were there to break bread with their friends and enjoy their meals. I couldn’t help but overhear a man talking about some personal, painful family stuff. As the man poured out his heart to his brunch companion with furrowed brow and intense emotion, Micah turned to him and cheesed. Huge grin, extra drool. Micah then proceeded to do something I hadn’t seen him do before. Micah covered his eyes with his little hands, giggled, and uncovered his eyes. He was playing peek-a-boo with this man, but he was playing the part of the parent. I was going to immediately grab Micah and turn him around so that the man didn’t feel awkward or have his flow messed up as he shared some real pain. But right then, the man paused, his face softened, and he did a fake roar for Micah. Micah squealed in delight. For that second, the man looked about seven. And free.

reminisce bliss

Posted on November 23, 2011 by ajummama

Micah, I owe you your official birth story. It is branded in my head and heart but I still need to get it down on paper to preserve it forever. I am sure I emailed myself some snippets, even from the hospital, but I’m talking about a complete, flowing story. As we approach your first birthday, I’ve made the story such a significant assignment that it will have to wait. I also want your dad to chime in so that we don’t forget a single detail. But for now, here is a preview:

I remember how about one year ago, my doctor had told me that you were gonna be a quick and possibly early delivery because you had already descended into my pelvis. He was right. He was also amazed I hadn’t felt any pain and discomfort as I walked around with a bowling ball lying low in my pelvis. I kept emailing my girls back home about the final doctor visits as your arrival drew near. I tried to get folks to place bets on the actual date. Your auntie NK’s guess was the closest, I think.

Your dad the sports nut remembers most things in relation to sports. So this is what he says as we reminisce, reminisce over you (that sounds like Pete Rock and Cl Smooth’s rap): “Dear Micah, On Thanksgiving Eve, UConn was playing Kentucky in the finals of the Maui Invitational. I was excited to see this game and was relieved when your mom went to take a shower so I could watch the game in peace. I thought the contractions were subsiding since she was able to hit the shower. Kemba Walker was on fire and led UConn to a blowout victory. Good thing the second half wasn’t that close because I had to miss it going to the hospital. Uncle Twiggy texted me the final score while I was at the hospital. If I had known that UConn would go on to win the National Championship in April, your name might’ve been Kemba.”

Though we knew you could come early, we never imagined you’d arrive on Thanksgiving morning. It is so fitting now that we’ve gotten to know you. You always make me so grateful to be your mama. Your smooth, cool cheek smushing against mine. How you literally LEAP into my arms because I am your one and only mama, even when I have yet to wash my greasy face or change into a clean shirt. You are our delight, my toothy David Letterman. You make us Jubilant (another name contender to Micah and Kemba though vehemently vetoed by your dad).

Growing up, Thanksgiving was a tough holiday. I felt so lonely because it was usually our immediate family – just the four of us – with a small turkey and a couple sides. Yes, I was counting my blessings to have our family intact and healthy, but I also felt like I was looking over my shoulder to see other families gather with much more oomph in their holiday, with more relatives and more holiday merriment. I wanted it to be a big celebration. Maybe this child of immigrants watched too many Nancy Meyers movies where the holidays were glorious, decor and all, with white folks hugging each other and sipping on holiday beverages in their palatial homes. Cue perfect soundtrack. Ours felt a bit melancholy, as if we were following tradition just because it was what the rest of the country was doing.

Thanks to you, you have made Thanksgiving exponentially more celebratory. We will always reminisce about your arrival and wherever we are or whoever we’re with, we will be gushing with joy because we received you for Thanksgiving. Thank you so much. And yeah, I still owe you your full birth story. (And I hope you will always spend Thanksgiving with us even when you get a girlfriend your junior year in college. No pressure though because I am so understanding and not high maintenance.)