Kimchi Mamas

Produce! Produce! Produce!

Imagine a night when the family is fed, the house is clean, the children aren't bickering, and you have the rest of the night to relax. You draw a hot bath, you even use your "good" bath salts. You enter the bliss, let the water envelope you, you slowly begin to feel the world's weight come off your shoulders. Ahhhhhh...

Then a teeny tiny thought crosses your mind: 'I've been in the bath long enough that I could pumice my feet. It's summer, I want my feet to be summer ready.'

And then another thought enters your head: 'I should put on one of those beauty masks. My skin has been terrible lately...'

And then another: 'Gee, I should get ahead and starting outlining for that upcoming project.'

And then before you know it, the weight of the world is back on your shoulders, Atlas. Well done.

How many of us do this? How many of us finally eek out some "me" time only to have it sabotaged by "me?" 

There's this feeling, this need, that compels us to productivity. Every moment of our lives must be towards something. Some end goal. Ironically we just keep moving the damn goal the closer we get to it.

We see it on our social media. We all have that friend who is a mother to 4, a partner at her firm, and a great cook especially with her-urban-chicken-coop-producing-eggs, who also volunteers at the local food bank. We see it in our communities. When was the last time you saw a bunch of kids riding their bikes to the woods/creek/river/lake/beach/playground to play freely or just hanging out at the 7-11/ice house/arcade/mall/plaza on a regular basis?

That fateful night in the bath? I missed a real opportunity to appreciate all of the things I did do! I worked a full day at the office. I fed my family. I picked up around the house. There were no dishes in the sink. The family had on clean clothes. All the pets were alive. And the house did not burn down. 

Somewhere along the way, we stopped giving ourselves permission to relax, to slow down and enjoy our day. Starting from today, I'm giving myself permission. Instead of focusing on what I think I should be doing, I'm going to appreciate more what I have done. And that not every second of my day has to be productive.

 

 

 

Midlife?

Hi there Kimchi Mamas!!! How are things going?

Things are going alright here in the Choi family. I turned 40 this year and I kind of am really liking the older me. I feel so mature! Can you tell?

 

 

So mature! Right? =)

In all seriousness, I actually do feel like I am just barely starting to get this thing called life. And by "get" I don't mean that I have figured it out and have the solution to all of life's problems and have unlocked the secret to happiness. No. I do not have any keys to happiness here. And yet, I do feel a smidgen of self confidence and maybe a sprinkle of faith and a sliver of hope, that no matter what happens, that I will be ok.

And I know shit happens.

A Happy Mom is A Good Mom workshop!

I am going to run a mom’s workshop.  It will be called, “a happy mom is a good mom.”

We will meet online via webinar.  If you are interested, please e-mail me at [email protected].  I am trying to find the best time for us all to meet.  I am planning to start on the first week of March, and considering Monday or Tuesday nights.  In your e-mail, if you can let me know the best times and nights of the week, I will do it on the most popular night.

- Nancy

 

Jelly Beans

I’m about to confess something that isn’t easy to confess.  I have no trouble writing about personal things. In fact, writing is my way of sorting through my thoughts.  But this…this is admitting to a flaw that is intensely painful and shameful to me.  This past year I’ve seriously lost touch with the mom I want to be and that my daughter deserves.  I certainly didn’t intend it to go this way.  I knew from the start that I wanted to practice gentle parenting, that I leaned more towards attachment parenting philosophies, and that I wanted to teach my daughter to respect others by respecting her first. 

But something has gone awry.  This past year, I have found myself gruff, grumpy, too tough, snappish, and well to be frank…a rather crappy parent.  This is not who I want to be and it’s definitely not what Aria deserves. 

I cannot pinpoint when things started to shift for the worse, but I can point to exactly why things have gone this way.  I’m too busy, I have absolutely no time to myself, I’m spread too thin and I get way too little sleep, I don’t eat well, I live off of coffee and energy drinks, we’re not financially secure, we’re spending too much money but aren’t entirely sure where to cut back, I’m stressed out and worried about Aria’s sensory issues and I don’t know how to help her…in a word my life is pretty unpredictable and chaotic and I’m feeling extremely insecure about it. 

None of this is Aria’s fault.  Instead she is the unfortunate victim of my impatience, insecurity, and even anger.  And that is simply not okay.  Rather than have a mom who is an amazing support system as she struggles with her sensory problems and general anxiety and to be honest with the trials and tribulations of simply being a little kid, she has a mom who swings from one extreme to the other, from being understanding to impatient to angry to remorseful.  I’m on a roller coaster of emotions and I’ve dragged my sweet daughter along for the ride.  Is it any wonder then that she feels insecure and anxious and has trouble managing her sensory issues? 

About a month ago, after months and months of knowing that this was not okay but not knowing how to get off the damn roller coaster, I asked Aria to help me.  It’s not her responsibility, she shouldn’t have to help me…she’s only five for goodness sakes, but I was desperate.  We came up with a word.  A silly word.  It was her code to let me know that she was feeling vulnerable and that I was being too tough on her.  Jelly Beans.  We figured a silly word would help snap me out of whatever irrational emotion I was let guiding and influencing my behavior towards her. 

It has been working for the most part.  When she looks up at me with her sweet face and trusting little eyes and whispers, “Jelly Beans, Mommy, Jelly Beans,” my heart sinks and I stop.  I smile at her.  I contemplate whether my request is reasonable and if it is, whether there is a better and gentler way to request it.  And I remember to hug her and let her know I love her.

But I don’t want my daughter to feel that she is responsible for reining in my frustration and anger.  It’s a temporary solution to a problem that has been festering for the past year. 

Last week, we had a particularly bad morning.  I don’t know what it was that set me off and it doesn’t really matter.  But I was feeling frustrated and Aria was back talking me as 5 year olds sometimes do, I found myself using threats that I didn’t really mean in an attempt to show her who the bigger boss was in this household. Instead, I showed her who the bigger ass in this household was and I left the house angry.  Aria was angry too and very hurt; she didn’t even attempt to use Jelly Beans.  Maybe because she forgot or maybe she didn’t think it would work.  She refused to say goodbye to me.  By the time I got to the bus stop, I was crying and feeling like the world’s crappiest mom. 

At my desk, I googled random things, hoping to find a solution to our MY problem.  I found a site for gentle parenting.  They pointed to a Facebook group called The Yell-Free Year Challenge.  I joined, because sometimes what we need is to read about other people’s struggles and triumphs to not only learn to forgive ourselves but to learn what hope really means. 

I came home reinvigorated and determined that this time the change I was seeking would come from within rather than be placed upon the strong but wee little shoulders of my five year old daughter.  When I entered our apartment, Aria dashed from the kitchen into the bathroom and I felt my heart break just a little.  I figured she was still hurt and hiding from me and I didn’t blame her.  I steeled myself for the long, hard road of earning her trust back.

My daughter is already far advanced in the art of forgiveness and understanding.  She dashed from the bathroom into the living room, stopping in front of me, shouting, “Boo,” and squealing with delight, “Did I startle you, Mommy?!”  I assured her that she had and I hugged her.  I hugged her a lot and told her how much I loved her.

Four days.  It’s been four days.  I haven’t raised my voice in these last four days.  I can’t say I’ve been the parent I hope to be.  I still need to learn how to parent without resorting to threats I don’t want to and mostly don’t intend to keep.  I still need to learn to distinguish between what’s the small stuff and what really matters.  And most importantly I still need to figure out how to disentangle my ego and how I view myself from the way my daughter behaves.  But it’s a step. 

I’ve learned to be silent for a moment when I feel the anger, long enough to gather my thoughts and respond more rationally.  And I’ve learned to whisper when I feel the need to say something immediately but am afraid I will yell.  I have no idea if I will make it for a year, but that’s okay because I’m shooting for a lifetime of one day at a time changes.  Aria is worth it.  I’m worth it.  Because life is entirely too short to feel like the world’s crappiest parent.

No, Virginia...

 

Small children, please step away from the screen now.

 

For someone who swore she would never lie to her kids, I sure do lie to them a lot.

A wonderful book, "The Alchemist."

Two days ago I walked into a bookstore, approached the literature section, and walked aisle after aisle looking for just the right book.  I passed by a few that might have been, but they did not speak to me, so I walked on.  At one of the last aisles, I saw a book that seemed to look straight at me.  I picked it up.  Nothing was that special about it, but I liked the name.  It was called The Alchemist.

I bought it along with few other things.   

It started slowly.  But as it moved along, it caught me off guard as the events that took place for the main character unfolded in parallel with the life path that I am on.  I sobbed and sobbed.

The Alchemist is about a boy who chooses to go on an adventure to find treasure, and because he does, finds his personal legend.

We all want our children to find their own personal legends.  We want them to realize their full potential, find their true calling, and live a life that is fulling and optimally happy. Everyone deserves this.

I recommend that every parent and every teacher read this book to learn how to guide the precious children in their lives.  And of course, we need to remember our own personal legends, and follow the life paths of our own creation.

-Nancy

For your consideration

 

 

A dear friend of mine picked up my book on parenting recently and said, “you know this is going to help a lot of people, you really should get it out there and let people know it exists.”

 

 

My book, “Teach Them How To Fish”, is an academic coaching guide for parents.  It is a look at what really helps a child be successful in the most organic and natural way possible.  It addresses the question, “how  can we parents provide the right soil for our children to grow and be nurtured in so that they can rise to the occasion of their own lives in a way that is fulfilling for them?”

It is about doing everything that we can to provide a solid foundation for our children, looking at our own selves to teach by example how to be successful.

I wrote this book after my son successfully entered UC Berkeley School of Law at age 19, which was his goal; I recalled the coaching methods that I utilized to guide him.  I also used the same method to help improve the academic standings of other students and clients of mine.

My book is available at my website Teachthemhowtofish.com.

 - Nancy

Letting Go

Control.  Stability. 

Those two words take up so much of my head space.  I’ve been seeking and chasing them for as long as I can remember.  Even when I drank too much and was the epitome of loss of control.  Even when I packed up my stuff and headed more than 2000 miles away leaving behind some semblance of stability for the uncertainty of the Wild West. 

I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day.  My life has been filled with so much instability and lack of control that I almost feel compelled to secure it, cage it, keep it with me so I know what is around the corner, so I can stop guessing, so I can breathe.  As a mother I’ve found that my desperate attempt to capture control and stability has only increased.  I want the sort of childhood for my daughter that I didn’t have.  

My cousin and me

“What happened to you?  You were supposed to become someone amazing: some kind of a great success!  Look at you, you are just a mom and a housewife.  Why?” my cousin asked me about six or seven years ago.

“I’m working on my graduate degree and I’ve been writing.”  I replied, feeling defensive.

“Everyone used to talk about how smart you are.  They all said you were going to be very successful someday.  You used to be brilliant.”

“Everyone said that?” I asked surprised.

“Yeah.  But you didn’t do anything special with your life.  You became nothing.”

I was hurt, to say the least, but I dismissed it as one of my cousin’s brash moments.  What I would remember later, and what I didn’t think to say to her at that moment, was that when we were kids, I was also being told by my mother and other family members about all of my cousin’s great accomplishments and how creative and amazing she was.

My cousin and I have always had a kind of bond, almost like sisters.  We played like sisters and fought like sisters.

I am thinking now that the fights and the competition between us were orchestrated by the adults in our lives.

My mother used to show my cousin’s published poems to me and explain to me how amazing she was to get published in Korean papers at such a young age. After a few years of hearing about her poems getting published, I entered a nationwide songwriting contest and won fifth place.  My mom was proud of me and hung the little flag where everyone could see.  But still I never got published in any papers, and I knew that I had failed my mother.

I recently reconnected with my cousin after a few years of not speaking to each other after an argument.  I had said some very harsh things to her, and I know that I hurt her feelings.    

When we reconnected a few months back, I first told myself that she is the same person, and that I could not trust her.  But last night when I spoke with her, I sensed a more grown and mature woman who is actively working on herself and focusing on doing things for others.  She is adopting her nephews since her brother is not doing so well financially.  He is an artist and is struggling to make it.

She and I had a wonderful heart to heart, and we carried it through to this morning in text.  I for the first time felt really connected to her, and felt thankful to have a cousin who is more like my sister.

After I had texted with her, I began to realize the impact our family had created in our lives. I think that our families saw two bright and talented girls full of personalities and energy.  I think that they assumed that if we were competitive with one another that it would cause us to realize our full potentials.

My cousin did become, and continues to become, something special.  She fell in love with an American businessman that she met through her work.  She married him and came to America.  She then divorced him after a few years of what felt like abuse, and at one point became completely broke.  She worked at shops as a seamstress and took classes at the local colleges to improve her English.  She then took an intern position with a large clothing company and now, after a few decades, she is a buyer and quality controller for that  company, traveling all over the place and making herself a very respectable salary.   She married a man more than a decade younger and has created a family life for herself and is happy.

I cannot blame our families for trying to get the best out of my cousin and me, but it did affect our relationship in a negative way.  We antagonized each other, never really knowing why.  We at times resented each other, and so we followed a pattern of being friendly, and splitting apart at our individual offenses, before coming together again and repeating the pattern.

I wonder what would have happened to our relationship if our elders had not induced a competitive relationship between us? I wonder if she and I might have even manifested something wonderful together, a successful enterprise of some kind?  Food for thought for people raising siblings, aunts, uncles and other family members out there.

- Nancy 

Not getting sucked into my parents negativity

I recently started talking to my mom on the phone again. She currently lives in Georgia, by herself. I live in California. After a terrible experience of living together, we didn't speak for about 4-5 years. Anyway, I started calling her on my commute to work and our relationship is getting much better, thank God.

I was thinking about a conversation we had the other day. I was struggling to explain to her what I did for work as a consultant. I immigrated to the USA when I was 11 (5th grade) so even if I had remembered every single word of Korean that I knew in fifth grade, it would have been difficult to explain what I do for a living. Anyway, I was struggling to explain my job and she commented, "Speaking Korean is so hard for you." In my head, I heard it as, "Your Korean sucks." I reminded her that I came to the USA when I was in fifth grade and that I hadn't been practicing Korean with anyone lately.