So my mom and her sisters decided to brave the madness that is called the mall, the day before Easter. A dangerous place to be on that day, kinda like being in the mall on Christmas Eve. Since no one had a car large enough for everyone to fit in, they decided to catch the bus to the Del Amo Mall.
My aunts who lived further way told my mom they would call her when they neared the stop closest to our house so she could jump on the bus. As my mom readied herself, she said, “I don’t know how I feel about riding the bus all this distance. Transients and people with diseases sit in those seats.”
“You don’t sit down when you catch the bus in the mornings and evenings?” I asked incredulously.
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I stand the whole way. I don’t want to catch anything.”
Thank goodness she doesn’t have to ride far. Wait a minute- - “So you can’t sit down because you might catch something, but from seventh to twelfth grade I rode the bus for a minimum of forty-five minutes each way to get to and from school, but it was okay if I got some disease and died? That’s great.”
“Well, I didn’t know better back then.”
Motherly love at its finest moment.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Aunt Yash
I called to talk to Mona, but Kayla picked up the phone, which meant Mona was exercising. Kayla and I talked for a bit, then Mona picked up the phone.
And then Kayla yelled, “Mom, Aunt Yash is on the phone.”
“Thanks, Kayla. I have the phone,” Mona responded from the other room.
“Bye, Aunt Yash. I love you,” my six-year-old niece said before hanging up the phone.
My heart skipped a few beats. There is nothing like hearing your niece or nephew saying, “I love you” to you. I love being an aunt.
And then Kayla yelled, “Mom, Aunt Yash is on the phone.”
“Thanks, Kayla. I have the phone,” Mona responded from the other room.
“Bye, Aunt Yash. I love you,” my six-year-old niece said before hanging up the phone.
My heart skipped a few beats. There is nothing like hearing your niece or nephew saying, “I love you” to you. I love being an aunt.
We're not that close..
We ran out of the kids’ dental floss, so we had to use the adult one. I didn’t think much about it as I cut a piece of floss off and started wrapping it around my index fingers. I started with the baby and things were going great at first, while I was flossing her front teeth. But as we moved closer to the back of her mouth and finally I was in her mouth, I thought this is disgusting. We are not this close that my fingers should be in her mouth. We’re just not. Tomorrow I’m going to buy their kids’ floss at my lunch, so we never have to do this again.
Easter
Resurrection Day was awesome. Awesome because we were celebrating the day our Savior rose from the grave. Because we’ve been blessed to be part of a family of believers. Because we can go to church with our family and celebrate and praise God for His goodness and mercy. And afterwards go to our aunt’s house and eat, talk, and celebrate together some more.
After lunch, the girls enjoyed playing with the wagons their aunt uses to transport her plants and dirt from the backyard to the front and Jory, courtesy of Uncle Bobby and his I phone, discovered the world of Angry Birds and he was hooked. So hooked that I’m pretty sure he didn’t utter a word when I ushered him into the room with his great uncle to sit in the recliner to play the game without being in everyone’s way in the living room. So hooked that he didn’t even notice that said uncle was sitting directly in front of him watching a minister on TV, completely blocking Jory’s view of the TV. Wow, never seem him like that before with a computer game.
The family was talking when my eighteen-year-old cousin walked in, wearing what I am now calling va-jay-jay hugging shorts, with her hair flowing down her back and rockin’ four inch heels. Sometimes when women wear things that are too tight or too short, you can tell they are self-conscious because they are always tugging and pulling on their clothing, but not my little cousin. She walked around like she was wearing a normal outfit. It’s strange to see someone and think if she added five or six more inches that outfit was be appropriate, yet still cute. So no one says anything and then she was walking out the door, when her aunt stopped her.
“Where are you going?” her aunt asked her.
“I’m going to the swapmeet to get my brother some shoes,” the eighteen-year-old answered.
“Could you stop by Payless for me?” her aunt inquired.
“I don’t think they are open, but the swapmeet is because the owners are Korean and they don’t celebrate Easter,” she replied.
I was sitting next to her aunt watching, hearing the interplay and I was stunned. Did she just say Koreans don’t celebrate Easter? Seriously?! Seriously?
“Well, if you don’t think Payless is open- -“ her aunt continued.
“No, Easter is like an American holiday and Koreans don’t celebrate it.”
Seriously. She just said, what I had hoped she hadn’t said.
“That’s okay then. See you later,” her aunt concluded.
My cousin stood up, bid us adieu, and left.
I turned to her aunt/my older cousin and said, “You’re her aunt and a minister’s wife. Her grandpa is a minister. Don’t you think you should have schooled her on what Easter means?”
“She knows what Easter means. She was generalizing,” my older cousin said to me.
I turned away and thought I won’t even continue this conversation. It can’t be possible my cousin is a hoochie mama or dresses like a hoochie mama and dumb. You can’t be both.
When I later thought of this conversation, I realized not only did my cousin say that Easter was an American holiday, you know like Veteran’s Day or 4th of July; and that she didn’t get the whole Jesus being beaten and crucified for our sins and rose from the grave so that we could if we so choose spend eternity with him; but she also was saying that Koreans weren’t Americans.
I said to a friend, my cousin can’t be a dumb hoochie mama. But then she reminded me that hoochie mamas are mostly dumb. She was right. Sadly, she was right.
After lunch, the girls enjoyed playing with the wagons their aunt uses to transport her plants and dirt from the backyard to the front and Jory, courtesy of Uncle Bobby and his I phone, discovered the world of Angry Birds and he was hooked. So hooked that I’m pretty sure he didn’t utter a word when I ushered him into the room with his great uncle to sit in the recliner to play the game without being in everyone’s way in the living room. So hooked that he didn’t even notice that said uncle was sitting directly in front of him watching a minister on TV, completely blocking Jory’s view of the TV. Wow, never seem him like that before with a computer game.
The family was talking when my eighteen-year-old cousin walked in, wearing what I am now calling va-jay-jay hugging shorts, with her hair flowing down her back and rockin’ four inch heels. Sometimes when women wear things that are too tight or too short, you can tell they are self-conscious because they are always tugging and pulling on their clothing, but not my little cousin. She walked around like she was wearing a normal outfit. It’s strange to see someone and think if she added five or six more inches that outfit was be appropriate, yet still cute. So no one says anything and then she was walking out the door, when her aunt stopped her.
“Where are you going?” her aunt asked her.
“I’m going to the swapmeet to get my brother some shoes,” the eighteen-year-old answered.
“Could you stop by Payless for me?” her aunt inquired.
“I don’t think they are open, but the swapmeet is because the owners are Korean and they don’t celebrate Easter,” she replied.
I was sitting next to her aunt watching, hearing the interplay and I was stunned. Did she just say Koreans don’t celebrate Easter? Seriously?! Seriously?
“Well, if you don’t think Payless is open- -“ her aunt continued.
“No, Easter is like an American holiday and Koreans don’t celebrate it.”
Seriously. She just said, what I had hoped she hadn’t said.
“That’s okay then. See you later,” her aunt concluded.
My cousin stood up, bid us adieu, and left.
I turned to her aunt/my older cousin and said, “You’re her aunt and a minister’s wife. Her grandpa is a minister. Don’t you think you should have schooled her on what Easter means?”
“She knows what Easter means. She was generalizing,” my older cousin said to me.
I turned away and thought I won’t even continue this conversation. It can’t be possible my cousin is a hoochie mama or dresses like a hoochie mama and dumb. You can’t be both.
When I later thought of this conversation, I realized not only did my cousin say that Easter was an American holiday, you know like Veteran’s Day or 4th of July; and that she didn’t get the whole Jesus being beaten and crucified for our sins and rose from the grave so that we could if we so choose spend eternity with him; but she also was saying that Koreans weren’t Americans.
I said to a friend, my cousin can’t be a dumb hoochie mama. But then she reminded me that hoochie mamas are mostly dumb. She was right. Sadly, she was right.
Microwaves
I walked through the door and Jory greeted me with a hug.
“What did you do while I was gone?” I asked as I put my stuff down.
“Oma let us play outside. Rowan cooked in the microwave and we had to open all the doors because the house smelled. Oma said Rowan couldn’t use the microwave anymore,” Jory answered.
Wait, what? There was so much wrong with his last two statements. Why was a four-year-old using the microwave by herself? And really? Really?!?! Who was my mother to critique Rowan’s microwaving abilities? The woman who only seems to know how to set the timer on 10 minutes or 20 minutes to heat food, which is fine because she’ll “remember” that in two minutes she’ll have to stop the microwave because the food will really be warmed then. And she’s never forgotten when the two or three minutes were up. Nope, never.
Yeah, I wisely didn’t comment on the microwave adventure. Best to let that go.
“What did you do while I was gone?” I asked as I put my stuff down.
“Oma let us play outside. Rowan cooked in the microwave and we had to open all the doors because the house smelled. Oma said Rowan couldn’t use the microwave anymore,” Jory answered.
Wait, what? There was so much wrong with his last two statements. Why was a four-year-old using the microwave by herself? And really? Really?!?! Who was my mother to critique Rowan’s microwaving abilities? The woman who only seems to know how to set the timer on 10 minutes or 20 minutes to heat food, which is fine because she’ll “remember” that in two minutes she’ll have to stop the microwave because the food will really be warmed then. And she’s never forgotten when the two or three minutes were up. Nope, never.
Yeah, I wisely didn’t comment on the microwave adventure. Best to let that go.
Cars and Kids
We drove home from church and as soon as I parked, I unlocked the door and we began cleaning out the truck. Somehow the baby disappeared into the house, so it was just Rowan and Jory cleaning up their messes, while I went through the papers that had accumulated in the car over the past week or so. As I talked to my friend, Ashley, on the phone, I noticed my mom’s car, that hadn’t been driven since the accident in December, was moving forward and that Rowan was in the car.
Life turned into an action film during one of those slo-mo scenes. I remember running out of my car as the papers and phone fell out of my lap, my earpiece fell out of my ear on to the ground as I ran to my mom’s car and jumped in to stop it. I couldn’t even form a prayer, but God knew what I was praying for and asking.
I got in the car just as the fence stopped the car from rolling anymore. I quickly put the car in gear and thought if Rowan had crashed through this gate and hit the house we’ve been remodeling for the last thirteen months, I might have had to hurt her myself.
We got out the car and I locked all the doors behind me. Jory and Rowan stood on the steps and I gave them the look.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again! We do not put cars in gear! We do not play in cars. Do you understand?” I questioned fiercely.
“Yes,” they both answered.
“Get inside the house, now,” I commanded.
And they quickly went in.
I shared the story with my friend, Paul, and he asked if I had punished Rowan. I thought about it and said, “No.” Then I thought about it some more. Usually if something happens, the kids will talk about it later or tell their Oma. But this time they had remained silent. They hadn’t even said anything to the baby. I realized I had put the fear of God into the two of them. And looking at the bright side, it’s nice to know that if I can’t use my arms to put the car in gear, Rowan could do it for me.
Life turned into an action film during one of those slo-mo scenes. I remember running out of my car as the papers and phone fell out of my lap, my earpiece fell out of my ear on to the ground as I ran to my mom’s car and jumped in to stop it. I couldn’t even form a prayer, but God knew what I was praying for and asking.
I got in the car just as the fence stopped the car from rolling anymore. I quickly put the car in gear and thought if Rowan had crashed through this gate and hit the house we’ve been remodeling for the last thirteen months, I might have had to hurt her myself.
We got out the car and I locked all the doors behind me. Jory and Rowan stood on the steps and I gave them the look.
“Don’t you ever do anything like that again! We do not put cars in gear! We do not play in cars. Do you understand?” I questioned fiercely.
“Yes,” they both answered.
“Get inside the house, now,” I commanded.
And they quickly went in.
I shared the story with my friend, Paul, and he asked if I had punished Rowan. I thought about it and said, “No.” Then I thought about it some more. Usually if something happens, the kids will talk about it later or tell their Oma. But this time they had remained silent. They hadn’t even said anything to the baby. I realized I had put the fear of God into the two of them. And looking at the bright side, it’s nice to know that if I can’t use my arms to put the car in gear, Rowan could do it for me.
Valuable Lesson
I decided TTT deserved a break from cereal or oatmeal for breakfast on the weekends, so I decided to cook eggs. When the baby saw me take eggs out of the fridge, she asked if she could help cook. Sure why not, it was a happy Saturday morning. The baby and were scrambling her egg when Rowan woke up and wandered into the kitchen.
“Mommy, can I help cook too?” she asked.
“You can cook your own egg as soon as your sister is finished,” I answered.
The baby finished and I put her in her high chair to enjoy her eggs. Rowan stepped into the chair her sister vacated and cracked her eggs and we cooked.
“Mommy, is it my turn to cook my eggs?” Jory wondered.
“In a minute.”
Jory got his plate out and a fork. He was ready to go.
Rowan was finished. I put her at the table, slid her hot eggs on her plate, and then got started with my big boy. We were happily cooking when I had to go into the other room. I turned the fire off and told Jory I would be right back. He got out of his chair and sat down.
I was talking to my mom when I heard….
“Mommy, it’s burning! The table is burning,” Rowan cried out.
I walked quickly into the kitchen to see what she was talking about. Yes, I walked instead of ran because this is the girl who cried wolf yelling. I arrived into the kitchen to find that Rowan was right. The table had been burnt.
In his bid to be a helpful, big boy, Jory decided he would take the pan off the stove and instead of hold it like I did while I put the eggs on the girls’ plates; he decided to put the pan on the vinyl poker table. The hot pan on the vinyl poker table. So I picked up the pan which had cool some that had black vinyl attached to it and a table with a circular patch of black vinyl missing from it. I cleaned the pan and then turned TTT.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Jory apologized/mumbled.
“It’s okay, but we’ve learned an important lesson. We do not move pots and pans off the stove unless Mommy is in the kitchen and tells you to. And we never, ever put a hot pan or pot on the table or the counter. Okay?”
“Okay,” TTT answered.
My mom walked into the kitchen. “Was something burning?”
“Yes and we just learned a valuable lesson about putting hot pans on tables,” I replied.
She looked at the table, rolled her eyes, but didn’t say a word, as I encouraged the kids to finish eating their breakfasts.
You just never know when a teachable moment will just pop up. And let’s praise God this happened on the poker table because if this had happened on her good table, she might have had a stroke.
“Mommy, can I help cook too?” she asked.
“You can cook your own egg as soon as your sister is finished,” I answered.
The baby finished and I put her in her high chair to enjoy her eggs. Rowan stepped into the chair her sister vacated and cracked her eggs and we cooked.
“Mommy, is it my turn to cook my eggs?” Jory wondered.
“In a minute.”
Jory got his plate out and a fork. He was ready to go.
Rowan was finished. I put her at the table, slid her hot eggs on her plate, and then got started with my big boy. We were happily cooking when I had to go into the other room. I turned the fire off and told Jory I would be right back. He got out of his chair and sat down.
I was talking to my mom when I heard….
“Mommy, it’s burning! The table is burning,” Rowan cried out.
I walked quickly into the kitchen to see what she was talking about. Yes, I walked instead of ran because this is the girl who cried wolf yelling. I arrived into the kitchen to find that Rowan was right. The table had been burnt.
In his bid to be a helpful, big boy, Jory decided he would take the pan off the stove and instead of hold it like I did while I put the eggs on the girls’ plates; he decided to put the pan on the vinyl poker table. The hot pan on the vinyl poker table. So I picked up the pan which had cool some that had black vinyl attached to it and a table with a circular patch of black vinyl missing from it. I cleaned the pan and then turned TTT.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Jory apologized/mumbled.
“It’s okay, but we’ve learned an important lesson. We do not move pots and pans off the stove unless Mommy is in the kitchen and tells you to. And we never, ever put a hot pan or pot on the table or the counter. Okay?”
“Okay,” TTT answered.
My mom walked into the kitchen. “Was something burning?”
“Yes and we just learned a valuable lesson about putting hot pans on tables,” I replied.
She looked at the table, rolled her eyes, but didn’t say a word, as I encouraged the kids to finish eating their breakfasts.
You just never know when a teachable moment will just pop up. And let’s praise God this happened on the poker table because if this had happened on her good table, she might have had a stroke.
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