Happy Birthday!

8:30 PM       Kids f-i-n-a-l-l-y go to sleep.

8:50 PM      “What time does the mall close?”  asks husband

9:00 PM       Husband suspiciously says “I’m going to work out!” and leaves the house in a hurry.

10:30 PM     He is still not back from the gym.  Where can he be?  1.5 hour before my birthday, he can only be at 2 places- Target, or the grocery store.  Gosh, I hope he’s not browsing at the local gas station…

Rewind 8 years.  We’ve been married for 4 whole months, and we were celebrating my birthday together for the first time as a married couple.  We pulled up to a small fondue restaurant in Los Gatos.  My husband had a silly grin on his face, and was tickling from head to toe with excitement. He parked the car, took my hand and said “I have something special for your birthday.” 

I have to take a moment to explain that I LOVE being surprised.  I also LOVE getting gifts.  So his words “…something special…” floated in my head, and I was dizzy with excitement. 

He reached over to the back seat, grabbed a mysterious, wrinkled, and used brown bag.  A brown bag!  Ok, so gift wrapping is not his thing.  I took the brown bag, and opened it with anticipation.  I reached in, and grabbed a…

...Bathing suit!

It wasn’t just a bathing suit, it was actually MY old black bathing suit.  Puzzled, I reached in again to see what else was in the bag-

... Palm Pilot!

It was not a new Palm Pilot, but my old Palm Pilot.  Then came out of the bag my favorite pen, old wallet, sunglasses, and a hair brush. 

I sat there speechless.  Was this some sort of a scavenger hunt?  Where was my real birthday present?

“Happy Birthday!”  My husband said proudly.  I was totally dumbfounded.  I looked at all the stuff out of the brown bag, looking for a clue, a sign, anything!  And that’s when I realized, all the things I took out of the brown bag were things I had misplaced, and couldn’t find around the house-  It was a BAG of My Missing Stuff!

4 months turned into over 8 year of marriage.  One year, I got an omelet maker.  Another year, I got a homemade “coupon” for a massage, which I have yet to cash in.  Then the kids came, and celebrating my birthday became a ritual for the kids.  My husband even bought a Thomas the Tank Engine cake for my birthday one year.  Sometimes I would find the birthday card unwritten, sitting on top of the washer for months.  Every year, it became less and less important, and my expectation grew smaller and smaller.

So when he came back from his trip to “work-out”, I was not at all anticipating, excited, or hoping for a gift.  I was too exhausted and sleepy to care, so I went to sleep.

When I got up this morning, my husband was busy at the kitchen trying to make pancakes for me.  Turns out he was out till wee hours of the night doing grocery shopping to prepare for my birthday breakfast.  He made a dozen pancakes, stacked them together, and put candles at the top.  As I sat there listening to my husband and the kids singing the Happy Birthday tune, I realized something.   There were no presents, nor surprises, but I was still content.  Why?

I didn’t have to cook breakfast!!!

And that was good enough for me.  Yay, happy birthday to me!!

Little SALT in my wounds

I had the rare pleasure of putting the kids down early, and sneak away with my husband to go watch a movie last night.  Watching a new release, actually sitting in a theater, is a lost art and truly a rare treat in PK (Post Kids) era so I was thrilled.

Someone told me that I must go see SALT, so without a clue as to what it was about, we rushed to get the ticket, and got seated with anticipation.  Honestly, I couldn't care less what I was about to see, just to get out of the house without kids gave me enough thrill to watch just about anything. I was NOT prepared for the experience I was about to have for the next 90 mins.

The first scene opened with the female protagonist being tortured by the brute militia while being tied down wearing nothing but what seems to be her undergarments. I'm not going to ruin the movie by retelling too much of the plot, but this was a 90 min-roller coaster ride of mixed emotion.  Angelina Jolie did what she did best- beat the crap out of every character that got in her way while remaining mysterious and sexy in every way.  Basically, the movie was a Bourne Identity- the Jolie version.  

But what about this movie was so disturbing to me?  About a year ago, I watched Bourne Identity at home after a long day of chasing around kids.  The movie gave me such a satisfying escape, I didn't even mind the fatigue or sleep deprivation the next day.  Matt Damon was great.  The scenes from all the different European cities were great.  It was the perfect escape.

SALT, was similar, but different.  In a way, watching this anime-esque figure beating up guys 3 times her size was exciting and empowering.  But, she also got beat up and tortured pretty badly in the process.  I didn't think twice when I saw Matt Damon get beat up on the screen.  But watching a woman get beat up took violence to a whole another level.  Double standard?  Absolutely.

In addition to female violence, there's the issue of children being manipulated and brain washed.   Watching the poor orphans being lied and manipulated to made me feel ill.  I knew that this movie is completely fictional, but I still left the theater feeling exhausted and strangely wounded.

We came home after midnight, but I was too wired to go to sleep.  Why did this movie disturb me so much?  Unlike Bourne Identity, this movie gave me no pleasure of "escaping".  Was it because I'm not a true feminist?  Did I change because I have children of my own?  Couldn't really tell why, but I just felt wounded.

I googled the movie that night to read the review.  That's when I came across the fact that Angelina Jolie filmed this movie only 18 months after she gave birth to her twins.  Crazy nuts!  Jolie was stick thin!!  If she had a postpartum weight issue, you couldn't tell.  She did most of her own stunts and rarely used a double. Not only did she just have twins, she also has 3, no excuse me, 4 older kids!  How does she manage to mother that many children, and still manage to be stick thin for this movie? 

That did it.  That was little too much SALT in my wounds...

Did anyone else see the movie?  Let me know what you thought!!

"Go MOM!!"

“Mama, your tummy is bigger than your milk (a.k.a -boobs)”

That’s all I needed to hear before dusting off my running shoes. After “letting go” and “just be happy” with my postpartum body, I haven’t done a single exercise, while eating whatever and whenever. I figured, the weight will come off when I stop nursing, just like the way it happened with my first child. I felt a sense of confidence, a feeling of freedom, in not caring about my weight. Besides, isn’t nursing the best diet out there?

All good things, including the euphoria of delusion, must come to an end. The innocent, but very observant comment from my 4 year old son brought me down to the reality. Unlike my first post-partum days, the pounds did not simply come off, and I am still miles away from my original size. The extra weight that moved in with pregnancy with my second child, stayed and hung around like an unwelcomed guest. Enough waiting around. It was time to do something about it.

I barely managed to squeeze into my old work out clothes, bribed the kids with snacks, and hit the pavement with the stroller. My legs felt heavy and immediately I began regretting not wearing another layer of a jogging bra. As I began to pump my arms, and tried to pound the pavement, I felt my body moving independently from me, doing its own rhythmic flabby dance. Didn’t matter. I was determined to get my work out.

I reached the stop sign down the street. My heart was pounding and I stopped to catch my breath. I waited for the light to turn so I can cross the street.

HONK, HONK!

I was startled by a jeep full of surfer –looking-dudes. Not sure why, but immediately, I flashed the biggest, ear-to-ear smile, and waved my flabby arms to say hello to the surfer-looking-dudes. If they raised their hands, I would’ve jumped up to high-five them. If they had a camera, I would’ve posed in my best angle. Call it adrenalin, or just an old habit, but I felt like I was 20 something all over again. I felt alive, and felt like I can run another mile.

Then the light turned green, and cars began to move. Just as I began to also pick up the pace, I heard the jeep peel away with a loud “GO—MMMMM oooooo mmm!!”

My legs froze. I was stunned. Can’t explain why I was so surprised, but I didn’t expect to hear a “MOM” cheer. Did they notice my kids sitting in the biggest double stroller ever? Did they see my muffin-top-postpartum-belly? All that energy and endorphin rush just drained out of me. I felt exhausted, old, fat, and completely unmotivated to take another stride. “Go-Mom”? Why did it feel so awful to hear someone say “Go-Mom”??

After moping around for another few weeks, I finally signed up for a Mommy Bootcamp. We meet at 6 o’clock in the morning, and now I love the freedom to exercise and work out with other moms, minus the kids. In a few weeks, I plan to go running again, without the kids. We’ll see who’ll “Go-Mom” me this time. I’ll let him have it.

What would I be doing today if I was not a mom?

I am back. After a few month of dealing with my husband’s lay off, starting my part time job, and interviewing on the side, I am back to Postpartum Rambling. I can go on and on, and write a book about how I’m dealing with the disappointment of my husband’s job loss, and our uncertain future, but I don’t want to waste my blogging space. Since today is a holiday of a sort, I have one burning question in my mind.

What would I be doing today if I was NOT a mom?

Unlike many perplexing, unanswerable questions out there in life, I actually know the answer to this question. I don’t even have to think about it. The truth is, I never thought I would be a mother. Do most other women grow up thinking, dreaming that she would be a mom one day? Not I. Not sure why not, but I never thought I would actually be a mother. Even if I did think I was going to be a mom, I had no idea what “being a mom” would entail. Clue-less. Absolutely clue less.

So, if I wasn’t a mom, who would I be today?

Immediately, I thought about work. If I wasn’t a mom, I would be working, putting in 80+ hrs/week, trying to climb the corporate ladder. I would get up in the morning, check the news and quickly check e-mail, then go to work where I would catch up with co-workers, buy cafeteria coffee, before sitting down at my desk. I would work, work, work, then meet a friend for lunch, then go back to work before finally leaving the office after dark. I would put in a quick work out at the gym, pick up some food at Trader Joe’s then go home and eat in front of a TV or a computer. I would watch a show or two, then read e-mails again, and prepare for the next day. Then I would read a book, before falling asleep, too exhausted to dream, uninterrupted till the next morning.

On weekends I would sleep in, hang out at farmer’s markets, then take day trips near by. I would definitely be on my 2^nd or even a 3^rd car, and would weigh 20 lbs less. I would obsess about my skin, hair, and clothes. I would go shopping recreationally, hang out with friends frequently, and call my parents regularly. I would eat spicy food and I would be eating out of glass plates rather than plastics. My car, house, and clothes would be clean.

That would be me.

But, if I wasn’t a mom, I would still be the most important person in my life. It was all about me. While that can almost sound appealing, it’s really kind of frightening. It’s one thing to be a child who is self-obsessed, but it’s a different ball game to be an adult who is self-obsessed. For that, I thank my children for being in my life. Everyday, they give me opportunities to be little less self-focused, and little less self-entitled.

So, my mom friends, who would YOU be if you were not a mom today? Better yet, for my non-mom friends, what kind of a mom would YOU be? I want you to write it down, so we can laugh about it together over a cup of tea one day.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Haiti

Almost 18 years ago, I spent a summer working as a volunteer at an orphanage about 40 mins away from Port-Au-Prince. Full of idealism, hope, and adventure, I went to Haiti to experience the 3rd world culture, to learn, and to offer my time. I helped in the infant wing, and took care of 9 babies. 2 of them had HIV virus. One died in my arms. I remember falling asleep to the dull sounds of voo doo drum, and waking up to gun shots out on the street. Live babies were found in hospital dumpsters. I witnessed what poverty does to humanity. Haiti broke my heart.

The recent earthquake in Haiti brought back the familiar pang in my heart. Now that I'm a mother, the thought of children becoming orphaned, or mothers unable to give food to their children makes me... crazy. How do you deal with such devastation? How do you digest such suffering?

My prayer goes to Haiti. I've been checking out what's going on with my old orphanage via web.Rather than being depressed by Haiti's devastation, I decided to share this website, and ask people to do something, anything, to help Haiti's unreached mothers and children. A good friend also told me about Giving Children Hope. If you know of other good organizations where help can go to mothers and children, please share.

Here are some old photos I dug out recently.

The Threesome Marriage

OK. I’ve got to vent.

Tonight, I sit here pondering about “why do men hoard stuff??” I mean, not to be a sexist here, but I understand why women hold on to things- we appreciate sentimental reminders, we love getting gifts and we adore beautiful things. Most of us love to shop, which means we have more stuff.

In my case, I just have nicer stuff than my husband. 5 months before we got married, my husband and I bought our first home and I moved in first with my stuff. My sweet husband called a few of his buddies and they moved all my stuff into our new home. No questions asked and there were no eyebrows raised about my stuff taking too much space.

A few weeks before our wedding date, my husband talked about scheduling a U-Haul to move his stuff from his apartment. “What for?” I blurted, I honestly didn’t think he had that much stuff to actually fill an U-Haul. I didn’t want to hurt his feeling, but looking around at his bachelor pad full of hand me downs and mismatched stuff, it didn’t seem like there was ANYTHING worth keeping, and worthy of our new home.

When my husband moved in, he neatly stacked his boxes in the garage. Weeks went by. Months went by. The boxes remained exactly where he first put them. I didn’t give much thought and didn’t mind the boxes being in the garage- as long as it didn’t actually make it into my new home, I was happy.

The boxes stayed untouched, unopened, and unsorted for 3 years- till we moved to North Carolina. I decided if those boxes in the garage still remained untouched, we needed to re-evaluate their worth before we paid people to drive them across the country.

While my husband was at work, I finally opened one of his boxes. The box was full of his old college applications, old financial aid forms, taxes filed since 1988. I was appalled. I opened another box and it was full of classroom notes from high school & college. Another box full of not only old photos, but its original negatives (yes, definitely pre-digital), another box of outdoor camping gears including rock climbing gear, high school wrestling shoes from freshman year, a sculpture project he did in Jr. High School, and on and on.

I tried to reason, plead, bribe, and threaten my husband to get rid of those boxes but he remained unmoved on this issue. We moved 7 times in our 7 years of marriage. Every time we moved, the dumb boxes full of “trash” moved with us and we fought over them. When my husband got an internship for 3 months in Miami, he actually drove down with all those boxes promising to sort them, and they actually came back from Miami, untouched and un opened.

When we were preparing for the move down to San Diego this summer, I decided this was my chance to finally get rid of those boxes. Conveniently, my husband had to move to San Diego before us and I followed the following. I would walk by those boxes and throw them a menacing smile. I’ve waited so long to dump those boxes, and this was the chance I’ve been waiting for. I knew my husband would NEVER even notice.

The night before leaving to San Diego, I fell asleep before my husband as he was finishing packing his car. I barely managed to peel out of my bed to say our good bye at 5 AM. He left behind a whole house full of responsibilities and the task of now packing for our family. But I didn’t care; I was about to have a PURGE fest.

A few hours after my husband’s departure, I walked into the garage, almost giddy with excitement. I’ve waited 7 years for this moment and I couldn’t waste another second. When we didn’t have any kids, I tolerated those boxes because space was not an issue. But now, keeping his stuff meant less space for the kids’ stuff, and hardly any space for me. I would commit my crime now, and apologize later. After all, isn’t that what marriage is all about??

I walked into the garage. I walked over to the corner where the boxes have been stacked, untouched for the past two years since we moved into our house. Then I froze.

The boxes, the trash of old stuff, were ALL GONE!! I mean they completely disappeared into the thin air. Not one box was left behind. My heart started pounding, and I can feel the blood rushing to my head. I ran out to the garbage can to see if they were there. Nope. I looked around the garage to see if they have been moved. Nope. I even searched my curbside to see if they were left out for the garbage people. Nope. They were nowhere to be found.

Of course, my husband brilliantly managed to stay up all night and packed those stupid boxes into his tiny car for the 400 miles+ ride. Somehow, he was totally onto my scheme and managed to save his boxes of trash. Now, those boxes sit in our paid storage in San Diego, mocking at me, ready to move with me wherever I go next.

“We live in a constant fear” said a friend’s husband. “We never know what will go missing when we come back from work”.

Apparently men ARE sentimental. Who knew? I guess marriage is a threesome arrangement between you, your spouse, and the pesky packrat who just won’t go away.

The packRAT? Really Attached to Trash I say!!

Ta-Ta For Now: Part 1

It all began when I was 8 month pregnant with my second child, I joined an outdoor hiking program for my toddler who was 2 yr old at the time.  I wanted to spend as much quality time with him as possible before the new baby was born.  Since the class was also open to siblings, I thought it would be good to join something where I can attend with both kids at the same time.  Plus, I wanted to meet other moms with multiple kids, and learn how they juggle and keep their sanity.

 

When we showed up for the class, I immediately saw a boy from my son’s gym class.  I said hello to his mother, and we chit chatted while waiting for the hike to start.  She also has an infant daughter, and she told me that her part-time work keeps her sane.  I told her that we should get together sometime for a play date, and we said our good byes at the end of the class.

 

Well, it turns out this particular mom, works “part-time” as the Co-Founder and CEO of a very well known and large on-line photo cards company. Realizing that a play date is unlikely in the near future, I decided to venture out and meet more moms in the class.  I met another very friendly mom, who has 2 same as kids as mine, and seemed eager enough to get together for a play date.

 

I came home that night, told my husband about this new potential friend.  Much to my surprise, my husband recognized her name right away.  It turns out this woman was my husband’s classmate from college.  She also turns out to be a founder and CEO of even a bigger start-up company that sells party favors.   She has celebrity customers and her products have been featured in InStyle, Real Simple, Good Morning America, just to name the few. 

 

I was down right depressed.  I had joined a toddler hiking class for the over-achieving moms!! Forget play dates.  These moms went from changing diapers, to getting orders from Tori Spellings on their iPhones.  Where did they find the time, energy and creativity to start and run successful business “on the side”??  I barely had the time to take a shower!!

 

They say in Silicon Valley, if you don’t have a start-up on your resume, you are a nobody.   I decided I have got to start a start-up of my own.   Dang it, I've got to be somebody.

The hiking class?  I quit that after the second class. 

And that’s how it all began.