A Full House Moment

We Imperfect Supermoms (and Imperfect Superdads) love our kids. And it's our job to show them that even when they act like they don't love us. We keep trying to show them we love them even in times of desperation, sadness, anger, and all the other negative feelings we encounter. Because they're 2 or 4 or 12 or 16, and we're not. This is one case where "because I'm the parent and you're the child" puts the onus on the parent.

Today, our son (Mas) reminded us to do before-meal prayer. We go to the Konko Church, and, while he loves the people and church itself, I think he's also into prayer because it involves clapping. We clap four times before and four times after prayer. He started reminding us to do before-meal prayer when we forget a few months ago, and he has added saying, "Thank you, Kami" at the end. Sometimes we add things like, "Thank you, Kami, for our family/health/food/friends." Today he said, "Thank you, Kami Baby Fali. Thank you Kami Mas. Thank you Kami Daddy. Thank you Kami M . . . food." So, just to recap, we've got thanks for his baby sister (Shaifali), his Daddy, M . . . no . . . not Mama . . . Food. Yep! All the important things in life!

It cracked us up. Well I love him even when he slights me. He's two, and he doesn't mean to. Had it been this past Friday, I might have cried. But we've had a good couple days, and I have been living up to my commitment to try to be better and better. I've kept my cool many times when I could have gone the other way, and we've been playing a lot together and having a good time. More Supermom and all that.

So now I will steal a friend's stories to share, as her yesterday was not as good as mine.

On the way to a giant playgroup, she was preparing her daughter, saying that there would be a lot of kids there and that she should share and yadayadayada. Her daughter (2 like Mas) said, "I'm going to hit everyone." Grrrrrreat! And not Tony the Tiger Grrrrrrreat. Luckily, she did not make good on that promise. However, as my friend was nursing her baby (3 months old), she went to sit down on a footstool, and someone else's little girl (around 5?) pulled it out from under her. She fell right on her rear and then over; the baby, being attached to her breast, had no choice but to follow. They were both ok, thank goodness! When prompted by all the other parents to apologize, the little girl said, "Why don't you go sit on the couch?" Burn!!!

Even that little girl, nasty-comment-maker that she is, should get some love from her Mama and Daddy.

So, in Full House moral-of-the-story fashion, here's my closing thought: find some way every day (preferably numerous times a day) to show some love. Hang your kid upside down and show them their reflection in the mirror for laughs, run up and down the hallway on their command, talk about shovels and fire engines endlessly, change their underpants a million times while potty-training, read them books, rock them, kiss them, hug them, build towers with blocks, and give them masking tape to cover their gnomes in; tell them you love them. I did all of those things with Mas yesterday, and I gave Ms. Baby Shaifali a ton of love too. Still Imperfect, but still a Supermom.

Kids say: "Less Imperfect! More Supermom!"

Us on a better day at Big Gym a few months ago



It started with poop. It always starts with poop. It ended with me having a massive headache and throwing up in the night. It doesn't always end with that. This didn't feel like a funny day or a day I could make light of; it was awful. Let's start with some background:

I took our son to Baby Gym at the community center for over a year. The one we went to was a great group of kids and parents, and it provided a great outlet for both of those groups--running around, climbing, and playing for the kids, and social interaction with good conversation and laughter for the adults. And it cost $1! He's since aged out of that group (18 months is supposed to be the end), though a few of us kept taking our oldies because we liked it so much. So now it's time for Big Gym (which follows Baby Gym on most days), which involves much more running and playing in cars in a much bigger space--still awesome! He (and the other geriatric kids) actually started preferring Big Gym; it turns out it matches their development level (duh).

Back to Friday. He's in the bath first thing in the morning again. When asked if he wants to go to Big Gym, he replies, "Big Gym! Yay!" We talk about who he'll see, what we'll do, etc. He gladly gets dressed fast to go downstairs to eat granola (see previous post) . . . all in the name of getting to Big Gym.

Meanwhile, I'm running around getting everything ready. I'm always slightly appalled by how long it takes . . . how much effort and energy is expended . . . just to get one adult, one toddler, and one baby out the door. Let's not even discuss how long it takes to get two adults, one toddler, one baby, AND ONE DOG out the door! So I'm traumatizing the poor 7-week-old by letting her cry on the bed while I stuff a million cloth diapers into a bag and search for extra outfits in the neverending pile of laundry that resembles the floating island of trash in the Pacific. I'm doing ok! Or so I think. Last item: snack for after gym but before we get home. I pack some leftover food in a tupperware and throw it in the bag. Child sees. Child wants. Child wants now. "You just had your granola. This is to eat at Big Gym." This does not please Child. Child wants to eat it in the car or now. I angrily say, "You can eat this now at your table, or we can go to Big Gym."

"Eat at table."

"Do you want to go to Big Gym?!"

"No. No gym. No thank you."

This is where it gets ugly. I have run around all morning trying to get us ready for our 25-minute trek just so he can have some fun, and now he doesn't even want to go.

A Perfect Supermom would have just given him the damn food. A Perfect Supermom would have calmly packed some more for him to eat later. A Perfect Supermom would have done everything that I should have done. But this ain't called Tales of an Imperfect Supermom for nothing.

So I lost it.

I (again, angrily) threw down the food and raised my voice. And I swore at my baby boy. Not just in his presence but at him. Ugh. Then I ran upstairs, called my husband at work, and proceeded to yell toward him about how awful everything was and how much I hated everything and how there was no point in doing anything for anyone anymore. He had an emotional reaction in which he said that we should just find me a regular job (besides the business I run part time) and put the kids in daycare.

Spirit crushed.

Upon hearing that he was coming home now for an early lunch to save me (or our kids, more likely) for a little bit, I took the computer into the closet of the extra room and cried. I was thinking that there was no way I could possibly write about this and put it out there for the world to see because it was so horrible. I was so horrible.

While recovering from this incident, which I still am, I have realized that that's why I'm writing at all. Most of us have these moments or others flubs, and most of us end up feeling awful at some point in our parenting careers. While the bar being set where it is doesn't excuse my behavior, I still need to work to forgive myself. And I share this with anyone who reads this in the hopes that it will inspire them to work to forgive themselves if they find themselves in similar situations.

His main Montessori school teacher wrote a little article about how wonderful toddlers are and said this:

"They are quick to forgive. Two year olds don't hold grudges against their friends."

Nor do they hold them against their imperfect parents. As I continued to cry, now in front of him, my son came over to me and gently said, "Mama sad?" "Yes," I replied, "Mama is sad." His dad told him that sometimes, when people are sad, it's nice to give them a hug. So he sweetly gave me a hug. Then he came back for another. And another. And asked about my being sad a few more times. I can still see his sweet face; I had never seen quite that look on it, as I don't think he'd ever wondered about my state as much as he was right then. I aspire to be like him and all the other toddlers who don't hold a grudge.

We proceeded to have a halfway-decent day, though it broke my heart when he said several times through it, "Big Gym?" It was, of course, too late by then. But we will try again next week.

There are many bright sides, and--while they sometimes make themselves clear--I sometimes need to hunt to find them. Last night, at the end of El Dia Horrible, we got to have dinner at my sister's house. It was her inaugural cooking of dinner for guests, and it was wonderful. Of course, to thank her, her beloved canine niece christened her home with a magically appearing piece of poo. Yep. We let the dog outside as soon as we got there, turned around, and there lay a little poop by the kitchen island. Our dog hasn't pooped inside in years! But that's how this family rolls. In related good news, my nice sister cleaned it up. And today our boy successfully pooped in the toilet, no renegade poop to be found. And he borrowed a stroller from his playmate and pushed it home from her house, looking absolutely adorable.

And my hubby took care of both kids while I slept the remains of my headache off in the morning. And life is, once again, good and full of hope.

At the end of the night, while I was trying to quickly finish something before nursing Baby Milkface, my husband jokingly said that she was saying (by crying), "Less Imperfect! More Supermom!" And so I shall try to be. I am going to continue trying to be the best mama and person I can be in the hopes of raising wonderful human beings who can pass it on.

Please tattoo me all over my body with that so I can't help but read it the next time I am tempted to lose my cool.

Supermom Feat of the Day

I got our son to school on time! I know: that doesn't sound that impressive. Well, back up Missy, because it is! Just to be clear, by "on time," I mean that I pulled up to his Montessori school at 9:00, not that we were actually in the building at 9:00. That counts, right? OK, now that that's cleared up. Since the time change, we (and most of the other parents) have not been able to get there before 9:10. It's not a big deal really, but I would love to have him there for the full time that we pay for and that he has access to his school, as he loves it so much. I got him there on time, even though he woke up with poop all over and had to have a bath!* He was even dressed, packed, and he had eaten by the time he got to school. Let me tell you at what cost I got him there:

- He ate his granola** (current addiction) in the car . . . which is a mouse-infested car, mind you. Yeah, I said mouse-infested. If you have any suggestions, we are all ears.

- Poor second 7-week-old child got pulled up from sleep, changed quickly, then thrown into the carseat (which I later discovered had hidden mouse dropping--sadness of my life) with nary a second of nursing. She had been fed only an hour prior, mind you, but that was of no comfort to her at the time.

- The dog didn't get let out to pee before we left. She hadn't eaten either.

- I sure as hell didn't eat before we left. To be honest, I never do on his school days.

- I didn't get home until nearly 11:00. After nursing the little one in the car outside school, changing a poopy diaper in the car, spending some time interacting with the wee one in the car since awake time is somewhat limited, dropping the carseat off at my husband's work so he could pick up our son, having him change another diaper, and driving home . . . it was nearly 11:00.

So what have we learned today? Getting there on time CAN be done! But the whole family must make sacrifices. I kid. Kind of. Really, today's lesson is that we have to take the successes where we can find them, and getting my little guy to school in time to take part in all the activities of the day was mine.

* He actually had three baths today, all thanks to renegade poop on the legs. I insist I would have millions of kids if poop weren't involved. For now, we're sticking to two.

**Oy. I said that my son is addicted to granola in the same post as I said he goes to Montessori school. We are heretofore labeled by all who read this as crunchy granola hippie parents, which we are and yet also really aren't. Keep reading this blog to discover how.

For the Love of Community

Today we ventured to the Children's Museum with friends. Here are the stats:

4 adults

2 toddlers

1 tiny infant

15 minutes we were all in the same place at the same time . . . and that time was lunchtime.

We were chasing the 15-month-old. I was nursing the infant. My wonderful husband was running our son to the potty. We were playing with puppets, fake food, little tools, and splashing in the water room. I said to our friend, "I realize I would never take both of our kids here alone while they're at these stages." Our kids are 25 months (and learning to use the potty) and 6 weeks old (and nursing like a champ).

Interlude of how we got to the title of this newly founded blog. Sometimes I am a Supermom--I know just the right thing to say or do; I come up with a unique activity that my kid just eats up; I teach my kid something and he masters it immediately; I miraculously grow a third, then a fourth, a fifth, and even a sixth hand to hold both my kids, two glasses of water, a plate of food, and a box of toys, then proceed to grow a seventh hand with which to pat myself on the back. And there's the never-ending imperfection--I totally lose my cool; I yell; I give myself a timeout; I cry; I place blame; my two hands are completely inadequate; I feel lost and alone; I feel like a bad parent and cry some more.

So is this the Imperfect part that would never venture there on my own? Am I completely inept? I dare say it's the Supermom part. Here's why:

I have surrounded myself with the most wonderful community of family and friends. I have lovingly created and nurtured this community and feel incredibly blessed to have it. We try to give more than we get, but we are lucky to be given so much by so many that that would be a feat! I would be a fool to insist on doing everything myself all the time. When I had our son, I finally learned to accept help. "Can I carry that bag for you?" "Yes please! Thank you!" So the fact that I can call a friend or my mom or someone else to come with me on such an outing and hold the wee girl while I help my son get to the potty in time is ok. It's a good thing.

If we plant and tend a garden, is it ok to sometimes pick a few flowers to place on the kitchen table? I've seen the women who seem to always have it together--with a ridiculously deep well of patience, skills, smiles, and all the things we parents are supposed to have. Maybe they would say we have planted this garden solely to view through the window, and it is not ok to pick flowers. This Imperfect Supermom says it is.

So pick the flower. Ask for help. Accept the help when it's offered. And keep planting and tending your garden for the sake of the flowers themselves.