What happened in 2010?
We added a daughter/sister to our family.
Mas turned 2 and started attending the most wonderful school ever.
I screamed more than I have since my sister and I were little.
Mas furthered his love of music by adding the guitar and talk of jazz, trumpets, flutes, and saxophones to his drum and piano mix.
Shaifali pooped consistently in the toilet . . . and then didn't . . . and does . . . and sometimes doesn't.
Momo pooped in the house for the first time in a very long time in her doggy life. She didn't want to feel left out of the Mama-poop anger.
My heart spilled over with love for my family.
Disappointment made itself known over and over--both in others and myself.
Bananas had accidents--where they broke, which broke a heart, then broke some more, which led a little not-quite-3-year-old boy to cry and scream and squish said banana into a pile of mush frustration on his plate.
We Montessoried our house even more (helping them to happy independence--a wonderful answer to the I-can-do-it-myself phase) as an inexpensive Christmas gift to our kids. 2011 is now being ushered in by a boy who spends much of his time serving others fruit and water and by a girl who likes to enjoy this fruit and to demand more of it from her brother.
I questioned whether or not this supermom is too imperfect to have this job.
We continued to raise the most wonderful, polite, funny, dazzling kids (and continued to hope that we have something to do with those characteristics).
We laughed:
We cried. And then cried some more. And then laughed again. Then cried again.
I lost 22.5 pounds. Technically I lost 47.5 pounds or something, but almost ten of that came out all at once in the form of a baby followed by other baby-related weight loss.
One of us suddenly fell out of love with heavy machinery . . . though they remain good friends.
One of us started talking freakishly early, saying sentences such as, "Daddy, bring that back" and "Don't take that away."
I gave birth in a way that made me want to give birth again immediately. I became a serious homebirth freak and encourage anyone who might have a baby in the future to look into it. Not crazy or scary as some would have you believe, but a really wonderful, beautiful, dare I say relaxed, experience.
Mas wrote songs--the best of which has the following lyrics:
My favorite song ever.
My bushes. My bushes.
Blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries.
They're ripe! They're ripe!
They're ready to eat!
Of course, an artist has many versions before the final product is ready.
We traveled to CA all together, and Shaifali and I took girls-only trips to Chicago and again to CA; this found us surrounded by amazing loved ones.
In addition to the most wonderful school, we lucked out and found the most wonderful babysitter, who loves our kids so much. Just today, Mas told her repeatedly, "I love you, Kenzie." Shaifali beams at her and has even said her name.
We worked. I even got a waitressing job. It's only once or twice a week, and I love it.
What I wish for and will work for in 2011:
More patience
Nothing but nice talking from all the members of my family--myself included
Love
Happiness, happiness, happiness for all
And now a random funny/annoying/horrifying story from the week before Christmas:
Mas pushed me OVER the edge. The details are irrelevant. Ok, maybe they're not; afterall, I do write to make other people feel better about their imperfect parenting experiences. I started this because so many times, I just end up saying, "oh great, look at you with your perfect house and your perfect kid and your perfect parenting and your perfect . . .," which leaves me feeling amusedly hostile. Back to the original story.
My sister and I had gone into the store while Superdad and the kids waited in the car. Two minutes before we were going to check out, we got a call that Mas needed to use the bathroom. I should have been able to call his bluff, as he had just gone before we left. I should have known it was his golden ticket into the store. Bear in mind that we had offered that he could come with us, and he politely declined. Fast forward to the bathroom where he says "no thank you" to the toilet. Now this kid is totally fine with toileting. He doesn't have accidents. He doesn't even pee in the night. But I'm--shall we say--miffed that he has made us go to the car to get him to take him in and now isn't even pulling off the charade all the way. He could have just peed a couple drops, and all would have been well. Fast forward again to me basically running through the store to the exit with Mas screaming at me . . . all the way across the parking lot, people staring, people judging. Then, for the first time in days, I went to the screaming place. We got to my parents' house, and I was still livid. I wanted no part of anything and contemplated the meaning of cliffs.
I said that I did NOT want to go in to witness him being super sweet and happy to eat with Grandma and Jichan when I loathed him.
After my recovery, I heard that he walked into their house and said super sweetly (I knew it!), "Happy holidays, Grandma! Oh! Your table looks niiiiiiiice!" (IknewitIknewitIknewit!!!!!!!!!)
I wish you all a wonderful New Year. Here's to each year of our lives being better than the last. This year has been a wild ride, and it's both, at times, shaken me to my core and rewarded me immensely. I hope you'll join me in continuing to move toward superness in all aspects of your life while embracing your imperfections.
Love, Imperfect Supermom
