You're a #@%^%&*!

What swear word could possibly be that long?! Oh, I just thought of one, but then it would be "an" instead of "a." I digress. It's not a swear word. First of all, thank you to my lovely commenters/confidantes who have complimented my weight loss. I now weigh what I did when I was 21, which is the lowest weight in my entire adult life. That said, I don't look how I looked at 21, but whatevs. Another 10.5 pounds and I will be at my (healthy) goal-for-life weight. And this means I've lost 26.5 pounds total so far. Good, right? Workin' it toward health, right?

So as my sweet little boy sat on the toilet the other day, I stood at the door holding my sweet little girl and talking to my mom. My shirt was riding up to expose my stomach, and he exclaimed with utter jubilation and a finger pointed and a gaze toward my stomach:

"Mama! You're a SNOWMAN!!!!!" (Insert hysterical laughter.)

Now, lest you think he was referring to anything besides my stomach (pillow pet?), let me tell you that this was not the first time. A few days before, he had poked my side fat as I slouched in the chair next to him and said the same thing, though less emphatically. I asked why, hoping that something other than my midsection had brought him to this conclusion. He said, "because you're made of snow." Ok; I'll take it.

Well now it was clear. Again, thank goodness that I am resilient and have good self-esteem. My mom and I had to duck away into the hallway to hide our laughter.

Apparently the toilet is a throne of judgement from which one can both poop and insult the one who made, baked, birthed, nursed, nourished and whateverelsed them!

Watch out, Mas! That's no caring Mama reading to you! It's a SNOWMAN!!!

Writer's note: He didn't actually say this as an insult. He really was quite amused. We're not yet to the age where these things come out as insults.

In an effort . . .

to be authentic, to be real, to be a representation of what's really out there in the parenting world, I will share:

I am discouraged today and feeling a little sad. Today is the kind of day where nothing seems to go right. I have cleaned scrubbed giant puddles of pee off the bathroom floor twice. (One of us is learning to pee standing up, and Imperfect Parents didn't get a second low stool for the downstairs bathroom.) I have been pulled out of a workout at a new gym because both kids were losing it. Mas never does that! Well maybe he does when he gets out of his bed 15 times between being put down and Mama coming to terms with the fact that he is just not going to get enough sleep tonight. I received a lunchdate/help cancellation because Superdad had to stay at work today because life explodes there too. So I went over the edge because I'm so desperate to have just a little time to myself and/or to have things go smoothly for longer than 15 minutes. Still, how can you lose it at these two?

But I do, and I did, and now I'm settling into the wonderful (truly!) parenting class that we have been meaning to complete for months now. It brings hope for me and them.

I want to share this with you because the polite and rose-colored representations are far too great in number out there. If you look online, you see nothing but the positive represented . . . or the extreme negative of abuse and neglect. There are two peripheral people in my life whose pictures I'd love to show, but I don't want to offend anyone. They both drip with creativity, at the very least. They are the mothers whose online representations could make someone feel TERRIBLE! I am so thankful that I don't take myself too seriously and that I am a confident person because I could be ripped to shreds looking at their stuff. Honestly, one seems to live in a rainbow. The kids' eyes are the color of the ocean in every picture, and they seem to dance whimsically around in a pot of gold at the end of their rainbow. The other has creative, cheap, organized craft projects for just about everything. Parenthood is a barrel of monkeys, indeed.

Superdad just read an article about how Facebook and online everything is bad for women's self-esteem because everyone puts their happiest, most "I'm-ok" pictures and words out there. I get it! I applaud these moms for their energy and creativity, and I am a bit envious, but surely there are flaws there too, right?

Life happens, and sometimes it's good, and sometimes it's bad. It's, oddly, our challenge to enjoy it. Maybe your daughter turns one, and she's sick, and you forget to wash the tablecloth for her birthday dinner. Maybe you didn't bother putting a nice outfit on yourself or a birthday outfit on her. OK, let's be honest: maybe you let her wear one sock, one leggie, underwear, and an old shirt for her birthday dinner.

But it's ok because you made a super-hippie cake with her brother that she liked a lot. (See video below.)

The comedian Louis CK said, "everything is amazing, and no one's happy." So I'm going to be happy! It's proving to be a journey, but I am doing everything in my power to enjoy it.

I'm here to expose my gaps in knowledge, my lack of patience (which I'm trying to grow), my underbelly (swear Shaifali called my stomach "pillow pet" the other day), my vast imperfections. I hope that it is helpful to everyone, parent or not, to have someone show the other side of life--and also to show that improvements happen with hard work and dedication. Thank you for being here!!!!!!

Happy Birthday to My Girls!

One is one; the other is seven.

One had her birthday on the 5th; the other had her (golden!) birthday on the 7th.

One is human; the other thinks she is but is actually canine.

Neither has very much hair.

Happy birthday to Shaifali--a girl whose smile lights up a room, whose laugh brings joy into all our hearts. You are a darling girl who says so many, many words--over 50 by our count. Thank you for being a funny and smart and delightful little lady.

Happy birthday to Momo--we're so glad that you chose us to be your family. You are a wonderful snuggler and an appreciative eater. You make us laugh with how human you seem--so assertive and demanding and loving and communicative. Please live to be 100 in human years.

I love my girls. Happy birthdays.

Note: This is a video of Shaifali and Momo. If you cannot view it, please go to the original post. :)

What's the Poop?

I could tell the usual stories about how frustrating it is when babies whom you've been toileting for a long time poop in their pants in the morning (or at the dinner table, as the case may be) when they're sick. But I'll refrain, as that's just entirely boring and we shouldn't speak of such things.

Instead I will tell you what's happening right now in the room adjacent to mine.

Mas just yelled, "COME OUT, POOP!!!!!!" He didn't really yell it so much as exclaim it. This reminds me of the time I took him to a public restroom, and he smacked his own butt cheek while sitting on the seat and said, "GET OUT, POOP!" Hilarious! His first exclamation was followed by a very matter-of-fact "I'm yelling at my poop." We were also just instructed to yell at his poop to get out. And we think he just called the poop Momo. I'm sure she'd be insulted if she knew.

So even as poop has been the bane of my existence and the cause of all things angry and frustrating the past few days, this is a good reminder that I still think poop is funny and that it can still bring me great joy.

For your comfort, he's not a kid who deals with constipation. He was just sent to try to poop because he was sitting on my lap and lifted himself up a little to toot. He was sitting on my lap! He's also not a rude kid--just innocently unashamed of all of his bodily functions.

For your information, the word poop has been used nine, now ten, times in this post.

Here's a video of Mas jamming in his usual manner.

Not-yet-1, Going-on-13

I was leaving for work today. I was holding Swiss Miss (Shaifali's old nickname) and said, "can I have a hug?" She's been quite cute lately putting her head on our shoulder saying, "huuuuuugck."

"No," in a cute little angel voice.

"Oh really!" Then the lean to get out of my arms and to the ground. So I set her down.

"Bye-eeeee," again in the little angelic noodle voice.

We'd better raise this girl right! Or 13 will look entirely scary!

What's in a Year?

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

Since You've Been Gone

Since I've been gone, really . . .

I've done some things right.

I made a gnome costume for Mas! We also successfully avoided his having any candy. He traded it in for a blueberry scone and a basket of grape tomatoes from the farmers market in addition to grapes, a kiwi, and two fruit leathers from the store.

I somewhat recently nursed Shaifali while she was on the toilet because she was crying and crying during what may have been a painful poop. How silly and uncomfortable did I feel crouched in the corner of a half bathroom with my breast out while my medium-sized infant sat on the toilet?!

After an awful night last night, I managed to get through the day with everyone's sanity and happiness more or less intact. It is only 4:30 pm, so I suppose there's still room (and I'm probably jinxing myself), but instead of having a big ol' power struggle about Mas' getting back to sleep after a too-short nap, I told him that quiet time was necessary even if he didn't sleep. He's been reading books and playing with toys quietly since. He did detour two minutes ago to come in here to tell me that he wanted to give me a hug and a kiss, followed by, "I love you so, so much." That's one distraction I will for sure allow. If there were video cameras in the house last night, you'd see why this is such a big deal, but thank goodness there aren't.

I borrowed our friends' two-kid stroller so that we could take a long walk a few days ago. This was a day when I was going crazy/to the bad place they were just keeping each other awake during nap, Shaifali saying "brah, brah" (brother) and Mas being easily led into silly shenanigans. I decided to cut my losses and take them on a nice walk so that they would be tired enough for a nice nap when we got home, even if it was later than usual. Plus, it helped me a ton.

I've done some things wrong.

I screamed again. (Insert long, dramatic, shameful pause.) And I swore at Mas for the first time since he was too young to even pay attention to me. I hardly ever ever swear around him, let alone at him. It was a new low.

I've been reduced to a pile of sobbing person on the floor of the closet.

I've let my anger get the best of me.

I've slipped on my calorie counting, thus stalling my work toward health.

I've so far failed at my week-long quest to quit the tele. We don't even have a tv, but we watch things online. I realize that I am addicted and am wasting my life, even if I'm watching the best quality shows (with some guilty pleasures thrown in). How is it that I have so very little time but manage to watch so much? Tips on quitting are welcome.

I've learned some things too.

If you're ever in need of a therapy session and are in a pinch as far as time and/or ability to get out of the house are concerned, there is a pretty awesome resource.

This too shall pass. It's not the first time I've learned this. And it won't be the last.

Sometimes, even after you've given up on them, people come back or come through. I had a wonderful soul mate kind of friend who I met now almost eight years ago. I hadn't heard from her in over three years! I had pretty much given up hope as I had left messages and not heard back, and she had left her job where she received her mail and email. Let me paint just how meant to be this friendship was: we met filling out applications for a serving position in Boston. I must have liked her energy and started talking to her. Over the next several weeks of job-hunting, I kept wishing that I had gotten her contact info because I really felt we were meant to be friends. I really disliked Boston and needed the few jewels I could find. "Oh well," I thought. "Next time." When I started the first day of training at a new job (probably a month after we had met), the trainers were saying, "Lorna won't be here until tomorrow." No way could it be her, though it was a huge coincidence with a name like that. I walked into the second day of training to see her sitting across the table from me. We just jumped right into excited conversation and had both had the same feeling after meeting each other. Long story short, she called me at 12:30 am her time the other night! I couldn't believe it! She said she has been thinking about me so much, and I've been in her dreams, and she never stopped loving me, even though she dropped off the face of the planet. Old friends reemerging is one of my happiest happenings.

Lastly, even though I do things wrong sometimes, my kids are going to be ok. I love my kids to pieces and try really hard to help them become the best, happiest, most loving and fulfilled people they can be. Again, it's a lesson sure to be learned repeatedly, but it's a good one. Until next time, friends . . .