What's in a Purse?

Look! A picture of cute kids taken a month ago!

My house is pretty clean and organized. The cars are pretty clean and organized. Well, at least one of the cars is clean on the inside; the other could use a similar scrubbing down, but it's not that bad. Next up: my purse.

I will pull out one item at a time in a dramatic fashion to show what one imperfect supermom needs in a purse. Oh, linguistics--you slippery bastard. Ok, what one imperfect supermom has in her purse. Her needed items would be far fewer and much less obnoxious.

One pair of toddler boat shoes--size 7.5. Mas got a new pair of shoes today, and the old ones rode back from the store in my purse.

One eelskin wallet, desperately out of place and getting mangled. It's one of the few things I got from my Bachan (grandma) when she died. She had a million eelskin everythings, and my mom or sister snagged this for me, thinking I would like it. It's dark red and kind of neat, and I try not to think about the eel. I'm not even delving into the contents of that, but they're somewhat reasonable.

One gray tanktop. We went to church and left with clothes--a gray tanktop that someone unknown had left 6 months ago and was headed to Goodwill and a small bag of lovely hand-me-downs for Mas from his older friends. We find it amusing that we end up leaving church with stuff all the time.

One journal. I wrote a couple paragraphs in it for the first time in almost two years last night.

One cute, striped reusable shopping bag.

California Baby Calendula Cream. My eczema-ridden hands live by this stuff.

Watercolor pencils. We went to Mas' friend's birthday party yesterday and had been flying around, so I put the pencils in for Mas to draw on her card. We, for the first time in a long time, didn't get to that, and he only dictated his message.

A My Panera card waiting to be registered. Hmmm, not sure that will ever make it up high enough on the priority list.

My cell phone and ear piece.

An epinephrine injection. Yep, anaphylaxis girl over here.

A plastic bag from Marshalls.

My little cute pink snap purse with 100% Pure makeup in it. Mascara, cheek tint, and lipstick. Love this stuff (thanks, Cara!) and put it on in about 2 minutes.

Inhaler. Yep, asthma girl here too.

One baggie of a few old rice puffs. No comment.

One bar of Dove Deodorant. In case my Crystallux hippie spray fails me when I'm somewhere important. It hasn't happened yet.

Keys.

A Harmonica and Egg shaker that are headed out of my purse and into gift wrapping to be delivered two plus months late as a birthday present.

Menu for the best Mexican restaurant that exists in this part of the world. We ate it tonight.

A flier from our Tenchi Kane No Kami Grand Ceremony and Konko Church of Portland 80th Anniversary of Establishment. It was two weeks ago.

Directions to the auto repair place and to the grocery store from there. Before you go thinking I'm really out of it: I went to a place out near my parents' house, so I wasn't sure. Hush.

Second container of CA Baby stuff.

Two dirty kleenex; I didn't want to leave them in the car in case the mice from the fields have returned. Too scary.

A punch card for the community center baby gym. That should be in my wallet.

It's like a freaking clown car in here, I swear. Actually, I have a clown car in here. With tiny little clowns. They keep me company when I'm lonely and help me with the kids when I need it.

Two mini containers of play-doh from the doctor's office a month or more ago.

A floss card that should also be in my wallet.

A bag with three cough drops.

I lied when I said two dirty kleenex; it's three.

One plastic bag with four benadryl in it. (See anaphylaxis above.) By the way, Shaifali occasionally pulls it out and gets it grabbed away from her.

My little receipt from work that says how long I worked that day and what I claimed in tips. Until a couple hours ago, my work book that I take orders and keep my money in was also in my purse.

This is getting embarrassing.

Four pens, three of which must have fallen out of my work book into the bottom of my purse, only to be replaced again the next shift.

A Barnes & Noble gift card that has a $1 balance or so.

Two bobby pins.

$3.34 in change. It doesn't fit in the eelskin wallet, so it needs a new home.

Dirt.

Directions to who-knows-where on a Borders receipt.

And in the little pocket of my purse: 10 bobby pins, 5 hair rubber bands, one pen, tags from Mas' new shoes, two bandaids (finally, something useful!), an appointment reminder for Shaifali's next check-up, another shift report, an unidentified and unfamiliar tiny piece of kleenex(?), stickers, a gas receipt from November (that was put into our spreadsheets months ago), a tiny scrap of paper with the name Jason and a phone number and 're: shelf' written on it (presumably a Craigslist interaction), and . . . a winning lottery ticket.

Before you go thinking this was all a ruse to tell you that we're rich, it's a lottery ticket that won $7. Better than a kick in the head!

Well that was thoroughly embarrassing. Imperfect Supermom keepin' it real, folks.

Now go clean out your purse . . . unless you're a man and don't carry a purse, in which case you can pick something else to clean. Now I will distract you and make you forget all about this post when you look at a picture that Mas took of himself and Superdad. Peace out.

Family Poop

I figured that, since I hadn't been writing, I should get back into all of your brains with a familiar topic. There are two tales to tell.

Mas has taken to bonding with his poop and will often say, "awwwww! Look! It's a family poop." We always have to look (foolish grownups), and--sure enough--there are multiple, um, residents in the toilet bowl. Today I was encouraged to look and told it was just a Brother poop, Sister poop, and Baby poop. No Mama and Daddy poop.

Me: "Oh. No Mama and Daddy poop?"

Mas: "The Mama and Daddy poops are still in my butt."

All of this is with a very genuine and caring tone, which had me in stitches.

The second tale was told to me when I got home from work tonight. Mas and Shaifali held hands while pooping on separate toilets tonight. Man, that kid does know how to give the term "family poop" a whole new meaning.

Holding hands in more innocent times

Happy Birthday (plus a month) to the Boy!

Oh, Mas. We love you so. You have been an uber-challenge lately and utterly delightful at the same time.

You have taken on the size-changing quality of Momo. Put Momo next to a chihuahua and she looks like a giant; put her next to a great dane and she looks like a chihuahua. You look like the biggest boy when you're next to the little ones at school, but you look so small next to the neighborhood 8-year-olds. We took the picture on the left because you suddenly turned 89 instead of 3. You wanted the window open to watch the kids on the street below and pulled your rocking chair up and requested a blanket for your lap. Note that the jacket on the back of your rocking chair is corduroy and has elbow patches. Awesome.

We love you for your big heart, your sharing, your love of music, and your FAQs. "How are you? How was your day? How is [this friend-of-yours-of-the-day] doing today? What are you doing? Who was at work today? Oh, how are they?" You're very tuned into people. You spread love at school and at home.

I know that, in time, I will have blocked out the times when I was convinced that an exorcism was needed, but we will always remember what a wonderful, special, polite, funny, loving, and musical boy you are. We can't wait to see the man you become.

Look Who's Walking!

There are those who thought this day would never come. There are those who thought this moment would come 5.5 months ago. Those would be the same people.

The girl of a thousand words (ok, maybe 100, but that's still ridiculous) has finally used some of that intense brain power to move those legs. Let's all recall that she expressed interest in walking at about 3 months old or so. She preferred to walk around with her hands being held. We were all nervous about her walking really early. Then early passed. We thought for sure she would walk before Mas did. He walked a few days before his first birthday. We thought wrong; her first birthday came and went. Every day we saw those moments of aaaaaaaaaalmost theeeeeeeerrrrreeeeeeee.

My mama told me to be patient. I told her that it was only frustrating because Shaifali so wanted to walk, as evidenced by her yelling at us when we ran out of finger-holding steam. Mama said, "you didn't walk until you were 14 months old. It will happen when it happens."

Then she spent a few days with her, and, within hours, she was saying, "just walk!"

Well now she's walking! Awesome! So did we get it on camera?

No.

Did we cry? Laugh? Hug? Cheer?

No.

Why not?

Well, apparently this lady doesn't put in enough time or something:

and I know I included my double-chinny picture--that's why you read this blog, right?

But this one does:

That's right. Shaifali walked for the wonderful Kenzie. I was cleaning the garage and Kenzie came in and said, "she took 10 steps but wouldn't keep going!" I just started laughing. Superdad and I have been watching her every move to capture that first step. And, of course, the moment that we're not with her is the moment she chooses. Kenzie thought that I meant she wasn't walking consistently; she didn't realize that she hadn't taken any steps on her own.

Some would cry, but I just laughed and laughed. Luckily, we got to see it in action later, and now you can too:

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!