This is one superhero you do not want to piss off...

I apologize in advance if this offends anyone.

There, you've been warned.

But how could I not share something that made me spit-up-my-water-and-pee-in-my-pants laugh when I turned around and saw it?

All I heard was his innocent little voice...

Mommy, look, it's Super-finger!

Uh, yeah, make that Super-MIDDLEfinger.

I am now seriously contemplating making Super Middle-finger my FB profile pic. The teen-boy in me is, like, yeah, totally, like, do it!!!!!!!

Where did my kid go?

Today Judah was not himself.

At no point in the day did I get frustrated with him. Not once.

He was kind, obedient, cheerful, helpful, sweet, good to his brother, and very cooperative. From the moment he opened his eyes to the time I left his room at night, he was nothing but sweetness and light. What is going on????

During the day he occupied himself for hours drawing, playing with his new birthday toys, and writing little notes.

Mommy, how do you spell "Noah"?

Mommy, how do you spell "Chung"?

This is for you Noah! It has your name on it! You are the master of it. If you want to destroy it, that's ok! If you want to keep it that's ok too! No one can take it away from you because you are the master.

Mommy, how do you spell "Batlady"?

Judah hands me a picture of his rendition of Batman as a woman with the words "Mom" and "Batlady" on it. And then proceeds to give me the same speech about how I'm the "master" of that paper.

At night he very sweetly "huggle snuggled" goodnight with me, and then said "Mommy, when you get close to the door I'm going to air-kiss you and air-hug."

I don't know of a better way to end the day with him.

All the development books say age 4 begins the golden era of parenting. Children become more reasonable, less impulsive, and try very hard to please their parents. And indeed I've detected that Judah was on this trajectory starting about 6 months ago, but I could never predict that we would have a day like this.

Halleljuah. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we may have just crossed the Jordan.

A Party Full of Love (and Superheros)

Yesterday we threw Judah a birthday party at a local wild animal shelter. I may be a little biased (since I pretty much put the entire thing together by myself) but I thought it was the bomb.

Don't let the face throw you - Judah did have a good time, honestly!

First, the kids got to pet some animals (and the adults got to learn some little known facts - like did you know that spiders are NOT insects? And spiders have 8 eyes? And chinchillas take dust baths? Gosh I love nerding out on zoology).

Then there was cake. Of course the theme was ninja turtles, Judah's latest obsession.

And then the piece de resistance - a visit from Leonardo! (Thanks CP for the idea way back when you had Spiderman crash Jacob's party).

I don't know who was smiling and laughing harder when Leo showed up - the kids or the adults!

I'm not sure which was Judah's favorite part, but mine had nothing to do with the party itself. It had everything to do with the beautiful guests who attended. Each and every person there touched our hearts by making such a great effort to show up and help us celebrate. (And buying some very thoughtful, very awesome gifts. And some little artists drew some impressive pictures or wrote very sweet messages).

Full tummies. Ninja eyes. Can't lose...to super-villains.

Isn't that how the saying goes? Well, it should.

In Other News

Lately I've been having a crisis of confidence in blogging.

I guess with all the huge, momentous, tragic and otherwise issues going on in the world, blogging about my tiny little fiefdom seems so...uninspiring. It's like...

OMG ISIS is beheading children!
OMG another Malaysian airplane destroyed! (I know this was a long time ago, but still shocking)
OMG Robin Williams!
OMG Ferguson, Missouri!
OMG ebola outbreak!
OMG common core is starting!
OMG Jennifer Lawrence is dating Chris Martin!
OMG people have ALS and I'm now aware of that because of the ice bucket challenges thankyouverymuch.
OMG California is in a massive drought and I'm also aware of that because of the ice bucket challenges thankyouverymuch.

And yet, how I can I not blog about my two favorite little people? All day long they torture me and give me unspeakable joy all at the same time. They make me feel insufferably trapped, but have made me grow immeasurably more human. My world has shrunk but my heart has exploded.

I have nothing new to say about these 2 goofballs, but maybe some old phrases bear repeating - I love you to the moon and back.

You are my sunshine.

And I will never get enough of your naked dance parties.

Oh, that's not a line of a famous children's song or book? Well it should be.

Muscles

Today Noah looked so cute in his freshly shaved head and baby wife-beater tank, we had to do an impromptu photo shoot. In order to keep him from wandering away, we asked him to give us a little 'gun' show.

"Noah, show me your muscles!"

This prompts Noah to do his best impression of Judah showing off his own muscles.

Often, the only way I can coax Judah to eat meat and veggies is to declare they have instant muscle-growing power. Each meal time is peppered with instances of Judah sticking out his arms and asking me to feel his muscles and me saying: Wow Judah! Your muscles have grown so much! Unbelievable! Now eat another pea please.

"No, Noah, that's not how you show muscles. You do it like this." (Spouse shows him the regular body-builder bicep pose).

Not quite right, but who needs muscles when you're so freaking irresistible already!

Up to No Good

I went to upload some pics from the ol' point and shoot and discovered some blurry random shots of our house.

Was a little puzzled until I came to this shot:

So Judah has figured out how to use the camera. And how to not tell his parents that he did something of which they probably wouldn't approve. 

I believe there are 'honest' people and not so honest people. The former are compelled to say the truth at all times, even if it's against their interest. They just can't help it. They are constitutionally incapable of not being truthful, however inconvenient. My spouse is one such person.

But I don't think Judah's one of those people. Which totally serves me right. I was the most dishonest sneaky kid in the history of kid-dom. It was just so much easier to do what I wanted and then lie about it, than to be honest and face the consequences. Rational, right?

In other news, the first monkey selfies have surfaced this week and it bears a remarkable resemblance to my human monkey's selfie, no?

Proof that preschoolers and primates are not that different I suppose.

How Judah's Best Day Turned Into His Worst

Today I took Judah to Safeway and, as always, he found a balloon he wanted to hold. Ever since infancy he has loved holding balloons for the duration of our trip and is perfectly happy to hand it back to the cashier at the end.

But today, since Judah chose a really sad looking, half-deflated plain red mylar balloon, the cashier told us it was free and Judah could take it home! Judah was ecstatic, of course.

But then, just when he though life couldn't get any better, I told him we would stop by the local frozen yogurt store for a treat before heading home. At the fro-yo shop Judah happily slurped his plain tart yogurt as the song Best Day of My Life (by American Authors) comes on the speakers.

And right in the middle of the chorus Judah announces, Mommy, this is the best day of my life!

Wow. It's amazing how little perspective preschoolers have. Really? THIS is the best day of your life? You got a deflated balloon and tart yogurt.

Thirty minutes later Judah was whining and begging to watch a video, and when I denied him with finality he bemoaned, Mommy, this is the worst day of my life!

Okay hormonal teenager, get a grip. Seriously.

Tenders

His name is Noah but I call him Tenders.

Or sometimes, Tenders Love.

It started when he was a wee chunk of a peanut and it just seemed to fit. He was so sweet and good-natured and oh so chock full of fatty rolls everywhere. Mmmmmm, sweet brown baby fat. Sweeter than the darkest molasses.

And now I cuddle him all day, cooing his nickname to him and play-biting his round pot-belly and little dinner-roll feet. As if he's still just 3 months old.

Judah loves it and adds his own little voice to the chant. O Tenders, Tenders Love, Judah sings.

Our Tenders Love is growing up too fast.

Two weeks ago, though we've said and done nothing to encourage him, he one day, out of the blue, just sat on the potty and pooped! Since then he's wanted to go on the potty incessantly, which we've indulged, but never again did his magic business there.

Of course we had to take a picture of his first (and apparently last) successful dump!

Noah is also acquiring new words at a frantic pace and learning how to really communicate verbally. I love to hear his little voice say "Yeah, or No" when I ask him questions. And he now devours books and loves to read almost as much as Judah did. Although, truly it's pretty hard to match Judah's inborn obsession with stories. Judah was sitting through multiple readings of the Lorax at age 7 months, whereas Noah just recently started to love it.

Mommy's dramatic reading of the Lorax, take # 526.

Nevertheless, all the signs are there for me to try to blatantly ignore. Noah is 18 months. A toddler. No longer a baby. I don't have a baby anymore. That sweet brown fat.

And I realize I don't want another baby. I want that baby back. That baby named Noah that I call my Tenders Love.

It's hard to watch him grow up, but God is merciful. At least he's short and chubby for his age so I can imagine he's still a little younger than he actually is.

Who you calling short and chubby? I'll cut you #$@%!

Judah I egged on to grow up as quickly as possible. But Noah, sweet Noah, dear Noah, little Noah, can not stay little long enough.

A Particularly Bad Day

Sometimes, after a long day of unsuccessfully "parenting" the kids, I want to read about another mom that's struggled as much as I have.

I've been googling for a while and I can't find any.

But YOU'RE in luck if you're looking for a mom fail. Of course, by now, you know that this is THE place to go for tales of utter frustration and disturbing ambivalence in parenting. And you can hear someone confess (and amply demonstrate) that she doesn't know what the heck she's doing and has no qualifications whatsoever to have little people's lives and impressionable young hearts and minds placed in her hands.

Honestly, every day is a rough day.

But today was a REALLY rough day. I don't even know why. But you know it's going to be a bad day when you completely lose your sh*t at 10 am in the morning. Usually I can last a good 7+ hours before completely losing it with the kids, but today was some kind of special.

Noah wields the sword like a pro, but his real power is clinging to mommy. All. Day. Long.

Noah copies Judah's power stance. And his ability to make messes everywhere and at all times.

It's not like the kids were especially annoying or anything. It's just...kind of like a boiling pot that finally blows its lid. Like a volcano that suddenly erupts. The constant whining, fussing, crying, negotiating, line-crossing, grumpiness, quick-to-anger, quick-to-complain attitude, pouting, outright defiance and disobedience, and even innocent spills, messes, repetitive questions and non-stop interruptions, etc. just built up to the point of tipping me into raging b*tch mommy-land.

And, after some more processing, I realize I've been impatient lately. I've been itching to get stuff done. We moved into our house over 18 months ago and it's STILL not settled. I would say our lives move at a snail's pace, but that's just way too insulting to those lightening-quick snails. For example, we bought a tiny half-window curtain to hang up in our bathroom and it just sat there in a corner for FIVE MONTHS collecting dust. Five. Months. We FINALLY hung it up last week.

The garage is stacked with yet-to-be-opened boxes. And pictures that need hanging. And files to be sorted. And goodness knows what else.

Every time I step into the garage my skin crawls with an aching desire to sort and organize. Heck, every time I look around the house I can instantly spot 10 things I'd like to do or undo in any given room. And I know each thing will take FIVE MONTHS to finally happen. Okay, that's probably an exaggeration. OR IS IT?!?!

Anyway, I've rambled on too long and now it's bedtime...so how do I end this...?

Patience, patience, my friend.

Patience is a virtue.

Especially when you have little people.

That Asian Soccer Mom

This month Judah started his first sport: soccer.

Little known facts: Captain America plays soccer and my preschooler has chiseled abs.

I signed him up for soccer because (1) it meets conveniently 5 minutes away from my house and (2) I'm hoping all the running around will make him melt like a pat of butter into his pillow at bedtime.

And now I'm embarrassed to admit I've become that mom. That soccer mom, to be exact. I can't help it. Whenever I see Judah dribbling on the field I just have to shout encouragements at him--Good job! Don't use your hands! Wrong goal! Go the other way!

Okay, so they're mostly instructions and not so much praises. So I guess I'm that Asian soccer mom.

Those over-sized jerseys just melt my heart.

But seriously, there is so much joy in watching your kid run around and learn new skills. And there's nothing like that look of pride in your kid's eyes when he knows he's accomplished something--even something as small as kicking the ball in between his partner's spread-eagle legs.

Me and Noah taking a break from our cheer-leading duties.

I can't imagine how thrilling it would be to see Judah score a goal one day (in the right goal, that is). Judah is the opposite of athletic so I'm pretty sure that will never happen. But either way, I'll probably be on the sidelines shouting myself hoarse.

Short but Sweet

It's been awhile since I've blogged so I'll just share a quick favorite memory before I unplug for the night.

Often Judah will randomly say "I love you mommy!" (He recently admitted that he does this because he doesn't know what else to say--Mommy, I just say that because I don't know what to say--and yet he still wants to fill the silence and feel some verbal/emotional connection to me. Man, that kid reminds me of me!)

Anyway, for the last 4 months or so, every time Judah says his little 'love tick' statement, I hear Noah's little voice pipe up: Mama!

I'd like to think Noah is saying "I love you mommy!" in his own little way. I mean, really, he says it with such a tone of affection and joy.

So this is what I hear about 20 times a day:
I love you mommy!
Mama!

Best. Soundtrack. Ever.

This was meant to be light, oh well

Dear Diary,

I should be going to bed now but...I feel like talking to someone, so, yeah.

Unfortunately, you're not a real diary and this is a sorta public forum so I can't really spill all my uncensored guts, but I can tell you this.

I'm still not used to taking care of my kids all day. Being a stay-at-home mom is still hard. Noah still has times when he screams and cries the entire car trip home (for no apparent *good* reason). Judah has all kinds of ridiculous phobias that defy logic and strip me of sanity. And I still can barely hear myself think when the kids are around.

I fantasize about the day when Noah is 2.5. No more stranger anxiety. He can watch a video like his brother. They might even play together. And definitely no more nursing.

In fact I'm holding on to that bright and shining day like a beacon in the night. In a stormy night with pounding waves that toss me under like a rag doll before I can catch a breath.

Oh, and what else...

I've started drinking a giant mug of coffee in the middle of the day. It helps.

My kind and thoughtful friend lent me her double-jogging stroller this week. I jogged with it once. It was awesome.

My reward at the end of a long, hard day is listening to Chris Rice albums as I wash dishes and tidy the playroom. Not exactly putting my feet up but I'm starting to accept my role as a 16 hour a day menial house slave. I don't glower as much as I used to.

If ever there was a time I needed to practice being positive and grateful, it is now. Giving thanks is no longer something 'nice to do' for me. It is the difference between life and death. Between despair and hope. Between sinking and staying afloat. Because my goodness how the storms rage on.

Stomach-ggedon

*Warning--this post is a little disgusting. If you really want to read it, maybe finish those chili nachos before reading.*

I spent the better part of July 4th weekend hunched over in nausea and pain. Noah gave me his stomach bug Thursday night and it's been...not pretty since then.

There's nothing that makes you hate life more than going diarrhea and then quickly realizing you need to vomit and not really having time to flush before you turn around and projectile vomit into that same befouled bowl. Splash.

I spent the better part of Thursday night not sleeping a wink due to my crampy bowels, and then took care of both kids by myself all Friday. It was a blur of pain, nausea, fatigue and a lot of "Mommy needs to lie down, Mommy's not feeling well, wipe your own butts today."

At one point in the afternoon I remember feeling so fatigued I felt myself magnetically drawn to the couch despite my best efforts. It just felt soooooo good to lie down.

Unfortunately, both kids were buzzing around me in fine form and kept trying to interact with me. I vaguely remembered saying things like "Go play by yourself. Mommy's going to take a little nap..."

And then periodically, I would feel the rude slap of different objects hitting my face.

WHAP! Judah! Don't hit me with your sword, Mommy's sleeping!

Whap! Noah, you want to read that book? Judah, go read your brother that book! I don't care if it's boring, your brother needs you!

Whap! Noah, don't play with that, that's Mommy's prescription pills. What are you doing with that? Ugh, thank God for child-proof lids.

Whap! Noah, you want that bottle of gummy-vites? Okay, you can have one. Just one! Judah, give your brother a gummy-vite.

Whap! Don't hit me with those saltine crackers! Yes, you can eat them. As many as you like. That's your snack for today.

30 minutes later I wake up to a small-scale tornado aftermath in the family room. Paper, bottles, saltine cracker crumbs, and the entire contents of my purse were strewn across the floor. But what really bothered me was waking up to see Noah's little face come into focus, crammed full of gummy fish candy.

Instantly I registered that Judah had gotten into the drawer where I hid that ancient Halloween stash and he had given all the contraband to his brother.

Spit those out! I ordered Noah, who, to my utter amazement, complied. He loves gummy candy. How many did he already eat such that he was so tired of them he was willing to spit out an entire mouthful?!

The rest of the day dragged on until the Spouse was finally done with his workday. I thought, ahhh, relief at last! Maybe I can just sit down for a second, somewhere far, far away from the kids.

But of course not. Hahahaha. Why should anything be that easy? Of course.

Turns out the Spouse had been fighting the same bug all day and finally collapsed at the end of his workday, completely debilitated and unable to be vertical.

All of us passed out before the fireworks even began.

Which is not to say it ended badly. It ended the way every night ends--with huggles, snuggles, and lots of kissies.

So I suppose, despite everything...all's well.

Super

I've been sitting on this post for a very long time. I just don't know how to blog about such a ginormous part of my life...our lives. It seems too big for words and even too big for my feeble mind to grasp in its many-splendored metaphorical potential.

It is meta. Profound. Universal. SUPER.

On one hand, it's Judah's obsession with all-things super-hero. But on the other hand, it's really about mankind's obsession with all-things ubermensch, isn't it?

Judah, like any kid his age, is in the full swing of super-hero enthrallment now. A year ago he didn't know anything about super-heroes and now he knows everything about every member of the Justice League AND the Avengers (and it's been quite the learning curve for his completely oblivious mother too).

Now our house is littered with preschooler comic books (who knew that market even existed?!) and swords and capes. Judah loves dressing up like a super-hero and forces me to pretend that I don't know his secret identity (spoiler alert: it's really Judah). If I don't play along or accidentally call him "Judah" there are many hot angry tears.

Judah used to just stick with dressing up as Batman (thanks to an amazing costume he got for Christmas) but now he's invented so many other characters, I never know who I'm dealing with. He usually just stands in front of me with his "badass" face on and I have to say Whoah...uh, who are you?! How did you get here?

Meet some of the cast favorites: Night Ninja

Mere mortals have no idea who he really is because he's always wearing sunglasses.

Super Pirate, always appears fresh out of a bath.

And has a side-kick, Paunchy Pirate

Noah loves to copy his brother but fails to understand how teddy bears detract from the message.

And here's, regular ol' Super Judah (not to be confused with Judah in a hoodie).

If no capes or towels are readily available, a hoodie always saves the day.

Noah now honestly believes this is how you wear a hoodie jacket properly.

Then after telling me the name of his newly invented super-hero character, Judah then says something like, Where's Judah? I want to play with him.

We chat back and forth about Judah in the third person and how disappointed Judah is going to be because he missed this visit from Night Ninja / Super Pirate / Super Bat Ninja / Super Pirate Batman / [Insert newest dude here]. And the whole time Judah is calling me, Mom, uh, I mean, Ms. Christina because of course he's not Judah and I'm not his mother.

This kid can stay "in character" so long it starts to freak me out a little...like, is this the beginning of me realizing that you're schizophrenic?

Anyway, all the super-hero impersonation has started to bleed into "real life" Judah. A couple weeks ago Judah's grandma visited and Judah had his "super-hero mean muggin" face on in almost every picture.

I can't explain Noah's face...I guess he's just really excited about his milk.

Apparently Judah feels like he no longer needs a costume to activate the badass within.

Don't mind the drool on my belly!

I still drool. You gotta problem with that punk?

All this obsession with being "tough" can get pretty ridiculous. We were at a birthday party last weekend and Judah got into a "tough-off" (my made up term) with another preschooler--each one picking up foam swords and guns trying to show the other that they were tougher.

At one point, Judah turns to me and says, Mommy, do I look tough?, striking his baddest, meanest tough-guy pose.
And I dutifully replied, Of course, Judah!
Which Judah proudly reported to his "tough-off" competitor--Mommy said I look tough!--as if that settled the matter.

Yeah, not so tough after that sentence...

Anyway, I wonder how long this phase will last. Probably his whole life. Heck, I see the exact same super-hero t-shirts and underwear in the men's clothing section as in the kid's section. It never ends, I suppose--the need to feel strong, powerful, competent.

And of course, as Judah gets older he will realize that he is not that strong, powerful, or competent. He is just a man. That's all.

But I hope he will always know that he is loved. Even more so for being just...human.

The Uncommon Cold

Last night I felt so horrible I did something I haven't done my entire life--I googled around for a doctor so I could make an appointment with him/her the next day.

Just writing that makes me realize how lucky I am to have been in such good health that I've never, not once, felt the urge to see a doctor for a pressing issue. (Oh, wait, there was this one time in law school I hurt my ankle playing bocce ball and went to urgent care begging for some vicodin and the doc mercilessly turned me away with no meds, no sympathy, and a totally unveiled suspicion that I was a junkie).

But anyway, last night was another matter entirely. It was my fourth full day of battling the worst cold I've ever had in as far back as I could remember. Each day I expected to feel better but only felt worse. Last night was the climax--still feverish, still horribly congested, still dripping like a leaky faucet, still bone-achy, but more than that, my throat hurt like I had just gargled with shards of glass. Every cough made me want to die. Although, to be fair, every moment of consciousness made me want to die anyway--everything hurt so dang much.

I started to panic. What if it takes many more days for me to get better? The weekend is ending, the Spouse isn't going to be able to help me with the kids tomorrow. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF TWO YOUNG KIDS WHEN IT HURTS JUST TO SIT DOWN AND DO NOTHING?!

I always joke that moms don't get sick days. But it's not really a joke, it's gallows humor. Because there really is no such thing as resting when you need to rest. Your kids do not give you a free pass if you're sick as a dog. Or if you've only slept 3 hours the night before. Or if you've thrown your back out. Your toddler is not going to be like, No worries mom. I can totally change my own diaper today and entertain myself for 3 hours with this wooden puzzle. You go lie down!

Sick moms are screwed. Just totally, and royally screwed. Good for you if you have a relative nearby that you can call in a pinch. The rest of us hate you. (Relax, we don't really hate you...probably).

Anyway, as Will Farell's character would say in Taladega Nights, thank the Lord Baby Jesus, the fever broke sometime in the middle of the night. I woke up feeling much better than I had in days. Hey, what's that weird feeling? Oh, yeah, the absence of horrible pain.

In fact, the difference was so stark I was euphoric for a couple hours. I even felt super-human. It's amazing how good you feel when you stop feeling so bad.

But now I'm a little paranoid about getting sick again. Time to start up the ol' juicer and start pulverizing that kale! Who wants some green smoothies with probiotic powder? Mmmmmmmmmm, immunity.

Learning: A Hate Story

Today I bravely plucked my over-grown Shrek eyebrows, slapped on some make-up and trudged down the street to a new playgroup.

I hate meeting new moms and their kids. You never know how awkward it's going to be (and it can get pretty awkward). So, how old is your child? Oh, yay, 2! *silence......................*

But despite the potential awkwardness AND being sick as a dog, I forced myself to go with the kids in tow. And before I get into the 'why', can we just talk about how totally sick and horrible I've been feeling?

I caught some ungodly germ and have been sick for about 4 days now, but I only seem to be getting worse. Last night I wanted someone to mercifully cut my over-congested head off. It felt like every single possible cavity in my head was pregnant with octopulets (ah, I miss octo mom, wonder how she's doing, can you imagine having octopulets!...sorry, I digress)...what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was congested like a mother up in there and when my nasal drip finally traveled down to one nostril, thereby clearing the other, I could breathe well for about 2 seconds before my one clear nostril felt like the hot-smelting furnaces of Mordor resided there.

It hurt to nose-breathe. But it also hurt to mouth-breathe (as my throat was also on fire and totally sore). But breathe I must...musted? So I lay in bed, in agony, and slept maybe a good 2-3 hours last night.

But why didn't I take Nyquil or Sudafed or any of the other modern miracles of medicine that would've made my congestion much more bearable? Because none of them are FDA approved for nursing mothers. Yes, I'm still nursing. Longish story, we can talk about it another time. Maybe. Kinda boring story really. So maybe not. But this is a mommy-ish kinda blog so maybe yes. Whatever, let's get off the subject of my breasts.

So where was I? Oh yes, this morning, totally sleep-deprived, feeling like road-kill, trudging off to an awkward new playgroup.

Why?

Because a few weeks ago I found out that one of my neighbors is a native Mandarin speaker and early childhood educator. And basically, to this Chinese-American mom who is trying so hard to teach her (completely resistant and non-cooperative) preschooler Mandarin, my neighbor was my savior.

She was, to me, the answer to all my Mandarin-language based prayers. A miracle that dropped right in my backyard--close to literally!

I asked her to please, please, please host a Mandarin-language play group in which she would lead the kids in Chinese songs and stories and to my extreme delight, she said YES! YESSSS!!!!! So I invited some other moms to come and, fast forward to today, we finally met and did it!

It was everything I envisioned it would be. A song, a story, some flashcards, some finger-puppets, and a very basic lesson using 4 key vocabulary words. Perfection. Except...(and of course there's an "except." You know by now this blog isn't filled with success tales)...except...I learned that Judah transforms into a total monster when someone is trying to teach him Chinese.

I already knew that about him with respect to myself as his teacher, but I thought it would be different if someone else taught him. He's such a social guy and he's so great at paying attention to his teachers in preschool, but turns out, nope. He just hates learning Chinese.

I really can't explain this picture. Maybe Judah heard a Chinese word.

I just don't get it. He's happy to learn about dinosaurs and outer-space and every superhero that ever lived, but when it comes to a new language he completely melts down. Does he feel threatened? Does he feel too challenged? Does he feel too much implied pressure from me?

Of course I asked him all these questions, just like that, and got a very intelligible response--I DON'T WANT TO LEARN CHINESE!!!!!!!

Sigh.

It made me recall my own childhood experiences with learning Mandarin, and another dreaded subject, playing the piano. I hated both. Absolutely hated them.

Why? Because it's boring? Because it's hard? Because I didn't have a natural interest in either? Probably yes to all the above.

But kids have to learn a lot of things they don't naturally want to learn. Heck, if learning was fun and painless, we'd all be Rhode scholars by now. So my parents did what any other Asian immigrant parent did back then. They forced it on us.

I remember sitting at the piano at an early age--maybe 5 or 6, tears running down my face as I was being forced to practice my pieces. My vision was so blurred by my tears I could barely make out the notes in front of me. Which made me feel so sorry for my poor, young, privileged self. I vowed, like many kids I'm sure, that I would never be so cruel as to force my kids to learn something they hated.

And...fast-forward to today. I was about ready to strangle Judah and threaten him with certain death if he didn't stop whining and crying at the Mandarin playgroup and causing The Biggest Scene Ever.

But I didn't. Because I wonder if there's a better way. How do you get a child to learn something they really don't want to? How do you do it gently? Humanely? Even, gasp, enjoyably? Certainly this kind of resistance is not going to stop at "peripheral" subjects like a second-language or musical instruments. Kids hate math. Kids hate science. Kids hate reading. Kids hate school!

They have a lot to learn.

I have a lot to learn.

Sigh.

Time to consult Dr. Child Expert--Google.

A Bad Dream

Today Judah recounted some dreams he had. One of them was just...weird.

In his own words (as well as I can remember):

Mommy, I remember the bad dream now.
I dreamed that Satan was actually more powerful than God and he could control God's mind. And he made God command us to do bad things, like fight and kill and hurt people.

Weird right? I mean who dreams about this kind of stuff? I guess it comes with being a pastor's kid.

Listen...

I try to be thoughtful on this blog.

I try to be coherent.

I try to not let it descend into word-barf followed by a chaser of emotional vomit.

But you know what? Sometimes I just can't.

Sometimes I just have to word-barf and emotional vomit somewhere to someone. And although you poor readers are not exactly flesh and blood people sitting in front of me, this will just have to do because I am currently all alone.

And the problem is I am almost always all alone. Because being with your kids who are all under age 4 does not really count as real company. As much fun as they are (and they really are) you can imagine how limited the conversation gets. Judah doesn't even get the concept of time. How long is five minutes Mommy? Yeah, we're not going to be discussing world events anytime soon.

But even if I'm at the park or having a playdate, if the kids are around, I'm in "soundbite" mode. That means I try not to say anything or respond in a way that would cause the other person to say anything that requires more than 3 seconds time. Because someone somewhere is trying to talk to me (Mommy, MOMMY, MOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY! I'M TRYING TO TALK TO YOU AND YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!!!!), or about to eat a discarded cigarette butt, or needing his butt wiped, or simply wandering off.

So you can imagine how shallow the conversation gets.

After the kids go to bed is the only time I can actually finish 3 consecutive sentences without interruption. But sadly for me the Spouse is an introvert. And frankly, I'm a very sucky conversationalist after spending 14+ hours with the kids and cooking, serving, and cleaning up 16 meals, plus dealing with countless episodes of meltdowns, irritating behavior, and general all-day non-cooperation.

Maybe, gentle blog reader, you ARE the ideal conversationalist for this beleaguered and weary shell of a woman. You can not talk back. And I can go on forever about me, me, me without a second's thought about you. How was your day? Uh-huh, and how did that make you feel?

Anyway, I suppose it's only right to say, at the end of all this, thank you. Thank you for "listening". Thank you for "being there". Thank you for letting this tired, lonely woman prattle on into the wee night. Now, can you also please just HOLD ME?

The barbarians arrive at the gate in zero minus 6 hours.

Turns out kids do say the darndest things...

Overheard this conversation Judah had with my friend:

Judah: How old are you?

Me: Oh [friend] you don't have to answer that!

Friend: No, it's okay. I'm 34!

Judah: That's old.

Friend: How old are you?

Judah: Three and a half. I have a whole big life to live still.

Friend: That's right! You sure do.

Judah: But you're going to die soon.

Ba dum chhhhh

The 'What if' Game

Sometimes I like to play a twisted little game called "What if I didn't have kids?"

I would still be working. But I wouldn't just be working, I would be KILLING it at the office. High heels, pencil skirt, lipstick...okay, maybe I just mean my outfit would be killer. But seriously, I really loved the attorney job I left. It was hard, challenging, totally noodle-cooking stuff, but my boss was reasonable and it was really rewarding to feel like a lean mean drafting machine.

I wouldn't miss my friends so darn much. It took until my 30's to realize how much I LOVE my girlfriends. I think I prob love them more than the Spouse (sorry honey!). But seriously, they are so so so awesome. Girls are just better than guys. There I said it. It's true. Sorry guys, I love you too but my idea of quality "hanging out" consists of something deeper than watching sports games or playing video games. It ranges from talking smack about celebrities to drooling over the new Michael Kors collection to ruminating over deep life sh*t in a way that makes you feel like the spirit of Oprah has descended upon you.

But alas, ever since kids entered the picture, it's been so hard to find time to just hang with the gals. And it's absolutely impossible to have a conversation with the kids around. Especially now that Noah has entered his IS THAT YOUR CELL PHONE? OMG I HAVE TO HAVE IT NOW!!!!! phase. Btw, if you get a random text from me that says 39fd8i389hunr893892he89hf, you can be sure it's from Noah.

And then there's all those little things.

Like, if I didn't have kids, this weekend I would definitely be watching Maleficent in theaters. And eating out before or after it.

And I would get a proper haircut. Instead of letting this mop grow haphazardly on my head cuz I need something low-maintenance.

And as cliche as it sounds, I would definitely be having brunch in the city with my fabulous gay and childless friends.

Oh, and I would have an immaculately clean house. No crumbs. No random foam swords in the kitchen. No pee-soaked diapers in open containers. And no disgusting car full of snack debris and smelling of old crusty milk.

And speaking of house, I would not live in a house. I'd live in a tiny little apartment in a cute little urban spot where I could walk to farmer's markets and feast on ghetto gourmet. And of course the school district there would be horrible.

What an amazing, awesome, fun, and sanitary life I would have. I guess I'm supposed to end this post by saying something like--but I wouldn't trade my precious angel miracles of life for any of it.

But you prob know by now, I'm not that kind of blogger or that kind of parent.

All I can say is...it is what it is.

I love my kids of course.

They've made me a much better person than I otherwise would be. But you know, that's also what people with cancer say about their illness. I'm just sayin'...