What I thought would be chaos ended up being anything but. I love surprises. Well, good ones anyway. Hearing 'Mom! There's a mouse head in the front yard and if you look closely you can see its brain!' (true story) isn't my favourite type of surprise.
Gutsy had a hearing test this morning in which he cooperated. I had to stop and think about how that word is spelled, because I don't get a chance to use it very often. It's normally replaced with antonyms like 'disobeyed' and 'brought chaos unto the world like the demon spawn he is'. I'm happy to report that his hearing hasn't changed and we may be provided with an amplified phone so the gremlins can learn phone skills. This is great, because even nine-year-old intrepid knows nothing of telecommunication etiquette. It's hard to learn how to be polite on the telephone when all you hear is a muffled, distant voice. I used to do drugs and I'm guessing it's similar to some of my worst (best?) experiences.
Next, we picked up Astarte and Big G and headed to a large, indoor play area at her suggestion. It was her first time there and at least my 10th. I winced at the thought of going, but figured it made the most sense with three active boys. Besides, I promised them we were going before fully thinking it through. That would have involved clear thought, which I'm not very good at on a good day, let alone while growing a 50 pound, mutant baby.
While the noise pollution from the swarm of screaming children was anything but pleasant, the company more than made up for it. Big G had found heaven in the shape of endless tunnels, while Gutsy was far more apprehensive. He clung to his big brother for dear life most of the time and spent the remainder sitting in the restaurant area with us boring, old moms. Astarte treated us to pizza and drinks, then took Gutsy to the game area so he could win some tickets and claim a prize. I have a feeling she did most of the playing, because he ended up walking out of there with a fireman's hat and two rings (he later turned them into a 'spacesuit' and built a 'spaceship' with some children's furniture - did I mention I need a camera?)
All this happened while I was told to put my feet up and relax. What's up with people who want me to relax? I sit at home and eat bon-bons all day, you know. That's what stay-at-home-moms do. We're lazy to the extreme, except when we do ourselves up bigger than a Vegas show girl to hit the gym and our scrapbook meets.
Speaking of which, I came home and put my feet up some more. Putting my feet up outside the home is exhausting, apparently. Heck, breathing is exhausting lately, too. I didn't eat any bon-bons, but I did watch Dr. Phil tell this scary, controlling fiance and father that he wasn't crazy, he just needed help.
Dr. Phil, have you lost your mind? The guy is about as stable as a pyramid turned upside down. Didn't you see his scary eyes? Those are psychotic peepers, dude. He looks like Billy Corgan after finding out how little people think of his solo career. Then again, Robin is kind of scary, too, so you might be binded. Who can blame you? Every time she smiles with those veneers I lose a little bit of my eyesight. I should start wearing glasses to watch the last few minutes of your show. As it is, I boycott any 'Dr. Phil and Robin' episodes because she still hasn't learned to read from a teleprompter.
If there is a Hell, Robin is going to meet me there and kick my ass, isn't she?
Anyway, I then made a very creative dinner. I tend to do this the last couple of days before Geekster gets paid. It's the home stretch and the food budget is tight. I made chicken breast simmered in a peanut, coconut milk and curry sauce, coupled with a wild and brown rice mix and some curried veggies. I believe my children loathed me just a little bit more when I handed them their plates, but the husband and I enjoyed it tremendously.
No constantly hungry pregnant woman eats dinner without desert, so I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies and some decaf coffee, then settled in for Rockstar: Supernova to see the war of the egos. These people really think they're all that and a bag of crack. No wonder I once wanted to be a rockstar.
Oh, and a bit of irony: we applied for a handicapped subsidy from the provincial government for both Intrepid and Gutsy. I received a call regarding Intrepid's file. Apparently, he's being turned down because he's not currently in speech therapy. Why isn't he in speech therapy? Because he was receiving government-funded therapy for a few weeks up until the one speech therapist who worked with anglophone children (we live in Quebec, which is quite french) went on maternity leave. Meanwhile, Gutsy gets an assessment with another, anglophone-friendly speech therapist, but when I ask her about Intrepid she tells me that she's not able to see him or continue with Gutsy as of this week, because she's moving to another position and the old therapist is still on maternity leave until 2007.
Sooo... Basically Intrepid doesn't get a subsidy because he's not receiving speech therapy. He's not receiving speech therapy because the government has no one available to work with him.
Our only option is to do private therapy sessions and get a letter from the therapist, then appeal the denial.
This is where I get pissed off at the system. We pay a huge amount of tax in Canada and moreso in this province than most others. I never complain about the tax we pay, because I'm a firm believer in health benefits for all. However, we're not getting the services we pay for AND they won't give us a subsidy that would only cover maybe an hour of speech per month. Most children need more than that. Many people don't have supplemental insurance. We're fortunate that Geekster's plan through work will pay 100% of the therapy costs at an unlimited amount (we just found this out today), so this won't be a problem for our children. But when I think about the many children out there who aren't getting the help they need due to the misuse of government funds, it makes me want to go preggo postal on the idiot who came up with these guidelines.
Treat people equally and stop making the gap between the haves and have-nots even larger. All children have the right to learn and be able to communicate with the world.
I believe that children are the future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Also, don't marry Bobby Brown and turn your mansion into a coke house, because it'll likely ruin your looks, your voice and make you look like a foolio to the extreme.
Naturally, you must agree with me. I'm right about these things, as I am about pretty much everything.
You can text your vote for The Maven at 555-EGO-ROCK. Lines are open now.
Gutsy had a hearing test this morning in which he cooperated. I had to stop and think about how that word is spelled, because I don't get a chance to use it very often. It's normally replaced with antonyms like 'disobeyed' and 'brought chaos unto the world like the demon spawn he is'. I'm happy to report that his hearing hasn't changed and we may be provided with an amplified phone so the gremlins can learn phone skills. This is great, because even nine-year-old intrepid knows nothing of telecommunication etiquette. It's hard to learn how to be polite on the telephone when all you hear is a muffled, distant voice. I used to do drugs and I'm guessing it's similar to some of my worst (best?) experiences.
Next, we picked up Astarte and Big G and headed to a large, indoor play area at her suggestion. It was her first time there and at least my 10th. I winced at the thought of going, but figured it made the most sense with three active boys. Besides, I promised them we were going before fully thinking it through. That would have involved clear thought, which I'm not very good at on a good day, let alone while growing a 50 pound, mutant baby.
While the noise pollution from the swarm of screaming children was anything but pleasant, the company more than made up for it. Big G had found heaven in the shape of endless tunnels, while Gutsy was far more apprehensive. He clung to his big brother for dear life most of the time and spent the remainder sitting in the restaurant area with us boring, old moms. Astarte treated us to pizza and drinks, then took Gutsy to the game area so he could win some tickets and claim a prize. I have a feeling she did most of the playing, because he ended up walking out of there with a fireman's hat and two rings (he later turned them into a 'spacesuit' and built a 'spaceship' with some children's furniture - did I mention I need a camera?)
All this happened while I was told to put my feet up and relax. What's up with people who want me to relax? I sit at home and eat bon-bons all day, you know. That's what stay-at-home-moms do. We're lazy to the extreme, except when we do ourselves up bigger than a Vegas show girl to hit the gym and our scrapbook meets.
Speaking of which, I came home and put my feet up some more. Putting my feet up outside the home is exhausting, apparently. Heck, breathing is exhausting lately, too. I didn't eat any bon-bons, but I did watch Dr. Phil tell this scary, controlling fiance and father that he wasn't crazy, he just needed help.
Dr. Phil, have you lost your mind? The guy is about as stable as a pyramid turned upside down. Didn't you see his scary eyes? Those are psychotic peepers, dude. He looks like Billy Corgan after finding out how little people think of his solo career. Then again, Robin is kind of scary, too, so you might be binded. Who can blame you? Every time she smiles with those veneers I lose a little bit of my eyesight. I should start wearing glasses to watch the last few minutes of your show. As it is, I boycott any 'Dr. Phil and Robin' episodes because she still hasn't learned to read from a teleprompter.
If there is a Hell, Robin is going to meet me there and kick my ass, isn't she?
Anyway, I then made a very creative dinner. I tend to do this the last couple of days before Geekster gets paid. It's the home stretch and the food budget is tight. I made chicken breast simmered in a peanut, coconut milk and curry sauce, coupled with a wild and brown rice mix and some curried veggies. I believe my children loathed me just a little bit more when I handed them their plates, but the husband and I enjoyed it tremendously.
No constantly hungry pregnant woman eats dinner without desert, so I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies and some decaf coffee, then settled in for Rockstar: Supernova to see the war of the egos. These people really think they're all that and a bag of crack. No wonder I once wanted to be a rockstar.
Oh, and a bit of irony: we applied for a handicapped subsidy from the provincial government for both Intrepid and Gutsy. I received a call regarding Intrepid's file. Apparently, he's being turned down because he's not currently in speech therapy. Why isn't he in speech therapy? Because he was receiving government-funded therapy for a few weeks up until the one speech therapist who worked with anglophone children (we live in Quebec, which is quite french) went on maternity leave. Meanwhile, Gutsy gets an assessment with another, anglophone-friendly speech therapist, but when I ask her about Intrepid she tells me that she's not able to see him or continue with Gutsy as of this week, because she's moving to another position and the old therapist is still on maternity leave until 2007.
Sooo... Basically Intrepid doesn't get a subsidy because he's not receiving speech therapy. He's not receiving speech therapy because the government has no one available to work with him.
Our only option is to do private therapy sessions and get a letter from the therapist, then appeal the denial.
This is where I get pissed off at the system. We pay a huge amount of tax in Canada and moreso in this province than most others. I never complain about the tax we pay, because I'm a firm believer in health benefits for all. However, we're not getting the services we pay for AND they won't give us a subsidy that would only cover maybe an hour of speech per month. Most children need more than that. Many people don't have supplemental insurance. We're fortunate that Geekster's plan through work will pay 100% of the therapy costs at an unlimited amount (we just found this out today), so this won't be a problem for our children. But when I think about the many children out there who aren't getting the help they need due to the misuse of government funds, it makes me want to go preggo postal on the idiot who came up with these guidelines.
Treat people equally and stop making the gap between the haves and have-nots even larger. All children have the right to learn and be able to communicate with the world.
I believe that children are the future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Also, don't marry Bobby Brown and turn your mansion into a coke house, because it'll likely ruin your looks, your voice and make you look like a foolio to the extreme.
Naturally, you must agree with me. I'm right about these things, as I am about pretty much everything.
You can text your vote for The Maven at 555-EGO-ROCK. Lines are open now.