Re-elect Mayor Maven in Choasville
GAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!
Ok, that's better.
Just had to get that out.
I have a sick four-year-old, a sick six-week-old, a messy house (with some odd smell I can't seem to track down) and I had a horrible weekend. Well, Friday was good, but the rest of it sucked. It was the worst weekend I've had in a while and I had no pick-me-up in my friend, Caffeine. Imagine the horror.
Gutsy has a cold that has mutated into a virus squatting triumphantly in his sinuses. I don't know when it's going to go away because the poor boy has inherited the family title of 'asthmatic', which has been passed through the generations on my side like a nasty, old wedding dress. Except I don't think Gutsy would want my wedding dress.
But if he did, that would be ok, too. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm an open-minded parent (read: at least I'm doing something right)
Happily, I seem to have a much milder version of Gutsy's cold, despite my asthma. I say 'happily' because mommy being sick equals a large number of antibodies which are showing up in my breastmilk. So, while the Spawnster is grumpier and sleeping more than usual, he's also only mildly stuffy and barely coughing. Thank you, breasts. For while you would probably need $8000 of cosmetic surgery to look anything like you did ten years ago, you deserve some poetry and perhaps a statue in your honour for saving what little sanity I have left.
Incidentally, I would like Angelina Jolie's breasts to sub in for mine when the casting is made for said statue. And I only write passable poetry at 5:30am, apparently. I'll have to remember that the next time I'm feeling creative and Bravo's showing a repeat of 'Without a Trace'.
Big drumroll, please...The Maven is going back to school! Not in the fully traditional sense, mind you. Rather, I'll basking in the technological sunshine of today's online universities. The time has come for me to get a degree of some kind so I have a shiny piece of paper that proves my worth. I know I'm worthy. Obviously you know I'm worthy or you wouldn't be reading this (or maybe you're reading to laugh at me, which is what I'd be doing if it wasn't such an assault on my self-esteem). But could you imagine?
I don't know... I'm not sure if it's the trend-setting statement I had in mind. Prospective employers may not have the same appreciation of my wit as I do.
So, the next question is: what am I going to take? There are so many options. I've toyed with several already and haven't completely made up my mind. They're all in the 'mental health professional' field, anyway. Psychologist and social worker top the list. Scary, I know. The last thing I need to be doing is trying to help people. I'm the first to admit that people like me help best by staying far, far away. Most likely this would only be the start of my full-out lactation consultant status. I'm on my way there already, but I still have a long way to go. I require a degree, a brush-up on my previous courses and something like 2500 hours of working in the lactation field before I can qualify to sit for the board exam.
Yeah, I know. That's why I thought I might want to get started like, NOW.
You're probably thinking 'Um, Maven? I, like thousands of others, am an avid reader of your amazingly well-written blog and am wondering what happened to your idea of becoming a freelance writer. Could you explain?'
Surely, my pet. I'm still planning on writing while I get a degree and a career in what I do best and what I love the most (Butthead: huhuh, she said she likes boobs the most.) and while I raise three children full-time.
...
I didn't say this was a rational decision, ok? You're thinking like you, not like me.
Anyway, that's the scoop. We'll see how I feel in February when I'm dealing with the chaos soup that is my life as well as attemping to be smart. You can laugh at me then. Yes, you can laugh. But we'll see who's laughing when I'm trying to help people.
Come to think of it, probably my lawyers.
Oh and I did it again. I can't help it. Shame on me.
Ok, that's better.
Just had to get that out.
I have a sick four-year-old, a sick six-week-old, a messy house (with some odd smell I can't seem to track down) and I had a horrible weekend. Well, Friday was good, but the rest of it sucked. It was the worst weekend I've had in a while and I had no pick-me-up in my friend, Caffeine. Imagine the horror.
Gutsy has a cold that has mutated into a virus squatting triumphantly in his sinuses. I don't know when it's going to go away because the poor boy has inherited the family title of 'asthmatic', which has been passed through the generations on my side like a nasty, old wedding dress. Except I don't think Gutsy would want my wedding dress.
But if he did, that would be ok, too. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm an open-minded parent (read: at least I'm doing something right)
Happily, I seem to have a much milder version of Gutsy's cold, despite my asthma. I say 'happily' because mommy being sick equals a large number of antibodies which are showing up in my breastmilk. So, while the Spawnster is grumpier and sleeping more than usual, he's also only mildly stuffy and barely coughing. Thank you, breasts. For while you would probably need $8000 of cosmetic surgery to look anything like you did ten years ago, you deserve some poetry and perhaps a statue in your honour for saving what little sanity I have left.
Incidentally, I would like Angelina Jolie's breasts to sub in for mine when the casting is made for said statue. And I only write passable poetry at 5:30am, apparently. I'll have to remember that the next time I'm feeling creative and Bravo's showing a repeat of 'Without a Trace'.
Big drumroll, please...The Maven is going back to school! Not in the fully traditional sense, mind you. Rather, I'll basking in the technological sunshine of today's online universities. The time has come for me to get a degree of some kind so I have a shiny piece of paper that proves my worth. I know I'm worthy. Obviously you know I'm worthy or you wouldn't be reading this (or maybe you're reading to laugh at me, which is what I'd be doing if it wasn't such an assault on my self-esteem). But could you imagine?
Education and previous experience: please see http://stay-at-home-mayhem.blogspot.com for more information on how I kick ass at life without wasting all that time and money like you probably did.
I don't know... I'm not sure if it's the trend-setting statement I had in mind. Prospective employers may not have the same appreciation of my wit as I do.
So, the next question is: what am I going to take? There are so many options. I've toyed with several already and haven't completely made up my mind. They're all in the 'mental health professional' field, anyway. Psychologist and social worker top the list. Scary, I know. The last thing I need to be doing is trying to help people. I'm the first to admit that people like me help best by staying far, far away. Most likely this would only be the start of my full-out lactation consultant status. I'm on my way there already, but I still have a long way to go. I require a degree, a brush-up on my previous courses and something like 2500 hours of working in the lactation field before I can qualify to sit for the board exam.
Yeah, I know. That's why I thought I might want to get started like, NOW.
You're probably thinking 'Um, Maven? I, like thousands of others, am an avid reader of your amazingly well-written blog and am wondering what happened to your idea of becoming a freelance writer. Could you explain?'
Surely, my pet. I'm still planning on writing while I get a degree and a career in what I do best and what I love the most (Butthead: huhuh, she said she likes boobs the most.) and while I raise three children full-time.
...
I didn't say this was a rational decision, ok? You're thinking like you, not like me.
Anyway, that's the scoop. We'll see how I feel in February when I'm dealing with the chaos soup that is my life as well as attemping to be smart. You can laugh at me then. Yes, you can laugh. But we'll see who's laughing when I'm trying to help people.
Come to think of it, probably my lawyers.
Oh and I did it again. I can't help it. Shame on me.