Check out the chunk on that child. Can you believe it? All that has come from my body. You'd think I'd have lost more weight by now, you know? I think there's an entire village of imps living in between those chin folds.
The Spawnling grows stronger by the day, getting ready to inflict years of pure hell upon his unsuspecting mother. He's darn cute, though, so I think I can overlook that. Apparently all I need is a nice, big smile and I'm willing to overlook just about anything. I'm that girl that lets that guy treat her badly because he has nice eyes or something. I hang my head shamefully.
Every once in a while, when the stars align and the gods, who are playing a game of Maven Chess high on mount Olympus, roll a zero for them and a twelve for me, I happen to have a nearly flawless day.
I normally wouldn't say that in fear of jixing it, but as I write this it is nearly midnight and the dawn of yet another day, so I feel safe enough in saying so. Today was, by my standards, nearly perfect.
There are a few elements that are required for a perfect day. For example, there has to be good coffee. Check. Fair-trade coffee, even. I did the world some good because I'm very thoughtful like that.
There has to be some kind of cookie involvement, no matter how small. Check. Several times. It was not a good sugar reduction day.
There has to be time to exercise. I walked up and down the stairs for 15 minutes today and just about died doing it, but I felt great with all those endorphins racing around my body. It was the first time I've worked out post-Spawnling and I'm going to be crying like a sumo wrestler at a Jenny Craig convention by tomorrow, I just know it. I will be a sore, sore Maven.
There have to be well-behaved children, which never happens except for when I win a game of charades against Hermes and Aphrodite. Apparently I must have kicked their heavenly butts. Check.
There has to be a lot of laughter. Sometimes, when a four-year-old gets a hold of your MP3 player and hooks up his dad's gigantic headphones to it, you laugh so hard you're pretty much crying your makeup off. Then you reach for the camera because you need to blackmail him with this footage later. Gutsy knows how to get down and give me a good guffaw at the same time. Observe:
There has to be time to get the house cleaned up without Spawnling wailing in the background demanding breast for food and body attached to breast for cuddling purposes. He slept in my bed for about an hour on two seperate occasions today and I am no longer embarrassed to have Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door to give me annoying pamphlets about how I'm going to Hell in a fair-traded handbasket. Check.
There has to be time to have a real, live conversation with my husband where we're not discussing the kids and/or the budget for this pay period and/or how our drier is in desperate need of replacing and/or how much income tax we owe this year. Hera, the goddess of marriage, is kicking herself for having that extra shooter during our Pictionary game. Check.
There have to be real friends to talk to, involving either the phone or, heaven forbid, conversation taking place in the presence of another human being. I had both today, so double check.
I have to be able to talk about me for a while, because I know how important it is that other people learn from my wealth of experience. I have so much to offer that it hurts. It swells up within me until I'm able to release my wisdom to the masses. The speaker scheduled for the Friday night meeting hurt her knee and wasn't able to make it tonight, so I received a call from our chairperson asking me if I'd fill in. What a gift to everyone there! I was able to fill the room with awe and inspiration. It's all about the little people, you know. Check.
And finally, I need some Maven time so that I don't develop that nervous tick and the homocidal tendencies lurking just under the service. Check.
A perfect day overall. Although I now feel emotionally depleted. Nothing like unexpectedly bearing one's soul to a room full of people. I should have said 'Hi! Look at how messed up I am! Want to hear about why I drank so much?'
Or, even simpler, I could have just written down the URL to my blog and passed it out. No explanation needed after reading this, kiddies.
Or, I could invite them all over to my house on a non-perfect day (which would be, oh, almost every day) and then explain to them how I manage not to drink despite all that.
My secret? Open the drier and scream into the fresh laundry. Barring that, slam my head repeatedly in the shower door until everything goes a peaceful black. Either way works.
I doubt tomorrow will be so perfect. For one, Geekster is home. Now don't get me wrong: I love the guy and I love his company. But he throws Stella's groove off, if you know what I mean. From Monday to Friday the house is my domain. All roads lead to The Maven. I decide when we clean, when we cook, when we eat, when we play, when we're quiet because Mommy is watching Without a Trace at 2pm so please go downstairs with the crackers and cheese I just lovingly made for you, Loud Preschooler.
But on Saturday and Sunday a rift occurs in the Stay-at-Home-Time Continuum. Geekster tries to assimilate me into his non-work mode at a time when I want to be folding laundry and watching some Egyptian mummies documentary on the National Geographic channel. How dare he? Who does he think he is?
And what is this 'relaxing' he speaks of? He claims you can sit on the couch and - get this - not do anything else at the same time. I think his job is driving him mad. There's no way people get to do that, is there?
He's obviously unaware of the fine art of multi-tasking that mothers are so capable of. So capable, in fact, that it's near impossible to turn off. Doing one thing at a time is for wimps, anyway.
Anyway, I should go spend time with my wimpy husband before heading into bed.
Heading into bed and reading. Hah! Thought you got me there, eh? The Maven is not wimpy.
The Maven is far, far too busy to be wimpy.