In Which The Maven Takes a Moment to Say Thank You


It's a sunny morning in Ottawa, and I'm tuning out Diego with an iPod playlist. I would have normally shuddered when Spawn picked that annoying little animal konservation kid from a stack of perfectly acceptable videos, but I suppose he being alert enough to pick and watch a video is the important thing.

I guess.

There are only two things more annoying that Diego: Barney the nasal dinosaur (complete with creepy, overly-animated kids) and that huge-headed Dora. Figures she's Diego's cousin. Please stop yelling questions at the screen. I don't know any child who actually answers you out loud anyway. Also, if you can't figure out where you are, where you're supposed to go, or how to to identify primary colours, you are far too stupid a child to be out in the jungle by yourself. Where are your parents?

...But being in a hospital room for several days isn't getting to me or anything.

Spawnling now has the pleasure of being our most costly offspring. Geekster and I want to sincerely thank the taxpayers of Canada for helping to make our child better. This is where public health care really shines, and why we need to protect it; Spawn's isolation stay costs a few thousand dollars a day. He's also had 72 hours of anti-viral drugs and many tests that are quite costly. Furthermore, his IVIG treatment was at least $3000. Yes, for one dose.

I only know all of this stuff because I asked and I researched out of sheer curiosity. Nobody has bothered me about cost-related stuff because we don't have to directly pay for it. Thank goodness.

I've always been a big proponent of public health care, but now that Spawn has been this sick I'm positively militant about protecting it. The last thing anyone should have to think about when their child is very ill is how much it's going to cost, what their private insurance company will cover, whether or not they'll renew coverage after this is all over... Nursing your baby back to health should be the entire focus. That's stressful enough as it is.

(I would highly suggest you don't try to debate this with me right now. It's not a good time. Just nod and smile and back away politely. Say things like 'Wow, Maven! You're so passionate about this! That's great!' That would be the safer approach. Just sayin'.)

I think I'm done ranting now. It's been kind of stressful around here, in case that's not apparent. And the recovery process for my dear Spawnling (who's real name is Jackson, in case you didn't know and feel strange praying or thinking good thoughts for a kid with such a 'colourful' nickname) has taken its toll on the whole family. The situation has a lot of 'hurry up and wait' elements to it, and that can really wear a person down - even one as amazing as myself.

So here's the scoop on Spawn: He's picking up, but it's very slow. He's awake more often, eating a bit, drinking some, watching movies and cuddling in bed to read books.

But he's irritable. Sooooo irritable. It comes with the Kawasaki disease. He wakes up every time his IV monitor goes off, which is quite frequently because the little bugger moves around a lot (another good sign). He's somewhat combattive which is also positive. And last night, at 3AM, he called me 'stupid'. I was so happy to be belittled I nearly cried!

On Monday the tinniest gremlin has an ECG so we can have our first look at his heart. I'm not terribly worried, but only because I need energy to focus on the right now and not on the 'what ifs'. The heart might not be affected now but could be compromised later. Or maybe not. Why worry about it? We have a long road of aspirin taking and cardiac follow-ups regardless. It could be worse. I mean, he could have potential heart problems and the hospital could face a serious coffee shortage. Now that would be a problematic.

I'll have you know that I was an awesome mother this morning: In an attempt to bribe the boy into taking the four aspirin pills he needs every six hours, I gave him a bag of Doritos to munch on. Don't worry; the aspirin will more than offset any potential Dorito damage. That's my hands-on health-conscious parenting at work.

Everything is by-the-minute right now. As my wonderful new friend Lil said, you take this stuff a moment at a time. That's all we can do.

You people have been amazing. I can't thank you enough. All the comments on the blog have kept me going when I'm feeling scared or overwhelmed. My friends on Facebook have been incredibly supportive, asking how he's doing and how they can help. My cousin apparently got a lot of people at this weekend's pow-wow to pray for Spawn to get well. How cool is that?

Folks have been calling, coming by, bringing coffee, offering hugs. Geekster has been holding the fort down and keeping the older gremlins amused and distracted. Friends and family have been pitching in wherever they can, taking the boys for an outing or cooking meals. And my mom has been a rock for me to lean on more times than I can count. I call her about everything and, sick as she is, she's here, she's babysitting, she's preparing food, she's researching. If I ever needed her it's now, and she knows that. Thanks, Madre. I love you!

Oh hell, I love all of you. Come here and get a hug. I always knew I was fantastically popular, but I didn't know exactly how good my friendships and family relationships were until now. I pick good peeps. Pat yourselves on the back - you deserve it.

Shit. Now I'm crying. Gratitude crying this time. That's good, right? Better than terrified crying or exhausted crying. We're headed in the right direction.

Must go wipe my tears and check the dryer upstairs. It will be nice to have clean clothes that do not smell like ass.

Thank you. I'll update when we know more.

The Maven: Filled with sweets and joy and joyness

If I had a dollar for every time I said 'Sorry I haven't posted in a few days, but...' I'd have enough for my own morphine button by now.

But that's neither here nor there. I'm fed up with apologizing. Screw you, blogosphere. I have a life and I can't always post. Ok, so it's not an amazing life full of artistic friends, romantic trips and insightful new discoveries. It causes mystery stains on my shirts, dishpan hands and a few crying spells, but I have the ownership papers for it and I take pride in that. It's a life, and it's mine. Time-consumingly mine.

And right now I just had my very own revelation: I was trying to search out a blurb on 'overwhelmed parents' and poke fun at the comparisons between myself and the descriptions on various websites related to parental stress. I've been stressed out lately, in case it hasn't been apparent. Intrepid broke his leg. Meanwhile, Spawnling got in four teeth followed by the grossest, nastiest case of thrush I've ever seen. He was the clingiest of clingy babies at a time when he needed to be the most independent of independent babies, doing crafts and self-study courses and cooking family meals. Gutsy, meanwhile, was being his usual self but all attention-starved-like and therefore so much worse.

Well, ok, this is all still going on but now I've learned to pretend that it isn't for a few minutes a day. I wave my hand in front of my own face and say "This isn't really happening" in calmest, most convincing tone I can manage. It's a nifty Jedi mind trick that Obi Wan Kenobi taught me. But not the old Obi Wan. The younger, hotter, Ewan McGregor one.

Hey, if you're going to dream, dream big.

Anyway, so I typed in 'overwhelmed parents' and what did I get? Not sites with whiners like me. Oh, no. That would justify how I've been feeling lately and make me whine even more. Instead, I read pages about how not to get overwhelmed when your child needs heart surgery, or how a support group in Kentucky can help overwhelmed, bereaved parents.

Well don't I feel about five inches tall right now. The Powers that Be are laughing at me as they whack me in the face with the clue bat of life.

I can feel rundown, overwhelmed, frustrated, or whatever other nasty little mood I want to feel, but only for a little while. Then I have to put my big girl panties on and get the hell over it. I have three little men who depend on me. They need me to be not-short-tempered, afrustrated and any other grammatically incorrect terms I can come up that stress the importance of being more positive.

Don't get me wrong: Life with Yeasty, Beasty and The Gimp - my temporary names for the gremlins - has been anything but relaxing lately. However, I would say it's been far more like sipping virgin daiquiris out of coconut glasses than, say, one of them going through open-heart surgery, or planning a funeral for one of them. Things I don't ever want to do or think about, but that's life for many families out there. We are truly blessed to have our chaos, Geekster and I. We are truly blessed to have our yeasty, beasty, gimpy gremlins.

So enough whining, Maven. Time to get out of this slump. I've bought some makeup (although I have yet to wear much of it). I did my nails (the toes look lovely, but the fingers were peeling by the next morningb). I dyed my hair (a lovely shade of suck-the-light-out-of-all-living-things-black-hole-brown) and, happy of happy days, we managed to get some time to ourselves for the first time in nine months when the in-laws came down to throw a 'feel better soon, Intrepid' party (complete with party hats and toys, books and movies for all).

Today, The Madre surprised me by stating that she will tame the gremlins once per week during the day starting in September. She'll give me a little while to run some errands, get my hair done (no more black hole brown? Could this be!?) or - and this is where I'm trying to separate fact from fiction - just spend some time by myself.

Spend some time... by myself? Like, not at the grocery store or on the toilet? I vaguely remember a time like that... So very long ago, in a galaxy far, far away... with a hot Jedi and some weird alien named Jar-Jar who needed speech therapy.

Also, AAngel, Lushgurl's daughter, is hoping to be able to take the gremz on the 16th to Geekster and I can sneak away for our 10th wedding anniversary. I'd like to say we'll have a romantic meal, but I'd be happy with one where I don't to squirt ketchup on someone's plate or look under the table to find a missing family member.

Yes, things are definitely looking up. Also, I have to say I've been (temporarily) cured of my babylust. A baby? Now? Hell, no. No, no, no. I have a baby and right now he eats acidophillus every day and yells at me for boobie.

Tonight's dinner: cooked chicken from the deli counter at the grocery store (courtesy of The Madre, who watched 2/3 of the boy children so I could go get some grub.) Simple and delicious, just like me.

Tonight's plans: The water park Yeasty, Beasty and friend Astarte and son, HGTV's Realestate Wednesdays, more of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, maybe some essay writing. But I don't overextend myself or anything.

The title of this post: Comes from here. Candy Mountain! Candy Mountain!

No way, man. NPH wouldn't do that!

Oh, but he did do that.

And incidentally, I've been dying to use that Harold and Kumar quote for a legitimate reason.

Undoubtedly moved by my post about the Wiggles, Neil Patrick Harris, lovingly known to many in my generation as Doogie Howser M.D., has come out of the proverbial closet and announced his sexuality to the world.

Actually, he was "lanced", according to Lance Bass' incredibly hot boyfriend. I love it when someone comes up with a new term like that. Good on you, Reichen.

I bet he feels better. I know I do. I had my suspicions as he generally plays womanizer roles these days, which gets my gaydar a bleepin'. It's like guys who spend hours upon hours with their cars, like the silver Saturn "sports car" neighbour up the street. Or women who aggressively push cosmetics for a living, striving hard to earn enough sales points to get formally invited to the yearly company gala and buying big, puffy, pink outfits for the occasion.

Life would be so much easier (and less Best of Ace of Base would be played loudly by annoying neighbours driving at top speeds up the street) if people could just be themselves from the getgo without fear of retribution from homophobes. With three boys, I think about this often. Spawnling, for example, is two thirds more likely to be gay than if he didn't have two older brothers. Don't believe me? Check out this study. It's done by a Canadian, so it's obviously correct.

People have asked me what I would do if one of my sons ended up being gay. One of those 'what if' conversations mothers have with other mothers when they're supposed to be out discussing anything but the kids. It's a ridiculous question to ask if you know me at all. I wouldn't 'do' anything. Nothing changes. I hope he falls in love, I hope he get married and I hope they have kids, if those are things that he wants out of life. I hope he's incredibly happy and is surrounded by people who love and support him, his dad and I being two of those people.

This whole 'OMFG SOMEONE IS GAY CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!??!?!?!?' stuff is becoming a thing of the past. The more Lance Bass' and Neil Patrick Harrises that come out, the less of a big deal it will become. It's like my personal goal to normalize breastfeeding. I nurse everywhere and anywhere because my doing so will hopefully make it easier for the next mother.

And what's up with that, anyway? People still suggest that mothers should nurse in public bathrooms. Um, ew. Once upon a time, when I was a young, easily intimidated thing, I used to sometimes take my baby into the restroom when he got hungry. One day, I realized how disgusted I'd feel if I had to bring my restaurant food in with me into the stall and proceeded to feel like an idiot for feeding my child in there. Funny how such obvious things go right over my head a good deal of the time.

In the last three weeks, I've breastfed pretty much everywhere and anywhere. If I've received any dirty looks or negative comments, I've been completely oblivious to them. Maybe I've been fortunate. Or maybe, just maybe, people are wisening up and becoming more accepting. Less stupid.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm actually 130lbs and a Swedish sex kitten. And while we're dreaming, I live in a really big house and the (sweet but not very attractive, especially to my husband) nanny plays with the children while I get paid to blog for a living.

Wow, that fantasy was almost better than sex.

Speaking of drugs and things you might see on them, my mom, AKA The Madre, is sick once again. The poor woman can never catch a break with those lungs of hers. She's on some pretty heavy-duty narcotics and steroids right now and everything is really, really funny.

Hmm...Come to think of it, that's probably why she likes my blog so much when she's ill. She could probably read something about the declining number of Pacific Salmon and find it hilarious right now.

I took Spawnling over last night to visit with the sick Madre, The Sister and the rest of the crew that made The Maven who she is today (I can't figure out if they deserve thank you notes or death threats. I go back and forth.)

Before we got there, my sister said to my youngest brother (he's 17 and has Down's Syndrome) "Michael! Jackson is coming over!"

To which Michael replied excitedly: "Michael Jackson is coming over?!"

The visit nearly drove The Sister insane. Every time the baby would make a face - any face at all - my mom would demand that my sister look at him. 'Look! Look! Oh my god, you're missing it! He's SLEEPING!' and 'Take a picture! Hurry! He's making a pouty face! Look at those hands. THE HANDS!' and 'He's LOOKING AT YOU and you're IGNORING HIM!'

This happened about thirty times. My poor sister showed incredible retraint. Huge props to her for knowing how to deal with the stoned.

The Madre also spent a good deal of the time holding my baby, burping him and telling me how gassy he was. Thanks, mom. Hadn't noticed. I've only had three kids so I'm kind of new at this parenting thing still.

House was good last night, but sad. Stupid House. Love that show, hate the sadness.

Well, the Spawnmeister just woke up, so I suppose I should go parent. Maybe I'll bring him over to my mom's so she can show me how to change a diaper. 'LOOK! LOOK! Aww, he's peeing on everything. Hurry! Get the camera!'