Monday Morning "Interactions"

Happy Monday!

Scrap that; All three gremlins are home with viruses.

Un-Happy Monday.

Gutsy and Spawnling have colds while Intrepid may have a cold or may also be developing the dreaded swine flu. This morning he had a stomach ache, a sore throat, and a cough. Now that he's eaten virtually everything in the house, I've concluded he's actually mimicking a swine and maybe not the actual swine flu. Almost-teenagers are very good at pigging out.

I love my kids. And every time I say 'I love my kids' it's pretty much a guarantee that I'm going to throw in a 'but' after it. So here it goes: I love my kids, but I really don't like having them all home for days on end.

I know, I know. I'm a stay-at-home-mom. I would like to point out, however, that the title only states that I am a mom and stay home. Nothing in it says there have to be children present. If that were the case, they might have wanted to call it" stay-at-home-with-kids-mom". Personally, I would have called it" stay-at-home-with-kids-and-lose-your-freaking-mind-mom". I admit it's a little long, but far more specific.

The problem today is - for lack of a more delicate way of saying it - the kids are sick, but too healthy to lie quietly. Sure, I worry when they're glassy-eyed on the couch with a box of tissues beside them, but I do get a lot of reading time! Right now they're all sick, but healthy enough to stir a great deal of chaos into the mix. Screaming, fighting, crying and un-sharing are all part of the soup du jour at Casa Maven. It's like summer, but without the ability to kick them outside to wear off the angry energy. (Incidentally, my witty mind tried to combine the words 'angry' and 'energy' into a new and exciting word, but all I could come up with is 'angrygy', which is rather lame.)

The good news - because there is always good news - is that the Artist formally known as My Running Partner will be supplying me with an organic, fair trade latte from Bridgehead. And, no, neither I, nor Daring D, are getting money or free products from the company for giving them props (I wish!). I just really like them and I like what they do. Environmental and community friendly caffeinated beverages? Oh, my. In the coffee world, they are the filling in awesome pie.

I could use a latte today, or pretty much anything that I can stuff into my mouth to eat my feelings (perverts, don't get any ideas and start emailing me...Well, at least send me some headshots first so I can see who I'm talking to... Wait. That made it sound even worse...) *ahem* Let's just pretend this paragraph never happened.

When all the boys are home and interacting - all the parenting books say it's a good idea to replace negative language, like 'fighting', with more positive language, like 'interacting' - I can do one of two things: Either I lose my ever-loving mind, or I try to see the comedy in the situation. Today, I've decided on comedy; it's downright comedic to see children with such varied personalities and age groups "interacting".

Intrepid, the sweet boy that he is, always tries to defuse the situation. Either that, or he sounds exactly like me. I'll overhear him say something really condescending or dismissive to his younger brothers and it really gets under my skin. As I'm stomping into the playroom to have a word with him, I wonder where on earth he picked that up. What poor communication skills! He sounds like a stressed out, overwhelmed... mother.

Oops.

Spawnling will vent by using the most offensive word he knows. Don't be stupid; you know what that word is. Yesterday, when he didn't like what I had to tell him, he climbed up on my computer chair and said:

Yeah? Well you're stupid. And your desk is stupid. And I'm going on your stupid computer. I'm going to type 'stupid.com' and play a stupid game there. It's going to be a game about getting lost in a stupid forest. And you can be any stupid animal you want, and...

It was nearly impossible to put him on the stairs for a time-out without laughing. I mean, I really tried, but it was hard.

Meanwhile, Gutsy is trying his best to deal with fights without yelling. It's a work in progress. I've realized that, once again, how I react to a negative situation has a lot to do with how he reacts. For example, the minute he walked out looking like this, I had yelled 'Oh my God! Take that off! You're going to kill yourself!!'


Yes, it's a scissor necklace.

He hastily took the it off and stammered off a few reasons why a necklace made of scissors could be useful. Like when you're wrapping a gift. You don't have to ask 'where did I put those darn scissors?'

First, I told him he was incredibly smart and creative and that I love him. Then, I had him put it back on to take a picture. Then, I told him to never, ever put sharp things around his neck again. Then, when he left the room, I laughed my ass off.

I would write more, but they're now interacting again - quite loudly, I might add - in the living room. Where's that latte?!

The Rescue Hero Incident

(Photo courtesy of Photo Lush, the non-blogging sister)

Everyone feels so sorry for the littlest gremlin since hearing of his impending dental surgery next month where they will extract his four top front teeth.

When they see him this week they get a look of pity in their eyes, as if he will be having his fingers pulled off with rusty pliers by some sadistic doctor. 'Poor Spawn,' they say, and get teary.

When friends and family call or email they ask how he is as if he has a prolonged illness - and unless you count sad-and-guilty-mother-itis among the baddies in the medical textbooks, he's quite healthy.

'How's poor little Spawnling?' they ask gently. 'Is he doing okay today?'

'He's so little and it's really unfair,' will remark a kind soul.

'Is there anything I can do?' they will ask hopefully.

There is something you can do, actually: duck and cover.

What people don't realize is that Spawnling is a little boy from my womb, and therefore made of the very finest demonic ingredients: Specifically, rabid puppies and dark matter with just a pinch of chaos for added spice.

Oh. And half teaspoon of cinnamon.

Don't let those sweet blue eyes fool you, for the child is a creature of the nether world.

And being such a creature, my little demon feeds off the sorrow and misery of others. There's always enough of it going around on a daily basis, but pump up the sympathetic volume with a few more tears on his behalf and he gains immense strength.

And you don't want to see him when he has that much evil inside of him. Nay, it is the thing legends are made of and it is truly frightening.

Don't look at me like that; I know what you're thinking. 'Maven, he's just a little boy with rotten teeth. How could you say such things?' You probably write me off as a horrible parent. You probably think I'm over-exaggerating or mentally unstable.

You'd be right on to something with the mental instability part, but I'm telling the truth: My boy is vicious lately. So vicious I have to follow him around whenever there are other kids, never sitting down, never letting down my guard. Any child regardless of age can be a victim of his scratching, biting, slapping or pushing. He attacks mercilessly and without warning:

Get in his bubble? Smack!

Take a toy? Whump!

Talk to him when he's busy breathing? Blammo!

Crawl around on the other side of the room innocently looking at the carpet? Ka-Pow!

It's stressful and exhausting, I'll have you know. My job is full time referee, always watching and waiting for the next foul play. I drink a lot of coffee. A lot.

Thursday appears to be when he's at his finest. Last week he pinched my friend's toddler's face, getting one claw inside his cheek and pulling enough to draw blood. Today, he not only smacked Pixie's four-year-old with a car and made his nose bleed, but he also did a drive-by smacking of another little boy for no apparent reason. Just because. He was paying it forward. Doing random acts of violence. Taking a chance. Being spontaneous. He also committed at least a dozen other infractions that I won't bring up for brevity. I'm like a sports anchor reporting only the highlights.

My arms and chest are covered in scratches and have been for weeks. It looks like I raise large birds for a living and fail to wear protective gear. I wish I could have a good reason like wild bird rehabilitation to excuse my mangled body because it would provide a more interesting and less embarrassing answer to 'What happened to your arms... and neck... and, um, cleavage?'

Yesterday was a 'taste of your own medicine' day. After a full agenda of gremlin taming I decided to take the dog out in the back for bladder relief while the children were playing together. Spawn is just starting to figure out cooperative play, so he's been enjoying action figure adventures with Gutsy. They were doing very well when I walked out the back door. Intrepid was supervising nearby.

Did I mention they were doing very well when I walked out the back door?

I was gone three minutes.

THREE MINUTES.

I came back in to the following scene:

Intrepid had jumped on the computer to check his email and was oblivious to what had just transpired. Gutsy was crying in the livingroom. Spawnling greeted me at the door screaming and, when he turned around, I saw his face was covered in blood.

Apparently Spawn and Guts had a little "incident", where they began to fight over adventuring techniques. Spawn then chased his older brother into the livingroom and raised the action figure to hit Guts with it. When he did so, he whacked himself with the toy's feet: once above the hairline and once below. The bump on the forehead split open and started bleeding. Head wounds bleed a lot, just so you know. It was a tiny cut, but it hurt and it was scary. Spawnling was screaming 'Mommy! There's red on my face and it's yucky and it huuuuurts!'

It will go down in Maven family history as The Rescue Hero Incident.

A little bit of karmic payback perhaps? Now not only is he the kid with rotten teeth, but also with a large scabby bump on his head. From a parenting perspective I'm looking less attentive by the minute.

I've heard cavities can cause a low level of discomfort in children that can make them extra crabby. I pray every day that this is Spawnling's problem and he will emerge from the dentist chair a changed child. A happier, more complacent little guy like he used to be. And until I see otherwise I will hold on to that pipe dream and tell myself it's not all aggressive personality. He's in pain. Poor Spawnling. Poor, poor Spawnling.

(It is that sympathy which makes the darkness grow in him. I had better wear a long sleeve turtleneck tomorrow.)