The Maven of Christmas Past

Spawnling and Gutsy: So cute with their claws retracted

Greetings from the other side of the fray.

It was a wonderful, crazy, stressful, harried, mostly enjoyable Christmas. The gremlins were spoiled, of course. We had a large family dinner, then went out of town on the 27th for another family dinner. Gutsy came home with some adorable African dwarf frogs, which I promise to get a picture of soon. They're named Bubbles and Squishee, and I pray every day that they're both males who will never figure out how to impregnate each other. Gutsy is quite smitten with them, and when he's not fighting with his brothers or telling us how bored he is, he sits contentedly in his room and watches them swim around. I must admit, they're rather captivating. Soothing, even. I've sat on his bed and stared at them myself when no one's around. They're my little amphibi-friends.

My husband and I are tired from the crazy, and are sometimes at the point of barely speaking after a long day of refereeing loud arguments and enduring even louder cooperative games, but we're managing. We still love each other, we just love each other from different rooms. It's like this every year.  Nerves run raw and we all walk on eggshells. After nearly a decade-and-a-half of parenting, I've learned that you just. get. through. it. And when you get to the other side, you can safely remove the cyanide pill you've been hiding under your tongue for emergencies and enjoy some back-to-school quiet.

I had my first ever gluten-free Christmas, which was not only manageable but surprisingly delicious. The husband I barely speak to some days went out of his way to make a Maven-friendly version of my dad's tortiere (which, for the non-french, is the most amazing meat pie on the face of the planet). It was so good and much appreciated. Christmas isn't Christmas unless there's half a tortiere in my belly.

I ate everything and anything I could safely manage, stuffing my waist full of artery-ravaging cholesterol and loving every mouthful. I did have to pass on a lot of homemade goodies that made their way to our place, but I expected that. My aunt brought over freshly baked bread, and I stayed away from that, too, as difficult as it was. Instead, I ate some shitty store-bought cheese bread and wished I had taken the time to bake something at home. 

And I would feel sorry for myself for having to pass all that up, except I've lost... oh, about ten pounds.

That's right, kittens: TEN POUNDS in as many weeks. I'm a freaking toothpick! Well, if there were size 18 toothpicks. I guess I'm more of a redwood cedar trunk, but not one you can drive a car through anymore. It's progress.

But how on earth did I lose weight? What did I do? Nothing, actually. I still eat chocolate, chips and the gluten-free varieties of my favourite breads and pastas (albeit fewer servings as they get expensive and some of them just aren't palatable). Still, I'm not exactly training for my next triathlon or anything - unless I can strap wheels and a speedo on the couch. My body just likes that I'm not poisoning it, I guess. Imagine that. 

It's motivating, refreshing, totally awesome. I feel like I'm going into the new year with a healthier mind and body. My energy levels are incredible. In fact, I've even cut my coffee consumption down by about two-thirds. Yep, you heard right. There are paddles to the right if you need to start your heart up again. I figure if I add some exercise in I'll be on my way to some kind of serious hotness. It's hard to believe that exercise might actually result in a decent amount of weight loss now, but my body doesn't seem to be holding on to fat for dear life anymore, so I'm going to tentatively try to nudge it along a little faster.

In short, I'm even more amazing than I used to be. And to think scientists always assumed it was impossible to reach this level of greatness. But I suppose breaking down barriers is what The Maven is all about. I'll be smacking 2011 with a big bag of rice flour and making it my bitch. I will own it, and it will buy me smaller pants because it is afraid to anger me. 

I like where this is going.  I might just get myself a fur-lined trench coat and a cane. Word up.

It's the Most Horrific Time of the Year

A Spawnling-decorated Christmas tree

It's here.

As the Gremlins Three play some insane fighting game in the other room, screaming things at each other like "Thunderbolt!" and "Shadow!" (which is seriously confusing our cocker spaniel who goes by the same name), a thought has hit me:

As of 90 minutes ago, all my little horned ones are off for two weeks.

Two weeks.

Someone hit me with a snow shovel really, really hard. With any luck, I'll lapse into a coma for the entire duration of the season's cruelest joke: Christmas holidays.

If you're giving me that judging mother look, I suggestion you stop wasting your time. I'm all too familiar with it from playgroup, circa 1999 - I've built up immunities. As you bore your eyes into the screen and hope I'll start to feel guilty for having said I'm not exactly looking forward to two weeks at home with my kids, I'm trying to figure you out, too. If I could guess, I'd say you probably fall into one of the following categories:

A) You have no children and think everyone who has them should appreciate every single second of every single day with them (is there a discount on tickets to Never-Neverland if I get a group rate?)

2) You have one child. One perfect little child who has no one to take toys from and spends her days quietly scribbling in a colouring book while you gaze upon the perfection you created. I've been there. It was nice in some ways.

Third) You have two children and your second is a baby. Like me once upon a time, you think this stage of adoration and idolization between older and younger siblings will last forever. But you are wrong. Very, very wrong. This too shall pass, and it will be mourned greatly by you and those who have the displeasure of hearing the bloodcurdling screams coming out your walls. Coming to terms with the fact that your children will tear at each other with their adorable little nails and teeth is a harsh reality, and I look forward to laughing at you as others once laughed at me.

Eleventeen) You are a grandma and you've completely forgotten how dreadful the snowed-in holidays can be. That's okay; like birthing pains, this is Mother Nature's special gift to women who've survived beyond menopause. I forgive you, and I look forward to forgetting this part, too.

Anyway, you can tsk-tsk and shake your head at me all you want, but this ain't my first rodeo. I'm a veteran stay-at-home-mom now. I have fourteen years of holidays under my belt, and the last eight have involved more than one child trying to occupy a space at the same time.  From the moment Gutsy could toddle we've been dealing with conflict. I have absolutely no doubt that the impending vacation will feel like anything but. Case in point: In the five minutes it took me to write the last paragraph or two, Intrepid accidentally whacked Gutsy's loose tooth, which resulted in a lot of loud accusations being flung around the living room like poo in a septic tank full of monkeys.

If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that my kids have conflicting personalities. And the older I get, the more I realize that it's not the end of the world.

Sort of.

I've tried different techniques over the years to try and get the boys to play nice. I scoured the internet and shelves full of parenting books, and tried all the "proven" techniques. Let's take a trip through my list of failures:

I used to run in at the first sign of a fight, get everyone's version of what happened, and try to help them resolve the problem. FAIL. Why? Because I kept having to stop what I was doing every 2.4 minutes just to break up an argument that would start up again the minute I left the room. I have a life, you know.

I tried to run in as soon I heard an impending argument, so that I could calm everyone down before the decibel level climbed to the point of making my ears bleed. FAIL. Why? Because going in before it happens means I have to listen to the slightest increase in tone and be prepared to sprint across the house like a chubby gazelle every time it sounds like there could be a fight. There is no coffee pot large enough to dole out the energy needed to do that. Exhausting.

(Just got back from a writing break. And by "break" I mean sprinting into the living room like the chubby gazelle I am because Spawnling was in a rage after "losing a battle" to Intrepid, and started yanking ornaments off the Christmas tree. But I digress...)

I've tried ignoring the fights. I've sat in the kitchen, quietly sipping my tea while scream bombs explode in the war zone behind me. FAIL. They expect me to be their UN ambassador and streamline the peace process, and will insist - loudly - until I do so. Funny, because I feel a lot more like a refugee who needs to duck under the table for safety. If I don't help them resolve their conflict, they load up on ammunition and race back into the fray, ready for more blood. If anyone's winning the war, it sure as hell isn't me.

I've tried completely tuning out the fight by putting my headphones on - the ones that block out all sound if I just turn the Black Eyed Peas up loud enough. EPIC FAIL. It turns into a silent horror movie: Kids running to me, faces red, tears falling to the floor, pointing at each other, mouthing words I can't make out, toys and fists having already been thrown beyond my peripheral vision. Then I need to check for collateral damage: flatscreen TV, grandma's china, bewildered pets. It's only a matter of time before there's a downed bookshelf. One mustn't let it escalate to that point. Hearing is my friend.

So, what do I do? I have no freaking clue. There is no perfect way to resolve constant fights - especially in frigid temperatures when it's harder to shoo them outside for half the day. I've learned keeping as close to regular bedtimes as possible can help, along with crafts and outings and family movies to keep everyone busy. Happy hands aren't fighting hands: let that be your motto.  I keep the junk food as last resort bribery, and the horse tranquilizer gun strapped to my back--

-- forget I said that last thing.

In short, acceptance and humour help the hubby and I breathe our way through the chaos. Like he said to me earlier "I look forward to Christmas vacation and I dread Christmas vacation. Does that make sense?"

More than you know, darling. More than you know.

Epic "Quiet Floor Play" Fail

You know those mornings when you're feeling kind of blah and in need of a little pick-me-up? And it's post-holidays, and the place is a mess, and everyone is itching to get back to some kind of normal - if your life can even remotely be described as 'normal' even on the best of days - and the Christmas tree needs to come down, and you had to tear up the bathroom a few days ago because your makeup met the inside of the toilet bowl and caused some major problems, and everything just seems a little bleak?

That's when some people might think to themselves: "Gosh, if it weren't for all that unprotected sex over the last decade, I would probably have a cleaner house. Why? Because my childless-by-choice spouse and I would be somewhere tropical for the holidays, getting young tanned cabana boys to serve us non-alcoholic drinks with little umbrellas in them."

Some people might think that, but not me. No way, Jose (or whatever my Cabana boy's name might be). I'm far too dedicated a parent to have succumbed to the feeling that having three kids in a messy house for two weeks with a semi-broken bathroom to boot might be overwhelming and/or depressing. No way. Not me.

Okay, maybe once, but only for a second. Because, before I knew it, Spawnling burst into the kitchen and disrupted my overcast thought process with "Hey, Mom! Look what I can do!"



And just like that, I remembered why having kids is so awesome. My littlest ray of light chased away any negative thoughts. That kid gets cuter by the day. Shortly after that, he stacked a bunch of cups precariously on the table and confidently declared "See? No problem at all. Pizza cake!"

Later on, I decided to put a temporary ban on game consoles and the Nick channel so we could do some "creative play." And believe me, it gets very creative around here. Spawnling amassed a nice collection of Littlest Pet Shop toys over the holidays, so I yanked those out, dumped them on the living room floor, and started pretending.

It took me back to the My Little Pony days of old, where I would brush their pretty manes and send them out to prance around in the field/shag carpet. We would have a good time, those ponies and I; Together, we would work out complicated social situations and navigate the immature waters of schoolyard crushes through imaginary play, all the while beautifying our pony stables with pink furniture borrowed from Barbie.

So, when Spawnling took an interest in Littlest Pet Shop animals and their accessories, I knew this was an activity I would shine at. I would show him the ropes of quiet floor play, and draw my boy into the wondrous world of make-believe that had a whole lot of interior decorating and a serious lack of fight scenes. With three boys in the house, we see enough fight scenes, thank you.

... And then the seven-year-old and thirteen-year-old gremlins came over to ask what we were doing. We were at the museum, I explained to them. Would they like to grab a Pet Shop friend and play with us? I knew I had them: With no computer or console games to entertain them, what were they going to do? They had exhausted drawing and various board and card games, so they had little choice. It was visit the makeshift museum I had made, or be bored to tears.

They picked up a character to play with.

"But, you know..." thought Intrepid aloud. "We could always build Spawnling's Pets an entire city."

"With Lego and stuff!" Gutsy jumped in excitedly.

This was going to be great! My boys would make a cute little town for their brother's toys, and they would all play happily with something outside their comfort zone.

Retrain the brain, Maven. Show those boys a new way to play! Better start patting that back of yours, because you are an awesome freaking parent.

Before long, the city took shape. Of course, there was the museum designed by yours truly. This would obviously be the standard for all the other smiley-happy-friendly spots in the town. While the gremlins continued their creations, I went into the kitchen to make some coffee.



When I came back with a cuppa, there was a park, complete with slide and merry-go-round. Very cute.



Oh, and look! A zoo with the Madagascar crew in it! A little strange that animals would go visit other animals in a zoo, but Arthur the aardvark has a dog, so why not? And sure, there appeared to be a UFO in a palm tree, but isn't that part of the 12 Days of Christmas song? I think it is. Gutsy was simply squeezing out the last bit of holly jolly in his system, that's all.



But, um... What was this last thing?



"It's a haunted house, Mom!" explained Gutsy. "And look: The skeleton scares all the animals that go inside, and the knight chops them up!"

Intrepid cried "Cool! Let me try!"

"Me first!" squealed Spawnling in delight, as he rushed over to the knight's gleaming axe with a wide-eyed hedgehog.

I give up.

So This Was Christmas, and I Sure Did Get Spun

I know, I know. It's been over a week since I last graced the Blogosphere with one of my incredible posts. I was wrapped up in the whole spirit of giving thing (although the receiving wasn't so bad, either - just sayin'.)

But fear not, my weepy little lambs, because I am back with a vengeance. For, even though we did nearly $300 worth of groceries yesterday and came home without coffee cream (I should have my Coffee Lovers license revoked for that major infringement), my lovely Coffee Fairy brought me not one, but two extra-large coffees this morning. Oh, and some creamers for any additional coffee I might want to have after the consumption of the first two.

Not only am I going to be in fine creative shape for this post, but I can already hear the snap of my brittle bones breaking as the calcium is leeched from them. I understand there are good drugs for premature osteoporosis. Thank the gods.

I hope everyone's Kwistmakkah was enjoyable. (Incidentally, I don't personally know anyone who celebrates Kwanzaa. But The Brain on Arthur does and he's a cool dude, so it got smushed into my politically correct holiday address.) I hope the love was so deep you could drown in it, and that the gifts were bountiful, but not to the point of feeling like a commercialized whore.

I do have a way with words, don't I? Like little petals strung delicately together, they are.

We had a great Christmas, of course. I'm The Maven, after all. I have a great everything. Geekster took a couple of weeks off so as to provide tactical backup spend quality time with his family while everyone is home for the holidays. I thought his idea was a mix of sweetness and responsibility, with a thick coat of crazy. I said 'Look, I have to be here because I'm a stay-at-home-mom. That's my job. But you could take vacation any time. Why do it when you're not going to get any rest at all?!'

His coating of crazy is especially thick, because he has yet to lose his shit on anyone. I am obviously the sane one, as I've had at least two or three good yells at the boys over the last week. at one point, I even contemplated a lobotomy with Geekster's cordless drill, but the damn Christmas tree was using up all the wall sockets. Instead, I chose to break my sugar-free stretch and escape into the world of chocolate. It's been nice, but I'll be revving up the detox engines again soon. My waistline - or the spot formerly known as my waistline - will thank me.

On the 23rd, we took the kids to the Museum of Nature and over to the Elgin Street Diner for poutine. Lunch cost $65. Welcome to the reality of a family of five. The good news? The poutine was delish, and after a couple of hours of dinosaur-gawking, we needed the calories (or so I tell myself).


According to Gutsy, dinos are huge. I love the expression of wonder on his face. It's significantly more pleasant than his expression of anger, and much quieter than his expression of screaming.

The 24th was a day spent out and about with The Sister. The two smallest gremlins ran into Santa at her office. Spawnling wouldn't go near the dude in the red suit, but Gutsy was all over him. That charming little gremlin was just making sure the big guy remembered his face before he set out with a sack full of toys that night (it worked).




(Note how Spawn is sooooo not impressed.)

Then, we spent the afternoon at Rideau Centre, Ottawa's largest shopping maul (yes, I misspelled that on purpose - we were there on Christmas Eve, after all). I was finished shopping, but went along with The Sister to attempt to finish hers. Gutsy had a blast listening to some tracks at a music store.


(Santa and headphone pics courtesy of The Sister. There's a reason why she calls herself Photo Lush)

It sounds crazy, right? Dragging two small children through a maul a few hours before the stores close. It's something I never would have considered after my first - or even my second - child. But there's a method to my madness. From years of experience, I can tell you what the alternative would have been had we stayed at home all day:

When is Santa coming? Are we going to make cookies? Should we draw him a picture? How does Santa get around the world in one night, anyway? And does he come through the wood stove chimney or the furnace chimney? And what if it's hot? And can we open one gift before we go to bed? Please oh please oh please? Is it bedtime yet? No? What about now? No? What about now? Good, because I can't sleep anyway! And what about the gingerbread house? Can we eat that? Can I have the roof? NO! I WANTED THE ROOF! I SAID IT FIRST! MOOOOOOM!!! MY BROTHER IS TRYING TO HIT ME BECAUSE I SAID I WANTED THE ROOF AND I TOLD HIM HE'LL BE ON THE NAUGHTY LIST IF HE DOES THAT AND NOW HE'S CRYYYYIIIIING!

No. Thank. You. The chaos of busy stores filled with frantic last-minute shoppers has nothing on Christmas Eve at Casa Maven.

And Christmas came, bright and early (but not too early - 7:30 is an acceptable wake-the-parents time), and it was magical. Spawnling had crawled into our bed and whispered 'Merry Christmas' to me as he gently stroked my face, followed closely by 'See? I told you I was going to "merry" you someday."

That's the sound of my heart melting. Who knew it would make a sound?

And what did we do on Christmas day? Ready for this?

Absolutely nothing.

Yep, that's right. We did nothing. The gremlins three stayed in their pajamas and played with their new toys all day. We all ate copious amounts of fattening food. We did not clean the house. We watched movies and played video games as wrappings lay all over the floor. No stress, no fighting, no rush. It was a well-deserved break after a very long and stressful year. Watching Spawnling tear open his gifts was a sobering reminder that he was in a hospital not too long ago for one very terrifying week, and spent weeks building back up to the boy we know. Now healthy and happy again, he got the one thing he really, really wanted for Christmas: a Wall-E Laptop.


I breathed in every second of his joy, and I'm sure Geekster did, too. Our little Christmas miracle is he.

On the 26th, Spawnling once again woke me up with a 'Merry Christmas!', followed by 'Wait, is it still Christmas?'

'Sort of,' I replied. 'It's Boxing Day.'

Confused and worried, Spawnling said 'Boxing day?! Uh, can I just go bowling instead?'

I made that kid. I really did. He came out of me.

We headed to Peterborough, Ontario, for a visit with the in-laws. We had a fantastic time, minus the fact that four of us had colds and mine was at its peak. Just a minor bug, but not when you're driving four hours in bad weather and catching up with family you only see once or twice a year. That takes some serious energy. Thank goodness for coffee and diet colas.

We all got some really nice, thoughtful things this year, but I have to say my favourite was the donation to Plan Canada in my name for 10 home birthing kits, thus ensuring a safer delivery for 10 little ones and their mothers in developing countries. That did my heart some good. Geekster's parents symbolically adopted an emperor penguin in his name.

(We recently watched Happy Feet, and as soon as the boys discover the fuzzy little bird which came with that WWF kit, there will be fights, I assure you. It won't be pretty.)

The good news? I just got an adorable new camera to capture said fights in clear detail. Its frame rate will ensure that even the fastest flying fists can be captured clearly and easily on video.

Oh, and it's hot pink. Merry ho ho to me and only me, because nobody else will touch it on account of it being a "girl colour."

Well... I might have to keep an eye on Gutsy.

So that's the rundown 'round these parts. Now that the chaos is mostly behind us, I should have more time to post again. That is, after the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Cleanup, who will wave an ethereal hand and re-organize my home in the blink of an eye.

You know, the fifth ghost? There was the Ghost of Christmas Past, then Present, then Future, then that Death guy, then Cleanup, right?

I swear it's in the book. I'm going to sit here and keep waiting.

Dog Walkers Don't Need Cappucinos

I like Christmastime, I really do. The music, the lights, the warm hearts, family gatherings, and my belly full of seasonal lattes.

I won't lie: the lattes inch further up the list every year. Soon I'll be wishing everyone a merry Gingerbread Spice day.

And I like buying gifts for people. They'll be small this year to match our budget, but thoughtful and wrapped in love, with a pretty little boy of joy.

(I know that was puke-tastic. I wrote it that way on purpose. If Jobthingy can make us gag on her and her boyfriend's love every freaking Saturday, I want to join the party and stamp my blog name on some barf bags. It's good advertising until you get close enough to smell it.)

But something happened this morning that cracked my pretty snow globe and spilled Christmas spirit all over the kitchen floor. I got a flier (I hate fliers, by the way - they make trees cry) from Second Cup, a reputable Canadian coffee house. Excited at first, I opened it up and instantly lost my holly jolly. There were two reasons, and they are:

1. There are no coupons. How dare someone make a flier about coffee and not include a coupon? When I'm Universal President I will demand a law be put into place banning such terrible business practices.

2. There is a list of people one should "remember" to buy gifts for. Surprisingly, this list is my biggest beef; moreso than the lack of coupons. Maybe it's because I'm not a commercial kind of gal. I shudder when, on the morning after Halloween, I find Christmas decorations hanging in the grocery store. I despise hearing Xmas muzac pumped of mall speakers any time before December 1st. So frankly, this list made me want to jingle someone's bells, and I mean that in the least jolly and least perverted sense possible.

There are plenty of occasions to give plenty of people the gift of coffee. Pretty much any time is fine with me (like when the Coffee Fairy did so this morning, which was so good of her). However, there are certain people I do not feel the need to buy caffeine or caffeine-related products for at Christmas time. People like:

Workmates, from the boss to the mailroom boy: Um, seriously? If you're going to bribe your way to the next promotion, at least make it sparkly and diamond shaped like, oh, say, a diamond. And the "mailroom boy"? For reals? I didn't realize we were living in a 1950's comic book.

Personal trainer and yoga instructor: Thank you for showing me how weak and pathetic my body is. Please accept this gift of carb-filled hot chocolate mix, which of course I will not drink because it might make my soul fat.

Nanny and babysitters: Wait. You can have both? At the same time? Why wasn't I aware of this? I don't have either, but if I did I'd be really broke and couldn't afford to get them much anyway. However, speaking from experience as a former daycare provider, if you're going to spoil anyone this year, make it the chick who wipes your kid's butt for (very little) money. She's a gift from the heavens and you should treat her as such.

Hair stylist and esthetician: I tip them every. single. time. Now I have to buy them a Christmas gift, too? I appreciate what they do, but doesn't my monetary gratuity reflect that already? (Incidentally, I don't have a regular hair stylist or esthetician at the moment. But if I did I suppose I'd have the means to buy them gifts)

School bus driver and dog walker: What the hell? Are you lumping the person who walks my canine and the person I trust to get my child safely to and from school in the same category? This is not equal billing. It's like saying "Influential artists, like Beethoven and N*Sync" I don't have a dog walker, but I'm sure they're lovely people. Still, they don't drive a large vehicle full of loud children down busy streets to and from a busy school. That person is a saint and deserves some Christmas cookies. I never forget the bus driver.

Doorman and cleaning people: Aha! Now I'm starting to figure out who this pamphlet is really for. People who live in Manhattan. I've seen enough movies to know that all doormen reside in Manhattan.

Doctor, dentist and veterinarian: Are you kidding me? There have been years when I've indirectly purchased a new game console and half a trip to Maui for my family's medical professionals. They should be buying me Second Cup gifts.

Neighbours and friends: And maybe acquaintances, too? Oh, and that guy who drives past my house in the morning? And the old lady I sometimes see in the produce section of the grocery store on Tuesdays? We are in a recession, people. The money tree I planted hasn't bloomed yet, but as soon as it does I'll start boxing up a little something for all my Twitter followers, too. Promise.

What was supposed to be a handy dandy guilt list checklist has now been picked apart by yours truly. Second Cup, I may have been more forgiving if you had included a $1.00 off coupon or some such. It would have lessened the blow of your blatant faux pas - the one where you insinuate we should buy for absolutely everyone, thus sucking the life out of our bank accounts and destroying the earth simultaneously.

Everyone needs to stop killing Christmas. Besides, I'm sure just knowing me is enough of a gift for most people.

Rant over. Goodnight.