Buckets of Joyfulness, and other crap I've realized.

Epiphanies suck because they happen just when you're all busy crying and feeling sorry for yourself and shit. 

So we all know it's been nearly a month since I've blogged. Did I mention the giant hematoma in my stomach? The constant bleeding for four weeks? The multiple trips to the hospital to see the surgeon, the ultrasound, the constant changing of sterile pads and gauze that now make my period look like a pleasant walk in the park? "Have a happy period"? Oh, I will. I will because a period in no way resembles the bleeding that might occur when one is stabbed in the stomach - which is pretty much what I lived with for several weeks.

Then there's the fact that all three gremlins are home for the summer, my family was wound up to the point of busting a spring or twelve, the house looked like it had been hit with a weapon of mass destruction by the time I could start cleaning it again, and I have a part-time job to go to; we can see where a serious lack of creativity may have occurred.

Have I been a little depressed? Anxious? Unhappy? Downright fucking miserable? Perhaps. Not only does this lend poorly to writing, but to living in general. It is really hard to want to do much of anything when you're chronically unhappy, and I've had many reasons to feel that way.

But what I gained from this experience - this fairly unpleasant, stressful experience - is that it helped me hit some kind of emotional bottom. I hit these every so often; a low point in which I have to reassess exactly what I want in life, where I want to direct my limited energy, and what I need to do to achieve those things. Naturally the exhibitionist attention whore in me has made a to-do list, in no particular order, Maven-style (you may want to take notes):

Fall in love with my partner all over again - without making three more babies together (emphasis on the NO MORE BABIES part, thank you).
Some wise person once said that marriage is like a garden, and that it can get overcrowded with weeds if you don't tend it, and those weeds get huge and overbearing and get little spikes on them and end up choking the life out of the pretty little flowers of love and affection, and then the dandelions turn into fluffy things that get caught in your nose when your partner blows on them, which sends you into a frenzy of resentment because why couldn't he blow that shit the other way, and you end up sneezing your way to divorce court.

Or something like that.

Underneath the years of baby-making and child rearing and financial stressors and all-nighters and tantrums and exhaustion, there are two people who love each other and miss spending time together. When you're buried in babies, it's easy to forget that this person is the reason you have those beautiful little beastlies in the first place. Reconnecting with Geekster has become a big priority in my life, every day. We're talking more, working together more, laughing more, going out together more, and putting in the effort to make our relationship the heart of our family. It's awesome. I feel like I have my best friend back. Eighteen years together is a long time, and I'm looking forward to the next eighteen.

Spend more quality time with The Gremlins Three without going bat shit crazy.
This pretty much goes without saying, but the horned wonders are the little moons that circle my planet - or, at times, the meteors that crash into it. They either control the tides or render large creatures extinct - both important roles in planetary evolution, really.

The boys need more of my positive attention so that maybe they can stop seeking so much of my - ahem - negative attention. Now that I'm able to move around and drive again, we've been hitting up museums and parks with more frequency. I've been putting my fear of epic meltdowns aside and realizing that if someone starts screaming, we can always leave; it doesn't mean we shouldn't go in the first place. Yes, we have a four-year-old who challenges everything right now and an eight-year-old with special needs who can get very defiant, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't go out and live - intelligently, of course.

This weekend, we attended a family-friendly BBQ. We stayed just over three hours, then packed up after dinner and said our goodbyes. Everyone was calm and playing nicely, so why did we leave just then? Because Geekster and I knew that we had hit the sweet spot: The kids had played enough and were just tired enough that they would likely leave happily. If we stayed much longer, we'd have to take off quickly with someone screaming and kicking while in the fireman's hold over my husband's shoulder. So the trick is to go out and experience life as a typical family, but also know when it's time to head back home for some decompression time. At any rate, the boys seem a lot happier lately, and as such we are all a lot happier. And this is saying something, considering it's summer: the cosmic joke on stay-at-home-moms.

Extended family: yes, I really do have some.
I'm fortunate enough that my parents and siblings and grandma all live in the same town as I do. And yet I don't see them nearly as much as I'd like. This is a damn shame, because they're all awesome people (it's genetic) and we should see a lot more of each other. So another priority for me is to connect more with them. I feel a little sorry for them that they don't get a Maven fix as much as they should, so we can call this an outreach program. You're welcome, family unit.

Friends - those great people you wish were family because they know exactly what to get you for your birthday.
This shouldn't come as a big surprise to anyone, but I'm really popular. This became even more apparent over the last few weeks, as people regularly checked up on me post-op, and did everything from drop off a coffee and a hug to clean the house and cook us a meal. My friends deserve a standing ovation for being so wonderful (I just need to finish my coffee first, ok?)

The thing about friendships is that they are relationships, and as such require their own bit of emotional landscaping. I've given a lot of thought recently to what makes a good friend, and how I can be a better one. What I've concluded is this: Good friends leave a conversation feeling mutually enriched, fulfilled and positive. This is how I want to feel when I interact with my friends and, just as importantly, this is what I want to give back to them. No head games, no passive-aggressiveness, no manipulation, no drama. Just good stuff, love, laughs, support, hugs. I think I'm a good friend most of the time, but having given it a lot of thought, I see room for improvement. I know this is shocking, being as I'm so fabulous and all, but it's true. So I'm going to focus on bringing joy to my friends' lives, which will only serve in bringing me joy as well. And then we'll all have buckets of joyfulness, and I'll likely get a Nobel Peace Prize for discovering said buckets and ending all wars.

Attitude. Oh, do I ever have some.
What I've been reminded of recently is that happiness is a state of mind. It's a choice. It's not something that is created or taken away from outside influences. Yes, there are big catastrophic situations that can suffocate a person's happy for a time. But, overall, most of how we see life is based on how we choose to see it. I've had plenty of reasons to be unhappy for a good while. But you know what? I've had plenty of reasons to be happy, too. I've just overlooked those in favour of focusing on the negative stuff.

As such, I'm making a conscious effort each day to look for the good stuff in my life and celebrate it. There may be plenty of suck, but there will always be plenty of suck. There will also be many things that are plenty of great. I'll deal with the suck, but I'll also invite in the great. And thus, I will be even more kick ass than I already am, if that's even possible.

Buckets of Joyfulness, Batman! You've hit on something big! (See? It's already happening - my buckets are being mainstreamed into the English language)

What's big on your priority list? (Other than reading my blog, of course...)

Just a quick one

A year ago tonight, I went to sleep in a hospital room next to our very sick two-year-old. It would be the first of several nights. The nurses had given me something for my headache - it was so bad it felt like my head might explode from all the stress inside. As the medication slowly kicked in and I could listen to the beeping of machines without wincing in pain, I wondered if Spawnling would make it through the night. 

Today, we had friends over. Spawn tormented his four-year-old pal and chased Gutsy off the tire swing.  He ate homemade pizza, told his dad stories about the Lego creatures he had just built, wrestled with Intrepid, stole forkfuls of my cheesecake, ran way ahead of us on our way to the park and held my hand on all the way home. Tonight, he kissed me, rolled over, snuggled his purple stuffed cat, and fell asleep with my arm around him.

I am so grateful. We were so lucky last year. He is so healthy. We are a good, strong family of five with a tough little guy to complete us. 

What a difference a year makes.

I'm done being sappy. I just needed to get that out.

I love you, Jackson. Always.

A post about illness, sex, and chocolate cake

I spent a great deal of Friday catching up with friends I don't see nearly as often as I'd like. When you're as insanely popular as I am, you can't possibly see everyone all the time. It's just not feasible, people.

But if I could just hang up my popularity pompoms alongside my ego for a moment, something else happened on Friday that really hit me that I need to write about: I caught those same people up on what had been going on over the last few months, including the tale of Spawnling vs. the sudden scary illness. I was asked for definition, details, diagnosis. I talked about how he slept for an entire week, stumped the doctors for several days, recovered miraculously despite the very real concern he may have something far more sinister than what it thankfully turned out to be.

And I realized, quite suddenly, that what so many other parents have told me was right: You never "get over it." That, while seven months have gone by since a rare autoimmune illness called Kawasaki Disease befell my then two-year-old baby boy, the trauma is not gone, the wound is not healed, the very real fear that I can lose someone so special and so important is still present and accounted for. Telling the tale brought up a lot of emotions I thought were gone. I'm not over it and I probably never will be.

But unlike those dark days so many months ago, there's a more positive quality to the memories now.

My friend The Guilt Goddess and I have talked a fair bit about hospital promises. They're a lot like pillow talk; honest in the moment, but quick to fade into something more realistic in time. See, after sex, emotions run deep and we're quick to say just about anything. However, the "I love you"s of Saturday night turn into the "So, like, I'll call you sometime"s of Sunday morning. The "Yes, baby! Oh yes! You can have a Lexus!" post-date-night becomes "Is a used Volvo okay?" over before-work cappuccinos.

Hospital promises are similar, in that they're made during a time of high emotional involvement. I only got a taste of the type of things we'll swear off of or onto when our children are very ill. Spawnling was in a hospital bed for a few days, while The Guilt Goddess' Jacob was there for months. I tip my hat to her keeping her sanity (mostly) intact after seeing her son fight a brain tumour with everything he's got. (I say she's 'mostly' sane because she ended up befriending me shortly thereafter, so we know not all her solar panels are facing south, if you know what I mean.)

Anyway, hospital promises, in my limited experience, are also a lot like new year resolutions. They're made with gusto and a lot of willpower. You really don't think you're ever going to have chocolate cake again, but actually you will - just maybe a little less of it. Here are some of the things I promised during those scary days at Spawnling's bedside:

If my child gets better:

- I will never yell at him again
- I will never argue with his father again
- We'll start taking vacations
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together
- I will never complain about the little things again
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever

Don't they sound wonderful? They're so full of positivity and determination, aren't they?

Ahem.

Now, let's fast-forward a few months down the road. Spawnling is, by all accounts, very healthy and has made a full recovery. We know his first two echocardiograms were good, so the chance of a potentially lethal aneurysm hiding in his ticker is unlikely, although he will continue to be monitored every so often for he rest of his life. Still, this mother's fear has lessened, the adrenaline has left, the depression and worry have lifted. Let's take a look at The Maven's revamped list of hospital promises, shall we?

Now that my child is better:

- I will never yell at him again except when I do
- I will never argue with his father again except when he deserves it or I'm PMSing and just need to bitch about something
- We'll start taking vacations when the magical money tree suddenly sprouts from the ground in our backyard (still waiting)
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together but I'll sometimes wish we spent just a little less time together, especially when all you want to do is talk about Star Wars or call me stupid
- I will never complain about the little things again except when they don't seem so little, which is actually quite often
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever -- and I don't. Ever. Still.

See, that's the difference. I was always grateful for them. But as much as they drive me completely insane sometimes, I'm even more appreciative, more amazed by them, more captivated by the things they do, say, think, feel. Why? Because sometimes Spawnling will run into the room and say 'Mom! Check this out! It's my lightsaver, a green one, but maybe a double-sided red one because those are cool and chop off hands better' and I'll get a flash of him lying helpless in that big white hospital bed with tubes and monitors around him, and I'll remember how fortunate we are to have dodged a proverbial bullet and have him home safely.

I still remember that; I won't ever forget it.

And then I think about how any of my little gremlins, at any time, could suddenly not be here tomorrow. But instead of being deathly afraid like I could be, I choose something better: I choose to appreciate that they're here, today, and celebrate that.

Except when I'm getting punched in the arm. That's not so celebratory-like. I take a break from my happy place when that happens.

I've learned that it's okay for things to normalize and for some of that hospital pillow talk to become more realistic again. It means I'm not afraid and sad and angry every day anymore. I'm a mom who will never get over what happened to her son, but maybe in a better way than I thought. And that's a good thing, because I'm awesome like that.

Finally, the Guilt Goddess said it was okay for me to write about her as long as I say how much she curses me every day for getting her hooked on shows about hoarders. I'm guessing any promises made about The Maven probably involve voodoo dolls and a lot of swearing. No Lexus for me.

Five Things I'm Grateful For (Other than my Awesomeness)

Last night I had a dream that Geekster was made captain of one of seven space shuttles, all of which were taking off simultaneously on some cosmic mission. I remember feeling so incredibly proud of him and, of course, bragging my ass off to everyone who could hear me.

Then I woke up and felt kind of bad for the bragging.

This dream taught me two things:

1. I've been watching far too many space movies lately (can't help it - Captain Kirk and Han Solo are dreamy dudes) and,

2. After sixteen years, I still think a great deal of my husband

Let's face it: Life has been shit on toast the last few months. The Maven family has had a series of unfortunate events that, while not exactly book or movie worthy, have thrown us for a loop or two. We faced a minor health crisis, a serious money crunch, some fluctuations in our social circle, a small fire, and a whole bucket load of 'Why is this all happening at once?!' This has undoubtedly been our worst year in at least a decade.

But he's been there, that man of mine. A shining example of this was how, when we couldn't afford anything for each other on Valentine's Day, he woke up early and made pink pancakes for the entire family. I married an amazing guy.

He's been solid footing when life feels almost treacherous; a warm campfire when the path is dark and cold. I could come up with many other cheesy metaphors - I'm quite good at them, you know - but I think the point has been made without making you gag on my sappiness. While stress has certainly not passed my darling husband by, he's been the incredible best friend to me that he always is, and for that I'm very grateful.

In fact, I'm feeling a whole crapload of gratitude lately. Back when I was quitting the sauce, I was taught by the wise recovery gurus that gratitude and optimism are sometimes all a girl's got to hitch her sanity to in times of extreme sucktitude, lest she go out for a pint or ten. I've carried that knowledge all these years within my soul.

Uh, I mean my fat cells, which is clearly why I carry the extra weight around. It all makes sense now, doesn't it? Someone pass the bag of chips; It's for a good cause.

So, in lieu of writing yet another depressing post about how we had to spend our grocery money to fix my windshield and Geekster's birthday money on groceries, I'm going to take a few moments to mention the good things in my life.

I know: big of me, right? Just flexing my well-used optimism muscle, that's all.

I've already mentioned my husband. He gets top billing. Then there are these beautiful little guys. Here they are this afternoon, smiling widely and loving life:



You're right: I'm full of it. They were totally fighting when I took those.

I'm also grateful for Spawnling's drawings. Like all good artists, his work is able to invoke several emotions simultaneously. When I see his work, I'm first proud that he's drawing sensible shapes.

"Snowmans"

"Daddy playing guitar" (Guitar added in by daddy upon request)

Then I'm somewhat confused because they look like potatoes with toothpicks, or drunken amoeba.

"Daddy hugging me."


"Daddy and me, but I drew Daddy with hair, and he doesn't really have hair, so... oops."

Then I'm a little annoyed that every single one of them is either Spawnling and daddy, Daddy being a rock star, or some inanimate object. You'd think having given birth to the ten pound turkey, I might get my own cracked-out single-celled organism look-alike, but apparently not.

And finally I laugh a little, because they're gosh darn cute, just like their maker. And their maker's maker, obviously.

I'm grateful for the family members who have stepped up and helped out with babysitting so Geekster and I can preserve our sanity and our coupledom, bought outerwear for the kids so we don't have to worry about clothing three gremlins for next year's winter season, given us a hand up financially until things get better, and just been generally supportive and understanding.

I'm grateful for the friends who text just to tell me they care, tow away the gremlins to make our house less chaotic for a little while, take me out for breakfast, drop by with coffee, and listen to my incessant complaints about Murphy and his damn law.

It's really hard to be depressed around you guys. You give me little opportunity to drown my sorrows in melted chocolate. Thank you.

Husband, gremlins, creepy/adorable pictures, family, friends. That's five, right? Counting is hard this evening. I went skating with Gutsy's grade 1 class and accompanying grade 6 class today. After tying that many skates and watching a kit throw up in a garbage can a few times, my brain is a little fuzzy.

Oh! And finally, I'm grateful it wasn't my kid throwing up in the garbage can. That's six.

The Sound of Chaos

Those who've started reading my ridiculous blog only recently may not know that our oldest boys, Intrepid and Gutsy, are hearing impaired.

Or hard of hearing, or deaf, or whatever.

Whatever you want to call it is fine - I'm not one of those people who takes offense when someone doesn't know the politically correct nom du jour for a disability.

Sorry, I mean a type of challenge for the differently-abled.

Um, I mean...

Ugh. This is what happens when I tell people I'm part indian, native, aboriginal, first nations. I trip myself up a great deal and get flustered like I've somehow insulted a quarter of myself. So, instead, I just say "some of my ancestors were horribly oppressed by my other ancestors, which is why I'm such a conflicted person."

Ffter several years of being a proud mom to deaf children, I still don't exactly know what to call them. The boys aren't completely deaf, after all: They have a moderate loss, which means there is enough residual hearing that they can function quite nicely with hearing aids. Furthermore, Gutsy's class is equipped with a soundfield system, which amplifies the teacher's voice. A nice bonus of the system is that it's supposed to help all the kids in the class by making it easier for everyone to tune out background noise and focus on the teacher.

Heck, if we had had a soundfield system in chemistry class, I might have actually learned something, instead of thinking the elements were different types of weather.



The boys have a bilateral sensorineural loss, which means the loss is in both ears, and that many of the little hairs in the cochlea that pick up sound and send it through the auditory nerve into the brain are dead, or missing. This likely happened before they hatched from my womb and is genetic in nature. I've been assured that no amount of prenatal gorging on Peanut M&Ms could have caused this.

My guilt is alleviated.

***

I used to worry all the time.

Would they make friends?

Would they get teased?

Would they be able to learn in a regular class?

Will they have a hard time dating in the future?

Will they be severely limited in their career choices?

Will they go completely deaf?

If it's a mom's job to worry, then I've been a workaholic. Keeping up that pace of concern involved a great deal of chocolate and crying. Mostly crying, but the chocolate played a great supporting role.

In the last few years, Intrepid and Gutsy have had months of speech therapy, dozens of hearing aid adjustment and repair appointments with the audioprosthologist (say that three times fast), several hearing tests, meetings with our wonderful support person from the oral school for the deaf (they attend regular public school but receive outside support from the MOSD), and not nearly enough trips to their very attractive ENT doctor.

Lately, two things have happened: I've cut chocolate from the cast list, and I no longer lose sleep over my little gremlins' pointy ears. They have shown repeatedly how people with a hearing loss can not only take part in the hearing world, but absolutely thrive in it. They amaze me with how well they've adapted to nearly every situation. And, just as importantly, they've shattered any stereotype I may have had about the hearing impaired. The grim picture I imagined of life as a deaf person has been replaced by the colourful, fun, chaotic and, dare I say, fairly normal lives of these two boys. In fact, I sometimes forget they're hard of hearing until I hear the T.V. blaring and see a pair of hearing aids sitting on top of the microwave (a favourite resting spot, for some reason).

This morning we had their audiology appointments; they used to be every six months so we could monitor the loss and see if it was progressive (meaning it would keep getting worse). However, we've now scaled back to a yearly visit because, if it is progressive, it's not happening yet.

I'm pleased to report that, once again, the boys' hearing is stable. As much as I'm sure they would continue to thrive if completely deaf, I'm beyond thrilled they can still hear me yell at them to please stop fighting and just sit down, for the love of all things good and true, before I lose my ever-loving mind.

So, I'll be joyous along with my American friends celebrating their Thanksgiving (you do things really late there - maybe you should move Christmas into January to stay consistent). Yanks, If you're lacking any gratitude, please let me know. I have a lot to spare today.

Why I Should Not be Allowed to Make Analogies

I was glad to have coffee with my fantastic friend Nat this evening. I did so without having read her most recent blog post, which involves a scary trip to the hospital with The Boy and his new friend, Mr. Asthma Attack. This happened only two days ago, and the feelings are still very raw for poor Nat. Seeing your child that sick, with machines monitoring his oxygen levels and a mask full of medicine to help him breath, is one of those scary situations a parent hopes to never find themselves in. Well, she found herself in it, and I didn't realize when I walked into the coffee shop how much I needed to be there for my friend.

I'm so glad I could be there.

It's yet another example of how a bad situation - like Spawnling's illness three months ago, Gutsy's stay at the hospital for pneumonia 18 months ago, and Intrepid's exciting broken femur episode 2 years ago - can be manipulated into a positive. As it turns out, I've become an unwilling expert in the field of childhood injuries and illnesses requiring prompt emergency treatment and hospitalization. I do not like it, Sam I Am. But it is what it is, and I sure am glad to lend that ear and tea (which was free and provided by my distraught friend who was too upset to realize she buys way more than I do).

My company costs about $2.50 an hour. The Maven is a cheap whore. Spread the word.

How interesting that I would happen to write yesterday's post about Spawnling's traumatic experience changing me for the good, and then find myself with someone going through something similar tonight.

Ethereal forces, you keep me smiling.

I wanted to say thank you, once again, to everyone who has been so amazingly supportive over the last few months. I don't think I can say thank you enough times or in enough ways. Whether I know you in real life (lucky you) or only online (in which case you really should put "meeting The Maven" on your bucket list, trust me) your kindness has helped heal this huge gash in my heart. I'm no idiot: the sole reason I've been able to be a strong mom for Spawnling is because I have good backup. A ton of sidekicks. Dozens upon dozens of Robins. Thank you, and if you ask nicely I'll let you use the utility belt.

That's the way the world works though, doesn't it? Give and ye shall receive, and whatnot. It's that whole karmic circle thing: My life was shit on toast, people helped me make new toast that didn't have shit on it, I ate that instead and felt better, and now I'm helping someone else with their choice of breakfast spreads.

That was, by far, the worst, and yet, best analogy I've ever come up with. I don't know whether to pat myself on the back or delete my blog altogether because I don't deserve to call myself a writer.

We had a perfectly good day today, my herd of gremlins, co-shepherd and I. Spawnling and I went to playgroup and he only pushed one little friend, and only because he was overwhelmed with joy (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). We had our friend Jacob over for lunch, and then The Madre over for tea, after which I passed the shepherd's crook over to her for a little while so I could clean the kitchen.

I made one of the world's laziest dinners: sandwiches coupled with a piddly amount of baby carrots on the plate so I can say it comes with a serving of vegetables.

Then I went out for coffee with Nat, and now I'm back here, blogging about nothing extraordinary. Just another example of me being awesome, people around me being nearly as awesome, and shit on toast.

Deep Thoughts, by The Maven

I'm doing okay with this next-to-no-sugar thing. When the cravings come, I want to grab a bag of the white stuff and dry hump it, but otherwise I'm fine. I've been (barely) swallowing tablespoonfuls of unsweetened yogurt throughout the day to destroy the candida metropolis undoubtedly thriving in my body. The sugar mine is closed, little yeasties. Pack up your belongings and move on out.

Spawnling's withdrawls have been more... pronounced. While his mood swings are less intense than they were, the unpredictability of when and what he'll destroy next has been the theme of the day. The sac of cane sugar that broke the mule's back was when he scribbled on my antique chair - correction: my late grandmother's antique chair. We are not amused. Part of this evening will be spent learning how to delicately remove pen from fabric.

My mind is clearer, my mood is more stable and I have more energy. Now as long as I can continue to resist the siren songs of Lady Chocolate, I should be alright. It's a good thing I'm familiar with the philosophy of 12 step programs, because one day hour at a time is about all I can do right now.

***

As I was filling my cart with wholesome foods at the grocery store tonight, a chatty and adorable Spawnling in tow, I realized something.

No, not how awesome I am. That was established a good while ago. Keep up with the news, already!

I realized that, while Spawnling's health scare in August was traumatic enough that I still get teary when I think about it, what it has done to me on a personal level isn't all bad. In fact, I would say that the woman who walked her son through Kawasaki Disease and all the scary potential diagnoses leading up to it, is a better person than she used to be. Someone who sees how beautiful, how precious, and how short life is.

I was given a second chance at living when I got clean and sober at fourteen. I walked into rehab a shell and walked out a new person who wanted more for herself. I was given new breath yet again when I became a mother, and I learned there is a kind of love deeper than any other. It was transformational. And exhausting.

And then, when it looked like I might lose my littlest boy in those dark days of August, something snapped inside me. I remember the exact moment it snapped - you can't forget that feeling.

At first I thought it was a bad something and would require a phone call to my therapist. And maybe some drugs. And Oreos. But as shock and sadness lifted, as he gained his strength back and, finally, as his heart was given the all clear - for the next year, at least - everything looked different, felt different.

It wasn't intentional, but it seems I've given myself a makeover from the inside out. I've re-prioritized what's important to me, who's important to me, and what I'm willing to put time and effort into. I've had no problems cutting ties with people who are unhealthy - passive-aggressive, immature, continuously self-destructive. In fact, there are a few people I spoke to regularly in August that I don't speak to at all anymore. The funny thing is that it's not done out of anger or spite or a sense of superiority; I'm just not willing to put in the effort to keep a one-sided or very unhealthy friendship afloat. If I get sucked into someone else's negativity, then I'm wasting my energy on those things and not putting it into the important stuff.

Then, exhausted, I binge on chocolate. This is a lose/lose situation, obviously.

At the same time. I think I've been more real, more assertive, more kind, more honest. I cherish the people in my life, I love them deeply, I let them know. Spawnling has taught me to embrace every day - except during PMS time, when I get a couple of days to hate everyone's face.

***

So, this sugar thing? This didn't just randomly come about like I thought it had. It was a natural progression. I've been weeding out the negative in my life, and eventually I dug deep enough to hit my diet, that's all. It's very simple. It feels right because it is. I've arrived at a place and time when taking care of myself and my loved ones is the only thing that makes sense. I'm transformed. I don't think I can go back to who I used to be. But then again, I don't think I want to.

And there you have it. My deep thoughts for the day, brought to you by a three-year-old, a grocery store trip, and an experience that maybe I don't want to forget as much as I want to look at in a different light.

Holy crap, I'm awesome.

10 Things That Make Me Mayor of Awesometown

1. Aha! I bet you didn't think I'd blog today. I will have a post in before midnight, which technically qualifies as a post for today. So there! Eat your heart out. But if it's made of chocolate, please share. The fact that I blogged after a busy day of doing very little makes me awesome.

2. I took my kid to the park today, even though it was cold and I had to find mitts, and he kept going back and forth between pretending to be a cat while suffocating hugging one of our real cats, and getting his stuff on to go to the park. Then, I hauled my large behind onto the play structures and pretended to be his first mate, the dreaded Officer Mom. When Spawnling started getting upset because it was time to leave, I made a game out of it and we hunted tigers all the way home. Being a pretty decent mom makes me awesome.

3. My husband just said 'Have fun with your N@mBlaProMo' while snickering at his oh-so-funny and highly inappropriate play on words about my month of daily blogging. And I did not bite his lip when he kissed me goodnight, or whack him on the head, or choke him with my laptop's power cord. My restraint makes me awesome.

4. I had a tofu and broccoli teriyaki stir fry for lunch, and spent time in the kitchen post-park trip making a whole wheat pizza dough from scratch for dinner. I've made it before, and while it does take some patience, it tops anything I've bought in the store, hands down. If you ignore the four or five mini chocolate bars I ate in between lunch and dinner (okay, and maybe one before lunch), my health-conscious attitude makes me awesome.

5. I sent a very honest and heartfelt email to an old friend today. I did it without any idea what the consequences will be, good or bad. Honesty is awesome. Communication is awesome. And guess what? I'm awesome, too.

6. By contrast, I let a friend go this week. Well, actually, I think she let me go weeks ago because she's purposely had little to nothing to do with me in over two months (I know, right? Who the heck doesn't want The Maven around?) But I decided it was time to stop hanging on, take the hint, and let go as well. It actually felt pretty good and, while I'm a little sad, I'm not angry, not resentful, not out for blood, or for drama. I'm cool with it and I think we'll both be better off. Isn't that big of me? I mean, wow! I know I'm impressed! Besides, I'm not exactly hurting in the social department; I'm positively surrounded by great people. My cup runneth over, yo. Being more mature about things - and incredibly humble, I might add - makes me awesome.

7. I've started drinking more tea and less coffee. This is not to say I don't drink coffee every day, because that would be a big fat lie. I've simply substituted a portion of my coffee intake with herbal tea. Why? Because it tastes good. Also, I've been home with sick kids for about three weeks. I'm feeling a bit... Twitchy. Agitated. Unhinged. And while a trip to a padded cell for 48 hour observation does sound tempting, with my luck I would end up with a manic neighbour who chats incessantly at all hours. I might as well just have Spawnling talking my ear off while I'm trying to edit a manuscript. It's pretty much the same thing, except I get access to candy and the internet at home. Finding balance makes me awesome.

8. I've been going out of my way to be really nice to people and let them know I care. The easiest way to do this when I'm cooped up at home is to be online. A lot. Way too much. But it does help with the twitching. At any rate, my family has been shown so much kindness over the last couple of months that I want to give some of that back. I figure walking around town with Flutrepid and Coughling might spread more germs than kindness, which sort of defeats the purpose. But commenting on people's blogs, tweets and Facebook statuses will do the job nicely. We're not spreading the pandemic love that way, my friends. Positive energy has been given to me in droves and I've been trying hard to make a hefty deposit in the karma bank for others. You're welcome. Spreading the karmic love makes me awesome (and will likely get me more coffee drop offs. Just sayin').

9. When it comes to the show "The Tudors", I think King Henry IIV is a smoking hot piece of royalty... Wait. That has nothing to do with being awesome. Or maybe it does. Because his hotness is most definitely awesome.

10. I finished this post before midnight. I did! I still get adoration of my loyal blog readers, and some shiny loots. Yes, I said shiny loots. Start saving, because I want something really nice for all this hard work and dedication. Being easygoing makes me fantastically awesome.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Spawnling!

Sometimes it's hard to believe that Spawnling originated from two lines on a pee stick. What humble beginnings.

(Actually, he originated from something else, but Captain Killjoy Geekster said we couldn't post pictures of that event.)

Like most women today, the first official confirmation I received that I was going to be a mother to my teeny little gremlyos was a home pregnancy test. My reaction to Spawnling's impending arrival, however, was a little different than how I reacted the first two times. I wasn't immediately... thrilled. Delighted. Overjoyed.

In fact, I may have been a teeny bit apprehensive.

We had decided, for so many reasons, that two was enough. When Gutsy was three we decided we weren't going to try to have more children, nor were we going to throw caution to the wind any longer and 'just see what happens'. We began wrapping the willy; putting a lid on the mayo jar; caging the monkey; enabling the cloaking device. And words escaped our lips that had never been said before. Things like: 'complete family' and 'the next phase in our lives' and 'permanent birth control'.

The universe, however, had other plans. Because, just before we started shrink wrapping the leftovers again, I got pregnant. And as I scrutinized those two blue lines under every available light source in my home, I realized something: I was pregnant. Without trying. And it was a girl!

...And our girl had a penis, the ultrasound technician told us a few weeks later, trying so hard not to laugh.

But Geekster and I laughed, because of course it couldn't be a girl. That would disrupt the comfortable cycle of chaos in our family brought on by an abundance of testosterone.

But a thought occurred to me, although I wouldn't admit it at the time: Would a third boy be that, well, interesting? We had two already. Been there, done that, got the pee on the t-shirt while trying to change newborn baby boy diapers. He'd have to be pretty gosh darn spectacular to stand out. A girl would just have to be a girl, really. Dresses, pink things, dolls that are used as dolls and not beheaded zombies. I rubbed my Spawnling-stretched belly and wondered what kind of boy child he would be.

And then we got this:


I would never, ever trade him for a girl. Ever.

He talks to pumpkins when he's sad. He helps his friend Diego the cat muddle through a gender identity crisis. He sings 'Danger Zone' every time he makes two things have a race.

When he calls someone stupid, even an old lady who says "hi" when he's having a bad day, he says it in such a way that even she tries to stifle a laugh as I stifle mine and make him apologize.

He has names for all his shoes and is very insistent on which ones he's going to wear on a particular day. One must have footwear that matches ones' outfit, you know. Cars Shoes will not go with khakis; that's best left to Big, Big, Green Shoes.

He loves his brothers more than anyone except maybe Dad, and even more than me now that he's no longer enjoying 'Mommy's Milk'.

Traitor.

Ok, maybe not more than me. He's just forming stronger relationships with others now that I don't have the nutritional advantage. The successful and mutual weaning process about six months ago put an end to the baby years in this house. We're now onto the big kid stuff.

Well, except potty training, which is supposed to start happening today, right after his first in-theater movie: Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Let's see if he stays still once the popcorn is all gone. These 'first' experiences are always unpredictable in that this-could-be-a-wasted-$60 kind of way.

It's funny how, once I held Intrepid in my arms, I couldn't imagine loving anyone else that much. Then, once Gutsy was born, my heart grew to twice the size. When Spawnling came along and threw what we thought was our perfect little world upside down, my heart grew so big that I thought they were going to have to remove ribs like they do to some of the top runway models.

Me and top runway models: We're similar in so many ways.

I honestly can't picture life without him. And, two months ago, when he was in that hospital bed with a then mystery illness that had everyone very concerned, I remembered the pregnancy test and how I wasn't immediately thrilled. I remember selfishly hoping for a girl and feeling concerned he might not thrill me in the same way. And, touching his sickly little body, I remembered how wrong I had been, and that life had only changed for the better with him in our lives. He is the glossy finish that coats our family and makes it shiny and strong and beautiful. He solidified what we already had before he came along. He made it complete.

Actually, he's kind of like the MSG in our over-processed take-out food, except he doesn't give anyone headaches or scare pregnant women.

Today is Canadian Thanksgiving, and it's also Spawnling's third birthday. We have so much to be grateful for. We don't even have to try hard to find the good stuff this year. He's our little, rambunctious cheat sheet.

Happy birthday, my sweet little guy. Words can't possibly express how much I love you.



(And if you make this potty training thing easy on me, I'll love you and give you jelly beans. Just sayin'.)