Sex, Lies, and Parenting Myths

 Now that my eldest is a teenager, I feel the need to help the human race by dispelling some myths for the current and prospective parents out there. There are so many of them and I worked a whopping five hours today on top of poorly mothering my three kids, so I'm only covering four myths right now.

And you're going to smile and say "thank you for the wisdom, Maven" and quite possibly start a coffee trust for me for when I'm broke because I decide I finally want to try my hand at writing full time. Ok? Ok.

Myth: You make sweet love to have a baby.

Truth: You engage in something that can only be described as a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in which you are not enjoying what you're doing and yet you're doing it naked. "Good. We engaged in sexual intercourse for the fifth time today. You have spread your seed within me. Get off me now. No, I mean it. Hey! HEY! Stop trying to hug me! You'll jostle the mother load! Don't-- Listen, I'm serious! DO NOT TOUCH ME, ASSHOLE! I'M TRYING TO MAKE SURE YOUR SWIMMERS GREET MY FUCKING EGG SO WE CAN CREATE FUCKING LIFE, OK!? ... Can you give me my laptop so I can input our copulation schedule into this website? Oh, and prop my ass up with some pillows, will you? Thanks, darling."

Myth: You'll settle quickly into parenthood and you'll just know when it's time to have another baby.

Reality: Mother Nature hates you and wants to laugh at you, so she'll make you think you're ready for another baby when you're too overwhelmed to notice that your life really, really sucks now. "Oh, he's so perfect, honey. Isn't he perfect? Look at those perfect little toes on those perfect little feet. He's a perfectly perfect mix of our genetics. It just makes my uterus blossom with happy rainbows! Let's have seven more right now. No, I mean now. Let's get crazy! I'll just feed him, burp him, slap some diaper cream on him, try to put him down without him waking up, crawl out of the room backwards on my hands and knees so I don't creak the floorboards, change my nursing pads, take my basal body temperature, throw a towel over the spit up on the couch, and we can make spontaneous love just like we used to! Don't you just love being a parent? It's magical."

Myth:  Your parenting is reflected in your child.

Reality: Don't kid yourself, Bertha. Your shelf of Dr. Sears books is only part of the puzzle. If you have well-behaved, sweet kids that everyone secretly resents you for, you obviously haven't had enough of them. You haven't had The One yet. The One is an egg of evilness that lives within you (or in someone else, if you're adopting - The One does not discriminate) that instinctively knows parenting "experts" are conspiring with Mother Nature to increase the birth rate in the Western World. The One will find you, eventually, and will hand you your false sense of control on a skewer. The One will make you cry, make you question your decisions, make you wonder why Dr. Phil won't answer your emails because doesn't he know how bad it is at your place? I think everyone needs at least one of The One. I have several. I fancy myself a bit of a collector.

Myth: Your child is super smart. Smarter than all the other kids.

Reality: All children are super smart, sort of. I mean, maybe yours can do long division at three and mine can't, but mine shares toys at playgroup and that's a serious life skill. (Actually, that was just an example. None of mine shared toys at playgroup at three, nor could they do long division. Not shining stars on any level when you look at it that way, but I digress...) But when you hear things like, "Timothy has a 4.0 GPA at his Montessori, and can do complex equations with his fridge magnets, and learned to ride a two wheel bike at 8 months old, blindfolded, as he recited Shakespeare sonnets" it's bound to make you feel a little inadequate. Well, Timothy might very well bite the heads off gerbils when he's not doing the baby babbling equivalent of "Look, ma! No hands!" The universe always strikes some kind of a balance. So don't feel bad and go hug your mediocre kid who will probably grow up making you at least moderately proud. And really, what more do you want? If it's a toss up between beheaded rodents or a thrice married professional gambler, I'll take the latter.

So there you go. Myths debunked. You're very welcome.

There, there. Don't cry. Everyone eventually comes to realize that 80's TV sitcoms lied to us. You'll get over it.

Anything

On Monday night, Gutsy shrieked, begged and protested for a full 75 minutes over having his hair washed. After a long weekend of chocolates, day trips, rich meals and late bedtimes, he was completely out of sorts. He absolutely lost it at the thought of his hair being wet. 

This came on the heels of a 20 minute freakout in the van on the way home from the in-laws' on Saturday night because he spilled apple juice on his pyjamas. We had to pull over, take his brothers out of the van, and get him calm enough to change his clothes and switch seats. 

Yesterday, the power was knocked out at Gutsy's school during a wind storm. The stress of the hallways being dark was so heavy that he came home and burst into tears because our power was out as well and he couldn't watch t.v. Schedule off, things not as they should: panic.

Welcome to life with a child who likely has a full-blown sensory processing disorder. 

You may recall that a few months ago, Gutsy, my mom and I braved one hell of a storm to go see a Montreal psychologist who specializes in hearing impaired kids. Not too long ago, we received her final report. It was simultaneously a huge relief and a rusty knife to the heart. 

The Reader's Digest version of her findings:

1. Gutsy is quite bright, with many academic testing scores in the above-average range.

2. He is very typical - or average - in many respects, which is fantastic.

3. When processing new information, the middle gremlin scored "borderline clinical" at 7% of the average, which likely indicates a learning disability. Coupled with an extreme sense of perfectionism, this is a perfect storm for anxiety surrounding school (which, if you've been following my blog like a good little sheep, you'll know is a recurrent theme.)

4. Gutsy's more difficult behaviours are almost exclusively reserved for home, which is great for the teacher and bad for us. It either means he has more triggers at home, or that he feels more comfortable "sharing" them here.

5. Gutsy's rigidity, defiance, emotional explosions and panic attacks at home scored in the "clinical" range, meaning they are quite serious and atypical for his age.

6. As it stands, he could be mildly on the autism spectrum, he could have generalized anxiety, or he could have sensory issues - or a combination of any of these. We all feel that a sensory processing disorder is most likely, so we will have him seen by an occupational therapist as a first measure. Sensory problems are more common in children who deaf or hard-of-hearing, so this would fit.

7. The psychologist felt that there are far more questions than answers right now. She recommends further testing in a multitude of areas.

8. I'm whiny and emotional. so I felt I should add in an extra number on the list to complain about it.

The big brown envelope with all these details sat on my desk untouched for far too long. We had already spoken at length to the psychologist over the phone and had asked a great many questions, but for some reason I couldn't open the report when it came in the mail. It was a crafty little game I played with myself; I felt that if I opened the report, it would become real all of a sudden, And that nice little bubble of "if we don't name it, it doesn't exist, so let's all skip through the field and pick some fucking flowers" could stay intact. I would pick up the stupid envelope every so often. Then, losing my resolve, I'd place it back on my desk, unopened. It took me about three days to finally get up enough nerve to read it.

Then, the past few days happened, with so much sensory stuff going on that it just tore up his dad and I. This is affecting our entire family. Not only is Gutsy having a challenging time as of late, but his brothers are having to deal with less attention, more chaos and a life of walking on egg shells around their brother. It takes an emotional toll on all of us. Geekster and I get so stressed out that we can't even say a word to each other for a good while after one of Gutsy's meltdowns for risk of snapping at each other. At other times, we glance at each other just long enough to see the sadness in each others' eyes, then look away. What is there to say? Nothing we tell each other seems to make it any better. 

Needless to say, it hasn't been a great week.

And yet we all love each other so much. We all love Gutsy so much. We're trying hard to make this a peaceful, happy and safe place for our boys to grow up. Some days are better than others. I hope to see far more better days in the future.

Watching Gutsy in that kind of overwhelmed, panicked state is one of the most helpless, gut-wrenching things I have ever had to do - and if you know me and you know my life story, then you also know that this statement speaks volumes. It's tortuous to see him locked in his own head, unable to escape the place where things are too bright, too loud, too wet, too dry, too itchy, too tight. What happened to that sweet little boy that got us to this heartbreaking place? Why can't I help him? What am I doing wrong? It tugs on a mother's heartstrings like little else can.

I'm sad. Sad and worried and angry. I'm having one of those "this isn't what I signed up for" kind of weeks. And I know that's ridiculous, because as parents we sign up for whatever gets thrown at us. Nobody is guaranteed a smooth ride. Parenting is always bumpy - there are just some bumps that are bigger than others, that's all. It's my job to deal with that. I'm trying, believe me. It's just been more of a challenge to keep my emotions in check lately.

If one good thing has come out of the last few days, it's the reminder that my husband can be absolutely incredible. When Gutsy was in his bad place for those 75 minutes on Monday, Geekster took the helm and worked him through it. He sat in that loud, echo-filled bathroom, being repeatedly screamed at not two feet away by a distraught and overwhelmed child with quite possibly the loudest, most ear-piercing yell ever - and miraculously got him through that hair wash. He is an amazing father. I don't know many human beings who could have done that, and it made me fall in love with him more deeply than I already was. He is a hero to me, and Gutsy and his brothers are so lucky to have him. I am extremely fortunate to have had a family with someone who is so dedicated to his kids. I was reminded of that this week.

What will parents do in the name of their children? Absolutely anything. Anything and everything, and all the rest in between. We will never stop trying, helping, supporting, learning, empathizing, loving. We will never stop, Gutsy, because you mean the world to us. And you are perfectly you, just as you are.  

I guess I'm done for now. This isn't one of my usual cheery posts, and I apologize for that. But sometimes I need this space to vent, to cry, to just be. It helps me to write, being a writer and all. I hope that it helps somebody else who stumbles upon it, too. If that happens, then that will be another good thing to come out of this otherwise sad week. 

How to be a Good Mom on a Bad Day

We all have them: those low points in our lives where we wish we could just go crawl into bed and watch nothing but Grey's Anatomy reruns with a box of tissues and a big bowl of eat-my-feelings chocolate-covered almonds. Those times when shutting out the world and forgetting we know anyone but those crazy, half-toothed guests on trashy talk shows would be the best self-help a girl could get.

Sadly, shutting out the world is generally reserved for the woman who has not, in the last 18 years, pushed a screaming watermelon out of her hooha. I was reminded of this yesterday when I was having one of those gallon-of-ice-cream-down-the-cry-hole days and Spawnling wanted to... play. The very last thing I wanted to do in the world was play. The very first thing was I wanted to do was scream, followed by cry, followed by maybe some good ol' fashioned moping. But I had no such luxury. Having had unprotected sex five years ago, my ability to lock myself away in my room was severely impeded.

(May the last sentence be a warning to all young girls who are sad right now and thinkibg "Maybe if I just had a baby, I'd have someone to love me and wouldn't feel sad anymore!" Uh, no, little emo chick. You'll feel sadder because you'd have stretch marks, and you won't have any time to write your cryptic Facebook statuses and notes with ex-boyfriends tagged in them anymore, because you'll be too busy catering to someone who cries even more than you do. Go talk to someone instead.)

Anyway, I had no choice but to abandon my hopes of curling up in the fetal position, and instead be a responsible mom. Ick.

It got me thinking about how I've managed to muddle through all those other days in my parental past where I've felt like absolute garbage. How have I done it? And, more importantly, what Mavenly wisdom can I pass along to the masses? Naturally, I've made a list. At 5:30 a.m. with a cup of decaf by my side, may I present to you my findings:

1. Keep busy. Very, very busy. If you're anything like me, the most dangerous thing to have on a bad day is time on your hands. When I'm stressed out, my mind can be a scary place with nary an off switch in sight. So, I make lots of plans. Since I had my first actual day off yesterday in at least two weeks (note to self: schedule yourself better so as to avoid future burnouts), I took Spawnling to the museum with some friends. That took up a good chunk of my day and staved off the emotional wrecking ball in my brain for awhile. When we were there, I saw this sign. Being the incredibly self-absorbed human I am, the title made me think it was put there just for me:

True dat.

Awesome! I'm dealing with extreme pressure right now! I thought to myself. And I was going to read it, until I realized it was on the side of a fake submarine. And then I saw the picture of the octopus:

Oh hai, octopus.

And I remembered we were in an ocean exhibit. Different kind of pressure. Just slightly more deadly. Gotcha.

2. Eat your feelings. It's okay to have a day where you shove your emotions down the gullet with some less-healthy options. Don't be a hero, dude. Say "yes" to chocolate! Say "yes" to cupcakes! Say "yes" to that fourth cup of coffee! Yes, you can. Or, if your stomach is too tied in knots to eat much, think about how skinny your going to be if this keeps up. I devoted at least 2 hours of my thought process yesterday to how many pounds I could take off if I felt this awful every day. The idea was almost as delicious as candy.

3. Reach out to someone. I know this sounds impossible with little ones underfoot, but it really can be done. A quick phone call or an email works - with junk food as toddler bribery. A coffee date carefully disguised as a playdate can fool your kids into thinking you did something nice for them when really it was all about you, you, you (suckers). It's incredible how someone else's words and understanding can pull you out of The Dark Place. Last night, I did a lot of talking; deep, heartfelt, gut-wrenching sharing with someone I trust. Then I came home and let my husband pamper me (so nice of me, I know). I watched two episodes of Mad Men - which is not quite Grey's Anatomy in terms of distraction, but definitely juicy enough to keep me entertained. Then I slept like a rock - until Spawnling crawled into our bed at 4:30 and I woke up just enough to start thinking about how I should go back to sleep. Game over.

4. Don't over-think. A friend of mine said this week that our thoughts are like a train, and that we're supposed to sit onside the tracks and watch it go by (I really hope I got that right). But sometimes, when we're over-thinking things, it's easy to grab hold of one of those cars and get violently whisked away from that peaceful place. I'm trying to stay passive in my thought processes and not touch the shiny cars. Hands off, watch them go by. Of course, the next question is "How on earth do you not do that, Maven?" Which leads into,

5. Enjoy the moment. Yesterday, as my head was clouded with a hundred racing train cars, Spawnling walked into my room, hopped up on my bed, and said "You know, Mom. We never used to have computers, or beds, or TVs, or anything! They weren't always here. And in the future, we'll have new things that are really cool" He paused for a moment, thinking, then said "It's like the world is a story that never ends..." Wow. The train came to a halt as I absorbed what my philosophical four-year-old had just said. I blocked the tracks with cattle, dumped out the coal, and breathed in a very special moment. Later, I sat for a few minutes and sang Justin Bieber's "Never Say Never" with the littlest gremlin, back and forth, back and forth, listening to his sweet little voice when it was his turn. That boy is so full of wonderful, which leads into,

6. Embrace joy - and I'm not talking about the scowling cafeteria lady downstairs by the same name. It's not always an easy thing to do on bad days, but joy is always there, hiding in the peripherals of our clouded vision. Sometimes it finds us, and all we have to do is let it in. When I was in my not-so-happy place yesterday, the universe thought it a good time to remind me of how lucky I am. Spawnling and I were at the museum with friends, but what we didn't realize is that there was a school trip filled with a bunch of other people we knew who were visiting at the same time. And, believe it or not, that was the second time this week this has happened to us, in different museums and with different schools. I lost track of the people I ran into yesterday, and how many hugs, handshakes and laughs we had. Joy: It's everywhere. I just needed an extra big dose yesterday, and it was delivered right to my front door-- or the museum. But whatever, I'm not picky.

I woke up ridiculously early this morning, but I'm feeling a lot better. Yesterday was tough. Those are days I sometimes wish I didn't have, but they're ones I wouldn't trade for the world, either: growth days, reminder days, days that make me grateful for the less painful ones. I threw my grappling hook up and caught the side of the pit, and pulled myself up - with a little help.

And I did it all with a four-year-old on my back. Good job, me. The Maven, as always, rocks on.

What do you do on a bad day? Any advice to impart? Do share.

Top 10 things I won't miss as my kids get older

A few of my friends are pregnant or have just recently had babies.

Good for them.

Holding those snuggly-wuggly newborns is nice and all, but doesn't do a thing for my maternal instinct. I am done. Finished. There is absolutely no desire to reproduce. This is a good thing, because based on family history, my body will hit menopause a good ten years earlier than the average woman. I'm likely at the start of perimenopause as we speak; and dammit, I'm absolutely fine with that. It means that, even if a rogue sperm should escape the would-be Alcatraz of my husband's vasectomy, it will soon discover a pile of dust that used to be my eggs, and no embryo shall come of it.

However, as the Gremlins Three gradually leave behind their individual "little kid" stages, I'm met with the occasional bit of sadness. I give away Spawnling's too-small clothes knowing that he's growing far too quickly. I put books and toys in a garage sale bin that my children will never use again. I look at paint colours in their rooms and realize we may need to change them soon to suit their maturity levels. I go through baby pictures and get a little teary at the sweet little beings they used to be (before they started coming up with exciting and original ways to torture their parents).

All that aside, I'm so pleased to be done with diapers, night after sleepless night, teething, screaming sick babies who can't tell me what's wrong, and even breastfeeding (a total of seven years, I'll proudly announce to anyone who asks... or who doesn't. Whatever). Yes, it's good to have my body back and my bed (mostly) back. I've earned my stripes, thank you very much.

There are many other things I won't miss, either. Here are the first 10 that come to mind. Can you think of others?

1. Exhaustion

Evening hits me like a Mac truck with a driver who's high on barbiturates. It's not tired I'm feeling; it's a whole new level of fatigue unknown to those who don't serve little masters all day, every day, for thirteen years straight. To those parents who seem to have it all together - clean house, well-behaved children, solid relationship, fruitful career - I ask you: What are you on, and did you get it from the truck driver? More importantly, can I have some?

2. Stress

Is parenting ever not stressful? No no, I mean, when you're not high on barbiturates? What I would give for a full day when I don't have to deal with some kind of child-induced upheaval. The best laid plans are often laid to rest in a matter of minutes and there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe being a control freak with a vision of what our day should look like doesn't help. Yet, I never seem to learn. I just keep hitting my head against the same wall of frustration as I try to reason with a child who is too young to reason, one who is too explosive to reason, and one who is too pubescent to reason. Silly Maven.

3. Bedtime Routines

I use the word "routine" lightly. It's more of a patchwork attempt at salvaging the last of our sanity stores in time to spend at least a couple of hours together without being asked for one more glass of milk, one more slice of cheese, one more story, or one more cuddle. These days, Intrepid brushes his teeth, gets his pajamas on, says goodnight and goes to bed. We've had a piece of this independence pie and can't wait until those are our evenings all the time. I'm looking forward to the days when the only bedtime routine I need to follow is my own.

4. Noise

This could have been grouped with stress but I believe it deserves its own category. With two hearing impaired children and a three-year-old infatuated with the sound of his own voice, this is a loud household. The television is louder, the music is louder, the fights are louder, the singing is louder... Well, you get the idea. And as someone who needs quiet for any shred of creativity to blossom, the near-constant loudness factor makes me all twitchy-like. Twitching doesn't help in the sex appeal department. I feel like my hotness is wasted when my eyelid is fluttering.

5. What's a Vacation?

Oh, you mean that time when two-thirds of my children are not in school? That's not a vacation, people: that's pure chaos. And those rare times we actually get away to somewhere that is not our own city? You got it: foreign chaos. Overwhelmed gremlins who are completely off schedule and don't know what to do with themselves resulting in overwhelmed parents who are trying their best to justify the cost of this would-be stress reducer. No, we don't do vacations very often at all. Twice in thirteen years, to be exact. We're going to wait until Spawnling is at least five or six before attempting a big one. I envy the parents who's children travel well, I really do. You're very lucky. I'm thinking the truck driver may have something to do with your "good luck," though. Just sayin'.

6. Dirt

Filth. Smears. Stains. Smells. Everywhere. Enough said.

7. The Overgrown Thing I Call a "Lawn"

Somewhere in my front yard there are gardens. Unfortunately, they are being molested by an insane amount of weeds. But it's alright: you can't see the gardens anyway because of the long grass that should have been cut last week but wasn't because we were too busy. The good news? A lot of the toys littering the front yard are buried in said grass. Actually, between hidden toys and gardens, this overgrown lawn thing might not be so bad after all.

8. Playdates

These are such a crap shoot. Let's get two or more kids together and they can play nicely while the moms drink coffee and get a bit of a break. What a good idea! Oh, except when the kids don't play nicely/won't share/push or shove or kick or scratch each other/break things/injure themselves. Then, everyone is more stressed out than when they were before and, tragically, the coffee goes cold. Swell. Know what I want? Coffee without the playdates. Actual conversation not involving several dozen "excuse me for a minute"s. Is that so wrong?

9. Scheduled Date Nights

"Honey, would you like to go out on Saturday night?"
"Sure! Sounds wonderful. Let's do it."
"Okay, we just need to make sure someone can babysit and that the kids are fed and bathed and ready for bed and that the babysitter doesn't cancel at the last minute and that nobody gets really sick right before our big date night so we don't have to cancel. Oh, and we have to be back by 10:30."
"I'm... looking forward to it, I guess."
"Me too, I think."

10. Barf

This had to get a mention. I hate barf. I hate stomach bugs. I especially hate stomach bugs in little kids who can't anticipate and can't aim. Our couch has told me it feels violated.

Must go. It's been chaos for the last 30 minutes. Loud, tantrumy chaos. Thankfully, no barf. One must be grateful for the little things.

Some Updates on the Incredible Gutsy

Everyone wants to know about Gutsy.

Gutsy, Gutsy, Gutsy.

It's all about Gutsy. Never mind how The Maven is doing. Never mind about her dumb anniversary or usurped trips to the grocery store. Who cares about that? Let's talk about a child in crisis, like that's somehow more important.

Fine: I'll indulge your disturbing show of empathy for seven-year-olds and tell you about what's going on in the realm of the Middle Gremlin. You may want to put your change and personal belongings in a zipped up pocket and keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times. It's been a couple of weeks and there is some updating to be had.

Things are going very well at school. This isn't a huge change for Gutsy, because school is not a place where he usually has major issues. Since he has my genius brain (and incredible good looks), the kid is destined for success just like me, his millionaire mother.

Oh, right. Never mind. I'm walking proof that perfection doesn't equal success. I guess I'll have to work hard for reasonable earnings my entire life like all those people who are less perfect than I am. Who says life is fair?

Anyway, back to Gutsy: He's now in the English stream and really enjoying it. I think he needed the freedom to be chatty about things without worrying about expressing himself in a new language. He can be a bit of a motormouth - no idea where he gets it from, honest.

Today, he's presenting an "Expert of the Day" project he worked very hard on. He chose the subject "Pro Movie Making" and included a film he made of Intrepid interviewing him about - you guessed it - making movies. He added in a FBI warning, a PG-13 rating, some sound effects, captions and credits. He's had several projects in the French Immersion program, but I practically needed a cattle prod to get him motivated enough to work on them. This motivation is a very positive sign for our little man. It tells me we made the right decision to switch him back to English.

We have a wonderful behavior tech at the school who is now working with Gutsy daily. They're making comic strips every afternoon to talk about how his day went. She's doing some simple exercises with him to work on his anger and frustration levels. The added bonus is that he can decompress a little with her before coming home. This may add years to my life, and I'm only kind of joking.

The last few days, Gutsy's claws have remained mostly retracted after school, which is a huge change from the hurricane mood swings happening just a handful of weeks ago. He does still have his moments - like when he got in a fight with one of his best friends last Tuesday and erupted in a way that scared the socks off me - but things are improving overall.

This isn't to say that Gutsy isn't still Gutsy. He was born with a personality and we need to work within the confines of it. He's always been an explosive kind of kid and that likely won't go away anytime soon. Transitions are difficult and he has a certain amount of rigidity when it comes to routine, foods, clothes, etc. That's just who he is, and with the right amount of gentle guidance, I see him becoming a creative, meticulous, responsible and reliable adult. Gutsy is the type of kid who will grow up to do great things if we can help his confidence grow. He just needs love, understanding and consistency (and mommy needs copious amounts of coffee.)


Speaking of which, if I hear one more person suggest that we're not consistent enough/don't show Gutsy who's boss enough/aren't in control enough, I'm going to get all up in their grill. I know they're trying to help, but that type of "help" isn't very helpful. Contrary to popular belief, Geekster and I have watched Super Nanny, too. We realize that letting a child run the house can lead to screaming and tantrums and all sorts of rotten behaviour. We have been doing this for a few years, you know. Heck, parenting is my full-time job. If I let the Gremlins Three run the house, I would have been strung up by my ankles and pelted to death with potatoes a long time ago.

Gutsy's issue is not that his parents are complacent. Geekster and I were laughing about that the other night and saying we wish that were the case; it would be much easier to solve the problem if it were all our fault. However, we have a child who isn't in control of his emotions as much as he probably should be at this age. He's anxious and quick to anger. Watching him snap is not only stressful for everyone, but terribly heartbreaking. He's a good kid with a lot of love, and yet he can turn in an instant when his brain just can't take anymore. This is a biological issue, not a parenting one.

If I don't haul Gutsy off to a corner for a time-out when he's yelling and jumping up and down and stomping his feet, it's not because I'm not in control of the situation. When his dad speaks gently to him when Gutsy is screaming back in anger, it's not because he's weak. What we're doing is helping our son get the words out of his overwhelmed little body so that he can calm down faster without further escalating the situation. The goal is that next time he'll be closer to using his words instead of exploding and feel safe enough to do so. The best part is that this method is working. It's working so much better than showing him who's boss and demanding he stop his retched behaviour right now. A quick fix isn't the solution here. Believe me, staying calm and talking him down is significantly harder than giving a time-out. It takes a lot more effort to extract those feelings from him than removing privileges and making up reward charts. It's positively fucking exhausting, actually. Complacency isn't even in our vocabulary right now.

So please, if you want to make ignorant assumptions feel free to do so but keep them to yourself. Much like any parent of special needs kids, we have enough on our plates without having to explain ourselves to those who are quick to point fingers. We have no time or energy for that right now.

Why yes, I do feel much better after saying that. Thanks for asking.

Another thing we did to simplify our family life is get rid of the playroom. Sounds counterproductive, doesn't it? How did that make things easier? A few ways:

1. We purged about half the toys in our house, making cleanup easier

2. We moved the office into the old playroom

3. We moved Gutsy into the old office and left Spawnling in his existing room, giving all three gremlins their own room

4. Now everyone has a quiet space to get away and go to sleep

5. Because the old-playroom-turned-office is rather large, I was able to move my desk out of the bedroom and join Geekster in here, all professional-like. Booyaka!

Gutsy loves his new room. He goes in there after school to unwind before joining everyone else in the common rooms. There has been far less fighting and far more harmony in the three days since we moved everyone around. And yes, that means the move was done Mother's Day weekend. Believe me, peace in an otherwise chaotic household is a gift that keeps on giving. Who needs flowers?

We now also have a social worker at our local health department who will be coordinating any help we get for Gutsy. They must have fast-tracked him in, because I was told it would likely take a few months. We now start the difficult process of finding a therapist who understands that children with hearing loss often have behavioral issues that mimic ADD/ADHD and other similar disorders. That therapist will likely cost a great deal of money, so I'm thinking I might start that prostitution ring I've been contemplating.

Either that, or write the bestselling novel in my head. Prostitution is probably easier and quicker, but I don't know if I can bring myself to wear faux fur in the coming Summer months. Nobody likes a sweaty hooker.

All this to say that things are slowly getting better but are by no means resolved. There are times when Geekster and I look at each other and wonder how we're going to get through that particular day, when I call someone sobbing because I'm exhausted and don't know if I can take anymore, when I sit by Gutsy's bed at night wondering how we got here and how we can make things better for the boy I love so much. But overall, he's happier, he smiles more, he breaks down less. He has a bit of a twinkle in his eye that I missed so much.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe things are going to be okay. Having hope is definitely progress.

There's your damn update. Now can we talk about me again?

(All pictures by my sister, owner of Trinque Photography. You can find her Facebook fan page here. If you live in the Ottawa, Canada area, this girl is for hire! I keep telling her she needs to do this photography thing full-time but she won't listen to me. Figures.)

How do I reconnect with my chid?

I love all of my gremlins three, as I'm sure you know. They're my special little guys, even that stinky teenager with the braces who isn't so little anymore and forgets to take out the garbage. I'd even go so far as to say we're enmeshed in a potentially co-dependent relationship, what with me staying home, foregoing any hope of a decent career, and basically dedicating my entire life to their care and feeding.

But love them as I may, there's one in particular I'm having a very difficult time connecting with these days, even after going to that seminar about tantrums, and even after understanding why he tantrums, and even after trying out some of the anti-tantrum techniques during his meltdowns.

Look, I know he's a good kid. An honest to goodness amazing and gorgeous boy. He does really well in school, has no discipline issues there, is polite, has friends, comes home smiling every day. He likes to help his little brother, has a great deal of compassion, appreciates all of life's little wonders. He's smart as a whip, has the mind of an inventor and an incredible imagination. I'm fiercely proud to be Gutsy's mama.

But then he comes home, starts to tantrum over the slightest litle thing and I forget all of that, and my blood starts to boil, and I feel overwhelmed and embarrassed and exhausted and on the verge of tears. I ask myself why I can calm down my three-year-old a lot easier than my seven-year-old, why 'no' is less of an issue with him, why he seems to accept things so much easier.

The speaker at the seminar said not to expect miracles; children who are prone to explosions will eventually grow out of them and figure out new and ways to cope, and that all we can do is try to guide them to the other side of it faster by not making it worse.

But he's seven now and why hasn't that magical reasoning happened yet? I'm so very tired, and to make things worse I don't drink. Man, if I did, I'd be chugging it down all the time, every afternoon beginning with a couple of shots 10 minutes before Gutsy gets off the bus, swigging a few beers in between outbursts, and ending with a glass of wine after dinner.

(My inner alcoholic would like to take this opportunity to point out that my disease is ever present and dormant within me, and that if you do something similar to the above example, there is help for people like us.)

I'm exhausted, folks. Completely and utterly emotionally spent. I love him tremendously, enormously, ridiculously lots, and yet I can't seem to bridge that gap with him. I don't have a marital problem, I have a relationship with my middle child that is dangerously on the rocks.

It's just not fair, you know. He was the baby I wanted so very badly. I begged my husband for another child shortly after Intrepid was born. When we realized we were dealing with secondary infertility, I went to great lengths to make my body release her damn eggs. We suffered a miscarriage in the process (and many more undiagnosed ones, I'm quite sure), but five years after the journey began, he came into the world completely perfect.

And sleepy. He slept through the night and pretty much through most of the day for nearly six months. He totally fooled us -- we assumed he would be our 'quiet one.' Ah, ignorance, how wonderful you were. Like many 80's bands, I wish you'd never left.

Every day Gutsy tantrums, and every day he makes his little brother cry in fear from the ear-piercing screams and his older brother stomp off into the other room because he's too overwhelmed to handle Gutsy's moods anymore. Every day his dad and I get stressed to the point of silence because we know if we communicate with each other it'll likely be snippy and we'll just end up arguing. Every day we wonder when the next tantrum is going to be and we brace ourselves for it, praying for the day when he's going to finally figure out this just doesn't work, because it's doesn't. We don't give in to his demands just because he's yelling - I wish we did because we'd know how to solve the issue. See, he knows he's out of control and he feels really bad about it afterward. It hurts him that he's hurting us; he feels sorry and he apologizes. He says 'I don't know how to control myself when I get angry.'

It breaks my heart.

The worst part? I don't think he likes me very much, and not just when he's angry. I'm not exactly cool and collected with him all the time, as much as I'm trying since that seminar. He prefers his dad, who seems to have a magic touch with him. They understand each other, while I'm the outsider trying desperately to do the right thing. I blow up too quickly, I come down too hard, and it doesn't help at all; it only makes it worse. I just get my guard up really fast and I lash back. I'll yell back sometimes, and then we both just cry.

If I feel I've failed at anything so far, it's at being Gutsy's mom. There are a lot of things I feel bad about in my life, but not being able to help him navigate these stormy emotional waters is incredibly painful and demoralizing as a mom. I seem to be doing a good job with Intrepid and Spawnling, so why not Gutsy? Where am I going wrong?

I've been trying to blog for days. I have all sorts of ideas and thoughts and things I want to say. But I had to write this first because it's been weighing heavily on my mind. When I said goodnight to him this evening, I felt a familiar wave of relief that he's now calm and in bed and we're done for the night. It's sad that I feel that more than warmth and affection. My emotions are clouded by his behaviour. That's unacceptable to me.

Gutsy is one of the most important people in my life, and yet I can't seem to connect or relate to him much at all these days. And we have to find it; that magical something we used to have and that I have with his brothers. If we don't, I fear for his teen years. He needs to know I'm there for him and he needs to feel safe around me well before he hits puberty. I don't know how to foster that, exactly, but I'm desperately trying.

Admittedly, this was more of a tear fest for me than my usual type of post, but I had to write it out. I'm feeling so fragile and upset because I know there's no magic fix. He is who he is, I am who I am, and somehow we have to figure out how to be good together. I honestly want that more than anything.

I'm not looking for 'how to discipline' advice because this is not a discipline issue, but I could use some support and 'how to reconnect' suggestions. This sad and hurting mom is all ears.

Thanks for reading.

This is how we do it (or how we became attachment parents)

Know what's really cool about having a thirteen-year-old?

Introducing him to classic movies like Die Hard without cringing at every swear word or gunshot.

Playing an old Super Mario game and kicking his ass - after you play the new Super Mario game and he kicks your ass, of course.

Seeing the great kid he's becoming, and beginning to see the great man he'll soon be.

Admittedly, that last one was pretty cheesy. If I wasn't so doggone smitten with my eldest gremlin, I might puke a little in my mouth.

****

When Intrepid was born, we did a lot of things that felt perfectly natural to us as new parents. When he wanted to nurse, I would nurse him; I wouldn't go by what I thought his schedule should be, or what the books said. When I realized how much he would cry when I put him down, I carried him around in my arms or in a sling - I never left him to cry. And I quickly figured out that we both slept better together, so I brought him into bed with Geekster and I.

Nursing on demand, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping. Nowdays, people have a name for that stuff: Attachment Parenting. If it had that name back in 1996, I didn't know it. I just knew what being repeatedly smacked over the head by my instincts felt like, and they were telling me I had to listen to that baby boy, because he would tell me what he needed if I was willing to listen.

The naysayers roll their eyes at the concept of attachment parenting. They think it's some crazy tree-hugger crap brought on by overly-obsessed mothers. After all, why would you want to give up so much personal freedom in the name of your baby? As a 20-year-old mother, didn't doing all that stuff just cramp my style, anyway?

Not, really no. I would have needed a style - and probably a life in which to show it off - in order for it to be cramped. The Maven wasn't always all that, my precious lambs. She's like a fine wine or a good cheese, getting significantly more awesome as she ages. At the time, my life involved Geekster, Intrepid, and a handful of friends who hadn't completely vanished at the first sign of my pregnant belly. I had a lot of time to figure out how I was not going to conform to society's parenting standards - always a rebel, I am.

But the truth is, that quiet time was the best thing that ever happened to us as a family. We were young, open minded, and willing to do things that felt right and made sense to us. Those early days laid the foundation for how we would raise our all three of our gremlins - by responding to their needs, listening to our instincts, and making that bond as strong as it can be.

Ok, and maybe a wee bit of screaming, and some time-outs, and copious threats to throw out the Wii if they keep fighting and interrupting my damn mommy time. But hey, nobody's perfect.

****

Intrepid is growing up at a breakneck pace. He's almost as tall as I am, and I can slip on his boots with ease. He goes to high school and deals with bullies and druggies and way too many girls already looking for boyfriends (back off, you hormonally-charged succubi!). He'll be driving in three years, voting in five, and getting exposed to a variety of tricky and often dangerous situations far too soon for my comfort level.

This is it; This is the time when we have to start slowly letting go of our baby boy, and hope we've done a good job. Raising a teenager is terrifying stuff. It makes every other stage to date look like a cakewalk.

(I suddenly got an urge for cake. Thankfully, we don't have any.)

But there's something else lingering in our household, and it's not just the stench of unwashed teenage hair: That pesky bond we've forged with our ever-sprouting boy seems to have strong roots. Intrepid touches base with his dad and I every day after school. He's confident, kind, proud of who he is, and enjoys having his friends over - even if I'm cracking lame jokes with them in the kitchen. He wants his parents around, hugs us often, and tells us how much he loves us. He's a good kid who enjoys being part of our family, as crazy as it is (and you know it's crazy if I'm in it!)

I don't lose sleep - yet; There are many more years to come. But I'd like to think that what we're seeing is some of the payoff from the years we've spent making him a big priority. From the time he was fresh from the womb, Intrepid has known he's very important to us and that what he thinks and feels matters.

You don't have to necessarily be an AP-style parent to have a strong bond with your child, of course. Even though that's what I do - which obviously makes it a freaking awesome way - there are other ways to do it, I'm sure. If a child truly knows how much they're loved and cared for - no matter how that feeling is achieved - good things will come of it.

I read a fantastic quote yesterday that said the following:

"Remember, you're not managing an inconvenience; You're raising a human being." - Kitti Franz

I could probably stand to remember that a little bit more, especially when my little inconveniences human beings leave the Lego out for me to step on in the middle of the night. Between you and me and the internet, I found it easier to do this attachment parenting gig before they started talking back. I think I've moved from 'attachment parent' to 'attached but realistic enough to admit I get stressed out and contemplate running off to an adult-only island parenting.'

But I hope we're doing enough, so that, when we gently nudge each of them from the nest, they will soar - knowing they can always fly back when needed for a little guidance and love.

Man. That was even more of a barf-fest than the last cheesy thing I said. That's what happens when I blog late at night. My bitch filter gets flaky and I start being all nice and loving and junk.

In Which The Maven Admits Her Biggest Fear

It's been a rough few weeks. I've been stressed out, and, as Meanie mentioned this weekend, I don't seem like myself. That gorgeous chick is absolutely right: I am not as much the bubbly wonder that is The Maven these days. There's more of a raw quality to me right now. A darker quality. It's kind of badass, really. Like some punk chick with a mohawk.

I've been juggling several stressful things over the holidays and beyond. Some of them have resolved, some will take more time. We finally signed the papers for our re-mortgage, which has greatly reduced worries over paying the bills. Our plumbing issues were fixed without the use of a plumber (we were really strapped for cash after Christmas, like most people), even though it took a week to track down the problem, and I had to help my husband take apart and unclog a waste pipe in the basement. Major barf-o-rama. I will never complain about how much plumbers cost again. That being said, I felt incredibly proud of myself for doing that. Almost goddess-like, even. A stinky goddess who smells like she just had an orgy with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in their sewer den of love, but a goddess nonetheless.

Whatever stress remains is just stuff I'm still dealing with periodically from my past - because there's a lot in my past that I have yet to work through. It sounds so new age, doesn't it? Like I'm taking the hand of my inner child and guiding her gently down the road of love, or some other thing that makes me want to gag.

But here's the thing: it's imperative I do this touchy-feely crap. If I don't, I won't stay sober. I haven't touched a mood-altering substance* for over eighteen years. There's a reason I became a full-blown addict at the age of fourteen; that's not exactly a common time in one's life to be needing a treatment center. Maintaining my sobriety requires a peeling back of the layers every now and then. Right now, the layers are peeled all the way back and I'm dumping a whole bunch of antibiotics in there to clean the wound. It's an ongoing process - sometimes it takes a lot of treatment, sometimes only a little. I had to hijack the proverbial medical supply truck for this one.

Proverbial. That means I didn't actually hijack anything. Please don't call the feds. I don't like the idea of jail. I may act tough, but I would totally end up being someone's bitch in there.

Is there a proverb involving a medical truck? Well, whatever. It's Monday morning, I've had half a coffee, and I'm blogging for the first time in two weeks. Cut me some slack, ok?

But there's a bigger reason why I need to do this ugly feeling stuff. Three far more important reasons than anything else I can think of: Intrepid, Gutsy, and Spawnling.

*****

One day last week, Gutsy was in a real mood, and so was I. The two of us combined our anger in the kitchen, and conjured up a perfect storm of conflict. It was epic. When he yelled, it was hoarse, and he banged his fists. When I yelled, I went up an octave, my face felt hot and I jumped up and down on the spot, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

I yelled so loudly I shocked even myself. It wasn't just a mom yell - goodness knows I'm mastered the art of that - but it was rageful, like a volcano erupting. I stopped, abruptly, and looked Gutsy. He stared at me, terrified, not daring to move.

I ran over to him and said "Oh, Gutsy. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I just yelled like that. I'm having a really bad day, buddy, and I'm taking my stress out on you. I'm your mom; I should never do that to you." And he cried because I had scared him so much, and I cried because that was so wrong of me, and held him tight. For, it seemed to me that I could do nothing worse in the world than take out my own problems on an innocent little boy.

I felt like absolute garbage for the rest of the day. I still feel really bad. My stress is mine, and not something my children should feel the brunt of.

My biggest fear, beyond anything else in the world, is doing a bad job at this parenting thing.

I know I'm not perfect, and I'm not going to do a perfect job. I'm going to make a lot of mistakes and I'm going to have to apologize a fair bit. And there are days when I realize half an hour before school that someone doesn't have a clean shirt, or we're out of bread for lunch-making. There are days when the gremlins eat a stupendously unhealthy meal of tofu nuggets and fries in front of a Sponge-Bob episode. And on some weekends, the boys stay in pajamas all day while their friends are out snowshoeing the trails at 8AM with their motivated parents.

Have I mentioned I'm not perfect?

In short, it's been a very long year, and, at risk of sounding like I have a reservation at Pity Party Pizza Palace, table for one, the hits just sort of kept coming for a good length of time. But that's no excuse for yelling at Gutsy like that. I need to pick myself up, dust myself off, deal with my shit, and do my part to raise a confident boy who knows he's loved and safe in his home. I owe he and his brothers that, as their mom.

After school, the middle gremlin and I are going to work on a french presentation due tomorrow. He needs to explain how to make his favourite recipe to his class, complete with yummy samples. We need to make about thirty cupcakes, and take some pictures, and put them on a poster, and make sure he remembers the words for everything... This should be a good test of my ability to cope with stress.

****

So that's where I'm at these days, although I'm getting better all the time. I have a feeling that I'll be back to my regular state of awesome in no time.

I would write more, but I have a playdate to take my rather demanding Monday morning Spawnling to. In an attempt to distract me, he's pretending to make his stuffed cat poo on my bed. How lovely.



*I would like to point out that caffeine is a mood-altering drug that is frequently used by yours truly.

Quiz Time: Should You Stay Home to Raise Your Kids?

A friend of mine who's expecting her first child wrote to me the other day asking my thoughts on staying home. She's trying to get a balanced picture; the pros and cons; the ups and downs; the good, the bad and the tired (there's a LOT of tired). I commend her for really thinking this through. It's not a black and white issue, that's for sure.

I gave her a very honest view of my life as a stay-at-home-mom with over thirteen years under my belt. I have many war wounds from the field, but also many medals.

Ok, I lied: I have no medals whatsoever. In fact, I don't even have a damn pay stub - probably the most significant drawback of the whole "unpaid work" thing. And the only war wounds I have are in the form of cellulite amassed from having too many "popcorn and a movie" afternoons with the gremlins. It's a risky job, but someone's gotta do it.

The thing about staying home is that it's not suited to everyone. Surely there are personality types that should probably avoid it altogether. So, what I should have done for my friend and others who question their parenting future, was use my wealth of experience to create a quiz for the potential stay-at-home-parent.

So, I am. Like, right now.

After years of agonizing over the choice women's lib has granted us, anyone can take The Maven's highly scientific self-test to help guide them down the right path at one of life's biggest forks. Gosh, I'm fabulous, aren't I?

Get your pens ready, kids! Here we go.

Question 1. A stay-at-home-parent is:
a) someone who dedicates themselves to full-time parenting instead of working outside the home
b) an aging parent who stays in your home and watches Matlock reruns while you're at work
c) a type of tropical fruit

Question 2. How do you feel about parenting?
a) becoming a parent has always been a priority for me
b) children are like really cute handbags, except they sometimes poop themselves
c) hey, did you notice 'a parent' sounds like 'apparent', and if you read the first answer out loud it sounds really, really funny? ...Uh, anyone got snacks? I've totally got the munchies...

Question 3. How important is your career to you?
a) I'd be willing to take some time off to be home with my kids
b) important enough that I can't imagine not going to work every day
c) the minute my baby starts making retirement contributions in my name, I'll quit my day job And freak out a little, because that would be really creepy. A baby at a bank? Totally random!

Question 4. How financially secure are you?
a) we pay all our bills and could probably manage on one income if we scaled back on the extras
b) we eat a lot of boxed macaroni and cheese around here
c) no, dude, like seriously. A lot of it. Sometimes with ketchup if we're feeling fancy

Question 5. Kids are really fun:
a) all the time! Kids are awesome, and I love spending my days with them
b) Before 9 and after 5. I might go a little wonky like that Maven chick if I didn't get a break
c) on YouTube. Only on YouTube.

Question 6. My idea of a perfect weekday morning is:
a) drinking a coffee in my jammies while I read a book with a snuggly toddler
b) getting kudos from my team for presenting a kick ass product idea. Go team me!
c) cruisin' for bitches.... Wait, what quiz is this again?

Question 7. A playgroup is:
a) a group of children and caregivers who have scheduled get-togethers so everyone can socialize
b) a synonym for "germ factory." Gross me out.
c) a group that puts on plays. Hence "play" and "group". Duh, stupid.

Question 8. My self-worth is based on:
a) who I am as a person, and very little to do with my career choice
b) how much money I make, or how important I am at my job
c) how many people tell me I look like Paris Hilton on a diet

Question 9. The idea of staying home to raise a family
a) interests me
b) makes me cringe
c) makes me want to tear out my uterus

Question 10. If I am home and looking for something to do, baby and I can visit:
a) a park
b) "baby and me" viewing at the local cinema
c) "baby and me" viewings at the local peep show

Now, add up how many a, b and c answers you have.

If you have primarily a answers, you are definitely a strong candidate for this rewarding yet terribly exhausting job. If you don't like coffee, it will make you like it. But it's also awesome in its own way, like you can eat whatever you want and don't get coworkers asking you to join their Weight Watchers group every Tuesday at lunch. And don't forget to bring a healthy salad! Gag me.

If you have primarily b answers, you could stay at home, but there is a chance you'll end up on Dr. Phil as one of those moms who orders prescription painkillers on the internet to cope with the tantrums. Just sayin'. There are plenty of good reasons not to stay home full-time. I've considered and reconsidered them many times. In the end, I'm still here and I like it, but it's no picnic (unless you're having an actual picnic, which we do quite often, come to think of it...)

If you primarily scored c answers, run - don't walk - to the nearest permanent birth control clinic. Pick up pamphlets on the subject and give it serious consideration. Cruisin' for bitches works a lot better when you don't have a car seat or two in the back of your minivan (trust me).

I hope this highly detailed test helped you sort out one of life's biggest questions.

You are most welcome. I accept payment in comments or coffee. Or both. Both is best.