The Secret to Why We Have Kids

Today, Spawnling "graduated" from his preschool program. I put that word in quotes because he'll be back for another year in the fall; this time for four days each week instead of two (thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou Gods of Maternal Alone Time! All those slaughtered goats and virgins have finally made you pay attention to me.)

Attitude? Spawnling? Never.

The graduate and his biggest brother

I got a little teary for a couple of minutes when they were singing their cute little songs and standing in their cute little rows with their cute little certificates. We only have one more year of having a preschooler. It's going to be hard to say goodbye to this stage of life, forever. If I could bottle up his four-year-old-ness and keep it for always, I most definitely would. Today, he told his teachers he wants to be a beekeeper/cop. Not just a beekeeper and not just a cop. He also told me that the woman who turned the corner was a "very stupid person" because she didn't use her "orange flashing lights" to tell us she was turning. At least he has the cop thing down. I admire his sense of justice.

Know what I don't admire? His tantrums. His outbursts. His unwavering attitude every time he gets tired and his filters become penetrable. Tonight, as we were finishing up some swimming pool mooching (my favourite summer sport), he decided to call his buddy "the stupidest friend ever," refuse to apologize, tell me he hates me, and then run outside, crying.

I'm contemplating chloroform and some ropes next time we go out. It would certainly make "it's time to leave" much simpler.

Anyway, since I'm still just a little bit mortified about McScreamy's departing monologue this evening, I need to remind myself why we have kids in the first place. Why we build these little yell-bots inside our bodies and let them rampage around for eighteen years under our watch.

This post is going to help.

And if it doesn't, there's always chocolate.

Found in Spawnling's backpack this week. Freaking adorable.

One of my favourite things about little kids is their artwork. Spawnling has always loved to draw, but his drawings were more like scribbles until about six months ago. Suddenly, the mess of colour became somewhat decipherable and meaningful. Here are some of his recent works:

A very scary monster (or me in the morning. Not sure which.)

Self-portrait complete with pig snout, Wolverine claws and a bad toupee

Spawnling with ebola-stricken mom and dad who are obviously bleeding from the eyes

Gutsy is more of a gadget guy; a creator of sorts. One day, his friend R was here with his sister, E. I guess Gutsy and R were trying to come up with the ultimate weapon against poor E. They went into his room and plotted. I found this in there after R & E had gone home:

All her base are belong to boobs.

But this morning - oh, this morning - I received a picture to my iPhone that had me sitting in my van on the side of the road and laughing until most of my makeup had run off my face. My friend's son, a kindergartener, brought a picture home that he had drawn. In it, he's hugging what looks to be an elephant.

I'm pretty sure this kind of hugging is illegal in most countries.

... Or, at least, he's spending some sort of, uh, quality time with the elephant. And the pachyderm seems to be enjoying it quite a bit, too, by the looks of that tongue. What a happy mammal and a very outgoing boy.

I need to, once again, thank said friend of allowing me not only the pleasure of seeing this picture, but for suggesting I blog about it. You can't make this shit up, people. You just can't. This is true, raw, somewhat suggestive art at its finest.

I would have paid any amount of money to be a fly on the wall when the teacher saw that drawing for the first time. Any. Amount. No joke.

And there you have it: This is why we have kids, and probably why teachers teach.

In which The Maven feels... lonely?

Hello? Anybody home? Maven? Didn't you say you would post more often so your sheeple wouldn't cry and find a new religion to believe in that does not revolve around some thirty-something chubby chick who lists her major turn on as "some dude showing up with a coffee in his hand"?

Forgive my lack of posting. Again. We are all sick, have been sick, or are about to get sick, depending on which member of the Maven family we're discussing. It's not so fun. I was the second victim after Germy the Teenager Wonderboy Intrepid brought home some grade 8 pestilence to share. Want to know what it was like? Think 24-48 hours of Alien meets The Exorcist meets some movie with really graphic toilet humour.

The worst part of the horror-fest was that, at one point on Saturday, I was so week that I couldn't even turn around in bed to grab the remote and change the channel. I spent several hours burning my braincells with terrible TLC reality shows. I used to love cupcakes and fondant. I really did. Now, when I close my eyes, I see annoying people with aprons having annoying conversations with equally annoying people who just happen to be making elaborate pastries. 

I feel victimized. 

Anyway, there have been some good things going on, too. It's not all cold sweats and dry toast.

On September 8th, 2010, all three of our baby gremlins went off to school simultaneously: Intrepid in grade 8, Gutsy in grade 2, and little Spawnling for his first day in a junior kindergarten program (which isn't technically JK because we don't have such things in Quebec. It's like glorified private preschool, but in an actual elementary school with recess, gym time and such). I took a picture to commemorate the glorious event.

Gutsy, Intrepid and Spawnling are all off to school for the first. time. ever. OMG.

There they are, smiling happily at a mom smiling happily back at them. Because, finally - after nearly fourteen years of having children at home - I am now eligible for two entire kid-free days all to myself.  How joyful! 

Right after this pic, I hugged Intrepid and sent him off to the teenage hell that the high school bus, whisked Gutsy off to elementary, and brought an excited Spawnling over to his preschool. When we got there, he had his first ever moment of hesitation. 

"Uh, Mom? I'm not so sure about this..." he said to me as we pulled up. 

"Why not, buddy?" I inquired.

His voice cracked, just a little. "Well, you know how I don't like to be alone."

It didn't take much reassuring to get him out of the van. I mean, this is Spawn. The kid is made for school, for socialization, for independence. He was craving this. That's just who he is. So, off he went, waving fondly as he walked up the stairs with his little backpack on. 

And there I was, all by myself. 

All by myself. 

I could do whatever I wanted! Because, suddenly, I had six hours twice a week to do what my temporarily-childless mind could conjure up: work in the garden, write an article, paint the baseboards, run a meth lab... The possibilities were endless! I should be happy! Elated! Over the moon with glee!

Except, well, I'm not quite there yet. He's done two full days of school with only a small cry at the end of first day because he worried about how he was going to get back home. He's thrilled to be going, so I should be thrilled, right? 

The truth is, I kind of miss him. The house feels lonely without him here. It's big and quiet and eerily clean. I can sit for far too long without interruption. I can go for coffee and not have to dig out change for a sprinkle donut. I can have a conversation without hearing "CAN YOU COME WIPE MY BUM NOW, MOMMY?" yelled from the bathroom in the middle of it. 

I miss him.

I'll get used to it, I know.  He loves his time away and I'll learn to love his time away, too. But right now, I miss him. He's my baby boy, and it's dawned on me that he's never going to be all mine again, you know? From now on, I will be sharing him with others.

After I picked him up today, he filled the air between us with details about everything he did at school. How he has a new friend and one of his other friends is being shy, and how the twin girls tried to steal the flowers he picked outside so he stuffed them into his raincoat pocket saying "they're for my mom, but I can pick some for you, too," and how they learned some new songs, and drew apples, and how he really loves school very much even when he misses me.

And I realized then, as he's saying all of this, that I am so grateful. Because, despite the financial bumps, the sometimes monotonous days, the endless cycle of child care and dishes and laundry, I would never trade the at-home years I've had with my boys, ever. I might grieve those early days, but that's because I've been able to experience that precious time; the wonder and the joy beneath the obvious humdrumness; the diamond in the rough. I am so lucky, and I know it. 

Of course there's the fighting and the tantrums and the messes and the stress and the tears and the sorry-we-can't-afford-that-right-nows. Those are all there, too. Hell, after the summer we just had at Casa Maven, those have been at the forefront of my mind -- possibly even ahead of coffee, if that's even possible. It's easy to get caught up in those things, as I often do (and you should thank me for it, because otherwise this blog would be all about the rainbows and puppy dogs of parenting, which is more nauseating than the stomach flu). 

But today? 

Well, today reminded me just how lucky I am to know what I'm going to be missing. 

Then, they came home and they decided to show me exactly what I was missing all day in all their dramatic flair:

What monkeys.

Yep, the gremlins three are growing up. I promise I'll figure out what to do with those two days each week. My womb might even stop aching enough for me to enjoy them. But in the meantime, I'll be not-so-secretly grateful that we still have two more years before Spawnling is in school full-time. I plan to savour every most the occasional the very best moments. 

And write about all the nerve-shattering rest of it for your amusement. You're welcome.