Methinks Someone's Going a Little Stir Crazy

I really thought I would be the one to lose it first.

Being so used to having umpteen balls up in the air at once as the domestic goddess/part-time employee/insanely popular woman I am, having to sit around and pretty much do nothing all the time makes me a wee bit twitchy.

If, for some reason, I managed to keep the flood of insanity at bay (trick: sandbags. Lots and lots of mental sandbags stacked impossibly high by the dedicated army reserve troops in my head), then my husband - the man doing all the chores, breaking up the heap of fights, battling the laundry monster, making all the meals - would be the first off to the loony bin.

So far, we're both okay. A little stressed, a little frustrated by my limitations and slower-than-anticipated recovery, but otherwise fine.

It's Spawnling I'm worried about.

I never suspected the four-year-old would be the one to snap. But when I hobbled into the kitchen this morning and was introduced to his latest invention, I quickly realized the boredom of being cooped up at home most of the time has started taking its toll. He's being creative, but a weird kind of creative. Observe.

Meet the Flossing Chair.

Prototype only, patent pending.

"Spawn," I asked. "What's this?"

"It's a flossing chair. Duh." he replied, somewhat annoyed by my ignorance.

"And what does one do on a flossing chair?" I inquired, curiously.

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Well, you obviously floss your teeth."

"See," he continued, as if he were talking to a really stupid monkey, "there's some sticky tack holding the floss up on the chair so it's easy to reach. And then there's a magazine you can read while you're sitting there, flossing."

Given the eye rolling and the sighing going on, this really stupid monkey figured she dare not ask how one flosses and flips through a magazine at the same time. Instead, I figured I would turn this into a dental hygiene lesson. "So... Does this mean you're going to start flossing now?"

If he were at all telekinetic, death would have come swiftly for me with that look. "Um, no."

I decided to leave Dr. Doom alone for awhile. Apparently someone pissed in his Crazy Man Wheaties this morning.

I think we need to start getting out more, or it's going to be a very long - albeit impressively creative - summer.

The Summer I Almost Gave Up Blogging

Oh, hello there. Are you still visiting this dusty old place?  Remember me? I used to post here fairly often before I was struck by the soul-crippling days of summer. And then vacation hit, the gremlins scuttled off their respective busses, and I was quickly buried by my seasonal responsibilities.

...What responsibilities? Did you seriously just ask me that? Do you read my posts?

Stay-at-home-moms work their aprons off when Summer hits. There is no time for bonbons. There is no time for daytime trash TV. We put on full protective gear and cute matching camo outfits and run into the fray for 2.5 months.

The tasks assigned to me over the summer included (but were not limited to): chambermaid, professional organizer, short order cook, event coordinator, life coach, lifeguard, personal shopper, personal assistant, complimentary shuttle van driver, payroll manager, and overworked referee --very overworked referee. And I did all of this for the low, low cost of my sanity.

By mid-August, I had completely lost the will to live my ability to blog. Being able to write involves having time to sit down and think about stuff. It involves not having to get up every two minutes to break up a fight, get someone a snack, or help someone figure out how to not be bored.

I seriously contemplated giving up blogging altogether. I really did. I thought that perhaps my time to share the crazy in my life with the world was coming to the end of its natural life. That maybe I should shut the whole operation down and turn this subprime piece of internet real estate into a mail order bride outlet: "Canadian Wives: We Got Your Beaver Right Here."

Why are you laughing? That part wasn't funny.  I was talking about closing my blog down. It's a sad thought that is undoubtedly reducing you to big, wet tears, right? Right?

I was at a very low point in my creative life: feeling burned out, overwhelmed, with no hope in sight.

And then, yesterday, just as I had given up all hope of ever being awesome again, this little yellow dot appeared on the horizon.

Was it a canary?

A loud banana?

The Man with the Yellow Hat?

Nay, friends.  It was the school bus. The wonderful school bus, packed to the brim with wonderful children going to wonderful school!

And just like that, I felt fucking wonderful again!

So, here I am, writing a blog post on day 2 of many, many glorious days of public education. Am I subpar parent for the joy I felt when I could hand two of my children over to the system five days a week? Probably. Do I feel guilty about it? Not really, no. I'm over feeling guilty about parenting stuff. I could find things to feel guilty about every single day. Do I want to be depressed my entire life? Do I want to feel like a failure 365 days a year? No. So I turn the guilt dial way, way down.

Then, I drown the rest of my conscience out with coffee. It's better for everyone that way.

And, with my guilt dial being held down with a popsicle stick and half a roll of duct tape, I did another great thing: I enrolled Spawnling in a pre-kindergarten program 2 days a week. That's six hours on Monday and six hours on Wednesday for a grand total of 12 hours each week, or 48 hours every month. If I do the math - and believe me, I have - that will be about 480 hours this school year that are entirely dedicated to The Maven and her craft. Minus sick days, of course.

But who's counting?

Don't look at me like that. He's ready, you know. He's been begging me to go to school for two years. And besides, after well over a decade of raising kids full-time, I could use a little scheduled breathing room. I deserve this. I've earned it. Been there, done that, have the after hours comfort food binge rolls to prove it.  Stop judging me! I don't need your repressive eyes upon my person.

... Oops. I think someone moved the popsicle stick. Anyone see the tape?

The Kool-Aid Jammers Fiasco and Other Lowlights of the Week

What a week! I'm as exhausted as an extra in a Tae-Bo DVD. But I want to blog and I know that is so not going to happen tomorrow. We have a birthday party and I have to finish up a contract for that money stuff we spend way too much of.

The nice thing about night blogging is that I don't really think about what I'm writing. It just flows... Sometimes like a roaring river, sometimes like a sticky sewer line. Either way, I don't have to destroy any brain cells in the process. They're in short supply these days.

I know the highlight of the week was most definitely BOLO night, (here's a pic of me blogging out loud! Thanks jhscrapmom!) but the lowlight has a fair number of contenders. Let's take a look at the contestants, shall we?

Well, the van caught on fire and could have killed Spawnling and me. That was a double dose of unpleasantries right there. It doesn't get much lower than that... Or does it?

Oh, it does. All my children are home. Did that register? ALL MY CHILDREN ARE HOME. They are not at school. They are not in somebody else's care. They are in my home, fighting. They fight so much that if Super Nanny was here she would be rocking back and forth in a corner at the end of the day, sobbing and considering a career shift into something soothing, like pottery.

Also, all my children are... Wait. I said that already. Well, screw it. It deserves at least two paragraphs points. This is serious stuff right here, yo.

Not only are they fighting, but they're ganging up on me and bringing their friends along for the fun. On the way home from a perfectly lovely morning - a morning that I put off working and going to the passport office for so my kids could frolic at a splash park and play with their buddies - I had four children giggling and yelling "WE WANT SOMETHING! WE WANT SOMETHING! WE WANT SOMETHING!" all the way through the drive-thru. I couldn't hear a word the magic Tim Hortons speaker was asking me. I winged it and repeated the order twice, said "yes" a few times and "thank you" once. I have absolutely no idea how she even heard me or got the order correctly with all that racket in the background, but she's obviously a seasoned pro at handling unruly minivan mobs. And no, my friend Tracey and I did not get anything for the hollering horned ones in the backseat. We've been around the park a few times by now. I pulled my usual stunt of turning on Mr. Radio and turning him up just enough to drown out most of the protesting. It mostly worked until Spawnling threw a fit because he remembered I promised he could sit in the far back on the way home and was furious that I had completely forgotten. Never mind that he also forgot. Naturally, it's my fault. Sadly, the music doesn't go high enough to drown out three-year-old wailing.

Speaking of Spawnling, another fun time we had was yesterday, when I mistakenly allowed him to have not one, but two Kool-Aid Jammers. Or, as I like to call them, Food Dye in a Bag. I never buy the junk, but Gutsy begged and he was so good when we were out getting my passport photo. I temporarily lifted the ban on those evil things and allowed them into the house. Well, if I ever had any suspicions that my preschooler reacts poorly to artificial food colouring, they were confirmed yesterday afternoon. Once the Sugary Claws of Satan dug themselves into Spawnling, not even an exorcism would have helped. The boy was running in circles, screeching, flailing his arms and whacking anyone who got in the way. My friend Robyn had come over with her children and likely regretted it the minute she set foot in the kitchen. I'd like to say Spawnling took great pleasure in tormenting her three-year-old daughter, but that wouldn't be fair. I don't think he had any clue what he was doing or how to control it. Robyn and I spent a good hour waiting for his head to start spinning. Needless to say, Kool-Aid Jammers are now completely banned from Casa Maven until further notice.

(Incidentally, Maven, when you decide to remove food dye from your preschooler's diet for a few weeks, do not let your seven-year-old buy one of those fake fruit rolls and eat it in front of him. Bribing Spawnling with popcorn, chips, and anything else with a natural hue to it becomes an impossibility. Then, especially after a long day of van tantrums, you'll probably cave and give him a very small piece, which will be just enough to see him go all Mr. Hyde in a busy mall on Friday evening. However, I suppose you don't need brains if you have all that beauty, right Maven? You twit.)

Finally, nestled snuggly between the Van Wailin' concert and boarding the Hyperactivity Express at Carlingwood Mall was my trip to the passport office. See, I've never had a passport. When you become a mom at 20 and choose to live on one income so you can be a stay-at-home-mom and eat bonbons all day, there is truly no need for passports until the USA - the only place you can feasibly afford to visit from time to time - makes travel impossible without one. Since I'm going for an overnight to Syracuse, NY in a few weeks, I decided I should probably get on the whole passport thing. The problem is, I'm a bit of a spaz in government offices. My anxiety levels shoot up as I wonder if I filled my forms out correctly; if they'll accept my tattered birth certificate that's seen a lot of abuse since it was issued in '93; or if they'll call my guarantor and ask impossible questions to prove my identity, like what I take on a baked potato.

The office was fairly quiet and the whole process took less than 30 minutes, but in that time I envisioned everything from them revoking my ID to giving me a full cavity search (and not the cute guy behind counter #5, but Hilda the snaggle-toothed shaman behind #8). And the more I thought about how nervous I was, the more I wondered just how nervous I looked, which made me even more nervous, and ... Well, you get the idea. In the end, my orifices were left unsullied and the only thing they did was tell me I need a new birth certificate for the next time I apply for any government documentation. I should get my passport within two weeks.

Yep, it's been a very interesting week. Let's hope the next one is far less interesting. On the plus side, if I ever want to make some quick cash I now know all it will take is a pit, a case of Kool-Aid and a couple of thirsty toddlers. Let's get ready to rumble!

My entrepreneurialship knows no bounds.

Seasonal Sanity-Saving Survival Strategies (SSSSS)

I woke up this morning in a panic. It dawned on me that school is almost over and the summer mayhem will soon commence.

Including today, there are only five - 5, cinq, cinco, - days of school left for Gutsy. Intrepid finished last Friday and has been home playing video games skulking around the house eating everything in sight enjoying his summer ever since. Today, he gets interviewed for a seven week training and work placement. If he gets in, that means he and Gutsy won't have as much time to try and kill each other.

I'm positively buzzing with excitement at the prospect.

... Or maybe that's just the extra large coffee.

Trying to prep a thirteen-year-old boy for an interview is harder than you might think. For one, there's the grooming thing. Because girls are only a passing curiosity and not a full blown obsession just yet, the boy is not really into his appearance. I've effectively had to pick out his clothes for him. He probably would have shown up in his favourite fashion statement: a black patterned t-shirt and navy blue basketball shorts with a stripe down the side. I keep wondering what Stacey and Clinton would say about that. The possibilities are endless.

Then, there are the interview questions. I have no clue what they're going to be asking him, so I don't know what direction to guide him in. Because this is a community program, the questions could go from the very professional to the extremely personal. Rumour has it they tend to favour at-risk kids for this program, so I've given Intrepid full permission to use whatever would make him sound at greater risk for running his life into the ground at a moment's notice. Things like: "My mommy used to drink too much," "My little brother is seeing a social worker for his anger issues," and "My dad's work cut his hours back and now my parents argue over the bills" are all excellent choices.

Look, you have to use what you have. None of those are lies or even exaggerations, right? Do they mean Intrepid is destined for a life of crime and meth? Probably not, but we can let the program director be the judge. Heck, I fully plan to go in shortly after my grueling morning workout - the one that leaves me looking like complete ass. Nothing says "Mom is jonesing for her prescription pills again" like a little sweating and shaking. Throw in a faint "I need to get to the pharmacy soon" smile and he's as good as in!

All our dysfunction has to pay off somehow, right?

Anyway, back to summer. There are some good things and not so good things on the horizon, coupled with a whole lot of unpredictability. As a stay-at-home-mom, I don't have my kids signed up for camps and daycare and all that other stuff, which means I need to come up with a list of seasonal sanity-saving survival strategies. Intrepid possibly getting that job is one of them, but there are other very important items. For example:

- We have Gutsy's therapy sessions in place. Once per week through the summer. Thank goodness for that. If anything, it'll give me an hour to sit in a waiting room and read a book. I'll make sure to bring a coffee, too.

- I cleaned the master bedroom. If you're like us, your matrimonial bed is lost in a sea of toys, a mix of dirty and clean laundry and anything that needs some place quick to go before company arrives. This may not seem important in the grand scheme of things, but trust me: it's essential. With a clean bedroom, I can give myself a mommy timeout without worrying about tripping over last year's Christmas boxes. And heck, if the rest of the house is in summer disarray, I can just serve tea on my bed when people stop by.

- Great, fantastic, fabulous news: After over 18 months, they're restoring Geekster's full pay. We'll get half of what was lost this summer and it will be fully restored, in steps, by the new year. What does that mean? We might be able to go see The Karate Kid and Toy Story 3 instead of having to pick one and wincing through the cost of it, thus battling the 'We never do anythiiiiiiiiiiiing!' whining -- well, until mid-July, anyway.

- Park dates, park dates, park dates. If you're my friend and you're local, you're going to get a phone call to head to a park at least once or twice over the summer. There, you will be greated by a somewhat unkept and twitchy me with a trio of rambunctious kids. And if you avoid me, I'll find you. I'm a proficient stalker and I'm not afraid to coerce you into spending time with me and the Gremlins Three. You may now make preparations to leave the country if you wish. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Alright, must run. The skulky teen has an interview soon and I need to get my stoner game face on.

Near Insanity + Abandonment Issues = This Post

I haven't been able to finish a blog post in over a week. Creativity has taken a backseat this week so that big, ugly Chaos can ride shotgun. Children screaming. Children fighting. Children messing up my home. Children being, well, children. Ick. Could they at least try and act mature? Chaos has been pointing its finger and laughing as I drive down the road of life. It didn't even open my coffee for me, which is the sign of a very poor co-pilot. As soon as I find a truck stop I'm going to send it in for chocolate bars and take off. Take that, asshat!

In the meantime, I'm stuck with very limited time to write about all the goings on in the life of Maven. A pity, really, since there are at least two or three people who want to hear about what's going through this brain of mine. The long and short: it's hovering near the breaking point and will soon be festering with insanity. This part of '09 will forever be remembered as The Summer That Never Ends. The Gremlins will throw a yearly street party.

I have so much to say, but no time to say it. How is that fair? Do you have any idea how much I want to tell you how I pretty much lost my shit on Gutsy on Sunday? You bet you do. So that'll be tomorrow's post, provided I can get around to writing. My shipment of kiddy sedatives hasn't arrived yet - and to think the seller promised quick shipping. Hmph.

To make matters worse, Pixie, my friend, my glue, calmer of my would-be temper tantrums, is away visiting family for the next week. She leaves in the morning.

Meh. Not that I care or anything. I mean, who needs her around, anyway? I'll be way too busy having a great time in my great life. I mean, she's the one who will be missing out on basking in my presence. She's the one who will be wishing I were around to make her days a little brighter. She's the one who will...

... Is this at all believable? Didn't think so. I'll quit while I'm ahead.

But I'm a survivor. I keep on truckin' because I find new and interesting ways to make my life work. And, in times like these, desperate and slightly unconventional methods must be applied. I need Pixie around to vent to, and she's abandoning me. Leaving me for that sister of hers, as if blood is thicker than water or something.

Well, screw you, Pix. I don't need you! Because, after a quick run the dollar store for swords and dart guns, I stumbled upon your replacement:

Introducing my new best friend of the week, Pixfish!


The top of her box says 'Play with Me', so you know she knows how to have a good time. With a few beers in her she'll be telling stories in no time! Not like boring ol' Pixie.

Pixfish is even better than a pixie: she has wings and a tail. Why? I have no bloody clue, actually. I don't understand how wings would be at all useful in the water. But the fact that she's two girly characters in one makes me incredibly happy. Her tail is even sparkly, see?


Isn't she fantastic? Her starfish-shaped tail even has glitters on it. Glitters! We're going to be very good friends, Pixfish and I...

...Um, except her hair's a little long. Pixie has shorter hair. Not that I'm trying to make her look like that girl. It's just that I'm supposed to have the long hair in this relationship. The problem with dollar store dolls is that they have all these bald spots, so you can't exactly chop it all off. But no matter. I took these pictures at my neighbour's house, and Gokalie has a girl child with elastics. Therefore...


Perfect. And she likes fruit? What a wonderful coincidence. I like fruit, too! Now we can definitely be friends!

I do like the bad girls, though. Being as close to saintly as I am, the rebellious chicks keep my life interesting. If all Pixfish likes is healthy stuff I'm going to have to dump her limp body in a Salvation Army dumpster. Maven needs a little spice in her friends.

Oh, what's that, Pixfish? You and I have similar tastes? How so?


... Coffee?!


... And... Saturated fat? Oh, Pixfish! You're the sister I wouldn't want because you're too damn perfect!

Pixfish and I will be doing a lot of great things this week while that has-been Pixie is out of town. Maybe when the ex-entourage member comes back from her visiting all those important people we can talk about her return to the group.

Or maybe I'll just be too far gone down the insanity slope to form any words. A likely conclusion to what will be an interesting week in the Summer That Never Ends.

Summer is not for sissies

Whoever tied the words 'summer' and 'lazy' together was obviously not a stay-at-home-mom.

Today marked the first official day of the sweaty season in the Maven household. Meaning Gutsy survived - or, rather, Gutsy's teacher survived - kindergarten, and Intrepid officially 'graduated' from elementary school and is now on his way to the big leagues: Junior high. Grade 7.

But we're not going to talk about that right now. At the moment, he's still my little boy. Puberty hasn't hit its full stride just yet, so I can remain blissfully in denial about him ever becoming the 'T' word. You know that word, don't you? Starts with 'teen' and ends with 'ager'? But we're not going to say it because it makes my heart do anxious little flips. The doctor tells me those are bad. For the next two months we're just going to go along thinking he'll stay young forever, being my sweet boy with a clear face, no body odor and only a passing interest in the opposite gender.





Thank you for your cooperation.

At any rate, today has been anything but lazy. I woke up at 6:30AM and decided that, instead of going to bed, I would go for a run while it was still cool outside. Some would call me an idiot. I would say I'm rather kick ass, actually. I ran hard and fast. I think I even managed four whole minutes without stopping! Four minutes!

And then I remembered that I used to be able to run 20 minutes non-stop. Stupid memories.

God bless my addictive personality and those lovely endorphins. There's no way I could torture myself like that if it weren't for the great high to carry my through the rest of my day.

After feeding the gremlins a healthy breakfast of leftover popcorn and grapes - excuse me for a moment while I shine my Nutritionally Savvy Parent award - we swarmed the local water park with a couple of other mommies and our platoon of ankle biters. Nothing says 'Time to go home for snack, Timmy!' like two minivans and a station wagon pulling into the parking lot. Going out in a herd-like fashion is a lot like being a VIP, but less expensive. Free, actually. So maybe it's more like bullying. Whatever.

After the gremlins were done sitting on the water jets and pretending they were peeing eight feet into the air, it was time to bring them home, dry off and make lunch.

Except that we ate all the popcorn and grapes in the house, so I had to do some grocery shopping.

By myself, because Intrepid is home and can watch the other two.

Have I mentioned I like summer? I mean, even if it isn't lazy, there's still an exciting element of freedom that can't be ignored.

I fed the kids a healthy lunch of boxed macaroni and cheese. It has all the important post-water park nutrients, such as saturated fat and food colouring; everything a body needs to pick itself up and shake off that healthy glow.

Then I cleaned my house, yelled at the bank (I won), played with my new iPhone, did four loads of laundry, made dinner out of another box (this one actually had vegetables in it somewhere), played fetch with the gremlins outside, and scrubbed Gutsy down in the shower because he ran through poison ivy.



(... What? The iPhone? Oh. That. Yeah, um... The thing is, I hated my other new phone because it didn't do what I wanted it to do. So, as pretty as it is, and even though I invested in a handy traveling case and matching cup, I decided I needed to get what I actually wanted and thus force myself into writing for actual money to justify the exorbitant cost of looking even cooler every month. It's the price I have to pay to up my street cred, you understand. It was the best worst decision I ever made. And, although I'll suffer through several lectures from my mother, I can tune most of them out by checking to see if her the pictures on her walls are level using the funky leveling tool I just downloaded. These phones really do have everything!)

Anyway, the long and short of this story is that I'm awesome.

Wait. No. That was a sub-plot. The main reason I wrote this post was to say that whoever decided that summer is lazy should be left in a dark alley with Gutsy. Maybe he can knock some sense into them.


I know. That's the best. Picture. Ever. I totally agree.

And now I trudge bravely forward into summer.