Just when I'm about to post something

You know when something happens and at the time it's kind of shocking and/or stressful, then afterwards it's simply hilarious? That just happened.

I was just sitting down to type something on here. To give an update to how the day is going and about all my incredibly exciting life events that I know you all want to read. All of I sudden I hear water running behind me. Except that there's no water source behind me. This does not bode well.

"Mommy! I'm peeing!" whines Gutsy.

I turn to find my little man standing behind me with daddy's electric guitar strapped around him like a member of an 80s hair band, urine pouring out the side of his shorts because he decided to go commando underneath (read: sans underwear - he does this frequently. I have a feeling he'll also drive a love van when he's older).

So I "run" (I don't run at six months pregnant, but you get the idea) toward him, scoop him up, slip on a puddle of disgustingly hot pee and almost fall to the floor. Me, Gutsy and an electric guitar, all sliding on a puddle of pee.

At the time: chaotic.
Now: Discusting and hilarious. And maybe it's because I've been caring for children too long, but I can't honestly say I find it more disgusting than hilarious.

So that's over now. Nobody smells like urine.

***

It's damn humid outside. So humid, in fact, that after our daily trip to the park/mommy's coffee fix excursion, I had to take a puff of Ventolin. My lungs were killing me. Jackson (Mr. Jackson if you're nastay) is getting taller all the time and loves kicking my diaphragm. Hard. What a little angel.

Daycare update: Daycare girl is sleeping. I had - get this - 1 1/2 hours of interrupted break. This is, like, unheard of. I'm thinking of calling all my current and previous daycare provider friends and bragging, but they wouldn't believe me. That's like telling your fishing buddies that while they weren't around you caught a fish <----- this big ----->.

However, karma then bit me in the ass (which isn't hard to find these days. My ass, not karma.) by making me slip on someone else's fresh bodily fluids. Nothing is for free, baby.

Earlier today, I predicted pummelling and a grumpy Gutsy. I was correct. The fight started over the tent in the backyard. Well, not the tent, but the tent accessories (I really want a reason to say 'propane and propane accessories'. Hank Hill is my hillbilly hero). One sleeping bag does up better than the other sleeping bag, which resulted in not only some hitting, but Daycare boy being shoved down a couple of deck stairs. Ouch. Needless to say, Gutsy had some 'splainin' to do and a major apology session.

I'm going to try not raising my voice to my children as much. You know, speak calmly and all that. I hear it's a 'choice' to do that. I would like to state that it's a difficult choice in my world. There's a fine line between making sure they can hear me (not an easy task, especially when hearing aids are not on) and yelling. But I'm going to try not to yell out of anger. I don't know why I've decided to do this during the hottest part of the year while pregnant, but maybe it's one of those 'If I can do it now, I can do it any time!' sort of things.

You can stop laughing now. I know it's funny, but it's more productive to take bets to see how long I'll last. I would bet in hours, not days. Just a tip.

Well, back to the real world now. I'm watching the boys do acrobatics about three feet from where the pee was. Should I tell them? Let's see how nice they're being, first *grin*

20 minutes 'til chaos

It's 7:30am, Monday morning. In about twenty minutes, Daycare Boy and Daycare Girl will show up for the last Monday ever that I will get paid to watch them. Here's how I guess my morning will go (and I'll update later so we can see if I'm right):

Daycare Boy will be in a good mood. Daycare Girl will be in a miserable mood because she hates leaving her mom to come here. This is her new thing. She doesn't like me for about 15 minutes after getting here. Then she can't get enough of my company and will follow me all over the house, babbling cuteness to me as I go about my routine.

Anyway, then Gutsy will wake up and get pissed off that he didn't get a chance to barracade the door prior to their arrival. He's overtired from a weekend of camping out in a tent in the backyard with his daddy and Intrepid (which gave me two whole nights to do whatever I wanted. Bliss!)

So we have Daycare Boy: Good mood.
Daycare Girl: Temporary bad mood.
Gutsy: Moody even after a full night's sleep due to me having the Daycare Duo in the house at all.
Intrepid: Woke up this morning in an excellent mood which I'm hoping will continue.

Gutsy will bully the Daycare Duo a few times before getting warmed up enough for pummelling. Think of it as walking around the track before you start running. If he can get some good bullying in while he wakes up, he's flexing his control muscles before he actually starts hurting anyone. That's creative thinking, friends. Overcoming obstacles. That's my boy!

Daycare Boy will fight back, of course, but he'll do it quietly and then run to tell me what Gutsy did. He seems to have it in his head that if he's the first one to get to me after an incident, he won't get in trouble. I don't know where he got that idea, but it doesn't work Chez The Maven.

It looks like it's going to rain today. This is both good and bad. Good because I'm too lazy/pregnant/lazy/lazy to water my plants. Bad because I have to find more indoor activities to do with them. There's only so much playdough mess I can handle in a single day, you know? And I try to keep TV watching down to a minimum because I'm insane and think it's better for them to be using their imagination/playing/beating the living hell out of each other because they aren't watching telelvision.

Also, my food bribery stash is getting low. I will have to go on a Timbits excursion with the wee ones later on. Besides, I need a coffee. It's Monday. My last working Monday. Yay!!

Also, I'm 27 weeks pregnant today. Hellooooo, third trimester!

My mother, Spanish goddess

My mom found the wonderful world of the Internet a few years ago and instant messaging not soon afterwards. Since then, she's decided that throwing in Spanish words into her sentences is amusing... or something. 'Ola' is her favourite greeting.

My family is bilingual, but not English-Spanish. English-French. None of us know any useful Spanish whatsoever. In fact, my grasp of the Spanish language is so poor that I learn something new every time I watch Dora the Explorer (which is pretty much at least once a day - thank you, Gutsy). I love my mom, but I tire of the two or three Spanish words she uses every single time we communicate online. Thus, I called up my favourite translator, Babelfish, and decided to have some fun (realizing, of course, that these English-to-Spanish translations won't be exact). I left the following in a chat window on her monitor (minus the English translations, of course):

The Maven: ¿Cómo está usted hoy?
How are you today?

The Maven: ¿usted tiene gusto de ir a Ikea?
Would you like to go to Ikea?

The Maven: ¡Tengo un pene grande!
I have a big penis!

The Maven: ¡Eso es emocionante!
Isn't that exciting?

The Maven: ¿Por qué usted no está contestando? ¿Es usted celoso?
Why aren't you answering? Are you jealous?

Not surprisingly, she hasn't replied yet. She's probably gone out to get a translation dictionary. I'm anticipating an interesting phone call...

That "Blue Thing"

Three-year-old Gutsy walks out of my room yesterday and asks me "Mom, is that blue thing on your bed your underwear?"

...

....... *sigh*

Yes, my sweet little buttercup. That 'blue thing' is indeed a pair of maternity underwear. Not only are they maternity, but they're also plus-size. For the 'jolly' expecting woman. The 'rotund' pregnant female. The 'rubenesque' fetus carrier. I know they're nearly unrecognizable as something that could be small enough to pass as an undergarment, but if you could just imagine for a minute being a size 18 and pregnant...

Poor Gutsy. The child will have nightmares of monsterous, demin-coloured panties entangling him in a web of stretchy fabric. I believe we shall convert his education savings over to a therapy fund.

It's not so bad being a bigger pregnant girl, though. I'm actually smaller in this pregnancy than I was in my other two (enormous baby belly not included in said statement). I'm a lot healthier, too. I was jogging several times a week, lifting weights and doing yoga prior to getting the double lines on my pee stick. My blood pressure was down, my stamina was up and I felt younger than I did back in the day *shakes a cane around for good measure*. I'm still feeling pretty good, even though the majority of my workouts are now walking to the park with the kids, cleaning up, hauling laundry and young children around and doing the lamest yoga-esque moves ever to accomodate my growing baby.

Today I read the worst thing I think I've read in a while. I was lurking on a fairly large message board and came across a post from a woman who was planning to abort her perfectly healthy 18 week old baby because he was a boy. She already has a boy and doesn't want another. She was pregnant with a girl before this one and lost the baby at 18 weeks. Now she can't imagine having a boy so she's going to terminate, get pregnant again and hope it's a girl this time.

I am sincerely hoping that this is a cruel joke that some bored student made up because he or she is off for the summer. I really do. Because as pro-choice as I'd like to think I am, I draw the line at abortion due to an unfavourable gender. I'm guessing she's either one of the most selfish people on the planet or she's severely mentally ill/traumatized over the loss of her daughter (and who wouldn't be?). Either way, I was very upset to read that. It disturbed me to no end.

We don't always get the gender we had hoped for. I'm about to have my third boy and have already heard all sorts of thoughtful comments. Such as:

"Are you disappointed that it's a boy?"
I cry every day. They had to put me on suicide watch after my ultrasound. Thanks for asking.

"I'm sorry you're not having your girl."
Hang on a second, here. Nobody told me I was entitled to a daughter. I feel totally ripped off now! What a raw deal.

"Are you going to keep trying for a girl?"
Yes. We plan to just keep on the screw train until I pop out a daughter. Life isn't complete unless I have one, you know. What would life be like if I could never shop in the pink half of the store?

"Like the saying goes: A daughter is a daughter for life. A son is a son 'til he meets his wife." Wow. Thank you so much for telling me that. You're so kind and sensitive. This whole time I was planning on being close to my sons throughout adulthood. But now that I know their wives will mess that up for me, I'd better find ways to sabotage their future love lives and/or put away some money for hitmen in case a wedding slips by me. Can't have those catty chicks around messing things up for me. After all, the reason I had children is so they can be my BFFs and we can be together for ever and ever and I'll never be lonely.

Do people really make that big a deal out of gender? I mean, really? Am I the only one who thinks it's sexist to put so much emphasis on a vagina or a penis? I know girls and boys are different, but in the end isn't having a child of either sex a real blessing? Aren't they all different regardless of what's between their legs? Intrepid and Gutsy couldn't be any more different. Intrepid is nine and still loves to cuddle, writes essays about how much he loves his family and will probably always have a special attachment to us. Gutsy is far more independent, although he's three and likes to snuggle. Three-year-olds do a lot of that. I have a feeling he'll pull away a bit faster than his brother, but that's ok. He's allowed. I have no expectations of what our relationship will be like when he's older. I just hope he always loves us as much as we love him. And I'll welcome his (hopefully quite friendly) life partner with open arms. I feel bad for girls who are expected to be very close to their moms the rest of their lives because they're girls. That just doesn't seem fair. Everyone has their own personality and their own life to live. Whether or not they stay close is a combination of said personality, goals and the fostering of a close relationship. I don't think gender has much to do with it.

I sincerely hope that woman who is planning to terminate based on gender changes her mind. In the meantime, I'm going to love my boys for who they are, not what they are.

Baby Jackson, or 'Oops! I'm pregnant again'

Did anyone get the Britney Spears reference? Come on. It's at least worth a polite smile if not a small chuckle.

It says in my 'about me' (that useless tripe I wrote when I had yet to post anything in here) that I'm expecting a third baby. My friends know all about this hilarious turn of events, but I figured I would share the story here so other people could fully appreciate how life enjoys throwing my family nifty curveballs.

We had our first child in 1996. He was diagnosed with hearing loss just over two years ago at the age of seven, after going through hell and back at home, at school and in his social life. People first thought he might be autistic because he had oodles of sensory issues and some wicked tantrums. When he got to kindergarten we were strongly encouraged to have him evaluated. After selling one of my kidneys to pay for a psychological evaluation, we got a spiffy report on beautiful paper outlining the 'severe, classic case of ADHD' that Intrepid apparently had. It was probably caused by oxygen deprivation at birth, you know. And he would need medication and an aide in the class to help with his behaviour. Oh, and he'd never function at even an average level academically. He would struggle throughout so we might want to consider outside tutoring.

I've often thought about writing the psychologist with the following:

Dear Mr. I Have Over Twelve Years of Experience Diagnosing Learning Disabled Children and Know What I'm Talking About:

I realize that I'm just a mother with no formal medical training and can only rely on that useless instict I was given to muddle through my children's upbringing, but I was wondering something: When you make a diagnosis like this, how's about suggesting the parents get a full medical workup of the child done first, including hearing and vision testing? Because, you know, if they don't, and they don't know any better because they're young, first-time parents, they might just go ahead and listen to your $1200.00 evaluation and decide that you MUST be right, since you're the expert. And then their child can go on drugs they don't need and spend the rest of their life slipping through the cracks because THEY CAN'T HEAR.

Thankfully, we decided that we might want to do the routine things that nobody suggested (including our son's doctor) before medicating him instead of taking your report as gospel truth (like our son's doctor did) . He now has two hearing aids, reads and writes well beyond his grade level and is at the top of his class academically. And he has friends. And he plays piano like his teacher has never seen. And he's an AWESOME kid. Without ADHD. Because, you know, he can hear now and that helps. Imagine that.

Please cover the basics next time.

Love, The Maven.

We take some responsibility in his lack of diagnosis as well. Heck, we didn't get Gutsy's hearing test under way until he was 2 (it took until he was 3 to finally get in to see somebody). And sure enough, he also has hearing loss. Less than his brother, but enough that he needs hearing aids and speech therapy. He talks a mile a minute, but his pronunciation is the suck a lot of the time.

Anyway, after Gutsy's diagnosis this winter we decided that was it. No more kiddoes. There's obviously some genetic factor at play and we don't yet know what it is. So we were talking about taking permanent birth control measures. I came home, cried my eyes out and tearily told my daycare parents I would be closing down permanently so I could focus on my two children and their needs.

But um, suddenly I was tired all the time. Like, REALLY tired. I was drinking coffee like it was going out of style. I couldn't get enough sleep. So I grabbed the calendar one day and I started counting. My 30 day cycle was now at 34 days. Hmm, must be because Gutsy had been sleeping through the night and was nursing once a day at that point, if that. So my cycle was screwy. But you know, I had to run out anyway so I'd grab a pee stick just to make sure.

Phew. Negative! Thank goodness for that. I'll just pick it up and throw it out now and... er... um...

Oh crap.

That's a line.

No no, I'm seeing things. I do NOT get pregnant by accident. I mean, I did once when I was 19, but that was before PCOS and four years of TTC and a miscarriage and finally a baby after a LOT of work. Only other people get pregnant without trying.

Um, no. That's a blue line. Two blue lines on a test means pregnant, right? I'll just check this under various lights in the house to make sure.

Yep, two lines.

So how do I tell Geekster? "Hey, honey! Remember how we weren't going to have more kids because we have two with special needs as it is? Remember how happy we were to have finally made that decision? How my body was shutting down hormonally anyway because we'd been having unprotected sex for three years and I hadn't done gotten knocked up? Yeah, about that..."

As it turns out, right around the time I was sitting down in the audiologist's office while she explained to me that we had some genetic issues at play, some swimmy little sperm were greeting an egg which was magically floating down to my uterus. A few days later I had very sharp pains that I thought might be the return of some ovarian cysts.

And The Maven doesn't recognize implantation cramping after having had two children. I told you I wasn't that bright.

So it took a few days, or weeks, to get excited. First I was shocked and scared. Did you know that we only conceive in March? Three pregnancies, all conceived in March. Two babies made it and were both born in November. This one was conceived in January and is due in October. That was the first shocker. It took a while to wrap my head around that.

Then I got soooooo nauseous. No, wait. I need to emphasize that: soooooooo nauseous. There. So it was hard to be excited then, too.

And this was a girl, btw. A little girl. I could feel it in my bones. A daughter. Because it was a surprise and SHE was due in a different month, she would break tradition and be our little girl.

A few weeks later, after telling the world that I was sure it was a daughter, we found out our daughter has a penis. So either she's very manly or we're having a boy baby.

That's the first time I've been wrong about these things. But as Meatloaf once said 'Don't be sad. Two out of three ain't bad." Thanks, Meatloaf.

We called him Jackson and we're excited to meet him. The boys are ecstatic to be having a brother and I'm so happy we can reuse all those cute little baby outfits! Talk about savings! And heck, boys are so cute. I heart baby boys. I also heart baby girls, but I have two sweet little neices and many friends with daughters I can spoil. Three boys suits us just fine. We'll just buy a big farm and let them run around. Like dogs and horses. I initially wrote 'like dogs and pigs', but I don't think I've ever seen a pig run. Must be pretty damn funny to watch, though.

One kink in the plans: Having two hearing impaired boys, we're awaiting a (very early this time) diagnosis of hearing loss. Everyone tells me that I shouldn't think that way and that he might not have any loss, but I'm not getting my hopes up. The scary part is, this boy doesn't startle to loud noise. The other two did, but he doesn't. He moves a lot, but I can't say it's to sound. That worries me a bit. Still, we just don't know. So we'll wait it out and have his ears tested when he's born. And every six months thereafter. Hopefully he's just a mellow baby.

And if you know us and our children at all, you know that we don't do 'mellow' around here. But I'm hoping that third time's a charm!

Anyway, that's the VERY long story of baby Jackson. I'm 26 weeks into the pregnancy right now and enjoying every bit. But I'm excited, too. Another baby! I can't help but feel an amazing sense of gratitude for this little boy we didn't think we'd ever have (or want to have) and is now kicking my tummy and making it hard to type. Gotta love 'em.

Good Idea, Bad Idea PT I

I thought I would post some do's and don't's for parents who are or will be seeking daycare for their child. Some of this advice is based on firsthand experience, while some is collected from friends and family who've run or worked at daycare centers. Did you think we don't talk about these things? Oh, you had better believe we do! It makes for some very interesting conversation, let me tell you.

#1. Should I pick a "learning center" or a "daycare"?

Whether it's a "childcare center", a "child learning center", a "home away from home for young explorers", a "learning center for future nobel prize winners" or a "learning experience for the exceptional infant", it's still a daycare. I've heard of people getting turned on by the name of a daycare and they'll pay top dollar to put their child there. People, it's a daycare. No matter how you want to package it, it's still a place that will hopefully do a good job at caring for your child while you're unable to. Just pick a provider that oozes maternal instinct. That's really the key here. Whether or not crafts are done every day or once a week pales in comparison to how loving the place is.

#2 My child is on a strict schedule at home that I would like him to follow at daycare. Is this reasonable?

Let me answer your question with another question: If you had, say, six children in your care and every single one of those children had their own unique schedule that had to be strictly adhered to, would someone find you at the end of the day in a dark corner in the basement wearing bunny slippers and pulling apart dryer lint, mumbling something incoherent? I'll take 'Insane in the Membrane' for $1000, Alex.

Everyone wants their child to feel comfortable at daycare. But unfortunately something has to give when it comes to schedules. If you want a happy childcare provider, she needs this special time called "downtime". It's something similar to lunch time at the office, except that her lunch time is spent serving, cleaning, pouring, cleaning, wiping hands, cleaning and finally eating standing up if she's lucky. So if everyone's child has a nap or 'quiet' time say, around 1pm, then she can FINALLY sit down and take a break. I never realized until I got pregnant how little I actually get to sit down. And I don't even have a full house! So cut your provider some slack and let her gently work your little one into the schedule she has in place. It will mean happier times for everyone.

#3. I trust my daycare provider, but I don't want her to drive my child around in her vehicle.

That's like saying 'I trust my childcare provider, but I don't want her to have any semblance of a life for 10 hours a day. She is to be a social recluse who must plan ahead for every incident that could lead to her leaving the house with her car keys'. Daycare is a chaotic job (see above). There are no real breaks, no guaranteed downtime and planning is acheived with great difficulty. It's also a social wasteland for a lot of providers. People don't realize how much social interaction they get at work. I went back to work for a year when my son was 10 months old. Part-time mind you, but it was like winning the lottery in some ways. Wow! People to talk to. No children around. This is good-golly incredible.

Don't sweat having your daycare provider take the kids out. Make sure she has carseats for everyone and that she knows how to properly install them. Make sure she takes them to safe places. But let her get out and breathe and socialize so she doesn't burn out. It's good for the kids, too. In my opinion, the more of a 'normal' environment the kids have, the better. They have plenty of time for organized school-like environments in, well, school. Children learn a lot when they're at the supermarket or the museum or at a playdate with other kids. Moreso than if they're stuck in a house or a center all day, every day, with only routine trips to the neighbourhood park.


#4. My daycare provider wants to take PAID VACATION!!! What the hell is the matter with her?

Um, yeah. This is always a sore spot for some people. But let's break it down: is looking after your children an important job? If you value the good job your provider is doing, then she deserves the same as anyone else. Paid vacation is fairly commonplace and it's the law in most areas. Even if it isn't, she still deserves to take some time off without worrying about her bills not being paid. I know a couple who rants regularly about how their childcare provider made them sign a contract with paid vacation included. It burns my britches, let me tell you. Both these people get paid time off, but for some reason their provider isn't considered worthy/important/human enough to deserve that without a fight.

#5. My childcare provider seemed a little annoyed when I picked my daughter up. I've been on vacation all week and have kept my child in daycare so I can get some rest. I pay for the spot, so why shouldn't I use it?

A lot of childcare providers are stay-at-home-moms, or were until their children went to school and are now working so they can be home when their kids get off the bus. You're dealingn with people who really value the time they spend with their children. So the annoyance is probably twofold:

A) They feel you should be spending time with your kids when you have vacation. Don't your children deserve a vacation, too?

B) By putting your child in daycare when they don't need to be there (read: you have no appointments, you're not too sick to watch your child, you're not at work or at school), you're probably taking child and mom time away from your provider, too. That can make a provider feel very resentful, however irrationally. Because yes, while you're technically paying for the spot, it would be nice if she could get a bit of a break when you can give her one. You know how people leave work early on a Friday? That kind of thing.

***

There's so much more. SO much more. And then there's the other side of the coin: childcare providers that could make any parent's skin crawl. Like the one down the road who screams at the children all the time. I don't know if I'd want to pay someone money to yell at my child every day. I can do that just fine on my own, thanks. Or the ones who feed the kids junk all the time and lie to the parents about it so they can save food money and pocket the rest for themselves. I could go on there, too.

Anyway, it's friday and I'm done for the week. YAY!! Only 3.5 more days to go. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least I've taken off the bunny slippers and stopped playing with dryer lint.

Clown the Kitty update

Just a little update on Clown. He or she is in kitty heaven. Jobthingy called the SPCA this morning to get an update and phoned me with the news just before 9:00am. I just told Intrepid and he was really sad. "Poor, poor creature", he said. He's such a sweetheart.

I'll post more later. I'm going to get started on lunch soon. We've had a couple of pummelling episodes this morning. Very two sided. Daycare Boy pushed Gutsy down a couple of stairs. Gutsy retaliated a few minutes later by hitting DB across the face. Ouch. TGIF, baby.

RIP, Clown.

The day just gets better

You know, it starts off as a mediocre, maybe-I-can-get-through-this-without-spontaneous-combustion type of day and I actually start to relax. This is good. I can do a few more days like this. They're not fighting much, you know. They're happily playing with playdough and butchering the fence outside with hockey sticks (I did have to drag them in here and ask if anyone had $4,000 to give me. No? Well then you might want to stop HITTING MY FENCE.)

So Geekster calls (I would like to call him Maverick and may change his blog alias at some point) and tells me how everyone at his company just got screwed over. Apparently they announced to a very angry crowd that the stock options everyone has - some given, some purchased - will be the victims of a reverse split. So, say, if you had 800 shares you could sell at $1 each, you now have 100 shares you can sell at $8 each. My readers are a smart bunch (but if you keep reading my posts you'll dumb yourself down), so I won't run through the math. This. Royally. Sucks.

Now we're fortunate, because we didn't actually buy any stock. Geekster/Maverick (Mavster? Nah.) was just given a whole bunch of it. But now that whole bunch of it is gone. Retirement fund? What retirement fund? We could retire to a cardboard box with what we have in there right now. Blah. But it's far worse for the employees who truly believed in the company and put some money forward to support the IPO. BTW, this isn't some start-up company, because then one might expect these things to happen. This is a well-established company with decades of private ownership. It's not like anyone could have predicted this. I'm very disappoined for all those people.

After my not quite pleasant but certainly better than yesterday workday ended, the boys and I went to visit Jobthingy and her daughter, Speedy. We had dinner and my children - brace yourself - sat down and ate their meals. No, I'm serious. It was like winning the lottery. I got to finish my food - get this - without getting up once.

No, I'm not lying. No, I didn't drug them. It's like they were actually hungry and wanted mommy to keep that lovely smile on her face a little longer. I thought of calling the papers, but I have heard of rare reports where this has happened before to "other people". Those people you hear about but never meet. They're like the ever elusive Bigfoot of the parenting world.

Then we went to feed ducks. We love the ducks. Unfortunately, a stray cat loved us. A very, very sickly-looking stray cat. So we kept the kids at a distance and Jobthingy called the SPCA on her fancy new cell phone she got with the money from her fancy new job (she's one of those working moms now. I feel special that I know one and that she wants to spend time with lowly me). The animal control person came and told us that the cat would probably be put down. By the condition its in, it looks like it might have the feline version of AIDS. Very sad, as it can't be more than few months old.

Speedy named the cat 'Clown'. It must be one of those so sad it's funny kind of cats. Anyway, please think good thoughts for dear ol' Clown. And if he or she is to be put down, let's hope it's done gently and that Kitty Heaven really does exist and is a grand place to live.

It's now 9:35pm and the boys are in bed. I'm going to have a bath and rest my weary, pregnant bones. I'll probably hop into bed and read either Interview With the Vampire (I heart Ms. Rice) or Freakonomics, which is one that Geekerick (ew, that doesn't work either) picked up a couple of days ago. I am a woman of many interests who reads 2-4 books at any given time, yet I can't formulate a sentence to save my life. Figure that one out.

Is it ok to post more than once a day?

I guess it's my blog, my rules. So I'm going ot say yes.

We are t-minus one week until my daycare closes. It's 9:53am. The children are already fighting. Nobody has hit anyone yet, though. I'd like to stay positive, but I think this means they're conserving their energy for the afternoon pummelling session.

I will be bribing them with popcorn and a movie later. It's my patented method: Please Watch a Movie While I Drink Heavily(tm).

Ok, I'm not really going to drink heavily. I don't drink at all, actually. Being an alcoholic took some of the fun out of that harmless activity. I can't hide sherry all over the house like my 1950s counterparts and take sips in between doing the dishes and getting all gussied up for when my husband comes home. Does any at-home parent actually get done up before their partner walks in the door? Wouldn't he see my crazy-I'm-going-to-implode-or-lie-in-front-of-a-Boeing 747-after-the-day-I've-had eyes all the more if I accentuate them? I get done up on weekends. Or when I'm going to the mall. And if he happens to be around I feel very happy for him.

I just found a playdough recipe. Daycare boy has asked me repeatedly if he can play with messy, colourful gunk on the table. Why not? If little hands are busy at the Pet Hair Salon cutting Fluffy's tangled mane, no fists are flying. I think it's worth the effort!

Positive note: I found the stash of baby clothes I put away. We weren't going to have more children, but I kept them for potential boy grandbabies. My poor friend, whom we will call Thaco, had to listen to me explain all the ways in which I came about said clothing to begin with. Because, you know, with three-year-old twins, she has nothing better to do. I'm glad I can give her something important with which to occupy her time. I'm a good friend.