The countdown to oldness continues

This birthday is shaping up to be pretty sweet. I'm apt to call it "Best. Birthday. Ever.", despite knowing that I will be waking up with several new wrinkles and a head full of white hair on that day. It's a guarantee, as I'm about to enter a new decade, right?

So far, we know the following things:

Maw-in-law and Paw-in-law may be gifting me with some spa treatment for the grand 30. This isn't even a want of mine, it's a need. If you factor in both my status as an upcoming eldery person and the fact that I'm growing a giant child who makes me eat far more than I'd like to, you can see why I require some pampering. I'm likely to turn into dust if an aesthetician doesn't put something on my skin to stop the transformation.

The Madre has offered to keep the gremlins overnight so that Geekster and I can have one last night away. We've booked a suite in this place on the night of my birthday. We looked at several locations but decided on this one because:

A) It's close to things. I feel like there's a permanent pool noodle invading my hooha and it's likely going to get worse before it gets better (which will be when I give birth). Walking isn't my favourite activity at the moment. Heck, eating, sleeping, sitting and breathing aren't exactly fun right now, either, but at least they don't hurt quite like moving one foot in front of the other. This gem of a place is attached to a major downtown mall and there are many restaurants nearby.

B) It looks comfortable. The beds have big, fluffly robes on them that would be so inviting if I didn't need to wear two of them to go around my body right now.

C) The check-out time is 1pm as opposed to 11am like a lot of other places. The later, the better. It takes me three times longer than usual to empty my bladder, let alone pack up and leave a hotel room.

On the night we check in, we're deciding between two things to do: visit a comedy club or watch a jazz performance. The jazz is free and it's put on by people we know, but the comedy club would be good for me since I have no sense of humour, which I'm sure is fairly obvious.

The next day, we'll be going shopping for my birthday present from Geekster and the gremz: a digital camera. Then I will finally be able to provide people with much-anticipated pregnancy photos. Frankly, I don't know why some of you want to see them; hopefully just to get a good laugh at my expense, because I don't think you're going to find much beauty going on at this point.

So like I said: potentially Best. Birthday. Ever.

Countdown to Oldness: 15 days.

The Madre is picking up Gutsy in a few minutes so I can take Intrepid to the first of two gigs (the next one is Tuesday). Gutsy and Grandma are going swimming at her friend's house. Said friend has twelve children. I would LOVE to see Gutsy try and beat up all twelve. Way to break his spirit, Grandma! I may very well end up sending a meek and defeated Gutsy to preschool in a few weeks. Nice.

How does he do it?

This morning's Yahoo convo with The Madre, who was actually The Sister:

The Maven: Is this The Sister?
The Maven: Chux0r?
The Sister: neither
The Sister: it's Beldar from Coneheads
The Maven: OMG, Beldar! You're so freaking HOT.
The Maven: I'm a huge fan
The Maven: *drool*
The Sister: It must be the cone
The Maven: And the teeth
The Maven: yum
The Sister: lol! g2g 2 work! BYE!
The Maven: bye, Beldar!

I'm a bit concerned right now. My sister is freshly out of a two-year relationship and, while I know that can affect one's self-esteem, I never expected she would be comparing herself to someone who looks like this:



Sis, you're beautiful. Really. If you have any cone shape to your head, you cover it up nicely with your hairstyle. I'd never even know... Please don't sell yourself short like that.

Have I mentioned that she wants a shirt that says 'I'm an aunt to the hearing impaired'? I believe she'll be getting one for Christmas. I bet she scores mad dates with it on.

If I order my 'I put out for lattes' shirt at the same time, do you think they might screw them up? Could you imagine? One of us could wear 'I'm an aunt to lattes' and the other 'I put out for the hearing impaired'.

***

In other news, Geekster signed his life away nine years ago today! Yes, it's true: Coffee Fetcher has been bound by law and vows to yours truly for what must seem like an eternity (could you imagine living with me - on purpose - for that long?). On the big day, I wore a dress, he wore a tux and we watched baby Intrepid scream every time I went near him. He had NO idea who I was (Intrepid, not Geekster). It was a sad kind of funny.

Also, my dear friends Thac0 and Chance Wynd were there to celebrate with us. They made a mad dash to the Amurken/Canadia border to attend the festivities. They even slept on our floor because we didn't have beds for them. Low maintenance people are amazing.

How much do I love him? Allow me to explain: Take a chocolate chip pancake and add syrup, jam, whipped cream and caramel to it. Plop some ice cream on top for good measure and maybe drink a Coke with it. Does that sound disgustingly sweet to you? So much so that you could vomit? If so, you probably don't want to know my answer because it's the emotional equivalent to that description.

Oh, and may I be shallow for just a moment? I know that might be surprising coming from me, but try not to let your jaw hit the floor. Not only is he Giver of Weekends, Computer Fixer Surpreme, Maker of Stirfry and Provider of Minivans, but he's also a rather attractive young man. A handsome lad. A physically appealing gent.

Don't ask me how I scored hotness, but somehow I managed. And for more than one night! I think he stayed with me because he sortakinda of likes me, too. Oh, and I carry, birth and nurse his ten pound babies. I'm nice like that.

Happy anniversary, Geekster. I don't know how we found each other, but I'm so glad we did. Who else could put up with me like you do?

PS: I'll let you buy me a latte tonight.

My Tuesday is my Friday

Does someone want to bring me a coffee? You can buy one about two blocks down the road from here.

See, my husband had a 9am conference call to Hong Kong he couldn't be late for. I woke up at 7:50, but hobbling two blocks and waiting in line was cutting it kind of short after I threw on some clothes (which makes it seem like I got dressed quickly, but can I do anything quickly these days?) and shoved my rat's nest of curly hair into a ponytail. So, I decided I had better wait until later, when I can convince the kids that they want to go on yet another Tim Hortons trip.

Normally I would just make some coffee here. Problem: our coffee maker is on the fritz and is making really weak crap right now. I've used up the majority of the decaf just trying to come up with a drinkable cup o' joe. I don't even have enough to attempt another disaster this morning.

Anyway, enough whining. It's Tuesday, and my only non-busy day this week. Horray! I believe I might get some company, but that's always up in the air. At any rate, she can bring me coffee if she comes over. See how this works? Tomorrow Intrepid has more rehearsals and Thursday is their first performance. They have to do a 45 minute set. Yikes! These kids are phenomenal, though. They're doing everything from pop to old jazz to the Spiderman theme. It's a mix of ages that was thrown together for this concert from various bands in the academy. They're calling it the 'All Star' band, I believe. Intrepid is the youngest at nine and the oldest is probably in grade 11. Some of them are learning these songs for the first time. I only wish I could pull something like that off! Kids brains are like sponges. My brain is also full of holes, but that's from previous drug use and age.

I spoke at length with my mother-in-law last night. They're coming up for the folk festival this weekend.

...

You're waiting for me to say something derogatory about it, aren't you? Well, I'm not. I'm strung up by my toes here. I have dozens of zingers about nearly-retired family attending the folk festival. Can you sense me restraining my comments? It's really, really hard. But, see, they want to take Intrepid with them for the day and even let him stay overnight at their camp site if he wants. Less children to look after = break for Maven = must not make fun of folk festivals because mother-in-law has admitted that she reads my trashy blog.

Maw-in-law and I also had a conversation that went something like this:

Maw-in-law: I wanted to ask you about your birthday present. I have an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it or not...
The Maven: Is it a pool boy? Oh, I might need a pool, too. But even just a pool boy is fine.
Maw-in-law: That sounds a bit pricey
The Maven: True. Is it a hot gardener?
Maw-in-law: Not quite...
The Maven: Oh! A maid? I only need one to do my floors, bathrooms and windows. She can be cute so your son has something to look at. That's fine as long as she cleans.
Maw-in-law: I'll get right on your requests.
The Maven: Excellent!

So just when I thought I was getting a cute little french maid, a hot gardener and a pool boy with a pool, she tells me what she was really thinking. I was temporarily crushed.

Maw-in-law: would you like a day at a spa?

Like I said, I was temporarily crushed. A day at a what now? One of those places where they would pamper me, a grotesquely enormous pregnant woman who can barely move?

Maw-in-law, could you grab my arm and twist it just so? OUCH! YES! YES! OK, I'LL TAKE THE DAY AT THE SPA!

Some people are really rough.

Countown to oldness: 17 days.

At least I have something to look forward to! When I wake up on the day of my 30th birthday and suddenly I have two dozen more wrinkles and a walker in the hallway, at least I know I have something to look forward to.

You'd think I was busy or something

I received a call from The Madre this morning asking where my post was from yesterday. I explained to my mother that I didn't post because I was too tired at the end of the day. She let me know in no uncertain terms that this wasn't an acceptable reason. She's a demanding little thing, isn't she? I tell you, she's the reason I can't just order a regular ol' coffee and instead have to stop to catch my breath in the middle of a latte request.

The gremlins and Geekster had a really good time camping. So good, in fact, that he plans to take them for a longer period next year.

My first thought was that he had snapped while out in the wilderness. Maybe they were so awful that by the end of the first day his fragile mind was unable to cope with the stress and therefore fabricated this beautiful fantasy in which Intrepid and Gutsy used manners, did things when asked and followed simple directions. Frankly, I wonder why I haven't let my brain cannonball into the depths of insanity instead of only occasionally dipping its toes in. This would be a perfect solution to much of my daily choas.

Once I dismissed that idea, I wondered if maybe we had been doing things wrong all along. Maybe I should be passing the stay-at-home torch to my husband, as the kids seem to actually listen to him. Maybe Geekster should be eating bon-bons and helping Maury figure out who the baby daddy is while I head off to my engineering job. I could sit around and talk about the latest Unix spinoff, speak of the evils of Microsoft and eat lunch without having to refill anyone's milk cup. Now if I could also figure out how to have no knowledge of software development and still keep my job, we'd be all set.

But I don't think it's that, either. I think I've stumbled upon one of those male bonding experiences I can't possibly understand. I don't get camping. I try to, but I just don't. Having to watch young children around deadly things like water and fire, sleeping in a fabric tent with wild animals only a claw swipe away, eating a large portion of non-perishable foods and thinking they taste good because, really, after a full day of chasing children in open spaces pickled bovine tongue would taste good.... Can someone explain the fun in that?

I think it's a mystery reserved for men and only the hardiest of women (those of you who find joy in blistering heat and mosquitoes, my hats off to you). The good thing about their bonding experience is that it takes them away from the house once or twice a year. The nice thing about having three boys is that, shucks darn, I'll likely be the only one in this family so full of estrogen that I won't find joy in roughing it and will have to stay home.

I'll just need to accept the sad truth.

This week is SO busy. Intrepid's band is performing at Ottawa's yearly exhibition. He has rehearsal twice this week and is performing once this week and once the next. Unfortunately, I either need to find some kind of childcare for Gutsy or take him to this insanely busy place in all my pregnant glory. I can barely walk right now, let alone wrangle a three-year-old into behaving through a concert in such an environment. The Madre is going to try and move some stuff around scheduling-wise so she can watch Gutsy during the performances. I suppose I should probably stop picking on her in my blog until I get a firm commitment. I'm thoughtful like that.

Time to go get ready for rehearsal #1. Intrepid is dressed in a long sleeved shirt and jeans in what will quickly become 28c weather. Gutsy is wearing nothing but tighty whities and a backpack. I'm in my pyjamas, looking incredibly sexy, of course (there's no one here to deny or verify this statement, so you'll just have believe it). We have to be there in an hour.

I need to add a new term to my vocabulary: Advance Planning.

One weekend without the kids and I've turned into a slacker.

Oh, the shame...

People have always said that I'm a very maternal person. I used to take that as a compliment. I mean, what's wrong with being maternal?

I'll tell you what's wrong with it: having a single weekend to yourself in ten years and missing your family halfway through it. What's up with that?

The signs weren't clear at first. My trip to the art gallery yesterday was anything but child-oriented. By today, however, it was becoming obvious that I long for the chaos that is my children's company. First, I went with Astarte and co. to the maul. While there, I spent a great deal of my time chatting with moms and their little boys. You'd think that this weekend, of all weekends, I might spray any approaching child-carrying parent with pepper spray and run (waddle) away as quickly as possible. Instead, I actually... Oh, this is embarrassing... engaged them in conversation.

I hang my head in shame.

Also, I had to force myself to go into any store that wasn't child-centered. I first made a beeline to The Children's Place, then quickly realized my slip-up and got the hell out of there. Next, I found myself checking out a Gap outlet. That is, until it dawned on me that it was Gap and not Gap Kids or Baby Gap, which caused me to immediately lose all interest and walk right by.

After the maul, Astarte and I went on a coffee and book browsing excursion. Go ahead: ask me what I did. Well, not only did I thoroughly check out the children's book section, but I ended up buying the gremlins each a magazine and Geekster a book where the hero is a dad (and I think the baby is a grim reaper, but I digress...)

Oh, yeah. As an afterthough I bought myself a magazine, too. A parenting magazine. I spent a good half hour at my parents' place later reading this thing.

Not to mention that my poor dog has been babied like nobody's business. I can now relate to women who don't have children and instead treat their dogs like six-month-olds. The poor thing has been babbled to, picked up and carried around and even brought to my parents' place for a playdate with their dog twice in less than twenty-four hours.

I am an embarrassment to overworked, burned-out mothers everywhere. I have failed us all.

I won't even tell you how excited I am that they're coming home tomorrow. I won't and you can't make me do it.

In which The Maven gets a taste of freedom

Today was pretty kick-ass, I must say.

The gremlins and the Geekster left around 12:30pm. I called Thac0 as soon as they were gone because it was too damn quiet around here. I figured if I heard Volume and Puzzle for a while it might be comforting. She promised I could call her at any point and she would set the phone down nearby so I could hear them yelling. She's a good friend like that.

I then picked up my grandma and we went to the Emily Carr exhibit at the art gallery. I haven't been to the gallery since Intrepid was a baby. That was when I quickly figured out that my offspring do not do well in places where you have to be quiet and not touch things. We stick to museums when we feel like getting cultured, but galleries are out.

We went for dinner after that. Oh, did I mention that my grandma insisted on paying for absolutely everything? I tried, but she's a stubborn one. She makes me look meek, which is really saying something.

After dinner, we went to her place for tea and biscuits. Only British grandmothers serve tea and biscuits, you know. I had three biscuits, because pregnant grandaughters can't say no to biscuits.
Next, I stopped at a Starbucks on my way to my 12 step meeting. A half-sweet, decaf, vanilla soy latte. I never said I wasn't high maintenance. The Maven knows what she likes, and she likes half-sweet, decaf, vanilla soy lattes. Especially when she can order them without herding children. It makes them extra enjoyable. I belted out Coldplay while taking random coffee sips and made my way to the meeting. It doesn't take much to make me happy, you know. I'm a simple person with a simple mind who enjoys simple pleasures (that's my way of saying I ain't too bright but I sure am happy).

Had I not had to be the secretary at the meeting I probably would have fallen asleep. I was so very tired by this point. I finalized plans with a friend for Sunday morning and headed back home. I put in a quick call to The Madre to figure out what to do about The Sister's birthday celebrations tomorrow.

The conversation was supposed to go like this:

The Madre: Hello?
The Maven: Hey, mom. What time are we getting together for birthday things tomorrow?
The Madre: Oh, around X o'clock
The Maven: Wonderful! I'll see you then.
The Madre: Have I told you how wonderful you are? Creative, too. And interesting and pleasant and beautiful and smart.
The Maven: Oh, you're too kind. Stop it.
The Madre: No, I'm serious. You're the most amazing person I know. Anyway, go home, put your feet up and get some rest. See you tomorrow!

How the conversation actually went:

The Madre: Hello?
The Maven: Hey, mom. What...
The Madre: Where are you?
The Maven: I'm just heading home. I'm really...
The Madre: You're bringing me coffee? Ok, see you soon!
The Maven: .... Um, sure.
The Madre: Ok, bye! *click*

....

I got home at 11:30pm and would like to pass out right now. However, I just received this in a chat window:

The Madre: where's my blog????

Just so you know, when I order a half-sweet, decaf, vanilla soy latte, I'm doing so with a great deal of genetics at play.

This shouldn't be difficult, you know

It's not rocket science, Maven.

I haven't had a weekend to myself in 9.5 years. In that time I've had one night away by myself and one with my husband, which, incidentally, was our honeymoon.

So one might think that if a stay-at-home-mom were given a golden opportunity because, say, her amazing husband has decided to take the children on a camping trip, that she might, oh, I don't know, be incredibly happy and excited?

It's not like I'm not happy and excited and in freaking AWE of my husband's bravery. It's just that, intermingled with the delighted state I'm in, there lurks this awful thing called worry. I can't help it; I've been their primary caregiver for their entire lives. Now I'm supposed to just hand them over to Geekster and trust that he's going to keep them safe from rabid bears and angry mountain men? What about alien abduction? Our area is a UFO hotspot, you know. It's entirely possible that grey men with big bug eyes might want to experiment on my children to find out how they can be so destructive. Weapons of war in cute little packages.

I can fill up my days, but what am I going to do about my nights? I might suffocate my 10lb dog in my sleep if I try to cuddle her. The cats only like to cuddle when they're out of food, so maybe I could stop feeding them tonight and get some companionship by... Saturday? It's a possibility. I'll stick 'starve house cats' on my 'maybe' list.

I plan to rent at least one romantic comedy. Something Geekster would never, ever watch. Something that will make me cry, too. I can bawl my hormonal eyes out and nobody would be the wiser. This weekend is sounding better and better...

The gremlins are very excited. They 'helped' dad pack up the car today. It took about three times longer than it would have had they not been feeling helpful.

In other news, I found my pregnancy panties. They were buried in some to-do laundry downstairs I hadn't gotten around to yet. I don't know if I'm happy about the discovery or not. I doubt they'll look any more flattering now than they did 10 days ago. Besides, who's going to see them? My long list of lovers lining up around the corner, waiting for my spouse and children to leave? I've always maintained that I would prostitute myself before ever operating a daycare again, but now's not the time.

There isn't a day that goes by when I don't wake up and think 'Wow! I'm not doing daycare anymore!' It's been about four weeks and the novelty hasn't worn off. I love not having to shower and get dressed right away, cram some breakfast down my throat, tidy up a bit and open the door with a big, fake grin when people drop their children off.

I loved the kids. I really did. But I don't miss the job in the slightest. Sometimes you don't know what you have until it's gone. Now that it's gone, I know I had a god awful job.

I like how I can see beauty in everything around me.

The Mave and the Gremz Go Shopping

Back-to-sanity, er, school shopping, that is.

We hit up the old people mall to get some goods this afternoon. I almost always shop there when I have the boys. Why? Because it's set up for people who walk slowly and in short bursts, which makes it a perfect spot to bring kids. It's on one floor, it's carpeted and there are really nice couches to sit on. Also, the elderly seem to have endless patience for my gremlins, smiling when Gutsy slams into one of their walkers while he's walking backwards, for example (*sigh*). They don't seem to pick up on the fact that I'm basically yelling to get my children's attention because so many of them are hearing impaired, too! It's the perfect setup.

Not only did we do the old people mall, but we also did the old people restaurant in Sears. Why is it that every Sears restaurant I come across is packed with white-haired old women? I swear that 90% of their customers are collecting a pension. Old people restaurants are like goldmines for the same reason the malls are: Anyone who picks up on Intrepid spinning around in his seat or Gutsy's mad dash under the table... smiles at it. It's odd, but it's true. There are no frowns in the Sears restaurant. Only endearing grins of approval. An oasis in the desert for a pregnant mother and her two busy children.

Clothes shopping was... interesting. I keep trying to find a better way to put that, but it seems like the nicest way to say it. Otherwise I might refer to it as hell on earth, or my penance for squishing so many ants in my lifetime, or just reward for not letting that person switch lanes the other day.

Gutsy hid in clothing racks. By 'hid' I mean that he dove into them, walked around inside them making animal noises and knocked over several articles of clothing in the process. He also ran around them, yelling 'Come catch me!'. He took mobiles off of playpens and attempted to crawl into a few strollers. While people were examining them. Oh, joy.

Intrepid kept grabbing Gutsy, even though Gutsy would then scream 'Don't grab me!' and flail at him, knocking over more clothing articles. The words 'no', 'please don't do that' and 'how many times do I have to tell you the same thing?' made little difference. I might as well have been invisible.

There are good shopping days and there are bad shopping days. I never know until I get there. It's like a crap shoot, really.

Then, a golden light shone down upon me. By 'a golden light shone down upon me' I mean a woman with three boys walked into the same section we were in and havoc ensued. Absolute chaos that made the gremlins' behaviour seem saintly by comparison. She looked more frazzled than I did. She looked more tired than I did. She looked like no amount of old people smiles would make her shopping experience a less frustrating one.

And you know, I felt a lot better. I really did.

Until I remembered that I'm about to have my third boy.

The irony of life: 1
Maven: 0

Foiled again.

Being hip takes work

Dear Maven,

You're a young woman in your 20's and I'm sure your life is full of excitement. What do you do for fun?

Well, aren't I glad you asked! (Or that I fabricated a question to ask myself!)

Being a 29-year-old party girl takes work. First, I always have to look my best. For example, today I'm wearing maternity jeans that look like they're the only pair I've worn for the last seven months, coupled with a t-shirt I didn't realize was badly stained with bacon grease until I was already out in public this evening. Of course, my unwashed hair is put up in a perfect ponytail and my makeup is so natural that you'd think I wasn't wearing any. All the models are going for that nude look now, you know. They got that from me. Laziness starts trends - for an example, see all the teenage girls walking around in pyjama bottoms.

Second, I sit around the house all day. I call it 'gathering energy'. How can I possibly party it up at night if I'm running around with my children for 12 hours first? That just won't do. So instead, I have them bring everything to me on the couch: games, puzzles, food they want opened. I'd like to say it's completely pregnancy-related, but in reality I'm just a shoddy mother.

Once my brood is fed and the gremlins are in bed, I develop a massive pregnancy craving for a burger and fries. This is where the party starts, ya'll. I instant message The Sister and she offers to join me on my fast-food gathering expedition. She's thoughtful like that. I pick her up in my pimpin' ride (see: van) and we head down to the local Wendy's.

The nice thing about being pregnant is the ability to change one's mind, guilt-free. Like when I was given the bag with my $5.92 worth of bacon cheeseburger and fries. Suddenly, I had no desire to eat it. Thus, I threw it at The Sister who munched down some of the fries and talked to me about her upcoming 80's and 90's themed birthday bash (I gave her some suggestions, being as wise (see: old) as I am). I dropped her off at home and proceeded toward my house.

Now, of course, I can't go home. It's only 10:15pm at this point. It's prime Tuesday night party time. So instead, I do what every hip 29-year-old does: I went to the Tim Hortons two blocks from my house and sat with my mother and her friend for two hours.

I got home shortly after midnight, having enjoyed a few Timbits and two cups of decaf. I threw my fast food fiesta in the fridge as an offering to Geekster in the morning. Nothing like day-old fast food for lunch. How, er, yummy (see: pepperoni cheeseballs).

In short, the hustle and bustle of my life is comparable only to that of a socialite. It's very hard to be me. You should be amazed I even have the time to blog.

Tomorrow will be another fun-filled day of non-existant activities. I believe it would be a perfect day to work on my ass groove in the new couch. Gotta get that molding just right.

Nine weeks left. Nine weeks left. Nine weeks left... But I'm not going stir crazy or anything.

***

PS: A huge shout-out to Trent, who writes Pink is the New Blog (the only celebrity site I check, ever, and only in secret because I'm not possibly shallow enough to care about celebrities, and only because my sister got me hooked so it's all her fault). At the end of today's entry, after talking about his babysitting adventure, he posted the following:

I have to give it up to all the stay at home moms who take care of their little kiddies each and every day ... and oftentimes, they're taking care of more than one little set of legs at a time. Props to you, moms ... I have a new respect for your work -- that's for sure.

Thank you!! It's awesome when people get it, you know? Staying home is hard work! Trent is a blogging god, so he's way too cool to read my garbage. However, his site is great and I always get a laugh. Do check it out, even if you're not a celebrity whore like my sister.