Too Many Changes To List - Yet, behold! A List!

There seems to be a recurring theme in my poor old Beaver blog. I write volumes of content long hand, which I then hoard, under the guise of 'someday' transcribing the material onto the site.  Then I get too lazy, stressed or frustrated and nothing happens. Or I wait until some catastrophic happens, and I come on here and spill my problems for the world to see, before disappearing again. This cycle seems to repeat itself every few month.

So here we are again. How to describe the last few months in a nutshell?

Bullet points! Those should do the trick!

• May - Packed up 9 years worth of life, two dogs, one cat, one 9 year old, one 5 year old and one husband and sold our house.
• June - Homeless until our new house was ready. The husband opted to stay in his city of business as the prospect of sleeping on my parents' couch had no real appeal. I spent the month working overtime, drinking and sleeping on a 'bed' composed of patio furniture cushions and homemade quilts.
• July - The move into the new house runs smoothly until my brother in law had the unfortunate situation of being murdered. By his father. Just because you're a dick, doesn't mean you should die like a dog. 
• August - Was hot. My overtime continues.
• September - Goose and Roux begin at their new school. I feel stress regarding religious standards that I cannot possibly meet. I am given a police back check before I am allowed to participate in school events.

 There are times when I miss the fandom that gave me such peace. But at the end of the day, I realise it was the people I loved that made it all worth while. Those individuals will be carried in my heart forever; I'll never forget a single moment I had with any of them.

Blessed Be.

Bicycles and Blah

You know, when I first started writing this blog, I swore up and down it wouldn't be a MommyBlog; not that there is anything remotely wrong with MommyBlogs, I had just been there and done that. This was supposed to be a random, perverted something-or-rather...

But, as art [not particularly good art] tends to imitate life [not particularly interesting life] this blog is slowly becoming me and my life at its [not so] finest.

This past Sunday Goose learnt to ride his bike without training wheels. To most, this is a normal right of passage that occurs with little angst. Not so in the Mommy Mab household.

Goose, being Goose, had long had a longstanding love/hate relationship with his bicycle...he was still using his tricycle at five, and was only barely coaxed off that, when his Grandma bought him a bike for his sixth birthday. Wog and I never fought it; it didn't bother us what he rode, so long as he was having a good time.
Everything changed on Sunday though; Goose attended a classmates birthday where though he won the bowling [given that I've never taken him bowling I thought that was an accomplishment], he was upset when everyone was riding and he couldn't.

When I arrived to pick him up he was sitting morosely on the curb while all the other kids biked around. He was happy enough to explain the mathematics of bowling to me, over and over, but I noticed he kept looking at the other kids.
'
Would you like Mommy to go and get your bike?' I asked
He shook his head,
'It has four wheels; I don't want them to see'.
This broke my heart, because I've never, ever said anything like that to him.

So I asked the Super!Dad running the party to help us out...and it worked! Within half an hour Goose was zipping [well, and zagging] around with the others.

Moral of the story: Our kids will always surprise us...no matter what!

And now to share two gorgeous pictures of my Littles by Kelly Meagan Photography...

 Photos by Kelly Meagan
https://www.facebook.com/kellymeaganphoto?fref=ts

Mommy Moments and Letters to Loki

Today I had one of those Mommy!Moments.

Things have been utterly wretchedly crazy at work the past few weeks and I admit I've been kinda snarky on the home front. I always swore I'd never let work get in the way of me enjoying time with my Littles, but at the end of the day, I admit that their daycare teachers see them more than I do. It breaks my heart, but that's the way it is, and unless I win the lottery [which would mean I'd have to play the lottery], they have to stay in daycare. I know they love their teachers, but I always worry I'm missing out on key moments in their lives.

At any rate, today I arrived late to pick up Goose [which by proxy meant I was going to be late to pick up Roux as well] so I came flying into the school, when the director asked to speak with me. Heart sinking, I thought I was up for another lecture about a) My lateness, b) Goose acting out, or c) Both.

My Goose is a special boy, and I try to avoid labels when talking about him or writing about him, because I want people to get to know him, for him, and not pity him because of some label concocted by another [myself included]. But I digress...

When we got into her office she pulled out what I recognised as Goose's big notepad; he struggles a lot with printing so he likes to practise on this, where he can write as big as he likes. I immediately thought I was in for a repeat of last year's notepad incident which involved older boys and four letter words, but instead she opened it and handed it to me.

Here is what it was:

 In Case you don't speak Goose I'll translate:

Dear My Mum's Favorite Actor Loki,
Please come to her birthday party.
She will be very happy and buy me toys. And make you cake. Love, Goose.
*Please note the lovely illustrations where Loki is twice the size of Thor*

Turns out she was concerned that I had let him watch Thor and The Avengers; I haven't, but he doesn't live under a rock...and I admit I buy early reader Avengers books to try to tempt his reading. I assured her that I would not be inviting any Frost Giants to my birthday in May, tempting though it may be.

I may be the mother of one of the sweetest Gooses in the history of Geese. My beautiful boy.

Tuesday Musings, or how Queen Saved my Evening

Ever have one of those moments when stop and think, 'Wow, is it still only Tuesday?'

It's March break so both Goose and Roux are home with the Wog during the day and me at night...I still only get to spend less than two hours with them before bed, but good god do they make up for lack of time.

Chaos. Insane Screaming. More Chaos.

Tonight trivets were smashing, then there was screaming, followed immediately with biting, then thanks to an absolutely lovely person on twitter's suggestion of music, there was dancing and singing.
I'm continuously amazed by how little people respond to music; both of mine absolutely adore Queen, much to my pleasure ...we'll ignore Roux' unfortunate interest in Rihanna.

I enjoyed watching both kids sing along with the words they knew [Roux] and gladly make up the words they were missing [Goose]. I've loved Queen so much over the years, it made me happy, that even for a short time I could share it with my kids.

Who is Watching Whom?

So today I get that dreaded call from the school saying that my Goose has fallen in the playground and hit his head. I know nobody enjoys calls from the school, but I particularly hate ‘injury’ calls; they always make me feel infinitely more guilty than illness calls, and part of me is always angry that my child got hurt while somebody else was watching them.

Immediately I jump into Dr Quinn-mode and demand to know if he’s dizzy, throwing up, how high was he when he fell etc…

The woman on the other end answers all my questions, and when I’m satisfied that there is no immediate danger I ask to speak with my son. Initially she’s reluctant, but I, being me, persist until he’s brought to the phone. Or at least until some child is brought to the phone. Here’s where it gets a little weird…

You see, two seconds into the call I realize that the child I’m speaking to IS NOT MINE. Calmly I ask the child to let me speak with the program’s Director, and when the phone is handed over, explain that, whichever child I was speaking to IS NOT MINE. No, she says, he just sounds that way because he’s shaken up, or maybe my connection is bad, but she insists, I was speaking to my blue-eyed Goose [blue like his Mommy's eyes she says]. I acquiesce, because let’s face it, I am very hard of hearing on one side at the best of times, and the phones at Big Green aren’t exactly stellar.

I call the Wog to be on the look out for head injuries when Goose gets home and go back to work.

A few hours later the phone rings again. This time the Director explains to me, laughing all the while that she did mix up the children and it wasn’t my Goose I was speaking to, but some other injured child. Goose never fell, she says, she was just confused…oh, and she’s sorry if she worried me.  Nice of her to let me know.

So apparently the people I'm paying to take care of my child, don’t actually know who my child is or what he’s doing. Which begs the question, if they aren’t watching, who is?

Waiting For Gastro

You know that feeling of impending doom you get when one of your littles has gastro [or stomach flu for those non-Quebec folks] and even though they're getting better, you know its only a matter of time before another member of your household succumbs? That's how I feel right now...some people wait for Godot, I wait for Gastro.

My relationship with gastro is long and complicated...and absurd, really but it's part of what makes me, me.
I admit it, I worry constantly about the kids getting it, the Wog getting it, even occasionally me getting it, though that's calmed down since I discovered Mommies aren't allowed to get sick, ever.

Last night poor Roux was up all night being sick, and she found the whole exercise terrifically exciting; no tears from my little Miss, just plenty of 'Momma I throw up *insert place*!' Ug. A night full of washing and rewashing, and then sanitising and re-sanitising cause it makes me feel better.

So here I sit, klonopin in hand, waiting. Calmly. I've accepted my fate.

~I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.~  

~Samuel Beckett

On Flu Shots and Jedi Mind Tricks

I'm going to let you in on a secret; I vaccinate Goose and Roux.  Shhh...don't tell anyone.  I don't have the energy to debate with the other Mommies. I could argue that both of them received the full intensity of my attachment parenting bonanza; co-sleeping, extended breastfeeding, baby-led weaning...the whole kit and caboodle. With Roux I even got more intense: *queue creepy music* she had an adjusted vaccination schedule. But I'm too tired to debate these things anymore; raise your littles your way, and I'll raise mine my way.  Live and Let Live.  Or Live and Leave me the heck alone...whichever is easier.

So, onto the point of this post. Today is officially the first day of flu shots in grand old Quebec; I get mine for free at work [one bonus the Big Green gives us along with our five sick days], so I left work early to bring the Goose and Roux to the drop in flu shot clinic down the street. Now, I don't do crowds, or germs really...but once a year I forgo my hangups and drag my littles to get shot full of attenuated flu virus.
Now I had confirmed with the provincial health folks earlier in the afternoon that this clinic was walk in only and ran until seven thirty so I figured if we arrived at four thirty that left us plenty of time...according to the big, burly security guard that barred our entrance I was very, very wrong.

Upon arriving in the subzero temperature in the growing darkness [and trying desperately to ignore Roux' demand that we play in the adjacent park instead] the big, angry man informed me that the clinic was only accepting people with appointments and I could come back tomorrow. Now, being a perfectly rational beaver I informed him that I had taken time off work, taken my littles out of school early and been told by the provincial health folks that I was able to attend this clinic. I refused to leave. I repeated my three points, again. And again. More people queued up behind me. They seemed to agree with my three points [most of them having brought their own littles]. I requested that I speak with somebody else [I'm Canadian we hate to be rude], several times...and refused to leave. Eventually he gave up and brought out a volunteer. I explained the situation and my trinity of arguments, and repeated it, twice.
As more and more people were gathering around me [including an absolutely sweet lady about to start chemo] her teen aged son and I figured it out. It was like a Jedi mind trick...they kept repeating 'We don't have appointments' but then people would arrive saying they had appointments, at which point they would add 'Unless you have an appointment', but when we requested appointments for tomorrow they repeated 'We don't have appointments'.
Eventually the head nurse came outside and repeated their strange mantra 'We don't have appointments' while still allowing people flashing their not-appointment cards into the building 'Unless you have an appointment'. No solution was reached and the littles and I went home. Attenuated virus-less.

Remind Me Why We Do This Again?

Can somebody please remind me why I would think it was a good idea to pull Halloween off by myself this year?  Was it ego? Maybe. Hubris? Very possibly. Though to be fair I did ask for help...but nobody was able to...which I thought was fine, at the time.

Le sigh. Try to picture me chasing two six year olds [one of whom, English is not his native language] and a nearly three year old through the damp, dark suburban jungle shrieking  at the top of my lungs,
'No! Stay off the street. Ignore the leaves! No! Don't ring the doorbell over and over again! Stop! Wait for me! '

I'm sure I looked and sounded positively deranged. Vanity aside, I had the brilliant [naturally] idea that I would leave my bowl of candy on my steps and visitors to my house [which I was of course not at, as I was busy howling through my neighbourhood] would each take one piece of candy in an orderly fashion and proceed to the next house. Okay, so I might have been naive...

I arrived home to find two crying children dressed as mini-cheerleader-zombie things on my doorstep peering at the empty bowl while their father felt the need to explain that 'Those wild teenagers!' had just taken all the candy, and what would his zombie-cheerleaders do now?  Apologising profusely [while trying to wrangle Roo who wanted to pee and eat her candy at the same time] I hurried into the house and refilled the bowl and distributed 'extra' candy for his children's duress.

Thus ends my Halloween.  How was yours?

Is it so very wrong...

That tonight I worked late, felt guilty about working late, so I bought the kids Happy Meals?
Lazy [and gross -the meals, not the kids] but they [the kids-not the meals] seemed terrifically happy...and that made me happy. Then onto bubble baths and copious amounts of stories, then bed. I think I may be more tired that they are. I feel so much pressure to squeeze something meaningful into the measly two hours I spend with them every day...and what does my brain produce?  Happy Meals.
Seriously though, are Happy Meals evil?   I don't think they do anything other than emphasize my lazy parenting [and inability to cook]. 
Plus Goose wants me to pull out his loose tooth...this completely squicks me. I just can't do it...

It Begins

Believe it or not, it has now taken me over ten minutes to write these few sentences. Why?

Well, the two little people milling about my feet are most likely the cause; Goose, who is six and Roux, who is two both seem to have sixth senses which immediately inform them if I'm attempting to do something [anything!] that doesn't involve them.

After a very hectic post-vacation week at the Big Green me and the kids have all been enjoying an early [very early!] Lincoln Logs session while the Wog [also known as Daddy] sleeps in. Sometimes the times that should be the calmest are often the most chaotic...strange how that happens.