About Mommy Exhaustion

I am absolutely exhausted. A couple of months ago I went to my doctor about this problem, hoping I would come out with an easy fix: lose weight, take iron supplements (my whole Scottish family is iron/B12 deficient--a problem that plagues all Celtic descendants) and get a good night's sleep. So far, no dice. I could sleep away the better part of the day, everyday, if I allowed myself.

When I spoke to my doctor she kindly reminded me that I do have a year-and-a-half old boy. Ok, ok, I know I have a small child but it seems like other mothers are far more motivated and energetic than me. Perhaps they have a secret that I don't know about or maybe they're just all hopped up on drugs. The problem remains, I feel like I can drop dead at a moment's notice into permanent slumber.

Don't get me wrong, I love to entertain and play with my son. It's the highlight of every day. I just wish I had the energy I had before he was born. Funny how that all works out. You have the most energy before kids, and the least after. I wonder what the evolutionary significance of this is. Is it to make sure the elder of the species dies off from exhaustion so there's more food for the young? Do we use less oxygen, thus supplying more for the growing world population? I just don't understand the irony.

Today after dinner I took Xavier to Walmart to purchase his very own soccer ball. He's taken a great interest in kicking and running after balls, but all of his cheap play balls from the giant netted ball corral lose air a week after they're purchased. He chose a moderately priced soccer ball, white with black and red stripes. I tossed it in the cart along with a couple of water bottles, we paid, and we were on our way to Seacliff Park. Then the journey to exhaustion began.

Immediately after I took the ball out of the car, it rolled dangerously across the street, so that I had to precariously hold Xavier back while trying to fetch the ball before a car drove over it. I booted it into the park and Xavier ran gleefully after it, but stopped in mid stride to point out the various array of other "ba-balls" (balloons) across the way at the THREE different birthday party picnics occurring in the park. He abandoned the soccer ball along with all of my hopes for a kicking good time, for a cluster of multicoloured balloons that weren't his. I chased after him, new soccer ball in hand while he collected his rightful share of balloons from the closest birthday party. It's a good thing he's exceedingly cute, because everyone wants to give him a balloon anyway.

After he had a couple of tantrums while I was trying to pry him away from the party (picture me holding a kicking, screaming baby, a new soccer ball, a water bottle, and two balloons) we finally played with our new ball. We kicked and ran and kicked and ran until we covered the whole area of the park. I was pleased to see that he worked up a sweat too...tire the precious out...yes...we are trixy little mommieses we are...tire out the precious. The park was absolutely packed tonight with families trying to tire their children out with equal to greater effort than me. All in all, we played for two hours until I was finally able to coax Xavier back into the car to come home.

I walked in the front door just ready to drop, but I still had to bathe Xavier, brush his teeth and put him to bed. I was able to do all this with only a few routine objections from my son, but he went to bed wonderfully. I think he sensed I was about to collapse.

And so I finish this wondering if I will ever recover from this toddler energy drain. I'm off to bed. Tomorrow's schedule can start as early as 5 AM.

Madcap out.

PS - to all the mothers in the world, thank you for your sacrifice. Especially to my own mother: damn woman, how on earth did you raise two children? I guess love conquers all, even chronic fatigue.

Morning at Point Pelee

Tonight Xavier and I arrived back at home after a long and adventuresome day. This morning we went to Point Pelee National Park for a little bit of nature. We went to the nature centre and pressed a lot of buttons (Xavier's fave) and then we took the trolley to the tip (ok, here's my sick mind but I just had to say, doesn't "trolley to the tip" sound like a porno for seniors? lol). Ok, ok, I know that was horrible, but somebody had to say it. Phil and I decided that it would be safest if we strapped Xavier into his stroller instead of letting him just sit in our laps. Thirty seconds into the ride, it was like we were on the ride of terror. Poor little Xavier was terrified of the speaker over the P.A. system and of the rough and noisy ride the trolley made. He desperately told us "all done" in his sign language, which was both funny and heartbreaking. I took him out of the stroller and held him in my lap, which was ultimately the calm and security he needed.

On the way to the tip, Xavier was marvelling at the birds flying around us and the vast canopy of trees we walked through. When the path opened up to the beach, Xavier experienced some trepidation again, but was soon enough splashing away at the water's edge and letting the sand fall through is little fingers. It was precious and it lasted about twenty minutes.

On our way back we heard the little toddler squeals of delight as he once again marvelled at the trees. It sounded like "wow wow, all gish ada oh" and was completely adorable. The trolley trip back to the nature centre was much calmer and as we drove off toward the boardwalk, Xavier fell asleep in the car. We decided to leave the park and come back to the boardwalk another day. He was tuckered right out.

Why Harry Potter is AWESOME.

On opening day, Phil, Daniel (my brother) and I went to go see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. I made sure sure had advance tickets (one week to be precise) and we also arrived at the theatre thirty minutes before showtime in order to allow for snacks and bathroom breaks.

Over the last seven months I've made myself sick over this movie. The first bout of sickness occurred when I discovered (as did millions of worldwide fans) that Warner Brothers studio decided to push back the release date from December 2009 to July 2010. I felt like someone broke up with me. I had that characteristic aching in my stomach and sometimes it was hard to breathe. After that fateful announcement, I was on the countdown: i.e., 57 more days of school, but more importantly, 73 more days until Harry Potter. I couldn't sleep the night before and woke up with a sore throat on Wednesday morning. I didn't care.

On Wednesday, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince did not disappoint. The film adaptation of the novel was the best yet, in my opinion, of all the Harry Potter movies so far. Surprisingly, it was incredibly funny which I did not at all expect, seeing as the plot grows darker and darker as the books progress. This film exceeded my expectations and I quickly and heartily forgave it for breaking up with me seven months ago.

The Harry Potter series happens to be my all time favourite. Yes, I have a Bachelor's Degree in English Literature and I should know better, but my heart just keeps leading me back to Harry Potter every time. The stories are compelling, funny, mysterious and incredibly thrilling. Altogether they're a classic example of the epic battle between good and evil. The allusions to Scripture are incredible as are the images, symbols and incredible back story J. K. Rowling had to totally invent in order to make the stories work. The books are rife with building conflict that climaxes in the last installment, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (which blew my mind, by the way). They remind me of a cross between Dickens and J.R.R. Tolkien with a touch of comedic sass thrown in by Rowling, who I think will go down in the history books as one of the most influential writers of the 21st century.

Sure, this isn't the most beautiful writing I've ever read. These books may not be taught in schools because they cannot be linked historically with any important events (i.e., the Great Depression, the Holocaust, etc) like the books I have to teach at school. Fundamentalists get the heeby geebies when you talk about "magic," as if Harry Potter is the foundation of the road paved to hell--geesh! Some people think it's not literary enough (leave me in a room with one of these people for an hour and they'll change their tune). But where Rowling triumphs is in the sheer numbers of children (let alone adults) she has inspired to begin reading for the first time. I've seen children and teenagers walking around in public, cradling Harry Potter books like they're precious treasures. People who hate reading love these books. For some, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was the gateway through which a whole world of literature was opened up. My brother is an example of this. Book hater turned voracious reader turned writer. J.K. Rowling did this to him.

For me, the stories make me feel important; like I'm in on some sort of inside secret. Most of all , these books inspire the imagination, allowing the reader to see their world, their work and their play with a more creative eye. If you haven't read the Harry Potter series, I urge you to borrow a copy of the Philosopher's stone from the library or from a kid on your street. You'll begin thinking that this book is about wizards and magic and finish knowing that this book is about the glorious possibilities of the human spirit.

Goodnight readers. I'm going to bed now to continue reading the Deathly Hallows, for the fourth time.

I picked the berries and made jam

Today I took advantage of the gorgeous day outside. Instead of directing where Xavier and I would go, I let him take the lead. We walked around the car in the driveway for five minutes and climbed over the curb that separates the lawn and the gravel numerous times. Then we picked some "flowers" (weeds). We then took each other's hands (my choice, not Xavier's) and walked to the park. I made sure not to "help" Xavier climb the equipment. He gets very testy when I try to help without permission, so I watched and waited for his characteristic hand bob which means I am permitted to assist him. After throwing pebbles down the slide, Xavier sat his bum down about two feet away from the top of the slide and scooted his way to the edge. My heart broke a little just then because of the extreme cuteness.

He didn't want to go on the baby swings. He wanted to go on the big kid swings, by himself. When I said, "no, you're too little" (he is only 19 months old) he had a little tantrum, but quickly got over it when he saw more "flowers."

After picking the "flowers" he proceeded to leave the park and perch himself on the street corner (he was really on the corner of someone's lawn) and throw clover heads in the street. At this point, I thought it was time to intervene in his afternoon plans because we were getting weird looks from the neighbours across the street, and because there were cars coming. As expected, he DID NOT like this change of plan, but eventually agreed to go play with his "ba-ball" in our backyard. At this point, my favourite scene of the afternoon ensued.

I brought a stainless steel bowl out from the kitchen so I could pick the black raspberries. As I picked, Xavier held the bowl for mommy and ate the raspberries. Fortunately, I can pick faster than he can eat, but his blood red berry stained hands and face were absolutely priceless. My little nosferatu. He then decided to put the bowl down and have a go at the berries himself, eating them right off the stem. I decided that would be a good idea too, but I managed to keep the stains confined to my fingertips.

As I picked and picked (about 4 cups worth, which takes much longer than you think it does) Xavier ate and ate. When he had his fill, he started to unload the berries from the bowl to the ground. I stepped in and confiscated the bowl which resulted in a meltdown. Not to worry, however. My job was done. After some mashing, boiling with pectin and sugar, and stirring, I had black raspberry jam. It literally took 10 minutes and if anyone tells you different, they're lying through their teeth. It is the easiest thing I've ever done in my life. By the way, IT IS FABULOUS!! As a treat for helping me, I spread some warm jam on a baby cookie for Xavier. One was not enough.

The 100 Mile Challenge

I was watching this show today called "The 100 Mile Challenge." If you've never heard of it, it's a reality show that challenges a few different families to eat and drink items that can be found, all ingredients included, within 100 mile radius. I've watched the show about three times now and every time I try to imagine if this would be a "doable" challenge for my family. In Essex County, we're surrounded by the freshest fruits and vegetables in Canada, thanks to local farms and greenhouses. We have a dairy at the corner of our street, and I know plenty of local farmers who would oblige us with meat and eggs. But there would be no sugar, no coffee, no bread (anyone know a miller around here?), and GASP no tea! Additionally, I don't think I could consume any of the food products produced at local canneries because they contain things like vinegar. Where the hell does vinegar come from anyway? Of course, we could sustain ourselves quite comfortably for the summer, but what happens when winter comes? Would eating canned vegetables and fruits and potatoes (and any other "winter" vegetable) for that matter, suffice for the whole winter season? Would it be tasty? appetizing? disgusting? "The 100 mile challenge" claims to extend to visiting friend's homes and restauranting too. Here I would fail, miserably.

This show is aimed, of course, at raising awareness about Global Warming and the carbon footprint we leave on this earth by buying products that must be flown in from far off lands, such as my beloved tea. As I was thinking about what I'd have to eat to sustain acceptable levels of nutrition/food enjoyment, I thought of our honeymoon. I know this seems completely unrelated, but it fits, I promise. When we were planning our trip to Paris, Phil and I were giddy thinking about all of the local specialty foods we could bring back to Canada to stock our pantry. We're real foodies, hence the giddiness. Our list included foie gras, different types of cheeses (brie, chevre, Camembert, etc), Dijon mustards and if we could swing it, truffles (it turns out we couldn't "swing" the truffles. They were about 500 euros per pound-about $800 Canadian dollars-no joke). Sure enough a famous food store called "Fauchon" was right around the corner from our hotel. We stocked up on our goods and devised a plan to smuggle them through both the US and Canadian customs, though it turns out they just let us through anyway. When we returned home we were both delighted and disappointed that these very same products (name brands and all) were available at our local Superstore, via import, and for a cheaper price. How this worked out I will never know. My point is, they lost their, pardon the phrase, "je ne sais quoi." Here we were, flying to the country of origin to hunt down these perceived foodstuff rarities only to be stripped of all sense of meaning and singularness by the phenomenon of importing (yes I'm aware that importing is centuries old, but my point is try and find foie gras in Leamington fifteen years ago. Enough said). Of course, I am glad I don't have to fly to France every time I have a hankering for some foie gras and crackers, but it still seems that these foods have lost some of their magical appeal.

In addition to the 100 mile challenge's attempt to create awareness about global warming, I think it also hearkens back to a time when people had to slaughter their own animals, mill their own wheat and grow their own fruits and veggies to survive. These pioneers worked so hard to maintain their quality of life, and most importantly, appreciated the effort it took to cook, bake and preserve the flavours of the land. Every scrap of food was used, from vegetable peelings to animal fat. (As I write I feel a twinge of guilt for not picking the perfectly ripe black raspberries that are in my backyard as we speak. I've got to do that tomorrow.)

We planted a little vegetable garden this year to do our part (but it was mostly to help us save a few shekels and try our hand at canning.) Whatever our bounty is, I hope it will help sustain us through the winter. If I happen to stumble upon a Parisian tourist exploring the streets of Leamington, perhaps I will share with him a can of our homemade tomato sauce and tell him it's a Canadian delicacy.

Comments

My brother has informed me that the "comments" were not working on my blog. I've changed some doohickeys and they seem to be working now. I would love to hear what you think!

Sporadic Obsessive Tendency

Over the past few weeks I've become increasingly aware of my tendency to obsess over things (hence the blog title contenders in my last post). I think I've been this way all my life, but it's intensified since I got married and began my career. This sporadic obsessive tendency, which I will refer to as "SOT," is not unlike the Obsessive Compulsive Disorders we're all familiar with. I automatically link OCD with images of housewives desperately cleaning the kitchen floor and all horizontal kitchen surfaces with powerful, skin dissolving cleaners five times a day. SOT cripples my ability to think of anything other than my hobby-du-jour. Right now I'm SOTting on buying/building/designing a house.

If you ask my parents, husband and brother, I've always been a little cuckoo over home plans. Yes, home plans. I've been "designing" my "dream" home in its various incarnations since I was eight years old. I don't know what it is about walk-in pantries and breakfast bars that turns my crank, but it's been doing it for twenty years. At one time I was even interested in pursuing an Architectural Degree, but this dream was eventually ousted by another obsession--teaching. (*As a side note, to demonstrate my actual (cuckoo?) love of teaching, the year I graduated from the Faculty of Education, I scoured yard sales and office supply stores looking for the perfect items and educational aids to outfit my primary classroom. I probably spent thousands of dollars loading up on "essentials," you know, like stickers and stamps, before being hired to the Secondary Panel, thus rendering all my Primary supplies useless. Other obsessions in my life include, but are not limited to, the following: guitar lessons, cake decorating, vegetable shaped salt and pepper shakers, Harry Potter, teacups, taking various courses-like the current Master's program I'm enrolled in--debt reduction, jewelery making, weight watchers, wedding planning, baby planning and dictionaries. Weird, I know).

Home plans are my current obsession because Phil and I are actually considering building in the next year, if all goes well financially. What's ironic is that I'm getting all shook up over cookie-cutter subdivision plans (which I swore I'd never build) that are far unlike the Craftsman style that is my all time favourite. When I think of Craftsman homes, I salivate imagining extra wide front doors, low slung roof lines, chunky mouldings and custom built-ins. I spend hours on the computer searching home plan sites for the perfect, unsubdivisionlike home, only to remind myself that to keep my dream of building alive, I'll have to submit to the four house styles I will have to choose from come next year. After driving by these homes every night for the last three weeks like a creepy stalker, Phil finally agreed to do a quick "walk through" of three different models. I must say, I was very impressed. Unfortunately, I think this brief tour had the opposite effect my husband was so subtly trying to achieve. My SOT increased, and the hours of talking about, writing about, researching and prospecting new homes has reached new heights. I even went to the library today to borrow their entire collection of house plan books, just in case one of them had a new plan that I hadn't seen on my favourite home plan websites (there weren't any, by the way).

And so, as I try to pry myself away from the computer screen to spend quality time with my husband and son, precious time that I've clouded with talk of walk-out basements and master ensuites, I will keep reminding myself that this, although an important life dream, can take a backseat to enjoying the moment with my handsome priorities.

Madcap Romantic, signing out.

July 10, 2009

Welcome to Madcap Romantic.



Let me begin my first blog (I hate this word) by explaining why I chose "Madcap Romantic" as my blog (ughh) title. As any first time blogger can testify to, trying to come up with an original title that adds a personal flare is no easy feat, at least for the obsessive compulsive. Perhaps this is why it's taken me so long to actually begin. I stared at the screen for, no word of a lie, half an hour trying to come up with something smart and personal. Madcap Romantic emerged as an appropriate title because firstly, it fits my scatterbrained and fanciful modus operandi, and secondly it fit within the confines of Blogspot's character limits. Other contenders were "Musings of a Romantic and Slightly Obsessive Mind," which was way too long, and "The Obsessive Romantic" which I nixed because I thought people would think I was a stalker or something. Thus, the Madcap Romantic is born.



I decided to begin this little project for two reasons. The first reason is that I'd like a medium-- other than Facebook--to communicate my thoughts and life events with friends and family. The second reason is darker. This blog is the very place where I will submit to vanity and centre the earth's axis around me for a while. I will bask in the glory of my readership (however small) and revel in the fact (imagined or not) that people are vibrating in anticipation for my next posting.



Until next time.



Madcap Romantic out.