I was going to write a funny post about all the hilariously varied things you might find in my (or any other mother’s) cart at Wal-Mart – Spiderman party favours! Mini muffin pans! Sleeping pills! Sugar-free candy! Personal lubricant! Ziploc bags! – but my sense of humour is GONE, people. Gone. I am a bitch. I am the kind of bitch you might be if, say, you had been enjoying the sunshine and the melting snow and you had been thinking about your gorgeous perennial garden, and suddenly it’s minus twenty and snowing. Say.

Yesterday when the cold weather hit I actually thought, it will be so pleasant to have a nice indoors-y day. But suddenly, my goodness, the kids were SO IRRITATING, what with their constant need for a snack, and for attention, and for all the other things that young children might need in a day. And since that’s my job, for goodness’ sake, I had to attend to those needs, and they were SO IRRITATING. Of course as my husband points out, the children are not so much more irritating than normal, it’s me: I am more irritable. Hmm. He has a point. My mood isn’t exactly improving with the thought that he is out of town next week, which really puts a cramp in my style, if you know what I’m saying. I mean, I like me my vino and NYPD Blue reruns and all, but I’m sad about it. Boo hoo, poor me.

Fortunately for everyone involved, the boys went to preschool this afternoon and I am left, with my bitchiness, to take the dog for a nice long FREEZING walk on the icy, treacherous sidewalks. So here I go.

I’m not sure why we have toys in the house. Okay, I know why we have toys. However – and believe me, believe me, this is not a complaint – the kids’ toys are suffering from extreme neglect. And this is a good thing. It’s all about creative play around here these days; it’s great, the kids have been getting along so well that it makes me wish I could really capture this moment and make it last, if not forever, then for a very long time. Remember in Little House in the Big Woods how Laura and Mary play in the attic for months, with only corncob dolls and pumpkins for playthings? It’s like that, but instead of corncob dolls it is pieces of string and old Valentines, and instead of pumpkins it is an old exercise mat and a couch cushion. Here is a list of the games that have been played for, literally, hours during the past few days:

1) Couch fishing. Sit on the couch with a long piece of string, and every few minutes shriek “I caught something!” followed by “Oh, it’s just an old tire.”
2) Couch canoeing. Pull cushions off of the couch and pretend that you are rowing in a canoe. Shriek “Man overboard!” and jump off. Repeat.
3) Mud puddle. Lie on old exercise mat while your brother yells “I can’t believe you got in the mud again!” Then run into the bathroom, stand in the bathtub, and pretend to take a shower. Repeat.
4) Mail delivery. Obtain a pile of last year’s Valentines. Run through the house looking for cupboard doors to hide them in. Say “I never fail to deliver the mail” emphatically many, many times. Run through the house retrieving hidden Valentines. Repeat.
5) Build a giant tower with Mega Blocks. Start shrieking “Jack, Jack, Jack” which will cause brother to “load” the tower with “dynamite”. Kick the tower down while shrieking “Clear the site!”. Repeat.

Note that there are a couple of commonalities in this list: first, there is a lot of shrieking and noise in my house. Second, there is a lot of repetition. Third, with the exception of the Mega Blocks, not one of these games actually requires a toy. Sometimes I look at my house and imagine all of the molded plastic toys in a landfill somewhere, and I am incredibly ashamed at our environmental footprint. Of course the boys do play with their toys, of course they do enjoy their things, but mostly I feel there is so much we could do without.

This ties into the way I feel about the current economic situation. I was reading an article that stated over the past decade, average consumer debt has been almost double disposable household income in the US. In other words, for every dollar earned, nearly two were being spent. Of those discretionary expenditures, how much could have been done without?

Last night we had some friends over for dinner. We had some great conversation, the topics ranging from the global economic situation to vomit. Yes, between bites of delicious spinach lasagna and sips of lovely cabernet, we discussed our children and vomiting. And that is how you know that we all have young children: our complete immunity to the grossness of bodily functions. I remember, pre-kids, having lunch with a co-worker who discussed in great and specific detail the particulars of his daughter’s toilet training. I was revolted! Who ever would discuss that over a meal? What kind of sick person thinks that it’s okay to discuss bowel movements while eating? But something happens when you have kids, it’s like the part of your brain that controls the “eww” factor dies. I always laugh when non-parents talk about diaper changes with consternation and revulsion, because once you’ve changed your first couple hundred diapers, nothing in said diapers can faze you anymore.

But what we were really talking about were milestones. The milestone in particular that we have passed with Jake is vomiting in the toilet. Oh happy day, when children no longer barf all over themselves and the floor, but actually go into the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. It is, to me, a milestone that is right up there with putting on shoes and the ability to drink from a cup with no lid. Certainly cause for celebration, a celebration with maybe a delicious spinach lasagna and a lovely cabernet.

When I was younger, regardless of my relationship status, I had nothing but contempt for Valentine’s Day. “A stupid, made-up holiday created by the card companies – I don’t need a special day to say I love you” is one such witty, original thought you might have heard uttered by myself. This is along the same lines as my thoughts about diamond engagement rings. “DeBeers monopoly! Far overvalued! Excessive and unsavoury marketing practices! Attempts to purchase romance!” Suffice it to say I do not have a diamond ring, and I also do not receive gifts on Valentine’s Day. Clever, clever girl I am.

My feelings about Valentine’s Day have really changed since having kids. I need to word this delicately so as to not sound like a weirdo: I really enjoy getting Valentines from the kids. Or rather, I would really enjoy receiving Valentines from the kids, SHOULD THEY ACTUALLY THINK ABOUT IT. This, surely, is some kind of Valentine-related karma.

Now, I don’t want to seem creepy. The last thing in the world that I want is to be one of those mothers who say things like “I’ll always be his number one girl!” with regards to their sons. Or one of those mothers who think that no woman will EVER be good enough for her baby boy. Because we all know how those boys turn out, don’t we: either they live with their doting and creepy mothers forever or they come to despise their doting and creepy mothers and never speak to them again. Or only speak to them in forced, uncomfortable telephone conversations around statutory holidays.

That disclaimer out of the way, I really wish the boys would make me a Valentine of their own free will. This year, spurred on by last year’s trauma (which will be related shortly) Rob essentially made the boys feel so guilty that they made some paper hearts. Or rather, they said wanted to make paper hearts and as they lack then necessary artistic skills, I made the hearts and they decorated them. Last year, excited to receive my very first red-paper-and-doily preschool Valentine, I was, shall we say, disappointed to find that Mark had created that exact thing ADDRESSED TO HIS FATHER. This year, as we set out their cards to make for their classmates, both boys immediately set aside a special one JUST FOR DAD. Now, I’m ecstatic that they think their father is so awesome (as do I, by the way) but WHERE ARE MY VALENTINES, YOU UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN???? I have to think that those years of Valentine’s Day disdain has come back to bite me.

Yesterday was the preschool Valentine’s party, and it appears that Mark is the class dreamboat. I’ve never really liked Valentine’s Day – and this is definitely the subject of a different post – but I love the way young children celebrate it. I love choosing cards with the boys for them to distribute (Iron Man for Mark, dinosaurs for Jake). I love getting the class list and having the kids make out cards TO EVERYONE, so no one is left out. I love how they make envelopes to collect all their cards. I love making heart shaped cookies and cupcakes with heart sprinkles. But what I really love is looking at the kids’ Valentine cards. This year, they were really hilarious. Jake got so many “You’re cute” and “My friend” cards, but Mark’s were all the “XOX” and “Kiss Me” and “I Love You” variety. Truthfully, it’s Valentine’s Day, so I would never have thought twice about it, had the moms of several girls in the class not given me a head’s up. “Marina didn’t really want to give out cards to most of the boys” her mom mentioned, “But she has a special message for Mark!”

Let’s just say that Mark is popular with the ladies. Last year he told me that certain girls were always following him around; this year he complains that they try to kiss him in class. We ran into a friend from his class at the mall, and she stroked his arm as she cooed (I’m not kidding) “I just LOVE the Cars movie” which is certainly music to his Cars-obsessed ears.

The secret to his allure is his total indifference to girls. Ah, there’s nothing quite as attractive as indifference, is there? Being hard to get? Apparently it all starts at preschool. As Mark himself puts it “Chelsea really likes me, but I’m not really interested in what she likes to do”. My husband and I joke about this a lot, imagining him and his unfortunate future girlfriends, girls who will earnestly pour out their hearts to him, to which he will respond with something along the lines of “I think I need to get an oil change”. Poor girls.

I was recently party to a conversation with regards to junior high school. A woman I know was discussing the school we both attended, and she stated “Those were still the best days of my life”. People, I was astonished. Junior high? I myself was so miserable in junior high that I almost can’t comprehend how someone wouldn’t be, let alone being able to think of that time with nostalgia and fondness. Let alone saying that your junior high years were the best days of your life. When I close my eyes I can picture myself perfectly, with a late-eighties spiral perm and teased bangs, tight rolled-up jeans and a tucked-in Depeche Mode t-shirt, and glasses that I refused to wear which subsequently caused me to wander around in semi-blindness until I obtained contacts at the age of fifteen. I can still feel the struggle of fitting in, the difficulty in figuring out who I was, and the almost total lack of self-esteem.

Later, I slowly started to figure out who I was and what I wanted. I can see myself evolving as a teenager, losing the rolled-up jeans, but not, sadly, the perm. I picture myself in a black babydoll dress, tights, and strangely, army boots, which would later make way for short plaid skirts and turtlenecks. My goal in life was to be a concert pianist, and then it was to be a great theatre actress. In grade twelve I was introduced to and fell in love with calculus, which shaped the rest of my academic career. Just writing that makes me feel like Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club (“and in the physics club we talk about physics”). Maybe I should rename this blog “Nerdy Girl in a Boy House”.

I have never been happier than I am right now. I love my husband, my children, my dog. I’ve never been so happy with my physical appearance, despite the fact that my varicose veins make my legs look like they are being strangled by boa constrictors and a hundred fine lines have taken up residence under my eyes. I’m happy and content with my life, but never at any point did I think I would be where I am right now. I, who in grad school had a poster of the feminist manifesto on my office wall beside a picture of a fish on a bicycle, am a housewife.

It’s not like I don’t have some internal struggle with this, especially when I hear about old colleagues achieving success and traveling around the world, or when the boys question me about my pre-partum life. But at the end of the day, this is where I want to be.

Today was a good day, actually a very good day, as opposed to yesterday which was a very bad day. Anyone who is or was a stay-at-home mom can understand how a day in which nothing significant happens can actually be a great day. In the past half hour I have heard phrases uttered such as “Hey, I know! We can BOTH be Batman” and “Let’s be a TEAM” which is nice and heart-warming. I was actually thinking about putting my children up for sale yesterday (hey, they’re cute!) or even myself up for sale (hey, I’m cute!). But today is a much better day.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I actually don’t really like babies. I mean, I love my children so much, and I somewhat enjoyed the time when they were babies, but boy, am I happy they are not babies anymore. I know many many women who think nostalgically about their children’s babyhood, but I am not one of them. Today when I saw them frolicking around the melting snow, and then chasing each other and the dog around the house, I just thought – it just gets better and better, doesn’t it. As they grow into the little people that they are, even the bad days seem not so bad.

Although, I can’t help but think I just jinxed tomorrow.