The onset of summer vacation happening simultaneously with my head injury has called to question every last bit of calmness i have.

I try not to yell at my kids, i really do. I can often be found face down on my bed trying desperately to get my heart to stop beating so furiously. These days i feel furious. A lot.

Eliza, bless her little dimples, pushes every single button i have. Constant whining and obstinance combined with her velcro personality is wearing me down. I know she's getting ready for the big leap to kindergarten and acting out and being defiant is her way of working through all her emotions around her impending seperation from me. But still. Where's the love.

I am still continuously amazed at the thanklessness of this job. I have gotten so much more than i bargained for. So much more love, dirt, stress and poop than is humanly fathomable.

I plan every day around the kids. All fun, all the time. Yet, they are so thankless. I know i can't make them understand the life-changing sacrifice i am making, staying home with them. But, it can be damn frustrating.

To further my insanity i am taking them all camping on monday, by myself.

Yesterday one of the kids spilled a glass of something on my keyboard and rendered it useless. The worst part? This is the third time it has happened. Three keyboards lost to juice boxes.

This is a pattern in our lives. When we got new carpet in the playroom last year we were "never, not ever! going to allow food in this room again!"

Then we had the great mouse infestation of spring 2006 which made us renew our pledge "we will never again! allow food in this room! we suck!"

Last night after the broken keyboard incident and a moldy yogurt tube under the couch we have renewed our pledge "we suck! and we will try really hard to never, ever (except during survivor) have food in the room (oh, also after the kids go to bed it's okay) again!!"

I'm not alone here right?

Well. This has been fun. The concussion? It sucks.

But! A nice thing has happened. A joyous thing actually. A thing so wonderful i am mad at everybody for not letting me in on the secret earlier.

Babysitters!

I am in love with my new babysitter. She's been over twice now. Without incident! As a matter of fact the kids all ask me when she's coming back! They ask me ALL the time.

She's fun and cute and responsible. Everything you could want in a babysitter.

The first time was at night and i went to a meeting. Boring. Yesterday she babysat so that i could go spend a lazy afternoon on the patio of a local cidery with other moms and the teachers from the school.

Although my head was hurting the thrill of an afternoon off - guilt free - was awesome. Awesome!

It was hard returning home to children. I just wanted to go right back out. Soon though.

Except babysitters? Damn expensive.

So. I got beamed in the head with the softball last night. I was tough. After a few minutes laying in the dirt feeling disoriented and dizzy i sat on the bench for half an inning, then went out again. After another inning i realized that i couldn't think straight and felt like i was only visiting my body.

Later on at home i started to feel really bad and barfy. I spent most of the night in emergency. I have an inner ear injury and a concussion.

The veterinarian on our team said that if i start walking in circles it's time to shoot me.

I'll be back in a couple.

xxoo

When i was in university i had my own radio show on the campus radio station. My show was called "my grandmas big red car!"

I loved doing my show. Spending hours in the record and cd library. Fondling stack upon stack of 7" records. Picking out two hours worth of music. Then locking myself in the booth and turning the speakers up really loud for my show.

I never really knew how popular my radio show was. The CRTC said that every phone call counted for 700 listeners. I usually got four or five calls. That was good enough for me. There was a fine balance between being too popular, which meant the music you were playing was a little bit too mainstream, and being a navel gazing loner.

I feel that way when i look at bloglines and see how many people subscribe to my blog. How many people would one subscriber represent? How do i compare to other people i really like? How about those ones that i secretly lurk on? And, crap, i am NEVER going to get that many!

So many people talk about commenting and comments, traffic, blog courtesy, blah, blah, blah. I can't keep up with all that and frankly, i don't want to. I love getting comments and i always check out the blogs of commenters. I comment every now and then. I just don't have time. I appreciate all the blogs i read. I appreciate everyone that reads my blog. Isn't that enough?

As you know i weaned parker a few months ago. It was hard blah, blah, blah.

The hardest part? The changes in my body.

We all also know that shane was pretty eager to have me milk-free. As it turns out i am not so eager.

First of all i have gone from a generous 38D to a wimpy 36B. Pretty much overnight. Also? I gained five pounds. I've pretty much lost it again, but it hasn't really helped my confidence when naked. I noticed the other night that when i lie down my boobs (whats left of them) disappear into my chest.

It just isn't fair. After all my pain, suffering and sacrifice birthing and nursing four kids i am left with a flabby tummy, silver stretch marks across my belly, three distinct cesarian scars, half-filled water balloon boobs and skin tags.

This should be my time to celebrate my body and all it has done. The re-birth of my sexuality.

Instead i have a body that is a road map of the devastation of kids. It's a good thing i love them. It's a good thing that when the lights are out i still feel the same and my husband doesn't really give a damn about all of that.

Today was report card day. As i expected, in a locked away corner of my heart, toby didn't meet the requirements for grade one.

In a fit of motherhood hysteria (which i promised myself i would never do) i raced off to the school to talk to the principals. The minute i started talking i burst into tears. I just couldn't help it.

Luckily for me they are the nicest, gentlest souls around and they eased me through a lovely and difficult conversation. They reassured me that everything would be okay. That toby is doing well and has come a long way. That because our school uses multi-age groupings toby would remain with his peer group and be given every opportunity to catch up and would never be singled out. Probably, he won't even notice.

It was so hard though. Being vulnerable that way. Letting them know how much it hurts me that it is hard for him. That he is having trouble. That the road ahead of us will be difficult and long. That their kind words really didn't make the sting go away.

Man, i'm tired. Or as toby says "dude, i'm pooped!" Then parker chimes in with "poopy dude! i pooped on you!"

What's with the poop talk happening already? His cute little sing-songs have all turned into poop songs.

Mary had a little poop (apparently)
It was big and smelly bum

Seriously though. I have never been busier. I have made two speeches in front of large groups of people in the past week and i have one more on friday. My irritable bowel has cranked it up a notch.

I have also had, at least, six people tell me i look really tired. Which is actually code for you look like crap.

And here i am trying to catch up on my feedreader and leave some lame comments so as not to appear a total snob. I made it to "S" before i realized it's late again. I have no wine to lull me to sleep and i'm all jumpy and nervous about my impending public speaking.

Monday is the first day of summer vacation. I will not pack lunches. I will not yell at tristan to hurry. I will not turn the television on. I will not spend an hour at the school talking to parents about their concerns.

I will let my kids be bored. I will enjoy my morning coffee. I will visit many blogs. I will photograph my new shoes.

Tonight i got a message on my computer that my hard disk was full. When i asked shane he said that it was my photos. When i looked at my iPhoto i had 2843 pictures. So much life.

I spent a couple of hours going through it all. They date back to 1999. Sporadic. But they are there. Pictures of toby as a baby, then eliza and then lots of parker. I switched to all digital around the time parker was born in 2003.

But, my god, the life i have lived in the past nine years. It hurts me to think of how fast it is passing.

When tristan was born i cherished every single moment. Every milky smile. Every newborn stretch. Every ounce gained and inch grown.

And then toby was born, all colicky and complicated. A whirlwind. A whirlwind of babies and pregnancies and births and milestones.

Really. I am humbled by this life as i look at it in photos. I am struck by the beauty of it. I am in awe of all that i have to lose.

Thanks for letting me share it. Really.

Somehow, i have made it through. My kids are now 2,5,7 and 9.

2,4,6 and 8 was much more fun to say.

I kind of feel like we faked our way through toby's party as i am completely exhausted and keeping up the exuberance for a whole month of birthdays is exhausting.

But because toby is toby his party was the funnest of all. We had a boot camp party for him. All the kids dressed up in camo and we ran them through an obstacle course, some laps of the house and a couple games of capture the flag. Shane and i got to wear whistles and yell at them.

What could be better?

Toby occupies a large space in my heart and my worries. He's such an amazing little guy. Friends to everyone. He wanted to invite every boy in the school to his party and i'm sure they all would have gladly come. I had to limit him to the boys from three classes. His teacher often tells me she adores him and that she goes home every evening and her husband asks her what her "toby story of the day" is.

He has this disability which in the grand scheme of things is very minor. He is healthy, he is happy. It's just that speech is such a fundamental thing. It's how we communicate. I almost wish he couldn't talk at all because then we could say "he doesn't talk" when people question us. Instead people look at him like he's something "less." Kids tease him. He is often frustrated by people not understanding, or worse, pretending that they do by nodding their head "yes."

I just worry. I want the world to know him like i do. I want the world to experience all the little things that make toby, toby. I just love him.

for your viewing pleasure

As it turns out my life is just as hectic as ever. Funny that. Four kids.

Tomorrow is toby's birthday. Gifts are bought. I took your advice and went for the most toys i could get for $100, which turns out to be quite a lot. I like to have four gifts. One from mom and dad, and one from each sibling.

Summer still eludes us, as does spring. I try to convince myself that this has nothing to do with global warming.

My life seems to be on a string of bad luck, hopefully happening only in threes.

Over the winter i ran over a cat and killed it which was a very bad day for me. Then i hit a squirrel and the other day i ran over a snake. I'm hoping i'm done with that now, although i still use extra caution with all the chickens running loose in my driveway ( i asked shane a few months ago to fix the chicken run so they couldn't get out and eat all my plants and poop on our deck. He removed half the fencing to fix it and it it has sat that way for two months.)

Over christmas the washer broke and then the dryer a few days later. We used some credit to buy new ones. A couple months ago the dishwasher broke and we have been washing by hand ever since (my poor hands.) Last week our barbeque caught on fire and melted out the bottom (luckily the fire stopped before the tank blew out.) I'm hoping we're done with the appliance threesome curse.

We started out the school year with a miserable toby which morphed into the tantrum-y parker and sprung in spring to the defiant eliza. I fear that moody tristan is next.

Life is less than boring, but exhausting. Every afternoon i picture myself passing out in the schoolyard. Face down. Either sleeping or crying.

In the meantime please excuse my inability to write a legible sentence or sleep more than five hours in a night. I have made up for it by feeding my inner clothes horse and have purchase more new clothes than i've had in the last ten years combined. I have become one of those wives:

"is that new?"

"this?! NOOOOO. I've had it for ages."

Well. That's that. The school year is not officially over until the 23rd, but tonight i completed the last major task of my presidency this year. I am now free as a bird. Until! Summer vacation next week and the calls of "I'm bored. What are we doing today!"

Friday is the third installment of a month of birthdays with toby's 7th. What do you buy for a 7 year old boy who wants "lots of toys?"

So, many of you noticed in the photo below my amazing gymnastic prowess and the (not so little) tattoo on my belly.

I got that tattoo in 1994. The summer of my nervous breakdown. The summer that changed my life forever. The summer that i was diagnosed as "the crazy one." Really, that's what my doctor said. Or something confusing from the DSM.

Anyway, shane and i had been dating for a couple of years and had moved to victoria together. I was graduating from university and facing a crisis of personality. I didn't know how the hell i was going to live without school. I loved university. I loved being able to blend in. Hide in the corners. Be a little weird. Have my own radio show. Go to see bands play every night. Write poetry. Live off of student loans and housecleaning gigs. Life was not abundant, but it was comfortable.

Then it all fell apart. I started to feel like i had done log rolls down hills; all dizzy and prickly with a sharp sting of despair. I started having anxiety attacks and was overcome by a debilitating depression.

I tried desperately to feel better and would ride my bicycle around downtown victoria, buying a couple bottles of beer and hiding out with a guy who owned an art gallery with little rooms in the back that were rented out by all kinds of creepy artist types. It had at some point been a meat locker and processing plant. One night in a manic fit i walked out on shane and moved into the meat locker art gallery.

I got that tattoo on my belly. It's a phoenix/tribal thing. The guy who did it said "you better not ever have kids." I couldn't imagine living long enough to have kids. I so desperately wanted to be free of the hurt in my head and my heart. I remember very vividly getting that tattoo. I couldn't feel a thing. I was so numb that the normal pain associated with getting a tattoo was non-existent.

That summer went on forever. Shane and i got back together. I came back to him a broken woman. He helped me to find the strength to get better. To take care of myself. He even proposed to me one morning in the shower. I was a shadow of my former self then, physically and mentally. I lost forty pounds that summer.

When we got married ten months later i promised him that i would always love him for the way he helped me and forgave me for the things i had done and the way he loved me so gently and perfectly. He hates my tattoo. It reminds him of that time. A time when he lost me for awhile.

A wonderful time was had by all. We swam, we ate candy,

we did handstands and cartwheels and played truth or dare.

The things that struck me over and over this weekend was what an amazing time it was, when i was nine. How lucky i feel to witness it again through my wonderful daughter and her super cute friends. They are old enough to be (somewhat) independent, yet still young enough that they are free and comfortable in their bodies and their friendships. All the peer group clique stuff hasn't happened yet, they haven't gone through puberty - they are just happy to be together and have fun.

I had a wonderful time and i'm sad we won't be doing it all the time.

Remember how i was all sad and lonely all winter? How it rained and rained and then rained a little more?

But then it was spring. It was spring and i felt much better.

Spring is gone. It lasted a couple weeks, at most. Since then it has rained and rained and rained a little more. The only difference is it is now warm and rainy and my hair is a frizzy mess.

Today was (it is 12:20 am so i'm a little late...) tristan's 9th birthday. I took some lovely photos, but haven't had time to upload yet as i just walked in the door from another long, so long, meeting.

Tristan is the most wonderful 9 year old girl on the planet. She's smart, clever, funny and talented in every way. She has an uncanny ability to be able to do everything she tries. She's fantastic on the piano, is recording songs on the computer with vocals and all the instruments, she does excellent in school, throws a mean softball and is a good friend and wonderful daughter.

The thing about kids is that as they get older they become more and more fun, more and more like a real person. A person you'd like to hang out with. Funny that.

I adore her so much. She is my oldest, my first. The one i have agonized over every new decision, change, milestone reached and not quite reached. She is blazing the trail to make life a little easier, or at least less stressful, for her siblings.

Her grandma gave her scrabble for her birthday. I had a game with her on her floor tonight, making myself an hour late for my meeting. She almost beat me and was most interested in the logic behind the game. All the ways to maximize letters and points. It was the best night we have had together in a long time.

On friday i am taking her and her three closest friends for a night in a fancy hotel in victoria. I have promised lots of swimming, truth or dare and mini boxes of sugar cereal for breakfast. I can hardly wait.

Last in this series. I promise. With the school year wrapping up and shane in his busiest season at work things have been crazy. Did i tell you he's off to VEGAS on the weekend? Well, he is. For five days.

So, husband battles.

• in a pinch olive oil will work as a lubricant.
• in a pinch oil of oregano works wonders on cold sores, but burns like shit.
• in a pinch don't mistake the oil of oregano for olive oil.
• if, while playing softball you rip your pants, it's better to let your husband have his fun and rip them off you rather than trying in vain to save your favourite pair of pants.

The battlefield.

I would say the biggest battle in our house involves the toilet. The toilet and the flushing of the big jobs.

I have warned toby on many occasions that if i find another big job in the toilet "i will give you a swirly while i flush it."

Second biggest battle? Ignoring the rolling of the eyes at everything i say. Eliza is the newest convert to the blatant disregard of my authority.

"Did you brush your teeth?"

Eyes rolling.

"Did you feed the chicks?"

Eyes rolling.

"Did you remember to put underwear on under your skirt?"

Eyes rolling.

"Did you lock doodle in the closet?"

Eyes rolling.

A battlefield i tell you.

When you parent a large family you need to pick your battles otherwise your brain may implode.

The biggest battle in our house is getting the kids out the door on school mornings. We have been late way more times than we should have. Usually it's tristan who slows down the whole process. She is easily distracted, especially by her own beauty.

She will often try to sneak out the door with her hair tangly and her teeth not cleaned. As she runs back upstairs to do it she will often be up there five minutes or more before i yell at her to hurry. She hasn't done anything except stare into the mirror. Once she catches sight of her beauty she is lost.

Also? Nose picking. I can't get toby to stop, so i've given up - for now. I do insist, however, that he not wipe the boogers on the wall, the furniture, under the table or flick them in the general direction of the dogs.

I take it all back. My husband is driving me crazy. He's moody, grumpy, snappy and come to think of it, he looks a little bloated.

Shane is grumpy because we haven't had enough "time alone," why he thinks that being grumpy is going to help is a complete mystery to me.

As are men.

When we moved to this house we discovered more house than furniture. The biggest beast being the playroom, which is actually a double garage converted.

We knew that we needed something large, functional and that we didn't care about. Enter the sectional.

Shane and i went to a furniture warehouse, walked to a salesperson and said "we want the cheapest sectional you've got."

$300 later we walked out with this monstrosity. It is the centre of the universe that is our house. We watch television here, play trucks here, have the train table positioned right in front for easy access, it was recently home to a now dead mouse and it is where the dogs sleep (see doodle on the cookie monster chair?)

I hate it, but love it. I don't care what happens to it. It has perfect pillows for forts and it even sports the most uncomfortable pull-out bed ever - ensuring guests that we don't want to stay - don't.

The kids can spill silly putty, grape juice and spend fluish afternoons on it with nary a wince from me. I suspect it will be with us a long time. Money well spent.

Show and Tell is brought to you by the lovely and fabulous blackbird.