tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91735017956127191812024-03-14T00:49:00.266-04:00Is this what you do all day?The occasional rantings and ravings of a 43 year old stay at home mom to a 4 year old boy who also happens to have asd.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-68861588382001208442009-05-19T19:58:00.002-04:002009-05-19T20:12:18.398-04:00So Long Sister...My son has this whole other life that I don't know much about. Sometimes I feel like he just lives with us. Is that weird to say? I love him <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fiercely</span>, but I wish I could get inside his head and really know what goes on in there. I would also love to be able to follow him to school <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">un</span> noticed by anyone and see what he is like without me.<br /><br />A few weeks ago we were on a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">play date</span>, one of the only play dates we had all year. It was with a girl in his class. My son tends to gravitate to the girls. They give him structure, which is a nice way of saying that they boss him around. So we were at this girl's house and her mom says to me, 'You have other children, right?'. To which I replied, 'no, he is it'. She looked confused. She said that she thought that I had two older kids which didn't live with me, from another marriage.<br /><br />Why would she think that? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hmmm</span>. Maybe it's because my son told her daughter that he had two older sisters that did not live with him. I had not heard him tell me this before, but I did know who he was referring to. There is a girl across the street, Ava who is seven, and a girl next door, Alyssa who is eleven. They would <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">occasionally</span> play with bubs, and we had a snow day a few months back in which they all frolicked and made snow angels in my yard. It must have had some impact on my guy. He would talk about Alyssa all the time, he said he loved her, that she was beautiful, and on and on. While I thought it was cute, I also thought he was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">perseverating</span> a bit and of course it had my autism radar on overdrive. He would make her pictures, and ask to play with her all the time. I don't think she knew the impact she had on bubs.<br /><br />The other day Ava was playing with bubs in the park. He asked her if they could go and get Alyssa. Ava informed us ever so bluntly that Alyssa moved away to Georgia. Talk about no closure, I didn't even know she was planning on moving, let alone packed up and gone. Bubs was devastated. He wanted to know if she was coming back. I tried not to make too much of a big deal about it, but he was still talking about it last night. Poor guy.<br /><br />He still plays with Ava. I think she secretly hates us though. She doesn't have the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">bestest</span> of home life, and it must seem like a big par-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">tay</span> here. Endless spaghetti <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">o's</span> and chocolate chip cookies here, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">tv</span> on all the time, trampoline, toys and such, all with a mom to cater to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">every one's</span> every need. Yep, that' s me all right. There really aren't that many kids on the block for my son to play with. I think Ava feels the same way, so she kind of tolerates us. It's probably not the healthiest of friendships, but it will have to do for now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-35593097018413361862009-05-16T23:07:00.003-04:002009-05-16T23:34:02.464-04:00A twist of lyme.<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XMjRXde81vlUP0hKNg5UMEmmb3M2soikpZCzxXA_By9AIbmwcnUEQ4KGCZ_kMCUHtLGj3gos09kKEmoWTaypXwB8w5lQq8PInqMoFz7hm9MgHLmYrNlRnjT_H3bQTcFaMKTZelr5aKq6/s1600-h/the_tick_spoon-770895.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336630997310246754" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XMjRXde81vlUP0hKNg5UMEmmb3M2soikpZCzxXA_By9AIbmwcnUEQ4KGCZ_kMCUHtLGj3gos09kKEmoWTaypXwB8w5lQq8PInqMoFz7hm9MgHLmYrNlRnjT_H3bQTcFaMKTZelr5aKq6/s320/the_tick_spoon-770895.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br />This has been a crappy week. Literally. On Tuesday morning, the school nurse called and told me my bubs was vomiting. I had sent him off skipping and happy that day and an hour later, all hell had broken loose. I ran to school as fast as I could and retrieved my sick boy. They sent us home with a giant garbage pail, which would later prove to be indispensable.<br />Usually with the pukes, you have an intense 24 hour period of hell, to be followed by the calm after the storm. This particular bug offered us no such reprieve, although it wasn't quite as intense. What it lacked in intensity, it more than made up for with endurance. This was an endless week, filled with bleach, lots of laundry, more body fluids than I care to discuss and lots of TV.<br />Bubs was not his usual perky self, but I must say that he was an excellent sick person. He made sure to vomit in the said school garbage pail or toilet every single time. I was very proud of his aim. When the big D hit us, he wasn't as precise. I can forgive him though.<br />I was very happy when Friday finally rolled around and we didn't wake up at five a.m. to vomit, as all the previous days before us. It seemed like this dark cloud of funk that descended upon us was going to lift.<br />Little did I know what excitement lay around the corner for us.<br />My husband took bubs to visit his uncle last night. My husband's uncle, although that isn't really relevant to the story. Bubs loves it there, they have woods and a lake. My husband got a huge net with which to catch fish. Bubs had a great time, he called to tell me he caught four fish with his net, and his bread. He was so proud. I was so happy he was having a great time, and out of the house.<br />When my husband came home with him later that night, bubs was out cold. So we put him to bed. H told me that bubs got a splinter in his thumb but he didn't get a chance to get it out. I said that we should give him a tub in the morning and maybe the soaking in the water would dislodge it without us having to go through the hell of attempting to tweeze it out. My son is kind of crazy with any kind of 'removing' of things from his body. Thank God his toenails don't grow very much. I think it warrants it's own post, and I remember writing about my son wanting the 'potatoes' I cleaned out of his ears back .<br />Anyhoo, this morning, my H was giving bubs the bath. I hear him say 'Oh NO'. That is never a good sign. Never.<br />I ask of course, 'what is the matter' and then I hear screaming from my son. My H informs me that he has found a tick on my son's head. From now on, in my world, the word 'tick' will illicit a response that requires an immediate ingestion of xanax.<br />At that point, you have three hysterical people. All screaming at once. My H instructs me to call up his uncle and find out about tick removal. It must be said, that at 42, I am not an outdoor type of person. I have never come in contact with a tick, I have never had the opportunity to come in contact with a tick. In my husband's family, they are all well versed in all aspects of 'tickology'. H's sister also called at the same time. She said to smother it with Vaseline. H's uncle said not to do that, it would take too long for it to die. It would have to be removed with a tweezers.<br />I sterilized the tweezer and then stabilized my poor screaming son's head. This took longer than you could imagine. More screaming, from all of us. Naked wet son is out of the tub now. My H managed to extract the evil tick from my son's scalp. It looked like we got the whole thing. Apparently one must grab the head, or the 'snout' as my H called it. Ewwwwwww.<br />We then had to check my poor child for more. He was terrified at this point, and it was probably due to the behavior that my H and I exhibited, more than anything. We washed his hair again and combed it. The stupid tick was still alive. My H grabbed an empty diet coke bottle from the recycling bin and put it in there.<br /><br />Once the semblance of order was restored I took bubs and the coke bottle with the little terrorist (who was now dead and floating in a solution of rubbing alcohol)to the pediatrician. We told him the doctor needed to see the tick and check him out. My son announced to the nurse when she called his name 'I am not here to see the doctor, the tick is going to see the doctor'. Of course, only I knew what the hell he was talking about.<br /><br />The tick is being sent out to a lab. The doctor is pretty sure it's just a dog tick and we should all survive. Now I can go back to just worrying about swine flu.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-51345899863057619452009-05-05T21:34:00.003-04:002009-05-05T21:52:28.475-04:00It's not easy being me...Back when I was single and I had time to read self help books, I remember reading one that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">oprah</span> recommended called 'Simple Abundance'. I liked it, and I often wonder what I was so miserable about in my thirties that I felt the need to improve upon myself. Hey, at least I am 'co dependent no more', how many people can actually say that.<br />I don't remember much about that book except for the concept of a gratitude journal. The idea is to list five things that you were thankful for in a little journal at the end of the day. I found it really helpful when I needed to keep my young ,single ,much smaller dress size ,chin up. I think I need to start doing it again. I am not really seeing the forest for the trees these days.<br /><br />This school situation has really got me down. We had annuals last week and while we decided not to keep bubs back in kindergarten, I am not entirely thrilled with the overall outcome. I just got a very dismal speech <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">eval</span> home today. I guess I spent the last three years of bubs' life on high alert. It was a constant state of involvement, of information, of keeping me in the loop. While I didn't have a whole lot of control, I felt like I did. That is important to me. The illusion of control can serve in a pinch when the actual control is not available.<br />I don't like getting these bombs sporadically and when I least expect it. This latest <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">eval</span> included some kind of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">observational</span> report that the teacher fills out. It's a 'sometimes, often, always' kind of thing. Apparently my son 'always' has trouble asking questions, understanding questions, asking for help, answering questions, forming sentences, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">yada</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">yada</span> ad <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">infinitum</span>'. Seriously, my son has never answered a question all year? He has never formed a meaningful sentence all year? Maybe he is saving them all up for when he gets home, because honestly my child makes his points known and if you don't acknowledge that you have heard and understood, he will keep asking.<br />She also said my son 'always has trouble asking for help'. I just cannot imagine what happens after I put my son on the bus in the morning. Does the bus driver pass through some magic force field where in my son loses all ability to speak? Does he slip into a vegetative coma, only to return upon safe delivery at my door? It's a very interesting <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">phenomenon</span>.<br />And another thing, while I am ranting. Why, oh why am I just finding out about this situation? It's May for God's sake. May. If I were the teacher, I would be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">embarrassed</span> to send that home. I always felt, even as a humble art teacher that a child's success hinged on me being able to teach them. If they failed, then I failed.<br />I have been a nice mom this year, I have been non confrontational, almost self depreciating and very very understanding. I am leaving that persona in the dust. I am now the terminator. I am now kicking butt and taking names. I don't know what I am going to do or ask for, but the tide has changed.<br /><br />Oh yeah, back to gratitude. I have many many things to be thankful for.<br />I am thankful that I have my wild child boy who never stops talking and always makes his point known to me. I am thankful he asks me for help and saves up all of his meaningful stories for me.<br />I am thankful that my husband loves me. He might not always understand the inner workings of my tormented mind, but he accepts me for who I am. He is a good egg.<br />I am thankful that I have my house, we have food in the cabinets, and we have our health. We are a lucky little family<br />I am thankful for all the amazing people that this journey has sent our way. I wouldn't wish the stress and worry that autism has caused us, but there have been many gifts that I wouldn't have <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">received</span> without it.<br />Little things are big things.<br /><br />I am all over the place here. I know.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-62134198766607747742009-04-17T08:45:00.003-04:002009-04-17T08:54:45.789-04:00April is Autism Awareness Month.<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ok</span>, I am going to be whiny and self indulgent right now. I have been holding it in and it just needs to come out. I am sorry in advance.<br />I am tired of autism. I wish it would go away, I thought it was going away, but it's not. It lurks in the corners and pops out for a sucker punch when I least expect it. But again, it's my own dumb fault for not even seeing you there in the first place. Where the hell else would you be?<br />It's a lesson I need to learn over and over and over again. I think I am accepting of you, but I am not. I am pretending you are not there. That is not accepting.<br />It sucks. I hate this process. I hate what I am doing to myself. I hate that I feel this way.<br /><br />Sometimes I feel like my son is an alien to me. I feel like I am a crappy mother because of that. He is struggling in school, but I can't get a clear picture of what is making it hard, where is the problem? I want to fix it, but I am not sure I can. Why is he so angry? Is it a reflection of my anger? Why am I so angry? We don't have it that bad at all. I know this to be true, yet I am still complaining.<br /><br />I used to think he was flying under the radar. I used to think we were 'fooling people'. You know, who do we really need to fool anymore? Does it matter? Can't you just be who you are? These are the questions I am asking myself right now. Does it involve telling everyone you know that your child is 'on the spectrum'? Is it really anyone and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">every one's</span> business? Does it make things any easier? Or more complicated because then your son becomes a subset of behaviors, generalizations and stereotypes. Instead of five year old boy. I just want him to be who he is, but with out all the difficulty. I cannot figure out h0w to extract all of that.<br /><br />Yea, I sound crazy right now. It's report card time, and annual review. I am really torn about what to do. So, this crazy ranting right now, I just have to do it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-30998119001218089022009-04-14T20:50:00.003-04:002009-04-14T21:03:35.861-04:00Task Avoidance<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFoJoyXcUE_MJzfxX87NRnAssOr9ya-M90Q9GRcaEpDYyHNa8vfxvX8zrAsioX8K3YZa_dhn2c4-iO6iD_C0cXsoIH5G1td5ZFq2SMYqqJFGXw_WZJhR4iHwZxTYPjzdRmTPy68H6ezt3/s1600-h/75th_edition_main.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324714297013087266" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 174px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFoJoyXcUE_MJzfxX87NRnAssOr9ya-M90Q9GRcaEpDYyHNa8vfxvX8zrAsioX8K3YZa_dhn2c4-iO6iD_C0cXsoIH5G1td5ZFq2SMYqqJFGXw_WZJhR4iHwZxTYPjzdRmTPy68H6ezt3/s320/75th_edition_main.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>I am so very tired of stressing about bubs and school. It sucks and if I start in with the worrying, it just spirals out of control and it robs me of any grace that I might have left. SO I am not going to write about that today.<br />My husband and I are very opposite in many ways. I think in the big deal kind of things we are very similar, but as far as what constitutes a 'fun day' we are polar opposites. We are trying to meet somewhere in the middle as far as that goes. I think the problem with me is that I really don't have any idea of what exactly is fun to me.<br />We were talking about our 'bucket lists' and we actually found something that we both wanted to do! I had mentioned that I would love to get an old airstream trailer and pimp it out cozy style. I thought it would be such a cool way to travel. Now it must be said that the word 'camping' makes me itch and I will probably never experience sleeping in a tent under the stars (not unless I am forced to at gunpoint), but the idea of traversing this great big country in a cool little aluminum pod complete with it's own bathroom, and stocked with snacks and books, and other comforts of home, kind of appeals to me.<br />My husband loves adventure and to travel and see and do new things. I feel bad for him that he is married to me because just thinking of any of those things makes me want a pharmaceutical. But again, I am trying. So he was very happy to hear that I wanted one of these cute little things. I was happy he was happy.<br />We talk about it and haven't quite yet bogged down our happy thoughts with logistics. We are making a big trip this summer so all of our funds right now are earmarked for that. We had planned to renovate our tiny <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">minuscule</span> tiny impractical, can you say 8"of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">counter space</span>, kitchen next summer. It really needs to be done, I guess. But I was thinking about our little dream and how cool it would be to give bubs that experience. I was also wondering how much longer we would have him as a captive audience before he wouldn't ever want to travel cross country in a little pod with his mother and father. My husband was thinking the same thing. So we think we are going to scrap the kitchen plans for now and put our quarters in the jar with a picture of an airstream trailer on it.<br />It's nice to have dreams. It's nice to think about something fun.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-18889650688015539892009-04-10T10:34:00.005-04:002009-04-10T10:54:40.801-04:00Sick dayIs it possible to worry yourself sick, literally? Because I think I have done it. Monday night I took bubs to the premiere germ pit of the century, the mickey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">d's</span> play yard. I really have to stop going there, for more than one reason.<br />I have been stressing big time about the upcoming annual review meeting scheduled for April 27<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span>. I am no closer to deciding bubs' placement than I was two weeks ago, only this time, I have a killer headache, body aches, a stuffy nose and a gravelly nasty cough. I remember one time in college, I do believe I came down with a raging case of chicken pox due to some major issues with procrastination and an upcoming winter break. It was new year's eve that I discovered the first spot, and let me tell you, it was an absolute mess by new years day. I had chicken pox in places you couldn't believe.<br />So yesterday,I dragged myself to the doctor thinking at the very least they would give me an x ray and some antibiotics, possibly a trip to the hospital for an oxygen treatment and an iv drip. No? I am a recovering <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hypochondriac</span> as well. Imagine my complete utter shock when she told me it looked like a rhino virus and she told me to take some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">claritin</span> d. Are you kidding me? That's up there with the normal thyroid test results I got two years ago.<br />It couldn't have happened at a worse time, although it's never a good time to get sick. Bubs is off from school this week. He is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ok</span> for the most part keeping himself busy, but it involves spending the day in his underwear (which are on backwards at the moment), watching videos that are suitable for three year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">olds</span> (Barney Halloween anyone?) and eating massive quantities of carbohydrates, although I don't think popcorn for breakfast is so horrible. I feel bad, but sometimes the circus passes through your town without you seeing it, you know? I guess it's not the worst thing in the world if my son's day doesn't consist of a parade extravaganza of constant amusement.<br />My wonderful husband (and I am not being sarcastic this time!) stayed home from work yesterday so that I could go to the doctor and rest. He occupied bubs the entire day, and spent some much needed quality time with him. They even came home with flowers and a scratch off lottery ticket for me. I felt loved, that was nice.<br /><br />In an effort not to let my blog fall by the wayside, I am making an effort to write as much as possible. Sorry for the rambling, it might be the remnants of last nights <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">nyquil</span>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-47451666223473875292009-04-06T13:37:00.002-04:002009-04-06T14:00:49.868-04:00Uncovering some truths...<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-5cua0nGfN5KUHlGU75V6yNPWKKgO4UP1Rh2v0g16Ygcl4erOr5X-DKRXJvqYplEr4t7WbKtEejbaVNz8weC5Jn0Rcq42dsHTd5UE7-zvBZvMRJq9tunz6isIpemQReKgzBmbY4E1ugz/s1600-h/IMG_1872.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321634607145357586" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-5cua0nGfN5KUHlGU75V6yNPWKKgO4UP1Rh2v0g16Ygcl4erOr5X-DKRXJvqYplEr4t7WbKtEejbaVNz8weC5Jn0Rcq42dsHTd5UE7-zvBZvMRJq9tunz6isIpemQReKgzBmbY4E1ugz/s320/IMG_1872.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">I think I have been resistant to writing lately because I didn't want to think about things. I think I indulged myself a wee bit too much in the rivers of denial. I tend to obsess about things, it's unhealthy, but I also think not thinking about things is not too great either. I have been making up for lost time, thinking overtime. Stressing overtime, eating too much, not exercising, not taking care of things- I am making a concerted effort to dig myself out of this hole.</p><p align="left">We have bubs' annual in a few weeks. Some tough choices need to be made concerning his placement next year. He has made tremendous growth socially, which is just the best thing ever as far as I am concerned. Academically is a whole other ballgame. He is really inconsistent when it comes to being able to focus and attend. I hate to sound annoying but I am not impressed with his teachers when it comes to dealing with his behaviors. They seem to be putting an awful lot of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">responsibility</span> on my son. Granted it is inclusion, but he has a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">freakin</span> i.e.p. I hesitate to go down this road, me being a teacher and all. It sounds all very '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">blamey</span>' and I don't want to be that way. I have begged for a functional behavioral assessment, but they have told me (they being the teacher, the psychologist and the ever illusive autism consultant) feel that he is so inconsistent in his behaviors that it's something internal not external. I have come to realize that this is what it's going to be like in district. I need to accept that a team of people are not going to closely watch every move my son makes and record it on a clipboard and then review it at a team meeting. </p><p align="left">I have talked to so many people, gotten really great advice and guidance, but it doesn't change much. We have to figure out where bubs will do best next year. My crystal ball is broken, but the thing never worked all that well anyway.</p><p align="left">We have two choices. One is to have him repeat kindergarten, with the inclusion class. The other is to send him to the first grade inclusion class. He is not really doing all that great academically. His teachers feel it's an immaturity issue and he hasn't had enough time to function as an independent learner. I agree with that, I do. But I am not sure what the hell they have been doing with him all along. I don't get enough info and while I understand, at the same time I am having a hard time wrapping my head around it. So retention might help. It also might not. Especially if the teachers aren't going to change anything about what they are doing. I always felt as a teacher that if a child wasn't learning, then I was doing something wrong. I am not getting that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">philosophy</span> from these teachers.</p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyo-vMpO1ZDCgUx6q_zyxC3mDPP1RewGJdVemCwDbHLY2uARKb6jUn4amZzP7DVTxc9GV8sgcKXM8tUTEvpGAd3Dmmt3pRBPqsZ1LLwgUhKSqQwhD92-tfJ9a7ZxEjRIdCt5jzNqzQLbY/s1600-h/IMG_1871.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321634602720041426" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyo-vMpO1ZDCgUx6q_zyxC3mDPP1RewGJdVemCwDbHLY2uARKb6jUn4amZzP7DVTxc9GV8sgcKXM8tUTEvpGAd3Dmmt3pRBPqsZ1LLwgUhKSqQwhD92-tfJ9a7ZxEjRIdCt5jzNqzQLbY/s320/IMG_1871.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">The second choice, to send him up to first grade doesn't really jazz me all that much either. I don't know if bubs will be able to handle the increasing academic demands, especially with less than stellar support in place. I am worried he won't want to go to school and he'll feel bad about himself. Right now he seems to enjoy it. But I am sad that he won't be able to follow the friends he has made and I wonder what he will think of the fact that he stayed in kindergarten. He might not give a crap, it could be all me. I don't want to discuss it with him yet.</p><p align="left">So there is my dilemma. I am really trying to go over the pros and cons of it. I keep hoping the answer will knock on my door and show it self to me. I have been letting this be the only thing I will allow myself to think about. I need to start thinking about other things. Like my health, my bills and maybe a little fun with the family.</p><p align="left">You know, in the big picture, this is small potatoes. I know it. My son is happy, he can talk, he has friends, we have a great quality of life. The school stuff, it will be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ok</span>. I know it. It's this lack of control that really is getting me.</p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyo-vMpO1ZDCgUx6q_zyxC3mDPP1RewGJdVemCwDbHLY2uARKb6jUn4amZzP7DVTxc9GV8sgcKXM8tUTEvpGAd3Dmmt3pRBPqsZ1LLwgUhKSqQwhD92-tfJ9a7ZxEjRIdCt5jzNqzQLbY/s1600-h/IMG_1871.JPG"></a> </p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMlNdpAhAHN20U4adhS0hNaIYK9cPeFKdvGijqD16LwohemjXFbaHipaCOR1wI_AM-PxVwrWzw-k8QLlwsQd02A5WL-PNypnM3Fx0s91SctvgbMnxrXdT1Yq0HDBIx9nU_LJyl3Wo9s16/s1600-h/IMG_1869.JPG"></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-4198561220386262552009-04-03T19:11:00.003-04:002009-04-03T19:27:19.226-04:00What I am reading<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqoyBRXCBUt6-WVAh8KQHQNfaqD5nAsaGQHNd_iD_ScIRqPb5Uq61qAOB8Eo1xdOyzoQFzpBWx67lqaZatR_GPzVpH2x11RF5E-LnvfMWkg9OwzmwyI3HpIDKjwcB33LMiJrgadoLIoi6/s1600-h/withthelight_2.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320608314914818786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqoyBRXCBUt6-WVAh8KQHQNfaqD5nAsaGQHNd_iD_ScIRqPb5Uq61qAOB8Eo1xdOyzoQFzpBWx67lqaZatR_GPzVpH2x11RF5E-LnvfMWkg9OwzmwyI3HpIDKjwcB33LMiJrgadoLIoi6/s320/withthelight_2.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I used to teach high school back in the day, there were always a few select kids who were <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">manga</span> fanatics. I never understood the appeal, although I didn't look down on it as an art form. I personally found it bizarre and highly stylized. It was often difficult to get said students to draw anything other than these cartoon drawings with gigantic eyes.</div><br /><div>Flash forward a some fifteen years later, and I find myself actually reading something <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">manga</span>, and being very moved by it. Of course it's probably the subject matter, which is autism, which draws me to it.</div><br /><div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Light-Vol-Raising-Autistic-Child/dp/0759523592/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1238800228&sr=1-4">With the Light</a> by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Keiko</span> Tobe is a series of graphic novels about raising a child with autism. It is a first hand account as far as I know, and I find it to be really amazingly good. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">definitely</span> a newfangled way of reading for me, you start at the 'end' of the book and read from right to left, but I seem to be managing. It's a really different way of delving into a subject.</div><div> </div><div>I am reading volume two only because borders books didn't have any of the others. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">It's about</span> a family in Japan, with two children. The older son has autism and they have a younger daughter as well. I am up to the part where he is in elementary school. I have to say, for a comic book type setup, it's spot on in it's depiction of what it's like. I find myself on the verge of tears while reading, thinking 'yes, that's it!'. I like that kind of feeling.</div><div> </div><div>I have blogging on the brain, and I wanted to share.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-28451468552144710932009-04-03T09:31:00.003-04:002009-04-03T09:45:50.469-04:00I think I've overslept.That's how it feels. You know that frantic feeling you get after you wake up late, and realize that no, it's not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Saturday</span>.<br />Where have I been? I guess it's been hard to organize the frantic ramblings going on inside my brain as of late. I kind of lost my blogging zip due in no small part to my love affair with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">facebook</span>. Add that to the fact that I suddenly realized there is no such thing as anonymity in this world, even with a silly name, and I kind of lost my taste for spilling my guts. I am sorry blogger, I abandoned you, but I am back and this time I promise I'll be good. I might be a little more anonymous this time around, I hope someone still reads this. I need contact, praise, reinforcement. I am needy.<br /><br />We are still here, things have been moving along, some days are blissful, some days are stressful. I always feel like one blissful day is payback for two stressful ones. But that is my twisted sense of order, one must worry in order to insure that things work out <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">OK</span> in the end.<br /><br />So I will continue to ramble on about my obsessions, and vent to cyberspace. I missed blogging, I missed sorting it all out. My husband asked me last night whatever happened to my blog and it got me thinking about it. So, here I am. Again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-82986922558907145282008-12-24T09:53:00.002-05:002008-12-24T09:55:02.454-05:00Happy HolidaysThat's it, no complaints, no insane stories of being verbally abused by psychotic men in parking lots, no holiday sadz, just a plain and simple happy holiday!<br /><br />Have a wonderful time with your families, enjoy the time together!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-80589837311471954452008-12-18T19:55:00.006-05:002008-12-18T20:34:30.339-05:00Yeah, whatever....<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqr9l9Dv7J09N9bFdRgpla5gIoCene-qfuyGTdDA9BB7-btHLTbZStochxuXJmtdfI4EEeRhu25KNxWe7qD1oobKEycOkGcv6hWWeUvyfotuf1lskMHjgMfdZzwiDaCERQOczNfrXkwT_/s1600-h/grinch.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281298694557331346" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqr9l9Dv7J09N9bFdRgpla5gIoCene-qfuyGTdDA9BB7-btHLTbZStochxuXJmtdfI4EEeRhu25KNxWe7qD1oobKEycOkGcv6hWWeUvyfotuf1lskMHjgMfdZzwiDaCERQOczNfrXkwT_/s320/grinch.bmp" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">I have been struggling with Christmas this year. I think me being an anxious type person, I have always kind of struggled with it. Don't get me wrong, my memories are happy. I come from a big Italian family and we had lots of wonderful times together. I think though as a kid, I recognized the planning involved and the sadness of it being over. As I get older, I really try to enjoy it, but it just seems to remind me of the passage of time, and in my attempts to relish each moment, I am reminded that we are all getting older and things are constantly moving forward, for better or for worse. Wow, that's really cheery and uplifting, isn't it? I am sorry. This is a very pathetic post. There are bright spots though. Watching my son get excited about Santa is really wonderful and I am very thankful for that. Very.</p><p align="left">That said, today I decided I was done with Christmas shopping. I am sorry if there is any body who doesn't have a present. I am just not stepping foot into a store for a long time, well, actually it's the parking lot that I am going to avoid. </p><p align="left">Today I ventured out to Toys R Us in search of the Indiana Jones Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Potatohead</span> that my sweet nephew put on his list. Of course they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">did no</span>t have it. Why should they? Why should any store have what I need at this point. So I leave and walk to my car. As I get closer to my car, I see a guy roll his cart directly in front of the back end of my car. Look, I don't care if you go the extra mile and actually put your cart in the corral designed for them. I don't even expect that much out of humanity at this point. But for God's sake, wheel it out of the way, it takes just as much time. Well the guy goes back to his car, which is two cars away from mine, and is getting into it. I said to him 'why did you move your cart right in front of my car?'. It wasn't mean, or nasty, just direct. I really am not a confrontational person, I think I have stated that before. I just am direct.</p><p align="left">Well, you would have thought I said 'Your momma wears combat boots' or something far worse because the guy went ballistic. Every curse word you ever wanted to hear came out of him. So I said 'Merry Christmas' and went into my car. He didn't stop. He then honked his car horn (repeatedly), rolled down his window and said 'why didn't you park further away you fat f*ck'-you need the exercise'. Really. I mean, you did not just say that to me? Over a shopping cart. He then rolled up his window and gave me the finger. Shocked. I was shocked. Then I was a little scared. He didn't pull out right away. I was afraid he was waiting for me. I quickly pulled out and went the other direction.</p><p align="left">So then, I had to go to the supermarket. My husband had called me while I was there, as I started to tell him this story, I started to cry. I don't even know what people were thinking of me as I am telling my husband that someone called me a 'fat f*ck' with the ugly face crying happening. Ugh. I just don't know what the heck is the matter with some people. How angry can you be? Has life been that bad to you?</p><p align="left">So I went home and ordered the damn <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">potatohead</span> on amazon. Thank you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">internet</span>. I am never leaving my house again.</p><p align="left"></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-72626438521882518312008-11-26T09:44:00.004-05:002008-11-26T12:02:48.463-05:00On Facebook...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEvRXUIYcstdMlPvlQTCFvIuMcdKkD6Jr2tuYsIz7mt4GhQVR58hETwVyt0Lu4zM6DI2yaYRYQGPoaX8uM7-Y3r-cfSYx7G4IS22Z4XCHaq_NfAja5djQYPmoLJ2tFsVi6DmYdgiuaDEJ/s1600-h/hug.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272988085581885602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 50px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 50px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEvRXUIYcstdMlPvlQTCFvIuMcdKkD6Jr2tuYsIz7mt4GhQVR58hETwVyt0Lu4zM6DI2yaYRYQGPoaX8uM7-Y3r-cfSYx7G4IS22Z4XCHaq_NfAja5djQYPmoLJ2tFsVi6DmYdgiuaDEJ/s320/hug.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I haven't been around much here lately. My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">site meter</span> stats are sad. I was sucked into the vortex of total time waste that is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">facebook</span>.<br /><br />To be honest, about a month ago, I really didn't know what it was. I never caught on to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">myspace</span> craze either. I felt a little too 'long in the tooth' for that. One night I went out to dinner with some friends and they were talking about it, and a picture that one of my friends had posted of himself. I wanted to see the picture. So I signed up.<br /><br />It was overwhelming at first. Also, seeing all the pictures of people I went to high school almost 25 years later was kind of frightening. It brought back lots of uncomfortable memories. I know it might be hard to believe, but I wasn't exactly popular. I also felt like I was coming down with early onset <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Alzheimer's</span> due to the fact that I vaguely remembered half the people on there that I supposedly graduated with. The names were kind of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">familiar</span> but the faces, no. It was strange.<br /><br />Then I started a farm. I really don't need to start a farm. There are much better things I could be doing with my time. I get terribly caught up in things like that. I have a self imposed ban on all Sims games. I must not be allowed anywhere near a computer with that installed on it. You would not see me for a few days and I would emerge from a binge with a large red diamond spinning atop my head. Back in the day before any real <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">responsibilities</span>, I would come home from work and start playing that game, only to realize that I hadn't eaten dinner and it was now four in the morning and I would be getting ready for work in a couple of hours. I can't say I love that game, it really had some kind of sick power over me. I am veering off topic. I guess my point is that I have to watch myself with computer games.<br /><br />It's all in the applications. Super Poke me, pass me a drink, throw me a snowball, help save the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">rain forest</span>. How old am I again? Well, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">lol</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">roflmao</span>, and all that other good stuff. Care to take a quiz? What, laundry? Later for that. Dinner? Have some cereal. I have to pick my virtual strawberries before they rot.<br /><br />I think that I feel most depraved and voyeuristic when I am looking up other people's friends. Really <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">bon</span>, don't you have better things to do with your time? Isn't Dog the Bounty Hunter on? Sometimes though, you can find out some really interesting things. One of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">facebook</span> friends, has a friend on her page who, well, I can't really say what it is about her, other than she is not operating on the same system as I am. I have seen her 'in real life' dressed up in clothes that I have only seen in magazines, with makeup on that rivals boy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">george</span>. So I took a peek into her world and dare I say I am really jealous of her assortment of friends. My proud little box of 27 friends pales in comparison to her pages and pages of semi famous faces. Some of them I didn't even know were people. I guess I always figured that Christian <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Loboutin</span> (or however you spell his name) was just a figurehead for a bunch of shoe snobs who came up with the brilliant idea of red soles on really pricey pointy shoes. I didn't imagine he could possibly be a mere <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">facebook</span> account having mortal. There were more too, I think a few magazines, and Lindsey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Lohan's</span> girlfriend.<br /><br />I could go on and on about this. Don't even get me started on the instant messaging feature. It's a little too <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">stalkerish</span> for me. There must be a way to not announce to your 27 friends that you are indeed wasting time on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">facebook</span>. This prompts another time waster to contact you and waste even more time.<br /><br />I don't know if I have any readers left. Probably after this post I won't for sure.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-47288867192195454592008-11-09T21:54:00.002-05:002008-11-09T22:06:53.239-05:00I think my son is a republican...<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5FV9h8EmixpMDiwneEAm4EGUOaKE8xphPYPR9JVAcLNgZ4NCI2wlaCqVB-eZPJxbAY-_emDZrUfO7rhFh5TV-m4Z3TZi4N9wwa7QCanpz49TVBZScTYw7QCySYcfGiC5Peqcm0JM5DhHN/s1600-h/Republican_Logo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266857107969006626" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5FV9h8EmixpMDiwneEAm4EGUOaKE8xphPYPR9JVAcLNgZ4NCI2wlaCqVB-eZPJxbAY-_emDZrUfO7rhFh5TV-m4Z3TZi4N9wwa7QCanpz49TVBZScTYw7QCySYcfGiC5Peqcm0JM5DhHN/s320/Republican_Logo.jpg" border="0" /></a></p>My friend Leslie had an Obama victory party today. I took bubs with me as my date, since my husband had to work. When we got to her house, I explained to him that we were going to celebrate our new president <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Barak</span> Obama. I took him with me to vote, so we have discussed this before, and I know they talk about it in school. I didn't know to what extent, but I believe I do now.<br />After I told him about the cause for our party, he informed me that he no longer liked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Barak</span> Obama. He said, and I quote:<br /><br />"Me and Zachary, we don't like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Barak</span> Obama".<br />"Why not? Said I.<br />"Because he is going to take away all my money and my toys". (I should add that he was really concerned about this!)<br />"Not all of them, I said, just 20%"- <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ok</span>, I didn't really say that. I don't remember what pearls of wisdom I offered up.(For the record, I did vote for Obama)<br /><br />I was stunned on many levels. Stunned to know that my boy is discussing politics with a 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">nd</span> grader on the bus. Stunned at his ability to recall. Stunned that he seemed to sum up what my father has been trying to drill into me during the whole election, and probably stunned that he is able to have that kind of conversation with me, and stunned that I could have given birth to a conservative republican. I really do take it for granted that he is paying attention to what people say. That's scary- I better watch what I say around him.<br /><br />It has been a tough week for me, I really appreciated this little conversation with my sweet son today.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-28639992212666982072008-11-07T15:55:00.003-05:002008-11-07T16:12:35.110-05:00Who's that knockin on my door????It seems as if our past has not left us. I knew we were never safe from the old issues that haunt us, they are a part of us, the thread of our being. I guess you never are prepared for a slap in the face though, right?<br />Well, I can't be so sensitive. I tell myself that over and over again, but it is also part of my thread.<br />What's the matter? I got a phone call from the kindergarten teacher today. The phone call I was anxiously awaiting back in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">September</span>. I was prepared for it back then. I thought since all this time has passed that we were safe. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hah</span>.<br />The teacher wanted to touch base with me and inform me that my son has been an impulsive hyper fiasco the last three weeks. Those were not her words, and I am not mad at her at all. I know how my son can be and to be honest he has been off for a while. He gets up really early full of crazy unbridled energy. My parents noted it too the other day. We spent the day there and I got a 'boy, he never stops does he'. My father said he had to do a head count to make sure there wasn't more than one child in the room. The teacher said it seems impossible for him to sit still, he must be moving at all times and that it's becoming more and more difficult for him to get his work done. She also said he is up in other kid's faces. Ugh.<br />I know what she is saying, I also know that the kid has had someone on top of him since he was 18 mo of age. I kind of feared that this new found freedom would backfire. She feels he cannot help it. Me being ingrained with the behaviorist philosophy is not so sure. I think it's a combo of a few things operating. I think there is an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">adhd</span> component, I think there is an immaturity component. I think there are significant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ot</span>/sensory issues that need to be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">addressed</span> and I think there is the fact that my son is a self-directed control freak. I think he needs to have some support in place and I feared that taking it all away in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">June</span> would somehow have negative impact on us, I think I am almost surprised it took this long to unfold. The honeymoon is over.<br /><br />It's hard, it hurts, I feel like I am failing my son. But I also know that it's part of his personality, it's part of what makes him awesome, it's also part of what makes it hard for him. Is it spectrum? Is it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">adhd</span>? Who the hell knows anymore. I just think it's time to take a step back and put some of the old things in place that helped. I suggested a token economy stat. Nothing whips my boy back into shape better than a little index card full of smiley faces with the promise of a treasure box. So she is going to do that on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Monday</span>. I also think some o.t. is in order. I would also like a social skills class to work on 'proximity issues'. Should I start writing a list to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Santa</span>? Here is where I slip into advocate mom mode. I will tap into my inner pit bull (in between crying).<br /><br />It makes me so sad/anxious/horrified to think about my son not being able to function in his classroom. I don't want the kids not to like him. I was really worried about this and it seemed like as soon as I was able to relax a little bit, it busted open the door without a warning. I guess I needed to be humbled.<br /><br />So we will plow on. My husband and I are really going to buckle down on the consistency and structure at home. It's going to be tense, my son is a real <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ballbuster</span> sometimes and he knows how to play us. We haven't been real great in the past as co parents, we kind of do our own thing, but I think it's time for a united front.<br /><br />I have thought long and hard about any thing different over the last few weeks, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">food wise</span>, or otherwise. I can't seem to come up with anything. I pretty much fried my motherboard doing the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">gfcf</span> biomedical protocol. I am wondering if we are dealing with anything in that realm. Maybe cod liver oil will make it all go away.....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-5588227042908238302008-10-30T09:30:00.003-04:002008-10-30T09:40:47.416-04:00It's beginning to look a lot like christmas...<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXmd23eON3U7LySBO_iVk0RlQiIcwqCgJag_FAcJA-VhOrHgrHOrK9wbvIo2O8OkrzlfVdR0kS_f6tK5OGWWB12PTBsMe2hVtSnxqJ-D6KsDlEhJR6cVu-BRytjZbY1q4hT1z4yPUUK64x/s1600-h/4_wheel_Scooter_For_Old_People.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262938814927827138" style="WIDTH: 360px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXmd23eON3U7LySBO_iVk0RlQiIcwqCgJag_FAcJA-VhOrHgrHOrK9wbvIo2O8OkrzlfVdR0kS_f6tK5OGWWB12PTBsMe2hVtSnxqJ-D6KsDlEhJR6cVu-BRytjZbY1q4hT1z4yPUUK64x/s400/4_wheel_Scooter_For_Old_People.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">My son has graduated from the noggin channel to discovery channel kids. I am so proud... It seems just yesterday we were watching blues clues and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">oswald</span>, and now, well, now we are enjoying shows such as '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">grossology</span>', and '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">kenny</span> the shark'. We are also enjoying commercials. This has been my son's first exposure to commercials. I will describe to you what happens now. My son will be sitting on the couch, enjoying his show. A commercial will come on. I watch his profile, the concentration is so endearing to me. Then I see his mouth move, and the words 'I want that, Mom!' are produced. If I don't respond, the cries will get louder..."I want that MOM!!!". I usually just say,' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ok</span>'. I acknowledge the want, yes, but promise nothing. It doesn't matter what the toy is either. My son is not picky. He loves all plastic crap equally, pink and sparkly, or rugged and tough. He saw a lovely cupcake machine that he wanted the other day. It brought back such memories of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">betty</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">crocker</span> oven. I even imagined owning it. He wanted a nail polishing machine too, but after the commercial was over, he sadly muttered "I think that's for girls mom". Trying not to gender stereotype, I said 'yes, but you can want it too, that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ok</span>'. Am I lame or what?</p><p align="left">I have been trying to turn this into a language arts assignment. Now when he sees something he 'wants' I tell him we can add it to his letter to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">santa</span>. </p><p align="left">Now I don't know who the target audience is for the discovery kids channel is at 7:15 on a weekday morning. I kind of thought it was kids, but maybe it has been learned through rigorous market research that a large portion of the immobile elderly are also tuning in. There were quite a few commercials for the 'scooter'. My son sees this and of course wants it. I told him that it was for old people who couldn't walk. He insisted it wasn't and told me he was putting it on his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Christmas</span> list to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Santa</span>.</p><p align="left">I hope he is not disappointed on Christmas morning.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-84722312542007141652008-10-23T20:03:00.004-04:002008-10-23T20:20:27.566-04:00The do over...So sometimes my sweet boy turns into a monster. He can be very demanding, and sound terribly bratty. It comes over him like a sudden storm and leaves just as fast. It really makes me feel like an idiot as far as disciplining him is concerned. I find myself taking a moment in the midst of it all and wanting to just walk away from the confrontation. Sometimes I do that. Sometimes I just feel stupid and inept at this whole parent thing.<br />Tonight after watching the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">obligatory</span> video, and putting on the pj's, it was time to brush the teeth. Needing to be independent, and me respecting that need, I let bubs squeeze the toothpaste onto his toothbrush. I think it's also good for his fine motor skills as well. Bubs has some trouble with this, and it's so hard for me to let him do it himself. Tonight I did, and he squeezed out quite a load of toothpaste. I wiped the overage off the counter and some off the brush (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">fluoride</span> is a neurotoxin, ya know). That didn't sit well with my son the control freak and a mini tantrum ensued. He wanted to 'do it over' and honestly, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lovaas</span> brainwashed part of my brain didn't think that was such a hot idea, even though the lazy part of me was like 'why not'? I wouldn't let him start over. So he screamed, yelled, kicked. Ran in the other room. I told him if he didn't come back to the bathroom and finish up, by the time I counted to three, he wouldn't get a goodnight story. So he didn't come in by three. In fact he counted to ten after I stopped at three. He came in the bathroom eventually but refused to cooperate. Finally I just stuck the toothbrush in his mouth and brushed. Yeah, not my finest mothering moment but I just didn't want to continue with this crap all night.<br />He got mad. It took another ten or so minutes to just get him up the steps. He came upstairs and was seriously shocked when I told him no story. He was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">surprised</span>. Then he was truly sad. Real tears sad. Sobbing. Then he went back downstairs. At this point, I am just seriously worn out with this nonsense. That's when planned ignoring comes in handy, but I think once kids catch on to the concept of it, it becomes a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">colossal</span> time waster, which they love. He comes back up all calm and composed and happy. He tells me, "I listened now. I went and started over. I brushed my teeth again and I listened this time". He was so pleased with him self.<br />He then put the book in my hand. He also asked me if his 'land before time' computer game was gone forever (I also took that away in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">maelstrom</span> of activity). I explained to him that if he didn't listen to me, and yelled and screamed that he would get things taken away. He would have to earn them back. I made him tell me in his own words what that meant. I told him that yelling, kicking, screaming are not <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ok</span>. I can't tell if he was yessing me just to get me to shut up. I feel that way about all the men in my life lately.<br />Then I did something that I would have screamed at my husband for. I read him the damn story. I am sure I'll be paying for that move dearly sometime in the near future.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-85660165896411343642008-10-20T09:05:00.005-04:002008-10-20T09:15:26.619-04:00I picked a winner!<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gCY5cyly9I-alFZsMBHkEFTl6FG0Upwjdk0PMQr2ov-JUXW93ymE2A1abFcd-hi3pPg6NZxRZrtdLRDmi3iowb-qqYSCU-Hv6IViioz2Gtx4dqk0y_bEsnEDiqMEtt8ZvYA42NonoyHY/s1600-h/IMG_1365.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259222206129584114" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gCY5cyly9I-alFZsMBHkEFTl6FG0Upwjdk0PMQr2ov-JUXW93ymE2A1abFcd-hi3pPg6NZxRZrtdLRDmi3iowb-qqYSCU-Hv6IViioz2Gtx4dqk0y_bEsnEDiqMEtt8ZvYA42NonoyHY/s400/IMG_1365.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">Thank you so much to everyone who entered my first bloggy anniversary giveaway extravaganza. I love reading comments and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that you guys are out there in cyberspace! I wish I could send you all a present! But this time, I only have one person, but in my book you are all winners!!!!(How's that for schmaltz?)</p><p align="left">Drumroll please.......... The winner of the 'prize pack' is none other than ......</p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvuweGxzUd9fIe6IgSJi2DeOPYrbSyJidvO40T84dOvwPialrdveXMWeeKMKD4RmzORxwvLNiyym-vgAn6be64cvi1lHmcnGaCgrKU6nQs9x5hw6b97t6_YWdnF4ou65LIMIYsup8BoISl/s1600-h/IMG_1367.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259222211521976882" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvuweGxzUd9fIe6IgSJi2DeOPYrbSyJidvO40T84dOvwPialrdveXMWeeKMKD4RmzORxwvLNiyym-vgAn6be64cvi1lHmcnGaCgrKU6nQs9x5hw6b97t6_YWdnF4ou65LIMIYsup8BoISl/s400/IMG_1367.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="center"><a href="http://threeredsandabrown.blogspot.com/">Melissa!!!</a></p><p align="left">My next order of business is to email you! See it pays to come out of lurkdom....</p><p align="left"></p><p align="left">I will definitley be planning more giveaways in the future, perhaps a holiday goody?</p><p align="left">Love you all!!!!</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-62341484518071558152008-10-12T17:24:00.003-04:002008-10-12T17:27:46.378-04:00A heads up...It's my first bloggie anniversary on Tuesday and I am gathering some goodies for a giveaway celebration! Stop by then for the deets...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-90539242731980482932008-10-06T19:07:00.006-04:002008-10-06T19:45:14.310-04:00The fruits of my labor...<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkJccyVlNVEn6_3QEBkozo-K-9n0i3vycZ-mqGDYYKZLylp8wOCaaXkDssCWbq805QNVGIxrQl4w1nK0ya4zAAGiQExJoIbM8gQKN38_hyCwqLSEb446IqlNv4swDB5_hmRVzkei3hSiN/s1600-h/IMG_1175.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254182423919921682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkJccyVlNVEn6_3QEBkozo-K-9n0i3vycZ-mqGDYYKZLylp8wOCaaXkDssCWbq805QNVGIxrQl4w1nK0ya4zAAGiQExJoIbM8gQKN38_hyCwqLSEb446IqlNv4swDB5_hmRVzkei3hSiN/s400/IMG_1175.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">So I had my first official table as a vendor last week. I was so excited, I sewed my little heart out. Details were paid attention to, tags were added, pricing was done. It was a ton of work but I truly did enjoy the whole process. The turnout was kind of grim, everyone stayed home to watch Sexy Sarah duke it out with Joe 'I had my eyes done' <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Biden</span> I guess. That and the fact that our economy has crashed and burned before our eyes. But in spite of that it was fun and I sold some stuff to some people who were really excited about my things. I made the cost of the table back, and a little extra for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Panera</span> money and hopefully I helped a good cause (it was for the building of a new school for children with autism).<br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtClJ1pbQQuK1Dtyi3MyagKYlyU9IhoVxtVSL5G_t5Ahca3-ebYHYVdVVrF1ZHz4rHS3DlN3q-fwuc7hp_4KLheqwoWxfR3UV-R000ZRVdYpRZ8v6ALic0QPIEvR6r7ExKdQnb6fl4Qaa/s1600-h/IMG_1174.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254182432668119890" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtClJ1pbQQuK1Dtyi3MyagKYlyU9IhoVxtVSL5G_t5Ahca3-ebYHYVdVVrF1ZHz4rHS3DlN3q-fwuc7hp_4KLheqwoWxfR3UV-R000ZRVdYpRZ8v6ALic0QPIEvR6r7ExKdQnb6fl4Qaa/s400/IMG_1174.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">My mother in law came to help me, it was very nice of her to support me and it was good to have the company on my maiden voyage into craft <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fairdom</span>.</p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kxrL79_GZXXgjbBfDsnpa9Q9GwW4qHUAZfXs2cvxC0CfQweoe0otPqbxKkzVg5J37wt21bMnmeUErKvEh0hUp1ERNwWkZcs_5LvlkOQhiZldorjE_Cw4iDBZIQ64vQ9lcTPSK7z84BuY/s1600-h/IMG_1181.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254182430411594402" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7kxrL79_GZXXgjbBfDsnpa9Q9GwW4qHUAZfXs2cvxC0CfQweoe0otPqbxKkzVg5J37wt21bMnmeUErKvEh0hUp1ERNwWkZcs_5LvlkOQhiZldorjE_Cw4iDBZIQ64vQ9lcTPSK7z84BuY/s400/IMG_1181.JPG" border="0" /></a></p>I still have quite a bit of stuff left. I am going to do an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">etsy</span> store update tomorrow, that has been neglected for a while. I am also going to do another couple of craft fairs in November.<br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgqXI-i6gTjr2t0MHW_EMwHsUy75QuXmUYx4oafGe0Cl1yfLHyy8eIGhkzZ2kWh-o5OMs6SJQRLillZtnXi5Yeffhwq9Olxf3nT8M3i-b9VOSQ9pbTWGEgE1brlB03m_oqbCjNYJXNlq9/s1600-h/IMG_1180.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254182444539829522" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgqXI-i6gTjr2t0MHW_EMwHsUy75QuXmUYx4oafGe0Cl1yfLHyy8eIGhkzZ2kWh-o5OMs6SJQRLillZtnXi5Yeffhwq9Olxf3nT8M3i-b9VOSQ9pbTWGEgE1brlB03m_oqbCjNYJXNlq9/s400/IMG_1180.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTff97UMnFhMacNQyTH4d7ImBCMoFxf1zI5NZr6rg1yksvRnEXMRvdGkPN3F9Vz0lY_tDtEGgn14XcAgme4NV5YEF6mYc9HOaT6EyF1KRxGlhxqAfQR52xN7PvTCFamy7E6ZjpXyWmc5N/s1600-h/IMG_1178.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254182452262196914" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTff97UMnFhMacNQyTH4d7ImBCMoFxf1zI5NZr6rg1yksvRnEXMRvdGkPN3F9Vz0lY_tDtEGgn14XcAgme4NV5YEF6mYc9HOaT6EyF1KRxGlhxqAfQR52xN7PvTCFamy7E6ZjpXyWmc5N/s400/IMG_1178.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p>I am also going to do a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bloggy</span> giveaway. I have to check and see when my official 'anniversary' is. I cannot believe a whole year has evolved since I decided to spill my guts on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">internetz</span>.<br /><br />Thanks for looking!!! </p><p><em><span style="color:#990000;">eta: October 14th will be giveaway day!!!!</span></em></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-18412664210989595062008-10-04T21:41:00.007-04:002008-10-05T10:21:44.258-04:00Enquiring minds...This kindergarten/real world business is hard for me. Last night bubs' school had something called 'Family fun night', it was like a mini carnival for the kids and it was held in the gym and the cafeteria. Me being in need of control of my surroundings volunteered to work it. It was my first '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pta</span> event'. I feel like I need to get a handle on this school and maybe make some friends. But I find that we are straddling two worlds here, not entirely comfortable in each. We left the autism world in which we were immersed to join the land of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">neurotypicals</span>. Not sure how to toggle both.<br />First off, I was in the gym manning my bean bag station when a little girl came up to take a turn. Her aunt was with her and I could tell she was in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">kindy</span>. She had a somewhat unusual name, which I will just abbreviate as 's'. So after hearing her name, I asked 's' if she was in bubs' class. She said yes, and I told her that bubs came home with a picture she made him the first week of school and it was beautiful. She proceeded to tell me how annoying my son was. She actually said 'bubs <em>annoys</em> me'. I asked her just what did he do to bother her so much. You know what her answer was? 'He always is saying 'hello' to me and wants to play with me'. She went on and on and on. Ya know we spent the better part of the last 4 or so years trying to get my son to say the word 'hello' and navigate the maze of social interactions involved in getting someone to play with you. It is hard to kind of regulate, and my bubs does need to learn some boundaries and improve his ability to read social cues. I just don't believe he is as horrible as this little princess made him out to be. In all fairness, her aunt was mortified and she did report back to the girls mom who was manning the popcorn station in the cafeteria.<br />So now I spent the duration of the evening wondering if my son is socially inappropriate. I got transferred out of the gym and moved to a table in the cafeteria. A woman came up to me and asked me if I was bubs' mom and I said yes. It was '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">s's</span>' mom. She profusely apologized for her daughters remark. I of course told her it was no problem and that she was just voicing her opinion and that my son is super friendly and doesn't always know when to quit.<br />I must also explain that bubs' is in the inclusion class. Which means that there are 12 'typical' (and I use that term loosely) in the class and 8 classified. I feel like I need an instruction manual on how to deal with this. At some point in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">convo</span> with '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">s's</span>' mom she of course had to ask me where we lived. This is not our neighborhood school. I told her that, and I told her that my son was one of the inclusion kids, because she looked like she already figured it out. Of course another mom close by who has a daughter in bubs' class scooted on over to join in our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">convo</span>. Look, they were really <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">friendly</span> but I just felt like I was cornered. 'S's' mom proceeded to ask me what was the matter with my son, and why was he in inclusion. She said she noticed that all the inclusion kids seemed fine and that none of them 'had a third arm growing out of their head, or anything'. Gee, think of all the countless hours of therapy I wasted on my child, since he didn't have the requisite third leg growing out of his skull. I think I had a 'look' on my face because she then said I didn't have to answer if I didn't want to. Oh really. I made up some vagueness about speech delays and early intervention just to end the conversation.<br /><br />I am VERY proud of bubs and under the right circumstances I will share. But this woman should have controlled her curiosity, and I really think that was all it was. She wasn't mean, just overly nosy. But it was the third time that night someone asked me what bus stop I was at/where I lived/ who is my son's teacher. Normal questions I suppose. Nothing outlandish. But it was a real conversation killer when I delivered my answer. You can almost hear the crickets chirping.<br />I know I am super sensitive. I probably sound like a paranoid <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nut job</span>. I just don't know how to handle all this.<br />We were super insulated, super nurtured and I had a really tight (and still have)bond with some of the moms I met at bubs' old school. It was a wonderful support system. I am now in a world where people don't know where we came from. They think that I came from where they came from. I am not ashamed of my son at all. I am just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">fiercely</span> protective of him. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Fiercely</span>. I never want anyone to not want to be his friend because of a label or to gossip about him, or to even look at him with a strange curiosity. I want them to see the goodness in him, to know that he is an individual. I am afraid people will just hear the word autism and think of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">rain man</span> or headbanging and be frightened. I also feel like the burden should not be on my child to change their mind about it. I don't know where we are headed down this road, and into or out of those proverbial 'woods'. Once you are 'out of the closet' you cannot go back in.<br />It's different for everyone. I have friends who have cards they hand out in public places, for the very same reason I don't want to tell anyone. So that people will treat their children with kindness and understanding. They don't want anyone judging if their child is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">stimming</span>, or having a meltdown. It's really all part of the same post traumatic stress disorder we are collectively going through.<br />I know I am reading way too much into this. I know most people aren't that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">judgy</span> (or at least I hope not) . I know that '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">s's</span>' mom was just being nosy and trying to gain an understanding of what makes a child qualify for special ed, although I really did think her daughter was 'one of us' and perhaps had some social issues. I know. I just don't know how to handle it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-15600903396291254812008-10-01T19:58:00.004-04:002008-10-01T20:15:46.437-04:00This n that..So it's been like forever since my last post. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Every time</span> something happens around here, I'll think to myself, I should blog about that. But do I? I guess I thought I'd spare you all the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">minutiae</span> of my every day life (plus I really wanted to use the word '<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">minutiae</span>' in a sentence).<br /><br />I have my first event tomorrow for my 'bee happy' business. I have been sewing like a fiend this month. I have officially re named my little sewing sanctuary room into 'ye <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">olde</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sweatshoppe</span>'. I saved a lot of money on gas this month because as soon as the school bus pulled away I went up there and slaved away. I didn't leave the house for days at a time.So tomorrow is my big day. It should be fun, and hopefully profitable although after all the time and money I have spent sewing my little heart out, I don't think profit is something I can hope for. Especially since the world as we know it is coming to an end. I am just psyched to have my stuff 'out there' for people to see, and if they are kind enough to buy it, then my fragile ego will be soothed (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">momentarily</span>). It's my first show so I am really doing a little market research to see what sells and what doesn't. I will report back with pics on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Friday</span>.<br />I also want to celebrate my first year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">blogaversary</span>. I blew off my birthday giveaway that I wanted to do and I want to make it up.<br /><br />So what else. Soccer is a minor fiasco. We are '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ok</span>' with it, but I feel like a deranged soccer parent sitting in a fold up chair screaming directives at my son. I want him to enjoy it, I don't want to scream. He has this cute habit of playing nicely for two or three minutes and then getting tired and walking off the field as if a game wasn't going on. He insists on sitting down while one lone kid dribbles(or whatever the hell that is called) a ball around a field. My husband cannot take it, it makes him nuts. I admit it's kind of a puzzle (no pun intended) about what to do. I mean I cannot bodily force him to play soccer. I also cannot force him to pay attention. I think it is just magnifying our strange place on the spectrum and it really stresses me out. It's one long hour, I'll tell you. He does seem to 'get it' more a little each week. My goals for him regarding signing up for this nonsense was: to get exercise, to have fun, and to be part of a group. I am not sure we have accomplished any of these goals yet, but we are only heading into our third week. It's a fine line between making him accountable and making him miserable. We are not sports people here.<br /><br />School has been wonderful though (knock on wood). It's super laid back which is totally not my style but I am trying really hard not to be annoying about it. They are giving bubs speech once a week for now, and the beautiful part about it was that I didn't have to ask and it didn't require a change in his i.e.p.. It was just a matter of 'he needs speech so the therapist cleared a spot for him'. I thought that was unheard of in district. Bubs has never gotten speech believe it or not. He also got an o.t. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">eval</span> but they are going to call me with the details. He is just filled with such joy waiting for the bus. He absolutely loves everything about school. That is my communication book for now. He comes home with stars on his worksheets and projects in the backpack. It's almost surreal how the slate of the last three years appears to have been wiped clean. I keep waiting for the bottom to drop out. That's how I operate.<br /><br />Well gentle readers, I hope all is well with everyone. That's my story for tonight.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-63330606656186142032008-09-13T21:28:00.007-04:002008-09-13T22:00:40.743-04:00If you love something set it free...<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKUmxgrN1KixY3-ivt_c4ykSNoRL3bGHjGK_33E5mLU7pvDr7W5mc_tajPE88wMUKpV-g65y0mIaJvakk1yNLOAi35krwktHkqPwhRs6BUHbiSeT8H9V0npmGf65q62fOWupJzsfIlNQV/s1600-h/IMG_1119.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245683027073203122" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKUmxgrN1KixY3-ivt_c4ykSNoRL3bGHjGK_33E5mLU7pvDr7W5mc_tajPE88wMUKpV-g65y0mIaJvakk1yNLOAi35krwktHkqPwhRs6BUHbiSeT8H9V0npmGf65q62fOWupJzsfIlNQV/s400/IMG_1119.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">My husband found a caterpillar on a plant at work a week or so ago. He thought bubs would really enjoy seeing it, so he got a coffee can, some leaves and poked some holes in the lid and stuck it in his car. By the time he got it home it had turned into a chrysalis. So we moved it into a mason jar, and vented the top. Bubs was beside himself with joy. He had to call up everyone and tell them about it. I did some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Internet</span> searching and determined that it was indeed a butterfly and not a moth. Do you know how to tell the difference? FYI a moth spins a cocoon out of silk like thread. This cocoon looked more like a leaf, it was green and of course we talked all about <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">camouflage</span>. I felt like a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">homeschooler</span>.</p><p align="left">So we kept the thing on the shelf. High enough so that it was out of danger from bubs' not so gentle touch. It has been kind of damp around here lately and mold kind of grew all over the leaves. This was shaping up to be quite the science experiment. I was kind of expecting this to not be a positive experience. Our catfish died in the tank the other day, so we were fresh off of a strange kind of explanation/conversation about death. That's a subject that has me stumped. Considering religion isn't something we haven't embraced and we haven't even begun to to discuss the concepts of heaven and afterlife (which quite frankly was not anything I'd ever thought I would have to explain for some odd reason) it really became the lamest teachable moment I have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">encountered (so far)</span> . But I veer off course here.</p><p align="left">Friday when I got out of the shower, I just had a feeling that I should go and check out our jar. Lo and behold I see a beautiful monarch butterfly right here in a jar in my living room. I was humbled. I put it on the table. Then I started to worry. Would the mold kill it before bubs and my husband got home? Would it get claustrophobic and do <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">grievous</span> bodily harm to itself trying to escape confinement? Would the noise from the vacuum hurt it's ears? Do butterflies even have ears?</p><p align="left">I called my husband who was thankfully on his way home so I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of pressure on my own. Bubs got home a few minutes before. He was so thrilled to see his butterfly. Thrilled. A thrill that was short lived till we told him we were going to set it free. He started to protest, the bottom lip started to quiver and the tears of real true sadness came pouring down. It broke my heart. My husband who wanted to film the release for posterity caught the sadness on video for us. It was quite the scene.</p><p align="left">The went into the backyard. My husband had the jar and the camcorder. Bubs was screaming. They found a stick and opened the jar. It was like those wildlife shows where an animal is raised in captivity and finally let go into the wild. They don't want to go at first. This butterfly planted itself firmly on a stick that my son held tightly in his little fist. He stayed there for quite some time, either in some kind of crazy attempt to console my son, or torture him. Again, all filmed. The thing finally flew off the stick and flew around the backyard for a while. Bubs was inconsolable.</p><p align="left">I was going to purchase one of those store bought butterfly hatching kits. I think I have changed my mind. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-62369097270287647292008-09-11T09:26:00.006-04:002008-09-11T09:56:23.130-04:00AnniversaryToday kind of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">snuck</span> up on me. I knew it was coming. I saw it on the calendar. For some reason it still hit me like a ton of bricks. I was listening to the radio this morning and they were playing people's requests all morning. They played songs like Marvin Gaye's, 'What's going on?' and Elvis Costello's, 'What's so funny bout peace love and understanding', and things like that. I was overcome with emotion. Probably more so than that day. That day I was numb.<br /><br />I am sure everyone has their moment. Where they were, what they were doing. It's like this generation's Kennedy <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Assassination</span>, in the sense that time is frozen in that moment forever. I was teaching. It was second period. The attendance woman came in to collect the folder and said that she hear a plane attacked the World Trade Center. My immediate thought was that it was a small aircraft, one of those crop duster things. One of my students went into the hallway to look. I taught in a school on the border of Queens, very close to Kennedy Airport. You could see the towers from the school. He came back and reported that he saw a lot of black smoke in the sky and that the building was very clearly on fire.<br /><br />I taught computer graphics, so we had computers in the room. I also have to say that I taught high school students. Had it been elementary students, none of this would have been discussed at this point. So we went on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Internet</span> for more info. Internet was down. That was my first clue that this was bigger than a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cessna</span>. We did our best to keep calm, and to comfort each other. Later on that week I told them all that we would forever be cemented in our memories. I told them that when they were older, retelling their story to whomever, they would talk about being in Miss C's Media Arts Class when it happened. The bell rang and we were all off and running.<br /><br />I had a prep period so I went in search of a t.v. I found one in the gym teacher's office. Crowded around the set with a group of my co workers we watched it all unfold. It was just too horrible to watch, yet we watched it. I really thought the world was ending. And if the world was ending, that place was the LAST place I wanted to be. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with my husband (who wasn't my husband yet).<br /><br />The phones were down so we couldn't even talk to our loved ones. Then we heard the fighter jets overhead. I didn't know whether to feel safer or more terrified. We had to go on with our day and try and maintain a sense of calm. Those were the orders from administration. It was just too hard to pretend that it was all <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">OK</span>, and I think the kids new that, but they did not want or need to see their teachers freaking out. We all did the best we could that day. Unfortunately every time the bell rang, the students walked in the hallway and could plainly see the black cloud of smoke that would linger for months after that day.<br /><br />My husband was on a job interview. Can you believe they <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">still</span> went on with it? I think it was at like 9:30 in the morning, in the height of all the mayhem. He <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">didn't</span>' take that job. He had my car so if I wanted to leave I couldn't. We listened to am radio the whole day trying to get information. Of course there really wasn't much at that point. I really hate am radio. I think the frequency does something to my insides, and especially on that day, it was awful.<br /><br />I finally got to go home and while it was the end of a horrible day, it certainly wasn't the end. The smoke lasted forever. The supermarkets had pictures up of people still missing. I also think it was the birth of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">CNN</span> overdrive with all the bands of words moving across the bottom of the screen, information overload. It was 24/7 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Osama</span> Bin Laden. American Flags. Hatred of anyone wearing a turban. Insanity.<br /><br />My husband went to work cleaning up the area around Battery Park. His friend had a restoration company and he took a temporary job with them. He saw lots of destruction. He also came back with bronchial asthma. For quite a long time after bubs was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">dx</span> with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">pdd</span>-nos, I often blame the toxic mess he inhaled on a daily basis.<br /><br />I was totally numb that day, and I think as each year passes, it seems to hurt me more. I wasn't a mom when it happened. Being a mother really changes the way you see things.<br /><br />I have the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">tv</span> on. For the 6<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">th</span> year in a row, I am listening to them read the names of the people that perished. I am so thankful for all that I have. I am so sad for the people that lost their loved ones. I am also very sad for us as a species today.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-88737483905192593252008-09-08T15:29:00.007-04:002008-09-09T15:47:10.523-04:00Hell has frozen over<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gM90aNZL9OuRjmSFUa6qMbWjTGe6lWLmt261abhuo_278jA9ypqJiOtpwu-92fnR7qPx_oEDykl2nY9k34zkJsycIwbv4uh8fGLloT5MkPbZFZoqRmoQDlBQyltbHkbon6y5DOihjQcV/s1600-h/Soccer+Mom-790999.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243738293102678498" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gM90aNZL9OuRjmSFUa6qMbWjTGe6lWLmt261abhuo_278jA9ypqJiOtpwu-92fnR7qPx_oEDykl2nY9k34zkJsycIwbv4uh8fGLloT5MkPbZFZoqRmoQDlBQyltbHkbon6y5DOihjQcV/s400/Soccer+Mom-790999.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p><br /><br />I am now a soccer mom. Yup. We are digging out the folding lawn chairs with the beverage cups in them.<br />I was watching bubs last week at a family picnic. He was kicking a ball around and running at the same time. I thought to myself, 'wow, he's really got that down.... we should sign him up for soccer...' Lo and behold in the backpack on Friday there was a notice about a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CYO</span> micro soccer league on Saturday mornings at our neighborhood elementary. So I discussed with my husband.<br />He takes things very seriously. So I am kind of afraid that if my son doesn't like it, this could be a fiasco. Like he blew a gasket when I told him that we couldn't make the first game because bubs has a birthday party to go to. Seriously. So I am kind of apprehensive that if it doesn't go well, between bubs and my husband, I might have the life sucked out of me. But I'll do anything for bubs, even suffer the wrath of my intense husband.<br /></p><p>We went and signed up. Bubs was more interested in the dragonfly that he saw buzzing around. Not a good sign. But he liked the outfit. They tried to entice me into coaching. Please, I am not qualified to even teach five year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">olds</span> soccer. Hopefully that is not indicative of what kind of person will be coaching bubs' team. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">didn't</span>' say anything about bubs. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sensitive</span> information not to be shared with just anyone. I need to see how it pans out. Bubs shadow this summer told me just to sign him up for stuff and he will be fine. As a teacher and as a parent, I am not sure how to handle this. But seeing how this is just kids running around chasing a ball, I think we might be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">OK</span>. I'll play it by ear.<br /></p><p>So I took bubs to get cleats and shin guards and a ball yesterday. He did NOT want to go. He told me he was scared of cleats. I think he was just yanking my chain because he didn't feel like going shoe shopping. I am just not sure if he will wear those shin guards. They looked uncomfortable to me and I am not wearing them. They go on under the socks, which are gigantic. I am now getting ahead of myself here with worry. We are operating under many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">stressors</span> here-sensory objections to uniform, objections to just being told what to do, intense pressure from spouse,attending and behavioral issues, over stimulation..... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ahhhhh</span>, somebody stop me.......<br /><br />So I am a soccer mom. A neurotic soccer mom. </p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#000099;">edited to add: I look JUST like that picture by the way.</span></em></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9173501795612719181.post-46066848806460622262008-09-05T11:40:00.011-04:002008-09-05T12:53:08.164-04:00Freaky Friday<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhndwFSooMn05qTR97RzCdmtbeJJ512aCwgbxy9wNVqom4P1oV54JNlsfpZAD0RVRQsWTHmJHLPeMhxVZPT0bNY7UQ_iEVaXzpiBf1FpdLhxTk26sc5I51IL1OZri6PzuLIXjcc2yIap3G/s1600-h/IMG_1108.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242563379952186898" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhndwFSooMn05qTR97RzCdmtbeJJ512aCwgbxy9wNVqom4P1oV54JNlsfpZAD0RVRQsWTHmJHLPeMhxVZPT0bNY7UQ_iEVaXzpiBf1FpdLhxTk26sc5I51IL1OZri6PzuLIXjcc2yIap3G/s400/IMG_1108.JPG" border="0" /></a><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#990000;"> </span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:78%;color:#990000;">click on the picture for all the deets</span></em></p><p align="left">I was looking through one of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">farty</span> housewife magazines (I think it was Women's Day) and I came upon this ad. Usually you see them for things like the m & m candies babies, or the little cute dolls that you can hold in your hand (and I don't mean cute in a good way). You know them, they could be yours for 3 easy payments of $24.95. I usually just glance at them and think about what kind of person might want one of those. An adult I mean. I imagine a house filled with creepy dolls and lots of ruffles on the couch and windows. Some E'au de Mothball.Someone I probably wouldn't hang out with. Don't get me wrong I like dolls, but the lifelike ones totally creep me out. My husband told me a story about how someone had one of them in their car and the cops shattered the window to try and rescue the baby in the car.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">OK</span>, back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Umi</span>. I came upon this picture and I have to say, it really jumped out at me. I mean who is the target audience for this? Is it for an animal lover? I don't think so. It's not for a child because even though it's made out 'lifelike silicone', it's way too delicate and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">chokable</span>. A Paris Hilton wannabee? Who is going to want a lifelike monkey doll dressed in baby clothes with a bow in it's fur? Oh and it comes with a free pacifier. This kind of crazy doesn't come cheap though , it's <em>only</em> five monthly payments of $27.95, which if you do the math, comes to a whopping $139.95 It moved me though, I have to admit. Enough to show it to my husband (I told him I wanted it for Christmas) and enough to take a picture of it, download it into my computer and share it with you. </p><p align="left">In a totally unrelated note, my son did well yesterday. He didn't want to talk about it to much but from the snippets I got out of him, someone named Andrew wasn't being a good listener. He got to go to music class and play with the instruments, and he sat with a girl from his class on the bus ride home and her name was Hannah Montana. This morning when he asked me what he was doing today, I told him he was going to kindergarten again. He said 'but I already went there already'. Apparently once was enough for him, although he seemed to forget that when the bus pulled up. He skipped happily down the driveway and onto the bus. Thank you God. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7