Somewhere Over the Rainbow

My daughter had her Preschool graduation the other night.  A real snoozer.  I needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open.  I was getting grim satisfaction that Alex was messing up three families worth of viedotape.  He was playing Zombie Smasher and all you could hear in the background was this munch, munch, munch of the zombies eating.  Every once in a while you'd hear Alex grunt with frustration and say, "Zombies, you're mine!  Die, Zombies, die!"

I was sitting there reading all your blog posts, trying how to figure out to comment without giving up my real identity because my phone has that nifty stamp that says "sent from soandso's I-phone."  Thanks Verizon.

Anyway, I look up to see my daughter moving on to the stage. 

I wave frantically. 

She sees me.  She waves back.  She's beaming.

I'm beaming. 

Her eyes are locked on mine.  Then she points at her chest.  She takes her index fingers and makes the shape of a heart.  Points right at me.  And smiles a big radiant smile.

She's got me.

I'm blubbering like a school girl.

Then this song comes on:




Ignore the fact his big sweaty Hawaiian man boobs are bigger than mine. 

That song gets me Every Single Time.  Now I'm a train wreck.  Blubbering, snotting, no tissues, splotchy face mess.  I made the biggest fool of myself. 

It was the best night ever. 

Zomebie Smasher included.

This is how I do it. Seriously, get your mind out of the gutter.

Normally I like to mess with my mom, keep her on her toes, if you would.  I have a whole post dedicated to how I mess with her.  She drives me that crazy.  I'll share it someday, but not today.

My mom moved in with us about six months ago and we're still trying to work it all out, having her here.  Some days are more trying than others.  But overall its been a blessing. 

She's one of the few people who knows what its really like, Spectrum speaking.  She gets Alex.  She gets the fact that it not really cute to say "Duh" to your mom, dad, teacher, and anyone else who doesn't understand the mechanical workings of a fountain.  She understands him.  Knows when he's just being a little shit, trying to push buttons because he's bored, and when he's truly maxed out and needs a gentle hand to lead him upstairs to listen to his music and calm down.

People ask me how I manage to do everything with all three kids.  She's your answer.  I couldn't take him to all his appointments, therapies and groups with the other two in tow.  Sure, I could, but she makes it possible so I don't have to. 

She takes the girls and goes to the carousel and the mall.  Something Alex would never dream of doing or want to do anyway.  She cleans out the garden beds, does laundry and changes the kids bed sheets when I run out of time.  She has a special relationship with each one of the kids and loves them with as much ferocity as I do.  

She gives me a much needed moment to catch my breath and slip out for a run so I can come back and be a better mom.  She gives me the time to deal with school and his teachers and she affords me the ability to stalk my son in the school parking lot so I can watch recess. 

She can cook but we prefer she doesn't.  She knows this and we laugh.  She makes spaghetti from a can, she'll burn anything she comes in contact with and Alex has better skills with knife than she does.  Cooking is not her strong point.  Seriously, you can only do boiled salmon patties once in your life.

I am telling you all of this because she needs her breaks too.  She has other grandchildren.  I am the middle of five kids.  So right now she's in Boston with my brother and his kids.  In May she'll visit my sister in Australia for a month.

So that's how I do it.  I don't do it alone.  I have a mom who's with me, in the background, doing everything else that I can't manage to do.  And for the next few weeks the kids and I are going to get a cold hard slap in the face. 

I just hope it's not with a boiled salmon patty.

I feel like that stretchy mom in the Incredibles...

I'm old, I'll admit it.  My ovaries are starting to shrivel, I'm getting grey hair, my boobs aren't where they used to be and my knees hurt with the weather.  I feel like an old antiquated relic left behind from some bygone era. 

Here's the deal, I'm trying to make a button and do the Twitter thing.  And I've never cussed so much in my entire life.  Well, aside from when the bird sacrificed itself on my windshield, when I almost forgot Alex in the car, when I dropped the shelf on my foot.  Shit, I have cussed this much before.

But that's not the point.

I can't figure it out.

And I'm all pissy, pissed off.

Sure, I could ask Alex, but that would defeat the point of my trying to do it on my own.  See, I want everything to be all matchy-matchy (yes my pillows coordinate with my armchairs and draperies) and perfect before I put it out there and it's not working. 

The picture size is too big and the image won't upload.  I can't find the right background and my sea star isn't the way I like it.   And now have to add that bird thing to my sidebar.  And I have no fucking idea what even goes on at Twitter.  It scares me.

What happens if I do go on Twitter and I only have like 9 friends and I'm following 15,904 people???  I'll feel like a total loser, thank you Brian for the heads up, not the loser part!  I mean, I'll be more of a loser than I already am.  I can't handle that right now.

I'm over committed.

I still have three very young kids to raise, a house to clean and three different meals to make, three times a day, every day.  All the therapies to run to, Speech homework and regular homework for the oldest two.  And now I'm meeting with insurance adjustors, roofers, gutter, deck and painter people.  I totally forgot Easter was this Sunday and now I have to get lamb cakes made, go to the cesspool WalMart to get candy, and do all the baskets and plastic egg stuff.


See, these things are a pain in the ass to make.

So here's what I propose to do:

1. Do blog posting on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Anything else is a special gift from me to you. 
2. Run around and visit all my bloggy friends when I can because seriously, I love you guys.
3. Do the Twitter thing, but you have to help me and not make fun of me.  Promise???
4. Try and make a Godammed Button.
5. Stop cussing. 
6. Erase number five.  Well, at least until one through four are completed. 

Deal???


I hope everyone has a decent Easter.  One with no meltdowns.  One with rainbows and kittens and cotton candy.  With lots of ham, deviled eggs and lamb cake.  And a different meal for the kid who won't touch the ham.  A different one for the kid who doesn't want their food groups touching each other.  And one for the kid who only wants to eat Oscar Meyer turkey hot dogs, 98% fat free, and only cooked on the stove boiled in hot water for exactly 7 minutes with the red stuff on the side, never on the bun.

 And three different lamb cakes.  Can't forget the blessed little lambs.  I need a chocolate lamb, a white lamb and Goddammed tradition states the white lamb has to have coconut and Heaven forbid we have a chocolate coconut lamb or white coconut lamb because the kids don't like coconut.  Tradition states the fucking lamb has to have a coat so I have to make a white coconut lamb, so yay me, I get to make another frigging lamb.  By Sunday morning I'll have a whole flock of little lambs just staring at me as I go around the kitchen, waiting for the kids to chop off their pretty little heads and eat their asses.

Wait, that's my Easter!  Have a good one everybody!!!

I'm living with a Valley Girl. Yay me!

My son is talking like a Valley Girl.  I have no idea where he picked up this new use of vernacular but it has to stop.  It slowly started to happen last week and he's now morphed into a complete Valley Girl. 

Like totally!

His new favorite word is duh, with the perfect inflection.  He uses the word like, like 451,003 times a day.  He's thrown in the word totally as well.  I think he picked that one up from me but the sheer fact he's adapted it to Valley Girl talk amazes me.  I'm secretly impressed.  But I'm also about ready to drop a brick on my foot for the sheer pleasure of having a sensory issue rather than an auditory one. 

Like, Oh My God, you know I like oatmeal for breakfast?  Duh?  

Yes Alex, I do.

Well, duh.  So, I'd totally like my oatmeal now, duh.  And I'd totally like some chocolate chips with that.  Like Duh.  Duh.

That's one example.  Now magnify it to Every Single Time he talks.  I feel like clawing my eyes out with a fork.  I must be a sensory seeker.  Anyway, every bloody sentence is started with an Oh My God and ended with a duh.  And it's all said with that perfect little Valley Girl tone and pitch. 

To think I was worried when he was three that he was going to be talking like a robot for the rest of his life.  What-ev-er.  We worked on inflection and sing song prosody for almost two years and I'm happy to say he can now choose to talk like a robot, if and when, he wants too. 

At seven, he's now picking up terms and phrases and he's using them.  I know this is a good thing developmentally.  He's taking things from around his world and testing them out.  He's stretching his wings.  Only thing is, I think he's using this one for the sole purpose of pissing me off.  I can see a little giggle, a glint, in his eyes when he says it. 

And I think it's become his new thing.

Oh My God this is totally killing me.

Well, duh.



Note: If anyone tells him of the word tubular or even mentions the phrase gag me with a spoon I may, just may, come over there and beat you.  I'm not above inflicting bodily harm.

The mystery of the pine cones.

Over the past several days I've noticed strange things coming home in Alex's pants and coat pockets.  He's been bringing home pine needles, pine cones and the seeds from the cone. 

I pulled a pair of pants from the washing machine and out fell a bunch of pine needles.  I found pine cones in two other jackets, the pockets stuffed full. 

I asked Alex why I was finding pine cones and this is what he told me:

He was playing with them, by himself, at recess and a classmate came over and stated she wanted them.  And then she took them.  He told her he was playing with them and she took them anyway.  Ever since he's been pocketing things and hiding them from her.

I asked him why he didn't go to his para or teacher for help and said he couldn't.  If a disagreement was a "small thing" the kids are supposed to try and work it out themselves.  Fair enough.  Under normal circumstances I actually think that's a pretty good policy. 

I pushed him a little further and said something like, "But you told her you were playing with them and she took them anyway, that doesn't sound small to me..."  Honestly, it sounds like she was bullying you, that little hussy.  I kept my mouth shut on that last part. 

He said, "No. No, mom.  The pine cones are small, so I had to work it out on my own.  Those are the rules..."

The pine cones were small and therefore couldn't ask for help.  Such a literal interpretation of the rules. 

The next day I was in his resource teacher's office (I swear I think my car could drive there itself sometimes) explaining the situation.  We have it all worked out now, but it just goes to show how something so simple can be misconstrued or misinterpreted.   How literal and rule bound he is.  How he held on to the other child taking his things and he did what he thought best which, honestly, was not the best thing to do at all.  It shows how vulnerable he really is.

I've not seen any more pine needles or cones come home yet.  I'm off to check the backpack...

I'm sick and a liar to boot.

I was going to write something all funny and cracked up today but I'm not.  I'm exhausted, worn out and I'm sick.  I finally succumbed.

And the worst part is, they're on day eight of this and I'm on day two.  I still have all that fun to look forward to.   

But you want to know the really bad part? 

I sent them to school today.  Loaded them up with Tylenol and chucked them out the side door of the minivan.  I know.  I'm a horrible parent.  Thing is, the whole school's sick.  I'd feel a little differently if I weren't walking into a giant petri dish when I went up to the classroom today.  Every single kid was snotty and they were all still at school.

Lizzy's teacher met me at pickup last Thursday and said she looked a little sick and points to her nose giving me the biggest teacher hint that maybe she should have stayed home.  I did a quick scan and noted her nose looked as snotty as all the others.  Whatever. 

I looked her teacher square in the face and in my croakiest, I'm not sick voice, said, "I know.  Allergies. We all have them.  Juniper's real bad right now." 

Here's the deal:  I'm not allergic to anything.  I have no idea if Juniper's bad right now.  I made it all up.  Pulled it out my ass and spit it out my mouth.  I looked her square in the face and boldfaced lied. 

That was last Thursday and Lizzy's been home ever since.  So when I turfed them out the door today I was this shy of loosing it myself.

And the really bad part???  I'll do it again tomorrow if I have to. 

Wait. 

Shit. 

Tomorrow's Saturday. 

Lord, I think this turned out funny after all.  Either I'm a comedic genius or I really need to lay off all the meds.  You decide...

A whole lotta love at Speech Therapy

I got called on the carpet by my kid's Speech Therapist today.  We were supposed to do some homework and I forgot.  For two weeks in a row.  So this time she told me that in order for us to succeed we needed to be on the same page.  

BITE ME.

Now that I got that out of my system, I get it.  Really I do.  I know I'm an integral part of this whole gig.  She actually gave us a little booklet at our first meeting and it says: YOU.  It is up to YOU to implement your child's Speech Therapy services."

No, we didn't get a booklet, I just made that up.  But it felt like we should have gotten one as she seemed to be quoting some Holy Grail of Speech Therapy that I was missing.

We were supposed to be working on his R's.  He says them incorrectly and you can't understand him.  I get that.  Thing is, he wasn't associating the exercises with articulating the appropriate sound and he was getting frustrated and embarrassed.  I put a limit on what we were doing at home since it was turning into a negative association. 

And the other things, yeah, I dropped the ball.  The two girls have been sick as dogs, producing more mucous than I ever dreamed possible.  I've been relegated to mopping up puke for the past week, doling out Tylenol and Ibuprofen like a Pez dispenser and running to the Pediatrician's office since the sweet little shit of a baby seems to think it's much more interesting to fight like a feral cat and see mommy wipe up antibiotic off the ceiling, walls, microwave and any other inanimate object within a ten foot range.  And since she's got more fight in her than Rocky Balboa she crossed the line and puked all over the other half of the kitchen.  Again.

I even have puke buckets in the car.  Yeah, it's that bad. 

So NO I've not yet used our conversation starter at the dinner table asking who did what, when and why.  Been a little busy.

And NO I've not used our Emotions and Facial Expressions Chart.  I think its still in the car from last week under a puke bucket.  If I did you can bet I'd have had a witty comeback like:

I'm a little irritated at what's going on at my house right now.  I'm terrified of getting dinner launched at me.  Pick an orifice.  I'm enraged and disgusted with the prospect of cleaning up more puke.  I'm exhausted, nauseated and sick to death of hearing my own children whine and beg.  And if I hear that God forsaken Lelli Kelly shoe commercial one more time I'm beyond confident I'm going to burst a vessel. 

But I am ecstatic that you are concerned with our progress and amused by your disapproving and indifferent attitude and I'm optimistic that smug grin has been wiped off your sorry little face.

But alas I had no witty comeback except for BITE ME and even that was only in my head.  That should count for something, right?  Right??  

The mother of all surprises...



Alex's teacher walked out with him on Friday after school and met me at the flagpole.  Not his para, his teacher. 

Shit.  What did he do?  What happened?  What was misunderstood or misinterpreted??  Lord, please tell me it's not too bad... 

I've talked about the pit of fear that wells up in my stomach when his teacher comes out to met me.  Read about it here and come back.  Usually his para walks him out and when it gets bumped up to the teacher it only means one thing:  Trouble.  I braced myself for what she had to say and was trying to estimate how many cookies I had to bake to get back in her good graces.

And I was given the mother of all surprises. 

She told me he did great with his Origami presentation and they want to use the video and broadcast it throughout the school.  She was so proud of him and he was beaming.  For a moment his tics were silenced.  He was thrilled.  Proud. 

What?!?  Presentation?  Origami??  What in the hell was she talking about???

I had no idea he was doing a presentation, let alone one that was to be videotaped.  Mrs. T had to talk to me nice and slow because I was standing there looking thoroughly perplexed.

Here's the skinny:  Mrs. T asked Alex on Monday if he wanted to to teach the class how to make Origami cranes on Friday.  He said "yes" and didn't say a word to me.  I was stunned.  Not that he didn't tell me, I never get information out of him about school, I'm used to that.  But about the fact he was teaching other kids how to do Origami.  That was his "go to" thing back in September and he moved past it around Thanksgiving and he's not looked at it since.

Some of his Origami work.

This past week he's not uttered a peep about his teaching assignment and he's not looked at any of his origami books.  At all.  He got up in front of his class on Friday morning and taught them how to make a crane from paper.  Stone cold, from memory, from about six months ago.  Amazing. 

So Friday, I got one of the best surprises I could ever get.  My little one did something that he loved and he excelled, so much so that his teacher came out and was gushing all over him about it.  Gaw, to see his face, it was priceless. 

My face on the other hand was a horror.  Of course I started to well up and when that happens I get all red and blotchy, like I've been stung by a  squillion bees, and I get all snotty and teary and ugggh, you get the idea.  Not pretty. 

But Alex's face?  That was a thing of beauty.

Awards, times two!

Lord in Heaven, I've been tagged.  I came so close to skating by and bbsmum got me.  Which was probably good because I was coming up empty handed.  Thank God that hail storm drilled us or I'd have come good on my threat to post about bellybutton lint and/or ear wax. 

Go visit bbsmum at Mum accepting autism, you'll like it there.  I do.  I'm over there clogging up her comments day in and day out, I love her that much.

Karen tagged me too.  Solodialogue is her amazing blog which is so eloquently written and insightful.  I'm over there blabbing away too!

In all seriousness, thank you both for tagging me.  I know I moan and groan about Meme's but secretly I love them.  They make me stop and think about things I don't normally apply brain power to and the fact you think I'm worthy of them means a lot.  Thank you both.   

Anyway, I know you all have skipped all that up there to get to the good stuff here.  You know, this is where I tell all.  So here it is.

Seven things about Alex, compliments of bbsmum:

1.  He doesn't like to smile for the camera.  Ever.  This is a problem in our house since we, like, own stock in Nikon.  Sorry Cannon.

2.  Alex is smarter than me.  Big surprise, right? 

3.  His current form of stress relief is to come up and give me a kiss, with really wet, spitty, saliva covered lips.  I think he does this on purpose but I'm not willing to give up the kisses, no matter how disgusting.  That would probably explain this nasty cold I've been harboring.

4.  Once he goes to bed he stays there.  And I love him for that.

5.  When we came home from Loose the Wheels bike camp I asked him to try his bike at home and he said, "Nope.  I already know how to do that!" like I missed the memo he'd been at camp all week nailing that skill.

6.  When he was almost four I told him he was 'pushing my buttons' and he walked right up to me and pushed every button on my sweater.  He then yanked it up and went "Boop!" on my jeans button.  Hard.   

7.  I love my little man with every ounce of my being and its true what they say, I can't imagine my life without him.

Now here are seven things about me, compliments of Solodialogue.  Take a deep breath so you can swallow back down your breakfast, lunch or whatever's in there.

1.  After Alex said, "Nope" to getting on the bike I may or may not have said, "I paid a shitload of money for bike camp, now get on your damn bike and ride." 

2.  During the winter, I gauge whether or not I'm going to shave my legs based on how cold I am.  If I'm freezing then I skip it rationalizing the extra fur will help insulate and keep me warm. 

3.  I'm a total Type A.  I love a clean house and if I could, I'd rope off rooms and turn my house into a museum.  I like to vacuum and get pissed when the kids mess up the vacuum lines on the carpet.   

4.  Dirty kitchen sinks creep me out.  

5.  Don't get near me till I have my coffee.  Once I get my two cups in the morning I do the rest of the day caffeine free.  There's a window around 10:00am where I go hypoglycemic and turn feral.  My husband swears he did not know about this prior to our marriage and swears I misrepresented myself.  I won't lie, I did.  I totally hid that teensyweensey little fact from him.   

6.  When I have a really bad day I go to WalMart and judge people.  I already know, I'm a bitch.  Please hold your comments on that and tell me something I don't already know.   

7.  I miss my old house.  I love where we are now, don't get me wrong, but there's something about the house that you bring your kids home to for the first time.   

There you go, seven more facts about me and seven new facts about Alex.  I've decided to do a great disservice to the Meme and not tag anyone.  I've tagged just about everyone I know in past Meme's and some of you twice.  I'm afraid I'm going to get a restraining order I've tagged so many people.  If you really want to be tagged, send me a note and I'll dedicate a whole post for those of you I've cheated.  I'll be more than happy to do so!  

He's laughing at me. See?!?

We were hit with a hail storm the other night.  We were pummeled.

Miraculously Alex slept through the whole thing and was spectacularly pissed the next morning when he found out Lizzy was up for it.  There I was, running around the house throwing myself in front of windows yelling incoherently, "Not the windows!  Do you know how much I paid for those goddammed drapes?  Not The Windows!!!"  It was so loud I couldn't hear my husband telling me I was a whacked out lunatic and to get away from the windows before I got my head bashed in. 

We were pummeled to the tune of loosing one quarter of the roof, all the gutters and downspouts, exterior lighting, plus all the window trim and any exterior woodwork.  The west side of the deck looks like its been sandblasted and the two cars out in the drive were totaled.

I tell you that to tell you this:

My sister came over and took the kids outside to play on the driveway a few weeks ago.  They made beautiful creations and they had a blast with chalk and paint.  They were so proud.  She logged in some hours as Super Aunt and left feeling like a rock star.  They had fun and I had a quiet house.  I was happy.

Everything went away with the storm except for this asshole:  

My sister drew him with not so washable paints.  Even golf ball size hail at seventy miles per hour didn't wipe that shit eating grin off its face.  

Every time I go in and out of the house I run over it and see it grinning at me.  I know I shouldn't be subscribing life to inanimate objects but I know that little turd is laughing its ass of at me. 

The train and horse thing...

Remember how I talked about how I go for a run to clear my mind?  No??  Go here, skip all the other garbage I wrote and read number four and come back. 

Well, I went for a run the other day and almost every time I go out I pass this thing.  I don't know exactly what to call it other than the train horse thing.  It's out in front of a subdivision where we live.  And every time I go by it I think, "Gawd, there has got to be some kid on the Spectrum who would go crazy-gaga in love with this thing!"  So I took a picture of it. 

What do yo think?  I know, pretty cool, right???  Other than the fact that the horse is going to run right smack in front of the train and die a horrible bloody death, its pretty cool.  For pitty's sake the thing is life size.  It's huge.  Now I still can't exactly tell you what it is but there you go. 

And yes, I have thought of getting on that horse and riding it. 

The funny thing is, that when I go out for a run I have my i-pod on and I'm pretty oblivious to just about everything around me.  That would include the golfers at the driving range right behind me.  There I was, taking a picture of the train horse thingy.  

I left out one vital piece of information and it is:  I usually sing while I have my i-pod in.  Singing is NOT my strong point.  At all.  And I was listening to this song:

And here are the lyrics I was singing:

I'm gliding' in the beautiful sky, it's such a clear day, oh
Go ridin' in your sweet lullabies, come fly away, ay oh
I'm glidin' in the beautiful sky, it's such a clear day, oh
Go ridin' in your sweet lullabies, come fly away....

Except where it says: Go ridin' in your sweet lullabies, I sang: Go ridin' in your sweet little thighs.  Sweet little thighs, people.  I was singing SWEET LITTLE THIGHS. 

Loudly.

Every. Single. Time.   

Remember the driving range, full of golfers?!? 

Aaacckkk!



Note:  I'm sorry to say I don't make anything up I put out here.  I wish I did but I don't.  I don't have the ability to keep track of lies so my policy has been to adhere to the truth---no matter how painful and/or embarrassing it is.  I'm sharing my (mis)adventures because I know how hard it is some days to come by a laugh.  As long as you're laughing with me I'm OK with sharing.  

I'm Stylish. Hey, stop laughing! Seriously, I can still hear you...

No she didn't.  Oh yes she did.  Racer's Mommy thought it would be the cat's meow to pass this along to me.  I think it's the first time in my life I've ever been called stylish.  My main shopping hot spots for clothes are Target, Sam's and Costco so I'm still trying to wrap my brain around that one...

Anyway, here are the rules:

1. Thank and link back to the person who sent you the award.  Racer's Mommy, you're the best!
2. Share seven things about yourself.
3. Share this award with 10 other people and let them know.

Here are seven things about me:

1. I hate other people's kids.  I love mine but despise others.  I have, however become slightly more tolerant of them.
2. I feel like I'm 30 but really I'm 41.  There are days when I look in the mirror and scare the crap out of myself wondering who the old person is staring back.
3. I have a ginormous sweet tooth.  It usually lands my ass on the loo.  Given the choice between sweets or the loo, I'll choose the sweets and suffer the consequences.  Every. Single. Time.
4. I run as my outlet.  I run away from things and to things, but I always run.  Its where I find peace.  Where I try and find my own center of gravity amidst the rest of the things that are swirling in my life.  
5. I think of my other son ever single day.  And it doesn't get any easier.  At all.  
6. There are days when I hand my kids off to school and think, "Fuck em.  Lets see if you can do any better."  And I walk away relieved.  And I don't look back.
7. Equally, there are days where I desperately want my kids near me.  Just because.  But I've never wanted it bad enough that I pull them from school. 

Scary, huh?  Now onto the part where I get even.  I'm going to try and honor the award and see if I can find ten unsuspecting bloggers but I don't want to piss off too many people.  Let's see how far I get.  

1.  Arduinium
2. AUTISM ROCKS
3. Jazzygal
4. Living on the Spectrum: The Connor Chronicles
5. The a-word
6. Rise to Me: An Autism Dad's Ruminations

OK, I have six.  Did you think I was going to play by the rules?  I think not!