Things I love

So I'm not always a mean cynical mom.  Here are a few thing that make me say, "see, it's all worth it."

• How we just had dinner and it was loud, crazy and remarkably uneventful.
• The fact that Gracie says "Ahhh" every time she take a draw off her sippy cup.
• Walking by the upstairs landing and getting a glance at the sand dollar I keep there.
• That tomorrow's Monday.
• That my husband has been picking up the slack because I feel like a truck has run me over.  And over.
• How we just had our first thunderstorm of the season.
• That at this moment my kids are happy and just plain themselves.
• Wishing I could bottle this moment and hold onto it as it's all so fragile.
• That a good night's sleep is all I need to forget yesterday and start all over again today.

Hell hast a name--my house...

Bad, bad, bad language rant.

I give up.  I've been trying to get a few seconds of computer time and every time I'm interrupted.  Seriously??  No wonder all my posts are crap.  I can't even get a word in edgewise without the whole fucking clan descending upon me. 

It's not like we live in a sardine can for Christ's sake.  We have three fucking levels.  And true to form every time they hear me pounding on the keyboard they descend on me like vultures on a carcass.  So, I've decided fuck it.  I'm going to write about them as they all stand behind me.  So here I bang away and the whole lot of them are all futzing behind me. 

Seriously, shut up.  SHUT UP.  Why do yo insist on talking to me right now??  Can't you see my back is turned to you and I've not even turned around once.  And yet you still continue to jabber to my back.  Contrary to popular belief, the eyes in the back of my head do not work.  I swear, what in the hell am I spending all this money for social skills classes??  No one in my house can even read my body language which is clearly saying leave me the fuck alone!

Oh my God.  I don't care about your jogging route, what the weather is doing, and for the love of Christ, NO YOU MAY NOT HOT-SINC YOUR I-TOUCH RIGHT NOW.  (Don't let the fact that I don't know how to spell sinc get int he way of this rant, dam you spell checker.)

Frick, frick, frick. NO, I do not want to watch Martin sing Hello.  Crap.  Boy wonder has found (and downloaded) the video to Hello.  That seals it, I'm in hell and it's only 9:30---AM.

ARRRRGGG

Update Friday

Here are a few things that didn't make it into full post status but have been rolling around in my brain giving me the giggles.  Anyway, for the faint of heart there is foul language.  You've been warned, now go ahead and read anyway.

• I went for a jog simply because my husband said I shouldn't.  It was too windy he said.  He was right, it was windy.  And cold. 
• At Alex's Valentine's party a mom mentions to the kids something about mice, mind you I have no idea where this topic came from, and a kid shouts out, "you can find some in my basement."  Nice. 
• My new BFF's at Cigna decided speech therapy was no longer medically necessary.  A moment of silence while I skin each one of the fucking bastards who made that decision.  I'm sure they were qualified medical professionals who poured over his file and agonized over the decision.  Douche-nozzles.
• Wait, I'm still skinning the bastards. 
• OK, I'm better.
• No, I'm not.  Fucking douche-nozzles. 
• I filled the washing machine up, didn't run it, and left a pile of my clothes on the floor in front of the washer so when Red Robe came back she'd have to do my dirty laundry first.
• My daughter decided to crawl like a cat in front of school when we picked up Alex.  She meowed and purred as an added bonus.  Lucky me.
• We had a taste of spring and I'm beyond thrilled.
• And since I started writing we've been put under a winter storm warning.
• I take back being thrilled.



Ice on one of our trees out front.

Confusion...

I am thoroughly confused right now.  Alex is going through a rough patch and I'm clueless as to what's going on.  He doesn't articulate when he's upset or when he's not feeling well so I'm truly limited by my lack of understanding.  It's such a sick helpless feeling to not understand your own child.  

There have been several changes in his life right now and any one of these can be the impetus for a bad couple of days.  But even then, I don't think they're enough to set him back to this extent.  I'm struggling as to why he's reverting back to his some of his old behaviors.  I know he's self stimming and I know he's trying to self calm and regulate but I don't understand why its happening now, with such intensity. 

He's been complaining of his stomach hurting on school mornings and at first I subscribed it to the fact that I freaked out when the kids started puking at school.  I harped on him about washing his hands and I thought he just picked up on my anxiety.

Then he started chewing on his shirts again.  I about died when he came home with his shirt chewed through.

Now he's making gasping noises, coughing and clearing his throat.  A lot.  Like, all the time.

He's been spitting, not on people, but blowing raspberries any time he disagrees with someone.  Kinda like a F-you, Alex style.

He's been getting upset at the drop of a hat and he stomps around the house and he's started hitting himself.

He's chewing and pulling on his bottom lip and flicking people if they get too close.  He's even gone back to standing at the table as he can't, just can't, seem to sit still.

I've been in contact with his teachers at school and they've noticed his behaviors as well.  I'm fortunate that this year I have a teacher who truly understands Alex and gets that he's a beautiful little boy. 

But I'm still left with that lingering feeling that somethings not right and all these things combined has me worried.  I don't know what is going on and I don't know what he's going through.  It is time like these that I would give anything, yes anything, to get into his mind and sort out all the worry and angst.  To calm him, settle his mind, make things right.

I hate this feeling, the utter helplessness of being Alex's mom.

I love you to bits little man...

What, you don't consider this a real job???

I'm totally going to trash talk my sister.  I can do that.  She's pissed me off and now I'm going to call her on it, blog style.  I'll let all you in on a little secret---no one in my family knows I've got this little gig here so I can blast her and they'll be none the wiser. 

See, it's a perfect situation...

Here's the deal: I'm at home with kids and she like, has a real job, so if you do the math, I'm obviously at home doing nothing all day.

She doesn't have any kids, by choice.  I mean, they could have kids but they don't.  I think she saw what happened to me and she was like, "No fucking way do I want a piece of that action."

Humph.

So let me back track to last night.  They came over for about twenty minutes.  At bed time.  They should know better but they don't.  Remember, no kids?  Right??

Right. 

And in that twenty minutes she ran around stirring stuff up, saying BOO to Gracie and basically scaring the shit out her.  She came up to me while I was watching one of the Barbie movies with Lizzy and mentioned something about appliances to which I mumbled, "Sure, whatever." 

See, it's not like I'm a fan of the Barbie movies, I generally think they suck and make me throw up in my mouth a little bit, but hey, my daughter loves them so I watch them.  They do a pretty good job of getting the message across that girls can do anything and I'm down with that.

So there we were watching Barbie as a Musketeer and I was like whatever and didn't really hear what my sister was saying. 

Flash forward to today, when I get a call from her asking me to go over to her house to let the appliance people in.  I was a tish confused, more like WTF are you talking about?  But I digress. 

Apparently in our little two second chat I agreed to let the appliance guys in her house.  "I can't possibly come home and let them in, I'm at work", she says.  I have meetings all day.  All you have to do is pop over and let them in....

Sure, I can do that.

IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE A JOB OR ANYTHING. 

Not like I'm trying to raise three kids or anything like that.  Noooo, let me just pop right on over and help you out.  Load them all in the car, get the baby up from her nap, get the other two out of pajama's.  Sure, I'm good like that. 

Clearly I'm at home and that, by default, means I'm not working. Which means I do nothing all day.  Just waiting on someone to call and give me something to do...

Which means I have the free time to dig up a picture like this:

And this....

And that is how I get a giggle at my house.  Laugh with me people!

Playing with shells

It was nice out yesterday so I turfed the kids on the back deck to play.  Naturally I'm thinking they're going to dig up my dead potted plants, scrape out rotted deck boards, smash bugs, something.  Nope, not my kids.  This is what I find:

Alex went out and sorted seashells on the deck furniture. 

I'm always curious as to why he does what he does.  So I asked him.  Here's his answer:  "I first arranged all the deck furniture from biggest to smallest in a circular pattern and then I categorized shells based on size, not color.  I had to block Gracie out so that's why the big table is not where it should be.  It doesn't count."  Duh. 

He didn't actually say Duh but he was looking at me like I was a moron so I added it so you can get the full effect.  I'm nice that way.

Anyway, I had to take a picture of it and share because it's so representative of Alex and how his mind works.  Aside from the few shells that are out of line, I don't know what happened there, it's him.   

So precise.

So beautiful. 

So Alex.

The comfort of home

My little Alex has been in rare form this past week.  I brushed it off to being back in school and me totally PMS'ing and IBS'ing.  All his old friends are back--the hard blinking, clearing the throat, shirt chewing, inability to sit still.  Going to the security of  the I-touch and Lego's.  You know, all our friendly reminders that hey, my kid's different.

He even has some new ones--a gasping noise when he breathes in, like he's squeaking at each intake of air.  He's added to it and squeaks all the time now.  He's also repeatedly listening to a new song to his I-touch.

Well, it took me till yesterday, at the allergist's office, to have someone else tell me there's a problem.   Turns out he's chalked full of white cells. Of course I go right off the deep end--cancer.  She say's he has a sinus infection secondary to the strep and all the squeaking probably started from the sore throat and it's now turned into a nasty little habit.

So now we're on round two of antibiotics...this one is not nearly as nice as the bubble gum in a tube and he's on it for 14 days.

But there's something else too, it's all the upheaval of not being in school consistently, the change of speech therapists this past week, Valentine's day on Monday.  This is his first full week of school since before Christmas and he's worn thin.  He's exhausted, his mind's too full and he's this close to snapping. 

He had 7 sensory breaks yesterday and I suspect he'll need seven more today.

It's all taking a toll. 

I can't wait till 3:40 today so I can meet him at the flag pole, buckle him in the safety of our car and wrap him in the protection we call home.  



He also likes to make tents.  This one's in his bedroom. 



The price of love...

I love Valentine's Day soooo much I thought I'd write about it some more. 

It has to be a medical mystery that I ever got married.  Just has to be.  Cause after you read this you're going to wonder as well.  For those of you with weak stomachs feel free to hit that little 'next blog' button up top if it gets too squirly. 

Aside from our obvious festivities I talked about here, I have to thank my kids for getting me two, yes two, boxes of Crispy Cream's for me while they were with their father shopping at Sam's.  They got donuts for me (read: them) to celebrate.  Doesn't everyone celebrate Valentine's day with two boxes of donuts?

Now you can go here and get an idea of what I look like.  Yes, I'm skinny.  Don't hate me.  I sent you off to show you what I look like to tell you how I get that way.  You'll hate me less, I promise.  Read on...

So I had to honor the holiday and the fact my kids got me (read: them) donuts and I ate one (read: four).  Which landed my ass on the can for the whole day because, remember that picture of me?  My body does not like anything filled with that much goodness and I had an IBA--irritable bowel attack.  All day.  All fricking day.

Between kids parties, meltdowns and listening to Martin sing Hello (I'm taking a leap here but I feel we're on a first name basis, what with him serenading me and all) I found myself breaking out in cold-sweats, dodging into bathrooms and damn near passing out whilst busting a gut.  Yes, I'm fully aware that my kids may have lost a few friends over this...sorry guys.

All for the sake of donut love. 

So there I was, on the can the better part of the day cussing out Cupid, the kids, and mostly my husband for bringing two Goddammed boxes of donuts into the house in the first place. 

 I love you dear, it was the best Valentine's ever.

Seriously, I do have the best husband. 

V-day, the aftermath...

Dear Cupid,
My kids have been all cracked out waiting for your special day and like a three day old balloon their expectations are going to pop.  While you go back to where ever it is you go, I'm going to be the one standing here with a broom and dustpan having to clean up your sorry mess. 

Valentine's Day, morning expectations:

• Alex has been working up to you because they have parties in the classroom.  Gasp.  And I'm freaking out.  He loves the idea of a party, he just malfunctions at the actual event. 
• Lizzy has her party this morning so I get to go and be 'normal mom' before I become the 'crazy, overprotective, oh my god my kid going to blow any second now lets see if we can sneak out the side door mom.'

Valentine's Day, what actually happened:

• I missed the first 2/3rd's Lizzy's party because I had the time wrong in my calendar.  Crap.  Did I say crap?  Crap.  We go to Wendy's to make up for my being a total dip-shit.  
• We play Farm Frenzy all afternoon to make up for my my being a total dip-shit.
• We make it (on time) to Alex's party.  Lizzy notices this fact and I can see she thinks I love him more than her.  Crap.
•  Baby Gracie's nap is smack in the middle of Alex's party.  I bring her, she wakes up.  She screams.  And screams some more.
• I have no pictures because I forgot the camera for Lizzy's party and if I bring it to Alex's party it would confirm Lizzy's worst fear--I love Alex more than her.  I don't but you try to explain it to my five year old.  Crap.
• Alex freaks out because kids were going up to the snack table and that's "not what they're supposed to do..." 
• He freaked again about snack because "it's not happening at the time it should be on the class schedule."
• We left early.  Out the side door.
• We've now listened to "Hello" by Martin Solvig like a million times since we got home and I liked that song.  Once.  A long time ago.  While jogging.  Without kids.  Alone.
• We ate leftovers for dinner.  The kids fought.  I still can't get that song out of my head.
• Red Robe came back. 
• Holiday complete.

My Valentine from Alex.



On the inside--Dear Dad.  Dad?!?  He erased over mom and wrote dad.  That's rich.



See ya next year Cupid.  You horrible naked baby with wings.

Litany of Logic

My little Aspie has been testing his limits lately.  It has to do with our morning routine and how he wants to play his I-touch before all our morning stuff is done.  Our routine is, as stands:

• we get dressed
• eat breakfast
• brush teeth
• get backpack/lunch ready and then and only then the
• little electronic wonder can be turned on.   

Here's the rub---Alex likes oatmeal for breakfast.  Whole grain Quaker Oats.   Not the instant stuff in packets, or the one minute stuff.  We're talking full on, straight up oat off the plant oatmeal.  The kind that takes forever to make. 

Anyway, Alex decides because he has some downtime while he's waiting for breakfast, he's perfectly justifiable in a little play time.  Normally I would agree.  His little Vulcan-like logic is usually spot on.  But the problem is this: once that damn thing it goes on he gets sucked in a little time warp and he can't break free.  So no, the I-touch can not be touched until all the morning stuff is done.  Period.

And here's where the litany of logic ensues and a great debate happens every morning.  We go back and forth on the whys and how comes and how I got to be in charge in the first place.  He's not trying to be rude, mind you, just trying to back me in a corner (or wear me down) till I can see the logic of his point of view and cave to his version of reality. 

Now if you're in a hurry just skip to the next paragraph.  This is something that took me, like five years to figure out.  Heck, I'm still trying to remind myself of this one.  Read this nice and slowly and reread again if you have to cause it may save you like, an eternity of banging your head against the wall.  Or in my case five years.

He can't see my reality and what angle I'm coming from.  At all.  All he can see is what he's thinking.  It would never occur to him to look at anything from someone else's point of view.  He thinks we all think exactly like him. 

That's it.  Did you get it?? 

Just like it would never occur to him to ask for help--with anything.  Why would you?  If you can't figure something out, everyone else is having the same problem, right?  Right??

If I say no to him he simply can not compute and then tries to convince me of how it's not his fault that the oatmeal is not ready and he should not be held accountable for the microwave working too slow, mommy not getting in enough coffee...   

So if you want to know what I'm doing say around 7:30 tomorrow morning, I'll be in a very heated discussion about oatmeal and the I-touch. 

Wish me luck!

I'm still deciding if she's mocking or encouraging me...



As an update, I caved and let him have it while the oatmeal was cooking.  The rest of the morning went to hell in a hand basket.  

She was me...

Lizzy is going to kindergarten next year so I headed out to the meeting for all the parents.  We missed this last year for Alex because we moved in from out of town and didn't arrive until two weeks into the kindergarten school year.  So there I was with some familiar faces and some new ones.  I was struck by several things:

• How utterly boring it was to be doing this for my, dare I say it, normal kid.  I didn't have to worry about all the routines, sensory breaks, food aversions, noise levels, bright lights, and all the fallout if something went wrong.  I could sit back and act like a normal mom.  Weird.

•  The mom's who currently have boys in Alex's class who also have siblings in Lizzy's class.  They ignored me.  Like, they walked a circle around me, sat down at another table and then begrudgingly said "Hi."  Making sure all the chairs at their table were full--just to be sure I wouldn't join them.  You see, last year they all caught on pretty quick that Alex was different.  These moms spread the word like wildfire that my little boy was "special"  and needed extra help.  They all have normal/neuro-typical boys and they act as if what Alex has is contagious. I've gotten over the fact that these women are excluding  me.  I've not gotten over how it affects my son.  I don't think I ever will.  

• The other thing I noticed was another mom.  She was sitting by herself, legs crossed, furiously bouncing them under the table.  She'd alternate between bouncing her legs and tapping her pen on the table.  She was nervous.  Like, way nervous.  I kept watching her.  Something about her bugged me.  It took me until almost the end of the evening.  And then it dawned on me---she was what I would have been last year if I had gone to this meeting.  She was me.  Her child has special needs.  She was alone and silently freaking out.  

So I did the only thing I knew to do.  I walked up to her after the meeting and said, "Hi, my name is Lizbeth..."


Her son has Sensory Processing  Disorder and is being evaluated for Asperger's and  PDD/NOS.  




I'm so excited, we're getting warmer weather! 
Snowman, your days are numbered...



The ON/OFF switch

He's always on.  I don't know about other kids, or other Aspie's for that matter, but mine's always in the ON mode.  He wakes up, comes into our bed, clambers all over us, plunks down and starts talking.  And talking.  Here's what we were told this morning:

"Did you know that in Farm Frenzy, if you buy an ostrich and don't use the feathers to make dresses you loose $1,000 per ostrich?  Why would someone do that?  Do you know that if you sell the ostrich before you sell 100 dresses or make 1,500 fans you loose money?  Yup, it's true.  That's how it works. That would be wasting money if you sold your ostrich before then." 

The whole time his little arm is waving like he's commanding a symphony and his little head is cocked off to the side, already thinking of his next sentence.  I know this because I had Lasix and now I can see everything...

And so it goes.  We're up.  It's 6:25 in the morning. 

Have I mentioned that Farm Frenzy is his new thing?  Well it is and I can tell you all about it.  I won't but I could.  If I were really mean I would tell Alex to tell you.  You'd be stuck for at least 45 minutes.  God help you if the computer was near by, you'd be in for a demo.  And that, my friends, lasts much longer than 45 minutes.

You guessed it, Farm Frenzy.

It goes like this pretty much all day, up to bedtime.  He goes to bed, his little brain exhausted.  I often wonder what it's like in there, inside his head.  I fear I may come out exhausted if I were in there for more than an hour. 

And just like that he's sleeping and he's turned himself OFF till morning.

Goodnight.

My thoughts on the weatherman...

Dear Mr. Weatherman--
Screw you.  I am fed up to here with looking at you every night and having to suffer through you mocking me and telling me pretty little lies.  Telling me its going to get up into the 30's when in fact it does not.  Stop screwing with me.  I don't care if you get within three degrees of your forecasted number, especially if your number is less than twenty.  You still suck.

I'm sick to death of you getting excited about another big clipper system or an upper level low coming through.  None of your viewers care.  We're not laughing with you anymore.   Matter of fact, I did a survey in the neighborhood and I'm hard pressed to find someone to come to your defence.  They all want to string you up the school flag pole, naked, and see how long you last.  They'd bury you when they were done but the ground's too cold to get a spade in.

I'd feel much better if you just stuck to the truth and told me I'm going to freeze my little titties off till the end of March.  Then I'd get used to it.  I'd suffer through.  But no, you've been stringing me along for the past few months telling me lies.  You even told me that frigging rodent didn't see it's shadow and its going to warm up soon.  And I'm still cold.  And you still suck. 

I'm done with having to explain to my kids why the weatherman lies stretches the truth and how in our house white lies or lies by omission are lies none the less.  We have rules in our house and every night you break them with your deceptive trickery.  These lies are akin to criminal offences in our house which require standing in a corner for five minutes or a loss of computer time. 

My son wants to know if you loose computer time and if your mom puts you in a corner when you get home.  He is very upset by this and would like an answer. 

Because of all of this I have to break up with you.  I have to stop seeing you and subjecting myself to all of your petty lies and tomfoolery.  Your recent bomb of a winter weather advisory for today was the final straw.  We're over.  Finished.  Through.  And you still suck. 



My thoughts exactly.






The Great State of Kansas...

A baby in motion stays in motion, until the box stops.

I'd like to say we had a fantastic weekend.  We didn't.  It sucked.  It sucked so bad that at one point I looked at my husband and said I'll be upstairs.  Only I stayed up there for three hours.  Later I looked at him and said I gotta get out of here.  NOW.  And I left for three more hours...

Maybe it was because Red Robe left me this present on her way out of town. 

Look, the washer's jam packed too.


Maybe it was because my sister ditched me and the kids at the last minute and backed out of babysitting because she just wasn't feeling it today.

Maybe because when I did make the stupid mistake of coming downstairs I saw the baby being flung out of a box--face first, smacking the ground.  A pause.  A scream.  Blood pouring out of her mouth. 

Maybe because this house has been under construction for so fucking long I've lost track of where anything lives.  So when I go looking for a flashlight I trip over the power washer and all the other crap that should be in our basement like two sofa's, two end tables, about twenty boxes and four shelving units.

Maybe its because when I finally find a flashlight and come in from the garage, I see my husband already using one looking in Gracie's mouth.  The baby's still bloody and screaming.

Lizzy's sobbing, she knows she's done something really bad and it's only a matter of time before I turn on her. 

The whole time Alex is quoting us facts about the state of Kansas.  His frigging teacher pumped him full of useless facts about the Great State of Kansas and he's now spewing them back at us.

Maybe it's because dinner was precariously close to setting off the fire alarm.  That would have been the only thing that would have shut up the great flow of Kansas crap coming out of my son's mouth. 

Out of the 5 teeth that are in Gracie's head she managed to carve a hole in her bottom lip and both gums.

I looked at my husband and said, I gotta get out of this house.  NOW.  I took the keys and left.  Left him with two screaming kids and one oblivious to the whole situation, still prattling on about the Great State of Kansas.


I went to the only place I know I can go looking like utter crap and fit in.  WalMart.  I stayed there for three hours.  Feeling totally ashamed for leaving yet knowing I was so close to completely fucking loosing it. 

And maybe because of an ugly little truth---how for a brief few moment I wanted a life without kids, without all the angst and all the shit that comes with it.  For a brief moment.

Until I came home and Lizzy, timid, almost shyly says, "why'd you leave?" and hugs my legs without reservation.  And Alex, dear Alex says, "Mom, did you know I wasn't done with Kansas?"
  

The car line and my Aspie

We did it!  After almost two years he's graduated to being dropped off in the car line!  I am one proud mama. 

To give a little background, I've been walking Alex into school ever since he first showed up on their doorstep.  I would walk him into the classroom and get him settled in every morning.

That was the hardest part of his day--and he was only there half-day.  All the hustle, bustle, other kids pushing, shoving, putting coats away, getting book bags hung up and folders out.  All the commotion and noise--it was too much for him.  I could see him unravel every morning right before my very eyes.
 
I gave the school the benefit of the doubt for one week.  After that I moved in.  I changed his drop off time to 10 minutes after school started.  I made a morning schedule and made sure it was implemented.  He had a sensory break 30 minutes into the morning, every morning.  He was equipped with noise reducing head phones and me at his side.  And he (we) did OK.   

As time progressed we tapered him back to the traditional start time. 

From there we kept backing off his supports with time.  I would drop him off at his kindergarten door and then we advanced to the main school door.  Over the past few months I've backed off and let him walk to the main door by himself.

It was decided that after winter break we would try the car line.  Now I'll tell you something about our morning car line---these women are ruthless.  I've seen some of them get out and yell at other moms for doing it the wrong way.  They honk, they cuss, they cut you off and flip you off. 

They're awful and I'm afraid of them. 

Truth be told, I was quite happy with our little system we had going but he has to grow up, right?  The only saving grace is that the morning car line is more behaved than the afternoon car line.  They make the morning moms look like a petting zoo.  Tame.  Sedate.  Behaved.  I'm just happy to be meeting him out front after school, at the flagpole, where its safe.

Anyway, we've been doing the morning thing for a few weeks.  As he jumped out the car this morning he proudly states, "Mom, I think I want to do the car line after school!"  He's beaming.  So proud. 

OH CRAP



Alex at the school carnival, watching a magic show.



In no particular order...

Over the past week there have been several things that have given me a good giggle.  Here they are, in no particular order.

• I overheard my daughter singing the refrain of "Cotton Eyed Joe" and I thought nothing of it.  Until I heard the same song on my I-pod. 

• I caught myself yelling at the kids, "For the love of all things Good and Holy, would you guy please:  Sit down. Shut up.  And watch some TV?!?   Jesus."  Not one of my finer moments.

• I've taken to calling their antibiotic, 'liquid bubble gum in a tube."  When I scream for them to take it twice a day, they come running from out of the woodwork.  I've not yet told them it's medicine.  I'm not going to.

•  I've not shaved my legs in the last three days and the fact we're getting a blizzard confirms I won't for another three.  Sorry, hon.

• I was changing light bulbs in the kitchen and as I was standing on the counter reaching up, Alex looks at me and exclaims, " Wow, you're one big mamma!" 

• I came full circle when my daughter asked about Jesus.  When I asked her why she was asking, she said "well, you seem to be talking to him alot."  And I'm not religious.



One of our lion's out back.  It's about how I feel. 


Since I first started writing this we've had our blizzard.  I had a horrible fight with the gas can (it won), froze my fingers off and got dusted with more snow than what actually fell, compliments of the snow blower.  I've intervened in so many kid fights I'm now qualified to referee at any pro wrestling championship.

And no, I've not yet shaved my legs...

She should think about that.

Remember how I took Alex to the doctor last Thursday?  Here's our little adventure.  It ain't pretty.  There's your warning... We went to our pediatrician's after hours clinic and we got the unfortunate MD who had to stay late.  After she's all done, she offers Alex a toy out of the toy box.  She then lobs antibacterial foam all over his hands, without even asking.  Alex gets up to go to the sink and wipe it off because he hates the stuff.  The feel, texture, smell.  All of it.  He launches into a diatribe: "Did you know antibacterial foam is 99.0% effective?"  Waving his hands, getting all worked up, foam precariously close to being flung all over. "I prefer to use regular hand soap because tests have proven that regular hand soap is 99.9% effective against killing germs.  That's 0.9% more effective than antibacterial foam.  Perhaps you should think about that,"  he says as he's getting down off the exam table.  "Mom, she's a doctor. She should think about that." Now, I was thinking two things: One, he's right and two, perhaps if you used that regular soap we wouldn't be sitting here.  Anyway, the next thing I hear is the doctor correct my son.  Yup, that's right, she had the stones to correct his speech.  When she asked him if he would like a toy he said "surely!"  But what came out was a garbled mess.  Unintelligible.   She gave a quick glance at me and then back at Alex.  In that quick glance I knew what was going on.  I see that expression a million times a day.  It says: "I know that kid said something, I just have no idea what..." Then she says, "How about a 'yes, please', cowboy."   "Yes please, cowboy?"  Did I hear that right??  "Cowboy?!?" I sat there, mouth agape.  But my mind went out of orbit---You stupid insufferable bitch.  How dare you.  Why don't you read the chart before you come in?  You'd see all his therapies.  You rude, condescending, pompous...  But what came out was, "Do not correct my son, he goes to speech.  It's in his chart."  And breathing in deep I smiled, a nice polite smile.  "Can I have his prescription now, please?" Wishing just once I could be at liberty to say what was on my mind without repercussions.  Perhaps she should think about that.      The kid's antibiotic--liquid bubble gum in a tube...