And then we tried to play golf.

I went in yesterday to talk about Autism with the children in Alex's class.  This is not that post.  That will be on Monday.  I had problems linking Power Point to Blogger so it will have to wait till Monday.

Over the past weekend we took the older two out to the driving range to chuck some balls.  Alex has been practicing golf in the back yard for a while now and while I don't worry about balls flying and smashing windows, I am getting a little concerned with the gaping maws he's putting in the yard.  You have to understand that for every ball he hits, he wiffs about five.  That means I have five brand new chunks of grass/dirt/mud to replace for every one he hits.  Lets just say I have a shitload of holes in my yard right now.

Anyway, we decided to up the ante and go to the driving range.  Now, I'll be the first to tell you we live in a stuck-up, snotty, fake boob, my ring's bigger than your ring kind of neighborhood.  I think its funnier than hell and oftentimes I wind up staring at their fake boobies, trying to figure out why the nipples don't line up and how on earth can she walk with yoga pants stuffed that far up her crack?

That's the kind of girl I am.

Anyway, we went to the driving range.  It was outside, so we were using our outside voice.  Our really loud, Oh My God I'm so excited to lob a few balls in someone else's yard and OH MY GOD, there is a machine that gives you balls?!?  HOLY COW, Dad you gotta come and see this voice.  That was the kind of voice we were using.

Oh My God, a ball machine.
Yes, you were supposed to read into that.  

And then I looked over to the driving range to see everyone staring at us.  Every Single Person.  Clearly we'd not gotten the memo to shut the frick up while at the driving range.  And do you know what I did?

I smiled back at them, at every single one of them.  I didn't explain a thing, I just let it be.  I'm to the point that if I say anything, or try to explain away his behaviors, I'm lessening him, I'm devaluing him as a person and I won't do that.

I just smiled at the people and quietly explained to Alex that we have rules at the driving range and one of them was to use an inside voice outside.....I'll save you the dialogue that everyone heard but suffice it so say it made no sense to him.

Honestly, I say can't blame him.  

He was so excited, he was having such a good time.  He couldn't believe there was such a thing as a golf ball dispensing machine and he was trying to figure out if the mechanisms were similar to a pop machine.

They were.

There was one husband and wife duo who were looking at us like we were devil spawn incarnate.  The thing is?  She got it right away.  She understood the extra time we were spending with him, telling him how to hold the club, how to bend and how to use a inside voice, outside.  She got it.  He...well, he didn't.  He kept staring at us.  Giving us nasty looks.  Sighing and Humphing like he was beyond put out.  He was The Angry Man, as that's what we called him for the rest of the night.  His wife was embarrassed and at one point hissed at him, "Would you knock it off?  I'll explain later but just please stop."  He didn't get it and he didn't stop.  She just smiled apologetically.

I smiled back.

A putting green?!?  Awesome!

We lobbed balls and we missed more that we hit.  I may have ducked several times from flying clubs and I may have said, "OUCH, GAWD...Please don't use the club again to get my attention.  Clubbing shins is not OK."  I may have said that out loud while hobbling around limply.

There is something about giving your child, who has limited gross motor skills, basically a three foot metal arm extension called a golf club.  His range of motion/destruction is increased to about a five foot circumference around his entire body.  I think the only one who had more adrenaline coursing through their body than me, well, that was The Angry Man.  

I may have also said, "DUCCCCK" as a club or ball when flying several times....

And then we came home.  The Angry Man was forgotten.  And for once, I let someone else put the plugs of dirt/grass/mud back where they belonged.  I really would have liked to put them back but in my defense, some of them were lobbed so far out, they went further out than the balls.  I was not going to risk getting hit by a ball from The Angry Man.  He was just that pissed.

And as we left, Angry Man's wife gave me one last smile and a small wave.  In that split second our eyes connected there was understanding, kindness and compassion.  I smiled quickly back and went back to the kids.

Revenge is sweet though, I suspect when he got home, his wife was gave him a club or two of her own.  By the time we were through, she was even more pissed than her husband.  He was so mad at us he didn't see what was right under his nose.

His wife.        


Note: I have to tell you a little bit about how things went at school.  I was nervous as hell but it was AWESOME!  I'll post on Monday (with the PPT that I made into a booklet, so its available) but the big takeaway was the kids finally had a reason for his weirdness, if that makes any sense.  It was such a relief to see some of their faces---they understood why he chews his shirts, uses headsets, takes breaks or just flat out walks away.  They understood.    

I'm learning to live with Dragons in our house.

We have a new love in our house, it's iThing related.  Every love affair in this house is iThing related.  I lay the blame squarely at my husbands feet.  Usually when I go out for a bit and wonder the aisles of Walmart or Target for some alone time (don't judge me) he has to fend for himself with the kids.

His fending for himself involves a movie, the Wii or a new app/game on the iThing's.  They all have a good time and when I get back home, the house is reasonably unharmed so I go with it.  I've learned to pick my battles around here and if he's watching the kids, I don't raise a fuss unless there's a hole in the wall or a tent in the back yard.

Both of which have happened, don't ask.  

Anyway, when I came back from the store, my phone was whisked out of my hand and had DragonVale installed in a matter of seconds.  Seconds.

You smug little Wizard you.  

From that moment forward, I have had no peace.  None.  We've been talking about dragons all day, all night, all the time.

"Mom, did you see I have a Cold Dragon?  Lizzy doesn't have one.  Hey Lizzy, guess what kind of dragon I have?  I have a COLD DRAGON!"  Alex screams, happy as a clam he has a new dragon and mindless of the shit-storm Lizzy's going to unleash because she doesn't have a Cold Dragon.

"What?!  You have a Cold Dragon?!?  That's so not fair!  Mom, that's not fair!  I wanted a Cold Dragon!  That's not fair!!!" she wails, stomping around the house in a huff, bound and determined to make our lives miserable.

I would like to say it's stopped there.  It has not.  Lizzy's been bent out of shape ever since.

Until.

Until there was a promotion and DragonVale had this thing where you could enter and possibly receive a Sapphire Dragon.  The to die for dragon.  The dragon to beat all other dragons.

Long story short:  Lizzy got one, Alex did not.  I will save you the histrionics, meltdowns and furor that has been unleashed in this house.  Lizzy is good at payback and lets just say she's paid back, in full.

The Pandora's box of DragonVale.

Have I mentioned the fury/angst/horror that has been unleashed because Alex didn't get a Sapphire Dragon?  I have???  It bears repeating.  It's brought me to my knees.

I've had to write not one, but two letters, into school letting them know what's going on.  Something along the lines of:

"Alex is coming in to you very upset because he's not received the Sapphire Dragon in DragonVale.  I thought you should know so you can break him accordingly.  I don't know what DragonVale is either.  In other related news, tell Lizzy congrats."

I thought this was a one day event.  Lizzy got her dragon, end of story.

Not so.

Apparently the damn thing had to hatch.  See, in DragonVale they gave the eggs out as the promotion.  They still had to incubate and then the dragons hatch the next day.  

So I had to send in another letter, the next day:

"Another rough AM here.  Apparently the dragons of DragonVale need to hatch.  Lizzy's Sapphire Dragon hatched this AM sending Alex into another meltdown.  In other related news, I'm going insane and I hate dragons."

At one point I called my husband and it went a little something like this, "What in the fuck- fuck-fuck is DragonVale?  Wait, don't answer that.  Just tell me how we get Alex a Sapphire Dragon.  Can you gift it to him or something?  WAIT, WHAT?!?  IT COSTS $100!!!  Real America dollars?!?  Are you shitting me?!?   You have to fix this honey, I can't handle another morning like this."  

Yeah, turns out DragonVale was promoting these gems because they're fucking expensive.  The only way Alex could get the coveted dragon, was if I play and gift him gems. When he gets enough gems he can get a Sapphire Dragon.  

That was last week.

I've set strict limits on the kids iThings and we're somewhat back to normal.  Turns out, Alex was gifted another dragon as part of the promotion which is valuable in its own rights, so he's happy.

My very own Dragon Island.

The problem is, I've been sucked into DragonVale.  I've managed to get up to level 12 and I want the Sapphire Dragon.  Someone give me some gems would you?  I want that damn egg.

I gotta go, I have to pick which dragons I want to fight in the Colosseum.    

I'll make this easy. A crinoid is a fossil.

I'm always amazed at what comes home from school in my children's pockets, always amazed.  The kids have been back in school for a bit and I noticed something shake out of Alex's pocket when I was doing laundry. 

I should say, after I sent them through the washer and dryer.  When I went to pull out the lint trap, all the things fell down between the walls of the dryer.  With a hangar in one hand, and the vacuum attachment thing in the other, I started to fish the things out. 

Alex came up and started talking to my ass.  

"Mom, hey mom!  Have you seen my Crioids?  I brought three home from school.  I put them in my pants pocket on Friday and now I can't find them."

Why yes, they are 1/100th the size of a dime.  

"Ok, well hon, mommy's a little busy here.  Can you use your eyes and see what I'm doing?  Maybe we can talk in a few minutes?"  

You know, when you're not talking to my ass.  

"Alex hon, these things fell down into the dryer and I'm trying to fish them out.  Wait.  What did you call those things again?"  At this point, I was stuffed all the way in the dryer and it dawned on me that whatever he wanted, that's what was lodged between the walls of the dryer.  

"OK mom, talk later....but mom you have to clean the dryer vent every three months so you might as well do that now.  Did you know if you don't clean it, you'll have a greater risk of fire in your laundry tubing?  You should really clean that thing out while you're here.  You're doing a good job cleaning mom." 

All I could think of was, awesome social skills telling my ass I was doing a good job cleaning.  Sure he was talking directly to my rear end but whatever, he gave me a compliment.  

Anyway, something must have clicked in Alex's brain that I was fishing out his crinoids because all of a sudden my ass was getting yelled at.

"Oh My Gosh mom!!  You lost my crinoid in the washer!  Wait, no!!!  You lost it in the dryer...is that what you're getting out of the dryer?!?  Dear Lord in Heaven, you can't use the vacuum!  Aggghhh!!!  NOT THE VACUUM.   YOU MUST NOT SUCK UP MY CRINOIDS!!!!"

That was followed up by all sorts of gargling noises from Alex and me cussing after banging my head getting out of the dryer.  I finally got him calmed down over the vacuum, letting him know whatever we suck out of the dryer will be splayed out like an anatomy cat so we could collect his crinoids.  

The fear of the vacuum in our house is legendary.  LEGENDARY.  All I can say is vacuum plus Lego equal scarring traumatic life event.   

Anyway, we found one crinoid.  ONE.  He had three.  The other two were stuck in the walls of the dryer.  And news flash, that's where they're going to stay.

I found out while he's at recess, he likes to dig for fossils.  In the midst of all the kids running and playing, he digs.  There are a few other children that dig with him but for the most part he digs quietly by himself.  

A severe drought makes for one hell of a crinoid dig. 

And that's exactly why every night after school, for the past two weeks, we've been doing our own fossil dig.  We're looking for crinoids.  After the school settles down and all the kids go home, we slip back to the back corner of the playground and we dig.  

Silently.  Peacefully.  Next to each other.  Digging.  Every once in a while we shout, "Hey I got one!"  We share a quick smile and we slip right back into quiet.   

Our quiet.    

The big bang just blew up in my face.

Right now I have horrible curses words going through my mind.  Horrible, horrible curse words.

Someone told me ages ago, "You have to watch The Big Bang Theory, Alex reminds me soooo much of Sheldon Cooper."  I don't remember who said it and I don't remember giving it too much thought, so I let it drift out of my memory.

If I remember who you are, you should probably start running.  Now.  When I catch up, I'm going to kill you.

I have this thing where I don't like watching shows having to do with Autism.  See, I live it.  The few minutes I do get to be by myself, I want to stare blankly at the TV and not think about anything.  The last thing I want to do, is be reminded of my own life.

But then there was a Big Bang Theory marathon the other day so I DVR'ed the episodes.  That same night we watched one episode and it seemed harmless, funny even.

Sheldon had a secret knock his friends had to do on his door.  His friends didn't do the knock correctly and there was a prolonged discussion on how doing the knock incorrectly precluded entry.  Alex was transfixed.  Mesmerized.   He was giggling and snorting so loud that at one point I thought he was going to throw up.

He looked over at me and said, "Mom, there are grownups like me."  Right then and there a new love was born.  Scoot over How its Made, you've been replaced.

The Big Bang Theory and NinjaGo, this is what
my life has come down to.....

And I have to tell you, I had mixed feelings about him watching the show.  I didn't want him seeing a studio production of what he deemed real life.  We had a discussion about actors and acting to which I received a, "Duh mom," like I was the idiot in the room.

Then then next morning.

Alex was up bright and early, and without missing a beat, he ran downstairs and turned on his brand new love, The Big Bang Theory.

I counted my lucks stars and rolled over.  It was about six-something in the morning.

See, we took the youngest out of her crib the day before and she started sleeping in a toddler bed.  The thing is, she never slept in her bed.  She latched on to the idea she was a free agent...

To say we had a wondering gnome was an understatement.  She had the new found freedom of a prison inmate and she's been wandering around the house at all hours of the night.  Do you know how creepy it is to wake up to a two year old, inches from your face, several times a night going, "Mine mommy, mine mommy???"  Creepy, totally creepy.

So yeah, when Alex got up at 6:00AM, I rolled over.

Big mistake.  Big, Big, BIG Mistake.

I came downstairs a little while later and was met with a barrage of questions, "What is coitus, mom?  Why would someone engage in coitus?  Is coitus something grownups do?  Do you like coitus, mom?"

"Errrr, what?  What were you asking?"  Inside I was shocked wide awake.  It was like he just took a tazer to my brain, turned it on and fired it directly into my grey matter.  Alarm bells were going off, "Danger, danger.  Red Alert.  Red Alert."  In my mind I was going, "Oh Gwad Fuck.  Did my kid just say coitus?!?  OMG, he totally did.  Who told me about this show again?!?  I'm gonna kill them..."

On that episode they must have said sex, sexual intercourse and coitus a million times.  I think they were trying to find Sheldon a date so his friends made an online profile for him.

There implications were unending.

All day I heard various questions, all sexually related, all about coitus.

This is hell people, this is hell.  My kids are asking about sex.  All day long, "Why would a person have coitus?  Is coitus the same as sex?  Why does it have two names?  It makes no sense.  Is coitus Latin for sex?"

All frigging day.

And people wonder why I don't watch TV about Autism.

Curse you Sheldon Cooper.  Curse you.

We're being squeezed.

When Alex was younger I lived in fear that he wouldn't talk.  I think it was that way with all my kids, I think everyone worries to a certain degree about this.  Every last one of my kids started talking late and when they did start to talk?  They never stopped.  There was a steady stream of conversation, chatter in the house.

Both the girls have an understanding of when you can talk and when you can't.  Alex has not acquired this small bit of information.

Consequently, when he did start talking, he didn't stop.  When something was on his mind he'd blurt it out, whether it be at dinner, or smack in the middle of going to the bathroom.  I've been listening to this boy talk at me for eight years.

And the thing is, he doesn't let up.  He doesn't stop talking.  Ever.

Do you know how draining it is to have an eight year old question everything you do?  Or give you a running dialogue on how you could be doing it better?  Correcting you every time you make a mistake?

From taking the chicken out of the freezer, to how I use the computer, to how often he thinks he should take a shower, there is a conversation.  There is a negotiation, a lesson, or a correction, not for him---for me.

Every day.  All day.  The conversation does not stop.

And the thing is, it's my job to teach him the difference between talking to someone versus talking at someone.  It's been a hard lesson to pass on---for both of us.  

I've come to deal with this constant stream of conversation headed in my direction in several ways, depending on how much I can take, versus how willing I am to debate the issue at hand.

At first I was so damn happy he was talking, I talked back and engaged him.  He loved it.  I loved it.  But as he got older, the demands became something I couldn't handle.  I simply could not stand around and talk about how a lake's ecology progresses through time or how a battery functions or how the transformer on the telephone pole works.

I tried redirecting him to another project but that invariable let to more questions.  Even the volcano project we did last week ended up with us in front of the computer Googling the earth's mantle and the ring of fire.

Our volcano has jewels and grape sticks.
That's how we roll.

And now he's no longer is just interested in acquiring information.  He's interested in when I'm going to be done making dinner and he'll set time limits on what I do.  He's slowly trying to work our schedules around what he wants to do.  What he wants to do and when he wants it.

I couldn't figure out why we've had an uptick in behavior.

And then it dawned on me.  We moved into August.  He starts school in two weeks.  He's nervous, anxious, fearful.  He wants to go back to school but he's looking down that great big gaping maw called uncertainty.

I'm looking down it too.  For as busy as this summer has been, I've liked to see my kids stress free, wrangling with each other, and happy.

So for right now I've figured out what he needs and I'll be on the receiving end of our conversations.  I'm OK with that.

I think I grew a set of balls.

I know I've mentioned in the past that Alex takes Tae Kwon Do.  It's the only sport he'll do.  We don't do group sports such as soccer, football, basketball or baseball.  No T-ball for us.  Trust me, we're OK with that.

We searched long and hard for our current Instructor because we wanted someone who understood our child and understood Autism.  Someone who knew there would be difficulties with gross motor skills and motor planning.  Our current Master not only understood, he took Alex under his wing.  Alex loves it and he's been flourishing.  His instructor told me a while ago, "It's not what the body can do, its the mind.  The mind and spirit, these must be good.  The rest will follow."

And so we began our time at Tae Kwon Do.

Lizzy, hauling ass.

I was sitting in class the other night and I was watching my kids do all their shouts and kicks and whatever else they do, generally minding my own business.  Alex was working one-on-one with an instructor, working on forms.  All the kids generally spend some one-on-one time with an instructor throughout the class and Alex loves for me to watch him.

So unlike most of the other moms I don't drop and run and then scamper off across the parking lot to Starbucks.  Yeah, I'm so on to you ladies, I stay put for the whole fifty minutes and watch my kids.

And Alex loves it.  Loves to know I'm watching and he beams when he makes eye contact with me.  And that, right there, is why I stay glued to my seat the whole time.  He seeks me out and looks into my eyes and smiles.

He smiles.

So while the other moms are getting all hopped up on their lattes, I'm getting my smiles.

The kids getting their swords.  Awesome.  

Anyway, there was a new mom who's kid just joined so she sat next to me.  I guess she didn't get the memo that the cool moms bust it to Starbuck's right after drop-off.  After watching Alex for a little bit she leans over to me and says, "Is that your son?"

"Yeah, sure is."  I say as I'm giving him a thumbs up and getting a smile back.

"I just love all those faces he makes.  Look at him!  He really gets into it, doesn't he?  Look at how he moves.  And all those grimaces, frowns and wiggles.  He really likes to get into it doesn't he?  Wow, look at him!"

And then she started to giggle.  There was something about what she said and how she said it that didn't sit well with me.  She wasn't outright making fun of him but it was insidious and right below the surface.  It was there.

For a second I just sat there in shock.  I wasn't quite sure what she was saying.  She was giggling at him and how he moved.  I went from intense rage to grief in zero to sixty.  I got that hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that you get when you go over a hill too fast or you're just about to take a major exam or something.  I blinked a few times trying to register what she was saying.

She didn't have a clue.

But she was laughing.

At my son.  

She was laughing at my son.

And then I started talking, almost a whisper.

"I normally don't go around and advertise this, but my son has Autism.  Those faces he's making?  Those are facial tics or stims that he does when he's stressed.  He can't control them.  And right now he wants to do well and impress the instructor so he makes more of them.  And how he moves?  With Autism he has difficulty with fine and gross motor skills.  Especially here in Tae Kwon Do, the gross motor skills are really hard for him.  These are skills which makes some of the movements and forms difficult for him, why he looks funny to you, I guess."

"I'd like to think you meant no harm to me or my son and you just didn't know.  I guess that's why I'm telling you this.  I hope you know what the face of Autism looks like.  If you'll excuse me."

And with that I got up, went to the bathroom, and cried.

When I came back out, she had gone.  I guess she went to Starbucks.


Note:  I am telling you this because, well honestly, I don't know why.  I came home and immediately started typing, banging out what happened.  And then it took me a few weeks to hit publish.  I think I'm telling you this because this was very difficult for me.  Normally I don't say anything.  Just let things slide.  This time I didn't.  This time I found enough of whatever to stand up and confront ignorance.   


Little by little we can change things.  Little by little.


And I am trying to get around to all your blogs....I'm trying.  This summer has been long, hot and hard for us.  

Who knew the pool pop machine could be so interesting?

It's been hot here and my only recourse, other than keeping the kids inside, thus completing their plot to drive me completely insane, is to take them to the pool.  Normally I don't like going to the pool for a number of reasons.

Here are just a few:

• I don't like being in a swimsuit.
• I'm not really a fan of water.
• Taking all three kids to the pool is a borderline recipe for a murder/suicide.
• There is usually puke involved.
• Followed by copious ammounts of swearing.
• One of them invariablly wants a snack, the only snack we didn't stuff into the frigging pool bag.
• Followed again by copious ammounts of swearing.

But it's been a long hot summer.  The only thing to do when it's this hot is to go to the pool and stay in it.  So that's exactly what we've been doing.  Right after sword camp, yes that is still going on, we get a quick lunch and head to the pool.

And even at the pool the kids have been fighting. "That's my floatie!  I had it first!"  Alex exclaims, exasperated, pointing to the baby, who realizes pretty quickly a conspiracy is about to happen and takes off running.  

"No, Mom, that's mine!  Make her give it to me," screams Lizzie, grabbing the baby, followed by, "Mine, Mine, MINE," from the baby who is now fighting Lizzy on the ground.

"Mom, my ears hurt!  Make her give it to me!  I had it first!" Alex screams, feverishly flapping.  Lizzy's still claiming its hers and the baby's now screaming rapid fire, "MINE, MINE, MINE!"  Both girls are now entwined, werstling to the death.

"No, you didn't you didn't have it first, I had it first...MOM, it's mine!"  Lizzy screams one more time followed by an, "OUCH!!" from the older two because the baby has slung the offending toy,hitting them squarely in the face.

And all of that was before we had gotten in the water.

So when this guy showed up, it was like Jesus Christ coming down from the Heavens giving me a brief respite from my own kids.  Thank you Jesus.

See, he even had a beard and everything.

Alex rounded on this guy faster than I don't know what, he never saw it coming.  I did and mentally said, "Ah, fuck it."

"HI!  My name is Alex and OH MY GOSH are you going to open the machine?!?  He is!!  He is!!"  Alex screams, "Mom, come over here, QUICK!!!  He's going to open the machine!"

"This is soooo cool!!!"

And before I could even get to him, Alex had worked his way into the pop machine and was telling this guy how it works.  "Did you know when they money comes in, there is a scanner???  Yup, there is!  And did you know, when it comes in there are different spots for the money to go, depending on the currnecy?  But not Canadian money!  Did you know you have the most aswesomest job in the world?!?!"

"Look, is that where the cooling
agent is kept?  Is it freon?"

This went on for what seemed like hours and I tried to get Alex out from underneath this guys feet....it was so not going to happen.

Vending machine guy said it was all right, he'd talk to Alex for a bit.

And for the next twenty minutes or so, he and Alex were knee-deep in conversation about the finer points of vending machine mechanics.

He was my savior.  Sweet Jesus came to me in the form of soda stocking man.

When he was all set to leave, he came over and said, "You got yourself a real special kid there, take care now."  And with that, he left.

I didn't have a chance to say thank you, or to say anything, he had gone that quickly.  I was left thinking how kind he was to listen to Alex.  To interact and engage him.  To give him the time of day and make him feel special.  He has no idea what it mean to me, to Alex.

I think he's pretty special too.  And I'm not talking about my son.

I can't think of a good title. Anybody? Anybody???

We're still on a Monopoly bender in this house.  My kids are watching TV and I think I'm slowly going insane watching all the old cartoons on Boomerang.  They have found Tom and Jerry and Scooby Do.

I'm in hell.

My kids think the Mystery Mobile is fricking awesome and thank you very much Tom and Jerry for introducing my kids to the phrase, "Come here little pussy, pussy, pussy."  Now they are chasing the baby around calling her a little pussy.  They think its frigging hysterical and I'm less than impressed.

(And I know what the p-word is going to do with the search engines.  Every frigging wack-job is going to come her looking for some action and boy will they be sorely disappointed.  I don't care, I'm that worn out.)

I got so desperate to get out of the house that when we ran out of popcorn, I schlepped them all up to Target and I bought a popcorn maker because my kids eat popcorn like Jerry eats cheese.

All the frigging time.

And since I bought the popcorn popper I had to buy the popcorn, and because I bought the popcorn I had to buy the seasonings, and because we had the seasonings, we had to have something to put the popcorn in.

And that is how it came to pass that I have about three million pictures like this:

I can't show you the first few pics---I burnt my arm on the
steam, dropped my phone, cussed a few good ones and
now I have pics of the ceiling....

And this:

Don't let the pic fool you--there was
popcorn everywhere...

And now I have to go up to Target to get more popcorn because my mice ran out of cheese and in a house full of mice, a girl can never run out of cheese.

On the upside, I finally beat Alex at Monopoly.  It was the worst example of social skills ever.  For both of us.

I may, or may not, have said something along the lines of, "BOO-YA!  Sweet Jesus I did it!  Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.  I did it, I did it, I well and truly did it."

And I may, or may not, have done a victory dance, or three, around the basement.

I will never tell.

He hit the mother-load.

After a long day of therapies, my son looked at me and said, "Mom, I hit the mother-load of special needs, didn't I?"

My heart dropped to my knees.

We were in the car and I couldn't see his face as clearly as I wanted to (damn you stupid rear-view mirror) and I had no idea where he was going with this.  I said the first thing that came to mind, "Whaaaat???"

"I hit the mother-load of special needs.  I have to go to OT, Speech, I saw Dr. B today and we just now came from Group.  And when I'm at school, I have Friendship Group, Gifted and I go and see my other teachers.  And I have asthma.  I just hit the mother-load of problems."

I still wasn't sure where he was going with this.  We've talked before about how he's different and how everyone's different.  That if we were all the same, it would be pretty boring and we all know how much we like being bored.  We've had these conversations and he's uncomfortable.

He knows he's different.

He struggles with knowing what other boys are doing and how most of the time he gets excluded or he just doesn't get it.  He wants to have friends, hell a friend, but everything just moves too quickly and he becomes lost.  Overwhelmed, and eventually on the periphery.  He hurts and my heart aches for him.  

He looked at me in the mirror, with a little smile, and said, "Well, if we were all the same how would I beat you in Monopoly?  I guess my mother-load isn't so bad.  You stink at that game.  You want to play when we get home?"  

"Yeah, sugar-bug.  I sure would."

And that's exactly what we did.

I will beat boredom with a stick if I have to. Someone hand me a stick.

Remember last week when I wrote this post about how my kids were bored and driving me insane?  Well I was out at a store and found this:

And I was all, "Boredom, I'm going to kick your ass.  Thank you very much Table Topics, you have saved my life and together we are going to survive this summer."  And I picked those things off the shelf faster than my kid spying a box set of Lego's.  And for a brief moment I was happy.

Happy to have something new to do and secretly?  I was lying in wait so the very next time my devil-spawn issued that horrible whine of, "I'm bored" I'd be ready.

And of course it took two whole days for them to utter that little phrase and when they did, I pulled that box out of hiding.  Alex started giggling and Lizzy started eye-rolling.  Gracie, I don't know where she was.  I think she was napping.

Anyway, this was the very first one we pulled out:

Are you fucking kidding me?!?  A ninja?  Seriously?  Did they not read my last post???  I swear the world is conspiring against me.

We did it anyway and they found a spider behind a chair in the living room (mental note to call Orkin) and a few lost Burger King toys and then somebody touched something and before I knew it, I was separating them to opposite corners of the room.

Moving, on, we pulled out the next one:

We did and our cake turned out like this:

Awesome.  Pure awesome.  My husband's birthday cake, a complete and utter mess.  It self destructed in the most unnatural and horrible way I've ever seen.  We could only get like five candles on that thing before the rest of it slid right off the top.  We still ate it and best of all?  We laughed.

Then we pulled out the next card:

My short answer on this is, "No, no she does not like surprises and no she most certainly does not like balloons.  And blowing up her own frigging balloons for her own frigging surprise?  No, no, no."

Moving on....

Now we're talking.  Silence.

I will tell you, this lasted for about one minute before I heard, "Ugggh, this is sooo boring!"


Note: I was not endorsed for anything here.  Table Topics probably doesn't even want to know what else we did with their little cards.  I link to them as a way to give credit,  where credit is due.  And we did have fun with them, we still are.  

This is what happens when you don't pay attention to your husband.

My husband had a great idea for the oldest two.  I wasn't listening when he mentioned it and I gave him a, "Sure babe.  Sounds great.  Whatever you think hon," and finished dinner.  Since I was being an exceptionally good wife, I promptly forgot about it.

And that's exactly why my kids are now in Sword Camp.  Let that be a lesson out there to you ladies....listen to your husbands.

SWORD CAMP.

Yeah, you read that right, Sword Camp.  My kids are in Sword Camp.  Remember how much fun we all had when they were at Nunchuck Camp over Spring Break?  It's like that but with big swords.

Look ma!  Free tee-shirts!

I've had to repeat that several times because I can't quite process it.  Swinging swords around, clobbering each other.  We're actually spending money on teaching our kids how to kill each other with swords.  Nice.

Because one sword is never enough.

It's like natural selection at its best.  I feel like I'm Darwinizing my own children.  And because it's a camp, and at camp kids get free things, they are now the proud owners of two swords.  Each.

They each have two swords. Oh-My-God-Un-fucking-Believable.

One's made out of bamboo all thatched together and the other one's made out of some random hardwood.  The kids tell me the bamboo sword hurts "way worse" than the other one.  I didn't ask how they found that out and I'm not going to either.  There are some things a mom just doesn't want to know.

I walked in early on a class one day and they were swinging around metal swords.  Real metal swords.  Oh-My-God-Un-fucking-Believable.  I almost passed out.

Like light sabers.  But not.

Alex sees me and is all, "HI MOM!  Look what I'm doing!"  All proud and happy.  He's waving his hand around and here's a key bit of information: he forgot he had a real metal sword in his hand, so he was waving that around also.  I let out an "Oh Shit" and dove on him like I was at the Who concert, trying to stop that sword from swinging.  I almost got gutted like fish in the process.

He was beaming.  Waving that big metal sword around, proud as anything.

I think I lost a little bit of my life in that moment.  And I almost pissed myself.

After that, I made a decision: I don't watch.

I have learned from their Nunchuck Camp and this time around, the swords stay in the car.  There will be no sword fights over summer break in the house.  There will be no beating the shit out of the windows, sofas, chairs, each other.  No, none of that.  I don't know how I'd explain to the Emergency Department that they got pissed and had a sword fight in the living room.  I'm sure it would garner, at minimum, a Social Services Consult and I have to tell you, I don't have the intestinal fortitude for that right now.

So I'm guessing it would surprise no one that while I was peeing, they kids had a sword fight in the garage.

No, it really didn't surprise me either.

I'm a danger to myself...but I can guest post with the best of them. I think.

I'm over at SPD Blogger Network today talking about summertime activities.  Please pop on over and show some love.

Before I sign off, I'll tell you something that happened this past week.....I was putting away our sunscreen other day.  Well, let me rephrase that, I shoved it in a basket, in the garage, to sort out later.  So when later happened, namely around noon the next day, I reached in the basket to get the sunscreen and I got the shit zapped out of my hand.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  What in the hell was that?"  I ripped my hand out of the basket and smashed the shit out of it on the underside of the shelf the basket was sitting on.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  You have got to be kidding me!  What the fuckety-fuck else is going to happen?"  I mumbled as I cradled my limp paw in my other arm.  I was still trying to figure out if I had peed a little bit from whatever tazed me, it shocked me that bad.  My fingers were both on fire and numb at the same time.  Not peasant.

And now the back of my hand hurt.  

Great, just great.

I looked in the basket to find this tennis racket.  Only it wasn't a tennis racket, it was some bug zapper thingie my husband bought and put in the basket of crap.  And it was still turned on.

I got tazed by a fucking bug zapper.

And the back of my hand was really hurting.  My fingertips were getting less numb and tingly but gaw fuck, my hand really hurt.

That is an awesome bit of information right there.  

I looked down and the back of my hand was swelling up.  I smacked my hand so hard on the garage shelf it burst a vessel.  Thanks to my back hurting, I've been on non-steroidals and a glorious side affect?  It thins the blood.  So when I smacked my hand and broke a vessel, it swelled up like a tick.  All this blood was sloshing around on the top of my hand.

I almost threw up.

And that was the point in which I gave up.  I went inside and sat down.  I called my husband, started crying and put ice on my hand.  I managed to elevate it and found an ace bandage and covered it up so I didn't have to look at it.

I guess getting tazed is what it takes to get me to slow down.  

So I'm slowing down.

I should be back on Monday but I make no promises.  I'm going in for some work on my back later today since its not healed up quite as nicely as we would have liked.  

Never in a million years did I think I'd have back pain.  I'm pretty fit, not too fat and don't generally do stupid things.  Wait that last part is a total lie.  I invent stupid things.  And I do them on a regular basis.

Anyway, go and show Pam some love at i Love Shelling if you want to see some pretty shells and me standing upright without a tazed hand and make your way to SPD Blogger Network to see what I have to say about being outside.

Thanks you guys.  Please know I'm doing what I can to survive summer and my kids....and you are a big part of that.

Thank you.

There should be a rehab program for people like me...

Time for me to dish about what we did on vacation.  Early on, Alex found a Monopoly game.  We played Monopoly for two weeks.  The end.

No really, that was about it.  From there on out, it was Monopoly all day, all night.  Sure we did other things, which no doubt I'll spill, but for us it was beach vacation spent mostly indoors playing Monopoly.  

Alex kicked my ass every time we played.  Every Single Time.  

Apparently I have a little money launderer on my hands.  At best, I've got a kid working out the finer details of a Ponzi scheme.  

He'd set up houses on Boardwalk and Park Place and bleed me dry with all his damn rent money.  I wound up mortgaging my measly homes on Vermont and Oriental.  And that was when I wasn't in jail.  

And do you want to know a secret???

I hate Monopoly.  

I can't stand having to calculate how much money I get from bank after every transaction and how much money I owe in taxes.  Those Chance cards are a bunch of ass-hats and that damn luxury tax can go straight to hell.  Don't even get me started on that horrible douche called Community Chest.  And fast play?  What in the hell is that??? 

More to the truth, I hate that little cackle my son gets every time he sticks his hand out and waggles it around demanding his dang rent money.  

When we were able to drag him out to the beach, all we were talking about was Monopoly, "Do you know it's my turn next, mom?  And do you think we can make a Monopoly game in the sand?  Do you know you've almost lost?  You're pretty close to losing, just so you know."   

When we were biking, "Do you think the Monopoly game will be all right by itself?  And do you know, you only have $20 left?  Those odds are definitely in my favor."  

"Bloody Hell, Wait For Me!
Wait for your fricking mother!!!"

Before bed, "It's too bad I beat you mom, maybe I should play with Dad next time."  

Yeah kid, go play with your father.  

And he did.  And for the rest of the trip he was happy.  He had some real competition and I had the Monopoly monkey off my back.    

Everything was fine, till we had to go.  We had to leave the blessed game behind.  With promises of a brand new game, we headed back to Kansas.  

As soon as we got off the plane and we got the kids settled at home, I went out and bought a Monopoly game.  Normally I don't go out just handing out toys and games for the kids, they have to earn it or something.  But you know, there are times when I value my sanity and a little peace and quiet and this was one of those times.  Right as the wheels hit pavement, he was asking for it and that's no way to live.  I bought that damn game in record time.

And you should have seen him.  His eyes lit up like a thousand stars when he saw it and he fondled that box in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable.  

And now we have a new Monopoly game taking up space in the dining room.  He's still kicking my ass, demanding his rent money and cackling his way to victory.  

Somehow I'm right back to where I started, minus the beach and shells.  I feel cheated, robbed even...and by my own kid.

I don't even know how these things happen....I mean, I get it in theory but really?  Really??  I'm over being beaten by my own kid.  He's enjoying this way too much.

Gaw, I hate Monopoly.  

     

Our i-Things have left the building.

I have been limiting our time with the i-Things since we had a little bit of a malfunction over Spring Break.  The kids thought it was their inherent right to play them 24/7, down to bringing them into the bathroom while they were on the toilet.

After trying to explain that having an i-Thing was a privilege and not a right and after having to tell them that more times than I care to remember, I believe I made the fatal mistake of yelling out: "That's it, I've had it.  Hand them over.  You will now only get your i-Thing after, and only after, all your work is done around here."

Not that I'm all into child labor or anything like that, but I do expect my kids to eat their meals and get dressed in the morning without screaming they can't pull their arm through their sleeve because their damn i-Touch is stuck.

And like a bad case of VD I could not undo what I said so I had to stick with it.  Sure it involved more negotiating and haggling than when we bought our last car but I think we all came out the other end with a fair settlement.

So now when the kids are done with their homework and spelling words we play games and generally bug the crap out of each other.

We're using the chalk table to practice spelling words.
Way cool.
And yeah, he was super pissed he spelled 'accidentally' wrong.  

We play games called:

• In the Olden Days When Mom Was Little and There Was OMG Nothing to Do
• How to Get Naked and Moon the Neighbors 
• Now I'm Really Bored, Is Dad Home Yet? 
• Oh God, Why Do You Cooking That Again When You Know I Won't Eat It???
• How to Disassemble Remotes and Put Them Back Together and Hope Mom Doesn't Notice
• and my personal favorite, Poo or Puke?  Make Alex Puke by Standing Him Next to Gracie After a New Poo Diaper Dump

And for our record keepers out there, the girls are winning 2-0.  The Poo or Puke game is not working in Alex's favor.

As I was making dinner the other night, I left the kids to their own devices with some construction paper and markers.  Alex came up with a board game that made me smile from ear to ear.  He made number cards since he didn't have any dice and even made small cards to use as playing chips.

Click on it to super size.

A player starts off with $20.00 and the player with the most money at the end of the game wins.  He has things such as renting a hotel room--loose $0.21, you get robbed--loose $1.00 and fixing your neighbor car--get paid $90.00.

Granted it's all about money and seriously, a robber only takes a buck, but how cute is that?  I love it.

He's laughing, giggling and so proud of himself.  In this moment he is happy.

Instead of playing i-Touchs in the evening while Alex is getting his asthma meds and nebulizer, we've been playing his game.

And I'm loving every minute of it.

Every Single Minute.

The Vengaboys have taken over my bathroom and do they like to party.

There are some things going on in the background with school that has left me with an empty, hollow feeling.  I will eventually write about them but right now, its not the time.  Right now I've been subjected to listening to an old song brought out of retirement thanks to He Who Shall Not Be Named.

First things first, go down there and hit play on the YouTube video.  Trust me, this whole post goes better with music and alcohol and a mallet to beat some sense into the idgets at our school.  Crap, I digress...

Anyway, we have this thing we do every night with our showers.  Namely, we load all three kids in our shower and let 'em rip.  We turn some music on and they have a blast.  It makes it a little more palatable listening to music while you're telling your eight year old not to miss his pits and don't forget to scrub between your legs.  

I've talked about music before.  Alex loves to listen to music.  He even has an app that allows him to create musical scores.  Of course I'm trying to crank out this post at six AM so I'm making the bold move of skipping the links to my other posts about music.

I AM THAT LAZY.

Anyway, to say Alex loves music would be a massive understatement.  That would be akin to saying I like Diary Queen.  Hell, I love Dairy Queen.  I'll even hook for Dairy Queen, ask my husband.  Not that its really considered hooking when your married but rest assured if he brings home a DQ Blizzard, he's getting laid.  Boy bloggers of the world, take note.

Anyway, he loves music.  We're no strangers to repetitive listening.

We have one particular song that Alex had fallen in love with.  He loves it and I'm stuck with it so I try to make the best of it.    

I give you the Vengaboys.

I've been listening this full blast every night during shower time.  Every night for the the last few months the Vengaboys have been ear-raping me.

Every Single Night.

For Months.

MONTHS.

I thought, "Why listen alone?  You all should be privy to this song just once."

And just so you know, you're getting off easy.  We listen to all the other Vengaboys songs because in our house, we go down hard.  They've take up residence in my master bathroom like a bad fungus and they won't leave.

So there you have it.  If you're wondering what I'm doing every night from 7:30 to 8:00, I'm having a shower party and getting ear-raped by the Vengaboys.  

And now that I've seen the video I have a whole new dance routine to get started on.  At minimum, I can get busy with neon, I hear its coming back in style...


Note: if you are dying to listen, and I know you are, to other Vengaboys songs, when the Up and Down video is over you can click on more.  Our other heavy hitters are We Like to Party and Shalalalala.  The Vengaboys, ear-raping generations for years.  Go on, you know you wanna.   

Four Sea Stars goes on Spring Break. And by that I mean we all went to the living room.

I have somehow managed to enter into the temporal-time-vortex called, "Spring Break" and everything that entails with my children.  I would like to lie and say I have no idea how time got away from me but I do know how time got away from me.  I blame it all on my husband.

Yes, I lay blame squarely at his feet.  It's all his fault.  He is entirely to blame.

He got sick.

And because he got sick he got it longer, worser and was sicker than any of the rest of us combined.  And worser is a word in my house.  Go ask my daughter if you don't believe me.  She'll tell you it's true.

Dare I say more???

I think not.

I'm linking up with Sunday over at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood today.  Go clickety-click on over and see what I'm talking about.  She does great things.

We entered Spring Break and at exactly the same time as we do every morning, at 7:01 with my son coming in and announcing to the free world, "MOM, IT'S 7:01AM, TIME TO GET UP!!!!!"

I don't know why I thought today would be any different but it wasn't.

Then my dear boy announced to the free world and right into my ear, "SINCE IT'S SPRING BREAK I GET TO PLAY MY I-TOUCH ALL DAY.  I'M GOING TO PLAY MY I-TOUCH ALL DAY STARTING...RIGHT....ABOUT.....NOW!"

Darned if he didn't go racing downstairs and proceeded to play his i-Touch.  I let things go on for about an hour and said, "Hey guys, lets turn those things off and eat some breakfast."

This is what I think they heard: "Hey guys, lets go get a dental exam and get all our teeth pulled without novocaine.  Or I know, lets go out and weed the garden or get eaten by Zombies.  Or both.  And after that, lets go to the doctor and get blood drawn because when we're Zombies we won't need blood.  Ohhhh!!!  That sounds like a plan." 

And here's where I take a momentary deep breath and think of any other yoga pose except the downward dog to try and center myself from the maelstrom that just erupted in the center of my living room.   

Oh My Frigging Lord He Went Unhinged.  The other two took his lead and lets just say they were in it to win it.  

He didn't want to turn off his i-Touch.  He was greatly opposed to the idea.  

According to Alex I have approximately 250 more hours to go.  

Yay Spring Break.  

And now all I can think about is the downward dog.  

Your welcome.  

The art of a good breakfast negotiation.

Mornings in our house are always a bit of a cluster.  I've finally managed to get a handle on things but at a cost.  The older two come downstairs already dressed and they know they're supposed to pack snacks in their lunch bags.

It requires some give and take on my part.  That means if Lizzy shows up wearing a party dress, tiara and pink sparkle leg warmers over Rainbow Dash leggings, I go with it.  It also means if they don't help pack their lunches then I get to stick in whatever I want.  That means bagged carrots, a yogurt tube and an Uncrustable.  It's happened once to each of them and they've wizened up pretty quickly.

We stopped printing out what they are serving at school since both are pretty reluctant to eat what they are serving in the cafeteria.  What we do for school lunches is a whole other post....

At first blush this picture of breakfast seems pretty mundane, boring even.  Look closer.

Can you see that each kiddo has their own electronic?  Each child is eating a different breakfast?

The baby is eating scrambled eggs, Lizzy is working on Nutella and bread and Alex is working on "grandma style" pancakes.  That translates to homemade pancakes with a shit-ton of dark chocolate chips in them.  Specifically Ghirardelli large chips, 65% cocoa.

See how I've not yet managed to get drinks or silverware on the counter yet?  And I've given the environment the middle finger and they're all eating on paper plates?

My sacrifice to keeping the calm in the morning is to let them use their i-things while eating so they all quit yelling/arguing/shoving each other long enough to pile in some breakfast.

The kids and I have come to an agreement, a truce if you will.  My son presented a solution for the three of them:  They get to play their electronics and agree to quit hassling me long enough so I can get a cup of coffee in.

It's a compromise.  A negotiation.  A life skill in bartering in which we all win.

Never in a million years did I think I'd be negotiating 'coffee time' with my eight year old child.  Honestly, I think he had it all figured out before he came down to breakfast that morning.

And my boy runs a pretty hard bargain.

They get their electronics, food of their choice and paper plates.  I get my coffee.

I'm happy with the deal I made.



Note:  Tuesday I'll be at SPD Network talking about our OT Room.  Please spread the word if  this would help anyone you may know.


And I put links to the Uncrustables and chocolate so you know what they are.   I have some friends over-seas who may not know what I'm talking about.  The links are informational only. 

For the love of...cotton pajamas?!?

Alex has this new thing.  He doesn't like the feel of his pajama's.  Any of them.  He's officially boycotted all his jammies and is now sleeping in his underwear.  He's decided he doesn't like the "feel" of his old pajamas.

He simply woke up one morning and decided against polyester.

Honestly, I can't say I blame him.  The feel of polyester makes my skin crawl.  He now only wants 100% cotton.

I've tired to wait this one out for a few days, read: almost two weeks now, to see if something will change but he's sticking to his guns.  Only 100% cotton will do.

So I've gone off to Target and Walmart to see what they have.

And they don't have shit.

You know how hard it is to find pajama's that are not flame retardant?

It's bloody impossible.

And then I went back to Wally World and look what I found.

Ag-ent-PPPP!!!

I guess Disney and Walmarth don't care that much about burning babies in a house fire.  And I have to say, I don't care either.

The fact that Perry up there is from the twin bastards called Phineas and Ferb is just icing on the cake in our world.  Alex loves them.  Does it matter that I will forever have the phrase, "Moooom, Phineas and Ferb are making a title sequence!!" seared in my brain?  No.  The boy loves them.

I have learned to the necessary skill called 'selective hearing' so I'm living around them.  

I bought as many as they had and came home a hero.

If there's a fire, you're gonna die!!!

Now I have to go check all our fire alarms.  It won't do to have a fire when he's wearing those things.

Even porn sites have QR codes. Who knew???

So remember how I mentioned that Alex likes to scan bar codes for fun?  Well it's morphed into something better.  We're now scanning QR codes.  Yeah, I didn't know what one was either.  After I asked Alex I still had no idea so I Googled it.  And then I had Alex explain it to me again.  And again.  And then I gave up went to bed and tried again in the morning.

After several cups of coffee, I found out all about QR codes.  A Quick Response code is a type of bar code.  Go to Wikipedia and read all about it here.

Here's what one looks like.  As a homage to my son, I made one and have it on my sidebar over there.  You get the RedLaser App and then take your i-phone and scan the QR code.  Both of these QR codes are a direct link to my blog so it takes you right there.  Cool, eh?  Now you can read me anywhere.

RedLaser, I should be getting paid for this.  

No reading me in the toilet.  The crapper's off limits.  I strictly forbid it.

So basically my kid's now scanning updated bar codes for fun.

He downloaded the RedLaser App for having a good OT visit.  Yes, I bribe my child.  I'm good like that.  We have a system.  He has a good session and he gets to download a free App.  Bad session, no App.

This was from Sunday's paper, Walmart ad.

Then we had the Thanksgiving holiday and a little time went by and Alex sent a QR code to my phone.  It was to Kink.com.  Now, I very intentionally DID NOT link that site because there is one teensey-tiny little problem with Kink.com.

Kink is a man-on-man porn site.

My kid sent me porn.  After I gasped and, lets be real here folks--looked at a few, I put on my mom panties and asked him what in the hell he'd just sent me.

"Uncle Jim sent me the link to go to Kinko's.  He wanted me to find out how much a ream of paper costs."

"So, um, did you find out how much a ream of paper costs?"

"What?"

"Eyes.  Alex, I need your eyeballs up here on my face when I'm talking.  Good.  Did you find out how much a ream of paper costs?"

"No.  I sent it to you so you could look it up.  I'm too busy, I'm looking up some new Apps."

A private moment here to thank the Sweet Baby Jesus for my small fortune that my son did not get eye-raped by viewing man-on-man porn.

"So, while we're talking about QR codes here, who else did you send that to?

"Dad's whole family."

A private moment to take back all my thanks to the Baby Jesus.

My kid sent my husband's family porn.  Hardcore, man on man, porn.

Are you crapping your pants now?  Cuz I was.

Suffice it to say we've had "the talk" about what can be sent, and what can not be sent, via the i-Touch.  Bottom line, in our house we now check everything he sends out and he checks his e-mail with either my husband or myself.  And we have parental locked his i-Touch so his on-line experience is limited at best.

And my husband made the call to his brother to ask what on God's green earth he had sent our to son.  Turns out he missed a letter in the web address and it all went horribly wrong from there.

And that is the true story of one thing that happened over the past few weeks before I threw the damn thing on the floor and broke it.  And even though this originated from Uncle Jim, I'm the one in the family who looks like the dirty girl who can't keep the kids off porn.

Good thing I'm writing this down for prosperity's sake.  Someday I'm going to look back on this and laugh.

I'm not laughing yet.

Still not laughing.

Yeah, still not laughing.


I'm over at SPD Blogger Network today talking about Alex's classroom desk.  Go, go, go!