I have been bested by Minecraft.

It's no secret our new thing in this house is Minecraft.  We held out as long as we could but we finally caved at Christmas.  Santa brought the kids Minecraft.  It was quite a letdown because all we could wrap was an envelope with the authorization code that needed to be entered into the computer to get the game started.  Once they figured it out though they took the envelope and ran with it.

They Ran.

We never saw them for the rest of Christmas.  Come to think of it, we saw very little of them in January, February and most of March.

Since then, we've been up to our armpits in Minecraft.  Every single thing in this house revolves around it.

And that, right there, is the rub.

We've had to find a happy middle ground where the kids are not plugged into the computer all day and life's passing them by.  They, on the other hand, would love to do nothing more than fight zombies and creepers, download mods and watch YouTube videos.

Truth be told, Minecraft is just one little part of the Total Minecraft Immersion.  You have mods, seeds, whole new worlds and maps.  All of them have to be thoroughly researched and examined on the iPad and then you chose which ones you want to download.

And you have not lived Minecraft till you've lived through the videos.  Oh dear God the videos.  They are a thing unto themselves.

We started off with these prepubescent teens, screaming, yelling and cussing every other word.  They would blow up sheep and use TNT and nuke whole damn worlds.  My kids were enjoying it a bit too much so that lasted less than two seconds in this house.

Then we found Mr. Paul.  He's the new man in our lives.  He's practically been living with us since right after Christmas.  His real name is Paul Sores Jr, and I can't tell you the number of night's I've spent with Mr. Paul, waiting for my own husband to come home.

He does the Minecraft videos in a nice, calm manner and he's downright easy on the ears.  That may not seem to be a big deal but when you are listening to these things for hours on end sometimes, voice quality becomes very important.  Trust me on this.

It got so bad at one point, I called the kids to come up and eat dinner.  They wolfed their food down in seconds. SECONDS.  Then, before I had had a chance to sit down to eat my dinner, I was being asked, "Mom, can I go back downstairs?  Can I, please?!?"  I brushed it off figuring if I ignored the question, I could at least get a little something to eat.

I was wrong.

"MOM, can I go back down stairs?!?"  Alex asked almost frantic, pacing, having to have an answer right that very second.

"Guys, I need something to eat.  Please look around you and put your dishes away.  Just give me a minute, would you?"

Well that wasn't even out of my mouth before my cute little kids with absolutely no gross and fine motor skills, found it within themselves to scoop up their dishes, round the bend of the island, turf the dishes into the sink, round the other bend of the island and with the dexterity of a skilled surgeon, set the microwave timer.

All in under ten seconds flat.

I remember standing there thinking, "What in the fuck just happened?  Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen them move that fast, Alex was almost fluid, even.  I could really use this Minecraft thing to my advantage."

And then it dawned on me, "Hey, why did you guys set the timer?"

"Well mom, you said to give you a minute.  I'm giving you exactly one minute.  Well, you now have forty-six seconds."  

So I stood there looking at my older two kids, all of us looking at each other, a three way stare down, going back and forth from looking at them to the microwave timer and back.  I never knew how excruciatingly long a minute, or forty-six seconds, could be until you're in a stare down with your two kids and the microwave.

DING!

And just like that, my older two ran like they had flaming fireballs on their heels, down the steps to the computers, back to Minecraft.  One of them ran around the corner, overshot it and smack-landed in the other side of the wall.  They righted themselves and kept right on going.  I could hear them in excited voices, "Hey lets see if we can get new saddles to ride the pigs!"

Gracie and I stood there looking at each other, wondering what in the hell just happened.

I stood there trying to figure out why in the hell a pig needed a saddle.

And that is one day in our life, living with Minecraft.

And I still don't know why a pig needs a saddle.  I did find out you have to have a carrot though.

I talk about my silence

I've been quiet for a reason.  We went on a little break for a reason.  I've thought long and hard about what I'm going to say.

Alex has turned nine.  He's getting older.  He's more aware of the situation around him and becoming aware of all things around him.  He knows I write about Autism and I write about him.

He has asked me to stop.

As his mom I have taken what he's said to heart.

When Alex was younger it was easier.  The lines were not as vague as they are now.  I was able to write about our lives and what happened.  He didn't express any issue with what I was doing and for the most part things were fine.  But as he's gotten older the lines have become blurred.  They're not as clear.  Time sneaks up on you and before you know it, you're looking at a child who is no longer a child.

Alex is very much like me--very private and happy with a few key people in his life.  I am afraid to say more about him, about how Autism impacts him, as he's very clearly expressed his reservations.

To continue in the fashion I have been would be wrong.  I don't want him thinking there is something wrong with him or that I need to talk on the Internet because of him.  I can see he is starting to think that, and as his mom, I have to change what I am doing.  I have to take care of him first.

I'd love to tell you how we were playing Four Square and I drilled him in the face with the ball because I got so fed up with being hit because he wasn't using all of his social skills.  I'd love to tell you more about that but I simply can't.

So I have to tell you in all honesty I'm not sure what I'm doing, what direction this will be going or even if this will continue.  I thought an explanation was due.

Thank you all for all of your kindness and support.  You have truly meant the world to me and there are simply no words to reflect my gratitude.

Hugs and love,
Lizbeth


I will remain on Facebook and I will still have my email account, Lizbethcole29@yahoo.com. 

Once I figure things out, you'll be the first to know.  

Way back when...

I've had this thought rattling around the back corners of my mind for a while now.  It's been tenuous and sometimes hard to grasp.  Right when I think I have it figured out, it morphs into something else and slips just out of reach.

I wish I had the benefit of someone talking to me early on and telling me a little something about those first few years and what they would really be like.

As Alex gets older, it's becoming harder and harder to remember those younger years and in some ways that's a blessing.  Its easier to talk about them and with time they seem less raw.  Alex is almost nine now, and while we have difficult days, hours and sometimes whole stretches of time, for the most part, our challenges are more about how to deal with challenges.  How to deal with bullies, social situations or, understanding what a person meant and then what to do.

We're not in the grind of the early years when he was two and screaming over the TV channel being changed even though it was on static to begin with.  Or coping when he freaked-out in the car for some unknown reason three days running, only to make the connection that we weren't going the same way due to construction and maybe, just maybe, going a different way was throwing him off?

Wondering if we should go out to the store because we didn't tell him we were thinking of going out even though we were out of milk, eggs and everything else.  Having to kick people out of the house as nicely as we could because it was getting close to bedtime and they had to leave or all hell was going to break lose if they did not get the fuck out of the house in ten minutes.

Knowing friends looked at you weird because you couldn't interrupt nap time or go to Mc Donald's because, even at the tender age of three, he refused to walk under those golden arches.  Knowing some of those friends would never understand and they had to be let go and fade away.

And being jealous that other kids ate more than one food and they ate it willingly.  And then going back home to sneak the protein drink mix into his milk at night so he would gain weight, and having to do it in secret because you knew, just knew, if he saw you, he would no longer drink it.

Knowing that sometimes the people you thought you could lean on and would get it were the ones who understood things the least and were the first ones to shut the door in your face.  And knowing that sometimes your own family didn't understand and the reality was, they didn't want to understand.  And deep down, that hurt the most.

And while all that was going on you had to take care of yourself.  You had to try and figure out what was going on with your kid, go to appointments and listen in shocked silence as they told you something you kinda sorta already knew.  And it still stung like a thousand bee stings when they said it out loud and it crashed all around you.

Then, there was dealing with the diagnosis.  I mean really dealing with it.  At first it was a relief.  My first thought was, "By God, I'm not crazy."  I had so many people telling me he was fine, he was just a tish excitable, he just needed a firm hand or I need to learn how to discipline.  It took a long time for me to comprehend I was right about my child all along.  That was a hard lesson to learn and one I still wrestle with today.

I will never doubt what I think is right for my child again.

And dealing with insurance and more often than not, coming to grips with how little was covered and how every therapy fell into flex account spending or fell under the category of private pay.  Wrestling with having OT and PT and Speech come into the house and set up shop and numbly nodding your head that, "Yes, you could be available for six hours a week on such and such day and PECS?  That sounds great."  And not quite knowing what PECS even was.

And somehow we've moved past those early years.  And having lived them, I will tell you those were the hardest years for me.  Having to understand something I didn't yet have a grasp on.  I didn't understand Autism and I didn't understand my child.  I didn't know what triggered a meltdown and I didn't have the faintest understanding of how it all pieced together.  I was lost, confused and scared.  More often than not, I numbly went through the motions.

I can't say what the future will hold for you, but I can tell you it gets better.  It gets better because you have an understanding, a new knowledge of how your child works.  With a diagnosis, a lot will change.  Some people will fade away and others will be thrust into the forefront.  With that diagnosis you will be given the ability to better understand your child.  You will begin to know their quirks, strengths and weaknesses and what makes them run for the hills and what makes them laugh.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if your just starting out, it gets better.  With time, you will grow into the mom your child needs.  You won't even know it but you will.  You will start to see what matters most and what once was important becomes a mere annoyance or something that simply no longer fits in your life.  You will be what your child needs.

I'm not saying it will be easy, its not.  There are days you will fall into bed exhausted and then can't sleep from worry and the irony of that won't get past you.  What I am saying is this: you will make it.  You will make it out the other side to a place where you are comfortable in your own skin, comfortable with your decisions and comfortable with your child.

In time you will get there, trust me.  You will get there.  Surround yourself with those who understand and those who want to understand.  Give yourself time to grieve the loss of what you thought your child was and time to accept what you now know.  And know that deep down your child is no different from what he or she was a few days or a week ago.

It's not easy but you will get through.

I guess that's what I wished someone told me when we were first starting on this journey.

You will make it, your child will make it, and everything will be OK.  


Note:  I have a family member who has a child that was recently diagnosed.  This is for you, and those like you, who are just starting out going, "Now what do I do?"  I'm here if you need anything.  

In which I talk about my GI system. At length. There's your warning.

I swear to God, I've been sick for the last week and I've narrowed it down to two things: Stress and a visit from my husband's aunt.  She traveled in from out of town and cooked for us.

That was last week.

I've been sick ever since.

Maybe it's a combination of being stressed and the visit, I don't know.  My stomach has been pushed right over the edge.  I've spent more time looking at the four walls of my bathroom and I've named the spider that's hanging out in the bottom right corner, next to my sink, Running bra.

That damn spider has set up shop next to the laundry pile and that one bra is just close enough, I'm not willing to touch it--the spider or the bra.  

Spider wins the battle and keeps the bra.

I know.  I'm not that creative to begin with but when you're losing half your body weight our your ass, the mind starts to shut down.  All creative thoughts are purged and the only thing I can think of is, "Oh My Fucking God, I think I have a tapeworm.  Can you get a tapeworm in today's day and age?  A parasite maybe?  Oh Jesus...I swear to be good, just please make this stop, I will never eat fried egg rolls again.  Oh God, I have to get the kids in a few minutes."

So that's what I've been doing this past week.  You know, besides picking out a whole exterior for the house and thinking of the different and varied ways to maim the kids that bullied Alex last week.

On the upside, I think I've dropped three pounds.

This would have nothing to do with my GI issues.
Nothing.  I'm sure of it.  

So yeah, I've been out of commission.

That and the kids are just not happy.  The change back to school is wearing thin.  I almost got my mouth sewn shut with toothpicks when I mentioned homework.

Homework.

That dirty little whore.  Alex has an on again, off again relationship with homework and right now we're in the OFF phase.  As in, I've had to call school and tell them we're not quite there yet and I'm sorry the 'All About Me' collage is really 'All About Lego's' and absolutely nothing about Alex, unless of course, you count that he is all about Lego's, then that would totally work.  Thank God his teachers are understanding and they're letting it slide.

So I'm trying to get back to a Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting but right now it's just not happening.

I'll be back to posting as soon as I get this tapeworm out of my system.      

How cool is that?

You know all those inspirational quotes and pictures going around Facebook?  Well, I have a hard time relating to some of them.  I'm not a really rainbow and glitter kind of girl.  I'm more of a straight shooter and undercover sailor.  

I made a few pictures that reflect me and how I feel and put them on Facebook.  I didn't think much of it.  I ran out to get the kids from school, took them to the park and Tae Kwon Do.  Did the usual things.  

I never bothered to check on things because for the most part, I'm oblivious.  And busy.  And tired.  

That and I broke my i-phone so I was not connected, at all.  I was off the grid.  

When I came home, I couldn't believe it.  

The sayings I put up on Facebook have been shared over and over.  

Honestly, I'm a little surprised and humbled.  It's just how I feel about my son.  About my kids.  I really feel I've struck the jackpot with them.  Sure, there are days when I'm PMS'ing and if a child asks, "What time is it?" one more time, I very well may drive chicken skewers through my ears but for the most part, I'd not change things for the world.

And the fact I'm not alone in feeling this way gives me goose-bumps.

I don't know how to say thank you for sharing.  I guess maybe this is it.  Thank you.

I've come a long way since my son's diagnosis.  He has come even further.  I've learned to love him for who he is and he's teaching me more about life and love than I could have ever dreamed of.

And really, how cool is that?


And I know this horse is dead but I'm going to beat it anyway...this all started with Facebook....if you want to, go up and click on that "Like" button, up there on the right, so we can complete the circle and stay in touch.  I'd like that.  

He said what? I wonder where he heard that from....

Today's Friday so can I get a big AMEN?  In the blogging world, or in the cool blogging world, that means we're doing horribly fun things with Ryan Gosling.  Visit Sunday over at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood and see what I'm talking about.

Alex's teacher met me at the flagpole for pickup yesterday afternoon.  I'll let that sink in for a moment.

Having the teacher come out and meet me at the flagpole used to make my stomach swirl with nausea.  A whole host of scenarios ran through my mind.  Did he lick someone?  Did he Tae Kwon Do anther kid?  Did he correct a teacher or tell them their lesson plan was inferior and subject to his review?  Or did he stop, drop and roll minus the fire?

You just never know.

Anyway, his teacher comes out to meet me every day now because we're in a sort of holding pattern.  We're stabilizing somewhere between full on benders and a variety stims.  He has about six stims going right now so in my mind I call it a six-pack.  Honestly, we're just biding out time till school lets out.

Fourteen days left if anyone's interested.  And yes, I'm counting each and every last one of them.

So she comes out of school with a small smile on her face, kind of laughing, so I knew it couldn't be that bad.

Alex?  Well, he wasn't smiling.  "Mom, Mrs. Smith says I said a bad word."

Fuck.  

"Err, you said a bad word?"  Now, a whole host of bad words went through my mind, rapid fire, in under a tenth of a second.  We all know I'm pretty fluent in the base vernacular of the English language.

My next thought was, "Please don't let it be the F-bomb, please don't let it be the F-bomb."

"Yeah Mom, Mrs. Smith says I used a bad word but its not fair.  You use it at home all the time."

Oh fuckety-fuck-fuck.  It was the F-bomb.  I'm so screwed. 

"I said I was pissed off and I got in trouble for it.  You told me it was OK to say I was pissed off when I was at home but now it's not OK to say it at school."

Oh thank you Baby Jesus.

Now his teacher turns and looks over at me, one eyebrow raised, questioning, "You let him say that at home?"

I turn and look at Alex and suddenly he had these big eyes, kinda like this:

Source

Well how can you resist that?  I couldn't lie and blame it on him.  I had to own it.

"Well, yes, I do let him say he's pissed-off when he's at home.  See, for the longest time Alex couldn't identify his emotions and had a hard time articulating how he was feeling.  Gaw, he just now started putting words to his emotions.  So when he was angry we made a scale from one to ten.  One was irritated and ten was super mad, like he was pissed off and ready to explode.  I thought it was important for him to correctly identify his emotional state, as he was feeling it, so we could work on the right calm down methods."

And that's the God's honest truth.

With that I give you my main man, Ryan.

On a different note, I wanted to thank Sunday for having me to her place yesterday.  It was a blast.  I want also thank those of you who went over and took the time to look, see and comment.  You have no idea what that means to me as your friendships are what pull me through.

If you still want to see it, I have it linked here.

And you totally know when his teacher was talking to me up there I was all, "I'm so going to blog about this."   And I did.

Squared vs Square Root. I don't know the difference either.

On Sunday night we get a weekly class update from Alex's teacher.  I normally glance at it and see what's going on for the next week.  Then I print it out, show it to Alex and get confirmation that he's read it.  Then I get confirmation that he's understood it.  And then get confirmation that he knows what's really going on for the next week.

And then I use four pieces of tape and tape that damn thing up on the wall so I don't forget and he doesn't forget.

That weekly newsletter is my lifeline.

So little alarm bells went off in my head when I saw the words: TALENT SHOW THURSDAY.  I immediately asked Alex what it was all about and he wasn't fussed.  A little annoyed that I was asking about it, I think.

You know me, I couldn't let it rest.  I had to find out, these things tend to blow up in my face.  *See the Muffins With Mom's post if you don't believe me.*

"Hey Alex, it says there will be a Talent Show on Thursday.  What are you going to do?"  I was getting a little worked up because he was more interested in his computer game.

"Mom, I have it all figured out.  I know what I'm going to do."  And he went back to his game.

Pffft.

Clearly I had to get a little more creative.  "Alex honey, do you think you could tell me what you're planning on doing for the talent show?  Maybe I can help you."

My panties were in a total bunch about this damn talent show and I was going to find out what he was doing.

"Well no mom, you can't help me.  It has to do with math and you're not good at math.  I'm going to explain the difference between square roots and squaring a number.  Take the number nine.  Nine squared is eighty-one but the square root of nine is three.  See the difference?  Then I'm going to take questions and they can quiz me.  It's math and it's going to be fun."

Someone give me the answers.....please?!?  

To which I found my calculator, figured out he was right and said, "You're right, I'm not good at math."

And Thursday, I was in the classroom and I saw him do his talent and he explained the difference between squared and square roots and he had fun with it.

No, he rocked it.

The other kids and I, we didn't have a fucking clue what he was talking about but he was having fun.

No, he had the time of his life.



OMG, OMG, OMG, you totally have to go over to Sunday's place tomorrow.  I'm so going to be guest posting.   I'm going to be guest posting at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood!!!!  OMG, OMG, OMG!!!

I may have to wear a Poise and use it, I'm so excited.  And I think she even kept my cuss words in.  *Swoon.*   


There, now I'm done begging.  I must go and hook on Facebook...yes, that's you're cue to go "like" me, so you can see me at Sunday's tomorrow!!!  See how I did that?  That was awesome....

I'm in the dumps, somebody get me out of here.

So our little world is crumbling all around us and I'm doing everything I can to help Alex hang on by a thread.  His SPED teacher went on maternity leave yesterday and he'll be without her for the remainder of the year.  

One day into this and he's already had his first meltdown while at OT and it was a good one.  A doozy even.  So bad he lost his mind and didn't even know it. I was just thankful it wasn't at my house.    

We talked about it later and he said, "I don't even know what happened to me," and started crying.  

He's brought back some old stims and is showing all the signs of being under a large amount of stress.  

I'm doing what I can but nothing hurts worse than seeing your own child come slowly unhinged, bit by bit, right before your very eyes.  

His General Education teacher has gone above and beyond and for that I am eternally grateful.  She's been working with me, doing what she can to help him in so many ways possible.  She truly gets Alex and knows how hard these next few weeks are going to be.  I wish she could really know how much her support and understanding means to me.

I have to switch gears hear because I fear I can't get through the rest of this post without bawling.  Instead, I'll give you a picture of what Alex likes to do best.    

Double fisting, baby.  Double fisting.
I-touch and I-pad .

And I know this sounds silly but look, no cuss words in the whole post.

No offense, I much prefer the posts in which I cuss.

OMG Dorthy, run for the hills!

I have to tell you right now, if I was not laughing at this I think, no I know, I'd have been confirmed as certifiably insane.  For those of you who know me and are scratching your heads wondering, "What?  I thought she was insane, " shut your whore mouths.

I'm not sure I've mentioned this in the past.  I don't know, maybe I have---about Alex's first fear, then love affair of all things weather.  It started back when we flooded in North Dakota and we lost the house.  The kid has a legitimate fear of water.  Then we moved to Kansas and at first he had a healthy fear and loathing of all things tornado.  Then he brought home a book from school all about how tornadoes are formed and thus began his formative years in studying tornadoes.  Thank you again Overland Park School District for giving him that book.  No really, thank you.

Now, not only does he have a healthy fear of tornadoes, he wants to go out and study them.  He wants to examine wind shear, air velocity, how a mega-cyclone is formed and everything else associated with all things tornado.  

Are you as scared shitless as I am when you hear this???  He wants to study a fucking mega-cyclone.  Who studies a mega-cyclone anyway?  I'll tell you who, anyone but my son, that's who.

And then because we live in Kansas the inevitable was bound to happen.  We went under a tornado watch.

Now wasn't really a tornado watch per say, it was more like Greg Forbes saying, "you live in a zone where the TOR:CON is sitting at an 8 out of 10 right now.  That means somewhere in your vicinity there will be a tornado and those people that get hit with the tornado???  Those people?  They're well and truly fucked.  They're all gonna die."

No really, that's not what he said at all.  That's more what my son heard.  What he and the Weather Channel said was more like this:

Several tornadoes are likely to touch down in the central United States; some of which could be large, violent and travel for miles upon miles. Developed by Dr. Greg Forbes, (Find him on Facebook) The Weather Channel's severe weather expert, the TOR:CON index is an estimate of the likelihood of tornado activity within a given time period. The TOR:CON values range from 0 to 10. A value of 4 means that there is about a 40% chance of a tornado within 50 miles of a location in the specified area of severe thunderstorm activity. This also means that there is a 60% chance that a tornado will NOT occur. 

Since we were sitting at an 8 and you do the math, that pretty much meant we were fucked.  An 8 reads: A high probability of a tornado in the area of concern.  Yup, we were fucked and no, I really don't want to friend Dr. Forbes on Facebook, thank you very much.

We went up to a 9...we're all gonna die!!!

As an added bonus, the National Weather Service and the Storm Prediction Center have us as a test zone for new storm nomenclature and wording.  Now they're using words like mass destruction, unsurvivable, catastrophic and life threatening for the tornadic event.

Mass destruction?  Unsurvivable??  Catastrophic?!?  You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Those words sent my child into a stimming fit that would have rivaled one of the goddamned tornadoes they were predicting.  Now my son was scared out of his ever loving mind.  The only saving grace was that I was pretty sure he wasn't going to run out into the middle of a storm to collect data.  Notice I said I was only pretty sure, you just never know.  

The last bit of information Alex caught was from the newspaper, "It's only the second time in U.S. history that the Storm Prediction Center has issued such an unusually early and dire warning more than 24 hours in advance.  The last time was six years ago this month, before nearly 100 tornado's struck south-eastern states."

Oh fuck me.

And I still had to go to Sam's Club and buy some damn milk and eggs.

When I mentioned that we needed to go out my daughter said, "Why do we need to get eggs if we're all going to die tonight?  Its just going to get sucked up and make a mess."

Nice try Lizzy, you know how I hate messes but we're still going to Sam's Club.

And then Alex hearing that last bit said, "Wait.  What???  What do you mean we're all going to die tonight?  If we're all going to die, I need to get my i-Touch.  If I'm going to die, I want to die with my i-Touch."

Well, the kid has priorities.

As a last ditch effort, after Sam's Club I had the idea to go to Tornado Alley Live on the computer and watch storm chasers film tornadoes from their cars.  Get this, these geeked-out nut-balls stream live film footage from their cars and you can text them while they chase the storms.

There were so many GD storm chasers
there was a frigging traffic jam in a corn field. 

Did I mentioned we could text them???  We totally did. Oh my frigging Lord, we were texting all sorts of stuff: turn around, get closer, who farted, backup, you passed it, crickets, ditch, watch-out for that car, downed wires.  You name it, we were texting it.  I swear, they need to put better security pass codes on that texting option. Oh well, we enjoyed it.

And then we all tired to go to bed in the lower level but we stayed up all night because "camping" isn't nearly as fun as they make it out to be when the fear of being sucked out a window is looming over you.

We were all cranky as hell the next day and guess what?  We didn't see so much as a flash of lightning.


Note: I haven't a clue if there was a traffic jam in a corn field but look at that mess.  It's worse than a  bunch of college students at a rave.  And secretly?  I'm a weather junkie and I totally want to chase storms after I fight my last IEP battle.  I may soil my pants but it still sounds like fun.   


And while I try to make light of our situation, there were over 100 tornadoes in Kansas alone and Wichita was hit pretty hard.  My thoughts and prayers are with those who suffered from this past weekend.  
 

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.   

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!

I'm so not the hero today.

So the other night I was trying to think of something new to do after the umpteenth time of watching How it's Made reruns and I had the bright idea of watching The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe with the kids.  See, we've been reading the book and it was on cable the other night, so I recorded it.

It was going to be perfect.  It was going to be great to see how the book differed from the movie and we could really work on story progression and character development---some things I've noticed that are becoming a weak spot for Alex as he's getting older.

"Hey guys, you know how we've been reading The Chronicles of Narnia?  Yeah??  Well, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was on cable last night so I recorded it.  Ya wanna watch it?"

"NO."  Came out of the older two kids mouths faster than me declining sex while on my period.  There are some thing I just don't do.

Anyway...

I'll save you all the gory details about how I bribed, wrangled, fed them popcorn in the living room, gave them money, got them to sit down long enough to watch the damn movie but we watched it.  I was happy.  Life was good.

Yeah, wrong.

A few hours later I hear Alex telling Lizzy, "I want to start doing things slow.  Like really slow.  That way things will be really boring and we can live longer."

What?!?  I could tell by the tone in his voice something was up.  Really up.

This continues all the way up to dinner time where Alex is eating slowly, moving slowly, talking slowly.  It was like stop-gap animation.  After turning into Sherlock-frigging-Holmes and practically a Dateline investigative report later, I finally wrangled out what was up his crawl.

I present to you the condensed version:

"Alex, why are you eating so slowly?  Does this have something to do with The Chronicles of Narnia?"

"Yeeeaaaah."

"Is it because the witch was mean?"

"Yeeeaaaah."  He starts sobbing.

"And because she turned all the animals into stone?"

"Yeeeaaaah, I don't wanna die.  I'm eating slowly so life can be boring.  It will make it appear that I'm living longer because I'm sooooo bored."

"Mkay.  Well, the good news is, you're not going to die.  The bad new is, you still have to eat your dinner."

See, in his mind all the animals the witch turned to stone were killed and dead.  Doesn't matter that Aslan breathes them back to life.  Oh no.  No, no, no.  Some of them legitimately died.  She kung-powed a few of them with her wand and they died where they stood.  Don't forget the few she blasted with her wand while they were flying and then, because they were rocks, smashed to bits when they landed.  Add to it at the end, Aslan basically eats the Witch and that pretty much sealed the deal.  It was all over.

Alex got the shit freaked out of him.

Thank you C.S. Lewis.

So I had a bright idea.

"Hey guys! Come on.  Lets go downstairs and watch Rango."

I was going to be a hero.  I was going to get him off death.  I was going to switch gears with another movie and I was going to save the day.

At this point in the action I have to tell you, I've never seen Rango before.  How bad could it be?  It had Johnny Depp.  I like Johnny Depp.  It was animated so it had to be safe.  And did I mention Johnny Depp?

I have never been so wrong in my entire life.

WRONG.  WRONG.  WRONG.

If you have ever seen Rango, you know my fate and are most likely laughing your ass off right now.

Rango makes the Witch in The Chronicles look like a pussy cat.  A fucking pussy cat.

To start off, Rango almost dies in the desert.  He lives, but immediately another character gets killed off.  Then another character gets killed.  And another.  At some point they have this fucking gun-shoot-em-up-rodeo-thing and there's a veritable blood bath of cartoon characters all being offed in rapid gunfire and puffs of smoke.

It was like the fucking Godfather of western animation.  They killed more characters than Pulp Fiction and to top it all off, there are these four snowy owls that make up a mariachi band all singing about Rango's demise and they never really shut the fuck up about the fact that he is going to die.

Can I get a big fuck you?

And last but not least, there is some shit kid-reptile-thing always asking Rango when he dies, "Can I get your boots?"

It was awful.  Just awful.

The whole time we were watching, it was like sitting in the middle of a four alarm fire.  "Did he die?  Mom, did he die?  Where'd he go?  Acccck, did they all just die?  They did die, didn't they???  Wait.  Oh no!  That one died too?!?  Accckkkk!"

The kids are sobbing.  I'm cussing.

In my brain it sounds like, "Fucking Rango.  Damn you Johnny Depp, I should have known better.  Come to think of it Alice in Wonderland was pretty fucked up.  So was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Damn it to hell, I'm such an idiot.  Between you and Helena Bonham Carter, you make me look sane."

And that is how I single-handedly pushed my kid right over the edge of reason.  If we were at the Grand Canyon, not only did my kid do a swan dive over the edge, I was right there to shove him off.

Anyone want to watch some How its Made?

In our house it all comes out in the minivan.

So if you saw me on the other day in the car stopped at a red light and I was repeatedly banging my head into the steering wheel, there is a simple explanation.  Really.

We were in the car to go to therapy and Alex asked a very straight forward yet loaded question.

"Mom, did you bring the I-pad?"

Shit.  

"No hon, I totally forgot but you can use my phone, OK?"

"Did you bring my I-touch?"

Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

"No hon I didn't bring that either.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  Mommy got busy and I just plain forgot and I'm so sorry.  You can use my phone, right?  Right???"

Please God, just use the damn phone.  This one time, please.

"NO I CAN NOT USE YOUR PHONE."

Everything with-in arms reach was suddenly being thrust toward the front of the car.  Backpack, shoes, socks, headsets, yo-yo.  I know, a yo-yo.  You name it, it was being lobbed my way.

Thank God we were going to OT to work on gross motor skills because not a damn thing came close to hitting me.

"YOUR PHONE DOES NOT HAVE GAME SOURCE ON IT.  IT HAS TO BE DOWNLOADED AND YOU CAN'T DO THAT FROM HERE.  ACCCCKKKKK!!!!!!  HOW COULD YOU FORGET?  YOU NEVER FORGET!  I HATE YOU.  I HATE THIS.  I WANT DAD.  HE DOESN'T FORGET THINGS.  ACCCCKKKKK!!!!!  YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE.  I HATE YOU.  ACCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!"

More things being launched from the back seat.  Sparkle nail polish.  A fake spider.  Pencil with an eraser chewed off.  Clearly I need to clean the minivan more often.

"I HATE YOU.  I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU WATCH THE DVD.  I'M TURNING IT OFF."

And at that point I got a little reprieve as we've been watching Megamind nonstop in the car since we started school on August 17, no I'm not counting, and even thought I love hearing Brad Pitt, quite frankly his wily charms and his sinfully beautiful voice wore off way back in September.  And yes, I still think Angelina is a home wrecker.

I did find it interesting that with all the garbage being relocated to the front of the cabin he held onto the DVD remote.  Clearly he'd managed to hold onto a few marbles.

"I WANT DADDDDDYYYY!!!!!"

And so that is why I was sitting at a red light gnashing my forehead into the steering wheel.

In the hopes of feeling something other than frustration, anxiety and utter pissed-offedness being spewed in my general direction I opted for physical pain.  There was nothing left for him to do but yell.  He'd already lobbed his backpack, shoes, socks and headsets my way, the only thing he had left were words.

And sometimes those hurt the worst of all.

Note:  We made it out of that car ride just fine and he wound up having a good time at OT after all.  I write this as this type of situation plays out almost every single day.  We've learned to cope with meltdowns and have strategies and tools in place for just this sort of thing.  Oftentimes now we are working on preventative rather than defensive measures.  While I never get used to these meltdowns, I have found I have more patience and understanding than I ever thought I possessed.  I write this to let others know they are not alone.  Not by a long shot.     

Daylight Savings, oh how I hate you.

I swear my kids a Vulcan.  He called me on the carpet this morning about this rule we have.  Its like house rule number 22 or something, I don't know.  Anyway here it is.

All kids stay in their room until 7:00 AM.  Period.

I don't care if you're sleeping, playing chess or dismantling an atom bomb but you stay in your frigging rooms till 7:00 AM.

We were having this teensy-tiny problem.  The kids thought it was great sport to come pole vaulting into bed with us at the ass-crack-of-dawn.  So instead of sleeping, I wound up getting dive bombed by an eight year old, arm wrestling for blankets and getting kneed in the intestines for a better spot in the bed.  The whole time Alex was telling me to, "SCOOT OVER.  THAT'S MY SPOT.  I SAID SCOOT OVER!" in something that  I'm sure was an inside voice but at the ass-crack-of-dawn anything louder than a whisper in my book is an outside voice.

After a few months of this I went unhinged and proclaimed for all who would hear: THERE WILL BE NO MORE MINIONS IN BED WITH US AT NIGHT.  YOU MAY ONLY ENTER THE HOLY CHAMBER IF THE CLOCK SAYS ITS AFTER 7:00 AM.  OR IF YOU ARE DYING.  OR PUKING.  OR DYING AND PUKING.  IF YOU'RE DYING OR PUKING THEN GO SEE YOUR FATHER.

All three of my children scoffed at me and were in the bed with us at 6:21 AM the next morning.  I hauled each and every one of my little ass-holes back to their own rooms, stomped my way back to my own room, slammed my door shut and proceeded to stew and cuss until exactly 7:00 AM.

At which time I was met by Alex proclaiming, "IT IS NOW 7:00 AM.  SCOOT OVER."

After a few rough mornings I thought we were doing pretty well.  Sure there were a few mornings where we were stalked outside our door like wild safari animals but we survived and they respected the door to the holy chamber.

We had an ugly truce but I was happy.  I didn't care.  I was getting sleep!

And then came Daylight Savings Time.

I cannot begin to tell you the many and varied ways I'd like to slowly disembowel, skin, cook, torture, flambae, whatever the asshat who started Daylight Saving Time.

Now, every morning, I am told that at exactly 6:00 AM it is really 7:00 AM.

And to SCOOT OVER.

This has nothing to do with anything, its just a
random photo to give you something to "Ohh" and "Ahh" over.

Note:  They are working on the window's in the office and family room right now so I've been kicked out.  It's not yet topped 45 degrees so I'm off to take the baby to Target and keep warm...I'll pop by all your blogs as soon as I can get back in my house!!!

My son wants to make his Aunts Sim's get all sexy. Yeah, you heard me correctly.

I'm not sure how many of you know, this but my sister lives right down the street from me.  Well, not literally right down the street, but if you cut through my back yard and cross the street you get to her street and then she's four houses down on the right.  I know this because every time I slip into casual conversation that my sister lives "right down the street."  I am assaulted with, "No, no no!  That's not right.  Aunt Nichole does not live right down the street.  She lives behind us, though the back yard, across the street, and four doors down on the right.  That's not right down the street, mom.  Duh." 

I stand corrected. 

Crap I forgot what I was going to post about. 

This is where I get up and wonder around the house a bit.  Kick around a bunch of toys and see that the kids have not killed themselves, each other or are thinking of planting the baby in the empty planter on the back porch.  True story.  And as I look over and see the kids on their I-touches I remember it.    

So after Alex bugged me so much to go to his Aunt's house last night that we showed up on her doorstep unannounced and uninvited I was a little more than pissed when he started with all of this garbage in under five minutes of hitting the door:

"UGGGHHH. I'm bored." 

"There's nothing to do here." 

"How long do we have to watch those guys on bikes?"

"There's nothing to do."

"UGGGGGHHH.  I want to go home."

"How long do we have to be here?  Can I watch TV?"

"UGGGGHHH.  How long do we have to stay here???"

Yup, after begging like a misbehaved dog for forty minutes straight, he wanted to go home.  He wanted to bail on the same place he begged to go to in the first place.  Anyone see the irony here?  Not to be out done by my spawn I started up with:



"No, we are not leaving." 


"You can find something to do."


"Go find your Uncle."


"Bug him."  


 I said, "Go Find Your Uncle."


"No we are not changing the channel.  Your Aunt and I are watching the Tour."


I said, "We Are Watching The Tour."

I don't know if you know this either but I'm a road biker so watching the Tour de France is akin to a pedophile asking a kid if they like candy.  And I love candy.  Right now the Tour is my candy.  So, NO, that TV channel was not being flipped.  Period.  

Once a year in July we have a new house rule: Do Not Mess With the Tour.  Oh yeah, screw you Contador.  And buff men on bikes?  In spandex??  In the hot, hot, hot, summer???  Bliss.  Its not like the pool ladies in Spanx, or that crappy chocolate.  The Tour is more like soft porn.  Go watch and you'll see.  It's easy on the eyes.  See?  See why we watch???

Anyway, while we were getting all glossy-eyed watching beautiful men on bikes my sister may have mentioned something to Alex, something along the lines of, "Hey, do you want to play my Sim's?  You can make Aunt Nichole and Uncle Rob do things like go swimming or sleep."  


I don't know.  Remember?  I was watching hot, sweaty men in tights. 

Alex didn't stop complaining till he heard four magic words: "It's on the computer."  At the time it struck me as odd, something akin to saying in that sickly sweet voice, "Does the dogie want a treat?"  And you can actually see the dog stop in mid-motion and go, " Err?  Treat??  Did someone say treat???  I wanna treat.  Where's the treat?"  

Alex was like that dog.  He cocked his head off to the side and said, "Computer?  Aunt Nichole, did you say computer??"

Fast forward to today where I've been harassed since about half past the ass crack of dawn about the Sim's.  Now he has to have a game.  Not only a game, but the game he was playing last night.  And that is just not possible.  We simply cannot take the game off her computer and plop it onto ours. 

Add to it, my sister's game is part of the Sim's Ambitions.  That means he can make his Sim's Aunt and Uncle get all romantic with each other and have babies.  My seven year old is NOT MAKING SIM'S BABIES.  

The Sim's can swim naked it the pool, get in fights, flirt and kill each other.  Not necessarily in that order.  They can rob the neighbor and eat their dog for dinner and call it chicken.  He can make them take a cab to diner and get all sexy in the bathroom.  Add to it, the Sim's do things they want to as well. 

So no, he's not getting my sister's Sim's game.

Nor is he getting a Sim's game of his own.  I'm not caving and just giving him a $39.99 game right now since that's his new thing.  And I'm not spending $6.99 as an App for the I-pad either.  It's not about the money here.  He's going to have to work with me on this one and:

1. Leave me alone for a little bit about it.
2. Show me he can not talk about it for a period of time.
3. Show me he can earn it.  
4. Respect my decision.
5. And this is a big one here: try to work with me and think of other things and other ways to get unstuck. 

And that is why I now I have a seven year old who is wondering around the house trying to convince me that he'll die without the Sim's.  Why I've been harassed since 6:00 AM about the Sim's.  Why I've been assaulted with all the reasons why the Sim's are great.  Why they're worth having.  Why he's dying a slow, painful death without them. 

And I get it.  Really, I do.  For him the pain is very real.  He has to have it.  He's stuck on it.  Fixated.  He can't get it out of his head and can find no alternate solutions even when they are presented.  They can not work in his mind.  He's been in meltdown mode and will continue to be all day and well into the night. 

This is truly an issue for us.  Something he needs help understanding and processing.  I have to be able to help him get it, to understand, to become more flexible in his thinking.  Try to help him work through this and gain an understanding of just why we can't always get what we want, when we want it, regardless of the situation. 

Which is precisely why I'm holding firm and making him wait for the Sim's.  Heck, he may not even get it. 

I do him no favors by giving him everything he wants.  When he wants it.  Just because he wants it. 

Trust me.  It's killing me as well. 

And guess what?  After a day of making our lives miserable, he woke up this morning and has not mentioned a peep about the Sim's.  Not a word.  He may have moved onto something new.  I don't know, he may just be plotting his next move.  

I don't know.  I may never know.  

But I do know this: even though yesterday was a living hell, I'm glad I held out for today.