Looking back on this December, it's no wonder it seemed to me like it's been on steroids. In addition to the usual holiday stuff, I had my final two weeks of classes, followed by a graduation ceremony, smack in the middle of the busiest time of the year at work.
It really was on steroids.
I've been goin' 240 with my hair on fire since about a week before Thanksgiving, and I think my body's trying to tell me something. This week, in the aftermath of Christmas, I've been ready for bed by approximately eight o'clock each evening.
I'm gonna go ahead and take my body's advice, in the interest of not completely burning out. Stay tuned for updates about graduation, Christmas, and everything else that's happened this month.
Just as soon as I catch up on some rest.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
'Twas the Week After Christmas
For all of my fellow customer service professionals (especially my coworkers, for whom this was really written), this post proves I spent way too much time over the weekend fantasizing about how dead work would be this week.
And, so, without further ado, I give you: 'Twas the Week After Christmas.
And, so, without further ado, I give you: 'Twas the Week After Christmas.
***
‘Twas the week after Christmas, and all through the site
You could hear a pin drop; it was quiet as night.
No cutting, no ripping, no tape-tearing sound,
No more scraps of paper fluttering to the ground.
The gift card rack looked pathetic and light,
But at least there was time to make everything right.
Just over the shell-shock, all the reps took a gasp.
We surveyed the damage and got down to the task.
The gift cards were straightened, the paperwork stowed,
The leftover gift wrap tucked away with the bows.
Email inboxes were cleaned, and reminder lists;
Cryptic Post-Its deciphered and handled and pitched.
Shelves were straightened and desks wiped down,
Decorations gathered from all around.
Computers, printers, and faxes unburied,
To their rightful places the last objects were carried.
Having just lived through the week that is our biggest fear,
We reps can now rest and ring in the New Year.
Though the battle scars are fresh and our backs still in
pain,
We have almost a year 'til we do it again.
***
***
Friday, December 16, 2011
Story Time: Part Two
Feeling emboldened by our recent "successful" story time (and by successful, I mean she stayed in the same room with me and the book remained intact), I thought I'd give it another shot.
Around 8:00 on Tuesday evening, I grabbed my Winnie the Pooh treasury, held out my hand for The Princess, and we walked into her room together. What happened there was nothing short of extraordinary.
She hopped up in bed and snuggled up with Arlington and DP, her twinkling eyes looking at me expectantly.
I started reading.
She smiled and squirmed around a little bit, and - at one point - left the room for about thirty seconds.
I kept reading.
She came back in, surveyed her surroundings, and climbed in my lap. Arlington joined us, and the more I read, the more The Princess melted into me.
We got through the entire second story in this treasury, one about Pooh and Piglet building a house for Eeyore. When I stopped reading and closed the book, my girl turned her sleepy little eyes on me and gave me a hug before settling in with Arlie and DP again.
The Hubbs and I tucked them all in, and I'm still amazed.
Story Time is becoming a nightly occurrence in my house. No doubt about it.
Around 8:00 on Tuesday evening, I grabbed my Winnie the Pooh treasury, held out my hand for The Princess, and we walked into her room together. What happened there was nothing short of extraordinary.
She hopped up in bed and snuggled up with Arlington and DP, her twinkling eyes looking at me expectantly.
I started reading.
She smiled and squirmed around a little bit, and - at one point - left the room for about thirty seconds.
I kept reading.
She came back in, surveyed her surroundings, and climbed in my lap. Arlington joined us, and the more I read, the more The Princess melted into me.
We got through the entire second story in this treasury, one about Pooh and Piglet building a house for Eeyore. When I stopped reading and closed the book, my girl turned her sleepy little eyes on me and gave me a hug before settling in with Arlie and DP again.
The Hubbs and I tucked them all in, and I'm still amazed.
Story Time is becoming a nightly occurrence in my house. No doubt about it.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Today is the Day...and I Done
Graduation is tonight!
*
A few nights ago, The Princess came into the living room holding an unidentifiable object. When I asked to see what she had, she brought it to me and immediately handed it over.
Upon closer inspection, the object revealed itself as a completely harmless piece of paper. As soon as I realized this, I returned it to The Princess.
She took it for a split second, smiled, and handed it back while looking me in the eye.
And then she said, "I done."
And she walked away as though this is nothing out of the ordinary.
Me? I'm still trying to catch my breath.
*
A few nights ago, The Princess came into the living room holding an unidentifiable object. When I asked to see what she had, she brought it to me and immediately handed it over.
Upon closer inspection, the object revealed itself as a completely harmless piece of paper. As soon as I realized this, I returned it to The Princess.
She took it for a split second, smiled, and handed it back while looking me in the eye.
And then she said, "I done."
And she walked away as though this is nothing out of the ordinary.
Me? I'm still trying to catch my breath.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
1...and Story Time
One more day until graduation.
*
The Princess is four and a half years old. She does not speak. She will stim all day if you let her. She rarely (if ever, depending upon who you are) responds to verbal requests, though this particular point is getting better on a daily basis for those closest to her. She has sensory issues. The littlest thing can set her off. Try as I might, I can rarely figure out what triggers her meltdowns. All I can do is hold her and soothe her the best I can.
All of the autism stuff aside, this has got to be the most generally happy kid I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I consider myself lucky as hell that God chose me to be her momma. I feel blessed every day for what I have with her, her daddy, and our splendiferous pooches.
But my heart breaks a little every day, too. Other moms of four-and-a-half-year-olds are taking them to see Santa at the mall, having their pictures taken with their smiling faces reflected perfectly in the camera lens. These other little ones are writing their names and holding amazing conversations. They sit quietly in their rooms and read, because they want to.
The Princess couldn't possibly understand an abstract concept like Santa Claus. She can't tell anyone what she wants for Christmas, because she doesn't speak. She also has no interest in television or most other things that are marketed for kids her age, so it's a moot point, anyway. Taking a picture with a stranger in a loud, hot, crowded mall? Forget about it. Writing? Not yet. We're still in the I'd-rather-eat-crayons-than-draw-on-the-paper stage. Conversations? I'd be happy with the ability to say yes and no. Hell, I don't even care if it's verbal. Shaking or nodding her head would be the coolest thing in the history of the world. Reading? More like tearing the pages out of books and stimming to her heart's content with the scraps.
Our girl has received many books, as most little ones do. The difference between her and these other kids is that she doesn't seem to understand what books are all about. After a few misguided attempts to let her figure them out, the surviving volumes have been moved to a safer place, out of her reach and - largely - out of our minds.
The Hubbs and I love to read. I know a lot of people say this, but we mean it. When given the option to watch TV or read a book, we'll almost always choose the latter. Throw on a little bit of classical music and we're good to go for the entire evening. In case you're interested, we've been playing the heck out of Pandora's Mannheim Steamroller Christmas station lately.
Sunday evening, The Princess climbed up on the loveseat with me while I was reading, and she snuggled up next to me in the sweetest little hug. After drinking in her affection for a few minutes, I slipped to the basement where her books are, and I grabbed two choices: the original Winnie the Pooh treasury and Wet Albert.
I brought both books upstairs and gave her a choice. She chose Pooh Bear, so I put Wet Albert away for the time being and The Princess, Pooh, and I went into her bedroom.
I read her the entire first short story, one about Piglet and a Heffalump, before bed. Did she sit still? No. Did she hang on every word? No. But she paid attention in her way. She spent those 20 or so minutes in constant contact with me, climbing all over me as I read her the story. From time to time, I asked what she thought, and she mumbled back at me. Not in English, but hey...I'll take what I can get. I stopped a couple of times to either rearrange myself or take a breath, and she went forehead-to-forehead with me until I started again.
She loved it.
I loved it.
Finally. She's four and a half, and I can finally have story time with my daughter.
*
The Princess is four and a half years old. She does not speak. She will stim all day if you let her. She rarely (if ever, depending upon who you are) responds to verbal requests, though this particular point is getting better on a daily basis for those closest to her. She has sensory issues. The littlest thing can set her off. Try as I might, I can rarely figure out what triggers her meltdowns. All I can do is hold her and soothe her the best I can.
All of the autism stuff aside, this has got to be the most generally happy kid I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I consider myself lucky as hell that God chose me to be her momma. I feel blessed every day for what I have with her, her daddy, and our splendiferous pooches.
But my heart breaks a little every day, too. Other moms of four-and-a-half-year-olds are taking them to see Santa at the mall, having their pictures taken with their smiling faces reflected perfectly in the camera lens. These other little ones are writing their names and holding amazing conversations. They sit quietly in their rooms and read, because they want to.
The Princess couldn't possibly understand an abstract concept like Santa Claus. She can't tell anyone what she wants for Christmas, because she doesn't speak. She also has no interest in television or most other things that are marketed for kids her age, so it's a moot point, anyway. Taking a picture with a stranger in a loud, hot, crowded mall? Forget about it. Writing? Not yet. We're still in the I'd-rather-eat-crayons-than-draw-on-the-paper stage. Conversations? I'd be happy with the ability to say yes and no. Hell, I don't even care if it's verbal. Shaking or nodding her head would be the coolest thing in the history of the world. Reading? More like tearing the pages out of books and stimming to her heart's content with the scraps.
Our girl has received many books, as most little ones do. The difference between her and these other kids is that she doesn't seem to understand what books are all about. After a few misguided attempts to let her figure them out, the surviving volumes have been moved to a safer place, out of her reach and - largely - out of our minds.
The Hubbs and I love to read. I know a lot of people say this, but we mean it. When given the option to watch TV or read a book, we'll almost always choose the latter. Throw on a little bit of classical music and we're good to go for the entire evening. In case you're interested, we've been playing the heck out of Pandora's Mannheim Steamroller Christmas station lately.
Sunday evening, The Princess climbed up on the loveseat with me while I was reading, and she snuggled up next to me in the sweetest little hug. After drinking in her affection for a few minutes, I slipped to the basement where her books are, and I grabbed two choices: the original Winnie the Pooh treasury and Wet Albert.
I brought both books upstairs and gave her a choice. She chose Pooh Bear, so I put Wet Albert away for the time being and The Princess, Pooh, and I went into her bedroom.
I read her the entire first short story, one about Piglet and a Heffalump, before bed. Did she sit still? No. Did she hang on every word? No. But she paid attention in her way. She spent those 20 or so minutes in constant contact with me, climbing all over me as I read her the story. From time to time, I asked what she thought, and she mumbled back at me. Not in English, but hey...I'll take what I can get. I stopped a couple of times to either rearrange myself or take a breath, and she went forehead-to-forehead with me until I started again.
She loved it.
I loved it.
Finally. She's four and a half, and I can finally have story time with my daughter.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
2...and Spaghetti-O's
Two days until graduation. Eee!
*
Remember when I told you about the pistachio pudding? Well, apparently Spaghetti-O's are right up there.
This weekend, The Princess carefully spooned four bowls (in a row...my little bottomless pit!) into her mouth. Sitting at her little white table (topless...I'm no fool), she shoveled that stuff in like it was goin' out of style. Looks like we're entering yet another growth spurt for our little bean pole.
We've also noticed recently that she really seems to favor her right hand. Seems like we might have a little righty living in the room next door. :)
*
Remember when I told you about the pistachio pudding? Well, apparently Spaghetti-O's are right up there.
This weekend, The Princess carefully spooned four bowls (in a row...my little bottomless pit!) into her mouth. Sitting at her little white table (topless...I'm no fool), she shoveled that stuff in like it was goin' out of style. Looks like we're entering yet another growth spurt for our little bean pole.
We've also noticed recently that she really seems to favor her right hand. Seems like we might have a little righty living in the room next door. :)
Monday, December 12, 2011
3...and the Potty
Three days until graduation.
*
So many things happened this weekend, I don't really even know where to start. I guess I'll just start at the beginning and split into separate posts for each accomplishment.
Really. They're all that big.
Well, here goes.
After work on Friday, I looked at The Princess and asked her if she had to go potty. I wasn't expecting any more of a reaction than simple eye contact. I'm not new here. I know how this goes.
Not only did I receive the expected eye contact, but she also smiled, walked across the room, pulled her pants down, sat on her pink froggy potty, and went.
For those of you who may be missing the magnitude of this event, let me spell it out a little more clearly for you.
My girl followed a verbal request. My girl. Verbal. No coaxing. No leading. No modeling. I asked her something, she immediately understood, and she did it.
Now, going on past experience, I'm well aware of the fact that these breakthroughs can sometimes be a shot in the dark. Some people call them "Elvis sightings," a term with which I am in love. It's the perfect explanation. You never know when or where they're going to happen, but when they do, it's amazing. And you never know if they'll happen again. Like, ever.
Let me just reassure you here: this was no Elvis sighting. By Sunday, she was pulling her pants down and walking to the potty herself when she had to go. Okay, so the sequence is something we have to work on. We don't want her letting the cat out in public to show she has to go potty, but, hey...this is progress.
Baby steps, y'all. Gigantic, wonderful baby steps.
*
So many things happened this weekend, I don't really even know where to start. I guess I'll just start at the beginning and split into separate posts for each accomplishment.
Really. They're all that big.
Well, here goes.
After work on Friday, I looked at The Princess and asked her if she had to go potty. I wasn't expecting any more of a reaction than simple eye contact. I'm not new here. I know how this goes.
Not only did I receive the expected eye contact, but she also smiled, walked across the room, pulled her pants down, sat on her pink froggy potty, and went.
For those of you who may be missing the magnitude of this event, let me spell it out a little more clearly for you.
My girl followed a verbal request. My girl. Verbal. No coaxing. No leading. No modeling. I asked her something, she immediately understood, and she did it.
Now, going on past experience, I'm well aware of the fact that these breakthroughs can sometimes be a shot in the dark. Some people call them "Elvis sightings," a term with which I am in love. It's the perfect explanation. You never know when or where they're going to happen, but when they do, it's amazing. And you never know if they'll happen again. Like, ever.
Let me just reassure you here: this was no Elvis sighting. By Sunday, she was pulling her pants down and walking to the potty herself when she had to go. Okay, so the sequence is something we have to work on. We don't want her letting the cat out in public to show she has to go potty, but, hey...this is progress.
Baby steps, y'all. Gigantic, wonderful baby steps.
Friday, December 9, 2011
6...and Lighter
Six days until graduation.
*
I woke this morning before my alarm clock went off, and I was really, truly awake. I don't remember the last time that happened when someone wasn't sick. The digital display glowed 6:13 in my face, and I had no desire to turn back over to embark upon my daily battle with the snooze button.
Getting out of bed, I felt good. In the last fifteen minutes or so, I've noticed that my shoulders aren't hunched. I'm sitting and standing a bit straighter. My back doesn't hurt today. I'm smiling for no reason. I feel lighter somehow.
Last night, I completed my oral final in Spanish. My math class is done. All that's left is the written Spanish final, and that will be done from home.
I hadn't been able to see how run-down I'd become with the weight of all these classes. It's like suddenly letting out that whoosh of air when you didn't even realize you'd been holding your breath.
*
I woke this morning before my alarm clock went off, and I was really, truly awake. I don't remember the last time that happened when someone wasn't sick. The digital display glowed 6:13 in my face, and I had no desire to turn back over to embark upon my daily battle with the snooze button.
Getting out of bed, I felt good. In the last fifteen minutes or so, I've noticed that my shoulders aren't hunched. I'm sitting and standing a bit straighter. My back doesn't hurt today. I'm smiling for no reason. I feel lighter somehow.
Last night, I completed my oral final in Spanish. My math class is done. All that's left is the written Spanish final, and that will be done from home.
I hadn't been able to see how run-down I'd become with the weight of all these classes. It's like suddenly letting out that whoosh of air when you didn't even realize you'd been holding your breath.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
7...and Hammy
7 days until graduation, y'all. I'm gettin' anxious now.
*
My brother, Hambone, is fifteen months and sixteen days older than me...not that I'm counting or anything. On this very day in 1979, he entered this world.
I've known him for my entire life. I can't remember a time in my childhood when he wasn't there; we were inseparable. To paraphrase one of my favorite Forrest Gump quotes, we was like peas and carrots. Where he went, I went. What he did, I did.
Rollerskating.
BMX jumping, racing, you name it.
A brief stint with skateboarding, the most interesting part of which for me was when Pop stole Hammy's board and flew down the hill toward Mr. Burger's house, going @$$ over apricots without ever spilling a drop of his beer, jumping up in a Superbowl-worthy victory dance. It's one of those heroic things only a daddy can really pull off, and I'll never forget it.
Art.
The CB lot, fox hunts, a whole new group of friends.
As we've gotten older, things have gotten a bit more complicated. Now there are separate households to run, jobs to work, responsibilities that weren't there ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. But here's the beauty of being a sibling: complicated or not, he's still my big brother. More often complicated than not, I'm still his little sister.
We may not agree on every point, but there's one thing I know for sure. As long as I walk this earth, I'm here for him.
Big brother, if by some weird twist of fate you're sitting in front of someone's computer and reading this, I want you to know that - no matter what - you've got a friend in me.
I love you.
Happy 32nd birthday, Bro.
*
My brother, Hambone, is fifteen months and sixteen days older than me...not that I'm counting or anything. On this very day in 1979, he entered this world.
I've known him for my entire life. I can't remember a time in my childhood when he wasn't there; we were inseparable. To paraphrase one of my favorite Forrest Gump quotes, we was like peas and carrots. Where he went, I went. What he did, I did.
Rollerskating.
BMX jumping, racing, you name it.
A brief stint with skateboarding, the most interesting part of which for me was when Pop stole Hammy's board and flew down the hill toward Mr. Burger's house, going @$$ over apricots without ever spilling a drop of his beer, jumping up in a Superbowl-worthy victory dance. It's one of those heroic things only a daddy can really pull off, and I'll never forget it.
Art.
The CB lot, fox hunts, a whole new group of friends.
As we've gotten older, things have gotten a bit more complicated. Now there are separate households to run, jobs to work, responsibilities that weren't there ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. But here's the beauty of being a sibling: complicated or not, he's still my big brother. More often complicated than not, I'm still his little sister.
We may not agree on every point, but there's one thing I know for sure. As long as I walk this earth, I'm here for him.
Big brother, if by some weird twist of fate you're sitting in front of someone's computer and reading this, I want you to know that - no matter what - you've got a friend in me.
I love you.
Happy 32nd birthday, Bro.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
8...and Feelin' It
Graduation has been something of an abstract concept to me during the past two years. Spending all of my time running between work, school, being a wife, homework, projects, being a mom, and everything else that goes along with all of that, I haven't really had time to stop and think.
I got my cap and gown yesterday.
Graduation is a week from tomorrow.
I'm finally startin' to feel it. This is real. It's happening.
I actually teared up a little when I tried on the cap and gown last night.
All of a sudden, the abstract doesn't seem so abstract after all.
I got my cap and gown yesterday.
Graduation is a week from tomorrow.
I'm finally startin' to feel it. This is real. It's happening.
I actually teared up a little when I tried on the cap and gown last night.
All of a sudden, the abstract doesn't seem so abstract after all.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
9...and the Spoon
As we get closer to Christmas, I have a feeling my posts will be getting shorter and shorter. This is our busiest time of year at work, and it's getting a little crazy already.
The Princess has been working very diligently at school to improve her self-feeding skills, and the results are...well, let's call them spotty.
Last night, The Hubbs made instant pudding for an evening snack. Our little girl sat patiently at her table, working carefully with her spoon until every last bit of that pudding was gone.
This is the first time in her life she's managed to "clean" a dish using only a spoon. Not a morsel ended up on the table, the floor, her fingers, her face, or her clothes.
Not a morsel.
To say I am proud would be a gross understatement.
The Princess has been working very diligently at school to improve her self-feeding skills, and the results are...well, let's call them spotty.
Last night, The Hubbs made instant pudding for an evening snack. Our little girl sat patiently at her table, working carefully with her spoon until every last bit of that pudding was gone.
This is the first time in her life she's managed to "clean" a dish using only a spoon. Not a morsel ended up on the table, the floor, her fingers, her face, or her clothes.
Not a morsel.
To say I am proud would be a gross understatement.
Monday, December 5, 2011
10...and Draggin'
This weekend, the Hubbo Family got a lot done. And when I say a lot, I mean I'm not quite sure how we did it.
One of the biggest things for me was actually getting the Christmas tree up and decorated. Every year since we bought the house, I've made a point of decorating for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving...until this year, that is. Somehow, it just didn't feel like time until yesterday.
The only place in our little yellow house big enough and out-of-the-way enough for our tree happens to be in the front corner of our living room, blocking the door that leads into the front yard (don't worry...everyone comes in and out through the garage, especially during the winter, so it's not like we're shutting ourselves in!). Last year, I had this idea while looking at the tree...you see, my front door really isn't all that pretty, so it doesn't make the greatest backdrop for the tree.
So here's what I did this year:
That's right: I wrapped the front door. Apparently, all the gift wrapping at work has begun to pay off, because I don't know if I could have pulled this off as well before getting all that practice.
After a day of dragging boxes up and down stairs, hefting the tree around, stretching in odd ways to wrap the door, listening to Christmas music and addressing cards, watching Scrooged and Rudolph, my butt is draggin' a bit this morning.
But it's totally worth it. You should see The Princess. She's completely enthralled with the tree again this year. I'm going to try to get some useable video at some point to share with you here.
Annnnnd...10 days to graduation. Boy, am I ready.
One of the biggest things for me was actually getting the Christmas tree up and decorated. Every year since we bought the house, I've made a point of decorating for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving...until this year, that is. Somehow, it just didn't feel like time until yesterday.
The only place in our little yellow house big enough and out-of-the-way enough for our tree happens to be in the front corner of our living room, blocking the door that leads into the front yard (don't worry...everyone comes in and out through the garage, especially during the winter, so it's not like we're shutting ourselves in!). Last year, I had this idea while looking at the tree...you see, my front door really isn't all that pretty, so it doesn't make the greatest backdrop for the tree.
So here's what I did this year:
That's right: I wrapped the front door. Apparently, all the gift wrapping at work has begun to pay off, because I don't know if I could have pulled this off as well before getting all that practice.
After a day of dragging boxes up and down stairs, hefting the tree around, stretching in odd ways to wrap the door, listening to Christmas music and addressing cards, watching Scrooged and Rudolph, my butt is draggin' a bit this morning.
But it's totally worth it. You should see The Princess. She's completely enthralled with the tree again this year. I'm going to try to get some useable video at some point to share with you here.
Annnnnd...10 days to graduation. Boy, am I ready.
Friday, December 2, 2011
13...and Lucky
Funny enough, the number 13 always makes me think of luck. I know plenty of people who steer clear of it...and plenty more who count it among their good luck charms.
When the gears in my head started turning, I realized I don't say this enough: I am the luckiest girl in the world. I've been blessed with a wonderful husband, a one-of-a-kind, super-special daughter, the two best dogs I've ever met, and a fabulously charmed life.
Yes, I work Monday through Friday.
No, I don't make a fortune. Not even close.
But that's not what it's about. After a busy day at work and a tough night at school, I get to come home to my beloved family.
Really, who could ask for more?
When the gears in my head started turning, I realized I don't say this enough: I am the luckiest girl in the world. I've been blessed with a wonderful husband, a one-of-a-kind, super-special daughter, the two best dogs I've ever met, and a fabulously charmed life.
Yes, I work Monday through Friday.
No, I don't make a fortune. Not even close.
But that's not what it's about. After a busy day at work and a tough night at school, I get to come home to my beloved family.
Really, who could ask for more?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
14...and Five
Give me five!
Now, what's the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear that? A very small child gleefully slapping your hand in response, right?
For me, it's the absolute shock and awe I feel every time The Princess does it. I hold up my hand and say the words. She makes eye contact, smiles, and slaps my hand repeatedly, sending herself into a giggle fit.
She was four and a half years old the first time this happened, just a month or two ago, and this little victory keeps getting sweeter and sweeter every time it is repeated.
Now, what's the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear that? A very small child gleefully slapping your hand in response, right?
For me, it's the absolute shock and awe I feel every time The Princess does it. I hold up my hand and say the words. She makes eye contact, smiles, and slaps my hand repeatedly, sending herself into a giggle fit.
She was four and a half years old the first time this happened, just a month or two ago, and this little victory keeps getting sweeter and sweeter every time it is repeated.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
15...and Turkey Hoarding
Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned.
After unabashedly eating two separate Thanksgiving dinners on two separate days this past weekend (neither of which was cooked - or hosted - by me), The Hubbs and I came home and made our very own 22-lb turkey.
And we didn't invite anyone to help us eat it.
That's right: we hoarded that giant turkey. All for ourselves.
We had two more traditional turkey dinners on Sunday and Monday, followed by some super-fun leftover experiments.
The cream of turkey and wild rice soup is fantastic. No, I really mean it. This stuff is epic.
Tonight, we'll be making one of our favorites: turkey pot pie.
And in between everything else, there's always The Hubbs' specialty: turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce.
Oh, and this whole time, guess who's been singing "Twinkle?"
Life is good, folks. Life is good.
And, for those of you joining in on the countdown, only fifteen more days until I've finished my AS degree. What will I do with all of this upcoming free time? Somehow, I don't think it'll be a problem.
After unabashedly eating two separate Thanksgiving dinners on two separate days this past weekend (neither of which was cooked - or hosted - by me), The Hubbs and I came home and made our very own 22-lb turkey.
And we didn't invite anyone to help us eat it.
That's right: we hoarded that giant turkey. All for ourselves.
We had two more traditional turkey dinners on Sunday and Monday, followed by some super-fun leftover experiments.
The cream of turkey and wild rice soup is fantastic. No, I really mean it. This stuff is epic.
Tonight, we'll be making one of our favorites: turkey pot pie.
And in between everything else, there's always The Hubbs' specialty: turkey sandwiches with cranberry sauce.
Oh, and this whole time, guess who's been singing "Twinkle?"
Life is good, folks. Life is good.
And, for those of you joining in on the countdown, only fifteen more days until I've finished my AS degree. What will I do with all of this upcoming free time? Somehow, I don't think it'll be a problem.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
16...and Cousins
This Thanksgiving, we all hopped in our little maroon car and did the whole over-the-river-and-through-the-woods thing.
Arriving an hour or so early, we had a chance to hang out with JAK, Nana, Grampy, Great Grammie, and Great Grampy before the crowds descended.
The Princess and The Bear were inseparable for most of the day, much of which was spent with K leading our girl around by the hand.
Two years ago - hell, even last year - I would never have thought this possible.
Every day, I stand in awe of our girl. And, though I think it almost constantly, I can't remember the last time I typed it out loud:
Thank God for the team of people who have contributed to The Princess's happiness, wellbeing, and emergence from this debilitating shell we call autism.
For without you, you wonderful individuals, this little girl may not have any idea how wonderful it can be to have cousins.
Arriving an hour or so early, we had a chance to hang out with JAK, Nana, Grampy, Great Grammie, and Great Grampy before the crowds descended.
The Princess and The Bear were inseparable for most of the day, much of which was spent with K leading our girl around by the hand.
Two years ago - hell, even last year - I would never have thought this possible.
Every day, I stand in awe of our girl. And, though I think it almost constantly, I can't remember the last time I typed it out loud:
Thank God for the team of people who have contributed to The Princess's happiness, wellbeing, and emergence from this debilitating shell we call autism.
For without you, you wonderful individuals, this little girl may not have any idea how wonderful it can be to have cousins.
Monday, November 28, 2011
17...and Open Doors
This past weekend, the Hubbo family ventured out to T's place for Thanksgiving with friends.
The food was great, the company was wonderful, and The Princess was in rare form.
Not only did she use the big girl potty repeatedly, but she also let herself out into the living room once.
Look out, world...it seems The Princess has figured out the wiley ways of the elusive doorknob.
The food was great, the company was wonderful, and The Princess was in rare form.
Not only did she use the big girl potty repeatedly, but she also let herself out into the living room once.
Look out, world...it seems The Princess has figured out the wiley ways of the elusive doorknob.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
22...and Happy Thanksgiving
Hey, y'all!
Time to take a little bit of a break for this upcoming long holiday weekend. I'll be spending loads of time with people who are very important to me while simultaneously avoiding all things retail.
Wishing you and yours a happy and safe holiday.
~One Mom
Time to take a little bit of a break for this upcoming long holiday weekend. I'll be spending loads of time with people who are very important to me while simultaneously avoiding all things retail.
Wishing you and yours a happy and safe holiday.
~One Mom
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
23...and Johnny Five
In my family, it's a requirement that you name pretty much every inanimate object you spend loads of quality time with. This little goofball practice used to be reserved almost exclusively for cars.
Over the years, one or the other of us has driven Sherman the Wonder Tank, Tootsie, Melinda, Elmo, Sport, Cabernet and many others.
While technology has been subtly seeping into every facet of our lives, more and more things have been acquiring names. The biggest category? Computers.
My mom has had scads of computers. I think I've had three: my original tower, my laptop, and my HP desktop. The original tower was called something like Sherman the Wonder Tank, but I can't remember the exact name. My laptop was Stitch, after my favorite Disney cartoon character. The HP, over time, became Johnny Five.
Y'know...from Short Circuit?
Recently, Johnny Five became ill. He took my pictures hostage and refused to start up. It's been a few months since he started having his episodes, and at least a full month since he died for good.
Or so I thought.
After sending Johnny Five over to The Grumps' house to hang out with my momma for a while, he's back up and running, and he didn't even lose any of the information I was so concerned about.
In fact, he came home this past weekend, and I'm typing on him right now.
Welcome back, friend. No disassemble Johnny Five.
Over the years, one or the other of us has driven Sherman the Wonder Tank, Tootsie, Melinda, Elmo, Sport, Cabernet and many others.
While technology has been subtly seeping into every facet of our lives, more and more things have been acquiring names. The biggest category? Computers.
My mom has had scads of computers. I think I've had three: my original tower, my laptop, and my HP desktop. The original tower was called something like Sherman the Wonder Tank, but I can't remember the exact name. My laptop was Stitch, after my favorite Disney cartoon character. The HP, over time, became Johnny Five.
Y'know...from Short Circuit?
Recently, Johnny Five became ill. He took my pictures hostage and refused to start up. It's been a few months since he started having his episodes, and at least a full month since he died for good.
Or so I thought.
After sending Johnny Five over to The Grumps' house to hang out with my momma for a while, he's back up and running, and he didn't even lose any of the information I was so concerned about.
In fact, he came home this past weekend, and I'm typing on him right now.
Welcome back, friend. No disassemble Johnny Five.
Monday, November 21, 2011
24...and the ABC's
Remember when The Princess started singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?" She's still doing it. All. The time.
Except as time goes on, sometimes she modifies it slightly. In one spot, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah-ah. In another, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah.
There is no variation in the placement of these changes. When it happens, it follows the exact same pattern each and every time.
She's changing the rhythm ever so slightly to morph "Twinkle" into her ABC's.
Except as time goes on, sometimes she modifies it slightly. In one spot, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah-ah. In another, ah ah becomes ah-ah-ah.
There is no variation in the placement of these changes. When it happens, it follows the exact same pattern each and every time.
She's changing the rhythm ever so slightly to morph "Twinkle" into her ABC's.
Friday, November 18, 2011
27...and 40
Forty years ago today, the world became a better place when my sweetheart was born in a suburb of Chicago.
Today, I celebrate him and everything he means to me.
He is the comic relief at the end of a crummy day.
He is a shoulder to cry on when it all gets to be too much.
He is the most devoted father I've ever met.
He is the inappropriate joke-cracker when the tension needs to be broken.
He is the yin to my yang.
Swatta Man, you are my very own personal superhero. I can't imagine what my life would be like today without you, and I'm glad I don't have to.
You're just neurotic enough to balance out my free-spirited go-with-the-flow attitude. In fact, you are the one person on this earth who is charmingly crazy enough to have chosen me for life.
Despite the vast differences between the two of us, we somehow complement each other perfectly. We're like two great songs that seem completely different until they get mashed together into something even better.
It makes no sense, but it's perfect nonetheless.
It ain't logic. It's love.
Happy, happy birthday, Mister. You've made me a better person, and I will love you every moment for the rest of my life.
Today, I celebrate him and everything he means to me.
He is the comic relief at the end of a crummy day.
He is a shoulder to cry on when it all gets to be too much.
He is the most devoted father I've ever met.
He is the inappropriate joke-cracker when the tension needs to be broken.
He is the yin to my yang.
Swatta Man, you are my very own personal superhero. I can't imagine what my life would be like today without you, and I'm glad I don't have to.
You're just neurotic enough to balance out my free-spirited go-with-the-flow attitude. In fact, you are the one person on this earth who is charmingly crazy enough to have chosen me for life.
Despite the vast differences between the two of us, we somehow complement each other perfectly. We're like two great songs that seem completely different until they get mashed together into something even better.
It makes no sense, but it's perfect nonetheless.
It ain't logic. It's love.
Happy, happy birthday, Mister. You've made me a better person, and I will love you every moment for the rest of my life.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
28
Twenty-eight days and counting. That's right: four weeks from today, at 6:30 in the evening, I will graduate from my little community college with my Associates Degree in science.
Back when I was in high school, I kind of assumed I'd go to college. So did my teachers, my parents, and everyone else in my life. When I made the decision to "take a year off," I was criticized from what seemed like every possible direction.
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
If you don't go now, you never will.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
(and the list goes on and on...and on)
Over the course of my "year" off, which actually turned into a decade, I found quite a bit of time to ponder these criticisms. One by one, they eventually became less mocking and less applicable in my mind.
That decade off gave me time to grow up, something most people don't get to do before going to college. Let's break down these criticisms one by one, shall we?
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
Me, that's who. Yes, I have always been good at art. Yes, I loved it in high school, and I was considered one of the most promising in my class. But my teenaged brain held pizza, long jump, fast cars and cute boys all in the same high regard. The fact of the matter is that I didn't have any worldly idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Art school seemed really cool at the time, but it felt like I'd have been playing, and that somehow didn't sit right with me. If I wasn't one hundred percent on board from the get-go, there's no way it was going to work out. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I could see that then.
If you don't go now, you never will.
Bull. Sure, it's hard to get back into the swing of things as a "returning adult student," which is the charming name they give to folks like me - you know, those of us who embark upon the furthering of our educations at or after the ripe-old age of twenty-five - but I can say with full confidence that I was far better equipped to deal with the responsibility of my college education ten years after graduating high school than I would have been way back when. I am fully convinced that I am taking far more knowledge with me out of this endeavor than I possibly could have as a kid. 'Cause that's what I was at 20. A kid.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Really? That's funny, 'cause over the last ten years I've only had one real dry spell, and that was during this bitch of a recession that has effectively knocked the whole country on its ass. There's a lot to be said for skills, people. And just off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people who went to college, graduated with a degree and a boatload of debt thanks to their student loans, who have not been able to procure jobs in their chosen professions. These are the people who are now working two or three low-paying jobs to pay off their loans while bitching day in and day out about what a waste it was to go to college. Oh, and by the time my high school classmates were out of college, I already had at least four years on them in the job field. You know, the real world? Where experience counts? Yeah. That one.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
Um, no. Do you? Again, not really the best argument. While the people I mentioned in the last point were still in school, I was making money. Not minimum wage, not millions, but money. I was doing very well for my age. By the time many of my friends graduated, I had bought my very own house. I was running neck-and-neck with my friends' parents in the salary department. Of course, that particular bubble eventually burst and now I'm back to making a more modest wage, but the fact is that it is possible.
I've never been a big fan of unsolicited advice. Just like when we're talking about our kids, there are so-called experts all over the place just chomping at the bit to tell us what we should and should not do, waiting around every corner to judge, judge, judge. But when it comes to me, my family, my life, and my education, I am the only expert, thankyouverymuch.
I may not have had all the answers at eighteen, and I'm glad I had the wherewithal to recognize that fact at such a young age. Instead of prolonging my childhood by moving into some dorm with constant parties, I grew up. I bought my little yellow house, married my sweetheart, adopted our two bulldogs, and had The Princess. How could I have known at eighteen that this is where I would be down the line? I couldn't, and that, my friends, is why I didn't make the decision about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life before it even began.
Back when I was in high school, I kind of assumed I'd go to college. So did my teachers, my parents, and everyone else in my life. When I made the decision to "take a year off," I was criticized from what seemed like every possible direction.
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
If you don't go now, you never will.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
(and the list goes on and on...and on)
Over the course of my "year" off, which actually turned into a decade, I found quite a bit of time to ponder these criticisms. One by one, they eventually became less mocking and less applicable in my mind.
That decade off gave me time to grow up, something most people don't get to do before going to college. Let's break down these criticisms one by one, shall we?
Who in their right mind turns down not one, but three full rides to art school?
Me, that's who. Yes, I have always been good at art. Yes, I loved it in high school, and I was considered one of the most promising in my class. But my teenaged brain held pizza, long jump, fast cars and cute boys all in the same high regard. The fact of the matter is that I didn't have any worldly idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Art school seemed really cool at the time, but it felt like I'd have been playing, and that somehow didn't sit right with me. If I wasn't one hundred percent on board from the get-go, there's no way it was going to work out. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I could see that then.
If you don't go now, you never will.
Bull. Sure, it's hard to get back into the swing of things as a "returning adult student," which is the charming name they give to folks like me - you know, those of us who embark upon the furthering of our educations at or after the ripe-old age of twenty-five - but I can say with full confidence that I was far better equipped to deal with the responsibility of my college education ten years after graduating high school than I would have been way back when. I am fully convinced that I am taking far more knowledge with me out of this endeavor than I possibly could have as a kid. 'Cause that's what I was at 20. A kid.
No one will give you a job without a degree.
Really? That's funny, 'cause over the last ten years I've only had one real dry spell, and that was during this bitch of a recession that has effectively knocked the whole country on its ass. There's a lot to be said for skills, people. And just off the top of my head, I can name at least ten people who went to college, graduated with a degree and a boatload of debt thanks to their student loans, who have not been able to procure jobs in their chosen professions. These are the people who are now working two or three low-paying jobs to pay off their loans while bitching day in and day out about what a waste it was to go to college. Oh, and by the time my high school classmates were out of college, I already had at least four years on them in the job field. You know, the real world? Where experience counts? Yeah. That one.
Do you really want to work for minimum wage for the rest of your life?
Um, no. Do you? Again, not really the best argument. While the people I mentioned in the last point were still in school, I was making money. Not minimum wage, not millions, but money. I was doing very well for my age. By the time many of my friends graduated, I had bought my very own house. I was running neck-and-neck with my friends' parents in the salary department. Of course, that particular bubble eventually burst and now I'm back to making a more modest wage, but the fact is that it is possible.
I've never been a big fan of unsolicited advice. Just like when we're talking about our kids, there are so-called experts all over the place just chomping at the bit to tell us what we should and should not do, waiting around every corner to judge, judge, judge. But when it comes to me, my family, my life, and my education, I am the only expert, thankyouverymuch.
I may not have had all the answers at eighteen, and I'm glad I had the wherewithal to recognize that fact at such a young age. Instead of prolonging my childhood by moving into some dorm with constant parties, I grew up. I bought my little yellow house, married my sweetheart, adopted our two bulldogs, and had The Princess. How could I have known at eighteen that this is where I would be down the line? I couldn't, and that, my friends, is why I didn't make the decision about what I wanted to do for the rest of my life before it even began.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
29
Yesterday, I left our little yellow house at 6:20 am to go to work. The Princess was still in bed, snoozing soundly.
I worked the day like normal, heading directly for school when my shift was over.
When I arrived at school, I hightailed it for the testing center, where I spent an hour and a half taking my exit exams.
The moment I finished my exams, I had to drive across campus to my Spanish class, where I had to give an oral presentation for which I was extremely ill-prepared.
There should have been a meal somewhere between work and Spanish, but there just wasn't time.
Finally, something like fourteen hours after I left the house, I pulled into the garage. I couldn't get my stuff out of the car fast enough.
As soon as I walked into the kitchen, the stress of the day melted away. I was home, and my girl catapulted herself into my arms as soon as our eyes met.
The one saving grace of that long, hectic day was my family. I couldn't be happier than when I'm with them. This really is what it's all about.
Twenty-nine days from now, I'm going to walk the walk with a bunch of 20-year-olds and be done with this degree.
And thirty days from now, things are going to slow down considerably. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to have a full-time job without the full-time school schedule. Somehow, though, I have a feeling I'll adjust.
I worked the day like normal, heading directly for school when my shift was over.
When I arrived at school, I hightailed it for the testing center, where I spent an hour and a half taking my exit exams.
The moment I finished my exams, I had to drive across campus to my Spanish class, where I had to give an oral presentation for which I was extremely ill-prepared.
There should have been a meal somewhere between work and Spanish, but there just wasn't time.
Finally, something like fourteen hours after I left the house, I pulled into the garage. I couldn't get my stuff out of the car fast enough.
As soon as I walked into the kitchen, the stress of the day melted away. I was home, and my girl catapulted herself into my arms as soon as our eyes met.
The one saving grace of that long, hectic day was my family. I couldn't be happier than when I'm with them. This really is what it's all about.
Twenty-nine days from now, I'm going to walk the walk with a bunch of 20-year-olds and be done with this degree.
And thirty days from now, things are going to slow down considerably. I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like to have a full-time job without the full-time school schedule. Somehow, though, I have a feeling I'll adjust.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Escape
It never ceases to amaze me, this range of totally unveiled emotion. Of course, there's a bit of it in every child, but I can't help feeling as though with my girl it's somehow...I don't know...more.
In the span of five minutes, The Princess goes from happy to sad, angry, bored, frustrated, independent, needy, and everything in between. Absolute, unbridled joy is often followed immediately by inconsolable, blubbering, alligator-tear-streaked misery.
Her eyes give her away every time.
One look at that beautiful face, contorted in reaction to some invisible force, eyes pleading for help even though she has no words, is enough to break my heart.
I turn my head for a second, pleading with God to help me help her. When I look back, she's grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, pulling me in for a hug, eyes twinkling as though nothing ever happened to disrupt her.
And just as quickly, she's in her own world, focused completely on some seemingly mundane thing like a scrap of paper, as if it's the only thing in the entire world and deserves no less than her undivided attention.
I know from experience that this piece of paper can be the center of her universe for an hour or more if I let it. I also know that I've been told it's best to try to redirect her energy to something constructive when she starts to stim.
But somehow, I just can't bring myself to do it. At times, it seems like stimming is the only thing that allows her the opportunity to escape the constant barrage of input that sends her senses reeling so many times each day.
And so it is, from time to time, that I sit here and quietly observe. I refrain from offering an alternative, and I drink in the calm on my baby's face.
Everyone deserves an escape.
In the span of five minutes, The Princess goes from happy to sad, angry, bored, frustrated, independent, needy, and everything in between. Absolute, unbridled joy is often followed immediately by inconsolable, blubbering, alligator-tear-streaked misery.
Her eyes give her away every time.
One look at that beautiful face, contorted in reaction to some invisible force, eyes pleading for help even though she has no words, is enough to break my heart.
I turn my head for a second, pleading with God to help me help her. When I look back, she's grinning with tear-streaked cheeks, pulling me in for a hug, eyes twinkling as though nothing ever happened to disrupt her.
And just as quickly, she's in her own world, focused completely on some seemingly mundane thing like a scrap of paper, as if it's the only thing in the entire world and deserves no less than her undivided attention.
I know from experience that this piece of paper can be the center of her universe for an hour or more if I let it. I also know that I've been told it's best to try to redirect her energy to something constructive when she starts to stim.
But somehow, I just can't bring myself to do it. At times, it seems like stimming is the only thing that allows her the opportunity to escape the constant barrage of input that sends her senses reeling so many times each day.
And so it is, from time to time, that I sit here and quietly observe. I refrain from offering an alternative, and I drink in the calm on my baby's face.
Everyone deserves an escape.
Monday, November 14, 2011
First Friend
Every morning, shortly after I leave for work, The Hubbs gets The Princess on the bus. She has an assigned seat with her very own star harness, which The Hubbs helps her into.
Same seat. Every weekday.
There's another little girl on The Princess's bus, about her size, but this kiddo doesn't use a harness. She has the freedom to choose her seat since she doesn't require any special restraints...just the regular seat belt that is standard in all of the seats on this little bus.
Early last week, The Hubbs told me that this little girl had strapped herself in right next to The Princess's seat. When he mentioned it to the bus driver, she said that sometimes this little one likes to sit by The Princess. This entertained him to no end, and as he got our girl settled in her seat, she turned, made eye contact with this other little girl, and gave her a world-class grin.
On Friday, guess who was back in the same seat? Leaning down, he asked this little girl if she liked to sit next to The Princess, which she answered with an ear-to-ear grin. Strapping our girl into her harness, he noticed more peer-to-peer eye contact and great big smiles.
I do believe The Princess has made her first friend.
Same seat. Every weekday.
There's another little girl on The Princess's bus, about her size, but this kiddo doesn't use a harness. She has the freedom to choose her seat since she doesn't require any special restraints...just the regular seat belt that is standard in all of the seats on this little bus.
Early last week, The Hubbs told me that this little girl had strapped herself in right next to The Princess's seat. When he mentioned it to the bus driver, she said that sometimes this little one likes to sit by The Princess. This entertained him to no end, and as he got our girl settled in her seat, she turned, made eye contact with this other little girl, and gave her a world-class grin.
On Friday, guess who was back in the same seat? Leaning down, he asked this little girl if she liked to sit next to The Princess, which she answered with an ear-to-ear grin. Strapping our girl into her harness, he noticed more peer-to-peer eye contact and great big smiles.
I do believe The Princess has made her first friend.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Resurrected
It wasn't easy.
In fact, it was a rather large pain in the you-know-what.
But my momma was able to resurrect my computer long enough to at least recover every single, solitary picture it had been holding hostage. Every. Last. One.
My inner monologue at this point goes something like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."
And that's not all. It seems the computer may be salvageable as well.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief here, folks. I hadn't even noticed I'd been holding my breath.
In fact, it was a rather large pain in the you-know-what.
But my momma was able to resurrect my computer long enough to at least recover every single, solitary picture it had been holding hostage. Every. Last. One.
My inner monologue at this point goes something like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou."
And that's not all. It seems the computer may be salvageable as well.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief here, folks. I hadn't even noticed I'd been holding my breath.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Christmas List Revisited
Thanks to some very supportive friends and family members (thank you, T and J), I've overcome my writer's block and have been able to construct a list of things I'm sure The Princess would love to get for Christmas.
First off, my girl is constantly sticking things in her mouth. We've wanted to try chew tubes and Chewelry for a long time now, but we just don't have the disposable income we used to. So, unconventional as it may seem, these items are on her list.
Next up: screw the age ranges on toy packaging. There are some things she's had since infancy that she prefers above all else, and they're getting kind of ratty. Some have even been worn out. After taking inventory of her favorite things, replacements for the oldest, rattiest, and worn-out-iest make up a good portion of her list.
Then there's her unflappable affinity for Pillow Pets. She just loves them, and there are now mini varieties on the market, so I no longer have to worry about Arlington being dethroned.
Lastly, I searched around for products geared toward occupational therapy, people on the spectrum, and some from our favorite brands to date.
And if she still doesn't care about opening presents this year, who the hell cares? At least I can say with confidence that she'll be happy with what she gets.
And I'll bet you a dollar none of it will end up collecting dust in the basement.
First off, my girl is constantly sticking things in her mouth. We've wanted to try chew tubes and Chewelry for a long time now, but we just don't have the disposable income we used to. So, unconventional as it may seem, these items are on her list.
Next up: screw the age ranges on toy packaging. There are some things she's had since infancy that she prefers above all else, and they're getting kind of ratty. Some have even been worn out. After taking inventory of her favorite things, replacements for the oldest, rattiest, and worn-out-iest make up a good portion of her list.
Then there's her unflappable affinity for Pillow Pets. She just loves them, and there are now mini varieties on the market, so I no longer have to worry about Arlington being dethroned.
Lastly, I searched around for products geared toward occupational therapy, people on the spectrum, and some from our favorite brands to date.
And if she still doesn't care about opening presents this year, who the hell cares? At least I can say with confidence that she'll be happy with what she gets.
And I'll bet you a dollar none of it will end up collecting dust in the basement.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Progress
The Princess is four and a half years old.
Every day since she was born, The Hubbs and I have continued pulling diaper duty. Sure, she's been wearing Pull-Ups since we started potty training three years ago (please don't ask how that's going right now), but they're diapers just the same.
Just a rough estimate: 1642 days of changing diapers so far.
And just when I thought changing time could no longer surprise me, for the first time ever, she lifted her butt to help me get her new diaper on.
It was earlier this year, and somehow it managed to go unmentioned.
She has done it every day since.
Progress in my world may not be the same as it is in yours. Here, it's the little things, the ones that so many people take for granted, which bring the most pride and joy.
Every day since she was born, The Hubbs and I have continued pulling diaper duty. Sure, she's been wearing Pull-Ups since we started potty training three years ago (please don't ask how that's going right now), but they're diapers just the same.
Just a rough estimate: 1642 days of changing diapers so far.
And just when I thought changing time could no longer surprise me, for the first time ever, she lifted her butt to help me get her new diaper on.
It was earlier this year, and somehow it managed to go unmentioned.
She has done it every day since.
Progress in my world may not be the same as it is in yours. Here, it's the little things, the ones that so many people take for granted, which bring the most pride and joy.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
My Wish List
I've been thinking about this whole wish list conundrum, and in the process I've come up with my own:
I wish I could communicate better with my girl.
I wish I knew whether or not anything I say is getting through to her.
I wish I could protect her from the world forever.
I wish I knew what the future held for her, but at the same time, I'm kind of glad I don't.
I wish I could freeze her at this age.
I wish I could be home with her.
I wish a lot of things were different.
I wish nothing would ever change.
I wish I could communicate better with my girl.
I wish I knew whether or not anything I say is getting through to her.
I wish I could protect her from the world forever.
I wish I knew what the future held for her, but at the same time, I'm kind of glad I don't.
I wish I could freeze her at this age.
I wish I could be home with her.
I wish a lot of things were different.
I wish nothing would ever change.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Twinkle, Twinkle
I'm walking through the grocery store, pushing The Princess down the aisles in our cart as The Hubbs and I stock up on necessities. The Princess is uncharacteristically happy, swinging her feet and singing despite the crowd and noise.
Wait, what's this?
I listen more carefully to her wordless song, and - sure enough - I know the melody well.
She's singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
And she hasn't missed a single note.
Wait, what's this?
I listen more carefully to her wordless song, and - sure enough - I know the melody well.
She's singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
And she hasn't missed a single note.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Punch to the Gut
There we are, going along on our little paths, when - totally out of the blue - BAM. Something breaks through like a punch to the gut.
I couldn't be happier in anyone else's shoes. I am well aware of the fact that sayings become cliches largely due to the grain of truth that's embedded in each one. I know that things are not always as they seem, and I know that the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the fence.
I couldn't be prouder of my little girl and the progress she has made in the past three years. Does she speak? No. Does she communicate? Hell yes, in her own way. She makes eye contact. She smiles and engages people.
She draws us all in and shows us beyond the shadow of a doubt that autism doesn't mean totally introverted. It doesn't mean permanently downcast eyes. It doesn't mean complete inability to interact in social situations.
Not to my girl, it doesn't.
But what it does mean is that she has to work that much harder, now, and likely for the rest of her life, to accomplish her goals, whatever they may be.
Normal is not a word you'll hear uttered in our little yellow house every day. "Normal" is as elusive to us as "existential" is to some people. We know what works for us, and we're happy with our unique little corner of the world.
Any of you who have children are probably going through the same thing we are at the moment: family requests for Christmas wish lists. I can remember being The Princess's age, sitting in Grandma Dorothy's spinny dining room chair on top of a stack of phone books, circling the things I wanted out of the Sears catalog with a red marker, dog-earing the pages and adding exclamation points next to the things I really wanted.
Nowadays, it's a bit different. Our girl pays absolutely no attention to the television or any other kind of marketing ploys from the big toy companies. She's at her happiest when playing with a string of yarn with a bead tied on the end of it. We have hundreds of toys in the basement that she has received for past birthdays and Christmases, none of which she's ready for yet.
Damn those age ranges on the toy packages.
How do I explain to everyone who loves my girl that I can't think of a single thing she would give a hoot about? That she's happiest with the toys she's had since she was born? That she - and it breaks my heart just a little to say this - probably wouldn't know the difference either way?
The optimist in me is sure that The Hubbs and I will be able to come up with something, and that it will be brilliant.
Right now, though? Not so much.
I couldn't be happier in anyone else's shoes. I am well aware of the fact that sayings become cliches largely due to the grain of truth that's embedded in each one. I know that things are not always as they seem, and I know that the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the fence.
I couldn't be prouder of my little girl and the progress she has made in the past three years. Does she speak? No. Does she communicate? Hell yes, in her own way. She makes eye contact. She smiles and engages people.
She draws us all in and shows us beyond the shadow of a doubt that autism doesn't mean totally introverted. It doesn't mean permanently downcast eyes. It doesn't mean complete inability to interact in social situations.
Not to my girl, it doesn't.
But what it does mean is that she has to work that much harder, now, and likely for the rest of her life, to accomplish her goals, whatever they may be.
Normal is not a word you'll hear uttered in our little yellow house every day. "Normal" is as elusive to us as "existential" is to some people. We know what works for us, and we're happy with our unique little corner of the world.
Any of you who have children are probably going through the same thing we are at the moment: family requests for Christmas wish lists. I can remember being The Princess's age, sitting in Grandma Dorothy's spinny dining room chair on top of a stack of phone books, circling the things I wanted out of the Sears catalog with a red marker, dog-earing the pages and adding exclamation points next to the things I really wanted.
Nowadays, it's a bit different. Our girl pays absolutely no attention to the television or any other kind of marketing ploys from the big toy companies. She's at her happiest when playing with a string of yarn with a bead tied on the end of it. We have hundreds of toys in the basement that she has received for past birthdays and Christmases, none of which she's ready for yet.
Damn those age ranges on the toy packages.
How do I explain to everyone who loves my girl that I can't think of a single thing she would give a hoot about? That she's happiest with the toys she's had since she was born? That she - and it breaks my heart just a little to say this - probably wouldn't know the difference either way?
The optimist in me is sure that The Hubbs and I will be able to come up with something, and that it will be brilliant.
Right now, though? Not so much.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Halloween: An Evening In Pictures
As always, we had a great time trick-or-treating in the little old neighborhood where I grew up. After the candy run, Umpa got home from work and we all went outside to play in the yard for a while before heading over to Miss Anita's house for the annual shindig.
Nana, I have to tell you, The Princess's costume was a huge hit. Everyone loved it, and they were all amazed when I told them you had made it yourself. Thanks again for all the work you put into this one-of-a-kind, beautiful dress.
Let the candy coma begin!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Perfect
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Oh, crap, I did it again! Not running late, but now I've got to hurry.
Squeeze the blue gel onto the toothbrush while the shower's warming up.
Brush teeth.
Step in.
Warp-speed washing, shampooing, conditioning.
Faucet off, towel dry, run for bedroom...all in one single motion.
Time to stare blankly at the closet.
And then I hear it. The angelic singing coming from the other side of the wall. She's lazily getting up and letting us know about it in her own way.
While I'm still struggling to find any two pieces of clothing that match in my entire wardrobe, The Hubbs pays a visit to our little girl, bringing with him a new Pull-Up and a grin.
I can't help but smile while I pull what appears to be a pink blouse over my head. I can't really be sure, because I'm still in a bit of a fog. These early autumn mornings are tough. Until I can get used to the fact that it will be dark out every morning when I get out of bed, there's, well...let's just call it a period of adjustment. And it ain't pretty.
Sitting on the edge of the bed to put on my socks, I turn and smile. The Princess has catapulted herself onto the bed with me and is kneeling behind me, hugging my neck with a smirk plastered on her beautiful little face. Her hair is enormous, bangs sticking out in every direction while the rest of it does its very best to mimic a lion's mane.
I turn her around and take her in my lap. She giggles and holds on tight. I kiss her cheek. She puts her mouth against my cheek, just for a tiny, fleeting second.
My heart swells. I can't remember a more perfect morning.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Oh, crap, I did it again! Not running late, but now I've got to hurry.
Squeeze the blue gel onto the toothbrush while the shower's warming up.
Brush teeth.
Step in.
Warp-speed washing, shampooing, conditioning.
Faucet off, towel dry, run for bedroom...all in one single motion.
Time to stare blankly at the closet.
And then I hear it. The angelic singing coming from the other side of the wall. She's lazily getting up and letting us know about it in her own way.
While I'm still struggling to find any two pieces of clothing that match in my entire wardrobe, The Hubbs pays a visit to our little girl, bringing with him a new Pull-Up and a grin.
I can't help but smile while I pull what appears to be a pink blouse over my head. I can't really be sure, because I'm still in a bit of a fog. These early autumn mornings are tough. Until I can get used to the fact that it will be dark out every morning when I get out of bed, there's, well...let's just call it a period of adjustment. And it ain't pretty.
Sitting on the edge of the bed to put on my socks, I turn and smile. The Princess has catapulted herself onto the bed with me and is kneeling behind me, hugging my neck with a smirk plastered on her beautiful little face. Her hair is enormous, bangs sticking out in every direction while the rest of it does its very best to mimic a lion's mane.
I turn her around and take her in my lap. She giggles and holds on tight. I kiss her cheek. She puts her mouth against my cheek, just for a tiny, fleeting second.
My heart swells. I can't remember a more perfect morning.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Listen, You...
Let me preface this post by reiterating, for those of you who don't know me "in real life," that I really am a positive person. Annoyingly so sometimes. Just ask anyone who's known me for seventeen seconds.
That said, I've decided to let y'all know what frosts my cookies.
***
Listen, you...the guy who pulled a total 180 on my gal: Suck it up, pal. It is what it is. I have a feeling you're going to wake up one day soon and do an epic mental head-slap when you realize your stupidity.
Listen, you...the one who takes no responsibility for your actions or their consequences: Grow up.
Listen, you...the ones who give me the look when The Princess goes into sensory overload: Education and understanding are wonderful things. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the looks and comments you make sometimes do loads more damage than any physical beating I could possibly imagine.
Listen, you...the computer that decided to keel over while still in possession of my precious pictures from the past two years: You're goin' down. One way or another, those pictures will be recovered.
Listen, you...the ones who still use the "R" word: Racial slurs don't seem to be a part of your everyday vocabulary; nor do slights based upon religion, sexual orientation, or any of the other biggies. Perhaps we could find a new way to describe things, eh?
Listen, you...the one I'm paying to teach me Spanish: Shape up, Buster. I'm doing okay as a result of sheer will and the refusal to leave the classroom before our scheduled meeting times end unless I feel 100% confident in what I'm doing. Many others aren't this dedicated, and I happen to know you're going to find yourself in a tough spot in the future as a result of the way this particular class has gone. You're a nice guy, but you don't need your students to tell you that each week. Stick to the syllabus and teach the material that is in the book. You're doing us all a disservice - your students and yourself - if you continue on with the current shenanigans of this class.
Listen, you...the one who is convinced that the world is out to get you: It's not. Contrary to popular belief, you are in charge of what happens to you. The fallout from each of your disasters is worse than the one before. Think about this. Take a deep breath and try to look at your situation objectively. What can you do to make your life better? Do it.
***
Okay, steppin' off my soap box now. Have a nice day, y'all.
That said, I've decided to let y'all know what frosts my cookies.
***
Listen, you...the guy who pulled a total 180 on my gal: Suck it up, pal. It is what it is. I have a feeling you're going to wake up one day soon and do an epic mental head-slap when you realize your stupidity.
Listen, you...the one who takes no responsibility for your actions or their consequences: Grow up.
Listen, you...the ones who give me the look when The Princess goes into sensory overload: Education and understanding are wonderful things. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the looks and comments you make sometimes do loads more damage than any physical beating I could possibly imagine.
Listen, you...the computer that decided to keel over while still in possession of my precious pictures from the past two years: You're goin' down. One way or another, those pictures will be recovered.
Listen, you...the ones who still use the "R" word: Racial slurs don't seem to be a part of your everyday vocabulary; nor do slights based upon religion, sexual orientation, or any of the other biggies. Perhaps we could find a new way to describe things, eh?
Listen, you...the one I'm paying to teach me Spanish: Shape up, Buster. I'm doing okay as a result of sheer will and the refusal to leave the classroom before our scheduled meeting times end unless I feel 100% confident in what I'm doing. Many others aren't this dedicated, and I happen to know you're going to find yourself in a tough spot in the future as a result of the way this particular class has gone. You're a nice guy, but you don't need your students to tell you that each week. Stick to the syllabus and teach the material that is in the book. You're doing us all a disservice - your students and yourself - if you continue on with the current shenanigans of this class.
Listen, you...the one who is convinced that the world is out to get you: It's not. Contrary to popular belief, you are in charge of what happens to you. The fallout from each of your disasters is worse than the one before. Think about this. Take a deep breath and try to look at your situation objectively. What can you do to make your life better? Do it.
***
Okay, steppin' off my soap box now. Have a nice day, y'all.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Mourning the Loss
Well, it's been a good four or five years since the purchase of my HP desktop computer. We've had some good times, and we've had some spats.
But now it's time to say goodbye.
The stubborn thing won't even power up anymore. Methinks the hard drive is fried. How? Not a clue. The Hubbs updated iTunes to the newest version last week, and all of a sudden the PC is dead.
Sigh.
At this point, I'm just crossing my fingers that there's a way to get the last two years' pictures off that hard drive before it kicks the bucket for good. I know I should have moved them to my external hard drive, but guess what? I procrastinated. Yeah. That worked out well.
I feel slightly nauseous when I think about exactly which pictures were on that PC instead of the handy-dandy external hard drive. The Princess swimming, laughing, playing, looking at the camera. Probably every single picture since I lost my last job. That means I have no remaining photographic evidence of those 9 heavenly months spent at home with The Hubbs and The Princess before starting this new gig. Last Halloween? Gone. Birthdays? Gone. Last Christmas? Gone. Two entire years of photos? G-O-N-E, gone.
Please, oh, please, let them be recoverable.
Because, honestly, the computer has no sentimental value. The pictures, however, are a different story. I'll be mourning the loss of those for quite some time.
But now it's time to say goodbye.
The stubborn thing won't even power up anymore. Methinks the hard drive is fried. How? Not a clue. The Hubbs updated iTunes to the newest version last week, and all of a sudden the PC is dead.
Sigh.
At this point, I'm just crossing my fingers that there's a way to get the last two years' pictures off that hard drive before it kicks the bucket for good. I know I should have moved them to my external hard drive, but guess what? I procrastinated. Yeah. That worked out well.
I feel slightly nauseous when I think about exactly which pictures were on that PC instead of the handy-dandy external hard drive. The Princess swimming, laughing, playing, looking at the camera. Probably every single picture since I lost my last job. That means I have no remaining photographic evidence of those 9 heavenly months spent at home with The Hubbs and The Princess before starting this new gig. Last Halloween? Gone. Birthdays? Gone. Last Christmas? Gone. Two entire years of photos? G-O-N-E, gone.
Please, oh, please, let them be recoverable.
Because, honestly, the computer has no sentimental value. The pictures, however, are a different story. I'll be mourning the loss of those for quite some time.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Fall
In my pre-dawn haze this morning, I've vaguely registered the fact that it's chilly outside. And raining. Huh. Fall is here, and I'm not quite sure when that happened. Just last week, it was in the 70's. I'm certainly not complaining; this is my favorite season in our little corner of the Midwest.
Today, The Princess and her class are supposed to venture out to the pumpkin patch. Here's hopin' the weather cooperates! I can't wait to see what kind of treasure she brings home with her. :)
Today, The Princess and her class are supposed to venture out to the pumpkin patch. Here's hopin' the weather cooperates! I can't wait to see what kind of treasure she brings home with her. :)
Saturday, October 15, 2011
On This Day
On this day, six years ago, I awoke alone in my house. Well, alone except for my puppy and the butterflies in my stomach.
I got up, let the puppy out, showered, dressed, and shoved a bit of food in my face. I didn't taste it; my mind was on other things, which somehow managed to take over all perception.
Getting into my fire-engine-red 1999 Ford Escort ZX2, I popped the button to raise the garage door and headed into the next town to pick T up at her hotel.
Hair and nails done, I dropped her back at the hotel and drove home alone with my veil flapping in the wind.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion; it was the longest day in history. Until T and D started down the aisle in front of me and Pop, and I finally caught a glimpse of my sweetheart.
It was all I could do not to run full-tilt down that aisle and jump into his arms. The rest of the day was a blur. A happy, wonderful, fabulous blur. It was as if time sped up the second I saw him that day.
Vows, pictures, drinks, pictures, reception, pictures, learning how to pee in a wedding gown, pictures, nibbling on a salad, pictures, two-second visits with every member of the family, pictures, dancing to the theme from The Breakfast Club with the wedding party, pictures. Dancing with - and singing to - my sweetheart. Pictures. Dancing with my daddy. My sweetheart and his momma. Pictures, pictures, pictures. Going home with my sweetheart and our best friends to change after the reception before heading out to play pool. Realizing the extent to which my tiara was wound into my hair. Not caring. Throwing my red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt on anyway and heading to the neighborhood bar, tiara and all. Celebrating with my sweetheart and my friends.
Funny how time flies. I could swear we just got home from our honeymoon, but here we are with two fur kids (ages 6 and 5), The Princess (age 4), and a pretty established life together.
I have to tell you, though, that the butterflies never left. Ever since I met this boy, they've continued flittering about. I guess it's a package deal.
Six years to the day since our wedding, and it still feels shiny and new.
Swatta, you are my best friend. I love you so.
I got up, let the puppy out, showered, dressed, and shoved a bit of food in my face. I didn't taste it; my mind was on other things, which somehow managed to take over all perception.
Getting into my fire-engine-red 1999 Ford Escort ZX2, I popped the button to raise the garage door and headed into the next town to pick T up at her hotel.
Hair and nails done, I dropped her back at the hotel and drove home alone with my veil flapping in the wind.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion; it was the longest day in history. Until T and D started down the aisle in front of me and Pop, and I finally caught a glimpse of my sweetheart.
It was all I could do not to run full-tilt down that aisle and jump into his arms. The rest of the day was a blur. A happy, wonderful, fabulous blur. It was as if time sped up the second I saw him that day.
Vows, pictures, drinks, pictures, reception, pictures, learning how to pee in a wedding gown, pictures, nibbling on a salad, pictures, two-second visits with every member of the family, pictures, dancing to the theme from The Breakfast Club with the wedding party, pictures. Dancing with - and singing to - my sweetheart. Pictures. Dancing with my daddy. My sweetheart and his momma. Pictures, pictures, pictures. Going home with my sweetheart and our best friends to change after the reception before heading out to play pool. Realizing the extent to which my tiara was wound into my hair. Not caring. Throwing my red University of Wisconsin sweatshirt on anyway and heading to the neighborhood bar, tiara and all. Celebrating with my sweetheart and my friends.
Funny how time flies. I could swear we just got home from our honeymoon, but here we are with two fur kids (ages 6 and 5), The Princess (age 4), and a pretty established life together.
I have to tell you, though, that the butterflies never left. Ever since I met this boy, they've continued flittering about. I guess it's a package deal.
Six years to the day since our wedding, and it still feels shiny and new.
Swatta, you are my best friend. I love you so.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Two Weeks
Well, two weeks and a couple of days, really...
No notes home from school.
No digestive problems.
No indication that anything is wrong.
The Princess is back, folks. Thank goodness!
No notes home from school.
No digestive problems.
No indication that anything is wrong.
The Princess is back, folks. Thank goodness!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Getting Things Done
Some of us out here are still struggling to keep our heads above water, wondering how people like Jess do it. Visit her blog and read the last two posts if you have the time. You'll see what I mean.
This woman is eloquent, powerful, and real. Somehow she manages to say what I'm feeling without the whiny note that creeps into my voice every time I try to talk about it.
Her girl, Brooke, is on the spectrum, too.
Her girl, Katie, is wise beyond her years.
If I only have time to read one blog, it's always this one. Hands down.
So what are you waiting for? Jump on the ol' bandwagon and head on over to Diary of a Mom.
This woman is eloquent, powerful, and real. Somehow she manages to say what I'm feeling without the whiny note that creeps into my voice every time I try to talk about it.
Her girl, Brooke, is on the spectrum, too.
Her girl, Katie, is wise beyond her years.
If I only have time to read one blog, it's always this one. Hands down.
So what are you waiting for? Jump on the ol' bandwagon and head on over to Diary of a Mom.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Thank You, Mr. Jobs
Hmm...sounds a lot like a very special group of kids I've come to know and love over the last few years. I suppose only time will tell, but I couldn't have said this any better myself.
Thank you, Mr. Jobs, for all you did for us. You will not be forgotten.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Two More Months
This past weekend, I finished my abnormal psych telecourse from the summer semester. Now I'm just down to my online math course (with various gobbledygook due on Wednesday and Saturday of each week) and The Dreaded Spanish Class.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, I head to school to sit through another "class," which is really a time for our professor to tell us what a cool teacher he is while getting so frustrated with the students that he - more often than not - sends us all home at least 30 minutes early, usually in the middle of a lecture that none of us are grasping. Mm-hmm. That helps a lot.
I feel like I'm at the end of my rope with this class. I knew it would be different being taught by a native Spanish-speaker (my professor last semester is from this area and Spanish is her second language), but nothing could have prepared me for this.
I'm feeling overwhelmed with the amount of self-teaching we're required to do in this class, given that the instructor doesn't take the time to make sure we understand these things.
I'm feeling a lot of regret for ever having decided to take this class in the first place.
I'm feeling cheated. Every single time he throws his hands up in the air and treats us like misbehaving elementary school students.
For crying out loud, I paid over $300 for this class. The least he can do is remain in the classroom until our scheduled meeting times are over.
And lastly, I'm feeling repulsed. Repulsed by the fact that this guy gets paid whether we learn or not, and that seems to be all that matters to him.
Two more months. That's it, and then I'm done. Two more months.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, I head to school to sit through another "class," which is really a time for our professor to tell us what a cool teacher he is while getting so frustrated with the students that he - more often than not - sends us all home at least 30 minutes early, usually in the middle of a lecture that none of us are grasping. Mm-hmm. That helps a lot.
I feel like I'm at the end of my rope with this class. I knew it would be different being taught by a native Spanish-speaker (my professor last semester is from this area and Spanish is her second language), but nothing could have prepared me for this.
I'm feeling overwhelmed with the amount of self-teaching we're required to do in this class, given that the instructor doesn't take the time to make sure we understand these things.
I'm feeling a lot of regret for ever having decided to take this class in the first place.
I'm feeling cheated. Every single time he throws his hands up in the air and treats us like misbehaving elementary school students.
For crying out loud, I paid over $300 for this class. The least he can do is remain in the classroom until our scheduled meeting times are over.
And lastly, I'm feeling repulsed. Repulsed by the fact that this guy gets paid whether we learn or not, and that seems to be all that matters to him.
Two more months. That's it, and then I'm done. Two more months.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Short Prayer
Today is one of those paradoxical days in the life of a family: school picture day.
The Princess, I'm sure, can't stand having to sit still until they get a useable shot. Thank goodness for instantaneous digital displays; otherwise, I'd dread this day, too.
I can't wait to see what the final shot looks like. She is going to school today in an adorable one-of-a-kind outfit made especially for her by her Gumma.
That being said, I'm sending up this short prayer:
Thank you, Lord, for The Princess: everything she is and everything she isn't, everything she does and everything she doesn't. Thank you for her teachers, aides and therapists. Bless them, keep them, make your light shine down upon them...for they are the poor souls who will need to entertain her and keep her from melting down today. Oh, and if you could keep The Princess from getting any grass stains or rips in her white tights until after pictures today, that'd be great.
Amen.
The Princess, I'm sure, can't stand having to sit still until they get a useable shot. Thank goodness for instantaneous digital displays; otherwise, I'd dread this day, too.
I can't wait to see what the final shot looks like. She is going to school today in an adorable one-of-a-kind outfit made especially for her by her Gumma.
That being said, I'm sending up this short prayer:
Thank you, Lord, for The Princess: everything she is and everything she isn't, everything she does and everything she doesn't. Thank you for her teachers, aides and therapists. Bless them, keep them, make your light shine down upon them...for they are the poor souls who will need to entertain her and keep her from melting down today. Oh, and if you could keep The Princess from getting any grass stains or rips in her white tights until after pictures today, that'd be great.
Amen.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Half An Hour
Half an hour, at the very least, is how long I spent on the phone to The Fabulous Mrs. G. on Friday afternoon.
Half an hour of two-sided conversation.
Half an hour of listening to one another.
Half an hour of working together to figure out what's going on with my girl.
Half an hour of the biggest reassurances a momma could get when she's feeling so very helpless.
Half an hour of reaffirmation that we are doing right by The Princess.
Half an hour of everything I so sorely needed.
Half an hour after I left for work this morning, The Princess ran - grinning - to meet her bus at the end of our driveway.
Half an hour of two-sided conversation.
Half an hour of listening to one another.
Half an hour of working together to figure out what's going on with my girl.
Half an hour of the biggest reassurances a momma could get when she's feeling so very helpless.
Half an hour of reaffirmation that we are doing right by The Princess.
Half an hour of everything I so sorely needed.
Half an hour after I left for work this morning, The Princess ran - grinning - to meet her bus at the end of our driveway.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Together
Once I got over my meltdown, I was able to see a little more clearly. It sure helped to have T there to listen to me rant, though. (Girlie, I have no idea what I would do without you.)
So I spent the better part of the late afternoon/early evening yesterday drafting the following message. I didn't want to sound like I was accusing anyone of anything, because that was certainly not the point. I did want to call attention to the fact that The Hubbs and I are concerned about The Princess.
Hi Mrs. G.,
I'm concerned about The Princess. The diarrhea issue you've been describing is by far at its most prominent when she is at school, and it's often only through your notes that I even know it's happening. Most days, we don't see any indication of this at home, even if it happened all morning at school.
**Of course, while I was at work today, The Hubbs called to let me know that she had an explosive BM early this afternoon. We didn't experience anything like this at all during her week at home, so this is new to us!
Because of this, I'm convinced that the cause is not 100% PICA (as suggested by you and Nurse S.) or stomach bug (as suggested by her pediatrician)...I think it might be a combination of the two along with anxiety or nerves about something unfamiliar or unpleasant to her.
I'd love to talk about this with you when we both have the time, but I don't want to blind-side you with a phone call out of the blue. :)
Here's a short list of questions I have about what's been happening at school:
What time of day are these BMs happening - before lunch? After lunch?
How often?
Are there any new people in the classroom?
Are there any new objects or activities?
Does she seem more agitated than normal?
Does she seem more tired than normal?
At home, she's seemed completely normal - no fever, good temperament, all that jazz. She has not been eating anything outside, and we've been keeping a very close eye on her since this issue started a couple of weeks ago, so I don't think it's anything she's eating.
Her pediatrician told us that there's a tummy bug going around that involves diarrhea, which can last from 2-14 days. She also said that it's something that has to run its course, and that kids and adults who've already had it can catch it again.
Thanks for listening...I just want to make sure I'm doing everything I can do for my little girl. Please let me know when you've got some time so we can talk about this.
Thanks!
One Mom
***
And, as I should have known, I received a wonderfully receptive message back within an hour or two...long after The Fabulous Mrs. G.'s work day had ended. She and I will be talking in the next day or so to see if we can figure this out together.
So I spent the better part of the late afternoon/early evening yesterday drafting the following message. I didn't want to sound like I was accusing anyone of anything, because that was certainly not the point. I did want to call attention to the fact that The Hubbs and I are concerned about The Princess.
***
I'm concerned about The Princess. The diarrhea issue you've been describing is by far at its most prominent when she is at school, and it's often only through your notes that I even know it's happening. Most days, we don't see any indication of this at home, even if it happened all morning at school.
**Of course, while I was at work today, The Hubbs called to let me know that she had an explosive BM early this afternoon. We didn't experience anything like this at all during her week at home, so this is new to us!
Because of this, I'm convinced that the cause is not 100% PICA (as suggested by you and Nurse S.) or stomach bug (as suggested by her pediatrician)...I think it might be a combination of the two along with anxiety or nerves about something unfamiliar or unpleasant to her.
I'd love to talk about this with you when we both have the time, but I don't want to blind-side you with a phone call out of the blue. :)
Here's a short list of questions I have about what's been happening at school:
What time of day are these BMs happening - before lunch? After lunch?
How often?
Are there any new people in the classroom?
Are there any new objects or activities?
Does she seem more agitated than normal?
Does she seem more tired than normal?
At home, she's seemed completely normal - no fever, good temperament, all that jazz. She has not been eating anything outside, and we've been keeping a very close eye on her since this issue started a couple of weeks ago, so I don't think it's anything she's eating.
Her pediatrician told us that there's a tummy bug going around that involves diarrhea, which can last from 2-14 days. She also said that it's something that has to run its course, and that kids and adults who've already had it can catch it again.
Thanks for listening...I just want to make sure I'm doing everything I can do for my little girl. Please let me know when you've got some time so we can talk about this.
Thanks!
One Mom
***
And, as I should have known, I received a wonderfully receptive message back within an hour or two...long after The Fabulous Mrs. G.'s work day had ended. She and I will be talking in the next day or so to see if we can figure this out together.
Together: such a beautiful word, don't you think?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Meltdown
One solid week home from school, and her little tummy seems to have evened out. The pediatrician gave me a note stating that it was okay for her to return to school, that this tummy bug that's going around seems to be done with my girl's system.
The whole house breathes a collective sigh of relief as we prepare The Princess for her triumphant return to school.
Until we receive another note home - after her very first day back - complaining that she has had the same issue that kept her home in the first place, that is. The issue that, for some reason, happens at school and not at home. The issue that I, her momma, have been saying since the beginning must be caused by anxiety or nerves of some kind. The issue that her doctor attributes to a stomach bug. The issue that her school nurse wants to attribute to her PICA. The issue that comes back when she is at school and mysteriously disappears when she's not there, proving that it can't possibly be 100% attributed to either of these things.
The issue that has been discussed so many times in the past two weeks - without ever really discussing anything at all - that I want to pound my head against the wall. We can all spout our theories until we're blue in the face, but unless each of the involved parties is willing to shut up and listen, even just for a second, not a single effing thing will change. Why am I the only one who can see this?
My sweet little Princess is home from school again today, and will remain so indefinitely. Until and unless someone agrees to get off their high horse and listen - for Pete's sake, listen - to me and to each other, I just can't send her back there.
And why the hell do I have to take every note home as some sort of critical attack on The Hubbs and me as parents? I know I'm stressed with school right now, but I swear if I wasn't thirty freakin' years old, I'd be convinced I was going through menopause. I can see that I need a major attitude adjustment here, but there's nothing I can seem to do about it at the moment.
With every fiber of my being, I wish I wasn't in school right now. I wish I wasn't working 40+ hours a week. I wish with all my might I was home with her, because even though I know things wouldn't be any different, at least I'd feel like I was doing all I could. Helpless, hopeless, angry, exhausted, embarrassed: these are just a few of the things I'm feeling at the moment. Logic flew out the window a few miles back...it no longer has a place here. I wish I could change the way I feel, but I'll be damned if I can figure out where to start.
Who says meltdowns are reserved only for the person in the house who has autism?
The whole house breathes a collective sigh of relief as we prepare The Princess for her triumphant return to school.
Until we receive another note home - after her very first day back - complaining that she has had the same issue that kept her home in the first place, that is. The issue that, for some reason, happens at school and not at home. The issue that I, her momma, have been saying since the beginning must be caused by anxiety or nerves of some kind. The issue that her doctor attributes to a stomach bug. The issue that her school nurse wants to attribute to her PICA. The issue that comes back when she is at school and mysteriously disappears when she's not there, proving that it can't possibly be 100% attributed to either of these things.
The issue that has been discussed so many times in the past two weeks - without ever really discussing anything at all - that I want to pound my head against the wall. We can all spout our theories until we're blue in the face, but unless each of the involved parties is willing to shut up and listen, even just for a second, not a single effing thing will change. Why am I the only one who can see this?
My sweet little Princess is home from school again today, and will remain so indefinitely. Until and unless someone agrees to get off their high horse and listen - for Pete's sake, listen - to me and to each other, I just can't send her back there.
And why the hell do I have to take every note home as some sort of critical attack on The Hubbs and me as parents? I know I'm stressed with school right now, but I swear if I wasn't thirty freakin' years old, I'd be convinced I was going through menopause. I can see that I need a major attitude adjustment here, but there's nothing I can seem to do about it at the moment.
With every fiber of my being, I wish I wasn't in school right now. I wish I wasn't working 40+ hours a week. I wish with all my might I was home with her, because even though I know things wouldn't be any different, at least I'd feel like I was doing all I could. Helpless, hopeless, angry, exhausted, embarrassed: these are just a few of the things I'm feeling at the moment. Logic flew out the window a few miles back...it no longer has a place here. I wish I could change the way I feel, but I'll be damned if I can figure out where to start.
Who says meltdowns are reserved only for the person in the house who has autism?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Growth Spurts, GI Issues, and an Impromptu Vacation from School
The Princess has been a hot mess at school recently: random tantrums and fits of crying, major GI issues, and general crankiness - all of which are well outside her normal repertoire - have all been causes of concern on the part of her school staff and us at home.
You may remember hearing about the poop situation. It got so bad at school that The Fabulous Mrs. G. made a concerned phone call and we discussed the oddity of the situation. She seemed to have non-stop diarrhea at school, but at home it was not very prominent at all.
Well.
She's been home from school since Monday of last week, and we're seeing it now. It's still not as...um, present...as it was for her at school, but it's there. Time for a visit to the pediatrician, methinks.
The crankiness and random fits of crying, I think I can explain. The Hubbs looked at The Princess this weekend and marveled at how tall she is. All of a sudden, every pair of pants she owns is once again too short. Lovely. Just as we're moving into fall, of course. Sigh.
So she's had a growth spurt again. I almost wonder if this isn't to blame for most of what's been going on that is out of character for her. Every growth spurt affects her differently, but they all affect her in some big way or another. There have been spurts during which she couldn't keep her eyes open, spurts during which she was in a constant manic state, spurts that made her cranky, and spurts that seemed to upset her little tummy.
Could it be that she's in the middle of the granddaddy of all spurts?
Maybe. But this poop thing has been going on long enough that we need to check it out. The pediatrician can tell us what he thinks...even if he agrees that all is well in our Princess-dom, at least we'll know. And, if not, at least we'll have a plan of action.
But, for now, The Princess shall remain on her impromptu vacation.
You may remember hearing about the poop situation. It got so bad at school that The Fabulous Mrs. G. made a concerned phone call and we discussed the oddity of the situation. She seemed to have non-stop diarrhea at school, but at home it was not very prominent at all.
Well.
She's been home from school since Monday of last week, and we're seeing it now. It's still not as...um, present...as it was for her at school, but it's there. Time for a visit to the pediatrician, methinks.
The crankiness and random fits of crying, I think I can explain. The Hubbs looked at The Princess this weekend and marveled at how tall she is. All of a sudden, every pair of pants she owns is once again too short. Lovely. Just as we're moving into fall, of course. Sigh.
So she's had a growth spurt again. I almost wonder if this isn't to blame for most of what's been going on that is out of character for her. Every growth spurt affects her differently, but they all affect her in some big way or another. There have been spurts during which she couldn't keep her eyes open, spurts during which she was in a constant manic state, spurts that made her cranky, and spurts that seemed to upset her little tummy.
Could it be that she's in the middle of the granddaddy of all spurts?
Maybe. But this poop thing has been going on long enough that we need to check it out. The pediatrician can tell us what he thinks...even if he agrees that all is well in our Princess-dom, at least we'll know. And, if not, at least we'll have a plan of action.
But, for now, The Princess shall remain on her impromptu vacation.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
A Little Help?
Note: This post is all about one of everyone's favorite subjects...poop. Not interested? Maybe you should skip this one. Just sayin'.
I know that GI issues are prominent among people on the autism spectrum. I've heard this a million times, and it's gone in one ear and out the other. Only in the last week or so has it begun to cross my mind that The Princess may be one of these people on the spectrum who is experiencing such difficulties.
Before you write me off as a bad mom, let me explain myself. She has had periodic tummy issues throughout her life, including constipation, diarrhea, what seems to be major gas pains...but not often enough that I ever thought to attribute it to anything before.
But lately she's been having an issue. The diarrhea is almost non-stop at school, but nearly nonexistent at home. On Monday, The Fabulous Mrs. G. called me to let me know that The Princess had been pooping her little brains out all day at school. This had been escalating for days.
At school, she has major diarrhea. She's not running a fever. She doesn't seem to have any other symptoms. At home, her poops are normal about 95% of the time. On the days when it is at its worst, her diet doesn't seem to be significantly different. I haven't gone so far as to evaluate the activities of each day yet.
Could it be some sort of nervous reaction, possibly brought on by anxiety over something? Do I need to be really concerned? Anyone else dealing with this, or dealt with it in the past who can help to steer me in the right direction?
I know that GI issues are prominent among people on the autism spectrum. I've heard this a million times, and it's gone in one ear and out the other. Only in the last week or so has it begun to cross my mind that The Princess may be one of these people on the spectrum who is experiencing such difficulties.
Before you write me off as a bad mom, let me explain myself. She has had periodic tummy issues throughout her life, including constipation, diarrhea, what seems to be major gas pains...but not often enough that I ever thought to attribute it to anything before.
But lately she's been having an issue. The diarrhea is almost non-stop at school, but nearly nonexistent at home. On Monday, The Fabulous Mrs. G. called me to let me know that The Princess had been pooping her little brains out all day at school. This had been escalating for days.
At school, she has major diarrhea. She's not running a fever. She doesn't seem to have any other symptoms. At home, her poops are normal about 95% of the time. On the days when it is at its worst, her diet doesn't seem to be significantly different. I haven't gone so far as to evaluate the activities of each day yet.
Could it be some sort of nervous reaction, possibly brought on by anxiety over something? Do I need to be really concerned? Anyone else dealing with this, or dealt with it in the past who can help to steer me in the right direction?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Scatterbrained
I had thought it was odd when The Princess's teacher left that pathetically uncomfortable message on my phone last week. For a fleeting moment, I even thought, "I wonder if she has the right kid."
In her notebook after school yesterday, we received an adorable note from Mrs. G., who apologized all over herself. The Princess was not the kid whose parents she had meant to call. It just so happened that our girl ran out of Pull-Ups that day as well, which explains the highlighted note from the day of the call.
It's nice to know I'm not the only one who gets scatterbrained from time to time.
In her notebook after school yesterday, we received an adorable note from Mrs. G., who apologized all over herself. The Princess was not the kid whose parents she had meant to call. It just so happened that our girl ran out of Pull-Ups that day as well, which explains the highlighted note from the day of the call.
It's nice to know I'm not the only one who gets scatterbrained from time to time.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Stronger
There are times in every gal's life that make her wish she was just a little bit stronger. Here are a few of mine:
I'm four years old. My big brother, who is infinitely cool in my eyes at the ripe old age of five (yes, we're only a year apart...built-in best friends for life), has just swung himself up into one of the gigantic maples in our back yard. I can barely reach the lowest branch, and I wish with all my might for my arms to be strong enough to hoist my little body up there so I can follow him.
I'm nine years old. Big Bro and I are riding our bikes, and he pulls off a massive wheelie. Try as I might, I just can't get the front wheel of my pink Schwinn Fairlady off the ground.
I'm thirteen years old. We're at the roller rink, and I'm racing the boys again. The girls aren't fast enough to present any kind of challenge anymore. In the last twenty feet or so of the race, Chad whips past me and cackles. I shouldn't have been so cocky.
I'm seventeen years old. I've been in a relationship with a boy who is no good for me since I was fifteen. We've been through hell and back already, and things are hard. I don't have the strength to leave. But I will one day.
I'm twenty-two years old. My best friend and I stand in her daddy's hospital room. She holds his hand, I hug her tight, and he takes his last breath.
Still twenty-two. It's two o'clock in the morning, and I wake with a start. Pop is sitting on the bathroom floor in the throes of a violent heart attack. A couple of intense hours later, I walk into the cardiac care unit and freeze. One of the nurses recognizes me and has him moved immediately from the room where my best friend's dad recently passed away. I don't know that nurse's name, but I will be eternally grateful to her. I spend every waking moment in that hospital with him for weeks, leaving reluctantly for work and returning immediately when my shifts are over.
I'm twenty-four years old. I've just returned home from our rehearsal dinner to get some rest for the big day tomorrow, and all of a sudden I am sobbing uncontrollably. I miss my maternal grandparents with a ferocity I never thought possible. They've never met my fiance, and they won't be sitting with my family at the wedding. Feeling foolish, I call my mom and she comes right over. We wrap one of Gran's holy medals into my bouquet and stay up late, telling stories, laughing, crying.
I'm twenty-eight years old. The Hubbs and I are sitting in an observation room in the Big Bad City. A team of doctors, therapists and social workers has been observing our sweet little Princess for the last hour. A nondescript pediatrician comes in with a war-and-peace stack of forms and tells us in an offhand manner that our daughter is mentally retarded. His words. Not mine. She has just been formally diagnosed with autism.
I'm thirty years old. I think I'm okay with everything, and I'm pretty happy with my lot in life. My girl is thriving compared to where she was last year. The Hubbs and I are fabulous. I love my job.
So why the hell does it hurt so much when I hear about the progress other "typical" kids are making? Don't get me wrong: I am happy for these kiddos and their parents, and I truly want to know these things. But there's a part of me that just wants to scream, "IT'S NOT FAIR" when I hear about kids who are younger than The Princess doing things that she can't do. That she may never be able to do.
I wish I was just a little bit stronger.
I'm four years old. My big brother, who is infinitely cool in my eyes at the ripe old age of five (yes, we're only a year apart...built-in best friends for life), has just swung himself up into one of the gigantic maples in our back yard. I can barely reach the lowest branch, and I wish with all my might for my arms to be strong enough to hoist my little body up there so I can follow him.
I'm nine years old. Big Bro and I are riding our bikes, and he pulls off a massive wheelie. Try as I might, I just can't get the front wheel of my pink Schwinn Fairlady off the ground.
I'm thirteen years old. We're at the roller rink, and I'm racing the boys again. The girls aren't fast enough to present any kind of challenge anymore. In the last twenty feet or so of the race, Chad whips past me and cackles. I shouldn't have been so cocky.
I'm seventeen years old. I've been in a relationship with a boy who is no good for me since I was fifteen. We've been through hell and back already, and things are hard. I don't have the strength to leave. But I will one day.
I'm twenty-two years old. My best friend and I stand in her daddy's hospital room. She holds his hand, I hug her tight, and he takes his last breath.
Still twenty-two. It's two o'clock in the morning, and I wake with a start. Pop is sitting on the bathroom floor in the throes of a violent heart attack. A couple of intense hours later, I walk into the cardiac care unit and freeze. One of the nurses recognizes me and has him moved immediately from the room where my best friend's dad recently passed away. I don't know that nurse's name, but I will be eternally grateful to her. I spend every waking moment in that hospital with him for weeks, leaving reluctantly for work and returning immediately when my shifts are over.
I'm twenty-four years old. I've just returned home from our rehearsal dinner to get some rest for the big day tomorrow, and all of a sudden I am sobbing uncontrollably. I miss my maternal grandparents with a ferocity I never thought possible. They've never met my fiance, and they won't be sitting with my family at the wedding. Feeling foolish, I call my mom and she comes right over. We wrap one of Gran's holy medals into my bouquet and stay up late, telling stories, laughing, crying.
I'm twenty-eight years old. The Hubbs and I are sitting in an observation room in the Big Bad City. A team of doctors, therapists and social workers has been observing our sweet little Princess for the last hour. A nondescript pediatrician comes in with a war-and-peace stack of forms and tells us in an offhand manner that our daughter is mentally retarded. His words. Not mine. She has just been formally diagnosed with autism.
I'm thirty years old. I think I'm okay with everything, and I'm pretty happy with my lot in life. My girl is thriving compared to where she was last year. The Hubbs and I are fabulous. I love my job.
So why the hell does it hurt so much when I hear about the progress other "typical" kids are making? Don't get me wrong: I am happy for these kiddos and their parents, and I truly want to know these things. But there's a part of me that just wants to scream, "IT'S NOT FAIR" when I hear about kids who are younger than The Princess doing things that she can't do. That she may never be able to do.
I wish I was just a little bit stronger.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Change in Perspective
Last night when I came home from school, I found myself writing a long note to The Princess's teacher and classroom staff.
You see, I had received a rather uncomfortable voicemail telling me that she was out of Pull-Ups at school, and that they had been borrowing them from the other kids for a few days now. Mrs. G., the poor thing, went so far as to ask in this message if we were having financial difficulty in purchasing training pants, offering to try to find help for us if necessary.
The thing is, well, no one ever actually told us that we needed more Pull-Ups until this voicemail. There we were, me and The Hubbs, toodling along thinking everything was hunky dory, when - BAM! It turns out there's been a silly miscommunication that turned into The Princess's teacher having to call and leave this message on my cell while I was at work.
So, between my psychology test and my Spanish class, I ran out and purchased Pull-Ups to send to school. After Spanish, I drove home and looked at The Princess's notebook (which had no previous notes about training pants...) and the papers in her folder. The daily report sheet had Pull-Ups circled and highlighted with a note in all caps saying "NONE LEFT." And it was underlined.
I had to giggle.
There I sat, cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, writing an apology for the Great Pull-Up Shortage of 2011. After the apology, I included a note stating that The Hubbs and I would be attending the potty training seminar that is being presented at The Princess's school next Friday. I have the day off, and I'm actually excited about it.
Funny how our perspective changes over time, ain't it?
You see, I had received a rather uncomfortable voicemail telling me that she was out of Pull-Ups at school, and that they had been borrowing them from the other kids for a few days now. Mrs. G., the poor thing, went so far as to ask in this message if we were having financial difficulty in purchasing training pants, offering to try to find help for us if necessary.
The thing is, well, no one ever actually told us that we needed more Pull-Ups until this voicemail. There we were, me and The Hubbs, toodling along thinking everything was hunky dory, when - BAM! It turns out there's been a silly miscommunication that turned into The Princess's teacher having to call and leave this message on my cell while I was at work.
So, between my psychology test and my Spanish class, I ran out and purchased Pull-Ups to send to school. After Spanish, I drove home and looked at The Princess's notebook (which had no previous notes about training pants...) and the papers in her folder. The daily report sheet had Pull-Ups circled and highlighted with a note in all caps saying "NONE LEFT." And it was underlined.
I had to giggle.
There I sat, cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, writing an apology for the Great Pull-Up Shortage of 2011. After the apology, I included a note stating that The Hubbs and I would be attending the potty training seminar that is being presented at The Princess's school next Friday. I have the day off, and I'm actually excited about it.
Funny how our perspective changes over time, ain't it?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Rambly Randomness
I'm feeling a bit scatterbrained these days, so here's a bit of rambly randomness to start your morning off right:
The Princess is in her fourth week of school. She's going until 2:00 now, which gives The Hubbs oodles of extra time during the day...every second of which is well-deserved.
I am in my third week of my final semester before graduating with my AS degree. I'm back to going 240 with my hair on fire, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. It used to be so easy to answer that question: a mom. But now I know that I need to expand upon that, and I'm really not sure how to do so.
Putting off telecourses until the very end is probably not such a good idea.
I really want some chicken pad thai. Yes, I know it's 5:00 in the morning. Try telling my stomach that.
Ooh, Gumma and I are going to see The Help this weekend. I read the book and loved it, so I'm very excited for the movie.
The Hubbs and I have all these great ideas for stuff we want to write, make, somehow get on the market, but it turns out it ain't so easy to get started. Where's that fairy godmother when ya need her, anyway?
Someone up there flipped a switch, and as of Labor Day weekend, it really feels like autumn around here. I love this weather, and I find myself wishing I was camping, like, on a daily basis. Perhaps it's time to do something about that.
But now, it's time to get my butt moving and off to work, so I guess any further musings will just have to wait. ;)
The Princess is in her fourth week of school. She's going until 2:00 now, which gives The Hubbs oodles of extra time during the day...every second of which is well-deserved.
I am in my third week of my final semester before graduating with my AS degree. I'm back to going 240 with my hair on fire, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. It used to be so easy to answer that question: a mom. But now I know that I need to expand upon that, and I'm really not sure how to do so.
Putting off telecourses until the very end is probably not such a good idea.
I really want some chicken pad thai. Yes, I know it's 5:00 in the morning. Try telling my stomach that.
Ooh, Gumma and I are going to see The Help this weekend. I read the book and loved it, so I'm very excited for the movie.
The Hubbs and I have all these great ideas for stuff we want to write, make, somehow get on the market, but it turns out it ain't so easy to get started. Where's that fairy godmother when ya need her, anyway?
Someone up there flipped a switch, and as of Labor Day weekend, it really feels like autumn around here. I love this weather, and I find myself wishing I was camping, like, on a daily basis. Perhaps it's time to do something about that.
But now, it's time to get my butt moving and off to work, so I guess any further musings will just have to wait. ;)
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Couldn't Be Higher
I knew I was asking for it by sharing so much good stuff with you about Red House. Murphy's Law ain't got nothin' on The Princess.
Ours is a world of highs and lows, and we don't do anything half-way around here. Unfortunately, this Labor Day weekend wasn't just long, it was looong, if you know what I mean.
On Friday, we ventured out for our second-ever trip to the movies with The Princess. Arriving at the drive-in directly behind The Grumps, it seemed like it might be smooth sailing. Heh. Not so much. It was too hot for The Princess to sit still, and she squirmed and cranked her way through the first movie. She even dozed off a time or two, but it was too darn hot in the car for her to stay comfortably asleep, and she woke up each time with her bangs plastered to her forehead and alligator tears running down her cheeks.
We left at intermission.
On Saturday, The Princess just wan't having any luck. All she wanted to do was go outside, and she just couldn't understand why we wouldn't let her. The rain was her enemy, and the alligator tears made yet another appearance. As a last-ditch effort to save the day, I called The Grumps to see what they were up to. Joy of joys...they were home with no particular plans. This might seem mundane to some, but to me it was something to do with my poor, sad little Princess. I loaded her in the car and we headed on over for a couple hours' distraction from the overall grumpiness of the day.
Sunday was T's party, which I was really looking forward to. T can cook, and she does so for an army. Her mom is in town, and it's been something like five years since I last saw her in Arizona. Have I mentioned the fact that The Princess is head-over-heels in love with Auntie T and Auntie C, and that she absolutely adores visiting their house?
It was like a godsend. Not only were we visiting her two favorite aunties; she was also allowed to play in their outside room. They have a second-floor balcony that she thinks is just the coolest thing ever. On top of that, there were apples, grapes, tomatoes, carrots, and tons of other food to chow on. Though we couldn't stay terribly long, I'm so glad we went.
Yesterday, well, yesterday was fabulous. The "No Reason Happies" made a show-stopping appearance, and she was snuggly and sweet. She happily went to a different grocery store from our normal one, and didn't even fuss when we put back her "store toys" that we can't afford. Easygoing and sweet, the untrained eye would never have recognized her as the poor, miserable kid we spent the beginning of our weekend with.
Sure, the lows may be low, but the highs couldn't be higher. Oh, and that saying, the one about "the little things?" So true.
Ours is a world of highs and lows, and we don't do anything half-way around here. Unfortunately, this Labor Day weekend wasn't just long, it was looong, if you know what I mean.
On Friday, we ventured out for our second-ever trip to the movies with The Princess. Arriving at the drive-in directly behind The Grumps, it seemed like it might be smooth sailing. Heh. Not so much. It was too hot for The Princess to sit still, and she squirmed and cranked her way through the first movie. She even dozed off a time or two, but it was too darn hot in the car for her to stay comfortably asleep, and she woke up each time with her bangs plastered to her forehead and alligator tears running down her cheeks.
We left at intermission.
On Saturday, The Princess just wan't having any luck. All she wanted to do was go outside, and she just couldn't understand why we wouldn't let her. The rain was her enemy, and the alligator tears made yet another appearance. As a last-ditch effort to save the day, I called The Grumps to see what they were up to. Joy of joys...they were home with no particular plans. This might seem mundane to some, but to me it was something to do with my poor, sad little Princess. I loaded her in the car and we headed on over for a couple hours' distraction from the overall grumpiness of the day.
Sunday was T's party, which I was really looking forward to. T can cook, and she does so for an army. Her mom is in town, and it's been something like five years since I last saw her in Arizona. Have I mentioned the fact that The Princess is head-over-heels in love with Auntie T and Auntie C, and that she absolutely adores visiting their house?
It was like a godsend. Not only were we visiting her two favorite aunties; she was also allowed to play in their outside room. They have a second-floor balcony that she thinks is just the coolest thing ever. On top of that, there were apples, grapes, tomatoes, carrots, and tons of other food to chow on. Though we couldn't stay terribly long, I'm so glad we went.
Yesterday, well, yesterday was fabulous. The "No Reason Happies" made a show-stopping appearance, and she was snuggly and sweet. She happily went to a different grocery store from our normal one, and didn't even fuss when we put back her "store toys" that we can't afford. Easygoing and sweet, the untrained eye would never have recognized her as the poor, miserable kid we spent the beginning of our weekend with.
Sure, the lows may be low, but the highs couldn't be higher. Oh, and that saying, the one about "the little things?" So true.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Red House: Part Eleven
Read Part One
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
Read Part Eight
Read Part Nine
Read Part Ten
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
Read Part Eight
Read Part Nine
Read Part Ten
Note: There are so many little victories that took place during our trip to Red House this July that I could probably write a novel about those five days. Not today, though. Today, you'll get a recap of the awesomeness that was our long weekend.
*
The rest of our trip is spent swimming, swimming, and swimming. Oh, and I get to go fishing with my Pop a couple of times while The Princess and Gumma hang at the pool.
The Princess, who is famous for her paradoxical love of water and hate of water on her head, learns to dunk herself underwater to retrieve a toy.
At one point, she actually holds my hand and we jump together off the swimming dock. Cackling her little head off, she hugs me tight when I break the surface and come face to face with her.
And then there's the potty.
I can hardly even believe this two months later, but it's true. Not once during her waking hours on this trip do we have to change a Pull Up. Not. Once. She sits on the little pink froggy potty like a champ, and even poops there. Twice.
Huge. Er, uh, not the poops, but you know what I mean.
The whole ten hour ride home, The Princess is an absolute angel. She naps and plays, even dances to some more Zac Brown Band. At every stop, she goes potty for me, and she doesn't have one wet Pull Up the whole way.
To say I'm proud of my little girl would be the understatement of the century.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Red House: Part Ten
Read Part One
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
Read Part Eight
Read Part Nine
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
Read Part Eight
Read Part Nine
After our boat ride, the four of us - well, five, if you count Jessie - head back up to the cabin for some dinner. It's been a heck of a long day, and we are hungry. Good thing we've learned (from experience, of course) that the grocery shopping should be done before we even arrive at Red House.
Umpa is grilling turkey burgers while Gumma and I try to figure out what to get for The Princess. Her eating habits are unpredictable at best...she's picky as all get-out, but there's no telling what will be accepted at any given moment. One thing we know for sure: she's not a meat eater. Nope, my girl is an herbivore all the way, always has been.
You see where this is going already, don't you?
On the table, there is fruit galore. In between the bowls of fruit, there's cereal, crackers, applesauce, you name it. If she's ever deigned to eat it in her life, it's laid out in front of her just ready for the chowing.
My girl, though, doesn't seem interested. She's acting hungry, but nothing seems to be hitting the spot.
She brings me a bag of beef jerky, of all things. Snickering and thinking I already know the outcome, I open it and hand her a piece. Which she devours in mere seconds, immediately returning for more.
When all is said and done, The Princess has polished off half a bag of jerky and two turkey burgers...and she looks like she's about to start trolling for more.
Huh. Shows how much I know.
Stay tuned for Part Eleven.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Red House: Part Nine
Read Part One
Read Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
Read Part EightRead Part Two
Read Part Three
Read Part Four
Read Part Five
Read Part Six
Read Part Seven
The one thing The Princess is obviously not happy about right now is this life jacket business. All she wants is to get this thing off of her, and the three stupid grown-ups in the boat won’t allow it. As we idle away from the dock, she fights with everything she has to get out of that life jacket.
We’re doing our best to explain, of course. Unfortunately, this seems to be one of those abstract concepts that just can’t translate between me and my non-verbal girl. Trapping her in a bear hug, I whisper in her ear that she is going to love this.
Am I confident? Hell, no. Does she know that? Not if I can help it.
On my signal, Umpa hits the throttle and the boat goes up on plane. There is a terrifying moment in which I can’t see The Princess’s face, and I’m almost sick with worry that this will be too much for her.
Over the last few years, The Hubbs and I have made so many tiny adjustments to the way that we do things. One by one, the adjustments seem miniscule. Put them together, though, and it's something akin to a mountain of sand. It all revolves around The Princess or – more accurately – her invisible friend: autism. A laid-back person by nature, I am much more in tune with every little aspect of my surroundings, constantly scanning for anything that could threaten her peace. I miss a lot of things along the way, but my greatest fear is that I’m trying to control too much.
Because, even though I can’t see her face, I can feel her arms flapping against me. And I can hear her squeal in delight. She begins to bounce in my lap, and I can see her cheeks pushed out in a gigantic grin, even from my post behind her. She loves it.
And the fruit snacks are pinned between my leg and the seat, forgotten and flapping in the wind.
And the fruit snacks are pinned between my leg and the seat, forgotten and flapping in the wind.
Stay tuned for Part Ten.
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