Mean

I use words like y'all and soda.  My family eats dinner together, even if we are a bit unconventional about it.  We live in a house with a yard and two dogs.  The vast majority of our free time is spent outside, whether it be in the lake or hiking in a state park.  I believe you should treat others the way you would like to be treated and that a little kindness goes a long way.  I listen to country music.  A LOT of country music.

I feel as though these are things you must know about me and my family before reading on.  Now that we've got that all straightened out, I have a little story to share with y'all.

*

Driving along in our little compact car the other day, The Princess reached forward and handed The Hubbs her bowl.  Again.  She'd been eating non-stop since we left the house, and we were in real danger of running out of snacks.  We were not quite half-way through our errands.

"Sorry, honey.  All done.  You can have some more in a little while," said The Hubbs.

If you don't already know this, The Princess is autistic and non-verbal.  She loves music and possesses an unbelievable ability to pick up melodies and retain them, taking them out and playing with them when she sees fit, sometimes days, weeks, or even months after hearing them.  We've noticed lately that certain songs tend to come up in certain situations, almost like the melodies are her way of saying yes, no, I'm mad, or what have you.

You see, that paragraph in italics is kind of important.  If you don't know that about my girl, you won't understand why her reaction is so damned funny to me.

Without skipping a beat, The Princess started singing a new melody we hadn't heard from her before: the chorus of Taylor Swift's "Mean."  The lyrics go like this:  Someday, I'll be livin' in a big old city, and all you're ever gonna be is mean...yeah...someday, I'll be big enough so you can't hit me, and all you're ever gonna be is mean.  Why you gotta be so mean?

Get it?  I mean, how flippin' cool is that?  I just about had to pull off the road when we realized what she was singing.

Not clicking yet?  I'll spell it out for ya:  The Hubbs told The Princess no, and she essentially responded with, "Daddy, why you gotta be so mean?"

Thank goodness I wasn't drinkin' a soda at the time, y'all, or I'd have sprayed it all over the inside of my windshield.  And then, as my AC would say, I'd have to give it a good warshin'.

This Boy I Kind of Like

Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag.  There's this boy I kind of like.  Kind of have for a while.  Maybe about eight and a half years.  Not that I'm counting.

You guessed it: this boy I kind of like is none other than The Hubbs.

This weekend, we celebrated my love's (ahem-cough-cough)st birthday.  We spent Saturday doing all the things he wanted to do, and we had the fam over yesterday to celebrate on the actual day.

Eight and a half years, and I still feel like a schoolgirl every time I see him.

Yes, dear.  Even if you are older than dirt.

I love you, mister.  Thanks for being you.

Happy birthday!
Vroom

Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes

It's singalong time, y'all.  You all know this one...don't try to deny it.

Ready?

1...2...3...sing it with me!

Head...

..and shoulders...

...knees...

...and toes!

Pay no attention to the state of her room.  We've had more important things to worry about lately, like the fact that The Princess is now mimicking all sorts of fabulous stuff. 

At five-and-a-half years old, my girl has reached a major milestone: one of the first steps toward speech.  I am so proud I could burst.

And I'm having a blast seeing exactly what she'll copy.  There's a lot, and it's totally entertaining.  I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume we should probably start watching what we say.  There's a possibility we may have another speaker in our midst within the foreseeable future.

Halloween Miracle

Tradition in our little yellow house dictates very specific Halloween activities, including trick-or-treating at The Grumps and attending a fabulous party with their neighbors.  Unfortunately, The Grumps were out of town for Halloween this year, so we were on our own.

On the big day, we dressed The Princess in her punk rocker costume - complete with pink hair and a studded dog collar as her belt - and sent her off to school.  When she got home, The Hubbs took her to a local state park to blow off some steam while I finished up my work day.

And then we freshened up her look and headed outside.  We made a face, and she mimicked it.  Right into the camera.

Proud doesn't even begin to describe this moment.  She's looking into the camera.  She's mimicking a face we've made at her seconds before snapping the picture.  She's doing both things AT THE SAME TIME, as the result of an implied request.

I never would have thought it was possible.  Just another example of how much and how often my girl knocks my socks off.

Sick Of Hearing About Pee?

Well, have I got a treat for you!  I'm out of town at the moment for a work retreat, so I'll make this short and sweet.

I talked to The Hubbs yesterday morning.  Apparently, when he walked into The Princess's room to check on her while she was playing on Saturday evening, he found a giant poop in her pink froggy potty.

And, it seems he forgot to put her in her overnight Pull-Ups on Friday and Saturday.  And she was dry.  Both nights.

That is all.

Waving

The Hubbs: "Hi, Princess.  Hiiiiii."

The Princess:

At five and a half years old, she's finally beginning to understand the concept of waving.  She still seems a bit confused by it, but it's slowly working its way into her vocabulary of actions.

The Best Decision I Ever Made

In my life, I've made my fair share of mistakes.  Everybody has.  We all know this about ourselves and those close to us.  But I love my mistakes; I hold them close to my heart, because they paved the way for the best decision I ever made.

If I hadn't had that four-year brain fart starting in high school (who shall remain nameless), I never would have needed karaoke to show me my way home.

If I hadn't spent seventeen years with my so-called best friend (who shall remain nameless), who stabbed me in the back countless times, I never would have developed a thick skin.  A thick skin that has been my saving grace these last few years as I've dealt with these people - we all know one or two of them - who have no worldly idea how to treat another human being.  "Nameless" and these other people have also taught me how to stand my ground when I know I'm right, and for that, I thank them.

If I hadn't had such a love-hate relationship with a few certain people over the years, I'd never be able to fully appreciate true, unbiased, unconditional, full-wattage love when I saw it.

If none of these things had ever happened the way they did, I have no idea where I'd have been on March 27, 2003.  I may never have met the love of my life.

Seven years ago, I married my best friend.  Today, as I look back, I can't help but thank God for all of the little mistakes along my path, the ones that brought me to him and him to me.

He never wanted to get married before we met.  I, apparently, have such a profound effect on men (ahem) that I decisively changed his mind over the course of six months...without ever having any idea that this is what I was doing. 

You see, I had given up on the idea that I needed a man to complete me.  I had had enough of serious dating, and I was out to have a little fun and be myself.

And that's when it happened.

Somewhere between him adamantly not wanting to get married and me just wanting to have fun, we found our soul mates in each other.

Every day since we met has been another fairy tale.

Happy seventh wedding anniversary, Swatta.  I love you, and I can say with absolute certainty that you are the best decision I ever made.

Loved to Hate It

Every week since she turned three, The Princess has brought home a potty chart in her backpack.  This evil little scrap of paper loves to mock all of our efforts, and I love to hate it.

I suppose I should really say, "I loved to hate it."

Why, you may ask?  See for yourself.

That's right.  A perfect record.  It only took two and a half years at school, and - damn it - it was worth every single second of the wait.

Potty Training, Picture Day and the Death of a Dishwasher

Buckle up, folks...this post is gonna be a rambler.  ;)

Since we talked last week, a lot has happened.  We've continued our daily trips to the local state parks, and The Princess continues to love it.

Don't believe me?  Here's your proof:

Go ahead...just try to tell me that's not a happy kid.

She is still a major fan of the stroller rides, and I'm so unbelievably proud of her.  Are you sitting down?  No?  Grab a seat.  I'll wait.

Not only is our girl rockin' the big girl panties every day, but she's decided to take things up a notch.  She now stops what she is doing, gets up, runs to her potty, goes, pulls up her drawers, removes the pee bucket from the pink froggy, and attempts to empty it into the toilet herself.  Without being prompted.  I mean, like, all by herself.

I know.  I almost plotzed the first time it happened.  And the second.  And the third.  I think I'm finally starting to get used to it.

Just shy of five and a half years of wearing diapers every single day...and it was so totally worth the wait.  Sure, it took years of grueling potty training, but when this girl gets something, she gets it.  There are no words for the pride I feel.

***

Thursday was Fall Picture Day at school.  I have a hard time saying that without a snarky little whine creeping into my voice.  Autism + Picture Day = Hell On Wheels for everyone involved.  At least, that's been my experience over the last couple of years.

Unbelievably, this year seems to have been different.  I'll have to reserve my final judgment for after we hear back from her teachers, but it doesn't seem to have thrown her at all.

Five minutes before our alarm was set to go off on Thursday morning, The Princess woke up and started singing.  As we walked into our room, I noticed that her hair looked amazing.  Yes, my girl, the one whose bedhead is epic and can last for days, woke up with not one single hair out of place.

We cruised through our morning routine with no hiccups, The Princess cooperating every step of the way.  She even chose her own outfit for her school picture.

After putting her on the bus with her backpack and an in-case-of-emergency change of pants, The Hubbs and I returned to work.

No phone calls.  No emails.  No panicked correspondence of any kind.  For Picture Day, it was eerily silent.

And then her bus arrived at the end of our driveway.  She greeted us with a smile and a song, still wearing the outfit she had chosen that morning and giving no indication that anything remotely out of the ordinary had happened.

We were warned in advance that this year's pictures would be taken in the gym, and that this can often be unbearable for at least some of the kids in the autism program.  No kidding.  We live with one.  Big, cavernous space + lots of antsy kids + waiting in line and being expected to do specific things = the mother of all meltdowns just waiting to happen.

But there was nothing.  She was happy.  No notes from teachers, aides, therapists.  No worried calls from school nurses.

Nothing at all.

I can't wait to see this picture, y'all.

***

And in totally non-Princess-related news, we've been fighting with our dishwasher for some time now.  We received it as a hand-me-down about six years ago. and I couldn't have been more thankful.  There was no way we could have afforded one at the time, and, hey...it was free. 

Over the last five or so years, I've torn that machine apart more times than I can count.  My momma didn't raise me to be a needy little girly-girl, so I dive head-first into repairs in my own home the way she always has with hers.  Probably a month and a half to two months ago, the dishwasher started acting up again, and I just didn't feel like I had time to check it out.  Fast-forward to September, and The Hubbs and I were just totally O-V-E-R the idea of hand-washing everything.  All meals in our little yellow house are made from scratch, and we do a lot of crock-potting and baking. 

Something needed to be done.

I ripped apart the dishwasher yet again, pulled diagnostic codes from its onboard computer, flipped it on its back, removed and tested all of the electrical components and came to a decision.  The capacitor and pressure switch alone would cost over $100 (plus shipping), and I didn't even know if that would fix the problem or not.  My first attempt - replacing the heating element - didn't do it, so my usually sunny outlook was gaining more than a little cloud cover.  With so many things testing in the bad-to-dead range, I was afraid there was a short somewhere in the machine.

Never one to give up, I called every store in the area that carries dishwashers.  I found one for $224 - brand new - and borrowed Momma's truck.  A few hours later, our new dishwasher was running the first load of dishes, and it does a great job.  In fact, I'm listening to it now.

And, can I just say that I'm feelin' pretty good about myself here?  I'm no helpless girly-girl, for sure, but this is the first time I've done this type of project from start to finish completely on my own.  Between the mechanical, electrical and plumbing aspects of the job, this has inflated my ego just a smidge.

***

All in all, I'd say it was a good week in our little yellow house.  But I can seriously do without any additional appliance weirdness for a while.  Here's hopin' the next week is on the quiet side, and we can have lots of uninterrupted family time.

The Princess and the Pee: Part Two

Whatever you do, don't read this out loud.  She'll hear you, and the spell could be broken.  I hesitate to even type it.

Remember when I told you about how long The Princess has been using diapers of some kind?

And then when I got all excited about our recent potty training efforts and the leaps and bounds our girl has made?

For the last solid week, The Princess has been prancing around her world sans training pants.  Did you hear that?  We're only using Pull-Ups at bedtime now.

She's using the potty consistently, and there's a glint in her eye that says she gets it.  She's proud. 

She even holds it when we're out for a walk at the state park.  For two hours. 

On Saturday, she had her first pit toilet experience (You know, the ones that are like glorified outhouses?  The ones that blow cold air up your butt and look like a 41-lb skinny minny of a thing could fall right in and never make it out?  Mm-hmm.  One of those.). 

She'd been riding in her stroller over some really rough terrain for a couple of miles.  We're talking straight up and down, bumpy stuff...yeah, that's right, we took her all-terrain stroller on the most difficult part of the trails.  And it was awesome.  I can still feel it in my shoulders.

We came up to a potty house, and The Hubbs and I could tell it was going to be pit toilets by the look of it.  The Princess, however, hadn't experienced these things before.  As I ran with her to the potty, she was getting visibly more excited by the moment.  Her bottom was dry, and she was getting antsy.

I opened the door, she took one look around and tried to bolt.  Fortunately, I caught her and was able to explain the situation.  She very cautiously walked around the toilet on all sides, casting suspicious glances into its fragrant depths before looking up at me with one last plea.

"I can tell you have to go potty, Princess," I told her.  "It's either this or have an accident in your pants, because it's going to be a while yet before we get back to the big building where we started."

She thought about this for only a moment before dropping her pants and hoisting her little bottom up onto the tall pot.  The look on her face as the cold air hit her bottom was priceless.

It took a few seconds, but she went.  And went.  And went.

Grinning from ear to ear, she hopped off the pot and pulled up her panties and pants.  She then proceeded to do laps around the toilet in an effort to figure out how to flush.  I did my best to explain that this kind of toilet doesn't have a flusher, and she listened intently.

Finally, she decided that closing the lid would have to do.  Leaving the little outhouse, we skipped back to her daddy, hand in hand, to complete our hike.

If my pride isn't evident through my words, maybe hers will be in this picture.

I am so unbelievably proud of this little girl, and I am once again in awe of how much the little things impact our lives every single day.

After nearly five and a half years of diapers and three to four years of potty training, we've arrived.  I can't imagine any other victory that could be this sweet.

Photoblog: State Park

Okay, so you may have figured out by now - smarties that you are - that I'm only posting once a week to this blog.  Between work, mommahood and the launch of Sam the Dragon, I think this is probably the most realistic goal I can set for myself at the moment.  This means I'll be posting no more than once per day between all of my various blogs.

***

Saturday, September 8, we awoke to the first chilly morning we've had since the beginning of the summer.  It was 53 degrees outside our little yellow house, and the sky was a crisp, clear blue: perfect weather for walking around our local state park.

The Princess is now five years old, and she still absolutely adores riding in a stroller.  Earlier this year, we scrimped and saved until we could afford a three-wheeled all-terrain jogging stroller with a higher weight limit to accommodate her.  She is in lub with this thing.  We take family walks every day, and she seems to get the same calming effect from the stroller that she used to get from the horses at hippotherapy.  Something about the movement helps her find her center, and that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.  Priceless, really.

Along our walk at the state park, we spent a good deal of time with a pair of sandhill cranes, and we even met a little froggy friend on a lily pad by the lake.

After our long walk, we drove through the rest of the park and came across a wonderful, blessedly deserted playground, where we swung, climbed, slid and hung from monkey bars.  It was a sensory and texture wonderland and the perfect topper to a spectacular morning with my loves.

Photoblog: The Great Lake

As you all know, our regularly scheduled summer activities have come to a grinding halt.  Our little private lake has been closed due to a bloom of blue-green algae that can be harmful to humans and pets, and it's not looking as though we'll be able to get back in before the fall cool-off commences.

Our Labor Day weekend was interesting, due to the fact that this all happened on the Friday beforehand.  But you already know all about that.

The Tuesday after Labor Day, Grumma made a suggestion.  While The Princess was at school, Grumma called me to ask what I thought of an after-work field trip (I work from home, so these are totally possible) to our nearest Great Lake.  She and Grumpa had ventured over to one of our favorite beaches there the day before, and she told me the water was perfect.

Well, I had to admit that this sounded like a fabulous idea, and it would be another first for The Princess: she'd never been to the Great Lake before.  The Hubbs and I packed up all we'd need while our girl was still at school, and shortly after she got home, she and I took off to Grumma's house.  Da's entitled to a little peace and quiet every once in a while, ya know.  :)

I had my reservations about switching cars and then driving nearly another hour before arriving at our destination.  Fortunately, we had thought ahead and not breathed a word of our plans to The Princess, so she wasn't all worked up at the prospect of swimming, only to be let down by a long car ride to get there.  All I told her ahead of time was that we were going to Grumma's house, and that she was going to take us someplace special. 

I should really hit my knees here and thank the good Lord that my girl is as adaptable as she is.  I realize how much of a challenge this can be for many non-verbal individuals, not to mention those on the spectrum; sometimes, the smallest variation on a routine can cause utter chaos...even with my girl, but on a much smaller scale than many.  Every day, this little girl blows me away with what she is willing, ready, and able to take on.  Oh, to be this fearless and free.

It turns out I needn't have worried.  After pulling into our parking spot, she still hadn't glimpsed the water.  I fished her ruffle-bottom bathing suit out of the laundry basket I'd brought along with all of our stuff, and she began to flap and strip at the same time (not an easy feat).

Once she saw that suit, she knew something was up.  Changed and gooped to the max with sunscreen, we headed down to the water's edge.

I don't think either Grumma or I could have imagined a better outcome.  It was a complete and utter success: a smash hit.

And I think there's just a slight possibility that we may be doing this again...and again...and again...

Another Victory

With the exception of a handful of days, we've been swimming every single day this summer.  Living a couple of blocks off the lake has turned out to be our saving grace this year.  The Princess couldn't be happier than when she's in the water, and The Hubbs and I have come to depend upon it as well.

Our plans for Labor Day weekend included one thing: swimming.  We wanted nothing more than to see how many hours we could spend at the lake over these last four days.

And then...

On Friday afternoon, we were at our neighborhood beach for about ten minutes or so before a guy came by on his boat telling us that he had received an email saying that the lake had been closed due to a bloom of blue-green algae that can be harmful to people.

We got out of the lake and went home, showering thoroughly to avoid any adverse effects.  Checking the all-knowing Internet, our fears were confirmed: the lake was closed until further notice.

This is how we had planned to spend the long weekend:

Instead, we had to come up with alternatives.  There were quite a few hits and quite a few misses along the way, but one alternative afternoon activity just kills me.

On Sunday, our girl was restless.  She saw me outside watering my flowers and began to fuss.  I called inside to The Hubbs, and we decided it would be a good idea to let her play in the sprinkler.  She came out in her favorite ruffle-bottom bathing suit and had an absolute blast.

Our front yard is fenced in, so it's pretty great for our purposes.  We let The Princess have her fun where we could keep an eye on her from the living room.  Every couple of minutes, we'd see our girl grinning and running through the sprinkler, happily stimmy-fliddling little droplets of water.

And then...

The Hubbs peeked out the front window and exclaimed, "What the...?"

Well, naturally, I had to get up to see what was going on.  And, boy, am I glad I did.

Stepping out onto our front stoop, I took in the view.  The ruffly bottom of our girl's swim suit was lying discarded near the sprinkler, and she was streaking across the front yard and cackling at the top of her lungs.

Once we wrangled the streaker, we noticed something else was awry.

Mm-hmm.

The only question at that point was: where is it?

I took her inside, plopped her on the pink froggy potty to finish her business, cleaned up her little bottom, and got her set up with a new pair of panties and a Pull-Up.  Leaving her with The Hubbs, I took a strip of TP out into the front yard to commence my search.

There it was, not far from where we caught her running, smack in the middle of the front yard.  As I bent down to pick it up, this whole situation struck me as the funniest thing I'd ever heard.

I mean, here we are, trying so very hard to potty-train our girl.  Each day, we celebrate tiny little victories like thinking to pull our pants down when we have to go.

Really, what was so wrong with this?  In the middle of the front yard, in full view of the road and all of our neighbors, our little girl dropped trou and pooped.  Because she had to.

It's all in our perception, y'all.  This could have been a hugely negative experience for some people, but me...I prefer to see it as another victory.

Oh, and P.S.  Her doggies are very proud of her.  They've decided she's finally worthy of the title Bulldog In Training.

The Princess and the Pee

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named The Princess.  She was super-sweet and unbelievably adorable, and she was diagnosed with autism at a very young age.

By the age of five, she was nonverbal and still wearing Pull-Ups.  Her momma and da knew it would be hard, but they were beginning to burn out on this whole potty training business after starting it when The Princess was about two years old.

And then one day, something clicked.  Momma put a pair of panties on under The Princess's Pull-Up, and she finally started to get it.  She still had accidents, but not nearly as many as before, and she seemed to be getting better and better as time went on.

This made her momma and da very happy.

Kindergarten started - The Princess's third year in school, if you can believe it - and she kept improving.  The Fabulous Mrs. G. didn't send home any wet pants or notes regarding misbehavior in the first two weeks.  In fact, the only note that she did send said that The Princess had taken herself to the bathroom twice during the school day, without any modeling, prompting or coaching from any of the staff members in the room.

Things were looking up.

Then, twice in one week, The Princess pooped in her little pink froggy potty.

And everyone lived happily ever after.  The end.

Cherish

"A friend is someone who knows us, but loves us anyway."

~Jerome Cummings

As I grow older, making my way toward the dreaded label of "adult" - which I'm sure I'll hit by the time I'm about 72 or so - I am amazed by the way things never really turn out how I think they will.  My perspective has shifted ever so slightly so damned many times in the last twenty years that I can hardly believe that silly little tween was me.

And so, at the ripe-old age of 31, I am here to share with you a small but very important portion of my infinite wisdom.  Pay attention, kids, 'cause here it comes.

Throughout my life, I've had many different sets of friends.  At times, I collected them like trophies to trot out and put on display for all to see.  When the going got rough, though, I always found out who was in it for the long haul.

There are plenty of people out there who are willing to call someone their friend.  Hell, these days it seems as though the majority of new friendships are started online - how sad is that? - and people don't even have to hold actual conversations.  Texting, facebook and twitter have replaced hanging out, talking on the phone until the wee hours of the night and riding your bike to your pal's house.  You can "like" something a person says or slam them without ever looking them in the face.

But when you get down to brass tacks, I'd be willing to bet you can count your true friends on one hand.  It's not a competition here, folks, and I know there will be exceptions, but I know it to be true in my own life and from observing those around me.

How many of your facebook friends would drop what they were doing and drive 30+ miles to bring you your spare set of car keys when you've locked yourself out of your car at a shopping mall in the dead of winter?

How many of your twitter followers would babysit your dogs while you deal with a family emergency?

How many people that you text with would stick out their neck for you?

How many of these "friends" would even pick up the phone if they saw your number on the Caller ID?

See?  Now I've got you thinking.  The gears are turning...I can hear them.  You're really not sure about most of those so-called friends, now, are you?

Do yourself a favor.  Go grab a pencil and a piece of paper - not a smart phone or a tablet...I want you to write this out for real.  I'll wait.

Now, write the names of your friends - not counting family - who you could count on to do any of the four things I mentioned above, no questions asked.

Look at the list.  Study it.  These are your real friends.  Slip this piece of paper into your pocket or your wallet, and revisit it every day. 

These are the people on whom you should be expending your energy.  These are the people who are going to be there for you when shit gets hard.  You need to do the same for them, or they may decide that somewhere down the line, you're no longer worth the time and effort...and these are not the people you want to lose due to neglect.

Nurture these relationships.  Cherish them.  Because when we're all old, grey and pruny, we want to be able to sit in a rocking chair on a porch, sipping sweet tea with our best friends, proudly looking back on our lives.  When I'm 72 (and, presumably, grown up), I want to sit there with T and reminisce about all the dumb shit we've done together...and all the dumb shit we're gonna do together in the next 41 years.

That's right, girlie.  This whole, big, rambling post is just another roundabout way to tell you that I love you. 

Happy birthday, T.  You're my bestie, and I plan on pestering you for a damn long time yet.

My Friend

I have this friend, arguably my best friend in the entire world...definitely in the top-most tier of buds, pals, what-have-you.  I've known him all my life, and he's always been there for me no matter what. 

1987: Sam, the family dog, passed away.  It was hard on everyone.  My friend showed up the next day with a little black puff of fur that won the hearts of the entire family.  Curly became our collective best bud, and he kept us company for eighteen wonderful years after that.

1988: I was seven years old when my best kiddo-pal down the block moved to Utah.  My friend understood and helped me to convince Momma Lady that I really could take care of my very own kitten.  That kitten and Curly became inseparable, and Kiki - I couldn't say kitty-kitty - became my personal protector.

1989: My friend showed up one evening with a pink Schwinn Fair Lady bicycle for my birthday.  It was perfect: vintage, a dark dusty rose color with a brand-new white banana seat.  I rode that thing for years, even blazing around the BMX track and completing my now-infamous no-footer over the plateau.  The boys never looked at me the same after that.

I could go on and on for days, weeks, years, telling you about some of the things he did for me while I was a kid.  Seeing as how none of us have that kind of time, I'll jump ahead to my adulthood.

2005: My friend made me giggle by being his usual goofy self during my wedding rehearsal, and that was all I could think about as he and I prepared to walk down the aisle the next day to meet my future.

2007: My friend became a grandfather, and he has devoted his life to adoring that little girl ever since.

My friend, as you may have guessed, is my father, better known in these parts as Pop.  Now, I know it may seem odd for a grown woman to count her daddy among her very best friends in the world, but I say screw convention.  This dude is the life of the party, and I will be a daddy's girl until the day I die.

Happy birthday, Pop.  I love you, man.

Unexplained

The Princess calmly came home from school yesterday, as she does most days.  She walked in the front door, dropped her pants and shuffled over to the potty.  She had her snack, gave out a round of hugs and retired to her room.

Five or ten minutes later, out of nowhere, she began to cry.  Loudly, and with gusto.  The Hubbs peeked his head into her room to see what was wrong, and she began to cry louder.  She didn't seem hurt, and nothing was obviously out of place in her room.

Grabbing her daddy's hand, she directed him toward the kitchen and flung his hand toward the gate.  He obliged her request, opening the gate for her to go through.  The moment the gate was open, her face turned tomato-red, and her hands flew up to cover her eyes while gigantic alligator tears spilled out of her eyes.

She didn't seem to want more food, and she wasn't interested in a drink.

Very purposefully, my girl directed her daddy to the screen door, which he opened for her.  She then proceeded to yank on the handle of her car door, still crying but getting her point across nonetheless.  At The Princess's request, her daddy helped her into her car seat and fastened her seat belt.  A couple of minutes later, he brought her snack out in case she was interested.

Our girl then proceeded to happily eat her trail mix while strapped into her car seat, alone in the dim garage.

And here is where I start to have trouble putting things into words.  I know that I will never be able to fully understand every aspect of her autism, but this one truly baffles me.  I'm just glad we were able to accommodate her request.

It Gets Easier

Two and a half years ago, I put my three-year-old girl on a bus for the first time.  The first step came up past her armpits.  This was not one of my better days as a momma.  I remember crying as the bus pulled away and wandering around the house with her blankie the whole time she was gone.

It seemed far too early.  I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my toddler was going to be away from home for hours every day.  I didn't know what to do.

It's gotten easier every day since then.  The Princess absolutely adores The Fabulous Mrs. G., and she does a happy dance every time the bus arrives at the end of our driveway.

By now, she's an old pro.  The bus is no longer scary, and there are no nerves whatsoever (for any of us).

Even on the first day of kindergarten.

As I sent my girl off to school this morning, I was struck by how easy it has become.  We've been blessed with an amazing staff of folks working with our girl through the special education district, and I wouldn't trade any one of them for all the tea in China.

I was also struck by the idea that many of my friends and family will be sending their little ones off on buses for the first time very soon.  I'm here to tell you that it gets easier.

And I'm here if you want to talk.  I've been there, y'all.  Forcing myself to stay home instead of following the bus all the way to school, blubbering on the couch that first morning, ecstatic to get a phone call from Mrs. G. telling me that The Princess was okay, I went through every emotion in the book.  I get it.  I do.  And I'm thinking of you and your little ones as you embark on this journey.

Who's Counting?

5 years, 3 months, 27 days: this is the current running count of how long we've been using diapers of some sort in this house.

1: this is the number of children in this house.

10: this is about the average number of diaper-type contraptions she's gone through on a daily basis for the last 5 years, 3 months, 27 days.

Some days, it gets so frustrating I could just scream.  There are those days when it seems like every time I turn around, she's wet.  No matter how many times she sits on her pink froggy potty (with this cute little face that mocks me relentlessly), she just can't seem to make it happen.

And then there are other days.  It's like a switch; we're going to have a good day or a bad day.  There is no in between.  Typically, the stellar days are followed immediately by the rip-your-hair-out fests that leave us all exhausted by dinner time.

We have a budget for Pull-Ups, which we routinely break, but somehow I just can't bring myself to raise that number.

44: the number of generic potty training pants in a package that should last us two weeks in between paychecks.

13: the number of generic potty training pants remaining after less than one full week.

These were the numbers running through my head as The Hubbs and I discussed where the extra "dipe money" was going to come from last week (for those of you who are interested, we raided our gas fund).

Something has got to give.  The Fabulous Mrs. G insisted at the end of last school year that our girl had no need for Pull-Ups at school anymore.  We didn't understand how.  Home has always been different somehow.  Home is the land of regression and slipping effortlessly into old habits.

We've tried everything at one point or another.  Everything. 

Somehow, it seems like we consistently try things too early, and if we have the presence of mind to revisit them at a later date, we're nearly always pleasantly surprised.

And that's the phase I'm in right now: pleasantly surprised.

4: the number of days our girl has been wearing panties (under her generic potty pants)

3: the average number of soiled panties/dipes per day since we started this time

3: the number of dry nights in a row, including last night

I'm aware of the fact that these things ebb and flow (pardon the pun), and that I just need to roll with it.  I'm aware of the fact that The Princess is not any of the other kids I know who were potty-trained at lightning speed during any part of almost four years we've been working on this skill in our little yellow house.  I'm aware of the possibility that typing this all out loud could very well invite a hair-pulling bad day back in where things have been going so well.

I'm aware of all these things, but I just had to share this with you.  Why?  Because I really think you'll understand.  Because, even though things are going well, sometimes it's easy to dwell on the negative. 

Because, without sitting down and putting this into words, I wouldn't be able to see the biggest number clearly.

5 years, 3 months, 27 days: this is the running count of how long I've been a momma, the running count of time since my world changed forever.  This is the running count of my new life, of time elapsed at the most important and fulfilling job I'll ever have.

But who's counting?

Livin' On A Prayer

One day, I'll update y'all on the bigger goings-on around here...I swear!  For now, my time is limited, and I know it'll even out eventually.  So, the thing is, at least I'm posting, right?  Right.

So, here I sit this morning, minding my own business and working at my home office.  I've got iTunes going as always, and all of a sudden, something catches my attention.  "Livin' On A Prayer" by Bon Jovi has just ended, but I still hear the melody.

I pause my music and turn to my left.  The Princess is singing the song that was just playing.  With gusto.

I've been telling people for a while that our girl is a music lover.  Most of her waking hours are spent singing to herself, us, the dogs, anyone who will listen, really...and we all love it.  But the thing is, this is a song that we don't always listen to.  It's not a repetition thing.  She heard the melody and liked it so much, she kept it going after the song was over.

I am in awe.

Random, gratuitous photo of our little rock star

I know I don't say it enough, so here it is in writing: I.  Love.  My.  Life.

Later that same day: According to The Hubbs, our little Princess was belting the song out at the top of her lungs in the library.  The melody was so obvious to those around her that there was no question as to what she was getting at.  And she's still singing it as I type this note.  :)