Forwarding address

Here's the new blog:
http://justsayautism.blogspot.com/

New blog ahead

The plateau seems to have ended and new mountains are ahead, which calls for.... a new blog! Haven't picked a name yet but I'll link the new one here once I set it up.

County Fair highlights

It was a behavioral nightmare.

First off, M. isn't allowed to go near dogs anymore because she can't stop herself from putting her face into theirs, and now we'll have to children to the list since her new thing at parks and everywhere she sees another child her age is to get 2 inches from the child's face and scream "Will you be my friend?" over and over until they cry or scream and run. That's what she did at the Dock Dogs show because we arrived 4 minutes early, which was enough time to get restless and find a nearby child to harass.

So we left Dock Dogs to go see the other animals, and in the days leading up to the fair M.'s entire goal was "to smell a pig." Therefore instead of just meandering around to see things, our party had to endure chanting and whining regarding seeing the pigs. We didn't happen to know where the pigs were off hand, and I left my Star Trek beaming thingamajig to orb us there.

We did ultimately see pigs, and she did indeed take big, deep whiffs of them.

After the animal viewing demands were all met, we went in search of food.

M.'s bff touched M.'s pizza, supposedly "to see if it's hot," and that set M. off into a screaming fit, and she refused to eat the pizza after it had been touched. The girls fought side by side on the bench so I put myself between them, only to get blasted by M. that she wanted to sit with her bff! The other fair goers at our table glared at us, silently. But at least they only got one meal ruined, when I get all 3 of mine ruined, 365 days a year.

Then when the french fries she asked for arrived, M. threw another fit because they were hand cut, not McDonald's style (she doesn't like "the brown parts," apparently).

Then a fit because the merry go round ride was over.

Then on the verge of hysteria in the tea cups because bff was spinning the cup they were in.

Then of course, crying about leaving.

Cry, fit, fuss, whine, fit, fit, fit, pretty much sums up the fair for us.

The anguish of Candyland

"Oh WHYYyyyy???Why oh why oh why!? Oh GOSH!!! Why this does happen??? WHHHYYYY!!???"

The anguish of Candyland, getting the dreaded ice cream or cupcake card just when you are almost to the castle, and then having to go all the way back.

buying into the obsessions

today's purchases: angry birds crackers. angry birds tshirt. angry birds bandaids. tom and jerry tshirt.

You're silly!

Gotta figure out how to put a stop to this "you're silly" business to everyone. Today M. said "you're silly! you look silly!" to a man coming out of the elevator, in a wheelchair, with a messy pony tail, wearing big mirrored sunglasses, a bright purple outfit, and missing both his legs at the thighs. I couldn't see his reaction through his sunglasses, but I didn't even bother trying to explain to him that she says that to everyone, that it's one of her repetitive behaviors. We just ran the other way. Unfortunately, he lives in our building and we'll no doubt be seeing him all the time...

Questions

M.: "I can ask a question lots of times if I WANT TO!"
Me: "Go ahead. But I'm only going to answer a question ONE TIME."

Mmm Hmmm

"Mommy, why do you say 'mmm hhmm' lots of times?"

"Because... you talk so much I don't know what else to say."

You touched it

We seem to be starting a new annoying phase where M. won't eat any food that I touch. I tasted her blue snow cone, and she refused to eat the rest. I touched her cheeseburger to put ketchup on it, and she suddenly didn't want it anymore, citing the reason as "because you touched it." Great. This will be fun.

5!

'Is it next time I'm going to be 5?' has been one of the more harassing repetitive questions I've had to endure the last few months--and now tomorrow is finally the big day! We made it! 5!

But I bet I know what the new question will be, starting tomorrow:

'Is it next time I'm going to be 6?'

Flintstones vitamins were on sale...

Trying to remember how this hellish Tom & Jerry obsession began and then I remembered, because Flintstones vitamins were on sale. They were in the clearance cart for half price, and much cheaper than our regular brand. So I thought, they have all the same ingredients, so what the hell?

So what the hell???


Well, hell is what I got.

When we got the vitamins home, of course M. wanted to know who the Flintstones are. Realizing kids today have no freaking clue about Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles, Bam Bam, Dino and elephants who stick their trunks through your window so you can wash dishes--I turned to YouTube for a little Flintstones introduction.

M. was mildly amused for a few clips, until she noticed other fun-looking cartoons in the side bar.

Tom & Jerry.

So I thought, what the hell?


.......


And now I have a kid who talks of nothing but Tom & Jerry, wants to BE Tom, and has to have special rules at school where she can only "be Tom" when outside, and who doesn't want to go anywhere else now, like church, or anywhere else where she cannot be Tom.

So what the hell???

Fruit

Ironically, I can't get M. to eat fruit, yet I can't get her to stop chewing the plastic fruit around here.

You're Gonna Miss It!

Around 6:03am daily I awaken to M. bursting into my room demanding I get up.

"It's time to get up! You're gonna miss it!"

"Gonna miss what?"

"Six o'clock."

uuuuuggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh..................

Go Go Go Go Go Go Go!!!!!

This morning when I dropped M. off for her Fridays, the second she got in the door she turned to me and said, "Um, can you go?"

Fine! Gladly!

Then after work when I picked her up, the second I walked in the door she immediately kicked in with, "Let's go! Let's go! Can we go? I. Want. To. Go!" But, I wanted to have just a 5 minute conversation with The Babysitter Our Cousin. And the whole time M. pulled on my arm and whined and made such a damn racket I wanted to pull my ears off and I was so pissed off at her and wishing I was still at work where it was quiet and no one was pulling on me.

Then we got home, and about one minute after getting inside she began harassing me, except more quietly because she could see she was on dangerous thin ice so instead of loudly proclaiming her desire to "go," she followed me around pointing to the door and mouthing the word, "GO."

That was almost worse.

It was one hour before yoga class and can't I just relax for one damn minute, please?

But there is no relaxing allowed here. Ever.

And when it was finally time to go, what did she do?

Immediately fell asleep in the car.

The big question

M. figured out that since she used to be in my tummy, that I also used to be in Grandma's tummy. Then she asked if her BFF was also in her mommy's tummy. And if her BFF was ever in her daddy's tummy. I said no, just the mommies tummies only. And M. made a swallowing gesture, pointing to her stomach: "like this?"

As if the mommies EAT the babies.

"No, not like that."

Then I froze, afraid of where this was going, and sure enough it went there.

"Then why did the babies get into the tummies?"

Dead when I am sleeping

"I am dead when I am sleeping."... "No dead is if you never stop sleeping--until God wakes you up."... "God wakes me up when it's six o'clock." (So that's how she does it--wakes up every damn morning at 6 sharp without an alarm clock.)

Apple Pie

"We're having apple pie! Yay! I want apple pie! I want apple pie! Can we have apple pie now?"

So excited to clean her plate to get apple pie, which is peculiar, since when it comes right down to it, the child will not actually ever eat pie, ever--or any fruit in any form. But this time was going to be different, she insisted.

Yet sure enough, after all the waiting and excitement over the idea of apple pie, when it was placed in front of her the response was the same: "Um...I guess I don't want it."

And then outrage: "Why are there apples in it!!!???"

Apples in apple pie? Who woulda thought???

WHY IS NO ONE TALKING TO ME!!!???

is the latest annoying social problem we are experiencing, whenever I try to say anything to anyone, or anyone tries to say something to me. Put that with the "Are you talking about me???" anxiety and you can forget any conversation. Just have a drink.

Chip and Dale

Reading "Donald Duck and the Toy Sailboat" for the millionth time and M. pointed out that Chip and Dale have different colored noses: one is red and one is black. Never in my life did I notice that about those chipmunks!

Tom and Jerry in any language

M.'s latest thing is Tom & Jerry, and I'm not surprised at all that she'd go for the violence of it. Today I handed over my netbook to her (the thing is too damn small to use anyway) for her get her Tom & Jerry fix on YouTube, so that I wouldn't have to give up my laptop to her, or hear the wining if I continued my refusal to surrender my laptop.

So now since this has happened once, I'm very sure my netbook will now become the official Tom & Jerry portal.  Today I tried to explain that maybe we should choose a different clip since the one M. chose had Russian writing all over it. I told her, "That one's not in English." Of course she was confused, "What does English means?" Then I realized it doesn't really to matter that some of the Tom & Jerry clips on YouTube are in Russian and various languages, since the show isn't exactly driven by dialogue. So M. can love Tom and Jerry in every language that she wants.

What's your kitty's name?

"Yohnson."

Or maybe it has a different spelling. Who knows?

M. comes up with some strange names for her toys.

Only when she's been drinking

After the big haircut today we went to get the promised ice cream, because M. was good while the lady cut a foot off her hair, trimmed bangs, did extensive texturing all over, etc. Without her glasses on I don't think she could see that all of her hair was being cut off. But I don't think she minded. I could have had her head shaved and she wouldn't have cared as long as ice cream was involved.

At the Baskin Robbins two little girls came in behind us and M. immediately pounced on them, getting right into their faces and demanding to know names, why they were there, what kind of ice cream where they getting, etc. 

The two girls were stunned, but handled it well, only backing away slightly.

"Is she always this friendly?" their dad asked me.

I don't remember what I actually said, but it wasn't as good as what I should have said:

"Only when she's been drinking."

Pizza to go

Pizza worker: "My niece was like until she turned 3."

Me: "Oh...well, we're going on 5 here."

Pizza worker: "Oh....."

Me: "Yeah, I know."

Smarty Pants

Thanks to the Wild Kratts show on our local PBS affiliate, now we know the term "smarty pants."

Simple logic

"Poop is thunder and pee is lightning." (Naturally)

Kindergarten Visitation Day

Parents and kids congregated in the cafeteria, then kids were asked to line up by color coded groupings to follow teachers out to the kindergarten pod, where there are three kindergarten classrooms. With the unfamiliar surroundings and crowd, I wasn't sure if M. would line up in an orderly manner without my help.

But she did.

She walked away from me all on her own, across the cafeteria, got into the right line, locked her hands behind her back just like the other kids, and marched quietly out of the room, without the slightest hesitation, scuffle or outright brawl.

That's when I knew for sure: she is ready.

Bus #200

Driving to gymnastics today we were behind a short bus, to which M. exclaimed, "Hey that's Joseph's bus! Number two-zero-zero." And yes indeed, it was bus #200 we were behind.

Joseph is in her class and I have no doubt she's right about his bus number because she doesn't miss a thing.

Don't lick the inmates

When I talked to M.'s dad via the prison phone yesterday, he mentioned that at a recent visit M. had met one of his friends, and had promptly licked his face.

I didn't see this happen and he never mentioned it until now. Of course I almost died upon hearing the news, and even though you'd think it would be obvious, I still felt the need to expressly state to him that SHE SHOULD NOT BE LICKING THE INMATES! Or anyone!

It's no wonder M. threw up at school today, with all the indiscriminate licking going on. Lately I have seen her lick a door knob, a cat, and the remains of a popped balloon she found on the ground at the park.

She doesn't care about elephants

M. wanted to get her cousin a birthday card to go with his gift.

Me: "I don't think little boys care about birthday cards."
M.: "Yeah, like I don't care about elephants."
Me: ???
M.: "What does CARE means?"

Today did not suck

Took M. to my work so she could have a visual of where I am when she's at school. So she introduced herself to all my coworkers, of course, and said her current stereotype "you're silly" to our admin lead which confused the woman a bit since she wasn't doing anything at all, and I didn't preface the visit with any autism labels so she was just momentarily puzzled then hopefully brushed it off... but it could have gone so much worse and I am grateful for a good day, which was pretty long and started with preschool end of the year party at Naydenov gymnastics, then class picnic at a park, then home for a bit, then visiting my work, then another park. The only crying fits today were at the second park when M. bumped her head like she usually does, and then when she was climbing down a jungle gym ladder and a child approached the ladder from the top, which set M. off screaming because one time someone came down the ladder behind her and stepped on her fingers, therefore irrational fear etched in permanent memory.

Preschool graduation

After almost 5 years of life with a child who spends half the day screaming and crying, and always manages at least one breakdown spectacle at every public appearance since the day she was born, I should be glad M. made it through her preschool graduation with her class, performing skits and poems, and saved the massive freak out for the food buffet line (none of which she would eat, of course) at the reception afterward because in the cookies were raisins and not chocolate chips...I should be glad that's the time she chose to hit the dirt kicking and screaming and choking and gagging...but it's still embarrassing, and exhausting.

Biker broads at the DQ

Two old ladies ride up to the Dairy Queen on a motorcycle with sidecar. I watch them in awe while M. drips ice cream over the ketchup she already dripped all over herself. They sit on a bench by their ride, eating ice cream cones. I imagine that's me and my M&Ms BFF one day in the future, just like we have always planned it.

Michael Jackson is not alive

The song Billy Jean was on the radio and M. seemed to like it so I told her the man singing is Michael Jackson.

"Who he is?" she wanted to know.

I said something like, he's a man who sang lots of songs. And then I added that he's not alive anymore.

"I'm not alive either," M. said.

"Yes, you are," I corrected.

"NO. I'M. NOT!" M. insisted, giving me angry eyebrows.

Then after a pause.

"Mommy, what does alive means?"

buckle up

The parking lot for the activity we did today was full, so we had to take a "shuttle" (aka old rickety school bus). Right away M. pointed out, "You're right, Mommy, there aren't seatbelts!" (this worked out well because I told her that's why she won't be riding the school bus in kindergarten, because that kind doesn't have buckles). And both times we deboarded, she gave the surprised bus driver a hug, just like she does with Cathy her school bus driver, on the short bus, the kind that DOES have buckles.

monsters, ghosts and aliens

"Mommy, you can follow me. I like you to follow me. But I don't like anyone else to follow me--like monsters, ghosts, and ALIENS."

Don't say HI

A classmate at preschool said hi to M. as we got to school this morning.

"Um, I don't like that," was M.'s sharp reply.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the girl.

So my plan for the ways of the typical kids to rub off on M. is failing, as M. is not learning social skills from them at all, but rather is simply enforcing her arbitrary, crazy, mad hatter rules--and they are clearly all conforming!

(and of course it has always been okay for anyone to say goodbye, but NOT "hi.")

Patterns

This morning M. stopped the game she was playing on the iphone to track me down and demand a chocolate muffin, out of the blue. We haven't had chocolate muffins in this house for weeks. But it didn't take me long to figure that since she doesn't play the iphone games as much anymore that perhaps the last time she played that particular game, was probably weeks ago when we had chocolate muffins. And of course, to her, there must be a correlation.

Just like when the neighbor cat who never lets her pet him, did actually let her pet him one day after we came home from gymnastics class, so the next time the cat let her pet him again, M. said, "and now do we go to gymnastics?" Because in her mind of nonsensical patterns, the cat only lets her pet him on gymnastics days, therefore, since she pet the cat it must be a gymnastics day.

She only said it three times

M.: "It's a Cathy's bus song."

M.: "It's a Cathy's bus song."

M.: "It's a Cathy's bus song."

M.: "I said that three times."

Me: "I know."

Let's see...

We scream and cry on sunny days because we're terrified of the thought of bees.

And we also scream and cry on rainy days...for some reason. That's what occurred this morning. Opened the blinds, saw the rain, and all hell broke loose.

Wailing, gagging, choking, while exclaiming, "I don't like rainy days!!

Huh?

'The giraffe in the garden' and 'the bunny in the hole': the unauthorized verses of 'farmer in the dell'

Hope and dreams

Filling out the kindergarten transition summary form. One question is "Please describe your hopes and dreams for your child as s/he begins kindergarten."

When M.'s teacher gave this to me to fill out, I read that question out loud, but only read the part about my hopes and dreams, and said the first thing that came to my mind:

"That she'll move out and live on her own."

The teacher looked at me strange, so I read the question again.

"OH, you mean hopes and dreams FOR KINDERGARTEN."

So I told her I'd have to take the form home to finish and bring back later, because I couldn't think of anything when put on the spot like that, and obviously what I was going to say about M. moving out and living on her own is silly because kindergarten is wayyyy too early for any kid to move out and get her own place.... (right?)

FRUIT

Parent teacher conference and I ask, hey, by the way, does my kid eat her lunch? What does she eat? And what did they tell me? That she eats FRUIT. I haven't gotten her to eat fruit since she was 18 months old. We were in occupational therapy for 8 weeks playing all sorts of games to try to get her to eat anything but goldfish crackers--and ideally, fruit!--and apparently she's been making dumbasses outta all of us because now I hear that yeah, she eats FRUIT! And has been all school year.

The downside of the fun

Of course I love it when we have a good time and laugh, but the downside is that when M. thinks something is funny then I'm doomed to have to repeat it hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of times so that what was once a good memory is now something I dread daily!

After school conversation

M.: "But I want to talk...!"

Me: "Okay. Talk."

M.: "But Miss Thompson said no."

Me: "Miss Thompson said she doesn't want you to talk?"

M.: "Yeah, she said that's enough!"

(laughed very hard to myself)

Mother's Day

It's a scam. An act of throwing all the mothers in the United States a crumb, in an effort to keep us from revolting over economic conditions that require we take on the hardest job in the world (Mother) AND work outside the home, otherwise the entire global system would collapse.

Time to go?

5:19am M. heads out of her room wearing her new hand-me-down backpack and carrying her new hand-me-down lunch bag, ready for the picnic. Unfortunately, it was 5:19am and we wouldn't be going to the park for hours, and hours. But that didn't stop her from asking me every 2 minutes if it was time to go.

Leave no trace

Spring cleaning and reorganization projects are hard enough without having to consider the repercussions of an item accidentally left "out of place."

"HEEEeeeeyyyy! MOOMMMmmmmmy! Why did you put that there? That doesn't go there! You're silly! Did you put that there when I was at school? OOHHhhhhh! That is so silly! MOOMMMmmmy!......" and on and on.

And the item in the spotlight is usually just a piece of paper, a stray plastic bag, a dust rag, any mundane object left in a surprising place--like if I get distracted by the phone and forget to put something away while I'm cleaning. An exclamation will be shouted and the above interrogation will follow. 

There's been a lot of cleaning and reorganizing around here now that my friend, the one with all the twins, is coming to visit and stay with us next week. With all their allergies and our collective behavioral problems, this should be interesting.

Storm warning

Saw a good phrase on another autism blog:

severe behavior storm

Good one! I'm going to use that.

The search is over

Perfect job (I hope), perfect location (no commute), perfect hours (within school hours), perfect pay (so I can still keep some of the services M. needs), and it's all mine!

I'm big

"I'm big! I don't need help because I am BIG!" M. told me off as I was taking her to the bathroom at a church event and had tried to steer her around some obstacles. So she really told me, looking over her shoulder at me, as she swaggered along, and I reached out to steer her again, because she was walking straight into a wall.

...

The screaming crying freak out record for gymnastics has been broken. M. made it through a class without crying. All week we discussed self control, and how she can learn to stop herself before she cries, like she learned to stop herself from hitting her teacher at school, like she had been doing (not hitting in anger, but compulsive hitting to say hi, get her attention, etc). And that if she cried again at gymnastics we wouldn't be going back. It's very difficult for her to stop her compulsive behaviors and crying is one of them. The slightest frustration and her reaction is to cry--loudly, wailing, streaming tears, red face, choking, gagging, the works. Two or three times when she wanted the teacher to help but the teacher was busy with another kid, or she couldn't do something just right, she burst out briefly, then looked over at me with sudden fear, and stopped herself. I also helped by making sure she had a no-sugar snack before gymnastics, was dressed in very light clothing (she's easily overheated), and informed the teacher of possible triggers like being touched unexpectedly and feeling crowded.

Cinco de mayo

We had upside down taco salad, called haystacks, instead of Taco Bell. And M. wore out grandma and grandpa playing hide and seek. Imagine an old lady in a scooter and an 81 year old man playing hide and seek in a small house. But they'll do whatever M. wants. She owns them.

Off the menu

Discussion over what to have for lunch at my parents' house tomorrow fell flat. My mom's sick of pizza, and my dad already made his famous grilled cheese last time. Other than that, we don't have much else on the menu--besides my mom's "gourmet" soup, and luckily I thought of something better before she thought of soup.

Tomorrow, since it is cinco de mayo, we will be having Taco Bell. Si.

Dreaded words

Overdraft fee. Job interview. Jehovah's Witnesses. Landlord.

Too much for one day.

Sarcasm

Now I know what I've missed about Facebook, all the opportunities to make snarky comments. Good to be back.

Being around M. most of the time makes me have sarcasm withdrawals. She's very literal. The closest I've heard her come to sarcasm was the other day when I was asking her to hold my hand across the street but she had one flower in each hand already. So she said, "I can't hold your hand. I only have two hands. I am not an octopus."

With the right sassy tone that could have been a beautiful sarcastic retort for a 4 year old. But M. really meant just what she said.

She-is-not-an-octopus.

Gymnastics - 4th session, Lesson 1

After 3 sessions of gymnastics, M. is already on track for a perfect record of screaming crying freak-outs in her 4th session. The first two sessions she attended was during her name phobia phase, so she flipped out any time the coach called her name. So that was miserable. For everyone. Then by her 3rd try she was over the name problem, but suddenly decided she was terrified to go upside down on the bars, which meant a lot of screaming crying freak-outs, since the coach pushed her to keep trying. So that was miserable too. For everyone. And now for her 4th try, M. has decided to take offense at being told what to do (which is kinda the coach's job) and to scream, cry, freak out and storm out of the class. So today was miserable also. For everyone.

"But you can't even tell any difference," the woman next to me replied when I told her M. is mildly autistic, which is what EVERYONE says and that's why I hate telling people. But I wanted to offer at least some explanation for M.'s lunatic behavior besides just that she's a bratty, out of control kid.

However, one of the kids in M.'s class could sure tell, though she didn't say anything. But I knew she knew something was off, the way she stood quietly beside me, looking up at me with wide curious eyes, then at M. (still crying and wailing), then back up at me to see my reaction, with the kind of searching eye contact I am not used to from my own kid. That right there is the difference.

Dance moves

M. demonstrated her latest dance moves for a crowd watching a live band at our local farmer's market. Some say her signature move looks like a donkey kick, but I think she's working on break dancing. Overall I'm just glad she kept her clothes on.

Dog-gone

The sleepover only distracted M. from having to give our dog away for so long. Every few minutes she forgets and asks me to let him in, then we have to have the talk all over again that involves layers of reasoning behind the decision to give him away to some friends. The reasons are mostly financial, as well as less time at home to take care of a dog now that I just got hired at a job. M. mostly doesn't understand the financial reasons since she solves it by telling me to "just go buy some more money." What she understood the most was when I told her I don't think our dog liked it when she closed him in her room with them together and she would be loud and do things that scared him simply because it was fun for her and no regard to all the times I told her he doesn't like it. She said, "He didn't like it so he wanted to leave. " I almost told her that wasn't true, then decided maybe it's time for a lesson in consequences and how people don't want to be around us if we treat them badly. She wasn't cruel to him, but just way too exuberant and really annoying the hell out of him. I know he'll be happier where he is now with typically developing children who can understand how to treat animals. Happy trails Bentley! (from here forth to be called Bento by his new Japanese family--and no, even though that means box lunch in Japan, they do not plan to eat him)

When I am 100

"Mommy, when I am 100 I will go to God, and you will like pink."

(Maybe by then, but I really doubt it)

The rug

Had to throw out the crappy ol' rug today that has been under the table for years. Way too much pudding and other sticky spills on it so the ants came marching. M. came home and saw the rug was gone, and freaked out.

"I want the rug back! I want the rug back! WAAAAAaaaaaa!"

If the rug sets her off like that, just wait until she finds out we're moving.

Stranger Danger

All I could get from the library about stranger danger is one tired, outdated book from the 1980s with too many words and too few pictures. Still, I hoped at least SOME of the message might sink in.

But no.

In the end, all we came away with was this:

"Strangers are soooooo strangerly."

And the stock photo of the boy running through a field used to illustrate how kids should run from strangers was a particular highlight. While the boy is yelling, "Get away from me!" to the stranger, and, "You are not my mother!" and "You are not my father!", M. took this to mean that the boy is yelling to the stranger, "I am not your mother! I am not your father!" and even taking it further to add her own, "I am not your grandma! I am not your grandpa! I am not your teacher!" while laughing hysterically.

New games

M. and I were in the backyard enjoying this rare 80 degree April day. We were playing frisbee when she suddenly looked around and exclaimed, "Hey! I have a new game we can play!"

What the hell, I thought. Who am I to crush her creativity? And I wanted us to stay outdoors as long as possible before bedtime since the rain will be back tomorrow.

So she taught me the new game. It goes like this:

M.: "You are NO, and I am YES."

Me: "Okay."

M.: "So do it."

Me: "Do what?"

M.: "Say no."

Me: (??????????) "No."

M.: "Yes."

Me: "No?"

M.: "Yes."

Me: "No."

M.: "Yes."

Me: "Okay, that's enough."

And seeing that's all there was to the "game," I walked away to do something else.

Apparently this new game can also be played alone, since M. marched around shouting, "NO-YES-NO-YES-NO-YES-NO-YES-NO-YES-NO--" as fast as she could for quite some time.

Later, she taught me a similar "game," called I WIN. It's where she arbitrarily yells, "I win! You didn't win!"

..............

I think these games of hers are rigged.

Muddling through

Some of us are parenting and others of us are merely "muddling through," as my mom put it to a cousin of mine today, while looking in my direction.

Thanks! I enjoyed that comment almost as much as the one about how if it weren't for the last 5 years with M. I'd still look young.

Zombie apocalypse

I know two little girls who will definitely not be surviving the zombie apocalypse. M. and her BFF are the slowest walkers, can't go 2steps without someone having itchy legs, or gazing at dead worms, or picking up old gum. They will for sure have their brains eaten come the zombie apocalypse.

2 worst interview questions of all time

Was just thinking of the resume I sent last week in response to a job posting at the local newspaper, and wondering when the rejection letter might arrive-or if they'd even send one (maybe I'd never even get that kind of closure)-when the phone rang...

and it was them.

Without warning I found myself in a phone interview, and being asked the dreaded questions, 'what are your strengths?' 'What are your weaknesses?'

So just like that, it was over.

There are no right answers! No one can win! I give up! I swear I'll never get another job simply because I can't get through an interview.

Best two words of the day: NOT CANCER

God is merciful. He shortens the time of suffering, as witnessed and prophesied in the bible. Today the news is: not cancer. But that in itself is more grace than mercy. The mercy part is when that nurse from the hospital called with the results, instead of making us wait weeks for the specialist to call. That is mercy.

Tears of joy

Kindergarten registration yesterday. Lady at the school who filed my paperwork asked if this is my first child going to kindergarten. When I said yes, she shared how she cried and cried the first time sending one of her kids to kindergarten. I nodded at her, vaguely. And she seemed concerned that I understand this is a full day kindergarten program, and if I'm sure that's going to be okay. I just nodded and said, "mmm hmmm, yes, I know."

But what she didn't know and what I didn't say is how long I've been waiting for full day kindergarten. It's been like a beacon of light in the distance FOR YEARS, my reason for getting up each day, the source of my night time fears of district budget cuts that could take it all away from me--oh, the horror!

So what I really wanted to say was, "Oh hell YES, I'll be cryin'! But them will be tears of JOY, lady--tears of JOY!!!"

Right, Mommy???

Right, Mommy? Right? Right, Mommy? Right? Right? Right, Mommy? Right?

Biopsy. Check.

The good thing about kidneys is that God gave us two.

Tomorrow

I've finally learned enough to understand that I don't know anything. All I know for sure is "God is everything and there is nothing without Him."

Tomorrow is going to be okay.

Over dinner...

"Hey Mommy?"

"What?"

"I don't like ladies."

"Okay."

"But I like this lady." (points at me)

"Okay."

"And I like Christian's mommy and Grandma, but I don't like other ladies, right Mommy?"

"Okay."

"I don't like the ladies on tv."

"Okay."

"I don't like the ladies on tv because they say 'cluded' lots of times and I don't like them saying that."

"Okay."

"Right Mommy? They say 'cluded' lots of times, right?"

"Okay."

[there's one commercial often aired on Qubo where a woman does use the word "included" and I always hear M. grumbling at it, so that must be where this is coming from]

"I don't like that word and that's why I don't like ladies."

"Okay."

[Then a shape in her spoon of macaroni and cheese catches her eye]

"Hey! This looks like pants!"

"Okay."

...

And so it goes, on and on, all day long, the talking never stops.

Grandma's birthday

Had a nice, mostly civilized lunch (because M. wasn't there) out for my mom's birthday today, except for my dad's usual choking attack like he does at every meal where we ignore it mostly except for keeping one eye on him to make sure he doesn't turn blue, and then later when my mom went to use the restroom and my dad got a call 15 minutes later...from my mom...in the restroom...because she couldn't get out of the so-called ADA approved restroom. No automatic door opener button on the wall. Of course, I went to go let her out right away, as soon as I finished my sandwich.

But by far the highlight of the lunch was when I told my mom a funny/disturbing story/gossip I had heard about one of her old church lady friends and her husband. As usual my dad couldn't hear what we were saying, and for some reason he seemed to want to know even though he usually doesn't care what we are talking about, so my mom was trying to explain it to him in a tactful and quiet way, since we were in public, but he kept cupping his hand to his ear and saying "WHAt???" So that left my mom no choice but to yell:

"We're talking about my friend. Her husband is addicted to porn!"
"Huh? Addicted to what? Corn?"
"No--PORN!"

And of course everyone turned to look.

Watercolors, by M.

Travel & Leisure

One member of my playdate group is always casually talking about all their trips and activities and what a good deal this or that was so they HAD to do it, couldn't pass up the great savings, etc. This last playdate she confided how they didn't go anywhere for spring break.

I know, we didn't go out anywhere either, like McDonalds Playland or the mall play area, because every other damn kid in town would be there too, I was thinking.

But then she continued on to say they don't "go," as in away (like, on a trip), until after spring break to avoid the crowds and pricey air fare. And then, sadly, how they might not be able to "go" as much after their little princess starts kindergarten.

I'm really glad I didn't say anything because turns out I have nothing to contribute to this part of the chit chat (except for maybe waaaa or boo-hoo) because I can't even afford to "go" drive across town to visit friends, mmm-kay?

S is for...

"Sssssssnake.....and...Ssssssnail....
and...Sssssstop it! You're Sssssstinky!"

A foregone conclusion (not necessarily)

Forgot to include the ending to the last outing to Burgerville with my parents:

After we got home M. said, "And I didn't punch Grandma in the nose!"

Because last time she did.

Send the Easter Bunny for take out

Highlights: Too much chocolate and Easter egg fu yung. My dad hunting eggs carrying a pink basket. My mom revealing her stash of fancy Easter bakery donuts (decorated to look like nests), which she had kept hidden from my dad right in plain sight--sitting right there plain as day taking up a whole shelf in a cabinet, but in a lower level cabinet she knows he won't look in because of his back pain, so he can't bend over. She is diabolical. And no, we didn't share with him. Figured what he didn't know...

Easter: another food holiday

Today: 16 kids. 20 adults. 300 Easter eggs filled with candy. Ham. Deviled eggs. Chicken enchiladas.

Tomorrow: grandma. Grandpa. Coloring eggs the old fashioned way. More candy. Easter egg foo young.

"What???!!!"

Everyone was already pretty annoyed by the time we finally met my parents at Burgerville yesterday. Apparently, my mom had been trying to call me to buy more time because she wasn't ready (she's ALWAYS late) and apparently Cricket cuts your phone off if you're just one day late on the bill (but remember back when people made plans to meet at certain times and there were no cell phones to call in order to buy more time?). So since she couldn't get through to tell me, she sent my dad grumbling over to BV to stalk the parking lot looking for me. And we almost missed him because I EXPECT my mom to ALWAYS be late, so I always have to add about 20 minutes to the meeting time. (It's terrible of her to always do that knowing M. has zero patience!) So we met my dad as he was leaving the parking lot and we were driving in. He rolled down the window, looked pretty mad, gave me a scolding tone about not paying my phone bill, made me feel like a delinquent teenager, and said now he had to drive back home and get my mom since she wasn't ready yet.

So I had to entertain M. (the little time bomb) in the meantime. I asked her to choose, either wait in the car or go inside. She chose to wait in the car, where we played the, "Is that their car?" game at every car that passed by. (Little blue sports car? Grandma and Grandpa? Um, no.)

It takes a long time to get my mom loaded into the front of the car and then her scooter loaded into the back of the car, and my dad doing all the work with his bad hips, bad back, swearing, etc., so with my parents, it is not quick to just run home and get grandma like it might be for other people. It's a painfully slow process. But later that same day, we were all finally inside Burgerville where we left M. sitting with grandpa and my mom and I went to order.

I ordered for M. and me, and the cashier gave the total, but I turned to my mom for her to say what she wanted, and that's when things went wrong and I still don't know why but my mom flipped out on the cashier.

I guess she couldn't hear the cashier over the background noise, and was trying to ask her to repeat the total since it wasn't showing us the total on the register, so since she couldn't hear she was yelling "WHAT???!!!" and making angry faces at the cashier, and assuming the cashier couldn't hear her either, so talked really slow and very loud as if the cashier was either hard of hearing or stupid, and all with a really crazy pissed look on her face.  Then I guess my mom decided it was all just too upsetting to order after all so she would just go without, even though all she was getting was a Coke. Apparently she decided it was too hard to just say, "Coke," and instead insisted on paying right then, all the while throwing a big fit and acting like the cashier had done something wrong. The poor cashier was stuck there while my mom starting tossing her all these BV gift cards with different amounts left on them so the register froze up and we were stuck there so long our food beat us to the table.

After we got back to the table, my mom went back up to order her Coke by herself (cashier probably had quit by then) and while she was gone I tried to tell my dad what happened and thought maybe he would know what the hell her problem was, but right off he screwed up his face and yelled,

"WHAT???!!!"

Weather forecast by magic 8-ball

Latest revision of spring break forecast (now that we're more than halfway through spring break)

Earlier revision of spring break forecast (They really had me going on this one the other day. With the power of wishful thinking I believed them!)

Original spring break forecast 

So basically, when all is said and done and we look back on the week, it will look just like the original forecast, except for the one fluke day of sun we had on Monday, which no one saw coming and they slapped onto the 7 day forecast after the fact. That's how we do weather here. If you want to know about the weather, look out the window.

Couscous

It's autism awareness month, and coincidentally we were discharged from our occupational therapy today. Although it kind of sucks to lose support services, it's not the end of the world, I suppose. Our issues fall largely in the area of gray right now, now that we've made progress with the major issue which was food texture sensory/anxiety problems. Now we are trying a lot of new foods without freaking out first, without examining it with suspicion first, etc. Not necessarily liking all of it, but at least trying. And then not gagging and pulling our tongue out if we don't like it.

Couscous (plain w/ added garlic powder)
Raisins
Rice a Roni (with noticeable parsley)
Chicken curry and rice
Motts granny smith applesauce
Carrot cake
Taco Bell mild sauce
Rice cake
Lasagna (we're talking layers of texture here!)

Out of that line up, the applesauce, the hot sauce, and the couscous are probably the only keepers, but it's at least something besides just goldfish crackers. And we haven't needed the Miralax in a month or more.

* I now have a habit of speaking in the first person collective sense, saying "we" when I mean "she" and such, because of the ongoing "Are you talking about me?" paranoia. It's almost as annoying as the 18 months when I couldn't use her name out loud.

Because I am not a super hero

We took over the way back room of the pizza place today with our friends, the M&Ms.

The Littlest M. grabbed his DS back from my M. after he decided she'd had it long enough. A screaming freak out ensued. Littlest M. retreated to the farthest away empty booth, clutching the DS and regarding the rest of us with a challenging stare.

"You know who you are making really happy right now?" Mommy M asked him, scolding, but in my opinion not firm enough for what he just did.

"Who does she mean? Satan? Does she mean he's making Satan really happy?" I whispered to their Grandma who was next to me watching the showdown. She shrugged, didn't know. The Biggest M., intent on his own DS game, gave me a similar response.

"You need to make a better choice and be nicer." Mommy M. informed Littlest M.

"I am trying!" He shrieked, with bug eyes and dramatic flailing.

"You need to try harder." Mommy M. persisted.

"But I can't!" Littlest M. wailed.

"Why not?" Mommy M. asked.

"Because...I am not a super hero!" He yelled.

And there you have the logic of a 3 year old.

Revised spring break forecast

From 7 days of clouds and rain, to 2 days of clouds and rain. God is merciful! (but I do hope the forecasters don't change their minds again, unless it's in our favor)

I can see him with my glasses

M.: "I'm god and you're god too, Mommy."
Me: "Nope. There is only one God. He's like a friend that lives far away, so far away we can't see him."
M.: "But I can see him--with my glasses now!"

"I don't like to pray!"

At church this morning M.'s bff was out sick and the teachers tried to soothe her by suggesting she make a 'get well' card and pray for her friend, to which M. announced, "I don't like to pray!"

Okay then...

But today I guess she not only did not pray but didn't make a get well card either because all she brought home was a paper plate with streamers attached that says "Sing Praises To The Lord."

M. asked me what it says, so I read it. She repeated slowly, "Sing. praises. to. the. lord."

Then asked, "What does 'lord' means?'

I told her, "Lord means God."

She said it to herself but without a shred of understanding. And that's fine. For a black and white, concrete mind that doesn't understand concepts, God is just a word. Praying is even more vague and unsettling to her I'm sure.

So she doesn't like praying, that's okay. It's still better than last Easter when she announced to everyone as we were leaving church, "Mommy, I don't like Jesus!"

Soggy with chance of squish

With all this rain my backyard is now being used as a culinary test kitchen for mud pies.

School's out for break

Spring break can suck it.

The meaning of life

M.: "Mommy, after I brush teeth I'm going to DIE."
Me: ???
M.: "Actually... I'm going to read a book first."
Me: "Okay."
M.: "And then after I read a book... I'm going TO BE DEAD." (with dramatic flourish)
Me: ???
M.: "Because die means sleep."

New book

M.'s dad gave her a children's book called "My Only Child, There's No One Like You." It's an okay book except it's illustrated and marketed as a young children's book, yet is written with language and literary mechanics beyond 4th grade reading level, so I have to shorten the narration and change a lot of words on the fly. And at the very start, have to repeatedly correct M. about the title, which she thinks says, "My Only Child, No One Likes You."

Rain and wind and liver

It was a dark and stormy night, any terrible thing could happen - Scooby Doo

(...terrible like the chicken liver pâté in the refrigerator? Darn iron deficiency.)

Duck

Frisbee with a 4 year-old can be stressful, especially one who can throw it like a buzz saw.

Not Waving But Drowning

Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,

But still he lay moaning:

I was much further out than you thought

And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking

And now he's dead

It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

(Still the dead one lay moaning)

I was much too far out all my life

And not waving but drowning

REALLY happy to see you

"So she's not waving at me?"

"No, that's flapping."

(after about a dozen times in 2 minutes and with enough intensity to take flight, no, that is not waving)

Listen up, kids

Wise advice from Mother to daughter, courtesy of my friend, "The One With All the Twins":

One of the girl twins was told she should be nicer to her siblings because someday Mommy will be gone and her sister and twin brothers will be all she has.

"Is that when you are going to die?" Was the wide, eyed innocent response.

"No," Mommy replied. "I might go to Europe."

Sorry, Kelly

Sorry, Kelly Clarkson, but whatever doesn't kill you...just doesn't kill you.

Watercolors, by M.

Crayola watercolors on 5x7 sketch pad

The last one

During another attempt to explain to M. why her latest irrational, delusional, crazy, nutcase, obsessive anxiety (that's been annoying everyone for months) over any situation where she perceives herself as being "the last one" is just plain silly, and while I was telling her it's okay to be the last one, and presenting her with a hypothetical situation of someone saying that whichever kid is the last one in line gets all the cookies (to which she insisted she still would NOT want to be "the last one"), I realized something that made me give up my efforts. Why give up? Well, because after all the convincing and role playing and maybe even hypnosis it will take to undo this particular fixation, there will surely come a day when some unsuspecting, well-intentioned, playful soul will stage a race among the children and yell: 

"Last one is a rotten egg!"

Time Out

Today M. and I were talking about when she'd go to see her dad this weekend, and how we'd probably stop to eat at that McDonalds again. She got excited: "Yeah! We can go there with daddy!"

So then I had to explain again, like I've tried to explain for more than 3 years, that her daddy can't go anywhere with us, he has to stay there. That's the rules, because he's having a time out.

And with a vintage Curious George book being our current favorite, now she imagines her daddy sitting in a "time out" room (that's what I call it, even though the book says prison) like Curious George did after he got caught pranking the fire department.

M.: "Like Curious George!"
me: "Yep. And do you remember why Curious George was in a time out?... Because he broke the rules."
M.: "Daddy...he hit...he hit...he hit--"

For some reason I thought she was going to say "--someone with his car." Even though there's no way she could know that. But instead she said: "--another daddy."

So I could safely say "nope" to that. No, he did not hit another daddy. But with his car, he did hit and hurt a drunk guy on a bike, when he was drunk too.

But for now all M. knows is that her daddy broke the rules and he's in time out.

Ponies and Unicorns dreams

M.: "Mommy, what your dreams is?"
me: "Um, I don't remember."
M.: "Are your dreams is ponies and unicorns too?"

The sad part is that I'm sure long ago I used to dream about ponies and unicorns, but I don't even remember anymore.

Happy St. Pat's! How do you corn a turkey?

Saturday afternoon at the folks'. Today's fine fare is pastrami and sauerkraut sandwiches. For St. Patrick's Day. We know this isn't exactly on par with corned beef and cabbage, except that sauerkraut IS made from cabbage. So it counts. What happened was being unable to find Jenny O brand Corned Turkey (because we don't eat red meat), for the "corned turkey and shredded cabbage sandwiches." Closest I could find was turkey pastrami (though I considered getting regular turkey and trying to "corn" it myself, but I don't even know what that means). The pastrami looked nice and peppery and tasty, though, so I got my mom dialed into the decision process right there in the aisle.

me: "Where is pastrami from anyway?"
her: "I think it's Jewish."
me: "Hhhmmm...I don't know. Does it go with cabbage?"
her: "I'm not crazy about the cabbage part.
me: "But you like sauerkraut."
her: "Ooooo, let's have sauerkraut!"
me: "Okay, I guess so..."
(Something didn't seem right about that but it's hard to think with M. always and forever flapping her hand in front of my face)
her: "Sure! We CAN'T have St. Patrick's Day without sauerkraut."
me:  "Um... (???) I think you're thinking of Octoberfest."
her: "Oh. Well, whatever. I want sauerkraut."

At that point M. became shrill in the cart with her "are you talking about me?" routine, then started pulling things off the shelves, so I was out of time.

me: "So then we just say 'screw the Irish' and have pastrami and sauerkraut?"
her: "Yep. Sounds good."

And that's how it came to be that we had pastrami and sauerkraut sandwiches on St. Patrick's Day today, with table discussion regarding where does pastrami come from, and of course, constant interruptions from M. demanding to know if we were talking about her.

M.: "Did you just talk about me?"
me: "Nope."
M.: "Do you say 'nope' lots of times?"
me: "Nope--hey! Look at the SHINY thing!"

M. looks at her shiny bracelet, as if for the first time, and leaves us alone for about one minute.

My dad says pastrami is italian, and my mom still insists it's jewish. But this is the woman with zero ethnic sensibilities when it comes to food. This is someone who stands in the soup aisle, and when most people might pick out one can of Tuscan White Bean with Pasta and another can of Southwestern Chicken Fiesta with Rice, thinking they will then have two separate meals of soup--she imagines how they might taste together! Then proudly serves the goulash to us as 'look at what good soup I made.' The original makers Progresso and Wolfgang Puck be damned!

Then later we were discussing our dreary weather here and how the end of winter, all of spring, and beginning of summer are really just one long season--of rain, cold, gray, etc. And I mentioned how the local weather forecasters must get bored and that is evidenced by the fact that one of our weather guys recently wrote an in depth analysis of the new Van Halen album on his weather blog, rather than discuss the weather. That led to the inevitable: my 81 year old dad asking, "Van-who?"

me: "Van Halen."
he shrugged
me: "You've never heard of Van Halen? From the 80s?"
him: "80s?"
me: "THE NINETEEN EIGHTIES."
he shrugged again
me: "Rock band? Big hair?"
(he can write LOL emails to me when he's making fun of my mom, he asks me how to post pictures to his fb page, relentlessly ask me "what is an app?", but he's never heard of Van Halen???)

him: "So what piece band is it?"

Of course I didn't know how many instruments are included in Van Halen's "ensemble" so I told him that I do not know the answer to that. (While of course at the same time reassuring M. we were not talking about her, and reminding her "LOOK AT THE SHINY THING.")

That's the highlights from St. Patrick's Day with the folks. Our next holiday meal will be the traditional Easter Egg Foo Young. Can't wait!