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...

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.

Smarty Pants

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

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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!"

School's out for break

Spring break can suck it.

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."

Duck

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

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!"