Adasperdown Town

Got Bills So I Wrote Up This Ad For My Car - Enjoy!

2012-02-11T16:19:00.001-05:00

Is your family too big for a sedan, but you don’t want your friends to see you driving a minivan? We have your vehicle! No – don’t call the police… I mean we have your NEXT vehicle.

We know how crazy your life is, so we’re listing this vehicle UNDER Kelly Blue Book Value! (We’re cool like that.)

Think of this – now you can get decent gas mileage, not get stuck in the mud, fit all your whining kids in the car AND look semi-cool while you drive around town telling all your kids to shut-up and quit poking or looking at each other or you’ll make them walk home! (We all know you’re not really going to make them walk home, but we’ve all said it, right?) Might even help if you tell them *exactly* how freakin’ cold it is out there – and you’ll know just by looking at the built-in outside temperature gage. If you want to give ‘em a taste of what “cold” feels like, you can put the dual electronic automatic temperature control to use and cool them off while you stay toasty warm up front. Of course you could always duct-tape them to the roof-top rack… but I’ve found that law enforcement officials tend to frown on that.

Now then, if you’re a real glutton for punishment, you can pack up all those kids, hook up your pop-up camper (provided you have a pop-up camper) and take ‘em all camping for the weekend – ‘cause this baby comes with a towing package!

You may even be able to drown out some of the whining by turning up the volume of the AM/FM, six-disc, in-dash CD player… and it’s easy because there are volume, radio and CD controls right on the steering wheel (which is great if your significant other has bad taste in music).

Another great advantage to this vehicle is that when you get so stressed out that you can’t remember for the life of you where you were supposed to be at 7:30 p.m. on Wednesday, the car will remember to turn on its own lights! No – it’s not possessed or anything… it just has one of them new-fangled sensor things.

So for those of you who want it, here’s the run-down of this vehicle’s features:

Color - Blue/Silver – Great condition

Only 61,000 Miles

Automatic Transmission (because who has time to shift?)

All-wheel-drive system

Leather Seats (apple juice-resistant)

Towing Package

Power Driver’s Seat (Because the driver should have the power – right?)

Quad Seating: Front and 2^nd Row Captain’s Chairs & 3^rd Row 60/40 Split-fold Seating / Fold-Away Seats

Seven-passenger capability

Side-impact airbags

Cruise control

Anti-lock brakes (ABS)

Air Conditioning

AM/FM with an MP3-capable, six-disc, in-dash CD player

In-dash outside-temperature display

Steering wheel-mounted radio/CD controls

Automatic (but not possessed) headlamps

Fog lamps

Dual electronic automatic temperature control

Duratec 30 3.0-liter, V-6 engine

Rear Defroster

Power Mirrors

Power Windows

Alloy Wheels

Comes with 2 sets of Keys & Remote Locking/Unlocking Devices

More Info: http://www.myfordfreestyle.com/specs/2007-ford-freestyle-overview.php

Call now and spend one less day squashing your growing children into one bench seat! Johnny really did do it first, you know.

OK - so I realize most people aren't in the market for a car right now. If not, buy Disaster Flambe for your Kindle or The Littlest Sister for your kids! (Yup - shameless plug there!) Click on either image to go straight to my Amazon pages!

Keep smiling! It makes people wonder what you've been up to!

In Which The Skink Went to the Hospital, Pawpaw Went to Heaven and the Family Went on a Journey

2012-02-10T10:50:00.000-05:00

And what a couple of weeks it's been! So you know how I posted before that The Skink's lungs weren't clear at her last check up? About a week later she spiked a fever of 104. This after laughing, playing and apparently feeling fine for most of the day. There might have been little signs that we missed - it can be hard to see them because the kid is always so up-beat and happy.

So - back to the ER we went where the x-ray showed cloudiness in both sides of the lungs. She was admitted and went back to see some of the good friends we made during our last visit in November. Any more of these little episodes and we'll come back to find reserved parking and a room with The Skink's name over the door.

This time The Skink stayed from Sunday, January 29th through Thursday, February 2nd. Just long enough for her to get her degree as a respiratory therapist.

To welcome her home, I created a portrait of her best friend, Cow. Moo.

It's a good thing I got the practice with my art tablet, because on Friday morning we got word that my father-in-law had passed away. You know - not like we had enough stress to deal with or anything.

I completed this portrait of my sweet father-in-law prior to our Tuesday a.m. departure for the funeral services in Chesapeake, VA.

Of course The Skink had been released from the hospital on oxygen, and must have 4 breathing treatments each day. We got a larger (new-to-us) car - a '95 Suburban, and got creative...

Right up until our creativity melted an adapter and almost started a fire. So instead of finishing her breathing treatment, The Skink made do with an iPod and Cheerios.

The Visitation was held on Tuesday evening and the moon was kind enough to dress up for the occasion. I thought it looked lovely!

Iraq and cousin... we'll call her "Dora" because she bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain cartoon character... said "goodbye" to their PawPaw.

My little part of the family arrived early as Iraq generally needs more time to adjust to new situations and surroundings than most. She sobbed uncontrollably for the first hour and spent the second hour tucking notes and artwork into her grandfather's jacket, rearranging his hair and moving his arms around.

Personally I'm a bit uncomfortable with the whole corpse-thing. To me it's kind of like a giant cicada shell... just something left behind when the important part has moved on. I didn't get too close. Just close enough to see that someone had put about 3 oz. of makeup on the body, including cotton-candy-pink lipstick. No - decorated cicada shells are not my thing.

I didn't bring my camera to the Wednesday funeral, but afterward we went to a family-member's house to enjoy the company of tons of wonderful extended family members. Didn't The Skink look cute in her fancy dress?

On Wednesday evening we spent time with my husband's mother's side of the family. We went to the Cracker Barrel... it was the perfect place to enjoy some real family bonding!

The girls got checkers lessons from their late grandmother's step-brother...

And everybody gathered around to witness the duel.

We were very pleased to discover that Cracker Barrel has a "Low Carb" menu! When my steak arrived, The Skink very kindly offered to cut it up for me.

Thursday morning we went back out to the cemetery for one last visit before our 5-hour drive back home.

This is "Dora's" little sister, "Boots." Isn't she the cutest little thing?

So that is my very abbreviated account of the past couple of weeks. Perhaps I'll fill in some of the details of traveling with an oxygen machine, juggling breathing treatments and how both the hubby and myself were able to stay on our diets throughout the stress and insanity...

...but then, perhaps I won't because I will have fallen asleep, and goodness knows more interesting things will happen tomorrow that I will need to write about.

My Diet Success Story - The Dukan Diet!

2012-01-25T20:34:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time, a long, long, loooooooooong time ago, I was not fat.

And then LIFE happened. It happens to the best of us.

Which is so much better than death happening when you're in your early 40's with 3 kids - 2 of whom have special needs!

Truth be told, death came after me just last May. My big, bad wolf came after in the form of a cardiac arrest, and just to add a tang of irony, he showed up during Mother's Day dinner.

Luckily, I didn't die. More than anything, I wanted to... no... NEEDED to live!

To my credit, I had tried a number of other diets in the past. I was careful and I didn't cheat, but as much as I would huff and puff at the local gym, all too often I ended up hitting a wall - a plateau - and I just couldn't get my weight down.

It's hard when you're a mom. It's hard when there are lots of stresses in your life (see: having 2 special needs children - LOL). It's hard when you spend 2 entire pregnancies in bed and it's hard when your husband brings home Krispy Kreme doughnuts on a regular basis when you're starving! And it's so ridiculously easy to gain weight! (I've always joked that I can look at a picture of a cake and gain 10 lbs!)

While I am quite notorious for annoying the heck out of family and friends by taking hundreds of pictures, I avoided getting on the "business end" of the camera like the plague. I was not comfortable with my weight or my looks. I wouldn't wear a bathing suit in front of anyone who was not immediate family... and only wore one if I absolutely had to. Of course now 20/20 hindsight would suggest that having a few decent "Before" shots might have been nice, but going through the motions of planning out such a shot somehow felt like a set-up for letting myself down once again. Luckily for me, my son snapped a few lovely pictures of my on my sister's horse last August.

Then in late September, 2011, one of my friends shared a picture of herself on a social networking site. It was a good picture. It was a picture that made me want to scratch out her eyeballs and then crawl under a rock (like I could have found one *big* enough to hide my fat butt)! Instead of scratching her eyeballs out, I asked her what she had been doing. She told me she had been on the Dukan diet and had gotten down to her goal weight.

I'll have what she's having!

I started on the Dukan Diet on October 3, 2011. Over the next few months I did my best to get regular exercise by walking for 30 minutes a day, but LIFE kept popping up and throwing hurdles in my way. Stress hurdles. Hurdles that could have easily turned into another 10 lbs of fat on my butt if I had been on any other diet.

Instead, I stayed on the Dukan diet and ate lean turkey and ham, and sugar-free jello and Dukan cheese cake when ever I felt the urge to eat. I was not starving all the time. And even though my youngest daughter was in the hospital for 9 days with a severe case of viral pneumonia... and even though that daughter came home with enough medical equipment to fill most of her room... and even though that daughter needed round-the-clock care for a few more weeks...

I lost weight!

Around the holidays my weight loss slowed a bit, but I was already more than 20 lbs down and I felt better each day. I pumped up my workouts - not because I had to, but because I wanted to! (How weird is that?) I was *in* to working out and I was seeing a person in the mirror that I hadn't seen in far too long.

I'm now down nearly 40 lbs, and I'm still losing! I'm not missing other foods and I'm not starving all the time. I even asked for someone to take my picture so I could share so much less of myself. So I could share my own little fairy tale!

Before - Size 16 pants! After - Size 4 jeans!

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

*

My Kids Are More Prettier Than Yours and I Can Prove It!

2012-01-22T12:51:00.000-05:00

There is just so much wrong with that title on so many levels, but it caught your eye, didn't it?

Have you ever watched that reality show, Toddlers & Tiaras? Does it make your stomach turn?

As I sit in quiet judgement of the edited commentary of a group of people I have never met, I find I am secretly jealous. It's not that I want to start spending $30,000 a year on pageant dresses, hair pieces, fake nails, entry fees and travel expenses. No... it's not that at all. It's that somehow these people, in all their *perceived* weirdness, have a little piece of normal that I don't really have.

Sure, their children are "pretty." After all, what child isn't pretty in his or her own way? Some of those kids (OK - possibly most of those kids) are spoiled to a degree of disproportionate disaster that they may never fully recover. Some of the parents come across as barely a step above Mommy Dearest... but they still live in a world where my children would not fully fit in. It's a world of airbrushed, technicolor (perceived) "perfection."

Sure - I could enter my youngest in such a pageant, but you know what? If she won anything, I would secretly wonder if she won based upon some kind of "pitty-points." How would my child fit in to a world where looking "perfect" is everything?

Truly, honestly, with all my heart, my child looks PERFECT to me! I look at the faces of other children with an extra chromosome... or for that matter any kind of difference, and I see a beauty I couldn't fully perceive or appreciate prior to the birth of my youngest.

You know what I want? I want my kid... I want every kid to have a chance to feel "Perfect" just the way they were created! I want them to have an opportunity to win a "title" and maybe even a trophy to show just how much they rock what they have. I want bald kids, kids who have survived burns and every other unique or not-so-unique kid in this big, beautiful world to have that chance to revel in their own awesomeness!

And I want to help save lives.

That's kind of a big order, isn't it?

I may be trying to move some mountains, but at least I can say I'm "trying," right?

So this is what I have done. I have set up my own Pageant, and anyone, yes ANYONE, can enter. And those entry fees? Well... they all go to a fund with a registered charity called Reece's Rainbow to help pay for the adoption of a child with different-abilities. In other countries, such children are often abandoned and put into archaic institutions where they never know what it is to be loved. They are given NO education and many die very young for lack of medical attention, food and love.

So... the pageant is for a GREAT cause, and on top of that, every child can have a trophy and tiara (or crown) sent to them for winning! Winning at being just who they are. (Yes - it costs a little extra for the trophy, etc. because this is a purely charitable event.)

Please consider entering your child. Please consider spreading the word!
Click the link below to learn more!

The Something Extra Beauty Pageant!

This world is already a beautiful place - so lets celebrate it for what it is!

*

Tuesday Talk

2012-01-17T18:14:00.000-05:00

Once again it's been a little while since I've had a chance to post. (I simply *must* stop meeting with my dear friend Time Constraints like this!)

Last week we took The Skink for a follow-up appointment with her pulmonologist. Severe pneumonia takes time to heal, so although she's been happy, energetic and going to school, we still need to make sure things are going in the right direction.

While the doctor said things sounded pretty good, he wanted to be certain and sent us for x-rays and some blood work to check on The Skink's TSH levels. Apparently hypothyroidism can hinder healing... Ooooo... alliteration!

I didn't take my camera to the doctor (it's a little bulky) so I got this cute little pre x-ray shot with my phone. No... I didn't take any pictures during the blood draw. Something like that might have earned me a "Bad Parent of the Day" award or something.

So. The good news is that The Skink's TSH levels were perfect! The not-quite-so-good-news is that The Skink's lungs are not quite perfect. We were all a bit surprised to learn there are still some "cloudy areas" in there, and the doctor says her lungs are a bit inflamed.

The Rx? The Skink has been having to do daily steroid treatments through her nebulizer. (Spell correct on my computer just tried to change "nebulizer" to "neutralizer." Come over here, little Skink, so I may neutralize you!)

The doctor warned us that the steroids may give her "mood swings" and a yeast infection. Oh, joy. We've been giving her yogurt after each treatment, but...

He was right. It's been like trying to live with a menopausal 5-year-old with a yeast infection for the past week.

As ~~Murphy's law~~ luck would have it, the kids had only a half day of school on Friday, and had both Monday and Tuesday off, which has made my life ~~hell~~ delightfully challenging. So I did what any other mom-who-long-ago-lost-her-sanity would do. I took them to McDonald's... with a PlayLand!

Of course sans sanity, I also didn't think to bring my camera, and so out came my phone.

See? I turned my ancient LG Shine into an LG Sparkle :o)

While Iraq ran off the second we entered PlayLand, The Skink had no intention of going anywhere prior to enjoying her happy meal... though she was clearly thinking ahead when she removed her shoes and arranged them neatly on the table.

When she was done eating, I opened her happy meal prize. Hmmm... I guess the McDonald's employees somehow misidentified my sparkly-shoe-wearing Skink with pigtails as someone who totally digs Captain America?

I have nothing against giving little girls action figures. The Skink, however, took one look at her "prize," nonchalantly tipped him over and said, "Oops! He falled in poo!"

Gee... now tell us how you really feel about getting duped out of a Hello Kitty toy, Skink!

With her nose still turned up at her "prize," off she went to join her sister in the labyrinth-like habitrail of multicolored wonders.

Iraq... rubbing her face in every germ known to man.

Skink-Foots!

As seen during a fly-by.

Tubular!

And lastly, I found The Skink asleep on the couch like this a few days ago:

I thought to myself, "So cute! Asleep with an entire herd of cattle cuddled up with her."

And then I found out that this was not The Skink's attempt to include every last one of her cows in nap-time, but Iraq's failed attempt at suffocating her sister while she slept. Somehow that kind of kills the cute-factor, but oh well...

I wanna talk about me, Wanna talk about I, Wanna talk about number one...

2012-01-10T16:23:00.003-05:00

I owe the lyrics serving as today's blog title to the amazing Toby Keith, and my super-fun day to my husband!

***We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog subject matter to bring you this special MOM Bulletin.... ***

Yes, normally this blog is dedicated to my children... they provide me with a lot to talk about. SO much, in fact that the weeks since Christmas have become a blur of meltdowns (Iraq), medical issues (The Skink) and readjustments to the back-to-school schedule. My sanity (or what shreds were left of the poor, moth-eaten thing) ran screaming from the house at least a week ago.

So what do you do when your spouse has lost her sanity? Well, if you're my husband, you give me a pink pistol and take me to the firing range! Yes, seriously.

It... was...AWESOME!

And this from the mom who absolutely refused to allow her son to play with toy guns when he was little. (See? Some things improve with the loss of sanity and reason!)

Some time ago I let my husband talk me into going to a gun show in town. I did a great job of acting vaguely aloof, right up until I spied the cutest little hot pink and black .22 pistol. I'm kinda like a crow - - if it sparkles or is of an interestingly feminine hue, I flap down from my tree and stand staring at the object, mesmerized. My crow-like tendencies made it easy for my dearly beloved to talk me into purchasing an item that I truly believed I had little use for.

It's not like I was raised in a gun-less home. No. In fact my dad successfully made me insanely jealous by spending weekends with my older brother at the firing range. I talked them into taking me with them one time when I was 8 -years-old, and my dad let me fire a .22 rifle. They told me how to hold it and how to line up the sights. I managed to hit the target, and basked in the glow of being told I wasn't bad for a beginner. He has also brought his own 30 ot 6, and somehow I talked him into allowing me to fire it. LOL - he warned me the thing had a kick, but if my brother was going to do it, I was not going to be shown up! I fired it. It hurt... but heck if I was going to let anyone know it hurt!

As far as I can recall, that was the last time I fired a real firearm.

So today was my first time in 34 years to fire a *real* gun... and my second time ever to fire a gun. Now mind you - when I was young, guns were all my brother would talk about, so if I wanted to play with him, I had to learn to shoot at him with one of his toy pistols. (We participated in such health play in the 70's!) So I suppose I "knew" how to hold a pistol from pretending to kill my brother a few thousand times as a child. Cool, huh?

So my husband took me to the firing range and gave me the safe-handling instructions for my very own little pink firearm.

I'll never look at the "safe-handling instructions" on raw chicken the same way again!

"Stand Back! I have a raw chicken breast, and I know how to use it!"

But I digress. So my husband takes his insane wife to a firing range and shows her how to use a deadly weapon. *insert maniacal giggle here*

My first target was one of those silhouette dudes. I named him "stress" and I took his 4$$ DOWN!
First I made sure his "X" was no longer beating...

And then I took one last shot for good measure...

After I got rid of "Stress," I settled in for some more refined target practice. Here are the results:

And just look how beautifully my .22 goes with my sweat shirt! (By the way - in this photo I'm making a terribly novice mistake by placing my forefinger in the trigger area. You should never do that unless you want someone to think you're going to shoot them. It wasn't actually touching the trigger, but you can't tell that from the photo... but don't worry - I promise I don't want to shoot you - - or anyone else for that matter... unless you happen to be a paper silhouette named "Stress.")

See? I caught my mistake and moved my finger. This photo says, "I don't want to shoot you. I just want to show off my cool, pink gun and the paper target that I killed today." Talk about subtle non-verbal communication!

What does this photo say? It says, "If you break into my house and threaten the lives of my children or myself, necessitating my consideration of deadly force, you better hope you're more than 3 yards away from me!" I took 10 shots at this target. See that bigger hole just below and to the right of dead center? That was 2 of them.

What does this photo say? It says, "If you break into my house and threaten the lives of my children or myself, necessitating my consideration of deadly force, putting 7 yards between you could still be bad for your health!" I took 20 shots at this target. See those big holes? Yup! Clearly I need to adjust my aim slightly up and to the left.

What does this photo say? It says, "If you break into my house and threaten the lives of my children or myself, necessitating my consideration of deadly force, you better hope there are some walls/trees/cars between me and you as you run away!"

How do I feel after an hour at the firing range? Well... Mr. Stress is gone!

And in other news...
I take really bad reflective self-portraits.

Yes - both those pictures are me. I started on the Dukan Diet on October 3rd and I'm nearly 30 lbs. down. Yay ME!

I plan to tone up a bit more and then make a blog post about my dieting journey in the next month or two. In the mean time, you can expect some more posts about my children... because after all, this blog is not generally about ME... its always about them...

*DISCLAIMER: The writer of this blog is not actually "insane," and the term is used in jest. If you happen to be an ATF enforcer, please do not show up at my door and take away my pretty pink pistol! I'm not crazy... at least that's what the little voices in my head tell me...

Christmas Present and a Little Christmas Miracle

2011-12-26T12:38:00.000-05:00

The hubby had to work on December 25th, so we quietly bumped our Christmas celebration to the 26th. Parents of an autistic child know well that you can't simply tell your child that Santa will be visiting all her friends an entire day before he will be visiting her (even if she might possibly be on the "Naughty" list) or imply in any way that she is missing Christmas. That would have caused the planet to implode.

Lucky for us we were able to pull the whole thing off without a hitch. It was a Christmas miracle for sure!

Christmas is a very stressful time for kids in the autism spectrum. New sights, sounds and smells, more activity, family visits and last but not least the anticipation. For an autistic child, this is a recipe for disaster. We've had our share of behavioral issues and meltdowns over the past days - can't imagine why my blood pressure is so wacked out...

Anyway, today we celebrated Christmas.

With all The Skink has been through recently with her bout with viral pneumonia, it was only appropriate that Santa would bring her her very own medical equipment! Her first order of business was to check daddy's heart.

He has one!

Don't mind the hair. We couldn't let a little thing like a messy mop get in the way of Christmas excitement! The Skink also got a Victorious doll - a toy based on her favorite television show. The doll sings the show's theme song... and The Skink (who knows every word) sings right along with the doll. (Translation: we've been listening to the Victorious theme song for about 3 hours straight now... )

But the Girls' big present (and I do mean BIG) was the giant wood doll house I found for an unbelievably low price on line. Sure - it ~~took a few days, some bruised thumbs and a bunch of stress~~ required a little assembly, but it was worth it! The girls love it and will likely play with it a lot once they can get it away from me...

Help! The Christmas gifts are eating my children!

You know you got the right gifts when:

The Skink also received a Cow Christmas ornament, but she doesn't believe cows belong on the tree. Silly us! Every Skink knows that cows belong in bed!

Broadway's big gift was a computer. We haven't seen him since the time this picture was taken.

She's becoming a bit overstimulated. Can you tell?

Toothbrushes make great stocking stuffers - and apparently need regular naps.

And these... these shoes go perfectly with practically any outfit - including pajamas.

Look! Iraq got a toy that's actually meant to be kicked.

And we certainly wouldn't forget the dog... or Daddy's requirement for great quantities of cocoa!

Meltdowns and all, it's been a fun day so far. The next few days should be interesting with Iraq, but at least there will be some fun new toys to play with when I'm not sitting on her.

Wishing you and yours a Happy Holiday Season!

Random Moments

2011-12-24T11:59:00.000-05:00

Today was a day that started like any other - at least any other weekend day where I don't have to crawl out of bed half asleep and drag children, unwilling, from their slumber. OK - so today started like any other relaxing weekend day.

I woke up with the rise of the sun, to the sound of The Skink's voice as it carried through the crackling baby monitor. She was happily playing in her room. As I lay in bed and listened, it became clear she was practicing her stand-up comedienne skills before a herd of admiring cattle.

The jokes weren't completely distinguishable... something about a mermaid eating taquitos. There must have been a really good series of one-liners because The Skink laughed and laughed. Sure - so she laughs at her own jokes. Girlfriend knows she rocks!

Since my youngest was clearly entertained at the moment, I took my time getting dressed. I've been dieting and I reveled in the knowledge that my clothes were clearly outgrowing me. I stood before the mirror, turning this way and that, admiring my curves and taking note of some of the more stubborn lumps that clearly need a lecture from the soft-spoken health-nazi on my Pilates DVD. Or lipo. Lipo would be good.

When I emerged after getting dressed and my morning bathroom ritual of consuming a small breakfast of blood pressure medications, vitamins and toxic levels of potassium, I found Iraq quietly watching T.V. in the living room. It was a little like stepping into an alternate reality to find she had already let the dog out (and back in), eaten some breakfast and constructed a 50 piece puzzle featuring rainbows and unicorns.

"~~Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?~~"

"Wow, Iraq. What a great job you did this morning! I'm so proud of you for taking care of the dog and getting your own breakfast!"

I then proceeded upstairs where I found The Skink and her cows jumping on the bed. Once dressed (The Skink - not the cows) we came downstairs where the girls requested "Frosted Flakes." (OK - really? No fuss about wanting ice cream or begging for bacon? Did I fall out of bed and hit my head last night?)

Iraq even ran upstairs and found an outfit similar to the one I had dressed her little sister in - because she wanted to look like her sister today.

My hallucinations of an easy and happy morning continued as the girls offered a photo-op in which both smiled and played sweetly with each other. The camera doesn't lie, right? Tell me you can see these pictures too!

Broadway saw them this morning and asked if they were both prisoners.

And my favorite:

I really enjoyed our temporary reprieve from wacked-out behavioral issues this morning. It was a great Christmas Eve gift! Ironically, my husband has to work today and tomorrow, so as far as the girls know, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Shhhhhhhhhh... don't tell!

One other fun and interesting little gem to report:

Yesterday Iraq looked outside and exclaimed, "Hey mom! There's a bird on that tree and it's pecking itself!"

Actually, it was pecking the tree. I looked it up and it turns out it's a Downey Woodpecker. The males have red spots on their head, so this one appears to be a female.

Oh - and one last thing! I rank among the world's worst when it comes to sending out Christmas cards. One year I even went so far as to purchase the cards, made it about a quarter of the way through addressing them, and then got side-tracked with 100 other things and forgot to send them. In lieu of sending physical cards... here ya go! It's a pittance, but it's all I've got :P

Happy Holidays!

The Christmas Parade Adventure

2011-12-10T17:21:00.000-05:00

The Skink has been back in school half-days since her little hospital stay. Normally if my husband picks her up, she'll call out "I'm home!" when she comes through the door. On Tuesday I heard them get home, but she didn't call out. What did I hear? It was something that could only be described and the tip-tap of little hooves. And look what popped around the corner!

She pranced about and shook her head (which made the little jingle-bell ring) but she didn't talk to me, because after all, reindeer don't talk!

The next day the class didn't make hats, so she tried on her daddy's hat instead.

Very official looking, no?

And we enjoyed watching a visitor who was not official-looking at all. No, this little guy found our deck railing to be a great spot to take a break from his nut-collecting.

Squirrel!

Friday night was our town's big Christmas Parade! We go and enjoy it every year, but this year we got to participate in the parade - very exciting for the girls... right up until they realized how boring and uncomfortable it is to have to stand around for a few hours and wait for our turn to walk.

Of course the kids did find ways of passing the time with friends...

Iraq and the Mixed Martial Arts instructor, Mr. M.

They played tag... around the "Affordable Septic" truck. Don't know about you, but up until last night it hadn't crossed my mind to decorate a huge container of human waste... guess we all have different ideas of beauty...

Of course we got to march right behind that truck. There was a brief feeling of horror through those of us in the ranks of the Baa Da Bing Family Center as we realized that something was leaking out of the truck... but at least we didn't have to follow behind the Mounted Gypsies of the R. Vally horse brigade. There seemed to be a lot more "leaking" out of them.

My favorite float (and a tribute to Jimmy Buffet and Parrot Heads everywhere) was the giant cheeseburger in paradise.

So when the moon was high and the air had a frosty nip in it...

we grabbed our various batons or pom-poms, climbed in our gaily-donned wagon and prepared to cheer and dance our way down the parade rout.

In Christmases past, we stood by the side of the road and watched the colorful floats, marching bands and displays of Christmas cheer as they made their way past us.

For Christmas present, we got to see the colorful crowds standing by the side of the road as we followed marching bands and spread Christmas cheer.

It was really pretty cool...

honestly, it was downright *cold,* but fun all the same!

And guess who we ran into at the end of the parade rout?

Look at The Skink's expression in the second one! "Yeah - after the way you've been behaving this year, you are SO kissing up right now!"

To give you an idea how big the parade is in our town, the first float moved down the parade rout at 6:30 p.m. The Baa Da Bing Family Center started down the parade rout almost 8:00. By the time we made it to the end of the rout it was 8:23 p.m. (I know this by the time stamp on the phone call I made to my husband when we got to the end of the rout) and we weren't even at the end of the parade!

Now mind you, my children (the younger ones) generally go to bed around 7:30 p.m. It was 8:30 by the time we met up with Mimi and Daddy. Nobody had eaten dinner before the parade, so off we went to IHOP, which was unfortunately very short-staffed. Can you hear my eyes rolling a little by now?

So we did a lot of coloring...

And hamming for pictures (I know it's terrible quality, but it's a great picture of The Skink, yes?)

We drank so many cups of hot chocolate, our server finally just brought my husband this bucket ----- >

And finally at about 9:30 p.m. the food came!

Finally, tired and happy, we all went home and went to bed...

...at which time The Skink succumbed to the Norovirus and I got a great workout running up and down the stairs for the next 6 hours. I graciously allowed my husband to take over at 6:00 a.m. so I could get a little sleep. *sigh*

So that's my Christmas Parade story, and I'm sticking to it!

Asperger's and Meltdowns and Itty-Bitty Breakthroughs... Oh My...

2011-12-07T20:03:00.002-05:00

Thanksgiving sent our home into holiday disarray - Asperger's style. The whole problem with these darn holidays is that it messes with Iraq's schedule, and when you mess with Iraq's schedule, you are taking your life into your own hands.

The meal turned out perfectly, much to my great amazement!

And my husband and Broadway hung the Christmas lights on the house.

It looks way better in person - my son wanted it to look like water trickling out of the birdbath and creating a stream from which some deer are drinking. They succeeded.

Of course that night we were in for melt-downs immediately following the discovery of multiple stolen items in Iraq's bedroom. *sigh* The fun didn't stop there, and we've been feeling the after-effects of messing with the schedule for the past week. yippee...

So - moving on...

Today we had our weekly appointment with (one of) Iraq's therapists. We went to a room full of toys and after an adjustment/free time, the therapist asked us to play with the doll house together. We put all the furniture in it, and then the therapist told me to go sit down and "take a break," and asked Iraq to clean up. I would have been shaking in my boots, but I couldn't because I was wearing sneakers. This kind of request frightens me because I know it will make Iraq mad, and that her rage will be directed at... me. *gulp*

Iraq looked furious, but unlike many boys with Asperger's, 8-year-old girls with Asperger's (at least mine) is less likely to go into full meltdown mode unless they are in a "safe place" like home, their grandparent's house or just alone with mom and dad. Since we were at the therapist's office and the therapist was in the room, she *did* start ~~throwing~~ putting the doll furniture away, but kept the angry look on her face and growled about the unfairness of the situation. Throughout that time the therapist talked to me about something... but I have no idea what it was because I was so focused on the thought swirling through my brain about what would happen if the session time ran out and I had to get in the car and go home with a very angry little girl. Yikes! The mere thought of it was enough to make me nauseous.

Lucky for me, the therapist had a plan. And it was very illuminating, indeed. (Does anybody use the word "indeed" any more?) Anywhoo... After Iraq finished putting away the toys, the therapist asked Iraq how she was feeling about what just happened.

"I'm MAD!" Iraq snapped, sounding somewhat like a rabid dog with a bad headache.
"That wasn't fair to ask you to pick up by yourself, was it?" the therapist asked her.
"NO, it wasn't!" Iraq growled back.
"Who are you mad at?"
"HER!" Iraq snarled, pointing at me.
"Why are you mad at your mom?"
"Because SHE made me clean up all by myself!"
"Who asked you to clean up while your mom sat down?" the therapist queried, pointedly.
"She did!" Iraq answered, again pointing at me.
"Did your mom ask you to clean up while she sat down, or did I say 'Iraq, you clean up while your mom takes a break'?"
"My mom told me to clean up..." This time Iraq's voice had a hint of confusion in it.
"I didn't hear your mom say anything about cleaning up. I remember that I said, 'Iraq, you clean up while your mom takes a break.' Do you remember that?"
Iraq didn't say anything this time, and we could almost see the glimmer of a small light bulb flickering on somewhere in the depths of her consciousness. As I saw the realization of what had just transpired in Iraq's eyes, I knew I was watching a small break-through, and I almost did a happy dance (but I didn't because it would have been highly inappropriate just then).

Again the therapist asked, "That wasn't fair to ask you to pick up by yourself, was it? Who are you angry with right now?"
This time Iraq pointed at the therapist, but the anger had all but left her features. She looked a little sheepish as she said, "It wasn't fair and I didn't like that."
The therapist and I both told her how proud we were that she did clean up even though the situation had been unfair. The therapist told her that she was proud Iraq didn't have a melt down to which Iraq replied, "I would have if we were at home!"
Hey - that was an honest statement!

The interesting part of the whole situation was the clear illustration of Iraq's misplaced anger. She truly believed in that time that I had been the one to wrong her. I think there have been many, many times when Iraq has felt wronged by someone or something, but that anger sooner or later manifested itself with a meltdown directed at her father or myself.

We are her safe zone. Home is the safe place. She holds all her fears, frustrations, anger and anxiety inside - like a grenade with its pin pulled out - until she gets home. Then...

BOOM!

And when she blows up, all that anger and emotion is directed at... us.

In other news...

Tonight my husband is taking The Skink to have a sleep study done. The Skink had been on oxygen at night following her hospital stay, but the monitor that measures oxygen saturation kept going off - all... night... long.

So now that she has recovered from pneumonia, we're having a study done because it is very likely that the monitor would have gone off prior to the illness - - as in, she has issues breathing when she's asleep. We had no idea because she doesn't snore or make any noise at all.

**Update** My hubby just texted me this gem of a picture he took with his phone:

Run! It's a spaghetti monster... and it's captured some cows!

Depending on the results, our 5-year-old may have to use a C-PAP machine. We had a hard enough time keeping an oxygen cannula on her... totally not looking forward to the possibility of a big ol' mask attached to a big ol' hose and a bunch of wires! How on earth is that going to work?

Oh well... we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

Wild Weekend - Parade and Virginia Safari Park

2011-11-20T19:56:00.000-05:00

A New Prenatal Blood Test for Down Syndrome - Some Facts

2011-11-18T21:14:00.006-05:00

Note: anything marked with ( * ) is a clickable link to a source of more information on that given subject.

Up until only recently, the only way to know for sure if a fetus had Down syndrome was to have a procedure called an *amniocentesis. During the procedure a needle is inserted into the uterus to extract a small sample of amniotic fluid. (And doesn't that sound like fun?) Now a company by the name of *Sequenom has introduced a new test called *MaterniT21 - a simple blood test using a small amount of blood from the expectant mother, that can determine with a 98.6% accuracy rate if her unborn child has Down syndrome. (Doesn't that illustration just make you want to scream, "Watch out little dude! There's a giant needle headed right at ya!")

Historically doctors suggested amniocentesis' only for older mothers (you know - those of us who have reached the ancient age of "over 35") or those considered at high risk of having a child with genetic issues. As a woman matures, her chance of having a child with Down syndrome increases. That's not to say that younger women can't have babies with Down syndrome - they absolutely can, but it is simply less likely. Most doctors did not see a point in adding unnecessary risk to a younger woman's pregnancy, and the amniocentesis does pose a small risk of miscarriage.

The new *MaterniT21 test is a game changer. This non-invasive test which poses no more risk of a miscarriage than any other simple blood test can be quickly and easily done for any pregnant woman of any age. Health officials believe this will greatly increase the number of pregnant women who get testing for Down syndrome done.

Now - This is neither a religious post nor is it commentary on current abortion laws, etc. This is simply a presentation of facts and a touch of personal experience. If a person is faced with a big decision, that decision should be based on facts... updated, current and statistically accurate facts. Facts that could both negatively or positively influence that decision.

In fact, a *press release issued by *Sequenom on October 17th, 2011 states, "We believe that the MaterniT21 LDT will provide physicians and their patients with critical new information to help them make better informed decisions about the patients' healthcare and pregnancies."

It sounds good on paper, but let's not lose sight of one very important point. The only "critical new information" the test gives patients to "help them make better informed decisions" is whether or not their fetus has Down syndrome. Did you know that currently 92% of people who find out their fetus has Down syndrome choose to terminate the pregnancy? There are no statistics on how many of that 92% received updated and balanced information on what is is actually like to raise a child with Down syndrome... but if my own experience is any indication, it is likely very few of them did.

How much do you know about Down syndrome?

Seriously... how much? Have you spent time with people with Down syndrome or been close with their families, or have you gathered most of your "knowledge" about Down syndrome from how people with the condition are perceived among your friends or in the movies? Is your knowledge based upon a series of medical facts read to you from a list by a doctor, or on talking to people who currently work with, teach or are the family member of a person with DS? I can guarantee that the information you gather from people who truly know somebody with Down syndrome will be very different than from most medical sources or (God forbid) high school friends or Hollywood.

One of the first things I was told by the doctor who informed me my week-old daughter has Down syndrome is that she may never learn to read. The truth of the matter is that 14% (or 1 in every 7) adult Americans are functionally illiterate. Most of those people do not fall into the "disabled" category, but simply never learned to read. For more information, see the *National Assessment of Adult Literacy website or *this article in Live Science.

I believe that some doctors lose sight of the influence their words have over their patients. While a doctor says "might," it can be all too easy for a patient to hear "will." To prove that when the doctor (in Texas) told me my daughter "might" not read, he actually meant there was a very, very, ridiculously small chance my daughter might not read, I present Exhibit A: a video of my daughter (with Down syndrome / Trisomy 21) reading at age 3 years, 2 months.

That same doctor? He also proceeded to read aloud the following list of "might have" as found on the *National Institutes of Health Down syndrome page:

· Congenital heart disease (NOPE)

· Hearing problems (NOPE)

· Intestinal problems, such as blocked small bowel or esophagus (NOPE)

· Celiac disease (NOPE)

· Eye problems, such as cataracts (Nystagmus - Correctable!)

· Thyroid dysfunctions (NOPE)

· Skeletal problems (NOPE)

· Dementia—similar to Alzheimer’s (NOPE)

I found all of this information very frightening and very overwhelming! Who wouldn't? And where was the positive, balanced information? After talking to that doctor, I left with the feeling of hopelessness. It took my doing some research on my own and talking to parents of children and adults with Down syndrome to learn there was a whole different side to the story than what I heard from the doctor.

Balanced Information

When I had my first and second child, both of whom appeared completely normal at birth (and I do stress appeared), why didn't a doctor come in and read me the following list of "Mights?"

· *An estimated 1 in every 110 children will be diagnosed with autism or an autism spectrum disorder.

· 8.4 percent of children aged 3 to 17 have *ADHD.

· 8 of every 1,000 children is born with a congenital heart defect.

· 2 of every 100 girls between the ages of 15 and 17 will become pregnant and have a baby.

· On a *recent national survey, 16% of high school sophomores reported having 5+ alcoholic beverages in a row within the last 14 days.

· On a *recent national survey, 10% of 8th graders reported using illicit drugs in the last 30 days.

· 10 percent of 18 - 24-year-olds do not have a high school diploma.

· Oh yeah - and 14% of Americans are functionally illiterate.

Impact on Family

Many people initially worry about the effect that having a child with Down syndrome will have on themselves or their family. They worry about the "financial and emotional burden" of such a child.They worry about how "hard" it will be to raise a child with special needs. I was no different when I found out my youngest daughter's diagnosis.

Now interestingly my middle child is in the autism spectrum, having an official diagnosis of Asperger's syndrome. Autism and Down syndrome are not related. *Read about what causes Down syndrome here. There is currently no prenatal test for autism, but I can tell you that my middle daughter with Asperger's has been far more of a challenge financially and emotionally for our family than our littlest who has Down syndrome. Don't believe me? Just read most of the other posts throughout my blog.

Here are some *recent statistics on Down syndrome that your doctor may or may not share with you:

• 99 percent of parent/guardians said they loved their child with Down syndrome
• 79 percent of parents felt their outlook on life was more positive because of their child

• 94 percent of siblings 12 and older expressed feelings of pride about their sibling

• 88 percent of siblings 12 and older said they felt they were better people because of their sibling with Down syndrome

And of 284 people with Down syndrome who were interviewed (average age of 23):

• 99 percent said they were happy with their lives
• 97 percent liked who they are
• 96 percent liked how they look
• 86 percent indicated they could make friends easily
• And only 4 percent expressed sadness about their life. (What percentage of "typical" 23-year-olds would say that?)

I should also mention that while I don't have actual statistics and numbers on the following little tidbits,it is well known among the Down syndrome community that a high percentage of people with DS graduate high school, many have jobs and many live independently and even *get married as adults. In fact the film that took the honor of "Best Documentary Award" at the Tribeca Film Festival in 2011 was Monica & David - a documentary about a husband and wife... both of whom have Down syndrome.

One More Thing:

The truth of the matter is that any kid can have problems, psychological, medical or otherwise. All children are a lot of work. All kids are expensive, and No child is "perfect." There are no guarantees that the child a person could have from pregnancy #2 will be a technically "better," easier, less expensive or a less challenging individual than a child with Down syndrome. Every child has challenges, every challenge is different.

Is every person who has a child with DS going to tell you that it's the best experience ever? Think about it - everybody knows somebody who complains incessantly about their "normal" child. They would complain if that kid goes to Harvard at age 11 and finds a cure to cancer at 13. Much of life is dictated by your own concept of it - how you see it, how you take on challenges and if you can adjust to things that are new and different.

As for me? I wouldn't change my kid's "designer genes" for all the money in the world. My kid is smart, creative, sassy, loves the show Victorious and knows her way around an iPhone better than most adults. On top of that, she loves trying new things and she shares her amazing sense of humor with our whole family. How could I possibly do "better?"

Resource Links:

National Down Syndrome Society..
National Association for Down Syndrome..
Information for New Parents..
National Down Syndrome Congress (NDSC)

National Association for Down Syndrome (NADS)

The ARC

Down Syndrome - Health Issues

Specially Fit Glasses Frames for Kids w/ DS

Adopt or Sponsor an Orphan With Down Syndrome

Amazing People With Down Syndrome:
Eagle Scout w/ DS

Karen Gaffney
Disability World

Aya Iwamoto

Sujeet

Emily's Art

Chris Burke

Guess who’s cooking Our Dinner - Story
Article on a company that hires people with Down Syndrome
Special Needs Cheerleading Squad

Educational Programs/Toys for Children With Down Syndrome:
The Institute for the Achievement of Human Potential

Love & Learning - Educational DVDs for Children With DS
Handwriting Without Tears
Talk Tools

Word Whammer

So - Your Child Sleeps in a DOG KENNEL??

2011-11-15T21:28:00.000-05:00

The Skink is doing well, all things considered. Following her stay in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit for viral pneumonia, we are jumping through a few little hoops to help her continue to recover at home. When she sleeps she must stay on oxygen as well as a meter that tracks her pulse and O2 saturations. She gets breathing treatments 3 times a day and we take her to her regular pediatrician every few days.

In my last homecoming post, I mentioned that we have her sleeping in a dog kennel. We get that this makes us sound like awful parents. How's it working? GREAT! She loves it and at bed time begs to go to her "PeaPod" - the name of the pop-up tent marketed for children. Our actual PeaPod grew very old and decrepit and therefore was replaced with a nearly identical pop-up tent marketed for dogs... for less than half the price.

While one might easily assume that connecting a 5-year-old to wires and tubes right at bed time may not be exactly conducive to sleep, The Skink has proven once again that she is ready for new challenges as always.

Can you see the addition to our sleeping arrangements? Mommy lucked out on her daily trip to the pharmacy and found a cow PillowPet! It's the smaller size one (they were out of big cow PillowPets), but it fits perfectly in our PeaPod - - and needless to say, our cow-loving Skink LOVES her new pillow!

First we put on the sensor for the pulse/O2 meter. The Skink's biggest complaint? "It tickles, Daddy!"

All set! So now we cover it up with a sock and run the cord up her pants leg to keep it from tangling up in all the cows.

Then we hook up the oxygen...

and the pulse/O2 meter. (Note how patiently my little Skink is standing! She knows the drill.)

Then she climbs in while Daddy keeps her "tails" from tangling.

Then The Skink gathers her herd of cows,

Daddy helps her with her covers, and zips her up for the night.

See how neatly the tube and cord run between the two zippers at floor level? Can I just say, our Boots & Barkley Large Pop Open Dog Kennel ROCKS! (Anything highlighted in that funky peach color is a link :o)

I can not tell you how thankful we are that we are having to do this with The Skink and not Iraq! There is no way in the world (or in the rest of the universe) that Iraq would tolerate sticky things, tubes, wires or things that randomly "beep" in the night!

It's a blessing that The Skink is so tolerant - currently her oxygen sats still drop when she is asleep, and her heart rate regularly drops under 50 beats per minute... and that means that Mommy has to get up every 30 minutes or so and check the O2 or pat The Skink on the back to raise her heart rate to a rate more conducive to life. Poor Skink!

Hopefully she'll be all better really soon!

So - my mother was rather appalled that I would A) purchase a dog kennel for my daughter and B) tell people that I had committed such a crime (she didn't use those words, though - LOL). So what do you think?

Also - I almost drove my poor husband nuts tonight as I used my camera to document each step of The Skink's going-to-bed process. Was it worth it, or should I lay off the camera a bit and save my husband's sanity?

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Cows Are Flying, Doctors Are Dancing and We're Outta Here!

2011-11-10T21:32:00.002-05:00

So after 9 days in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit which was filled with flying cows and dancing doctors, The Skink is finally back at home... complete with monitors and oxygen. But let me back up a little...

Somewhere around Saturday, The Skink's personality began to slowly reemerge for ever-growing periods of time. While mom and dad continued to add to their sleep deficits, The Skink logged plenty of sleep hours... I mean like practically unconscious... as her body fought the virus in her lungs.

Not to worry! In those short times she was awake, she was devising ways of keeping the doctors, nurses and med students entertained and laughing. Some teachers from her school sent an adorable "Get Well" bear balloon to her. To prevent the balloon from wandering off or entangling itself in the maze of tubes, wires and leads, somebody clipped it to one of the cow's tails. And thus began the game of "Flying Cow, Bouncing Balloon." The Skink quickly learned that if she threw the cow at her favorite med student, the balloon would follow along. If she got lucky, the cow would hit the floor and the med student would get bopped by the balloon.

Fly my pretty!

While generally one doesn't think of gales of laughter in relation to a hospital ICU, The Skink apparently never got that memo. She was laughing, the med student was laughing, the doctors were laughing, the nurses were laughing, other miscellaneous unrelated parties were laughing... Good times!

In fact The Skink used her time in the PICU to make friends and further prove that designer genes rule. Unfortunately after days and days in bed, when it was time to get up and start moooving... (oops - an impromptu cow joke escaped) she was very unsteady on her feet. On Monday she willingly walked the first time since being hospitalized, clutching daddy's hand... but when we let go and encouraged her to kick a ball in the play room, she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on a (padded) bench. Of course then she proceeded to become furious with the floor for tipping up when she wasn't expecting it, and at the bench for bonking her noggin. After learning to distrust hospital floors, she wouldn't walk at all! The next day we tried without success to get her up and moving again... It became the mission of all her new friends! And all those doctors and nurses? This is what they did to get The Skink on her feet:

How amazing are these people?

After all that excitement, we could tell The Skink was exhausted. She has lost so much weight and just looked so small and frail, so I scooped her up, plopped her back in bed and threw cows at her to make her giggle again.

By Wednesday The Skink's hair had reached disaster status. All those crazy wires and tubes, not to mention all the sleeping had given her hair the appearance of a giant nest!

Angry Bird likes nesting in messy hairs!

A kind nurse took pity on the poor ~~Angry Bird~~ Skink and washed her ~~nest~~ hair, braided it and found some adorable flower elastics to compliment The Skink's pink hand-me-down jammies!

Please don't look so thrilled, clean Skink!

And finally, today (Thursday) - a full 9 days after our trip to the Emergency Room, the wonderful people of the PICU allowed us to take their Skink away from them. But not without some lovely parting gifts!

Among our booty are an oximeter which tracks her oxygen saturation while she sleeps. Unfortunately the pneumonia has been serious enough (not like pneumonia is generally jovial... ) that The Skink's oxygen saturation still drops dangerously low while she's sleeping. The oximeter will ruthlessly awaken us throughout the night ('cause who needs sleep anyway?) to alert us if The Skink's sats are too low.

And to help keep those sats up...

"Mom... it's bigger 'n I am. Srsly??"

We have this lovely piece of decorative machinery. No seriously - it looks GREAT in our house, and its perfect for stubbing toes on if one gets up in the midst of the night to pee. It also creates a lovely white noise to lull us to sleep... kinda like listening to a jack-hammer.

We also have a nebulizer to provide us with a fun and challenging experience no less than 3 times a day. But it doesn't stop there, folks! If you call now you'll also receive about 2,871 feet of airline tubing to run from all your new and fun pieces of equipment to your Skink! All of this for one low payment of...

OK - thanks Willie! I'll take it from here...

Of course with all the bells and whistles The Skink has to wear while she sleeps, it has become quite necessary for us to prevent her from getting out of bed and running around the house. That doesn't generally work too well if you have a oximeter attached to one toe and a giant ~~jack-hammer~~ oxygen machine attached to your face by a fraction of that 2,871 feet of tubing.

Unfortunately The Skink doesn't usually stay in her bed and is quite adept at climbing out of cribs. We also need her in our room so we can mess with the jack-hammer if her sats drop too low.

A number of years ago we invested in a PeaPod Travel Bed which is like a mini pop-up tent that you zip your kiddo into when you are away from home. That would have worked great for our needs, except that ours is a few years old... it has holes big enough for The Skink to crawl right out of (as we learned the hard way on our last camping trip). We're a bit short on funds right now, so dropping another $83.95 on a way to confine The Skink was going to be a bit too much... Luckily Brandy had a great idea!

I made a quick run to Target and got a Boots & Barkley Large Pop Up Dog Kennel. It actually has MORE room than the PeaPod did, and the fitted dog bed I got for it is way more comfortable than the mini air mattress that comes with the PeaPod. We set it up at the end of our bed, put clean sheets in it and The Skink's comforter and cows. The oxygen tubing and the oximeter cord come right out between the two zippers which meet at the bottom of the ~~kennel~~ bed.

Now don't get me wrong! I do not condone the use of a dog kennel for confining children. This is just a creative, cheap, temporary solution to keep The Skink in one place for her own health and safety while she finishes her bout with ~~kennel cough~~ pneumonia. It is very important that we are able to keep the monitor and the oxygen on her when she sleeps. As I write this, she is sleeping very comfortably with the oxygen pumped up to 5! Yes - her sats are dropping too low at any rate lower than 5 right now.

...and besides - honestly, what is the difference between an over-priced pop-up tent marketed for children and a similar (yet more roomy) pop-up contraption made out of identical material and marketed for dogs? I'll tell you what! The price! And maybe the label, but whatever, right?

And with that, I leave you with "random tree picture." I shot this out the car window as I sat in the pharmacy drive-through waiting to pay for a giant bag of medications.

Saturday Skink Update

2011-11-05T15:11:00.000-04:00

The hubby took "night shift" last night and apparently The Skink had a "spell" at around 4:00 a.m. A doctor came in this morning before I got to the hospital and told my husband they now believe The Skink has viral pneumonia... not great news. Initially they believed the pneumonia was only up in the upper right lobe of the lungs, but now they say it is pretty much spread throughout the lungs. I mean, hey - if you're a nasty virus, why stop with Rome when you can play Alexander the Great and take over distant lands, right?

The good news it that there are signs of improvement. The oxygen has been turned down slightly - they had been running 8 liters at 100% - not sure if I said that right in medical-speak. I guess it's
a little like driving 100 MPH on the autobahn.

They have pushed back her soonest-possible release date to Tuesday... ish. That will be subject to change.

As for me? Gee - I'm tired. I sleep at night, but worry creeps into my dreams and shakes me back to consciousness every so often. Worry is naughty that way. Tonight it will be my turn to take the night shift. I brought my Pink Panther jammies for the occasion. I wanna look cute and youthful as I trot back and forth from the public restroom at all hours of the night. (LOL)

The Skink stayed awake for a little while this morning when Iraq and Mimi came to visit.

I brought The Skink's cow puppet. It ate her other toys.

The puppet did allow Iraq to climb into the bed. Good cow!

Card-eating cow... eating cards.

A profile of two sisters.

Make that two sisters and two cows...

We can certainly use your prayers and healing thoughts right now. Viral pneumonia doesn't respond to antibiotics. The Skink's little body has to fight this bug to get rid of it. She was a small 5-year-old to begin with, weighing only about 29 lbs. before coming down with this illness. She weighed 27 lbs last Wednesday. She has not eaten anything other than 18 goldfish crackers, about 12 french fries and 2 cups of applesauce since then.

If you have are or know some prayer-warriors, we can use all the help we can get right now.

Hugs to all -

*

Quick Hospital Update

2011-11-04T17:30:00.000-04:00

One of The Skink's doctors has a daughter who adores cows. This evening she brought her daughters up to meet The Skink and bring her a present!

Are these just the cutest things?

I have a feeling once The Skink is feeling better, these will become a favorite part of her wardrobe. I can totally see converting these to cute little planters once she outgrows them (If they're not worn to bits).

While The Skink seemed to have perked up for a short time this morning, she slept the rest of the day. She is receiving regular breathing treatments and IV fluids. This morning she drank some apple juice and ate 18 goldfish crackers. Since then? Nada. Nope - not a darn thing. All she wanted to do was sleep, and she didn't want to be bothered. This evening I tried to get her to eat a french fry, but no dice (not that I would try to feed her dice - but whatever).

Thank you for the comments and the prayers! We truly appreciate them! The latest word is that she probably won't be leaving the hospital before Monday (yeah - they've added a day). At least she's in a great place and there are great people taking care of her - like ones that bring pink cow boots!

Have a good evening all -

*

A Post from the Pediatric ICU

2011-11-04T13:42:00.000-04:00

So I haven't posted for a little while, but rest assured I have a darn good reason. Back on October 24th, The Skink came home from school and everything was fine until around 5:00 p.m. when I kissed her sweet forehead and she seemed hot. Really hot!

I took her temperature and it was a rather disturbing 103.4. As a mom of 3, the oldest of whom is now 16 (can I really be old enough to have a 16-year-old??) I've pretty much been-there-done-that when it comes to sniffles, coughs and the like. I gave her some Tylenol to help bring the temperature down. It's always been easy to give meds to The Skink - she sucks it down like candy. I was thankful she was the one I was trying to medicate. Had it been Iraq, we would now have furniture, walls and ceiling spotted with a sugary, purple goo. Even at age 8, Iraq is NO fan of medicine... but at least I now know how to hog-tie really well!

I was able to get The Skink's temperature down to 101.5 before bed time. First thing the next morning (Tuesday, 10/25) I took her in to the doctor. We saw a physician's assistant who determined The Skink had fallen victim to some nasty little virus. I was instructed to take her home and let her get plenty of rest.

On Friday night The Skink was miserable, so first thing Saturday morning I took her to the doctor again (I'm quite thankful our doctor's office has Saturday hours!). I told the doctor (a real one) that The Skink had developed a nasty cough. The doc listened but said The Skink's lungs sounded clear, but that she had developed an ear infection. She gave us a prescription for antibiotics and instructed me to take her home and let her get plenty of rest. Rest? Both The Skink and I were up numerous times every night - with her coughing and me rushing up stairs to give her more medicine, pat her back or just to be there for her.

So... By Monday evening (Halloween) The Skink's cough was worse, her appetite had completely disappeared, she was barely drinking anything and she was very lethargic. She was clearly too sick to go trick-or-treating. She saw my husband take Iraq to go trick-or-treating and asked in a very small voice if she was going too. Yes - my heart broke. When my husband returned with Iraq after liberating the majority of the neighborhood of huge quantities of candy, he gathered The Skink up in his arms and took her next door to let her say "trick-or-treat!" It made her day, and she managed to reward us with a BIG smile as she recounted her adventure to me when they returned.

On a side note, Iraq dressed as a pirate.

Mom simply could not resist the temptation to dress up too, so we got daddy to take some Mother & Daughter Pirate pictures. (What? Doesn't everybody have family pirate pictures?)

Have I mentioned I adore Halloween?

So anyway... bright and early on Tuesday morning the hubby took The Skink to the doctor... again. The same physician's assistant who saw The Skink exactly a week before said (again) it was a virus - take her home and let her get plenty of rest. (Deja-vue?)

On Wednesday The Skink slept all day. She did not eat. She did not drink. She did not play or talk or smile. As soon as Broadway got home, I left him in charge of Iraq and I took The Skink to the ER because I knew this was not just some virus and a little ear infection.

I was right. (Duh - I'm the mom. I'm always right. Right?)

In the triage area they put an oxygen saturation monitor on The Skink. The number climbed to only 87 and stopped. The lady in triage said she must not have put the monitor on very well. We were soon taken back to a room where another monitor was put on. Again, the numbers climbed to only 87 and stopped. An IV was put in The Skink's arm (which I assure you did NOT impress The Skink) and the doctor called for the X-ray machine to be brought. The X-ray confirmed suspicions, clearly showing that my poor baby had a pretty nasty case of pneumonia.

The Skink was admitted to the hospital and my husband came to switch places with me so I could go home and get some rest - It should have been my first uninterrupted rest in a week, but who can sleep knowing her baby is in the hospital with pneumonia? My husband texted me with the number of the room The Skink was moved to.

In the morning I called the hubby to find out how The Skink was. I was talking to him as I was heading out the door to come relieve him from his "night shift," and he suddenly said, "Oh yeah - she has a different room number from the one I texted you."

Apparently after The Skink was admitted, it was determined her condition warranted a move to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. Yikes!

On Thursday she slept all day. I believe the longest amount of time I saw her awake was about 2 minutes. In the evening the hubby came to relieve me and to take on the night shift.

While I don't like that we have to be here, I have to say - I love the layout of the Roanoke Memorial pediatric ICU! It's built into a rounded section of the building, so the unit a giant semi-circle with the rooms lining the glass front wall. The nurses' station mimics the semi-circular pattern so no-matter what room you are in, you can walk out the door and straight to the nurses' station. Cool, huh?

When I arrived this morning, a nurse and a nursing student were checking all the monitors, tubes and wiring. Doesn't The Skink look thrilled?

I can not tell you how much my heart swelled when The Skink saw me and said, "Hi, Mommy!" Her voice was small and weak, but she was awake and aware I was there! And then...

she asked for a drink for the first time in days! And... she drank it!

Getting a drink and about 18 goldfish crackers into her tummy apparently gave her enough energy to find the Angry Birds game and turn it on just so she could listen to the music.

Danika and "The Herd."

While she showed a little improvement this morning, she was worn out by the time lunch arrived. She was interested in the pizza... but fell asleep before she had tasted it.

The ICU is very nice, but the view out the window is also quite stunning - even on a rainy day. As nice as the unit and the view are, I am hoping she will be out of here soon.

We know at this point it will likely be a few more days. I'll try to keep everyone posted. Well-wishes and prayers are welcomed!

The Blog Hop for T21 (Down syndrome) on 10/21!

2011-10-21T21:32:00.000-04:00

Curious? Click on the picture above to learn more!

Lovely Day At the Freakin' Apple Festival, D@mn it!

2011-10-15T23:07:00.000-04:00

Virginia is positively beautiful in the Autumn!

As I stepped outside this morning, my nose picked up the sweet smell of blooming mums mingled with the pungent scent of fallen leaves touched with dew. The sky was reminiscent of a hidden bay on some distant Caribbean island. What could be more perfect for this beautiful Fall day than an apple festival?

I got the children dressed and fed, made The Skink cry trying to put a brush through her hair and chased Iraq through the house yet still failed to brush her hair at all. I contemplated a diaper bag and then threw 2 pull-ups in my ~~knock-off~~ Chanel purse replica, grabbed my camera, forgot The Skink's cup and bustled the girls into the car only to realize if we planned to go more than about a mile, we would require a visit to the local gas station. Then we set off to rendezvous site where we were to pick up Mimi (my back-up since 'da hubby was working today).

I had been very relieved the night before when Mimi called me to tell me she would be able to go to the apple festival with us. She had initially had a prior engagement and had attempted to talk me into venturing out with my precocious girls alone. Of course I told her we would go, but secretly I was thinking up possible excuses that would "force" us to stay home. Once I learned she would be coming along, I somehow thought the festival sounded far more doable.

As I navigated my car through the stunning Blue Ridge mountain range toward our planned meeting site (about 30 miles from home) I pointed out the beautiful hues of red, orange and pink to my angelic daughters, the younger of whom asked for the 43 bazillionth time "apple-o-dirt?" which translates to "apple orchard" in Skink-speak and the older of whom responded, "I'm boorrrrrred!" It was a moment I will cherish for at least... 24 seconds.

We picked up Mimi (who was a more willing participant in the "Oh, it's so beautiful" sentiment), and wound our way up the narrow mountain road. The sun shone through the leaves sending cascades of shimmering shadows onto the road before us. Behind us there was much grumbling about not having stopped at a McDonalds for food and more requests for the apple-o-dirt.

And finally we were there, for had it taken any longer, I'm quite certain at least one hungry 8-year-old might have expired of ennui (which is a far more appropriate way of saying "died of boredom" when one is in such exquisite surroundings).

We saw apples... duh...

and crafts...

and an alpaca.

We gave big, cheesy smiles for the token "pumpkin patch picture" for the year,

and (mom, at least) thoroughly enjoyed the scenery while The Skink ran off into the crowd... again.

Having captured the wayward Skink, we successfully kept her occupied (for a minute) with food.

Iraq looked all pretty and stuff until she saw the camera come out and then jumped up to show us her best...

Jesus pose.

When The Skink got up to pose for a picture or two, she just couldn't seem to get the spotlight for herself. Shocker.

And more random pretty crap...

It came as no surprise to me that the entire time we were there, Iraq found no shortage of things to beg for. First it was for food, then to get her face painted, then for popcorn, then a balloon, then to make sand art, then for food again... Mimi and I were able to narrow her down to making sand art, and then popcorn on our way out of the festival. Yet... the begging persisted, regardless of the reminders and reassurances. I'm used to it, but I think Mimi was about to scream.

So we made the sand art and purchased the popcorn. I told Iraq she could eat it at home (the last thing my car needs is an entire bag of sugary-sticky kettle-corn spilled all over the floorboard, and then smashed into the carpet by little feet.

Melt. Down.

Big, GIANT, hairy melt down. The kind of melt down only a kid with Aspergers can throw. The kind of melt down that almost stopped the music at the festival and had every eye turned our direction. The kind of melt down that spooked the horses pulling the cart and made the rest of the apples fall instantly off the trees while at the same time curdling the apple-butter in the giant boiling pots.

That. Kind. Of. Melt. Down.

All because I wouldn't let the kid who just finished lunch, eat sugar-sticky popcorn in the car.

I'm pretty sure all the festival-goers could hear the continuing melt down as we drove off on the brightly-colored tree-lined lane. Mimi and I ignored Iraq's wails and did our best to maintain a conversation with each other while The Skink cowered in her seat, holding her hands over her ears.

Finally I told Iraq that I would send Mimi home with the popcorn if I got to the count of "3." Most of the time this trick doesn't work, and I end up giving away, throwing away or otherwise removing whatever offending item has had the bad luck to be the focal point of the melt down, but... I made it to "2," and Iraq grew quiet, hiccuping and shaking in her seat. As with all of her other melt downs, after a few minutes a subdued voice said, "Mommy? I'm sorry I was arguing."

Arguing? Is that what you call it? Boy... you'd make one h311 of a lawyer... but all I said (audibly) was, "I appreciate your apology, Iraq."

Somewhere about this time I heard Mimi say under her breath, "Wow... now I understand why you don't want to go to this kind of thing alone with them!"

Yeah... I don't get out much.

So, what do I have to show for my labors?

Yeah, baby! Got us some of that curdled apple butter and some black raspberry jam! Neither of which I can eat right now because I'm on a no-sugar diet, But hey - my ~~inmates~~ family will love them!

So... what did YOU do this weekend?

*

Any Blog Friends Need a Good Giveaway Idea for Fun... or Fund Raising??

2011-10-13T17:20:00.000-04:00

So this post is off my usual beaten path of kids, kid stuff, school, special needs, etc, etc...

No, this post is to let all my friends and blogger buddies know about something I can do for you. A ~~long time~~ few years ago I wanted very much to major in Art, but I was warned off that major for practicality sake. The truth of the matter is that there are not many pencil & paper or paint & canvas artists out there making a boot-load of dough. So I majored in Communications & Journalism instead.

While I love writing, I must now look for something marketable to the masses as it were. These are tough economic times and... well...

So anyway, I have recently found a way of combining my love of art with the computer world in a rather unique and fun way. Have you ever had a photograph that was very good... except for an awful background? Or an unfortunate zit taking up prime real estate? Or a stain? Or drool? Or the 30 years you seem to have put on over night? Or... ?

I think we've all had photos like that. Well, I've discovered that I'm actually rather talented at altering photos. Check out these before and after shots:

My beautiful mother doesn't like the way she looks in pictures... but she has just uploaded the one I did for her (on the right) as her Facebook profile picture.

This is me. Can you tell I took the picture myself? In the bathroom? I'm afraid the dim light was not kind to my 40-some years. It's not the best picture of me, but it served as great practice!

This is one of those rare pictures of myself that I actually rather like... except that you can tell I took it myself while sitting in my car... and you can see a child car seat in the back.

Aside from adding in my own funky background, I also had a little fun and made my green eyes even more green. My husband calls them my "Incredible Hulk" eyes. Rawr!

The neat thing is that with a clear photo, there's not a whole lot I can't do. At this time I can't add other people into a photo - but I can whiten your teeth, put eye liner on you, wipe the drool off your kid, airbrush cellulite (within reason), oh, and...

I can take your already adorable kid and highlight certain features... or even change them. You should know, Iraq actually has dark brown eyes. Heeheehee!

And I can also do artsy stuff.

So here's the deal. Three randomly-selected commenters will get free photo-editing services for any photo of their choice. The only stipulations are that you must own all rights to the photo, and it should be a fairly clear photo.

This would also be the perfect accent to a fundraiser or a blog giveaway!

So leave a comment and tell a friend!

Good luck!

*

Hello October

2011-10-05T17:12:00.000-04:00

October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month, and like many cities and towns across the U.S., our town hosted a Buddy Walk.

Our local Buddy Walk is very casual and laid back - which is really good considering all I own is made of either denim or cotton... or cotton denim... At any rate, the Buddy Walk is a great time to talk with other parents of children with Down syndrome face-to-face, and for someone who relies on the internet for interactions with other parents, it was a great refresher course in human interactions. I don't get out much.

Mimi and Pop came too, and I was able to drag Broadway to the event also. Iraq and The Skink loved all the activities set up for the younger kids!

There was a bit of a chill in the air which was great for all the jumping and walking which otherwise would have resulted in a very sweaty day. It was not so great for my sinus infection and laryngitis, but honestly I didn't mind all that much. I mean, what was I going to do? Whine? I couldn't even talk!

After the walk, The Skink found a great playground, so we hung out even longer.

And a fun time was had by all.

October is also known as being a spooky time of year. My own little spook wanted to "practice" for Halloween today. We had fun painting her face and then went outside for a creepy photo shoot.

I think this look suits her...

So now I'm on antibiotics to prevent me from coughing up a lung, and my voice is making a return which is good because now I can shriek in feigned terror when my 8-year-old pops out from behind a door in hopes of scaring me to death. It's all good... after all, that's what October is for!

Land of the Great Willow Tree

2011-09-18T22:00:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time, there was an elven princess who was called by her loved ones Princess Skink-In-Pink. Like many other young princesses, Princess Skink-In-Pink longed to set out from her kingdom to seek adventure, so she donned her magic elven willow-wood circlet,

and put another magic elven willow-wood circlet upon the head of her sister, Princess Iraq...

and another upon the furry head of princess Brandy (because dogs totally dig wearing magic willow-wood circlets, you know).

Together the group set forth to seek adventure in the Land of the Great Willow Tree.

It was a long and treacherous journey. A mysterious voice whispered to Princess Skink-In-Pink, telling her an amazing secret... she would need a hand to get to the high reaches of the Land of the Great Willow Tree.

Great elven huntresses as they were, Princess Skink-In-Pink and Princess Iraq had soon ~~hunted down~~ located and ~~chopped off~~ liberated a hand from an unsuspecting passer-by (who apparently no-longer needed it).

Upon reaching the high reaches of the Land of the Great Willow Tree, Princess Skink-In-Pink and Princess Iraq were more than a little incensed to learn from yet another annoying mysterious whispering voice that there was not enough adventure in the high reaches of the Land of the Great Willow Tree to make the princesses content, so the princesses told the voice to put a sock in it and went to dance around the great fire.

And why, you may ask, was this fire so great? 'Cause it was made by the great Queen of the Elves!! Yeah, baby - I got fire skillz!

And so it was, while dancing around the great-yet-not-so-big fire, the the princesses heard a voice in the wind which began to whisper, "The adventure you seek..." and the princesses put their hands over their ears and yelled, "La la la la la la la la la la, we can't hear you!" and that was a good thing for if one constantly listens to mysterious, whispering voices telling them to do crap, it's probably time for an MRI... and a straight jacket...

And so, of their own accord (or at least the accord of the boring old King and Queen), the princesses set forth to search out adventure in the deep, dark bosom of the earth. Luckily there was a teenage guide available to lead the way.

Within the earth, the princesses saw things that hung down...

and rather interesting-looking things that stuck up...

Things that looked like teeth...

And some cute, little fuzzy things that they were told eat bugs and not princesses...

And at long last, the princesses reached the underground Pool of Dreams. The princesses said it was cool and then yawned.

And they wandered deeper and deeper into the earth until...

...Princess Brandy yelled "Run! It's that creepy dude from 'Scream!'"

It wasn't, but you can see how she may have gotten confused... and seriously, you really DON'T want to run into anything that even remotely looks like the 'Scream' guy in a place that dark!

But when the princesses looked up and saw the Salem, Virginia fault line running above them, they knew that they had found adventure... and a really bad place to be during seismic activity.

It's not my fault!

And so they left the earth's bosom and once above ground, found ways of warming the chill of the caverns from their weary bones and floppy ears.

And the Queen of the Elves called upon a higher power to grant her strength and stamina to raise her adventure-seeking princesses well...

and was rewarded with bunny ears.

With adventure achieved, Princess Iraq was unsure she was ready to rest. She asked the Queen of the Elves if she could take a Tarzan-style leap off a picnic table and swing from the sweeping willowy strands because it looked like fun.
"No," said the Queen of the Elves. "I'm afraid those willowy strands will not be able to hold you." Not believing the Queen of the Elves, Princess Iraq leapt any way, catching an arm-full of willowy strands mid-flight...

"CRACK!" The branch from which those willowy strands grew, fell from the heavens (or at least from the tree) casting poor, rebellious Princess Iraq down onto her skinny little arse. With baleful eyes, Princess Iraq said, "It broke!" to which the Queen of the Elves replied, "Uh... yeah?"

Feeling badly that her willful little imp damaged the beautiful tree, the Queen of the Elves proclaimed that the lovely branch filled with willowy strands should not have died in vain, so in true Na'vi style she sent a quick prayer up to the Gods, ("Oh thank heaven nobody saw that!") and wove the willowy strands into a basket proving that she really was the Martha Stewart of the wilderness!

And then it was agreed that enough adventure had been found by the elven princesses, so the toadstool was packed up, the last s'mores were eaten and the elven family loaded up and journeyed home where Princess Iraq had a melt down and Princes Skink-In-Pink had a bath.

And they all lived ~~happily~~ ever after because elves (even elves with Asperger's and elves with Down syndrome and elves with ADHD) are immortal...

are we there yet?

*

Labeling Children

2011-09-14T17:10:00.000-04:00

A comment I read the other day got the gears in my brain turning on the subject of labels.

For years and years teachers and school administrators have been warned about the evils of labeling the children they teach, which I believe has actually resulted in some teachers denying or avoiding labels altogether.

Unfortunately I believe that there has been a fair amount of misinterpretation on this subject, and perhaps it would be wiser to ask people to avoid mis-labeling children. Let me explain:

Going all black-and-white and deciding on day 3 of school which kids are "bad" and which kids are "good" is... well... you shouldn't be a teacher.

Telling a parent (who comes to you with paperwork from 3 separate doctors suggesting a child is in the autism spectrum and requires a certain amount of extra help to succeed) that you don't believe in "labeling children" and would rather just "wing it" until you discover what works for their child isn't a great idea either.

First, there is a BIG difference between a label and a stereotype. Stereotyping a group of people based upon some incongruous collection of almost-similar characteristics is... well... Bad! It is no more sensible to say that "all children with Asperger's avoid eye contact" than it is to say "all girls like to wear pretty dresses to school every day," or that "all white people enjoy elevator music." (Sorry, but seriously... do elevators even like elevator music?)

Labels, when properly given and properly used, can provide a kind of starting point. Raising and teaching children is a little like cooking.

Um... not that kind of cooking...

A recipe for a specific dish would not be passed from generation to generation if it were not somehow unique and special. Most of us don't eat hamburgers each and every night because there are so many other wonderful dishes to sample (...mmmm... hamburgers sound good... ) But if you want to make spaghetti one night, you don't go buy hamburger buns or fire up the grill... unless your spaghetti is a lot different from my spaghetti.

While most meals are fairly straight-forward and won't require you to pull out Grandma's dog-eared recipe folder each time you are ready to make dinner, every now and then you may be called upon to make something special.

That is when the labels become extra-special handy!

Lets just say you've been asked by family members to bring a pumpkin pie to your family reunion. Unless you grow your own pumpkins, most (average) people will run to the store and grab a few cans of pumpkin pie filling as well as the necessary ingredients for the crust-thing you're supposed to put the filling in. (Honestly... what were people thinking asking you to bake a pie? Next year you'll insist on bringing the chips like you did last year... )

So - time to get cooking! But which can do you use?

From this angle they look about the same, but I can guarantee that unless your family wants to be treated to "country-style string bean and potato pie," you'll be wise to determine which can to use by it's label and not its circumference!

When a valid label (endorsed by multiple specialists) exists, it can make for a good starting point. Don't let that label turn into a stereotype and assume that because the XYZ method worked to help Jedidiah learn to talk that that method will work for little Janine just because both children have Down syndrome. Utilize the label to find what mechanics may be at play which could be delaying Janine's speech. Perhaps her narrow Eustachian tubes have caused the inner ear to fill with fluid and she can't hear the words properly. Perhaps she has a slightly larger tongue and can't fully control it yet. The label is just used to know what to look for - not an an entire recipe for success, just as the pumpkin pie filling label just tells you what the can contains, and not how to make a pie, complete with crust.

Same concept with kids with other special needs. Know what's in the can before you try to create a world-class (or a ready-for-the-world class) dinner from it.

So yeah - I totally dig labels. Especially these labels:

Oh thank goodness you reminded me. I'd hate to lose my ability to flip off bad drivers!

So true!

The message here is clear. To get out of the trunk after unwittingly falling in while loading groceries and then closing the top instead of just climbing back out, pull the little handle installed in there by car designers who kindly assumed that you're a moron, jump out and run to blog about what a stupid thing you just did!

And my personal favorite:

Ad did you know Andy Warhol was also believed to have Asperger's?

No wonder his work is so great!

And in other news, we won't need that canned pumpkin pie filling after all!

Our crazy (you know how I am about labels) pumpkin plant has no roots due to the unwanted advances of a hungry chipmunk. Darn critter chewed through the entire stalk when the plant was about 20 feet long.

Online sources say that a plant can't grow pumpkins without the roots (or the first 10 feet of the main stalk) but apparently our pumpkin plant didn't get the memo. As a mom, I just think you have to believe in a pumpkin... you know? It proceeded to climb up the fence, wind its way through a few times, and then produce a pumpkin! Darn pumpkin is so heavy I've had to tie it to the fence so it doesn't break its own stalk.

And the tomatoes are beyond delicious. Yes - this is one of ours:

Here are our plants as they attempt a hostile takeover of our neighbor's back yard.

Well - you didn't think that gi-hugo hunk of a tomato came from some sad, wimpy plant did you? These things are so tenacious I've had to cage them all up to prevent them from escaping from the back yard! I'd hate our local police to be forced to put out an APB for runaway tomato plants! We'd probably find them at the local high school football field where they'd be yelling "you wanna piece of me?" at the varsity linebackers.

Anywhoo... the moral of this blog is: don't fear labels. And: Don't believe everything you read about pumpkins. And don't try to make pumpkin pie with string beans... it probably won't work well.

*

Do Parents use Special Needs as an excuse for Bad Behavior?

2011-09-12T21:25:00.004-04:00

I ran across this little ditty the other day and, as the mother of 3 kids with 3 different diagnosis', found it rather thought provoking.

Views of Professor Priscilla Alderson as seen at psychminded.co.uk

Professor Alderson said that it was often convenient for neglectful parents to claim that a child had a behavioural disorder. She believes that much of the increase can be put down to more flexible interpretations of normal childhood traits, such as restlessness and excitability. In our more gullible age, she says, this becomes attention deficit — which could be solved by engaging more with children and allowing them to let off steam in traditional fashion by playing in parks and climbing trees.

“I recently visited a special school which had 27 children diagnosed as autistic. Of those, only two that I met displayed the lack of eye contact and absence of empathy which denotes true autism,” she said. “Money is behind all this. Pyschologists want the work, and lower the diagnosis threshold accordingly. Special needs is an administrative device describing children who have extra needs from those provided for in the average classroom.
Professor Alderson, 57, who has three grown-up children and three grandchildren, admitted that her eldest daughter had been “difficult”, something she attributes to her naivity at the time about how to be a good parent. “By the time my other children came along I had realised that if you treat children as adults then they will behave accordingly.”

See article HERE.

So... lemme get this straight. Because Iraq makes eye contact and she is fully capable of going through the motions of showing empathy, she does not have Asperger's? Well hallelujah! It's a miracle - my 8-year-old has been cured! What a wonderful relief!

Quite honestly, I wold LOVE to have Iraq's issues boil down to poor parenting as it would mean I could FIX the problem, but unfortunately for myself and thousands of other parents of children in the autism spectrum, Professor Priscilla Alderson is an outdated, judgmental moron whose views will only add to the struggles we face. (Ooops! Did I just type that out loud?)

It is unfortunate that there are people out there, working under the guise of being an "expert," who know and understand so little about autism. I may not have "Professor" in front of my name, but I honestly believe I know far more about the symptoms of Asperger's in girls than the Priscilla Aldersons of the world.

"I didn't spend 6 years in evil medical school to be called 'Mister.' Thank you very much!"

Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997). Laugh at sound byte here.

That said, I must admit that I DO use my children's special needs as an excuse for bad behavior. For example:

I use Iraq's meltdowns as an excuse to let the clean laundry wrinkle in the dryer for 15-60 minutes some days. (OMG!! People are going to think I am an incompetent launderer! The horror!)
I use The Skink's Down syndrome as an excuse for the school bus to pick her up at the front door instead at the top of the street (and when I say "at the 'top' of the street," I mean a hill that goes up at an angle of about a 45° for about 2 blocks). We've tried the walk before - she usually walks about 20 feet at 0.1258 miles-per-hour before begging to be carried the rest of the way. I don't want to carry a 30+ lb. child UP the hill every morning... I'm lazy that way, you know.
I use the theory that the sum is greater than the parts as an excuse to NOT be an active member of the PTA. Well... that and the fact that my husband doesn't get home from work until after 7:30 p.m. and that I don't trust most babysitters to be able to handle the sum of the younger 2 parts... nor do I trust the oldest part to not distract said babysitter...
I use the excuse that my son has ADHD to not make him babysit his 2 little sisters often so I can ~~torture myself~~ enjoy being a regular part of the PTA. I also use the ADHD excuse to make him mow the lawn... there I go bein' all lazy again. *sigh*
I use 2 of my children's "issues" as an excuse to bring our dog on family vacations and to restaurants.

So yeah... I'm bad! Seriously BAD!

Ok... well... maybe not that bad...

Me... after 16 years of evil school.

Does this look like good PTA material to you?

*Don't answer that*

So what do you think? Do you feel that autism spectrum disorders and ADD/ADHD are fig-newtons of society's collective imagination?

Do you think parents use the "special needs" label as a crutch or an excuse for bad parenting?

Or, like me, do you believe that while there are plenty of parents out there who don't properly discipline their "normal" kids, there are also parents struggling with children who have very real issues? Yes - it can be hard to tell the difference, but you don't have to go to a day of evil school to know that labeling MOST parents of children with ASDs or ADD/ADHD as neglectful, gullible people who don't take their children to the park enough is worse than submerging them in a tank of sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads. Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?

But I digress.

"Help! I'm in a nutshell! How did I get into this bloody great big nutshell? What kind of shell has a nut like this?"

Yeah... I totally feel that way some days...

Oops! I digressed again.

So tell me what you think!

Oh Behave!

2011-09-08T16:41:00.000-04:00

What Would You Do?

Imagine this... a new family moves into a house just down the street from you with an 8-year-old daughter who is almost exactly the same age as your daughter. (Not to assume that everyone has an 8-year-old daughter, but humor me for this little tidbit.)

The family seems (note the italics) well educated and friendly, and shortly after their arrival they invite you and your daughter over to their house for a play date. While you are there, your daughter spies some fun-looking dolls neatly arranged on a shelf and picks one to play with. Your new neighbor's child races over, snatches the doll away and *shrieks* "Don't mess up my dolls!" To make matters worse, she then starts crying like she was bitten by a shark or something.

Whoa.. right? The kid is EIGHT YEARS OLD. I mean, what is with this kid? Has the word share never been spoken in this house or what?

So the freaky kid's mom intervenes, and instead of sending psycho-girl to time out, she HUGS her, holds her in her lap and whispers to her!

Yeah - kind of like that!

Does this woman not watch Super Nanny? Isn't that like, the opposite of what any intelligent parent would do?

After a while the brat gets up out of her mom's lap and hands your daughter the doll that caused the melt down and heads to the opposite side of the room as if your daughter isn't even there. In hopes of fostering a friendly relationship, you ask the girls if they'd like to play a game of "I-Spy" together with you. Of course your daughter brightens up and is eager to play. The other kid? Totally ignores you...

So again her mother (who you're thinking has less and less in common with you by the millisecond) goes over to her daughter and asks her again if she'd like to play. Kid looks over at you and screams at you, "I am not a spy! Don't call me a spy!"

Huh?

So you (sort of) calmly explain it's a game and go over the rules and start out, "I spy with my eye..." and the kid interrupts you to inform you that "I," "spy" and "eye" are all rhyming words and then proceeds to list off about 468 more words that rhyme (because you so totally care, right?). Needless to say that not only do you not get to play the I-Spy game, but nobody else can get a word in edgewise.

Well, just look at the time!

You cordially announce that you simply must be going - you know... 10,000 things to do before dinner and all...

The other mom stands up with you and agrees, saying that it's probably a good time to start homework.

As you're leaving, you hear the new creepy-kid start having this mega-tantrum, shrieking over and over, "I want to play! I want to play!" like some sort of whacked-out broken record. I mean, she didn't exactly play while you were there, and now she wants to play? Is it just me or does it sound like she's gotten away with begging and whining to avoid homework a time or two before?

To your horror, the kid shows up at your door shortly after you get home to give back the lip-gloss she apparently stole from your daughter!

Um... wow.

Now there's a great little friend for your daughter, right?
*insert "Oh, like HELL NO!" here*

What would you do?

Do you foster a friendship with this nasty, spoiled, whiny little heathen and her parents who possibly don't possess an ounce of "How To Parent" knowledge, or remain cordial but just "happen" to be busy when they want to play? Do you keep quiet, or do you offer up some creative suggestions for behavioral issues?

I mean, don't we pretty much all know that if a child whines it is because whining has gotten her what she wants? Don't we all know that if a child has a temper tantrum, you don't reward the behavior but put the child in time-out, or take a favorite toy away? It's freakin' 2011 - why would anybody not know these things?

Am I wrong? Have you decided how you feel about this situation?

Doesn't the expression on that face about sum it up?

What if I am wrong?

What if I am jumping to some conclusions? Conclusions like that common discipline methods work for every child? Conclusions like that this child was purposefully misbehaving or is spoiled?

But how could I be wrong? Everything I've seen on shows from Dr. Phil to Super Nanny -

in books from Dr. Spock...

No - not that Spock! That Spock! >

...to the wide plethora of available literature currently available on the subject of child-rearing... they all would suggest my conclusions are correct - heck - they taught me those conclusions!

So what if I told you that this story is a representation of a real situation...

and that I am the other mom. You know... the one who held her child in a bear-hug during a melt-down to prevent her from hurting anyone after one of the dolls was removed from it's permanently-assigned place in an OCD-style line-up.

What if I told you that ever since Iraq was tiny, none of the parenting techniques that supposedly work on ALL children, worked for my middle child? Yeah - they worked great for my oldest who has ADHD. They work great for my youngest who has Down syndrome, but they don't work for Iraq.

You see, Iraq has Aspergers - it's an autism spectrum disorder - and she doesn't learn from experience the way most kids do.

I know that sounds very weird, and indeed it is very weird - even when you've been living with it for 8 years! Iraq's communication issues - both inside her own brain and in absorbing outside stimulus - mean that she gathers information differently than "neuro-typical" (or NT) children. She learns and responds differently than NT children. It means that her actions and reactions are based on something different than those of an NT child... something that can't be seen and something that is very, very hard for others to understand.

It means that no matter where we go and no matter what we do, my parenting skills will automatically be called into question by those who have watched all the shows, read all the books and "know" all the answers.

I will tell you myself that I used to be the most awesome parent! I used all the expert-approved techniques and I had the most well-behaved son! Hooray for me!

Luckily, many parents end up with 2 or more NT children, and if used properly, these techniques work GREAT for those children.

I do realize how hard it is for others to understand how different parenting a child in the autism spectrum is than parenting an NT child - especially if you're lucky enough to have more than one well-behaved NT child. I should also mention that all children in the autism spectrum are different too, and what works for one may not work for another... and sometimes it can take what seems like forever to find something... anything... that works at all.

*I will mention that I took a break (to ~~restrain~~ hold Iraq in a bear hug) just now after she had a melt-down because I wouldn't help her with her homework right that second and then her sister put on her shoe and she tried to stab The Skink with a pencil in retaliation and then started screaming when I told her to take a time out so I had to physically carry her up the stairs (even though I have a bad back) and lay down on top of her until she calmed down so she wouldn't hurt us all and so that she knows she has limits (and so do I) and in order to do my part to try to teach her to fit in with the world she was born into.*

What? Don't you do that with your kids every day?

At the end of the 15-minute meltdown (sounds like a new workout DVD series, doesn't it?) she wouldn't let go of me, and told me how much she loves me. What? Not the typical response from a child who has just been physically restrained?

I should mention that although I may be doing this a number of times a day right now, that is not always the case. It's just that the school year has just begun - new teacher, new schedule - and Iraq does not do well with transitions or change. Not well at all! Once she gets into her new rhythm, we'll only have meltdowns if there's a new skill introduced at school , on holidays, weekends... or if we're "lucky" enough to go on a trip or something. Yeah - we look forward to those days!

So yeah - - I'm that mom. The one with the kid who has no friends. She still wants to knock on our neighbor's door up the street on occasion, but usually nobody answers. If she sees them through a window, she is told they are about to go somewhere or have an appointment or something. I can hardly blame them. It's tough being her mother, let alone her neighbor with 3 well-behaved NT children.

But it still hurts.

I'm struggling but I do the best I can. We follow the guidelines suggested by our autism specialists (who say - "Yeah - we know. You need to do this but it may not change the behavior. There's not much else we can tell you other than 'hang in there!'"). I do tell the other parents I meet that Iraq is in the spectrum... usually I'm met with understanding nods which soon morph into confused looks. Even when people "know," many still offer advice. Trust me - - we've been there, done that. If it worked, we'd still be there. I promise.

At any rate, I hold on to my sense of humor for dear life. If you need proof, just ask my 16-year-old son. He just got home from school and I asked him if he wanted milk and cookies. His eyes brightened up and he said "Yeah!" I pointed down the road and said, "Great! Me too! The Kroger is about a mile that way!"
LOL! Milk and cookies? I'm just not that kind of mom!

From Here To There, From There To Here... Funny Things Are Everywhere!

2011-08-28T14:31:00.005-04:00

Well, what a week it has been! Though our family had initially planned a nice little camping trip for this past week, life has a funny way of throwing curve-balls. Curve-balls that mean you leave the camper at home, but have a chance to see a lot more of nature... and human nature... and...

If you recognize the picture above, you might be a redneck... or a Texan. Last winter, my father-in-law moved from Georgia to Texas. Unfortunately his health has been declining and it was recently suggested to us that we come visit... soon. The trek from VA to TX is a long one at about 1,152 miles... but I think that number doubles for each child in the car. (Am I wrong?) If it weren't for the DVD players (yeah - that's plural) and the dog, it would have seemed even longer than that.

And right now you're probably saying to yourself, "You traveled 1,152 miles with 3 kids and A DOG? What, are you nuts?"

Yes I am! Obviously we should have left the kids with someone!

The dog was a saving grace! As some of you may know, I put our Olde Victorian Bulldogge through Service Dog training. The picture above is her, crashed out in a very crazy-busy Tennessee McDonalds in the PlayLand area where we were allowing the 2 youngest of our brood to play off some energy. Not only does our dog not beg or drool when she smells Big Mac-luciousness, but if you drop food on the floor next to her, she pretends she doesn't even see it.

What service does Brandy Ann provide? Well, Iraq (who has Asperger syndrome) often becomes very over-stimulated - especially in busy, noisy, colorful places... like in a McDonald's play land.We can see the tell-tale signs. First she plays like all the other kids. Then, her play starts becoming a little wild and loud. Then louder... Then... she begins trying to find a private, quiet place within the giant habitrail-like plastic tubes. (Good luck with that, kiddo!) She resembles a feral cat as she slinks and hides when anyone comes near her or if we try to call to her. Once we are able to GET HER OUT... a task that is usually far easier said than done... she goes into full, non-verbal melt-down mode. As we pull her away from the multi-colored maze of plastic, the shrieking will begin and the limbs stop working.

Without the dog, we may stay in melt-down mode anywhere from 10 minutes to some giant indefinite number of minutes. As if it's not bad enough that I am having to subdue a shrieking, flailing child, it's usually at these cherished moments when I am bequeathed with dagger-stares from other parents. (My favorite part of any meltdown!)

With the dog? Well, the moment she is placed next to Brandy Ann, the shrieks stop immediately. She puts her arms around the dog's neck and buries her face in her neck. In about 5 minutes, she has calmed down completely and asks politely if she can go back and play.

Yes - - the dog DOES help!

So how was Texas, you ask?

Yup - that about sums it up! Not only was it hot, but the state is experiencing its worst drought since Texans started keeping records... so like, before the Alamo and all that. It was so hot and dry in fact that we all spontaneously combusted the moment we stepped out of the car.

Anywhoo... We are very thankful that we got to see Pawpaw. The kids will have some very nice memories of time shared with him... except for The Skink who would get no closer than about two feet from him. (So it's been a while since she last saw him.) Iraq and Broadway got snuggely for a picture.

And we got to see cousins... however I think poor Pawpaw may have gotten just a liiiiitttlllle overwhelmed...

We even took Pawpaw to the aquarium in Grapevine, TX...

And we got to see an old friend just for a few minutes. Cyndi was one of The Skink's favorite nurses during her (rather loooonng) stay in the NICU, 5 years ago.

After 3 very short days in Texas enjoying Pawpaw, we headed to Louisiana to further torture ourselves by adding humidity to the unbearable heat and to visit my sister. On the way, we got stuck in a traffic jam, (due to a brush fire obviously caused by spontaneously combusting swamp-grass... or possibly by some moron throwing a cigarette out a car window - my vote is for the spontaneous combustion thing) but it allowed us to see one of the funniest scenes ever. Some cars were using the median to turn around and avoid the jam. Well... a motorcycle cop saw the cars driving through the median and made them turn around, drive back through the median and get back in line! Go LA police - you tell 'em!

The offending white car takes the drive of shame back to her place in line... ROFLMAO!

Eventually we did get to my sister's house un-charred and in one piece so that Broadway could get some good chicken cuddles from Chick-A-Doodee. What? Doesn't everybody have a pet chicken?

Iraq got to ride Aunt Kate's new mare, Jelly Belly, all by herself. We later found out that the belly isn't due to jelly at all! The vet came out and confirmed that in a few weeks Jelly Belly will be a mommy! My poor sister hyperventilated on the spot!

I got to ride too for the first time in way too long! (On one of the non-pregnant geldings.) Yeah - couldn't suppress that big ol' silly grin!

And while New Orleans is not exactly on the rout back home, hearing that Hurricane Irene was bearing down on our home state, we thought there would be a certain amount of fun in the irony of taking refuge in that fine city! At least long enough for lunch and some window shopping.

We did discover one little over-sight in NOLA, however. It became VERY clear that prior to our next summer trip to a city notoriously as hot as... someplace even further south... we will have to invest in some doggy booties! Heat-resistant doggie booties! Poor Brandy minced over each hot patch of brick sidewalk until she reached the next shady portion where she slowed waaaaaayyyyy down to cool her poor feet. Smart dog!

And what would a road trip be without a blown tire in Nowheresville, Mississippi? Yeah... and I'm not even going to mention getting pegged by another car in NOLA (their fault) and getting some retread thrown under our front end by an 18 wheeler, causing further unnecessary vehicular damage. (Oops - I mentioned it.)

We saw the inside of far too many McDonalds' in the duration of our trip. We also saw tons of caravans of tree removal trucks and line-repair trucks coming from LA and MS toward the areas targeted by Irene. I don't know why I chose this particular caravan of about 10 trucks to photograph, but we saw them again a few hours later - just 2 hours from our home :( Oops!

After all our adventures, we got home very late - and very tired! It was an adventure for sure, but there's no place like home, is there?

*Disclaimer: We do not live in a white picket fence, but in a house that happens to have one.

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The Amazing Adventures of SuperMom - now in color...

2011-08-15T19:49:00.000-04:00

Taking a child with Asperger's (autism spectrum) and a child with Down syndrome to the doctor is NOT like going on a trip to Vegas... at all.

So with school starting in about 2 weeks, it suddenly crossed my mind that both the girls needed their yearly physicals done before they'll be allowed to actually go to school. I really don't have a problem with this since I don't want my girls catching something like, say, the plague, from classmates that haven't had a yearly inspection. My issue is remembering to make an appointment for my kids before school actually starts.

I totally lucked out today because when I called to beg and plead for an appointment, they had just gotten a cancellation for this afternoon. Yay!

So we loaded up and got to the doctor's office only 3 minutes late which is pretty good for us. The Skink is still leery of all doctors (or even anyone who wears a lot of white) after last year's little hospital stay where unpleasant things were done to her around the clock for a week. She shook the whole time we were there, but did very well, all things considered. I'm happy to report neither of my girls has Ebola, rabies or the plague!

Just when we thought we were home free, the doctor was kind enough to share with me that both girls needed immunizations.

Happy, happy!

Iraq was very unhappy to learn this little tid-bit! At first she said she would go first and get it over with, but then proceeded to lock herself in the bathroom for 10 minutes. I went ahead and let them stick The Skink 2ce... she was supposed to have 4, but since autism runs in our family, I avoid "overload" by spreading them out instead of allowing them all at once. (We'll be going back in 2 weeks so they can torture her again.)

When we finally coaxed Iraq out of the bathroom, she came into the examination room and promptly hid under the big, wood exam table! The poor nurses (who didn't want a malpractice suit brought against them for cruel and unusual handling of a patient) informed me that I had to remove her from under the table.

It's very unfortunate that I didn't have an extra person with me to take pictures... and you know how I am about getting pictures of the crazy stuff that happens. So, since I don't have actual photographs of this exciting and unusual event, I have taken it upon myself to illustrate my story like this:

I even made my muscles look comic-book-big for effect! And while I may have taken the liberty of making myself appear about 20 lbs thinner, you'll notice that I did include the lovely plumbers crack issue that appeared mid-pull.

It was like pulling a calf... not that I've ever actually pulled a calf, but I've seen it done on a show about cattle ranchers. I got down and stuck my arm under the table, grabbed a thin-but-powerful 8-year-old arm, avoided being bitten, got myself into a sitting position, braced both flip-flopped feet on the side of the table and PUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLED!

Amazingly, I was able to get her out... but not without one heck of a fight.

Just another day for SuperMom, right? So in celebration of comic book-style illustrations...

See? I even put the crackly-paper on the exam table :o)

By this point The Skink (who had already calmed down after her own shots) was pretty much freaking out again. Who could blame her considering her sister was shrieking like a stuck pig. In fact, Iraq was screaming so much and so loudly, every nurse in the building ran to our exam room expecting missing limbs, alligators and Ebola.

It took 3 of them to hold down my 43 lb 8-year-old and administer the necessary chicken pox booster. The second they got her subdued enough to actually stick her, she stopped crying and exclaimed, "That didn't even hurt!"

REALLY?

All that and it didn't even hurt? After everything SuperMom and the herd of SuperNurses went through, it should have at least lived up to Iraq's expectations a little!

So... by the time the fire department arrived to save the Ebola-stricken girl under attack by an alligator, we were all tear-free and running like heck to the car! (OK - so the fire department didn't actually show up, but you should have seen how the other parents were looking at us!!)

And to celebrate their health, I treated them to some cholesterol-laden happy meals from McDonalds.

So... SuperMom has gone back to her secret layer in the bosom of Spa Mountain (in Vegas, babyyyyy!) where she does nothing but recline and eat bon-bons until someone sends up the super-secret SuperMom beacon to alert her to another world-threatening emergency... or at least until those ear drum-piercing screeches emanate from her 8-year-old again...

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If I Die Young... Please Incinerate My Cold, Empty Carcass Before It Starts To Stink!

2011-08-12T15:43:00.002-04:00

"If I Die Young"
By: The Band Perry

Refrain:

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song...

Every now and then we find ourselves unwittingly confronted by our own mortality. I had just such a moment today. On my way back home from Walmart, I saw this:

Yup - that's a casket on the back of a truck. Sorry the picture quality isn't very good - it was taken through my windshield with my phone camera, but you get the idea.

There it was as I pulled up to a light with my SUV loaded with milk and random frozen goods... a fake-marble casket being rather unceremoniously hauled to it's destination on the back of a truck dotted with rust and mud. I assume it is being taken to a funeral home or some sort of casket show-room (do they have those?)... and not to it's final-final resting place, which would insinuate it was already occupied. Personally I'd be a little disappointed if I had reserved a hearse only to have that truck pull up in front of the funeral home... but then my mind started wandering to whether or not I would want a hearse. Or a casket. Or a headstone...

And while all these cheery thoughts swirled about inside my cranium, I began hearing the melodic strains of a current pop hit by The Band Perry, If I Die Young.

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

Well, I certainly don't plan on dying young, (not that I'm currently as young as I was 20 years ago... but youth is relative) but unless terminally ill, one hardly plans on dying at all. My grandmother is a spry 102, so I figure I'm genetically predisposed to torture my children for a looooooong time before I get to haunt them.

My grandmother shortly after her 100th birthday. If you think that's cool, you should have seen her go down the Olympic bobsled slope in Lake Placid, NY for her 90th!

But... young people (like I like to believe I am) die every day in car accidents, drownings and random miniature donkey attacks. So really, I suppose I might put a little thought into what I'd want done with my remains (provided they could be scraped together after the donkey was done with me).

First and foremost, I rather doubt that in my state of deceasement I will care what kind of fabric is around me, so just do what you can to locate the remnants of my shredded (or scorched, or whatever) jeans and T-shirt and shovel them in with me.

As for sinking me in a river and sending me away to the words of a love song...

Unless you really want to make yourself look like a psychotic serial killer, I really think this means of a burial would be a bad idea. And just think of the poor person down-stream who experiences the joy of believing they have scored a free boat only to find themselves eye-to-foggy-eye with a purifying corpse. I have a feeling all those rose petals you sprinkled on my carcass will do very little to mask the odoriferous nature of my remains... especially if I die young in the summer time. At least in the winter there's a chance I'd simply be rendered a corpsicle by the freezing temperatures.

And while Anne Shirley might find the whole satin, boat, river burial very "romantical," in the US at least, it would be very illegal. Romantical abuse of a corpse?

So... rather than going on and on about what I don't think you should do, I'll line out some thoughts on getting rid of my "left-overs."

I hold the stolid belief that the body is just a vehicle for the soul. Once that vehicle reaches about 200K miles (or in my genetic case, about 300K miles - - after all, I am like the Toyota of the human species) that vehicle craps out at the side of some road somewhere, or perhaps gets totaled at a lower mileage. At that point, the soul calls Triple A and gets a ride back to the nearest shop. Now, if you happen to be Hindu, Buddhist or Taoist, you can simply get another vehicle (but be careful! If you haven't been very well behaved, you could end up in a beetle!) but if your Christian, you get to take an elevator either up or down, depending on the kind of person you are/were.

I'm not really sure about the whole heaven vs. hell thing. As my grandmother says, "Who wants to sit around picking daises for the rest of eternity?" I'm not sure that would interest me that much. My belief is that the soul (comprised of electrical impulses) is free to go anywhere once freed from it's fleshy vehicle... pretty much at the speed of light, too! That sounds like a blast.

At any rate, the vehicle was just that. A vehicle. Regardless of if a person's vehicle is a Lamborghini or a scooter, much like milk, it won't do anybody any good to keep it about past its expiration date. Some choose to have their vehicle buried, and some have theirs set ablaze and then have the ashes buried. Others want their ashes to be scattered in some favorite haunt (did you know Disney has a rule against sprinkling ashes on its property? Yeah... I'm glad too!).

For the record, I want my vehicle incinerated, please. The idea of filling it with preservatives, burying it in a hole and then letting it slowly transform into sub-terrarium gelatinous effluvium doesn't really float my proverbial romantical boat. Nope - burn me up. Heck, you don't even need to invest in one of those fancy urns or anything. If you're gonna recycle my vehicle, for goodness sake, just stick the ashes in an old, 2 liter Pepsi bottle or something.

Check it out...You can just make me out dancing about in the flames...

And what ever you do, please don't stick me on a mantle somewhere! I'm still alive and I already hide my thighs from view, so let's just assume that ain't nobody wants to see that on your mantle! No - go ahead and sprinkle me about. Dump a little of me off a scenic over-look on the Blue Ridge mountain chain. Scatter a little of me in my favorite lake. If you travel, leave my heart in San Francisco... and Greece - Greece should be worth an arm and a leg! And while you're out that way, I'm sure nobody would notice a few extra ashes tossed into a volcano somewhere, so put that on my "bottle list" too, please.

So, what do you want done with your vehicle?

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If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them!

2011-08-09T21:08:00.000-04:00

In keeping with the old saying, "f you can't beat them, join them," we took our very own wild-things to the zoo today. As you can see, they found the tiger especially frightening! (Do I have a couple of Drama Queens, or what?) We live in a small city, but we consider the zoo to be good enough because they have some real animals too.

I don't remember what this bovine creature is called. Luckily for me, I have a 16-year-old who knows everything. I just don't feel like dragging him away from his adventures in World of Warcraft at this very second to remind me. At any rate, this critter would have come home with me if we'd let him. He's in an area where there is just a fence between him and his admirers. Of course I had to reach in to touch him (I have a taste for danger!). Within a second of him getting close enough for me to reach him, I had found his itchy spot. After I gave him a good scratch, he proceeded to try to follow me until his enclosure prevented him from going further. Poor guy! I personally think he'd look very nice in our back yard.

My husband and son are real cat people, but they don't sport cool spots like this girl. So stylish!

To the right. To the right...

To the left. To the left...

Now hop!

OK... 'nuff of the Zoo boogey.

Oh... well maybe just a little more zoo-boogey...

¿Cómo estás, Issa?

(Wow - all that Dora has really paid off!)

Swiper - Noooo swiping!

All three kids had their favorite animals and exhibits, although The Skink may have thought the wacky mirror was the best exhibit of all.

Afterward we went to our favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner. Broadway and Iraq quickly found what animal represents their birth years. Broadway is proud to be a Boar. He was kind enough to explain to The Skink that a boar is a pig. Later The Skink was playing with one of the apps on my iPhone and found a picture of a pig. She held it up and said, "Look! It's Broadway!"

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Disaster Flambé - putting the FUN in... your Kindle?

2011-08-05T15:26:00.006-04:00

I'm excited to announce my new book Disaster Flambé is available on Kindle at Amazon.com!

And just to put the FUN in FUNd raising, for a limited time (ie: until I say so) I will be donating 10% of ALL profits from the book to Reece's Rainbow Adoption Ministry! You get a few hours of good, humorous entertainment, and at the same time, you'll know you're making a difference to differently-abled orphans in Eastern Europe. How can you loose?

Do you want a taste? OK - but just one. For more you have to buy the book.

Meeting the Neighbors

As I went out to check on the horses one last time one windy evening in March of 1994, I noticed a reddish glow coming over the hill to the north of the house. It was 10:30 at night and I reasoned with myself that due to both the time and direction, it probably was NOT the rising sun. I wandered up the hill to investigate, and came about as close to experiencing heart failure as I ever have. A large wall of fire fueled by the 40 mile an hour wind, was racing across the dried grass land directly toward me. It was still about 500 yards from our property line, but was wasting no time in getting there.

“D……………!” I yelled as I ran toward the house. “D…!”
An irritated voice replied from within the house “Whaaaaaat?”
“D…, there’s a FIIIIIIRE!”
“Where?”
“It’s (pant) almost (pant) here!” I managed to say as I reached the house.
We had been warned that the fire department was all but useless out where we were. There were no fire hydrants – just a small stock pond on the eastern portion of the property which would likely be serving up boiled bass by the time any fire trucks arrived. Frantically searching through a mess of letters and scrap paper on the kitchen counter, I finally found the scrap of paper the last home-owners had left for me that simply read, “If you have any problems, call the F.s at the following phone number.” The F.s were our new “next-door” neighbors who lived three miles to our east. We had yet to meet them, but this seemed as good a time as any.

I dialed the number as quickly as I could, and after a few rings, a motherly female voice answered. Doing my best to be polite and introduce myself, I quickly filled M. in on the details.

“Honey, I’ll git the boys and we’ll be right down.”

We then stood anxiously on the front porch to await the arrival of M. and “the boys.” Reminiscent of some lost scene from The Beverly Hillbillies, an ancient, red pick-up truck came racing over the winding gravel road, kicking up a long trail of dust .There were a number of shaggy looking men standing in the back yelling “Yeeeeee-Haaaawww!” and clearly enjoying the thrill of the ride. As they grew closer it became apparent they were armed with shovels, pitch-forks and wide, excitement-filled smiles that showed various missing teeth. Ah, The Boys were here, and apparently ready to do battle with ogres!

The mostly rusted-out truck, which seemed to be held together by duct-tape and bailing wire, slid to a halt in our driveway with billows of dust emanating from muffler-less underbelly. “The boys” hopped out and introduced themselves as B., K. and H. Then M. stepped out of the cab and shook my hand.
“Here we are!” she exclaimed.

Once the introductions had been made, someone noticed that the fire was cresting the hill and starting it’s short decent toward the house.
“Oh, BOY! Y’all got a REAL fire here!” called B. from his new vantage point on the hill, where he stood precariously close to the offending flames.
Buckets were passed about and filled with water. Worn-out, denim Wranglers were submerged in the buckets. My husband was handed a jeans-and-water filled bucket and instructed to beat out the fire with the wet jeans. Shovels were slung over shoulders and the pyro-posse launched its attack.

M. took me by the arm and led me toward the house, calmly asking how we liked our new place and wondering if we had any “little-uns” yet. Before I could answer or break down in tears from the stress, she went into a long explanation of which of The Boys had kids, how many, what ages and how many had already ridden a sheep in the mutton-bustin’ contest at the state fair rodeo.

If it had been up to me, I would have been outside beating flames into submission with wearable, wet weaponry, but M. would have none of that. According to her, women shouldn’t do that sort of thing because they never knew if they might have a “bun in the oven.”

“It don’t do no good to burn your oven while you’re cookin’ your bun.” she stated wisely.
I must say her freely given insights and advice worked quite well to take my mind off my burning property. They didn’t make complete sense to me, but just trying to sort them out in my mind made the time pass quickly.

After finishing her lecture on prenatal health, she asked, “You wanna go out on the porch for a cigarette?”

I was sure it would have been very wrong to start laughing just then. I held my tongue as I accompanied her out onto the front porch where we could see a number of dark, smoky figures moving about, silhouetted by huge red and yellow flames. The acrid smell of burning hay and trees was oddly soothing, bringing back memories of campfires and ghost stories.

“Where are you going, hon?” M. asked as I opened the front door to go back inside.
“I know I’ve got some marshmallows in here somewhere!” I called back as I ran toward the kitchen.

Not long after, another neighbor who had seen the flames showed up unannounced from the west bearing more shovels and jeans. For the next five hours the men fought the fire, keeping it away from the house and barn. M. and I swapped stories as we took cold beer and more marshmallows out to The Boys. By three-o-clock in the morning we were all covered from head to toe with black soot and grime.

The men had back-burned the property and kept the fire from spreading any further to the south or west. According to H., there were rocky ravines to the east which would stop the flames soon enough. House and barn saved, the tail-gates came down on the trucks and everyone took a seat with a cold beer in hand. In the moon light, all that could be seen of our soot-covered guests and saviors were the reflections of the moon’s glow off a random tooth when someone laughed or the twinkle in a friendly eye. The party finally split up around 4:30 in the morning when M. told The Boys to “round up all those old Wranglers” so she could get them into the wash. I have always wondered if they were planning on wearing them again, or if they just needed to be clean for the next fire?

Through our adventure we became fast friends with the F.s. Sometimes new neighbors knock on your door bearing cookies or casseroles, and others show up Hillbilly style in the back of a beat up pick-up truck to help save your homestead. It seems these days it’s just nice to have neighbors that care either way.

· Names have been modified to protect the identities of the toothless.

********************

Yes - in my book I also talk about pregnancy, my 3 children (with their various diagnosis') and even my boobs, because... why not? Please spread the word - I'd really love to raise some funds for Reece's Rainbow! I need people to read my book and leave a (hopefully) good review on Amazon.com so that other people will want to buy it and read it and so on... thereby raising more $$$ for RR! If you can spare a moment to blog about it, I'll be more thrilled than you can imagine.

So - funnest fund raiser yet, right? Hope you like the book and get some good giggles from my (mis)adventures!

Don't have a Kindle? Click Here for other ways to read the book!

Birthdays, Bikes and Dogs, Oh My!

2011-08-02T16:06:00.025-04:00

So while The Skink's birthday is actually on August 6, we celebrated early because daddy will be working on that day. Daddy has a funny schedule... one year we even moved Christmas back one day so we could celebrate it with him.

Anywhooo...

Apparently The Skink's new camera pose and "OhmygoshI'msurprised" pose is this:

LOL - I think she liked the cake and presents!

Yes - all in all, it was a successful not-quite-a-birthday party!

The next day we simply had to take the bike to the park for a test-drive!

We always try to remember to hydrate in this hot weather.

Um... who taught my just-about-5-year-old to vogue?

Yippee... Inchworms!

And then off to play again. Broadway was "displeased" that I wanted to take his picture. Can you tell?

And last-but-not-least, I took on a little project.

Brandy Ann is very difficult to fit with a service dog vest because, well... she's not your typical service dog. Yesterday I happened to go into a JoAnn's Fabric store, and guess what I found? Almost a full yard of the most beautiful neoprene sitting in the remnant bin for 50% off it's original ridiculously insane price! I grabbed it quickly and did a happy-dance right there in the middle of the store. Neoprene is perfect for a dog vest because it is durable but has the right amount of stretch to cover my puppy's massive shoulders without gaping or bunching up.

And my favorite picture of all:

Hope everyone is having a great week!

*

Poor Naked, Singing Barbie

2011-07-28T10:19:00.006-04:00

She used to sing with the sweetest little voice,
And for a while has been the toy of choice,

But with time and with age her voice has grown rough,
Her dress has been lost so she plays in the buff.

Though aging, no plastic cellulite sticks to her thighs,
No little wrinkles surround her blue eyes,

She’s been carried about near everywhere,
With this brush or that to brush her blond hair.

But alas! Last night there arose a great spat,
For whom should she sleep with? This sister or that?

Each little girl, only thinking of herself,
And now poor naked, singing Barbie has been put on a shelf!

And now, who knows just how long she will stay?
How long will it be ‘til she can come down and play?

Unless she is liberated by some impish young elf,
Poor naked, singing Barbie will stay on her shelf.

But...

While Barbie is incarcerated, The Skink is keeping herself busy by learning to cook.

And no... unfortunately my blog is not yet fixed. I'm having to post in the non-updated blogger format (thus the non-centered photos). At least I can post on this site, though it may take 2ce as long. But... such is life!

Go to: http://photographicmomory.blogspot.com/2011/07/creative-writing-8-year-old-style.html

2011-07-24T09:38:00.000-04:00

My blog is having technical difficulties - can't post text in body of blog. Stay tuned...

2011-07-23T19:29:00.000-04:00

What Is It Like To Have Asperger's? Adulthood

2011-07-19T11:28:00.003-04:00

So with my health issues I have been lax in posting the last part of my series on what it is like to have Asperger's. Sorry about that!

Part 1: What Is It Like To Have Asperger's? My perspective.
Part 2: What Is It Like To Have Asperger's? The Tween and Teen Years.
Part 3: What Is It Like To Have Asperger's? Adulthood

Something that happened in the last few days got my wheels turning on the subject again, and I now have the energy (if not the time) to post on this subject.

I mentioned in my last post that I sometimes say things that are very out-of-place. Sure - people who don't have Asperger's sometimes do the same thing, but I theorize that the mechanics behind my slips and theirs are sometimes quite different. Let me use an example.

*Identities have been modified to protect the unwittingly insulted.

So I was talking with some friends the other day - a husband and wife couple with an adorable little girl. Husband is currently trying to stop smoking and daughter has a "binki" that she just isn't ready to give up. Mom is more than ready for both husband and daughter to give up their different habits. As we were talking, daughter piped up asking for her binki.

This is when the muscles of my mouth entangled themselves in the cogs of my brain. Within a split-second the following thoughts processed through my noggin. Synapses flew at lightning speed relaying the thoughts:

The act of sucking helps the neurons in a baby's brain make increasingly faster connections.
Sucking a binki or thumb releases endorphins in the brain, resulting in a feeling of relaxation and pleasure.
The nicotine inhaled by smoking a cigarette causes a release of endorphins in the brain which can be highly addictive.
I myself was both a long-time thumb-sucker and was once a smoker.
Quitting smoking (in my 30's) and ending my thumb-sucking habit (at age 12) were very similar experiences for me.
Thumbs/binkis and cigarettes are both strong addictions.

And amid the lights, the noise from the playing children and my own suppressed social anxiety, my mouth somehow involved itself in the thought process unbeknownst to me. The filter didn't make it anywhere near the lower section of my face before I blurted out "Give her a cigarette!"

A millisecond after my mouth moved, I was mortified! I didn't mean or even think anything of the sort. It was a ridiculously illogical step in the hypothesis running though my brain and had been kicked out of the flowchart forming itself somewhere in the gray matter inside my skull. Apparently it was kicked out so hard it flew right out the first opening it found.

I tried to make it out to be a joke, muttering something about addiction and binkis... but WOW!

Even as an adult, social situations can be a challenge. This does not mean that I don't enjoy socializing. I love hanging out with friends... especially really understanding ones! But the challenge comes in when I try to coordinate my flying brain processes, my mouth and my body language simultaneously. Now that I'm in my 40's, it works most of the time. Sometimes (like my adventure above)... not so much, really.

It's taken me years to learn to balance my sensory processing issues, frequent sensory overload, language, learned body language (or unspoken language) and other players in the team sport that is socialization. Any imbalance in the formula can tip me over - and see? I have learned to use figurative terms too :o)

Here's another example. Parent-Teacher Conferences. I go to a room filled with seemingly thousands of educational wall decorations in vivid colors. The fluorescent overhead lights make the colors seem like they are glowing, and the buzz from the lights is impossible to block out. I seat myself in a chair meant for someone a quarter of my size, leaving me feeling physically disconcerted. Then I am expected to partake in an adult conversation and remember what the teacher tells me.

So... some of my self-taught coping techniques include tunnel vision. If I look about the room and attempt to take in all the new visual stimuli, I won't be able to speak, so I aim my eyes just on the teacher and perhaps the table between us or the latest report card on that table so I can think about what the teacher is saying. OK, did you catch that? I "aim my eyes." I don't focus them on anything. Because I am a visual thinker, I have to work extra hard to process audio information, so if the teacher is going to talk to me, and if I am going to absorb that information, I have to intentionally not focus on visual stimulation unless it directly pertains to what the teacher is saying. Otherwise there is too much stimulation coming in and I will go into "shut-down mode" until I can sort through all the incoming information. I know that must sound convoluted.

Basically, my brain is oversensitive to information. Each of our senses gives us information - sight, smell, sound, touch, taste (and if you're the creepy kid in The Sixth Sense, extra-sensory perception... heeheehee). Anywhoo - like a mail room on steroids, the "typical" brain takes all this information in quickly and efficiently and sorts it into it's proper box for immediate or future use. Let's just say that the mail room workers in my brain would have been "let go" a long time ago if they were people and not neurons and synapses. If those workers are supposed to put one company memo in each box, mine will flood certain boxes with multiple memos while not putting the memo in other boxes at all.

"Did you get the memo?"
"Boy, did I EVER!"

It's not a bad thing. It's just a bit different.

In fact, there can be benefits to such differences. I rarely forget any information I've read if I'm interested in it. Because I think about things differently than most people and have a brain full of semi-useless information that I can access at any given time, I can often come up with solutions to problems that most would never have thought of. (My "solutions" can sometimes seem a bit unusual to others, but they generally work.) I am a very "out-of-the-box" person in this sense.

Over the years I've learned to rely on all that information to try to fit in with my peers. Like, where do you put your arms/hands while you're talking to someone? Well, different hand and arm positions express different messages to neuro-typical people. It's this funny thing called "body language" or "non-verbal communication." This never came naturally to me, but I'm a wizard at observation. I have also learned from various studies what the different arm positions mean. Where my arms are most comfortable while I'm standing may not be the message I mean to convey to people. I constantly have to think about it so I don't come across as defensive or aggressive when I'm feeling relaxed and casual.

And how do I hide my oddities to seem "normal?" For instance, I find being cold physically painful. It's the kind of sensation I'll do anything to avoid and I worry that my peers may be driven to distraction when I give up style or social norms to wear a giant coat at a nice lunch. Or if there's a stray hair in my bra. I'm sorry, but this is one of the worst annoyances there is for me. Some little hair down in there tickling and poking me with every move I make. I have to excuse myself just to go on a hunt for the offending hair which is often hard to see in there unless I can get it in just the right light. This happens at least once a day in my world, but luckily rarely when I'm around friends since I don't work outside of the home.

Well... that's all I can think of for now because my son is up and trying to talk about his latest video game adventures, and because I can't block out external sounds at all, I will leave this post here. If you have any questions at all, please feel free to ask!

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Bursting With Summer

2011-07-18T16:51:00.001-04:00

With temperatures in the 90's today, summer is bursting forth with pyrotechnic-like zeal.

It's the perfect weather to nestle in the shade of a giant tree,

And explore entire microcosms in the neighbor's yard.

Iraq is growing like one of summer's beautiful flowers. Sometimes she is sweet and brilliant,

while other times, she can be single-minded, nervous and prone to stinging those that try to redirect her attentions from her passions.

But we're hanging in there.

The Skink is doing well. She's apparently going through "a stage." She is testing her limits (and mine) by screaming when she doesn't get what she wants. If I ask her to do something she doesn't want to do, she stomps her little food obstinately.

She knows what she wants and what she doesn't want. Sometimes she wants to hit the precious little boy next door, just to hear the poor little guy cry. This fascinates her. She also tries to mimic his cry, and will run to his mommy for comfort... though the entire thing is a ruse.

I don't mind her running somewhere else for comfort, but I do mind the screaming, stomping and hitting! She's been in time out about 6 times so far today. She doesn't seem to mind. At least nowhere near as much as I do.

Little turkey!

As for me, I'm doing better every day (as far as I can tell). My test results showed that my potassium was dangerously low and causing problems with my heart and other muscles. Now that I'm taking enough potassium and iron to poison a small elephant, my health seems to be slowly returning. Yay! Hopefully we'll got to go camping again soon since I seem to be on the mend. I'm aching to sit by a glowing camp fire - to smell the pungent smoke from the burning wood and to taste juicy hotdogs fresh off the grill. I can't wait to go to sleep with the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves in my ears, and wake to a fairy world covered in sparkling dew.

What are your favorite things about summer?

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Follow the link and scroll down until you find Adasperdown Town.