Labeling Children

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.

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

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.

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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.

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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!

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Oh Behave!

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!

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

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...

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!

"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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