Spring Break Travels - Special Needs Style!

 
Going on any vacation with kids is always an undertaking, but going on vacation with children with special needs can add a whole new level of excitement! I mean like getting-chased-by-a-rabid-bear excitement. And who doesn't need a little more excitement in their lives? (Or heart failure... ?)

Just over a year ago we took our saved-up money and purchased a really old previously enjoyed pop-up camper. On our budget, trips to Disney, Vale or *sigh* Europe are out of the question, so we decided that if we were ever to escape from the doldrums of  "Staycation" mode, camping trips were the way to go! It's pure awesomeness (if you like bugs and dirt... which I do).

This year Spring Break fell over both Easter and my Life Anniversary Day. (I'm way too cool to have "birthdays"... or admit that Father Time has been chasing me about like a lecherous old coot on a drinking binge) Hubby wanted to go to some nice hilly place with trees, but I wanted to go to the beach. Hubby doesn't like sand (a few tours in Kuwait will do that to a guy) so I gave him the puppy-dog eyes and he said "OK." I'm evil that way. I mean, what's a little PTSD between spouses, right?

So, we loaded up the Suburban with enough clothes and food to sustain a small African nation for a month and headed off to the PirateLand Campground in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

When arriving at a new campground, the second order of business is meeting your temporary neighbors. (The first order of business is running as fast as you possibly can with your legs crossed to the bathroom... but I think we all know that.)  First we met the people to our right. That's their grandson, 10-year-old Robert on the left.

Then we met the family directly behind us. That's their 10-year-old son Colton on the right. The Skink is in the middle. Yes... three beautiful kids with Down syndrome / Trisomy 21! Prior to this trip, none of us knew each other. What are the chances of something this cool happening on vacation? And with luck like this, why did I not win that huge lottery jackpot a couple weeks ago?

We played, colored Easter eggs and hung out with our new friends until it was time for Robert's grandparents to go play Bingo and Colton's family to go out for Krispy-Kreme doughnuts which I absolutely adore but will never have the pleasure of tasting again upon learning that gluten and I don't get along... at... all!

 

Leaving Easter egg colors for the fairies.

On Easter Sunday The Skink got to see the Atlantic Ocean for the first time... and feel just how cold it is in early April...

But everybody (with the exception of my poor hubby) was so excited, the cool temperatures didn't stop their fun.

While my children lounged about in their bathing suits, Murphy's Law dictated that I receive Mother Nature's "Gift" which I would have gladly given back. (Wouldn't have minded giving Mother Nature a big 'ol slap too, but didn't have the chance.) Don't I look right at home, fully-clothed on the beach? (Please note the fishing pole in the background which adds the comedic insinuation that I am getting very good reception out there! Beam me up, Scotty!)

After a couple of hours, Broadway announced that he was starving so I offered to make him a sandwich.

I don't think this was what he had in mind.

With temperatures in the '50's and low '60's over the next few days, visits to the beach were kept brief and were only done in jeans and warm jackets. But never fear! We did "other stuff" too...

...like playing with play-dough...

...Iraq having a meltdown due to "transition issues" associated with disrupting her regularly scheduled life... (not pictured)

...observing the local wildlife...

Squirrel Butt!

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...riding bikes...

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...coloring more Easter eggs...

With Sparkles!

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...coloring hair...

Don't you think the red brings her Devil  out nicely?

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...laughing at Mommy running on her goofy spring-shoes (hey - Tiggers bounce! What can I say?)...

...Iraq having another meltdown... 

...singing into hairbrush-microphones...

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...cuddling cows...

...Iraq having another meltdown...

...and making Magic!

I might add, this was The Skink's first time casting spells, and girlfriend had a BLAST!

Have I mentioned that Iraq had a few meltdowns? Any time her schedule is changed AT ALL, we can expect some (read: "a lot") of emotional issues. Many people in the autism spectrum go totally Chernobyl   dislike change... and Iraq is one of them. No matter how much fun we are having, she finds ways of fitting in a few mega-crying-freak-out binges along the way. My favorite this vacation was when we were in one of those touristy shops looking for some souvenirs. One moment Iraq was following me, and then next, she had disappeared into thin air. 

While most parents might have gone into panic someone-kidnapped-my-child mode, the Hubby and I calmly started searching through clothing racks. After about 8 minutes, Iraq was safely located cowering under a flock of parrot-print bathing suits. It took me a few minutes to extract her and convey my now-sobbing child out of the store, followed by the harsh stares of other shoppers (I love those looks. Don't you?).

If you've ever studied psychology (which I did, right up until I met the psychology professor from h311) you may have learned that the human brain will always try to find reason for emotion... even when there is none. In one study, which I found particularly interesting, electrical impulses were sent through the study participants' brains' to the parts of the brain associated with different emotions. When the participants experienced the triggered emotions, they were asked "why" they felt what they felt. Instead of answering "I don't know," each and every participant came up with an answer related to their personal life as to why they felt sad, angry, euphoric, etc.

I thought that was really interesting... and I also thought it would be pretty fun to have such an emotion-altering-electrode-contraption thing at my disposal... but I digress...

That study came to mind when I asked Iraq why she was having a mega-meltdown at the store and she quickly answered that it was because the new beach cover-up I had just purchased was hideous and she hated it. 

It's not that bad, is it?

Oh well... whatever - right? At any rate it finally got (almost) warm enough to venture back out to the beach on our last full day there - which was actually supposed to be our second-to-last-full-day there, but in light of the number of meltdowns we were dealing with on a daily basis, we decided that going home a day early wouldn't be a tragedy...

So this time we ALL put on bathing suits and went out to enjoy the sand, the waves and the goose-bumps one last time before traveling home.

Apparently the Teenage Handbook makes it clear that smiling for pictures is strictly prohibited for 17-year-old boys!

  In filling up her "pool" Iraq caught her first fish!

At the end of the day, Broadway took his magic carpet for a quick spin (wouldn't want him to fly it too long as he doesn't have his magic carpet flying license yet) and we all packed up and headed back to the camper.

On Saturday morning we packed up the camp site and headed home. Although Hubby and I will need a bit of R&R following such an exciting and eventful "vacation," at least the kids will be well rested! Yay.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Circle of Moms

 

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Girda the Demonic Viking Lactation Coach

In celebration of my birthday, I'm not going to write a new blog post. Instead, I'm going to share an excerpt of my book, Disaster Flambé, just for the fun of it! I hope you enjoy it!

Girda the Demonic Viking Lactation Coach

The first thing you need to understand before I dive into the post-birth quagmire with Girda, is that the Lord saw fit to bless my baby sister with MY breasts. It’s that whole sibling rivalry thing revisited, “Mom, she took my belt!” “Mom, she’s making faces at me!” Mom, she has boobies and won’t give me any!” Yes, my sister is a 36 EE, and I… I am a 32 A minus. In fact, to add insult to injury, my nipples don’t even stick out! What sort of sick sense of humor does it take to give a flat-chested woman “innies?”

Prior to knowing that I was doomed with a life-sentence of flat-chestedness, I was just as thrilled as any other 11-year-old to go out with my mother and purchase my first “Training Bra.” This contraption of straps and two tiny triangles of lacy fabric would become cell keeper to my rib cage for the next 5 years. In those 5 years I learned how to french-kiss, how to dance, and how to wiggle my training bra back in to place without being noticed. Finally at age 16, I came to the realization that my breasts had been in training for quite some time, and apparently they hadn’t learned a damned thing! The “Training Bra” was discarded along with other items of childhood fantasy like my tiara and the fake ruby slippers I had kept hidden in my closet for years. I was never to be a princess, and I was never to model for Victoria’s Secret. I quit wearing a bra altogether, and quite enjoyed this freedom through college and my early 20’s.

I find it funny that though flat as a board, I must still suffer through the embarrassment of the yearly breast exam performed by my gynecologist. Like I wouldn’t notice some lump that had attached itself to my ribs? On one occasion the doctor was inspecting me with a look of concentration on his face and stated, “I seem to have found a small lump on your left side.”
My simple reply was “Thank-goodness! Can you find my right one too?”

I was ecstatic when I finally became pregnant! First, I was going to have a baby! Second, I was suddenly an “A” cup! A real “A” cup! Like, I could actually wear a grown-up bra without the worry of finding it nestled up under my arm pits at the end of the day! I’d been waiting 25 years for this.

Of course there was also the down-side. Suddenly as I trotted down the stairs, there were these two lumps on my chest that seemed to have developed a life of their own. They were bouncing! And they were SORE! When I lay on my side at night, they were there… pinching themselves between my arm and body. It took some getting used to (though my husband adjusted pretty quickly). Unfortunately my poor little nipples seemed to be confused and upset by the changes. They hid deeper inside, only coming out in the extreme cold, but rushing back to their hiding places as soon as the goose-pimples had subsided. It got so bad that around the 7^th month of pregnancy, they even started to cry at night!

About this time, I started to read up on breast-feeding. It was made clear through the television and the pamphlets at the doctor’s office that only mothers possessed by Satan himself did not breast-feed their babies! From the looks of it, some states might even have pressed charges in if a mother was found purchasing formula for a minor! But what I read concerning breast-feeding started to frighten me…
“Hold the baby in the crook of your arm. Gently touch his lower lip with your finger until he starts to ‘root’ or look for your nipple. Bring your breast to your baby’s face and place your nipple in his mouth.”
Are we talking about a breast or a garden hose? “Bring your breast to your baby’s face…?” The only thing I was going to be bringing anywhere was my baby to the thing that looked like a halved orange stuck to my chest because I was pretty sure it wasn’t going anywhere! Hmmmm… was this going to be a problem?

So finally my baby was lying in my arms.
“The lactation coach will be here in about 5 minutes.” The day-nurse warned me. Well, looking back I say “warned.” I suppose at the time she “told” me that the nurse would be in.

And in came Girda!

The best way to visualize Girda is that large, Viking woman in the opera, but without the horns (or, at least, you couldn’t actually see them). Vit a very tick German accent she sait, “Tak ovv your tup, pleez.”
“Hi, my name is Leigh and this is my son Jacob.”
“Tak ovv your tup, pleez.”
“What’s your name?”
“Girrrrdahhh. Tak ovv your tup, pleez.”
As I began to wonder if the next sentence would be ‘Vee haff vays ov makink you tak ovv your tup!’ I quickly began opening my gown. Before I was even fully exposed, a large mutton-like hand had shot out and adhered itself to my tiny, sore, orange-half boobie.
“Hmmmm… dis iz nut verrrry goot. Do you haff nipplez?”
“Uh, yeah… they’re just innnn-aaaaaahhhhhh! Um, I guess you found them, huh?”
“Uummmm-hmmmm.”
“Am I going to have trouble because I’m small?”
She stood back with her arms crossed over her ample chest while she scrutinized the situation. “In uull my twenty-fife yerrs ov teaching dis, noboooty walk out ov hospital not brest feetink baby!
(Did the rest of them get rolled out in body-casts? This was not a good start!)
Girda broke my panic-stricken silence with “Let me haff your niplez again.”
Like I had a choice.
“Deez are not too goot for feedink baby.”
She held Jacob against me and appeared to be attempting to stuff my entire breast into his mouth. After torturing us both to her satisfaction for the next 30 minutes, she announced, “Teachink baby to nurzz frum you like teachink him to nurse frum wall. He can nut latch on to sometink he can nut finte. Zo now I tell ladees, in uull my twenty-fife yerrs ov teaching dis, der voss only one who did nut.”
And with that, she left.

While I was sitting there in shock, my husband came in with a bottle of formula.
“What, things didn’t go so well? I was just in the sitting room with Sgt. Neilson’s wife and she said she never even needed the coach.” he said innocently.
As soon as I found my voice, I replied “If you think it’s so damn easy, why don’t you give it a try?”

In the years since that time, I have discovered that babies do fine on formula, you won’t be arrested for not breast-feeding, and a little thing called the Miracle Bra. I have a wonderful, healthy son, a nice figure in clothes, and plenty of extra room in my bra to carry my wallet, keys and makeup. I can proudly state to anyone who asks,

“Yes! These are 100% natural… cotton.”

Click here to see more from Disaster Flambé

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Your Left, Your Left, Your Left, Right... Oh Shiny!

When you have an 8-year-old sister with Asperger's syndrome and a 5-year-old sister with Down syndrome, you don't get a lot of your mom's blog-time. It's not that she doesn't love you... no - it's because you're easy and you don't do bat-s*** crazy stuff that requires your mom to vent about you regularly!

My son takes after me... he's not going to "tower over" many people ever... unless they're like... 6.   
At least he's taller than me - which isn't saying much since I'm 5'0".

My oldest kiddo, Broadway, turned 17 on St. Patrick's Day this year. Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. "You don't look old enough to have a 17-year-old!"

(Hey - a girl can dream, right?) Honestly, when people say "They grow up so fast," it's that feeling and more for me. I mean, wasn't I 17, like... a couple months ago? But no. I had this kid when I was 26.  *sigh*

Today Broadway competed in the Regional JrROTC Drill Team Competition. Normally I don't get to go to these kinds of things as a result of the ever-present Thing 1 and Thing 2.

My husband works a rotating shift which means he works every other weekend. That's when Murphy's Law kicks in to ensure that every special event ever planned will fall on one of the weekends he is working. Just the thought of going to some giant high school miles from home with my camera and my two adorable but very energetic "things" results in an immediate rise in my blood pressure.

Can't you see me up in the bleachers trying to focus for the perfect shot just as Iraq screeches "Quit copying me!" at The Skink, sending The Skink scurrying through the crowded bleachers in search of cover? Then there are The Skink's requests to "Go potty?" ever 10 minutes and Iraq's tendency to wander off toward something of interest any time I'm not looking directly at her.

It breaks my heart to miss special events, but my mom-capabilities only extend so far.

Today was my lucky day! Even though my Mom was out of town and unable to come help out, my Dad kindly (and bravely) volunteered for the job! Since Broadway had to be at the host school at o' dark-thirty this morning, Pop showed up to take him so I could take my time getting the girls up, dressed, fed, changed, lost shoe found, cleaned up, brushed, glasses located, into the car, back in the house to change a diaper, back into the car, back into the house to get a forgotten cup... you get the idea.

When the girls and I finally got there, we mounted the bleachers to watch for a little bit. The girls were actually rather interested in the activities of the teams performing below. The Skink clapped for everybody... like the guy who turned the wrong way and steam-rolled over a team member. (It's OK - it wasn't our team.) When each team marched to the exit, The Skink's little voice would rise up to say, "Bye-bye marchers!" to the amusement of the people around us.

It was fun in an exhaustively vigilant kind of way. I didn't have to worry about missing my daily cardio workout after the 34th trip back up to the top row of the bleachers... Skinks have to potty a lot. And during potty-training you just don't say, "No!"

So when I was good and tired, Iraq had wandered off / disappeared for the 4th time and it had become evident Broadway would not be competing for a while, I took the girls outside to play in the highway grass in front of the school. Translation: After my workout on the stair-stepper, I got a good run in, too! Pop divided his time between watching the other competitors and helping me chase the girls about.

Around noon the judges disappeared, so I hauled the kids out to the car (weight training) and made a happy-meal run. Instead of letting them eat it in the car, we hauled it back up to the top of the bleachers where I told them to eat niiiiiiiiiiicccce and slllllllllllloooooowwwwwwww in an attempt to buy a little more time (and sanity).

The pictures aren't great quality. I had some idea of what the day would hold for us so there was no WAY I was bringing my new camera! I'm glad after seeing what my old camera went through in the course of the day!

So we waited...  and waited... and waited... Turns out Broadway's team was the last team to compete. Dang it, Mr. Murphy! I don't know who the heck you are or how the he11 you got your law passed, but you are not getting any gold stars from me today!

There was a team from another school... ok - there were teams from a LOT of other schools, but there was this one team... this one really scary-good team. Holy cow! They looked like some sort of SWAT team, there to take out the rest of the competition. They made us really nervous!

 And FINALLY... Finally Broadway's team was on deck and set to go!

And that's when Murphy apparently pinched The Skink who had decided she had had enough!

"NOOOOOOOOOoooo! Outside! Go play OUTSIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!"

And you know what Pop did? After getting up at a ridiculously early time in the morning, driving Broadway to the host school and helping me wrangle Thing 1 and Thing 2 for hours on end... Pop took The Skink by the hand and took her outside to play so I could watch my son compete!

The good news is that Pop STILL got to see Broadway's team's performance, because MOM got the whole thing on video! When they line up in a straight line facing the camera, MY kid is the 3rd one from the left... the somewhat vertically challenged one  :o) 



And you know what else?

My son's team took 1st Place!  

  Enjoy this blog? Let me know by voting on TopMommyBlogs! 

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

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Dear Snarky Down Syndrome Community

Dear Snarky Groups Within the Down Syndrome Community,
You know who you are.

(And if the post title isn't enough to get you fired up, wait until you read the rest of what I'm going to write about you.)

As many of you know, a certain blogger-mommy in our community has a new book coming out. This fact combined with her already prevalent popularity apparently means she is now up for public target practice, so get your slings, your arrows, your knives, spears and firearms and join us all on any social networking site to participate in the hunt!

It'll be like our own Down syndrome community version of The Hunger Games.

And to what end?

We've all seen it before. It's not just this particular blogger, this particular book or this particular time. We've seen it on hundreds of forums and in the comments sections of news articles, small and large. We've seen people of all faiths, colors and all walks of life become the Target of the Day for our community as a whole.

Why?

Well, among the comments I've seen (as they multiply like genetically enhanced rats) on a variety of different venues in the last 48 hours, people are pointing out every possible reason they don't (or do) like this person, her lifestyle and her book.

I have news for you. You can please all of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of  the time...  And YOU, Down syndrome community... you represent ALL of the people of a community which shares the bond, troubles and privileges of raising a child with Down syndrome.

YOU can not be pleased ALL of the time.

Some things will please you, and some things will make you angry, sad or resentful.  I see some people out there saying things to the effect of, "When I see something I don't agree with or don't like, I'm not one to keep my mouth shut. It's my RIGHT to express myself and my point of view!"

Well GOOD FOR YOU!

In the U.S. you DO have First Amendment Rights which include the Freedom of Speech and the Freedom of Religion. And guess what? So do the people who still throw around the word RETARD as an offensive term. Oh yeah - I know "It's not the same thing!" But see... it is.

Within the Down syndrome community we understand that "Retard" is a word that is offensive to our loved ones. By allowing the perpetuation of the word throughout our society, we allow our children to become targets. So we spread the word to end the word... we don't want our children to be bullied!

You see, a bully is someone who targets another person. Wikipedia says the following about bullying:

"Bullying is a form of aggressive behavior manifested by the use of force or coercion to affect others, particularly when the behavior is habitual and involves an imbalance of power. It can include verbal harassment, physical assault or coercion and may be directed repeatedly towards particular victims, perhaps on grounds of race, religion, gender, sexuality, or ability. The "imbalance of power" may be social power and/or physical power. The victim of bullying is sometimes referred to as a "target".

"Bullying consists of three basic types of abuse – emotional, verbal, and physical. It typically involves subtle methods of coercion such as intimidation. Bullying can be defined in many different ways. The UK currently has no legal definition of bullying, while some U.S. states have laws against it.

Bullying ranges from simple one-on-one bullying to more complex bullying in which the bully may have one or more 'lieutenants' who may seem to be willing to assist the primary bully in his bullying activities. Bullying in school and the workplace is also referred to as peer abuse. 

Bullying can occur in any context in which human beings interact with each other. This includes school, church, family, the workplace, home, and neighborhoods. Bullying can exist between social groups, social classes, and even between countries (see jingoism). In fact, on an international scale, perceived or real imbalances of power between nations, in both economic systems and in treaty systems, are often cited as some of the primary causes of both World War I and World War II."


Who among you remembers high school? Do you remember that time you wore that sweater, or those jeans, or said that thing you said or did that thing you did... and suddenly you were the center of gossip or at the butt-end of nasty comments. Remember when that group of other students totally bashed you for it? They teased you or said snarky things about that thing you wore or said or did... and do you remember HOW YOU FELT?

You see, you did, said or wore something that they didn't like, agree with or that they felt didn't represent them. HOW DARE YOU! Because you live you life for them, don't you? Well... don't you?

Do you measure every thing you do, everything you say or write or think, for the sole purpose of pleasing EVERYBODY - - everybody ALL OF THE TIME?

I certainly hope not!

Each and every one of you is a completely unique individual with your own memories, your own experiences and your own opinions. Because you have First Amendment Rights, you can go to whatever church you want (or not), you can choose to be a party animal, you can choose to be messy or clean, you can choose to be a PTA member or a recluse or wear those jeans that everybody would have laughed at in high school.

If you want to, you can write your own book. You can present your life and your family in any way you choose... but no matter what YOU do, YOU will not make everybody happy all of the time.

And you know what else?                IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU!

Angelina Jolie has adopted children from a number of different countries. Does that mean she represents ALL people who adopt internationally? Oh, hell no!

So why are so many of you worried about this one person in our own community who is a blogger, photographer and author... why are you worried about her representing YOU? Let me repeat: IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU!

While she may be garnering publicity as a parent of a child with Down syndrome, do you really think the world at large is going to assume we are all just like her? Unless you assume all people who adopt internationally live the same way Angelina Jolie does, then you have nothing to worry about!

OK - so YOU didn't vote for this person to be popular. Well O! M! G!

I didn't vote for our current president, but you know what? I don't always get what I want! The world doesn't revolve around me, my life style, my choice to leave dishes in the sink...

It's one thing to say, "Huh - well, that person is a very different person than I am." It's a very different thing to point out all of the things you don't like about a person in a public manner! To me, one of the craziest things people complained about in regards to this particular person is how "perfect" she seems. REALLY? The horror that someone would do that! Because certainly YOU have never tried to look a certain way for the benefit of other people's opinions of you! I mean - why even bother to do the dishes or laundry, to shower or wear makeup... or clothes... because certainly YOU don't care what other people think about you, right?

So you know what? Go ahead! Be as snarky as you want - just like those kids who once teased you to tears. Go ahead and be a BULLY. But don't come crying to the rest of the Down syndrome community (because there are many of us who choose to be supportive of, and nice to each other) when someone uses the word "Retard" in their status update.

Come on people! Lets get over ourselves for once. You don't have to agree with someone or like someone... there is no law saying you have to like a certain book... but by making a person a target and publicly pointing out the things YOU don't like about them, you are NO better than any other bully... or than people who use the word "Retard."


Oh - and I don't expect you all to love me or the opinions I have expressed in this post! You know why? Because I have seen the hate that some of you are capable of. Haters, Trolls... what ever you want to call it...

Someday you'll understand...

The people who feel the need to pick apart the faults of others are generally the ones who aren't strong enough to work on their own faults.

And do you think picking on another person's shortcomings (perceived or real) makes you look, better, smarter, cooler??

No. It makes you look like an asshat! And while you may say you don't want the blogger in question to represent YOU, the rest of us certainly wouldn't pick an asshat over her. Go ahead. Chew on that for a while!

And if you want to "get in on the fun" and be a part of one of these target practice sessions with your friends?? You know damn well that all you have to do is gather a little of your own popularity... and you will be the next target!

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A Child With Down Syndrome May Never Learn To Read (and other lies your doctor tells you)

Rarely a day goes by that I roll my eyes, remembering all the things a certain doctor informed me that my child with Down syndrome might never do or achieve.

"Your daughter may never learn to read. I'm sorry," he said as he broke the news about my then week-old daughter's test results.

Right.

Maybe if we locked her in a closed and fed her scraps through a hole in the wall.

The Skink is currently 5 years 7 months old and in kindergarten. We no longer patronize pessimistic pediatricians, period!

 Enjoy this blog? Let me know by voting on TopMommyBlogs! 

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

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Have I Mentioned I Love Spring?

My new camera has quickly become an addiction for me. I have always loved Spring and I've always loved taking pictures of Spring blooms...  so here is a little of what I snorted today...

Are you sneezing yet?

So... what is your favorite time of the year, and why?

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Best Early Birthday Present EVER!

Funnies of the day:

So I've been working hard to lose weight and get in shape. I've been exercising regularly and a lot of muscle definition is now evident on my once (ahem) smushy bod. So today I got in some good cardio, putting in 10 miles on the elliptical walker in 45 minutes. Because I was a sweaty mess, and because it was 80 degrees today, I threw on a tank top instead of a T-shirt just before The Skink's bus arrived.

When I boarded the bus to help The Skink off, she looked at me hard, poked my bicep and shrieked, "BOOBIE!"

I thought the bus driver was going to fall out of her seat laughing!

It's great to know all my dieting and workout efforts are paying off... and not so great to know that I'm so small-chested that my biceps are so easily mistaken for breasts...

And in other news:

March 21st was World Down Syndrome Day. As if to celebrate the occasion in Emily Perl Kingsly (link to reference) -style, our tulips are starting to bloom.

The appearance of the colorful and fragrant blossoms are killing Iraq who has been positively expiring with the desire to pluck the tender plants.

Today I handed her a pair of scissors and told her she could cut one for our little bud-vase. I gave her instructions on just where to cut, and watched as she beheaded one unsuspecting plant, grinning ear-to-ear all the while.

No sooner had she cut the long stem, but tears welled up in her eyes. The poor kid felt guilty for cutting the flower. She cried for at least 5 minutes, saying she wished she hadn't cut it! Of course I was a very bad mommy and I laughed. Couldn't help it. The whole thing was so... Aspie... of her! She had an OCD-type desire to pick a flower, but immediately had a negative reaction to the very change she had caused.
Pure awesomeness!

And... this video had me in hysterics this morning! The set up: Nanny-cam catches babysitter sweetly playing with a toddler. Toddler throws a ball which knocks the babysitter's drinking glass over and breaks it. THE CAT hears the child crying and believes the babysitter is harming the child...



And after watching the video, I'm thinking this family doesn't need to worry about having a nanny-cam! Heck - THE CAT is watching out for the kid... God Father style!

Moving right along...

So, if you've followed my blog for more than a month, you know that my sweet father-in-law passed in early February. Though we didn't expect it, he left us a small sum of money with the instructions that we use it for ourselves (because apparently he knew me well enough to know what a penny-pincher I am and that it was all gonna go to bills if he didn't say it).

Check it out!

That... that is a Canon EOS 50D. It's something we never would have been able to afford. Last year my wonderful husband surprised me with a Canon PowerShot SX30 IS. To say I was over the moon would be a huge understatement when I received that camera! Over the year, that camera allowed me to learn a huge amount in the photography arena. I learned so much, in fact, that I was itching for more... I wanted Manual Focus!

Having played with my new baby for over a week now, I know for sure I was born for manual focus, baby!

So, please enjoy a veritable smorgasbord of my getting-to-know-my-new-camera practice shots!

Iraq is ridiculously photogenic. I can take 100 pictures of Iraq and 99 will be great. The Skink, however, is like me. She just isn't very photogenic. For what ever reason, today was photographic GOLD for The Skink!

And my favorite Skink-shot of all:

So - I hope everyone has a great Friday! Happy almost-weekend, folks!