The Play Date Chart

Play dates rock.  They save your sanity. You are not the only mom having the issues you have. No matter what-I have seen some of the best of the best moms lose it in the last eight years of parenting. It will happen.  You need a play date to see another mom do it.


I wasn't always the play date queen and because I work from home it is a lot easier to have a schedule and see the same people at the same times-park or library after school for example.  Play dates are one of the best things for children on the spectrum, if you can find the right friends and moms to have them with.  While we have consistent friends we see a lot, I make sure we play with lots of kids. 

The greatest play dates of my preschool career were in Pittsburgh with my daughter and her friend from Korea. Neither of them were very verbal at the beginning of the school year, but by March they had nailed the concept of "Expressive Language."  They deserve their own post one day, I'll get to it.

His mom would bring him to our house and instead of ringing the doorbell he would scream: "FRANCES!!!  I'm here!!!!"  and she would stop what she was doing and go get him, and then do whatever they did for two hours....  The last time I was in Pittsburgh I heard that his family went back to Korea and that poor woman can't find chicken nuggets and he won't eat anything else. That is a problem.




Apparently my son is keeping track of who gets a play date when, and shared his findings with me in chart form:

Play date chart

Ok, let's over analyze this just for the fun of it. First off, Kindergarteners don't know how to make tally marks.  That's first grade math. So all of you thinking "Aha!  Kenneth doesn't know something!" You are right.  He will learn it next year. 

Second, he truly feels he and his brother are wronged in the play date department. Here is a translation of his chart:

K- 5
L- 3
F- 19
M- 10

Last time I checked, there wasn't anything wrong with my memory, and I don't remember the inequality he is recording.  Not to mention, if I had had ten play dates of my own, (I'm the M-for Mom), I definitely would remember that.  Sweet!  

I have to get him to start tracking other things-like who reads the most and who picks up the toys.

Play on....

Snow and states of matter....

Yesterday was the first official snow day of the winter in my New England town. It was a little gift from the universe for a couple of reasons:

1) It was a Saturday- I didn't have to work on the laptop and hear them say, "Can we go out now?  Can we go out now?" We could do whatever we wanted!
2) I had everything they needed:  waterproof gloves, hats, snow pants, boots...for all three of them and everything matched.  This was a first since I moved to Pittsburgh.
3) I was determined not to turn the television on until four.  I really wanted to have a fun day of "Mommylicious" activities...


One of the ideas came from my daughter's backpack. Slacker moms, please, always take a minute to open the backpack. You never know when something good will be in there.

 She had had a science lesson on "States of Matter"

This is one of those times I had my "Mommy Game" on-I could reinforce the lesson with her while teaching it to the younger two-score one for Page!

We went outside and collected snow-then observed it about every thirty minutes (this also reinforced lapsed time...bu-wah!!)

 

Let me back up-the younger two could not believe that snow became water. They thought I was the coolest mom ever. 

"Guess what boys?  You boil it and it becomes a gas and disappears into the air!"

"No way!  That is the awesome-st thing I've ever heard of!"  I can't wait until he hears something better...


So that is what we did:

 

We used the first full snow day of the year on states of matter.

I could get all mushy about this...we are all in different states...sometimes we are solid, sometimes liquid, God help you when you are only vapor floating around, but you will become solid again....trust me....take those moments, make them teachable...CHECK THE BACKPACK!!!!

Anyway, at four o'clock all three of them were watching Wow Wow Wubsy! and I was cleaning up the mess we made on our experiment.

I hope Maria Montessori comes to me in a dream and tells me she is proud of me....

Try to stay solid, or know you will be one day....

Happy Snow Days!!!!

One bag of Oreos

When one of my kids has a tantrum or refuses to follow directions, or even more creatively does the opposite of what I say just because I said it, I have to remain calm. I don't always.  Girl, every mother loses it every now and then, but if I want results, I need serenity. I need to wait out the rebellion and then they will do what I asked.

I simply say, "Go ahead, I'll wait." I'll wait until you pick up the Legos. I'll wait until the stuffed animals are in the cabinet.  I'll wait for you to brush your teeth. I am in no hurry, especially now that I'm back in town. All three reluctantly, eventually, do what I say.  The more I keep this up, the quicker they catch on that mom means it.

Sometimes I think when we are called "Children of God." This is what they mean.  God keeps telling me to do something and I keep throwing a fit or doing the opposite of what he wants for me and he says, "Go ahead Page, make the bad choice, I'll wait, then you're going to do what I asked you to do in the first place."

Whatever....anyway, what I would tell a mom when she first hears her child is on the autism spectrum is...

I give you permission to eat one entire bag of Oreos-here is a box from me to you:

What was it like for me? I was relieved the first time that I had a name for it. PDD-NOS sounds a lot better than, "She is just going at her own pace."  I had been told for a couple of years not to worry. Don't worry at the twelve month check up, don't worry at 15, don't worry at 18. Hello pediatricians, exactly when should I worry?

But with my son I was devastated. You can read that post here. It is true, I went home from that parent team conference and I downed a bag of Oreos. I give you permission to do the same.  Do something sad and unhappy. Oreos, ice cream, M&Ms, Doritos...eat a whole thing by yourself and wash it down with a soda that isn't diet. You just won the anti-lottery.

I know some women like me that were relieved to finally have answer, but I have talked to lots of women who were destroyed with the diagnosis. I know women in denial. I know women that locked themselves away and cried.  You may do this for a day or a weekend if you must-get your anger out, get your anguish out, and then move it along. Intervention means just that-jumping in and shifting the way things are going and it isn't passive.  You are going to be surrounded by a lot of people with opinions and you will need to focus on what is best for you and your child.

One bag of Oreos is acceptable to express your disappointment in the situation. It is not going to turn you into a blimp unless you do it three times a day for a month. Which you won't be having time for because you have a lot of work to do now girlfriend...

If you aren't ready, fine...I'll wait.

My Good Baby.....

I didn’t want to quit my job. I had zero desire in staying home with my baby. I would drop her off at the sitter’s house, spend my day with a group of teenagers, and get her at the end of the day for a late afternoon and evening that I appreciated and loved because I hadn’t seen her all day.  She was perfect.  She hardly ever made a noise. She nursed and ate no problem. She lay on a blanket and never fussed. She slept through the night. I thought I had done it all right.  She had one ear infection at six months and one case of bronchitis at four months.  That was it.

I was very excited about having an entire summer off with her. In the fall I was going to transfer with my boss to a new middle school.  After seven years of teaching I was finally going to have the perfect set up: a great daycare center, a new house, a perfect middle school job.  Then one morning in July I woke up and a voice told me “Quit.”  I told the voice I didn’t want to quit, but it said it again, “Quit.”  Are you kidding me?  I had devoted my entire young adult life to teaching teenagers and older elementary students Spanish and this small voice was telling me now to quit?  After I had finally arrived as much as a middle public school teacher could?

I had already moved all my boxes from one school to the new one.  That meant I was going to have to move everything again and have my boss find a new teacher.  Then there was the thing about all the other teachers I loved seeing.  What was I going to do?  No, I can’t quit. I love my job and running after school and buying clothes at Ann Taylor… and don’t forget the books on tape, I need to listen to my books on tape when I commute to work.  One of my aunts always scrutinizes me because I have time to read novel after novel and she can’t figure out how I do it but I listen on tape….ha ha ha.  If I stay home I’ll wear sweat pants, eat chocolate, and watch The View. No thank you small voice, I like my life just the way it is…

.

QUIT!!!!!

So I decided that I could go over to the school, but my principal wouldn’t be there.  My very first boss was psycho and militant, but Matt wasn’t that way. I never heard him raise his voice ever. Not once in the four years I dealt with him.  Maybe he won’t be there. Maybe he took his family to the beach. Yes, I’ll drive over there and I‘ll check in and he won’t be there or if he is he will tell me I can’t quit because they won’t be able to find anybody else to do the job.  I was in my car and I didn’t want to drive there.  But the car went left when I should have gone right. Then I was in the parking lot. Ahhhh this is the brand new building that I’m going to be working in. I have a  big classroom with windows and a dvd player and a computer.  I get smaller classes and textbooks that aren’t  bent up to hell.  Frances was quiet in the back seat.  Not screaming, not cooing.  She was such a good baby.  I took her out of her seat and went in the main doors that weren’t falling apart.  

My principal was right there in the front lobby-like he had been waiting for me.  I was holding my baby and she wasn’t clinging back on me.  She didn’t show any interest in the school, didn’t show any fear in my boss. It wasn’t too late to tell him I had come to unpack my classroom.  It wasn’t too late to say I wanted the teacher’s manual to my new text book.  It wasn’t too late to get back in the car and push her in the stroller around the mall looking for clothes or pop her in the baby jogger and run three miles around the lake.

“QUIT!” damn that voice..

“Hey Matt, do you have a second?  I need to talk to you.”  Say no, you don't have time, you are getting ready to go to a very important meeting at Central Office. Or even better, you are going to go home and watch a World Cup qualifying match and you need to leave right now...

“Let’s go to my office.”

I really thought he would say no, I really thought he would tell me not to go, that he couldn’t live without me teaching at his new school.  I put Frances on the floor of his office. She was nine months old and she lay on the little blanket.  She didn't sit up.  She didn't crawl.  She was noot looking at us, and not curious about where she was, being quiet. I was so lucky I had such a good baby.

“Page you won’t get this time with her back. Let me get the paperwork for you.”  QUIT!  I can still hear the voice...

And with two signatures, I was a stay at home mom with the best baby in the whole wide world, because she never made a peep or got off her blanket.  Never lit up when I or her father walked in a room. Never acted nervous or curious.  But ate and slept through the night.  I had such a good baby.  I was nervous about the new role, but excited at the same time. 

The voice surely had a reason it wanted me to quit....

Can you already see the flags my 29 year old self missed???

The Quack is Back....

I don't believe in coincidence.  There are no accidents.  I have no regrets.  Everything that has ever happened to me has happened for a reason at the moment it happened.

I once had a girlfriend that was extremely anti-technology. She had no computer at home.  She didn't own a cell phone.  She refused a GPS.  She always insisted you needed to be able to do things without the help of all those gadgets.  She also joked about email and everyone "checking it."  She said, "are you waiting for the email that is going to change your life?"  This was before Twitter and Facebook or even texting, so no, a email didn't move my life forward in any way.

But a text did.

I have been very active in the Ryan Woods Autism Foundation.  I love the founder, Brenda Wilson. She is a grandmother with a vision and an action plan. I attended the gala they have in November.  I spoke at one of their parent workshops in May.  Then about a two weeks ago, I got a text from her...

B: Would you like to MC our Music Festival in September?
Me: Oh Brenda honey, this is my cell phone, not my husband...
B: No, we want you to be our MC.  You will have the crowd laughing and we won't have to hire a D.J......
Me:  Are you sure?
B: Yes, you have the energy, good looks, and it feels so right, please say yes!
Me: Yes!

Now in less than a month I will be the mistress of ceremonies at an autism event that sometimes 1,000 people come to .....oh my what have I agreed to?

Since I'm doing this, I want to "Quack" for a while.  Over the last five years I have had a lot of people ask me my opinions on everything from the movie Rain Man to hyperbaric chambers.  I thought I would take some time to answer and reflect on how I went from a twenty-nine year old new mother with "the best baby in the world" because she played on her blanket not making a sound,  to the (almost)  thirty-seven year old mom to three children that changed my universe.

All my posts are going to lead up to the main event on September 10th in Middletown, CT. If you are in the area I encourage you to come.  Be prepared as you read-some days you might need tissues, others you may want to finish your drink before you read and spit it out laughing....

I promise I will do my best to be honest and somewhat entertaining....text me if I'm not....

The Autism Police

Don't you think I should know my children by now? All three of them? What each of them likes and dislikes and what works for each of their personalities?  I screwed up this weekend.  Big time. I will confess.  I did it.

I used to live in big, bad, urban Pittsburgh.  If I wanted anything I could find it within ten minutes, usually five. But now if I want to shop, I'm looking at a forty-five minute drive.  We found the mall website online and learned that it had something called the Rainforest Cafe.  It looked so cute on the website.  Here was the problem. When I heard "Rainforest" I heard "hippie."  I thought all the food would be organic and named after a sea turtle.  And we would have all re-usable plates, napkins, and eating utensils and look at some fish in aquariums.  Then some proceeds go to saving the rain forest.  All my environmentally conscious friends were going to be so proud of me.  Oops.  Major, major oops.

I am going to describe what we walked into, and my friends with children with autism, I can already feel you cringing:

• The main dinning room was pitch black with star lights on the ceilings and loud animal music going.

• The walls were covered with electronic animals that moved and growled.

• About every ten to fifteen minutes, a rainforest storm would break out.  The lights would flicker, the thunder would boom, and all the animals (gorillas, lions, elephants) would go crazy with the storm.

• What was intended to be the most exciting part of all-when the animals go crazy, the kids are supposed to get up and run around their tables, beating their chests like gorillas or  roaring like a lion.  Has anyone read Lord of the Flies lately?  Jack could have come running through the aisles with Piggy's glasses and a spear ready for Ralph's head.
•  Now for the final effect, here is a picture of the place I saw on the mall site.  Here is what I should have looked at with more detail.

My daughter calmly told me she needed to go potty.  We followed the rainbow (no joke) to the restrooms.  Once we were in there, she turned to me and said, "Yeah, I'm not leaving this bathroom. I'll eat lunch in here."  In the mean time, I can hear her brother jumping up and down like a wild man going "Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I'm a tiger grrrr."  Lovely.

I talked her into sitting on my lap and holding her ears. She screamed bloody murder until her father, who wanted to be there as much as someone wants a root canal anyway, took her out.  The manager brought me free drink cups and the waiter offered to help me to the car.  The place was ridiculously expensive so I hope my Lord of the Flies Litt'lun enjoyed his time on the island because we aren't going back.

You guys know I've been waiting for John Quinones to catch me on What would you do? Instead of my man John, Saturday I was waiting for "The Autism Police" to come get me.  I have decided that there must be a group of "Super Hero" type people in the Autism world that will come slap you with a fine for doing something you sure as hell know better than doing.  I always thought I had a little common sense. I would never take my child in a Chuckee E. Cheese. We haven't gone to a movie theater yet.  I THOUGHT I was going to do my part for the rainforest, not commercialism.  But it happened and my child was hysterical in a situation that could have been prevented by me. I knew the "Autism Police" were going to get me just as sure as the time she ate four Popsicles full of high fructose corn syrup and went berserk. (She needed to have one of every color-leave me alone, but in my defense I now make Popsicles with good juice and organic yogurt).  Fortunately I learned my lesson and did not receive a visit from Temple Grandin, Holly Robinson Peete, or Augusten Burrough's older brother.

Sunday rolls around.  I have had a birthday party on my son's calendar for a month.  We bought the present two weeks ago.  He even picked out a Spiderman gift bag.  We drove over to the house, a day late. Yes, the party was Saturday not Sunday, probably while we were sitting in the Rainforest cafe with a waitress who thought it would be brilliant to offer my child a balloon to quit crying.  The thing with Kenneth is I can't pull anything over on him.  So he looks around and screams, "THE PARTY WAS YESTERDAY!" and bursts into tears. So within 24 hours, both of my older children were hysterical.  One for being overstimulated and one for missing the stimulation. Perfect. I'm a quack.

Then one little thing clicked. I turned to Kenneth and said, "Do you know how you and I feel right now?  Upset we missed our friends? (I was looking forward to talking to other moms so I was just as put out as he was.) Well, this is how your sister feels when she has to be in a crowd, or be in a big noisy group. This is why she cries sometimes and we have to help her get ready for something."

The thing about my middle child is that while he will wet his pants so he doesn't have to miss a television show, the wheels in his head do turn for other things. I think he and I both got her in that moment.  He quit crying and said, "It's OK mom.  Let's go give *Billy* his present."

I'm sure I'll screw up again before all of them are on their own.  I just hope the "Autism Police" will let me off with a warning this time.

Safety Town Princess Divas

Last month I went "home." Those of you from the south know what I mean when I say that.  I mean I went to the place I spent the majority of my life so far, for better, or holy God,  for worse. Because it is, holy God again, a sixteen hour drive with traffic (thank you honey I love you), if we go we stay a long time.  If I'm staying a long time, I need my kids to participate in something or they start to get on everyone's nerves.  This year, for my beloved daughter, I chose Safety Town.  It is a free program run by the police department that teaches children all kinds of safety rules: fire, playground, crossing the street, all of the good stuff.  They get a gift certificate to Chick-fil-a (ahhhh) and a free bicycle helmet at the end.

Those of you who have been with me a while could imagine why this program might appeal to me.  Children on the spectrum don't always have the best sense of what is and what is not safe.  Just last summer the police showed up at my in-law's house because she had gone down to a neighbor's house and was jumping on their trampoline.  She wasn't verbal enough to tell them who she was so they called the police. Understandable.  It was not the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me in my life so far.  I can find comfort in that.

Before I even registered her for it, I made sure they took special needs kids.  Not only do they take them, they give them their very own one on one assistant for the program.  Score one for Safety Town before we even hit our first traffic jam in New Jersey....

I sat through the parent orientation no problem. I forgot how much I missed southern accents.  I didn't crack up any time she ever sang the "At the Curb" song. She knows now not to talk to strangers, play with matches, and always wear a helmet.  We call 911 if there is an emergency.  We do NOT talk to strangers no matter how much they know about Disney anything.  She refused to "graduate" and honestly, that would have been way too overwhelming to an otherwise perfect two week program. So no big deal that she didn't sing in front of a crowd.

Then I remembered she had "homework." She is supposed to be able to recite certain things about herself in case she gets lost.  It definitely would have helped last summer on the trampoline. Bygones.

This is what happened at my mother's house:

Me: What is your name?

F: Gabriella Montez

Me: Where do you live?

F: Albuquerque, New Mexico

Me: What is your mom's name?

F: Mrs. Montez-I don't know her first name but I go to East High.

Me: What is your phone number?

F: I don't know but all the numbers I need are in my cell phone-including Troy's.


Me: Frances enough!  This is a test to make sure you know how to keep yourself safe. Not a High School Musical audition.

I gave up. She was getting too much attention and cracking herself up in the process.

Last night I was back to school cleaning and I found her Safety Town workbook. I decided to try again. I was hoping she wouldn't remember her little creative streak from before.  What was I thinking?


Here it goes:

Me:What is your name?

F: She starts signing a weird sign language and whispers, "My name is Ariel and my dad is King Triton but I can't tell you anything else because Ursula has my voice and I shouldn't have talked to her either."  Back to sign language.  Then another whisper, "I live under the sea near Denmark."

Me: Frances! Take this seriously please!

F: OK Mommy, I'm sorry. Try again.

Me: What is your name?

F: Snow White
Me: Where do you live?

F: A castle in Germany at first but then I had to downgrade to a cottage.

Me: What is your mom's name?

F: The Evil Queen but please don't call her because she wants me dead.  Oh!  And she has poison!  I'm not supposed to swallow poison and that red apple is full of it.  Let's put a Mr. Yuck on it.  Call Doc instead.  He is in charge of me.

It is really hard to keep a straight face during all of this, I promise.

Me: Frances......

F: No, no seriously Mommy I have this now.

Me: Fine then, what is your name?

F: Pocahontas.  I can spell it!!!!

Me: FRANCES!!!!!!!!!

F: OK, OK, my name is.....  (Big Grin on her face)  Hannah Montana.....


I'm done. I'm sure she is safe for now....

My Brother Charlie at our house.

My three children and I love to read.  When we read together, it doesn't come out all cutesy wootsy like one of those families that passes the "Pat the Bunny" book around so everyone can smell the flowers or put their finger in mommy's ring.  We tend to get creative with our story times.  If you are new to Quack reading time, you can view my posts on Caps for Sale or Goodnight Moon and you will get the idea.  If I gave them Pat the Bunny, Lowell would say the flowers were yucky like a diaper and Kenneth would say he would rather put his finger in his nose than in a gold ring that wasn't real to begin with.

Nothing is more fun than reading a book with my kids and listening to them interject.  It comes from the time when I worked at an International Baccalaureate elementary school.  I learned all kinds of strategies to create inquiring minds and children that think for themselves and make connections with the world around them for the rest of their lives.

Who believed that?  No way-they interrupt me because I am too lazy to tell them not to and I am raising them to be more sarcastic and annoying than I am.  Why lie?

If you ever need to talk to your kids about anything, you can always hit google-but it is a lot more fun to find a nifty picture book.  There are all kinds of books out there about how to talk to kids about everything. It starts with the "Where did I come from?" question and goes down hill from there.  My favorite was when my mom brought home, "What's Drunk Mama?" to explain alcoholism to us. Oh yeah that worked.  I would love to get my hands on the book explaining plastic surgery, just in case I come home with a new nose or bigger boobs, or even better a nice flat tummy, and the kids scream and run out of the room.

I don't read a lot of books about autism.  I just don't.  I prefer to read fiction.  If it involves a vampire,wizard, or a female bounty hunter in New Jersey, I'm your girl.  I just can't read about something I am actually living, so it is hard to read autism books or anything on how to be a mom for that matter.  I should try.  A friend of mine loaned me a copy of "My Brother Charlie" by Holly Robinson Peete, and this was a first.

Holly is an actress and one of her children has autism.  I grew up with  21 Jump Street. I'm not athletic but she married somebody.  I'm assuming football but it could be basketball, I doubt it's baseball. I'm not googling it right now to pretend I know something that I don't.  I do know that I spent my high school years watching her and Johnny fight crime and she is married to a ball player and one of her four children is on the spectrum.  She started the HollyRod foundation.  I'm of two minds when a famous person shares.  I get irritated when famous people become experts because they are famous, but I'm also glad that the famous person is getting the word out there.

As I read it to myself I remembered feeling a lot of the same ways she describes. My daughter was different from the other toddlers I knew, and I was told repeatedly she was just taking her time. Holly got a diagnosis quicker than I did for my child.  I don't know where they got off telling her he would "Never" do certain things.  It all shows how far we have come in ten years of research.  Reading the stories of others is absolutely wonderful and this is another one for your bookshelf, but remember you can talk to a breast cancer survivor about your cancer, but you still need an oncologist.  I'm digressing-most of us already know this.

So I had this children's book that I liked and I have three children and I decided to read "My Brother Charlie" to my older kids to see what would happen.  I have wondered how my middle child views his sister.  He never seems to notice a difference in her.  He once told his best friend that his sister was little even though she was big, but that is the only time I have ever heard him say anything.

Here are some hi-lights on how Frances, Kenneth, and I read the book:

P: And names that start with the letter C-Callie and Charlie.
F: We don't have the same letter in our names.
K: Well, you start with F, and I'm four, so maybe mom was thinking about that.
P: I can stare for hours at the Big Dipper and the moon.  And I love to talk.
F: Me too!  Talking is fun. (Actually she didn't talk until age three and before that she was signing, but I let it go)
K: I love to talk too-let's all talk. (Anyone who knows us knows we never shut up.)
P: Our dog, Harriet...
F: Wait, they have a dog?  When do we get a dog?
K: Yes mom, we should have a dog too... (Um, no)
P: He hates math.
K: Nobody likes math-that's when you have numbers instead of letters.
P: Right, anyway....Charlie has Autism.
F: Autism?  I've never heard of autism.  (I will not cry, I will not cry-she doesn't know she has it.  When does she find out?)
P: We say we love you.
K: We are always saying that too. What is it with moms and I love you?

Later when I was tucking Kenneth into bed, I tried to be cool and tell him that he was picked extra special to have two siblings with autism.  Just like Callie and Charlie in the book.  I couldn't wait to hear his response.  I knew it was going to be magical and he was going to step up to his calling.

This is what he said:

"I don't know about their autism, but I do know that their feet stink."

Maybe we will read this book again in a few years and try to feel daddy's scratchy face in that Pat the Bunny classic.

But Holly, thank you for writing it now!

Co-Sleeping = No Sleeping at my house

Co-sleeping, shared sleep, birth control. I don't care what you call it. Kids in your bed. Some of us would rather have bed bugs while some of us can't imagine life without snuggling the cuties while we sleep. You know why? Because when they are asleep, they are NOT whining, fighting, or demanding attention. You can just watch them and think, "ahhhh I love parenthood" before the phone rings and someone else tells you something atrocious one of them did.

We still have a double bed from the grad school years. I can't get rid of it. My friends who seem to prefer to sleep with everyone together have mac daddy king size beds. That is one upgrade I am going to put off a little longer. If the bed were bigger then they would see that as an invitation to join us. Nope.

I have been really slack since March. I have had too much going on during the day to fight what happens at night. The only time I have freaked about it was when I woke up and one of them was in bed with us without me realizing it. How could I possibly have been so tired I didn't notice when another human being not only came into my room but crawled into bed next to me? Motherhood will do it to you. So we were sleeping at night with sometimes three other people in the room with us. Everyone went to sleep in their own room, but made their way into ours. Then I snapped.

About two weeks ago, the older two decided to have an all night party in our room. It was a school night. There was no reason that they would be afraid or anxious and not be able to sleep. I tightened the reins and they are both in their own beds now. If they want to get in with us, the sun needs to be up.

These are the reasons we DON'T co-sleep:

My son sleeps all different ways: his legs are one way and his arms are every which away. He kicks, he squirms. He takes over.

My daughter drags all her stuffed animals into our room and lines them up at the foot of the bed. Like we have an audience. I don't want random animals staring at me while I sleep.

Somebody snores-any of us on any give night. Then everyone wakes up and says there is a monster in the bed. Then they fight over who did it and no one can get back to sleep.

There is the fear someone is going to wet the bed. They don't but they will and it will be our bed and not their own. I wonder, if I was too tired to notice someone climbed in, would I wake up if it was wet or would I dream I was on a tropical island being sprayed by a warm sea mist?

Snacks and crumbs in the bed. We are not a "Breakfast in bed" kind of family. We are a "Eat your breakfast over the sink to avoid crumbs" kind of family.

Enough said.

These were my exceptions: first three months of life-I started to transition to a crib and their own room between three and four months. No one was a colicky baby. No one had any eating issues. No one screamed uncontrollably ever. We were good to go.

Illness is also a reason I would let them sleep with us, except throw up because you can puke in your own bed. Oh-and if one of them brings home head lice they aren't getting in my bed either. (Apologies to childless friends reading this.)

I know there is research. I totally believe in all kinds of research. This is my family list and in no way research. Moreover, my children are older and sneakier. So please, do what works for you as a family and laugh, roll your eyes, or skip my blog if you need to do so. It won't hurt my feelings.


Have fun co-sleeping families. You might rock, but I'm sleeping like one.

A Traffic Lesson

Who remembers the 2000 movie Traffic? It starred Michael Douglas, Catherine Zeta Jones, and Benicio del Toro. It was a great movie! But damn was I judgmental in my 20s. I remember thinking that Michael Douglas’ character was an idiot. The Drug Czar didn’t know his daughter had a drug problem? Yeah right, like that would happen in real life.

The Gods remembered me saying that. They saved it for later. They brought it back to me like a kick in the ass with full force.

The baby has been in an infant sibling study since he was four months old. He has hit every mile stone right on time, if not earlier. He has a good sixty plus words. He can run and he can feed himself. He laughs and plays with his siblings. If they are coloring, he is coloring. If they are running and kicking a soccer ball, so is he. I assumed everything was fine and that we were doing our part to help science.

He had the eighteen month visit in the name of scientific research last week. My husband didn’t bother to go-we didn’t think it was necessary for us both to be there. They called me in for the results and I was still clueless. They told me immediately he didn’t know his name. I nodded like this was nothing.

Of course he doesn’t know it. We call him “Baby, munchkin, little man, etc.” He’s the third child, what they call in family therapy “the mascot.” He is lucky he gets called anything. Then they looked at me and said, “No, he never looks at anyone even if you call him or give him a request, have you noticed?” Um, did Michael notice while he was fighting Mexico that his private school daughter was passed out at a crack house? I guess I didn't notice. But since these people are bringing it up, this must mean.....

No. No. No. Dear God, I’m still asleep, or my husband’s lab is going to jump out from behind the door and tell me I’m being Punk’d……

“We want you to start Birth to Three early intervention with him now. Don’t wait, and because of his sister, he gets moved to the top of the list. Call this afternoon.”

Alrighty then-two on the spectrum (possibly).

Fine, whatever. I am a good mom. If he were gay, I’d join PFLAG. If he were an alcoholic, I’d go to Alanon. I’m blessed, it will all work out fine. Thanks for bringing this to my attention, now let’s go home and make “Team Lowell” t-shirts.

I imploded in the parking lot. (Grandaddy-skip this part and please don't read it out loud to Grandmother)

F*&%% THIS SH*&%!!!!!!

I am not going to lie to you guys, I was very angry. I went back and forth between being mad I put him in the study and grateful to have the study. I could finally imagine how the Greeks felt about the Gods messing with their lives. Who had I made mad? It couldn’t have been Aphrodite-I’m not that pretty. Perhaps Athena the warrior? Had I fought back too hard? I wasn’t worth Zeus’s time-I assume he plays with wars and elections. Which one was the one who talked too much? Hermes? He must have been angry I talked more than he did and wanted to blast me with something unexpected. GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

That afternoon I went home and taught my classes. I didn’t take my older son to his preschool because the last group of people I wanted to see was those women with perfect children. My best friend up here is a personal trainer, and she begged me to go work out. I downed a bag of Oreos. I also started treating my son like a ticking time bomb instead of the fun little mascot that he is.

A few days went by, and I have reflected on it. I can handle just about anything. One could argue that I don’t deserve anything else bad to happen to me, ever again. That isn’t the way life works. This go round, I’m better prepared. Lowell is his own person and I am giving him a jump start that his older sister didn’t have. We will see what happens. Boy, is this going to be fun to watch or what? Now I have a unisex puzzle piece!

What is the real lesson? Don’t judge Michael Douglas movies, be it Traffic or Fatal Attraction…..

What to do when On Demand is not on demand

I don't know what the hell parents of children with autism did before things like youtube, DVDs, and On Demand cable. I remember the scene in Rain Man, when Tom Cruise pulls over on a country road and begs a lady to let them watch The People's Court. That was a pretty creative solution until he bought the little television. I totally get that scene now.

I have blogged about the Imagination Movers before. My kids love that show. I could go on about how I am a tad disappointed that Knit Knots was fired from season two. My only main comments there are 1) What does Nina do now other than act as a "groupie" for the band since she no longer works for her Uncle Knit-Knots? and 2) I hope the actor was well compensated or has other acting opportunities ready to go because they put him through a lot last season, including carrying around a pet rock, watching paint dry for fun, and dressing up like a cu cu machoo that couldn't speak English. Then they go and fire his ass....

So the point is my child loves this show. So much that we sprang for tickets for their concert in November. She understands it will be crowded, she understands it will be loud. But she wants to go and you better believe you will be reading a blog about it later. I have always been grateful that she can go to school and come home and watch Imagination Movers to decompress while I get dinner done. She knows how On Demand cable works, and she can read the names of the shows on the buttons to choose from.

A couple of days ago, The Imagination Movers were removed from the ON Demand menu. To say that a tantrum followed is a bit of an understatement. We have a DVD of them as well, but alas we have no DVD player at this time. I took for granted that I would always have access to cable. What was a mother to do? A good mother would have held her and said life wasn't fair. A perfect mother would have said "let's go color." A superior mother would have said, "How about we read some books." And a guilt trip mother would have said, "Have you seen Slum Dog Millionaire? CHILL!" Now, who is ready for what the Quack Mother did?

As much as I hate math, I can count to four, and a light went on in my brain stormin' head. I found Noggin, now Nic Jr., on Demand and hit an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba as fast as I could. As soon as my man DJ Lance Rock had the toys coming to life, I held her close with her special blankie and said, "Look Frannie Monster! The Imagination Movers are wearing Yo Gabba Gabba costumes today!" Four movers, four Gabba Gabba friends. Scott is Muno, Rich is Foufa, Smitty is Plex, and Dave is Brobee. Nina comes over and voila, we have Toodee. She smiled and said they did a great job pretending to live in Gabba Land. My four year old, catching on, nodded and said that I sure did solve an idea emergency.

Any mom can brainstorm. But the mother of an autistic child needs the quick thinking of the Imagination Movers combined with the wackiness of Yo Gabba Gabba daily.

Think Fast ladies,

Page

I need more Barbie!

Please forgive the week without any posts. We moved, Kevin is out of town, and I have had a lot of work to catch up on. Since I stayed one night in a hotel and just changed houses, I haven’t really had a grocery store diary either, except maybe taking the baby to the 7-11 for whole milk while he ran up and down the aisles touching everything and laughing.

I thought I would talk about another toy that has a special function in our house. I’m talking Miss Thing herself, Barbie. Barbie and I go back, I had the mansion in 1978. Maybe it was in Greenwich. No, it couldn’t have been with those pulley elevators. I remember I got in big trouble for taking a chapstick and smearing it all over the Barbie doll’s hair. I had Western Barbie, and if you pressed her back she would wink. My aunts were only eight and thirteen at the time, and their bathroom was full of Barbie perfumes and make up that I wasn’t allowed to touch. I bet if I went over to my grandparent’s house tomorrow it would still be in the medicine cabinet upstairs.

Yes, yes, we can debate the importance of Barbie in pop culture and what she means to little girls. I googled it and got all kinds of crap. Feminism Friday had a good one, The Body Shop had a poster about ten years ago, and did you know what her real life measurements are? I remember that fact being flashed at Lollapalooza back in 1992. Don’t knock her, she has had so many different careers she is ready for anything. I have a Spanish Teacher Barbie the nieces gave me a good eleven years ago one Christmas. I love that thing. I would go back and forth between wanting a convertible like Barbie or a jeep like Barbie, and then I remembered I can’t drive worth a crap no matter what it is.

So let me bring this back down to today. I have a little girl, and that little girl doesn’t play like other children. I also have a mother with four grandsons and wants to give my daughter dolls. My daughter has about six Barbies and a Ken in counting. They sat there for three years. The poor little Barbies, if they were played with at all they were lined up in front of mirrors to be left alone to stare at their beautiful reflections. Then last year, during Pre-K, something happened, and you will never, ever, hear a harsh, sassy word come from my mouth about that doll again. (Well, ok, maybe one.)

Frances comes home from school and tells us nothing. She couldn’t re-tell a story, or sequence events. If I ask her how her day is she says, “fine.” If I ask her what she does, she says “Nothing.” Now I know that all kids do this, but you can talk a kid into a story with the right bribes. But I still got nothing. Frances also comes home and plays alone. This is part of her autism, some might call it her “stem” but I am not good on terminology, I leave that to the experts.

One day last year, she was in the playroom and I heard her talking to the Barbie doll, she had named it, “Maddie,” then she had another Barbie named, “Bella” (I’m making these up). She named each Barbie and Ken for a student in her class and they kept the same names all year. Then each day she came home and re-enacted the entire preschool day with the Barbies. I knew who answered a question, what was said at circle time, who went to OT and who had speech. She could tell me through the Barbies what each kid had for snack. She would sing songs and do the weather.

Her brain rocks and her memory blows me away. I can’t remember what snarky comment I made to the woman at the library that handed me her mommy business card. This also means I have to be careful what I say around her. Once “Mommy Barbie” was on a toy telephone like this: “Uh huh uh huh, ok. Bye bye (hang up toy phone) Idiot,” and then “Mommy Barbie” rolled her eyes and shook her head.

A couple of other moms in our groups tell me this is wonderful pretend play. I go back and forth on this being pretend play. She is acting out her day using dolls that look like people, which according to Barbie History, is what she was originally designed to do. It is a start but not exactly there. Barbie is giving me hope though.

I am always searching for toys and games and the educational stores to find things to get my daughter to talk and sequence. Who would have thought that I would just need more Barbies? Now I’m looking for Barbie everywhere. Yard sales, consignment stores, I am searching toy bins at Wal-Mart. We must have a Barbie or Ken for each member of the class. Thanks Barbie, you might have made me feel like shit about my breast size, but you have given my daughter an outlet and a way for me to spy on her day.

My Daughter's Playlist

Twilight author Stephenie Meyer is a symbol for all of us stay at home moms. We actually have something going on in our heads and other women want to read it. One of my favorite things about her is that she writes to “playlists.” Like always, I need to back up. I got into trouble with some colleagues about four years ago because I allowed students to listen to iPods during a test. The principal sent out a nasty letter saying that they couldn’t be allowed to do this. I don’t know if this was coincidence or if I was tattled on, bygones anyway. After the note, I told my students, no more music. I agreed with them that it helped them focus, but the powers that be say no, so I say no. Those kids never had an iPod in class again, I’ll give them that. No harm, no foul. Enter this woman three years later reinforcing what I said back then. The music helps you concentrate. Duh…..

Everything she writes has a playlist, and I am beginning to think she is becoming the Oprah Winfrey book club for bands. It is a good thing to be on a Stephenie Meyer play list. I can’t imagine some idiot band saying, “No thank you Steph. Please remove us from your website and we could care less if we inspired the third paragraph on page 321.” Yeah right.

I am not a big music person; I don’t know what is good and what isn’t. My high school sweet heart ended up being a music producer in New York, so you would think this would have rubbed off a little, but all that came of it is that I can tell you that the three members of Rush are Alex Lifeson, Neal Peart, and Geddy Lee. And incidentally, Neal is and always will be the best drummer in the world. See? I listened somewhat. That was the 90s. I think in my car right now I have the Imagination Movers, a Kindermusik CD, and the soundtrack from the musical Chicago for the off chance that I am alone in a car. But this playlist thing is kind of a cool concept. If my daughter and I were to have a play list, this is how our journey would look so far.

P.S.-some of these songs flat out suck. I am not trying to be corny or a copycat, I swear. No one can copy the great Meyer nor should they try. I am just trying to put this in terms so that others can relate. Don’t read my list if you don’t want to.

P.S.S.-Most of these songs seem to be focused on 90s music, so I will call this my daughter's life according to the 90s playlist. Like I said, I haven’t really been able to pick my own music since October of 2003. Please forgive the theme…..

My Girl-I loved her from the day she was born
Good Riddance Green Day-When I changed jobs to have more time with her
Can’t get it right today Joe Purdy-When she wasn’t walking or talking. You are the mom. It's going to be your fault some how, forever. Sorry....don't give up.
Fields of Gold Eva Cassidy’s version- Kenneth is born, it is obvious that he is very different, can’t ignore it
Cornflake Girl-Tori Amos All the little girls were coloring, she would dance. This isn’t always a bad thing.
You-Candle Box – Taking her to appointments and therapies, it took a lot out of me.
Bullet with Butterfly Wings-Smashing Pumpkins-Nothing seemed to be working, no one would give me answers, I felt a LOT of rage.
Long December- Counting Crows- In Pittsburgh, we finally got an autism diagnosis. I had reason to believe that maybe this year would be better than the last.
Closer to Fine-The Indigo Girls- We are getting there
Mysterious Ways-U2- It’s all right, and she really does move in mysterious ways.
Wonder-Natalie Merchant She will make her way, she already is.


Sorry if some of those songs made you music people gag and cringe. Every now and then I have to do something stupidly mother-like or I will lose my license.

Do you have a playlist? For your autism journey? Your Down Syndrome journey? Any journey really? I don't care what kind of music you like either. It can be country music: Sugarland (They have a Yo Gabba Gabba! Dancey Dance, by the way), Toby Keith, and Kenny Chesney for all I care. You can make a classical list. It's your play list. I don't think millions of little girls are going to go out and buy the CDs because you told them to, but still, it's your journey and your music.