I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I only read these books because my nieces told me too. Of course I loved them and couldn’t put them down. The best part about it was that I didn’t have a Harry Potter book to get me through a pregnancy the third time around, and I was really worried about what I would do without the boy wizard and the stages of getting fatter, but enter the Cullens and a Breaking Dawn release and I had what I would call a pregnancy book.
The gift of blogging is, you don’t have to read it if you don’t want. So Meyer haters, goodbye right now…..
OK, everyone who is left reading, I have watched Oprah twice since I started having children six years ago. The first one was her 50th birthday celebration when Frances was eight weeks old; the second was when she shamed James Frey on television for making up his memoir. Friday the week before New Moon, I made all three of my children sit still so I could watch Stephenie on Oprah. I told them it was like when Daddy watches the news, Mommy has to watch the Oprah news. They took it as a very big deal and didn’t make a sound, and lo and behold the baby didn’t bother to try to climb on the coffee table either.
Two things about the Oprah interview. The first was I felt like Oprah was making sure the “Meyer” understood that she was the “Oprah.” Don’t try to get your head higher than the queen. You may be Stephenie Meyer, but I am “THE OPRAH.” Let’s not forget who is who, all right sweetie? I am the one with the school in Africa. I am the one who tells people to read something and they read it. (My husband can go into our bedroom bookshelf pre-babies and attest to that).
The second thing is this. Stephenie is Oprah’s audience; the stay at home mom, the woman wanting to improve. It is in some ways a fairy tale that she had a dream and wrote it down and about six months later had a book deal. I have only had two dreams lately that were worth anything. One helped me figure out my preschool/work schedule and the other involved me wandering around a foreign country totally alone. Mothers have no privacy and I want some…
I can also see how people who have been trying for years and years to get published and have MFAs, and teach, and go to conferences, etc. etc., can get pissy that it happened for her the way it did. All I can say without sounding stupid is that everyone has their own journey and life is full of twists and turns and one unexpected thing, like a really cool dream you write down, can change it forever.
Now, on to my New Moon reflection-and my name is not Leonard Maltin, so if you don’t want my opinion, then go over to Rotten Tomatoes.
Well, we certainly had more money this time, didn’t we? The special effects, the scenery, and the on location filming in Italy showed us that. Famous people want a part in this, don’t they? I was so caught up in it that I forgot Jane was Dakota Fanning until she started walking down the hallway. She did a wonderful evil adolescent girl stuck in hateful vicious middle school years. How many thirteen year old ladies do you know who would love to burn someone with their thoughts?
Now, on the acting, Taylor Lautner can act. There is no way around it. Bella’s scenes seemed much more natural with Jacob than they did with Edward. Taylor is always such a jovial guy in his interviews I had my doubts about the anger scenes he would need to morph into a wolf, but when he snapped at Mike in the movie theater, I felt it.
All of the "humans" can act. I laughed out loud during the Romeo and Juliet scene, the kid that played Erik Yorkie was hilarious. Anna Kendrick has Oscar buzz around her from the movie with George Clooney. Enough said. I am also to this day boycotting CBS for their cancellation of Joan of Arcadia, and Mike Welch was part of that team. Those kids are going places other than vampire land.
Edi Gathegi can act. I loved his Laurent. He was able to be dramatic without being over the top and campy. He looked at Bella and told her she was mouth watering and he would make it painless, before a pack of wolves descended on him. He didn’t crack up, that was enough right there.
The Volturi-Aro was exactly they way I pictured him, in looks and actions. Marcus was not sad enough, and Caius was not angry enough. Other than that, Italy gave us very visually pleasing scenes, although I could have done without children walking in for dinner….
My only criticisms are just my personal tastes: Taylor won the shirt off contest and Edward showed too much, of course I was the one looking down. And the vision Alice showed Aro of the future was very silly. I don’t want to give too much away, but it reminded of a scene from the Sound of Music or Heidi. And the action movie Bella went to see with Mike and Jacob, um, no thug is going to say “freaking.” It reminded me of watching Boyz in the Hood edited for television.
That’s all from me; go with a girlfriend, niece, daughter, or cousin. Your man can skip it and he will appreciate you not making him go.
Can’t wait for Eclipse-and Oprah will still be Oprah next summer.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
A Day in Manhattan
Today my best friend and I took my daughter to Manhattan. We had been planning this trip for months. Frannie has a friend from New York, and we have been meaning to go whenever that little girl is there visiting her grandparents, but that hasn't happened yet. Today, I made it from Connecticut to Grand Central with my daughter in toe. Before I continue, let me ease everyone's anxiety. We were fine.
As everyone knows, I am from the south. Therefore all of my girlfriends are from the south. One of them has never been to New York before, and is also my daughter's godmother. She said, "Let's do the American Girl Place." I had already been told by Manhattan native friend in Pittsburgh that the American Girl Place was bad. I kept hearing Dana Carvey from SNL say "It's bad! It's bad!" She said it was a cult out to make money and that we should go to the Guggenheim instead. This is where I am torn as a mother. This line of thinking should end in middle school, but do I do what I want to do with my daughter, or do I appear cool to my friends? hmmmm. In a nice wonderful world my friends are going to be my friends no matter what, so I made a reservation for the American Girl Cafe with my daughter and my best friend, her godmother. Guess what? I wasn't struck by lightening. In making that reservation, I sealed the deal to go to Manhattan with my BFF and my six year old PDD-NOS daughter. Woah nelly....
With my child's disorder, preparation is always a must. There are no surprises in this house. We have been talking about going for two months. I have showed her pictures of what we were going to do online. We set up a schedule. She understood that we would take a train, walk, go to a crowded store, pick out an outfit, and eat lunch. She could also pick one new doll with her birthday money. She repeated the schedule over and over again. "Train, American Girl Cafe, Eat lunch with my doll, pick out toys."
The night before we left, I actually kicked it up into good mommy mode and packed a bag full of snacks and little things (crayons, notepads,and storybooks) to do on the train. As luck would have it, we boarded the express train, so it was a straight shot to Central Station and a walk down fifth avenue to the American Girl Place. Score for the mommy that doesn't know what she is doing.
The morning of departure, she was determined to wear her ruby red slippers and a dress. Instead of escalating a situation,I told her that I would back her sneakers and if her feet started to hurt, she could put them on. Sure enough, at least twice she asked if she could change shoes, so she was able to walk the streets and then wear her nice shoes when we arrived at our destination. I didn't have the heart to tell her that all those little girls weren't there to look at her feet.
The train station was not too terribly crowded, just remember to help them get off the train or they might catch a foot in the space between the platform and the tracks. I made her go to the bathroom before we left and she also went every time we had access to a clean one. I hate to point this out if I have childless friends reading this, but you would rather make them go when the opportunity is there than be walking down fifth with a child doing the potty dance. And take Purell, lots and lots of Purell, and try to get seats on the train near the lavatory, in case you must (remember Purell and Wet Ones again). Everything we wanted to go to was along 5th Avenue. We didn't really have the ability to get lost. She walked and we didn't need to get a taxi. She was using those gross motor skill to a maximum, she even skipped a little.
The lunch was my worst nightmare of all things cute and girly and I pity the brothers that had to go eat there. The napkin rings were hair bows you could take home. The table had a question box of things to talk about, I opened it up and modified the questions as a joke, but my daughter got into it. We were using our speech therapy skills and I didn't even think about it until now. Questions aren't an easy thing for her. Most people who have a daughter know this, but you eat with your doll. She gets a chair and a cup and a plate. Frances actually put food on her little plate and pretended to feed her. Then she told us that "pretend Frances" didn't like her lunch. To witness my daughter engaging in pretend play was worth the daisy decorations and the doll holder in the bathroom stall.
As far as the actual commercial purchases, let me start with the place was packed and the economy sucks. I can only imagine the place in a bull market. I talked my daughter into matching nightgowns for her and "Pretend Frances." Because I draw the line at my child walking out of this house matched with a doll. I won't do it. She loved the nighties and then asked for "Emily." I had no idea who Emily was, but another really nice mom told me Emily was Molly's best friend. Huh, Frances actually knew some of the story lines. That is how I ended up digging through the stacks of little dolls until we found an "Emily."
The check out was long despite twelve of them. One of the clerks showed me how to put the dolls in the doll carrier without them banging their heads on the mean streets of New York. She also said we had one of the more well behaved little girls she had seen come through.
As far as the cult of it, I can see that. Hundreds of little girls were marching around with a doll in their hands. Some of them had two. I also remember going to see the original Child's Play movie in the 8th grade. Could all these little dolls be giving our girls secret messages? I can hear them whisper, "Don't eat.... be perfect." or "I heard what she said about you behind your back." My favorite would be, "You know you can have it all, you know you can be super perfect mommy and an investment banker and make more than a man...." Those dolls have power. I also think it would make a great Sex and the City scene, Charlotte takes Lilly and Rose while Samantha, Miranda, and Carrie gag and freak.
Having just said I can see the cult, you know that I have waited to have a little girl that wanted to do what other girls do, and if she wants to listen to her inner dolly, I will allow it until she is ready for Mommie's Indigo Girls CDs. And if I catch her in the bathroom with her finger down her throat in ten years, I can always blame it on the doll.
Next up was Little Miss Matched. That store is a lot of fun for little girls and a great place to pop in if you are crazy like me and doing New York with children. They have huge dry erase furniture and markers for the kids to draw with. Frances practice her spelling and drew a couple of different princesses while we picked out tights for her. They also have colored pencils and blank sock worksheets so you can design your own. She was able to practice her OT homework and fine motor skills and she didn't even know it!
Last but not least, being a teacher and a librarian, we had to end the day at The New York Public Library. She posed with the lions and then wandered into the Children's Center. We said hello to Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin's other original stuffed animals, and then we chilled on the bean bags and read some different versions of the Cinderella story. As we were leaving, Frances high fived the security guard. Made his day....
We did miss the train we wanted, so gosh darn it, she had to have ice cream in grand central before sleeping all the way home.
The only snag was having to hold her every time a police car, ambulance, or fire truck came by. That was the one thing I didn't think to warn her about, but she was very proud of herself after the noise had passed. It was a wonderful day trip. I am proud of my girly girl, and we can hit the Guggenheim next time, skinny little dolls and all.
As everyone knows, I am from the south. Therefore all of my girlfriends are from the south. One of them has never been to New York before, and is also my daughter's godmother. She said, "Let's do the American Girl Place." I had already been told by Manhattan native friend in Pittsburgh that the American Girl Place was bad. I kept hearing Dana Carvey from SNL say "It's bad! It's bad!" She said it was a cult out to make money and that we should go to the Guggenheim instead. This is where I am torn as a mother. This line of thinking should end in middle school, but do I do what I want to do with my daughter, or do I appear cool to my friends? hmmmm. In a nice wonderful world my friends are going to be my friends no matter what, so I made a reservation for the American Girl Cafe with my daughter and my best friend, her godmother. Guess what? I wasn't struck by lightening. In making that reservation, I sealed the deal to go to Manhattan with my BFF and my six year old PDD-NOS daughter. Woah nelly....
With my child's disorder, preparation is always a must. There are no surprises in this house. We have been talking about going for two months. I have showed her pictures of what we were going to do online. We set up a schedule. She understood that we would take a train, walk, go to a crowded store, pick out an outfit, and eat lunch. She could also pick one new doll with her birthday money. She repeated the schedule over and over again. "Train, American Girl Cafe, Eat lunch with my doll, pick out toys."
The night before we left, I actually kicked it up into good mommy mode and packed a bag full of snacks and little things (crayons, notepads,and storybooks) to do on the train. As luck would have it, we boarded the express train, so it was a straight shot to Central Station and a walk down fifth avenue to the American Girl Place. Score for the mommy that doesn't know what she is doing.
The morning of departure, she was determined to wear her ruby red slippers and a dress. Instead of escalating a situation,I told her that I would back her sneakers and if her feet started to hurt, she could put them on. Sure enough, at least twice she asked if she could change shoes, so she was able to walk the streets and then wear her nice shoes when we arrived at our destination. I didn't have the heart to tell her that all those little girls weren't there to look at her feet.
The train station was not too terribly crowded, just remember to help them get off the train or they might catch a foot in the space between the platform and the tracks. I made her go to the bathroom before we left and she also went every time we had access to a clean one. I hate to point this out if I have childless friends reading this, but you would rather make them go when the opportunity is there than be walking down fifth with a child doing the potty dance. And take Purell, lots and lots of Purell, and try to get seats on the train near the lavatory, in case you must (remember Purell and Wet Ones again). Everything we wanted to go to was along 5th Avenue. We didn't really have the ability to get lost. She walked and we didn't need to get a taxi. She was using those gross motor skill to a maximum, she even skipped a little.
The lunch was my worst nightmare of all things cute and girly and I pity the brothers that had to go eat there. The napkin rings were hair bows you could take home. The table had a question box of things to talk about, I opened it up and modified the questions as a joke, but my daughter got into it. We were using our speech therapy skills and I didn't even think about it until now. Questions aren't an easy thing for her. Most people who have a daughter know this, but you eat with your doll. She gets a chair and a cup and a plate. Frances actually put food on her little plate and pretended to feed her. Then she told us that "pretend Frances" didn't like her lunch. To witness my daughter engaging in pretend play was worth the daisy decorations and the doll holder in the bathroom stall.
As far as the actual commercial purchases, let me start with the place was packed and the economy sucks. I can only imagine the place in a bull market. I talked my daughter into matching nightgowns for her and "Pretend Frances." Because I draw the line at my child walking out of this house matched with a doll. I won't do it. She loved the nighties and then asked for "Emily." I had no idea who Emily was, but another really nice mom told me Emily was Molly's best friend. Huh, Frances actually knew some of the story lines. That is how I ended up digging through the stacks of little dolls until we found an "Emily."
The check out was long despite twelve of them. One of the clerks showed me how to put the dolls in the doll carrier without them banging their heads on the mean streets of New York. She also said we had one of the more well behaved little girls she had seen come through.
As far as the cult of it, I can see that. Hundreds of little girls were marching around with a doll in their hands. Some of them had two. I also remember going to see the original Child's Play movie in the 8th grade. Could all these little dolls be giving our girls secret messages? I can hear them whisper, "Don't eat.... be perfect." or "I heard what she said about you behind your back." My favorite would be, "You know you can have it all, you know you can be super perfect mommy and an investment banker and make more than a man...." Those dolls have power. I also think it would make a great Sex and the City scene, Charlotte takes Lilly and Rose while Samantha, Miranda, and Carrie gag and freak.
Having just said I can see the cult, you know that I have waited to have a little girl that wanted to do what other girls do, and if she wants to listen to her inner dolly, I will allow it until she is ready for Mommie's Indigo Girls CDs. And if I catch her in the bathroom with her finger down her throat in ten years, I can always blame it on the doll.
Next up was Little Miss Matched. That store is a lot of fun for little girls and a great place to pop in if you are crazy like me and doing New York with children. They have huge dry erase furniture and markers for the kids to draw with. Frances practice her spelling and drew a couple of different princesses while we picked out tights for her. They also have colored pencils and blank sock worksheets so you can design your own. She was able to practice her OT homework and fine motor skills and she didn't even know it!
Last but not least, being a teacher and a librarian, we had to end the day at The New York Public Library. She posed with the lions and then wandered into the Children's Center. We said hello to Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin's other original stuffed animals, and then we chilled on the bean bags and read some different versions of the Cinderella story. As we were leaving, Frances high fived the security guard. Made his day....
We did miss the train we wanted, so gosh darn it, she had to have ice cream in grand central before sleeping all the way home.
The only snag was having to hold her every time a police car, ambulance, or fire truck came by. That was the one thing I didn't think to warn her about, but she was very proud of herself after the noise had passed. It was a wonderful day trip. I am proud of my girly girl, and we can hit the Guggenheim next time, skinny little dolls and all.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Grocery Store Diaries 5
Dirty looks: At least five today
You’ve got your hands full: Only one
Damage: Kenneth threw a loaf of bread at a man I’m pretty sure was stoned, so no biggie
This time, I had a list. I had taken the time and energy to find not only a pen to write with but a piece of paper to write on. I hadn’t gone so far as to categorize it, but the fact that I had thought it out was a step in the right direction.
My children have become much more aware of their surroundings lately. It isn’t enough just to ride in the cart while mom throws what we need for the week in. They have to look around and add their opinions.
“I don’t want the red yogurt cup, the blue one is better.”
“Don’t get those chicken nuggets, put them back!”
“You know Daddy’s not going to eat that.”
Yes guys, thanks for the ongoing commentary-why did I pay for speech therapy again?
We were doing great with everyone sitting nicely in the cart until I had no choice but to go down the aisle with the toys and birthday cards. That really is a genius idea, if you are in a hurry or forgot you needed to buy a gift, all you have to do is run in the grocery store. This is only a problem when my kids look up and see toys. And it isn’t just made in Bangladesh crap toys. The grocery store is now carrying Disney Princesses. Oh bloody hell….
“Mommy…”
“No! Santa is bringing you the princesses.”
“Mommy…”
“I said no!”
“Well, can I at least go say hi to Snow White?”
And before I can say anything, she is gone and running all the way back to the dolls. Why did I pay for physical therapy again? I have the boys in the stupid race car cart and it isn’t like I can just quickly turn around and grab her without taking out some stacked cans or an old lady or two. When I get to her she sitting on the floor telling Snow White she can’t wait for her to come live with her on December 25th. Ha.
As I am dragging them away from the toys, they see the birthday cards. The problem with that is that the princesses and superheroes are plastered all over those cards, and now my kids have something new to whine about not getting. Does it matter that neither of them are having a birthday at the moment? NO! They just want the cards. Don’t anyone worry, I do not buy birthday cards to get my children to be quiet for said cards to end up on my car floor boards later.
Check out is fine until we are leaving. The cashier notices the baby is sitting on a can of soup and yanks it out from under him. She looks at me like I tried to rob a bank. Now, if I was going to steal, would it be beef broth, or Hershey’s chocolate? Maybe I should have gone with a birthday card for no one in particular.
You tell me…
You’ve got your hands full: Only one
Damage: Kenneth threw a loaf of bread at a man I’m pretty sure was stoned, so no biggie
This time, I had a list. I had taken the time and energy to find not only a pen to write with but a piece of paper to write on. I hadn’t gone so far as to categorize it, but the fact that I had thought it out was a step in the right direction.
My children have become much more aware of their surroundings lately. It isn’t enough just to ride in the cart while mom throws what we need for the week in. They have to look around and add their opinions.
“I don’t want the red yogurt cup, the blue one is better.”
“Don’t get those chicken nuggets, put them back!”
“You know Daddy’s not going to eat that.”
Yes guys, thanks for the ongoing commentary-why did I pay for speech therapy again?
We were doing great with everyone sitting nicely in the cart until I had no choice but to go down the aisle with the toys and birthday cards. That really is a genius idea, if you are in a hurry or forgot you needed to buy a gift, all you have to do is run in the grocery store. This is only a problem when my kids look up and see toys. And it isn’t just made in Bangladesh crap toys. The grocery store is now carrying Disney Princesses. Oh bloody hell….
“Mommy…”
“No! Santa is bringing you the princesses.”
“Mommy…”
“I said no!”
“Well, can I at least go say hi to Snow White?”
And before I can say anything, she is gone and running all the way back to the dolls. Why did I pay for physical therapy again? I have the boys in the stupid race car cart and it isn’t like I can just quickly turn around and grab her without taking out some stacked cans or an old lady or two. When I get to her she sitting on the floor telling Snow White she can’t wait for her to come live with her on December 25th. Ha.
As I am dragging them away from the toys, they see the birthday cards. The problem with that is that the princesses and superheroes are plastered all over those cards, and now my kids have something new to whine about not getting. Does it matter that neither of them are having a birthday at the moment? NO! They just want the cards. Don’t anyone worry, I do not buy birthday cards to get my children to be quiet for said cards to end up on my car floor boards later.
Check out is fine until we are leaving. The cashier notices the baby is sitting on a can of soup and yanks it out from under him. She looks at me like I tried to rob a bank. Now, if I was going to steal, would it be beef broth, or Hershey’s chocolate? Maybe I should have gone with a birthday card for no one in particular.
You tell me…
Friday, November 13, 2009
When did I become "The Advocate"?
Today was the first time I participated in an IEP meeting that I requested. I can’t believe that after thirteen years of teaching I actually called one to sit in on by choice. I suck as a special needs mom. Over the summer she was in a program where the mom had to watch through a two way mirror, and I was irritated I couldn’t just drop her off and go to the mall. I enjoy my time off, all right? All the other moms were glued to the window like they were watching a soap opera. Ugh.
Another personal problem in this new role is that the word “Advocate” irritates me. I know perfectly well that in the dictionary it means, “To speak, plead, or argue in favor of.” Of course we want to do these things. However, adolescence and young adulthood in the 90s left me with images of an advocate that aren’t pretty. The first thing that comes to my mind is Hermione Granger and her little collection can for S.P.E.W. in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I can see her walking around the common room threatening people to pay up for proper treatment of house elves. Once in high school someone who will remain nameless because I just found out he reads this was making me watch Rush Limbaugh. Rush was wearing about ten different ribbons to show support for all these different causes. That was pretty funny, I’ll admit that. I also went to high school with someone who would throw your pizza slice away if you tried to eat it because the company gave money to pro-life organizations. I couldn’t eat tuna without someone screaming at me that I had killed Flipper. It did not seem to matter that I made sure the can said “dolphin safe.” According to my advocating friends, the companies were lying to sell tuna. The worst was the environmental club taking turns standing by the recycling bins making sure you put your tray there instead of the trash. I was happy to do it, but I didn’t like the feeling of being forced. I’m all for recycling, eating healthy, and saving the world. But again, if my children are happy throwing cereal and ripping up paper while I dare to watch twenty minutes of Oprah, then let us do it.
I have great respect for some people I know that advocate for what they believe in. They rock. What am I really capable of advocating? Gryffindor is better than Slytherin? Michael Gambon is the better Dumbledore? Dinosaur chicken nuggets are better than the regular ones? The Steelers are the best football team of all time? Please don’t start passing me any awards for advocate of the year.
I am not strident in my beliefs and only write about my shortcomings usually, but my daughter needs more help in the classroom. The psychological evaluations say it, the teachers say it, and I can tell that this isn’t working like it does for little Freddy the typically developing kindergartner. Therefore, I exercised my right as it is stated in the yellow parent handbook and called a meeting. In my head I went through all my years at un-named schools and thought about all the moms and the things they used to ask for. I had a student whose mom got it written into an IEP he would never have to do a drama activity. I am amazed at what a parent can do.
IEPs were a pain in my neck when I taught. I translated them and I sat in on them. One mom about three years ago had the nerve to tell me I needed to look up autism. Yes, I “walked away” from her. I had no choice if I wanted to keep my job.
I have learned that advocate does not have to mean jackass. It means doing what is best for your child. Go with your paperwork, go with your documents, and go with examples. But don’t start throwing things. They will listen without you threatening to call the governor. We added support time to her day, and that was the goal. If it isn’t working, then we can call another meeting and try again. We will see how it goes.
And if that doesn’t work, I’ll turn into a raving lunatic advocate….
Another personal problem in this new role is that the word “Advocate” irritates me. I know perfectly well that in the dictionary it means, “To speak, plead, or argue in favor of.” Of course we want to do these things. However, adolescence and young adulthood in the 90s left me with images of an advocate that aren’t pretty. The first thing that comes to my mind is Hermione Granger and her little collection can for S.P.E.W. in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I can see her walking around the common room threatening people to pay up for proper treatment of house elves. Once in high school someone who will remain nameless because I just found out he reads this was making me watch Rush Limbaugh. Rush was wearing about ten different ribbons to show support for all these different causes. That was pretty funny, I’ll admit that. I also went to high school with someone who would throw your pizza slice away if you tried to eat it because the company gave money to pro-life organizations. I couldn’t eat tuna without someone screaming at me that I had killed Flipper. It did not seem to matter that I made sure the can said “dolphin safe.” According to my advocating friends, the companies were lying to sell tuna. The worst was the environmental club taking turns standing by the recycling bins making sure you put your tray there instead of the trash. I was happy to do it, but I didn’t like the feeling of being forced. I’m all for recycling, eating healthy, and saving the world. But again, if my children are happy throwing cereal and ripping up paper while I dare to watch twenty minutes of Oprah, then let us do it.
I have great respect for some people I know that advocate for what they believe in. They rock. What am I really capable of advocating? Gryffindor is better than Slytherin? Michael Gambon is the better Dumbledore? Dinosaur chicken nuggets are better than the regular ones? The Steelers are the best football team of all time? Please don’t start passing me any awards for advocate of the year.
I am not strident in my beliefs and only write about my shortcomings usually, but my daughter needs more help in the classroom. The psychological evaluations say it, the teachers say it, and I can tell that this isn’t working like it does for little Freddy the typically developing kindergartner. Therefore, I exercised my right as it is stated in the yellow parent handbook and called a meeting. In my head I went through all my years at un-named schools and thought about all the moms and the things they used to ask for. I had a student whose mom got it written into an IEP he would never have to do a drama activity. I am amazed at what a parent can do.
IEPs were a pain in my neck when I taught. I translated them and I sat in on them. One mom about three years ago had the nerve to tell me I needed to look up autism. Yes, I “walked away” from her. I had no choice if I wanted to keep my job.
I have learned that advocate does not have to mean jackass. It means doing what is best for your child. Go with your paperwork, go with your documents, and go with examples. But don’t start throwing things. They will listen without you threatening to call the governor. We added support time to her day, and that was the goal. If it isn’t working, then we can call another meeting and try again. We will see how it goes.
And if that doesn’t work, I’ll turn into a raving lunatic advocate….
Sunday, November 8, 2009
More Cinderella lessons
What I have learned about princess pretend play from watching my children with the dress up box:
1)A prince wears a firefighter coat and helmet.
2)There is no rock and roll at a ball; you must hold hands and dance very slow, like music at church.
3)The prince runs after the princess screaming “Don’t leave! Don’t leave! Look at my firefighting badge! You must listen to me.”
4)Spiderman is not a prince.
5)You have to hit at least one of your two brothers in the head with your shoe when you lose it.
6)Baby brothers can fit in a princess costume, especially the 2T Barbie Island Princess.
7)It is a lot of fun to play Drizella and Anastasia ripping up a dress.
8)If I say it is time for bed, they will tell me “It isn’t midnight after all, let’s go dance some more.”
9)Mice are not good to have around the house in our world, are they mommy?
10)The fairy godmother should have had a prettier dress like she did in Shrek 2.
What princess will we tackle next? Hmmmmmm
1)A prince wears a firefighter coat and helmet.
2)There is no rock and roll at a ball; you must hold hands and dance very slow, like music at church.
3)The prince runs after the princess screaming “Don’t leave! Don’t leave! Look at my firefighting badge! You must listen to me.”
4)Spiderman is not a prince.
5)You have to hit at least one of your two brothers in the head with your shoe when you lose it.
6)Baby brothers can fit in a princess costume, especially the 2T Barbie Island Princess.
7)It is a lot of fun to play Drizella and Anastasia ripping up a dress.
8)If I say it is time for bed, they will tell me “It isn’t midnight after all, let’s go dance some more.”
9)Mice are not good to have around the house in our world, are they mommy?
10)The fairy godmother should have had a prettier dress like she did in Shrek 2.
What princess will we tackle next? Hmmmmmm
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Handling a Death
I always wondered how I would approach death with my children. I was kind of thankful all of our parents are pretty young comparatively and we wouldn’t have to worry about it for awhile. I am not going too far into it, but I know a thing or two about having to explain it to a child before you should have to. Anyway that would make you think I was prepared. Then God went and gave me a special needs child. So talking about death is a bit of a double whammy, and I thought I had time. Ha!
I got a call from a friend in Pittsburgh that one of my daughter’s TSS (therapeutic service support) professionals had passed away. Frances hadn’t seen him in a year, but she does have a Pittsburgh photo album and she talks about everyone in it like it was yesterday. He was a great assistant to her. Because of the Pennsylvania wrap-around program, my daughter was able to participate in activities I never would have enrolled her in if she had been on her own. I felt the loss of this person who had played a roll in our life as we accepted the fact that our child had an autism spectrum disorder.
We decided not to mention it to her until it came up, and she hadn’t brought up the pictures in a while. What was I supposed to do when it finally did come up? Was I supposed to pull out Maria Shriver’s book? Sing Eric Clapton to her? Find something from her Children’s Bible? I didn’t know.
Sure enough, tonight she reminded me that I told her she could go to Pittsburgh with me in May. Then she started to rattle off her plan, “I’m going to see Rose, Katie, and Minjune, and Jordana, and Virginia. And who else Mommy? Who else?”
I tried to deflect it. I tried to distract her with Princess Tiana, and how we were going to a movie theater to see The Princess and the Frog in December, but she wasn’t having it.
“I’ll get to see Sarah and Ben!” What could I do? I couldn’t even pull a Judge Judy and walk away from this one.
“Well, you can see Sarah and have a sleepover party with your friends, but Ben won’t be able to come.”
“He doesn’t want to see me?”
“No, sweetheart, Ben loved “babysitting” you. (She called her assistants babysitters.)
“Is he sick?”
“No, he just… he’s taking care of Jeremy for you, and so it will be a while before you get to see him again.” Jeremy was our English Setter that died last year at age thirteen.
She smiled, “I’ll bet Jeremy loves Ben.”
I smiled and fought back a sob, “Yes, I’m sure that Jeremy loves Ben too.”
I am including this on my blog because I am sure that, my daughter’s disorder being what it is, she is going to ask me where Ben is several more times before we actually get back to Pittsburgh, and my story is going to stay the same. Ben is playing with our dog. We won’t see either of them again in this life, no matter what you believe of the next one. And the right thing to tell your child, be it that the Imagination Movers are wearing Yo Gabba Gabba costumes or someone you loved is playing with a pet you loved, is going to come to you when you need it. Maybe as she gets older and her disorder more controlled, I can go into it with her on a higher level, but for now, my child knows that two people she loved are together, even if she can’t see them.
Man some days are hard…
I got a call from a friend in Pittsburgh that one of my daughter’s TSS (therapeutic service support) professionals had passed away. Frances hadn’t seen him in a year, but she does have a Pittsburgh photo album and she talks about everyone in it like it was yesterday. He was a great assistant to her. Because of the Pennsylvania wrap-around program, my daughter was able to participate in activities I never would have enrolled her in if she had been on her own. I felt the loss of this person who had played a roll in our life as we accepted the fact that our child had an autism spectrum disorder.
We decided not to mention it to her until it came up, and she hadn’t brought up the pictures in a while. What was I supposed to do when it finally did come up? Was I supposed to pull out Maria Shriver’s book? Sing Eric Clapton to her? Find something from her Children’s Bible? I didn’t know.
Sure enough, tonight she reminded me that I told her she could go to Pittsburgh with me in May. Then she started to rattle off her plan, “I’m going to see Rose, Katie, and Minjune, and Jordana, and Virginia. And who else Mommy? Who else?”
I tried to deflect it. I tried to distract her with Princess Tiana, and how we were going to a movie theater to see The Princess and the Frog in December, but she wasn’t having it.
“I’ll get to see Sarah and Ben!” What could I do? I couldn’t even pull a Judge Judy and walk away from this one.
“Well, you can see Sarah and have a sleepover party with your friends, but Ben won’t be able to come.”
“He doesn’t want to see me?”
“No, sweetheart, Ben loved “babysitting” you. (She called her assistants babysitters.)
“Is he sick?”
“No, he just… he’s taking care of Jeremy for you, and so it will be a while before you get to see him again.” Jeremy was our English Setter that died last year at age thirteen.
She smiled, “I’ll bet Jeremy loves Ben.”
I smiled and fought back a sob, “Yes, I’m sure that Jeremy loves Ben too.”
I am including this on my blog because I am sure that, my daughter’s disorder being what it is, she is going to ask me where Ben is several more times before we actually get back to Pittsburgh, and my story is going to stay the same. Ben is playing with our dog. We won’t see either of them again in this life, no matter what you believe of the next one. And the right thing to tell your child, be it that the Imagination Movers are wearing Yo Gabba Gabba costumes or someone you loved is playing with a pet you loved, is going to come to you when you need it. Maybe as she gets older and her disorder more controlled, I can go into it with her on a higher level, but for now, my child knows that two people she loved are together, even if she can’t see them.
Man some days are hard…
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Our Halloween
I love this town I’m in. I don’t want to start a fight, but I am coming from places where celebrations were out of schools and psychologists said costumes confused little children. Now I live where you trick or treat on the town green and the elementary schools have Halloween parades. It is never protested, and no one forbids their child to participate that I know of. I’ll leave it at that. My kids wore their costumes at Daddy’s work party, gymnastics, the school parade, the town green, and then trick or treating. I really got my money’s worth out of those things this year. The only exception being my darling daughter deciding that she had been Cinderella one too many times and that to the town celebration she would be a ballerina. Of course she decided this at the last minute and the tutu in question was dirty and unraveling. Oh well….
Last year I wrote about how I attempted creativity with costumes and my three angels wouldn’t buy into it. This year it was much easier. The baby wore the outfit his brother wore when he was his age, no argument. I had forgotten how nice it was when you could just put them in something and they couldn’t protest. Kenneth was Spiderman, but lost the mask. I tore this house up looking for it, and in doing so I found a ton of stuff I had been missing, including a Very Hungry Caterpillar onsie that Frances wore and a library DVD. I was about to convince him to go as “Peter Parker” when a friend told me he could borrow her son’s mask from last year. Hallelujah! And Frances was Cinderella, as already posted once before.
Autisable has some wonderful blog posts up on their site with Halloween tips and tricks, and I’m not going to repeat anything, but I did decide that for the first time I would carve Jack-o-lanterns. I have never carved pumpkins before. EVER. I did buy the Mr. Potato Head (love him!) Jack-o-lantern parts once at Target and we always put those on a pumpkin, before anyone thinks my children have been doing without. I couldn’t stand the idea of the glop and the mess and the seeds and cutting with a knife. Those of you who know me well, can you imagine? But this year, I was going to go for it and carve pumpkins with my older children.
I also found out about pumpkin stencils, where you can trace your carvings on the pumpkin. How cool is that? We printed out a Yo Gabba Gabba Foufa and a Spiderman to carve on our pumpkins. The plan was to do this in the garage so we could make a mess. I had knives, paper, garbage bags, and bowls for the seeds. I also had two little helpers that had been dressed in their costumes since six a.m. We got the stem carved out and we looked inside. Man that is nasty looking. We started singing, “Pumpkins guts, pumpkin guts, yucky pumpkin guts” (The tune is jingle bells). It took a good forty-five minutes, but I got two pumpkins scooped out. I wonder if you can buy a pumpkin already hollowed out and then you can go home and carve the face. I would pay for it.
Next came the decorating. I taped the Foufa stencil to the pumpkin and attempted to carve it, but it kept ripping apart. I took it off and tried to free hand it. By the time I had done the flower on top of her head, the flower took up the whole pumpkin and the kids were looking around the garage for something else to do. Then I decided that less was more. And that while I have never attempted to be super mommy before, why should I start with uber jack-o-lanterns? To make jack-o-lanterns, all you have to do is cut out triangles. I can cut out a triangle. I cut out three triangles and then some weird looking mouths. The kids loved them. We carried them to the front porch and then they clapped for me and their jack-o-lanterns. Ta-Da! Next year it’s back to potato head parts.
I ended it with toasting pumpkin seeds they wouldn’t touch, but I thought they were yummy. Now we are filled with sugar, get an extra hour of sleep, and the dress up box is a little fuller. It was nice to celebrate Halloween and see my daughter in a parade and say the words “Trick or Treat” without running away. Next up is the Thanksgiving Play, yikes.
Last year I wrote about how I attempted creativity with costumes and my three angels wouldn’t buy into it. This year it was much easier. The baby wore the outfit his brother wore when he was his age, no argument. I had forgotten how nice it was when you could just put them in something and they couldn’t protest. Kenneth was Spiderman, but lost the mask. I tore this house up looking for it, and in doing so I found a ton of stuff I had been missing, including a Very Hungry Caterpillar onsie that Frances wore and a library DVD. I was about to convince him to go as “Peter Parker” when a friend told me he could borrow her son’s mask from last year. Hallelujah! And Frances was Cinderella, as already posted once before.
Autisable has some wonderful blog posts up on their site with Halloween tips and tricks, and I’m not going to repeat anything, but I did decide that for the first time I would carve Jack-o-lanterns. I have never carved pumpkins before. EVER. I did buy the Mr. Potato Head (love him!) Jack-o-lantern parts once at Target and we always put those on a pumpkin, before anyone thinks my children have been doing without. I couldn’t stand the idea of the glop and the mess and the seeds and cutting with a knife. Those of you who know me well, can you imagine? But this year, I was going to go for it and carve pumpkins with my older children.
I also found out about pumpkin stencils, where you can trace your carvings on the pumpkin. How cool is that? We printed out a Yo Gabba Gabba Foufa and a Spiderman to carve on our pumpkins. The plan was to do this in the garage so we could make a mess. I had knives, paper, garbage bags, and bowls for the seeds. I also had two little helpers that had been dressed in their costumes since six a.m. We got the stem carved out and we looked inside. Man that is nasty looking. We started singing, “Pumpkins guts, pumpkin guts, yucky pumpkin guts” (The tune is jingle bells). It took a good forty-five minutes, but I got two pumpkins scooped out. I wonder if you can buy a pumpkin already hollowed out and then you can go home and carve the face. I would pay for it.
Next came the decorating. I taped the Foufa stencil to the pumpkin and attempted to carve it, but it kept ripping apart. I took it off and tried to free hand it. By the time I had done the flower on top of her head, the flower took up the whole pumpkin and the kids were looking around the garage for something else to do. Then I decided that less was more. And that while I have never attempted to be super mommy before, why should I start with uber jack-o-lanterns? To make jack-o-lanterns, all you have to do is cut out triangles. I can cut out a triangle. I cut out three triangles and then some weird looking mouths. The kids loved them. We carried them to the front porch and then they clapped for me and their jack-o-lanterns. Ta-Da! Next year it’s back to potato head parts.
I ended it with toasting pumpkin seeds they wouldn’t touch, but I thought they were yummy. Now we are filled with sugar, get an extra hour of sleep, and the dress up box is a little fuller. It was nice to celebrate Halloween and see my daughter in a parade and say the words “Trick or Treat” without running away. Next up is the Thanksgiving Play, yikes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)