Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Channeling Shirley Maclaine
Last year, I bragged to everyone about my abilities to “Walk away.” I was and still am very proud of myself when I make choices that Judge Judy would approve of. Do not get into it with someone crazier than you are. You will have plenty of opportunities to lose it. Walk away when you can.
But there are going to be times in your life when you can’t walk away. You have to face the demon, whatever it is, head on. There will be a time when you see someone you hoped would never return to your life. For me it was a co-worker from the worst summer job ever. Of course this was in an obnoxious “Mommy and Me” class and her little girl was a perfect angel while Frances was running around acting crazy. I wasn’t about to quit, I had already paid for it and Frances needed it. So I couldn’t walk away.
What do you do when you can’t walk away?
You channel Shirley MacLaine.
A little on Shirley and me-when I was twelve I remember my parents watching a television movie called “Out on a Limb.” Then I remember when she was on Oprah promoting her inner workout to access your chakra system. It’s almost my birthday, and you know I do something crazy on my birthday, so the chakras are looking cool to me right now.
I took a chakras test online so you know it is accurate. Apparently my Third Eye is dangerously over active. That means I live in a fantasy world most of the time and I’m prone to hallucinations. Damn if I want to give any of that up…..
As I got older, I discovered cinema and movies, and rented old classics such as The Apartment and newer ones such as Terms of Endearment. I have talked before about how much Debra Winger’s character Emma Horton annoys me. That doesn’t stop me from crying in the all the right places.
I’m going to link the movie trailer here. Now everyone take a moment and watch, and then I’ll keep going. (Pause)
How many people teared up? Don’t you want to have a daughter right now you can share everything with? Don’t you want to get together with some girlfriends and have a good cry? Yay Shirley MaClaine! Yay Debra Winger! Good memories, good emotions, pure love and endearment.
Um, No. For those of you with more to do than follow movie trivia, Debra Winger and Shirley MaClaine hated each other. They really, really, hated each other. Rumor has it Debra “tooted” in Shirley’s face. Go back and watch it again with that in mind.
Are they acting or what? Shirley won the Oscar for that role, and she earned it.
When you see someone you don’t want to, and it will happen, use your Chakras just like Shirley, and keep your eye on that Oscar.
Breathe, smile, apologize, and pretend you don’t know what is wrong. Channel Shirley.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone came up to you and said, “Hi, eleven years ago I was a total snot to you….” Like in 12 step programs when you make a list of everyone you have harmed and make amends?
Or even better, there is this great show called the Marriage Ref. Different couples complain to a panel of A- list married people who decide who is right in the marriage. A kick ass spin off would be, “Who’s the Bitch?” Who would be on that panel? Nellie Olsen from Little house on the Prairie, Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and the Step Sisters from Disney’s Cinderella. They listen to both women involved and then point the finger and say, “You’re the bitch!” The non-bitch would receive a spa day. I would totally volunteer to be on the pilot episode and apologize and change my ways if I was the one found guilty of the bitchiness.
Since that isn’t going to happen, channel Shirley. Smile, be nice, and then get away as fast as you can. Mean girls are going to pop up in all times and places. I almost wish I had encountered one in middle school instead of as an adult. At least now I live in another state.
Keep your eye on the Oscar ladies ;0) And I wouldn't recommend passing gas on someone no matter how much you despise them.
Shirley, I don’t know what you were like in one of your past lives, but you have saved my ass in this one. Thank you!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
One more trip to the rainforest cafe
Last week I posted on the disaster that was our trip to a popular restaurant for children, The Rainforest Cafe. I see no need to put up a link to the post since it is right below this one. While my sons enjoyed it, my daughter did not. Enough said.
Yesterday while we were cleaning up the playroom, my four year old was staring intently at some of his stuffed animals. I could see those little wheels turning and was petrified he was going to do something like string all the animals from the ceiling or decide to color them red. I braced myself to yell at him to once again, stay inside the box. This is probably horrible to read for some of you, but you try living with him. That wasn't what happened.
"Mom, Frances shouldn't have cried while we did something fun. Let's make a rainforest cafe at home." Then he collected different animals that live in a rainforest and put them all over the kitchen. After that, we made menus for our cafe. THEN-we hit youtube and found some calm rainforest music to play instead of animals going crazy in a storm.
We had dinner and popsicles in our cafe. He turned to his sister and said, "Don't you love this now? You shouldn't cry when we do something special, you should love it too." I'll let the picture speak for itself:
There is always a way to have fun-Enjoy your Labor Day!
Yesterday while we were cleaning up the playroom, my four year old was staring intently at some of his stuffed animals. I could see those little wheels turning and was petrified he was going to do something like string all the animals from the ceiling or decide to color them red. I braced myself to yell at him to once again, stay inside the box. This is probably horrible to read for some of you, but you try living with him. That wasn't what happened.
"Mom, Frances shouldn't have cried while we did something fun. Let's make a rainforest cafe at home." Then he collected different animals that live in a rainforest and put them all over the kitchen. After that, we made menus for our cafe. THEN-we hit youtube and found some calm rainforest music to play instead of animals going crazy in a storm.
We had dinner and popsicles in our cafe. He turned to his sister and said, "Don't you love this now? You shouldn't cry when we do something special, you should love it too." I'll let the picture speak for itself:
Monday, August 30, 2010
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:
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.
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.
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.
Friday, August 27, 2010
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....
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....
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Grocery Store Diaries 10: Beer please.....
Dirty looks: Hmmm, about five
You've got your hands full: Three, four if you count the man who collects the carts running over to help me ASAP.
Total damage: Lowell ate a couple of grapes and that changed the weight so I'll bet I owe the grocery store about half a penny. Call the cops if you must.
Today was one of those days that you think everything is going fine, and then you end up buying another mother a six pack of beer. Yes, I said six pack of beer. I bought it. For another mom. No joke.
My kids and I have our regular routine going just fine. It starts in the parking lot. All three of them feel a need to drag toys around the grocery store. It can be a Barbie, a Spiderman figurine, or a Hotwheel car. More than likely two out of three of them will scream to take a blanket in as well. We say goodbye to most of the toys and then narrow down what we are taking in to one thing each. That means we only had three things to search lost and found for later.
After we make it across the lot, they fight/decide who gets in what part of the obnoxious four seat grocery cart. Then they fight over which aisle we are going to go down first because you know we absolutely must buy the apples on the other side of the store before we put the bread right by the entry way in our cart. If the baby hasn't napped, you will hear crying and screaming up and down the aisles. When he is sleep deprived he doesn't seem to understand that we have to pay for the food before we eat it. I suggest ear plugs on those days. Normal stuff for us-totally.
So I've had a little obsession lately about a television show called, "What Would You Do?" The wonderful John Quinones sets up situations with actors and tapes people's reactions. Once he had a saleswoman being very racist to some customers. Another time he had an attractive woman trying to steal a bike. It did not surprise me in the least when men started helping her. It is one of those things that either makes you laugh hysterically or scares you to death. Now my biggest fear is that John is going to pop out of nowhere and say, "Mrs. P, why didn't you stop the fight? Why did you let the kid get into the car with the old man? etc. etc. I don't want to look like an idiot on television. Well, for that anyway. I'm always on the look out for these situations.
Today I sounded like my normal broken record, "Don't hit your brother!" "Don't stick your head out of the cart." "No, we can't buy three boxes of cookies." "Yes, Daddy knows we are buying that." Yadda Yadda Yadda.
I was walking down the soup aisle because despite the heat my daughter must have her chicken noodle, and I heard the patter of the little feet. Nah, the patter of little feet is for newbie parents still in the honeymoon phase of a newborn that can do no wrong. I heard a stomping toddler take off running on a frustrated mother. BUT- I saw all six of the feet that I gave birth to strapped in their cart????? Who was this kid?
Before I could look too hard, in a grocery store in Connecticut, a mother screams at her son, "GET YOUR ASS IN THE CART!"
Now let me tell you guys something. I would have judged her severely ten, maybe even four, years ago. But now I know that she had had all she could have and the kid kept running like the gingerbread man. Then I remembered Quinones. What was I going to do if he popped out from behind the aisle not only because I didn't say anything to her, but also because my kids were going to have strokes from all the chicken noodle soup?
So I played cool and turned my cart around, and by this time she had gotten him back in the cart but she was ranting that she would spank him in front of the whole store if he did it again. Then it came to me what I would want viewers of "What Would You Do?" to hear me say. And I said it. I didn't think, I just said it.
Wait for it....
"Sweetheart, if I promise to buy you a six pack for after he has gone to bed, do you promise to quit speaking to him that way now?"
Heineken....No Quinones though. Maybe next time.....
You've got your hands full: Three, four if you count the man who collects the carts running over to help me ASAP.
Total damage: Lowell ate a couple of grapes and that changed the weight so I'll bet I owe the grocery store about half a penny. Call the cops if you must.
Today was one of those days that you think everything is going fine, and then you end up buying another mother a six pack of beer. Yes, I said six pack of beer. I bought it. For another mom. No joke.
My kids and I have our regular routine going just fine. It starts in the parking lot. All three of them feel a need to drag toys around the grocery store. It can be a Barbie, a Spiderman figurine, or a Hotwheel car. More than likely two out of three of them will scream to take a blanket in as well. We say goodbye to most of the toys and then narrow down what we are taking in to one thing each. That means we only had three things to search lost and found for later.
After we make it across the lot, they fight/decide who gets in what part of the obnoxious four seat grocery cart. Then they fight over which aisle we are going to go down first because you know we absolutely must buy the apples on the other side of the store before we put the bread right by the entry way in our cart. If the baby hasn't napped, you will hear crying and screaming up and down the aisles. When he is sleep deprived he doesn't seem to understand that we have to pay for the food before we eat it. I suggest ear plugs on those days. Normal stuff for us-totally.
So I've had a little obsession lately about a television show called, "What Would You Do?" The wonderful John Quinones sets up situations with actors and tapes people's reactions. Once he had a saleswoman being very racist to some customers. Another time he had an attractive woman trying to steal a bike. It did not surprise me in the least when men started helping her. It is one of those things that either makes you laugh hysterically or scares you to death. Now my biggest fear is that John is going to pop out of nowhere and say, "Mrs. P, why didn't you stop the fight? Why did you let the kid get into the car with the old man? etc. etc. I don't want to look like an idiot on television. Well, for that anyway. I'm always on the look out for these situations.
Today I sounded like my normal broken record, "Don't hit your brother!" "Don't stick your head out of the cart." "No, we can't buy three boxes of cookies." "Yes, Daddy knows we are buying that." Yadda Yadda Yadda.
I was walking down the soup aisle because despite the heat my daughter must have her chicken noodle, and I heard the patter of the little feet. Nah, the patter of little feet is for newbie parents still in the honeymoon phase of a newborn that can do no wrong. I heard a stomping toddler take off running on a frustrated mother. BUT- I saw all six of the feet that I gave birth to strapped in their cart????? Who was this kid?
Before I could look too hard, in a grocery store in Connecticut, a mother screams at her son, "GET YOUR ASS IN THE CART!"
Now let me tell you guys something. I would have judged her severely ten, maybe even four, years ago. But now I know that she had had all she could have and the kid kept running like the gingerbread man. Then I remembered Quinones. What was I going to do if he popped out from behind the aisle not only because I didn't say anything to her, but also because my kids were going to have strokes from all the chicken noodle soup?
So I played cool and turned my cart around, and by this time she had gotten him back in the cart but she was ranting that she would spank him in front of the whole store if he did it again. Then it came to me what I would want viewers of "What Would You Do?" to hear me say. And I said it. I didn't think, I just said it.
Wait for it....
"Sweetheart, if I promise to buy you a six pack for after he has gone to bed, do you promise to quit speaking to him that way now?"
Heineken....No Quinones though. Maybe next time.....
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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!
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!
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