Life of the Party

Well, I said I wouldn't post another one on autism, but I was thinking that third child should get some air time as his siblings did.  AND I did indeed have something original to contribute to this.  I tend to stay away from autism blogging because I'm lucky just to get their teeth brushed let alone give advice on gluten free anything.

Almost a year ago I was told my 18 month old was likely to be on the spectrum.  Two weeks later he plunged straight into intense 20 hours a week of ABA therapy.  He just went back for his one year re-evaluation.  Guess what?  He has maxed out and improved in every area but socialization. He just doesn't care about other people.  He prefers to play alone.  He makes little eye contact.  Everything else is right on target if not ahead of schedule.

So, we were having his Birth to Three team meeting to make his new goals for the next six months. This is what I came up with:

• Lowell will run for student body president.
• Lowell will be capitain/quarterback/whatever of the football team.
• Lowell will dance in his socks and boxers when he doesn't think anyone is looking-or maybe in front of everyone????
• Lowell will stand outside his girlfriend's window with a radio and play "Your eyes."
• Lowell will skip school and sing a Beatles song on a parade float.
• Lowell will lead a non-violent protest against something-no clue what.
• :Lowell will be in the top ten on American Idol.
• Lowell will have pizza delivered to his history class.
• Lowell will make John Belushi's "Bluto" look like a straight A merit scholar.
• Lowell will write for a music magazine, tour with some band, and be de-flowered by groupies.

A mom can dream right?  Sometimes they prefer my husband to do the talking.....

Tonsils coming out

After putting it off for a few years, the tonsils are coming out.  What would I rather be doing than laying in bed in pain?

• Running 3-10 miles at a time
• Working on IEPs
• Teaching my sweet online students
• Driving my contributions to the universe everywhere they need to be
• Coming up with a better blog post than this
• Proof reading for my husband
• Taxes
• Drinking Espresso and Skinny girl.....

All of it will be there when I come out of the foggy pain....... see you soon!!!!!!

He's only five....

I said two things have been bothering me lately, so here comes the second.

My son is only five.  That is my new mantra, he is five, he is five, and he is five.

I forget this daily.

When we brought him home from the hospital we didn’t say anything to each other out loud, but we knew deep down he was very different from our first baby.  I remember putting him on my chest and he did the little cobra stretch of his head.   I didn’t know they were supposed to have muscles like that.

If you talked to him, his face would change and he would coo back.  Again, we didn’t say anything to each other. We had been married a long time already and we each knew what the other was thinking.

When he was one, he got mad at me, threw his sippy cup, stared me down and said, “FINE!”   At one?  They could do that at one? His sister had been an infant….

I would sit with his sister at her little OT table, trying to get her to peel a sticker and put it on the paper. She couldn’t do it. I could get an entire idiot baseball team to conjugate verbs in the preterite Spanish tense but I couldn’t get one three year old to put a sticker on a piece of paper. Her brother toddled over, watched what we were doing, and put the sticker on the paper.  I needed a little break after that one.

 

I knew I had two children and that they were very different.  And I got pregnant again.

Once, in a therapy waiting room when I was very pregnant with Lowell- a woman actually said to me, “You have one that has it and one that doesn’t, why are you risking a third?”  Talk about bitches….

But she was right-I knew how babies are made, and I had a third.

And he is on the spectrum.

That leaves me with my five year old.  I stare at the middle one and think, “Are you going to be there for the other two?”   What happens later in life? Because of my own life, I know lots of things to be true.

I know that not having autism does not guarantee him a perfect life. He could very well develop alcoholism, bi-polar disorder, or even a general obnoxious personality.  He could have a car accident, he could get cancer, his girlfriend could dump him on prom night for his best friend. Two autism spectrum disordered siblings does not give you a free pass for a good life. 

Another thing I know, that just because he doesn’t have autism doesn’t mean he is a mature little boy that is always going to make the right choice and do the right thing.  He is a child and he acts like one.  He will throw a fit on the way to church so badly a stranger offers to help me.  He will sneak the entire box of chocolate chip cookies and tell me his imaginary friend did it. He will fight me when it is time to take a bath or turn off the television.  These things are normal according to cute little mommy sites such as this one.

He is five, not my 35 year old second in command. There are days when I put way too much on him.  I am trying to work from home or cook what looks like a dinner, and I automatically say, “Kenneth, help your brother with his trains.”  Or, “Kenneth help your sister with her math.”  "Kenneth, why is he crying?"  "Kenneth, start the DVD player please."  Well, the math he might have to keep doing.   

Anyway, usually, he does these things happily. So when he does something that all five year olds do, I forget.  I get mad at a five year old for being five.  That is a problem and I admit it.  It’s my job to be his mom too.

The universe gave this to me because the universe knows I can handle it.  But I need to remember that a five year old is only five.  The Fairy God Bitch should show up and remind me of this.

OK two deep posts on autism-I need to write about the time I tried to iron my husband’s pants soon…..

Sometimes We Need a Fairy God Bitch

Whenever I don’t post, it isn’t because I have nothing to say. It’s because I have so much I don’t know where to begin.  Two things have been bothering me lately in the spectrum world and I thought I should address them, but it is so much easier for me to write about the snow and how much it annoys this little southern belle.  Don’t we all want to avoid the big issues? Big surprise, one involves my daughter and the other my first born son.  I’ll start with her first.

I post a lot about the “bitches” and how much I hate them.  Women should stick together under just about all circumstances, but this is why I call myself a quack.  I say one thing and then I say something else.  (Maybe I should consider politics) Anyway, sometimes I feel it is my job to be the bitch.

I spent three years in denial that anything was wrong with my daughter.  Well sort of.  I listened to the people who told me what I wanted to hear.  I am tri-lingual, but my baby didn’t babble.  No one told me that wasn’t normal.  It could have been that all of us were having our first babies so none of us knew they were supposed to be babbling.  But deep down I knew perfectly well how language develops and I looked the other way. I thought I was lucky.  I would put her on a blanket and there she would sit happily without making a sound.  I wish I could remember that silent period now when she says things like “Mom, you are killing my mood.” 

You hear it over and over again during that “iffy” period. “Don’t worry about it.” “Babies aren’t cookie cutters.” “They are all different.”   “You need to give her time.”  You hear it and you let out a sigh that it is all going to be all right. AND then a friend of yours has a child the same age and that child is babbling on and on about a dog and re-telling a trip to the park.  Then you go eat cookies instead of running……

I wish a “Fairy God Bitch” would have shown up and told me to get her an evaluation. Then I would have huffed and puffed and done it, and then I would have gotten really bad results, had a good cry, and started the speech therapy much sooner than I did.   

So now whenever I’m with a group of friends and one is worried and the others are re-assuring, I “politely” say that I am going to be the "Fairy God Bitch" at the table.  I’m the one to say that I had a child not babbling and did nothing until she was a  little older.  I am the one who says go to this link.  I am the one that says go to Google and type in "Early intervention + your state." OR "Birth to Three + your state."  

Don't misunderstand, my husband and I are very proud of her and all that everyone has done to get her where she is, but I still can't help but remember the time I lost that could have been used.

What is the worst that could happen if you offer unsolicited advice?

Option one: They will never speak to me again? They will hide from me in parking lots or hide in the classroom until they see me leave? Been there, done that.

Option two: They will tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, despite having two children on the spectrum and a husband who researches it? Been there, done that.

Option three: Have it plastered all over the front page of the newspaper?  Make a made for television movie?  I don't think it will get that bad...

So that is my “calling” as my Southern Baptist friends like to put it.  I’m the one who says, “Hey get that checked out.”  Look into Birth to three programs in your state.  Find a private speech pathologist and pay up.  Eat at home, skip the movies, shop at Marshalls instead of the mall-get it taken care of. I swear,the happiest day of my life was when my child called me a “freak.”

If I am wrong, just call me a bitch…

On the 9th Snow Day We Decorated a Shoebox....

My son is supposed to decorate a shoebox for Valentine's day.  This would be great and easy if he hadn't told me he didn't want any pink, red, hearts, or lace on it.  I suggested he just take the New Balance box in as it is since all the other moms know I'm crazy anyway.  He was nice enough to say he wouldn't to that to me, so we are going with a Harry Potter theme. It is going to be covered in basilisk fangs and Tom Riddle diaries. :0)

As we were working on this monstrosity, we had the following dialogue:

"What's the spell to make a snake come out of your wand?"

"Serpensortia"

"Are you sure Mom? That doesn't sound right..."

"Yes, don't ask me again."

"Mom, maybe we better double check...."

(Not looking up from the box) "Year 2, The Dueling Club, Chapter 11, probably page 190 something in my hardback English version.  Go get it."

Kenneth goes to get it, we find the answer exactly where I said it would be (p.194, but I was never good at math).

Kenneth won't be out done by anyone.  I have no idea who he got it from but he is never WRONG.

"Well, what does he say in the movie?" I can't believe he just did that.

"Well, get the DVD and put it on scene seventeen to find out."

We watch it on my laptop and guess what Malfoy said?

We go back to the anti-valentine shoebox.

"I'll get you one day Mom, I really will."

Not when it comes to Harry Potter he won't.....

The Accidental Steelers Fan

We were in Pittsburgh for fifteen months when my husband told me we were leaving. I wrote about this two super bowls ago.  You live in Pittsburgh, you catch a Steeler virus. There is no vaccine. There is no cure. You are a Steelers fan for life. So basically I was there long enough to get pregnant, have a baby, and become a Steelers fan.  Without re-writing my entire post, on a Steeler game day the entire city is wearing some form of Steeler fashion. I don't mean the bar tender and the electrician-I mean your Pilates instructor and your dentist.  All three of my children still recognize the Steelers and we are not sports people-except once every four years for the world cup.

The wonderful Polamalu (those of us with beautiful hair have to stick together) is headed back to the super bowl yet again!  I thought I should buy a jersey to celebrate the second time in my life I will refrain from a Pedro Almodovar marathon to watch football.

The problem is I have never bought a sports jersey before in my life.

EVER

I appealed to a Pittsburgh girlfriend who told me to start at Dick's.  She also reminded me that jerseys are made for really big men and I'm really small so get a boys medium.  She also said do it quickly, as they sell out.

OK, I can do that.  I got it.

I got to the website. I would like to think after teaching online for four years I can get to a website.

The question is, what do I click on now that I'm here, because I usually just go straight to yoga...

Hmmmmmmm it's a team sport.  But I'm a fan, so I scroll over there and up pop a bunch of acronyms: NFL, NHL, MLB -which one is football?  It isn't NASCAR, thank God I grew up in North Carolina and know that much. I'm going to take an educated guess and say that the one with the "F" is football.

Wow-I didn't realize how many football teams there were. The list is alphabetical, which makes sense and now I see the point in my daughter's first grade homework. P for Page, P for Pittsburgh and I have finally arrived.

Excellent- they have visuals for people like me so I assume this will be easy.  But THEN you click on "Steeler Jerseys"-and you get ten freaking more choices. Do I want to buy a woman's jersey? Do I want one that would fit a boy? Do I want to go really crazy and wear a men's size and pretend I'm wrapped up in Troy's jersey after he just won? Do I want authentic or fashion?  These are tougher questions than you think. What is authentic anyway?  Does it have grass stains and sweat on it? ahhhhhh

A customized jersey costs more than I spent on my wedding dress. I'll pass.  What is excellent about being petite is you can buy a child's Polamalu for less than you would otherwise. That works for me.

Click Click done-I will soon be the owner of a football jersey.

The thing about your life is that every little thing you do leaves you a little different than you were before. So no matter how brief my time was in that city, I know that football team.

The big dilemma is will I have to drink beer on super bowl Sunday or can I still have Skinny Girl? I'll post a picture game day. :0)

That's a Margarita

My first memory of a margarita is from kindergarten in Houston, Texas.  Every Friday we went for Mexican at Ninfa's. It wasn't like when I take my kids to a restaurant and we try to eat fast and not make a mess. We stayed a long time-at least two hours.  My parents had drinks out of these huge glasses with salt on them. Every now and then if they got drunk enough they would let me lick some of the salt.  You know, thirty one years later, I should wonder why they took their three kids to a bar/ Mexican restaurant, but it was the 80s. It could have been worse.

 A lot of different movies feature women with the margarita. Practical Magic comes to mind-Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock make it look like so much fun, don't they?  In the (gag, cough) love story Ghost, Whoopi Goldberg tells Demi Moore's character she is wearing the shirt she "spilt the margarita on". So she knows that Sam is really there. If Hollywood ever makes a female version of The Hangover, margaritas will be involved somehow.


The bar tender rules for a margarita are 7:4:3, which means 50% tequila, 29% Triple Sec, and 21% fresh lemon or lime juice.  Now, being Americans,  we make "mixes."  If you make a margarita with a mix, the average margarita has 246 calories. Have two of them?  492  Have three of them?  738  They don't have nutritional value, so that is what it is: 738 calories. True, they have "mommy" value most definitely, but that isn't the point.  So if there is no value, you are just making yourself fat.  How many babies have you had? Do you really need more fat? No sweetie, you don't.  But you do need the drink.  Problem, isn't it?

The question I always ask myself, and I probably wouldn't ask myself if my son didn't go to school in Madison, CT, is this: WWAD?  That means, What would an anorexic do?   I remember from high school that she would drink vodka and diet coke. But due to bad college memories (well not really memories due to blackouts) I can't touch the big "V."  What to do?  What to do? 

Enter the Skinny Girl. Actually, my husband brought it home from New Haven.  He didn't know what he was buying at the time. He just said the bottle looked like something I would like.  I rolled my eyes and then poured a class. It was yummy. It was the margarita of my youth, only 80 calories instead of 246. Drink two? 160 Drink three? 240.  Look at it this way ladies, you can drink the whole bottle and it's still less calories than one commercial mixed drink.  Don't you love "Pagie math?"

I don't go across the bridge and the old man at the neighborhood bottle shop (I love the north every neighborhood has their own liquor store) doesn't have it and refuses to order it for me.  He did suggest I try flavored vodka and he is lucky I didn't gag in his store. Say "Vodka" and it all goes black.  I called around until I found it-at the beloved package store on the town green next to the dry cleaners.  How often do you have to pick up clothes?  There you go ladies-laundry, liquor, laundry, liquor. IF you are really lucky, your husband forgot to take a twenty out of his pants pocket-and you can go next door for another bottle!!!!! The guys and the one girl that work there know what I'm getting when they see me coming-at Christmas they put a ribbon on the one for Kenneth's dance teacher.  Try to teach my son dance? Yes, have a margarita.

I showed it to a girlfriend once who couldn't believe it was a margarita.
"That's a margarita?"
"That's a margarita!"
"No kidding?"
"I kid you not-have a glass!"

I'm going to get the whole lake crew sloshed this summer, I swear.


Babies are cute and we love them and we have all the time in the world to relish the gift of motherhood. Stare at the baby, look at my baby. I did that.  I'm a miracle, life is a miracle.  Ahhhhh.  Yes you did. But one day, you will look at your baby and she will tell you to turn the Suzanne Vega off because who would sing duh duh duh duh?  When that happens, do not worry for one minute where you went wrong. Have a drink.

You people have no idea how much I despise Jimmy Buffet.  Well, that isn't nice.  You people have no idea how much I prefer many other types of music.  So for me to pick a drink that he sings about is saying something.

If you aren't a chip holding AA member, drink it up....