I Never Thought....

Jumping Ship

2009-01-08T14:09:00.003-05:00

Go. Visit my new blog.

I will keep this one here up and running, but all new posts will happen over there. It's been a good ride, but it's time for a change. Hope to see you there!

The week after

2008-12-30T14:15:00.002-05:00

I'm still here. I didn't get smothered in the mountain of wrapping paper strewn across my house. I survived the in-laws' (6-day!) visit, but barely. I did almost get punched out yesterday, though, when I tried to referee a fight between Cal and Evan, over this toy.

It was a last-minute whatever kind of purchase, just to give Cal something else under the tree, but it has definitely been the hit (pun intended) of the holiday. All three boys are fighting over it, sometimes coming to blows. I've had to put it away a few times, as punishment.

Another big hit was the Stomp Rockets. Big fun for the whole family, indoors and out.

The big bust? That damn Plasma Car. The one that (very late on Christmas Eve when your husband is about to assemble it, when you read the fine, fine print on the tag that you might have otherwise just thrown in the trash) can't be ridden on hardwood floors without causing damage. To the floors, not the car. What the hell??? That's the whole reason I bought the thing...indoor transportation! So it's still in the box in the spare bedroom, awaiting a fate yet to be determined. I can't decide if I want to deal with the hassle of sending it back, or add yet another ride-on toy to our outdoor fleet. Grrr.

Anyway, we're now home in our jammies this week, nursing our Christmas-gift-opening hangovers. That whole production was exhausting, it really was. Fun and nice and full of family, but really exhausting. And the week after is always such a bummer. Dad's back at work and we're all sick to death of the damn Christmas decorations. Plus, all the cookies are gone.

In other news, we took the boys out shopping for new shoes...Eli's still the same size but Evan's up a half-size to a 6.5! His pants are also getting shorter (and by getting shorter, I mean I only have to roll them up once now instead of twice!) He's growing after all. Still skinny as a rail, but definitely growing. I'm going to stop worrying about that for now and find something else to obsess about. Any suggestions?

The stockings are hung...

2008-12-23T14:35:00.004-05:00

The boys are all napping. At the same time! The shopping is (mostly) done. The groceries for Christmas dinner are in the fridge. We have 3 of our holiday gatherings under our belt already. The house is clean (but don't go upstairs or look in any closets, please.) And, most importantly, the in-laws are northbound on the highway, ready to spread their version of Christmas cheer all around our house. I'm counting the minutes, let me tell you. I couldn't BE more excited. Ahem.

I should be wrapping gifts or cleaning up from lunch, but what I really want to do is take a nap. Instead, I'm on the internet. Just wanted to grab a minute just for myself and wish you all a happy holiday, whatever you celebrate: Christmas, Hanukkah, Solstice, or whatever. We're still trying to get that figured out ourselves. And this Santa business? I can't decide if it's an essential childhood fantasy or a cruel joke imparted on those who don't know any better. I don't want to deprive my kids of the magic of Christmas or anything but somehow I feel like a big fat liar perpetuating a lie for lack of any real conviction or religious beliefs. So what do you think about the jolly fat man? I better make up my mind before next year, when Eli will REALLY be smarter than me. He's almost there now. He told me earlier that Santa better bring his screwdriver with him so that he can get the cap off the chimney to get into our house.

Peace and joy and happiness all around. Even if you're teething.

The Great Granola Caper of 2008 or Why I Hate Wal-mart With Every Fiber of My Being

2008-12-18T09:59:00.003-05:00

I was feeling pretty impressed with myself for getting approximately 16 tons of granola made before 2 PM yesterday. All I had left to do was pick up a box of mason jars and package it all up. No big deal, right?

There's a Wal-mart very close to our house. I rarely go there for many reasons, including their shoddy merchandise, heinous business practices and generally sketchy clientele, but sometimes a situation may warrant it. I went there last night after the boys were in bed to get the jars, because it's close and it's open late. And I just knew I'd walk right in, get those jars, and be home within 30 minutes.

An hour-and-a-half later, I'm still doing laps around that place, exhausted and close to tears, searching in vain for one effing box of stupid jars or one Wal-mart ~~drone~~ employee, preferably one who isn't completely clueless. I finally find one girl and ask wherever are they hiding the mason jars, and do you know what her reply was? "What's a mason jar?"

Holy shit.

I manage to ~~knock some sense into her~~ explain what I'm looking for, and she says, "Try Housewares. Look for Mark. That's his department."

Well, thanks for the A-1 customer service, redneck.

After more weeping and searching, I run into Mark. I ask him to direct me to the jars, hoping against hope he knows what I'm talking about, and he says "Sorry, we're out. Why don't you try our website?"

Are you freaking kidding me? Do you think I'm going to order mason jars from the Wal-mart website? Do you think I'm staggering around here at 9:30 PM because I need those jars at some vague point in the future? I need them now, jerk! NOW!

He suggests I try Dollar General. Um, no. I'm already in the pit of hell; I don't plan to descend any further.

I call David on the way to the car, hoping for some bright ideas and/or sympathy. He informs me that we have mason jars in the basement. Um, no. I am NOT going to scrounge around in our basement for some dusty old jars that probably are cracked or have dead spricket carcasses in them and also won't have any matching lids. I drive like a bat out of hell to Publix, walk right in, get the jars which are stocked exactly where they should be in a logical place, get myself a cappucino cheesecake from the bakery because I deserve something for my pain and suffering and all we've got at home is a bunch of damn granola. (And let me just say, I love Publix. I will always do my shopping there. I don't care if it is more expensive than Wal-mart. It's the pleasurable shopping experience and lack of mental anguish I'm paying for, and I'm alright with that.)

So in the end, it all worked out. I made it home in one piece with the jars and without murdering anybody, the gifts got finished with help from my dear husband who redeemed himself for the dirty used jar suggestion, and I demolished a quarter of a cheesecake, all by 11 PM.

Next on the Christmas list: a holiday lunch with my excellent former coworkers, and some shopping downtown for a few more gifts.

Seriously. I know I've asked this before, but is it January yet?

Crunchy

2008-12-17T13:49:00.004-05:00

Today I am up to my eyeballs in homemade granola. I've made a gigantic batch and am going to package it up in mason jars with a cute label with photos of Eli or Evan to give to their teachers and therapists.

It's really good granola. Here's the recipe if you feel like whipping up a batch:

2 cups rolled oats (not instant)
1 cup peanuts or toasted almonds
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1/2 cup toasted sunflower seeds
1/2 cup coconut (sweetened or unsweetened)
1/4 cup raisins
1/2 cup dried fruit (apricots, cranberries, apple, etc.)
scant 1/4 cup cooking oil (not olive)
1/2 cup honey

1. Mix oats, nuts, grains and coconut in large bowl.
2. Measure oil + swirl around in cup, then pour over mixture.
3. Measure honey in same, unwashed cup and pour over mixture (oil helps the honey exit cup easily).
4. Toss together until evenly coated then spread in pan (roasting pan or cookie sheet).
5. Bake at 300 for 30 minutes, turning with spatula every 10 minutes. Granola should be an even golden brown.
6. When done cooking, put granola mixture back in bowl and toss with dried fruit and raisins. Stir gently several times to keep from clumping.

I made this exactly as the recipe says. I used sweetened coconut because I couldn't find unsweetened. I used almonds and dried cranberries. And I had to cook it for an extra 10 minutes, but I think that's just my oven. I always have to cook things longer.

EDITED TO ADD: I neglected to mention that I made 6 times the amount that this recipe makes. I'm hoping to get at least 12 3-cup portions out of it, but I haven't packaged it up yet.

This has officially worn me out, but I'm glad I did it. Now I have to go in there and clean the kitchen, and figure out something for dinner. I think I see some takeout pizza in our future.

Christmas Comes Early

2008-12-15T13:16:00.002-05:00

Message on our machine last Friday:

"Hi, this is Dr. Pierce calling with great news. I got the results from Callum's ultrasound, and I see that while the fluid is still present, it's much less than last time, and it's well within normal limits. Let's just repeat in a year, but other than that, I don't see the need to do anything else. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas."

And then, in our mailbox on Saturday, a big fat refund check from the hospital. Overpayment for services back in March, which is when Cal was in for RSV.

I am living in some alternate universe. One where things actually go our way. (and clearly, that ultrasound tech was a complete fool. i'd be pissed if i wasn't in the holiday spirit.)

Okay. Now I'm off to frantically buy whatever gifts I can find that will ship in time for Christmas. And figure out gifts for 12 different teachers/therapists. For this Thursday. Shit. Why do I always do this to myself?

Hydro

2008-12-10T12:05:00.002-05:00

I am in a very bad mood.

Remember all that business about Cal having hydronephrosis (that's fluid on the kidneys) since he was in utero, and how we've gone for several follow-up ultrasounds at the hospital, one of which resulted in a slam-bang case of RSV in my ONE-WEEK-OLD baby? And how the fluid is totally gone in one kidney and diminished in the other? And how no one can tell us what it really means and he's not sick or anything and doesn't have any symptoms? And how it's not really a big deal, but it is, now, because in his left kidney, it's not going away.

He had another ultrasound this morning. No change since last time.

I expect our pediatrician will be calling soon, saying "get thee to the nephrologist." Damn.

It's pouring rain out, and I hate hospitals. I couldn't find a parking spot. Every sketchy person and deadbeat in town is sitting in the registration office with us, popping open their Dr. Peppers and reeking of cigarette smoke, clutching crumpled up bags from McDonald's. A lady came out and put a hospital bracelet around my baby's ankle, cooing at him and telling him he shouldn't be here; he should be home in his warm jammies, which about made me lose it right there in front of all the deadbeats. We went to three different germ-filled waiting rooms. I had to practically sit on Cal to hold him down on the ultrasound table, and he's screaming his head off, and the tech just won't hurry up. All the way home, I played through a different scenario in my head, one in which the tech says "I don't see any fluid. It's all gone. You can go."

And when I got home, the damn dogs had escaped from the laundry room, and stood hyperventilating at the front door, and I could see the smashed-down parts of that stupid shag rug, where they had stretched their filthy selves right out. The skylight is leaking right onto our new floors next to the Christmas tree. Cal is hungry and upset and tired, and I nursed him even though it wasn't really time because that's the only thing I have to give him. And I sat there in the chair with him, and listened to the rain dripping in the bucket and bawled my eyes out.

I have been busting my ass trying to finish up the semester, and finally got everything done last night, but my chest still feels tight and anxious. I am so tired and we all seem to be passing around some little stomach virus, one that's not bad enough to keep you on the sidelines but is just enough to make you feel like crap.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

And then I feel guilty about it, because we have a nice warm house that's mostly dry, and food to eat, and Christmas presents under the tree. My husband still has a job and my kids go to good schools and have new beds to sleep in. No one's in the hospital. Yes, Cal has this thing, and we'll go to the specialist, and they'll tell us what to do. It's not a brain tumor or open-heart surgery. I've had a child go through much worse than this. So why am I being such a baby about it?

Also, a gratuitous Callum photo

2008-12-09T10:47:00.003-05:00

'Cause he's so cute I can't stand it.

(Right after this was taken, he did a split that would make the varsity cheerleading squad green with envy. he was none too happy about it, either.)

EDITED TO ADD: I just looked at this again, and feel obligated to explain all of the crap in the background. We had brought the plants in from outside because of the cold, and so they're sitting on a towel temporarily so they don't mess up the floor. Also, we don't typically use rubbermaid bins for furniture (although with a funky little tablecloth thrown over them, it might not be a bad idea. hee.) Those are the Christmas decorations we had gotten out of the attic. And that's a toy piece of corn on the cob underneath the easel. We don't usually have vegetables laying around on the floor. Except under Cal's seat at the dining room table. I think there are some green beans under there right now. :)

So I'm not a professional photographer, obviously...but at least my kid doesn't have boogers in this picture.

Cribs Are For Babies

2008-12-09T10:24:00.003-05:00

Guess who got his very own big boy bed this weekend?

Okay, it's not just his...he's got the first floor, his big brother's got the penthouse.

They think it's the coolest thing since sliced bread. They really do. That top bunk is a little too high for my comfort zone, but Eli doesn't seem to mind. No one's fallen out yet, although we do have a row of pillows stuffed between Evan's mattress and the wall, because he would totally end up wedged down there if it was an option. He's a rowdy sleeper, that one.

G'night!

On the loose

2008-12-05T11:51:00.003-05:00

Life as we know it around here has come to a screeching halt, because...

Evan can now operate a doorknob. Just opens up doors and walks right through. Holy crap. Now I REALLY need to get myself organized and childproofed, 'cause I can't just close the door and know things are safe. At least he hasn't figured out the doors to the outside yet.

He's also about to put another notch in his big boy belt this weekend. Stay tuned...

EDITED TO ADD: Et tu, Callum? In the last hour, he has both attempted to climb the stairs AND started to cruise around things. He had pulled up onto a big box of blocks and started to cruise right around it. Just like that. I'm in real trouble over here.

Have you ever seen a face like this?

2008-12-04T09:51:00.001-05:00

He's the cutest. Boogers and all.

What's for dinner?

2008-12-02T10:53:00.002-05:00

Got some chicken cacciatore going in the crockpot. Mmmm.

We have two really fabulous cookbooks that we use all the time. Good food, fresh (but minimal) ingredients, and generally quick and easy to make. The boys usually like these recipes. Both books have a good many vegetarian recipes too.

For the crockpot (which you all know is my most favorite kitchen gadget EVER): Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook.

For a last-minute quickie dinner: The Six O'Clock Scramble.

If you're in need of some kitchen inspiration, get one (or both!) of these.

Back from the farm.

2008-12-01T08:26:00.006-05:00

I think we can all agree that the road trip to Virginia (a normally 7-hour drive morphed into an 11-hour expedition due to traffic jams and extended stopovers for lunch and dinner and to let the boys run around a little) was a great success. No one was sick, the boys were surprisingly excellent in the car thanks to a wide array of snacks and books and toys (bendable Gumby and Pokey are highly underrated!) and a borrowed portable DVD player (thanks, Mella!), and we had a great visit with great aunts and uncles and cousins, including new baby James whom we had not yet met.

It doesn't get much better than sitting around the kitchen table with your morning coffee staring out the window across rolling farmland and the Blue Ridge Mountains, while your aunt cooks up giant country breakfasts with local fresh sausage and eggs and homemade bread and jam. Then we'd spend a few hours puttering around the farm outside, petting cows and snooping around the family artifacts in the barn. Then lunch, and naps, and more puttering, and supper. And cookies. Lots and lots of homemade cookies.

The boys loved all the great food that came out of that kitchen in a steady stream, running around the fields, and their Yia-Yia and Papu. Eli will be talking about it for weeks. We made it home without any mishaps, speeding tickets, or flat tires. We had a great holiday, and feel very grateful for it. I will say, though, that I have never eaten so much meat in my entire life. Farm folks eat big. For Thanksgiving dinner, there was turkey AND ham AND sausage-stuffed venison. Oh my. And not only did they stuff us full while we were there, they sent us home with a big crate full of different kinds of homemade jams and apple butter, homegrown and canned green beans, and a gigantic sack of cookies. It was quite a send-off.

When we got home, though, we discovered that one of our dogs was gone. They stay outside, mostly, in an electric fence. My friend Beth was coming by to check on them and feed them while we were away, and a call to her confirmed that nothing was amiss when she came by, and that both dogs were present and accounted for, healthy and happy.

A little background: we have two dogs, both 9 years old, Tess and Ruby. They used to be inside dogs, like the sleeping-on-the-bed kind of dogs. Then came the husband and the children and gradually the dogs have made their way to the floor beside the bed, then the laundry room, then the backyard. We moved once in that time, and having a quick succession of kids crawling around on the floor, we somehow managed to convince ourselves that the dogs needed to live outside. They'd still come in to sleep in the laundry room, but mostly, it was Backyard City for them. We have 2 acres, and they're in an electric fence in a portion of that. They have a deck to lay on or lay under, plenty of room to roam. No doghouses, but usually we'd keep them in if it rained or was bitterly cold. Lately, Tess has become more and more neurotic and, when kept inside, would shake and pant and try to bust down the dog gate and generally freak right out. So, more and more, they've been sleeping outside on the deck, on a giant comforter underneath a tarp, (nice and classy, I know.) because I just couldn't deal with one more living creature keeping me up at night. We decided they'd be fine while we were gone for three days, as long as they were getting fed.

We didn't account for the fact that the batteries in their electric collars were dead. They've never tested the limits of the fence, or acted remotely interested in escaping. I guess a combination of absentee owners, cold and rainy weather, and the ~~curiousity~~ mania of a retriever/Border Collie mix was just too much for Tess to resist.

My first thought was that she was dead, down there in the bushes somewhere. She's no spring chicken, after all. I also considered the possibility that she ran away. Then, after David discovered an unfamiliar brand of dog food scattered on our deck, I just knew someone had stolen her. But why, really? She's old, she's grungy, she's a mixed breed dog. Not a cute puppy or worth any money, it doesn't seem like someone would want to risk getting caught to steal her. Then, in my typical paranoid neurotic way, I managed to convince myself that someone stole her to use in a dog fight. David thought I was totally crazy, but I just knew that's what had happened, and that she was already dead in some trailer park somewhere, torn apart by someone's pit bull. My puppy, my good girl. And all at once the guilt hit, and I knew I was an asshole and completely unworthy of owning a dog. I'm not really a dog person, so much, but I got her, and it was my responsibility to give her a good life. So I'm freaking out, and David goes out one last time to take a look around. He comes back in a minute later, waving a soggy sheet of paper he found stuck to a tree by our driveway. "FOUND. Yellow Lab. Gray on face. Underground fence collar. Call xxx-xxxx."

I can't tell you the relief that I felt. My dog is alive! Someone has her! She's coming home! I'm not a complete asshole that killed my own dog! David went to pick her up, at a neighbor's house up the hill, and found her snoozing by the fireside with three other border collies. Let's just say that she was less than thrilled about coming home. (as for the dog food on the deck...the neighbors assumed we had left the dogs without anything to eat, so they came back after "rescuing" Tess and fed Ruby. so now they think we're total shits guilty of animal cruelty and neglect. great.)

Until we can get a new battery for her collar, she's inside. Pacing and banging and hyperventilating. I let her out of the laundry room today to wander around the house; Ruby too. The boys were thrilled and so were the dogs. (David, if you're reading, I'm sorry! I just couldn't take the racket anymore.) So I've spent the majority of the day telling Eli and Evan to stop chasing the dogs around, and removing Ruby's giant German Shepherd/Chow ass from my unvacuumable shag rug.

I've got to figure something out about the dog situation around here. 'Cause right now, it just ain't workin'.

Also, is anyone else completely bewildered that it's December? I can't wrap my head around it at all. I've got one week left of school and six big projects due before the end of it. I may be scarce around here. Actually, this is exactly when I'll start posting like three times a day, because I procrastinate like that.

Road Trip Update

2008-11-25T21:10:00.002-05:00

No vomit since 10:30 this morning! So I think tomorrow we're hitting the highway (assuming we all make it through the night virus-free).

Hope you all have a very happy Thanksgiving. And for those of you with criminal minds, remember...big dogs. Big scary mean dogs.

Realization

2008-11-25T12:54:00.002-05:00

This is probably not the best time to be out of laundry detergent. Or Saltine crackers. Damn.

The best-laid plans

2008-11-25T11:17:00.002-05:00

Today we were supposed to leave for Virginia. Tonight, actually. Today I was going to spend the day packing and cleaning and if I was lucky, taking a shower. I took Eli and Evan to school, then came home. As I was feeding Cal his breakfast, the phone rang. It was Evan's teacher, calling to report that he had just thrown up everywhere and would I please come get him? Shit.

I had a feeling this morning that something was going on. Evan woke up happy, ate breakfast, but it was all downhill after that and he got real whiny and grumpy. I took him to school anyway, because if I kept him home every time he was grouchy, he'd never darken their door.

So he's home now, and threw up again shortly after we arrived. I have covered all the furniture and rolled up my brand new shag rug that he seems determined to hover around. The one that says explicitly on the tag, "professionally clean" and also "do not vacuum". (What the hell? You can't freaking vacuum a RUG? And why wasn't that revealed on the website when I bought the stupid thing? Thanks, CB2. Love ya.)

So our plans are now on hold. We'll wait it out and see if he's better by tomorrow, and if he is, we might go then. But it's a 7-hour drive on a good day, and I'm not sure how much fun that sounds. And who knows who will get it next? I think Eli started this whole thing on Sunday with the nastiest greenest most disgusting and vile diarrhea I've ever seen in my life. Twice. He never threw up though, so I chalked it up to the two kinds of ice cream he helped himself to before breakfast and before any of the grownups were up Sunday morning.

Stay tuned for further updates. Oh, and if you were planning to rob my house while we were gone, you might want to make other plans. We might be here after all. Plus we've got two big dogs and nothing at all worth stealing. Unless you want a big gray shag rug. Don't bother taking the vacuum though.

Okay, this is all just happening too fast.

2008-11-24T12:25:00.003-05:00

Cal turned 9 months old last week. He was a little slow on the uptake as far as crawling goes, and rocked on his hands and knees for about forever, but last week he really took off. He's all over the house now, getting into everything and picking up bits of stuff off the floor and all of that. And today? I just found him standing up at the train table. I'm so not ready for this.

Yin and Yang, Hot and Cold, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, otherwise titled Life with My Toddler.

2008-11-24T10:49:00.005-05:00

Warning: if you're not interested in yet another post about the dichotomy of a two-year-old's personality, come back later. Like in five years.

When you were a kid, did you ever read "Miss Nelson is Missing"? You know, the one where the sweet beautiful teacher whose class is totally bratty disappears and is replaced by the horrible ugly mean substitute? Not to be a spoiler or anything, but then it turns out that they're the same person, and Miss Nelson only masqueraded as the substitute to teach the class a lesson about behavior? Sometimes I feel like Evan is Miss Nelson incarnate, though usually he acts more like the horrible substitute.

Yesterday was one of those days; the ones where he wakes up grumpy and opinionated and hates everything, from breakfast to getting dressed to all his toys to lunch and riding in the car and dinner and putting on pajamas. From Mom reading to him instead of Dad. From Eli to Cal. From here to there. Whatever. It was one of those days where I thought for sure that if someone didn't remove him from my presence, I was seriously going to lose it. It didn't help that he was full of snot and drool and doing everything possible to be completely disgusting.

And then, today, it's like he's a different person. He woke up happy. He ate all his breakfast. His PT came at 8 and he loves her and was totally cooperative and funny. We had a small setback when he smeared yogurt in his hair during his morning snack, but he was even kind of funny and cute about doing that. He helped me make soup in the crockpot, by handing me okra, one at a time, out of the colander for me to chop. When he got tired of that, he wandered off and amused himself for half an hour, reading books and playing, while I finished the soup and did some dishes. He's now in there watching Elmo and playing with trucks.

It must seriously be exhausting having mood swings like that. Such a difference! Yay, Miss Nelson is back!

And speaking of Elmo, this weekend we cashed in our coupon for our discounted converter box for the TV. We don't have cable, and don't have a fancy television either, so come 2009 we were s.o.l., so to speak. Before this weekend, we got three channels, one kind of clearly, and two kind of shitty. But now? Now we get like ten channels, all crystal clear. We even get PBS and PBS Kids. Oh, the glory! New Sesame Street episodes everyday? Maybe that's contributing to the good mood of a certain two-year-old. It's certainly helping me out, because if I have to watch "1,2,3, Count with Me" one more freaking time....

So if you're living in the dark ages like we are, go. Get thee some government-subsidized TV. You won't regret it.

All is forgiven. And a question.

2008-11-21T09:59:00.003-05:00

So Eli and I have kissed and made up. Then we made some homemade playdoh.

My question is, would you think it was weird if your kid received homemade playdoh as a gift? Eli is going to a birthday party tomorrow, and I thought it might be cool if we made several colors of playdoh, packaged them in little containers, and included a few things like cookie cutters, rolling pin, spoons, or whatever to use with it, to give the kid (he's 4, I think) as a gift. Is that totally cheap and lame? My original idea was to go get this kid a few books, but we don't know him well and don't know what he has already. Plus it's cold out and like 10 miles to the bookstore. Opinions?

I don't want to do this today.

2008-11-21T08:32:00.003-05:00

Eli has been up for exactly one hour, and has been in time-out four times. The infractions run the gamut from hitting his brothers to pouring sugar all over the place (on purpose, when I told him already not to) to the final straw of eating half a banana and then running for the trash can while I'm telling him not to and looking right at me and cramming the rest of the banana into the trash. I lost it, I tell you. Yelling and screaming and time-outing. He is just so defiant sometimes, which I guess is part of being three, but whatever. I don't feel good and I haven't had enough coffee or sleep and I'm just tired of the brattiness. Ugh.

Okay. Time to regroup and start over. I sent him to his room for a while, and now I'll go get him and try to wipe the slate clean. Sometimes, sometimes, this shit is just hard.

And let me just say...

2008-11-20T11:37:00.002-05:00

...that Blogger and the way you insert photos is just a pain in the ass. Please know that I am offended by the way the post below is all laid out, with extra space or not enough space or whatever. I just can't spend any more time messing with it. Why don't the damn photos go in where I put them? Why are all of those spaces in there when I know I took them out? I'm switching to Wordpress. You suck, Blogger!

Hey, Santa...

2008-11-20T10:48:00.011-05:00

Can I tell you how much I love Amazon? It is the perfect solution for a mom with small kids for whom Christmas shopping would be nothing short of hell on earth. So easy! And I don't even have to go get the credit card out of my wallet. They just remember the number and everything.

I just got all the shopping for the boys done. They aren't getting much, and it's mostly joint gifts. Because really, when your kids are this close in age, that's what they end up being anyway. Here's what Santa's bringing for them:

PlasmaCar to ride around the house (this kind of sucks for Cal because he can't do it yet, but we can push him around on it.)

This village thing by Step 2, even though I hate plastic. All three of them will like this, plus Cal can't swallow any of the pieces, which is something I'm completely paranoid about these days. He can find the smallest piece of crap on the floor and put it in his mouth, even though I sweep like every hour.

Junior Stomp Rockets. 'Cause boys like to stomp stuff. This also sucks for Cal, but at least he can't swallow it.

We'll probably get them a few books too. I'm also going to attempt to make them a flannelboard and a few sets of pieces to go with it. Then they each have one gift of their very own.

For Cal, these cool water blocks from Plan Toys:

For Evan, Plan Toys family dolls. He likes people and animal toys:

For Eli, this Bruder forklift. He's been asking for this for-freaking-ever:

And some assorted small things for their stockings, Matchbox cars and crayon rocks and stuff. I really am trying to keep it small this year, because we have no money, and they don't need tons of stuff. I think that, between all three of them, we've spent about $200.

So what is Santa bringing YOUR kids this year? How much stuff is too much? Did I overdo it? Underdo it? Tell me what you think. It won't hurt my feelings!

Why I love Eli's school.

2008-11-19T13:49:00.005-05:00

Eli goes to the best school. He loves it, and his parents do too. Here are a few reasons why:

1. They are making a potluck vegetable soup for Thanksgiving next week. All the kids bring a veggie to prepare themselves and throw in the pot. Eli loves to cook, so this will make him ecstatic.

2. Sometimes they do yoga at circle time.

3. His friends have names like Augustus and Kriya and Stefan.

4. They are committed to diversity, and welcome kids of all ethnicities, socioeconomic backgrounds, and abilities. There are a few kids there who do not yet speak English.

5. The one area in which they are NOT diverse is politics. In the parking lot, Obama bumper stickers outnumbered McCain stickers, like 10 to 0. That's freakishly rare in the south.

6. On election day, they had their own election of sorts. All the kids got to vote for President. I don't know who was running, but Eli says he voted for Elmo. I suppose it's about like voting for George Bush.

7. He is learning how to do things like sweep up crumbs from his place at the table. Awesome.

8. For snack, they serve stuff like berry parfaits, cheese/crackers, applesauce that they've made themselves. Instead of Cheetos like his old school.

9. The tuition is inexpensive because they do lots of fundraisers. And I don't mean selling candy and wrapping paper...last weekend it was tickets to a play at a downtown theatre. We brought food and there was childcare. And beer! Also, the parents are required to put in volunteer hours throughout the year to help save money.

10. At lunchtime, they take turns "saying the thankfuls". Eli is regularly thankful that "the leaves are changing colors", "I get to go to school today", and "that there's a bulldozer and a front-end loader in the sandbox".

Eli loves it because:

1. Ian goes there.

2. They have bulldozers and front-end loaders in the sandbox. This can't be stressed enough.

3. See #8, above. He likes snacks. He likes to MAKE snacks. Kind of like last night, when he got a stool, climbed up to the pantry shelf, and helped himself to a can of chocolate icing. With a wooden spoon.

4. Mr. Bill (an old guy who loves kids) comes to read and sing!

5. They spend a lot of time outside, in the playground or on nature walks. In the summertime they do lots of water play.

6. He gets to choose what kind of "work" he does everyday. Last week it was polishing spoons. With silver polish. According to his teacher, she told him he needed a lesson on that first, but did he pay any attention to that? No. He then proceeded to squirt out a ridiculous amount of polish and make a giant mess. When I asked him about it later he said "Well, I wanted to polish a spoon, but I couldn't. It was too messy."

As much as he loves it, he's probably ready to come home now, unless he's playing in the sandbox, in which case he will tell me to go away. Think I'll go pick him up anyway.

Making life easier.

2008-11-13T09:57:00.003-05:00

Dinnertime has always been a challenge around our house. The kids are whiny and cranky, I'm running around like a crazyperson trying to make dinner with a screaming baby on my hip and a grumpy toddler around my leg while my preschooler nags for snacks. David doesn't get home until 6:30, and up until now, we've all been having dinner together when he gets home. At least, I was trying to time it that way. Then we're trying to eat while one of us feeds Cal and the other of us helps Evan when he needs it, while poor Eli is left to his own devices. Inevitably our food gets cold and Cal starts screaming because he's tired and over it all, and the whole experience is usually a big fat disaster. 6:30 is just too late for little guys to have dinner.

So we've given up on the family dinner pipe dream. This week, I started making dinner early and feeding the kids by themselves at 5 or 5:30. What a revelation! I can't believe I didn't do this sooner. They're not completely cranky yet, so it's a fairly pleasant experience; they eat well and by the time Daddy gets home, their bellies are full and they have time to play. They're still eating the same food as us. The only downside is that the grownups are now eating a reheated dinner, but seriously, it's a small price to pay for peace. We now eat after they go to bed at 8, which is a little late, but the quiet! The adult conversation! The eating of hot (albeit microwaved) food! It is changing lives, you guys. It really is.

The question is, are we doing damage to our kids by excluding them from a family mealtime? I think they might be too young for it to matter, but I don't want them to grow up eating chicken nuggets in front of the television, if you know what I mean. I think it's important to all eat together at the table, but for now, it just isn't working because of the late hour. So, what's your opinion? Early mealtimes for children: a matter of self-preservation, or the beginning of an early downward spiral into neglect and bad nutrition?

Seriously?

2008-11-12T09:44:00.003-05:00

The girl that sits behind me in my Saturday class, during a discussion about the election, says to me: "This might be a dumb question, but..."

And of course, you automatically know that it will be, because if she thinks I think it will be, then, well...

"I didn't think that Barack Obama was African-American. I mean, what is he?"

OMG. What do you say to a statement like that? I hope I was diplomatic and didn't make her feel like a complete idiot, even though I'm thinking in my head, how can an adult possibly be this clueless? Has she been under a rock or something? And she's a teacher! So I explain to her how his father was from Kenya, and his mother was from Kansas, he was born in Hawaii, and you put it all together and...voila! African-American! See how easy?

I fear for our school children sometimes. I really do.

Theory, clarified. Or at least, revisited.

2008-11-08T20:52:00.004-05:00

The house is quiet tonight. David and Eli have gone camping, so it's just the littlest boys and me, and they're sleeping soundly. Earlier, after Cal had gone to bed, I sat at the table with Evan; me with my bowl of homemade chicken soup, him with a piece of peanut butter toast as a bedtime snack. We sat eating in silence, and every now and then he'd reach over and pat me on the arm and smile, saying "Mom. Mom."

I've been thinking a lot about that post I wrote the other day; the one I wrote as the witching hour approached and the kids got whinier, as I was frustrated and grumpy and at the end of my rope. And I feel like I owe it to you, and to myself, and most of all, to my son, to revisit it.

I'm not concerned that Evan has some sort of major social ineptitudes due to his disability. He's two, for god's sake. Two-year-olds are RIFE with social ineptitudes. He can be cranky, and impatient, and horribly picky. He likes to dump stuff out, and climb on things, and push buttons, and flush toilets. He likes to do things independently, how he wants to do them. He's figuring out how the world works. He likes attention. Sometimes this can be terribly inconvenient for me, his mother and maid. And so, I bitch and complain and blog all about it. It doesn't mean anything other than that.

When I wrote all about Evan's skills, and the things he can do, it was not in the sense of "look how awesome my kid is and too bad for you if your kid can't do this". I hope no one took it that way. It also wasn't in the sense of "hey, my kid's a superstar and I'm totally in denial about the fact that he has Down syndrome, because look what he can do!" Obviously I know that he has delays; obviously I know that he has differences. As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, he has a disability, and most of the time, I'm okay with that. But I'd be lying if I said that, when he does well on assessments or evaluations, when he appears to be keeping up with his typical peers, I'm not secretly (or perhaps not so secretly) happy and proud. Who wouldn't be? It's like being proud of Eli when his teacher tells us he has a remarkable vocabulary for his age, or when he sleeps all night in underwear without wetting the bed. It's like being proud of Cal for trying so hard to pull himself to a stand, or for his excellent pincer grasp. Just because Evan's abilities are monitored by a trained team of professionals doesn't mean that his family isn't so proud of him we want to shout it from the rooftops. And while we certainly must take these evaluations with a grain of salt, and realize that they're not the final word on any child's abilities, nor are they to be used as comparison charts, I think they ARE important, and help us as parents realize what our child's strengths may be, and what other things we might need to focus on to help them do the best they can do, everyday, just like we would for any of our children. So if there is anyone out there who doesn't feel a sense of pride and gratitude and maybe even relief when their child scores high on some kind of assessment, please. Stand right up and identify yourselves so that I can pat you on the back, because clearly, you're a better person than me. While he sometimes drives me completely insane, I think my kid's doing awesome, and I'm not going to apologize for that. I also think that he has a long way to go, and I'm not going to apologize for that, either.

Anyway. I wrote all about Evan's accomplishments and his curious, explorative temperament, not to brag or justify or congratulate myself on a job well-done, but to illustrate the fact that he is capable of all of these things, and yet, still. Still! Still, he can't manage to remove himself from my leg, quit his whining, and find something to do. Because I'm crabby and selfish and sometimes feel like if I don't get five freaking minutes to myself I'm going to scream.

On the Agenda Today:

2008-11-07T08:58:00.003-05:00

Wiping the littlest noses in the house. Cal and Evan are total snotmonsters this week. They seem to feel fine, but we've been through two boxes of tissues so far. My pockets are full, ready to catch the drips at a moment's notice: Evan's tissues on the left, Cal's on the right.

Also, dreading tomorrow's presentation on Gifted/ESL (English as a Second Language) Students. I detest public speaking. Probably not a helpful quality for an aspiring teacher. But hey, I want to teach art! I want to fling paint and get sticky with glue and weave stuff. Not stand in front of a group blathering on about teaching strategies. Ick.

Another thing obsessing my brain: we are going on a trip over Thanksgiving, to Virginia. That would be an 8-hour drive. With three very small children crammed into the backseat of a Volvo. Tell me how we're going to swing that one, please. Any of you who have attempted such an obviously insane expedition: how do we keep them entertained in the car? (and before you suggest it, we do NOT have a portable DVD player, nor will we be purchasing one, no matter how tempting it sounds.) Any suggestions for things to take with us, games to play, car-friendly activities to give them, would be most appreciated. Because right now, we can't even get to the other side of town without one of them freaking out.

I feel bad about complaining about my kid yesterday. He just likes attention and there's nothing wrong with that. After I wrote that post, he spent a good 45 minutes sitting in his favorite chair reading books. One at a time, turning each page, and chattering to himself. So clearly, I'm an impatient, crabby mother. He has also occupied himself nicely this morning while I had breakfast, did a quick bit of homework, and read emails. Maybe I should take them to the park or something. Although what we really need to do is go to the grocery store. But I'm not sure I've got the stamina for that.

Theory on why my child can't entertain himself, otherwise titled "He's Driving Me Crazy".

2008-11-06T15:13:00.004-05:00

As Evan approaches the charming and glorious age of two-and-a-half, he becomes more and more difficult to manage. He's very mobile, for one. I just had to remove him from my desk, where he was standing right in the middle after climbing up on the chair to get there. Also, he seems to have trouble finding non-destructive activities to keep himself busy. I know, it's my job to provide him with activities, but sometimes, a girl just needs to do stuff like switch the laundry or pee or finally have her breakfast at like 11 AM. We have approximately 50,000 toys, puzzles, and books he could use to occupy his time, but instead he likes to stomp around the house, climbing on desks and pulling lamps off tables and flushing the toilets. That is when he's not hanging on my leg wailing and whining for crackers and television, his idea of Toddler Utopia.

Evan may have Down syndrome, but the kid is smart. He knows how to do lots of things. He is pretty verbal too, and was recently evaluated by his speech therapist as being in the "low average" range for typical kids his age. He knows his colors, body parts, and animal sounds. He can ride a push bike, climb the stairs, and feed himself fairly successfully. He has all of these abilities, and all of these skills, but he doesn't know how to play by himself for any extended period of time. Am I expecting too much to think that a 2-year-old (2 1/2 on Christmas Day) should be able to entertain himself for half an hour? Maybe so.

So here's the thing. Evan has had Early Intervention and OT since he was 2 months old. He started speech at 4 months, and PT at 7 months. He was in daycare at 4 months old, and at a developmental preschool at 14 months. He's had all of these things, and along with them, LOTS of one-on-one attention. People play games with him, and teach him things, and show him how things work. He gets a lot of interaction. So when he's home with me and his brothers, and there are other kids to tend to and housework to do and meals to cook and blog posts to write, he is often left to his own devices. And because he's used to getting all of that one-on-one attention, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Here's another thing. I'm growing very weary of Early Intervention. It just all seems like such a big hassle; the only time we have to do it is Monday afternoons, and often Evan is still napping, so it's a big fat pain in the butt to wake him up. He used to have a wonderful EI (hi, Patty!), but his new one? Less than remarkable. She's definitely no Patty. I swear, if she doesn't stop bringing this stupid pizza toy every.single.week., and if I have to hear her say "Evan, put the toppings on the pizza!) one more time, I'm going to scratch my eyeballs out.

So is it awful to ask her to stop coming every week? He's about to age out of EI, anyway, and he gets PLENTY of other intervention, I think. PT at home once a week, school three days a week, where he gets speech twice a week, OT and PT once a week, and music therapy twice. I think that's sufficient. I feel a little like an ingrate even thinking about cutting back, because I do think that EI is important, and it's part of the reason that Evan's doing as well as he is. But once a week with a less-than-stellar EI and her ridiculous pizza party is starting to seem like overkill.

Back to the point: since I started writing this post, I have had to put on two different DVDs to satisfy Mr. Persnickety. He has also changed the channels and the volume on the TV, ejected latest DVD that he decided wasn't up to snuff, torn up a bunch of paper, and is currently plopped at my feet whining. Is it bedtime yet?

Hope + Change

2008-11-05T09:17:00.004-05:00

On school days, we make the 15-minute trek over the mountain to drop the boys off at their schools; first Eli, then Evan. The trees have been spectacularly gorgeous for about a week now, and everyday I feel grateful that we are lucky enough to live in this beautiful place. As we wound up, up, up today, there was something different. Something in the quality of light, the quiet rustle of the morning breeze, the curves in the road. Something in the change of the season, the possibility of the day, and the hope for the future. And again, all I feel is gratitude.

The first President that my sons will remember is Barack Obama. They will know this man and his remarkable decency and his ability to inspire a generation. I will be able to pull out the newspaper I bought this morning on the way home, the one with the headline five inches tall that shouts simply to all the world "Obama Wins", and I will be able to tell them how we all came together to vote for change. How my youngest son and I, on a glorious fall day, stood in line with our neighbors at the fire station and made history. How lucky they are to live in this beautiful place where, everyday, we are living inspiration and unity and hope and change. And how, whether we're liberal or conservative, black or white, disabled or nondisabled, old or young, male or female, religious or not, we can all do our part to choose it.

Back from the polls

2008-11-04T12:52:00.005-05:00

Well, that was a long line. But really, what's 90 more minutes when I've already endured 8 long years?

Cal was a champ. He made friends, had some snacks, got filmed for the local news, and chewed up the paper thing they gave me to hand to the poll worker. He even got an "I Voted" sticker. Now he can go get his free Starbucks coffee.

Big Day

2008-11-04T09:26:00.002-05:00

While the rest of the nation (me included) is casting their ballots today, sweet Dylan is undergoing heart surgery to repair an A/V Canal defect, the same surgery Evan had almost two years ago. Please keep Dylan, Laurie, and their family in your thoughts today.

Now THAT'S dedication.

2008-10-31T08:27:00.002-05:00

Our fearless leader, Tricia, appears to maybe possibly somehow having a baby today. Or so it seems. And she even managed to post this last day of 31-for-21. She is my hero.

Wishing you the best, T.! Now, you all go wish her the same.

The Finish Line

2008-10-31T08:00:00.005-05:00

So we made it to the end of the month. I only missed a couple of days, but I do have 34 posts, so I think that counts. I should be wrapping up 31-for-21 with some great post about how my child with Down syndrome has changed my life, how he opened my eyes to the beauty of differences, and all of that. I should, but I can't. Because I'm too damn tired from the um, month-long cedlebration of Halloween. I'm sick to death of it, and it's not even really here yet.

When I was a kid, Halloween was one day of the year. You dressed up, you went trick-or-treating, and that was that. Now it seems like there's a festival or a party or a gathering every week in October. By the time the 31st actually rolls around, the novelty has worn off, the kids are sick of dressing up, and I've consumed enough candy corn and miniature Reese's cups to sink a ship. The Halloween party at Eli's school yesterday kicked my ass, and I'm now officially over the whole thing.

So I'll leave you with the thought that while it's sometimes been a chore, I've really enjoyed posting more frequently, and am going to try to keep it up; probably not everyday, but definitely more often than not. And I'll leave you also, with this, taken yesterday before school:

Happy Freaking Halloween. Again.

Pardon me while I freak right out.

2008-10-30T10:17:00.002-05:00

I have not abandoned Blogger for the green pastures of Facebook; oh no. For some reason I am insanely busy this week, hence the bailout on 31-for-21 yesterday...doing laundry, grocery shopping, going to class. And right now I am in the middle of baking 4 dozen cookies from scratch for a Halloween party at Eli's school this afternoon. For which I am also coordinating an art project and providing the supplies, as well as being in charge of a group of five of the little hooligans as they make their way around all of the fall festivities. Certainly I am not qualified for all of this. It's so domestic.

Every time I make a cookie recipe, it never makes as many as it says it does. I'm on my second batch of dough already. What am I doing wrong? Maybe I'm supersizing my cookies, but in the grand scheme of baked goods, I think we can all agree that less is definitely not more.

Um, Facebook Disclaimer

2008-10-28T13:05:00.002-05:00

So apparently I'm the last person on the planet to sign up for Facebook. I can't believe all the people that are on there! I had no idea. Over the weekend a friend talked me into it, so today I decided to check it out. Anyway, somehow it tricked me into sending out friend invites to everybody in my email address book. So if you got one, don't think I'm stalking you. Facebook made me do it!

TMI, for sure

2008-10-27T12:35:00.004-05:00

Evan just looked at me and said "Hi, Mom. Potty." And made the sign for potty. So I scooped him up, stuck him on the toilet, and he peed. And pooped. OMG. He's done this once or twice before, so hopefully this trend will continue. We can't afford all of these damn diapers, and I'm pretty sure that, at 8 months old, Cal's not ready for potty-training. So it's got to be Evan. He's next in line, whether he likes it or not. I have a feeling it's going to take quite a while though.

When Evan turns 3 next June, he will be able to go part-time to the Montessori preschool where Eli goes. They have a rule that all children there must be fully potty-trained. Am I fooling myself to think that a child with Down syndrome can be potty-trained by the time they turn 3? I think they'll be willing to accommodate Evan if he's not, because they're very excited to have him come there, but it sure would be nice to have that accomplished by then.

So what do you guys think? A potty-trained 3-year-old with Down syndrome: possibility or pipe dream?

Pssst...

2008-10-25T20:41:00.002-05:00

Do kids pass notes in school anymore? Little folded up squares of notebook paper full of gossip and plans and dreams? Or are they just texting their little lives away?

In the 9th grade, some friends and I went through a phase where we wrote these elaborate stories for each other; stories in which we were all glamorous and rich and had boyfriends who were in Duran Duran or Wham! and drove fancy sports cars. We detailed our double dates right down to the outfits we were wearing and what we ate for dinner. We tortured ourselves with the knowledge that Simon LeBon or George Michael would never be ours, but we couldn't stop ourselves from fictionalizing these accounts. So dramatic. If kids aren't still passing notes, they're missing all of that. They're missing the fantasy, the fiction, the anticipation. You can't replicate that with IM or texting. It's just not the same.

I guess these days we blog instead. Except now it's about politics and disability and raising children. It's about in-laws and shopping and budgets. It's about connecting with people you've never met, whom you may never meet, but who are living their lives just like you. Who have some sort of connection via experience, no matter how small. Who have been where you are, who can give you advice or sympathy or support or a laugh, who can simply say "yeah. i know." So for 31-for-21, I want to pass each of you a note. A note that tells you how much this blogging community means to me and what a lifeline it is when I'm home alone with small children all day. How I look forward to your posts and your comments, how I love watching your children grow, and how grateful I am to all of you for coming back here again and again to listen to me rant and complain and laugh and celebrate. It means more than you know.

So hey. We may not have Simon by our sides, but we're still feelin' the love.

[Saturday Night Disclaimer: this certainly didn't start out to be such a sappy post, but well. It is what it is. And no, I am NOT drunk.]

Buds

2008-10-24T21:27:00.000-05:00

This one's for you, Beth...or for any of you who enjoy a photo of cute preschoolers in Halloween costumes. This is Eli and his friend Ian last week at Boo in the Zoo, otherwise known as the annual wait-in-long-line-to-get-plastic-bags-full-of-lame-candy-and-plastic-crap-and-not-see-any-animals-at-all event.

Oh, Target, you suck. And yet I still adore you.

2008-10-24T20:29:00.002-05:00

Can someone please tell me why, with all of the gazillion dollars Target must make in a day, one-third of which probably comes directly from my bank account, they can't stock their stores with some damn decent shopping carts? I'll never understand it. It took three tries before I got one that wasn't totally rickety and wobbly and squeaky, and then the one I did get decided to betray me when I was just far enough into the store that it was too much trouble to go back and switch it for another. So I had to push it very, very slowly through the store to avoid the horrible shrieking noise it was making and to keep one wheel from practically falling off, so slow that there was plenty of time to notice cute t-shirts and headbands and soap dishes that were just shouting out at me to please take them home.

Their boys' clothes selection just sucks. They were out of the diapers we use. And there was not one moderately unoffensive lamp in the whole place. I just wanted a simple, plain, somewhat modern-looking table lamp for under $40. Is that too much to ask?

But I did get an awesome bedspread for the guest room on clearance. With shams. So all is forgiven.

Always when you least expect it.

2008-10-23T08:33:00.002-05:00

Remember last week when we went to that party? Well, it was fun, mostly, and great to get out. We drank too much and stayed out way too late. The theme of the party was "Kicking Off the Great Depression", and there was a bonfire and poor, working-class, depression-related music. Our friends the hosts made an assortment of soups that were common in soup kitchens back in the '30s, and had them served on hot plates outside. Very clever!

So I fix myself a steaming bowl and sit down at a table across from a woman I did not know. Turns out she was the hosts' next-door neighbor, and she seemed, how shall I say it, a little on the redneck side? Very friendly, but VERY country. She was also well on her way to being completely toasted. So as most women tend to do, we start talking about our children. She has two, and they're six years apart. She explained that her labor with her first child was 48 hours long, and awful, and how she was afraid to go through it again, which is why her kids are so far apart in age. She then goes on to tell me about her second child, who was breech, and all about going in for a version, only to then back out and have a c-section instead. The baby was born with pneumonia, and was very, very sick. She was in the hospital for weeks and weeks. So I'm commiserating with this woman, because her story was interesting and so terrible, and I know what it's like to see your baby in the hospital, and feel so powerless to do anything about it. We agree that you just never know what's going to happen or how things will turn out. She tells me that with the second child, she wasn't ever worried about the baby's health, because her first child was healthy; she was only concerned about the labor. And then she says, with a heavy southern accent and a drunken slur to her words: "But with my first one, I was SO afraid he'd come out retarded, or crippled, or something. I just worried about that all the time. Can you imagine?"

If we hadn't been eating out of paper bowls, I'm sure the clanging of my spoon as I dropped it would have turned heads. And I immediately felt this chill up my spine. For a split second, I was just pissed, and debated with myself about telling her about Evan. But then I just felt so weary, and so tired of all the time having to be defensive, and be on the lookout for ignorance, and be the one to educate. I just didn't want to do it. I wanted to eat my soup, drink my wine, and have a good time around the bonfire. I didn't want to have to tell my story, or make a point, or defend my child. So I didn't say anything, but did quickly excuse myself from her presence, and spent the rest of the night avoiding her, feeling angry and bitter and guilty for not saying anything.

I still feel bad about it. I should have put that woman in her place. I should have showed her that you can't just go around using words like that in front of people you don't know, people who it might offend, people who might have a personal experience with that. You just never know who you're talking to, and if there's one thing I've learned along the way, it's that you never use labels, you never assume that someone's history is the same as yours, you never assume that they'd see things the same way you do, and mostly, that when you've had too much to drink, you just need to keep your damn mouth shut.

Invasion

2008-10-22T10:35:00.002-05:00

They're coming. This weekend.

The in-laws. (cue spooky music)

I am busy busy, organizing the house like there's no tomorrow. Dusting and mopping. Cleaning up the guest bedroom. Searching diligently for any sort of liberal, pro-life propaganda I can leave casually lying about. You know, to get the ~~arguments~~ ~~debates~~ conversation rolling. So far I've got: Obama bumper sticker on the car, his book on the coffee table, and the newsletter from the Unitarian fellowship where Eli goes to school. That should get things going. Any other suggestions?

So here's something funny. They want to get the boys a Wii for Christmas. Tell me. Is a VIDEO GAME appropriate for a 2- + 3-year-old? Yeah, I didn't think so. That just gives you an idea what we're in for this weekend.

(honey, i love you dearly and please don't be offended that I'm ranting about your parents on the internet. they really are nice people and I know they'd do anything for us. but it's such good blog fodder! plus, you know I'm right.)

Cute kid making goofy face. Dirty window. Ugliest front door EVER.

2008-10-21T19:24:00.001-05:00

Warty pumpkin. Cute baby. (and his biggest brother)

2008-10-21T19:19:00.001-05:00

Hell on Wheels

2008-10-20T19:54:00.004-05:00

Evan got this little bike last Christmas (I don't have a recent picture of him on it here on the laptop):

And he is FAST. He flies on that thing. He maneuvers around obstacles, turns on a dime, and oftentimes goes up on two wheels when he takes the corner. He thinks the thing is a mountain bike and attempts to take it off-road, down hill. You have to watch him like a hawk.

Lately, his favorite thing has been to get up speed and run into things, yelling "Crash!" when he does so. Except, he can't quite say the "cr" and the "sh" doesn't quite come out right either. So here's this little kid, speeding along, running headfirst into whatever he finds, shouting "Ass! Ass!"

I am NEVER letting him drive my car. Not even when he's 40.

Happy Blogoversary. If I do say so myself.

2008-10-18T09:11:00.002-05:00

David informed me yesterday that it was my 2-year-blogoversary. Huh. I had no idea. I can't believe I've been keeping you all entertained (using loosely, using loosely!) with mind-numbing drivel for so long. Lucky you.

So to celebrate, leave a comment to let me know who's reading. I want to hear from faithful readers, occasional passersby, and you lurkers who have yet to reveal yourselves. Speak up!

(and also to celebrate, or maybe just to save our sanity, we have a babysitter tonight. and we're going to a grown-up party where there will BE NO CHILDREN. and maybe a movie after that if we can swing it. awesome. we had intended to go camping this weekend with Beth and fam but have had to reschedule that. so. do grownups wear sweatpants and flip-flops to dinner parties? 'cause that's about all i've got anymore.)

The nose knows.

2008-10-17T12:38:00.004-05:00

A little while ago, I went up to make sure Eli was napping. He, of course, was goofing around in his room. As I helped him climb down off his dresser and get back in the bed for the THIRD time, he looked at me suspiciously.

Eli: "What's that smell?"

Mom, innocently: "What smell?"

Eli, eyes narrowing accusingly: "Chips. It's chips. You're eating chips." And then he demanded some.

And he was right; I had been eating chips and salsa. ('Cause snacks are really all I can manage for lunch. They're fast, plus there are no dishes to clean up.) You can't get anything past that kid.

Naps today for Sir Screams-Very-Loudly: 3
Naps for Sir's brothers: 1 each.
Naps for Weary Mama: 0. Of course.

While the cat's away

2008-10-16T12:48:00.004-05:00

The mama and kids will have breakfast for dinner! David has a late presentation tonight and won't be home until 9, so it's just me and the littles. To keep them happy, I'm making pumpkin pancakes and pineapple milkshakes. Strange combination, I know, but I'm avoiding the grocery store like the plague, and these are the ingredients we have. They will love it. David is vehemently opposed to ever having breakfast for dinner, although it's one of my fondest childhood memories, so we will take advantage of his absence and indulge ourselves. Eli was very excited this morning when I suggested it. We might even sit on the floor to eat and call it a picnic. Although that might be tricky with pancakes. I'm rethinking that bright idea already.

I have no, no, no focus today at all. I have started at least five projects, none of which are finished, and I keep moving from one to the next to the next then back to the first. I'm just doing laps around the house. And now I'm blogging. Call that Project #6.

Naps so far for Sir Screams-a-Lot: 2.
Naps for Weary Mama: 0. Naturally.

Debating...

2008-10-16T09:50:00.002-05:00

...but I'm not going to run my mouth about last night. You all know how I feel. Besides, Anne and Cate and Stephanie and Karly have said it better than I could.

Must go. Sir Screams-All-Night has finally awakened from his morning siesta, during which I should have joined him but I'm too jacked up on coffee. Seems like I'm going to have to call in Dr. Ferber again. Our boy has decided that 3:15 is an appropriate wake-up time. So is 3:45, 4:10, 4:45, and 5:30.

I know it's hard to believe, but...

2008-10-15T09:09:00.002-05:00

It appears that I was, um, slightly incorrect about the ears. No infection, no fluid, no problem. Hmm. Doc couldn't find anything amiss with our boy, not his ears, not his lungs, not his heart. All good things, for sure, but it doesn't explain why he has woken up crying the past few nights, but more importantly, WHY HE'S SO DAMN CRABBY!

I guess I will chalk it up to being 2: to frustration and independence and a general dissatisfaction with his home life. To be fair, he didn't wake up last night and he's really not crabby ALL of the time, so whatever. Moving on.

He did get weighed while we were there, and I about had a heart attack when he clocked in at 24 lbs. 12 ozs. That kid can't break the 25-mark to save his life. I was thinking that at his 2-year check back in July that he was 24/15, but when I got home and checked that little slip they give you with all the height/weight info on it, I saw that he really had only been 24/2. So he's gained 10 ounces in 3 months...doesn't that seem like VERY LITTLE to you? I am freaking out about his weight. He is not growing. At least, it doesn't seem like he is...I should measure his height to see if he's gotten any taller. I mean, I can practically SEE Eli and Cal growing right before my eyes, but Evan just seems to stay the same. I am fairly certain that he and Cal will be sharing clothes by the end of the year. Cal is a monster baby, but still. They're almost two years apart!

Okay. Getting over it. Letting it go. They're all healthy, and nothing else matters. Right?

Shoes and Ears

2008-10-14T09:49:00.004-05:00

Obviously I have turned into one of those moms; the ones that dress their kids alike. I just bought these for all three boys (and sorry about the teeny tiny picture):

To wear with their navy corduroy overalls I bought them last week. Clearly I am losing my mind. (and while I was at it, some Robeez for Cal and some rainboots for Mama!)

Also, I'm suspecting an ear infection for Evan...I hope that's what it is, anyway, because he is keeping us up at night, and that's easy to fix. He rarely gets them, but has been scratching and pulling at his left ear, and wakes up crying. So I'm guessing. We'll find out if I'm right today at 3:30.

The Secrets of the Universe

2008-10-13T18:13:00.004-05:00

I totally dropped the ball on 31-for-21 yesterday. Oops. I find it very difficult to blog on the weekends for some reason.

Just when I'm completely at the end of my rope, and I think that the boys are rotten little devils sent by the universe to torture my eternal soul, we have a day like today. A beautiful, warm (but not too warm), breezy day where we sit outside and blow bubbles and play tag and take a walk. Where they don't fight, and don't whine, and take long naps all at the same time. Where they share and play together and clean their plates. Where they will offer me their cookies and pat me on the back and crawl into my lap with a book. Sweet, sweet babies.

Clearly, my karma is not as bad as I thought. But seriously, I think I've discovered the secret to surviving this. Listen up: you have to pay attention to your kids. Like, all day. Don't try to blog, or do laundry, or sweep the floor. No showers, or second cups of coffee in front of the computer, or long phone calls. So why didn't someone tell me sooner?

Brains and Eggs, or otherwise known as the obligatory "I'm too tired for 31-for-21 tonight" post.

2008-10-11T20:00:00.005-05:00

Every other Saturday, I have a class from 9:30 AM to 3:30 PM. "Nature and Needs of the Gifted". I'm telling you, you must need to BE gifted to be in this class. It's a lot of information and a lot of work. The professor is good, but I always leave there feeling drained and exhausted; like my brain is just fried. So much to pay attention to, like, all day. I'm not cut out for this.

An interesting fact: programs for gifted kids are considered "special education". How 'bout that?

Anyone seen that Keri Russell movie "Waitress"? We watched it last night, and I can honestly say that I've never seen a more sucktastic movie than that. And I loved Felicity! But she totally slept with her OB, which is completely disgusting and creepy. So if you haven't seen it, go ahead and thank me for ruining such an unexpected plot development...now you don't need to bother.

Blah. I'm off to eat cherry pie and ice cream. You know, because I really need to put on some weight.

Mama's Dinner Theater

2008-10-10T09:59:00.003-05:00

I would say that I spend about 75% of my time fixing meals and snacks for the kids, cleaning up meals and snacks, or trying to convince them to eat meals and snacks. I'm so tired of doing this all the time, that I never have any energy or motivation or time leftover to fix my own meals and snacks. I just eat what they leave behind. Which, trust me, is a lot.

It is really frustrating to do all of this only to have them reject it. To not only spend energy making the meal, but trying to coax them into eating it. To do all this in vain, then spend time throwing it in the trash or washing it all down the drain.

Mealtime at our house is a comedy of errors. Fix food when they're not hungry; they won't eat. Wait too long, until they're too hungry, then they just scream and refuse to eat. For Evan, and now his brother Cal, I have to put on a freaking show just to get them entertained enough where they might not notice if you're slipping a spoonful of something into their mouths. I'm talking singing, dancing, hand jives, whatever. I'm making up songs about eating, I'm doing the stupid airplane-in-the-mouth thing. I'm distracting them with "This Little Piggy". It's exhausting.

Why won't they eat? Not only do I not understand it, but I don't relate to it either. I like to eat. I'd love it if someone was making my meals and cleaning up after me. Such a bunch of ingrates, my children are.

I know that kids will eat when they're hungry. I know I shouldn't make an issue of it. But, for Evan especially, he's so freaking skinny. And when he does eat, it's crackers and bread and cheese and peanut butter. He hates fruit. He hates vegetables (except brussel sprouts, imagine that. the most disgusting vegetable in existence, and that's the only one he'll eat.) And so I watch him not grow, and I watch him getting thinner and thinner, and I watch as his pants fall down as he walks. I know he's healthy, he doesn't have eating issues (like texture aversion or any of that). He just wants to be difficult, I think.

Aarrgghh. I guess I'll go make lunch now. Maybe I'll skip the song-and-dance routine today, and just go ahead and throw it directly in the trash. That's where it will end up, anyway.

Too busy to blog.

2008-10-09T15:10:00.002-05:00

Today I have:

Taken Evan to school
Done an art project with Eli
Performed general baby and kid maintenance
Semi-cleaned up the house
Boiled a dozen eggs for egg salad
Baked two loaves of bread
Made a big pot of chili
Washed many dishes
And am currently contemplating doing a load of laundry.

Hear me roar, people. Hear me roar.

Dispelling the Myths

2008-10-08T09:31:00.002-05:00

This goes out to all those people who have ever said "People with Down syndrome are always SO happy."

Uh-huh. Right.

Everybody Loves Shoes

2008-10-07T12:45:00.002-05:00

Go, say hi to Prince Vince and his super-cool mom Christina, and enter to win a pair of Vincent shoes for your little one's feet. Or not. That'll up MY chances. :)

This has nothing whatsoever to do with Down syndrome. Well, maybe just a little.

2008-10-07T08:47:00.005-05:00

I drive my husband crazy because my most absoloute favorite things to get from Netflix are documentaries. I could watch them all day long. He'd prefer some boring sci-fi or thriller or foreign film, but not me. Give me the real stuff.

In my mailbox last week was one of the best ones yet. For the Bible Tells Me So was, to put it simply, awesome. Well-documented, thoughtful, informative without being prejudicial. Go, read the synopsis. I'll wait.

Shocking, isn't it? The filmmakers interviewed several families who have or had a child who is gay. They discussed their involvement with their churches, and how, because of this involvement, they believed homosexuality to be a sin, an abomination. How their churches use the Bible in non-contextual ways to discriminate against lesbians and gays. These people were horrified upon learning about their child's sexual orientation. And in telling their stories, we find out that some of them still struggle with it, some have made peace with it, and some have become advocates for gay rights and speak out strongly against the prejudicial church teachings that originally were a basis for their beliefs. For one family, acceptance has come too late for their daughter. I won't spoil the film; you really, really need to see it for yourselves.

In my day-to-day life, I don't think about the issue of homosexuality very much. Not because I am not aware, or don't know anyone who is lesbian or gay, but because, in my realm of thinking, it's just not a big deal. It doesn't occur to me to care if someone has a same-sex partner, just like I don't care if they have a partner of the opposite sex. It's just not an issue for me.

I do know that there are plenty of others who do not feel the same way I do. I do know that gay-bashing occurs. I do know that lesbians and gays are sometimes subject to horrific prejudice, discrimination, and sometimes violence. What I don't know is how someone develops this irrational fear; this hate of someone different from themselves. It doesn't make sense to me. With all of the pain, and suffering, and tragedy, and violence in the world, that someone would take their time and energy and whole being to denounce someone else because of their sexual orientation is beyond insane to me. Or because of their race, or their gender, or their disability, for that matter. It's all the same thing. Prejudice is prejudice. Hate is hate. And to say that you hate because God or Jesus or Joe Six-Pack says that it's only right, that it's how you'll live your eternal life in your own little hateful spot in Heaven, well. That's the real abomination.

Classic third child slackness

2008-10-06T13:35:00.003-05:00

We finally have a photo of Cal on display in our house. In a frame, even! And it only took seven-and-a-half months!

Okay, it's lying on its side on my desk, and not hung up on the wall yet, but still. Baby steps, right?

What to Say and When to Say It

2008-10-06T11:33:00.002-05:00

Last weekend, we stayed up late the night before the Buddy Walk making "Walking for Evan" buttons for our team (the Grand Procrastinators at work!). We wondered what Eli would think about the whole thing; wearing a button with his brother's name and picture on it. He was excited about the Walk, but obviously doesn't really understand what it's for; he just thinks it's a fun thing to do. We talked about what we would say if Eli questioned the fact that there wasn't a button with his own picture on it; what he might ask us and what would be appropriate to tell him.

Eli is three-and-a-half. A very verbal, very perceptive three-and-a-half. He notices everything. It is not beyond him to ask us really intuitive questions about things. He understands concepts and ideas well beyond his years, I think. He puts me on the spot a lot, as I try to figure out answers to his questions that are truthful and appropriate for his age, and that will satisfy him without being overwhelming. So what do you say to a child like Eli when he asks what the Buddy Walk is, and why, in fact, we are "walking for Evan"? I don't want to overwhelm him with facts about Down syndrome that he can't relate to, or make him feel that his brother is different from him. I mean, he IS different, but to a three-year-old, not really. Not yet.

So far we've chalked up most of Evan's differences to his age, and Eli accepts that. When Evan wasn't walking, and Eli asked why, we just explained that Evan is younger than him and that he (Eli) didn't walk when he was younger either. But the time is coming when we're going to have to address the situation with Eli, especially now that Cal is growing by leaps and bounds and reaching new milestones every day. There will come a point when he is doing things that Evan is not yet able to do, and Eli will pick up on that.

Fortunately, I guess, Eli didn't question us about the buttons. He was happy and proud to wear his, and so we left it at that. But what do we say when the time comes? And how do we know when he is old enough to understand it? When he asks us directly why Evan looks different, why he doesn't talk clearly, why he can't ride a tricycle? Anyone tackled this challenge yet? What have you said to your kids about their sibling with Down syndrome?

Biting the, um, hand, that feeds him

2008-10-05T21:03:00.002-05:00

I nursed Eli until he was six months old; Evan, ten months. Neither one of them ever had any teeth during that time. Seven-month-old Callum, however, is now sporting two teeny-tiny ones on the bottom, and he's not afraid to use them. If you know what I mean.

That shit hurts. He bites, and I'll tell him no, and give him one more chance, and if he does it again, well, the snack bar is closed. Help me (and the girls!), internets...is there something else I should be doing to discourage this? I'm feeling kind of, shall we say, sensitive these days.

Okay. There are homemade brownies to be eaten. Must go.

Outings

2008-10-04T15:07:00.004-05:00

Some weekends we never leave the house. Usually, with the kids, it's more trouble than its worth. But every now and then, we get brave, and just bored enough, to venture into public. Usually, the kids are pretty good, and they like to do new things. It's just a lot of work for the grownups. (um, using that term VERY loosely.)

Late yesterday afternoon we took the boys downtown to the toy shop and got them each a small new toy. Cal got fussy and demanded to be let out of the stroller, Eli knocked over a toy display while riding around on a Plasma Car, and Evan took a nosedive off the slide they have in there, right onto the hardwood floor. We paid for our stuff and hightailed it out of there, down the street to a barbecue place where the food kind of sucks but kids are welcome. Plus the boys love ribs. Mama's Little Carnivores, I call 'em. Then we went to the piazza to run around in the grass, and next to the gelato shop. Mmmm. The boys did great, even Cal whose food we neglected to pack so he had to make do with a baked potato and what were probably the saltiest green beans on the entire planet. Helpful Comment Tally: 3 (two "you've got your hands full"s and one "three boys? well, bless your heart!")

This morning we went to a folk art festival near our house, where Evan proceeded to make a beeline for the porta-johns, insist on sitting in wet grass, and make every possible attempt to rip artwork from the booths. Exhausting. He can be really, really difficult to manage sometimes. I never know whether to attribute this to the fact that he has Down syndrome, or the fact that he's two, an age well-known to be less than charming and cooperative. So I don't know. Really, I don't know what Down syndrome would have to do with it other than it delaying his social skills or something, but I guess I still have the inclination to blame everything difficult about my kid on his extra chromosome. Like, if he didn't have DS, he'd be perfectly well-behaved, right? Having already had one two-year-old, I know better.

I asked David when he thought we were going to be able to take Evan places and have him be less difficult to control. I'm sitting there waiting for him to answer, hoping against all hopes that he doesn't say "ten years" or something completely unfathomable like that, when he says "oh, six months or so." Really? I hope he's right, but I'm having a hard time seeing that.

Anyway, the boys got to jump in a stupid inflatable castle, and Eli made some art at a booth they had set up for kids, I got an awesome painting by an artist from Georgia. No Helpful Comments, either, although the boys and I did get our picture taken for some local magazine. Evan was in the stroller, Cal was in the backpack, and Eli was holding my hand. I can't wait to see the caption. "Brave Mom Ventures Out with Hooligans". "Freaks on Parade". "Can You Believe How Many Kids SHE Has?" So all in all, it was worth the effort, but damn, I'm tired.

Seriously, revisited.

2008-10-03T13:03:00.001-05:00

So I've now spent my entire morning trying to figure out just exactly who Joe Six-Pack is, anyway. Is he any relation to First Dude?

What's on YOUR wall?

2008-10-03T09:06:00.004-05:00

A few months ago I used my birthday money to treat myself to this awesome piece of artwork, now hanging in my dining room:

It's an original print, though I'm not sure what method of printmaking was used here. The artist is a woman named Sylvia Fragoso. Sylvia has Down syndrome.

She is an artist working in the studios at the National Institute for Art & Disabilities. For artists with a wide variety of disabilities, NIAD provides studio space, materials, and instruction by and support of professional artists. It's just the kind of place I'd love for my son to work one day, if he's interested.

There are some really beautiful pieces for sale online through NIAD. Go check them out, especially now that the holiday season is just around the corner. Instead of buying more trinkets from Target (not that I don't love me some Target!) for your family and friends, get them an original piece of art instead, and support artists with disabilities while you're at it. Who knows? Your child might be one of them someday.

(another great organization like it is Art Enables.)

Seriously.

2008-10-03T08:25:00.000-05:00

If I hear the word "maverick" one more time....

Walking for Evan

2008-10-02T08:25:00.014-05:00

This past Sunday we participated in our local Buddy Walk. The weather was great, Anne and Marcy did an awesome job organizing it, and we had close to 40 people walking for Evan's team. Here are some of them:

Heading down the path:

The star of the show:

More walking (please note that that's me with the boys but that is NOT my husband pushing the stroller...awesome John and Brook took turns wrangling our unwieldy double stroller so David and I could have a break! Also note that I desperately need a haircut.):

My friend Jennifer's (no link for her, but she totally needs her own blog...she's got lots to say!) cute daughter Sam getting in on the strolling action...she and Evan were in utero together. I mean, at the same time. Two different uteruses. Uteri? Anyway, they're close in age!

Callum can't walk yet, but he sure is working hard on figuring out how to crawl:

Beth and her family were there too...here's her beautiful girl Mio:

Eli and his cousin Ella take a break in the hut. Eli confiscated both his brother's Buddy Walk medal AND his grandpa's baseball hat:

The supa-stah before the medal-snatching but after an ice cream snack (not sure what's up with heart-butt overalls over there...I'm assuming they belong to a clown. I hope.):

It was an awesome day, but there just wasn't enough time to participate in all the stuff AND get to chat it up with everyone. Next year we're totally being rednecks and showing up early to tailgate. Thanks to everyone who came out to hang with our boy and helped our team raise close to $2,000 for Down syndrome awareness and advocacy!

Off to a good start

2008-10-01T07:19:00.003-05:00

So Evan celebrated the first day of 31 for 21 by yakking up his breakfast all over his shoes. Twice. I don't know if he's got a stomach virus or something just didn't sit right with him this morning, but nonetheless, he's home from school. He certainly seems to feel fine; he's stomping around in glee, looking for things to destroy, riding his little bike, singing songs and putting his germs all over Cal's toys.

The boys have been sick a lot the past month. All three of them. Nothing major, really: colds for everyone, croup all the way around, a very mild case of hand-foot-mouth for Evan, and now this. I really hate it when they're sick, not only because I don't like my children to be miserable, but also because I have to keep them home from school, and there goes my semi-alone time. I mean, Cal is always here, but he's pretty easy and takes good naps so I can get a lot of stuff done, and just spend some time sitting in silence: no whining, no wailing, no Sesame Street. But when either of the older two are here, they demand to be played with, and fed, and read to, and all of that. The nerve.

Well. I'm off to celebrate October by doing vomit laundry and sanitizing baby toys. Good times.

Updated at 2 PM to add:

It appears that this morning's, um, episode, was an isolated incident. Our boy seems to be back to his old self, thanks to a steady diet of crackers and television. He's in toddler Shangri-la over here, the little faker.

Down syndrome in the news

2008-09-30T12:43:00.002-05:00

Everywhere I go on the internet lately, there's an article about someone with Down syndrome. I guess it's a hot topic these days. If I weren't trying to stay out of the political fray, I might say something smarmy about Sarah Palin being good for SOMETHING, but since I'm trying not to rock the boat, I'll keep quiet. :)

Anyway, here's another good one:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/HEALTH/conditions/09/30/adult.down.syndrome/index.html

31 for 21!

2008-09-30T09:10:00.005-05:00

October is Down Syndrome Awareness month. Beginning tomorrow, for the next 31 days, I will be attempting to post every day. A lot of the time, these posts will be related to Down syndrome. Other times, they will be my typical whiny rantings that you all have come to know and love so much.

Thanks to Tricia, for giving us the proverbial kick in the rear!

Now what?

2008-09-22T13:34:00.001-05:00

Drum roll, please.......

We have a babysitter for Saturday night!!!! So what are we supposed to do now?

Fashion Crisis

2008-09-22T13:01:00.008-05:00

Earlier in the summer, my knees, hips and ankles started to hurt. A lot. So much so that I had trouble going up and down the stairs. After whining about it to my mom, she told me that she had read an article about how so many young people were developing orthopedic problems because of excessive flip-flop wearing. I guess that being pregnant three times in four years requires more extensive footwear support than a half-inch piece of rubber flapping around when you walk. So I begrudgingly retired my summer wardrobe of $3 Old Navy flops in a variety of colors and bought these:

Normally I'm not a huge Birkenstock fan...they're a little too crunchy and uncute for me. But these weren't so bad, and they were cheapish, and best of all my aches and pains disappeared within two weeks. Now that the weather is starting to change (and by that I mean it's 80 degrees instead of 95), I need some winter shoes that will keep my old bones from aching. I don't want Birk clogs. Ick. They look like big mushrooms on my feet. I thought about getting these, even though everybody and their sister wears them:

Anybody have these? Opinions? Are they completely hideous? Are they worth the money and the sacrifice of cuter, more interesting shoes?

And while I'm at it, I'm going to treat myself to these impractical, non-orthopedic Vans:

Just because I like 'em.

There goes the college fund.

2008-09-16T09:06:00.008-05:00

We have a hummingbird feeder outside our dining room windows. All summer long, we've been watching dozens of hummingbirds flying, feeding, and trying to kill each other. They're mean, and territorial, and will divebomb each other. Eli calls it "playing tag". Uh-huh. Right. A few weeks ago, we were all goofing around on the deck, when one particularly large hummingbird actually hit his moving target. We heard a thud, and there was a smaller bird laying (lying? shit, i can never get that right.) on the deck. It was twitching around on its side, and we assumed it had suffered a fatal blow. David went to touch it, maybe to move it to the bushes to live out its final moments, when it sat straight up. He picked it up, and handed it to Eli.

It started to buzz its wings a little, so we helped him put it down.

Then Evan decided to get in on the action, and he gave it a good poke.

That was enough to make the bird realize that life in the wild isn't quite as treacherous as hanging around with small children is, and it flew away.

I didn't know at the time, but apparently it is illegal to hold a hummingbird. Check out those fines. I guess Eli's already embarking on a life of crime. Still, it was a cool experience for the boys...a once in a lifetime kind of thing.

Watch!

2008-09-12T08:25:00.003-05:00

At almost 3-and-a-half, Eli has reached the showoff stage. You know, where he tries various contortions and daredevil moves to see either what he can accomplish or exactly how badly he can hurt himself. These attempts are always preceeded by the statement that can strike fear in the hearts of mamas everywhere: "Hey, Mom...watch this!"

It can also be kind of annoying, because if you don't look right at him in exactly 1/25 of a second, he begins a repetitive chorus of "watch! watch! watch!". And if you are in the middle of something, like say, changing diapers or the equally dangerous task of slicing melon with a very sharp, very large chef's knife, and look away from him for a split second, he'll demand "Watch, Mom! And don't move your face."

And this is only the beginning. I have a feeling I won't be moving my face for many, many years to come.

The OB girls hit the town

2008-09-11T11:19:00.002-05:00

I didn't bail on Beth and Brook last night like I thought I might. I went, I drank, I ran my mouth and had some great discussions with two very smart and compassionate women. Fun!

Our lively discussions were interrupted several times by an unattractive drunk loser at the end of the bar who apparently thinks that three women out together are in search of um, shall we say, male companionship? Hardly. Beth, who was sitting in the hot seat closest to the guy, nipped that in the bud by announcing to him that we were all married with kids and never got to go out so just wanted to be left alone to discuss all manner of topics including uteruses and in-vitro fertilization. That shut him up for a while.

The bartender knew what was going on, as this guy apparently does this sort of thing all the time, and Beth told her how she spurned his advances, tempting though they might have been. Imagine our hilarity, when presented with our bar tab, that the bartender had coined us the "OB girls"! Not sure if that refers to the physician or the feminine product, but I suppose it's appropriate in either case.

Impalin'

2008-09-11T08:24:00.001-05:00

Beth sent me a link to this blog. Just thought I'd share...there are some really great comments here.

http://womenagainstsarahpalin.blogspot.com/2008/09/introducing-sarah-palin.html

The habitual rescheduler strikes again

2008-09-10T06:50:00.008-05:00

I told you I did this all the time.

Today was intended to be another busy day...field trip to the aquatic center for Eli, school for Evan to which we MUST be on time unlike yesterday when he missed his early morning speech therapy, doctor's appointment for me (the one I rescheduled a few weeks ago), emergency grocery store trip, homework, class this afternoon, then meet Beth and her very cool sister-in-law for dinner/drinks afterwards.

But Eli got up at 5 with a horribly croupy barking cough. He went back to bed, but it was still bad at 7:00 when he got up again, so I called his school to say he wouldn't be coming today. He seems to feel fine, and is running around the house, but sounds awful. If this was last year, and I was still working, I'd have probably sent him to school (if they weren't spending the day at the pool, that is...). But since I'm home all day I feel like I should keep him here too. But tomorrow? His little butt is going to school.

So we did get Evan to school on time, and made it to the grocery store. But I cancelled my doctor's appointment at the last minute, because laying around in a pink paper robe with your feet up in stirrups is not really the thing you want to share with your three-year-old son. If you can help it. Three-year-olds ask FAR too many questions.

And I'll go to class, but I'm feeling a sore throat coming on so if it is in fact NOT in my head but a real ailment I may cancel my plans for tonight too, even though I'm really looking forward to getting out of the house and having an adult conversation. Which will probably revolve all around kids and husbands and housework, but at least it will be with people other than the kids and the husband.

This is clearly the most pointless post I've ever written. And I've written a lot of them.

How 'bout some pictures? Here's one of Larry, Moe, and Curly in their little red chairs. You decide who's who. And notice how Cal's legs are bigger around than either of his brothers'.

It's fun to paint in your underwear:

"Please, please, let the Democrats win."

Okay, let me just say this.

2008-09-05T09:51:00.003-05:00

An extra chromosome is not enough to make me vote Republican. In fact, there is nothing on earth that would make me vote Republican.

I like the idea of baby Trig slurping up his strained peas at the White House dinner table as much as the next guy. I like the idea of having one of the top dogs in the country being an advocate for people with disabilities everywhere. But what I do not like is mocking, mudslinging politicking that is going to do nothing except lead us down this same path of war, big oil, and climate change. I don't like John McCain, and I certainly don't like Sarah Palin, no matter how many chromosomes her kid has. Thanks but no thanks.

I also didn't think that the first five minutes of her speech at the convention was the most appropriate place to appeal to families of people with special needs. At first I thought she wasn't going to mention that at all, which I thought was cool. Just treat the baby like a baby, you know? But then she did, and it was so blatantly aimed at recruiting the special needs vote, it made me nauseous. She also failed to use person-first language. But whatever.

And another thing. I think it's possible for women to work AND be great moms. I really do. It wasn't working for me, so much, but I think that if a woman wants it enough, she can do it. But to take on something like the freaking Vice-Presidency of the United States, and all the campaigning and travelling and all of that, when your baby (special needs or not) is 4-months-old? Shit. My kid is almost 7 months and I'm still having trouble getting to the grocery store. I just can't understand why you'd want to do something like that. But, I'm lazy and without ambition, so I guess I just can't relate.

Back in the saddle

2008-09-05T09:30:00.003-05:00

I have just spent a week without the internet. And phone, too, but that's not such a problem. But to be unable to get online? Holy crap. It's been HARD.

So after a week of being on hold with AT&T's repair department, two different service technicians, several feet of corroded and cut wire, and about one billion blog posts that are now lost forever in the vast wasteland that is my brain (not to mention all this crazy Palin business), I think I'm back in action. The boys and I are headed out of town this weekend so David can commence Phase II of FPH in peace. Stay tuned...I'll be back next week, and can't wait to catch up with all of you.

Things that are consuming my time and my brain.

2008-08-27T10:32:00.003-05:00

Watching the democratic convention. Even though it's on too late, and I should be in bed, and they don't have to convince me to vote Obama, I still can't stop watching it. On more than one occasion, I've gotten all teary during those speeches. When I'm not getting irritated at the stupid boring commentators. Shut up already!

Organizing my house. It's very, very time-consuming. And very, very necessary. If I'm not doing it, I'm thinking about doing it. I'm also sucking at it.

Finding a place to put the phone book. Does anyone even keep these anymore? They're so bulky and archaic. You can look everything up online. But what if the power goes out, and I need to call a plumber, or the hairdresser, or Home Depot?

Obsessing over the fact that my two-year-old and my six-month-old are now wearing the same size diapers.

Wishing the salad/hot food bars at Whole Foods were set up daily in my kitchen. Wondering how I can achieve that.

Rescheduling appointments.

Plucking my eyebrows. Staring blankly at my chipped toenail polish and getting depressed because I feel like I'm never going to have time to redo it.

Wishing I was NOT in school. Wanting to do n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Avoiding the boys' sock drawers, which are full of mismatched and outgrown socks. And the giant box of orphaned socks that is taunting me from the corner of their dresser. I'm coming very close to throwing away every kid sock in the house and starting over. Seriously. There must be a better method of sock management. Any ideas?

Fiasco. And Miss Clairol.

2008-08-27T09:44:00.004-05:00

Over the past few years, I've had a few gray hairs pop out. Not too many at once, just a random strand here and there. Last night I noticed at least ten. I'm not ready for this.

Evan's speech therapist, who I am very fond of, just emailed me to tell me all about the evaluation she just did on him at school. She used a standardized test for the first time on him, rather than the checklist of skills everyone always uses. He shows a four month delay in speech/communication, which is in the low average range for his age. She is very excited about this, and I am too. It's great, and it was nice of her to let me know so quickly. Here's the thing, though: at the end of her email, she wrote all about how life at our house must sometimes be crazy, how three kids can really be a lot to handle (she has 3 herself, now grown), but that we must be doing something right. Then, she told me to hang in there, I'm doing great.

People tell me this a lot. "Hang in there". What does that mean, exactly? And why do people feel the need to say that to me all the time? Do I look particularly frazzled? Do I appear or act grumpy? I don't really think so; I try to be friendly and cheery when I take the boys into their respective schools in the morning. Maybe I need more coffee. Maybe I should start wearing makeup every day. Or, quite possibly, it's those ten damn gray hairs. Where the hell are my tweezers?

Yesterday was the first day of fall classes for me. It was the first day our new babysitter was coming to stay with the boys. It was also open house/parent orientation/pizza night at Eli's school. We were really looking forward to going; seeing Eli with his friends, meeting their parents, listening to the teachers talk about the Montessori program, getting a free dinner. Lots of stuff going on yesterday. Days of preparation had led up to yesterday: communication with my professor because I was going to have to leave class early to get to Eli's school on time, getting everything ready for the sitter, which of course included cleaning the house to make it, if not presentable, at least not completely disgusting and scary, getting bottles ready for Cal, packing a bag with all the things we'd need to take two little boys and one giant baby in public at dinnertime, going downtown to switch cars so David could get the kids after work, him rescheduling a meeting so he'd have time to come home, relieve the sitter, get the boys and meet me at the school. I worked my ass off yesterday. It was all falling into place; I got all the cleaning and preparation done, the sitter was here, and David was headed home in time to pick up the kids. Then, while flying down I-85 (one of the most dangerous interstates in the country, mind you) in the most torrential downpour we've seen in months, if not years, the damn truck just stops working. Just stops working, right there on the interstate, in the freaking rain. First the wipers went out (not exactly a non-essential part of the vehicle in a downpour. and did I say I was on one of the most dangerous interstates in the country?). Then all these lights on the dashboard came on. I think the engine was off too, but I was going down a hill and the rain was very loud, so it was hard to tell. The radio was still on, though, which IS important. And useful in times like these.

And naturally, I was almost to my exit. I mean, I could see the exit sign. Or, rather, I would have seen it. Did I mention this was in the middle of a horrible thunderstorm with wind and blinding rain?

I wasn't going to make it up the hill to the exit. Also, I couldn't see. So I pulled over, hands gripping the wheel, muttering "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" a million times to the only working thing in the truck: the radio. There was barely enough shoulder on the road to fit the truck in, and I was about five inches from the guardrail. Luckily, luckily, my phone was charged and working. If you know me, or ever try to call me, you know that this is not always the case.

So I called David, who by this time is two minutes from our house, ready to get the boys so we could get to the open house and our brand new wonderful babysitter, who I don't want to piss off and who I can't afford to lose, can get to a meeting on time. I was panicking because 18-wheelers are flying past me, a foot away from my door, at 65 miles an hour in the damn rain. There's nowhere for me to go if I got out of the car, other than hoofing it up to the exit. Did I mention all the rain? I'm wailing at him to come get me, come get me. He tells me to call AAA and he'll be there as soon as he can.

So I call AAA, and they tell me it will be an hour, and that I need to wait with the vehicle. Clearly, they are crazy or have never travelled on I-85.

This story is getting long and boring. I'll wrap it up: a SCDOT guy showed up and pushed the truck to the exit (I realized something the hard way during this whole thing...did you know the key must be in the ignition to put a car in neutral? Hopefully I knew that already; I was just not in my right mind. Embarrassing!). David showed up, and he waited for the tow truck while I sped home to relieve the babysitter who is now going to be late for her 7:00 meeting. Of course, there's no gas in the Volvo so I had to do that too. I get home and the sitter has fed the boys some leftovers and they are happy but Cal is now wailing because he's hungry and tired; the sitter runs out the door while I'm shouting to her how sorry I am and please, please come back on Thursday. If she does, I'll be surprised. Although I did stock the fridge with diet Cokes for her, so maybe that will be enough to convince her to give us another chance. When I was in college, it would have worked for me.

As we sat with the boys in their room last night, getting them ready for bed, I felt so depressed and let down. Also, I was starving. I really wanted to go to that open house. And I felt like all the work and preparation I did yesterday was for nothing. My efforts were futile. All the planning in the world can't help you if you've got a bum alternator in your truck. At least, I hope that's all that's wrong with it.

So, onto more important matters: what do I do about this gray? Should I color it? I hate to get started with all of that, because then it's maintenance for the rest of your life, you know? But, if I hear one more person tell me to "hang in there", I might have more serious problems than a few gray hairs.

Copout

2008-08-22T12:42:00.004-05:00

Lately I have felt like doing nothing. NOTHING. I can't get motivated or excited about anything. I don't know if it's the end of summer ickiness, or lack of good sleep, or just general burnout. But I just feel lazy. Sometimes I'm too lazy to even make myself lunch. It just seems like so much work, and for what? So I can choke down half a pb&j before some kid is demanding to be fed or entertained? Eh. What's the point? It's just one more dish to wash.

I guess I've always been this way. I'm not a joiner. I don't like to have obligations. I don't like for there to be things that I have to do. Even if it's something fun, I have this sense of dread in the time leading up to the event, like there's something hanging over my head that must be dealt with, and if it would only go away, I could get back to my hermit-like existence.

I am also a habitual rescheduler. I'm really good at taking care of things like making doctor's appointments, or arranging for things Evan might need to do, because it makes me feel like I'm in control; like I'm taking care of business. But then, like Cate, I'll look at the calendar and see that there might be more than one appointment per week encroaching on my free time, and I start to get all anxious. I spend quite a lot of time on the phone, poring over my calendar, rescheduling things to make sure I'm not overobligating myself. This week alone I rescheduled Cal's 6-month well check, my annual gynecologist visit, and a lunch date (sorry, Hillary...that one was a legitimate schedule conflict!). I've rescheduled Evan's hearing test more times than I can count. I wouldn't have done that if the child didn't wake up every time you breathe a little too heavy outside his bedroom door...not concerned about his hearing one bit.

At my old job, I procrastinated meetings, appointments, photo shoots, everything. Just because I like to look at my calendar and see lots of open space. Lots of white. It makes it seem like the possibilities are endless, even though I wouldn't actively seek out any possibility at all.

I had originally signed up for three classes in the fall. But as the semester approaches, I began getting sweaty palms about all of that commitment, all of that having to be somewhere at a certain time. All of that schoolwork. So I dropped one of them, even though it's a required class and also one that I have to complete before I can move to the next level of the program. But it requires a pretty hefty practicum in a school, and what would I do with Cal all that time, and how would I get all my work done? So I made the trek up to the registrar's office (because the college is so bass-ackwards that you can't do anything over the phone, fax or internet...you have to load yourself and your giant 6-month old into your aging Volvo to drive the 80-mile round trip to the damn registrar's office, and don't even get me started on the fact that there are no ramps OR elevators in the freaking building, so screw you if you need to get to the second floor and you're in a wheelchair or pushing a stroller with the aforementioned giant baby in it) and dropped the stupid class. Then I sat outside and practiced my deep breathing, feeling every muscle in my body relax now that I got that monkey off my back.

I don't know what all of this says about me. Passive-aggressive? Fear of commitment? Slackass? Most likely a combination of all of the above. I guess I feel like I never have any time just for me, and I get stingy with it.

Welcome to PMS Central

2008-08-14T07:55:00.003-05:00

Is there any creature more emotional than a 2- or 3-year-old boy? I think not.

I don't know what's up with the two of them lately. It's like their little lives are fraught with emotional crises, one right after the other. And they handle them completely differently. Eli whines and sobs and manipulates and catastrophizes. Evan just plain gets pissed.

Evan woke up grumpy this morning and proceeded to have a full-fledged screaming, flailing, snot-nosed tantrum two minutes later. Why? Who knows? He was hungry, his teeth hurt, his room was too cold, the price of groceries has skyrocketed, George Bush is STILL in office. I left him out in the loft, went back in my room and shut the door. When his little fit had run its course, I took him downstairs, gave him a book, some orange juice, and turned on Signing Time. The kid was happy as a clam.

Then Eli got up. He seemed fine but soon he turned on me, too. He remembered that his class is taking a field trip to the skating rink this morning, and even though yesterday he wanted to go, this morning it was like I was telling him to walk the plank. He wouldn't pick out anything for breakfast, wouldn't answer yes or no to the choices I gave him. So I left him wailing on the couch while I fed Evan. Finally he said he wanted me to pick his cereal, so I did, and he sat at his little table in the sunroom to eat it. In the meantime he's still crying, and saying he's tired, and we don't like him because we're not sitting next to him, and he doesn't like yogurt and granola and he doesn't like the video I put on and he doesn't like Evan. He doesn't want to brush his teeth or go potty and his shoes are too tight. I'm running around trying to get his school things together and get Evan dressed and give poor Cal the time of day and wishing I were anywhere in the world but here, and Eli's sitting there crying like a jilted teenager on prom night.

My nerves seriously can't take it. Many times I just have to walk away from them. If I don't, I get annoyed and mad and talk to them on a level WAY above their comprehension about how good they've got it and they really have nothing to complain about so what's their problem anyway? Cal is definitely my favorite right now. Babies are easy. They fuss so you feed them or change their diaper or take a walk outside and everything is fine. But these emotional breakdowns? I don't know how to handle my own, let alone theirs.

I never get to go anywhere.

2008-08-13T12:55:00.002-05:00

But this guy did. If you want to live vicariously, watch this:

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Quiet time.

2008-08-13T12:28:00.002-05:00

I'm still here. I haven't run off to some tropical island, or gotten a full-time job, or cancelled our internet service. Nothing drastic. Just feeling quiet, nothing much to say about anything, nothing new or exciting happening. It's kind of nice.

I've been making a concerted effort to not have Laptop on all day, like I usually do. When it's on, it's too easy to stop by and read a few blogs, obsessively check email, or read the news. I have two more weeks before the fall semester starts, and there's a lot to do around the house. Since phase 1 of FPH (the floor installation) has been completed, I've been on an organizing/home decorating kick. Phase 2 (base trim and stairs) will commence soon, and life will once again be in utter disarray. So I've been trying to stay off the computer and actually do things like laundry and housecleaning and putting things away. What a novelty.

Oh, we did interview a babysitter candidate last weekend, and she's great. Awesome references, tons of experience, and is a college student who lives on campus, less than 5 minutes from here. She didn't bat an eye at the Down syndrome thing, and all 3 boys took to her right away. I think we'll have her come over a lot, not only during my class, but on the weekends too, so the grownups can have some kid-free time. 'Cause we need it. And we're totally made of money, you know.

Evan goes back to school next week, and while I have enjoyed some one-on-one time with him (while Eli's at school and Callum naps), I am definitely ready for him to go. He can be totally clingy which is sometimes flattering but mostly really, really annoying. He loves his mama. Until Daddy comes home, that is.

Blah. I'm completely boring. Off with you, Laptop.

A good afternoon

2008-08-07T14:54:00.004-05:00

All three boys are asleep.

I got to take a shower.

It's starting to rain.

And I'm sitting at the computer, sipping on an iced mocha, blissfully ignoring the piles of laundry waiting to be folded.

Blogger's being a pain in the ass, but I guess you can't have everything.

It's a good afternoon indeed. Hope you all are having the same.

Leatherhead

2008-08-06T21:18:00.004-05:00

Okay, I know some of you mamas out there must have babies that are as crusty as mine. Sweet Callum is the most sensitive baby I know, and that includes his skin. Anything I wash him with leaves him red and scaly and paper-dry. He gets heat rash in about 2 minutes if we go outside. I used some Dr. Bronner's baby soap on him the other day, and it looked like he'd been scrubbed with drain cleaner.

What kind of baby wash or soap, and lotion too, do you use on your kids? I want to go as chemical-free as possible. Help!

Should I be worried?

2008-08-06T13:05:00.004-05:00

My formerly exceptionally verbal 3-year-old is apparently experiencing a regression of sorts. Currently, his vocabulary consists mainly of the following (very useful!) phrases:

1. I can't.
2. I don't know.
3. Pass gas.

and, if he's feeling particularly expressive:

4. Poo-poo ________ (insert noun of your choosing. for example: Mommy, Callum, bicycle, refrigerator, Bunny Foo-Foo)

Eli rides in the middle seat of the Volvo, because he's the only one who can crawl in there by himself. On the way home from school today, he took turns getting in Cal's and Evan's faces, exclaiming "Pass gas! Pass gas!" to which they were both giggling their heads off. I'm driving, trying to keep the car on the road and my hysterics to myself. I don't want to encourage him, you know? But damn, sometimes even dull old Mom thinks it's funny.

Sheesh, Mom. What's your problem?

2008-08-05T13:40:00.003-05:00

Why is it that when I take really cute pictures of my kids, there's always a bunch of crap in the background? What does that say about my life? And my photography skills?

Grounded

2008-08-05T11:23:00.004-05:00

I try to do a simple art project with the boys regularly; if not every day, then at least several times a week. It can range from just drawing with markers or crayons, to painting, or making prints, or collage.

Yesterday I got out the easel and the tempera paints. When it was Eli's turn, he chose his colors carefully, making deliberate strokes on the paper. He talked all about how he was making a mountain. Then he painted a very straight horizontal line across the bottom of the page, and said "This is where you start. It's the bottom." I sat straight up, because this is a pretty big deal in the developmental stages of children's art: the construction of a baseline. He went on to explain that it was the ground, and then you started climbing up the mountain he had painted. It's a cool painting, and now it's hanging on the art wire we have strung up in the sunroom.

I just looked up some information on drawing baselines. It's not usually evident until age 7 or so. I'm pretty impressed with that boy.

Here's a link to developmental stages of art for kids, if you're interested:
http://www.users.totalise.co.uk/~kbroom/Lectures/children.htm

The exceptional learner

2008-08-04T12:07:00.003-05:00

I finished my class last Friday. Intro to the Exceptional Learner. I got an A. Not an A-. An A- would have really pissed me off, 'cause I'm a nerd like that. I like school. And I want to maintain my 4.0 status until I graduate.

The class was a real learning experience for me; some good things, some bad. I've been the parent of a child with so-called special needs for two years now. I've never had any other perspective than that. Now I've gotten an eye- and earful of what it might be like to be the teacher of a child with some type of disability, or diagnosis, or different learning style, or whatever you want to call it. I've seen some very supportive viewpoints, and others that were nothing but discriminatory. I have a good idea of what it's going to be like to advocate for my child's inclusion in a regular public school class. I should probably start saving for the lawyer now.

The book we used in class sucked. It was divided into chapters based on types of disability: autism, emotional disabilities, learning disabilities, and the really PC chapter on mental retardation. And others. In the beginning of every chapter, there's a human interest story about a student with whatever disability they're discussing. The profiles were terribly written, sappy, and barely scratched the surface of what that disability might be like and how it would affect a student. They all had "happy" endings; a section called "Looking to the Future", where the textbook authors speculated on what life might be like for the profiled student as an adult, and how they would all go on to great things. Relatively speaking, that is.

The "mental retardation" chapter discussed a girl named Erika, who had been born prematurely, deprived of oxygen, etc. The chapter went on to show pictures of Erika going about her day, taking her home economics or life skills classes or whatever they are. Here's Erika doing laundry. Here's Erika sitting in the corner. One showed her in the gym, sitting at a table with a cleaning rag, grinning her head off; the caption read "At school, Erika contributes by helping keep exercise mats clean."

Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not planning to send my child to school so he can learn to wipe tables or wash jock straps. If he needs to know how to do laundry, he can learn that at home. He is not going to spend his day "earning his keep"; working off the extra dollars the county's going to spend on his "special education". The school district thinks he doesn't need to learn math or science or how to write an essay. They think his time is better spent learning to clean up or order a cheeseburger or ride the bus; or, if he's really advanced, how to balance a checkbook. These people are effing crazy. His dad and I will teach him these things, just like we'll teach them to his brothers. He is going to school to learn academics, whether they like it or not. He may not take physics or calculus, and so good for him. He won't need it; not many of us do. But he is going to learn to read and write and add and subtract. He is going to learn about biology and the environment and the Constitution. He may need accommodations; he may need extra help. But he deserves that.

The professor was talking about this Life Skills program or whatever it is that the school district here has, and how it needs to be community-based because in theory, people with mental retardation can't generalize: they can't learn something in one place and transfer those concepts to another place. Like, my kid's teacher would actually take him to McDonald's to learn how to mop floors or clean tables instead of doing it at school. Over. my. dead. body.

I don't mean to be bitchy or snotty. I'm sure that wiping tables at a fast food restaurant is a fine job for some people. Some people might really enjoy it. I know my son will have a job someday. I know he's not going to be a doctor or a CEO or mayor of freaking Greenville. I am fine with that. But I can't be happy about him being pigeonholed into becoming a greeter at Wal-mart just because he's got an extra chromosome. I am NOT okay with that. He may need a job that's simple; that's repetitious. He may need something that's not fast-paced. But why can't he do something more meaningful than wiping up honey mustard sauce? He will be capable of more than that. He loves animals. He loves to be outside. Why can't he work at the Humane Society? Why can't he work in an organic garden? An assistant at a preschool? An artist? There are fifty million jobs he could do that would nourish his soul. That would strengthen his body. That would challenge his mind. And he isn't going to find that at fucking McDonald's.

Size still matters.

2008-07-27T09:13:00.002-05:00

So I was all worked up about Evan being on the small side, and now I've got a 5-month-old Callum in size 12-month pajamas. We're all about the extremes over here.

Relieved. Not that I was worried or anything.

2008-07-25T21:59:00.003-05:00

Evan had his 2-year well-check this afternoon. His doctor is so pleased with him, which is always nice to hear. Evan was also remarkably charming to everyone there, which lately is a crapshoot with him. Sometimes he's great; other times he's a big old brat. Yes, I said it.

Anyway, he's growing well...25-50% on the typical growth chart for height and head. 5-10% for weight; that's up a few points from last time. Heart sounds good, ears look good, everything's good. He was all caught up on his shots, so all they had to do was the finger stick for hemoglobin.

Our doctor doesn't do much in the way of routine testing for children with Down syndrome. He knows what to look for and all of that, but doesn't generally see the need for bunches of tests if the child is healthy. I'm on board with that. But still, in the back of my mind, I'm always a little bit worried about things, even though there's no real reason to be.

So they're getting ready to do the finger stick, and doc says, "Since we're already sticking him, let's just go ahead and do a CBC. That will check for any abnormalities in the blood." What he means is leukemia, but he doesn't want to say that. I'm surprised but I agree, and they do the thing, and we sit there and wait for the results, since they test it in-house. Doc comes back in and says all the numbers look great, and that Evan also has excellent hemoglobin, whatever that means. So I say great, awesome, in the back of my mind I'm always worried about leukemia. And doc says what he always says, relax, relax. Even though kids with Down syndrome have increased risk for leukemia, the chances of acquiring it are still really, really, really small. And I know all of this, but it still lurks in my brain, that what-if. So even though I wasn't going to push for the test (because I like my head where it is: sticking in the sand), I'm really, really glad he did it.

And. Not to brag, but I'm impressed with myself for taking all three kids to this appointment by myself, not forgetting anything, being on time (early, even!), with no temper tantrums, spit-up, or potty accidents. Yay me!

I'm not ignoring you

2008-07-25T11:42:00.002-05:00

This class I'm taking is kicking the proverbial rear-end. It's not difficult, but it's just so time-compressed since it's a three-week summer term, and there's so much work. Add to that the logistics of getting up in the morning, feeding the baby, hauling him (and Evan, too, on Wednesdays) 15 minutes to Beth's, driving another 45 minutes to the college, and arriving promptly in my seat by 8 AM. Every day of the week. I don't get back home until noon or so, then I'm hooked up to the breast pump for a few minutes before I run get Eli from school at 1. Somewhere in there, I try to pee and eat lunch. I'm worn out.

I have approximately 51 blog posts running around in my head, but no time to get them out. If I'm lucky I'll remember 2 of them.

So I'm not trying to break up with you or anything. I'll be back to my slacker-internet-surfing self after next week. To tide you over until then, here are a few highlights of late:

Cal has started solids...rice cereal and squash. He loved it for two days, then didn't want it. We'll wait a few days and try again.
Evan has gone potty several times...#1 AND #2. He seems pretty proud of himself. I think it was just good timing on David's part; the few times he's put Evan on the potty, he's gone. Lucky.
I also think Evan has learned a few colors: blue, red, green, yellow. He can say an approximation of the word and usually gets it right when you ask him what color an object is.
I got a 95 on my midterm. That would be an A minus. Not happy about an A minus. David says I'm a nerd.
Eli had a good week with his grandmother, aunt, uncle, and cousin. He got to do lots of fun things, and is having a hard time readjusting to life in the real world with boring old mom and dad.
Evan has his 2-week well check this afternoon. I'm taking all the kids. That should be fun.
We got a new refrigerator. Went to the mall for new sneakers for Eli, but came out of Sears with a new refrigerator. Well, not literally. We had it delivered. :)

Have a great weekend!

Hey, internets...advice please!

2008-07-18T14:52:00.003-05:00

This fall semester, I have a 4 PM class on T/Th, for which I'll need to leave the house by about 2:45 or so. Obviously, David can't leave work that early all the time, so I have to find a babysitter. I've posted a job ad on the Furman job board, and am starting to get calls/emails from interested parties. They know that I have three boys, and their ages. But they don't know about Evan's Down syndrome.

My question is: when (if ever) do I tell them? When I call them for the first time? When they come to interview/meet the boys? After they start working? Never? I'm not sure what to do, because it's really not relevant to the job responsibility, but it is, kind of, in a way. Maybe. As you can see, I'm lost. Tell me what to do!

Go. Read this.

2008-07-16T13:07:00.000-05:00

http://ftp.disabilityisnatural.com/documents/SpNeed.pdf

Faith in humanity. And in Superwoman.

2008-07-16T12:21:00.004-05:00

Elizabeth was right. Educating Peter got much better. We watched the rest of it today in class, and as the school year went on, Peter's social skills and participation in class greatly improved. The teacher was supportive and encouraging while also challenging Peter, and his classmates eagerly helped him when he needed it, but more importantly, became his friend, and learned a lot in the process.

We had another discussion afterwards, but my classmates didn't have as much to say today. I guess they were a little afraid of offending the crazy scary special needs mama in the second row. :) They did agree that it seemed like a valuable experience for everyone involved, and my professor stressed the importance of early intervention and inclusion from the earliest age possible. It all made sense to me.

Two of my classmates, who are in my little group doing a clinical in a special ed classroom together, are super nice. Neither one has young children (one has grown children and the other is expecting a baby in the fall) so they are both willing to let my crazy insane childcare schedule determine when we go to the school to do our project. They also took it upon themselves to do all the preliminary work; I guess because they've got the time and probably also feel slightly sorry for me, having all these kids AND living an hour away from the college. I'd be happy if either one of them taught my kids someday...nice, nice people.

And, then there's my friend Beth, who I am referring to from now on as Superwoman. She is keeping Cal three days a week while I go to this class, and Evan too on Wednesdays because he doesn't go to school those days. So today I showed up at her house, bright and early at 7 freaking A.M., toddler on one hip, two backpacks in my hand, and lugging that giant plastic baby bucket carseat with my giant baby in it. And Beth is up, and dressed, and her sweet kids are on the couch sipping milk, and she's in the kitchen whipping up homemade pancakes for everyone. I dump the kids and run, because I still have a 45-minute drive ahead of me. When I pick them up late in the morning, Evan is playing with her little girl, Beth is holding Cal, and she's in the kitchen, cool as a cucumber, cooking some kind of awesome-smelling lunch with vegetables and stuff! I mean, I can barely get a pb&j made...what am I doing wrong? She had made some crazy awesome-looking vegetable patties that Evan had for a morning snack...on a good day he gets yogurt at our house, but it's usually more like goldfish crackers or something lame like that. Anyway, she has earned her new nickname and I am amazed by all that she does! Though, clearly she is insane for offering to keep my kids for close to three weeks when I'm sure she has MUCH better things to do. Thanks, Beth!

And my sweet mama, who is driving 2 hours every Sunday night to our house, so that she can keep all the boys while I go to class on Mondays. She took Eli back home with her this week because his school is on vacation, so he's living high on the hog at grandma's right now. And we are benefitting from a little less rowdiness around the house. That kid can stir up some trouble.

So today, I have hope. That there are still good, decent people in the world that will lend a hand when you need it. That people will support and encourage my children, and look upon being part of their lives as a GOOD thing, not something to protest and fear.

The icing on the cake

2008-07-15T14:25:00.002-05:00

An addendum to that last post:

As the professor was wrapping up the discussion today, she just had to go and start talking ad nauseum about how "Down syndrome kids" are just the sweetest EVER, and how her friend has an 18-year-old daughter with DS who is just always sooooo happy. This, after she spent ten minutes yesterday telling us all about person-first language. And during the school year she is a special education teacher in the public schools!

I might seriously pull my hair out before I graduate.

Defensive

2008-07-15T11:22:00.004-05:00

My first summer class (the music class...remember the horror?) has ended, and my second one began yesterday. It's a class on special education called Introduction to the Exceptional Learner. I have both been looking forward to it and dreading it.

Today, the second day, we began watching the movie Educating Peter. Have any of you seen it? It's over fifteen years old, so a little dated, but what I've seen so far has been interesting. To say the least. We only watched the first 20 minutes today, and will continue it tomorrow. The professor intentionally didn't give us any background on Peter before we watched it, only that he has Down syndrome. The movie chronicles his inclusion in a third grade classroom. When he first arrives, he exhibits pretty drastic behavior problems. He yells unintelligibly in class. He rolls around on the floor. He wrestles chairs. He hits and pushes other children. He basically has no social skills whatsoever, and his speech is not understandable for the most part.

So we're all sitting there watching this, and I am immediately horrified. To see this kid with Down syndrome, trying to get along in a classroom, and failing miserably. To watch the reactions of my classmates, some in disbelief, others laughing when Peter does things like licking the camera, or cracking two boys' heads together. To realize that, even though I had ultimately decided NOT to say anything about having a child with special needs to the class, I was going to have to say something. Something, anything, to defend my own child and his right to an education in the least restrictive environment.

The professor stopped the video and asked us what we thought. She asked us how we would feel if we were the teacher. And how we would feel if we were Peter's mother. Or the mother of another child in the class. People started spouting off about how inclusion doesn't work, how it's too hard for the teacher, how it takes time away from the other students. How some kids with special needs need to be isolated in self-contained classrooms. How kids could be so mean to kids they can see are different. And I could feel my blood start to boil, though in a way I could see their point, because Peter was definitely a challenge. But these people are teachers, or are aspiring to be teachers, and they already have negative attitudes toward inclusion and diversity in the classroom. They are also parents; parents who would protest if their kid had to sit next to mine at school. I was hit with the realization that no one wants my child in their classroom, even though they have never met him or know anything about him. Not the teacher, not the students, and not their parents. I seriously started to shake with anger. And sadness.

Before I could even think straight, I heard myself start to explain how I didn't think that this was an accurate representation of a child with Down syndrome; how there seemed to be other factors at work here: how Peter had probably never been around typical peer models, so he had few social skills. How he may have never been corrected for his poor behavior. How he may have had an emotional disorder or something else that resulted in his inappropriate actions. And how I have a child with Down syndrome; a child that is bright and funny and engaged in his environment, and how, even though he is very young, we hope for him to be included, when the time is right, in a setting with his typical peers, so that he can benefit from modeling and social interaction.

So as I wrapped it all up, trying very hard not to get emotional (and probably failing miserably), the professor confirmed my suspicions; that Peter had never been in a regular education environment before; that he had spent years attending school at a facility for children with severe disabilities, who were mostly nonverbal. She was telling us how important it is that, as an educator, you take into account a student's history. Then class was over so she excused us, and I went to the car and cried.

I mean, am I fooling myself here? Am I going to have to keep my son isolated from typical kids? Am I going to have to fight tooth and nail for him to get the same treatment as everyone else? It's all well and good, now, because he's only two, and we generally only move in very supportive circles, I guess. I haven't come across such blatant discrimination yet. Am I fooling myself to believe that he will be able to function in a classroom? That he will know how to behave, and interact with others, and try to do his work? That he won't be rolling around on the floor during a math lesson? That he won't be screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason? At age two, he does throw things around, and yell, and pull hair, but I've been chalking that up to toddlerness more than anything. Am I living in a bubble or what?

Milestone

2008-07-10T15:31:00.003-05:00

Today I was changing Cal's diaper, and he reached down, grabbed his foot, and stuck it in his mouth. A first for him! And so very cute.

And right after that, he reached down again, grabbed a big fistful of, um, how shall I say it? The family jewels, I guess. Thus embarking on that grand male tradition known as the crotch grab. I'm just glad he didn't try to get THOSE in his mouth.

Hope springs eternal

2008-07-09T12:24:00.002-05:00

In the car on the way home from school today:

Mom: Eli, who were you sitting next to at lunch just now? Was that Stefan? (his new little friend he talks about all the time.)

Eli: Yeah!

Mom: What were you talking about during lunch?

Eli: Poo-poo. (laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.) Pew!

Mom: Poo-poo, really? Can't you guys think of anything more interesting than that to talk about?

Eli: Hmmm....nope. Maybe tomorrow?

Size Matters

2008-07-08T11:11:00.003-05:00

Last week I had taken Evan to the endocrinologist for a recheck. He had (very slightly) high TSH levels back in December, so they wanted to check him again after he turned two. The doctor just called with the lab results...normal levels! So we've dodged that bullet, at least until next year. Doc says kids with DS (well, he says "kids like Evan" but we all know how I feel about that) need to have their thyroid checked annually.

Doc had been very impressed with how much Evan had grown since December...over three pounds and something like two inches in height. He's still smallish, mostly in weight: 3% on the typical chart and 50% on the DS chart; in the 25-50% for height on the typical one and 75% for DS.

He's 24 lbs. and 31 inches tall. He just grew into a size 5 shoe, although there's plenty of room in them. He wears anywhere from size 18 months to a 2T. He can even still fit in some 12 months size shorts, but if they were pants they'd be too short. He's got no waist or butt to speak of. (Yet something else he gets from his dad, not from me.)

I don't know why I have issues with his size, but sometimes I seriously agonize over how small he is, mostly when I'm buying clothes for him. And he's really NOT that small, but Eli and Cal are both wearing sizes way ahead of their ages so I guess it's all in my skewed perspective. It will probably only be six more months and Evan and Cal will be in the same size. There's only a 7 pound difference between them now. Evan just grows very, very slowly (uh, the past six months notwithstanding) and so I guess, like everything with him, I silently urge him to hurry up, hurry up, grow. Hurry up, walk. Hurry up, feed yourself. Hurry up, please start talking. All of this is my own deal, my own problem, my own personal bullshit that I need to just get over, already. My son is doing freaking awesome, especially considering the challenges he's faced, the early birth, the heart surgery and the extra chromosome. Why are there times when I just can't remember that? Why do I care that he's 2 and still wearing 12-month size shorts? It matters NOT AT ALL. So what the hell is my problem?