Let's just cut to the chase. Here's some biggies that happened in the last year:
1. The Hubs has a job. Thank God, right?? It's been over a year since I last posted. He did end up impressing the competition and went full time. Every time I hear his truck fire up I seriously say a little thank you prayer because I just love his company so much.
2. Max has Autism. Yes uh-huh. That's what it is. That thing I've wondered about for years, but people have always brushed it off and shut me down about it. Diagnosed. Yep, Autism.
3. Guess who's going to have another baby. Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Jesus.
4. Third grade is the first time you have to cumulatively test your homeschool kid here in Georgia. Then every third year after that. Coop tested at the highschool level in a lot of the subjects he was tested in. I had to get that brag in. Now I shall leave it alone. But after I say, HEY THIS HOMESCHOOL THING MAY BE WORKING.
So there it is. Let us start fresh, shall we. None of those back-em-up-and-explain-what-we're-up-to ridiculously long posts. That's it in a nutshell: Autism, pregnancy, homeschool. That pretty much sums it up.
See you soon.
No, for reals though.
Showing posts with label Gods sick sense of humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gods sick sense of humor. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 02, 2014
Monday, August 20, 2012
Fuck You, Last Week.
I really hope that title was subtle enough.
This entry will present itself as one of those letters you're told to write to a dead friend. Or mayhaps a letter a psychiatrist tells their crazy patient to write and then burn. Either way... it'll help me feel better. Better than a lot of other responses I could have presented. Better than being imprisoned for blowing something up or running down the street waving my arms and screaming obscenities. Maybe you'll get a giggle.
Last Monday was the Hubs birthday. *My* birthday was pretty awesome 2 weeks before. Not because our babysitter decided to go party and cut us short, and a friend of mine was a no-show, but because the Hubs somehow managed to present me with a Kindle Fire. We're pretty old fashioned up in this hizzy so this thing has been treated like the brand new Nintendo our family got circa...uh... 1990?? It hardly ever gets put down. I am in love. And I've managed to still regularly go to the library, so I still stand on my soapbox.
Anyway... point: my birthday was good. I wish his had just been bad at least... or maybe a little sucky. I myself began this day with a 'Bad Max Day'. Insane behavior all over the place. The kind that makes you call the school system you've been dealing with SINCE EARLY MAY and quite nearly spurt out, "WHAT THE HELL?" literally. I instead gently reminded this waste-of-oxygen of a woman that we had seen the system's psychologist a month ago. She giggled. The woman fucking giggled that my son's paperwork with the psych had been lost, in fact, never evaluated and whoopsy... they had done it again. This is where I considered driving to her place of employment, calmly punching her in the nose, and getting back in my car. Instead I flatly said, "This is my number. Straighten this out. Set up the IEP meeting" and hung up.
Meanwhile, at work, the Hubs apparently was taking a psychological beating. He had an interview for a promotion weeks ago and was waiting to hear what was decided. Managers and co-workers had congratulated him ahead of time. Hearing through the grapevine he had gotten it, assuming really. It was not going to be major, but rather a landmark for our family. A place where we were growing. Hope that things are always getting better. He came home bleary eyed. I asked him what was wrong and he promptly went to puke. On his birthday the company told him he should just stay at his position at his meager pay. He's simply too 'good' to move up. They need him right where he is. You are awesome. Please except this lack o'raise. Thank you. This made me incredibly sad. Hopes dashed. There it was. It's done. But to hear who got it. OH. MY. GOD. It was a slap in the face and in mere seconds my mind raced to things I had heard and realized this asshole had been groomed for the job right under our noses. And the very person that will have to help train this person will be, of course, The Hubs.
I left him at the kitchen table, amazingly upset and bewildered. I had to get to a doctor's appointment that I was sure to be late for. Sitting down after finding out I weigh a million pounds, I exclaimed to the nurse (the same idiot as this) "I will have high blood pressure. It's been a very stressful day". "Man troubles?", she asked. WHAT? Sure enough, I had to talk my way out of a situation that could have been very complicated by what seemed to be a 35-week-pregnant woman with high blood pressure. I could only imagine calling the Hubs sitting back at home at the kitchen table and telling him, "eh... headed to the hospital...guess I'll see you in a few days..."
What was swimming in our heads, the weatherman threatened to make a reality. Storms. Wind. Possible hail. I have dead trees. We called someone who was going to help out with these back in May. And June. And July. And then 2 weeks ago. One of the trees is so dead I lie in bed at night praying to the Lord Baby Jesus to keep me and all those sleeping on my corner of the house safe. Friday I finally called a tree guy who proudly pointed out a few trees that need to go. Pregnant, barefoot and embarrassed I asked him which ones were the most dangerous for lack of the million dollars per tree he was asking for. He chose my target of prayer and said, "I do not even want to be parked here". This is where my brain turned to oooze and flowed out my ears. Keeping my big girl panties on, I asked..."you'll be able to cut it down before the storms tonight?" He cackled and said, "Oh, no ma'am! It'll be late next week before I can get to it." sigh. This is where I thanked him politely, scheduled it up and calmly ran into the house before calling the Hubs and completely losing my shit.
I am tired.
And I am tired of people.
Really tired of people that say, 'Ima do this for you'... only to disappear.
Maybe prayers worked. It never rained on Friday. Not one iota. It had been a 70% chance of storms earlier that morning. The Hubs came home on time. His 'new boss' had declared no more over-time. We played music, made finger paints and painted models with the big kids. I ordered pizza. I declared it over. All the ridiculousness. I'm not taking it anymore. There won't be another week like the last. Things are going to change around here. It's already happening.
This entry will present itself as one of those letters you're told to write to a dead friend. Or mayhaps a letter a psychiatrist tells their crazy patient to write and then burn. Either way... it'll help me feel better. Better than a lot of other responses I could have presented. Better than being imprisoned for blowing something up or running down the street waving my arms and screaming obscenities. Maybe you'll get a giggle.
Last Monday was the Hubs birthday. *My* birthday was pretty awesome 2 weeks before. Not because our babysitter decided to go party and cut us short, and a friend of mine was a no-show, but because the Hubs somehow managed to present me with a Kindle Fire. We're pretty old fashioned up in this hizzy so this thing has been treated like the brand new Nintendo our family got circa...uh... 1990?? It hardly ever gets put down. I am in love. And I've managed to still regularly go to the library, so I still stand on my soapbox.
Anyway... point: my birthday was good. I wish his had just been bad at least... or maybe a little sucky. I myself began this day with a 'Bad Max Day'. Insane behavior all over the place. The kind that makes you call the school system you've been dealing with SINCE EARLY MAY and quite nearly spurt out, "WHAT THE HELL?" literally. I instead gently reminded this waste-of-oxygen of a woman that we had seen the system's psychologist a month ago. She giggled. The woman fucking giggled that my son's paperwork with the psych had been lost, in fact, never evaluated and whoopsy... they had done it again. This is where I considered driving to her place of employment, calmly punching her in the nose, and getting back in my car. Instead I flatly said, "This is my number. Straighten this out. Set up the IEP meeting" and hung up.
Meanwhile, at work, the Hubs apparently was taking a psychological beating. He had an interview for a promotion weeks ago and was waiting to hear what was decided. Managers and co-workers had congratulated him ahead of time. Hearing through the grapevine he had gotten it, assuming really. It was not going to be major, but rather a landmark for our family. A place where we were growing. Hope that things are always getting better. He came home bleary eyed. I asked him what was wrong and he promptly went to puke. On his birthday the company told him he should just stay at his position at his meager pay. He's simply too 'good' to move up. They need him right where he is. You are awesome. Please except this lack o'raise. Thank you. This made me incredibly sad. Hopes dashed. There it was. It's done. But to hear who got it. OH. MY. GOD. It was a slap in the face and in mere seconds my mind raced to things I had heard and realized this asshole had been groomed for the job right under our noses. And the very person that will have to help train this person will be, of course, The Hubs.
I left him at the kitchen table, amazingly upset and bewildered. I had to get to a doctor's appointment that I was sure to be late for. Sitting down after finding out I weigh a million pounds, I exclaimed to the nurse (the same idiot as this) "I will have high blood pressure. It's been a very stressful day". "Man troubles?", she asked. WHAT? Sure enough, I had to talk my way out of a situation that could have been very complicated by what seemed to be a 35-week-pregnant woman with high blood pressure. I could only imagine calling the Hubs sitting back at home at the kitchen table and telling him, "eh... headed to the hospital...guess I'll see you in a few days..."
What was swimming in our heads, the weatherman threatened to make a reality. Storms. Wind. Possible hail. I have dead trees. We called someone who was going to help out with these back in May. And June. And July. And then 2 weeks ago. One of the trees is so dead I lie in bed at night praying to the Lord Baby Jesus to keep me and all those sleeping on my corner of the house safe. Friday I finally called a tree guy who proudly pointed out a few trees that need to go. Pregnant, barefoot and embarrassed I asked him which ones were the most dangerous for lack of the million dollars per tree he was asking for. He chose my target of prayer and said, "I do not even want to be parked here". This is where my brain turned to oooze and flowed out my ears. Keeping my big girl panties on, I asked..."you'll be able to cut it down before the storms tonight?" He cackled and said, "Oh, no ma'am! It'll be late next week before I can get to it." sigh. This is where I thanked him politely, scheduled it up and calmly ran into the house before calling the Hubs and completely losing my shit.
I am tired.
And I am tired of people.
Really tired of people that say, 'Ima do this for you'... only to disappear.
Maybe prayers worked. It never rained on Friday. Not one iota. It had been a 70% chance of storms earlier that morning. The Hubs came home on time. His 'new boss' had declared no more over-time. We played music, made finger paints and painted models with the big kids. I ordered pizza. I declared it over. All the ridiculousness. I'm not taking it anymore. There won't be another week like the last. Things are going to change around here. It's already happening.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Eff Vacation.
Just like money... vacation in the Awesome Abode is usually welcomed simply because, "Well, thank God we had it!" We never seem to get ahead, both in the money area and the vacation area. Anytime we have a bit of moo-lah, something comes along that needs repairing, purchasing or I dunno... removing. I always think, "Thank you, Lord. At least we had the means to do what needed to be done." but we're always back to square one. Same with vacation. The Hubs takes off a week and suddenly an emergency trip has to be made to pick up the stepson hundreds of miles away (he's okay) and a million appointments pop up. I rolled over this morning to find a small decrepit Z trying his best to crack his eyeballs open. ...Off to the doctor we go to receive our diagnosis of pink eye. I'm just so excited 'cause that junk spreads like wild fire and I just can't wait to receive mine!
On the week marches... appointment to appointment and chore to chore. You just do what you've gotta do. I just can't wait til 'vacation' means 'beach' or 'beer' or.... sleep.
Here's the funniest thing I've spotted this week. I usually say, "I'm puttin' my big-girl panties on", but this has got to be my new favorite saying:
I guess I just can't wait to get back to our regularly scheduled programming. Sometimes vacation stinks.
On the week marches... appointment to appointment and chore to chore. You just do what you've gotta do. I just can't wait til 'vacation' means 'beach' or 'beer' or.... sleep.
Here's the funniest thing I've spotted this week. I usually say, "I'm puttin' my big-girl panties on", but this has got to be my new favorite saying:
I guess I just can't wait to get back to our regularly scheduled programming. Sometimes vacation stinks.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
To My Dearest Eddie Vedder
To My Dearest Eddie Vedder,
I am just not sure how you could set up a concert in Atlanta without consulting me first. Wait, that's rude. Just, why didn't you call?? I would have told you I have a baby due on September 19th and that I am simply not able to make it. I am sure you would have obliged and set up an even better date.
Here is how my brain works (and apparently my husband's...). The Hubs hears Pearl Jam is coming September 21st (with Foo Fighters?! ...sigh.) He immediately calls because I guess he loves to hear information before me. He drones on and on, rubs it in, about how the radio stations are blowing up about it. How huge it's going to be. How amazing. ...And backstage passes are available??? Although I would probably just stare at you and stutter... Anyway, my brain immediately starts rolling... could I induce? my babies always come a week late, why wouldn't this one?? could I pop a baby out and run?? wait!, there was that time I went to Music Midtown on crutches!... would this be so different??? But these thoughts were the weird split-second kind... quick and... well, dumb. This may be God's sick sense of humor at work again... after all, the family's savings IS in jeopardy when meeting you could be involved. (For $1000... what the what??)
So I make coffee this morning and throw in the Ten album in a ritualistic sort of manner. Those were the days. Forceful-grown-up-hood is okay, right? Teaches responsibility? I'll make a casserole for a sick friend today. Get my son's occupational therapy done. Make sure the house sparkles. But I'll have you know... it all sounds homely, but not only am I rockin this shit, I am OWNING this shit. Is there not a way to mix this housewife self with my easy breezy former self?
So, in my daydreams, very much like a cheesy afternoon Lifetime flick... my friends contact you and tell you what a fan I am. You, being the lovely person you are visit me in the hospital. You spout some amazing words of wisdom, "Hey, keep on rocking in the free world..." And I name my fifth kid Vedder. It's a lovely story, right?
Love,
At most admiring, a most pregnant, a most conflicted personality... fan.
I am just not sure how you could set up a concert in Atlanta without consulting me first. Wait, that's rude. Just, why didn't you call?? I would have told you I have a baby due on September 19th and that I am simply not able to make it. I am sure you would have obliged and set up an even better date.
Here is how my brain works (and apparently my husband's...). The Hubs hears Pearl Jam is coming September 21st (with Foo Fighters?! ...sigh.) He immediately calls because I guess he loves to hear information before me. He drones on and on, rubs it in, about how the radio stations are blowing up about it. How huge it's going to be. How amazing. ...And backstage passes are available??? Although I would probably just stare at you and stutter... Anyway, my brain immediately starts rolling... could I induce? my babies always come a week late, why wouldn't this one?? could I pop a baby out and run?? wait!, there was that time I went to Music Midtown on crutches!... would this be so different??? But these thoughts were the weird split-second kind... quick and... well, dumb. This may be God's sick sense of humor at work again... after all, the family's savings IS in jeopardy when meeting you could be involved. (For $1000... what the what??)
So I make coffee this morning and throw in the Ten album in a ritualistic sort of manner. Those were the days. Forceful-grown-up-hood is okay, right? Teaches responsibility? I'll make a casserole for a sick friend today. Get my son's occupational therapy done. Make sure the house sparkles. But I'll have you know... it all sounds homely, but not only am I rockin this shit, I am OWNING this shit. Is there not a way to mix this housewife self with my easy breezy former self?
So, in my daydreams, very much like a cheesy afternoon Lifetime flick... my friends contact you and tell you what a fan I am. You, being the lovely person you are visit me in the hospital. You spout some amazing words of wisdom, "Hey, keep on rocking in the free world..." And I name my fifth kid Vedder. It's a lovely story, right?
Love,
At most admiring, a most pregnant, a most conflicted personality... fan.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Five For Friday
Oh lest ye should think I wrote a few times and gave this shit up again... I am here to prove you wrong. WRONG I say! But I would like to point out that this week has been mayhaps one of my craziest and I am fried. (It IS 4/20, but it is not at all in a good way.) So Ima just spit some shit out and we'll see where it goes.
1. We've had appointments every damn day for the last week and a half, Maximus and I. I am still cursing the irritatingly-beautiful-unfrumpy-dermatologist, but moving on... next came the midwife on Monday. The Hubs and I have decided to wait to find out the sex of this next wee babe. I have to say, that'll be exciting in the delivery room, but for right now... it sucks. Let's face it, and pardon me while I whine... this is the 5th baby... nobody cares. Well, they care. *I* care. But you don't hear the "squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!" or the "oooohs" and "aaaaaaaaaahs" like with the first baby, or perhaps the second. Frankly, people may just think it is odd-er when I'm NOT pregnant. (Aww. Look at me, I'm trying to make my own jokes about it.) But there's also no planning. I've got boy stuff. I've got some girl stuff. Bam. Done. I am as prepared at 18 weeks (or 19? 20? see what I mean? I can't remember.) ...as I will be at 40. I'm on a quest to figure out a way to make it more exciting... like Santy Claus coming or something. I dunno... not knowing the sex... it's interesting. Throw some ideas at me.
2. Moving on through appointments... we had our first Occupational Therapy appointment this week. I will tell you this, it should make my fried feelings a bit clearer: in the middle of the appointment, the therapist asked if *I* was okay to go on. I guess I had been sitting in the corner of my living room making some pretty twisted awkward faces. We have the Dr. House of OTs. Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate it... but its not always easy to watch. She was out to show Max just who the alpha-dog is. Whenever he'd cry (oh... 85% of the visit) she'd throw him on the balance ball, work him out and declare, "THERE IS NO CRYING IN THERAPY!" (Is it wrong that as shattered as I was to watch my baby get so distraught, some part of me was giggling on the inside and repeating, "There is no crying in baseball!"? ...I think I'm sick.) Anyway, Dr. House was wonderful and I feel we're on the right road... it's just not at all pleasant.
3. Here's one for you. A priest walks into a bar...
No, no, no... how's about... a frazzled, frumpy woman who is distraught over the fact that the nursery volunteer did NOT show up again to church, walks up to the priest at communion time. (This woman is me, did you catch that??) All my duckies follow in their row. Daddy is the caboose. Before blessing each 'blessing' and handing me communion, the priest says in a booming voice (this is in front of the church), "How DOES this HAPPEN!?" oh, you funny, funny man. I giggled and said, "Ha! Ha! I just don't know! Ha!" Of course, I fall asleep at night developing new answers... I usually come back to, "Wouldn't YOU like to know. Ha!" See. I am safe no where. Not even a Catholic church. I will have to get over this one and become a friendly person again.
4. My babymama texted me a million times Wednesday night. Don't get me wrong, we have a pretty good relationship and I like her fine... it was just dinner time... by myself... with all the minions, a guinea pig and a dog. Caleb was at his track meet and vying for a place at district. I'm excited for the guy, but when Lola gets hungry... all hell breaks loose. I was starting to get irritated when she texts, "long jump: 8ft 1 in. 1st place. We're going to district!" I did one of those only-in-the-movies double takes. I set my phone down and picked it right back up again. What the what??? The next day the kids and I taped that shit out on the floor. (home school math, right... right?!) Damn is all I can say. That booger jumped 8 FEET 1 INCH. I'm proud. Daddy's going to go watch our little Olympian this weekend at district. (its so obvious I didn't birth him. My stumpy self probably couldn't jump a foot... and by the time you have a few babies... well... nobody wants me to try, I am sure.)
5. Something rare has happened tonight. As rare as a big foot sighting. Nay, the McRib! I am home alone... well, with 75% of the babies. This. feels. weird. My Cooper has joined the Scouts. He has jumped in with both feet. I'm just not used to such enthusiasm from the kid. Not that he doesn't get enthused... it's just that he doesn't always let us see it... out in the open. Anyway, he and The Hubs are at his very first campout. I am hoping nothing weird happens to take away his enthusiasm. And yes, I know that kids have to go through stuff... it's part of the learning... but just not tonight! I am so excited for him. And as everyone's first question is always (gulp) 'WHAT ABOUT SOCIALIZATION?!?!" when it comes to home schooling, I am super-duper psyched that he is making new little friends. (I am also crazy psyched that next time someone asks me about the 'S word', I can say, "BAM. Boy Scouts, bitches. done and done." ...only I'll be nicer... maybe.)
So there you have it. I'm gonna eat this night up. Live out loud!! Be wild!! Ima paint my toes... and... and... eat cereal in bed... and... and... watch crappy basic cable television all night! (Is 'What Would You Do?' really our best option for Friday night television, America?? Am I the only one with John-Quinones-Anxiety, fearing that guy is going to jump out of every awkward public situation in my life??)
And then in the morning I will be so ready for everybody to be back home.
Happy Weekend, ya'll.
1. We've had appointments every damn day for the last week and a half, Maximus and I. I am still cursing the irritatingly-beautiful-unfrumpy-dermatologist, but moving on... next came the midwife on Monday. The Hubs and I have decided to wait to find out the sex of this next wee babe. I have to say, that'll be exciting in the delivery room, but for right now... it sucks. Let's face it, and pardon me while I whine... this is the 5th baby... nobody cares. Well, they care. *I* care. But you don't hear the "squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!" or the "oooohs" and "aaaaaaaaaahs" like with the first baby, or perhaps the second. Frankly, people may just think it is odd-er when I'm NOT pregnant. (Aww. Look at me, I'm trying to make my own jokes about it.) But there's also no planning. I've got boy stuff. I've got some girl stuff. Bam. Done. I am as prepared at 18 weeks (or 19? 20? see what I mean? I can't remember.) ...as I will be at 40. I'm on a quest to figure out a way to make it more exciting... like Santy Claus coming or something. I dunno... not knowing the sex... it's interesting. Throw some ideas at me.
2. Moving on through appointments... we had our first Occupational Therapy appointment this week. I will tell you this, it should make my fried feelings a bit clearer: in the middle of the appointment, the therapist asked if *I* was okay to go on. I guess I had been sitting in the corner of my living room making some pretty twisted awkward faces. We have the Dr. House of OTs. Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate it... but its not always easy to watch. She was out to show Max just who the alpha-dog is. Whenever he'd cry (oh... 85% of the visit) she'd throw him on the balance ball, work him out and declare, "THERE IS NO CRYING IN THERAPY!" (Is it wrong that as shattered as I was to watch my baby get so distraught, some part of me was giggling on the inside and repeating, "There is no crying in baseball!"? ...I think I'm sick.) Anyway, Dr. House was wonderful and I feel we're on the right road... it's just not at all pleasant.
3. Here's one for you. A priest walks into a bar...
No, no, no... how's about... a frazzled, frumpy woman who is distraught over the fact that the nursery volunteer did NOT show up again to church, walks up to the priest at communion time. (This woman is me, did you catch that??) All my duckies follow in their row. Daddy is the caboose. Before blessing each 'blessing' and handing me communion, the priest says in a booming voice (this is in front of the church), "How DOES this HAPPEN!?" oh, you funny, funny man. I giggled and said, "Ha! Ha! I just don't know! Ha!" Of course, I fall asleep at night developing new answers... I usually come back to, "Wouldn't YOU like to know. Ha!" See. I am safe no where. Not even a Catholic church. I will have to get over this one and become a friendly person again.
4. My babymama texted me a million times Wednesday night. Don't get me wrong, we have a pretty good relationship and I like her fine... it was just dinner time... by myself... with all the minions, a guinea pig and a dog. Caleb was at his track meet and vying for a place at district. I'm excited for the guy, but when Lola gets hungry... all hell breaks loose. I was starting to get irritated when she texts, "long jump: 8ft 1 in. 1st place. We're going to district!" I did one of those only-in-the-movies double takes. I set my phone down and picked it right back up again. What the what??? The next day the kids and I taped that shit out on the floor. (home school math, right... right?!) Damn is all I can say. That booger jumped 8 FEET 1 INCH. I'm proud. Daddy's going to go watch our little Olympian this weekend at district. (its so obvious I didn't birth him. My stumpy self probably couldn't jump a foot... and by the time you have a few babies... well... nobody wants me to try, I am sure.)
5. Something rare has happened tonight. As rare as a big foot sighting. Nay, the McRib! I am home alone... well, with 75% of the babies. This. feels. weird. My Cooper has joined the Scouts. He has jumped in with both feet. I'm just not used to such enthusiasm from the kid. Not that he doesn't get enthused... it's just that he doesn't always let us see it... out in the open. Anyway, he and The Hubs are at his very first campout. I am hoping nothing weird happens to take away his enthusiasm. And yes, I know that kids have to go through stuff... it's part of the learning... but just not tonight! I am so excited for him. And as everyone's first question is always (gulp) 'WHAT ABOUT SOCIALIZATION?!?!" when it comes to home schooling, I am super-duper psyched that he is making new little friends. (I am also crazy psyched that next time someone asks me about the 'S word', I can say, "BAM. Boy Scouts, bitches. done and done." ...only I'll be nicer... maybe.)
So there you have it. I'm gonna eat this night up. Live out loud!! Be wild!! Ima paint my toes... and... and... eat cereal in bed... and... and... watch crappy basic cable television all night! (Is 'What Would You Do?' really our best option for Friday night television, America?? Am I the only one with John-Quinones-Anxiety, fearing that guy is going to jump out of every awkward public situation in my life??)
And then in the morning I will be so ready for everybody to be back home.
Happy Weekend, ya'll.
Monday, December 12, 2011
MY. LITTLE. CROOKED. TOOTH.
Teeth. I freakin hate 'em. I have teeth issues that need to be rectified just as soon as the ol' FSA is all shiny and new again in January. I've always had teeth 'issues'... really just cosmetic as I grew up. My mom and dad just didn't find 'teeth' to be much of a priority. My one dentist visit as a child came after I finally met quota on complaints and got to have a cavity filled. The cosmetic part bothered me as a teen. I told myself I could just make it my thing... like Madonna or David Letterman. I grew out of caring much. Hey, I got dates. The Hubs didn't seem to mind. I was cool til one night out with my older sister, a friend of hers got a little tipsy and said, "I just love your little crooked tooth". Who says that? Conscious of it all over again. MY. LITTLE. CROOKED. TOOTH. Teeth. I hate talking about them. I hate looking at them. I hate the dentist.
I was peacefully slumbering this morning til my lights came on full blast. "Sorry, mom. I've got to show you something and you are going to think it's cool." I highly doubted it. ...til he showed me.
Wiggle. Wiggle.
I remember sitting in mass one morning as a youngin'. Praying to the Lord Baby Jesus that he would simply just let my tooth fall out. All on it's own. Without my help. 'I will do ANYTHING." I thought, "Clean the house! Be nice to my brother and sister! I won't complain anymore! ANYTHING! Just let it fall out!" I hated losing teeth. It was gross and disgusting to me. What was worse was that I put off pulling this one so long it was now turning blue. uh-oh.
Mayhaps prayers were answered. As I lay on the downstairs couch peacefully watching television, my father snuck up behind me. Armed with pliers, he popped the little sucker right out of my skull. Did I freak out? Of course I freaked the eff out. But what was done was done. Sigh of relief.
BUT WAIT, the sicko wanted more. He had the taste of popping teeth and must've decided he liked it. He went on to the next one.
"It's not even loose!" I tried to scream.
Wiggle.
Wiggle. Wiggle.
Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle.
POP!
Let's just say I sulked a bit after this incident. And vowed to myself I would never tell my parents I had a loose tooth again. ...barring any blue-ness giving me away...
So now you have both the reason I have one crooked front tooth and a deep fear of loose teeth. I have also already been told Coop has 'really crowded teeth'. My brain, while happy for the kid, also went immediately to "dear God! braces! money! appointments! frazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzled."
I put on quite the excited mommy face: "That is awesome, Coop! Time to eat some apples!"
Time to freak the eff out.
I was peacefully slumbering this morning til my lights came on full blast. "Sorry, mom. I've got to show you something and you are going to think it's cool." I highly doubted it. ...til he showed me.
Wiggle. Wiggle.
I remember sitting in mass one morning as a youngin'. Praying to the Lord Baby Jesus that he would simply just let my tooth fall out. All on it's own. Without my help. 'I will do ANYTHING." I thought, "Clean the house! Be nice to my brother and sister! I won't complain anymore! ANYTHING! Just let it fall out!" I hated losing teeth. It was gross and disgusting to me. What was worse was that I put off pulling this one so long it was now turning blue. uh-oh.
Mayhaps prayers were answered. As I lay on the downstairs couch peacefully watching television, my father snuck up behind me. Armed with pliers, he popped the little sucker right out of my skull. Did I freak out? Of course I freaked the eff out. But what was done was done. Sigh of relief.
BUT WAIT, the sicko wanted more. He had the taste of popping teeth and must've decided he liked it. He went on to the next one.
"It's not even loose!" I tried to scream.
Wiggle.
Wiggle. Wiggle.
Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle.
POP!
Let's just say I sulked a bit after this incident. And vowed to myself I would never tell my parents I had a loose tooth again. ...barring any blue-ness giving me away...
So now you have both the reason I have one crooked front tooth and a deep fear of loose teeth. I have also already been told Coop has 'really crowded teeth'. My brain, while happy for the kid, also went immediately to "dear God! braces! money! appointments! frazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzled."
I put on quite the excited mommy face: "That is awesome, Coop! Time to eat some apples!"
Time to freak the eff out.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tourette's Guffaws.
Are ya just itchin' for a Tourette's update?? Of course you are! Here we go.
I don't know which day it was last week, but it seems that all in a day things got a little freaky here at the Awesome Abode. It is said and I have researched (that crazy Google habit I have) that siblings are far more likely to have Tourette's Syndrome when one of them has been diagnosed. What does this mean? Does it mean that the parents are far more likely to see anything as a symptom? Maybe. But before I put myself out there to look like a mama with nothing better to do than diagnosis each kid with Tourette's every day, allow me to say that if you were in my shoes you would do the same. If for no other reason, entertainment purposes?? The Hubs and I had a good long villian-in-a-crappy-movie guffaw over it last night. Ok, ok... lemme tell you why. Last week, at some point, Max woke up and decided to blink. Uncontrollably. Constantly. It doesn't hurt anyone of course, thank God... but it sure does look kinda funny. I have read that facial movements are often the first symptoms of Tourette's. Namely, "motor tics". The fact that Coop has twirled his hair since he was three was one of the shoe-ins at the neurologist. We used to laugh (with him, not at him?) when we'd try to take his picture and he could not let go of his hair. In fact, I took a Bible School pic with me to the neuro to prove the timeline. Apparently, it's really all about timelines. Looking back, I would have loosened up a whole hell of a lot more with the hair twirling. In fact, The Hubs used to keep poor Coop's head shaved. ...That seems just cruel now. To bring it all around... that's why I don't get on to Z when he hums. constantly. If the kid is awake, he is humming. Three year olds hum, right? Of course they do... but as a mom of a kid with Tourette's I have to wonder. And I have to wonder, if I get on to him for humming for the third hour straight...will I feel badly later if he's diagnosed? sigh.
Isn't that a vision of my crazy homeschooling household? Humming from at least two kids most times, blinking, twirling... Somewhere along the line I must have prayed for patience and was sent a pretty stern lesson.
And so there you have it. I believe I will have a total of three kids with Tourette's. woot. woot. My hold out is Lola. Tourette's is not as likely in girls... but we shall see, right?
Back to our guffaw. Last night on 'Parenthood', a couple of idiots lost their child with Aspergers. As in, he walked out the door and they couldn't find him. At the end of the show, the couple says something like, "Oh my God, we lost a kid today." I turned to the Hubs and said, "Geez, what are our odds, we have double the kids they do..." The Hubs said something to the point of, "But how could we lose them if they're always making so much noise?" I followed that up with, "I guess it's kinda like putting a bell on a cat... or three..." Guffaws ensued.
I don't know which day it was last week, but it seems that all in a day things got a little freaky here at the Awesome Abode. It is said and I have researched (that crazy Google habit I have) that siblings are far more likely to have Tourette's Syndrome when one of them has been diagnosed. What does this mean? Does it mean that the parents are far more likely to see anything as a symptom? Maybe. But before I put myself out there to look like a mama with nothing better to do than diagnosis each kid with Tourette's every day, allow me to say that if you were in my shoes you would do the same. If for no other reason, entertainment purposes?? The Hubs and I had a good long villian-in-a-crappy-movie guffaw over it last night. Ok, ok... lemme tell you why. Last week, at some point, Max woke up and decided to blink. Uncontrollably. Constantly. It doesn't hurt anyone of course, thank God... but it sure does look kinda funny. I have read that facial movements are often the first symptoms of Tourette's. Namely, "motor tics". The fact that Coop has twirled his hair since he was three was one of the shoe-ins at the neurologist. We used to laugh (with him, not at him?) when we'd try to take his picture and he could not let go of his hair. In fact, I took a Bible School pic with me to the neuro to prove the timeline. Apparently, it's really all about timelines. Looking back, I would have loosened up a whole hell of a lot more with the hair twirling. In fact, The Hubs used to keep poor Coop's head shaved. ...That seems just cruel now. To bring it all around... that's why I don't get on to Z when he hums. constantly. If the kid is awake, he is humming. Three year olds hum, right? Of course they do... but as a mom of a kid with Tourette's I have to wonder. And I have to wonder, if I get on to him for humming for the third hour straight...will I feel badly later if he's diagnosed? sigh.
Isn't that a vision of my crazy homeschooling household? Humming from at least two kids most times, blinking, twirling... Somewhere along the line I must have prayed for patience and was sent a pretty stern lesson.
And so there you have it. I believe I will have a total of three kids with Tourette's. woot. woot. My hold out is Lola. Tourette's is not as likely in girls... but we shall see, right?
Back to our guffaw. Last night on 'Parenthood', a couple of idiots lost their child with Aspergers. As in, he walked out the door and they couldn't find him. At the end of the show, the couple says something like, "Oh my God, we lost a kid today." I turned to the Hubs and said, "Geez, what are our odds, we have double the kids they do..." The Hubs said something to the point of, "But how could we lose them if they're always making so much noise?" I followed that up with, "I guess it's kinda like putting a bell on a cat... or three..." Guffaws ensued.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Polkafest
I should probably put something mind blowing here... or at least mushy-squishy. I'm not mushy-squishy. I guess it's evident in the fact that we celebrate "Polkafest". What the hell is Polkafest? Keep your pants on, I'm getting there. I'll warn you, this'll jump around a bit.
The Hubs sometimes jokingly gives me, "affection lessons". He'll wrap my arms around him and state, "this is how you love". He's not being serious... I hope... but I've realized I'm a lot like my Dad in that department. I'm not the type to wrap my arms around you and love on ya and... touch ya. Is it ironic that I am a massage therapist? Yes, I would agree with you. Hubs on the other hand is just a genuinely nice guy with um, way less social awkwardness than I. What am I getting to? I grew up with a Navy Dad who was in no way mushy-squishy and if you knew him personally, you know that to say that this is an understatement, is, in fact, an understatement.
I won't try to capture all that is "Dad" in one blog post. That's impossible. It's also impossible not to think of a million what ifs on the 7th anniversary of his death. What if my four kids had ever known him? What if he had gotten to know the Hubs a lot better? What if he was around to give the point blank objective advice that always sucked hearing, but was pretty damn good? What if he was still at church every Sunday with his buddies? What if he got to take my kids to Dairy Queen for an icecream cone? What if my Mom and Dad's house was still there as a refuge? ... but what if he was still sick and suffering...?
My Dad would say, "Well, you can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which comes out first"....? Some of that sound advice you don't want to hear, but is pretty spot on.
One of my friends still refers to my Dad as "Sir". I guess that pretty adequately demonstrates my Dad's personality. I don't recall my pal ever calling him "Jerry". He commanded that kind of authority and respect. Because of this, it was always so special to me if I told a joke or said something funny and he'd genuinely laugh. Likewise, I once boarded a plane to St. Louis and just before stepping onto the airport curb, he gave me a hug... one of the most awkward moments of my life, in a good way.
It's only as a parent that I've come to realize the full extent to which he sacrificed and worked for our family. This parenting shit is hard and the choices that come along and the work that must be done is for the most part, overwhelming. While I've established I am not "mushy-squishy"... I wish I could thank him.
So... Polkafest. Some of my Dad's sound advice around the death of my best friend was to leave the family alone and let them mourn. It seemed heartbreaking. I had been at their house quite a bit. When Dad died, I remembered his advice regarding my best friend and realized how he would probably like to be remembered after he died. Not a lot of pomp and circumstance, not a bunch of crying and "carrying-on". As a kid and even now I know more polkas than you can shake a stick at... a very odd gift here in 2011. Dad played 'em everywhere and loved 'em. He also loved bratwurst, sausages and any other over the top fattening Octoberfest type fare you can think of. After balling my eyes out on Dad's first death anniversary I decided it certainly didn't help and didn't make me feel any better. Why not celebrate the fact that he doesn't have to battle cancer any more ('Fuck Cancer' should be the ACS's motto, I'm convinced) and that he lived a great life. Every year my family plays polka music, eats bratwurst, saurkraut, pierogies and just... smiles. We've chosen to celebrate. The last thing he'd want is any "belly achin'".
So here's to you Dad. Happy Polkafest.
The Hubs sometimes jokingly gives me, "affection lessons". He'll wrap my arms around him and state, "this is how you love". He's not being serious... I hope... but I've realized I'm a lot like my Dad in that department. I'm not the type to wrap my arms around you and love on ya and... touch ya. Is it ironic that I am a massage therapist? Yes, I would agree with you. Hubs on the other hand is just a genuinely nice guy with um, way less social awkwardness than I. What am I getting to? I grew up with a Navy Dad who was in no way mushy-squishy and if you knew him personally, you know that to say that this is an understatement, is, in fact, an understatement.
I won't try to capture all that is "Dad" in one blog post. That's impossible. It's also impossible not to think of a million what ifs on the 7th anniversary of his death. What if my four kids had ever known him? What if he had gotten to know the Hubs a lot better? What if he was around to give the point blank objective advice that always sucked hearing, but was pretty damn good? What if he was still at church every Sunday with his buddies? What if he got to take my kids to Dairy Queen for an icecream cone? What if my Mom and Dad's house was still there as a refuge? ... but what if he was still sick and suffering...?
My Dad would say, "Well, you can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which comes out first"....? Some of that sound advice you don't want to hear, but is pretty spot on.
One of my friends still refers to my Dad as "Sir". I guess that pretty adequately demonstrates my Dad's personality. I don't recall my pal ever calling him "Jerry". He commanded that kind of authority and respect. Because of this, it was always so special to me if I told a joke or said something funny and he'd genuinely laugh. Likewise, I once boarded a plane to St. Louis and just before stepping onto the airport curb, he gave me a hug... one of the most awkward moments of my life, in a good way.
It's only as a parent that I've come to realize the full extent to which he sacrificed and worked for our family. This parenting shit is hard and the choices that come along and the work that must be done is for the most part, overwhelming. While I've established I am not "mushy-squishy"... I wish I could thank him.
So... Polkafest. Some of my Dad's sound advice around the death of my best friend was to leave the family alone and let them mourn. It seemed heartbreaking. I had been at their house quite a bit. When Dad died, I remembered his advice regarding my best friend and realized how he would probably like to be remembered after he died. Not a lot of pomp and circumstance, not a bunch of crying and "carrying-on". As a kid and even now I know more polkas than you can shake a stick at... a very odd gift here in 2011. Dad played 'em everywhere and loved 'em. He also loved bratwurst, sausages and any other over the top fattening Octoberfest type fare you can think of. After balling my eyes out on Dad's first death anniversary I decided it certainly didn't help and didn't make me feel any better. Why not celebrate the fact that he doesn't have to battle cancer any more ('Fuck Cancer' should be the ACS's motto, I'm convinced) and that he lived a great life. Every year my family plays polka music, eats bratwurst, saurkraut, pierogies and just... smiles. We've chosen to celebrate. The last thing he'd want is any "belly achin'".
So here's to you Dad. Happy Polkafest.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Weird-ness Of It All.
So yesterday I'm sitting at the computer 'working'. (This is what we call it when I am staring at the computer screen vegging out and don't want to be bugged). When all of the sudden Cooper does something so off the wall, I think my brain shorted out for a second.
Background on the Coopster: he's a six year old amazing kid... with Tourette Syndrome. We got the diagnosis last month. While we keep a sense of humor about it, we're still wading in the "what-could-be-next" pool. Anyway....
I am staring at the screen, back to Coop, waiting for him to finally freaking take a nap already. I try to play nice, even though he is keeping up a conversation about a t-rex eating something... just to keep from going to bed. He says something to the effect of... "then the t-rex ate something and blah-dy blah and he's a meat eater and it was weird."...
"weird."
"weird."
"weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird."
My eyes bug out of my skull. I don't turn around because I don't want him to see the... weird-ness of it all. What. the. hell. I swallow. Poke my eyeballs back in. Comment politely, "heh. heh. so what was that? new tic or something?"
"I don't know why I just did that....
... then the t-rex... blah-dy blah."
Oh, this is gonna get interesting.
Background on the Coopster: he's a six year old amazing kid... with Tourette Syndrome. We got the diagnosis last month. While we keep a sense of humor about it, we're still wading in the "what-could-be-next" pool. Anyway....
I am staring at the screen, back to Coop, waiting for him to finally freaking take a nap already. I try to play nice, even though he is keeping up a conversation about a t-rex eating something... just to keep from going to bed. He says something to the effect of... "then the t-rex ate something and blah-dy blah and he's a meat eater and it was weird."...
"weird."
"weird."
"weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird. weird."
My eyes bug out of my skull. I don't turn around because I don't want him to see the... weird-ness of it all. What. the. hell. I swallow. Poke my eyeballs back in. Comment politely, "heh. heh. so what was that? new tic or something?"
"I don't know why I just did that....
... then the t-rex... blah-dy blah."
Oh, this is gonna get interesting.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Ring-a-ling-a-ling
I realized the other day something that is both bizarre and interesting... if only to me. My ears ring. I don't think this is a clinical problem. I think this is the workings of a tired brain trying it's hardest to reach homeostasis. I don't notice it any other time than when a.) I am trying to fall asleep and the Hubs is not snoring or b.) I'm in the bathroom, by myself, and the kids are sleeping and/or unconscious. These times are clearly rare, but they have one thing in common: silence. I am so used to ongoing noise that my brain cannot wrap itself around quiet. ...And with the newest Tourette Tic being humming... I have to consciously say to myself, "don't say anything. don't say anything. don't say anything." because it would be super crazy easy to yell at the poor kid without thinking. There is just always an undercurrent of noise in my world. There is only one way to solve this problem.
A week on the beach. and alcohol.
I am convinced.
In other news... I have received my box o' diapers from Amazon. It is damn near as tall as the kid that will be wearing them.
Score. I mean, I knew there would be 204 in the box... but seeing is believing. And. Damn. I'm excited. I'm going to be singing Amazon's praises for awhile. Seriously, with the mom club they've got going on... the price just couldn't be beat... unless of course, you went cloth. But he's two and... gross. Check 'em out. Seriously. And be sure to join their moms club for more savings.
I'm also a little edgy today... I CANNOT FREAKING WAIT for the UPS man to get here. Our whole "Story of the World" set up is on the way. [History Curricula... nothing to do with Mel Brooks, cool kids.] The kids are always like, "yay. books." and I'm always like, "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKS!" In a giggity-giggity-goo sorta way. Ya feel me? I can't wait. And since I've been sensing a smidge of ADHD, whether it's just me or truly there, I think the Coop is going to enjoy some hands on stuff to mix with the workbooks. It's been like pulling teeth lately. (yuck.) Kudos to Rainbow Resource... I ordered 'em up Friday and UPS tracking says they're on the way today. (squee.)
Happy Hump Day, Peeps.
A week on the beach. and alcohol.
I am convinced.
In other news... I have received my box o' diapers from Amazon. It is damn near as tall as the kid that will be wearing them.
Score. I mean, I knew there would be 204 in the box... but seeing is believing. And. Damn. I'm excited. I'm going to be singing Amazon's praises for awhile. Seriously, with the mom club they've got going on... the price just couldn't be beat... unless of course, you went cloth. But he's two and... gross. Check 'em out. Seriously. And be sure to join their moms club for more savings.
I'm also a little edgy today... I CANNOT FREAKING WAIT for the UPS man to get here. Our whole "Story of the World" set up is on the way. [History Curricula... nothing to do with Mel Brooks, cool kids.] The kids are always like, "yay. books." and I'm always like, "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKS!" In a giggity-giggity-goo sorta way. Ya feel me? I can't wait. And since I've been sensing a smidge of ADHD, whether it's just me or truly there, I think the Coop is going to enjoy some hands on stuff to mix with the workbooks. It's been like pulling teeth lately. (yuck.) Kudos to Rainbow Resource... I ordered 'em up Friday and UPS tracking says they're on the way today. (squee.)
Happy Hump Day, Peeps.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Willy Nilly
Well... here we are. On the other side of the X My kid has Tourette Syndrome.
Now, can we just stop talking about it?! gah.
Now, can we just stop talking about it?! gah.
I feel mucho better now that it's been diagnosed. I can't explain why, really. I guess because we know it's there, it's not our imagination and from here we'll just deal with it... or not... really nothing to deal with. To any stranger it just looks like the boy has an eternal cold. Thing is, actually pointing it out makes all his tics happen more often because they've been brought to his attention. So really, nothing's changed.
I really think God has a pretty sick sense of humor (if you're now singing Depeche Mode, you rock.). I've never liked to call attention to myself. Not in a big way. I like to be mellow and just chill. I don't need to be in front of people or the center of attention. For example... I hate giving gifts to people, physically. I love making things or getting something special for someone, but the act of giving it to them and the whole, "OH! I love it! How did you know!?" ... I can't stand that. Make sense? I don't like being put on the spot. So selfishly, I think... "gee. God. HI-larious. A kid with Tourette's." We'll be drawing attention to ourselves all over the place. This is a hurdle Ima need to get over. But it's different with your kid too... you'd do anything, it'll just flow. I'm just trying to decide if/when the tics get worse, will my attitude be to educate or tell people to fuck off? Really just my mood, I suppose. I guess I'll allow most people one chance to say, (read it in a hick voice, it'd be funnier), "So... he says cuss words all willy nilly?" I will educate at that point... but from there, don't ever say it again. umkaythanks.
So now, in a few minutes I have to psych myself up for working out. It would seem I don't have the time... but I really don't have the time not to. I figure if things are all going to be hectic, busy, nuts for a while, I might as well be... well. I'm definitely looking for a way to have more energy. Oh, and before I forget... the Hubs was diagnosed with gout yesterday!! He keeps moaning that he feels so old... as he should, really. He is now on a "low purine diet". So when preparing a menu for the week, I have to factor in: a VERY low budget, a kid who can't eat wheat, "low purine", unprocessed foods, and above all HEALTHY! I wish I could delegate this terrible job to someone else. It really is ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I love to cook... but so many factors kinda take the love out.
sigh.
Look at this face:
...it's all worth it.
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