More Than Soup.

Not long ago, I ordered myself a little bowl of soup.

Small-ish.  But huge in my head.  I had been thinking about that little bowl of soup for years.  The more I thought about it, the bigger my little bowl of soup grew.  You've seen my little bowl of soup.  Maybe you haven't given it much thought?  But if you're even a little familiar with childrens' books, you've probably seen it before.

See it sitting back there.  Simple, right?  Not the biggest part of the story.  Certainly not when we were kids reading this book.  When I was a kid, I don't know that I even really loved Where The Wild Things Are.  The Wild Things themselves were neat to me.  I wasn't impressed with the kid's behavior.  I wasn't fooled into thinking he actually traveled somewhere.  I was a no-nonsense kid and wasn't buying that he was anywhere but in his bedroom imagining.  What I did think was cool was that the kid got to eat his dinner in his bedroom.  The little things, right?

As a 30-something mom with a kid with Autism, I see this book in a WHOLE different way now.  Actually, my Max was named after the kid in the book.  I liked the idea of Max being a kid full of imagination.  It's always been my dream for my kids to have big personalities with even bigger imaginations.  No other kid has ever been better named.  He has morphed into the King of the Wild Things himself.

Max was diagnosed at the age of four.  It was a long, slow, and grueling process.  The actual diagnosing took a few weeks.  It was all the professionals I asked from the time he was 2 years old that turned my hair gray and kept Max from receiving services earlier.  I heard things like, "He makes too much eye contact." or "He's too loving." I even heard, "He's way too cute!"  The cute statement came from his special needs pre-k teacher.  No one would listen.  No one would discuss his aggression, lack of speech, his picky eating, the je ne sais quoi I could feel in my gut.  It wasn't until I got to the right pediatrician who actually listened that I was on the right track.  The aggression though.  I have never gotten help with the aggression.  The aggressive aspect of his Autism is definitely the hardest on me, our family, and most of all Max.

One day, I read the same Where the Wild Things Are for the one millionth time.  Suddenly this childrens' book smacked me square in the face.  What the hell is Max-the-character's problem?  What if he doesn't just have bad behavior?  What if it is something so much more?  Something out of control?  Something like... Autism?  It added a whole new spin to the whole thing.  Where is the mom anyway?  Tired.  She is tired.  Too tired to once again pick up the fight and deep pressure hug Max-the-character until he succumbs to the lovin'.  She instead takes the easy route that she'll probably regret later - putting him in his room to work it out himself.  I could suddenly see through the eyeballs of that mama just trying to keep it together.  And I could see that Max-the-character was creating a world for himself when the real world became all too much.  That, to me, is one of the most painful parts of Autism.

But as we know, Max-the-character does come "back home".  And eventually, so does my Max when the world becomes too much.  In Where the Wild Things are, the mother helps Max-the-character in the only way she knows how at the time:  she is sure to give him a nice full bowl of soup, and, most importantly, she is sure it is hot.  She could have set it out at any point with a to-hell-with-it attitude.  But no, she was warm herself and kind.  And forgiving.  It was only a few weeks ago that I realized there is also a big piece of cake beside the soup.  The whole meal says, "not only do I forgive you, but I love you, and I understand you.  And I will always be here for you when you get back from your own world."

And so, now I can't read Where the Wild Things Are to my kids without a lot of deep breathing and eye blinking.  It just resonates so loudly with me.  My Max has come so far.  That bowl of soup represents to me a quiet patience that I strive to attain every single day.  Some days I succeed.  Some days I do not.  At all.  But regardless, I will always be there when he comes back home.

So... that bowl of soup.

 I carry it with me everywhere I go now.  I look at it often as I contemplate that quiet patience.  It has definitely been a journey.  This motherhood gig is by far hardest thing I have ever done.  But isn't it the hardest things, the things you bleed and sweat and cry over that often bring the most joy?

Bring On the Summer Slow Down.

It's been one of those weeks.  I'm worn.  Here's how it began:

That's my chimney.  In all its glory.  Embarrassing?  Sure.  Mucho.  But, hey, it's all done now.  Originally, some dude The Hubs knows wanted to charge us $1200.  Fourteen hundred dollars later, we did it ourselves.  Now, The Hubs would be quick to point out that in our total, we have a new porch door, two drills and a saw.  It was tiring and awful and with our hilly landscape, it took three days instead of one.  We're off the do-it-yourself kick for a long while.  Shout out to the brother-in-law and fam who came out to help.

A lot of this happened.  Because, I mean, how else are you gonna deal with a house full of people and an effed up chimney??

(And you can love on your fancy beers all ya want, at the end of the day, I'm a simple gal.)  It also helped me get through moments like these with each. and. every. kid.:

Almost all the kids had no problem going waaay above the house and I have a pretty tall house.  Did I take a ride?  No.  No I did not.

Max graduated from Kindergarten... again.  But for real this time, yo.

So it begins.  The "Am I doing everything I can????" questions.  To myself.  All summer.  The OT at school let her license lapse.  No OT.  Speech is a joke.  He's a little fish in really big waters.  Floundering around in the mainstream, yet not "bad enough" to be in the Autism class.  Teachers can not work with that they do not see.  There has never been help with his aggression and behavior at home.  So do we homeschool or go back to public school.  I have all summer to make that decision.  Yet, it doesn't matter how much time I have, I see both sides and they both have awesome points and they can both suck.  (I am eloquent, eh?)  Research I shall.  I'll make the decision and with enough luck I will look back and wonder why it was so hard to make the decision I made, hopefully.

This guy is cutting teeth:

And this is what we have planned this summer:

So that was the past week.  It felt huge, and yet I have been stuck in this house for all of it.  I'm ready to cool off for a while.  The summer slow down is most welcome all up in this hizzy.  And hopefully, just hopefully... I can blog more.  Maybe.

Somewhere.

He fell asleep here.  On his window sill.

Watching the "older boys" play.  They aren't all older.

Shirt backwards and inside out.

He was playing with his pirate ship, perhaps dreaming of being somewhere else.  Somewhere where every one understands.

He never complains.  Never says anything about the running and screaming and giggles from the "older boys" playing in the cul-de-sac.

The cul-de-sac is a dangerous place for Max.  Mom isn't out there.  Mom is home.  And the world can be a scary place.

He plays with his toys.  And he watches the boys.  His day will come.

He's going to show them.

He is amazing.

Where the Hell...?

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.

An SPD Gluten-Free Update.

I'M DONE.

THE END.


...

We gave it one solid month.  ...And we were stringent, dammit!  For thirty days Max was absolutely completely gluten free.  (Well... except for that one time Daddy made dinner, simple PB&Js.  We both turned around at the stove bewildered as to why it all went off without a hitch, why everyone was so damn quiet and well-behaved.  And there they were... ALL of them... stuffing their faces with bread.  OOoops.  It's hard to remember sometimes... but for serious, it was only that once.)  On a gluten-free diet, Max tries to murder Lola, break windows, jump off furniture with wild abandon, scratch, hit and bounce his butt on nearly anything.  ...Which is not really a big difference from any other time, sadly.  Sometimes it seemed better and sometimes it just didn't.  That's the pattern with Sensory Processing Disorder too.  Sometimes it's okay for a spell and then sometimes... it just fucking sucks.   I decided to take him off the gluten-free diet then and see if things got worse.  Nope.  The same.  On a gluten-ous diet, Max still tries to murder Lola, break windows, jump off furniture with wild abandon, scratch, hit and bounce his butt on nearly anything.  Without much difference in behavior, but huge differences in grocery budget and menu-planning, I decided gluten-free just wasn't for us.  To note, his speech is getting better and continues to get better even when eating le evil white flour! 

I knew it may not be the miracle I was hoping for.  It was an "easy" thing to try though to see if it could potentially make life easier in other areas.  I can see where it helped our family get healthier in other ways.  Usually we had a bread-y substance at every meal before going gluten-free... post GF we still don't eat many biscuits, breads or rolls with our meals.  It's still pick a meat, pick a vegetable, pick a fruit and go with it.  Easy peasy.   

I, fortunately/unfortunately noticed my face getting clearer from major rosacea breakouts I guess because there simply wasn't as much gluten-ous items to pick from in the house.  I continue to stay away from gluten... unless there's cake.  If cake is a choice, always choose cake. 

So there it is for Maximus Prime.  Would it work for you?  Who knows.  The point is, you just really don't know until you try... and compared to a lot of things, it is easy-ish to try.  Give it a quick Google and you'll find out that some people SWEAR by a G-Free diet.  I just want to remind you that, hey, everybody's different.

Five For Friday.

It's been an eventful week around the Awesome Abode.  Let's say an interesting two weeks...  Things are looking up!  Was that the sound of actual positivity in my voice??  yup.  I still live much of my life in hyper vigilant anxiety, but I can definitely maybe see a light at the end of our unemployment tunnel. 

Here's my summary of the goings-on lately...  I am tired though.  All six kiddos are under one roof and for some reason the three in diapers have just wanted to poop all damn day.  This entry may make no sense.

1.  The Hubs is working!  Well... part-time.  But part-time is better than no-time!  It's been nearly 5 months since he has had regular earn-a-check work.  I've damn near forgotten how it works.  While trying to figure out how to make this weeks meager check stretch, suddenly it occurred to me, "Wait! He gets another next week!"  Wowzer.  It has just been so long.  It's still a struggle, no doubt, but the company that hired him sought him out and created the position because they liked what he had to offer.  He has been busting his ass to impress the pants off of them and he's hoping that it will lead to a full-time position.  Keep your fingers crossed.  Pray.  Sacrifice a chicken.  Do whatever you have to do.  ...I would like to add that it does not hurt that he now works for the competition of his last employer.  That helps to soothe a bruised ego.

2.  Max is done with school.  I am happy dancing right now... see me?? 

While he does still need to go back next year for speech twice a week, it is an enormous relief to know that everyone will be under one roof for school next year.  We will be on our schedule.  That getting up for the bus junk is for the birds.  I also didn't like thinking, "Oh! No! It's getting late!  Better get Max to sleep so he can get to school tomorrow!" We like to mosey on sometime around a decent bedtime and rouse slowly at a good time in the morning.  Less stress that way.  I tell ya what is stressful though...  considering homeschool curricula and ideas for this little guy.  He's a unique one and his learning style is going to be as unique, I bet. 

3.  Maximus also had a birthday this week.  Apparently it's Max Week.

He's four now.  This seems so old and yet he is so young too.  Someone did me a great dis-service last year at Vacation Bible School.  They looked down at Max who was holding my hand and waiting for his brothers to be dismissed and told him, "Just think, Max! Next year you will get to go to Vacation Bible School!" Max could only babble at the time.  I looked at him and was simply astonished.  I knew at that point that there was no way he could be fully involved in a simple pre-k VBS.  The person who made the comment knew nothing of what we had been going through regarding SPD, speech, the school system or all the questions we had about potential autism.  The question has stuck with me and even as we are about to sign everyone up again I wonder... how will he do with a regular class of children?  He still wears diapers and his speech is not quite discern-able to people outside of our family.  No one will know of the huge strides he's taken just to get where he is and how amazing we think he is.  It's just a simple VBS class, but between you, me and the internet, it makes me a little nervous.  We shall see.

4.  And on that note...  Project Gluten is still a-go.  Now that he's home full time we'll really see where we can get.  It was rough at first, I'm not going to lie.  I do have a habit of making things a little more complicated than necessary though...   Here's where we are:  to plan dinner we buy a meat.  We throw a fruit with it.  We eat a veggie with it.  We eat a salad with it.  There's no gluten in that stuff.  I have figured out that perhaps Kroger is the best place for going gluten-free... if you need anything snazzy like gluten-free cookies, breads, crackers or pasta.  They are whole dollars cheaper than Publix.  Aldi is the very best for price and labeling.  I have really only had to tweak our grocery list a bit.  I'll save our results for a later post, but I will say... It's going pretty well.

5.  Something's bugged me all day.  I wanna share it because if I don't put it somewhere, it will bug me.  And it's my blog... so there.  I don't like talking politics or religion or any of that crap, but here we go.

I went to bed a Christian last night and this morning I was passive-aggressively told I was no longer a Christian.  I shared a post from George Takei last night expressing his joy that the Boy Scouts had voted to allow gay scouts into the organization.  I simply said, "The Boy Scouts are finally getting with the times. Now what about leaders[?]" This morning I woke up to a horrible post from a friend declaring that you cannot have those types of ideas and call yourself a Christian.  Twas complete with verses and damnation.  I have all day pondered then if, after such judgement, I would even want to be lumped into a group of people that would say such a thing.  In our home we teach our children to love everyone.  That love is love.  That God created and loves all of us... regardless of color, religion or sex.  I believe not letting a gay scout sit around a campfire and tie some knots or receive his Eagle after such hard work is as asinine as using separate water fountains or segregating schools.  The only hang up I had about my kid joining Scouts was the fact they were against gay scouts and leaders.  I hope they continue to make these strides so that one day gay leaders can be included.  My children know no difference between the love they see between their Daddy and I and say, Ellen and Portia. Call me Christian... don't call me Christian... call me crazy... I don't give a shit.  I know mine and mine knows me.  

Jumping down from my soapbox.   

I feel better now.  I realize this is just as passive-aggressive perhaps.  I realize The Facebook shouldn't get to me so much...  but sometimes that's the only socialization I receive during a busy day...  why's somebody gotta muck it up with that crap?  Sigh. 

So on we go...  Everyday a little bit better.  Things are progressing.  Everyday I feel a little more normal, although I am still eternally grateful for the lessons we've learned along the way.  New normal. 

Have an awesome weekend folks.  Remember the reason we are free to barbeque and relax on Monday.

Gluten Free = Exploding Brain.

Going gluten free is stupid.  So there.  Frowny face.  At least, here, at the beginning, I definitely think so.  I thought I would tell you friends about it.  It is obviously important to you.  It makes me happy and sad that my post Sandy Poop is on fire right now.  Sadly, I think Italy must have some big bowel problems as they are checking in a lot more often than the rest of you.  Watch out for tangents...

Anyhoo...  I have always wondered a little what "going gluten free" would do for Max and his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) and his autistic tendencies.  This has always just lived in the back of my mind, especially since he has somehow conned his teacher into believing he is an angel.  I think he is pretty damn great, obviously, but I was hoping he would have the same behavior at school as he does at home.  Twas a no-go.  He is perfect between the hours of 7am and 11am. 

I myself was very much looking for a change of life.  Sitting around with an unemployed husband as "just a housewife" while wondering if the lights would get to stay on while looking at yourself in the mirror and HATING what you see is, well... sad.  Very sad.  I am freaking sick of it.  It also occurred to me a little late in the game that if, damnit, I wanted to go take a walk or work out, there was another person in the house to watch the kids... so what was holding me back???  Anyway, enter my googling tendencies and a slight obsession with Pinterest and you get a bunch of research on the Paleo Diet.  I've always been a bit against any diet that seriously restricts any one food group, but I was pretty interested in the way people said they felt on the diet.  I will say though, that, damnit, I LIKE COW'S MILK.  I 100 percent agree that it is for baby cows, but why do I find it so tasty???  And no cheese?  Well, that's just crazy talk.  Suddenly I realized, there's not much gluten on the Paleo diet.  Actually I wouldn't say suddenly, but eventually it sunk in.  I wanted those results for Max.  What if his slow-to-grow speech or his sensory issues could be resolved by changing his diet?  Don't I owe him at least a try?? 

Kids who have gluten sensitivities often crave items with gluten in them.  Now, I've read the science... can't say that I could repeat it... but I can tell you that it makes sense to me that kids would crave it and get caught in a vicious circle.  I also know I could offer Max 20 chocolate bars or one small bowl of pasta and he would choose the pasta hands-down.  Max is one big pasta noodle. 

It hurts my brain already to go shopping though.  Mama wants to lose weight.  Daddy wants meat.  Cooper wants pizza and hamburgers.  Z, well... doesn't eat anything.  Our food budget is tiny.  I don't like the idea of processed foods.  Or dyes.  Or artificial sugar and additives. I am trying to feed a lot of people on a little money with some ridiculous ideals.  Now I want to go gluten free.  Yep, sounds stupid.  It feels stupid.  ...Unless it gets results.

I figured we would start the process slowly.  That will give me time to stock up and figure out what the hell I am doing.  Max also eats breakfast at school and I know the little Carbo is eating cereal or something with gluten everyday.  Plus, I know this sounds woosy, but I just don't want to discuss a gluten free diet with his teacher.  With only two and a half weeks left of school, I just don't want to have to get into it.

I'll tell you one thing I learned today...  pasta and anything with flour may just not be in Max's diet anymore.  GOOD GOD, the prices.  I thought we would just get him a few gluten free specialty items from the store.  ...stuff to help him ease in, ya know?  Your typical Mueller's pasta was on sale BOGO:  $1.57.  The crap I had to shop from ranged from $1.79 PER BOX FOR 8 OUNCES to $3.39 PER BOX.  Say whaaaaaaaa?  Crazy talk.  Same thing in the cookie aisle.  Same in the crackers.  I knew gluten-free items were often more, but whole DOLLARS worth?  wowza. We may just have to wean the boy to fruits, veggies and meat only because my brain may explode.  But alas, my mantra will be, "Just 30 Days".  If I can just try 30 days solid and see if there is a difference, won't it be worth it?  Damn this junk is hard. 

So there ya go, my fellow friends that like to talk poop and other happenings of the gut.  That's where I am.  We'll see how this goes.

If you ever want some of my "research" check out my Pinterest boards... I'll leave it there for you, my Googling comrades.

The Squeakiest Wheel.

I try not to blog when I'm irritated about something.  However, lately I'm afraid I would just have to shut the whole damn thing down for lack of material.  One of my favorite blogs lately is:  People I Want to Punch In the Throat.  She did it the right way... she lets ya know straight out the gate she's going to bitch and bitch a lot.  Maybe I should have done that.  If anything, I guess it is truly "always one more thing".  Well, anyway, if you don't want to hear another rant, you should probably exit here.

So last Friday we were kicking it.  I got Max off to the pediatrician, albeit... dangerously...  I thought, anyway.  The man of the house fixed those brakes right up.  Things were looking up.  At least if the school system was going to suck it, I could find help medically for Maximus.  The pediatrician I love so much had her nurse call me MONDAY to get the ball rolling on a referral to a developmental pediatrician.  Done and done.  It was good to sit down with someone who knew me, knew my kid, heard me out and woah... hold the effing phone... did what she said she was going to do.

I was walking around like a plump peacock all impressed that I was owning it and putting life where it needed to be.  (a little life maybe, no, not the effing laundry situation.  we're still baffled.) But at least some of the more important things.  I was chilling out at my desk, vegging out to some Facebook Tuesday morning when a call came through from a number I didn't recognize.  Yes, I screen.  After I got my voicemail, I was winded, shaking, seething and sensing a bit of a puke-tickle.

The driest voice says something to the effect of...  'Hi, Mrs. Awesome.  This is so-and-so's office.  I was calling in regards to Max's referral for a developmental evaluation.  Please give us a call back at your earliest convenience to set up Max's appointment.  Please note, we accept ONLY Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance.  If you have any other insurance you will be expected to pay the out-of-pocket charge of $1,200.'

She went on to say that I could make payments of $400 each.

And then I dropped the phone.

I'm sorry, what was that???  How can a person get away with that?  $1200 for ONE visit.  I can't describe how pissed off I was.  Is this normal pocket change for others?  I felt preyed upon... or something...  there aren't any words.  Except 4-letter ones...  I certainly did not call this insane woman back.  I couldn't think of anything decent I could possibly say to her... I knew diarrhea of the mouth would suddenly take over and I would scream at her for every little shitty thing that had happened in the last week.

After sharing a bit of diarrhea with the Hubs, I decided to use my ferocious momentum to call the school system.  I knew they weren't at their desks yet, but I would leave messages every fucking day until someone finally called me back.  I started with one hand written phone number on our IEP.  I have literally 5 different numbers and 5 different emails and 10 different faces from our last meeting.  I figured I would just keep calling numbers until someone knew SOMETHING.  Imagine my surprise when someone actually answered the phone.  THEN I was mad because they WERE there and hadn't called.  Oh, the nerve.

I left a message for the contact who actually called back within 10 minutes.  She had the very best possible excuse as to why the school system never called back regarding more specific testing for Max:

'I am so sorry, Mrs. Awesome.  We had lost his paperwork and forgot.'

What do I say here?  My feelings have ranged from homicidal to down right sad that no one seems to care... or that they'd rather make a buck.  Everything regarding 'special needs' seems costly, or slow, or overwhelming or just... careless.  I said to the pediatrician the other day, 'I just need the TOOLS.  I can do whatever the hell I need to do with the TOOLS'.  Can someone please just stand up and tell me what the hell is going on here???



I went to sleep that night with all these seething thoughts marinating in my brain.  It suddenly occurred to me that I had requested referrals for audiology and speech pathology in the first place.  The pediatrician was taking me down a whole other avenue.  Developmental Pediatrics???... they diagnose... autism.  Is this what we're doing now??  Maybe I'm just jumping to conclusions.  I'm probably jumping to conclusions.  But there's a huge difference between googling 'autism', talking about 'autism' and actually pursuing 'autism'.

I've since found my own Developmental Pediatrician.  One who actually accepts insurance... including mine.  My doctor called me back within 15 minutes with a new referral.  And after a broken promise that someone from the school system would call me back yesterday in regards to the next phase of testing, I called them again too.

I've heard it and I knew it... but I didn't really know it...  YOU are for sure your child's only ally.  The only one that will speak up for them.  The only one that will fight.  You cannot sit back on your haunches and assume ANYONE will voluntarily do the right thing for them.  I am in the midst of this lesson.  I've been pretty naive, but I am coming around.  It is true, the squeaky wheel gets the most attention.

Five For Friday

What, what??  it's been awhile since the last Five.  This has been the week from... eh, hell.  Yup, I think that sums it up.  It has not only felt like hell, see as how the temperatures have been in the 100's... but it's also been a psychological hell.  Yay!  oh the fun!  Next week will be better.

I command it so.

1.  I just got done taking Max to the doctor.  Yesterday, while grilling, The Hubs remarks, "we need new brake pads tomorrow."  See as how I have already budgeted his paycheck to zero, I go a smidge nuts-o because the kids had already gotten me teeter-tottering right on the edge anyway.  I put myself in timeout.  This equates to me just sitting in the bathroom staring at a wall.  Now, the children get a minute of timeout for every year of age.  I find it unfair that I do not get 31 minutes of timeout.  When I was back to homeostasis, I inquired about any squeaks that the brakes were making prior to the big announcement.  I got a manly, "yeah.  They've squeaked a bit."  I got in to take Max to the doctor and HOLY SHIT, BATMAN!?!  Grinding.  Wailing.  Squeaking.  Rubbing.  I damn near turned around to head home, but so desperately needed to get to the doctor.  So now the weekend will consist of the Effed Up Laundry Situation and The Car Situation.  Sounds like fun to me!

2.  If you know me, you know I freaking LOVE OUR PEDIATRICIAN.  She has literally saved the life of Max when he was just a little newborn.  She is freaking amazing.  I cannot say it enough.  I love her.  I love our rapport.  I just want to kiss her cheeks whenever I see her.  (I will stop.  I sound like a stalker.)  Anyway, due to a school system that frankly, doesn't seem to give a fuck, I took Max to see the doc to see what she had to say.  I've often wondered about apraxia or his hearing.  The kid is as smart as a whip.  I wonder if he's not just a little Stewie all locked up inside simply because he cannot speak adequately.  She heard me out and we'll be on our way to the Children's Hospital here in Atlanta sometime soon.  We'll probably swing by our audiologist too.  Ima need a nanny though because I'm already anxious about how we're going to get anywhere with 5 kids, 1 vehicle and a Hubs that works constantly.  It'll fall into place.  Right?  (right???????!!!!??????)

3.  Caleb goes home tomorrow.  I haven't told you guys all the drama that has surrounded his visit this time.  ...And I'm not gonna.  so there.  Suffice it to say, there will be a lot of tears and it may be the very biggest, bravest thing the 'Awesomes' have ever had to do.  He is going back to a home that simply isn't good enough.  Isn't warm enough.  And is not supportive enough.  It makes me sick.  Whatever you believe in... juju, prayer, chicken sacrificing... please send a little my way.  We're going to need a little extra ooomph this weekend.

4.  This happened yesterday:

I'm pretty sure I'm going to use this against Coop in a few years.  I don't know why the goofball chose the dress, but it was hilarious.  I highly recommend a costume box for my peeps with kids.  Every so often they just come up the stairs as someone else.  It's good for letting the ol' imagination wander.

I too have worn this dress.  I think it was... mmmm.... circa... one million years ago.

5.  Something positive.  Something positive.  Let me see...

thinking.

thinking.

I love the Hubs.  Yes, this should be obvious.  But life is never easy and we just keep trucking, most of the time with laughs and silliness.  It is true that I am still a kindergartener when it comes to affection.  If I pick on you... I must love you.  I never grew out of it.  The Hubs will often force my hands around him in a hug and say, "Let us begin affection class."  I am awkward when it comes to showing affection.  I blame this guy:

That's muh Dad.  It has been said between the Uncle Bro and I that we knew Dad was dying when he said, "I love you."  It sounds sad, but that in absolutely no way means we didn't already know he loved us.  You didn't need to hear it.  It was all around you.  Yet apparently 'normal' families hug and what not...  this is where 'affection class' from the Hubs comes from. 

During this phase of life, when each day brings some new ridiculousness I just want to say to the Hubs... Thanks for that surprise Coke here and there...  Thanks for understanding I have a hyper-vigilant anxious reaction even with things I cannot control...  Thanks for just getting the fact that I 'need' 'affection class'.  and I.... I.... I... LOVE YOU.  phew!



Have an awesome weekend.  I hope I haven't whined too much.  Ima bust through this weekend and come out a brand new sparkly person.  This is my plan.  It is also my plan to stay in air conditioning at all times.  We'll see how all that goes.

Ape-Shit-Crazy.

I'm in a bad mood.  Period.  A fantastic time to blog, eh?  Currently I've been sending out emails around my county to figure out what the hell *I'm* supposed to be doing next regarding Max and speech therapy through the public school system.  I am beginning to form opinions.  I was the cool homeschooler that was open and casual regarding homeschool vs. public school.  ...was...  They are not making this easy for me.  I left Max's IEP meeting with a promise to further testing along the autism scale in a convenient and timely manner.  A very re-assuring "WE'LL call YOU."  One chicky got back to me the very next week.  After that test she even admitted, "I don't know why we have to drag you through all this.  He obviously needs Speech."  That was May 15th.  What... hmm... 7 WEEKS AGO?  Max's case worker through Babies Can't Wait once told me, "The squeakiest wheel gets the most attention".  That statement is amazingly valuable.  I'm not good at being a squeaky wheel.  In fact, I find it to be embarrassing.  However, I am about to get hella squeaky on their ass.  Vent over.

Well, the weekend was fantastic.  I took a few pictures for you:

Mmm... hmmm... that about sums that up.  Mess.  Mess.  Mess.  Yes, we are still working on the effed-up laundry situation.  So the first picture, my friends, is... a load of laundry... in my bathtub.  Do not underestimate the weight of a few wet towels!  I do not have a damn clue how the previous owners of this house did laundry, but since the laundry room is down stairs, it needs a way to pump water UP to the pipes to go OUT.  Our washing machine is working just fine... our pump... not so much.  Being on the ol' cash plan, its going to be interesting pulling it together to buy a new pump... but... I have no idea when the Hubs will have the time to put it in.  Just as an example, the guy worked until 10pm Friday night!  (After getting there at 5am... you'd think he was the dang CEO or something.)  The psycho part of me thought, "Hey, it might be fun washing clothes like this!  Just like the pioneers!"  A few minutes later, the normal part of me thought, "damn. this sucks."  Always something, right?? 

I did get out this weekend.  If only for a little while.  I put a few more minutes into my 'Don't-go-ape-shit-crazy' bank.  When things have gotten nutty on this fine 100 degree Monday, I have whisked my brain back to the dim light of the Longhorn Steakhouse table featuring grown-up conversation.

The three older kiddos got out to see Madagascar 3 this weekend which fueled my spontaneous, "POLKA DOT, POLKA DOT AFRO!" outbursts.  I can't help it.  It just comes to me.  Maybe because my life is a circus.  And by the way, my Siskel and Eberts highly recommend it.

So I will leave you now with a few pictures.  While not exciting for you, I love to log this shit so that one day, while sitting in the lap of luxury (or what is left to FEEL like the lap of luxury), I will look back to this day and proclaim,

"REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO DO LAUNDRY IN THE TUB.  WEREN'T WE APE-SHIT-CRAZY???!"  

And Edith will add...

...those were the days!

Loose End, Loose End. Cut! Cut!

Oh, Monday.  Hello.  There are some days that are just so full, I don't know where to start.  There's just so much crap going on lately and so much to be accomplished that I just almost can't see the forest for the trees.  It's like my big messy garage... there's so much shit in there, I throw up my arms and say, "Eh.  Later."

I thought I'd tie up some loose ends for you.  I mean, because I know you are on the edge of your seat about some things. 

The Damn Weighted Blanket:  not complete.  Well, not started.  Oops.  Could we still use one?  Mayhaps.  Max still wakes up in the middle of the night.  I wouldn't say as often though.  ...and I got such weird advice from everyone.  It's hard to decide where to start... like, SEVERAL people suggested I use BEANS for the weight.  As in, yum-yum-these-beans-are-tasty beans.  Wha???  What happens when he pees the bed?  Can't wash beans.  The Hubs stands by his idea to have my mom crochet washers into a blanket.  Chain-mail?  Sounds painful.  The little booger seems to be doing okay lately.  Back in MAY the school system said THEY would call ME for more specific testing.  Have I heard from them?  Hell-to-the-no.  Thank you for confirming my suspicions, school system.  On a lighter note... due to the sensory issues (I believe), Maximus never wanted to use a cup.  It seemed to cause anxiety over potential spills.  Over the weekend he just decided, "Ima do this."

Now this doesn't mean when it spills he doesn't go ape-shit-crazy.  Screaming, crying and asking one million times (no, for serious), "water-spill???  clean up???" in his Cookie Monster voice.  But at least he tries again and that is an improvement.

Panties?:  I continue to get multiple hits everyday because I have uttered the word 'panties' on this blog.  It was pretty hilarious at first and now slightly annoying.  Here's a non-traditional blogging tip:  use the words fucking, boobs or panties to up your stats, if you're into that sort of thing.  The world is a dirty, dirty place.

Eddie Vedder:  still hasn't called.  What is WRONG with that guy??  sigh.

Rosacea:  it's back bitches.  Two months (?!) ago the dermatologist put me on antibiotics.  Do you know what long-term antibiotics do to a gal?  A pregnant gal???  We won't go there, but I'm done.  If stress is my trigger, it ain't going anywhere.  I'll smear on the cream, think happy thoughts and invest in some plaster-like makeup.  (PS... I hate you, rosacea.)

Anyhoo... we had a pretty shiz-nit weekend.  Here's the pics.

 

 Well, Ima go kick this Monday's ass.

 Here's to you and me having one great get-it-done week.

Let's Run Around in Underwear and Drink Coffee

They left me alone.  They freaking left me alone.  How could they do it???  They have trusted me with this:

 MONSTER*.  Clearly.

My Max has aged out of the Babies Can't Wait program.  Part of me is like, "Freaking-A!  I get my house back!  Let's run around in underwear and drink coffee til noon 'cause nobody's gonna be all up in my business!  And why clean anyway!?"  The other part is like, "oh.  dear.  God."

Each individual's sage advice?  The Occupational Therapist, the Speech Therapist, the Family Trainer?  "...go get yourself a good developmental pediatrician and good luck!"  oh, thank you, thank you.  If you're a little lost in the whole scenario, their reasoning is because Max still has a big delay in speech and constant tantrums and... quirks?  Sensory issues.  (Have I Googled 'autism'?  yes.)  At the age of 3, kids are aged out of Babies Can't Wait (an early intervention program in our state for special needs babies and toddlers) and turned over to the school system.

Now I am not a home schooler that 'be hatin' all over the system'... but I will admit I am leery with it.  Well... leery was the word a few weeks ago.  After a group of ten IEP (individual education plan) team members all told me he did not meet the requirements for special needs pre-school based on 'THE TEST WE CONDUCTED ON THIS PARTICULAR DAY' I decided the system was full of shit.  Thank you, system, for classifying my child into a nutshell based on one test on a particular day.  I fought the whole thing and persuaded them to more specific testing.  So there's that.  Fight the man... especially when it comes to your kids... what better reason?? 

Now, if he doesn't make it in the second time I will do a tiny happy dance because life won't be as inconvenient as I imagine it could get trucking 3 home schoolers, a special needs kid and a newborn to school every day.  ...And then I'll sit back and fret about what to do next.  Pray tell... why does insurance commonly NOT pay for speech therapy??

So... that's whats on my mind.  

Namaste.  ...and all that shit.



*Aww, that's no monster. 

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.

Five for Friday

Let's wrap up this ridiculous week.  I'm hoping some good weather and (better) adult interaction will rejuvenate my spirits.  I'm ready to put this one to bed.

1.  I went to the dermatologist today.  Whenever I leave the house it just becomes a... thing.  Being pregnant never makes it better.  Well...  being 18 or whatever weeks pregnant doesn't make it better... I just look... squishy...  fluffy... not pregnant.  I like nothing more in the world than feeling absolutely frumpy and having someone wearing high heels and possessing amazing skin tell me, "ooooh THIS is better?!"... referring to my skin that yes, I thought looked better.  Once again, lest you think I am a whiner, I realize this is not cancer, but DAMN.  I just hate acne.  It's all made so much better when I have to navigate public with no makeup.  Really does wonders for the already faltering self esteem.  Bite me, doc.

2.  I forgot to schedule Lola's baptism.  Again.  For the second week.  ...Or rather, for the 17th month, see as how some Catholics schedule their kids' baptism even before they are born.  Ooops.  My bad.  Why can't I remember this?  She is going to look monstrous next to the wee babes.

3.  Here's an idea that came to me in my sleep regarding ye ol' weighted blanket.  Mayhaps shutting my brain off actually accelerates my idea process, as when I am awake there are just simply too many small voices in and around my head.  Ima make my first poly pellet purchase this weekend.  If you're along for the ride or making one yourself, it occurred to me that Michaels puts out a 40% coupon each week.  I'm going to grab enough flyers for the Hubs and I to buy 4 2lb bags.  $8.99 each goes down to $5.40 each.  This excites me.  In pricing the materials I'd need, it began to worry me that the "million dollar" price tag I saw all over the web may just be quite fair.  Anyway, here's a good blog that has instructions for constructing this monstrosity:  The Squishy Pickles  - found it to be the most easily read-able for a gal of my craft-caliber.

4.  I found this Tuesday:

 There are many things going on here:  a kid that enjoys reading, a kid that can keep his siblings busy (wooooooooo hooooooooooooooooo!), another great reason to homeschool...  impromptu reading on a bright and sunny afternoon.  Love.

5.  So the occupational therapist finally called to get this show on the road with Maximus... hey, it's only been six weeks since his initial evaluation, but who's counting.  Time to get to work.  ...or, work some more, I mean.

Toodles.  Ima work in a nap both Saturday AND Sunday... that's just where I'm at peeps.  Happy Weekend!

Damn Weighted Blankets.

First of all, I apologize if you just googled and found me because you too are desperately seeking a damn weighted blanket.  If you are like me and have a hell of a lot more time than money (...it seems to be equalizing lately though... not in a good way) you are seeking a way to make this freaking thing.  ...because, 'how hard could it be to make a blanket?'  ...A BLANKET.  argh.

I also apologize to those that just don't give a shit about weighted blankets.  ...And why would you.  I wish I didn't.  I wish I had not become obsessed with the things.  But here is where I stand.  Moving on.

Having a newborn is hard.  It is hella hard.  Not during the day.  I tend to think that's easy-peasy.  Eat.  Sleep.  Poop.  Eat.  Sleep.  Poop.  And the doctors tell you that you should do the same.  It's the night that becomes ridiculous.  I get nauseous just thinking about it.  I hate the feeling of needing sleep, getting 5 great minutes of it and then being awakened.  It makes me literally nauseous.  And it seems all my babies do the same thing:  perfect angels during the day, little devils at night.  I tip toe around the Hubs because of his crazy early schedule and hold these wee babes into the night while silently praying Fox is running a small marathon of Cops.  Otherwise I'll be subjected to nothing but infomercials... hormones will make me cry about the fact we will not give in and pay for cable.  Anyway.  The kids have been good about quickly sleeping through the night... In fact, Lola began respecting my sleep somewhere around five weeks.  Heaven.  The diva still sleeps 8pm - 9am.

It becomes absolutely ridiculous when your NEARLY THREE YEAR OLD begins screaming at least four times a night.  What.  the.  Hell.  A nice mommy would think, 'poor dear' and console him back to sleep patiently... she also poops glitter and keeps an immaculate house (both as unlikely at the Awesome Abode).  This chick stumbles, very much zombie-fied, into the kids room... throws the blanket back on him and trips back to her own bed... unswayed by the legos, stuffed animals and left over pbj's along the way.  My Maximus cries because his blanket has come off.  Every.  Damn.  Night.

Every.  Night.

At first the family trainer (the pack-n-play lady) told me to make up some sort of curriculum during the day to teach Max how to put his own blanket on at night.  This all seemed so unnecessary but necessary considering little Lola can do this herself.  We worked with it... trouble is, once we realized the kid has Sensory Processing Disorder, it became apparent he just simply cannot put the blanket on himself.  The coordination simply isn't there.

Enter the damn weighted blanket.  They are used to calm kids with Sensory Processing Disorder.  Especially those that are affected proprioceptively, as Max is.  Google that shit.  They are worth, like, a million dollars.  Not really... but $100 and $1000000 is roughly the same to me.  I have now been on a mission to make my own.  I have no sewing skills.  I also just learned what a poly pellet is.  (I've also now schooled the peeps at Hobby Lobby and Michaels...leading me to believe no one ever uses these things, really.)  I am not crafty... this should be a humorous adventure that you can now join me on.  Updates to come.

I'd better go.  It's naptime and he's screaming presently...  deep breaths.  deep breaths.

Excessively Douche-y Douche Bags and Other Matters of the Heart.

Alright, alright, alright (read as Matthew McConaughey... it'd be a lot cooler if you did.)  I apologize for my absence... sorta.  Had I been blogging for the last two months or so I would probably have felt pretty damn irresponsible.  Of course, I've been told lately I should take more time for myself... which makes me giggle a bit... psychotically... and wonder how I could make these 'experts' a fly on my wall.

So, I like writing.  Up until the point I don't.  And chances are, you like reading... up until the point you don't.  We will solve this by doing this 'Five For Friday' style just to catch you up a bit.  (I reserve the right to go past five.)  I will throw in a few (what I find to be) entertaining pictures and we'll call this done for the day.

1.  Probably the most interesting thing to happen in the last two months is that Maximus has been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder.  I'll link it there in case you are a nerd like me.  If you decide to take on that rabbit hole, I will tell you he is affected proprioceptive-ly and perhaps vestibular-ly.  What this means for me is that all his little quirky-quirks that were so hard to explain are now being unraveled.  His speech delay has reasoning behind it.  Waking up screaming five times a night is explained.  Broken windows in the living room are explained.  Even the fact we've always called him 'The Brute' somehow makes even more sense.  It was not that long ago I began googling 'autism', if that tells you anything.  I knew something was up, I just couldn't put my finger on it.  Autism seemed like an awfully harsh diagnosis, but I knew there had to be an answer to his behavior and delays.  The diagnosis of SPD comes with a lot of relief and a lot of damn work, honestly.

2.  This happened:   

All possible chaos hits the fan around September 19th.  My excitement is squelched both by the stress of it all and the

3.  Excessively douche-y douche bags.  There.  I said it.  People suck.  I've gotten pretty sick of people lately and maybe that was one of the reasons I haven't blogged.  Picture it:  you tell someone, "Yay!  We're having a baby!" and it is met with:

"Have you heard from the discovery channel on having your own show yet?!"

"Giving the Duggars a run for their money?"

"Do you know what causes that?"

These statements seem to be all in fun, but I have heard them A MILLION TIMES.  It's like when Grandma tells the same damn story over and over again.  Eventually you want to smack her.  It wears on you.  I always answer, "yep... going for our own show!  That'll make diapers affordable!"  Or "YES.  SEX CAUSES IT.  WE LIKE IT."  Boxed up answers make me feel just as douche-y.  

Answering questions about my uterus or my husband's penis is also very fun whether at work, church or on the street:

"Wow.  Are one of you going to get fixed?"

"Have you heard of a vas-ect-omy!"  

"Will they tie your tubes after labor?"

I have now grown up in a way that allows me to tell nearly anyone, "Well, I really don't think that's any of your business."  

I also love when such a 'mistake' must be due to the fact I am Catholic.

"Is this because you are Catholic??"

"Well, I guess you'll just have a big Catholic family." (this was uttered by a Catholic "friend", without a smile and in a very sarcastic manner.) 

I didn't make up any of those.  Maybe it doesn't seem that bad to you, but I do not live through one single day without a sneer or joke at my expense.  After a while it hurts.  It hurt with the third kid.  It hurt with the fourth kid.  The fifth kid is getting it even worse.  The attitude from family and friends that the fifth kid is not nearly as important as the first is wearing on me as well.  

Okay.  I'm done whining.

4.  I have rosacea.   Nope.  Not as big as cancer.  For some reason I got a lot of hits on my whole rant on adult acne and I thought you deserved an update.  While acne just doesn't seem like the biggest deal, it gets pretty damn old after a while and I am crazy glad to be (nearly) rid of it.  I can now show my face in public.

5. We're still rockin' it homeschool style.  To the point that we'll finish up our curriculum about a month early.  At that point we'll be diving into science full force.  I am crazy proud of Coop.  His reading is amazing.  I don't know how parents get the exact numbers to brag about... 'my child reads on an eleven-teenth-kabillion-one level'... but I'm pretty sure he's up there.  Multi-syllable words are no challenge for him and second grade should get pretty exciting.  Just to update... I may be one of the only mothers to think "The Story of the World" curriculum sucks, but so be it.  We're on the search for history again...  

There you have it.  That's what I've been 'doing'.  Sometimes a whole lot of shit, sometimes a whole lot of 'nothing'.  It's true that as a mom the days are so freaking slow, but the years zoom past.  I look forward to being in touch with the world again...  until next time!