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?

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!

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.

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!

Do You Have A Pack-And-Play?

I am crazy excited.  And maybe I'll seem just plain crazy after I explain why, but I was told something yesterday that is going to change my life! 

I will tell you here that you will most likely not share in my excitement unless you too have a kid like Maximus.  Max is by far our quirkiest kid.  I will not even attempt here to try and explain just how quirky he is, but this kid has the power to make me laugh the hardest and the power to infuriate me beyond that of any other human being.  I do not know how a kid that knows so few words by the age of 33 months realizes it is hilarious when a kid of such short and silly stature farts and quickly shouts and points, "LOLA!?"  This same hilarious guy broke my window with his bare hands when he got mad a few weeks ago.  That being said, if you have a kid that freaks out when he's mad and you've attempted time out, you know that it is an absolute joke.  I've tried Supernanny-ing it.  (yeah, I made that a verb.)  Telling myself I'm in it for the long haul.  Attempting a two minute time out that actually lasts 45 minutes because the hellion can't stay seated for a solid two minutes.  When Max gets mad he hits things, throws things, screams at the top of his lungs and as a defense becomes straight as a board, every muscle clenched so that picking him up is nearly impossible.  Time out is a joke.

Realizing a goal the size of a two-year old booty was going no where, I threw out the time out chair for a big masking-taped frownie face in the middle of my kitchen.  As long as he was in the square, damnit, I was counting it.  One must, however, eventually mop the floor and wasting so much masking tape just started feeling... dumb.  Also, what happens when he starts experimenting with putting his little toe over the line, oh... there goes his leg... but his butt is still in the box!  Dumb idea.  And once again, this guy is a chunk... I got sick of hauling him back to the frownie face.

Finally yesterday the "Family Trainer" came to the house.  She.  Was.  Awesome.  One of the first questions she asked me was, "Do you have a pack-and-play?".  I immediately knew where she was going and in the distance an angel began singing or playing harp or whatever angels do.  "Yes!  Yes!" I shouted, as if to seal the deal with yet another person that I am just really socially awkward. 

Mommyhood seems to be an evolution of ideas.  When I had just Cooper I pretty much walked around with the idea that "I am the shit".  As you add more kids and more personalities and more.... emotions... quirks?... weirdness?... to your brood it simply gets harder.  The "I am the shit" feeling does not come about nearly as often as one's self esteem could dream of.  Ideas like using a pack-and-play for time out just don't always come easily.  It seems simple enough, but mayhaps my brain was on "What's the quickest least smelliest way to clean up guinea pig poop?" or "how little can I scour the bathroom today and still get by?" or "will my guest be able to smell all the dirty diapers in the house?" that day.  The amount of multi-tasking involved in raising kids is just effing overwhelming until you consider that sometimes it is an evolution of things getting a little better everyday as just one new idea is brought to the masses. 

Anyway.  The Family Trainer suggested a two and half minute time out away from everyone in a pack-and-play.  The time out only begins once Max is calm.  We have begun with the two behaviors hitting and screaming.  These behaviors get no warning... straight to time out for them.  "Now, this is going to be a very hard two weeks for you, but if you can do this you will see results." she said.  She said that over and over again.  I kept saying, "no problem!"  She would reiterate, "it's going to be really hard to ignore him, but you can do this!"  Finally, at the end of our meeting I reassured her (I think?) by saying, "I forgot to tell you that my oldest has Tourettes.  I sometimes wonder if my 3 year old has it as well.  He practically hums all day.  I don't want this to sound bad, but I uh.... have absolutely no problem ignoring them.  This is going to be just fine."  She gave me one of those awkward smiles that look like, "mmmm hmmmm.  okay."

So here we are.  Day two.  Things are going swimmingly.  All the fuss has been taken out of time out.  Hopefully when we reach our goal of two weeks we'll have a calmer, happier, good-kinda-quirky Max.




(Bam.  post 100 bitches.  Click muh clicker.)

Five For Friday

I have been asked today where I've been.  Where's Five For Friday?  Where did you go??  Well, readers... I did say I was taking a little time off... But let me tell you, it's nice to be missed.  I mean, I am constantly missed, constantly needed...  by people who need their butt wiped.  So, it's nice to be needed or missed by you fairly normal types.  (If you too need your butt wiped however, you have more serious problems that will not be solved here in this blog.  Know what I'm saying, g?)

Back!  ...by semi-popular demand...  Five For Friday.

I will do the best I can.

1.  The Christmas mess is up.  Sorta.  ...As much as humanly possible??  I had but a few hours to look around and take in my living room.  Had it really always been so big??  Before this happened:

...and BAM!  Living room gone again.  They've all enjoyed the jumpy-jump... complete with 100 balls to pelt at people and pick up daily.  The grown ups have enjoyed the fact that their little hairs stand right up like little electricity balls when inside.  ...And when these grown ups scruff their feet along the floor and around the jumpy-jump, they can get a pretty fun jolt out of each little tyke.  Muahahahahaha.

2.  I am up late looking into science curricula.  This deserves one big ridiculous UGH.  I've been here so many times before and I've never made a dang decision.  I grew up in public school.  Therefore I learned evolutionary theory, big bang theory... all that ...stuff.  I always took it as theory.  I went to church and I learned those religious ideas too.  There's plenty of room in my brain for both.  When home schooling however, it would seem that there is only room for one thing:  7 days and 2 peeps in a garden.  I am searching for a happy medium:  all things come from God, but because we do not want to be ignorant of the ways of the world, here are some theories.  How's about that??  I haven't seen this yet.  It is confusing and infuriating.  So I continue on.  One of these days Ima just do it and be done with it.  This kid eats science... loves the stuff... thrives on it.  He wants it.  I may just have to give up some reservations.

3.  Twice this week I've gotten partially out of my mom uniform (pony tail) and heard, "Wow, I had no idea your hair was so long".  I've been growing this crap forever it seems and I'm so glad to finally have gotten over the hump.  I've gone as short as

this before.  Only an inch or two at the longest.  (you should know that as the Hubs was 'trimming' my Z's long locks for the first time, he let the little-bit run in and surprise me with only the front cut.  He was, in fact, business in the front and all party in the back.  We call this a mullet in the South.  This would be my aw-hell-no-not-a-mullet face.)

I digress.  My hair continues to grow ass-bound 'til I get a eh... wild hair.

...It's longer than this now.  But you won't be seeing that because, hello... I have acne.

Anyway.  Someone asked me how long I would let it grow.  I jokingly said I was going to dread this shit.  They laughed and said I wouldn't and if you know my personality, then you know it means that I just might.  hmmm....

4.  We've been 'off of school' for 2 weeks now and these children are driving me nuts.  What these heathens don't realize is that while their little smooshy faces say they are glad they don't have to 'do school', their behavior says they need their freaking schedule back.  dang it.

5.  Yesterday after speech therapy was complete, the speech therapist (who I still believe may suck, but now I like her on a personal level, so this is my problem) asks, "Do you think Max has actually become less intelligible?"  Sigh.  I replied, "yes." and that I was glad she just asked because that makes it truly objective.  We mamas have a way at nit-picking any situation because we are worried.  So we continue to work... even harder.  He's a pretty tough nut to crack.  Lola sits in on his therapy sessions with me and I am beginning to wonder if she will soon have more words under her belt.  She's catching up and it makes my heart ache for Max.  We'll get it, but I have never been accused of being patient.

Well there you have it.  BOOM.  Submitted before midnight.  There's your Five For Friday.  Happy Weekend.  Don't forget to vote for me.  (wink, wink)  ...and vote often.  (please.)

Five for Friday

Today is amazingly gorgeous and I've gotta have time to enjoy it... so, quickly!... here's the rundown:

1.  The funny of the week:  Coop gets the words 'pimples' and 'nipples' mixed up.  What do I mean?  Example:  as I am waiting for him to bring the broom into the bathroom yesterday so we can begin The Major Cleanup, I pause to reflect on my garden of pimples I have been cultivating on my right cheek.  "Stop popping your nipples, Mom.  Let's get to work!"  It is hard to not roll on the floor when things like this happen... and sometimes I nearly do...  but yesterday we had a very quick anatomy lesson. 

2.  The behavioral therapist has been called in for Max.  Yay.  Hopefully this will help with keeping all my windows around a little longer.  I don't know how this works though.  I hope she doesn't sit around and 'observe' me like some sort of Super Nanny, then declare I am doing everything wrong, wrong, WRONG.  Something you should know about me:  I do not take criticism well.  I'd like to say I do... that I learn from it, and grow, and blah, blah, blah.  But instead I usually just bitch about it to at the Hubs.  I will take it in stride though.  I'll do anything in the name of PEACE.

3.  Remember where I was all like, "Wow!  Homeschooling!  We're rocking it."  I still think that, but it's tipped itself over to the other side of the spectrum where I wonder if we're doing enough.  Should it feel like work, or have we finally figured out how to make it work?  The state mandates that we 'do' homeschool for four hours a day.  We've been knocking out phonics, math, spelling, vocabulary, reading and handwriting in 1-2.  Everyday life is learning... that's where we grab science and a lot of other things.  I guess I just feel guilty that his nose isn't in a book all day long... but if he's getting it... he's getting it, right? 

4.  We've spent the week without a TV.  Or rather, the kids have.  Is it broken?  Nope!  But that's what I told 'em.  Our remote's been on the brink for weeks now and it finally took its celestial dirt nap on Monday.  I just told them the whole damn thing was broken.  I even joked to the guy at Comcast that he could ship the new one instead of us picking it up because the house was much more peaceful this way.  Don't know about you, but even though these heathens only get about an hour of TV a day, they are little snots when we turn it off.  It can be a brain warper.  (It can also be a fantastic babysitter when mama needs a break, so I will come out of this mood soon.) 

5.  Here's a picture from last Christmas:

I noticed many things right away:

• Lola makes the same dang face when she's about to cry even now, a year later.
• Caleb always gets stuck holding the babies.
• I guess I CAN'T put Coop in the red and black sweater this Christmas.  Or I could... but it may be tacky.
• I should invest in black socks for the kids.
• Max really hasn't changed.
• There really isn't any hope that a large group of siblings will look at the camera and smile at the same time.

Amazing, right??  Well, I thought so anyway.  Here in the south it's freaking warm.  Hot, I'd say... in the house anyway.  I was all prepared to make chili tonight (and by prepared I mean, I like, had to soak beans and shit...  anything in the name of cheap!)  I have to keep plugging away at it, cause that's what was planned.... but eh, chili when it's 70 outside?  hrmph.

Hope you have an excellent weekend.  Don't get too frenzied over all this Christmas stuff.  This too shall pass.  I mean, I love it, but I'm not stressing it!  Enjoy.

Five For Friday

It has been a pretty good week here at the Awesome abode.  And I mean that sincerely.  And I like when I can mean that sincerely.  Here are some odds and ends of the week:

1.  We turned the freaking heat on, okay.  OKAY?!  Geesh.  Pretty good, I think.  My goal was to make it to December 1st and here we are at the 9th.  It's funny what you can get used to though... yesterday as the temperature reached 68 in the house both the Hubs and I complained it was getting too damn hot and had to knock it down a bit.  I think we're (I say 'we', isn't that cute?) going to try plastic wrapping the windows.  I've heard great things about it and that it really is efficient.  I'm just wondering... how it looks.  do I care?  Suppose not.

2.  Michelle Duggar was the big ol' story on Twitter yesterday and I decided to check into it.  It had just come out that she had miscarried her twentieth child.  It was positively scathing.  Terrible.  Left and right people had tweeted horrible things about how 'she deserved it' or 'it was coming' or that it 'was a good thing'.  What???  Who deserves this?  A miscarriage.  Does it really affect these people's lives how many children she has?  Ridiculous.  This is a soapbox I have to step down from or the whole post could be about this.  I could seriously punch people that say asinine things like this.

3.  I am going to work today.  This pisses me off.  The chicky I was supposed to massage Tuesday called me... at 2:30... as I was in the shower... getting ready... to meet her...at 3:15.  It was a 2 hour time slot.  She left me with no time to fill the damn space.  I get paid peanuts filing or whatever at the office compared to what I get paid to massage.  Nevermind I had to move 4 kids schedules all over the damn place to be ready by said time, but Hubs missed out on overtime because he had to be home with the kids.  So today, once again... (because monetarily, she has me by the short hairs...) I must meet with her to get this damn massage done.  Moral of the story:  there are reasons people charge 'no show' fees when you don't give 24 hours notice for missed appointments.  I should...or at least, the doc I work for should... although I'd see none of it.  Anyway, if you make an appointment with someone, freaking show up... you never know what they've done just to be with you.  PSA complete.

4.   Max got so mad this week that he literally broke a window.  He was asking for something that he just wasn't getting... I forget what it was... but its at the point with his temper that you just don't want to have to tell him no.  Of course you have to, but lordy, do the repercussions SUCK.  So on Wednesday, when I said something like, "no, you can't have a tenth banana" or something just as obviously a no...  he freaks and just begins slamming his hand on our fragile, fragile... thin, rickety, old, single-paned windows.  ...And crack.  What the hell are you so mad about, TWO YEAR OLD?  Budget getting on your nerves?  Mortgage due?  Car shit the bed?  What could be irritating you so badly that you burst into rages so many dang times a day??  Sigh.

5.  We are kicking ass, home school style.  I've decided it all runs in cycles.  By 'all' I mean, any damn thing you can think of.  Life.  In the case of home school, there are just some really bad weeks sometimes when everybody wants to throw in the towel.  Then there are some weeks where we are all kicking asses and taking names.  Math?  Bam.  rocked it.  Phonics?  Done and done.  Spelling?  what spelling?  finished it.  I will relish this moment... now that I've discovered the cycle.

Welp... if you've noticed, I've joined 'Top Mommy Blogs'.  Every time you visit me, if you'd click the little button you could make my ego swell a bit.  I like to have my ego swelled...  (tee, hee.)

Have an rockin' weekend.  We will.  I'm back to hard-core organizing.  Last week was the shit in the organizing department.  (Odd where we get our kicks once we're older 'eh?)

Taaaaaaaaaa! Daaaaaaaaaaa!

Where have you been, young lady!?  I don't know.  busy.  tired.  cra. zay.  This blog entry will suck.  This is not pessimism, this is realism.  I don't have much time because I've suddenly begun to believe my house will crash in on itself like some shut-in on Hoarders.  Okay, it's not that bad... I suppose...  but, damn it needs some lovin'.  We've had people in and out of the hizzy lately working with Max and every time they come over the living room and kitchen are spotless!  Where does all that shit go?  In my bedroom.  In outer far-away rooms where it can't be seen.  Am I the only one that ends up like this???  Where does all your crap go?  All the paperwork that comes in the mail??  Am I supposed to keep the picture of the Echinosaurusthingy that Coop colored last week?  Do I just throw it away???  mess.  mess.  mess. 

What's the solution?  If I'm not overly organized now, just telling me, "Be more organized!" is not going to help.  I know mine and mine knows me...or whatever.  Homeschooling times 4 does not help any solution imagined.  Other people seem to have this down, but then again lately I've been reading blogs where the people project themselves as PERFECT.  Everything in order and now they're going to tell me how to do it.  Nope.  Doesn't work.  ...That's the problem with reading too many blogs... the perceiving of things... 

So... Ima go clean now.  I want one of those Oscar the Grouch trashcans.  I'd like to throw everything into it, place the lid on top and say, "Taaaaaaaa!  Daaaaaaa!  Clean."

and scene.

Bitchy Bitch

My morning was insane.  Max had his first Speech Therapy session today and this would mean... a stranger in the house!  This also means I've been working on getting the house into decent working condition for about 3 days.  Having 4 kids means having a mess, but homeschooling means having a bigger mess... I wasn't so sure the therapist would realize all this... especially since, and call me judgemental, I could tell just during our first conversation on the phone that she didn't have kids.  How did I know??  You just know when you're a mom.  Especially a weird mom.  ...like me.  I tend to be silly about 95% of the time because normal is boring.  I cracked some joke on the phone and she was all like, "Ok.  Be there Thursday at 11 then." Shut. down.

Anyway, I flew around the house... not cleaning up toys because that can be expected in a house like mine, but cleaning up, say, guinea pig poop that had been flung to the floor.  Gunked oatmeal on the highchair.  Making the toilet not look so much like 2 young boys use it.  Making the house not smell like poopy diapers.... Probably the hardest jobs were all pertaining to me.  and this body.  of mine.  Brush my hair.  Brush my teeth.  Cover up my acne that has decided to rear its ugly head.  Things that would be really wonderful... if I had enough time to actually accomplish them daily... heh, heh...  But I thought today, the therapist might like to see that I made some effort to look human.  All this work.

She comes in and announces that she just... talks.  "Repetition, ya know..."  That's her syllabus.  Her goal.  In a nut shell.  She's gonna say words a bunch to my kid.  30 minutes a week.  And I think that is just really swell because I never considered doing such a thing... talking to my kid and all...

Before you just think I'm a bitchy bitch, I'll remind you that my Z graduated from speech therapy just this past February.  Not only could he talk when he was done, he was a smartass, which I love because its just my style.  During his final evaluation the therapist held up a sheet of paper with 6 colors on it.  Z blurted out, without being asked, "red, blue, purple, yellow, orange, brown, pink!"  He had gotten every. single. one. wrong.  I sighed thinking, "Jesus, I can't do this another 6 months" when he suddenly yells, "hahahahahahaha!!! just kidding!" and recited them all correctly.  We all laughed and the therapist said something to the effect of, "I think we're done here."  That therapist was phenomenal.  She had a rapport with Z, brought cool toys to play with and seemed to have a method.  Always had a handout for his nerdy mama.  This new chick and I are not meshing.  She's already announced she won't be bringing toys.  She just really kinda sat there like a bump on a log.  Ima give her the benefit of the doubt though.  We are only at the beginning.  I just can't believe I'm back to needing the house to look decent at least once a week and brush my teeth in a timely manner if only for one day...  such is life. 

The Brute

Maximus has officially gotten the ball rolling for Speech Therapy.  Why so late, you may ask... or may not care... or whateva... ima tell you anyway.  There seems to be two very opinionated schools of thought around me regarding speech therapy.  I kinda ride the fence.  One school is probably astounded that my 27 month old (annoying, right?  2 years, 3 months) can't speak Latin.  They'da thrown him in circa 12 months when he wasn't babbling out his numbers 1 through 10.  I don't subscribe to this.  I thoroughly believe kids should eat, sleep and poop and play even more.  Playing is crazy important.  Why stress all this other crap they're going to have to do for a life time.  A lot is learned simply by being and observing the world around you.  Now, there's also the other school that's all like, "duuuude.  Just let him beeee"  [read in a hippie voice, it's more entertaining].  These people believe that even if he doesn't speak 'til age 4, so be it.

Like I said, I'm somewhere on the fence.  We put Z through speech therapy at no cost to us.  (Why wouldn't we do it??)  He went from nearly no words around 24 months to speaking fluently for all to understand and uh... never shutting up.  Before he could speak, Z would bang his head or scream to get attention, the wrong attention and we didn't want him to hurt himself.  Besides that, I was ready to get to "know" the little guy.  Have a conversation.  Ask him, "what's up?" and actually find out.  So today, at the age of three, he's talking up a storm and beginning to learn his letters.  He can count to 10 and a little beyond on his own and hold up a pretty good (interesting) conversation.

Max has always been our brute.  He looks like a Max.  And while he does have a few words under his belt, he had kinda plateau-ed and we thought it was time.  The temper tantrums he throws when he's not understood or doesn't get his way are nuts compared to Z's.  I just wanted some relief for him and for us and I felt like I had held out long enough.  My co-worker, who is old-school and completely zen when it comes to parenting (she homeschooled/homeschools too) simply said, "Why?" when I told her we started speech.  It was in just a sort of way that made me question my decision, but only for a minute.  I don't feel I'm pushing the kid... just want him to be able to communicate with and through his world. 

He would then (maybe) be able to explain THIS at lunch a few minutes ago:

or not... I don't think there could be an explanation.