Tourette's Guffaws.

Are ya just itchin' for a Tourette's update??  Of course you are!  Here we go.

I don't know which day it was last week, but it seems that all in a day things got a little freaky here at the Awesome Abode.  It is said and I have researched (that crazy Google habit I have) that siblings are far more likely to have Tourette's Syndrome when one of them has been diagnosed.  What does this mean?  Does it mean that the parents are far more likely to see anything as a symptom?  Maybe.  But before I put myself out there to look like a mama with nothing better to do than diagnosis each kid with Tourette's every day, allow me to say that if you were in my shoes you would do the same.  If for no other reason, entertainment purposes??  The Hubs and I had a good long villian-in-a-crappy-movie guffaw over it last night.  Ok, ok... lemme tell you why.  Last week, at some point, Max woke up and decided to blink.  Uncontrollably.  Constantly.  It doesn't hurt anyone of course, thank God... but it sure does look kinda funny.  I have read that facial movements are often the first symptoms of Tourette's.  Namely, "motor tics".  The fact that Coop has twirled his hair since he was three was one of the shoe-ins at the neurologist.  We used to laugh (with him, not at him?) when we'd try to take his picture and he could not let go of his hair.  In fact, I took a Bible School pic with me to the neuro to prove the timeline.  Apparently, it's really all about timelines.  Looking back, I would have loosened up a whole hell of a lot more with the hair twirling.  In fact, The Hubs used to keep poor Coop's head shaved.  ...That seems just cruel now.  To bring it all around... that's why I don't get on to Z when he hums.  constantly.  If the kid is awake, he is humming.  Three year olds hum, right?  Of course they do... but as a mom of a kid with Tourette's I have to wonder.  And I have to wonder, if I get on to him for humming for the third hour straight...will I feel badly later if he's diagnosed?  sigh.

Isn't that a vision of my crazy homeschooling household?  Humming from at least two kids most times, blinking, twirling...  Somewhere along the line I must have prayed for patience and was sent a pretty stern lesson.

And so there you have it.  I believe I will have a total of three kids with Tourette's.  woot.  woot.  My hold out is Lola.  Tourette's is not as likely in girls... but we shall see, right?

Back to our guffaw.  Last night on 'Parenthood', a couple of idiots lost their child with Aspergers.  As in, he walked out the door and they couldn't find him.  At the end of the show, the couple says something like, "Oh my God, we lost a kid today."  I turned to the Hubs and said, "Geez, what are our odds, we have double the kids they do..."  The Hubs said something to the point of, "But how could we lose them if they're always making so much noise?"  I followed that up with, "I guess it's kinda like putting a bell on a cat... or three..."  Guffaws ensued.

Schoolin, Cleanin, Breathin.

I be coming to you from my trashed, trashed home.  I'm on my third load of laundry and... haven't gotten to the hampers yet...  as in, I have dug them out, but haven't washed the clothes that actually stayed in the hamper and did not vomit forth onto the bathroom floor or hallway.  My kitchen is disgusting.  My kids are still in jammies.  My guest bathroom smells a bit like a gas station bathroom.  I more or less took last week off and it was TERRIFIC.  But like any job/career/occupation...  my inbox has heaped itself, ceiling bound.  I've been working all morning, I swear...  but no stranger could tell, that's for sure.

Monday brings a day I usually look forward to, but actually do nothing with.  Tuesday is trash day and I always think, "THIS IS IT!  I'm cleaning EVERYTHING out.  EVERYTHING must go."  By the time I get to The Great Overhaul, I am usually too pooped, or forget all together... leaving only the things that were thrown out over the week to actually make it down the hill in the trashcan.  I have a curious problem this week, one I keep consciously reminding myself to not bitch about.  I can't find anything in my fridge or pantry, nothing fits, nothing is empty enough to throw out.  All blessings, really.  Last week I honestly wondered how the hell I was going to afford anything for Thanksgiving, this week I bitch I have too much... fickle much?  This week seems to be the perfect week to start Once-A-Month cooking with the 200 pounds of turkey I have left over.  I looked at the Hubs last night and said, "I'm not eating one more bite of this turkey until it turns into something else."  ...I'm thinking "cassoulet".

Today was kind of a sad day.  Back to regular ol' life.  Schoolin'.  Cleanin'.  Deep breathin'... as I am alone with these heathen children again.  It was so fun last week having the Hubs off and the family in.  But it all did give me a fresh perspective and enough rest to take it all back up again.

The countdown to Christmas begins!

Polkafest

I should probably put something mind blowing here... or at least mushy-squishy.  I'm not mushy-squishy.  I guess it's evident in the fact that we celebrate "Polkafest".  What the hell is Polkafest?  Keep your pants on, I'm getting there.  I'll warn you, this'll jump around a bit.

The Hubs sometimes jokingly gives me, "affection lessons".  He'll wrap my arms around him and state, "this is how you love".  He's not being serious... I hope...  but I've realized I'm a lot like my Dad in that department.  I'm not the type to wrap my arms around you and love on ya and... touch ya.  Is it ironic that I am a massage therapist?  Yes, I would agree with you.  Hubs on the other hand is just a genuinely nice guy with um, way less social awkwardness than I.  What am I getting to?  I grew up with a Navy Dad who was in no way mushy-squishy and if you knew him personally, you know that to say that this is an understatement, is, in fact, an understatement.

I won't try to capture all that is "Dad" in one blog post.  That's impossible. It's also impossible not to think of a million what ifs on the 7th anniversary of his death.  What if my four kids had ever known him?  What if he had gotten to know the Hubs a lot better?  What if he was around to give the point blank objective advice that always sucked hearing, but was pretty damn good?  What if he was still at church every Sunday with his buddies?  What if he got to take my kids to Dairy Queen for an icecream cone?  What if my Mom and Dad's house was still there as a refuge?  ... but what if he was still sick and suffering...? 

My Dad would say, "Well, you can wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which comes out first"....?  Some of that sound advice you don't want to hear, but is pretty spot on. 

One of my friends still refers to my Dad as "Sir".  I guess that pretty adequately demonstrates my Dad's personality.  I don't recall my pal ever calling him "Jerry".  He commanded that kind of authority and respect.  Because of this, it was always so special to me if I told a joke or said something funny and he'd genuinely laugh.  Likewise, I once boarded a plane to St. Louis and just before stepping onto the airport curb, he gave me a hug...  one of the most awkward moments of my life, in a good way.

It's only as a parent that I've come to realize the full extent to which he sacrificed and worked for our family.  This parenting shit is hard and the choices that come along and the work that must be done is for the most part, overwhelming.  While I've established I am not "mushy-squishy"... I wish I could thank him.

So...  Polkafest.  Some of my Dad's sound advice around the death of my best friend was to leave the family alone and let them mourn.  It seemed heartbreaking.  I had been at their house quite a bit.  When Dad died, I remembered his advice regarding my best friend and realized how he would probably like to be remembered after he died.  Not a lot of pomp and circumstance, not a bunch of crying and "carrying-on".  As a kid and even now I know more polkas than you can shake a stick at...  a very odd gift here in 2011.  Dad played 'em everywhere and loved 'em.  He also loved bratwurst, sausages and any other over the top fattening Octoberfest type fare you can think of.  After balling my eyes out on Dad's first death anniversary I decided it certainly didn't help and didn't make me feel any better.  Why not celebrate the fact that he doesn't have to battle cancer any more ('Fuck Cancer' should be the ACS's motto, I'm convinced) and that he lived a great life.  Every year my family plays polka music, eats bratwurst, saurkraut, pierogies and just... smiles.  We've chosen to celebrate.  The last thing he'd want is any "belly achin'". 

So here's to you Dad.  Happy Polkafest.