Now Guilt Free

I was reading about how sometimes well water can have too many minerals in it after a hard rain and it's not healthy for aquarium fish. If it's replaced with bottled water, the fish may actually live longer. I did read this from a fictional book, and it wasn't about fish, so I'm not sure how much validity I'll give to that, but it sounds good.

I was relaying this fun fact to Sam and said, "I wonder if that's why the fish all died."

"What fish?"

"You remember that year that the church's kids club gave live gold fish as prizes at the carnival? And we came home with about a half dozen? By the end of the week they were all dead. It seemed that every time I changed the water another one went belly up. I wonder if our water killed them."

The kids, sitting around the dinner table, were listening. Becky said, "or maybe it's because we picked them up every morning."

"What?"

"We would pick them up and carry them around every morning before you got up."

"Well, yeh. That would kill them. And here I was feeling guilty all these years for killing my children's prize fish. Thanks a lot."

Maybe I'll be inspired to go buy some goldfish now. I've honestly thought that I was a certified fish killer for these many long years. Nice.

Bible Lessons

I teach the first and second grade Sunday School class at church. That is such a fun age. They can read, color, cut, and respond to questions. And they're not so old that they're all "been there, heard that, can we talk about the movie that I saw last night?"

Last week's lesson was on Saul. The Saul that saw the blinding light of Jesus shining down from heaven, became a believer, and then had his name changed to Paul. That Saul.

So I was telling the kids the story and said, "he heard a voice saying Saul, why are you persecuting me?" And then I explained that persecuting meant hurting. I asked, "who do you think was talking to Saul?"

One little boy raised his hand and said, "I think he fell on someone when he fell off his horse."

I'm telling you, I learn more from the lessons than the kids do most weeks. It's kind of like Paul Harvey's The Rest of the Story. Apparently that fun little detail was omitted when the Bible was written.

Saturday Shots

One Piece of my Heart

Upside Down World

At the Creek



Time to Go



So Excited



Castoffs





Treasure Seekers

My Baby Graduated

Micah's kindergarten graduation was today. He still has a week of school left, but he graduated nonetheless. I don't know why, so don't ask.

After all the hassle and headache we went through to get him to participate, we were justified in our battle. He done good. He came out, he stood quietly in his spot, and he held his hands over his mouth in a much horrified way as if thinking, "holy crap. These people weren't here when we were practicing. Who the heck are they and where did they come from?!" But he stood his ground and jumped right into the first song.

And that's when we realized that all the ruckus was probably less about him sitting and more about him singing. We haven't confirmed this with anyone and I'm not sure that anyone would 'fess up to anything, but it was evident that he sang with gusto.

The problem being, of course, that Micah can't talk. If you can't talk you certainly can't sing. His singing sounds like this.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It's very loud, trust me. And when he's singing his best because he was told to, it's even louder. They dug their own grave with that one, and I loved every minute of it. We were standing in the clear back of the auditorium and I heard Micah loud and clear above three entire classes of kindergartners. He was a rock star.

Do you see me smiling?

When his name was called, he marched up on stage and shook the Principal's hand. He knew that he was to sit down after that and my picture isn't the best because immediately upon touching Mrs. M's hand he spun around to go find his seat. He's a man on a mission.

Have I ever told you that when Micah walks with determination, he looks like Inspector Clouseau (from the Pink Panther) crossing the street in New York City? He does. It's amusing. Saying that he marched up on the stage with determination was an understatement. Everyone in the room knew that he had somewhere to go, and he was going there.

After that he decided that he was done. He handed his hat to his aide, twittered in his seat until the next song started, and then exited stage left. How ironic since he wasn't to be in the ceremony at all until the hand shaking event, and then stay for just the last two songs. Micah will make his own rules, and I applaud him this time around for walking off.

Wow. My baby graduated kindergarten. Life comes at you fast, you know?



Yes. Yes, I do have my boy dressed in stripes and plaids for graduation. He's rocking them, and I did it on purpose.

When Creative Minds Aren't That Appreciated

If your kids are anything like ours (which I'm guessing that they are) they will get out of doing chores at every opportunity. Cleaning their rooms are one of the worst punishments that we can impose upon them. The irony is that it's clearly their mess and not the fact that I'm asking them to clean up after the rest of the family. Or maybe that's what makes it worse. I always find it amusing (kind of) that I'll happily clean a friend's home, but loathe the very same chores in my own home. Apparently kids are no different in that respect.

So the other day Luke was told to clean his room because the path through the forest no longer existed. He disappeared for a while into the depths of hte house, avoiding parental contact. We assumed that he was making headway on his room, as he'd been told. Silly us.

When it was realized that he'd chosen to disobey, he was confronted about it. He claimed that he forgot. Actually, his verbatim response was, "I can't help it if I have short term memory loss."

That boy is destined to become a lawyer. He has an answer to everything, and one that can't truly be argued with.

False Advertising

Most of what you see advertised on television is false. They have to lie to get you to buy anything nowadays. You know the drill - if you buy a hot sports car, the women will flock to you.

Lie.

If you buy Super Duper Tooth Whitener, you will have a super fab smile that will get you the Best. Job. Ever.

Lie.

If you buy your kids Extra Choco Power Cereal they will be the smartest kids in school because eating a healthy breakfast will do that to you.

Lie. Your kid won't learn anything because he'll be sitting in the detention for the hyperactive overdrive he's been in all day.

And one of my new personal favorites is for the front loading, high-efficiency washer. Have you seen it? The one where the lady takes a silky cloth thing out of the washer, turns around and hangs it on the wall, and it becomes a dryer? All the while the voice-over is saying that you'll save so much money with your high-efficiency washer that you'll be able to afford to buy the dryer to go with it.

Lie.

We bought into that one and I'm here to tell you differently. We have a HE washer, and I love it. Don't get me wrong. I love the super capacity tub that holds more than my dryer could ever dream of handling and I make handle anyway. It cleans well and I'm only trusting that it uses less water because there's no way for me to measure that kind of stuff. But as far as the saving so much money that you can buy the dryer? Yeh, that would be a lie.

Right around the time that we went all go-green in the laundry department, we also decided to change out the light bulbs to those funky fluorescent ones. While I love the Earth and all that, I didn't do these things to go-green in that sense. I just wanted a bit more green in my wallet. Surely you can appreciate that. If you know anything about the funky fluorescent lights, you'll know that they, also, are reported to save you substantial amounts of green in the course of a year. Substantial. So we figured that between the new HE Machine and the funky lighting, our electric bill should be somewhere in the negative numbers.

Lie.

It has gone down an average of $10 per month. While this is good (any money saved is a win), it certainly won't buy a new dryer in the washing machine's lifetime. Especially considering that it was the washer and light combo that racked up those astounding savings.

I am very disappointed.

Also? The HE Machine needs it's own special kind of laundry detergent to reduce sudsing. That special kind of laundry detergent is more expensive than it's high-sudsing counterpart. There goes any savings that we've managed to pocket.

I think we should start a new trend in advertising.

Truth.

It sells.

Entertainment Comes In Large Packages

We finally joined the ranks of families who own trampolines. It was a concession on Sam's part. Working in the medical field, he sees more than his share of trampoline related injuries. I keep reminding him that the children have inherited all my athletic non-ability which makes them susceptible to major injuries simply walking up and down stairs. A trampoline does not pose a greater risk, just another risk.

The stipulation was that we couldn't put up the trampoline until we got a net for it. So we did. Ebay provided us with a sturdy one that promised to hold kids inside the confines of the bouncing area.

Last Friday we assembled the trampoline (then tested it before continuing further - it has to be safe for the kids) then cracked open the box for the enclosure. The box contained support poles, padded tubing to go around them, and screws. The net was missing. That is the enclosure part of the enclosure. We're working on getting a net sent. In the meantime the kids are on low-bounce instructions.

Micah is a bouncing fool. The boy loves the trampoline even better than his pool. Unfortunately he also finds trampoline time to be naked time. There is nothing like the sight of a boy jumping naked, trust me. It will be a very long summer while I teach the boy that clothing is not optional. I will succeed at this, though. Trust me.

Micah has decided that the best way to digest food is to pack it down and bounce it through your system. Immediately following every meal, he's out there jumping. He leaves the table and rushes outside. We find this amusing. What I did not find amusing was the fact that bright and early Saturday morning, after keeping the kids up late at a drive-in movie the night before, Micah stripped his diaper, peed on the living room floor, and went out to jump naked. The neighbors are loving us more every day.

Summer is going to be so fun.

I am also happy to report that I was able to jump on the trampoline all weekend and only had one unscheduled change of underpants. What? You think I'd let the kids have all the fun?

Happy Memorial Day

The picture is a flashback, but it's appropriate for the day.

Saturday Shots

The Quilt

Brothers

New Talent

Clearing Air

Mischief

Potato Head

Waiting for a Breeze

I Have An Admission To Make

We were having a family night outside (read: made the kids work alongside us) and Josh was arguing with his daddy about whether or not the two poles were exactly the same or not. It was a who's-right contest that neither was backing down from. Josh finally went to get a tape measure and proved his father right. Gotta love when your brilliant plan backfires on you.

Just as this fun ribbing was coming to an end, Luke walked up and asked what we were talking about. I started to say, "admitting you're wrong" when Luke said (completely out of the blue, and very seriously) "I always admit my farts."

I've heard of admitting your faults, but admitting your farts is probably a good idea, too.

Mother Nature is a Cruel Woman

I have learned the hard way that I can't even think about planting a garden until after Memorial Day. Living in the mountains has that disadvantage. I've tried, mind you. I've planted earlier, and watched the weather, and covered tender plants when temps drop to freezing, and brought flowers in when frost bites. While the flowers managed to live, the things in the garden didn't. The blankets and towels draped around the yard like white trailer trash did absolutely no good.

Last year I was extra vigilant. Last year I bought two sets of crops for the garden. Mother Nature killed the first ones. It gets expensive to buy things twice. I wouldn't be that stupid again. This year I'm waiting. Memorial Day is next week and I will plant my garden after that. I should be safe, but all bets are off where Mother Nature is concerned.

Being spring and all, I get the overwhelming urge to garden. Since I can't plant vegetables yet, I content myself with breaking new ground for flower beds. One of these years I'll have the landscaping completed. I'm not sure if I'll sit back on my laurels after simply weeding and enjoy my handiwork, or re-do everything for the sake of having something to do. But this year wasn't the year I had to make that decision. This was the year that I landscaped in the front yard. It was in desperate need.

And then Mother Nature decided to get involved. It was a heavy frost. Several nights of a heavy frost. Sam scraped ice off the windshield before heading to work, it was that heavy.

My basil is dead. I'll have to buy new.

My hosta is dead, as are the bleeding hearts.

My astilbe is dead.

My lemon mint is brown on the top, but still green underneath. Half the bush will die.

The oak leaves are dead. The scrubby trees in the hedge are just fine.

The perennial flowers that were coming up nicely are dead.

My gardens will be bare this year if they don't come back.

Mother Nature is a cruel woman.



My ferns are dead, too, just in case you were wondering.

Let the Graduation Commence

Last week's big news was all about discrimination. I was hacked. Mostly because discrimination is wrong no matter what, and specifically because it was directed against my son.

Micah is in Life Skills, and his class has eleven students ranging from kindergarten to third grade. He was assigned to a mainstream kindergarten class for the graduation ceremony just so he'd have an assigned place on stage. I suggested that they move him to a side instead of front and center, to minimize the distraction. I envisioned the teacher in charge of the ceremony to go ballistic because either Micah would have to be reassigned or the whole class would have to move. Obviously someone so inflexible as to allow a special needs student to sit when others were standing would not go with drastic changes like the aforementioned.

The day after the confrontation with his teacher, I had to call the principal in our district on an unrelated issue. While we were talking, he asked if there was anything specifically that he could do to help with Micah. (I love that new principal.) I was reluctant to bring up the graduation mess, but he asked, so I spilled. I was adamant that I didn't want to be a problem, that I was waiting to see if my diplomatic suggestion would resolve things, but just please be aware of what's going on. He said he completely understood where I was coming from on this, and to let him know if I needed his help.

I was informed that Micah had graduation practice Monday morning at 10 AM. I debated showing up unannounced to watch, but Sam and I decided that being low-key is best. I would stop in the next day and ask how things went, and take it from there. I had every intention of driving to the school for the express purpose of casually dropping by on Tuesday, but early Monday morning the school called to schedule an IEP meeting for Wednesday.

I was a bit frustrated that I wasn't given more notice on the IEP meeting (because my life is so busy *ahem*)but then I realized that his teacher and both principals would be in attendance at said meeting. It might be the perfect time to address an ongoing problem. My plan was to talk to his teacher Wednesday morning before the meeting and go from there if I needed to.

Monday morning I kept an eye on the clock. When ten o'clock rolled around I prayed in earnest. For an hour. While I sewed to distract myself. I prayed that Micah would be cooperative, that the teacher in charge would be patient and understanding, that the problem would be resolved by moving Micah. I prayed for an hour, and then I waited. My God is big enough to take care of trivial problems like this without any intervention on my part, but sometimes He wants to teach me about faith and perseverance instead. Would this be a faith lesson, or would this be a test of my endurance?

Tuesday's teacher correspondence contained the note "Micah will be in the graduation ceremony. He was placed at the side yesterday and he did very well. He ran off the stage once or twice though."

Have I introduced you to my God? He's small enough to handle trivial things, and big enough to erase discrimination out of the hearts of those who come into contact with my son. Running off stage is a worse offense than sitting when others are standing, but now it's no longer a problem. Perhaps the principal called and casually mentioned something. Perhaps my mentioning that I really wanted Micah in the ceremony made a difference. Perhaps Micah's teacher realized that it was discrimination and told the teacher in charge to deal with it. But it's my God that orchestrated these events. Prayer does wondrous things.

Micah will be included. He just wants to be like everyone else, and next week he'll show the parents of all kindergartners that he is. Behind that extra chromosome, there is no difference.

Let the Games Begin

Soccer season is in full swing. Games started last week which means that attendance isn't really optional anymore, and cancellations for rain just don't happen. Becky and Josh are both playing this year, and once again Luke has chosen to sit on the sidelines and be bored.

The fact that Luke won't sign up for AYSO kind of baffles us. He says it's because he doesn't want to run all the time. Or because it'll interfere with his drum lessons (once a week). Or because he doesn't know how to play. We do not push our kids into anything that they don't want to do, so we respect his lack of interest in the game and allow him to spectate with us.

I will also fully admit that we don't push very hard for him to join because having two kids in the sport is enough running. I have no idea how families manage to run all over the place all the time trying to keep their kids in every sport under the sun. It boggles my mind with the logistics of it.

It's going to be a long season. Micah is not a fan of soccer games.

One Does NOT French Kiss Their Mother

Micah had Kool-Aid today. He likes Kool-Aid, and this wasn't his first Kool-Aid adventure. This was, however, the first time he's seen himself in a mirror after drinking Kool-Aid. I spent the next ten minutes laughing at him.

The boy is a neat freak, which is ironic because being a boy, a large part of his genetic make-up is dirt. He will wipe his hands a hundred and thirty two times a day because there is something on them. If only he could see his face at any given time he'd freak out. Today he saw his tongue. And I'll give him kudos for not freaking. He was disturbed though.

He wouldn't put his tongue back in his mouth, but let it hang out. Maybe he was afraid that it would contaminate the inside of his mouth if he allowed it back in. Maybe he just didn't want to take his eyes off it.

He was caught in a dilemma - he wanted to take that tongue off so that he could see it without the aid of a mirror, and yet he knew that it was definitely unremovable. Still, one instinct fought with another and while that cute little tongue hung out drying, he would reach up with both hands and almost grab it to pull before realizing that it would be a moot point.

He came over to me and asked to see my tongue. I showed him. Mine wasn't red because I drank water for lunch. He put his out to show me. I said, "your tongue is red." (Because I like to point out the obvious sometimes.) He wanted to see my tongue again. I showed him. He put his tongue out and tried rubbing the red off his tongue and onto mine. Thankfully I figured out what was going down just before contact was made.

One does not French kiss their mother. That is about thirteen different levels of wrong right there.

He reached for a wash cloth but decided that a wash cloth on your tongue would be weird. He put it back. He hung his tongue out and wiped it with his finger. His finger was wet and he gave a very satisfied, "there." It was taken care of because he wiped it off on his finger. He wiped his now wet finger on his pants leg and walked on his merry way.

Past the mirror.

Where he stuck his tongue out at the boy on the other side.

The boy's tongue was still red.

And we started all over with the reaching to take it off, and trying to transfer it to my tongue, and wiping it with a finger. In the end I figured that I'd help him since he'd been so good and didn't have meltdown over the ordeal even though he was incredibly tired. I got the wash cloth and ever so gently wiped his tongue when he put it out for me. I said, "there" in a final way as if it was all taken care of. And I quickly ushered him past the mirror.

It almost worked.

Summer Entertainment for Your Sanity's Sake

The school year is coming to an end. This is always bittersweet, you know? While I love my kids (duh), I also love the me-time I've discovered when they're in school. But summer is short lived, and weirdly childhood is even shorter, so I've come to embrace summer vacation. Most of the time.

Part of the embracing comes from having a plan. Gone are the days when I said, "Guys, you're home! Now go have fun" because I've found that the kids aren't the best at entertaining themselves after a whole school year's worth of structure. They will, however, sit and watch TV endlessly, or play computer games, or fall to fighting with each other. And this is all within minutes of getting out of their wee kids bed in the morning.

In order to remind myself that I need a plan, I will write it down. This post is really for my benefit, but if you gain from it as well that would be awesome.

Camp is your friend. It's your kids' friend, too. Our church hosts a week of camp for kids of all ages and our kids look forward to going every year. We look forward to it as well. Remembering that we love our kids (duh), it is always nice to be able to do something special with just a few while the others are off having fun. It's almost like a date with your kids. Not only is it important to relationship building, it's fun. You should try it. And it's a win-win because the kid not home is enjoying themselves at camp. If church camp isn't your thing, we have a local Art Center that offers camps all summer ranging from drama to painting to mosaics. While these are day camps, it's still a ton of fun for the kids. Mine are still singing the Herman the Worm song they learned there years ago. And there are always sports camps for those in touch with their inner jock.

We love scouring the newspaper for things to do in summer. The library has a summer reading program that offers snacks and playground time as well as a reading contest. The school offers free lunches throughout summer just for stopping in. (Okay, call us weird, but we go for a free lunch and then hit the community playground. We call it a fun day out and we're all happy. We've also spent zero dollars.) The local state parks offer classes that the kids love. These range from free to inexpensive and the kids learn things like what they can eat from nature, footprint ID, water safety (complete with a day on the lake), and What Scat is That? (I know, but my kids actually find that one the most fun.)

We've also recently discovered the drive-in movies. I wish I'd have known about the wonders of this earlier. While it's not so much in the entertainment department through the day when you need to get some things done, you can use it as a bribe for the kids and this works miracles. "If you're good today and don't fight, we'll go to a movie tonight." And then it's a win-win because since the kids are excited and up late at night they will sleep in the next morning. Except for Micah. He's still up with the sun. Or the roosters. There's a reason we don't' have roosters; I don't take the chance that they might be up before the sun.

And don't underestimate the power of your own back yard. Sprinklers will entertain kids for hours. Hours, people. This is good. Keeping all your kids fully clothed will be the only hassle you'll get from this. And I can speak from experience that if you set up a Kiddie Pool, kids of all ages are in it. Okay, not the teenager. But from those below teen years are game to wet their ankles. Water is a winner. Always. Sidewalk chalk is a close second to water. Murals of all shapes and sizes are drawn because they can then break out the hose and wash it off. That is the best part to my kids. I generally save the chalk for days when my patio needs cleaned. I'm not stupid. Also? Bubbles. Again with the ageless thing. A small bottle of bubbles can lose it's fun-factor with the bigger kids, but break out an over sized wand and suddenly they're all wondering why they don't have their own.

Get creative in the kitchen as well. Pudding pops (frozen pudding on a stick) is a rare treat (because you've don't want the kids to get bored with them), Chex mixes, homemade slushes and smoothies (because they're cold) and of course s'mores. Wait, did I forget to mention the evenings sitting around the fire pit? Yeh, those are awesome.

I'm really looking forward to summer break.

Saturday Shots

Helping Hand

Relax

Bag Lady

Airing

Fear Me. I Am My Son's Advocate.

The school has decided that Micah will not be participating in the full kindergarten graduation ceremony as originally planned.

Oh, yes. They did.

Let me say that this was not his teacher's decision, and that his personal aide is just as hacked about this as I am. Those two are rock stars in their own sense, and are cherished members of Team Micah.

Also let it be stated that I did not just roll over and allow this to happen. Can you all say discrimination with me? I stopped at the school today just to address this issue. I am aware that diplomacy is always the best bet, and I started where I knew I would be heard; with his teacher. She said that sometimes Micah will sit down or kneel during the standing times and that other kids around him are following suit. This makes him stand out and disrupts the ceremony.

I bit my tongue and moved on.

I suggested that they move him from front and center (where he is currently positioned) to front and wing. (He cannot be in the back because of the bleachers.) That way there would be less kids around him and he would be less of a distraction overall. She said that she would suggest this to the teacher in charge, but the agreement has always been that Micah could participate as long as he wasn't a problem.

I nearly bit my tongue in half. I struggled to move on.

I was never told that Micah had stipulations to his participation. As a parent, I have the right to know these things. And let's all say discrimination together again. I just do not get the part where my son can be asked to sit on the sidelines until the end just because he's in Life Skills Class. If a kindergartner in a mainstream class was sitting down during standing time (or poking the kid in front of him, or picking his nose instead of singing) you can be assured that he would never be asked to sit on the sidelines. In fact, they CAN'T ask a mainstream child to sit out half the program.

Let it be stated right here, right now that I do not care if Micah is in the full ceremony or not. That is not the issue at hand. The issue is that my child is being discriminated against, and that's not going to fly with me.

If my diplomatic suggestion doesn't seem to work, I will next address the teacher that is in charge of making these decisions and smile warmly as I mention the words discrimination and law suit.

Micah will be attending this school for the next six years and the last thing that I want to do is make an enemy there. But my son will not be treated any differently than his peers just because of his disability, especially when he's perfectly capable of doing the very something that they're asking him not to.

You don't mess with my son. I'm afraid that a few people are about to find that out the hard way.

Tripped

I forget how exhausting road trips are. I am definitely getting old. If you are my age and feel the need to defend that statement, go right ahead. I won't be around to argue with you because I'm dragging my tired self up the stairs to bed.

The good news is that every single puppy has a wonderful home and that makes me very, very happy. My job here is done. (For this year at least.)


(Please ignore the muddy paw prints on the floor. We don't eat off the floor and I don't recommend that you do either.)

Road Tripping

We are going on a road trip tomorrow. I love me a good road trip. I have to wonder if it has anything to do with reliving our honeymoon.

For those of you who do not remember (or weren't around when it was originally posted) we didn't take a honeymoon. We left for Alaska five days after we were married, and spent the next nine days on the road. That was, um, interesting. We got to know a whole lot about each other that we really didn't want to right up front. Maybe that's why our marriage is so strong after sixteen years. There's nothing that can top that nine day road trip in some of the worst conditions known to married couples. We won't go into how Sam washed the car bra (shut up, it was fresh off the 80's) in the hotel bathtub before I got to shower one night, or how it took us 3 hours to drive 50 miles through axle-deep mud and snow, or the infamous lunch at Toad River, or how I couldn't get crumbs in the brand new Cavalier (may she rest in pieces).

Sam says our honeymoon was an all expense paid trip to Alaska. I say you don't come home from a honeymoon with a dog and a one year old that you didn't' have before you left. You can choose sides, but I'm right.

And after all that nine days of Getting To Know You, we said that there was no way we were driving back. Especially since our daughter was not quite one year old. And then one I woke up and said, "hey, you know what would be fun? Driving home." So we did. That trip took three weeks. With a one year old in the back of the trusty Cavalier (may she rest in pieces). Becky was cutting molars at the time, but we didn't realize it until we hit Ohio. It was a good trip. Seriously. Except for the whole one-year-old at the Grand Canyon thing. That wasn't a smart idea for someone who's terrified of heights.

So anyhoo, tomorrow is a road trip. Sam and I consider these things dates. While we have differing expectations, we've learned to deal with each other's style and enjoy ourselves. The first rule of a road trip is eating. You've gotta plan where you'll eat. Yes, plan it. Unfortunately there are no Fuddruckers where we're going. We're seriously bummed. Fudd's rocks.

I am getting a Starbucks for the road because everyone knows that you can't road trip without a cuppa 'Bucks to travel with. It will be awesome, especially since I've been avoiding them lately due to the sugar they load me up with, and the fact that they drain my wallet. But it's a date, and when else can you splurge?

We are renting a car for the great event. Laugh if you will, but for $37 it beats putting miles on our own vehicles. And besides, someone else is paying for it. We love renting cars. We own the van, which is an awesome ride (hush, we're parents) but it's not exactly road trip material. And then things deteriorate from there. We have a full size truck, but you don't' take trucks on road trips either. And then there is the car. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that the vomit-colored paint (complete with puke chunks) coupled with the smashed in door from the accident makes it one eye catching piece. Or is that eye bleeding? I keep forgetting.

So you see why we get excited about rental cars? They're new, they're fun, and they're clean inside. We are also juvenile enough to also say "zoom, zoom" every few miles just because we can.

I am fully admitting that we are incredibly lame and lifeless because a mere road trip will inspire giddiness and excitement. See what happens when you become parents? I think it's the thought of spending time alone without the kids that really is the deal breaker on this. How very, very sad.

Especially in light of the fact that we're taking Micah and a puppy along and we're STILL excited.

We. Are. So. Lame.

Sometimes New Isn't Better

Micah had an appointment at Children's last week. It was at the craniofacial/cleft palate clinic, which is also the plastics wing. We were there for none of the above reasons. The Downs clinic referred us to see the leading specialist in that field because he may have some insight on why Micah is not talking yet.

He didn't.

This is very good news, and yet it's frustrating. I'd love to have an answer handed to me, preferably on a silver platter with a mint beside it. I just think that if we have a diagnosis other than Downs, we'd have something to work with.

We were told that he probably does not have apraxia. Sam is taking the good doctor at his word (he is an expert in his field, and a good one at that) and I am still on the fence about it. From what I've read and been told to read, Micah is exhibiting more signs of apraxia than not. Either way, it still doesn't really tell us anything that we didn't know, nor does it help us to help Micah.

Thank goodness for Prentke-Romich and their wonderful invention of a Voice for children who are speechless.

Children's Hospital recently built a brand new facility, and they moved into it a mere 6 days before our appointment. It is to be state of the art, a model for all future Children's Hospitals, and feature all the amenities that one would expect. It is indeed all that.

And now I will have the nerve to complain about the location of the new hospital. Who in their right mind thought it would be a good idea to put a Children's Hospital in the heart of a city where you've either gotta drive through stop lights for twenty minutes or avoid the stop lights on every block and drive a literal twelve miles out of your way to go around them? There is no easy way to get there. That will suck for those with a true emergency. I do not look forward to future visits there.

We're Alive; It Was a False Alarm

Becky had a soccer game Saturday but woke up with killer stomach pains. Thankfully she was feeling well enough to play by the time the game rolled around. They lost. Micah needed a diaper change at the field and that effectively stunk up the van for the day. He was obviously not feeling so well himself.

I came home and conjured up some serious stomach cramps of my own. And Micah filled his diaper again. Things were not looking good at our place. Seeing as how we have the giardia thing going on, I could have freaked out over the stomach cramps and diarrhea, but I chose to live the last few minutes of my life happily instead. I gardened.

Because it was just a very short lived version of the harmless stomach flu, we all survived the weekend with nothing more than an unscheduled trip or two to the bathroom. I'm so relieved. (Can you hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice?)

Just as I was finishing up the garden work (for the day), the boys accidentally let the ponies out. Because I know from experience that the ponies will literally run circles around you while you pass out from sheer exhaustion, I figured I'd let the boys do the running and when the ponies are done playing with them I'd go help. Miraculously the boys managed to catch the beasties all by themselves. Micah wanted to go help and I was kept busy trying to keep him out of sight of the passersby on the road. He was attempting to swim just minutes earlier (in 50 degree weather, mind you) and was in his typical swimming gear. He did don water boots for the round up though. I was unsuccessful in keeping him completely hidden. Just as I turned my back he ran through the yard and a passing motorist felt the need to slow and stare.

I do have good news to report. The first attempt that Micah made at swimming was with swim trunks. He donned them all by himself. I was so proud of him. Not proud enough to allow him into the water, though. I'm a mean mom like that.

Here's Hoping

Happy Mother's Day to all you wonderful moms out there. May you be able to spend the day in total bliss and may your children rise up and call you blessed.

And perhaps more importantly, may you able to sleep in past 7 AM.

Saturday Shots

Freedom

Spring

Sleepy

Walking

Friends

Dancing

Tools

Diseased

Now that we have pigs, I'm all kinds of worried that the things will begin coughing or sneezing. Ironically, it has nothing to do with H1N1 Swiney Flu. Well, I guess it does sort of. The swine flu hype has me thinking about sick pigs, which reminded me that the first year we were pig owners, one suddenly died. Suddenly as in within minutes.

I realize that the thing must have been sick longer than a few minutes because the vet did an autopsy on site (sooo cool - I seriously should have been a vet) and we learned that pneumonia was the killer. I also learned that if you toss a lung in a bucket of water and a part of it sinks, it has fluid in it. Of course, this only works on dead things so by then the diagnosis certainly isn't life altering.

Our only heads' up was the fact that the pig wouldn't eat, and if a pig isn't eating there's something seriously wrong with it. Like it's about to die in a few minutes. The kids said that it was a wee bit coughy in the morning but who panics over a tiny cough?

Okay, I do now. I remind the kids daily to check the pigs for heavy breathing, coughing or sneezing. I worry that one will die again. And I have the swine flu to thank for making that first and foremost in my mind.

So far the wee porkers are healthy, and eating like pigs. It's a good sign.

I wish I could say the same for the puppies. You thought the kennel chaos was over, didn't you? Well, the joke is on you because apparently as long as we have puppies we'll have problems.

I noticed last week that the puppies had a bit of bloody stool, but as I'd just dewormed them I figured it was a result of that. I gave it a day or two to clear up, but it didn't. So I did what any dog owner would do in my situation and took a Ziploc baggie of infected poo to the vet for a fecal floation.

We have giardia. Aren't we the lucky ones.

This is easily (if not expensively) fixed by dosing once daily for 7 days with a paste wormer heretofore used for horses. The good news is that we can use the leftovers on the ponies because they're due to be wormed again this month. The bad news is that we're clueless where the stupid parasite could have come from.

Giardia is generally contracted from contaminated drinking water and a lot of people bring it home as a souvenir when they visit a third world country. We have a well, and I can attest that it's not contaminated because not only would the puppies be having problems, but the adult dogs, the horses and the people would have the trots like nobody's business, along with vomiting and severe weight loss. While the weight loss would be nice to partake of, none of that stuff is going on.

It's always something, isn't it?

I'll not only be dosing every dog we own for the next week, I'll also be disinfecting everything the dogs touch with bleach. Now would be a good time to take out stock in Clorox.

Have I mentioned that this is one of those rare maladies that happily transmits between species? Yeh, it is. Lucky us.

Shopping 101

Today was one of those days where I wonder what I was thinking. The answer is always obvious: I wasn't.

Micah just loves to help shop. And today he was in rare form. He starts out by helpfully pushing the cart. He pushes it up the wrong aisles, tries running while pushing it so as to evade the momma running like a madwoman after him, and when no other possibilities open up to him he pushes it right into the back of my heels.

And then the actual shopping part starts to happen. Well, lookit! Momma is putting things in the cart. I can do that. And he does. In goes the girls shirt in size 2, in goes the 3' long dow rod, in goes the Dora the Explorer DVD. We do not have a little girl in size 2, do not need a dow rod no matter what length and Micah doesn't even know who Dora is. I'm not about to introduce them. I unload and remind that we don't need these things.

Undaunted, he loads us up on groceries. We have developed an intense need for Capri Sun that I wasn't aware of. He managed to get 3 cases into the cart while I was looking for the cheapest bulk jug of apple juice that I could find. He did manage to score a pack of pepperoni, and was thrilled that I asked him to get another. The boys eats them for breakfast. Plain. Weird, I know.

And he followed me all over the produce department trying to smuggle strawberries into the cart. I gave in on that one because it sure beats him asking for candy, and we're out of strawberries anyway.

At checkout I hate standing in line with Micah. He's just not so much fun to entertain. But I am the most dim-witted, thick-skulled idiot around. I will never learn that self checkout is not for moms of toddlers. He wants to help, remember? And help he does. Let's bag things before they're scanned! Let's lean on the bagging area, throwing off the weight and making the computer shut down while it begs for help from an employee! Let me scan something while you're obviously having a down time waiting for that employee to show up! And then he got all frustrated (almost as frustrated as I was) because I would let him help in no way, shape, or form. And he started poking at the strawberries. I'm pretty sure he'll have to eat them all for supper tonight or they'll be mush by morning.

In the end I strapped him in the seat of the cart and finished checkout myself. Why I don't remember to do this at the get-go is just beyond me. It must be all those brain cells I lost during pregnancy.




And on a completely unrelated random sidenote, I think Raisinets look like chocolate covered bunny poop. And yet they're so good. I also pretend that they're semi-healthy.

Who Knew Bert Was Making a Such Fashion Statement

Micah is a bit OCD. I wouldn't know where he got that from. *ahem*

He will only eat off certain spoons. He must have his cereal bowl turned a certain way, with the spoon angled out of it just so, before he will commence to eating. If I move his cup a bit as I set the table he will push it back a quarter of an inch to it's starting place. I have been known to purposely nudge said cup repeatedly just to see him meticulously slide it back into place.

Micah's good pal, Woody, comes with a bandanna around his neck, permanently attached to his adam's apple. Micah finds a way to untie that thing the very second that a new Woody enters the house, and it must remain untied until Woody dies a very slow and painful death, thereby being replaced by another Woody whose bandanna must also be untied. We know from experience that a Cat5 Meltdown will happen if that bandanna is tied, even by unknowing but helpful friends. It ain't pretty, folks.

Micah has been watching Mary Poppins for a while now. It has got all the elements of a classic, which he can appreciate. There is music, there is dancing, and there is laughter. A lot of it. The dancing, especially, appeals to our boy. You cannot even imagine his glee while he is Stepping in Time on the rooftops with Bert. He watches this movie so much that he has it memorized, and it ranks in his current Top 5.

This morning Micah brough Woody to me and touched the bandanna, with that look on his face that said, "I need help." I could only deduce that he wanted the bandanna tied, because there was not much else to do with it. But my Spidey Senses were tingling all over because I knew the tantrum storm that would follow if the thing got knotted into place. With Micah, everything is trial and error because of the lack of speech, so I had no choice but to try. I tentatively overhanded the two ends of the scarf into place at the nape of Woody's neck. There was no meltdown. I handed Woody back to Micah, and he had a very satisfied look on his face as he walked away.

Wow.

Just wow.

This is monumental. Mr. OCD is working through his problems, and even his most beloved Woody is getting a makeover. I have Bert to thank for that. If Bert wouldn't be such a proper Englishman, I am sure that Woody wouldn't be making an effort to spiffy himself up.

Way to go, Mary Poppins. You are approved watching for my toddler. Now if only Mary could help the boy with his potty habits...

Belonging

Micah is a special needs child. It's an obvious statement, of course, but one that I need to remind myself of on occasion. And deal with.

Micah is 6 years old, chronologically speaking. Mentally, he's not quite that. It's very hard to determine where he is mentally. His lack of speech contributes to the lack of knowing. I do know that his best friend is 3 1/2 years old and they get along incredibly well. Or at least as well as 3 year olds get along with the on again/off again fighting that constitutes a friendship at that age. Micah may be close 3 mentally, or he may not. But the fact remains that he is not 6. And I'm good with this because it's who he is.

But this is where the whole special needs/disability thing is starting to impact our lives. Micah is getting too old for things like church nursery where toddlers are welcome but older kids are not, and yet he's not old enough to fully participate in the older kids (i.e., age appropriate) class. It seems as though there is no place for him.

This is the reason that I cried for a very, very long time after Micah was diagnosed with Down syndrome. Years. I cried off and on for years. And if I'm being completely honest, I still cry. I cry because there is no place in the world for a child like mine. The world will say that they embrace those with special needs, and we all talk about inclusion, but in reality nothing has changed. There is still no place for people who are different. Nobody wants to deal with the problems that they bring with them. Problems that they cannot help because they were born with them. Problems that are just as frustrating to those who have the disability as they are to those who have to deal with the disabled.

These problems may be lack of hearing, or lack of speech, or lack of cognitive skills. These problems may be lack of mobility, or lack of sight, or lack of social skills. But no matter the disability, all the kids deal with the same problem; there is no place for them. They cannot conform to be normal, because they are born different. This is not a choice that any of them had, and yet they are singled out and set aside because their differences.

Life is most certainly not fair, and I cry for the unfairness of it. I have never cried because I have a child with a disability. I am proud of my son. Incredibly proud. I cry because he has a disability. He will forever live in a world that has no place for him, and that is just too harsh for someone who wants nothing more than to just fit in.

Swine, Sans Flu

The kids raised pigs for the county fair for a few years. Last year they did not because they used their pig money profits to buy dogs and had no money to buy pigs with. It was their choice; we're just helping them to learn about real life and that a dollar only stretches so far.

Their respective dogs have not had puppies yet to replenish their savings accounts, so the pigs were not going to happen this year, either. They were okay with that right up until Becky became BFFs with one of the vet's daughter. The vet's daughters show pigs on a grander scale than we will ever aspire to. Did you know there was a science to raising pigs? Me neither.

Becky asked if she could show a pig this year because it would be so cool to show one with Vet's Daughter. I reminded her of the status of her savings account, and she very maturely said, "oh, I forgot." And that was the end of that.

Right up until I relayed the story to Sam, who said "you can't tell the kids No." To which I replied, "um, yes I can. I already did, in fact." Which prompted him to say, "we'll buy the pigs for them and they can pay us back from their profits after the fair." What was I going to say?

I talked to the vet the next time I was at the office (thank goodness I had puppies and we were making weekly visits - sometimes daily visits - and could discuss these things) and he graciously volunteered to pick up some show piggies for us when he got for his daughters. I kinda cringed about this because how do you delicately tell your vet that while his kids are in it to win, mine are on a budget? In the end, I did just that. I also refrained from saying that if I didn't have such a high vet bill I could probably afford a better quality porker. He reassured me that there would be pigs in all price ranges and if I gave him a range he wouldn't deviate from it. Thank goodness for those who understand what a budget is.

I used puppy money to buy the pigs with. (So much for paying off bills.) And now I had a new dilemma. Does one put a large wad of money in an envelope and write on the outside what, exactly, it is for when one gives a large wad of money to an adult? I don't want the vet to think that I think that he's one of my kids. And yet I want to give him a reminder that I did pay up front for my pigs. He's picking up a number of piglets for a number of 4-Hers across the county and I just don't want confusion as to who paid and who owes. Why does something so simple have to be so complicated?

Turns out that it was a moot point because when I stopped at the vet's office to drop off the envelope containing a wad of cash, he'd already left for pig retrieval. And now I'm the one who expects him to foot the bill up front, which is way worse than thinking that he's irresponsible with money. I think.

So over the weekend, our pigs arrived. They are cute little buggers, aren't they? And no. They do not have the flu.



Micah is thrilled. He loves pigs. A lot. A WHOLE lot. He spent the evening signing PIG and repeating GIG, GIG, GIG a hundred and eighteen thousand times but my head didn't explode because anytime the boy talks with real words I'm happy. Who knew that pigs were good for speech therapy?

Saturday Shots

Tarzan Syndrome

Look at the Camera

The Guitarist

Artistic

Behind