Saturday Shots from Idlewild Park

Where my cell phone spent most of the day. Without me.

Cousins



Musical art.



Blown up.




Swimming


Teens. *eye roll*



This is all anyone sees before being run over. So glad we take a stroller.

BlogHer, Home Edition V.2

This being the week of BlogHer, I figured I'd better air all my grievances at once. BlogHer, Home Edition V.2 are some pet peeves of mine. Feel free to tell me that your blog is your own space to do whatever with.

Here are some things that irk me.

* You're reading blogs and as you click on one you're blasted away by loud music that will either make your ears bleed or wake the sleeping children. Waking the sleeping children is way worse than waking the dead, trust me.

* Word verification - we've talked about this before. Turn it off. It's for the greater good. I will close the comment screen and walk away just as quickly as I'll try to decode jumbled letters. And I know for a fact that I'm not the only one.

* fOnT changes. (You'll notice that I didn't actually change the fonts there? That would make me hypocritical if I did.) Font changes do not make you a better writer; they will make your readers run away. I'm hoping that's not the desired effect you're going for.

* Awards and memes. I hate them. Sure, there was a day that I was flattered that someone thought of me and sent something my way, but I got over that. Personally, I find blog posts containing memes and awards boring and never read them. I don't even watch Hollywood's award shows, so I'm definitely not interested in blogger awards. Not even receiving them. I know; shocker.

* Having a blog account, but having your email blocked for comment response. I try to respond to most of my commenters via email, and it's incredibly annoying to have your comment show up in my inbox, only to click on Respond and have the Non-Reply message come up. If you need help fixing it, I'm here for you. Seriously, it's the best way to get to know someone, chatting back and forth through emails. Isn't that part of the reason why we're blogging in the first place? To connect with others we have things in common with? Or is that just me?

* And because I haven't alienated enough readers yet, I'll also address the marathon posters. While most people consider a post a day a worthy goal to aim for, there are those who feel the need to share no less than a dozen times a day. I love that you have information to share, really I do, but I only have so much time in my day to read blogs. If I spend all that time reading a dozen posts from one blog (from one day!), everyone suffers in the end. I've found a fun feature called Drafts where I compose stories that I don't want to forget, and then I save them to publish when I've got nothing. It's working great for me, so I just thought I'd share.

* Use real names. Please. If you don't want to go public with your identity, that's fine. My good friend over at The More, The Messier is an undercover writer but she uses real names for her kids. (Just fake real names.) It's just soooo much easier to keep track of than remembering if Monkey is a boy or girl, or when name changes are involved because Baby now has a baby brother.

I'll be lucky to have readers left after this scathing read.

Balance

Just because I am a fan of fairness and equality, I feel the need to share what happened while out and about today.

I had Micah and Luke at McDonald's this afternoon, and once again Micah was at full volume, yelling at Luke about the placement of his ketchup cup, or the fact that he was eating one too many fries, or exclaiming how unfair it was that Luke had a chicken sandwich and he only had a burger. (For the record, I had a Starbucks. Me and the McD are trying to end our relationship.) Today I truly did not care what people thought of us. It isn't like McDonald's has never had a loud child in it before. In fact, I didn't care so much that I didn't even notice the lady beside us staring. At least not until she introduced herself.

With a very understanding and knowing smile, she asked if Micah used sign language a lot. (He was today. He made me proud.) She said that her nephew was nonverbal, and he sounded just like Micah. We talked for a while about how much he uses sign language, and how her sister gets discouraged and cries a lot, and about what a wonderful boy her nephew is.

I could feel the love she had for him, and the awe and respect she had for her sister.

We ran into her in Wal-Mart later, and she laughed as she said, "I thought it was my nephew! I can't believe how much they sound alike." I always love running into people who are not afraid to smile our way, or take a moment to touch our lives, or to share a story. That truly makes my day. And I'm so very grateful that for every rude comment I hear, there are at least a half dozen kindnesses to balance them out.

And you know what's even more amazing? The fact that so many people are in awe of people like me, and my new friend's sister. Special kids aren't given to special parents. If I hear that one more time I'll scream. Special kids probably make special parents though. Micah has taught me more than the other three children combined never could. Things like tolerance, and extra patience, and acceptance of the unchangeable. Things like temperance, and guilt-free parenting, and letting go of my anal parenting ways.

I always envisioned myself as a parent. I thought of walks, holding a toddler hand in mine, or teaching the alphabet, or reading bedtime stories. I never once saw myself as the parent of a child with a disability. I don't think that anyone ever consciously does. But if I could go back and change the way things are, I never would.

Judged

Micah had an appointment at the ENT today. Again. I've vowed to be vigilant about his tubes this year because in the past he's gone for months with impaired hearing before we were able to get the tubes replaced. It took 5 years, but apparently we really can learn.

His tubes are good for now.

After the appointment I took the kids shopping for a while. We got a few odds and ends, played at the mall play center, and finished the day at a bookstore.

Book stores are very much like libraries in their lack of noise. I've never seen a sign reminding the customers to keep their voices low, but it's just an inherited trait that we all grew up with thanks to vigilant school librarians.

Micah broke the unwritten rule. He was on full volume today. Woody felt the need to yell at the top of his lungs while herding a group of stuffed giraffes through the kids section. Micah loudly pointed out every fun book that he saw, and exclaimed over every page. The noise could be heard all over the store. I know. The kids were watching Micah as I used the facilities. I could even hear him while locked in the restroom. He was that loud today.

I am very conscious of the noise that Micah makes, especially when it's at top level. I, of all people, know how incredibly loud and annoying it can be at times. But there is also nothing that I can do to quiet him. Shushing makes him angry and he'll stop with the yelling and start with the screaming. Nothing short of removing him from the store will make the store quiet again. I struggled with the whole mom-guilt thing, wondering what others were thinking and pleading silently for people to understand.

And then I reminded myself that I wasn't going to worry about what others thought of him. I'm doing my best to parent him. I ask him to shush, I remind him to play quietly, but sometimes that's all that I can do. He's not breaking any rules, so it really shouldn't be a big deal.

It was at this time that a young man walked by, waited until he was just behind me, and then felt the need to say, "maybe you should give him a microphone yet."

I wish that common courtesy allowed me to reply with, "bite me." As it was, I figured that I would ignore his rude remark. While it might sting on the inside, I wasn't going to allow him the satisfaction of knowing it.

Sometimes being a parent hurts in ways that you just didn't ever think about. The judgement of an innocent child is one that will always smart.

Sharing the Day

Today Luke got his expander. He was a trooper and wasn't even worried about the installation. Afterward, he changed his name to *Expander Boy*. (If you didn't say it in a deep "I'm announcing a super-hero" voice you'll have to do it again. Go ahead, I'll wait.) Have I mentioned that I worry a little bit about that child?

I paid for the appliance and the upcoming braces today. Ouch. I kept thinking that it would have been a very nice vacation for us, or a cruise, or a hefty payment toward a car. Instead, our child will be able to smile at strangers without freaking them out. Parenthood is expensive.

When I came home from the orthodontist I noticed that at least 97% of my tomatoes are sporting browned and curled leaves. Overnight. Yesterday they were just jim-dandy, today they're nearly dead. I have over 30 tomato plants and was banking on a bumper crop to can this fall. Clueless is what I am. And quite disgusted.

The silver lining are the deals that I got at Wal-Mart today. The plants (what's left of them) are half off and I got me some perennials to kill in the future. (I'm not delusional, I know it'll eventually happen. Look at my tomatoes.) And the back to school things. Oh, be still my beating heart. Twenty five cent Crayola crayons. *swoon* I got about $4 worth because they make awesome party favors, or Easter basket fillers, or Valentine's bag treats. At a quarter each, you can't beat that, and what kid doesn't like to color? (Besides Micah.) I also got me some one-subject notebooks for fifteen cents each, although Becky tells me that I should have gotten more. Girl, I'll be grateful for the opportunity to go back for even more back-to-school things. Glue sticks, pencils, folders... All at Please Take Me prices.

I should probably seek help for my back-to-school obsession. This is one of my favorite times of year. And heretic though it may sound, I even like shopping for these things better than I do Christmas things. The only thing better is organizational stuff, I think. Maybe not. I'm really a nerd that way.

So what have you been up to today?

BlogHer, Home Edition

For all those who haven't headed to BlogHer this week, I'm here to fill the void. (I know, just what you wanted, right?) But I've been around here long enough to learn a few things and just thought I'd share with you.


1. Write like nobody is reading.

While we're all in it just for the comments (whether we admit to it or not), the key is to write for yourself. If you try to be somebody that you aren't to impress others, it becomes noticeably fake. The most compelling story that you can tell is the one that is real. Somehow, fiction cannot hold a candle to real life, even if real life is losing your patience while in the grocery store with four kids in tow. That's what makes people relate to you. It's what makes them come back. It's what forges friendships. Be real.

2. Write like everybody is reading.

I know what I just said, but the fact is that a blog is public reading material. Maybe not the bathroom variety (at least my laptop doesn't go there), but it's out there for the whole world to see. When you're writing, remember that every word is public and even if nobody you know reads, it's there waiting to be stumbled upon. You never want to be ashamed of what you've written. If you would never say it out loud, don't write it down. If you don't want your in-laws to know, don't say it. (Hi, Freda!) If you don't want your friends to know, don't put it out there. Be honest, be kind, be above shame.

3. If you won't say it on your blog, you probably shouldn't say it on another blog.

This is a personal peeve of mine, and maybe it's just that. While I have nothing against guest blogging, I do have issues with using someone else's private space to air your conscience. If someone hacks you off and you need to spout, call a friend. Email a relative that you can talk to. Have coffee with a close co-worker. But if you're ashamed to say it on your own blog, you shouldn't be saying it on someone else's blog. Remember, blogs are public domain.

Does this really need to be said?

4. Reciprocate the love.

Common blogging courtesy says that if someone comments on your blog, you go comment on theirs. (I try, really I do!) I understand (trust me, I do) that we get busy from time to time (like all summer) and it's difficult to follow someone with any kind of regularity. But a little show of love every now and then goes a long way. Also? Comment on their post. Don't use someone else's blog to push your business, or your cause, or your personal convictions.

Go. Write something. And make it real.

Saturday Shots, DC

Snippets

We should have gotten a goat a long time ago, way back when I really wanted one because I'd never had one growing up. Goats are awesome. They're like living garbage disposals. Weed the garden, give the trash to Bella. Clip dead flower heads, toss them to the goat. And don't even get me started on her impeccable weed eating and trimming capabilities. Goats are the best.

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Some genius had the idea to host a yard sale last week, and in an effort to rid herself of unused stuff she had her husband take the leftovers to the local donation center. It felt very, very good to clear the clutter from the house. That good feeling lasted right up until this week when that same genius realized that most of the clothes that were donated were things that she could now fit into thanks to Weight Watchers.

*smacks self in head*

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The animals need health papers for the fair next month, so I called the vet to make the appointment. We have a vet for the horses, another for the dogs, and a third for the one visit per year when the pigs need seen. The pig doctor is a personal friend of ours that sees neither horses nor dogs so we give him business when we can. This year, our dog's vet is the one that bought our pigs for us so we feel obligated to have him out to vet them. (Are you lost yet?)

In an effort to consolidate things, I figured we'd have the dog's vet (who is also vetting the pigs) also vet the ponies. Turns out that his practice doesn't do horses. The secretary recommended that we might have the horse vet do the pigs so that we could save a call-out fee. The horse vet only does horses.

With all the specializing going on you'd think I was making appointments for the kids and not the animals. When the secretary asked me if any information for the pigs has changed I couldn't resist the reply, "no, they still have the same insurance." She really wasn't amused. She probably doesn't have kids. Or maybe that's an inside joke of parents of children with a disability. I cannot count the number of times I'm asked that question.

Has anything changed?

If I've heard it once, I've heard it a million times. Maybe a million and three.

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The recent trip to DC has made us realize that we need help with Micah. The strollers that didn't sell at the yard sale (and hadn't been used in well over a year) were put into good use while we were vacationing. Unfortunately, a six year old doesn't wholeheartedly enjoy being strapped into a moving vehicle and screams to get out and run (away).

I have always secretly made fun of parents who leash their children. You leash a dog. How difficult could it be to actually keep an eye on your kid?

And then I had Micah.

Guess what we just ordered?

I am thinking it probably won't be the answer to all our questions though. Micah is famous for the drop-and-flop and I envision him melting into a puddle of kicking boyness the moment that harness is strapped onto his being. I'll be forced to drag him along behind me or carry him. Neither option is a good one. I've just realized this week that he's getting a little too big for me to carry around. There's something about lugging fifty pounds in the crook of your arm for more than 3.2 minutes that gets old really fast. And turns your arm numb.

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In a grand effort to not only get more exercise but to also exercise the dogs, I dragged Sam out for a walk this morning. With two overweight corgis. We threw them in the back of the car and headed to the walking trail. Twenty minutes down the trail it started to rain. Weirdly, it was twice as long going back. There's something about rain running down your back and dripping off your eyelashes that makes you wish you'd opted for the treadmill instead.

The car reeks of wet dog.

Like Mother, Like Daughter. NOT!

The kids were anxious to hit the mall and stock up on back to school clothes, so I called a nephew to tag along, and we headed East. (There is no shopping here in Ponyville. We have Wal-Mart and Dollar General. I only wish that I were exaggerating by omission.)

We shopped the mall, we ate at Sonic and then went back for Happy Hour drinks, we shopped the local hot spot; East truly has it all. It was a good day indeed. (Except for fighting with Micah, but that's most days so it hardly counts.)

While at the local hot spot, Becky and I were perusing the racks of ladies clothes and exclaiming how cute the tops were that we were looking at. And then I couldn't help myself; the urge overcame me to make the daughter wiggle.

"Hey, we could both buy one and be happy happy matchy matchy!" I said in a high pitched sing song voice reserved just for making fun.

*crickets* chirping*

*dead*silence*

*still*waiting*for*signs*of*life*

"Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaah," she said with a horrified look on her face.

I'm not sure if she didn't know that I was joking, or if she just couldn't take the chance of me being serious. Either way, I now know where we stand on that issue.

I also know what I'm getting us for Christmas. It'll be soooo good.


(And yet she chose these glasses at the store because they were "fun." The kids are trying to take the reading lenses out so that they can wear them all day, every day. Fun times here, people. Fun times.)

Someone Else is Watching For Me

You know when you're paging through magazines and all the people in there are stick thin and you think "they're not even real! How can anyone birth a child and look like that?" Parenting Magazine sucks that way.

I was cleaning out a closet last week and found the long lost photo albums that I put there when we moved four years ago. The kids and I sat down and paged through pictures of our honeymoon years. My word, was I thin. I'd like to say impossibly thin, but I have the pictures to prove that it really was possible. Annnnd then I had kids. Parenting Magazine really does lie. But it inspired me to take drastic action.

I joined Weight Watchers.

The honeymoon week was great. I was allowed to eat anything (literally) and I lost weight AND inches. Could life be any better? Seriously, after Starbucks, Dairy Queen, cake and a candy bar my clothes are fitting so much better. And I still had points to spare by the end of the week, too. Why didn't I discover the joys of WW years ago?

That was last week. This week, to celebrate my astounding success, they have taken food points away from me. There is no genius to this design. I realize that the goal is to lose weight, but at some point I'll be forced to drink water from sunup to sundown and hope all the water doesn't collect and make me weigh more. The toilet paper bill would double, too.

I'd show WW what I thought of them taking food from me, I'd eat a whole bag of Swedish Fish. You probably already know that it wasn't the best move that I could have made. Thankfully all the local pizza joints were closed on Monday because I had grand plans to make things much, much worse. Instead I sipped bouillon and listened to my insides protest while trying not to eat my pillow all night. It looked rather marshmallowy.

I keep telling myself that it'll be soooo worht it in the end. If only I had some small amount of self control I wouldn't need to pay someone to tell me that I'm fat.

I am impressed with the plan though, grumbling aside. It's practical and realistic, which means that it'll probably be easier to stay with for the duration. I'm already a happier me, and I'm fast on my way to being a healthier me.

Pass the carrots.

The Weekend Vacationers

I wonder if anyone even realized that I didn't post on Monday. Too late to have an "aha!" moment now, though, because I've just told you. We were visiting family over the weekend and I didn't even give a thought to having a post up for Monday. We did have a lovely tour of DC while we were there, though. Oh, the pictures that I have to share. While I won't post all of them here (you're welcome) you can catch them at Flickr. I took over 400 before I edited them. I think I may have a problem, but it's one that I can live with.

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It amazes me how Micah connects instantly with others with Down syndrome. There were thousands of people in the DC area between the museums and memorial mall, and the only person he voluntarily said "HIIII" to was another little girl with Downs. I love that.

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Micah went the whole way to DC to play on computers at the museum of natural history, and look at ducks at the memorial mall. He was enthralled with them. Not so much anything else. His favorite computer program was this one:

So now if he's ever stranded in the Sahara, he alone would survive while the rest of us are eaten by lions.

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If you go away for the weekend, and the youth group finds out, your house will be TP'd. Yippee Skippee.

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After walking (and walking and walking and walking) Luke said "I think my legs are this close to being tired," and he held his arms apart about eighteen inches. I said "I think mine are this close to being tired" and I held two fingers about a half inch apart.

"It's no wonder," he said. "Yours are so old."

Kids are just so wonderful for boosting the ego, aren't they? While you're laughing hysterically over that, you can take a peek at my pics.

Saturday Shots, The Walk

He Really Is My Baby

So Micah is in school. Three days a week, five hours per day, for the month of July. With Micah gone, the house is so peaceful. Quiet. I don't have to worry about what he's into, or where he's at, or what he's not wearing. I can run errands in town without fighting with car seats, or chasing the toddler through the aisles, or buying Hershey bars. I can sit and read a book (ignoring the dishes in the sink and dog hair on the floor) without interruption.

And yet, with Micah gone, the house is achingly empty. How can I enjoy the quiet with Micah gone?



(For those who pay attention, this is our fifth child. Our nephew is here as much as he's not.)

That Rocks

Luke has a strange fascination with rocks. Sam and I have laughed together over this, shaking our heads in wonderment. Where do kids get such weird attractions from?

Um, it would be from his mother.

I love rocks, but not just any old rocks. Big rocks. Flat rocks. Rocks that can be used for purpose. I am incredibly fortunate in that the small piece of land we got from my parents' farm is one of the many rock collection sites we had. After plowing fields in the spring, new rocks crop up as if they were growing there all winter. I never liked walking behind the wagon, bending and lifting to stack rocks onto the flatbed, only to have to offload them somewhere out of the way. Who knew, all these years later, that I'd be grateful for those castoffs?

I've done this:



And this:



And this that we started last spring and haven't finished yet:



And this was one of my first projects:



And don't forget this, that was dismantled and is awaiting a fresh start:



Part of the reason we have projects that are begun but not finished is that we're running out of rocks. No, really, we are. I've exhausted most of the supply of large and flat, leaving normal useless rocks lay in the woods. But I have struck gold. I took the boys to a local golf driving range over the weekend, and there was a heap of rocks there. Upon inquiry, I learned that they are for sale at the bargain basement price of a quarter each.

Be still my beating heart.

Today I bought rocks. I would like to tell you that I'm ashamed of this fact, but I'm too excited. I bought rocks, and they're beautiful and large and flat. I am in love. I can finish the grill surround, and the stepping stones out to the trampoline, and the pond waterfall... Oh, the possibilities.

I love rocks.

Responsibility. Get It.

I have this nasty little habit of staying up way past my bedtime. And I then have the nerve to yell at the kids about doing that very same thing. The problem started soon after marriage, 16 years ago. I am a morning person. Up and at 'em is my motto. My husband is not. At all. So in a grand effort to please everyone, I am up with the roosters, and bed down somewhere around midnight. I've been sleep deprived for so long that I don't know what normal looks like anymore.

But the last few days have knocked me out. It's taken me a while, but I have finally realized that I must have allergies. Being as I didn't ever have allergies before, you'll understand why it's taken so long for me to self-diagnose. The sinus pressure is not so fun - my apologies to all those out there who go through this on a regular basis. So anyway, the sinus pressure has me ready to call it a day by 6 PM. I manage to hold on and struggle through the pain and fog until Micah's bedtime at 8/9ish (hey, it's summer) and then join him in slumber. Not intentionally, but I just sort of fall prey to the Sand Man without wanting to.

This has posed many problems.

Upon waking the next morning, I am finding dogs who have not been locked up (thank goodness there was nothing eaten), lights on (as in ALL the downstairs lights), and food left laying on the counters.

What the heck, people?! It's common sense to put food away and turn off lights, and our family knows the dog drill by heart. Since Luke goes to bed at a semi-decent hour, this leaves a teenager and a tween in charge. You'd think, wouldn't you, that they would be semi-responsible?

Sigh.

And Sam wonders why I stay up so late on a regular basis. Apparently things don't get done around here if I don't take charge. I should go away for a week, all by myself. Maybe I'd be a little more appreciated when the light bill doubles, all the food is spoiled, and there is no clean laundry.

The Dryer Cycle

Our clothes dryer is not functioning the way that it was meant to. Sure, it dries clothes, but nothing stops it from doing that job. Not even when you open the door. That's right, if the dryer is on and the clothes are tumbling around and around and someone opens the door, the clothes continue tumbling around and around and right out the open door. Fun times.

Micah learned that when the Round Up Gang goes swimming, they are very wet. They don't dry off as quickly as he does when you towel them, so he watched mommy perform a little trick by putting them in the washer with a load of laundry, then pulling them out of the dryer a few hours later completely dry. Presto! It was magic.

Except that he doesn't grasp the concept of time. And waiting. And how the whole magic trick works. His theory is that if you toss them into the dryer, they will come out dry. If the dryer is running, it's even better. You open the door, the clothes tumbling around in there come out, you toss Woody and Co. inside, you close the door for a minute or two, and they come out all warm-like. (But not dry.)

If I didn't keep dirty clothes in front of the dryer on the floor, waiting to be tossed into the washer, this wouldn't be a huge problem. But how am I to know if the slightly damp pants of Micah's were not quite dry from the dryer cycle, or if they're the ones he wet in earlier that morning?

It's no wonder that the laundry is a never-ending job. I can't even get an entire load through without having to start it all over again.

Yard Sale FYI

So I had a yard sale. I probably won't do this again for another ten years. Come to think of it, it's been about that long since I last attempted it. Even when we moved four years ago I just hauled junkload after junkload into Salvation Army and made donations rather than going to the hassle of an attempted sale. The problem is our location I think. I made more money this go-round than any other go-round (you know, the only other two times I did this) but I had to take a chunk of that out to pay for the newspaper ad.

Anyhoo, here are some things that I learned.

1. I have way more crap than any one family should ever have. My word, the stuff. My house feels thinner after ditching so much baggage.

2. A yard sale is a great meet and greet in the neighborhood. Granted, our neighborhood is the whole R.D. of Rockingponyville, but I met people that I haven't seen in years. We're all caught up on news now, yo.

3. The extra traffic that the yard sale generated on our rural road also generated extra gossip. Micah is doing very well with his mad potty training skillz, but only as long as it's his own idea. His own idea includes dropping his drawers right there on the lawn, completely oblivious of the extra guests we have. I couldn't even be upset about it because he was going potty somewhere besides in his underpants.

4. The cash money made from a yard sale is just enough to eat out for one evening (sans kids, except Micah), take the kids to the movies with, and hit a few clearance sales. While it's certainly not a windfall by any standard, it did give me something fun to play with for a weekend. If only I could do this every week, but then the IRS would probably be knocking on my door.

5. While I managed to offload huge amounts of stuff, I was left with even huger amounts of stuff remaining. With very few exceptions, that stuff will never see the inside of my house again. It's loaded onto the back of the truck awaiting a donation run into town.

6. Things that the kids haven't played with in years are now The Best Toys Ever. I was all set to make a small fortune on Legos, but the boys rediscovered the joys of building. As long as they're willing to play with them I'm game to keep them. I love toys that inspire imagination. Unfortunately, I loathe toys that make my feet hurt in the wee smalls of the night when it's dark and I can't see.

7. I will surely use some of the money that I made to buy more stuff to fill the house with. Why do we do this?

Starbucks Giveaway Winner

The drawing has been done, and the winners of the Starbucks coupons are Michelle from Honest and Truly and Caramama. Congrats! Shoot me an email with your addresses and I'll get those in the mail.

Saturday Shots

This week I'll let the tomato do the talking.

I Opt for Turning the Tide

Life with Micah is a bit different than life with the other kids. I know that you know this because I keep harping on it, but weirdly I keep forgetting it. He's just such a normal little boy most of the time that I forget that he's so vastly different.

One of the weird things about kids with Downs is that something simple and commonplace becomes routine and expected. It's cemented into their little minds as something that must continue to happen forever and ever, amen.

Take, for instance, the girl who moved into a new home in the winter time. Her parents recorded that she was taught to turn on the heater in the bathroom so that she would be warm after her shower. She continues to do this every single day without fail, even when the temperatures were in the 90's. Things that we just don't think about are more than just habit for someone with Down syndrome. It's the way things are. Period.

Being parents first and foremost, and parents of a child with a disability second, we forget that little gem all too frequently. And, being parents, we will also occasionally fall into the trap of placating kids at all costs. We all know the shopping experience where your child is crying and screaming and kicking, and all you want to do is get out of the store but instead you're stuck in line between Two Carts Full Tilly with her brood of unwashed heathens running in every direction and taking things from your cart, and Grandma Betty who is trying her best to help entertain your child for you but is really making things worse and she can't hear you screaming to just give it up already because your kid doesn't care.

I hate those days.

On one of those days, in a grand effort to just make the insanity stop already, we handed a Hershey's bar to Micah. Instant quiet and tranquility ensued. We checked out, fed Micah his bribe and went on with our lives.

But the next time we were shopping, Micah reached for a candy bar. As it was just Micah with me that day, and it was just a few cents (those few cents keep getting bigger every year, mind you) I allowed it. He was very good that day while in the store and deserved a reward for his behavior.

And so it started. Micah sometimes chooses Doritos over a Hershey bar, but the fact remains that he cannot make it through a checkout line without some sort of personal reward to himself. This either gets expensive when all the kids are with, or causes very hard feelings (justifiably so) when I allow only Micah to get something that nobody else does. Something needed to be done.

The next time we were in the store, I was feeling particularly cheap and didn't allow anyone to get a treat. I told Micah to put back his candy bar. No worries, he'd get chips. He was not happy that I made him put those back as well. As I was in self-check-mode I didn't have the time to devote to his discipline (plus I was in public) so I kindly but firmly said, "no, put it back please." We were both reaching our limit after several attempts on his part when he sat down on the floor and smacked the bag of chips down beside him in a fit of protest. The chip bag broke open and we were forced to buy them. You can bet that he didn't get to eat any either.

Some days in the parenting business are neither a win nor a loss. Sometimes it's just a good thing to make it to the finish line without falling over. We're still fighting that battle that we unwittingly began. Unfortunately it's more than just telling Micah no, it's changing The Way Things Are.

Turning back the tide might be easier.

The Love Affair is Over

Like most families, we fell under the delusion that carpet is what you install to make your home inviting and comfortable. Boy, were we duped. Four years of four kids and our family of dogs have killed the carpet. It is dead. There is not a spot remover on the market that I haven't tried, as well as things like OxyClean (hey, it cleans clothes), laundry soap (which was recommended by the manufacturer of the carpet), vinegar, Windex and a host of other "what the heck are you doing?" items. Still, the spots remain. If you'd connect them, we would have some very large constellations on our living room floor. Micah tried connecting them with a permanent marker for us that one time (okay, twice, for those of you who are counting) but that only added to the mess. I imagine that every guest who walks in the door wonders why we don't just drag the carpet out and bury it somewhere, giving it the decency of the funeral that it deserves.

I am sooo over carpet.

We have new flooring on premises just waiting to be installed, and it's not carpet. I am very happy about this. But in the meantime, we still have this dead and semi-decayed thing rotting away in our living room. I could be resentful that the job isn't even begun yet, but instead I am choosing the high road. With reckless abandon, I am now looking for opportunities to trash the carpet in one last hurrah before it is disposed of.

While painting the living room, I simply sat the paint can right on the carpet. A few spatters happened, but sadly it blended right in. I was actually disappointed over this.

Micah had an accident on the floor. While I cleaned it (because I didn't want the place to smell) it did not leave a stain like it normally does. This, too, was disappointing.

I walked across the carpet in muddy shoes. They left very minor footprint stains. Drat.

I no longer ban the dogs from the carpet after they've had a good romp in the mud. I watch them roll with glee, trying to dry off on the flooring, but you don't really notice the new spots amidst all the old ones.

I let Micah eat spaghetti in the living room, right on the floor, and he spilled his plate. There is a very large orange spot where he was sitting. This made me smile.

By the time the carpet is pulled, it'll thank us for putting it out of it's misery.

Since When Was Summer School So Complicated?

The school talked about having Micah enrolled in Extended School Year over summer. I wasn't keen on this because it's summer, he hadn't learned a whole lot to lose over the months away from school, and he loves being with his siblings when they're here. I caved and enrolled him because he'll get occupational and speech therapy while there, and it's only 12 days in July.

But I still waffled. When I would take him shopping and the other kids were home, he was not a happy camper. He would not like getting on a van and being hauled to school while the big kids were jumping on the trampoline and swimming in the pool.

Last week was almost an answer to my dilemma when Micah burned his toes. He can't wear shoes, so it stands to reason that he can't go to school. Problem solved. I called the ESY contact number that I'd been given, but I should have known that it wouldn't be as easy as making a simple phone call. I had to fill out forms to dis-enroll him, call his teacher to let her know that he wasn't coming, contact his aide to let her know to stay home, and inform the transportation service that he wouldn't need picked up. I could stop at the school for the forms to fill out. I did. Nobody was there.

I figured it would be so much easier to just send him. So I did.

I put socks on my boy and sent him to school this morning. He was there an hour when I received the phone call that his aide wasn't there, and could I track her down please? He really can't be at school without his aide.

I called the aide. She is on vacation, and furthermore the teacher didn't send in her paperwork to be an aide over the summer months so she wasn't aware that she was to be working. She's not opposed to working, mind you, just wasn't aware that she should be.

I reported this information to the school. They said that she's hired through Agency B rather than Agency A that they normally work for, and she may have a summer contract already. I reminded the school that my home district hires through Agency B and they may have the summer contract there.

I called my home district. The principal wasn't aware of a summer contract with Agency B, but would call the agency to find out. He did. They do. He called me back to report his findings.

I called the school that Micah is attending and relayed this information. The aide can work over summer, but can't be there until next week when she's back from vacation. In the meantime, it was decided, Micah will stay home this week and let his toes recover.

Agency A called, who is in charge of the whole ESY to begin with, and asked if I could inform the van driver when she let Micah off that her services wouldn't be needed until next week. I could. And did.

It would have been so much easier to just pull him from school to begin with. I chalk it up to lack of experience. This is my first year with ESY, his aide's first year as an aide, and the home district principal's first year as a principal. We're all muddling through the best that we can, laughing at ourselves as we go.

Things are bound to get easier, right?



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Whispered Excitement

Micah has one volume, and it's OUTDOOR LOUD. This is espeically fun when he's trying to whisper in your ear. My ears are still ringing from his whispers two days ago.

We've discussed this unnatural speech flaw with a therapist who suggested that since he can't actually speak, he misses the part where volume control must happen. I'm not sure if it makes sense or not, but the fact of the matter is that the boy is loud.

This is both good and bad. I can let Becky go shop by herself in Wal-Mart and know that she'll find me when she's ready. I'll have Micah. He's like a beacon. I've used him to locate Sam in a store many times. In fact, friends will tell us that they heard Micah in the grocery store the other day, but they just didn't see us. The kids find it embarrasing on occasion. As a mom, I've learned to live with it. We've tried the whole shhhhhh thing, and he's so quick to pick up on it. He'll put his finger to his lips and shhhhh right along with us, then laugh loudly and start yelling about the fact that we have to shush.

The other night our nephew stayed over and Micah wanted to sleep with all the boys, so we let him. I understand that there will be a fair amount of talking and whispering going on before sleep finally overtakes the kids, but Micah so excited that his normally loud voice was more keeping the outside dogs awake kind of loud.

*Sigh.*

There are some things that just escape him. Apparently a muted voice is one of them.

Holiday Highs and Lows

It was an interesting Independence Day weekend. We shivered through the picnic on the patio, huddled in our sweatshirts, and then retired to the kitchen to sip hot chocolate. It was fourteen different levels of wrong. And you know what's even more wrong? The fact that some Facebook friends in Alaska informed me of ninety degree temps for their holiday celebration. I don't think we topped sixty here. Yes, I'm dead serious. Talk about a major global warming fail.

Despite the fireworks, the highlight of my weekend was the fact that Micah had some awesome potty training moments. For the first time ever, he went potty on command. All of these moments happened outside, but I'm good with my boy dropping his drawers in the driveway if that's what it takes. Let freedom ring.

And on an unrelated note, Micah will not be attending Extended School Year. A horrid turn of events has turned the tide in his favor. His poor burned toes do not allow him to wear shoes, and schools have that shoes-on policy that prevents him from attending. He will be happily barefoot for the next week or so until the healing is complete. We are the worst parents ever.

Saturday Shots

Red

White

Blue

Have a wonderful holiday weekend.