The Rocking Pony

My New Full Time Job

2012-01-27T18:04:00.000-05:00

Laughing Through It

2012-01-26T19:45:00.000-05:00

Now that we're all up to speed on the happenings at our house, I'm free to share the stories related to the trauma. I learned a long time ago that if you can't laugh in the face of tragedy, you'll go crazy. Although, my mom is fairly concerned that I will go crazy being up every 2 hours. I appreciate her concerns, but it's come to the point that I just don't trust anyone else to raise my babies. There are so many tiny, subtle things to look for when a puppy is failing, and you learn it with experience. It's not something you can teach. (And apparently, I still have a lot to learn.) To quote Becky, "I think you'd rather be crazy than have another dead puppy." That pretty much sums it up.

Good thing I'm already crazy, then, right?

Because life just doesn't stop when you need it to on occasion, Josh came home from school sick the day the dog was hospitalized. I kept him home from school the next day and made a trip to the doctor to be sure everything was alright, and to get that all important school excuse. While at the doctor, I saw a splotch of mud on the top of my shoe. It was rather hard-ish to notice as my shoes are uber-sexy black and white tweed slip on mules. (I know how to rock things, no?) The mud kinda sorta blended in, but it was there nonetheless. I contemplated it for a while before realizing that my shoes aren't muddy elsewhere, and a spot right on the top of the toe is an odd place for mud.

And that's when it hit me.

It wasn't mud. It was infected uterine sludge that dripped from my poor dog while at the vet the night before.

It's things like this that are creeping into my days. I'm glad I'm going crazy from sleep deprivation and can just laugh about it.

She Wears a Pantiliner With Her Onesie

2012-01-25T18:24:00.000-05:00

The hugely pregnant dog had puppies on my birthday. It'll be an easy date to remember, but I won't have any problems remembering this particular litter in years to come. Raising dogs is much like raising kids. You have to be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best. If you fall somewhere in the middle, it's the best you can ask for, really.

This is where I'm going to tell you how things went horribly, horribly wrong. This is where you'll want to skip out if you're queasy, if you'd rather think that birth is nothing but miraculous and awesome, or if you think that all dog breeders are evil creatures who never regard the life of the animal, but simply raise puppies until a dog can't physically do it any longer. Although, if you fall into the last category maybe you should stay. You'll be horrified (I know I am) but you might come to realize that sometimes there are breeders out there who really and truly care about their dogs.

************

Rhythm had 7 puppies, and I was there to assist as usual. I learned with her first litter that she refuses to take the sack off the newborn puppy and it'll suffocate at birth if I don't intervene. Seven boys, all healthy, and mama was doing well. She started into labor with #8 and I waited quietly for her to bring a life into the world. But it didn't come, and the clock ticked on.

Rhythm, like many of her breed, suffers from something called uterine inertia. This simply means that sometimes her uterus will just get tired and decide it's done. It matters not that there's still work to do and lives to produce. I had Oxytocin on hand from the vet to help kick-start the contractions again if I needed to, with instructions to call before using it. After 2 hours of laboring, I called. I was told that if she didn't produce a puppy in an hour I could give a second dose of Oxy. Two hours later I called the vet, who made a house call at 2AM and determined that the stuck puppy was dead. It wasn't shocking news to me, and we decided that maybe her uterus needed to rest a bit and would pick up enough strength to expel the puppy by morning. If not, we'd meet at the office and remove the puppy with forceps.

I got 3 hours of sleep that night before taking Riz to the vet. The puppy was stuck behind her pelvic bone, and was difficult to get a grasp on. At the time, we were thankful that a c-section had been avoided. Like a human, it's just more difficult to recover from, and poor Rhythm had been through enough. X-rays determined that there was one more puppy way up in, Oxytocin produced it quickly, but it, too, was dead.

Seven live puppies, and mama was tired but much more comfortable. We went home Saturday morning happy, and spent the day napping, Rhythm and I.

Sunday morning I realized that the puppies were thin, and Riz lost the sparkle in her eyes. Clearly there was an infection somewhere. A call to the vet for antibiotics safe enough to pass on through nursing, a trip to the pharmacy, a grocery run to buy supplies for supplemental puppy feeding, and the day became a worried blur of watchful care. Despite all we were doing, we lost a puppy. The day didn't end well.

Monday didn't start much better. Rhythm was weak, smelled horrific, and was quickly losing interest in her babies. An emergency run to the vet admitted her on an IV drip and heavy antibiotics. We feared an emergency spay would be necessary simply to save her life, and I told the vet to do anything necessary to save her. It's hurtful to lose puppies, but I just couldn't lose my mama. Thankfully she responded well to the antibiotics and we avoided surgery that would have been so hard to recover from in her weakened state.

With mama away, I was in charge of puppy care. Newborn puppies cannot regulate their blood sugar very well and need to eat every 2 hours (or more) to avoid a drop in sugar levels. While this sounds fairly harmless, I know from past experience that they'll go into shock, start having seizures, and most definitely can die. My life is now lived in 2 hour increments, scrambling to get into town for groceries and back again to feed babies, setting my alarm every 2 hours at night, frantically shuffling laundry, vacuuming, cooking, or doing dishes in free minutes of daylight. I've officially adopted newborns, and I've forgotten what fun it is. I wear milk stains on my sweatshirt, I forget to comb my hair before taking Micah to the bus, I walk around yawning so often it's like my mouth has a permanent twitch.

I went to bed after the midnight feeding on Monday thankful that at least all 6 puppies were vigorously active and ate well. I woke for the 2AM feeding to a dead puppy. No signs of a downward spiral, just death. Do puppies suffer from SIDS? Is it something I did wrong? Could the others all be dead by morning? I did all I know how to do for the puppies, and set my alarm for 4AM.

Tuesday morning still found 5 live puppies in the box, and I was grateful. Josh was home sick, so after a quick trip to the pediatrician I ran to the vet to visit Rhythm. She was much better and was so glad to see me, but I couldn't stay long as I had to get home to feed the babies. They wanted to keep her another night just to be sure she was definitely on the mend.

Sometime during the night, two puppies started fading. I worked to get them to eat for over an hour, and gave them drops of Karo syrup on their tongues to keep their sugar levels up. While feeding the others, I heard a horrible gurgling sound. They were aspirating their formula. Pneumonia would be setting in. Death would be inevitable. If I started to cry, I would never stop.

Because of my fight for his life, one of the puppies made a heroic comeback by morning. He was weaker than his littermates, but alive and eating. The other puppy didn't make it. Four puppies of nine, and mama in the hospital. How does one get to this point in less than a week? Because of the aspirating, I made another emergency run to the vet. The one that had struggled with death had some lung congestion, and was treated accordingly. The other 3 were declared healthy. I obtained new feeding equipment to avoid aspirating in the future. Mama was well enough to be released and came home with her puppies.

The antibiotics that Rhythm is on will kill the puppies if they nurse. Not that she has much milk at this point anyway, which is good. There's no fear of mastitis. Small victories. She's thrilled to be able to mother her babies even if she can't feed them, and I'm thrilled to have her expert care to help me. Puppies need outside stimulation to encourage elimination, and mama does a bang-up job of that. It's something I'm more than glad to hand off.

To keep the puppies from attempting to nurse, Rhythm wears a baby onesie, snapped over her tailless rump. Puppies have a knack of crawling into places they shouldn't, so I take a head count approximately every 5 minutes. She'll need a shave to avoid getting too warm, and wears a pantiliner in her onesie to contain the post partum mess in her clothing. But she's alive, and she's home, and she's being the best mom that she can be to those babies that we're sharing the responsibility for.

We're praying that our baby count holds at 4, because it's been just too brutal already to think that anything else is even an option.

What I Remember From College English

2012-01-24T22:25:00.000-05:00

I think I got started blogging in college. I know a lot of you are thinking, "yeh, that would be about the time I started," or something along those lines, but to put things in perspective, let me say that I was in college in 1989. Yeh. The Internet was barely invented, much less blogging.

My English teacher had us write a paper to turn in every Friday. It could be about anything we wanted, but had to be a full page story. Fictional, non-fiction, your opinion of cafeteria food, a gripe about the cost of tuition - truly anything. I mostly wrote about what I knew. I knew growing up on a farm, living in the country, raising animals, being outdoors - all the things a farm girl would know. I enjoyed that assignment, even though most of my classmates thought it was the worst form of freshman punishment ever invented. I consider it my start of blogging. I got to tell a story all on my own terms.

At the end of the semester, we were to choose our favorite Friday story and turn in for a grade. (The weekly stories were strictly considered homework, and we got points for Done vs Not Done.) I chose a story that painted a picture of a winter's day, the snow falling gently, the sun a bright glow in the sky. I was docked an entire letter grade because, and I quote, "the sun doesn't shine when it snows."

Funny how I remember that 20 years later.

This is for your, College English Teacher, because apparently you haven't had the privilege of experiencing such a beautiful winter's day.

If I Could Save Time, er Farts, In A Bottle

2012-01-23T23:15:00.000-05:00

Can you read the label on that jar? If you'd rather not reach for the bifocals, it says, "Fart in a jar." That would be what living with teen boys looks like. That's also the result of more giggling than girls can produce well after bedtime hours have passed. Take note: when boys are giggling and running like girls, they're always up to no good. Always.

That jar was sitting on my counter this morning when I woke up. I had a lot of deep thoughts about it. Let's skip past the whole, "why on earth...?" and even the, "how?" and move on to the other questions. Questions like is that just one fart, or many farts? And if there are many farts, did they not think that the previous ones would escape while depositing a new one? And WHY ARE BOYS SO WEIRD?

The only question I didn't seem to have about that jar was the fact that it would be thrown away. It would no longer be used for canning foodstuffs for our family.

Or maybe it should be. Maybe I should make something extra special just for the teen boys. Maybe I'll think about that a little more in depth when I'm awake in the wee smalls of the night.

That jar sat there all day because one has to confront the culprits with the evidence in the light of day. It's part of the game we play as parents of teens. But before I had a chance to bring it up, and ask the all important WHY?!, I happened to glance it's direction in time to see Luke holding it up to his nose. The lid was off.

Can I just ask again, WHY?! Boys are attracted to gross and nasty like fruit flies are attracted to my kitchen.

The look on Luke's face, however, was worth all the stupidity of boys in our house. One of the many questions I had was definitely answered. A fart in a jar smells. It smells really, really bad.

Sometimes The Disability Issue Sucks

2012-01-22T21:58:00.000-05:00

When I got the AYSO sign-up announcement in Micah's school folder, I gave it some serious thought before tossing it in the trash. While I think he'd really enjoy soccer, our local AYSO is made up of kids in District A where we're located, of course. Micah attends school in District B because our school system doesn't have a Life Skills class for him, so he's bused elsewhere. He just wouldn't know any of the kids in our local AYSO and it would be hard for him to fit in. Plus there's the thing where he's just not physically able to keep up with kids in his own age division. He would do so much better with first and second graders than where he belongs with third and fourth graders, but would anyone make an exception and allow him to bump down?

So I chose not to give Micah a chance to play soccer this year, for better or worse.

And then I talked to a friend who suggested he join District B's AYSO team. A friend of ours was coaching the first and second graders, and my friend's husband was the assistant coach. Both their boys would be on the team. Micah knows their boys, and both the men know Micah and his abilities. And lack of abilities. One of my concerns was a coach that couldn't grasp the fact that Micah may not grasp the rules. He'll totally get that you kick the ball, but I can see him becoming very confused as to which goal he needs to head toward. Would a coach be understanding?

This could well be the perfect team for Micah to start on. And I was told that the coach's son was moved up to his team, even though he should have been in a lower division, so obviously exceptions would be made to accommodate needs.

On registration day, I talked to the person at the sign-in table about Micah's Down syndrome, explaining that he was not physically able to keep up with kids in his age division. I explained that it would not be fair for those kids to have to play with a kid like Micah, who would be much like a toddler on the field and completely messing up their game. Plus, kids in the third and fourth age bracket are really getting into their competitive groove, and Micah could physically be run over or knocked down by kids whose goal is to win. And based on these facts, which is in everyone's best interest all around, I respectfully asked if Micah could bump down an age bracket.

People were consulted. They discussed things in depth. Heads were shaken, arms were waved, and a decision was made. The rules state that a child must stay within his age bracket, and they absolutely could not make an exception. They were very sorry, but if they made an exception for one child, they'd have to make exceptions for others. They wanted to help, really they did. And in fact, there is a VIP program within the AYSO, made up entirely of kids with handicaps, so that they have a safe environment to play in. And we're so fortunate to have a VIP program right here in the county! But unfortunately, we do not have the contact information for them, so if you'll give me your name and number I'll have them get in touch with you.

I came home that day in a less than charitable mood toward the county's AYSO heads. I get that exceptions can't be made, but I knew that one already was. I chose not to point this out because I didn't want to ruin it for that little boy to be on his dad's team. My plan was to get in touch with higher-ups in the AYSO to see if someone had the authority to allow Micah to play where he wouldn't get hurt. At AYSO.com I found the VIP program outline, and instead of looking for someone to contact about our local organization, I emailed a message the VIP to ask for a contact person in our area.

Over a week has passed. I have not heard from anyone. I have not heard from the local VIP head, I have not heard from a local coach with information on how to contact the VIP coordinator, and I have not gotten a reply email from AYSO's VIP program. Quite frankly, I'm frustrated. I am not adamantly demanding that my son be allowed to change age divisions despite rules to the contrary. I am not expecting special treatment because my son has a disability. But is it too much to ask that someone care enough about the square peg that doesn't fit into the round hole?

Acceptance. It's not too much to ask, is it? I want Micah to feel like a normal kid, because he has enough to overcome already. And now I'm wondering if I even want him to play in the AYSO at all. They have not shown me that they care enough about helping kids that are different find where they fit in. How can I trust them to care enough about my son when he's on the field, playing his heart out, but running toward the wrong goal?

When did AYSO stop caring about the kids?

It Turned Out To Be A Really Fun Birthday

2012-01-21T23:50:00.000-05:00

I Rank Higher Than $2.34

2012-01-19T20:49:00.000-05:00

"Mom, what would you like for your birthday?"

Luke is the child that speaks the language of gifts. Not only does he love getting, but he delights in giving as well. Knowing that he's 11 and limited on funds, (plus, what mom would take advantage of her kid?) I said I would love a pineapple. It's one of those things that I rarely treat myself to, and I think a birthday would be a special occasion. Bonus: it would be in his budget.

*************

"Mom, are you going into town tonight?"

No, I'm not. Do you need something.

"I need to get a pineapple for your birthday."

(Oh, gosh. I just created a scene out of 50 First Dates.)

Well, maybe you can give Dad some money and ask him to stop after work tomorrow.

**************

As Becky and I were grocery shopping, she picked up a pineapple. On Luke's behalf. She had his money in her pocket. She set it on the counter when she got home and gave me the $5 that Luke entrusted to her.

*************

"Happy birthday, mom! I see you got your pineapple!"

Thanks, buddy. It was really sweet of you.

"Was there change from my $5?"

Well, there was but I don't have any right now. I just have the five you gave Becky. I can see if Dad has some change to give you."

Oh, the look on his face was priceless as he debated between his sweet gifting generosity, and his hard earned cash.

"No, that's alright, mom. You can just keep the change. It is your birthday, after all. Just remember not to eat it until Friday."

*****************

I got exactly what I wanted for my birthday this year. The best kids ever.

Plus Four Years Scares Me

2012-01-18T22:49:00.000-05:00

I love an orderly house. The old adage of "A place for everything, and everything in it's place" makes me very happy, because it's true. When we set up housekeeping as newlyweds, things were incredibly orderly. My closet was divided by skirts on one side, blouses on the other. Within the skirts and blouses, things were organized by color, and blouses were further broken down by sleeve length. The code would have looked like a complex Dewey Decimal System, but there was no doubt that things were easy to find.

Things started to break down when I became pregnant. In my book, all fingers are pointing to the kids. My brain was so fried during pregnancy that I found the phone in the bread drawer one day, and in the fridge another. Clearly, the kids were determined to mess with me and my organized ways from conception.

Shortly after Becky became mobile, things started disappearing. A tube of lipstick, a necklace - random things. Things that should have showed up at some point but never did. Things that still haunt me even now, because my house should have been organized and under control and clearly was not. I remember them because they were traumatic, in those early days of the downfall.

Since then, I've given over to the fact that we live in the eye of the chaos storm. I lose at least one thing daily, and I don't even give it a thought. It'll either show up or it won't, and there's little I can do about it. Four rolls of tape and three pair of scissors should reside in the kitchen drawer, and at any given time there is no tape or scissors to be found. Excess is not an extravagance, it's a coping mechanism to help me find things easier.

While I miss my organized home and the ability to find everything I need, I wouldn't trade this chaos and loss of sanity even if I could. I don't remember those early days as being boring, but looking back now I know for a fact they must have been. How could they not be? There were no notes on the counter in the morning like this:

A note from Luke to Luke, about how to cook breakfast. Awesomeness.

And I wouldn't stumble upon this at the end of the day:

Is Micah starting a zoo? Were the zebras bad? Is it a zoo transfer?

While there was a day (way too many of them, actually) when I would have been frustrated because it's that much more to put away, I now just chuckle because the random funness is something I'll miss when the house is empty and organized again.

Today I saw a very pregnant lady, only 4 years older than Becky. I had a moment of sheer panic. It was much the same moment of panic I had when I met a girl with Downs this week that's only 4 years older than Micah, and realized that he'll be in high school then.

Please, give me chaos, lost scissors, and notes on the counter. I'll miss it all too soon.

The Lowest Rider

2012-01-17T19:12:00.000-05:00

The poor pregnant dog. I feel her pain. While I've not carried a litter, I did birth a huge little girl that shocked the doctors "from someone small like yourself." (Although I was also told that with my "nice wide hips," I wouldn't have a problem birthing much of anything. Some doctors sure know how to make a woman feel special.)

I don't think I remember having a dog this huge before. She is having much difficulty getting up the 3 steps into the house after a potty break, and can no longer clear the 6" jump to get into her crate at night. Waddling stopped a week ago and she has now developed poor posture in order to keep herself from falling belly-flat onto the floor. It would help if she had legs, of course. I am thinking this should probably be her last litter because I'm not sure I can watch her do this again. (I don't ever remember my husband getting to that point during any of my pregnancies. Does he like to see me in misery?)

I especially feel for the poor dog in the snow. With the stubby legs she has, her belly almost drags the ground. That can't feel good as she forges a path to do her business. But we find it amusing that you know exactly which path is hers when the pack of house dogs is released into the yard. There are four sets of footprints criss-crossing each other in random fashion, and one rolled-tire mark where Rhythm drug a path with her belly.

Ye Olde Arch Nemesis

2012-01-16T20:52:00.000-05:00

The kids are taking finals at school. Luke said that when they're done with a test, his particular group can talk quietly amongst themselves. He was drawing some pretty impressive things on his scratch paper that wowed his friends, and they were discussing how awesome Luke was. (Luke tells a good story, doesn't he?)
To clarify, Luke has a drawing book that shows step-by-step directions on how to draw those impressive things, and he drew so many of those things from his book that he can draw from memory now. It is rather impressive, but not in the way one would initially think.

"I was teaching my friend to draw a fighter jet when I looked over and saw my other friend was drawing, too. But let me just say that I call everyone my friend because it sounds better than saying, 'My arch enemy.' So my other friend was drawing, and would look to her left, then draw, and look to her left, and draw."

I'm going to interrupt this dialogue to share my train of thought. I nearly had a coughing fit trying not to laugh out loud at the "arch enemy" statement, but as soon as he said "she" was drawing I knew exactly who he was talking about. This girl has been in his class every year since kindergarten. Luke is in 5th grade. That's now 6 years, in the same class. Weird. And for some reason, he is irked by this girl's presence. I have very strong suspicions that it's because she's a challenge to him. Luke is a leader in his class academically and socially, and I know for a fact that this little girl gives him a very good run for his money. I also know that she's the cutest thing that wears matching shoes and figure that someday he'll see her for who she is - the one who complements him very nicely. But there's time for that, and I'm not pushing anything. At all.

"So as I was finishing up my fighter jet, I looked over and saw that she drew the girl that was reading beside her. It was a really good picture. She's quite the artist."

She challenges him in every way, and goes by the name of friend, because "arch enemy" just doesn't sound nice.

Warning: Blonde Behind the Wheel

2012-01-15T23:07:00.000-05:00

Becky got a letter in the mail from the DMV stating that laws have changed. She now has to log 65 driving hours rather than the initial 50 as a permitted driver before she can take the test for her license. The extra 15 hours must be 10 after-dark hours and 5 bad weather hours. We remain somewhat hazy on the "bad weather" hours. I doubt any parent in their right minds would say, "Oooh, a blizzard! Let's go risk our lives with an insecure teen driver behind the wheel! I'm really hoping there's black ice under the snow, too!"

We had snow over the weekend, and while today wasn't actively snowing and the roads were fairly for the most part clear, we are considering it bad weather. There was snow in the berms, and the occasional little spot of random ice. I think. So Becky logged an hour's worth of bad weather driving today.

As Becky got behind the driver's seat, she did some adjusting to fit herself properly. The automatic seat was pulled forward to reach the pedals better, and then lowered to her liking.

"Ouch! Ouch! My feet are stuck under your seat!" Apparently Josh had stretched his feet up under the driver's seat, and they were now fairly squashed when Becky automatically lowered herself. He couldn't remove them no matter how he wiggled. "Raise your seat, I need to get my feet out."

As Josh was laughing (while cringing), we were laughing as well. We rock parenthood, laughing at our children's calamities.

"I can't mess with the seat while driving," Becky replied. Which was ironic, because she'd just lowered it onto her brother's now entrapped feet. While driving.

"I can't get my feet out!" repeated Josh. So to redeem ourselves for laughing at our son's calamity, we told Becky to raise her seat and release her brother.

She reached for the switch on the side of her seat, and pulled herself forward. "OUCH! What the heck are you doing?!" was the wail from the back seat. "I said to raise your seat, not move it forward! You're scraping my feet!"

"See, that's why I said I couldn't do this while driving," said Becky. (Awww, she was concerned with her brother's well being.) "I can't control the handle thingie very well and just had the seat adjusted to where I liked it." (So much for loving concern.)

She eventually managed to figure out how to raise the seat enough for Josh to release himself, but not before confirming that she is, indeed, a blonde.

Wrestling is Funny

2012-01-14T22:10:00.002-05:00

So He's a Packer Now

2012-01-11T22:28:00.000-05:00

Micah grabbed a shopping bag out of the pantry and tossed in a yogurt cup, a spoon, a Go-Gurt, and a cheese stick thirty seconds before his bus came. I assumed he wanted to pack his lunch that day, even though he'd never packed his lunch in three and a half years of school attendance. I also assumed that he was craving dairy. Unfortunately, with the bus pulling into the driveway, I didn't have time to pack him a proper lunch so I had no choice but to confiscate his bag of milk products. He was not happy with me that morning.

This morning he decided to pack a lunch again, and since we had plenty of time to do it right, I helped him. First, I switched out his plastic grocery bag with a brown lunch sack. He grinned from ear to ear. He chose green peppers over carrots, so I cut some strips and bagged them. He chose a Go-Gurt stick to add. (Hush with the "it's not even really yogurt" talk. I know. But the boy loves them, and they're so convenient for lunch boxes.) I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, because we had no lunch meat or boiled eggs. He chose grapes over an apple. And because every lunch sack needs something fun, I threw in a small Reese's Peanut Butter football shaped egg. And a bottle of water, so that everything would be disposable.

I am fairly certain that Micah is in charge of emptying his own backpack once he gets to school. Since he's never packed a lunch before, I wasn't sure if he knew what to do with that lunch, or if he'd remember that he packed it once lunch time rolled around. (Which wouldn't be a big deal - he'd just eat cafeteria food again.) I thought my best bet would be for him to hand carry his lunch to school so that his teachers were aware of its existence.

That boy was so proud of his lunch, he had to show his van driver. His eyes lit up as he held up his brown paper bag. I'm only assuming he ate it for lunch. I just hope he didn't think he'd get two lunches and try to go through the cafeteria line as well.

It's Not a Resolution, It's a Lifelong Goal

2012-01-10T22:59:00.002-05:00

20 tired boy
Originally uploaded by The Rocking Pony

Micah always wants to do what his older brothers do. He wants to be one of the boys more than anything else. For so long, he was left behind when they went and did. Sometimes it's because it was too cold (he doesn't like the cold) or he wasn't old enough, or just because he wasn't able to do what his brothers did and would be in their way without me there to play interference. I'm not about to send my baby into the woods when the older boys play Airsoft wars. I'm just not.

Today, the older boys were helping Daddy cut firewood, and Micah was sure he wanted to be part of the fun. He didn't know what fun they were getting into, but he knew they both put coats on and headed outside. By the time he got dressed and headed out himself, they were long gone. And because they were across the road, I needed to walk him there.

The path to "there" was through Gram & Pap's yard, past the stable, and through the horse pasture. This has been The Best Winter Ever so far, with a complete and total lack of snow. (You can probably hear me rejoicing inside my head over that fact. I love snow. I really do. But I'm rather snowed out and need an easy winter this year. My God is very good.) With the really nice weather, the horses have been out in pasture daily. This, in turn, makes a huge mud pit of the pasture. Smeary is a good, descriptive word.

I probably shouldn't have worn my slip-on shoes into the mud pit. Boots would have been good. Boots with good tread would have kept me from doing aerobic dancing to keep from going down when I slipped and slid in the smeary muck. Micah found my moves amusing. He didn't know mama was so flexible. Mama was unaware of her flexibility, too. Mama will most likely feel those moves in the morning.

About time I regained my balance and was able to remain in the fully upright position, Micah stepped in a divot. It was deep enough to engulf his whole foot, and the boy was not happy. In fact, he was rather freaked out. His sensory issues kicked in and the mud was more than he could bear. In his big-boy-I'm-growing-up way, he contained the freak and simply stood there and cried. Poor kiddo. He was horrified that his shoes were muddy, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was mud all around him, and he couldn't move without stepping in more mud. He was stuck.

That's when big brother Josh came to his rescue. He saw us making our way toward them in the mud pit, saw Micah's meltdown, and came to carry his baby brother to the worksite. What a hero, that boy. And Micah repaid the favor by stacking firewood in the back of the gator for his rescuer.

Micah just wants to be one of the boys, and every day he works hard to achieve that. Today he accomplished his goal.

The Awesome in Today

2012-01-09T20:21:00.000-05:00

There are moments of every day that are kind of awesome. Big things like puppies being born and birthdays, or small things like an awesome drawing by one of the kids or a colorful sunset. It's those moments that make life fun. Most days, I go out of my way to see the awesome. Sometimes I need to see things through the kids' eyes to realize awesome is happening. Sometimes I can see it all by myself without their help.

Today, there was a tiny little awesome that Micah created and I happened to notice all by myself. (Some days, I'm on my A Game. And really, it was hard to miss.)

I truly wonder what I did before kids. Where was the awesome then?

We're Old Schooling It Right Into The New Millenia

2012-01-08T21:45:00.000-05:00

Way back in the day, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and I was in school, I was told that one day things I know and love would be obsolete. Not being blessed with the gift of seeing into the future, my mind couldn't fathom what things would disappear into oblivion.

I remember having the conversation about the invention of cell phones. It was said that everyone would have a personal phone, and could take it with them wherever they went. You could even call them when they were driving in a car! Can you imagine? I mean, when you were just getting used to the fact that cordless phones were a "thing," and you didn't have to be tied to the spiral cord any longer, anything as newfangled as a cellular device was far fetched.

Our family owns several cell phones. Land lines are becoming as obsolete as corded phones.

One of the scariest things I heard back in the day, when I was in school, was that books would become nearly extinct in the future. Being an avid reader, I couldn't fathom this. I vowed never to give up my books. I'd probably have the last book on Planet Earth, because I was never giving them up, mind you, NEVER.

Once I downloaded the Kindle App on my iPod Touch, I sold most of the books in my small library, keeping only my very favorites. I have more books in my Kindle than I ever did on my book shelves. We bought a Kindle Fire for Luke when his iPod died, because it can be a gamer as well as an eReader. The child that reads would love it.

And he does. He plays games on his Kindle daily. He has the farting app, and the vuvuzela app, and Angry Birds. He does puzzles and word games. But he doesn't read. Luke prefers to hold a book in his hand and turn the pages. And he can't take the Kindle to school to read in his spare time.

We bought Luke a stack of books for Christmas. I will always support reading, and if Luke prefers to hold a book rather than read electronically, I will continue to buy him books. Our family may be heading into the new age as fast as every other family, but we will be old school to encourage reading for as long as we need to be.

Some things are just better the old fashioned way, I guess.

Gosh, She Just Keeps Growing Up

2012-01-06T22:01:00.002-05:00

It's Going To Be One Of Those Years

2012-01-05T20:48:00.000-05:00

Today we neatly stored Christmas in the attic for another year. I dismantled the trees and crated it all the other day, because every year we find something that we forgot to pack up. Once Baby Jesus was lost under the sofa; the next year Mary was found on a shelf. (Micah loves the kids' nativity set we got for him to play with. I think he loves it a little too much.) My theory was that if we let the crates sit for a day or two, we'd find the strays and get everything packed and stored together. For once. But I done good - nothing more was found.

After a dozen crates of ornaments and decor, 7 trees, and 8 window wreaths were stored away, I was wishing I'd focused more on weight lifting in my workouts. I was also glad I had a good vacuum, because boy-howdy the mess 7 trees can leave behind. It's like they wanted to leave something to remember them by.

The awesome thing about putting away all those trees is that I quickly realize the house is pretty large and roomy without them. And then I commence cleaning, because all that wide, open space is begging to be sparkly and shiny after the dust-gathering clutter is gone. So I cleaned. Dyson and I moved furniture, sucked up cobwebs behind furniture, moved dog crates, gathered tumbleweeds of dog hair hiding under couches, and swept the floor half a dozen times. I scrubbed baseboards and wiped walls. And because I could, I rearranged the living room into something new. It looked awesome.

And that's when I spotted the snowman sitting on a window sill in the breakfast nook. The Forgotten Item. Not a year goes by without one.

And then I realized that I forgot the extra large dog crate for the dog who just joined us. Nuts. It's a large crate (need room for babies!) and doesn't just squeeze into a corner somewhere. Unless the corner is big. It would fit in the dining room well if I moved the old school desk, which would fit better in the living room. So Dyson and I, and the Pine Sol bucket, swept and scrubbed the dining room from top to bottom and rearranged that as well.

Spic and span. Wonderful.

And then the kids came home from school. "Were you looking for something, or just cleaning?," quipped the teen boy.

Kids. I know I don't deep-clean every week, but for crying out loud, it's not that bad.

And then I found the entire toy nativity set on a shelf by the Matchbox cars. This year just is going to be THAT year, isn't it?

The Broken Resolution Isn't My Fault

2012-01-04T22:39:00.000-05:00

I am not big on resolutions, because I'm not so good at keeping them. I suspect that I'm like the majority of the rest of the nation in that respect. I mean, why else would the same people have the same resolutions year after year? If everyone lost weight that said they were going to lose weight, it wouldn't be a resolution the next year. Or maybe they do lose the weight, gain it, and resolve to lose it again, like a yo-yo of unhealthy proportions.

In that area, however, I am exercising and eating healthier. It's not a resolution, mind you. It's more of a goal. A goal is something you work toward, whereas a resolution is something you're just going to do instantly. At least that's the way I look at things.

But despite my resolve not to make a resolution, I did anyway. (I really do suck at keeping these things.) I have decided that I need more sleep. I'd be happier, healthier, and have more energy to get things done through the day if I got more sleep. This midnight stuff is for young people. I'm just not up to that anymore. It's taking it's toll.

I did really good at this, too. I'm all proud of myself, and have been waking up in the mornings feeling like I'm ready to face the day. It's a novelty - something I haven't felt in a decade. Or maybe it's been just the last 4 years or so since I started bottle feeding random litters of puppies. Feeding puppies is so much worse than being up in the night with babies, and I have experience on both fronts so I can make an honest comparison. I really don't know how long it's been since I woke up refreshed, but I like it, and I want more of it.

Two nights running I was asleep before 11PM. It was nice. And then I realized that, even though I am a big girl and can put myself to bed at a decent hour if I really want to, it doesnt' guarantee I'll wake in the morning well rested.

Last night, I randomly woke at 3AM, so I went to the restroom to be sure that didn't crop up as I tried going back to sleep. Just as I covered up again, I thought, "gee, it's cold in here. I better see if Micah has clothes on." So I walked down the hall to the boys' room, and while Micah did have his pajamas on, he was using his brother as a pillow. I pulled him off, gave him a real pillow, covered him up, and headed back to bed.

The outside dogs were barking. I laid there for a full 10 minutes wondering if it was anything serious. Dogs bark at night - it's what they do. But the one is expecting next week. What if my due dates were off and she's in labor? Are they trying to tell me she needs to be in the house? Would dogs do that? No, it's crazy, that's what it is. But the dogs were barking. What if she WAS in labor? Could I live with myself, knowing the puppies would freeze? Heck, no! I donned a robe and headed downstairs to take a peek out the patio door. No puppies. No labor. Just barking dogs.

I checked the thermostat, because I was cold. The temperature was down to 64 degrees. Well how awesome is that? Should I wake Sam to have him go make fire? (Um, NO. But at 4AM sometimes I have to think about things that are no brainers.) Under the covers, I was warm. But the ear that wasn't on the pillow was cold. I rearranged my hair, but it didnt' help.

I prayed for everything that came to mind. I wondered who didn't make fire last night to cause the house to get this cold. I planned my upcoming day. I patted myself on the back for the exercise and smart eating I did the day before. I wished I could sleep.

As I was almost drifting to Never Never Land, Micah joined us in bed. He lost his pajamas sometime between my 3AM check-up, and his 5:30AM bed hopping. Sam left for work and Micah and I fell asleep, 45 minutes before the alarm went off to be up for school.

I took a nap this morning after Micah got on the bus. Apparently getting more sleep isn't going to be as easy I thought it would be. And I have a dog expecting next week. (Never fear, people, she went to the groomer today to get her winter coat shaved off so she could acclimate to the house without stress. She's now living indoors and is heavily monitored.)

And this is why I don't make resolutions. They look for ways to sabotage themselves.

I'll Never Have That Trophy On My Mantle

2012-01-03T20:54:00.001-05:00

Micah had 12 days off school for Christmas break, and because that wasn't enough we took an extra 3 for vacation before the holiday break began. We were all kind of ready to go back, so you'd think I'd be prepared for it. And I was, really. I was better prepared for the start of school than I ever have been in the past.

Before school let out in December, a letter was sent home reminding parents that winter is here (which, it really wasn't, only in theory) and that we should send boots, snow pants, hats and gloves every single day as the kids go out to recess even in the snow. I actually appreciated this letter because in the past I was never given specifics and assumed (incorrectly, I came to find out at the end of the year) that the kids stayed indoors in winter. This year, I would be prepared. I would burden Micah with his 3 pound Voice in his bookbag, accompanied by the bulk of his snowpants, and an extra bag holding his winter boots. But it's for his own health and well being, so it's all good.

So we waited for the van, on his first day back to school, and I checked and double checked to be sure that all his winter gear was packed. It was. I was good.

As the school van was pulling into the driveway, I realized that we had snow overnight. Not a lot of snow, but enough to really be in the way between our door and the van. And I didn't have time to shovel. No worries, I'd put on Sam's huge, way-oversized winter boots and kick snow out of the way as I shuffled to the van. And I did, inviting Micah to walk behind me in the cleared path.

He misunderstood, he did. Micah wanted to walk beside me and hold my hand. As I turned around to point to where I wanted him to walk, I realized that my shuffle-shoveling wasn't as great of a job as I thought it was. And Micah's feet were covered in snow. I was carrying his winter boots in a bag in my hand.

Big fat fail.

Have I mentioned that the boy is on antibiotics, and has had The Worst Cold Ever for 3 weeks now. Yeh. That.

January 3, and I blew Mother of the Year already. I rock this parenting thing.

It Finally Snowed

2012-01-02T21:06:00.000-05:00

Luke has been reading Calvin & Hobbes a lot lately. One of his favorites is entitled "Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Snow Goons." If that's not screaming ALL BOY, there's not much that does. And of course, he has all sorts of fun ideas (and books filled with illustrations) of the snow goons that he wants to create himself.

Except we don't have snow. We haven't had much snow to speak of all winter. I'm not complaining about this in the least. We've had two pretty snowy winters in a row and if we have a mild one this year I feel it's only deserving. (We're all entitled to our own weather opinions. If you're thinking we need snow because it's winter, you can just go ahead and think that. It's not like either one of us has any control of the weather anyway.)

We did have a good snowfall before Halloween, and that is qutie unusual in these parts. Luke took full advantage of that. I'm not sure who the snow goon is in this photo, though.

After that Halloween fun, Luke wished on his birthday candles for more snow. The day after his early December birthday, we had another snowman-friendly snowfall, then nada. (Again, I'm not complaining. I'm quite happy, really.)

But today we got snow. Not a whole lot, and not the snowman-making variety, but snow nonetheless. The boys were kinda thrilled about it. They pushed all the patio furniture out of the way, swept snow, and hosed the patio down. It iced over just enough to play hockey.

Commence with the awesomeness. If you're going to have winter, you've gotta make it fun.

Little McSneakerton

2012-01-01T22:19:00.000-05:00

Micah recently learned to drink from a cup - without the aid of a straw - and has also decided that soda is an awesome thing he's been missing out on for the past 8 years of his life. His drinking life has greatly been improved, according to him.

Right up until very recently, he thought we were trying to drug him with a mouth-eating poison every time he'd sip anything that fizzed. But now, because he discovered it all on his own (ahem), carbonated drinks are his new rage.

We treated ourselves to a pizza for lunch, and got a rare bottle of soda to go with it. (We just don't keep sodas in the house. We are drinkers of water here. It's free, it's healthy, and it's free.) We sat around the table, chatting and eating, enjoying our lunch prepared by someone else. Luke got up to help himself to another slice, and Micah took advantage of his absence from the table. I swear, he was waiting for the moment.

Luke was barely gone before Micah nonchalantly reached for his brother's cup, carefully poured the contents into his own, then set the cup back where it was. And then he continued eating his pizza like nothing ever happened and the rest of the table didn't just see what went down.

That boy has definitely mastered sneaky.

Ants In My Pants Give Me The Heebie Jeebies

2011-12-29T21:02:00.000-05:00

I searched for quite a while in the game aisle, looking for something Micah could play. There were so many choices. But I wanted just the right one. He doesn't always understand directions, so things like Candyland or Trouble would simply allow him to participate but he wouldn't really know why he was doing what he was doing.

Don't Break the Ice and Connect Four seem incredibly easy to understand, but they're still not quite right. I'm pretty sure Micah's goal in Don't Break the Ice would be to crash all the cubes through as fast as he could. While fun, it's not the point of the game. I want a game that he can play correctly, enjoy immensely, and not frustrate the rest of the family while playing it. And I know from watching him play Connect Four on iDevices that his goal is to fill the holes. Patterns and sequences are for losers. Fail.

He'd enjoy Operation immensely, and it would be so good for his fine motor skills, but that falls under the "frustrating the rest of the family" heading. He'd either not care he was buzzing like an alarm clock on hyperdrive, or would enjoy the sound and do it on purpose. Fail again.

And then I saw Ants In The Pants. It's everything I was looking for. The goal is to get the ants in first. There were no turns, no rules, no directions, nothing complicated at all. Flick the ants, fill the pants. That simple. Awesomeness.

So we played, Micah and I, flicking ants toward the large, upright pants. I'm here to testify that it's way harder than one would think. I mean, this is a game for preschoolers. Is the hidden agenda of the game to teach kids that life isn't easy, and pretty much nobody is a winner? Because seriously, you're lucky if one in every forty flicks scores an ant down a pantsleg. The other 39 flicks bounce off the pants and suspenders. And if that was actually the goal, to hit those thin strips, you know it would never happen. Ants fall short of the pants, and overshoot the pants. Ants fly off the table or clear across the room. I'm telling you, those ants have an aversion to jumping into pants. It's frustrating, is what it is.

Micah decided to make his own rules, and every now and again, when he thinks I'm not looking, that boy will just pick up an ant and drop it down a leg.

Maybe I should have gotten Connect Four. At least, in making up new rules, it still would have been fun. And way less frustrating.

Update on the Absenteeism

2011-12-28T17:34:00.000-05:00

Wow, that was a stretch of MIAness. I didn't even realize things weren't happening on the blog until I sat down today and thought about it.

We vacationed with the extended family the week before Christmas and had an absolute wonderful time, even though we were at a ski resort without snow. We did get to go tubing that once before what little man-made snow they had melted off. We entertained ourselves in the nearest town, out in the woods, and at the indoor water park. And it was rather relaxing. But I just didn't think to post while we were away, although I did sit up until well past midnight almost nightly reading. Gosh, it's been forever since I've read a good book, and I was able to get through a few. It was heaven.

The last 5 minutes at the water park on the last day, Josh sustained an injury, because apparently teen boys are prone to things like that. We had some x-rays done when we got home to ensure nothing was broken (it wasn't) and I almost fell asleep in the hospital chair. I realized then that I was completely and totally exhausted.

Being up with Micah that one night didn't help with the lack of sleep thing. The boy's Little Sniffle turned on him faster than I've ever seen anything turn. In just over 24 hours he was wavering between croup and lung hacking as an Olympic event, and I sat with him for an hour in a steamy bathroom at 3AM. I now know that one should turn the shower on instead of just the tub's faucet if one is going to sufficiently steam a bathroom. Hey, at 3AM, nobody is at their sharpest. Don't judge.

We medicated Micah religiously and invested in a Vicks thingamijig that you plug in and smells wonderful all night long. (I've always loved the smell of Vicks. And it's even more wonderful since it allows me, er, Micah to sleep all night long.) We did wonders in keeping his chest clear, but at the 2 week mark we figured he should probably be seen by a professional. And Becky was asking for a renewal of her allergy meds, so it seemed like a good time to go.

Turns out, Becky is not only struggling with those dog allergies (it's a shame we have all those dogs in the house), but has the start of bronchitis. Again. If there's a prize for The One Who Is Most Prone To Bronchitis At The Most Random Times, it would be her, hands down.

Micah is incubating the start of an ear infection. All that Vicks does nothing for ears, now does it? But we caught it early so he hasn't been in any pain, which is grand. It's just painful for me to see his nose constantly run, and hear him hack and croup the crud out. Poor kiddo.

Daddy tried taking Micah's cold on to minimize the effects for the little guy but it just resulted in yet another dose of antibiotics to clear up the crud in his chest. I've not seen a cold take hold on someone so fast as it did on Sam, and it drug the man down. Literally. I'm kind of afraid to breathe the same air as he does at this point.

Christmas happened despite the fact that our suitcases were still packed and sitting in a corner of our bedrooms, and half of us were on antibiotics. I took grocery inventory, and we had everything we needed to host Christmas dinner for the other side of the family so I put off stocking the fridge and pantry until after the holiday. It wasn't until sometime around 2PM Christmas day that I realized we had no desserts or anything to make them with. Trivialities, really. Who needs another Christmas cookie, even if it's Christmas day?

We had a wonderful Christmas with family, though. Don't assume we were too sick to enjoy it. There was no barfing and no fevers, so we were all joyfully coherent. Bonus.

And that's pretty much the last 2 weeks in a nutshell. A big nut, mind you, but there it is. We vacationed, we got sick, we opened gifts and lacked Christmas cookies, and I read a few good books.

How was your holiday?

I Hope Your Holiday Weekend Has Been As Amazing As Ours Was

2011-12-25T21:50:00.000-05:00

One of These Is Not Like the Other

2011-12-23T18:47:00.000-05:00

I Will Always Believe There Will Be Something Magical About Nature

2011-12-19T23:13:00.000-05:00

Those two are as different as night and day.

She's all uptown, New York City, girly girl, whose idea of enjoying nature is watching it on TV.

He's very much a good ol' country redneck, experiencing the great outdoors in a hands-on fashion, happiest if he's dirty from living life to it's fullest.

It warms my heart to see them finally learn to get along, even so much as beginning to become friends. She traipsed the woods with him today; he walked the mall with her in the evening. And they both had a very good time in each other's world.

And I simply stood back and enjoyed it.

Snow Tubing Isn't For the Weak of Bladder

2011-12-17T23:20:00.000-05:00

The family (the whole, extended family) is on vacation this week. When we booked this back in August, we envisioned a ski resort with an indoor water park as a lot of fun, with lots of options for entertaining a gaggle of kids. What we didn't foresee was that, despite the fact that we were building snowmen before Halloween, it's been an unseasonably warm winter season thus far. (I'm not complaining, mind you. At all.) So we are at a ski resort with limited snow. The white slopes are nothing but a paintbrush of color down an otherwise drab brown mountain side. There is zero snow outside the ski paths, because nature has not chosen to snow here. Needless to say, the skiing isn't prime. Which is alright, because we don't ski. (I know what you're thinking. And the answer is "just because we can," alright?)

We do, however, go tubing, Anyone can snow tube, because you don't need special skills to slide down a hill in an inflated rubber ring. Or at least I thought you didn't. I've never been tubing before, despite living within 6 miles of 2 ski resorts. (Again. I KNOW. There is an answer for that, though. I don't do outdoor sports in winter. I lack snow gear of any kind. I KNOW. We live in the snow belt of the state. Let's just stop questioning me, mkay?)

So we were waiting in line at the top of the hill forever, because it was an incredibly slow day on the mountain. The run we were waiting for was the slowest on the hill, too. Some people stopped halfway down and had to be pushed. While it wouldn't be the most exciting ride in the world, it would be an easy run. And that's what I needed to decide if I was going to love an outdoor winter sport or not.

Becky went just before me, and I watched her putz down the mountain at a snail's pace. As I waited my turn, I thought I'd sit in my tube like the other waiters. I eased myself down into the center of it, and my 5'0" stature allowed for my legs to just barely graze the ground in front of me if I stretched to touch. Which I had to, because OH MY WORD, MY TUBE IS STARTING DOWN THE HILL. If you broke the rules, you were asked to "leave the slope quickly and quietly, with no exceptions." One of the rules was that you didn't start until you were told it was clear. It wasn't clear.

I stretched my legs as far as they could to get purchase on the icy slope in front of me. By some miracle, I managed to get myself stopped before going too far, but by now I'm not in the center of the tube but instead laying flat on my back across it, my legs sprawled on either side of it in front of me, barely holding me from slipping down the hill. If I managed to roll off the tube, it would go on down without me. (Busted. Quickly and quietly, I'd be escorted from the slope.) If I tried pushing myself back up, I'd lose what precious little footing I already had and would inevitably take my one and only snow tube ride before being asked to leave. So there I sat, realizing my only chance at getting out of that pickle was asking for help. Loudly.

HELP. I NEED HELP. (Yes, I did.)

Thankfully the lady behind me came to my rescue, because my son, two lanes over, decided to choose that moment to pretend not to know me. ("Geez, you can't take her anywhere, can you?") "Thank you! I didn't want to be escorted quickly and quietly from the mountain." (I tend to joke when I'm mortified.)

So once I was successfully rescued, I patiently waited - standing by my tube - until I got the all clear. When it was my turn to go, I eased myself down into the tube and thought, "this will be a nice slide to the bottom. This is the slow lane, after all.

And then my tube turned itself around and I was facing backward. Well crap. I'd prefer to see when the bumps are coming before I hit them. I am not a daredevil by any stretch of that word, and was not amused by this turn of events. It was about this time that I realized I was going faster than the people before me had. And I was also gaining speed. Quickly. I clenched the handles on that tube so hard my knuckles were sore, and I was so afraid of flipping over and dragging my face on solid packed ice that I was too tense to even wet myself. As I continued gaining speed, I could only think that this is certainly not the experience I thought it would be. At all.

Sam's brother was explaining that it wasn't a slow lane, but bad inner tubes that was causing the drag. See? He pointed back to the hill and said, "That kid is really zipping, and they're in your lane." After I reached the bottom, shot through the rubber mats they have to stop the tubes, and slid about a dozen feet up onto the grass, they realized it wasn't a kid, it was me.

That's when my bladder decided to just get it all over with for the night. No trickling here and there. If I was going to scare it into retention, it'd get even with me in one fell swoop. It was like a pregnant woman's water breaking. And I learned that a pantiliner can only hold so much before it, too, cries UNCLE.

Turns out, I love tubing. But next time, a full pad (or a Depends) will be joining me on the mountain.

That's the Face of Someone Who's About To Go On Vacation for a Week

2011-12-16T23:11:00.000-05:00

Style Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

2011-12-15T20:27:00.000-05:00

Micah definitely has his own dress style. It's funny, I had two kids like that. It's half the crew. And even funnier, they were both boys. Becky had her own style of dress as well, but she wasn't nearly as adamant about what she wanted as the boys are.

Okay, let me rephrase that. Maybe she just wasn't allowed to be adamant in what she wanted. That girl scared me a bit. As a toddler, and up through her single digit years, she gravitated toward leopard prints, and zebra stripes, and fishnet stockings, and fake nails that were 2" long. If I allowed Becky to be who she wanted to be, she'd have been the first toddler ho in the county. Perhaps I should have gotten her onto Toddlers and Tiaras or something. Maybe that would have satisfied her fashion longings. But I took the easy way out and simply redirected her to more appropriate wear for someone under the age of Still In My House.

Josh was a late talker, being close 2 when he chose to speak to us with any regularity, and one of the first things he wanted to say was what he would and would not wear. It seems that Micah is of the same mind as his older brother. He's got a style, he knows what he wants, and he's kinda proud of who he is. His style is interesting, that's for sure. He layers plaids on plaids, and tops it with a tie. He wears a knit sweater vest with sweatpants. He wears ties with anything, generally over t-shirts.

We have learned that Micah is an old man in a little boy's body. He'll unerringly go for polyester shorts and oxford shirts. And as we were walking through the store the other day, he found the best little old man outfit of all. It was a polyester pant and vest set, with a bright royal blue oxford with a tie. The pants and vest were pinstriped. Bonus. He chose that over a Lightning McQueen shirt, and a Spiderman pajama set, and then - THEN - he chose to put a movie back in lieu of that glorious polyester atrocity.

We did not make that purchase. I know he would have worn it every day to school. Somehow, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. We will, however, be looking for a tiny little suit in that boy's size that is not polyester. We'll support who he is, but he'll just have to compromise a wee bit on his style.

Chains Can Be Rather Amusing

2011-12-14T22:17:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure I mentioned here before that we are not the parents who put braces on their kids teeth to straighten that slight imperfection. I'm not knocking those who do - each to his own. We just don't have insurance to pay for it, and have better things to spend our money on than a dazzling smile.

That's probably why our kids have the teeth that they do. While we're okay with making our kids suffer through life with less than fakely perfect teeth, we are not down with teeth that need correction because they'll cause medical problems in the future otherwise. Luke had braces at the age of 9. (I also have a problem with braces before all the baby teeth are out, but see above where it was a medical necessity.) (Daggun it.)

We have always been quite proud of Josh's teeth. His actually look like they've gone through the braces ordeal already, but it's just good genetics. We thought that right up until his bi-yearly dental appointment. He was due for x-rays, and that's when things started going a bit sour. Turns out, at the age of 14.5, he never lost his eye teeth. Neither were they loose. And the big teeth had very little intention of going anywhere, as they were quite happy deeply embedded right where they were. And in their happy state, they were sharply angled toward the front of his mouth; certainly not in line to come straight down into holes vacated by pulling the baby teeth. Which we did.

So now Josh has two holes in his smile, and I have a lot of questions. Will those reluctant adult teeth begin to move now that there's room for them? Will they straighten as they come in? And if not, will they push other teeth out of their way? What if they didn't come down?

Thankfully our dentist is fifteen kinds of awesome and answers all of my questions patiently and thoroughly. And in layman's terms as well. Here's the scoop: we'll give those vacancies six month to fill. If they do not, they will have to bring the teeth down manually. How? Good question! (And you know I asked it.) They will drill up to find those teeth, attach a gold chain to them, install braces, anchor the chain to the braces, and pull them right on down.

Being Parent of the Year, I laughed. Out loud. While my son had a needle in his mouth the size of my finger and was gripping the chair in pain. (He was undergoing the extractions as we happily discussed his future.) I laughed, because all I could think was, "It's an episode of Loggers, right there in his mouth." I'm an awesome parent that way.

This is a rather rare procedure, and therefore a cause of some excitement in the dental world. While the dentist was all matter of fact and low key about it, his aid started waxing eloquent on the gold chain and levels of discomfort. While I may be the worst parent ever for laughing at futuristic maybes, I don't want the boy freaked out before he needs to be. (He's a brave one, that boy, but still. It's common sense. You know?) I motioned for her to cut the excited discussion short, and changed the subject by telling Becky why I was laughing.

Turns out, she was laughing herself. She's envisioning her brother with a gold wallet chain thing going on in his mouth. And I fear she's correct. But we've got 6 months, and I have faith that those teeth will straighten and gravity will help them do what they're meant to do naturally. Because otherwise, I'm going to have to pay through the nose for what little bit of merriment we're going to get out of seeing those chains.

josh's teeth - gold chain, hook to and pull them out - either loggers in his mouth or gang wallet chain

The One In Which The Town Makes Me Cry

2011-12-13T22:12:00.000-05:00

Micah's class Christmas program was tonight. It was the second grade class, and he's in third grade, but if you try to keep up I'll make this as simple as possible. The elementary has traditionally been kindergarten through 3rd grade. Micah's Life Skills class encompasses all those grades in one class so the kids have the same teacher for 4 years, and most of the same kids as well. (Consistency is huge with kids like Micah.) This year, 3rd graders in the elementary moved up to the middle school, but the 3rd grade Life Skills students were retained in the elementary. Micah, being a 3rd grader in a school that maxes at 2nd grade, now integrates with a 2nd grade class for homeroom, library, lunch/recess, field trips, and other such things. And of course, the Christmas program.

There. That wasn't too bad, was it? (He's also in a different district than his siblings, because our district doesn't have a Life Skills class in the elementary. It's all very confusing.) (And if your head is swimming a little, don't worry. So is mine.)

But hang on, there's more. In an effort to cut costs, two very small elementary schools were consolidated into Micah's school this year. So the largest district in the county is now even larger. It was explained at the program opening that they had to borrow 3 extra sets of risers to accommodate all the kids on stage, and to please be patient with them if things didn't go as smoothly as we hoped. Although they did. The kids did an excellent job of sitting, saying lines, singing, and general all around listening and obeying. Parents of second graders all over the county have a lot to be proud of.

So with all those extra kids, I was rather amazed that I could still hear Micah singing. We have the nasty habit of sitting waaaaaay in the back. I think there was one row behind us, we were that far back. I do this on purpose. Every other parent sits in the front to better see their child, and if I'm part of that crowd, I cannot see over the head in front of me. Being short sometimes has zero advantages. If I'm waaaaaaay in the back, there are generally a few empty seats that I can space myself behind so that I'm guaranteed to see what's going on up at the stage area. I may not be able to hear whispers of "it's your turn!" but I can see facial expressions. If I squint real hard. And I could still hear Micah singing over the throng of second graders, because that boy loves to sing and has a distinct voice. He kinda makes me proud.

And because the school is awesome, every child has a line. Even my son, who cannot talk. He got to say, "Ho, ho, ho!" (It's a program about Santa, not the other kind of ho. I just thought I'd clarify that point.) Because things are moving along quickly, the audience is quiet and respectful while the kids say their line. If it was a particularly cute or funny line, we would laugh, and the kids would be delighted. But when Micah said his line, the entire auditorium clapped.

That's when the town made me cry.

Really. I sat there with tears streaming down my face. Not because my nonverbal son rocked the HoHoHo (which he did), but because the love and support of this small town that we call home has always been overwhelming to us. There were plenty of people in the audience that knew Micah, and so many more that had no clue who he was. But there were zero sighs, or eyerolls, or huffs of "just get on with it already."

Inclusion and acceptance are words that every parent of a special needs child fights for on a daily basis. It's all we want for our kids. Our kids will never be normal, so if they can at least be treated like normal people are, it's the best we can hope for. And the parents of second graders in the largest school district in the county have proven tonight that they accept Micah and are more than willing to include him. In fact, they'll cheer him on just like I do every single day.

And I sit here with tears in my eyes again.

Snapshots of our Weekend

2011-12-11T21:56:00.000-05:00

Micah had an awesome day on Sunday. First the kids had their Christmas program at church, and four months of practice paid off. They did so well. Micah loves the play since he gets to sing and dance. We were waiting for him to break out The Sprinkler since it's his new favorite dance move, but he stuck with the rehearsed moves instead. He also got to play his guitar during one of the songs, and as far as he was concerned it was his moment to shine. He's waited for a crack on stage with that guitar for years.

I won't point him out. If you look close enough you can find him for yourself. You know, the kid who didn't get the memo to wear a red shirt. That would be him.

He was also one of the Wise Men. Or Wise Guy, however you want to look at it.

His crown was rather ill fitting, and made him look very I Have Down Syndrome, but that's okay because he does. And he rocks it.

And after church we headed to the Special Olympics Christmas Party, where there was food, and dancing, and Santa Claus. In that order. He broke out The Sprinkler there, because he totally could. And somehow I lack a picture of that, although I did get him in The Worm. (There are few moves that boy doesn't know. Or employ.)

Hey, I didn't say he was good at it. Or maybe he was breakdancing. Nobody may ever know. I do know, however, that he had a fabulous time. Fabulous in ways you can't even imagine. He was in his element, putting on a show for the entire crowd.

And he and Santa are rather tight this year, but since it's still such a new concept to us, Micah was on his lap, collected his loot, and back at our table before we even realized he'd been to see the man in red. (Parents of the Year, we are.) And then? Micah went back for Round 2 with Santa, but only to give him the picture that he colored. Santa has a track record of awesomeness this year. He graciously accepted the picture, thanked Micah, and set it beside him to continue on with the eager line of Olympians waiting their turn. And I don't have pictures of any of this. (See that Parents of the Year note.) But in my defense, I was so busy watching the other Olympians that snapping pictures didn't occur to me much. The Special Olympians are some of my most favorite people in the whole world. There is no inhibition. No embarrassment. No silly egos to get in the way of just being who you are, and loving every second of it.

All in all, it was a very good day for everyone

The Pack

2011-12-09T22:12:00.000-05:00

The Lessons We Learned This Week

2011-12-08T22:38:00.002-05:00

Micah got off the school van today with tears in his eyes. My boy doesn't cry very often, and when he does it's a big deal. He started crying again as soon as he saw me. Can you say Red Flag? And then my Mommy Senses (like Spidey Senses) kicked into overdrive.

As he was holding his right eye, I zeroed in on that. It wasn't red, it wasn't bloodshot, it wasn't irritated in any way. I held my hand over his left eye and asked him to watch my other hand as I waved it in front of his face. His right eye tracked well, so he wasn't going blind in that eye. (Hey, Mommy Senses don't scoff at the ridiculous.)

Instead of stripping down to his boxers, Micah snuggled with me on the couch, his face flushed, crying. And he kept holding that left eye. I was baffled. I asked him how school was, and he cried. I asked if something happened on the bus, and he cried. I checked his daily take-home folder and there was no note about anything that happened that maybe shouldn't have.

I got him a cold pack for his eye, wrapped in a towel. He gladly held it on his eye for 20 seconds, then stopped crying, tossed the cold pack onto the couch, clapped, took a bow, and went on to play. He was miraculously healed. For three minutes. Then he came back for the cold pack.

Becky and I came to the conclusion that maybe he had a migraine from being overtired. When we get that tired, the pain settles into our eyes. (If you've had this happen, you know the feeling. If you haven't, there's not much explaining it. Just trust me on it.) Micah moped around for an hour, coming back for the cold pack more often than not, and in general trying to be himself but not succeeding very well.

He eventually fell asleep watching TV, and that happens approximately once a year with him. I kinda thought last weekend that he was tired since he spent Saturday in meltdown after meltdown, but then on Sunday when I had plans to make him nap against his will, he couldn't have been better. A model child, he was. And when he's overtired, he just doesn't get over it. He gets worse. Quickly.

So we all learned something this week. I learned that Micah can now control his emotions and outbursts even when he's so overtired that it would throw even the strongest of mothers who have survived years of sleep deprivation over the edge. (I should have seen this coming. He powered his way through a combination of Overtired and Sleepy Drugs to fuss for 3 hours solid on an airplane trip. The boy has some fortitude.) And Micah learned that getting up before dawn, and staying up for hours past your bedtime, playing in the bedroom, will eventually catch up to you no matter how strong you are.

In the future, son, please just try sleeping. We'd all appreciate it. A lot.

Birthday Party Fun

2011-12-07T22:21:00.000-05:00

I try to make birthdays special for the kids, mostly by doing little things. We don't go all out celebrating birthdays here, but special touches make things memorable. (The kids may say otherwise someday in a therapy session, declaring that mom just didn't love them enough to have an all expense paid party to the Bahamas for everyone in their grade. Plus a pony as party favors to each kid who showed up.) So for Luke's birthday, I did a few things to make his day special.

First of all, I thought it would be fun for him to get mail, because who doesn't love mail? I asked everyone to mail him a card, even people that wouldn't normally. Just a card, or even a postcard, with a signed name. But the idea was to have him get cards in the mail for a week. And he did. He loved it! (Thanks to everyone who participated!)

Since we haven't decorated the big Christmas tree yet, I figured we'd turn it into a birthday tree for the occasion. (Don't judge. I have 2 decorated. Things take time.) We put all Luke's cards in the tree, then added a few balloons and lollipops. Except that you can't see the lollipops, and they'll turn into the Christmas Pickle. Whoever finds a lollipop is a winner. Of a lollipop. I suspect we'll find lollipops for a few years. Ah, the joys of artificial trees.

(Hey, I didn't say it looked classy. Or even nice.)

Because Luke is the resident artist, we lined the table with strips of paper, so that everyone could draw as they ate his birthday dinner. That would be chicken legs, upon his request. Of all the things an 11 year old boy could ask for, he chose drumsticks. Each to his own, I guess.

We cut mustaches out of construction paper and slipped them over straws. That was probably the most fun we've had around the dinner table in a long time. We'll definitely have to do that again, just for kicks.

And the cake? I made a monster, because he'd love that. And he did. Except that cake pops and I have a longstanding feud. So far the score is Cake Pops: 2, Me: 0. I'd feel worse about the fact that I'm losing to cake, but I get revenge by eating them. So there. I get the last word, and that word is generally YUM. So this monster's eyes weren't exactly how I envisioned things in my head, because the cake slid down the stick and went from cake pop to cake flop. Luke graciously declared it awesome anyway. So did Micah, after sampling it a few times.

I also learned that a $2 cake decorating tube will give you exactly what you paid for. A hot mess all over the kitchen, in the color of green frosting. It's good to have a backup of quality.

And the very best idea I had for his birthday just didn't happen. I wanted to kidnap him from school mid-afternoon to catch a matinee at the movie theater, and was getting ready to head out the door when Sam reminded me that he'd probably miss something important at school, like handing out the treats he took in for his special day. Those would be the treats I was up until midnight making because I'm an idiot and couldn't just bake cookies for him. No, I had to make chocolate covered chocolate chip cookie truffle balls instead. And there was no way those things were not going to be passed out after spending a few hours waiting for them to harden in the freezer. Twice. So instead, I took Luke (and Micah, because he insisted, even though he was clueless on where we were going) to the movies after our birthday dinner. I just want to go on record as saying that The Muppets were awesome. As was Luke's birthday. At least according to Luke.

Santa Crossed a Line

2011-12-06T23:28:00.000-05:00

I have scoffed at the idea of the Elf on a Shelf in past years. The idea that Santa is watching the kids daily is enough to freak them out, but telling the kids that an elf is spying on them and reporting back to Santa will make a kid swear off Christmas forever.

I am, however, chuckling at the antics I've seen families put that elf up to. It also baffles me. It's expected for an elf to be sneaky and mischievous, but he'll tattle to Santa if the kids do the same? Double standard much? And have you seen the elf? It reminds me of something that could be called Chuckie's younger sibling. I'll admit that it scares me. A lot.

So we've not jumped on the Elf on the Shelf boat that's been floating around. But this year I changed my mind. What? I'm a woman, and have that choice. I also have the right to change the rules if that elf is in my house.

So here are the rules for my house:

1. I am using a Santa that I had in the crates of stored Christmas, because I refuse to spend money on an elf that we don't have.

2. I did not tell the kids that this elf was Santa's snitch, nor that it had anything to do with Santa at all. Except the obvious fact that it is a Santa.

3. The only purpose of this elf/Santa/whatever is to provide comic relief for me while giving the kids a scavenger hunt of sorts in the morning. Where is that Santa now, and what's he up to?

And of course, the teens are in on the placing of it, because they're not about to be in on the super fun end of being excited about finding it. Come to think of it, the newly minted 11 year old is also more on the placing end than the finding end. While fun to see where it shows up in the morning, he's also quick to suggest places to put it the next day "for Micah's sake."

So pretty much, I'm hiding this Santa for Micah. And Micah is clueless about the whole thing. Which means that I'm doing all this to entertain myself. I think I need a hobby.

To clue Micah in to finding a Santa, I placed him with Woody on the first day. They sat in the undecorated tree. He was quickly found (as was intended). Day 2 found Santa typing on the keyboard, with Woody watching from the computer chair. Success on Day 2. Day 3 found Santa in the fridge, incubating an egg. Wouldn't you know that was the first morning in 3 months that Micah didn't ask for an egg sandwich? And because I had to point it out, Micah was none too amused to see it there. Day 4 found Santa driving a pink Barbie car, with Woody pinned underneath. I know it sounds morbid, but this is the stuff that Micah enacts a thousand times a day all on his own. I figured he'd be highly amused. He sat on the coffee table, playing his iPod, completely ignoring the car at his feet. But I knew from where he placed himself in the living room that he was very well aware, but chose not to play along with my shenanigans.

That car sat there all day atop Woody, with Santa behind the wheel. When Micah came home, he eventually dismantled the scene to play with Woody. And I saw him pushing the car around the kitchen, with Santa still driving. The last I saw that car, it was driven quite forcefully down the basement steps. Thankfully Sam remembered this after Micah was in bed, because I couldn't find the Santa anywhere.

There was no pink car at the bottom of the basement steps. And Santa was MIA. I searched the basement to no avail. I opened the door into the workshop side, and the car was there, behind the door. Santa was not. Santa was nowhere to be found. Day 5 was the day Santa was kidnapped by Micah for running Woody down. It was a full 24 hours before Santa was found, locked in a spare dog crate in the basement.

I'm guessing I crossed a line with Santa. I now fear for my life in the event that I tick Micah off someday. The boy wanders much in the night. I sleep through a lot. It's not a good combination.

Happy 11th, Luke

2011-12-05T23:50:00.000-05:00

We're so proud of you, and who you're growing up to become.

But It's So, So....

2011-12-04T22:04:00.000-05:00

Micah is a wise man in the church play. This means that he needed a costume to wear. No problem. I had blue fabric, and gold fabric, and fun trim ribbon, and gold star flecked tulle. It was going to look regal.

On Friday evening, just the little boys were home with me. Luke, being a kinda responsible tween, took himself to bed at his bedtime. Micah, however, has no such compliant tendencies when it involves him being vertical, still, and closing his eyes. And since I was busy sewing something regal, I didn't have the time to make him become vertical nor close his eyes. He sat in the sewing room and played.

But the boy is observant. And astute. Plus, when I held the robe up to him to be sure it was the right length, he kinda figured out that it was for him. And suddenly, he became terribly interested in what I was making, wanting to try it on every step of the way.

When it was finished, he was quite thrilled. It was a dress. For him. And it made him very happy indeed. He was loathe to take it off, but it was now time to make him go to bed, and the robe needed bagged for the play the next day.

***********************

At the nursing home, the kids were doing a full dress rehearsal for the residents, debuting even before their big production for their parents week before Christmas. Luke was super excited, and went over his lines again and again to be sure he had them down pat. Micah was excited because Luke was excited.

I pulled his royal gown out of the bag, and Micah's life ended. Think Teenager Having His Parents Come Lunch With Them At School kind of life ending. There was no way Micah was wearing that THING. Thankfully, I'm still somewhat bigger than he is, and I'm the mom. He put it on. And then asked to take it off.

No, you need to wear it for the play. See? The other kings are wearing their robes, too.

But he motioned to take it off, and raised his arms over his head to make things easier for me. And when I said, No, you need to wear it for the play, he told me in no uncertain terms that it was completely mortifying to be seen in. In fact, he wasn't going to be seen in it because he wasn't going to be in the play if he had to wear it. And we argued back and forth, making no headway on either side.

The play started, and Micah was sulking on a chair in the wings. One of the play staff tried coaxing him to go participate, but he was not going to be seen in That Embarrassing Thing. So I stepped in and reminded Micah that I was the mom, and that he needed to obey, and his job right now was to be in the play. I had little faith in that speech because Mr. I'm Too Stubborn For My Own Good kinda does his own thing regardless of what the consequences are. It was in my favor that the play was striking up an upbeat rendition of a Christmas song. It involved dance moves. Micah loves singing, and dancing, and chose that moment to get involved in the play. I certainly didn't win that battle, in case you're wondering.

The kids sang and talked and acted their way through the production, and after Micah's big shining moment as a Wise Man, one of the play staff helped the boys remove their robes. Micah looked over at me to be sure I saw him sans robe. But that wasn't enough. He had to walk off the stage and come show me that he was now in street clothes. Non-embarrassing ones at that. HE WON. And then he went back to finish the play, because he loves plays.

That kid will be the reason I someday end up with gray hair.

I Moved It, Alright

2011-12-01T10:38:00.000-05:00

Micah's bus comes very early, because his school thought it would be fun to start very early this year. And because Murphy likes to rear his ugly head, this is the year that Micah has taken to sleeping in on occasion. These occasions, of course, always happen between Monday and Friday, but never on those days if it's a school holiday. Sometimes I wake him on the occasion that he sleeps in, and sometimes I do not. The "do not" days generally have something to do with whether or not I'll be in town that morning. I'm coming to realize that I'm in town a shocking number of mornings.

Since I had a 9AM doctor's appointment, and Micah was still sleeping at the time I needed to wake him for school, I chose to just let him sleep. I waved his van driver on, got a shower, and Micah and I had breakfast together before we headed out the door.

I ran back to the house for Micah's hat and gloves because our 50 degree weather turned into snow overnight and I figured he'd appreciate those items for recess. And then I ran back to the house again for the keys, because apparently it wasn't my morning to be organized.

It also wasn't my morning to be the classy mom at the bus drop, because as I was walking Micah in to the school to sign him in for tardiness, I realized that during one of my trips back into the house, Micah slipped a Happy Meal version of King Julian in my purse. He was happily, and quite loudly, declaring to everyone that he liked to move it, move it as I walked into the school office. Those toys should really come with a Break Me Now button.

Santa Came Early, And Brought a White Sleigh

2011-11-30T16:38:00.000-05:00

Our new (used) van came with a remote starter, and it's rather sweet. We had one on our last 2 vans, and have become accustomed to getting into a warmed vehicle in the dead of winter. That is, when the remote works. Sometimes the battery will die on the remote, sometimes the van wiring is on the fritz, sometimes it's just not a full moon or it hasn't snowed for 18 days straight and the remote will choose not to work. Who knows? But the remotes on the previous 2 vans were after-market installed. The one on this van is from factory. It's part of the van. It has been since Day 1. This means that when it's not functioning, we don't assess the situation ourselves, but take it to an authorized dealership for professional help. We did just that, because for whatever reason this van has made up in it's mechanical little mind, the remote starter isn't working.

Sam dropped me off at the grocery while he did the manly thing and took care of the vehicle. We were on a strict time schedule with a parent-teacher meeting staring us down from an hour away. That was why things went horribly, horribly wrong. At just the time we should have been leaving, we got the news that the van was rendered completely undriveable. And by undriveable, I mean that it wouldn't even start.

This seems like bad news, but as we've been down this deeply rutted road with this van before, we know it's more like craptacular news. The main computer chip was taken out, making every other feature that's controlled by it unusable. This includes things like the lights, and door locks, power windows, and turning on. Well, nuts.

And by now I was officially late for the meeting with Micah's teacher. I called to let her know I was running late, and we discussed options with the dealership. They kindly gave us a loaner car until our van was once again capable of getting itself home. So after the meeting at the school, home is where we took the rental car.

Luke was so kind in asking if we needed help carrying groceries in. (Sometimes that boy just needs a pony.) Since he went out to be the best son ever, Micah decided to go as well. (There's very little that Luke does without Micah copying.) And while Luke was all, "Whoa! Where'd you get the car?," Micah was more, "Dude, for me? You shouldn't have!" His grin wasn't going anywhere as he ensconced himself in the driver's seat, checked out shotgun, and searched the back seat for hidden treasures.

He's seen the commercials. You know, the ones where Santa is at the car dealerships. Santa came early as far as Micah was concerned. I didn't know that Micah was so into vehicles. Apparently Santa does know all.

The Canine Uselessness Has Baffled Even Me

2011-11-29T17:38:00.000-05:00

We stopped training our dogs quite a number of years ago. I think it was the sheer numbers thing that finally broke me, but I'm pretty sure it also had something to do with the fact that I had to teach myself that the dogs are a business and not just my pets. I learned the hard way that the more time I invest in my dogs, the more attached I get to them. And I just can't be all that attached when they cycle through here every 5 years or so. I love them. I care for them. They live in my home. But I do not invest time in training, daily walks together, or taking them with me to Walmart. The heart can't afford to reach that level of commitment.

I do, however, teach my dogs the basics. House training is of utmost importance, of course. One cannot be soiling my house all willy nilly. It just doesn't sit right with me. Especially when I step in a puddle of wet (or worse) in my bare feet. They also learn to come when they're called (although they have mostly learned that they need to listen to me, and nobody else. Fail.), they learn to stay (which is a loose term for all of us. It simply means "stay in the house" or "stay in the kennel" or "stay near me" whatever the circumstance may be), and they learn to go to their crate when they're told. (Because we always have a dog that's in the puppy stage, or just not bright, they get crated when we go away and at night. If not, they'll shred all the tissues in the bathroom trash and pee on the floor. Every.Single.Time. Crating is essential. Also, if you know a good way to incorporate dog crates into home decor without making it look like you have way too many dog crates, please share.)

Other than that, we pretty much feed the dogs, pet them, and spend a lot of money on them. They do not know how to fetch, can certainly sit and lie down but never on command, know nothing of this "shake" thing, and will only play dead if a larger dog is threatening them. In general, they're useless to society. I did realize only recently that leash training is a very good thing. Carrying a nervously shedding dog around the vet's office will leave you looking rather shaggy yourself. But that's minor, and all dogs can be trained no matter their age. Leash training for everyone! (They'll love that. Heh.)

It was while sitting on the toilet that I was struck with the realization that my dogs are completely and utterly useless to me. I have one who thinks my toilet time is her personal petting time. Every time I sit on the throne, a nose magically appears between my knees. I'm sure it's totally unsanitary to pet a dog, then wipe, but else am I to do? (Oh, is that TMI? Sorry.) When I pulled the last square of toilet paper off the roll, and realized that the spare rolls are on the other end of the bathroom, I had my great epiphany.

WHY did I not train my dogs to fetch? Why did I not take the time to teach them things like, "Get the toilet paper," or "bring the phone," or even "shuffle the laundry." (Hey, one can dream, right?)

Stupid, useless dogs.

The Dilemma of Bedclothes

2011-11-28T21:37:00.000-05:00

I'm guessing that Micah gets hot. That's why he walks around in his boxers when he's at home. Otherwise, I have no explanation. Maybe he needs to destress after school? But that doesn't explain the days he's not at school. I guess it's his comfort zone. Each to his own, you know? We make sure he has clothing on when company is here, but if he wants to walk around in his undershorts in his own house, we're alright with that.

But recently, he's been taking his pajamas off at night. We get him ready for bed, put pajamas on him, and send him down the hall to get in bed with one of his brothers. (Yes! We do! He no longer goes to sleep in our bed, only to be carried down the hall sometime after he falls asleep. It's kinda nice, really. Okay, it's REALLY nice. Carrying that boy down the hall at the end of a long and exhausting day, staggering under his dead weight, was becoming a safety hazard.) But somewhere between the time we see his little backside retreating down the hallway, and the time he gets up at the crack of dawn, he loses those pajamas we took time to make him put on.

It took us a while to realize that he was undressing because Luke has taken to sleeping in his skivvies. (What is it with boys wanting to just wear their underwear?) Always wanting to do what his older brother does, of course Micah would sleep in his underwear if that's what the big boys do. Plus, hello! The boy just loves walking around in his boxers.

This is a problem, though, because while Luke can manage to stay under the covers all night to keep warm, Micah does not. Mr. I Thrash and Kick and Toss stays covered for all of 21 minutes before he's happily exposed to cold air. Without those pajamas that we take time to make him don, he gets really cold. And when he's really cold, he wakes up, walks down the hall, and joins us in bed to warm up again. The only thing worse than 70 pounds of thrashing, kicking, and tossing, is an ice cube thrashing, kicking, and tossing in bed with you. Something had to be done.

I bought Luke pajamas. More pajamas. And I got them on sale during a Black Friday sale, too. Problem solved, and money saved. I rock. I also insisted that Luke wear his new pajamas, and we sent the boys upstairs to bed. Annnnd several hours later, a thrashing ice block joined us in bed.

Turns out, both of Micah's big brothers have the same sleeping habit. And Micah will find the one that allows him to dress the way he loves. Or undress, as the case may be. I think I'm going to have to buy more pajamas. I wonder if 14 year old boys love super hero PJs?

Mama's New Toy

2011-11-27T22:51:00.000-05:00

This is going to make up for the Christmas decor still being trapped in the attic.

Santa Met Micah

2011-11-25T22:15:00.001-05:00

Micah saw Santa at the mall, and was quite enamored. I wasn't surprised, because he is always fascinated with costumed characters from afar. It's when they get close his personal space that he starts to freak out over their proximity and decides that awesome is now more in the camp of freakish. He'll retreat to the safety of Far Away as fast as he can, with a look of pure fear on his face. His thoughts are so visible, it's like a bubble hanging over his head in cartoons. They say, "buddy, you get anywhere near me and one of us is going down."

Each time Micah passed the mall Santa, he'd stop and wave. Unfortunately, he generally did this from the upstairs balcony, and Santa was downstairs. Santa just didn't see him with the Friday evening crowd going on between them. The last time we walked by on the way out of the mall, Micah stood at the railing and yelled a greeting (it sounded like "AAAAAAHHHHHHH") and was very loud. Because it's Micah, it was loud enough to fill the upstairs and downstairs mall space, swirl around a Friday evening crowd of shoppers, and grab the attention of Santa himself. Santa looked up to see Micah frantically waving from the balcony, and waved back.

Santa rocks.

So I knew that I had to take Micah to see Santa. We took the escalator downstairs, and it practically dumped us out in Santa's workshop. Micah grabbed my hand in both of his and led me directly to the end of the line. He oh-so-patiently waited his turn while Santa held a baby that was quite fascinated with his very real white beard. Santa's helpers took their time getting the best photos of the interaction. And Micah waited, eager with excitement.

Honestly, I was surprised. Not since Disney has Micah been excited to meet someone dressed up. He loves them, mind you, and is quite fascinated with them, but only from a distance. That personal space thing he wants from them is about the size of a 10' radius. Space is good.

When it was Micah's turn to visit with Santa, he practically ran up to the jolly old elf. Thank goodness he decided that he was a bit big to sit on Santa's lap, because at 70 pounds he'd have thrown the geriatric elf's back out lifting him. Santa asked Micah what he wanted for Christmas, and Micah suddenly got shy. It's that I Can't Talk thing kicking in. I mean, what's a nonverbal kid going to do when someone asks them a question that they can't answer? It's more polite to simply drop your eyes and pretend you don't know what to say than to stare defiantly into someone's eyes and not say a word. Even kids with mental handicaps know this. Micah glanced over at me for some help, and I signed "book" since it would be something easily picked up by a non-signer. Micah told Santa that he would like a book. Santa now knew that he was dealing with a nonverbal child, and bless his heart, he did not stop talking to Micah.

I was utterly amazed at the level of patience and genuine affection the mall Santa showed each child. It was Black Friday, after all, and I'm sure he had to be completely exhausted. And tired of kids. And their parents. I thanked Santa as we were leaving, and I have never heard a more sincere answer. "It was my pleasure, ma'am."

I cried as I walked through the mall, holding my son's hand.

The Joy of Holiday Traditions

2011-11-23T18:07:00.001-05:00

I love holidays. Most people do. We had traditions growing up that just were, like any other family. Since dad was a dairy farmer, we could not open gifts on Christmas morning until after he'd milked the cows, cleaned up, and ate breakfast. (When you're up at 4AM and have been working like a farmer for 4 hours, you deserve to eat a hot breakfast before allowing kids to open gifts. And if you're a kid and have been waiting for hours to open presents, what's breakfast? Plus, we had morning chores to do anyway. Animals need to eat, and bottle fed calves can't fend for themselves.)

On New Year's Day, our family crowded around Grandma's teensy dinner table (all 18 of us) and grossly underappreciated the best home cooking in the world before the cousins would grab the sleds and head to the Back 40. The hill in the cow pasture is the bomb diggity for sledding. And it was tradition that mom would have homemade (with milk!) hot chocolate for us when we got back, complete with toast to dip in it.

Traditions are what makes memories awesome, and they don't even have to be fancy. But it was just today that I realized I have a holiday tradition that most people would completely scoff at. In fact, if you're a neat freak, you'll probably want to just click out now and go find something else to read.

When we built this house 6 years ago, we started hosting all holidays. Mom opened her empty rooms into a Bed & Breakfast after the kids married away, and generally had guests on holidays, so it made sense for someone else to host. Plus, we wanted to use our new home to it's fullest. Win-win. So now every Thanksgiving, Christmas, & Easter, we're converged upon, chaos reigns, the kids have a grand old time, and a fairly decent holiday is had by all.

So while we'll sit around the dinner table long after we've finished eating, nobody does much to clean up. Chatting is where it's at. I have learned from experience that once someone gets up, adults seem to remember that they have lives they need to get back to. I'll turn down offers to help with dishes, because I'd prefer everyone just sit and visit. So when everyone leaves, the mess is scattered everywhere.

The aftermath of a holiday kinda leaves us exhausted. A day of cleaning and cooking in preparation just doesn't inspire me to get right on the dishes when I finally have a chance to relax. I'll neatly stack the plates and organize the glassware on the counter next to the sink, store the leftovers, and clean out the pots on the stove. But after that, I wait until morning to tackle the rest.

I'm greeted with a huge mess upon waking, but todayI realized that this is my holiday tradition. Waking up to dirty dishes stacked 20 high, limited silverware in the drawer, and messy countertops kinda makes me happy. (I didn't say it made sense, I said it's my tradition.) As I begin Round 1 with the dishwasher, I think of the good time we had with family and friends. As I wipe counters and tables, I think of how grateful I am to have family close by. Cleaning post-holiday gives me more time to revel in the holiday mood, and I have decided that I love waking up to a mess in the kitchen. It means that we have plenty of food to eat, lots of people to share with, and a home to entertain in.

Holiday traditions are awesome, as are dirty dishes in a messy kitchen.

The Pain of Family Photos

2011-11-22T22:26:00.002-05:00

If you ask my kids, they'd tell you that formal photos are the worst things they'll ever be subjected to. I find this highly amusing, because I love the informal. A photo where each kid can be themselves is the best. I don't pose much more than can you stand there? Like this one:

I asked the kids to stand on the bench, and they did their own thing from there. Mostly, that was looking as grumpy as they could. They were not happy to comply that day. You know, like any other day that I ask for compliance.

There was this day, too.

While the general mood was a bit happier, there is still the "do we have to" just under the surface. Still, a rather good picture. I'm kinda fond of it.

But to point out a theme, I'll show you this as well.

While this picture had the potential to be awesome, it's just not. The busyness of it makes my eyes bleed. Mental note: pictures in the woods in the fall aren't the best. But I'm sure anyone with any kind of observant eye will notice who the most uncooperative one is in all the above photos. Micah has that firmly in his corner. We have learned a long time ago that if 3 of the 4 kids are kinda looking at the camera, it's as good as it's going to get. And if Micah is looking, it's probably not a good thing.

So imagine my over the top kind of excitement when mom announced she wanted family pictures in honor of the fact that my brother is visiting in his once-per-decade trip. Plus, it takes the full month of November to coordinate a time that suits everyone for Thanksgiving dinner. How on earth would we get together for pictures?

So here's how things went down. My dad is out of town on a missions trip this week, so he's already asked to be Photoshopped in. Except that he doesn't know what Photoshop means, he just said cut and paste. And he meant literally, because he's so old-school he's somewhere in the 1972 era of computers and has no idea that it's a real can-do kind of feature. I told him that it was.

Sam is working daylight this week, and my brother-in-law is working mids. This means that one is leaving for work as the other is getting home, so one of them just won't be in the picture. Two of the family are already out, and we haven't even tried sitting for a photo shoot yet. Things are going swimmingly, no?

So after Thanksgiving dinner, we all rolled into the living room and arranged ourselves so that we'd fit in a viewfinder from across the room. There were 4 cameras involved, and self timers, and a lot of praying that the entire family was actually in the picture. And because that wasn't already fun enough, Micah decided he wanted nothing to do with it. He stood back and laughed at us, in his head.

My camera cut off one side, then the other. It seems that my only brother and I cannot be seen in the same photo together. Micah tried taking the picture instead of allowing it to just take care of things itself, but since he generally gets ceiling fan blades in most of his shots, we figured he wouldn't get many of the family included. Halfway through, he chose to join us, but his poses were all his own creating. He's Micah, what else would you expect?

In the end, we decided to share photos between the 4 of us, because surely someone could photoshop things together to get all the family in one place at one time.

(This awesome photo? Not only are dad and the BIL missing, but Micah was making fun of us somewhere near the camera, and Sam and I apparently weren't cool enough to be in that particular shot.)

I'd like to think we'll have better luck with a family photo the next time my brother is in, but in another decade, we'll have kids in college. Or married.

Egads.

I think I'll go curl up in a corner and cry for a while.

It's Another Haircut For The History Books

2011-11-20T21:24:00.001-05:00

Micah is not known for sitting for haircuts. In the past, we've gotten all kinds of creative in trying to get the job done. The arm and leg lock was given up when he became stronger than I am, so we learned that if we sat him on a stool he'd wiggle less for fear of falling off. Still there was a lot of wiggle room.

We gave him a mirror to watch himself (the boy is vain), and toys to play with, and a lollipop to occupy his mouth so he didn't scream (that was a fail - it became covered in hair in less than a third of a second), and let him play in a sink full of water and bubbles. Still, he screamed and thrashed and was as uncooperative as a little boy possibly could be. We did cuts at home between cuts at the salon so that neither I nor the beautician would have to deal with him on a regular basis.

The last time he had a haircut was at the salon. He sat in the chair, told me to go sit in the waiting area, and chatted with his stylist like the regular customer that he is. We were thoroughly amazed. But we weren't holding our breath for a repeat performance, because Micah doesn't work like that. Except he did, because Micah likes to mess with us.

Daddy was getting a haircut, and afterward, Micah sat in the chair and insisted that he wanted the cape. Note: he hates the cape. He also was pretty adamant that he wanted me to cut his hair, so I started small, like trimming up at his neckline and cutting back his sideburn growth. And he sat through it, laughing and (dare I say it?) enjoying it. So I moved on, giving him a buzz cut. (It's what we always do, because the closer you shave the head the longer you can let it grow between trauma-inducing cuts.) And he was sitting there like a pro.

And then it happened. The guard came off the blade as I was heading up and over the top of his head. Now, at the very top, is a shiny spot of baldness. It's awesome in ways you can't describe, and enhanced by the fact that the clippers suddenly needed oil and we were fresh out. So now I had no guard, and blades that were leaving spots of uncut hair while trimming all around it. The boy now looks rather like a chemo patient, which is not even awesome to joke about.

Have I mentioned that my brother is coming to visit for the first time in years, and mom wanted family pictures? *sigh*

It Seems I Have Nothing Else To Take Pictures of Lately

2011-11-18T22:00:00.002-05:00

Optimism Is Fighting Reality

2011-11-17T22:18:00.000-05:00

We refinanced the mortgage recently to get a super awesome interest rate, and while we were re-doing things we took a little money out to build the garage, add the front porch, put some pretty trim in the kitchen, and get the basement that "finished" status it's been longing for. For the record, it's not nearly as much money as you'd think it would be. We are King and Queen of Do-It-Yourself, and plan to do all this on a budget that makes even other Do-It-Yourselfers scoff in disbelief. Maybe we're living in delusion, but at least we're happy here. Mostly because we haven't started any of these fun Do-It-Yourself projects yet, so the happy hasn't been tampered with yet.

The garage is taking the lion's share of our funds, of course. And we are very excited about this addition, because it means we'll be done scraping ice off windshields in winter. There will be no more preheating the van just so our hands won't freeze fast to the wheel. It will be glorious. Truly.

For those of you who do not live here in The Vortex of Perpetual Winter, I'm going to have to point out that this garage will not happen until next spring. While we would absolutely love to have this be the winter that we do not deal with ice on windows, it is way too late in the season to begin a building project. The moment we dig a hole for a foundation, two feet of snow will fill it up. We will never get shingles to adhere in sub-zero temperatures. We do not build things in winter.

So because we are putting off the project, Sam said this will be the winter that isn't. His theory is that because we are not planning to build because of the weather, the weather will not happen. You know what I said?

HAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Now, I'm an optimist. An incurable one at that. But we've had two significant snowfalls already this season, and it's just now mid-November. I'm very afraid for what this winter will be. Very afraid, indeed. I mean, just tonight we had this:

And obviously, it was so beautiful that I had to run outside and capture it forever in digital image. Ignore the eyesore of the pipeline in the foreground, and focus instead on the gorgeous sunset. It's a beautiful autumn day, is it not? And then a literal 10 minutes later, there was this:

The worst thing about this picture is that one minute before I got my camera, the snow was an actual blizzard condition. Those pines on the far right were very invisible inside the swirling white blast directly from the North Pole. But that is definitely snow, not fog. And it definitely laid on the ground, blanketing things in white. Again. And it's not even mid-November.

So for the record, if this actually is the winter that doesn't happen here in the Vortex of Perpetual Winter, I will happily take the blame for it. And if you live anywhere near me, you can thank me if we get no more snow or nastiness this winter. The optimist in me wants to believe this could happen more than a 3 year old wants to believe in Santa Claus.

The Mixing Of The Holidays

2011-11-16T23:19:00.000-05:00

I have always loved Christmas. I love the season of Christmas so much more than the actual day of Christmas, but the actual day is pretty awesome, too. But you have to admit that the entire season is glittering with love and goodwill, and I find that the most awesome thing ever. People are happier, kids are thinking of gifts to give to others instead of focusing on MeMeMe, and the twinkling lights are just purty. The whole month of December is nothing short of magical.

I love the Christmas season. It's my favorite.

And yet, I can't bring myself to decorate for the holiday before Thanksgiving. The day after Thanksgiving is fair game, and for many years I decorated on that very day. Then Luke was born 11 years ago and I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. With a birthday in the holiday season, I didn't want him to get lost. Thankfully his birthday is December 6, and it's so early in the month that I could wait until after his birthday to decorate. It would let him know each year that he's important enough to be celebrated all by himself without fighting for attention in the busiest season of the year.

That lasted about 5 years. Yeh, I'm impressed with myself, too. But when he was old enough to make a decision, he chose to decorate early, too. That's my boy.

But the one steadfast rule you never break is getting the Christmas out before Thanksgiving. It's just taboo, because you don't mix holidays like that. And you know what I say to rules? They're made to be broken. This is the year. It's a week before Thanksgiving, and I've put off decorating for Christmas for the past 2 weeks. Today, I procrastinated no longer. I broke into the stash. I got some feedback about it in the negative form, of course, but that doesn't bother me. The way I figure it, if Mother Nature gives us snowmen before Halloween, I can put up a random tree here or there before Thanksgiving.

Judge if you must, but know that I don't care.

Failure Is His Sport

2011-11-15T20:31:00.000-05:00

Micah has been failing hearing tests since birth. It's another of his awesome super powers. When he was a teeny tiny baby of just 2 weeks old, he slept through a test, and still managed to fail. After that, things went dowhill in a hurry. Way back then, he'd purposely sleep in the van on the way so that he could be wide awake for the test. Being wide awake was not a good thing since the test required Micah to be very, very still. Ever try to hold a newborn very, very still? I'm not sure why they have ants in their pants, but keeping a baby from moving should be considered an Olympic sport. We never mastered that sport, either. He failed test after test.

As he got older, he was able to just sit through a test, with instructions to sit still and listen. The sound insulated booth blocked all outside noise, which just made things like your thoughts that much louder. There were zero distractions, and yet Micah failed the tests. He was bored, and fidgeted in his chair, so he didn't even try to listen for quiet sounds. He was given a book to help keep him focused quietly, but he'd get so engrossed in a book that even when I knew he heard something, he'd refuse to look up to acknowledge the sound.

Over the past 8 years, Micah has gotten skilled in failing tests, hence his super power in that aspect. Today was no different. Because of his ear drum fusing itself to his middle ear, an accurate per-ear reading was necessary to determine if that ear was damaged from the fusion or not. This is best done by headphones, which Micah wanted less than nothing to do with. In a fit of generosity, he allowed us to put them on him, but they were off by the time the technician was in her seat on the other side of the window. I knew that forcing him to wear the headphones would result in a pouty fit of noncooperation, and that would be completely unconducive for accurate testing.

I swear, sometimes it's easier dealing with the dogs than it is that boy.

So after simply listening to piped in sounds, and responding rather appropriately most of the time, it was determined that his hearing is the same as it has been, for better or worse. There has been no permanent damage done, and that's a very good thing. But Micah did learn a new way to fail a test today. If you place your hands over your ears, that signals to everyone that you are so over this whole shebang.

Ironically, he loves hearing tests. He cannot wait to get in that sound booth, and dances with glee when it's his turn to go. I think it's because he's that excited to try out new methods to make our heads explode.

Lesson Learned

2011-11-14T14:59:00.000-05:00

I walked into the department store with my return, and saw the line was Way Too Long. This did not make me happy, knowing that it would not be a quick and easy in-and-out, but as I was walking toward the back of the line I saw the other register only had one person there, and she was checking out. Hello! I'll get in line behind her instead of 20 people deep in the other line! But as I rushed to stand behind her (and allowed 3 other people to get in line ahead of me in the Longest Line Ever) I saw the reason everyone was rushing to get in the other lane. The sign said, "I'm Sorry This Register Is Closed. Please Go To Aisle 2 For Assistance." Well, crap.

So I trudged to the back of the line at Register 2, and 10 minutes into waiting I saw a line formed at Register 1. Seriously? They're really open? Now I'm doubly ticked, because I could have completed the return and been on my way long ago had I stayed in line behind Lady #1. Both lines were equally long at this point, though, so I stayed in Line #2. And waited patiently as it inched forward.

It was the slowest line ever, and Line 1 didn't seem to be moving any faster, but my turn finally came and I plunked my return on the counter along with the receipt. "Oh, I'm sorry, returns must be taken care of at Register 1." But it said that line was closed I said rather unkindly as me and my steaming ears headed to the back of Super Duper Long Line #1.

So I waited again. And my efforts at reminding myself that I needed to be patient and understanding weren't working. The closed sign was still up, and I decided to point it out to the cashier when I finally got to the head of the line. I would also let them know that I was not very happy to have stood in line twice because of their incompetence.

My turn was next. Just the couple in front of me, and as soon as they were done checking out I could finally make my return. Hurry up already. So close...

"Wow, it's crazy busy in here tonight, isn't it?," they asked the cashier. The manager was there with the young boy, and she answered. "We had 2 employees call off tonight, and the only cashiers I have are these two trainees. They're so overwhelmed. We had two different people in buying $1000 worth of toys for Toys For Tots, and we were so backed up. This is just the aftermath of that."

The couple in front of me wished the cashier and manager both a very nice evening despite the craziness of it as they left. It was finally my turn, and I couldn't be mad any longer. As frustrating as it was for me to have to stand in line for 20 minutes, I didn't have to deal with the non-stop complaining from disgruntled customers for the next several hours. And this kid was a trainee. Egads, he needed some positive at this point. And as I just learned a very valuable lesson, I figured I'd put it into practice and be overly kind to the poor cashier just like I was shown by the thoughtful couple in front of me.

Dyson, Terrifying Dogs Since 2008

2011-11-13T18:20:00.000-05:00

We have a busy home here, and it's filled with dogs. We love dogs, but we do not love their hair. Weirdly, I do not love hairless dogs, so that's not even an option. To combat the rolling balls of hair, Dyson and I have teamed up to become a force to be reckoned with. I'll bet my Dyson has seen more action in a year than most other Dysons will in a lifetime. I scoff at those people who buy a vacuum to dust the drapes every 6 months. That's not us.

We vacuum daily around here. That's an average, of course. Some days I vacuum more than once, although on those days, you'd never know it. On days that I vacuum twice, it's because we have a dog with what could be a a shedding gene on steriods hopped up on caffeine and fueled with sugar.The hair is overwhelming. O.Ver.Whel.Ming. (And the vet was as baffled by that excessive shedding as I was. Truly, the worst case I've ever seen. And $200 spend on bloodwork to realize it was nothing that could be treated.)

So with all this vacuuming going on, the family knows that Dyson gets a workout. The dogs know that part of life here is getting many free handouts from Micah and dealing with the noise of the vacuum interrupting their scheduled naptimes. And they're chill with this. The one spaniel simply looks at it like, "you again? Just don't suck in an ear while I lay here in your way, mmkay?" The other spaniel and the corgis just make a point to find an out of the way place to wait out the storm and quietly disappear. But the Boston? She's a nutjob.

This dog has lived with us for 3 years, and for 3 years we've vacuumed daily. But instead of just realizing it's part of life here and getting over it, she's allowed the vacuum to become The Things She Obsesses Over, and takes obsessing to all new lows. When I vacuum, she cowers, and the whites of her eyes could glow in a dark corner. But on days that I get the vacuum out, then realize that I need to empty the trash before emptying the vacuum canister before refilling it, and while I'm taking the trash out I get distracted by the dishes in the sink over where the new trash bags are kept, and then answer the phone and check email, and the vacuum sits in the middle of the floor where I left it when I got distracted by life, the dog goes nuts. I forget about that vacuum, even though I'm walking all around it, until I see a quivering mass of black and white looking like she's about to lose all bowel control. The vacuum doesn't even have to be on to terrify her. She's demented.

And her dementia has taken a turn for the worse. We keep the vacuum in the laundry room, which is also the mud room, the room where we keep the dog food, and where we meet guests or UPS deliveries. It's a rather busy room, and in a dog's world, many good things come out of it. But the Boston will no longer excitedly follow me into that room. And if I go in, then turn around and come back out, I find her squatted near the floor looking up at me with eyes full of sheer terror, anticipating the fact that I *could* be wheeling Dyson out with me.

There's so much potential for destroying that dog's life. She's lucky that we like her so much. But in the event that she gets in the trash one too many times, I may be tempted to touch her with the vacuum hose. Shoot, the vacuum won't even need to be plugged in. The dog is a freak.

Saturday Shot

2011-11-11T22:05:00.001-05:00

Hugs & Kisses

2011-11-09T21:50:00.000-05:00

We now have a reason to keep the lock on the dog crate 24/7. We have learned the hard way that if the lock is not on the crate, puppies will disappear. It's not the mama dog hiding her brood from the spying eyes of the family; it's Micah, taking puppies to play with.

You can't blame him, really. Who doesn't love puppies? (Okay, Becky doesn't, but that's because we have so many, she says. I think she's lying. I prefer to believe that, because otherwise, I may have to disown her. Who doesn't love puppies?) But Micah loves puppies. A lot. And he loves to play with them. He puts them in trucks and drives them around the house, and takes them to the trampoline to play, and puts them way down at the bottom of his bed under the covers. One never knows where a puppy will turn up, and when a puppy is too little to walk on it's own, or even survive without it's mama, one cannot have puppies in random places. We know this from firsthand experience. You can't make this stuff up.

So we have a lock on the dog crate. But the mama had to go outside for a moment and the crate was unlocked while awaiting her return. Micah snagged the opportunity. He loves puppies, he does. So I figured I'd take advantage of the Canon moment.

"Give the puppy a kiss," I told the boy.

That poor, poor puppy. Being eaten alive is not anybody's idea of a good time, and it's evident that puppies tend to feel that way as well. So we tried again. "Give him a hug," I said. "And hold him with two hands."

While Micah is incredibly gentle with puppies, he gets a little too comfortable with them sometimes. It's always best to watch him. And keep the dog crate locked.

Forever On The Lookout

2011-11-08T23:34:00.000-05:00

Because the whole world knows that Micah loves Woody, the whole world thinks of him when they see anything Toy Story related. We've been given so much awesomeness because of this, and have appreciated every bit of the awesomeness. Including this:

I swear, we have the best friends ever.

It's All So Confusing

2011-11-07T20:47:00.000-05:00

I got a note home from school that Micah did not want to go to lunch. If you know anything about Micah, you'll know that this is as out of character as finding a fish in a tree. Instead of walking (or running excitedly) down the hall, he ended up on the floor in a puddle of melting boy. After making a game out of things, he quickly pulled himself together and proceeded to walk to lunch like it was any normal day.

Except it wasn't, because it's out of character for Micah as finding a fish in a tree. And it happened a second time, too. So now there's a pattern, and now I'm wondering. A lot.

Micah ran out of Sunday School this past weekend without giving anyone a heads' up or asking permission. That, too, is out of character for the boy. When accosted in the hallway, he melted into a puddle of boy onto the carpet. His sobs were heart wrenching. Clearly, something major was wrong. But when Daddy went to console him, he just dried up the tears, went to the restroom, came back and hugged his teacher, and sat in class to continue learning. He was asked if he needed to use the restroom, and he simply cried. Yet, that's what he needed to do.

Are these things related? The school and church things? What do they mean? Why is he melting into uncooperation on the floor?

One of the biggest problems we face with Micah is his lack of speech. In cases like this, it's much like trying to solve a crime with few clues, and witnesses trying to hide evidence. It's all speculation and second guessing. And we can never know if we've found the answer or not, because even if we hit the nail square on the head, Micah can't talk to confirm that. As frustrating as it is for us, it's got to be even more so for Micah.

I've been thinking about the lunch walk a lot. Could he simply want to be a packer instead of a buyer? Can I solve this by giving him a sacked lunch? Is he being bullied? Which I cannot imagine happening, because his aide is always by his side, and she'd tolerate that every bit as good as I would. His aide is his mom-at-school, and worth her weight in platinum. She's a keeper, she is. So I'd think that would be a long shot. So now we're back to speculation. Does he hate his assigned seat all of a sudden? (Do they have assigned seats?) Are his legs tired? Did he want to do another math page before heading to the cafeteria? Your guess is as good as mine, and I'm guessing mine isn't very good.

Generational Communication Fail

2011-11-06T22:37:00.000-05:00

The nephew was staying after church to practice drums, and was arranging a ride home. The conversation went mostly like this:

Becky: Are you riding home with us?

Nephew: I don't know. I'll see if Pap can bring me home.

Pap: Sure I can take you, I have a meeting anyway.

Nephew, to Becky: I'm going home with my home skillet, Pap.

Pap: What did you call me?

Nephew: My home skillet.

Pap: What's that?

Becky: It means you're his home boy.

Pap: What's that mean?

Becky: It's just something kids say. I guess it's kinda like a good buddy?

Pap: I'm just walking away now.

Have a Wonderful Fall Weekend

2011-11-04T20:19:00.001-04:00

So Many Questions

2011-11-03T20:25:00.000-04:00

Buzz was in charge of carrying a very important package yesterday. One has to wonder what goes on inside a child's mind.

Why would Buzz need to transport a tooth?

Why would Micah go to the trouble of having me tape that lost tooth onto Buzz's pack, only to let Buzz lie there while he walked away?

Why was Buzz the chosen one and not Woody?

Mental Notes

2011-11-02T20:10:00.000-04:00

Micah came through surgery today with flying colors, because he's a trooper like that, and because ear tubes aren't really considered surgery in most books. It's a rather decided non-event as far as procedures are concerned. But there are some things that the future me will want to remember about this day, so I'm reminding the future me of them right here, right now.

The boy remembers everything. It's probably why he loves elephants so much - both their minds are like steel traps. If something gets in, it just does not get out. And because we're aware that he has that brilliant photographic memory, we were shocked that he was so calm and compliant when we woke him at Way Too Early, threw him in the van in his pajamas, and drove to a hospital. And then shocked again when he happily snuggled up in a Same Day Surgery waiting room chair and played his iPod. But shocked was quite the understatement when he willingly offered his arm for a blood pressure reading and lifted his bangs to take a temperature on his forehead.

Who was this boy, and where was Micah?

But then he waved a cheery goodbye, reached for his coat, and tried to grab our bags, and it dawned on me that in his little mind, he'd twisted things into thinking that if he was a good patient, he wouldn't be "punished" with surgery. Bless his wee heart, life just doesn't work like that. He was unhappy to find this out through fist-hand experience. In fact, he was so disturbed over this fact that he had to visit the restroom, and because I sometimes suck at motherhood, I forgot clean underpants for him and he ended up going commando the rest of the day.

Mental Note #1 - Always pack clean underpants when Micah is going into surgery.

Despite the fact that we caught the ejection of his tubes nearly as soon as they were ejected, and scheduled surgery as quickly afterward as we could, his left ear drum fused to the bone of his middle ear. This has been our fear in not keeping tubes in, and it somehow happened in the 3 weeks he was without. This has the potential to cause permanent hearing damage, and it's yet to be determined if that's the case or not. We were quite vigilant in getting the boy to the ENT for regular check-ups in the past 10 months, so I'm not sure what we'll do in the future to prevent this, but we've got to try something. If we can protect his other ear, we most definitely will.

Mental Note #2 - Make standing appointments at the ENT every 6 weeks if we have to. A pain? Yes. Necessary? Yes. *sigh*

We forgot to tell the nursing staff that Micah gets nauseous on the anesthesia, so they did not give him anti-nausea drugs. He was sick in the recovery room, and we waited forever for him to sleep off the effects. While the extra sleep was so good for him, I know he did not enjoy the queasiness. Poor kiddo.

Mental Note #3 - Anti-nausea drugs are more important than happy juice. But both are worth asking for.

And at the end of a very long day, I will be completely and totally exhausted, and Micah will be well rested and have energy to spare. While I sit trying to focus on words like "24 hour rest" and "clear liquids only," the boy will be dancing to his favorite movie song, literally running circles around the dogs, and eating the 6" sub I brought home from lunch.

Mental Note #4 - I'm getting too old for this.

Because It Involves Micah

2011-11-01T20:13:00.000-04:00

Because Micah's ears are resistant to the concept of ear tubes, he's scheduled to get his 9th set installed in the morning. (His ears should be in the "bionic" category at this point, except that he keeps rejecting his hardware.) (And actually, by the time most of you will be reading this, his newest set of tubes will most likely already be a part of him. At least for the next 6 months or so.)

Because loose teeth are a choking hazard when one is sedated and intubated, a visit to the dentist was in order to determine if his tooth was loose enough to warrant being pulled or not. It was.

Because Micah will not sit for the dentist to pull a very loose tooth, the dentist's schedule needed to be coordinated with the ENT and Same Day Surgery so that he could just pop out the tooth under masked anesthesia before the ENT doc could work her magic in Micah's ears.

Because nothing is ever quick and easy, this took days to coordinate, and the insurance was consulted to verify that they would cover the extraction under anesthesia in the hospital. It was. And things were all set up.

Because we spent days coordinating schedules and insurances, and lining up the stars to shine just right, Micah came home today with a missing tooth in his smile. It was wrapped in a plastic bag and taped to his folder. It was cute, if a little grisly.

Because Micah lost a tooth all on his own, I called the dentist to relay the fact that he didn't need to show up at the OR at 6:30 in the AM. He said that was the best news he'd heard all day.

I like spreading good news.

The Halloween Costume That The Boy Chose Himself

2011-10-31T20:13:00.002-04:00

He loves to dress up. With the exception of Woody, Micah's favorite toy is the dress-up trunk. He has several pirate outfits, an entire Buzz Lightyear getup, cowboy gear, hats of all shapes and colors, sports gear, skirts, a Hawaiian shirt, and his trusty man-bag. There's more, but those are the ones that get used regularly. Micah loves to dress up.

Any time the kids have a dress-up night at church, he declares it a free-for-all and dresses up, too, even if his class isn't in on the dressing up. Micah dresses up to play a certain character that he's watching on TV, and dresses up to jump on the trampoline. He never needs a reason to dress up, either. He'll just dress up for the sheer love of dressing up.

This Halloween, we figured Micah would have a blast choosing his outfit. I even got him a new pirate costume so that he'd have something original to wear if he wanted. And he did, for the Halloween parade and trunk-or-treat in town. He wore his new pirate costume with his striped pajamas underneath to help ward off the cold. I sent the pirate costume to school the next day for the Halloween party since it was obviously approved by the boy.

So the night that we went trick-or-treating came around, and the kids were dressing up again. Becky and Josh, the nephew and Luke - all were in costume. But Micah was focused on going to grandma's house. His bags were packed, and he asked on his Voice every 5 minutes if we were going yet. Trick-or-treating is fun, but he was going to grandma's. Don't bother him with a costume, please.

But we were going trick-or-treating, and he needed to put clothing on because while we're all sorts of loose in our dress codes here, we do insist on more than boxer shorts when it's snowing. I figured that since he was not all that into the costume thing, I wouldn't give him a choice but would just get the same old pirate that he wore earlier in the week. I layered his pajamas on, and he asked if we were going to grandma's. Yes, Micah, we're going to grandma's after we go trick-or-treating. He was happy, but he was done getting dressed. There was no getting clothing on over those pajamas. I did what I could in the 2.5 minutes we had before running out the door and made him an impromptu stocking cap to go with it.

This year, Micah went trick-or-treating as The Boy Who Wore His Pajamas. You know, he went as himself.

*Yes, I know I said it was snowing. And I know there is no snow in this photo. This was the first stop of the night. By the last stop, we had a very good dusting of snow collecting on everything that should have been covered in Halloween instead.

We've Got A Reputation To Uphold

2011-10-30T18:31:00.002-04:00

Pennsylvania is not a state you think of for horrible winter conditions, or even excessive snow, but our particular county has a reputation for winter nastiness that is well earned. We can be an hour away in Pittsburgh, or three hours downstate, or the whole way across the country, but if we tell people where we're from, and they've ever been here, it's predictable what they'll say.

"Wow, your winters are horrible."

Sometimes, that'll be followed by, "Isn't that where Flight 93 went down?" or some other reason for remembering our location on the map, but if anyone has ever been here in the wintertime, they'll remember it. And nine and a half chances out of ten, it won't be a pleasant memory. Cars get stuck on the turnpike, travelers get snowed in and can't get out, freak snow storms dump several feet of snow overnight and shut down roads. But hey, we've got decent skiing, so there's that. Except we don't ski. Of course.

This weekend, we got a jump start on keeping up our winter reputation. That nor'easter that hit the east coast hit us pretty hard as well. For the first time ever, we cancelled the corn maze due to snow. That is something I hope never happens again. Enough snow in October to cancel an event is just WRONG.

But a very strange thing happened this weekend that I just didn't predict. Besides the snow. I love it. The snow, that is. I loved the snow. I have always loved winter, but the last two we've had have been rather excessive, and I declared myself So.Over.Winter. In fact, I was So.Over.Winter that I was living in mortal dread of this year's snow. It was next thing to a panic attack coming on every time I'd think of winter. I think it's most disturbing because I'm far too young to be a snow bird.

But when I woke up Saturday morning to this:

I was Christmas morning kind of giddy. I hated myself for loving it, but that didn't change the fact that I did. How can you NOT love the beauty of that? Gosh, it's breathtaking. That was Saturday. On Sunday, it started to warm up enough to melt off, but we're still left with way too much in October.

Luke spent his Sunday afternoon making this.

And while it's very impressive, and something that he'll probably never EVER do again in October (THANKGOODNESS), it doesn't diminish the wrongness of it.

So just for the record, I am now over winter. For the year. If what we have now just melted off into spring, and lasted through until June when it slowly warmed into summer, I'd not complain. Unfortunately, we live in Somerset, the county with a reputation to uphold. And this county takes it's reputation seriously.

Frosty

2011-10-28T22:25:00.001-04:00

You're Invited

2011-10-27T19:31:00.000-04:00

It's October. The end of October, actually. I know you're not shocked by this because we've lived in October for several weeks now, but I waited until the end to mention the fact that we're living the corn maze again. It's just something we do on the weekends.

The maze, of course, is a good time. It twists and turns and circles back on itself. There's the bridge to view the lost and wandering, or to scout out where you're going next. Or to find your way out if you need to.

There is the water balloon sling shot, which is a favorite of everyone except the one filling the balloons. And no, we don't ever shoot at people. That was for photographical comic only.

The go carts are Micah's newest love. He is big enough this year to pedal all by himself, and pedal he does. Round and round and round...

Josh proudly drives kiddos on the train, with his own lawn tractor. He's far happier to do that than fill water balloons.

But one of the most fun things to do at the corn maze is the slide. The great big huge giant slide. The one that dumps you out in a heap of straw at the bottom to stop you from plowing into the corn field. The kids love that like they love nothing else. See the size of it?

And see the sheer joy the kids feel while riding it?

If you're ever in our neck of the woods, you'll have to be sure to stop in. It's the best few hours of your entire October.

Halloween Funness

2011-10-26T22:35:00.000-04:00

Halloween is traditionally all about candy. Candy is awesome, so I totally approve. And every year I try to find something a little more fun to do with candy than just give it. We get no trick-or-treaters here, so the creativity has to be directed toward Micah's class. The other kids have what seems like half the county in their classes, and creativity is hindered by finances. Sad, but true.

This year I found this cute little thing to do with Hershey bars.

And this cute little thing to do with Tootsie Pops.

Pinterest is awesome for sharing fun ideas like this. And I got super excited about making these fun things for a treat bag for each kid in Micah's class. I bought a full size Hershey bar for each kid, and a bag of Tootsie Pops, and a bag of googly eyes. It was fun. I was excited. I should have seen it coming, of course.

Some of the kids in Micah's class have allergies and can't have candy.

First of all, I really feel badly for these kids. Halloween is all about candy, and the other 364 days of the year are fun days to have candy as well. While a candy allergy would probably do me a lot of good in the health department, I'd be totally bummed about it. Hence, I feel totally bummed on behalf of these poor kiddos.

Secondly, I needed to get really creative in getting non-candy things for the friends in Micah's class. While I could run out to get stickers, Play-Doh, and Matchbox cars, I have this thing for homemade goodies. I wish I wasn't so weird like this. On my to-do list are things like silly putty, and finger paint, and crayons.

I mastered the crayons, and it was actually a whole lot of fun. Back to school time is the most fun time to be in Walmart because all the organizational stuff makes me very happy. And the prices! Ohhh, the prices. I get Crayola crayons for less than half a dollar. And I buy no less than a dozen packs every August. They come in handy for times like this.

Becky and I spent some time slipping off crayon papers (kindergartners all over the world are now jealous of us) and chopping crayons into itty bitty pieces. We filled muffin tins nearly full with coordinating crayon colors, then popped them in the oven for a few minutes until they were all melty.

And then we just let them sit there for a few hours, cooling. I wanted to be sure the centers were completely firmed and cooled. The one that we tested wasn't quite. That one will be Micah's. And miraculously, once they're cooled, they just fall out when you turn the pan upside down.

See how fun these things are?

And I know they're huge, but considering that Micah's class has kids much like him, they all benefit from big, chunky things like preschool pencils and extra huge crayons made in muffin tins.

Now I've just got to get that other stuff made, along with the kids' Halloween costumes. Procrastination is da bomb.

It's Pumpkin Mutilating Time Again

2011-10-25T20:32:00.001-04:00

He's A Demanding Little Thing, And I Love It

2011-10-24T22:30:00.000-04:00

After that seminar we attended last week, we came home and reprogrammed Micah's talker completely. We added more than a dozen more buttons, and even more words, and it's so overwhelmingly confusing to all of us that we figured it'd be forever before he learned to use it. Again.

We'd contemplated hiding half the keys to make things easier for him, but he's a little techie and grasps things so much quicker than my old and tired mind does that we figured we'd give it a week or so and see how he does with it first.

We showed him how to use buttons to make words that he would have to read, and couldn't, like "I" and "want" and "is" and other things that may or may not have a descriptive picture to help him. He was all sorts of interested when we showed him the new things, but his attention span for learning new things is clearly not the same attention span he has for watching videos. It was fun, but he had a life to get back to.

Over the weekend, we'd show him how to ask for things. "I want a sandwich" was typed in, and he was just frustrated because I wasted time on "I want a" when clearly the only operative word in that sentence was "sandwich."

And then today, just out of the blue, he said, "I do I need milk." There's a lot we could say about this sentence, including the fact that it's completely incorrect, gramatically. My guess is that he accidentally pushed "do" and then started over without clearing. And I love the fact that he doesn't ask for milk, but demands it. There is no wanting, mind you. He needs milk. But the most amazing thing about that sentence is that he produced it all on his own.

Communication is an amazing thing. I never thought my heart would leap for joy when a computerized voice demanded things of me, but that day has come. That computerized voice is my 8 year old son, finally able to communicate with me in full sentences. I may be a biased mom, but I find him to be nothing short of genius. And I will look foward to hearing everything that has been swirling in his head for the past 8 years.

I have no idea how our contact information was shared with the people who hosted that seminar last week, but I have very strong suspicions that God had a mighty finger in it. And we are so grateful for what we've learned, and how it'll allow our son to grow beyond our feeble imaginations.

A Photography Walk

2011-10-23T21:50:00.000-04:00

Micah is not a fan of the camera. He'd rather not have my lens all up in his grill, and is very subtle at ignoring it. And by ignoring it, I don't mean he pretends it's not there. I mean, he turns his back toward me. Or at the very least, he turns his face away. He is so skilled at this that it's become his super power. And he does it so nonchalantly that to the unobserving eye, it looks very much like he is completely unaware that I'm there and he is simply playing.

This is one I got recently that shows the fact that he knows exactly what he's doing.

As far as picture quality goes, it's pretty much crap, and I had to edit to even get his face lightened, but just look at the every-so-tiny grin on his face, and the way he's looking over his shoulder at me. He was very well aware that I was snapping pictures. He tossed Woody down off the swingset, and I was there waiting for him to come down. He walked to Woody with his back to me, leaned down to pick up his friend, and turned to grin, clearly saying, "Ha! Who's the smarty now?" I was lucky enough to catch that half-second look on digital image forever. So despite the crap quality of the photo, it's one of my favorites.

Today was a super rare day and Micah was in the mood to pose for me. This happens approximately once every other week, if I'm lucky. And usually that pose is for something like, "Hey, see the dress-up outfit I pulled together out of your discarded scarf, a Hawaiian shirt, pirate pants, and a superhero mask? Take my picture!" Not exactly something you'd want to hang on the wall, or even really keep on the computer's hard drive taking up space.

Today, I got the boy's full cooperation. And I learned a few things. Posed pictures are not my favorite, by a long shot. I am in love with captured moments of real time, not stand-there-and-do-that unnaturalness.

While this is as cute as you're going to get from the boy who avoids the lens, it's not my favorite. And yet, it'll most likely end up framed somewhere because it is cute, and that level of cooperation needs to be rewarded. (And for the record, I did not pose him. That was all The Ham, showing a rare appearance.)

This one would be my favorite, though. I don't know why, because it needs cropped, and exposure is off a tad, and a few other glaring things are screaming at me. But I adore it. He'd just taken his shoes off and was swinging his feet in pure glee. It's so very Micah.

I also learned today that when you have the perfect spur-of-the-moment shot in focus and the boy is still for more than 1.3 seconds so that I can capture it, his face will always be in a shadow. Always. And because he is so skilled at avoiding my lens, I cannot ever just move to get him into the sunlight. He will also move, right back into the shadows again. Truly, it's his super power.

And the last thing I learned today is that when I have willing subjects, and the weather is unseasonally gorgeous, and the stars align just right so that I can practice photography and come out at the end of 200 plus photos with some awesome winners, the battery will be the one to say, "Meh, I've had enough of this today."

There's absolutely no reason for that photo to be out of focus, and I am super bummed that it is. It was at that point that I realized my battery was in need of a fix, and the focus went downhill fast after that. I swear, if it's not the kids or the weather being uncooperative, it's the equipment.

The Kiddos

2011-10-21T23:08:00.001-04:00

I Learned All Sorts of Things This Week

2011-10-20T20:11:00.000-04:00

We spent the last few days at a small conference, learning how to better use Micah's Voice. While it was mostly geared toward speech therapists vs. parents, and we spent a very large portion of our time discussing things like syntax and iconicity and semantics, it was incredibly enlightening.

First of all, I realized that I was clearly not a professional in a room full of professionals. While everyone showed up with laptops to work from, mine was the only one sporting Calvin & Hobbes. And coupled with the fact that I also had my bright multi-colored phone (set to vibrate) on the table and my blue and white flower-clad iPod in full display, I felt very much Legally Blonde. Clearly, not the professional. But that's alright, because those professionals have their jobs because of parents like us. We're just doing our part to stimulate the economy. Our boy is golden. Or something like that.

I was so worried about being away for 3 days in the middle of the week. If I am not home when Micah gets off the bus, he freaks out. I had a doctor appointment go late last week and Becky had to call me so that Micah could sob in hysterics into the phone. He was happier once he heard my voice, but still far from happy. What would happen if I wasn't there for 3 days running?

Nothing, that's what. The first day, Becky called me when he got home, and while he sounded a bit concerned, he was thrilled that I told him Luke would be home soon. I didn't hear from him for the next 2 days. And when we walked in the door after being going most of the week, he didn't even get up from watching TV to greet us.

Yep, broken up for sure. Probably scarred for life.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

2011-10-18T20:56:00.000-04:00

Micah was dancing Woody on the floor the other day, having quite the dialogue about who knows what. He was dressed as he is in this photo. As I walked by, I said, "Woody, what are you doing?" (Because it makes Micah laugh when I address Woody. He finds it highly amusing.) He didn't that day, though. Instead he looked at me like I grew a third eyeball on the tip of my nose, and he patted his chest in gravity.

How could I have missed it? He was Woody that night. Obviously.

And on a complete side note, I will miss the day that Micah stops dancing Woody on the hardwood. I will know that my baby is really and truly grown up, and I will mourn just a little bit.

Anti Sandwich Snarfing Maneuvers

2011-10-17T23:02:00.000-04:00

Micah started eating all his meals in front of the TV a very long time ago. We fought it at first, forcing him to join us at the dinner table, but we soon realized why the baby in the family is so spoiled. Seriously, the boy is eating. Is it worth a forty minute screamfest to make him eat where we choose vs. where he wants to? We have no problem letting him eat in front of the TV for snacks and his own impromptu meals, so why make it a fight when the rest of the family eats a meal? It's just so not worth the effort.

Of course, since we decided that where the boy eats is irrelevant, our family has somehow fallen out of the habit of nightly dinner around the table. It's sad, and we sometimes miss it. And when we miss it, or if I remember, we gather around the table again. A few shocking things happen when I set the table for a meal. The teens gather for dinner with no fussing at all. Micah will turn his movie off and excitedly join us at the table. And the kids will sit and talk long after the meal is over. It's like magic. Very special family magic. I love it.

But even knowing this, we still don't eat dinner around the table every night. And Micah still eats in front of the TV. And we have daily struggles over this. While we really don't care where the boy eats, we do care if he walks away from his plate and lets the dogs clean it up. Nothing irks me more than dropping everything to make him a sandwich, only for a four legged shedding machine to snarf it up while Micah runs back into the kitchen for a drink. My cries of, "put your plate on the coffee table" generally fall on his selectively screened ears. It remains on the floor, and I keep a vigilant eye on the pack of canines milling around in the living room.

The other day, after I fixed him a sandwich, he laid it on the floor in front of the TV and returned to the kitchen to get a drink. I instantly looked in the direction of the living room to take inventory of the dog pack. They were milling around in front of the TV, sniffing underneath the entertainment center. There was no plate in sight.

Dadgum those dogs, snarfing up Micah's sandwich, and then being greedy enough to push the plate under the stand while trying to lick the crumbs. And yet, instead of just jumping into making Micah another sandwich, I watched as he took his drink back to the living room, parted the sea of dogs, and pulled his plate out from under the TV stand. His sandwich was waiting for him, completely untouched.

I never fail to underestimate that boy.

We Shall Be Photoless

2011-10-16T17:05:00.000-04:00

After homeschooling for a few years, I was under the delusion that we had to take full advantage of all that school had to offer once we enrolled the kids. I read every single word on every single paper that came home. I joined the PTA and attended meetings. I went to all the Meet The Teacher nights, even if I’d already met that teacher in that grade with another child. I bought school picture packages like they were the only photographic evidence that my kids existed that year. There was little that I didn’t do.

I have wizened up over the years and realized that I don’t have to do everything to be considered a good parent. Or maybe I got lazier, but we’ll go with the first. It just sounds better. I know the PTA is very important, but also realized that it was more of an exclusive club of disorganized friends who weren’t all that open to outside ideas. I kindly bowed out after the first year. I decided that if I’ve already met that teacher, it’s kinda redundant to meet that teacher again. I already know that I can contact the teachers at any time via the internet, because they gave me that information the first time I met them. And this year is the year that I didn’t buy any school pictures. At all.

This one took a while to learn, because I love pictures. I take them all the time. I have albums and photo books full of recorded history, and a chest full of pictures in the living room, waiting for something to happen to them. But last year, I had the kids on a personal holiday when school pictures were taken, and while 2 boys were there for the make-up day, the third boy had just recently broken some arms and was home, high on pain killers. And last year was Becky’s first full year of cyber school so she didn’t get any school photos at all. And no. I do not stage my kids in front of a blue wall with their head cocked to the side and a fake smile declaring how uncomfortably they’re posed. Last year, I have school photos of half my gang, and there’s nothing I can do to undo that.

So this year, I figured it was safe to not buy school photos. At all. I am sure the schools now thinks I’m the worst of uncaring parents. I mean, who doesn’t buy school pictures to proudly display on walls and exchange like trading cards? Me, that’s who.

But it isn’t like I don’t have photos of the kids. At every stage of their life. Several times over. I’ve earned the name Mamarazzi honestly. In a day’s outing with the kids, I’ll come home with several hundred pictures to wade through. And the walls bear evidence of this. It was pointed out to me recently that all I have displayed on the walls are photos. I don’t have purchased art, or fine paintings, or even crafty type knick knack kind of things. I have photos. Photos on canvas, photos in frames, photos hanging from ribbons by clips. Photos. Dozens of them. And I just don’t feel as though a hastily snapped shot from an assembly line at school is going to be anything better than what I already have.

It's a Party

2011-10-14T22:41:00.000-04:00

Borrowing on Next Week

2011-10-13T20:36:00.000-04:00

Because I woke up with burning in unspeakable places accompanied with cramping and fever, I found myself at the doctor's office this afternoon. The plan was to get in, pee in a cup, stop by for meds, and be home by the time Micah got home from school. But in the event that I would be delayed (one can never count on doctor's offices to be as prompt as all that) Becky was waiting at home for the boy to get off the van.

(Oh, sorry about that TMI right out of the gate. Maybe this should have come with a warning.)

And because nothing is ever what you think it is, I was delayed. Immensely. The good news is that I'm not pregnant, just in case you thought that might be an option. Which it's not. And apparently isn't. The bad news is that I wasn't home when Micah got off the van.

I got a phone call as I was checking out because my cell phone only rings at inopportune times. It's my phone's super power. My phone will not ring for 3 days straight, but the minute I am paying the cashier, or sitting in a public toilet stall somewhere, the phone will ring. Loudly and annoyingly. In fact, just as I got to the doctor's office and was being shown the ins-and-outs of the restroom's pee-in-a-cup routine, the cell rang. It.Is.A.Gift.

It was Becky who called while I was checking out. She said Micah was very distraught because I wasn't home, and when she handed him the phone, he most definitely fit that description. I reassured him that I'd be home soon, and he handed the phone to Becky when we were done talking. She said he calmed very quickly after that, but he was most certainly glad to see me when I got home.

I know this is a direct result of the day I wasn't home when Micah got off the bus. I fear we'll be suffering the repurcussions of that for a loooong time, and my guilt will increase a zillionfold every time Micah remembers it. Next week, however, will prove to be interesting when we go away for a few days. We have a plan to implement, and with his new concept-grasping skill it just may be what keeps him from unraveling. Or I may come home to a boy who is not only scarred for life, but will never trust anyone ever again.

Moms worry a whole lot.

Unexpected Neon and White

2011-10-12T23:00:00.000-04:00

It was a very quiet and low-key kind of day, which is so very welcome around here on occasion. Micah comes home at 2:30, and breaks up the afternoon in a nice kind of way. We have an hour, just Micah and me, before the other boys get home from school and chaos happens with homework and dinner and evening activities.

His bus driver relayed the message that his aide reported a rash on his tummy after swimming today, and wanted me to be aware of it. Micah beelined to me, dropped his bookbag, shed his coat, and stripped out of his shirt. There was definitely a rash. And it was definitely bothering him.

Mom senses kick in in situations like this. Mom senses start analyzing everything. What is it from? Just getting on and off the swimming raft like the aide thought? What else could it be? Too much chlorine in the pool? Is it just on his tummy, or is it elsewhere, too? What should I do about it right now to help him feel better? Is salve alright, or should I have something else? Is it severe enough to call a doctor? Is it an allergic reaction? Will he not be able to swim again? Because his life would end if that were the case.

And these thoughts (and a zillion and thirty nine more) race through a mom's mind in approximately .382 seconds. In a full two seconds I was in the medicine bin looking for something to apply to that huge and itchy rash that was bothering my boy.

We did not have Benadryl. Mostly because it was my first choice, but probably also because nobody in this family suffers from poison ivy, allergic rashes, or any other reason to need Benadryl. I did find the Neosporin, and figured it would at least add a soothing and protective barrier. But then I spotted a bottle of an unidentified something and figured it was worth reading the label.

Benadryl Spray. Bingo. Bin-Go. And I sprayed the boy's tummy, hoping it didn't freak him out with the cold spray. I was in luck, he didn't notice the cold. That's because the burning made his screams reach a decibel that nearly shattered eardrums. I watched as the red rash started glowing neon, and small white bumps grew before my very eyes.

And the boy screamed.

That was a huge fail. I got a wet washcloth and wiped down Micah's tummy, trying to soothe the anger and pain I caused. Micah's go-to in situations like this is a bath, so we tromped upstairs and ran some water. In the meantime, I called the pediatrician to see what they recommended to soothe the rash. They recommended being seen. Of course.

And of course, by the time we got there, the neon faded, the white spots were completely gone, and it was determined that Micah had a rash from swimming. It could have been too much chlorine, or sliding on and off the raft too many times. And Micah was bummed that I didn't stop at Red Box to get him a free movie.

Another Perspective

2011-10-11T23:11:00.000-04:00

Mom Knows Best. I Wish I'd Remember That More Often.

2011-10-10T10:23:00.000-04:00

Any parent will tell you that they know their child better than anyone else does, and it's the truth. But I'm finding that in the world of special needs, so many professionals think they know what's best for your child more so than the parent does. I believed them for so many long years. I mean, they're professionals, and I was so new to this world. I kid you not when I say that parenting Micah (our 4th child) is like learning to be a parent all over again. The rules have changed. All of them. And some have been completely reinvented based on circumstances. It's intimidating, and if I can rely on a professional to tell me what to do, I'm grateful for their help.
But this summer has taught me that it's alright to trust my instincts. Parents know their children better than anyone else does. This summer, I chose not to take Micah to speech therapy. At all. This summer, Micah's speech has come so very far. It's not because I chose not to have him therapized. (It's a word. I invented it.) It's simply because Micah continues to work so very hard on his own, and 30 minutes per week of someone telling him what to do won't make any more difference.

This summer, I chose not to send Micah to summer school. I did once, that first year that the professionals recommended it, and I regretted that decision. Micah hated to be away from the family when the other kids were home. And really, what was the point? Summer school for kids with delays is to help those kids retain as much information as they can so they don't get too far behind their peers when school starts again in the fall. In the past, Micah hadn't really learned much to forget. This year, though, he did. He learned his numbers and can count to 10 all by himself. He learned the alphabet, and can recognize them in print, write them, and say their sound. It's a huge accomplishment. There was knowledge to be lost. And yet I chose to keep him home.

I had doubts. I mean, the professionals made it clear that Micah would lose so much of what he learned if he wasn't tutored over summer. But I made my choice, and resolved to help Micah with his letters and numbers on my own. That resulted in pasting the alphabet in the upstairs hallway, and counting things on an infrequent basis. I rock the commitment, let me tell you.
But just a few weeks before school started, I went over the alphabet with Micah. He knew every single letter, and not only did he know them as I chose randomly from the stack, he knew their sound and the accompanying hand sign.

I am making public note of the fact that I know my child better than anyone else does. I am going to come back and re-read this in the future when I have doubts, and the professionals try to tell me that they know what's best for my son. I will stand firm in the knowledge that I know my own child and am able to make my own informed choices for his future.

I am a mother. I guess that's all I needed to know all along.

Saved By A Skin

2011-10-09T21:52:00.001-04:00

Our family has fallen in love with the iPod Touch. We've all got our own, and of course they're all personalized to fit each owner. The problem comes in when someone picks up a random iPod that isn't theirs. I know you're thinking that they'd recognize that device as Not Theirs, but you'd be only partially correct. They do recognize it as Not Theirs, but they also Don't Care.

We all have our own personalized outsides as well as personalized content, but we don't seem to be very creative. Two have Otter Boxes, one has a plaid hard case (Mine! Mine!) and two have no covers or cases at all. And because we have older generations of the Touch, the only color Otter Boxes available are black. So yeh, we've got 2 black Otter Box cases, 2 with no differentiating marks, and one that stands out. And the kids just pick up one of the doubles and pretend they don't know it's Not Theirs.

In an effort to differentiate, we got Micah a skin for his Touch from InvisibleSkinz.com. It's one of the many companies out there that offer skins for electronic devices. It's the first skin we've had experience with, and we're quite impressed with the quality of both the skin and it's ability to differentiate Micah's iPod as Micah's iPod. Even from across the room, we can tell the other kids, "unhand that and give it back to your brother."

And they're totally busted. Because despite accusations to the contrary, it's not only Micah who runs a battery down to zilch and lets a device lay. We have saved the nonverbal one from unfair accusations.

The Road Less Traveled

2011-10-07T23:23:00.002-04:00

Micah is Most Likely Going As Himself This Halloween. It's The Trend.

2011-10-06T19:15:00.000-04:00

We are at that time of year when Halloween costumes are thought about in earnest. The decision making is narrowed down to just-one-yes-one because I have to have time to scour thrift stores for the necessary items. Luke has decided in a last minute twist that he will be a minion, which will be super fun and fairly simple to pull off. Score. Becky got a dress the other day that not only is the most flattering thing she'll ever wear at the skinny size 2 she is, but also could double as her Audrey Hepburn costume dress. Double score. Or triple if you count the fact that she got that thing for $2.50. (I've taught that girl to shop well.) Josh and I are still arguing about what he will be, mostly because I'm not loving what he's throwing down in front of me as options. He may end up going as a bag of trash. I may or may not give him eye holes to allow maximum oxygen flow. Heh.

I'm sure you noticed that I let Micah out of the above mentioned list. That kid loves to dress up, and has a trunk full of the most awesome dress up clothes you can fathom. Yet, for reasons unknown to mankind, he has a knack for shunning costumes on Halloween. In the past, we've been all "see what super fun costume we got for you to wear? Wow! Everyone else is dressing up, too! Here, let's get dressed in this super fun costume and go get candy!" And his reply has pretty much been, "that costume sucketh. I won't be seen in it."

So this year, we are trying a new strategy. Instead of pinning our hopes on one costume, we are putting forth a multiple choice offering for the boy. There is the faded Woody pajama outfit that he wore last year, as well as a Buzz pajama set that would be a viable option, and way less faded. There is also a real Buzz Lightyear costume from Disney that was the only real costume we ever bought because I couldn't figure out how to recreate that and make it look cool vs. painted cardboard box tacky, and trust me, we've got our money's worth out of that. Josh wore it when he was 6. (That was 8 years ago.) AND we have push-button-fold-out-wings for Buzz to wear as well that are supah cool in any boy's eyes.

Besides the Toy Story gang, Micah has random shirts and pants that he can pull together to make a baseball player, a football player (complete with nappy Troy Polamalu hair - it actually looks more like Darnell on My Name is Earl than anything else at this point), a generic cowboy, various versions of super heroes, an old lady (he loves wearing the full skirt and old lady mask), a businessman, and a few other things.

And in the interest of presenting something completely new and fun to entice him to wear an actual costume, I pulled together a brand new pirate costume for him after shopping Salvation Army. It cost me $5, and kinda rocks the pirate look if I have to toot my own horn.

But in reality, we have already decided that Micah will most likely go as Micah for Halloween. When he sees everyone dressing up, he'll go for his necktie, pirate hat, man purse, and baseball pants. And he'll demand candy, just being himself. He won't be alone, at least. One of Becky's friends is thinking of going as Micah for Halloween. He said all he'll have to do is throw together a random outfit of colors and patterns, toss on a tie, and put on a healthy dose of confidence.

He's Prepping For His Future

2011-10-05T21:55:00.000-04:00

Micah went through a spell this spring where he insisted on wearing a tie to school daily, and preferred button down shirts. On occasion, he'd even carry his Bible case with him everywhere he went. The Bible was an optional feature in the case. Micah has his own style, and we just enjoy it.

As Micah was watching a movie the other day, he ran to get a tie out of the dress up box. And then he got his Bible case to carry back to the TV. And it finally clicked with me what he was dressing up as. He was watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. Micah was dressing like The Mutant (aka, the accountant).

I mean, seriously? An accountant? In that fun, fun movie of people to imitate through flattery, he chooses the stodgy businessman? Micah has half as many hats as the little boy who collects hats, and who wouldn't want to be fun like Mr. Magorium himself?

Micah, that's who. Micah bypasses the fun people and hones in on the boring and uptight. We have been saying for years that Micah is a little old man in a little boy's body, and this just proves us right.

That Couponing Craze

2011-10-04T21:10:00.000-04:00

We are generic shoppers. We do not buy brand name soups (except Cambell's tomato), we do not buy Kraft mac & cheese, we do not buy cereal in a box. And for the most part, we do not buy anything simple and easy to fix (like mac & cheese) because buying ingredients and making from scratch is almost always cheaper. It's all in the interest of saving money, because feeding a herd of teenagers will break the bank.

But recently, I have become a coupon addict. I have not reached Coupon Queen status yet, but maybe someday I will crowned such. For now, I dabble in matching coupons with sales, and nearly dance a jig when I can drop my bill by 40% of what it would have been.

Couponing has taught me a few things, like brand names, with a good coupon that's doubled, can be cheaper than generic brands. And that once you start buying brand name things en masse, the cash register will print out more coupons for you to use for more of those brand name things. It's like a savings cycle, and I'm just learning how to ride it.

So now we have brand name things in the house, and cereal that comes in boxes. And because we're feeding a herd of teens (and a few others for good measure) we buy cereal like there's no tomorrow. We look like an episode of Extreme Couponing as we're checking out, but TRUST ME, we're not hoarding that stuff. If you've got kids, you know that an entire box of cereal can (and most likely will) be consumed in one sitting, because Kid A has the biggest bowl ever (just before dinner, and another just after), so Kid B has to have a bowl as well because, "hey! New cereal!" This means that Kid C needs to have some, because everyone else is. And then Kid D figures if they don't get a bowl now, they won't get a bowl at all. Kid E (and any others that are currently at the house) have a bowl shoved at them because one can't eat in front of friends and not share. At this point it's pretty much CEREAL DOWN! CEREAL DOWN! and you just watched $2 disappear before your eyes.

We now also know that Box Tops come on brand name cereals, and this makes Luke very happy. He is the Box Top collector, hitting up grandparents to collect since we did not purchase items that sported Box Tops in the past. We do now, though. And not only do we get Box Tops on boxes (and bags) of things that we buy, but sometimes we get bonus Box Tops printed out at the cash register, up to 150 at a clip. On the first day of school, Luke went in with just over 250 Box Tops. He was so sure he'd be the only kid that collected all summer. He was wrong.

That Girl collected, too. That Girl that's been in his class every year since kindergarten. That Girl that's been in his reading group since they started dividing up in 1st grade. That Girl that's been his rival in academics, and a thorn in his flesh. (Side note: That Girl is the cutest thing you'll ever see, and just as kind and sweet as you'd imagine her to be.) And the kicker is, That Girl brough Box Tops to school on the first day and had the nerve to try to undermine Luke's top spot of Box Top Earner. She had 20 less than he did.

Luke has clawed and scratched his way to the top, and he's determined to keep it. My couponing habit is earning him top honors, but it's not without criticism and conjecture. Luke's classmates have started questioning where we get so many labels, but he has an answer. "My mom just keeps buying stuff!"

There Are Sharks In The Sewing Room

2011-10-03T20:14:00.000-04:00

The kids love those National Geographic things. Anything from National Geographic makes them happy. The magazine that comes in the mail are pored over for days. And those full sized 8x11 fold-out sheets featuring different animals (or ecosystems, or plants, or...) are stored away in safe binders to be paged through and ogled over for years to come.

Yes, years. My kids are total geeks that way. They get their love of learning from their mother, I'll fully admit.

It makes me happy when the boys break out the Calvin & Hobbes books, or sit in a corner and read a chapter book, or even go over the National Geographic things they love so much. Learning and reading is always a good pasttime.

I do get confused, however, when I find a bengal tiger page on my bathroom counter. Who put it there? And why? Does it mean something, or is that where it was laid when someone had to answer the call of Nature as they were reading? So many questions, but it's par for the course in a home of kids. You find random things everywhere. If you don't, you should probably question why not.

I gave it no more thought, until I stepped into the sewing room and saw a Great White Shark National Geographic page on the table next to my sewing machine. Now I'm really curious. Is someone trying to tell me something? Give me a hint? About a new pet? A Christmas gift? One may never know.

Parenthood is full of all sorts of unanswered questions. Like these underwear that Micah was wearing this morning. I have no answers. None at all.

Concepts & Anticipation

2011-10-02T21:48:00.000-04:00

Micah used his Voice to ask to eat at Subway the other morning for breakfast. Because I'm an awesome parent, I laughed, looked him in the eye, and said, "we're not eating at Subway." He then chose to EAT EGG instead. While I was making him an egg, he asked to PLAY BOWLING. And then, to reiterate, he came over to the stove and pretended to bowl. It's a universal sign, perfected by the Wii, and easily understood. Clearly, Micah wanted to bowl. Unfortunately, being a school day, bowling wasn't in the cards and I had to nix that just like I did the Subway suggestion.

My kids are pretty sure I'm the worst mom ever. I've got a reputation to uphold at this point, so I've got a daily NO quota to fill.

On Saturday, however, the Special Olympics was meeting to bowl at 3:30. As I was making Micah his daily egg sandwich, I said, "we're going bowling today, Micah." Things like this are generally not processed and comprehended by my boy. We can tell him "we're going to Grandma's" but it's like it's just words to him. He just doesn't grasp that we're actually doing that. Once we are in the car, and he sees that we are headed in the direction of Grandma's house, he gets excited. It has to be a concrete thing to him. But vague concepts and intangibles (things we can't just hand him to show, like a video or a chocolate bar) aren't always grasped.

Saturday morning, after trying yet again to convey an intangible concept, Micah walked over to his Voice and said PLAY BOWLING. He got it! Micah understood something that wasn't concrete! It was a breakthrough of epic proportions, and I danced a jig inside my head to celebrate. And then spent the next 7 hours saying, "not yet."

It was brutal, those 7 hours of pestering and asking and begging to bowl. Micah packed my purse with socks (because while bowling over summer we wore flip flops to the bowling alley and had to take socks with to wear with the bowling shoes), he put my iPod in my purse, he brought my purse to me. He asked to go bowling. He brought me a change of clothes, he got my shoes, he put my purse in my hands. And this was all within the first 30 minutes. It was a loooooonnnnnnnngggggggg 7 hours, but the awesomeness of the fact that Micah grasped the concept of "we'll be doing this" made it all worthwhile.

Finally - FINALLY - 3:30 came around. I had a few stops in town before we went to bowl, and at every intersection he'd point the way to the bowling alley, then was clearly frustrated by my lack of cooperation when I turned the wrong way. But we finally, finally got there, and Micah was giggling with glee. It was super crowded as we signed in with the Special Olympics, and I got his shoes at the counter. As we were headed to our assigned lane, Micah noticed that I only had 1 pair of shoes in my hand.

This was completely unacceptable. He pointed to my shoes, asking that I bowl with him. "No, I'm not bowling today, Micah." At our lane, Micah realized there were people there that he didn't know. And I wasn't bowling with him. His discomfort was very evident. He started to walk away. I caught up with him, knelt down, looked in his eyes, and said, "Micah, I'm not bowling with you today. You're bowling with these people here. Do you want to stay and bowl, or do you want to go home?" He chose to go home.

The poor, poor boy. All that excitement, all that planning and anticipation, and then he didn't even get to bowl with his family like he thought he would. I got him a video at RedBox to make up for it.

Plans? Made.

2011-09-29T20:30:00.000-04:00

I asked Josh to bring my cell phone to the sewing room, so he sent it upstairs with Micah. The boy wasn't any too keen on handing it over because he really wanted to make a call, he just couldn't figure out how to dial. In an effort to keep the peace, I handed him the house phone extension and asked Daddy to dial Grandma's number. Micah walked out of the sewing room talking Grandma's ear off. Whether he was making grand plans, or telling her about his day, or saying that he wanted pizza for dinner was anyone's guess.

The phone was found laying in the hallway and Grandma was rescued, because she's way too polite to just hang up in the event that Micah may come back. No, we didn't know what he was talking about, but he's clearly done now and moved on to other things.

The other things involved a suitcase and a change of clothing. He was wearing a pink striped polo, inside out, and pink plaid shorts. He's a snappy dresser. His roll around Toy Story suitcase was towed down the hall to Luke's room, where he disappeared until dinnertime.

He brought his packed suitcase, a bag of videos, Woody, and a stuffed backpack to dinner with him, and insisted that instead of eating we go somewhere. His Voice declared that he needed help, but we weren't sure what he needed help with. Because we sure weren't going to drive that boy to Grandma's, despite the fact that obviously he'd made plans with her on the phone and packed to go. Not on a school night, at least.

Luke must go everywhere Micah does or the boy isn't happy, so the extra backpack was for Luke. While Micah packed his entire drawer full of short sleeved shirts for himself, he chose clothing for his brother out of the dirty laundry basket.

I never want that boy to pack a suitcase for me.

I Have Found His Wake Up Call

2011-09-28T21:59:00.000-04:00

Because Murphy likes to rear his ugly head any time that he can, Micah is now sleeping in past 6:30 in the mornings. This is depsite putting him to bed earlier to compensate for his earlier bus arrival. And by the way, I totally called this.

It's now about 50/50 on whether he's up just minutes before my alarm goes off, or if I have to wake him. And by 'wake him,' I actually mean struggle with an 80 pound lump of boy suffering from I Don't Want To Get Up combined with a severe case of Melt Into A Puddle of Uncooperation And Become Limp So Nobody Can Pick Me Up. It's way more of a struggle than you can comprehend until you've tried it for yourself. For those adventurous types, there'll be a sign-up sheet at the bottom of the blog post.

Micah's behavior on days he wants to sleep in is baffling and new to us. This is the boy who is up at the buttcrack of dawn on a regular basis, thinking it's his personal duty to wake the sun before any random neighborhood roosters might. On the rare occasion that I've had to wake him in the past, once I actually get his eyes to open, the boy is all go, go, go. Truly, this strange new creature is a force to be reckoned with.

However, I have found his wake up call. The boy found a shirt at Old Navy one day, and since it was on clearance, I bought it for him. I knew it was all him from the moment I saw it, so it wouldn't be wasted money. It was a button down, in old-man-dress-shirt light blue, with a motorcycle screen printed on the bottom. And Micah loves it. LOVES it. He loves that shirt like you cannot even imagine a little boy of 8 loving a piece of clothing. I have to hide it when it comes out of the wash, because the moment he sees that shirt, he'll insist you button him into it so he can go jump on the trampoline and play in the dirt.

This shirt is his wake up call. As he was lying in bed, trying to ignore the fact that I was telling him it was a school day, and wishing that I would just vanish into thin air and take the intrusive light with me, I pulled out The Shirt. It was almost funny watching him go from Please Go Away and Never Come Back to Can I Strip Out of my Favorite Woody Pajamas As I'm Standing Up So That I Can Get My Favorite Shirt On Faster mode.

I'll have to be sure that shirt is freshly laundered all the time, and hope he opens his eyes long enough to see it on days that he just won't get up.

Here We Go Again. Maybe. Or Not?

2011-09-27T21:10:00.000-04:00

We have the possibility of some fairly major home improvement projects to tackle in the next year. It's been six years since we built our house, and we learned a lot in the year it took to get it done. We learned a little bit about patience, and how to make your marriage survive in the midst of a building project of that proportion, and a little more about patience, and stress management, and of course, patience.

We were told that building a house is not for the faint of heart. They were right. Egads, they were right. And yet, we loved it. Except for that one time in month #8 when we had to take a weekend away from the work in order to preserve our marriage because we were teetering on the brink of homicide. You don't need to know that we spent our entire weekend stalking the aisles of every Lowes and Home Depot in the tri state area.

But that was something else we learned when we built. While the actual work of building under a deadline is stressful on a marriage, the part where you choose what goes in and on the house was rather awesomeish.

And after six years, we're finding ourselves here again. Part of me is super duper excited about this, and the planning and scheming and architect playing is just way too fun. But part of me is wondering why we're going down this path again, and if I really think our marriage needs strengthened in such a way yet again.

In the meantime, if you know how to build a garage and front porch that looks like a million dollars on a budget of way less, send your secrets my way, please.

The Writing on the Pumpkin

2011-09-26T23:21:00.000-04:00

We chose our pumpkins last weekend. The white ones were novel to us, and a little easier on the wallet, so we stocked up on those. Micah loved pulling the wagon so generously provided by the vendor while I loaded it up with the choicest pumpkins I could afford. (Side note: pumpkins are spendy little things.)

He helped me load them into the van, one by one, counting them as we went. He giggled as I put a seatbelt around the biggest pumpkin, sitting on the van seat beside him. And then he gave them no more thought, letting Becky and I do the work of unloading them when we got home while he ran into the house to watch a movie.

The pumpkins sat outside for a few days until I decided exactly what to do with them. There are so many fun things to do with white pumpkins, and I took some time deciding. In the end, I simply painted B-O-O on three of them and set them on a stand in the living room. I know it's not super schmancy, but it's cute, and I can still carve them later in the season. I call it a win-win.

There were still 2 white pumpkins on the counter, their fate being decided upon. Should I wrap them in ribbon in an argyle pattern? Should I paint pictures on them? Fall messages of welcoming tidings? Should I wrap them in black lace with colored leaves as stems? Oh, the possibilities that could happen.

Micah came home from school that day and reminded me that he misses nothing. He followed his usual routine of hugging me (which started the day after I wasn't home to get him off the bus), throwing his bookbag aside, and stripping down to his skivvies. (One has to shed the frustrations of school, I guess. We don't question what that One does. Mostly because he can't answer.) And after he stripped, he found Woody and danced him all over the living room floor.

A bit later, Micah came into the kitchen, grabbed a highlighter out of the drawer, and wrote a number 5 on one of the white pumpkins on the counter, and a number 6 on the other. Being all proud of himself, he had to show me his handiwork, and say "Iiii, iX" as he pointed to the numbers.

My heart swelled a bit. That boy loves math. He's all mine.

And then Micah carried his pumpkins to the living room and set them on either side of my row of pumpkins, because even if he's not letting you know it, he misses nothing in his world. Except for the fact that my pumpkins sported letters and his sported numbers, but he got the general gist of things.

Having A Student Driver is a Bigger Problem Than I Thought It Would Be

2011-09-25T21:59:00.014-04:00

Becky has her driver's permit, so it's our parental responsibility to allow her to drive any time we can. Being a very-much-brand-new driver, we're hesitant to expose her to too many situations until she has the actual driving part down pat. This has eliminated driving after dark, driving in the rain, driving on heavily traveled roads, and driving with the entire family in the van. Eliminating chaos is a good thing when one is nervous. Except we allowed her to drive home from church with the entire family in the van, she did well right up until she ran into the post in the parking lot at the gas station. Sam drove home from there.

We've been playing musical seats in the van now that a teen has taken over the driver's position. I sit shotgun, then Sam sits shotgun, the kids just bounce around in the back like popcorn, vying for the best seat. One with an Oh, Shoot handle is preferrable.

The kids have mixed reactions to the fact that Becky is now a driver. The nephew is insanely jealous, and voices this approximately ever 38.2 seconds. He needs a physical and replacement social security card before he can get his permit, and he's feeling the wait. Josh dispenses advice like a champion backseat driver. Luke is in his own world, and I'm not even sure he's aware the van is moving most times, much less who is driving it.

And then there's Micah. That boy can't wait until the van stops, because that means we'll get back in it again. He is thrilled that mom and dad finally came around and decided to let the kids have turns driving. Except he's finding if very unfair that we're playing favorites. Very unfair, indeed.

He's tried getting to the van first so that he can just climb into the driver's seat, and is seriously ticked that we make him get out without handing over the keys. And yet, he's not deterred. Every time Becky gets a turn at driving, he points to her, grins, and makes the sign for taking turns.

I'm very afraid of what the next decade will bring. Keeping that boy from driving will eventually be the death of me, I'm sure.

Saturday Shots

2011-09-23T20:33:00.001-04:00

Art Work!

2011-09-22T22:26:00.000-04:00

Pinterest is my go-to for decor ideas, menu options, and just plain fun. Like this.

Becky decided that she would love that hanging on her bedroom wall, so I bought a 3-pack of art canvas at Walmart for $9 and we had a fun afternoon of creating. Because we have more crayons on hand than Walmart does at any given time, we didn't need to purchase any of those. (Seriously, we do. I have over a dozen boxes in a desk drawer not even opened, and twice that many in a go-to jar on a shelf.)

Becky chose the colors she loved best, and hot glued them along the top of the canvas. We broke out Sam's heat gun and started melting crayons.

We tried a hair dryer, which was very effective at melting crayons, but also effective at blowing the wax all over the canvas. The heat gun has a setting that makes a lot of heat with little air flow. It rocks.

Colors will still run together, but it makes the art that much more interesting.

And when Luke came home, he wanted to get in on the action as well.

And then he personalized his with his name Sharpie'd at the bottom.

And I have to say, every time I walk by the kids' rooms, I am loving those pieces of art.

Photographic Evidence of My Day

2011-09-21T22:00:00.000-04:00

A photo journal of my day, in bits and pieces and bright images.

You know, just any old ordinary day.

The Random Screaming Will Be The Undoing

2011-09-20T20:49:00.000-04:00

When I became a mom sixteen years ago, I never did the math to see how old I'd be when my daughter was old enough to drive. Had I done that, I maybe would have made a plan to brainwash Becky to think that she really didn't want her driver's license until she got married. I could have completely convinced her that it's the best husband-wife honeymoon bonding there is.

I may or may not speak from experience on this. Except it would be learning to drive a standard, not driving in general. If I were speaking from experience that is. Ahem.

We now have a teen driver in the house. Just a permit, mind you, not a license, but a teen driver nonetheless. Because she passed her test, I figured I should do something special. We stopped at CVS to get sodas, because we know how to party, and then I took the back way home; partly to avoid the road construction, and partly to allow Becky to drive on less traveled roads her very first time behind the wheel. On a road. In public. As a legal driver.

Just breathe.

She did very well, actually. I know I shouldn't be surprised, but it was just what? A year or so ago that she asked if the mirror should be adjusted to see herself, or see out the back? And failed to put the van in drive before stepping on the gas while practicing in our driveway? Yeh, I've had reasons to fear. But she did well. I was congratulating myself that I was actually calm and enjoying this whole adventure when I realized that my hand hurt. The hand that had a death grip on the door handle.

Maybe I wasn't as sure of this as I thought.

I waited until she pulled into the driveway, and was almost at the house before I screamed. Loudly and suddenly. She jumped and had a slight panic attack.

This teen driving thing is going to be a lot of fun.

Well THAT Was a Disappointment

2011-09-19T20:42:00.000-04:00

I got the fall decorations out of the attic over the weekend. Micah was all sorts of helpful, as he always is when things come out of the attic. It's like a treasure chest up there; one never knows what fun you'll find lurking in a dark corner.

We hauled the crates down two flights of stairs to the living room, and Micah was nearly dancing with glee when he opened the first box. He dug through to the bottom, pushed it aside, and moved on to the next box. When they were all gone through, his disappointment was visible. And huge.

It was not Christmas decor, and the stocking with the Disney characters on them were not among the boxes.

I love that my boy loves Christmas as much as I do. Now I just need to work on helping him love Halloween, too.

Dear Telemarketers:

2011-09-18T20:10:00.002-04:00

When I used that wonderful feature that allowed me to block telemarketers from calling my home phone, thereby hassling me while I ate dinner, or helped with homework, or interrupted my day in any way, shape, or form (read: please don't call me, I'll call you if I ever need what you're pandering), I was a bit irked that I was still hassled.

You told me the hassling was not part of telemarketers ploys, but people with whom I have business already.

So, Dear Credit Card Company: I already am aware of your services. I have your card. I also get the statements that you send monthly. And the blank checks that also come monthly, separate from the statement, so that I may access my unused credit balance at the great interest rate of My Children Will Never Attend College Because I'm Paying You Back With Compounded Interest. Really, if you would stop mailing things every 4 days, and stop calling me every month to ask if I want more from my card, you would be able to save so much money that you could probably reduce my interest rate on my existing card balance. I know, radical, right? Try multiplying that by the millions of customers that you have, and be mind-boggled at the savings.

So after getting off the call list with my credit card company, I was still receiving phone calls, interrupting my day with pleas of help. I further questioned, and you told me, Telemarketer, that nonprofit agencies are exempt from that Do Not Call list. And my, how you've taken advantage of that.

Here's the thing. I am well aware that heart disease kills. I know that March of Dimes helps babies. I support my local and state police through my tax money. I also know how to find each of you when I have the desire to give more. If you want to call and ask for my help personally, I promise not to get bent out of shape. But please be courteous and end there.

Dear Telemarketer, when you call me and ask if I can mail letters to my neighbors in January, thank me when I agree. Do not call back in 2 weeks to remind me of my commitment in 3 months. And then do another follow-up call a month later to tell me that the packets will be arriving in 6 weeks. And then.... Lets be clear on this - I consider this harassment. I will also be tempted to tell you that I've changed my mind about said letters and to please take me off your list of willing patrons.

And one more thing, while I have your time and attention, Dear Telemarketer. Please remember that you were the one who called me. You interrupted my daily routine, you called during dinner, you are the reason I'm now running late to my appointment. Please don't get snippy and short with me when I exercise my right to say, "no, thank you."

Love,

The Harried Mom That Is Always Up To Her Elbows In Work And Doesn't Really Have Time To Take Your Call Even Though I Make Time On Occasion Just To Be Polite And Hear What You Have To Say

P.S. My nonverbal son LOVES to talk on the phone. If these calls do not stop, I will hand him the phone. Don't think it's beneath me. He never hangs up. Ever.