And to Think, I Actually Paid Money for This Crap

(That was typed "carp" first. But I fixed the typo because I didn't want to mislead anyone into thinking I was blogging about goldfish, and have them be terribly disappointed!)

Check out this link. Click on the picture of the cute little baby to read the article, first.

Essentially, she took the blog entry right out of my brain! I was reading Parents Magazine in the bathtub last weekend, and I got to the page mentioned above, and steam literally started coming out of my ears. Well, OK, maybe the steam was coming off the hot water, but still....

My thoughts (the ones I had in the tub, but didn't get around to blogging about last weekend. And then I had the magazine in my car and spilled some caramel sauce on it. It's a long story involving lattes. You really don't want to know.): First the "Autism Update" was some stupid "study" that supposedly disproves any connection between vaccines (or, the mercury in them) and Autism, because the mothers of children with Autism were no more likely to have had the RhoGAM shot than other mothers (of non-autistic children, I assume). And that proves what exactly? Some mothers get a RhoGAM shot because it supposedly protects their unborn babies with an incompatible blood type from the mother. Before 2001, these shots had thimerosal (a mercury-based preservative). After 2001, they apparently took out this super-important ingredient for some reason. (No, not because it's bad for you. Really, it's perfectly fine to have lots of mercury in your body. Ask those dentists who still use mercury fillings in your teeth. Or that Mad Hatter character from Alice in Wonderland.)

So this study says there's no connection with women receiving the RhoGAM shot having a greater incidence of children with Autism. Great. Good for them. But you know what? I had a shot containing mercury when I was pregnant with Hutton. A flu shot. In fact, I had two of them. Because the first does supposedly doesn't cover you. And I fell for the hype. "Oh no! The flu! You'll die! Run for you life! Get a shot! You're a pregnant but otherwise healthy woman, but without this shot you're doomed!" And just in case that wasn't enough, I had my eight mercury fillings leaking mercury vapor with every hot or cold drink I had. Coffee and milkshakes? Yes, please! My baby would like some more mercury! And then, in case Hutton didn't get enough mercury in my uterus, he was injected with his first mercury-containing shot just hours after birth, when he came out blue from having the cord wrapped around his neck. Hmm. We'll just give him some oxygen in the NICU to get him good and pink before we further tax his little immune system with an unnecessary shot. Yes, I'm calling the Hep B shot unnecessary. Hutton did not, in fact, leave the hospital to go shoot up drugs and have unprotected sex soon afterwards. Now, it's possible a Hep B infected druggie or crack whore could have run up to us while we were leaving the hospital and injected him with a dirty needle, but not really probable.

So, the fact that I didn't receive the RhoGAM shot and still have a child with Autism means nothing to me. This study doesn't make the vaccine-Autism theory immediately disappear, as far as I'm concerned.

And, please, don't look at the cute little baby above the story and assume he or she has Autism. That would be just horrible. That's why Parents added that neat little disclaimer: The child pictured is a model and is unrelated to the issue described in the text. God forbid a child have Autism. It affects 1 in 150 now, but rest assured that the model doesn't have it and your child couldn't possibly get if from your RhoGAM shot. Back to your normal lives.

Yes, I'm tired of these parenting magazines. I think it's time to cancel my subscription.

Blah-de-blah, Blah-de-blah

Too much going on in my poor little brain to actually blog lately. Easier to sit on my butt reading other people's words, sipping cold coffee I'm too lazy to go reheat.

Let's see. School starts September 4th. Hutton's TK class -- the one he took last year, with the evil teacher -- is doing a job-share this year. A new teacher (!!) will be there Monday and Wednesday, regular old megabitch on Tuesday Thursday. I'm going to try it out for a month to see if it works. If not, I'll start annoying the special education director again. It's the lazy mother approach. I'm a lazy mother, so it works for me.

Harrison is still not potty trained. He can pee on the potty, he just chooses not to most of the time. Sigh. We'll see if I can still get him into his preschool class. I keep telling him if he wants to go to school, he has to use the potty like a big boy. He always says, "I'm a big boy!" but when you're peeing in a diaper that doesn't mean much.

My desk is a big mess. I have to find a new speech therapist and a new home therapist. Our current home therapist is pregnant, so I have until November, and it would be nice to have some overlap time for the new therapist to work with the current one.

Sigh. Ever have one of those days weeks years when you don't feel like doing anything?

Hubby has been working on the deck all weekend. I didn't have a party for Hutton on his sixth birthday. We went to the State Fair on his birthday instead, with my best friend and her kids. It was fun. Hot, but not unbearable. We saw lots of cute farm animals, and rode on some kiddie rides. Well, the boys did. I rode on the kiddie roller coaster with them, and bought the picture.

I'm the one in front, partially blocked by the red afro of the girl in front of me. You can't see my friend's daughter in the picture. She's sitting next to me, and is probably hiding behind the red afro. I'm not sure if it's technically an afro, since I don't know what race the girl was, and I don't like to be racist when it comes to hair, so why don't we call it fluffy hair? The adorable boys behind me are Hutton (taller one) and Harrison (shorter one). I love the faces of the other kids on the ride, as well, especially the back row. You'd think we were on the Tower of Terror. I also have the picture from that ride, which Hubby and I went on when we went to Disney World when we were dating, eleven years ago.

I'll try to be a better blogger. We'll see!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, in follow up to this post, I had a wonderful birthday dinner. Hubby and I went to a really, really great restaurant, and ended up taking much longer than I'd thought, so we kinda screwed over the babysitter. Well, we did pay her a lot of money for being late, and she told my friend she liked my kids and didn't mind, and she'd like to sit for us again. Yeehaw! I didn't know where we were going until Hubby came home, and I neglected to read the website for the restaurant which said, "Please allow 4 to 5 hours for dinner." Yes, that's right. This restaurant serves 9(!!) courses, and into our fifth hour, we cut out early, missing part of the eight and ninth courses. We got a to go-box with the little truffles they were serving, but missed out on the 1910 Madeira wine. Oh well. Next time Hubby decides to spend that much on dinner (yeah, right!) I'll find a babysitter who can stay all night.

It's My Party and I'll Bitch if I Want To

Well, there's not a party. Not even a dinner. And I'm pissed. No, I don't need a birthday party. In fact, I don't really like birthday parties. They're OK every once in a long time, but really, after a certain age (post college for me) I think they're kinda silly, unless you're getting the whole family together to celebrate Uncle Hughey's 85th or something like that.

But, Hubby and I did make plans to go out tonight to celebrate my birthday. The night after the real day, but Hubby had to work late yesterday, so whatever. Friday night sounded great. A night out for the first time in months. We went out to dinner on our 10th anniversary in June, but other than that, haven't gone out together since December probably, when we visited family and left the kids with grandparents. So, I searched around and found a babysitter who seemed nice and professional, had good references, etc. I was so looking forward to dinner, and dare I dream, possibly a movie, with Hubby! Whoa. Craziness. I saw Ratatouille with the boys last week, and that was my big summer movie. Make that my first movie of 2007.

So, yesterday was nice. I met my friend and her kids at a farm that has kiddie rides, and the boys had a great time, as did I. I was tired when I got home, and didn't really want to deal with getting dinner ready by myself since Hubby was working late, but hey, I had Friday night to look forward to. I could do it!

I checked my email around 6, then went to make dinner, get the boys ready for bed, etc. I checked my email again before bed at 11:30 or so. And saw this:

Dear Laura,

Good evening. I feel awful about this but I am not going to be able to come over tomorrow evening. I know you will most likely not want to hire me in the future as this is very unprofessional. I have had something happen that I must attend to tomorrow evening and that is all I can say. I am so sorry for all of the inconvenience I am sure this will cause to your plans.

Regretfully yours,

Super Megabitch

Arggh! I told Hubby that I'd try to find another babysitter today, but so far no one has called me back. This just sooo pisses me off. I know it's just a stupid dinner and (possibly) movie, but when you don't get to go out with your husband more than a couple times a year, its something you really look forward to.

And, once I start wallowing in self-pity, I think that I have no idea if Hutton will be able to live on his own as an adult, let alone be left at home without a babysitter when he's a teenager, so I can't look forward to that: "Only seven more years and you can go out to dinner again!" Hmm. If I wait ten years maybe Harrison can be the babysitter for himself and his brother. Well, that will be a great 44th birthday, then! Can't wait!

It's My Birthday. Go Ahead, Worship Me!

Yes, it's my birthday again! I share it with my sister-in-law and Madonna, and it's also the anniversary of Elvis' death. So, it's a day of joy and sadness. Sadness if you hate Madonna or love Elvis. Joy if you love Madonna or hate Elvis. See?

This morning as I was checking my email, I scanned for things that looked personal and birthday-ish. Saw a note from my sister, and then I saw something about an e-card.

Now, the past month or so, I've had tons of spam masquerading as e-cards from friends, loved ones, and colleagues. Of course, they're always listed that way -- "A friend has sent you an e-card!" or "A relative has sent you a new card! Click here to read it!" or, "A co-worker has sent you a card!" Hmm. I don't have a job. Or friends. I know they're scams! I always delete these instantly, though if you scroll over the address they're from, they are usually from some spammer's address, not a legitimate site where a card might come from.

So, this morning, I found this one particularly amusing:

Your Worshipper has sent you Birthday postcard from superlaugh.com.

Click on your card's direct www address below: [insert fake link here]

My what? Hold on a second. The person who wrote this spam thing actually thinks people who read this will believe someone worships them? Well, I'm sure someone somewhere is narcissistic enough to be well on their way to having their hard drive infected with spyware at this very moment! Just not me.

OK, I do think that I'm being worshipped somewhere. Come out, worshippers! Show yourselves! We will restore the glory of the earth through my ministry!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A bit related, but this morning I was thinking that this is my 34th birthday, which means I've lived longer than Jesus did. Then again, I didn't have a band of followers and change the world. I also didn't get crucified. Hmm. There's always this year, right?

I LOVE This Show

FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS!

I had a few episodes TiVoed, and when my mom was in town, we watched a couple. Monday night I watched three more back to back, and I laughed more than I have in ages.

It's a freaky weird show and you should watch it now! Or at least a clip, if you don't get HBO. Some background, Bret and Jemaine are the two members of "Flight of the Conchords," and they came to NYC from New Zealand to get their band more recognition. Their manager, Murray, works at the New Zealand consulate and has awesome posters in his office like: "New Zealand! It's not part of Australia" and "New Zealand: Why Not?" Anyway, the last episode had Murray taking the boys on a "warm-up tour" of some hotel lounges in New Jersey.

Right before this scene below, the guys had given a women's water polo team their room number in the hopes they'd get to hook up with them. Earlier in the episode they both bought "rock star" leather suits with their per diem money; the suits promptly shrank when they got stuck in the rain. You can see the short arms of the jackets as this clip opens.

Lottery - You Know You Want It

The book, that is. I just got home from a book signing event in Seattle. Patricia Wood was reading from her new novel, Lottery. I loved listening to her read. Add some wine, and I was tearing up listening to her read. Well, I would have been teary eyed sans wine. I know I'm going to love this book!

The book signing was heavily attended by Patricia's family and friends, as she grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I, and a few other "regular people" were there, too. I talked a lot to a guy who is friends with one of Patricia's cousins, and he promises to have a book out soon, about his great...great grandfather, John Sargeant, a missionary who lived in Stockbridge, MA in the 1700s. It was nice to talk to a man about something other than autism and poop. Wow, I feel sooo...womanly. Oh wait, we did talk about autism. But we didn't talk about poop! Wow! I'm amazed! Did I mention I drank some wine?

Gonna start on Patricia's book right now, after I go get a chocolate cupcake from the hidden stash. Did I mention I drank some wine?

You'll have to wait to get a picture tomorrow, as my camera is in the car. I was going to try to get a picture of myself with Patricia, but you'll have to settle for one of her reading. Really, I look just like my new avatar. My skin is a tad peachier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UPDATE: I read half of the book Friday night, and finished it last night. It was wonderful! Now, go buy it!

Here's a doctored pic of me with Patricia Wood reading from her novel. I superimposed a picture I just took of myself over the back of some guy's head.

Oh, So That's What We're Doing This Weekend

This morning, Hubby and I both woke up late. Well, I got up at 2 a.m. to change a poopy diaper (Harrison has some issues with daytime pooping, and apparently can only really relax when he's asleep! Guess we'll have some therapy for him in the future. Kidding, kidding!) then again at 8:00 a.m. when Harrison was "locked in his bedroom" by Hutton, meaning Hutton had closed the door after himself when he got up this morning. It wasn't locked, but for some reason, Harrison forgot the door opens in. Sigh.

So, I had no trouble going back to sleep for another hour. But Hubby was taking his time. At 10:00, he was still at home, getting himself a bowl of cereal and some orange juice. I reminded myself that it was in fact, Friday, not Saturday.

I started cleaning up the kitchen, when I noticed something brown on the floor. Hmm. What is that? Cereal? Nooo. Of course not. It was DOG POOP. Again! Can I get a break? Where did it come from? Closest source - Fergus. He looked up at me, and I grabbed a paw and saw lots of stuff clumped on his pad. Grrr!

Meanwhile, Harrison has appeared back in the room, diaperless and demanding a new diaper, as I'm surveying the floor for more poop spots. I grabbed a paper towel and started picking up and wiping down anything that could have possibly been poop, while asking Harrison to go get a diaper, please, and trying to pin Fergus on the floor so he won't run through the house spreading poop. I was also trying to avoid being bitten by old Ferg. Fergus has lots of paw anxiety from past events, including a bad nail trim episode, as well as cutting the pad on his paw, requiring a trip to the vet for stitches. He really doesn't like having his paws handled, and when they're covered in dog poop....ARRGGGH!

I managed to get Harrison's new diaper on while pinning Fergus, then tried to drag Fergus to the bathroom, but he wasn't going for it and started baring his teeth at me again, knowing I was going for his paws again. I pushed him into the garage, then started cleaning the floor. After that was done, I readied the bathtub for a dog bath, and somehow convinced Fergus to come out of his crate in the garage and carried him to the bathroom. After bathing him, I got a muzzle on him and started trimming his nails and cutting the fur between his pads, so he won't drag in more poop. Fun times. Not something I wanted to do this morning, but I can't say that Fergus didn't need a bath and nail trim. I would have preferred not to deal with the poop, though.

Then, I finally got upstairs to the golden mecca that is my computer, to check email and drink my coffee, and saw Hubby at his desk, wearing headphones. He used to work from home, so that wasn't too unusual, but I noticed he wasn't looking at a "work" looking screen. No, he was playing a game. He looked up and said, "I'm working from home today! Halo 3 is out!"

"Oh, so you're working, huh?"

As I wrote for my title, I know what we'll be doing this weekend. The boys and I will be entertaining ourselves while Hubby devotes himself to a video game. Sigh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did I mention that Hubby is rebuilding our deck? I mentioned to him last night I wasn't sure what to do for Hutton's birthday in two weeks. I didn't want him to feel pressured, so I didn't add what was on my mind: I can't just have a simple party at home if our back deck is missing. Well, I can, but having people stuck in the kitchen and family rooms, rather than having the kids able to play outside and serve food that we grilled out, takes away from the summer birthday party at home thing. And now that Halo 3 is out, something tells me Hubby is NOT going to be working on the deck a lot this weekend. Sigh. Better start looking for places to have a birthday party.

Great Gift for the Dog in Your Life!

I'm going to have to get one of these:


Sally and Fergus don't really destroy toys like they used to, though. Maybe if I rub ole Vicky in peanut butter, they'd rip him apart.

Important Note to Remember

Note to Self:

The next time your younger son wants to climb up on your desk to pick out a DVD to watch, using your leg and office chair to climb onto the desk, please ascertain that there is no dog poop on son's shoes. Because you will forget this, I'll remind you here that this caused your "oddly cheery for afternoon" spirits to go down instantly. In fact, high spirits plummeted instantly back to normal "bitchy mom in the afternoon" levels.

Please make certain to have both children remove their shoes at the door when entering the house. I know you try to do this, but Harrison, AKA the poop smearer, isn't good at doing it on his own, so you'll need to remind him from now on.

Thank you for your attention to this matter!

Sincerely,
The Smart Half of the Brain (yeah, I know. I'm on vacation a lot. Sue me. Wait, you're too stupid to do that, Stupid Half! Ha!)

Day of a Thousand Tantrums

Friday morning, I dropped my mother off at the airport at the end of her lovely visit. She came, we shopped, we redecorated my "dining room" (read: room with dining room table normally used for sewing and other crafts) and had a nice, if too-short visit with "Gogo" as the grandkids call her.

Unfortunately, Harrison didn't want Gogo to leave. Though, during her visit, he was standoffish and aloof, like a three-year-old channeling a teenager, when she got out of the car at the airport, he immediately started crying, "Gogo come back!" It got more intense as we drove away.

It was cute and sweet at first. Aww! He misses his Gogo. My reassuring, "It's OK, sweetie!" did nothing. Eventually, after 15 minutes of driving with screaming from the backseat, Mommy was screaming in the front seat as well. I took a breath. Bribery? Sure, it might work.

"Do you want to go shopping?" Yes, it sounds crazy, but Harrison likes to shop. Hutton said, "No shopping! Go home!" OK, if I go ahead with the shopping, that will mean Hutton will be yelling and tantrumming, too. But, unfortunately, Harrison DID want to go shopping, after he heard my suggestion, and then I had to yank it back.

"Sorry, Buddy! Hutton wants to go home. Let's go home." Yeah, that went over well.

Idiot that I am, I suggested Target next. Again, Hutton didn't want to go, but Harrison did. More screaming when I said, "Let's just go home. We'll go to Target later." Only now, the screams were about Target instead of Gogo.

I tried turning it into, "If you're quiet, we'll go to Target." This turned into, "If you will please just stop shrieking, we'll go to Target." As my head pounded and I tried turning the radio up to drown the shrieks, yelling along loudly to whatever song was on. Strangely enough, this didn't work. I tried turning the radio off all together, then I just gave up. Hutton managed to keep the tantrumming Harrison going by hitting him now and then, though I never actually saw him do it.

Did I mention the ride home from the airport is about 40 minutes? Yes, it's a long ride, and listening to a screaming three-year-old makes it that much longer.

Harrison finally stopped screaming and crying when we were about five minutes from home, when he essentially passed out. I enjoyed the silence for an hour while he napped, though my headache lasted for the rest of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Hutton threw his own super tantrum around bedtime. He wanted to sleep in "Gogo's room" instead of his regular bed in Harrison's room. (Really, it's Hutton's room, so he can sleep in there if he wants, but he usually wants to sleep in Harrison's room.) I explained that Gogo had taken the sheets of the bed, and if he wanted to sleep in there he'd have to sleep in the bunkbed, since I wasn't going to put new sheets on it that night. It seemed to work. He went to sleep in the bed in Harrison's room. I tucked him in.

Then, "Go sleep in Gogo's bed!" Huh. I explained the sheet situation again. He walked into his room and jumped on "Gogo's bed" which still didn't have sheets on it. I explained the sheet situation again, and pointed to the bunk bed, saying that's where he'd have to sleep if he slept in here. Repeat this process five more times, ending with my screaming, "I'm not letting you sleep on the bed with no sheets because if you pee you'll ruin the mattress, and I'm not going to put new sheets on when your regular bed and the bunkbed have sheets on them already!" I finally got Hutton into his bed in Harrison's room, and he stayed there, after four or five more times of getting up to ask about Gogo's bed. I put the clean sheets on "Gogo's bed" yesterday, so now we won't have that problem again. Yeah, no more tantrums about anything. Right.

So, we didn't really have a thousand tantrums. It just felt that way.

Back From Sleepy Town

I'm back! I had a nice "day off" yesterday, meaning I left the house without children. I did some mystery shopping, followed by, gasp, clothes shopping for myself. My mom bought my a gift card while she was in town as an early birthday gift, and I had a nice 30% off coupon from a friend, so I did some real shopping. I got to try clothes on and everything! Amazing!

Now it's back to the grind. Laundry. Housecleaning. Blogging.

Well, that last one doesn't really belong with laundry and housecleaning. At least not all of the time.

Yawn

My mom is here for a visit, hence the lack of posts lately.

I'm enjoying her visit, but not having my normal amount of down time is exhausting. Yet, here I sit at my desk typing when I should be in bed....

I'm sure I'll be back soon with lots of scintillating reading for my faithful readers. Crickets chirping. Well, for the two of you. One. Anyone? Also, I'll be back to posting my insightful and witty comments on all of your blogs. Oh, you didn't notice the lack of my insightful and witty comments from me? Hmm.

Happy August, everyone!