Blech

Well, I'm home. More on that, and the title of my post, later.

We went to California last Thursday for a wedding. The boys were great on the plane, we enjoyed some lovely weather in Aptos, California, and stayed in a hotel at the beach for three nights. Friday, Hubby took the boys to the Monterrey Aquarium while I had lunch with the bride-to-be and my other college friends, followed by manicures and pedicures. Friday night, the boys had fun playing an impromptu game of "octopus tag" with the other little boys at the rehearsal dinner. Octopus tag: One boy had a toy octopus from the aquarium gift shop, and the boys took turns chasing whoever had the octopus. It kept the little guys entertained for a long time.

Saturday, Hubby and I drove the boys to San Jose to spend the day with my stepsister's family. Her son was having his first birthday party, and my stepmother offered to watch the boys at the party, then bring them home with her Saturday night while Hubby and I were at the wedding. That was great, as Hubby and I could relax, and drink, at the wedding, and at a pub afterwards.

Sunday, Hubby and I got to sleep in (real sleeping in, meaning there weren't little boys waking us up every 30 minutes to ask for breakfast, or more breakfast, or wanting to know when we were getting up). We drove across to my stepmother's house in Morgan Hill, and spent the day in the sun. My stepsister and her son drove down, and the boys all enjoyed the slip and slide, though none of them actually did any sliding. They mostly just sat and splashed.

Monday, Hubby, the boys and I drove over to Santa Cruz for the day, and had lunch on the pier, after watching the sea lions for a while. Hubby weaseled out of taking the boys on any rides at the boardwalk by telling Harrison he wasn't tall enough, though I wasn't really feeling up to riding on a roller coaster anyway (more on that below). Afterwards, we drove to the World Famous Mystery Spot. The boys and I had a great time, though Hubby was at his most skeptical. Still, fun was had, and we now have four beautiful Mystery Spot bumper stickers.

We picked lemons from the lemon tree in stepmom's front yard and made lemonade, and Monday night she made a lemon meringue pie which was delicious. I brought home a bag of lemons, and am almost tempted to attempt the pie myself, but am being too lazy.

Tuesday, we came home, and I've been feeling my "depression lite" since. I hate coming home from vacation. The house was fine. The dogs and cats were well-tended by the pet-sitter, as was Finn, the fish. Our, uh, beautiful Triops pet Harrison got for his birthday (well, he got lots of eggs, but only one hatched) was still alive. (It died yesterday, so our petsitter lucked out, as she was very worried about it dying on her watch.) I don't know. I just hate going from enjoying myself, having someone else do most of the cooking, to being back to the old grind. I'm sure others feel this way, too! I did lots of laundry yesterday. It was raining Tuesday when we got off the plane, was gray most of yesterday, and is raining again now. Blech. I've been feeling very slothful. My skin is broken out. I've been feeling "nausea lite" for two freaking weeks. Wait, longer than that. Three weeks. I'm sick of it. I went so far as to take a pregnancy test, but it was negative, and my not-so-faithful Aunt Flo arrived five days late, soon after the negative pregnancy test. That sort of explained the nausea, but then after AF came and went, the nausea stayed. It made the drives on winding California roads lots of fun. And was a reason I didn't insist on taking the boys on the carnival rides at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk.

I really want to go to a doctor, but need to find one. I usually get the most nauseated when I'm taking a shower in the morning, and afterwards, I'll occasionally get these weird spells, where I feel like my brain is completely gone. I can't think of words. It happened today after I showered, and Hutton came in the room, and I tried to tell him something, but couldn't. It's bizarre, and I don't know what to do about it. It only lasts about a minute, but that's long enough. But, considering I don't even have a doctor, that's makes it hard. I think I went to a general practitioner ten years ago, and see a gynecologist every year or so. If anyone knows any good open-minded, naturopathic leaning doctors in the Seattle area, let me know! Oh yeah, and they need to take insurance. As you other mothers may know, it's all about the kids. Especially when you have a child with autism. You spend all your time dealing with autism and trying different things to "heal" your child, and it's very easy to put your own problems on the back burner.

So, blech. That explains how I feel today.

Still in the Midst of My Existential Crisis

Well, it's mostly the day to day crap -- literal and figurative -- still getting me down.

Yesterday was actually pretty good. I got my tires all inflated without blowing myself up. Hutton had a school conference that didn't go too badly. I didn't find the missing lug nut key from my car, though. It wasn't in my car or in the parking lot of Fred Meyer on Thursday afternoon or Friday morning when I checked. Hubby came home from his trip last night in time to see the boys before bedtime.

Today is back to the crap. Hubby double-checked for the missing lug nut key. (My car wheels have a "special" anti-theft lug nut, which needs a special tool to remove it. You know, because my tires are always getting stolen when I'm running errands in the 'burbs. Anyway, the special tool got lost in the hubbub of my tire change the other day. It's possible the man who helped me change it put it in his pocket, or left it on the curb, etc. Who knows.) It's gone though, and Hubby was nice enough to point out when I asked if he had any luck finding it, "No, but I'm sure it will only cost $200 to replace it." Yes, Hubby, I always need to feel worse about my screw-ups.

So, he left to go get a new tool from the car dealership, and asked me to call for service to our microwave while he was gone. I just did that. They'll be out Tuesday, Nov. 27th sometime between 1 and 5, and will charge us $79.99 for the service call, not including what it costs to actually fix the microwave. Did I mention how much I love cooking the old-fashioned way? No? Wait, I don't like cooking the old-fashioned way. I don't like cooking at all, in fact. I just miss being able to heat up my coffee without running the risk of shattering my favorite mugs, or being able to get Hutton's special nitrate/nitrite free hotdogs cooked that much faster at lunch time. I don't feel like cooking for Thanksgiving as it is. This just cements it for me. I don't enjoy celebrating Thanksgiving with just immediate family. It doesn't feel like a real holiday to me unless there are other guests in the house. I love my kids and Hubby (sometimes), but don't really want to bust my butt all day making a meal that only two of us will possibly enjoy.

Sigh.

Hutton slid on the bathroom rug yesterday and hit his eye on the corner of the bathroom vanity, and now has a cut and partial black eye. At least that happened after his school conference, and since he doesn't have school next week, hopefully it will be healed before he goes back. Hopeful, yeah, that's me. Full of optimism and cheer.

Nothing New Under the Rain

Not much to write about. I've had a very bluesy 24 hours of emo shit and won't bore you with that.

Hutton took half of his supplements today, after I gave them to him in melted chocolate. (This is after his doctor's appointment Friday, when she essentially told me Hutton needs to be taking twice as much of each supplement he's currently on, which since he never finishes his supplement-laced drinks, is really nothing. So, technically, twice of nothing is still nothing, but I was going with the "best case scenario" dosing, in which Hutton actually takes the supps. Did I mention dr. wants us to start giving him MB12 shots, too? Yeah, really looking forward to those!) Of course, in order to get all the supplements in, it was way too much chocolate to give a kid in the morning, but he didn't eat it all at once. So, that's one nice thing that happened today. Of course, a few hours later, Hutton made me forget all that when he threw a super tantrum right before we had to leave to get the school bus. Still tantrumming as we ran to the bus, which was waiting for us down the street. The bus driver and bus driver-to-be watched, masking their horror very well, as I led screaming angry Hutton onto the bus. He sat down and announced he had to use the potty. I told him he'd have to wait until school. The BD and BDTB both exchanged a concerned look, probably worried about the state of the bus's seats. I rolled my eyes and said, "Fine. Let's go home. Sorry guys! (to the bus drivers)" So, Hutton got out of going to school today because he threw a tantrum and I just didn't have the energy to deal.

That's pretty much the gist of my day. The boys spent it watching videos, and I spent it being sad and reading celebrity gossip. If I really want to do the emo shit right, I better go find some Smiths CDs to listen to. Hmm. Wonder which ones I actually have on CD. I had them on tape in highschool.

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Hubby is SERIOUSLY pissing me off, just having to listen to him play Halo 3. He literally just said, "Just hang on the ledge, Dude!" and "Chuck a shit load of grenades in there!" Come on. It's a good thing we don't have real plasma pistols or missile launchers lying around "base" because there's no telling what emo-chic Laura might do.

Mother's Day Funk

You may be able to guess from the title, that my Mother's Day was not all walks in the park with birds alighting on my fingers ala Snow White to wish my a lovely day.

Nope. Let's see, I started the day by getting up after Hutton came into the room asking for breakfast about 12 times. I fed the dogs, let them out, fed the cat, fed the boys, then made myself some coffee and oatmeal and headed upstairs to catch up on some email and file some mystery shopping reports. Hubby was still asleep. Yes, I was cursing him under my breath, but then again, I'm not his mother. He shouldn't have to get me anything for Mother's Day. Except that he should get me something in the guise that it's from his two sons, the ones I popped out in record time in intense, painful deliveries. No, it's OK, really.

Around eleven, Harrison came in holding a card. It was a cute card, signed by Hutton for both boys. Of course, I wanted to tell Hubby that he got me a very similar card for my birthday seven years ago. The birthday card featured a cat in a flower pot, and the inside read: "For your birthday, I grew you a cat!" The Mother's Day card featured a different picture on the front -- this time it was a kitten in a pot, and it said, "For your Mother's Day surprise, I grew you a cat." Still, a cute card and Hutton wrote "Love, Hutton Harrison" inside. So, I tried to be happy.

The funk part of my day was really just my being depressed about Saturday's big mishap. I had been doing so well being positive about Hutton's progress, and looking forward to his doctor appointment this Friday, when I hope we'll take the next step in his biomedical treatment for Autism -- chelation to get rid of all the heavy metals he has floating around in his body. But, after Saturday, the "positive wind" got knocked out of me, and I'm back to my cynical state, thinking about having a son who can never be let out of my sight, let alone function in the "neuro-typical" world.

So, after stewing most of the day, I decided to break out of my funk and took the boys shopping. Well, plant shopping. I really don't think shopping with boys in general does anything to break one out of funk. It can get you in a funk, though!

I drove to Costco, but they didn't have any fuchsia baskets left, so I headed to a local hardware store that has lots of plants, and Harrison and Hutton helped me load up the cart with flowering plants, a blueberry bush, a lilac, and the piece de resistance, a fountain, featuring a dog whose mouth opens and closes as the water pumps through. Hutton and Harrison both loved it, and I even got it for 10% off, since the display was the last one the store had.

Yes, for some reason, spending money always cheers me up. But, I wasn't as cheerful as I'd been Saturday morning, when I went out to do some solo mystery shopping, and while I was at the mall, picked up a cute blouse and pants for myself on sale. Nope, that Saturday afternoon event seemed to put the "shopping is fun!" cure-all into perspective for me.

After helping Hutton with his homework, and seeing how amazing he is at counting and writing numbers (he now knows how to count by fives up to 100!) I felt a lot better. Then I tried to get him to drink a supplement-laced chocolate banana smoothie with dinner, and when he refused, I was in an angry place. Oh well, the cycle continues.

Happy Mother's Day everyone!

So Much to Say

And not much of it is good.

I've stayed away for a few days, as I was in the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" frame of mind. No, I prefer to wallow in misery and let my depression stew for a few days before forcing it on my poor, undeserving (or is that underserving?) readers.

The misery and depression aren't so miserable and depressing today. Amazing what a day, and a double shot mocha (with whip) will do for you!

The pleasantly fading misery and depression stem from a few things, but they all involve a certain beloved first child. Yes, I love him unconditionally. No, it's nothing he did, but rather things involving him. See the difference?

Anyway, last week I received an email from Hutton's ABA consultant, who had emailed Hutton's primary megabitch er, teacher, wait, let's just say it's someone involved in Hutton's life several hours a week. This woman who shall remain nameless had emailed his ABA consultant about Hutton's behavior. ABA consultant had been in to observe Hutton's class a few times and recommend things to try for his bad behaviors. [That's what they do - Applied Behavioral Analysis. Kind of like a nicer version of Pavlovian conditioning. You show a child how to do something the right way, and give him lots of praise, or tokens, or treats, or he gets to play with a special toy, etc. if he does the "right" thing. For instance, if Hutton is working on a worksheet, and completes the worksheet, he may get a high five and a check mark on his chart, with the goal being after he gets five check marks, he gets to play with his trains. If he does something "wrong" -- tearing his worksheet and putting the paper in his mouth, let's say, very hypothetically. Cough. -- he is redirected to doing it the right way. The bad behaviors tend to be ignored, as if you punish them, that is often what the child is going for -- attention, and a chance to get out of what he doesn't want to do.]

Back to the story. So, the ABA consultant knew that this mystery woman (MW) didn't like having Hutton in her, uh, surroundings, and was not too keen on trying these ABA techniques for changing negative behaviors, but she still told MW that if she (ABA consultant) could help with any transitions to a new class she would. MW wrote back, in my best paraphrasing, with some of the choicest words in bold:

We are leaving Hutton's backpack in the bushes [he often throws his backpack in the bushes after he gets off the bus] so he doesn't get his snack for the day as a consequence. We reward all the other kids with crackers and telling them "Good job!" when they aren't ripping their papers, and ignore everything Hutton does unless it is harmful or affects other kids. Yesterday, Hutton was playing with the soap and got some in his eyes. I'm hoping he is smart enough to put the two together.

The rest of it mentions more of his bad behaviors, and how she knows I am weary of the school battle. Huh? I'm fine with school. Hutton is fine with school until he is treated like a dog, and worse than that, a very stupid dog.

Onto my mom bias. I know Hutton has challenging behaviors. Yeah, really. I deal with fights over getting him to drink his supplement-laced drinks every morning (damn, that TMG really smells bad, and Hutton sniffs everything before eating or drinking it! Guess he really doesn't need TMG that much today), his howls of protest when he doesn't want to do something he needs to do (get the bus, go to speech therapy, go downstairs for ABA therapy...), other assorted things here and there. But, I also know that Hutton is a very smart little boy who is perfectly capable of doing kindergarten level work. The trick is to make it enjoyable. Hmm. That's crazy, isn't it? Make kindergarten fun? You mean, so kids will like going to school for the next 12 years? Yeah, crazy.

And the point of Hutton being in kindergarten isn't to make him feel singled out as a stupid freak; strangely enough, he may get that idea when he's IGNORED and everyone else is rewarded for things he doesn't understand. Does he know they're getting crackers for not ripping papers? Maybe, but more likely he just sees other kids getting crackers, while he essentially sits ignored and hungry, because he doesn't get to have his snack, because his backpack is still in the bushes. But wait, how is he doing to make those connections if, as MW believes, he's not smart enough to realize that soap in your eyes hurts? GRRR.

I think his ABA consultant would point out that the whole idea is POSITIVE reinforcement of good behavior. Not punishment of bad behaviors. I realize punishment works to change behaviors, too, but that's not what we're looking for. I'm sure MW would love to be able to whip Hutton into submission, but that's just not going to happen in WA kindergarten. (I do remember being horrified when we moved to Tennessee and they had corporal punishment in the form of paddling at middle and high schools! No, I never was paddled. I was a good girl!) I've seen how well positive reinforcement works for Hutton. When I go crazy with praise after he writes his name on his homework sheet, the whole process goes so much more smoothly. Imagine that. Praise works better than my getting angry and frustrated. Who knew?

A few minutes after I got the forwarded email (e standing for EVIL), I got another email from MW, CCed to the ABA consultant and the director of special education at Hutton's school district.

Just to prove me wrong (or insane) Hutton has had much better days this week...He hasn't thrown his backpack since the day he missed out on snack. He has been willing to stay in his seat and do his work with a minimum of prompts. (And lots of crackers.) Let's stay on course and see how it goes!

So, right when I'm ready to get Hutton out this class ASAP, MW comes around to seeing how well he can behave. Of course, now I have to let her know we're doing a gluten, casein, corn, etc. free diet, and will have to provide them with some better reinforcers. I called the director of special education to discuss the situation, but haven't heard back from her yet. Needless to say, I still want Hutton out of crazy (hey, she said it herself!) Megabitch's class. But I don't know what his options are, and I've heard bad things about our neighborhood school from another parent. Sigh. It will all be fine. Eventually.

The other misery has been dietary. Hutton has been fine on the diet. I'm the one having trouble getting used to it. And Hubby (or Husband as I should call him, as Hubby sounds too cute and cheery for someone I'm still sorta pissed at) has problems with it as well.

Yesterday, as I was making the boys waffles (yes, Kim, I got the Trader Joe's ones!) and bacon, I was trying to get Hutton to drink his supplement juice. I made the mistake of putting the vitamins that smell in there (super nu thera and TMG), and Hutton wasn't going to drink his juice, which had the last of the lemonade in it, which is the best beverage for disguising the grapefruit seed extract I'm currently using to treat his yeast overgrowth. I was trying everything. "Hutton, you need to drink this so it will kill the yeast monster!" "Sweetie, if you drink this, you can have maple syrup on your waffles!" then quickly degenerating to, "Hutton, you will not scream at me. Go to your room until you calm down!" followed by, "Sweetie, please drink this! You won't be able to have any bacon unless you drink this! These supplements are really frickin' expensive!" Finally, after Husband came downstairs and offered the helpful, "Hutton, please drink your juice so Mommy will shut up," I dumped the drink, found some oranges to make orange juice with, and hid the grapefruit seed extract and a few other non-smelly vitamins in the o.j., which was readily accepted as drinkable by super-nosed boy. I then attempted to show him how to swallow capsules. No, that didn't work. I think I'll be leaving the smelly stuff out indefinitely, and sticking with the yummy, though not as nutritious or good for a yeast problem, chewable vitamins.

So, I was pissed at Husband after that remark, plus when he tried to say that we weren't doing anything fun all weekend, not because he had work to do (which he did) but because we couldn't go out to eat because of the diet. I decided to take the boys to the park after a delightful GFCFetc. lunch to prove him wrong. Husband wheedled his way into going to the park with us, then went to work that afternoon.

Another incident at the park added to my weekend funk. We saw a boy from Hutton's class. I spoke to the mom briefly about our plans for school for next year, while avoiding talking about a certain teacher at all costs. The boy from class pointed out that Hutton didn't pump well on the swing. OK. A few minutes later, another boy from Hutton's class showed up. I attempted to talk to the moms, who are obviously better friends than I am with either of them, for a few minutes, while watching their sons come up with some super-imaginative play scheme involving the jungle gym as a submarine, and going into the boiler room to check for leaks, and spotting dolphins through the periscope, etc. Hutton preferred to just play on the jungle gym as a jungle gym, and I quickly excused myself to spot Harrison on another jungle gym, feeling left out and sorry for myself, and sad that Hutton wasn't playing "the right way" with two boys from his class.

Today, in my less-miserable state of mind, I realize that the two boys aren't autistic (well, I know one isn't, and I'm pretty sure if the other one is, he's super high-functioning, as he came up and asked me my name and proceeded to call me by name for several minutes), and they are friends outside of school, so probably play better together anyway. If Hutton's friends from school who have autism were there, it may have been a different story, or if his friend Amy were there...Who knows?

Oh, and I was just PMSing. A classic excuse for misery and depression!

Funk Day

I've had a blah day. Been in a funk pretty much since dawn, and it's not the funky kind of funk, either. I should put on some Parliament and turn the funk upside down. But that would ruin this perfect "depression lite" I've got going.

I know my hormones and lady bidness have something to do with it, but it's also cold, and snowy. The snow looks very nice, and cheered me up briefly when I crunched through it to get the mail, but when I got back inside to crazy boys 1 and 2, that went away. Plus, Hubby called at 4:30, and said he'd be staying late at work because the snow had fouled up the roads. Great. Another day AND night of solo parenting.

I kept Hutton home from school today, because he was throwing a hissy fit, rubbing his eyes and whining after ABA therapy this morning. I stopped the hissy fit by adjusting his eyelid for him -- all the rubbing had flipped a quarter of his eyelid inside out and he was screaming until I convinced him to let me look at it. Fun. Since we're doing the AIT this week, I've been driving Hutton to and from school, but today was not going well, already, and the AIT therapist didn't want to have to come back at 3 and risk getting stuck on the snowy roads, so I said I'd just keep Hutton home and he could come back earlier. Great. Crisis averted. A mellow day at home. Perfect.

Except when I emailed Hutton's teacher to tell her he was being very whiny and probably wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be at school, she emailed me back to say that he was whiny all the time at school and she didn't think his feeling bad really affected that. Then she went on to reiterate that Hutton doesn't need to be in her class, she'd had his previous preschool teachers out to observe and they were all "disappointed" in his behavior, she was going to have the director of special education out to observe him, and did I have any thoughts on this?

Great. So, after I burst into tears reading the email, I thought for a moment and emailed her back telling her I was fine with any placement for Hutton as long as it's not the contained class at our neighborhood school, because that class is all non-verbal kids and will not be good for Hutton at all. We'll see. With any luck, the special education director will find a better placement for Hutton, but since the transition class he's currently in was "the best place" for him before, and there's not another transition class, I'm not that positive. I just know I'm not going to lie down and take whatever crappy situation they throw at me because his teacher suggests it. Nope, his teacher is not on my "favorite person" list, probably because she's written off Hutton from day one as being too immature for her class. Hey, lady, it's KINDERGARTEN. You want maturity from a class of kindergarten kids? Well, I'm sure without Hutton it will be like an intro psych class. All the kids will explore their feelings and grow as spiritual beings once that immature brat is gone! She always tries to make me feel better about Hutton by pointing out that he's only five. Yeah, I know. Five is the age the school district assigns to KINDERGARTEN. Just because all of the other parents held their kids back, doesn't make my child too immature for kindergarten. They kick you out of the special ed preschool after two years. That's why we moved on to kindergarten. Oh well.

Back to my funk. I've been eating like a pig all day. I really need those doggy diet pills now.

And speaking of dogs, Sally is still not moving well. The vet called today and said she's a slow healer, and since so much muscle tissue was affected by the surgery, it was taking longer than they'd thought it would for her to be able to get around on her own. So Sally is still at the hospital, which is charging us daily about the price of a night at a nice hotel to feed our dog and take her out in the special doggy wheelchair cart. I can't really visit her either, because the area she's in is crowded with recovering pets and medical equipment. Imagine bringing in your two-year-old. Or better yet, your two-year-old AND your five-year-old. Yeah, they're very patient and never want to touch the expensive equipment. Since the hospital is 25 minutes away, it's not an easy little trip to do when Hubby comes home either. Sally, I love you, but the last thing I want to do after putting the boys to bed is get in the car and drive nearly half an hour.

Sigh. Time to get the boys in bed and start drinking heavily. Just kidding. Sort of.