Time for My Weekly Post!

Yeah, it seems I've fallen to weekly posting. Sigh.

Hubby is still working on our deck. The boys and I went to the library today. I had a new book to pick up, and the boys always love getting more library books. We followed that up with a trip to the park.

Hoo, boy, do we know how to have an exciting Labor Day weekend, or what?!

I'll let you know what I think about the book when I finish. I've only read about forty pages, but those have made me feel like we're on the right track with Hutton -- he's getting MB-12 shots for his methylation, which is important for detox. I have definitely noticed a big improvement in his verbal skills over the past 6 weeks since we've started the shots. Now I need to start adding in other things since we know that the shots are working for us. Hmm. That means we've got some lab work we need to do, as well, which is always fun. Lab work = collecting blood, urine and stool. Now who doesn't think that sounds fun?!

Let's see. The room I'm in looks like toy bomb exploded. The litter box needs to be cleaned. (I need to write a post on our new kitties, don't I?) I need to make dinner. None of those can be done by keyboard...yet! When I've perfected my keyboard-run robot I'll let you all know.

Speaking of robots, last night when I was making dinner, the boys (meaning Hubby, Hutton and Harrison) watched the last half hour of "I Robot" on TV. I caught a few minutes, and found the dialogue cheesy, with all those computer-generated special effects being the only thing going for the movie. Hubby commented, "Yeah, it's really necessary to have a computer mainframe with an 8 story drop-off" during the scenes when they try to dismantle the evil robot mainframe. Harrison commented, "That was a good movie!" after it was finished, so hey, at least he enjoyed it! Hutton thought the robots looked cool, and laughed at them climbing buildings. So, two out four ain't bad.

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!

Stuff

So, I changed my meez icon to reflect my new look. I got a haircut, and determined my old meez looked too young and sexy to reflect the "real me". The new one makes my face look fat, but hey, what am I gonna do - put a picture of the "real me"? Nah. Though I have a very incriminating one from the bachelorette weekend. Let's just say, watch what you do when drunk and around friends with cameras.

When I got home Sunday night, Hubby told me there was a change in Hutton's speech therapy. Due to issues with the insurance company, we would have to pay in advance, then be reimbursed for 80% of the costs, which is essentially what we do with the ABA therapy. The speech therapy was looking like it was going to add another $500 to our monthly budget that we don't have, though. We discussed it at dinner last night, and decided when Hutton starts first grade (yes, I'm almost certain we're going to go ahead and do the full day contained class first grade, rather than repeat Transition Kindergarten with the mean teacher) we would drop speech therapy.

Well, it ends up it isn't even an issue now, as I received a call from his therapist that the office is now officially closed! Apparently the insurance issues went deeper than we thought, and the therapists weren't making enough to cover costs. So, our summer is going to have some more free time, and no more early morning trips on Tuesday and Thursday, which is good, as I tend to get stressed out trying to get the boys ready on time. I feel bad for the therapists we worked with, however, as they're now out of jobs. Hopefully the demand for therapy will mean new jobs for them soon. And I hope Hutton will have enough therapy through ABA and school that we won't need to add more speech therapy in the fall, though I'm not holding my breath on that.

So, with no speech therapy today, we went and looked at cats at the Petco store that are up for adoption, and may go back tomorrow afternoon to adopt one or two. I don't know how well we'll do keeping them in the house with the boys and dogs going in and out, but I'm going to try. Hubby was asking tonight if I thought it was more humane for a cat to be euthanized, or to escape outside and be eaten by a coyote. I told him to define "humane", then pointed out that humane has the root word human, not cat, so cats could have a totally different idea of "cate". Hutton really liked one of the cats available for adoption, though, and the boys still ask when Tully is coming home. Sigh.

Tonight I had a soccer game, and received a phone call from my stepmother right before the game. She told me my stepsister had her baby last night, but there were complications during the birth necessitating an emergency C-section, and the baby is in the NICU and needs genetic testing. They had tested for Down Syndrome in utero, and my stepmother didn't really go into detail of what they were testing for, or what problems that baby has. I didn't really know what to say. I told her congratulations, and that I was glad Stepsis was doing OK after the c-section, but I'm not good at coming up with things to say in situations like this. I said something stupid about how she has a "real" grandchild now, as opposed to the step-grandchildren of my siblings and me. She said she considered our kids her grandchildren, too, and that my dad had cherished the time he got to spend with them, especially when the two of them had come up for a weekend to babysit Hutton when Hubby and I went to Hawaii for a wedding. That made me cry, of course, and I told her I was glad he got to spend time with Hutton, and that I hoped her grandson would be home from the hospital soon. I'm just sad for my stepsister having to go through this when a new baby should mean joy and happiness, not worry. I hope she and her husband are good support for each other and the baby will be OK.

Bringing SexyBack With the College Friends

This past weekend I flew to San Francisco to celebrate a bachelorette weekend with my college friends/housemates. The seven of us all shared a house for two years in college (well, technically that's a brothel in the town of Durham, if three or more unrelated women live together, so let's just say we spent time there, but didn't really live there) and try to get together once a twice a year as a group.

Thursday morning, Hubby and the boys dropped me at the airport, and I flew in to San Jose, stopping at my stepsister's house to have lunch with her and my stepmother. Stepsis looked great. She's due with her first baby any day, and is a long-distance runner, so has the perfectly fit with beach ball sticking out in front look. Stepmom was fine, too, even though she seemed to gloss over that she has neglected to return any of my calls since the middle of January. She's either depressed or attempting to get on with her life since my dad's death three years ago September, but either way, if she thinks she can get me out of her life that easily, she's got another think coming!

After lunch, I drove my rented minivan up to San Fran to my friend Amy's lovely home, where four of us made cupcakes. Or rather, Amy made cupcakes, and the rest of us decorated them with "witty" pictures and statements. My first read "Sugar Tits", with an image in frosting and sprinkles of said breasteses. There was also a cupcake decorated with a frosting picture of a sex toy that the other three had bought at the local adult store earlier, a penis cupcake, etc. You get the idea. The red velvet cupcakes were very tasty, even with adult images. That evening, we picked up two more housemates, including the guest of honor, who is getting married in September, at the airport in "the cherry" as I dubbed the red Dodge Caravan, and shared more laughs, cupcakes, and drinks that night.

Friday, our seventh housemate arrived, and we headed to lunch, followed by a walk on the beach with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. We window shopped, we drank wine and discussed serious topics (the state of women at our college, as opposed to what it was 15 years ago, politics, jeans), we went back to Amy's and made a delicious dinner. (Well, again, I had nothing to do with the dinner making, which is why it was delicious.) We watched the DVD copy of two films Jen made in her college film class, in which most of us made our film debuts. They were hilarious. (though in a very artistic and well filmed manner, of course, Jen!) We finished off the night with a game of "Totally 80s!" Trivial Pursuit, which my team won, as I am the 80s trivia master. Well, my teammates did help, but I think I'm the only one who remembers the spin-off series, "AfterMASH". Really, even Jamie Farr has blocked that one out.

Saturday, we walked on the Golden Gate Bridge, then went hiking in the Muir Woods. It was hot and we were all svitzing and complaining as we hiked the first two miles up hill, but we still laughed and talked and enjoyed the shadier half of the hike as we went back down through the beautiful redwood trees.

When we returned to Amy's, we showered, then the real fun began: the opening of gifts. The adult themed gifts were fun and we all laughed and shared stories. There was "The Fiance Game" - a tradition we started at the bachelorette party before my wedding ten years ago. Similar to The Newlywed Game, but played before the wedding, one of the housemates calls the fiance of the bachelorette being feted to ask him questions, then the bachelorette is asked the same questions, and lots of, "Ahh! Isn't he sweet?!" and "Oh my God! I can't believe that!" ensue.

While the gifts and games were going on, we all were getting our drink on, in preparation for our dinner. We took two cabs to the destination: AsiaSF, a restaurant and club with lovely "ladies" as wait staff and entertainment. They really were pretty, though Kelly and I agreed one looked like Latoya or Michael Jackson from too much plastic surgery. I thought most of the ladies looked more feminine than I do, with larger boobs and smaller "guns" as we were joking about my giant muscular arms throughout the weekend. The table of drag queens sitting next to us made me feel better, though. They were all a bit more masculine, so I felt better, and I wasn't retouching my makeup throughout the meal as the lady next to me was.

After dinner, Bachelorette Dawn suddenly got very serious and starting polling/grilling the rest of us about our sex lives, which resulted in lots of laughs and true confessions. We finished up with a short visit to the dance club downstairs, where we posed on the stripper pole, but mostly felt old as we looked at the younger ladies in higher heels. We got cabs back to Amy's, where we all went to bed after downing much water, fearing the impact of the drinking. Sunday morning, Eva left at the crack of dawn, scrambling out to the airport shuttle after the alarm clock failed to go off. I'm impressed she made it so quickly. Julie and Kelly left later that morning, then Amy, Jen, Dawn and I went to lunch and walked around Golden Gate Park. Amy's husband returned from his weekend "Escape From the Crazy Women" - a smart thing to do when the seven of us are together, as Hubby will attest to. (Being awoken early in the morning to "The Sound of Music" blaring from the TV downstairs is a memory he has from my baby shower weekend in 2001.) I drove back to San Jose, where it was 20 degrees hotter, and made my way home to a smelly home -- what is that smell anyway? Does it always smell like this? -- and cranky Harrison, who was out of sorts from staying up too late picking me up at the airport and couldn't decide if he wanted a bath, didn't want a bath, wanted to use the potty, didn't want to use the potty, etc. Much tantrumming and screaming ensued, but eventually he was in bed and I was doing laundry and going through mail. Back to Reality.

Oh yes, the theme of our weekend ended up being "SexyBack", or rather _____Back, filling in the blank with whatever was going on at the time. Overheard this weekend:

I'm bringing:
Cupcakes Back
Frosting Back
Creepy Back (our visit to the "Cell Phone" lot by the SF airport Friday night)
80s Back
Windy Back (The Golden Gate Bridge and beach by the bridge)
Sweaty Back
Lazy Back
Ugly Back
Drinking Back


Seeing my girlfriends was wonderful, and I love that we've managed to stay in touch and have these reunions over the years, as we all live in different parts of the country (San Diego, San Francisco, St. Louis, Philadelphia and New York City - or Brooklyn and Queens). Truly, we're bringing Friendship Back! OK, that was cheezy. I'm bringing CheezyBack.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

Hutton, one morning, looking out at the rain: "Where does that light go? [This is a new routine he and Harrison have worked out for the car. At every traffic light, ask where it goes. Mommy (that's me!) replies, "To Redmond. To speech therapy. To Woodinville. To Hell." Well, not that last one, unless "Highway to Hell" happens to be on the radio. In which case, Mommy would change the station. Gotta stop referring to myself in the third person as Mommy!] That light goes to the rain! The rain needs to be all done! Rain be all finished!"

Harrison, in the car, on the way to speech therapy, "What's this song about?" We were listening to ELO's "Evil Woman" on the radio. I replied, "It's a song about an evil woman, like Mommy." Harrison said it was "his song" which means he likes it, and he started dancing in his car seat. Gotta love the Jack FM weird variety of songs.

A few days later, also in the car, also on the way to speech therapy, Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" came on. Man, I love that song, and even though I didn't really need my boys to learn new euphemisms for sex, I couldn't turn it off. Harrison, boogieing in his car seat in the back, announced it was his song. Hmm. Let's wait a few more years on that, little guy!

While watching an episode of "Curious George", in which George buries the only copy of a speech the Man with the Yellow Hat is writing, Hutton got very excited. "Curious George is going to speech therapy!" He was glad he and George had one more thing in common, I guess! He loves this show, and has tried many things he's seen, like building dams in the yard, using the garden hose to make rivers to dam.

Tully is Still Gone

And I'm still sad. I've seen lots of missing cat fliers around the area, too, which doesn't bode well.

Last night I swear I heard cats meowing at two different times during the middle of the night, and thought both times, "It's Tully. Wait, no it's the ghost of Tully haunting me." We've had cats before, who "went off to the country." I didn't have the bond with Jaspurr or Purrcy I have with Tully, though. Sounds strange, talking about a bond with a cat, but really, she was a sweetheart and it's like the two of us girls shared the Mom bond. Yes, I'm a crazy cat lady grasping at straws, but that's just how it seems to me.

I miss the feeling of her lying on my feet on the bed at night. I miss sitting on the couch, watching TV, knitting, and looking up to see her on the back porch silently meowing at me to let her in. Last night I was sitting on the couch, knitting and watching TV, and kept looking up to the back door, but no Tully was there.

I discussed getting another cat with Hubby last night, saying if we got a cat who'd never been outside and made sure to keep it in, it might work, but Hubby insisted the cat would get out eventually with the kids and dogs going in and out so frequently. Sigh. I don't know. The Humane Society is having their fabulous 2 for 1 July Cat Sale, or whatever they call it. The influx of new kittens means they need to find homes for the adult cats, so let you adopt two cats for the price of one. When we got J & P as brother kittens years ago, they were in the kitten version of the sale. Guess the Humane Society figured it would help the adult cats more to be in homes, as kittens are easier to adopt than adult cats.

The cynical part of me thinks of it in these terms: Tully had the time living with us, which was more than she would have had if she'd been euthanized. Though as Hubby so nicely pointed out, euthanasia is painless, whereas being killed by another animal is not. Sigh. I miss you Tully.

Tully, Tully, Sweetest Kitty

Tuesday evening, as I was preparing dinner, I looked out the window to see Tully running across the back yard with something gray and furry hanging from her mouth. It was large, so I was hoping it wasn't a rat she was bringing us. She's good at mole and mouse hunting, but tends to not leave those on the doorstep anymore, thank goodness.

It wasn't a rat. It was a bunny. Tully dropped it on the doorstep, and I pulled her inside. I looked out the window. The bunny appeared alive, but as if it were "playing possum". I decided to get a box to move it out to the woods, while Tully yowled to go outside again. By the time I got a box, the bunny had disappeared, so apparently it was well enough to hop off the porch on its own. I was relieved, as I don't like bunnies dying. I'm fine with the mole killing, as I guess I never read "The Wind in the Willows" as a child. I did read "Watership Down" though, and tend to sympathize with adorable little bunnies over their less cute rodent cousins (I know, rabbits aren't rodents. That's why I said cousins!). Strangely enough, I had rats as pets, and like them, but not in their wild or non-domesticated pet form.

Later that night, Tully figured out how to get out of the upstairs bedroom window where the screen is broken. As I was getting ready for bed, she appeared above me on the bathroom skylight, meowing at her predicament. I told her I couldn't help her, as the screen on the skylight doesn't open, but I wasn't worried as she's a good climber and I figured she'd find her way back in. I went to bed and Tully was inside at morning.

Wednesday night, she was up to her window antics again. I went to bed again. Thursday morning at dawn, I heard Tully coming in the window, followed by squeaking sounds. I hoped that it was the sound of a dog toy being squeezed, but had a feeling that wasn't the case. I got up, and say something gray on the floor. I didn't have my contacts in, so had to get closer to see that it was a bunny. A sweet little bunny with some clumps of fur missing. I sighed. It was still alive, but I knew it wouldn't be for long, and I couldn't bring myself to do it in. I got a tissue box and carried it outside, leaving it under a shrub. I hoped it would be able to find its way back to a nest and heal. I checked later, and it was still there, but not looking very live. Sigh. Sorry bunnies! You don't do well in our neck of the woods. See here.

Still, I couldn't really be mad at Tully. She's a cat. She likes to hunt. It's her nature. When we adopted her, the people who put her up for adoption had remarked on her intake form that she was a "good provider" for her kittens. Yes, I bet she was! Bringing me bunnies isn't necessary though. I've never eaten rabbit, and don't plan to start on tiny bunnies my cat has caught for me. No, I'm not a "butcher it yourself" kinda girl.

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

Thursday afternoon, I was painting a table in the dining room with the window open. Tully was lounging on the walkway outside, and I'd call to her and she'd look up with her beautiful green eyes. That was the last time I saw her. She didn't come in Thursday evening. We had been doing well keeping her in at night until she discovered the window screen trick. I thought she's pop in Thursday night, but she didn't. Early this morning, around 4 a.m., I thought I heard a distant meowing, and ran outside, expecting to find Tully. She didn't come. I kept hearing the noise, but I don't know if it was a cat, or another animal.

I had a dream later in the morning that she came back, bringing a dozen little kittens that looked exactly like her with her. In the dream, I remarked to Hubby that I guessed they hadn't spayed her at the Humane Society before we adopted her after all, but that was why she'd run off -- to have her kittens. I was so happy and relieved in my dream. Sigh. Off to do more neighborhood scouring with the boys.

Little (and Not-So-Little) Monsters

Saturday, my BFF took me and the boys and her daughter to see "Elmo Makes Music", a live show with giant Muppets (or maybe they were people dressed in Muppet costumes...no I'm sure they were real Muppets) from Sesame Street singing and dancing. The tickets were Harrison's birthday gift, and it was really a great show.

No, I'm not kidding. The boys both loved it, and Harrison danced around in my lap or in his seat the whole time, and anytime Elmo left the stage, Hutton asked, "Where's Elmo?" One time he said, "Elmo went to go potty." Haha. Who knows, but if it's a person under Muppet fur, it would be quite an ordeal to go potty. And those Muppets really can dance! Big Bird looked a bit odd in person, with shorter wings, and BFF pointed out how big The Count's schnoz was in person, but still, they were getting their grooves on, joined by a human, "Jenny" who was a music teacher new to Sesame Street.

The highlight of the show for me was the Muppets dancing to the Hustle while singing, "Making Music", which segued into Bert, dressed in a hot white disco tux, dancing to a song from Saturday Night Fever, with the lyrics changed. (It reminded me of the Sesame Street Fever days!) Yes, the show was definitely geared to the parents, too, with classic video footage, including the pinball number of the day thing. You remember that, right? "1 2 3 4 5, 6 7 8 9 10, 11 12! Doo da da doo da di doo da doo doo dada doo dooo....Aaahhh, eight!" Yeah, I know it's hard to do those lyrics. I bought the CD from the show, but it didn't have the lyrics printed. Here's the YouTube, but with number six.

We had a totally non-GFCF lunch pre-show, but Hutton seemed fine. And I further pressed my luck with cotton candy at the show (they sold it on these cool light-up plastic sticks, so you had a neat toy after you ate your cotton candy!). Again, he was fine. Until that evening, when he got into the leftover cotton candy and quickly started falling apart. Oh well. It was a one-time only thing, and up until five or six, he was doing great. When we got home, Hutton wanted to go outside, but I was tired and said no, since he had played outside for an hour at BFF's house after the show. Hubby didn't jump in to take him outside, even though he'd been free all day while we were gone. Oh well. Hutton decided to go outside anyway. I figured he would, and went downstairs, to find Hutton coming in the front door, saying, "Uh oh! The Elmo balloon is stuck!"

Huh. "Where is it stuck, Hutton?"
"In the tree!"

I looked up. The giant mylar Elmo balloon I'd spent $8 on (hey! It was fun! I couldn't resist!) was about 40 feet up in a maple tree. I got angry, as I had told Hutton we weren't going outside, and he'd gone outside and let go of the balloon. Hutton got sad and whiny, and soon afterwards the boys were going to bed, after neither wanted the delicious leftover "surprise" dinner I'd whipped up in the microwave. I actually attempted to scale the tree later, after the boys were in bed. I got about 20 feet up before I realized:

a) I'm 33. I haven't climbed a tree since I was about 12.
b) The ground under me is either shrubbery or the stone walkway. I don't want to fall on either. Risking my life, or even a broken limb for an $8 balloon is just plain stupid.
c) Man, my heart is racing. If I continue climbing, I may have a heart attack from fear.
d) That balloon is not anywhere near me. If I make it 20 more feet, I still have to go out on a limb, literally, to get it.

So, the cons won, and I carefully climbed back down. Yes, I've changed a lot since my daring college days, when I was into rock climbing and regularly helped out on the high ropes course, sitting on a tree platform for several hours on Saturday mornings. Then again, both of those involve harnesses and ropes, so if you fall, you're not going to land on a hard surface and break your neck. Well, you still run that risk, but if you've got a good belayer and are very safe, not as likely to fall as when free climbing a tree.

So, Elmo is still taunting me from the tree. "Wuss! Elmo knows you want Elmo! Some squirrel or bird will surely die from Elmo being here!" I may wait a while for the helium to evaporate, and tackle the climb with a ladder. Elmo balloon, you will be mine!

Going Postal

Today I had two annoying shipping related run-ins. This was after spending $20 yesterday to ship a heavy package at the UPS store. Yesterday, we bought birthday gifts for my niece and nephew at Toys R Us. I would normally have just ordered them online, so they'd be shipped, but I had already bought one of the gifts, so was going to have to ship something anyway, so I figured I'd just buy and ship everything myself.

Bad idea. When I got the gifts all nicely packaged up in the big box that fit them all, the box wasn' heavy, but was big. I went online to calculate postage. I didn't have a ruler handy, so I guessed how big the package was. It was going to be over $20 at the post office, or about $20 at UPS, so I decided to ship it UPS.

I also gathered together some other packages to mail at the post office. I managed to sell some of the diaper fabrics I had under the dining room table, so was going to mail those. The most expensive of the fabrics I had wrapped in a nice piece of tissue paper, but I needed a Priority Mail envelope to put it in, since it was at a weird weight that it was cheaper to mail Priority than it would be parcel post. The others were smaller and cheaper. Lalala. Feeling fine. Getting things done. Making money off my crap.

I get all the stuff in my car. Harrison is asleep, but it's already 4:30, so I need to go. I carry him to the car, and he wakes up in the process, but seems fine. Hutton gets in the car of his own volition. Great. Feeling fine.

Get to the UPS Store. Hutton does not want to get out of the car. "Stay here! Stay in car!" I explain to him that I can't leave him in the car, since I don't know how long it will take. Regret not having tinted windows, so I could just go ahead and leave him in the car and not have any busy-bodies telling me how I'm endangering my child by doing so. Get angry and annoyed Hutton, Harrison and giant box out of the car and inside. Hutton immediately starts wanting to use the bathroom, get some water, and other stalling techniques he uses. I tell him he'll have to wait and I get my package on the counter. Harrison happily finds the toy box and stars playing. Hutton gets distracted with reading the numbers on the mailboxes, and forgets his need to pee and drink water. Phew. Feeling fine...wait scratch that. Did the guy just tell me it would be 37 freaking dollars to ship this package?! Jeez. Feeling poor. (Now, I suppose I could have declined to ship the package, and then returned the toys I bought and just mailed a darn gift card. That's what I'll do next time, but I'd already invested two hours or so in the gift buying, so I figured I'd chalk this up to stupidity.)

Hutton is ready to go, but Harrison wants to stay and play with toys. Drag whining child out to car. Get in and head to post office. Hutton again doesn't want to go in, but I tell him he has no choice. Inside, I get a Priority Mail envelope and slip my nicely wrapped fleece fabric inside, while Hutton tells me he needs to use the bathroom and get some water. But still, feeling fine. At least this stuff will not cost much to mail. I've already printed out the Priority Mail postage label at home, so just have to hand it off and pay the cheaper first class mail on the smaller packages.

Get in line. Only a few people. Hutton only tells me he wants to be all done twelve times or so. Get to the counter and hand off my packages. Explain I want first class on the small ones, and the other one is already paid. The clerk puts it on the scale. "Did you weight this at home with the envelope?"
"Yeah."
"It's heavier than what's on the label. I'll have to charge you more."
Distracted by kids, "That's fine."
"OK, it will be $2.90."
I'm about to say, "OK" until I realize she wants to charge me almost $3 more for the weight that the tissue paper must have added to my package.
"Wait, did you say $2.90? It's almost $3 more to ship an extra ounce?!"

The clerk politely explains that it is, and how important it is to weigh things accurately. I tear open the envelope and pull off the tissue paper, then stuff the fleece back in. "What is it now?"

Clerk: "It's still over a pound." She takes the fleece out. The fleece alone weighs 15.9 ounces. The envelope and label apparently add enough weight to make it over a pound. I explain that my scale at home had it at 15 ounces with the label and envelope (well, not the exact envelope, but a plain white envelope of the same material that I didn't want to waste since I knew I could get a free Priority Mail one at the post office. Yes, I'm a cheap bastard.). The clerk gives me a "yeah, sure" nod. She politely hands me flat rate cardboard envelope. "If you can fit it in here, it will be $4.60."

I look at the tiny cardboard envelope in bewilderment. I look at the puffy pile of fleece, then grab the fleece, stuff it in the envelope and proceed to sit on it on the post office floor so I can flatten and compress it enough that I can close the envelope. I am angry about the arbitrary weight issues, but glad I can wrangle the fleece into the flat rate envelope. Of course, it will look like crap when it arrives at the home of the person who bought it, with no fancy tissue paper and in an envelope bursting at the seams. Oh well. She didn't pay extra for shipping. I stupidly sold her the fabric with "shipping included" in the cost. Never again.

I hand off the envelope and the clerk gives me a new address label to fill out. After I do so, I realize, "Wait, this doesn't include Delivery Confirmation, does it?" The label I had already printed out at home, now attached to the old, non-flat rate envelope, included DC, and it hadn't cost extra. Again, I'm cheap. The clerk gives me the, "jeez, what next?" look, then pulls the label off the old package, tearing it in the process. It manages to still stick to the new envelope, and I pay my $3 for the other packages. The clerk points out that I need to make sure to weigh future packages, "so your customers don't have to pay the extra cost." I nod and give a half-assed apology for being short and annoyed, then hustle the boys out, thinking "Customers! They're just some other moms like me who bought my fabric. Hmm, are they really customers? Well, the customer getting this package isn't going to be impressed either way."

I can definitely understand why the phrase "going postal" is in existence. I was going to add a picture of the Priority Mail flat rate envelope, but I have a feeling this post will already land me on a postmaster watch list as it is.

Get the Lead Out!

Hmm. Actually, hunters, go ahead and keep it in, if you're using the gun on yourselves, that is.

I was listening to NPR this afternoon on the way home from Toys R Us with the boys (note to other parents: don't go to Toys R Us before lunchtime with a three-year-old who will refuse to leave until he is hungry and cranky. Then again, if you do, he may pass out in the car on the way home!) when this story came on.

Basically, it is about how condors are still endangered because of lead poisoning, from eating carcasses that had been shot with lead ammo. Hunters go out shooting things with toxic ammunition, and the "gut piles" (carcasses hunters leave behind) that the condors eat are poisoned with lead.

There was an NRA cuntspokesperson on talking about how there was no proof that the lead ammo was responsible for hurting anything, so they weren't doing anything about the lead issue, but to that I say a big, "DUH!" Rather, I yell at the radio about stupid bitches who should be shot, as I wonder how anyone can deny that lead is toxic. Oh sure, it's toxic in paint, but really, it's perfectly fine to use in your ammo when you go out killing Bambi's family, and leave their poisoned carcasses behind to kill endangered species. Fortunately, they had a decent human being on after the evil cunt who said when he heard that ammo had lead in it, he started buying lead-free steel ammo, and it seemed to work just as well, if not better, than the toxic stuff.

I just don't understand how in this day and age people still don't understanding that fucking up the planet with toxic materials just because it's "what we've always done" is wrong. Yes, this goes for mercury as well. Just because it's been used since the beginning in vaccines, doesn't make it safe to use it today, now that we know mercury is a potent neurotoxin! The same goes for putting it in your teeth via "silver" amalgam fillings. And while we're at it, why are they using mercury in compact fluorescent lights? GAIOIGOIURT! This stuff makes me so freaking angry. The environmentalists are all so excited about saving electricity with these things, but if one breaks in your home, you have a biohazard on your hands. Not to mention nobody is going to properly dispose of these toxin-filled shitshards when they eventually burn out. Right now, you have to pay to recycle them at select stores (there's one light store in the area I live in that takes them). Yeah, that's going to go over well. Most people do not know that these shouldn't go straight in the garbage, and that's exactly where they'll end up, ensuring the future destruction of our already toxic world.

Sigh. Where's my gun?

Why I Blog

Read Gouda's post on this here. Or here.

After reading this, I thought about why I blog. I started to be one of the cool kids, like Gouda and Kristen. They are moms I met way back on an online group I joined when I was pregnant with Hutton. And they were bloggers, and I wanted to be cool, too. So, I started my own blog.

At first, I thought someone, somewhere would see my blog and decide they just had to pay me to write for them professionally. (This is the same gullible part of my personality that thought I'd be hired by an advertising agency or publishing house fresh out of college with no experience. I mean, if you don't count my years at the Hallmark store printing stationery, or my internship at the theatre in my college town, where I mostly avoided the advances of the creepy old men who worked there (except for Brian, who was old, but not creepy, but he wasn't interested in college girls for some reason), or my multitude of volunteer work in college that had nothing to do with advertising or publishing. Hmm, the ropes course counselor bit should have been worth something! How about Green Earth Gang? And ECOS? No? Oh well.) Strangely enough, I have not been snapped up to write professionally, yet I continue to blog.

Why? I don't know. It's an outlet for my thoughts and feelings. The ones my children don't care about (yet! There's still time!) and I don't share with Hubby. For some reason, I've kept the blogging secret from him. It's the little part of me I keep for myself. Better blogging than an affair or drug addiction, right?

I also like to post about annoying things that I'm sure someone somewhere will find annoying, too. I like to post the things I think are funny. I know a few people appreciate the "my other ride is a mustache" humor.

And of course, I like to post about Autism, because it is so much a part of my life. Well, I wouldn't say I like to post about it. More that I need to post about it. I'd be more than happy if I didn't have Autism in my life, and could post about the other ups and down of a life without Autism, raising two "normal" kids. In my dream world, I'll post about what I did to recover Hutton from Autism, so other parents can read and say, "Oh great! That worked for someone! Let's try it on little Johnny and see if it helps!" Well, we'll see.

Now that I've been blogging for over a year, I've made lots of great friends. I never thought I'd consider random people I met online as friends, but I love reading what others in the diverse blogger community have to write, and I have found so much support, laughter, and yes, friendship, in my fellow bloggers, and those who don't blog, but read and comment on my blog. So, thank you bloggers! You're one of the main reasons I blog.

And if you want to pay me to do so, please, feel free. You know where to find me.

When Does School Start?

Thursday was the last day of school. We had a nice weekend. Friday was my and Hubby's tenth anniversary, but I'd neglected to find a babysitter early enough, so we had an exciting pasta dinner (rice pasta for Hutton) at home with the boys. Hubby came through with some lovely flowers and chocolates. I pulled the wife card and got him nothing. Oh well. He did get something later on. Wink, wink. Saturday, we went to the zoo. Sunday, the boys played outside and I did yard work. Almost done mulching all of my beds! Now I just have to buy play chips for the swingset area. I'm already tired of moving wood products around in wheelbarrows, though.

This morning, Hutton's ABA therapist called in sick. She's pregnant and has been missing quite a few sessions since her big announcement. Oh well. I didn't work when I was pregnant, so I can't fault her too much. The boys and I ate breakfast, then played three games of Cariboo and a much-too-long game of Balloon Lagoon. When Harrison wanted to play another game, I got off by reading him a Clifford book then turned on the TV so I could read email. We ate lunch, and the boys want to go outside again. I do have another few wheelbarrow loads of mulch to move. Sigh.

I made the mistake of looking in the storage bins under the dining room table last night, where I keep all my fabrics. Jeez, I have a lot of fabric I bought when I was convinced I was going to make Harrison cloth diapers. I ended up making a few, but had all of the bigger sizes from Hutton. So, now I have tons of cloth diaper supplies I know will not be used. By me, at least. Guess I can sell stuff on ebay. But that will involve lots of work. Another sigh. Not to mention all the fabric I bought for curtains. And the tee-shirt quilt I was going to make for Hubby from all of his college tee-shirts. (He was on his college concert committee, so went to practically every show for four years.) Hmm. Turning the tee-shirts into cleaning rags sounds a lot easier at this point. Will Hubby even care about a tee-shirt quilt if I make it, or will it end up in his closet forever? It's not like he's going to sit on the couch with it on his lap, knitting. Yeah, the cleaning rag idea is sounding better all the time.

Sigh. I suppose I need to at least get dressed today.

Yet More Sad News for the Autism Community

There was another drowning yesterday. Story here. Five-year-old Kaylie Dickerson drowned in a holding pond across from her house. There are lots of these holding ponds around here, but they put fencing up around them, presumably to prevent children from drowning.

I wish Kaylie's family peace as well, in this sad, sad time.

Wishing Benjy's Family Peace

Benjy Heil, a seven-year-old with autism wandered away from home last Thursday, and after an exhaustive search, his body was found in a creek less than a mile from his home. Story here.

After last month's episode of Hutton wandering from the birthday party, I looked into getting a monitoring device. He hadn't wandered since the party, so I decided not to get one, but after this, I'm rethinking it. Hutton used to wander a lot when he was first diagnosed, 3 years ago. He'd walk across the street to see the horses, or want to look at the mailboxes. One time, our neighbor found him wading in the creek at the end of our street, wearing a tee shirt and diaper. This was while I was talking to the police officer in the driveway. As soon as I realized Hutton was gone, I ran out to the street, saw my neighbor, and he started looking while I called the police. I am getting tears in my eyes just typing this. I thank my lucky stars Hutton was all right then, and the handful of other times he's run off. (Yeah, that's what we agnostics write, since "Thank God" just seems wrong, though I do still say it a lot, as well as thanking Jesus. I'm agnostic, not atheist, after all!)

Many kids with Autism, Hutton included, are very curious, but don't understand the inherent dangers of the world, that other children learn relatively early on. And the water fascination. Sigh. I am always reminding Hutton when we go outside, stay where Mommy can see you. If I call your name, come to me, or answer so I know where you are. Still, nearly every day my heart stops if I look down for a moment, then look back up and don't see Hutton. He and Harrison love to chase each other around the walkway around the house, but the problem with that is there are so many blind spots, and the seconds before he pops up running around the corner can be agonizing. Yeah, the monitoring device sounds like a very good idea. Fortunately, Harrison is a very good snitch watch dog and will tell me, "Hutton's digging a hole!" or "Hutton's by the neighbor's fence!" The neighbors have two big German Shepherd dogs, and a menacing sign in their driveway about how their German shepherds can make it to the fence in 15 seconds, can you?

Of course, I was a wanderer as a toddler, too. The story my mother likes to tell, which is funny when she tells it, but was not so funny at the time I'm sure, nor with the news above, was when I was about eighteen months old, Mom went to go pick up the babysitter, leaving my dad in charge of watching us kids. He was working on a car in the driveway, and I was playing in the sandbox. Except, a few minutes later, when Mom was driving home down the busy street near our house, she saw something moving on the side of the road. A blurry child came into view. "Oh my goodness! That's a toddler!" Closer, "Oh my goodness that child is naked!" Closer still, "Oh my goodness, that child is LAURA!" Mom wasn't too pleased when she got home and asked Dad, "Where's Laura?" Dad: "Oh, she's playing in the sandbox." Mom: "NO SHE ISN'T! SHE WAS RUNNING NAKED DOWN TWELFTH AVENUE!" Yes, I am lucky to have survived those days, and apparently Hutton got my elopement gene.

Payback is Only Fair

After tagging Agent M with a meme last week, she tagged me back. I assume that I'm supposed to answer all of these in single words, since that's what Agent M did.

Your Best Friend: thoughtful

What Are You Thinking About Right Now: lateness

Your Car: temperamental

What Are You Doing At The Moment: thinking typing

Relationship Status: steady-on

What Is On Your TV: Hoobs

What Is The Weather Like: crappy

When Is The Last Time You Laughed: last night yesternight (I changed it! Look it up! It's a word! And I need to see or read something funny!)

So, who needs it? Gouda? Kimbally? Don't worry, it's easy!

Personal Service

This morning, as I was lying in bed, trying to wake up, though I'd been up a few times already to get Harrison back in bed at 4:30 a.m. when he woke up saying, "Watch it again!" and with Hutton jumping in bed with me and doing his version of the worm a few times (you remember that old breakdancing move, don't you?) I was trying to gather my thoughts to remember what I needed to do.

Finally got moving and did the first thing -- schedule an appointment tomorrow for the lovely Jetta to have recall maintenance done on her brake light, which happens to be burned out anyway, so I needed to get it done. Then I saw the email messages from the teacher and the ABA consultant about school for Hutton next year. I tracked down the special education director's phone number and left a message that I need to go observe the first grade contained class at Sunrise* Elementary. Yes, now that it's the LAST WEEK of school. I love being frazzled, really. But we just had Hutton's IEP, and then re-evaluation last week, so I didn't know what everyone else thought would be best for Hutton until last Wednesday, then Thursday was the big field trip, and Friday we had his ABA session. Oh well. I'll get it figured out.

Another email just read came in, from our insurance company, telling me that Hutton's coverage for ABA was set until September, then we'd need an update. OK. The last line was the one that really got me: "I hope Sutton is doing well~!" Hmm. Did you not notice that his name was Hutton one sentence previous? Do you think we have one of those kids whose name gets changed around as often as possible, to keep him on his toes? Good idea! Better go get Barrison a snack. Hey! I like it!


*Sunrise -- I'm feeling weird about this school, that I know nothing about, because of a cat, of all things. My in-laws have lots of cats. They had a few, then after Hubby's grandmother passed away, his parents went to clean out her house and there were lots of cats, thanks to the fact that her "intact" kitty had just had a litter.
One of these kittens, Sunrise, has Kitty CP or something that caused him to have no motor skills in his hind limbs, so the poor thing lives in the back bathroom with a gate up to keep him inside. He has lots of uncontrollable twitches and drags himself along on his front paws. I just feel bad every time I see this cat. He's a beautiful gray cat with yellow eyes, but doesn't get to the litter box well, and...it's just not the best situation for a cat, let's say. And every time I hear the word, "Sunrise" this is what I think of. If "Sutton" ends up in Sunrise Elementary....well, we'll see!

Thomas, How Could You?!

Theme of the Week - RECALL!

I saw a recall notice on Thomas the Tank Engine toys listed on several of my email lists over the past few days, and finally got around to clicking on the link to see what was recalled. I guess I had "recall" on the brain, since the lovely Jetta is also due for a service appointment to fix a safety recall. I had received the letter a month ago and filed in away in the "maybe I'll see this again this year" pile of papers in a basket on the kitchen counter. A friend pointed out that my rear tail light was out Wednesday night, which is exactly what the recall was for, so that spurred me right into action...two days later.

Back to the Thomas issue. I entered the link - click here!- and feasted me eyes. Thinking this would be some obscure toy I didn't have, I was a bit surprised. Hmm. I have that one. (Well, Hutton and Harrison have it.) Then another, and another. Out of the twenty-three toys recalled, we own fourteen of them. Twenty if you could the three James engines we have (don't know why we have so many Jameses - he's a prick if you ask me!), and the many stop signs and railroad crossing signs. They were recalled because, "Surface paints on the recalled products contain lead. Lead is toxic if ingested by young children and can cause adverse health effects." (from RC2 Corp. press release). Oh, joy. Just what I need, more toxic metals in my home. Well, I wasn't so much concerned about the ones in my home as I was about the ones already in Hutton's brain and other internal organs. Now, I'm concerned about the metals in my home. Every one of those toys has been played with, tough boy style, and have paint chips. Again, just great. I'm seeing a big cleaning session in my future, when I clean up the train table and wipe everything down and vacuum obsessively. Sigh.

So, others of you out there with Thomas-obsessed youngsters, please check around and see if you have any to return. As a Thomas video would say, "Calling all red engines! And some other red and yellow stuff, too. This has caused much confusion and delay!" Not to mention Harrison is not taking too well to seeing the fire station and ice cream factory toys boxed up. Think I'll have to distract him with a movie downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~
UPDATE: After sorting all the leaden trains from the pack, boxing them up and taking them to the post office, I read this on a list: "I checked the numbers on the bottom of each engine listed that we had. It is nearly impossible to see. Black paint on black paint, I think...but it's there." D'oh! After I picked up a Percy lying at my feet and squinting in the light, I saw it. Tiny dark gray letters and numbers on a black background. Crap! So, some of the toys I returned were probably fine after all. Oh well.

More Random Stuff and School Meetings

Yesterday, Harrison and I went to the postal annex at the mall while Hutton was doing speech therapy so I could mail a package. We were waiting in line, and some older, late 50s "gentleman" with greasy gray hair and a Hawaiian shirt was talking on his cell phone, leaning on the counter by the line. He was talking loudly enough that anyone in the vicinity could hear. I didn't really pay attention until he started talking about hooking up with the Southwest flight attendant from Missouri. "Yeah, she's 65, and wow, what a crazy lady! Afterwards, she said, 'Whew! I needed that.' And I said, 'Yeah, me, too, baby!" Apparently whether they'd be able to meet up again in Reno was in question. Man, I sure hope it works out for the guy. It really sounds like they made a love connection. Another customer finished paying, and looked at me and said, "I'm sorry you had to hear that," as he looked at Harrison. I smiled and nodded, but really, Harrison wasn't listening and wouldn't have known just what the IT was. The old greasy guy really was proud of himself and probably wanted everyone to know -- he's still got it, baby!

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

Today I had the follow up to Hutton's re-evaluation meeting at school. There was a bunch of different testing done to make sure Hutton still applied for special services at school. Hmm, he has Autism, talks at about the same level as his 3 year old brother, and has gross and fine motor delays. I wonder.

So, I headed to the school, where the school psychologist led the meeting. Things were going well (or at least, not unexpectedly; Hutton was still delayed in verbal, gross and fine motor skills) until she pulled out the psychological test results, including Hutton's IQ. I grabbed a tissue as my eyes started watering in preparation for what I was going to hear. The psychologist looked at me and said, "Don't worry. We're not going to tell you any bad news!" Yeah, right. I don't think being told your child is below average IQ is exactly good news, do you? She kept repeating that some of the reason the testing doesn't go well is because of Hutton's autism, but that really doesn't make it all better to see the bell curve and all of your son's stats lying on the "wrong" side of the chart. I know that Hutton is smart in his own way, and have faith he'll excel, or at least be proficient in math and science in time, but still, seeing that thin yellow section of the curve where he resides is painful.

The psychologist did have one good point I hadn't thought about. Discussing placement for next year, she said that repeating Transition Kindergarten, which strangely enough, the teacher I dislike wants Hutton to do, based on his youth (he's the youngest in the class) and "immaturity", might not be the best idea. As the psychologist put it, most of Hutton's problems in school are not related to immaturity but to his disability. Autism. That's why he doesn't stay on task and get things done quickly. That's why he is easily distracted, hates disruptions to routine and loud places in the school. I really appreciated that the psychologist pointed that out in the meeting with the teacher, who always focuses on how immature Hutton is, sitting beside me to hear it. I just don't understand why this teacher, who seems to really not like Hutton at all, wants him to repeat the class. Her class. She's the only TK teacher in the school, and they are not going to bus Hutton to another town to be in a different TK class. Just a little bit odd. So, whereas last week I was resolved that repeating TK was the only option for next year, now I'm looking at the other option -- a first grade contained class. (Contained is an all special ed class, as opposed to a general education class.) There's only one week of school left. I guess I better get on it!

Tagged! Eight Things About Me

The talented, and soon to be published, writer and funny blogger Kim Stagliano tagged me to complete this post.

Dah da de duummm.............Eight Things About Me

1. Like Kim, I am a righty with special lefty skills. Unlike Kim, I brush my teeth left-handed. I was ambidextrous with coloring until first grade. Then I guess it was beaten out of me. Just kidding about that last part.

2. I was born in Florida, grew up in Massachusetts, and spent my formidable teen years in Nashville, TN, but managed to escape without an accent of any sort. I can pull out the Baahston accent when talking about the doawhg faahting (sorry, that's my bad attempt at phonetically spelling the Boston pronunciation of "the dog farting"). My sister and I once had a contest to see who could do the Boston accent longer when staying at my dad's house in Holbrook for the weekend. We were inspired by the Beltrimini girls who lived across the street who raawhked those accents! Oh, for more on this see this wicked awesome site I just found on Google. I am actually better at doing a Boston accent than a southern one, though the other day a cashier asked me where I was from with my twang. Huh? Must have doing some slow talking that day. My southern relatives could never understand anything I said with my "Yankee" fast-talking (read: normal speech).

3. I also managed to escape Massachusetts and Nashville without big hair. My sister tried hard to get me to follow her lead, but I couldn't embrace an orb of bangs. The worst I did was bowing to Mom's pressure to get a perm. I had several "body waves" over those hellish teen years. And just so you know, a body wave is the same thing as a regular perm where I had them done. Today, I embrace my flat, limp hair, as if it were my own. Oh wait, it is my own. Maybe I should get someone else's beautiful waves as extensions?

4. I have what my family calls "Hagan toes". These were named after the first distant relative who discovered that his second and third toes were sort of webbed. Or maybe they were named after his wife/sister. Haha, just kidding. I think my great-grandfather, who wasn't married to a close relation, had them and coined the term. The toes are separate for the most part, but the last little section by the foot is connected. OK, ignore the blurry pic and bad chipping nail polish. Warning scary freak toes to follow!



I knew a guy in high school who had the same toe configuration, but I didn't find out until we were in college and having a drunken hot tub toe comparison. Good thing our relationship didn't go far, or we might have found out were were cousins. It's all in the toes!

5. I've had lots of different pets. The animal frenzy started when I was a toddler in Florida, with tiny frogs I'd carry around all day, then bring inside and try to keep in the bathroom sink. Those never stayed around long for some reason. Flebster and Webster, the ducks. Rabbits. Guinea pigs. Gerbils. Hamsters. Rats. Parakeets. Fish. I really wanted goats, but had to settle for visiting the goats some friends of my parents had. In college, my friends surprised me with a tree frog for Christmas (they knew about my frog love, as I was fond of all things froggy). His name was Norwood, and he was very nice, but required live food, which was not always fun. Since Norwood, I've stuck to the more common pets. I have to remind myself not to get sucked in by the cute critters every time I visit the pet store with Harrison, though. (To self: You can barely keep up with the litter box as it is! Just say no to animals that require the changing of cedar bedding!)

6. I was the runner-up in the 7th grade spelling bee. I went to get out of English class for a few minutes. It worked. I got to stay out for the entire class. I can't remember what the word I lost on was. The boy who beat me went on to misspell saltine and I shook my head in disbelief. SALTINE! Other dorky contests: I read the most books in the year in my sixth grade reading class, and I won by a landslide.

7. I was on the Safety Patrol in fifth grade. I don't know why my fifth grade teacher chose me, the shyest child in the class, to don the orange plastic sash with metal badge, but I got to leave class five minutes early and always got a primo spot on the bus, leaving my backpack and trumpet on the last seat before I went on to my exciting job. "Walk!" "Slow down!" Yeah. I've still got it, baby! (I don't play the trumpet anymore. Stupidly enough, I quit in eighth grade, when we moved to Nashville and I had my braces removed, so I never knew what it felt like to play it without sliced up lips. I mistakenly thought I'd appear cool by not being in the band and not having braces.)

8. I can wiggle my ears. I spent so much time as a kid pretending to be a horse "pricking up its ears" that I got those muscles built up. I read lots of Black Stallion books, and every horse in there was pricking up its ears every other page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, those were long, and some were answers and a half. I really rose to the challenge, didn't I Kim? Can you come up with some award for me? Nominate me to be the blog meme answerer of the day, perhaps? Don't worry. I won't need a plastic sash or badge.

Now, who is up for the challenge? I'll tag....

Agent M., since she was tagged already and didn't do it. Doesn't my being annoying spur you on?

and Mom Without a Manual. To take her mind off of school crap. I mean important things we must do to make sure our children are adequately educated.

I have to deal with my own school crap tomorrow at 8 a.m. Why I am up blogging? See what I do for you, Kim?!

Tony, Tony, Tony

Not to be confused with the pop/R&B group Tony! Toni! Toné!, this is about Mr. Anthony Soprano. That Tony.

So, Hubby and I have been watching ole Tone for eight years. We didn't see the first season until it was in reruns, but got hooked pretty quickly. And then we did the, "What's going on? Who are they talking about? Now, who's that guy, again?" for the remaining time we watched.

The dry spell from Harrison's birth to the final season this past year was almost unbearable! Good thing we had a baby to raise to keep us distracted! And we were watching the Sopranos season finale when my water broke with Harrison. Really. June 6, 2007. Look it up! Crazy, huh? Should have named him Tony, I guess! Or maybe Harrison David Chase. Nah, too long.

Last night, Hubby and I sat down to watch the much anticipated series finale. We laughed at AJ's emo silliness -- I especially loved how quickly he went from listening to Bob Dylan in his SUV, to accidentally burning it, and getting the got the oh-so-fuel efficient BMW soon afterwards -- and Paulie's issue with the seemingly Christopher-obsessed cat. I got a great sense of enjoyment seeing Phil die, strangely enough. Probably because they cut to the cute, oblivious babies in the car instead of showing a crushed skull. Then, finally, the end scene. So much tension. And then....

WHAT THE FUCK? Hubby was pissed. "I watched this show for eight years for this! This is the only freaking show I even watch anymore." I pointed out that now he can focus on just watching movies.

After reading the various theories and interpretations of the ending, I'm starting to like the ending more. You know, it appeals to the English major in me, who spent so many years interpreting novels and blathering on about them. You can read any number of things into the way it ended. The symbolism of the onion rings, what's going on with Meadow's parallel parking problems, the cuts to the various diner customers. I thought immediately that Tony was dead, but you never know. As Journey's Steve Perry sang, "Don't Stop..." Oh wait, where's the believin'?! I won't stop believin' Tony!

Happy Birthday, Harrison!

Happy Third Birthday to my sweet toddler! I love you!

--Mommy

Talking My Way Into a Cold, Cold Place

Last week, I revealed a bit too much to my son's Kindergarten teacher, and now I realize that I'm going to have to do something I don't want to do.

Sounds crazy and intriguing doesn't it? Well, it's not all that crazy and intriguing. Read on.

I didn't even talk my way into the cold, cold place. I simply checked a little box on Hutton's field trip permission slip. The box next the words: I'm a scuba diver and would like to help collect specimens to show the class on the trip.

Yep, I revealed my skill, and now it appears that only I and another dad in my son's class were foolish enough to check the box, out of two entire schools worth of kindergarten parents. And now I'm going to have to go diving in Puget Sound next Thursday.

Sounds fun and exciting doesn't it? Well, it is, but it's also very, very cold. Probably low 50s water temp. Sigh.

But, I am getting a bit excited to dive again. It's been six years! My last dive was in Hawaii, though, so not as cold. Time to find the PADI software and get cracking relearning some information I've forgotten. Maybe I'll go beg for someone to come with us at the local dive shop, too: "Yeah, I know I haven't been in here in six years, but I've been thinking about you all the time! Come to Mukilteo and dive with me, please?"

I'm getting cold just thinking about it. Think I'll check into what it costs to rent a dry suit while I'm at it!

Thanks, Tully!

So, about a week ago, I noticed the little mouse hole by the downstairs toilet intake valve was open again. I had stuffed it with Bounce sheets, as I read somewhere that mice can't stand the smell. Well, some mouse with no sense of smell apparently pushed through. I found one of our "no-kill" traps and put it out, and restuffed the hole with Bounce.

It was pushed out again the next day, and the trap was flipped. I picked up the trap, but no mouse was inside. Hmmm. Reset the trap, restuffed the Bounce, wondered what exactly Tully, our cat, was doing around the house if not killing little mice.

Friday morning, I noticed a dead mouse outside on the front walkway. I was going to head out to clean it up after I finished my coffee, but Harrison beat me outside. I heard him crying and rushed out to see what was wrong.

"Mouse!" he cried.

"It's OK, sweetie. Did you see a mouse? Yeah, I think that mouse is only hurt. Mommy will move him so he's more comfortable!" Yep, lying through my teeth.

Or so I thought. When I went to pick up the "dead" mouse, it was actually moving. My skin began crawling in full-on Heebie Jeebies as I carefully picked up the dying mouse with the dog poop rake and moved him to a "more comfortable" death bed, under a tree in an area neither dogs nor boys frequent.

Just typing that makes my skin crawl further.

So, not only does Tully leave partially dead mice on our front walkway, but she also neglects to kill the mice who saunter into our house at will. Yeah, thanks, Tully!

Our Newest Family Member

Presenting...

FINN MCCOOL!


He's a beautiful Betta speldens fish, otherwise known as the Siamese fighting fish. Harrison and I, on our weekly trip to the pet store during Hutton's speech therapy appointment, picked Finn out to be a birthday gift for Harrison and Hubby. (Their birthdays are a week apart.)



I remembered the name from my Irish literature class way back in college, and figured the "finn" part fit a fish very well, and as you can see, he's very McCool. (Bad. I know!) Of course, I've already come up with a nickname for him: Glub-Glub.

The pictures didn't turn out very well - blurry and dark, but you get a good idea of his beautiful coloring and how pretty his fins are. Hence the name!