The Po Show

2010-12-08T09:28:00.000-08:00

The NaNoWriMo That Wasn't

So much for grand aspirations. Even when I set UN-lofty goals for myself, sometimes I still come up short. I wrote on exactly one occasion, a few paltry paragraphs that did little to bring the piece towards anything resembling completion.

But that is perfectly okay :). I am absolutely fine with it. Because some things happened during November, things that make me not mind at all that I didn't write. These are good things; in a way, miraculous things.

I started walking regularly. Like, almost every week day. It may seem strange to have started walking as the weather took a major mercury nose-dive, but the reason it's so perfect is that it's mall walking. I know it sounds odd, to prefer going around and around in circles on the top floor of a mall before the stores are open to being outside in the nice fresh air, but I really do. Walking outside here (as opposed to hiking, which I do enjoy in a totally different way, but it takes a LOT more effort to drive to a place in which it's possible) means walking in the street, since there are no sidewalks in most parts of residential areas here (a thing I HATE). So you have to worry about dodging cars, and the "terrain" is littered with piles of leaves and trash cans and parked cars. The ground can be uneven and I sometimes have trouble getting a rhythm going. In a mall the ground is even and the only things to dodge are the elderly ladies who are basically the only ones there in the morning. The county health department set up a mall walking program (obviously with the seniors in mind) at the two malls here in town, both five minutes or less from my house. At the fancy mall, parking for members of the walking club is free till noon, so I can even shop a bit if I like after walking. Already I feel like I'm getting in much better shape, after only a month. I got some of those ugly toning Skechers, which surprised me by how much I like them.

And here's the real kicker: I'm walking with friends. There's a group of four "pick up moms" that I've known for awhile (meaning they also go to school to pick up their kids in the afternoon, as opposed to those whose kids ride the bus home), and I've been getting increasingly friendly with them. Now that we walk together almost every week day after we drop our kids off at school, and talk non-stop during the walking, we've crossed over from being friendly to being friends. We're even having a holiday party together on the Dec. 20, and there's talk of trying to go away on an overnight trip together. It's been a revelation, after six and a half years of not having a real, "everyday" friend here, to have people to talk to and laugh with and walk around with, in mall circles. They're all very different, but all wonderful women who understand the frustrations and joys of suburban motherhood. Two of them have special needs kids; one has a girl Tessa's age.

Struggling with loneliness and lack of friendship seems like a tween problem, so I didn't fully recognize how much I was suffering till now. It took a while to emerge, but I feel like I passed some threshold. You really can, at the ripe old age of 44, find someone to play with.

2010-11-16T19:16:00.000-08:00

Fourth Grade Morning

We have once again come to National Education Week, which at our elementary school signals the day that parents are invited to come into their children's classrooms to observe what they are learning (for a whole hour). So this morning I found my way to the classroom of the fabulous Mr. Russo, Tessa's fourth grade teacher (he really is fabulous: one of those teachers who was born to teach; who after decades of teaching is still so enthusiastic and energetic and obviously in love with teaching).

I let him know as I entered that I was going to have to leave a little earlier than our alloted time (since I had my weekly appointment with Matthew and his therapist). I sat down, and realized that Tessa was nowhere to be seen. As other parents filtered in, I figured that she'd gone to the bathroom or something, but after several minutes she hadn't shown up yet. Mr. Russo explained that we were going to observe the students in a listening/note taking exercise that will prepare them for the state ELA exams. This is exactly the exercise that Matthew's class was doing during my visit to his disastrous fourth grade year. Finally, Tessa showed up and took her seat, and we all started the exercise (parents were given a worksheet and expected to take notes on the passage as well).

After listening to the passage once, we listened again and took our notes, then we went on to writing exercises. The first was to list four significant elements of one of the story's main plot points. After a few minutes, Mr. Russo called on children to share what they'd written. Most of the responses were sort of vague, though he consistently tried to bring each comment around to a coherent idea and praised each child. Then he called on Tessa and she *nailed* the most pertinent, significant element of the reading. As always, I am dazzled by my child :).

It was particularly impressive because she was not feeling well at all. This morning she started to feel ill before school, but she didn't want to stay home. I told her that since I was coming to school anyway, if she felt badly I could take her home with me and cancel my appointments at Matthew's school. Later I found out that the reason she had not been in the classroom when I arrived was that she'd been in the nurse's office. Since she hadn't had a fever, the nurse gave her some water and some crackers to settle her stomach and she came back to class. I kept mouthing to her from across the room, asking if she was okay, if she wanted to leave. She kept making sad frowny faces and shrugging that she didn't know. Finally it got to the point that I had to leave, so during a break in the exercise, I signaled to the teacher and explained to him that Tessa hadn't felt well that morning and she wasn't sure if she should stay or go home with me. He assured me that she'd be fine, since the day was half over already, so I got up to leave. As I passed Tessa's seat, I told her that if she felt really sick, she could tell Mr. Russo and go to the nurse again and I would come get her. Her eyes filled with tears and she clung to me for a second, but then she let go and went to blow her nose. I left feeling perfectly awful.

All of this worry over Tessa being sick and miserable compounded how I had felt even before I had arrived at school, which was heartsick, emotionally exhausted, and utterly drained. Last night, just after the kids went to bed, I was on FB and saw a picture of our friend Mike tagged by someone we didn't know. The message attached to the photo said that Mike had passed away over the weekend. I was struck to the core.

He was our friend from Ross' grad school days at UCLA; they were in the same cohort. Over the years, we became very close, and by the time Matthew was born, he was one of our closest friends. He was so funny and kind, right down to the soul. He rubbed some people the wrong way, because he never held back from saying just what he thought, and he had a low tolerance for bullshit. He did so much for so many people, whether it was helping someone move or offering up his incredible garden for parties or driving people home when they'd had too much to drink. He loved to barbeque (he's the one who taught Ross how to properly cook really good pork tenderloin) and to tailgate at UCLA football games.

Matthew loved him when he was a baby. After me and Ross and Grandma, Mike was the first person Matthew loved. We thought that was funny at the time, because Mike had been an only child, had never had children, and hadn't spent a whole lot of time around babies. But he was enamored with Matthew and was endlessly gentle and sweet and patient with him.

I wanted to write more here about Mike, about some of my favorite memories of him, but as I said, I'm absolutely emotionally exhausted. I'm also still in shock and utter disbelief that he is gone. We last saw him and his wife Janet four years ago. He moved to Tucson to go to law school back in 2001 and had stayed there, so the only times we saw him after that were when he and Janet were in CA visiting her family. Ross had emailed him a couple of times in the past few years to let him know we were coming to CA, and got no reply, but he didn't pursue the matter very strenuously. I was FB friends with Mike, but he wasn't on much so we didn't have much interaction there. I missed wishing a happy birthday back in August, since his birthday was the day we left for CA for our summer trip and I missed the notification. I thought several times since then of writing to him to see how they were going, but I didn't.

We always think we have more time. We rush through our days bogged down by minutiae, necessary tasks and preoccupations that prevent us from doing those things that we think about, but neglect to actually do. We think there will time in the future to do them. Who on earth would expect that a friend who was a contemporary could lie down to take a nap during the weekend and never wake up? We should have told that person that despite the intervening years and the recent lack of contact, he was a cherished part of our lives and we love and appreciate him more than we can say.

Seize the day, and tell the ones you care about how you care for them.

I love you all.

2010-11-05T15:12:00.000-07:00

Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?
(The original Van Morrison version, NOT the Rod Stewart cover :D)

For some reason, I can't log in to my own Comments as myself. Or rather, when I log in to Comments, it comes up with the avatar and screen name that I use to comment on the AMC TV message boards. I guess they all use the same service, so you can log in under your Google, Blogger, Yahoo, Twitter, etc. accounts.

So I can't comment back to the lovely comments I've received to the posts made since my triumphant (J/K) return. I tend to be a negligent comment-backer anyway, which is a failing on my part, since I always enjoy getting comments back from the comments I leave other people. I should reciprocate more. But now I can't figure out how to do that on here.

And that's a shame, since I would like to reply to the comments I've gotten. It made me feel so good, so loved and so...worthwhile :). That you were actually happy to see me post again, were looking forward to reading what I had to say.

So I don't say it often enough, but I love you, my dear friends :).

2010-11-04T10:53:00.001-07:00

It was Worse than I Thought

No, not the election, which I've been trying to block out of my consciousness :p.

When I decided to finish the short story I had started (over three years ago), from an old idea I had (over seven years ago), I thought I had written about a page and a half. Well, today I actually looked at the file, and I had written exactly 206 words. Three short paragraphs. Heh, as Leila would say :D.

This really highlights how lousy I am at fiction. I get good ideas, but I just can't execute. I *really* can't write dialog that is not stilted and fake, except for when I use things people actually said, which I suppose is not really writing (other than the physical act of putting the words in written form :p). How many times have I written "really" in this paragraph? :p

I like to flagellate myself over this, because I think of myself as a writer. But what kind of shabby writer can't write more than 500 words without withering on the vine? The ability to write blog posts and Facebook status updates does not a writer make. I lack the endurance, the perseverance, the willingness to put in the hard work. Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird was momentarily inspirational to me, until I realized that I *can't* go bird by bird. I do three birds and then I want to jump ahead to the last bird, the one I know about. I don't know those in-between birds. I get story ideas, and I know the beginning and the end, and the opening sentences, and perhaps some bits in the middle, but I just can't fill in the rest. I hate it. It's messy. I don't like messy. So like everything else in my life that I don't like and no one is pointing a gun to my head to do, I don't do it.

My poor, orphan ideas. They deserve a better mother.

PS: Speaking of Anne Lamott and birds, everyone MUST read her new book, Imperfect Birds. Dazzling and funny and heartbreaking and scary as all hell if you're a parent of a teenager or see your child's impending teenagerhood looming in the near future. She so perfectly captured both voices, that of the mother wanting to be the cool, hip mom who is liked by her child, but lives in utter terror that something bad will happen to her, and of the teen girl, who wants to be protected while simultaneously wanting to be left alone to do whatever the hell she wants, whose feelings of invincibility and entitlement lead her to do a lot of really stupid stuff. As they say in actual reviews, Highly Recommend.

2010-11-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Election Day at the Rat House

If that's not a metaphor, I don't know what is.

Today, Tessa was off from school, as she is every Election Day. She asked, weeks ago, if we could go to Chuck E. Cheese (aka The Rat House) on her day off, since Matthew was in school, and we can only go to CEC when Tessa is off and Matthew is not. I decided to ask her friend along, and it all morphed into a grand excursion with three moms and six girls. That was good, though, because they really had a fun time. I honestly don't mind CEC, but it was nice getting to chat with the other moms instead of watching Tessa play games.

It makes me ponder, and makes me feel quite guilty, that I let her social life languish for so long. If it wasn't for her friend Maya's mom, she wouldn't have much of a social life now either. I'm still more or less incapable of contacting other moms for playdates, so I'm so grateful that her mom has no problem calling me up and asking if Maya can come over to our house on such-and-such a day. She invites Tessa to their house all the time, also, and she was so helpful about having Tessa over several times at the beginning of the school year, when I was feeling really ill. I'm actually starting to have a bit of a social life myself, as I've become friends with some of these moms at school.

So the day was spent enjoying the company of our friends, which kept my mind off worrying about the outcome of this election, and the rats that will soon be infesting the House (and the Senate).

2010-11-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

NaBloPoMo

Remember the good old days, like back in 2008? When NaBloPoMo really was a Mo (I mean, month), and November was the month? When it meant something to post every day during November?

I'm still completely unsure how it changed, how NaBloPoMo became an all-year event, in which people seem at liberty to decide when they want to post every day for a month. I get these random emails from the organization, suggesting "themes" for the month, which I trash without even reading because I'm so perturbed that I finally got on the NaBloPoMo wagon (I registered and posted every single day for the first time in 2008) and the wagon morphed into some other type of vehicle.

NaNoWriMo is still alive and kicking, apparently. Last year I spent the month writing about my account of Matthew's life and our trials and tribulations in trying to help him navigate the world. I wrote every single day during the month of November, even if it was only for 10 minutes while Matthew was taking a shower (I didn't want to have him looking over my shoulder at an inopportune moment and ask what I was writing). I got up to the second grade, and frankly I think it is pretty damn good writing. Then I let it languish for several months. Last spring, I revisited the piece, and tweaked a bit here and there. Then for one single, solitary day, I wrote some more. And have not touched it again since.

There are a couple of reasons I haven't written any more. I think the main reason is that I've reached third and fourth grade, and those were the hardest, saddest, most gut-wrenching years. Perhaps I'm not up to the challenge of delving deeply into them again. Also, I think it was therapeutic for me to write what I did, but there's no way I could ever do anything with this. It could not be published, not any time soon (like I could really get it published anyway!). Matthew cannot bear anyone even talking about him, particularly about when he was younger, so how could he possibly accept a book, telling his story, being opened up to the world? Lastly, I just am not feeling motivated to continue right now. I get sad when I think about it, to too great a degree.

So I'm going to try and write some fiction. I had an idea for a story back when Tessa was about two years old. A few years ago I started writing it; I have about two pages. Obviously there is room for further development. It's not going to be a novel, but I'll be fully thrilled if it ends up being novella length. I *am* going to finish though, even if it sucks :).

And I'm going to post more here, in the spirit of NaBloPoMo, the way it used to be.

2010-10-29T07:33:00.001-07:00

It's the End of the World As We Know It
(And I'm Back, Baby!)

Well, that was quite the hiatus. And what topic brings me back to posting? Not the kids (who are doing well, thanks), or my health issues (which are much better, after a bout of badness that was truly not fun), or even the weather (which seems to be finally acting like fall, rather than yoyo-ing up and down insanely).

No, I'm here to talk about the end of the world. Or at least the end of our world, the one filled with electricity and intercontinental air travel and Facebook. I'm trying to figure out what my obsession with apocalypse is all about, because obsession is really not too strong a word.

I'm obviously not alone in thinking about this topic, because there are tons of book and movies and TV shows dealing with various forms of apocalypse or post-apocalypse. Is it an outlet for the fear that seems to be permeating modern life, fraught with climate change and oil spills and devastating natural disasters? Yet depiction of the end of the world is hardly new. There have been countless periods in history in which people have talked about the coming of the end times, with a real sense that it was right around the corner.

What I think is different is that during those periods, it seems that people expected God to lay down the apocalypse, in a spectacular Revelations kind of way. Today the stories all center around man-made destruction: wars or pollution or viruses mutated from experiments conducted in laboratories. In some of the stories, you don't even know what happened, what went down to cause world-wide devastation. Everything goes to hell, but there are survivors, who have to try and keep surviving.

That's the part that fascinates me (to an absolutely unhealthy degree). I'm drawn to questions of what happens to people when suddenly everything they know falls apart, when everyone they know could potentially become a threat. What happens to society? What happens to communities? What happens to individual families?

The stories that draw me in the most are those of pandemic, because I find that the most terrifying scenario of all. The randomness of who will fall ill and who will be spared is haunting. And the worst scenario of all is the (admittedly, highly unrealistic) pandemic in which people don't just die, but turn into something non-human. What greater uncertainty and terror could there be than when the people you love the most could suddenly turn into monsters who want to destroy you?

So here's where it gets dopey. Long before I developed this obsession with apocalypse, I had a phobia. Of zombies. Since I was a teenager, I've been absolutely fucking terrified of zombies. I used to have nightmares about being chased by zombies. I'd have nightmares about people I knew suddenly turning into zombies and trying to catch me. I've never seen Night of the Living Dead or any other zombie movie, because just looking at still photos is too much for me. Watching a whole movie would probably kill me. I did see I Am Legend, but only by watching it on cable and fast forwarding over the parts with the infected (and they aren't really zombies anyway, since they are not undead).

I've thought a lot about why zombies are such a popular, enduring theme (and they're more popular than ever now, and have really gone mainstream). Why are they (and vampires) so compelling? I think it's the whole undead thing, the idea that they're really hard to kill, since they're already dead, so that is a very scary plot point. And the whole relentless, unstoppable horde image is very frightening, as is the idea of becoming a zombie by being bitten by one. Plus, zombies EAT PEOPLE, so you get the huge gore factor that is necessary to that subgenre of horror movies, that I simply can't bear.

My recent problem has stemmed from a collision of my obsession and phobia. In other words: zombie apocalypse. It's been done in traditional horror films (which focus on the gore and terror, without the sociological issues) and in semi-comedic ways like Zombieland, but now there's a new series on AMC based on the comic book series The Walking Dead. This isn't a mindless gore fest, but a serious, thoughtful look at how human beings devolve under the pressures of survival under terrifying conditions. I've spent the last couple of weeks reading about the comic book series (lots of synopses, as I can't look too much at the actual comics, which are pretty horrifying). I tried my best to read about the TV series without actually having to look at depictions of the zombies themselves, but that ended up being impossible. I actually managed to read the articles that were prefaced with some zombies photos, so perhaps I've extinguished the phobia a bit. I even watched some interviews with the creators of the show that were interspersed with brief scenes from the show that featured zombies. The show looks brilliant, true character studies of people who find themselves transformed by the tragedies that have befallen their world.

But I can't watch it. It's just too much for me. So I keep thinking about it, about the story lines I read, about the images I saw. About the end of the world, only it doesn't really end.

2010-06-14T07:06:00.001-07:00

Principal for the Day

Wow, over a month since I posted here last! Much of that has been spent obsessing and being depressed over having to go to Minnesota to visit Ross' dad and that whole branch of Ross' family at the end of the month (I keep meaning to post about that, but I get depressed :p). (Ross' dad is doing pretty well, BTW; they've started him on hormone therapy since they still can't operate on his prostate tumor, due to his heart, but overall he's feeling okay and in good spirits.)

Anyway, last Friday, Tessa finally got to be Principal for the Day at school. This was the prize that we won at the Spring Fest last March. It was the only thing she really really wanted to win, so I bought $40 worth of tickets and tossed them all in that bag (each prize had its own raffle bag). Scheduling the day proved difficult, but it was finally set last week.

She had a wonderful, busy day. I dropped her off in the office, taking pictures of her with our school principal before I left. This was the principal's last PftD, as she is retiring. I also got a picture of Tessa sitting behind the principal's desk, looking very official and professional :). She was given a special pink pen and instructed to take notes of her experiences throughout the day, which began with reading the morning announcements over the PA system. Throughout the day, she typed up her notes and later printed them out to commemorate her experiences. This is what she wrote:

"It all started way back in March when my ticket was picked out of the bag at the Spring Fest. I'd won principal for the day! I was SO excited! Now it's 6/11/10 and I'm principal for the day. So far I've done morning announcements, visited the DUAL-language and Special Ed. classes. Here are some of the notes I took when I observed the kindergartners:

* Doing author study in Mrs. Ziela's class
* Learning vowels in Ms. Derenzo's class (I think)
* Kids coloring in Ms. Rodrigues's class
* Kids in Special Ed. played a game with a ball

I also said good bye to the kids going on a field trip (not in that order). I can't wait 'till the rest of the day!

Now it's later in the day (almost lunch time) and I've visited the first graders. Here are some notes I took when I observed them:

* Read-a-loud in Mrs. Andrade's class
* Reading in Mrs. Mollo's class
* Kids are reading in Mrs. Sharkey's class
* Kids in Mrs. Derusso's class are reciting poems

I also looked at some books. I found some books that I liked.

Now that I've had lunch, I typed down this memo (what you're reading). I really liked being principal for the day with Mrs. Havis :).
PS: I'll miss Mrs. Havis"

It was with somewhat mixed feelings that I read this. I'm thrilled that she had this wonderful experience, and I'm proud of the way she conducted herself through it all. She's so poised, even when she's nervous (which she was, going into school). I'm so happy that she is so happy at her school.

Yet I can never forget that this is the same school in which Matthew was so profoundly unhappy. I have to say that I am not sorry to see Mrs. Havis go, that I'm not going to miss her. She had less to do with the missteps and gross injustices that were inflicted on Matthew than did the assistant principal (who left abruptly last year when she wasn't awarded tenure at her review), but ultimately, it was her fault, because what happened at that school is ultimately her responsibility.

I've had people remark to me that they were surprised that I left Tessa at the school after Matthew was finally allowed to transfer, and while I am positive it was the best thing for her, it has been with some amount of resentment and ill-feeling that I have continued to walk into the place. Most people who knew Matthew are genuinely kind, and always ask how he's doing and tell me to say hello to him. But his third grade teacher, whom I've seen numerous times in the last two years (and who, I will always believe, precipitated much of the tragedy and struggle that he experienced the year he was in her class, and the subsequent year as well), has never once asked about him. Neither has Mrs. Havis.

2010-05-11T06:54:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day

On Friday, Matthew came home from school and handed me a plastic grocery bag. "Is that my Mother's Day present?," I asked. "Why don't you give it to me on Sunday?"

"I have to give it to you now, since there are parts of it that will rot," he replied. Well, who could resist that enticing lead-in :D?

He had made a lovely hand-painted flower pot, painted purple (Matthew's favorite color) and green (my favorite color :)), filled with a fruit bouquet. Skewers of strawberries, melon, and a flower-shaped piece of pineapple bloomed festively from the flower pot. There was also a green construction paper card, which read:

"Dear Mom,

you're the best mom ever, and I thank you for all you've done for me. I love you and I hope you have a happy mother's DAY.

Motherly
Outgoing
Tender
Helpful
Encouraging
Remarkable"

Talk about remarkable!

Tessa concealed her school-made gift, as well as the one she made for me at home, until Sunday morning. At school they had made fabric flowers, and she showed me how she had chosen different fabrics for each layer, with as many green fabric pieces as had been available. There was a pretty little hand-drawn card, that read:

"Roses are red, violets are blue, I made these flowers especially for you. I love you!"

She also made me a yarn and pom pom kitty, and a card with a ribbon and button flower. Again she wrote, "I love you" with lots of cursive Xs and Os.

I can't tell you how much I cherish this handmade Mother's Day gift period of our lives. I look to the future, which will no doubt include them sending me a card (perhaps a day or two late) and calling (if I'm lucky). Maybe I'll get flowers or something else purchased over the internet. But I'll still have these handmade expressions of love, paper and cloth and ribbon, that they put their whole hearts into as they made them.

I'm so lucky to be their mother.

2010-05-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

A Revist

In my various attempts to make myself feel better about not getting to work at Gymboree (not the least of which is realizing with gratitude that I can still do things like go on Tessa's field trip to the Bronx Zoo and attend Matthew's school Field Day, which is a huge deal), I reminded myself for the upteenth time that I need to start working on my book again. I have not touched it, have not opened the document, since NaNoWriMo back in November. Hey, it's May now!

So this morning I sat down and reread what I've written so far. I did some light editing as I read, and I cried at some of the traumatic parts all over again. And I realized that it's actually, well, good. I'm only up to the beginning of second grade, though, so I still have the most difficult part to get through, namely third and fourth grade. I think it's been the thought of that daunting task that has kept me from coming back to it till now.

So I'm going to need a little motivation, so please, dear friends, if you could give me the occasional kick in the ass, I'd appreciate it :).

2010-05-04T07:03:00.000-07:00

The Job That Wasn't

Ross says that it isn't always a question of why small businesses fail, but why some manage to stay in business. This, given the level of ineptitude and downright flakiness of people.

Almost two months ago, I was pissed off because our bathtub faucet was leaking again (this was the third time, and our landlord just keeps changing the washers rather than replacing it, because he keeps insisting that it's fine, despite the fact that periodically water gushes out and won't stop). Anyway, I did what I usually do when I'm pissed off about this house: I started looking on Craigslist for new rental listings. As usual, there were no good houses for less than $3500 a month or so, so I looked briefly to see if there were any interesting writing jobs listed. As usual, there were none. Then I did something I never do: I clicked on the "All jobs" header. As I scanned through the listings, the word "Gymboree" jumped out at me. It was a listing for teacher positions at the Gymboree Play & Music school nearby, with an informational meeting to be held that Monday evening.

This sparked something, the thought of getting to sing and dance and play with cute little toddlers. I loved the Gymboree classes that Tessa took when she was a year old, during that brief time after I quit working and before we moved out of LA. I sent an email to the posting address, attaching my resume and a cover letter. Then I spent two days vacillating on whether to actually go to the meeting.

I did go, and it was fun. The owner of the school (she owns six Gymboree Play & Music locations) was there, and she was very enthusiastic about the program and what it offers young children. At the end of the session, I mentioned that the Craigslist ad had stated that an interview would be given, but she said that the evening had been the "interview." Then she smiled at me and said, "I already know who I want to hire." I got home and sent her a nice "It was such a pleasure to meet you" email.

Two days later she called and said that she'd been very impressed with me and she was sure I would be a perfect teacher. She asked me if I could go to the school the following day and observe some classes to see how I thought I would like teaching, and that she would call me again to follow up. She asked about my summer plans and I said that though my kids were going to be in camp part of the time, there would be weeks in which I would need to be home, so she asked me to send her an email with my availability. I promptly did so, letting her also know that we go to CA for several weeks at the end of the summer. I said that I realized that being gone for a month was probably too long to be away from my classes, so I asked what would be considered an acceptable absence.

The next day, I went (though I had to change some plans I'd made for the day) and met the manager of the school, who led the classes herself. The babies and toddlers were so fun and adorable. I left feeling very good about the prospect of working there, and I was excited about reentering the "work world." This seemed like the perfect situation: part-time while the kids were in school, but at a decent hourly wage.

That was Mar. 18. As of Mar. 24, I had not received a call from the school owner, though she'd assured me that she'd call after I'd had a chance to observe the classes. I sent her another email, letting her know I'd enjoyed the classes very much and was eager to begin training. I didn't have a business number to call her back (she'd called me from home, and I felt uncomfortable calling there) and the school phone number on the Gymboree website went straight to a voicemail for three of the schools, saying that if you'd like to schedule a preview class, please leave a number. I was sort of confused that she hadn't called me back, since she'd seemed so eager to get the ball rolling on bringing me into the position.

The kids and I went to CA for spring break, came back, and there was still no phone call. I'd sort of written the whole experience off, when she called on Apr. 9, three weeks after she'd said that she'd call, and left me a message. The message was a little bizarre. She said she'd had a sick child in the hospital and had been very busy, and though she didn't know "who had dropped the ball," it had been a long time since we'd talked. She asked me to call her back and let her know if I was still interested in the position. This set off some warning lights, since she seemed not to remember that she was supposed to have called me back. Still, I returned her call, and she said her daughter had had an asthma attack and was in the hospital for several days (though this daughter is 28 years old and lives in her own apartment, which didn't quite jibe with my image of a "sick child"). We had a good talk and she was again very enthusiastic about me coming in to teach. She asked if I could participate in on some classes that week, which I did. Then I waited for her to call me back, which did not happen. I finally called her again and spoke to her very briefly, as she was running out the door. She asked if I could go in to observe some music classes, since she needed a music teacher as well as a play class teacher. She said she would call me again the following day. I said that was fine, but I really did need to speak to her regarding my summer schedule while the kids were off from school, and I mentioned that I had sent her the email she requested regarding my availability, in addition to several other emails. She replied, "Oh, I get so many emails to that address. I'm sure they're in there somewhere," so it was obvious that she had not read them.

On Apr. 14, I went in the observe the music classes, and I stayed for some play classes as well. I did not receive a call the next day. I called and left a message on Apr. 16, asking her to call me so that we could work out scheduling issues. I still have not heard from her.

Last week, on Apr. 26, there was a message from the manager of the school, saying that the owner (who had been under the impression that I had already been training all these weeks) had asked her to call me to ask me to come in to start training. I said that I really needed to talk to the owner to work out all my summer scheduling issues, and she said she'd try to convey that message, though she was struggling to get in contact with the owner herself (which was apparently a typical situation). She did promise to try and call me by the weekend with an update. The weekend came and went with no call.

Yesterday, May 3, the manager left me another message saying that she had not yet been able to get ahold of the owner, but she wanted to call me to let me know that she'd been trying. I decided that the time had long passed to bag this whole deal, so today I called her back and told her that I was withdrawing from the position. She said she completely understood.

So now I'm sad about this whole deal. I really would have liked to work there. The manager and other teachers were all really nice and the kids were absolutely adorable. It would have been nice to get out into the world again. But I decided that since I have the rare luxury of not "having" to work, I should not get embroiled in a situation that is obviously full of disarray. I know, I could have tried it and quit if I didn't like it, but I didn't want to waste the manager and other teachers' time training me (not to mention my own time) for something that probably was not going to work out. I was privy to several messages from other teachers at the various schools, through the teachers' Yahoo group, and there were constant messages to the owner asking about missing hours on paychecks and problems with supplies and air conditioning, largely to no response. I have so much aggravation in my life; do I really need more?

I believe that is a rhetorical question :).

2010-04-23T09:36:00.000-07:00

Bumper Sticker Wisdom

I thought of a saying to go on a bumper sticker (or refrigerator magnet or whatever purveyor of life's truths you prefer):

"Motherhood is having soup for lunch, even when you don't feel like it, so that your child may have the can for a science project"

Guess what I've had for lunch three times this week :p?

2010-04-19T06:08:00.000-07:00

Heartstrings

Today is Matthew's friend Ana's birthday. This is the girl who has baked him cookies, who made him a two-foot-tall card for Valentine's Day. A couple of weeks ago, he told me that she had invited him to her class birthday party (kids can invite someone from another class, particularly if they are in the same unit); he was terribly pleased about it. Last week he decided that he'd like to buy her a birthday present. He'd thought about it carefully, and said that she did not have a backpack, so he wanted to get one for her. He did have the foresight to ask if she actually wanted a backpack, and she'd said yes. I have the feeling that she would have said yes to just about anything, if he was getting it for her. Last Friday, as the bus dropped Matthew off at home, Ana leapt up and gave him a huge hug. I had to go into the house, so he wouldn't see me clutching my hand to my heart and going, "Oh my god! Oh my god!"

We spent a lot of time over the weekend looking for backpacks. This is just not the time of year for prime availability. After about the fourth store, we found one that he liked (and didn't cost $40). He had already chosen a gift bag and a card. During his initial shopping trip on Saturday with Ross, however, he had suddenly gotten anxious that he didn't know the rules about students giving each other presents for their birthdays. He was worried that he would not be allowed to give one to her. I was confused, since when he had initially told me he wanted to buy Ana a gift, he'd said, "People do that sometimes." But he now said that those had been small gifts, like a Yugioh deck or something. I told him that I'd call on Monday morning to confirm that it was all right, and we could always take it back if there was a problem. He could give her the card in any event.

This morning he paced about nervously until I could call his therapist at 8:30. She was not in, so I left her a voice mail. A little before 9:00, just before Matthew's bus was due, I called again. She said she'd just left a message with the unit director asking if it was all right, and Matthew could bring the present just in case it was approved. I was in the process of trying to fit the bag and the backpack into Matthew's backpack when his therapist called back, saying that it was fine for him to give Ana a present. I went into a flurry of adding tissue paper and curly ribbon to the gift bag, moments before the bus came. Matthew was very appreciative.

As I said good bye and closed the door, my heart felt tight in my chest. Girls, and growing up, and more life chapters. It's one thing for him to be 5'8" and need extra large men's socks (the package says they fit size 12-16 for god's sake!), but another entirely for him to think so much about a girl. Aspergers can be a surprise, since it makes you make assumptions that don't always hold true. I thought he'd be delayed in these kinds of feelings; I worried that girls would be slow to see him in this light. And while he is still very delayed in so many social aspects, his heart appears to be right on course.

2010-04-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

I Got Better

I was thinking of the scene from Monty Python's Holy Grail:

Villager: She turned me into a newt!
Knight: A newt?
Villager: I got better...

So yes, I am sorry I caused you to worry, because I seem to no longer be a newt. Or horribly dizzy. Or afraid to drive.

Perhaps I needed more sleep, or I was more allergic to the stuff in CA than the stuff here (despite the layer of yellow-green pollen covering everything here). Or that I'm back home with my neti pot, so my sinuses are clearer.

In any event, thanks for caring, sincerely. Smooch!

2010-04-08T14:13:00.000-07:00

Bad Brain Syndrome

I don't feel too well.

It started while I was in CA last week, and I just sort of powered through it because I was having so much fun, and there was no way I was missing out on that fun. But from the second day I was there, I started feeling really dizzy and disoriented. I chalked it up to jet lag (what with with leaving the house at 5:30AM and flying across the country, having a big family dinner, then staying up till 11:00, or 2:00AM EST, then getting up in the middle of the night because my grandniece was crying and wanted to go home). That was on top of the extreme exhaustion I was already suffering from having not slept the night before we travelled (since Matthew woke up at 11:00PM and never went back to sleep). ANYWAY, I was understandably tired.

I blamed that exhaustion for the hair-raising drive home I went through after a fabulous girls' night out in Pasadena. I only had one drink at dinner, hours before the end of the evening, and felt okay as I was leaving, but once I started down the freeway, it was like I'd been lobotomized. I couldn't feel my hands on the wheel. My vision was, not blurry, but distorted, like looking through choppy water. My heart rate shot up and I started to panic, and my senses got even more distorted. I realized that driving was not the safest thing to be doing at that moment, and thought of pulling over, but I knew it really wasn't going to get better. I didn't need more coffee, or a breather; I needed to get home. So I shook my head and turned up the radio and tried singing really loudly till my throat was hoarse. I chewed three pieces of gum at once, to try and still the tremor in my jaw. I clutched the wheel so that I could feel my hands, and I stayed in the far right lane. It was absolutely harrowing, and I felt like cars were speeding past me at 100 miles per hour.

Two days later, Tessa and I went to Disneyland. We had a marvelous time, as we always do when we go there by ourselves. But I was struck by bouts of dizziness throughout the day, and I dreaded when I would have to drive home. It was not as bad as the previous drive, as it wasn't quite dark yet, but it was bad enough. The following day, I had to drive myself and the kids down to Long Beach and back, an hour and a half drive, and the dizziness hit me even in the full light of day.

Today, I started out tired because Matthew was up in the middle of the night again, and I never really went back to sleep. As soon as he was out the door to the bus, I headed to the couch and took a two-hour-long nap. Me and naps, we go way back. I love my naps. I'm one of those people who can grab a ten minute cat nap and feel really refreshed. But when I woke up at 11:00, I felt awful: incredibly dizzy and out of it, and vaguely nauseous. I took a shower and had a double espresso, and an additional two hours later I still felt terrible.

I had to run to the grocery store for a few things, and as I was driving, I started to feel that dissociative feeling again, like my hands and my head were not connected. I felt like cars in the lanes next to me were drifting out of their lanes, coming too close, and then I'd realize that they were not. I clutched the steering wheel again, trying to hold on.

So yeah, I'm sure by this point you're all yelling at me through the monitor: "GO TO THE DOCTOR!!" I'd be yelling the same thing, from the second paragraph, if I were you. But what am I supposed to say? "My brain appears to not be working, and I can't feel my hands when I drive. And all the other cars are driving too close to me, and are passing me way too fast." What is my GP supposed to do with that information? Do I need an optometrist? An opthamologist? A neurologist? Is it my allergies (I'm not congested at all, thanks to all my lovely allergy meds, but that could explain the dizziness)?

I think that for some reason, my brain is just on the fritz right now.

2010-03-17T06:12:00.000-07:00

Gifts

You know how there are terrifying moments when you, for absolutely no reason, are suddenly gripped with the fear that something terrible has happened to your sleeping baby? I did this all the time with Matthew when he was an infant, once practically sticking my fingers up his nose to make sure he was breathing (part of this came from the fact that he slept so little, so when he did sleep for an appreciable amount of time, I was wracked by fear that he'd died of SIDS).

This is another recent February Break story. There was one morning during the vacation week that Tessa slept in really late, like till almost 10:00. My children do not sleep late. Matthew is up around 6:00AM almost every morning, and it's rare for him to sleep past 7:00. Tessa sleeps later, but very rarely past 8:30. But for whatever reason, she slept late that morning. I bustled about as usual; Matthew and I both had breakfast and I cleaned the kitchen and did other random stuff. And as it got later and later, I was suddenly struck by the fear that she was not going to wake up, that she was dead.

Of course I knew that that was silly and improbable. But I flashed on the scene in "Mask" in which Cher's character goes into her son's bedroom to wake him up in the morning and the moment she walks in, she knows, she knows, that he's died in his sleep. Her eyes fill with tears, but she still goes through the motions of telling him to get up and opening the window shades. But then she touches him, and it's confirmed, and she gathers him in her arms and rocks him and tells him that now he'll have no more pain.

So I went into Tessa's bedroom and looked at her, asleep under her covers, with her porcelain skin and her raven hair and the beautiful long lashes of her closed eyes. She was still. I waited. And then I saw the rise and fall of her breathing under her Hello Kitty comforter. I walked out feeling sort of stupid, but strangely reprieved.

You see, from the time she was born, I always said that somehow I couldn't believe that she was given to us, that she was ours and that we got to keep her. She seemed too good to be true. It's inexplicable to me, since with all that it took for Matthew to be born, I should have felt that way about him. Yet while Matthew struck me as a miracle, Tessa felt like a gift. Something you hope for and dream of, but are somehow surprised that you actually receive.

That morning, I felt like I'd been given the gift of Tessa all over again, if only in my own mind.

2010-03-02T05:58:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day Redux

Oh, so many good stories, so little time. I've been wanting to write this one down for, well, since Valentine's Day, and it's March now. February Break intervened, and then we had Snowicane '10, and today I finally have ten minutes free. (Maybe yesterday I would have had ten minutes to spare, but Matthew's school ended up closing because they had no heat!)

Anyway, since Valentine's Day (I just can't abbreviate that to VD) fell on a Sunday this year, the kids had their school celebrations on the Friday before, which was also the last day before February Break. Tessa had made cards for all of her classmates, and not just a simple "To" and "From" on a piece of paper, but heart-shaped construction paper pockets filled with candy, and with a handmade Shrinky Dink affixed to each one. For 22 kids. Plus she made her teacher a notepad. Needless to say, this took a long time.

As a Valentine's Day fundraiser at her school, the fourth graders sell stuffed animals, pencils, and silk flowers, which are delivered to the recipients in each class. They used to sell candy as well, but I guess someone put the kibosh on that. Tessa filled out her form, sending stuffed animals to her best friends. She folded the form up tightly, asked me to include a check for $9.00, but to PLEASE NOT LOOK at the form, particularly the name written on the fourth line. I was annoyed, saying that I can't look at it, but I get to pay for it? She pleaded further, and I figured she was sending something to a boy and was embarrassed, so I let it go.

For Matthew's classmates and teachers, we bought pre-made cards from Target that held Pixie Stix, and then added an extra fun-size pack of candy. This was a step down from last year, when I went *insane* and spent $60 on candy and made these ridiculously enormous bags for each kid. I was trying to reciprocate for all the amazing goody bags Matthew had brought home in celebration of other kids' birthdays. I later found out that the teachers assemble these goody bags, not the kids' parents. Oops.

Since he only has nine other kids in his class (plus three teachers, the unit director, and his therapist), Matthew was done pretty quickly. Then he decided to make a card for Ana, a girl in one of the other classes to whom he's taken a liking. She's also 12, and this is her first year at Clear View. She is also from White Plains, and is actually on Matthew's bus, so they sit next to each other every day. As Matthew describes her, "She's really nice. I don't even know why she's here [at the school]!" For Ana, Matthew chose a card that read "You're My Sweetie," which I found amusing.

When Matthew returned home after school on Friday, he was carrying a foil-wrapped paper plate. On it was a large, very elaborately decorated cookie. It was from Ana, whose class had baked cookies that day. Each kid made one cookie and decorated it. Ana chose to give hers to Matthew. She also gave him a HUGE (I'm talking, over two feet tall) handmade card, with dancing hearts drawn inside. I found this sort of poignant. I knew that he was smitten with her, as I'd had some stories related to me from his therapist about their interactions during free time, when kids from different classes can play board games and such together. But I didn't realize that it appears to be mutual. It made me happy, to think he may really have girlfriends in the future, that someone may love him. This has worried me, through all the years that he had so much trouble with girls at school thinking he was a freak. It also made me want to cry, to think that he really is growing up. But mostly, I was happy that he was happy. He ate the whole cookie.

Oh, and the mystery recipient of Tessa's gift, the one I wasn't allowed to know about? It was me. She presented me with a pink silk rose as I picked her up from school. It's nice to know that as one child seems to be growing a bit more up and away, the other still considers me her valentine.

2010-02-20T13:00:00.000-08:00

Tessa's Day of Relaxation

Tessa and I are staying home today, since it is the official Tessa's Day of Relaxation. Ross and Matthew just left to go to CVS and go for a walk (waaaaay too much sitting around lately, since it's been too cold to do much outside), but Tessa has to stay in, because it's her Day of Relaxation. She decided weeks ago that Feb. 18 would be the TDoR, but she was willing to be flexible, since on that day they were having a special Science of the Circus show at the NY Hall of Science.

She was, however, not willing to give up her TDoR. She could not go out and do anything today (she was willing to go out to lunch, but it had to be somewhere that involved NO walking further than to and from the car, so we ended up staying home for lunch). She could not do any cleaning of her room. She did get dressed, but not till almost noon.

She has not been idle; she's played Wii and played on cartoonnetwork.com and made some leashes for her Zhu Zhu pets and now she's making a complete board game from scratch. But nothing that she perceived as strenuous could be done today, because it was the TDoR.

We repeatedly asked WHY she needed a day of relaxation, since her normal days are hardly taxing, and she's been off from school all week for February break. She's spent tons of time reading and watching TV and playing online, which really ought to count as relaxing activities, but apparently this was not enough, and a dedicated day of relaxation was warranted.

Yesterday she mentioned that people thought she was weird. I got all bent out of shape and asked if kids at school called her weird. She quickly said that just a couple of kids at school thought she was weird, but that some others said that they "just didn't get her." She seemed fine with this, and said that she thought that was probably because she was so creative.

That's my girl, my funny and odd and interesting girl, who is so secure in who she is and what she wants. I don't get her either, a lot of the time, but I would really really like to be more like her.

2010-02-04T06:26:00.000-08:00

Mental

When you have a special needs child, you are constantly wondering how that child's development differs from that of his/her "normal" peers. As he's grown older, I've wondered how Matthew's self-awareness, his self-image, has been affected by external perceptions of who he is and what's he's like. For the longest time in school, he suffered a barrage of abuse from other kids over labels like "weird" and "crazy." It was bad, hideously bad.

Now he's gone through a lot of healing, through being in a place where the kids really understand that everyone there has issues. Though they totally get on each other's nerves at times, everyone understands that the others can't help how they behave. And he's surrounded by teachers and other adults who utterly and completely get him and know how he needs to be engaged. But it's still just one part of life, one part of Matthew's world. There's still the world outside of school, outside of our own home. There are people whom he encounters who don't understand him, and that will continue throughout his life.

And then there's the rest of the world. What has really gotten me thinking is media; specifically, how special needs kids, and special needs persons in general, are portrayed. What set me off on this round of musings was a show that my kids have started watching on Nick, called The Troop (they have just recently started liking live action tween shows, which they used to abhor. Tessa once drew a picture of a person running away and screaming, "Red Alert! Emergency! Drake and Josh Marathon!!") On this show, teenagers in a secret organization called The Troop are recruited to kill or capture monsters that have wandered in from other dimensions, and return them to their own dimensions. In one episode, they are discovered by a bad guy teen character, who wants to use the monsters to take over the world. They thwart his efforts, and at the very end of the episode it's revealed that he's locked up, ranting and raving about the monsters, in a facility called the "Lakewood Institution for the Emotionally Challenged." Hahaha, how funny!

Except if you have a child who *is* emotionally challenged. Or emotionally disturbed, as the official designation still reads. Or emotionally disabled, which sounds nicer, so I wish they would use it as the official designation. In any event, it's not so funny then.

I've noticed on shows like iCarly (which is the show that my kids were forced to watch with their cousins when we were in CA over the holidays, and which led them to discover that they actually liked some of these live action tween shows), there are a lot of jokes along the lines of "Did you take your medication?" when a character is acting erratically. Or "He'll have to deal with that with his therapist" when a character experiences something upsetting. But all light-hearted and laugh track-infused. I think of all the times parents worry aloud that something they did is messing up their kids, and someone else jokingly tells them, "Oh, don't worry, they'll get you back when you get hit with the therapy bills!" Hahahaha!! How hilarious!

Except if you have a child who *is* on medication, who *does* have a therapist. What does that child think of all of this hilarity? Hahaha, your suffering is so the stuff of comedy!

I know this is all indicative of how uncomfortable our society is with mental illness, and really with behavioral differences in general. When you're uncomfortable with something, you either ignore it or make a joke about it to diffuse the discomfort, and when it comes to mental illness, society does both. I say "society" like it's some abstract thing, but what it really means is people. People do that. And what does that do to the mental and emotional development of my child?

2010-01-29T06:17:00.001-08:00

Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Bus Boycott

Tessa had a poster report project for class, on a topic concerning a notable African American or American president. She chose Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Montgomery Bus Boycott. She received this assignment as soon as she returned from being away due to vacation and illness, which was on Jan. 11. The project was due originally on Jan. 22, but the teacher gave them an extension and it was due today.

She finally started the project this week, on Monday evening. Part of the problem had been that she received a huge amount of make up homework (she missed two full weeks of school), including the winter break packet that all the kids had to do over vacation. She gets a sizable amount of homework nightly, so she slowly chipped away at the make up homework over two weeks. The other problem is that she knew she wanted to do her project on Martin Luther King, Jr., but kept changing her mind as to what form the project should take. Then she had to read (I'm not kidding) four books on the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. I kept telling her that I thought she had enough information, and that she didn't have to write all that much anyway, but she kept taking more books out of the library on MLK.

Finally she decided on doing a poster, and on the bus boycott. I was starting to go into full on nag mode at the end of last weekend, that she hadn't started yet, that it was due this week, that she had homework every night so she wouldn't have that much time, that she had a play date on Tuesday after school so that was going to cut into the available time, nag nag nag. She started doing a rough draft of the text on Tues., finished it on Wed., found pictures online (thank you Google Images!), typed out the text and printed it, and glued all the parts onto poster board last night.

I have to say, it was pretty damn good for an eight year old. I did not edit her text in any way (while I did have some suggestions for improving the content, I decided that the grammar and spelling was all perfect, so I would let it be her project).

The title was the same as that of this post. The text read:

"The bus boycott started on 1955, December 1st and was caused when Rosa Parks didn't give up her seat on the bus to a white man. The black people didn't ride the buses anywhere. On December 5th Martin went around the city looking to see how many black men and women were riding the bus. He only counted 8 blacks riding the bus. This was also the day Rosa Parks went to trial. Many blacks went to support her. As the boycott continued the Montgomery Improvement Association gave three demands to the bus company: the bus drivers must stop insulting black passengers; passengers should be seated on a first come, first served basis; and the bus company must hire some black drivers. But the company didn't agree to the changes. The bus boycott ended on December 20th, 1956."

She chose three pictures for the poster: MLK posed with Rosa Parks, a copy of the front page of the Montgomery Advertiser newspaper, with a story about the organization of the boycott and showing a handwritten flyer asking blacks not to ride the bus in the cause of justice (she was SO excited to find that picture!), and a picture of MLK speaking to the press after his release from jail after the bus protests.

Okay, so she could have explained in greater detail how MLK became a leader of the boycott, and how the publicity from the boycott propelled him to nationwide prominence as a civil rights leader, and the court cases that overturned the bus segregation that led to the end of the boycott, but hey, for a third grader, it was an awesome report, I thought :). I was a TA in grad school, and I swear I had seniors who could have learned some research and writing skills from my baby girl.

2010-01-27T06:44:00.000-08:00

Facebook Killed The Po Show Blog
(sung to the tune of "Video Killed the Radio Star")

Honestly, this sucks.

I love my blog. I've been devoted to at least the notion of it, if not the actual physical act of posting on it. And I've let it wither on the vine like a poor shriveled tomato. Or strawberry, since I'm the Strawberry Princess.

Facebook is so easy. I can post what I'm doing or what I'm thinking about or what I'm hoping for in one or two minutes. The character count is limited, so I don't have to be particularly eloquent. The bottom line: very little thought is required to post a FB status. Much more thought is required to post to my blog. Though that doesn't necessarily have to be; I don't *have* to be terribly verbose or witty or word-crafty in my posts here. But for some reason, over the years I have sought to craft my posts at least somewhat, as it was often as much a creative outlet as just a retelling of something that happened to me or something that I was thinking.

And frankly, I've been busy. We got back from CA on Jan. 5, and Tessa was still sick. Then she got well and went back to school and I had a slew of doctor appointments for myself, as well as trying to put our home life back in order with regard to cleaning the house and putting food back into the cupboards. Then Matthew got sick. Then I started the herculean task of getting my ebay auctions prepared. Which pretty much brings us up to today.

And so I'm posting, to tell my blog that I still love it, and that I'm sorry for neglecting it in favor of Facebook. I don't want to engage in behavior indicative of the times, reducing my thoughts and feelings and endeavors to three written lines. There's more to me than that.

2009-12-16T07:25:00.001-08:00

Toughie

My brother, the one who had a massive stroke and almost died two and a half years ago, walked a half-marathon last Sunday. 13.1 miles. 3 hours, 48 minutes. He finished.

Words fail me, to express how awesome I think that is.

2009-12-10T19:17:00.000-08:00

Speechless

Recently I've found myself without anything to say. How weird is that?

I guess my life has just been one whirlwind of shopping, and that's hardly worth blogging about. I'm happy with my purchases, and I didn't do as much of the insane buy-rebuy-return original purchase thing that I did last year. I quite honestly do not know how many orders I placed with Amazon, but it's definitely over 15. All with free shipping, so that's cool.

I've also spent a lot of money on non-holiday gifts, which is not so cool. Just too many good deals to be had, like Tessa needs any more freaking clothes! I swear, if I didn't know that I could make most of the money back later via eBay, I'd check myself in to rehab. I've also bought quite a lot of Gymboree for resale, again just because the sales have been so incredibly good. Plus I've earned a boatload of Gymbucks, which I can use to buy more stuff next month to sell, and actually make some real profit. It's kind of bad, how I've gotten my eBay high back. Like the smoker who bums a cig at a party, I got a taste and now I'm back :p.

Um, the weather's cold. We had a little snow, but nothing that lasted. It would have been nice for the cold to hold off for another week, till we left for CA, but it's not like it's not going to be cold when we get back. The squirrels around here are HUGE, bulked up in preparation for a hard winter, I'm afraid. They look like little bears, and rather than constantly scurrying around in their frantic squirrel way, I see them just sitting and eating most of the time. And digging a million caches, which also strikes me as a bad sign of future frigidity.

We leave for CA a week from tomorrow! Woohoo!! I guess that's all I really need to say.

2009-11-30T20:15:00.001-08:00

22,290

So, November is over, and with it ends my self-imposed NaBloPoMo/NaNoWriMo hybrid-thingie.

Final count: 22, 290 words. Far short of my word goal of 30,000 (a thousand words a day), but I did hold to my goal of writing at least something every single day this month. I'm stoked on myself for doing that, since this was a pretty freaking horrible month :p. Between Matthew's flu and bronchitis, my own flu and possible bronchitis (I'm still coughing up my lungs), and Tessa viral whatever it was, I had sickness plaguing our house for over half the month. Then the busy time around Thanksgiving (including my nerve conduction test, which wiped me out in its aftermath), with everyone home, and I really didn't have a lot of solid writing time. There were (many) days when I literally typed a paragraph or two and had to call it a day. But I called it, every single day.

And though it's rough, I think it's actually pretty good. It certainly was an interesting, if often freshly infuriating, journey back in time. I'm currently up to the beginning of Matthew's second grade year, so there's a ways to go. I'm going to let up a bit on myself, let myself take a breather, but I am going to finish.

Remind me of that, sometime after the holidays :).

2009-11-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

Third Grade Afternoon

It's National Education Week again, and as always our elementary school invites parents to come into their children's classes to observe a lesson. Today I went to Tessa's class for math time.

I've been in the classroom before, during Open House and then for the Halloween party, but I was struck again how wonderful the spaces in the new school are. Everything is so light and there's so much more space in the rooms. That's a good thing, since there are 23 kids in Tessa's class, which makes it the biggest class in the whole school. Most classes are right around 20 kids, and many have fewer.

Today's lesson dealt with estimating and algorithms as strategies for solving equations. I still haven't quite gotten over the fact that they talk about algorithms in third grade now, but it's just another word to the kids :). After doing some work at the board all together, they broke up into partners and played a game called Go Collecting, similar to Go Fish, that helped them practice estimating. The room got a little loud, naturally, and I didn't feel so great, but it was so nice to see Tessa's teacher in action. She is so kind and very gentle with the kids, but she doesn't let anyone get out of hand.

I wasn't feeling great, as I mentioned, and it was a little iffy as to whether I was going to school today at all. Matthew started feeling really sick last Friday evening, shivering violently and feeling achy and exhausted. Ugh, what else could it be but the flu? Once he started running a 103 fever over the weekend, it was pretty clear we were done for. This was such a bummer, since he and Tessa were scheduled for H1N1 vaccinations tomorrow. I spoke to the receptionist at the ped's today, and she said that if he does have the flu, and it certainly seems like he does since he had all the symptoms, it had to be H1N1 since seasonal flu hasn't started around here yet. Then of course yesterday I started feeling badly, and I tried to convince myself that I just had a sinus headache because of the high pressure system that had come in.

Today it was clear that I was too far down the path of flu to turn back. But I really wanted to go to Tessa's class, and I wasn't running a fever yet (though I am now), and Matthew was feeling much better in the early afternoon, so I got to go. It was all worth it, to see Tessa coming down the hallway, jumping up and down in line when she saw me.

2009-11-11T20:10:00.001-08:00

10K

I'm currently at 10,107 words. I'm a little behind schedule, but I don't want to write while Matthew is around. I don't want him to walk up to me at the computer, look at the screen, see his name, and ask, "What are you doing?" Not ready to go there yet. So on days he's home all day, like weekends, I end up restricted to writing while he's in the shower.

He's only four years old in the narrative so far, so there's a long way to go :). It's been interesting, and infuriating, looking through the old documentation of his initial IEP, when he was denied services. Oh, to be able to go back to that time and know what I know now. I'd give that horrible school psychologist a run for her money.

2009-11-06T15:22:00.000-08:00

Under Pressure

Poor Tessa was so anxious this week, worrying about small group enrichment. On Friday (today), they were supposed to write a character study of a character from A Midsummer Night's Dream. She had chosen Titania (big surprise there! :p), and she was frantic that she was not going to be able to complete the assignment during the time period. I tried to help her prepare; we discussed the play and Titania's role (but you know, you never really know much about her, other than she's beautiful and haughty and her jerkface husband makes her fall in love with a man with the head of a donkey because she won't obey him). She was still in tears yesterday afternoon. They had done a "sloppy copy" rough draft last Friday, and did not have small group enrichment again this week (it's four days a "cycle," and with Election Day being a holiday, the next day of class did not fall till today). She obsessed the entire time, that her sloppy copy had not been complete, that she is too slow in writing, that there was no way she could write the whole character study in the 50 minutes of class.

Part of her problem here is that she is a really slow writer. She's amazingly creative, and her structure is very good, but the actual physical writing takes her forever. I think part of it is that she has some attentional difficulties and has trouble staying on task; part is that she has some of the same processing issues Matthew has and it's hard for her to spell and plan her writing. And part of it is that she's eight years old and just hasn't reached the developmental level necessary to write paragraphs quickly.

Anyway, I emailed her enrichment teacher this morning, letting her know that Tessa had been really anxious about the exercise and that she had some difficulties with writing. I asked her if she could just tell Tessa to do her best (because me telling her that obviously wasn't making much headway). She wrote back and very nicely said that she would reassure Tessa, and that she was a wonderfully bright and vivacious child who always tried her very best.

When I picked Tessa up at school, I asked her how enrichment had gone. "Well," she replied, "in a bizarre twist, we now have two days to complete it!" She was beaming, and skipped down to the car as I laughed hysterically at her uniquely-Tessa phrasing.

But I'm sad that at eight years old, she's already so hard on herself, so worried about performing well. I really don't think I've done anything to plant this anxiety, but hey, she is my daughter. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, when squeezed from the inside.

2009-11-02T16:28:00.000-08:00

Word Count

As of today: 2230 words. I've decided to set a goal of 1000 words a day, which seems very manageable. Thirty days means 30,000 words!

2009-11-01T11:22:00.000-08:00

NaNoWriMo

I decided that I am going to take the occasion of NaNoWriMo to kick my butt into gear vis-a-vis writing my Asperger Mom memoir (so far only a title: The Ultimate Advocate: A Mother's Asperger Journey). I'm sort of mixing the elements of NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo together, in that I'm writing every day, in a very rough sort of way. I don't intend to finish, but I'm going to start. It's not a novel, but hey, I play by my own rules.

Incidentally, what happened to NaBloPoMo? Now the site says that to take part, all you have to do is post on your blog every day for a month. No particular month, it seems, so I guess November is no longer the official month.

2009-10-27T19:55:00.000-07:00

This Beats The Nigerian Prince All to Hell

This is, without a doubt, the funniest phishing email I have ever received:

Dear valued customer,

This notification is based on an instruction received from our headquarters and the united nations payment committee to urgently activate and release the funds on your ATM card.

Due to the new economical laws we have adapted, it has also come to our notice that scampers have taken advantage of this to defraud more people. In this vain we have adapted a new method of payments.

Your funds of 5.5 million dollars will now be transferred to you via wire transfer from our bank directly to your account which has been open for you at FEDERAL RESERVE BANK U.S.A.

You are here by advised to reconfirm your information in our possession to enable us make instant transfer.
With this mode of payment,
1. your funds will be transferred instantly into your account.

2. you can have 24 hrs access to your account vis your mobile phone.

3. A security pin will be provided to you which gives access to only authorized persons.

4. Freedom to make transfers via your mobile phone with our tele banking facility to any desalinated account of your choice.

5. No extra charges

MAC DONALD
HSBC INTERNATIONAL TRANSFER DEPT.

RECONFIRM YOUR DETAILS FOR THE RELEASE OF YOUR FUNDS

2009-10-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

Keeping Score

We got Matthew's state tests scores from last year, and I was rather taken aback. He scored a "2" on the math test, which is the "Partially meeting the learning standard" level. His score was literally one point above the necessary score for that range. Two fewer points and he would have been at the "Not meeting the learning standard" level.

The previous year, he scored a "4" on the state math test, which corresponds to "Meeting the learning standard with distinction." The year before that, he scored the highest possible score given on the test, meaning that he answered every question correctly.

I have always said I don't give a flying rat's ass about state tests, that I hate how schools "teach to the tests" before they are given, to the exclusion of other subjects, how they are a product of No Child Left Behind that have had a horribly negative impact on how teachers are forced to teach. I was really happy to hear that while they have to administer the tests, the staff at Matthew's school basically just tell the kids not to worry about them. They do not alter their curriculum to time lessons to when the tests are given, and they ask the kids to just do their best.

I know math became difficult for Matthew in third grade, and that continued through fourth and fifth grade, because he could not memorize his multiplication tables. And so much of math during those years hinges on being able to automatically know them. Matthew could figure out in his head what seven times eight was, but it took a minute, and all those minutes add up when you have to multiply three digit numbers together. It continues with operations with fractions, and decimals, and so on. It's better now, in that his memory for multiplication has improved, but back in January when he took the state test, he still couldn't remember his times tables at all.

Also, the focus of last year was getting him settled in, getting him emotionally stabilized, and that has happened in ways that are jaw-dropping. He was going over his goals for the year with his therapist, and when they got to "social skills with classroom peers," he casually said, "Oh, that's not a problem anymore." (!!!!) So academics took a big backseat last year, as was necessary.

Still, this child is a freaking mathematical genius, when it comes to theory and underlying reasoning principles. I know that has little to do with mechanics, that these tests don't measure what he is capable of understanding, but seeing this score was disconcerting, contradictory to my conception of Matthew. But I need to get over it, because the true measure of what he is learning and how he is growing comes from completely different sources than these state tests.

It's a challenge for me, being a life-long "good test taker," to accept this, but deep down I really do know the score.

2009-10-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

I Never Do This...

I never ever make fun of people's names, and I'm not really making fun here, but this just made my eyes bug out. I saw a picture of a little girl, about 8 years old, named:

Aleck Xandria

That was her first name. That is just setting up your child for a lifetime of trouble.

(And yes, I really am going to really blog again someday.)

2009-10-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

Enriched

Tessa has started what they call "small group enrichment" at school. They don't want to call it gifted ed., which seems to have become a loaded term over the years around here (NY is one of the few states in the country that does not mandate dedicated gifted education). So all kids receive "whole class enrichment" starting in kindergarten, and then starting in third grade there is some type of pull-out for "small group enrichment" for kids who qualify based on various criteria that I am still not clear about. Different school districts handle this differently, and some offer a lot more than others. They don't even let the word gifted enter the discussion (though "gifted" is a recognized educational term!) and phrases like "for children needing more of a challenge" are substituted. Whatever.

So this is the first year that third graders in our district have been introduced to the new program that was brought into fourth and fifth grade last year. The previous program was, well, not very much. This new program is much more comprehensive, and there are three strands (humanities, math, and visual reasoning) and kids have to qualify for each strand individually. Pull-out is four days a cycle (cycles are six days) for about an hour and a half. They do projects and make presentations. We were sent home a rubric that outlines the progress kids are expected to make in order to stay in the program, which was also discussed with the kids on the first day (Tessa's friend got kind of freaked out about that, I guess. She told her mom, "I can't get any checks on the right side of the page!" and it took the whole evening and morning to calm her down about it :(. ) For the first strand, they are doing humanities, and they are studying Shakespeare (!!). They are doing an adaptation of Midsummer's Night Dream and discussing how Shakespeare's plays reflected his times and how these contrast to our current times.

Tessa is very excited, and relieved, because she was afraid she wasn't going to get to be in the program. The notification letters were mailed out from school around Sept. 25, and we had not received one last week. A couple other kids in her class had, and her friend's mom called me to talk about the letter, but I had to say that we were still waiting. I just couldn't imagine a world in which Tessa didn't meet the criteria (she reads at young adult level and is above grade level in math, social studies, and science). I knew not many kids made it in (about 10 from the whole grade, which is about 85 kids), but I couldn't believe she wasn't one of them. I commented to her teacher after school on Tues. that we hadn't gotten a letter, and she assured me that it was probably coming, though she hadn't seen a list yet. Then on Thurs. as I picked her up, Tessa excitedly told me, "I started WINGS today!" so it was all fine. Of course on Fri. the letter arrived, which was odd, that it took a week to get to us, considering the school is half a mile away.

So it's all fine, but I'm left thinking about why I was so freaked out by the prospect that she wasn't going to be included in the program. I guess it's just because, since she was 18 months old, I've considered her very gifted. I've felt badly that we live in a place that doesn't have dedicated gifted education, because I think it would have been so good for her. I've been waiting for her to be in third grade, so that she could start small group enrichment, and I was so glad to see last year that the program was going to be amped up considerably. So there was a distinct mental grinding at the thought that she might not get into the program.

Also, and I'm willing to admit this, I love having a child who does so well in school. It's like having a mini-me, this bright girl who performs so well, and having all her teachers rave about her. Plus she has the added component of being socially adept as well, and it's a joy to see her blossom. I can't wait to see the things she gets to do in the small group, enriching for us both.

2009-09-25T07:12:00.000-07:00

Needled

It's kind of sad when you get blase about having a needle stuck into your cervical spine, but I really wasn't a bit concerned about having another epidural yesterday. As before, I was most concerned about the logistics, asking Tessa's friend's mom if she could take her after school, making sure Ross could come home early to make sure someone was here for Matthew's bus. And I was really worried about my nose running during the procedure, since I've had a cold for a week and my nose has been pouring like a faucet and I couldn't take any meds the day of the procedure. The thought of being face-down on the OR table, lying perfectly motionless for half an hour, with my nose dripping was just really gross.

Well, true to form, everything I'd worried about was fine and the procedure itself really sucked. Not that it was more painful or anything, but it was very unpleasant. First of all, I couldn't get comfortable on the pillows under my chest; they felt too high and were kind of choking my throat. They tried to adjust them but it never did feel okay. Then the nurse put a nasal oxygen cannula into my nose, which they didn't do last time. As they prepped me, I started to feel like I couldn't breathe. I think this might go back to my experiences during my labor with Matthew, when they kept forcing me to wear an oxygen mask and I absolutely could not breathe during the contractions. I asked to take it out and they taped it next to my face instead, which was better but I still felt like I couldn't breathe. Then the doctor started the actual epidural, and I could feel a panic attack coming on. I started to get into a feedback loop of feeling the panic rise, but knowing that I *absolutely, positively COULD NOT move*, which fed the panic more.

"You're doing great," the nurse said, with that rising inflection that suggests that you are about to not be doing so great. "Don't move your head." So I fought the panic, shoved it down as hard as I could, listened to my heart rate bleep faster, forced myself to breathe. Luckily my spine doctor is a freaking rock star, and he finished up really quickly. "30 seconds," he assured me, then deftly whipped his hands around and said, "Okay, needle out!"

Boy, as soon as he said that, I started to shake like crazy. "You did great," the nurse told me, and I sort of chuckled uneasily. "No, really, you did!" Well, I didn't jump off the table or anything, so I guess I do get points for that, but it was so much harder compared to the last time, when I didn't move a muscle the entire time and it was a total cake walk.

I think part of the problem was that last time, the procedure was in the early afternoon, so the doctor told me that I could have breakfast but no lunch. This time, I was going in in the late morning, and I was told to fast from the night before. Me and fasting, we don't get along so well. So I think I was having blood sugar issues on top of the PTSD flashbacks from the oxygen tube. After they brought me to recovery and I had toast and juice (and two cups of coffee), I felt a lot better.

So now we wait and see again if this epidural does the trick. It took about 3 days last time for me to feel some relief. Plus this time I have the added bonus of not getting on a plane for 6 hours a week later, which pretty much negated the benefits of the last needling.

2009-09-19T18:06:00.001-07:00

My New Babies

Ohhhh myyyyy, so much I could have written, here on my first post after returning back to NY and the blogosphere. So much about the summer, and how the kids did, and thoughts on Matthew turning 12, and lots about the back to school process. But sadly I have been afflicted with an initially mysterious ailment that has, in the past day or so, revealed itself to be nothing more than an icky viral whatever. But I've felt not great, I've been very busy putting our lives back in order, and thus have not gotten back to posting.

But now I must tell you about my latest obsession: my new prides and joys. They don't look a thing like me, but I have worried over them and cared incessantly for them and stared at them in fascination for over a week now.

They are aquasaurs. They are actually Triops longicaudatus, little water-dwelling creatures that have been around, basically unchanged, since before the dinosaurs. Now they are merchandised by an educational toy manufacturer for kids (and dubbed Aquasaurs, since Triops longicaudatus doesn't trip off the tongue quite as readily) in a kit that includes a plastic tank, dried eggs, and food for the little beasts. Tessa saw the kit at TRU and immediately wanted it. Unbeknownst to me, she got online later and put it on her Amazon wish list, so she received her beloved aquasaurs for her birthday. Naturally we couldn't hatch them at Grandma's house, so we waited till we got home and set up the tank last Thursday.

The eggs were suppose to hatch within 1-2 days, but by the end of the 2nd day there didn't seem to be anything going on. On the 3rd day, I was ready to call it a bust, and Tessa was ready to try again with more eggs, when I saw a tiny little spot of something hovering in the water. The aquasaur hatchings are **tiny**, like a speck, and they flit around in the water with little jerky motions. So it looked like one freaking aquasaur had hatched (about 50 eggs were in the packet, and we were instructed to put in half the packet).

I watched, sitting on the floor in front of the tank, for days, for long minutes at a time, as the little speck grew into a feathery swimming thing. It grew more, and developed discernible, itty bitty, legs and eyes and tail. And then I realized that there was a new little speck flitting around, so it seemed that a new egg had hatched, days after it was supposed to.

I worried that the water was too cold for the tiny population to thrive, so I started putting a heating pad up against the tank. This was evidently the right thing to do, for more tiny little specks joined the party. So now, nine days after starting this whole affair, there is one largish aquasaur (about half an inch long and looking like the picture on the box, which Tessa named Moonstone), a little feathery swimming one (named Bella), and about six little specks of various size (the largest one is named Jade, and the other tiny ones have gone unnamed by Tessa. I call them the scoot-scoots, since that's the motion they make through the water). We were supposed to start cleaning the tank on the eighth day by scooping out half the water and replacing it (oh, did I mention that we can only use spring water for everything the aquasaurs come in contact? And that on the first day, I didn't know that, so I had to empty about a million little half pint bottles of water into the tank, since that was the only spring water we had on hand). But I'm afraid to scoop out any water, for fear of scooping up some of the scoot-scoots.

So me and my dizzy head have been sitting on the cold tile of the dining room floor (the tank is set up on Tessa's art table, an old coffee table), staring endlessly at the little aquasaurs, trying to count them, trying to see if they are growing, hoping that they are not dead. I am lavishing buckets of care on them, removing bits of food from the water's surface when it starts to spoil, checking for murkiness in the water, examining the water temperature a hundred times a day, worrying about their well-being.

I've heard of women redirecting their baby lust into caring for a dog or a cat, but I may be the first overly maternal caregiver to water bugs.

2009-08-25T21:55:00.000-07:00

I can't type on my iPhone

My typing skills using the touchscreen on my iPhone are beyond atrocious. Which is what has kept me from posting during the last 2+ weeks, while we have been here in CA.

It's a shame, that I haven't been able to write about what a wonderful trip it's been, how great Matthew has been doing (he's been so in control of himself, so able to get back in control almost instantly when something does upset him; plus this child who wouldn't put his face in the water last year has now taught himself to do underwater backflips!), how much Tessa has been loving all the little sewing and cooking projects she's been doing with my mom, how absolutely to die for cute and hilarious my one year old grandniece Sydney is, how much fun I've had hanging out with my homegirls and my family, and most of all, what a great time Ross and I had together on our trip alone to San Diego, where we saw Green Day live, and how the time we spent made me feel happier and more giddily in love with him than I have in years.

I've really wanted to talk about all this, in much more than one long Joan Didion-esque sentence, but you have no idea how much time and effort has gone into typing this little post. I cannot type on my iPhone; I do not text. I would be a miserable failure as a teenage girl these days.

2009-08-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

Needled

So sometimes things do fall into place. After my woeful last post, in which I bemoaned how, for want of a friend who could help, I would not get an epidural in my neck. I tried to console myself, musing that a needle in the neck might not be something to desire so fiercely, and how did I know it was going to help anyway?

Sour grapes, that was. I was thrilled when the spine doctor called me late Friday night and said that he'd had a cancellation and could get me a spot in his schedule at a different surgical center in CT, one that did not insist that patients getting a needle stuck into their spinal cavities have someone to drive them home (as long as they chose not to be sedated, which makes sense, I guess). Of course, if I heard that someone else was planning on doing this, then driving her 8 year old child home, I might look askance at the whole endeavor.

Monday came and there Tessa and I sat, waiting for the doctor to show up. She had already waited for me during my physical therapy appointment that morning, reading her book in the waiting room. It was her first day of the summer with no camp activities, and she was spending the day waiting for me in cold, sterile waiting rooms. She got to come in with me to the "little room" as I changed into a gown and waited for the doctor to show up (half an hour late). Then she was left behind as I marched off to the OR. What a brave girl!

They let her come back to the recovery room after it was all over, and the nurse gave her a popsicle. She was subdued, but she really did so very well with what was no doubt a scary experience. I was feeling weak and out of it, but I honestly think it was the accumulated stress of worrying about her and worrying about getting back to Matthew (fortunately I was able to get a friend to pick him up at school). And the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since early morning. But my first impulse was to insist that I was fine, so after a relatively short period of time, they let me go. I hurried to pick up Matthew, then we went home and I utterly crashed. I could not stay crashed, since Ross was in DC and I had to feed and otherwise care for the kids, but in any event, it was over.

It took about four days for me to come to the conclusion that the epidural actually seems to have helped. The right side of my neck, where the injection went in, hurts less now, and I have a lot more mobility on that side. The left side still hurts, but it hurt less than the right side to begin with. So I am happy to report that all the angst of the episode seems to have been worth it.

Though that doesn't mean I'm not going to need pharmaceutical assistance to get through a six hour plane ride next week! After he saw my MRI, the orthopedist was more than happy to call me in a script for muscle relaxants. I had a follow-up with him the day before yesterday, and he looked over my MRI again and said I must be really stoic :D. I guess because I didn't cry more for drugs before?

2009-07-24T06:29:00.001-07:00

The Last Day of Summer

I know it's not really the last day of summer. It's the last day of "my" summer, the Summer of Po, that two and a half week interim period during which both of my kids were occupied with all-day activities. It hasn't exactly been relaxing, since I've spent most of the time preparing and executing my ebaying of last year's fall/winter clothing, plus physical therapy, plus other injury-related appointments and running around and stressing out. But it's certainly been nice to be able to do all that kid-free, and next week's physical therapy appointments and my MRI and my orthopedist appointment will be much more difficult with Tessa in tow. And it's nice, of course, to be sitting here in quiet at the moment, without the sounds of the TV or video games or general chatter.

I should be having another appointment next week, but it's not going to happen. My ortho referred me to the spine specialist in their practice, since my neck MRI looked so bad. On Wed. I called to try to make an appointment, but was told he didn't have anything open till the second week of Sept. The receptionist said that he has two other offices in CT (I don't know what the deal is with doctors around here, but every one I've ever seen has had at least three different practices, usually in at least two different states, which just doesn't seem very practical), so maybe they could get me in to see him sooner. Stamford, CT is only about 17 miles from here, so I called there. After a bunch of calls back and forth, with them trying to schedule me during four different evenings (including the two evenings that Tessa was having her camp performances), they said that they would try to squeeze me in that night at 6:15. Rush hour traffic on the I95 is bad. Ross managed to get out of work early to stay with the kids and I got him home and was on the road by 5:20. I got to the doctor's office precisely at 6:15. Then I proceeded to wait till 7:30 before I got to see the doctor. He was very nice, and it was super nice of him to see me (he said he was missing a dinner with some people and his wife had already called twice, but he hadn't really wanted to go and thus didn't mind having the excuse of needing to see patients :)). He said that he was recommending an epidural injection into my neck to help with the pain and numbness, and that the only time he could do it was this Mon. at the surgery center in Wilton, CT. This all sounded fine, though I would have to take Tessa with me, until he said that I would need someone to drive me after the procedure.

Screeching halt. Ross is leaving for DC on Mon. morning and cannot get out of it. THIS is one of those times when it really, really sucks to have no family and no close friends here. The one friend I feel like I could ask (and she's a friend from our UCLA days) has 3 kids and is moving to London in a couple of weeks, so how could I ask her to drive me all the way up to CT and then sit there with her 3 kids and Tessa for 2+ hours? And the other two people I possibly could have asked (though probably not, since they have small children too) are both out of the country. It's about 35 miles away, so a taxi would cost like $200 both ways.

So. No epidural for me. It was also terribly embarrassing to have to cancel the appointment, since the doctor (who is leaving in a week for a long trip, which is why there were so few scheduling options) was nice enough to try and squeeze me in. Terrible to have to admit to people that you have no one nearby who can help.

Sigh, this post started out about the summer, my summer, but ended up about the general state of our lives.

2009-07-21T11:17:00.000-07:00

Second Grade Recap

I'm cleaning out the corner of the dining room that houses the overflowing bin of artwork and other school-created memorabilia that the kids bring home. For years now I've just been tossing more and more things into the bin, or letting Tessa add more things to the bin. I do try and determine what "deserves" to be saved, since if I kept every scrap of paper that Tessa brought home from school, or created here at home, we would have been forced out onto the curb long, long ago. I do this culling surreptitiously, for Tessa is very attached to all of her creations, and more than once I have been busted when she found some masterpiece in the recycling.

But today I decided that I had to clear out the bin and put things into the kids' file boxes, which house the treasures deemed untossable, that must be kept for posterity. As I started, though, I realized that I first had to cull Tessa's file box a bit, because there are things in there that seemed to make the cut back in preschool, but now really are recognizable as lesser-tier.

But anyway, I found her writer's notebook from this past school year. The last entry is entitled "Second Grade Memories" and definitely deserves to be immortalized here on my blog:

"I had a great second grade. I had butterflies in my stomach on the first day. My class and I took many trips. My favorite was Seussical. I made a lot of new friends. My class and I were even parents! Our children were mealworms, which turned into darkling beetles. Sofia and I were partners. My class also wrote writing pieces. My favorite was the all-abouts. I wrote All About Prairie Dogs. I had a great school year and I hope next year is great, too."

See, I would have never remembered that they raised darkling beetles in second grade, and that apparently some of them were my grandchildren. Memorabilia is bulky, but irreplaceable.

2009-07-11T17:07:00.000-07:00

It's Not Easy Being Tessa

Last night as I was tucking Tessa into bed, she said, "Yeah Mom, the hardest thing about trying to go to sleep is trying not to think about all my NEGATIVE THOUGHTS." I sort of gasped and cracked up, so she repeated, "Yeah, it's my negative thoughts that make going to sleep hard sometimes."

I have to add that she generally is asleep within two minutes of me turning out her lights, so I guess in relative terms, her negative thoughts are not that much of a sleep deterrent.

2009-07-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

Full Scale Summer

This summer has been and will be very differently spaced out than any other summer we have ever had (and not spaced out in the way I am without adequate caffeine). Tessa started Music and Art camp at the Westchester Conservatory on the first Monday after school ended (SO adorable to see her play her little half-sized violin!). Matthew had almost 2 weeks off before his summer session at school started, which was the day before yesterday. Now they are both occupied for 2 1/2 weeks, until Tessa's camp ends. After 2 weeks of Tessa being home, during which Matthew continues school, we leave for a month in CA. The only problem we are experiencing with this period of activity overlap is that Matthew's bus has not been picking him up till almost 9:00 (9:05 the first day) and Tessa is supposed to be at camp by 9:00. She is done at 3:30, but Matthew's bus drops him off at that time, so I have had to pick her up early. The first day, as we pulled out of the lot, I saw Matthew's bus drive by. We had to rush to catch up to it so that it wouldn't beat us home! If this was a "normal" bus it would be no problem, but I'm required to be there when he is picked up and dropped off.

This is the first summer that I have had both kids involved in an activity at the same time. These first couple of days have been so busy that I haven't had much time to relish the time (and I should be keeping this post short so I can run out the door again), but I am feeling real relief to have some breathing space this summer. Most of this time will be spent in ebay listing hysteria, but it's great that I have the chance to be alone in the house to get that all prepped.

Oh, and I cannot tell you how happy and excited Matthew was to go back to school for summer session! It's an absolute fricking miracle, considering how desperately unhappy he was at the prospect of year-round school. Looking back, I think that had a lot to do with my reluctance to send him to the school, that he was so freaked out and upset about having to go to school during the summer (and his reaction during the interview to the idea). But this last Tuesday we went for his individual orientation and his teachers talked about all the great stuff they were going to be doing, and he was thrilled. They will be swimming at least twice a week, riding bikes (brand new bikes the school just purchased), going on trips to see movies and to a indoor sports center, having parties (including his school birthday party, which the school completely pays for, INCLUDING a gift!), and doing work study (which involves working in the school store, which stocks school supplies and snacks and stuff, for which the kids are actually paid cash money!). He was practically giddy with excitement that night, in anticipation of starting summer school.

All in all, a stellar summer so far.

2009-07-02T17:48:00.000-07:00

Once Again

I hate to sound like a broken record (actually I am thrilled to be sounding like a broken record in *this* instance), but this year beats the hell out of last year. Today is my birthday (thank you, thank you very much). On my birthday *last* year, we had to go to an interview at the first day treatment program we visited. I was all stressed out, trying to find the place, worrying about how to deal with the timing of picking up Ross at a train station near the campus. I was stressed out in general, with the whole "we have to find a placement for Matthew and it's SUMMER and we're leaving for CA next week" situation.

So we had both kids in tow, and no one was expecting us. We waited for the director, who was in another meeting, for almost an hour. When we finally did see him, he had no idea who we were, had not seen Matthew's file, could only tell us that there were no spaces available for next year. He tried his best to give us an introduction to the place, and when Matthew heard that it was a year-round program, with a summer session, he flipped out and started banging his head. We got him together enough to go on a brief tour of the campus, which was quite nice, but it was all a bizarre and upsetting experience. Afterwards, Ross asked me where I wanted to go for my birthday dinner (woohoo, let's party now!) and we ended up going to Cheesecake Factory and it was very nice, but I was so emotionally drained.

My birthday this year was much nicer. Tessa went to art and music camp, which she is loving (it's just too adorable to see her playing "Hot Cross Buns" and "Mary Had a Little Lamb" on her half-size violin), so Matthew and I were alone for most of the day. We went to the library and to the mall, had lunch and frozen yogurt, and went grocery shopping. I received a TON of lovely birthday wishes via Facebook and email, including an ecard from my sister that featured a dog that was shocked when the question "How old ARE you?" came up on the screen :D. Tessa came home and disappeared into her room, where she proceeded to make me THREE sets of cards and gifts (each in a shoe box, and I was supposed to choose one :)). Ross came home early, bearing flowers, and I had a brownie with a candle in it so they could sing Happy Birthday to me. I received a beautiful black dress and three pairs of wool socks (I had been saying that most of my wool socks were shot, so he found some SmartWool socks on sale at Nordstrom Rack :)). My sister called and I had a nice long talk with her. Now I'm having birthday cocktails (acai juice and vodka, because you know that as you get older, you need a lot more antioxidants :D). So all in all, a lovely birthday indeed.

Oh, and we found out that we totally dodged a bullet with that other day treatment program. We were talking to the parents of a girl who had gone there for a year (till they pulled her out and managed to get her placed in Matthew's school) and it would have been completely, disastrously wrong for him. Apparently the staff there is great, but the student population is very tough, to put it mildly, and Matthew would have gotten eaten alive there.

So there, more this year goodness.

2009-06-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Bunny Girl

Yesterday my baby girl turned eight years old. She is lovely and magical and larger than life.

As her years on earth accumulate, a sense of panic builds in me. She is growing up, stepping away from me and farther out into the world. She still clings to me now, enclosing me in waves of love and need and connectivity. But the time when that diminishes is right around the corner; I can almost see it in my peripheral vision. The intensity of emotion she feels for me will never completely fade, but it will never again be what it is now. I will bear this, but not lightly.

She drives me insane on a daily basis, but she is the brightest spot in my universe. I feel like she was my most profound gift, the one sent to show me the limitlessness of the sky. And now she is eight. A figure eight, a circle that turns round upon itself. Place it on its side and it's a symbol, meaning infinity.

2009-06-25T13:41:00.000-07:00

Lasts that Last

Today was Matthew's last day of school for the "regular" year (as opposed to the summer session, which begins in two and a half weeks). What a difference a year makes, as last year's last day of school was horrific. He didn't have a placement for the next school year (he'd been given one earlier in the week, when I was told that they'd placed him in the BOCES autism program, then unceremoniously had it taken away the following day when I was informed that that program was full). What should have been a day of closure was instead a day of rushed uncertainty. I had to hustle him out of school with quick goodbyes to the school psychologist who loved him so dearly, feed both kids a hasty lunch, drop Tessa off at a friend's birthday party, and then take Matthew for an interview at the school with the autism program, the one that did not have space for him. I still don't know why they made us go through that, but the psychologist attached to the program set up a meeting with the program teacher, who was very nice, but reiterated that they did not any spots available and actually had several kids on the waiting list.

Today was much better, to cap off a sensationally better year. Matthew enjoyed the pizza lunch, said they had free time all day (he chronicled the great Yu Gi Oh battle he'd won), and he brought home a treasure. It's a photo album the teachers put together and sent home, with pictures of him throughout the year (with cute captions and scrapbook embellishments). The best ones are the one that has the caption "Friends" and shows Matthew laughing with several of his classmates, and a two picture set, the first of which is captioned "All," while the second reads "Smiles," with Matthew smiling broadly in both. The child, for whom school was formerly the site of tragedy, smiling. It's all there, the story of the year.

Today was a little bittersweet for me, because I got to see some of the kids from Matthew's cohort at the "old" school (which of course is still Tessa's school). Today was 5th grade graduation, and they were all dressed up, these kids that Matthew has known since 1st grade, and if things had been different he would have been there with them, moving on.

Instead he's moved on without them, and that's fine, better than fine, because he didn't belong with them. He is where he belongs, a transformation that's built to last.

2009-06-22T08:09:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day

The weather did not cooperate yesterday (it's rained 19 of 22 days in the month of June so far! ICK!), so we didn't go to the city as planned. I made tons of hash browns for breakfast and Ross got his presents (from all of us: a much needed new UCLA cap, a tee shirt with quotes from The Big Lebowski, and the new Elvis Costello CD). He got a sweet school-made card from Tessa, and a card and picture frame made by Matthew.

Here's a picture of the picture frame:

Look at that lovely smile on that boy. For the last few years, they couldn't even get him to take a picture at school for class projects. The ones we have from first grade and kindergarten show him grimacing like someone stepped on his foot. But this, this sums up the year for him.

2009-06-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

Social Butterfly

For people who don't have much of a social life, we are pretty busy these days. Next Friday is Tessa's last day of school (a half day) and she had invitations to two different parties. Curiously enough, she chose the pizza and waterslide party of her friend Rory, who was in her pre-K class but hasn't really been a close friend since then. I would have thought she'd have chosen the "tea party playdate" of her classmate Sofia, the one in which all the girls are going to wear fancy dresses. Tessa is such a mixture of girly girl and non-girly girl, who loves her world "cute" and pink, but loves Pokemon and YuGiOh too.

The following day, next Saturday, will be her own birthday party at Build-A-Bear Workshop. We have 12 kids coming (eeep), with pizza and ice cream to follow. Then at 3:00, we will be going to Matthew's classmate's pool party, which both of my kids are really looking forward to as well.

Today we were supposed to go to a party at another of Matthew's classmates. It was FAR (like 45 miles away), but Matthew was very excited about going. I asked if he knew if a lot of the other kids from class were coming, but the only one he could remember was (of course) Lydia. He thought several other kids had said they were coming, but he knew she was :). We left around 11:00 (the party was to start at 1:00), drove in the rain up to the outlet center that was just a couple of miles from the friend's house, and stopped for lunch. We found our way to the house and Ross remarked (since there were no cars parked in front), "Are we the first ones here?" We got out of the car, Matthew commented a few times that he was nervous (he still has such a hard time dealing with out of the ordinary events), and we walked up the drive.

The dad met us outside with a hesitant look on his face and asked, "Did you not get our message?" Oops, not what you want to hear! It turns out Chris has been sick on and off for awhile, and late this morning he started throwing up, so they decided to call off the party. They had called everyone at about 11:30, but we had already left. The parents felt terrible that we had driven all the way up there, but of course we understood. Ross wanted to go back to the outlet center, since we were up there anyway, so we upset the children further by making them walk in the rain and shop. It was really raining too! Things just worsened from there, as we were stuck in abysmal traffic on the way back, as there had been an accident earlier on the bridge across the Hudson (it took us 40 minutes to go about half a mile at one point). Matthew got very very upset that the traffic was so bad, and that it was "all for nothing" since the party had been cancelled. Strangely enough, this didn't happen till the traffic had actually picked up and we were moving pretty well.

I sure hope the social engagements to come all go better!

2009-06-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

In Sickness and In Health

Matthew has been sick, with what seemed very flu-like yesterday (including a 102.8 fever). He's better today.

Yesterday Tessa just could not keep her voice down while Matthew was trying to rest. At one point he fell asleep for a couple of hours, and stumbled out to the living room at about 6:45 in the evening. Tessa was drawing something on the floor, and she yelled really loudly when she saw him. He got very upset, since his head was pounding already, and I got mad at her for being so loud. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I was just so excited to see Matthew."

Later he dazedly went to bed again, and he ended up sleeping most of the night. Tessa left a card, which she had apparently been making for him when she yelled so loudly, in his doorway. I pointed it out to him this morning after she left for school. It had a big happy face on the cover, with a cheery "GET WELL SOON!"

Inside it read:

Dear Matthew,

I hope you get well soon.
Your (sic) a great brother.

Love,
Tessa (written in cursive)

She's loud, but she's sweet as pie :).

2009-06-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

And the Winner Is...

Last Tuesday was Awards Day at Matthew's school, a yearly event. The students each receive two awards, chosen and written for them by their teachers, to reflect both academic and social achievement. They are printed on a lovely certificate, each in an individual envelope. Matthew's awards were:

"Outstanding Excellence in Social Studies: For his insightful conversations regarding social studies topics; for his participation activities and for adding comments based on previous readings."

This one he expected, because Social Studies is his favorite subject. Apparently he was quite thrilled when they announced it, and he went up to one of his teachers and enthused, "I got my Social Studies award!"

He also received:

"Award for Improvement in Communication: For his increasing ability to explain his feelings, both positive and negative, to his teachers without worrying about expressing those feelings."

The progress he's made this year has been so amazing. He actually will say how he feels about things, even things that are upsetting. One development that I've found astounding is that on a couple of occasions, he's told his therapist about something he was too hesitant to broach with me, and asked her if she would call me to tell me about it.

It all reminds me of The Wizard of Oz, when each of Dorothy's companions receives an award for accomplishing the things that were the hardest things in the world for them to do. They found the means within themselves, and stretched farther than any of them would have thought possible.

Just like Matthew.

2009-06-06T06:48:00.000-07:00

Space Oddity

Ross was flipping channels the other night, and came upon 2001: A Space Odyssey. I've seen it many times before, and always found it visually interesting, but kind of tedious (I'm sure it's better on the big screen, and probably much more entertaining while stoned). (Speaking of the movie on the big screen, one of my favorite stories was told by a friend who saw it in the theater when it first came out. In the middle of the movie, someone threw a shoe at the screen, tearing a big hole in it. Immediately the lights came up and they locked all the exits. The audience had to file out one by one, after it had been determined that each person did indeed possess two shoes. And they never caught the person, which begs the question: did the culprit come prepared with an extra shoe? In any case, our friend was just annoyed that he never got to see the rest of the movie!)

Anyway, I've been saying for years that I need to read the book, because there's too much in the movie I don't fully get (as Rock Hudson said as he stormed out of the premiere, "Can someone tell me what the hell that was all about?" :D). I think part of it is the ways in which images from the movie have become so iconic (the episode of the Simpsons in which Homer's movements exactly parallel those of the man-ape from the beginning of 2001 is a classic). Certain themes have become iconic too, particularly the idea of a computer becoming aware and turning against its users. But that wasn't what the movie was all about, and I kind of wanted to see what it was all about.

So I went ahead and read it yesterday :). And boy, talk about a whole different experience. It's not that the storylines were all that different (though in the book the ship goes on to Saturn after swinging by Jupiter), but the level of explanation was just exponentially greater. Not that is necessarily a fault with the movie, because it was more about visual expansiveness than storyline, but I'm a word person more than an image person. I also find some of the visuals in the movie distracting, since they are so dated (space stewardesses looking like Pan Am stewardesses of the 60s always bugs me).

Next year will be 2010, the year of the first sequel. 2010 was the first movie Ross and I ever saw together (before we were a couple) and the thing I always remembered most from the film was the fact that the main character had a pool in his living room with a dolphin in it. I have often said, "It's almost 2010. Where's my dolphin??"

I like themes of humankind's place in the universe. It's so easy to get mired down in the mundane, since ultimately that is what is important to each person in his/her daily life. But every once in a while we can look up at the night sky and say, "It's full of stars."

2009-05-31T12:41:00.000-07:00

Jump Start

It seems I'm doing whatever it takes these days to keep from writing, including having a car accident and subsequent bodily suffering. I'm finding cool books to read, taking naps, watching the NBA playoffs. Anything to avoid writing.

I know there are some people out there who became writers because they couldn't help it; they have to write. They get ideas, and the ideas bitch and moan and torment them in the middle of the night and in the midst of all other tasks until they get committed to paper or monitor. Then there are other writers to whom it doesn't come easily; they have to work at it. They have to sit their butts down in their chairs and force themselves to something of a writing schedule, treating it like a 9-5 job. They tell themselves it doesn't matter what crap they write, at first anyway, as long as something gets put down on the page (virtual or otherwise).

My ideas flit around in my head, but don't seem strong-willed enough to force their way out. It seems that I don't want to start, because then I might have to finish? The question mark there indicates my ambivalence. Do I have to finish? Not really. No one is making me write. I should do it because I want to. Do I want to?

There just has to be something more to my life than doing laundry and shopping. I need some crank in my head to turn, to get me started on something else.

2009-05-24T07:36:00.001-07:00

Other Paths

The weirdness of Facebook continues. I got a friend request from a woman who was one of my best friends in late elementary school. We hung out a lot in junior high and some in high school as well.

Pre-adolescence, she was sort of gawky and awkward, taller than all the boys. She did gymnastics and was in very good physical shape. During our early teen years, she got a lot of acne and was still taller than all the boys, so she remained sort of awkward and socially uncomfortable. Then later in high school, her skin cleared up some, and she started taking modeling classes, and she was suddenly attractive. She had a huge romantic courtship with the older brother of one of my best friends. After high school, she went to Europe to model and, I heard from others, was fairly successful. She was not classically pretty, but she was tall and had a beautiful figure and she was very photogenic. I didn't hear anything from or about her for almost 25 years.

Now I see that she is in NYC, and she has a wildly successful design company that she started 7 years ago. She designs furnishings and housewares, the kind you see on MTV or something. From her FB page, I saw that she just designed the interior of this insanely exclusive lounge club in midtown, where apparently you need to know one of the 100 "ambassadors" of the club to get in. Some of the Tribeca Film Festival private parties were held there. There are several pictures of her, and she is gorgeous and poised, in a dress that no doubt cost more than I've spent collectively on every single item of clothing in my entire life.

This is all so foreign that I find it completely bizarre. It's not like I'd want that life, or even understand what that kind of life is even about, but it's just really strange to think that this woman came from the same place and time I did. We used to walk home from 6th grade together. She almost got us kicked out of Disneyland once, when she spit out of the Fantasyland Skyway and her spittle landed on a park employee. She announced it to all the girls in class when I got my first period, because I was the first one and she was so shocked. We slept over at each other's houses. She seemed...ordinary.

It's odd to think of the paths that we choose, and where they lead.

2009-05-20T18:00:00.001-07:00

Crash

It's been over a week since I had my car accident. More than a fender bender, less than a major collision. No one was injured (though my neck and back hurt, more now than immediately after the accident, which is both common and annoying), which of course is the main thing. The kids were not in the car with me, so no trauma there.

It's just sobering to think that a clueless woman could shake up my existence with a simple turn of her steering wheel. She pulled a freaking U-turn right in front of me, and my car went smash (to the tune of $6400). I had that fluid, drawn-out, "oh shit" moment between the time when I realized I wasn't going to be able to stop in time, that I was going to hit her, and actual impact. My head snapped forward and back, my sunglasses flew off my face and landed on the floor of the car. My first reaction was to yell at her, as she continued to curve around my car, through the closed window, "What were you doing? WHAT WERE YOU DOING??" Then I burst into tears, hysterical sobbing that lasted awhile. She got out of her car and asked if I was all right, her mother got out of the car and asked if I was all right, and I continued to sob. "Ma'am, why are you crying?," she asked, and I wanted to scream at her that I was crying because she'd pulled a left U-turn from the right lane right in front of me and made me hit her. We'd just had a accident! Why shouldn't I be crying? Her stupidity could have fucking killed me, if the impact had been different.

For years I've said: we're all inches from death. We coast around in these metal boxes, at speeds faster than any living thing was ever designed to go. We have our air bags and our crumple zones and we think we're safe, but obviously we are not. We hear about fatal crashes all the time. We see the ambulances on the freeway, we see the headlines in the newspaper. It's the stuff of movies, but it really does happen. This woman had her 90 year old grandfather and her 85 year old grandmother in the back seat, and she pulled a stupid stunt like that. She was not *watching*, she was not *paying attention*, which seems the normal state for so many people out there. It seems like every week, I have someone pull into my lane, float over the divider line, pull in front of me in an intersection without looking to see if it's safe to do so.

We are at the mercy of the unfathomable, unknowable lameness of others. We can do all we can in our metal boxes, but there are others in their own metal boxes that can put themselves into our paths. Physics don't play, and our squishy, soft shells are no match for the crash.

2009-05-10T18:17:00.001-07:00

Happy Mother's Day

I had a perfectly lovely Mother's Day today, with all kinds of sweet gifts and cards and lots of yummy food (a truly eclectic mix, as we walked from one spot to the next in the city: pho, pommes frites, pomegranate frozen yogurt, and my favorite almond croissant).

Matthew made me a really cute card (green construction paper) and painted a terra cotta pot for me (in green. Since green is my favorite color, every Mother's Day ends up looking like St. Patrick's Day around here :D). I'd gotten a call from the unit supervisor on Friday afternoon, that he'd been REALLY upset because the plant they put in my pot was not as Matthew wanted it to be. It was too droopy, too small, too funny-looking. They were trying to help him, but it was the very end of the day, so he decided he'd rather have not have any plant in it, so they yanked it out and cleaned out the dirt. He had to change the card he'd made me, which had said, "I hope you like the pot and the plant." He was able to erase "and the plant." I give him ENORMOUS props for this, because the former Matthew would have refused to give me the card at all, because it wasn't perfect, and would probably have thrown the pot on the ground and broken it. Instead, he got it together and was able to give them both to me :).

Ross got them each a card to give me, and got me exactly what I'd wanted: a flour sifter :). I'm also getting an iPhone docking clock radio, which will be $20 off at Costco starting tomorrow. Luckily they took back the one Ross got me last month (and on which Tessa wrote "Happy Mother's Day" on the top! I was able to get the writing off using a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, though you could sort of see the pen indentations), which we realized was only for iPods.

Tessa made me cards and gifts from herself and her imaginary siblings. Yes, apparently I have acquired new children recently. Tessa told me about them awhile ago, and I had sort of forgotten because she hasn't talked about them since. But today I received aluminum flowers from Roy, and a flower picture from Ying-Yang (I'm serious). The gift tags indicated they were from "Roy, Tessa's imaginary twin brother" and "Ying-Yang, Tessa's imaginary sister"). Tessa herself made me a folded envelope card (green construction paper) and an origami doll that is supposed to be me (wearing a green dress and with a big heart on the front).

I could just melt from all the sweetness.

Happy Mother's Day to all you wonderful mommies out there.

2009-05-08T07:52:00.000-07:00

An Extended Stroll Down Memory Lane

As part of my mental prep for writing about our experiences with getting Matthew help over the years, I thought I'd skim through my blog, which I began in 2004. Of course, I ended up reading every entry (which didn't really take all that long, since there were lots of periods of time during which I didn't post much).

It was really fun, and often funny, and often poignant. Tessa was only two at the time. Matthew was doing so well at the end of his second round of kindergarten, interacting really well with other kids. I had a job (which sucked royally, but still, it was a job). I loved the house we lived in.

Then we moved, and I had all these high hopes for how things would continue to improve. Most of those didn't pan out, and though I think I might actually be in a better mental place right now than I was in 2004, there was a lot of darkness between then and now. While it's gratifying that we've come out of it, and Matthew is getting the help he needs, the chronicle of suffering is tough to read.

FIVE years. How could we have lived here for five years?

2009-05-05T06:29:00.000-07:00

How They Get Him

So it's been over a week since our IEP meeting, but I really wanted to share some excerpts from the Continued Stay Review that the school submitted for Matthew, because it's quite remarkable. Why has it taken me over a week to post? I've been...busy. (Basically ever since I posted about writing a book, I've taken to doing things like going back to sleep after the kids leave for school, and reading a lot. Let's all join hands and analyze THAT! :p)

Anyway, here's some of the report:

"Matthew's mental health needs are of the utmost importance as without strong supports in this area, his ability to function is severely compromised. He needs a small, self-contained classroom with predictable, consistent routines to alleviate his anxiety. He needs the availability of crisis prevention and intervention in support of the classroom program. It is only when he feels safe and secure in his surroundings that he can begin to trust the significant adults to help him and guide him when he is feeling overwhelmed and upset.

Socially, Matthew is a sweet, sensitive boy who is often overwhelmed by the complexities of social interactions. He does not understand social nuances or the effect that his behavior may have on others. His rigid thinking also hinders his ability to relate to others. He is competitive and does not like to lose or to be wrong in a game/discussion. These are very painful experiences for Matthew and he may lash out at others or at himself in frustration and/or disappointment. However, when he feels comfortable in his environment and shares an area of interest with another student, he very much enjoys having a conversation. At these times, he is animated, interesting, and very engaging. He needs close adult supervision during all social times to feel secure and to intervene in the moment when necessary before things begin to escalate..."

There's a lot more, but can you BELIEVE how perfect this is? This is exactly what I've been saying, since he was a toddler. For all those years, this is what he needed. I'm so struck by how inappropriate all those old behavioral intervention plans were (including the ones his former private therapist kept shoving down my throat), because this is what he needed. All the sticker charts and points and prizes in the world were not going to make up for what he really needed, which was being kept emotionally safe in his environment. And that was never going to happen with one teacher in a class with 20 kids, or an aide there for half the day, even if that teacher and that aide were wonderful. Having a school psychologist who understood him and loved him wasn't enough, when she tended to only see him in the aftermath of a disaster, when it was too late. The bottom line is that what Matthew needs is a lot of adult attention, a lot of eyes on the ground, and people who are not going to continually try to force him to do what he is not capable of doing.

(On a separate, sad, and sweet note: the girl in class that Matthew has been very attached to, the fun and funky Lydia, is leaving the school. I'm not sure if she's going to public school in her district or to another private school. I heard that when the class was told that she was leaving, Matthew asked to be excused to go to the bathroom, and when he returned it was obvious that he had been crying. He talks about her all of the time, more than he's ever talked about a classmate, so I feel so sad for him.)

2009-04-23T06:20:00.000-07:00

The Ultimate Advocate:
A Mother's Asperger Journey

I've been thinking about this for a long time, and I've decided to try and write a book. True to form, all I've got so far is the title (see above).

There are a lot of books out there written by parents with profoundly autistic kids. There are books written by adults who have recently been diagnosed with Aspergers and finally can make some sense about why they've been so "different" all their lives. But I want to tell our story, the story about the family of the child who speaks and reads and looks "normal," but needs help, has always needed help. I want to write the book that I wish I could have READ back when Matthew was five, before we started our agonizing, convoluted, never-ending attempts to get someone to help us. So really, while it's Matthew's story, this will be more my story, of what we went through and what we learned.

The biggest problem is, and this is what has made me hesitant to even think about doing this, is that it IS Matthew's story. And there is nothing on earth that Matthew hates more than people talking about him. The idea of a book that talks about how he had so many problems, how he was so troubled, may just be more than he can take. I don't know. I need to formulate the structure of how it will all be presented before I can talk to him. Maybe he will actually be heartened by the idea that some other kid may be spared the suffering he went through, if his/her parents can walk into an IEP meeting better informed, better prepared, and more knowledgeable of what rights their child has.

But I do want it to be personal, and that's the other problem. I can't really talk about what a fucked up process this has all been, without specifically talking about organizations and individuals in a critical manner. And while they do deserve to be criticized, I still believe that everyone truly did try to do the best they could for Matthew. It's just that their best wasn't nearly good enough. There's also the problem of bitching out the school district, when we are dependent on them to continue paying for Matthew to go to Clear View (or wherever he ends up going, as his needs evolve).

What do you guys think?

2009-04-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

A Question of Matthew

I had a bunch of stuff to write about our wonderful trip to CA, which was filled to bursting with all kinds of fun and parties and seeing old friends and other nifty goodness, but I've been exhausted and have had a migraine on and off (largely on) since the trip back on Monday.

This is about something completely different, and lacking in nifty goodness. Nothing horrible happened, and it's really okay overall, but it was one of those moments that highlight and floodlight some of the more difficult and painful elements of the reality of our lives.

The mom of one of Tessa's friends, M, asked yesterday if Tessa would like to come over for a playdate tomorrow, and I tentatively said yes. Then today the mom left me a message saying that instead, would it be okay if M came over to our house because of a scheduling conflict she had with her other daughter. That was perfectly all right with me (other than the fact that I have to straighten the house since people are coming over and there's still crap all around from unpacking from our trip :p). I called her back to tell her that I would be happy to bring M home with us after school tomorrow.

During the course of the conversation, the mom asked what time Matthew comes home from school, and then she said, "You've said before that Matthew really needs to maintain a routine after school. What does that look like?"

I was a little taken aback, but replied that he likes to sit at the computer and research all of the millions of video games he's interested in, and then he plays his games, and often he reads. She kept saying, "Umm hmm," like she wanted more information. "Nothing too exciting," I said, feeling a little confused.

"Does he need to eat dinner at a certain time?," she asked (all of this was asked nicely on her part; she really is a very nice person). I replied that he usually likes to eat around 5:30, but if he's had a snack that's not that big a deal to him. I changed the subject and said that the girls could play in the backyard tomorrow since it's supposed to be 70 degrees, which led to a discussion of the weather, and then we said goodbye.

After I hung up, it occurred to me why she was asking about Matthew (yes, I'm a little slow on the uptake today; Day 3 of migraine, thanks very much!). The last time M was over for a playdate, Matthew's bus broke down on the way home and he was furious when he got home. I had warned the girls that he was going to be upset when he got home, and they stayed in Tessa's room with the door closed when he arrived. At one point they wanted to come back out and continue playing Hullabaloo in the dining room, but I had to ask them to stay in Tessa's room while I continued trying to help Matthew calm down.

Today I realized that M must have gone home and told her mother that Tessa's brother had been screaming and crying (and smacking himself repeatedly in the head, but she probably didn't see that part) when he came home, so naturally the mom had been concerned. She probably hadn't heard the part about how the bus had broken down from M (though I did mention it when she came to pick M up, that Matthew had had a bad day because his bus had broken down), and that was the reason he had been so upset, so she was a little worried about having her child around an older, bigger kid who acted in such a volatile fashion.

I've been used to dealing with parents who obviously didn't understand what the "deal" with Matthew is, who only knew that he'd hit or pushed their kids or that Matthew acted "weird." These have all been the parents of classmates of Matthew's over the years. This is really the first time that I've encountered fear and disquiet from a parent of one of Tessa's peers with regard to Matthew. I've been waiting for years for Tessa's friends to start asking her "What is WRONG with your brother?" and it's probably happened plenty of times outside my earshot. But this was the first time a parent of Tessa's peer has expressed (in a very indirect way) concerns about Matthew's behavior around her child. I know, she just wants to try to understand him, thus the questions, and that's good, but I'm left feeling pained at yet another example of the world looking at him with trepidation and a lack of understanding.

The worst part is the anticipation that it'll just keep getting worse, as time goes on, as he gets older, and no matter how much he "improves," his behavior will always strike people as odd and scary and bewildering, and they will keep questioning what is "wrong" with him.

2009-03-31T07:18:00.000-07:00

And We're Out of Here...

I'm bustling about, getting the last minute things done in preparation for the kids and me to leave for CA tonight. I'm not good with making lists, so I prepare by wandering aimlessly about the house wondering what I forgot to do.

I spent a considerable amount of time doing things I really *didn't* need to do today. I went to Trader Joe's and returned 10 bags of freeze-dried strawberries that have been sitting in the cupboard for months. Tessa used to eat them every single day, and last year they ran out for awhile, so I had to buy freeze-dried berries at Whole Foods ($6.49 for 2 OUNCES!), so I started stockpiling the TJ's ones like I was preparing for armageddon. Then of course she decided she didn't like them anymore. So we were stuck with literally $100 worth of dried strawberries. I took 10 bags back to one TJ's last week, and 10 more to the other store near here today.

Anyway, we're going to CA, and for the last couple of days I've been caught up in that "I DON'T WANT TO GO!!!" mode that I always slip into before a trip. I don't want the hassle of making sure we're not forgetting anything, I don't want to travel by myself on a transcontinental flight with the kids (actually they do really well, being seasoned travelers, but still), I don't want to push myself out of the boring but nonetheless familiar rut of my usual daily activities. I know I'll have a great time, and the kids will have a great time, and above all, my mother will be so happy that we are there, but it's just the ramp-up that always bothers me.

Plus there is the issue of having to deal with the kids outside of their native habit. They love Grandma's house, but it's still different. In addition, Matthew's obsessiveness has really worsened over the past couple of weeks, focusing on this one online video game that he can't decide if he wants to play or not. He wants to play the game itself, but he read some complaints in his research that a lot of jerks play it, and he is afraid of having to deal with that. We've been around and around and around on this issue, and he literally can't stop thinking about it. He even (and this is actually a major breakthrough) told his therapist this week that he needed help with a problem, so they worked out a pros and cons list for whether or not he should try the game. All this is great, but he still keep coming back to being ambivalent, and being stuck in his ambivalence."O" is for Obsession.

Anyway, this is the first time we've gone to CA for spring break, and I'm glad I decided we should go. But there's a part of me that sort of wishes we were just hanging around here, taking it easy, rather than trying to get through security at JFK tonight.

2009-03-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

More Laughter at My Daughter's Expense

Today Tessa was making slides to look at under her microscope. She was using red food coloring as a staining agent, and I noticed it all over her hands and several tissues in her room. I asked her, "You didn't get any of that on your clothes, did you?" She assured me that she had not.

So of course later when I picked up her clothes as she got in the bath, I saw that she had gotten red spots on her Hanna Andersson pants (yes, I should have made her change since she was working with red food coloring, but I didn't even realize she was making slides till she was through). I was *pissed*, not just because of the stains but because she'd lied to me. She apologized profusely and cried, "I didn't want you to be mad!!!" She promised not to do it again, and I was a little cool toward her all evening.

As she was going to bed, she placed a plastic bag next to my computer. I just looked in it and there was a note and a tissue-wrapped bundle, closed with a green twisty-tie. Inside was a small pack of Red Hots, two pieces of bubble gum, a peppermint wheel, and two Tootsie Rolls.

The note read:

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry.
I love you.
Uhhhh...

From,
Tessa

Funniest apology note I've ever read! :D

2009-03-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

Fair Warning

I shouldn't laugh about this, but it struck me as so funny:

Ross took the kids to Target this morning at 7:45, so they could be there at opening to buy Pokemon Platinum DS. Tessa went from getting out of bed to getting in the car in 16 minutes; getting her ready in the morning is normally a herculean task. Matthew was really snapping to it, too, practically flying through getting dressed, going to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, getting his shoes on. Motivation truly is a miraculous thing.

But what I found funny was later, when I was getting out of the shower. I heard Tessa wailing, and Matthew trying to help her with her game, but apparently she still lost a battle. I came into the living room and she was huddled on the floor, hysterically crying. There's not much you can do for her when she's in that state, so we left her alone for a few minutes. She then got up, blew her nose, then grabbed a piece of paper and wrote something on it. I asked if she wanted to sit on the couch with me, so she sat in my lap for awhile, watched TV, and snapped out of her funk.

Later I looked at the piece of paper she'd left on the floor by where she'd been crying, and it said: "Wet Floore." :D

2009-03-20T04:49:00.000-07:00

Happy Spring (??)

It is exactly the vernal equinox right now. And it's snowing. Not like piddly snow showers, but outright SNOW.

It won't last, but come ON, this is ridiculous!

2009-03-19T11:53:00.001-07:00

Whew!

In the space of about an hour, I drank a double latte, took the migraine pain reliever my doctor told me to get today (which has 65mg of caffeine per tablet and I took two), and then drank a cup of green tea.

Ummm, why am I bouncing off the freaking walls?? Must be March Madness!! :D

2009-03-16T07:24:00.001-07:00

Shop Till You Drop

I've fallen in with another bad crowd.

Actually I've been in with this crowd for almost 5 years, but it's a different part of the crowd. I'm talking about the people on GymboRebel, which started out as a forum for women obsessed with Gymboree. I joined initially as a form of research, to find out which items were considered "hot" (so I could go buy them and resell them on ebay), what lines were coming up and what people thought about them, find out in advance when sales were coming, that sort of thing. I ended up becoming friends with a lot of the people there, and remain so, mostly on Facebook, though most of us have transcended Gymboree and I no longer buy for resale.

What I do buy now is Gap, Hanna Andersson, and Boden (a British clothing brand), so I frequent the parts of the forum devoted to those brands. And the devotees of those brands are every bit as obsessed with upcoming items, sales, and the value of later resale as the Gymboree people ever were, and I've caught the fever, I'm afraid. I spend way too much time checking there to find out what pictures of upcoming SKUs people have uncovered on the net, what sales are coming, what will be included in said sales, what coupons can be combined with what other coupons to maximize savings, etc. It's gotten a little rabid on my part.

And I am a freaking PIKER compared to some of these women.

During all the years I've been on this forum, it's never ceased to amaze me how much some people spend on their kids' clothes. People will start a thread asking how many outfits others have so far for the coming season (outfits, mind you, not individual items of clothing) and there are people whose purchases number over 100, for each kid they have. They start enumerating the number of dresses, each kind of top, each kind of bottom, and it's staggering. People will start a thread about how much people have to ebay each season, and the responses are given in the number of 40 gallon Rubbermaid bins, and sometimes those bins number a dozen or more. Everyone there talks about huge numbers of outfits that only got worn once, or not at all.

These are people with a serious children's clothing addiction. A certain item will sell out in their child's size, and they FREAK OUT, and cannot stop till they have somehow acquired that item. People call the clothing company or the store manager or whoever the vilest of names you can imagine, if they are somehow impeded from purchasing the items they desire. Every once in a while someone will step back and say, "It's only clothes," but somehow that sentiment falls by the wayside again and again.

And I'm wondering why. It's obvious that it is the mother's issue, because while a little girl may choose a twirly dress or a little boy may love a shirt with a funny monster on it, overall younger kids are not going to give a crap what they wear. Where does the need to buy and buy and buy come from? What is it fulfilling? I know that for me, it's often the buying part, the hunt, managing to find the bargain, more than the actual stuff itself. Though I do love to see the outfits on Tessa, my own little dress-up dolly.

And why kids' clothes? I know there are tons of people who spend dizzying amounts on their own clothing, or electronics, or jewelry, or whatever. One woman on the forum said something that I'll never forget: "Lots of people collect things. I collect children's clothes." So maybe there is that element to it, the coveting of items for your collection. It's a different kind of collection, though, because most of the hard-core addicts also ebay their kids' clothing, so it's a temporary collection (with constant replacement). For me, knowing that I'll get back at least something of what I paid for Tessa's clothes (and often as much as I paid or even MORE than I paid), gives me permission to overbuy.

I think the fact that it's their (umm, our) kids' clothes, that also allows people (um, me) to put so much time and effort and money into it. It's for the kids, not yourself, so it's all right, right? Studies show that people often feel badly after they purchase things for themselves, but people almost universally feel good after they purchase things for other people. You get the shopping thrill with less of the post-shopping hangover guilt.

I swear, I would love to write a book about all this. But with all the effort I spend online looking for deals and waiting for new lines to come out, who has the time?

2009-03-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

Misc.

1. So do I have the only child in the world who has to leave presents for the Tooth Fairy?? I know it's sweet and all, but really. At bedtime last night, Tessa had to hurriedly make the TF a bunch of paper cutouts, including "tooth holders" for both incisors and canines. All of this was put into a tiny little gift bag, along with a note that said, "Please return this bag!" I stuffed it all in my sock drawer, along with the clay pot she made the TF when she last lost a tooth. I knew I should have written a little thank you note for her in fancy "fairy writing" as I've done for the last several gifts and/or questions she has left with her discarded teeth, but I just didn't feel up to it. Because:

2. I think I might have migraines. All of my life I've had headaches, sometimes big nasty headaches that last for four days and make me feel like throwing up. I've always thought they were sinus headaches, but I'm starting to see a lot of the classic signs of migraines in them (like that nausea I just mentioned). Yes, I know I need to see a doctor. My nominal primary care provider (I've seen her all of once, for a physical last year) is out on maternity leave. But mostly I just don't feel like calling and making myself an appointment. I feel like I spend so much time and effort taking the kids to the doctor and the dentist, I never want to go myself. This last headache seems to be abating, but it could not have come at a worse time. Because:

3. Ross has been in DC since early Monday morning. He'll get back tomorrow night, so the bulk of the trip is over. Still, it's been quite awhile since he's been gone for four days in a row. This is the fourth trip to DC he's made in the last five weeks. I hate sleeping alone; I hate doing the bedtime routine all by myself; I hate not having him to talk to in the evenings after the kids go to bed. I hate hearing the wind rattle the back door and feeling, if not exactly unsafe, unsettled. I hate having him gone. I really hate having him gone this week in particular, not just because of the headache, but because:

4. Both of my kids are off this week for staff conferences. But not on the same day. No, of course not. Because then I'd have only one day of the week in which I couldn't get anything done. Though in a way, it's nice that they each get a Mommy alone day, a very rare occurrence these days. Today Matthew was off, and we had a very nice lunch out together, just the two of us. I tried to talk to him a little about school, though he was very resistant. Later we talked a little about other stuff that's been going on with him, and there's a lot going on, because:

5. My baby boy really is hitting puberty. I was very shocked the other day to discover that his testicles have descended much more than I would have guessed, and umm, they are not the testicles of a little boy anymore. I got him the AMA's Boy's Guide to Becoming a Teen, which I found to be age-appropriate and informative without being more comprehensive than he really needs at this point. (I was looking on Amazon and one book that was very highly recommended apparently also discussed abortion and boys engaging in mutual masturbation and we really don't need to go there at this point in time!) The day I gave it to him, he was interested, but didn't start reading it right away. That night, as he got ready for bed, he came up to me with the book and said, "Can we read this together?"

Of course I said, "Sure!" and we read the introductory chapter together, but in my head I was screaming, "Why do **I** have to do this? I'll do the whole girl routine with Tessa! I can't discuss ejaculation with him!!!"

The next night at bedtime I was in the middle of cleaning up, and he came over again and asked if we could continue reading the book. A bit relieved, I said hopefully, "I'm in the middle of this. Why don't you go read with Dad?"

Ross chimed in from the living room, "Yes, I'll read with you!"

Matthew looked at him rather askance and replied, "Never mind. I'll read by myself," and then went into this room and shut the door!

Ross has tried a couple of times again, asking if he has any questions or wants to talk about anything he's read in the book, but the answer is always no. I find this so interesting (and uncomfortable!). Ross and Matthew have a very good relationship, though of course both of my children have been mommy babies since the day they were born. And really, wouldn't Matthew want to talk to someone who has been through the same experiences, and well, has the same equipment? I guess I'm just relieved that Matthew finally has gotten the full low-down (so to speak) about sex (which he always says in a whisper :D). He seems neither grossed out nor confused, nor particularly intrigued by that part of the book, though. He said he hadn't really been wondering about that, more about changes to his own body. Which is fine, because:

I am still not ready to really discuss the intricacies and the myriad aspects of sex with this baby-faced child with feet bigger than my own.

2009-03-05T16:01:00.000-08:00

Erin Go Bragh

Tessa is working on handmade St. Patrick's Day cards for all her classmates and teacher. She wrote a poem called "Searching Shamrocks" that she wants to submit to the school newsletter. She took out a big book of St. Patrick's Day crafts from the library.

And we're not even Irish.

I feel like she's channeling the spirit of some overachieving 1950s housewife, designing handmade place cards for her picture-perfect dinner party and making decoupage light switch covers. I just wish she could drive herself to the craft store for poster paint and googly eyes. Apparently the pom poms I bought her today (her list specified "green and black pom poms mixed with a few other colors" and yes, she sent me with a shopping list) were inadequate, and I'm to get more tomorrow.

For St. Patrick's Day. What will she have planned for Easter? The mind boggles.

2009-03-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

Less than Three Weeks from Spring

And we've had this huge snowstorm! Welcome to climate change, I guess. I honestly can't tell right now if it's snowing again or the wind is just blowing snow around (fiercely, I might add), but it looks like a blizzard outside. Like how I envisioned blizzards when I was a little girl, reading the Little House on the Prairie books. Anyway, hellalotta snow.

I was sort of in denial about all the pronouncements about a Winter Storm Warning over the weekend. Yesterday we just had some flurries that later melted. But reports spoke of a lot of snow arriving overnight, that seemed to presage a Snow Day in the making for Monday. I just could not wrap my mind around a Snow Day in March, just weeks away from the official start of spring. Not that we have never experienced spring snow: when we lived in MA, Ross and Tessa made a big snowman on the first day of spring, and I had to take pictures to commemorate the occasion. Still, we haven't had anything like this since we moved to NY.

It was actually good that we ended up with a Snow Day today, since Matthew woke up at 1:30 and was still awake at 6:00. Thankfully he fell back asleep after that and didn't wake again till almost 10:00. I was up from 2:30 to 3:30 myself, as salt trucks and snow plows scraped and thudded their way past our house, again and again and again. I swear, trucks clomped by over a dozen times in half an hour. What the hell were they DOING?

It is beautiful, as fresh snow always is, but I'm still a little weirded out that it is here, in such voluminous amounts, so late in the season. Not to mention that tonight the low is supposed to be 12 degrees, RealFeel MINUS 12. I appreciate the symmetry of that, but that is just too damn cold.

2009-02-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

Equilibrium

Well, we couldn't have done this on purpose if we'd tried. Ross finalized our taxes today (he was sort of waiting to see if any of the new stimulus package stuff was going to have any impact on us, but everything stayed the same).

We owe the federal government EXACTLY ONE DOLLAR more than the state of New York owes us. I found that astounding.

Ross also got a pretty healthy bonus yesterday, the amount of which had really been up in the air considering how many clients his firm has lost in the last year. Luckily for Ross most of his projects are government-funded, so the loss of Bear Stearns and Lehman Bros. doesn't impact the stuff he's working on, other than its total impact on the revenue of the firm as a whole. This bonus is a good thing, considering he just had to pay another $2,000 for more oral surgery this last week (bringing it up to $3,200 so far this month), with an unclear amount of additional expense on the horizon. What they wanted to do to the first tooth (basically make a fancy-schmancy specialized denture for its replacement) was going to cost $17,000!! Yes, seventeen thousand. Needless to say, Ross declined the fancy-schmancy option and they will be going with a much, much cheaper fake tooth of some kind. And our health insurance seems to be balking on paying for the bone replacement part of the surgery, as he was told by the dental staff that they would. So the entire amount of his bonus post-tax may end up going to his mouth.

Easy come, easy go.

2009-02-27T05:56:00.001-08:00

Apropos of My Last Post

It seems that puberty marches on for others of Matthew's cohort as well, and some have already reached the finish line. Not surprisingly, a girl. The girl whose mother (one of my most cherished friends in the world) so nicely told me last summer, "She has bigger breasts than you!" So it should not be surprising to hear that that this sweet, beautiful girl has "become a woman," as they used to say in those outdated films they made us watch in elementary school. The one I got shown in fifth grade, and the accompanying pamphlet they gave us (courtesy of Kimberly Clark), were so old that they only talked about sanitary pads, not tampons.

Anyway, I'm sitting here with tears running down my face. It's not just that I'm feeling old and Auntie-ish, that I'm incredulous that the first girl of the group has started menstruating (other people's children grow up SO FAST. I mean, your own children grow up ridiculously fast, but I swear I turn around and other people's children have grown faster than seems humanly possible). I'm just thinking about those days when they were all babies and toddlers, and it feels like this glowing, magical time. This is fairly insane on my part, since if I really remember it correctly it was a time of utter exhaustion, when Matthew never slept two hours in a row, when he cried incessantly, when I was constantly apologizing to other moms whose kids he whacked.

But I swear, in so many ways, it was the best time of my life. I think about walking around Huntington Gardens, or hanging out on the third floor at Westside Pavillion, with my friends and their babies, all of us pushing our strollers (though usually I was carrying Matthew in one arm and pushing the stroller with my other hand--oh to have three hands back then!!), and my eyes fill up again, because I'd love to go back then, just for a day.

It was the time before, when Matthew was this gorgeous smiley baby who hugged and kissed all the other babies, who were his friends, before he even knew what that meant. It was before the world narrowed, before I knew what was coming. It was before I found out. And that was a long, prepubescent, time ago.

2009-02-25T08:15:00.000-08:00

Let's See If I Can Be Coherent

Here's a fun game: let's see if I can write a few paragraphs and make any sense whatsoever! It'll be fun, and challenging, too, since my head is spinning rather violently, making it difficult for the words to find their way out. I don't know what's wrong with me; I thought on Monday that I had the flu again, but now it's just a lot of chest congestion and extreme dizziness.

Anyway, been gone awhile (I just spelled that "hone awhile" three times in a row; hmm, this might be harder than I thought). We had a lovely February break together, and I actually mean that. I still have not gotten used to the concept of February break, though this was our fifth one, but in a way it's nice to come back from the holidays, have 6 weeks of school, then have a break, then 6 more weeks of school before Spring break.

Yesterday I went to Matthew's school and met with his therapist for our weekly session. Matthew used to see her on Wednesdays, but she has changed that to Mondays, which I like much better since she sees him before she sees me on Tuesdays, so I can get debriefed on anything interesting that transpires during their sessions.

Naturally she had wanted to hear about how his break went, and he did tell her about a few things we did during the vacation. But then he launched into a very detailed recounting of the story line of the newest DS game he's been playing, Dragon Quest V (a remake for the DS of an older game that had been produced years ago for a different platform). She was utterly amazed at how in-depth his description was, how well he remembered all the characters and scenes and how he thoroughly he analyzed the levels of strategy required for different sections of the game. And how involved he was in the characters, and particularly in the decisions the main character had to make in choosing a wife. See, the game is called Dragon Quest V, Hand of the Heavenly Bride, and Matthew really was emotionally invested in how the hero would choose a wife from three choices (or "options" as he put it, which was kind of funny).

This led to Pat and I talking about Matthew's obvious developmental progress. He's grown like three inches since summer, and he's just big, broad-shouldered and long-legged and his feet are huge. He's spending a lot of time in his room with the door closed, playing his DS or reading, and when he comes out it's pretty clear what else he's been doing. I can say "I'm so not ready for this" all I want, but it appears that my level of readiness doesn't really matter here. Pat said that he's talked a bit about Lydia, one of the two girls in his class, and that he seemed wistful in telling Pat that it was "obvious" that Lydia liked Liam, another boy in class, since they spent a lot of time together. Lydia's as tall as Matthew, and has actual breasts, not just buds, and is funky and fun-looking (Pat told me she dyed her hair crimson over the break, and she's naturally a blonde). It's so interesting to me to hear (second-hand anyway) Matthew talking about who likes whom and so forth, like other kids. I love that he cares, that his world has opened up more and he recognizes these things. It's so....normal.

I've already ordered him a book from Amazon, the AMA's book for boys "becoming a teen." It's so complex for everyone, navigating puberty, but I can't imagine how bewildering the whole process will be for my Aspie boy. He's such a mass of contradictory impulses, so mature at times and so like a five year old at others.

I guess incoherence doesn't just happen when you catch a virus, but is a part of the human condition.

2009-02-15T13:46:00.000-08:00

So Cutting Edge--Only Two Years Late

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and Ross made waffles for us all. After breakfast, I got ready and went out to do some errands before Tessa's swimming lesson. As I was leaving, Ross asked me if I was going to the mall. I said I hadn't planned on it, but was there something he wanted me to pick up for him?

"Well," he said, "I never got a chance to get your present. I was going to get us iPhones." His cell phone has been dying a slow death, and the battery now needs to be charged three times a day, so we've been talking about what new phones to get for some time. He really thought I would like an iPhone, and I kept thinking I didn't really need one, so we've been going back and forth. I didn't think I needed a new phone at all, but we were going to have to sign up for a new contract anyway, so it seemed like I should get *something* new.

Anyway, I thought this was a very nice Valentine's Day present (though it was a present for him as well), but then I realized what he was asking and said, "So I'm supposed to go buy my own present?" I've picked out many of my own presents over the years, but this time he had chosen it, so it seemed weird to go buy it for myself. He agreed we could all go to the mall later in the afternoon, which is what we did.

So predictably, now that I actually have an iPhone, I love it and see how pretty soon I'm going to wonder how I ever lived without it. It's so cool.

The rest of Valentine's Day was nice too. Tessa put on a Valentine's celebration for us in the morning, with dancing, a game of musical chairs (she won, what a surprise!), and a scavenger hunt with clues to help us find our presents. My present was a coupon booklet with various things like "Wash the dishes," "Make all the beds," "Make salad," and "Massage." There were four "Massage" coupons. She said that she had thought of 7 things, then since there were 10 pages, she made the extras also "Massage." Then she pointed out that all the coupons were in alphabetical order, which they most certainly were.

I gave Ross the complete series box set of DVDs for the Duckman animated series, which we had absolutely loved. For 10 years now we've been mourning its demise, and wondering why no one had put out a DVD set. A couple of weeks ago, on a lark, I did a search on Amazon and found that there was indeed finally a DVD set, that Season 1 and 2 had come out last fall, and a full series set came out in Jan. Well, if there is a better gift for your Valentine (or mine, anyway), than a foul-mouthed duck detective spouting invective at everyone around him, I don't know what it is. Except an iPhone, maybe.

2009-02-11T07:24:00.000-08:00

Somebody Help Me Out Here

I've been going nuts the last few days, trying to remember what you call it when you hear or see something unusual, and then *almost immediately* afterwards, hear or see it again. You know, when through sheer (and no, it's not serendipity I'm thinking of) coincidence, you hear the same phrase, the second time directly after the first. There's a WORD for this!

I have had three incidents of this phenomenon in this *week*. In the first, the kids were watching Fairly Odd Parents on Nick, and Timmy's grandpa was talking about popular things during the '20s, one of which was Banana Oil. I was reading a book on the couch next to them. **LITERALLY** the next paragraph I read contained a reference to banana oil! WTF? How often do you hear the words **banana oil** used???

The next happened the other day, when I walked through the bedroom while Ross was watching a movie. Woody Allen called Wallace Shawn a homunculus. I then returned to my book, in which a character called another character a homunculus! How often do people call each other a homunculus?? Plus we'd just been to the American Museum of Natural History *that day*, and had SEEN representations of homunculi!

The homunculus episode made me think of the previous episode of [whatever the hell you call it when this happens]. And, because I am old and senile, I could not remember what the phrase had been that had been repeated. I remembered it was from Fairly Odd Parents, I remembered that I had then read it in my book, but WHAT had it been?? Instantly obsessed (who me?), I started skimming the book, trying to find the reference. I could picture which side of the page it had been on, the approximate size of the paragraph it had been in, but I couldn't find it. I kept pawing through the book. I glanced through a passage in which the characters were talking about how Diogenes would have been better off looking for a competent man than an honest man. Ross walked past me and smirked when he saw how obsessed I was over this, and he SAID (yes, you can guess what's coming), "You're still looking for that? You're like Diogenes." WTF?? How often do people talk about Diogenes?

So please, someone, of my many overly-intellectual and trivia repository friends, you must know the word for this.

2009-02-09T09:22:00.000-08:00

Alexia Panini--A Review

I've determined that even when it sounds like it has a lot of yummy ingredients, a frozen panini that you heat in the microwave still kind of sucks.

2009-02-07T09:16:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays

On Saturdays I'm generally allowed to sleep in. Ross gets up when Matthew comes out of his room, and Tessa joins them at some point (some days she insists on "sleeping" some more with me, which consists of her curling up in bed and poking me accidentally with her feet and knees over and over as she thrashes about, obviously wide awake). Ross tries hard to keep them quiet, and I appreciate the effort very much.

This morning I stayed in bed till about 8:15, but I didn't sleep much after the rest of them were up at 7:00. There were repeated cries of indignation from Tessa, aimed at Matthew, and loud taunts from him to her. Ross, bless his heart, kept trying to shut them up, but to little avail. So I finally gave up and came out to the living room, which caused Tessa to go into a mad scramble with the pieces of paper she had scattered all around her. Realizing she was in the middle of a project designed for my benefit, I tried to retreat into the bathroom and then the kitchen while she gathered everything up.

She kept trying to work on her stuff in a corner, telling me not to look. I kept assuring her that I was not looking. Matthew was beside himself, trying not to tell me what she was doing, but he was having trouble controlling himself, which was throwing Tessa into paroxysms of anguish. Finally she took all her materials into her room.

After Ross and I had had coffee, he and Tessa disappeared. She then scurried into the living room, thrust a taped note onto my computer, and scurried away. The note said, "Go to Tessa's Room NOW!"

I called out to her that I was having my breakfast, but then I realized that she was holding Ross hostage in her room as part of her activity, so I abandoned my breakfast and knocked on her door. No answer. I knocked a few more times, with no answer. Finally Ross called out to me in Japanese to come in.

"DAD!," Tessa shrieked as I walked in. Then he popped out from under her bed covers and she crawled out from under her bed, bumping her head as she came. Apparently Ross was NOT supposed to tell me to come in, because they were surprising me.

There was a colorful sign on her blinds that read "Happy Mom Appreciation Day!" Tessa danced around and sang a Mom Appreciation Day song, then handed me a gift bag. Inside was a piece of paper with a heart drawn on it and fancy edging. "It's a placemat!," Tessa informed me. There was also a card shaped like a pink cat that read, "Dear Mom, Happy Mom Appreciation Day! I you. oxox. Love, Tessa." I was later given a "Job Copon" book, with pages of coupons: car washing, plant watering, dish washing, and vacuming [sic].

Very cute stuff. She's been telling me for a few weeks that Feb. 7 was going to be a special holiday, but I had no idea it was all for me. Of course, I privately told Ross that a Mom Appreciation Day might have included actually letting me sleep, but really, it's the thought that counts.

Happy Mom Appreciation Day, to all you moms out there.

2009-02-06T07:23:00.000-08:00

Five Days a Week

I was holding my breath, wondering if it was really going to happen, but it did. Both of my children actually went to school a full five-day week, this week. This has not happened since LAST YEAR (as in, since the week of Dec. 15, 2008). There has been sickness; there have been snow days. I have made quick dashes to the grocery store while a sick child has stayed home alone (that is a real advantage over the toddler days!). I had to pick up Ross from his knee surgery while watching the clock (Tessa was really sick that day) and tell him that no, we could NOT stop at the pharmacy on the way home to pick up his vicodin.

But here was a week of normalcy, when everyone went to school and Ross went to work every day. The funny thing is that it doesn't FEEL normal anymore; it feels like an aberration. I keep stocking up on staples at the store, just in case (boy we have a lot of soup in the cupboard).

If they can go all five days next week, that'll really feel like a personal record.

Of course, then the week after that the kids are off for February Break :p.

2009-02-05T09:06:00.001-08:00

What Next?

I have not posted since last week, because what do you say after "I don't have cancer!" Writing about funny things the kids say or how I'm really tired after a long weekend of preparing ebay auctions seems, well, trivial.

But most of life is mundane, by its very nature. So here's something funny Tessa said this morning :). She was talking about how there was a special celebration for Abraham Lincoln's birthday coming up, because he was going to be two thousand years old.

I said, "Um, two thousand years old?"

She realized she had made a mistake, so she corrected herself, "I meant, two million years old!"

I laughed and laughed and asked how a person could be two million years old. She sheepishly said, "I MEANT, two thousand years old!" I laughed some more and reminded her that she'd already said two thousand. Finally she said, "Oh! Two HUNDRED!"

She's such a brilliant girl, but number concept is not her strong point. She's the same way with time duration; it's very flexible for her. She'll say something happened a few months or weeks ago, that happened last week. She'll say that something happened a couple of days ago, that happened months ago. Is it the terms that confuse her, or is she just not that linear about time? As Janis Joplin said, it's all the same day, man.

2009-01-30T10:34:00.001-08:00

Finally, The Answer:
It's Not Cancer!

I can't believe how long and drawn-out this process has been. As I said before, I have been waiting for over two weeks for my biopsy results. I kept thinking that that must mean it was negative, because if it had been positive wouldn't someone have gotten ahold of me? Unless (and I'm very good at finding low probability possibilities), the test results had come up scarily positive, and they wanted to test them again. Or they had to culture something, and that took longer, or the results had been inconclusive the first time.

Anyway, I went in last Monday to have a follow-up transvaginal ultrasound, which was so bizarre that I didn't even post about it at the time (since I was still waiting on the biopsy results, and figured I'd update the whole shebang together). The tech who did the U/S was obviously VERY new to the equipment, so it took forever and the tech observing her kept having to explain things, and step in and help (it's not good when someone has a big wand up your vagina, and says, "I don't understand what you want me to DO.")

Anyway, after a really really long time, they were done and I could sit up. I asked, "Could you give me the measurements on the polyp?" and the experienced tech said, "It's not there anymore."

Yes, that's right. It had performed some kind of vanishing act. She said that it was probably from getting bumped around during the biopsy, and then it must have passed out during my period. Very surreal, but okay. That's good, I guess. Actually I didn't know if it was good or indifferent, because I didn't know the biopsy results yet.

So this morning I got an email back from the doctor's office, saying that my ultrasound was normal. Ooookay, again, that's great, but what about the BIOPSY? I called again, left another message stating very explicitly that I had received the results of the ultrasound, but would really like to have the final word on the biopsy. A nurse just called a few minutes ago, so the all-clear klaxon can finally sound.

Whew. It's almost anti-climactic at this point. But now I do feel fully free to book our flight to CA over spring break in April. I had said it tongue-in-cheek, that we would go if I wasn't in chemotherapy, but I really had wanted to know for sure before I bought tickets. And thus the curtain draws on this thoroughly strange experience. Knock on wood that the next medical scare ends as nicely.

2009-01-30T06:56:00.000-08:00

Basketball and Vomit

I did not sleep much last night.

The UCLA-Cal game didn't start till after 10:30, so I knew we were going to be up late anyway. Actually, let me backtrack, all the way to yesterday morning and the events that would foreshadow the night to come.

Just before it was time to get dressed for school, Tessa went to take her temperature, which was normal. She said she didn't feel well. I said that she had felt fine just a few minutes ago, that she was fine last night, and that she had no fever. I gave my usual line, which is "If you really feel sick later, ask to go to the nurse and I will come pick you up." She went to school and I was able to run my 5000 errands (already this week I had had Matthew home sick and a snow day).

For dinner she had a hot dog and Goldfish. Later in the evening, she started to complain that her jaw hurt. I expressed my sympathy, as I rushed to prepare 67 ebay auctions. Around bedtime, she started to complain that her stomach hurt, so I gave her some Pepto-Bismol. She claimed that her stomach and jaw always hurt when she ate a hot dog, which was certainly news to me. She went to bed without event.

At 11:15, Tessa came out of her room, squinting against the light. She took a tissue from the desk and blew her nose, and said that her stomach still hurt. I went over to her and she was all sweaty and clammy. Ugh, I thought, this is not good. She still did not have a fever. She went back to bed. Since you've read the title of this post, you can guess what happened next.

Around 11:30, Ross and I retired to the bedroom to watch the rest of the game. About midnight, Tessa came into the room, covered in vomit. Her bed was an absolute disaster (considering what she ate, plus Pepto-Bismol). Ross stripped her bed and carried it all down to the basement to wash. I got her in clean jammies and put on fresh bedding. She went back to sleep.

We watched the rest of the game, went to sleep, and were awakened by Tessa coming into the room. She climbed onto the bed and promptly threw up again, less massively than on her bed, but still an impressive amount. Ross stripped our bed, went to take the bedding down to the basement (and put her stuff in the dryer), but realized he could not find the basement key (you'll recall that to get into our basement, you have to go OUTSIDE, walk across the patio, and go in through an external door). He was sure he'd put it back on its hook, but it wasn't there, and tearing the cabinet apart did nothing to turn it up. He got the spare key and finished up the laundry. I got Tessa in more clean jammies and put her on the couch while I put fresh bedding on our bed. She fell asleep on the couch. Finally, at like 4:00, we put her back in her bed and went back to bed ourselves. Ross had to get up in less than an hour for work.

I said that I felt really badly, that I'd made her go to school when she was obviously sick. It's so hard to know, but I really should not be dismissive of her, because she is not the kind to fake being sick in order not to have to go to school. This has just been such a terrible month, with so much sickness. I'd like to hibernate till cold and flu season is over.

Oh, but UCLA won their game handily, so there's that to sustain me.

2009-01-29T07:02:00.000-08:00

Informationally Challenged

So what am I supposed to think when Ross suddenly calls at 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and I hear the sounds of PA announcements in the background, so I know he's on a train? I ask how he is and in a tight voice he says, "Not great. I'll explain when I get there." I ask if he's okay, and he says, "Yeah," and then we hang up. And I'm left with 35 minutes of wondering what's going on.

My first thought is that someone has died. He got a call at work, and now he's coming home and making arrangements. His dad? His grandmother? His other grandmother?

The next thought is that he fell and really hurt his knee. Is it the same knee? The other knee? Does he need to go to the ER? Will he need a more major surgery now?

Is it job-related? Did something blow up at work and he just walked out? Is the firm in huge trouble? Did he get pissed and quit?

So I scurried around trying to keep occupied till it was time to go pick him up. Then I drove to the train station and there he was, walking fine, so it wasn't his knees. That left someone dead or the firm in financial chaos.

He got into the car and I said, "So, what's up?" and then I noticed that the side of his face was all puffy. He explained that he'd been to the dentist for a cleaning and check up last week, and they took some x-rays and didn't like the look of one of his teeth, so he'd gone back for a follow up. The whole tooth was shot, with internal infection, so they pulled it and rebuilt it. Before the rebuild, though, they'd had to do a full bone graft. The whole bill was $4900 (!), but it looks like we're only going to have to pay $1000 (!). He had them call his prescriptions for antibiotics and mouth rinse into the Rite Aid in Grand Central, then once he got them he realized that it was 4:20 and there was a train leaving in 10 minutes for home, so he decided to just leave rather than going back to the office.

I'm glad he's okay and the tooth got taken care of, but WTF??? Why did he neglect to tell me that any of this was going on? I didn't even know he'd gone to the dentist last week. I certainly didn't know that there seemed to be a problem, and that he was going back yesterday. Is this classified information? Why didn't he consider this worth telling me?

He said he was sorry, he just didn't think of telling me. And he said that this way, I didn't have to worry about him, and I was left free to continue to worry about why the hell my doctor STILL has not gotten back to me about my biopsy results. I finally emailed last Friday, and got no response, so I called (yes, CALLED!) and left a message yesterday morning, and still have not gotten a response. It's been over two weeks now. It was supposed to take about a week. For the first week or so, I was trying to remain optimistic, since my doctor had said that if it was negative, she'd just send me a letter in the mail. So since I kept not getting a call, I kept thinking that meant the news was good and I was getting a letter. But no letter has come, and no calls, and frankly this surfeit of information is starting to get to me.

2009-01-26T19:29:00.000-08:00

Facebook Just Got Very Surreal

I just got a friend request from the guy I lost my virginity to.

I haven't had any contact with him since 1983.

Whoa.

2009-01-24T17:46:00.000-08:00

Labels

Yesterday I went to a quickie CSE (Committee on Special Education) meeting. It was basically administrative, to change Matthew's IEP qualification.

Back in the spring, during the CSE Annual Review, the chairperson said that they wanted to change his IEP qualification from Autism (which was done back when we first came to the district in order for him to get services. We didn't care what they called him, as long as he got services, so his official designation as far as the district is concerned has been Autism) to Asperger's, since they felt that better reflected his level of functioning. We were so happy that they had agreed to his out-of-district transfer that we didn't care what the IEP said.

However, to go to his school, he has to have a designation of Emotional Disturbance on his IEP. Last summer, during the craziness of trying to find him a placement, and after we'd decided to send him to Clear View, I was told by the admissions director that that was a state requirement for them. She said that he had to have an Axis I diagnosis that supported that designation. So I had to get ahold of his psychiatrist, from CA, and fax her a release, and get her to fax the school a letter giving him an Axis I diagnosis of Impulse Control Disorder NOS (which certainly applies to him). The school was satisfied and I promptly forgot about it.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from the new chair of the out-of-district CSE, saying that Clear View wanted his IEP officially changed. I had sort of assumed it already had been, so I was surprised. But again, it seemed like a formality so I agreed to the scheduled meeting.

The meeting was short, and I ended up being the one arguing for the change in designation (but not really arguing, since the district chair didn't seem opposed to the change). I said that while Matthew could have a lot of designations, and Asperger's was his official diagnosis, Emotional Disturbance certainly was not an inappropriate designation as well, based on his Axis V score of 45, indicating a severe impairment in school functioning. The school psychologist at his old school (she is still his service coordinator since the public school is still his district home school) was in attendance and she backed me up by stating the difficulties with impulse control Matthew had demonstrated last year. Anyway, it was all approved and over with quickly.

Now I'm feeling kind of sad. Through all these years, from when he was five and we were working on getting him diagnosed for the first time, I've always said that I didn't care about him being labeled. I've said that they could call him a blueberry for all I cared, as long as someone helped him. Strangely, though, having his IEP qualification now listed as Emotional Disturbance somehow, well, disturbs me a little. It sounds so dire, like a big iron gate being slammed shut. Will this be a problem later in his life, trying to convince someone to give him a job, or accept him into a program, because he was once officially Emotionally Disturbed? Is it a label that will really matter? They're just words, and should not define him, but will they?

2009-01-22T11:28:00.000-08:00

A New Tale

As all the headlines have trumpeted, it's a new beginning.

For Matthew, this fall has been his own new beginning, with a new school, a new therapist, a new chance. Today was his parent conference (which included his teacher, Mr. Fox (very sharp dresser, very white teeth, nice hair), the supervisor of the classroom unit, Mrs. McGrath (classrooms are divided into units, 4-5 classrooms each, with a supervisor), and Matthew's therapist, Pat (all teachers and staff are called Mr. and Mrs., but the therapists all go by their first names), whom I see once a week for our private session.

I can't quite think of what to say. He's doing so well. He's made so much progress in all areas, and they all just think he's wonderful. He's participating, he's contributing in class discussion, he's doing his work in class (with a lot of prompts still, but he responds right away when he's redirected, rather than getting upset about being told to refocus). He's doing fine in all subjects.

They are scribing for him when it comes to paragraph writing, and he has an Alphasmart to use for shorter writing, but they are trying to get him to try and manually write out single sentence answers. We talked for a long time about his processing disorder and I think I got them to understand what's at the root of the issue (as I see it). Mrs. McGrath said that she had another student with a very similar set of processing issues. We talked about figuring out how much to back off and how much to push, and that it might really be unproductive to push all the usual methods of sounding out letters and developing phonemic awareness. It might really be better to figure out methods for circumventing his disability, like giving him more word lists to copy from. This is so much better than last year's special ed. consultant teacher, who kept telling me that she didn't want to stop pushing him to write because she didn't "want him to get to be an adult and not be able to write a grocery list." OMG, like that's what's really important. So they are so on the same page with me on this.

Socially, he's still holding back a lot, but at least he's getting along okay with all the kids in class (with the exception of one kid, but apparently that is true for all the other kids in the class as well). During the daily free time period, he used to grab a book and sit by himself everyday, refusing to talk to anyone or play games (he was choosing to read textbooks, which his teacher found very amusing). Now he sits on the couch and watches the other kids play games. I asked if he's really watching, or if he was in his own head, and Mr. Fox said that he was clearly watching and following what they were doing. So maybe he's preparing, figuring out which kids he may want to play with or which games he may want to try playing with them. He's also probably still getting comfortable in the class, period.

One area that's gotten a lot better has been specials, which started out very difficult at the beginning of the year. He was refusing to participate, would go into art and put his hands over his ears and make high-pitched sounds to drown out anyone talking to him. Now he's participating in everything, art and music and gym, with no hesitation at all. He's actually eager to go to gym, which is just worlds away from the last two years. I said that I think that the problems he had at the beginning of the year were probably residual trauma from all the horrors he had in specials last year, and it looks like he's adjusting and accepting that things are different here. Just wonderful.

I asked if they thought there was a difference since he went back on meds, and it isn't clear if there is or isn't (he started back on Abilify during the second week of Dec.). But he's had a lot fewer outbursts than in Nov., and they said it's been quite awhile since he ended up "in the hallway" (which is what happens when a child really loses it and needs extra help, so then the supervisor can assist). It's so hard to know, and his dosage is so slight, and there are so many confounds, like the fact that there was the long break. But I think we're sticking with the current dosage, since there doesn't seem to be any reason to change.

One of my favorite moments of the conference was when Mr. Fox said that during the inauguration (they brought all the kids in the whole school into the auditorium to watch on a big screen TV), one boy had complained that it was getting boring, and Matthew immediately chastised him by saying, "Don't you realize what an historical event this is? This is wonderful!" OMG, that's my boy :). It seems that I've not only turned him into a science fiction geek, I've turned him into an historian :).

So there it is. Matthew's best conference, well, ever. I can't express how happy I was when I left.

Of course, I got knocked down a peg when he came home in a total rage because there had been an accident on the road and the bus was really delayed (they came home about 45 minutes later than usual, which freaked me out a little, so he was on the bus for an hour and a half). He calmed down eventually, but it did remind me that while things are much better, and I'm inexpressibly grateful for that, he's still Matthew, and the work continues. But this was not a Tale of Two Conferences, as it has been every year since Tessa was in nursery school. It's a new chapter for Matthew.

2009-01-20T12:28:00.000-08:00

Hope

The day did not begin well. When I went to wake Tessa up, she moaned and said immediately, "I don't feel good." No no no no no no! Not again! I had Matthew's long-awaited parent conference today, and I needed her to *go to school*.

In the hope that she was just tired after the long weekend, I let her stay in bed a few minutes longer. Then I carried her out to the couch and got her some dried blueberries (instant sugar! perk you up!). Then she agreed to try and eat a couple of waffles, which she did, lying on the couch, silently, looking very hangdog. After she ate, she looked very pale ("How can you tell?," my niece once asked me when I said Tessa looked pale, considering how fair she is normally) and said her stomach hurt. I gave her Pepto-Bismol. She was very congested. I gave her Mucinex and Sudaphed. I got her dressed. I helped her to the bathroom. I got her toothbrush ready.

After she finished going to the bathroom, she looked at me, tears in her eyes. She looked awful. "All right!," I snapped. "Go lay on the couch!"

"I have to wash my hands," she said weakly.

"Go ahead!," I yelled. And then I started to cry. I mean, she was FINE all freaking weekend. She was fine all last week, if residually snotty. So today she feels sick, once again messing up my plans? It's just been one thing after another, since our trip. I called to reschedule the conference.

Matthew went to school (a little freaked out because I'd cried. He tried to rub my shoulders, poor boy :( ). I left Tessa on the couch and told her I was going back to bed. I got up at 10:30, took a shower, put a load of laundry in the washer, made myself coffee, then got ready for the inauguration.

And then, you know? I was really glad she was here with me. She didn't want to watch the inauguration *at all*. She wanted to finish watching The Kids Next Door movie on Cartoon Network, but I told her she didn't have a choice. This was historic, and someday she'd tell her children that when Barack Obama was sworn in as President, she was home sick with her mom, and we'd watched it together.

"Is it almost over?," she kept asking, during the hour and a half I made her sit with me and watch, as I sobbed and sobbed and felt my heart swell to bursting. I can see her point; most of the proceedings showed a bunch of people walking through hallways and outside to a balcony. But for me the whole thing was magical. (An aside: Can we just BOTTLE Yo-yo Ma? The sheer joy and humanity that man exudes. If we could sprinkle his essence over the earth, there'd be no war.)

When President Obama spoke of the bravery of Americans, the usual brave selfless souls, the firefighters who tumble into the smoke-filled corridors, but also the parents who nurture their children, I grabbed Tessa and thought YES, that's right. It takes bravery and selflessness to be a parent. Hearing that made me want to pledge to be a better person, to roll with the punches more gracefully, to not see the sick child as a thwarting of my plans.

He spoke of trust, and the strength we all share, and finding meaning in something greater than ourselves. I was filled with hope, for all of us, and for myself, that I could.

2009-01-18T20:45:00.000-08:00

Buggy

How sad to find that I was not immune to the virus or whatever it was that Ross had last week. Is it flu? Does it matter? All I know is that I feel like crap nobody bothered to warm over.

Flu-like ick (since I'm not really sure it's really flu) is so much less straight-forward than a good old fashioned cold. Sneezing, coughing, stuff like that sucks, but is somehow more tangible than the vagueness of flu-like-edness. And vague really is the best way to describe it. I feel...not all here. At times, not very here at all. It's like someone removed my head and placed it elsewhere, and my body is still trying to figure out how to deal with the situation. Stoney, but without the fun. Plus lots of aches and pains and sweating and freezing and insomnia. Party on.

Plus I had to read a Jonathan Lethem book today, Amnesia Moon, which was good, but definitely not something to combat hallucinogenic states of mind.

Now I'm afraid to go to bed, since I hate just tossing and turning, plus Ross is still congested from his own sickness and has been snoring like a snorting bear for the last 3 nights, and it's too damn cold for me to come out and sleep on the couch. So here I sit with my tea and my spinning head and the vague feeling I wanted to say something.

2009-01-15T09:03:00.000-08:00

Alone Again, Naturally

I'm all alone in the house, for the second time in 23 days. Other than Jan. 5, the first school and work day we were back from CA, I haven't been alone here since before we left for our trip.

Ross' knee feels great and he got the stitches out yesterday. As he said, the whole knee surgery was nothing compared to the flu he contracted right afterwards. He was sick as a dog most of last weekend and the beginning of this week. The irony is that this was the first year in a long time in which he'd gotten a flu shot. The last time he had the flu? You guessed it: the last time he had a flu shot. Sensing a pattern here... He did go back to work last Friday, but Tessa was home for Superintendent's Conference Day.

I was sure that I was going to be still not-alone today, since last night the forecast showed snow coming in after midnight and intensifying around 7:00 AM. The timing seemed to indicate that there was going to be snow on the roads during prime school bus hours, after it had fallen but before the plows could do their work. Matthew's school is particularly prone to canceling or delaying the day's start when that happens, since they have kids coming from all over the county.

So I got out of bed at 6:15 this morning to drive Ross to the train station (snow falling steadily and 10 degrees...THIS is the morning he decides to go back to work??) and checked the school closures page on the WCBS website. There were a number of schools showing 2 hour delays, and a couple of closures, but our school district was not listed, nor was Matthew's school. I kept checking, thinking maybe it was too early for them to have called it, but no. So off to school they went, after I had brushed the snow off the car to drive Tessa. Have I said lately how much I loooooooooooooove my car, my AWD Suburu that just backs right out over the ice and snow like it's nothing?

Once Matthew's bus had carried him away, I went back to bed. And I stayed there till 11:30, absolutely unable to get up. Now I've had coffee and am planning on cleaning the bathroom and running errands. Not exciting, but so much easier when there's no one here to complain about cleaner fumes or having to get out of the car at the grocery store. No one asking me to get them stuff. No one asking me to get off the computer.

Sometimes alone is pretty nice!

2009-01-14T15:58:00.000-08:00

Testy

I finally had my biopsy today. I've been waiting for over a month, and was not happy about that waiting time. And now I'm really not happy that I have to wait for the results, for about a week.

All in all it went okay, which was a relief, since I have that uncooperative cervix, the one that made all of my interuterine inseminations sheer hell. My GYN shot it up with lidocaine first, which probably helped, and the cervical structure itself probably changed from having two enormous heads squeezed through it. (Matthew may have been a c-section baby, but that was after the four hours his head was lodged at +5 station. Ross could actually see his hair!) Those kids were actually good for something :D! Anyway, it still hurt some, and I've been very crampy since then, but not bad overall.

So now we wait for the test results. I have another ultrasound scheduled for the 26th, to check to see if the polyp has grown. I'm trying not to think about it too much, *despite* the commercial on the radio I heard just this morning for an informational meeting on gynecological cancers :p. Too many of these kinds of coincidental references have been popping up for me, though I do recognize that it's like when you break up with your boyfriend and ALL the songs on the radio seem to be all about breaking up with your boyfriend. What, you mean the universe *isn't* out to get me? How absurd!

2009-01-09T10:03:00.000-08:00

Company

It's been strange this week, getting back into the swing of things, since I've only been by myself one day (Monday). On Tuesday, Tessa was home sick and Ross had his surgery. I had to leave her at home and quickly drop him off, and then later quickly pick him up, rather than waiting at the surgery center as I'd planned.

On Wednesday, we had freezing rain in the morning, so Matthew's school was cancelled and Tessa was on a two hour delay. Ross was at home, trying to work on his laptop with his leg propped up on a Pilates ball and frozen peas on his knee.

On Thursday, Tessa was home sick again (continuing her two week pattern of getting better, overdoing it, then feeling sick again). Ross was at home, again trying to work, giving himself a blinding headache because he couldn't find the info he needed on the 'net. He still managed to write two papers (one of which will result in about $50K for the firm) and about four proposals. So he was deep into Work Like a Dog, the home game.

Today, Tessa has the day off (someone please explain to me why they scheduled a Superintendent's Conference Day, which means no school for the kids, during the very first week back from break).

So it's been a week of kids' shows and the sounds of video games being played, and a bunch of people incessantly asking me to get them stuff. In other words, it was like a holiday or weekend, only not. I've been happy to have the company, but it was kind of odd.

2009-01-05T14:07:00.000-08:00

Back in the Saddle

I'm back, at least physically. Mentally, I'm in that odd limbo state that I inhabit while I'm transitioning from CA to NY or NY to CA. I'm a little sad, a little relieved, a little unsettled, and a lot tired.

We got back at 7:00AM on Sat., after a red eye that took a lot out of me. The kids both slept, extremely fitfully, on each side of me, leaning and pushing and squeezing me into painful and unnatural contortions. We had to drive our friend home (he was kind enough to pick us up in our own car) and then drive home ourselves. The kids were perky-ish, having slept; Ross and were not, having not. The kids didn't want to eat anything, so Ross pulled me into the bedroom, not for nooky, but for a nap. After an hour, Tessa came into the room, cleared her throat, and announced that now she wanted breakfast. The rest of the day was a haze.

All in all, it was a great trip. Tessa was sick on and off the entire time, starting with a 102 fever on Christmas Day. She kept rallying, because when it comes to parties, she's a professional, but then she'd feel poorly again. Deb, it's actually really good that she didn't come over to your place for the sleep over, since she woke up the next morning with a fever again. I hope she didn't infect anyone!

Matthew was intermittently anxious and angst-y, and he was a little surly with people who tried to talk to him at parties, but he loved being there. He was so sad when it was time to leave. He ate well, as usual, as Grandma reintroduced him to fried eggs. Then on our last morning there, he was running around and banged his toe on the corner of the couch, splitting open the cuticle and pushing the nail back. It was *nasty* and still really hurts. He had to wear flip flops home on the plane.

Ross and I had a wonderful time on our "date" to L.A., staying at the fabulous Sofitel Hotel (it actually wasn't as fabulous as I'd hoped, and I would have been pissed if we were paying the usual rate of $325 a night). We ate chili dogs at Pinks for the first time in 15 years. We walked around campus at UCLA on a perfectly gorgeous afternoon. We had a truly remarkable dinner at Lucques, which was in walking distance of the hotel, and saw two movies, which was as many movies as we'd seen in the last 3 years. It was so nice.

All the parties and all the visiting with beloved family and friends was lovely, though much too short, of course. I felt so warm and loved and happy. I wish there was a way of bottling that feeling, to be opened and relived when I'm here and alone and sad.

But there's no time to stay in limbo, as Ross has his knee surgery tomorrow, and I get to play nursemaid. Maybe I'll even get to play the kind of nursemaid that Glenn Close did in "The World According to Garp."

2008-12-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

And To All, A Good Night

We're off to the homeland. Have a wonderful holiday season, and I'll catch you next year.

Peace out.

2008-12-21T08:21:00.000-08:00

Perspective

Yesterday we went to New Jersey for a birthday party (our friend, the dad, greeted us by saying, "Sorry to make you come involuntarily to New Jersey," to which I replied, "Is there any other way?"). As we were leaving, we were talking about going to CA, and the mom said, "You're so lucky, that your family is so close and you can go see them."

It was kind of a startling statement, since I think of them as so far away, and I lament how infrequently we get to see them. However, these friends are from the Philippines, which is a hell of a lot farther away than CA. They just had a second baby last month, and while the mom's mother came to stay with them and is still here, I could tell that my friend was very sad that the rest of her family can't see the new baby.

So I do bitch and moan about how expensive it is for us to fly to CA, and how hard it is to live without any family nearby whatsoever, but, as with all things, it could be worse.

2008-12-15T09:07:00.000-08:00

One and a Half Centimeters

So I have this polyp in my uterus, that I just found out is one and a half centimeters long. That's pretty big as endometrial polyps go, apparently, as most measure in millimeters, like the size of a sesame seed. This is, what, the size of a jellybean? Why do we so often describe the size of strange objects in terms of foods? Is it bigger than a bread box? (Okay, that's not a food, but contains a food.)

Due to its size (?), my OB/GYN has decided to biopsy it first, then do another U/S, then do a hysteroscopy that may or may not include removal. Depending on a number of factors. I was not super stoked at the thought of removal (meaning a d&c), but for some reason the thought that it must be biopsied *first* is disconcerting. Is it more likely to be cancerous because it's measurable in centimeters rather than millimeters? I found myself unable to ask when I just had the doctor on the phone. I just made sure to remind her that I have a pain in the ass cervix, that may make the biopsy difficult. She assured me that if it didn't go easily, they'd go ahead and anesthetize me (locally, I'm assuming) to prevent me from suffering any pain. That's nice, I guess.

I'm trying hard not to think of one and a half centimeter time bombs, or one and a half centimeter pools of poison, or one and a half centimeter creatures with teeth and claws and bad attitudes, burrowing within.

2008-12-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

The Five Minute Conference

To quote the Staples commercials, that was easy.

Things are different this year, school conference-wise, since my kids are no longer going to the same school. It's nicer this way, that it doesn't have to turn into the the bi-annual Tale of Two Conferences. Tessa's fall conference was yesterday, and Matthew's will be sometime in January. How nice not to have to compare and contrast, not to have to juggle my responses, not to have to tamp down my praise for Tessa's performance and accentuate the positive of Matthew's in the midst of troubled times.

I'd already seen her report card, of course, and knew that she was scoring above grade level in literally everything. "4"s across the board, with the exception of some elements of writing, which rated "3"s. The only thing she has ever gotten a "2" on in her report cards (meaning "approaching grade level") was under coordination in P.E. (oy vey, she definitely is my child, as is Matthew. Why couldn't they have inherited any of Ross' jockiness, instead of all of my lack of coordination?).

Her teacher just asked me if I had any questions, that she really didn't have much to say, since Tessa is a complete delight to have in class, she gets along with everyone, she is a kind and thoughtful child, and academically she is a superstar. She is testing at the highest level she can be tested in directed reading (she can only test her to 34, which corresponds to mid-third grade, because the highest level she can be tested at the end of second grade is 38, which corresponds to end of third grade, and children are supposed to show improvement during the year. It's such bullshit, and I really wish they didn't have all of these rules, so I could know at what level she's really reading.)

Anyway, we were in and out in five minutes, which was fine with me. The best part was that I was alone with Tessa after that, and I could tell her how proud I was of her, how wonderfully she was doing in school, and that I appreciated that her teacher enjoyed having her in class so much. I could do this freely, without making it a comparison to Matthew in any way, and Tessa didn't have to feel uncomfortable about being praised in front of him. She took it in stride; she's very casual about how smart she is and how well she does at school. It's never ever competitive for her; she just accepts it and enjoys the experience of learning.

I very honestly could not have hoped for more.

2008-12-09T15:59:00.000-08:00

Enabler

Well, I have done it. I have truly done it, and I'm HAPPY I've done it.

I have turned my son into a science fiction geek. FINALLY!

A few months ago, I started begging Matthew to try reading Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. I loved the whole series (up to approximately seven thousand books at this point, including the latest, Ender in Exile, which just came out a couple of weeks ago and which I am currently devouring. I bought it in hardback. I HATE hardback, but I am willing to tough it out because there was no conceivable way I could wait till this came out in paperback). The timeline of the books is very staggered, with the second book taking place 3000 years after the events of the first, and one offshoot sub-series taking place at the same time as the first book, from a different character's perspective.

Anyway, the original book has been promoted as Young Adult in recent years, and I knew, absolutely knew, that Matthew would love it. I mean, how could he not get into the concept of children playing a video game that simulated space warfare (or so they thought), or these kids learning to play physical war games in rooms with zero gravity? He was skeptical, but after much cajoling, he finally started it. It took him about 30 pages (as I knew it would, as the story takes a bit to ramp up), and then he couldn't put it down. He read the whole book in 2 days, and wanted the next. Woohoo!! Score one for Mommy!

I re-read Ender's Game myself after he finished (it's been forever since I'd last read it) and realized by page 5 that there's quite a bit of swearing. Oh. Well. No biggie, in the grand scheme of things. I started to worry, however, about what would happen if he wanted to read the later books in the series. They are far less, shall we say, Young Adult. There are a lot of significant plot points like illegitimacy and celibacy and folks hooking up. In other words, talk about sex. I guess I didn't have to worry about it, since I think that all breezed over his head. At least he never asked about it, or even brought those issues up. Mostly he wanted to talk about the concept of sub-lightspeed travel and the implications for those who would travel in this fashion, and what would happen if a way was found to travel faster than the speed of light. He was fascinated by the idea of an alien construct that functioned like a supercomputer with access to all digital information in the universe. He used the phrase "defy the laws of physics" more times than I can count :).

Now he's on the fourth book (as they were chronologically written), the last book in that arm of the series. It is a wonderful thing, to get to talk about these books with my son. If it enables him to talk to me without expounding upon computer components, the smallest details of whatever video game he's playing, or the plot points of Cartoon Network shows, I'm a happy camper.

2008-12-08T09:22:00.000-08:00

Helllooo???

This is so trivial in light of some of the other issues going on around here (not to mention the issues in the universe in general), but MAN, I can't understand why companies would put the words "Stocking Stuffers" at the top of catalog pages that they are marketing to children. I mean, come on. This one that just caught my eye is on the Scholastic book order Tessa brought home from school. I've been questioned about this in years past regarding the Lego catalog, Amazon.com, and other sources I can't think of at the moment. Because, you know, SANTA puts the stuff in the stockings, so why are they trying to sell you stocking stuffers?

I'm actually sort of amazed that my kids still believe in Santa. It's nice in a way, and stressful in another, as I'm always on guard about saying anything to tip them off. I really don't know if Matthew still believes (considering he totally busted me by asking why the Amazon page said that I had purchased the Hover toy Santa gave him last year, under "As someone who has purchased XXXX"; oops. Now all Santa gifts are purchased under Ross' ID). But Tessa TOTALLY does, and has reconciled in her own head why some kids say that they don't believe in Santa and that their presents (usually big ticket things like a Wii) are from their parents. She has decided that *wrapped* gifts are from your parents, but the stuff in your stocking is from Santa. She isn't fazed by the fact that most of her Santa gifts are too big to fit in her stocking and are left arrayed around it. They're not wrapped, so they must be from Santa.

I'll sort of be relieved when the cat is out of the bag. Same with the tooth fairy. Yesterday Tessa lost a tooth in the Modern Art gallery at the Met, of all places. She walked around looking at Mondrians and Picassos with a big wad of kleenex in her mouth. When we got home she immediately set to making a Christmas gift for the tooth fairy, a clay pot with a heart-breakingly sweet note, that went under her pillow with the tooth. So I had to pry that out from under her pillow, write her a thank you note in curvy "fairy writing," and sneak it under her pillow with the money. Sweet, but I'm about ready to be done with all this.

2008-12-05T10:02:00.000-08:00

Meds Again

I just got a call from Matthew's therapist, who said that she had had a meeting with the clinical director of the school, who after extensive monitoring of Matthew in the classroom and after talking with his teachers, decided to try him on Abilify again. In light of how activating the drug was the last time he was on it, she's starting him at half the usual initial dose, so hopefully he doesn't turn into a zombie this time. There wasn't any precipitous event that made the psychiatrist suggest starting meds, just the fact that she's observed him for several weeks now and his anxiety level seems to have gone up in the last few weeks (aka the end of the honeymoon).

It's interesting that it was exactly this time last year that he was on Abilify. He'd started in Oct., and by the beginning of Dec. we'd sorted out the dosage and he was no longer waking up at 1:00AM every night, unable to go back to sleep. Everyone thought he was doing very nicely on the drug. Dec. and Jan. were great months, the best months he'd had in over a year. Ambre, you might remember me telling you at New Year's Eve how we really seemed to have found the right med for him, and how it had some unique mechanisms.

Then in Feb. everything completely fell apart again, and his psychiatrist changed him to risperidone. But Ross and I both felt that it was a much more global issue, rather than a medication issue, so who knows what would have happened had he stayed on Abilify.

I was a bit hesitant about starting him on meds again right before the holidays, but his therapist said that it was probably a good time, to start titrating up from a super low level, to give him some support during the schedule upheaval of the holidays. I guess that could be true, or not. I guess we'll find out.

I have to admit that I'm ambivalent about this. On the one hand, I have never been adverse to him being on meds, if I thought that they would help. I'm just not sure they ever did, though perhaps they will in this better environment. Part of me was happy, being able to tell people how well he was doing, completely off meds, earlier this fall. Mostly I wonder if anything (therapy, drugs, whatever) will help "enough," enable him to get through life, now and in the future.

2008-11-29T07:18:00.000-08:00

Sacrifice

I love Thanksgiving. I love the traditional food so much (and we really don't deviate from the traditional menu, though I make green beans with butter and pepper rather than THE green bean casserole). I used to order the turkey dinner at Koo Koo Roo all the time because it had all the traditional Thanksgiving dishes.

This year, my turkey was absolutely freaking perfect. The moistest, juiciest, most delicious turkey I have ever eaten. And *I* made it! It took an hour longer to cook than I had anticipated, but it was worth the wait. My gravy, made with the copious drippings of said turkey, was absolutely top-notch too. Ross had wanted to just have the Trader Joe's gravy I'd bought for later in the left-overs cycle, but I am so glad I made my own.

Though the food was delicious, our meal itself was far from Norman Rockwell. Matthew got incredibly agitated as we sat down to eat, despite numerous reminders that he didn't have to eat anything he didn't want to eat. He said he wanted to try some turkey (having said all day how good it smelled as it roasted), but got very upset when a small piece was put on his plate. We told him again that he didn't have to eat it. He could have bread (plain french bread that he loves) or green beans (which he used to love, but has recently gone off of, having eaten them every single day for several months). He could wait till later to have his pizza (it was only 4:30, and he'd had lunch at the usual time, so he wasn't starving). We told him repeatedly that he didn't have to eat anything he didn't want, that the main point of the meal was that we were all together and thankful that we had each other. He spent the whole time sitting backwards in his chair making angry noises, tapping the back of his chair, refusing to talk to anyone. He was overwhelmed, not sure about why he was so upset, unsure of whether he wanted to try any food or not, and pissed off beyond belief that we were asking him to stay at the table with the rest of us.

I alternated between trying to coax him out of his funk and trying to ignore him, but neither really worked. It all seemed really unfair to Tessa, who tried EVERYTHING, ate a mountain of sweet potatoes, a huge bowl of green beans, and two servings of turkey. I walked the fine line of praising her for trying everything and thanking her for her compliments about the food, and not making too big a deal of it because I knew it would further upset Matthew. As soon as he was excused from the table, he went into his room and closed the door and didn't come out for hours, saying he wasn't hungry and didn't want to eat.

There was a front page article in the New York Times the other day that really annoyed me. The headline was something like, "To Buy Children's Gifts, Mothers Do Without." The mother featured in the opening anecdote was buying the toys her four year old wanted for Christmas. Due to harder economic times, to do so she had to forego ****buying the new season designer jeans she has been coveting***. Are you freaking KIDDING me??? Mothers all over the world go without EATING so that their children can eat. That's sacrifice. The article continued to talk about how women's apparel sales have been down, as a result of mothers cutting back on their own clothing in order to buy holiday gifts for their kids.

I have always done this. My clothes are almost exclusively from church sales or from the 70% off past season stuff at Lands' End. I don't have a shirt that cost more than $10; most were around $5. And I do NOT consider that a sacrifice. Certainly not a front page news-worthy sacrifice. It's just life.

But having to choke down my food, food that I spent all day preparing and that I wait all year to eat, because my son is ruining Thanksgiving dinner (and I can't actually *say* "Stop it, you're ruining Thanksgiving dinner!"), and having to remain calm and supportive about it because he is just not capable of dealing with his feelings, that is a sacrifice. I'm usually sanguine about having to work around all of my kids' issues, letting go of what I want because of what they need, but this just made me so angry and sad.

2008-11-24T10:32:00.000-08:00

Well, That's a New One

I've had parts of my body called all kinds of things over the years. Today my OB/GYN was doing my annual exam and said that she wanted me to have an ultrasound, because my uterus was "a little bulky." :p I guess I'm packing away the pounds in all kinds of places. (Actually she wants to check for uterine polyps.)

My uterus was once called "irritable" when I was pregnant with Matthew and was having contractions every single day for 4 weeks. I said you'd be irritable too if someone put you through an experience like that.

Oh, and can I just say how much I LOOOOVE our new medical group? I got through my annual exam visit, went downstairs to schedule my ultrasound and a mammogram, and had my blood drawn at the lab to check my FSH and LH and some other hormone-related something, ALL in less than 45 minutes! All the staff is just really top-notch too. It's like having all the services of a big hospital in a little compact two-story building. Coolio.

2008-11-19T12:34:00.000-08:00

Taking the Fifth

Last night Tessa called out to me from the bathtub: "There're red spots on my legs!" Sighing inwardly, I went over to look. This is the girl who can get dramatic about a tiny, not-seen-with-the-naked-eye bump on her skin, so I figured it wasn't anything, or just one of the many itchy little bumps that spring up on her body due to her variety of allergies.

In fact, her whole torso, both arms, both legs, and back were covered with a bright red and white, splotchy rash. She got out of the tub, and the rash appeared just slightly raised. It didn't itch, though, so I decided to wait and see how it looked after the heat of the bath wore off. In a couple of hours, it was still there, but much lighter, so I thought we should wait till morning. She doesn't do well with benadryl, and otherwise seemed to be fine, though I did have "Should I take her to the ER for a shot of prednisone?" running through my head.

And then I promptly forgot about it :(. This morning we all got up as usual (well, I was up from 5:00AM on) and it wasn't till she was getting dressed, after having been sitting right next to a space heater, that I noticed that the rash was BRIGHT red on her legs now, all the way down to her feet. Then it hit me, "That looks like Fifth's Disease!" Neither of my kids has ever had it, and I don't even think I've ever seen it in person, and she didn't have that classic slapped-cheek look (she's as fair as Snow White and always sitting next to heaters these days, so she always has rosy-red cheeks), but I just immediately knew that's what it was. I got online and looked up pics of Fifth's, and they looked exactly like what Tessa had.

So, no school, quick call to the ped to get her seen, and he confirmed that it was Fifth's. Of course now she's not contagious, so she then went to school. I called Ross to make sure that no one in his office is pregnant. And that was that.

Except for one thing that was kind of funny. I went to Tessa's class again this afternoon to observe math and computer lab time (so fun!) and I saw a stack of notices on the teacher's desk. You know, the notice you hate getting, that says, "Your child may have been exposed to a contagious condition" and has several conditions listed. The one that flips me out is the notice about lice. It was just weird to think that this notice going out to all the families in class was about MY child, the bearer of contagion. Oh well, I guess if you have to be the bearer of contagion, Fifth's is a pretty mild thing to bear.

2008-11-18T13:15:00.000-08:00

Second Grade Morning

It's National Education Week again, which means parents are invited to visit their kids' classrooms at our public school. This morning I went to Tessa's class during ELA time, and it was so much fun.

As I walked in, the class was finding words using the letters of the word "PRESIDENT," which cracked me up after all the Pathwords I've been playing on Facebook lately :D. They found 58 three- and four-letter words (the teacher wouldn't let them simply put an "s" after three-letter words in order to make a four-letter word :)), which I found very impressive. There wasn't time to move on to five-letter words, so the kids got to stand up and stretch for a minute. Mrs. Shulman led them in making circles with their arms and bending side to side, as she told them to "Get out all the shpilkas" :D :D. (Yes, TC, I do know what that means!)

They were then given a packet on Barack Obama, and Mrs. Shulman pointed out on the world map all of the places associated with Obama in his life. Then the class took turns reading aloud about Obama's life story, and Mrs. Shulman asked questions like, "If Barack Obama was born in 1961, how old is he now?" and "What are some of the qualifications for becoming president of the United States?" I thought these were pretty advanced questions for second grade, and the kids answered them all.

I hadn't really had much contact with Mrs. Shulman yet this year. Ross went to Parent's Night, and when the class went on a walking field trip to the firehouse, Mrs. Shulman could not come along (she fractured her pelvis in three places when she tripped and fell during a field trip to the White Plains Hospital last June, and she can't walk very quickly still). This was my first time to see her "in action" so to speak, and she is just wonderful. She's kind of an old school teacher (no pun intended), but SOOO warm and effusive and patient. I think it's the highest calling on earth, being an elementary school teacher who REALLY teaches, who constantly looks for ways inject more information, more insight, more items of interest, into the lessons printed on the worksheets, all in an engaging way that keeps the kids (LITTLE kids, still) listening and WANTING to learn what she has to offer.

We are fortunate beyond words that we have such teachers.

2008-11-16T13:11:00.000-08:00

The Definitive Response

The little table next to my side of the bed has been missing a couple of bolts for quite awhile now. It still stood okay, but the legs were pretty wobbly. Today we went to Home Depot and Ross got some new bolts for it. We came home and he put them in.

I was in the kitchen, and he came in and said, "That table is now sturdier than it has been for four and a half years." Then he said, deadpan, "You can't lean on it during sex, though. It's not that strong."

To which there was really only one thing I could say:

"Are you saying I'm FAT???"

2008-11-15T07:18:00.000-08:00

Sign of the Times

Matthew and Tessa were discussing the age-old question of what came first, the chicken or the egg. It remains such an interesting debate :).

Then Tessa said, "Well, we could just GOOGLE IT!"

I loved that, the conviction that all knowledge is available on the web, that all would be revealed thanks to Google. These kids don't remember a time when answers of all kinds were not at your fingertips, literally. Information does not have to be actively sought out, but comes to you via a three word query.

Of course, they don't realize how the programming of search engines determines the responses to those queries, nor do they likely care. That's a sign that's hidden from view, behind the bright colorful letters. (Not that I'm trying to make Google sound ominous. I love Google, if only for giving me the gift of Gmail.)