1/29/10
Yesterday, Dixie came home
with college brochures in her backpack. I guess she really wants those panties.
1/27/10
Well, a girl can dream
Melody, worried that daddy doesn't do laundry often enough, wanted to conserve her clean panties.
Mommy: Remember that I just bought 19 pairs of panties? You already had about 10 pairs in that size, so it give each girl 14 or 15 pairs of panties, which is enough to last two weeks. That's plenty to get you through, even when the laundry gets piled up.
Melody: Two weeks?
Mommy: Yes. Two weeks. You'll be fine.
Dixie: Wouldn't it be great if we had three months' worth of panties?
Mommy: Daddy's not THAT slow with the laundry. You don't need that many.
Dixie: But it's not fair! I WANT enough panties to last three months. When can I have lots and lots of panties?
Mommy: When you're in college.
Dixie: Really?
Mommy: Yes. When I was in college, I remember going weeks without doing laundry. I knew guys who went months.
Dixie: Wow! I can't wait to go to college so I can have all the panties I want!
Mommy: Kid, whatever motivates you to go to college.
Mommy: Remember that I just bought 19 pairs of panties? You already had about 10 pairs in that size, so it give each girl 14 or 15 pairs of panties, which is enough to last two weeks. That's plenty to get you through, even when the laundry gets piled up.
Melody: Two weeks?
Mommy: Yes. Two weeks. You'll be fine.
Dixie: Wouldn't it be great if we had three months' worth of panties?
Mommy: Daddy's not THAT slow with the laundry. You don't need that many.
Dixie: But it's not fair! I WANT enough panties to last three months. When can I have lots and lots of panties?
Mommy: When you're in college.
Dixie: Really?
Mommy: Yes. When I was in college, I remember going weeks without doing laundry. I knew guys who went months.
Dixie: Wow! I can't wait to go to college so I can have all the panties I want!
Mommy: Kid, whatever motivates you to go to college.
He's kept me busy
When I'm not spending hours on the phone with different offices, agencies and idiots, I've either been at an appointment, meeting or at work or been on the floor with LarryBoy and Alfred (his asparagus sidekick). Or throwing a birthday party or cleaning up from that party.
Yesterday was a particularly tough day. We had an 8:30 appointment with MHMR's autism unit. They have several services, some we need, some we don't need yet, some that are beyond my wildest dreams and some we hope to never need. We got on about a half-dozen wait lists, anything from 2-3 months for respite care to 18-24 months for ABA therapies to 10 years for job skills and career services. Also got information on music and horseback riding therapy and (how cool is this?) a person that will come in and help your child with autism get bathed, dressed, fed, teeth brushed, etc in the mornings so that you can attend to your other children. This sounds like overkill, but since it has taken as long as 45 minutes to change a diaper while Charlie punches, bites, claws and kicks me, I must admit to being tempted.
I also got information on Medicaid waivers, how to choose what help we need and how to pay for our copays for what we do use, once our name comes up on the waiting list.
Fabulous, right? She was sweet, eager and informative--completely unlike every other experience I've had with a government agency. There was no waiting room, no taking a number and waiting three hours. There was even a Charlie-proof place for him to play while we talked.
Problem? While I intellectually know that MHMR stands for Mental-Health Mental-Retardation and even worked for one in college, gathering data on community services, it never once occurred to me that autism falls under the umbrella of mental retardation. It kind of hit my like a brick that we say 'developmental disabilities' to be polite and politically correct, but that also meets the definition of some not-so-nice words and it was really hard to sign my son up for services under that umbrella, no matter how rationally I know it isn't that.
After some volunteer work at church followed by cleaning house and watching a friend's kid for a few hours, I went to tour a preschool. This school follows the Montessori model, which is supposed to be fantastic for kids on the autism spectrum and I'm not entirely trusting that the school district will do what they are supposed to do in providing him developmental preschool.
Despite being told on the phone that they had experience with autism, even had another student with it, that they were fine with him not being potty trained, that they had openings (including part time) and that they had classrooms that should be suitable for Charlie, it was made clear when I met with the director that Charlie was not welcome in her school. It was also pretty clear from the large rooms containing 30 kids and 3 teachers that Charlie was not going to love that place.
Leaving work, I checked my voice mail to learn that the blood they'd drawn last week was not enough and that I need to take him in to do another draw.
Did I mention that Dixie had a turtle habitat project due today? Oh, and Melody had a birthday?
Yesterday was a particularly tough day. We had an 8:30 appointment with MHMR's autism unit. They have several services, some we need, some we don't need yet, some that are beyond my wildest dreams and some we hope to never need. We got on about a half-dozen wait lists, anything from 2-3 months for respite care to 18-24 months for ABA therapies to 10 years for job skills and career services. Also got information on music and horseback riding therapy and (how cool is this?) a person that will come in and help your child with autism get bathed, dressed, fed, teeth brushed, etc in the mornings so that you can attend to your other children. This sounds like overkill, but since it has taken as long as 45 minutes to change a diaper while Charlie punches, bites, claws and kicks me, I must admit to being tempted.
I also got information on Medicaid waivers, how to choose what help we need and how to pay for our copays for what we do use, once our name comes up on the waiting list.
Fabulous, right? She was sweet, eager and informative--completely unlike every other experience I've had with a government agency. There was no waiting room, no taking a number and waiting three hours. There was even a Charlie-proof place for him to play while we talked.
Problem? While I intellectually know that MHMR stands for Mental-Health Mental-Retardation and even worked for one in college, gathering data on community services, it never once occurred to me that autism falls under the umbrella of mental retardation. It kind of hit my like a brick that we say 'developmental disabilities' to be polite and politically correct, but that also meets the definition of some not-so-nice words and it was really hard to sign my son up for services under that umbrella, no matter how rationally I know it isn't that.
After some volunteer work at church followed by cleaning house and watching a friend's kid for a few hours, I went to tour a preschool. This school follows the Montessori model, which is supposed to be fantastic for kids on the autism spectrum and I'm not entirely trusting that the school district will do what they are supposed to do in providing him developmental preschool.
Despite being told on the phone that they had experience with autism, even had another student with it, that they were fine with him not being potty trained, that they had openings (including part time) and that they had classrooms that should be suitable for Charlie, it was made clear when I met with the director that Charlie was not welcome in her school. It was also pretty clear from the large rooms containing 30 kids and 3 teachers that Charlie was not going to love that place.
Leaving work, I checked my voice mail to learn that the blood they'd drawn last week was not enough and that I need to take him in to do another draw.
Did I mention that Dixie had a turtle habitat project due today? Oh, and Melody had a birthday?
1/24/10
Blame it on the Girl Scouts and their evil ways
I have figured out why Americans are fat and it isn't what you think. It isn't our fast food and fructose syrup laden diet, it isn't our preference to remain inert by any means necessary, it is the fault of those danged Brownies and their vast conspiracy.
Even their name is a food.
Every October 31st, the gauntlet of gluttony begins as women all over our nation stay up past their children's bedtimes, digging through candy-packed plastic pumpkins, gleaning out the good stuff.
We continue this slow expansion for the next two months, aided by seven types of pie at Thanksgiving and the urge we all have to bake something and share it at Christmas.
Then New Year's hits, we hit the scale and vow to hit the gym. January 1st our budgets and our bellies go on diets as the bills and bellies are shocking to us all that time of year.
About three weeks into the new year, right as we've had time to get good and hungry, these appear:
Yeah. They cost a little too much, are sold by people a little too cute and taste a little too good to ever resist. Their smear campaign derails our every effort and we fail, destined to be fat for another year.
Even their name is a food.
Every October 31st, the gauntlet of gluttony begins as women all over our nation stay up past their children's bedtimes, digging through candy-packed plastic pumpkins, gleaning out the good stuff.
We continue this slow expansion for the next two months, aided by seven types of pie at Thanksgiving and the urge we all have to bake something and share it at Christmas.
Then New Year's hits, we hit the scale and vow to hit the gym. January 1st our budgets and our bellies go on diets as the bills and bellies are shocking to us all that time of year.
About three weeks into the new year, right as we've had time to get good and hungry, these appear:
Yeah. They cost a little too much, are sold by people a little too cute and taste a little too good to ever resist. Their smear campaign derails our every effort and we fail, destined to be fat for another year.
1/23/10
I have been a mommy for six years now
It's a little hard to believe, but this one is now six:
This morning, we had a Princesses in Pajamas eating Pancakes and getting Pedicures party.
With some help, I painted ten little girls' worth of toe-piggies:
They were too tiny for most of the little nail decals:
I'm not entirely sure I have an attractive side, but I am pretty sure this is not it:
By the time this picture was taken, she was a little tired of standing and grinning for the paparazzi.
I would like to point out that this picture features all three of my children, close to each other, looking the same direction with no one crying. If we ignore for a moment that my red-eye feature doesn't seem to be working on my photo editing software, I think we can all appreciate the wonder that is this photo:
Speaking of appreciating wonders, I would like to pause and brag about the cake I made:
I made some gluten-free, casein-free cupcakes for Charlie and one of the mamas there.
Happy birthday, sweet girl!
This morning, we had a Princesses in Pajamas eating Pancakes and getting Pedicures party.
With some help, I painted ten little girls' worth of toe-piggies:
They were too tiny for most of the little nail decals:
I'm not entirely sure I have an attractive side, but I am pretty sure this is not it:
By the time this picture was taken, she was a little tired of standing and grinning for the paparazzi.
I would like to point out that this picture features all three of my children, close to each other, looking the same direction with no one crying. If we ignore for a moment that my red-eye feature doesn't seem to be working on my photo editing software, I think we can all appreciate the wonder that is this photo:
Speaking of appreciating wonders, I would like to pause and brag about the cake I made:
I made some gluten-free, casein-free cupcakes for Charlie and one of the mamas there.
Happy birthday, sweet girl!
1/22/10
13 hours til the birthday party
The cake is made, the stuff is bought. Yeah, that's about it. My back and head hurt, Dowlan's knee hurts and my house is not ready.
Did I mention the Christmas tree is still up?
Did I mention the Christmas tree is still up?
1/21/10
It's just a cookie
Dixie hands Daddy the paper out of her fortune cookie and asks him to read it . . .
Daddy: It says, "Get ready to have fun! Panda Express."
Dixie: How did it know I'm ready to have fun?
Melody: It doesn't know. It's just a cookie.
Maybe we need a fortune cookie that reads, "You will do all your work at school today. Panda Express."
Dixie's latest trick is turning in a blank page at school. She writes her name on the top, pretends like she's working, then turns it in, undone.
Her teacher, having caught on to this, checks to see that a paper is done before accepting it. Dixie, having caught onto that, has started to fill in, circle and write things at random before turning them in.
Her teacher mentioned to her that you have to finish kindergarten work to get to go to first grade. This widened her eyes and got her cracking. Unfortunately, that lasted only two days. Late this morning, as I was zoned out, trying to sort out the next steps for Charlie, the phone rang and I heard a teeny voice saying, "Mommy? I made some bad choices," coming from the other end of the phone.
Ugh.
This parenting thing is exhausting. It's always something. Where's my cookie reading, "Enjoy your weekend at the luxury spa while a team of experts clean and reorganize your home. Panda Express."?
Daddy: It says, "Get ready to have fun! Panda Express."
Dixie: How did it know I'm ready to have fun?
Melody: It doesn't know. It's just a cookie.
Maybe we need a fortune cookie that reads, "You will do all your work at school today. Panda Express."
Dixie's latest trick is turning in a blank page at school. She writes her name on the top, pretends like she's working, then turns it in, undone.
Her teacher, having caught on to this, checks to see that a paper is done before accepting it. Dixie, having caught onto that, has started to fill in, circle and write things at random before turning them in.
Her teacher mentioned to her that you have to finish kindergarten work to get to go to first grade. This widened her eyes and got her cracking. Unfortunately, that lasted only two days. Late this morning, as I was zoned out, trying to sort out the next steps for Charlie, the phone rang and I heard a teeny voice saying, "Mommy? I made some bad choices," coming from the other end of the phone.
Ugh.
This parenting thing is exhausting. It's always something. Where's my cookie reading, "Enjoy your weekend at the luxury spa while a team of experts clean and reorganize your home. Panda Express."?
It's official
The neurologist was fabulous. How he listened, how he interacted with Charlie, the questions he asked, help he offered and everything he said was just what we needed. When he asked if Charlie has a sense of humor it clicked in my head that this guy knows exactly what to look for.
He did some bloodwork to rule out lead poisoning and fragile x syndrome, but said it is pretty clear he is on the autism spectrum. He affirmed my thoughts--that it was likely the mild end, that there is no reason to think Charlie doesn't have a great life ahead of him. The therapies and approaches we are taking are good and he said he'd do paperwork to help us get him into developmental preschool and on the ABA therapy waiting list at Bluebonnet Trails.
He said there were other tests we could do to try and find a cause, but we both agreed that cause really didn't matter. He is how he is and our energy is better spent on treatments. There is no medication, just therapies and the earlier they are done, the better for him.
There have been moments where Charlie was having a particularly good day where I wondered if this was all in my head. There are so many things Charlie can do and does well. But those moments were always followed by the particularly bad days where I wondered if we would survive his childhood.
Having a diagnosis means a few things: that a doctor sees what I see in Charlie, that I have his reports and records to back us up when we go through various avenues seeking help for him.
I'm so happy to have completed this important step, but it's a little hard on mama.
He did some bloodwork to rule out lead poisoning and fragile x syndrome, but said it is pretty clear he is on the autism spectrum. He affirmed my thoughts--that it was likely the mild end, that there is no reason to think Charlie doesn't have a great life ahead of him. The therapies and approaches we are taking are good and he said he'd do paperwork to help us get him into developmental preschool and on the ABA therapy waiting list at Bluebonnet Trails.
He said there were other tests we could do to try and find a cause, but we both agreed that cause really didn't matter. He is how he is and our energy is better spent on treatments. There is no medication, just therapies and the earlier they are done, the better for him.
There have been moments where Charlie was having a particularly good day where I wondered if this was all in my head. There are so many things Charlie can do and does well. But those moments were always followed by the particularly bad days where I wondered if we would survive his childhood.
Having a diagnosis means a few things: that a doctor sees what I see in Charlie, that I have his reports and records to back us up when we go through various avenues seeking help for him.
I'm so happy to have completed this important step, but it's a little hard on mama.
1/20/10
forget Good News/Bad News, it is time for Great News!
The neurologist's office called today to ask if he could come in tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. This is the step we need to get a diagnosis. Once he has a diagnosis, we have lots more options for therapies and support.
1/19/10
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