I've been thinking, lately, about putting a new category in here specifically to tag Asperger's-related stuff. Of course---being me, and Monkey being Monkey---so far all of my category title ideas run to things like: Planet Rigid and the Unbendable Rules of Doom or I Just Memorized This Entire Dictionary In Under An Hour And Don't Understand Why You're Upset That I Forgot To Put On Underwear Today or Everything is perfectly fine right up until it's not or God either trusts me a whole bunch OR he has a wicked sense of humor You see my dilemma. Maybe I'll just go with Quirky is the new Black....
We have been recording Life on the DVR and then watching it as a family on weekends, as time allows, and everyone has really been enjoying it. What's not to like about slow-motion views of really long, slimy tongues shooting out to grab bugs, for example? Or watching a bullfrog dig a connective waterway so that the tadpoles stranded in a puddle can get back to the pond? Much like Planet Earth, Life has stunning visuals, fascinating tidbits about the animal kingdom, and even gets a pass as being educational. Unlike Planet Earth, however, Life is narrated by Oprah Winfrey. Now, I can probably...
So today has been completely awesome so far. I knew that first thing this morning Chickadee had a pediatrician appointment, and I'd carefully arranged my day so that it wouldn't be a problem. In fact, right around dinner last night I was feeling pretty proud of myself for having worked ahead and such so as to have a couple of hours to spare this morning without any difficulty. Yay, me! Of course---as is typical the moment I'm feeling on top of things---hubris decided to smack me back down, hard. It started at bedtime last night. "Mom. Mooooooom!" Monkey dragged his way down the stairs, eyes...
It's Friday, and THANK GOD it's Friday, because it means I can direct you elsewhere. And some Fridays I think, "This is kind of a cop-out, writing about what I ate this week or how much I hate my elliptical or how many closets I've cleaned, because nobody cares about that," but this Friday is different. This Friday, the alternative to directing you to my scintillating Five Full Plates post about switching to cloth napkins and such is to relive the horror of Monkey's retelling of the "you and your body" talks they've been having at school this week, or to share the "anti-drug education"...
Today is Friday, and that means I have the luxury of directing you elsewhere, which is good because otherwise I would have to tell you about the letter I got in the mail yesterday. That letter included a handy chart that had drawings and statistics and the body of it said: Dear parents of Chickadee Lastname, Your child participated in our school scoliosis screening program and ZOMG! How have you never noticed that her spine is bent? SHE FLUNKED! TOTAL FLUNKAGE! TAKE HER TO YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY! And because we totally don't trust you to have the crap scared out of you by this letter, you...
I am often guilty of catastrophizing when it comes to the children. More specifically, I am guilty of catastrophizing when it comes to Monkey. I mean, I'm more or less at peace with Chickadee's sociopathic tendencies; I feel confident that she'll outgrow most of them and become an adult who won't make us consider changing the locks here at the house. Her trajectory is familiar to me. I was once a little shit embellisher self-centered fanciful, myself, and think I've evolved into a fairly productive, compassionate member of society. She will, too. I plan to beat her until she does. But...
Like most parents I know, I was an infinitely better mother before I actually had children. I was a career babysitter as a teen, and a nanny as a young adult. If there was one thing I KNEW, it was how to handle kids. So naturally I was going to be completely awesome at it and never have any issues with my own children. Ahahahahahahaahaaaaaaaaaaaa. Yeah. Parenting, first, a sharp and cranky clone of myself, and then second, an overly-sensitive yet completely rigid and filterless little ball of energy has certainly disabused me of any delusions of my superior child-rearing abilities. A dozen...
Long ago when I imagined my future children, I pictured raven-haired curlytops full of laughter. I did not, as it turns out, imagine that my curly hair would be the exception rather than the rule, or that the sheer level of DRAMA and ANGST associated with the difficulty of being a child would make for quite so much glaring. Live and learn. Monkey did get my eyes, and Chickadee definitely has my ears. I mean, we share genetic material, and it's evident. (Something that always tickles me about genetics: If Chickadee is with me, people swear she is my spitting image. If she's with her dad,...
I received an email scolding from my father for skipping Love Thursday this week, but in my defense, I was sort of busy wallowing. Yesterday was just one of those one-thing-after-another kinds of days, and I was not feeling the love, I admit it. Which brings me to a little epiphany I had last night. But first, an update after y'all were so concerned that I was going to scar my child for life with the silent treatment: And I preface this with just a couple of things. First, I love comments, and I read and consider them all, and I love that folks get so invested and passionate in the things we...
