Rolling with the punches, in style
Someone asked me a few days ago if Monkey will ever outgrow his sensory issues, and I struggled to answer that coherently because yes, of course he will, and no, not really. Sensory sensitivities are the result of a somewhat differently-wired neurological system, and though it will vary from person to person and age to age, it does seem like the relative immaturity of a younger brain struggles more than an adult who’s had time to toughen up and adapt.
For example, I think it’s pretty clear to us, as his parents, NOW (though not before, because back when we were kids, this stuff was never labeled/addressed/treated), that Monkey’s dad has some similar sensitivities. Obviously, as an adult he handles things differently than a kid would. That gives me some hope in terms of eventual adaptation.
And these days, I need hope. I need lots of hope. It helps to stave off the worry. read more…
Back on the balance board again
So, um, I was doing really well with my whole Wii Fit exercise regime right up until I got sick. And then I didn’t work out for a couple of weeks, because first I wasn’t well enough and then I just didn’t want to overtax myself while I was recovering. And then I wasn’t working out because I’d just been sick for two weeks and I was verrrrry far behind on work and needed all of my time to catch up.
And then I wasn’t working out because I was out of the habit and also I prefer being lazy and y’know, I’m pretty sure that Mercury was in retrograde and also that my magic 8 ball said ALL SIGNS POINT TO SLOTH.
(There is something wrong with my magic 8 ball, I’m aware.)
Anyway, somehow it had been… ummmm… maybe a month since I’d allowed the Wii Fit to mock me. But at least I was eating really well, in the meantime. read more…
Tough typist
Apparently I’m a little hard on the keyboard.
I think I type with a normal amount of pressure, but then again, I thought I was writing completely normally back in school when one of my teachers commented that if I was pressing hard enough to leave indentations on several pages underneath the one I was actually writing on, I could stand to go a little bit more gently.
We could probably come up with a whole personality profile based upon my apparent need to jam the keys down as I type—perhaps it means I’m unrelenting, or maybe it’s just a sign of constipation—but I think the uninteresting truth is that my fine-motor control is a little off. I often have some difficulty coordinating my fingers; applying greater pressure seems to improve my aim.
And that’s all well and good until I destroy my computer. read more…
Better than chocolate
I did get some chocolate today. In a heart-shaped box, even. And it’s very nice, and all.
But I also got my kids giving my husband a card onto which they had recorded a “WE LOVE YOU OTTOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” message that prefaced a recording of “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge.
And then I got to disco-dance with my family while it played. (P.S. We are family, and we are also extremely bad dancers.)
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Thar love blows
I hadn’t been in to volunteer in the classroom this year, yet. I’m not sure how that happened, but it became immediately apparent when I walked in and was struck—as I always am—but how HUNGRY so many of these kids are for attention and to understand where I’ve come from. Are you Monkey’s mom? Really? Does he have a dad, too? Wait, he has TWO DADS? And a mom? And his stepdad HELPED? On purpose? Did you bake this cake yourself? And brought it in for US? And you brought candy, too? Can we eat some? Really?
One little boy told me that the cake was “gonna be so tight” after they finished decorating it. I agreed, and hoped that means something good. It seemed like it probably did.
I slipped extra fruit roll-ups to the kids who looked like they’d died and gone to heaven when I told them they could have one. And I whispered to Monkey that he could have a treat at home, later, if he didn’t fuss over it. He didn’t. read more…
Compensation, covered in frosting
I have endless guilt when it comes to my children. ENDLESS.
I have guilt over the genetic things I either know or fear they’ve inherited from me or their dad. I’m not even talking about deadly disease sorts of things—I feel guilty that Chickadee’s needed glasses since she was a toddler or that Monkey needed a palate expander and braces.
I have guilt over every difficulty they ever experience, whether it involves me or not. I feel guilty when they’re mad or sad or frustrated, because if I was a GOOD mother, I’d be able to fix it.
I still—coming up on six years later—have guilt about divorcing their father, even though I have always believed (and continue to believe) that this life is the far, far better alternative for them, even with its inherent issues.
I’m aware that this may not be 100% logical. But this is what happens when you’re raised Jewish. read more…
Poser amongst the Pretty People
I am fairly low-maintenance when it comes to “beauty” stuff (which totally makes up for the fact that I’m impossibly high-maintenance about… ummm… everything else); I don’t use a lot of expensive products and I rarely wear make-up and I don’t go for spa treatments or manicures or anything like that.
However, in my old age (hush up, you whippersnappers) I’m beginning to realize that it really is worth it (to me) to pay for good hair care. It’s not vanity, it’s wanting to make sure I don’t end up looking like Bozo the Clown sends me his rejected wigs. It’s not JUST the hard-to-properly-cut curly hair or JUST the fact that I’m rapidly going gray or JUST the fact that my hair grows really fast, but all of those things TOGETHER mean I’m willing to scrape together the cash for a good cut and color periodically.
So, remember how my husband sent me somewhere awesome and I got the best cut and color of my life? Yesterday I did a few calming deep breathing exercises and went back there again. read more…
Brokedown garage
So, yesterday we loaded everyone into our truck and drove up to the north Georgia mountains and procured ourselves a genuine 1950s dinette set, cracked-ice formica tabletop and all. I suspect that Otto was a good sport about the drive to go get it on account of his recent car debacle, and I’m pleased to report that all went very smoothly; there were no breakdowns or crazy people or detours, and the set was pretty much what we expected and the guy who sold it to us even knocked the price down a little.
Really the only complications were a bit of mild carsickness (those mountain roads are twisty) and the fact that Otto kept breaking out in a terrible rendition of banjo music from Deliverance.
There’s a bit of rust on the chrome table legs that needs to be polished, before we bring the set into the kitchen, so we left it in the garage. Next to the broken car. Now, who will get their purchase into working order first, me or Otto…?
Maybe the teen years will be OK
Yesterday afternoon didn’t start out well; once again, my kids had a substitute bus driver. Normally, we’re the first stop on the route, but when there’s a sub, they always ends up doing the route backwards and we become the last stop.
This results in the kids getting home a full hour later than usual. And in me calling the bus garage to try to explain—AGAIN—why it is really not okay with me that every so often the bus simply DISAPPEARS with no warning or explanation, and I’m supposed to use my powers of ESP to figure out that everything is fine, my children are merely being UNEXPECTEDLY HELD HOSTAGE. I may have been a little snippier than usual, even, yesterday, on account of the delay meant we missed a doctor’s appointment. Hmph.
So the kids got home and we had to rush rush rush to have a snack and get them out the door again, to get to the afternoon’s activities. read more…
Love’s the elephant in the room
Goodness, you’re all awfully good at this complimenting thing. Many of you get an A+ in suck-up-itude, and so many nice things were said it made me feel like a complete impostor. Here I thought I was inviting y’all to say something goofy, and then people started busting out with actual, KIND, LOVELY things to say.
STOP IT.
Needless to say, if forced to pick just one glowing compliment from amongst the 200+ as the book winner, I would need to go to some sort of random method or yank out all my hair, trying to figure out who was the NICEST and BESTEST and SWEETEST TO SMALL ANIMALS. So instead of doing that, let me say right up front that EVERYONE who left a sweet comment will be getting a pink pony in the mail as a runner-up prize.
Except, um, I could only afford one pony, so you’ll all have to split her. Check your mailbox for a hunk of pony meat! read more…