Only those who have known me for a long time can fully appreciate the fact that I am in the kitchen, grinding my own flour, making EVERYTHING from scratch for my family. Not one preservative or even a speck of food dye crosses our lips.
You see....I was the one in nursing school who survived on Jell-O chocolate pudding for breakfast. For lunch, it was an ice cream sandwich and a coffee. Snack? Pop tart. Dinner? I usually skipped dinner, but spent late nights studying with Ben & Jerry's. My friend Julia would sit in lectures beside me, her lunch box loaded with fresh vegetables, nuts, breads. She would shake her head, looking at my pop tarts like they were something from another planet. Julia comes from a world of organic produce, international travel, and conscious living. Though we were fast friends as adult learners in a world of 20 year old Long Island girls, we were worlds apart.
I am a complete sugar addict. Up until recently, I’ve been unable to stop. My mom made us sugar and butter sandwiches when there was nothing to eat. I’m sure I was given sugar-water in my bottle. Chocolate ice cream is the first thing I crave when I am happy or sad. Sugar is my first love and a primal comfort to me.
When my sister got breast cancer at 36, I read up on things and found out that while sugar does not cause cancer, if you have a few stray cancer cells lying around....they love it and use it to thrive. Even with this newfound knowledge, I couldn’t break my habit.
Forward almost five years (Go Kelli! Go Kelli! Five years! Go Kelli!) to the DC DAN! conference where three different mothers presented info on the Specific Carb Diet. They claimed the diet, formerly used just for celiac patients, was doing wonders for their kids with autism. These mothers were powerfully convincing. The specific carb diet eliminates sugar and all white flour, among other things.
We have not had any processed food or even one grain of sugar for almost three months. Somehow I am doing this, and it isn’t that bad? I was overwhelmed at first, with this whole new way of cooking and eating, but I never felt withdrawal. I haven’t felt hungry or deprived. I’ve lost five pounds. Todd’s lost 20. Riley is eating better than ever before in her life. Seth is on board, happy with his new food choices. My kids get as excited about eating a fig, as I do about a chocolate bar.
Turns out grinding your own flour is just crunching up nuts in a food processor. It’s not that big a deal. It takes a little forethought, but I am getting good at planning ahead and packing up a whole day of food in the cooler if I need to.
This is just the latest area in our lives that Riley has cleaned up for us. This little girl has already performed housekeeping on our judgements, our ideas about parenting, and our understanding of God. She’s taken us through the ringer kicking and screaming but we’re coming out shinier, healthier, better, more peaceful. She is our canary in the coal mine. She is our wisdom girl.
After packing up food for a day in Charlottesville this week, I e-mailed Julia. This was my message:
"I am soooooo qualified now to pack your snacks."
I could feel her smile all the way from Philly.
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*For info on the specific carb diet: http://www.pecanbread.com/
*The DAN! website offers a free webcast service. You can listen to the above mentioned speakers from the DC conference for free by following this link. http://www.danwebcast.com/ All of them were wonderful, but Judy Gorman's presentation is the one that convinced my reluctant self to try the diet. Her speech was extremely powerful.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Say What?
Okay, we have a Martina McBride CD. I don’t particularly love Martina McBride, but there is one song called “In My Daughter’s Eyes” that I cannot hear without bawling my eyes out and Todd got it for me, so there it is, we have it. Mostly, Martina McBride gives me a headache. Okay, I get it, Martina, you can really belt it out, now could you please stop SCREAMING at me?
So on this CD there is a song titled, “She’ll Be Wearing White, (not to be confused with the Dixie Chick’s White Trash Wedding). It’s about a girl who’s been around, but decides to wear white to her wedding anyway.
Listening in the car, I hear the lyrics, “Phones were ringing, tongues were wagging, hot guy Sipowitz flying all around town….”
That doesn’t make sense? Hot guy Sipowitz? Isn’t he the dude on NYPD Blue years ago who showed his old rumpled naked butt in the shower?
Hot guy Sipowitz? I never understood that? How did anyone ever find him attractive in the first place? No one would ever put a similarly old and rumpled woman's butt on the air like that....that was so sexist," .....and on and on and on it goes inside my head.
It takes me a couple of weeks to figure out the real lyrics.
“Hot gossip. Hot gossip was flying all around town."
I need help.
So on this CD there is a song titled, “She’ll Be Wearing White, (not to be confused with the Dixie Chick’s White Trash Wedding). It’s about a girl who’s been around, but decides to wear white to her wedding anyway.
Listening in the car, I hear the lyrics, “Phones were ringing, tongues were wagging, hot guy Sipowitz flying all around town….”
That doesn’t make sense? Hot guy Sipowitz? Isn’t he the dude on NYPD Blue years ago who showed his old rumpled naked butt in the shower?
Hot guy Sipowitz? I never understood that? How did anyone ever find him attractive in the first place? No one would ever put a similarly old and rumpled woman's butt on the air like that....that was so sexist," .....and on and on and on it goes inside my head.
It takes me a couple of weeks to figure out the real lyrics.
“Hot gossip. Hot gossip was flying all around town."
I need help.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
It Could Be Worse, Part II
Returning from Charolettsville today, I enter the kitchen to find a vase full of roses. Yellow. My favorite.
Todd says, “I had to apologize for not getting you gas yesterday.”
He’s kidding.
I smirk.
“I had no idea you were that mad at me?” he says.
“You’d be surprised the trouble you’re in half the time, inside my mind.”
We go into our room and collapse on the bed. The kids are playing down the hall. He’s laying on his side. I lay on my back, flopping my legs over his hip.
“And I wasn’t taking a hard line!” he says.
“Quit reading my blog.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.” he says.
“If you’d like to discuss it, you can either:
a) get your own blog.
Or
b) post a comment, and I’ll consider publishing it.”
Todd laughs and I pull him on top of me. The feel of him! The smell of him! His laugh. And then…the ultimate.
He gets up.
He shuts the door...behind him.
And leaves me alone to read for as long as I want.
Yeah, it could definately be worse!
It Could Be Worse
I pull into the gas station, fuming over our little tiff. It's my sixth day lugging both kids an hour and 15 minutes to Charolettsville for Riley's sensory integration program. It's the sixth day out of 13 total, and we have to do all 13 in a row. Even Saturday and Sunday. The program requires two daily sessions that must be spread at least three hours apart, so we're spending most of the day in Charolettsville before getting on the road for home. Each night I am baking, and packing the cooler, since we can't just stop at McDonalds while on the specific carb diet.
This morning, as Todd helped me get the kids in the car, Seth wanted a toy from inside the house.
Riley had a toy.
"You don't need a toy, buddy, you have your blanket." Todd said.
Seth started to cry.
True, these kids make far too many requests. It is maddening and they'd have you hopping all day if you let them, but today is not the day to take a hard stance. I'M going to be the one to listen to him cry all the way to Charolettesville and back.
I glare at Todd, unbuckle my seat belt and stomp toward the house.
"What? I didn't know it was that big a deal? I'll get it." He says, passing me on the brick sidewalk leading to our front door.
He goes inside the house quickly and hands me the toy through the door. I take it and turn on my heels, heading back to the car.
"Bye." he says.
I look at the gas gage. Ughhh!!!!!!! I meant to fill it up last night. Actually, I meant to ask Todd to fill it up last night. Somehow, even though it isn't his fault, this is his fault too?
As I'm pumping the gas, I look down at the ground. There is a little wad of chewed gum on the grimy concrete slab that the pump rests on. There are about ten little ants hovered on and around it.
What kind of crap must they have done in a past life? No grassy little ant hill in a park or someone's plush back yard for them. No kitchen counter crumbs. They aren't even part of the ant parades that march valiantly and up and down sidewalk cracks. They are on a concrete slab, surrounded by more concrete, with little puddles of oil about. And... they're on a piece of chewed gum! Yeck!
Suddenly, my life doesn't seem so bad.
This morning, as Todd helped me get the kids in the car, Seth wanted a toy from inside the house.
Riley had a toy.
"You don't need a toy, buddy, you have your blanket." Todd said.
Seth started to cry.
True, these kids make far too many requests. It is maddening and they'd have you hopping all day if you let them, but today is not the day to take a hard stance. I'M going to be the one to listen to him cry all the way to Charolettesville and back.
I glare at Todd, unbuckle my seat belt and stomp toward the house.
"What? I didn't know it was that big a deal? I'll get it." He says, passing me on the brick sidewalk leading to our front door.
He goes inside the house quickly and hands me the toy through the door. I take it and turn on my heels, heading back to the car.
"Bye." he says.
I look at the gas gage. Ughhh!!!!!!! I meant to fill it up last night. Actually, I meant to ask Todd to fill it up last night. Somehow, even though it isn't his fault, this is his fault too?
As I'm pumping the gas, I look down at the ground. There is a little wad of chewed gum on the grimy concrete slab that the pump rests on. There are about ten little ants hovered on and around it.
What kind of crap must they have done in a past life? No grassy little ant hill in a park or someone's plush back yard for them. No kitchen counter crumbs. They aren't even part of the ant parades that march valiantly and up and down sidewalk cracks. They are on a concrete slab, surrounded by more concrete, with little puddles of oil about. And... they're on a piece of chewed gum! Yeck!
Suddenly, my life doesn't seem so bad.
Friday, June 23, 2006
A Rude Awakening
So, we’re smack in the middle of a 13 day sensory integration program for Riley and it's going amazingly well. I'll post more about that later. The program requires two daily sessions and in between them we are spending time at a public pool. The kids are doing great. Riley is amazing.
A young couple walks in. The woman’s big round pregnant belly sticks out of her two piece bathing suit and good for her, it’s beautiful.
They settle into some poolside recliners close to where our towels are laid out, and lay there dozing in the sun.
I want to tell her, “Yo, sister….you are effectively searing any stretch marks you may be getting permanently onto your skin,” but…..it’s not my place, so I just let the couple sleep.
When it’s time to go, I call the kids out of the baby pool and as I’m drying off Seth I hear Riley yell loudly, “WAKE UP!”
She’s standing gleefully over the couple, who, startled, have practically fallen off of their chairs.
“RILEY!” I yell.
She shrinks into herself. There is confusion on her face, and remorse.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the couple.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Riley says to me.
“Riley, that isn’t nice. You don’t wake up people like that when they are trying to rest.”
I gather up our stuff quickly and head into the locker room, shaking my head.
It isn’t until the car ride home that I think about The Wiggles. It’s Seth’s favorite TV show and there is a character, Jeff, who always falls asleep. It is a big thrill for the preschool set to scream “WAKE UP JEFF!” a thousand times an episode.
Okay, I get it. It was funny.
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A young couple walks in. The woman’s big round pregnant belly sticks out of her two piece bathing suit and good for her, it’s beautiful.
They settle into some poolside recliners close to where our towels are laid out, and lay there dozing in the sun.
I want to tell her, “Yo, sister….you are effectively searing any stretch marks you may be getting permanently onto your skin,” but…..it’s not my place, so I just let the couple sleep.
When it’s time to go, I call the kids out of the baby pool and as I’m drying off Seth I hear Riley yell loudly, “WAKE UP!”
She’s standing gleefully over the couple, who, startled, have practically fallen off of their chairs.
“RILEY!” I yell.
She shrinks into herself. There is confusion on her face, and remorse.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the couple.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Riley says to me.
“Riley, that isn’t nice. You don’t wake up people like that when they are trying to rest.”
I gather up our stuff quickly and head into the locker room, shaking my head.
It isn’t until the car ride home that I think about The Wiggles. It’s Seth’s favorite TV show and there is a character, Jeff, who always falls asleep. It is a big thrill for the preschool set to scream “WAKE UP JEFF!” a thousand times an episode.
Okay, I get it. It was funny.
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Kitchen Table Meditation
“Okay guys, I need to do a meditation.”
“What’s a meditation, mommy?”
“It’s when I get really quiet, and I find that very still place inside me, where I can connect with God.”
“Oh.”
We’re at the kitchen table. Dinner is in the oven. We’ve had lots of appointments today, running, running, running. Todd works til’ 10:00 tonight. There is no way I’ll get a break.
I pour a little pile of sunflower seeds on the table in front of each of them.
“So, I need you to be really quiet for a couple of minutes. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” They chime.
Sitting in my kitchen chair, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Silence.
These two little whirling dervishes do not make a peep.
I feel them watching me as I go to that place. The place where nothing is wrong. And then...I don’t feel them any longer.
When I open my eyes, the clock on the stove says four minutes have passed. I feel different. Better.
There they are, with big smiles, their seed piles almost gone.
I can’t believe that worked?
“Mommy, do you always meditate?” Seth asks.
“I do it a lot, but usually downstairs in my writing room.”
“I’m going to meditate too!” Riley says, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.
Oh my God!
For years, we've tried to teach Riley deep breathing and relaxation techniques. She's balked at every one of them.
You see, we were trying to fix her.
Today, I was only trying to fix myself.
“What’s a meditation, mommy?”
“It’s when I get really quiet, and I find that very still place inside me, where I can connect with God.”
“Oh.”
We’re at the kitchen table. Dinner is in the oven. We’ve had lots of appointments today, running, running, running. Todd works til’ 10:00 tonight. There is no way I’ll get a break.
I pour a little pile of sunflower seeds on the table in front of each of them.
“So, I need you to be really quiet for a couple of minutes. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” They chime.
Sitting in my kitchen chair, I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Silence.
These two little whirling dervishes do not make a peep.
I feel them watching me as I go to that place. The place where nothing is wrong. And then...I don’t feel them any longer.
When I open my eyes, the clock on the stove says four minutes have passed. I feel different. Better.
There they are, with big smiles, their seed piles almost gone.
I can’t believe that worked?
“Mommy, do you always meditate?” Seth asks.
“I do it a lot, but usually downstairs in my writing room.”
“I’m going to meditate too!” Riley says, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.
Oh my God!
For years, we've tried to teach Riley deep breathing and relaxation techniques. She's balked at every one of them.
You see, we were trying to fix her.
Today, I was only trying to fix myself.
I Could See Peace Instead of This
So, we're in the healthfood store, and the kids are in the corner. Fresh Air has a toy box that is a Godsend. It keeps them occupied while I look around. Fresh Air is a small store, just two aisles, and I can hear their chatter wherever I am. This arrangement gives me a sense of comfort and them a sense of independence. They love Fresh Air.
As I wrap it up I give a warning.
"Couple more minutes guys."
"Okay mom."
I cash out, and walk over to my children.
"Time to go." I sing.
Riley shrieks like someone has cut off one of her limbs. Everyone stops and stares and for probably the first time in her life, I honestly don't care what a single one of them thinks.
I kneel down and just as I am about to soothe her with my words, Seth, who is sitting next to her on the floor says,
"Riley....you could see peace instead of this."
It is a direct quote from A Course in Miracles.
Riley looks at her brother (did I mention he's not quite four years old?)and snaps out of it as fast as she went into it. She helps clean up and we're on our way.
My head is still spinning.
As I wrap it up I give a warning.
"Couple more minutes guys."
"Okay mom."
I cash out, and walk over to my children.
"Time to go." I sing.
Riley shrieks like someone has cut off one of her limbs. Everyone stops and stares and for probably the first time in her life, I honestly don't care what a single one of them thinks.
I kneel down and just as I am about to soothe her with my words, Seth, who is sitting next to her on the floor says,
"Riley....you could see peace instead of this."
It is a direct quote from A Course in Miracles.
Riley looks at her brother (did I mention he's not quite four years old?)and snaps out of it as fast as she went into it. She helps clean up and we're on our way.
My head is still spinning.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Mainstream Medicine Drops the Ball...AGAIN.
I met a woman in the park today. Her little girl is four years old and I recognized the arm movements first. It took me all of one second to figure out she is somewhere on the autistic spectrum.
We got to talking and she recently had her darling evaluated at a prestigious Virginia medical center. The doctors there told her there was nothing they could do to help her and that "the schools deal with the issues related to autism."
This is malpractice if you ask me. There is SO MUCH that can be done bio-medically.
This is LAZY doctors who can't read a little on their own if the info isn't spoon fed to them by the government or the pharmeceutical companies that own our elected officials. Let me say it again. L....A.....Z.....Y!
Before we found our DAN! doctor we saw many doctors who touted the same line..."Nothing wrong, nothing you can do,it's a behaviorial issue, a parenting issue." Within two visits, our DAN! doc had reduced our daughter's symptoms dramatically. Even though we still have our days, the quality of life for our daughter and our family is MUCH better that it ever was. Her amazing tutor, who's specialty is brain injured children, assures me my child is bright and college bound.
Autism is a brain injury. It is treatable. There is much to be done. Anyone who tells you otherwise has a lot to learn, or a lot invested in not learning.
We got to talking and she recently had her darling evaluated at a prestigious Virginia medical center. The doctors there told her there was nothing they could do to help her and that "the schools deal with the issues related to autism."
This is malpractice if you ask me. There is SO MUCH that can be done bio-medically.
This is LAZY doctors who can't read a little on their own if the info isn't spoon fed to them by the government or the pharmeceutical companies that own our elected officials. Let me say it again. L....A.....Z.....Y!
Before we found our DAN! doctor we saw many doctors who touted the same line..."Nothing wrong, nothing you can do,it's a behaviorial issue, a parenting issue." Within two visits, our DAN! doc had reduced our daughter's symptoms dramatically. Even though we still have our days, the quality of life for our daughter and our family is MUCH better that it ever was. Her amazing tutor, who's specialty is brain injured children, assures me my child is bright and college bound.
Autism is a brain injury. It is treatable. There is much to be done. Anyone who tells you otherwise has a lot to learn, or a lot invested in not learning.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Father's Day
"I want someone like him for my children." I said to myself.
It was the smartest thought I ever had.
I didn't have children at the time. They were far off into the future, in my imagination.
And Todd? Ha! He definately wasn't my type. No romantic interest there. No sir. Just friends.
He is a hospital pharmacist and I was working as a pharmacy technician, while putting myself through nursing school. As a tech, your boss changes daily, depending on the schedule. If Todd was working, I knew it would be a good day. He was just so darn capable. He was also polite. Other pharmacists would crack under pressure if it got too busy or if the computers went down. They might snap at the techs or put them in impossible situations, dealing with irate nurses calling down from the floors. Not Todd. He was in charge. He took responsibility. He dealt with the crap.
After some time we became good friends. We had the same sense of humor. We laughed a lot. He was the work friend I grabbed first thing in the morning to fill in on what happened the night before. We'd sneak into the back storage room, "You won't believe this...” I'd start. Then I’d tell him a tale about my lame boyfriend, or my mother, or whatever. He'd hang on every word, laughing, knowing just where we left off yesterday, and then go back to work like the Mr. Responsible he is.
Our first date involved taking my 11 year old brothers to the movies. They saw Toy Story. I saw Todd.
How I ended up with someone like him, coming from the childhood role model I had, is a miracle.
Standing in the kitchen, hard at work, I hear them dancing in the next room. My oh-so-white husband, singing along to Will Smith’s “Gettin’ jiggy wid it.” He’s got all the “ha-has!” & the “what’s” down, and the kids are twirling in circles at his feet, like little tops.
Today I honor Todd, for the wonderful man that he is. Watching him father my children moves me to my depths.
I also honor my father. The one who forbid me to say the Lord’s Prayer, because “I’m the only Father you got. You hear?”
His name is Bill, and Bill and Todd arrived in this world equally perfect. Bill was a little baby, born into an alcoholic chaotic abusive haze. Todd was born into stability and love. Both have the same seed of love in their hearts. One was nurtured, and one was trampled. Looking at my little son Seth, I can only imagine the psychic split that would occur if he saw me beaten or abused once, let alone repeatedly? If he himself were abused? I spent a decade hating my dad, but no more. It would require hating the boy that he was, and frankly that little guy has been through enough.
Bill taught me what not to look for in a man. As a result, I have everything I could have dreamed of in a husband. Maybe this is my father's ultimate gift to me?
To Todd, to Bill, to all fathers, I wish you a blessed Day.
It was the smartest thought I ever had.
I didn't have children at the time. They were far off into the future, in my imagination.
And Todd? Ha! He definately wasn't my type. No romantic interest there. No sir. Just friends.
He is a hospital pharmacist and I was working as a pharmacy technician, while putting myself through nursing school. As a tech, your boss changes daily, depending on the schedule. If Todd was working, I knew it would be a good day. He was just so darn capable. He was also polite. Other pharmacists would crack under pressure if it got too busy or if the computers went down. They might snap at the techs or put them in impossible situations, dealing with irate nurses calling down from the floors. Not Todd. He was in charge. He took responsibility. He dealt with the crap.
After some time we became good friends. We had the same sense of humor. We laughed a lot. He was the work friend I grabbed first thing in the morning to fill in on what happened the night before. We'd sneak into the back storage room, "You won't believe this...” I'd start. Then I’d tell him a tale about my lame boyfriend, or my mother, or whatever. He'd hang on every word, laughing, knowing just where we left off yesterday, and then go back to work like the Mr. Responsible he is.
Our first date involved taking my 11 year old brothers to the movies. They saw Toy Story. I saw Todd.
How I ended up with someone like him, coming from the childhood role model I had, is a miracle.
Standing in the kitchen, hard at work, I hear them dancing in the next room. My oh-so-white husband, singing along to Will Smith’s “Gettin’ jiggy wid it.” He’s got all the “ha-has!” & the “what’s” down, and the kids are twirling in circles at his feet, like little tops.
Today I honor Todd, for the wonderful man that he is. Watching him father my children moves me to my depths.
I also honor my father. The one who forbid me to say the Lord’s Prayer, because “I’m the only Father you got. You hear?”
His name is Bill, and Bill and Todd arrived in this world equally perfect. Bill was a little baby, born into an alcoholic chaotic abusive haze. Todd was born into stability and love. Both have the same seed of love in their hearts. One was nurtured, and one was trampled. Looking at my little son Seth, I can only imagine the psychic split that would occur if he saw me beaten or abused once, let alone repeatedly? If he himself were abused? I spent a decade hating my dad, but no more. It would require hating the boy that he was, and frankly that little guy has been through enough.
Bill taught me what not to look for in a man. As a result, I have everything I could have dreamed of in a husband. Maybe this is my father's ultimate gift to me?
To Todd, to Bill, to all fathers, I wish you a blessed Day.
Friday, June 16, 2006
B.O. Update
I know you all have been beside yourselves, worried about my B.O. dilemma.
Will she find a deodorant that does the trick?
Will she go back to the aluminum brand?
What.
Will.
She.
Do?
Well, the lovely Sandra left a comment on my post titled The Honeymoon's Over, recommending a natural deodorant that she herself uses. Straight away I ordered my Alvera, Aloe & Almonds, and I must say, I haven't stunk since. Just ask Todd. Yeah, ask him. He'll tell ya.
Thanks Sandra, for saving the world, one armpit at a time!
Will she find a deodorant that does the trick?
Will she go back to the aluminum brand?
What.
Will.
She.
Do?
Well, the lovely Sandra left a comment on my post titled The Honeymoon's Over, recommending a natural deodorant that she herself uses. Straight away I ordered my Alvera, Aloe & Almonds, and I must say, I haven't stunk since. Just ask Todd. Yeah, ask him. He'll tell ya.
Thanks Sandra, for saving the world, one armpit at a time!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Anatomy Of Divorce
I heard of this blog through a friend of a friend and all I can say is WOW! Today is only her second post and I'm hooked. If you visit, start with the first post and then read through. I'm hanging on, waiting for the next entry!
www.theanatomyofdivorce.blogspot.com
You go B.!
www.theanatomyofdivorce.blogspot.com
You go B.!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Library Showdown
It never fails. It NEVER fails. My kids love the library. They have an awesome children’s section and we go about once a week. They play with puppets and puzzles. They pick out new books and videos. It’s all free (minus the late fees) and it’s wonderful, except.
There is always a mom who leaves her kid in the children’s section and jaunts off to browse on her own. I have a big problem with it. First of all, it isn’t safe. There is a back door that anyone could use to leave with a little kid in tow. No one at the front desk would ever see a thing. I myself could have walked out of here with at least 15 different kids so far this year.
Yes, a kid napping could occur, but I know it’s unlikely. I also know that's not where my anger truly lies. The real reason these unattended kids bug me is because they won’t leave me alone! I am here with my own two kids. They are a handful. One looks perfectly normal, but she’s about to blow at any moment. If, God forbid, a little boy gets in her face and roars, (and they all get in her face and roar...it’s what boys do) I need to be right there, ready to peel her off the ceiling. I need to be right there while she’s doing a puzzle, because if the pieces don’t fit just right, they'll hear her screams clear across town.
So, here I am on the floor, managing my two, and inevitably someone else’s kid is tugging at me, “Will you read this to me?” or “Will you play puppets with me?”
Or, my favorite, with her own mom sitting ten feet away, nose buried in a magazine, a little girl pesters me for a full ten minutes,
“Will you help me with this puzzle? Pleeeze? Pleeeeez?”
Prior to my own kids, I had visions of being like Maria in The Sound of Music. Children, sensing the love in my heart, would just flock to me.
That was then, this is now.
“No my little friend. You’re going to have to ask your mommy to help you.”
I have nothing left today.
At this, the mother rolls her eyes and glares at me.
Whatever, woman.
My Sound of Music days are over.
There is always a mom who leaves her kid in the children’s section and jaunts off to browse on her own. I have a big problem with it. First of all, it isn’t safe. There is a back door that anyone could use to leave with a little kid in tow. No one at the front desk would ever see a thing. I myself could have walked out of here with at least 15 different kids so far this year.
Yes, a kid napping could occur, but I know it’s unlikely. I also know that's not where my anger truly lies. The real reason these unattended kids bug me is because they won’t leave me alone! I am here with my own two kids. They are a handful. One looks perfectly normal, but she’s about to blow at any moment. If, God forbid, a little boy gets in her face and roars, (and they all get in her face and roar...it’s what boys do) I need to be right there, ready to peel her off the ceiling. I need to be right there while she’s doing a puzzle, because if the pieces don’t fit just right, they'll hear her screams clear across town.
So, here I am on the floor, managing my two, and inevitably someone else’s kid is tugging at me, “Will you read this to me?” or “Will you play puppets with me?”
Or, my favorite, with her own mom sitting ten feet away, nose buried in a magazine, a little girl pesters me for a full ten minutes,
“Will you help me with this puzzle? Pleeeze? Pleeeeez?”
Prior to my own kids, I had visions of being like Maria in The Sound of Music. Children, sensing the love in my heart, would just flock to me.
That was then, this is now.
“No my little friend. You’re going to have to ask your mommy to help you.”
I have nothing left today.
At this, the mother rolls her eyes and glares at me.
Whatever, woman.
My Sound of Music days are over.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
500 Pound Baby?
Did you know the flu shot still has mercury (thimerisol) in it? But don't worry...the amount of mercury in the flu shot is safe...IF YOU WEIGH 500 POUNDS! This, from an ad sponsored by The National Autism Association.
www.nationalautismassociation.org/images/acipad.jpg
So why is the flu shot still recommended for pregnant women and babies and small children?
At best,stupidity. At worst,pure evil.
-------------------
Vaccines? YES!
Mercury? NO!
-------------------
THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT. It is a potent neurotoxin and it isn't even a very effective preservative, which is its intended use in vaccines.
Enough already.
www.nationalautismassociation.org/images/acipad.jpg
So why is the flu shot still recommended for pregnant women and babies and small children?
At best,stupidity. At worst,pure evil.
-------------------
Vaccines? YES!
Mercury? NO!
-------------------
THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT. It is a potent neurotoxin and it isn't even a very effective preservative, which is its intended use in vaccines.
Enough already.
Coconut Creamsicle Smoothie/My Latest Addiction
In blender:
some coconut milk
1/2 a small banana
some honey
orange juice
ice
some coconut milk
1/2 a small banana
some honey
orange juice
ice
Monday, June 12, 2006
The Brother
So many things on my mind lately and I stop to look at Seth and realize I haven’t actually seen him in a few days. Yes I’m here. He’s fed and safe and he’s provided with lots of things to play with but Mommy is worrying about IEP meetings and Mommy has an appointment with the DAN! Doctor and has hours of preparation beforehand, and Mommy is exhausted and “Here doll, go play with this, but no, I can’t play with you now.”
Always, always trying to fight for my special needs daughter and my typical son gets pushed to the sidelines and I’m in the middle. Help her now? Help him later? I try to be conscious of his needs but hers are greater and they are acute and I can’t ever seem to do it all.
Sometimes he instigates, but more often than not, at three years old, with his sister freaking out, he stands in front of her with a soft, calm voice, “Riley, Riley, it’s okay Riley.”
He chatters in the back seat after dropping her off at school, listing which episodes of which DVD’s they can’t watch, because Riley is afraid of them. He's not resentful about it. Just making conversation.
Will he forgive me when he’s older?
Will he be independent and strong? Riddled with anxiety?
This weighs on me heavily, all the time, everyday.
Searching for answers, I study a favorite quote, tacked to the wall above my writing desk. It’s from Emmanuel’s Book, compiled by Pat Rodegast and Judith Stanton:
“Q: How can we stop worrying about the ones we love?
A: By trusting the absolute wisdom of each soul. Worry is distrust, put into a slot that seems socially acceptable. If you say, ‘I am worried about my children,’ everyone says, ‘yes, of course,’ and thinks you are a good parent. But if you should say, ‘I really don’t trust the Divine Plan,’ what do you think the reaction would be?”
So Seth, I am going to trust your precious soul; that you knew what you were doing when you picked this crazy family. I’m going to love you and I’m going to fail you and I’m going to tell you how sorry I am when I do, and I’m so glad you are part of this family, as we go down this crooked path together.
Always, always trying to fight for my special needs daughter and my typical son gets pushed to the sidelines and I’m in the middle. Help her now? Help him later? I try to be conscious of his needs but hers are greater and they are acute and I can’t ever seem to do it all.
Sometimes he instigates, but more often than not, at three years old, with his sister freaking out, he stands in front of her with a soft, calm voice, “Riley, Riley, it’s okay Riley.”
He chatters in the back seat after dropping her off at school, listing which episodes of which DVD’s they can’t watch, because Riley is afraid of them. He's not resentful about it. Just making conversation.
Will he forgive me when he’s older?
Will he be independent and strong? Riddled with anxiety?
This weighs on me heavily, all the time, everyday.
Searching for answers, I study a favorite quote, tacked to the wall above my writing desk. It’s from Emmanuel’s Book, compiled by Pat Rodegast and Judith Stanton:
“Q: How can we stop worrying about the ones we love?
A: By trusting the absolute wisdom of each soul. Worry is distrust, put into a slot that seems socially acceptable. If you say, ‘I am worried about my children,’ everyone says, ‘yes, of course,’ and thinks you are a good parent. But if you should say, ‘I really don’t trust the Divine Plan,’ what do you think the reaction would be?”
So Seth, I am going to trust your precious soul; that you knew what you were doing when you picked this crazy family. I’m going to love you and I’m going to fail you and I’m going to tell you how sorry I am when I do, and I’m so glad you are part of this family, as we go down this crooked path together.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Blair Tyler Peters
Today I woke up and after a stretch or two, checked my e-mail. There was a note from Blair Tyler Peters, a woman I met at Jennifer Lauck's workshop. Blair and I spent an evening together sipping wine in Jennifer's hot tub. She wrote to announce she's started her website.
Back in March, most of us rushed back from the workshop and flung ourselves into starting our blogs. But we didn't hear much from Blair.
Boy, was she up to something!
Her website is phenomenal. First of all, she is an artist. Her site is loaded with many breathtaking images. After viewing these I had that peaceful feeling that comes upon me when I visit a gallery. The opening of the mind to new views.
And her writing! Blair puts words to the helplessness/hopelessness I myself have been feeling about the state of the world, but have not been able to articulate.
Thank you Blair for sharing your gifts. You truly have so much to offer.
www.blairpeters.com
I'm marking this one in my favorites and will keep coming back to be inspired!
Back in March, most of us rushed back from the workshop and flung ourselves into starting our blogs. But we didn't hear much from Blair.
Boy, was she up to something!
Her website is phenomenal. First of all, she is an artist. Her site is loaded with many breathtaking images. After viewing these I had that peaceful feeling that comes upon me when I visit a gallery. The opening of the mind to new views.
And her writing! Blair puts words to the helplessness/hopelessness I myself have been feeling about the state of the world, but have not been able to articulate.
Thank you Blair for sharing your gifts. You truly have so much to offer.
www.blairpeters.com
I'm marking this one in my favorites and will keep coming back to be inspired!
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Conversation Inside My Head
5AM. The alarm.
Will it really be the end of the world if I don't get up and write today?
No. It won't be the end of the world, but it might be the end of your book?
Fine!
Grrr.
Will it really be the end of the world if I don't get up and write today?
No. It won't be the end of the world, but it might be the end of your book?
Fine!
Grrr.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Confessions Of An Imperfect Parent
Every time I write about the kids on my blog, wonderful people send comments and e-mails, telling me what a great parent I am. This sends my Shoulder Sitter on a rampage. She screams, “Fraud! If they only saw how you snapped at poor Seth, putting him to bed last night!”
She screams, “Fake! You could never count the number of times you’ve lost it on Riley when what she needed was more patience and understanding!”
The thing is, Shoulder Sitter, I write to process my life. Often, by the time I finish a piece, I’ve resolved something. Hopefully, I’ve learned something. I’m not trying to come off as perfect. We teach (or write about) what we need to learn and I am in great need of learning.
After wrestling with the Shoulder Sitter a while yesterday, I got an e-mail telling me a humor piece I wrote titled Teach Your Kids to Swear will be published today in The Imperfect Parent.
Now that’s just perfect!
You see, I am a potty mouth. Thus far, I have kept it at bay in front of the kids, but Todd teases me about my "Tourette's." My tic presents itself as a string of profanity that seems to fly involuntarily out of my mouth the second our kid's little heads hit their pillows at night. You see, I hold it in all day.
I checked out my piece in The Imperfect Parent this morning, and to my horror, there is a picture of a little kid giving the finger attatched! My piece is funny because it's not real. The picture of the child flipping the bird...well...that's unmistakably real and for me, it takes away some of the funny. Granted, The Imperfect Parent is known for differentiating itself from mainstream websites and magazines. They aren't interested in fake polished depictions of parenthood. Plus, they firmly planted the article in their humor section.
Oh well, lesson learned. Submit a piece called Teach Your Kids to Swear, and what do you expect? Still, those of you who are easily offended might want to skip this one. At the very least, maybe my Shoudler Sitter will shut up for a couple of minutes.
http://www.imperfectparent.com/humor/articles199_1.php
She screams, “Fake! You could never count the number of times you’ve lost it on Riley when what she needed was more patience and understanding!”
The thing is, Shoulder Sitter, I write to process my life. Often, by the time I finish a piece, I’ve resolved something. Hopefully, I’ve learned something. I’m not trying to come off as perfect. We teach (or write about) what we need to learn and I am in great need of learning.
After wrestling with the Shoulder Sitter a while yesterday, I got an e-mail telling me a humor piece I wrote titled Teach Your Kids to Swear will be published today in The Imperfect Parent.
Now that’s just perfect!
You see, I am a potty mouth. Thus far, I have kept it at bay in front of the kids, but Todd teases me about my "Tourette's." My tic presents itself as a string of profanity that seems to fly involuntarily out of my mouth the second our kid's little heads hit their pillows at night. You see, I hold it in all day.
I checked out my piece in The Imperfect Parent this morning, and to my horror, there is a picture of a little kid giving the finger attatched! My piece is funny because it's not real. The picture of the child flipping the bird...well...that's unmistakably real and for me, it takes away some of the funny. Granted, The Imperfect Parent is known for differentiating itself from mainstream websites and magazines. They aren't interested in fake polished depictions of parenthood. Plus, they firmly planted the article in their humor section.
Oh well, lesson learned. Submit a piece called Teach Your Kids to Swear, and what do you expect? Still, those of you who are easily offended might want to skip this one. At the very least, maybe my Shoudler Sitter will shut up for a couple of minutes.
http://www.imperfectparent.com/humor/articles199_1.php
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Happy Birthday
Six years ago today, Riley entered, and everything shifted. She took two people and completely changed the way we look at the world. She is our wisdom girl. Our teacher. Through her we’ve learned that no one knows what is going on inside another person’s body. Inside another person’s mind. She took our judgements and sliced right through them.
There is a woman on my street who has children about the same ages as mine. We’d exchanged small talk several times and she was very interested in getting our girls together to play when we first moved in. At least, she was interested until she learned of Riley’s autistic spectrum disorder. She hadn't actually spent any time with Riley other than a quick hello, so I felt I had to fill her in before we set a play date. After that conversation, she went out of her way to avoid me. No more small talk. She averts her eyes when we cross paths. Never did we get an invite, and for over a year, I’ve hated her.
Yesterday morning I went for a walk. The above mentioned woman was also out walking and was about 100 yards ahead, oblivious to my presence. For a while, I stared at her hard, thinking evil thoughts. Then I thought of the birthday girl.
When Riley acts out, it's because she is hurting.
I stared at the woman some more.
I breathed in thoughts of Riley.
I told myself, "You Just don't know."
I kept staring. Her perfect haircut. Her perfect workout clothes.
You just never know.
This woman is someone who has a tightly controlled grip on life. Her inability to extend love to someone that might be "different" is simply her limitation. It is a weakness in her character. You might say, it's one of her wounds.
Suddenly, my hate melted and I felt compassion for her. I actually felt warmth in my heart for the poor dear. She's so afraid.
As soon as the shift was made in my mind, this formerly evil neighbor went from walking, to a glorious run. She started to take a left down a side street and I blessed her as she vanished from my sight.
THAT'S the kind of power my girl's got. That's Riley.
Happy birthday, dolly.
Thank you.
** This evening, June 4th, 2006 (7 PM - 9 PM est), Dateline is doing a piece on the autism/mercury connection. Read about it here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13104961/
There is a woman on my street who has children about the same ages as mine. We’d exchanged small talk several times and she was very interested in getting our girls together to play when we first moved in. At least, she was interested until she learned of Riley’s autistic spectrum disorder. She hadn't actually spent any time with Riley other than a quick hello, so I felt I had to fill her in before we set a play date. After that conversation, she went out of her way to avoid me. No more small talk. She averts her eyes when we cross paths. Never did we get an invite, and for over a year, I’ve hated her.
Yesterday morning I went for a walk. The above mentioned woman was also out walking and was about 100 yards ahead, oblivious to my presence. For a while, I stared at her hard, thinking evil thoughts. Then I thought of the birthday girl.
When Riley acts out, it's because she is hurting.
I stared at the woman some more.
I breathed in thoughts of Riley.
I told myself, "You Just don't know."
I kept staring. Her perfect haircut. Her perfect workout clothes.
You just never know.
This woman is someone who has a tightly controlled grip on life. Her inability to extend love to someone that might be "different" is simply her limitation. It is a weakness in her character. You might say, it's one of her wounds.
Suddenly, my hate melted and I felt compassion for her. I actually felt warmth in my heart for the poor dear. She's so afraid.
As soon as the shift was made in my mind, this formerly evil neighbor went from walking, to a glorious run. She started to take a left down a side street and I blessed her as she vanished from my sight.
THAT'S the kind of power my girl's got. That's Riley.
Happy birthday, dolly.
Thank you.
** This evening, June 4th, 2006 (7 PM - 9 PM est), Dateline is doing a piece on the autism/mercury connection. Read about it here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13104961/
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