No Einstein

There is a billboard that we will be passing on the way back from Riley's new school everyday (we've been doing dry runs, checking how loud the toilets are, walking the halls to become familiar, climbing on the outside monkey bars to get the hang of it) with this picture.

Underneath, it says,

"As a student, he was no Einstein."

I love it, and feel like it was put there just for us.

Lovedy, love, love.

Yoga for the Special Child

"I love yoga!" Seth says as he climbs onto the bed.

"Mom, look, this is child's pose." From his knees, he folds his body forward, arms stretched out in front.

He peeks up to make sure I'm watching.

"That's great Buddy!"

The teacher is upstairs with Riley. Seth went first.

She came to the house, and is instructing each child individually. After a couple of sessions they'll be together, and eventually she'll weave them into a small group class.

I'd been laying on our bed reading, half listening to the "class in session," but when Seth snuggled in under my arm, I set my book down. From the other room, the sound was soft music and the occassional lilt of Riley's voice.

"Seth, don't the leaves look so pretty outside the window?" I ask.

"Yeah Mommy. I love every color, but I love purple the best."

"Yes, you do. I know you do."

He smiles. No glasses. He had them off for yoga. I miss that little no glasses face.

I took my first yoga class when I went back to school for nursing. I needed one more credit to put me at full-time status so I could get my loan. I signed up for yoga. Why not?

It was incredible.

Twice a week, for 90 minutes I took care of myself. A novel concept.

For years I'd had a trigger point between my spine and my right shoulder that did not respond to any type of treatment. I was always in pain, and stress aggravated it something awful. I tried physical therapy, went to an osteopath, tried massage, took loads of NSAIDs, and nothing ever helped. At least not for long. I remember one time sitting down on the floor in the shower crying not only from the pain but from the hopelessness I felt about it.

Yoga took care of all that. Now I have a whole bag of tricks for that pesky shoulder. I know exactly which stretches work for me and I can do them anywhere. I haven't taken an NSAID in almost ten years.

I am not a "serious" yoga student. I take a 10 week session here. A 12 week session there. A month off. A year off. Right now I'm on again, inspired by the incredible Jenny Rough and her journey. After a yoga class, I always feel different. Better for it.

But Yoga for the Special Child is knocking my socks off. Imagine learning this stuff when you are 7 or four? Imagine knowing from that age how to calm your body? How to breathe? Imagine knowing, really knowing, you are worth taking care of?

"Mom, I love everything and everyone in the whole world." Seth says.

I squeeze him.

"Yes, you do. I know you do. "

March of the Guinea Pigs

http://www.medalerts.org/vaersdb/findfield.php?LOWAGE=&HIGHAGE=&VAX=HPV4&SEX=&VAXMAN=&STATE=&VAXLOT=&VAX_DATE_LOW=&VAX_DATE_HIGH=&VAXDOSE=&ONSET_DATE_LOW=&ONSET_DATE_HIGH=&VAXROUTE=&SUB_DATE_LOW=&SUB_DATE_HIGH=&VAXSITE=&REPORT_DATE_LOW=&REPORT_DATE_HIGH=&PRIOR_VAX=&L_THREAT=&CUR_ILL=&ER_VISIT=&HISTORY=&HOSPITAL=&X_STAY=&SYMPTOMS=&RECOVD=&LAB_DATA=&DISABLE=&OTHER_MEDS=&DIED=&V_ADMINBY=&DEATH_DATE_LOW=&DEATH_DATE_HIGH=&V_FUNDBY=&PAGENO=1&action=Find&PERPAGE=10&SORTING=NONE

Giggle Worm Melts Mother's Heart

As gymnastics class gets underway, the teacher explains the directions, and Riley raises her hand per usual...."Excuse me?"

"Yes Riley. Do you have a question?"

"Do you remember I have sensitive ears?" she asks.

"I remember." Miss Instructor reassures her.

Riley's shoulders drop.

She turns her head over her shoulder, looks at me, and winks.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

My mom used to sing this song to my much younger brothers, and I've sung it to my kids hundreds of times.

I usually rock Seth in the chair while I sing, and Riley is already snug under her covers. They sleep in the same bedroom.

One night just before the move, Riley started singing too. Really singing. But she wasn't just singing the melody I always sing. She was adding incredible harmonies.

We knew Riley could sing. Her pitch is perfect. But she was never taught the harmonies before. She's never heard a recording of the song. Hot Toddy and I wouldn't know the harmonies if they bit us.

"Riley that was so beautiful. Is that what you hear in your head when Mommy sings?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said, smirking as she wiggled deeper into her covers, as if she let me in on one of her beautiful little secrets.


Wynken, Blynken, and Nod (Dutch Lullaby)by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe
Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked the three."
We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.

The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.

So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Thanks Abe, That Was Close!

Listening to my weekly Abraham CD in the car today, I heard the words, "You can never punish someone into alignment." The premise being, the spouse, child, employee, whomever is acting out because they are feeling disconnected with Source. Punishing them only furthers their feelings of separation, and it's never effective. They might acquiesce in the short run, but the problem is not solved.

Three minutes after we got in the door, I notice Seth holding his crotch.

"Seth you need to go use the potty." I say.

"NO I DON'T!" He stomps his foot.

I give him a stern, "Yes, you do" look and he flings himself onto the floor in protest.

Abraham says, "Remind them of who they are."

Hmmm.....you mean he's not this little raggedy-ass ball of misery I see in front of me?

Picking him up, I carry him toward the bathroom, saying, "Boy, you sure must not be feeling well, because this is not like you. You are such a sweet little boy. So polite."

"I don't have to go!" He wails, flailing and kicking my thighs.

"Seth, you just kicked me. I know how good you are. You would never want to hurt Mommy."

He stops kicking.

"I sit him on the potty and it was a close call ("like a race horse" comes to mind).

When he's done washing his hands, he hugs me. I'm feeling great because I totally did not get sucked in.

Had I not listened to that CD today the outcome would have been very different. I would have threatened him, given him consequences. Or perhaps I would have let it go, only to be furious when he dribbled in his underpants 10 minutes later.

A dark cloud would have hung over our afternoon.

Such a simple shift in perspective. "Remind them of who they really are."

Such a profound difference.

I've thought of a dozen hatelful titles but none get to the sadness I'm experiencing at the total disregard for our kids.

Parents, it is YOUR responsibility to protect your children. Believe me, you WILL BE on your own if something turns up wrong as a result of a mercury laden vaccination.

http://infowars.net/articles/july2007/200707Mercury.htm

Coffee?

So I threw on my new skirt and met blogger Wendy Hoke today. I found her in a Google search of Cleveland blogs. I left a couple of comments on her site and she was kind enough to invite the new girl in town out for coffee. We talked for almost two hours and time flew! She's a freelance writer with impressive credits, too numerous to count, and she's worked on a project involving autism so we had lots to discuss.



Then, I had to leave to get some papers notarized for the sale of the house in Virginia (yes! we close this week). The notary was leaving for a dentist appt. in 15 minutes, so Todd met me in the driveway, kids buckled in, ready to go. I hopped out of the Buick and into the van.



"So how'd it go?" he asked.


"Loved her." I said, as we backed out of the driveway.


New skirt, new friend, sold house.


Not bad for a Monday?

Baby Doll

Went shopping today. Finally used my gift cards from my birthday (back in October...how pathetic is that?).


Seems Baby Doll tops are in. Who knew? Everyone but me, I'm sure.


They might look good if you're long and lean like the model to the right, but they just make me look pregnant.


Early, but pregnant.


I couldn't risk it. My self-esteem is too fragile.


Got lots of cute stuff though.


Reminded me of what it was like to actually go shopping, for clothes. To be female.


I used to do that.


Hey Baby Doll, you back?


Yeah girl. I'm back.

A Perfectly Lovely Day at the Cleveland Zoo

Thank You John

I can't get John Robison's latest blog post out of my mind. John is an adult with Asperger's and this piece beautifully describes what he deals with internally during certain types of social situations.

John is a very accomplished adult with a lot of experience to draw on. Imagine what it's like for Riley who has just turned seven?

The piece really helped make sense as to why some situations seem to work for her, and others turn out to be disasterous.

Reading this post was like happening upon a great treasure.

What a blessing he is for sharing his struggles with such candor.

Age of Autism Series

Much gratitude to UPI reporter Dan Olmsted for his Age of Autism Series. He's one of few in the media these days brave enough to stand up and speak the truth about this medical travesty. To dare say the emperor has no clothes. This link goes to his last installment in the series. The column to the left has the archive.

http://www.upi.com/Special_Reports/The_Age_of_Autism/

Our Arrangement

After a 12 hour day with the kids, I finish the last dish, and wipe my hands on a towel. I survey the kitchen. Still a bit messy but I can live with it. Turning to Hot Toddy, I take a deep breath, throw my head and shoulders back and look him in the eye.

"My work here is done." I say.

He cracks up, knowing this is "code" for "You're on your own buddy, I'm ditching you."

He'll bathe the kids, put them to bed, finish whatever needs to be finished. Hours later when I come down, he'll have the laundry folded. The morning supplements all mixed and ready to go.

"See ya when I see ya." he says, taking the towel from my hands, smiling.

"And not a moment sooner." I reply, as I gather up my book bag and head to The Upper Room.

They Paved Paradise

While scrubbing your imperfect organic produce, do you silently hum the line,

"I don't care about spots on my apples,
Leave me the birds and the bees."

Also, when making your children's beds in the morning(I know, they should really be doing it themselves), do you hear Billy Joel's voice in your head, like a priest chanting Catholic Mass,

"When you're 21 and your mother still makes your bed......"

You do? Good. I thought it was just me.

Happy, Happy, Playdate!

It went well! The girls (and tag-a-long Sethy pants) played so nicely. Riley's new friend is adorable and sweet. Ms. Riley's eyes opened at 6:30AM and she had to wait until 10:00AM for them to arrive. She stood in the window, jumping up and down as they crossed the street toward our house. The girl has no game face.

My new neighbor is fantastic. She's got a relative (cousin?) with Asperger's who just graduated from a prestigious college and is doing quite well socially. She seems very smart and compassionate and interested in learning more about Riley.

My girl was a friendly little hostess, but when it came time for them to leave, she fell apart. The build-up, the excitement, and the disappointment of the playdate coming to an end was just too much. We'd discussed "not crying when they leave" prior, but she just could not keep it together.

Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. She recovered in just s few minutes and went on to have a good rest of the day.

And guess what?

They've asked us to come play at their house later in the week!

Love and Bones

The boys are running errands, but the girls are staying home. Riley has a tummy ache.


We're snuggled up in her bed, watching the blue sky peek through the leaves outside the window.


She presses her hand to her belly and wonders aloud,


"Maybe I broke a bone?"


Smiling, I run my fingers through her straight brown hair, assuring her,


"Sweetie. You don't usually break bones in your tummy. Besides, you'd have to get hit really hard, or fall down hard, or get in a car accident or something like that to break a bone. Bones are pretty tough."


"Oh." she says.


This leads to me start talking about the mending of broken bones, and the amazing ability of our bodies to heal. The innate intelligence that directs it all. In my mind, I'm visualizing her cells turning over; the healing of her gut and her brain. It's happening. I see it. I feel it.


"And you know what's cool?" I ask her.


"What?"


"Sometimes when a bone gets broken, it winds up being stronger in that very spot after it's healed."


"Really?" Her eyes go big.


"So it's good to break bones?"


I laugh, "Well, I wouldn't go out and do it intentionally, but isn't that cool to know?"


"Yeah." She says and she looks up at the ceiling, thinking about all this.


"Riley?"


"What Mommy?"


"You know how you sometimes have a hard time?"


"Yeah." she says, thrusting her arm out flat in my direction, signaling a request for "softies."


"Well I think it's kind of like bones." I say, as I begin running my fingernails over her tiny bicep, and then her forearm.


"You might be having a hard time now, but it's only making you stronger. You're going to know how to get through difficulties because you're practicing so much now. When other kids grow up and hit a bump in the road, they're going to be thrown, but you're already learning what to do. You are an amazing kid; you make me proud every day, but you are going to be an incredible grown up. I can't wait to see what you'll do."


She smiles softly.


"Mommy?"


"What Sweetie?"

"I love you."

It's the first time she's ever said it to me first.

Gezuntite!

http://myspacetv.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=12593669


and if that doesn't make you smile:

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1369172421

Guess What?

Riley met the little girl across the street tonight on our way home from the neighborhood park, and guess what? They both totally love "Littlest Pet Shop" toys. Can you stand it?

We have a playdate set for Tuesday!

They scampered around the yard with their sibs for a bit while her mom and I talked, and my girl gave her new friend a big unsolicited hug before we went on our way across the street to get ready for bed.

Meeting S. was her "happy thought" (gratitude thought) after prayers tonight, even though she got a brand new bike today.

She is doing SO WELL.

Bio-med interventions, people.

Speaking of which, I'm at The Rescue Post today, talking about another great Riley moment.

My heart is happy, happy.

Hose Water Not Safe For Drinking, Filling Kiddie Pools

http://abcnews. go.com/Video/ playerIndex? id=3370375


* Another gem from biomedheads. Thanks Cheryl. Thanks Kim.

Red Sox, Peter with Autism Sings Anthem

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhcZRFcjbhw


Well being abounds.

People are good.

I hope he had good ear plugs.

*Thanks to Cheryl at biomedheads for this one.

Enough Already

I have enough shorts.

This occurred to me as I put the laundry away today. I also have enough bras.

When you grow up poor, you never have "enough."

I've had "enough" for over a decade now.

Enough love.

Enough money.

But have I allowed myself to grow into my abundance?

What is the posture of a woman who has "enough."

How does she walk?

How does she breathe?
--
Isn't it time I decided these things on my own, rather than absent-mindedly wearing a deeper groove into the trail of lack?

Enough already.

What I See When I Open My Eyes In the Morning

I've decided not to put up curtains in our bedroom 'til fall.

"One" Asperger

On the way home from a doctor appointment today Riley said,

"Mama, birds have one Asperger."

"What do you mean dolly?"

"Well, they always know just which wires to land on and which ones aren't safe. So they're really smart."

"That they are sweetie."

That

they

are.

The Rescue Post

Hey all, have you seen The Rescue Post?

It's a new offshoot of Generation Rescue, providing all kinds of readable articles on autism related issues.

For anyone wanting to follow the big autism/vaccine hearing currently underway, Kent Heckenlively is providing a daily plain English synopsis.

Some great writing is going on over there, (of course it is, Kim Stagliano is editor and one of the writers)!

http://www.rescuepost.com/

A Question of Empathy

If I hear one more description of autistic children using the words, "lacking empathy," I'm going to scream. (Apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it)?

This is just another way the "limits" of the experts rattle the actual facts.

Let's not mistake an impaired ability to read social cues or facial expressions, for a lack of empathy, okay?

My child may not appear empathetic on the spot, but if you explain to her what's going on, she's actually hyper-empathetic. She feels deeply for others which is no surprise, given her acute sensitivity to everything else in the world.

Example:

Riley is frightened of a bee at an outdoor market. Frightened to the point of panic. She runs and when I catch her she screams. SCREAMS! Glancing around as I try to comfort her, I notice a toddler, who is about to cry, because of Riley's noise.

"Riley." Kneeling down and taking her hands I keep my voice even, calm.

"Riley. There is a baby over there and your screaming is scaring her."

My daughter is in full blown panic. Her body is shaking. I move my hand to her heart and it's beating fast, like a rabbit. Moving her own hand to her chest, I place mine over hers. This is how we acknowledge what's happening in her body.

Yes body, you are afraid. Let's calm you down.

She looks in my eyes, hers pleading. She doesn't like to feel like this.

She glances in the direction of the baby, and gulps, stifling her noise, tears streaming down her face.

We breathe together. We've been practicing deep breathing since she was three. She's getting really good at this. Five big breaths is usually all it takes.

She looks at the baby again. Her fear is still high, but she knows what it's like to be scared. She does not want to scare the baby.

Impaired social awareness, perhaps.

Lack of empathy.

No way.

Benevolent Universe

In the fall, Riley's school will be about a 30 minute commute. Thank God for awesome libraries and books on tape. I've got it all planned out. Breakfast packed up and eaten in the car. No problem.

Knowing we didn't really stand a chance at this late date, I put Seth on the waiting list for a couple of local preschools. He does not turn five 'til September and we want to give him another year to grow. In the meantime I found a decent daycare type place for him, with a preschool program. It's half-way to Riley's school. It is okay. Just a couple of hours a day. He'll be fine.

Guess what?

One of the preschools in our neighborhood called. They have a spot.

We went to visit. It is two seconds away. When I explained to the director about our diet, she said, "We've had kids on special diets before. We just send a list home, of what the allergies or sensitivities are, and the parents work around it for special occasions like birthdays."

Say what?

She registered the look of shock on my face.

"We believe it's a teachable moment. Consideration for others, you know. It's a good opportunity to learn about compassion."

I shed a tear right there in the hallway. You wanna make something of it?

The school is everything I could ever want for him. It is very holistic, very Waldorf-ish but not, very Sudbury, but not. By the end of our tour, she was hugging this basket case, plopped into a new state, head-spinning, mother. I put down a deposit; my heart feeling so happy for Seth.
--
The realtor who let us into the house lives on this street. We bumped into her on the sidewalk and got to talking. She could not believe we got in. She said parents start lining up at 1AM the night before registration to ensure their child's placement into this school.

I had no idea when I put him on the list.

I am so diggin' it here.

Independence

As we walk down a long sidewalk making our way to a grassy clearing, Riley asks, "What does independence mean?"

I answer, "It means you can do things for yourself. That you don't need help."

She tilts her head to the side, considering this.

"Well, I can wipe myself. So that's independence!" She grins. Her arms do their characteristic tic because she's excited at learning a new concept. Her tic means she's fully engaged, happy. A way for her body to discharge positive stimulation.

"And I can wipe myself too....sometimes." Seth adds.

"So we're independent!" They beam.

We spread our blanket and wait for it to get dark, as the masses gather.

Our kids have never seen fireworks before.

We wouldn't have dared.

Too noisy.

We insert Riley's earplugs.

-

When the show starts she squeals and whoops and claps!

Seth says, "Wow! Wow! Wow!"

Todd and I sit, our little ones on our laps.

We exchange glances but no words are needed as we bask in the glow of these rockets.

Regarding the Mother

Strapped down, I feel the hard tugs on my uterus as they yank and cut. All focus is on the task at hand. No regard for the mother. She’s just an obstacle to get past.


I scream, “I can feel this!”


I cry, “The epidural didn’t take on one side!”


“I feel you cutting me! Why the fuck am I feeling this?”


As if I am talking through a thick glass window, no one looks up.


My uterus is red, screaming, bleeding, on fire, ripped, pulled. They are rough, yanking my body all over the table to get the baby out.


No regard for the mother.
No regard for the mother.
No regard for the mother.


It is a PRIMAL hurt.


No regard for my mother. My father didn’t regard her at all. Her feelings. Her thoughts. Her needs. Her worries. Treated her like she was stupid every day of their marriage. Treated her like she was shit. Denied her the basic human necessities of sleep, food, running water, health care. Kindness.

No regard for my grandmother either. Once children came, her husband had no use for her. Drinking, carousing, fucking every whore he came across, from what I hear.


And before that?
And before that?
And before that?
And before that?
And before that?

The disregard of my physical torture, brought with it the psychic agony of generations of women before me.

In meditation today I climb up the blood encrusted embankment walls from all that, and have a ceremony.

Lining up the seven women.


My mother.
Her mother.
Her mother.
Her mother.
Her mother.
Her mother.
and her mother.


I invite them to sit in comfortable chairs. I massage their tired bodies. I put wreaths of daisies around their necks. I rub their feet with lotion that smells of flowers and vanilla. I start with the oldest and go down the row, taking each face in mine, forehead to forehead, close enough that we exchange each other’s breath.


“Thank you.” I whisper.


I give them sacred golden nectar to drink. For some reason it comes with straws, in cups made of coconuts.

Simultaneously they drink, and they become more. More bright. More breath. More muscle. More color. More smiles. More glow. More joy. More Love.

They finish, then smile at me before turning in the opposite direction. My stomach flips with joy as my green-eyed gramma winks over her shoulder at me, and then off they go….in seven different directions.

As they begin to disappear from my sight, I note they are flying.


They’ve wings on their backs.

Social Anxiety

Last evening, on my way to the library, solo, I met the neighbors across the street. They have three kids, one of which is a seven year old girl. The mom was thrilled that our daughter is seven too.

We got to talking and she asked if Riley would be going to the public school right around the corner, along with her daughter.

I felt myself hesitate. There is a part of me that wants to put up big qualifiers. She will be going to a special school....BUT....she's brilliant. No, we're not going to sign her up for summer day camp, BUT....she's so sweet, please don't be frightened to ask her to play.

Then again, the neighborhood is teaming with children running across each other's yards. That kind of play, where the direction changes constantly is like dropping Riley into a complicated game where the stakes are high and everyone else knows the rules but no one told her.

Panic ensues. Then, screams and tears.

So, here I stand, wanting her to be included, but fearful of what will happen when she is.

I want people to like my daughter.

I also know that when I was a child, I wouldn't have given a kid like her the time of day. Now, maybe if someone had sat me down and explained what she was going through, perhaps? But on my own, I would have been the first one to kick her out of the group. You yell at me? You're done. No time for cry-babies either.

Growing up in the family I did, I learned to smell the mood of the room, and the people in it, and adapt my presentation accordingly. Social situations are easy for me. How could me and my child be so different?

Last Monday we went to gymnastics class. The way Riley cried and carried on, I thought for sure we'd never be back. On our way out, I said, half kidding....."So you want to come back next week?"

She grinned and said, "Sure!"

Her second class, yesterday, went fantastic.

Is it possible that her condition is more painful for me to witness, than it is for her to experience?

Am I to hover and explain everything? Do I back off, even though I know she can't navigate well socially on her own? Isn't that throwing her in the pool and watching her sink? I've tried it before and sink she does. It's not like she'll just "pick it up" by being around other kids. If that were the case, she'd have "picked it up" already. The "pick it up" part of her brain is the part that doesn't work like everyone else.

And she knows it doesn't.

Last week, when she couldn't get past her fear at the playground, in between sobs she said, "I wish I were like Seth!" Her brother, so brave. Tackling all the equipment, navigating all the children, with ease.

"She has Asperger's." I say. "She'll be going to a special school for kids with Asperger's."

My new neigbor looks me in the eye, seemingly unfazed.

"She does really well with one on one, not so well with large groups and unstructured play."

She nods, as if she understands.

We talk for a few more minutes and then I have to go.

As I walk away, she yells across the street,

"We'll have to get the girls together to play."

I hope so.

I think.

Grease is the Word

Nestling in after another long day of unpacking, I move to rest my head on Hot Toddy's chest (with a sheet in between him and my cheek), and as I do, I notice the pillow under his head.

My pillow.

"You're on my pillow!"

"Oh no." he says.

"You know how I feel about that."

"Yes, I do, you crazy lunatic." He says as I hop up to grab a clean pillowcase.

You see, I'm grease-a-phobic.

I can't help it. I'm 38 and still get acne like a teenager.

There is no possible way I can get into bed at night without a shower if I've been physically active. If someone's used my phone, I have to wipe it down, not for fear of germs, but of grease. If I don't, I'll definitely break out.

Hot Toddy doesn't take it personally. Clearly, it's my issue, not his.

Thank God after 12 years together, he somehow still finds me amusing.

Now, if only he'd learn to stay off my pillow.

Sweet Talk

Things are starting to settle down. For the first time in almost two weeks, I wasn't rushing. There was time to take a leisurely shower. I even applied make-up and dried my hair, kind of.

The kids were in the other room, watching a video. When I came in to tell them lunch was ready, Riley looked up at me and said,

"Don't you look pretty?"

God I love this girl.

Sammy, Do You Have a Question?

Our poor cat is asked this a thousand times a day. We just slay each other with it. A laugh riot at our house, that's what it is.


(If he didn't like it, he'd quit holding his tail in that position).