Perspective

What if…..we replace the words ‘Autism/PDD-NOS/Aspergers’ with a more generally accepted and understood medical diagnosis—like Asthma—and replace ‘behavior’ with ‘breathing’, etc. and then apply it to statements that parents/individuals with autism hear on a regular basis.  Sound absurd? You be the judge.

“OMG- he doesn’t have asthma.  I met him once a few years ago and I didn’t notice any trouble at all with his breathing”.

“They took him to the hospital again?  Talk about over-reacting.  Have they ever tried a humidifier”?

“My kids breathe like that too sometimes.  It’s called a cold”.

“That kid knows what she is doing.  I saw her skipping, running and playing and she didn’t have to use an inhaler for help once.  She should run for office one day”!

“I’ve worked with kids with asthma before.  I know one when I see one.  He is not it”.

“Maybe if they gave her more structure and discipline she could breathe right”. 

“I think it’s because of too much…. television

                                                            internet

                                                            baby Einstein videos

                                                            Minecraft

                                                            media exposure

                                                            free time       

                                                            junk food

                                                            bad genes 

                                                      

“It’s probably not enough………        exercising

                                                             fresh air

                                                             vitamins                   

                                                             parenting

                                                             discipline

                                                             structure

                                                             vegetables    

“She has what?!  But she’s so…         cute

                                                            talkative

                                                            nice

                                                            smart

                                                            clever

                                                            empathetic

                                                            creative

                                               

“What that girl needs is a good spanking.  It’ll clear her bronchial airways right up”.

“Her mom probably didn’t eat right while pregnant with her”.

“He probably didn’t bond enough with his mother as a baby”.

“She probably didn’t get breast fed”.

“He was probably breast fed for too long”.

“I heard the Dad’s age has something to do with it”.

“Environmental factors?  Air quality?  What a crock.  Her parents just cant deal with it and need something to blame”.

“You’re changing his diet again?  [Insert eye roll]  ……right--as if food can trigger an allergic episode”. 

“I know he has asthma, but that is no excuse for him to not breathe right”.

“Wow you really have your hands full— I don’t know how you do it.  I don’t know what I would do if my child had asthma”.

“Stop dwelling on it already and just enjoy her”.

“I’m really worried about the influence she might have on my typically-breathing child”.

“Lol- -asthma.  Is that even a real diagnosis”?  

“I guess anyone can get a diagnosis these days”.

“Well, It’s obviously more than just asthma”.

“God only gives people with asthma to special parents.  You are a saint”. 

“Cases of asthma are not rising.  We are just better at recognizing it.   When I was younger we just called it ‘breathing-quirks’ “.

“So what if he is wheezing?  You don’t have to put a label on him”.  

“Seriously?  He has to be in a non-smoking environment?  I should limit my use of perfume and hair spray?  You can’t expect the world to revolve around his needs.  It’s really unfair to the other typically-breathing people”.

“OH!  Is that why she gets all those ‘special extras’ at school.  Must be nice”.

“Are you sure it’s asthma?  She doesn’t look like she has asthma.  She looks so--normal!  She must have the really high functioning kind of asthma”.

“He’ll grow out of it.”

“Why are you bothering with an inhaler and breathing treatments?  Just leave her alone and let it run its course”. 

“Oh his asthma’s improved?  He probably never had it to begin with.  Told you so”. 

2013

2013.........Long story.

20 Questions

1.  What happened to your gum?
2.  Is that permanent marker?
3.  Why is there no poop in the kitty litter box?
4.  What is that smell?
5.   If you didn't EAT the food, then what happened to it?
6.  Why does my iPhone say I have 'new video' posted to You Tube?
7.  What happened to your underwear?
8.   Is that marker--or paint--on the dog?
9.   Why do I hear water running?
10.  How many times do I have to ask?
11.  Where are all the scissors?
12.  Why are there empty cheese wrappers under the bed?
13.  Did you actually eat the cheese?
14.  Is this melted chocolate?
15.  Why does my coffee taste like Windex?
16.  What did I just step in?
17.  What happened to all of my makeup?
18.  Why does it look like my shampoo is half filled with mouthwash?
19.  What do you mean 'what else' can you put in the washing machine?
20.  Are you serious?

@#$*(!&* fish

After reading a couple of books with my seven year old son at bedtime, he turned to me and said, "Mom, I can't BELIEVE they let us watch inappropriate videos at school"!

 "Really"?

He continued, "We were watching one of those 'Berenstain Bears' videos about pollution and recycling and there was a fish that totally said an inappropriate word".

"What did he say"?

"He said, 'How am I supposed to swim with all this goddamned trash in my way!' "

Kindergarten, Eyebrows and a Dog

My daughter started Kindergarten this year.  With both kids in school, I had visions of enormous amounts of free time.  I pictured myself starting my day with a Yoga class,  followed by a trip to the coffee shop, where I would cozy up on one of the velvet couches sipping lattes and working on my latest screenplay (yes, I am writing screenplays in my vision).  Afterward I would hop on my bike (in my vision I was biking everywhere) and I would bike to the city for lunch with friends.  I might squeeze in some shopping and possibly an eyebrow wax.  Then it would be time to bike back home to pick up the kids, who would be exhausted from their long day at school and would want nothing more than to come home and relax.  We'd hang out together, maybe a trip to the playground before dad gets home and then we'd whip up an amazing dinner with all of the fresh organic/ local foods I was able to pick up at the market that day.

On day one of Kindergarten, I acted upon one part of my vision and made an appointment for an eyebrow wax.  The salon was beautiful and tranquil, and as I lay on the heated massage table I smiled as I thought of my changing, stress-free future (complete with perfect eyebrows).  I was in such a calm state that I barely noticed the tape and wax being pulled off of my skin.  The scent of the aromatic healing oil surrounded me and felt wonderful as it was applied to my face.  The stylist handed me a mirror and I held it above my head, ready to admire my new perfectly groomed brows.  However these happy thoughts were immediately replaced with two words:  'HOLY'  and   'SHIT'.   My eyebrows had been scalped.  They were now two tiny lines that looked like they had been lightly etched in with an eyebrow pencil that needed to be sharpened.  "What do you think"?  The perky stylist enthusiastically asked.  After regaining some composure, and recovering from my initial shock, I was able to whisper, "Ummmmm, they are a little thin"?

She immediately went into defensive mode, "well--you had some areas that needed to grow in, and they would not have been uniform-- it's what I had to work with-- they will grow back even now--it, um, really looks great though.  Thin eyebrows are all the rage".  Now, I knew this was a lie, since I had just read a copy of 'Allure' magazine while waiting in the front lobby and I knew that it is ALL about bushy eyebrows this year.  I managed to be polite, and quickly paid the front desk (with tip- I know) and ran from the salon with my hand covering my eyebrows.  Thank god I was driving, and not biking, as I could not get out of there fast enough.

On the way home, I checked my eyebrows over and over again in the rearview mirror,  hoping to see some new growth- but each time getting more panicked at how absolutely ridiculous they looked.  On about the 25th or 26th time looking in the mirror,  I realized not only are they way too thin but one is higher than the other.  I looked like a lunatic.  I sat at a stoplight trying to raise one eyebrow and lower the other and wondering if I could naturally hold that pose all day.  A car honking behind me snapped me out of it and I managed to make it the rest of the way home without pulling the mirror down to take another look.  Once I got home, I spent an hour experimenting with various eye pencils, powders, and shadows, trying to get a natural look and decided that I definitely needed more products.  I went to Walgreens and had a wonderful conversation with the elderly woman in cosmetics about how to "draw in your brows".  I bought  a couple of pencils and left feeling somewhat encouraged.  I went home and tried the pencils out, trying to even out the crazy brow with the slightly less crazy brow- and I was pretty proud of myself because I thought it actually looked presentable.  I was now able to face the public and decided I could take a trip to the grocery store.

At the store I ran into a couple of people I knew.  In both conversations, I noticed they kept looking up at my brows and were definitely giving me a "holy shit what the hell is up with her eyebrows" vibe.  I grabbed a frozen pizza and got out of there.  Once I was back home, I went online and looked up "eyebrows".  I read that Rosemary Oil helps eyebrows grow fast.   I also discovered that powder may be more youthful looking than liner, and that Bobbie Brown makes a wonderful powder that several celebrities use.  I also discovered that there is a renowned eyebrow stylist in the Chicago area that has worked wonders with even the worst eyebrow mishaps, and through tinting, shaping, waxing and threading, she will give you back your dignity in no time.  I called the salon and made the next available appointment (November) with the eyebrow miracle-lady.  I drove to the Health Food Store and picked up a small bottle of Rosemary Oil, and made a stop at the mall, where I bought some Bobbie Brown powder and eyebrow brush.

I got back in the car, ready to head home to tackle the rest of my day, glanced at the clock and realized I had 10 minutes to get to school to pick up my daughter.  I got there on time, and she bounded into the car, full of things to tell me about her day.  She LOVED kindergarten.  She LOVED her teacher.  She LOVED her friends.  She LOVED her classroom.  She told me she was so happy and that Kindergarten is THE BEST.  I was thrilled that she was thrilled.  She asked about my day and I struggled with what to say since it sounded so ridiculous that it was all about eyebrows.  I said, "oh, I did a little grocery shopping",  remembering the frozen pizza.

"Mom"?  My daughter asked.  "Yes"?  I said.   "When are we going to get a dog"?  This question was a daily if not hourly one at our house.  We knew it would happen eventually, and had been considering it, but weren't sure if this was a good time.  I was just starting to enjoy the kids new independence.   The potty training, walking, cleaning, and feeding thing just didn't mesh with my new vision of personal development.  I looked back at her in the rearview mirror, her eyes big with hope and expectation, and I caught sight of my eyebrows.  I thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to not have so much free time.  "We'll work on getting a dog soon",  I told her.  She smiled.

"Mom"?  she asked.

"Yes, honey"?

"Why did you color on your eyebrows"?

The dog arrived in mid-September.   My eyebrows haven't quite arrived, but getting there.

The I Like Game

In an effort to strengthen our family bond and to end the day on a positive note (long summer days have started to wear on us a bit),  I decided I would start a new exchange to be used at night after bedtime stories.  I called it the "I like game".  I explained to my 7 year old son and my 4 year old daughter that I would start by telling them something special I liked about them, and then they could tell me something they liked about me or about the day, and we could go back and forth as long as we wanted.  I began with my son, and said, "I really love your sense of humor".  He responded with, "I love your big heart and your beautiful soul".

Ok.  Pass the tissues.  Game over.

Wishful thinking

After helping my son get an eyelash out of his eye, I told him he could make a wish. He carefully held the lash on the tip of his index finger, closed his eyes and whispered, "I wish my eyelash was back on my eye".

Bowling night

Wii time is usually monopolized by my seven year old.  He is all about getting to a certain world on Mario, ascending a certain level on Batman, or beating his record score on Scooby Doo.  We were excited to finally take advantage of the rainy weather to play a family Wii game, and we decided on bowling.  

To be fair, we decided to forgo (btw I cannot use this word without thinking of ‘The Bachelor’) individual play for teams.  My husband and I are about the same skill level, and we knew we could carry-or at least even out-the kids scores.  We remind them about good sportsmanship, and tell them that it’s ok if they don’t get a great score every time, that there will be 10 frames, and that each one is like getting a do-over.  We explain that not everyone can be a winner, but the important thing is to have fun.  The kids each give us their token nods of acknowledgement, and we get ready to begin. 

My 4 year old immediately starts crying once she realizes she is my partner, throwing herself to the ground, saying, “Oh NO!  Not MOM! Now I’ll never win”!  I eventually convince her that I am a bowling champion and she’s back on her feet, doing a pre-victory dance: “Oh yeah, Oh yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh-- we are gonna wi-i-i-i-n”.  

My son isn’t buying it:  “Mom stinks.  Dad is the best”.  

The game is on, and it’s my turn first.  My son runs interference, chanting, “BOOOO, mom!  Lose mom! Don’t get a strike mom, don’t get a strike, don’t get a strike...”  I concentrate and go into strategy mode.  I use all the virtual tools at my disposal.  I zoom in to check position.  I click the turn mode to optimal direction. I narrow my eyes and focus on the virtual arrows, aiming just between the center arrow and the arrow to the right of it- and I end up hitting a few pins right down the middle, leaving pins on both sides.  I turn around to see my daughter crossing her arms and smirking at me. 

I hand her the controller and encourage her to get the spare (even though it’s next to impossible).  I cheer, “C’mon , you can do it”!  She tells us all confidently, “Watch....and learn, my friends”.  

She turns toward the game, starts a bizarre sideways approach with her hip jutted out to the side.  With a crooked, drunken stance and an even more crooked elbow, she takes a few steps and whips the controller all crazy-like, with no apparent regard for a specific destination, managing to hit both the couch and the table before her release-- and ends up getting the split, and the spare.  She gives me the ‘that’s how it’s done’ look and proudly reclaims her spot on the couch. 

Now it’s my husband’s turn- my son screams, “Yeah dad!  GO Dad”!!

My daughter joins in, “Go DAD!!! Get a STRIKE, DAD”!!  

I remind my daughter that she is on my team, and she lowers her voice and explains with a concerned tone, “Mom.... I do love you, but I can’t just love you all the time.  I love dad, too.  Dad is fun.  Sometimes you are boring. But some days you are fun.  Some days I love you the best-but today-I just have to love dad better”.

My husband takes his turn, and, like me, tries to use the advantage of technology to optimize his chances.  His ball ends up spinning sharply to the right and he hits 2 pins.  My daughter quickly changes her tune. Clinching her fist and thrusting her elbow toward the floor, she yells,  “YESSSS!  Mom is THE BEST”!  My son takes his turn and effortlessly gets the spare. 

The rest of the game continues like this, with the kids having to clean up the pins after their parents’ pathetic first attempts.  At one point my son says, “Dad, you are terrible.  Just give me the remote and I’ll get us the strikes”.  My daughter gets bored and eventually takes her turn by half-heartedly giving the remote a little push while simultaneously working on a princess drawing (and clears almost all of the pins).

My son eventually checks out of the game as well.  He starts to build a tunnel using a gymnastics mat and pillows, and decides he can just take his turn from there.  From across the room, he haphazardly sticks his hand holding the controller up out of the pillows, gives it a random flip, and ends up with a strike.  “BOO-yah!  In your FACE”, he yells, at no one in particular--from underneath the tunnel.

On my final turn, I decide to change up my game, putting the kids’ proven “technique” into practice.  Without glancing at the screen, I quickly and randomly give the controller a quick flip--and end up with a gutter ball.  

My son yells out from his newly built Lego town in the hallway, “MOM! Come ON!  Are you even taking this seriously” ?!

The Inside Story

This morning I was complaining a bit about having to take the kids to school during a thunderstorm, and my husband- who was scrambling to get ready for a business meeting- was also not thrilled about driving to work in the storm.  He half-jokingly muttered, "yeah, well try my life".

My son chimed in, saying, "Yeah mom, dad's life is WAY harder than yours".  He continued, "His life is so hard.  If you got inside him-- if you knew his inside story-- it would totally beat yours.  You would not want to be him." He paused for a moment, pointed to my husband, and added, "There is a LOT of quicksand in there".

1st grade crush

My 7 year old told me about a “totally embarrassing” situation at school where his classmate was teasing him, and telling everyone that he was “in love” with a girl in their class.  He sighed, put his head in his hands, shook it back and forth and said, “and you know what mom?  I am.  I am in love with her”.

Nature Calls

Our family spent the week in Vermont.  Although we were there for a sad occasion (a memorial service for my husband’s grandmother), it was wonderful to see family from around the country and catch up with their lives. The youngest generation of cousins had a blast playing together, and even the weather cooperated (which can be touch and go in Vermont this time of year).

The memorial service took place where my husband’s grandmother had raised her family, up in the picturesque Northeast Kingdom of Vermont.  It is a long drive back to the Burlington area where we were staying at my in-laws home.  About halfway into the trip, my son needed to use the bathroom. Given there weren’t many options, we pulled over to the side of a field.  My daughter was quite impressed with my son’s ability to be able to go wherever, but she announced that she would much rather wait for a bathroom “that has a door for pwivacy”.   My husband, recalling his Native American ancestry, said to her, “Oh, if you were a true little Indian princess living back in the day, you wouldn't worry about that.  You could just go right there in the grass”.  My daughter laughed and told him he was being "silly". 

After a few more miles of driving, my daughter fell asleep.  About fifteen miles from her grandma and grandpa’s (Papa and Dee-Dee) house, she woke up, yelling,  “I have to go potty! Now. Right. NOW”!  My husband and I told her we would pull over as soon as possible, and I nervously scanned both sides of the road for any sign of a place with a restroom.  She was screaming "Hurry UP!  I am going to pee my pants!  I-need-to-go-to-the-POTTY"!  I reassured her that we were looking and tried distracting her with the various interesting scenery and animals we passed.  She quieted down, and by the time we were approaching a gas station, she had fallen back asleep.  We were about 10 miles from home, and since the place was pretty questionable regarding cleanliness, we decided not to wake her and continued the trip home.

We were a couple of minutes from the house when she awoke again, screaming desperately to use the bathroom.  "WHAT is the MATTER with you!  I said have to use the POTTY! Do you want me to pee my pants"?  My husband sped up while I encouraged her to wait, giving her minute-by-minute updates, “only a couple more minutes”--which turned to seconds-- "Count with me, 10......9.......8.....7....." which only seemed to make her more and more miserable.  We finally pulled into the driveway, and I jumped out of the car, hurried to open her door, and she tumbled out in complete hysterics.

 I went to grab her hand and she started kicking me away, trying to climb back in the car, saying, “No! NO!  I didn't want to potty here! I don’t want to pee at Dee-Dee’s house!  NOOOOOOOO!  I want to go in the GWASS!  In the gwass!  Not in the toiwet!  I-want-to-pee-in-the- GWAAAAAAASSSSSS”!  She collapsed on the front lawn, kicking her little legs and pounding her fists into the ground.  After several minutes of struggle, I managed to get her into the house, but when she saw the nice, modern, clean bathroom awaiting her, she burst into tears again.  “I want to be an Indian pwincess and pee on the gwaaaaassssssssssssssss”....... it was then I noticed a note on the table from my husband’s parents saying they went for some groceries and would be back later. 

I looked at my husband, then back at my inconsolable daughter.  I shrugged my shoulders and said, “hurry up and take her in the backyard”.  She looked up at me, immediately stopped crying, smiled, and proudly walked with her dad to pee in the grass.  She strode to the middle of the lawn, squatted low and made a valiant effort--but try as she might-- no luck.  She looked up at my husband and choked out the words, “I-- I just can’t do it”.  She slowly and somberly walked past me, defeated.  She dragged her feet to the bathroom and slammed the door. 

Heartbroken, she later told me, “mom, it is not easy to pee in the gwass.  Boys are lucky.  That is not fair.”  

So true. 

We are making a drive from Illinois to Vermont in July.  I just hope there will be enough places to pee in the grass along the way.

Chicks and Carnivores

The kids Easter baskets included ‘Magic Hatching Eggs’.  My son got a dinosaur egg, and my daughter received a little chick egg.  As the directions indicated, we placed each one in a glass of water.  We were surprised to see bubbles immediately emerge from each of the eggs (no one more surprised than I, since these things are normally big time duds).  “Look! They are breathing!  Mom!  They are breathing”!  

They could not believe that they were actually going to grow a couple of new pets.  They checked in on their egg every 3 to 5 minutes, and would report their findings back to me: 

J: “I think its sleeping now”.  

L: “There aren’t as many bubbles”.  

J: “I think I see my shell cracking”! 

L: "I think I see its' shadow"! 

 This went on for an hour or so, which I was grateful for at first, but wasn't sure how much more my sanity could take on the minute-by-minute updates. 

I read on the box that it may take 24-48 hours for the pet to fully hatch, so after saying a little prayer that we got the 24 hour variety, I started in with the ad-libbing (that is a nice parent-word to use in place of lying).  I told them,  “Guys, I’m not sure...but I think the directions said that if you stare at the egg too long, it might turn to stone”.  That deterred them for about a half hour or so, but then each time they went over to the eggs they were very careful to only look for a few seconds.  My son decided that he would only look sideways at his egg so as to be extra careful.   

The next morning, there were a few tiny cracks in the eggs.  The kids thought this was AMAZING.  They were jumping up and down and high-fiving each other, and placing bets on which one would hatch first.  By afternoon, my son’s egg had just enough of an opening that we could make out the little dinosaurs mouth, or maybe it was his eye-- but it was “definitely real”, according to my son.  Unfortunately, that was about all the egg action we saw that day, but the kids were patient, and wondered about what was going to happen next.  

That night, my son started asking some rational questions: ”Mom, is that thing really going to be real”?  “Mom, is that a kind of dinosaur that is not extinct”?  “I thought they were extinct”?  “Can I bring it to show and tell”?  “Mom, how big is the dinosaur going to get”?   

I carefully answered each of his questions with “I wonder” and “What do you think”?  My son was quiet and contemplative for awhile, and then something clicked.  He gasped and exclaimed in horror, “What if it hatches tonight and tries to eat Frankie”?  My daughter chimes in with a nervous laugh, and says, “heh-heh, that is sooooooooo silly- he won’t eat Frankie!  Dinosaurs don’t eat cats!  Right mom”? 

Then, for some strange reason, all rational thought left my brain and I decided that this was the moment to educate my children about carnivorous dinosaurs.  We discussed raptors and tyrannosaurs-to which my son could suddenly relate- “Like, you mean--Tyrannosaurus REX”?  

In an instant, both kids scrambled out of bed and started sprinting around the house, checking under furniture, desperately calling for the cat.  “Frankie?  Frankie?  
FRANK-IEEEEEE”!  After locating the cat, and after a lot of reassuring by me that my son’s egg did not contain that kind of dinosaur, they were able to settle down and eventually go to sleep.

The next morning, both eggs had cracked significantly, showing the fully-formed spongy upper body of the baby dinosaur, and the fuzzy little head of the baby chick.  My daughter was thrilled, and she lovingly oohed and ahhed over her chick.  She was lightly tapping the glass, saying “Hi chicky!  I’m your mama”, and singing “here chicky chicky,  here chicky chicky”.  She started contemplating names-- “I think I’’ll call it Lilly.  Or Lulu.  Or Lou.  Or Lou-la”.  I was so wrapped up in her excitement, that I didn’t even notice my son peeling the rest of the egg away from his little dino-sponge.  

I turned to him, and there he sat, surrounded by egg shells, arms crossed, looking less than thrilled.  He held up his little dinosaur in the palm of his hand and said flatly, “Mom. This... is just a dumb sponge”.  

My daughter replied, “Well...mom told you that’s what happens when you stare at it for too long”.   

Her chick is still hatching.  And we know its real, 'cause we can still see the bubbles.  We think.  Because no one is allowed to look at it.  

Thank you for sharing

Six words that make me gag:

Mucus

Pustule (or anything with ‘pus’ for that matter)

Phlegm

Vomit

Scabs

Wart

...and the lady in front of me in the grocery store line just used five of them.  

Sometimes it’s not what you say, but...

As I was getting my daughter ready for Easter service, she was marveling over everything: “mom, look-- the Easter Bunny brought us this-- and this-- and this”!  She started floating around the room in her dress, pretending she was a princess, when she caught sight of her brother coming down the stairs, dressed in his Easter Sunday best.  She gazed up at him admiringly and exclaimed, “Oh, wow.  You look....so....disgusting”!

Crustaceans and such

My 4 year old has had a stuffed up nose for a few days.
 
Rubbing her nose and examining it in the mirror, she says, "Mom, I'm serious.  I think there's something in there".  Her eyes widen and she continues, "Like, maybe a crab-- or a squirrel".

The Omnipotent one

My 6 year old was not too happy about the cold weather this morning.  On the way to the bus stop, he was sharing his disappointment with my daughter.

J: "It's FREEZING!  God can be such a JERK sometimes!  He's ruining all the plants"!
L: "uh-oh, you better not say that.  Santa might hear you"!
J: "I wasn't talking about Santa".
L: "Well, Santa cares about everyone--even God".

“Conversation” with a 4 year old

(a.k.a.  Inspiration for Dr. Seuss, a.k.a.  A little glimpse into hell) 

At snack time, I ask my 4 year old,  “Would you like some carrots”?

She answers:  “Mom, I like my carrots with hummus.  Did you hear me mom, all I like is carrots and hummus.  I don’t like plain carrots.  Like, if people ask me, ‘what do you like?’, I will say, ‘I like carrots and hummus’.  That’s why I don’t just like carrots.  I like them with hummus.  If people say, ‘do you want some carrots’?  I’ll say, ‘no. I want carrots and hummus’.  I will never, ever, ever have plain carrots.  I like them with hummus.  I do not like to eat carrots by themselves, just carrots with hummus on them.  My friend likes to eat carrots with ranch dressing on them.  But I like them with hummus.  If I ever had to eat carrots by themselves, I might try it.  But I really don’t like it when I have it regular like that.  I like it with hummus.  If we were out of hummus, that would be really bad, because I like hummus.  We would have to go to the store to buy some more hummus, because that’s why I could not eat my carrots plain.  If you were not here, I would have to ask dad to get me some hummus.  I really like hummus.  With carrots.  Mmmmm.  These are good........  Mom, did you know I really like carrots and hummus?................Mom?"

Deep breath in, aaaand deep breath out.  The beach. The sand.  The ocean waves.  Singing of birds. Wind blowing softly through the trees.  Chocolate.  Wine.  Massage.  A great read.  Candles.  Rose petals.  Javier Bardem.  Champagne.  Strawberries.  Picnic.  Carrots and hummus.

"Yes, sweetie. Mommy knows."

Send the baby

My daughter loves to invent new games.  One that she loves to play is called ‘Send the baby’.  Although the way she pronounces it is “Spin the Baby”, which for me conjures up images of preschool kids sitting around a circle, taking turns spinning a baby doll.....but thankfully, she clarified, and it’s definitely ‘Send the Baby’.  Here’s how to play: 

My daughter will ring the pretend doorbell from the hallway. She’ll shout, “DING-DONG”!  I’ll come to the pretend door and pretend to open it.  There’s no one there.  I’ll look to the right- nothing.  I’ll look to the left- nothing.  I’ll shrug my shoulders and pretend slam the door.  My daughter will ring the doorbell a second time.  

“Well what now...”?  I’ll say, as I approach the pretend doorway.  She’ll run off and hide, giggling as I look again to see no one is there.  I’ll shake my fist and say something like, “Those darn TEENAGERS”!  and she’ll laugh harder.   Then I’ll pretend slam the door again.  

“DING-DONG”....she’ll yell again, and this time when I open the door I’ll look down at the ground where she has left her doll.  I’ll feign surprise and say, “Oh MY!  Somebody left me a BABY!  What is this baby doing on my doorstep?  Poor baby!  Is there no one here to take care of the baby”?   My daughter will sit in her hiding spot, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.  

I’ll cuddle the baby and bring it “inside”, wrap a blanket around her, and tell her that everything will be okay. This is usually my daughter’s cue to ring the pretend doorbell again.  I’ll answer the pretend door and she'll explain that she is the one who left the baby, because she found the baby all alone, and that the baby didn’t have parents to care for it (I'll spare you the psychoanalysis on this one).  I’ll invite my daughter “in” for a snack, and once she’s comfortable that she’s given her baby-friend a good home,  she’ll say goodbye to us and go back to “her house”.  

Once while playing the game, I brought the baby in as usual.  I was giving the baby cuddles, and telling the baby how much I would love her as I was wrapping her in a blanket.  My daughter hadn’t rung the doorbell yet, so I kept talking to the baby, saying how much fun we would have together.  I told the baby about all the fun things we would do, the places we would go-- to the park, to grandma and grandpa’s house, to the fair; and I mentioned that maybe we could go to Disney World sometime.  As I talked to the baby about the Disney princesses, the Dumbo ride, and the breakfasts with Minnie Mouse and Mickey Mouse, I could hear my daughter upstairs.  I thought maybe she forgot about the game, so I left the baby on the couch, and started to straighten up in the living room.  I was putting the books back on the shelf when I heard the “DING-DONG”!  

My daughter was back.  I opened the pretend door to find her sitting on the floor, suitcase in hand.

She looks up at me and says, “Hi.  My parents are both dead.  Can you take care of me”?

Charlotte's Web

Today I went to see Charlotte’s Web with my daughter and her preschool class at the local Children’s Theater.  We've read the book, and have seen the movie, so I figured we were prepared for it.  Even so, when Wilbur had to say his heart wrenching goodbye to Charlotte, I glanced over to see how my daughter was doing.  She was rubbing her eyes and had tears streaming down her little cheeks.  I put my arm around her, and gave her a reassuring squeeze.  She continued to rub her eyes for quite some time, and was obviously heartbroken.  

My heart ached for her, and even though my attention was turned back toward the play, my thoughts were elsewhere.  My throat tightened, and my own tears began to fall as I thought about all of the hurt that was to come for her.  The first day of Kindergarten (ok, that one will be way worse for me);  having to endure teasing from her peers; dealing with harsh (or what she perceives to be harsh) criticism from a parent, teacher, or coach;  the betrayal of a good friend; the loss of a pet; the first experience being rejected in love; leaving for college; missing her family; losing a job; fighting with a spouse; having to watch her own children go through heartache; the overwhelming sadness of losing a loved one.  I continued to think about how I would console her in each of those situations, what I might say, and...

“Mom”?  My thoughts were interrupted by my daughter, who was tugging at my sleeve.  

“Yes, sweetheart”, I looked down at her, ready to give more support, and was surprised to see that she was all smiles.  

“See”, she said, holding up her finger.  “I think I got it out”. 

“What’s that?”   I asked. 

“My eyelash”. 

Ah well, Kindergarten is coming up soon.  I’ll be ready.  

521 weeks pregnant

One of my four year old's favorite things to do is browse through catalogs and circle what she'd like.  Not just for herself, but for her brother, her dad, her mom, the cat, and for the dog that we don't have yet.  Aside from the toy and pet catalogs, her favorites are the clothing ones.

While flipping through the pages of a new Anthropologie catalog, she 'ooohs' and 'ahhhhs' over the women's dresses.  "Mom, you would look so beautiful in this one......Oooooh, I love the flowers on this one...... look, this one would look so nice on you"!  I point out one that I think is pretty.  She eyes me up and down and matter-of-factly states, "well, that one is a skinny dress".

To illustrate her point, she puts her hand on my belly and adds, "you need to be straight up and down to wear that".

This got my son's attention.  He comes over to me and puts one hand on my stomach, and one on my back, gives my daughter an official nod and says, "Yep.  She's havin' a baby".

 I answer teasingly, "Oh, and what do you think the baby will be"?

He inspects my stomach once again and tells my daughter , "I think we're gettin' a ten year old brother".