They say it's your birthday...

Yeah, that's the Beatles.


I'm coming out of blogging semi-retirement to pay tribute to someone special. Today, TFYO became TSYO, at 6:03 EST this morning. Yes, I remember the moment she was born, because it happened when Ray would normally be doing the news, and I would be getting ready to go on after him for the recap. It seems only fitting that my first child would be born during the first newscast of the day, and that it snowed, even though we were in Charleston, SC.

Last year, I did a little retrospective of TSYO as she had aged over five years. This year, I'd like to come up with a list of her greatest quotes, because honestly, there are a ton of them. Anybody who used to read here regularly knows that TSYO was diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder a little over a year ago, and the interesting wiring in her brain lets TSYO see the world a little differently. It also means she lacks an internal editor for her thoughts, which can sometimes be a lot of fun. It can also be dreadfully embarrassing.


When TSYO was not quite two, not yet really speaking in sentences, she had a terrible cold. This was back in the days before doctors decided all over-the-counter cold medicine was bad for little ones, and TSYO's pediatrician told us to give her some Infant Tylenol Cold to help clear her nose and her cough. Now, TSYO has a lot of phobias and anxieties that spring from her autism. Taking medicine is one that's been around from the beginning. Trying to get her to take anything, be it pill, syrup, melty things or other is like trying to medicate a cat. There's usually much howling and a lot of scratching, fleeing and hiding that goes on. Our brilliant pediatrician suggested putting the Tylenol in the sippy cup after I had been thrown to the floor on my last attempt at treating my child. Have you ever tasted Infant Tylenol? It's disgusting. My only guess is that the manufacturers thought that babies weren't smart enough to understand that it tastes terrible, and therefore gulp it down like so much pablum.

I furtively dropped the required dose into her cup, and mixed it with milk. I thought it didn't smell too bad, but the colour was definitely pink. TSYO looked at me skeptically when I handed her the cup. I told her to go ahead, that it was cherry flavoured milk, something new to try.

She sniffed it cautiously. She put the cup to her lips, and slowly took a slurp. Her lovely blue eyes grew wide. They filled with tears. She slammed the cup down on the table and yelled:

"TYLENOL!!!"

And that was that. For two years afterward, she sniffed every piece of food and drink offered to her, and pulled apart every sandwich to make sure we weren't trying to slip her something.


Around the time of her second birthday, we went to the bookstore to pick out some new board books for her. It was around this time that the first Harry Potter movie had come out, and with it a bunch of stuffed toys in stores. TSYO wanted a toy to go with her books, and I let her pick one out of the bin. She chose the three-headed dog called Fluffy. Then, in her exuberance, she took off running towards the cash register waving it's three floppy heads about, shouting "Doggie! Pretty doggie! I love my pretty doggie!" Other parents were aghast. I paid for my Sandra Boynton books, and my three-headed doggie and slunk from the store.





When she was three and a half, TSYO decided that she liked being held. If you know anything about kids with autism or Asperger's, they often aren't really into showing physical affection. Try as we did, couldn't teach her how to give a hug. We'd place her arms around our necks, but she'd only draw them back and wrap them around herself, while giving us what became known as "the pointy chin". Instead of a hug, she'd push herself up against us, and dig her chin into our shoulders. So, when TSYO finally decided she liked hugging, I held her anytime she wanted to be.

We were sitting on the living room floor, her in my lap, her head against my chest, her little arms wrapped around me. She suddenly sat up, and grabbed my shirt and hauled the front of it down and said "Goodness Mommy! What've you got down there?"

Ray fell to the floor and had to crawl out of the room, strangling his laughter as he went. I tried to explain, with a straight face, that grown women had breasts, and when she got older, she'd grow some, too. She pondered it for a moment then said:

"Well, I hope they aren't as big as yours. They're humongous!"


TSYO often says things that sometimes sound mean, even though she doesn't intend to be.

When she was in pre-K last year, I drove her and a little boy on the way to a field-trip. The little boy, like so many little boys, kept asking "How much longer?" I told him it would take about an hour to get to where we were going, and that it was 9 a.m. at that moment.

"Well, when are we going to get there then?" he asked.

I was about to answer when I heard TSYO:

"Um, well, Mommy said it was nine o'clock, so if it takes us an hour, it will be ten o'clock when we get there. That's one hour. Ten is one more than nine, you know? Or maybe you don't know. How could you not know that?" She didn't mean to insult him, I think she really didn't understand how he couldn't know that.



Recently, Ray took TSYO and Baby J to the playground. When they got there, TSYO wanted to go on the swings, but two very large moms were sitting in the only two swings watching their children play. Ray re-learned that anything he says, even quietly will likely be repeated. TSYO asked why the grown-ups were sitting on swings meant for kids. Ray said under his breath that they were too lazy to get their fat butts off the swings and move to a bench. At least, he thought he said it under his breath. Twenty minutes later, when one of the women had vacated a swing, TSYO shouted:

"Hey, look, Dad! One of the lazy people moved their fat butts off the swing! I can go swing now!" Thankfully, Ray was not beaten to death with a snack cake.



Just this past Christmas, TSYO demonstrated her lack of tact yet again at Build a Bear Workshop. Her Nana and PawPaw thought it would be nice for her to get a doll for her birthday, and they took her through the process. TSYO decided to build a boy monkey, named Aaron, who had a guitar (like Elvis Aaron Presley, yes). Part of the process involves stuffing the shell of the doll and putting a heart inside. The sales rep took the half-stuffed monkey from TSYO over her protestations, and handed her a heart. He told her to rub the heart over her heart and make a wish, so that her monkey would have a little piece of her inside. TSYO's response?

"Well, for starters, I wish you'd give me my monkey back."

She did get her wish.


Happy Birthday, my Little Wonder. May your next six years be as interesting as the last.

Up in the morning and out to school...

from the song School Day by Chuck Berry.

I'm sorry that it's been a week since my last post. TFYO started kindergarten last week, and I was filling in on the night shift, to boot.

TFYO was very excited about getting to ride "the big girl bus". I was terrified. I'm sure I seemed like a helicopter parent, shouting instructions while she was getting on the bus, but I promised myself I'd let her go, and I would not meet her at the school.

As she was getting on the bus, I caught a glimpse of her clear backpack.* I realized she was missing something, something rather important, actually. She was missing her three-ring notebook which we were told at the school open house must absolutely, positively come with her every day. That binder holds her lunch money, her behaviour chart, notes from her teacher and any homework she's supposed to do or has already done.

In a panic, I fled back down our street from the bus stop, pushing the stroller at full speed. Baby J was less than impressed, and let me know by filling her diaper and spitting up all over herself. I must have literally scared the crap out of the poor kid.

So, even though I didn't want to, I ended up joining the horde of parents at the elementary school the first day. I had hoped to beat the bus, and make it to the classroom before TFYO. As I was speeding down the twisty two-lane highway, I noticed blue lights in my mirror. I began to pull to the side, convinced that I'd never make it to the school on time now, but he sped past me and pulled over the mom in the minivan filled with kids in front of me instead.

Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who rejoices in others misfortune. Not much, anyway. But I couldn't help smirking a little as I sped past her arguing with the deputy over how late her kids were going to be thanks to him. Hallelujah!

My joy was short-lived when I actually made it to the school, though. Traffic was already backing up at the entrance, and I could tell the parking lot was full. Wending my way through the throngs of tiny people carrying oversized backpacks, I managed to find a small strip of grass at the far end of the ball field that was not occupied by a pick-up truck, an SUV or a minivan.

Gathering up Baby J (who was howling with anger at being strapped in to the car seat), I huffed and puffed my way across the grounds until I could get in a door, where I was immediately told I had to go in the front and sign in.

Back out, and half way around the school, I pushed my way into the front entrance with seemingly every other parent in the county.

I was met with cries of "Sign in! We can't let you in unless you sign the sheet!" I scribbled something down on a line which may or may not have actually been my name. It was difficult to tell. Under reason for being there, I scrawled "forgetfulness", which was true.

Finally, notebook tucked under one arm, ten pound baby carrier containing thirteen pounds of baby straining the muscles of the other arm, I made it to TFYO's classroom. Her teacher looked puzzled until I displayed the notebook, unable to summon enough breath to speak. She smiled at me and asked if I wanted to say hi to my child before leaving. I nodded.

Was I met with a smile? Did I receive a delighted hug? No. All I got was...

"Tsk! Mooooo-ooom! What are you doing here?" And she rolled her eyes. My darling, sweet child, happy FYO...rolled her eyes at me.

Now that I'd managed to catch my breath, my answer was a bit tart.

"Well, I'm not here for my health. I'm bringing you the notebook that you forgot this morning."

"But Mommy, I'm too busy talking to Frankie to talk to you. Go home!"

"Who the heck is Frankie?"

"I'm Frankie!" said a little voice. It belonged to a cherub- faced boy with a mop of curls on his head. "I've got a loose tooth, see?"

Yeah, I could see. I could see that a loose tooth was much more important than mommy. TFYO gave me another look that plainly said "Beat it, ma. You're ruining me rep, here."

So, I slunk back to the car, trying not to sniffle over my first born baby, who no longer needed me. It was then that Baby J laughed out loud...and filled another diaper.

At least I know I'm still needed!

*County school rules state that all backpacks must be made of mesh or clear plastic. Same goes for pencil cases. Purses and makeup cases are subject to search.

She Loves You, yeah, yeah, yeah...

So TFYO comes running into the living room this morning yelling,

"Mommy, MOMMY! I saw a rat outside my window! It was looking at me!"


I, of course didn't panic.

All right, I panicked a little and went tearing back to her room, screaming "A rat? WHERE??"

I peered out her window looking across the freshly seeded yard for any hint of a rodent: digging, droppings, anything. All I saw was a bunch of damp grass seed.

The TFYO says, "Well, wait. It might actually have been a beetle".


No, not that kind of beetle...

This kind.

Well, that's a load off my mind.

Torn between two lovers...

I swear this is not going to turn into "the baby blog", just bear with me for a bit. It is a good excuse to post baby pics, though.

I'm actually not torn between two lovers (my husband will be relieved to know!), but I'm torn between two paths.

You see, my employer called this week, pretty much begging me to come back, at least part time. I really wanted to turn her down. Baby J isn't even a month old yet, and I worry about having to be away from her.

But we could really use the cash.

Aye, there's the rub.

I stayed home with TFYO for the most part. I didn't work a single shift until she was four months old, and even then I realized I wasn't really ready to go back. I didn't start working regularly until she was almost eight months old, and even then, Ray and I worked opposite shifts so that one of us would always be with her. But here I am now, looking at an ever diminishing bank balance, and the urge to "pull my weight" financially is tugging pretty hard.

I feel like I should be at home. Truth be told, if I was wealthy, I'd never go back to work. Ever. I'd stay home with my kids and make stupid crafts out of paper plates and macaroni, and take them to the playground, and help them plant a veggie garden.

But my checkbook is sitting on the desk as a glaring reminder that I don't have that luxury.

How do other women manage? The idea of putting my infant into care is abhorrent to me, yet millions of single mothers do it every day. I'm barely getting enough sleep to make it through a twenty-four hour period, how am I going to manage to stay awake at work? I can't even manage to get more than one load of laundry and dishes done right now.

And don't even get me started on pumping breast milk.

So, I'm going in to work for a few hours today, and Ray will have the baby, and a couple of bottles of expressed milk. I'm only hoping we don't both collapse under the weight of our own guilt.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

I worked ten hours without a lunch break yesterday. I stayed up late baking cupcakes, and I was up at 4 a.m. so I could get them frosted before having to head out this morning. I found out yesterday afternoon they're doing the glucose tolerance test on me at the OBGYN today, so I've not been allowed to eat anything since midnight, and likely won't be eating until 11 a.m.

But I have no time for self-pity, for today...

The-Four-Year-Old becomes The-Five-Year-Old.

It's amazing how fast five years flies by.

Here's a picture of her aged about seven months or so. As you can see, her love of books started early.

Here she is almost aged two. She picked up her fashion tips from her father.

What's most amazing to me is that she was born less than two hundred miles from where we live now. Considering how much we've moved in the last five years, I never would have imagined we would be so close to where she was born.

My darling child has only asked for three things for her birthday.

A chess set.

Dinner at Carrabba's Italian Restaurant.

A chocolate cheesecake.

She's getting all three.

TFYO has been asking for a chess set since last summer. When I told her she was too young to have a chess set, she said she'd be old enough when she was five. I told her if she still wanted a chess set when she was five she could have one. And she's been reminding me of that promise ever since.

When I asked what she wanted for dinner, she said Carrabba's, because they sing "Happy Birthday" in Italian to you.

And when I asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted she said "Cheesecake, a chocolate one, with blue writing. But the writing has to be blue, okay?"

And that's all okay by me.

Happy Birthday, dear one, I hope you enjoy it.

Tell Me Why

(Tell Me Why, oldie by the Beatles.)

Interrogative, Part II

By Henrix Ibex (no relation to Ibsen)

A short existentialist dinner play.

The scene: Dinner time in an average household. Seated are Mommy, Daddy, and TFYO. Mommy and Daddy are eating. TFYO is pushing food around her plate.

TFYO: Why are you eating pork chops and greens and when I'm eating chicken and corn?

Mommy: Because you don't like pork chops and greens and I didn't feel like fighting with you tonight.

TFYO: Why?

Mommy: Because I'm hungry and tired.

Daddy: My, you're just full of questions today.

Mommy: She's been like this all day.

TFYO: Why?

Daddy: I don't know, you tell us.

TFYO: Because I like asking questions. Why are our plates round?

Mommy: Because square wouldn't fit in the dishwasher as well. Why don't you eat something?

TFYO: Why?

Mommy grimaces. Daddy attempts not to laugh.

TFYO: Why did you make that face?

Mommy: Because you've been pushing my buttons all day, that's why. Can you please stop asking me why? No more asking why at the dinner table.

Pause.

TFYO: (grins mischievously) When can I then?

Mommy hides face in her sweater attempting not to choke on food.

Daddy: Okay, no more asking why, when, what or how. Okay?

Pause.

TFYO: Who's that sitting on the couch? Is that Zoe?

Mommy exits stage left into bedroom door.

TFYO: Which door did Mommy go into?

Strangled screams are heard from offstage.

TFYO: Why did Mommy yell?

Fin

All we hear is radio ga-ga...

Courtesy of Queen.

For anyone who wonders what I do at work, here is TFYO's interpretation:

She drew this Sunday while she was at work with me. As she was drawing I asked her where my face was, and she said "Moooo-om! That's the back of your head! And I'm not finished yet, leave me alone."

Please note, she did remember the clock. The giant L-shaped thing is my chair. The loops on my head are not ears, but headphones. And the name of the station is displayed prominently. I am apparently talking to my boss. That is a microphone in my hand. If you look carefully, the squiggles to my left are the board, and the computer, again, with the station name prominently displayed. And just in case you were unsure of what you were looking at, she also wrote "Mommy at Work" on the bottom.

A masterpiece if there ever was one.

This is the way we sit in bed...

This is how we spend our days...she gets a little camera shy, I think, but she plays for a few seconds anyway. TFYO does not like being cooped up. She's staying home again today, because she is still hacking up a lung, and she is unhappy. I know she wants to go to school (actually, she wants to go anywhere that doesn't involve me giving her medicine, or her having to sit in bed), but she needs to rest.

I'm trying not to let her watch too much TV, but we've run through most of the pages of her workbooks, and she's already done her homework for the week. I may have to break out the checkers.

Oh, yeah, and Blogger's got this great thingy where I can upload my videos directly, I don't have to post it on YouTube. How handy.

Blarrrrgh!

And the question is: what sound does TFYO make when sick?

Sorry. TFYO has a chest cold which is why there was no post yesterday, and no post of any merit today. I'm stealing a few minutes while she watches Diego, wrapped in blankets, and sipping at juice that I have oh-so-carefully-spiked with medicine from the doctor. She knows it's in there, but this way we can carry on the charade that she won't take medicine in any form.

I took a short movie of TFYO playing piano to pass the time, I'll see if I can figure out how to get it on here.

I'll try to be back tomorrow!

He's a well respected man about town

I love The Kinks.

Today is election day here in the Coastal Empire (that's what they call this region, by the way).

Have you ever tried to explain politics and government to a four-year-old?

Yesterday, on the way to school, I heard her laughing in the back seat.

"What's so funny?"

"Them. They're funny. They're standing on the street holding signs!" She cackled with glee, and pointed to some supporters for one of Guyton's mayoral candidates standing at the crossroads with political signs.

"Why are they doing that, Mommy?"

"Well, tomorrow is election day, and they want people to vote for the guy on the signs to be mayor."

"What's an election?"

"An election is where people get together and pick who they want to be in charge of government."

"What's government?"

"The government is made up of a group of people who we pick to make the laws and make sure everyone follows those laws."

"What's a law?"

"A law is a rule. You know how you have rules in school so that everyone gets along? That's what laws are like. They help everyone get along. And if you don't follow the rules, just like school, you get punished."

"Oh."

I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping we could make it to school without anymore questions about anything. It was almost 8 a.m., I still hadn't showered yet, and I'd overslept the alarm. I really didn't want to talk anymore. No such luck.

"Hey, mommy."

"Yes."

"Is a government like a mommy and daddy?"

"Well, no not exactly. You see, I'll always be your mommy, but a mayor only gets to be mayor for four years, unless everyone votes to have him stay longer."

"Can I vote for a new mommy?"

"Sorry, kiddo, it doesn't work that way. You're stuck with me."

"That's not fair."

Trying to be funny, I say "Yes, well, that's why a family is a benevolent dictatorship, not a democracy or a republic."

"Mom, what's a democracy?"

Thankfully at that moment, we pulled into the school parking lot, and I didn't have to try and discuss civic theory anymore. I would hate to try and explain some of the mayoral candidates for the City of Savannah.

Admittedly, it's been a pretty quiet campaign. All except for Jerry Sammons, who is running on a platform of legalizing marijuana, and who also promises to lead marches in the streets protesting gas prices if elected. He also is apparently a convicted felon who claims that he fought with the Contras in Nicaragua. When asked by a reporter about that claim, and why he would be fighting in the jungle with the Contras, Mr. Sammons' response was:

"Because I'm a patriot."

If I could vote, and lived in Savannah, I might vote for him. Just because it would make the next four years of city politics a hoot. Of course, TFYO might end up asking:

"Mom, what's Nicaragua?"

I got no time for livin' yeah, I'm workin all the time

Lyric courtesy of the great Canadian band Rush.

I sent myself into self-imposed blog exile over the weekend. Partly because I was in the aforementioned snarky mood, but also because I had a fight with TFYO the weekend previous which gave me pause.

My husband works Monday through Friday, 4:30 a.m. to around noon every day. He's usually home on the weekends, unless he has a live appearance to put in, and then half the time he takes TFYO with him, because she's such a hit at remotes. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays from 2 until 5 p.m., and on weekends from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. See where the problem is here?

A couple of weeks ago, Ray had a remote to go to late Saturday evening, so it was going to be just me and TFYO at home. She was not happy. I tried to explain that Daddy would be home around her bedtime, but she argued with me.

"No he won't. He won't be home at all. And then you'll be going to work tomorrow morning, and I'll be all alone!"

I tried to calmly explain that no one would leave her alone, but she was inconsolable and burst out with this:

"You're always at work. You work seven days a week!"

Ouch.

It's not really true, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw what she meant. I'm not usually home when she is. The days I have off, she's in school most of the day. We almost never get to spend a weekend together as a family. And that realization hurt. Ray and I have always set up our work schedules so one of us would be home with TFYO. Now, I'm not needed to watch her in the morning, and I'm not home when she is, so she's spending most of her time with Ray.

So, I'm giving up working on Saturdays, and blogging on the weekend. My boss (one of three, actually!) was not really happy. About the work thing, I don't think he cares about the blogging. But I 've made up my mind that the money I'd make from four hours work on a Saturday is not worth having my child resent me being gone. It also means I get one day a week to sleep in (a little anyway), and I get to see my husband from sunup to sundown occasionally, too.

This coming Saturday is my first one off of work. I think we'll go to the beach.

It was a graveyard smash...

Thank you Bobby Boris Picket.

Halloween is here, and I'm going to be off to TFYO's "Fall Fling Party" at school today. You can't say Halloween at school anymore, because it could be offensive. Which is fine. But everyone is dressing up in costumes, and the room will be decorated with jack o'lanterns and cartoony monsters. Nope. Not Halloween at all.

Here are the cupcakes, with before and after decoration shots. TFYO helped with the sprinkles, can you tell?

I still need to carve our pumpkins. That is my job every year, and I love it. I love to toast the pumpkin seeds, too. Last year, I did half with just salt and olive oil, and half with Chinese Five Spice. This year, I might do some brown sugar-cayenne seeds.


I will post pictures through the day as we go. I'll have pictures of the jack o'lanterns, TFYO etc. She's going as a cat this year, which (witch?) made me happy because it's the easiest costume I've had to make thus far.

Happy Halloween!

I found this video while searching for "Monster Mash" on YouTube. It's very clever and has good editing, too, filled with bits of old campy movies. It also includes clips from one of my fave Mel Brooks films, too. See if you can catch it. And of course, it's got the song. Props to someone named soulrocket for their work.

Picture update!!

Here are some pictures from this afternoon and this evening. Obviously I'm not going to post pictures of TFYO's classmates, since I don't have their parents permission. But I saw everything from a dragon, to Batman, to three Spidermans, and a couple of princesses for good measure. My daughter was the only non-gender specific character, and that made me very happy.

And some pictures from tonight, yes I did her make-up:

And yes, I carved these pumpkins. I'm the only person in my family with no artistic talent. At least, not visual arts.

Oh, the mother and child reunion...

...is only a motion away. Thanks to Paul Simon.

So things are fine in baby-land, for those of you just dying to know. My appointment Tuesday was probably the quickest one I've ever had. I walked in, peed in the cup, checked my weight and BP, laid down on the table while they looked for the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler thingy, asked how I was feeling, and done.

Of course, finding the baby's heartbeat took a little doing. I had a Physician's Assistant in Training on Tuesday. She's training with my doctor, Dr. W, and that morning was doing the rounds with the nurse practitioner, Nurse C. I've said it before, Nurse C is awesome. She's no-nonsense, and very earthy. I love her.

Well, the PAIT started looking. And looking and looking and looking, until pretty much my whole abdomen was covered with that jelly stuff they put on you to make the Doppler wand move more easily.

"Um, trouble?" I asked.

"No, I know the baby's in there, I can see it, it just doesn't seem to want to hold still for me to catch the heartbeat. I'm catching echoes, but I want to make sure it's not your heartbeat I'm reading."

At that point Nurse C walked in. We both waited while the PAIT kept looking. I started to get a little nervous.

"All right!" said Nurse C, "My turn!" She pushed a lot harder with the wand than the PAIT. It took a couple of minutes, but there was the heartbeat, loud and clear and strong.

"There! Heartbeat in the 160's, just like we like it. Mobile little rascal," she said.

"Great, it's just like my first one: won't sit still, and pig-headed, too. Swell." Nurse C. looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

"You were worried, weren't you?"

And then I went on to explain the food poisoning, and the weight loss, and how my husband was worried. What I didn't tell her was I was worried. I've known so many people in the last year who've lost their pregnancies just before week 12. But of course, I put it off on Ray. Let him be the one to worry.

"It takes a lot to unseat a healthy pregnancy," she said. "And you're about as healthy as they come. Your blood pressure is great, your blood work was perfect, and whether you know it or not, you're glowing. You can tell your husband, that you are just fine and so is that baby."

So, I went to work all happy, and went home just as happy.

TFYO asked about my appointment that night, and I told her everything was fine.

"Where is the baby, mommy?"

"Well, honey, we've talked about this, the baby is growing right here in my tummy."

At that point she grabbed the front of my t-shirt and hauled it down to my navel.

"I don't see the baby! When can I see it!"

This isn't the first time she's tried to undress me, of course. When she was about three or so, she was sitting on my lap on the floor one evening, just before bed. She had her head on my chest.

"Mom, your chest sure is lumpy. Hey! What've you got down there!" I happened to be wearing a very loose shirt, and she yanked the front of it down. At that point, Ray, who had been standing behind the couch, fell to the floor and had to crawl from the room because he was laughing so hard.

"Well, those are breasts. Most grown-up women have them," I told her, trying not to die laughing my self. I pulled my shirt back up, but she took another peek.

"They sure are huge, Mommy."

I'm just so glad she's never done this in public. She has started saying goodbye to my belly at school every morning now. She seems to think my belly button is some sort of pre-natal intercom.

I'll stop reading my favorite books

Lyric courtesy of Alanis Morrisette, and my new favourite lyrics page.

I know you've all heard me talk about how TFYO loves to read. Matter of fact, you're probably sick of me talking about it, but that's just too bad.

We recently found out that she's reading on a fourth grade reading level, which is great, but it's also posing some problems for us that we just never anticipated.

It all started a few weeks ago. I was reading an article online about the millions of women left single in Britain after WWI. It was really a fascinating article about how at a time when women were expected to get married and produce children, some six million women never had that option because so many men of their generation had been killed or so horribly wounded that they couldn't (or wouldn't) marry.

The title of the article was "6 Million Virgins".

Little did I know, but TFYO had crept up behind me and was reading over my shoulder.

"6 Million Ver-gins," she said. "Mommy, what's a ver-gin?" She pronounced it with a hard "G" sound.

"Uh, well, um, uh...in this case it refers to a woman who has never gotten married."

"Has Auntie Jill ever been married?" I didn't like where this was going.

"No, she hasn't."

"Is she a ver-gin?"

"Um, it's pronounced 'virgin', and I think you should just forget about it for now."

Thankfully, she's still at an age where she will drop things if you distract her. But I can't wait for the next time Auntie Jill comes to visit. Hey girl, you've been warned.

I've also discovered that I have to hide some of my more... adult books. Not that I've got a collection of erotica or anything, just books that have cursing, sexual situations, violence. We recently got a copy of Ken Burns' The War, as a companion to the TV documentary he did. That book is filled with pictures and descriptions of violence that she's not ready for. But when she saw the book, she homed in on it like pigeon, and howled like a wounded animal when I took it from her.

One day I found her reading Bob Novak's biography "Prince of Darkness". Ray was supposed to be interviewing him, and had left a preview copy laying on the table. when I found TFYO, she was reading me all the captions from the pictures!

I knew when she was little we'd have to monitor her television watching, but I never dreamed I'd have to start putting the grown-up books on high shelves just yet. She's already decided my Harry Potter books are hers now, and she keeps asking when she can read them. When I tell her she needs to be a bit older, she says she'll wait until she's five.

I love this and I'm terrified by this.

Any advice?

"Give her a feather, she's a Cherokee"

Lyrics courtesy of Mary Dean who wrote the song for Cher.


Short post today as I have been suckered...er, volunteered to be a parent chaperon for my daughter's field trip today. I wasn't originally going to go, but the school was unable to secure a bus for the class, and now parents and teachers will be driving the children for an hour to the Lake Mayer Indian Festival (sorry no link). Since I didn't want someone I didn't know driving my child, I opted to just do it myself.


So now I'm driving my child and two other kids. Ray is going to meet us there, since I have to be at work at 2 p.m. He gets the pleasure of driving the kids back to the school. Lucky for him, they'll probably all sleep on the way home.

Oh, and if anyone is wondering, the picture is of Iron Eyes Cody, the actor who portrayed the "Crying Indian" in that pollution PSA all those years ago. No, he wasn't Native American. He was a second generation Italian American, who just told everyone he was part Cherokee.

Friday Five tomorrow!

She's Having a Baby...

Baby X, 8 weeks and three days gestation.

And as you can see, there is only one. We made sure to check. There is only one.

And it's healthy, and I am healthy, and everything is fine.

I really like our Nurse Practitioner, Nurse C., who is also a midwife. She is earthy and funny, and makes me feel at ease.

And TFYO is now at school telling everyone she's going to be a big sister. She also says she's going to help change the baby's diapers, even if they're stinky, which I find hard to believe.

The only thing I hate about going to the OBGYN (and guys, feel free to leave) aside from the speculum, of course, is the ridiculous paper towel they give you to cover your dignity. Or what's left of it.

Seriously. I know some cultures make walls out of rice paper, but I think they would know better than to try to make a kimono out of a Bounty Paper Towel. My poor husband just looked confused when I asked him to help me unfold the thing. I was afraid of ripping it, and thereby destroying the only thing I had to shield me from the world. It also came with a thin white plastic tie that didn't even begin to go all the way around my waist. Needless to say, I didn't even try. Ray asked me why a practice devoted to women and women's health issues would do something so humiliating. I told him that at least they weren't making me walk down the hall in it. And bless his heart, he even stayed in there through the pap smear. I love my husband.

Again, everything is fine, the baby is right where he/she is supposed to be in terms of development, and all is right with the world.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the news.

With much thanks to the late, great Robert Palmer for that one.


So, quick update on yesterday. We love Dr. G. Dr. G has guinea pigs, which completely won over TFYO. Oh, and TFYO is just as we suspected. I was told she is brilliant, incredibly bright, and probably has a very mild autism spectrum disorder, but nothing at the moment that warrants pulling her out of a classroom in which she appears to be thriving. I am relieved. And I now have someone to go to bat for me if the county school system decided to interfere. Dr. G says TFYO has a few quirks, which may need more attention as she gets older, but that compared to other Aspie kids she treats, this is really nothing to get worked up over. I'll have a full written report (with IQ scores, Asperger Diagnostic Scores, etc.) in a couple of weeks. Did y'all hear my big sigh of relief all across the world yesterday?

Also, I have my first OBGYN appointment today. And I'm also scheduled for my first ultrasound. I'm still getting sick several times a day. So far, well meaning people have told me this means: I'm having a boy; I'm having another girl; I'm having twins; or I had too much Mexican food last night.

One of those.

I am a little nervous. The first ultrasound is where you get to see if your little jelly bean is normal. So, of course I've been having bizarre nightmares (which come with being pregnant anyway). I've dreamed the baby has two heads. I've dreamed the baby has my head, staring out at me from the ultrasound. I've dreamed I was pregnant with a cat, which may have been because a cat was standing on me at that moment, trying to get me out of bed to feed it.

So, by the end of the day today, I'll know. And I'll have pictures to prove it's not a cat. Although, those first pictures usually look more like a tadpole.

So let's go on with the shoooooow...

Just picture Ethel Merman singing that title, and you'll get the idea.

It seems I am awash in awards again. Both Jo Beaufoix and Rotten Correspondent have seen fit to give me awards.

I have to say, it would be nice to give them awards occasionally, and since we know all the same people, it also makes it tough to pass these awards along sometimes. But here we go!


From Jo, I got this:






And as she says on her blog, "Excellent, dude!" I'm not bodacious, my blog is. I'm going to put it on my resume. For those of you who have forgotten your 80's slang, Merriam-Webster has this to say:

Main entry: bodacious

Pronunciation: bO-'dA-sh&s
Function: adjective
Etymology: probably blend of bold and audacious
1 Southern & Midland : OUTRIGHT, UNMISTAKABLE
2 : REMARKABLE, NOTEWORTHY
3 : SEXY, VOLUPTUOUS - bo·da·cious·ly adverb



So, my blog is sexy, and I can live with that.

I'm giving it to (where's an embedded drum roll audio clip when you need one?):

Bellevelma at Running with Books. She's a runner and she likes books, too. She must be bodacious, and her blog surely is.

I've also decided to give one of these to Willowtree. Not because he needs the ego boost (he really doesn't), but because I'm on a quest to see how many of these things he can squeeze in his sidebar. He's got an interesting recipe for baked beans over there today.


Rotten Correspondent gave me this:




I'm calling it the Splat award, because that's what it looks like. But it's actually for blogging that "hits the mark".

I'm giving it to Dumdad at The Other Side of Paris. He's got a series going on his early days in Fleet Street, and I love reading those posts. That, and he's wonderfully funny and plays a mean game of ping-pong (table tennis, depending on where you're from). So, Dumdad, that one's for you.


Today, we are off to the child psychologist for testing, but I'm feeling much more relaxed about it now. Had a run in with the school psychologist last week, and we exchanged some words. The best part about her visit to the school, though, was that my child was a perfect angel the whole day. TFYO sat still for the entire forty-five minutes of circle time, raised her hands to answer questions, quietly helped her classmates complete their projects after finishing her own and played nicely on the playground with all of her peers. The only way the day could have been better is if she'd had a giant middle finger sticking out of her head and aimed at the school psychologist who is so hell bent on putting my child in a "special ed" class. I know that's petty, but she was really putting the pressure on my to let her do an evaluation. She was incredibly unhappy when I told her we were having an independent evaluation done. Both me and TFYO's teacher, Mrs. P, are on the same page with this. TFYO wold likely wither and die without being mainstreamed. Mrs. P doesn't like the school psychologist, either, which tells me something.

Jive Turkey

I got busted on Wednesday.

For looking at turkeys.

You see, it was really all very innocent.

I always take the back roads to take TFYO to school, because then I avoid most of the school bus routes. The roads are paved, but not marked. It's mostly farm land and trailers, very quiet, very little traffic. It's perfect.

So, I was winding my way back home from dropping off TFYO, past the local peanut farm, when I saw a small head poke out of the grass alongside the road about 30 feet or so in front of my car. I slowed down, thinking it was someone's cat or dog, since they all let them run loose here.

Imagine my surprise when a wild turkey emerged. Followed by another. Then another. Ten turkeys all told parading across this little country lane. Naturally, I stopped the car, since I'd already almost collided with a deer last week. I didn't think a bunch of turkeys would do my little station wagon any better.

And it was kind of fun watching them. I'd never seen wild turkeys up close before, so I just pulled over to the side, and watched them pick their way into the grass on the other side of the road. They're quite dumb, really. You'd think they would have run away from my car. I could have had a gun.

But I suppose they were clever enough, as they did scatter quickly when a car carrying a man with a gun pulled up behind me.

I looked in my rear view mirror, and there was an Effingham County sheriff's deputy walking up to my car, hand on his pistol.

I rolled down the window.

"Hands on the wheel, please, ma'am."

I complied.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Um, yes, sir."

"Can I ask why you're stopped here?"

"I was just looking."

"Looking?"

"At...turkeys, sir." I scrunched up my eyes, not wanting to look at him.

"Turkeys. Where are they now?"

"They scattered when you drove up. There's a couple over there."

"Turkeys." I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and he had his head in his hand. He shook his head.

"Ma'am, please remember to use your four-way flashers next time you stop." He started to walk back to his car. And I called after him.

"Don't you want to see my license or registration or anything?"

He waved his hand over his shoulder, and just kept shaking his head, trudging slowly back to his cruiser. I felt bad for him. He probably thought he'd found a mobile meth lab, or a prostitution ring among the peanuts, or at the very least a stolen mom-mobile.

But instead he found me, the stupid Yankee woman who'd never seen wild turkeys before. I imagine it was probably a rough day back at the station for him that afternoon.

Mommy's alright, Daddy's alright, they just seem a little weird...

With much thanks to Cheap Trick for the lyric...

It was serendipity yesterday for me when, after a behavioural evaluation from the pediatrician I stumbled across this article at Newsweek/MSNBC online.

It's all about the recent rush to diagnose quirky kids with Pervasive Developmental Disorders or Autism Spectrum Disorders.

We had a long talk with TFYO's doctor yesterday, who I want to say again is the best pediatrician we've ever had. Dr. R is a star in every sense of the word. She's a little tiny woman who puts my child at ease, and I am ever so grateful for her. We talked about what the school psychologist said, how she felt that maybe TFYO needed an hour of "off site special ed class" away from the pre-K she's in now. We also talked about my new discovery that the school psychologist hadn't discussed her belief that TFYO had Asperger's with either of her teachers. I found that out this past week. Dr. R. looked at me like the psychologist was nuts.

The current consensus among TFYO's teachers and her pediatrician: she might, might, have some kind of developmental disorder, but that it doesn't really seem to be a problem. Her teachers all say that she's settled down remarkably, and that there was NO hitting, despite what psychologist woman said after seeing my child for a grand total of seven hours. TFYO doesn't like people in her personal space, and pushes other kids away when they get too close. However, she's four, so it might be tough for her to say "Um, excuse me, get the hell out of my face." Although, when she finally does, I imagine I'll be having another talk with the school psychologist. I can't help it if my child is like me.

The other consensus: TFYO is gifted, possibly a genius. That makes me happy and a little scared at the same time. They all seemed to be salivating at seeing her I.Q. test results.

Dr. R. suggested a local child psychologist who specializes in kids with developmental disorders, but also specializes in highly intelligent children. She said if anyone could tell us what exactly was going on, it was this woman. And that it could help put all of this to rest once and for all.

So, now we're just trying to get in to see herand her battery of tests. And, no, I haven't given my consent for the school psychologist to do an evaluation, yet. I'm just a little ticked off that she didn't discuss any of this with TFYO's teachers, one of whom actually taught special education for seven years, and doesn't think there seems to be too much wrong with my child.

I want to see what's going on in my child's mind, for sure, and if she needs help, that's fine. But, now that I've settled down a bit, I'm wondering if the sudden jump in numbers for kids with Autism is more about an increase in labelling, and less about there being more kids. I can't help but wonder if some kids who are generally fine are being told they have an Autism Spectrum Disorder just because they meet a few of the criteria.

I guess we'll see. Wish us luck.