My Blogher Recap: The Third Time was the Charm, Four Balls, That's a Walk

This is not the popular opinion, and I feel the need to write a disclaimer. This is my fourth Blogher, and it has treated me well, for the most part, but this year the star didn't shine nearly as brightly as it has in the past..

Back from BlogHer and there is one word that comes to mind for my experience: disconnected. I know, sounds like I had an awful time, but that's not true. What is true is that there were a lot of people at BlogHer, which, at times made it very difficult to find my people. It is true that the first night I came this-close to heading back to my room after cruising The People's Party, saying hi to the scant number of people I recognized, and a few I didn't. Then, feeling like a fish out of water, I flopped on to a nearby bench,where I had a great conversation with someone I had never met. Later I went back to the party, and found people I knew. And it was good.

It's true I spent sessions mostly alone or with new people. It's true that I ate lunch, again, mostly by myself, or with new people. I headed into parties and saw a sea of unfamiliar faces, all of whom were already attached. My wing-woman friends didn't make it this year, so I was on my own to find companionship.. It proved to be a challenge. Because, really, how long can you hang out in a cocktail circle of people you know in real life (but better online) without seeming like some sort of creepy stalkerish person? I can tell you. Exactly ten minutes. Beep. Time to find a new circle. Ever wonder how you can be lonely in a sea of 3000? I do. Everyone is very friendly; but where are your friends? Hopefully, you brought those with you. That sounds pathetic. I don't mean to complain.

I don't want you to feel sorry for me. In some respects, I had a great time. There were high points. I did a lot of dancing with friends, (When I could find them) and hung out in hotel rooms for great conversations with both old friends and new..pizza at 2 a.m. in the lobby, as well. I had some nice meals with people I basically foisted myself upon (thank you to you, by the way). In outward appearance, I am sure it looked like I was having a grand old time. I did have fun, in snippets. It was just the overall package that didn't work for me. At some point, you get tired of inviting yourself along and just want to be included by someone who wants you there. You want to be expressly invited to dinner, to the party, to wherever, instead of just...tagging along.

On the way home, I had a lot of time to ruminate and I have decided that as much as I like Blogher, that ship has sailed. That martini has been shaken. That blog has been posted. This was Blogher #4 for me, and I think I am just done. I am at that awkward stage: I am too old to drink 'til distraction, but I still like to stay up until the wee hours. I just feel like I have no business there, with the cool kids. I love almost everyone at Blogher, but am a friend to few. I enjoyed seeing people, but as far as deep connections? Few and far between. I felt in the way, a lot. If you fall off the face of social media and no one is there to see it, do you even make a sound? That's where I am right now.

I will continue to blog, and to tweet, but think during the week of Blogher, I will take a sabbatical. I am too old to feel "in the way." High school was a long, long time ago, and wasn't much fun; I really don't cherish reliving it. So I won't be doing that again.

Ever want to feel like the only girl in the room? Go to Blogher by yourself. The experience will trigger every insecurity you have ever felt. And you will find just how far you have yet to go in order to feel accepted.

Homeschooling is not what you do, it's how you live

As the school year winds down, I am reminded of an exchange I had recently with a colleague. We were discussing our blogs and our families, and school came up. “Oh, that’s right, you homeschool. When do you finish?”

That question took me by surprise, not because it was asked, but because I wasn’t sure how to answer it. I mentioned something about summer, and how we had activities planned, and changed the subject. I don’t think she even noticed. The truth is, I never “finish.”

You know that awkward review time that teachers have for the first couple of months after summer break? Where they can’t really teach anything new for fear the kids don’t remember what they were taught the year before? I don’t have that. I learned long ago that my kids don’t retain much over the summer if we take a 2 or 3 month break. So? We don’t break.

We scale back, maybe. Do less than we would normally, but we keep on keeping on. And my kids progress. Don’t get me wrong, we do all the fun things over the summer that you do. We go to the park. We go to the beach. We swim. We just do our school first. And sometimes, we even do it at those places. It keeps my kids in a routine, and when it comes to autism, routines are good.

If I gave my son a months’ long break? I would never get him back into schoolwork again. He is all about what he always does and a week of the same thing means it's a habit. He needs that structure. If I allowed my little one to take a break that long? We would lose much of the ground gained in her reading and math. She continues to see her speech and reading tutor throughout the summer. She also does vision therapy.

I suppose my oldest would be fine; but I have never had to push her academically. She pushes herself hard enough for the both of us. But she putters around and will finish her Psychology and get a jumpstart on her math for next year. I also expect she will pre-read some of the books for her government class next year to make it a bit easier.

How does year-round school work, you ask? Don’t the kids get burnt out? Not really. For once, we don’t worry about taking a break here and there. I take a break for almost a month around the holidays. (we always keep our foot in something, to keep up routine) and if we want to take off on an impromptu visit to the grandparents in another state for a week, we can. If we travel, we can throw in some area history, or a museum visit.

Here’s the thing: homeschooling isn’t just schooling at home. It’s a way of life. It’s a way of looking at life, to see what you can learn. Every experience can teach us something. My daughter learned to count at the grocery store. My son learned about life science through gardening. Is it more work to live this way? I don’t think so. I am actually one of the least-motivated people you will meet, to be honest.

I attend homeschool conventions and think, “When would I have time to do that? Formal planning doesn’t work really well here. At the beginning of the year, I do a master lesson plan for each child. We rarely finish it on the schedule I set. That’s not the point. The plan is the point. And we eventually do get done with those books, and those lessons and that plan. We just move on to the next plan. I am a learner. I am happiest when I am learning. I want my children to discover that joy of “Aha! I didn’t know that!” Showing them that learning is a way of life is how I do it.

Autism is a vampire and it sucks out your soul

Today was promotion Sunday, an annual event through our homeschool group. It is usually a big deal with all the kids going up to receive their promotion certificates, and graduates of both the eighth grade and high school. I don't have any pictures; we barely managed to get there. Today was one of THOSE days. Those who have kids with autism will understand. We just keep on, keeping on, trying not lose ourselves.

My son is twelve, going on sixteen, he thinks. He has a real problem with being told what to do.

every interaction between us seems to go like this:

Me: polite request
Him: protest
me: again,with the polite request
Him: "logical" reason why he should not comply
me: a bit more forceful request
Him: complaints about how I think he is stupid/difficult/it's not his fault, it's mine
me: [frustration ensues...either walk away and take a deep breath or yell]
Him: [depending upon what I do] yells at me, how I am such an idiot and I don't get it..
me: come back,and try again, cajole/plead/explain why he would do whatever it is I wanted him to do in the first place
Him: [grudging compliance]

Part of the problem is that he and my youngest are absolutely oil and water these days. JBean, my youngest, is usually a very happy little girl. Unfortunately, this extends to her high-pitched voice, often singing, or talking, incessantly. It makes my JBear, my son, crazy. He starts lashing out, and getting on edge, and will say mean things to her about can't she just shut up, and her voice is driving him crazy...hurtful things. She doesn't know how to fight back verbally (nor should she learn...he is out of line) so she does one of two things. She will either hit him, or yell at him. Neither of these things are particularly useful in dealing with him, and often make things worse. Where am I, you ask? Probably the bathroom, or taking the dog out, or loading the dishwasher....I cannot be in their face 100% of the time. They have to learn not to aggravate one another. Of course, when there are problems, I am always right there. Often the damage is done.

My son has no remorse. I realize this is part of his autism, no matter how high-functioning it may be. The lack of mirror neurons that allow empathy are definitely a hindrance for him. As a teenager, his cerebral cortex is not quite connected to his brain. He is in fight or flight, all the time...he sees the entire world as against him. He is rarely sorry, and doesn't think he ever does anything wrong. He does not admit mistakes and generally has a self-absorbed entitlement attitude. I did not raise him this way, and am still trying to fix it. Often, I feel like I am banging my head against a wall. I know he is trying...but he just has such a long way to go. I feel like I am not helping him much. I seem to be the problem, as far as he is concerned. He is oblivious to his role in the whole mess.

Today, while I was trying to finish in the kitchen, he was having a hard time with his sister. Everyone ended up yelling at everyone else, and I had had enough. JNerd tries to out yell them, and it doesn't work. I told them all I was not going to live like this anymore; I have had it. We weren't going today, not with the way they were acting. So I decided to take a drive for a bit, to cool down. After about ten minutes, I came back, a bit calmer. Apparently, all hell had broken loose while I was gone. My son had tried to goad my husband into a physical altercation. He hit my husband, as hard as he could. Apparently, it was side-stepped, and I was able to defuse the situation. We ended up going to the ceremony, and everyone was on their best behavior.

When we returned home, I tried talking to my son, and he was not receptive at that point. He hates to be called out on his behavior, and will deflect as much as he can. I stayed calm for the most part, and finally was able to get through to him, for now. Eventually, my son did admit he was wrong, but it was several hours later.

Remember, on top of this, I also deal with a younger one who was diagnosed with autism, as well. She has her own issues, usually pertaining to transitions, change, rigidity, anxiety and MamaMustBeThereAtAllTimes. The worse he gets, the more she clings to me. The more unrest in our home the more she clings to me. She tries so hard, but she has a hard time coping at times. That means relying upon me, more often than not.

I am DRAINED. Exhausted, and really questioning every decision for my children I have made thus far. I am hoping tomorrow will bring more clarity. So tonight, I sleep. And pray and hope that I figure out what I am doing wrong. Autism is hard. Teen boy is hard. Putting the two together: feels insurmountable. My migraines have gotten more frequent and worse. I don't sleep well. I am, so far, staving off the depression that threatens to crush me. (I eat well and exercise, both help) But so help me, if I survive his growth into manhood, I hope it is with my soul intact.

For Maddie and the Spohrs

For the past week, I have been seeing and participating in the flurry of tweets surrounding the loss of Madeline Spohr. I have been heartened to see what twitter is capable of, as thousands rally behind the family. This is my contribution.

I held her, the tiny thing, she was 3 lbs. 14 oz. Born premature, 31.4 weeks. I was fortunate, she was born on the cusp of 32 weeks, the time when doctors agree many of the problems with prematurity are minimized. I held my tiny newborn, and sobbed.

She was in the hospital for 30 days, during which time I lived at the Ronald McDonald House. Though I was only twenty minutes away from home, I needed to be close to her. My husband brought the kids to the RM House and that was how we lived for a month.

When I brought JBug home, she was still so small. She wasn't even five pounds yet. And I was scared. The thing I was most afraid of, after dire warnings from the neonatologist? RSV. Respiratory Syncyhtial Virus is extremely contagious, and most babies get it before they turn two. In adults, it isn't anything to be concerned about, it causes a cold. In infants, especially infants with a compromised immune system, it can be deadly. I took it to heart.

For the entire season, (we brought her home in September) I didn't go anywhere with my daughter. I stayed home until May, when the RSV season was deemed over. JBug also got monthly RSV vaccines, immunoglobin her body needed to try and stay strong and fight off the disease. Synagis is expensive, but it is covered by most insurances if your baby is at risk.

Risk factors include:

• prematurity
• lung problems
• heart problems
• low birth weight
• daycare
• family history of asthma
• older siblings
• smoking around baby

I remember the fear I felt, every time one of my children coughed. We used hand sanitizer by the truckload. But JBug didn't get RSV, and we breathed a sigh of relief. The next year, I called about getting the shot again, and all doors were closed. She was too old at that point, no longer a risk. And we were again lucky.

I know the fear I felt during those months. But it is nothing compared to Heather's fear. And she wasn't so lucky. Her sweet Maddie died last week. Mama did everything right. Maddie was past the "age of danger."

And yet, we are still attending a memorial service tomorrow.

Life isn't fair. My chest still tightens at the thought of those days, and the fear that took over my life. My heart goes out to Heather and Mike Spohr. And I hope yours does, too. They could use some help with expenses. A Paypal account has been set up for them. Please donate whatever you can.

Thanks tons. Let's put social media to work for good.

T.

We Interrupt The Regular Flow Of This Blog...

Warning, this post is about girly stuff, and time of the month and flow and bad skin, so be warned. If you are squeamish, come back tomorrow. Just know this is part of a being a woman, and sometimes you just have to talk about it. Because our mothers didn't talk about it, and now, we have to find all of our information on Google! More autism posts to come, but today we are discussing getting older and how much it sucks.

I didn't start my period until I was 15 and a half. I was the last of my friends and I used to read Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume and just lament the fact that that special thing that makes me a woman hadn't happened to me yet. When it finally did, I was so excited, I just about told my father! (but I didn't tell him because, come on, my dad??) Also, he would have been absolutely mortified. He was a bit reserved, a firm gruff Army guy. Don't show weakness, never let them see you sweat. When I kissed him goodnight, it was on the forehead. So, yeah, telling Daddy all about my period? Not such a hot idea.

Ok, so like I said, I was 15 when I started, and I started with a vengeance. For years, I have had very heavy bleeding, 7 days, we are talking the Superwoman plugs. Right. I used to get cramps so bad in high school that I popped Advil like candy. Very hideous. Sometimes, I would even stay home, but I didn't get to do that very often. My mother was more the slave driver "If you aren't dead you can make it to school" type. So I suffered for womanhood every 28 days, like clockwork, spent 7 days sloughing off the dead lining of my uterus and called it part of Being a Woman. I got used to it.

After my 3rd child, I started slowing down a bit. It was nice. Now, no longer did a period last an entire week, I was down to 5 days. And a bit lighter flow, which was also a welcome change. Getting older has some perks, I suppose. But with age, comes your child growing as well. Which is all well and good, unless they are female and teenage, then they start the whole process as well.

I pride myself upon being a strong woman. When I was in an office environment, I was usually the strong hormone leader, and women would line up behind my cycle. (Did you know this happens? When many women work closely together their cycles will coincide, with one woman being the evolutionary hormonal leader.) I was the driver, and of course, right? And then SHE showed up on the scene. My daughter.

In the last year, she has played havoc with my cycles, and it is killing me. This last time, I was done. Done, I tell you! And just a few days later, I started my cycle all over again. And it is because she was PMSing and now is the young, fertile (ack I don't like using that word in the context of my daughter!) strong hormone woman. And I? I am a crone.

I am only 42. (and I am staying that age, after all, it is the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything...so only anniversaries from now on..the 1st Anniversary of my 42nd year and so on). I have noticed in the last few months that I have moles and brown spots I didn't have before. My wonderful smooth skin isn't so smooth anymore. Even on my eyelids, I have little bumps that make putting on eye makeup a pain in the butt. Don't get me wrong, YOU can't see these things. They aren't that noticeable. But I can tell, and it is bugging me! I now have a bump on the side of my nose that wasn't there a year ago. I see little laugh lines (bull, they are wrinkles you can't fool me) around my eyes. I look tired. In short, I look kind of like my mom!

This is not okay with me! My mom is old! And I am young! Vibrant! Energetic! I feel like those hot young 24 year olds! Except...

About six months ago, I wasn't feeling very well. I was running an errand and had a cold. I stopped in at Starbucks to pick up a chai tea latte, one of my favorite pick-me-ups when I am feeling under the weather, and noticed a schlumpy woman in Jamba Juice as I walked by. She was about my age, but was wearing a green velour sweatsuit. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she didn't look well. My thought was, "Wow, that woman is really letting herself go." And then I realized, I was looking at my own reflection! Yeah.

I think I have some sort of Body Morph Disorder. Many women look in the mirror and are appalled by what they see. I look in the mirror and see someone hotter than she really is. That day in front of Jamba Juice was a rude awakening. I am no longer young and hot. (if I ever was) I am growing old. Now I suppose I could just lie down and die, or grow old gracefully but I refuse to do that, I am too stubborn. Instead, I will just continue to be hot, thank you very much. Even if that hotness is just in my own mind. Sex (ack! She said THAT word) is pretty great at 40+... and youth truly is wasted on the young. If I could take my knowledge at 42 back to when I was 22, I would be unstoppable. But, since I can't do that, I have to settle for my new title, a badge of honor, and let the silly 20 year olds be young and insecure.They don't want to play with me anymore...to them, I am old. That's hard to accept. I am secure in my age, now I just have to become secure in my image.

T, who asks who that middle-aged woman is in the mirror

The Grammy Selection Committee is 14 Ninety Year Olds, a 13 Year Old and Somebody's Cat

On the Grammys...

Coldplay...I know you guys are all sexy and everything, and Chris Martin has an ego the size of a house, so he probably thinks he can wear whatever he wants...

Uhm, guys? The Wiggles called...they want their outfits back. Seriously. WHAT were you thinking??

And, M.I.A.? We get that you are pregnant and want us to know you are good with it. You are hip, you are cool. But the ladybug costume... did you get a discount? What possessed you??

And Grammy Committee...I get the whole musical fusion of styles, and for the most part, I really dig it. But THE Stevie Wonder. With the Jonas Brothers? You choose the least soulful group for him to collaborate with? It was scary, and really didn't work.

Also, we need to talk. TobyMac and Brandon Heath (who were nominated for best Gospel something or other) are NOT gospel. They are contemporary Christian. Oh, I know, they are gospel like Jethro Tull was heavy metal, right? Well, a flute is metal, so you got it half right.

While the Grammys have improved in the last few years, and I no longer want to gnaw off my arm when faced with the prospect of watching the broadcast, it is still woefully out of touch with what real music is. If you want to see real music in action, hit blip.fm.

T, who loves music & had to weigh in

I Used to Have All the Answers. Then I Had Children

It started over tea. She wanted to have a tea party. But she didn't want to use water. That's for babies! She wanted me to make tea. Which I couldn't do, I was helping her older sister with her Algebra. Part of homeschooling is taking turns. Littles, at 7, isn't always good with that. Well, let's face it, she is really bad at it. When it is her turn, she expects everyone else to wait. But make her wait? And it is Meltdown-City. She will extract her pound of flesh, one way or another. Of course, it passed. It always does. But the aftermath for me is the hardest part. The way I am left feeling: drained, defeated, ready to cry.

I suppose I shouldn't be too upset. She hasn't had a tantrum all week long. Her dad was gone for ten days and in that time, she has been fine. We have had a few missteps here and there, but no full blown I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU episodes. Maybe that means she is getting older. Maybe that means the developmental delay that is Autism Spectrum Disorder is righting itself. Maybe that means the naked chanting that I did by melting green crayon and throwing sheets to the wind has paid off. (I am just kidding about that last part.) Maybe it's just that the tide is high and the moon is low. Hell, I don't know.

And that's part of the problem. I don't know. If you ask me a question about grammar or algebra or llama breeding, I can probably tell you. Or, barring that, I can find out. But as far as the exact reason my daughter is tantrumming, or the tried and true foolproof method of stopping said fit, that seems to be missing on Google. Certainly there are suggestions, but what if they don't work? What then? With children, you don't add A to B and necessarily get C.

If I was a carpenter, I would be sure that I have the latest tools, the best ones to get the job done. A hammer will always work as a hammer. A level, well, that's designed for leveling. With just a few simple tools, a carpenter can build many things. With a few more, he becomes a master craftsman. It can take a lifetime to wield the tools correctly. But even if his skill is only passable, he will be able to create a chair.

As a parent, I work hard to develop my parenting skills. I think if had neurotypical children I would be a pretty good parent. I add tools to my toolbox often. They say if you only tool you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail. I am guilty of this at times. But a soft word or patience? Those don't always work. In truth, there are times that I run out of tools in my toolbox. I keep thinking if I just gain more gadgets, if I just learn more schematics, I will, eventually, build the Taj Mahal. But with autism? All bets are off. Sometimes, a level ends up as a fulcrum. Or a hammer ends up as a paper weight. Sometimes, I end up dancing around like a monkey because I have to think outside the box. Down is up, and and Left is Right and OhMyGod is it 5 o' clock yet??

I am not a drinker. I have a bit of Irish Cream or Kahlua in my hot cocoa or coffee about twice a month. A glass of wine about as often. And though I talk about it, I just don't do it. There are times I wish I did drink more. Then I wouldn't care so damn much when I reach the end of the toolbox and find nothing but sandpaper and a ball ping hammer. But I do care, and it kills me and I always wonder, why can't I be a better parent? Why can't I help her calm down before she gets to that place where she is completely unreasonable? Why must I be left feeling like a hollow shell with every nerve exposed? What am I doing wrong?

T, who will be fine later, just right now it's hard

Let Me Paint You a Picture

Dear Backpacking Dad, I accept the fact that I had to sacrifice a whole evening in writing this post for whatever it is that you giving away on your blog, But I think you’re crazy for making me write a post telling you who I think I am. You see me as you want to see me, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what I know is that I am:

a brain

(Srsly)

an athlete

(does yoga count?)

a basketcase

(ask my therapist)

a princess

(I can feel any little piece of fuzz in my bed..but I can't do that Lipstick Trick that Claire could do)

and a criminal

(once I left Target without paying for a toy that was underneath my cart, and didn't realize it until later...but then I never went back)

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

Send Chocolate

******

And just so you think I am not taking the easy way out... High school was awful for me. The high school I attended had 300 in my class, and I wasn't one of the In Crowd. In fact, they called themselves the "A-Crowd", and everyone else was shit outta luck. I was too smart for my own good, socially awkward, a late bloomer. I didn't play sports, was always the last one picked for any athletic team. My foray into softball ended in one completely defeated season. We didn't win a game all year. I was pathetic; my team even more so.

I had no idea who I was, and I felt things deeply. I suppose we would call me emo back then. I was brainy, but that wasn't popular, and you know to a teenage girl with low self-esteem, fitting in is everything. So I often dumbed myself down. I would write the wrong answers on homework. I would give the wrong answer when called upon in class. Anything to fit in. I still didn't.

I cut my long hair short, short, feathered on the sides. I went moody and dark. I streaked it with purple. I went from glasses to contacts. I made a lot of friends outside my school. I found my tribe, if you will. But just like a prophet can't preach in his hometown, I couldn't change the impressions I had made with the kids I went to school with from the 6th grade on. To them, I would always be the skinny, flat-chested brainy know-it-all with the big glasses and the straight hair. Smart in school and not very savvy socially.

In fact, short of a D cup and a cheerleading outfit, I wasn't going to fit in. I didn't party, (at least not until later, once my Social Fate was already sealed) and I was a rules follower. In the small town where I grew up in Central California (best known as The Salad Bowl of the World I kid you not. Shut up and stop laughing! well, there wasn't much to do there, save cruise Main Street and get stoned at whoever's house parents weren't in that weekend. I wanted nothing to do with either. So I was an outcast. Of course, I pretended that I wanted to be different, but deep down, I wanted to belong. It just wasn't going to happen.

I remember the most embarrassing experience I had in high school. P.E. was my second hour class. My first hour was all the way across campus, and if I didn't hightail it, I was late. This particular morning, I was running late so I didn't have time to dress out in our required uniform of tacky white t-shirt and baggy, baggy black gym shorts. I wore my jeans to class. All was fine, until, during a game of volleyball, I bent down to take a dig, and heard my pants rip all the way across the butt. I left nothing to the imagination, and it was with much glee that my classmates gave me a hard time about it for the rest of the year. I suppose I was an easy mark.

It was that day when I realized I would never be Claire, though I longed to be, more than anything. I was closer to Allison, and no matter what I did, I was never going to make it as a Claire. So that is the day I redefined my expectations. I became who I wanted to be, not who I thought other people would like me to be. I took a step left of Center and that is where I live to this day. I have made a lifetime out of being outside the box, and being proud of it.

I don't like to be like everyone else. I don't follow the crowd. I stand up for what I believe. I speak up rather than remaining silent. Even when it is not popular to do so. I look past the superficial. And I work hard to make sure everyone is included. Because that lost little 15 year old hasn't forgotten what it is like to stand on the sidelines. Even still.

I suppose my life can be summed up by something I was told by the guy I had a major crush on in high school. I was 16, he was 19. He said to me:

"You know what the difference is between you and us [our group of friends]? We want to know what color the car is...you want to know what the paint's made of."

Guilty as charged.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.-Robert Frost

T, who says Don't You Forget About Me

Technorati: life, teen, emo

Let Me Save You Some Time

Sometimes problems you never even thought of can occur through a global society. Saturday night, I was on twitter and someone posted that Daylight Savings Time starts in the wee hours. It's on twitter, must be true, right? So without even really thinking about it, I took it as gospel. Yes, I am stupid don't think sometimes.

Though I hate DST, I do like that extra hour of sleep available in the fall, when we turn the clocks back an hour. I do know Congress passed a law to extend Daylight Savings Time, I figured it was now. We attend church, so that hour is welcome. I let JBug stay up to watch Saturday Night Live, and the Palin sketch, thinking she would be able to make up that hour.

Maybe I Need More Sleep

Sitting here at midnight, I realize, I haven't seen anyone else mention a time change. Now, sometimes I miss important events in the news, so I figured that was the case. I hit Google News, and there is no mention. So I do a web search and find a site for the Navy. Turns out, Daylight Savings Time changes Nov 2! Ack! So...I sent my daughter to bed, realizing she was going to be tired. And I felt really stupid.

More searching uncovered that the tweet must have originated from NEW ZEALAND. Because they did indeed start DST on Saturday night. And now? I am embarrassed to be such a follower.

But at least I didn't show up late for church and have to explain why!

>What weirdness have you learned on twitter or the Net? Did you fall for it, or did it mess you up?

T, who, aw, I got nothin'

Technorati: stupidity, twitter, DaylightSavingsTime

Hey Entrecarders! I hate your blog!

To those who do Entrecard:

I recently lost all my bookmarks in Flock (long story, having to do with beta version and not saving from one version to the other.) In any case, recently Entrecard banned the generators that I used to use to drop cards. So I am starting over, making my folders of 10 bookmarks and dropping on people. I have to get this off my chest, or I will explode. I have come to this conclusion:

There's a lot of crap out there

So, this is the post I have been trying not to write. But I finally had to do it.

Don't expect a return visit from me:

• if you do paid posts and don't divulge that until the end of the post
• you have embedded music. Period. It is extremely annoying!
• if your blog is all about making money, and you aren't in the money-making blogs section
• you don't have a decent command of the English language
• if you don't write good content; don't spend five minutes and post with typos just to get "something" up
• if all you have on your blog is negative posts. I have my own shit to deal with, I don't want a steady ration of yours as well

• you're just a repository for ads and want page views, not readers
• you are simply a giveaway clearinghouse. I read blogs as a Slice of Life, not to get stuff
• you have no original content, simply recycled from elsewhere
• the template is too busy and interferes with the posts
• if the badge on Entrecard has nothing to do with your blog

That's my rant, add your own. Do you do Entrecard? Do you think it adds quality traffic, or is your bounce rate high?

And, just so you know that I am not completely all about the negative, the next post is how to write a good blog post.

what drives you nuts about a blog? What are some of the biggest blog mistakes you've seen (or made!)

T, who says just because monkeys CAN create Shakespeare, should they?

Technorati: Entrecard, blogging, blog_traffic

They're Going To Take Away My Cool Mom Club Card

The kids when they were younger. JBear is around 6 here, all about Indy

I hate Indiana Jones.

This is a confession I cannot make to my son, who is obsessed with All Things Indy. Since the age of four, (he's nine now) when he donned the infamous Indy fedora bought on a summer trip to Disneyland (it has the Indiana Jones logo inside, and he wore that thing for two straight years) We actually went through three hats because he wore them OUT. Indiana Jones has been a strong interest that my son comes back to again and again.

One of the hallmarks of high-functioning autism or Asperger's is perseveration. Really, it's a 50¢ word for "all the subject, all the time." Even when the last thing you want to hear about is said subject- for the love of God and all things Holy! ...It still continues.

As I said, this particular obsession has been alive since my son found out about it in Kindergarten and honestly? a lifetime of red Kool-aid and twinkies for the child that let that cat out of the bag. And yes, his mother, too. Especially his mother...

In our house, we have Indy action figures, Indy computer games, Indy Wii. We have Indy Legos, an Indy Whip, hell we even have Indy cereal. We have numerous thrift-store-find Indy outfits. It's so bad that my son commandered my tan messenger bag because he thinks it makes him look more like the satchel-carrying Indy. That's right. My nine year old carries a murse. I'm so proud.

Ask a psychologist and he will say that perseveration serves a purpose. It holds the child's anxiety often, and gives him a go-to subject ripe for conversation. Ask me, and I'll tell you that it's damned annoying.

Don't get me wrong. When my then-four year old came home and made it All About Indy I was thrilled. How cute, a four year old who has a role model! I admit, I indulged his play. A lot. I bought him tan pants, and shirts that looked perfect for his adventures. We bought him the aforementioned fedora. He watched Raiders of the Lost Ark and later, The Last Crusade. (he didn't see Temple of Doom, it's a bit rough around the edges for kids) We bought him the G.I. Joe Indiana Jones figure.

My adventurer, out and about

When people admired his appearance, I loved it. And when he was chosen to be featured at the Sword in the Stone show at Disneyland because he looked like such a cool kid? (and of course, cool kids have hip moms) I preened. I even overlooked the fact that he had to wear tan pants, everyday, even all through the 90 degree Southern California summer. "Creative Expression," don't you know?

My son vacillates between various interests. They are almost always mass-market media-inspired. The characters he has glommed onto have been a changing array: Robin Hood, Captain Jack Sparrow (I put a stop to that when he "stole" my wallet out of my purse and then told me about it... when asked why? "What do you expect, I'm a pirate!") Frodo Baggins, Peter from Narnia , Link from the Nintendo game, Legend of Zelda....and of course, the one that started it all: Indiana Jones. Each of these phases requires various accoutrements such as outfits, accessories and of course, toys from the lines of Commercial Cash Cow and Put China On Top By Importing Cheap Poisonous Plastic Crap. It keeps us on our toes.

I thought we had put the Indy love to bed, because we hadn't seen much of the fedora or the toys in quite a while. And then, the newest movie was announced. My son picked up his Indy Interest with a vengeance. He talked constantly about the movie.

What did I think it would be like?(I don't know)
Would Indy be old? (yes)
Would he still have his whip? (probably)
Would there be scary parts like in Raiders? (some intense scenes, I imagine)
Will you buy me the Lego Indy stuff (save your allowance)
Will I get to see the movie soon (when it comes out son)
What will it be like? (ARGH..the sound of me choking on my tongue as my brain explodes)

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

He saw the movie opening night. He very much liked it. Shortly after that, we bought the Indiana Jones Lego Wii game. It is very entertaining, even if you are just watching it, highly recommend it, as an aside. The obsession came to a full rolling boil. He played the game. He talked about the game. He played the game. He talked about the movie. And the game. GAH! I was never so happy as when he finished the last level of that game.

Things seem to be settling down, now. He is still crazy about Indy, and he will corner anyone to tell them so. But there are signs that Indy may have run it's course this cycle and there is an inkling that change is on the horizon. My son created a level in his Nintendo game after this particular interest. What's that? The newest interest? The one that with just a small nudge from me if I'm not careful, will become a monster on a feeding frenzy? Star Trek. Yes, you heard me right. my son is becoming a geek. I suppose it isn't surprising given his genetics.

But...but...Star Trek??

God help us all.

How about you? What you are sick of?

T, who figures she will be assimilated

Technorati: Indiana_Jones, Indy, kids, obsession hobby boys