How to get waited on hand and "foot"

My father always said I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. I would have argued with him, but I was too busy falling on my face. Despite my lack of coordination, I have been pretty lucky. I have only ever broken three bones in my lifetime. The first time I broke a bone, I was in my early twenties; it was my ankle. I was taking the stairs two at a time at work, and rolled my ankle, landing on it, from one step to the ground floor. I broke my foot in three places. (My friends' response to that? "Don't go there, anymore!" Get it? Yeah, it wasn't that funny then, either). After that, over the years, I have broken my little toe, twice. The first time, I hit my son's Rescue Heroes fire truck. The second time, I slammed my toe into the Lego table, and I went one way, the toe went the other. Let me just say: "OW."

Honestly, though, when I twisted my ankle this weekend by taking a wrong step from the sidewalk into the flower bed, it really, really hurt. I have spent the last few days icing it and finally went to the doctor on Tuesday because I feared I had broken my foot. Thankfully, I managed to save the iPad from plummeting to the cement in what would have been a certain death. The fall I took instead was a small price to pay, but I paid dearly. The verdict: severe ankle sprain. I actually pulled some tendons. The doctor gave me a brace and I am supposed to gradually start bearing weight on it. But for now, I am mostly confined to the couch with my foot up while everyone else around me is a whirling dervish trying to accomplish what is day-to-day routine for me: cleaning, cooking, taking care of pets, driving kids where they need to go... You would think I am enjoying this, but I can't. I don't do well being waited upon. And I really don't do well watching other people work and not accomplish things to my standards. So I am constantly getting up to do things, and my family is constantly making me sit on the couch again. Very frustrating.

When I do venture off the couch, it's slow going. I can't walk fast at all, I sort of shuffle around, dragging my bad ankle behind me. Right now, I am looking at a least a few weeks of the "zombie shuffle." So much fun. I sit on the couch, and the cat lies down on the blanket next to me. With the walking stick and the cat I am one shark tank away from being a super-villain, I suppose. I would also like a trap door, please.

Still, all is not lost. At least I match my toenails, now. It's something.

So Blocked This Post Has NO Title

It's like when you get constipated. You have the urge, but can't do the purge. The problem is not that I don't have ideas. I am so clogged up with ideas that one can't make it through the pipeline. I can't seems to narrow my focus or lessen my stress enough to actually get something of *import down on paper. I read others' blog posts and think, "I could have written that! I had that thought, I just didn't take it to fruition.

I think I need my Eighth grade english teacher. She is the one who taught me to write. She gave me permission to develop my voice; I believed that what I had to say was important, and it was. Of course, later that year, she leaned over me, took a big sniff, smelled the acrid second-hand smoke that I was marinated in from my mother smoking in the house and said, with disdain: "Do you smoke?" She was loud enough for some of my classmates to hear, and they snickered. Yes, she wasn't named Mrs. Dick for nothing. True story. But the damage was done; I believed I could write. It was in my blood.

My daughter is also a writer, and a more prolific one than I was at her age. I would write what I called "story starters," pen several tens of pages of my "novel", then either get stuck or bored and intend to go back and add to it. Sometimes I actually did. My daughter, on the other hand, has done a program for writers called, NoNoWriMo, which is simply National Novel Writing Month. In one month, she has written 50,000 words. And not only has she done this once, but twice. I could only hope to have that kind of commitment.

Why is it that when you are young, with nary a story to tell, the pen flows freely, almost on it's own, but once older and with more experience, it is much harder to find the time to tell the story? I consider this God's cosmic joke. I know I have a story to tell. I just can't FIND it.

Pity, Party of One, your table is ready

I haven't been very funny lately. I know, I know. you come to this space to find the tongue-in-cheek witticisms to distract you from life, and I have been letting you down. in my defense, things aren't hilarious right now. And, since this space is all about me, it's well, all about me.

What changed, you ask? From the fight with the spider to zombie conversations...what made life So Serious? About a week ago, I realized: This is My Life. Just like that. I actually see it in caps. this is what I live. It is what it is, and it won't really get any better. I won't write the Great American Novel. I won't be rich, or glamorous. I won't rise to the top of the glass ceiling. I know, that doesn't seem that important, and I really don't want to conquer Corporate America. But I still want the option.

When you are young, the world is your oyster. Pearls are there for the taking. At twenty, you aren't a bestselling author..it's ok, there's time. In your forties, Time Is Running Out. You're old. You're washed up. You're irrelevant. Leave it to the youngsters, they have more energy, and why don't you just go and find yourself a nice rocking chair there by the fire? Yeah. NO.

I am usually a fairly positive person, though I bitch a lot. I can always find the "blessing" (how I hate that word..how pious it seems, but really, no better word can be found) in the mess. There is always a silver lining. For example: In 2006, we had a house fire. The structure was still standing, but we lost damn near everything.

We had to move out into a rental for six months, with little more than the clothes on our backs. We found ourselves wandering WalMart at midnight on a Sunday because it was the only store open, and we needed underwear, people! How do you put your life back together after that? We had to buy clothes, and pajamas, and toothbrushes and and and. I was in shock. It was awful. I would never wish the experience upon anyone. BUT. And here is where I am crazy: I was blessed. My faith increased, my family became closer, I learned gratitude. I started over. Now I try to keep only those things that as William Morris put it, "...you find to be useful or believe to be beautiful." And my house was completely redone, from top to bottom. For the first time, I had real bedroom furniture! And dishes that I didn't inherit from my mother! And a home that was completely my style, and brand new everything! And that was the silver lining. I didn't blog about it, the emotions were too raw. In fact, I didn't blog at all for almost two years. That experience helps to keep it all in perspective.

Cut to this last Sunday: I had one of the worst days that I can remember. Right now, JNerd is out of town, along with JBug. It's just me and the two youngers, fending for ourselves. Sunday afternoon, our cat started yowling and lying on the ground. He wouldn't walk, and something was wrong. So to the ER vet we went. Verdict: urinary blockage. LIFE-THREATENING emergency. Exactly the reason that vets exist. The vet needed to do some things that required sedating the cat, so I took the kids to Taco Bell for a quick bite. When I went to start the car, my battery was dead. I had to call AAA to come jump it, and hope that, since it was after hours and I couldn't call the vet, they would be understanding in case I was late. (thankfully, they were, and I wasn't). Because the battery was dead, I had to keep the car running while I picked up the cat. Environment be damned. I wasn't going to get stuck there...I had a sick cat to get the after-hours clinic for overnight treatment. And let me tell you, you haven't lived until you have pumped gas with the engine running for fear if you shut it off you will be stranded.

Finally got home after 9 p.m. and my kids were a wreck. Tucked them in. Made myself a drink and opened my laptop to find: nothing. The screen was black, but I could hear it was on. I tried a whole lot of tech support stuff ("Did you turn it off and one again??") but it was unresponsive.

So, a recap.. cat, battery, computer. It comes in threes right?

My point, people, and I DO have one... that day sucked. The next day sucked as I had to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to get the cat from the Night ER vet to my regular vet. Thankfully, I had my husband's car. Once I did that, I had to get my van to Costco so that they could explain to me why my battery had failed after less than two years. Turns out Costco doesn't install or remove batteries, but it doesn't matter because we don't have yours in stock right now anyway ma'am and there's an auto store down the street that can probably help you, have a nice day. Well. Fine.

I drove my van, which by some miracle started, to Pep Boys (who I cannot say enough nice things about, you guys!) Bought my battery. They took pity on the poor married lady who was abandoned by her husband for greener conventions, and took one look at the small ragamuffin in tow who was heat-bedraggled, and had me in and out of there in fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes! New battery, yay! And, Costco gave me a full refund on my battery that failed.

When I finally got home, and was reflecting upon the events of the last coupIe of days, and it was all feeling a bit like being pecked to death by ducks. Then it hit me... (here is where I get all treacly) I really am blessed. Talk about First World Problems! We had enough money and resources to treat our sick cat. I have an auto club so that I don't get stranded when I have a problem. I have an extra car so that I could get my cat and not rely upon the kindness of my friends. I have enough money to get a new battery, and the resources to get it installed. I am rich compared to much of the world. That thought shut me up. I really have nothing to complain about. No one is dying. These are all transitional worries. I realize how obnoxious this sounds. Who really appreciated when Dad said, "Eat your peas, there are children starving in Africa?" And honestly, I got smacked when I once retorted, "Well, then, send the peas to THEM!" (made sense at the time) I am not telling you to eat your peas. I'm really not. I am telling myself. I am reminding myself that though I just turned forty_ahem ...life is not over. Life is still beautiful. My body may be changing, and my youth may be fading, but life is still good. Life is always good. Sometimes I just forget it for a bit.

As I write this, the cat is still at the vet, and will probably be ok. It will just be expensive. And I hate having to spend the money. But I love the fact that I have the resources to make the decisions that are required. I am not loaded monetarily by any means. It will be a stretch and we may eat cheese sandwiches for dinner for a bit. (more or less) but I am rich, in all the ways that count. And that revelation? Is priceless.

September is over, why didn't anyone wake me up?

I pretty much hibernated for the last month after I came home from New York. With the migraines, school starting and the planning associated with that little venture, we had some other unexpected events to deal with as well. Which, of course, I will blog as I get back into the swing of things. And I? Just bugged out. I needed to take a break, to recuperate from life, and come back to blogging renewed. So, if you will still have me, I am back. So buy me a drink, pass me the mike, cause Radio Tee is back on the air. Ok, not really. I am just blogging again. But you can still buy me a drink. I missed you. You look great in that. Have you lost weight? What? Do I want to go somewhere? Let's take it slow, have some conversation, and then see where that leads. Tina

What to do when you have a rigid kid

High-Functioning Autism can be a challenge in a lot of ways, but none so much as ridigity. The decision to support a cause or idea, beyond what would seem normal is familiar territory for parents of those with autism. Kids can be downright unreasonable. And of course, kids can be somewhat rigid. This is especially true of kids on the autism spectrum.

Some Examples of Autism Rigidity:

* interests or hobbies

* clothes they wear

* foods they eat or refuse to eat

* sensory sensitivities, such as noise, and textures

* unreasonable fears

Often when it occurs, a parent may feel blind-sided, since it feels as though it came out of nowhere. How perseveration gets started is one of Life's Great Mysteries. What causes a casual interest to become an all-encompassing quest? Why does a compliant child suddenly plant her feet and refuse to budge? Is it an internal dialogue? Is it media influence? Is it the cereal she had for breakfast? Whatever it is, parents are hard-pressed to stop the train once it starts. Sometimes, the rigidity comes from changes in the child's perceived schedule. This s very common in a child who otherwise isn't particular about their environment. A family member travelling; plans that change; a situation outside the realm of the child's "script." These are all opportunities for parents to practice their coping skills. Kids with autism simply don't bend well. It's true. They lock on to whatever is important to them at the time, and they will defend that position until either, you give in, or you deescalate the situation. In the case of clothes, a child may decide to only get dressed if one particular outfit is available. You have some choices then:

* You can find the outift, figure what the heck and live to fight another day

* You can cancel plans and let her sit around in her pajamas all day

* You can try to reason with her... and grow old in the process

* You can strongarm her and force her to bend to your will

Some days, it is easier to retreat. And in the grand scheme of things, it is often the best thing to do. No one wins a power struggle. If you force a child to sit down, she's still standing up in her head. It is easier to cooperate and find a solution than it is to force anyone to do anything. There will be time for teaching...in fact it is necessary. But the middle of a conflict is not the time to try to teach. They aren't listening, anyway.

Flexibility is Key

The point here is that by being flexible, even after the fact, you can frequently manage to bring a difficult situation back under control. Often with autism, the plan you make is the one that you have to break. Or, rather, rethink. If the plan is stone-cold, rigid, it will break, and it's not pretty when it does. Be open to change. Model the behavior you want to see in the child. Show the child, who cannot, at that moment, disengage, HOW to back down, and how to find a solution that everyone can live with. Change your plan.

It may seem counter-intuitive to suggest that plans change. Kids with autism really like structure. They like to know that things are arranged the way they want (and often need) them to be. But, as the adult, it is much easier for your to be flexible than it is for them. The plans change because you get that the need is for a different plan. By tweaking the agenda, you can often avoid a greater meltdown. And isn't that what we all really want?

How about you? What have you found that works to "unlock" a stuck kid? Click here to share your wisdom!

T, who knows when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em

How To Show You Mean Business (Vote with your MONEY)

In 1989, an Exxon tanker, known as the Valdez ran aground in Alaska. The resulting disaster was one of the worst the U.S. had ever seen. Consumers were outraged. They cut their Exxon credit cards in two and sent them to the company. A week or two later, the C.E.O. Lawrence Rawl said, "In ten years, you'll see nothing." And in response to consumer outrage, he said that we would forget. He was half right. The effects on the Alaskan tundra are very much still felt today.

But Exxon didn't fold over it…the conglomerate is still in business. Exxon bought Mobil and is stronger than ever. But me? I didn't forget. I haven't bought gas at an Exxon since the day the oil was spilled. It wasn't that the spill happened, I get that "accidents happen." It was the half-assed way the company went about cleaning it, and the years-long litigation in trying to get the damages reduced. For over 20 years now, they have been taking it back to court, and reducing what was awarded in order to avoid being held financially responsible for the mess they made. Most of America forgot. But I did not. No Exxon, no Mobil.

Enter BP and the ongoing cluster!@#$ taking place in the Gulf of Mexico. Continually downplaying the amount of oil being spewed, BP has been pussy-footing around this mess since it happened. Executives are as distant as they can be. They claim they can't stop the oil that is gushing from the pipeline. And maybe not. But until we see the BP big-wigs standing knee-deep in muck with a toothbrush in one hand, and a bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid in the other, I will not believe they are, "Doing all we can." And as such, I choose to vote with my dollars, yet again. I am not buying gas from ARCO. I will not be patronizing AM/PM and I will steer clear of Castrol motor oil. All of these are owned by British Petroleum.

BP is known for over 8,000 disasters in the last twenty years. And what has been done about it? Isn't it time to say NO to profits over people? I think so.

Will it make a difference to BP? Perhaps not. But it makes a difference to me. Almost 20 years ago, George W. Bush made a mess of handling the Exxon oil spill. This time, President Obama will hold the perpetrators accountable. And so will I.

How about you?

T, who figures it should mean something

The Veggie Law... a revisit

I thought it would be fun to revisit some of my earlier posts, from years ago...just to get an idea of how far we have come. So, I present:

"They're yukky!"

I looked at my second born, my son, as he sat there, wiggling, lip curled and looking askance. Maybe if he didn't look at them, they would disappear. "I know you think that, but they are good for you. You need to eat a couple." He didn't answer, but returned his attention to his plate, pushing his fork around with disinterest. Suddenly, he brightened. "I don't really have to eat them. It's not the law."

I held back a smile. "Well, actually, it is a law. Kids under ten must eat at least 1 bite of vegetables. It's California state law."

I nibbled my nail while I waited to hear his answer. He regarded his plate, then me. "Even peas?" he asked. "Yes son, even peas." I almost felt badly at the untruth I was spreading, but hey, a kid has to eat his peas!

He sighed heavily, then picked up his fork. "If I was President I wouldn't have to eat these," he said.

"I am pretty sure even the President has to eat his peas, too. I think it's the law."

"Well, the President breaks the law, right? He could break the Vegetable Law. After all, he listened to other peoples' phone calls without asking."

Oh oh, thought to myself, now you've done it. The kid clearly hears talk radio even when you think he's not listening.

I made a mental note to refrain from listening to talk radio when he is around. Kids don't need to be burdened with the politics of grown ups, really. And President Bush's actions, as confusing as they are for adults, must be completely flummoxing for a child.

Again, I sit here, left wondering, what do I tell my children? When I explain to them we all have authorities over us, that's just the way it is, how do I explain that the President believes himself to be above the law? And since the President is such an Everyguy, and every kid can be President, what possible recourse do I have when my son refuses to eat his peas?

by the way, I did tell my son there is no such law about peas. But the law for corn still stands.

T, who figures eating veggies could be important

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Dental cowards form an orderly line to the left

I have had a life-long fear of the dentist since I was a teenager, I think. I would break out in a cold sweat at the thought of visiting a dental office. Which is kind of ironic, because my mother is more fearful than I am. She wanted to be sure that her children wouldn't end up with the same phobia, so she worked hard to find a good dentist. And she did. Dr. Howard was an avuncular boisterous man, and I liked him. No worries, so far. My mother insists that I refused to get braces, but I don't remember it that way. Still, it was a good experience. I didn't mind having my teeth cleaned, and didn't have much fear. The problem came when I had to have my wisdom teeth out at 18. With a different dentist. I developed an allergy to the pain medication and wound up so sick I lost 14 lbs. in a week. I had a dry socket, which means the blood didn't clot and the nerve was exposed to air. I popped Tylenol like candy for a while. Until my dentist introduced me to clove oil, and instantaneous pain relief.

I did really well for a long time, going to the dentist when I needed to, maybe not getting regular cleanings, but does anyone? After my second child was born, I had to have a root canal. And the experience was as bad as I had imagined. The sensory nightmare of the shots, the drill, the cement, all of it, was enough to put me off dentists for a long time.

A few years back, I broke a tooth, and had to have another root canal. I didn't have a regular dentist at that point, so I went to what I term a "chop shop." I had a very intense panic attack outside the office that day. Still, I went through with it, mainly because I had incredible pain from an abscess and it had to be dealt with or I was going to jump off of a bridge. I ended up with an ill-fitting crown, that they redid twice. It was still never right.

Soon after that, we found an amazing dentist. His office is decorated in Craftsman style, warm woods, cool lights and just an aura of relaxation. Entering, I was still terrified, but intent on making sure my children have good dental care. I eased them into it, and would sit in the room with them as they received their treatments, constantly It served to help me be less skittish. had to have two teeth pulled by an oral surgeon, which was awful, and did nothing for my dental phobia. But I was convinced I needed to get over my fears, and I pushed myself to do so.

I needed a lot of work, but over time, it was all done. Now, I am in my last phase, and wearing Invisilign to straighten out my overbite and stop me from grinding my teeth at night. And I see the dentist monthly. My phobia is completely gone. I still don't like dental procedures, but I no longer cry. I am quite proud of my courage and sticktuitiveness.

My kids love the dentist, and see him regularly. This is a feat accomplished with kids who have autism. Dental fears are right up there as far as fears go. But the process of spending time with our dentist (who also goes to our church and works in the childrens' department with my kids) My youngest, JBean, went from terror to looking forward to seeing him. That's a testimony to a great dentist.

My dentist is worth his weight in gold. And that's about how much I pay him. I wouldn't have it any other way.

T, who is over it

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photo source

No witty title, just a simple and heartfelt goodbye Bob

Early this morning, Bob quietly went gentle into that good night. And we mourn and we rage along with califmom, Leah, and her kids. In a situation like this, I suppose it is human nature to make it about yourself. What if it had been my family? How would we survive? What would we do? But, tonight, I refrain from going there. Because Leah needs me. She needs us.

She needs us to mourn with her, and make her laugh, and remember to sling the sarcasm.definitely do not forget the sarcasm! At some point, Leah may appreciate that Bob ended this life on Velociraptor Awareness Day. It just seems...right. Bob was a nut. In any case, she needs us to acknowledge what has happened, and to cry with her and to carry on as though everything was the same. And as though everything were different. She needs us to post our ridiculous tweets and goofy pictures. She needs normalcy, or, as much as she can get.

Or at least, that is what I think she needs. To be honest, I have no earthly idea what she needs, I can only guess. Which makes me feel very helpless...not a place I am used to being!

Tonight, JNerd and I, for wont of doing something, raised our glasses and had a shot of Patron, the premium tequila that was Bob's favorite. We drink to a life well-lived, and well-loved. We honor Bob's life. And we drink to the missed opportunity of being able to drink that shot with Bob himself. Just before he got sick, I met Leah and Bob in San Diego. We had dinner, and since I was driving later that night, I conservatively refrained from doing shots with the two of them. Though I didn't leave for hours afterward, I stuck to coffee that night. We reasoned we would have a "raincheck." That raincheck never came. A month later, he was sick.

So, tonight, we raised our glasses to a wonderful guy. An amazing and supportive husband; a loving father. And though JNerd had never actually met Bob, it didn't matter. Imaginary unicorn internet friends are ALWAYS there for one another. But don't let the smiles fool you, I have been in tears for them all day.

You say you want to help? I am so glad. Because this is a family that has been fractured, and with the expenses coming, they will need your support. Bob was also the sole income, so there will be some adjustments and transitions made. (Though I am not sure what those will entail,I can only imagine). So, yes, they need our help. You can go here, and donate via Paypal. Don't feel awkward, just think if it had been your family. Also, for the record, this paypal account was NOT Leah's idea...it was borne at the request of those who wanted to help. Posting it on her blog made it readily accessible. They say it takes a village. Bullshit, it takes the Internet. And, when she is ready, we will be here.

T, who is mourning along with my friend

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This is not a list of New Year's Resolutions

I hate New Year's Resolutions. Who actually keeps those resolutions, anyway? When I was younger, I would make myself promises and pretend I would keep them. I would finally start going to the gym every other day. I would spend my money more wisely. I did well, until around March. Then I would start slacking off. I didn't mean to do so, but I just didn't stick with it. It always started with just little things at first. I would miss that day at the gym, and promise myself I would be back with the program the next day. But once the commitment was broken, it was that much easier to just let it go. So I stopped the resolutions. But I have thought about it, and there are some commitments that just need to be kept.

I am not sure I have told you all this (yes I have) but I am a bit domestically challenged. I was meant for bigger things, I guess. I am busy writing and being fabulous and get distracted when it comes to keeping my home. (It's not like I can trade it in, let's be honest here). So, looking around, I realized a couple of things. First, my house is a mess. Second, my parents come to housesit and watch the kids in just a bit over 2 weeks. I have to get my butt in gear. I really lag in the organizational department. It is easy for me to get addled and… look! Squirrel! The following is a list of some things I need to deal with in the coming months, I guess. If I feel like it.

I promise to pay more attention to my children this year. It's the little things. My youngest went to Christmas dinner with family with feet that were dirtier than a hobbit. Nobody saw them, they were in socks and shoes. But they were very disgusting. I have no idea how her feet got that dirty. I guess I need to make sure she bathes more often. It isn't that I am lazy. I swear. And my kids aren't being ignored. I am so busy keeping psychological order in my house that some things fall apart. My only excuse is that Christmas preparations made me overlook a small thing like a bath. What? They eat. What more do you want from me?

Ok, another thing: I guess we need to eat at home more. These last couple of months, I really took the easy way out. Besides being expensive, going out to dinner isn't that healthy. Fast food is crap. Yes, I am fundamentally lazy, and don't really like to cook, but I am not Oprah. I cannot afford a personal chef. This cooking gig falls to me. So time to get off my butt and make sure my family eats well. I am so busy writing and doing things that are Important (What? those Rabbids NEED to be pimped!) I forget people need to eat, I guess. Doesn't help when no matter what I fix I get, "Hmmph. I'm not EATING!" from the littlest one. Kind of kills any desire to experiment in the kitchen.

And yeah, I imagine my house needs a bit of a cleaning. Or something. It is just frustrating, every time I clean it gets dirty again. I think that the Messy House Fairies live here and come out when we are sleeping. You've seen Pigpen, from the Peanuts comic strip? He takes a bath, and gets dirty just walking? I go to bed with the house clean and wake up to find things everywhere. The principle of entropy states that all things are hurdling headlong towards chaos, naturally. My house is a great example of that.

I feel like Genghis Khan trying to force people into indentured servitude if I ask my children to lend a hand. So rather than fight the complaining, I do it myself. And there is only so much of me going around. So walk around that toy, I don't care. Mama needs a drink. If you trip over it, pick it up. Someone wise once said cleaning house while the kids are awake is like stringing beads with no knot on the end. I am certain she was a mother. And she probably drank.

And while we are on the subject of messy, there's the car. We don't live in our car, but it sure looks like it. I have a rule, if you bring something to the car, you must take it out. It doesn't fly. Most of the time, it cannot walk its way out of the car, it needs help to get back to its rightful place. I get distracted, they ignore it and we are back to "the car should be parked at a rest stop cause we are camping in it" look. It takes more energy than I have trying to stay on top of it.

I will throw out all of those socks. (oh shut up, you have them, too!) I have a box of socks in the closet with no mates. I think there might even be some infant socks in there. I am loathe to throw them out, because I know as soon as I do I will find the mates. What do you do with mismatched socks? When the kids were younger, we make sock puppets and called it "crafting." (I am still trying to figure out what to do with the dryer lint). Oh, yeah. I will also keep up with the laundry. Also known as: that stuff I fold and then it gets thrown back in the hamper by the teenager without even the courtesy of unfolding it.

I will get on top of the paper this year. I am drowning in bills, junk mail, solicitations, coupons… they just keep coming. No sooner do I get rid of one crop, another pile springs up.  It's like an evil hydra of information. I get over 4 bundles of direct mail ads a week, not counting catalogs, bills, and the various normal mailings. I would burn the damn house down to get out from under them. But we had a house fire three years ago. I know I don't want to go through that again! I pay all of the bills online, but cannot allow myself to stop the paper bills. What if I forget to pay something? And the Bill Police show up at my door? And take out an ad in the newspaper and then no one will sell us anything like food and stuff? And then we wind up homeless? (Yes, this keeps me up at night..I think a lot).

So I have a couple of bags of miscellaneous papers in my closet. I figure if they sit there for a while, once they are all outdated, I can just go throw it all in the recycling bin. (after shredding it, of course). While I am on the subject, who asked for all this suck-ass circular junk mail crap? Direct mail campaigns are so wrong. I didn't order it, I don't want it. Save the cost and save the trees. Save me the aggravation. Don't send it. I get that everyone needs a job, but does it have to be rubber-banding paper for the local Chinese restaurant and tree surgeon on my door when I am not home? This stuff makes me want to kill someone.

I will go to bed at a decent hour. I am nocturnal, and always think if I go to bed, I am missing out on the 24 hour party that is going on without me. It isn't necessarily about the Internet. It can be TV, a good book, even loading the dishwasher. My favorite time is when I am the only one awake. The house is quiet, the cats are relaxed. And I am wide awake. It makes it really hard to go to bed. But then I am tired the next day, and all of the above things seem like a mountain I don't want to climb. Unless there is chocolate at the summit.

Looking at this list, you might ask what I have to offer, if it isn't my immaculate house and chef-like cooking skills. Why, life is a party around here! My stellar wit and winning personality are all my family will ever need. That, and when the mood strikes, I give killer hugs.

T, who is ON It

Christmas, OCD & me

It's in the air. If you are quiet, you can hear it. The ringing of bells by bored Salvation Army volunteers. The muttered cussing of a mother as she tries to find a parking space at the mall. The movement of boxes as Daddy tries to find the lights so he can string them on to the Christmas tree. The hollow "Oof!" as I am elbowed in the ribs to get the last copy of the only game my son wants for Christmas this year, bar none. The screams of yet another child placed on Santa's lap against his will by a well-meaning mother, trying to simply make memories for her family. Poor woman. I learned the hard way with that one: just not worth it. This time of year fills me with dread.

I used to have a brain, but somewhere around Nov, specifically the third week or so, my brain goes missing. Some call it anxiety over perfectionism. I call it par-for-the-course. But it makes the holidays stressful, not fun, and a lot more work than they need to be. I can't figure out how to change this, try as I might. It is a mountain I am tired of climbing. ( a chimney I am tired of going down?) One of these days, I am going to say "Screw it," and we will head somewhere warm, sunny and sandy for the holidays. But not this year. This year, I just have to get through it. Come January 4th, all will be okay again.

There just seems to be so much to do, and every year, I tell myself I will simplify. But how? When you create traditions (which, in this house, means you did it twice) you have to keep with them, or the kids see the sky falling and run to tell the king. So, I prepare. I buy Christmas Eve Pajamas. I make the Christmas Morning breakfast ahead of time. I take pictures of artfully arranged presents under the tree for the umpteenth time. I call my doctor for a prescription of Xanax. (that last part is just on the wish list inside my head…I don't actually do drugs).

Parents always want to do better for their kids than was done for them, but in my case, my mother set the bar quite high when it comes to Christmas. She has a knack for giving the Perfect Gift, Just What I Always Wanted, and unfortunately, that talent skipped a generation. Don't get me wrong, I know how to give good gifts. But I don't have a sixth sense about it. I suppose that I will have to content myself with my writing prowess and my wit. Oh, and my humility.

Even with preparation, I am terrified I will forget something and it will be too late. I guarantee that on Dec. 24th at about 9 p.m. I will, in a panic, realize that the gifts aren't quite even, and send my husband out into the cold, foraging for toys at the local drug store that is open until midnight. This happens every year. When making cookies? I will get halfway through the recipe and remember that I needed butter. Or shortening, that I swear I purchased last week, but cannot find. Again with the venturing out into the cold in search of baking supplies. He is so good to me.

I am worried I am doing it wrong, I have a master list of gifts for Christmas morning. Santa isn't the only one who makes a list and checks it twice! Mine is a symbol chart with the gifts in numerical order. I color code the wrapping paper to reduce the chance of JBug getting a Star Wars Lego set or JBean, the bug phobic getting an ant farm. Drop the ball once, and they never let you live it down. Now I remember who belongs to what gift. But it means having six different kinds of wrapping paper, and I like lots of different colors, so the wrap has to be in complementary colors. We don't discuss the Bowing of the Presents…of course there must be bows and curling ribbon. It's a sickness. After comes the arranging of the presents… they all must be seen correctly, with the small ones in front of the larger ones, and mixed up according to who they belong to. No wonder I am tired.

Still, as much as I obsess, as much as I worry, it all seems to come together, every year. And the results are worth it. When I hear the excited whispers on Christmas morning, feign sleep and wait for my little one to wake me with giggles and "Santa was here!" I remember why I do it. Come to think of it, it's why I do most everything: the joy on the faces of my children. Seen through their eyes, I can finally find the magic that this old jaded heart was missing. It's then that I remember what Christmas is all about.

T, who wishes you and yours the happiest of holidays

Lookie what I did!

Ok so you heard about my new bloggy (ad)venture, Trampled with Zebras, and totally have no idea what it means, right? Well, I wrote an explanation over at OCFamily about it, so go read it! Then comment, so I don't feel like that kid in the cafeteria who ends up sitting by herself at lunch! Ok? Thanks!! [mwah!]

T, who appreciates you, really I do!

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Please don't let her become a stand-up comedienne (that's my job!)

In this house, humor is not optional, it's a survival technique. You don't get very far unless you can learn to laugh at yourself and your circumstances. Life = humor. I cannot imagine not being able to giggle or snicker or guffaw and at times even belly laugh at the crazy things that happen in this family. Of the things I want to give to my children, an appreciation for humor (if not an outright sense of it) is very near the top of the list.

They say that kids with autism don't have much of a sense of humor. I think those that say it don't quite understand autism all that well. My daughter, the oldest one, is pretty funny. (not as funny as me, but give her some time and experience) My son isn't hilarious, but he understands jokes. Sometime around his 8th birthday, he started understanding sarcasm (which means he can actually live in this house, because…yeah.) and started making puns. (again, a staple in this family). It was a lot of fun to watch.

I had forgotten all of that until last night, when JBean cracked her first joke. She gets jokes, but hasn't really told her own. Tonight, she was lying next to the cat and she said, "Watch the cat's new trick. Then, to the cat: Play dead!" The cat, who was lounging in a way that only cats can, sans bones and macramaed into the carpet, didn't move. JBean giggled and said, "Isn't that the funniest thing, ever?" Which tells me two things:

1) she is maturing and beginning to get sophisticated humor

2) Her Jane Austenesque speech patterns can be blamed on an older sister who is obsessed with Jane Austen and has dragged her younger sister along for the ride.

3) Life is about to get very interesting, with lots of "How many _____ does it take to change a lightbulb?" and knock-knock jokes. I suppose fart jokes and belching the alphabet can't be far behind.

I'm SO proud.

T, who says a funny thing happened while writing this blog post

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Mediocre Mother, it's the new black

There's a bit of a fray on bad mothering as a trend on the Interwebz, and as we all know, what's on the Interwebz is completely true, always. Some voices I respect have weighed in, and since this is a post I have been meaning to write for while, I finished it up and here is my take.

I grew up as a latchkey kid. From the time I was in the fourth grade I would walk to school, on my own, every morning. The chain that hung around my neck was cold from the early morning air. All day, I harbored a secret. Hidden and tightly nestled against my chest, warm from the proximity of my heart, was a key. I felt like a big kid. I would arrive home to a list of chores and an empty house. It taught me responsibility. And what it was to be lonely.

While my mother worked full-time, I would sit after school with the television as my only friend, caught up in the world of Suburban Advertising Moms. You know the ones: perfectly coiffed, calling for the Kool-aid Man, (not that she needs rescuing), as her kids emerge from the game, hot and thirsty. She, of the Betty Crocker persuasion, apron-clad, spoon in hand, she bakes up heavenly confections for her family. The smell wafting through the air brings the neighborhood kids forth just in time to get warm brownies. And isn't she a good mother? She didn't believe in the fight for feminism, choosing instead to grace the airwaves with her domestic presence. And I wanted to be her. Or, rather, I wanted her to be home with me. I promised myself I would be home for my kids.

That's exactly what I did. Once I had children, I stopped working, and never looked back. Yes, I remain involved in the community as a leader. And I am not indolent, I work from home as a freelance writer. (earnings are not the issue, the definition of work is) I homeschool my children, due to the lack of accommodations for special needs kids from our local school district. And I am generally more busy than not.

But I failed. Don't get me wrong, I am a good enough. But I never quite measured up to that image in my head of the Good Mother. I expected to be That house. The one on the block where all of the kids congregate? For chocolate chip cookies and video games or Lego, or swingset. And, when my kids were littler that did happen, at least for a bit. But I found that they were loud, and I was annoyed and stressed.

To be honest, part of the reason it didn't work out was that I don't particularly like the kids in this neighborhood. There's the girl down the street whose mom invited us over to go swimming. None of my kids knew how to swim and besides do people really just send their kids over to a strange family's home, willy-nilly? Since I didn't know her, I went with them, and she spent all afternoon in her house, on the phone or cleaning or drinking herself into a stupor who knows what, leaving me outside to watch the kids. All of them, hers included.

And to show that I didn't harbor any ill will, when they invited my daughter to pizza a few weeks later, I said yes. And the mother and her husband proceeded to get in a screaming argument complete with the f bomb in front of my then-sixth grader. no one cusses in front of my kids except me. And this was the good family on the block.

There's the kid next door who was on the same soccer team as my son, and made fun of him for being too slow as he ran for the ball. And the kid next door to him who, when he found out my then young son had a special affection for snails, made sure to turn over all the rocks in the flower bed and stomp the snails hiding there, every chance he had. And then he left the evidence smashed across my driveway for my son to find. So, yes, there is a reason I don't have these kids over at my house.

And this was before we realized just how different my kids were.

I find, that despite how warm or genuine I am, how much of an extrovert I play for limited periods, I don't really like Other People's Children much. At least on my own turf. I love kids, and I love working with kids and I am a high school youth leader at church (that's right, they actually let me near teenagers) but when I am at home, I protect it. Some people have the hospitality gift. I have the Raise the Drawbridge gift, I think. I see home as a castle, fortified against intruders, and while I love a lot of people and want to hang with them, I want to do it outside the walls. Inside, I want to sit around in my underwear, swear under my breath and leave dishes in the sink. That's just not conducive to entertaining.

Not to mention, I have very little domestic anything in me, not even beer. ( I prefer Guinness). I hate to clean house (which stems from being Cinderella to my "ugly-stepsister" family as I was growing up), the thing I would most prefer to make for dinner? Reservations. I tried for years to be a good Christian wife, and I fail miserably. There is a mountain of laundry piled as we speak. I admit it, I suck at the domestic wifely crap. But I have a very happy husband, and if you cannot read between the lines on that one, I refuse to spell it out for you. Let's just say there are some things more important than how springtime-fresh your toilets are.

I have finally, after many years, embraced my lack of mom-ness. I am not Supermom, she doesn't exist. She's about as "real" as the Real Housewives. I am not a bad mother. To the contrary, I am a good-enough mother. I don't do everything I could do for my children's comfort. I am short with them, preferring quiet to chaos more often than not. But I love them, and they know that. Even if I grouse at them, or complain that they don't put their shoes away or lock them outside because they are constantly traipsing in and out of the damn house! I only did that once, I swear, don't call CPS I love them. And that? IS good-enough.

T, who embraces mediocrity, try it

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Forget Botox, Autism Keeps Me Young

When I try to explain what autism is like, 70% of the time, I come up with, "Like your life, only a little bit louder." meaning, like in Spinal Tap, the amp went to 11, which was one more than 10.

My kids are just...more. And that probably makes me sound like some sort of egotistical "beep." as my 7 yr old daughter says, meaning, "bitch." (yes, my 10 yr old son taught her that...wasn't that kind of him?) She only says, "beep," though, for censoring. But I don't mean it that way. Here's the deal: Somehow, my kids are more than others' kids. But I truly don't know how else to explain it. I am not competitive, I don't want to be the worst or the best. But they really are... They are harder, more challenging, more colorful, more off-the-wall and more frustrating than neurotypical kids, I believe. They make me cry, want to pull out my hair, crawl into a hole. And that's often just the first two hours of the day.

But you know what? I wouldn't trade them. They are funny, they make me laugh in great big guffawing waves. They surprise me daily. And...I am never bored...they keep me young.

Don't believe me?

Who else do you know that:

• talks for stuffed animals regularly, including for my son's stuffed raccoon, every night before bed. Of course, each animal has a different voice.
• Regularly makes up silly walks and quotes Python
• enjoys taking goofy pictures more than the real portraits

• has a karaoke machine in her house, and uses it
• makes faces as a general rule (still hoping one day it really will "stick like that")
• bursts into song and/or dance at inopportune times. Haven't I told you, I am the star of my very own musical!
• makes terrible, terrible puns
• quotes movies often, depending upon the circumstances
• makes fart jokes, complete with noises
• races shopping carts
• sings LOUDLY, some random bit of song
• comes up with nonsense words..we have an entire vocabulary of spendomous marattels.
• can burp louder than anyone
• beeps noses, tickles tummies, wet willies
• gleefully embarrasses my teenager (oh wait, most parents do that, never mind)
• makes submarine noises while driving

Why? I like to make my children laugh. Laughing keeps things less stressful, so in a sense, I guess it is a defense mechanism. It is also a whole lot of fun. And really, isn't life too short to take seriously, all the time?

T, who figures we only get one chance, why waste it moping or lamenting what it might have been

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You Have Nothing To Fear..Except Everything

Lately we have been struggling with the 7 year old's growing list of phobias.

Bugs, especially creepy-crawly bugs have her terrified. If she sees one, she runs in the house like a screaming banshee (well she is always a screaming banshee, but she becomes a screaming banshee with one purpose: Escape). Currently, one of the targets of her fear are crane flies. Now, you know they are a bit scary looking, but crane flies are harmless. Only she can't get that. Big bug, long dangly legs. Dangerous.

In autism, it doesn't matter how irrational a fear is, once a child makes up her mind, it is very difficult to change. Theory of Mind, which means that she sees ALL situations with only her point of view, doesn't allow for anything but black and white. There is very little gray in autism. We work at helping her broaden her viewpoint, but it's very hard, and it can be really frustrating. Sometimes, I can actually convince her that the bug isn't going to eat her. She believes me. Just for that moment. Because, you see, once that bug is gone (because I never kill bugs, I catch them in a large plastic cup and carry them outside...a product of my soft-hearted son's insistence that all of God's creatures deserve to live) she won't remember that all of that type of bug is harmless. Apparently, the Harmless Bug has evil cousins that are Evil Bugs and even though Harmless Bug is, in fact, harmless, Evil Bugs are bent on eating my daughter for lunch. I can explain until I am blue in the face, and she cannot generalize the specific situation. So every time she sees a bug, either inside or outside, there is screaming and cowering, and sometimes running into the house.

Another phobia lately is of dogs, particularly our neighbor's rat-dog nasty-ass chihuahua. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. BIG dogs. Tiny little yip-yip dogs are like rodents, with great big eyes and little teeny teeth....the better to bite your ankles when you aren't looking. The problem isn't the dog, it's the owner. People don't realize that dogs are not human and don't need to be treated like babies. There is a pack order that they respond to. Possessive little dogs may seem cute, but if that dog was large, it would be dangerous. Teaching a dog, any dog, to be over a human by allowing ill-mannered behavior is just asking for trouble. And with little dogs, people don't see this.

I am not in the least afraid of dogs; I haven't met a dog I couldn't figure out or let's be honest, control if I had to. The Dog Whisperer has improved my skills, but I was already pretty good. The secret is...you have to show a dog who 's boss. You can certainly treat them well, but in the end, you are the alpha.

My son was also afraid of the dog, because it chased him into our house. That's right, the neighbor's let this dog run free and it ran my son into his own damn house! I then taught him how to stand up to the little booger, with body language and eye contact. ("Remember son, I am not at all suggesting this, but remember, that dog can be a football if worst comes to worst") Now the dog stays away from JBear, since he isn't a target anymore. But my little daughter, JBean is still afraid of the obnoxious thing. It has gone so far that she refuses to go outside, for fear it is running loose. Makes me so angry. I have talked to the neighbors, and they did bring the dog inside. But he gets out so frequently, there isn't much point. We have a leash law, but it's only in public. Still, by law, you cannot let your mutt run over other peoples' private property. So keep the dog out of my yard, off my driveway and away from my kids.

This is JBean's interpretation of the Evil Chihuahua...click on the picture to embiggen...

You know I homeschool, so my kids often spread a blanket in the yard and spread out their schoolwork. This dog is really cramping our style. When I went up to the neighbor's door, the dog tried to go after my ankles, but I let it know I wasn't afraid of it. I just wish I could teach JBean that she has nothing to fear. If nothing else, mama is there. And she knows I will protect her, no matter what. That's what Mama does. I will kick ass and ask questions later. And if that dog bites one of my children, it's War baby.

* I realize I need to say that I haven't hurt this dog, nor would I. I like all dogs...small ones for other people. I wouldn't have a small dog, but you can if you want to. Just don't let it chase my kids and bark at them. Ok? Ok!

T, who wants a big dog but doesn't want to have to walk it every day

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Oh, You're One of THOSE?!

Over the years, I have witnessed an exodus of sorts when it comes to the education of friends' children. More and more parents of children with autism and Asperger's Syndrome are choosing to homeschool. We are the well-kept dirty little secret that your school district doesn't want you to know: often our children can be better served at home than in the school system.

I would have never said such six years ago. I was a died-in-the-wool PTA, room mom, get into the system and change it, agent. But one horrific year with my son's classroom (through no fault of the teacher) and I became a true believer. I figured I couldn't do a worse job than the school, and I might even be an improvement. Besides, my son hated school, to the point I was literally dragging him there. Something had to give.

And now? I homeschool all three of my children, and this is our 5th year. Two have been diagnosed with high functioning autism, they are 7 and 10 respectively. My oldest is going on 15, and though she has never been diagnosed, she has many of the deficits of Asperger's, and is also academically gifted. Her father is a computer engineer, and is most likely also on the Spectrum. (he was never tested, but off the record, our psychologist said so) So, you do the math...

In any case, bringing my children home has worked out wonderfully for us. Homeschooling has allowed me to tailor each program according to what works for each child. My 14 yr old, who went to school for 6 years benefits from a very academic program. She enjoys the structure and it works. My middle guy, at 10, is the one I walk the line with. He isn't unschooled, but his academic structure would, at first glance, seem more relaxed. It is still very scheduled, however. But we benefit from frequent breaks, sensory diet and multisensory approaches. I can choose activities that he enjoys, and we keep work periods short and focused. He can take a break for pogo stick or OT work, as needed. My littlest one, at 7, is the one that learns best through games and Mom Time. She needs one-on-one (as does my son) that she wouldn't get in a classroom. She often has to be taught a concept repeatedly before she gets it.

My middle guy is also dyslexic, which makes it interesting, and I am thinking my littlest may be, as well.

As for socialization...which is a joke anyway... but still. We have found with regular play dates, activities and park outings, my children do just fine. There is more time for preferred subjects (my 14 year old taught herself to both play the piano and knit, because she had more time than if she was traditionally schooled.) We have more time (and funds) for field trips and activities. While other kids are sitting in a classroom, mine are out learning in the world.

There is a park day we attend and have for years. The attendance is large, with many different ages and multiple abilities. There are several kids from all ages that are on the spectrum in varying degrees. It is a very welcoming group. Truly, it was the best decision we ever made for our family.

When my son ended 1st grade, he barely read, was behind in math, his writing was still reversals (though he is left handed, so that made it worse). I would literally dress him like a doll and drag him, kicking, to the public school. He would sit under the teacher's desk, or make games. His aide was useless, only serving to keep him from eloping from the classroom. His work was all sent home. I was already homeschooling, and my son was in the school system!

He is now in the 5th grade, and reads at grade level. His math is also at grade level, or just below. He is above in Science, History, Geography. His writing and penmanship has improved 10 fold. and most importantly, he loves to learn. I have found that learning is a broad term for what we do every day. Mythbusters is learning and exploring Science. Going to the Arboretum is a chance to discuss the environment and botany, as well as the food chain. In fact, every activity has inherent learning in it...you just have to find it.

The most important thing to remember about homeschooling? It isn't something you do. It's something you live. And there really is no wrong way to do it. You can, and your child can... and if it doesn't work, keep tweaking. Also, what your state standards may find important, you may find doesn't mesh with your family. That's ok. I have found that as we go, my kids pick up information I didn't formally teach. And the one thing I want to equip my children with? The ability to find information.

The freedom I have found, as well as the free time away from IEPs, discipline meetings and just general headache is now energy I can pour into helping my son love learning. Less time is spent arguing over what the schools think he needs and more time is given to what he actually needs. We have personalized his goals, and we make sure he reaches them. There is no fighting with autism experts who insist my son is meeting goals that are either too broad, too easy or just plain wrong. I am in control. And my children are the better for it.

That, to me, is success.

T, who hopes that clears that up

Technorati: autism, homeschool, Asperger's

Maybe We Should Only Eat the Ones Without Chocolate

Tonight we had a great time baking at a friend's house. JBug drizzled chocolate on cookies and noticed the patterns looked like chromosomes. (yeah, only she would notice that) She ate part of the chocolate and said:

"I just created a mutant!"

This explains much...why our genes are so crummy? Cosmic Baker is up there messing with the chocolate! Could he have drizzled just a bit more in certain places?

T, who likes cookies, especially the drizzled ones

Two's My Limit, I'm Driving

I hear all the time from mothers who tell me about the errands they run. I think it is par for the course, part of Motherese, the Mother tongue of Mothers everywhere. We talk about bedtimes, and bathroom habits and what errands we drag our kids on. I listen in envy as a mother tells me, "We went to the bank, and then I had that thing to return to the store, and I needed a windshield wiper blade at the auto store and we got the car washed, and on the way home we stopped to get groceries!" And I always ask, because I am a glutton for punishment, "Where were the kids in all of this?" And the reply is something along the lines of, "Oh, they went with me, they looooove errands and are flexible to whatever needs to be done!" And that's when that familiar feeling wells up inside of me, and I want to laugh or cry or something between the two and can't decide which. Because? That never happens in my house. Sorry. Couldn't hear your reply over the laughing...

For as long as I can remember, or at least since I have been running errands with kids One errand is usually doable. Maybe this is part of the autism, maybe it is just the particular makeup of my kids. Two is pushing it. Three?

Core breach: Warning, Meltdown Imminent.

Sometimes, I forget this, and the results aren't pretty.

Today, after the meltdown over the Logic class with JBug but that's another story, for another time the kids had an appointment to get their hair cut. We have a wedding tomorrow and they were both due to do the hair thing. They like the hair place, so that went well. Then I had to swing by our church on the other side of town to drop something off quickly. I had also promised JBug that we would try to find her a dress for the wedding, so against my better judgment (isn't it always? This is where I go wrong...) I decided we would make a trip to the store. It's not a loud store or particularly bright, but there are lots of racks of clothes, and little kids get bored easily.

I can't accurately represent what went on at the store, except to tell you that at one point, while I was quickly checking the fit of one of JBug's prospective dresses, JBear had coerced JBean to bite herself on the arm, and then told her to bite harder, and she did! I think her middle name should be Lemming. She of course, hurt herself, started crying, was angry with him and hit him hard. This occurred while I was 20 feet away for about thirty seconds. This doesn't count the loud, loud voices that they use, which make me cringe and I can imagine people cursing me for my children.I get it... sometimes I curse me for my children!

You know the Very Quiet Cricket? My kids are more like The Extremely Noisy Pests
I had promised them smoothies if they could hold it together at the store. THAT didn't happen. So the smoothies didn't either. We came straight home, amidst the wails of JBean, who was beside herself that she missed out on the smoothie, and angry with me that I stuck to my word. Of course, driving home was a picnic; everyone loves ear-piercing, bloodcurdling screams and feet thumping against the back of the seat. We pulled into the driveway, she ran to her room and locked the door, screaming. She did come out long enough to hit me, so that was festive. I managed to talk to her about her behavior, and she may have gotten it. We'll see. She has since calmed down, and is sitting here next to me building with blocks, but I am getting too old for this rollercoaster crap. And, I have no one to blame but myself.

So...I have made the rule Hard and Fast:

Thou shalt not run more than two errands in a single driving session. Two shall be the number, and the Number shall be Two. Neither shall the number be Three. Or Four. Two is the number. Or else. I'm not kidding. Flying monkeys, I needs them?

(but that says nothing to the number of drinks I get to have once the kids are in bed!)

T, who really, really needs a break

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