Get Your Green On: St. Patrick's Day

Image via Wikipedia

As you know, today is St. Patrick's Day. Many celebrate it by wearing green or affecting an Irish accent. But what is the origin of St. Patrick's Day, and why do we celebrate?

Believe it or not, St. Patrick's Day as we know it, is an American holiday. It was first celebrated as a solidifer between recently-emigrated Irish Roman Catholics. Back in Ireland, the population was feeling the effects of the Potato Famine In America, there were so many new Irish immigrants, other groups began to feel displaced. Discrimination and violence was common, as the backlash against the Irish continued. The first parade in honor of St. Patrick took place to bring the Irish-Americans together, to celebrate their heritage and their numbers.

Today, most Americans have forgotten the purpose of the holiday, choosing to use it as an excuse to drink as much green beer as possible or pinch those who forgot their green. But now you know why.

Here are some useful Gaelic phrases for you:

What would you like?
Cad ba mhaith leat? (cod buh woh latt?)
I am thirsty.
Ta athas tart orm (taw aw-iss tart orr-im)
I would prefer beer/whiskey
B'fhearr liom beoir, uisce beatha (byarr lum byorr, isk-ihh bah-ha)
I am very drunk
Ta me are meisce (taw/may/air/mesh-keh)
My clothes are wet
Ta mo eadie fliuch (taw muh ea-dee flee-uck)
I am unwell (sick)
Ta me tinn (taw may tin)
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!
Beannachtai na Feile Padraig
Ireland Forever!
Erin go braugh! (erin go bra)

My hovercraft is full of eels. (because you never know when you will need it)
Ta m'arthach foluaineach lan d'eascainn

Now you have all the Gaelic you need, so lift a Guinness to your health, and may ye be in Heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead!

5 great Irish movies

1. The Commitments
2. The Snapper
3. Waking Ned Devine
4. My Left Foot
5. The Matchmaker

Now it's your turn...what Irish movie is your favorite? Why?

T, who's maiden name is Irish

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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

I Came From All Around Orange County Just To Tweet With You

Orange County Meet-up #tworco

This weekend I attended my first tweetup (that's where you get together with the people who live in your area who hang out on twitter). It was at The Jazz Kitchen at Downtown Disney. I wasn't sure what to expect, and arrived a bit late to find the first table full and it sort of felt like when you were in high school and walked in to find all the cool kids sitting at the table with no room left for you. (no, that's never happened to me either). So I took a deep breath and sat at the next table, praying others would show up. I brought J with me, so at least I wasn't sitting alone. I shouldn't have worried, very shortly, both tables were full. I had a very nice time and met some great people.

from left:@godotchris(can't see)@brd78,@melaclaro,@crispydragon,@SWgeek,@fstop23, @cloud79,@ladyblackwood,@mr_o,@kameelyan,@kirstenwright,@mannyaragon,@annwillmott

same, except @colorsign on right

from left:@ladyblackwood, @mr_o; on right:@fstop23

from left:@ksablan,@ocmarisa,@danasipper,@sipperphoto; Right:phraklet (next to @phraktyl, who you can't see)@ro, @cheapcheapcheap

@markdavidson,@DrYueh,(not sure),@thevixy

not pictured:@californiagirlj

If I misssed anyone, let me know, I will edit so I get it right. It was fun, and can't wait for the next one!

T, who was going to link all those names, but it is so late now I need to go to bed

Friday the WHAT?

Today is Friday the 13th, but then you knew that. I am not particularly superstitious, but I got some bad news from a friend I really care about, and it just seems to fit the day. I am also kind of ticked off at God over it. This friend has had enough adversity lately! I can't divulge because it isn't my news to tell, but it has me really upset. Also, I would imagine she feels eaten by zombies right about now..

Seems like a good day for a rerun of my Zombies post....

...Warning, we interrupt this regularly scheduled post to bring you important news about the coming crisis:

And JoCo warns us about certain office cronies...

Zombies are everywhere! Look, they're in your House

The Army of Darkness is upon us! Oh, who will save us? Since this is a PG-13 blog, I decided to not post the really gory parts.

Look, they're all around us...even in the House of the Long Shadows (It had a good twist ending, which I loved.)

Quick, go here...learn how to defend yourself or you'll be food:

Zombie Practice

And to protect yourself from the coming Zombie Invasion, you need this shirt:

T, who wants to know who to yell at for TWO Friday the 13th in one year

THAT'S How Much I Love YOU!

Image by greggoconnell via Flickr

There have been some great comments lately on Send Chocolate, and since I really believe in the community of blogging, I wanted to be able to expand upon the discussion. So I added Comment Luv to the comments. This allows you to showcase your next post, which I think is pretty cool. So, please, take advantage of it. The only negative, if you could call it that is that now Blogger members won't have their pretty little icons showing. But, you can participate however you choose:

Guest, w/ name and no registration

Guest, include name and info, without registering

Register w/ Comment Luv which takes 5 minutes, I swear, that's all. Then you can put your picture and all sorts of stuff in.

I even enabled video comments, so let's see how that goes.

I can even allow integration with Facebook, but I am still thinking on that one.

I did this so that we can enjoy the conversation, so don't let me down! Comment. Also, this way I can get you more information if you need it.

T, who is excited about this change

The Way I See It, You Have Two Choices...

Tonight I was reading one of my favorite blogs (you can find it in my blogroll down right), Attack of the Redneck Mommy. Her post was lamenting the fact that people can be so rude when it comes to how they handle kids with special needs. Her frustration is that her son comes across as different and people don't know how to act around him. They say insensitive things. They gawk, and they generally make asses of themselves. It can be hard to explain to her older children. Especially when people are trying to be funny. I couldn't shake her post, and it started my wheels turning.

My oldest daughter is 14. One of the favorite expressions among her peers is "That's so retarded!" She has tried to explain to them why it's not acceptable, but it falls on deaf ears. Her friends don't see anything wrong with it. When I hear it, I also say something. I die a little every time I hear it. The first time my son used it, I almost had a stroke. It's not okay. The definition of retarded is an a IQ of less than 70. My children are not retarded. My kids have at least an average, possibly higher than average IQ. But my kids have autism. And I understand the lurch of a mother's heart when she opens her email to find pictures that are masquerading as humor staring at her, poised to wound her.

It's the heart I had when I saw Napoleon Dynamite. (I include a clip in case you live under a rock and never saw this awful movie). I have no idea if the title character was supposed to have had autism. I just know I squirmed uncomfortably while watching. I didn't see the humor in watching those poor socially-inept boys as we were supposed to laugh at them. It felt way too close to home. My mother's heart was breaking, and I wanted to kick somebody's butt, hard. I understand empathy while watching movies that deal with teen situations. Sure, we were all awkward at times back then, some more than others. Even the cheerleaders had bad hair days. But I drew the line at watching a film that made fun of kids who seemed oblivious to their social standing and how badly they stuck out. What could possibly make this funny? Watching how clueless they were? Glad it wasn't you? It felt cruel to sit and laugh at their behavior. Why?

Because you just can't tell by looking at someone what their normal is.

When I take my kids out, they look normal. No, really, they do. They are pretty cute, two wear braces, one is too young, but, sadly, due to her lousy gene pool and my recessed jawline (autism AND braces?) she will eventually need them, too.

Remember, I live in the land of the Beautiful People and have, upon more than one occasion, had a talent scout walk up to my family on the way through Nordstrom and invite us to an agent meeting. I am always told how adorable and well-mannered they are... and have I ever considered getting them into acting? And I think "Yeah, sure, they are well-mannered now, but wait until the 7 year old wants a drink of water, or the lights are too bright or she is just ready to go HOME. Wait until the 10 year old gets fixated on the latest whatjamacallit that he absolutely HAS to have, and can he borrow $10 (which I never loan him, but hope springs eternal.) Just wait until my 14 yr old is trying to find shoes and can't find one single, solitary pair that looks or feels right in the entire three-story mall. Wait for the meltdowns. They are coming." Or not...

Because they look just like every other fresh-scrubbed talent hopeful, the reactions when my children fall apart are always the same: surprise. Embarrassed glances, a titter here or there. Because, when the dam breaks, our cup runneth over. And the judgment is always the same, I can see it in their eyes. (And no, I am not particularly sensitive to it, but I do a bit of mind-reading, so I can tell) It MUST be the parenting!" That's right, if I would only discipline my brood, that would stop it. I can almost hear the thoughts in my head:

I mean really! How can she possibly let him go on and on about that video game? Asking over and over again? Doesn't she enforce limits? Doesn't no, mean no? It is her fault he is like that, what an absolutely disagreeable little boy, haranguing his mama like that!

What is WRONG with that little girl, she won't stop whining! She looks old enough to be patient, what is that mother teaching? And it's shameful the way that father is carrying her, rather than making her walk on her own instead of collapsing in a heap on the floor! Why, in my day...

It all comes from giving children too much power and too many choices!

(Someone actually did say that to me!)

Understand, we are often on the way out when this kind of thing starts, but it's still the same thing. Why can't you control your child?

I suppose at that point, I have a choice. I can explain to the kind strangers who really just want the best for my children that there is autism present in our family, and thank you very much for your understanding and consideration, I am dealing with it. Then I can also explain, when faced with their blank looks, that there are different levels of autism and no my children don't check out mentally or stack blocks in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, they just respond to situations with less control than most kids sometimes.

I could say that.

Or I could mentally tell them to piss off and walk away with as much pride and aplomb as I can muster.

Guess which I do more often?

T, who is tired of explaining and just not going to do it anymore

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e

What Asperger's Is Like From The Kids Who Have It

I don't usually post more than once a day, but my friend califmom found this and I HAD to share it with you. What having Asperger's is like, from the kids themselves who have it. AMAZING video.

The embedding is iffy, so if you can't see this, PLEASE go watch it here: What Asperger's Is Like

T, who watched with her teen

What Autism Really Is (not the cute textbook definition)

There's a new post up over at Sweet Schooling, about getting your child to write: how to help, along with some good resources. Check it out. Don't worry, we'll wait! AHem. Ok, on with today's post...

You've heard the textbook definition of Asperger's, "A pervasive developmental disorder ...distinguished by a pattern of symptoms rather than a single symptom. It is characterized by impairment in social interaction, by stereotyped and restricted patterns of behavior, activities and interests, and by no clinically significant delay in cognitive development or general delay in language. Intense preoccupation with a narrow subject, one-sided verbosity, restricted prosody, and physical clumsiness are typical of the condition."

but I want to tell you what it means in our life.

It means a lack of self-regulation. for my 7 year old. Going from 0-60 in intensity in about five seconds. Not being able to police herself and her reactions. Hit and/or scream first, ask questions afterwards. It means 24/7 monitoring her choices and constantly teaching her better ones. This includes teaching her to know her bodily reactions, her adrenaline levels, her anxiety.. (Incredible 5 Point Scale, How Does Your Engine Run?)

It's not being able to be patient, at all. Needing something right now. Think: toddler parenting. If the need or want is important enough to verbalize than it must be taken care of RIGHT NOW. Or else.

It's speaking in a sing-song voice, breathy, with no support from the diaphragm. Sounds very toddler.

Needing routines to go "just so" and when they fluctuate, noticing and struggling. Sunday, we didn't go to church. After church, daughter gets a donut. No church, no donut. She wanted me to drive to the donut store yesterday and get donuts. This caused no end of struggle.

Lack of spontaneous activity. She must have some sort of notice before I just spring things upon her. I always wanted to be the "fun mom" and do spur of the moment things. When my eldest was younger, I used to take her on "Pajama Runs" which was a surprise trip after lights out to dessert, in her pajamas. The youngest would never do well with that kind of diversion.

For my 10 yr old....It's asking a hundred times a day if he can play _____________ or go _______________ or buy _________. It varies, depending upon his current obsession. It can be an activity, a subject matter or a food. No matter what, it is freakin' annoying! He is like a train that is barreling down the tracks, one-minded, a machine. The only way to head it off is to switch tracks completely. As he gets older, this isn't as easy as you might think.

For my 14 yr old, it's being a perfectionist to the point of making herself sick over assignments. She doesn't pick up shades of gray, and it all must be one way, that's the only way it can be seen. There is little wiggle room in her opinion. Some would call this rigid. In fairness, as she gets older, she is becoming a little less...structured in her thinking. It still is on a daily basis. One of her favorite characters is Sheldon, on Big Bang Theory. Coincidence?

It's not only something my children must do. Navigating these waters, these sink-or-swim rapids is often my own journey. And if I am sick, or just not feeling like dealing with red is blue and green is the new black thinking?

Well, it's crazy-making.

I wish that I could say it's always fun, or enlightening. I wish I could say I was a great mom 100% of the time. But the truth is, half the time (and more some would debate) I am just blindly doing what feels right. And, on nights like tonight, when I have been fighting the after-effects of the flu, including laryngitis, I am just...

Tired.

T, who sometimes can't even get the words out to explain it...have you been there?

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And Filed Under BatShite Crazy...

just a quick post tonight, courtesy of @megfowler from twitter. She tweeted this, but I felt you had to see, too.

Just remember, no matter how much there is, there's always room for MORE crazy.

This woman needs grandkids, methinks...

T, what is the weirdest thing you ever taught your pet to do? My answer in comments...

Ok, So I Guess Reports of My Death Were Greatly Exaggerated (dammit)

Now that it has become clear that I am not dying, I must endeavor to dig us out of a week's worth of mess that comes when Mama Can't Move. (because, apparently, neither can anyone else, at least when it comes to bending over and picking up that THING that just hit the floor). Excuse me, that particular plop was my head, and it was exploding. (Did I mention my house is a wreck?)

Sadly, I am still as weak as a kitten, so I won't be doing much lifting, cleaning or yelling about the former. At least not for a bit. I am winded just going down the hall to the bathroom! So, until I recover, I will do a bit at a time. And occupy myself with other activities. Speaking of...

I took my convalescence as an opportunity to do some housekeeping. Not of the actual house, are you insane? I changed clothes and spiffed the place up. What do you think? More importantly, did you bring chocolate?

T, who figures at least the blog looks good

You can RSVP For My Funeral Here...

For four days now, I am pretty sure I have been dying. No one will tell me, but I know. It started with a high fever and body aches and has mushroomed into this cough that I am pretty sure is consumption. you can't fool me, I saw Moulin Rouge, and I know what she died from...she did a whole lot of coughing beforehand, too! So I am pretty sure that they are just humoring me, in this house. That's why they walk around on tiptoe and bow to my every whim. "Shhh! Yes, get her some orange juice, she won't be this way for long!" I know the way things work.

My youngest already has begun replacing me. When I oozed out of bed to help her into hers, something I have not been capable of doing for days, she started screeching at me:

"No, get away! I don't want you! You're a monster, you're evil! You're an alien! You're an imposter!"

Now I know I didn't look very much like myself, with flaccid, ill-kempt hair and hollow eyes, but I don't think I looked like a pod person! Of course, I am not 7. With autism. So what do I know? [this is where the picture, the one that shows me in my current state of disarray would go. I chose not to put it there. You are glad. Trust me.]

T, who hopes you will come to my funeral

Blog-What? (or Why I Will Never Be an A-List Blogger, and That and $3 Might Get You A Cup Of Coffee)

I have been percolating this post in my head for a bit what? a percolator used to be used to make coffee, the water was boiled up over the grounds...never mind, google it, loathe to write it for fear I will sound like a whiny brat. Though I am pretty sure that I am old enough not to be classified as a brat any longer. That's MRS. Bitch to you... but I have some things on my mind, and wonder if maybe others out there might have the same fears. I figure if I write it out, maybe we can lance this festering boil discuss it and be done with it.

I went to Blogher 08. It was a life-changing experience. I went with no preconceived notions. I had never met anyone there, except through Twitter and reading their blogs. And I had the best time, met women I count as lifelong friends, and learned some interesting things along the way. It was an absolute success; one of the high points of my blogging experience.

But here's the thing. I am going again this year. I am excited, and I am also afraid. Afraid it won't be the same. I know, nothing is constant except change, but when you hit a pinnacle, you want it to be the way it was. I think it is human nature. Or maybe I am just a huge wimp. I don't want to be a third wheel. And I don't want to feel out of place because I am not a hugely successful and marketable blogger.

I have been blogging for three years. I started because if I didn't write, I would explode. In the beginning, I didn't expect anyone to even read it especially not my parents..oh God, not my parents, ever but gradually, I developed a modest following, and spurred on by twitter, gained a bit of recognition. When I went to the Blogher conference, I met people who knew me, at least 140 characters of me...or my writing through my blog. But I don't make money from my blog, and the new Mommyblogger 2.0 has kind of left me in the dust.

I suppose that's my fault. I don't market myself. I have no idea what my brand is, or even if I want one. I don't contact PR or marketing firms trying to get free products. None of that is me. I just write. There is a debate going on about what it takes to be a successful blogger in the Blogosphere right now. The concern is that many of us are going to get left in the dust by a new breed of entrepeneur and marketing mamas. These are women who are savvy at self-promotion and have the time to leverage their blog. Face it, with 3 kids with autism and homeschooling, I barely have time to wipe thoroughly after using the bathroom, much less pound pavement to make myself known.

I won't lie. I wouldn't mind being on marketing panels. I would like free trips and bling to give to my loyal readers. But I wonder at what cost all of that comes. When does it become not about the writing and more about the stuff you can get for writing? I have had a few very small potatoes marketing offers. But there has been nothing that I felt would fit with my blog content. So I have turned those offers down, rather than sell out. Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge anyone else's choice to market as they see fit. We all have our own comfort level. I won't judge anyone else. I just know what feels good to me, and what I am willing to do.

Which brings me to my conundrum. Where do I fit in the blogging world? I have contented myself with the fact that I will never be an A-list blogger. Not because I think I am not good enough, I really believe I am. But there are so many out there, and only so much time for people to read. Those that get hundreds of comments for each post they write? They are a very small segment and it's not the norm. Far more people read this blog than comment. And they read yours, too... In any case, I am asking myself why I am going to Blogher this year. I certainly can't justify the expense. My "revenue stream" is a joke, and unless I am looking for a tax writeoff, it isn't going to help much at all. I went back and forth about going...but the bottom line for me is this:

whether I am an A-list blogger or not, I am a blogger. Therefore, I fit in. There will be others there that are better at what I do than I am.

But it's about the women. The women I know, the women I will meet and the women from whom I will learn. That is why I am going to Blogher. So repeat after me:

"Just for today, I am not going to get caught up in comments as currency. I am not going to look at my followers list, Facebook friends or Feedreader numbers. I am good enough, and I have a place in the Blogosphere, in whatever way I want to be there."

I started blogging because I loved it and because I wanted to help other parents dealing with an autism diagnosis and wondering what to do. I wanted to connect parents to one another, as they were flailing around and feeling stuck and alone. That is the stated purpose of this blog. Can you market it? No. Can I live with it?

A thousand times, yes.

T, who hopes you are going, too

It's the Little Things

I also have a new post on my Sweet Schoolin' blog...all about fun with genetics. Check it out when you get a chance.

I have said before how much accomplishments are treasured here, because what other parents take for granted, I just can't. Well, this is the sight that greeted me yesterday:

JBear can RIDE A BIKE! Sorry for yelling. We tried a while back, and he just wasn't getting it. And we never replaced his bike after the house fire. Guess now he needs one. The only slightly-dim spot is that the neighbor taught him. Yes, while I sat in here on my butt, on the computer, next to J, on his computer, the next door neighbor was teaching our son how to ride his nephew's bicycle. Not gonna win any Parent of the Year Awards with that one. And in my defense..I am usually out there with him, but this time I let him go out by himself. And, hey, he is riding a bike...

There won't be any stopping him now!

T, who figures now he needs a bike

Your Ten Year Mission: To Drive Your Mother To Distraction

My children are always having these conversations right out of Clerks or Big Bang Theory. The kind that make you shake your head and wonder, "What the hell was that?" I can never, ever do them justice, but they surely make me laugh.

Overheard:

JBean: This car is more advanced than Star Trek. It has automatic door locks.
JBear: The door is more advanced than your brain. You can't compare a self-sustaining spacecraft to a car.
JBean: My brain is smarter than...Star Trek..
JBear: Technically, the Enterprise is artificial intelligence, it has a personality. The episode where the Enterprise was going to be destroyed, that's where it was revealed it had an artificial intelligence..blah blah blah Ginger
JBean; No, it doesn't, it's not alive! It doesn't breathe!
JBear: Right,but that's what artificial intelligence means. It's smart, but it's not alive.It's a machine. It's artificial..(launches into a ten minute technical explanation of Artificial Intelligence..blah blah)
[pause]
JBean: Your brain isn't alive.
circle back to first statement...

at that point...I turned the music up in the car...

T, who really likes loud music, I must since I listen a lot

♫This Dude's Got a Cat On His Head♬♪

How could this be comfortable for either of them??

sung to the tune of Laurie Berkner...

T, who believes cats walk all over us, but that's ridiculous

Zombie Brains Spock, Spock Deactivates Machine ...WHAT?!

just a quick follow-up to the Big Bang Theory post, specifically the Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock game...because I found this and someone actually made it work..add zombies! Everything is better with zombies:

The diagram is a bit confusing, but if you check out the site, the rules are a bit more straight-forward. Wanted the traffic to go over there for explanation. So go here, and make sure to comment on his genius, ok?

T, who knows my son will be all over this like a lizard on spit

It All Started With a Big Bang

Lately, we have been watching Big Bang Theory from Netflix. I double-heart this show! I knew when the theme song was by the Barenaked Ladies that it was going to be irreverent, and it didn't disappoint. Big Bang Theory is about two theoretical physicists that are roommates, the hot chick who moves in across the hall, and how they and their friends relate to her. All of the scientists seem to be on the Spectrum, extremely high-functioning. It really shows them positively. I swear, I knew those guys in college! (I like to think I was the hot chick and not the geeky scientist-chick, but who am I kidding?)

From the moment they talked about playing Klingon Boggle, I was hooked. This is a funny, funny show. At one point, Leonard is getting lucky and Sheldon has no idea how to deal with the tie on the door...something he has never seen before. But here are a few quotes to whet your appetite:

"Explain to me an organizational system where a tray of flatware on a couch is valid. I'm just inferring that this is a couch, because the evidence suggests the coffee table is having a tiny garage sale."

"At least now you can retrieve the black box from the twisted smoldering wreckage that was once your fantasy of dating her and analyze the data so that you don't crash into geek mountain again."

"There wouldn't be any ass kickings if that stupid death ray had worked."

Suffice it to say, I woke my daughter up I was laughing so hard. I am pretty sure it is on Mondays at 8 p.m. on CBS...but we started with Disc 1 of Season 1...gotta love Netflix! Just one thing, it might not be suitable for your kids (though I did let JBug, at almost 15, watch it...I previewed first) so use your best judgment.

(Apparently last night the cats loved it too, because they turned on the home theatre system at full blast last night and woke everyone but me. I guess I am a pretty sound sleeper, once I actually get to bed).

T,who asks which were you, the geek or the hot chick?

Part 2: Somewhere Over The Rainbow Lies an Autism Diagnosis ( I Don't Think We're In Kansas Anymore!)

This is Part 2...did you read Part 1 first?

JBear was diagnosed with High-Functioning Autism (HFA or Asperger's, depending upon who you ask) at around the same age as JBean. In autism circles, it was considered a late diagnosis. He never received early intervention because he just came across as "quirky" in the beginning. He really wasn't struggling the way you would expect, well at least not until the first grade. Then he started running from the classroom, hiding under desks. He couldn't function in a classroom. But JBean wasn't struggling at all.

I know I sound like I am in denial, but I really am not. There were a few behaviors that I couldn't quite put my finger on...they seemed slightly..off. Yes, she could play for hours alone, making elaborate games and worlds that were hard for her to share with others. Yes, she threw horrible tantrums. But then, maybe it was just normal and I was being paranoid. This was a preventative measure...if she was affected, the concern I felt was for the future, not the present..

The doctor played with JBean, taking notes. Then she had yet another cheery young assistant play with my daughter while she observed from another room. Finally, she was ready to give us the verdict. She sat back in her chair, and pulled her glasses off, setting them on the folder in front of her. She cleared her throat. She had done this a thousand times. This was just one more speech. "Mr. and Mrs. Cruz, she began, your daughter has autism. That's my diagnosis. She will need special ed, Occupational therapy and speech." She waited, eyes fixed on us. It was our move.

I didn't know what to say. It was happening again. The room was spinning, I fought to regain control. I explained to the medical professional that I homeschooled, and we would provide private services for our daughter, if needed. She pursed her lips and looked at me steadily. "Can you provide the support she would get in special education classes? She needs to be around other kids her age. She needs a trained instructor and support staff, or you are going to have trouble on your hands. You are not equipped to deal with this. I have an autistic child, I know what I am talking about."

I tried to keep my voice from quavering. At times like these, I had such a fear of authority. "I believe we can give her what she needs. Her brother was diagnosed three years ago and is doing very well. I held her gaze. "We will always do what is right for our daughter." She pushed her chair back and refused to look at me again. She sighed. "I'll have the desk write up my recommendations, and see you again in six months." She stood to leave, shaking our hand. We had been dismissed.

Hours later, as I sat with the letter in front of me, I thought about what it would mean. Yes, I knew how to deal with this. Yes, I knew interventions: sensory diet, brushing techniques, self-control strategies. But I was already wearied thinking of going back to Square One again. Autism is exhausting. How was I going to handle this? And why did I have to? What did I do wrong that caused my children to have autism? I didn't steal. I didn't sleep around. I was a good person, and I loved God. (Sure, I knew God loved me, but at that moment, I didn't care, I was feeling sorry for myself.)

Three years before, when we sat in the psychologist's office, and, after extensive testing, received a diagnosis of High-Functioning Autism, I was relieved. It was the culmination of a long journey and the label helped me make sense of JBear's behavior. I felt something close to relief. Now it had a name.

I have three children. The youngest is the last. That night, I found out my 5 year old, my baby daughter, the one who was almost 10 weeks premature and with whom I had spent a month camped out next to in the NICU, the one I carried in a sling for months because she could not bear to be away from me, had autism. There it was, in black and white. Autistic Disorder. I felt relief when it was my son. While the rest of my family slept peacefully,I sat up and tried to make sense of yesterday. I did not want the diagnosis to color the way I saw my beautful girl. Though she was the same child as she had been earlier that morning, something had irrevocably changed. That night, the night I was forced to accept what I already knew in my heart? That night... I cried.

T, who wants to hear your experiences

Somewhere Over The Rainbow Lies an Autism Diagnosis ( I Don't Think We're In Kansas Anymore!)

This is Part 1.. the post was too long, so I split it... Will post the rest tomorrow evening...

It was 2 a.m and everyone was sleeping. I was staring at the letter, willing it to disappear. I wished like hell that I could go back in time, to yesterday. Yesterday, when I didn't know what I now knew. I wanted to go back before the appointment. before my husband and I walked into that building with the obnoxiously bright blue carpet and rainbow- muraled walls and had our world shattered, yet again.

Eight hours before, we had entered the glass building approaching the double doors of the suite, checked in with the cheery young receptionist and taken a seat in the waiting room until our name was called. I looked at my tow-headed five year old as she played with the office blocks. Surely, there was nothing wrong with her, right? I had initiated this; I had to be sure.

I took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair. I imagined I could hear the ticking from the clock on the wall. It was hard to wait. My husband squeezed my hand encouragingly. Was he as scared about this appointment as I was?.

When our name was called, we followed another cheery young assistant in techicolor-scrubs to a small room, filled with toys. An older woman entered and introduced herself as the doctor. I cannot remember what she looked like...at this point it doesn't matter. She asked us a lot of questions: did JBean play well with others? Did she have friends? Did she line things up? When did she walk? Talk? Eat? Did she sleep well? The questions continued, peppering me with the accusations that went unspoken. Could she read? Write? Count? Could she skip? What about throwing a ball? Why didn't you get intervention sooner? ...because we didn't know. Not really. Besides, doesn't autism only strike once per family? That's fair, right?

More tomorrow...

Here is part 2 in case you googled and only found this post, it continues the story

T, who found this a very hard post to write, but if it helps just one person, it was worth it

Comment For Autism --NOW

For Valentines...just in time. WHO says you don't make a difference? Go and comment on Party Planning Professor... ..it's the post I wrote. Every comment will earn a .25 donation for Autism Speaks. That's right, what you say is worth a quarter! More importantly, we gain autism awareness. So, make my Valentines Day...go do it! Now.

Thanks and love to you! T.

T, who appreciates it

For the Last Time, It's Not My Parenting

My youngest daughter was diagnosed when she was around five, I believe. We suspected she had autism, but you may have heard the saying, "If you've seen one child with autism, you've seen one child with autism." That's true. It is amazing how differently it manifests even just between the two children! We actually didn't even think she had autism, since it was so different from the way my son behaved.

My son lined things up..she does not, but she has to have things Just So. My son has pet subjects, she does not, or at least, none that are consistent. He had self-control issues when he was younger. She also has self-control issues. She is seven years old, but has a really tough time with transitions. Even when it is something she wants to do, she has a tough time moving from one activity to another. I feel that I walk on eggshells with this child, praying she doesn't melt down in front of the wrong people, and I am constantly making excuses for her behavior, and I hate doing that. But when you see a seven year old who is throwing a fit, screaming and frustrated about leaving the park, even though she is headed to her preferred-activity, ballet, what would you think? Be honest, what would you really think?

That's what I thought.

T, who is used to the judgment, and it doesn't bother me anymore

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

It's 3 a.m. I Must Be Lonely

The following exchange took place at approximately 3 a.m.:

(after watching Bones, a show about an FBI agent and a cultural anthropologist who is his partner)

Me: If Temperance Brennan and Seely Booth got married, they would be Tempie and Seely...how cute!
J: [silence]
Me: And then her name would be Temperance Booth...sounds like a place to make a confession
J:[a bit of snickering, but I am pretty sure he is rolling his eyes in the dark]
Me: and if they have a kid, they could name him Telly. You know, Telephone Booth.
J: [sigh] Can I... punch you in the head now?

For some reason, this sent me into fits of giggles...it was just so out of character for him to say... So then the poor guy, who is trying to sleep (we had just gone to bed) had to contend with me laughing so hard I had tears coming down my face...never a dull moment when you live with me.

see why he loves me?

T, who says aren't I witty?

Last night, I finally took JBug to see Twilight. She has been asking for a while, and our schedule lined up to allow it. First, we went at 10:15 p.m. which was a good time. Sunday night, all the kids are home in bed in preparation for school. Also, the city of Orange has a 10 o' clock curfew, so that meant we were alone in the theatre. Which was good, so I could talk through the movie. It was the only thing that got me through it. The director of the movie also directed Thirteen. And that's the problem. She treated all of the characters like they were angsty jr. highers. Truly, a waste. She took a decent teen lit book and destroyed it with poor casting, awful makeup and laughable acting. This Edward is not someone you would fall for. And the woodeness of Kristen Stewart really calls into doubt her ability to feel anything for him.

Sad state of affairs when the humans have more life and are more interesting than the vampires you are supposed to revere. Suffice it to say, that's two hours I won't get back.

T, who loves vampires, but not these

I am a Superbowl fan. I am not a football fan. There is a difference. I watch the Bowl for the commercials. We rate them and find it a lot of fun. Here is a link to this year's commercials, so you can share in the fun. Let's discuss in comments, shall we? Which did you love? Which did you think fell flat?

By the way, the game was decent. If you like that kind of thing...

T, who asks what was your favorite Superbowl commercial?