Things I Said To My Kids This Week (It's Monday)

1. We will NOT be hitting people with hammers today, even Thor's hammer. Put that down.

2. Please stop wolf whistling at strangers.

3. Put the Sharpies down now.

4. Boys, put my lipstick away and stop leaving lipstick kisses on my stuff.

5. Do not eat raw hamburger. I'm not taking anyone to the ER today.

6. It's freezing and raining outside, so no, you cannot go out in your underpants. At least put some socks on.

7. Please do not feed egg shells/M&Ms/your dinner/puzzle pieces/gum/dirt/sticks/rocks/Legos/my lipstick to the dog.

8. Please put my credit card back in my purse. We're not ordering life-sized Angry Bird robots from Amazon.

9. Put the Sharpies down now.

10. Please stop chasing that. It's a rat, and if you catch it, it will not be our new pet.

11. No, you cannot try my medication.

12. No, taking your brother's medication when you don't need it will not give you any special powers. So don't even think about it.

13. Stop making Lego voodoo dolls of your brother and then decapitating them. It's just rude.

14. Put the Sharpies down now.

15. Give me back my car keys. I know you think you can, but you're really not ready to drive. Even with the dog's help.

16. Please don't throw things off the highway overpass. I don't want to get arrested.

17. You were not adopted, so please stop telling people you were.

18. Please stop shrieking nonsense words at the top of your lungs into the wall. We like our neighbors, and I don't want them calling the cops.

19. You cannot wear my bra outside as part of your superhero costume.

20. Put down the butcher knife.

21. Stop telling people how much I weigh.

22. Stop telling people how old I am, and that you think I look way older.

23. Stop jiggling my wobbly bits and then shrieking with laughter. You guys are the ones that put them there in the first place.

24. The next person who screams will be... You know what? Just stop with the screaming.

25. Please don't throw armfuls of underwear at the neighbors. I know they're clean, but it's just weird.

26. Wow. You guys are the best kids ever, and I'm really glad you're mine.

27. Please stop drawing on yourself/the dog/the table/my things/your brothers' stuff with that Sharpie.

Free Tokens!

* UPDATED (See below.)

Sometime last night, Doodle Bug had a bad dream. He came scooting into our room, the sound of the door slamming into the wall dragging the Doctor and I halfway to consciousness. Doodle whispered something about Chuck E. Cheese and mosquitoes and teddy bears, and asked to get in bed with us.

As usual, the Doctor and I both opened our mouths and two different answers came out. He said, "Sure, go climb up on your mom's side." and I said, "Absolutely not, go back to your own bed."

Two hours later, I got tired of Doodle smacking me in the face with his elbows and snuffling in my hair, so I poked him in the ribs, and told him to go back to his own bed. I don't think he was actually awake, because he did it. If he'd been awake, he would've talked me into sleeping in his bed while he stayed in mine, and then I'd somehow be bringing him breffy in bed on a tray. Someday, that kid's going to end up in a job where he talks people into doing stuff they don't want to do.

I asked him about the dream this morning, and here is what he told me:

"In my dream, I was at Chuck E. Cheese, and I ran out of tokens, so I went to the counter to ask for more. When I did, they started falling on the ground, but they came out of the ceiling. I looked up and there was a big hole in the ceiling and these teddy bear mosquitoes where flying up there, throwing tokens at me! It was terrible!"

I told him that it couldn't really have been all that bad. Teddy bears are cuddly and fun, after all.

He looked at me like I was nuts (a look I get frequently around here). "Didn't I tell you about the flying mosquito part?"

To which I pointed out that of course they were flying. That's how they get around. Also, they were handing out free tokens.

Again with the look, but then he muttered something under his breath about throwing them at me really hard, and walked off down the hall.

So today, I made him this collage. Because that's just the kind of mom I am.



* UPDATE: I showed Doodle Bug my artwork when he got home from school, and I got that special look. Again. Then he wandered around the house for the next two hours holding the paper, and asking, "But, why would you do this?" over and over again. I think that means he liked it.

Gratuitous Poodle Pic

Sometimes, all you need is a little poodle.


And sometimes, you need a big one.

Today is the first day...

... of the rest of our lives. That's such a common, overused statement. It's kind of a 'duh' sort of statement; it doesn't even really mean anything. I'm sure the very first person to ever say it felt immensely clever and superior, but it's a tired set of words. Except that today, it works. It really does feel like the first day of the rest of our lives.

Today is the day that Tater Tot passed her dairy challenge. Actually, it's the second day that she passed her dairy challenge, but the first day involved a lot of snot, bickering, clumpy hershey's powder in warm milk, and one of the most idiotic movies I've seen in about a fortnight that I now cannot get out of my head, so we're gonna skip over that part.

Personally, I think saying that she passed a dairy challenge sounds like she was mud wrestling lactating cattle, or that she was crowned Queen of the Milk Maids (which at this point in her life is about as likely as her eating a ketchup popsicle and not looking like the zombie apocalypse hit. {FYI - she would actually eat a ketchup popsicle. I know this because she asked me for one once, and was shocked to learn they don't exist, and insisted I make one for her. I'm still a little traumatized, and don't want to talk about it anymore.}) In reality, passing a food challenge is way more colossal. After a lifetime (Tater Tot's) of being deathly allergic to eggsdairywheatsoypeanut, she's finally outgrown all but the peanut. This is a huge, ginormous deal, folks.

I am so used to shopping, planning, ordering, substituting, pacifying, and dealing with food allergy stuff that I'm a little stunned to only have one simple restriction now. And by simple, I mean she still has the one allergy that can kill her if she looks at it wonky, but still way more manageable than the deadly five of yesterday, especially if those mangy little fluffy-tailed rat wannabes would stop lobbing peanut shells into our yard.

Earlier in the day, Tater was feeling decidedly underwhelmed about the whole deal. To her, it's just been a big, fat list of no-no foods that she hasn't dwelt on much. As the day has progressed, she's been seeing the milky bright light of possibility. Tonight, we made a list of things she can now have, and though it's long, it's only the tip of the iceberg.

Here's a condensed version of things she wants to try tomorrow:

yogurt (the orange dreamsicle kind her brothers fight over)
pizza
donuts
those round candies the boys fight over (we finally figured out she meant M&Ms)
ding-dongs
Baskin Robbins
Doritos
carmel sauce
chocolate milk
strawberry milk
milkshakes
Twix
string cheese

That's what she wants for breffy. I see an industrial size bottle of Tums on her lunch list.


I keep thinking of things that she'll get to do for the very first time: eat an ice cream cone at the food court, have cupcakes at birthday parties, try a root beer float. The only thing more thrilling than getting to let dairy back into our lives is the fact that she can tell me all about her new discoveries. As fun as it is to watch a baby try new things, it's immensely more fun to hear about it from a chatty young foodie.

There is one small fly in the milk. When I tucked her in tonight, she hugged me and whispered, "Mom, the most exciting part of all is that now I can have a pet cow!"

You've negected the house. Again.

I'm not the best housekeeper. I'll own it. I'm bad at it, I have other things I'd rather be doing, and it's generally at the bottom of my endless To Do list. But, not everyone has the clarity that I have attained in this arena. There are some people out there who don't know if they're good housekeepers or not. It can be hard to tell.

Take dusting, for instance. Do you have to dust regularly to be considered a good housekeeper? Once a week? Once a month? Once a year?!

How can I tell if I am a slob, or a model home maintainer, you may be asking. Don't panic! I've got you covered. I've come up with this handy list for you!

(See, this is the kind of thing you can spend your time doing if you aren't bogged down, worrying about keeping your living conditions sanitary!)

So, here it is. The first, official, Have I Been Neglecting the House Again? quiz. I think the results will be self-explanatory. Please to enjoy...

1. Are the kids are trying to drink out of bowls because there are no clean cups?

2. Are the kids are trying to drink off of plates because there are no clean cups or bowls?

3. Is finding clean clothes a twenty minute game of needle in the haystack in the massive pile of laundry on the floor?

4. Do you have to keep washing the same load of laundry over and over because you keep forgetting it's in the washing machine, and it's gone sour?

5. Have you ever moved stuff off the coffee table and discovered a library book that was due a year and a half ago?

6. You can't find the vacuum cleaner, and think you may have left it behind when you moved. Last year. True or false?

7. Does the stack of papers on your desk contains artwork by your preschooler? Is that preschooler a fifth grader now?

8. When you finally reach the clothes at the bottom of the laundry hamper, are they so crumpled and icky that you don't recognize them?

9. When you do recognize them, are they several sizes too small? For the kids, and for you?

10. Have your kids unintentionally started new fashion trends by wearing completely mismatched socks everyday, or by patching together bizarre outfits from whatever they can find?

11. You find a bowl of bananas on the counter in the kitchen, and when you lift out the bananas, you discover the bottom half of the bowl is filled with a particularly odoriferous concoction of banana liquor, but without the tiny festive umbrella. True or false?

12. The kids wrote their names and the date in the dust on the TV cabinet, and the date ends with 09. True or false?

13. Do your kids enjoy fun games like What's the oldest thing you can find in the fridge and pantry? Is the winning find older than your second grader?

14. Do your offspring frequently wear Halloween costumes, bathrobes or their father's clothes because they can't find anything else to wear? Do you?





If you've answered positively to any of the above, CONGRATULATIONS!!! You can now join me in the winner's clubhouse. It's kind of a mess though. Watch where you step, and don't sit on that pile of laundry on the couch; the dog has gone missing again.

Summer Vacation Haiku

Loads of stuff brought home
bickering, bored, way too loud
When will summer end?

An Early Taste

The end of the school year is approaching way too quickly, and finding time to write has been a lost cause these last few weeks. I have been neglecting just about everything around the house, but there are a few things that have been getting along just fine without my interference.

In spite of my announcement that I was not going to plant anything this year (too much work, not enough space, not enough direct sunlight), I have still managed to fill large sections of the backyard with pots and planters.

So here is a pictorial tour of things that get along just fine, without any help from me, thank you very much.

A lovely little heuchera that I have carted from one house to the next. She blooms the tiniest, sweetest little white flowers on wispy little stalks. My beach rock collection got a little too overwhelming for the house, so now there are piles around the patio.

All ready and waiting for the sun.

An offspring heuchera of the original that jumped into a neighboring strawberry pot (see the green baby berries?!) We have one-hundred and fifty strawberry plants throughout the yard in various planters, and I still only manage to get one or two berries every summer. You have to get up awfully early to beat the pint-sized berry pickers at our house.

Bright, cheerful primary color plastic pots for $3 - $5 from Walmart. They're filled with herbs, squash, a tomato plant, and assorted beans.

A recycled kid toy. Used to be a play sink; now it's the home of an army of salad greens.

Peas. Lovely, pretty Peas.

I love watching bean and pea plants grow, especially the little curling, grasping tendrils that cling to everything.

As much as I enjoy the peas, I almost like the delicate, colorful flowers more.

And last, but not least, a couple of photos just for fun. I love rust. Actually, I hate rust. It means something is about to fall apart, but I do love the way it looks. So many subtle color variations and it just looks downright pretty to me. So I guess I should say I love to photograph rust. I still hate it when it's on my stuff.

This is a photo I took while out camping with a friend and our kiddos that I get to have displayed in the city art museum for an exhibition. These scruffy deer were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. Neither of us moved for some time. I think it was like a game of chicken. They were waiting for me to move, and that sure wasn't gonna happen. So while we dared each other with our eyes to make a move, I got quite a few lovely photos.

The Things We Fight About

In our family, we bicker a lot. And, fight. And, we sometimes argue. It can get pretty silly sometimes. Like the time the boys got into a heated discussion about who moves around more in his sleep. Or the time when all three kids wound up in a cartoonish pile of flailing arms, legs and heads over who should get the last brownie. (I ate it while they were fighting.)

Lately though, I've noticed that there is one particular topic that seems to come up more than any other.

The single biggest item of contention in our house is... Wait for it...

Books.

I know, what could possible be so earth shatteringly, argument-inducing about books? Well, we're a family of bibliophiles. We all read avidly, and now that all five of us are reading. it's gotten a little competitive. We argue over who gets to read a book first, and who has to wait. We fight over who gets to reread the book first, and who gets to have the book next to their bed so they can read first thing in the morning. We have to renew books online, because everyone wants to read the good ones again. We all have multiple books going at once, and we overlap reading a lot, just to make it all good and confusing.


I love that we all love books so much. And, I'm thrilled that we're all readers now. We've got to come up with some sort of Book Treaty though. Rules of conduct and engagement. Stuff like:

1. Thou shalt not grab books out of another reader's hands, regardless of whether or not that reader is taunting you with said book.
   
2. Thou shalt not dog ear the pages, or remove another reader's bookmark, or try to remove pages of particular interest from the book (that last one's for Tater Tot).
   
3. Thou shalt return books to the school library shelf, public library basket, or the shelf from whence it came when finished.
   
4. Thou shalt NOT leave books in the bathtub, the laundry hamper or in the farthest, ickiest back corner under a bed.
5. Thou shalt not hide favorite books in obscure locations and then attempt to charge "finding fees" when asked to locate them.

You see where I'm going here. Maybe writing up The Book Rules will be my weekend project. Right after I finish this great book I'm reading.

The Egg Came Second

This has been a really exciting week around our house. For the first time in five years, eating eggs is not a potentially dangerous activity that results in quarantines and hazmat clean-up gear. Tater Tot spent five hours cooped (chicken pun) up in a tiny 7x7 foot room at the allergy clinic on Monday, and emerged triumphant: an Egg Eater.



Tater Tot was diagnosed with food allergies at the ripe old age of six months. We walked into the allergy clinic that day with plans to stop at McDonald's on the way home, but when we left, we drove straight home instead. She had tested positive for Peanut, Egg, Dairy, Wheat and Soy. I had no idea what we could eat, and I was terrified that even one more allergen-riddled meal from McD's would put Tater back in the hospital again.

It took me a long time to figure out the whole allergy elimination diet thing. Since I was nursing her, I got to cut out all those foods as well. I have to admit that cutting all foods containing those ingredients is the most successful diet I've ever encountered. I dropped weight like a ton of bricks. I was also ravenously hungry for almost a year until I weaned her. She eventually outgrew the wheat and soy, but she was still fairly young when she did, so it wasn't that big a deal in her eyes.





This is different.

She's been watching her brothers enjoy eggs for a long time. She's seen the difference that eggs make when I make Puff Pancakes for the guys. She gets a non-egg version we've dubbed Anti-Puff, and it's as flat and heavy as can be. She's missed out on treats at birthday parties because they contained eggs. Easter was my nemesis.

At the clinic, the eggs I brought for her food challenge were cold and she had to get a lot of them down. It took her a while to figure out how to chew and swallow them. She's never experienced anything quite like them, she told me. "They're kind of like gum," she informed us at the clinic. She wasn't too sure what all the fuss was about.

Now, a few days later, she's become totally obsessed. Every time I turn around, she's either asking for eggs to eat, holding eggs, telling someone else about eggs, or, as I caught her doing this morning, kissing eggs and talking to them in the sing-song voice she uses on dolls and babies.

Imagine if you were suddenly allowed to have something that everyone else has had for years. Since you've never been allowed to have it, you don't know anything about it. Wouldn't you become a little preoccupied?


We spent yesterday at the grocery store walking through the aisles looking for things that she can have now. Meringues, brownies, egg noodles, egg rolls, deviled eggs, mayonnaise, chicken salad, macaroons. It was the most fun I've had grocery shopping in ages.

I am fielding questions about eggs that have never even crossed my mind. For example:

Can you heat one up in the microwave?
Do you eat the shell? Ever? Why not?
Why is the yolk yellow?
Can the yolk be any other colors?
Could the white be other colors?
Would you still call it the white if it wasn't white?
Why is it called the white anyway?
Why is it called a yolk?
Why is the yolk always in the middle when you boil it?
How many different ways can you cook one?
Why does it make Puff Pancakes puff up?
Why do we have to cook them?
What's salmonella?
Was there a chick in here?
Why is the yolk crumbly and not the white?

The list goes on and on and on and on...

This morning, I taught her how to peel a boiled egg. You'd have thought I invented the sun, moon and stars. She was that thrilled. We now have a rather large pile of peeled, boiled eggs in the fridge. She keeps cracking the door open to peek in at them. I never thought I'd enjoy eggs quite so much.

And, I don't even like eggs. I don't think I'll tell her that yet.

Theology of a five year-old

A Guest Post by Tater Tot

So the only one that can never die is God, but really, even He can die. You know how he did that Ohhh! I died! Oh wait, I'm back now! thing. So really, even God dies sometimes. Well, his body can. When his body is Jesus. Actually, no one's spirit dies. Ever. The bodies die and then the spirit parts just all run around. They go visit places.

Wait! Then what's with mummies?

Oh yeah, those are just our bodies when they rise from the dead. It doesn't happen very often, but every now and then... LOOK OUT!

(That could've been a mummy behind you!)

Oh, and zombies. Those happen sometimes, too. But only when God says they can.

It's going to be really interesting at the end of the world when all those spirits stop wandering around and all those bodies pop up and start running around!

The Window Washers

Today on the way home from dropping the boys off at school, Tater Tot and I spotted some window washers dangling off the side of one of the high-rise towers downtown. They were scrubbing away, supported only by a thin rope attached to a harness, about a hundred feet above the busy street we were on.

We watched them for a minute and I wondered out loud if they ever felt scared up there. Tater Tot actually snorted. "Mom, of course not! They're grown-ups!"

I looked down at her little preschooler self. "Tater, grown-ups get scared sometimes too, ya know."

She looked at me with that long-suffering expression she gets when she thinks I'm being dense. "Mom, grown-ups aren't afraid of the foot, Coraline, creepy piano music, or the emperor. Soooo, if they aren't afraid of those things, then they aren't afraid of anything."

Just to bring you up to speed, the foot would be from the fake scary movie from Diary of a Wimpy Kid:Rodrick Rules. Coraline would be a truly creepy movie that even I, a card carrying grown-up, thinks is scary. And last but not least, Emperor Palpatine, from Star Wars.

I love that she believes that the only truly scary things in this world are pretend and easily tucked away in a box or put away with the piano. Because being a grown-up is scary. And, in too short a time, she'll come to understand that herself.

But in the meantime, there's something comforting in knowing that she feels she has nothing bigger to fear than a cartoon character, her brother playing creepy music on the piano, and a fake foot.

Procrastination Haiku

Haven't blogged in days
Too many things to get done
Why'd I start that book?

Take a Deep Breath

Things at our house can get a little dicey sometimes. Anytime you have five people living in close proximity, there's bound to be some um, words exchanged on occasion. Add Autism Spectrum Disorders to the mix, and things can get downright explosive. Big Guy, for example, has very particular ideas about life, and how it should be lived. Not just his life, everyone's life. And, you can guess how well his ideas go over with the siblings.

Today, was one of those Armageddon days. Dr. J, as we are all now calling my newly doctorially anointed hubby, bought the kids the biggest, coolest, most pieces to be potentially stepped on Lego set he could find at the store. It was a "hey, I'm done with my 6+ years of 24/7 schooling and now we can have some FUN" purchase, as well as a way to thank the kids for being so patient.

The upside of this gift is that it's totally awesome and the kids all loved it.


The down side the kids all loved it and had different ideas for what to do with it. Tater Tot and Doodle Bug are from the touchy-feely school of thought: "Let's crack this baby open and PLAY!" Big Guy, on the other hand, likes to build Lego masterpieces and then display them on a shelf. A very high shelf, out of reach of everyone.

The actual building part went really well. The three of them came up with a way to divvy up the building, and they finished in no time. Then, it all fell apart. No, not the Legos. The beautiful, United Nations of respectful cooperation and sibling love. Tater Tot reached out and put one finger on the finished castle, and poor Big Guy came unraveled.

That was about four hours ago.

It's finally time for bed, so my special guy finally got the chance to set the world to rights again. He transformed from a tornado of fury into a calm, focused kiddo again. You could see the weight lifting off his shoulders as he meticulously repositioned each part of the castle and matched up the figures with the appropriate wands and accessories. When he put the last piece in place, he sighed and looked over at me.

"Mom, I can take a deep breath now. Thanks."
Me too, buddy.

The Bomb

My kids are better than any TV show.

I could sit and listen to and watch my children all day long. Well, most days. Some days I just want to hop on a plane to some tropical local.

One that doesn't allow anyone who's actually related to me who is under the age of 18.

Take today. We were riding home from church when the following conversation occurred with Big Guy. He's ten.

Me: I got dive bombed by a duck yesterday!!

BG: Did it poop on you?

Me: No.

BG: Darn!

Me: WHAT?!

BG: Uh, I mean Yeah! Sorry about that. I almost always say darn when you say the word 'no' to me. It's kind of a reflex reaction. You probably shouldn't say no to me so much.

Me: ...

This is when Tater Tot piped up with: I didn't know they have time-outs at church, too. Did you know that? Uh, I mean, not that I know they do. Have time-outs at church. I don't know it at all.

I wonder what airfare to the Caribbean is running this time of year.

Life is Scratchy

This week was, quite literally, a life of scratch. Poor Tater Tot picked up a towel that had been on the ground outside of our house, and spent the day in the ER as a result. I get so many askance looks and raised eyebrows when I mention that my kid has a peanut allergy, and I do get that. There are people out there who say "allergy" when it's not. But I think touching microscopic peanut shell molecules and ending up in the ER on loads of drugs to keep your airways from closing qualifies you for the allergy label.

As usual, she came away from it all recovered and more happy than not. After all, she got to sit in a mechanical bed, watching cartoons while the nurses catered to her every culinary whim for hours on end. I however, came away feeling more shaken that usual. If we can have a reaction like that without actually ingesting the little death nuts...

Being a mom of a special kid is always challenging. One of the challenges is raising our kids so that they don't turn out to be neurotic, paranoid lunatics. (Come to think of it, isn't that the challenge of raising any kid?) With all her health challenges, I want her to be careful and thoughtful, but not have issues because of them. After this little episode though, I'm having a tough time not feeling over-protective and paranoid. Life is fragile. Being reminded of that this week, looking into her puffy, blotchy little face, I think I may turn out to be a neurotic, paranoid lunatic after all.

Fifty Years Ago...

In an attempt to get writing again, I've decided that I need to stop aiming high. In fact, I am just going to let my literary expectations join my dirty laundry and my pride down there on the floor, hidden behind the bed so I can't see them and feel guilty. This way, I can write and post and not look back. It'll be very liberating.

So in that vein, here's my blot for the day:

Did you know that the under five feet crowd live in some kind of bizarro vortex? No, not the Lego one, the food fetish one or the talking about inappropriate body parts one. I'm talking about the Time Vortex. Today, the kid posse spent the car ride to school discussing things that had happened in their past. Their distant past. Like about fifty years ago, according to Tater Tot. You know, when she was three. She's five now.

I wish I could remember stuff that happened to me fifty years ago, but I can barely remember yesterday.