A Little Math

Don’t be frightened, it’s not a quiz.

28 – average inches of snow around my house on Saturday

3 – hours it took us to clear the snow  (and by us, I mean, the husband cleared it while we played in it)

300 – feet long my sidewalk was when I stopped measuring, because it’s actually longer

2 – driveways we also had to clear

3 – houses on our street that are uninhabited and for sale.

2- houses that are uninhabited on our street that no one bothered to remove the snow

1- pot of chicken soup I made

8 – gallons of said soup in the freezer

2 – amount of doggies that love to romp in the snow

1 – amount of children living in my household that love to romp in the snow

1 – amount of seven-year-olds in my house that refuse to wear gloves and then complain when his hands are cold

2 – tunnels dug in the snow

1 – half-hearted attempt at a snowman

2 – medications given to me from the doctor yesterday for my “Upper Respiratory Infection”

2 – weeks I’ve been under the weather so far

3 – amount of people in my house that have had this particular cold

2 – boxes of tissues I’ve gone through in the two weeks I’ve been sick

12-18 – inches of snow we are supposed to receive between tonight and tomorrow

1 – age of my nephew, for whom I am babysitting today

3 – the age he thinks he is, but cannot understand why he can’t do the stuff a three-year-old can

8 – hours he’ll be here today

8 – hours I’m in love with him today

365 – days I wish I could have another child

Can We Get a Little Respect?

While I advocate heavily for my children (and NOTHING will stop this Momma Bear), I usually don’t get on my soapbox about much. I have my opinions, whether political, religious or other. I usually just politely stick to the weather and other mundane topics in polite company.  But lately?  I’m feeling a bit…riled up?  Pissed off?  Concerned? (Hormonal?) I am not sure.  One thing IS for certain.  I cannot stop thinking about a few stories in the news.

Some people think that things happen in threes. This week it has happened in fours and fives:

• A non-verbal child let on the bus. For hours. Alone.  And all she could do was sit in her seat and cry.
• And eight-year-old autistic boy killed by his mother in an attempted murder-suicide.  She lived.  He never got the chance.
• An eight-year-old  SEVERELY disabled girl dies.  She weighed fifteen pounds.  My kids were fifteen pounds at six weeks of age. You do the  math.
• A so-called scientist and champion of the biomedical autistic movement tried and found guilty of medical malpractice.  He literally used children as guinea pigs to try his treatments. While science-minded people rejoice, those searching for “cures” only push their agenda harder, vowing to do even MORE to “help” their children.

And this is just this week.  I hear stories of special kids getting left on the bus more often than you’d like to know.  Parents killing their disabled children?  Becoming more and more prevalent.  The excuse is always the same, too.  That we don’t know how hard it is to raise disabled children.  No one could possibly know how gut-wrenching and horrible it is and that they have no right to pass judgement.

Guess what?

I know. I know what it is like. I know how difficult it is. I know about the horrible moments, about sending your child into an MRI tube, drugged out of his mind. I know what it is like to take him for an EEG and watch him rip the glued leads from his head, taking hair and skin with it. I know what it is like to watch him have seizures. I know what it is like to watch him lose his words, withdraw into himself, vomit continuously from food allergies, struggle with potty training, have an inability to sleep, cry when the bus doesn’t show up because he doesn’t understand snow days, run into the street nekkid, because he doesn’t understand danger, panic when he darts off near a body of water for fear of drowning, never being able to leave him alone for a second (even when you go to the bathroom), cry when he doesn’t meet some of his developmental milestones and then sob when you realize that at the age of seven he has the functioning of a two-year-old in some areas.  And fourteen months in the other areas.

I know.

But.  I also know that there is no greater love than that of a parent for a child. I know that when they do THAT ONE THING that you’ve been waiting for, the whole world suddenly stops while you enjoy it.  I know that even though he rarely allows you to touch him, once in a while he climbs into bed with you and hugs you tight, nearly choking you, but it’s still a hug.  I know that the smile he has for you when he sees you after a long day at school.  I know that when he does sleep, although it isn’t often (and it isn’t long), the peaceful look on his little face makes it all worth it and I just want to climb in with him and wrap my arms around him and kiss his hair.

See, I know the pain. But you have to push the pain aside and work through it and do what is best for your children, no matter what.  It becomes about them. It’s all for them.  It isn’t about you anymore. Isn’t that what parenting is all about? Guess what?  Parenting a child with special needs  is no different. People think that it is so hard for us, that we need pity.  Not true. We just need respect. And we need a community that looks out for our special children, just like any other child.

The next time you see a child with special needs? Don’t stare.  Don’t avert your gaze and refuse to look.  Look at the mom, at the child.  Make eye contact. Smile.  Hold the door if they need it. Ask questions if you are curious (FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, DO NOT ASK WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY CHILD!).  But most of all, just respect us.  It isn’t hard to do.

Because respect will prevent things like the stuff up there from happening.

ETA:  You need to go HERE right now. THIS. This is what it is all about, this wonderful Momma says it perfectly. Go rejoice with her!

Dear Big, Fat Idiot

Dear Big, Fat Idiot,

I’m sorry I resorted to name-calling but it seems like it is the only way to get your attention.  See, I’m trying to think of my third-grader and how he acts and reacts and guess what? Reminds me of you!

Last year a few kids called my kid “retarded” because of his disability.  That’s a derogatory term, see.  I know Rahm used it first (and I wasn’t happy when he did it, either.  Even if he is HAWT.) and then Sarah got all, ” OH NO YOU DI’INT” because she has a child with Downs Syndrome, but your repeated use of the word?  When you KNOW it is controversial?  When you KNOW it ruffles feathers?  When you KNOW it hurts people’s feelings?  Yeah, that’s called immature. It’s also called stoopid.

You repeatedly used it to tick people off. Mostly because you have a big mouth, you over-share (about everything you think, except for your private life) and you have no freaking filter.  I felt sorry for you a few weeks ago about your recent health scare. I even emphasized with you when you had your teensy little prescription pain-killer problem because I thought, “Wow.  A guy as famous as him?” Heck, I even tried listening to you from time to time, not because I agreed with anything you said, but because I wanted to hear what the “other side” had to say.  But you’ve just gotten more opinionated, more insulting and more ree-donk-you-luss as time has passed.

But this?  THIS DOES IT.  That’s it.  Not only are you super-right wing psycho (and I don’t mean that all righters are psycho, he just gives them a bad name, yo), you are sexist, ageist, homophobic, racist and now a disableist.  In short, you are Howard Stern NOT FUNNY.  He isn’t funny, either. But he gets away with it because he sounds intelligent.  You just sound like you are talking out of your arse.

If I were on the right (I’m not on the left, either), I’d be ashamed you call yourself one of us.  You are human (I think) and I’m ashamed to call you one of us.  You are Christian (supposedly) and I’m ashamed to call you one of us.  If I were a man, I’d be f*cking pissed off you’re giving us a bad name.

In short, you’re just a big, fat idiot.

Love, DG

Lost in Austen

I know it’s not a big secret, but I am a huge fan of Jane Austen.  I’ve read all of her books and I’ve seen just about every movie version of her stories.  Even the wretched adaptations.

I’ve seen the big-screen versions of her books, the BBC productions, the MasterpieceTheater works (COLIN FIRTH AS DARCY. DROOOOOOOOL.) and even the Bollywood versions.  Heck, there’s even a Mormon version of Pride and Prejudice (also a drooly Mr. Darcy).  MORMON.  BOLLYWOOD.  There’s something for everyone.  I even enjoyed the somewhat recent miniseries, “Lost in Austen” about a devotee that gets launched into Pride and Prejudice, messes everything up and then decides she wants to stay.  Cute and quirky.  Especially the LAKE SCENE.

Nonetheless, I find it necessary to read and watch OVER AND OVER. I don’t know what it is about these stories. I don’t know if it is her thinly veiled criticisms and social commentary or her story-telling style but I get lost in these stories. When my own life isn’t the peachy-keenest, I only need to look to Regency England and my ills disappear.  Honestly, we’ve got it so much better.  Women were so disrespected back then (unless they had money), couldn’t marry who they wanted most times (unless they had money) and often had difficult lives (unless they had money.  The required Ten Thousand Pounds a year).  If you don’t believe me, I have two words for you:  CHAMBER. POT.

I’ve read a few “sequels” and fan-inspired fiction.  Though I don’t necessarily call myself a Janeite and I don’t belong to any national chapters (yes, they do exist), I am a devotee.  Jane ain’t for everyone.  People either love or hate her stories.  Most of my friends that enjoy modern literature don’t like Jane, whereas my posse that reads historical fiction cannot get enough of her.

I have to tell you, though, as much as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice (COLIN FIRTH. LAKE SCENE IN THE MOVIE.  DROOOOOOL.) and Emma (BOOOOOO Gwyneth Paltrow version!), I am sick of them making film adaptations.  Seriously, if you are going to go through ALL OF THAT TROUBLE and rent the costumes, and hire the actors and film on location, etc, etc, why do you drastically depart from the book?  I get the concept of an adaptation, but changing MAJOR STORY LINES is just absurd.  And as much as I liked Clueless (did you know it was an adaptation of Emma?) It irks me when they change too much.

My favorite BOOK of Jane’s is Mansfield Park.   But the movie versions? Well, the 1999 version with Embeth Williams and Jonny Lee Miller (in the current Emma as Mr. Knightly) was well done but still deviated from the story quite a bit.  The 2007 version?  Dreadful.  Fanny was played by a woman who Dr. Who fans would recognize but she was dreadful in the part.  Instead of meek and mild-mannered, Billie Piper was a bleached-blonde, hippy child who ran carelessly about the manor. The only redeeming qualities of this version were Edmund (played by the same actor that plays Mr. Elton in the current Emma) and Lady Bertram (played by a Redgrave. You can’t go wrong with a Redgrave).  Otherwise.  Ew.

Yeah, I’m picky.

I’ve just started my way through Northanger Abbey.  So far, so good for this adaptation. A few changes but fairly close to the story.  If I make it through this version alive, I will watch Persuasion.  Lastly, I’ll round out my current addiction with Sense and Sensibility.  I’ve seen the Emma Thompson/Kate Winslet version and it was decent, but I’m dying to watch the 2008 miniseries.

Are you still there?  Good.

I’ve recently stumbled upon a woman who is rewriting All of the Austen Classics, slightly changing the genre (read: MAKING THEM INTO TEEN DRAMAS) and putting them out for young adults.  In modern times. As in, the Edward Cullen crowd.  Barf. Gag.  I’ll probably try to read them.

Why do they have to mess with my Jane?

Anyways, thought you should be aware of my TEENSY LITTLE Jane Austen problem.  Just sayin’.  If you need me, I’ll be dreaming in Regency England.

This Might Gross You Out

Don’t read if you have  a weak stomach.

We’ve all had colds brewing in these here parts.   I have had the runny nose/scratchy throat thing going on and this morning I woke up with my eye glued shut.  Ew.  Ever since I scratched my eyeball with a price tag from ON before Christmas, this eye has bothered me. And now that my mucus membranes have lived up to their full potential (i.e. snot) my eye is sticky and gooey and BLARGH.

But Bugaboo, he has me beat.  A faucet of snot running down his face from his nose.  He won’t/can’t blow his nose so I have to ambush him when he least expects it and wipe.  Sometimes I can hand him a tissue and instruct him to wipe but he ends up smearing it across his cheek.  And then licking it off of his lips.  And when the crusty bits start bugging him, he digs for gold.  And then his nose starts bleeding from the digging.  This is especially helpful five minutes before the bus shows up.

He has stellar hygiene, this kid (that pesky autism).  Yes, I’m being facetious

My ears are itchy this morning (I SAID ITCHY. THEY ITCH. DEAL WITH IT) and I want to jab a long, skinny thingy in there to scratch it. I know it won’t help, anymore than sticking a toothbrush down my throat to scratch the itch there. It might make me gag.  And gagging always leads to puke.  If anything, I should try it to jump-start the now nearly thirty pound weight loss I need.  And don’t tell me I look fine. I am down to two pairs of yoga pants and a pair of jeans four sizes bigger than the ones I wore last spring.

Speaking of spring, I need it. I love winter ,truly I do. I love sledding and skiing.  I love to watch the snow falling silently from the sky, love snuggling by the fire with my sweeties.  But this is enough.  What I need now is fresh air, sunshine and TIME OUTSIDE (and a can of lysol, apparently).  Or is that a TIME OUT OUTSIDE.  Whatevs. I NEED IT.

Screw you, groundhog.

Speaking of groundhog, Bug Boy woke up for his annual PLEASE OH PLEASE LET THE GROUNDHOG SEE HIS SHADOW OR ELSE I WILL BE EMOTIONALLY DISTRAUGHT AND WILL NOT FUNCTION ALL DAY Day.  Ever since that fateful day three years ago, I walk on egg shells this time of year.  As much as I am sick of winter this year, I was happy that Bug Boy could go to school and focus and be happy and not worry about the damn groundhog.  Because he saw his shadow and that means six more weeks of winter. Which means happy Bug Boy. Or so I thought.

I picked him up from school and he was a mess.  It takes him a while to be forthcoming, you see (that pesky PDD!).  After a few hours of him bouncing off the walls and driving me absolutely insane, he finally confided that he was upset because the teacher talked about the ground hog and the tradition at circle time and that she said they should just let the poor ground hog sleep.  You know, like use a fake one or something.  This was not acceptable to a child who WRITES PHIL ON HIS PAPERS ON FEBRUARY SECOND.

His name isn’t Phil.

And now his nose is stuffy.

And last night the husband started sneezing like crazy.

Which is how all of this cold nonsense started in the first place.

Late Night (Early Morning) Thoughts

I never understood the expression, “Up in the middle of the night.”  See, evening is from six until midnight. That’s a six-hour span. The middle of the night would be nine o’clock.  Most of us aren’t even in bed yet.  Therefore, if you are “up in the middle of the night” you are technically up in the wee hours of the morning. Like, early morning.  When people say early morning and they mean seven or eight they are wrong.  Morning is from 12:01 to 11:59.   Early Morning means TWO OR THREE.

I wake up in the early morning fairly often (every night) so I have plenty of time to sort out these VERY IMPORTANT DETAILS in my head.  This is in between Thomas getting cheeky and thinking he can start and stop all by himself, the bugger.  And Gordon being Pompous and the freight cars refusing to work and Toby being lonely.  And if you don’t know what I am talking about you have obviously never experienced the wonder that is THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE first hand. I feel badly for you.

Of course, sometimes I watch infomercials because he doesn’t care what is on the television and plays with a sound puzzle instead.  Old Mac Donald, over and over, it’s enough to make a grown man cry.

Infomercials can be amusing.  Did you know that:

• You CAN teach your baby to read!  Don’t bother reading books to them, just buy these VERY EXPENSIVE FLASH CARDS so they can be like that freaky kid on Parenthood! (the term for this is HOTHOUSING)
• Brainetics!  Learn athletics for your brain!  Don’t solve math problems the old-fashioned way, learn these little tricks and shortcuts instead!
• The only way to get your floors clean is if you buy this Shark/Oreck/Steam Mop/Swivel Sweeper.
• Ped Eggs make your feet smooth as a baby’s bottom. Why you’d want that is beyond me. If the Ped egg isn’t your thing, try Heel Perfect!
• Want beach ready Abs?  Then get the Ab Sculptor!  Or the Ab Flyer! Or the Ab Wedge! Or the Ab Circle!  Or the Ab Rocket (which looks like a medieval torture device).
• Abs aren’t your problem? You can be Slim in Six, Do a sixty day workout, Try the Ten Week Makeover or if you are in a really big hurry, MELT IT OFF IN FOUR DAYS!!!!
• Feeling sluggish?  Not at your healthiest?  Get a Juicer!  No, get a Fruit EMULSIFIER! No, get DUAL CLEANSE so you can poo!  Oh heck, just call Suzanne Summers.  She’s got a whole catalog.

Now, pardon me while I put on my Snuggie and change the channel.

Little Known IRS Deductions and Rules

We’ve been working on our taxes and we’re trying to maximize the deductions.  We know about medical expenses and health savings account and we were doing a little research to find out what we can deduct with a “permanently and totally disabled” child, like Bugaboo.  Right now, due to his lack of SSI (we were turned down.  Ridiculous BS.) we cannot claim that on our form.  But the more we read on the IRS site, the more we were all, “Huh?  What?  YOU CAN DO THAT?   YOU CANNOT DO THAT?”

• For example, if you have a child and it is kidnapped, the child must have been with you for at least six months of the year in order for you to claim said child on your taxes (and the child cannot have been kidnapped by a relative or parent).
• You cannot claim a stillborn child but if your child is born alive and then dies immediately, you can claim that child.
• To claim a child if you are divorced, said child must be with you for six months of the year or you must have joint/half custody of said child.  You  must also prove you provided at least half of the child’s support. If your ex, who is not custodial parent of the child, provides at least half of the child’s support, they can claim the child and you cannot.  Same goes if you were never married and the kid never lives with them but they still give you a check every month.
• Say you have your 18-year-old living with you and he knocks up his baby momma.  And marries her. They both live with you. If they don’t make any money and sit in your basement all day, eat all the food from your fridge and watch your tv, as long as they don’t make any real money, you can claim him.
• If your son and his baby momma have the baby and they make way less money than you (or none) you can claim their baby, provided you have income.
• If they have jobs for six months, move out and leave the kid behind for you to take care of, you cannot claim the kid.
• You cannot claim as a dependent a child who lives in a foreign country other than Canada or Mexico, unless the child is a U.S. citizen, U.S. resident alien, or U.S. national. There is an exception for certain adopted children who lived with you all year.
• If all of your loser brothers and sister move in with you, with their children and bring your step-relatives or half-relatives and mooch off of you for a while, you can claim them.
• If you have a permanently and totally disabled child, they are adult age, they attend a sheltered workshop and make sixty cents an hour, you cannot use that money to provide ANY support for them, or you cannot claim them.  Even if you PAY them the money that they make in that type of program.
• If your stupid eighteen-year-old college student goes out and buys a $9,000 car and then you end up paying his $6,000 tuition, you can’t claim him because he paid more than you did.
• If you live in a Midwestern State and suffer a catastrophic loss, you can claim it on your taxes.  Like, tornados and stuff.
• If you are blind, over 65 or permanently disabled and are on SSI, you get a special deduction. But if you are permanently disabled and don’t’ receive SSI, you have to spend a certain percentage of your AGI on medical or else you can’t put that down as an exemption. And naturally, we spent about $1,000 less than the qualifying amount, so we can’t get that exemption.

Is your head spinning yet?  This is why I don’t prepare taxes. There are literally pages and pages and pages and pages of this stuff. I only read through a handful of pages related to children and exemptions.  And the government wonders why people have trouble preparing their own taxes…

Tough Topics

My Not-a-Blog Grrrrrl, Well-Read Hostess, had something interesting to say.

And I have to say, I totally get where she’s coming from.

While I want Bug Boy to be well-read and well-aware of what is going on in the world, I am having a very difficult time with this loss of innocence. The years when they only thing he worried about was getting the high score in Pokémon.

The kid already has enough anxiety but I cannot shield him forever. The thing is, he worries.  A lot.  About everything.  And, given that he is “on the spectrum,”  I sometimes don’t give him credit for how well he understands and processes highly sensitive topics.

The school covers many of these topics, too.  Right now, my third-grader is reading about segregation, slavery, death and disease.  And he understands what he is reading. This is the same child who obsesses over catastrophic events.  He cannot get enough of the The Hindenburg  or Titanic.   And not because the people died (he can tell you with pleasure exactly how many, what date it occurred and the like) but because forty-odd tons of potatoes sank.  And he thinks it is a waste of food.  This is when emotional detachment is a good thing. And reading about Rosa Parks, Jim Crow Laws and MLK has brought about some interesting conversations in our house.  And sparks some interesting drawings:

It says, “Stop arresting our black babies now”

Ok, so sometimes things get lost in translation. He means well. He does understand the basics, honest.  And I know I’m a bad mom because I laughed hysterically for hours after I saw this drawing in his school bag.  Not in front of him, I swear.  But how freaking awesome is that?  I’m so proud.

We took him to his first funeral last summer and he did well. No nightmares, just innocent questions.  We explained how bodies decayed (oh, yes we did) and why Great-Grand mom looked so different in the coffin.  We told him our view on the afterlife and what some other people believe.  He grasped it quite well.  And then a few weeks later, he’d ask us questions that made us realize that he was a VERY deep thinker.  Delayed reaction or no, it stunned us when he asked about when we would die.  Not because he was going to miss us (he assured us he would) but because he wanted to make sure Bugaboo would be taken care of.  And he vowed, VOWED that Bugaboo would always have someone to take care of him. I totally bawled. I love that boy.

When the earth quake hit two weeks ago (WHAT EARTHQUAKE??  Have you been under a rock or on Tatooine?) he had some tough questions.  We looked at pictures online of bodies, burning, crushed buildings, babies crying.  He saw pictures of destruction and death.  Children forever separated from their parents.  Parents mourning their dead babies. And instead of getting depressed and crying, know what he did?  He emptied his piggy bank.  Then he asked to raid my purse for change.  Then he asked if we could collect supplies.  And every day this week he has come home collecting things for relief efforts.  He wants to help.

Our next topic?  The past treatment of persons with special needs.  He needs to understand how we’ve come a long way since Institutionalizing children like his brother for their entire lives.  And how far we still have to go.  Then?  The Holocaust.  He’s aware that something happened, he knows that the Nazi’s were bad.  But now, I need him to understand more.  I don’t want him to be desensitized.  History has a way of repeating itself and if we allow people to forget these things, it can and will happen again.   I’m  not going to let that happen in my house.

Rainy Days AND Mondays

Apparently, whomever stated that it’s ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA has never visited here.  Because it rains.  All the freaking time.

If Rainy Days and Mondays always get her down, how does she feel when it’s Rainy AND Monday at the same time?

Just sayin’.

Look kids!  Big Ben!  Parliament!  Again!  Yup, my backyard…and this is just a small sampling on what 1/2 acre looks like when it slopes DOWN from the street:

This is what my dogs are doing during this dreadful deluge:

They really aren’t amused when I take pictures of them while they are sleeping. I get this heavy sigh or grunt and the hairy eyeball, as if they’re saying, “DOOD. THIS R SERIOUS BIZNIZ.  I DREEM OF SQUIRRELZ.”

Here’s my fb haiku during my usual monday morning food shopping excursion to TJ’s:

As you were.

Dang the sideways rain

Now I am completely drenched

Even underwear

Just thought you should know.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Did anyone watch the telethon last night and see Samuel L Jackson give his little speech and think, “ENGLISH, MOTHER F*CKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT?”

Guess I was the only one.

Another Playboy Bunny is dead.  Apparently, it isn’t the glamorous life that Girls Next Door would lead you t0 believe.  Strange things are afoot at the Circle K, my friends.  Strange Things.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Apparently, Mother Nature was scorned.

They put a Burger King Bar in South Beach.  You know, so you can get a beer with your Whopper.  If they want to make some serious cash, they need to put a colonics bar next door.  South Beach is known for some serious beach bods, yo.  No one wants to see more junk in the trunk.

I R Serious DG. I seriously love man’s best friend.  But helicopter rescue?

You, too, can have eight babies at once (fourteen total) and have a delicious bikini bod!

A brutal custody battle. For a chimp.  Yes, I said A CHIMP.

There is now a such thing as an anti-energy drink.   No more need for those Friday Night Margaritas!

Finally, a way to denote sarcasm online!

Apparently, the Balloon Boy saga was for fame.  You don’t say…

Jean Simmons Died.  In honor of her, I post this:

Enjoy your weekend…