After the last few weeks wondering if my darling toddler had indeed been possessed by demons, we have finally landed once again in a very good place. He has abandoned his pursuits of knocking everything in reach over or running at windows with hands outstretched. Finding himself in solitary time outs until he could remain calm to the count of 5 has taken his heart out of it. What good is it to do these shocking activities if no one is going to act properly upset?
Good behavior has been abundant and so when it came time to make dinner and he wanted to watch a few videos on the computer I was very accommodating. It can be hit or miss with his communication about what he wants to watch so an amount of patience is requires from both of us.
"Rabby" he squeaks.
"Rabby? Can you point to it?" I am puzzled because we are looking at Thomas and Friends videos and I don't know of an engine with that name.
"Rabby, Rabby, Rabby!" He repeats and finally touches the character he wants to watch.
"Oh! Cranky."
"Cranky!" He smiles at me happy that I was able to figure it out.
As the video begins he sings to the music, "Dun da dah, dun da dah dah."
Perfectly he keeps the beat and then with out warning, "Eat my chicken!"
"Huh?"
"Eat my chicken! Eat my chicken!" He squawks, bouncing in his seat being very pleased with himself.
"Yeah, we are having chicken for dinner." I offer thinking maybe that was what he was going on about. Only to get a 'What the hell are you talking about' look in return. I leave it wondering where he might have picked that up and he watches another short clip this time about George the steamroller. It is only 40 seconds long and he sings along with the music waiting for his favorite part at the end. "Wooooo!" and he slides at of his chair on purpose to the last note of the music. It sounds like a sound effect that would be added when someone slips on a banana peel.
"Rabby! Rabby!" He squeaks when the George video is over.
"Cranky?" I ask
"Cranky!"
"OK, this is the last video before we eat. After this one we are all done with videos." I explain before I start it so he will know what to expect, even if he isn't happy with it.
"Dun da dah. Dun da dah dah! Eat my chicken! Eat my chicken!" Obviously I need to watch more Thomas and Friends or judging how he barely ate anything, especially not his chicken (it wasn't breaded and reformed into nugget shape, therefore unfit for consumption), I need to eat his chicken for him.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Old man grocery shopping
This an Email I recieved from a friend today. It reminded me of experiences in the store with Connor, except I could laugh about it.
An old gentleman was grocery shopping with his grandson. The toddler was crying and at times screaming at the top of his lungs.
As the old gentleman walked up and down the aisles, people could hear him speaking in a soft voice...
"We are almost done, Albert...
Try not to cry, Albert...
Life will get better, Albert..."
As he approached the checkout stand, He carefully brushed the toddler's tears from his eyes and said again, "Try not to cry, Albert...We will be home soon, Albert..."
As he was paying the cashier, the toddler continued to cry as a young woman in line behind him said, "Sir, I think it is wonderful how sweet you are being to your little Albert."
The old gentleman blinked his eyes a couple of times before saying.
"My grandson's name is John... I'm Albert."
An old gentleman was grocery shopping with his grandson. The toddler was crying and at times screaming at the top of his lungs.
As the old gentleman walked up and down the aisles, people could hear him speaking in a soft voice...
"We are almost done, Albert...
Try not to cry, Albert...
Life will get better, Albert..."
As he approached the checkout stand, He carefully brushed the toddler's tears from his eyes and said again, "Try not to cry, Albert...We will be home soon, Albert..."
As he was paying the cashier, the toddler continued to cry as a young woman in line behind him said, "Sir, I think it is wonderful how sweet you are being to your little Albert."
The old gentleman blinked his eyes a couple of times before saying.
"My grandson's name is John... I'm Albert."
Monday, February 25, 2008
Bad, bad Mama!
There had been so many things within the last week I had wanted to share and had not found the time to do so. Looking back all I can say is I have not been on my A game. I believe it had all started shortly after I made my last post on the 14th.
I answer the phone to hear...
"Mom, I've done something really stupid."
"What did you do honey?" I was really afraid to ask.
"I had a safety pin in my mouth while I was talking and swallowed it."
"How the fuck did you manage that?!" <----Bad Mama!
" I didn't mean to."
"I know sweety, I'm sorry. Was it open or closed?"
Thank goodness it was closed and after a few calls I found out we would have to wait for it to make it's grand reappearance. I did go pick her up early however because I could tell she was on the verge of tears from embarrassment.
A few days later, after I had taken the girls to school, I discover Connor has a low grade fever and can't go to school. He is tired not feeling well and will barely move from his bed when hubby answers the phone. My sister was calling to make sure we know that Melody's school is on lock down. I turn on the news to find out a girl reported seeing a male talking to two other young males in the cafeteria and he made a gesture that suggested he may have a gun.
Full panic! I want to go retrieve my daughter right now before some lunatic goes on a shooting spree! My hubby has to explain to me that lock down means I can get nowhere near the school much less get to her, even though I know this, I feel an exception should be made. I want to call her but she has very little units left on her cell. <--Bad Mama! So I decide to text her instead. I get no response. I find out later that this is the day she forgets her cell at home.
I do get information while I wait from my cousin who is a senior at the same school. He calls another of my cousins, who then calls my sister, who then calls me. They are all in their classrooms with the doors locked, lights out, and on the floor in the far corner of the room. I can only imagine how scared my baby must be and I break into fresh tears, again.
I let guilt get the best of me as I see swarms of parents wait outside the police barriers. I can't go. Hubby has went to work, Connor is sick and shouldn't be out in the cold like that. Even if he wasn't sick he is 3 1/2 and autistic, he isn't going to just stand there and behave. No there would be much running, kicking, screaming, scratching, and lying about on the ground. A police barrier isn't the place for a young child anyway. It also occurs to me that after the scene we would cause I may find myself questioned by police and the new subject of a social worker investigation.
They finally give the all clear and Hubby picks Melody up at the normal time, because some 250 parents were in front of him in line. The male seen that morning was from another school and did have a gun but had left shortly after being spotted. He was picked up by police later that day in a stolen car.
The next day I take Connor to the doctor. The trip there is a post in itself. He has a double ear infection. As we are leaving at around 10:10 Melody calls and asks "Mom, are you ready to pick me up?"
"Why do I need to pick you up right now?" I begin to feel nervous that they are having a repeat of the day before.
"They released school early because an ice storm is coming."
"I'm just leaving the Dr's office I'll be there as fast as I can."
Grace's school was nice enough to send teacher's out to the parking lot with walkie talkies to announce the name of the student when the parent showed up. Saving the kids from freezing their rears off. Melody's school however, the same one that protected her so diligently the day before, tossed the students out in to the ice and snow. I picked up one very pink, cold, annoyed teenager. Well at least she was only flash frozen.
I answer the phone to hear...
"Mom, I've done something really stupid."
"What did you do honey?" I was really afraid to ask.
"I had a safety pin in my mouth while I was talking and swallowed it."
"How the fuck did you manage that?!" <----Bad Mama!
" I didn't mean to."
"I know sweety, I'm sorry. Was it open or closed?"
Thank goodness it was closed and after a few calls I found out we would have to wait for it to make it's grand reappearance. I did go pick her up early however because I could tell she was on the verge of tears from embarrassment.
A few days later, after I had taken the girls to school, I discover Connor has a low grade fever and can't go to school. He is tired not feeling well and will barely move from his bed when hubby answers the phone. My sister was calling to make sure we know that Melody's school is on lock down. I turn on the news to find out a girl reported seeing a male talking to two other young males in the cafeteria and he made a gesture that suggested he may have a gun.
Full panic! I want to go retrieve my daughter right now before some lunatic goes on a shooting spree! My hubby has to explain to me that lock down means I can get nowhere near the school much less get to her, even though I know this, I feel an exception should be made. I want to call her but she has very little units left on her cell. <--Bad Mama! So I decide to text her instead. I get no response. I find out later that this is the day she forgets her cell at home.
I do get information while I wait from my cousin who is a senior at the same school. He calls another of my cousins, who then calls my sister, who then calls me. They are all in their classrooms with the doors locked, lights out, and on the floor in the far corner of the room. I can only imagine how scared my baby must be and I break into fresh tears, again.
I let guilt get the best of me as I see swarms of parents wait outside the police barriers. I can't go. Hubby has went to work, Connor is sick and shouldn't be out in the cold like that. Even if he wasn't sick he is 3 1/2 and autistic, he isn't going to just stand there and behave. No there would be much running, kicking, screaming, scratching, and lying about on the ground. A police barrier isn't the place for a young child anyway. It also occurs to me that after the scene we would cause I may find myself questioned by police and the new subject of a social worker investigation.
They finally give the all clear and Hubby picks Melody up at the normal time, because some 250 parents were in front of him in line. The male seen that morning was from another school and did have a gun but had left shortly after being spotted. He was picked up by police later that day in a stolen car.
The next day I take Connor to the doctor. The trip there is a post in itself. He has a double ear infection. As we are leaving at around 10:10 Melody calls and asks "Mom, are you ready to pick me up?"
"Why do I need to pick you up right now?" I begin to feel nervous that they are having a repeat of the day before.
"They released school early because an ice storm is coming."
"I'm just leaving the Dr's office I'll be there as fast as I can."
Grace's school was nice enough to send teacher's out to the parking lot with walkie talkies to announce the name of the student when the parent showed up. Saving the kids from freezing their rears off. Melody's school however, the same one that protected her so diligently the day before, tossed the students out in to the ice and snow. I picked up one very pink, cold, annoyed teenager. Well at least she was only flash frozen.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Coping with Progression
"Hey Melody!"
We had just got home from school. She was making herself a snack, when her little brother decided he was going to be social. It was a shock, she stood there slack jawed and brow furrowed until I prompted her to respond. She had suddenly become socially challenged.
"Yeah?"
"Whatcha doing?"
"Ah, making a soft pretzel. You want a bite?"
He looks down at the plate she has in her hand, reaches out and takes off with the whole thing. Stopping a few feet from her he looks at the pretzel in his hand and asks "What is it?"
"It's a pretzel." She explains.
"Pretzel!"
We are bewildered and ecstatic over this sudden development, but we also know there may be hell to pay. Every time there is progression in any form with him, there is also an adjustment period when sleep isn't great, extreme pressure is needed, more Mom-mom time is required, and a general urge to run amuck slamming and pushing on everything. This is a far sight better however than the meltdown fest that use to occur right before a major spurt of progression. For this we are grateful. However the amount of discontent usually coincides with the amount of progression. The bigger the achievement the more out of sorts.
I had thought that would be it for a little while, he made good eye contact and asked questions just to be social along with using the name of the person he was addressing. It was conversation, words spoken not to ask for something (even though he stole the pretzel). Not script or description of cars, dinosaurs, numbers, letters, or movies. This just a few days after spelling his name aloud for his aide. This was major!
However the next day he let us know he was not done. He and his sisters were playing in the basement when the urge to socialize hit again.
"Gracie. Melody. Mom-mom. I running!" He informs us as he darts here and there across the room. The girls pretend to be mimes, making it appear they are going down stairs behind the sofa. He thinks it's funny but has to ask "Where are you, Melody?" When it gets closer to bedtime and I inform him he has so many minutes before we have to go upstairs, he turns from me, starts climbing the stairs, waves his hand behind him saying "Bye bye Melody, see you later."
I have to prompt her again to respond so as to make it worth his effort. I can tell from the look on her face that while she is delighted she is wondering, as am I, how much more he can handle doing before he turns his head 360 degrees, projectile vomits pea soup, and starts speaking in tongues like the girl from The Exorcist.
We had just got home from school. She was making herself a snack, when her little brother decided he was going to be social. It was a shock, she stood there slack jawed and brow furrowed until I prompted her to respond. She had suddenly become socially challenged.
"Yeah?"
"Whatcha doing?"
"Ah, making a soft pretzel. You want a bite?"
He looks down at the plate she has in her hand, reaches out and takes off with the whole thing. Stopping a few feet from her he looks at the pretzel in his hand and asks "What is it?"
"It's a pretzel." She explains.
"Pretzel!"
We are bewildered and ecstatic over this sudden development, but we also know there may be hell to pay. Every time there is progression in any form with him, there is also an adjustment period when sleep isn't great, extreme pressure is needed, more Mom-mom time is required, and a general urge to run amuck slamming and pushing on everything. This is a far sight better however than the meltdown fest that use to occur right before a major spurt of progression. For this we are grateful. However the amount of discontent usually coincides with the amount of progression. The bigger the achievement the more out of sorts.
I had thought that would be it for a little while, he made good eye contact and asked questions just to be social along with using the name of the person he was addressing. It was conversation, words spoken not to ask for something (even though he stole the pretzel). Not script or description of cars, dinosaurs, numbers, letters, or movies. This just a few days after spelling his name aloud for his aide. This was major!
However the next day he let us know he was not done. He and his sisters were playing in the basement when the urge to socialize hit again.
"Gracie. Melody. Mom-mom. I running!" He informs us as he darts here and there across the room. The girls pretend to be mimes, making it appear they are going down stairs behind the sofa. He thinks it's funny but has to ask "Where are you, Melody?" When it gets closer to bedtime and I inform him he has so many minutes before we have to go upstairs, he turns from me, starts climbing the stairs, waves his hand behind him saying "Bye bye Melody, see you later."
I have to prompt her again to respond so as to make it worth his effort. I can tell from the look on her face that while she is delighted she is wondering, as am I, how much more he can handle doing before he turns his head 360 degrees, projectile vomits pea soup, and starts speaking in tongues like the girl from The Exorcist.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Graceful equations
Once upon a time, it seems a long time ago, I was a highly intellegent youth. Or so I was told. I took my SAT's while in middle school and had colleges calling to recruit me before I ever stepped in to highschool. Yes I was quite full of myself and my brainpower. Now that I am a little older and have children that have just entered or about to enter highschool it seems to me that either I or the educational system back then was highly deluded.
The flu has picked on our household member by member starting with my husband last Friday. Connor and I are finally fever free but now my Gracie is ill and worse than that, she has been incredibly bored just hanging out in bed watching T.V. Strange as she would be perfectly happy to sit and watch T.V. if she were well. Being so bored, she ventured out into the dining room during dinner to sit with the rest of the family although she had no appetite.
She brought along paper, pencil and calculator, sat with us, and did equations. It is something I can imagine Connor doing at nauseum when he discovers what you can do with numbers. She does this for something to do often. I think she she does it for fun. I watch her amazed and proud, as well a tad ashamed that my brain is dimmer now and for the life of me could not tell you what all the numbers and signs mean.
Her older sister looks over taking a gander at what she is up to and exclaims "Oh let me see it for a sec!" She takes the paper and pencil, pausing only a few seconds to go over it all scribbles a bit more down then hands the paper back to her younger sister.
"What did you do?" Gracie asks lazily.
"I found the slope." She answers proudly.
Looking at her sister as if she was a lower life form she replies, "OMG we learned that last year!"
My mom voice had escaped me "Grace Ellen!"
"What?!" her and her father ask at the same.
"What did she do?" He asks as he wasn't listen to the first part of the conversation.
"She's a being a math snob! Gracie honey, sometimes it's not what you say but how you say it."
"I know, I know. Sorry." She offers to her sister who now has her feelings hurt.
"But Mom she's an English snob!"
Funny how they can always salvage an argument out of every conversation.
The flu has picked on our household member by member starting with my husband last Friday. Connor and I are finally fever free but now my Gracie is ill and worse than that, she has been incredibly bored just hanging out in bed watching T.V. Strange as she would be perfectly happy to sit and watch T.V. if she were well. Being so bored, she ventured out into the dining room during dinner to sit with the rest of the family although she had no appetite.
She brought along paper, pencil and calculator, sat with us, and did equations. It is something I can imagine Connor doing at nauseum when he discovers what you can do with numbers. She does this for something to do often. I think she she does it for fun. I watch her amazed and proud, as well a tad ashamed that my brain is dimmer now and for the life of me could not tell you what all the numbers and signs mean.
Her older sister looks over taking a gander at what she is up to and exclaims "Oh let me see it for a sec!" She takes the paper and pencil, pausing only a few seconds to go over it all scribbles a bit more down then hands the paper back to her younger sister.
"What did you do?" Gracie asks lazily.
"I found the slope." She answers proudly.
Looking at her sister as if she was a lower life form she replies, "OMG we learned that last year!"
My mom voice had escaped me "Grace Ellen!"
"What?!" her and her father ask at the same.
"What did she do?" He asks as he wasn't listen to the first part of the conversation.
"She's a being a math snob! Gracie honey, sometimes it's not what you say but how you say it."
"I know, I know. Sorry." She offers to her sister who now has her feelings hurt.
"But Mom she's an English snob!"
Funny how they can always salvage an argument out of every conversation.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Primative man and the mullet
Like many, my son is protective over parts of his body. Mainly his head. He can stand for hands to touch it and even being massaged with finger tips, for a limited amount of time. The problems occur with the presence of tools. Same with his hands or fingers, again touching is fine if not in a restrictive or forceful manner, until the appearance of tools.
I do manage to keep his nails trim and clean for the most part, because I get one maybe two a night before bed when he is calm and attempts of escape are not as effective. His hair however is a different story. With both of these problems I have been told "Do it in his sleep." The problem with this is I always hit the spot on the floor that squeaks and causes him to arouse from a deep sleep. If I miss the spot and reach him it is only momentary. The feel of touch during sleep causing him to slightly open his eyes to check out his surroundings to make sure all is well. I am sure I could not find many people to say they would be fine with dozing back off to dreamland after awakening to find your mother towering over you, scissors in hand.
Assuming I do get in and get a snip in here or there and beside the fact I am wary of having scissors near my sons head at the wee hours of night, if I start at the top/front do I just pray mullets temporarily come back in style? We are in Kentucky it may play off. If I can start in the back does that make things much better? A tellum? Then there is always the Victor/Victoria option, where I am able to only get half of his head. Also what about the hair that does get cut off. How to keep it from him and his bed so the rest of the night isn't followed by tears and meltdown due to itching.
I have seen a few boys with long hair that look just fine, but then again being able to brush or comb the hair does help to keep that grizzly appearance at bay. No it seems the answer may be to slowly desensitize (it that a word? if it is, is it possible?).
The OT suggests that I continue touching his head as often as possible to get him to realise all is well. Letting him hold the clippers while on and covered to protect. Going to a barber shop and explain the we need to visit a few times to watch and then make an attempt. Make sure that he is given a thorough bath after to make sure no hair is on him and make it a pleasant experience.
Those OT folks make things sound so obvious and simple don't they? Wish us luck!
I do manage to keep his nails trim and clean for the most part, because I get one maybe two a night before bed when he is calm and attempts of escape are not as effective. His hair however is a different story. With both of these problems I have been told "Do it in his sleep." The problem with this is I always hit the spot on the floor that squeaks and causes him to arouse from a deep sleep. If I miss the spot and reach him it is only momentary. The feel of touch during sleep causing him to slightly open his eyes to check out his surroundings to make sure all is well. I am sure I could not find many people to say they would be fine with dozing back off to dreamland after awakening to find your mother towering over you, scissors in hand.
Assuming I do get in and get a snip in here or there and beside the fact I am wary of having scissors near my sons head at the wee hours of night, if I start at the top/front do I just pray mullets temporarily come back in style? We are in Kentucky it may play off. If I can start in the back does that make things much better? A tellum? Then there is always the Victor/Victoria option, where I am able to only get half of his head. Also what about the hair that does get cut off. How to keep it from him and his bed so the rest of the night isn't followed by tears and meltdown due to itching.
I have seen a few boys with long hair that look just fine, but then again being able to brush or comb the hair does help to keep that grizzly appearance at bay. No it seems the answer may be to slowly desensitize (it that a word? if it is, is it possible?).
The OT suggests that I continue touching his head as often as possible to get him to realise all is well. Letting him hold the clippers while on and covered to protect. Going to a barber shop and explain the we need to visit a few times to watch and then make an attempt. Make sure that he is given a thorough bath after to make sure no hair is on him and make it a pleasant experience.
Those OT folks make things sound so obvious and simple don't they? Wish us luck!
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