The Gift of Austim

It's hard for a lot of moms to sit by and watch their babies grow up. I know I fall into that category. It's really hard for me to believe that in 4 short years Spanky will be in college. (Yes, he will! We're going on faith with that one!!)

I've been blessed with extra "time" with my youngest though. Because of his autism, he doesn't act like your typical 10-year-old. He's got the smarts and the appetite, but the personality is just starting to catch up, frankly, and the maturity level is a couple of years behind schedule. And that's just fine with me.

Most kids with autism aren't very cuddly and sweet and loving. Depending on which end of the spectrum they're on, they might not even be verbal, much less able to interact with other people. But I am blessed. FrogBoy is one of the kindest, sweetest little boys you'll ever meet.

Here's the card he made his teacher last night for Christmas. I think this shows his personality perfectly.

It says:

For Miss Thompson:

I enjoy your class. I (heart) learning. You have beautiful blonde hair, beautiful eyes, a perfect smile, pretty nail polish, and amazing glasses.

I (heart) being in your class.

Signed, Michael Fitz.

P.S. I (heart) you and Miss Disher [his other teacher] too.

Denis Leary is Stupid

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine brought to my attention that Denis Leary, a very unattractive actor, has an opinion on autism. Well of course he does...who doesn't these days?

According to Denis, "There is a huge boom in autism right now because inattentive mothers and competitive dads want an explanation for why their dumb-ass kids can't compete academically, so they throw money into the happy laps of shrinks ... to get back diagnoses that help explain away the deficiencies of their junior morons," calling such children "stupid" or "lazy" rather than autistic.

Okey dokey. I can certainly see how Denis could be confused. Clearly he has a medical degree. How did I miss that announcement?

I could really go off on Denis Leary right now. Trust me. If you know me, you realize the title of this post is FAR from my original thought...but I decided I wanted people to keep reading if they clicked on the blog to begin with.

So let me just point out what is obvious to me. Denis Leary certainly does not know the heartbreak that comes from being told there is something wrong with your child. Even when you already knew. Especially when you already knew. He also probably can't fathom how you could not only continue to love that child, but to actually love that child more because of their disability, and celebrate every single milestone - large and small - with them, for them, because of them.

My child has autism. He's not stupid or lazy. He actually made all Bs (with one C in science) on his last report card. And he's consistently done that since being diagnosed with autism. I guess we forgot to tell him he had a free pass to underperform.

Is he quirky? You bet. Does he exhaust us mentally, physically, emotionally? Sometimes. But more often than not, he makes my heart soar, he makes me laugh, he makes me proud of all of his accomplishments, and he makes me grateful to a God that would entrust his well-being to me.

Before he was diagnosed, I wasn't as ignorant as Denis Leary, but I was pretty close. My beliefs on autism cented around Rain Man. Holy crap, I couldn't handle that. Thank God my children were perfect. Well guess what? They aren't...and I can.

I've always had a firm belief that Michael doesn't get to use autism as an excuse for anything. He actually doesn't even know he has the diagnosis...and I'm fine with keeping it that way. He realizes he gets some special treatment at school, like getting taken out of class for certain tests and getting copies of someone's notes so he doesn't hold the whole class up while he writes every letter perfectly, but if he forgets to do his homework (or simply chooses not to), I send his teacher an email and remind her that he deserves detention...just like anyone else.

He's not stupid. And he doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Can Denis Leary say the same?

Economic Stupidity

The title of this post sounds like I'm going to make some profound comments...do not fear...I will be as far from profound as possible (as usual). This is just something I cannot pass up commenting on.

Last night, the Smurf and I decided to do a little shopping. She needed to go to Sam's, and I thought I'd go along for fun (and drive - convertibles make you think road trips are ALWAYS a good idea!). We added in a couple of fun stops...the thrift store (fun for her, not me, although I actually found a couple of good things for FrogBoy) and the bookstore (fun for me and not her).

In between a couple of our stops, we decided to eat. I had a coupon. (Pay attention...we're not spending money here). So we go to this restaurant at 4:30 and the place is packed. Nowhere to park. At all. When we finally got inside, it was completely empty. Except the bar. Happy Hour. Who knew there were so many drinkers in Charleston? But I digress.

We sit down and order. Now we had a plan before we even decided to go to this particular restaurant, and we stuck with it. We each got a sandwich, and I had a buy-one-get-one-free (BOGO) coupon, good up to $16 off the entire order. Sandwiches are $8, so we each were squeaking by for $4. Good plan.

Like I said, we order. And our waiter, who I will admit was a decent looking man, starts flirting. Seriously. With a 65-old-Smurf and ME. He's calling us "m'lady" and flashing these grins that would stop a train and stopping by just to say "hi" and telling us stories about his mama - I was surprised he didn't squeeze into the booth with us.

Our dinner ended up costing $8.54.

Fast forward and we're running errands. It's the bookstore and I'm feeling particularly impatient so I ask for help. If you know me, you realize how rare this is. The guy in the store practically becomes my personal shopper. Then he follows me around until I'm ready to pay so he can help me check out. It's starting to get weird.

Final straw: Wal-Mart. I get my stuff and head for check-out. This is the North Chuck Wal-Mart by Sam's, where they have 237 lines but only 4 are open at any given time. So I waited. And waited. And when I finally reached the front, the rather nerdy check-out guy says, "Hey, you're looking awfully good tonight. How are you? You come here often?" (Okay, #1, I know I look good to YOU, and #2, yes, he seriously asked if I come here often...to Wal-Mart).

So I was polite and made a hasty retreat. And on the way to the car, all I could think was this: These guys must be trying to push their products because of the economy. Because I looked in the mirror before I left, and I have no idea what they could have been thinking.

Merry Christmiss

I love Christmas. I have stated this many, many times, all rather convincingly I'd like to think. I just liked it better back in the day, when we celebrated it in DECEMBER.

Everywhere I look, I see Christmas decorations. This year, in an amazing twist of fate, Halloween got skipped over completely (I'm okay with that) and we went straight to Christmas. At the beginning of October.

I would have written about this crazy little phenomena earlier but I was tied up with SuperHubby. Since he's moving around without his geriatric walker these days, I feel I can blog at will. And so I will.

Like I said, LOVE LOVE LOVE Christmas. I love everything it stands for. I love the decorations. I love the food. I love the family. I love the hunt for gifts, the wrapping of gifts, the giving of gifts, the opening of gifts. I love the looks on my boys faces when they open THAT ONE gift that they REALLY wanted and didn't think they'd get...every year. Awesomeness.

I've already finished my Christmas cards for this year. Now that SH is on the road to recovery, I can plan my photo shoot for the boys and mark that puppy of my list.

But I really can't take putting up the decorations this early. I realize it's the whole "the sky is falling" economy that has pushed us to this. Christmas has to be marketed as early as possible, or people might somehow forget it's coming, and not buy as much (or anything). God forbid.

Well, I think this is the year for a more scaled-back season. Back to basics, I like to think of it. Oh, my kids will get gifts...I'm not an ogre...but maybe not as many, and certainly not as costly. I'm coming up with clever, creative ways to spend the holidays without spending our rent money. And it's FUN!

Maybe it's because the weather was over 90 up until last week. I don't know. Now that it's a little chilly outside, I'm feeling a wee bit more festive. At least they haven't started playing Christmas music in the stores yet. Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer, anyone?

Aeva Fitzgerald

I am officially a great-aunt for the second time, thanks to my nephew Brian. Here he is with his precious baby girl, Aeva. She was born October 8, 2008.

Please keep Aeva and her parents, Brian and Autumn, in your prayers. She was born at a healthy weight (almost 9 pounds) but has been having difficulty breathing - seems she stops for no apparent reason. They sent her home with a monitor and have taught Brian and Autumn how to do infant CPR. Obviously this is a scary situation for them.

Obit Observations

One of the funniest bits on Friends was early in the show, before they tried too hard, when Phoebe went to visit her grandmother. Grandma had out the newspaper and the phone book. Paper was turned to the obits. When asked what she was doing, she replied, "Updating the phone book." Classic.

I'm not morbid, but I love the obituaries. I read them every day. I don't know what I find so fascinating about them, but I cannot NOT turn to that section ... before I look at anything else ... to check things out. Been doing it since I was a kid.

I don't really read them all. (As if that makes it better.) I only scan them, find the ones that seem particularly tragic, and then read those in great detail. It's like a sick little game. Read the obit and see if you can figure out how the person died.

Things have gotten better in recent years; it has become more acceptable to add a few words to make things more personal. Used to be, you got "He was born, he got married, he had kids, he died, come Friday for the funeral" and that was it. Now people add things like "She is survived by her lifelong companions Bert and Ernie, cockapoos that never left her side even while she soiled herself in her final moments." It's touching, really.

Still, when I check out the obits and something strikes me as not being old-age-death, I need details. Can't we just require people put that in the announcement? If it's a young person, or worse, a kid, I need to know. Was it a car accident? Cancer? Lice infestation? Inquiring minds want to know.

Sometimes you can figure it out. It all depends on where they ask you to make donations in lieu of flowers. If it's the American Cancer Society, you pretty much know. If it's the SPCA, either they had rabies, or they were very lonely ladies with lots of cats. Sometimes there will be an accompanying article elsewhere in the paper that spells things out in wonderful, lurid detail; but usually it takes quite a bit of detective work.

Maybe I'm the only one who feels this way. Probably so. But I think the obituaries should be more like reporting a story. It sure would make my life a lot easier.

And people could stop putting those ridiculous RIP stencils on the back windows of their cars. That would also be helpful. For future reference: That's not how I want to be remembered by my family, friends, and any strangers driving past at 80 mph on the interstate.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Life is good. I am sitting on my bed, blogging. This has been my dream for so long, and now that it has been realized, I can't even think of what to blog. All I can say is I love my IT friends!

That's My Boy!!

Everyone at work has heard the story a million times this week, but for the record, I'm very proud, and I'm going to brag on my son.

Last weekend, the boys spent Friday night with my aunt and uncle. This is nothing new; they do this all the time. The unusual thing was that at 9:00 on Saturday morning, Spanky called me. Seems he'd been thinking about going hunting with Uncle Leroy. Considering it was raining at that moment and I knew they wouldn't go if it was raining, I gave my blessing. I took him some supplies (on the off chance he got to go) and gave every indication that I was supporting my 13-year-old in his endeavor to hold a rifle. Notice I didn't say "shoot."

While we were at church Saturday, I got a voice mail from Spanky. It was raining; they weren't going; but he wanted to stay another night. Now I had a problem. That would put him out until very late on a school night. I decided to go for Awesome Mom of the Year and gave my okay.

Around 8:30 on Sunday night, I got The Call. Spanky shouted into the phone, "I got something!" Seroiusly. I said, "No you did not!" (Such an encourager) Then he said, "Yep. I got a 6 point buck!"

So here he is, his second time EVER hunting, and he manages to get a 6 point buck. I didn't think he could hit air, so this was quite impressive to me. And he's been flying high all week.

And now...here's the proof...

Top 5 Things I Love about the Olympics

Unless you've been under a rock recently, the biggest thing going these days is the Olympics. Everybody loves the Olympics. They are so big that the two guys in Georgia claim to have a dead Big Foot in a freezer, and are they getting any press time? No. They came out with it in the middle of Olympic Fever. Next time, they should take a page from Lizard Man and come up with their craziness in the middle of October.

But I digress. I've been thinking about what I really love about the Olympics. It's certainly not watching the events. I have a hard time getting interested if the US isn't competing, and even then I have a hard time if it's some random, unheard-of faux sport. So without further ado, my top 5 reasons that I love the Olympics.

#5 - The scandals. Someone always does something to offend someone else. This year, we were lucky enough as a nation to be involved. Our cyclists got off the plane with surgical masks covering their faces...because of the smog. That's a nice kick in the groin to your host.

#4 - The opening ceremonies. These are awesome. As soon as they find out they're the host city, they go into overdrive prepping for a better-than-ever event. Bejing was spectacular. AND they managed to toss in a little scandal (see above) when they had an adorable little girl represent their country and lip-sync while a talented, pudgy little girl got no credit whatsoever. Awesome.

Bronze - The underdog stories. Oh, we always have these, don't we? The guy who was born in poverty, escaped to America, and now is carrying the torch for his team because he overcame all these trials. That's what it's all about.

Silver - The commercials. I LOVE the commercials. This year, they had Olympic preview commercials. One was about Keri Strug doing her perfect vault on a broken ankle. The other - my fave - was about some guy (can't remember his name) who got injured and came in dead last - with his dad helping him. Love that crap. I'm crying right now.

Gold - When the USA wins and they play our song. Okay, whatever, it's great whoever wins. That's the Olympic spirit. But in all honesty, when one of our guys/girls/teams is on that slightly-higher-than-the-others block, and our flag is waving and our song is playing, there's just nothing better. It makes you feel like you somehow had a hand in it, just by virtue of being an American. That's awesomeness.

Of course, I like to see all the wonderful sportsmanship and it's great to live vicariously through these athletes as they experience what might possibly be the greatest moments of their lives, but these, friends, are my top five Olympic moments.

200 Pomegranates and an Audience of One

Today's the big day. 8-8-08. Around our office, it's not just the start of the Olympics. Everyone knows today's the day when Shawn's book hits Amazon.

Shawn has written a great book about how we each make a difference every day, whether we realize it or not...that God has designed us just for that reason...we just need to realize our potential. I'll be honest: I didn't really realize mine until I read the book.

I'm not one to write book reviews, but I want to promote the book for a couple of reasons. One - Shawn's my friend. Two - and more importantly - because I think everyone who reads it will come away realizing they are an artist performing for an audience of one. It will help you discover so much about yourself.

So buy it today on Amazon. http://www.amazon.com

Moving Into This Century

In the past 24 hours, I have signed up for Facebook and Twitter. I'm not entirely sure what to do with either of these tools, or how to do it, but I'm excited that I can actually pretend like I'm cool now.

I only have 1 person following me on Twitter. That's a little sad. And I only have 42 friends on Facebook. I don't know if that's sad or not.

Now that I've joined the rest of the world, count on these 2 to go by the wayside within the next 6-8 months.

License to Drive

Recently I've noticed a lot more personalized license plates on cars. The first time I saw this cute little trendiness, I was in middle school and one of the snobby high schoolers was given a BMW by her rich daddy. The license plate read ITSMINE.

Now I've noticed people trying to be super-clever with their tags. SOCRMOM, USCFAN, PAIDFOR, ELCID84 (for those not from Charleston - Citadel graduate, class of 1984). There is a virtual plethora of personalized tags around town. Most you can tell what they mean; some get too cutesy and you don't have a clue.

I actually knew a woman whose tag was WITCH. She wanted something different; the DMV wouldn't let her put a cuss word on the back of her car. She settled. Personally I think if the DMV had known her better, they would have let her have the one she really wanted.

I've been trying to come up with something fantastic for my car. Can't do it. I was thinking GR8HAIR but that's a given...so why even bother? HOTMAMA is probably taken. I could go with LORIFIT but that's a little lame. So I think I'll just stick with regular DMV issue boringness.

Meanwhile, I saw the BEST PLATE EVER last week. It was WDYTISF. It only took me a minute. Can you figure it out?

JBJ for President

I've made my decision. Since Barack Obama's name obviously indicates that his mama never loved him, and John McCain is in effect "Republican deoderant" (to the Dems BO)...I don't think I can vote for either of them in good conscience.

My pick?

Jon Bon Jovi.

I don't know what kind of President he'd be. But he sure is easy on the eyes.

Movie Review

I don't usually enjoy going to movie theaters. I hate paying that much for something I can wait a few months and watch much cheaper, and I hate being tied down to doing only one thing for 2 hours. Multitasking is our friend!

But Spanky loves going to the movies. So when there's a movie that doesn't particularly offend my sensibilities, I will treat him and take him out. Usually it's just the two of us, since FrogBoy has real issues with the noise level and SH has to stay with him.

So far this summer we've see Iron Man, Hancock and The Dark Knight. Not going to go into those very much, except to say that I'm trying to talk a friend into going to see The Dark Knight again because I think it was the best movie I've ever seen. OHMYGOODNESS. But that's not my point.

When we went to see Hancock, I decided to take Spanky to the new Cinebarre theater in Mt. P. For those not in the know, they scooped out over half the seating and installed a bar (hence the name) in front of each row of chairs. They have a full menu and it's really a cool deal. By the time we went, one week into the deal, they had all the kinks worked out. I understand from friends it wasn't quite as smooth when they first opened. But when we went, we ordered a cheese pizza, a milkshake (him) and sweet tea (me, duh). Total cost: $17. Pretty much what we would have spent if we'd gone out afterwards for pizza.

However, there's really no reason to go to Cinebarre if you're not going for the food. We went there for The Dark Knight, and didn't order anything except drinks. While they took out half the seating to accomodate the bar, they didn't upgrade the movie experience at all...the screen is the same, the sound is the same, the chairs are even the same. The only difference is there are less of them, which means the show sold out FAST, and we ended up on the front row.

That's not really my point either. My point is this: I think Cinebarre is really missing the boat with their idea. What's the first thing you think of when you hear "Cinebarre"? If you're me, you think of the extreme deliciousness of the most awesome treat in the world: Cinnabon. Just looking at the picture on their website makes you drool. And since the name is already right there in "Cinebarre," why not combine the two? Can you imagine watching a movie, noshing on a big fat Cinnabon or 6, and having a tall, cold glass of milk?

What a wonderful world it would be.

Now That's Entertainment

A couple of weeks ago, SuperHubby and I visited MUSC. If you have to ask why, you are not my friend. Anyway, we spent 6 hours in the ER and I have never been so entertained in all my life.

First, there was an older lady who was here on vacation and had apparently fallen. Her leg was swollen and purple. She didn't want to come to the hospital but her entire family wanted her to be seen. After listening to her and her son all morning, I think they just wanted her out of the house so they could get some peace and quiet.

Then there was the rode-hard-and-hung-up-wet lady in her 40s that came in. She had tried to OD and was very upset that no one was taking her seriously. She had taken 6 cold tablets. Even the ER doctor couldn't get excited about her dilemma. She was happy as soon as they asked her to pee in a cup.

But my favorite was the trailer folk on the far end of the room. Apparently the boyfriend had some sort of nasty, infected something that needed to be drained. The girlfriend had been doing bathroom surgery on him for quite some time and was very pleased with her ability to drain said nastiness, but it was causing him a great deal of pain so they came to the ER. And he was SCREAMING.

Of course, his honey was kind enough to tell him that he was being a big baby. She told him she'd had 3 babies and never acted as stupid as he was acting. And she called him many unflattering names, which I cannot write about.

At one point our nurse came over and told us the problem. Seems the genius had staples that needed to be removed. He'd waited too long...over a year...and now they were infected. And they were in his butt.

Well that was it for me. If I wasn't paying attention before, I certainly was now. This was some show. (That explains the bill for $9000 we got this week!). They gave him a shot (in his butt). He screamed. They drained the deal. He screamed. And they tried to remove the staples. At that point I think he almost fainted.

According to his by-now-supportive girlfriend, it wasn't his fault that he didn't have the staples removed. He was in jail when they were supposed to come out.

The doctors finally did all they could do for him and scheduled follow-up surgery so they could continue the procedure without him screaming and cussing every 2 seconds.

Then the kicker: He very seriously asks the doctor EXACTLY what he meant when he told him if he didn't get this taken care of, he could get gangrene of the groin area. How bad could that really be? And could he go ahead and check it and make sure he was okay? Sweetness was all for that - she wanted to make sure everything was where it should be before she left with him.

The doctor laughed out loud. And I'm glad, because I don't think they could hear me howling.

Guitar Hero 4 Kids

Last night, Spanky came into my room singing at the top of his lungs. Off-key. This is not unusual in our house; I love music and encourage the abuse of it at every opportunity.

However, I was immediately struck by what he was singing. "She's my cherry-pie..."

That's HIGHLY inappropriate.

Luckily, I didn't react on the outside like I was feeling on the inside. I know when I was his age I listened to music that had lyrics that weren't particularly child-friendly. I had very little clue most of them were actually about sex and/or drugs and/or something else not-so-good for me to hear, and anyway, he hears the same songs in my car now. But not THIS one.

So I sat there for a brief moment, composing myself, during which time he mentioned, "I've been playing Guitar Hero. That's one of my favorite songs."

Geez.

I realize adults play Guitar Hero. Probably more than kids. But did they have to do this to me? Couldn't they come out with a Christian version? I would LOVE to walk past Spanky's room and hear him playing "Onward Christian Soldiers." Even a Stryper version would work for me ("To Hell with the Devil" anyone?)

So that's it. My baby continues to grow up, and I continue to be astonished that the world isn't slowing down for him.

Profuse Thanks

I spend a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms. I think we've sufficiently established that fact. Today, I spent time waiting while the Smurf was having some top secret girl surgery.

I've noticed something. Whenever the doctor comes out to tell the family that he's finished the surgery and everything went well, but honestly he won't be able to tell if it was a success until some unknown point in the future, what happens? The family falls all over themselves offering gobs and gobs of thanks. All because someone did their job.

It's not like the surgeon is saying he just discovered the cure for an as-yet-undiscovered disease. He's really just saying he didn't kill or maim your loved one while he was with them for the last hour or so.

I reckon this to be similar to me getting flowers or a cookie bouquet just for performing my job reasonably well. I come in, I crunch some numbers (if it's Monday) and I email them out. Presuming I don't announce that only 5 people showed up for church this weekend, or that 500,000 people showed up...I've done my job relatively well. I think people should make a bigger deal out of it.

Imagine how much better the world would be if we would all be over the top with expressing our appreciation at just doing the bare minimum...what's expected. I think that would be great. Hugs and cupcakes for everyone!

Potty Ponderings

I have a little issue with public restrooms. I don't use them. And by public, I mean any restroom not located in my house. Okay, did I say little issue?

Anyway, I guess because I'm getting older and it's a million degrees outside so I'm drinking more tea lately, but I've had the unfortunate experience of having to visit a few local unclean restrooms lately. All public restrooms are unclean, even if they are immaculate. Really, you must join me inside my brain sometime.

This has brought up some questions for me. For example, who is the marketing genius who came up with putting advertisements on the inside of the toilet door? Everything's okay, I've talked myself into going into a completely germ-laden bathroom, there's no one else in there so they won't hear me going, and BAM! I turn around, sit down, do the hokey pokey, and there's a wall full of strange people looking at me. Granted, it's just their pictures...but really, do I need to see the people who want to sell me a house...or want to do my laundry...or want me to come to their movie theater? On a good day, no. When I'm peeing, definitely not.

Another issue I have is the location of the door. Is there a certain masochistic reason it's always located across the room, usually with a broken lock, where you can't make sure it doesn't fly open unless you have 8 foot arms? This is just cruel. My parents did a lot of stuff wrong when I was a child; actually, they're still on a pretty good collective roll. But when they built our house, the potty my brother and I shared was located directly behind the bathroom door. Oh, sure, we had bruised knees for 12 years, but I wasn't scarred for life by having my dad walk in on me while I was mid-stream.

Public restrooms are disgusting, for the mere fact that they're public, which means I can't control who uses them. I don't like sharing germs with people I like; why on earth would I want to share with people I don't even know. Is it so wrong I have my own personal catheter hooked up to a bag in my purse?

Wicked Cool Pics

Have you seen this? These pics were taken in Florida this week. The photographer said the surfers didn't realize what was happening behind them...which is why they look so calm.

Political Post

Q: What is the opposite of "politically correct"?
A: Jesse Jackson

Okay, I never write about politics, mostly because I don't understand them, and more importantly because they irritate me. But Sir Hymietown has done it again, and this time I just can't ignore it.

Seems Jesse had a few nasty comments to say about Senator Obama. Unfortunately for Jesse, he chose to whisper them (which is the perfect way to get everyone to stop everything and listen very intently to what you're saying). More unfortunate for Jesse is that he whispers like my brother, which is to say you could hear him in a wind tunnel. Quiet he ain't.

Now Jesse didn't really think this through, because if you're going to say what you hate about someone, you really shouldn't do it while a camera is pointed at your face. Even if you think it's turned off. It is rarely turned off when you think it is.

So Jesse said Obama talks down to black people and is trying to act white. And, oddly enough, the black community is pretty upset about this. (Actually, this makes me pretty happy. It seems like everything is right with the world, now that people are realizing Jesse talks out of both sides of his face rather frequently). If anyone else had made the comments he made, particularly someone not of color, he would have been on TV criticizing them so fast our proverbial heads would spin. Alas, he got on TV and said "oops" and expected all to be okay.

Not so fast, Pumpkin.

Seems his son, JJ Jr, didn't like dad's comments so much. Probably because they made him look bad too...that's what you get when you share a name with someone...but regardless of his reasons, JJ Jr has been one of his father's sharpest critics over the whole shebang. Nicely done Junior.

Meanwhile, of all the complaints I've heard about this fiasco, only ONE person has commented on the thing that struck me hardest. After slamming Obama, Jesse said he wanted to "cut his nuts off." WOW. That's harsh. And coming from the REVEREND Jesse Jackson. That language is a little strong and doesn't seem at all pastoral to me.

Of course, only one lady from the streets of downtown Charleston mentioned the whole "cutting" comment...and I think she'd just come from church and was in a holy frame of mind anyway.

So, I have no reasonable way to end this post that won't sound rude and/or stupid, which is why I steer clear of political issues to begin with. No one else was posting on it, though, and I just couldn't ignore it any longer.

Thank you, Jesse, for giving us a quote to remember 2008 by.

HELP!

I don't know how many people read my blog...but it really doesn't matter. What I do know is that I need a little prayer...

I've been asked to do something that I really don't think I can do. It makes me ill just to think of it. I WANT to do it, because it involves SuperHubby, and someone else I don't want to disappoint (although I'm not related to the other person)...I just don't know if I CAN.

So if you can pray for me today, to have wisdom and not be afraid, I'd sure appreciate it.

Under the Weather

Sometimes it feels like my blog leans heavy on the FrogBoy side, but Spanky has faded into the wallpaper since becoming a teenager (other than that little appendix thing). If I remember correctly, and I'm sure I do, because I'm just that good, when Spanky was 10 the blogs were mostly about him.

Anyway, FrogBoy is not fond of thunderstorms. Actually, that's an understatement. He HATES thunderstorms. It's always been this way, but recently he has taken his hatred to a new level. And since we've had thunderstorms 4 out of the last 5 nights, things have been interesting.

As soon as Froggie hears thunder, he runs into my bedroom (usually in some state of undress) with his hands over his ears (not because it's loud, because that's just what he does when something upsets him) and loudly asks, "IS THAT THUNDER?!?!" Upon receiving a positive reply, he immediately grabs a blanket and a pillow and heads for the bathroom.

He then wraps himself in the blanket and turns off the bathroom light and stays there. Sometimes for hours. The other day he was in there 4 HOURS.

The whole light thing made me wonder...what is he getting from this? I would think if you were scared, you'd want the light on. But later he tried out the closet. It's smaller. So I figured maybe he was cocooning himself in and that made him feel secure. Of course, there's no a/c vent in the closet, so when he came out a couple of hours later he was VERY sweaty. I told him if this is how it has to be (and apparently, it is), then he has to go to the bathroom when it starts raining. Sometimes we have the strangest conversations in our house.

So here's a picture of my little man. He's smiling only because I'm taking his picture. He's actually miserable inside.

Fun in Won by One

This is FrogBoy's class at church. This week they made party hats as part of their lesson. He's hanging out with Nathan, Mr. Roger and Miss Karen.

Friday Foto

You may recall that Spanky had his appendix out in January. January 21, 10 days after his 13th birthday, to be exact. At the time, I couldn't post pictures on my blog (operator error), but now I can, so I'm excited to share a shot of my precious little man, the day after his surgery. He was so brave, and really handled the whole thing so well (he's normally quite dramatic, so we knew he was really feeling bad when he didn't play it for all it was worth).

Anyway...here he is...thrilled beyond words to be having his picture taken.

Thong Injury

A woman in California is suing Victoria's Secret for injuries sustained due to a defective thong. (Okay, normally here you'd expect the punchline...but sadly, there isn't one.)

Seems the woman was trying on said thong (um, ewww) and a "decorative embellishment" (I don't want to know) FLEW OFF and smacked her in the eye. Her cornea is now supposedly permanently damaged.

First of all, if I get injured by my underwear, I'm not going to publicize it. Especially if I somehow manage to injure my EYE. How exactly does this woman try on underwear???

Anyway, she's suing Victoria's Secret - but I saw pictures of the lady - and I really think they should sue her. She's not one of the pretty people, and only the pretty people should wear VS undies. Now everytime someone thinks VS, they're going to think about her. Double ick.

Meanwhile, VS wants to see said defective undergarment, which Crazy Lady's attorney says "No way, Jose." Um, I've watched enough Law & Order to know that if they go to trial, she's going to have to show her panties. Could be the trial of the century.

Only in California.

My Friend's B-Day

Today is one of my best guy-friend's birthday. He's 38. For those keeping track at home, that means he's officially 1 year older than me. At least for the next 60 days. Fabulous.

We have been convinced for years that we are twins separated at birth. I rag him for being older than me; he harasses me because I MUST be older, I've been married longer and my kids are older (a lot older). Since he's on kid # 4 now, I think we can average things out and we're pretty even there.

Anyway, I know I'll get retaliation for this post, but I wanted to give a shout out to my MUCH OLDER friend. Happy birthday Mr. Scott!!!

It's Quiet...Too Quiet

This is one of my FrogMan's favorite sayings. He just pops out with it at the funniest times. But this week, it has been running through my brain more than I thought possible.

Last Friday, Spanky went over to my brother's...for a week at Bible camp. He loves to go with their family - and I'm really thankful that he gets an opportunity like this - but I'm ready for him to be home. This year he left the day after putting a hole in FrogBoy's wall, so I was ready for him to leave...but now I'm ready for him to be home again. He comes home tomorrow night.

On Sunday, FrogBoy was picked up and headed off to Camp Aunt Linda. My aunt has been doing this for him for several years now. It's his version of summer camp. There aren't a lot of opportunities out there for kids with autism, and especially not sleepover camps. That's a good thing; there's not a lot of people he'd want to sleepover with. But he LOVES Camp Aunt Linda, and he's been there all week. They run errands, buy Legos, get groceries, just basically hang out. He comes home tonight.

So all week my house has been totally, completely, 100% quiet. I cleaned Froggie's room the other night (1 million Legos under 1 bed, plus 25 stray socks...who knew?!). When I talked to him that night, he said, "I was planning on doing that upon my return." (seriously, those were his exact words). So far that's the only constructive thing I've done all week.

4:00 can't get here fast enough.

The Cupcake vs. the Cookie Cake

We have a semi-new store in Mt. Pleasant called Cupcake. Surprisingly, they sell cupcakes. Just cupcakes. Amazing concept. This is their second store, so they're doing pretty good. (At $2.75 per cupcake, they should be doing good).

The cupcakes at Cupcake are awesome. They somehow manage to get the cupcake top to be a little crunchy...much to my delight. Everyone I have talked to about the cupcakes say this is the best part. The cupcakes also have icing that outweighs the cake part of the cupcake...and it's supersweet...so you really can only eat one (or two, max) without barfing. Oh, but they're good.

Of course, in my family, we can't do the Cupcake run very often. At $2.75 a pop, and 4 people in the house, we're talking $13 to get 4 cupcakes. That's a bit steep. But they're GOOD.

Cupcake has day-of-the-week special flavors. For example, my fave, cookies-n-cream, is only available on Wednesdays. Ah, but good news: my second favorite, the black and white, is available daily.

So in the office I used to work in (they kicked me out - it was brutal), we used to get cupcakes frequently...which led to a discussion of how to eat the cupcakes (my way: eat off the bottom, then once you can get your mouth around it, attack from the side). However, the many cupcakes conversations led to the inevitible battle: Which is better: The cupcake or the cookie cake?

Hands down I'm voting for the cookie cake. Yes, it only has one flavor, and I'm not a fan of the icing at all. That just takes away from the cookie deliciousness. However, you can buy a whole huge cookie cake for $7, which only gets you 2 1/2 cupcakes. Also - Cupcake has odd hours (10-7), but you can buy a cookie cake at the grocery store, so they're available 24/7. And they're just more full of tasty goodness, frankly.

Now I'm all for a cupcake every now and then. They're really good. But in the grand scheme of things, I think the cookie cake wins.

10

Today is FrogBoy's birthday. He's 10. How is that possible? Just yesterday I had a newborn; as of today, I officially have a 5th grader and an 8th grader. Yikes.

Unlike most kids, Froggie wanted to go to school on his birthday. It was the last day of the year, but he loves school, and he was very excited, because school is usually over by the time his birthday roles around. We did the whole cupcakes-and-juice-box thing for the class. He was on cloud nine.

Ten years ago, I was there. After the problems I had with Spanky, the doctors weren't really excited for me to have another baby. SuperHubby and I decided God probably wanted us to have one, so we ignored the doctors and lo and behold, had a relatively uneventful pregnancy. This was in stark contrast to my first pregnancy, during which all sorts of weird things happened.

From the first doctor's appointment, I knew my baby would be born on June 5. The doctor didn't want me to go into labor, so he planned a C-section...and he scheduled it a week before my due date. The date would have been June 6. Unfortunately, that was my parents wedding anniversary...and they were divorced...so I quickly vetoed that date. It also helped that June 6 was a Saturday, and they don't schedule C-sections on the weekend. So June 5 it was.

We were the second on the list of C-sections that morning. We had to be at the hospital super-early. Amazingly enough, the couple in front of us was late. Late to have a baby. Honestly, some people are so stupid. So we waited around until they were kind enough to show up and have their baby. Meanwhile, my aunt had to go to work that day, and we were on a tight schedule (she was an airline attendant, so it wasn't like she could call in and say she'd be a little late).

Once they decided we could go ahead and have FrogBoy, things were pretty interesting. First, they took me to give me my spinal. It took affect super-fast. I fell to the floor - they actually had to catch me. Then they forgot to go get SuperHubby...so I had to remind them that I wanted my husband in the room for the delivery. He got there just in time to make comments and ask questions about my innards. ("Oh, what's that?" "That's her uterus." "COOL.") It was like the Discovery Channel.

I had a few moments of queasiness, which I guess is typical, but all I could say was "I feel funky." Not the best thing to say when you've previously had seizures that brought on childbirth. Those doctors can MOVE.

Anyway, it doesn't take long for a baby to come when they just rip him out of your stomach. Froggie was in our arms by 8:45.

He wasn't cute. He looked like a little old man. Actually, he looked exactly like my grandfather. He didn't remind me of Granddaddy; he actually looked like a little miniature Granddaddy. It was the oddest thing ever.

He was so small we had to put him in preemie diapers. Those weren't big then, so some friends scoured Charleston to find them for us. We had stocked up and had a closet full of diapers, but none of the tiny ones. We should have known then that no matter how much we prepared, he'd throw us curves every chance he got.

So today my baby turned 10. I can't believe it. He's such a little man, and such a little boy. He's a mama's boy and I hope that doesn't change. He's our FrogBoy.

Thank God for FrogBoy.

I hope this is the happiest birthday you've ever had.

Blessed...and Stressed

We are a very blessed family. We've had a very consistent year of non-healthy problems for SuperHubby. We have 2 great kids (with 1 appendix - now). And I have utterly fabulous hair.

Meanwhile, we have a bit of stress. A month ago, the van died. Yes, the van I loved dearly. Dead. Something about the engine. The mechanic said it would cost more to fix it than to replace it. So we figured we'd skip the summer trip to Myrtle Beach we had planned and scrimp and save every penny and get me something else to drive. No biggie. I would just drive SH's car until we could do that. Which we figured would be early September.

Now I've killed SH's car. Indeed. Something about the transmission. The mechanic repeated the words we have grown accustomed to: It'll cost more to fix it than to replace it. What?!?!

So now we need to buy 2 cars. That's great in theory, but we still haven't figured out how to replace 1. Guess I'll go eat worms.

The good news is that we have cars available to us to borrow until September. The bad news is, they are all manual transmissions....every stinking last one of them...and guess who can't drive a stick? It's not SH friends, that's for sure.

So this week has been a bit stinky. We're trying to remain positive and remember to count all our blessings (tomorrow is FrogBoy's birthday, so I'm focusing on that right now) - but honestly, sometimes it's a little difficult.

Can anyone say "bicycle"?

A Couple of Recent Photos

Alrighty then. I haven't been able to post pix on my blog for awhile (operator error, of course), but I'm back in the groove now. Here's a couple of my favorites from the last couple of months:

This is, of course, me and my FrogMan under a tree at the Walk for Autism.

This would be me with the boys at Remley's Point.

Conversations with Frogs

Last night, while we were riding around in the car, FrogBoy started clearing his throat. A lot. After a couple of minutes, I asked if he was okay, and then said, "Do you have a frog in your throat?"

Nicely done Lori. Remember the child doesn't really understand figures of speech, etc.

So he says the best thing ever: "No. My uvula tickles."

AWESOMENESS

Whatever Happened to SuperHeroes??

Being mom to 2 boys, I know all about superheroes. Batman, Superman, Bibleman, LarryBoy (no, not my brother, the Veggie Tales dude)...they start early and just keep getting impressed by these wonderful crimefighters. It's a boy thing.

And I'm fine with that. But here's what I'm not fine with. This afternoon, while having a lovely Huddle House lunch with Spanky, he commented that there was a bad word in one of his comics. Really?!? In one superfast Mommy-movement, I gathered up said comic and glanced at the page he was reading. And he was right.

As a matter of fact, in the first 3 pages, I found 6 expletives...the superbad ones. Being more than a little offended, I confiscated said comic immediately...and all other comics at once when we returned home.

And now, because someone somewhere doesn't realize comics are for kids, I have to read 9 billion comic books to make sure they're fit for 13-year-old consumption.

Seriously. Do we need ratings on comics? Isn't it bad enough that a PG-13 movie can actually drop the F-bomb once without losing the PG-13 rating? PG-13 is SUPPOSED to mean its acceptable for a 13-year-old. And friends, that word is certainly NOT acceptable for my child.

So I'm a little miffed. Why does society have our children growing up so fast...and not in a good way? When I was 13, I saw R movies...but they were tamer than PG-13s of today. And comics? My brother gave all his oldie-but-goodies to my son last year...and sadly, those will probably be the only ones he's allowed to keep.

Kids should be kids. Comics are for kids. Let's leave the filthy language out and go back to having a good old-fashioned superhero-saves-the-day-and-gets-the-bad-guy story. THAT'S entertainment.

Tagged!

Alrighty then. My sis-in-law has tagged me, and since I KNOW everyone else on her list is going to play, and I don't want to be the only one who doesn't, I'm going to play too.

Here we go...
1. Post the rules at the beginning.
2. Answer questions about myself.
3. At the end of post, tag 5 people.
4. Post comments on their blogs letting them know they've been tagged.

Here's the questions...
1. What was I doing 10 years ago? - I was 8 1/2 months pregnant with FrogBoy, had been working at Seacoast for 2 months, and it was summertime, so I was HOT. I knew I wasn't having a baby until June 5 (scheduled C) so I was counting days. I also had been told not to move around much at that point, so I was pretty much just hanging out and sweating. How attractive.

2. Five things on my to-do list today? - (1) Drop off my transfer request to keep Spanky at Moultrie for 8th grade, (2) drop off my dad's medicine at his house, (3) buy a purse (okay, technically that never leaves the list), (4) move offices at work, (5) go to dinner with the fam and the Smurf for Mother's Day.

3. Things I would do differently if I were a billionaire - I'd have a great house with a pool out back for the boys; I'd probably also have a little house on my property for my mother-in-law and her dad to live in; I'd hire great health-care for my dad; I'd buy Froggie a horse and contribute major dollars to Rein & Shine, where he has horse therapy now; I'd have huge closets in my huge house; I'd hire a personal trainer to help me lose weight; and I'd buy brand new cars for everyone I know. Including a couple for myself. To match my purses.

4. Three of my bad habits. - What, only three? Okay, I'm very sarcastic, which I've been told doesn't always translate into loving kindness; I don't trust people easily; and lately, I eat cupcakes almost every day.

5. Five places I've lived. - Charleston, downtown Charleston, North Charleston, Mt. Pleasant, Greensboro, NC (I'm a homebody)

6. Five jobs I've had - admin at Seacoast, insurance agent, gourmet popcorn and ice cream worker, and the requisite teenage babysitting job. Sorry, only four. I don't like change. Maybe that should also be listed under question 4.

Okay, so now five people I'm tagging...
Scott
Cindy
Roger
Ann
Larry

(those last 2 have already been tagged, but I don't care...it's my blog and I'll cheat if I want to)

Star of the Week

FrogBoy is Star of the Week this week. You normally get to be the star the week of your birthday, but since his birthday is June 5, which happens to be the last day of school, he gets it early. It's a whole big deal - you make a poster about your life, complete with pictures and decorations and the whole nine yards, and you get special privileges in class, like being line leader and getting a free pass on writing the letter of the week (which goes to the star each week, and if you're the star, you certainly can't write a letter to yourself. That would just be silly. At least that's what I've been told.)

So I just finished printing out the pictures I'll be using for Froggie's poster, and rounding up all my materials. Somehow I have a feeling I'm doing this particular project alone.

I hope I get an A.

It's a Good Thing!

This morning, as I woke up my precious child, FrogBoy stretched his arms out and said sweetly (this is great...)

"I'm so glad you're my Mommy...and not some lunatic stranger."

Yep. Good thing.

Awesome Job

Every day, on my way from work to get FrogBoy from school, I travel down Whipple Road. Whipple Road is normally not a big deal; but at the beginning of this year, some genius at the water department decided they needed to do some sort of work underneath Whipple Road. That has made it a nightmare to navigate. And they plan on working on the road until at least July.

At least one point in the road is down to one lane every day. It's never the same area from day to day, so you can't even plan for it. And the crew that works the lane closure portion of the job is sadistic. They will let you sit for over 10 minutes while piles of cars go past on the other side (I've timed them).

Except for Dudley. I don't know Dudley's real name, but I like to think he has a happy name like Dudley. Dudley is in his sweet spot. While everyone else on his team just stands around, turning their signs from "stop" to "slow," Dudley has one very important job.

He waves at the cars.

Every single car.

I'm not talking about a half-wave, or even an extended wave for all the cars. No, Dudley gives each car a hand up, eye contact, full wave, hand down - before they pass him. Then he does it with the next car. And the next. He doesn't miss a car.

I think Dudley loves his job. He seems to really enjoy spreading a little cheer with his full-on waves. And he makes me smile when I pass him.

Rock on, Dudley.

No News is Good News

Okay, I don't want to jinx this...but for those of you who have travelled this road with us since 2000, I wanted to share...

Today officially marks the 18-month mark of SuperHubby's last brain surgery. For those keeping score at home, that's the longest he's gone between slicing and dicing in 7 years.

YAY GOD!!!!

What a Difference a Day Makes

August 25, 2004 was my 34th birthday. We didn't really celebrate; the birthdays since 2000 had been really stinky (between brain surgery for SuperHubby every year, and a big blow up with a family member the previous year). Our family was relatively normal (other than that brain surgery thing for SH, and the "minor" medical stuff Spanky and I had...

August 26, 2004, we suddenly had a child with autism. Life would never be quite the same.

We'd known for some time that FrogBoy was "quirky." We knew he had meltdowns that we couldn't explain, that he was a slow speaker and had a hard time communicating (hence he'd been in speech therapy since he was 18 months old). We knew he preferred to let Spanky speak for him rather than tell us what he really wanted and/or needed. We knew he could sit and stare at the TV for hours but couldn't stand to look at us when he DID choose to talk with us. And we knew he preferred to play alone rather than with other kids. Big deal.

We started doing research. We quickly realized that it appeared FrogBoy might have Asperger's Syndrome. We were pretty pleased with ourselves for finding this out before anyone in the medical profession did, because it was something neither of us had ever heard of before. Asperger's is on the autism spectrum, so we were a little upset, but hey, at least our little man didn't have autism. God forbid.

We decided that if FrogBoy was going to have Asperger's, at least we could use it to our benefit. Maybe he could get some extra help at school. After digging around and talking to some people, we found out that the public school system isn't required to offer assistance unless a child is diagnosed with certain problems. And Asperger's wasn't on the list. That was okay; we were pretty sure we could find SOMEONE who we could manipulate into giving us a diagnosis of autism.

On August 26, 2004, we went to the CARE Center in Charleston. This is a fantastic organization that does testing to see if kids are autistic and where they might land on the spectrum. Our appointment was for August 26. THE WHOLE DAY. It was very intense. We were allowed a lunch break, but other than that, they tested our 6-year-old from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. And these were some serious tests.

When we arrived at the CARE Center after a long day of testing, we were prepared to hear the word "Asperger's." We were shocked when they sat us down and delicately said "Autism." Not "possibly autism," not "Asperger's but we're going to call it autism so you can get extra help at school." Just AUTISM.

We were rock solid all the way home. I immediately called work and said we weren't coming in the next day. We needed time to process it all. A week later, SH asked for prayer. I totally lost it and ran crying from the room. This couldn't be happening.

It was. It did. It is.

So our journey began on August 26, 2004, and we learn more and more each day. Things I never thought I'd have to think about. Will he ever be able to live on his own? If something happens to both of us, who will take care of him and make sure he gets his bills paid and buys groceries? Will he go to college? Will he get married? Have kids? Things that seemed obvious on June 5, 1998, were suddenly all a big question mark.

There's a whole new language to learn, a whole new list of to-do's to do, a whole new bunch of worries to worry. And yet, through it all, I have to remember what my mother-in-law said to me right after Froggie was diagnosed: God chose me to be his mom. What an awesome privilege that is.

The Secret Language of Frogs

I know all kids have cute little words and phrases that are all their own, and mispronunciations in early childhood can make an entire family start saying things a whole new way. Who hasn't asked their kid "Do you want basketti for dinner?"

Of course, we have a plethora of entries in the FrogBoy dictionary. Here then for your enjoyment:

* Spectacles. These are glasses. He just likes calling them "spectacles."

* For example. This obviously means "for example." He just likes to say it before virtually every sentence. He has a dandy little things he does with his hands at the same time that seriously will make you laugh out loud.

* The white house. No, this is not where the president lives. This is where my aunt and uncle live. We have no idea why.

* Coastal Therapy Services Incorporated. This is where he goes for speech once a week. Every time he says the name of the place, we get the whole thing.

* Short pants. Not high-waters, shorts.

* Long pants. Jeans. All other pants are not encumbered with a name.

* My new class. The Won-by-One class at church. He's been going since 1st grade, but it is still his NEW class.

* Food stander. This is a TV tray. It holds food, and it's a stand, so I can only assume that's how he came up with that one.

* Princess Mommy. No explanation necessary. Except that I only get this one when he's trying to get his way about something.

Those are some of the cutest things that come out of his mouth. Of course, he also cusses occasionally (although not intentionally), so things even out pretty well.

Eye Contact is Overrated

One of the "small" issues we have with FrogBoy is that he has a hard time making eye contact. By "hard time," I mean he doesn't do it. At least not willingly. It is a battle to get him to look you when the eye when you're talking to him, and even more of a challenge to get him to look at you when he's talking to you. Like everything else, it's an autism thing.

We spend a lot of time reinforcing the "look at me" rule in our house, mainly because SuperHubby can't "hear" people if they aren't making a conscious effort to look at him while they talk. Our difficulty lies within SH's absolute need for eye contact, and FrogBoy's absolute aversion to it. He makes baby steps daily.

Another issue he has is with his speech. Obviously, he's been in speech therapy since he was 18 months old, and he has a good bit of a lisp to deal with. He also has trouble with positional words (over, under, behind, between...doesn't matter, he has no clue what any of them mean...you can say "Look under the chair" and he'll look all around the room and still not find what you're pointing out).

On top of the lisp and the positional words, speech helps him with how to respond to certain situations verbally, and how to initiate conversation. Those are all good things. The one thing it can't help him with is his jaw problem.

Froggie has a very small jaw, the tiniest teeth you've ever seen, and a pretty severe underbite. His dentist has been watching him for a couple of years now, and we know we've got two choices:

1. Braces.
2. Break his jaw and wire it shut in the right position.

Can you guess which one we're praying for?

Actually, if you guessed braces, you'd be wrong. Originally I was thinking braces would be best, because I just couldn't imagine having to explain to him that his jaw was going to be broken and wired shut; then I couldn't imagine having to go through that with him. However, my aunt pointed out that braces might actually be worse for him, considering all his sensory issues (they would drive him crazy) and his lack of good brushing skills (because of his sensory issues). I'm starting to wonder if breaking his jaw wouldn't be easier for HIM.

Of course, I'm trusting God to work it out. We are, however, getting close to when they're going to need to do something. Some kind of age thing. No matter what happens with his jaw, it won't affect his lack of eye contact or his visits to the speech therapist - but I'm realizing that it might make his face look different.

And that makes me very sad.

Be Prepared

In our house, it's a good idea to anticipate how things are going to turn out with FrogBoy and have a reaction prepared in advance. It cuts down on a lot of parental stress.

We don't give FrogBoy a lot of notice when something new is going to happen. That sounds contradictory, but if we tell him he's going to the dentist on Friday, and it happens to be Monday, then every day, many, many times a day, we'll hear, "Am I going to the dentist today? Is it Friday yet?? I love the dentist." So we just don't tell him. It saves the constant questions, and then if something changes and the appointment gets moved, he's not upset.

Another thing we have to prepare for at all times is ways to alleviate boredom. This is fun, because Froggie can get bored during the 3-minute drive from our house to school. That would be why my van is full of books to read, puzzle books to puzzle in, and even a handheld game or two. It's why I carry colored pencils in my purse. We need to keep the kid occupied.

We also try, like most parents, to anticipate arguments between him and Spanky and put the kibosh on those before they start. That can be difficult, considering FrogBoy will say things like, "You're in love with Daddy's car." How do you respond to that?

However, I know that every week we must stop for apples or carrots for the horse at therapy (because we did it once), and every week when we do he's going to ask me if he can get a treat too (which he does). Once you realize what direction things are going, it's much easier to go with the flow.

That's Puzzling

FrogBoy doesn't have a lot of toys that he enjoys playing with, but he really loves building things and playing with puzzles. When he creates something with his Legos, he is "Legoing." When he puts together a puzzle, he's "puzzling." If you think about it for a few minutes, the lingo actually works.

Right before Froggie was diagnosed with autism, we noticed that he was really good at putting together puzzles. I mean REALLY good. He was 5 years old at the time, and he would sit, in true Frog fashion, in the hallway of our house, with a 500 (or more) piece puzzle, and put it together. UPSIDE DOWN. That's right, with the blank side facing up. And he'd get it right.

Most people start by putting the border together and then filling it in. Not the case with my Frog Man. He would just take the first piece he picked up, and that's where he started. And he would rarely make a mistake. He would dump all the pieces in a pile; he would study and study and when he was sure he knew which piece was next, he would carefully choose it and attach it to the existing part of the puzzle. It was fascinating. And a little scary.

I tried to stump him. I bought a round puzzle, with over 750 pieces that weren't "normal" jigsaw puzzle piece shapes, and the entire puzzle was a tye-die motif. He knocked it out of the park in one afternoon.

He also loves word puzzles. It doesn't matter what kind of word puzzle you give him, unless it's a crossword, he can kick fanny. And he's amazing with those annoying mazes. He looks at the maze, puts his pen (he does them in pen!) down on the "start" area, and makes one line straight to the end - without doubling back!

Ask him to clean his room - he looks at you like you have 2 heads. Give him a puzzle - he's golden.

School - Worse the Second Time Around

Ask anyone in my family and they'll tell you - I never enjoyed school. As I got older, my dislike for school and all it encompassed grew with each passing year. I have discovered since having children of my own that I still hate school, just for different reasons now.

FrogBoy is in a fully-included classroom. This means that while the school recognizes that he has "special needs," they also agree with us that he doesn't need to be singled out from his "normally" developing peers and put in a classroom with a bunch of kids that can't speak. While a typical classroom environment is harder for him on many levels, he's up to the challenge, and frankly, does quite well.

However...

FrogBoy has what is called an IEP by those in the know. That stands for Individualized Education Plan. It's really a nifty little thing; it is a written plan that outlines special accommodations to be made in the classroom to help him achieve what might (or might not, if you were me) come more naturally to other kids. For example, one thing listed in his IEP is that he can have a copy of either the teacher's notes or another student's notes, because he is a VERY slow note-taker, and he stresses over getting every little word PERFECT. This can be distracting for the whole class, so he has the option of getting copies of the notes. Of course, once he found this out, he started asking for copies all the time; we had to squelch that because he became lazy. (Again, he's a typical kid in most ways)

The school has a countdown clock that was purchased for him in first grade. It has moved up with him to each new teacher. When an assignment is given, the amount of time allowed for the assignment can be entered into the clock, and he can gauge where he's at without asking the teacher every 3 minutes (which would drive her crazy), and without hearing the ticking of a timer (which would drive him crazy). We've been told by the teachers that this clock actually benefits all the kids in his class because it helps to keep them all on task.

The IEP meeting is a fun meeting. NOT. It consists of me, SuperHubby, the school principal, Froggie's teachers (however many he has that year), his speech therapist, his occupational therapist, his school case worker, the autistic itinerant, the school psychologist, and our parent advocate. In a small room. For at least an hour. One by one they tell us how he's doing, what he should be doing, and how we can help him achieve his goals for the year. Our advocate is great - he knows all the laws and has a son who is autistic, so he has fantastic ideas on how to combat some of the school issues we might come up against. I will say this meeting gets my panties in the proverbial wad every year. Maybe after I get a few more under my belt they won't, but considering we've done it 5 years running and I still stress about it, I kind of doubt that. I want to make sure I don't leave anything out. You can call an emergency IEP update meeting during the year, but that takes an act of Congress. Otherwise, you get one shot a year. You need to make it count.

Another great (ha!) thing about school this year is that the autistic itinerant has decided we need to track Froggie's behavior. Unfortunately, it's really hard to motivate him. He really only wants Legos. (Seriously, one day I picked him up and he had banged his elbow at recess...and he greeted me at the door with "Mommy, the ONLY thing that will make it better is if you get me a Lego.")

So the itinerant decided to come up with a system for tracking FrogBoy's behavior that was more complex than learning to speak Latin. There was a points system involved, and he got different points based on his behavior (3 for great, 2 for so-so and 1 for not-so-great). And this was in each class (he has 7). Then we would average the day and see what his "score" was. Then, depending on his score, he either had a good day or a bad day. THEN we knew how to reward/reprimand him.

WHAT?!?!?!

I called the itinerant and told him no way. I couldn't figure out his stupid system, so I was pretty such it would be hard for me to explain it to FrogBoy. Plus, I really felt like "good" was a subjective term, and if he didn't know what consisted of "good" behavior, what did it matter? The itinerant told me I was being difficult (nicer terms, but that's what he meant. And I was.)

We finally agreed on a system where Froggie gets a smiley face, a straight face or a sad face. He gets that - if you get a smiley, your behavior was good. If you get a frowney, your behavior was bad. Pretty simple. (That was my idea) Then the faces are averaged and he gets one face for the day. If he has a happy day, he gets to watch 30 minutes of TV that night. And it works.

Sometimes I feel like the teachers are learning on my child. Maybe that's how it has to be. Maybe there just aren't that many spectacular kids like mine. And maybe there just aren't that many autistic kids that are able to be mainstreamed...which would mean most teachers don't get to run across the opportunity to teach them very often. I will say that the teachers at Froggie's school have all been great to him. And even the ones who haven't taught him know him by name and know ABOUT him.

And that's comforting.

But I still hate school.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen...Cover Your Ears

If you've read more than 3 of my posts this month, you know FrogBoy has sensory issues. He can't stand loud noises, crazy flashing lights, extremely cold temperatures (translation: anything below 70), and he doesn't like crowds. In some circles this is known as being "difficult."

Whenever FrogBoy has a problem with his sensory issues, like most autistic kids, he has no way to verablize it. He's getting better at trying, but he's still well below the 50/50 mark on that one. Oftentimes we have to quiz him to find out exactly what's wrong (if we don't guess right off, we're in for a long night). Luckily, we've had a lot of practices, and even though it may seem totally out of the ordinary to guess that he's spinning in circles because he can't stand the sight of corn, it's just something we all know and love about Mikey.

Anyway, one of the more endearing ways FrogBoy demonstrates his sensory issues is to cover his ears. This would be normal if he only did it when he is experiecing a loud noise that is bothering him. Ah, friends, but that is not the case. He covers his ears when it's raining (because he'll get wet). He covered his ears this weekend when the waitress dropped his plate on his head (because he was surprised - and it was unpleasant). He covers his ears when he's getting in trouble (not because we're yelling, because yelling really isn't appropriate with autistic kids - they don't really "hear" the different sound in your voice; no, he covers his ears because he's getting in trouble...and he knows that's not good). He covers his ears when his hands get dirty, when we wash his hair, and when the mosquitoes are bad at horse therapy. He covers his ears when he's nervous. That's his thing.

We're pretty used to it. In the beginning, we automatically would try to make him put his hands down from his ears, because frankly, it looks a little strange. Now, the minute we see his hands shooting up into The Position, we gently try to talk him down from whatever's bothering him. Sometimes we succeed. Most of the time we don't.

In the grand scheme of things, it's another thing I've learned just doesn't matter.

Autism Stats

I have a terrible headache today and am not feeling very creative. However, I want to share some info about autism, so I just won't be very "Lori" about it while I do.

According to the Autism Society of America:

-- Autism will be diagnosed in more than 25,000 children in the U.S. this year.

-- The prevalence of autism is 1 in every 150 births, and 1 in every 94 boys.

-- 1 to 1.5 million Americans have autism spectrum disorder.

-- Autism is the fastest-growing developmental disability, increasing by 10 percent to 17 percent annually.

-- The lifetime cost of caring for a child with autism is $3.5 million to $5 million.

-- Treating autism costs Americans $90 billion a year.

-- In 10 years, the annual cost will be $200 billion to $400 billion. Ninety percent of the costs are in adult services.

-- The cost of lifelong care can be reduced by two-thirds with early diagnosis and intervention.

There is no known single cause of autism, and it is treatable. The ASA, which offers an online Autism 101 course, lists these signs to look for in your children or children you know:

-- Lack of or delay in spoken language.

-- Repetitive use of language and/or motor mannerisms (e.g., hand-flapping, twirling objects).

-- Lack of interest in peer relationships.

-- Lack of spontaneous or make-believe play.

-- Persistent fixation on parts of objects.

-- Sensitive to sound/ordinary daily noises.

-- May exhibit aggressive/self- injurious behavior. (we don't have this one)

-- Resists changes in environment/daily routines.

-- Uses gestures or pointing instead of words. ( we don't have this one anymore)

-- Prefers to be/play alone.

-- Tantrums.

-- Enjoys spinning objects.

-- May be overly sensitive or undersensitive to pain or touch.

-- Poor motor skills.

-- Does not respond to verbal clues, although hearing tests in normal range.

Unfortunately, when people hear "autism," they usually think Rain Man. A lot of kids are like that; but a lot aren't. I personally believe we all fall somewhere on the spectrum. It IS a spectrum, after all, which means symptoms can range from very mild to very severe. I am very resistant to change (which is why God gave me a job at Seacoast), and most of the time I'd rather be alone or with people I know very well (I choose my friendships carefully and don't feel a need to have a lot of people close to me). Does that make me autistic? No. Does it put me on the spectrum? Probably. It's a SPECTRUM.

Lump all the quirks together and you get a diagnosis. Or FrogBoy. I choose to celebrate who FrogBoy is, rather than what he "has."

And I am thankful God chose to allow me the privilege of being his mom.

Walk for Autism

Yesterday we did something that was really cool - something we've never done before (I don't know why), but something we'll probably do every year now that we've done it once. We went to the 5th Annual Charleston Walk for Autism.

Our church is one of the sponsors of the walk. This year, the reins of the walk were handed over to a new director, and she realized they never had the walk opened in prayer. She wondered why, thought it would be a great idea to have someone pray beforehand, and contacted the church. Because of FrogBoy, it was passed to SuperHubby. And I must say, he did quite a fine job.

We prepped the boys the night before. We had no idea what the crowd would be like, and that's always a potential deal-breaker, so we figured we'd explain what Froggie could expect. What I didn't expect was the "Why are we going THERE?" When Spanky informed him it was because HE had autism, FrogBoy responded with "No I don't." It was an interesting evening explaining to him that yes, indeed, he does have autism. Now, he may think that's like having a fish, since he never asked any questions about autism specifically, but that's another story.

We had to get up super-early for a weekend, but the boys were excited. Froggie was a little nervous, but he handled it like a pro. Luckily, there weren't any bugs, so we were golden. His speech therapist was there - the clinic had a whole booth and a jump castle - plus we saw a bunch of friends from speech. Autism really is a small community, so you tend to see a lot of the same people over and over. I learned that this weekend.

Anyway, the boys spent a great deal of time in jump castles, getting free stuff from anyone they could, and just having a great time. We are definitely going back.

Then we went to brunch, where the waitress promptly dropped 2 dishes on Froggie's head.

Where's Waldo?

FrogBoy wasn't diagnosed with autism until the first week of first grade; before that, we just considered him "quirky" with a capital Q. And that was fine. Frankly, everyone in our house is quirky in some way or another, so we just figured he was your average Fitzgerald. Technically, nothing's changed there.

Anyway, as I mentioned in my previous post, when FrogBoy started school, I decided I was going to be dropping the boys off at school AND picking them up. (In years past, when it was just Spanky, he rode the daycare bus from school to afterschool care.) All that said, the first day of school was probably more exciting for me than it was for the boys.

I made big plans. I sat them down the night before and explained that they were CAR RIDERS. That meant that I would be picking them up from school. Having gone to this school for 3 years already with Spanky, I knew that was one of the first questions they would be asked. "Hi, welcome to first grade. What's your name? Are you a car rider or a bus rider? Do you bring lunch or buy lunch?" So I was prepared. And so were the boys.

We went through the drills. DON'T leave before I get there. I WILL PICK YOU UP. Seriously, all bases were covered.

Now remember this is the first day of school. I don't know about other schools, but at our school, this spells mayhem. Apparently every single parent feels the need to pick their child up on the first day of school...whether or not they are a car rider. Having never done this before, I didn't factor in enough time to sit in traffic for 6 hours before I could see the school building. No biggie though. Finally, I was able to park my car and mosey up to the school. My kids were car riders, so they would be waiting.

There in the 3rd grade line stood Spanky, looking proud and clinging to his oversized backpack. I glanced around. No FrogBoy. I asked his teacher. No, she hadn't seen him. (Frankly, she didn't seem overly concerned, but that's another story.) They figured we couldn't find him because it was so crowded; maybe we should wait until some of the traffic cleared out.

Thirty minutes later, there was no one left but me, the principal and the entire school staff. Teachers were searching everywhere. Spanky was a wreck. I was actually pretty calm (my breakdown came later). The principal told me he thought I might possibly be the calmest mother he'd ever met. (Stop laughing; he really said that.) After about 10 minutes of searching, we realized he wasn't there. My biggest fear was that he'd gotten in a car with someone he didn't know, had been kidnapped, and was halfway to Mexico and I'd never see him again. All this, and SuperHubby just so happened to be at MUSC that day, awaiting tests to find out if he needed brain surgery (he did).

At this point, the school decided to call the police. I had to get on the phone and explain what he looked like and what he was wearing. I did pretty good...but realized that day that the Child ID's they provide at daycares and schools are worthless. It never crossed my mind to show anyone that stupid little ID card.

We kept searching the school. A few minutes later, we got a call from the police. They had FrogBoy in custody. He had somehow managed to hop a school bus (we think he drifted from the car rider line to the bus rider line) and then got off on the very first stop. Fortunately, the bus he chose delivered kids right around the corner from the school, at an apartment complex. He got off when the other kids did, but realized he had no idea where he was, so he went into the office and stood there and stared at them. They realized he wasn't one of theirs and called the police.

Being the first day of school, I had my camera in my purse, so I got pictures to document the whole thing. FrogBoy was never scared for a second (I was glad at the time, but then wished he wasn't quite so unaware.) SH ended up needing brain surgery, so I was really glad I didn't have to tell him I'd lost our child on the same day. And the school ended up changing all of its dismissal policies based on our boy.

I went home that night and cried my eyes out. And that, my friends, is why I keep both eyes on the kid at all times.

The Cost of Autism

I read in the paper this week that the family of an autistic child makes $6200 less per year than the average family with a normally functioning child. I'm not sure how exactly they figured this out, but the basic finding was that between taking off early from work for therapy and doctors appointments, and IEP meetings and such at school, or simply not working (depending on the severity of the autism in the child), families with kids are the spectrum are poorer on average each year than other families.

Whatever.

I have been very fortunate in my work situation. When FrogBoy was about to start kindergarten, a full year before he was ever diagnosed, I started crunching numbers. It quickly became apparent to me that it would cost "X" amount of money to send the boys to daycare for 2 hours each afternoon. It would take me 2 hours to earn "X" amount of money. Being the mathematical genuis that I am, I realized that I would be working to send them to daycare...and that didn't seem like God's plan for our family.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I approached Geoff about my plan. I wanted to work 7:30-2:30, the hours the boys were in school. There was nothing in it for the church. Our family would get all the benefits.

I really expected a solid "NO" before I was sent packing. What I was greeted with, however, was a resounding "That sounds like a GREAT idea!" (He may not remember it, but that's exactly what he said.) Geoff was kind enough to then make my argument for me, telling me how great it would be to be home with the boys in the afternoon to help with homework, etc. At this point Spanky was in 3rd grade, so we'd done life the other way - with him going to afterschool care and then rushing to do homework when we all got home at 5:00. And we were miserable.

So the day FrogBoy started kindergarten, I started a new chapter in my life. I became the mom taxi, in charge of ferrying the boys to and from school, to appointments, and simply running errands or taking them for ice cream after school. What a glorious day that was!

We've been doing this for 5 years now. I am able to walk FrogBoy to his class each morning, and pick him up in his class each afternoon. With his extreme sensitivity to crowds and noises, and his tendency to wander, both of which make the carpool line a no-go, this has been HUGE. I'm so thankful God KNEW, and handled all the details when I thought it was just MY good idea.

We may make $6200 a year less than other families with "normal" kids, but we are RICH indeed.

Homework Hassles

Today was one of those days for FrogBoy. He had a great day at school, but something went terribly wrong when he started his homework. He had what I like to call Meltdown Madness.

It started innocently enough. Every week, he has to write a letter to someone in his class (whoever happens to be the "star of the week" that week). If there is no "star," he has to write a letter to the teacher. No big deal. He's been doing this since September, and he's got the hang of it...Or so you would think.

I'm not allowed to oversee his homework very closely. He doesn't like people all up in his business when he's working. (I wonder where he gets that?!) Anyway, I glanced over at his work and noticed that he was skipping lines. I asked if he was working on a rough draft or a final copy, since he's not allowed to skip lines in the final copy, and he usually doesn't do a rough draft, and he informed me that it was his final copy. Houston, we have a problem.

I told him he was going to have to rewrite it. Luckily, he'd only written 2 sentences. I tried to play it down. He wasn't buying it. He asked if he could just draw arrows (smart kid). I told him no, he was going to have to rewrite it. That's when it happened.

Tears. Big fat ones. And then...he balled up his letter and threw it on the floor and told me "I'm NEVER writing a letter again!" Hello, meltdown!!

I finally managed to calm him down and get him started with a nice, new, clean piece of paper. UNTIL...

FrogBoy: "I can't use THIS!"
Me: "Why not?"
FrogBoy: "Because of THIS!!!" (said with an unspoken "STUPID WOMAN!" at the end)
Me: "I don't see anything."
FrogBoy: "THIS, right here!!!"

I looked. I squinted. I put my glasses on. And then I saw it. A speck no bigger than a pin prick. Right there in the margin of his paper. God forbid.

Fortuntely, I had to leave. I left things in the trustworthy hands of SuperHubby. Sometimes all it takes is a different perspective. I'm not sure what happened, but when I got back an hour later, the letter was written, the tears were gone, and Legos were being built.

Thank you Lord.

10 Things I Learned in First Grade

I originally posted this list in 2006. I totally stole it from the SC Center for Disabilities newsletter. I don't care. I like it, and I'm going to share it (steal it) again. Since we found out FrogBoy had autism when he was in the first grade, my contribution to the post is the clever title.

1. Autism or not, they are still a blessing. (I would like to add the caveat "Most of the time.")

2. There is no such thing as normal.

3. No two are alike. (You ain't just whistling Dixie there!!)

4. How autistic I really am. (Indeed)

5. If I stay calm, it will have a domino effect. (I really wish I could remember this one more...in the moment...)

6. Don't stay in denial; no one gets better there.

7. Major the majors and minor the minors (or...don't sweat the small stuff.)

8. A sense of humor is EVERYTHING.

9. A simple smile can tell me more than one word. (Thank God we have lots of smiles from our Frog Man).

10. Miracles happen every day if you know where to look.

I'd like to close with some profound comment. Unfortunately, I've got nothing. I will say this...even though it's hard, even though I wouldn't have chosen this path, I'm thankful God chose me to be FrogBoy's mom.

Family Ties

My brother has 3 kids: David, 14, Jacob, 11, and Mary-Elizabeth, almost 9. My boys are 13 and 10. As you can see, we had a little friendly competition going for about six years.

The kids love spending time together. But what's really great about it is that, while they all know Michael has autism, it doesn't stop them from treating him any differently than anyone else. For the most part.

The kids all know that my senses are a little heightened when it comes to keeping an eye on Michael. (More on that in another post.) And they are great about watching out for him, making sure he's not getting into anything he's not supposed to (like the lake behind my aunt's house). They also have no hesitation in tattling when he's doing something wrong or just plain annoying them.

On Easter, SuperHubby and I were at work...so the boys spent the night at my aunt's. Before they left, I knew it was going to turn into a weekend-long visit; my brother's kids were going to show up on Easter, and they were going to suck up until my aunt and uncle had at the minimum 5 kids spending the night. Sure enough, they had all 4 boys that night.

Here's the great thing: When they got home, I heard that David (remember, he's 14) had spent quite a bit of time outside with Michael playing basketball with him. David's great about doing things with Michael, and he really has a gentle spirit and is very patient.

Then he tied him to the goalpost.

Michael loved it. He was treated just like all the other kids. That's something he doesn't get everywhere else...but you can always count on family. Family will always put you in your place. And then tie you down so you'll stay there.