So, we are working on not opening a closed bathroom door to show a broken toy to a parental unit who is pretending to go potty, but in reality, snuck in there, pulled down their pants (for effect) and is sitting on the throne just to finish a round of Scramble with Friends. However, while we might be conquering that nasty habit, they have picked up a new nasty habit. The moment a closed door opens, they are standing right there. Or, run in the second after, therefore, creating a very stressful exit for the adult.
The migits can be playing, loudly, with music in the background, with the dog barking, and the moment I open a Magnum Ice Cream bar, before noon, they come running. I hide it in the freezer, in the newly opened package, as they came before I could even hide that evidence, and she asks, "What are you eating?" Uhmmmm... carrots? They never buy that story.
I see they are playing nicely on the stairs with friends at the pool, and I decided to relax. It's the shift in the mood at the pool I suppose, as the moment I decide to float on my back, it's a barrage of "Watch this Mommy! Did you see that? What this!!! Was that good?" Well, first, "Watch this!" is not very original. I am a stay at freakin' home mom. I WATCH EVERYTHING! THINGS I'D RATHER NOT WATCH, I STILL WATCH! Spoiler alert migits- I watch you even when you don't ask me to watch you. Like when you are sleeping. OR cuddling together as you read library books together on my bed. Or when you are building with blocks, quietly. (I think the quiet part is what gets my attention most.) I watch you when you eat. I watch you when you are sitting at your desk coloring. I watch you when you are brushing your dolls hair, or setting up a tea party. I watch you play games, play ball, jump rope, ride a bike, try to brush your hair, learn to fold laundry, dust bust after a meal, brush your teeth, swish and spit, make your bed, arrange your stuffed animals for the night, and often, I watch you when you ask me to.
I seem to never take my eyes off of you. And when I go outside to bring the garbage can off the street, you follow me. Did you ever hear me say, "Watch me do this!" Nope. Or when I get on the phone, you come from another part of the house to listen. At some point, did you hear me say, "Hey, watch me have an adult conversation and then, please correct me while I am telling a story?" Not once.
Unfortunately, I have seen that there are occasions that the ears seem to be malfunctioning. Like, when you missed the directions for when to clean up (toys), finish up(a meal), bring up(the clothes), etc. So from now on, I will assume that if I want you to clean up your toys, I will rip open an indulgent ice cream novelty, await your arrival, then give you my requests. Or, if that doesn't work, I can just fake a bowel movement. Those seem to get your attention quicker.
*That last paragraph reminded me of the comedy bit by John Pinette, called "I'm Starving!" Look it up on Netflix. I promise you, you will know when he starts talking about "sit up, stand up, etc." My favorite, is Howie Mandel, but John comes in a VERY close second. Check it out. You will like.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 24, 2012
Autism Gut Issues and No Lephrechaun
I showered 5 times today. Naturally, my obsessive compulsive disorder is acting up again, or some one poo'ed on me today, and that would account for one of the five showers. So here's the deal- Woke up, showered. (Don't we all?) Then, went to work in the garden and bathe my Lassie type dog. Had to shower from the sweat, dog shampoo, wet hot mess I was after that event. Headed to the library, and then the YMCA pool. Showered before we left the pool. Worked outside after dinner on brushing more collie fur out. Yet, another shower, and we joked about it at that point. Then, I am rough housing with my migits after stories, and while Chaz is in my arms, he poos on me. So, here's the background on that. (And yes, that was shower number five for me, and you think that is ridiculous, next time you get poo'ed on, call me.)
Chaz was diagnosed with Autism when he was two year, three months old. We couldn't get it done any sooner, as three pediatricians thought I was nuts, and finally, I chose to pay out of pocket to have him diagnosed. Yes, he was not just slightly, but he was diagnosed with I. Autism, II. Speech Delay, III. Sensory Integration Dysfunction, and I forget the fourth one. So, I began reading my tail off. I researched. I read books I didn't understand. I read books I did understand. I read books that were so outdated that I wondered if the authors of these books were still alive. I watched Youtube videos of Temple Grandin, I made it my mission to recover Chaz. And really, I knew I would. I knew he would be okay. (How did I know this? I.Have.No.Idea.) I just did. I fully accepted that G-d knew what he was doing, and would help me along the way.
Well, among other things, the leaky gut stuff was one of our first major hurdles we began recovery on. And before he turned four, we had our first solid stool. He was placed on a very strict diet that works because he is not allergic to anything, per se, but because the lining of his intestines was so diseased that it could not process certain things, namely, gluten and casein products. He also had an over growth of yeast and bacteria in his gut based on some independent testing I did on my own, out of pocket, with Great Plains Laboratories. (Amazing lab to work with.) Genova required a doctor to write for the testing and I was aided by a doctor I worked with at the time, from an urgent care center, who happened to know a little bit about biomedical therapies as I began my research on it. After I got the results, she reviewed them, and understanding our financial position, suggested a non DAN! doctor that was a regular board certified pediatrician, but specialized in autism treatment, and was only a little more than an hour away in Tyrone. GA. (I blog. That means, I have anxiety disorder, and driving that far was a stretch for me through Atlanta, but when it comes to recovering your kid, anxiety needs to chill out. To be fair, I assume that there might be one or two bloggers that will be offended by that comment, however, all the bloggers I read have mentioned they are just as screwy as I am and have some sort of issue or another.) The doc put him on VANCOMYCIN. I was scared. Then, after we finished that, six months of anti fungals. We alternated between Diflucan and Nystatin. It was insane. But one day, we had solid poo. We were visiting my parents cabin, and we showed everyone. In fact, for years since, we have been evaluating it. Even Shay knows what sort of adjectives to use. "Mom, it's a long snake, but it's solid!" This phrase can be overheard on any given day, so be ware. Often, someone looks at it.
One day recently, Shay must have felt left out. She told me her poo was green, and wanted me to see it. I swear, this is what I said. "Shay, so what if it's green? I can't change the color. Green is sorta' better than plain ole' brown. I think you should be excited to get a different color. If you're lucky, maybe a leprechaun will want to visit and leave you a treat! There's isn't much I can do for you, other than flush it, but then I'm not teaching you responsible bathroom habits, and if there's anything I want more, it's to have my offspring take care of that stuff, themselves." She was flabbergasted. So, in her head, I can see this bouncing off the walls--- "WTH? Charlie so much as hunches over into his "position" that makes them think he might need to poo, and they jump. He was putting his shoes on. False alarm clever adults. I shit out green poo, and there is no yelling about it from upstairs to downstairs to share the news? I didn't ask for a freakin' ticker tape parade, but the least you lazy people can do is come look and shake your head or something?!!??!!???" Poor Shayna. We will be having a separate collection for her at the end of Mass. (They used to say that when we used to go to one Catholic Church, a long time ago. It always made me laugh. Once, there were 4 collections, one of which, I kid you not, was for the pets of deceased priests. I didn't donate. Not because I didn't think it was a worthy cause, but because I was ticked thinking, "Couldn't one of their kids take the animals?" And then it dawned on me... ooops.. that was one I might have considered.. in retrospect.) I think I'm going to hell. Where am I, and why am I in this hand basket? (Shout out to Mel! Love you chick.)
So, tonight, after shower number 4, I am playing with the migits. Geoff and I both told Charlie to go potty, since we saw his sign. The hunch over. He left, and came back-- too quickly. But, we didn't take the timing into consideration, and resumed play. Well, while I have him in my arms, on the bed, he jumps out of my arms, and I see it. It is in his underwear already, and I freak out and jump in the shower and Geoff deals with him. We have been doing this for years. He is generally fully potty trained day time, but might not stop to urinate, because he can't stand to stop. However, night time, he is in a pull up. I can't remember the last poop accident, but like the saying says.... it happens.
And that is why, I showered five times today. If lotion didn't freak me out so much, I might consider moisturizing after all that. Oh well. If you don't know what I look like- I'm the scaly one. That occasionally bleeds in winter from all the showering and hand washing my OCD produces that time of year. It's attractive, I know. Hey, at least I don't have green poo.
Chaz was diagnosed with Autism when he was two year, three months old. We couldn't get it done any sooner, as three pediatricians thought I was nuts, and finally, I chose to pay out of pocket to have him diagnosed. Yes, he was not just slightly, but he was diagnosed with I. Autism, II. Speech Delay, III. Sensory Integration Dysfunction, and I forget the fourth one. So, I began reading my tail off. I researched. I read books I didn't understand. I read books I did understand. I read books that were so outdated that I wondered if the authors of these books were still alive. I watched Youtube videos of Temple Grandin, I made it my mission to recover Chaz. And really, I knew I would. I knew he would be okay. (How did I know this? I.Have.No.Idea.) I just did. I fully accepted that G-d knew what he was doing, and would help me along the way.
Well, among other things, the leaky gut stuff was one of our first major hurdles we began recovery on. And before he turned four, we had our first solid stool. He was placed on a very strict diet that works because he is not allergic to anything, per se, but because the lining of his intestines was so diseased that it could not process certain things, namely, gluten and casein products. He also had an over growth of yeast and bacteria in his gut based on some independent testing I did on my own, out of pocket, with Great Plains Laboratories. (Amazing lab to work with.) Genova required a doctor to write for the testing and I was aided by a doctor I worked with at the time, from an urgent care center, who happened to know a little bit about biomedical therapies as I began my research on it. After I got the results, she reviewed them, and understanding our financial position, suggested a non DAN! doctor that was a regular board certified pediatrician, but specialized in autism treatment, and was only a little more than an hour away in Tyrone. GA. (I blog. That means, I have anxiety disorder, and driving that far was a stretch for me through Atlanta, but when it comes to recovering your kid, anxiety needs to chill out. To be fair, I assume that there might be one or two bloggers that will be offended by that comment, however, all the bloggers I read have mentioned they are just as screwy as I am and have some sort of issue or another.) The doc put him on VANCOMYCIN. I was scared. Then, after we finished that, six months of anti fungals. We alternated between Diflucan and Nystatin. It was insane. But one day, we had solid poo. We were visiting my parents cabin, and we showed everyone. In fact, for years since, we have been evaluating it. Even Shay knows what sort of adjectives to use. "Mom, it's a long snake, but it's solid!" This phrase can be overheard on any given day, so be ware. Often, someone looks at it.
One day recently, Shay must have felt left out. She told me her poo was green, and wanted me to see it. I swear, this is what I said. "Shay, so what if it's green? I can't change the color. Green is sorta' better than plain ole' brown. I think you should be excited to get a different color. If you're lucky, maybe a leprechaun will want to visit and leave you a treat! There's isn't much I can do for you, other than flush it, but then I'm not teaching you responsible bathroom habits, and if there's anything I want more, it's to have my offspring take care of that stuff, themselves." She was flabbergasted. So, in her head, I can see this bouncing off the walls--- "WTH? Charlie so much as hunches over into his "position" that makes them think he might need to poo, and they jump. He was putting his shoes on. False alarm clever adults. I shit out green poo, and there is no yelling about it from upstairs to downstairs to share the news? I didn't ask for a freakin' ticker tape parade, but the least you lazy people can do is come look and shake your head or something?!!??!!???" Poor Shayna. We will be having a separate collection for her at the end of Mass. (They used to say that when we used to go to one Catholic Church, a long time ago. It always made me laugh. Once, there were 4 collections, one of which, I kid you not, was for the pets of deceased priests. I didn't donate. Not because I didn't think it was a worthy cause, but because I was ticked thinking, "Couldn't one of their kids take the animals?" And then it dawned on me... ooops.. that was one I might have considered.. in retrospect.) I think I'm going to hell. Where am I, and why am I in this hand basket? (Shout out to Mel! Love you chick.)
So, tonight, after shower number 4, I am playing with the migits. Geoff and I both told Charlie to go potty, since we saw his sign. The hunch over. He left, and came back-- too quickly. But, we didn't take the timing into consideration, and resumed play. Well, while I have him in my arms, on the bed, he jumps out of my arms, and I see it. It is in his underwear already, and I freak out and jump in the shower and Geoff deals with him. We have been doing this for years. He is generally fully potty trained day time, but might not stop to urinate, because he can't stand to stop. However, night time, he is in a pull up. I can't remember the last poop accident, but like the saying says.... it happens.
And that is why, I showered five times today. If lotion didn't freak me out so much, I might consider moisturizing after all that. Oh well. If you don't know what I look like- I'm the scaly one. That occasionally bleeds in winter from all the showering and hand washing my OCD produces that time of year. It's attractive, I know. Hey, at least I don't have green poo.
Jul 23, 2012
Today, was a gift.
Naturally, today was better. Why? We don't know. But it appears, every time I think I've reached the end of my rope, the rope cuts me some slack, and things get better. Today was that day. Slack was released, there were happy times again with our family, and all without drugs or alcohol ;o) I really don't know why the wind changes without notice, but it does, and it did, and for that, I am grateful. Charlie and Shay were given options today. First, Learning Express free event called Creative Story Time, or not. They choose not. They just wanted to play. Great. Done. They played, I cleaned and did laundry, and all was good.
Went to his psychologist, and I think we stumped him, and he gave me no feed back, and didn't even set up another appointment. I don't know that I get it, but felt led to not even ask for another appointment, as to date, he has not offered ONE suggestion. Not true- I take that back. He did. One. And if failed. MISERABLY. And he agreed. So, off we went, with a request to give him a call and let him know how things are going once school is underway. Okay. Guess I need to hang on this, as I get this gut feeling that I need to wait for the next issue. How do I know there will be another issue? Because there always is with a developmentally delayed child. It's part of the package. At least I am never surprised when something comes up ;o) I like the predictability of it.
Next option was YMCA pool with our friends there, or our neighborhood pool with Grandma? Went to the neighborhood pool and Grandma M joined us. My mom and I are as close as you can get without considering it incest. I would for real try to get myself adopted by her if I were not her kid. She is really that great a mom to have. She even offered to help me with one of my home renovating projects I have lined up for myself after the migits begin school next week. Wow. That is so generous of her. (When I say "offered," what I really mean is "I told her when I'll be doing it and what time she needs to be here and wearing appropriate attire for re-doing the downstairs flooring." And by "appropriate attire," I don't have a freakin' clue what that means, since neither of us has ever laid floor, and I suppose what she wears will be appropriate, so long as I don't have to see cleavage. That would be awkward, right?) She loves my migits as much as I do, accepts my faults, and loves my husband as he were her own. She is pretty darn close to a saint. If you have ever met my father, you would know this to be true. And if you had known me during my teen years, you would fast track her to the canonization process yourself. She is that good. She is as honest, and kind hearted as anyone I have ever met. Her only fault? I think it's that she is too sensitive and concerned with what others' say or think. I guess that in itself is still sincere and sweet. Never mind, she is practically perfect in every way ;o) So, the afternoon was enjoyable.
Dinner was yummy, and all the while, Chaz and Shay were back to good ole' Chaz and Shay, and the love fest carried through to a sleep over in Shay's room with both in sleeping bags on her queen sized bed. I love that most of my days are like this. I guess the few rotten ones only help me to appreciate what we Ahrens's call, "The norm." Our norm is NOT normal. My children never physically hurt each other, they never call each other names, they enjoy each other, they share friends, they stick up for each other, they cheer for each other's accomplishments, they giggle after just a look at each other, they worry about the other if one starts to wonder away while we are out of the house, they delight in their role as sister or brother to the other. While autism makes our norm different, the children themselves, make our norm better than most families' "norms." It's a blessing and a curse some days. Today, it's a blessing. How was I to know that in the middle of the night last night, I woke to a nightmare and realized I was still in it, and today, my life is a peaceful dream I never realized was a reality I already had?
Went to his psychologist, and I think we stumped him, and he gave me no feed back, and didn't even set up another appointment. I don't know that I get it, but felt led to not even ask for another appointment, as to date, he has not offered ONE suggestion. Not true- I take that back. He did. One. And if failed. MISERABLY. And he agreed. So, off we went, with a request to give him a call and let him know how things are going once school is underway. Okay. Guess I need to hang on this, as I get this gut feeling that I need to wait for the next issue. How do I know there will be another issue? Because there always is with a developmentally delayed child. It's part of the package. At least I am never surprised when something comes up ;o) I like the predictability of it.
Next option was YMCA pool with our friends there, or our neighborhood pool with Grandma? Went to the neighborhood pool and Grandma M joined us. My mom and I are as close as you can get without considering it incest. I would for real try to get myself adopted by her if I were not her kid. She is really that great a mom to have. She even offered to help me with one of my home renovating projects I have lined up for myself after the migits begin school next week. Wow. That is so generous of her. (When I say "offered," what I really mean is "I told her when I'll be doing it and what time she needs to be here and wearing appropriate attire for re-doing the downstairs flooring." And by "appropriate attire," I don't have a freakin' clue what that means, since neither of us has ever laid floor, and I suppose what she wears will be appropriate, so long as I don't have to see cleavage. That would be awkward, right?) She loves my migits as much as I do, accepts my faults, and loves my husband as he were her own. She is pretty darn close to a saint. If you have ever met my father, you would know this to be true. And if you had known me during my teen years, you would fast track her to the canonization process yourself. She is that good. She is as honest, and kind hearted as anyone I have ever met. Her only fault? I think it's that she is too sensitive and concerned with what others' say or think. I guess that in itself is still sincere and sweet. Never mind, she is practically perfect in every way ;o) So, the afternoon was enjoyable.
Dinner was yummy, and all the while, Chaz and Shay were back to good ole' Chaz and Shay, and the love fest carried through to a sleep over in Shay's room with both in sleeping bags on her queen sized bed. I love that most of my days are like this. I guess the few rotten ones only help me to appreciate what we Ahrens's call, "The norm." Our norm is NOT normal. My children never physically hurt each other, they never call each other names, they enjoy each other, they share friends, they stick up for each other, they cheer for each other's accomplishments, they giggle after just a look at each other, they worry about the other if one starts to wonder away while we are out of the house, they delight in their role as sister or brother to the other. While autism makes our norm different, the children themselves, make our norm better than most families' "norms." It's a blessing and a curse some days. Today, it's a blessing. How was I to know that in the middle of the night last night, I woke to a nightmare and realized I was still in it, and today, my life is a peaceful dream I never realized was a reality I already had?
What do you say to that?
WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT?
ME- Charlie, are you going to behave?
Charlie- No.
Me- So you are NOT going to do what I have asked?
Charlie- No.
ME- (rephrasing the question to ensure he has understood it.) So, if I tell you to stop doing that to Shay, you will not stop?
Charlie- No.
ME- Why?
Charlie- Because, I no want to.
Freakin' honesty is killing me. Freakin' behavior is killing Shay. Freakin' stress in this house is killing us all. I put my kid to bed and didn't say "I love you." Not because I don't love him, but because I am so sucking at mommy hood that I thought an angry "I love you" would have been worse than none at all. I really thought that out. Yeah, actions speak louder than words. And neither one was specifically saying, "I love you Charlie" last night.
It's times like these, that I remember those baby days of sleepless days filled with sleepless nights that made us crazed. I am stuck in this place with our son that seems so fertile with angst that I wonder if Oscar the Grouch would appreciate my son right now. While most of us are not sleepless, we are still in this rut that feels like we will never crawl though the next moment. I am not even sure I know how to respond to some of the stuff we are dealing with. Is it autism? Is it normal? Is it some new diagnosis? Is it fixable? Am I going to pick up a new habit or twitch before it's over with? Stay tuned, for these and other answers I can not foresee.
PS I went and made the sign of the cross over him an hour ago as he slept. I told him that I loved him. I was not angry. Maybe I am not the worst mom in the world. Sure feels like it recently. Crappy feeling when that's your only job and you don't do it well. I know you have been there. Say nothing. Please pray for us.
RAINY DAY FUN FOR ME
What do I do with rainy days? Play games, blog, read other blogs, go online and search out blog ideas. Yeah, I guess that will become a new blog obsessed nerd problem. I hadn't read one single blog, knowingly, until AFTER I started my own. So, I had no frame of reference. It was awesome. I was doing what I instinctually thought a blog was, with my style, and my humor, and I loved it. Then, I was playing around with different styles recently, and thought I was inventing sliced bread again! It was fantastic for my ego. (I know, I know. Ego never helped anyone.) Well, that inflated ego was quickly squashed when I had a ton of free time recently and began reading blogs, similar to mine. They were great. They even used a lot of my words. My style. And that's when it hit me. I was not unique. I was doing what they were doing, but they have more experience. So, it quickly bummed me out, and with the child issue from above, it was really like the last nail in my coffin. I managed to realize that while the other writers write more specifically to certain topics, after the third or fourth blog post on a three year old's eating habits, or how that blogger only writes on how social phobia affects their life, it was not as diverse as mine, and really has a much more narrow view point than what I do.
So, I guess it's not all that frustrating. I might not be able to make a full time career out of this, but at least I'm working toward my first goal- to put words to my life and to be able to give this to my children. I love you Charlie. I love you Shay-bay. Chaz, it's hard being your mommy sometimes. I am afraid that I am doing it wrong somedays. Shay, it's hard being your mommy too. I'm afraid I'm doing it wrong sometimes. Both of you are so very different, yet you, Daddy and Brody are the reason I breathe each day. I am reminded that it is my job to raise you both to be people that love one and another, and that I will teach you by example. I mess that up sometimes. I am trying. Be patient with me, and I will try my hardest to be patient with you. I will now end with a quote from Grandma Marilyn who I have learned from Pinterest, is quoting someone wiser than she....
"THIS TOO SHALL PASS."
Jul 21, 2012
Fiverr
Well, discouraged, and needed a little pick me up. Found it. But it was a temporary fix, as after a few minutes, I was bored. It's called Fiverr. This website is a marketing place for anyone who will sell a service for only $5. What sorts of things can you pay only $5 for? Well, someone is willing to sing Happy Birthday to you or a loved one in chin face style for only five buckeroos. Or, translate five minutes of english to spanish. Or write the name of your business on their lips and take a high resolution picture of it to use as an advertisement online. OR... well. It made me wonder. What might I be willing or able to sell for $5? I got to thinking, and here is the abridged version of things I might be able to sell. (You will thank me that I was selective with what I am sharing with you. The other ideas were worse than what will follow.)
For five dollars, I am willing to...
- Clean all the crayon marks off the surfaces of your child's room. No Scarlett. I do not do hallways, or full walls. (I have my limitations.)
-Make a family slogan using your last name (Ours is, "I'm an Ahrens, yes I am! I'm an Ahrens, yes I CAN!") I'm not even kidding about this. I say it to my migits every time I hear "I can't!" I tried it on a neighbor kid the other day at the pool. Sadly, that specific phrase does not roll off the tongue as well with a Jewish last name. You know who you are.
-Call you each morning for one whole week to wake you with a song. (I have one for each morning. If it sounds the same, it might be. But you just might get a one morning and then you will feel like you struck gold. Trust me. My kids wonder if I make up songs all the time. I just know so many of them.
-Wipe your childs' backside after a poo, and pretend to appreciate the job. I did it for my own two kids for years. I am a method actor. Shout out the the other thespians in the audience!
-teach you the two easy steps of having a panic attack in your own bathroom (yes, become claustrophobic, then unknowingly close the bathroom door after another person has locked the hand lock and when you go to leave, VIOLA! Panic attack!) Oh wait, just gave that five bucko's away, huh? Well, you're welcome. And, it's not easy being me.
-clean a bathroom that a penis uses. We all know that a penis is a terrible aim, and the owner of the penis generally has less inclination to aim then to worry about the poor female who will spend countless hours wiping it up, and researching how to get urine smell out from underneath a toilet. If you love your wife, or your mom, practice target shooting. I have an idea. Do what this family did with their son.
*Break for writer's experience with this topic
So, one day, I was asked to babysit for a student of mine. She had a sister that was a year younger, and a baby brother. I did not EVER like babysitting babies. I was totally fine with a three year old or older. However, this mom was really amazing, and I loved spending time at their home, so I began babysitting for them fairly regularly. So, I had the baby, the four and five year old, and the mom told me that she would be staying in the neighborhood playing Bunko for a few hours. She promised me that the baby would be fine on the couch for hours, and that I could even just stay upstairs with the girls and get them to bed and not worry at all about the baby. She was right, and now he is probably close to high school age from what I have learned while FB creeping on his now college aged sister. I gained some confidence, and began sitting for other babies, and did pretty well.
Fast forward to when he is around two, and potty training. I had NO experience with this at all. So, one night, before the mom leaves, she tells me that I need to have him "try" before putting on his pull up and putting him to bed that night. I must have looked panicked, since she patted my arm and reassured me that the two older girls would know what to do. So, bedtime rolls around, and I remembered that he needs to try, so I take him in there while the girls change into pajamas. We get in their, and he is saying, "Cherrio, Cherrio!" For f's sake? What? He's gone all English on us? He gets really worked up, and finally, the girls enter with the Cherrio box in hand and grab a handful and give it to him. He takes them, and throws them into the toilet water. Then, he happily urinates, aiming for each of the Cherrios as he relieved himself. AHHH. Got it. I was prepared for the next babysitting adventure I had there.
The next time, mere weeks later, I grabbed a handful of Cherrios prior to bringing him in the bathroom. We get in there, he pulls his underwear down, and I proudly open my fistful of cereal for him to use as he wishes. Well, he starts yelling, "Skittle, SKITTLE!" I was confused. But remembered that I did see a little bag of Skittles in the downstairs bathroom. So, I ran downstairs, grabbed a few, ran back up, and threw the Skittles into the bowl. The girls laughed at me. He began crying. The girls ran downstairs, came back, and schooled me on the change. The Skittle was to give him AFTER he successfully left a deposit in the bowl. Great. At least his mother, a genius in her own ways, had the foresight to teach aim along with the life long lesson of always upping the ante. Thank you Stacy.
If you need potty training for a child, that will cost you more than five dollars, but, I can do it. I can even do it in under 48 hours. But then again, it will cost at least five dollars an hour. And a couple of cans of Lysol. And a bottle of Pinnacle Whipped to get me through the training period. Two if I have to do the laundry of the wet through undies.
Let me know what I can do for you! For a mere five dollars... I'm cheaper than most value meals! (That's not what I meant.) Maybe I should scratch that slogan idea....
PS It is rainy. I had all day to play online, with the migits, and nap. Now, you have been given two and a half blogs in less than 24 hours. Thank you Mother Nature!
For five dollars, I am willing to...
- Clean all the crayon marks off the surfaces of your child's room. No Scarlett. I do not do hallways, or full walls. (I have my limitations.)
-Make a family slogan using your last name (Ours is, "I'm an Ahrens, yes I am! I'm an Ahrens, yes I CAN!") I'm not even kidding about this. I say it to my migits every time I hear "I can't!" I tried it on a neighbor kid the other day at the pool. Sadly, that specific phrase does not roll off the tongue as well with a Jewish last name. You know who you are.
-Call you each morning for one whole week to wake you with a song. (I have one for each morning. If it sounds the same, it might be. But you just might get a one morning and then you will feel like you struck gold. Trust me. My kids wonder if I make up songs all the time. I just know so many of them.
-Wipe your childs' backside after a poo, and pretend to appreciate the job. I did it for my own two kids for years. I am a method actor. Shout out the the other thespians in the audience!
-teach you the two easy steps of having a panic attack in your own bathroom (yes, become claustrophobic, then unknowingly close the bathroom door after another person has locked the hand lock and when you go to leave, VIOLA! Panic attack!) Oh wait, just gave that five bucko's away, huh? Well, you're welcome. And, it's not easy being me.
-clean a bathroom that a penis uses. We all know that a penis is a terrible aim, and the owner of the penis generally has less inclination to aim then to worry about the poor female who will spend countless hours wiping it up, and researching how to get urine smell out from underneath a toilet. If you love your wife, or your mom, practice target shooting. I have an idea. Do what this family did with their son.
*Break for writer's experience with this topic
So, one day, I was asked to babysit for a student of mine. She had a sister that was a year younger, and a baby brother. I did not EVER like babysitting babies. I was totally fine with a three year old or older. However, this mom was really amazing, and I loved spending time at their home, so I began babysitting for them fairly regularly. So, I had the baby, the four and five year old, and the mom told me that she would be staying in the neighborhood playing Bunko for a few hours. She promised me that the baby would be fine on the couch for hours, and that I could even just stay upstairs with the girls and get them to bed and not worry at all about the baby. She was right, and now he is probably close to high school age from what I have learned while FB creeping on his now college aged sister. I gained some confidence, and began sitting for other babies, and did pretty well.
Fast forward to when he is around two, and potty training. I had NO experience with this at all. So, one night, before the mom leaves, she tells me that I need to have him "try" before putting on his pull up and putting him to bed that night. I must have looked panicked, since she patted my arm and reassured me that the two older girls would know what to do. So, bedtime rolls around, and I remembered that he needs to try, so I take him in there while the girls change into pajamas. We get in their, and he is saying, "Cherrio, Cherrio!" For f's sake? What? He's gone all English on us? He gets really worked up, and finally, the girls enter with the Cherrio box in hand and grab a handful and give it to him. He takes them, and throws them into the toilet water. Then, he happily urinates, aiming for each of the Cherrios as he relieved himself. AHHH. Got it. I was prepared for the next babysitting adventure I had there.
The next time, mere weeks later, I grabbed a handful of Cherrios prior to bringing him in the bathroom. We get in there, he pulls his underwear down, and I proudly open my fistful of cereal for him to use as he wishes. Well, he starts yelling, "Skittle, SKITTLE!" I was confused. But remembered that I did see a little bag of Skittles in the downstairs bathroom. So, I ran downstairs, grabbed a few, ran back up, and threw the Skittles into the bowl. The girls laughed at me. He began crying. The girls ran downstairs, came back, and schooled me on the change. The Skittle was to give him AFTER he successfully left a deposit in the bowl. Great. At least his mother, a genius in her own ways, had the foresight to teach aim along with the life long lesson of always upping the ante. Thank you Stacy.
If you need potty training for a child, that will cost you more than five dollars, but, I can do it. I can even do it in under 48 hours. But then again, it will cost at least five dollars an hour. And a couple of cans of Lysol. And a bottle of Pinnacle Whipped to get me through the training period. Two if I have to do the laundry of the wet through undies.
Let me know what I can do for you! For a mere five dollars... I'm cheaper than most value meals! (That's not what I meant.) Maybe I should scratch that slogan idea....
PS It is rainy. I had all day to play online, with the migits, and nap. Now, you have been given two and a half blogs in less than 24 hours. Thank you Mother Nature!
A pis in the name of art
*This is your lucky day! Two blog posts within a few hours.
I really intended to share this very famous, yet, disgusting piece of art in my last blog. I don't think any piece of art that includes a variation of the word "piss," should be withheld when sharing art of questionable status with you peeps. The original, which, in itself, is lovely, yet when my son tries to duplicate it, will get him self in huge trouble, therefore, I will warn you, this is not for young eyes. However, what I had not been privy to, was the many forms that this piece has taken. So, please enjoy the link I have provided here.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manneken_Pis
PS I had no idea that is what an organ builder looked like. See- this is really a public service I am providing. I think I should get paid.
I really intended to share this very famous, yet, disgusting piece of art in my last blog. I don't think any piece of art that includes a variation of the word "piss," should be withheld when sharing art of questionable status with you peeps. The original, which, in itself, is lovely, yet when my son tries to duplicate it, will get him self in huge trouble, therefore, I will warn you, this is not for young eyes. However, what I had not been privy to, was the many forms that this piece has taken. So, please enjoy the link I have provided here.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manneken_Pis
PS I had no idea that is what an organ builder looked like. See- this is really a public service I am providing. I think I should get paid.
A reason to spit coffee out of your nose
I don't do "best" friends. That means that the other relationships you have are not as beautiful or worthy. That is hurtful. I have taught this to my daughter, as girls start out young with this concept. I had to teach that lesson to Shay when she was only three years old when she told me about her friends not including her in the clubhouse on the playground at school, because they were "best" friends.
I don't do 4 for $5 sales. I mean, technically, I do, but not in the way that my husband does. If it says that, I will purchase one, and only spend one fourth of the amount for what I need, and not for what I think I need. For those of you not in the know, this concept works for BOGO (buy one, get one free) items. (Geoff went to Kroger and got more Reese's Peanut Butter Cups than any of us needed.) One eight pack would have been MORE than enough for our family of four. GRRRR. NO WILL POWER DUDE! I HAVE NONE! THANKS FOR THAT!
What do I do, you wonder? Nude art. Nude art makes me giggle. Nude art with an attempt at erotica makes me cock my head sideways. (No pun intended.) Nude art with an attempt at erotica that involves cold blooded reptiles helps me write a blog post for the day that makes me happy. To me, this was silly, and the person who found this, must also have a sense of humor, as from what I can tell, the blog I am sharing this from, is a blog on fashion. I loved it.
Before you go there, I will share my take on it. You will have a finer appreciation for the pictures once you have my take on it. Trust me. They aren't that great. They might be, but I am not cultured enough, nor do I pretend to be. But, if you are in my head, the value of the the art sky rockets to coffee shooting through your nose if you are not careful. You have been warned.
First, there is a portrait painting of a Victorian-era lady that is wearing a corset-type top, and her hair is adorned with the traditional ringlet curls, flowers that resemble the flower pot on my patio, and naturally, a bird sitting on top of her head.
Writers' aside here to share a story from her youth- I never did go to my high school prom (dropped acid that night), or graduation, or most of my scheduled classes, but I did make it to my middle school, 8th grade formal dance. By.my.self. I had a gorgeous dress. All white. simple. Fit me beautifully. And no one asked me. So, I went with a group of friends and their "dates," to a Japanese steakhouse, and then on to the dance, with them. However, the most notable part of the evening, to date, was that my hair was french braided by my mom, and she adorned my head with baby's breath. It was pretty. But, she must have wanted to get her monies worth, as she must have put all the sprigs of baby's breathe in my hair. I looked like a walking advertisement for the local florist by the time she finished. I love you mom. You tried. And I can't wait to one day happen upon those pictures again. I do remember that the dress came from a sample at the Atlanta Apparel Mart, was $80, and at that time, that must have been so difficult for our family to afford. Thank you for allowing me that opportunity. It was the only time in my life I wore such a beautiful dress, and I truly did feel beautiful that night. I was just sad to not have had a flower around my wrist, like so many others had that night. The only regrets are the ones I had no control over in my life. (I never regret a choice I have made in my life, unless it hurts someone else. I accept the choice, and allow a bad choice to become a lesson for the next time.)
On to the picture, since my flower pot moment has been shared with you. So, the picture, so far, not too odd, or unique. Well, the woman's face is like viewing someone when you are drunk. There are like two of them. Three eyes, but two noses and two pair of lips. Oh yeah, forgot about the top of her breast that are pushed up through her corseted top. There are three of them. Right. Well, I love the number three, and I too, love my breast. However, the phrase, "The more the merrier!" doesn't seem appropriate here. The middle breast, which I will refer to as "Number 2," as any way you look at it, it will always be second. (Kinda like looked at the word "hate" written in such a way that if seen in a mirror image, can also say, "Love." Found it on Pinterest.com middle of the night. Didn't know that it would be so useful one day. Or today. So, Number 2 has a yellow jacket hanging from it. I got nothing. It's like being back in high school and having just read a passage from some well known writing, and the teacher asking what it meant, and everyone throwing their hands in their, and waving them like they just don't care... Yeah, that song was around in my days... Anyway, I read, and had the same dumb expression as I do when I look at this art work and wonder, "What the heck?"
Lady with Number 2 seemed interesting, but not as good as the second piece of art on this site. Then, I moved on to the next one, and while trying to figure it out, I found the only piece of art I have every wanted in my life. A nude, very transgender-y looking figure (muscles, bad make up job, and breast that appear to have been just placed on the body) with a bright yellow parakeet in the corner of the frame, that seems oddly proportioned for the whole piece, and then a large life size iguana going all missionary style on this transgender-y looking person. Oh, and the iguana is licking the bottom of the lifted left leg's foot. Oh, it's all shades of messed up. All that is just quirky enough to make me love it. However, here's the the best part. Shim's (she/him) left hand, is hanging off the bed, and onto, a frog. And you are wondering, "What is the frog doing there?" Well, if that is the first question that popped into your head, then we don't really need to continue here. Basically, it's like a threesome, but the oddest part of the threesome is the "shim." I mean, if it was all animals, then okay, but this is just one of those train wrecks you can't stop viewing. OH! And the spider! There is a spider hanging above the headboard of the bed. Well, duh. Of course they would be on a bed. And the bed WOULD have monster claws as it's frame. AND, the headboard would have some jacked up creature with breasts adorning the post. I don't believe there is an English adjective to use here. I implore you. Please try to consider this as a gift if you draw my name in a gift exchange. Or, if you happen to have this, and are keeping it to re-gift as a white elephant gift.. please consider it a donation to my quirkier side. I don't do stuffed, dead animals, as some amazing bloggers do. (Jenny Lawson can be found at thebloggess.com) Like she even needs my little plug. She is the most successful blogger I follow. And by successful, I mean, she is articulate, honest, and gifted beyond words.
When you go to the site, make the first little image on the right, go away. Then you can follow along with what I had written.
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjemj1gQIGlJluL4YQ1spz1i9-BU5LqnbKbpiM113TIx_nnFKxd6s8h3dmsaaSPNdylMgs0KJjRKgM1U43pmcTmXy5T3f7nMbgalvTjgq28PELj065Uh9uO495GyOb7H5q2lsb1NexKfq/s400/coletteMyC.jpg&imgrefurl=http://teamgenius.blogspot.com/2009/02/colette-calascione.html&usg=__sJg-VBI-fJ7hRDCPaEnzFTF2Zm4=&h=394&w=310&sz=40&hl=en&start=26&sig2=GcYCdmXc4b_gK0ZyU0Ck8A&zoom=1&tbnid=vTVkZfTxtmCawM:&tbnh=124&tbnw=98&ei=IN1mTvPTJdDdgQebwbDtDA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcolette%2Bcalascione%26start%3D21%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1
Well? Was it all you had hoped? I did not put a disclaimer for little eyes, as I truly didn't think that this was something that you should fear. My daughter walked by and saw this and said, "Oh look at that pretty butterfly!" True story. I didn't even see that until she said it. I'm not one to shy away from showing my children pretty butterflies. Are you?
PS Got any idea how to treat nostrils that have been burnt by hot coffee?
I don't do 4 for $5 sales. I mean, technically, I do, but not in the way that my husband does. If it says that, I will purchase one, and only spend one fourth of the amount for what I need, and not for what I think I need. For those of you not in the know, this concept works for BOGO (buy one, get one free) items. (Geoff went to Kroger and got more Reese's Peanut Butter Cups than any of us needed.) One eight pack would have been MORE than enough for our family of four. GRRRR. NO WILL POWER DUDE! I HAVE NONE! THANKS FOR THAT!
What do I do, you wonder? Nude art. Nude art makes me giggle. Nude art with an attempt at erotica makes me cock my head sideways. (No pun intended.) Nude art with an attempt at erotica that involves cold blooded reptiles helps me write a blog post for the day that makes me happy. To me, this was silly, and the person who found this, must also have a sense of humor, as from what I can tell, the blog I am sharing this from, is a blog on fashion. I loved it.
Before you go there, I will share my take on it. You will have a finer appreciation for the pictures once you have my take on it. Trust me. They aren't that great. They might be, but I am not cultured enough, nor do I pretend to be. But, if you are in my head, the value of the the art sky rockets to coffee shooting through your nose if you are not careful. You have been warned.
First, there is a portrait painting of a Victorian-era lady that is wearing a corset-type top, and her hair is adorned with the traditional ringlet curls, flowers that resemble the flower pot on my patio, and naturally, a bird sitting on top of her head.
Writers' aside here to share a story from her youth- I never did go to my high school prom (dropped acid that night), or graduation, or most of my scheduled classes, but I did make it to my middle school, 8th grade formal dance. By.my.self. I had a gorgeous dress. All white. simple. Fit me beautifully. And no one asked me. So, I went with a group of friends and their "dates," to a Japanese steakhouse, and then on to the dance, with them. However, the most notable part of the evening, to date, was that my hair was french braided by my mom, and she adorned my head with baby's breath. It was pretty. But, she must have wanted to get her monies worth, as she must have put all the sprigs of baby's breathe in my hair. I looked like a walking advertisement for the local florist by the time she finished. I love you mom. You tried. And I can't wait to one day happen upon those pictures again. I do remember that the dress came from a sample at the Atlanta Apparel Mart, was $80, and at that time, that must have been so difficult for our family to afford. Thank you for allowing me that opportunity. It was the only time in my life I wore such a beautiful dress, and I truly did feel beautiful that night. I was just sad to not have had a flower around my wrist, like so many others had that night. The only regrets are the ones I had no control over in my life. (I never regret a choice I have made in my life, unless it hurts someone else. I accept the choice, and allow a bad choice to become a lesson for the next time.)
On to the picture, since my flower pot moment has been shared with you. So, the picture, so far, not too odd, or unique. Well, the woman's face is like viewing someone when you are drunk. There are like two of them. Three eyes, but two noses and two pair of lips. Oh yeah, forgot about the top of her breast that are pushed up through her corseted top. There are three of them. Right. Well, I love the number three, and I too, love my breast. However, the phrase, "The more the merrier!" doesn't seem appropriate here. The middle breast, which I will refer to as "Number 2," as any way you look at it, it will always be second. (Kinda like looked at the word "hate" written in such a way that if seen in a mirror image, can also say, "Love." Found it on Pinterest.com middle of the night. Didn't know that it would be so useful one day. Or today. So, Number 2 has a yellow jacket hanging from it. I got nothing. It's like being back in high school and having just read a passage from some well known writing, and the teacher asking what it meant, and everyone throwing their hands in their, and waving them like they just don't care... Yeah, that song was around in my days... Anyway, I read, and had the same dumb expression as I do when I look at this art work and wonder, "What the heck?"
Lady with Number 2 seemed interesting, but not as good as the second piece of art on this site. Then, I moved on to the next one, and while trying to figure it out, I found the only piece of art I have every wanted in my life. A nude, very transgender-y looking figure (muscles, bad make up job, and breast that appear to have been just placed on the body) with a bright yellow parakeet in the corner of the frame, that seems oddly proportioned for the whole piece, and then a large life size iguana going all missionary style on this transgender-y looking person. Oh, and the iguana is licking the bottom of the lifted left leg's foot. Oh, it's all shades of messed up. All that is just quirky enough to make me love it. However, here's the the best part. Shim's (she/him) left hand, is hanging off the bed, and onto, a frog. And you are wondering, "What is the frog doing there?" Well, if that is the first question that popped into your head, then we don't really need to continue here. Basically, it's like a threesome, but the oddest part of the threesome is the "shim." I mean, if it was all animals, then okay, but this is just one of those train wrecks you can't stop viewing. OH! And the spider! There is a spider hanging above the headboard of the bed. Well, duh. Of course they would be on a bed. And the bed WOULD have monster claws as it's frame. AND, the headboard would have some jacked up creature with breasts adorning the post. I don't believe there is an English adjective to use here. I implore you. Please try to consider this as a gift if you draw my name in a gift exchange. Or, if you happen to have this, and are keeping it to re-gift as a white elephant gift.. please consider it a donation to my quirkier side. I don't do stuffed, dead animals, as some amazing bloggers do. (Jenny Lawson can be found at thebloggess.com) Like she even needs my little plug. She is the most successful blogger I follow. And by successful, I mean, she is articulate, honest, and gifted beyond words.
When you go to the site, make the first little image on the right, go away. Then you can follow along with what I had written.
http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjemj1gQIGlJluL4YQ1spz1i9-BU5LqnbKbpiM113TIx_nnFKxd6s8h3dmsaaSPNdylMgs0KJjRKgM1U43pmcTmXy5T3f7nMbgalvTjgq28PELj065Uh9uO495GyOb7H5q2lsb1NexKfq/s400/coletteMyC.jpg&imgrefurl=http://teamgenius.blogspot.com/2009/02/colette-calascione.html&usg=__sJg-VBI-fJ7hRDCPaEnzFTF2Zm4=&h=394&w=310&sz=40&hl=en&start=26&sig2=GcYCdmXc4b_gK0ZyU0Ck8A&zoom=1&tbnid=vTVkZfTxtmCawM:&tbnh=124&tbnw=98&ei=IN1mTvPTJdDdgQebwbDtDA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcolette%2Bcalascione%26start%3D21%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26tbm%3Disch&itbs=1
Well? Was it all you had hoped? I did not put a disclaimer for little eyes, as I truly didn't think that this was something that you should fear. My daughter walked by and saw this and said, "Oh look at that pretty butterfly!" True story. I didn't even see that until she said it. I'm not one to shy away from showing my children pretty butterflies. Are you?
PS Got any idea how to treat nostrils that have been burnt by hot coffee?
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