Conversations with my Children, Part III

The Girl, first thing in the morning, signing "cracker."

Me:  "No, sweetie, you can't have crackers for breakfast.  How about cereal?"
The girl grabbing her iPad, emphatically pounds, "[WOMAN!] I WANT CRACKERS!"
Just in case I'd misunderstood her.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Girl, voluntarily (!) turning off Princess Sofia to switch to Proloquo:  "Snack, I want please."
Me:  "What kind of snack do you want?"
The girl:  "Yogurt, please."

~~~~~~~~~~

The Girl, signing, "Goodnight, Mommy.  Bye-bye."
Me, surprised at the abbreviated process & picking her iPad to recharge it, "Goodnight, sweetheart."
The Girl starts crying, having realized there would be no midnight showing of Frozen:
"Noooooo!  More book, please?  Snuggle?  Lights out!"

~~~~~~~~~~

 The Girl, upon hearing we were having (coffee) cake for breakfast, "Candles?"

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The Girl, during a thunderstorm, signing:  "Outside? Bikes?"

Me:  "No, it's raining outside."

She grinned and returned a moment later with her rain boots on. 

"Outside? Bikes?"

~~~~~~~~~~

 

This is a terrible picture, but she drew out the "Little monkeys jumping on the bed" song and was able to explain it to her para (who kindly provided captions).  

~~~~~~~~~~

Back in May, at the end-of-kindy IEP, The Girl's school peeps formally announced the goal of communicating her wants and needs through multiple modes across a variety of settings 20x/day over 3 consecutive dates had been met eons ago and needed to be updated.  This may or may not have been followed by a wry look, a chuckle, an eye roll, and a comment about how very glad they are that she was at their school.  Oh, yes.  Yes, indeed.  That goal was a carry over from her preschool.  The school where her principal wondered if she had anything to say. 

Did I mention we were never, ever moving?  

The Old Man and the Sea

Almost immediately after his mom (Gigi) died, my dad left for the sea.  He'd bought an older sailboat about a year & half ago but family shenanigans ensued so it's sat in various shipyards across Europe ever since, getting cobbled back together as time & money allowed, and while on breaks from taking care of Gigi.

But then she died and he sailed from somewhere in Spain to the Canary Islands, to Cape Verde, and then finally west across the great blue ocean.  He was supposed to be emailing coordinates daily (Technology!) but one day Matt pointed out that we hadn't heard from him in a while.  We proceeded, as people under stress are wont to do, to argue about whether we should, in fact, be worried.  Really argue.  Which was asinine because either one is or one isn't, much as my dad was either afloat or not, and there wasn't a whole hell of a lot we could do about it ten thousand or so miles away.

Cape Verde

I confirmed he'd actually left his last port and wasn't languishing in a Cape Verdian hospital or ditch, then decided he'd either lost the damn phone overboard or was just being uncommunicative.  A day or so later he emailed and was fine.  Technology glitch.

Oh.  OK, then.

The very same day he wrote, a friend of mine called - she knew my sister went to Purdue and had I been watching the news?  Noooo, I was home with the kids on one of the 256 snow days they've called this winter.  There was a shooting.  Another damn shooting.  I called my sister, the phone picked up, and there was crackling - like little firecrackers (or gunshots).  Then the line went dead.

I died.

No, actually, that's not true - in one of those surreal, slow pan, rising music moments I actually thought that there was no fucking way THAT just happened, so I texted her.  She wrote back immediately - and the world kept spinning - she was in class and couldn't talk because even though the building was on lock down her professor was plowing forward.  Linear algebra is important, yo.

Oh.  OK, then.

Exactly one week later my brother received a clearly auto-generated text with coordinates and this mysterious line, "Accuracy Horiz: +/- 8 m Vert: +/- 32 m".  Thirty two meters, for products of this great American school system, is about 105'.  A hundred foot wave would be…. something.  But even if they weren't Perfect Storm big, a 210 foot "accuracy" swing certainly suggested rough seas, right?  And why the auto-text?  One island couldn't be reached, we assumed because of the storm that had just passed thru.  My brother swung into action, various nations' Coast Guards were notified and a pleasure cruiser was even diverting.  I spent all morning at work trying to figure out how to confirm his Epirb had, actually, gone off.  This time I thought it was real and I tried to imagine what a little boat might do in 100' seas.  So this is how it happens.  

And then he called.  Guess what he just figured out his sat phone can do!  Auto-texting!!

Oh.  OK, then.

And these are just the highlights.  There has also been car drama, the aforementioned 256 snow days, the resulting employer dissatisfaction, plumbing trouble (and not the fresh-water-from-the-shower kind), and GI upsets. There has been too much eating, not enough running, not enough pictures, and not enough wine.  Never enough wine.  (There was quite definitely too much coffee.)  There has obviously been no writing.  I'm not unhappy but I am so, so very tired.  Tired of the cold, the angst, and of my pathological inability to balance family, work, and me.

But there have been lots of snowy PJ days, movie nights, and hugs.  There have been stars rendered in Play-Doh.  And, at one point after we were washing the dog and the carpet and the child, who had all intersected in a Bermuda Triangle of Poop, I started to laugh.  What else can you do, right?  

You can go sailing.

31 for 21: 1 down, 52ish more to go (Mo'School)

I just added up all the IEP and parent-teacher conferences in our future between both kids, assuming we never get around to adopting and the kids don't venture too far off the rails:  52.

Kids, man, they're such a time suck. 
I jest!

If you want the background on the To Kindy or Not To Kindy decision, it's here.

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I went to The Girl's first official kindy parent-teacher conference Thursday night.  There was no drama, no conflict, no good narrative tension… not that I'm complaining, but it makes for rough writing.

The SpEd/SLP were running a few minutes late and her 'formal' teacher seemed a little lost at first, but soon warmed up and had nothing but good things to say.  The Girl is (mostly) sitting nicely during circle time, there are a couple kids in the class who ask about her and want to sit by her (my heart!), and she looked shocked when I asked if my sweet little angel* was walloping people, as she'd done last year.
*sarcasm

[Not a critical factor but I was also happy to hear she isn't intentionally dumping her food/drink at lunch - something she delights in a home.  *phew*  Also?  THAT is why peer modeling works, my friends.]

We only had 20 minutes with the primary so the SpEd, SLP & I soon moved into the teacher's lounge where we went over her IEP goals (she has a re-evaluation coming up) and just chatted about how kindy is going.  She's picked up the classroom routines easily, they confirmed she knows all her letters, upper & lower case, and they were delighted to find that she loves-loves-loves to read, doing my bookish heart proud.  She's busy exploring her AAC and even answering questions on it (!).   She is, however, exhausted by the end of the day, and especially by the end of the week - but they they anticipated this going in so no surprise. [And, really, who isn't done by Friday?]

They seemed appropriately uninterested in the IEP numbers and percentages, stressing again that this year is about communication.  They talked about how the para hangs back during activities so she isn't being smothered or singled out (!).   They love her social stories & have shared them with the class.  And not only did they agree to a communication book (the emails have been a wee bit thin lately), they're going to put it into Proloquo2go so that my daughter can tell me about her day.  That is brilliant.

They told a couple funny stories about her - which completely escape me now - but concluded by commenting on what a bright child she was.

Oh, you guys.  This is the dream.

Yes, I am a sucker for compliments about my children but it wasn't just that - they recognized her strengths, they intuitively understood things other parents have had to battle over, and they were completely invested in their role in my daughter's success.  They just oozed a lovely, quiet competence.

I read somewhere that older SpEd teachers are the worst at pushing inclusion because they tend to be territorial of "their kids".  That doesn't to be the case here but she IS spending most of her day in SpEd, by design.  I know anything could happen over the next few years - we could end up battling over the amount of time in gen ed when we re-do "traditional" kindy next year, we could argue over the number & timing of push ins vs pull outs.  We could lose the pro-inclusion principal.  The SpEd teacher from heaven could quit or move.  I could get hit by a semi.  The Girl could…. well, anything could happen.  But what a gift this year is.

P.S.  Also, only a few kindy art projects seem to have received excessive assistance.  I think she did the eyes on this guy - at least she recognized it and grabbed it from my hand - That's MY spider, mom!

17/31 - One flower, Five leaves.

Beauty in small un-

even containers.  Of this

I know.  Life, unboxed.

Happy Mother's Day

There are many beautiful tributes to mothers being posted online today.  This will not be one of them.  I and ALL of my maternal figures deserve pantheons erected in our honor, but I am going spend my morning lazing about, relishing the contrast between the deliriously delightful dizzying dash of days that is my life because of my children, and the quiet special day, devoted to my role in their lives, in which I will hide from them upstairs. 

Mom, Gigi, and MAB will be getting calls later and I'll spend the afternoon noshing on BBQ with my MIL.  Tomorrow I will mail the cards my son lovingly crafted for them because nothing says I Love You like a card that arrives 4 days late.  [Speaking of which, we have an Easter card for Gigi too.  I'm totally putting both cards in one envelope because I'm thrifty like that.] 

Today also more or less marks my one year Blogoversary.  This started off as an unsearchable photo-only blog but I quickly hijacked it and am now smitten with my virtual Mommy hour (or two - see below).  I never explained the title but this was to literally be a "Trial Run", as I started posting photos in April and wanted to see if I could keep it up before notifying the family.  I always thought I'd change the name but then decided that I'd keep it because this is your life, you only get one of them - it's not a trial run, make the most of it.  Which I heard in some form from someone at some point in time and which I took to heart. 

From my son:

Adorable, no?  First off, LOVE that he's writing on his own now.  Being a Mudr sounds much more exotic than working-mom-in-the-suburbs, don't you think?  Maybe it involves hats.  Second, did he take a flier on my height or does his school have a creepy amount of personal data on me?  'Cause he got it right.  At least they didn't try to guess my weight.  He did not get my eye color right but his dad does have brown eyes so I will assume that his dad & I are doing EVERYTHING right (ha!) because he clearly thinks of us as one parental unit.  That he thinks the best meal I make is eggs in the microwave is ...disturbing.  Though unfortunately possibly accurate.  Last, also disturbing, is that my hobbies seem to consist of the TV and computer.  Apparently I need to get outside more - gardening, maybe? 

This is my azalea bush.  Pretty!  There are two of them.  We would need about 150 more to fill the empty spots in our backyard.  Maybe I could put the kid to work weeding....  because this is his competition:

What mother doesn't wish for a laundry fairy?  [Sorry I can't rotate it for you].  I am a clearly fabulous mother and not only do I deserve a laundry fairy, I have clearly instilled a strong work ethic and sense of tidiness in my children [insert joke about child labor laws HERE]. 

Happy Mother's Day to me, and mine, and to you and yours.  And a special note to all the mothers who are no longer with us, to stepmothers, adoptive mothers, birth mothers, and my German host mother senior year of high school who I did not appreciate at all but with the wisdom of my many many years, I now know was also awesome.  And Happy Mother's Day to my husband, since he played a... role in this too. 

[Resisting the temptation to describe the role Matt played in this.  Since this is a family friendly space].

Of Llamas and Bunnies and Aesop

There was no blogging or running last night.  I went to bed immediately after the kids and woke up this morning feeling like Mary freakin' Poppins.  There may even have been humming heard hereabouts in the morning, though I can't swear to it - the miracle of a full night's sleep.  But then I got to work and learned that the Massive Swirling Sucking Vortex of Money, otherwise known as Matt's car, lost yet another critical operating system, so I lost a little spring from my step. 

And then, purely hypothetically, I spent most of my day on an imaginary case which may or may not involve - purely for dramatic purposes, you understand - and adult person Llama who was living independently with only part-time assistance.  Occasional Llama care, as it were.  EXCEPT this Llama didn't know not to cross the street when the "No Llama Walking" sign was flashing.  Not that elephants and rhinos and hippos don't sometimes ignore "No Elephant  Walking"signs (et al.), but in my imagination (which is, you understand, the ONLY place this little allegory unfolded) I expect the nature of the Llama will be called to question.  And it will be asked if Llamas know enough to read the No Llama Walking sign.  And it will be asked if we should hold Llamas and Elephants to different legal standards. 

And this entirely fictional fairytale made me Very Sad, because I happen to like Llamas a great deal, and this hypothetical Llama was hurt when it crossed the street against the "No Llama Walking" sign.  And I hope that if I were to ever raise a pretend Llama, I would teach it to cross the street very, very carefully. 

Is everyone thoroughly confused?  Excellent!  I was going to go with camels but I think camels spit.

So then I was driving home, idly dreaming up the Haiku of the Day (below), and trying to talk myself out of a foul mood when I had to stop short and the giant bottle of water I had carelessly left perched uncapped on the center console (because I'm Hydrating now!) went flying forward and poured all over my radio.  I dried it off as best I could but then a full minute later my speakers crackled ominously.  Excellent! 

And then I started giggling.  Because I thought that it was a good thing I just bought a $20 Nano since I'd clearly just shorted out my radio, nevermind that the Nano and the water were essentially serving the same end goal*, and wasn't life funny and circular like that. 
     *The 13 Mile Plan

Then the giggling might've turned a shade manic.  Because, REALLY?!  There was not enough chocolate in the house to fix this day - at least not without doing in the Easter bunny.  Then I thought of the old cop joke - Put down the chocolate bunny and slllooowwly back away.  Then I started laughing harder because it was a good thing I've been running, what with all the chocolate bunny and jelly bean eating that's been going on around here lately. 

I just hope my fellow commuters thought there was something really funny on my now-shorted-out radio and not that they were witnessing Mommy losing it on her way home.  Am off to the treadmill to burn up some of the Easter candy I may or may not have purloined from the children.  Here's wishing you solid chocolate Easter bunnies to spare and secure water bottle caps. 

Starter frizzled. Am

No Mechanic. And I have

No Horse. Pony up!  

One Grim-looking Bunny



Classy Bear

As part of his Special Week at school, the boy gets to bring home a bear, cart it around, take pictures of it in incriminating positions doing interesting things, and then report back to the class in a special album.  He's very excited about it.  The Book of the Bear's Year is very, very CUTE.  Crafty, even.  Bear's previous photos are cut with special crafty-scissors and festooned with ribbons 'n stuff.  This is one of those times I'm very glad we didn't go first - so I can blatantly cop the other mommies' ideas.  This is the downside to being a city girl in SAHM country. 
(for Gigi:  SAHM = Stay at home mom]

The boy and the class bear:

He also drew a picture of his family.  Not his best drawing as his interest was flagging (he really does know how to write his own name).  But he commented that his daddy's eyes "looked Chinese".  I'd just read this post - which caused me to ponder the downside of my kids living in the Whitest Town Ever (in addition to being out crafty-fied by the SAHMs) - so I asked him what he meant, if there were any Asian kids in his class, etc.  No real answers and he hadn't said it in any particular way, just sounded like he was making an observation, so I let it go.  We're obviously going to need to address differences so am operating under with the "everyone is different - brown eyes/blue eyes, brown skin/white skin" theory.  I also thought this was a great summary over here, about how we shouldn't squelch the questions.

Which makes perfect sense, BUT at what point do we teach our curious, outspoken, unfiltered kids that it's not always nice to comment on someone's appearance?  Last summer we passed a (white) kid in full punk regalia sulking outside the park.  "Mom, that guy looks scary".  Said clearly loud enough to be heard.  The kid deserved it - we're on the outer fringes of suburbia, almost literally in the corn fields. Not exactly Punk Central, so you're going to stick out a little,  especially at a kids' park.  Also, when we had his eyes checked he said to our very hale & hearty eye doc "Wow. You're BIG".  I died a little inside on that one.  I suppose this the "art, not science" part of parenting.

But his sister's eyes - They look just like his.  His dad's eyes look Asian, his sister's...don't.  [My eyes just look craa-zeeey].  Not sure what do with that.  Sad, because the reality is reversed.  But also a little happy that he doesn't see it.  He knows the parade of people coming through are to "help her learn things" and I have said in passing that she'll learn things in her own time, when she's ready, when he asks when/what she can/can't do something.  But he has no baseline of expectation.  She started as a baby doing nothing & now she's doing more stuff.  Which is the way it should be. 

I will get some of the sibling books out there for him though.

Diva!

Diva!

Power Plant:

Mom's Day card (it's a flower vase!):

Speech Therapy - "Mmmmm's" 

Then:

And now (duck towel!):

4/10/10 - The reason we sold the high chair:

Octopus!

With his cousin, digging up his aunt's flowers on Sunday: