Dear Fisher Price...

My active, imaginative three year old son wants one of these for Christmas:


My son LOVES his Imaginext Batman. Zane carries his Batman along on all of his adventures. But he wants Batman to have his friend, Superman, to come along for the ride, just like on Justice League. (Yes, I know that Batman was the Greta Garbo of the superhero world. Everybody is friends in Zane's World.)

And we would very much like to be able to give it to him. However, we cannot find it anywhere on planet Earth because you didn't make nearly as many Supermans as you did the other figures. We have driven all over this part of Texas, we have made phone calls, we have scoured the internet, and the only one we can find is a third party seller on Amazon, who wants twenty dollars for a toy that is supposed to cost five dollars. I don't blame him; the demand for this toy is akin to the search for the One Ring. This should not be.

Fisher Price toys are known for being sturdy and able to survive the vagaries of an active boy's childhood. Your company had to have known that these same boys would want to have Superman. So why didn't you make more of them? I can only conclude that this was intentional on Fisher Price's part. The alternative is that there are several hundred thousand comic book "aficionados" buying up Supermans as part of their retirement plans.

Please put more Supermans out there before Christmas. If you won't do that, could you please send us the coordinates to Krypton? Thanks!

Kitchen Adventures, Part Two

I decided to cook steaks for my husband this evening. I decided to cook the steaks on the stove top. I don't know why; someone else out there might have thought that cooking steaks on a stove top was a bad idea. When it comes to cooking, that little voice in the back of my mind that tells me when something might not be a good idea is a selective mute.

Everything was going great, I thought. I even threw on a couple of pork chops so I wouldn't have to cook the next day. Larry was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper, and Zane was playing with his trains in the living room. Life was good. Since I prefer my steaks medium rare, my steak was cooked pretty quickly and taken off the heat. However, my husband is one of those "medium well" folk, so his steak was taking awhile, and I noticed that it was smoking a bit. Then I got distracted by thoughts of a side dish.

"Uh...honey?" I heard from behind me.

"What?" I answered, busy with some random vegetable I found in the freezer.

"Don't you think that you should turn the vent on?" Larry said. I looked up.

Enough white smoke filled the kitchen to elect a new pope. I hurriedly turned on the vent, opened some windows, and turned on a couple of ceiling fans. Too late. The smoke alarms went off. Larry started cracking up with laughter.

Our house came with an alarm system built in, and we pay someone to monitor our house so there's someone to call the proper emergency response people if we aren't there. The monitoring company, ADT, always calls first before they contact the authorities. So the phone rang, in our house full of smoke, with the alarm beeping and all the windows open. Larry answered the phone, still chuckling. I didn't hear the first part of the conversation, just the end.

"We are all fine. It's just my wife's cooking," Larry told the ADT person. He was still chuckling as he got off the phone.

I think that he can do the cooking next time, don't you?

Mama's Holiday Wish List 2010

I found a contest on TodaysMama that I had to enter! I would definitely be popular if I won this package!


1. What is your holiday wish for your family?
Lots of laughter and hugs, with as few tantrums as possible!

2. What is your Christmas morning tradition?
We are starting a new tradition this year.This will be the first year that my son is old enough to know about Santa, so he will be surprised when he comes down the stairs and sees all the presents.

3. If you could ask Santa for one, completely decadent wish for yourself, what would it be? Two weeks at a Spa/Resort for some intense pampering!

4. How do you make the holidays special without spending any money?
Lots of hugs and kisses, and most of all, I give the gift of my attention. It's so easy to be distracted, but it is important to focus on the people and not the presents.

5. What games did you play with your family growing up?
The one game I remember my family playing most often was Trivial Pursuit. We had a lot of fun playing that game!

6. What holiday tradition have you carried on from your own childhood?
Family dinner. We are all about the food!

7. Where would you go for a Christmas/Hanukkah-away-from-home trip?
I would like to go to someplace with snow, so my son can enjoy the fun of building a snowman.Massachusetts or Vermont

8. Check out GameStop (link to: http://bit.ly/gamestop10) and tell us, what are the three top items on your GameStop Wish List this year?

Xbox 360 with a Kinect with all the bells and whistles
Nintendo DS with all the peripherals
Rock Band 3 with all the peripherals

Wish me luck!!! Better yet, go and enter yourself!

Rhetorical Questions Sometimes Get Answered

We are used to asking Zane questions and not expecting an answer. We've been doing this for his entire life, because the best way for a child to learn language is to hear people talk, and well, because we like making sarcastic comments. However, I think it's time for my husband and I to begin tempering our comments.

For example:

Zane: "Mommy, I poop!"

Me: "Geez, Zane. Can't you do that when your daddy is around?" This statement is said in a sarcastic tone with an eye roll for flourish, as if I am the only person in the house who ever changes a diaper/pullup in the three years since Zane was born.

Zane: "No."

Mama Needs a Hot Cup of Coffee

My son likes to wake us up in the morning, mainly before the crack of dawn. He is not yet the age where he can get up and amuse himself by playing in his room or some other benign activity. It is a well known fact that I am not a morning person, but for my child I will do anything, even attempt conversation, at this ungodly hour. So Zane and I will stumble down the stairs in the wee hours before sane people get up, and I will get him his juice and his breakfast ready.

"Son, do you want pancakes or biscuits?" I ask groggily. At least, that's what I think I ask. I could be just mumbling for all I know. It's the crack of dawn, fer crying out loud.

"Bi-kit," Zane says, as evilly cheerful as anyone can be. I make him two biscuits.

"Son, do you want some juice?" I ask, then get him apple juice, because that is all he ever wants to drink. Zane is all set, in front of the television, eating and drinking his breakfast and watching an animated show. I can hear the coffeemaker finishing up. It calls to me, beckoning me like the Sirens. I stumble back into the kitchen, find a cup and pour myself a steaming cup of awakeness. I bring the cup to my lips.

"MOMMY!"

"Yes, Zane?" I say, as I put the coffee cup reluctantly down.

"I pee-pee," meaning that he has to go to the potty. I haven't even gotten around to changing him from his night time diaper, but he's potty training, and I want to reinforce him. Five minutes or so later, my wonderful cup of coffee is cold. I put the cup in the microwave and heat it up. I bring the cup to my lips for a drink.

"MOMMY!"

"What it it, Zane?" I whimper.

And so it goes. Even at dinner. If it's not the potty, it's that he wants more food, or he doesn't want to watch the particular show or something else that has to be taken care of right then. All timed with precision to occur right as I am about to drink, or eat, something hot. It's like my son is on a mission. I recall the scene from the movie A Christmas Story, where the narrator says that his mother hasn't had a hot meal in eight years.

I suppose I should just start drinking iced coffee.

National Prematurity Awareness Month

This is National Prematurity Awareness Month, says the March of Dimes. I am taking time from my regularly scheduled programming to talk about this, because it is something I feel strongly about.

Babies are sort of like turkeys; they need to stay in the proverbial oven until they are done. When a child comes into this world before it is ready, there may be all sorts of health issues. It's tough enough being born! I don't know any good mother out there who wants their baby to have birth defects. (for the record, if you want your baby to have birth defects so they can get a larger disability check, you are a very bad mother who should never have children.) I work with a lot of kids who were born prematurely, and the problems associated with premature birth are lifelong. In addition to possible health issues such as blindness, there is also a good chance that there will be learning disabilities or even mental retardation.

One of the ways to prevent premature birth is by taking care of yourself during your pregnancy with regular checkups and healthy eating. Another way to avoid premature birth is by not smoking. Another is by taking prenatal vitamins. These are simple things to do, and there are organizations out there dedicated to helping mothers who can't afford it or who need additional help. There is simply no excuse these days for an expectant mother to lack prenatal care.

My son was born a couple of days short of 32 weeks. He weighed 3lbs. He was in the NICU for a month before we could bring him home. It was a scary time, and there was a heavy price tag at the end of it, both emotionally and financially. If I could have done anything to carry my son to term, I would have. I didn't have a choice, but quite a few pregnant women DO have a choice.

So, if you are pregnant and reading this and you have not made any effort to at least see a doctor, this is my message for you: get off your ass and take care of your baby. If you know someone who is pregnant, ask them about whether they are getting prenatal care of some sort. If they say no, help them find it.

My Son and the No Pants Rule

Zane likes to watch movies/tv shows about superheroes, just like his parents. We have mostly looked for movies/shows like the Justice League, since animated stuff is mostly benign. This week Zane has been watching The Incredible Hulk as his featured DVD. So after we sat with Zane through the entire movie, he wanted to re-watch the fight scenes with the Abomination, which is Tim Roth's character. So the next day, we did. Zane was very concerned about this character, and it took me awhile to figure out what he was talking about. It turns out that Zane was not scared of the character, which is what we originally thought. My son was upset because the Abomination...was not wearing pants. I made a very serious effort to keep a straight face at this point in the conversation.

Zane decided at some point(how, I have no clue) that it is vital for all superheroes and their nemeses to be clothed in some manner. And when I thought about it, all the other heroes and villains he's ever seen in movies, animated tv shows, books, etc., were clothed. Even that Martian Manhunter dude put on pants! As far as Zane was concerned, the Abomination being pantsless was a terribly bad thing, and "NOT NICE!" He felt that the Hulk's angry behavior was completely justified, considering that the Abomination was wearing no pants.

Personally, I think that having a rule about wearing pants is a good idea. Most people I know are not comfortable in the presence of someone not wearing pants, and I am not sure that would change if the individual in question was a superhero. So today I learned that my son will likely never intentionally be sans trousers in public if he can help it. That is one less thing that I, as a parent, need to worry about. I am thankful.

Batman Goes Up High...And Does Not Come Back Down

During the funeral services for my father-in-law, my nephews volunteered to take care of Zane. They took him outside to play, and Zane took his Batman with him. Of course, during the play that occurred outside, Batman went over the fence, possibly on purpose. He's got a reputation for being a bit antisocial, after all.

As soon as we came out of the church, Zane informed us that Batman had gone "Up high", we had no idea what the heck he was talking about until about an hour later when the rush of people had gone home. We sent Tristan, as the most agile member of our family, over the fence and he found Batman. Zane was happy. Then, being a teenaged boy, Tristan decided it would be awesome to throw Batman "Up high" once more. Which would have been fine...except Batman landed on the roof of the church. Completely out of reach. Damn.

After the entire family had a good laugh at Tristan(because families do that), we told Zane that Batman had gone to Gotham to save the city. No, that's not what we told him. We said that Batman went bye-bye, picked Zane up, put him in the car, and went home. Zane took the news of Batman's departure well. In fact, he took it better than I did. (I LIKED that Batman! He was adorable.) Zane went home and played with his other superhero figures, but it didn't seem the same to me.

So my husband and I went to every single Walmart and Target on this side of town yesterday. We weren't looking for Black Friday deals. No, we were looking for another Batman. And we finally found one, bought it, brought it home and presented it to Zane. Who acted like he had never seen such a wonderful thing before, and behaved like it was the best present EVER. And I thought about how it was a good thing to be able to look at the world around you like it was the best present EVER. How many people do you know who do that?

Marriage Secret

My beloved and I were arguing the other morning while on the way to work. We were arguing about something extremely vital and important to any marriage: football. Specifically, whether it had been a good idea to fire Wade Phillips now or if they should have waited until later. Larry got a bit emotional, as most men do when the topic is sports.

"I don't want to argue about this," I finally said.

"Good, because I would totally win, because I am right," my husband responded happily. We changed the subject, but I thought later that my wonderful husband, as smart as he is, missed the point.

Marriage is one of those big pictures made up of many tiny pictures. There is always more going on in an argument than the actual topic of discussion, and in a good relationship there is so much more than who wins an argument. Lots of stuff in the undercurrent of an argument, and it's easy to forget that in the heat of the moment. Those of us who want a marriage to succeed have to take a long-term view of any argument and ask ourselves what we're fighting for, the happiness of our spouse, or just to be right. There are a LOT of lonely people out in the world who couldn't/wouldn't let go of that need to be "right".

I don't have to be right all the time, and I want my husband to be happy. And to be honest, most of our arguments are matters of opinion, not fact, which to my mind means that we are both right. So it's not a hardship or a competition for me to let my husband be "right" when we have an argument. We always agree on the important things: we love each other, we love our son, and we love our family. The rest is small potatoes.

Guilty Pleasures

I was flipping through the channels on the television, and I found The Chronicles of Riddick. It's not a great movie, but I like watching it, so every time I see it on, I watch parts of it. Larry gets upset with me, because we have the blu ray, and the picture quality is better...I usually fade out by the time he gets to talking about dpi or dkp or whatever. The point isn't that we have the blu ray. The point is that I just want to see one part--the part where Riddick is in prison on Crematoria and he kills a guy with a cup. Actually, all the stuff in Crematoria is cool. For the purposes of the movie, Riddick is a pretty awesome dude. Riddick entertains me, even if he is not in the "correct" format for my husband.

I confess that the volleyball scene from Top Gun is my all time favorite guilty "must watch" when I find it on a passing channel. That was probably my first guilty video pleasure. I also crack up at the training scenes from Dodgeball("If you can dodge wrenches, you can dodge a ball"), avidly drool over the dancing between Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey from Dirty Dancing, holler during the fight scenes from Roadhouse...I could go on. Sometimes it's just a quick peek, like the snow scene from the end of Bridget Jones' diary where I can say "Yay!" without actually having to sit through the whole movie. I just don't have the attention span these days, so sneak peeks are all I get. And it's enough.

My husband does not understand. The movies he likes, he wants to watch in their entirety. He can't even watch a television show if he's missed the first episode. I am not like that. After I've seen it once, I just want to see certain scenes, not the whole movie. They are like, to me, the different flavors of chocolate in an assorted box. One of these days I plan to snip all these different "moments" together and just play them on a loop. But that would probably require some sort of techie knowledge that is as out of my reach as the Holy Grail.

Truth in Advertising?

I really like Greek yogurt, and apparently it is actually healthy, unlike just about everything else I eat. But as I was shopping the other day, I was brought up short.




In case you have bad eyesight, the package of yogurt says "Pure Pleasure On the Bottom". The gears in my brain grind to a shrieking halt to consider this.

"The Bottom of What?" I ask myself, and the old lady next to me in the dairy section hurries away.

"On The Bottom of Who?" I also ask. This sort of self-talk would normally inspire a mental image either so wonderful that it will be filed under 'necessary daydream', or so horrific it will make me want to stab out my eyes with a spork. Today, I get both images, one right after the other.

Some people out there saw that package and, I am sure, had a speculative look in their eye as they placed a case or two in their cart and hurriedly left the store. You know who you are. No need to look embarrassed as long as no photographs were taken that might be published someday.

But I don't think the yogurt people were talking about anything other than the honey on the bottom of the yogurt container. At least I hope not. Because that would be...interesting. Yeah...I don't want to think about it.

Review: The Monster At The End of This Book

This is one of my very favoritest children's books, although I didn't discover it until I was an adult. I bought this book in my twenties, anticipating the fun I would have reading it to my children someday.

This book was meant to be read aloud, and you don't have to have a funny sounding voice, but you will need to overact in some parts to 'sell' the story. My husband made an extra special effort to imitate Grover's voice from the Sesame Street television show, but I used my own voice and Zane was still entertained.

The main character of the book is "lovable, furry, old Grover", a very familiar sight to kids and adults who watch(ed) Sesame Street. Grover has a problem: he is very anxious and fearful about something, and he needs the reader's help to avoid having to face what is scaring him. I like how the book "invites" the reader into the story. Grover is very serious in asking the person reading the book not to turn any pages. I appreciated Grover's many attempts to prevent the reader from turning pages as well as his comments regarding the resulting mess.

The book is funny and endearing and wonderful, and as you get to the last page there is a chance to talk to your child about things that might make them anxious or afraid. Talking about what scares them with a parent can help a child 'face' their fears in a safe manner, and I like that.

Kitchen Adventures!

I decided to bake some brownies today. I wanted some chocolate, and brownies are awesome in that department. Betty Crocker makes wonderful brownies, and they have instructions that are INCREDIBLY easy to follow. With PICTURES!!!! There are pictures of EXACTLY what you will need to make the brownies: eggs, vegetable oil, and water. There are sequenced instructions that start off with TURN ON THE OVEN, IDIOT. Okay, the box really doesn't say that. It's implied. For people like me.

I am nothing if not a direction follower when it comes to food, so I gathered the eggs and the oil and started mixing everything together. There was even some Hershey's syrup to add to the mix. I noticed immediately that the batter was incredibly thick. In fact, it was very difficult to even stir. My hand got tired. It was cramping even! I did not recall brownies ever being this difficult.

I kept glancing at the PICTURES on the back of the box while I was struggling to mix the batter. The PICTURES of the ingredients. The PICTURES... Finally, it hit me, like a slap upside the head from God, that I forgot to put the 1/4 water that was pictured on the back of the brownie box.

Stirring the batter was infinitely easier after that. Now, however, I am worried that I may have contaminated them with my idiocy.

Not A Recommendation

My father-in-law's funeral was today. Of course, you have to look decent for these sort of events, so I wanted to wear a dress. I decided that I would need to wear pantyhose. I haven't worn pantyhose in years, because a)it is just too darn hot most days in this part of the world, ad b)they are part of some man's evil plot to rule the world.

I went to Target and bought L'eggs. A two pack. I bought size Q because I was told that if you buy the largest size there was less likely to be a problem with runs. I go home, get cleaned up and groomed(I even trimmed my nose hair, Jill!), got dressed and put on the pantyhose. I start to pull them up.

I was not pulling hard, I was merely trying to get the pantyhose above my knees in the direction of my groin...and I put my thumb through a leg of the hose. Runs went in several directions, but mostly downward.

I rolled my eyes to the heavens. I closed my eyes.

&#@%!!!! Luckily, Zane was still at daycare.

Then I took a deep breath, took that pair off and got the other one, thanking whichever angel whose turn it was to look after me for my choosing a two pack of L'eggs. This pair I was able to at least pull up to my thighs before my thumb again poked a hole into the nylon, sending runs south.

#@#%&*%$#@#@!!!!

Thinking more clearly now after all the deep breathing I did in the previous paragraph, I grabbed some nail polish and furiously attempted to arrest the run. The nail polish was not clear, it was bright red. But I was pressed for time. I then went back to trying to pull Queen-sized pantyhose up my legs. I would have sworn the pantyhose were size 2 they were so difficult to put on. I even kept looking at the box to make sure I had the correct size, because these pantyhose felt like what a sausage casing might feel like. Finally I got them to my waist, but I poked two more holes into them. I sealed them with nail polish, too. If people had seen my leg, they would have thought that I was bleeding from an artery.

As soon as I stood up, the waist of those damned things started to roll up. Awesome. I spent the entire funeral wondering if my pantyhose were going to continue their deconstruction. My anxiety about this directly interfered with my attention, I will say. On this particularly sad occasion, I kept picturing my pantyhose disintegrating, with a small explosion, during the funeral, people running from the shrapnel.

Fortunately, none of my fears came to pass. This time. But I will not ever wear L'eggs again. I need to be able to count on my legwear to hold up at least through one wearing!

A Parent Who Sometimes Reads Directions

We still use Johnson's Baby Shampoo for Zane's hair because he still cries when he gets soap in his eyes and the No More Tears formula makes bath time less traumatic for us all. I bought this Calming Lavender version of the shampoo, in the mistaken belief that it might actually induce a state of calm. Unfortunately, my son never got the memo on that.

I was reading the back of the shampoo bottle (I was bored and there wasn't a book handy), and was shocked to discover these instructions:

"Wet baby's hair with warm water, apply shampoo, gently lather, rinse and snuggle."

What is wrong with snuggling, people would say? Snuggling is the very backbone of mother-child bonding! How dare you malign the very backbone of the mother-child bond? Bad Mama!!!

Snuggling is fine! I love snuggling! Snuggling is awesome! But don't you think you should dry your baby off first? Nobody likes to snuggle a wet baby, and babies get cold easily. The directions should have included, after the rinsing, "dry baby off", and THEN the cuddle.

Now I See What The Teen Years Will Be Like

Zane and I were driving home from the daycare center last night, and we were stopped in traffic. All of a sudden, a teen driver pulled out in front of our car, not bothering to look. She was on her cell phone and OMG! whatever her BFF was saying to her was soooooo much more important than safe driving.

I rolled my eyes, said a brief thanks that at least one of us was paying attention, and smiled at my son in the rear view mirror.

"Zane, when you start driving, you had better use your brain!" I told him.

I was somewhat sarcastic, I admit. I didn't expect an answer, but Zane didn't seem to miss a beat as he responded.

"No."

Daily Cyoot!

We have Zane on a sticker program for potty training. When he goes in the potty, he gets a superhero sticker that we put on a chart. When he gets enough stickers, we go to his favorite place, Chuck E. Cheese.

Zane was with me in the laundry room when Zena came in to use the litter box. Zane wanted to know what Neesa was doing. (For some reason, Zane doesn't say "Zena", he says "Neesa". I am sure an SLP could explain why.)

"She is going to her potty," I answered. "That is where Zena goes to the potty when she has to go."

Zane thought about this for a second, then ran out of the laundry room. He came running back a second later with a sheet of his superhero stickers.

"Here, Neesa, sticker for pee-pee in the potty!" He told the kitten.

Awwwwwwwwww.

Thank You Hospice

My father-in-law Terry passed away this weekend. He was a good man, slowly eaten away by Alzheimers. While I am sad at his passing, I am glad that he is finally at peace. His death was made easier by Hospice and I can't thank them enough.

The Hospice people made home visits before he went into the nursing home, including finding a special bed that he could use. They supported my mother-in-law with information and listened to her as she made some difficult decisions. When Terry went into the nursing home, Hospice provided additional services such as help with bathing and grooming. They made sure that Terry was comfortable, at least as much as possible, right up until the very end.

When all this started, I had no idea that Hospice included services for people with Alzheimers. I thought that Hospice was just for illnesses like cancer.I was wrong. Medicare even paid for the Hospice services. It takes a special person to work with someone who is dying and Terry was blessed to have them.

So thank you.

A Minor Miscommunication

I am in the kitchen, cleaning up dishes. My husband is out taking care of his mother. Zane is in the living room, playing. I can't see him, but I can hear him talking to himself, as well as the cats.

"Are these my balls, Mama?"

I froze. "I'm not ready for my child to be asking these questions! Why doesn't he ever ask his father this stuff??? Why isn't that man here right now to answer this question????" Only in my mind there was a LOT of cursing thrown in there for good measure. I am also thinking, "Wow! Five words strung together as a complete sentence! And I understood every word! I'm not hearing impaired after all! Yay!"

Zane came walking around the corner, carrying a plastic bag full of those soft, squishy balls that they sometimes throw to the crowd at sporting events. These in particular were decorated with the San Antonio Spurs logo. Someone had given my husband a bag of them, and I guess he had left it on the couch.

I exhaled heavily. Zane looked at me.

"Okay, Mama?" My son asked.

"Okay now, Son," I responded.

Mr. Whipple Was Here

I am driving home, down I-35. I take my usual exit and head for the loop. On my left, the highway. On my right, a field of grass and small trees. I had slowed down to get on the loop. That is when I noticed it, in a flash. Next to the road, just sitting there, upright, as if waiting...a single roll of toilet paper.

I did not stop to see if it was the quilted stuff.

RIP Zahra Baker

I work with special needs children because I want to, and just because I am who I am, I consider all special needs children to be "mine". "Mine" in the sense that I feel a strong sense of responsibility for their well-being and success. My job, as I see it, is to help them, and I derive a sense of satisfaction from that that carries beyond my absolute hatred of the mountain of paperwork that is special education in Texas. I remember their names and faces long after they've graduated and become adults, and I still get tearful remembering the ones who didn't make it to adulthood for various reasons. I may not be able to spend as much time as I would like with "my" students, but I make sure to keep up with them by talking to their teachers as much as possible. I make an effort to PAY ATTENTION.

Zahra Baker was so obviously a special needs child. She survived cancer, twice, but lost her leg and some of her hearing.Let me say this again: Zahra SURVIVED something, TWICE, that would have made a lot of adults just lay down and die. So this was a special girl, a fighter. But nobody was PAYING ATTENTION. She apparently didn't have anybody in her life who was paying attention to her. Nobody cared. Nobody cared enough about her to contact the authorities about her If someone was paying attention, they made a conscious effort to keep silent about what they saw. That is the only possible explanation, as far as I can tell, for why this little girl was missing awhile before her parents reported her missing. Maybe I'm wrong, but this sort of thing has happened too many times for me to be generous.

I am angry and sad that this wonderful, beautiful little girl with the interesting name had to fight for her survival her entire life, and when she should have been running around with her friends and enjoying the world, she was likely being mistreated by the very people who were supposed to love her and cherish her and protect her: her family. I am angry because this child, like ALL children, should have been celebrated. Instead, she probably died scared and alone and feeling that nobody loved her. And as if that wasn't bad enough, her body was thrown aside like garbage. Nobody deserves to be treated like that, least of all a special needs child.

End of the Day Greetings

We arrived at the daycare a little early this afternoon to pick up Zane. He saw us from across two classrooms and he ran to us. It was obvious to everyone there--parents, kids, teachers and the like--that Zane was excited to see us. That is very gratifying to a parent after a long hard day, to see your child running toward you, grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining with joy. Yelling at the top of his lungs...

"MAMA! I MADE A STINKY POOP!" He was very proud of this accomplishment, obviously.

I saw a whole lot of grinning and snorting from the other adults in the place. I started to feel a little embarassed, but then I decided that making a stinky poop made him happy. Anything that makes my child happy that doesn't involve shaved Llamas is a good thing.

Yes, We Have No Bananas

When I woke Zane from his nap this Sunday, he was incredibly fussy. Normally I would not have awakened him, but he'd been asleep for three hours and I just didn't want to be trying to get him to sleep at 10pm. I picked him up and brought him downstairs. He was crying those hiccupy-coughs.

"What would you like, Zane?" I was trying to distract him from whatever he was crying about. Sometimes that works. This time it didn't. "Do you want a...biscuit? ...toast? ...pizza? ...banana? ...juice? ...hundred bucks?"

I just kept naming items, whatever came to mind. Zane seemed to mumble something, but since it didn't appear to be English, I kept going. Zane was getting more upset, so I went back over the list, twice, then asked his father if he knew what Zane was saying. His father did not know, either. Finally, after many tears, mostly on my part, I discovered that Zane wanted a...banana.

Crap. I was just randomly naming things that popped into my head! We didn't have any bananas in the house! Ack!

"Are you SURE that you want a banana, Zane?" In my head: "Please say no, please say no, please say no... But you know what happened. He wanted a banana. So he carried on a nicely dramatic fit worthy of the Academy award, until my husband finally went to the store and got him some bananas.

Which he then said that he didn't want.

Does Your Food Taste Better if It's Patriotic?

I went through the drive-thru at a fast food place this morning. I had eaten breakfast before we left for work, but it didn't completely eradicate the hunger, and this place was on the way to my school. As I was driving off, I noticed on one of the restaurant windows an American flag and the words "One nation under God, indivisible".

Huh? Why would you have that posted on a window of your restaurant? Are people supposed to see this phrase and visit because they think that patriotic food tastes better? What if it were a Chinese or Mexican restaurant instead of a burger joint? Would the food still be considered patriotic?

Hunger makes you think odd things...

Improving Expressive Language, One Word at a Time

When Zane turned three, I thought that was it for speech services. The ECI(Early Childhood Intervention) program that had been working with him was supposed to stop the day he turned three, and Zane was a DNQ(does not qualify) for special education. I had resigned myself to being the Universal Translator for my son.

However, the ECI speech therapist seems to be continuing to see him at daycare. We've found two progress notes in his cubby when we went to pick him up, and they are certainly speech progress notes. So I'm torn. Do I call the ECI group and let them know about it? I don't think that any law is being broken, so my first instinct is "no harm, no foul". Meaning that it is not hurting Zane to have extra therapy, and he is deriving "educational benefit" from the service. Zane is obviously getting better at speaking. A short time ago, he brought me his red truck, which was in two pieces.

"Did you break your truck, Zane?" I asked as I took the pieces from him and started trying to put them back together.

"Yes. I. Did," he enunciated perfectly. For the first time I actually understood each word my son said to me. I was very excited at this "Rain in Spain" moment. Zane might make it, after all. *relief*

Oh, and apparently it is National School Psychologist week. Most people have no clue what a school psychologist does. Or if they even exist, and are myths perpetuated by grumpy diagnosticians. Since I am a school psychologist, I am going to appreciate myself a bit this week in celebration. Like eating a few extra chocolates...or a snickerdoodle cupcake from the Gruene Flour Cupcakery, which is simply awesome in a way the tongue just can't describe.

Anyway, the point of all this about school psychologists? Find out who they are and what they do at your child's school! And maybe bring them a cupcake to show that you appreciate them. We never hear that we are appreciated!

It Was A Long Traffic Light

As I was stopped at a traffic light in New Braunfels the other day, I looked out my window. The downtown area, especially around the town square, has seen a lot of old businesses renovated or recreated.

The Phoenix Saloon is one such business, known for their "killer" chili. I was admiring the glass storefront of the place and glancing at the writing along the front...something about food, spirits, music, badger fights*...

Badger fights? Who do the badgers fight? What if they don't want to fight? I mean, I know that badgers are not known for their social skills, but what if they've been to the badger equivalent of Dr. Phil to work on anger issues? Do badgers just fake it like in professional wrestling? What if...

The light changed as I got to that point. Thankfully.


*As far as I know, there are no actual badger fights currently happening at the Phoenix Saloon. However, there may have been such events occurring in the original establishment, which explains why there aren't very many, if any, badgers living in New Braunfels.

Random Sunday Thoughts

I am looking forward to watching the next episode of The Walking Dead tonight on AMC. For those of you who don't pay attention, it's a show based on a graphic novel about a Zombie apocalypse. The show itself, at least what I've seen of it, is actually a pretty taut drama about a guy who wakes up from a coma to find everything around him decimated and his wife and son missing. It is NOT, I repeat, NOT, a show for children. Zombies are horribly disfigured and gross, and have TERRIBLE table manners besides. We certainly do not want children emulating them in any way!

Anyway, in my pantheon of things that scare the bejeebers out of me, Zombies don't make the cut. They just confuse me. They're dead, rotting corpses, but their eyeballs never seem to decompose. They make breathing sounds and vocalizations with lungs that are not inflating, and they want to eat. They can't digest food, why do they want to eat my brain? They never show zombies going #2, so obviously nothing is passing through their systems. What purpose is eating for them? They used to be human, and humans eat for energy. But you don't see the Zombies eating and then having more energy or enthusiasm, so I don't think that is it. I guess human beings are not the same as a Snickers bar.

Yeah, I think too much about silly stuff. Since I have a child now, my thoughts about silly stuff always seems to end with me thinking about how I would protect my offspring. My response to a Zombie apocalypse would probably be similar to the characters in this novel:

I would certainly hope to be practical about this sort of situation, should it ever happen.

Life with Zena, Warrior Princess

So far the new kitty has settled in. Tiger is happy to have someone to play with. Pounce hates her with a passion, and wil actively stalk her and chase her under the couch or behind the washing machine. Morris didn't even noticed that there was another cat in the house until Zena threw herself at his head. In other words, business as usual.

This is a video I made when I found Zena playing in a Wendys bag that fell on the floor:




Zena is living up to her fearless namesake. She kills large spiders, as previously mentioned. She practically bursts out the front or back door the second it opens and bounds out into the yard, ready to play with whoever or whatever might be out there. We have had a hard time keeping her inside! But she seems happy, and she is growing fast, and Zane likes her. That's busines as usual too.

Conversations with Children can be Perilous

We were at a birthday party for a little boy turning two. I was sitting at a table, eating with a three-year-old with amazingly good language skills, when another boy a couple of years older came and sat with us.

This young man had a toy with him, one of those talking Woody dolls from the movie Toy Story.




The three-year-old turns to me, very serious.

"I'm going to get a Woody!"

I nearly choked on my cheeseburger.

Mesmerized

I could just stare at this picture all day. This was taken a couple of weeks ago, when Zane was sick, but not acting sick. In fact, he had just polished off two helpings of mac and cheese. He was asking about his Daddy, who was at work, so I took a couple of pictures with my cell phone and sent them to Larry. But this one beatific smile just stayed with me. It's now on my phone, and I look at it at least once every hour, sometimes more. Looking at that face is a definite stress reliever. I have to wonder, however, if I am the only mother who could look at pictures of my child all day long.

Adjusting Your Accoutrements

I have noticed that my breasts have been in conflict with one another. I am used to seeing them always pointing in the same direction in perfect agreement, but lately the right one has been looking up at life while the left has been unusually pessimistic and looking down. The overall result sort of reminds me of the character of Mad Eye Moody from the Harry Potter series.

The world is difficult enough without one's body parts needing Jimmy Carter to broker peace. So I do the equivalent of stepping in and making the twins shake hands: When I put my bra on, I 'adjust' them so that they are both facing the same direction. It may not look pretty, but it gets the job done. I can then face the world at least looking somewhat normal. At least on the outside.

Like Mother, Like Son

Zane is in the fridge. He isn't supposed to be, but my husband is often lax about latching the door closed. So Zane is in there looking for applesauce. He is getting upset, because we don't have applesauce, but he keeps looking. I finally get up and help him before he has a fit.

"Zane, we do not have any applesauce," I say.

"Nooooo!" Zane is getting wound up for a hissy fit. I peer into the fridge and there, among the leftover lasagna and eggs, is a bag of Three Musketeers fun size candy bars.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Look at this!" Zane turns around, his interest tweaked.

"Chocklat!" My son yells happily. I give him two bars, because I know that he will open both packages and eat half of one, then give the rest to me! Zane grabs the two candy bars from me and runs off. I can hear him as he heads into the living room...

"Mine!!! My Chocklat! HAHAHAHAHAA!"

That is my kid, alright! Chocolate rules!

Early Wordless Wednesday

This cartoon could be redrawn with toddlers...


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

A Fine Romance

The other day, my husband put his strong arms around me, pulled me close, and gave me a big kiss. Then he just looked at me. I returned his gaze, thinking that we were having quite the romantic moment.

"You know..." he began.

"Yes?" I responded, breathlessly.

"You have a lot of hair in your nose," he finished.

So I slugged him. Not really. But I seriously considered it.