Friday, 21 December 2012

Digging for Brains... - Doggie Dealership

Digging for Brains...

Coming up Short

Sooo, I went for my haircut. Yay!
I arrive at the hairdresser's and I wait...and wait...and wait...
I have been seeing the same hairdresser since there were VHS tapes (WOW - I totally just dated myself...age-wise, not like I really want to take myself for a candle-lit dinner).
Apparently she didn't recognize me: "I didn't realize you were here! I didn't recognize you with all that hair!" (And I picture in my head I became some freakish Cousin It, FRIGHTENING!)
I'm led to the chair (not the electric one - even if it is nearing the "End of Days: Mayan Style") and we decide to get rid of my hair cloak.
"If we're going to color, we won't need this!" She gathers my hair in a bunch in the back and WHACK - off a bundle goes on the floor. I start to laugh - a bit hysterically.
Then it's color time! I'm going Kick Your Ass Red (that's not the official name, but it should be). My hairdresser is teaching another girl as she works on my hair.
"Normally we add something to tone down the color when the hair is light like this so it doesn't go bright, but we're not going to do that here," she explains.
"That's right," I say. "Because we're not about subtle."
The girl looks a little surprised...not to mention nervous. I suppose she's not used to unstable customers being sassy.
The color goes on and starts to look like bloody red goop ALL OVER my head. I can't help it, I'm laughing. The stylists look at me - understandably concerned.
"You look like zombies on a hunt for brains with blood all over your hands," I explain as I'm giggling away. A little inappropriate I suppose considering it's MY head I'm imagining they're digging in.
They look down at their gooey, red gloves and my messy scalp with raised eyebrows.
"And I'm a little concerned you're going to be terribly disappointed."

If You're Going to Hate Me, Dog...

I have the best behaved dog in the world, and she hates me.
Daisy hardly ever barks, doesn't whiz in the house, you can literally eat with food in your lap and she'll lay beside you and turn her head away...
But there is NO FUN in her world! Oh, I've tried to get her to play - but I think it's against her religion. She's a Nofunitarian. And she takes it VERY seriously. I've tried to lead her into temptation with balls, ropes, chewies, stuffed toys... I even tried to BRIBE her into playing with CHEESE.
WOW... Sounds like the old "had to tie a pork chop around your neck to get the dog to play with you" story...
I'm pretty sure she's not really a dog. She might be a stuffie...or a robot. Or maybe I wrecked her.
I tell her I'm going to trade up. Maybe there's a dog dealership somewhere.
"One Chihuahua, slightly used, excellent condition, small mental issues..."

On a Side Note...

My oldest son says he wants false teeth so he can bounce them on the deck... I have QUESTIONS.
1. Do they make them out of rubber?
2. Do you use the 5-second rule?
3. Can the Tooth Fairy afford this?
4. What do you EAT when you have rubber teeth?
5. What kind of sound does your mouth make when you HAVE rubber teeth? Like squeaky shoes in the hallway? Or boing boing?
...And I have officially considered it WAY too long.

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

My Grandma May Haunt Me for This - I Have Learned...Not Nearly Enough

Get a Haircut, Grandma!

I have this fear. I may be turning into my grandmother.
This may not seem like a big deal to most people, but most people did not have the MOTHER of all...I'll say eccentric grandmas. Or I could just say fuck it and be honest and say crazy...but I won't, because my Mom might read this. And she spanks.
I was all excited to have an appointment for a haircut and a color. I LOVE to color my hair. My parents used to call me Rainbow Brite. (If you don't remember who that're too young - so Google it. She was AWESOME.) 

I started because I was in Beauty Culture in high school, and hey - it was fun. Let's face it, Beauty Culture for teenage girls is like a liquor store for alcoholics...HELLOOO??? There is NO willpower.
Then I started to go gray at 18! At first it was funny, but that shit totally did NOT last. It was more like holy crap, I am NOT going there! God obviously didn't want me to have gray hair or Lady Clairol would've had a stroke before the "big invention", right?


SO, I book the appointment and I realize the last haircut I had was MOTHER'S DAY! Seriously... Seven months ago. What is wrong with me? When did I become Grandma?

My grandma would only have a haircut every six months, and we were like "EW! Deal with that!"
What is next? Will I start wearing bread bags on my head so my hair won't get wet? Will I take the vegetable bags from the grocery store and wear them, too? (TRUE STORY... Free rain bonnets, y'all.)
Will I be on the hunt for discount runners for less than a dollar, be angry when I get home because they have four holes on one side for laces and three on the other - feeling ripped off? Drive 45 minutes to take them back? Then feel vindicated when I come home with TWO PAIRS of freaky runners - what a DEAL! (Also true.)
I'm scaring myself... I'll get the damn haircut. Maybe I'd better book the next one while I'm there - A LOT sooner, like maybe a week from now to be on the safe side.

Walk softly and carry camping equipment...

"I know better than to poke people with a big stick."
This coming from my youngest son, the mini-professor, does NOT surprise me. 
"Cause that's just being a big jerk."
My oldest brother (after almost spewing his coffee all over the dinner table - and yes, he gets bonus points for control) says:
"I have a big hot dog stick."

Have I Learned Anything? ...Maybe.

This Shit May Just be EPIC

I recently had my birthday. WOW, I know... You could be thinking either: someone actually gave birth to me and admitted it  - or I still admit I have birthdays. Two ENTIRELY different ways to be a failure as a girl... Too bad. I can console myself later with wine .
Do I look back and reflect? NO! Not due to a fear of old age throwing my neck out...more due to fear of actually SEEING the cosmic boot of life kicking me in the ass.
I may be a complete disaster, but I have found the following to be truths in life:
1: Don't argue with your children, mess with them instead - it's more fun.
2: Laugh at yourself - it's really okay to know you're being an ass, personally I consider it therapeutic.
3: You can't hide forever...unless you have an invisibility cloak. That would be the shit.
4: Hugs - they're awesome. Get lots, give lots...except from creepy drunk or homeless weirdos. Avoid them.
5: Decaffinated coffee is wrong...just wrong. Somebody just unhappied the coffee.
6: I think many things have chicken DNA - that's why so much stuff tastes like chicken. Either that, or there's the disturbing thought that roosters are really NOT that fussy...
7: I am an EXCELLENT "put-er away-er" of stuff. That "safe place" is SO safe - I have NO freaking idea where it is. Future civilizations are going to dig up some amazing (or incredibly mundane) shit...or my Christmas presents...or lots of keys.
8: Love your friends and family and show them. Mine put up with this ALL THE DAMN TIME... They deserve a medal.

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Bein' Saucy...Oh, She's got Issues

I've got Hair Issues

Kaelan and I are enjoying the SWEETEST snuggles on the couch. I'M all - awwwww...
"You need a haircut," Kaelan tells me.
Okaaayyy...SOMEBODY is not feeling the love nearly as much as I.
"Excuse me?"
"Your hair is poking my eyelashes," he informs me.
"Alright. Maybe Mommy will go get short hair."
"No! I like eating things out of your hair!"
Let me clarify: Many children on the Autism Spectrum have sensory processing issues. They are hypersensitive to some things (light, sound, smell, touch) or hyposensitive to others. These things ebb and flow due to stress and health issues. How to cope with a nerve-wracking, noisy, bright unpredictable world? Stimming!
Everybody stims. Finger tapping, pencil chewing, hair twirling. Repetitive, comforting motions. You get the idea.
THIS is what he was trying to get across - one comfort is trying to mouth hair. (SO - for the record, I don't have creepy crawlies or Cheetos in my "do".)
"You can eat things out of my hair," he generously offers.
"...Sweet, but no thanks."

The Christmas Countdown

My biggest boy was being a seƱor cranky pants this morning. I tell him 'tis the season to be JOLLY (dammit!).
"Christmas is coming," I remind him.
"18 days." He's got the countdown thing down pat.
"You have to be good not JUST on the last day. You know, people are Christmas shopping for your presents beforehand."
"But...peoples only have two hands."
I could only nod and walk away at that.

Oh Rosetta, that Saucy Sailor Talk...

Reece was filling me in on his linguistic ability on the way to school this morning.
"I can speak Vampire," he informs me proudly.
"Oh my!" I had NO idea he'd been hanging with the undead crowd.
"I can also speak Scottish."
This was a bit of a surprise as well. I don't remember Gaelic being on the menu in his school.
"Do you want to hear?"
"Absolutely!" If you think I was going to miss this, you're crazier than I am.
"Aye laddie. Come here! Let's pin a tail on ya!"
Wow! I almost peed.
I can just see my ancestors, three sheets to the wind - playing pin the tail on the Laird!
"I can speak Japanese, too. But it sounds like bad words... You know...s-h-i-t-e and that one with the middle finger. It's a pretty angry language."
Rosetta Stone, rated M for mature.

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Acid, Zombies 'n Marshmallows...Merry Christmas Baby!

Damn Cursive Writing will Eat the Flesh from Your Bones!

"Today we worked on corrosive writing."
Wow! Hearing this from my 8-year old son was a little surprising! I had visions of acidic ink EATING through the paper...poor lefty children losing their hands!
Things sure have changed since I was in school.
So, I'm trying desperately not to laugh - and his cousin (a pre-teen and IMMENSELY proud of the title) isn't fazed at ALL.
"Oh? What letter?" she asks.
"The letter G," he tells her. "I practiced my corrosive G over and over."
Her older sister, however, totally gets the difference between flesh dissolving G's and cursive writing. She's trying valiantly not to spontaneously combust while holding in her laughter.
I, on the other hand, am made of sterner stuff... I went into the kitchen to lose it.

O' Little Town of Bethlehem...

With Zombies 'n S'mores

When you have Autism, life is a lot safer when things "make sense." Life should have logic, order, patterns. This is why objects get lined up, sorted, rearranged.
My oldest son apparently found fault with my Mom's nativity scene. I don't know, take it up with Jesus...
To back up - Kaelan is obsessed with Plants VS Zombies. He plays the game, draws pictures of them, makes them out of paper  with moving parts using little metal brads. He has a plastic box FILLED with zombies! (Beware, the zombiepocalypse may very well start here - after all, the box could spill.)
ANYWAY, the NATIVITY of madness! Kaelan has one of his paper zombies and is walking it around the livingroom... Then he's dancing it over the nativity.
"Is that a zombie in the nativity?"
"It's a dragon zombie," he explains.
Ahhh...that makes it a little more exciting!
Then he rearranges the nativity...
Kaelan adds a candle holder to the middle. VERY cozy! It now looks like a camp out and Joseph is on marshmallow duty.
Personally, I think the whole thing would have ended on a MUCH happier note if everyone had s'mores...

On the Good List...But

There is a very cool site called the Portable North Pole. You can go and create videos for your children from Santa.
It's very easy to do. The videos are personalized for each child. Name, age, grade, pictures, what they have been working on (LISTENING to Mom and Dad, etc.), and the dreaded how have they been this year?
My son's Dad created these super cool videos and Santa e-mailed them.
They were SO surprised (and a little concerned) that Santa had actually e-mailed them... I guess the Mom-is-going-to-e-mail-her-good-friend-Santa thing sank in, ha ha!
Kaelan is watching his video with wide-eyed wonder, nodding his head as Santa talks to him - he leans over to me...
"Santa says I have to try a little harder," whispers Kaelan.
"Are you going to try harder?" I ask.
"Yeah... But not too hard."
"Just hard enough," he says. "But it makes me ridiculous."

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Santa doesn't Counterfeit - Death by Q-tip

Santa is NOT a Government Agent

Reece is my Chatty-Patty. He NEVER runs out of things to say. Personally, I think it's a miracle he doesn't get struck with Laryngitis.
Kaelan, on the other hand, is very straight forward. Talking is not my favourite game - so I'll tell you what I want to say and you'll LIKE IT!
Their Dad and I take the boys Christmas shopping and to see Santa. It was VERY exciting! We were so lucky, no big line up - whoo hoo!
"Who's going first?"
Oh, the PRESSURE! After the you, no-you! Kaelan gets up there with his reindeer antlers. He's all good-to-go!
"What do you want for Christmas?" asks Santa.
" Plants VS Zombies plushies." And he's ALL DONE, no dilly-dally. Mission accomplished!
Reece goes up to Santa, settles on his lap...and for the first time in his life - draws a big blank on what to say! AWWW!
"I'll have to think about it," he says.
Poor guy! We ask him about it after:
"I wanted a diamond, but I don't think Santa makes money. He has to work for the government to be able to do that."

Whoopin' it Up

So, I have been the Queen of Sick for two months. This is why I now deserve a title, and possibly a tasteful crown... Although I would not say no to a completely gaudy tiara. (Let it not be said that I am too picky!)
Friday I get a call from my Mom - who informs me she is still the boss of me. (Who knew? My kids were right!) She insists I go to her clinic (oh yeah - the boss-of-me gets ownership. At least there's no peeing involved there, lol). "You need a Whooping cough test."
"No, I don't." (Like that EVER works! But I'm desperate, and childish, and I have NO shame).
"Yes, you do. I told the doctor. He agrees, so come down right now."
"No I don't. (Yeah, cause I just received my imaginary doctorate.) I already had every possible test - and x-rays!" Personally I think once you've been irradiated, you should be fabulous... After all, you had to wear the "outfit".
"See you in five minutes."
And like THAT - she wins!!! I want that superpower... And a cape. And maybe some sparkles.
So I do as I'm told, because if she's the boss, maybe she can still spank. You never know - it wasn't illegal back then.
I go in, the gloating was minimal - but don't think I didn't see that glimmer in her eye. I'm told to lay down... Darn (and eek!) he's got some kinda tube and I'm CLUELESS.
"Are you ready?"
"That all depends on what you're going to do to me."
"I'm going to swab your nasal passage (EWWW), and I have to go all the way to your nasal cavity (WTF?!?!). So it's not going to be pleasant."
Please note: when a doctor says this - RUN like your ass is on FIRE.
Y'all - I had my brain roto-routered. Yuck and WTF!!! Tears are running down my face, I'm lying down and thinking "don't friggin' cough or you'll DIE!!! Death by giant Q-tip, how's that going to look in the paper?"
He's done, yells out the door (because privacy is no biggie in a small town) "She lived, but just barely!"
Holy shit.

Pickin' Your Brain

My brother, Dennis, likes to do magic tricks for the kids once in awhile.
"Can you pull my watch out of my ear?" Kaelan begs my brother - aka: Farmer Dumbledore.
Ever the entertainer, he "crams" the watch into my son's head - thrilling him to no end!
"Do you see his watch?" Dennis asks Reece.
"Yes, I do!" Reece exclaims.
"Waaay down in the middle..." Reece mutters as he's squished against Kaelan's skull, peering intently.
"Hey! Don't pull out my brain!" yells Kaelan.
Oh, the dangers of amateur magic...

Friday, 30 November 2012

Damn Omniscient Angels

To Hell with the Tattle Tale Angel

My sons are decorating their own little tree in their bedroom. There are the usual battles. Kaelan wants to put decorations all over. Reece wants them in organized rows of all green, then all red. This was solved by a rock-paper-scissors smackdown.
Then Reece has a small, plastic angel he places "oh-so-carefully" on the tree. He says it's his Tattle Tale Angel.
"The Tattle Tale Angel sees everything," Reece explains to his brother. (I'm hoping she doesn't see she wasn't hung up by her string, but stuffed up her bum onto the tree!)
"No she doesn't," disagrees Kaelan.
"Yes, she does! She has all-seeing eyes."
Aaand now we have two religions converging. Christmas' omniscient Tattle Tale Angel becomes one of the three Graeae who share one eye in Greek Mythology. It's the Christmas Crusade!
"No, she doesn't! People have TWO eyes. That's it... I'm going upstairs."
That's how you bloodlessly win a crusade...and an argument.

My Good Friend Santa

Tuesday Family Dinner Night (or my personal Disaster Night) rolled around again. After dinner I asked Kaelan to go get his jammies on. OH, the HUMANITY!
"No, I'm not going to bed!"
He's storming off, magically transformed from 10-year old boy to teenage drama queen. Stomp-stomp!
I leeeaaan back in my chair, relaxed and call out "That's okay, I'll just e-mail Santa...right now!"
I pick up my iPhone (don't you just friggin LOVE those things?), and tappity tap on it... "Dear Santa, my good friend..." I say. (Since the big guy and I are on SUCH good terms and all.)
Thump-thump-thump-thump! As a little boy comes FLYING up the stairs at the speed of Christmas-panic!
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Heh, heh.
"Go get your jammies on, please."
Game, set, match.
"Wow, you're evil. All I had was the Tattle Tale Angel, it was only good for the living room," says my mom.
"Don't say that," warns my brother. "She'll e-mail Santa."

I Love Echolalia

I've said this before. But, it's true. It's useful AND entertaining.
My biggest boy had a crappy day at school. He had a meltdown due to not understanding a game (frustration, frustration). This led to explosion after explosion. End result was - EWWWW! Consequences! Boy, do you have to HATE those.
BUT, how else do you learn? So, he lost his rubbermaid box of paper zombies until tomorrow. He is VERY angry, so the echolalia and tourettes are SKY HIGH.
Since we have watched the Grinch so many times AND the Grinch is SUCH a happy fellow, this is some of what I'm hearing.
"My heart is two sizes two small."
AND I had visuals! I was torn between feeling badly for him, and being entertained...
"For fifty-three years I've put up with it now!" Which I found VASTLY impressive given that he's 10...
Another one was:
"We have to stop Mr. Feller from coming, but HOW?"
Omg! The inflection and tone is EXACTLY the same as the cartoon! I couldn't help it, I snickered.
He's a mean one... Mr. Feller...

The King

Reece was educating me on popular culture learned on the playground.
"Mom, did you know Michael Jackson is the King of Soda?"
...Close enough.

Friday, 23 November 2012

Passing the crown and Christmas Bombs

A New Reign...

I was able to pass my Queen-of-Sick tiara on to my youngest son this week. (It's okay, he likes shiny things.)
He awoke EXTREMELY pale... I should explain.
We may be Scots, but there remains a stubborn thread of my mother's Norwegian (or as I tell her - Scandihoovian) that clings to Reece and myself. This DNA makes one believe sugar is a food group, oatmeal is evil (or belongs in cookies...or possibly industrial paste), AND makes one - shall we say "pigmentally challenged."
So when I say Reece awoke pale, he could've glowed in the dark.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"I don't know. I think so."
Call me crazy, but if you DON'T know - chances are there's a man sick coming on.
And it DID!
"Mom, I was sick, but I hit the potty."
Oh, he did...technically. HIT it...and the floor...and the cat box.
I bet Lucky the cat didn't feel so lucky, either.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly...

Especially if You Add Rum and Musical Explosives

Learning to do things on my own has been an adjustment, to say the least.
I have been asked day and night about decorating for Christmas. Where is the tree? Can we watch The Grinch? All of which I have packed away in the shed. (And seriously, have I taught them NOTHING? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is the best show EVER!)
I wait until my children are in school and go hunting in the shed for "the goods". I find the elusive Rubbermaid box and RIP it open! ... CRUD! Mold on everything!!! WHAT?!
Y'all, I did it to MY OWN SELF! Ugh! WHAT is more frustrating than having a massive disaster and nowhere to point your finger?
My stupidity? I packed snow globes...lots of pretty, musical snow globes in the box.
I wonder if they sang as they exploded like Christmas bombs.
Not so Siiiilent Niiiight - BANG!!!

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Caffeine deprived...but passed the stud test


"Ooooh, coffee!!!" It's the morning coffee dance.
"Mom, does coffee make you crazy?" Reece asks me.
Valid though this question may be...oh, if only it were THAT easy.
"No, sweetie, NO coffee makes Mommy crazy."
"See? I just karate chopped off your sandwich slice of bread. That's because I didn't get my coffee yet."

MOvember strikes again!

I just imagine the French chef from the muppets...


Family Dinner Night with Martha gets me on the Naughty List

My oldest brother, Paul, has discovered baking. He's like Martha - if Martha was a brunette, lost a bunch of hair, had a sense of humor...and had balls I guess (Ewww! Now I need to BLEACH my brain!).
He makes fabulous things that inflate your ass just by being in your airspace. Think chocolate ganache on EVERYTHING - with sprinkles... My arteries are clogging just describing it.
Paul and his daughter made a beautiful chocolate birthday cake - covered in chocolate icing and pretty sprinkles.
First I get served the MOTHER of all pieces of birthday cake. It's like a slab...or a mountain...or a future gastrointestinal attack.
Everyone else gets a slice of cake, I get enough to feed Ethiopia.
"Holy crap!"
Gasp! from my 10-year old son. "Oh, sorry K."
I became the target of much jealousy, evil eyes, drooling and fork stabbing!
THEN I hear how much oil goes into this cake... After hearing about the gag-fest following the FIRST cup of oil Paul poured in I'm eyeing my mountain-o-cake suspiciously... You realize how much oil is on my plate?
"Holy crap!"
Gasp! from Kaelan again.
"Oh, sorry! I mean dingles!"
"Mom! You keep saying that you'll end up on the Naughty List and I'll never go to bed!"
It took super-human control not to snicker there...not to mention I almost peed.
That IS a threat that carries weight. Needless to say I didn't say crap again.


My grandson checked me out with the stud-finder.
It went off, beep-beeping and blinking away! It was like I hit the Vegas-style studly lottery in my genetic code!
STUD POWER blazing away in my head, arms, hands... I may be girly, but it just goes to show my awesomeness goes bone deep.
After all, Stanley wouldn't lie...

To pick, or not to pick? We don't worry about that...

Usually you teach your children to NOT pick their nose... If you've been here before you know that, well, how do I say this? Picking a giant schnauze for kicks is the least of our worries.
My son's therapist came with a game called Gooey Louie. The object of the game is to pick Louie's nose, CAREFULLY (after all, we want to learn some skills). He with the most boogers is the winner - YAY!

Louie talks and talks while you pick his nose (I don't think I could be that casual, personally). Pick too hard and his head explodes... (Which looks disturbingly like a big vibrator popping out of his skull).
This - I'm guessing - would be the skill set portion of the therapy session.
I joke, BUT there is turn taking, a tolerance of texture, sound, fine motor skills AND your parents get to take future wedding reception photos!

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Mom's picked last for never grow out of it.

Whose team are you on?

"I can read your shirt, Kaelan. It says Team Awesome," Reece proudly informs his brother.
"Is that what team you're on?"
"Yup," Kaelan decides.
There comes a time in your life when you look back and think WHY did I ask? I have too many of those moments. But, like the Mom-who-learns-from-her-mistakes (feel free to read the sarcasm between the lines), I ask anyway.
"You know what team I'm on?" Nobody knows...or cares - and NOBODY begs Mom to be on THEIR team, not that I'm noticing (I see a future grounding). "I'm on team old."
"What team are YOU on, Uncle Dennis?" they ask my BROTHER (humph).
"Team Splendiferous." And someone is SO not getting a Christmas card.
"He's just too cool for Team Old," I inform my kids.
Kaelan says "I'm on Team Young."
"I thought you were on Team Awesome, Mr. Two Timer. Are you double dipping the teams?" (Yes, if you don't invite me on your team - I will harass you...bthhh.)
"I'm Team Young Awesome," he says.
"I'm on Team Nerd," says Reece.
"Well, they make all the money."
Go team!

Zombies...popping up in the damndest places!

I hear from my 10-year old son down the hall while in the potty "Stupid zombie!"
Excuse me?
My response...
"If there are zombies in the bathroom, I'm not cleaning it."

Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek is a very hard game sometimes. Especially when there is all that WAITING!
Kaelan is playing Hide and Seek, he comes FLYING upstairs - looking for a spot to hide. He leaps onto a chair and we throw a blanket over him fast.
He's squirming and giggling away...
"You're going to have to sit still," I whisper.
"I'll try, but everytime I can't breathe it makes my butt wiggle," he informs me.
...Fair enough.