Surreality Bites

(I can show you the teeth marks)

Last Call for Christmas Cards
Christmas
neanahe
I'm finishing up my cards tonight. Anyone else want one? Comments are screened.

Christmas Cards from the Long Departed...
Christmas
neanahe
I've been gone awhile. Nothing personal to you all, I just haven't slept that much in the last year and writing takes energy that I haven't had.

Still, I'm sending out Christmas cards this weekend. If you're thinking, "Gee, isn't it a little late?" then you really don't know me that well.

If anyone misses me and wants a card (with my bitch-and-moan newsletter), leave me your address below. It may not show up before Christmas, but when you get a card in the mail a week after the big day, that's how you know it's from me. :)

Comments are screened for your privacy and protection.

The Right Motivation
Duckface
neanahe
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I have no faith in doctors. So-called “experts” have no credibility with me. I have no faith in labels and I never saw the point in getting one to stick to my son, Sweet Pea. After all, the school is working with him. I don’t think their diagnosis is on target, and I found the pediatric developmental expert at Texas Children’s to be inept useless in that she asked us a lot of questions but didn’t make very many observation of her own. The fact that she did not put him with other children to observe how he interacted (or like as not, failed to interact) with them to me meant that she did not actually observe much of anything.

My gut instinct is that he has a mild form of autism. A whisper of it. Just enough to cause him to short circuit when his sensory filters prove to be a bit flawed and get overwhelmed. His schoolmate, Jack, has almost identical symptoms to my son’s and he got a diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome. Jack does not have Sweet Pea’s “rule rigidity” (an insistence that certain things be just so) and he seeks out social connections with his peers, which Sweet Pea does not. Whatever Jack is, Sweet Pea is. Except more so.

Jacks parents could afford to pay for a specialist who charges $1200 out-of-pocket (she does not take insurance) to get a diagnosis. My husband and I are trying to work our way out of debt; we don’t have $1200 lying around to pay out of pocket for a specialist to give us a label I couldn’t see the need for.

Until today, that is. I just needed the right news to shine the light for me, and at last I saw a point a label from a doctor that fits with what my instincts already know. I will start looking for the money.

The news stories read: Use of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) by pregnant women may increase the risk for autism spectrum disorder (ASD) in their offspring, new research suggests.

That’s about the time my blood started to boil.SemanticsCollapse )

Wednesday – Boys of Summer
Motherhood
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Lots of little things have been going on in recent weeks. School let out. Sweet Pea has attended birthday parties and done well at them. Things with the babysitter are going well. On a personal level, my father is not doing well and I am not sure how much longer I will have him. And then there is the cruise in July that I should be looking forward to but am dreading. I have plenty to write about, just no time. I’ll start with the end of Kindergarten. I’ll try to take up the other topics in the coming days.

School’s Out For Summer! Collapse )

Tuesday – Can’t Write, Must Sleep
Duckface
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What’s it been? Two weeks? More?

I think if I could sleep, I’d be able to write. I want to write. I think about writing every day. But evening rolls around, and I fall into bed and can’t move.

Until 3 AM, that is. That’s when I wake up. The first time. And then at 3:30, or maybe 4. This waking at 30 to 60 minute intervals continues until my alarm goes off and I drag myself into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

Which lead me to make this declaration: miracles are overrated.

A Halleluiah I could have lived without;Collapse )

Squids V. Robots!!!
Motherhood
neanahe
My son has been drawing pictures and creating stories lately about a special breed of squids that battle evil robots trying to take over the world. Fortunately, the robots have an Achilles heel: squid ink jacks up their circuits and makes them die. Thank goodness.

Here (with subtitles, in case you don't speak fluent Kindergartener), he explains it all.


Childcare Blues
Motherhood
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It was a huge relief to cancel all those interviews with the potential babysitters who were interested in watching my son over the summer. Huge. It’s always a pain to interview people for a job to start with, but there is the whole "full disclosure" part of asking someone watch my son that I dread. Ideally, it’s best to have him along on these interviews, so he can play quietly and look angelic while I tell them about the behaviors that got him thrown out of daycare when he was 4 and that earned him a "special education" classification shortly after he started kindergarten this last year. You can’t just ask someone to watch a child and not warn them that he is capable of throwing screaming, kicking, throw-down tantrums that last for an hour and a half. Perhaps I could have skipped over the part about how the school quit having the kindergarteners hand the ladies in the lunchroom a wooden clothespin with their lunch account number on them after my son tried to stab another child in the eye with his clothespin after the kid bumped into him in the lunch line. We got a note asking us to please help him learn and remember his lunch number after that. Because he likes eating, he learned the number easy enough and the whole clothespin program was disbanded for all of the children.

Everyone wants their child to have an impact and be remembered. My son will be remembered as the reason wooden clothpins are now classified as potentially dangerous weapons that are no longer allowed on his elementary school campus.

You know that kid from The Omen? Well, he’s nowhere nearly as bad as that kid.Collapse )

Books for Boys
Motherhood
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“I need next month’s book club selection,” I told Kristin, the proprietress of my local used book store and the founder and host of the book club I attend. At the last meeting she had made apologies that the selection for the June meeting had not yet come in, so I was here to pick up a copy since she had sent me a message on Facebook that it now was. “And I have a very serious request in regard to children’s literature. Do you have any Captain Underpants books?”

Kristen leaned forward and returned my own serious expression. “I have tons of Captain Underpants books. Tons. Want me to show you where they are?”

“Yes, it’s a Captain Underpants emergency at my house,” I said.

At Least He Likes BooksCollapse )

Just Not My Day
Duckface
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For twenty years, Mother’s Day had nothing to do with me. Nothing. I was not a mother and I didn’t have one. People would wish me a happy Mother’s Day sometimes, because I guess I looked like I should be a mom (I guess it’s my life-long tendency toward plumpness that gave the impression) or they would ask what I did for my mom to celebrate.

The Burden of BlessingsCollapse )

Random Deaths In A Master-Planned Community
Marriage
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“Have you been paying attention to the news out of The Woodlands lately?” Jeff asked, “I think the place is cursed.”

I told him I hadn’t noticed any curses. I haven’t been paying much attention, but I drive through the master-planned splendor that is The Woodlands, Texas every day on my way to work, and I haven’t noticed any obvious signs of a hex. There is some construction along my route that has part of the road closed down to one lane going either way, but that is more of a life-around-Houston thing than an obvious curse.

Dying for decent parking.Collapse )

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