catholic homeschool weirdo mom
I used to really dislike the word “stim.”
But now I don’t.
That said, Bede and Faith are Stimmy McStimmersons. Bede is running back and forth in the living room shouting out “Cheerleader! So and So! What’s Her Face! The Ugly One!” over and over (yes, I let my kids watch Homestar. I am a baaaad parent.) and Faith is spinning in circles. Faith is getting Aspie-er and Aspie-er as she gets older. Just like her ma. Ahem.
Calm down guys! Gee whiz.
Today has been very difficult. Bede has been unsettled all day, and inflexible. He used to be like this pretty much all the time, and it’s made me realize how different he is now than he was a year ago or so. With children you don’t see the big picture unless you look for it, because you barely notice the incremental progress each day. That’s true of all my kids, not just Bede.
Anyway, he’s had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, which means I have too. It’s made worse by having no place to put Gloria for a nap right now, so if she’s not in my arms she wakes up pretty much instantly. It’s developmental for my kids to do this at this age – I think it’s related to separation anxiety and learning to be mobile – but it’s not any easier to deal with. Especially in this particular house, where the location of Gloria’s room and the stairs combine to make it damn near impossible to get her to nap. Sigh.
But back to Bede. Since we had to put away the swimming pool he’s been having a difficult time. At least I assume that’s it, since he’s not getting the lovely deep pressure from the water every night. I’m going to get some beanbags I think. They’ll get peed on and drink dripped on and so forth very quickly, so I need a waterproof bag with a washable cover. Also going to get a full size futon for the floor in front of the tv to use instead of a rug. I love my rug but it’s gotten peed on and drink dripped on just like everything else in my house and it’s difficult to clean because of the deep shag pile. If I got a futon the kids could sit on it, fall asleep on it, be rolled up and squished with their heads sticking out while they giggle uncontrollably, etc. And with a waterproof cover with a washable cover for it over that it’s easy to clean.
All of this doesn’t convey the difficulty of the day, and frankly the last week or so. I think Bede has spent about 3 hours crying, moaning and screaming from about fifteen minutes after he woke up to about thirty minutes ago. The climax was Bede biting Trixie on the thigh REALLY hard, enough to break the skin in a few spots, her screaming in agony and me instantly snapping clean. in. two. seeing red and literally chasing him around the house roaring NOOO BITE! while I took about three stinging slaps at his rear end and he cried and cowered. Long time readers of my blog will recall that I am NOT a spanking parent so I see this as a HUGE failure, culminating in Bede reinacting the whole event by biting his arm, saying “No bite, Bede!” and then smacking himself on the leg and crying. Also, “Ouch, Mama!” So, yeah, I feel like a complete and total bullying jerk. I know he hurt Trixie and all but I should not have reacted the way I did. He seems to have forgiven me as he climbed up in my chair and hugged me but he has little psychological choice in the matter, what’s he going to do, divorce me and get a new mom? I guess I need to work on forgiving myself. It’s not likely to happen for a while.
Just generally an awful day. I hope tomorrow is better.
I’m livid with anger at the Chinese toxic formula sicknesses and deaths.
I am all about breastfeeding.
Obviously.
But I know several women who HAVE TO use formula because they have very low milk supply. Low supply affects a lot of women, I’ve read various statistics, but I’d say five to ten percent is reasonable. And that’s not to mention all the women I know who were misinformed by doctors and others and ended up with formula because they eventually had no milk due to poor advice on breastfeeding.
The current theory is that someone is diluting the milk with water, then adding melamine powder to make it look like it’s actually high-protein milk. It’s not accidental.
Somebody in China just doesn’t care that this is killing babies. Living, breathing, lovely babies. It’s just luck that this hasn’t happened here.
Enraged.
I got the button at http://tools.blogflux.com/buttonmaker/ with the following specifics:
left block: text mccain color #003366 background #FFFFFF
right block: text palin color #FFFFFF background #003366
button options: border color #cc9900 background #FFFFFF.
I’ve started a new blog for our homeschool stuff. It’s at http://unschoolmonkey.wordpress.com and you’re welcome to wander by, but it’s mostly notes for me. I was inspired by Melissa Wiley’s Bonny Glen Up Close.
Also, I debated whether or not to add a political allegiance button to the blog and as you can see, decided yes, I would. I hope my more liberal friends remain with me, and I promise I won’t blog about politics!
I think that’s all for now.
Our circuit breaker box made a loud fzt! sound yesterday afternoon and our stove stopped working. And our air conditioner and clothes dryer and hot water heater, but we didn’t really notice them til this morning. After flipping all the appropriate switches and scratching his head and squinting manfully at the fuse box, Sean called an electrician we’ve used before, TJ.
TJ showed up a few hours later with fresh bakery danishes from Ingrid’s Kitchen, now that is the kind of electrician I like to have, I tell you what. “Figured you guys would enjoy these so I picked some up, what will all these little ones running around” he said. He and Sean went to examine the fuse box some more.
Turns out it wasn’t the fuse box, it was the cable leading from the electric meter to the house. Both men were outside when I heard the fzzt! again and then “Wow!” and “Good Lord, look at that!” I wandered over to see as well and was told that it emitted many sparks and much smoke (it still smelled acrid) and was basically completely burned up and frankly it was a wonder that we weren’t dead. Well, ok, nobody said that last part, but I was thinking it. But the electrician said it was OG+E’s box so they’d fix it, and he left.
When OG+E came, they too were impressed with the level of destruction inside the box, so much so in fact that they said we had to have all the power shut off. And furthermore they couldn’t fix it, it wasn’t their wire, call an electrician. Bede was completely freaked out by the power outage. He asked me every question he could think of in an effort to get things back to normal. “Want see fix it your Dell computer? Want see fix it the television? Want see Daddy come fix it lights?” and so on, until he was reduced to a puddle of boy in my lap, sobbing pitifully. It was awful.
So Sean went off to the hardware store to get what he could to try to fix it himself. On his way out the door he ran into our friend Chet and his son Aden, here to pick up milk for baby Emma, and Chet insisted that Sean take his cell phone so we would have a phone to use. I have awesome friends. Sean came home and was squinting manfully some more when the OG+E guy came back to give us a part they supply for free. Sean got him to come look at what he was doing and he stayed for two hours helping! Sean tried to pay him and he flat out refused. Wow. My mother was also heroic at this time, showing up with a package of cookies and many extra flashlights and batteries. With this many kids one or two flashlights is not going to do it, you know?
The wiring done, Sean called OG+E to get them to turn us back on. The guy who helped said they’d be quick, and we’d be back on tonight! Yay! So the turn-it-back-on OG+E guy comes and the final round of squinting is done, this time tinged with suspicion.
“I cain’t turn it back on if it ain’t been inspected by the City,” he said.
Sean pleaded, “But… but… we… but!” and finally TIBO OG+E guy relented.
“Well, if you promise to get it inspected in five days or less, I reckon I can turn it on tonight.”
Sean assured him we would and then… drumroll please… POWER!
Air conditioning has never felt so good.
How long were your labors?
How did you know you were in labor?
Where did you deliver?
Drugs?
Nope.
C-section?
Nope.
Who caught the baby?
I’m a milk donor and you can be too.
I am pumping and donating directly to a family in need and many (many!) more such families can be found through Milk Share, a list which connects donors and recipients. We are cash-poor and spare time is also hard to come by around here so it’s not often that I get to really help someone. It’s just a wonderful feeling.
Another option is to donate to a milk bank. There’s a controversy as to whether you should donate to a HMBANA bank, the nonprofit organization that collects freely donated milk and only charges a very minimal processing fee to hospitals, or to a Prolacta bank, which collects freely donated milk and resells it for up to $45 an ounce. You can google, decide for yourself. Personally, if I wasn’t donating directly to a family I would donate to HMBANA.
So go on, get pumping!
As most regular readers of this blog know, I am an unschooler. I think children learn best when allowed to follow their interests. I still feel that way – completely – yet I am asking the girls to do enough math drill daily so that they stay approximately at grade level. It ends up being about ten or fifteen minutes a day. They don’t mind it, and have asked for their “school math” before too.
It’s not that I think they wouldn’t learn it on their own given time. I do think that. But I worry that some Family Court judge wouldn’t feel that way, and the more weird things you have going for you the worse it gets. And I’m pretty weird, I reckon. I know I’m paranoid, but we’ve had an unfounded run-in with CPS before and I know what they ask. Is it legal for them to ask my kids “What’s thirty four minus twelve?” No, it is not. Will that fact keep my kids from foster care if some social worker determines on the fly that they are educationally neglected? No, it will not. Hence the math drill. I also want them to be able to enter school at grade level if they ever had to because of some family crisis.
Everywhere else they stay on grade level. We have subscriptions to Ranger Rick and National Geographic Kids; both magazines are devoured the moment they hit the mailbox. They read whatever they want in the kid fiction department, and read Newberry books or quality nonfiction with Sean at night. We have a subscription to Brain Pop as well, which has hundreds of short videos on every topic you can imagine. They write and draw stories and type on the computer constantly. So they stay in the ballpark (schoolyard?) for everything but mathematics. I know they’d get it on their own if I gave them time. I freely admit that this is all me.
I have officially outed myself as an incomplete unschooler! But not really, do you see? If there was no external timeline I wouldn’t be doing this. It’s all fear based, and I’m okay with that. I hope my unschooler friends don’t hate me now. I know the ones who are really my friends will understand.
So after all that, my point. Ahem.
Abby is having a tough time with place value right now. I just printed out some graph paper to see if that will help, to see that ten ones make ten, and ten tens make one hundred, etc. I looked into buying some Cuisenaire rods but they just look like expensive choking hazards, frankly. Lakeshore Learning has some cute little manipulatives that are the same way.
So what have you done to help your kids “get” place value? That didn’t involve teeny killer plastic or wooden bits, I mean.
I’m thrilled to announce this to you all: I’m the co-editor of the above journal. You can see more at the journal’s web site, here.
Hyperlexia: A Literary Journal Celebrating the Autistic Spectrum is looking for your fiction, poetry, and personal essays. Our inaugural issue is planned for October 2008. Send submissions to submissions@hyperlexiajournal.com and please include the full text of your writing in the email if you send a PDF or a Word file. Deadline for submissions is August 31, 2008.
Hyperlexia is interested in honest, thoughtful, well-written poetry and prose about being autistic, and loving someone with autism. Our journal is a celebration of real life with autism, both the good and the bad. We want genuine and truthful writing about autism. You can be serious, sad, or funny. We believe in respecting the diversity of the human mind and discriminatory writing or hatred of any kind will not be published. Submissions should be 1500 words or less.
I’m one of 3 editors. The other two are Brittney Corrigan and Kerry Cohen Hoffmann. They’re much better writers than I and I’m honestly just pleased as punch that I’m included.
So, get writing! This thing will only fly if you write for it, after all! Deadline for submissions is August 31.
I know you’ve often wondered “How the hell does she stay so calm with six freaking kids?”
I have a secret.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Disposable_foam_earplugs.jpg
It’s like a little piece of heaven for my ears. Just enough to make me be able to tend to Trixie screaming her fool head off because someone won’t give her a clothespin or a spoon or some trivial object. Without smacking her, I mean. Cause I guess that would be one way to deal with it but I’m agin it, you know.
Highly recommend them if you have the means.
You keep opening my mind. If you keep this up I’ll get obsessed with disability advocacy and dammit I don’t want another obsession!
Fascinating post on taking back the term ‘retard’ in the same manner as queer and crip.
My friend C has a mom, like most of us. Like my mom. And very much like my mom, in one VERY IMPORTANT respect: they both really, really like this guy.
That’s Toby Keith, for those of you who don’t follow country music. He’s a native son here in Oklahoma. My mom and I saw him with stageside seats right as Should Have Been A Cowboy was climbing the charts, for free, at the State Fair, with about a hundred other people. Now his concerts are considerably harder to get into.
Which is where YOU come in!
C’s mom will win four tickets to see Toby in concert if her dog wins a contest. She’s in second place! Here are your instructions:
1. Go here.
2. Vote for dog #9. The little black dog with the enormous tongue. That’s Dog #9.
3. Refresh the page and do it again.
4. Repeat!
It’s actually pretty good. Really the only part that bothered me was the very last line. And also some garbage from the NIH guy too. Overall though it was good, please watch it. It’s linked in the post below.
The parts that bug me have one thing in common: people without deeply autistic children telling the world how parents of deeply autistic children feel. And furthermore getting it wrong.
ETA: Below I said I don’t like it when people say I’m “strong.” What I dislike is when the speaker means “…and I am weak.” You aren’t weak. If you had a disabled child you’d cowboy up and do what needed to be done too, I expect. I’m not super sainted mom. I just love my kids like everyone else, you know?
So we’ve looked at a couple houses now. We’ve found one we like a lot, on a one-acre lot just south of Guthrie.
We’ve been taking the kids with us to look at stuff (mostly because we have to, and partly because we like to hear what they think too) and therefore Bede has been getting put in situations where he is expected to behave in certain ways: walk at the side of or very close to an adult, be relatively quiet, wear clothes, don’t touch.
Mostly he does not behave in those ways. He has about 3 to 5 minutes (I am being generous) of relatively compliant behavior before he becomes a puddle of yell on the floor, or a bolt of boy lightning charging for a fence. The houses with actual people still living in them are hard, because he isn’t permitted to examine the belongings of the owners to his satisfaction, nor is he allowed to run amok through the house. However he has kept his clothes on, which is great!
Anyway, he has a a hard time. If I am able to give him my full attention he does okay, even good, but I have 5 other children. Sean and my mother are there as well to tend to the other 5 but they still sometimes need me, so it gets kinda tense. Which is the point of my title: the look.
I think most parents are familiar with the look. You all have kids who behave in ways that others judge as bad in public, and at some point someone has glared at you disapprovingly. I’m used to that look, I’ve gotten it for years (I try never to give it, however.) And I’m pretty okay with it. If my job in life is to give someone else a reason to feel better about themselves, well, so be it. Not my problem.
But when Bede goes farther than a nonautistic child would, then I get the OTHER look.
The pity look.
I hate that look. Sometimes we get it with no introduction, but we usually get it when I say “He’s autistic. This is tough for him.” Then their look goes from anger to “Oh, you poor woman!” laced with “Thank God I’m not you!”
We do not want your pity. We want your understanding.
If you are faced with meeting an autistic child in distress, please don’t look sorry for the parents. You can express sympathy for the child in question, who is having a difficult moment, but please don’t look sorry for the parent. And don’t tell us we’re strong, or that you couldn’t do it, or whatever.
We’re just doing what anyone would do. Parenting our kids.
I guess a lot of this was spiked by the Good Morning America segment on autism acceptance. Diane Sawyer ends it with a bit of untrue treacle: “isn’t it [autism acceptance] a beautiful way of expressing heartbreak?”
No it is not. Acceptance is the other side of heartbreak, Diane. Acceptance is HOPE.
We have to move again because the landlord wants to sell this house. Argh! Renting. So we’re going to try to buy this time. We’ve been looking at modular housing from these guys (we especially like this floorplan) and now we need to find some land to stick a house on. We don’t have a time limit yet but I want to be proactive and move out before we have to. And I know how much Sean loves to move in the middle of the summer in Oklahoma! Not.
Oh golly. I didn’t notice what time it was. I have to run to get ready fer dinner at the ‘rents. Ta!
Well, today my children were book orphans because I both started and finished a book. That hasn’t happened since the last Harry Potter, I don’t think. What was the book, you ask?
Loose Girl, by Kerry Cohen. It was excellent. Raw, and honest, and ugly, and beautiful. Really good read. Go get yourself one.
I am 100% sure that Bede’s autism was not caused by vaccines. Because he hasn’t had any. I don’t think vaccines cause autism. I could believe that they make autistic-like symptoms appear in kids who have underlying metabolic problems, but I don’t think that happens very often. I think that vaccines in this country (the US) are ridiculously overwhelming to young bodies. I’m not stopping to look it up, but I have read that Japan has a later start to immunizations and does fewer than we do. Sounds good.
I myself was vaccinated. I was born in 1974 and I received injections for tetanus, diptheria and pertussis, measles, mumps and rubella, and was given an oral polio vaccine. That’s it.
I’m trying to find a doctor who is willing to work with me on getting those vaccines for my kids – although I do want even less than that. I’d like to go with the Td shot – just tetanus and diptheria – because the pertussis vaccine isn’t particularly effective and is pretty toxic.
I’m okay with the vaccine for measles and mumps, but the rubella is a no-go because it’s derived from human fetal cells, which translates to “made from an aborted baby.” So those need to be given separately instead of as the MMR.
The oral polio vaccine is no longer used in this country because it causes polio, so they’d be getting the injected polio vax – which is sometimes made from human fetal cells and sometimes not. If I can find the one that is not they’ll get that (it’s Sanofi Pasteur’s IPOL.)
I’m kind of tired of reading these angst-ridden posts on message boards that say “I vaccinated my child! She’s autistic! It’s all my fault!” I want to say NO! Vaccines do not cause autism. No studies have EVER shown a link between vaccines and autism. EVER. If you really want to think it’s your “fault,” blame your genes in the sense that they’re your genes that made the kid and her genes made her autistic. But really, that’s silly.
As far as autistic kids seeming to respond to biomedical interventions to reduce the toxins in their bodies by becoming less autistic, well, I’m not convinced. Bede has had no interventions. He has constant access to a computer and to his two loving parents (especially his mother) and to his five siblings. ANd you know what? He’s talking more, playing with us more, learning and growing. If he had been taking supplements they’d get the credit. But it’s just time and life.
And it’s a pretty good life, at that.
We just got a new (to us) 1988 Ford Econoline Club Wagon diesel van! Our friend Kenny gave it to us because he’s just about the most awesome man on the planet.
It looks a lot like this:
Sean’s not a gambler, and we’re Catholic, not Mormon. Oh, and we have six kids instead of five, so I spect he’s got nothin to worry about.
But go have a listen to Nancy Griffith singing “Ford Econoline” anyway, because it’s just a great song.
She drove west from Salt Lake City to the California coastline
She hit the San Diego Freeway doing sixty miles an hour
She had a husband on her bumper
She had five restless children
She was singing sweet as a mockingbird in that Ford EconolineShe’s the salt of the earth
Straight from the bosom of the Mormon church
With a voice like wine
Cruising along in that Ford EconolineNow her husband was a gambler, he was a Salt Lake City rambler
He built a golden cage around his silver-throated wife
Too many nights he left her crying with his cheating and his lying
But his big mistake was him buying her that Ford EconolineNow she sings her songs around this country
From Seattle to Montgomery
Those kids are grown and that rounder knows
You cannot cage your wife
Along the back roads of our nation, she’s become a living legend
She drives a Coupe DeVille but her heart rides still
In that Ford Econoline
I’ve been mildly depressed lately. Some of it is postpartum, some of it is just me. But today! Today I cleaned the house, which is so satisfying. Sean held Gloria and fed the other kids basically an entire box of Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies while I cleaned the living room, dining room and upstairs hallway. Ahhh!
It’s amazing how much my mood lifts when it’s tidy(er.) I have PTSD from our run-in with DHS two and a half years ago. (We were maliciously and falsely reported to CPS by a real estate salesman who wanted our home, which we were renting, to be show quality while we still lived in it. CPS came, checked us out for a few weeks of hell, and then said it was unfounded.) So anyway, whenever I see a car I don’t know pull up in front of our house or even just slow down a bit, my heart leaps into my throat, I break out in a cold sweat, hyperventilate and my mind jumps to “It’s CPS!!! Coming to take my babies!!” You can imagine that this is pretty debilitating when it happens every. time. I see a car. Even at, say 2AM.
So the cleaning helps because then if they did show up, my home is what Sean and I (not so) affectionately call “CPS clean.” Yeah.
I’ve been attempting some half-assed cognitive behavioral therapy on myself every time I have those thoughts and you know what? It’s working. Thank God, it’s working! Every time I think “ACK!! BABY THIEVES!!!” I say to myself “That’s a glitch in your brain, Fee. It’s just someone in a car you don’t know.” It’s helping. I will rewire my brain! New firmware, for Feebeeglee 2.0!
Ah, Gloria is fussing a bit, needs nursies. Did you know she was 4 months old yesterday? How did that happen?
The Mom, over at Shoved To Them, posted the video for Bad Day, a charming song. It reminded me to post our favorite Club Penguin version of Bad Day by Kraziiboi498. Enjoy!
I was outside today to check on the volunteer mulberry tree we have in our front yard. It’s right under an overgrown yaupon bush and honestly it’s a total mess of a botanical war as the two plants duke it out. The mulberry had a few berries last year but this year it looks absolutely loaded with them.
As I wandered around it, trying to find an early ripener, I saw a man riding down the middle of my street on a bicycle. He looked to be in his early twenties, black, with short hair, a beard and moustache, and glasses. He was wearing a baseball cap advertising the tire shop down the street, football jersey and sweatpants, and athletic shoes. I waved as he rode by and he stopped his bike and said “Hi!”
I said “Hi! It sure is a pretty day. This tree’s just crazy, isn’t it?”
As I spoke, he walked his bike over to me, a bit too close, and squinted at the tree.
“It’s mumblemumble!” he said, and pointed. Then he walked right up to the tree and plunged into the underbrush. He gestured to me excitedly, and I walked over to look where he was pointing, inside the trees. He spoke like he had a mouthful of marbles.
“It’s two trees, two trees, two trees!” he said.
“It is two trees!” I said. “And look, this one has berries!”
“Two trees, and berries!” he repeated, beaming at me.
“The leaves are different too, this one has small leaves, and this one has big leaves,” I said.
“Well look at that!” he said.
“I have to go back inside now, my children need me. Have a nice day!” I said.
“Have a nice day!” he said, got back on his bike, and pedalled off.
So, bike man’s loved ones, somebody else on 24th Street is keeping her eye out for him. No worries.
Bede’s visit with his psychologist was good. My mother was able to come with us and got to meet Dr. Mobley, who(m?) she liked very much. We were late getting there due to getting a bit turned around in Norman, but it was fine since Bede was able to handle about 30 minutes in her office before he became completely unable to control himself. When we left he was trying to remove all the clocks from her walls and scale the Dutch door into the office kitchen. Yeah, time to go!
Diana noticed Bede’s mental flexibility and ability to cope with the unexpected had improved markedly from last year, which is true, and his referencing of me for cues as to what is going on/how to feel. She also thinks that occupational therapy to address his sensory integration problems will help a huge amount, so we will definitely pursue that and see. (Regular readers of this blog will remember that Bede does not wear clothing, well, ever, unless he’s in a public place and actively reminded to remain clad.) She noticed he was toe-walking to avoid the berber carpet in her office, which would make sense in the deep-pressure seeking, light touch avoidant kind of way that Bede is.
She also said she thinks I’d have gotten an Asperger diagnosis as a child had there been one to give me, which didn’t surprise me at all. When I said “Well, sure I had those traits as a kid but now, you know, I’ve outgrown the diagnosis, right?” she actually chuckled and said something like “No, no, I don’t think so.” So I guess I could pursue a formal diagnosis but I don’t see the point. That’s enough for me to know I’m not making it all up, you know? Expect some introspective posts about all this soon…
Good Lord, look at the time! Have to go to bed.
Happy Mother’s Day, all you mothers!
Kristina Chew blogged recently about The Mosquito, a device that emits a high-pitched obnoxious whine that is generally only detectable by people under 25, and is used to deter teens from hanging around a given area. As we age, our ears lose the ability to detect really high sound frequencies, so it doesn’t bother adults with normal hearing. It seems to drive many autistic people up the wall, however, whatever their age, so some businesses are not going to use The Mosquito any longer. (Here’s a BBC article about the device, if you’d like a little background.)
So, my question is, can you hear it? Post yes or no, along with your age if you dare, in the comments.
It’s the pulsing “beep beep beep” noise, not the voices and background noise. I expect nearly everyone who’s not hard of hearing or deaf can hear that.
I fully support the new legislation here in Oklahoma requiring pregnant women seeking an abortion to undergo an ultrasound prior to the abortion.
I finished Faith’s socks last night while Sean and I were watching Foyle’s War. Love that show. Will post sock picture later when I have a chance to upload from the camera.
I’m going to be posting less and spending less time on the interweb too, I’m a bit overwhelmed. If you don’t see me much that’s why 🙂
ETA picture:
Ravelry details here.
