Suzie Home-maker

What a wild ride of a weekend. B.J. worked some monstrously long hours, Parents Night Out was a fiasco (due to his long work hours--I had a PNO with my friend P., rather than my husband), and Peanutzilla lived up to her name (the -zilla part).

It is always when I think life is all neatly planned out and I've got something lined up for every facet of my day (or weekend) that life tends to generally fall apart. Isn't it funny how it happens? Again, I find that cliches are so utterly...cliche! "The best laid plans of mice and men..."

On a more positive note, my dad surprised me with one of his uber cool garage sale finds: A barely used bread maker. Pretty cool beans, huh? I would have never thought to look for a bread maker at a yard sale, but alas, I am not the 'queen of yard sales', in fact, I'm not even a 'lady in waiting' of yard sales. Frankly, I have about no luck. My dad? He has all the luck.

So my new appliance is a: Welbilt_ABM4900 Bread Machine

I LOVE IT!

I have made two whole recipes, count 'em, TWO! in my new machine: Banana (no nut) Bread and Honey-Oat Wheat bread. Both recipes turned out pretty good. The kidlet love the Banana Bread, and keep asking for more (a plus, since I'm trying to help the Peanut put on some weight). And, B.J. loves (have I ever mentioned how picky this man is? Well, if I haven't, he could give any two-year-old a run for their money in pickiness) the Honey-Oat Wheat bread. He thinks it tastes just like the stuff they used to give you to nibble on while you were waiting for your salads to be served a the Black Angus Steak House (they're called Stuart Anderson's nowadays). B.J. actually likes it. It is totally amazing. Remember those old LIFE Cereal commercials, the ones where the one kid says to the other "Mikey likes it!". Yeah. B.J. is like the Mikey of my universe. Can't even begin to tell you how happy I am I have finally found (well, made!) a bread he will eat.

For the Honey-Oat Wheat bread recipe I went to my favorite online recipe book, AllRecipes.com
If you've never perused their cache of lovely recipes, I highly recommend it.

I can hardly wait to try out a new recipe. But, I gotta wait until at least 1/2 of the bread I made is gone. Can't carbo load to heavily.

If you have any favorite recipes for the bread machine, please post a comment of email me, OK? I'd love to try it out.

Linky-dinky-doo!

I don't have time to really write a thoughtful or funny post, so I'll send you over to a blog entry by The Fabulous Mommy Fussypants' Guide to Life. I loved it. It is on the Oprah and Dr. Oz show on Kids that aired recently (...wish I had seen it. Guess that is what happens when you don't turn on the TV in, oh, say two or three weeks. Sheesh! I really do live under a rock!). I hope you will enjoy this post like I did, too.

Everyone needs a little humor (or if you're me, sarcasm) to start the day.

Enjoy.

Tear Drops in the Pool

I'm sitting here practicing my 'deep breathing' and trying not to absolutely fall apart.

One deep breath in through the nose, and slowly out of the mouth. And, again.

I am having this complete flood of negative emotions right now: sadness, anger, grief, frustration, annoyance, all gently folded in with some helplessness for good measure.

B.J. is sick with 'sinus' issues (whatever those happen to be), Chubber has a snotty nose that is perpetually dripping greenish goop, and he insists of flailing wildly while shaking his head back and forth yelling 'NO!' every time I attempt to wipe it. That combination, two 'sick' males in one household, is a powerful 1-2 punch that knocks me on my butt every time. Males, in my experience, don't do well with being 'sick.'

At any rate, tonight, B.J. had to go to the doctor, and he 'generously' took the Chub with him-- since mommy & me swim lessons were out of the question and Peanut still had her lesson to go to tonight (no way I could possibly take a 2 year old to the pool without expecting a MAJOR melt-down when he found out sister could swim but he couldn't...). That left the Peanut and myself to go to the pool for her swim lesson.

Normally, swim lessons are pretty even-keel and Peanut looks as normal as any other little girl. She splashes, slides along the edge of the pool, and obligingly kicks her legs in the water to play the splashing games that they do in her class. She looks, in a single word, typical. I cherish the moments in time where she is, for all intents and purposes, normal. Normal isn't, well, normal here. We have our share of Autistic moments, but that is 'normal' when your child is on The Spectrum. So, when swimming lessons come around, it is, for me, a joy to see my girl because I am able to catch a single little glimpse of who she really is on the inside: a beautiful, energetic, four-year-old girl. I see her as the daughter I always dreamed she would be. But, tonight wasn't to be one of those sparkling, glorious glimpses into 'typical.'

Tonight, in a nutshell was awful. Peanut was sullen, grumpy, and uncooperative. She was showing, in all its glaring, astrobright loudness her place on the Autism Spectrum. At first she wouldn't even get into the pool. After a time, and some talking, she agreed to sit on the steps and her teacher attempted to entice her further into the pool with a beautiful purple ball. It worked--temporarily. From there, the Peanut proceeded to rock back-and-forth in the water, while sitting on the steps. She receded into her own little universe further than I've seen her disappear into it in a long time (perhaps even a year or more). She shrieked and barked, dementedly in the horrible ear-drum piercingly high tone she so favors. She climbed out of the pool, and crawled around on the deck.

I tried to talk with her and tell her she could go home if she wanted to. She wouldn't have any of it. She was lost in her own oblivion. She refused to join her class, but also refused to leave. All I could do was humor her and hope that she would journey back toward earth. She eventually got into the water and started to participate in class. It was short lived. Soon after, she was back on the swim deck and began the howl and bark again while rocking back and forth, flapping her arms against her head. I have not seen her stim (self-stimulate) this badly--ever.

As I watched my daughter in horror, unable to help her to 'come down' or to come back-- I realized I could only support her in the way she needed, and that was sit patiently by as she danced through her own universe in a ballet that I did not recognize. As she was doing this I felt the mortar in the wall of bricks around my heart slowly begin to disintegrate and the walls of self-denial, or protection, or whatever you want to call them--my self-protection mechanism--came crashing down, one painful brick at a time.





It was all I could do to 'hold it together' while I watched my girl. I wanted to weep, and rage, and disappear all at once. I felt so terrible for her. She was disturbed in some way that she could not communicate to me, and I was utterly helpless.

I wanted to cry for her, but more than that I wanted to cry for me. I feel and felt so alone. I'm back to being adrift on that desolate ice floe in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by the void that I cannot cross. I think I manage to deny my disappointment (at not having a typical child) for a long period of time, so long that I can almost forget it exists. Then, there's an event like tonight. My girl stumbles backward, and continues stumbling, until she's undeniably NOT normal. Then all the bricks around my heart, my self defense, crumble, and the vulnerable, bleeding, soft pink parts of my soul become exposed, again, and I am reduced to tears.

As another blogger put it "it isn't PC to feel this way [that you wish your child was normal], but I do." And, I do. Some days I just wish she were normal. I wish I didn't feel such shame and guilt that I don't celebrate and rejoice in having a 'special needs child', but I don't. If I could do something, anything, to make it so that she was typical I would. I imagine any parent, even those who love the fact that their child is 'special', would wave that magic wand if it appeared in front of them.

I love my little girl as much as I love life itself. I can't imagine my life without her--I wouldn't have the same life without her, nor would I want a life without her--I just wish in moments like these things could be easier. That the pink parts weren't always so raw when they get exposed. That I didn't have to find the mortar to glue everything back into place.

Gift Bag

Look out folks, I'm gettin' creative over here. Better sound the alarms... Martha has some competition...

But, seriously, take a look:

To celebrate one of my colleague's birthday I decided I'd make her some treats, and rather than settle for the gift bag de rigueur, I wanted something different.

I stepped outside 'the bag.'

And came up with the idea to use a trick-or-treat pumpkin ($2.49--roughly the same price as a paper decorative bag). I thought it would be cute, and that my friend could reuse it (as in, probably give it to her 6 year old.)

What, might you ask, do you put into a jack-o-lantern gift bag? Well, you put these into it:

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookies, of course!

Roughin' it

Our hot water heater took a nose dive. In fact, it doesn't actually heat water anymore. Does that make the 'hot water heater' part a moot point?

Some time on Saturday our water heater ceased heating water. Too bad we didn't actually notice this wee factoid until Sunday morning. 6:30am, is, in fact, when I did notice that we had a substantial lack of hot water--we didn't even have tepid water. So, I told B.J. and he decided it wasn't heating due to a (likely) blown circuit breaker. He reset it. I chilled out and got my morning caffeine fix (if coffee could be given intravenously, I'd sign up...).

After an hour or so, what would have reasonably been long enough for said water heater to begin heating water, I tried to shower. Again. And, again, no hot water. This was a major drag, and a slight inconvenience to our morning. Given that by this point in time it was 8:00am, and we were slated to leave by 8:30am, to go visit family in another city, it necessitated a hasty (and unsatisfactory) baby-wipe-bath and sticking my head under the freezing cold tap to do something with the mass on the top of my head that greatly resembled a rooster's comb.

B.J. decided (reasonably) to reset the circuit breaker (again) and reset the circuit directly on the hot water heater. We figured that by the time we returned from our trip, some time that evening, we would once again be a part of the western world with hot running water.

WRONG!

Too bad we didn't realize it until 9:30pm Sunday evening--we still had a non-working hot water heater. Too late in the evening to actually work on fixing it/get parts. What that meant is that I got to (oh joy) go to work without a morning shower--yet another day being filthy. At this point it has gotten a bit...um...old. When I was 18 or 19 a shower was optional--hey, I was semi-hippie, and rebelling against the system a bit. But, at this age (undisclosed, you might notice) as a working professional, I don't do mornings without a shower.

Monday comes and goes. By the end of the day the children are beginning to resemble the poor street urchins that you see on the Sally Struthers 'sponsor a child' television commercials. I decide that I can't quite send my babies into the world looking like they are in need of social services to rescue them. To accomplish a bath I have to find out how to wash them in reasonably warm water: I boiled a huge stockpot of water on the stove, slogged it (without spilling or burns--on anyone! Hallelujah!) to the kids' bathroom and dumped it into the bathtub. This produced a bath of approximately 1/2 cm. deep water. To cool it down and to give us enough to work with I ran cold water into the tub, to make it about 2" deep.

I have a whole new appreciation for my great-great-grandmother and the womenfolk before her. What a chore to boil water to have a warm bath. It is no wonder why our ancestors only bathed monthly (and semi-annually before that). I also have a bigger appreciation of the differences between the classes--the upper classes could afford to have servants who would boil and slog up hills, stairs, and who-knows-where-else to provide a hot bath for their employers. What a thankless task that must have been, for very little return. I'm, again, grateful that I was born where and when I was born.

Tuesday arrives with all of its unshowered, ripening, hate-to-stick-my-head-in-the-cold-water ugly rainy day glory. I get to be present and accounted for at my place of employment, with only a sponge bath and some (very expensive) perfume to (hopefully) disguise any of my not-next-to-godliness (you know, like the old proverb: Cleanliness is next to...). B.J. takes the day off of work to solve our hot water woes.

In the end, it turns out that it is a simple and inexpensive fix. Yay!! B.J. brainstorms with the guys at George Morlan Plumbing and with my Dad (Mr. Fix-it of the universe--this man can fix it, build it, design it--from cars to appliances to building houses (which, as a matter of fact, he built the one he currently live in--by himself!!)). The end result: our hot water heater needed a $33 part (a new thermostat) and, voilà! We have hot water.

I can hardly wait until I put the kidlets to bed so that I can go and be decadent, and wallow in a super hot, turn-me-lobster-red, ultra luxurious hot water shower.

Random quote for today

So, I was at my father-in-law's birthday party last night, talking with my sister-in-law, J., and she says to me:

J: So, I asked Peanut if she was going to school right now.
Me: Yea. So, what did she tell you?
J: She said "I don't go to school. I'm going to CHURCH!"

Poor Peanut, she still doesn't have any concept of time or the days of the week. This was so hilarious to me simply because Peanut had asked if today (Sunday) she was going to 'my school' and I told her that, no, today wasn't a school day, but that we were going to church. Her response to J. made it sound like she doesn't ever go go school, but only goes to church 6-10 times a week, like some weird cult...

Gotta love kids. Bill Cosby definitely had it right: Kids do say the darnedest things...

Date Night

Last night was date night. Whoo-hoo! Let the good times roll.

I am so grateful to Easter Seals because the wonderful therapists and volunteers over there who put on a once a month "Parents Night Out" event. This event is specifically designed for parents of special needs children who, after parenting at the 'above-and-beyond' level needed for atypical children, are in dire need of some respite.

And, respite it is.

We feel safe leaving our kiddos because everyone at PNO has had a criminal background check, and most are the people and therapists who work with our special needs kiddos on a daily basis. In short, they know how to care for 'high needs' children, and we, as parents, can breathe a sigh of relief because should our children 'wig-out' or 'melt-down' the PNO staff can handle it.

So, with the weight off of our shoulders for the evening, we headed out for some much needed R & R.

Being 'single' is a strange sensation. At first, we feel disoriented, and uncertain of what to do ('You mean, I don't have anyone to strap into their car seat? I can, once again, get in and out of my car by unbuckling my seat belt and shutting the door before walking away, with nothing else to worry about? Bizarre...). Once this sensation of being 'lost' wears off, a certain giddiness sets in: We can do whatever we want, for 3.5 whole hours!! Now what?

We started out our evening by visiting various Tattoo establishments here, in our fair hamlet. The variety of shops and varying levels of how hygienic those shops are, always amazes me.

B.J. and I both have one (me) or more (B.J.) Tattoos. I, personally, love them. They require utter devotion to the art and a 100% commitment on the part of the tattoo-er and the tattoo-ee. Currently, I'm in the market for a few (yes, plural) 'tats'.

The tattoo I have now is of the "Scabious Fairy"; originally drawn in 1923, by the botanical artist Cicely Mary Barker. I was 'inked' with my little fairy when I was 18. I still love her. She, to me, has become my personal icon of The Peanut. I intend to have her name written below the fairy on my back. And, since I have two kiddos, I can't possibly have one tattoo of one of my children without a corresponding tattoo for the other (Chub-chub). Hence, I'm going to have another Flower Fairy, a boy riding on a dragonfly, tattooed on me to be my personal icon of the Chubber, complete with his name below it. Fair is fair. This is just the first tattoo I want to add to my living canvas.

The next 'series' of tattoos I want to get is for more aesthetic reasons. In a nutshell, I had some moles removed from my back (they required 5 and 8 stitches to close the wounds, respectively). They left some BIG ugly scars (looks like I was attacked with a hole punch) that became keloid. They're just ugly, and I'm very self conscious about them .

My choices to 'fix' my scars are: 1. go to the plastic surgeon, shell out beacoup bucks, still wind up with scars (albeit, if all goes well, much smaller and less freaky looking), 2. go and get a cover-up tattoo (yet another 'scar' if you will, but of the artistic variety). The tattoos won't be cheap, either, but they'll hide the scars and I like tattoos--a lot.

We found a few ideas on our 'rounds' however I believe that I have not, to date, found a tattoo artist I would trust to permanently mark me in my home town. I will go back to the original artist who did my Tattoo and the one who did a part of B.J.'s tattoo (cool story--I was the one who sketched the art to go around an Orca on his back, and he liked it enough he had it tattooed around the orca...amazing what happens when you're doodling on a cocktail napkin!).

That 'chore' out of the way, B.J. and I enjoyed a relaxing evening of cruising around, sharing a piece of pie at Marie Callendar's, and perusing books--in PEACE!--at Borders. Things that we once did and totally took for granted, before we had kids.

PNO gave us a much need recharge, and we had the chance to reconnect, as husband and wife. What a great date night. We're looking forward to the October 12 PNO.

Thanks to all the folks at Easter Seals, for making it all possible. You folks are a blessing--more than you probably even know.