Stimeyland

What Was on the Top Bunk

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:52:00 +0000

Jack & the slave child
By jack

I know. I'm confused too. For a lot of reasons.

This was only the front of what appears to be a book. The following pages don't make much more sense.

I'm starting to wonder if I overlooked what he was really talking about (like, say, the butcher knife stashed under his pillow), but I think this was the only thing up there.

Go ahead. Interpret away.

I dare you.

What Just Happened

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 15:50:00 +0000

Jack: "Mom, I love you."

Jack: "Don't look on the top bunk."

Me: "Should I be worried?"

Jack: "Yes."

Me: "What is on the top bunk?"

Jack, covering my mouth: "Don't talk about it."

(He's watching me type this right now.)

Jack, reading what I'm typing: "So, be silent. POW!"

Jack: giggle, giggle, giggle...

Hmmm. I think I need to go look on the top bunk.

I Love Me Some Mountains!

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:15:00 +0000

I am shocked to tell you that I haven't written a word for an entire week. Mostly it was because I was revisiting my youth in Utah with some old high school buddies. I have a post planned about that, but I wanted to say hi and let you know that I missed you.

They're Never Going to Let Me Forget

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 02:04:00 +0000

In case you missed this...

Here is Quinn's artist's rendition of the event:

Remember when I was so happy that he was starting to draw?

I take it all back.

Sibling Responsibility

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 20:38:00 +0000

I've always thought that Jack is so lucky to have two such wonderful brothers. As a very shy young person myself, I know how important it is to have a sibling to help you out. I have vivid memories of my sister being asked to hang out with me during elementary school recess because she had friends and I didn't.

However, no matter how glad I am that Jack has Sam and Quinn to help and teach him, it also pains me a little bit to give them the extra responsibility of helping to take care of him.

Most of what I ask them to do are things kids would already do for neurotypical siblings. For instance, Sam paves the way for Jack with teachers, he helps Jack make friends by being such a social butterfly, and he helps Jack get to the morning school line-up spot.

I send them away from the car every morning and Sam encourages Jack to come with him. Sometimes they hold hands. Someone from Jack's school told me that Sam walks Jack to his line, makes sure he's facing the right direction, and then goes off to his own line. I'm a little bit afraid of the day that Jack refuses and Sam doesn't know what to do. I hope when that day comes that there is an adult nearby to help. Because I don't want to have put Sam in that position.

Although as the older brother, Sam does most of the leading and the helping, even Quinn seems to understand that Jack needs a little bit of extra help.

For instance, today at the bus stop. I'd taken my dog with me and she was freaking out because there was another dog with the temerity to be merely a block away from her. I'm seriously on the verge of getting the dog stuffed and using her as a coffee table, but that's another post entirely.

While I was dealing with the dog, Jack (who'd already gotten off of his bus, which arrives earlier than Sam's) and Quinn took off. Now, the bus stop is only a block and a half from home and my kids don't have to cross streets to get there, but I don't let them run off until I'm also on my way back home. And they usually don't. Sometimes as soon as Sam gets off the bus, Jack and Quinn will take off running for home. But today, they took off while my attention was on the dog not choking herself with her own collar.

Once I had the dog calmed down, I looked around and didn't see them. I knew where they would have gone, but I don't like them being out of my sight around the corner. Plus I couldn't go track them down without abandoning Sam, whose bus was due any second.

Then I saw them. Jack was running, and Quinn was trying to tackle him. Quinn knew they shouldn't be leaving the bus stop and he was trying to stop Jack. I shouted for them to come back and Jack kept going, with Quinn holding on to his sweatshirt, vainly trying to drag him back.

Fortunately Sam's bus arrived and the group at the bus stop pointed him toward me, halfway down the block. We started walking home with Jack and Quinn still ahead of us, Quinn still trying to stop Jack.

It all ended at the house before ours, where Quinn fell and scraped his stomach in the driveway. Jack obliviously ran home, where he was summarily put in timeout and then got a pretty stringent lecture about staying at the bus stop.

I still firmly believe that having an autistic brother is a wonderful thing for Sam and Quinn. And I still firmly believe that Jack is a wonderful brother and gives as much back to Sam and Quinn as they give to him.

But some days I feel a little sad for the extra responsibility my eight- and four-year-old have.

The Force Was Strong at My House

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 03:43:00 +0000

This post is mainly for my mother.

A long time ago (you know, Saturday), in a galaxy far, far away (a.k.a. Maryland)...

Two Jedis faced off against Darth Vader.

Or you can refer to them as Charlie's Angels in Space.

This is quite possibly my favorite photo in the history of time.

Gadzooks! An ally for Jack!

But in the end, all enjoyed the spoils of war.

I hope you all had as fun and chocolatey of a Halloween as we did.

We Interrupt This Halloween to Bring You the Greatest Compliment Ever

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 23:38:00 +0000

I think that pretty much stands on its own, but if you want the back story, here it is.

ShallowGal has been looking for advice on Twitter all week long. Like, how do you keep a four-year-old happy in a looooong line that will ultimately result in his being given a flu shot?

And like any normal person, I suggested The Big Lie approach.

(If you're not familiar with the twitter timeline concept, read the second one first.)

And then, tonight, she needed more help. Seriously. How does the woman get dressed in the morning? She was going to a party and didn't know what to do about trick or treaters visiting her empty home. Should she put out a bowl of candy, she asked? To which I gave this advice:

Honestly. Why aren't all of you following me on twitter? I could solve the world's problems. You hear that @barackobama? (Although I'll need to hire a copy editor for my tweets first. Jeez.)

So there you have it: "Stimey—the evil, less dead Ann Landers."

Scary (Pretend) Halloween (II)

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 00:47:00 +0000

(Super) Scary Thing #1:

The very scariest thing about this Halloween (oh, please, let it be the scariest) was when I got a call from my sister-in-law, S, yesterday to tell me that my sister was in the hospital for complications from H1N1.

That was scary enough, but then a couple of hours later S called back and started using words and phrases such as "blood pressure bottomed out" and "unresponsive" and "blood clot" and "ICU."

Fortunately, the latter two didn't pan out and she's back at home now. But, oh my god, I don't think I've been that scared since Loon Day. Especially since she's in New Mexico and I couldn't even be there for moral support. My fingers (and toes) are crossed that she continues to improve. And rapidly.

Thank you to everyone who was on Twitter last night and sent good thoughts to my sister and me. Ann, the interwebs are pulling for you. As am I. Feel better soon. Please.

*****

(Sorta) Scary (But Highly Annoying) Thing #2:

I almost burned my house down this morning trying to make toast for Sam. I, somewhat obviously, need to work on my cooking skillz. We were all happily in the TV room watching the cast of the Today Show dressed up as Star Wars characters when Sam walked into the kitchen to get his shoes and yelled, "Mom! There's smoke everywhere!"

And he was right.

That's the culprit circled in red right there.

I will say that I can trace the smoke trail all the way back to, and place the blame squarely upon, my dog. If she hadn't eaten Sam's pancakes, then he wouldn't have asked for toast, and I wouldn't have tried to make it, a job I am obviously unqualified to do.

I'm pretty sure we caught the toast seconds before it burst into flames.

YUM!

Consequently, I spent the entire day smelling like burnt toast and apologizing to everyone that stood within three or four feet of me. And don't get me started on how my house smells. Oy.

*****

(Mutant) Scary Thing #3:

This:

You might not be able to tell from the photo, but this wasp (and his buddies) is an inch and a half long. These weird, huge wasps have recently shown up at our back door.

What. the. hell. are. they?

*****

(Not) Scary (at All, But Rather Totally Adorable) Thing #4:

Pretend Halloween II, Elementary School Edition was today.

Jack represented the dark side with style and pizazz.

Sam was a serious, stoic Jedi. I didn't get a photo of him smiling until we got back to his room and he saw all the snacks.

And Quinn totally scored because he got to go to both Sam and Jack's parties.

*****

And it's still only October 30.

Why, Yes, Today IS Pretend Halloween.

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 01:35:00 +0000

For all of you who were saddened by Quinn's harsh economics lesson yesterday, rest assured that he has recovered nicely.

And you may have laughed to hear Quinn ask about Pretend Halloween, but actually today was Pretend Halloween. Or, alternately, Day One of the Three Never-Ending Days of ~~the Great Candy Orgy~~ Halloween.

Quinn's preschool class had their Halloween Parade today, although it is more of a Halloween Stand Around and Let the Parents Take Your Photo Event.

Quinn was a Jedi.*

I think he looks a little bit like a Jawa, but don't tell him that or he'll get really, really mad at you.

Damn, that kid is cute. I spent a lot of time looking at him today and being proud of him. He's an amazing kid.

At the end of the day, all the kids were sent home with chocolate cupcakes with bright yellow frosting. I had to put a towel over Quinn's white Jedi pants.

Coming tomorrow: Pretend Halloween II, The Elementary School Edition.

* (Okaaaaay...why does Firefox's spellcheck recognize "Jedi" but not "Asperger's"? Or "spellcheck" for that matter?

*****

Also, thanks to Whirlwind who sent the most awesome Halloween package ever to my kids. Costumes included.

That's some good stuff right there.

*****

Read all about my new gig as a Nintendo Brand Enthusiast over at my review site, Things. And Stuff.

That Will Teach Me to Make Idle Promises

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:22:00 +0000

Quinn got out of school today at noon and we had to be at Sam and Jack's school at 1:40 for a Wall of Fame ceremony. (Yes, yes, another Wall of Fame. Jack got on it this month, but Sam didn't. It was quite the scandal at our house.)

Well, I had to go to Target to pick up a couple things, so I figured that Quinn and I could go there, and I could feed him a snack and he could then eat pizza at the Wall of Fame. (And, yes, it does have to be capitilized upon each utterance.)

We went around the store and shopped for what I needed, and the entire time Quinn didn't stop talking for more than four seconds.

"I want to go to the Star Wars section. Can we buy that candy? I'm hungry. I want a hot dog. What comes after one million sixty hundred? Is infinity a number? Is Halloween tomorrow? Is pretend Halloween tomorrow? Did we buy candy? Did we buy snacks for Sam's class? Can we buy snacks for my class? Pretend Halloween is tomorrow, right? Right? RIGHT?!?!"

Well, I think I could be forgiven if, as we were entering the Target cafe, I said to Quinn, "If you stop talking for five minutes, I'll give you a dollar."

The talking didn't stop, but it did lessen, and I know I heard some counting, and as I was paying, Quinn asked for his dollar. It turns out that he had misunderstood my proposition, had counted to five, and was now demanding his twenty dollars.

So then, it turned into this whole thing with the sobbing and the sad face and the demanding of a three-dollar bill, and I finally relented and told him that if he behaved himself at the Wall of Fame that I would give him a dollar when we got home.

And then all was right with the world.

For a little while.

Quinn did some behaving and some misbehaving and somewhere along the route between Target and the school and the ride home, Quinn became entirely convinced that he was owed two dollars.

Which he wasn't. And which he didn't get.

I tell you, that kid is lucky I (a) gave him one dollar, and (b) didn't throttle him.

Jack...the Jackster...the Jacksonarama.

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 14:12:00 +0000

You may have noticed that I haven't done a lot of writing about the "autism" part of "life. autism. gerbils." lately. (Or you may not have. Who am I to know what you notice?) I guess the biggest reason is because while, yes, we still work with Jack's autism every day, he is kicking ass and taking names.

He seems to have evened out in school—or the school's not telling me about his troubles. Either way, I'm not afraid of my cell phone anymore, which is good. Based on what I see when I'm in there every week, I am floored by the differences in him this year. Even the differences between now and a month and a half ago are amazing.

The thing is, I remember last year when I was sitting in what is now Jack's class, but used to be Sam's, and I would look around the room and think, "Jack would sink like a rock in this class." But you know what? He's not. His support is consistent and wonderful, he is interested in much of the work, and, I think most importantly, Jack is getting older, and his age is working for him.

Yes, he still struggles, but less. I see it with his homework. Last year and at the beginning of this year, we had some epic homework battles. He still makes me work for it, but he's doing so much better.

And he has had so many tiny victories as well. Like when he ate this gummy worm.

Yes, I know that gummy worms don't technically count as fruit, but Jack ate food that wasn't brown, so I'm counting it as a win.

He does still use the front of his shirt as a napkin, but I think that's more due to bad parenting than autism. Seriously. Sam had been taking a lunch to school for a year and a half when someone mentioned putting a napkin in their kid's lunchbox and I was all, "Oh. Riiiiiiight."

Jack is also getting so much better at expressing that he wants to be part of something. I always take a million photos (can you tell?), and he'll smile or ignore or run away like my other kids. But on Sam's birthday we were sitting down to open Sam's presents and Jack said, "Wait! Take a picture of me with Sam!"

That had never happened before. He's never vocalized that he wanted to be in a photo. (Unlike my other two little attention hogs.)

Add to this the fact that he comes home from school and shows me the things he drew that day at school or something else from his backpack at least once or twice a week. His eagerness to share things and experiences is amazing to me.

I do have to say that most of his sharing and eagerness and the rest is directed almost entirely at me. His little self is metaphorically plastered to me. It makes sense that these new ways of expressing himself would start with me, the person he feels safest with and identifies most with. I'm hoping that soon they will transfer to the rest of the family and then, hopefully, to friends and teachers.

I'm starting to see signs of that. It used to be that he would never use other kid's names, and most of the time, if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to remember them. That's starting to change.

Then there's empathy. Jack has always had a deep store of empathy, it's just that he didn't use it on the traditional targets. (The cockroach in WALL-E? Dude, Jack felt that guy.) He's always piped up now and again with sporadic attempts to make other kids feel better or to show that he is aware of others' feelings, but it's happening more and more these days.

Like, the other day when I had some friends over for a Halloween potluck and there was a two-year-old who started screaming when Jack walked in wearing his super awesomely scary costume.

I took Jack around the corner, told him that his awesome costume was scaring the baby, and would he mind taking it off? He immediately started to strip down to his street clothes, and when he was done, he walked straight over to the baby and said, "See? It's just a costume. It won't hurt you."

All of which was completely lost on the toddler who was vacillating wildly between OHMYGOD SCARY BIG PEOPLE IN MASKS!!!!!! and OHMYGOD A BOWL OF MULTICOLORED GOLDFISH CRACKERS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!!!! But he did it. All by himself.

All of which is to say that I haven't written about autism for a while because it hasn't been causing us a whole lot of problems right now (aaaaannndd now! the problems will start). But honestly, maybe that's when I should write about autism. Because last year at this time if you'd told me how far Jack would come in a year, I would have cried with gratitude. And every kid with autism is different and no one can tell you what is ahead for you, but for us? What a difference.

"I Don't Know...Some Zombie Thing..."

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 04:37:00 +0000

Alternatively titled: "When There's No More Room in Hell, the Dead Will Walk the Earth."

Last night, hordes of zombies descended on downtown Silver Spring, Maryland, and I was right in the thick of it. As were many other people, some of whom had no idea what was going on, but were entirely unfazed by the whole thing. Like the dude whom I overheard mutter the title to this post.

Our dedicated medical workers are always the first to fall.

All of you who thought about coming and then didn't because of the rain and the tired and the inertia? You are so bummed, because it was, like, 70 degrees, not rainy, and AWESOME.

Fortunately, my friend ~~Mrs. D~~ J and her family came down and let me hang out with them. J's son is making a zombie movie and used the opportunity to get lots of tape of free special effects. Considering that they didn't know about the zombie walk until I told them about it, I'm pretty sure that my part in the making of the movie earned me an Associate Producer credit and a 10-share of the eventual proceeds.

Even the undead can't be too careful about the swine flu.
Brainssss...Purelllllll...face maskssssss....

I just might have done a fair amount of jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Which, come to think of it, may have wrecked more than a few of J's son's shots.

"Where's braaaaaiiiiinnnnsssssss....?"

I took a lot of photos. I wasn't the only one though. There was a virtual swarm of paparazzi.

Some of the zombies were endearingly committed to their roles.

Some were less so. Since when do zombies smoke?

But never fear! There were zombie hunters too.

Incidentally, the zombies went to a showing of Shaun of the Dead after the walk.

Some of the zombie costumes were good, some were a little weak, all were good-intentioned, but this was the very damn cutest of them all:

Awwwww....tiny zombie....

I hit Lebanese Taverna for dinner (and the bookstore) before the walk and caught sight of my first zombies while I was eating.

The guy behind the counter asked if they were meat-eaters or vegetarians.
They said they were vegetarian. Pffft.

I spent a substantial portion of my meal trying to surreptitiously take photos of zombie dinner without being noticed. I don't think I succeeded. Not to mention that you can't even tell that they're dressed as zombies because of my shoddy photography.

I really enjoyed the dedication to the role that some of the zombies showed at the walk. Especially this guy:

I also enjoyed his colorful boxers.

I leave you with these tips:

(1) To kill a zombie, you must destroy his brain.
(2) In case of an undead uprising, hope for shambling zombies instead of the newfangled running kind.
(3) Zombies can't swim, but they also can't drown.
(4) Head north. The zombies will freeze, but you will not. Probably.
(5) Remain vigilant.
(6) In no case should you take an actual shotgun to a casual zombie walk.

You Can Keep Your Sparkly, Dreamy Vampires—I Prefer My Ghouls Gray and Rotting, Thank You Very Much.

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 00:26:00 +0000

You may be aware that I am a fan of zombies. I find this to be a really embarrassing thing about myself, but I just can't help it. I've seen many, many zombie movies, many of which are terrible, some of which are startlingly good.

I even read zombie literature. (Yes, there is such a thing.) And maybe a zombie blog.

I'm a geek.

All of this is to say that I am so excited to go to the Silver Spring Zombie Walk this Saturday. I'm not dressing up or anything, because I am not bold enough/completely geeky enough/badass enough/committed enough to do so.

But I'd like to invite you guys to go with me, because Alex is afraid of zombies and won't go. Also, if he went, we'd have to take our kids with us, and even I am aware that dragging three small children out at 8:30 on a Saturday night to be assaulted by the living dead = bad parenting.

Jenni is going with me. That is, if you consider an offhanded response to a comment on her blog to be a binding contract. Which I do.*

Who else wants to come? We can grab dinner or a drink in downtown Silver Spring before the zombies start to roam at 9:30. The zombies are watching Shaun of the Dead (one of my top five movies ever) at 10 at the AFI, but I'll be heading home to work after the walk. And to post photos of the walk on my blog.

If you want to come, email me at stimeyland@gmail.com and we'll make a plan. If no one wants to go, I'll feel really sad and unpopular, but don't let that influence you.

So whaddya say? Who wants to get their zombie on?

* You can back out. I would understand.

Scribble-Scrabble to Stick Figures

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:37:00 +0000

Quinn's preschool teacher is a wonderful woman whom I will refer to as Mrs. G, because that is her name. This is the third year I have had a child in her class, what with my having three children, and I love her more each time.

My very favorite thing that she has the kids do is draw a picture of themselves every month. At the end of the year, she puts them all together and gives them to the parents, so they can see the progress their child has made over the course of the year.

Each month when the pictures go up, the parents stand in the hall and ooh and aah and laugh about the pictures.

Now, while both Sam and Jack's packets had radically different first and last pictures, I figure that I might have a slam dunk winner for Most Improved in Quinn.

While the above is a picture—and I use that term loosely—of his family, his self-portrait for September looked pretty much exactly the same. See, Quinn doesn't draw...things. He scribble-scrabbles.

I didn't think much about it until I looked at everyone else's pictures, and every single other kid had, at the very least, drawn a stick figure. I wasn't overly concerned about it, because I figure he'll draw when he wants to draw, but I was a tiny little bit sad that he was the ONLY kid in the class who had never drawn a circle head and a stick body.

Mrs. G must have picked up on that, or she just decided that it was time for the Q-ball to draw a picture, because a couple of days later, this appeared on her classroom door:

Um. Yes. That IS the most amazing piece of art ever. Definitively. Artists, you can stop now. It's been done.

Except! When asked to draw a picture of himself in October, Quinn busted out not one, but five stick figures. And a house.

And some other random squiggles.

So, to recap: Quinn (1) can draw masterpieces, (2) can count to five, (3) knows all the members of his family. But, Quinn (1) cannot follow directions such as "Draw a picture of just yourself."

I can't wait to see what November brings.

My Mom Has a Stalker

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 00:51:00 +0000

For the past week or week and a half, someone has been trying over and over to gain access to my mom's house through her windows. I have been receiving increasingly frantic emails and phone calls from her about her would-be intruder.

And it's not like he's being subtle about it either. Over and over, multiple times a day, he clunks into her window, regroups, and tries again.

The one responsible for the assault? This guy:

The first word I got about this guy, who I will call, let's say...Sven, was sometime last week when I got this email from my mom:

I have a bird that, yesterday and today, keeps trying to fly though the window into my house. I keep hearing this thunk and I see feather impressions on the outside of the window. I turned on the light inside hoping he wouldn't try to kill himself anymore, but I just heard another thunk. Poor bird.

I emailed her back that she should remove the bird feeder that she must have hanging inside her dining room.

She told me that she'd tried to scare him off by hanging CDs by the door and taping faces to the window. Now I'm not going to go into what *I* think about the CD idea—which is that wild animals like shiny things. Oh, look! I did go into it.

But the faces idea seemed like a good one.

I love that she made her people so happy. I probably would have drawn them grimacing and pointing.

The next day I got a voice mail message: "He's still trying to commit hari-kari! What do I DOOOOOOOOOOO?" Then an email: The bird was continually thunk, thunk, thunking into the window, falling to the patio, and then picking himself up and flying off.

Then later that afternoon, I got a hopeful call from my mom. The bird was gone. "I think he's stopped doing it," she said.

"Do you see his corpse on the porch?" I asked.

"No," she answered, "He probably went somewhere else to die."

But no. Sven was just taking a nap or something. Pretty soon, he was back to casing the joint.

Apparently he'd taken to peeking in the windows. Clearly this bird knows that there is glass there. He wants something that's inside. (Guard your eyeballs, mom.)

I suggested hanging a blanket or something similar on the outside of the window. At the very least I figured it would muffle the sound. My mom took my advice and taped plastic garbage bags to the outside of the window, a decor choice that she termed, "classy." Shortly thereafter, she sent an email with the tentative subject heading "success?"

But no.

Sven took to tearing down part of the bags and then sitting on them to peek inside the window.

It's like he's taunting her.

Now he's rotating between three different windows. Thunk into one. Rip, rip, rip, thunk, into another. Thunk, thunk into the third.

"I refuse to put garbage bags over every window in the house," says my mom. She is completely stressed out about this poor bird and really doesn't want him to kill himself trying to get into her house. But she wasn't willing to follow my suggestion that she just open the door and let him in, so I'm not sure how seriously to take her.

I've gotten many more emails on the subject from her, my favorite of which included the subject head, "cardinal and peace prize." And, no, she wasn't suggesting that the bird receive the peace prize, but I think maybe Obama should put Sven on his to-do list.

The internet has been very little help thus far. There is no shortage of websites about cardinals flying into windows, but few of the conditions seem to apply to Sven and my mom. I've stopped giving her advice and am know just sitting back watching the show and laughing to hear how Sven is fucking with her.

I'll be sad when she sends me his obituary email though. I hope he wises up before that happens.

I Wonder if John McCain Cried Too

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 16:39:00 +0000

Today was my scheduled day to volunteer in Sam's classroom. I don't know why, but Thursdays seem to be the day that all the good stuff goes down in the second grade. Last week I got to be there for the class butterfly release party, at which the class released the butterflies they had raised from caterpillars.

The fact that those butterflies were likely murdered days later by the cold weather is mostly irrelevant.

Today was class election day. Sam has been talking about this for days. The kids had spent the week making speeches and campaign posters. Today they voted. Sam wanted to know if I could vote. I think he really wanted to win.

All the posters were hanging in the hall when I got there. Sam is so much more coiffed in his poster than in real life.

Like I said, I think he really wanted to win.

The teacher seemed a little bit stressed about the whole thing. She was well aware of the agony of defeat that was coming. Evidently the class president thing is part of the second-grade curriculum, but she was obviously dreading announcing the winner and breaking a bunch of little hearts.

I was in charge of counting the votes.

I'm not going to say that there was any election fraud, but my being in the classroom just might have kept Sam at the forefront of some little minds. He won with a staggering four votes!

He was so happy.

But a couple of the other kids were so sad. Especially one in particular. He was crying as the other kids were lining up to go to art. I felt so bad for him. Sam does have a fair amount of anxiety about school, but for the most part, things come really easy to him. I almost wanted to force Sam to abdicate his new title.

Of course, even though I'm not sure about the rules of Second Grade Class President Elections, I'm pretty sure that even if abdication were legal, it would have resulted in the absolute devastation of my sensitive little Sam.

But I was still left with the dilemma of how to get this sad little kid to art. His teacher was leading the rest of the class out of the room so I tried to take his hand and lead him out too, but he resisted. And if it were my kid, I would have just dragged him or picked him up, but suddenly a bright red light went off in my head with the following words flashing underneath it: "ILLEGAL RESTRAINT! ILLEGAL RESTRAINT! DON'T TOUCH THE CHILD!"

Which is usually a pretty good rule to go by when you're at a school, I think.

Eventually it all got sorted out with additional staff, some hugs, some more tears, a drink of water, and me, your goonball host, nearly bursting into tears because I just cannot watch someone else cry.

Now I'm off to clean my house and enjoy the last couple hours I have before Sam comes home and starts insisting that everyone in the house refer to him as Mr. President.

Play Ball! And Every Damn Thing Else Under the Sun.

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 03:33:00 +0000

I may have mentioned once or twice that Sam is way into sports these days. He's absolutely the cutest about it. The other day Alex took the little dudes on the Metro to the museums, and Sam found a sports section on the train, brought it home, and dutifully tried to absorb all the information from it that he could.

So, a few weeks ago, when Sam was asking for all sorts of extravagant destination birthday parties, I carefully suggested a sports-themed home party. His eyes lit up and he got totally behind the idea, asking for modest things like a piñata and a pin the basketball on the player party game.

For all the grief I give Sam, he is really an easily satisfied guy when it really comes down to it. I love him very, very much. Furthermore, I can't believe he's eight years old. And that he has man-feet nearly as big as mine.

In recent years, I've had pretty small parties for Sam, which I think is great and perfect and wonderful and easy. This year I invited 18 kids (including my own), and created personalized sporty shirts for each child. We were ready to party!

We also had about 40 balloons, thanks to a free coupon from Balloon Time. I gave Alex the job of filling the balloons about an hour before the party started. It was maybe the most fun hour of my kids' young lives. But before the fun, Alex insisted that, "This tank doesn't have any helium in it! It's supposed to have something in it, but this one is empty! This tank is empty!"

Then I walked over and pushed the little nozzle down and it started to fill a balloon with helium.

Which, in turn, led Alex to make his own little gesture at me.

But then there were balloons. Glorious, glorious, plentiful, multi-colored balloons!

I was also clever enough to schedule this party at Not a Meal Time O'Clock, so we didn't have to serve lunch. But I still put out my standard party diet of chips.

And that picture up there was my hand drawn preparation for ~~Pin~~ Tape the Basketball on Sam.

Kids started to arrive right on time, and on what seems to have been the last warm, sunny day of fall. Thank God, because if I'd had to let 18 kids play baseball inside my house, I wouldn't be this chipper now. We let all the kids play around for about a half hour and then I went out amidst them to set up my obstacle course.

All attention was on the back lawn as I did so. Kids were watching; the parents who stuck around were watching; only Quinn wasn't watching. Quinn was carefreely running across my yard. And Alex kicked a soccer ball as hard as he could halfway across the lawn...directly into Quinn's shins.

The kid dropped like a fucking rock.

Man, he could not have done that on purpose if he'd tried. I can't quite imagine the geometry and chance that brought Quinn and that soccer ball together, but oh, dear lord, was it funny. I think it might make me a bad mom to admit that I busted up laughing, but if so, every other adult there is just as bad as me, because we all burst out laughing. Even Alex laughed. Although to give him credit, he did it with his head turned away from Quinn as he hugged and comforted him.

Quinn did not laugh.

I looked a little bit like a moron as I ran around the yard with Sam, a whistle, and a megaphone explaining the course, but the kids were way into it. Plus! I learned that I probably would have made a good drill sergeant.

I hadn't really planned the obstacle course, other than looking up "obstacle courses for kids" on the internet a couple of hours before the party, and searching the garage for sticks and balls. But, if I may toot my own horn (or megaphone), it was AWESOME!

In the garage, I did find a most excellent balance beam, otherwise known as a two by four.

And I remembered that we had a tunnel in the basement, so I tossed that on the lawn too. I didn't realize until a bunch of 8-year-olds showed up though that the tunnel was almost comically too small for them. It was hysterical to see all those giant boys try to wiggle through it.

Jack did all right though.

I had also found sticks for a jump over/crawl under obstacle. The munchkins' visiting grandma supervised that section of the course, which came complete with sun basking priviliges.

The rest of the course involved a lot of jumping, swinging, sliding, and slaloming, all accomplished with varying degrees of success by the three to eight-year-old crowd.

After that, I forced the kids into teams for a relay race. Here is Quinn quite obviously cheating.

But cheating fast!

The kids all demanded to know what team had won. I didn't have a good answer, because they all kind of dithered all over the place, at least half of the kids cheated like Quinn, and I wasn't really paying very close attention.

I suggested that maybe they all won. They didn't buy it. One helpful kid said that it was "kind of a tie." And then another kid said, "No. Everybody lost."

Yay! Everyone's a loser at Stimey's house!

But everybody gets to be noisy.

That is, until Sam decides that only he gets to hold the megaphone.

Evidently there's a reason Alex and I are married. He may have taken Quinn down with a soccer ball, but I walked straight past Sam mugging Jack for the megaphone, stopping only long enough to snap a photo. In my defense, they were both giggling. Sort of.

Next up (Are you tired yet? Because I sure was.) was Tape the Basketball on Sam. It never ceases to amaze me how much kids love shit like this. How often will you have 18 (or 17—one kid didn't want to play) kids standing patiently around for a four-second chance to tape a piece of paper to another piece of paper?

Obviously the game is hysterical. See?

Apparently that is what I look like when I laugh. How come no one ever told me this?

I'm not going to say there weren't attempts at peeking and some carefully feeling their way toward the center of the paper with their fingers, but they all did pretty well.

Unfortunately, I forgot to get a prize for this game. (Or any of the other ones.) Fortunately, no one seemed to either notice or care.

Blah, blah, blah, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sam(uel), happy birthday to you...

Followed by the frantic fifteen minutes of cake cutting and ice cream scooping that is the bane of any birthday party host's existence. At some point, I rushed back into the kitchen from distributing plates of cake to find my cake cutter (Alex) calmly leaning against the counter eating his own piece of cake.

There might have been some frantic berating at this point.

Next up, piñata time. This is the time in every Stimeyland party when Stimey and Alex nearly divorce because Stimey hisses at Alex to help with the bat, goddammit, and Alex hisses back that he can't do a single damn thing other than hold the piñata string and why don't you put down the camera and do it your damn self, or get one of the other fifty grown ups to help, and then Stimey hisses back something obscene, and then the incident is quickly forgotten as all the parents rush around trying to keep ~~Stimey from taking a whack at Alex with the bat~~ any kids from being hit by a wildly swinging bat.

Here's a tip: if you want a piñata to actually break open when the kids are batting at it, get a spherical one. That is the shape that doesn't need a parent to go all Office Space on it after the kids fail to bust it open.

That said, I now present to you the greatest piñata photo ever taken:

Well, except for maybe this one:

And that was it. I gave the 18 kids the metal whistles that were in their goody bags and sent them home with their annoyed parents. My guys, Sam especially, were tired and happy.

But not too tired to go to our favorite birthday destination, Friday's. Not because of the food, but because of the clapping and singing to the birthday boy.

Sam was delighted to be serenaded. Nearby diners also enjoyed his enjoyment.

I have to say, I've thrown some good parties, but I think this was one of my best. And the most tiring. I was asleep before my kids were that night. Ah, to be 8 again.

Bone Tired

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 00:44:00 +0000

Oh my. I had a weekend. I don't think I've been this tired for a long time.

On Saturday I had the pleasure of videotaping a wedding for the brother of a friend, and it was so much fun. It was the first wedding I've taped, and it was amazing. The only problem is that the reception was so fun I wish I could have been there dancing instead of taping all the people having so much fun.

That, and the fact that my right arm was so tired after ten hours of holding a large video camera that it kind of wants to fall off. I can't wait to go back and look at all the footage.

Then Sunday was Sam's birthday party, which was all kinds of fun, but involved me leading 18 kids in a sports-themed party, meaning I got to run them through obstacle courses and relay races.

AND I sent each kid home with a metal whistle in their goody bags, which makes me the best mom ever, but the very worst friend. It was terrifically loud for the last five minutes of the party, when the kids found the whistles. I'm laying down bets on how many of the parents have "lost" the whistles by now.

I have all kinds of things to write about, including the cardinal that has been flying into my mom's window over and over for nearly a week now, but it's 8:49 p.m. on Sunday and I'm going to bed.

Did You Hear That?

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 18:58:00 +0000

That sound you just heard? The really loud one? That was the sound of my worlds colliding.

You may have seen some of the people in this Whrrl story before here on my blog. Or rather, you might have seen their headless bodies in photos with my children. They are people from my kids' elementary school.

Today my blog world and my school world crashed into each other because of the wonderful and amazing Janine, who held an Office Max "A Day Made Better" fundraiser the other day to collect school supplies for a school that may need some extra help.

Enter my school.

A lot of the families there are doing fine and have plenty of school supplies, but many of them need assistance. Janine chose my school to give the supplies to (super yay!) and the principal helped her surprise the school counselor with a giant box of school supplies with which she can do whatever she wants. This is part of Office Max's campaign to help teachers who end up paying for classroom supplies out of their own pockets, which we know they all do.

This is all awesome and wonderful, but made me break out a little bit into cold sweats as I realized that the school staff would likely follow her links to see who exactly this Stimey was. (Hello, school staff! Welcome to Stimeyland!)

I knew this day was going to come, if it hadn't already. In fact, one member of the school staff already found me by Googling the name of a local mall and somehow came up with big signposts pointing at my blog. I'm comfortable with what I've written, although I had to resist going back to reread everything I've written about the school and second guess word choices. (Guess what, school staff? You're well known—and mostly loved—by Stimeyland readers.)

So, I guess this makes me a pretty much totally out blogger. Good times.

Also, super huge thanks to Janine and Office Max. I know one school that is completely grateful to you for your efforts. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who donated supplies at her event. You definitely made my school's day better! And thanks to the 17 billion rubber band balls you gave the school, they will likely never have to purchase another rubber band ever again.

Thrift

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 01:10:00 +0000

I had my two hours of kid-free time today and I totally made good use of it. It was great. First I went to the thrift store to look for Halloween costumes for my kids. They all want to be Star Wars characters, which is fun, and not too hard.

(Aside: My space bar seems to be on the fritz. This sucks. I have had to backspace and reinsert spaces fifteen times already. I'm irritated. This just might be the straw that breaks the Stimey's back. Oh well, how often do I use a space bar anyhow?)

Last year Sam was a Jedi and I managed to pull a costume together out of stuff we already owned. It was awesome.

This year, Jack wants to be Darth Vader and the other guys want to be Jedis, so I'm buying them all robes. The thrift store didn't have robes, but it did have a $5 Darth Vader outfit. Awesome! Plus, I got Cadoo for two dollars and an aluminum bat for the same amount, which made Sam soooo happy. ("Is that a real bat?!")

It was also interesting to look around the store, because I donate a lot of sort of weird things that I kind of assume get thrown out, but it turns out the thrift stores actually sell them. Are you looking for a Ziploc bag full of used markers? Find it at the thrift store. The freebie coloring book I donated? They're selling it at the thrift store. It's a trip.

Then I headed on over to Target for a few things. I found a Jedi costume that cost FORTY DOLLARS. Needless, to say, my kids didn't get that. Instead I purchased them robes on Amazon for about $20 each. It's a lot, but I think they'll use them frequently.

Anywho, the reason I was at Target was to buy tapes for my video cameras and to get a Balloon Time box for Sam's birthday party. I had a coupon for a free Balloon Time set, so I was pretty excited. Somehow, however, I found plenty of other things to impulse buy. Stupid Target.

When I got to the register, the cashier couldn't get the register to accept my coupon. Because Target only had the 30-balloon box and I knew I could probably find the 50-balloon box and use my coupon at a party store, I let it go.

Shortly thereafter (waiting in line at the cafe for a soda), my friend Heather, who is a frugal blogger and all-around frugal person, and the best bargain/coupon shopper I know, suddenly appeared to say hi. She had been buying fiber bars. She was outraged for me that they wouldn't take my coupon. She was all ready to go back and fight for me. (She's been known to upset a cashier or two, which is funny because she is generally a very congenial and mellow person.)

I managed to talk her down.

I convinced her to help me find some bargains down the mall at a sale that JCPenny was having on kids' clothes. And good thing I took her, because she was able to help me find the very limited selection of on-sale clothes with long sleeves. Sam should thank her too, because she talked me out of buying him the ugliest shirt on the face of the planet because, "Oh my god! It's only five dollars!"

On the way back down the mall, we stopped in to Old Navy where they claimed to be having a clearance sale that turned out to be a big fat lie. I did, however, find the most awesome ever Oakland Raiders shirt in a kids' size, which is weird, because I live in Maryland, but my family are Raiders fans, so I was all ready to freak out and buy one for each of my kids, when she talked me down again.

She told me that if I MUST buy it that I should go home and find the weekly Old Navy coupon site and print out a coupon.

She saved me a lot of money today.

After I picked Quinn up from school, we headed over to the party store to get the balloons. Sure enough, they had the 50-balloon set. Unfortunately for the cashier (and the people behind me in line), the set cost $34.99 and the coupon was only for up to $29.99.

The cashier kept trying to convince me that I needed to go get the 30-balloon set for $24.99, but I kept trying to convince her that she could just take $29.99 off the 50-balloon set price and I would pay the extra five dollars. Because 30 balloons for free did not sound as good to me as 50 balloons for $5.

She had to take multiple trips to the back and her manager made several appearances until I think I finally wore her down and she gave me the discount. Mostly. She charged me $5.99 instead of the $5 she should have. But at that point, it seemed like a big mistake to make a fuss over 99 cents. Heather probably thinks differently.

All in all, it was a pretty good morning. It was fun and relaxing to hang out with my cool friend Heather without kids, plus I got all my dumb little errands done. Not to mention that there was very little crank to be seen.

There Will Be Crank*

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 21:44:00 +0000

Holy crap, people, I'm in deep. I have meetings or appointments every night this week. Quinn stayed home sick (and I use that term loosely) from school on Monday, so Wednesday is the only day I have two hours to myself to get shit done. My mother-in-law (Hi, Claudia!) is coming to visit this Friday. Sam's birthday is next week and his birthday party is Sunday. I have come up with an ambitious plan for his party, but it requires semi-substantial prep time. I will be out of my house all day Saturday for a videography job. My regular work at home job is in a heavy week.

Consequently, I have just marked 450 posts in my Google Reader as "read." Let me know if I missed anything really important. I will be scarce around here and on The Junk Pyramid. I had this great idea for a post about Sam and Jack at school and homework and how Sam is a rock-star big brother, and I was going to throw into the mix that Jack's wonderful aide from last year has located my blog (Hi, J!), but instead, you get this drivel.

I will be panicking and frantically making to-do lists that don't get done and thinking about cleaning my house, when really I am blankly staring at my computer or my children. I will be thrown completely off by the fact that the chicken I was going to make for dinner is in a Ziploc of marinade instead of in its package like I thought. I guess that means my kids get to eat air for dinner tonight. (Updated to add: Frozen pizza! I forgot about frozen pizza! And because I forgot to turn off the oven that I was preheating for the chicken, the oven is already ready to go! Do I sound like a fucking lunatic basketcase? 'Cause I am.)

I will be cranky.

I will be back and happy on Monday. Or Tuesday. Totally Wednesday at the latest. Definitely by Halloween.

* Not that kind of crank.

Updated even later to add: I'm okay. This was mostly supposed to be a silly little post about how you might not see a lot of me here for a while. I'm a little brain dead right now. So don't worry. I'm fine and not tooooo stressed. Just super busy. And, for me, busy is good. But still. I will be cranky.

Rules to Live By

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 01:38:00 +0000

The other day I removed a list of "house rules" from my refrigerator. This list had included items such as, "No yelling," "Work as a team," and "Remember that you love each other."

I didn't think that the rules had had much of an impact on anyone in my family, due to their being rampantly and frequently flaunted. But within hours of my removing the original list of rules from the fridge, Sam had written up a new list and posted it on the fridge.

I now present to you Team Stimey's House Rules, by Sam:

20. [This didn't fit at the bottom of the page, so it gets to go first.] Do what you are told.

1. No teasing.

2. No winning. [I have a sneaking suspicion that this is supposed to be "No whining," but I kind of like that the household bar has been set extremely low.]

3. No fighting. [Which goes well with the "No winning" rule, because no one wants to always lose a fight.

4. No video games until after 5 o'clock. [This is one of my rules. Notice Sam was careful to not write "p.m." on the page.]

5. Play nicely.

6. Be nice when you have copmoney. [This refers to "company," not bribes.]

7. No making people say something. [My kids all regularly give each other scripts to repeat ("Quinn, say, 'Thirteen hours in a suitcase with a farting dog!'"*), which I find endlessly annoying. Evidently Sam does as well.]

8. No calling names.

9. No force powers at the table. [This refers to Jedi force powers. This rule is reminiscent of one that Sam added to my very first house rules list years ago: "No throwing toast." Which is really a timeless rule if you think about it.]

10. Follow directions.

11. No hitting.

12. No burping. [Thankfully, that has almost entirely gone away. Knock on wood.]

13. No slapping. [I think Sam was starting to reach for things to fill the remaining lines on the page by this point.]

14. No hurting. [Whether this refers to not hurting other people or not feeling pain remains unclear.]

15. No kicking. [It's starting to sound like I run a fight club in my basement, huh? But, if you'll remember, the first rule of fight club is "don't talk about fight club." Our first rule is "no teasing." It's a subtle difference, but it's there.]

16. No whacking. [No comment.]

17. No spitting.

18. Be a good boy. [A-fucking-men.]

19. Obey.

It's a good list of rules, huh? Anyone want to lay down a bet on how fast Mr. Smirky McSmirkerson below breaks each and every one of them?

* I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

My Kids' My Week at School

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 02:44:00 +0000

I have spent so much time at my kids' elementary school this week that I could practically be a substitute teacher. I like to volunteer in Jack's class just to keep an eye on how he is doing and also to see what the teachers' and aides' strategies with him are.

And if I volunteer in Jack's class, Sam insists that I volunteer in his class too. I love being there, mostly because even though I get a lot of "Awwww, Mooooommmm!" when I give him hugs in front of his friends, I see his proud, joyful face that is so happy I am there that it makes it so worth it. Plus, I figure if I suck up to Sam's teachers that by the time Jack gets there next year, the teachers will already like my family.

So Tuesdays I'm going to Jack's class and on Thursdays I'm going to Sam's class. And I co-op in Quinn's classroom two Wednesdays a month. Do you see why I'm so looking forward to having all three of my kids in all-day kindergarten? So much for getting work done while they're in school.

Jack's teacher this year was Sam's teacher last year, and she is so wonderful. As are both of his helpers. This Tuesday Jack had a substitute teacher, but it was cool to hang out and see his classmates. First graders are great because volunteering mom's are like rock stars to them. I get to walk in to a chorus of, "Hi, Mrs. [Stimey]!! Hi, Jackson's mom!"

I also really enjoy getting to see my kids' artwork posted on the walls and in the hallways. For instance, all the kids in Jack's class colored people and answered questions about themselves. Jack drew himself wearing his favorite shirt. (Izzy is our cat and, yes, he has a shirt that says, "I love my Izzy.")

Although the actual shirt mentions our other two pets as well.
Evidently, they are not as well loved. Or their names are harder to spell.

And in case you were wondering, or can't read the small print, he likes to "play video games," his favorite color is "black," and he can "train people" by himself.

Hmmmm...I had no idea he was so self-aware about his manipulative powers.

Volunteering in Sam's class was an absolute revelation. I adore his teacher. She is kind and loving and calls the kids "sweetie." She let me correct papers, which was fun, and then I watched part of their circle time. The way she encouraged the kids to think for themselves and come up with answers was amazing and deft. She was even able to turn the death of one of the kids' butterfly chrysalis into a positive by turning it around into a learning experiment, and "Thank you so much, K, for letting us use your chrysalis to be able to look closely at it."

Fantastic. Love her.

Sam's class also had a "get to know me" project hanging in the hall. Like Jack, Sam has accurately drawn his clothing.

"I like me because I am a good friend.
I like me because I am a good swimmer.
I like me because I am a great runner."

He also drew pictures of himself doing all those things. I particularly like his little stick figure that is shouting, "I like me!"

That was Thursday morning. Thursday afternoon, Quinn and I hit the school for the Wall of Fame ceremony. All the kids who did their summer reading and math packets got a certificate and a bookmark.

From the actual wall. You know. Of fame.

Look how grown up he is!

A few kids got extra awards for good character. Sam was one of those. He's been showing respect at school. I could burst, I'm so proud. Here he is getting his certificate:

Jack was also on the Wall of Fame this month, and he was so, so excited.

And blurry, apparently.

Every single one of the other 160 kids walked carefully up to shake the principal's hand and get their certificate, while the audience of parents clapped excitedly.

But my Jack stood out. He did a funny little hop, skip, and run up to the principal. His excitement was palpable. He got his certificate to applause and laughter. Joy, thy name is Jack.

After the award ceremony, the kids get pizza. I took this frame-worthy photo of my children.

Oh, dear lord, Quinn. What do you think he was so distressed about? Those guys crack me up, like, every single minute.

After Wall of Fame, the kids can go home with their parents. Sam went to get his stuff and Jack took us to his classroom to pack up his stuff. While we were there, Jack gave me a tour of the class.

I repeat: Jack gave me a tour of his class. He showed me all the centers and the calendar and the carpet and his desk and everything. He showed me. He sought out my eyes and wanted to share information about his classroom with me. It may seem to be a little thing, but some of you out there know what a big deal that is. I can probably count on my fingers the number of times he's actively tried to share experiences with me.

Let's just pretend that doesn't say 2-6=4.
I'm sure there was a larger lesson at play there.

I do a lot of whining about my kids and making lighthearted fun of them and my parenting, but I gotta say, someone is doing something right. The school, me and Alex, my munchkins. I love those kids so much and am so proud of them that it practically makes me high.

*******

Special alert!

This blog cares about stopping breast cancer.

For every blog that posts this button, Diets in Review will donate $5 to the National Breast Cancer Association. Check out the Blogs Against Breast Cancer post to see how you can participate. (Hint: it's super easy.)

*******

Also, I would like to pass my I Suck, You Don't award to the two most recent people to give me blog awards, Alicia, a.k.a. Dr. Mom and Nicki.

Stimey, Now Available for Speaking Gigs

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 03:51:00 +0000

I'd been waiting and waiting for yesterday to arrive for quite a while because I was going to get to do something that I hadn't done before.

"What could Stimey have done yesterday that she hasn't done before?" you might be asking yourself. And if you've been paying attention here, your answer might be, "Did she volunteer at her kids' school and remember to not curse in front of the children?"

Well, yes, I did, but I did that on Tuesday, not yesterday.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak on a panel about social media for the Immunization Action Coalition. And, oh, was it fun. Seriously. I and my fellow panelists had a room full of people listening to us talk about things that I am obsessed with but that my real life people get bored of hearing about after about 16 seconds.

I think I did all right. The audience was mostly full of immunization and medical organizations looking to get involved in social media, so I was able to share some tips about how to get in touch with bloggers, and specifically mommybloggers. (In this crowd, as in my own personal world, "mommyblogger" is not a derogatory term.)

But don't worry. This isn't a post all about how awesome I am and how I rocked my panel. I'll include some Stimey buffoonery for you too. For instance, when the moderator, Val Jones, sent out an email to all of us with links to our online bios, I was particular pleased about how I came across. See, the other panelists (Shaun Dakin, Dawn Crawford, and Steven Novella) all had these lovely photographs and lists of their credentials and press appearances on their websites.

My bio includes the following sentences: "Stimey enjoys reading, writing, videography, zombies, Bob Dylan, and most things pop culture. She also has an extreme and inexplicable love of gerbils..."

Good times.

Oh. Also? When we were speaking, Val put our websites up behind us on the big screen in the room. And mine? Showcased my last post, which, if you remember, was all about how Sam was a jerk to a three-year-old.

Again. Good times.

Anyway, I think I did a good job, and I hope that the attendees got something of value from what I said. I sat in on most of the other speakers and really enjoyed them. I especially enjoyed Geoff Livingston's presentation. Plus I got to meet some wonderful people and learn about some interesting organizations and ideas, for example Families Fighting Flu and GAVI, which are both doing some great work in the immunization field.

Also, I was introduced to the Jenny McCarthy Body Count website, which I had not seen before, but pretty much sums up my feelings about her.

Plus, the conference gave me an excuse to buy me some pretty new shoes, which you can't see in the following photo, but which did not cause me to trip until after the conference when I was walking back to the Metro, which I consider to be a smashing success.

So to recap: It turns out that I'm not as public-speaking phobic as I thought I was. AND if you need a speaker about social media, autism, mommyblogging, zombies, or gerbils, I'm your gal.

How to Lay Down the Smackdown on a Three-Year-Old Girl, by Sam

stimeyland@gmail.com (Stimey) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 23:37:00 +0000

1. Invite a six-year-old friend and her three-year-old sister over for a playdate.

2. When you go outside to play, notice that the three-year-old is playing basketball with an old basketball hoop that no member of Team Stimey has even looked at for at least two years.

3. Disregard the fact that you are nearly twice as tall as the three-year-old, and claim to be playing a fair game and "just guarding her" by standing directly in front of the basketball hoop with your hands in the air.

4. Steal the ball from the small girl meandering toward the basket.

5. Ignore sad crying as you Harlem Globetrotter all over said little girl's feelings—and sports ability.

6. Repeat as needed.

7. Once the three-year-old ~~has been driven away~~ gives up, proudly begin making basket after basket in the hoop that is slightly lower than your eye level.

8. Ignore the basketball hoop for the rest of time.