Stimeyland

R.I.P. Gerbil

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Wed, 30 May 2012 02:42:00 +0000

Sad news, friends.

I walked past Mouse Town this evening and glanced down at Squeaky picking through the food dish. Then I saw Gerbil. She was on her side and she was dead. She was almost exactly two years old. She was the mouse I picked out. I liked her a lot. I'll miss her.

May, 2010 — May, 2012

Alex was kind enough to take care of the funeral services, meaning he put her inside a toilet paper tube and buried her near the other mouse corpses. He did dig her shallow grave with a spoon, so I'm pretty sure he's going to have to dig her up tomorrow when it's not pouring rain and re-inter her. Because I'm not going to do it.

This only leaves Squeaky. Remember Squeaky? She is the mouse with skin problems. She is missing probably half of her fur. I have no idea how that mouse is still alive. She looks like Mousenstein. And I bet she's lonely now.

Snakes in the Grass

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Tue, 29 May 2012 03:47:00 +0000

I feel like we celebrate birthdays all month in May. Quinn turned seven last week, so we had his birthday party this weekend. Before we go into what happens when you bring a gang of first graders and their siblings to your house and arm them with Nerf guns, let us first discuss that my youngest kiddo is seven years old.

Seven! (And insubordinate.)

I don't have babies anymore. I don't have toddlers. I don't even have little kids. I have big kids. Thank God Quinn still can't say his "R"s, which makes him sound younger than he is. I'm holding on to that.

Also, he's still enough of a little kid to dress up in a homemade costume for his party.

He saw The Avengers recently. I think it had an effect on him.

We scheduled a company called Reptiles Alive to bring creepy crawlies to our house, but prior to that, we gave our guests a half hour to arrive and arm themselves. At one point, I walked down into the basement to make sure everyone was okay, only to be greeted by this:

They were okay. What's more, they were ORGANIZING.

Clearly this insurrection had to be put down and put down fast, so I gathered them all up and told them the reptile show was about to begin. Now, you should understand that this reptile show came with all kinds of instructions about where to hold the show and how warm it had to be to have the show outside and why everyone had to sit in a single straight line and if there isn't a close parking space, they WILL NOT do the show.

I was suitably nervous. I was also pretty sure I was going to fuck it all up somehow, resulting in the reptile guy packing up his lizards and going home.

They even sent a diagram:

Fortunately, Tony, the reptile guy, was cool. This is what OUR show looked more like:

And even this is probably idealized.

The show was super fun, even if Sam claimed to have Reptileaphobia and bailed, as did a couple other kids, but for the most part, they were RAPT. Tony was awesome. He let Quinn be his helper, a job that Quinn took SUPER seriously.

He very carefully let everyone touch the items he was put in charge of.

He did take a short break to see if he was taller than the snake.

He wasn't.

The reason we hired Reptiles Alive is because they did an assembly at Quinn's school and Quinn was in LOVE. He made us go to the library and check out books about reptiles and he scoured the Reptiles Alive website for videos and information. During the party, Tony brought out some obscure lizard and Quinn was all, "It's a Blue Tongue Skink!"

We were all suitably impressed.

Tony brought lizards and turtles and one non-reptile—this here toad:

He is poisonous, so the kids didn't pet him.

Tony also brought snakes. Because EVERYONE likes snakes. Okay, not EVERYONE likes snakes, but everyone under the age of ten at this party likes snakes.

QUINN likes snakes.

Probably our mice don't like snakes. Especially after Alex kept making jokes about feeding our remaining two little friends to the snakes on hand. They would be pleased to know that the boa constrictor seemed to have similar plans for Alex.

Seriously. That thing was aimed at Alex and kept trying to get there.

Fortunately, our friend Tony had a firm hold him. And soon enough, Quinn did as well.

I should have asked if I could have a photo with the

snake wrapped around his shoulders.

From there, it was a short jump to beating the hell out of a paper turtle lying helplessly upside down on our lawn.

I aim for irony in my piñatas.

Also, we ended the party scouring the ground outside for a tooth that someone lost. It's not a party until someone loses a body part.

Happy 7th birthday to my baby boy.

And Then Quinn Devoured All of Us

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 25 May 2012 14:52:00 +0000

So, Team Stimey is in family therapy because....obviously.

There are reasons, reasons that mostly have to do with being a neurodiverse family in a world that isn't always friendly to neurodiverse peoples and a desire to have happy kids who grow into happy teens who grow into happy adults.

Step one: family therapy.

Well, step one is actually creating a happy home environment, but family therapy comes somewhere between steps six and twelve.

Anywho.

Thus far, Jack has been doing most of the therapy, but our therapist wanted all of Team Stimey to come in this week. So we did. And we participated in a puppet show. And said puppet show was so illustrative of Team Stimey's family dynamic that it was almost embarrassing.

The plot that the munchkins came up with was simple enough. Jack's pirate attacked Alex's monkey while Quinn's dragon puppet set everything on fire. Sam had a police man puppet and did a great job trying to restore order—right up until the dragon ate him. Oh, and me? I was the firefighter running around ineffectually trying to put out fires.

In the end, I'm not sure if just Quinn survived or if Jack and Quinn survived, but I do know that the dragon ate most of us.

Frankly, the only thing that would have made this little metaphorical play more true to life is if my puppet had whipped out an iPhone and taken a picture—which I really badly wanted to do.

Afterward, the therapist interviewed the puppets. When she asked me how I felt when I was eaten by the dragon and I said, "At least it was over," I knew almost immediately that my answer was wrong. I mean, she claimed there were no wrong answers, but deep down I know that there were and I'm pretty sure that I gave one of them.

Regardless, at no point did the therapist's eyes widen in horror, and we are still on her schedule, so evidently we are not outside the realm of help. Also, I'll let you know when she finally tells us the secret to happiness, because I'm pretty sure that's what happens in therapy, right?

*****

Also, be sure to check out White Knuckle Parenting this week. We took the kiddos out to a Chinese restaurant for the first time in their young lives and then I wrote about it.

Tips on How to Host an Awesome LEGO Robotics Birthday Party

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Tue, 22 May 2012 04:25:00 +0000

We finally managed to get around to having Jack's birthday party last weekend. I deviated a little from my traditional "run around —> pin the something on the something —> eat pizza —> eat cake —> bash a piñata —> go home" party. This time, instead of "pin the something on the something," we did LEGO Robotics.

Sadly, that meant we couldn't invite as many kids as we wanted to, especially considering that when you have three kids of your own, you fill up your guest list really fast.

Regardless, we had an awesome time (for the most part), and I have some common sense tips for hosting an awesome LEGO Robotics birthday party.

Tip 1: Buy a hammock. I cannot stress this one enough.

This photo taken before the party guests tested
the weight capacity of said hammock. I think our capacity
record was six kids. Maybe more.

The Hammock District should be sending me thanks for all the hammock sales we inspired that day.

Tip 2: Have awesome friends. This one is also important, because only awesome friends can cause anticipation such as this:

When did Jack get so tall?

Also, only awesome friends will hand-make cards like this one:

Yeah. I had to Google "Captain Sir Francis Haddock" too.

Tip 3: Purchase the proper snacks. I certainly hope you all know the Team Stimey party menu by now: Oreos, Doritos, potato chips, square pizza from the local pizzeria. Lately Jack has been obsessed with Chips Ahoy, so I bought a bag of them as well and put them in a bowl on the table.

I'm not entirely sure that Jack ate even one, because SOMEONE parked himself in a chair in front of the snack table with a book, put the bowl on his lap, and commenced to eating.

I'm pretty sure he ate the whole bag.
Round about 8:30 p.m., he was all, "I dooooon't feeeeeeeel gooooood." Yeah. It's too bad you don't have better parents, Quinn—responsible parents who would stop you after 15 cookies.

Tip 4: Hire Adventures with Robots (AWR). So, do you remember The Awesome? Remember when Jack took LEGO Robotics at school and he kept wanting to mail himself to the classroom where they held the class because he wanted to do LEGO Robotics ALL THE TIME? Yeah. That was this company.

One of the cool things about AWR is that when I emailed them about the party, I mentioned that Jack was autistic and that several of his guests were as well. They immediately suggested one particular party leader who is a special educator and they worked with me to find a time that he could be the one at the party.

Once he was there, the dude was really good about working with the kids, including Jack, who was all, "I do want I want. Even though I requested a spinning top robotics party, I will create something entirely different."

Including this...shaver?

The guy in charge was all, "It's his birthday; he can do whatever he wants." Awesomesauce. It was chaotic and fun and wonderful.

If you're wondering what the actual project was, here is Sam's totally correct and on target version:

He was more interested than he looks here.

AWR requests that you have an adult helper available to assist with the building and programming. As it turned out, a lot of parents stayed and, quite honestly, seemed to enjoy building the spinning tops as much as the kids did. Regardless, Alex acted as that adult helper, aiding Quinn and his likewise-aged buddy in building their tops. Evidently he found it...frustrating. Alex will not be applying for an AWR job anytime soon.

This is not the face he was making before I pointed the camera at him.

We had the AWR guy for an hour and 15 minutes, but most of the kids wandered off after about 45 minutes. The lure of the hammock and the beautiful day outside was too big an enticement. Nonetheless, I consider the event a smashing success, mostly because of this:

Later, Alex asked Jack what his favorite part of the party was

and he said, "LEGO Robotics at my house."

I was talking to the guy later, as he was packing up 16 million LEGOs and I made a comment about how there is always a lot of chaos at my house. He responded with, "Yeah, but I see a lot of smiles too, so that's good."

That's just about right on target there, sir.

Tip 5: Have a quiet room. It seemed wise to designate a room as a quiet space for kids who needed a break from the action. I think it is possible that Alex is the only person who used it as intended.

I mean, Jack did play in there and at one point he went missing and, after a hard target search, I found him quietly reading by himself in Sam's room.

This was during the middle, stressful part of the party.

Maybe he didn't go to the designated quiet room because Quinn took a break from his Chips Ahoy station to sabotage my efforts at calm. (The forces of entropy are strong in our house.)

Very early in the party, Quinn came to me practically unable to contain his laughter and asked me for tape. He was "improving" the quiet room sign, he said.

"ruff house room"

Seriously, Quinn could not have been more pleased with himself. He almost couldn't stand, he was laughing so hard. He was all, "I made the quiet room way more fun."

Tip 6: Book proper musical accompaniment. In this case, a young male flautist.

Remind me sometime to tell you about Sam's band concert.

He dragged his chair, stand, flute, and music all the way out to the backyard prior to finally settling on a spot in the living room.

Tip 7: Reserve the cake ceremony for the proper moment. In the case of this party, the cake brought Jack out of a funk brought on by something I am not entirely sure of, but ended in his dragging himself across the living room by his fists and claiming that his legs didn't work because he was so angry.

I'm not sure what anger has to do with the muscles in his legs, but evidently they are related in Jack's physiology.

Also, putting candles in a cake restores leg function, apparently.

That would also explain the caddywampus candles.

Tip 8: A piñata makes every party a smashing success. (Get it? Ha, ha.) Of course, there are some very specific steps you have to take to make the piñata the best it can be.

1. Find a super adorable personified robot and beat the crap out of it.

2. Desperately hope that every child gets a turn at whacking the piñata before it breaks apart.

3. Bring in your oldest, strongest kid to "Finish it, Sam! Finish it!"

4. Feel slightly sad for Corpsey McRobot.

5. Watch one of the children dress in the corpse's skin.

6. Watch that child grin and eat candy while wearing his face.

And that is how you host an awesome LEGO Robotics Birthday Party.

My Kids Will Probably Never Go Into the Backyard Again

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Sun, 20 May 2012 03:32:00 +0000

About a month ago, my friend Aimee wrote a post about her praying mantis egg case from which would eventually emerge 75-100 mosquito-eating manti.

Mostly what I heard was "mosquito-eating."

Being highly suggestible, I succumbed to internet peer pressure and, after a vibrant Facebook discussion about the pros (mosquito-eating) and cons (they look like aliens) of 200 praying manti in your yard, temporary insanity won out and I impulse bought insects for my yard.

That bears repeating: I BOUGHT DOZENS OF GIANT INSECTS TO VOLUNTARILY PUT IN MY YARD.

Have I mentioned that I am terrified of insects, particularly manti?

Unfortunately, there is no buyer's remorse clause over at Insect Lore, purveyor of live insects. Sure enough, as night follows day, sunrise follows sunset, and manti follow egg case, a package soon arrived bearing the fruits of my Facebook-fueled bug buying spree.

I had a moment of hope when it looked as if Insect Lore had sent me butterflies instead. Genuine butterflies.

And quality ones at that.

But when I opened the box, there was a mantis egg case in there. The egg case arrived on the day that Jack had come home "sick" because he was carsick and barfed in the school hallway. I decided that transferring the egg case from one container to another counted as science and meant that I was making good use of Jack's time away from school.

Container one.

Container two.

Well done, Jack. Head on back to your Wii now.

And then the egg case sat there. It sat there for a few days and then it sat there for a few weeks and then I figured that maybe this time I'd managed to kill my pets even before they were born and the manti would never hatch. But then, a few days ago, I was wandering by and did a double take because what had spent three weeks being this:

had suddenly became this:

AAAAAIIIIIGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!

Part of me badly wanted to take it outside immediately, carry it to the waaay back of my yard, unzip it, and never think about it again, but I decided to wait until all of Team Stimey was assembled.

Until then, I practiced manti photography.

Some of Team Stimey was suitably impressed. Some of them refused to come near the manti, and some of them resented being forced by others of them to do the releasing because the latter someones were more afraid of the manti than the first someones.

Or something.

We spent some time arguing over the best place to release them. We didn't want to step on them, but we wanted them to eat bugs in an advantageous spot. We also didn't want them to get mowed or weeded away.

We selected a spot near the back of the yard, next to the garden, and probably too close to the neighbor's fence. I hope they like manti too.

Then we released our little friends.

We're coming to eat your faces!

I stopped by the next afternoon to check on them. I found a bunch of them tooling around where we had left them. I decided to recapture four of them to, I don't know, have the opportunity to catch bugs to feed to other bugs.

Alex was none too happy about that, let me tell you. He was all, "You want me to catch what and put them where?"

We've sacrificed a few bugs to the manti, but I think we're going to release them tomorrow morning because even I recognize how absurd our bug hunting is.

At that point, I will eagerly and skittishly await the next time I meet a mantis, which will probably be when one of the full grown bugs jumps on my face. I'm looking forward to it.

Maybe this guy.

My Cheetah-thon Post, Full of Gooshy Love

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Thu, 17 May 2012 04:37:00 +0000

Next Saturday is Jack's last hockey practice of the season. This year of hockey has been an amazing one. I am so grateful for what the Cheetahs have given to Jack this year. I am so grateful for what they have given to me this year.

Being a part of the Cheetah Nation is one of the very best things I've ever been involved with in my life.

Which brings me to the Cheetah-thon, which took place last Saturday evening. We had a great turnout and we more than exceeded our fundraising goal. (Thank you, by the way, Annette for your donation!) In fact, I just read on Facebook that the event raised $25,000 total. AMAZING.

I already thanked you for all you did for the Cheetahs with your donations and your love, but I would like to reiterate it. It all meant so much to me and to Jack and to the rest of the Cheetahs. Thank you.

And now that all the gooshy love feelings are out of the way, here is the story of the Cheetah-thon as experienced by Team Stimey. (Featuring some (more) gooshy love feelings and some purloined pretzels.)

I'll start with the gooshy love feelings, which can be summed up in this photo, which I stole from someone on Facebook:

I'm so glad someone caught this moment.

If that's not gooshy and lovey enough for you, how about this photo of Jack and his coach?

That's a coach who loves his players.

I found that detail in the background of another photo and I can't get over it. I love it.

Of course Jack wasn't the only member of Team Stimey that went skating. These two jokers gave it a shot too:

I love that Sam is trying to help Quinn and Quinn is having NONE OF IT.

All said, things went far better for them this time than the last time we went skating.

I didn't skate this time, but I did wander around on the ice in my sandals to take photos. The arena people resurfaced the ice in the middle of our two-hour skate time and asked all of us to get off the ice for a few minutes. I was one of the last ones off because my shuffling was slower than skating and also because I was too busy taking photos to follow directions. This panicked Quinn, who is always looking out for me.

He started banging on the glass and pointing behind me to alert me of my imminent Flattening by Zamboni.

It just slowed me down because then I had to take a photo of him.

My kids had such a great time at the Cheetah-thon. Sam and Quinn were happy, but Jack was totally in his element. Like, smiling, joyous in his element. I've spoken before about the safe space that the Cheetahs create and I mean that in a literal sense in that other people will step up to keep my kid safe, but I also mean it in a another sense.

I can see Jack relax when he's around these people. Jack is comfortable with the Cheetahs. He is at home. That means a lot to a kid like Jack. I know you get that. It also means a lot to me.

Anywho. After everyone was done skating, I asked them to smile nicely for me and this is what I got.

Hmmm. I'm starting to figure out why my kids are the way they are.

Thank you, MIL, for not being a jerk like everyone else.

My kids were done skating, so Alex helped them take their skates off, which reminded me of the reason that I take Jack to practice and help him put his gear on and take it off.

Some of us have a more delicate touch than others.

So, I was taking photos and everyone else was wandering around and I started thinking that I wanted to put eyes on Jack, even though I was pretty sure Alex or my MIL was watching him. I saw him just as he came around a corner with this:

He didn't have money or an adult with him. How did he get the pretzel?

I was all, "Jack, did you just take that pretzel?!?!"

And he replied, "I said please."

I made it to the snack bar counter just as my mother-in-law was paying the confused and amused looking teenagers behind the counter.

You have to love that Jack. I know I do. I also know you do. And I love all of you.

Fired

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Wed, 16 May 2012 02:31:00 +0000

Jack, with tears rolling down his cheeks, fired me as his mother today.

It was that kind of day. I won't go into the details and the steep downhill slide that comes with reading his school communication log and then trying to do homework with him every day. All I will really say is that the end of this school year cannot come fast enough. I will miss my mid-day alone time, but I know at least one kid who is badly in need of some time off from all responsibilities and stress.

Hint: It's Jack.

Because I'm not going into all of that, I'll just point you to my White Knuckle Parenting column wherein I wrote about letting your children fail.

That was a really bad segue. The post is actually about some stuff going on with Sam.

If you want something that is not all about failure, Team Stimey was featured in Autistic Globetrotting's Mother's Day Celebration. There are a lot of fantastic posts there about traveling with autistic kids, including my contribution about how I prepare my kiddos for outings.

Anywho. I'm hoping to be rehired tomorrow. We'll see. The interviewer is erratic but seems to like me. Most of the time.

A Brief History of the Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Mon, 14 May 2012 04:00:00 +0000

This was a big weekend for Team Stimey. Saturday was not just Jack's birthday, but also the Cheetah-thon. Sam had a soccer game. My mother-in-law was in town visiting. Sunday, of course, was mother's day, so I was busy sleeping in and going to the park with my kids and having friends over for dinner.

I have lots of thoughts about these things and even more photos. The only problem is that I am too exhausted to do any of these topics justice right now. So what Imma do is give you this photo of Jack on his 9th birthday.

Such a rock star.

Yeah, it's a little weird to get your 9-year-old son a pashmina for his birthday, but it's a sensory thing for him. One of his teachers lets him borrow her scarf at school, but he needs his own now that he'll be going to another school. Also, last week he asked for "a shirt with flowers on it that will make me look like a Hawaiian."

Done.

I'm also going to give you this photo of Jack and his coach at the Cheetah-thon.

This photo gives me the warm fuzzies.

Jack was so happy during that skating session. He was grinning and laughing and skating with his coach and skating with his best friend and just so...happy. This is why I write so much about the Cheetahs. This is why special hockey means so much. This is also why I want you to pay attention to the next paragraph.

The Cheetah-thon was a rousing success. Do you want to know one of the reasons why the Cheetah-thon was a rousing success? YOU. YOU helped do this. YOU donated $10 or $50 or $200 or you tweeted about the Cheetah-thon, blogged about it, shared a post about it on Facebook, or commented on one of my posts about the Cheetahs. You let the Cheetah Nation know how much you care about them. Trust me, they noticed.

At the Cheetah-thon, the coach stood in front of the attendees and told the players, "If you've ever wondered if you were special, just look around you. All of these people are here for you."

YOU were there for the Cheetahs. Thank you.

Speaking of which, thank you to Jessica and Stephanie and their families for being the most recent Cheetah donors for Jack. Also, a huge thank you to Sandie and her family (and everyone else who showed up) for coming to the event. A very special thanks to Justine for helping too. You know why.

I promise to tell you more about the Cheetah-thon. Mostly because I can't damn shut up about it.

Before I go to bed and put a close on this weekend, however, here is one last photo of my birthday boy.

That cake is kind of the perfect metaphor for Team Stimey: sort of weird looking, a little quirky, but delicious and full of love.

(Seriously. Take a bite out of Quinn some time. He's the tastiest of all. Kinda minty.)

The End of IEP Season

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 11 May 2012 03:43:00 +0000

So, it turns out that I have done two things with my post about Jack's IEP meeting. I have (a) caused every parent of a second grader to freak the fuck out about what is going to happen to their kid next year, and (b) learned that an Asperger's program is not a common thing in public school systems.

I would like to start today by addressing Issue the First. I am sorry. Please don't freak out. Every kid is different. Your kid will be okay because you are advocating for him or her. Keep an eye on said child and keep doing what you have been doing. Really. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and keep your eyes open. Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

As for the Asperger's program, everybody was all, "Asperger's program?! What the whut whut?!" It's like the time I was emailing with a parent in Los Angeles about a problem her kid was having and I suggested that maybe she talk to the school counselor and, via email, she managed to convey incredulous laughter because, hello, LAUSD. They don't have, you know, things there. Oh, and fuck you, you and your Montgomery County, Maryland choices.

One day I will think before I type. One day. Probably not today.

In other news, I had another IEP meeting today, but this one was for Quinn. He has an IEP because he's been getting OT services for a couple of years. Today he graduated. It felt a little weird for them to take away his disability code and for me to be okay with it. It was the right thing to do, weird pencil grip notwithstanding, but I felt like I should upend a table and start yelling about services for my baby. What I did was stand up, say thank you, and then went home. There's something to be said for 15 minute meetings.

The other result of today's meeting is that I do not have any more IEP meetings this year. Thank God. In fact, I might refuse to discuss special education for the next five weeks just on general principle.

That, at least, would prevent me from scaring all of you to death. You are welcome.

*****

Thank you so much to Cheetah contributors the Paulsons! It's not too late to donate and it is certainly not too late to come to the Cheetah-thon on Saturday from 5-7 pm at the Rockville Ice Arena. You guys, it's going to be so much fun and there will be raffles for fantastic prizes and fun skating and great families and we are going to have such a blast!

Motherhood on Stage

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Tue, 08 May 2012 23:50:00 +0000

Last Sunday afternoon, I had the privilege to go here...

...and do this...

...in front of these people...

...with these amazing women.

It was quite an experience.

There were 14 of us who spoke last Sunday in the DC version of Listen to Your Mother. In that photo above, from left to right, you will see: me!, Elena Sonnino, Lindsay Felix, Nicole Crowley, Lis Fogt, Cindy Green, Sue Wagner (at the podium), Stephanie Stearns Dulli (also the director), Sarah Braesch, Chrissy Boylan, Anna Whiston-Donaldson, Monica Sakala, Kate Coveny Hood (also the producer), and Devra Gordon.

It was an incredible experience. Based on what I've heard from people in the audience, it was for them as well. The stories we told ranged from hysterically funny to tragically heartbreaking, and sometimes both within the same reading. It was an emotional couple of hours, that is for sure. It was an honor to share the stage with those 13 other women.

It was also a hell of a lot of fun. I haven't been on a stage like that for years. I will not tell you how many years, because it makes me sad that I could change the "years" in the previous sentence to "decades."

Special thanks have to go out to Stephanie and Kate, who worked so, so hard to put together such an incredible show. I can't even imagine how much work it was. For me, all I had to do was to go on a hard-target search for jewelry featuring squares instead of circles. It was surprisingly difficult, especially when you consider that the square is one of the, like, three main shapes.

Why squares, you ask? Because I read an edited version of my post Not Even Wrong, in which I wrote about square pegs trying to live in a round hole world and I wanted to show solidarity with the square pegs.

The video version will be available on YouTube eventually and I will be sure to post it here. Until then, here is what I said when I stepped to the podium:

I am always apprehensive about parent-teacher conferences. See, my 8-year-old son, Jack, is autistic. He goes to school in a mainstream inclusion third grade classroom and even though I always hear at these conferences that he is very smart, that he is "making sufficient progress to meet goal(s)," I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I never really hear anything that surprises me, but I still feel angst walking in to those meetings.

Last fall’s conference was different. I've noticed Jack struggling more and more this year. I've started to wonder if an inclusion classroom is the best setting for him. I've started to see his autism-specific deficits bumping up against the curriculum. I’ve started to see the social divide between Jack and his peers widening.

Third grade is where it starts getting harder for Jack to slide by just because he's bright, his teacher told me.

Then she blew my mind. She showed me some examples of his work and went through his answers. She showed me one worksheet and said, "I didn't know how to grade this. It's not even wrong, but it's not right."

I gasped when she said those words, when she said, “not even wrong,” See, that is the name of one of my favorite books on autism by author Paul Collins.

That phrase—Not Even Wrong—refers to what was originally a derogatory way of dismissing someone's answer to a problem. It's not right, it's not wrong, but the solver's frame of reference is so far off base that it is not even wrong. It perfectly describes autism and it perfectly describes Jack.

It also perfectly encapsulates what I want for my kid—a place, an existence, where it is okay for him to be not even wrong. Because I love the way Jack's brain works. I love the way autism has given him this unique perspective that lets him come up with some of the most amazing things. I adore his not even wrongness.

I want him to find a way of life where starting from a fundamentally different point of view is an asset to him and where he can be valued for that.

In his book, Collins wrote, "Autists are the ultimate square pegs, and the problem with pounding a square peg into a round hole is not that the hammering is hard work. It's that you're destroying the peg."

I want to help find more square holes and I am trying to get to the round holes and make them at least trapezoidal before my kids and your kids get hammered into them. I want to spread awareness of both autistic kids and autistic adults. I want this to be a world where it is okay to be a square peg without having to pretend to be round.

I don't want to change Jack. I want to change the world.

A few weeks before my conference, I started trying to change the world by changing Jack's class. I went in, armed with nine pages of notes, and I told Jack's classmates about autism.

I told them how each one of them is different and how they can be a friend to Jack and other kids with autism. I told them to go forth and be different themselves, and to show other kids that is okay to be different. I listened to them at the end of my talk when they told me, "There is a kid on my soccer team with autism," and "I have an uncle who doesn't talk," and I knew that some of them were getting it.

Not all of those kids are going to make it. They will not all stand up for the different kids and adults that they run across in their lives. But some of them will. And some of them, even if they don't act on it now, just might remember about Jack and difference later in life when they come across someone who acts differently. And they might help that square peg find a hole that isn't round.

At Jack’s conference, his teacher told me the story of a short passage that Jack had to write, which would get a grade of 0 to 3 points. His original sentence earned him a zero. After a long process of reading his passage to the class, being prompted for more, and adding information, Jack finally earned his three.

The teacher has a Hall of Fame wall where passages that are really, really good and earn threes get hung up. Jack's passage was undoubtedly not up to the standards of what was already posted there. But you know what Jack did? He went and got some tape and he put his paper, on which he'd crossed out "0" and written "3," and he put it up there all by himself. He knew that he had worked hard and that, for him, his work was Hall of Fame worthy. And the teacher made a square hole for him and let it stay.

The world is slow to change. We have been hammering square pegs into round holes for so long that it takes a huge leap to put down the hammers. I'm hopeful that I got to some of those kids before they even pick up the hammers. And I hope that some of those kids told their parents. And I hope that some of you hear this and tell your kids. And I hope that we, all of us together, CAN change the world.

*****

Thank you, Kate and Stephanie, for letting me send this message out to more people. Thank you for hearing what I wrote and finding it worthwhile. Thank you for putting me in your show, which was so precious to you. Thank you.

*****
Plus! Links!

Last week I forgot to send you over to the Wheaton Patch for my White Knuckle Parenting column, which I called The Magic Number. In it, I share the exact moment I knew I was done having kids.

This week, I wrote a thank you note to all the mothers out there.

Also, has anyone else noticed how hard it is to type the word "knuckle"? I almost misspell it every single damn week.

I Would Just Like to State for the Record That the System is Stupid

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Sun, 06 May 2012 04:14:00 +0000

It is not a secret that Jack has been struggling in school this year. His inclusion classroom isn't the right place for him anymore. His teacher is fantastic, she really is, but it is just not working. I can't even begin to tell you how many IEP meetings I've sat through this year.

Our most recent meeting for Jack was last Thursday, but I should go back to last fall to give you the whole background.

Jack started struggling early this year. Third grade is a big transition for anyone and it was a huge transition for Jack. I started to see early on that things weren't going well and called a meeting to get the ball rolling to have the school district take a look at him to see where they thought the appropriate placement was. Then I hired an advocate and went through the same process privately.

Both sets of people pretty much came up with the same conclusion: Jack's next step in school placement is the Asperger's program, which is a self-contained classroom with mainstreaming opportunities in a public school located somewhere between Quinn's school and Sam's.

I mean, actually it's called the High Functioning Autism program, but I think referring to people as high or low functioning is kind of an asshole thing to do and bullshit to boot, so I'll be calling it what most people in the county call it, which is the Asperger's program.

No one mention to anyone that Jack doesn't have Asperger's, okay? It's our little secret.

Anyway, at one of the IEP meetings, it was mentioned that Jack had long (like, for years) been considered a "poster child" for this program, but as he was doing well in his inclusion classroom, he was not eligible for the Asperger's program.

Interesting, huh? See, there's this thing called the "least restrictive environment," or LRE. Unless you have a special education kid, you probably don't know about it. If you do have a special education kid, you've probably heard that phrase a million times. What it means is that kids are supposed to be put in the most mainstream placement that they can hack.

It makes sense. You want kids to learn to live in the mainstream and you don't want to isolate or stigmatize special needs kids just because they have a diagnosis. That makes sense. I'm a fan of inclusion. I think it is great for both typical and special education kids. I think everybody can learn from each other. I understand LRE and I think, applied with broad strokes, it's absolutely what we should strive for.

Except that it's kinda bullshit. See, Jack had to pretty much fail at his current placement to be put in a more restrictive environment—that is, a classroom made up entirely of kids with autism.

Then there is Sam. You might remember that he is in what is known as the Highly Gifted Center (another asshole name for a program, if you ask me) in a classroom made up entirely of kids with giftedness—and the quirks that come along with it. That is for damn sure not the least restrictive environment for him. And he damn sure didn't have to fail at his original placement to end up there.

But because being called gifted is something to strive for, being put in a self-contained classroom in a school 20 minutes away from his home school is something to be coveted, sought after, and congratulated. Because being a special education student has an entirely different value judgement attached to it, kids are supposed to strive to move out of their self-contained classrooms in schools 20 minutes away from their home schools back into the mainstream.

There are two exactly opposite standards for these two groups of kids.

What I see when I look at my kids is that they have found classrooms that work for them. They have/will have teachers who know how to teach to their particular brains. They will have peers. They will build on their strengths and work on improving their weaknesses. This is how it should be. It shouldn't matter if it is more or less restrictive. Semantics shouldn't get in the way of teaching children.

If someone is the poster child for a particular program, HE SHOULD BE IN THAT PROGRAM.

I don't know that the Asperger's program will be the best thing for Jack. I hope it is. If it isn't, then we move on to the next step. What I hope happens is that Jack will be able to get a couple of really solid years of specialized instruction under his belt so that he will be able to either move on to a middle school Asperger's program or return to his home school for those grades.

Mostly I hope that his dread and negativity about school will be alleviated at least a little.

Also I hope that I can figure out how to deliver three different kids to three different schools every morning and then manage to reclaim them again every afternoon.

So remember that meeting where I was told Jack was a poster child for this program? That was two months ago. At that meeting, it was decided that the Asperger's program was the place for Jack and that we thought it was the right environment for him and yay for the correct placement! Except they couldn't finalize the placement until we had new goals written and blah, blah, blah, we'll meet again in May and we can do this then.

Unless, of course, somehow Jack pulls his shit together and has a great couple of months, in which case he would no longer be eligible for the program for which he is a poster child. Therefore, Stimey, because you believe that the Asperger's program is the right place for Jack, you are going to spend the next couple of months being torn between wanting your child to be successful so he feels good about himself and wanting your child to fail so he can have the right placement.

Yeah. Exactly. That sucked.

Also? I shouldn't have worried.

Things got, like, exponentially worse, to the point that Jack was not getting a whole lot done at school at all. Both his teachers at school and us at home worked really hard to try to help him. To no avail. His teacher told me a story about how once Jack stalled and refused to do any work until lunchtime and then looked at her and said, "I won."

Ballsy, that Jack.

So. Long story short, the special education system eventually led us to what I hope is a good place for Jack for next year. In many ways I am sad for Jack to leave the school he has been at for four years because he has had wonderful teachers and his team really, truly cares about him. They have tried their hardest to get him what he needs and I am so grateful for that. I'm a little nervous to step into the gaping unknown of a whole other school and program.

Regardless, I'm hopeful. I really do think this is the best available option for us. My fingers are crossed. And my heart is finally fully set on the hope for absolute success in the right classroom for my precious child.

Respite

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 04 May 2012 04:12:00 +0000

I know that you've probably been imagining me spending the past few days swinging happily in my, I mean Jack's, I mean Alex's hammock, but I haven't been. I've been too busy to swing. I mean, I did try to spend a few minutes in there today, but I fell out and then once I'd regained my composure and looked around to see if any neighbors were staring out the window at me, Quinn came running out waving the homework paper that I'd abandoned him with and screeching about my needing to help him alphabetize some words.

Honestly, that is a pretty apt slice of life to apply to the larger picture of how things go for me: run in circles —> attempt to hide from children —> pratfall —> found by child —> homework —> screaming.

Repeat.

Mixed in with the spin cycle of day to day existence have been a couple of things of note. One of them was an IEP meeting today, which was pretty monumental. I think I'll save that story for tomorrow.

Today, I'll tell you about yesterday. Yesterday was awesome. Jess from A Diary of a Mom and her family were in town because Jess knows people. Like, White House people. She goes to the White House now and again and tells the folks what's up. I'm really grateful that she does. She's smart and thoughtful and has a way of representing a lot of diverse voices and ideas while still staying true to her message—which is helping people with autism.

If I were to go to the White House to talk to anyone about autism, it would be like this: security gaffe —> awkward silence —> me trying to sound intelligent but actually sounding like what would happen if Beavis accidentally wandered into the seat of government —> some nodding and inappropriate giggling —> pratfall/injury during exit —> sobbing in my car.

Anywho. Jess and her family came to town for a quick visit and Sunday of Adventures in Extreme Parenthood came to my house and then we drove into DC to hang out with the Diary gang.

See?

I can't express how much I love them. So, so much.

Sunday and I were both a little bit surprised that we managed to drive all the way into DC and back together without any major snafus because, come on...it's us. The worst thing that happened was that I parked about an inch away from the car next to me in the tiny parking garage, so Sunday had to shimmy out of the wrong door. Sorry, Sunday.

I have to throw some props at the Elephant & Castle, the place we had lunch. Jess called and asked if they could help accommodate her family, including her beautiful girl with autism who has trouble with crowds. They put us in a scheduled-to-be-closed private room in the back all by ourselves. Nicely done, E&C. I'll be back.

Speaking of that beautiful girl, Brooke, and her also beautiful sister, Katie (seriously, Jess and her husband make gorgeous kids), we had quite a lovely time with those little charmers. Katie in particular was very welcoming to our other lunch guest.

Katie may have helped Algernon with his art.

You may also notice the phrase "Stimey the verb" there. Much as I would have liked to have cropped that out of the photo never to think about it again, it didn't work out for me. See, in that household, when you puke, you have just Stimeyed. Yep. I'm a verb. And not the good kind.

I mean, it's not that it's totally unwarranted. I regularly get emails and messages from people telling me their own regurgitation stories—and those of strangers. It's kind of a theme here in Stimeyland. And there is one particularly dramatic incident etched in Jess' mind, so I will take my metamorphosis into a verb and wear it with pride.

Frankly, how many of YOU are verbs?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

It was such a great afternoon. I even roped Sunday into agreeing to participate in a race that I'm going to run in October. I'll tell you about that soon too. We think Luau (Mr. Jess) should do it too. Although he might/would kick our asses.

So that's what I have for you from yesterday. I've had a lot of scrambling around trying to get my act together lately, so it was really nice to just chill out with some really nice, funny, relaxing people. I want to hang out with these people more often, that is for sure.

I Know When to Admit That I'm Wrong. Occasionally.

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Tue, 01 May 2012 03:04:00 +0000

You know how every married woman who blogs writes a post to honor her husband on his birthday and it is really nice and lovely and makes you think that the dude is a really great guy and that he's married to a stand up chick?

This is not that blog.

Alex's birthday was weeks ago. The reason I'm writing about it now is that his present came last week and it was exciting. Sadly, he was out of town when it arrived, so he was the last one to use it, but the kiddos and I really enjoyed it.

I should back up. Well, I "shouldn't," but I want to and it's my blog so I won't not be backing up for you.

Jack threw up in the hallway at school the day Alex's gift arrived.

Wait. I should back up. (See above.)

Jack gets carsick. Jack especially gets carsick in the morning. Jack has to ride in my car for an hour every morning because of our fucked up driving schedule. Usually he's okay, but sometimes he pukes because of this. I prefer that he do it a block away from the school, but that doesn't always happen. One time I opened the car door in the drop off lane and he leaned out and puked all over the curb in full view of the main office.

Once you puke at school, you are officially persona non grata for that day. It doesn't matter that I know and you know and Jack knows and the whole damn school knows that it was because he was carsick. If a kid throws up on school grounds and an adult witnesses it, you have a buddy at home for the day.*

(*Exception: Quinn. Sometimes they let him stay because he pukes if you, like, cough loudly in front of him.)

Anywho. I drove all my kids to school that day, came home, sat down, and the phone rang. It was my friend, the school nurse. Jack never even made it to class. He threw up right in the hall. You know the rest.

So, Jack and I were at home. We had a brief but intense scuffle over the homework he would have been assigned that day. I emerged with a Phyrric victory.

All of that is to say that Jack was home when Alex's birthday present arrived.

Oh no. I fear I have to back up again.

I bought Alex's birthday present a long time ago. I mean, there is no way on earth that it would have arrived in time for his birthday, but it surely shouldn't have taken as long as it did. See, I bought Alex a hammock. He asked for it and I thought it was the stupidest present ever, but I decided to buy it for him anyway.

The hammock part of the thing came quickly, but the hammock stand did not. Eventually I got an email from the vendor saying that my return had gone through and that my money had been refunded, which was a drag because I was not entirely sure that I could hold up a hammock USING AIR.

It turned out to have been a mistake. "The shipper damaged the package during shipping," they told me, "and just returned the remains to us."

Naturally I wonder what exactly the hell happened to that hammock stand. Remains? Really? I almost asked for a photograph, but the customer service rep was busy helping me re-place the order and waiving the shipping so I didn't want to rock the hammock, so to speak.

So, hammock remains...shift forward...Jack carsick...shift forward...Jack at home...shift forward...hammock stand arrives.

Are we all caught up? Good.

So, after the homework battle was waged and won and the video game reward was presented and used, we needed another activity. The arrival of the hammock stand was perfect. Jack was tailor made for hammock stand unpacking and construction, mostly because it involved lots of metal tubes packaged in bubble wrap.

This is Jack, living the dream.

*I* was less delighted by the contents of the package, mostly due to this:

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

Fortunately, my partner had a gung ho attitude and set to work.

I always think the smallest person should do the heaviest lifting.

We even found a secondary use for the hammock stand.

I almost left it as a tightrope structure.

Couldn't be more stupid than a hammock, I thought.

The next step was maybe even more fun for Jack than the bubble wrap because it involved carabiners and chains, which offered all kinds of shiny metal fun. I'm actually a little surprised that he hasn't since disassembled the thing.

I should buy him some chains for his own birthday.

Jack was excited to be the first one to try out the hammock.

He was delighted. It was even better than chains.

By sheer coincidence, I happened to be taking a photo when Jack and I discovered the back breaking capabilities of the hammock as well.

Ouch.

Evidently there is a balance element to sitting in a hammock.

So here's the thing about the hammock. It has turned out to be maybe the most awesome thing we've ever owned. Jack lies in it and it kind of wraps around him and swings and is in the sun and is sort of the best thing ever for a kid with the exact sensory seeking profile as Jack.

He LOVES it. I'm thinking of replacing his bed with one.

I think that Alex thinks it is all right too. Quinn was so thrilled when he came home. He made me make him a glass of lemonade with ice cubes and a bendy straw to take to the hammock, because evidently that is what you do when you have a hammock.

I've been won over too. Somewhere between snuggling with Jack in the sun and sitting in the thing while Jack asked if he could gently rock it, I decided that we might be a hammock family after all.

Good times, y'all.

Listen to Your Stimey

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 03:43:00 +0000

Guess what I'll be doing next Sunday? (Hint: Hopefully not puking on stage in front of 350 people.)

I'll be in the cast of the DC production of Listen to Your Mother at the Synetic Theater in Arlington. The show starts at 2 pm and it is going to be amazing. I am in some incredible company with some fantastic writers and some good friends. You can buy your tickets online. A portion of proceeds from the show go to the Inflammatory Breast Cancer Research Foundation in Susan Niebur's name.

I can't wait.

I can't tell you what I'll be reading, but I can tell you that it is one of my favorite things that I've written. Last week, I answered some questions on the LTYM DC website, and I thought I would share them with you here too.

LTYM: When did you first hear about LTYM? Why did you decide to audition?

Jean: I first heard about it last year when I saw some buzz about it online. When I heard that it was coming to DC this year and that two of my favorite people were producing and directing it, it was a no-brainer. The piece I’m reading is really important to me and is a message that I try to get out all the time. To be able to deliver it to a room full of mostly parents? It’s a dream. Also, I have an enormous ego, so forcing a room full of people to listen to me is awesome.

LTYM: When did you first start to feel like a mother?

Jean: The first time I had to write a note to excuse my kid for being absent from school. I was struck by this intense feeling of, who the hell put me in charge of these actual human beings?!

LTYM: What is the craziest thing you’ve ever said to your kids?

Jean: Today? “Just because the sausage patty is on a fork doesn’t mean it is good manners to hold it near your mouth and nibble on it.” Ever? More than I can remember. My family life is an exercise in absurdity, from the time I was catching my runaway dog (who had run INTO the neighbors’ house) only to turn around to see my toddler crossing the street by himself…while holding scissors—to the time a couple weeks ago, when I had to drag my 8-year-old out of a different neighbor’s house after he’d climbed the fence into their yard, gone into their living room, and basically decided to live there. Mostly instead of saying crazy things to my kids, you will catch me mumbling under my breath, “This was the worst idea ever,” and maybe sobbing softly.

LTYM: What is your biggest parenting challenge right now?

Jean: My kids are intense. I often say that we are a neurodiverse family (usually while waving my hands in the air and making high pitched laughing noises as I try to corral my kids in a public place). I have a son with ADHD, a son with autism, and a son with…quirkiness. I myself have my own issues, something my husband referred to the other day as my “neurological widgy-wudgy.” Sounds about right. We’re not your typical family, and we are all trying to find a way to make our way in a world that isn’t always friendly to people with invisible disabilities.

My biggest parenting challenge is making sure that other people value my kids for who they are, including and especially, the public school system. Finding the right educational environment for kids outside the norm is really hard and it is a battle that takes place for at least 13 years. I am on year four. As with any parenting challenge though, you have to look at the essence of your child and know that the little soul in there is worth everything. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.

LTYM: What do you most wish for your boys’ future?

Jean: I want them to be happy. That is all. I don’t care how it comes to them or what shape it takes. I just want them to be happy.

I jokingly complain a lot about my kids. I whine. I cry. I acknowledge that parenting is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to do. But even on their worst day, those kids are such a gift to me. I am the luckiest mom in the world to get to parent them. They make me laugh, they make me cry, they make me think. All I can hope to do to repay them for the great honor of being their mother is to try to give them the tools to create their happiness.

******

Hey, friends! I am so grateful to every single one of you who donated to the Cheetahs. I can't tell you how much every single donation meant to me. (Thank you to the newest donor, Curt and family. You took my breath away today.) I looked at every name and thought about how wonderful you are for seeing how much the Cheetahs mean to Jack and the rest of my family and stepped up to help us. Really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

If any of you donated $50 or more and haven't gotten an email from me asking for your t-shirt size, drop me a line so I can make sure you get yours! Also, the actual Cheetah-thon is coming up on May 12, so if you want to join us, you can register online!

I promise to stop hounding you about stuff come mid-May. By then, frankly even *I* will be tired of me.

I Will Never See That Hour Again

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 01:47:00 +0000

I must really, really love this little muffin here...

...because tonight I found this....

...somewhere in here:

It was in the ninth bucket I combed through.

But it helped said muffin make this...

...so I guess it was worth it.

Stimeyblots

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 04:08:00 +0000

I think it is possible that I haven't shared enough of my psyche with you yet. I mean, no one has shown up at my house to pad my walls yet, so I feel as if maybe I've been hiding too much from you.

We're going to change all that tonight.

I had an opportunity recently to take a Rorschach test. Fortunately, part of the test was not knowing how to spell "Rorschach" because that is the hardest word to spell since, well, ever. And, yes, I know it is a name. That doesn't make it better.

I'm going to run you through what I saw in the ink blots. I know. I'm not sure we're ready either, but I haven't manicured any rodents this week, so we're going to have to go with it because I don't have anything else to write about.

Now, I've taken the liberty of including a link to the Wikipedia page for the Rorschach test, so you can find out what you were SUPPOSED to see. (No, they aren't all penises, you sickos.)

I suggest you wait until after you guess to see if you were correct. That's how it works, right? You correctly identify enough moths in the ink blots and you get a piece of paper stamped "MENTALLY STABLE"? Because mine hasn't come yet, but sometimes the mail runs slow.

For those of you out there who are either real psychologists or armchair psychologists, let's not try too hard to get to the depths of Stimey and the inner recesses of her brain. No one wants that. Like, if my answers make it clear that I have repressed memories of a Godzilla rampage in my youth, I don't need to know.

Well. THAT I need to know—frankly, THAT the world needs to know—but you get the gist.

So, sit down, buckle up, and welcome to my mind.

Inkblot one: Clearly this one is a movie poster. I mean, isn't this the image movie producers regularly use to freak people out when they walk past the movie theaters?

Here's the thing though. This was card number one and I didn't want to come off as a crazy person, so instead of telling the tester that, I honed in on those little pinchy things at the top middle (imagine me making "pinchy claw" gestures with my hands in the psychologist's office at this point) and told her that it was a beetle...with wings...wearing a dress.

See? NOT a crazy person.

Inkblot two: I didn't see a damn thing in this one, so I spent several seconds desperately trying to see something before I finally said, "That void in the middle looks like an airplane." I think I might have said that the top red parts looked like faces as well. I'd also like to point out that the red blotch at the bottom looks like a moth. We're two for two for creepy flying insects here, people.

Inkblot three: This one was my favorite. Look at those adorable snooty men having drinks. Don't you love them? You can tell they are snooty because of their pointy noses and fancy high heeled shoes. You can also tell that they are wearing tuxedos because all snooty, high heeled shoe-wearing men in my brain wear tuxes.

Inkblot four: So Godzilla is standing in front of you, and maybe a little bit above you somehow. See his little claw hands? (Me: "pinchy claw" gestures again) See his tiny little head with his tiny little snout waaaaaay up there in the sky? See my father issues laid completely bare?

Inkblot five: Really? Another moth?

Oooh! Speaking of insects, remind me to tell you about the praying mantis egg case I bought. Theoretically it could hatch 75-200 tiny manti. (I prefer to pluralize words like this with an "i." Figure that out, Mrs. Psychologist.)

Anyway, the manti hatching is going to be fucking terrible—especially after the dozens of tiny manti turn into dozens of large manti. I'll be spending the summer inside, thank you very much.

Although, frankly, it is likely that I will kill them in infancy, so I probably shouldn't worry too much.

Inkblot six: I stared at this one for a long time before I censored my original thoughts to say that this was a cat that was squished flat. I'm not sure that was better. But, I'm sorry, if you try to tell me that this cat is not flattened, YOU are the one who is disturbed.

What I really wanted to say is that I saw Bill the Cat here. You see it too, don't you? And if it IS Bill the Cat, it kind of makes more sense that he's flat right?

Inkblot seven: This one is SO CLEARLY angry bunny rabbits. See their ears and their little open mouths? They are shouting at each other. I told the psychologist that and then I said, "They're hoppin' mad!" and laughed and laughed and laughed. The psychologist paused, looked at me, gave me a little courtesy laugh, and then she wrote something down on her piece of paper.

I'm pretty sure she was writing down "MENTALLY STABLE."

Inkblot eight: At first I was all, "Color?! I don't know what to do with this!" and then I was all, "Look at those adorable little badgers on the outside." Then I told the psychologist that the inside parts looked like a skeleton. I refrained from saying, "Honey badger don't care. Honey badger don't give a shit."

But I really, really wanted to.

Inkblot nine: I just now, right this very moment, saw the orange seahorses here. Damn, I wish I'd seen that before, because I really saw nothing in this. I was going to tell the psychologist that I saw an inkblot, but that seemed like the kind of smart ass response that gets you a demerit on your psychological report.

God knows I don't need any more of those.

Frankly, I don't even remember what I told her. Maybe I said that it looked like a map of Europe. No, really. I think that is what I said. Because that makes sense.

Inkblot ten: Bugs. Lots of bugs. There are caterpillars and grasshoppers and terrifying blue spiders. Oh dear lord, there are 158 praying manti in there too.

Also the Eiffel Tower.

So that's it. If you're still with me, you are either with me for the long haul or you are slowly backing away while trying to get your car keys out of your pocket.

Now you have my subconscious as well as my conscious. Don't say I never did anything for you. Please feel free to inadvertently share some deep secret pocket of your mind in the comments to level our playing field if you so desire.

*****

I have a few other things as well—things that are less disturbing than the interior of my brain.

1. Thank you to Joey and Andy for your donation to the Cheetahs. Thank you all!

2. Have you ever hosted a playdate? Then you might be familiar with the Playdate Timeline that I wrote about over at White Knuckle Parenting.

3. Jack and I went to see a sensory friendly performance at the Kennedy Center last week and then I wrote about it at Autism Unexpected.

4. Listen to Your Mother DC ran a cast spotlight of me featuring a GIANT PHOTOGRAPH right up at the top. Check it out!

The Guinea Pig Pedicure

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 03:08:00 +0000

As promised, the guinea pig pedicure. Fair warning: I've been drinking.

I wrassled with a deadly animal this morning. Two of them. They had jaws like clamps and talons like daggers. Those bastards were so rough that my friend Heather needed me to help her tame them. Are you ready to see the dangerous creatures? I'll only show you one at a time. Two might be too much to handle.

Hi, Poppy!

I know. She looks harmless. But you haven't seen the devastation they can leave behind with their little pointy feet. Be warned. Heather is contorted by revulsion over the damage inflicted by the toe scalpels of the guinea pigs.

Or laughing because I am too ridiculous to deal with at 9 a.m.

I was called in to help my friend Heather cut her guinea pigs' toenails because...well, because of the injuries. Those nails needed to be lopped off. She called me in particular because I was pretty cocky about my cat nail cutting skillz. When I was bragging about how awesome I was at cutting animal nails, I forgot three important things:

1. Guinea pig nails are about the size of grains of rice.
2. I don't cut my dog's nails because she bites.
3. Turns out I am NOT awesome at animal nail cutting.

Lest I be forced to admit fallibility, however, I decided to forge ahead. I did send this missive ahead of time to warn her: "You do understand that it is extremely unlikely that I will be able to successfully help you do the nails, right? I mean, I'll give it a go, but do you promise to not sue if I cut off a toe or something?"

Evidently not too concerned, she shot back, "Only if you don't sue when Cow bites a chuck of flesh off your hand."

Allrighty then. We're set to go.

First, however, we had to line up the tools of the trade. Heather found some old baby clippers, gardening gloves, and a guinea pig.

We sent the 5-year-old in the house to locate some animal control measures...

...and we were ready!

Except with one adult holding a guinea pig and the other adult cutting its nails, who is left to (a) take photographs and (b) make sure the 5-year-old doesn't make mischief?

Problem solved!

Mission Guinea Pig Pedicure had begun!

Heather wore the gloves, but Poppy bit ME.

Interesting fact: Guinea pigs have four toes on their front feet and three toes on their back feet. That is some fucked up shit, y'all.

See those cut nails? I hope you're appreciating my awesomeness.

After returning Poppy to the cage, I asked Heather if she wanted to give nail trimming a try with Cow. She started to turn me down, but after I asked her if I was going to come cut their nails every month for the next eight years, she agreed to give it a go.

She did a lovely job, although I don't know if I have ever seen a more panicked expression on a small animal's face before.

That didn't stop her from gnawing on that carrot though.

This episode was ultimately less exciting that I expected. There was no blood, no guinea pig escapes, and each pig still has all 14 of their toes. AND I was dumb enough to help make Heather comfortable with the process so I won't be invited over to play with the little guys next month.

I'm sorry. I feel like I've failed. I know you like it when I'm a disaster. I apologize for being competent. If it makes you feel any better, I sucked at every single other thing I did today except for when I took a nap.

#42 in Da House

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 03:03:00 +0000

Sometimes my blog posts just write themselves.

Last Saturday was photo day at hockey practice. The coaches and some parent helpers wrangled all of the kids into poses in front of the net, while a volunteer photographer took shots of each player. I imagine that it was a long and cold couple of hours for her.

But, oh dear lord, it was worth it.

I KNOW.

You guys, that isn't even the best photo though. I watched rink side as the coach tried to take my kid, who is all about expressing himself with his face, and maneuver him into what eventually turned into that photo up there. The path to that photo though? Awesomer than awesome.

It turns out that what I find to be incredibly frustrating when *I* am trying to take a photograph of Jack, I find endlessly hilarious when he does it for other people.

Here is his first photo:

That kid has some joy in him, that is for sure.

This is photo two, after the coach got him into a hockey pose:

That tongue is still there though.

Eventually they got him to face the right direction and retract the tongue.

I've never seen that expression on his face before, but I LOVE it.

It's hard to maintain the crazy for so long though, so eventually Jack eased into a smile.

I'm hoping he'll turn into the class clown. I think we have a good shot at it.

And then he morphed into the kid you see here, who is actually sort of disturbingly mature looking. I'm a little distressed about the growing taller, older, and into a dude that I am seeing in him. I swear that he was six years old yesterday.

I do enjoy the handsome though.

That said, lovely as the above photo is, I might prefer the first one. It has more...personality.

Jack has a lot of that.

You can still donate to the Cheetahs online or you can register to attend ~~Jack's birthday party~~ the Cheetah-thon on May 12 from 5-7 p.m. at the Rockville Ice Arena.

Things That Amused Me/Happened at the Maryland Zoo

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 02:32:00 +0000

By the last day of our ELEVEN DAY LONG spring break I was desperate to get out of my house. By that point in our "vacation," I would have taken the munchkins on a day-long trip to a pottery and crystal gallery if it would have kept them out of the house long enough for them to stop shouting at each other about not wanting to share their things.

Fortunately, there were places other than the pottery and crystal gallery open that day. In fact, one of those places that was open fit my criteria of being a place you could shout in, somewhere that had food, a place where it was hard to break things, and was a fair distance away from my house so I could strap my kids quietly into the car for a good amount of time on the way there and back.

Not to be confused with the National Zoo;

probably to be confused with the Baltimore Zoo, which is what it used to be called.

Algernon went too. He was going to have all kinds of adventures at the zoo, but it turns out that once I had to start doing the "one kid, two kid, three kid...one kid, two kid, three kid..." routine all by myself at a brand new to us location, Algernon decided he wanted to hang out in my bag and not bother coming out. Funny that.

He did stop to take a thorn out of this lion's paw, which was hard,

considering the paw was made out of iron.

Going anywhere with my three kiddos is totally an exercise in hilarity and that day at the zoo was no exception. I was all excited that morning, so I was surprised when my enthusiastic, "WHO WANTS TO GO TO THE ZOO?!?!" was met with, "Meh," and "Not me," and "NOOOOOOO!!!!"

For reals. It's like I was asking if I could take them to the broccoli factory.*

Fortunately, I don't much give a damn what they want to do, so I stuffed them in the car and dragged them down there anyway. I did make one really good decision, which was to take a bag of cheesy popcorn with us, which distracted Quinn for at least an hour.

It is ridonkulous how much food he can pack away.

It also made us at least one enemy in the tram line where the kids behind us watched my kids snarfing up their snack and started demanding food from their mother. I never know what to do in those situations. Do I offer some popcorn to the mom to give to her kids? Do I pretend like I don't hear them? Do I shrug guiltily and look away?

Do I encourage my kids to raise the popcorn victoriously

over their heads in a fist pump of joy?

The reason I chose to take them to the Maryland Zoo instead of the National Zoo is because (1) we have never been there, so I figured it would be new and exciting, and (2) they have polar bears and penguins. I figured that these things would make up for the fact that you have to pay admission.

They did. Polar bears are awesome.

Does anyone else wish that there were Dharma Initiative

hatches and whatnot in this habitat?

I was a little disappointed that the polar bear wasn't swimming and diving and being otherwise awesome, but he did rub his butt up against some rocks, so that was entertaining.

Because I'm six, I yelled, "He's scratching his butt on the rocks!"

and, like, ten kids came running over.

The Maryland Zoo isn't all smiles and sunshine and polar bears and penguins. There is also a cave, which sounds awesome if you like caves (and I do) and it kind of is awesome, but it is also REALLY dark. I only took one photo in the cave, because...hello, dark—and it is not of the fuzzy bear or interesting stalactite variety.

It is of the horrifyingly scary wolf spider variety.

The only reason I share that with you (because, frankly, even *I* would stop visiting my blog if there were regular photos of spiders on it; in fact, I don't think I'll ever be able to read this particular post again because of this photo) is to illustrate how goddamn dark that cave was. Imagine my "one kid, two kid, three kid..." count in the pitch black. Then picture Jack finding every single tiny corner nook and hiding the deepest crooks of each of them.

Sometimes I think the people who design these things are just laughing at us parents.

It is a minor miracle that I didn't lose anyone in there among the wolf spiders and shadows.

From there, it was just a short trip past a collapsed bridge (for real), a slide in a tree-shaped building that my kids refused to come out of, and several photographs of common ducks later, until we made it to the petting farm. The petting farm consisted entirely of goats.

This is Jack mind melding with one of those goats.

Aside: That photo takes my breath away every time I look at it. Jack has a thing with animals. I'm not entirely sure the goat was on board with the gazing into each others' souls thing, but Jack was.

After the goats and the hand washing that followed, we went on the train. Now, I'm going to drop a tip on you here: Unless your kids are really into trains, you can skip this one at the Maryland Zoo. You don't really see many animals and it is a pretty short trip for the $3/ticket cost.

Fortunately, my kids are into trains, so I felt that the trip was money...spent. In much the same way as my children were super excited when I asked if they wanted to go to the zoo, they were equally excited when I told them to give me their Biggest Train Smiles!

Way to show your gratitude, kiddos!

At least I have Jack in my corner.

Turns out that his Biggest Train Smile is kinda goofy.

From there, we headed over to lunch. It was chilly during our day at the zoo, so I let my kids sit in the sun at a table while I bought their lunch and kept an eye on them ("one kid, two kid, three kid..."). They ate their food and then Jack evidently decided that sitting on a bench didn't make him warm enough, so he sought heat iguana-like on the pavement.

He attracted a surprisingly small amount of attention.

And, yes, I know it's gross. I don't really care.

After lunch it was time for what I had been dreading: The Bathroom.

Those of you with opposite gendered children understand what I am talking about here. Sam can go into bathrooms by himself and Quinn is still young enough to seem appropriate in the women's restroom with a parent. Then there is Jack. He is almost nine. He sticks out if I take him with me into a public restroom. I've gotten looks from Judgey McHaterpants for doing so. He is usually fine by himself in public restrooms, but sometimes he dawdles and doesn't come out and I hate making it Sam's responsibility to drag him out.

Normally I send them all into the men's bathroom together and carefully watch the door to catch them on their way out, but if I am going to the bathroom as well and won't necessarily be at the door when they come out, I don't like sending Jack and Quinn in. God only knows where they would go if they came out and I wasn't there.

Therefore, I told Jack and Quinn that they were coming to the women's restroom with me and Sam that he would go to the men's room by himself and then we would all meet just outside the bathroom.

But then as we approached the bathrooms with our plan in place, Sam spotted the family restroom (the savior of families like mine) and suggested we use it. I turned for a second to see where the bathroom was, turned back around, started my headcount ("one kid, two kid..."), and realized Jack wasn't there anymore.

I sent Sam to check in the men's room and I went to check in the women's room because I couldn't think where else Jack would have gone. I was so explicit about our bathroom instructions, that we were Going to The Bathroom, this is how we are Going to The Bathroom, and with whom and in what order we were Going to The Bathroom, so I couldn't imagine him heading off to the goats or the train or to be eaten by the lions or whatever.

But, the truth remained, Jack was missing, he was not in the women's room, and Sam said he was not in the men's room. Just like on Loon Day, I passed the point when I was trying to quietly deal with the situation by myself.

My natural instinct is to not draw attention to myself, so it went against every part of me to do what I did next, which was to shove my way to the front of the line at the ice cream booth to report my missing child, something the teenagers there were ill-prepared to hear. I tried to spur them into action by using scary words like "eight years old" and "autistic."

They claimed to be "calling someone," so I returned to scanning the area for either Jack or a more responsible adult zoo employee who would understand that TIME IS OF THE MOTHERFUCKING ESSENCE HERE, PEOPLE.

It was shortly after this point when I spotted Jack sitting criss-cross-applesauce very obediently on the ground in front of the men's room, where he had apparently been the whole time. (Dammit, Sam, we have to work on your search and rescue skillz.)

"You told me to go to the bathroom," he said.

I shoved my way to the front of the ice cream line one more time to cancel the Amber Alert I had instigated and which had never materialized, then we went back to the family restroom and Jack and I had a little heart to heart and I pulled myself together.

Then we stood in the ice cream line where I ended up paying a tremendous amount of money for ice cream for my kids just because I was so happy that all three of my kids were still present and accounted for and I didn't even give them the lecture about how if they were cold, ice cream would make them even colder.

Quinn opted for something even messier.

Quinn was going to save some of his cotton candy for Alex, because Alex likes cotton candy. I convinced him that it was unnecessary to do so (mostly because I would have had to drag it all over Baltimore).

There was probably a full serving left on Quinn's face after he was done eating.

After we Went to The Bathroom and ate/smeared our desserts, we headed over to the chimpanzees, where we saw some extremely inappropriate behavior.

Seriously. It was a scene. Feeding time seemed to get them sexually excited.

I did not photograph the obscenities. You are welcome.

There were also lions and an elephant that was trying to eat the (greener, literally) grass on the other side of the fence and the elephant that was playing with a tire (I originally wrote "tiger" instead of "tire," which, honestly, would have been even cooler) and there were more ducks and some other birds and I actually gave my kids quarters to look through those stupid things that look like alien faces but that you are never quite able to find what you are looking for through them.

These things.

Then it was off to the penguins, who did all kinds of cute waddling around, but not enough jumping in the water for Quinn.

This one did work the audience by swimming through cherry blossoms.

Then off to the cheetahs, because come on, cheetahs. The Cheetah Cheetah is in the background of this photo of Cheetah Jack.

Cheetah Jack's expression is better though.

I also really liked this bird. This bird had giving the Whale Eye down to a science.

It seemed like hard work to be this bird though.

So, the way the Maryland Zoo is set up, the entrance is either a tram ride or a short walk to the actual exhibits. We took the tram in the morning, but the line was really long in the afternoon, so we decided to walk back. Unfortunately, my kids have all kinds of different speeds. Sam is Mr. Fast and Jack is Mr. Slow and Quinn is Mr. Travel Twice the Distance by Running Back and Forth.

Sam is waaaay up in the front. Quinn continues to levitate.

This "5-10 minute walk" took a lot longer for us. Why? This:

Jack meanders like it is his motherfucking job.

And then just because I love this photo because it is very Sam and Quinn.

Sam is being crazy swinging our sweatshirt and Quinn has lost a shoe.

After we had looked at all the animals, I asked if everyone had had fun and they grudgingly admitted that they had. So then I asked them if they could show their gratitude by smiling in unison and not looking crazy for a photo for me.

This is as close as they got.

I'll take it.

There is the last day of spring break. Now perhaps you understand why I was so happy to send them back to school.

* a.k.a. the "farm"

*****

Thank you to Kirstin G. for your donation to the Cheetahs. You all make me so happy. Thank you, my loves.

A Surprisingly Long Post About How I Have Nothing to Write About

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 02:55:00 +0000

Sometimes I don't know what to write about here, even though I really want to write. I actually have a couple really great posts coming up ("No, Stimey!" you say, "They are ALL really great posts!") but they're longer and I haven't had time to write them. Then there are a couple kinda angsty posts I want to write, but I just don't have it in me to get that out right now.

It's gotten to the point where I was so excited to get an invitation to help my friend cut her guinea pigs' toenails because that meant that I would have something to write about. Look for that post next week.

And, yes, I realize that the previous paragraph says a lot about me as both a person and a writer. I'm okay with that.

Then I wanted to show you this picture that Jack drew, that also featured his handwritten caption "look back at the text if you are confused."

Mostly I love the student's little hands.

I do know that I wanted to write to thank my friend BetteJo and my internet soul sister, Jen, for donating to the Cheetahs. The team is 40% of the way to their fundraising goal. How awesome is that? For anyone that wants to attend the actual Cheetah-Thon, you can register at the Cheetahs website. You can also see Jack in a photo with his coach and some of his teammates there on the night his super awesome coach received a community hero award.

Would it make you feel bad if I told you that even with all these things I want to write about here, that I actually DID write somewhere else? Because I did. I'm sorry. You can read all Ten Commandments of Being a Soccer Mom over at White Knuckle Parenting. The thing I didn't include there is that after the game, in which Sam did a really great job, he was all, "I surprised myself! I didn't know I could play that well!" It was really cool. Sam has some confidence issues on the field, so it was so awesome to hear him say that.

With that, I'm off. I hope to return tomorrow with a most entertaining post about either the zoo or a shed. I haven't yet decided which. (I'm trying to maintain some mystery.)

I Sing Because I'm Free

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 17:53:00 +0000

Susan's best friend, Marty, sang this beautiful song at her service in February. I have been hoping that she would record it for us. Today, on Susan's birthday, this beautiful gift...

Thank you, Marty.

Susan, I miss you.

Curt and the munchkins, I am so happy to still have you in my life.

Overcoming Adversity

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 00:26:00 +0000

Jack doesn't eat fruits or vegetables.

Let me be clear: JACK DOES NOT EAT FRUITS OR VEGETABLES.

Caveat: As of last summer he agreed to start eating corn, but only if it is on the cob; he will eat spaghetti sauce and pizza sauce; and he will drink apple juice, but with those three exceptions, Jack DOES NOT eat fruits or vegetables.

Honestly, it is a miracle that he has not yet contracted scurvy.

When he was a baby, he ate everything. I mean, he wouldn't let me put a spoon in his mouth for the first year of his life (seriously; it made feeding him difficult), but he ate everything. Then he stopped.

I have this vivid memory of us eating out at a restaurant when he was probably two years old. There was one piece of asparagus on his plate. He honed in on it immediately and very deftly and gently placed it on a plate that the waitress was removing from the table as if to say, "I won't be needing this, thank you." At this point in time, I consider it a success if he will tolerate a green bean on the veeeery edge of his plate. We haven't gotten to "no thank you" bites yet.

When he was little, if I tried to sneak a raisin into him within a cookie, he would sense the fruit and spit out that part of the cookie. For a while, he refused all cookies—I assume because he was nervous that we would try to sneak an offensive healthy snack into it.

And I would have. I used to make brownies made out of carrot juice and pureed spinach. I was not to be trusted.

To this day, if you give him a food, he will carefully inspect it before he eats it. Try it some time. It's amusing.

In my defense, Jack isn't malnourished. I took him to a nutritionist at Children's Hospital and everything and they say that he seems to be fine what with his vitamins and steady diet of chicken nuggets and peanut butter. We continue to put beans on the edge of his plate.

I tell you all this so you can fully appreciate the essay that he wrote at school that came home with his report card today. The best part is that it is a totally true and accurate story.

As far as I can tell from the paper, Jack had read a story about someone who survived an "ordeal on the mountain because of his courage and strength." His assignment was to write a story about a girl or boy who is able to do something difficult by receiving encouragement from somebody else.

Here is his essay (in the quotes):

How would you describe this boy or girl? "The boy has autism and brown hair. He is very fast. He is 8 years old."

If I had to guess, I would suppose he looks something like this.

What must he or she do? Why? "He had to eat an apple even though he didn't like apples. His father told him to eat it and he would get a reward. His mother dipped the apple in peanut butter and he was brave enough to eat it. He ate it—but threw up."

Everything about that story is true except that it was Alex who dipped it into peanut butter. I think he added me to the story because the next question was "Who gives the encouragement?" and he wanted to answer, "His mother gave encouragement," instead of letting Alex get credit for anything.

There is nothing I don't love about that kid. Well, except for the probable scurvy.

*****

Thank you so much to Jodi and Susan for donating to the Cheetahs. Thank you to EVERYONE who has donated. I added it up today. You guys have raised more than $1000. I did math for you. You guys make my heart siiiiiiiing.

And on the Twelfth Day, Stimey Rested...

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Wed, 11 Apr 2012 01:25:00 +0000

Hi friends! You know what happened today? I spent more than five minutes by myself.

That's right. Spring break is OVER. *chorus of angels*

I am exhausted and my entire family is so sick of each other that we can barely tolerate being in the same room anymore.

The excitement has worn off.

I went into more detail about spring break over at White Knuckle Parenting where I wrote Diary of a Spring Break.

As long as I'm sending you other places to read, you should check out The Thinking Person's Guide to Autism. All month they are showcasing autistic voices by having a bunch of folks answer the same questions. So far, they have all been fantastic, but I'm especially partial to yesterday's autistic person. (Hint: I'm related to him.)

And, as long as I'm at it, I want you all to read the interview I posted at Autism Unexpected. Garret Westlake is the CEO of STEM Force Technology, which is a great company that is working to pair young people on the spectrum with companies looking for their exceptional talent. I don't tend to use the word inspiring much, but this dude and his concept of disability as a catalyst for innovation really is. He's doing good things.

Lastly, I would like to thank Team Butler, my mirror-image family in Boston for their donation to the Cheetahs. Thank you so much!

A Stimeyland Easter

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 04:33:00 +0000

Evidently Quinn checked the fridge this morning and found our dyed Easter eggs still in there so, despite Easter presents in the living room, he determined that the Easter Bunny hadn't hidden any eggs.

He was right.

The Easter Bunny then snapped into quick action.

Fortunately, our kids are not very observant.

Alex then convinced Quinn that a very, very quiet Easter Bunny snuck into our house while they were in another room this morning to get the eggs and hide them. After Quinn checked the fridge again to find the eggs gone, he was impressed by the bunny's magic.

"If I'd gone to get a snack, I might have seen him!" Quinn insisted. To anyone who suggested that it was strange that no one heard the bunny, Quinn said, wide-eyed, "Magic."

"But, Quinn, what about—"

"MAGIC!"

Then Alex and I sat on the porch and watched the munchkins scramble around the backyard.

In addition to the dozen real eggs, we had 24 plastic eggs that I had put candy in. Then I put those eggs in a bag with the leftover candy, figuring the leftovers would get put in a bowl later. When Alex took that bag to the yard to hide the eggs, he dumped the loose candy in a pile in the garden.

Because that makes sense.

It did make these two really happy, however.

Then this happened:

(One of my most liked Facebook statuses ever.)

Then I watched this:

I am a terrible person.

*****

Thanks to the newest Cheetah donors, Lisa R and Dick & Candi. Every time I look at that page and see friends and readers and relatives on that list, I get all gushy and happy inside. Sincerely. Thank you.

Spring and Joy

noreply@blogger.com (Stimey) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 04:12:00 +0000

I have all kinds of super fun spring break stuff to tell you about, full of Stimey snafus and the like, but we have been so busy doing stuff that I haven't had a chance to write. I do have some quick stuff to share though, like this photo of Quinn, where he is actually levitating with joy.

You know what makes ME levitate with joy? The most current batch of Jack supporters who have donated to the Cheetah-Thon. Thank you to Lane & Anne, Nancy & Colleen, Maura, Stacy, Heather, Alessia, Christa, and Team Sandie and the DC crew. Honestly, every time I check that page and I see the generosity from all of my friends, I am so grateful to be part of this amazing Stimeyland and Jackland community.

Oh. Here is something else. Thank you to my new friend—you know who you are—that sent Jack his own NHL puck taped with the date of his "1st career goal."

That puck and the note sent with it blew Jack's mind. You should have seen his smile.

Do you want more joy? Okay, fine. Here is more joy. My friend has new guinea pigs and she went away for Easter, so that means that *I* have new guinea pigs.

Meet Cow and Poppy.

Dude. They are the best. They run around their little cage and snort and oink and squeak. They eat lettuce and oranges and I am allowed to pick them up and cuddle with them.

I love them and I am not entirely sure I want to give them back. Even Alex, who mightily rolled his eyes when I hauled their giant cage in the house has bonded with them and likes them.

Yay for joy!