Live From The Wang

The Great Mammogram Festival of 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 23:20:00 +0000

I went for my first ever mammogram this week, and my first reaction was "Meh - not so bad." The center was a nice place, kind of soft woods and pink and mellow with new agey music playing. If you aren't weirded out by an elderly-ish woman man handling your boobs a lot you'll probably live.
I can see why some people say it hurts. It didn't hurt ME but I think my boobs were mightier than the machine. There is simply only so flat boobs this big will go. So they said they'd contact me in about 10 days and were very nice, even though they had to take EXTRA pics to get all of my boobs in the machine.
I chalked that up to awesome.

However, they called me the next day. And wanted to see me TODAY.

So today I went and learned that they weren't entirely happy with my mammogram as I had an area in my left breast that was so dense they couldn't quite see what was happening. They showed me the mammogram and I totally wanted to snap a pic of it for you guys but that seemed uncool, and when they left the room - they took i off the monitor so I couldn't do it then either.

But, looking at the mammogram, my first reaction was WELL YOU HAVE TO CUT ALL OF THAT OUT because it looked like some hideous, soon to kill me sort of mass. But she explained that serious density looks white like bone and not to freak (too late).

So we did some different kind of ultrasound that wasn't as easy peasy as the first one, more squishy and slightly hurty.

After that, they sent me out to this sort of waiting room area with lots of other ladies in pink robes, also waiting. I learned from them that if "the radiologist comes in, it's bad news." Right about that point, the radiologist came from one of them and she burst into tears.

Everyone in the room was in a weird sort of freak out. It was so odd. There was tea and snacks and coffee, and we're all wearing these pink robes like a cult, waiting to hear if we've got cancer or what is up. Strange sisterhood for sure. Some of them had cancer before, and now were back because something new had shown up. I felt a lot better at that point, the unknown seemed less scary than being pretty sure the bad thing was there.

Then a new lady came in and called my name to come back for an ultrasound because they STILL couldn't see. The ultrasound lasted over an hour. They found two spots, round and small - less than 1cm (I watched them measure) and lots of nothing otherwise. I swear to you, they took like 50 pictures. Eventually my back started to ache and the arm over my head was going numb. When she let me let me be done and sit up, I sat and again wished she'd left the images up so I could snap one. But she didn't so I just sat there and read email.

She came back, WITH THE RADIOLOGIST.

This was the scary bit, because the conversations around me were "This is the first one, this is the second one, here is the first one, here is the second one." I lay there while they did the ultrasounds starting all over again, looking at everything again with him watching the machine live instead of looking at stills.

After they got done, he told me that he felt like it was a duct, or a fatty deposit or a cyst and didn't look worrisome as they didn't see blood going to it. However, I have to go back in six months to make sure "nothing changes".

That's kind of disconcerting.

My diagnosis "probably benign."

That is just shy of "not benign and will in fact kill you" so, I am going to give my doctor a couple of days to get the results and then I want to talk to him. Probably benign isn't really good enough to me. I want to hear THIS IS BENIGN AND WILL NOT KILL YOU WE PROMISE which is not what they said.

So, I guess they're going to have to find a way to say that.

My First Mammogram

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:05:00 +0000

I should've gotten one when I was 40 but I got pregnant. Then I should've had one when I was 41 but I was nursing. I should've have one when I was 42 but I was avoiding the doctor because I was still annoyed with him for having gutted me while conscious to remove my child.
But now I'm 43 and Dday is here. Or Mday perhaps.

They said not to wear any perfume or deodorant in the breast area. I'm assuming they mean just don't WEAR any because I don't ACTUALLY put deodorant on my breasts. Does someone DO this?
I mean how much do your boobs sweat if you need deodorant?

I could've asked this question but I was nervous and just saying "ok Ok Ok" to everything they told me to do.

So anyway, I've got hot coffee and it's storming, and I'm about to go get dressed and then try to remember not to slather my boobs with deodorant.

This should be interesting.

The Important Stories

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 05:15:00 +0000

The weekend ritual at bed time is that the oldest boy gets into bed with me. It's his old, very little boy habit. I was a typical first time mother and had him in our bed until he was nearly three I swear. He would still sleep there every single night if allowed.
But now there is a third member of our night time snuggle before sleep.
The girl is there, with her thumb and with teddy.

We snuggle, we three. Every night he is there, he asks me to tell him the stories he doesn't remember. So I tell him how I only had a pregnancy test done at my doctor to rule that out, since they thought I couldn't have babies. I tell him how surprised I was when they called to say I was going to have him, and how hard I cried.
We laugh when I tell the story of how on my way to the visit where I learned I was pregnant with his brothers, I had a flat tire and had to change it. I was late to the appointment because I was changing a tire.
Then, I came home from what was supposed to be a routine appointment to tell his Daddy we were having a baby.

We laugh and he gets embarrassed when I tell him the girl was planned and we tried and tried for her. "No details MOM! ICK!" he giggles.

We talk about our family and the people he knows and doesn't know. I tell him stories of MY grandpa and how wonderful he was. We decide we'll make pancakes on Sunday, like my grandpa used to. He says "It'll be like he's here! That'll be spooky but nice because we can remember him even though I don't know him."

And I think yeah, it will be like that.

To me, it'll just be nice.

Because I do know him.

33 Years of Womanhood

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 00:36:00 +0000

It's weird when you think about it like that. But I got my period when I was 10. I'm now 43. That means for 33 years I've been enjoying the curse of Eve's Fall, the visit from Aunt Flow, Aunt Martha's Big Red Bus, Shark Week as it were.
I thought I was rolling headlong into menopause and was pretty sad about it, despite getting the tubes tied in 2010 it felt like the end of an era, as it were. It felt like something girly and female was dying inside me as my hormones have raged out of control and my cycles ramp up getting worse and ickier each month.
Except, I went to the doctor and he said "Nope, no menopause here."

However, he did feel that my periods are going to get worse not better. He suggested endometrial ablasion which mostly made me want to throw up in my mouth. "Come into my office and we'll burn out the inside of your uterus, then you can go home and it'll seep icky death ooze out on a pad for a week or two."

Or....

Hysterectomy.

He favors the latter. He was honest and said he prefers it bcse he is a surgeon and he likes to do the solution that he can control and that he knows will be 100% effective. I'm also anemic and have to start taking more iron which is also another reason why he favors it.

So then I start thinking about, well, do a partial or do the whole thing? Do it at all? I mean if you do a partial they leave the ovaries and then those are just in there to go bad and sneak up on you and give you ovarian cancer, then you die a horrible death. But, your risk of breast cancer is less if you get the partial hysterectomy and they only give you one kind of synthetic hormones.

Or do I just let it all ride and live through this anemia and misery possibly another ten years or longer.

Do I really want to have my PERIOD FOR 40+ years because that's a huge possibility.

I wanted to be done with surgery for this lifetime. I truly did. But I'd be OUT for this one. I'm not sure I'm brave enough. They'd do robotic surgery with the Davinci machine which is pretty fancy.

It would look like this.

I mean CRAP that's scary enough right?

Too many things to think about. But it's out there and I will have to make a decision at some point sooner rather than later. I don't know yet what I'll do.

I Resent My Kid

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 00:23:00 +0000

You probably know that our twins have autism. What you probably don't know, what most people don't know,it isn't what you think of from TV. It's not awkward people who speak brokenly and converse little or poorly. It's nothing like that.
Autism is not one thing. When you have strep throat, you have a specific bacteria and they can see it and medical science goes "Oh HAI Streptococcus here have some penicillin - BEGONE!." Sort of like that.

But, if you have autism, it's more of "Hmmm something is wrong, lets make a list of the things that aren't right and if enough of them fall into THIS sort of category, we'll call it Autism." That's why it's a spectrum - it's a sick rainbow of verbal and mental disability. The kind you don't want any part of.

At our house we dabble in a variety of severe autism that could certainly be worse but also is bad enough that we get fierce envy of those with moderate autism or even Aspergers. It causes stress and strife in ways I pretty much leave off this blog but it's making the headlines today because I'm cranky and feeling more than a bit selfish.

My sweet Miles, my boy who cuddles and kisses and says I love also has other problems. First of all, he has a form of separation anxiety when it comes to me that basically means he is with me, a few feet away, at all time when he is at home. He throws tantrums of both the bratty and the autistic kind. The most frustrating thing about Miles, until recently, is that he CAN speak. He can SAY anything. He can read and write and he can do math. At school. At home he's nearly nonverbal other than the nonstop echolalia (that's where the repeat stuff randomly, nonstop in our case).

We've started to have trouble though. Tantrums, spitting at people at school over the past few months. Screaming, raving, hitting, the sort of tantrums we don't get at home. Now in the mornings on the bus, he is screaming his hitting and kicking and spitting to the point that it's going to be a problem. It'll be our second go round with spitting on the bus. Last time they started talking "spit guard" but then, the bus driver and the administration had a go round and we got a new bus driver and started from zero.

But now it's looming. I feel it pressing down on me, and so does the husband. It's like when we're in public and one or both of them is "acting autistic" but people are looking at us like we're crazy. You know, because they "look normal" but don't "act normal".

Here we are.

My first reaction was, I don't care how much he screams and kicks and yells. I have THREE KIDS TO GET TO SCHOOL PLUS MYSELF TO WORK OMG I CANNOT DRIVE HIM TO SCHOOL.

My life, to a lesser degree than my husbands, is dictated to me by autism. My sleep last night for example, interrupted until about 2am by crying or screaming boys, is never guaranteed. My free time, ditto. I'm typing as fast as I can right now because disaster looms around every corner.

The twins are BEHIND me right now. I can't see them. They could be doing ANYTHING.

My only pure moments of alone, Gidge time, exist in my bed when I am asleep (see above Miles goes into the bathroom with me always), and about 45 minutes every morning. Every morning after the twins get on the bus, I get the oldest boy out of bed and serve him breakfast and escape to this computer with a cup of coffee.

I talk to my people inside the shiny box. I do stuff that makes me happy. I shut off my brain and I escape. Into stupid hobbies and conversations and, it's wonderful. Then my time is up and I hop up and run off into the world.

But as I lay in their bed between them with one of them sobbing for no apparent reason and the other one singing ABCs, it just sort of washed over me that I was going to have to. Selfishness isn't an option when you are a parent. It's a luxury when you get to indulge in it. But, my child is terrorizing the other children on that bus by his behavior. How would I feel if MY special little boy was being terrorized by the bad child on the bus? I'd be pretty upset.

I want to protect his dignity, I don't want a spit guard he's not Hannibal Lector. I just want.......I want this to stop. So I've told the husband to contact the school to see what we can do.

I was able to be selfish and self indulgent for 34 years. And then I became a mother. I turned in that card on the day Lou was born.

I resent it. Because I want to be young and free. But the truth of the matter is, if I were faced with no children or these children, I'd take these children 100% of the time.

Despite all their faults and my complaints.

I Like This Guy Called SHAKESPEARE

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 00:59:00 +0000

I think it's just a symptom of the internets in general, a segment of us -hell even probably me sometimes, wants to appear smarter/wiser/cleverer than we are. I find the epidemic of ridiculous responses you see on social networks to be an ever growing annoyance to me though.
Case in point. This question is posed: "I'm looking for something new to read."

Some clove smoking douchebag always has to pipe up with KEATS or, YEATS, or BYRON or if they want to appear more hip and relevant they toss out Palahnuik (first rule of reading FIGHT CLUB, we don't MENTION Fight Club). Somebody always suggests Khalil Ghibran and then there's the jerk who comes up with something random like JACK LONDON.

NO ONE IS READING JACK LONDON ARE YOU SHITTING ME YOU ARE READING JACK LONDON FOR REALS?

We can't admit to reading mainstream pop fiction, is that the thing? I'm pretty sure that SOMEONE out there is reading all those "Cat who wrote books and solved mysteries" books. I don't really know what those books are, I never read them. But I know there are a lot of them so someone is reading them, I feel certain of it.

Like right now, I'm ready to start reading book three in the Game of Thrones saga. - A STORM OF SWORDS. Yeah I'm reading it because EVERYONE IS READING it. I am reading it because HBO made a series and it's good. Plus it's got sex and violence and monsters and that's all good to me.

I don't think there is anything WRONG with reading the classics. I don't think there is anything wrong with re-reading the classics. I just think it's kind of hilarious, no one is EVER EVER reading THE ZOMBIE SURVIVAL GUIDE (which BTW is #2 right now on the New York Times best selling paperbacks as of today), or some John Grisham who I see on the best sellers list - AGAIN.

It's not because social media sites are populated by nothing but THE LITERATI. In fact, I suspect it's quite the opposite. But perhaps it's because we want you to THINK we are, that we make such pretensions.

I, for one, think perhaps you should check out Shakespeare's Sonnet's. I hear they are QUITE popular. OOO and you know who is awesome? STEINBECK!

Fssssss. I love the internets.

A Synopsis of Twilight Breaking Dawn: by a 9 Year Old

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 13:19:00 +0000

A random discussion of Twilight Breaking Dawn, which no one in this house has seen, prompted the oldest boy to offer up his interpretation of the storylilne.
According to him: There's this vampire and this werewolf and they both got giggety with this girl and she's pregnant now and going to have this MONSTER baby that's going to rip her apart when it's born. Plus it's going to destroy the earth so somehow they have to stop all that from happening plus they both still want to get giggety with the girl.

Well ok. I can see why this franchise is so popular, now.

Christmas Doesn't Just Happen

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 23:44:00 +0000

There is this great episode of Family Guy where Lois goes off her rocker because Peter blew off getting more paper towel after she's slaved to make the holidays happen once again.
Christmas isn't easy. In a family of six it's an exercise in logistical expertise.
My husband would be the one who gets the nod for pulling it off. Getting the presents organized, watching the sales, doing 99.99999% of the wrapping. Making the big man's contributions appropriate, he does it all.

It never fails to amaze me, the WORK of Christmas. Somehow he always gets it all done, and manages to celebrate on Christmas day with us despite the few hours of sleep he ends up with.

He makes it magical, whether it's your 10th Christmas or your second. It's an amazing lot of work he puts into it and I don't tell him thank you enough.

I should also say thank you for eating the cookies and mile every year. This year was a peppermint overload. Sorry about that. :)

Thanks Hunny. It was great this year as always, because of you.

We Might Watch Too Much TV

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 01:31:00 +0000

I'm not sure if we watch too much TV or not but last night the cable blinked out for a moment and while the cable box was rebooting, the TV was all blue screened out and the girl starts yelling.

"TEEEBEEE!!! OH NOOOO!"
"OOOHH NOO TEEEBEEE WHAT YOU DOING???"
"TEEBEE! OH NO NO NO TEEEE BEEEEE"
"TEEE BEEEE I WUV YOU!"

Teee beee, we wuv you.

More than Mrs Claus it would seem.

9 Years Ago Today

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 17:18:00 +0000

I giggled all the way through the vows.
I had to wear a nightshirt on the drive to the chapel because my hair and veil was done - and nothing else I had brought with me didn't go over my head.
We ate dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, which also had a salad bar.
We couldn't get over the fact that something we hadn't thought would matter, would in fact make us feel so very different.

Happy Anniversary.

Thank you for asking.

The New Santa Arrives

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 21:56:00 +0000

So we have this large collection of Santa's on our mantle. Every year we get a new Santa and it's kind of a fun thing, looking for the perfect NEW Santa to sit on the mantle with the others.
But our Santas have a dark past.

You see, they are in fact HOSTAGES from the past.

Once upon a time I had a friend who moved in and out of my house more than once. This friend was likeable and affable but not terrible responsible nor practical.
He once ate five pounds of cheese. Out of my refrigerator. That he did not pay for.
I mean, in GENERAL it wouldn't be a problem if someone over time ate all the cheese. If you live in my house I love you like family and you're welcome to eat my food.
But, it's sort of bizarre at best that you might not EXPECT especially after just having purchased said cheese.
But that's not the point. The last time he moved out and moved on to his new life adventure, he left behind a small collection of santas.
WHICH I NOW CALL MY OWN. AS PAYMENT FOR SAID CHEESE.

Yeah that's right. I KEPT THEM AS HOSTAGES.
They seem to like it here. They're happy living comfortably in boxes most of the year but they get to come out and be the decorative focal point (aside from the tree) of our Christmas living room.

No. You can't have them back. YOU MADE YOUR CHOICE CHEESE EATER!

(PS If you read this, I love you. Hope you are well.)

So I I Know I'm In My 40s But...

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 23:27:00 +0000

Ok I'm going to own up straight off the bat to liking a terrible song.
I LIKE MOVES LIKE JAGGER from Maroon 5.
Ok seriously, it's a fluff piece and I'm not above being in love with some serious fluff in my life. I'll bawl like a baby during Steel Magnolias and Fried Green Tomatoes. So I get it. It's a dance tune supposed to be sexy and catchy and festive. It's all of those things. Except that it doesn't make any SENSE.
For a while I thought I had BINGO JED syndrome and was mishearing the lyrics. So I looked them up a couple of different places. I also looked up the Wiki on this song (WTF DOES EVERYTHING HAVE A WIKI?)
So then let's go through it because it starts off making sense.
Just shoot for the stars
If it feels right
And aim for my heart
If you feel like
And take me away and make it OK
I swear I'll behave

You wanted control
So we waited
I put on a show
Now I make it
You say I'm a kid
My ego is big
I don't give a shit
And it goes like this
So far it's ok right? I mean it's like hey girl I like you and I'm trying to impress you to get sexy times.
Take me by the tongue
And I'll know you
Kiss me 'til you're drunk
And I'll show you

All the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger

I don't need to try to control you
Look into my eyes and I'll own you

With them moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger
I've got the moves like Jagger

I gotta raise a slight eyebrow at this point because, the whole "take me by the tongue" thing, while meant to be sexy just gives me this image of Willie Wonka grabbing Veruka Salt by the tongue and saying "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." And see Gene Wilder isn't sexy and so now I'm in a not sexy place AT ALL with this song which is tragic because Adam Levine IS the sexy as seen HERE:

And Willie Wonka Gene Wilder is NOT as seen HERE:

So already I'm sideways on the sexy with this song. Plus, to me, Mick Jagger isn't really sexy. I didn't ever think he was sexy when he was younger and I really never found him to be a good dancer, if anything he's more like a creepy uncle trying to be sexy when he dances. So, at this point the entire POINT of the song is failing for me.

But I love me some Adam Levine and a catchy tune so I plod onward.
Maybe it's hard
When you feel like you're broken and scarred
Nothing feels right
But when you're with me
I'll make you believe
That I've got the key

Oh
So get in the car
We can ride it
Wherever you want
Get inside it
And you want to steer
But I'm shifting gears
I'll take it from here (Oh! Yeah yeah!)
And it goes like this (Uh)

Ok so, now, is this a metaphor car? Because if it's a METAPHOR car then I guess she wanted to be on top but now he's going to be on top. That's my take away. Oh and she's got emotional issues from previous relationships and he's going to fix them with sexytimes (see above picture for verification).
Now Xtina Aguilara comes in (see how hip I am with the cool spelling) and she's got this big secret she's going to share with him.
You wanna know how to make me smile
Take control, own me just for the night
And if I share my secret
You're gonna have to keep it
Nobody else can see this

So watch and learn
I won't show you twice
Head to toe, oooh baby rub me right
But if I share my secret
You're gonna have to keep it
Nobody else can see this (Ay! Ay! Ay! Aaay!)

And it goes like this

Ok so first off, the Wiki says that this is supposed to be like a sort of flirtation dance that takes place in a club with a guy trying to impress a girl with his dance moves. Well, if that's the case, I'm not sure what sort of club it is because if this girl is showing him what I THINK she is showing him, well, that's just not very ladylike to do in public.

All that aside, I like this damned song.

And it goes like this........

The Near Death Experience Of A Stranger

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 01:06:00 +0000

Imagine I am driving on the highway above. It's dark because it's after 6:30pm. It's also drizzly and cold and the traffic is a lot worse because it's rush hour leaving the Atlanta Metro.
I'm listening to the station that is playing Christmas tunes and singing along. In front of me is a big old tractor trailer that keeps sort of trailing over that right lane on the right. Just a foot or two over. Then he corrects. This goes on for a couple of miles so I am kind of keeping my eye on him.
The rain picks up a bit and the semi again slips to the right, the entire rig crossing the white line onto the shoulder and then suddenly makes a swerve so hard to the left that the trailer bounces.

Walking along the road is a hitchhiker. Exactly in the path along the shoulder where that semi was.

I SCREAMED.

For a split second I saw the cab plow into him and throw him under the wheels/to the side of the road/back at my van and then I realized he was fine. The truck driver had missed him. By what had to be inches.

He didn't even turn around. He kept his thumb up, his jacket blew as the trailer rushed past him and then me.

I nearly watched you die dude. I wonder if you even care.

A Day For Trains

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 01:10:00 +0000

Several years of my childhood were spent in a house that was as legally close to a railroad track as could be. The house shook and windows rattled every time the engines went blowing past the back of our house. I've often said that my brother's love of trains, and the reason he is an engineer now, is that his prenatal lullaby was the shaking and grumbling of Conrail.

My own boys love them though, so maybe it's just little boys who love trains. We went to the local rail museum to wander through cars in the middle of refurb and enjoy the blasts from the past, from days when rail travel was normal and not some exotic adventure.
The best part of this trip was probably when we walked into the shed and were surprised by who was working on the desk.

And some of our party were EXTREMELY excited to see him.

Trains are cool. Trains + Santa = UBER COOL.

There Are Feasts And There Are Feasts

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 16:59:00 +0000

My oldest son and I have been talking a lot about Thanksgiving this year. Probably because he's nine and because he never, ever stops talking. One of the things we've talked about is how much he likes our family traditions. We start out our day with a special breakfast that always includes a fun treat, like this year it was monkey bread.

And then while the big meal is cooking, during the day we have a lunch snack that is more like a feast of appetizer foods, cheese, sausages, sausage stars, treats of various sorts that are designed to snack and munch rather than be a formal meal. We eat this about the time most other people eat their "meal".

During most of the rest of the day, we just hang out. We watch movies, sometimes we play a game or two, but we spend the time TOGETHER. We watch the parades (Macy's and McDonald's) and spend our hours snuggling on the sofas and playing.

The boy asked me yesterday, as we were tooling around doing things, why would MOVIES come on out Thanksgiving and Christmas? Those are holidays, he informed me, why would people go to the movies on HOLIDAYS?
I told him that people get worn out being stuck with their families so they go out to the movies for something to do.
He was pretty puzzled by this but went on about his day. But he came back around later and said "I think we're lucky, because we like to spend time together, so we don't have to go to the movies we can be happy just being with our family. I think that's weird that people don't like their family."
Yeah, we are lucky.

I Was Denied Both Indians AND Pilgrims

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 04:41:00 +0000

So we went to the oldest boy's school for the traditional Thanksgiving lunch (served properly one week BEFORE Thanksgiving on Thursday). I kind of like this, because, we go and eat in the cafeteria with the kids and we get to go through the line with all the kids and get food.

It's cool to see how they do it now - different from when we were in school. These new fangled educators do a thing called "OFFERED" vs. "SERVE". They put food out on a cafeteria style line and the kids select what they want. One entree, two sides, etc etc.

Back in my day, they slopped food on your plate AND YOU WERE GRATEFUL.

Ok that's totally a lie you weren't, you just simply threw away that crap you didn't want. So that makes this way much better.

I love that part of it, and I love seeing the kids performing on the piano, all the artwork in the hallways, and especially all the kindergartners and first graders dressed up like Indians and Pilgrums. Little paper hats and headresses, paying homage to the first Thanksgiving where we told the American Indians THANK YOU FOR HELPING US STAY ALIVE OH HEY WE'RE GOING TO NEED ALL THIS LAND.

Except for THIS year.

THERE WERE NO PILGRIMS OR INDIANS!

This annoyed the crap out of me. Where were my Indians? Where were my Pilgrims?
Have we gotten so PC we can't be American Indians who really WERE at the Thanksgiving and we really WERE glad for them to be at that meal? If that's the case - THEN WHERE WERE MY PILGRMS??
Surely there is no white guilt in dressing up like Pilgrims? Or maybe were the Pilgrims t0o religious? I'd say it's separation of church and state run amok but I live in the bible belt and so that's not it.

I'm chalking it up to lazy teachers and or no budget for glue and construction paper. Which is a crime because it's epic cute and ridiculously fun.

However, the very best part of the entire lunch is the part the big boy looks forward to the most.

Showing off his baby.

He wheels her around, up and down the aisles, making sure all the kids get to see her. He skipped ICE CREAM to make sure he had enough time.

Watching him push her around, I'm pretty sure I know what he's thankful for.

The End - For Now

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 00:19:00 +0000

It was a weird thing for me as a Mom, having my oldest boy play football this year.

I wasn't ready for it, the worry and the heartache of seeing my baby suit up in pads and a helmet.

But as the season wore on, it was exciting. He did so well, and suddenly before my eyes he started to grow up. He started to toughen up. My son became stronger, and less fearful, more confidant. He started to become a bigger boy.

The boy has been sheltered his whole life. I think that's a good thing really. But eventually every mama bird has to let them fly, even if it's just a bit.

He got hurt, just a bit, and he cried. He wanted to quit. But then he didn't. And he felt the joy of victory. He learned that hard work pays off.

He learned that sometimes, just sometimes, things aren't easy.

And I learned that 8 year old boys can play football. Real football. It was amazing to behold.

At the end of the season they stood undefeated as they headed into the playoffs. Our second game the boy had to learn to lose, but he handled it pretty gracefully. His dad sent him down to remove the playoffs yard sign after the game, a small mourning ceremony but he took it well.

I am so proud of him. Not for "playing football". Rather, I'm proud of him for doing something hard and not quitting. I'm proud of him for learning lessons on being tough while still being the kind, gentle boy he is.

I think he'll play next year. But it doesn't matter if he does or does not. Because this year he learned something and flew a little bit further away, then returned. Next year it will be the next thing and then the next. As along as we keep going, we're doing it right.

She Is The Best Thing I Ever Gave Him

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 00:08:00 +0000

He wanted a baby for years. We had her just in time.

Everything Changes

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 12:36:00 +0000

That is a seven year old severely autistic boy, writing words.

Last night I taught him to spell his little sister's name, and he smiled and laughed. Then, he looked at her, erased her name and wrote a new word.

He wrote BABY.

I think everything just changed.

Halloween Traditions Old And New

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 00:09:00 +0000

As long as there have been twins in this house, there have been Twins Club holiday parties. I joined when I was pregnant (it's where I met the awesome Sarah) and ever since joining, we've drug our entire crew out for every holiday party we could. The Halloween/Fall parties have always so much fun.

The usually include bounce houses, and crafts and a picnic which is ridiculously fun. I don't know why, it just is. I think I'll be really sad when my kids are finally too big to do this stuff.

Yeah he's facing the wrong way. He's autistic leave him alone!
The new thing we do for Halloween time is that for the past two years we've gone to Six Flags for FRIGHT FEST which is spoooooky fun. SEE....

The put up graveyards and cobwebs and flood the park with fog at night. Plus there are spooky characters roaming around to make it extra Halloweeny.

The most "nervous about spooky stuff kid in the world" wanted to get his picture taken with these guys who did this zombie old west show. This slays me.
It also slays me to write "zombie old west show".

They also do trick or treating with ladies dressed up in dresses that I THINK are supposed to be southern belles, but I am fairly sure Miss Scarlet would call this look Poor White Trash. We all know how bad and tacky that is.

The girl didn't get to ride too much but I think at 18 months she's doing just fine in the stroller ride.

I like going to Fright Fest. It's a huge undertaking to take six people to an amusement park all day but it's a lot of fun when the day is themed like this. I hope we keep doing this one.

The Pumpkin Ritual

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 23:11:00 +0000

Murdering pumpkins is a long standing family tradition. I like to blame IT'S THE GREAT PUMPKIN CHARLIE BROWN for this. In my family it's just not Halloween if we don't murder some pumpkins and watch the Great Pumpkin.

I let my children participate in the carnage because you know, it's fun to gut stuff together. In fact, the oldest boy does it exactly long enough to say he participated and then he's kind of icked out by the process. I swear I'm going to make him do it all next year.

We also like to paint their faces to mock their demise. Bwaaahaaahaaa pumpkins your fate lies in our hands! BEHOLD THE SILLY FACES WE WILL MAKE YOU WEAR!

It's sort of sad really, these pumpkins go to their end manhandled and mocked. But I didn't tell them to be plants. I learned, on the TV, so you know it's true, that the only place on Earth that pumpkins won't grow is Antarctica. This makes Antarctica a lesser place in my mind. I'm not sure I'd want to live in a place with no pumpkins.

How could a place exist without these amazing orbs of joy that exist only to make wee ones smile?

Well, and frighten off demons. They're good for that too.

I'm thinking the demon population in Antarctica must be running rampant. That's another good reason to avoid that place.

I'm Not Sure I Understand...

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 12:02:00 +0000

I realize I've never claimed to be a cool mom but as my son keeps telling me that he's a space matador in Lego Universe I have to confess, all I can think of is something like this.

OLE!

Halloween Logistics

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 11:38:00 +0000

At my house Halloween begins with the trip to the mountains for pumpkins. Going to the pumpkin patch has always been a family tradition for us. We took the first boy when he was weeks old, strapped on to my chest with a baby carrier, and listened to the old farmer tell us about brown fat which we thought was an old wives tale but is apparently true.

When I lived in Indiana, the pumpkin patch was a trip to a big flat open place under more sky than I can properly verbalize. I miss the big flat land and all that sky, but it wasn't that pretty. It was functional, as most things in Indiana are. In Kentucky it was a folksy farm, sort of similar to the farms of Indiana. In Florida it was really just an imitation pumpkin patch I'm not even sure you can grow pumpkins in that soil. The boy scouts would lay out pumpkins like a field and we'd go run around them and pick out our winners.
But in Georgia, in Georgia it's magical.

There is a hayride with inclines so steep you feel like you're gonna fall out. You go through a stream and there are talking pumpkins that tell you about how God gave us pumpkins. I SWEAR I LOVE THAT PART.

There are huge swaths of pumpkins to run and play and to choose exactly what you want. No reason to choose just a plain old orange pumpkin when they have red and blue and white too!

A friend on plurk asked me the other day how I find the energy to do all the stuff we do with our kids. I've thought about that a lot. It's not about energy. I don't have ANY of that. It's about willpower. You have to have the willpower, despite being tired and having the cranky, go get four kids dressed and get out of the house.

Because they won't ever be 9, 7, 7 and 18 months old again. When I'm long dead, I want them to tell their grandkids about how their Mom and Dad used to take them to the mountains to get pumpkins. And how we ate fried pies and went on hay rides and everyone got their own pumpkin.

My children are my immortality. I'm making sure mine is a good one.

The Best Thing in The World

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 23:18:00 +0000

Are snot flavored baby kisses. True story.

Downtime

noreply@blogger.com (Gidge) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 18:09:00 +0000

Some fresh air after all day at the hospital.