Author Archives: The Domestic Goddess

The Best Handstand in the Land

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This blurry picture represents how hard Bugaboo has worked the past nine months.

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He started in gymnastics in October and didn’t really know what to expect. I knew he was physically active and had freakish strength but had no idea what he was capable of. So I found someone willing to give Bugaboo a chance.

I had to go with him (in other words, they allowed me on the floor with him) and still go with him to make sure he doesn’t dart away, but he has gone from learning to wait his turn to participating in the whole class. It was NOT easy for me. It was physically demanding, and given my history of back and neck issues I had to suck it up, work through the pain and give him a chance to succeed. And succeed he did!  Even the brief hiatus when he broke his arm didn’t slow him down. He still did hand stands with one arm. :)

See? He used to wall to keep him propped up but he STILL did handstands with his broken arm. NOTHING STOPS THIS KID. Not even elephant-strength sleeping medication. Just sayin'.

See? He used the wall to keep him propped up but he STILL did hand stands with his broken arm. NOTHING STOPS THIS KID. Not even elephant-strength sleeping medication. Just sayin’.

Anywho, when he went up at the end of their final show last night to receive his award, and I saw how many parents and loved ones clapped and cheered for MY kid, I suddenly had something in my eye. Sniff, sniff. He did something with his TYPICAL peers. He excelled at it. He had the BEST HANDSTAND in his class. And he enjoyed it and looked forward to it every single week.

So did his Momma.

Now, he wouldn’t do ALL of his floor routine (not his favorite part) but earlier on when they were rotating stations, he darted across the floor and I called him back through some mighty-tightly-clenched teeth. Before he came back skipping and giggling (I’M SO FUNNY, MOM) he did a fabulous handstand and held it for about 15 seconds. Long enough for the audience to giggle and laugh. I was sort of embarrassed but he still didn’t notice them up there. It wasn’t until the end when he did he last vault of the night that he looked up and noticed a group of people sitting in the observation area.Then he went right on like nothing was different.

This is what I love about my kid. He just keeps on going. Nothing stops him. Nothing. Sure, he’s afraid of things (Like the high bar, even though he’s the monkey bar champ at his school) but he keeps trying. He keeps going. He tries and tries and tries. Eventually, in his own way, he “gets” it. This Momma is so proud.

I can’t thank the staff enough for being patient enough and willing enough to give Bugaboo a chance. That’s all our kids need. A chance. A chance, the right people and a way to show them that they can do things just like their “typical” peers.

Sometimes it could be the best hand stand in the class.

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So You Think You Can Blog?

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At Bug Boy’s school they have this nifty little “Dimensions in Living Day” each year, which is fancy speak for “Career Day.” We’re all about fancy talk in these here parts, you know. That’s how it is in college towns and whatnot. The list of careers this year includes some local actors and professionals, the medical examiner for the county, our pro soccer team coach (whose kids go to our school), bakers, singers, rock musicians, architects and bloggers.

Yes, bloggers.

And guess who is going to be speaking? To three groups? And has to act all professional and stuff?

If you said “Chelsea Clinton” you’re wrong. Try again. She lives a LITTLE CLOSER to the school.

Nope, not my neighbor, either. But you’re getting warmer.

OK, FINE. I WILL TELL YOU, IT’S ME.

What? Why are you looking at me that way? I’m all about this, yo! I can talk about blogging! I mean, I’ve done if for eight years! I’ve even gotten PAID TO DO IT (I know, right?) so just HUSH YOUR MOUTH NOW.

Anywho, the whole point of this post? So that when I show the students my blog it will look grown up and stuff. Also I get to tell them that blogging is all about being yourself, saying something important and putting yourself out there while protecting yourself at the same time. Y’all need to have a little fun with it, try something new! ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT.

Seriously, though. They asked me (and another parent). Since I’m the current president of the “Too Stupid to Say No” Club, otherwise known as the Home and School Association (that’s fancy speak for PTO), I had to do it. Because I like free lunches and seeing my name in print.

No, that’s not true. I was kidding. It’s because I like public speaking.

HAHAHA!!! JUST KIDDING! AGAIN!

It’s because I’m a former teacher and I value education (this is actually the true part). I think blogging is fun, I’ve been moderately successful at it, and I have been paid to do it sometimes. And while I’ve taking a hiatus from paid writing for personal and family reasons for the time being, I hope to get back into the swing of things and do it on a more regular basis soon. Perhaps someday I’ll write a book (this part is actually part of the true part, too!) because I’ve got tons to say. Tons to say about nothing at all. Nothing in particular. And yet all tens of you keep coming back.

I started this blog because I needed a creative outlet. I sort of wanted a diary but since they’re all eighties-Molly-Ringwald-in-Pretty-in-Pink-WHAT ABOUT PROM-like, I decided on a web log (BLOG), instead. I wanted to chronicle what I went through to raise my children to the best of my ability, all while finding myself as a special needs parent and adjusting to being a stay-at-home parent Domestic Goddess. I also like to do silly things. Blogs are AWESOME for people who like to do silly things. In the privacy of their own home. And then put it on the internets for millions of people to see.

Like interpretive dances.

Or blogging about my colonoscopy.

And telling folks about disastrous family vacations.

Or showing them what my house looks like.

And spreading positive messages about Special Needs and Autism.

And keeping it real.

So there you have it. Blogging. In a nutshell. A whole eight years devoted to my dogs and my muddy backyard. Amazing what people will pay you to write nowadays.

Go forth and be prolific.

I Should Be Careful What I Wish For

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Disclaimer: If you are easily offended by sarcasm, this is not a post for you. Warning: May contain sarcasm, jokes, humor, drollery, jocularity, amusing tidbits, farcical comments, facetiousness, ludicrous speed or comedy. In other words, it’s all in jest and I’m just trying to be funny. And you should never take me seriously anyways. Sheesh. Thank you.

Bugaboo doesn’t speak.

I mean, he doesn’t speak verbally with his voice. He makes PLENTY of noise (and we special education teachers KNOW that nonverbal children are sometimes the loudest children of all, funny how that works, no?) and there has been more than one moment when I’ve asked him to turn it down to at least eleven.

They’ve done an AAC (assistive augmentative communication. I think.) trial with him at school for the past two months. Now, we’ve done AAC trials before and he had NO INTEREST whatsoever. But something has clicked in him. Something is different. Maybe it’s the ten pounds and six inches he grew. Perhaps it is from the two sizes his feet have grown and it’s squeezing his brains back into his feet. Maybe it’s because he is better regulated, sensory-wise. Or maybe his health has been good for a long time and his body can do things it has wanted to do for years.

Two weeks into that trial he was inputting sentences. I’ve written about this before, yo. Pay attention! Anywho, he was telling how he FELT. He was requesting food and places to go. Somedays he’d bring me “Steak, outside” Which meant he wanted to grill steak (INORITE?) or “Dogs, outside” because Daisy, our border collie, can be a bit of a pain in the bum. Or, “I’m happy, shower!” When he was excited about playing in water.

But last week he found the button I was hoping he’d never find.

WHY

Not letter Y, either. He stumbled upon a category I had temporarily moved, since WH-questions aren’t exactly in his repertoire. And all day he would input, “Outside. Why?” or “I want Target, m&ms, WHY?” Overandoverandoverandover.

I’m now convinced that if he could verbally say what he wanted, like out loud and stuff? He’d have echolalia (which THANK YOU BABY JEBUS Bug Boy grew out of about two years ago, though sometimes will still repeat things over and over). And I’d be going insane and covering my ears because he’d be repeating things overandoverandover. And more than just, “I WAAAAANT! I WAAAAAAANT!” Hoe. Lee. Cow.

It’s sort of falling into that, “Be careful what you wish for!” category. Because I’ve HOPED AND DREAMED for this for all of his ten years. And now I’m all “ZOMG maybe having a nonverbal child isn’t such a bad thing after all!”

After all, there was a time that I hoped and prayed for patience.

I’m fairly certain that one was answered. I should keep my mouth shut for now on.

Just sayin‘.

Bust a Move

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Back in January I herniated yet another disc in my back. To be fair, it was the SAME disc that I’ve injured several times before. This time wasn’t half as bad as others (No wheelchair this time!) but it was still some massive pain. And the pain wasn’t the worse part, the loss of mobility of someone with my energy and lifestyle was truly frustrating.

And of course, maintaining any sort of exercise with that issue is impossible. I couldn’t do laundry or load the dishwasher. I couldn’t make bed without help. I couldn’t even walk my dogs. I put on some weight. I wasn’t happy. I stayed in bed a lot. We had some stuff happen in our house (stress+stress+STRESS) and my mom’s health was declining. I finally snapped out of it, got myself into PT and got back on my feet. I was doing well, actually. Better than I had in MONTHS. No, probably better than I had in two YEARS. And just as I finished PT, got back to walking my dogs and got the OK to go back to regular workouts, my mother passed away.

Needless to say, the past four weeks have been a flurry of hospice, arrangements, finances, funeral, family issues, house issues and the like. People have brought us oodles of food (which I am SO SO SO grateful for!) and sent baskets. We’ve been spoiled, really. It feels good to be spoiled. I feel loved.

The problem is I got off my program.

This week my back started hurting. I know what’s coming and I’m going to stop it, see. I know the pattern, I know the routine. But it ain’t gonna happen this time, yo. IMA STOP IT.

I’ve gained weight again. In fact, I’ve gained so much I am now the same weight I was AFTER I had Bugaboo. And I gained sixty pounds with his pregnancy. SIXTY. POUNDS. I weigh the same as I did NINE MONTHS PREGNANT with Bug Boy. I’m also wearing the same size.

Yep. Since my Dad passed I’ve gained forty pounds.

That was about eighteen months ago. MOMMA AIN’T HAPPY. Now, I’m not as worried about the weight as I am my overall health. I don’t have any energy. The fatigue is seriously an issue. I am winded trying to keep up with the Bugaboo. I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I’ve started falling back into that ole “carb load, eat comfort foods, don’t move at all” pattern. I’m all MEH. And DG ain’t a MEH person, MMKAY?

Now, I know what some of y’all are thinking. “But DG! You’ve had SO! MUCH! GOING! ON!” or “Don’t be so HARD on yourself, yo! You’ve had STUFF in your life!” and “You’ve got these kids! It’s so haaaaaard!”

But those are the excuses I keep using. Again and again and again and again. I’m better than that. I deserve better. My FAMILY deserves better.

No more excuses, yo. I KNOW what I have to do. I know how to do it.

Here I go.

Coat of Many Colors

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My grandmother’s salon color was “frivolous fawn.”

I kid you not, she dyed her hair that color FOR YEARS. When she finally stopped putting color in in (I’m thinking she was in her late sixties? later?) she had the most beautiful white hair. And I mean pure white, whiter than snow. It was seriously lovely hair. She still went every week to have her hair set at the salon so it looked pretty for the weekend well into her nineties. Turns out my now-neighbor was her hairdresser for a few decades and even when she passed, my neighbor was called to the funeral home to do her hair.

My mom was more of a “copper penny” girl. She was a natural red head. And I mean RED. So when she started to go grey in her late twenties/early thirties (coincidentally around the time I was born!) she just wasn’t ready for it. So she found hair color that matched her vibrant red and I never saw a grey hair on her head. Even when she didn’t have the energy to color it any more, she bought herself red wigs and shaved off her natural hair. I had no idea how much hair she had until one of her hospital trips about three years ago when she didn’t have a wig with her and I saw her beautiful white hair for the first time. It was peppered with copper and was seriously beautiful. And I told her, “Mom, what the heck? Why do you color this? This is a color people PAY FOR.” Not sure if she listened to me or not but she did stop wearing the wigs and let her hair grow back in.

The night before she passed (two weeks ago) we were taking turns sitting in the room, holding her hand as she gasped for air. Her fragile lungs just couldn’t do it anymore and they slowly filled with fluid. She was no longer waking up and giving us zingers (YOU LOOK PREGNANT!) and wasn’t giving anyone stink eye when they told her she couldn’t have a milkshake because she was choking on them. I remember sitting there by myself in the dark, holding her hand, singing her favorite songs to her, stroking her beautiful copper and white hair and telling her it was ok, we were going to be fine. When I stepped out later to stretch and use the bathroom I remember I looked in the mirror. It had been several months since I colored my hair. And I remember thinking I’d need to get it done before the funeral.

Yes, dear internet friends, the red is not mine. Mine is grey. White, actually. I have naturally strawberry blonde hair (darker strawberry blonde these days) but no one has seen it in twenty-five years or more because I have this thing with coloring my hair. Blame it on my mother for her influence, if you’d like. I’m just a tad impulsive (again, like my mother). And I have a fairly fiery personality. So I got tired of the blonde, the gold, the peroxide (blame that on the eighties) and the like. I was a fake blonde FOR YEARS. Let me just say that someone with my skin tone should NEVER be blonde. I have the kind of skin people get snow blind for looking at. At some point after the boys were babies I stopped coloring my hair and my natural strawberry blondish, light brownish reddish hair came back through. It’s a color that seriously doesn’t exist in a bottle and I was getting grey hair. No, WHITE hair. I feel like I’m twenty-five and I decided grey hair wasn’t for me. Yet. So one week I was at the beauty supply store and picked up Copper Penny-ish. That’s how I’ve been for about five years now.

Well, until last week.

I never got around to coloring my hair for the funeral a week after my mother passed. It bothered me the whole day because I could see those white hairs. Monday I put my kids on the bus, went to the beauty supply store and spotted a new, ammonia-free, sulfate-free line of hair color and thought, “Huh! Bright Auburn! That sounds interesting!” And the color on the box was redder than my normal but I figured, “What the heck? I’ve got nothing to lose.” So I dyed it.

My first clue should have been the color in the bowl as I mixed it.

My second clue should have been the stuff sticking to my skin and making it look carrot orange.

My third clue should have been seeing the BRIGHT RED water rinsing out of my hair in the shower.

When I stepped back in front of the mirror I broke down in tears. Totally not the color I was going for. TOTALLY. NOT. THE. RIGHT. COLOR. I looked like Ronald McDonald. Or Wendy Thomas and her old-fashioned hamburgers. Don’t believe me? Feast your eyes on the before and after:

See? Reddish, a little grey (which I conspicuously cropped out)

Before I ruined my hair. See? Reddish, a little grey in there (which I conspicuously cropped out)

The day I did it. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

The day I dyed it. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

THis morning, after five washes. Sigh. Still RED.

This morning, after five washes. Sigh. Still RED.

Needless to say I’ve bought color corrector and a boat-load of hair repair. Even though everyone who has seen it thinks it is “awesome” and “brings out my eyes.” Well, everyone except The Guy I Live With, who is used to my impulsive hair mistakes and merely shook his head and said,”
It’s red.”

I think I’ve learned my lesson, yo. Stick with what I know. And once I fix this I may just let it go back to natural.

In about ten years.

 

 

 

He’s a Little Runaway. Again.

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I’m having kind of a rough week.

Because deceased parents and funeral planning aren’t stressful enough, Monday night we had a wee bit of excitement in my house. You know how I say I’m never bored? There’s a reason for that. It’s because I AM NEVER BORED. Basically, there’s non-stop chaos and excitement around these parts.

Monday night my Aunts decided to provide some dinner for our family. A few of my siblings were going to get together and look through pictures and make a little collage for the funeral and luncheon. Ok, 4 giant posters of pictures, but who’s counting? Anywho, we KNOW it is spring and Bugaboo is more restless than usual, thanks in part to higher pollen counts and the nicer weather. We have been more vigilant than usual, due to this restlessness. We’re back to padlocks on the doors (not just locks) and I even went out and purchased new door alarms, since the old ones went to door alarm heaven.

When folks come in the house I have to, you know, unlock the doors? And when there are twenty people in my house and everyone is unloading cars, bringing in food, hugging and the like it’s a little…chaotic. We try to lock the door immediately and we no sooner lock it than another person shows up. So in the midst of the chaos, Bugaboo was darting about, back and forth between doors. He’d slip outside, play a bit, come back in. Then we locked the back door. By the time I got some plates and napkins out I decided to head to the front door and lock it. Except it was unlocked.
Immediately The Guy I Live With and I searched the house.

No Bugaboo.

We checked the backyard and neighbors’ backyard.

No Bugaboo.

That’s when I hopped in the car and headed to the playground while my family checked a few more neighbors’ swing sets and trampolines. Now, we live TWO BLOCKS from a playground. Since I live on the corner you can see the playground and park from my back yard. The few times Bugaboo has made it to the park he has been sitting in the middle of the softball diamond, happily clapping and stimming away in the orange dirt. He typically sees me and sighs and gets up, following me back home or to the car. Except this time, no Bugaboo. I walked to the other end of the field to the swings and slide. No Bugaboo. I got back in the car and drove around all four sides of the park. Still no Bugaboo.

I went back home and yelled to my sister, “Call the Police.” Within two minutes three local police departments were there taking a report of his description and circling town searching for him

At this point my family was going door to door. The next thing I knew, our entire block was out looking, checking other parts of our little Mayberry-esque town. They searched every back yard, every swing set, every trampoline. They checked every back yard swimming pool they could find. Some of them hopped in their cars to circle town and look. People started checking nearby busy roads, thinking maybe he tried to walk to the pool or the Big Red Bullseye store.

Still no sign of Bugaboo.

A Faceplace post and email later, the entire town was out looking. I’m not being facetious. There were folks on ALL FOUR BLOCKS of our little town checking every place they could think of. They searched high and low. They got into their cars and circled, checking for him. They stopped and looked at every kid they saw.

An hour had gone by at this point.

Still no Bugaboo.

This while I stood on the front lawn, clutching my phone, sobbing, hoping for a miracle, hoping this wasn’t THE ONE TIME we couldn’t find him. It had been an hour. It was starting to get darker. The warm spring day suddenly became cooler.

At some point my sister and our babysitter ended up back at the park. Since there was a softball game going on and the park was packed with folks watching it and using the playground, they went person-to-person asking if they had seen my sweet boy. And suddenly someone said, “Wait. I noticed a little boy in that truck over there about thirty minutes ago. He’s been bouncing around and having a good time.”

(at least, that was reported back to me, I wasn’t there, see. Me, lawn, phone, cry, etc, etc).

Guess who was in the truck? The entire time? And no doubt got into said truck because so many people were at the park and he didn’t quite know what to do?

If you said Bugaboo, ten points for Gryffindor.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an adrenalin rush to get over and some more padlocks to install.

( PS – if you’re asking about the tracking bracelet we had? Company went out of business last summer. Hooray. Guess who’s looking into tracking bracelets again?  If you said me then ten points to all houses. Except Slytherin.)

The Last Word

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There is something inherently beautiful about being there when someone is brought into this world. There is also something inherently beautiful about being with them when they leave it.

If you are lucky enough to be there, if you have the privilege of being there, you feel emotions you’ve never felt before. You sometimes wait for the last thing you will hear from them. It becomes imprinted on your brain and you cherish that moment forever. You remember it day after day.

When my grandmother was ill, I went to see her one day and we had dinner together. She was still able to eat a little but wasn’t able to swallow or chew much. So naturally this meant softer foods. The last thing I remember her saying? “I hate noodles.”

Before my father slipped into a come and ultimately passed away I would go to see him every day. Whenever we could go back into the ICU and sit and hold his hand, I’d go in and say, “Hey, Pop! How are you doing today?” and he’d answer, “I’m still here, aren’t I?” And the day before he fell quiet he roused enough when I kissed him and answered, “I’m feeling a little rocky.” And then next day when he wasn’t really responding, he said, “OW.” Every time someone touched his hand or kissed him.

My mother’s body has decided enough is enough and is finished with the pain and suffering. We agree with her body, for the record. It’s been five years of gradual decline, hospital stays, therapy, nursing home rehab, tests and more tests, medications and more medications, specialists, not-so-specialists, the list goes on. When she went on hospice two weeks ago I was honestly relieved. She stayed with my Brother and Sister-in-law for a few days before ending up back at the hospice facility. We couldn’t manage her pain and suffering at home any longer. The first day in the facility the toxin build up in her body caused her to have some hallucinations but she’d still joke or ask us to do things. As she slipped further away there were less lucid moments and more slumber. Yesterday she was out for most of the day but would occasionally open her eyes or mumble something. At lunch time yesterday I told her that I’d be back with some lunch and she popped her eyes open, looked at me with a crooked grin and said, “YOU LOOK PREGNANT.”

And that’s the last thing I heard from her.

I realized today that I am an orphan. I know it sounds silly but I feel sort of alone for the first time in my life. The thing I’m most grateful for is the fact that I have so many siblings. We’re all there for one another. We’re spending tons of time together. We are driving each other crazy. We’re laughing and crying with one another.

I know I’m lucky. Not everyone has the awesome family I have.

And no, you can’t have them. MINE.