June 28, 2007 by Marj Hatzell
I like taking pictures. I have over 2,000 digital shots. I’ve never had them developed. I wanna get a big-girl camera someday.
For those of y’all who are cheap frugal like moi, I’ve got to share this very important news. Payless has issued a recall for their
cheap-foreign-knockoff-croc-wannabes airwalk foam clogs. Apparently you should not allow your baby to crawl around and chew on foam and plastic shoes because the strap could detach and the little fastener poses a choking hazzard (see what I did there? Get it? Hazzard? Like, the Dukes? No? Nevermind). But only on the toddler sizes, from size 3 to 10 toddler. If your baby chews on size 10 1/2 you are SOL, mutha trucka. Return the toddler size only to the store for a full refund. Sizes 10 1/2 on up are not included so don’t chew on them.
In order to assist Bug Boy in developing pragmatic language skills (difficult for children on the spectrum) I got the bright idea I’d teach him jokes. Because this is an example of his fine and droll sense of humor:
Bug Boy: Knock Knock!
Me: Who’s there?
Bug Boy: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
We turned our library books in today and Bug Boy earned FANTABULOUS
Made in China plastic choking hazzards prizes and I steered him away from the train and car books and to a joke book. He picked “Puppy Riddles” which kinda looked cute. This is how it went down:
Bug Boy: Where did the puppy go when he was ill?
Me: I dunno, where?
Bug Boy: To the dog-ter.
Bug Boy: MOM! This is SERIOUS! Don’t laugh! The poor little puppy was sick! Poor little guy!
I get to listen to fabulous music all day long. Not just any music, mind you. Star Wars theme music. If it isn’t from the video game (his 20 minute slot per day) or the actual films (his 3-20 minutes slots or a total of one hour) then he HUMS AND SINGS IT all. day. long. All day. Like, on the john, in the tub, while he eats (he is one talented individual), IN THE CAR WHEN I HAVE A HEADACHE and, obviously, while he plays the video game or watches one of the flicks. (remember, one of the hallmarks of PDD/Asperger’s/autism is that OCD-like restricted patterns of behavior and obsession with certain things over and over. With us it is cars/trains and electronics having to do with cars/trains. And Star Wars. Bloody-flipping Star Wars. Now, I’m a geeky sci-fi fan. Proud of it. But I may have to hunt John Williams (composer) down and tie him up. Then force him to listen to my six-year-old singing his freakin’ tunes for a minimum of forty-eight hours. That’ll teach him. Bastitch.
Bugaboo is babbling up a storm today. The past two weeks he has become more vocal, more affectionate, more aware and just easier to be around. Is he calmer since starting meds? I dunno. Certainly not today. But he is trying SO HARD to talk. And today the word of the day was…(drumroll, please!)
(No! Not Dildo! Get your mind out of the gutter!)
C’mon! You know what it means! I am not going to insult you and tell you since you already know! I mean, that would belittle you and make you feel badly about yourself. Dido! DIIIDOOO! Over and over and over! DIIIDOOO! Isn’t that something? He’s a genius! What? What’s that you say? You don’t know what Dido is?
Uh, me neither. I was hoping you did. But I heard him say it when I was in the shower. I heard him say it to the dog. I heard him call his TSS DIDO. And tonight, at Wawa, when I stopped to get him a milkshake (ok, it was mostly for me, but these days he drinks 75 % of it!) he handed the milkshake back to me in line, squirmed to get down (I know, I shouldn’t pick him up, but YOU try to keep him away from the coffee and drink machines and the auto-order thingies!) and shouted, for all the world to hear, “DIIIIIDOOOOO!” And then he hesitated and looked at me like, “Mother! I’m trying to get something here!” and ran to the candy, signing “Mine! Eat! Mine” and yelled, “DIIIIDOOO!”Clearly we are close to the brink here. Turns out at that particular moment in time Dido meant M&Ms. Just when I thought it meant toothbrush.
We are getting the heck outta dodge this weekend and are headed to the beach with all the other crazy people, except we have a right to be down there and they don’t. WE have family living there. So there. It’s going to be seventy seven to eighty-four degrees and low humidity. I guess we’ll have to suffer through it. And we HAVE to go there to visit and all, so we may as well bring stuff to go to the beach. You know, out of obligation. Because you cannot go to Ocean City and not go to the beach. But I’ve got a secret! We never pay for beach tags because we go on the bay-side where there are virtually no people (but no waves, really) and the beach is about six feet wide and the in-laws’ house is the first house in so we have a potty right there. And, no boardwalk and rides and crap to scare the blazes out of Bugaboo and overstimulate the both of them. Think about it. They get over-stimulated in my Mecca, Tarzhay. What do you think it is like with wind blowing, sun shining, people screaming, people bumping and touching, constant movement, birds swooping down, lights flashing, smells over-powering…that’s just what I notice. Who knows what they notice! We might notice trees as we drive by them but somehow my kids notice the bugs on the leaves on the trees. So let’s just say quiet is better! Oh! And we are bringing the dog to the dog beach for her first official beach trip! She loves to swim in the lakes upstate, so this will be interesting. Something tells me Chicken McDoggy Chicken will be afraid of her own Shadow (See what I did there?) and will hide when she gets a load of the waves. This is the dog that is afraid of a five-month old corgi that weighs twenty pounds and she is eighty pounds and considered a large breed. Why is everyone in my life so high-maintenance and dramatic?
We’ve almost caught up on laundry. We’ve been keeping my sink empty and shiney. We’ve kept the rooms rescued each day and have stayed on top of the housework this week, despite Bugaboo being home. Bang-up job, DG (pat, pat, pat. That sound you hear is my patting my own back)! Now, why is it we can do that with Bugaboo home and when he is at school we can’t get shiat done? Hmmmm? Are we procrastinating a wee bit? Are we getting slightly distracted? Are we TAKING NAPS every afternoon? Why are we talking about ourselves in third person? That’s creepy and Silence-of-the-Lambs-like and we don’t like it! You really DO have an evil twin! Stop it! No, YOU STOP IT! I’m TEEELLLING!!!!
I think perhaps
we are I am trying to tell myself it’s time to hit the hay. And judging by the hairy eyeball glancing my way, I’m thinking that the husband wants me to hit the hay too. And snuggle. That’s code for wild, romping sex and praying the kids don’t walk in and need something. And since we have no window treatments it may be in the closet (which, for all of you wondering, is a walk-in closet bigger than my powder room. Like, six by six, so there is plenty of room for, uh, stuff to happen. Oh, you weren’t wondering? Sorry. Nevermind, then.).
UPDATE: This isn’t a joke. Veggie Booty was just recalled due to possible salmonella contamination. I swear, I am never eating spinach again…and if y’all are like me and give your kids veggie booty in a lame attempt to get vegetables in the one who won’t eat them, check your cabinets and throw it away. Sigh.