A Social Story for Moms

Okay, got some funny for you, but some of you will need some back story.  Social stories are used to help kids on the autism spectrum understand things like social graces and the emotions of others.  They come up a lot on my Positive Discipline board because they've been useful for non-spectrum kids, too.  Barbara has written a whole lot of these for her son.  I came to the board ranting and raving about how my kids are fighting constantly and disrespectful and generally just horrible and I need to toss them out and start anew.  In another thread, people were discussing their babysitters and I asked how one captures one of these magical creatures.  I was hoping it wasn't a virgin thing, like unicorns, because hello? there was no star in the East when any of my kids was born.  The chicks on the board suggested things that involved "phone calls" and "talking to strangers."  And therein lies my problem.  I'm insane, you see, and cannot be exposed to situations in which I might appear foolish or unknowledgeable.  I'm a Smart Girl.  It's who I am.  I cling to it tenaciously.  To the point that I won't call to order take-out if I don't know the exact procedure.  Like I said, insane.  Barbara saw my need and wrote me a social story.  It nearly made me pee myself:

**Sometimes moms want to kill their children. Moms love their children but the need breaks from their children. Being killed is bad for children. It makes them sad. After the children were dead the mom would feel sad too.

The children wish before their mother shrieks and holds them at gunpoint that she'd find a babysitter. Finding a babysitter can be scary for a shy mom. She may have to talk to another person or even use the phone. This can be hard, but it will get easier with practice. The more the mom tries to find a babysitter the more comfortable she will get. Learning to make phone calls is a part of growing up. It feels good to know for a mom to know she's growing up.

When the babysitter comes the mom can go some place and drink heavily. This will help her forget the trauma of picking up a phone to call someone. The mom will be happy to drink heavily. The children will be happy not to have been shot. Life will be good. Moms are learning every day and learning about babysitters is one part of that learning. **

Unfortunately, I'm totally immune to logic.  So I'll just keep waiting for that kindly retired pediatric nurse to show up looking for babysitting work...

Mr. Lumpy Britches

Had to take Ben to the dentist today, as he was sick on the day the girls went.  Usually we troop in there and get them all at once.  But you don't care about that part.  You want the story, the funny.  The minutiae of my life mean nothing to you, in fact annoy you.

Fine.  So Ben's sitting in the chair and the hygienist says,  "That's a colorful pencil."  Ben looks down, sees the pencil, pulls it out and says, "Hey, I have a pencil in my pocket!" (and I thought he was just happy to be there).  He gives it to me.  Then he pulls out his Spy Light and hands it to me.  A moment later fishes out a walkie talkie handset.  Hygienist starts laughing.  He pulls out a Spy Listening device.  And then a Spy Motion Detector.  And then a Spy Voice Recorder.  And THEN a notebook.  The hygenist says, "It's like a clown car!"  And then his Spy Watch.  And now I'm wondering, "Did he sleep in those pants? because sleeping with Q's office in your pants can't be all that comfy."

So we were laughing about all that crap in his pockets and Lily says, "You need a blue flying seal to carry your stuff for you."
Ben: "Why does it need to be a blue flying seal?"
Lily: "Well, because you like blue."
Well then.

It's his birthday tomorrow and the 1st anniversary of this blog.  Go back and hit the archives, it's all still funny.  Since that's all you want anyway.

Was the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory booked for June?

I picked up this brochure when I was in Orlando.  I'd been meaning to check out the website, see if it was, indeed, as odd and macabre as it appeared.  Yep.  The website is www.titanictheexperience.com .  Yes, that's right.  Titanic.  The Experience. Which, if I remember correctly, is panic and/or icy death.  It's great for weddings, too, apparently, because:

guests then board the "Ship of Dreams" to experience unforgettable sights and sounds from the opulent accommodations of first class to the spartan surroundings of third class. Finally, guests will feel an unparalleled chill on deck, since temperatures simulate those that enveloped the Titanic's passengers and crew on the ship's legendary "night to remember".

Now, my recollection is that it was a "night to remember" because nearly 1500 people died a really awful death, not because it was really pretty and famous people were there.  There were, of course, but a lot of them died too.  And all that pretty is at the bottom of the ocean.  It IS a lovely sentiment for a wedding, I think--"This night is all we get, after this, it's a slow cold descent to a welcome death."

The brochure I have actually has, as a bullet point, "Feel the chill of an iceberg!"  Oh, I'm feeling the chill all right.  Oy.

more rejection

Katie is going to someone else's home.  I'd seen her on the Humane Society's page and she's a corgi/shepard mix.  The woman at the HS was her foster mom and just gushed about her.  I'd really had her talked up to Wonder Dog in my head.  Those cute little Corgi legs.  *sigh*  And it's all Ben's fault, too.  If he hadn't been sick, I'd have gone right over to the Humane Society after dropping him off at school.  But noooo, he had to be siiiick, so I had to come right home after dropping off Julianna.  Be a man, son, go to school sick.

But I got a call from Tara's House Rescue, someone will come out tomorrow night to do a home visit.  I need to hop to it and hide the medical testing supplies in the basement.  Shovel the dog carcasses onto the neighbor's property.  Hide my "To Serve Dog" cookbook (It's a cookbook!!).  Then they'll let me meet King.


Couldn't you just give him kisses?  I think he's a Wonder Dog.

Scary Kerry

I saw a bumpersticker this morning that said "Stop Kerry."  Was there really some scary Democratic jauggernaut that caused someone to rage "This man must be STOPPED!"?  Really, it's almost endearing.  almost.

How to be funny

6 year old edition.

1. Butts are funny.  All things connected with butts are funny.  Pulling down your pants is hiLARious.

2.  If you make what is obviously a funny joke and no one laughs, say it again.  Repeat several times.  If there is still no laughter, consider if maybe the audience just didn't get it.  Say, "Did you get what I said?  I said 'B-U-T-T my booty'! Get it?  Butt my booty?!"  Surely they will laugh now.  If not, try saying it a few more times.  When Mommy says, "Oh my GOD, will you stop SAYING that?!" laugh maniacally.  Because it IS funny.

3. The humor of the knock-knock joke really is in the phrase "knock-knock."  After that, you can just fill in any old crap you want.

2 down

So Cappy wasn't The One.  We drove out into lovely horse country to visit him on the rescue farm.  He was cute, and seemed nice enough, but there was no sizzle, no "OH!" factor.  Ben and Lily were, of course, chirping "Can we take him home?!" but I could see that Julianna wasn't totally bowled over, either.  She told him he was cute, but she didn't beg me.  I could tell the volunteer was a bit annoyed with me: "It's hard for there to be 'a spark' when they've been living in a kennel."  Being outed as a Shallow Person was painful.  You KNOW I need them to think I'm a well-educated, rescue-dog hero.  But that wasn't enough to take Cappy home.  And, by the way, he was about as much Clumber Spaniel as he was Yorkie.  Looked like 1/2 Corgi and 1/2 mutt.  Kind of Corgi/Peke looking, frankly.  No spaniel at all, that I could discern.  I think that must be the most fun job at the shelter--picking what breed to slap on the dog.  Is it black?  It's a lab mix.  Is it medium sized?  It's a spaniel.  Is it very clearly a Pit Bull?  It's a "terrier mix."  I swear, they'd get a guinea hen and dub it a Dalamatian. 

Ben was heartbroken.  "I'm not going to like any other dogs!  Cappy was the only one I'll ever love!!"  He touched the dog's head--tentatively--once.  *sigh*

But having walked away from a dog, I feel a bit less flustered about it all. I just sent a few more apps out, but I'm going to try to walk away now.  let it go for a bit.  Yeah, right.

Is it the day?

Oh look, it's 8 am and I've been up an hour!  And yesterday, I got to be up from 12-5 am!  Thank you Lily!  Thank you so much for showing me the wonders of early morning!  And because you've been so kind as to share with me, I shall wait until you are 16 and I will return the favor.  I shall keep a special notebook to remind me of which hours you shared with me and I will give them back to you in 13 years.  You won't be alone.  Your brother will be working off--I mean, re-experiencing--his wee hour sharing as well.  You sister, the Good Child, will get to sleep in, because SHE never felt that I needed to sleep fitfully on the couch while she watched hours of television before sunup.  SHE will inherit the good stuff.  You and Ben get to fight it out over my Beatles pin collection.

We're going to visit Cappy this morning.  If he's a Good Dog, he gets to come home with us.  Or, I get to consign him to more time...well, on this farm he lives on, which might not be so bad.  So yay.  I think it'll be easier than leaving all those dogs and cats at the shelter (except the Beagles.  I was happy to leave them behind).  Ellen, who knows about dogs, tells me I have to start in from the beginning with the discipline and not let him on the couch at first, even though I intend to ultimately.  Lots of boundry establishing for a while.  But at least I can give him lots of cookies.  Or, of course, leave him behind.  Mustn't forget that option, even in the presence of big brown eyes. 

It'll be hard to break the Petfinder addiction, too.  Dog surfing is really pretty fun, but I keep falling for the ones I can't have.  Like this guy, who is named Fido (I mean really, how cute is that) and can't be around kids or cats, and who is clearly insane, but just LOOK at him:


And, on a totally non-dog note (I know!), I got this site in my mail from Daily Candy, a service that points out cool things: Turn Your Head.

THIS is why the shelters are so anal...

I talked to Blue's owner today.  What an idiot.  She seems very nice, but they totally missed the boat on dog training.  Turns out she's getting rid of the dog b/c she feels like she can't trust it around her 14 mo old b/c the dog growls over her stuff.  "I admit that we thought it was cute when she was a puppy, so we didn't do anything about it."  So, we won't be getting the lovely and probably very trainable Blue.  If my kids were a few years older, I'd be fine, but I can't trust Lily not to invade the dog's space before that behavior is trained out.  And I'd be nervous about it.  No dog is cute enough to bite my kid.  A shame, really, b/c it turns out that Dumb Owner's husband is best friends with the guy painting our house.  And she's renovating this adorable cottage I pass every day and admire.  So she seems like I ought to like her, except for being an utter retard on the dog thing.  Maybe she needed Dogs for Dummies...

Okay, I'm going to change metaphors.  It's my blog, I'm allowed.  I've decided it's like the prom episode of some teen TV show (not my life for sure.  I was not very...popular with the fellas.  Even though I was really cute, dammit)  where the girl wonders whether to accept the invitation from the kinda nerdy friend or to hold out for the hot guy or  whether to accept the invite from the hot, kinda dumb/mean guy or hold out for the less cute Best Friend guy.

Last night, I sent in an application for Lyla:


But it's still Blue I think I want.  Blue's current owner called me back last night and I missed her call by minutes, I called back and haven't heard again.  The incredibly thorough/bordering on stalkerish Tails of Hope rescue called to clear up yet another issue on my application, but I missed THAT call, called back, and still haven't heard.  Perhaps b/c I left my phone number in the wrong order.  Does this happen to you?  You go to give your number and just BLANK.  I gave the numbers all jumbled.  But hey, she had it to call me in the first place,right?  Of course, now she's checked off the "Too stupid even to own a dog." box (btw, I saw a book called Outsmarting Your Dog right next to Dogs for Dummies.  How can you check out with those?  Hi.  I'm dumber than a labrador retriever.  Can I give you my money?).

Then there's Cappy.  Who might be great.  Or might not, but I'll be standing there, beside him, and I'll have to decide.  How can you say "Sorry bub" to a dog that's licking your kid's face?  So much stress for something that  is just going to annoy Steve and the cats.  Which is fun in its own way, of course.

dogged search

It's 24 hour dogs in my brain.  It's a little like applying to college.  I'm sending out applications, trying to sound like the perfect candidate, hoping they'll accept me.  Now I'm worried because one of my safety schools has accepted me, wants me to visit the campus this weekend and make a decision.  But the school I really want hasn't responded yet and I don't want to go with the state school when the ivy just might take me.  Oh, right, I was talking about dogs.

Here's Cappy (he's named Cappuchino, but my imaginary friend Barbara called him Cappy, which is much cuter than Puchi, which is where I was headed.  Oo, I could change his spelling to Capoochino and then it's funny instead of lame!).
He looks a little scared to me.  Understandable, I suppose, but I don't want a fearful dog.  They're unpredictable.  He's very cute, though, isn't he?  On the other hand, if I go see him Monday, and he's nice, I have to take him home.  Right then.  No hemmin' and hawin'.  And I'm VERY bad at making final decisions.

I'm hoping to hear back from someone about Blue:
  Look at her.  She wants to live with me.  She's an English Cocker, which Imaginary Barbara has also, so I'd have someone to answer breed questions for me.  I'd change HER spelling to Blu, so she'd be Blu Greenberg, who is a feminist Jewish scholar.  I mean really, what good IS a graduate education if you can't use it to re-name your dogs?  Or at least change the spelling.

But the laurels are so cozy...

I guess it would be a good plan to, oh, I dunno, post once in a while.  "Hey she's funny, I'll read her blog....Oh good, Day 3 of a random link back to Mommybloggers.  Great."  Well, you could have just combed the archives, so quitcher bitchin.

DogSearch 2006 continues.  I've cast my nets far, sending applications to several rescues and even contacting a Clumber Spaniel breeder.  I don't want a puppy, but sometimes a dog they thought they could show doesn't work out in the ring. A failed beauty queen will have a nice low self-esteem and will assume she's lucky to be here.  "Are you really going to eat more kibble?  No wonder you never made Champion."  I know it's a tired old cliche, but it seems like if you had to go through a fraction of the screening to have a kid that you have to go through to adopt a dog, the world would be a better place.

Lily went in to the upstairs bathroom to pee today and announced, "Mommy, we need to clean this bafroom.  It's bisgustin."  So we did.  Scolded by my 3 year old for my housekeeping skills.   She's listing what we need, "We need dose wipes in the gween container and the moppy fing."  (I know it's annoying when people type kid-speak, but really you need to hear her authoritative tone with the preschooler speech impediments.  I see her in the boardroom--Johnson, your wuhk is cwap.  Fwankwy, we cannot ahfohd to give you anuvver chance.  You'uh fi-uhed.  Cwean out your desk and get out.)  The poor dear tidies.  She notices messes.  It's really quite tragic because I'm just not that gal.  I fear she'll have this Sedaris-like childhood, despairing of ever having a clean patch and being embarrassed to bring home her friends.  But hey, I'm setting her up for a lucrative writing career.  So she'll thank me, right?

Lily quote of the day--It's a tie, you decide:

1) Mommy, can I stand on the bed and tickle my nipples?

2) (while clutching a stuffed dog that barks when you squeeze his sides) He's too hard, Mommy, I can't turn him on.

My fame spreads

Soon, my comments counter could get as high as 2!!

I've got a guest column on Mommybloggers

www.mommybloggers.com

The Search for Dog

Sixteen animals just isn't enough.  I mean, how could it be?  We need a dog.  Long ago, back when Julianna believed herself to be a dog and wore a dog collar every day and ate out of a bowl on the floor and walked around with a cheese stick sideways in her mouth and stopped wearing dresses b/c she couldn't crawl properly in them, I told her we could get a dog when she was eight years old.  Her obsession has transferred to rodents now, but even so, when she turned 8, she said, "Hey, about that dog..."  I said, "We can't get a dog until Lily is potty trained.  This has happened. So okay.

Steve is...unenthusiastic.  He's willing to go along, providing he is not expected to provide so much as a head pat or kind word (lest you think him Cruellor DeVille, you should hear him cooing over the guinea pigs and Maggie the cat, whom he calls his Princess.  So, he might be gay, but he's totally not mean).  Given that that is the deal my mom usually worked out when my dad tried to bring home yet another critter, I'm okay with it.  The search begins.

Because it is the way I do everything, I had to read lots of books and lots of websites and ask tons of advice because when I contact the rescues and/or breeders, they have to know that I am a Good Pet Owner.   They must think "I only wish I could give her all of our dogs, because she will clearly provide the very best care.  Instead, we'll just make sure she gets the Best One."  Because our house is over-run with foster rodents, we can't have a breed that has been bred to hunt rats.  Not that I could ever smoke enough crack to think a Jack Russel is a good match for us.  If our house were much, much bigger, an English Mastiff would be the way to go.  Friendly and largely inert.   Dogs looking for jogging partners should just keep on going.

I want the dog to be small enough that I can pick it up when I need to.  As my kids get bigger and heavier, I see the advantages of just being able to MOVE the creature that you need moved.  I don't need a purse-dog, although I must say I was WAY ahead of the curve on this.  I wanted one before all those LA skanks started toting them around.  So now I'll just go back to my plan of carrying a chicken in a baby sling when I'm old and eccentric.  But until then...the dog.  Smallish, not over 35 lbs.  Friendly, outgoing, confident.  A sorority dog.  Hm.  Looks like I might be trying to find a dog to be my Front Man.  Here, talk to my dog!  Leave me alone!  If I can train him to make phone calls, my life will be complete.

I really want the dog now, as opposed to once Lily's in school, because I think Ben would really benefit.  Boy and His Dog and all that.  Of course, I'll be home with it and Julianna wants to do 4H dog training with it, so it probably won't give Ben the time of day and will just make him cry even more.  So, I'll add to my wish list: "Will sleep in Ben's bed every night."

So, dog people, toss out your favorites.  DC/Balitmore people, tell me some rescues.

Dada's little girl

Lily, from the back seat:  "Hey! Happy and Sad are opposites!

Me:  Yes, that's right! (she's so much smarter than every other 3 year old.  I mean, c'mon.)
So, what is the opposite of Dark?

Lily: Light.

Me: What is the opposite of hot?

Lily: Cold.

Me: What is the opposite of new?

Lily: Tacos.

one for the fellas

I've been so worried about how to acheive comfort by reining my boobs in, that I've forgotten all about the menfolk.  Luckily, the boys across the pond have been picking up the slack.  Or letting it out.  Behold, the Sacfree undergarment.

And if you're really curious, you can see them on a real guy at the link.  It's every bit as attractive as you'd think.
One real benefit, according the website, is that it is "a new temptation for touching."  Steve swears that this usually isn't a problem.  Maybe Germans are shy.

continuing with the boob theme...

So my beloved Trinny and Susannah have been telling me for years that I need a better bra.  And then the Oprah thing on The Right Bra was all over the place.  My bosom has been headed South at a steady pace for a number of years. I suspect that nursing my children into adulthood has something to do with it.  Whatever the cause, I've been feeling dumpy having to haul these things around.  I'd heard that in general women need to go up a cup size and down a band size, so I went in search of 34 DD to fit my 34 extra long boobs (oh yes, I'm totally a Vicky Secret model.  Tyra hates me).

  I really want a fitting at an old fashioned lingerie store staffed by stout immigrant women with mustaches and tape measures, but we don't have one nearby.  I had to settle for a dept. store.  Could bra shopping be any less pleasant?  The racks are overstuffed and crammed close together. They're loosely arranged according to brand, all styles and sizes jumbled up.  Because most people buy their band sizes too large, the bigger numbers are way over-represented.  When I finally tracked down a saleswoman (after trying on and discarding about 8 bras)--who was petite and American, and therefore largely useless--she told me that only two brands made the size I sought.  And she looked at me like I was doing a very dirty thing, by seeking a bra.  And very sexy things they are, too, in that DD cup size.  I know it SOUNDS all hot,but the reality is, the bras look like they were made for prison matrons.  The whole experience raised many annoyed questions.

1--as mentioned above, why the lack of any organization?  Shouldn't the goal be to SELL bras?  Wouldn't, therefore, it make sense to make it easy to FIND the fargin' things?  Just an idea.

2--Why is the sales help always so damned unpleasant in this dept, when they can be found at all?  There should be a cheerful skivvy-savvy woman haunting the fitting room, stopping customers from trying to re-hang the bras and thus destroying the careful organization.  She should be able to look at you and tell you your size.  She should be well paid.

3--Why make bras out of such stiff, nasty fabric?  I'm sure I"m not a princess, but I have delicate boob tissue--and mine have had kids with mouths full of teeth chewing on them.  Let's not cram the things so full of sizing that they stand on their own.  Let's not line the cups with the itchiest seam tape we can find.

4--what the hell is wrong with me?  I found myself pawing through bras, rehearsing a conversation with the sales woman in my head.  If she should appear, I would dazzle her with my knowledge about proper bra fitting and she would know that I was a Good Customer.  A Customer who Researches.  I do this with everything.  I get a hermit crab and I have to be Ariel the Mermaid, meeting his every hermit crab need as closely to his homeland as I can. I'm piping in steel drum music for them, ferchrissakes.  And lest you think this is just what happens when women with advanced degrees and too much book-learnin' stay home, I've ALWAYS been like this.  Total teacher-pleaser.  If I call Lands End to place an order, they have to know that I Know Things About Fleece.  And if I don't have a way to show how very well prepared I am, I go into a panic and try not to complete that task.  Like ordering from a restaurant I don't know.  God I'm a loser.

again with the nipples...

Seriously, Lily has had her hands down or up her shirt for the past two days straight.  Apparently it's working.  She happily told me today that "My boobs are almost ready.  They almost have milk!"  Has she been reading those boards for people that hope to stimulate lactation so that they can nurse adopted babies?  Will this cause her to reach puberty at 4? 

Do not Google

Okay, I couldn't remember which comedian it iwas--Jon Stewart or Mike Myers--who'd rub his nipples and say "I feel like a little girl."  Then I remembered it was Myers, doing Dieter.  Fine.  I had tried to google the phrase, paired with "nipple" to get some help.  Let me assure you that is NOT a helpful google search, and if you do it yourself, you're a sick bastid.  But anyway, when Dieter did it, I always wondered "what the hell?  Do little girls rub their nipples?"

Turns out they do.  Lily, previously of the "belly pressing" obsession, now walks about rubbing and pinching her nipples.  All the time.  "Whatcha doin' honey?"  "Oh, just pinchin' my nipples.  They don't have milk." 

my future is now

I was in the grocery store grabbing a few things while the kids ate ice cream in the van.   I noticed a twenty-something giving me this "Oh my god you are SUCH a loser" look.  I realized I was singing along to Huey Lewis and the News which was playing in the store.  I wanted to follow her and either


a) plead for understanding.  I never liked Huey, but the songs were everywhere and the lyrics are easy to understand and the tunes are catchy and dammit you just can't NOT sing them!

b) laugh sardonically at her and say, "Behold your future, chippie.  In 15 years, you will be stuffing your basket with dinner-stuffs and find yourself singing along to 'Hollerback Girl' as it pipes through the store.  You will be held in contempt by young women in black."

future tripping

Is Lily going to call me from college?

"Hey Mom!"

"Oh hi, honey, what's up?"

"I pooped in the potty!!"

I mean, I'm grateful and all, I really am.  At not quite 3.5, she's my earliest trainer ( I figured Ben's call from college would be "Mom, I pooped, come change my diaper."), and I'm thrilled to be done with diapers FOR EVER, but damn, it's just poop.  How excited can I be?  It's not like I was ever one of those strike-up-the-band moms for every successful potty attempt.  I figure not sitting in your own crap is its own reward, you know?

All work and no play makes Homer something something...

Go Crazy?

Don't mind if I do!

Okay.  It's the last day of winter break and it's pouring rain.  So that means it can't snow, right?  And the schools will open tomorrow, right?  Please?  A word to all cold and snowy weather systems roaming around, thinking about maybe coming to Central/Western Maryland for a visit: Stay Away.  If I am caged up with 3 bickering kids for one day longer, I will go Jack Torrence on them all.  For most of the "break" (HAH!  For WHOM?!), one or the other of us has been sick, keeping us mostly house bound.  The squids are making their own fun by picking on and poking at each other, by over reacting to said picking and poking, and by tattling on every offense, however provoked it might have been.  Lily is going through one of those constant contact stages in which she needs to be touching me 90% of the time.  I find myself wishing I could just slip out of my skin like a snake and leave her there with the old one.  Or maybe just let my arm break off like a lizard's tail and grow a new one at my leisure.  Reptiles have child-rearing allll figured out.

Having been in Florida for a week, back at school for 4 days and then off again for over a week has me feeling really disconnected.  I get the urge to withdraw further rather than to reconnect.  Those hermit instincts of mine, again.  So today, a forced attempt to look at people and speak to them.  Julianna is going to a friend's house this afternoon.  I'll have to exchange pleasantries with her mom.  I'll try to hook Ben up with a friend as well, and likely hang around and chat.  Then tomorrow--SCHOOL!