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September 29, 2005

Sing Songy

Spliggle has been "singing" "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," but since he doesn't have the words, it is more like "Ee-ka, Ee-ka, Uuu-uh, Whaaaa!" but he is spot-on with the melody!

Over at my parents’ house this weekend for my Dad’s birthday, my mom sang a little song “Rocking, rocking, two boys are rocking” over and over again as Splig and the Cat squished together on the rocker. Spliggle would then imitate the song and rock himself rapidly to prompt my mom to sing again.

(click for more photos)

Then the Cat has been singing “Winter Wonderland” from one of his Thomas videos. He’s decided to play a snowy adventure tape that has several winter scenes. For about a week now, he’s been rewinding it and playing it repeatedly. Of course it is 80 and sunny outside, but we’ve been hearing plenty of stories of Christmas Cheer. (So much so that I have done the majority of my Christmas shopping already online and just purchased $40 worth of holiday wrapping paper and ribbon from the boy down the street for his school’s fundraiser.)

The other thing the Cat has been doing is mimicking me working with dumbbells. I found him last night watching Thomas, repeatedly moving the weights up and down. “I am exercising!” he proclaimed earnestly. Click on the photo to see more of his “poses” from Flickr (he actually said to me “Get lots of picturlers of me doing this!”):

Posted by karianna at 09:01 AM | Comments (3)

September 27, 2005

Another PDD Story

While reading finslippy today, I was directed to this post that discusses the success a little boy named Alex has had with Ritalin.

There are many things that come to mind:

First, I am so thankful that someone else is articulately writing about "differences" in one's child. ("What's wrong with your child?") I can definitely relate to the "bad parent" syndrome and the fears that others simply think that either the parents, the child, or the cure is a failure.

This especially resonated with me:

And everybody from bag boys at the grocery store to strangers on an airplane gave me instructions on how to get Alex to comply, and most of the time they wouldn't believe their suggestions had already been tried and had bombed.

I could have definitely written many of the anecdotes in the post. Why just today, I had mentioned within my car-related post how the Cat had been expelled from preschool. Seems Alex was as well.

Second, in reading the "success" portion of the story, I saw exactly the dramatic change that my mother talks about when I was put on the Feingold Diet at age 5, and what we have experienced when comparing when the Cat has something like ketchup versus not. The change is so dramatic that others simply do not believe.

As my regular readers know however, the Feingold Diet, while an "a-ha!" moment, has not solved all our problems. The Cat is sometimes completely "off" and we aren't sure why. However, he has many good days. Of course, the bad days lead to blogging more so than the good, so the representation here is skewed. But I did just post about yesterday's success.

Third, in reading the comments to the above referenced post, there was one in which the stigma of mental illness was raised. The commenter uses an argument I frequently cite: Why is it acceptable to use pharmaceuticals for clearly “body” related things like diabetes, asthma, and heart-disease, but it is considered a weakness to rely on pills for a mental illness?

I could probably go on and on about my reaction to the post since it brings up very similar themes that I have experienced and/or posted about.

I am so glad that her son has found success with Ritalin, even though I am not at the point where I wish to take that step with the Cat. I still have many questions and uncertainties, but I am glad that Flea and Alex have found their answer.

Posted by karianna at 04:11 PM | Comments (7)

Car Luck

I forgot to post several days ago that September 19, 2005 was the date that the statute of limitations on a minor car crash that I was involved in expired. Styro’s post about her recent rear-ending reminded me of the unfortunate incident of the distracted Bride.

In early September 2003, a coworker of mine was rear-ended on her way to work by a crazy curlers-wearing neighbor. She had a relative in insurance who instructed her of the various forms she would have to fill out and exactly how to document her medical expenses. My friend ended up with an $800 check for the very minor damage to her car. She laughed, saying she could barely see any damage, but that the insurance company wanted to make sure she was given enough money to make everything perfect. She happily deposited the money in her account to use for other reasons. She also bought an expensive car seat to replace the one involved in the crash. They had given her $250 for that purpose (in addition to the $800.)

Alas, she also had some neck pain, and went to the doctor for that. I am not sure of the result of that claim because I ended up no longer employed with that particular job (I was working at a preschool from which the Cat was asked to leave.) However, it appeared that she was going to be receiving a couple grand at least.

When I heard her tale, I was a bit excited: Wow, someone could cause super-minor damage to my car and I could get a big check? I secretly hoped that I would have the same “misfortune.”

Just a week or so later, I got my wish. September 19, 2003, I was stopped at a light. In my rear-view window, I saw a car coming full speed towards me. Fearful of hitting the car in front of me, I pushed HARD on the brakes. My knee jammed as the car hit me from behind.

The gal who got out of the shiny black BMW was ever so apologetic. Her fiancé was next to her and he seemed pretty nice, too. She immediately gave me her insurance information and stuttered that she was getting married that weekend but would be available in a couple weeks if there were any questions.

I didn’t want to scare her, and I certainly didn’t want to cause problems for her, so I surveyed the relatively minor damage on my car, saw hers had no damage, and told her that the only reason I would be filing a claim would be because I wanted to get a new car seat. I told her I was concerned that car seats were supposed to be replaced after a crash. I was trying to be nice and fair, and reassured her that I wasn’t going to take advantage of the misfortune.

We went on our separate ways, my knee and shoulder throbbing. I was late to a breakfast meeting and the person I was meeting had left. I called her on her cell, and she was surprised, saying she knew I wasn’t the type to be late so she expected it must have been a car crash!

When I returned home, I called both my insurance company and the Bride’s. I wanted to know exactly what the situation was, whether my rates would rise for her mistake, what my rights were, etc.

My insurance company laughed at me when I asked about a potential rate-rise, saying that because I had made the call, the accident had been reported, so the damage was already done. Her insurance company told me to fill out an accident report with the DMV and told me that if I didn’t, my license would be suspended. Both insurance companies told me that I could not be reimbursed for the car seat because my son was not in the car at the time. (Nonetheless, I was concerned that the seat had been buckled into the car and had been jolted, perhaps causing strain to the plastic.)

My insurance company told me that the damage to my car had to be repaired at a shop an hour away and that I would have to pay for it, and then later be reimbursed to the penny. No, no amends would be made for the interest I would pay on my credit card while I awaited their reimbursement. Hers told me the nearest authorized shop was a half hour away, but again, I had to put the cash up front. They would provide a rental car for me. They wished to set up an appointment, but I didn’t know my work schedule, so I told them I would do it on my own.

Truthfully, her insurance company was fairly thorough. They kept calling me to make sure I was going to make the appointment to get the car fixed.

Alas, I played it wrong.

Both insurance companies asked about injury. I told both that my knee and shoulder hurt, but that I hadn’t yet sought medical care. I am too honest for my own good; I should have made a big deal about the pain.

But, I wanted to wait to see if the pain was just a temporary thing. I had a 2.5 year old boy on my hands that had been having difficulty; I couldn’t just skip off to the doctor.

When I saw the doctor once my knee started bothering me extensively (this was a couple weeks later,) I was X-rayed and told that it was arthritis.

Arthritis?

Why would I have arthritis “suddenly” after a car crash where I completely jammed my knee?

The doctor therefore would not sign off on a medical claim.

The nurse asked if I wanted some pain killer, but cautioned that the stuff she would prescribe would be heavy-duty, so she asked if there was any chance I could be pregnant.

I didn’t think I was, but something told me not to take the medication. So I didn’t.

In the next couple weeks, a couple things happened rapid-fire:

1. The Cat was asked to leave the preschool. He had been disruptive to the other children. As a result, I lost my job there as well.


2. I discovered I was pregnant with Spliggle

I wish I had gotten the car fixed immediately, while I still had the option of placing the Cat in preschool (on a day when I didn’t work) and before the nausea of pregnancy came over me. Hindsight is 20/20.

Instead, I became trapped in my house, lying on the couch, unable to get up without vomiting. There is no way I could have orchestrated a trip to the car repair place and picking up a rental car all while trying to control the Cat.

I kept putting off the car repair, hoping that I would be feeling better at some point. But truthfully, I was more concerned about my health and the Cat’s behavior. It was his preschool “expulsion” that had begun the whole recognition that perhaps the Cat needed some extra help, and therein began the whole series of appointments and paperwork and dead-ends. The car didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

But I filled out the DMV accident report diligently, and I purchased the Cat a new car seat since I didn’t feel comfortable using the old one. On the DMV report, I didn’t know the cost of the damage because I hadn’t heard from the Bride if she had anything repaired, and I hadn’t yet repaired anything. So I wrote a cover letter to the form stating that I had only made an estimate. The form was to be used if the damage was over $500. Since my friend's super minor damage was $800, I figured mine was at least that.

For fear that my insurance rates would climb, or that I would be charged for the fault of the accident, I did not list my insurance information under the section entitled “Insurance Iinformation for Claims.” The claim I would be making was for her insurance company, not mine. I didn’t want there to be any doubt. I included this in the cover letter as well, stating that I was completely not at fault.

Well, the Bride didn’t fill out that form. Since I had, I was deemed at-fault. Because I didn’t provide insurance information, I was deemed uninsured, and therefore the DMV decided to suspend my license.

So instead of a huge check and a new car seat gratis, I was left with raised insurance rates, a threatened suspension of my license, extreme knee pain, a scratched-up car, and out the money I paid for a new car seat.

The license suspension was thankfully dealt with rapidly by an amazing woman in my husband’s office. Then later when we discovered that I had been given “points” for an at-fault accident, the same woman cleared everything up. (It is nice having folks like that!) But the resolution to this occurred only a month or so ago because we were unaware that there had been a mistake until about six months ago.

I never got the car fixed. I never had the time. I was nauseated through the whole pregnancy with Spliggle, and my “extra” efforts were all going towards the Cat, who was no longer in preschool, so was at home with me always. It wasn’t until September 2004 that the Cat was back in school, and at that point, I had newborn Spliggle with me. Also, I felt sheepish about suddenly saying a year later, “Yeah, hey, wanna fix my car?” in case further damage had occurred through the parking lot* or something like that. I didn’t want to be accused of being dishonest.

So when the Bride’s insurance company called me to say they were closing the file, I didn’t protest. I knew I didn’t have the time or money to deal with it. I had plenty of other priorities.

And the knee? I had asked the Bride’s insurance company, but they stated that since I had told them I hadn’t seen a doctor (a couple days after the accident) that the claim was closed. I knew I had two years in which to file a claim, but didn’t because I didn’t know how to “prove” it given that in my chart is a note saying “arthritis.”

I didn’t even notice that September 19, 2005 had passed. It is officially over. I cannot do a thing. Of course, that car will soon be sold, as I had given it to Husband when I got my minivan (which has already been minorly damaged) and Husband just got his new Prius. It will be nice to be rid of one reminder that wishes sometimes come true, but not in the fashion one would have liked! (Unfortunately, the knee pain remains, so every time I creak up the stairs or have difficulty changing positions while sleeping, I am reminded of that day in some way.)

* = One day I parked at Target next to a car that wasn’t in its space straight. It was the only space available, so I shimmied in. There was plenty of room. But I was suspicious when I saw the steering wheel of the crooked car was covered in a towel with rubber bands and post-it notes. The dash also had notes on it and string, as if to provide reference points for the driver. I took down the license plate number “just in case.” When I returned, my car was dented up and the car next to me was gone. I was actually surprised! Even though I had thought “gosh, this is clearly a bad driver” I guess I didn’t really think I would be hit, even though I had thought to take down the license. Shaking, I asked a passerby if she had seen the car hit me. I took photographs and thought about filing a report, but the ultimate question would have been, “If you were so concerned about this person that you took down their license plate number, then why did you park there?” I couldn’t lie and say that I had seen the plate as the person drove away. I am too honest like that. Sigh. But it was a hit and run. The driver didn’t leave a note. I considered the options, and ended up doing nothing. Double Sigh.

Posted by karianna at 12:19 PM | Comments (1)

The Good Helper

When the Cat visited the dentist several weeks ago and refused to sit for X-rays, the hygienists called him “a bad helper.” Well, yesterday he turned that around!

He is the “Classroom Helper” for this week in preschool. When I saw other kids’ names up there these last few weeks, I’ve wondered, “How is the Cat going to deal with extra responsibilities?” The answer is “Quite Well.”

When I picked him up from school, I saw his name displayed prominently on the board along with the run-down of what the kids had done that day. I looked over at the teachers, quizzically, awaiting their report.

“He was a very good helper!”

Whew!

“Mommy! I am the good helper. I got to feed Dory” (he made a pinching gesture with his hand, miming the careful doling of fish food) “And then I got to go first. And I counted the objects and…” the rest of what he said I have no clue. He kept talking, quickly, excitedly, recounting his responsibilities. He had an enormous smile.

I asked him if he is the helper the whole week. “Yes! Teacher says I get to go first. And I love Dory. And I love preschool.” Then he gave me a big hug and kiss. “I love you Mommy.”

Posted by karianna at 09:54 AM | Comments (1)

September 24, 2005

Listen to the Boy

Today the Cat had a birthday party for a classmate. He had been looking forward to it yesterday, but today he was glum. He protested and said he didn’t want to go. He said he was too tired and just wanted to stay home to play with trains.

I thought it was his usual reluctance that typically ends in him having fun wherever we take him.

We arrived at the party and he again pleaded not to go in. I insisted, and he found his friends, but then ran up a staircase that was away from the party room. I tried to coax him back, but he threw himself on the floor, saying that he was too tired.

We had arrived fifteen minutes late, so I was already embarrassed, but for the Cat not to go in the room was further challenging.

The kids lined up at marched from the party room to a tae-kwon-do room. I was skeptical because I knew the Cat would be nervous about doing something like this. He refused to get in line, instead lounging about on couches in the lobby area (this was in a magnificent fitness center that had plenty of plush rest areas!) As the kids started their mini-class, he went up to the door to take a look, but refused to go in. He said, “I’m too tired!” and would point at the door saying, “It’s blocked!” because adults were standing across the entrance.

He threw himself down several times with complaints: “I don’t want to stand on a circle. I don’t want to bow. I too tired. The door is blocked!” I was tempted to leave. The birthday girl’s mother smiled, saying, “This is a tough age, isn’t it?” I was thankful for her kindness even though the 15 other kids were behaving completely “normally.” I don’t know whether she sensed my mortification, or if she had ever been in that boat with one of her four (!) kids. She later noted that the birthday girl had melted earlier in the day. I was so thankful for the non-judgmental acknowledgement of the situation.

The Cat observed for awhile behind the glass, and then stepped into the room. Finally, he took off his shoes and joined the group. He didn’t follow the instructions, and had some shrieking issues when they played a game where the instructors were bopping the kids with foam (he seemed genuinely frightened of being hit,) but it looked like he was having fun. Once, he kicked a balloon as instructed, and received a high-5 from one of the teachers.

On the way back from the mini-class to the present/cake room, the Cat refused to Follow the Leader, and complained loudly when they asked all the kids to put on their shoes. All the kids found and put on their shoes; the Cat was lying on the floor with his balloon. I picked up his shoes and put them on his feet. Sigh.

The kids started blowing kazoos as a party helper poured juice and got the cake ready. The Cat yelled, “No! Too loud! Too loud!” and started to cry. The party helper glared at him and rolled her eyes.

I talked to him softly, but he kept screeching, so I told him we were leaving. He followed me to the car, and immediately fell asleep once we started moving. I felt dejected as we drove away.

On one hand, I should have listened to him, since he had told us over and over again that he didn’t want to go to the party and that he was tired.

But on the other hand, I was hoping he’d enjoy himself, because sometimes after a period of acclimation, he becomes enthusiastic.

I was mortified at his behavior, yet I know that tiredness played a role. It is days like this that I want him to understand that even though the kazoos are too loud that he needs to use his words instead of shrieks. It is days like this that I wish I could watch him participating in an activity fully, following instructions. I don’t like having other parents witness the Cat as the sole abstention. I know that I am being selfish, because I so desperately want him to fit in for my own benefit, but I think that in time, he'll want to fit in for himself.

(I won't start a whole debate about striving to be "popular," and how parents pressuring their children to do something they don't want is inappropriate, but I do think it is important to have at least a couple friends, and I want the Cat to be happy with his position socially.)

But he is happy. After his nap, he explained very articulately how before he was tired and he was sorry that he cried. He is off with Daddy at the store, hopefully enjoying the food shopping (and Daddy wants a little iPod-holder for his new Prius.)

Posted by karianna at 07:03 PM | Comments (1)

Fall/Winter 05-6 : Game One Recap

We won 3:1!

My line-mate made 2 goals. Alas, I was not her official assist on either, although I set up a play that lead to one of the goals. I had two shots directly on net, and several more that were near-net but not quite. Oh, and I didn't have any penalty minutes (I have zero lifetime, but Husband would explain that I have committed many penalties but haven't gotten caught!) Our team had one penalty, and I played the penalty-kill.

Surprisingly, I wasn't as rusty as I had anticipated given my clumsiness at last weekend's conditioning/evaluation session. I felt more fluid than I had expected. My mood was terrific through all three periods of the game because my shifts were appropriately short and we had three sets of wings, so I got a little extra time on the bench.

Playing wing, especially with three sets, is so much more "balanced" than playing D with only two sets; or worse, with three D, alternating double-shifts (and yet always having one's partner decide to switch up 20 seconds after you've arrived on the bench after a double-shift!) For years, I played mostly D because I can skate backwards well and because, frankly, nobody else wanted to play D. But the last time I played (two years ago), the coach switched me to wing and I had more success there.

I am impressed thus far with my new coach. I told her I could play any position, yet she didn't stick me at D because she rationalized that I needed the extra "get into shape" time and the more spread out playing versus benching time that being a wing would allow me. She doled out both praise and criticism. She made helpful suggestions and yelled loudly, and then winked and told us when we had made her proud. I anticipate that she will be able to give me good advice to improve.

STATS:
Goals : 0
Assists : 0
+/- : +2

Posted by karianna at 06:18 PM | Comments (0)

September 22, 2005

The Prius Has Landed

Husband has had Prius-lust for a long time. He has been on PriusChat for months now, and has been hinting that it would be his ultimate thing. As gas prices rose and he got some peer pressure ("quit talking about wanting one, and just get it!"), we put down a deposit and got on a waiting list roughly a month ago.

Today they called! They wanted us to do the paperwork for a #4 vehicle that would be arriving shortly. But after we arrived, they showed us a "certified pre-owned" 2005 (pre-owned by Keena Turner; his 2006 is about to arrive) #6 car - all the extras - 7K miles, but at a price comparable to the #4. It was a deal too good to pass up, so we unexpectedly ended up receiving a car tonight!

I documented the happy event with my cameraphone. Husband is beaming. It is a fine day.

Posted by karianna at 11:25 PM | Comments (4)

September 21, 2005

Urinetown Triage

Both kids slept in a bit this morning, so we were off to a good start. The Cat went to sleep early last night and it looked like he was well-rested. He was articulate when we were stuck in traffic. He said he was sad that we were going so slowly because we couldn’t get to preschool faster. It was very cute. He even sung some songs to keep us happy in the parking lot of the freeway.

Today was his day to put a “mystery” item in the letter box. This week is “A.” We weren’t allowed to do anything “obvious” like apple; they wanted variety. On Monday, someone brought an apple, and then others brought an arrow, an army man, and something else I forgot. I thought of “apron” since the Cat likes to cook. When we arrived, he put his name in the envelope as has become automatic, but was reluctant to stick the apron in the mystery box. I did it for him.

Today was also a day the kids would be having cupcakes in celebration of a classmate’s birthday. So we brought a cupcake for Arik to eat, assuming that the ones provided would have artificial flavors, et al. Husband made the cupcakes last night, then the frosting this morning. The Cat put sprinkles on them and we raced out the door.

The teacher had also mentioned they would be doing a cereal project (probably for week “C” now that I think about it: duh!) At any rate, I brought in some Cat-safe cereal today.

So in addition to the Cat’s regular bag and lunchbox, we had the apron, the cupcakes, and the cereal. Plus, I had mom’s circle, so I had my book for that, and Spliggle’s bag for childcare. I looked like a skycap.

Spliggle didn’t want to get out of his stroller at childcare. It was odd. He stood facing the stroller and buried his face in it, as though taking a nap. I brought him over to the turtles and he seemed happier.

Mom’s circle went well. We are discussing When Jesus Came to Harvard, by Harvey Cox. The book raises some interesting points about moral relativism, how people obtain moral direction, and a framework for tackling difficult questions. It is based on a course taken by all types of students: atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jewish, and other organized religions.

After my group, I picked up Splig (who had made a little art project!) and we went off to run errands. At Whole Foods, I picked out some black bean soup that I wanted to try for dinner. Monday I had tomato chipotle. Mmm!

When we went to pick up the Cat from preschool, I already had my plan in mind: Splig would be tired, so he would take a nap. The Cat would either be so tired from school that he would curl up on the couch, or he would go play with trains. I would ride the exercise bike and watch the TiVo’ed final episode of Big Brother and any other fun stuff that I’ve forgotten has been recorded. I would then pick up the mess from the scurrying about in the kitchen this morning and the strewn National Geographics about the living room. Then I would work on some website stuff.

I violated the law that says that if things are already going smoothly, don’t dare make a plan or everything will come to a screeching halt!

Husband called while Splig and I sat in the car passing time before preschool pick-up. He mentioned that he had a challenging morning. I thought everyone else in the family was doing well, so was particularly sad he was having a tough day. He had had a cold the last few days, and has been doing a lot of work on top of it.

A few minutes later, I wheeled Spliggle out to a sitting area outside. The Cat’s teacher saw me and came over (the kids were in the classroom and out of sight.) She sighed, telling me that the Cat had a rough day. She described several incidents, said he had two time-outs and had difficulty sitting at lunch. He was shrieking a lot, and there was a problem over a truck. She described it as the worst day yet. I was thankful for her honesty and agreed when she said how frustrating it is to not know why the Cat is upset about something. I told her we had been trying frequently to cement, “Use your words instead of screeches so that we can understand what is wrong.” She nodded and patted my shoulder.

So much for the “good night of rest!”

Upon returning home, Splig was reluctant to take his nap. The Cat was wild and wanted to run around. I put on some TV, hoping he might settle a bit. Since he now had the TV, I started cleaning the kitchen. I’ll work out later, I thought.

As I returned some stray train cars back to their rightful place in the Cat’s train table behind the couch, I was shocked to see a puddle of pee.

While the Cat was potty-training, we had plenty of poo-smeared-on-the-walls and peeing-in-freight-cars incidents, but that stopped over a year ago (with a couple exceptions, such as an unfortunate infection the first week of school that led him to fear peeing in front of his new teachers whom I had told he was potty trained.)

As far as we knew, the Cat was fully potty trained except for frequent accidents at night. But we had been told that was normal for young boys and not something to worry about. I didn’t like that the Cat would fall asleep on the couch or the carpet when really tired and pee at that time, but it seemed in the same category as the nighttime wetness, so I didn’t believe a punishment would be appropriate.

About two or three weeks ago, I noticed little wet (or dried) circles on the carpet. At first, I thought it was milk. The Cat likes to dump milk on Spliggle’s head “to keep his hair down” and Spliggle likes to spray his bottle all over. But upon examination, I discovered the puddles were urine.

Then last Saturday, I picked up an inverted bucket in the middle of the carpet and accidentally tipped over a little bin from Spliggle’s “tool center” that was hidden inside. A yellow liquid spilled out. I was stunned and in denial until I sniffed it.

On Sunday, the Cat did the same thing with the other tool center bin, again covered with an inverted bucket. This time, I knew what it was and the pee didn’t spill out.

I believed that the Cat had been thoroughly talked-to and punished to understand not to do it again, so I was surprised to see the pee in his train area today.

But apparently, he saw a loophole. Don’t use buckets as potties, but apparently it is okay to just randomly pee on the floor. Or perhaps he was aiming for a freight car?

I looked around his area behind the couch. There were several puddles, and many of his toys were affected in one way or another. Meanwhile, the smell of pee from the couch was driving me crazy. (So much for the blot, blot, blot method!)

I sent the Cat to his room so I could clean. Spliggle started screaming from his room; he hadn’t yet fallen asleep.

The next several hours were a frenzy of activity. I would start picking up the toys in the Cat’s area to clean, then bring something into the kitchen and remember that I wanted to at least start the dishwasher. But to start the dishwasher, I’d have to load it with the dirty dishes strewn about. Oh, and I had forgotten the groceries in the car! Must put the milk away.

Well, except that pee is just soaking in behind the couch. Oh, but we need bread! Bread takes a little over 3 hours to make in the bread machine, so I should get it started now. But also, I have lots of laundry to do: all the blankets that the Cat has peed on, the covers to the sofa cushions, and random dishtowels.

But the bread!

To start the bread, I need to clear off a part of the counter. I need more wipes. To the garage to get more wipes! Huh, wonder why our (actual) cat hasn’t eaten her wet food? It is covered in ants. Huge trail of ants. Thousands of ants. Better get the ant bait. Open garage door to retrieve smelly hockey uniform to add to the laundry and to fully apply ant bait to the various parts of the trail. Forget to close garage door until several hours later. (Thank goodness we live on a court. I don’t think anyone stole anything from us, but having our stuff on display for several hours makes me uneasy.)

I totally failed at triage. Too many items were priority one and I was scatterbrained. But somehow I got it all done. Unfortunately, this meant Spliggle was sadly ignored when he got up every half hour from his micro-naps. I went upstairs to give him a new bottle and change his poopy diaper, but I couldn’t let him downstairs in the midst of the house being torn apart. It was terrible, but Splig was safer in his crib. (And he should have been sleeping, anyway!) When I finally let him downstairs, I stuck him in his high chair to eat and watch TV, safely away from my family room activities.

Meanwhile, the Cat was bouncing off anything and everything. He thought the carpet cleaner was cool and loved watching me clean. I told him it was very difficult and kept iterating how only to pee in the toilet. He kept saying, “I’m sorry.” He then said, “I’m difficult!” To which I said, “This is very difficult. I am cleaning a lot because you peed on the floor and on the couch.” He said, “I am difficult. You are difficult. We two are difficult.” If I had been in a better mood, perhaps I would have smiled. Later, he kept telling me that he was "sad at me" and would hmphf. I was fearful of sending him to his room since he would probably wake up Spliggle, so I ignored his requests to stop cleaning to bring him milk and to play.

From around 2:45pm to 8:15pm I cleaned and sorted toys, picked up dishes, wiped down counters, vacuumed, made bread, did laundry, killed ants, put groceries away, fed fish, steam-cleaned the carpet, and cleaned the upholstery. I took two email and water breaks, plus fed the boys (please don’t mess up the kitchen floor that I vacuumed!)

At 8:15pm, I read email and caught up on blogs. I then picked up the National Geographics and started reconstructing the family room on the dry portions of the carpet. (The couch will remain deconstructed until morning, as will a padded bench and accompanying pillows that had also smelled suspect)

But I didn’t get to that black bean soup until 9:45pm. It was yummy.

So, I deserve a nice bath, right? And maybe I don’t need to do the exercise bike since I was on my feet all day? Especially because I threw out my shoulder while picking up toys, yet it was somehow thrown back in with the rhythmic motion of the vacuum and carpet cleaner? (It still aches, though.)

Oh, but too bad I clogged the bathtub with the carpet-cleaning muck. The declogger takes 6-8 hours. So no bath for me. (Perhaps a warm shower?)

Fortunately, now both boys are asleep and the house is clean. I think I still smell pee, but it might be in my head. I didn’t clean one hundred percent of the toys because I couldn’t. The priority was to get it off the carpet and couch. Perhaps I will go bucket by bucket tomorrow. I think the board books might be affected.

Interestingly, I did not yell today. I just kept trucking. I don’t know if it was because I recognize that the Rita, Katrina, etc., stuff going on is so much larger than a pee-covered carpet, or because I was zenned-out from my Bible study this morning, or what. Don’t get me wrong – I was very angry and frustrated – but for some reason, I handled it better than I would have thought.

And of course now that it is over, I can see some humor in the situation, but most of all, I have a clean family room and kitchen, if only for a night!

Posted by karianna at 10:51 PM | Comments (3)

September 20, 2005

Back on the Ice

I went to hockey on Sunday. Writing about the dilemma reminded me of the wonderful feeling I get when I skate, even if there are so many obstacles to obtaining that post-game high. So, I will see how this season goes. If it works, great; I will be back in the swing of things. If it is really annoying and aggravating, then I will know not to play the following season.

(Incidentally, there are no pick-up leagues close to where I live. The closest rink is an hour away. And frankly, I would be a bit nervous to just jump in with a bunch of guys, although I did it in college.)

Husband’s car was fixed, and we worked it out so that I would go to practice, and then meet him at the BBQ so he could schmooze sans-kids.

I got there plenty early. I was the first in the locker room, and took my time putting on the gear “just so.” I was a bit miffed to discover my pants were a bit tight (they had been before, but I thought that my working out would have produced a different result!) and my skates were definitely snug. To add insult to injury, my arm pads were too large! I vaguely remember something about the arm straps becoming a bit loose last time I played two years ago, but perhaps that is a false memory designed to save my vanity since I have wimpy-ass-no-muscle arms. I gotta up the push-up count before I go to bed!

I stretched out, and made conversation with the other players as they entered. I saw a couple familiar faces, but most were new.

When I stepped on the ice, I felt surprisingly comfortable, but this relief lasted only a couple minutes. I glided around a bit, and then sped up to work on my crossovers. One side was easy, the other was shockingly difficult. I used to be able to skate fluidly. I went backwards, and was surprised at how stiff I was. So much for being able to do quick backwards maneuvers!

I knew my stick-handling would leave something to be desired. I wasn’t good at holding on to the puck and shooting before, I knew I’d be lousy now. I surprised myself by sprinting around the rink quickly without losing the puck, then slamming it high into the boards. Wow, I lifted the puck on my first try?

The drills made me blush. I couldn’t stop on my weak foot (well, I could, but not on a dime.) I was having trouble passing. And I never got a goal during our shooting drills (nor did I lift the puck in that context.) I loved the “horseshoe drill” where you skate up to the blue line, take a pass from someone in the opposing corner, and shoot on goal. I can always catch those passes since they are light, easy, and unopposed. And I get the shot on goal each time, though the goalie is always ready! Still, it is a fluid drill.

But it is the drills that make me uncomfortable that are those which I must do more frequently, alas. I wish I could just rent out a rink and bring a couple friends with me to practice the super simple passes and shots. Over and over and over again, not in front of other people!

I left after an hour of drills. They were going to have a scrimmage, but two things kept me from participating: 1) I knew I was going to be hurting in the morning and didn’t want to push my luck further and 2) I had expected practice to end at 3pm, and it was already 3:30pm and I wanted to get to the BBQ in case Husband needed me.

Sure enough, the muscles protested loudly. I could barely walk at the BBQ, and attempting to push Spliggle’s stroller over the grass was a Herculean effort. My hand shook involuntarily as I ate my dinner. Driving home, I was afraid my leg would stiffen up at an inopportune time (such as when needing to use the brakes.)

Today, two days later, I am still sore. I am not walking straight, and my back is stuck funny. I have enjoyed warm baths. Today I am going to work out on the exercise bike to “loosen up” a bit.

We will see how it goes. The schedule isn’t out, so I don’t know when I will next have an opportunity to skate, but I hope it is relatively soon so that I can get into the groove instead of having a series of really sore muscle days.

Posted by karianna at 12:50 PM | Comments (2)

In Pursuit of Education : Part Two

Saturday evening, I attended a 25th anniversary celebration for an independent school out in my area that serves infants through 6th grade. It is a school I have been looking at for the Cat (and by default, Spliggle too.) On advisement from an enthusiastic parent, I had gone to one of their open houses a couple months ago and was thoroughly impressed with the headmasters and their educational philosophy. They have lots of animals, an organic garden, and three different play structures, each for a different age group. The “classroom rules” are consistent: the same for each grade level. The “routine” and patterns of learning are similar for each grade level (yet suited for maturity level.) This consistency would be amazing for the Cat.

The friend who had recommended the school has a daughter with an auditory-processing disorder (who happens to be the same age as the Cat.) She had mentioned to me how the school had been accommodating to her “special needs” and how the overall structure and educational philosophy took into consideration different learning styles.

I was impressed during the open house, and I was even more impressed Saturday evening. It was like a wedding! They had a dance floor, little white lights, marvelous food, and even better companionship. I perused photographs of the children and staff, and chuckled at the green and red elves in the holiday play and smiled at the sea of blue-plaid uniforms lined up in front of the Washington Monument: the uniforms were the same, but the faces were all different colors. I interviewed parents for their impressions. They were all so complementary that I wanted to sign up my boys on the spot! They were not snooty or dripping with diamonds as the stereotype may dictate.

The Headmasters were fabulous, as I had remembered from the Open House. The speeches made on behalf of the school were wonderful. One teacher had herself attended as a child, and now her children attend. The Headmasters’ twin daughters also teach at the school and have their children there. Everyone involved with the school who I met was articulate, friendly, and enthusiastic.

I saw in this celebration the same pride and excitement that I feel about my high school. It is certainly tempting to send my boys there.

But then on the other hand, I wonder. Independent schools are expensive. And by sending my children to an independent school, I am sending a signal about our public schools. How can I help improve public schools if I send my children to a private school? I want what is best for the Cat, and since I know that his future teachers are going to need to be a bit flexible to accommodate his need for routine and initial adjustment period, my gut reaction is that the independent school is better for him. It is a “family” that I believe he would trust once he acclimated. The smaller class sizes would give him the opportunity to seek help if necessary. I am concerned that he would be overwhelmed and lost in public school.

I guess the upshot is that I didn’t picture myself ever attending a private school (Part One,) but it was one of the best things that ever happened to me socially and academically. Likewise, I didn’t think I’d be one of “those parents” who sent their kids to an independent school, but if we decide to go that route, it very well might be the best thing that ever happens to the Cat.

Posted by karianna at 12:18 PM | Comments (1)

In Pursuit of Education : Part One

Saturday morning I went to an Alumni Association meeting for my high school alma mater. I am the co-President, although the other President is so involved in the school activities and such that I am more of a “silent partner” who fills in when he cannot make meetings. I enjoy the role because it enables me to sit on the Board of Trustees, and I think my contributions there are more valuable than those towards the Alumni Association.

I absolutely love my high school. I am eager to be able to put more effort into it once the kids are a bit older. Each year that I have been on the Alumni Board and Board of Trustees, I’ve started out telling myself that I will attend every meeting and do all my “homework,” but inevitably, a conflict comes up, and family comes first. When the kids are more independent, maybe I will be able to feel that I have made more of a contribution. But every little bit that I can put in makes me glad. Walking through those halls brings back such wonderful memories.

The public schools in my area growing up were excellent, or at least that is what people said. My husband was later shocked at some of the stories I told him about junior high (such as there not being enough substitute teachers so that we had a fireman “teach” our Algebra II class for two weeks, or that my eighth grade history teacher just had us watch films every day to keep us busy,) but I believe I had a strong solid elementary school education.

My parents saw the academic and social decline in junior high at the same time that my older cousin went off to “a private school in the city.” We were a bit perplexed that my aunt and uncle would send him to a private school an hour away when his local high school was one of the best in the state. My cousin was angry. He wanted to be with his friends.

But quickly, we heard amazing stories. My cousin loved it at his new school. He was actually challenged. His new friends were bright and friendly. When a group of them came “out to the country” to visit him at his house (I believe for a chorus retreat) my aunt was impressed and pleased that the kids cleaned up her kitchen after dinner and always asked how they could help out.

My cousin told me I had to apply. There was no question.

With two days notice, my aunt offered to drive me to take the SSAT: Secondary School Admissions Test. I hadn’t prepped for the test, and was pretty nervous. The others in the classroom were “career private school attendees” who asked me to which other schools I was applying, and what school I was currently attending. I felt sheepish admitting that I was a public school gal, and that I was only applying to one “private” (I later learned to call it “independent”) school. I definitely felt out of my league, but felt I had nothing to lose.

When I visited the school for my interview, I was surprised at how polite the other students were, and how respectful the teachers were of the students and vice-versa. I had stepped into an alternative universe where learning and interacting with material was a noble pursuit. The kids weren’t all “nerds;” some were outgoing, all were friendly, many were stylish, all fabulous folks who happened to be highly intelligent. The word “diversity” is overused, but that is what I was greeted with: all shapes and colors and cultures. And the kicker is that it was spread out fairly well socio-economically as well. Truth be told, there were probably more rich white kids than there were other types, but for an independent school, we were exceptionally well balanced when compared to other private schools and to the makeup of the city as a whole.

I was ecstatic when I was accepted, though it did seem a bit awkward to grasp that I would be attending a “private” school!

Those four years were incredible. I didn’t feel pressure from social cliques. I felt comfortable in my group of friends and didn’t have longing for any “popular” kids because really such a thing didn’t exist. I was introduced to new ways of thinking and became more “worldly” than I was in my relatively small town an hour away. It was cool to be smart.

When I went off to college, the cliques returned. The notice of someone’s skin color returned. Attention to one’s wallet size returned. I found my niche in a “co-ed literary society” which was a Greek organization that had started out as an all-male fraternity but that had become co-ed in the 70’s and had split off from the all-male arm in the early 90’s. That group was great for me and I felt comfortable in that environment. Overall, college was okay, but I missed the supportive atmosphere of my high school.

When I returned from my adventure back East, I jumped back into the alumni activities and set out to become more involved in the school. It had made such a difference for me academically and socially that I am adamant about continuing its pursuits and encouraging others to attend. It is one of the most popular independent schools in San Francisco, and the caliber of students it attracts is outstanding.

Therein lies a bit of a problem, however, because one aim of the school is to be accessible and to not be snobby. Fortunately, the admissions staff is spectacular at finding students who (like me) never pictured themselves as being “private school” material. There is a “sliding” tuition scale (and nobody knows who is paying full price and who is paying a great deal less, and nobody cares.) The kids today are just as wonderful as I remember them being when I was there. Incidentally, this school has been instrumental at starting a (public) charter school in the city. It is important to spread the educational philosophies and methods beyond just the tiny population of independent school students.

I have the first Board of Trustees meeting of the school year this evening, and I am rearing to go! I get that warm, fuzzy feeling when I walk down the halls and when the Headmaster talks, although I feel really old because he started his employment at the school the same year I was a freshman, and he is in his 18th year now!

Posted by karianna at 12:13 PM | Comments (0)

September 16, 2005

To Hockey, or Not to Hockey?

It was mid-season in 2003 when I became pregnant with Spliggle. As is league policy, I was given a “pregnancy credit” that would expire one year from its date of issue.

I had Spliggle in July of 2004. As far as I knew, the hockey credit would expire in October 2004. The autumn season begins in September, and I was absolutely not ready to return to hockey only two months post-partum.

I figured my credit had expired.

But then earlier this year, I received an email from the league saying that if I wrote them back with an intention to use the credit, it could be extended.

I was intrigued. I wasn’t yet ready to play during the summer season (still too much question about the Cat’s future and we were in the midst of a set of evaluations and all that) but figured I might in the fall.

Last month, I thought about it, and decided hat I might as well use the credit. Unfortunately, the amount of the credit was $125, and the season costs $450. So, I had to provide $325 to make up the difference.

When the mailman took that check away, I was nervous. What if I couldn’t make enough of the games? $325 can be used for other stuff I want. What if my long absence from hockey has left me a horrible player? What if it isn’t fun anymore?

I figured I would go to the evaluation / conditioning sessions and see how I felt back on my skates.

Last Friday was to be the first of the sessions. But traffic was poor, so Husband got home a half hour later than when I had hoped to leave. The drive to the rink was an hour long. Google Maps said “58 minutes.” That would be in perfect traffic.

The traffic ended up being fairly perfect, and in a way that was disappointing, because if I was going to be late, I wanted to be so late that I could without question skip the evaluation. If I were only a little bit late, then I would be rushed getting my equipment on. Since it was my first time back in two years, I wanted to put my gear on slowly, stretch out, breathe, and ease back into the routine.

But leaving at 8pm for a 58 minute drive in which the evaluation started at 9pm (in other words: on the ice, in full gear at 9pm) was too close for comfort.

I reached the rink at 9:02pm. It was just at the point where had I felt comfortable rushing in and jumping on the ice, I could have pulled it off. If I had been back before, I wouldn’t mind being tardy. But being a “new” skater, I didn’t want to be late and rushed. I drove out of the parking lot and back towards the freeway, feeling guilty for not at least attempting to get on the ice. After all, maybe the session had been delayed fifteen minutes.

My nerves and reluctance to take the chance made me think. Had I been eager to get on the ice, then that would have told me I had made the right decision. But my relief to be driving home indicated that maybe I wasn’t interested in playing hockey again.

The next evaluation is this Sunday afternoon. It conflicts with a BBQ my husband’s boss is sponsoring. My husband must be there. My parents are unavailable to baby-sit. It is possible for me to go to practice, then go directly to the BBQ (all hot n’ sweaty) to relieve my husband of the kids so that he can do the appropriate “mixing” and photographing of the event and so forth. But I am looking at this evaluation as a chore, rather than a privilege. Should I spend $325 on a chore?

As I was trying to figure out what to do about the conflict this weekend, it made me nervous about my ability to get to other games. Both rinks are at least an hour away. Then I need at least 15 minutes, and preferably 30 to get dressed and warm-up. That is three hours worth of travel and preparation to play a 45 minute game. For weekday games, this means Husband has to come home an hour and a half before game-time. I am nervous about traffic and his work responsibilities. I worry about relying on him and sometimes my parents so that I can have time “off” from the kids. Would I prefer to have time off in another capacity, or do I make hockey a top priority such that it is for games that I use my “please take care of the kids” card?

When I take the ice for warm-up, it is a wonderful feeling. I float around, enjoying knocking the pucks off the wall and into the goal. I skate whichever way I chose, and enjoy the freedom.

During the first period, I am typically a bit nervous and reluctant. I wonder about my performance, I get frustrated when the coach critiques me (depending on the criticism.) After each shift, I am relieved for the break. My heart pounds and the slightly warm, metallic water from my bottle tastes refreshing. But then I worry about my next shift. The minutes tick away slowly, but speed up during the second period.

Third period is my favorite because I have adequately warmed up. The majority of the game is behind me, so I can give my all for the last portion. I feel more fluid on my feet and the plays come easier. The game is over all too quickly.

Driving home, I feel terrific. I have exercised hard, and my muscles give a warm throb to let me know I have earned a bubble bath. I am glad, exhausted, and energized all at once.

The best games that I have played ever have been the second in back-to-back games. The post-game high is such that I can carry it into another capacity. I feel invincible.

But before games, and at the start of games? Ugh! I feel as though I have a huge mountain to climb. It is hard to get motivated. I know it is worth it in the end if I just do it, but stepping on the ice is the hurdle. In the case of last week, turning off the car and getting my equipment on before the evaluation started was the hurdle.

So before games, it is easy to make excuses. I can have other priorities. I can blame traffic.

And so as I think about whether to ask for my money back (less an administrative fee) or to press on, a huge part of me says “Yeah, just quit. It will be better to just stick with your kids while they are small, use that $300 for another purpose, eliminate the fear that you won’t get there on time, eliminate the stress that is so great that you nearly hurl before games” but then the part of me who thinks about that post-game high says, “Don’t you dare give up now!”

Incidentally, while I was writing this post, Husband called to inform me that his car is broken. This has huge implications for how to work the conflicts of this weekend. Both of us have commitments on both days, and we need two cars to get to our destinations and to kid-swap mid-day on both days.

It is possible that this situation will impact this hockey decision strongly. A friend of mine would say, “It is an omen!” But perhaps it is just a test to see how much I would be dedicated to hockey. Can I find a solution?

Posted by karianna at 08:06 PM | Comments (4)

Check In

Reflecting on my previous entry, I was struck by how frequently I write about autistic spectrum disorders and the Cat.

Just as I am worried about the Spliggle Playgroup turning into the Evaluate Cat Therapy Session, I don't particularly want to have the only focus of this blog be ASD.

On one hand, the questions I have and the accompanying struggles are so engrained in my life that it is only natural that I post about them. After all, my greatest worries are for the health and well-being of my sons. And if someone going through similar experiences finds this blog and is interested in my observations, all the better.

But on the other hand, I don't want people to avoid my stuff because they fear it is all about ASD and it may not be of interest. Although the population of folks going through similar things is growing, I don't want to write exclusively for that group.

Also, it occurred to me that the "me" times end up being mundane in a "let's report this on the blog!" way, even if they are meaningful to me. Like seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a few weeks back was a great break for me, and Survivor last night was a blast! I am looking forward to Big Brother tonight and going to my high school alma mater's alumni association meeting tomorrow morning. This weekend, we have a BBQ hosted by my husband's boss, and I may or may not have hockey practice (the dilemma surrounding that will be in a separate post!) I always have rants about other people's driving, but when I get home at the end of the day, I wonder "Do people really want to see the diagrams of what insane drivers did to me today?" Also, I figure that I complain enough about the Cat related things that if I started digging into drivers that people would just think I was a crabby-head. (Maybe I am!)

So this post is my promise to start posting less about ASD and more about ME! ;-)

Posted by karianna at 06:45 PM | Comments (2)

Try Again! Previous Efforts Don't Count!

I slept surprisingly well last night given my concern about Splig’s doctor’s appointment. I had printed out the sheet that shows which vaccine manufacturers carry which types of immunizations with X amount of mercury and Y amount of thimerosal, and the sheet* that shows which vaccines are mandatory for school admission. (Interesting at how many California has, versus some other states like Alabama. Guess which state has higher autism rates?)

*(UPDATE: I see that the link I provided defaults to "Alabama," so if you are interested, go to the main page and select the state of interest from the drop down menu in the upper-right corner.)

I was armed with some questions, and ready to do what I needed to do. Whether it was just an old wives tale or what, I planned to jack up Splig’s vitamin C and A this morning “in preparation” for his body to be ready to accept the vaccines. (It sounds so new-agey. Shudder.)

But somewhere before 7am, the phone rang. When I looked at the clock, I could have sworn it was just a little after 6:00am and was pretty angry; but then when I looked again what I thought was only a couple minutes later, it was 6:50am. It was the doctor’s office calling to say the pediatrician would not be in today. I understand they needed to phone early to alert the busy parents, but I was a sleeping parent!

Although on one hand, I was relieved to have some extra time to do more research and to not have to face the shots today; on the other hand I wanted to get the “discussion” over with. I don’t know if I even want to do more research, given how conflicting the information is.

It reminds me of in school when I would work all night long on a project only to be told that because other kids had complained, we’d be given an extension. (Or sometimes the teacher would look at the “quality” of the projects and come to the conclusion that we needed more time.) Because inevitably I wouldn’t have slept the night before, I didn’t have the physical or mental energy to put in to the new “cycle” of working on the project. I would have preferred to be graded on one stressful night’s worth of work than two days worth of work, since the latter would have more stringent requirements.

So I felt that way this morning. I wanted to just get the discussion over with, and probably the mandatory vaccines over with since Spliggle is healthy and would have been filled to the gills with vitamins. But now I have to ruminate about it a bit more. Luckily, this isn’t a “graded” event, though the stakes are higher.

Later, the doctor’s office called back to say that the pediatrician won’t be back until November. My husband took the call, and scheduled an appointment with a newly hired doctor for a couple weeks from now.

Therefore, I have to have “the discussion” with a brand new pediatrician who doesn’t know the Cat’s back story, and therefore will not immediately understand my concerns about Spliggle.

Cross your fingers with me that this is going to be one of those sympathetic, easy-to-talk-to pediatricians instead of those brusque doctors about whom you have no idea how they could possibly want to treat children.

*cross*

Since we weren’t going to the doctor, we headed off to playgroup. The playgroup leader was surprised to see me since I had told her I would be missing this week. She knew why I was worried. I told her the appointment was cancelled, and she responded, “It must be an omen!”

I didn’t have time to tell her about all the “new” stuff I had discovered (such as that it wasn’t as easy to get an exception as once thought, and that the spacing out of vaccines or obtaining them from a private clinic wouldn’t necessarily work for the school system.) And frankly, I didn’t really want to talk about it. I was thankful that another mom arrived, and then another.

About 10 minutes later, a fifth mom (also named Carrie, though spelled differently) arrived with her daughter. I had met her last week. Picture a beautiful skinny blonde who has lived in Switzerland, Hong Kong, Italy, and various other places. The playgroup leader had mentioned that she recently had moved into the (highly affluent) neighborhood and was just an outstanding person. She seemed self-assured, calm, completely together, and friendly.

Before her arrival last playgroup, I had been talking (reluctantly) about the vaccine issue. (I didn’t bring it up; another mom did.) Since I didn’t know Carrie, I really didn’t want to get into why I was concerned about vaccines and such. Thankfully, the conversation turned immediately to introductions. We learned that our sons were in the same preschool, but went different days. Both classes attend on Fridays, so both our boys were in school at that point.

As is typical when meeting someone for the first time, I wanted to make the best impression. I didn’t think that continuing the discussion of my vaccine fears, mentioning the Cat’s past troubles, or anything of that nature would be appropriate. So I helped steer the conversation to other topics.

This week, the first thing the playgroup leader said was, “Hey Kari, you and Carrie have a lot in common.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You both have some of the same issues with your sons.” She teased.

Carrie immediately queried, “Aspergers?” and I sighed, stammering, “Well, yeah, but PDD. I don’t know if that is the right label,” and probably I added a few more unintelligible words.

“Oh, we just got back from our IEP (Individualized Education Plan) this morning!” she chirped.

She told me her 9 year old son has Aspergers. The playgroup head said, “Yeah, and Kari has had lots of trouble getting the help she needs.”

Ugh. Opening a can of worms.

Again, I inarticulately produced a run-on sentence that included my frustration that evaluations are tricky and labels are faulty, and I am not really sure what the deal is. She told me her son is “atypical” in his diagnosis and also doesn’t fit neatly within the Asperger’s label, but she said that getting a label helps get the appropriate help with the school system.

I responded that the school system had so far been unhelpful. She agreed with the frustration that in their eyes “high functioning” plus “low functioning” equals out to “average” and said she has had the same problem in the past.

She asked which school system the Cat was in. I told her it was the same son that went to school with her younger son (she has three sons and one daughter.) I said, “It is just the normal Sunflowers class.”

We chased our kids around a bit, and I went to the restroom. As I returned, I overheard the playgroup head telling Carrie, “Yeah, I just know that she is in need of guidance right now, and you are the perfect person to give it to her! It really is so lucky you are here!”

And so it began. Carrie listed exactly what I would need: a developmental pediatrician is a MUST. Don’t you dare go to a regular pediatrician! Also, an educational psychologist and a pediatric neuropsychologist are helpful. She listed off names of her preferred clinicians. Dr. Wonderful is THE doctor in the area! What he says goes. When the (highly affluent) school district is told that your son is referred by Dr. Wonderful, they will do ANYTHING. Of course, Dr. Wonderful doesn’t take insurance…

Honestly? On one hand, I was glad for her “guidance” but on the other hand, I was a bit shocked by the abrupt “I have been down this road longer than you have, so here is the skinny,” especially given that I have lived in the area longer than she has. (She actually used the phrase “I have been down this road longer than you have,” which I thought was off-putting.) But, she clearly has more experience. And, she clearly knows who the influential people are. I know that she was being helpful. Her comments were with a genuine intent to assist, not to lecture, although it felt otherwise to me.

It again felt like the overnight school project. Even though the Cat had already gone through two formal evaluations and seen numerous providers, social workers, and caseworkers, Carrie was suggesting yet another “starting point” to get an evaluation, a new case worker, and so forth. It was as though all the effort I had already done didn’t “count.” (Which most of the time, I feel is true!) She said things like, “Well, you need to get him evaluated and labeled,” and “Early intervention is key,” as though I hadn’t done a thing.

In the course of the conversation (which was pretty much one-sided, but I would occasionally get to respond), I had to admit that I wasn’t part of the highly affluent school district. (So perhaps Dr. Wonderful’s influence won’t be the same.) In response to some of her queries about medication, I “let it slip” that in my pre-child life I had been a neuroscientist and had studied neuropharmacology, so had some knowledge on the issue, and we had decided to hold off for the time being.

Before I knew it, playgroup was over. Our conversation hadn’t been completely fluid; I had only responded to her queries in the midst of her “lecture.”

“Be sure to intervene as early as possible!” she said cheerfully as a goodbye. Again with the preaching to the choir! It isn’t like I am just sitting around doing nothing!

Still, I am glad to have someone who has been down the road, because I can go to her with questions.

But.

I didn’t want to start the whole vaccine conversation (my guess is that the playgroup leader will initiate that conversation next week,) and at this point, I don’t really want to list the “trouble” that we have with the Cat.

For example, now that he has acclimated to the routine of finding his name and putting it in the envelope at the start of the preschool day, he simply does it easily and automatically. It is the initial transition, routine, and meeting people that is the problem. At the moment, he is doing fine in preschool, or at least I think he is. When I receive the official in-school evaluation, then I may discover otherwise.

But at this precise moment, I am reluctant to start a whole other battery of tests. I want to wait and see how the Cat is handling preschool now that he is more acclimated. I feel more like observation than action right now. I want the Cat to have a break from the scrutiny.

I can tell that Carrie is more for action. I will be nervous that next week she starts out by asking, “Did you phone Dr. Wonderful yet?”

I am conflicted by this new friendship. It has started off as a “mentor-mentee” pairing and I am uncomfortable. I would have preferred more of an “equal” friendship initially, eventually discovering for ourselves that we have similar issues with our sons. Advice from her to me would me casual. The “set up” was unexpected (although made with the best of intentions.)

I go to playgroup to enjoy my time with Spliggle and other women who have infants and toddlers. I really didn’t want to get the Cat mixed in with what I had pictured as “Spliggle” time.

I had posted before about how I was hoping for a friend who had gone through similar things relating to ASDs, but I pictured that “ideal” relationship as being outside of a playgroup, not part of a situation where other mothers are privy to the “issues” I am having and the “guidance” that one mom is providing to me.

(Today, the other moms kept interjecting with their own questions. For several of them, it was the first time they had been told of the Cat’s “diagnosis.” I felt “outed.”)

Yes, I am being overly sensitive about this, but I really don’t want what was supposed to be a relaxing Friday morning away-from-the-Cat playgroup to turn into a group therapy session to “help” me with my son.

Later this afternoon, I saw Carrie as she was picking up her son from the classroom right next to the Cat’s. We smiled and said “hello.” As is Murphy’s Law, if you tell someone your child is “different,” the child will put on a show. Sure enough, the Cat responded to Carrie’s greeting with a loud, “Mmmmrrrreow!” and started racing around on all fours, ignoring my attempts to get him to stand up and walk properly to the car. This is either normal four year old antics or “other,” depending on whose eyes view the behavior and in what frame of reference.

Fortunately, Carrie has been “down that road…”

Posted by karianna at 05:54 PM | Comments (1)

September 15, 2005

Guilt Trips

Tomorrow is Spliggle’s 12 month doctor appointment. He is 14 months old, but I have been putting off the appointment for fear of what to do about the vaccines he is scheduled to receive.

The day I received the appointment was the same day the director of the preschool reminded me that I need to show proof of updated vaccinations. I actually thought I was off the hook because at the time of registration, they were up-to-date, but once his birthday passed, a whole slew (six, I believe) of “needed” vaccines became due for him to remain in the school. Then this was the same day that I had been talking to the director about the Cat’s in-school evaluation.

As I worried about the Cat, I was being reminded that Spliggle was due for something that may have had a part in the Cat’s situation.

I meant to do lots of research about this decision, but my fear paralyzed me such that I didn’t until today.

As I read the information, it appears that to vaccinate Spliggle the way I would want to, I would have to remove him from preschool. “Philosophical / Personal” exemption requires an all or none approach in that all vaccines must be shunned, not just certain ones. So I couldn’t tell the preschool director “here is proof of the varicella vaccine, but under personal exemption, I can’t provide proof of the DTaP until 6 months from now and I refuse to give him MMR.”

"My way" would be a single shot every 6 months, but eliminating some shots all together (like MMR; possibly get each as a separate vaccine, but maybe not.) But even that plan has its pitfalls, as many sources have said that repeated injections actually create more problems than the overload problem. And although many vaccines are now made with only trace amounts of mercury or thimerosal, many health providers still have the full-mercury amounts and are likely using them up before a new law goes into effect in CA where the vaccines must be mercury-free.

Both “sides” have their guilt trips. If you vaccinate, you are putting your child in jeopardy for neurological injury. If you don’t vaccinate, you are being selfish by not contributing to herd immunity (and what if your child contracts an illness and dies from something for which you refused to vaccinate!)

I do not know who to believe.

Since I used to do scientific research, I understand the fallibility. I understand the pressure from pharmaceutical companies (or in this case, the vaccine companies who are pretty much the same people.) One of the reasons I left my field was because of dishonesty: suppressing data that goes against one’s sponsor, encouraging data that is favorable for the sake of a “clear cut picture.” Even without overt dishonesty, the truth is that every experiment has confounds. Even someone with the best intentions might get a faulty result. Replication is sometimes difficult, especially because seemingly irrelevant variables end up being the key to a particular finding. Egos get in the way, and funding guidelines frequently dictate an investigator’s direction.

Unfortunately, this means that even if I were to read all of the original study papers regarding the composition and spacing of vaccines, I would still not be convinced that what I was reading was true. And even if all the conflicting studies were true in their own way (different results because of the mind-blowing number of variables involved,) I can’t create an empirical chart that says “if you don’t vaccinate, your child will have X percentage of developing thus-and-such disease, versus a Y percentage of developing neurological difficulties” and so forth.

I can’t weigh the variables, it makes my head explode.

Viral overload. Autism. Mercury Poisoning. Site infection. Contraction of the disease: through the vaccine or because we didn’t vaccinate. Herd immunity. Home schooling. Isolation. Being bullied into doing something. Interpretation of the laws. I don’t know what to make of it all.

I cried after the Cat got his first MMR because I was afraid of all the "rumors." I ultimately decided that being immune to horrible diseases would be worth the risk that maybe some sort of neurological damage would occur. (Plus, the doctor had told me it was ridiculous to fear the vaccines.) Still, I was anxious.

Were my suspicions confirmed, or was it just a coincidence?

This time around, I am even more nervous because of the Cat's situation and the additional reading I have done.

If I vaccinate and Spliggle ends up having similar or worse problems than the Cat, I will forever wonder if it was “my fault” for giving into the pressure to have him vaccinated.

If I don’t vaccinate, then I will be fearful that he will contract one of the diseases that could have been prevented. For example, if we have an earthquake here in CA and we are all huddled together in shelters where disease can spread quickly, Spliggle would be at risk.

And the “compromise” of vaccinating slowly has its own risks: what if instead of assisting with viral overload, it causes immunosuppression? Without an official exemption from the vaccination requirements, he couldn’t go to preschool anymore (nor could he attend public school.) I do not want to homeschool.

I want my little guy to be okay.

The scare tactics on both sides have done their job: I am frightened, but I don’t have a decision.

Posted by karianna at 04:18 PM | Comments (3)

September 14, 2005

The In-School Evaluation

Today was the Cat’s in-school evaluation by the psychologist I was impressed with last week.

Yesterday, the Cat was totally “off.” He pulled Spliggle’s hair, he knocked him down, he threw objects, he talked back to me: the works. He was in his room being punished most of the day. We were both sad. I was fearful that the evaluation day would be “wasted” on a super-bad day. Although I understand the benefit of seeing him at his worst, I was hoping for an evaluation at whatever his “best” is, or at least a “typical” time to see if it really diverts from “normal.”

I got my wish.

Whatever was in Cat’s system yesterday apparently got out by today; at least, I think so.

He slept on the floor and peed in his bed, so I didn’t think he had gotten a good night’s sleep. He was loud in the car and irritable. The traffic was horrific: absolutely the worst I have experienced for the particular stretch. We were 30 minutes late. The psychologist was already there, of course, and she was interviewing the head teacher. I felt so bad for being late, but also sad that she had taken the head teacher away from her students. I figured the interview with the teacher would come during outside-time or something, but since the Cat wasn’t there, it made sense to just do it at that point. I was as apologetic as I could be, but also embarrassed.

But the Cat got his name, put it in his envelope, and joined his classmates. No shrieking, screeching, or anything disruptive. I left very hopeful, yet still frazzled from the late start.

It was “Moms and Muffins” day at preschool, so I hung out with some other moms eating some yummy stuff. The Director mentioned to me that she saw how happy Spliggle was on Monday and mentioned that they have room for him on Friday if I would like a second day a week all to myself.

Very tempting!

I then went to my parents’ house. My mom was there. My parents had gotten back from their Alaskan cruise safe and sound last night. I got a recap, and also some souvenirs! Yay! One of the souvenirs was a cookbook of (mainly) seafood delicacies from a variety of Alaskan restaurants. Inspired, I made a hazelnut-crusted halibut in a citrus-thyme sauce for dinner this evening. It was the first time I had made halibut, and it turned out astonishingly well.

After the trip to my mom’s and to the store, I picked up the Cat. He was happy and told me about his day. He was concerned about Spliggle, who kept screaming at the top of his lungs (teething pain.) I was astonished at how polite and caring the Cat was given his crazy day yesterday.

I don’t know how the actual evaluation went.

While putting the Cat’s lunchbox and backpack in his cubby I overheard the head teacher telling the psychologist about the Cat’s strange noises and difficulty in sitting in Circle Time, but I didn’t want to eavesdrop. I expect the official report will come in a few weeks. At that time, I’ll ask for feedback. I don’t know how the Cat behaves when he is away from me, and I am curious to find out!

I know the teacher thought that the psychologist was a nice gal, but she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t tell me whether the Cat had a good day or a bad day. I didn’t ask. Sometimes, no news is good news.

But at home, the Cat was great. I was proud of him. And dinner was yummy. It called for some wine, and I drank the whole bottle (over a period of several hours,) so you can pretty much imagine how happy I am at this point…

Posted by karianna at 09:56 PM | Comments (1)

Potter Party

I got out last night for a few hours as Draco Malfoy. It was good. The boys had been crazy all day, so it was appropriate that I had some decompression at my book club’s “Harry Potter Party.”

I have never attended a Trek or B5 Convention, nor have I dressed up for the release of such movies (or Star Wars related movies), but I thought it would be fun to dress up for the Potter Party.

I haven’t ever dressed up as a Potter character; not for the midnight book releases, not for any sort of party up until last night. But in the company of my friends, I felt comfortable unleashing the nerdiness!

My friend K.R. did an absolutely fabulous job dreaming up the food for the party: cockroaches made of chow mien noodles covered in milk chocolate, pretzel stick wands dipped in white chocolate, Bernie Bott’s Every Flavor beans (I tried Spaghetti, but didn’t dare Sardine), Butterbeer made of cream soda mixed with butterscotch Schnapps, and so forth.

Lots of fun was had by all. I enjoyed the chance to dress up without feeling like a total dumbass. Of course, posting the pictures on the internet is probably pretty silly, but I thought it was a fun thing to do. I was going for Draco, but I think I ended up looking more like Snape. I tried to sneer appropriately. It helped that for once in my life, I had to enhance under-eye-darkness with makeup!

As a nerdy aside, I read that “Draco” means “dragon” or “large serpent.” (from The Harry Potter Lexicon) Interestingly, the word is present in the Hogwarts school motto: "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," which means "Never tickle a sleeping dragon." (Again, the Lexicon) Then “Malfoy” means “bad faith.” Like other Potter fans, I am eager to find out what role the Malfoy family has in the whole situation (I think it is something different from the obvious conclusions,) and particularly curious about Snape’s role: good or evil, but I digress.

The party was great. It was fun to be “away” for a little bit. Hooray!

Posted by karianna at 09:20 PM | Comments (0)

September 12, 2005

I am FREE!

Today was Spliggle's first day of preschool, and the Cat's third. Both boys were in school from 9:15 - 2:15.

5 hours of freedom a week.

Sure, I went to a meeting, did some work, got an oil change for my van, and fed my parents' cat, so I didn't do anything super-exciting. But I did it all without worrying about the kids! (I had a day of relaxation a couple weeks ago, and that was nice. But this is a regularly scheduled 5 hour block!) Perhaps next week I’ll go on a shopping spree or something with reckless abandon. But today was happily productive.

The Cat is doing brilliantly at preschool. Of course, now that I said that, he'll blow it Wednesday (which is his evaluation day.) But oh well. This morning, he walked into class, picked up his name, put it in the matching envelope, and started talking to the assistant teacher about how he was going to play with the green play-doh because it is his favorite color. When I picked him up, I saw that he had participated in the "self-portrait" project and had dictated answers to the accompanying questions: Favorite Book? "Gordon Falls into a Ditch;" Favorite Movie? "The Alphabet Train;" Favorite Pasttime? "Playing with Trains." (sense a theme?)

Spliggle apparently climbed all over the place. The little daily report the teacher gave me had "Cheerful" and "Energetic" circled under "Your Child's Disposition Today Was..." And "Energetic" had two exclamation points next to it. He was apparently adventurous, social, and happy. He slept well when we returned home. I figured he would do well, but I admit I was a bit emotional dropping him off.

The boys had a successful day.

Meanwhile…

I am in love with the Honda people. My first oil change was free because I had purchased the vehicle there. While they changed the oil, I talked to a guy about getting some touch-up paint because of the hubcap incident. The guy looked up everything, went in the back, and produced a vial for me. For free. The change took probably less than 10 minutes. I was watching the Roberts Confirmation Hearings and probably could have sat in that comfy lounge for awhile longer. (Free popcorn! Free sodas!)

But the silliest thing I did today was an oopsie. While waiting for a meeting from a salesperson from our payroll company (who wanted to sell me an HR package that costs more per week than I am paid per week), I did a little web surfing. The guy was late, I had a huge monitor at my disposal, why not?

Here’s why not: because if you are in your boss’ office with your boss’ computer and said computer locks up, you do not have the password to unlock said computer.

I was writing a comment in response to this post about breastfeeding. I talked about my large breasts. I wasn’t done editing my comment, so didn’t post it before I minimized the screen when the Sales guy arrived.

But during the meeting, the computer locked.

So when my boss returned, there were three windows: Bloglines, the post in question, and my comment. Blush.

The good news: My boss is my brother.
The bad news: My boss is my brother.

So I won’t get fired for typing about my breasts on a company computer, but um, it is uncomfortable to make such an error in front of my brother. (The thing was unlocked in the first place because it was doing some sort of process that kept the computer active and not sleeping.)

Hopefully next Monday won’t be so mortifying on that front!

Posted by karianna at 08:37 PM | Comments (4)

September 11, 2005

9/11 Memories

A few days ago, I was thinking about comparing and contrasting 9/11 with Katrina. There is quite a lot to say on the subject. However, I will only say a few things, and then launch into my personal impressions of the two events. After all, I am not a political, historical, or social psychology analyst, so I will leave the serious debate to them. Instead, I will do what I can do best which is to give my own thoughts.

(This is my rambling 9/11 piece. For a more positive reflection of a piece of NYC, read my previous entry.)

For me, the most striking thing is how “pro-USA” (however jingoistic at times folks were) 9/11 turned out to be, whereas Katrina has shoved the USA into shame. I was actually a bit angered at how suddenly patriotic people became after 9/11 because I saw it as being false and “trendy,” but in many ways it was better than discovering how disjointed and unprepared we were to deal with the hurricane. (I am humbled and grateful for the assistance we have received from so many other countries.)

There was a clear scapegoat for 9/11 and the victims, fire-fighters, and other rescuers were heroes. The fear was for a human enemy. Although there were deaths related to 9/11 after the date, the majority of the fatalities were quick. Nerves remained frayed for awhile, and we felt vulnerable, but in a different way than Katrina. The victims of 9/11 were in many cases high-powered business folk.

For Katrina, the victims are “refugees,” many of them poor, and the behavior being reported in the media involves rapes, murders, police walking off the job, police refusing to let people evacuate, and pointing fingers at various policy makers and emergency assistance organizations. There is no mention of “heroes.” The deaths are slow, and continue as the contaminated water sickens people, supplies run low, and various animals cause injury or infection. There is little “hope” for many people. There is not a united show of support.

The rebuilding from this disaster is far different from that of 9/11. There are many similarities in the scope of cleaning up and identifying the dead, but the pride is different. The “let’s show the world how great we are” from 9/11 is replaced by meek shuffling.

I am fortunate in that I did not know any victims from either 9/11 or Katrina.

However, 9/11 had a more personal connection to me. Since I had moved from the area just 7 months prior, I knew people who were affected in New York. People in the San Francisco Bay area were involved because one of the planes was headed that direction, so there were people in my new home who were affected. My husband was about to leave for the airport to fly to Washington, D.C. He had been back East just a few days prior, but decided to come home before heading out again. My husband’s boss from his job in NYC had a meeting in the World Trade Center that morning scheduled for a bit later in the morning. My husband’s former office was in the Empire State Building.

Although it is not productive to play the “what if” game, with so many factors that could have played a role, I was struck by how lucky we were. If my husband had stayed back East, he would have been stuck there for awhile. I would have been frightened for his safety. If he had already been on a plane that morning, I would have been scared, especially because he was heading to D.C. If we still lived in NY, maybe he and his boss would have gotten a cup of coffee at the WTC before their meeting. (His boss was fine and hadn’t left for the meeting yet.) If he was in the Empire State Building, I would have been frightened that could be the next target. With the anthrax stuff afterwards, I would have been anxious as well. Also eerily suspicious was how a former boyfriend of mine who had worked at the Department of Justice had told me in 1998 how he was worried about me moving to New York City because we was certain a terrorist attack would occur there.

Our old church gave out water to people walking on foot out of the city. I saw them mentioned in the news. A former graduate school classmate of mine was looking for his fiancé who ended up being burnt and was yet unidentified in a hospital; I was shocked to see his face on the news pleading for information. A former elementary school classmate exited the subway right by the Twin Towers and saw the smoke rise. Some other classmates of mine had friends who perished. My maid-of-honor from my wedding had a sister who had to evacuate her class from a nearby school. The ice rink where I had played hockey became a makeshift morgue.

I was relieved to not be there, but I also had a longing to be back there to share in the clean-up or perhaps it was just morbid curiosity to see the damage to the place that I had loved so much. I felt so connected to New York, and yet so disconnected to what was actually occurring.

Conversely, I had never been to New Orleans, nor other Southern parts affected by Katrina. I don’t know anyone yet who has been affected. One friend mentioned that her friend had gotten out, but I haven’t heard any other stories from people I know. I don’t recognize the places shown on the television, so cannot grasp the “before” and “after.” The footage is faceless to me, much like the tsunami. However, with the tsunami, I did receive some personal tales in my college alumni magazine, and I expect the same will occur with Katrina. Occasionally, I will hear a pleading voice on the news that drives me to tears for what is going on down South. But the truth is that it is more abstract to me than 9/11 was.

I was glued to the television for 9/11. I left only to go to a doctor’s appointment (which I considered missing) and, believe it or not, hockey practice. After a day of watching the same coverage over and over again, I needed the hockey practice to get out stress. However, it was eerie to drive over the empty Bay Bridge, and past the abandoned San Francisco Airport. I prayed the whole way that the terrorists weren’t going to take out the bridge or blow up the airport while I was there.

For Katrina, I haven’t been watching TV. It is odd, because for the hurricane, the footage is new so I should have reason to watch. There is something novel to be seen each time, whereas for 9/11 the images were the static.

I watched the same video over and over again for 9/11, and yet I am not tracking all the new footage of Katrina. I am not sure what to make of it.

I hope that some heroic stories will come out of Katrina (like that of the 6 year old boy leading other children to safety, which unfortunately highlights the failure of adults.) I hope that there will be some “success” stories of people who have survived and gotten what they need (but not in the smug way that Barbara Bush claims will happen.) As much as I disliked the shiny-happy “U.S.A. is such a Super Place” that came after 9/11, I am hoping for something about the response to this tragedy for which to be proud. I am hoping for people’s needs to be met and for their lives to be considered valuable. I don’t want a holiday or a parade, but some dignity would be swell.

Special thoughts and prayers for those affected by 9/11, Katrina, the tsunami, the earthquakes in Turkey, and the individual tragedies that aren’t publicly visible. May strength and grace prevail. May human kindness trump selfishness. May we be better people than the media is showing us to be.

Posted by karianna at 09:34 PM | Comments (3)

New York Fajitas

We had fajitas last night. I am eating some leftovers right now. It is fitting, because part of my New York Experience involved fajitas, and so to be eating some on 9/11 seems appropriate. My memories of my time there, the nostalgia, and the fear and shock of this day four years ago are all wrapped into a neat little tortilla.

Husband and I would order a pound of fajitas from the little shop on 1st, between I think E65 and E66th. Like many fabulous hole-in-the-wall places, the décor was not impressive, nor did it boast comfortable or fancy furnishings. There were two or three fold-out tables, and a bunch of mismatched plastic and diner-style padded chairs. The Asian family that owned the place had a shrine to Buddha in the back of the shop, and the smell of incense mixed with that of the delicious Mexican delights. Little pictures were posted all over the wall, showing the various dishes, their names, and prices. Some were in Spanish, some descriptions in English. A bike or two were always parked next to the counter, ready to take white Styrofoam containers wrapped in a red plastic bag to delivery customers.

For $15, we got the tortillas, the steak and grilled chicken, oodles of vegetables, cheese, guacamole, sour cream, rice, and an enormous tub of black beans that we would use days after our original order. We tried to duplicate this array on our own via the Food Emporium, but ended up with an inferior product that was more expensive. So to those who say it is less expensive to make dishes on your own – hogwash!

In New York, we ate up the delivery culture. We collected menus with the best of them. Chinese. Japanese. Mexican. Pizza. Pasta. Thai. Everything.

When I was pregnant with the Cat, I was nauseated by just about everything; but for those moments in time when I became ravenous, I’d turn to my huge folder of menus and order away. Less than a half hour later, I would have a feast! It was a comfortable and easy way to become sated without fearing lumbering down the street smelling the “city” smells that often led me to use the trash cans at the end of each block. (Once, crossing the street, I had to do by business down the sleeve of my sweater because I knew I couldn’t make it to the trash can on the other side!) Delivery was definitely my friend.

When Husband and I ventured out, we went to Mo’s Caribbean Bar & Grill for trivia, margaritas, and coconut shrimp. We went to the Blue Moon Mexican Café for hockey, football, wings, and Blue Moon Margaritas. Patsy’s down the street had excellent pizza, but I often chose their vodka bacon penne pasta. The pizza place near my lab had terrific taco pizza. Jackson Hole had the best burgers. In the morning, I would frequent a bagel place down on E64th, getting a jalapeno-cheese bagel with sun-dried-tomato cream cheese.

Eighteen months after we moved to CA, I returned to NYC for a meeting. The meeting was on the West side, but I asked my cab driver to take me East. I walked to the hospital where the Cat was born, to the Blue Moon, past our old apartments. I looked at the storefronts, noticing the changes and what had remained constant. One diner now had a picture of the twin-towers on it. But most of the neighborhood stayed pretty much the same. I grabbed my usual order at the bagel place, from the same woman who had given me my breakfast nearly every day for my stay in New York.

Alas, I did not have any fajitas that weekend.

Posted by karianna at 08:28 PM | Comments (3)

A Light!

I could probably write a long entry (as y’all know is my non-concise style) about how nervous I was about Thursday’s evaluation at the government sponsored center. Instead, I will just touch on a few points. (But I don’t promise to be succinct!)

The night before, we had a great time with friends. Unfortunately, the Cat had peed in our bed as he napped that afternoon. It was too late to wash and dry everything before bedtime. So, we slept on fresh sheets and used the comforter from the guest room. I tossed and turned. I was nervous about the evaluation, but the musty smell and crinkly nature of the unfamiliar comforter made me uncomfortable. It felt like I was sleeping in someone else’s bed. I couldn’t help thinking about how I should be glad to be sleeping in a nice bed, and how for so many hurricane displaced folks, they were sleeping in all kinds of difficult accommodations. Once I started thinking about that, I couldn’t stop. I ruminated on how lucky I was, and yet how I was worried about a silly evaluation of my son. (I also realized I have to air out the comforter if we have guests come! It is a brand new comforter that clearly needs some breaking-in.)

The evaluation went spectacularly. I was so surprised. I was expecting a fight. I went in with a really pessimistic expectation of the psychologist and her assumptions about my child. I stand corrected. Many of the tests were very similar or identical to those the Cat had done during the evaluation from hell several months prior. This time, the Cat was fairly calm. This time, the psychologist didn’t yell inappropriate diagnoses while the Cat was performing. Instead, she made some astute observations of the Cat’s strengths and weaknesses. Her impressions made sense. I no longer fear the in-class evaluation next Wednesday. I was impressed with her and expect that her presence in his preschool class will not be obtrusive. She made me hopeful that she can point us in a direction that can get the Cat the help he needs.

The one negative part of the experience was the trip to the restroom. The bathroom had fully automated toilets and faucets. The Cat is nervous about flushing, so was afraid the toilet would flush while he was doing his business. I believe this is a fairly normal, typical concern for a 4 year old. This bathroom is near the government-sponsored-center, but part of a public complex that involves other businesses, a pretty fountain, restaurants, etc., so there are a variety of people using the restroom. When the Cat nervously asked me to help him so that the toilet wouldn’t flush, his voice quivered and he was whining a bit. I was at the sink, and a woman pointed towards his stall, saying, “Oh, is he a…” she looked at my bright green “visitor” badge from the center, and finished, “Yes, of course, a (Government Sponsored Center) Client!” nodded, clicked, and left the bathroom smugly. I know I am being overly sensitive on this, but I know I would never go up to someone in a public restroom and assume/ask if their child had “special needs.” Why would I want to answer her question? Does it reassure her that there is a “reason” for the Cat’s fear of flushing? I don’t think his fear has anything to do with ASD except for perhaps sensitivity to loud noises. I know plenty of little kids for whom automatically flushing toilets may be frightening. So really, her analysis of the situation may have been erroneous. What good does it do her to know whether my child is a client of that center or not? It wasn’t just polite conversation.

But all in all, I was relieved by our evaluation experience at this center. Perhaps there is a light at the end of the tunnel, or at least a light in the middle of the journey.

Posted by karianna at 07:44 PM | Comments (1)

Driving Barefoot

I was looking on amazon.com to see if I could find a book that I recall from my youth that was something like “Fortunately, Unfortunately.” It was a collection of little stories in which something bad would happen that would turn out to have a pleasant effect and vice versa. The events of the last several days have been similar in that things that I expected to go poorly went better than expected, and vice versa.

Wednesday was especially like that.

Wednesday was the first day of school for the Cat. Given his difficult orientation day, I was concerned about his behavior. Although I was embarrassed during the orientation, there were fewer families in attendance than the actual classroom population. There would be many more potential witnesses to the Cat’s behavior on the first day of school.

My husband and I had spoken to the Cat Tuesday evening to prepare him for the first day. No shrieking. No grunting. No screaming. Use your words. Say “hi.” And each time we talked about it, the Cat would say he was sad or nervous. We practiced with stuffed animals. We rewarded him with chocolate chips when he would respond, “hi” instead of grunting. After he had a belly filled with chocolate chips and as best an understanding as we could hope for, he fell asleep. Before he went to bed, he requested that Daddy bring him to preschool along with Mommy.

I set my alarm. It didn’t go off the next morning.

30 minutes off schedule, I raced around preparing lunches for both boys. Although it wasn’t Spliggle’s turn to go to preschool, I would be attending Mom’s Circle that morning, and Spliggle would go to church daycare. The preschool is on the church’s campus even thought it is a secular program. Everything was perfectly planned: The Cat drop off at 9:15am, then Mom’s Circle at 9:30am. I tried to pull myself together as much as possible. I’d be meeting some parents for the first time, and some new Mom’s Circle participants. I wanted to look good: first impressions and all. Miraculously, I was done with the preparations on time! I could leave!

But Husband said he needed at least 10 minutes. I was a little confused. After all, even if he were going to meet us at the church to say goodbye to the Cat, it would take me a few minutes on “the other end” to unpack everyone from the van. I figured I could leave now, and he could catch up with us.

He was going to come in the same car. Didn’t I remember that the Cat had said he wanted his daddy there?

Oh. Um, how would you then get to your office?

I knew that I couldn’t make it to Mom’s Circle if I were to drive him to his office. I could drop him off at the train station, but even then, I was worried that I would be late.

I had completely misunderstood the previous night’s conversation. Of course Husband didn’t know about Mom’s Circle because I didn’t think it was relevant. So I didn’t mention it. The idea that he would say goodbye to the Cat was the only thing that had stuck from the conversation. I just assumed the easiest thing for everyone involved was to take separate cars.

Stressed and worried, I packed up the kids in the car and we hung out for Husband to finish up his morning routine.

On the way to preschool, the Cat and Husband sang songs and talked about how if the Cat didn’t screech and said “hi,” he would get a special treat. The traffic parted, and we arrived at preschool early.

Early? After missing my alarm and leaving the house late?

I was amazed.

The Cat said, “hi.”

I was more amazed.

Unfortunately, nobody actually heard him say “hi,” since he said it very quietly as he entered the classroom and to nobody in particular, but it was a start. He didn’t crawl on all fours. He didn’t screech. He didn’t grunt.

He ran over to the trains.

On the sign-in table, there were cards for the kids to pick up. Each card had the child’s name written on it. They were to find their card, then deposit it in an envelope on the wall to signify that they were signing themselves in.

I was concerned about this part. I knew the Cat would want to just play with trains. But I encouraged him to go over to the table. He grunted a little bit, but easily selected his card, then thrust it towards his envelope. He then collapsed several feet away, saying, “I can’t do it! It is too hard!” But at least the teachers saw that he knew which envelope was his. The teacher then helped him place the card in the envelope.

Other kids were putting on more of a “show” in being defiant to this routine and/or being unable to identify their name, so even though the Cat didn’t do it perfectly, I was relieved that he had done better than I expected.

Daddy, Spliggle, and I left, satisfied that the Cat had not screamed. A little grunt, yes; but otherwise using his words.

We made record time to the train station and back. Mom’s Circle hadn’t started yet. As I brought Spliggie to child care, I saw the Circle leader pulling into the parking lot.

I was amazed.

Mom’s Circle went well. We had some new faces, which is always fun. We will be discussing “When Jesus Came to Harvard” by Harvey Cox. As I mentioned in my 100 Things About Me, I attend a Presbyterian Church, but enjoy aspects of all different types of faiths and do not claim to be “right” in my interpretation of who/what God is and all that. I am liberal politically and do not support many of the so-called “Christian” political movements. Mom’s Circle is a fun time for me to think about various spiritual aspects of my life, how Christian thought is or isn’t relevant to certain cases, and for me to meet other women in my church community.

Spliggle had a blast in the child care. The new child care teacher had made little “journals” for each child. Every time they attend, they will add an art project to the journal. I was pleased at how well-organized she appeared. Spliggle didn’t want to leave.

As we left, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the Cat on the playground. I hoped he wouldn’t see us. He didn’t. Whew.

The next order of business was to purchase food for a meeting Husband and I were hosting later that evening for us and two friends from the Greek Co-Ed Society from college in which we had met. Trader Joe’s to the rescue: lots of quick, easy, yummy food! I knew I wouldn’t have too much time to cook before the meeting. I knew there were dishes in the sink and some other bits and pieces to be cleaned up back home. I figured I would have about 3 hours before the meeting. I had considered making a Wolfgang-Puck style salmon pizza that works well for hors de oeuvres but is substantial enough for dinner, but I was concerned I might not have enough time, so I didn’t purchase the ingredients.

Meanwhile, Husband had phoned suggesting that I pick him up from the office after getting the Cat. That would mean he could get back home in time for the meeting and we wouldn’t have to worry about possibly meeting up later at the train or bus station.

Thumbs Up. Good plan.

I returned to the church about 15 minutes before pick-up time so that I could discuss the impending in-school evaluation from that government-sponsored organization I had mentioned before. Quick recap: to keep within their 120 day “resolution” period, we reluctantly scheduled an office evaluation for this Thurs, then an in-school evaluation for next Wed. So I wanted to talk to the Director of the preschool to let her know she’d be receiving a call from this center, and to ask permission to have the evaluation.

On my way to the preschool office, I saw the Cat’s class walking towards me. Ugh! Not again! He said, “Oh mommy, let’s go home!” Fortunately, I was able to tell him, “No, go with your class and I will see you in a little bit.” And he followed his teacher. Whew!

My conversation with the Director was reassuring: other kids in the preschool had gone through similar evaluation processes; it wouldn’t be a big deal.

When I picked up the Cat, I saw him sitting in a circle with the other kids, making a diamond with his hands while singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Sitting + In the Circle + Singing +Doing the hand-movements = Huge Victory!

He saw me and promptly broke off from the circle, but it was good while it lasted. The teacher said he had a good day with one little outburst. I was relieved.

I told the Cat that he could have a “special treat” since he had been a good boy on the first day of school. He pouted and said, “Mommy, I sad because I shrieked one tiny bit when Mommy left.” I talked to him a little bit and told him I was very proud of him for being honest with me. I told him that overall he had done a great job and because he had done well, he would get a special treat.

We went to Whole Foods to get more food. Both boys did well, although the cute shoes that I had worn in anticipation of looking nice were beginning to dig into my feet. And Spliggle grew several arms at the checkout at the same time the debit machine was acting up, so paying for our groceries became somewhat of a circus.

We went to Toys R Us to pick out the Special Treat. (Annie and Clarabel) The Cat was still reluctant about choosing a toy because he was concerned that he didn’t deserve it.

As I consolidated the Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, and various empty bottles, lunch boxes, and other such things in the back of the van, I noticed Spliggle’s backpack and lunch box weren’t among the multitudes of stuff acquired throughout the day.

It was already later in the afternoon than I had expected. The Whole Food and Toys R Us trips had taken a bit longer, and I needed to pick up Husband from his office and go get ready for our meeting!

But I needed to find Spliggle’s backpack and lunchbox. I knew Husband wouldn’t mind having more time at the office to get things done anyway.

I realized the logical place to have left it was the church. I knew I had taken it with us out of the child care, but didn’t remember actually putting it in the van.

Traveling about 15 miles back to the church, searching the church office, and then going to the preschool office to retrieve the backpack added much more time than I would have hoped. But we had it! (It had been left in the middle of the parking lot.)

After walking up the stairs to the Church office, around the church parking lot, and to the preschool office, my feet were in shreds.

I took the shoes off, and drove barefoot to Husband’s office. The Cat fell asleep.

We arrived home at 5:45. Our meeting was at 6:30pm.

Husband suggested I make potato-chip-encrusted salmon. He offered to go to the store (and take Spliggle!) while I tidied up the house. He had transferred the sleeping Cat to our bed and put on “Boohbah” for him.

I checked the phone messages. One was from a friend who would be attending the meeting, “Yeah, it looks like my client meeting is going to be earlier, so I was wondering if I could come by your house around 5pm?”

What!? I didn’t call her back because I was already rushing around trying to get things in order for our meeting. I figured if she showed up on the front door, it would be fine, but I also imagined it was “too late” to call her anyway.

By 6:30, I had pulled off the following:

The only thing not actually in the picture at 6:30 was the salmon; it came about 15 minutes later, but still before the guests arrived.

Thank goodness for horrific traffic! My apologetic friends were sad to be stuck in a parking lot that was supposed to be a freeway, but I was thankful for the extra preparation time.

The meeting went brilliantly, and it was fantastic to have some time to chill with some friends.

The Cat awakened and joined in. One of my friends works with kids with various behavioral differences and remarked that the Cat seemed like a typical 4 year old to her. She was amazed when I was recounting some of the evaluations we’ve had. Her take on the situation was reassuring.

I went to bed much happier than I would have imagined given Wednesday’s rough start (and that at times during the day I was so stressed I felt like hurling!)

Posted by karianna at 09:43 AM | Comments (1)

September 09, 2005

I Thought Bumpers Were Made of Plastic

The last few days have given me tons to write about and yet by the busy nature of said days, not enough time in which to write! So, while I cannot yet finish the tales of Wednesday’s waterfall of events because of today’s busyness, I do want an opportunity to rant:

To the guy who threw / rolled a hubcap into the path of my 4-month new minivan this morning, thank you for being the first to tarnish my car’s body in an irreconcilable (or at least difficult/expensive to fix) way. It wasn’t my fault, so I can no longer drive around with fear that I am going to brush up against a concrete wall, back into a tree, or do something like that to chip the paint. No, you took care of it for me.

So now my van has deep gouges in its tan paint. Black metal is plainly visible where the hubcap hit, reverberating off the bumper enough times to create at least 20 gashes. Fortunately, most of those imperfections are on the underside of the bumper, but two or three are not.

To the quick observer, it will just look like some bird doo, mud, or something of that nature.

But I know the truth.

It appears that the way in which those chips are made, it is possible that larger sections of paint will fall off. It has the look and feel of nail polish that hasn’t quite dried: the paint surrounding each hole is very soft, threatening to rip further. (If anyone knows how to stop a peeling piece of paint, please share in the comments!) My fear is that the damage is not done, and the breech to the undermost layer of the car will create further (cosmetic) problems. I hope that I am wrong.

Why did you do it?

I know it wasn’t a car going the opposite direction that just “happened” to lose a hubcap; there were no cars coming towards me.

It wasn’t the wind. There was none.

No, it was a perfect trajectory.

I hope the policeman sitting nearby saw you. Realistically, I know that even if he did, he wouldn’t have done anything. I should have stopped. I didn’t know the extent of the damage. If I had, maybe I would have looked for you. But being a petite woman, I know I wouldn’t have had the guts to confront you anyway. The police probably wouldn’t have cared.

Do you think that I am some rich bitch who doesn’t deserve to have a pristine minivan? Congratulations. My very first new car has been dented. No, I haven’t lived a life filled with new car after new car. No, it isn’t just a shrug of the shoulders “yeah, we’ll just have the butler bring it into the shop to have it fixed.” I was so happy and proud to be able to purchase a new car.

Sure, I am overreacting. I will probably dent it myself in a larger way later, but ALL THE PAINT IS GONE on those sections; those are DEEP gashes!

Oh… and to the guy tailgating me so closely that I couldn’t avoid hitting the hubcap: You are either very very lucky, or very very unlucky.

You are lucky if you were just in a hurry to get to work and thought it would be a good idea to tailgate me. I almost caused damage to your car by braking suddenly. And you would have been delayed while we exchanged insurance information.

You are unlucky if you were in cahoots with the hubcap thrower in an attempt to create an insurance claim. Throw an object in front of a car causing that car to brake suddenly, and then claim damages.

But I guess that scam is usually the other way around since it is the rear-end-ee that gets the money, not the rear-end-er. (Although I was rear-ended a couple years ago and it caused me all kinds of grief and no money, but that is a tale for another day.)

Okay, tailgater. I guess you are off the hook.

But had you not been there, I would have braked and probably would have avoided the damage. So you were partially to blame. Back on the hook!

I am just glad I wasn’t the car from which heavy black smoke was billowing that I saw a couple blocks later. (No, the hubcap didn’t belong to that car)

And yeah, I know it isn’t “a big deal,” especially because I have a nice car about which to complain. In the grand scheme of things, this shouldn't matter. But, if the damage was deliberate, then I am very angry at the perpetrator.

Thanks for the rant opportunity. :)

Posted by karianna at 06:50 PM | Comments (2)

September 05, 2005

Agents of Chaos

Smallest son Spliggle is creating towers out of cans from the pantry. We haven’t yet figured out a way to childproof that particular door, but should soon, given the potential chaos within. The Cat is helping Spliggle obtain cans for his project: club soda, nacho cheese soup, condensed milk, whole cranberry, and creamed corn. They crash, they roll, and the sound hurts my head. But the boys are having a blast.

“Give that can to Mommy for her to open it right now!” my husband encourages, when Spliggle shakes up a soda can.

Spliggle adopts cans, lovingly cradling them from place to place, hiding them in various locations around the house. A favorite hiding spot is a big red bucket in the entry way (the preferred drop off point for lost bottles and tasty remote controls as well), though I have also found cans in the couch, underneath my desk, and in the refrigerator.

One afternoon, I found a can of beef broth in the Cat’s train table. “Darn beef broth!” I exclaimed as I was cleaning up the area. My husband looked at me quizzically until he realized that I was actually holding a can of beef broth, so my proclamation wasn’t some newfangled expression I had made up on the spot.

I have one of those thick colds that mashes one’s mind into a fog. As a result, I have been walking zombie-like around the house, very slow to correct the various starts of disasters the boys have created. Today I have discovered a bunch of plastic sandwich bags torn from their dispenser littering the floor, several cookies and a spoon under the couch, paper bags taken from the pantry strewn about the kitchen, and the crumbs of many foods all over the family room. I haven’t had the energy to chase after the boys to remove food from their fingers or to block the way to potential objects of chaos.

The Cat has gone outside a number of times, sometimes forgetting to close the back door. Spliggle then attempts to escape. Fortunately, he hasn’t fallen down the stairs. The Cat has turned on the water full blast in the garden, recreating a favorite Thomas story that he calls “Gordon Falls into a Ditch,” the real title of which I am not sure. To recreate the swamp-like ditch, plenty of mud must be created. And what better place to create mud than the garden? Not the area that doesn’t have plants in it yet? Oh no! That won’t do! Better flood the area with Mommy’s roses and trees and flowers.

But at least he had fun.

There have been at least two “whoopsies” regarding the half-bath. I always close the half-bath, but sometimes it isn’t closed. I think the Cat sometimes doesn’t shut the door all the way. Or maybe Spliggle can open it himself.

Spliggle senses when illegal access is granted and takes advantage. Last week, the remote control was dunked. We thought it would never, ever, ever work again, but after about 48 hours of drying, it was revived. This morning, he drenched some pieces of paper along with a toilet paper trail. But this afternoon, the victim was his favorite teddy bear. Hopefully the teddy will dry out. And I am crossing my fingers that it was a dunk in “clean” water. (You never know, since the Cat doesn’t always flush.)

But the biggest “Ooops!” of the day came after I had allowed Spliggle to feed himself some peas. His mastery of the spoon is a bit erratic. He thinks the slim handle is more fun to dip than the concavity. He was happy, mashing peas down his front, eating some freshly baked corn cake (but crumbling some to the floor.)

The Cat yelled at me to please open the stair gate. He wanted to go upstairs to see Daddy.

“But Daddy just left to get you burger and fries!” I told him.

The cat shook his head, “I want to see Daddy upstairs.”

“But Daddy’s car is gone. He is at the store.”

“No, Daddy is upstairs.”

I opened the gate, leaving it open so that the Cat could go upstairs, then go downstairs as soon as he realized his dad wasn’t up there. The Cat has a (good) habit of closing the gate behind him when he descends, so I didn’t think twice about leaving it unlatched.

I went back to Spliggle. When he yelped that he was done with his lunch, I let him out of the highchair and he got on his retro rocket and started zooming around.

A couple minutes later, I didn’t hear any zooming.

And I could no longer hear the Cat, either.

The gate!

I ran upstairs to find the Cat in the Master bathtub, the retro rocket at the top of the staircase, and Spliggle huddled in the shower eating toothpaste.

A litany of horrible things that could have been fortunately was not. I recalled the time the Cat had found his daddy’s razor and tried to use it (cuts on the lips and one small one on the tongue only, thankfully), so a little toothpaste in Spliggle’s mouth was not an issue. I am relieved that Spliggle didn’t sit on his rocket and try to zoom down the stairs. I still haven’t figured out who brought the rocket up there, although I imagine the Cat is really the only suspect.

Relieved, I promised myself I would be more vigilant. Alas, I assumed I could turn my back when Spliggle was safely in his high chair for dinner. But I heard coughs to discover that the Cat had helpfully poured an avalanche of salt over Spliggle’s fries.

I let him out of the chair again to clean up, which is when he made his way to the pantry to play with the cans.

Fortunately, he hasn’t removed the labels to the cans. It just occurred to me that would be A Very Bad Idea. But for my agents of chaos, it would be something Fun to Do.

Yesterday the Cat made a pillow fort. That was nice and quiet.

Posted by karianna at 08:25 PM | Comments (7)

September 04, 2005

Irony or Cruelty?

From September 2, 2005 Frank and Ernest

When I saw this comic strip Friday, I was surprised and angered.

1) Don't the authors write them 6 weeks in advance? If so, how did this comic suddenly become eerily "relevant?" (I know that Doonsbury is written much more in the now to cover current events, but thought that was abnormal.)

2) I know that the author of "B.C." sometimes carries Christian-themed messages, but until this strip, I didn't know Bob Thaves went that direction. (I have been searching around for bios on him, and none yet have indicated that Christianity is a theme for him.)

One of the first things I asked my (well read, very aware of current events and media) husband on either Sunday or Monday of last week was whether there had been any indication that the Christian-right was claiming this was God's way of "cleaning" up New Orleans because of its Mardi Gras and other "livin' it large" activities.

At that time, he said that he hadn't heard anything.

Just now, as I was posting the above comic strip, he exclaimed, "Yup, now they are claiming it was God's punishment." (He was listening to the Stephanie Miller Show.)

And this morning, I read (via Nykola) this "prophesy" from Kim Clement, who preached on July 22nd:

O New Orleans God speaks to you from Houston tonight and says enough of this! For a judgment is coming says the Spirit of the Lord, and I will take the men that have stood in faith, raise them above the flood that shall destroy those that constantly bicker and stand against my servant Moses, or my servant Bilbo. I want you to understand there are great men in New Orleans that have faith but you have been set aside not to lose but to win. Enough of this! For I will take the curses and the bodies will even rise and they will come forth on the water, but I will keep you and the stench of death will only last a few days. And then what I promised two years ago will come to pass for August, September and October of this year I made a promise it would happen, and God said be strengthened now, be strengthened now for enough is enough says the Lord.

And so it begins. I am sure I could find much more - but why bother?

There had been “prophesies” pointed to post 9/11 as well. But for each of these that becomes eerily “true,” there are millions that end up being inaccurate.

I don't have enough Biblical knowledge to cite passages and what-not, but I seem to recall God promising that the whole Noah's Ark situation wouldn't occur again.

It is presumptuous to strike a “holier than thou” attitude at a time like this.

It is coldhearted and mean-spirited to use this disaster as a platform for proselytizing.

If anything, Christian organizations can use this situation to show the spirit of helpfulness and kindness that Jesus would have shown. Jesus wouldn’t have turned his back on the citizens of New Orleans. Jesus dined with the “lower class” and what would be the drug-dealers, prostitutes, and thieves of today. He surely wouldn’t have judged them as the so-called Christians spouting “makeover” nonsense would.

I am proud of all the organizations who are out there helping - whatever their faith, whatever their affiliation. I am grateful for those who are physically in the disaster area, who take photographs better than those in the media, who are opening up their homes to evacuees, who provide a way to match donators with those who need items, and the many people who are making monetary donations.

But those who sit back with a "tsk-tsk" and place blame on those who lived in New Orleans? I am not proud of them.

Where is the grace in pointing fingers at a destroyed city?

Posted by karianna at 01:44 PM | Comments (1)

September 01, 2005

School Beckons and Repels

Many people in the area have already kissed their kids goodbye, but the Cat doesn’t go back until next Wednesday. Then Spliggle starts going the following Monday.

Mondays will be mine.

Wednesdays and Fridays will belong to me and Spliggle.

Last night was Back to School Night for the parents, and then today was the Children’s Orientation. Exciting and frightening, rolled into one.

‘Tis the time to put on one’s best face, meet the other kids’ parents and the teachers. Please let my child be accepted. Please let the teachers be understanding of the Cat’s differences. Please don’t judge me based on my child.

Last night’s orientation in Spliggle’s baby classroom made me laugh. I knew the teacher because the Cat had her during summer school. I have no qualms about Spliggle starting school. Sure, he may bite a couple kids, but I think that overall he will enjoy himself and will behave “appropriately.” I love the teacher and the aide. What amused me was the insecurity of the other parents. They feared that because snack time was at 11:00am that their six month old wouldn’t be allowed a bottle earlier. Or they were concerned that because naptime was 1:00pm that their child wouldn’t be allowed to fall asleep at any time. One irate mother was worried that they would force a bottle on her child because “my child only takes a bottle in the morning and at night!” They believed that the younger kids would be kept in a corner while the older kids beat up on them. What about if my child is poopy before the official diaper changing time? What if my child can’t handle his own bottle? It was ridiculous. Of course, I could be smug because I have one of the “older kids” at 13 months of age.

The Cat’s orientation went differently. I was the worried one. I arrived late because the talk in the infant room went on longer than expected, so the second round of orientations had already begun. I slipped in, completely noticed and embarrassed. I saw the teacher and aide were sweet women who had been at the preschool for 16 years. They had the look of experience, and I was grateful.

After the talk, I met a few of the other parents. Bouncy, perky parents. All nicely made up. (I have a big zit from the makeup I wore last night!) They asked if the Cat was brand new. I responded that he had been Tue/Thurs the year before. I was simultaneously grateful and nervous about the “clean slate.”

Once the classroom thinned, I approached the teacher’s aide and mentioned the Cat’s food sensitivity. Then as the teacher became available, she joined the conversation. I stumbled over the explanation, attempting to not paint a horrible picture of my son, but still emphasizing that it was important that he follow the diet. I was embarrassed to admit that the reaction in question was behavioral, rather than some anaphylactic shock deal. Yes, I am grateful that his sensitivities are not life threatening, but the “medical” excuse is more accepted than a “psychological” excuse.

So I worried.

I was concerned they would think I was some sort of crazy person for linking diet with behavior, and I felt uncomfortable indicating that the Cat has a different temperament than the other kids. Husband told me later, “They know all about the Cat.” And that is probably true. I imagine that the Director had mentioned his “differences.” Still, I am sensitive to the way he is portrayed. I need to have thicker skin.

Then, because of the whole “government sponsored clinic” evaluation in two and a half weeks, I had to mention it and ask their permission to have a psychologist in the room observing him.

Thankfully, they said that would be fine. (But I felt crappy admitting that my child is in a position where such an evaluation is even necessary.)

Still, I worry about that evaluation. Because of the 120-day resolution-necessary deadline, we had agreed to have an in-office appointment next week (on a day when he is not in school) and then the in-school evaluation right before the deadline expires. (back story here) I had hoped for more time for the Cat to acclimate to preschool, but this is how the cards have fallen.

Today, both boys got a chance to meet their teachers and play in their classrooms. I knew the Cat would be reluctant to meet others, so Husband and I talked to him ahead of time, telling him that saying, “hi” or using words would get him a special treat. Shrieking, screaming, or grunting would get him a trip to his room.

He is in his room as I type this.

It was as horrible as I feared. The Cat made loud noises, cried, and refused to talk to anyone. He wouldn’t wear a nametag. He shrieked at the teacher when she introduced herself. He took away all of the green letters of the alphabet on the magnetic board so that Spliggle couldn’t have green. He found the trains immediately and started creating an empire.

Meanwhile, an adorable little boy came up to me and said, “If he doesn’t want to wear a nametag and doesn’t want to talk to people, I will tell the other kids his name.” He was a sweet little boy, and I told him how helpful and polite he was. I thanked him for his kindness. His mom looked over at the Cat and back to her son.

Multiple times, the teacher or aide would approach the Cat and calmly ask him questions. Each time, he would scream, putting his arm up. A year or so ago, he would do this but say, “Wah back!” Now, he doesn’t even use words.

The teacher looked at the pile of green letters that he had lined up. “Do you know what those letters are? Do you know which ones are in your name? I see one that is in your name!” She smiled. He grunted and hissed.

He knows the alphabet. He can spell his name, his brother’s name, “train,” “cat,” and a few other words. But his green nonsense word and grunts suggested otherwise.

At the parents’ orientation, they had talked about how the kids would first learn to recognize their names, and then learn to actually print their names. The perky parents all ooohed and aahhed at the brilliance their children would soon attain. The Cat has been printing his name for a year or more. They will be introducing lower case letters, so that will be something new for him.

The main focus of this year is kindergarten readiness from a social standpoint. It is exactly what the Cat needs, and exactly what I am nervous about. Sitting in a circle. Following instructions. Doing the same activity as the other children. The “academic” stuff that he knows isn’t considered important at this stage of the game.

I have seen him sitting quietly in a circle time. I have seen him participating in an art project with the other kids. That was in his class last year once he became comfortable. But I know that during the summer, he played with trains and didn’t have art on his cubby at the end of the day like the other kids. Whether he just never acclimated to his summer school teachers and classmates, or if his teachers didn’t press him, I don’t know. He said “Bye!” to kids during summer school, and frequently would request that certain kids come home with him at the end of the day. He seemed fine at the end of the day. Completely “normal.”

I don’t know how long it will take for him in this classroom. I don’t know how the psychological evaluation will go. I don’t know how the teachers will react to him if he behaves the way he did today for too many of the initial days.

My fear is that he won’t cooperate to the point that it will become a distraction to the other kids. I know it will be initially, but the variable is how long the Cat is like that versus how patient the teachers are. I pray for understanding. I cross my fingers that the Cat will acclimate as quickly as possible so that he can benefit from the preschool experience.

I wish the other parents and the teachers could be introduced to the Cat as the acclimated Cat, rather than the stressed out screechy little ball of fury they met today. I know what first impressions are like, and how difficult it is to rise above that.

I hope my worrying is just as silly as the six-month old baby’s mother who thought they were going to force her floppy daughter to sit in a regular chair instead of a high-chair.

*Special Note* I am grateful that the extent of my stresses have to do with social interaction, not something like not having a house or having all my possessions under water while the rest of my family is missing. We are collecting money from the van, sofa, and other clever coin hiding places to donate to the relief effort via a Coinstar Machine (they don’t take out their fee for charitable donations.)

Posted by karianna at 01:55 PM | Comments (1)