No More Waffle Day

These guys seem awful happy.  Maybe TOO happy.

I have mentioned before, that one of Boo's favorite teachers is Mr. H.

He does lots of fun things that Boo talks about.

I forget the specifics, but two days a week he has "Would you rather...?" questions that he asks the class.  The one I most remember is "Would you rather be the strongest person in the world, or the fastest person in the world?"

One day a week he does riddles.  None of the riddles have come home 'in tact' enough for me to understand and repeat them.  I have been assured, though, that every single one of them awesome.

I think that Friday is 'Fail' day.  You know, those Epic Fail pictures that show up on Facebook all the time?

So, we were in the car the other day and Boo was talking about how great Mr. H. is.  Then he mentioned that it is too bad that Mr. H. isn't allowed to do Waffle Day any more.

"What's Waffle Day?" I ask, somewhat stupidly.

"You know, when you plug in a waffle iron and make waffles."

"He's not allowed to do Waffle Day anymore?"

"No, and it's stupid.  I can't imagine why they won't let him do it anymore.  It's not fair."

"Boo, could it be because Mr. H. teaches Anatomy and Physiology, and his classroom is more like a lab?  Perhaps someone thought that preparing and eating food in there was a bad idea."

"But I am sure the lab tables are clean!"

Ewww.

First of all, let me just point out that Boo does not always get his facts straight, so I am not sure there ever really was a Waffle Day, or if it was just an idea that was floating around, or perhaps sarcasm that was lost on the kid.

If there was, indeed, Waffle Day, I don't know if Boo's lack of concern about the setting was a product of autism, or simply because he is a guy.

All I know is this...

Waffle Day: good!

Waffle Day in an Anatomy and Physiology lab: yea, not so much.

A Lesson from the Kindergarten Playground

Trouble in Paradise?

Boo had one of the wisest, most wonderful Kindergarten teachers ever.  Seriously.  Even her name was awesome.  Mrs. Safely.

Anyway, she had quite the rambunctious class, but handled it with amazing grace and poise.

One of the boys was a particular 'handful'.  He was one of those kids who was always referred to by his first and last name.  Probably because he was always in trouble.  For the sake of anonymity, let's call him 'William Smith'.

I had a babysitter who also sat for his family.  She was convinced the kid had Tourette's.  I think he was just 'high spirited'.

Anyway, Boo came home from school and was complaining that William Smith kept call him a Butt-Head.  He was (understandably) upset about it.

The next day, instead of dropping him off outside, I went into the room to talk to Mrs. Safely about it.  As I told her, my main concern was that Boo (with his impulse control issues at the time) was going to get so upset that he would punch William Smith in the mouth, and then Boo would be the Kindergarten felon all of the other mothers don't want their kid to play with.

She had a sweet smile on her face while I was sharing my concerns.  When I was done, she paused, then said, "Yes.  We share the playground with the fourth grade classes for our morning recess."

I thought to myself, "So?"

She continued, "Despite my talks with him, William Smith has been calling some of the fourth grade kids that same thing."

Again, I thought, "So?"

Her smile got just a tad bigger as she said, "I believe it will be a self-correcting problem."

Sure enough, a few days later Boo came home and (perhaps gleefully?) exclaimed, "William Smith got punched by a fourth-grader on the playground today!"

While I do not condoned violence, and strongly believe that teachers should do everything in their power to put an end to bullying, Boo was never called a Butt-Head by William Smith again.

There have been many times since then that I sit back and ask myself, "If I just leave this alone, will it be another 'self-correcting' problem?"  Not that I am the type of mother who is not involved.  In fact, quite the opposite, sometimes.  Still, it was a great lesson about letting some things just play themselves out.

Class Participation is Supposed to be a Good Thing, Right?

"Oh, oh, oh, Mr Kotter!"

My son came home from school earlier this year telling me that one of his teachers, Mr. S., had put a limit on the number of questions he could ask in a day.

"How many questions are you allowed?" I asked.

"He only lets me have 3 questions a day!"  (Keep in mind that it is a one-hour class.)

Since I am a teacher, too, I explained that teachers need to let everyone ask questions, we have a certain amount of material we need to cover so we don't get behind, etc.

"But all of my questions were ON TOPIC!"

I think that statement is very telling of his teachers' most common complaint over the years, in that he is always going off on tangents.

A few weeks later, Boo told me that he thinks Mr. H. had been talking to Mr. S.  I asked why he thought that and he said, "Because Mr. H. is limiting my questions now, too." 

"So, you are only allowed 3 questions in Mr. H.'s class now?"

"No.  Mr. H. gives me 7 a day."

I burst out laughing so bad I probably had snot fly out my nose.  I couldn't help but ask him, "How the hell many questions have you BEEN asking that your limit is now 7?!?!"

"But all my questions in that class were on topic, too!"

A few weeks after that, Mr. S. and I were exchanging some emails and laughing about the whole thing.  He was telling me that it was all in good fun and that they were using sarcasm to get him to think about what he was asking before things fell out of his mouth.

Boo is lucky to be in an environment where he is so comfortable that his teachers can use humor and sarcasm as instructional tools.  We will miss his school when he graduates.

Isn't There Always "Something Going Around"?

"Uh oh."

If Facebook is any indication, my household is the only one on the planet that hasn't had anyone throw up in the past couple of days.

I really hope I didn't jinx myself just now.

I do not miss the barf days.  Don't get me wrong.  Little kids are cute, but I did not enjoy cleaning up anything that used to be food...no matter what end it came out of.

I'm not sure if I got lucky and Boo threw up less than other kids, or if my brain is being kind and blocking out many of the memories.

The event that sticks out the most in my mind was a good learning experience.  Boo was about 5 and had not been well.  I set up the living room with all of the things that would make him comfy.  I threw a thick towel on the sofa (in case of accidents), a trash can on the floor next to him, and started playing whatever movie he was into at the time.  What could go wrong, right?

Boo got up for some reason, and while he was standing by the sofa, he started puking.  I still don't remember what possessed me to scream, "Run to the bathroom!", especially since there was a trash can right there.  But I did.

Being the occasionally compliant child that he was, he took off running.  Well, we had hardwood floors in that house, so when he projectile vomited, and then ran through it, not only did that make an even bigger mess, but he also fell in it.

So now, instead of just the misery of feeling sick, he is hurt from his fall, and is covered in puke.

I learned several lessons from all of this.

• If you have hardwood floors, cleaning up one puddle is way better than cleaning up a path that leads from the sofa, through the living room, through the dining room, and almost to the bathroom.
• Puke on hardwood floors is a safety hazard.
• Never tell a vomiting child to run.
• And, Kellie probably has one more thing to add to her list of reasons not to have kids.

The Pez Fiasco

I do not remember when/how Boo got so fixated with Pez dispersers.  It seems like something my mother would have gotten him hooked on.

He had quite the collection, though, unlike this picture, his were in shoe boxes.  He would pull them out of the box, line them up, sort them by genre: superheroes, Star Wars, Disney, Christmas, cartoons...

He could sort, organize, and re-categorize all day.  Don't judge me.  I was a single parent in grad school.  It was better than parking him in front of a Barney tape.

He even liked the Pez candies.  He could never load them up in the dispenser, but if I loaded it for him, he was one happy kid.

One day, he was playing and eating his candy, when he suddenly started hollering.  He came running to me, pointing at his noise, trying to tell me something.

Yea, you guessed it.  He had shoved a Pez candy up one nostril.

Apparently, they are a perfect fit.  Going up.  Not so great to try and get out.

He was unable to understand as I was suggesting he take a deep breath, we could cover the other nostril, and he could blow it out.  (The kid couldn't even blow his nose when it was just boogers.  I don't know why I thought he could manage with a Pez up there.)

We was also getting upset.  Not just the normal panic about having an object up his nose, but his nose was starting to water.  If you are familiar with Pez, you know that when you put them in your mouth and they start to dissolve, they kind of fizz.  Well, when they mix with boogers, they REALLY fizz.  Which apparently kind of burns one's sinus.  It also causes a pastel foam to start pouring out the noise.

At this point, as my kid looks like he has some kind of weird 'nose rabies' I figured, what the heck, it looks like it will be dissolved enough to fall out on its own in a few minutes.  And it did.

We both sort of lost our taste for Pez for a while after that.

Though, "The Pez Dispenser" episode of Seinfeld still holds a special place in our hearts.

Jerry: Anyone who would laugh at a recital is probably some sort of lunatic anyway. I mean, only a sick, twisted mind could be that rude and ignorant.

Elaine: Well, maybe some mental defective put something stupid on her leg.

Jerry: Even if this so-called mental defective did put something on her leg, she's still the one who laughed.

Social Stories for Husbands

Every mom of a kid on the autism spectrum knows what Social Stories are.  Basically, they are used to improve the social skills of these kids.  (If you want more information, you can click here.)

Examples of Social Stories for these kids include things like how to act at a birthday party, what to expect when we go to the airport, what to do when we get mad, etc.

I have decided that "Social Stories for Husbands" should be my next project.  Here are some proposed titles:

• When my wife has a screwdriver in her hand and is cussing like a trucker, do not casually ask (from the other room) "Everything going OK?"
• When my wife is eating chocolate ice cream out of the container, and there is a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, I really should just shut up.
• If I buy and use a calendar, I will be able to predict when my wife will be eating chocolate ice cream out of the container, there will be a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, and I will need to just shut up.
• Why does my wife keep buying those little green anti-gas pills and leaving them on the counter next to my stuff?
• When my wife asks what I want to watch on TV, and I say "Whatever," I should not complain about what she selects.
• If I use my wife's tweezers to pluck my nose hair, she will yell at me.
• Even if I mean it to sound nice, when I hug my wife around her waist, I should not say "I love your muffin top."
• If I let loose a "silent-but-deadly", and try to blame a cute little 3-month-old kitten, my wife is probably not going to believe me.

Clearly this is a "Work in Process".  I am open to suggestions for additional Social Story ideas.

Footprints

We have a three bathrooms in our house. Boo has one downstairs in his 'dungeon', there is a master bath, and then one in the hall off the living room.  Since Boo is downstairs most of the time, that's generally the one he uses.  I have written about (what my husband refers to as) the gas station bathroom before.  I rarely go down there.  Of course, when he is upstairs, Boo uses the hall bath.

I generally use the master bathroom, as it has all my stuff, and frankly, I am a creature of habit.

Recently, though, I was in the hall bathroom.  I was sitting there (try not to get a visual, OK?) when I noticed that there were two slightly dirty spots on the wall across from me.  They were almost two feet from the floor, pretty symmetrical, and about a foot apart.  I looked at them for a minute and it finally occurred to me what they were.

Footprints.  Yea, apparently when Boo is in there, he likes to prop his feet up on the wall and get comfortable.

My future daughter-in-law is going to be one lucky woman.

New Year, New Deductible *sigh*

Our system is broken and needs help.

I was on the phone yesterday morning with Kellie while I was driving to the pharmacy.  (Don't judge.  The car and the bathroom are the only places I get privacy.  Isn't the car the better option?)

Anyway, I was telling her that I was a little sad.  I had to pick up Boo's ADD medication, and since it is the first of the year, that meant no help from insurance until we meet the deductible.  She asked how bad it would be, and I told her that I think it was $267 last year, but once insurance kicks in it is $50 a month.  Still outrageous, but manageable.

When I was pulling up to the window I told her I would call her back once I was done crying over the cost.  Being the awesome friend that she is, she assured me that I could call before I was done and she would listen dutifully.  I love her :)

Since I am a pretty regular customer at the local Walgreens, I know the folks.  The kid who often works the drive-thru in the morning is a cutey and very sweet.  I told him that I needed to pick up Boo's medicine, and as he was typing everything into the computer, I told him "We haven't met the deductible yet, so I already know it is bad.  Don't sweat having to tell me the bad news."

About then, I guess the amount popped up on the screen, because his (cute) little eyes got huge and he just said, "Um, OK."

So, he grabbed the bag, rang it up, and I said "Let me guess...$267?"

He turned to face me through the window, sighed, and broke the bad news.  It wasn't $267.  It was $400.  Well, $405.  Actually, it was $405.89, but I guess we can round.

Then he asked if I still wanted it.  Of course I wanted it.  Boo needs it.

I gave him my card, gave a little laugh, and promised him that I wouldn't cry until I had pulled away from the window so he wouldn't have to see it.  He looked at me, gave a sad smile, and said "Thanks.  I really appreciate it."  Kind of made me wonder how often he has to deal with customers screaming or crying over the high cost of prescriptions.

The whole thing really bothered me, though.  I make a decent middle-class living.  I have decent health insurance through my job at a state university.  Still, over $400 for a one-month supply of just one of his medications.  For just one of our family members.

How many kids with health issues are not being properly medicated because their parents are part of the 10% of Americans who are unemployed right now?  Or because their parents don't have adequate health insurance?  Or because, even though their parents have jobs and insurance, they still can't afford $400 for a one month of a single prescription?

Some may argue that Boo's ADD medication isn't the same medical necessity that many other drugs are, and they would be right.  But, when not medicated, he lacks focus so much that he finds it difficult to complete tasks as simple as getting fully dressed, much less complete an assignment at school.  He can't function socially because he can't stay on topic in a conversation, makes lots of mouth noises, and has some pretty obvious (and annoying) moves.

Medicated, he is a successful student with great grades, a good reputation with his teachers, and just got accepted to college.  He has a few friends, and he is a manager for the school's basketball team.

Yes, I want the medicine.  He needs it to be a functional, happy person.  I am just grateful that for our family that is an option.

Author's note: It was pointed out that I forgot to include Kellie's quote: "Well, that's 400 more reasons for me to not have kids."  I apologize for the omission.  

Letter to my Friend

Dearest Mike,

You befriended me when I was new to the high school.  I was 15 and had just moved from Germany.  For the next almost-30 years, you were one of the most special souls I ever met.

I have so many wonderful memories of you.

I remember sitting on the beach watching you and the guys surfing.  I learned from you what a surfboard leash is, and how to recognize the tell-tale tan line of someone who uses one.

I remember sitting on the ground watching you and the guys work on your Mustangs.  At one point, I think 4 of you had Mustangs.  I still think of you guys when I see a Mustang, particularly an old one.  Or a green one.

I remember us driving (too fast) on South Tropical Trail.  I knew it was a bad idea, but we got lucky and no one ever got hurt.

I remember that your mother had one of those quilted rooster decorations on the vent hood in the kitchen.  One time you put the rooster on your shoulder and got that goofy grin we all loved.

I remember eating tubes of raw chocolate chip cookie dough with you and Mark.  I had never seen it before I met you guys and I thought it was the best stuff ever!

I remember that when we would all raise our glasses and say "Prosit", you would say "Post Office".  It was a running joke, because you had misunderstood what was being said when you were a little kid.  When I got married last year and we toasted to old times, you said "Post Office" and we laughed.  It felt nice.

I remember how we would all joke about pulling up in front of the liquor store, you would take your shirt off, and fluff up your chest hair...you were never carded.

In high school, we partied on a pretty regular basis.  As people started going off to college, we got together every break when everyone came home, and it was like no one had been gone.

Slowly, people in our group graduated, got jobs that turned into careers, got married, and had children.  Some got divorced and remarried.  A few lost children.

We lost parents, including your mother.  She was so loved, by everyone, especially you.  You never seemed to recover from that devastating loss.

I don't remember when we started to worry about you.  It seemed to slowly creep up on us of all.  To know that you were slowly slipping away was heartbreaking.  We watched the demons eat away at your body, and your mind, but you always had that same beautiful soul.

I regret that I never told you how much you meant to me.  I'm sure you knew, but I should have told you. 

And now you are gone.

You are loved, you are missed, and you will never be forgotten. 

A Conversation With My Husband

Author's Note: My husband knows about this post, and is amazingly okay with it.  I am not sure what to think about that.

So, my husband and I were driving home from dinner tonight, and he mentioned that as long as Boo was at a basketball game tonight, and we had the house to ourselves, we should
(in his words) 'hit it'.

(Stand back, ladies.  He is all mine.)

 I kind of paused and said, "Well, when I was driving home from dropping Boo off, I had thought I might strip down naked and try to seduce you."

"REALLY?  Why didn't you?" he asked with that look of glee that boys of all ages get.

"Well...when I got home, I had to pee."

"So?"

"Well...apparently you had taken a huge dump while I was gone," I say, hoping I haven't crossed the line.

"Oh.  Were there skid marks in the toilet?"

"Sweetie, the term 'skid marks' would imply that it was a small problem.  You did much worse than that."

"Oh.  Kind of ruined it for you?"

"Well...I had thought I could get over it, and regain 'the mood', but then I could hear you hacking and coughing like an 80-year-old emphysema patient.  Once you got that fur ball up, I was pretty grossed out."

"So, that was what did it?"

"Well...I had considered taking a deep breath and just 'taking one for the team', but when I started to come out of the bedroom, I heard a burp that rattled the floorboards, and then I heard you kind of make that 'Mmmm' sound that guys do after a particularly lovely belch."

"So, the burp was what killed it for you?"

"Honey, I could have probably lived with any two of the three, but the 'hat trick' was more than I could handle."

The Chinese Buffet Fiasco

Dude, you are about to look even more unhappy.

One summer, several of us were teaching early evening classes and we decided to have a standing 'date' to go out to eat afterwards.  It was usually just a couple of us, but one night there were about 10 of us who descended upon a local Chinese buffet.

Boo was 12 at the time, so an all-you-can-eat setup was pretty attractive.

It was a large restaurant and was pretty packed that night.  On one of his trips to the buffet, I heard a loud crash and said the parent's silent prayer: "Please, God, don't let it have been my kid."  My prayer was not answered that night.

Boo broke dishes pretty regularly at home, and my first concern was always whether or not he was okay.  The routine started as: (loud crash), "Are you okay?", "Yes, Mom, I'm okay", "Good, now clean it up."

Eventually, this was shortened to: (loud crash), "I'm okay, and I'm cleaning it up!"

Well, after the plate shattered at the buffet, the entire restaurant (of course) got dead quiet.  Everyone turned to Boo, who had that deer-in-the-headlights expression as he realized the eyes of the world were upon him.  He then hollered, "I'm oooh-kaaaay!"

On the bright side, at least it looked like he had been 'raised right' as he tried valiantly to take the broom and dustpan from the Chinese busboy (who apparently didn't speak much English), and kept saying, "My mom makes me clean up my own messes!"

Eventually, the plate fragments were cleaned up, Boo got another plate (or three) of cheap Chinese food, and everyone moved on with their meals.

As we finished out meals and were just talking, Boo got up from the table, walked to the wall where the mural was, and just stood there for a minute.  With his back to the mural.  There was a young couple sitting at a table nearby giving him an odd look.  He returned to our table and took his seat without a word.

One of the more 'dainty' Southern ladies at the table turned to him and nicely asked, "What were you doing over there?"

I prayed a second prayer for the night, that he wasn't doing what I suspected, or that he would at least lie about it.  Again, my prayers were not answered.

He looked her right in the eye and said, "My mom doesn't like me farting at the table, so I went over there to do it."

Not my proudest parenting moment.

It's a New Year!

It is that time of year again when (almost) everyone decides to make New Year's resolutions.  I tend not to do that.  First, it requires a certain level of self-assessment that I prefer not to have.  Second, when I do (finally) notice something about myself that 'needs fixing', and I decide to fix it, I try to do it right away.  Granted, that doesn't happen nearly as often as it should.

Also, I am not big fan of setting myself up for failure.  Seriously, is that the way to start off a new year?

Instead, I prefer to focus on the positive.  I Googled "popular New Year's resolutions" for some ideas, and found a USA.gov site devoted to helping people find resources to achieve their goals.  There was a list of 13 popular resolutions.

Using that as a starting place, I have contemplated what each of these things means to me.  So, here goes...

• Drink Less Alcohol. I am pretty happy with my current consumption level.  Let's leave that one alone, shall we?
• Eat Healthy Food. I am all for eating healthy food, so long as it is balanced with an appropriate level of chocolate.  I am pretty sure I have found that balance, so I probably shouldn't mess with it.
• Get a Better Education.  While I enjoyed grad school, there isn't enough medication in the world that would get me to go back.  See Graduate Student Barbie for details.
• Get a Better Job.  I am pretty lucky here.  I kind of have my dream job.  Sure, I have days when it is tough to get out of bed, but it really is a pretty awesome gig.
• Get Fit.  I have been pretty good about going to the gym 2-3 times a week, so if I can keep that up, I will be happy.  If I could increase that, yippee!
• Lose Weight.  In my first year of marriage, I managed to put on 20 pounds.  Over the last 6 months I have taken it off.  If I can keep it off over the next year, that would be great.  If I could take off another 25, that would be divine.
• Manage Debt.  My debt level is actually pretty good.  However, if I don't get a little more rigorous with retirement savings, I may need to work until I'm 80.  OK, maybe there is a serious resolution there.
• Manage Stress.  If one defines 'manage stress' as not smacking anyone upside the head, no matter how much they deserve it, then I have managed my stress well.  If one defines it as not fantasizing about smacking anyone upside the head, then perhaps I could work on this one, too.
• Quit Smoking.  I had my last cigarette in 1993, the day I found out I was pregnant with Boo.  Resolving to not start smoking this year seems like a safe bet.
• Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle.  I recycle 100% of my beer bottles, and most everything else that I can, so I am pretty good here.  I could probably reuse some bottles as redneck candle holders, though.  That reduce thing probably isn't going to happen.
• Save Money.  Hey! I already covered this one!  Moving on...
• Take a Trip.  Is it inappropriate for me to fantasize that this one is a solo adventure?  Or maybe just me and a gal-pal?  Drinking frozen margaritas?  Being served by a pool-boy named Juan Carlos?
• Volunteer to Help Others.  Even I draw the line at being snarky about this one.

So there it is, in a nutshell.  My hopes and dreams for 2012.