You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2007.

Ok, we’re still in munchkinland but I had a second to post this as a quick summary. So listen to a little Muse’s ‘Starlight’ and we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled blog tomorrow.

Big love to Sam & Misty for a wonderful time! Thanks!

Trip awesome more later kids now.

Dear Verizon:

I love you and all of your helpful employees. Thank you for apparently paying them well and providing good bennies; they are quite pleasant and very helpful each time I’ve talked to them. Thank you for giving me a hotdamnnew phone for free and thank you for overnighting it to me so I can have time to get it ready for my trip. I was excited to have a phone that doesn’t have a green screen and computer notes for musical rings – much less one that takes pictures and videos. And so many pretty colors! And fonts I can read! And it’s apparently barely larger than a pad of Post-It Notes! Huzzah!

In closing I want to thank you for having some concept of Customer Relations. I plan to forward this to the jerkoffs at AT&T. This is one small step towards their demise and your future domination (please maintain your ethics when that happens).



P.S. Also, it would be helpful if you offered more choices for ringtones. I don’t want the Ying-Yang Twins or Fergie, despite the demographic at which you are mostly aiming. I actually have more money to spend than 12 year-olds, so you might think about expanding a bit. Just a suggestion, you rock regardless.

So my SIL told me about this stupid show on VH1 called Bret’s Love Girls * (or something similarly and stupidly named) which features Bret Michaels from Poison having a The Bachelor kinda reality show where he meets potential rockin’ soul mates. And Leigh-Erin told me it was the guiltiest pleasure of all hookup shows simply for the embarrassingly ridiculousness of these women. She was right: the least offensive part of the show is that he seemingly ends all conversations by frenching. Ugh it was so foul. There is no way I could watch this often, but let’s just say post-menopausal + cat fights + double FF breasts can be train-wreck-interesting for a brief period.

On the mental flip-side, Jon checked out Howard Zinn’s ‘A People’s History of the United States‘ recently. I have intended to read it, one because I know it’s shockingly different than our textbooks from school and secondly because I retained virtually nothing from our textbooks from school.

And even then I probably wouldn’t have chosen it if it weren’t for the apoplectic fit my conservative FIL had when he saw it the other night (and because I ran out of other books** and new magazines). So now, as if it had been banned from the schools, I plan to read it thoroughly and gleefully. And I’ve learned in greater detail so far just why Columbus was actually a total assh*le.

It probably won’t bode well for my burgeoning conspiracy theorist-self, but I think it will be really interesting. If you’ve read it, I’d love to hear what you think.


*Ok it’s really called Rock of Love with Bret Michaels. I was just too lazy to find it.

**I told Casey we’d hold off on the HP & DH discussion until next week when he’s back and the less obsessives get a chance to finish it.

Sayeth Corey Feldman. Obviously.

I love the random stuff I see on my yahoo homepage. Apparently Corey Haim and Corey Feldman have made up from the decades-old feud (worked on in rehab, maybe) and are trying to revive their careers by capitalizing on their boyish charm and the unique fact that they have the same name. (Lemme tell you, my name is Jennifer. That trick got old in Kindergarten.)

And really, what better way is there to spice up a Tuesday than to find out that Haim and Feldman are now in a tv show called



Wait for it..




I wonder if they’re going to make a Blown Away II: Charles Ain’t In Charge No More. (Look it up. You’ll figure it out.)

That’s what I call the things associated with our autism.. path? journey? story? What’s the latest PC term? I know it’s cheesy, but in my head it’s like varying sizes of waves, coming and going. Back and forth I go with the research, my confidence, my denial, and my attempt at apathy. I have gone so far up and down the emotional totem pole it’s disconcerting even to me, but I’m fairly sure it’s not a whole lot different for anyone else.

Depending on when you talked to me, either Jack would totally ‘grow out’ of his diagnosis or I’m pondering a future where he won’t be able to live independently. (I doubt that is true, but my doubts and my denial often hang out together. Regardless, it’s not something we need to think about for many years.) My initial research was so steeped in need for control I clung to the toxic theory and knew if I just tried the right order of supplements and diet, he’d be cured. After two years I know that health makes a huge difference, but Jack’s autism is not curable. He is autistic and regardless of how much it effects his life, it is not something that is questionable anymore, regardless of what that moron Dr. Prozac casually tosses around.

And I only mention this today (after a chipper post this morning) because sometimes a small wave of reality hits me when I least expect it. Jack doesn’t seem to interact well with the kids in the gym daycare, and the young guy who’s often working in there made a pointed note today to tell me kids in that room were supposed to be at least 2 and potty trained. I’m guessing someone has caught sight of the pull-ups Jack wears. And it’s a scenario like that, which really is pretty minor (I don’t give a shit what some teenager thinks he can judge me about), that catches me off guard and unprepared. A small wave, but one nonetheless.

I was discussing this ebb and flow recently with another autie mom, and I started feeling guilty about the fact that I totally dropped the ball this summer. I’ve swung so far from the micromanaging view of ‘curing’ him that I’ve taken the neurodiverse school-of-thought to the point of pretending there’s nothing different about Jack at all. And that’s just not true, nor is it fair to Jack. I should have gotten him in a structured playgroup or something, because he has noticeably regressed in some areas. I should have probably not tried to push swim lessons on him when I *knew* beforehand it would be an unhappy experience for him. Mostly I should have spent the money on speech therapy; I’m not trained to help him with that (even if he would let me).

And I know I’ve been extremely sensitive thinking people are assuming things are either better or worse than I describe. (Just thinking of it in those terms invalidates the idea that this really could be reality.) Jon’s mom refuses to admit something’s different, and my mom has hinted that I should prepare for Jack not going to college or getting married. My wonderful friends attempt to boost my morale by telling me how their kids do things ‘just like Jack’, when really that serves to make me feel more isolated. My blogs and themes throughout the months swing wildly between pretending there’s nothing to see here, everything’s fine, and feeling like I am barely keeping the poor kid afloat. And that wears me out, aside from not being very productive.

So. Although I realize this is out of left field, it’s really not, and unfortunately (coincidentally, fatefully, thankfully) is tantamount to our autism lives. I’m sure if I really thought hard I’d probably admit writing this makes me have to be accountable, because I’ve aknowledged slacking off, y’know? And I know I can throw a pity party like few can, but I also want to say all this so that I admit I need to be more honest when I feel things, so that my emotions don’t go nutso when I keep them in. I have a right to what I’m feeling, and I don’t think I’ll be able to really really be the best for Jack until I stop worrying how it looks.

So I’ll just stop caring what anyone thinks. Real soon. šŸ˜‰

I’ve been following the case of the West Memphis Three, then-teenaged boys found guilty of murder in the mid 90s, since I saw the first of two documentaries on HBO forever ago. The story is fascinating, and appears to be up there with historic cases of complete injustice and legal ineptitude.

And I read today that DNA testing concluded none of the genetic material at the crime scene belonged to Echols, Misskelly and Baldwin. That is potentially HUGE news, and hopefully will start a path for exoneration.

I recommend you check it out.

Hey buddy, let’s get shoes on to go to the store.

AUGH! No you CAN’T go to the store!

Relax, Jack. Should we go get some more fruit and yogurt?

Do you want fruit and yogurt in your white bowl?

It’s all gone, that’s why we should go get some. I think we should get some pears, doesn’t that sound fun?

NO! We never, never, never go to the store. Do you want to stay here with Lorelei while Jack goes to the store?

Well, that’ll be kinda hard, buddy. I need to drive the car.

NO! You CAN’T drive the car! Do you want to go to the farm? It may take a while to eat white eggs but we can’t have yellow butter with our yellow eggs. We can’t have blue butter. We can’t eat white eggs because it may take a while.

We’ll make eggs later, sweet boy. Let’s get a snack ready. Do you want green crackers and raisins?

We can’t have snacks. Do you want a pepperoni pizza?

How ’bout we make that for lunch! That sounds like a great plan! But we need to go to the store, so let’s get some snacks and cold water and put our shoes on.

Do you want to have pepperoni pizza for lunch first? Do you want that, Mom?

Sweet boy, it’s only 8:45. We just ate breakfast. We’ll eat pizza for lunch with our fruit and yogurt. Do you need to go potty before we go?

NO! I CAN’T go potty! You don’t go poopy in your diaper. I never, never go potty.

That’s fine. Let’s go.

Do you want to go to the green slide, Mom? I think we can go to Old McDonald’s and play on the slide. I think that’s a good idea, Mom. Great job, Mom! Great job going to Old McDonald’s to play on the slide. Are you ready? Are you ready Lorelei? Ok, let’s go!

Baby, we can’t go right now to the slide. We need to go to the store and when we get back we can play while Lo-lo sleeps. When Daddy comes home I bet we could go to the slide, when it’s cooler.

NOOOO! We CAN’T go to the store..!

We enrolled Jack in swim lessons at the Y, and they’ve gone swimmingly (ha ha). No really, they’re not going well. Unfortunately we should have probably been aware enough to warn the teacher not to ‘accidentally’ drop him like I see her do the other kids. I know it’s an attempt to get them used to bobbing up and down in the water (which happens while you swim, obviously) but Jack’s only cool in the pool if he’s hugging the wall. So currently Miss Tracy is pretty much up there with.. uh.. well, no one. This particular animosity is specific towards her; he’s structured like that. (bahdum ching!)

I should have swallowed my pride and enrolled him in the Mommy & Me class first, but it only went to 3 years, and he’s tall enough to look like a 5 year-old, so I thought maybe the excitement of the other kids would be enough.

I was wrong. Score another point for Autism.

But I’m not worried; he’ll get there in his own sweet time. He does most things in his time.

I just wish I had the clock.

(Many props to Sara for the linky.)

Unless you’re my sister, I’m assuming you heard music in the 80s. Take this quiz and see how you do. My measly score was 46.5. I’ll bet a G.W. that Jon (eh, or maybe Jason) smokes everyone. His knowledge of useless and obscure trivia is limitless. People fight over him for trivia games, I swear. Don’t cheat – it’s just a quiz.

And while thinking of 80s awesomeness: We are having our sort-of-annual Birthdaversary party on August 11th (our bdays and anniversary are in the first half of August) and I have an evite, but it’s got our home addy on it, so I’m not going to print it. But if you haven’t gotten it (KCAPers came to mind) please lemme know so I can send it to you.

It’s a costume party. With karaoke. And 80s music. And Tang. Awesome.

(Oh, and leggings and flipped collars are somehow in again, so no excuses!)

Which is why it probably didn’t work well in my case. šŸ˜‰

Sorry, Jon. I think my (extremely short) moratorium of bugging you has officially ended.

Only cat people would really get why this made me bawl.

I dislike Bob Stoops very much. Very VERY much. So I take much happiness in Oklahoma being busted. Man that kicks ass.

Read all about it here.

Poor guy. I’m pretty sure I get riled up like this about my own passions. He’s right about the media, even if I think he’s borderline detrimental to his cause.

But we’re still talking, aren’t we. And that’s the point.

Sometimes the worst* kind of days are the ones where you don’t plan to be grumpy, but are forced to by cosmic design.

I think it started with the cat puking quietly on the floor – but not in such a hidden area that I wouldn’t step in it while walking down the hallway. Or maybe the secret agreement the kids had for when they dropped their shared cookie at Target and tried to out-screech each other to my shocked mortification – specifically, of course, in front of a snotty girl from high school that was really popular and had her little perfectly behaved Gerber child sitting serenely and royally in their forward-moving cart. Do you know how tall the ceilings of Target are? Do you realize how much that means sound reverberates?

I suppose it could be the drivers who drove in front of me (both lanes, of course) going at least 7 under the speed limit – and then apparently were also at Target (surely), meandering through the aisles so that I was forced to swing my wildly left-pulling, broken wheeled cart back and forth to navigate them. Or MAYBE it’s when the bag ripped as I was heaving it into the back of my car and the bagels fell out on top of the chips (k-e-e-runch) and the cart guy tried to add my cart to the front of his magnetic mechanical line but I hadn’t grabbed Jack’s overnight diapers from the bottom of the cart yet, so I had to chase it and snag it before they, too, were smushed.

But damn it if in the end the kicker of it all is that my beloved Dave was irritating me with his non-semblance of organized song performing on one of his many live albums. Now usually I. Love. Dave. Matthews. And I am fully aware that if you own all his albums you are going to get a handful of his songs at least 13 times. Most of the time that’s cool – it’s a jam band, after all. But today I just needed some order, and 7 minutes of a flute bridge in ‘Say Goodbye’ was about 6 and a half too many.


*Ok. I have an ETA: Just now I was complaining to my mom and she stopped me with her own story of a trip to the store last week. Apparently her cart took off down a hill, went over the grassy embankment of a Taco Bell and upended itself in the middle of the drive through where her jar of tomato sauce exploded all over her groceries – in front of a growing line of cars. She totally wins. And sadly (though thankfully) I can NOT STOP LAUGHING at the image. So now I feel better, thanks ma. šŸ˜‰

(My training, not yours. Don’t leave.)

So the best thing so far about WordPress over other blogs I’ve had is that it tells you how many people have looked at your blog and also from where (i.e., my myspace link or from someone’s blog who links to me). But that doesn’t mean I know who is looking, nor do the numbers match up. Either people are randomly finding it or a lot of people just have it memorized or bookmarked, thus I have no way of tracking, so don’t worry.

And this is all fun and ego-boosting, thanks. I can see what links you enjoy (hello, all you fellow lol cat dorks!) and what comments you like to read (Sicko’s pretty intriguing apparently). And what I really find gratifying is that more than one person has been jumping from my blog daily to see the Omnibus proceedings. That’s cool; in fact I’m really glad that the info is being utilized.

But the.. uh, oddest thing is that there is a subheading that says “Search Engine Terms” where it tells me what words people used to find me – again, possibly accidentally. Nonetheless, someone apparently found me today by searching “autism barometric pressure”. I’m guessing that’s referring to the rain one? I don’t remember mentioning autism, but I suppose I did. Anyway, my babbling here is to say that I got a good laugh out of seeing that another search phrase was ‘unhinged jaw’. Twice, no less.

I mean, what a mnemonic to be remembered by, eh?



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