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Happy Monday, everyone. I had such a great weekend. We saw lots of good friends, went to the park, watched our Cats actually win something, got holiday pictures taken – fun fun fun altogether.


But then, for some unknown reason, Jack became not himself last night. He refused to go to sleep in his bed, demanding to sleep in ours from the beginning. Since he was acting unusually upset and I was tired, I decided to go to bed early and just bring him in. But even then he was restless: I would be drifting off and he’d sit up and pat my face and tell me to go to sleep. He did that like, 7 times. Like he has ESP and knew I was just about to be totally asleep. Then he had bad dreams all night, and continuously woke up confused and angry and kicking. It was a really, really, really crappy and long night.

And the irony? It’s that the previous few nights he had woken us up with a nice bed shower, so last night we decided to put one of his old Pull-Ups on him in hopes of sleeping uninterrupted (ha ha – kids are so not stupid) and he woke up today completely dry. COMPLETELY DRY. Little turd.

And that’s all I have today. A fairly pointless and grumpy post. But I do have an addendum to the kids’ dictionary wherein Jack now calls every female he sees ‘little lady’ and the man at the farm ‘farmer man’. I think the simplicity of that is genius, so I too might assign names like ‘stupid Tahoe driver’ or ‘inexperienced Starbucks worker.’


But I think that’s just me wanting to spread the stink-eye to everyone, and is probably not quite as innocent.

Just a guess there.


“Some advocates say the early presence of veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan at shelters does not bode well for the future. It took roughly a decade for the lives of Vietnam veterans to unravel to the point that they started showing up among the homeless. Advocates worry that intense and repeated deployments leave newer veterans particularly vulnerable.”


Inexcusable for myriad of reasons.

I’m a happy girl.

That was fun and I’m glad I can cross it off my list. I taped snippets of a couple songs (shhh) but this was the loudest by far – big surprise. 😉

Enjoy and be jealous.

You know, it’s funny. I woke up this morning with full intentions of making the next 24-hours a country event.

(For this, of course. I am in full-on dork mode.)


I opened up iTunes, knowing I have multiple country CDs floating around, and found.. 6 songs. Six songs? That’s all I’ve deemed worthy to listen to in the three years since we got the computer? That surprised me, because country music really was in equal rotation for me once upon a time. So I opened up our Pandora and set it to the Pure Country (I’m so clever) station, and in half an hour I’ve heard a dozen songs that bring up memories.

I’m sure my stubborn tether to a genre I don’t relate to much anymore is partially the time-period in which I listened to it. I was just hitting my adult years and beginning to figure things out (still working on that – bahdum ching!). Country music’s mostly about simple melodies and storytelling, and I think there’s a time and place for that. I knew a whole lot of country farm kids in college, and I *swear* the music made more sense to me after knowing their lives. And as much as I sometimes yearn for the complexity of big(ger) city life, there is definitely some merit to the simplicity of country living. If I had to make a decision right now between owning property where I could have a big garden and some animals vs living in New York I’d be split right down the middle. Ke-rack.

And I’m sure someone out there is irritated that I’ve made sweepingly stereotypical statements about country music, simple lives and whatnot. Obviously not everyone fits a stereotype, but it’s what I’ve generally found to be true, so there ya go.

Anyway, I was pleased with myself that one of the songs I do have on the computer is Chris LeDoux’s ‘This Cowboy’s Hat’. Because if you’re going to listen to any country, ever, it needs to include this guy.

And don’t worry, faithful readers I know are suffering, you’ll only have to endure one more concert recap tomorrow before this ends.

Until then it is giddyup, baby. 8)

There are horrible, horrible things going on in the world that totally negate writing an entire post about how television is about to go down the tubes. (Literally. Get it? Television has tubes in it? Aw, nevermind.) But I love me some escapist television, which is exactly the reason I need it nowadays.

And in case you haven’t heard, the Writers Guild of America is on strike over arguments about how much they should or shouldn’t get paid for DVD royalties and web-based work. I fully support them – they are the driving force behind anything worthy of watching – and they deserve the credit they are due, financially or otherwise. So if the strike holds, I’m apparently going to swiftly lose some of my favorite shows (e.g., Daily Show, Heroes, The Office) and in its place more reality shows will air.

And that will make us continually dumber with each passing night.

I don’t mind some reality shows (I stubbornly admit that in the past I have sort of slightly watched American Idol or anything that’s on MTV, actually), but even I have a degree of elitism about the proposed The Farmer Wants A Wife. I mean, c’mon. The Cowboy Bachelor? That’s..

Well.. That could be actually be ok, now that I think about it.

But I digress; you get my point. My point is that regardless of how much you pat yourself on the back for not watching much TV, surely you can imagine some time in your life that you loved a show. (Hello, Seinfeld anyone? Do you really think Jerry’s that good of an actor? No. It’s the writing that kept you coming back. That and Kramer.) We need to support our writers for having a modicum of intelligence and wit. They make us laugh and cry! We plan parties for finales and have hundreds of message boards about fictional people’s lives! That’s powerful! Television doesn’t have to be the soulless life-sucking American icon some paint it to be. I firmly believe the right choices of viewing can be incredibly enriching. I mean, the Discovery Channel? Yeah. Television – 1, Snobs – 0. So I propose we all stand together and protest the scab shows (though not Scrubs, another great one) that will try and convince you they are comparable to real shows.

And I suppose now would be an appropriate time to insert a plug for picking up those thick, square, spider-smashers and opening them to discover real words that don’t move, but honestly I’d selfishly prefer you just support the kind of writers carried on electricity.

That’s because I’ll probably be somewhat MIA in the next few weeks while I concentrate on my Bradley academic work and honing my own writing skills. I plan to jump in to that cash-cow right when the deal is sweetest. And maybe someday you’ll be blogging about my writing prowess, muahahahaha.

Eh. I’m just kidding. I’m just telling you I’ll be busy.

But if nothing else you won’t lose any more brain cells to reality shows, right? That’s always good.

This thing is acting wiggedy-wacked and isn’t staying connected.

Ad-Aware found 31 objects to quarantine. (!?!?)

Wish me luck.


ETA: Turns out I think it was on AT&T’s end.

Boo Hiss! I will bring you down someday!

It’s been two years this week since we sat in the developmental ped’s office, getting an autism diagnosis.

And the thing that surprises me most since then is how.. meandering my research and views have been. When I hit the bookstore that first night, the majority of salient titles were about curing autism. And since most of that was through supplements and nutrition, it made perfect sense within my own burgeoning crunchy philosophy. We spent hundreds of dollars on supplements, created spreadsheets, overhauled the pantry and jumped in.

And Jack trucked along with the help of his therapists and prayer. He learned to say no. He learned to say two-word sentences. He learned to not screech if we were at the store and someone tried to talk to him. He allowed us to leave him in the preschool room at church services. He started going into other people’s houses. He would memorize and babble in perfect intonation and cadence entire books and movies. He started letting us kiss him on the cheek as opposed to the angled-head he offered previously.

So it was a huge shock when I discovered that there were many people who thought that curing autism was abhorrent. To that philosophy ‘curing’ something that was never wrong but just different is anathema to a person’s.. well.. personhood. And I chewed on that for a while because at this point Jack was making huge developmental leaps and life just wasn’t as hard as it used to be. I began to consider my own moderated view that maybe some people really were genetically predisposed to autism (us), and others were straight-up bodily toxic (not us). I then decided the whole diagnostic process would eventually need to be redesigned to delineate between the two because the worlds were vastly different – and left it neatly at that.

And Jack continued to grow. He learned how to say multiple-word sentences. He began to use spontaneous language. He tried to keep his hand away from his face when he was talking. He finally understood the abstract and incredibly difficult meaning of ‘why’. He started going to school and counting and learning directions. He began to attempt eye contact when he said “hello, anyone!”. He started hugging us and giving us real kisses. He started saying “I missed you so much, Daddy!”. He started going over and asking Lorelei if she was OK when she fell. He drew a picture with a real face.

He wrote his name.

And without realizing it, I began to feel distinct pride when Jack exhibited signs of truly individual thinking. The way he shows us how his mind works is so cool; it blows my mind. With time I found myself silently (and arrogantly, admittedly) diagnosing people I know or don’t know with various forms of autism – usually Asperger’s. It’s actually a badge of honor, truthfully, because usually it will occur to me if something sparks that makes me wonder if you just think differently. And there are other sometimes less-positive aspects of autism, absolutely. I know that I am blessed that Jack is as high-functioning as he is; I wonder sometimes about the fairness of that. But it is what it is, and from what I know, I believe wholeheartedly there are a world of undiagnosed auties out there.

So this weekend while doing some (cursory, actually) vaccine reading, I saw that a scientist (a Gandalf to Offit’s Saruman in the vax world) I respect deeply mentioned offhand that he too thinks autism is truly immunological or neurological and is no more genetic than any other human factor. And that shocked me. Truly. Only because I had long ago decided there was no way it could be either/or – it just seemed so absolute in the particularly cruel autism realm of unpredictability. But this guy is w-a-y up on the scientific food chain (but still holds my views on vaccines and how I think the body works regarding Western medicine) so for him to say that immediately grants a degree of validity in my mind.

And the reason this is so important (and is discussed or mentioned often by me) is because how you view autism directly affects how you parent and make decisions. If I eventually decided that it must truly be a neurological pathology, I would be apt to try and cure it, like you would anything you deemed wrong or unnatural in your body. But if I just think Jack is the hip-phrase ‘neurodiverse’, I would foster his learning potential as best I can. Of course I can marry the two, but the point behind it is the emotional connotation. One is seen as a celebration of ingenuity or individuality; the other a defective wiring or illness. How you view this is tantamount to the kind of lens you have when you look at your child – I don’t care what you say.

So I guess, two years later, I am no more closer to understanding the causation of autism. And truthfully I think I’m alright with that. Because if there’s a cause, there’s a cure, and I’m not sure that everything being included?… I’d want one anymore.

The following additions to the Jacoby/Lorelei childhood dictionary:

bana (l) = banana

elbobo (l) = elbow

pummy (l) = tummy

oatmemayoh (j) = oatmeal

breshfis (l) = breakfast

flamimbo (j) = flamingo

suhbanana (j) = savhanna

And for a random entry into the femullet category, I present Lorelei last weekend, before her haircut:


Have a good weekend everyone!

I forgot to add that I saw this link on my friend Brandi’s page, and I’m so glad. These people are crazy, out-of-their-freaking-minds sick. Years ago I tried to respectfully email them about Christian values and whether there was a better way to evangelize and within an hour I got a flaming response calling me Cybermissy (wtf?) and telling me I too, was going to hell.

I don’t think so. But I would like to see what happens on their judgment day.

If you want to see more, go to their own site, or worse, watch this link to their Youtube video. I refuse to even embed it here. They actually make me nauseous.

But when I double checked the definition (I’m brain dead today) I discovered it didn’t quite mean what I thought. I had a vague idea of a mish-mash of useless facts, and it means that sort of (overabundance), but it also apparently means:

1: a bodily condition characterized by an excess of blood and marked by turgescence and a florid complexion

Huh. That’s gross. I even had to look up turgescence (root: turgid) and it discussed ‘swollen’, specifically in regards to language. So I guess I need to try and remember this in the future. I’d hate to imagine what people have been thinking of me all these years, regardless of which definition you choose.

Anyhoo, MY ORIGINAL POINT was to give you some of those random facts I learned at the conference. Maybe you knew these things, but I think it’s interesting to learn random trivia.

1. Dasani water has Magnesium Sulphate in it. This is important to note for pregnant mamas b/c that is what they give to women to stall pre-term labor. The body needs minerals more than anything else, but this is *not* a good thing for women to drink in pregnancy, despite what Coca-Cola may tell you. (Surprisingly, because they obviously have the ethics to make only the most nutritional products for today’s consumer, right?)

2. Fernand Lamaze (which Bradley is not affiliated with, to be clear) created his breathing methods by working with Pavlov and his dogs. Hut, hut, hooooo because you cool your body by panting? I don’t think so.

3. Arsenic is used to bleach maraschino cherries (b/f they are dyed back that garish red) and an entire jar could KILL a toddler.

4. Chickens that are not labeled antibiotic/pesticide free are most likely dipped in tetracycline before crossing state lines.

5. When breastfeeding, a baby’s saliva is what changes the nutritional makeup for the next feeding. Formula is static and doesn’t adjust, and those who for whatever reason must exclusively pump their milk will most likely lose their quantity faster because the mother’s body isn’t able to get that information to adjust the nutritional content.

Chew on those for a bit; I have to run. Fascinating, idn’t?




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