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So I often add some powdered hot chocolate to my morning jetfuel (Because I’m still a little too I like my sugar with coffee and cream Beastie Boyish, thanks.) and when we have raw goat milk, I’ll add that to it, ala the Big Mac/Diet Coke kind of thinking. Fine. But yesterday, Jack found an old box of Spiderman mac n’ cheese in the pantry –

[Sidenote: Does anyone else think the funky noodle shapes taste different than the regular noodles? How is that?! Why wouldn’t it be the same ingredients as regular noodles, but just stamped into a different mold?!]

– and demanded to eat it for lunch. To assuage some of my guilt I only put in half the cheese packet, and added some ingredients from the fridge in hopes of creating some semblance of health. Ok, great.

So. This morning, after making my delicioso 7-step coffee, I randomly grabbed for the half packet of chocolate left over from yesterday – you know where this is going – and instead dumped the rest of the craptastic powdered cheese into my gloriously oversized mug. Luckily, I noticed I was stirring around BRIGHT ORANGE, and some synapse fired enough to recognize that Houston had a problem.

Alas, the day was not ruined, because making that complicated coffee means we always have a lot left over. And the second go-round was much more smooth. But that still should be a lesson for JON to NOT BUY SPIDERMAN MAC’NCHEESE AT THE STORE. BECAUSE IT DOESN’T EVEN TASTE GOOD ANYWAY.

Let’s see. How is everyone? Things are pretty good here. Oscar is pretty much 100% healed. He has a hella scar running up his belly with staples in it, and I’m considering calling him Zip(per) from now on. Or, Oscar the WonderMoron. Or Economy Stimulus Check. Whichever.

Jon is donating bone marrow next week b/c he is a match for someone, and that is so ridiculously cool. I’m not sure what all it entails, but truly, we should all be so lucky there are people out there who would do something so painful and altruistic. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.

For those of you who know of my long-standing fascination with the West Memphis Three case, I was directed to this video yesterday that sums it up much more quickly than the two documentaries. Go. Watch. Get involved. I cried yesterday thinking not only of the injustice, but the arbitrariness of HBO getting involved in the first place. It scares me to think of all the other backwoods, backassward trials slipping through the cracks.

That Alex Barton thing I (and eleventybillion other people) wrote about has literally exploded, due to the outrage of the autism community. As per usual I’m slightly irritated that autism is the main reason it caught national attention, but it has opened a huge path for discussion of neurodiversity, which is stupidly overdue. Again (againagainagain), I’m not wholly sure I can be in either camp, but enlightenment is still progress, obviously.

I am digging on this song, big time.

I finished the book Middlesex last week. I think it’s a great choice for everyone; it has a lot of underlying themes that can be discussed thoroughly. Plus, I get the impression that the author might be the type who wrote a cool story but didn’t actually mean for it to be that purposely layered. Who knows. It’s the guy who wrote The Virgin Suicides, and it’s a cool book anyway, despite his goofy jacket picture.

Only 23 days until we leave for Colorado. Hu-freaking-zah, I’m deliriously excited. I hate summer in Kansas.

I think that’s it. Love to all.

(First and totally unrelated to the rest of the post: we have a French press now to make our coffee, and SWEET MARY IS IT SO MUCH BETTER THAN OUR OLD DRIP COFFEE. And I love – no, subsist – on coffee as my morning ritual, so although this takes longer, it’s like graduating from Natty Light to Newcastle: I can’t ever have the old kind again without knowing the truth of what’s out there. Yum.)

So, yesterday was an emotional Jack day for me. I had his IEP meeting in the afternoon, and it was so overwhelming, which really threw me for a loop after a couple years of these. First, there were ten, maybe eleven people in the room, and I had no idea why or who all these professionals were. Speech, Occupational, Resource teacher, Pre-school teacher, Kindy teacher, Principal, Special Needs advocate, Psychologist and a few others thrown in to raise the temperature level it seemed like. And it was surreal the way they discussed Jack as if he were an inanimate object, a case-study maybe. And don’t get me wrong, they are very kind and loving people, I feel ridiculously blessed we are in the school district we are. But at one point they were clinically explaining all his deficits and below developmental-average percentages, and I just burst into tears. The whole room stared at me for a second, totally confused as to why I’d be crying, when the spark of realization that they were talking to the mother of this real child hit them.

I am more anxious about how successful Jack will be in Kindergarten than I have been about anything previously. His pre-k is a program geared towards kids with various special needs. There are at least 5 adults in the room, and most of the kids have IEPs of some sort. But next year will be Jack mainstreamed in a normal classroom where he most likely could be one of maybe two kids who are special needs. The IEP team had a heated and obviously old argument about how much Para time could be allocated to him. I mean, they’re arguing over whether “Jacoby” will succeed in a three hour class with 60 minutes, or if he really needs 90 minutes of personal adult attention, and I know they’re thinking solely of time and budget. But I, on the other hand, am picturing my sweet boy having an anxiety attack and melting down in this alien environment. And the truth is, we’re all a little nervous how it will go – and this is a new feeling for us as a team. This is a wonderful school filled with genuinely caring people who adore my son (thus I adore them), so I know he has a great support net. I just feel so helpless to help him sometimes. And basically, it scares the shite out of me to know the professionals who know him almost as well feel the same way. There’s just not a lot we can do besides pray and wait.

But on a lighter note, we had Jack’s first of two birthday parties last night, along with another little boy in his class with an April birthday. The kids all had fun, and I was so proud of how Jack handled it. He was a champ, even during the few moments when I could see he was overwhelmed. At one point he stood up on his bench in the noisy pizza room and hollered THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! Ha.

He’ll turn 5 next week, and he’s come so far it’s unbelievable. I love that little fartknocker so much my heart hurts with it.

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And I mean really, who couldn’t?

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