Stimeyland

Happy Turkey Day!

2009-11-26T04:41:00.003-05:00

Quinn's Turkey

Even the turkey seems to know Quinn put the feathers on...weirdly.

Jack's Turkey
Made of Oreos and candy corn!

Sam's Turkeys
Plentiful and stubbly!

Alex's Turkey
Why, yes, he does cook!

Stimey's Turkey
And I'm thankful for him!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

The Lie

2009-11-23T19:36:00.005-05:00

Today, after he got home from school, one of the first things out of Sam's mouth was, "Is Santa Claus real?"

I casually walked him a little distance away from his brothers and asked him why he was asking.

"Some of the fifth graders on the bus were talking about it," he said.

"Do you think he's real?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Me too," I said.

And that was it. Well, except for what seems to be the seed of an elaborate plan to somehow catch Santa in the act this Christmas Eve complete with instructions to "tell Dad not to go in the living room on Christmas Eve, and you too. And I'll tell the brothers not to go in there unless they have to get to the bathroom."

I'm curious as to what he's planning. I'm worried that it may involve snares.

Part of me thinks it adorable and sweet and a sign of his impending maturity. And the other part is all "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." I vividly remember reading Maria's post last year about how she never started the whole Santa myth with her daughters and incredulously thinking, "You can DO that? Why didn't someone tell me that eight years ago?"

Because, honestly, I want to come clean. But I'm in too deep. The lies have stacked upon the lies and now it's not just Sam believing in Santa Claus, but it's Quinn believing in the Easter Bunny and it's Jack believing that a giant tooth called the Tooth Fairy leaves him money under his pillow when parts of his body fall out.

I wanted to be all flat-out, "No, Sam. Santa Claus is not real. We made him up because that is what the whole damn world does, and it's fun and please don't wreck it for your brothers or your classmates, and it's okay, just because we lied about that doesn't mean you can't trust us, and Santa is really more the spirit of Christmas and the embodiment of our love for you than an actual person, so really he does exist, right? But, no, he's not real."

But I didn't say that because I didn't really want to snap his little heart into sixteen pieces five minutes before I had to drag the whole family out of the house to go to Jack's speech therapy.

Anyway, before I ask to hear your stories of Santa and the devastation he wreaks on the 8- to 10-year-old set, I leave you with this awesome response to my tweet about the conversation I had with Sam:

I love twitter.

So, bring 'em on. I wanna hear your stories of The Lie and the devastation that followed. (Or is coming. Because, yeah, it's coming. You can almost feel it, huh? It's like a 500-pound reindeer lightly pressing his left front hoof on one of your shoulders and you just know the other 499 pounds are going to come down on you soon. And at an inopportune time. Oh...it's coming.)

Can Wii Have Fun? Yes, Wii Can!

2009-11-22T13:41:00.006-05:00

I have been fortunate to be able to attend many blogging events in the past couple of years, but I've never been the one who gets to actually host one before. But in my new capacity as a Nintendo Brand Enthusiast with Brand About Town (see bottom of the post for disclosure), I was lucky enough to be able to host a Wii Fit Plus party for some of my good friends!

Yay, me!

I wish I could have invited each and every one of you to this party. I actually had a lot of private angst over my invite list. We ended up with a wonderful group of women from both my blogging and my non-online circles.

We met at the Fraser Gallery in Bethesda, where I immediately embarrassed the friends I carpooled with by taking a lot of photos of the outside of the building. Evidently, they haven't been to a lot of blogging events with me. 'Cause I'm the photo queen. On a related note, you can all go see the Flickr group for the party here.

The great thing about the gallery is that three of its walls were made of glass, so all the passersby could look in and see us being silly.

At one point I had to engage in a making-faces contest with some small children. Because I am evidently six years old.

The Brand About Town people definitely wined and dined us. I gotta say though that their green smoothies freaked me out a little bit. (And I wonder why my kids are so insane about what they eat.)

I drank one of the strawberry smoothies.
Which was by far the least scary smoothie.

Here we are learning about the new features of the Wii Fit Plus. I will not go into them here, but if you are so inclined, you are welcome to read about them in my review, which is posted on my review site.

We split up into groups to play, based on the highly scientific drawing-a-rock system.

I was "believe," as in "I believe I will make smart-alecky
comments throughout this event."

We started with yoga, which I do not normally do. Here is my friend Heather doing what I refer to as The Charlie's Angels Pose.

Here are Leticia and ALW flapping, flapping, flapping for all they're worth, trying to score points in a flying game.

Naturally, all *I* was trying to do was balance my camera and my glass of wine.

It was so wonderful to see my friends. It was also wonderful to see my friends grin when the Brand About Town people gave them each a Wii Fit Plus with balance board.

Above you see Jill, me, and Leticia in the front row and ALW, Robin, Susan, Kate, Andrea, Sue, Sandie, Kimberly, Joanne, Heather, and my non-blogger buddy M in the back row. My friend E is not pictured because she had to leave early because her husband locked himself and his kids out of their house and car. E's husband? You're on notice.

Thanks to Nintendo, Brand About Town, and all my friends for coming. It was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Also, I'll be giving away a Wii and Wii Fit Plus with a balance board on my review blog soon! Stay tuned for that announcement!

Disclosure: I was not compensated for hosting this party. However, I also did not have to plan or pay for it. As a brand enthusiast, I am sometimes sent free things, which I review on Things. And Stuff., my review site. While my guests were each given a Wii Fit Plus with a balance board when they left the party, I walked out with a (fabulous) Wii Fit warmup jacket. (Which was promptly stolen by Jack.) My guests also each got a jacket.

(He insisted on holding a Wii remote and standing on the balance board
while I took his photo. Seriously, HE should be the brand enthusiast.)

On Peanut Butter and iPhones

2009-11-20T17:33:00.003-05:00

So. Recycling.

A couple of you wanted some further information on my bold statement that you don't need to wash out your peanut butter jars before you recycle them. Now you should remember that I am often a little hit or miss when it comes to "facts" and "truths," so you should take what I'm saying with a grain of salt. (Or a dab of peanut butter, if you prefer.)

What happened was that I asked the guy about things like mayo jars and peanut butter jars and if I needed to clean them out. And he said, "Rinsing them out usually doesn't do a lot of good, so use a spatula to clean them." And then he told me that metal recycling gets heated to 2000 degrees when it is recycled and eliminates all traces of labels and food, so you don't have to clean those out.

So I'm going to generalize that to say that you should try to get big chunks of food out of jars, but that it's okay if a little residue is left because the recycling process should take care of it.

And remember! I am totally making this up.

(Although I did check one or two websites that seem to back me up.)

Does anyone have actual information on the subject?

*****

In other news, I am on my third iPhone in as many weeks. My original one stopped picking up wifi signals. So I took it in a couple of weeks ago and they had to give me a new one because the one I had was "unfixable."

Then, last night, one row of the keyboard stopped working in every app that uses a keyboard on my brand new iPhone. So I took it in and the guy was all, "Oh, it's probably just a loose cable. I'll go fix it." And then he came out a few minutes later to tell me that he had to give me a new one because it wasn't the cable and this phone was also unfixable.

I'm going to see how many iPhones I can go through before my warranty runs out.

I Tried Hard to Come Up With a Good Title About Recycling the Recycling Center Field Trip, But Nothing Worked. Clearly.

2009-11-19T20:37:00.003-05:00

You probably don't remember this...

...but I took it when Jack's four-year-old class went on a field trip to the recycling center and Quinn missed the tour because he wouldn't wear the earplugs. Well Quinn is now in the same four-year-old class and today was the field trip to the recycling center.

Look familiar?

I'm pretty sure that Quinn has some sensory issues, and based on his consistent weirdness about things that go on or in his body, I wasn't entirely sure he was going to agree to wear the earplugs. But everybody was going in to the tour and I told him that he couldn't go in if he didn't wear the earplugs and so he popped them right in.

And then he freaked out whenever they fell out and started yelling about how loud it was. But I was wearing earplugs, so the screaming was totally not a problem for me.

Anyway, I was really proud of him. I spend so much time trying to reasonably explain things to Sam and Jack, both of whom don't respond well to reason (although Sam is getting better), so I was completely thrown by a kid who heard: If not A, then not B and accepted that he wanted B, so he would do A.

I'm really glad he did, because *I* think the recycling center is the coolest. Although rumor has it that it was smelly. But I have a cold, so I couldn't tell.

In this next photo, Quinn was pointing out that there was glass down below. He seemed pretty proud of himself for locating it.

I always learn fascinating things at the recycling center tour. And by "always," I mean "both times I've been there" and by "fascinating," I mean "fascinating." Did you know that in Montgomery County, Maryland, you can't recycle clear plastic berry containers? And you don't have to totally scrape all the peanut butter out of the jar before you recycle it? And that you shouldn't recycle the greasy half of the pizza box?

That last one resolves a long-standing argument that Alex and I have had. Take that, Alex!

I wanted to take lots of photos of the displays there that showed different materials in different stages of their recycling journey, but I was already the person there with the most obnoxious camera and the most trigger-happy picture finger, so I didn't.

Instead you'll have to make do with this:

Also, before you all start asking—because I still get this question in the comments on the last recycling center post—here is the information on tours.

Thank You!

2009-11-19T20:12:00.006-05:00

So, you guys are awesome. Thank you, each and every one of you, for your comments on my last post. They were not only supportive and wonderful, but many of them had very practical, specific advice. How am I so lucky that you guys frequent this little spot and interact with me? Seriously. I'm a really lucky person. Thank you.

(Also, so you know, I'm trying to respond to all of your thoughtful comments via email, but sometimes I let my email inbox go for three or four days and then it seems weird to email you back, because by that time you've probably not just forgotten your comment and my post, but who I am altogether, so then I just reread the comments and cherish them and respond in my head, which is substantially less effective than responding via email, but I'm lazy and strapped for time and I'm sorry. I do love you all very much. And, seriously, comments are like smiling little bricks of gold to me. Thank you.)

Social media is purty awesome, huh? And my readers/friends/community are the best little corner of social media. In my humble opinion anyway. (Even you lurkers. You know who you are.)

Now I have another post to publish in just a second that is my real post for today, but I sort of feel like every once in a while I need to stop and say thank you. Because you guys are a huge part of Stimeyland and I think it's important that you know that.

So.

Thank you.

This Could All Drive Me Into Therapy. If I Could Afford Therapy.

2009-11-17T18:10:00.003-05:00

As much as I bitch about waiting rooms and the gajillion dollars a week we pay out in copays, I am so grateful for the therapies we're able to take Jack to.

But last winter the SLP who ran our social skills group left her practice and we lost social skills. And then a couple of weeks ago we got letters saying that our occupational therapist's practice won't be taking our insurance anymore, so as of this week we've lost OT.

So now we're down to a half hour of speech therapy a week for Jack. Period. That doesn't seem like a lot of therapy for a kid who so clearly needs it. But who can afford $90 every week for insurance-free occupational therapy? And how do you convince the school system to give it to him in school when they are absolutely convinced that his OT needs don't affect his school success?

I feel a little stressed because I think he needs more. I look at Jack and I look at a half hour of therapy TOTAL each week, and the scale is definitely unbalanced.

Our OT was amazing and folded speech skills into his sessions, which included three kids so she could work on social skills at the same time. And as far as I can tell, there just aren't any pediatric OTs in my area who take insurance.

And just as a side bitch, I drove for an hour and a half yesterday for a half hour of speech therapy because no one closer to me takes my insurance, takes new patients, or returns phone calls. (But I'm grateful for it! Please, oh, gods of therapy, don't take our SLP from us.)

It's frustrating and it's disruptive, and it pisses me off that I can't take my child to a therapist he really connects with and improves with because the insurance company is made up of assholes who won't pay the fucking OT.

Health insurance reform, anyone?

(Just as an FYI: Whenever I write these sorts of posts because I'm in a really bad mood and I'm pissed off, I get a lot of people who worry about me. I'm okay. Jack's okay. We're looking at our options now and we'll hopefully get him started on something in January. If nothing else, we'll increase his speech therapy. On an unrelated note, what kind of therapies have helped your child the most?)

Come to Think of It, Art Has Always Been Kind of a Problem

2009-11-15T01:24:00.005-05:00

I left my kids unsupervised with some paint for a few minutes yesterday. Then I walked into the kitchen to find the following:

Quinn's idea of art:

Jack's idea of art:

This took me back to the days when Jack was in his two-year-old class at his preschool. He was a sensory seeker even back then. His teacher was a saint and regularly gave Jack's class of ten two-year-olds paint to go crazy with.

Inevitably, Jack's painting would metamorphose from brush painting to finger painting. Then the paint would edge up his arms until it covered him from finger tips to elbows. Then he would rub his hands all over his hair.

I swear, his teacher had to wash his hair every single day. And she did it with a smile and a laugh—after she would take him through the three-year-old class to show of his self-painting art skillz.

Ah, memories. Good ones.

Old (Like Mid-30s Old) Friends

2009-11-14T13:24:00.001-05:00

So I don't really publicize that I'm from Utah, even though I grew up there and lived there for 18 years. Not so much because growing up in Utah wasn't good for me, because it was fine, but growing up in Utah is not always good for non-Mormons.

The reason I don't really publicize it is because there are a lot of perceptions and there is a lot of baggage that goes along with the statement, "I grew up in Utah."

The first question you get is, "Are you Mormon?" The second one, of course, is, "Do you ski?" ("No," and, "I used to before I decided that all the...gear took too much energy.").

But a big reason I had a pretty good time growing up is because in high school I had a great group of friends.

Last weekend I flew to Utah to hang out with a bunch of them. I've drawn their pictures for this post (which is why it took me a week to put it up) because I'm not sure that they want their photos on my blog. C, I'm sorry that you're blurry. I did yours first and it was too small and I had to enlarge it, and... Well. You're blurry. Sorry. Also, I'm sorry that I don't know anyone's eye color.

We met in Salt Lake City before we drove down to St. George, Utah, to play and relax for the weekend. Not everyone could go to St. George, so we had dinner and ice cream and talked and talked and talked with those that were stuck in the city for the weekend.

The next day we drove down (with no kids) to St. George, which is about a four-hour drive, into a land of 70-degree weather and red rocks. And shopping. And restaurants.

We did a lot of eating and talking and shopping and eating and talking and someone jokingly suggested horseback riding, but very few of us were enthusiastic, so we might have done some more shopping, or maybe we went somewhere to eat, but I'm pretty sure that we talked.

And we drank a couple thousand ounces of Diet Coke.

I'd been a little nervous before going out to see everyone, because the last time I saw any of them was more than seven years ago. And a couple of them I hadn't seen for well over 15 years. Happily though, everything just fell into place. Everyone was wonderful. They were just as fun as I remember from high school, just older.

We have 26 children between the seven of us (most of my high school friends ARE Mormon, after all). Thirteen of the kids come from two families. Some of those kids share names with each other. There is more than one Jack and more than one Sam, but still only one Q-Ball. One friend just bought her first house all by herself. Two of them own hot tubs. Several of us have obnoxious pets. Some of us work outside of the home; some of us don't.

Some of us are willing to say "bl0w job" in front of a four-year-old (NOT me this time, thank you very much). Some of us aren't.

Some of us are in favor of health care reform, some of us are not, and some of us (me) refused to talk about it at all because some of us (me) were afraid of irreparable damage to friendships (mine).

All of us have had good times and hard times over the past couple of decades, but seem to be hanging in there.

I have to say that my driving tour of Salt Lake kind of blew me away. A lot has changed, including the house I spent most of my growing up years in. A lot I'd forgotten until I drove past it. And some of it seems the same as it ever was. It was weird though, I tell ya.

I've been meaning to get out to Utah for a long time to hang out with these people, but things kept getting in the way, as they do. C mentioned that someone told her after high school that even though we all said we would stay friends, that it would never really happen. I have to say, I don't think we're doing too badly. Thank you, C, for forcing all of us to find a weekend to play. I will remember and be grateful for that weekend for a long time.

Two Sides of Quinn

2009-11-12T10:10:00.003-05:00

Okay. So, you know how photo companies come into schools and take photos of all the kids and then they select the best one to send home in hopes that you will buy it?

For instance, this awesomely adorable photo of my very handsome Quinn that was taken a few weeks ago:

But they don't want you to just buy the one photo. They want you to be so in love with the cuteness of what they send home that you will also buy the second best photo, often taken in front of a different—and far more cheesy—background.

So they will find the second best photo and send that one home too. Such as this second best photo of Quinn:

Clicking the photo to enlarge it is kind of totally worth it.

Are you okay? Have you stopped laughing? Because I laughed for about 45 minutes. I love that there just was not a second best image.

But the photo companies know that most parents won't necessarily order both poses, so they include one fancy sheet with both poses on it so that parents can just buy that and have both photos.

I will sometimes buy this sheet just to get the second pose. Often the juxtaposition of the two photos is really cute.

Or not.

I just can't stop laughing over the fact that these two photos were the absolute two best.

*****

If you like funny school photos and you haven't been around here forever, check out this hilarious school photo of Sam from May 2008.

What Was on the Top Bunk

2009-11-11T17:52:00.002-05:00

Jack & the slave child
By jack

I know. I'm confused too. For a lot of reasons.

This was only the front of what appears to be a book. The following pages don't make much more sense.

I'm starting to wonder if I overlooked what he was really talking about (like, say, the butcher knife stashed under his pillow), but I think this was the only thing up there.

Go ahead. Interpret away.

I dare you.

What Just Happened

2009-11-11T10:50:00.003-05:00

Jack: "Mom, I love you."

Jack: "Don't look on the top bunk."

Me: "Should I be worried?"

Jack: "Yes."

Me: "What is on the top bunk?"

Jack, covering my mouth: "Don't talk about it."

(He's watching me type this right now.)

Jack, reading what I'm typing: "So, be silent. POW!"

Jack: giggle, giggle, giggle...

Hmmm. I think I need to go look on the top bunk.

I Love Me Some Mountains!

2009-11-10T23:15:00.002-05:00

I am shocked to tell you that I haven't written a word for an entire week. Mostly it was because I was revisiting my youth in Utah with some old high school buddies. I have a post planned about that, but I wanted to say hi and let you know that I missed you.

They're Never Going to Let Me Forget

2009-11-04T21:04:00.004-05:00

In case you missed this...

Here is Quinn's artist's rendition of the event:

Remember when I was so happy that he was starting to draw?

I take it all back.

Sibling Responsibility

2009-11-03T15:38:00.004-05:00

I've always thought that Jack is so lucky to have two such wonderful brothers. As a very shy young person myself, I know how important it is to have a sibling to help you out. I have vivid memories of my sister being asked to hang out with me during elementary school recess because she had friends and I didn't.

However, no matter how glad I am that Jack has Sam and Quinn to help and teach him, it also pains me a little bit to give them the extra responsibility of helping to take care of him.

Most of what I ask them to do are things kids would already do for neurotypical siblings. For instance, Sam paves the way for Jack with teachers, he helps Jack make friends by being such a social butterfly, and he helps Jack get to the morning school line-up spot.

I send them away from the car every morning and Sam encourages Jack to come with him. Sometimes they hold hands. Someone from Jack's school told me that Sam walks Jack to his line, makes sure he's facing the right direction, and then goes off to his own line. I'm a little bit afraid of the day that Jack refuses and Sam doesn't know what to do. I hope when that day comes that there is an adult nearby to help. Because I don't want to have put Sam in that position.

Although as the older brother, Sam does most of the leading and the helping, even Quinn seems to understand that Jack needs a little bit of extra help.

For instance, today at the bus stop. I'd taken my dog with me and she was freaking out because there was another dog with the temerity to be merely a block away from her. I'm seriously on the verge of getting the dog stuffed and using her as a coffee table, but that's another post entirely.

While I was dealing with the dog, Jack (who'd already gotten off of his bus, which arrives earlier than Sam's) and Quinn took off. Now, the bus stop is only a block and a half from home and my kids don't have to cross streets to get there, but I don't let them run off until I'm also on my way back home. And they usually don't. Sometimes as soon as Sam gets off the bus, Jack and Quinn will take off running for home. But today, they took off while my attention was on the dog not choking herself with her own collar.

Once I had the dog calmed down, I looked around and didn't see them. I knew where they would have gone, but I don't like them being out of my sight around the corner. Plus I couldn't go track them down without abandoning Sam, whose bus was due any second.

Then I saw them. Jack was running, and Quinn was trying to tackle him. Quinn knew they shouldn't be leaving the bus stop and he was trying to stop Jack. I shouted for them to come back and Jack kept going, with Quinn holding on to his sweatshirt, vainly trying to drag him back.

Fortunately Sam's bus arrived and the group at the bus stop pointed him toward me, halfway down the block. We started walking home with Jack and Quinn still ahead of us, Quinn still trying to stop Jack.

It all ended at the house before ours, where Quinn fell and scraped his stomach in the driveway. Jack obliviously ran home, where he was summarily put in timeout and then got a pretty stringent lecture about staying at the bus stop.

I still firmly believe that having an autistic brother is a wonderful thing for Sam and Quinn. And I still firmly believe that Jack is a wonderful brother and gives as much back to Sam and Quinn as they give to him.

But some days I feel a little sad for the extra responsibility my eight- and four-year-old have.

The Force Was Strong at My House

2009-11-01T22:43:00.004-05:00

This post is mainly for my mother.

A long time ago (you know, Saturday), in a galaxy far, far away (a.k.a. Maryland)...

Two Jedis faced off against Darth Vader.

Or you can refer to them as Charlie's Angels in Space.

This is quite possibly my favorite photo in the history of time.

Gadzooks! An ally for Jack!

But in the end, all enjoyed the spoils of war.

I hope you all had as fun and chocolatey of a Halloween as we did.

We Interrupt This Halloween to Bring You the Greatest Compliment Ever

2009-10-31T19:38:00.004-04:00

I think that pretty much stands on its own, but if you want the back story, here it is.

ShallowGal has been looking for advice on Twitter all week long. Like, how do you keep a four-year-old happy in a looooong line that will ultimately result in his being given a flu shot?

And like any normal person, I suggested The Big Lie approach.

(If you're not familiar with the twitter timeline concept, read the second one first.)

And then, tonight, she needed more help. Seriously. How does the woman get dressed in the morning? She was going to a party and didn't know what to do about trick or treaters visiting her empty home. Should she put out a bowl of candy, she asked? To which I gave this advice:

Honestly. Why aren't all of you following me on twitter? I could solve the world's problems. You hear that @barackobama? (Although I'll need to hire a copy editor for my tweets first. Jeez.)

So there you have it: "Stimey—the evil, less dead Ann Landers."

Scary (Pretend) Halloween (II)

2009-10-30T20:47:00.007-04:00

(Super) Scary Thing #1:

The very scariest thing about this Halloween (oh, please, let it be the scariest) was when I got a call from my sister-in-law, S, yesterday to tell me that my sister was in the hospital for complications from H1N1.

That was scary enough, but then a couple of hours later S called back and started using words and phrases such as "blood pressure bottomed out" and "unresponsive" and "blood clot" and "ICU."

Fortunately, the latter two didn't pan out and she's back at home now. But, oh my god, I don't think I've been that scared since Loon Day. Especially since she's in New Mexico and I couldn't even be there for moral support. My fingers (and toes) are crossed that she continues to improve. And rapidly.

Thank you to everyone who was on Twitter last night and sent good thoughts to my sister and me. Ann, the interwebs are pulling for you. As am I. Feel better soon. Please.

*****

(Sorta) Scary (But Highly Annoying) Thing #2:

I almost burned my house down this morning trying to make toast for Sam. I, somewhat obviously, need to work on my cooking skillz. We were all happily in the TV room watching the cast of the Today Show dressed up as Star Wars characters when Sam walked into the kitchen to get his shoes and yelled, "Mom! There's smoke everywhere!"

And he was right.

That's the culprit circled in red right there.

I will say that I can trace the smoke trail all the way back to, and place the blame squarely upon, my dog. If she hadn't eaten Sam's pancakes, then he wouldn't have asked for toast, and I wouldn't have tried to make it, a job I am obviously unqualified to do.

I'm pretty sure we caught the toast seconds before it burst into flames.

YUM!

Consequently, I spent the entire day smelling like burnt toast and apologizing to everyone that stood within three or four feet of me. And don't get me started on how my house smells. Oy.

*****

(Mutant) Scary Thing #3:

This:

You might not be able to tell from the photo, but this wasp (and his buddies) is an inch and a half long. These weird, huge wasps have recently shown up at our back door.

What. the. hell. are. they?

*****

(Not) Scary (at All, But Rather Totally Adorable) Thing #4:

Pretend Halloween II, Elementary School Edition was today.

Jack represented the dark side with style and pizazz.

Sam was a serious, stoic Jedi. I didn't get a photo of him smiling until we got back to his room and he saw all the snacks.

And Quinn totally scored because he got to go to both Sam and Jack's parties.

*****

And it's still only October 30.

Why, Yes, Today IS Pretend Halloween.

2009-10-29T21:35:00.003-04:00

For all of you who were saddened by Quinn's harsh economics lesson yesterday, rest assured that he has recovered nicely.

And you may have laughed to hear Quinn ask about Pretend Halloween, but actually today was Pretend Halloween. Or, alternately, Day One of the Three Never-Ending Days of ~~the Great Candy Orgy~~ Halloween.

Quinn's preschool class had their Halloween Parade today, although it is more of a Halloween Stand Around and Let the Parents Take Your Photo Event.

Quinn was a Jedi.*

I think he looks a little bit like a Jawa, but don't tell him that or he'll get really, really mad at you.

Damn, that kid is cute. I spent a lot of time looking at him today and being proud of him. He's an amazing kid.

At the end of the day, all the kids were sent home with chocolate cupcakes with bright yellow frosting. I had to put a towel over Quinn's white Jedi pants.

Coming tomorrow: Pretend Halloween II, The Elementary School Edition.

* (Okaaaaay...why does Firefox's spellcheck recognize "Jedi" but not "Asperger's"? Or "spellcheck" for that matter?

*****

Also, thanks to Whirlwind who sent the most awesome Halloween package ever to my kids. Costumes included.

That's some good stuff right there.

*****

Read all about my new gig as a Nintendo Brand Enthusiast over at my review site, Things. And Stuff.

That Will Teach Me to Make Idle Promises

2009-10-28T20:22:00.006-04:00

Quinn got out of school today at noon and we had to be at Sam and Jack's school at 1:40 for a Wall of Fame ceremony. (Yes, yes, another Wall of Fame. Jack got on it this month, but Sam didn't. It was quite the scandal at our house.)

Well, I had to go to Target to pick up a couple things, so I figured that Quinn and I could go there, and I could feed him a snack and he could then eat pizza at the Wall of Fame. (And, yes, it does have to be capitilized upon each utterance.)

We went around the store and shopped for what I needed, and the entire time Quinn didn't stop talking for more than four seconds.

"I want to go to the Star Wars section. Can we buy that candy? I'm hungry. I want a hot dog. What comes after one million sixty hundred? Is infinity a number? Is Halloween tomorrow? Is pretend Halloween tomorrow? Did we buy candy? Did we buy snacks for Sam's class? Can we buy snacks for my class? Pretend Halloween is tomorrow, right? Right? RIGHT?!?!"

Well, I think I could be forgiven if, as we were entering the Target cafe, I said to Quinn, "If you stop talking for five minutes, I'll give you a dollar."

The talking didn't stop, but it did lessen, and I know I heard some counting, and as I was paying, Quinn asked for his dollar. It turns out that he had misunderstood my proposition, had counted to five, and was now demanding his twenty dollars.

So then, it turned into this whole thing with the sobbing and the sad face and the demanding of a three-dollar bill, and I finally relented and told him that if he behaved himself at the Wall of Fame that I would give him a dollar when we got home.

And then all was right with the world.

For a little while.

Quinn did some behaving and some misbehaving and somewhere along the route between Target and the school and the ride home, Quinn became entirely convinced that he was owed two dollars.

Which he wasn't. And which he didn't get.

I tell you, that kid is lucky I (a) gave him one dollar, and (b) didn't throttle him.

Jack...the Jackster...the Jacksonarama.

2009-10-26T10:12:00.009-04:00

You may have noticed that I haven't done a lot of writing about the "autism" part of "life. autism. gerbils." lately. (Or you may not have. Who am I to know what you notice?) I guess the biggest reason is because while, yes, we still work with Jack's autism every day, he is kicking ass and taking names.

He seems to have evened out in school—or the school's not telling me about his troubles. Either way, I'm not afraid of my cell phone anymore, which is good. Based on what I see when I'm in there every week, I am floored by the differences in him this year. Even the differences between now and a month and a half ago are amazing.

The thing is, I remember last year when I was sitting in what is now Jack's class, but used to be Sam's, and I would look around the room and think, "Jack would sink like a rock in this class." But you know what? He's not. His support is consistent and wonderful, he is interested in much of the work, and, I think most importantly, Jack is getting older, and his age is working for him.

Yes, he still struggles, but less. I see it with his homework. Last year and at the beginning of this year, we had some epic homework battles. He still makes me work for it, but he's doing so much better.

And he has had so many tiny victories as well. Like when he ate this gummy worm.

Yes, I know that gummy worms don't technically count as fruit, but Jack ate food that wasn't brown, so I'm counting it as a win.

He does still use the front of his shirt as a napkin, but I think that's more due to bad parenting than autism. Seriously. Sam had been taking a lunch to school for a year and a half when someone mentioned putting a napkin in their kid's lunchbox and I was all, "Oh. Riiiiiiight."

Jack is also getting so much better at expressing that he wants to be part of something. I always take a million photos (can you tell?), and he'll smile or ignore or run away like my other kids. But on Sam's birthday we were sitting down to open Sam's presents and Jack said, "Wait! Take a picture of me with Sam!"

That had never happened before. He's never vocalized that he wanted to be in a photo. (Unlike my other two little attention hogs.)

Add to this the fact that he comes home from school and shows me the things he drew that day at school or something else from his backpack at least once or twice a week. His eagerness to share things and experiences is amazing to me.

I do have to say that most of his sharing and eagerness and the rest is directed almost entirely at me. His little self is metaphorically plastered to me. It makes sense that these new ways of expressing himself would start with me, the person he feels safest with and identifies most with. I'm hoping that soon they will transfer to the rest of the family and then, hopefully, to friends and teachers.

I'm starting to see signs of that. It used to be that he would never use other kid's names, and most of the time, if you asked him, he wouldn't be able to remember them. That's starting to change.

Then there's empathy. Jack has always had a deep store of empathy, it's just that he didn't use it on the traditional targets. (The cockroach in WALL-E? Dude, Jack felt that guy.) He's always piped up now and again with sporadic attempts to make other kids feel better or to show that he is aware of others' feelings, but it's happening more and more these days.

Like, the other day when I had some friends over for a Halloween potluck and there was a two-year-old who started screaming when Jack walked in wearing his super awesomely scary costume.

I took Jack around the corner, told him that his awesome costume was scaring the baby, and would he mind taking it off? He immediately started to strip down to his street clothes, and when he was done, he walked straight over to the baby and said, "See? It's just a costume. It won't hurt you."

All of which was completely lost on the toddler who was vacillating wildly between OHMYGOD SCARY BIG PEOPLE IN MASKS!!!!!! and OHMYGOD A BOWL OF MULTICOLORED GOLDFISH CRACKERS RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!!!! But he did it. All by himself.

All of which is to say that I haven't written about autism for a while because it hasn't been causing us a whole lot of problems right now (aaaaannndd now! the problems will start). But honestly, maybe that's when I should write about autism. Because last year at this time if you'd told me how far Jack would come in a year, I would have cried with gratitude. And every kid with autism is different and no one can tell you what is ahead for you, but for us? What a difference.

"I Don't Know...Some Zombie Thing..."

2009-10-25T00:37:00.000-04:00

Alternatively titled: "When There's No More Room in Hell, the Dead Will Walk the Earth."

Last night, hordes of zombies descended on downtown Silver Spring, Maryland, and I was right in the thick of it. As were many other people, some of whom had no idea what was going on, but were entirely unfazed by the whole thing. Like the dude whom I overheard mutter the title to this post.

Our dedicated medical workers are always the first to fall.

All of you who thought about coming and then didn't because of the rain and the tired and the inertia? You are so bummed, because it was, like, 70 degrees, not rainy, and AWESOME.

Fortunately, my friend ~~Mrs. D~~ J and her family came down and let me hang out with them. J's son is making a zombie movie and used the opportunity to get lots of tape of free special effects. Considering that they didn't know about the zombie walk until I told them about it, I'm pretty sure that my part in the making of the movie earned me an Associate Producer credit and a 10-share of the eventual proceeds.

Even the undead can't be too careful about the swine flu.
Brainssss...Purelllllll...face maskssssss....

I just might have done a fair amount of jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Which, come to think of it, may have wrecked more than a few of J's son's shots.

"Where's braaaaaiiiiinnnnsssssss....?"

I took a lot of photos. I wasn't the only one though. There was a virtual swarm of paparazzi.

Some of the zombies were endearingly committed to their roles.

Some were less so. Since when do zombies smoke?

But never fear! There were zombie hunters too.

Incidentally, the zombies went to a showing of Shaun of the Dead after the walk.

Some of the zombie costumes were good, some were a little weak, all were good-intentioned, but this was the very damn cutest of them all:

Awwwww....tiny zombie....

I hit Lebanese Taverna for dinner (and the bookstore) before the walk and caught sight of my first zombies while I was eating.

The guy behind the counter asked if they were meat-eaters or vegetarians.
They said they were vegetarian. Pffft.

I spent a substantial portion of my meal trying to surreptitiously take photos of zombie dinner without being noticed. I don't think I succeeded. Not to mention that you can't even tell that they're dressed as zombies because of my shoddy photography.

I really enjoyed the dedication to the role that some of the zombies showed at the walk. Especially this guy:

I also enjoyed his colorful boxers.

I leave you with these tips:

(1) To kill a zombie, you must destroy his brain.
(2) In case of an undead uprising, hope for shambling zombies instead of the newfangled running kind.
(3) Zombies can't swim, but they also can't drown.
(4) Head north. The zombies will freeze, but you will not. Probably.
(5) Remain vigilant.
(6) In no case should you take an actual shotgun to a casual zombie walk.

You Can Keep Your Sparkly, Dreamy Vampires—I Prefer My Ghouls Gray and Rotting, Thank You Very Much.

2009-10-21T20:26:00.003-04:00

You may be aware that I am a fan of zombies. I find this to be a really embarrassing thing about myself, but I just can't help it. I've seen many, many zombie movies, many of which are terrible, some of which are startlingly good.

I even read zombie literature. (Yes, there is such a thing.) And maybe a zombie blog.

I'm a geek.

All of this is to say that I am so excited to go to the Silver Spring Zombie Walk this Saturday. I'm not dressing up or anything, because I am not bold enough/completely geeky enough/badass enough/committed enough to do so.

But I'd like to invite you guys to go with me, because Alex is afraid of zombies and won't go. Also, if he went, we'd have to take our kids with us, and even I am aware that dragging three small children out at 8:30 on a Saturday night to be assaulted by the living dead = bad parenting.

Jenni is going with me. That is, if you consider an offhanded response to a comment on her blog to be a binding contract. Which I do.*

Who else wants to come? We can grab dinner or a drink in downtown Silver Spring before the zombies start to roam at 9:30. The zombies are watching Shaun of the Dead (one of my top five movies ever) at 10 at the AFI, but I'll be heading home to work after the walk. And to post photos of the walk on my blog.

If you want to come, email me at stimeyland@gmail.com and we'll make a plan. If no one wants to go, I'll feel really sad and unpopular, but don't let that influence you.

So whaddya say? Who wants to get their zombie on?

* You can back out. I would understand.

Scribble-Scrabble to Stick Figures

2009-10-19T21:37:00.004-04:00

Quinn's preschool teacher is a wonderful woman whom I will refer to as Mrs. G, because that is her name. This is the third year I have had a child in her class, what with my having three children, and I love her more each time.

My very favorite thing that she has the kids do is draw a picture of themselves every month. At the end of the year, she puts them all together and gives them to the parents, so they can see the progress their child has made over the course of the year.

Each month when the pictures go up, the parents stand in the hall and ooh and aah and laugh about the pictures.

Now, while both Sam and Jack's packets had radically different first and last pictures, I figure that I might have a slam dunk winner for Most Improved in Quinn.

While the above is a picture—and I use that term loosely—of his family, his self-portrait for September looked pretty much exactly the same. See, Quinn doesn't draw...things. He scribble-scrabbles.

I didn't think much about it until I looked at everyone else's pictures, and every single other kid had, at the very least, drawn a stick figure. I wasn't overly concerned about it, because I figure he'll draw when he wants to draw, but I was a tiny little bit sad that he was the ONLY kid in the class who had never drawn a circle head and a stick body.

Mrs. G must have picked up on that, or she just decided that it was time for the Q-ball to draw a picture, because a couple of days later, this appeared on her classroom door:

Um. Yes. That IS the most amazing piece of art ever. Definitively. Artists, you can stop now. It's been done.

Except! When asked to draw a picture of himself in October, Quinn busted out not one, but five stick figures. And a house.

And some other random squiggles.

So, to recap: Quinn (1) can draw masterpieces, (2) can count to five, (3) knows all the members of his family. But, Quinn (1) cannot follow directions such as "Draw a picture of just yourself."

I can't wait to see what November brings.

My Mom Has a Stalker

2009-10-16T20:51:00.007-04:00

For the past week or week and a half, someone has been trying over and over to gain access to my mom's house through her windows. I have been receiving increasingly frantic emails and phone calls from her about her would-be intruder.

And it's not like he's being subtle about it either. Over and over, multiple times a day, he clunks into her window, regroups, and tries again.

The one responsible for the assault? This guy:

The first word I got about this guy, who I will call, let's say...Sven, was sometime last week when I got this email from my mom:

I have a bird that, yesterday and today, keeps trying to fly though the window into my house. I keep hearing this thunk and I see feather impressions on the outside of the window. I turned on the light inside hoping he wouldn't try to kill himself anymore, but I just heard another thunk. Poor bird.

I emailed her back that she should remove the bird feeder that she must have hanging inside her dining room.

She told me that she'd tried to scare him off by hanging CDs by the door and taping faces to the window. Now I'm not going to go into what *I* think about the CD idea—which is that wild animals like shiny things. Oh, look! I did go into it.

But the faces idea seemed like a good one.

I love that she made her people so happy. I probably would have drawn them grimacing and pointing.

The next day I got a voice mail message: "He's still trying to commit hari-kari! What do I DOOOOOOOOOOO?" Then an email: The bird was continually thunk, thunk, thunking into the window, falling to the patio, and then picking himself up and flying off.

Then later that afternoon, I got a hopeful call from my mom. The bird was gone. "I think he's stopped doing it," she said.

"Do you see his corpse on the porch?" I asked.

"No," she answered, "He probably went somewhere else to die."

But no. Sven was just taking a nap or something. Pretty soon, he was back to casing the joint.

Apparently he'd taken to peeking in the windows. Clearly this bird knows that there is glass there. He wants something that's inside. (Guard your eyeballs, mom.)

I suggested hanging a blanket or something similar on the outside of the window. At the very least I figured it would muffle the sound. My mom took my advice and taped plastic garbage bags to the outside of the window, a decor choice that she termed, "classy." Shortly thereafter, she sent an email with the tentative subject heading "success?"

But no.

Sven took to tearing down part of the bags and then sitting on them to peek inside the window.

It's like he's taunting her.

Now he's rotating between three different windows. Thunk into one. Rip, rip, rip, thunk, into another. Thunk, thunk into the third.

"I refuse to put garbage bags over every window in the house," says my mom. She is completely stressed out about this poor bird and really doesn't want him to kill himself trying to get into her house. But she wasn't willing to follow my suggestion that she just open the door and let him in, so I'm not sure how seriously to take her.

I've gotten many more emails on the subject from her, my favorite of which included the subject head, "cardinal and peace prize." And, no, she wasn't suggesting that the bird receive the peace prize, but I think maybe Obama should put Sven on his to-do list.

The internet has been very little help thus far. There is no shortage of websites about cardinals flying into windows, but few of the conditions seem to apply to Sven and my mom. I've stopped giving her advice and am know just sitting back watching the show and laughing to hear how Sven is fucking with her.

I'll be sad when she sends me his obituary email though. I hope he wises up before that happens.