Freak Parade

I am over here now. Come on over!

Well, I have officially declared this The Summer of The Suck. In a few hours, I will be boarding a plane bound for Western Pennsylvania. Vacation, you ask? Oh, no. My aunt passed away unexpectedly yesterday, and her funeral is tomorrow morning. So…yeah. Now I know these things usually happen in threes (I worked at a large retirement community)…but….if you are, in fact, a family member or friend of mine, I am going to have to respectfully ask that you refrain from dropping dead anytime this summer…hell, anytime this year. Somehow, it got over scheduled, but I am afraid I have met my quota on the whole croaking thing for now, mmmkay?

And although this is not the announcement post I was planning….I am moving to my own domain. Please update your bookmarks, because while I don’t have a bajillion readers, I am pretty fond of you guys, and it would be pretty lonely at the new place all alone. Visit me here now. I also have a sub-blog (?) dedicated just to our experiences in homeschooling, if you our interested. It is here. I haven’t gotten any of the posts up there quite yet, what, with everyone dying and all, but I will.

I have been working on moving my blog to my own domain for about three days now. Since my knowledge about such things is…oh, well…zero….it has been a challenge. I think I have it down to trying to figure out how to change the header of the theme I have chosen to my own custom header. It should be so easy, right? Why can I not get it done?!?! Waaaaah! Ahem. Oh, yeah aside from the header, I have been unable to import about 40 of my posts and pretty much all of the comments. WordPress.org, why, oh why do you hate me? So because I am devoting all of my brain power to poking around in code I know nothing about, and educating myself on SQL databases and php files, I’m resorting to using bullet points for the rest of this post.

• The Boy has been going through a period of severe disregulation with his sleep. Sleep has always been an issue, but every once in awhile, it gets way out of control. He has not been falling asleep until between 4 and 6 AM. (Yes 4:00 and 6:00 in the morning!) and then not waking up until 4:00 in the afternoon. Needless to say, this makes…well, almost everything….a bit difficult. If we do need to wake his skinny, little behind up earlier, the results are less than pleasant for everyone involved. Oh, the meltdowns. Not cool. These periods usually last about six weeks for The Boy, and I am so ready for this one to be over…so we can see what will be out of whack for the next six weeks.
• So The Boy was still awake when I staggered off to bed at 3:00, so when he came bursting in to my room to announce the cats had woken him up at 8:00, I was less than thrilled. Less than five hours of sleep for him. Or did he even sleep at all? I shooed him out the door and tried to get some more much-needed sleep myself. About twenty minutes later, he was back. Just as I was about to open my mouth and utter some less than pleasant words, he announced, “Mom, I made you this!” Look….

And he was spared. For those of you following along at home, this is a sweet gesture from any child, but for The Boy, with the way that his Asperger’s Syndrome manifests itself, this was an amazing thing.

• It is now 10:30 AM and The Boy looks like this…..

Edited to add: The Boy slept like that, on the couch until 3:00 in the afternoon. He then woke up and talked to us for a few minutes and then flopped over into a new position and went back to sleep for another hour. I see a job that has a grave yard shift in his future.

The Girl is fascinated with the idea of being a supermodel. She has gotten her very limited grasp of what that entails from her 7 year old cousin. Yes, I said seven. Puke. We don’t have Bratz….I very begrudgingly allow Barbie, with the clothing highly monitored. Ask my daughter about the Three B’s. Belly, Boobs, Butt. If clothing shows any of the three B’s, it is a no go. A good life lesson for all of us, I’d say. Of course, with The Girl being only 4, the three B’s are rarely a factor for her (aside from some of the interesting clothing choices provided by a certain person, who shall remain nameless…cough…Grandma…cough). Her Barbies, however, are in constant danger of a Three B’s violation. Just try to find Barbie clothes that don’t look like they should come with a pole and a wad of damp one dollar bills. Go on. Try it.

The Girl even has a supermodel walk of her own design. It is quite a sight to behold. Shoulders jerking. Hips swishing. Head tilted back. The other night, as we walked around an outdoor mall after dinner, The Girl sashayed ans shimmied down the sidewalk, with her leopard print headband (mine) and matching purse.

“Oh those shoes are faaabulous. I just love that shade of pink,” she cooed.

Where, oh where did I go wrong?

Is this some sort of calculated four year old rebellion? Oh, don’t underestimate The Girl. She’s a quick one. Everytime she says she wants to be a supermodel and I suggest, “How about a brain surgeon?” does it drive her one step closer to lip gloss and designer jeans? Of course this is all a bit tongue in cheek. I am aware that The Girl is only four years old. I’m sure her career of choice will change many times over the years. The underlying issue, though, got me thinking. I mean, is it hypocritical to believe that women can be whatever they want to be - unless they are my daughter? I want her to be happy. I am just not sure I can bear the thought of her carrying around a tiny, little, shivering dog in a purse. Hey, supermodel isn’t so bad a profession anyway, right? Good money. World travel….um…. All the coke you can snort. Eating disorder. Um, ok, I’ll leave you all to discuss this while I run out and pick up that Junior Brain Surgeon Kit I’ve had my eye on.

Edited to add: Grandma showed up tonight, as usual,  bearing gifts to bestow upon The Girl…..but this time, instead of questionable clothing it was…get this!….a doctor kit. No joke.

This is part two of this post.

So where were we? Just rescued from the side of the freeway, right? Okay….

So I turn the key and…hooray!….we start up. We have gas!

Jubilant in This Change in Situation Mom: Woo hoo! We’re out of here! Off to get some lunch.

A Few Minutes Later, But Still Happy to Be in Motion Mom: Woo hoo. Lunch. I’m hungry.

The Girl: Can you just stop saying that?

Perplexed, but Still Pretty Stinking Happy to Be Going 65mph Mom: Stop what?

The Girl: The “woo hoo”…..it’s annoying.

Well, excuse the heck out of me! Hrmph.

We go to lunch, where The Boy mentions multiple times that The Girl’s pizza looks weird. And did I mention, it looks weird? ‘Cause it looks weird. Weird.

Twitch. Twitch.

They want to stay for dessert, but I can’t hang with that. I offer to drive them through somewhere to get ice cream. I mean kids + ice cream = happy, right? Sure. I made the grave error of ordering myself a Sprite.

The Girl: I want a Sprite too! Can I have a Sprite too please?

The Boy: I need a Sprite!

Mom Who is Now Slightly Less Jubilant: You both got ice cream. I did not get ice cream. I chose Sprite instead. You just had lunch and are now having ice cream. Be thankful for your ice cream and move on!

$9 worth of ice cream and an eternity long drive-thru wait, and we’re on our way! With ice cream!

Two milli-seconds later…..

There is a great thrashing and screaming in the backseat. The Girl has dripped some ice cream down the front of herself. Apparently the ice cream is highly toxic and has penetrated through her clothing and is painfully dissolving her skin. At least that is what I gathered from her hysterical reaction. I remove the offending ice cream to the front cup holder and continue on, only vaguely noting the wails of “Now I’m going to need a bath when we get home! and “It’s all melty! I never get to eat any ice cream!”

Then this…

The Boy: Um, mom? I don’t really like this ice cream. It tastes sort of um, eggy….or like buttercream.

Mom Who is Very Close to a Messy Head Explosion: Then. Don’t. Eat. It. O. K.?

GAH! GAAAAAAAAAH!…………Gaaaaaah!

Then I launched into my mom lecture speech about how they are not acting in a kind or grateful manner…and that possibly, when we got home, it would benefit them to do something in their rooms. Something that didn’t involve me. Something quiet. That didn’t involve me.

And then, from the backseat…..

The Boy: I’m thirsty. Can we stop somewhere and get a drink?

And then my head exploded.