Oh god, she came back. THE PUKE FAIRY CAME BACK.

I'm not kidding you, people. The Puke Fairy came back.

Okay, so, yesterday I'm in this incredibly shitty mood because of something happening at the school/in the district (I'll blog about it in a few days after it's hopefully resolved. This isn't at all relevant to the story, I'm just giving you a teaser so that you'll want to come back and find out. You're riveted now!) Child 1 is acting all weird and moving slowly and wanting to lie down and snuggle a lot (gotta love that, though). He ate one strand of spaghetti for dinner, which for him is a huge red flag because he's a goddamn bottomless pit these days. And then he crawled into bed and went to sleep. I should take a moment to point out that this was MY bed he crawled into. Because, as you know, barfing, pooping or any disgusting bodily function that smells bad and makes a huge mess must take place in my bed. That's the rule. Apparently.

So, he goes to sleep around 7:00. Child 2 gets shuttled off to bed at the usual time and Child 1 stays where he is. He wakes up around 10:00 and just lies there for a while, staring into space. And then.... yep. Guess what happened next? I'll try not to be too graphic, but let's just say that the adjective "projectile" is actually something that can happen.

Okay, Puke Fairy. If I admit defeat here will you leave me alone? You win, PF; you have definitely kicked my ass. I'm sorry I ever threatened to fight back, I should have realized that I was actually powerless against your magical abilities to make me have to wash the sheets on my bed AGAIN. I LOST, PUKE FAIRY! CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR VICTORY!

Now will you please go away? Please?

---

How to ensure that I will not hire you

One of the things to come from our IEP meeting this week is that Bart (still not used to that; I'm not sure if I can keep this up, Emily) needs somebody to help him with homework. It has been well established that I am a shitty, shitty teacher and do not have the skills for this particular job. It has also been established that hubs is a wonderful, awesome teacher who is, sadly, always working and would love to be able to do it but just doesn't have the time. It has also been established that, given the choice, I will just say "fuck homework" and let the kids do whatever they want in the afternoons.

However, it has now been established that Bart... Child 1.... whatever.... actually needs some help with homework. It was established at our IEP meeting in the form of his teacher, whom I adore, saying "it would be great if he could practice some of this stuff outside of school."

Yikes. Why not just stick that knife in really deep, Teacher Whom I Adore? Because, when I hear that, I think: 1. Fuck. He really needs some help with homework and 2. OMG I SUCK AT THAT SHIT SO MUCH. Which makes me feel guilty, and like I suck as a mom, and if only I was better at that kind of thing he would be doing better in school and blah blah blah....

The solution, however, is to just hire a tutor. The Regional Center will pay for it, I will no longer feel like a guilty schmuck and Child 1 (SORRY, EMILY, I CAN'T DO IT) will get the help that he needs. It's win-win! uh... win! What we discussed in the meeting is that we need somebody who can help him have fun and be motivated to pay attention. He can do the work, he just chooses not to most of the time. So, we need somebody who can make learning fun!! YAYYY!! (And that person is SOOOOO not me).

So, the first thing I did when I left the meeting was to put an ad on CraigsList, "Looking for tutor for 3rd grader with autism." I've now gotten about 15 resumes and I was just looking through them, and I started compiling this list in my head of things that people will say or not say that will 100% guarantee that I will immediately trash their email and move on to the next one.

And here we are. Ahem.

1. PUTTING YOUR COVER LETTER IN ALL CAPS. HOLY SHIT, I MEAN, I SEE THAT YOU ARE APPARENTLY VERY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT WORKING WITH KIDS BUT WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME? I'M SCARED OF YOU NOW..... PLEASE STOP YELLING AT ME......

2. similarly putting your cover letter in all lowercase and with no punctuation i get that maybe youre sending this from your phone or something but please at least make a little fucking effort here

3. Saying "if your interested in my qualifications, please call me." Because nothing irritates me more than the misuse of you're/your, their/they're, whose/who's, etc. I don't care if you're the greatest tutor who ever lived, if you can't get that part right, I don't want to know you.

4. Not putting a cover letter at all. Should I even click on the thing labeled "RESUME.doc" ? Maybe it's actually a virus, disguised as your resume, and by clicking on it my hard drive will immediately be totally erased, reformatted and then change from Mac to Windows. I mean.... I don't actually know that it won't, do I?

5. Butchering the English language. "I enjoy a lot helping and working children with special need." It's likely that English is not this person's first language, in which case I'm a huge elitist bitch for saying this. On the other hand, I got another one from somebody else who said "English is not my first language but I'm still probably better at it than you are." (that's not actually what she said, but it had the same level of confidence. I like your moxie, sister!)

I think the one I like the best is the chick who said "I know that children with autism can become particularly invested in routines, and if I were working with a kid who felt that strongly about my staying, there's a snowball's chance in hell I'd leave voluntarily, and since I've been legally an adult for a good 6 years now, and being female exempts me from being drafted to the military, there not much chance I'll be forced against my will to leave, either."

She sounds crazy. I like her.

---

This is what I hate about autism

Well, actually, there are a lot of things that I hate about autism, but many of them are things that I find unfair in the general sense and don't necessarily impact our lives (did you read yesterday's Dive Bar post? That's a good example) THIS is what I hate about autism and how it effects my child and our house.

I picked the boys up from school today and Child 1 wasn't talking. This isn't necessarily unusual, but I just had a feeling that something was up. I asked him, in the car, how he was and he just shook his head. Child 2, also, asked him how he was, but was much pushier about it than I was (that's what he does, you see).

"Bart, are you okay?"

silence

"How was your day today?"

silence

"Because you look sad."

silence

"Now you're making me sad..."

We got home, got ourselves situated, and I sat down in front of him and asked again, with eye contact this time. "Are you okay?" I said. He just shook his head again. "How was your day today?" I asked. He said "I guess my day was okay" and then he put his head down on his hands which were on the desk in front of him.

I waited, and then asked again. "Tell me what happened today."

"Can you please go away now?" he asked. This was my indicator that question time was over. At least I got "an okay day" out of him, rather than just the usual "good."

So, I have no idea. And I likely never will know. And it's not because he doesn't want to talk about it, or I'm being too pushy about it, or whatever other reason you could think of; it's because he can't tell me. He doesn't have the expressive language skills to take what's in his head and put it into words, and instead of trying, he just tells me to go away. And I don't push him because I don't want to, but also I know that it will be a futile effort.

So, he spent the rest of the day being incredibly frustrated and sad about things, and I never found out why. So, fuck you, autism.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tangent to go off on.....

We had an IEP meeting yesterday. Three fucking hours. I'm always so amazed at how many people are involved in the education of this one little boy; there were seven of us in there. All women, of course; have you ever seen a man in any of these things? Unless his dad was there, maybe; although last year his teacher was a man. It sure would be nice to get more men in his life. But I digress..... I'm also always so amazed at how much fucking paperwork is involved in the education of this one little boy. Everybody has a report, and there are multiple copies of each one; paper everywhere! And I've been given so many fucking copies of those Parents Rights now it's just become annoying. I know it's a necessary formality, but still. Save your paper, man; give them to somebody who doesn't already know their rights.

Anyway, much of the meeting was spent in discussing his "academic weaknesses," of which there are many, but in particular, his terrible, horrible, no good, really bad reading comprehension. He can read every word perfectly! But ask him what he just read and he has no clue. I explained that this isn't because he didn't understand what he just read, it's because he's unable to pull the words out of his head and give them to you. It's the exact same thing that makes him unable to tell me what happened in his day that makes him sad. It's not that he doesn't know, it's that he can't say it.

These guys have it covered, though. I'm very impressed at our team this year, I've mentioned it here before. These guys are totally on top of this shit, they're motivated, they care, they're interested and best of all they all know him. They're not just guessing about how one might go about educating a child with autism, they actually know him and know him well and are able to "modify the curriculum," as they say, so that his Education Plan is actually Individualized. Have I mentioned how impressed I am? It's pretty rare to not only not have to kick and fight and scream for every minute of services, but to have a team that is so on top of things, and so good, and so caring, it's really, really awesome.

I had a lot more to say but it's been a long day and I've run out of steam.  Maybe I'll return tomorrow to finish this. Or, maybe I won't.

Thanks for stopping by! *wave*

---

The Dive Bar Welcomes: _______

I figured rather than saying "Anonymous," I'd be a little more creative.

---

Autism is kicking my ass.

Because I hate how relieved I am when the bus shows up in the morning.

Because I hate that my heart starts beating faster when it returns in the afternoon.

Because every day is like walking through a mine field lately.

Because every day I hold my breath, waiting to see if my child will be breaking things or barely holding them together.

Because nothing is helping any more, not one fucking thing.

Because no one is interested in helping anymore either, autism like this isn't so cute.

Because we have been doing this for years and beat to a pulp.

Because we have tried diets and supplements and tested pee and mailed shit samples and been on every psychiatric medication under the sun and nothing.

Because I always scoffed at those people who let their children go to an inpatient facility.

Because I always thought that would not be us.

Because now, I am painfully, painfully aware of where those people are.

Because now, that desperation and that feeling that autism has taken far too much control and you just can't let it take anymore, that feeling sucks.

Did I say autism is kicking my ass? I take that back. 

It's not just kicking mine, it's trying to knock down my child and for once, I'm out of moves to fight back.

---

Vote for me! (please?)

I figure I'll try something new today. Rather than using trickery, I'll just ask!

Please click on either that graphic of the juggling chick with the apron you see on the left (with the number THREE instead of two), or the banner below, or here!... every day that you visit. Just one click a day is all you need and your vote has been cast. Like magic!

I won't say, necessarily, that my entire sense of self worth depends upon this one accurately placed finger movement of yours, but, um.... okay, I don't know how to end that sentence.

---

My kid is crazy & things we did today

I'm combining two unrelated topics into one post today, because that's just how I roll, baby. Also I think I've been posting too much. I've posted 51 times in the month of February! There are only 28 days in the month. If I were able to do math, I could tell you how many times a day I've been posting, but, ehhhh. I'm lazy, so you figure it out.  But don't let that stop you from voting for me. No, I'm serious. Seriously.

On the other hand, I'm sorry, I don't usually do politics, but this is pissing me off. To all of you who watched and enjoyed the Oscars last night, did you know that almost every single person who won and accepted an award last night is a member of a union? Do you watch movies? Do you enjoy talent? And the fashion? Do you have an opinion about what's going on in Wisconsin right now? Think about it.

The following stories are brought to you by the oligarchy in which we live. Thank you, rich people and corporate owners of America, who still allow me to have a computer and an internet connection. For now......

STORY THE FIRST

Tyger (formerly known as Child 2; this is going to take some time to get used to) is totally fucking nuts. We're hanging out, doing, uh... stuff?... and I think we were fake fighting or something? We do that sometimes. Fake fight. Anyway, he says "If you don't stop I'm going to have to start calling you 'Chicken Broth'!"

Chicken Broth? Yeah, I have no idea. But, I tell him "well, if I'm 'Chicken Broth' that makes you 'Mini Chicken Broth'."

"Mini Chicken Broth!!"

He's delighted.

And then he proceeds to name all of our cats in a similar manner.

Spike is Tiny Chicken Broth

Spot is Tiny Chicken Broth with Spots

McDougal is Scaredy Chicken Broth

Charlie is Fat Chicken Broth ("because he's fat")

And then he starts running back and forth and SCREAMING "TINY CHICKEN BROTH! TINY CHICKEN BROTH!! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! TINY CHICKEN BROTH! TINY CHICKEN BROTH!!"

Seriously, man, the kid is fucking nutballs.

I don't know where he gets it from.

Also: here's the library book he checked out this week:

Seriously? Enough already, kid. Come on.

STORY THE SECOND

We took the boys out on their scooters today. Apparently there's this jogging/biking path that goes through town. Seriously, I've lived here for 12? years and I can't believe I never knew about this thing. It's perfect for scootering, particularly since it's right underneath the BART tracks.

They were fucking adorable. (Can I say "fucking" here?) They were so fucking adorable. And Bart (Child 1. Seriously, man, this is really hard) is surprisingly good at scootering. This is a kid with hyptertonia who will NEVER be an athlete, but I was damn impressed at how gracefully he rode his scooter. Considering that they were Hanukkah gifts, and it's only March, I'm incredibly impressed at how good he's gotten at it.

Tyger was doing his best to keep up with his brother, but he is shorter and clumsier and it was so awesome how hard he was trying. This is the first time ever that I've seen them have one of those "big/little brother" moments where the little one wants to be like the big one. It was very very sweet.

"Wait for me, Bart!"

This is perfect because you can just make out the BART logo on the train

OH MY GOD IT'S A BART TRAIN! IT'S A BART TRAIN! LOOK MAMA IT'S A BART TRAIN!!!!!!!!

---

The Dive Bar Welcomes: Karen

Well hello Karen! Karen writes at her self-described "G rated" blog Solodialogue and I am thrilled to be able to give her a chance to show some of her R rated side. Because, really, can't we all relate to what she's talking about here? I know I can. Go, Karen, go!!

---

Dear Dirty Sickie C-Rag that brought your kids to Gym Class,

I brought my son for his 2nd gym class ever two weeks ago. We were both in perfect health. I do not know the social dynamics of the mamas and the papas in this group. When I sat down, you were out for coffee across the street. I guess, if you could go for coffee, that fucking means that you fucking did not need to be there at all, did you? But you, being an idiot, skanked your way back into the waiting room and sat your sorry ass one folding chair away from me. Then, you started hacking and sneezing your shitty germs all in my direction without even an attempt to cover your fucking face.

There was no escape. It was like fucking musical chairs in there. Your daughter was in class, shedding her germ-ridden tears all over the everyone and everything, including the gym equipment because you went for coffee. You know what that meant, bitch? All the other kids, including my son, were infected with this shit.

As for me? There were no other seats further away from you. All the other dumb-ass parents, talked to you like you were all BFFs. What the fuck?! Really, people? To top it off you brought your toddling little 18 month old WHO WAS NOT IN THE CLASS with you, he in full-on sick glory with green, dripping snot running down his face? How do I fuckin’ know? Because while you were skank-hoe’ing it up with the other daddies there, you let him wander right over to me and wipe his snotty little hands all over my coat and use me for his own personal balance beam.

The child needed to be at home, quarantined with you! You are so lucky that I did not get up and bitch slap you right there. Especially, when you told the two daddies’ on your other side, “I’ve never felt worse in my life,” What gets me even more? They laughed!! Am I the only one who was not in the fucking Twilight Zone there?

The topper? Your fucking moron of a husband was NOT sick and he was there with you!!! He was laughing while you tried to sell it to the dirty m-f’ing dick-dads who did not have the balls to tell you to get your fuckin’ germs out of there! Could you and your husband be bigger douche-bags?

Thanks to your generosity in sharing your fucked up germs, my son, who has asthma, has been hacking up a lung for five days and shitting his baby balls off all over my house, my sheets, and my carpet! Not that you fucking give a shit. Wish you were here, bitch. I’d rub your face in it!

Love & Kisses,

Your fellow gym mom

---

I am changing the names of my children

For those of you who are cool enough to have listened to me on Autism WTF earlier this week, you will have already heard my confession. For the rest of you... the less cool people.... this revelation will be completely new to you.

My children are not actually named Child 1 and Child 2.

I know.

I KNOW.

You're shocked that I've been perpetrating this fraud against you for the uhhhhhhhhhhhh..... 9 months that I've been blogging; but it's true. These are not their real names.

Go ahead, take a moment. I'll wait for you to compose yourselves.

Does it really matter what I call them, though? I could be using their real names and just saying they aren't their real names, and would any of you know? Some of you would know, yes, but most of you would not. (I read on a new blog I saw the other day where a mom calls her kids Autie and Tippy. Get it? Autie and Tippy? So awesome. I don't remember where it was, but nice work, whoever you are!)

Well, apparently... to some people... it does matter. People who know them, and me, and therefore, by request, I am now officially changing how I refer to my children here on my blog.

First, the new names. This was written in the comments of some other piece of crap post that I wrote yesterday, by my awesome cousin Emily:

ATTENDEZ-VOUS! Readers of Y. GT. Child 1, the modelicious, chestnut-haired, autism-afflicted 9 year old man-cave dwelling viewer of BARTs and elevators shall be hereafter renamed.... BART! (You didn't see that coming, did you, Cousin Smo?)

His charming, sweet-talking, moon-showing cat-harassing gap-toothed five year old NT brother shall hereafter be known as TYGER.

BART AND TYGER.

Put THAT in yer blog and smoke it.

(The above is to be quoted wherever you see fit.) 

Okay, first of all, yeah. I didn't see Bart coming, and MAN is that embarrassing. Not only does it fit with his love of BART trains, it also fits with MY love of The Simpsons. So, really, it's perfect. And Tyger? I don't know what the fuck that is, but if that's what Emily says, then, fine.... that's what I'll do. (except, she tells me, that she almost named Child 2 "Santa's Little Helper." LMAO!!!!!!!!!! I might not have done it... honestly.... )

Wait. What? Since when do I take orders from anybody? Seriously, I don't normally do what people tell me to do. It's kind of this "thing" I have; in fact, usually, when somebody tells me to do something, I will do the exact opposite, just to piss them off. This can be a problem in the work environment. Good thing I'm a contractor.

Except, really, it's just a fucking blog, so who cares? And, there are some very good reasons why I would take an order about my kids' bloggy names from Emily, and nobody else (except hubs), which brings me to the point of this blathering:

- Probably most of you weren't reading my crap around Thanksgiving, so please take a moment to read this. It's not a trick, I promise! (THIS is a trick) That (first) link will take you to another thing that I wrote, about my cousin, and is important here because it explains a lot (and I don't feel like re-writing everything I already wrote a few months ago.)

- We are the geekiest family ever. She's been online since 1991 and has had the same username the whole time. I'VE been online since 1994 and have also had the same username. She's younger than I am, and has been online longer than I have! If my brother were still alive he would say that he's been online since 1987 or something. Our. Family. Rules. Teh. Geek.

- Emily was at my house last? week and was telling me about how she's a fan of all of YOU guys. Yeah, she reads everything you guys write. I mean, like... more than I do. I was embarrassed at how much more she knew about you guys than I did.

Here are some of the things she said when she was here (and I shit you not this is real, because I've been emailing with her while I was writing this, because I have the worst memory ever, and she confirmed it all)

- I love how Lynn labeled Audrey's shrinkey-dink "shiv" (I fucking loved that, too. SO MUCH.)

- It was great how Little Bird's birthday cake had her name spelled out in M&Ms and how cool that everybody wanted to be her friend??

- Isn't it funny how Griffin and Child 1 share the same love of elevator videos?

- I liked the video of the gluten free cook with her kids

- Moe and Jelly are adorable, and Jelly is such a good sister

Are you kidding me?? Could you be more awesome?

So, really, what it comes down to is that awesome wins here.

Child 1 = Bart. Child 2 = Tyger.

Fin.

---

An open letter to the Puke Fairy: UPDATED with parenting dilemma

Can you believe I actually got some results from a Google Image search for "puke fairy" ? Then, again, this also showed up in the search results:


So now I don't know WHAT to think.

Dear Puke Fairy Bitch:

Okay, you want to fight? You want to fucking throw down? Because I will kick your fucking ass, you bitch. I will take you out. I'm not afraid of you. No, you don't scare me, and I'm going to fight and kick and scream at you with everything I have until you get the fuck out of my house FOR GOOD.

DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU FUCKING WHORE? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.

Love,
Jill

Do I need to explain this? Yeah, maybe a little bit. Perhaps you read my tale of our adventures with the Puke Fairy this past weekend? I thought we were out of the woods. Until today. I'm at work. And the secretary from the school calls to inform me that Child 2 is in her office barfing.

Seriously?

I mean.... Seriously?

For real?

Fuck.

It's funny how much I stop caring about what other drivers on the road think of me when I'm driving through downtown Oakland and then downtown Berkeley as fast as I possibly can to go pick up my sick kid from school. I've written about rude drivers a million times here, but today I just said fuck it, I'm going to BE one of those rude drivers and I don't give a shit what you think. Lots of people honked at me. Fuck 'em.

I realize, of course, that challenging the Puke Fairy to throw down isn't actually going to make either of my kids stop barfing, but it's certainly a fun thing to write.

I wonder. What will this weekend bring?

EDIT:

---

PARENTING DILEMMA: WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

The factors:

1. Sick 5 year old; has now thrown up 4 times; is lying in bed, pale and lethargic.
2. Healthy 9 year old, at school. Needs to be picked up at 3:15. Healthy 9 year old has autism, can tell time and gets VERY upset by an unexpected change in his routine.
3. Husband stuck in traffic. Calls at 3:00 to say he'll be home in about 30 minutes
4. I don't have a neighbor I can ask to come by for a few minutes.
5. I don't have anybody I can call and ask if they can bring healthy 9 year old home for me

My options:

1. Bundle up sick 5 year old and take him with me to pick up his brother
2. Leave sick 5 year old home by himself while I go pick up his brother
3. Call school and say I'll be late and please have healthy 9 year old with autism who can tell time wait for me in the office for an undetermined amount of time, and wait for husband to get home and watch sick 5 year old

What would you do?  Tell me in the comments and then I'll tell you what I ended up doing.

---

You know how Seinfeld was a show about nothing? Well, this isn't anything like that.

Yeah, though, seriously. I have absolutely nothing to write about today. But, really, when you think about it.... has that ever stopped me before? No. No, it hasn't. So I'm going to just start typing and see what happens. And we're off!

And, anyway, I have to blog every day! Because I'm number two, people. I'M NUMBER TWO. And if I don't write anything then nobody will come here and (probably not) click on my little link graphic dealie, and then what?? THEN WHAT??? Then, nothing, actually, because being #2 is completely meaningless. It doesn't mean I'm the 2nd coolest Mom Blogger that exists, it means I've gotten the 2nd highest number of clicks on a link/graphic that only a handful of Mom Bloggers have decided to put on their blog, because... really, there are a shit-ton of Mom Bloggers out there, many of them funnier and better than me, and if any of them had decided to throw their hats into this fake contest, my rank would be much, much lower. In fact, my favorite Mom Blogger isn't even me. Seriously! It's Aunt Becky, and she doesn't have that graphic on her site; and if she did, I would certainly be #3 or lower.

Child 2 just asked me what a year is and I answered "365 days" pause "In a row." Why did I feel that second part was necessary? Was it a distinction so important that if I didn't put it there he might be confused by my answer? And is there a different name for 365 non consecutive days?

I got this in an email earlier today:

All third graders are given the opportunity to take a screening test for Gifted and Talented Education (GATE) identification. A teacher visits all third grade classes to administer the Cognitive Abilities Test, which is given over two sittings on different days, each lasting from one to one-and-a-half hours. 

This would normally kind of annoy me, since obviously my autistic 3rd grader isn't going to qualify as a Gifted and Talented student (shit, he would never even make it through a 1 1/2 hour test) except I know that No Child Left Behind has basically forced districts throughout the country to gut all GATE programs and just qualifying for GATE doesn't mean anything because it's not like the district is going to provide any extra services for these kids.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ohmygod I'm such a bitch....

I just brought Child 2 a snack and before I gave it to him I said "I need to taste one to make sure they're not poisoned." I, apparently, AM my mother now. That's something she always used to say; and, anyway, he totally busted me on it. He said "these aren't poisoned, you just wanted to taste it without having to ask me for one."

Whatever.

I hope he doesn't qualify for GATE when he's in 3rd grade, because he's not going to get shit for services for it.

Did you listen to me on the radio the other day? They finally let me talk after keeping me on hold for 20 minutes. Oh, but it's really cool, though, you should totally listen.

Earlier I had some time so I took a little nap, and woke up about 7 minutes before I had to pick the kids up. So, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants that were on the floor and I ran out the door. I put the sweatpants on inside out, though, and I had these big-ass pockets hanging out of the sides of my hips like big fucking elephant ears. I'm home now, though, and they're still like that. Fuck it.

Child 2 just came back and asked me, again, what a year is. I said "365 days." "In a row?" he confirms. "In a row," I say. I guess that distinction was important, after all.

I just got an email from somebody asking me to review their parenting book. For the first time EVER 1. I did not immediately hit "report as spam" and 2. wrote back, and 3. was nice and not at all sarcastic. I told them that I didn't do that kind of thing and I suggested (the first) 3 mom bloggers (that I could think of) who (I thought) might be interested (Cheryl, Caryn and Lisa). This will probably happen again, and I'll probably just make a form letter, so if you want to be on my list, let me know.

This has taken me about 4 hours to write. That is exactly how awesome I am. That's how number TWO rolls, baby.... Actually.... Ew. Oh, christ, would you just fucking click here already? Humor me, please??? No tricks this time! Pinky swears!

AAAAAAAAAAAAND..... scene.

---

The puke fairy has visited my house. And now if she could please go away, kthxbye

This past weekend was a 4-day one from school; how I love those. Usually parents hate having all these days off in a row because their kids are home and making them crazy. MY kids, however, are always perfectly happy to do whatever, even if it means staying home and doing nothing (actually, that would be their preference because they're lazy, like their parents) It used to be that any change in routine would totally freak Child 1 out, so I hated extended weekends or long vacation weeks, but things are different now, and having days off of school really just means that I don't have to set an alarm, I don't have to rush around in the mornings, I don't have to drag their little butts out of bed, get them dressed and fed and off to school by a certain time. It means I can sleep and don't have to stress! Awesome.

So, I was very happy that there was a 4 day weekend. Except.... very early Friday morning, right before the wonderful weekend started.... Child 2 barfed. 

Oh crap.

Well, okay. Fine. I guess we have a barfer. Let's see how things go.

It appeared to be a one time thing and he was shortly up and running around as if nothing had happened. And then it started raining, and it didn't stop for about 2 days. We weren't leaving the house even if we wanted to.

Then on Saturday afternoon, Child 1 barfed. I blogged about it. He was just lying there on the chair and it all came out. Onto me. Yay. But about an hour later, HE was perfectly fine and stimming and running around as if nothing had happened. I guess that's just how this particular bug works? Okay. Moving on....

Sunday was uneventful. Our weekend was pretty much ruined, anyway. It had finally stopped raining but we're still inside taking it easy, even though both kids are perfectly fine and healthy and full of energy (or so it seemed). Lovely weekend we're having so far, though, right?

Monday, very early morning, I'm sleeping in Child 1's bed and I hear "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" coming from the big bedroom, followed by "BBLLLAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH." Oh, christ. Child 1 comes in a minute later and climbs in next to me. I guess it was Child 2 this time. Child 1 and I go back to sleep and I pretend it didn't happen.

Yeah. It happened though, and we spend another day inside, "taking it easy"

Tuesday was supposed to be school for both of them but I didn't have to work and hubs decided to take the day off so we all stayed home.... just in case. Child 2 spends all day running around like a whirling dervish, chasing cats and yelling and jumping and bouncing and yelling and bouncing and more yelling? Then, mid-day, he's sitting on the couch and suddenly says "Uh oh, I don't feel so good," but he's kind of a drama queen and I thought maybe he was just prepping for trying to get out of going to school (again) the next day. I gave him a big tupperware, though, just in case, and I told him to aim for it if he thought he was going to hurl.

About 10 minutes later I'm in the kitchen with hubs and we hear "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" coming from the TV room, followed by "BBLLLAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH" and I go down to find that he has very thoughtfully filled up the tupperware and not gotten any on himself or the couch or anything else. Nice work! He then passes out for about 5 hours and when he wakes up, resumes his energetic path of destruction through the house (those poor, poor cats). I say to hubs "worst case scenario, tomorrow morning, how late can you stay home?" because I have to go to work! But if this kid needs to stay home, we can split the day in half. Hubs will take Shift #1 (until noon) and I will take Shift #2.

Wednesday morning (today) it's very very early. At this point I'm determined that these kids are going to fucking school if I have to drag their asses there kicking and screaming; I have to work, anyway. I'm lying in my own bed with Child 1 and he starts coughing. And coughing. And he won't stop coughing. What's with the coughing? Then I realize .... he's not coughing. He's fucking barfing.

ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME??

I fucking FLIP out. I've already washed the sheets on my bed THREE TIMES this weekend, and now I have to do it again?? I start storming through the house, on this angry rampage, muttering about barfing and laundry and working and children and something something something LAUNDRY? AGAIN?? I think I scared hubs, because he looked a little nervous when he volunteered to take another day off work.

I almost literally drag Child 2 out of there kicking and screaming; I take him to school and I go to work.

As I write this, it is 3:00 on Wednesday afternoon. We're all home. Nobody has barfed in at least 8 hours. Everybody seems to be okay.

What will happen tomorrow, though? Only the puke fairy knows, and I wish that bitch would get the fuck away from my house.....

---

Song of the day: Rolling in the Deep. Acoustic!

FINALLY the new Adele is out! And OMG it came with this so very very awesome live acoustic version of the already awesome Rolling in the Deep, among other very very awesome songs. Did I mention it's awesome? True story.

---

I REALLY need to monitor this child's library usage better

My kids both go to the same elementary school, which has a wonderful library with a wonderful librarian whom I adore. (On Child 1's first day of Kindergarten, I hid out in the library for hours after his day started so that I could spy on him, because the library is right next to the Kindergarten yard. She let me hang out as long as I wanted so we got to be friends. She's great; a total nutjob, though. You can see why we get along so well).

Child 1 has never been much of a library book checker-outer. In fact, he usually checks out a book and then it stays in the classroom. I'm fine with this. Seriously, we have enough books in our house, we are not wanting for any reading material. Every "occasion" they will both get massive piles of books; I swear, we've got them piled up in every corner of the house. So, we don't often find ourselves at the library, which is good, because I'm really bad at remembering to return them. However, the school has a library and every class goes there once a week (I'll keep my rant about local parcel tax funding to myself, thank you very much!)

Child 2, it turns out, is a fan of the library, and LOVES to check books out. Not much of a surprise considering that he basically taught himself to read when he was 4. The problem, though, is that he's in this dinosaur book phase, and the books he chooses out are waaayyyy above his (and my) reading level which means, unfortunately, the task of reading them to him falls onto me (or hubs, but unfortunately he works so much he doesn't often get the chance. bummer for all involved). I, however, am simply unable to pronounce the majority of the words in the books that he chooses. So, every Thursday, when he comes home with a new book, I always dread looking into his backpack and seeing what he's brought home this time, because I know it's just going to be a shitload of words that I can't say.

(Did you know that what they teach you about dinosaurs today are completely different from what we learned when we were kids? The Brontosaurus? GONE. WTF? Replaced by the Apatosaurus, which at least I can pronounce, but also about a hundred new ones that are SIMPLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO SAY.)

So, when I encounter an impossible to pronounce word, which I do... in every paragraph, I am quickly faced with one of three options.

EXAMPLE

The problem text: "Coelurosauravus had ribs that grew out from the sides of its body."

Option 1: I do my best to sound out the offensive word as accurately as possible. Except, I drag out every syllable because I'm being careful and I probably end up butchering it, anyway. Child 2 loves this option because I sound like an idiot and he thinks that's hilarious

Cooooo eeeeeee lllll uu rrrrrrr ooooooooo ssss aaaaaa uuuuuuu rrrrrr aaaaaaaa vvvvvvv uuuuuuuuuu ssssss had ribs that grew out from the sides of its body.

Option 2: I'm going to quickly spit out, to the best of my ability, whatever is the easiest way to get past that goddamn word

Coloravus had ribs that grew out from the sides of its body.

Option 3: Fuck it, I'm not even going to bother

This guy had ribs that grew out from the sides of its body.

I like that last one, and for some reason, he doesn't notice.

Seriously, though, kid. Is Go Dog, Go just not good enough for you? SHIT! Give a Mama a break, here, would you??

---

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that's amore

The other day I'm sitting in my office, uh.... working? when Child 2 walks in says "Look, Mama!" Turns around, pulls down his pants, moons me, pulls up his pants and walks away.

Five minutes later, when I'm able to breathe again and can pull myself up off the floor, I hunt him down for a chat. First I tell him that what he has done is called "mooning," and is, without question, the funniest thing that has ever happened in my office. But then I explain the appropriateness of The Moon, because I'm thinking there's a pretty good chance that not everybody in the world is going to find that as fucking hilarious as I do, and I can just picture him on the playground at school, mooning all his little friends (who probably would find it funny) but then I get a call from the Principal because my kid is in her office with his pants around his ankles and could I please teach my child some modesty? PLEASE?

So, I tell him that showing his dimply, adorable little butt is a perfectly acceptable thing to do, but only when we're home, and only to me and his Dad.

"What about my brother?" He asks.

"No, you can't show your brother your butt."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't want to see your butt. HEY! CHILD 1! Do you want to see your brother's butt??"

Child 1 answers from inside the man cave: "NO!"

"See? He doesn't want to see your butt." I say.

"What about in the backyard?" He asks.

"No, not in the backyard, only inside the house." I answer.

"But the backyard is part of our house, too."

"Right, but it's outside, and the neighbors don't want to see your butt, either."

"Should we ask them?" He asks.

"No, we don't need to ask them," I say. "I'm fairly confident that they have no interest in seeing your butt. Also, they're not your family, and you can't show your butt to anybody who isn't your family."

"What about Grandma?"

"Okay, not Grandma, either. Or Grandpa."

"Why not?"

"They're older, and probably won't think it's funny"(and they'll probably yell at me and I don't really need that....)

Our Moon lesson had ended and we went about our business. Then last night he mooned me again and I laughed hysterically again.

Then he went in to show hubs. It turns out that hubs doesn't want to see his butt, either and the Moon lesson was subsequently modified. Only I may be mooned, and nobody else.

I'm cool with that.

---

Don't forget. OMG DON'T FORGET.

Tuesday Feb. 22nd! 1:00pm Eastern, 10:00am Pacific!! BlogTalk Radio! Autism WTF!!

I, and Lynn, and Big Daddy, will be there... talking about something something... autism!!

How can you resist?

Seriously.

If you miss it, it will be there for all eternity for you to listen at your leisure.

Oy.

---