OK, this is going to be short and I'm going to be laying low for a few days.
The antibiotic the doc put me on last week was a sulfa drug, and I did fine until this morning after my next-to-last dose. A curious thing happened next: I developed a weird rash that kept expanding.
Then I wasn't fine, got dizzy and had breathing problems -- so a quick emergency trip and a shot in the butt later, I'm home with prednizone and some other antihistamine thing and all of the looopy side effectses. Oh, and apparently I can't take Benadryl anymore either because that made it worse. Learned something new.
I'm tired, don't care if this is all spelled right or not, and I'm going to go nurse the rash that is covering the entirety of my body. Under the hair on my head, in my eyelids and throat, all the way down to my toes.
Talk more this weekend when I get out of this stuff, in the meantime I'd appreciate your prayers because I am going to have to wade through the fatigue to keep kid wrangling while Z works. gnight.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
It's Electrifyin'!
Hey, all ~
The good news is, I found the camera and have taken a bunch of great pictures of things I can't wait to share with all of you.
The bad news is, right before I made yet another eternal 3+ -- emphasis on the "+" -- hour trek up to the airport to pick up Z (last time! He's home now!) our little single story house received a direct hit by lightning on Friday afternoon and fried quite a bit of our electronics, despite surge protectors on all of it. Darn it! Doesn't Mother Nature know that fried things are bad for your health?
The lightning damaged the following:
old unused satellite dish
blew the breakers/fuses in the house
sound system
input #1 on the new flat screen TV (where it hooks up to the cable box or DVD player)
computer CPU
keyboard
mouse
cables in the walls
internet modem
cable box
port on the printer (weird -- the printer will work if you plug it into the wall and use it as a copier, but it can't communicate or send info to a computer because the port itself is fried, a brand new USB cable and various other attempts to fix it did nothing. My brilliant hubby, the IT guy, had some odd sounding mumblings when he discovered this little unusual tidbit, but nothing discernable from across the room where I was sitting.)
Funnily enough, the light and vent fan over the stove had quit working about two weeks prior to this event, and they work just fine now.
Luckily there was no fire, although there are charred (yes, charred) bits of an old satellite dish in my garbage can (formerly strewn across the yard). Not ours. The previous tenants left it up there, so at least it wasn't actively in use or anything. K and I are fine (we were the only ones home at that time -- and darn it, my hair is still frizzy and curly. I guess I have an excuse now).
We have already gotten a new keyboard, mouse, and printer and had the cable and internet guys out to fiddle with the house wiring today. We still haven't seen the electrician yet, but we've not experienced anything negative so far and we've been using lights and cooking. So everything is probably OK. Yay! Sesame Street in the mornings again so I can carve out an hour to cram in dishes and folding laundry in peace. Yay. And the camera and dock had not been hooked up the computer yet, so they're fine. Yay.
(Although, I always covet new camera toys and might not have been devestated if our really (really) old camera had bit the dust).
The bad news: our renters insurance does not cover things like this, because it is considered "an act of God".
The good news: our surge protector companies will cover the items, but we have to mail the items to them, let them assess the equipment and determine that surge overload did indeed cause the problem, and then they will issue a store credit somewhere so we can get new unfried equipment. Which means we have to figure out what one store would have everything we need with the best prices. We tend to shop around for the best deal under normal circumstances. On the other hand, if they're paying for it, that extra 50 bucks on one item really doesn't affect us so much I guess.
The bad news: if we do that, we lose everything on the old computer's hard drive, if it is at all salvagable. Including family pictures since A was about 6 months old (we never could afford to have many printed, but I could do all sorts of things digitally to keep grandparents happy), and lots of music files for church -- which Z uses several times weekly to prepare for services. And my design software... Some of it is backed up, but not all of it. I'm constantly taking pictures; I feel wasteful to pop in a new disk every day for its paltry photo count, just to back it up. And really, whodathunkit? How often does your house get struck by lightning anyway? Argh. I'm experiencing the agony of delete. I'm also going to have to try to remember all the websites and resources I had saved under "favorites" for helping A with his autism, or several "just for fun" sites, whenever we get the house computer. Which may be a few months from now, so I will probably be desperately surfing here in the next couple of evenings -- well, except tomorrow, it's Weds Bible study -- and write them down while I can still remember how to navigate to them.
Bottom line: Z can possibly save some or all of the information if he keeps the CPU, we eat the cost of a new one, and he can tinker with it. Or we can save a thousand bucks or so and just let it go. If it winds up being the latter, I will shed a tear (or forty-two) over the lost photographs, but would actually be more upset over the loss of our entire audio archives. We had over 1,000 songs in our database. That's going to be expensive to replace, even if you can go to iTunes or Amazon for .99 a pop. We've only bought a few actual albums, the rest has been accumulated over time.
The whole ordeal was actually kind of interesting, once my heart rate slowed down and my stomach returned to its rightful place (instead of in my feet). We'd had a nasty storm that morning complete with hail and lots of the aforementioned lightning, but it had been quiet for about 2 hours. I gave K a bath, did some dishes, and had just pulled her out of the tub about 5 minutes before this sucker came out of NOWHERE. There was no warning, no distant rumblies to indicate anything storm-wise was approaching. I guess WE were the warning for everyone else.
I was standing by one of our front windows watching for my son's school bus, idly watching a neighbor across the street come out of his house, zip up his jacket, and nonchalantly start strolling down the sidewalk to the community mailbox. (We have those stupid communal boxes on a post, instead of delivery to the houses. Yuck.)
Then it hit. It was a fascinating thing -- interesting because I have never experienced anything like it (and hope to avoid it in the future). The house across the street was literally whited out (is that even a phrase?), I could not see it at all, and simultaneously there was this loud sizzly banging sound (think of about 200 or so cannons at the end of the 1812 Overture, positioned directly behind your head) -- and everything electric in the house fell silent or dark. I felt like I'd been hit in the stomach with something, and both K and I actually leapt up off the floor when it happened. She started screaming, of course (truth be told, I might have let out a yelp while I was jumping up in the air, but I really don't remember). The guy across the street was in a dead sprint back to his house as soon as I could see out the window again -- if he wasn't a blue ribbon winner in high school track meets, he sure could have been on Friday. Dude was moving it. Can you blame him?
And then, after pulling myself together and throwing the extremely hot and smelly galvanized sound system out into the rain so the smoldering ruin didn't catch my house on fire, and getting my son off Mario Andretti's school bus, I left for the airport. I just prayed the house didn't burn down.
About, oh, 15 minutes into the trek, my son decided to share with K and I that he had received a stomach virus from a classmate at school. Fun times, especially since it was pouring rain by that point and I had only brought one change of clothes for him. I (correctly) surmised that there would be some serious delayage due to the weather, and I (also correctly) surmised that Mr. A was not quite finished yet and had more of that fount of knowledge to share -- so we grimly pressed on in the vomitmobile. Z's first word was, "Wheeeeewwwwww!" when he climbed into the car three and a half hours later.
Hey, every day is an adventure around here. Have I said that before?
I am currently on my husband's laptop from work, upon which I cannot upload pictures (I am not allowed to incorporate that sort of software to do so on his work computer). So whenever we can get a household computer again, there will be a vat o' entries because I have pictures to share of all kinds of stuff (don't worry, no vomit pictures).
Be prepared for the blog post onslaught.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
The good news is, I found the camera and have taken a bunch of great pictures of things I can't wait to share with all of you.
The bad news is, right before I made yet another eternal 3+ -- emphasis on the "+" -- hour trek up to the airport to pick up Z (last time! He's home now!) our little single story house received a direct hit by lightning on Friday afternoon and fried quite a bit of our electronics, despite surge protectors on all of it. Darn it! Doesn't Mother Nature know that fried things are bad for your health?
The lightning damaged the following:
old unused satellite dish
blew the breakers/fuses in the house
sound system
input #1 on the new flat screen TV (where it hooks up to the cable box or DVD player)
computer CPU
keyboard
mouse
cables in the walls
internet modem
cable box
port on the printer (weird -- the printer will work if you plug it into the wall and use it as a copier, but it can't communicate or send info to a computer because the port itself is fried, a brand new USB cable and various other attempts to fix it did nothing. My brilliant hubby, the IT guy, had some odd sounding mumblings when he discovered this little unusual tidbit, but nothing discernable from across the room where I was sitting.)
Funnily enough, the light and vent fan over the stove had quit working about two weeks prior to this event, and they work just fine now.
Luckily there was no fire, although there are charred (yes, charred) bits of an old satellite dish in my garbage can (formerly strewn across the yard). Not ours. The previous tenants left it up there, so at least it wasn't actively in use or anything. K and I are fine (we were the only ones home at that time -- and darn it, my hair is still frizzy and curly. I guess I have an excuse now).
We have already gotten a new keyboard, mouse, and printer and had the cable and internet guys out to fiddle with the house wiring today. We still haven't seen the electrician yet, but we've not experienced anything negative so far and we've been using lights and cooking. So everything is probably OK. Yay! Sesame Street in the mornings again so I can carve out an hour to cram in dishes and folding laundry in peace. Yay. And the camera and dock had not been hooked up the computer yet, so they're fine. Yay.
(Although, I always covet new camera toys and might not have been devestated if our really (really) old camera had bit the dust).
The bad news: our renters insurance does not cover things like this, because it is considered "an act of God".
The good news: our surge protector companies will cover the items, but we have to mail the items to them, let them assess the equipment and determine that surge overload did indeed cause the problem, and then they will issue a store credit somewhere so we can get new unfried equipment. Which means we have to figure out what one store would have everything we need with the best prices. We tend to shop around for the best deal under normal circumstances. On the other hand, if they're paying for it, that extra 50 bucks on one item really doesn't affect us so much I guess.
The bad news: if we do that, we lose everything on the old computer's hard drive, if it is at all salvagable. Including family pictures since A was about 6 months old (we never could afford to have many printed, but I could do all sorts of things digitally to keep grandparents happy), and lots of music files for church -- which Z uses several times weekly to prepare for services. And my design software... Some of it is backed up, but not all of it. I'm constantly taking pictures; I feel wasteful to pop in a new disk every day for its paltry photo count, just to back it up. And really, whodathunkit? How often does your house get struck by lightning anyway? Argh. I'm experiencing the agony of delete. I'm also going to have to try to remember all the websites and resources I had saved under "favorites" for helping A with his autism, or several "just for fun" sites, whenever we get the house computer. Which may be a few months from now, so I will probably be desperately surfing here in the next couple of evenings -- well, except tomorrow, it's Weds Bible study -- and write them down while I can still remember how to navigate to them.
Bottom line: Z can possibly save some or all of the information if he keeps the CPU, we eat the cost of a new one, and he can tinker with it. Or we can save a thousand bucks or so and just let it go. If it winds up being the latter, I will shed a tear (or forty-two) over the lost photographs, but would actually be more upset over the loss of our entire audio archives. We had over 1,000 songs in our database. That's going to be expensive to replace, even if you can go to iTunes or Amazon for .99 a pop. We've only bought a few actual albums, the rest has been accumulated over time.
The whole ordeal was actually kind of interesting, once my heart rate slowed down and my stomach returned to its rightful place (instead of in my feet). We'd had a nasty storm that morning complete with hail and lots of the aforementioned lightning, but it had been quiet for about 2 hours. I gave K a bath, did some dishes, and had just pulled her out of the tub about 5 minutes before this sucker came out of NOWHERE. There was no warning, no distant rumblies to indicate anything storm-wise was approaching. I guess WE were the warning for everyone else.
I was standing by one of our front windows watching for my son's school bus, idly watching a neighbor across the street come out of his house, zip up his jacket, and nonchalantly start strolling down the sidewalk to the community mailbox. (We have those stupid communal boxes on a post, instead of delivery to the houses. Yuck.)
Then it hit. It was a fascinating thing -- interesting because I have never experienced anything like it (and hope to avoid it in the future). The house across the street was literally whited out (is that even a phrase?), I could not see it at all, and simultaneously there was this loud sizzly banging sound (think of about 200 or so cannons at the end of the 1812 Overture, positioned directly behind your head) -- and everything electric in the house fell silent or dark. I felt like I'd been hit in the stomach with something, and both K and I actually leapt up off the floor when it happened. She started screaming, of course (truth be told, I might have let out a yelp while I was jumping up in the air, but I really don't remember). The guy across the street was in a dead sprint back to his house as soon as I could see out the window again -- if he wasn't a blue ribbon winner in high school track meets, he sure could have been on Friday. Dude was moving it. Can you blame him?
And then, after pulling myself together and throwing the extremely hot and smelly galvanized sound system out into the rain so the smoldering ruin didn't catch my house on fire, and getting my son off Mario Andretti's school bus, I left for the airport. I just prayed the house didn't burn down.
About, oh, 15 minutes into the trek, my son decided to share with K and I that he had received a stomach virus from a classmate at school. Fun times, especially since it was pouring rain by that point and I had only brought one change of clothes for him. I (correctly) surmised that there would be some serious delayage due to the weather, and I (also correctly) surmised that Mr. A was not quite finished yet and had more of that fount of knowledge to share -- so we grimly pressed on in the vomitmobile. Z's first word was, "Wheeeeewwwwww!" when he climbed into the car three and a half hours later.
Hey, every day is an adventure around here. Have I said that before?
I am currently on my husband's laptop from work, upon which I cannot upload pictures (I am not allowed to incorporate that sort of software to do so on his work computer). So whenever we can get a household computer again, there will be a vat o' entries because I have pictures to share of all kinds of stuff (don't worry, no vomit pictures).
Be prepared for the blog post onslaught.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
New Joys
New home, new joys.
A uses the toilet every morning now -- and is usually dry when he does so. A has also started taking the initiative to go to the bathroom when he's done a #2 (or is about to) and tries to wipe his own butt. Mommy still has to help with the final details, but this is awesome.
I'd probably do a victory dance, but I look like a grasshopper in a blender when I do anything other than classical ballet (and I'm nowhere near flexible enough to do that any more), so I generally refrain. (Arms and legs are everywhere, and it's not pretty). I do still have what my kids I used to work with called my "happy dance" -- more of an involuntary hopping, stamping kind of deal while clapping my hands or waving my fists. It does bring much amusement to Z when he sees it. And any other innocent bystanders. But I digress.
I had a meeting with the special ed board at A's school today, regarding next year. They are fully confident that A can handle being in a "typical" mainstream kindergarten classroom, so we filled out all the paperwork, etc. to get him all set up. He will also have ESY (Extended School Year) services this summer. A is enjoying school. For the most part. He still isn't too sure about that whole "rest time" phenomenon.
A has also discovered the joy of baseball! Sort of. He recently received one of those little cheap-o "tee" things that's spring loaded. You put a plastic ball on the top platform, and push it down. You can hear the gears winding down before it pops the ball up in the air, so you can try to hit it. (It sounds like a windup toy). A doesn't always make contact with the ball -- but he does sometimes. Other times he's just lazy and tries to whack it while it's still sitting on the "tee", while he shoots a grin in my direction letting me know that he knows exactly what he's doing. But this is definitely a new development, and one I'm keen to nurture.
Another recent joy for A is the discovery of the Muppets. A just loves to watch Kermit and the rest of the gang. We have "Kermit's Swamp Years" and "Muppets From Space" -- and both have gotten a lot of screen time in the last two weeks. It's interesting to see A flat out enjoying something -- with his emotions plain as day on his face. That has not always happened. It's also interesting to realize that A "gets" a lot of the humor, even though some of it is more mature or adult in nature. (And no, I don't mean "adult film industry". Duh.)
And a new joy for me: A has surprised me by offering up words of affection, unprompted. What usually happens is I'll give him a hug, or be snuggling with him on the couch, and say, "I love you, buddy." To which he'll respond in kind. But for A to offer and show affection unsolicited is a wonderful thing indeed. "I love you mommy" is one of the most wonderful sound bites on this great green earth. I think the rarity of A initiating it makes it all the more precious.
A uses the toilet every morning now -- and is usually dry when he does so. A has also started taking the initiative to go to the bathroom when he's done a #2 (or is about to) and tries to wipe his own butt. Mommy still has to help with the final details, but this is awesome.
I'd probably do a victory dance, but I look like a grasshopper in a blender when I do anything other than classical ballet (and I'm nowhere near flexible enough to do that any more), so I generally refrain. (Arms and legs are everywhere, and it's not pretty). I do still have what my kids I used to work with called my "happy dance" -- more of an involuntary hopping, stamping kind of deal while clapping my hands or waving my fists. It does bring much amusement to Z when he sees it. And any other innocent bystanders. But I digress.
I had a meeting with the special ed board at A's school today, regarding next year. They are fully confident that A can handle being in a "typical" mainstream kindergarten classroom, so we filled out all the paperwork, etc. to get him all set up. He will also have ESY (Extended School Year) services this summer. A is enjoying school. For the most part. He still isn't too sure about that whole "rest time" phenomenon.
A has also discovered the joy of baseball! Sort of. He recently received one of those little cheap-o "tee" things that's spring loaded. You put a plastic ball on the top platform, and push it down. You can hear the gears winding down before it pops the ball up in the air, so you can try to hit it. (It sounds like a windup toy). A doesn't always make contact with the ball -- but he does sometimes. Other times he's just lazy and tries to whack it while it's still sitting on the "tee", while he shoots a grin in my direction letting me know that he knows exactly what he's doing. But this is definitely a new development, and one I'm keen to nurture.
Another recent joy for A is the discovery of the Muppets. A just loves to watch Kermit and the rest of the gang. We have "Kermit's Swamp Years" and "Muppets From Space" -- and both have gotten a lot of screen time in the last two weeks. It's interesting to see A flat out enjoying something -- with his emotions plain as day on his face. That has not always happened. It's also interesting to realize that A "gets" a lot of the humor, even though some of it is more mature or adult in nature. (And no, I don't mean "adult film industry". Duh.)
And a new joy for me: A has surprised me by offering up words of affection, unprompted. What usually happens is I'll give him a hug, or be snuggling with him on the couch, and say, "I love you, buddy." To which he'll respond in kind. But for A to offer and show affection unsolicited is a wonderful thing indeed. "I love you mommy" is one of the most wonderful sound bites on this great green earth. I think the rarity of A initiating it makes it all the more precious.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
In The Zone
A is getting adjusted to his new, all day school experience. He had a rough day on Tuesday -- A refused to do any of his morning work, and didn't want to eat lunch or lay down on his Lightning McQueen towel at "rest time".
The teacher sends home a folder with a daily progress report in it that sums up the day in segments. Each segment has a space for a sticker: smiley faces = great; straight line faces = some compliance issues; and frowney faces = poor choices. We had all smileys on Monday, and straight lines on Tuesday. Wednesday we had American flag stickers...I'm not entirely sure what that means. And today, his folder was not in his backpack, so I have no idea how his day went. But he didn't seem overly churlish or agitated when he got off Mario Andretti's bus today.
A does not have school tomorrow, so he'll have a long weekend to decompress before jumping back into the fray on Monday.
I have a meeting on Tuesday with the special needs teaching team to get A all set up for kindergarten next year. At this point, the special education board feels confident that he will do just fine in a typical, mainstream classroom for kindergarten -- even though he does not talk very much and still has some fine motor skills difficulties. Intellectually, he has stunned the instructors here at how much he can do. A will be expected to complete all the work a "normal" kindergartener would -- AND he will have a special ed teacher coming in for part of the day to work on some special areas, like handwriting, where there are known difficulties.
Won't know more until after my visit on Tuesday. All I know is, we're getting in the zone.
Speaking of "in the zone" -- I'm not entirely sure how this escaped my attention, but Dr Pepper is the state drink of Texas. Why, do you ask? Because it was created in Waco, and the original plant in Dublin still makes their Dr Pepper with cane sugar instead of corn syrup, and puts it in glass bottles.
May I just say this: I have tasted Dr Pepper in glass bottles before, but apparently it's the "newer" recipe using the corn syrup and never the original recipe. Until now. Oh, my 23 flavored goodness!! *swoon* There is even a museum supposed to be in Waco somewhere. I'm feeling the urge for a road trip soon...I can call it a historical excursion, right?
Did I mention that Dr Pepper is my one true vice? I can't get enough of it -- although I do limit myself to one (or less) a day. I even recently switched to Diet to combat the aforementioned vice's effects on my hip circumference -- but that's just between friends. Shhhhhh! (I figure anything that lets me get my "fix" without contributing to my nether regions deserves a sporting chance. But I'll also say there ain't nothin' like the real thing.)
Ah, Mecca! Texas is looking a whole lot nicer to me right now -- even if we did hit 91 degrees today and there are wildfires blazing in various areas of the state as I type this.
The teacher sends home a folder with a daily progress report in it that sums up the day in segments. Each segment has a space for a sticker: smiley faces = great; straight line faces = some compliance issues; and frowney faces = poor choices. We had all smileys on Monday, and straight lines on Tuesday. Wednesday we had American flag stickers...I'm not entirely sure what that means. And today, his folder was not in his backpack, so I have no idea how his day went. But he didn't seem overly churlish or agitated when he got off Mario Andretti's bus today.
A does not have school tomorrow, so he'll have a long weekend to decompress before jumping back into the fray on Monday.
I have a meeting on Tuesday with the special needs teaching team to get A all set up for kindergarten next year. At this point, the special education board feels confident that he will do just fine in a typical, mainstream classroom for kindergarten -- even though he does not talk very much and still has some fine motor skills difficulties. Intellectually, he has stunned the instructors here at how much he can do. A will be expected to complete all the work a "normal" kindergartener would -- AND he will have a special ed teacher coming in for part of the day to work on some special areas, like handwriting, where there are known difficulties.
Won't know more until after my visit on Tuesday. All I know is, we're getting in the zone.
Speaking of "in the zone" -- I'm not entirely sure how this escaped my attention, but Dr Pepper is the state drink of Texas. Why, do you ask? Because it was created in Waco, and the original plant in Dublin still makes their Dr Pepper with cane sugar instead of corn syrup, and puts it in glass bottles.
May I just say this: I have tasted Dr Pepper in glass bottles before, but apparently it's the "newer" recipe using the corn syrup and never the original recipe. Until now. Oh, my 23 flavored goodness!! *swoon* There is even a museum supposed to be in Waco somewhere. I'm feeling the urge for a road trip soon...I can call it a historical excursion, right?
Did I mention that Dr Pepper is my one true vice? I can't get enough of it -- although I do limit myself to one (or less) a day. I even recently switched to Diet to combat the aforementioned vice's effects on my hip circumference -- but that's just between friends. Shhhhhh! (I figure anything that lets me get my "fix" without contributing to my nether regions deserves a sporting chance. But I'll also say there ain't nothin' like the real thing.)
Ah, Mecca! Texas is looking a whole lot nicer to me right now -- even if we did hit 91 degrees today and there are wildfires blazing in various areas of the state as I type this.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The New Normal
We're getting settled in -- slowly.
We haven't quite got all our duckies in a row, but this week we're rapidly approaching the new normal:
Alarm goes off just before 6 a.m. to get a very groggy (and clumsy in that just-awakened sort of way) mommy up so she can go in and watch her oldest go through the same process in his bedroom. Check.
Early morning potty time, in which A has consistently stayed dry through the night and actually peed in the toilet. Check. (And there was great rejoicing in the land. New house + new routine = use the toilet? Apparently so! Yay!)
Get son to put his own clothes on, while Mom directs verbally and tries to keep both her eyes open at the same time. Check. (The self-dressing is also a fairly recent event -- but mom has to tie the shoes).
Wait for bus to screech to a halt in front of the house, load up A, and then watch it rip around the corner to pick up another classmate. Check. Seriously, I know it only goes 30 mph, but when it's dark and all the more sensible folks are not out and driving yet, it looks like she's trying to qualify for NASCAR.
Call husband, who is still in the D.C. area doing some training with his new job. Chat for about 5 - 10 minutes before he has to get to work. Check.
Trip over bed footboard, think some really bad things while landing on the bed, and then drift off to sleep for 15-20 minutes or so before Miss K comes toddling in. Check.
Contemplate actually making coffee, or saving time and just opening up a Dr. Pepper -- and choose the latter. Check.
Eat breakfast, and start the daily routine: dishes, laundry, and keeping K out of the mud in the backyard. Check.
Hear the ambulance sirens at least once an hour, flying towards the hospital that lies about 2 miles west of here. Check.
Hear the neighbor's dog howling along with the sirens every time they shatter the otherwise serene day. Check.
Hear my dog howling along with the other dog howling at the sirens in a midafternoon singfest. Check. (Actually, that's only happened once).
Get son off of Mario Andretti's school bus. Check.
Play outside/watch movies/read books until dinner time. Check.
Eat dinner and rig a belt to a chair to keep K in it the duration of the meal. Check.
Clean up the aftermath and let kids run outside like hooligans, in whatever state of dress they're in by that point. Check.
Bathtime for kiddies, then a video chat with daddy on the computer. Check.
A going quietly to bed at their actual bedtime like he always does, and mommy trying to convince Miss K to do the same -- for the next three hours. Check.
Mommy getting cranky and ransacking the pantry to find that bag of M&Ms she saw up there somewhere earlier in the day. Check.
Mommy drifting off to sleep sometime after midnight. Check.
Rinse, repeat. And you have to throw in something completely bizarre each day, like driving home from your local Walmart with a jungle in your car -- ferns, palms, Easter lilies for your local church on Sunday; or opening up your front door to greet your pastor -- when you forgot you were wearing a headband featuring ladybugs on giant springy antennas, courtesy of your 3-yr-old. (Thanks, Ruth!)
Keeps things from getting too boring around here.
Let's just pray that we make it all the way through the third week here in Texas without another trip to the emergency room. We're 2 for 2 right now.
We haven't quite got all our duckies in a row, but this week we're rapidly approaching the new normal:
Alarm goes off just before 6 a.m. to get a very groggy (and clumsy in that just-awakened sort of way) mommy up so she can go in and watch her oldest go through the same process in his bedroom. Check.
Early morning potty time, in which A has consistently stayed dry through the night and actually peed in the toilet. Check. (And there was great rejoicing in the land. New house + new routine = use the toilet? Apparently so! Yay!)
Get son to put his own clothes on, while Mom directs verbally and tries to keep both her eyes open at the same time. Check. (The self-dressing is also a fairly recent event -- but mom has to tie the shoes).
Wait for bus to screech to a halt in front of the house, load up A, and then watch it rip around the corner to pick up another classmate. Check. Seriously, I know it only goes 30 mph, but when it's dark and all the more sensible folks are not out and driving yet, it looks like she's trying to qualify for NASCAR.
Call husband, who is still in the D.C. area doing some training with his new job. Chat for about 5 - 10 minutes before he has to get to work. Check.
Trip over bed footboard, think some really bad things while landing on the bed, and then drift off to sleep for 15-20 minutes or so before Miss K comes toddling in. Check.
Contemplate actually making coffee, or saving time and just opening up a Dr. Pepper -- and choose the latter. Check.
Eat breakfast, and start the daily routine: dishes, laundry, and keeping K out of the mud in the backyard. Check.
Hear the ambulance sirens at least once an hour, flying towards the hospital that lies about 2 miles west of here. Check.
Hear the neighbor's dog howling along with the sirens every time they shatter the otherwise serene day. Check.
Hear my dog howling along with the other dog howling at the sirens in a midafternoon singfest. Check. (Actually, that's only happened once).
Get son off of Mario Andretti's school bus. Check.
Play outside/watch movies/read books until dinner time. Check.
Eat dinner and rig a belt to a chair to keep K in it the duration of the meal. Check.
Clean up the aftermath and let kids run outside like hooligans, in whatever state of dress they're in by that point. Check.
Bathtime for kiddies, then a video chat with daddy on the computer. Check.
A going quietly to bed at their actual bedtime like he always does, and mommy trying to convince Miss K to do the same -- for the next three hours. Check.
Mommy getting cranky and ransacking the pantry to find that bag of M&Ms she saw up there somewhere earlier in the day. Check.
Mommy drifting off to sleep sometime after midnight. Check.
Rinse, repeat. And you have to throw in something completely bizarre each day, like driving home from your local Walmart with a jungle in your car -- ferns, palms, Easter lilies for your local church on Sunday; or opening up your front door to greet your pastor -- when you forgot you were wearing a headband featuring ladybugs on giant springy antennas, courtesy of your 3-yr-old. (Thanks, Ruth!)
Keeps things from getting too boring around here.
Let's just pray that we make it all the way through the third week here in Texas without another trip to the emergency room. We're 2 for 2 right now.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
For Your Viewing Pleasure
Well ~ it's been over two years since I started this blogging journey, and I have never played with my basic template for it. I liked the black, simple, minimal layout; I still do. I find it very visually appealing. I like the contrast of the lighter colors with the dark. And, hey! It's black! It goes with everything, right? It's very clean without being completely stark or sterile, as I found the white version of the layout to be. (For my tastes, at least.)
I have come to the conclusion that I am not a white/cream color palatte kind of person. White on white on white, even with slight tonal and textural differences, would drive me nuts. That color palatte can lend itself to a clean professional designer look, and I know people that love decorating in that scheme, and their houses look fabulous. But it's not for me. Which means as long as we're living in our current very white-walled abode here in Texas (we're renting) there will probably be a daily heavy sigh as my gaze sweeps across the living room. Or any of the bedrooms, kitchen, or the dining room. Perhaps more than one sigh. I should probably set a daily limit.
I do love me some rich and/or vivid colors ~ I did a happy dance when we bought our home in Maryland, because I could finally escape the generic "apartment white" paint scheme I'd lived with all my life, even into adulthood (the exception being an old house with scary wallpaper in my early post-collegiate years). I painted my entry hallway and wall going up the staircase "fire engine red" in our Maryland home, if you recall* ~ but.
But I think a red or lime green background for the ol' blog may be just too much. Wasn't there a study done indicating that red was one of the hardest colors to see (in written format)? I think it related to whiteboard marker usage, if I recall correctly.
But maybe it's just my aging eyes, but it seems so much more difficult to read lighter print on a dark background than it is the "typical" way of dark print on a lighter background. Having your eyeballs assaulted by a backlit neon green screen while you are trying to decipher the text is also really not nice, and I really do want to be nice to all you people who are kind enough to stop in to see my latest musings/ramblings.
Either way ~ new state, new house, new look to the blog. We're all about transitions here. And preventing eyestrain.
It will probably change again in the next few days while I play around some more...I can't believe I haven't really messed with my blog set-up before now. I can't leave anything alone for very long. It has to be rearranged, altered somehow ~ whether "it" is furniture or recipes. Or artwork. I even go back and edit my blog entries after I post them -- and I never post them without some critical considering of the content. Most of the changes are due to errors, whether perceived or actual.
Did I mention that I am a card-carrying perfectionist, and even though my brain logically realizes that I'll never attain the truly perfect, I feel compelled to try anyway? So I expect I'll get something I'm (mostly) happy with layout-wise soon...and then I'll change it again after a while. Right now I'm playing with earthy colors on here, so we'll see where it goes.
-------------------------------------------------------------
*when I made the decision to go with that bold red for the hallway/stairway/upstairs landing, my husband was skeptical. Or scared. Or both. Perhaps it is because I do have a habit of changing things up every so often, and red paint is very difficult to paint over (even with Kilz). Or perhaps his misgivings were because when we opened up the can, the paint looked more fuchsia than red in its liquid form. No worries, he loved it when it was finished and dry.
I have come to the conclusion that I am not a white/cream color palatte kind of person. White on white on white, even with slight tonal and textural differences, would drive me nuts. That color palatte can lend itself to a clean professional designer look, and I know people that love decorating in that scheme, and their houses look fabulous. But it's not for me. Which means as long as we're living in our current very white-walled abode here in Texas (we're renting) there will probably be a daily heavy sigh as my gaze sweeps across the living room. Or any of the bedrooms, kitchen, or the dining room. Perhaps more than one sigh. I should probably set a daily limit.
I do love me some rich and/or vivid colors ~ I did a happy dance when we bought our home in Maryland, because I could finally escape the generic "apartment white" paint scheme I'd lived with all my life, even into adulthood (the exception being an old house with scary wallpaper in my early post-collegiate years). I painted my entry hallway and wall going up the staircase "fire engine red" in our Maryland home, if you recall* ~ but.
But I think a red or lime green background for the ol' blog may be just too much. Wasn't there a study done indicating that red was one of the hardest colors to see (in written format)? I think it related to whiteboard marker usage, if I recall correctly.
But maybe it's just my aging eyes, but it seems so much more difficult to read lighter print on a dark background than it is the "typical" way of dark print on a lighter background. Having your eyeballs assaulted by a backlit neon green screen while you are trying to decipher the text is also really not nice, and I really do want to be nice to all you people who are kind enough to stop in to see my latest musings/ramblings.
Either way ~ new state, new house, new look to the blog. We're all about transitions here. And preventing eyestrain.
It will probably change again in the next few days while I play around some more...I can't believe I haven't really messed with my blog set-up before now. I can't leave anything alone for very long. It has to be rearranged, altered somehow ~ whether "it" is furniture or recipes. Or artwork. I even go back and edit my blog entries after I post them -- and I never post them without some critical considering of the content. Most of the changes are due to errors, whether perceived or actual.
Did I mention that I am a card-carrying perfectionist, and even though my brain logically realizes that I'll never attain the truly perfect, I feel compelled to try anyway? So I expect I'll get something I'm (mostly) happy with layout-wise soon...and then I'll change it again after a while. Right now I'm playing with earthy colors on here, so we'll see where it goes.
-------------------------------------------------------------
*when I made the decision to go with that bold red for the hallway/stairway/upstairs landing, my husband was skeptical. Or scared. Or both. Perhaps it is because I do have a habit of changing things up every so often, and red paint is very difficult to paint over (even with Kilz). Or perhaps his misgivings were because when we opened up the can, the paint looked more fuchsia than red in its liquid form. No worries, he loved it when it was finished and dry.
Monday, April 6, 2009
And Last Week...
Wow! What an eventful week, give or take a couple of days! We jumped in with everything we had and are just trying to keep up.
FIRST, the furniture arrived Friday morning the 27th. Yay! Real live beds! Real live chairs and a table to eat on! Real live dishes! True to the Mover's Code of Really Abysmal Packing (CRAP, for short), none of the boxes' labels really accurately describe the contents -- so it's like Christmas morning every time I open a box. I never know what I'll find, other than a guarantee of copious amounts of paper. (One box, marked simply as "handbags", contained 2 purses; some toys from K's room; part of an upright oscillating fan; a few VHS tapes; a stuffed frog pillow; a couple of baskets; a dog toy; and a small, pink, flip-top garbage can -- mine from my office.) I worked like a mad woman to get the kitchen at least unpacked (but not completely put away) Friday night.
Adding to the mix, Z's dad finished his week-long training in San Antonio and also arrived last Friday evening, to visit with his wife and the rest of us. I love having family come visit, so it was happy chaos with A and K scrambling to see who could wedge themselves deeper into his lap, and shrieking with laughter. I also had to figure out how, in unfamiliar territory and in the dark, to get to the local Ryan's restaurant, which was separated from the road I knew by a large moat. I figured it out, but not without a few wrong turns and narrowly missing a Cadillac.
Dad and Mom (Z's) drove all the way to the airport to pick up Z on Saturday morning, 1) so that he and mom could have some "alone" time together to talk and catch up after being separated for a week, and 2) so Z's parents could actually visit with Z somewhat on the 3+ hour return trip. Z's dad had to leave for conference in Las Vegas on Sunday afternoon, so it was visit with Z then or never.
While they were gone, I kicked into "High Nesting Mode" (it shares some symptoms with mad cow disease) and got the living room, kids' rooms, and the bathrooms unpacked on Saturday morning before Z arrived home. I think my military pedigree, first as a "brat" and secondly as a wife, has served me well. This is a day to remember, for sure. I'm calling this memorable event the "Unpacking Melee of March '09". I could take a day each year at the end of March and celebrate it in memoriam by throwing paper, tape, and cardboard everywhere and dumping the entire contents of the house into the living room, but I think that my memory and the accompanying involuntary twitches will serve just fine.
Z got back to our house around 3 in the afternoon, we went to set up the chairs and such for the next morning's church at 7 p.m. (we are currently meeting in an elementary school until we can get our own building), and got home after 9 p.m. -- and then Z and I had to run to Wallyworld to scrounge a cable for the preacher's new mike. The one we had was too short.
Got home, slept, got up and went to church, left Mom and Dad at church with the kids and zipped immediately following service to drive the 3 hours back to the airport to drop Z off, then drove home (which took over 4 hours thanks to construction and idiots who tried to drive up the emergency lane to cut in front of the already slow-moving traffic merging into one lane), went to a church business meeting since Z wasn't there, and got home around 8 p.m. Z was actually on Texas ground for 26 hours before he had to fly back to D.C., and most of that time was either in the car, sleeping, or at church.
The next day I continued the "let's enroll in school" circus for A. The first school I had gone to on Thursday the 26th (the one we are zoned for) is actually an accelerated learning school that is bilingual, pre-k through fifth. Oddly, the second language is French; I figured it would be Spanish in these parts. The office receptionist was a little snooty and coolly asked where my son was, because he had to start on the day he was registered. I'd left A at home with Z's mom to get the paperwork portion finished, because A does not do well in strange places -- especially when he gets bored. Boredom just encourages playing with his God given toys, if you catch my drift, and that's not exactly the best first impression his new school needs.
When I explained that my son has some special needs and that I would go home and get him after the paperwork portion was completed, she got a distasteful look on her face and directed me to the special needs coordinator for the district, who had just happened to walk into the office at that very moment. Mrs. S was very nice and tactfully suggested that A attend another elementary school very close by that had the resources he would need (occupational and speech therapies). But she couldn't be there until Monday the following week, so I was to await her phone call on March 29th and meet her over there to finish enrolling A in the district. (The paperwork I received at I. Elementary is the same stuff that M. Elementary needed, so I had that portion finished already).
So I waited on Monday morning....and waited....and, no phone call. I finally called the school, and they explained that she had to take care of an emergency at another school but they had all of A's information. I headed up to the second school, which is about 3 minutes away, and was pleasantly surprised and felt pretty sure that this would actually be a much better fit for A. For starters, there's no school uniform required -- he can wear whatever he wants to. And the receptionists were very nice and very helpful. His teacher is awesome and totally used to accomodating special needs kids. She actually took time to come down and meet me in the office, took me down the hall to show me the classroom, and listened to what I was telling her about A.
Shazaam! A was registered, and could start.
Well, not so fast....it would seem that Texas has an additional vaccination that is required to be in school, one that Maryland does not require: Hepatitis A. A couldn't start school until he had his first shot in the series.
Being brand spankin' new, without a family doctor, and no longer able to use the military clinics, we had to go downtown to the health department. Which only does immunizations on Tuesday mornings, thank you very much. So, early on Tuesday I drag A with me to the local health department so he can get his shot. Z's mom was still with us, so I left K with her. Thank goodness!
I have never seen so many large graphic photographs of STDs in my life. All just boldly hanging there on the walls and displayed on little easels throughout the health department's waiting area. I was just waiting for A to realize that Hey! he's got one of those penis things too -- and then wonder where his red and black spots were. Yikes. It is actually a blessing that A doesn't talk much and that K wasn't there...I'm not sure how I would have handled his little sister loudly and repeatedly asking what each picture was.
I have also never seen so many scared-looking teenaged girls, pregnant teenage girls, or teenage girls with babies gathered in one place, either. It was actually pretty sad.
But -- we eventually got the shot (an hour and a half after arriving), and after a screaming fit (A's, not mine) made it to school for A to start on Tuesday morning. He has school full day here. He has to be at school at 7:00 a.m., when the bus arrives, and leaves at 2:45. For pre-school. Granted, breakfast is at 7 a.m., and school doesn't start until 7:25, but I'm not going to let him ride the bus and then just sit there and wait while all the other kids are eating. Plus, it really does simplify things from our end at home: wake him up, change his clothes, and put him on the bus at 6:30 -- they'll take care of breakfast and lunch. Today (Monday, April 6th) is his first day on the bus, so we'll see how it goes; I've been taking him to and from school last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
BUT. Here's where things got interesting:
The school nurse called me at 11 a.m. on Thursday because A was screaming in pain. He would calm down, and then start up again and double over at the waist. I stayed with him at school until about noon, and then took him home. His lower abdomen was distended and very hard, and tender to the touch at this point, so we wound up in the emergency room (trip numero dos) and stayed there until well after 8 p.m. The doctors kept hemming and hawing over whether they were going to admit A or not, and finally decided not to -- but he had to come in the next day for more tests and examinations. A sedative, a cat scan (after the sedative), and three doses of morphine later, it was finally determined that the problem was not his appendix (Thank God) but he actually had a severe monstrous blockage of his lower intestine.
Think constipation, but on a much larger scale. A's digestive system, for whatever reason, has always been a bit slow, and he's had some difficulties toileting at times (which has made potty training doubly difficult). We don't know if this is a feature of his autism and subsequent digestive issues, or if that's just the way he would be even without the autism. A had been providing us with small B.M.s every day, but nothing overly much since just before we moved (just over two weeks ago). A was put on an antibiotic for an ear infection at that time, and that's what the doctors think started the whole process (those antibiotics can stop you up like nobody's business). That, combined with the move and sitting for three days straight in the car, the stress of having his entire routine changed (yup, stress can "gitcha" too), and then eating a primarily fast food diet for a couple of weeks all added up to one large problem. And A, because of his communication challenges, had no way to tell us he was not feeling well or uncomfortable until it got bad enough for him to scream and cry.
To prevent having to do surgery (because the obstruction was so severe) the doctors were actually giving A adult doses of laxatives, both orally and in the other end to try to move things along. We had a "blessed event" about an hour after we got home, but nothing at the hospital, and nothing else after.
Friday, A was still screaming occasionally with pain, and the doctors gave us yet another prescription for another type of laxative, along with a myriad of rear end treatments and some pain meds. (I purchased some vinyl gloves on my own, just because of what we're dealing with here. I can always use them to cook broccoli if I don't use the whole box dealing with A. Oh, yeah, I'm allergic to broccoli by the way, can't even touch it without breaking out in hives. I suppose that would have been a weird statement without that knowledge).
We left straight from the doctor's office to take Z's mom to where the airport is. She had to be at the airport at 4:45 a.m. Saturday, and we didn't want to leave our house at 1:30 a.m. to make the trek over there, so we stayed the night Friday at a hotel near the airport and took her over the next morning. Meanwhile, A was still dealing with his issues, so that was fun. I had the singularly nasty experience of giving my son a suppository, which I pray won't ever be necessary again, and even that didn't do a thing! It took until Sunday after church to get everything else "taken care of", but I think we're finally sufficiently recovered. A has been acting his typical self since about 2:00 yesterday afternoon.
A rode the bus this morning for the first time, so I'll see him again at 3 or so this afternoon -- provided I don't get yet another phone call from the school requesting my presence. So -- today I'm catching up on housework and other things. I neglected to get to the dining room and my bedroom in the Unpacking Melee of March '09, so I look forward to getting out of the Picasso stage very soon. (OH, you know. When you move, everything in the house is a study in "cubism". Is it a chair? Is it a table? It's both! It must all be from his "brown" period, though...)
FIRST, the furniture arrived Friday morning the 27th. Yay! Real live beds! Real live chairs and a table to eat on! Real live dishes! True to the Mover's Code of Really Abysmal Packing (CRAP, for short), none of the boxes' labels really accurately describe the contents -- so it's like Christmas morning every time I open a box. I never know what I'll find, other than a guarantee of copious amounts of paper. (One box, marked simply as "handbags", contained 2 purses; some toys from K's room; part of an upright oscillating fan; a few VHS tapes; a stuffed frog pillow; a couple of baskets; a dog toy; and a small, pink, flip-top garbage can -- mine from my office.) I worked like a mad woman to get the kitchen at least unpacked (but not completely put away) Friday night.
Adding to the mix, Z's dad finished his week-long training in San Antonio and also arrived last Friday evening, to visit with his wife and the rest of us. I love having family come visit, so it was happy chaos with A and K scrambling to see who could wedge themselves deeper into his lap, and shrieking with laughter. I also had to figure out how, in unfamiliar territory and in the dark, to get to the local Ryan's restaurant, which was separated from the road I knew by a large moat. I figured it out, but not without a few wrong turns and narrowly missing a Cadillac.
Dad and Mom (Z's) drove all the way to the airport to pick up Z on Saturday morning, 1) so that he and mom could have some "alone" time together to talk and catch up after being separated for a week, and 2) so Z's parents could actually visit with Z somewhat on the 3+ hour return trip. Z's dad had to leave for conference in Las Vegas on Sunday afternoon, so it was visit with Z then or never.
While they were gone, I kicked into "High Nesting Mode" (it shares some symptoms with mad cow disease) and got the living room, kids' rooms, and the bathrooms unpacked on Saturday morning before Z arrived home. I think my military pedigree, first as a "brat" and secondly as a wife, has served me well. This is a day to remember, for sure. I'm calling this memorable event the "Unpacking Melee of March '09". I could take a day each year at the end of March and celebrate it in memoriam by throwing paper, tape, and cardboard everywhere and dumping the entire contents of the house into the living room, but I think that my memory and the accompanying involuntary twitches will serve just fine.
Z got back to our house around 3 in the afternoon, we went to set up the chairs and such for the next morning's church at 7 p.m. (we are currently meeting in an elementary school until we can get our own building), and got home after 9 p.m. -- and then Z and I had to run to Wallyworld to scrounge a cable for the preacher's new mike. The one we had was too short.
Got home, slept, got up and went to church, left Mom and Dad at church with the kids and zipped immediately following service to drive the 3 hours back to the airport to drop Z off, then drove home (which took over 4 hours thanks to construction and idiots who tried to drive up the emergency lane to cut in front of the already slow-moving traffic merging into one lane), went to a church business meeting since Z wasn't there, and got home around 8 p.m. Z was actually on Texas ground for 26 hours before he had to fly back to D.C., and most of that time was either in the car, sleeping, or at church.
The next day I continued the "let's enroll in school" circus for A. The first school I had gone to on Thursday the 26th (the one we are zoned for) is actually an accelerated learning school that is bilingual, pre-k through fifth. Oddly, the second language is French; I figured it would be Spanish in these parts. The office receptionist was a little snooty and coolly asked where my son was, because he had to start on the day he was registered. I'd left A at home with Z's mom to get the paperwork portion finished, because A does not do well in strange places -- especially when he gets bored. Boredom just encourages playing with his God given toys, if you catch my drift, and that's not exactly the best first impression his new school needs.
When I explained that my son has some special needs and that I would go home and get him after the paperwork portion was completed, she got a distasteful look on her face and directed me to the special needs coordinator for the district, who had just happened to walk into the office at that very moment. Mrs. S was very nice and tactfully suggested that A attend another elementary school very close by that had the resources he would need (occupational and speech therapies). But she couldn't be there until Monday the following week, so I was to await her phone call on March 29th and meet her over there to finish enrolling A in the district. (The paperwork I received at I. Elementary is the same stuff that M. Elementary needed, so I had that portion finished already).
So I waited on Monday morning....and waited....and, no phone call. I finally called the school, and they explained that she had to take care of an emergency at another school but they had all of A's information. I headed up to the second school, which is about 3 minutes away, and was pleasantly surprised and felt pretty sure that this would actually be a much better fit for A. For starters, there's no school uniform required -- he can wear whatever he wants to. And the receptionists were very nice and very helpful. His teacher is awesome and totally used to accomodating special needs kids. She actually took time to come down and meet me in the office, took me down the hall to show me the classroom, and listened to what I was telling her about A.
Shazaam! A was registered, and could start.
Well, not so fast....it would seem that Texas has an additional vaccination that is required to be in school, one that Maryland does not require: Hepatitis A. A couldn't start school until he had his first shot in the series.
Being brand spankin' new, without a family doctor, and no longer able to use the military clinics, we had to go downtown to the health department. Which only does immunizations on Tuesday mornings, thank you very much. So, early on Tuesday I drag A with me to the local health department so he can get his shot. Z's mom was still with us, so I left K with her. Thank goodness!
I have never seen so many large graphic photographs of STDs in my life. All just boldly hanging there on the walls and displayed on little easels throughout the health department's waiting area. I was just waiting for A to realize that Hey! he's got one of those penis things too -- and then wonder where his red and black spots were. Yikes. It is actually a blessing that A doesn't talk much and that K wasn't there...I'm not sure how I would have handled his little sister loudly and repeatedly asking what each picture was.
I have also never seen so many scared-looking teenaged girls, pregnant teenage girls, or teenage girls with babies gathered in one place, either. It was actually pretty sad.
But -- we eventually got the shot (an hour and a half after arriving), and after a screaming fit (A's, not mine) made it to school for A to start on Tuesday morning. He has school full day here. He has to be at school at 7:00 a.m., when the bus arrives, and leaves at 2:45. For pre-school. Granted, breakfast is at 7 a.m., and school doesn't start until 7:25, but I'm not going to let him ride the bus and then just sit there and wait while all the other kids are eating. Plus, it really does simplify things from our end at home: wake him up, change his clothes, and put him on the bus at 6:30 -- they'll take care of breakfast and lunch. Today (Monday, April 6th) is his first day on the bus, so we'll see how it goes; I've been taking him to and from school last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.
BUT. Here's where things got interesting:
The school nurse called me at 11 a.m. on Thursday because A was screaming in pain. He would calm down, and then start up again and double over at the waist. I stayed with him at school until about noon, and then took him home. His lower abdomen was distended and very hard, and tender to the touch at this point, so we wound up in the emergency room (trip numero dos) and stayed there until well after 8 p.m. The doctors kept hemming and hawing over whether they were going to admit A or not, and finally decided not to -- but he had to come in the next day for more tests and examinations. A sedative, a cat scan (after the sedative), and three doses of morphine later, it was finally determined that the problem was not his appendix (Thank God) but he actually had a severe monstrous blockage of his lower intestine.
Think constipation, but on a much larger scale. A's digestive system, for whatever reason, has always been a bit slow, and he's had some difficulties toileting at times (which has made potty training doubly difficult). We don't know if this is a feature of his autism and subsequent digestive issues, or if that's just the way he would be even without the autism. A had been providing us with small B.M.s every day, but nothing overly much since just before we moved (just over two weeks ago). A was put on an antibiotic for an ear infection at that time, and that's what the doctors think started the whole process (those antibiotics can stop you up like nobody's business). That, combined with the move and sitting for three days straight in the car, the stress of having his entire routine changed (yup, stress can "gitcha" too), and then eating a primarily fast food diet for a couple of weeks all added up to one large problem. And A, because of his communication challenges, had no way to tell us he was not feeling well or uncomfortable until it got bad enough for him to scream and cry.
To prevent having to do surgery (because the obstruction was so severe) the doctors were actually giving A adult doses of laxatives, both orally and in the other end to try to move things along. We had a "blessed event" about an hour after we got home, but nothing at the hospital, and nothing else after.
Friday, A was still screaming occasionally with pain, and the doctors gave us yet another prescription for another type of laxative, along with a myriad of rear end treatments and some pain meds. (I purchased some vinyl gloves on my own, just because of what we're dealing with here. I can always use them to cook broccoli if I don't use the whole box dealing with A. Oh, yeah, I'm allergic to broccoli by the way, can't even touch it without breaking out in hives. I suppose that would have been a weird statement without that knowledge).
We left straight from the doctor's office to take Z's mom to where the airport is. She had to be at the airport at 4:45 a.m. Saturday, and we didn't want to leave our house at 1:30 a.m. to make the trek over there, so we stayed the night Friday at a hotel near the airport and took her over the next morning. Meanwhile, A was still dealing with his issues, so that was fun. I had the singularly nasty experience of giving my son a suppository, which I pray won't ever be necessary again, and even that didn't do a thing! It took until Sunday after church to get everything else "taken care of", but I think we're finally sufficiently recovered. A has been acting his typical self since about 2:00 yesterday afternoon.
A rode the bus this morning for the first time, so I'll see him again at 3 or so this afternoon -- provided I don't get yet another phone call from the school requesting my presence. So -- today I'm catching up on housework and other things. I neglected to get to the dining room and my bedroom in the Unpacking Melee of March '09, so I look forward to getting out of the Picasso stage very soon. (OH, you know. When you move, everything in the house is a study in "cubism". Is it a chair? Is it a table? It's both! It must all be from his "brown" period, though...)
Belt Buckle Top Ten
I am a list maker; I can generally make sense of or organize things after I get it all laid out. Lists are made for everything...shopping, daily tasks, goals. If there ever comes a time when there is nothing to write and type on or with, I'm going to be in bad shape. You might even say I'd be listless. (Yeah, I know -- but there's no one here to throw something at me so the lame jokes are presented in relative safety. I blame sleep deprivation, which I will explain in another post.)
There is something here in Texas that I haven't quite been able to wrap my brain around just yet, though, so I'm making a list to try to make sense of it: People here wear belt buckles the size of their heads. Why? Who knows. I'm sure there is a list already in existence out there making the internet rounds (via multi-forwarded e-mail format), but I haven't seen it yet -- so here's my take on the issue:
TOP TEN REASONS TEXANS WEAR ENORMOUS BELT BUCKLES
10. State law? OK, probably not -- although I do think it might be a state law for every family to own a large pickup truck. I do know that if you want to "fit in" and look like a native, you can't go wrong with a hub-cap-sized buckle at your waist. Show your state pride! Wear a belt buckle the size of your state! (My apologies to Rhode Island).
9. Bling Bling. Men in New Yawk wear gold necklaces. Men in Washington, D.C. wear tie tacks. Men (and some women) in Texas wear large, shiny belt buckles. It's the ultimate fashion must for that "put together" Texan look, closely followed by cowboy hats and boots. (Spurs are optional for dressy occasions.)
8. Fastener. Used to fasten the belt and hold up one's pants. What? You were expecting something else?
7. Name Tag. If you ever forget your name or how to spell it, just look down at your belt buckle...I've seen several that have the name of the owner on it. I suppose it's a good theft deterrent, too: no one is likely to steal your belt if your name is on it.
6. Advertising. Nothing says "Come breed with us!" like a huge belt buckle the size of a dinner plate emblazoned with an anatomically correct bull and the name of the ranch where the stud resides (along with "breeders" carefully spelled out under the picture). A picture sometimes says more than words, right? This one says, "We're good to go!"
5. Romantic Gesture/Symbol of Love. Nothin' says lovin' like "John and Amy" or "Mom" on your waistband, along with a picture of longhorn cattle. I suppose it is less permanent than a tattoo, in case you need to change it.
4. Safety. If you're out doing some hard-core cattle wrangling and then realize that you're lost, you can use your shiny belt buckle as a device to signal for help, using the sun. You can also use it as a weapon if you run out of ammo; just whip your belt off and beat the snot out of your foe, whether it's a feral hog or a mugger.
3. Exercise aid. Given the size of the buckles, it comes as no surprise that they have got some weight to them. Keep wearing it and you're guaranteed to lose some weight...and possibly bow your legs while you're at it, depending on the size you're wearing. Ever wonder why some cowboys swagger?
2. Trophy. Hockey has the Stanley Cup, which has the names of all the winning team members inscribed on it, and is displayed at the home arena. (GO RED WINGS by the way!). Rodeo has a belt buckle with the name of the winner inscribed on it, but the (slightly) smaller size makes it more portable and demonstrates the strength of the wearer. See "exercise aid" above.
And the number one reason Texans wear belt buckles:
1. Cover up. I have observed that a good many Texan men love to wear very (very) tight jeans. The large belt buckle provides them a way to hide their, ah, "panhandle".
There is something here in Texas that I haven't quite been able to wrap my brain around just yet, though, so I'm making a list to try to make sense of it: People here wear belt buckles the size of their heads. Why? Who knows. I'm sure there is a list already in existence out there making the internet rounds (via multi-forwarded e-mail format), but I haven't seen it yet -- so here's my take on the issue:
TOP TEN REASONS TEXANS WEAR ENORMOUS BELT BUCKLES
10. State law? OK, probably not -- although I do think it might be a state law for every family to own a large pickup truck. I do know that if you want to "fit in" and look like a native, you can't go wrong with a hub-cap-sized buckle at your waist. Show your state pride! Wear a belt buckle the size of your state! (My apologies to Rhode Island).
9. Bling Bling. Men in New Yawk wear gold necklaces. Men in Washington, D.C. wear tie tacks. Men (and some women) in Texas wear large, shiny belt buckles. It's the ultimate fashion must for that "put together" Texan look, closely followed by cowboy hats and boots. (Spurs are optional for dressy occasions.)
8. Fastener. Used to fasten the belt and hold up one's pants. What? You were expecting something else?
7. Name Tag. If you ever forget your name or how to spell it, just look down at your belt buckle...I've seen several that have the name of the owner on it. I suppose it's a good theft deterrent, too: no one is likely to steal your belt if your name is on it.
6. Advertising. Nothing says "Come breed with us!" like a huge belt buckle the size of a dinner plate emblazoned with an anatomically correct bull and the name of the ranch where the stud resides (along with "breeders" carefully spelled out under the picture). A picture sometimes says more than words, right? This one says, "We're good to go!"
5. Romantic Gesture/Symbol of Love. Nothin' says lovin' like "John and Amy" or "Mom" on your waistband, along with a picture of longhorn cattle. I suppose it is less permanent than a tattoo, in case you need to change it.
4. Safety. If you're out doing some hard-core cattle wrangling and then realize that you're lost, you can use your shiny belt buckle as a device to signal for help, using the sun. You can also use it as a weapon if you run out of ammo; just whip your belt off and beat the snot out of your foe, whether it's a feral hog or a mugger.
3. Exercise aid. Given the size of the buckles, it comes as no surprise that they have got some weight to them. Keep wearing it and you're guaranteed to lose some weight...and possibly bow your legs while you're at it, depending on the size you're wearing. Ever wonder why some cowboys swagger?
2. Trophy. Hockey has the Stanley Cup, which has the names of all the winning team members inscribed on it, and is displayed at the home arena. (GO RED WINGS by the way!). Rodeo has a belt buckle with the name of the winner inscribed on it, but the (slightly) smaller size makes it more portable and demonstrates the strength of the wearer. See "exercise aid" above.
And the number one reason Texans wear belt buckles:
1. Cover up. I have observed that a good many Texan men love to wear very (very) tight jeans. The large belt buckle provides them a way to hide their, ah, "panhandle".
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