Flat Flannery Friday #3

It’s time again for Flat Flannery Friday!!

You can read the original Flat Flannery story here.

Last week, our heroine was fleeing Berkeley, California, after an unfortunate visit to Jillsmo.

This week, the Flanster has made her way across the country, and is visiting our friend, Grace, from That’sRightISaidIt.Dot.Mom.

Let me tell you, this is no Berkeley debacle, because Grace knows how to show a girl a good time!  No sooner had Flanny arrived, and they were in the car, road tripping their way to a casino!

Now, according to Grace, Flanny was a bit of a handful.

“She backed up her drinks at the casino bar.  I don’t know which is the bigger problem, her drinking or her gambling.  She was outta control.”

See, no drinks in this picture!

But in Flanny’s version, Grace was throwing around drinks like it was Mardi Gras night on Bourbon street.

Either way, at some point nature called.  Poor Grace was so cockeyed that she wandered into the men’s room, where Flanny tried to drag her out, and spare her embarrassment.  But of course, someone snapped a picture of Flanny, just trying to be a good friend.

See how this guy is holding Flanny against the urinal to snap a picture? The nerve!

All in all, the girls had a great night out.  Except for that unfortunate cat fight in the parking lot.  It seems Grace is more of a Sebastian Bach/Skid Row kind of girl, and Flanny is partial to Axl Rose/Guns ‘N Roses.

Eh, he's not bad.

It's like staring at the sun! I need my shades!!

Luckily they were able to work it out like ladies, without Grace having to brandish the switch blade concealed in her jeans.

This was quite an adventure, and Flanny is looking forward to some relaxation on her next stop.  You’ll have to check back next week to see where that is!

Just a Little Privacy, Please?

My most heartfelt thanks to those that commented on my last post (even my sister, who will be getting a signed, limited edition “piece of art” for Xmas).  I’m so appreciative for all the kindness, support, and encouragement.  And of course, those autism rating scales don’t mean much when you’re the one living it every day. 

For those that want me to keep this slipshod operation going, here’s a new little nugget from this morning:

6:32 a.m.  me, shampooing hair in the shower, when shower curtain is abruptly ripped open

Me:  “Gahhhhhhhh!!”

there stands the hobgoblin, smiling

Connor:  “Mommy, I stayed in my bed ALL night, so do I get to use my new toothbrush?”

the incentive, a battery-powered Lightning McQueen toothbrush

Me:  “Um, I’m sort of busy right now, in the SHOWER.  We’re going to need to have another talk about privacy.”

Connor:  “Okay.  Can I have a cereal bar?”

Me:  “OUT!!”

30 seconds later, turning off shower, I hear Bzzzzzz zzzzzzz bzzzzzzz zzzzzzz

Connor:  “Gy-ga Mogmee.”

Me:  (trying to wrap towel around myself) “So I see you’ve decided to brush your teeth before breakfast?”

Connor:  (turning off toothbrush) “Yeah.  Mommy, you have a big chest” (reaches out and pokes right boob).

Me:  “Privacy.  PRIVACY.  Can I have some of that?  Ever?  I mean, seriously, please go away until I’m finished.”

Connor:  “Hahahaha, okay!  Oh, Mommy?

Me:  “What?”

Connor:  “For my birthday, I want you to bring cupcakes to school to my class.  Chocolate cupcakes, with green frosting.  ALL of them, green frosting.”

Me:  “Your birthday is a month away.  PRIVACY!!!!!!!”

Connor:  laughs hysterically as he dances off to the living room

 

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Congratulations, You’re Cured!

Perhaps you’ve noticed my conspicuous absence the last week.  Or maybe you didn’t notice at all (asshole).  Either way, it’s because I’ve been mulling things over.  The mulling of anything is never good, by the way.  It’s a known fact that “mulling” is a completely useless expenditure of time.

I’ve been mulling autism, which is a pretty big chunk of meat to mull.  You see,  our ABA therapy with Drew, the grad student, ended last week.  I realize many people would be concerned that the hallmark of autism treatment was coming to an end, but I was feeling quite relieved.  Not only was I getting my schedule back to normal, and would no longer have appointments 6 days each week, I also wasn’t completely convinced that it was helping.

What!?  ABA helps everyone with autism!  Well guess what, with my child, the technique seemed to produce more anxiety and an escalation of behavior much of the time (see my post about holding the demand).  There were some useful tools that we walked away with, but I wouldn’t say that the entire approach worked for Connor.

In addition, a couple of weeks ago we forced a medication change, and saw dramatic results.  Connor is much more pleasant and cooperative than he’s been in a year.  However, since this coincides with the end of ABA, there were some unexpected results.

During our final meeting with Drew, he brought over some questionnaires for us to complete with him.  One of them was the CARS (Childhood Autism Rating Scale), which measures “symptom severity through quantifiable ratings based on direct observation.”  We completed it together and Drew tallied up the results to share with us before leaving.

The results?  Connor doesn’t have autism.  Nope, not even mild.  He’s cured!!  It’s a miracle!!!!!

But he still struggles with reading and writing, and doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, and doesn’t like the sound of the vacuum, and doesn’t understand metaphors, and is very literal.

Of course, he’s never fit any particular category very well.  Except for ADHD, that one REALLY fits.  But as for the rest, it’s always been mild and very hard to define.  This makes it really hard to decide what services he needs.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.  There are so many kids that have it much harder, with greater challenges.  I get that.  But even though whatever “disorder” he has is mild, it is still a challenge.  Especially when you can’t define it.

Autism?  Asperger’s?

Who knows.

And what will I blog about if there are no autism shenanigans?  Maybe I will have to start a whole new blog that consists of really bad drawings.

Hmmm, on second thought…

If it’s not autism, then we also stand to lose out on some other great perks:

1.  We won’t get to attend the annual Autism Picnic, where Connor gets to look like a shining beacon of model behavior.

2.  I will have to admit to my mother that she was right all those times she said, “there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just an active boy.”

3.  We will lose our rightful claim to the coveted Disney Fast Pass, and will be stuck waiting in long lines with the NT kids.

4.  We won’t have any excuse to avoid “playdates” with other kids, other than the fact that I don’t so much like other kids.

5.  Instead of blaming his eccentricities on autism, I’ll just have to admit that he’s weird.  He got that from his dad.

But I remind myself that this is a spectrum, and I’m sure my child falls somewhere on it, if only at the mild end.  So I haven’t quite decided to hang up my “closed” sign yet, but will see what I can possibly find to write about now that my child is “cured”

Flat Flannery Friday #2

It’s time again for Flat Flannery Friday.  If you’re saying to yourself, “what in the hell is that”, then you can click here to get caught up.

This week finds Flat Flannery trekking to Berkeley, California, to visit with Jillsmo, from Yeah.  Good Times.  Sadly, I cannot report that all was hunky dory in hippieville.  There’s something dark going on in the land of Birkenstocks.

You see, during Flanny’s visit, she bore witness to some questionable events.  Of course, one would certainly expect any visit involving Jillsmo to be questionable.  It seems that on one day, while Flanny was enjoying the shade of a large tree, she saw Jillsmo spying on her neighbor, and eavesdropping on their phone call.  It was certainly in poor taste, to say the least.

Things went further downhill the next morning.  While Flanny sat in a local bagel shop, people watching out the window as she is prone to do, she witnessed Jillsmo, up to no good again.  Right there on the street, Jillsmo verbally assaulted an environmental activist who was trying desperately to spread the word about the dangers of radiation.  Flanny couldn’t believe her crooked eyes.

That evening, she confronted Jillsmo.  Of course, Jillsmo made excuses for her behavior.  But she had an evil plan brewing.  It started with liquor, which should be no surprise, since it is Jillsmo, after all.

But this was no party.  After Jillsmo convinced Flannery to consume copious amounts of liquor, she tried to “get rid of her,” to keep the sordid details of the visit a secret.

Yes, she tried to feed Flanny to a snake.  Let this be a lesson that you can’t trust every blogger you meet online!

Luckily, Flanny made a narrow escape, hitched a ride to the airport with the environmental activist, and has already embarked on her next adventure.

Jillsmo, however, remains at large in Berkeley.

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Ode to Springtime

Ahhhh, springtime!!

The weather is warming up, the flowers are blooming, and happiness abounds.  But in my house I don’t even need a calendar to tell me it’s springtime, because there are signs all around me.  Following are the five things in my world that herald in the change of seasons.

1.  Visitors

The critters are out.  Yesterday there was an opossum the size of a cocker spaniel in the backyard.  The dogs all rushed outside to defend their territory.  Old dog, Bailey, expressed his displeasure about the interloper by taking a gigantic dump near the bush.  The Dingo, Dora, stood ten feet away from the bush the critter was hiding in and proceeded to bark.  For half an hour.  Auntie’s dog, the little chihuahua, rushed right into the bush in an “I think I’m a German shepherd” attack mode, and had to be pulled out since he’s smaller than the intruder.  And finally, Connor ran around in circles yelling “where is the opossum, I can’t see it, where is it!!”

2.  Pollen

I go through a box of Puffs Plus every other day.  Thanks seasonal allergies!!

3.  Mating Season

Every day we find Connor’s stuffed blue bunny somewhere in the living room.  The dingo has been sneaking around in his bedroom and stealing it when no one is looking.  It’s always on the floor, or in her dog kennel, lying on its side, wet with dog slobber after she tires of making it her bitch.

4.  Mating Season, Take 2

Old dog, Bailey, is elderly and slow.  He has a kind, amiable personality, and the face of a happy, but weathered and beat down insurance salesman, named Larry.  When he lays his head on our lap, we always say “sorry Larry, but I have all the life insurance I need right now.”  But now that it’s springtime, every night at 9pm Larry drags his pillow out to the living room, drops it in front of the couch where we’re relaxing, and humps the daylights out of it.  Larry, it seems, is a closet exhibitionist.

Later that night, pillows and bunnies forgotten, canine love blossoms.

 

5.  Springtime Weddings

The final sign of springtime?  On Friday I picked Connor up from the Y afterschool program.  A girl from his class, Sarah, came over and asked, “Are you Connor’s mom?”  I tell her that I am, and she proceeds to announce “Connor asked me to marry him.”  Connor later confirms that, indeed, he has popped the big question.  I ask him what getting married means, and he says “I don’t know, but I asked Sarah and she said yes.”  Well that’s just super.  But tell me, what does the mother of the groom wear to a kindergarten wedding??

I always well up at Jewish kindergarten weddings.

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Don't make me ask again.

A Love Story, With Spikes

Might as well get this out of the way first, right?

 

I’m sure we’ve all read the stories about how parents of children with autism have higher divorce rates than other couples.  Some studies say the evidence doesn’t support it, citing that the divorce rate is roughly the same for parents with and without children on the spectrum, roughly 64-65%.

Either way, raising a child with special needs certainly puts strain on a relationship. 

I feel lucky every day to have my family, especially my awesome husband.  So I thought I would write a tribute to him, sort of, about how we manage to keep our marriage solid.

Declarations of Love

I know I’m loved because Husband never sends me flowers.  He especially goes out of his way to not send me flowers at work, for Valentine’s Day. 

Don’t misunderstand, I love flowers.  Flowers are beautiful.  But I don’t like having flowers sent to me because it makes me sad.  They start off so pretty, with so much promise, but within a few days they are sad, wilting, drooping.  The pretty fades so quickly, it’s not worth it to me.  Besides, I feel bad knowing that something so beautiful was ripped out of the ground, thrown into a FedEx truck, and delivered to me, just to sit under fluorescent lights.

Husband knows me, and understands me, so he never sends flowers.

Emotional Support

We all have those days, don’t we?  Some of those days have been very, very hard.  The kind of hard that makes you want to pluck out a soccer mom’s eye, ala Kill Bill, when you overhear her griping about how hard it is to chauffeur the NT kids, in the Volvo SUV, to all their after-school activities.

Sometimes, after a horrible day, I just crumple into a sobbing, snot-drenched heap.  It’s those times that really test the marital relationship.

Husband will come over, and put one strong but gentle hand on my shoulder, lean down, and whisper “get the fuck up, I can’t do this shit alone.”

Because he knows this isn’t just life with the Cleavers.  It’s more like a war.  An Autism war.  And in this war, we don’t let soldiers sit down and start fucking boo-hooing.  You grab them by the shirt, drag them to their feet, and pull them along. 

Because he loves me.  And he loves our son.

And because our theme song is Won’t Back Down, by Tom Petty.  Fuck yeah, Tom, fuck yeah.

Sleep

Husband knows how much I love sleep.  Sleep and I have had a love affair ever since I can remember.  It’s my favorite hobby because it’s free, and I’m really, really good at it.

But then you have a kid.

A kid on the spectrum.

Buh-bye, sleep!!

But husband lets me sleep in on the weekend, even though he’s really tired too.  He knows that if I don’t get enough sleep, I’m an unhappy and ineffective Mommy and Wife. 

Of course, he’s going to mention that he let me sleep in, several times.  He wants to make sure those points get logged on the scoreboard in my head.

Don’t worry, they did.

Humor

In our house, humor is a blood sport.  My friend Christine likes to say that I’m funny, with spikes.

We use our keenest faculties to search out and detect something funny, when there is seemingly nothing.  When my son didn’t seem like he would ever be potty trained, we discussed starting a line of designer pull-ups, for high school and college kids.  Flaming skulls was my favorite idea.  Hubs thought we should have Ed Hardy signature designed pull-ups, which would, of course, cost more.

At home Hubs calls me “Jackie.”  It’s not my name.  Not even close.  It’s code for “jackass.”  And of course he’s lovingly known as “Jack.”

When he wants me to have some “me” time, and pamper myself, he tells me, “Why don’t you go get your hooves filed down and painted, I’m afraid they’ll rip the sheets when we’re sleeping.”

He loves me like that.

I can’t imagine getting through this insanity without my husband.  He is not detail-oriented, nor is he good at finding and securing resources.  He does not read Wright’s Law books, and he isn’t the parent that the teachers and administrators dread hearing from.  He knows these are the things that I’m better at than he is.

But he is my rock.  Well, more like a boulder.  A big, craggy boulder.  One that keeps me going while I fight, calmly reigning me in when I’m close to crossing a line I might regret, letting me get extra sleep so I can do all those extra things I do, and sending me out of the house for some alone time when the stress seeps out of my pores like sweat.

See that over there?  That’s me and Jack, giving those autism divorce statistics the double-bird salute.

What? No, that really is me. I swear.

 

Okay, FINE. Thats Johnny Depp. A girl can dream, cant she?

Flat Flannery Friday!

People said I was crazy.  Crazy for having a dream that we, the artistically challenged, could find support, nay, acceptance in this cold, cold world.

Crazy like a fox.

Flat Flannery is making her way around the world, mile by mile.  This week I will highlight a photo that touched me.

This was submitted by Lizbeth, from Four Sea Stars.

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Flat Flannery visits the midwest.

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I know.  You’re thinking, “it’s just a picture of Flat Flannery in a bucket.” 

No people, it’s so much more.  You see, Lizbeth’s kids have been sick all week.  You can read about it here.

This was the trusted, and well used puke bucket.  I know, it’s kind of gross.  And I know you’re thinking, “Lizbeth threw Flat Flannery in a PUKE bucket for a reason, because it SUCKS.”

Okay, I see how you might think that.  But the truth is, Flat Flannery is in the puke bucket to provide Lizbeth with comfort, and to lift her spirits as she cleans up after her sick kids. 

Flat Flannery might be poorly drawn, but she is a friend.  A cheerleader for the overworked and underappreciated moms out there.

But hopefully next time the picture will be in a cornfield, or at a rib joint.  Something mid-west-ish.

So keep the photos coming.  I can’t wait to see what adventures lie in store for Flat Flannery next week (click here for the Flat Flannery story).

Special thanks to April and Jillsmo, for their submissions.  They will be in the running next week, along with the new ones that will come flooding in.

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An Open Letter to the Other Parents of Berkeley – Guest Post

So a few days ago I asked the illustrious Jillsmo, from Yeah. Good Times to Guest Post for me.  She was super excited to do it for me (I bribed her with pizza and beer).  She meant to get it to me yesterday, but something happened with vodka.  I’m not really sure.

 BUT, she was SUPER excited to send me this one:  “I whipped this one out (of my ass) for you.”

*sniff*

 And here it is!

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Dear Other Parents Who Live in Berkeley:

Okay, people: here’s the deal. Yeah, I’m super liberal, and it seems like I fit in around here,  but I’ve started to suspect that some of my parenting habits might get me kicked out of town if you all actually knew about them. So, I’ve decided to own these habits of mine and then get on with my life. I think it will be cleansing (you know, like in that stupid “spiritual cleansing” kind of way, that you guys do).

I didn’t breastfeed either of my kids. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, it just apparently wasn’t in the cards for us. You didn’t know about this because pulling a bottle out in a public location will actually get you a lecture from the hippie lady at the next table, so I kept all that stuff at home.

We go to McDonalds. Yes. We do. We frequent the huge mega-conglomerate evil fast food chain that makes our kids fat just by walking by one. I know, you’ve picketed and petitioned to get them out of town, but you lost, and there are 2 of these places in our town. And we go there. About once a week.

I go to Starbucks; like… a lot. I really like my mochas and I’ve been to every single place in town and tried every mocha available, and since there is no Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf around here, I’ve decided that Starbucks has the best mochas. I know, they use prison labor to make their cups. I KNOW they treat their employees badly, or something, I don’t know: who cares? They have good chocolate there, and good chocolate is the key to a good mocha.

My kids spend a lot of time in front of a computer; they each have their own (thank you, Grandparents!). I know, this will automatically make them fat and have  ADHD or something, and yet… I still let them. Because sometimes I have to work (or blog) and I don’t have the time to keep the 5 year old entertained. And you know what else? When YOUR kid comes over, that’s all they do when they’re here. Your kid really wants a computer, by the way.  Like… really wants one.

I drive my kids to school every morning. I know we only live 6 blocks away, but I always have to run off to some far away location to work immediately afterwards and I just don’t have the time to walk them up the street and then walk myself back to where my car is… so, we drive. Every day. And now that we’re in the habit of driving, I will even drive them on the days when I don’t work.

I hate bicycles. Fucking hate them. I hate riding them. I hate other people who ride them. They annoy the hell out of me when I’m driving. I don’t own one, neither of my kids have one (they have never wanted one; they have scooters) and as long as I can  help it, we will never get one.

I don’t do Yoga. I could never coordinate my frantic arm movements with all that crazy breathing you’re supposed to do, so I gave up very quickly. Also, I hate the sun and I like the rain, and if one more of you asks me if I’m enjoying this beautiful weather I’m going to fucking kick you in the shins.

I let my 5 year old watch Family Guy with me, and it’s had a really bad influence on him. The other day he wanted to know how old you have to be to have sex.

We have never done a family bed, because I never get a wink of sleep when they’re next to me.

I have never ever brought my own wooden silverware to a potluck, nor would I ever even consider it.

So, there you are: my list of sins against you, the City of Berkeley. OH MY GOD I hope nobody I know reads this, because I actually like living here, despite all of this, and I really don’t want to get run out of town for my sins. I do wear Birkenstocks every day, though, so that should balance some of this out, right? RIGHT?

Flat Flannery

Today I am protesting.  No, scratch that.  Today I am celebrating!

I’m celebrating the fact that I have absolutely no artistic talent, whatsoever.  But why would I celebrate such a thing?  Let me back up a moment.

Until last June, I had never read a blog in my life.  Then one day, Jillsmo turned me on to Hyperbole and Half, the best freakin’ blog ever.  Funny.  As.  Shit.

The best part?  Snarky, funny humor AND funny cartoon drawings. 

If only,  I thought, I had some artistic talent.  So I started a blog, sans creative, witty cartoons, relying solely on my wordsmithing ability. 

Cartoons would help.

So I decided to give this paint.net a whirl, since that’s what Allie Brosh uses.  Maybe THAT was the key to unlocking my inner artist.

I decided to draw a horse.

HORSE, by Flannery. 2011

Not so good, huh?

I decided to try again.  This time, I did a self-portrait.

Flat Flannery, by Flannery. 2011

Better, right?

So maybe I can get some mileage out of this.  What if every Friday on my blog was “Flat Flannery Friday?”  I could challenge you to print the picture, glue it to some cardboard for durability, and take a photo of Flat Flannery in different places.  Send it to me with a description, and every week I’ll pick the best one to post for the day, with a link to the bloggy site.

My own little take on Flat Stanley.  See what I did there?

It’s not like you need to stow away on the space shuttle, or book a flight to Egypt.  The picture could be anywhere, doing anything, as long as it’s creative.  Flannery could be cleaning your toilet for all I care.

Help make my dream a reality; my dream, that even the artistically challenged can celebrate their “art.” 

Join me, won’t you, in celebrating

Flat Flannery Fridays.

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Edit: For those of you without a blog to promote (gasp, shriek), I will post your photo and description, and a link to the charity of your choice.

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Click it. Do it for all the Flat Flannery's out there.

 

Blog Gems #13

Time for another edition of Blog Gems, over at The King and Eye.  This topic is related to mother’s day, and I’ve linked my post that details all my wonderful Mommy qualities!  Check it out, along with the other great posts.