Happy Saturday!

Yes…

happy stay-in-the-house-in-your-jammies-because-it’s-raining-and-you’re-all-sick-anyway Saturday!

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It’s a little early…

but the boy is ready for St. Patrick’s Day. 

Please ignore my dirty house in background. 

Or, if you prefer, you may study it more closely…

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Nine-Year-Old Art

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Sniffle Boy And His Doughnut

He will probably be fine to go back to school tomorrow, but today was a doughnut day.

It was also a Mama-doesn’t-care-about-the-green-felt-pen-marks-on-your-neck day.

♥

Out and Ugly, but totally Alpha

Our spice cupboard has been on the clutter control hit list for a few years.   I finally tackled it this weekend.

It’s not the solution I dreamed of, but it’s a huge relief in this house of never ending inconveniences.

This will just have to do until I get enough nerve and know-how to open the wall.

I learned that I don’t need to buy crushed red pepper or cinnamon again for a very loooooong time. 

♥

Thrift Store Find – Beautiful Threaded Ribbon

And speaking of things I dream of…

I am smitten with ribbon.

I use it frequently, but I also have plenty that I just like to look at.

Today’s thrift store purchase falls into that category.  I plan only to gaze at it dreamily, unless a really spectacular ribbon-needy occasion presents itself.

I’ve never seen anything like it before and I look at ribbon almost everyday.  Everyday and everywhere.

Maybe one of you will tell me this ribbon is very common…

or maybe you will tell me that it’s just 99 cents at Target or something.

But I don’t think so.

Even if you tell me that, I don’t care.

It’s officially the loveliest ribbon in my collection.

Isn’t it dreamy?

Happy Wednesday!

♥♥

My mom broke her ankle on the 25th and now my brain can’t wrap itself around anything but that.  Mom missed Christmas too.

When I returned home late on Christmas night, my son had already pulled down his handmade decorations.  It broke my heart and made me instantly teary to realize that our little family unit had once again been split apart on the biggest holiday of the year.  I left on Christmas afternoon and my son just thought it was over.  Makes me weepy, even now.

My mother’s house isn’t right for someone with a handicap.  We learned that when my dad was still alive, but for some reason, we never did anything very permanent about it.

Even worse, when dad passed away, we actively discarded home health equipment and eliminated entry access ramps.  Maybe that was for mostly right reasons.  We needed to move forward and put the house back together, but it kills me now to see how much we need those things.

My mom is struggling to deal with this challenge.  She is used to being very independent.  Now, she is trapped in her house and at the mercy of family and friends.

I can’t be there much and I am both possessed by guilt and protective of the energy I need for dealing with my son.  In a perfect world, I would probably have clones.  I would have a lot of clones.

But the world is far from perfect.  My mom is having a really hard time and so am I.  I was tired before this happened.  Exhausted, really.

When I got the phone call about mom’s accident, I was actually lying down.  I had just drifted off to the first afternoon nap I’d dared to take in almost a year.  My mom was scheduled to join the three of us for dinner a few hours later, but of course, she never arrived.  Instead, I got that phone call and then I left to spend Christmas at the Kaiser E.R.  At least I got to see my brothers.  Hmm.

Tomorrow starts week three.  Mom has a cast on her leg.  There’s a hospital bed in her dining room, neighbors doing the laundry, and a steady stream of friends to say hello and bring some food.  Mom’s sweet and nervous dog is discombobulated by the hubbub.  And I am still tired.

I don’t know how to shut off the constant rattle of responsibility in my brain.  Mom keeps telling me “don’t worry” and “take care of yourself” and “go, if you need to.”  But I can’t do any of that.  No matter how rough my day is, it always seems so much better than what my mom is facing right now.

She will get the cast off.  Her broken bone will likely heal. She has already had a successful surgery.  This situation is only temporary.  It really is, but none of that helps with the present.  The present sucks for everyone.  Mostly, it sucks for my mom.

It’s hard for her to do the simplest things.  This injury is exhausting, stressful and depressing.  I’ve had surgery.  I know how it is.  You get defeated pretty fast.  She has highs and lows, hope and despair.

I don’t know the solution to my own dilemma, much less to mom’s.  My little family needs something good to happen.  We three need a break, a respite from responsibility.  I don’t know how to get that.

It seems that whenever we start to relax a little, like we did on our Palm Desert weekend, something happens to remind us that we can’t let our guards down, we don’t get breaks and life isn’t fair.

I’m not at my mom’s as often or as long as I feel I should be, but I am emotionally entangled in all of this.  Daughters don’t turn off worry.  Mind-blowing concern is part of the daughter directive.  So I don’t know what to do.  Part of the mommy directive is being awake, alert and pleasant enough to make math problems out of play-doh every night, without much argument.  The two directives don’t work together.

Fail.

I just don’t feel like I’m doing any of it very well.

And now I’m too tired to write.

Happy Saturday. 

♥

P.S.  A big, fat thank you to our wonderful friends, Michael and Jewyl, for cooking us a delicious meal and letting us sit in their beautiful new house to forget about the world outside for a while.  You guys always make me laugh.  I love you for that. 

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Thanks for getting it, Daddy!

The snow blows around by itself.  So cute.

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Here’s the boy writing out the notes to Jingle Bells.  He doesn’t read sheet music.  He doesn’t know what a treble clef is.  He doesn’t know how to draw a proper half note or quarter note, but he knows where to put the notes relative to the others.  He gets it.  Gotta get this boy some lessons…and teach him the correct lyrics!

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Last, but not least, here’s some Jenga math from the boy:

He made me print these.  Not sure what he’s going to do with them. 

Happy LastMondayBeforeChristmasOhMyGoshWhat?!

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P.S.  Stuff in our house that isn’t usually here:  Minty Mallows from Trader Joe’s, brie, some kind of creamy, crumbly, orange and blue cheese that melts in your mouth and makes you wonder why you ever thought you could give up cheese thank you very much Sarah , twelve kinds of cookies (not an exaggerated number), one dreamy piece of oatmeal cake with coconut pecan frosting, cranberry ice, Andes mints, old-timey homemade rock candy thank you Jennifer, Hershey’s Kisses, Smuckers caramel ice cream topping, a bouquet of pine and other winter greens,  Rancho Raviri Almond yummies and one squishy Kinder Happy Hippo thank you Leighann,  World Market Texas Turtle coffee, and one small “gingerbread” crack house with missing shingles, a bad paint job and compromised structural integrity.

The end.  What’s in your kitchen this month?

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Never say never.   The finality of it will feel like a challenge.  (Insert far too much self-analysis here.)

No matter how careful I am, I am not careful enough to keep from splattering big dark blobs of hair color all over the carpet every time I dye my hair.

If I forget to put the sheets in the dryer until 11:00 p.m., then we have to wait until 11:40 to go to bed.

I’m too old to stay up until 11:40.

Taking a cat to the vet costs at least $500.  They always find a problem.  It’s just the same as taking your car to the shop, except there’s fur.

IKEA seems like such a good idea, until I get there, and then it just makes me achy and sad.  Like nachos.

I don’t have enough space for my junk.  (I went to IKEA looking for junk storage.)

It’s really hard to let go of the stuff that I like to make room for the stuff that I love, sooooo…the stuff that I love is waiting in drawers and closets and piles and boxes.  Waiting.  And the stuff that I only like is hanging on the walls.  Sigh. 

Dark purple Mario fruit snacks look a lot like little balls of cat poo when I spy them on the floor in my dimly lit living room.  Their grape scent momentarily confuses me.

One of my son’s biggest challenges is communicating his long-term goals.  And by “long-term,” I mean what he wants four minutes from now.  He starts every goal by communicating only the first step: “I want Mama up.”  His ultimate objective is a mystery that only he can know until each step is completed, in order, one at a time.  I try to get more information by asking “I want Mama up because…??”  On a good day he will finish the sentence – “I want Mama up, because I want Mama to be standing.” 

When Oreo cookies go on sale, husband or I must buy them.  Must.  Buy.  Them.  Double Stuff.

My older brother knows way more about books than I ever will.

I used to love playing jacks.  The metal kind.  They were heavy and offered a satisfying tactile experience.  The new, too-big-for-little-fingers, neon-colored, sticks-to-itself-rubber jacks just aren’t the same. 

Giant umbrellas will pop open in the car.  Twice.

If I really enjoy the hotel jacuzzi, then I will not have a card key to get back into the building until I am freezing again.  Freezing.  In a wet swimsuit.  In the dark.  Other hotel guests will stare at me when I walk around through the parking lot to find an open door.  I will not find an open door.

Six quarts of crock pot vegetable soup = six quarts of trash if you add just one ingredient that doesn’t have quite the right flavor.  I added two.    Tarragon and green onions…what was I thinking?!?  Darn it!

If I decide at the last minute to take my cat to the vet, then I will forget to do something else, like put my son’s lunch in his backpack.

If I forget to put my son’s lunch is his backpack, my sense of self-worth in the motherhood department will look like a ball on New Year’s Eve – sparkling and determined (until the wrong is righted), then dark and low for a really long time.  Oy.

I can never have enough tin ornaments.

When I am at my lowest, a thrift store visit is sometimes all the pick-me-up I need, especially when it yields cheery little creatures.

Happy Tuesday!
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Happy Sunday.

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I can’t deal with the obsessive compulsive behaviors.

He wants us to hold his hand through absolutely everything.

Last night, we discussed the fact that he will need medication one day.

We won’t do that now, while he is young, but I do see that it’s true for his future.  My kid will need meds to get through his day.

That makes me sad.  Dealing with him makes me sad too, but watching him struggle with everything makes me the saddest of all.

He makes such progress.  Today he even asked me why I was crying.  Miraculous!  A year ago he wouldn’t have noticed, much less thought enough of it to form a perfect question.

And yet, he still cannot articulate many of his interests.  Exhaustion from trying to guess them and get him to say them is frequently what motivates my tears in the first place.  He fatigues me.

During his shower tonight, he called me into the bathroom four times and not once could he tell me what he wanted.  We haven’t stayed in the bathroom with him for over a year.  It’s not a new thing, but tonight he acted like it was.  He regresses.  I lose my mind.

It is rare that I am physically comfortable in the presence of my child.  The moment I get off my bad feet, he wants me on them again.  The second I go into the bathroom or the garage or upstairs or downstairs, he wants me to be in the kitchen or the bedroom or the front room or outside.  Today, I ate my cereal while standing in the kitchen.  Standing, because it was easier to just stay up after he made me leave my chair the third time.

Right now he is paralyzed on the stairs.  He has taken a bath, is stark naked, and probably is getting cold.  Our house is an ice box.  But he is paralyzed by something he can’t put into words.  I have tried to pull it out of him.  I figure it has something to do with the pajamas.  I know he doesn’t like the two pairs of pajama pants in the drawer right now, but even my asking about that gets nothing from him.  He just sits there.  He wants something from me, but he has no means of communicating what it is.  And I am desperately sick of the guessing game.

We still have no regular babysitter.  My mom and brother help out how and when they can, but no one comes to our house where he is the most comfortable.  No one lets us leave him here to get away for a moment together.  Our marriage suffers.  Our sanity wanes.

Husband has just pulled into the garage and the child is finally clothed and watching his video.

I’m too tired to write anything else.

Happy Friday.

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Without pen and paper.

Too cold and creeped out to go downstairs.

Gotta love a dry erase board in the bedroom.

Happy Wednesday!

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It’s Saturday morning.

The boy is up, energetic, LOUD, and relentless in his demands.

Just now he asked for banana circles.  Okay, not so loud or outrageous.

I cut them up and gave him the plate.

I figure I have about twelve seconds before he is finished eating them and wants me to do/make/be something else.

I’ll write fast.

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Thanksgiving is gone.

We had lots of people and a ton of food.

I wasn’t that excited about my mashed potatoes – should have used the russets.

The stuffing was kind of dry – celery chunks were too big and too plentiful.

My green beans were uninspired and far from my personal standard – bought late and microwave-steamed in the bag.  Sigh.  Painful to confess.  I served them anyway.  I ate them anyway.

But…

the guests brought delicious side dishes and desserts, the turkey seemed moist, and no one complained!

And I did make a very good cake – even if I do say so myself. 

I’m marking the “success” box.  Yea!

Husband and I were full and sleepy after everyone went home.  We sat on the couch, defenseless, and allowed an entire episode of the little boy’s  Wow Wow Wubbzy to assault us.

The boy was tired too.  Visiting cousins are very exciting!

I’m glad I got to see the taller ones for lunch in Old Town the next day.  There’s nothing quite like a huge plate of my favorite Mexican food, having someone else cook it, and then getting to shop afterward.  And with cousins, no less! 

♥

Now Christmas is coming. 

Miniature candy canes have been dipped in chocolate.

The trees are up – a big one downstairs, small ones in the bedrooms, a one-footer in the guest bath, and teeny versions tucked into the china hutch, the bookshelves, and a few other corners.

The little boy made paper trees to line the stairwell wall.

The stockings are at the mantle – one for each of us, one for each of the cats, and an extra for kitty cats past.

The garlands have been wrangled too.  Stripped of  failing white bulbs, they’ve been re-wrapped with cheery colored lights and hung happily from the banister and bookcases.

The upstairs landing looks like the site of like a plastic pine needle massacre and my hands are scratched in twenty different places, but the lights work!  Ha!

They’re on timers too.  I don’t even have to flip a switch for a daily dose of Christmas cheer.

Inflatable Santa is in the yard and husband hung the outdoor lights.  If the wind blows in from L.A. tonight, we’ll bring Santa inside for a while.

All of the leaves have dropped from the plum tree and the nasturtiums are back.

The late season hibiscus flowers are smaller, richer in color and more fleeting.

I stewed the mini pumpkins and poured them into the yard to hasten their demise.

And my twelve seconds are up.

What’s going on at your house?

Hope you’re having a Happy Saturday!

♥

P.S.  The picture is of the Fairy Princess Grey Poupon in her standard winter spot.  Sweet.  Warm.  Dirty, furry kitty.

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Weeks have passed since my last post, so there’s plenty to write…

but Thursday night, when I sat down to share highlights of our recent trip to the desert, all I could think about was the fact that my son was absolutely FREAKING out.

He’s sick again.  Or maybe still.

He missed a few days of school earlier in the month and then we traveled and exhausted him.  And rejuvenated him.  And exhausted him.

He played in the snow at the top of the mountain.

He swam for hours in a pool heated to bathwater temperature.

He painted a car at the Children’s Discovery Museum.

He ate every snack he wanted.

He enjoyed the trip.

We all really enjoyed the trip.  Even without mascara, sunglasses or a hairbrush.

But Thursday, the boy walked in from school and started falling apart.  By 4 o’clock, he had screamed and thrown things.  It went down hill from there.

I really believe the time change has messed him up.  He’s panicky about finishing things now.  It’s dark an hour after he gets home and I think it makes him nervous about his routine.

Nothing I did on Thursday seemed to calm him down.  I tried sweet and I tried stern.  I fed him and I gave him something to drink.  I tried distraction and positive reinforcement of his few good behaviors.  But what he most wanted, I couldn’t give him.

He wanted me to stand behind him and hold onto him while he endlessly repeated a complicated series of obsessive compulsive hand gestures, chants, head ticks, etc.  I wouldn’t do it and it made him mad.

When he asks for a plain old regular hug, it melts my heart and I’m totally in, but I won’t become part of his compulsive routine.  He can depend on me for a lot, but not for that.

I know that if I give in, he will expect it of me and of whomever else is with him.  He won’t be able to function without a human tool to manipulate as he sees fit.  Not everyone will understand, and as he ages and gets taller and stronger, his tantrums about it will be harder to manage.  No, I can’t give in.

Around 4:30, we had an appraiser over to measure and take photos of the house.  We’re refinancing and it’s required by law.  Just one more total violation of privacy rights in the course of a day.  Grrrrrrr.  But that’s another post.

The entire time the appraiser was here, my son was screaming at the top of his lungs.  The appraiser was not someone I trusted, so I couldn’t leave him to wander upstairs alone.  My son didn’t like that I left the room.  Despite the fact that he could see me on the landing above, he was furious and raging.

The dining chair my son “sat” in has become a squeaking, rickety mess because of his consistently ruthless shaking, slamming, scooting, and jumping.  Poor chair.  It’s loud now.  I feel like it’s crying for help.

I know my son is.  The problem with his cries is that I don’t know how to answer them sometimes.  I don’t always know what will change the evening for us.  I was exhausted by his behavior and the irritating sound of the chair’s complaints.  The two were deafening together.

I’m sure the appraiser thought we were both nuts.  I can hardly wait to see if the chaos of our home detracted from the value of our house.

Yesterday, I kept my son home from school.  It helped.  His obsessive compulsive episodes were frequent, but less intense than the day before.

We spent a lot of time at the table – cutting, pasting, taping, stapling.

I cut out pictures from ZooNews magazines and pasted them onto card stock.  This has become my favorite kind of Christmas ornament.

Here is my favorite from last year:

The boy made a turkey.

He wins.

I ♥ this turkey.

Happy Saturday!

♥

P.S.  One of my favorite things about the desert?   Brandini Toffee.  Oh my oh my oh my.

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P.P.S.  Nothing Bundt Cakes finally opened in Mission Valley.  The pumpkin cake sample sent me straight over the moon.  Must.  Have.  More.

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