When I picked up the mail today, I was a bit surprised to see a note from a boy in Splig's class.

"Thank you so much for coming to my birthday party - and for the awesome birthday gift. I was so happy you were there to celebrate with me."

Huh. That's great.

Except Splig didn't go to the boy's birthday party.

I think it is really funny that a week after I write about wanting to be thanked when I give gifts, and then a day after I write about being frustrated by not getting credit for fulfilling preschool snack duties, that I have now been thanked for something I didn't do.

Continue reading "Credit Where Credit isn't Due" »

Last year, we had a whole "homemade pumpkin bars" versus "CostCo pumpkin pie" drama over at the Cat's school, but there was also a minor glitch over at Splig's preschool.

Over there, my offer to bring pumpkin bars was accepted. The day of the Preschool Thanksgiving Feast, I saw the Room Moms setting up and asked where I should put the bars. They directed me to a refrigerator. I complied, even sticking huge signs on the bars to make sure they wouldn't get lost in the piles of other food in there.

Well, they got lost in the piles of other food in there.

When I picked up Splig, he was sad, "You said you were going to bring pumpkin bars for me and my friends. But we didn't get dessert!"

Continue reading "Thanksgiving is for the Birds!" »

Monday is "gymnastics day." I drive to the gym three times a week: twice for Splig, once for the Cat. And two times on Mondays. Splig has a morning class and the Cat has an afternoon one. As irony has it, if Splig were about 6 months older, his class would be the hour right before the Cat's. That would be convenient.

My mom is going through a clean-out-the-garage phase. Typically these things end up with me taking more than just an armload full of garbage home just to be stored willy-nilly in my shed until I get the clean-out-the-shed bug.

One of the things she pressed into my arms this time, though, was something that made me a bit nostalgic: she handed me my brother's gymnastics grips:

Continue reading "A Gripping Tale" »

I've done a bunch of holiday shopping already, and yes, the gifts are from actual stores, not hand-created by my little munchkins. I admire those who can pull off handmade gifts, but I've never really been in that boat. A few years ago, I made some decorative sleds for my cousins' kids, but I think that is sort of odd: you expect the crafty stuff to come from the kid, not the adult cousin.

Most of the handmade gifts are those that come to me, not from me. Last year, the Cat created at least five ceramic sculptures for various occasions. And this year, my parents embarrassingly brought to my home a mug that apparently I made during camp. (Sure, that wasn't a gift to them; it says "KARI" on it.) I know I made my dad a mug once, but that is probably at his office or something.

Continue reading "Glazed Gifts" »

Yesterday was a huge day for the Cat: he performed in the school's "Fall Vocal Music Assembly" before lunch, and then a couple hours later I pulled him out of school 20 minutes early so he could go to the dentist to get two teeth extracted. Poor guy was nervous about both things, but did well. He was especially excited to receive Wii Carnival Mini Golf as a special treat for being brave and to wake up to $10 this morning.

The "Fall Vocal Music Assembly" was a kick. The parents I was sitting with couldn't help laughing during several parts, primarily at the obvious enthusiasm (see deadpan faces and glowy tuned-out eyes above - non-removal of red-eye intentional) and unique renditions of the songs. And then there is how the music teacher made me think just a tad of Bobbi Mohan-Culp. (Okay, more than a tad, but I really feel bad mocking her.)

The instrumental music teacher was dressed in Army fatigues and brought the other four members of her Army Reserve Brass Quintet. Their songs were fabulous. Hearing You're a Grand Ol' Flag really took me back to Fourth of July parades when I was young, and to my own little assemblies, both vocal and piano.

When I came to pull out the Cat to pull out his teeth (heheh, little joke there) the school secretary didn't need to ask who my son is, or which teacher he has: she just got on the phone to call him to the office. Then the principal called out to him as he left, "Have a great weekend, [Cat!]" It is so nice to be in a school where everyone knows each other by name and can recognize which parents go with which kids.

Yesterday was long and tiring, but rewarding.

Last week I mentioned my hope that Mary McDonnell's portrayal of Asperger's on Grey's Anatomy would be dignified, and not stereotypical.

Alas, I am disappointed. The Virginia Dixon character is very challenged. She is rigid. She makes very little eye contact. She is exceptionally robotic in movement and tone. While she had a tiny bit of insight regarding "manipulation" (whereby Dr. Bailey created a "rule" so that Dr. Dixon would be forced to respect spiritual beliefs that she does not share given her "only science" perspective) she comes off as not an intelligent being, but rather a highly-trained one. This particular character appears to have shades of obsessive-compulsive disorder thrown in. (The "flat affect" is almost schizophrenic, too.) I find the encompassing of all the diagnostic criteria in one portrayal a bit much.

She made one "unnecessary" (if we take the perspective of "I am here just to do hearts") social advance in that she specifically brought up Asperger's by way of awkward explanation at the end of the episode. I wish she hadn't: it would have been truer to the character (since she doesn't seem to care what others think) and would have avoided a label, and thus a generalization about that label. Perhaps we will see her attempt to connect on some level with the rest of the staff, but I am doubtful at this point. This particular character is back to that Rainman stereotype: more inward-looking and quite impaired.

This portrayal very well might be someone else's reality, and for that I can be respectful.

But many people (or parents of people) on the spectrum will likely find Dr. Dixon to be yet another example of what they are not.

Continue reading "The First McDonnell Episode: Aspergers in Grey's Anatomy" »

I get that perhaps some religious folks want certain things not done on Sundays, but I can't imagine why model airplanes aren't to be flown on Sundays, and yet are apparently allowed any other day. I can think of louder, more obtrusive things that might be done on a school playyard than model airplane fying. And then there are kites. I guess kites are okay, but not airplanes? What if it is a kite in the shape of an airplane? Where is the line? Hmmmmm.....

Of the many baby book and baby memory-type souvenirs out there, there are plenty that revolve around feet: the books have the pages for ink-jobs and the rest of the world has those "plaster feet as a Christmas ornament" or "a plaster cake with 12 layers; one for each month" thing going on.

I was more attracted to my boys' wee hands, but I digress.

When the Cat was born, I planned to ink-stamp his feet every month. Yup, you are correct, that lasted exactly one month. I have the birth-set and the one-month-after. Then we moved across the country and I lost my mind. I think I have his footprint or a hand as a Christmas ornament, but as I recall it is darn heavy so never gets on the tree. For Husband's first "Father's Day," we made a T-shirt at Gymboree with the Cat's little feet. Yeah, like that was ever worn more than once.

Continue reading "Feet" »

I had to laugh when I saw that not only had the Cat been reading in bed, he had also been chowing down on some Reese's:

And then this morning, I caught a glimpse of a pretty tree in our neighbor's side yard and decided to snap a pic. Of course our other neighbor saw me do this, and probably wondered why I was using a zoom lens in the direction of their backyard.

Today is my grandma's 97th birthday. Not many people reach 97.

My other grandparents have been gone for awhile now: 13 years ago, 15 years ago, and 25 years ago. My grandmother's six siblings have been gone, too, although she doesn't know about her sister's passing last year. She also doesn't know about my aunt's passing. Her existence floats between past and present, so we made the decision not to specifically inform her of those two deaths. Still, on the day I learned her sister had passed, I also heard the Pat Monahan song, "Last of Seven" for the first time.

Indeed, she is the last of seven siblings. "Fourteen siblings," she'll tell you, though, since her mom had seven miscarriages. She's in many ways eager to meet those seven that she never knew, and excited that she'll be able to talk to her mentally disabled sister since "there are no disabilities in heaven." Her faith is so strong, and yet she shows it through actions rather than through words.

Continue reading "Happy 97, Grandma" »