Lapdog Meets Laptop

SIGH. YOUGUYS.

 

I TIRED.

 

SO VERY, VERY TIRED.

 

MOAR CHILDREN IN HOUSE THAN USUAL TODAY. THEY CALL IT PLAYDATE. NO LIKE. IS VERY LOUD WITH SHRIEKING. ALSO NEW CHILD SMELLS LIKE STICKY.

 

YET I NOT ALLOWED TO LICK NEW STICKY CHILD. WOE.

 

I STAY HERE INSTEAD WHOLE TIME SO THERE.

OH HEY DID I HEAR SUMBODY SAY SNACK? SUMTHING ABOUT A SNACK?

 

OH HEY GOTTA GO EXTRA CHILDREN MEAN EXTRA SNACKS AND EXTRA CRUMBS I LOVE PLAYDATES BYE

***

This post is sponsored by Milk-Bone as part of the "It's Good To Give" series. Check out their Canine Assistants program on Facebook, which helps people with disabilities and get involved by sharing photos of your own dog on the Milk-Bone Flickr stream.

Verdict

In the end, the decision was easier than I thought it would be. Jason and I essentially did a "on the count of three everybody say their gut feeling okay one, two, three" conversation and both blurted out the same answer.

And it felt like the right one. Even though it wasn't the answer I originally saw myself choosing, honestly.

Not that we haven't revisited the topic over and over and over again since (because oh, Christ, we have, and I am so sick of talking about this, even though I am here on my blog continuing to talk about it gah stab this entry with a fork I am so done). But each time we've ended up back where we started, nodding in agreement. 

We're going to stick with the IEP, the public Preschool Education Program.

(breathes into a paper bag)

I think I've mentioned it before, but we are fortunate to live in an AMAZING school district. And we live in a pocket of that district with especially well-regarded schools. Every time I set foot in the elementary school where Noah attends PEP I am endlessly impressed with the facility and the teachers and the quality of services we get for free there. ("Free" after high housing prices and taxes and blah dee blee.) And it is where we want Noah to attend kindergarten the year after next. (His September birthday puts him juuuust past the cut-off so we've got a nice automatic cushion of an extra year). Of the two schools he attends, this is the one that has laid out a clear plan to get him there, with whatever accommodations he still needs at the time. Keeping him in this program should hopefully result in a steady progression and a seamless transition.

The private school has been mostly pessimistic about Noah's chances of mainstreaming in kindergarten. So I guess we're choosing optimism.

I still wish Noah could attend both school again next year, but he can't. I hate having to look back on how far Noah's come since September and figure out which program deserves most of the credit, or if it really is both. And while neither school will have a morning option for him next year, the private school is run by an organization that DOES offer other services in the morning. Occupational and speech therapy, sensory integration groups, etc. He will definitely need additional services next year. (So trust me when I say: our decision really has nothing to do with finances; going a la carte with this stuff isn't really any cheaper.) His favorite occupational therapist moved from the preschool to the outpatient division: he's never stopped asking for her, so as much as I know he'll miss the school, I think he'll be really, REALLY happy with regular sessions with her.

So yes. I think this is our best shot at duplicating our current arrangement next year. It won't be the same, but hopefully: close enough.

We actually took Noah to his IEP meeting -- it's distracting to have him there, but I just like the team members to SEE HIM and interact with him while discussing all the more clinical stuff and All His Shortcomings instead of talking about him through the filter of paperwork.

He sat next to his teacher. He behaved beautifully. Though all he wanted in the world was her attention. When she gave it to him, he lit up. And I watched her face, and...it was so kind and loving. Genuinely loving. She laughed at his jokes and asked him questions and knew exactly how to bring him back to "inside voice" and was obviously so proud of the progress he's made this year. "He is soooo smart," she sighed, as she gave the rundown on his academic skills -- which for the first! time! ever! were actually in line with what we knew he could do. If he stays in PEP, she'll be his teacher again.

I watched her face and swear I could see what she wanted and hoped for him, and what she believed he was capable of. And in that moment, it was like looking into a mirror.

Choices We're Lucky To Have (But Still Don't Want To Make)

Well. So. That happened. And it was fine. And now I have absolutely no clue what we're supposed to do next. I've been sitting here in a sandwich shop for an hour and a half staring at a bowl of cold soup, trying to string words together, trying to come up with anything else besides: Damn! Fuck!

The Immersion Program. It doesn't exist! I mean, it does, but not for kids Noah's age. Kids his age have one basic option: a five-days-a-week version of the class he's in now, though with more of a focus on the kindergarten transition. And it's in the afternoon. They want him in it.

Where did we get the brilliant idea of sending Noah to a non-existent immersion option? From his five-days-a-week private school, who originally suggested it without fact-checking the age requirements. The private school that also wants him to return next year. That also meets in the afternoon. 

He cannot attend both. We have to choose, one over the other. 

I realize how silly this sounds: We only get to send our child to ONE nationally-recognized special-education program? And one of them is FREE? Damn! My life is so hard, dawgs.

And yet. Damn! Fuck!

In one corner, we have the public school program. A very academically driven program, focused on skills and behaviors. And oh yeah, it's FREE. Noah's progress there has been well-observed and documented and everybody loves him. I know plenty of parents have negative experiences with district special-ed programs, but our experience has been the polar opposite. They admit he will be probably the most verbal and highest-functioning child in the class next year, but feel this class is still his absolute best shot at transitioning to kindergarten (and this is the school where we want him to attend kindergarten) the following year. He could have the same teacher, whom he also loves; he'd enter kindergarten with protection and an established IEP in place. AND ALSO: IT'S FREE. Walking away from this program would be insane. 

In the other, we have the private program. The one we agonized over. The one we saved up for and sacrificed for. It's less about the academics and more about addressing Noah's underlying issues, on developing core competencies and stuff like confidence, trust, bonding, the idea that school and peers can be fun. He loves it more than anything on earth, and they love him back, and have helped us figure out how to parent Noah in more ways than I could ever list. I do not regret a single penny spent. We could probably arrange outpatient therapy there, but I know it won't be The Same. Since October, he's blossomed and grown and made enormous strides and the whole place feels like a big extended family now. Walking away from this program would be insane.

So that's where we are, with our very uniquely privileged problem. 

And now I have a meeting with the private school people so I can tell them what the public school people told us. And then I need to tell myself that with so many amazing people who care so deeply about my amazing kid, there's hopefully no such thing as a wrong decision. 

I, EEEEPPP, Round Two

Today is Noah's IEP meeting, to determine educational goals and his placement for next year. We plan to ask for the immersion program, a new speech evaluation, and to argue against a recommendation of reducing occupational therapy to every other week.

  

I'm going prepared, yet white-knuckled and throat-clenched and stressed-out beyond belief. So. You know. Business as usual. 

(Wish us luck.)

What's That Buzzing? Do You Hear That Buzzing? It's Really Annoying.

I'm not really sleeping much, all of a sudden. Or when I do, I'm not sleeping particularly well. I wake up a lot, usually in some super-cool spastic style at the end of a mildly unsettling dream.* Then my brain gets up and going on its little hamster wheel and I can't get back to sleep because I'm too busy thinking of various phone calls I have to make, and oh do I ever hate making phone calls. 

So last night I finally started mayyyyyybe connecting the dots and coming to the conclusion that I am mayyyyyyyyybe drinking a little too much of a shitload of coffee. Thus, today was to be the day when I Gave Up Coffee. Or at least Cut Back. A Little. Some. 

Punchline: Am currently on cup number, like, five or something. But I'm super productive and type-y and hey look SQUIRREL.

*Oh my God, let me tell you about my dream! Because that's always so interesting and not annoying right? Last night I dreamt I won exactly $45 million dollars in the lottery. I proceeded to write $1 million bonus checks for our cleaning lady and babysitter, and Jason announced that he'd just spent $200,000 on a very fancy block of cheese. And this point I realized I hadn't actually redeemed my winning ticket and couldn't find it. I ransacked a bunch of drawers around the house and thought I found it, but it was a receipt for a sandwich. At this point I woke up, absolutely furious with our dreamselves' lack of financial and organizational sense, so I went downstairs and cleaned out our kitchen junk drawer, while trying to talk my way through the dream because obviously, I HAD already cashed the ticket because how could Jason pay for a $200,000 hunk of cheese? His card would have TOTALLY gotten rejected, right? I mean, COME ON.

***

Okay, now here's why I hate Twitter. Besides the obvious, in that Twitter is stupid and annoying and I feel like quite a few people should look into this fancy new device called EMAIL, as in TAKE THIS CONVERSATION THERE PLEASE, but mostly I hate it because I mentioned the coffee thing and the dream thing there already, thus scooping myself and my own blog. Why would I do that? I get three or four somewhat interesting thoughts a day -- TOPS -- and I go and waste them on Twitter. 

I mean, the thing about Noah explaining potty functions to his little (girl) playmate in graphic yet thoroughly-innocent detail? I should have put that story where it belongs, here, for maximum future-prom-date humiliation factor. 

(The best part was after I suggested Noah maybe keep that information a little more shrouded in mystery or something, the little girl kind of waved her hand and was like, "oh, we do LOTS of potty talk at my school." So...no big thang, then, Noah's Mom. S'cool.)

(By the way, that's the weirdest part about this whole having-other-people's-children-over thing. Hearing little cries of "Hey, Noah's Mo-o-om? Can I have a snack, Noah's Mom?" And I'm not sure what alternative I'm supposed to offer them. Amy? Ms. Amy? Ms. Storch? For some reason I am deeply concerned that other four-year-olds find me cool, but I don't think they do, probably because of our snacks. I OFFER DORKY SNACKS. OH MY GOD. WE'RE THAT HOUSEHOLD WITH THE DORKY HEALTHY SNACKS AND WEIRD HIGH-FIBER CEREAL OPTIONS.)

(No, actually. I don't know where I'm going with this entry at all! How could you tell?)

Let's see. What else. I just drank another cup of coffee. Ezra is picking up more and more words -- he now says "cheese" but it really just sounds like "chuh." Not to be confused with "shoes," which sounds like "shuh." And "car" sounds like "cuh," only you have have to add a little gargle-sound to it. 

The best word, though, is "hot." He includes a little palms-out hand motion with it, gesturing over and over again at the stove or my coffee (SHUT UP. IT'S HELPING.) or other things that aren't really "hot" so much as "off-limits," like the cat food. It's hard to describe exactly how he pronounces it. Phonetically, it comes closer to "at" than anything else, causing me to imagine he's walking up to the stove and saying "@. @. @@@@@." 

He's talking in Twitter! Or...okay, so there are two things I need to lay off of for a little bit. I can see that now. 

In summary, here's a picture of Ezra chewing on a table. 

 
Oh! Wait! I'm also supposed to tell you that I have new Isn't That Special column up at The Stir, and that my Project Runway recap (written this morning, on only SLIGHTLY less caffeine) will be up at Mamapop at 2 pm. I know it's not 2 pm yet. Or maybe it is! For you! In the future! But if it isn't (like now), you can go read The Stir column and maybe the Advice Smackdown and then just promise me to go read Mamapop at 2 pm. If you remember. I know! Come back here and read this again so I can remind you. Yes, that makes perfect sense. 

Rakish Good Looks

SHH. HIDING. 

WAT.

 

SUMTIMES U WANT SUM SUN, BUT NOT TOO MUCH SUN. YOONO?

 

WATEVER. JUS JELUS, PROBABLY. THIS IS THE BEST IDEA I'VE EVER HAD.

 
STILL KIND OF HOT THO. SENSING FLAW. 

 

HMM. THAT DRAIN THING LOOKS LIKE NICE PLACE FOR WHICH TO BE STICKING MY HEAD IN. ALSO: SHADY, COOL. 

To be continued...

 This is another sponsored Milk-Bone post, part of the It's Good To Give series. These were supposed to be weekly but a snafu meant Thursday's post had go up Monday instead but then this one was always supposed to go up today and...and...nobody really cares about this twice-weekly thing as much as I do, I'm guessing. Anyway! Milk-Bone invites you to check out their Canine Assistants program. Share photos of your little sunbeam dog at the Facebook group or Flickr stream. 

Easter. What? Too Late?

(UPDATE: SCHOOL BUS! SCHOOL BUS! Noah screamed with joy at the sight of it this morning and then tried to hug the doors. He also went to his afternoon program yesterday and had a terrific first day back, even though they MOVED FURNITURE AROUND and CHANGED CIRCLE TIME and MADE NEW PICTURE SCHEDULES for all the kids. If you've read along for any length of time you'll know it's a damned Easter Miracle that Noah didn't have a major conniption over these changes, but instead was all, "Eh, I'm just happy to be here, you guys.") 

(Also! I know! His shoes. He has big feet. I saved every pair of shoes from his babyhood and STILL don't have any proper hand-me-downs for Ezra yet because apparently Noah was still wearing soft-soled BABY BOOTIES when his feet were Ezra's size.)

Also also! Hey! Remember when Easter happened? No? Well, it did. And I took pictures. Then I forgot about them. Here they are. You are welcome.

Things I forgot to do: 1) Make the earth-friendly Easter basket grass stuff out of recyclable materials; used annoying and likely toxic silver glitter stuff left over from Christmas instead, and 2) Explain Easter to the children ahead of time; simply handed them a basket of Matchbox cars and a chocolate bunny all, "Surprise! Now go outside and find some plastic eggs for some reason that even I'm not entirely clear about." instead. 

 

Despite hiding the eggs in obvious, easy-to-find places, Ezra seemed convinced that we'd buried them, or at least that was his excuse for shoving his hands deep in the dirt every chance he got. His dapper Easter-y blue polo shirt did not make it until breakfast.

Noah, expressing his slightly-bewildered joy at finding something that he had no idea why he was looking for in the first place. 

Noah is very much an instant-gratification kid, as he was ready to call it a day after two or three eggs because he wanted the candy and didn't care that he would get MORE CANDY if he stayed on task and found the full dozen or so eggs hidden around the yard, full of rapidly-melting Kisses and peanut-butter eggs.

 

I probably got a little pushy, but I really wanted those peanut-butter eggs. 

 

Sneaking a peek in his hideout.

 

"Chocolate chips." His most favorite thing in the world that I never give him because I am mean and withholding and have no self-control around a bag of them.

 

Ezra makes a discovery.

 

Ezra gets his discovery totally ganked by his coworker. AS USUAL.

 

My preshusss.

 

It puts the preshusss in the basket...

 

Wait. Seriously. WTF.

 

Weirdly skeptical about his first Chocolate Chip. Well, it's not quite as tasty as that chunk of mulch you dug out of my mouth a few minutes ago, but it's okay I guess...

 

And that concludes our Easter of Vague Excitement and Profound Befuddlement. Later, we bribed Noah into eating some bites of a hamburger in exchange for Easter candy, just as the Lord intended, the end. 

Back-to-School Spirit

This morning I woke Noah up with shrieks of SCHOOL BUS! SCHOOL BUS! He quickly joined in -- spring break was over! Finally! No sense in hiding our mutual joy! Quick! Get up, get dressed! You can wear shorts! What, no socks? SURE WHY NOT, Mommy's feeling all sorts of permissive and giddy today! The SCHOOL BUS is a'coming! 

We ate breakfast and assumed our spots by the window and waited. And waited. I tweeted a couple times, because clearly, this was some riveting action. You guys ever wondered what it's like to wait for a school bus? Follow me for a truly gritty, realistic experience. I'm like the Michael Bay of Twitter.

SPOILER ALERT: The bus was late. Creeping into "not coming" territory. This wouldn't be the first time that's happened -- it's a preschool-dedicated route and the driver has gotten confused around half-days and holidays before. But unlike those times, when I generally shrugged and let Noah enjoy an impromptu morning off, I was NOT GOING TO TAKE IT. NO. Come hell or high water, I was going to somehow find a way to get Noah to school, even if it meant putting them in the car and driving SEVEN WHOLE MINUTES (eight if I hit that one red light!) to school MYSELF.

Ezra and I were still in pajamas, but no matter! Noah's education is more important than my vanity. Also: OH MY GOD, WE ARE ALL SO BORED. I got the boys out to the car and buckled them in before I realized I'd left my cell phone behind. I figured I better get it in case the school called to wonder why Noah was late. 

I dashed back in and found it underneath a pile of papers I'd pulled out of Noah's backpack earlier. The paper on top was an extra copy of the school calendar. 

 

Humorous trumpet of dumbassity: WAH WAH WAH WAAAAAH.

The thing is, this calendar is no different than the one I have tacked up on our fridge. The one I've checked a good 40 times over the past week or so. There is absolutely no excuse other than MAYBE me getting Noah's two schools mixed up, but really: I just didn't know what day it was. My brain works off a more vague calendar, where it's perpetually April Something, Probably Earlyish In The Month, I Think, Or Maybe Middish, Wait, Did I Have My Period Yet? 

So I went back out to the car and proceeded to rip Noah's heart out of his chest with my bare hands. 

"STOP MAKING ME MAD!" he wailed. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW." Then he threw himself on the couch for awhile in heartbroken defeat.

I told him we could go to his other school after lunch but I don't think he believes me.   

She Works Hard for the Waffles

You know what this week needs?

Waffles. It needs some waffles.

 
WAT.

 

WAT U SAY.

 

U SAY WAFFLE THAT'S A WAFFLE O GREAT DAY IN THE MORNING

 
WAFFLE!

 

NO WAFFLE!

 

WAFFLE!

stupidwaffleperson gonna gonnaflippin getdatwaffle  

 

HYSTERICAL DOG SNEEZING INTERLUDE

 

ETC.

 

SUCCESSORY INSPIRATIONAL PRINT, THEME: INVISIBLE PERSEVERANCE

 

CAN ALMOST. TASTE. WAFFLE. 

 

Oh, hello. I would also like to submit my sincere interest in hazzing dat waffle.

 

IS LIKE KING SOLOMON OR SUMTHING. WOULD ALSO HAVE CEPTED SPLITTING BAYBEE.

 

*snarf*

And FIN. 

As you could probably guess from all the Milk-Bone ads and this here logo thing, this post is sponsored by Milk-Bone. It'll be part of a "It's Good to Give" series this month (so get ready for MOAR CEIBA YAY). Check out their Canine Assistants program, which helps people with disabilities and get involved by sharing photos of your own dog on the Milk-Bone Flickr stream. 

Poor Little Tough Guy

Allow me to say, in my own defense, that I'm NOT the one who's being 700 kinds of stubborn and foot-draggy about getting Ezra's hair cut. I'm not looking forward to it, that mind-melting moment when the baby-shag drops off and leaves a indisputable, total BOY CHILD in its wake, but I'm not opposed to it. I see it. I know it. We've entered full-on mullet territory now, though I guess technically that's my fault too, because if it were up to SOMEONE COUGH JASON COUGH, we wouldn't even be trimming Ezra's bangs. I trim them myself, all surreptitiously-like, when Jason's not around, because I cannot seem to explain to him the simple PHYSICS of our boys' hair, which grows hedge-like and straight-down over their eyes: And Barrettes Are Not An Option.

Anyway. That's not at all what I intended to write about today: I just wanted to let you know that I am aware of the situation, but it's not entirely just my call: Jason wakes up early every Saturday morning so I can sleep in.  And then he makes pancakes. What does that have to do with Ezra's hair? Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I can't disrespect his deeply-felt hairstyling wishes, because then I might not get more pancakes. I DON'T ROCK THE BOAT, IS ALL.

 

Yesterday was, indeed, a better day, mostly because I cut myself some slack over my limited patience for re-enacting the same play scenarios over and over and over again (the punchline of "Elmo & Big Bird Make A Snack & OH NO A LEMON IS NOT A GOOD SNACK, BIG BIRD!" gets waaaaaaayyyyyy less funny the 300th go-round). By late afternoon we had a Thomas DVD on and I'm not apologizing for that. 

Well, except to Ezra, because it scared him. EZRA. Who fears NOTHING. Who has zero regard for his own personal safety and is currently in the running for America's Next Top Jackass. Lost his shit over a train getting doused in maple syrup. (Or...something sticky and syrup-like. I don't really follow the plots of these things. Where are my pancakes?) He's gotten crazy sensitive about people or things getting hurt on the television and will burst into panicked tears if someone falls down or anything vaguely slapstick-y happens. You wouldn't think this would be much of a problem, since Noah is still blissfully unaware that there's anything on the TV besides the commercial-free preschooler channels (and the occasional Space Movie, but Ezra's in bed by the time we put those on). There's not a whole lot of VIOLENCE going on in Blue's Clues or Sesame Street. But I had to turn the Thomas DVD off because Ezra was absolutely inconsolable over the poor, sticky, sad-faced train.

Which made NOAH cry, which made EZRA attempt to console him: he toddled over to Noah's collapsed, woeful form and gently patted his back a few times before giving him a hug and kissing his head. Then he turned to me and pointed to his nose before signing "sad." 

Nose = Noah. OMG.

And THAT'S the story I actually meant to write today, because you guys. That crazy maniac is turning into the sweetest little person. 

 

PS New, less schmoopy stuff up at CafeMom and MamaPop.