The Worst Thing Ever That Actually Really Wasn't

I have been writing posts nonstop in my head since Friday -- nothing I ever intended to commit to the keyboard and publish, just a endless series of disjointed paragraphs that bounced from topic to topic and argued with straw men and imaginary bureaucrats. On and on, my brain kept going and talking and spinning. It kept me awake and anxious at night and distracted and disconnected during the day -- all the signs of an obviously superior coping mechanism. Those of you who follow my sporadic dispatches over at Twitter probably Know Of What I Speak. Here, like a Band-Aid: On Friday, Noah's teacher unleashed a long litany of behavior complaints at me, many of which I was hearing for the first time, others which I thought were already being addressed, all of which together painted a very bleak picture of an overwhelmed, uncontrollable child with no attention span who simply could not function in the classroom. A child whose continued enrollment in the school was in serious jeopardy and was on a one-way track to being dismissed from the school. Here, like a bottle of alcohol emptied on the open wound underneath the Band-Aid: Expelled. From preschool. Merry... Read more →

Diagnosis: Idiot

(Apologies in advance for the screediness of this post. I slipped in my socks and fell flat on my ass while attempting to kick a foam soccer ball into a miniature goal in my living room this morning, so perhaps it's my wounded pride [and backside] lashing out at its inner child, or some such.) (For something more fluffy, feel free to visit the Luvs Momspeak site for my entry about Ghetto Fabulous Bargain Baby-Proofing.) I currently find myself irrationally angry at Denis Leary. Okay, let me back up. Denis Leary was on The Daily Show last week, where he attempted to clarify this passage from his book, from a chapter called "Autism Schmautism:" There is a huge boom in autism right now because inattentive mothers and competitive dads want an explanation for why their dumb-ass kids can't compete academically, so they throw money into the happy laps of shrinks…to get back diagnoses that help explain away the deficiencies of their junior morons. I don't give a fuck what these crackerjack whack jobs tell you—yer kid is NOT autistic. He's just stupid. Or lazy. Or both. HA HA! Oh, funny fucking shit, that. So in case you missed the 284304822343489... Read more →

Let Your Guilt Flag Fly

Oh my God, yesterday's post. I'm sorry. I fully own up to the fact that the last paragraph in particular got COMPLETELY away from me, with the dramatics and the...well, the dramatics. I went out to lunch with my nursing bra unhooked and I posted on my blog with my mommy guilt showing. Same diff. Kind of. Look, I plead sleep deprivation, both for the entry and that metaphor there. So I was rehashing the entry a few hours later while nursing the baby (That's what I do while I breastfeed. I think about my blog. And drool. And hallucinate that I'm awake, lying in bed and breastfeeding, only I'm kind of asleep? Because I don't think there's a swimming pool in my bedroom?), and I blearily did the math that November minus June equals...five months. Five months without speech or occupational therapy. Even in the accelerated life of a toddler, five months is not (NEWSFLASH) really that long, or (NEWSFUCKINGFLASH) the end of the world. So now I'm embarrassed about the whole "I LET MY CHILD DOWWWWN! I FAAAAAAIL!" tone I veered into, but grateful for all your lovely and reassuring comments, and sorry that I made y'all feel... Read more →

Oh, just...BAH

First, the insanity report: I took both boys to the doctor's office today for check-ups. Approximately seven hours later I emerged from the little exam room, only to smack face-first into a wall, probably from a combination of plunging blood sugar* and the disorientation that comes right after one loses one's soul, as mine flew out the window sometime around the moment right after both boys had their meaty thighs stabbed with needles and started screeeeeeeeeeaming and screeeeeeeeeeeeeeaming and I figured WHAT THE HELL, LET'S BREAK SOME FACIAL BONES WHILE WE'RE AT IT. *My plans to eat lunch before the appointment** were derailed by a leaking poopy diaper, of the Turn This Car Around And Head Home, Oh My Hell Variety. I grabbed a half-empty and fully-stale bag of chocolate graham cracker bears in a panic since I did That Thing you're never supposed to do, That Thing Where You Leave Your Toddler In The Car While You Run Inside To Change The Baby's Diaper Real Quick But Then The Baby Pees On His Head And It All Takes Much Longer Than You Planned, but then Noah ended up demanding most of the chocolate graham cracker bears, which I served... Read more →

He Still Has Green Paint All Over His Hands & I Couldn't Be Happier About It

I sometimes struggle over what constitutes an entry here...what's an important enough development to put into words and demand your eyeballs and indulgence, or what I should just post on Twitter, or maybe email to friends, or just file away in my own memory. So this one is just for all of Noah's virtual aunts and uncles and cheerleaders, those of you who never. ever. fail to leave wonderful comments about him and your own children and family members, full of ideas and suggestions (to Liz, who suggested supplying Noah with word choices to encourage him to talk about past events [i.e. did you eat pizza or hamburger buns for lunch? did you go on the slide or hang out with those no-good ruffian beatniks at recess?]: THANK YOU. I gave myself the world's biggest forehead slap for not ever once thinking of trying that, and surprise! It works! Most of the time. I don't THINK his teacher's name is Ms. Pinky Dinky, but maybe I'm wrong). I picked Noah up from school today -- his first Thursday class ever, and was greeted by his teacher, who was ECSTATIC. He'd had a great day -- his BEST day, thanks to... Read more →

Still Talking About Not Talking

What was I saying about those boys of mine and their little pussy head colds? AW, POOR BABIES. EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT. YOU'VE BEEN TRUMPED. Well. Uh. You know what else trumps your pussy head cold? EIGHT MONTHS PREGNANT WITH A HEAD COLD. Oh, God. The agony. The pressure. The postnasal drip. ( I NINE months pregnant now? I am IN my ninth month, but have COMPLETED eight months? Are you only considered nine months pregnant right at your due date or do you get to whine dramatically about being NINE MONTHS PREGNANT WITH A HEAD COLD or NINE MONTHS PREGNANT AT THE GROCERY STORE or NINE MONTHS PREGNANT AND STILL EXPECTED TO TIE MY OWN SHOES for a couple weeks before that? I can never really follow the pregnancy math, but I would like it to work out to my optimal whining advantage.) Last night we attended our very first Back To School Parents' Night Thing at Noah's preschool. I was a little bummed, frankly -- I thought there would be punch. Maybe cookies. Instead we got handouts and sat around perched on teensy little chairs and discussed our Educational Goals, Wishes and Dreams for our not-quite-three-year-olds. And the policies... Read more →


Ages and ages ago, I remember reading someone else's blog post about their child starting preschool. And it was boring! Preschool! It happens! Your kid is too big to cuddle now anyway! Send 'em off, ship 'em out, I have no time for your hand-wringing and hair-biting! Noah starts preschool on Monday. *shoves hair in mouth* We went to drop off another stack of forms and oh, I don't even know how many dollars today and were told we could go meet his teacher. Noah shyly walked around the room, played with a toy cash register and some puzzles, eagerly selected a moon-shaped sticker from a proffered baggie and recited a fairly impressive soliloquy from Blue's Clues while investigating a toy baby bassinet. ("Cinnamon! He looks like a Cinnamon. What a great name! Paprika, you just named your baby brother!") (We've been watching "The Baby's Here!" episode quite a bit, for obvious reasons.) Then Noah spotted a pile of posters on the floor -- shapes, colors, numbers, all waiting to be be hung up. "An octagon!" he shouted. "Stop sign is octagon." He moved on to the next poster, which was about counting to four. "Five, six, seven, eight, nine,... Read more →

Graduation Day

Noah's official graduation from Early Intervention came in the form of a phone call one morning to inform me that the building had no electricity, therefore his mock preschool group session was canceled. After the results of the assessment testing, we had already agreed this was to be his final class -- I was going to provide the store-bought, peanut-free snack and I was planning to write a thank-you note for all of the therapists, perhaps with a little photo of Noah tucked inside, if that wouldn't be too presumptuous to assume that anybody cared enough to remember Case File Blond Dimpled Boy #2980542618. After I expressed my understanding of the power situation and the last-minute cancellation, I was then told that Noah's spot in the class had been filled for the next week. There would be no make-up class, no snack, no three cheers for the Little Toddler Who Could Talk Now. We were done. The week before, another mother was reeling from her daughter's recent diagnosis of apraxia from Children's Hospital. She'd known for awhile it was apraxia, she told us, but figured she was being neurotic and spending too much time on the Internet. So when they... Read more →

With Asses Roundly Kicked

Noah just officially passed the standardized articulation test at "age-appropriate levels." He has no detectable delay or difficulty that would "inhibit his ability to learn and function in a mainstream school environment." He is "one smart little guy there, like for real, wow." Read more →

And His Favorite Thing in the World is a Treble Clef I Made Him Out of a Twist Tie

The other night we had the TV on and a promo spot for Law & Order: SVU came on -- the one with Robin Williams playing some sort of unhinged psycho,which is only vaguely more terrifying to me than Patch Adams -- and at one point he bellows, "You don't know what I've suffered!" Noah rounded the corner at this precise moment, and without missing a beat, pointed a chubby finger at us and shouted, "YOU DON KNOW WHA I SUFFER!" Needless to say, we aren't really dealing with much of a "speech delay" anymore. He still goes to his little mock special-ed preschool class, and he gets speech therapy twice a month at home, but next month those services will drop back even further when he starts a very mainstream summer camp program at the very mainstream preschool he will be attending in the fall. I've been told that all county-run preschool programs are off the table for him at this point, and while they will test to see if he'll qualify for itinerant speech therapy, it's been strongly hinted to me that I shouldn't hold my breath on that one either. The only "concern" at this point is... Read more →