We're fine, yes, for those of you who aren't on Teh Twittermajob or Teh Instagramamajig and therefore missed my HOURS LONG, hurricane-related, compulsive-shopping bender, during which I purchased approximately four dozen mismatched pieces of vintage Depression and Indiana glass, because apparently I am That Person now, That Person Who Collects Mismatched Vintage Glass And Gets Like, Scary Into It. OMG PLATES OMG BOWLS OMG CANDLEHOLDERS HOLY SHIT IT'S A GODDAMN CREAMER OMG. A warning to anyone contemplating spending the holidays with us: I am now obligated to cook approximately 35 different side dishes, including stuff that will fit in a "pickle dish" or "celery plate." (That aren't, like, plain pickles or celery. BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE WEIRD.) (Not weird: Anything else I just typed.) (Shutit.) (It runs in the family.) The kids slept in the basement, just to be safe. Although technically I should say they "slept" but only a little, after several hours of a live re-enactment of Beyond Thunderdome II: The Lost Tribe of Stir-Crazies. (I'm technically supposed to be "reviewing" the Furby for a holiday gift thing, but Noah won't let me put batteries in it because he's afraid it will grow up mean. The Furby 2012:... Read more →

Okay, so I'm guessing we're only a few hours away from being plunged into hurricane-related darkness and Nick-Jr-less misery, so I'm typing as fast as I can to get this entry done and we all nkow nothing goood kan com of thsi. You stay classy, East Coast! (And safe. That too.) On the opposite end of the weather spectrum, Friday was a beautiful day. Almost unfair, even, that such a perfect fall day was ruined by intrusive thoughts of "I don't trust that tree over there" and "I need to go buy bread and canned goods and booze and a generator-powered TV." The entire neighborhood was playing outside. The parents milled around and chatted about the weather, packs of little boys tossed up armfuls of dry leaves like confetti, and Ike chased after every toy that did not belong to him because fuck his boring-ass toys, that's why. I intercepted him during a crazy toddler run towards the street and put him back down on the sidewalk, but about halfway through the process he started screaming. And I mean: SCREAMING. Louder and more indignant-like than a usual "mo-ooo-ooom stop thwarting mah dreeeeamzzz!" whine-fest. This was more like, "mo-ooo-ooom how dare... Read more →

On the other end of the Halloween Drama Spectrum, Noah walked into Target a few weeks ago and calmly and casually pointed at an Anakin Skywalker costume. "That one," he said, like a perfectly regular kid who has never flipped his everloving shit at the mere mention of dressing up. It was one of those hugely baffling, come-from-nowhere breakthroughs that I no longer question. Just shut your mouth and hand over the credit card, Mom, lest you say the wrong thing and accidentally rip open the fabric of the universe anew. I planned to take Ezra to Party City yesterday, hoping that maybe a non-Green-Ninja alternative would look more attractive in person. If that failed, we could pick up some poster paint and take another crack at a homemade costume, using the adorable cardboard ninja tutorial that a bunch of you linked to in the comments that I had somehow missed during HOURS of Google-fu for all things DIY Ninjago. (Though I was deeply doubtful that Ezra would tolerate wearing a cardboard box for more than five minutes no matter how cool it looked, and our attempt at the homemade ninja scarf was already a documented disaster of GET THAT... Read more →

So. As you may have gathered from the million and seventeen point two times I have mentioned it, my children are pretty obsessed with the Ninjago series from Lego. (Well, Noah and Ezra, anyway. Ike seems on the fence about it. On the one hand, you can't actually ride on any of the Sonic Raider Dragon Chopper Skull Truck Whatever The Hell things, unlike our ancient neglected Cozy Coupe which is getting a late-in-life chance at love again. He especially enjoys driving it off the step into our living room, Thelma-and-Louise style.) (On the other hand, he very much enjoys chewing on the small rubber tires that come with many of the Lego vehicle sets and then multiple like rabbits throughout my house. If you ask him "What's in your mouth?" he'll obediently spit out an entire slobbery set of four.) ANYWAY. While there are easily 4,230,402,293 different building sets and minifigures to buy at this point, Lego has not expanded the line to include stuff like party favors or Halloween costumes. You know, because responsible consumerism and un-stifled creativity and also to be a tremendous pain in my ass. Ezra started asking for a Green Ninja Halloween costume in... Read more →

After a few years of convincing our children that a visit from Grandma and Grandpa totally counts as a birthday party, we decided that we owed them a wee bit of a blowout. And so in accordance with our local traditions, we set two dozen or so children loose in a local inflatable thunderdome for a couple hours. Not to brag or anything, but this was THE birthday party to be at, at least between the hours of 1:00 and 2:45 pm. The next party started at three and was probably pretty much the same. Slides, climbing, jumping, bouncing and the sounds of shrieking sweaty children hurling their bodies in every direction because everything is soft and squishy and WE ARE INVINCIBLE UNTIL SOMEBODY FACEPLANTS ON THE CARPET. (So not kidding about the sweaty part. By the end of the party the children all looked like they'd just run through a car wash.) Ike, who is — surprise, surprise — turning out to be absolutely FEARLESS, charmed our party hosts into taking him on every piece of equipment approximately 100 million times. After awhile they were just tossing him down the slide free-fall style while he shrieked in delight. After... Read more →

I used to wonder when we'd be "done." After the speech therapy? Occupational therapy? After the mock preschools, special preschools, summer camps, kindergarten or...? I don't even know what I thought "done" meant. No more therapy? No more IEP? A final ruling out of SPD, PDD, ASD, ADHD, AFLACDIAFOMGBBQ? A child with no label? A child who is "cured" and "easy" and "totally predictable" and "not such a quirky little amped-to-11 question mark?" Obviously, duh. Bless my precious little heart, I just wasn't that bright. Noah is who he is, he will always be who he is, and we will always — ALWAYS — do everything we can help him be the best Noah he can be. You know, like we do for all of our children. (It's not like non-SN kids simply raise themselves with a little help from a pack of neighborhood dogs, after all.) There is no "done," really. But we are done with occupational therapy. His therapist is moving on to a new job, after all. We're not transitioning him to someone new, because really, it's time. It's a good stopping point, and he's ready. His final session was yesterday, full of hugs and high fives,... Read more →

So. Basically. Epic Post-MRI Runaround was Epic. I waited patiently by the phone for several days, because of COURSE my doctor would call me. He SAID he would call me. And no one has ever lied about calling me back in my entire life ever. I mean, except for all those times in middle school, high school and college. OTHER THAN THAT, I AM JUST BRIMMING WITH RAINBOW-TINTED OPTIMISM. My doctor never called me. So I took the drastic step of — omfg — calling him back. Or...I tried, at least. This particular ENT doctor is part of a absolutely ginormously labyrinthian ENT practice, with about six locations and a dozen doctors. But only one (1) phone number. Which you call and are presented with a crazy number of automated robot options, of which zero (0) are actually related to, yanno, getting in touch with a specific doctor. Or any doctor who could review MRI results. There was an option for leaving a message with a nurse practitioner, which seemed vaguely close-ish to the sort of human being I needed to speak with, but when I tried that I was re-directed to "Anita"'s voicemail, wherein she informed all callers that... Read more →

It's easy to get a little melancholy around their birthdays...I spend a couple days going through photos and videos, watching them grow up in fast-forward mode, feeling alternately proud and wistful while absent-mindedly tugging the sagging, aging skin around my jawline over and up, like a fake facelift, because FOUR. He's FOUR. My baby is four. So it's good know that some things haven't changed. Much. Yet. That boy still enjoys the hell out of a good cupcake. Chocolate cupcakes with chocolate-chip cookies on top. Young minds, BLOWN. And there it is. It's like a choco-riffic autopsy. However, he IS four years old now. So. You know. Manners. (Bonus flashback:) (Aaaaaannnnndddd there's that melancholy all over again. Dang it. Somebody get me a cupcake.) Read more →

Today is Ezra's fourth birthday. Happy birthday, my funny little wonderful Zahbaby, and thanks for still letting me call you that. He woke up insisting that no, he is NOT four. He is six and a half. He has been waiting his whole life to be six and a half, like Noah was. Apparently he thought once Noah turned seven, he could move into the six and a half spot, like claiming an older sibling's room once they head off to college. He's still a little grumpy about the whole topic. Which means it's time for me to queue up his favorite song in the whole word and dance with him around the kitchen to it, and then swing him around in circles until we're both dizzy. Then he'll wrap his body around my legs like a baby monkey and hug me as hard as he can, and I'll fall over, and the song will end and he'll leap on top of me and say, "AGAIN, MOMMY! I LOVE YOUR SHIRT AND THE GREEN NINJA AND NOAH AND I HAVE ON MY FAST SHOES. AGAIN!" Works every time. Ezra's Fourth Birthday from amalah on Vimeo. Ezra's Favorite Song in the... Read more →

I. The Genetics of Crud-Covered Scrunchface Me, circa the days when metal cabinets with sharp rusty edges ruled the earth. Ike, circa last week. It's awesome how they only look like me when they're acting like goofball weirdos. Awesome and telling. II. No, But Seriously, He's Huge Now And all day long he's like "Shhzz? Go? Shhzz? Go?" which roughly translates to "Put my shoes on, woman, and let's bust this joint." One of these doors has to take me outside. Or at least protect somethng dangerous and perfectly sized for my mouth. III. Call Me Maybe Hello? OMG YOU GOT TICKETS TO THE WIGGLES NO FREAKING WAY. I'll be right there. Just gotta find my shhzz. I posted that last photo to Instagram, and the comments immediately all focused on Ike's spiffy little underroos, which is actually a gDiaper, which I actually bartered in exchange for writing a post for the gDiapers blog. (Which I still have to, you know, actually do. Coming soon! Hold please!) Yes, I requested and received payment for writing in the form of cloth diapers and was thrilled out of my goddamned mind over the arrangement. Mommyblogging! What a country! Get a real job,... Read more →