Trivia Time

"Bear"

Kids dropped off at school, half way to work, 47.3 miles clocked; I spy Drama Queen's lovie, "Bear", in the backseat. Did I.....


A.) Ponder the situation for 5 seconds then promptly step on the gas and cruise into Starbucks without giving it another thought?


B.) Have a riveting conversation with Bear about the political turmoil in the Middle East?


C.) Tie Bear to a piece of twine and fly it out the window kite-like?


D.) Drive Bear home because I would be home very late and I know she can't sleep without him {now or later, lesser of two evils}.


If you chose....


A.) I love coffee, but am a coffee snob, no Starbucks, Caribou is my lover at $9 a cup.


B.) Bear knows more about politicking than me, I would've just been embarrassed.


C.) That is dangerous while driving! Never fly kites or lovies out windows while driving; talk on your cell phone or text or something.


D.) WINNER! Slightly late for work, but it I know how upset she would've been, and how did I let Bear slip past me? For anything else no, but for the lovie, gotta do it.  I'm a good pushover Mom like that.



Note: We also have a unicorn named Uni, a Panda Bear named Pandy, and 3 deceased fish aptly named Dory I, II and III. Does the creative genius blow your mind? Clearly the Bubble Gum kids are a force to be reckoned with.

Rules and Regulations and stuff:

No prizes will be awarded for trivia. All entrants know what they are getting into by reading this blog. {If you've stumbled upon this by accident, I apologize} I cannot be held responsible for fits of laughter or rage-like commentary such as, "I am so sick of reading this bleep." Contestant guessing right answer does not give claim to state "you know me", you don't "know me". This may be used in a court of law as evidentiary support for my tardiness to place of employment and may have sparked above titled post. No attorneys shall be retained as I am broke and cannot afford one because all my money goes to gas, GFCFSF food and liquor.


Thanks for playing.  Stay tuned for other exciting games such as:  What is that on my shirt?, What's that smell in the back seat?, Who did this?,  or what I found in a back pack.



Google Gone Bad

So this whole Google post was prompted by the post promptress herself, Kat, at Mama's Losin' It. She does a fabulous weekly workshop with promises of chasing away the writer's block and you can link up each and every Thursday. I intend to do this every week, but alas, too much other junk to post on my blog of all things irrelevant. And as you'll see my posts have a crazy way of starting on one topic and ending on another. I refuse to believe this has anything to do with my attention span and is a specialty of mine that I like to call, “multi-tasking”.

Here was one of last week's prompts {a few weeks/months? ago}, which I started, until it took a Google for the worst.  You should see my drafts, holy cow!


"What is one thing you don't know about me".

I'm a cold steel vault and you'll never get it out of me.  Here's what I came up with, contrary to what I may want you to think, I'm not a lush. Yeah, don't really drink much at all, unless it's socially, even then, not much. ZZZZZ. Now I'm sure you just think I'm crazy instead of drunk.  Um, I eat a grapefruit every day, okay snooze fest. I'm really a 300 pound male convict writing you from the penitentiary. You see where I'm going here. If you Google me {don’t really, I’m just speaking figuratively, no stalking please, I have a black belt in Karate, teach self-defense on the weekend, and know how to make a shiv out of a barbie and some legos} you'll come up empty handed, and that does not bother me. However, if I keep up the mechanical bull riding and other shenanigans, that will probably change fairly soon.


I have been known to do a little pre-date Googling from time to time. You know just looking for red flags like: AXE MURDERER, FELONY, WANTED, AT LARGE, ARMED, ALABAMA, but that's it really.

oodles of googles

So I got to thinking...if I could add something really incredible to my life's story, what would it be? Even better, if I worked at Google, could I just add it on?  Brilliant, posting resume, click. Then I remembered once seeing a documentary on how amazing it is to work at Google, akin to Pixar. If you want to roller-skate too close to the jelly bean waterfall and inflatable slide so be it, just don't get in the way of the paper airplane contest when you're jumping on the trampoline. I love trampolines!  It's all about invoking inspiration and creative thinking. People if I can make this kind of magic sitting on my couch with a laptop, imagine what I could do in a corner at Google! God Bless America! Why haven't they called me?


Back to my greatness, what would I add? Maybe blog wins Nobel Peace Prize {repent, the end is near}. Maybe a Grammy? I cannot sing a lick, but wish I could and try all the time. Boy the Bieber lynch mob would be after me in no time! To single handedly take on health care reform and make it work, like it. Thirty-five year old pageant queen blogger woman learns 5 languages by osmosis, si`, oui, tak. How about a pioneering discovery on how blogging prevents wrinkles and burns more calories than the stair climber? {Now I'm dreaming}


On the other hand, would I erase anything? Well, control, alt, delete comes to mind for a good ten years and most of college {all you old college buddies can keep your trap shut, I've blacked it all out and don't need reminding, unless I owe you bail money or something, let's be discreet}. But if I erased some of those bad times, or bad decisions, they may not have lead me to where I am now. I like where I am, could it be better, yes, always yes, but I'm content.

Life might look a pile of individual puzzle pieces that don't make much sense scattered all about. But God finds a way to help us put the pieces in order, and then we see the bigger picture. Putting a puzzle together is not something you can do with a snap of the fingers, at least I can't {and those 3D ones, geez} it takes time, patience, lots of room to grow and a good foundation.


If you could insert accolades to your credit, what would they be?


{No cop outs like world peace, winning the lottery or curing cancer, dig deep...like me, ha}

Merry Christimas!

Merry Christmas! Er...uh...Happy Easter! We are having some holiday perception issues here at the Bubble Gum house. A week prior to Easter, the boy greeted everyone with hugs and a sweet, "Happy Easter". I had been reading the Easter story to him, hoping something would sink in, eh; I'm good with Happy Easter for now. Things have taken a turn. Bright and early Easter morn, I am greeted with, "Merry Christmas". What? How did this happen in a 24 hour period? My corrections, "say Happy Easter honey", are met with no eye contact as he walks past mumbling something about Santa and his Christmas list. Oh the Christmas list, that has been an obsessive topic the last two days. You'd think I was reading the kids the Sears catalog or something. The boys' teacher at developmental preschool told me yesterday he was saying Merry Christmas and repeatedly talking about baby Jesus and how Christmas is celebrated for 12 days, hmm. My kids an Autistic Evangelist.  Maybe by Christmas he'll be saying Happy Easter.



Points for creativity



To think the only thing that initially concerned me about Easter was the packed church and the boy crawling under the pew and licking somebody's leg or chucking a hot wheel at the pulpit. There was some pew crawling, but no chucking, or licking that I'm aware of, thank you Jesus.

{That was a previous day at the grocery store, near miss to a ladies head...one of these days I'll be blogging about my law suit and asking you all if you know a good special needs pro-bono lawyer}



He did participate in the egg hunt, {photo above}. Hooked the basket right up his John Deere and rode from egg to egg. He got about three due to the timeliness of this procedure and his sis' swift little six year old legs.



Looks innocent enough,
but will trample you for
a chocolate bunny.

I'm happy to report we have all come down from our sugar high, the noise level is dissipating and the requests for indoor egg hunts are down to 42.

A blessed belated Easter to you and your family.

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song."


 ~Pope John Paul II



Walking the Plank



Autism Awareness


I love Pirate speak; it just makes everything sound so amusing. For example, the boy says, "shiver me timbers the camera broken". He is 3/4 German, 1/4 Pirate.  The fact that he holds in his little paws the actual broken camera seems of no importance, because the way he said it was so delightful. I am hoping for the same outcome with this post.

Here's my hand-give it a good slap. I have to....{inhale} post a....retraction {exhale}. I am writing this post in my coat closet {it's so dark}, the shame. No really, I mislead the masses and I’m owning up to it, because that's how I roll. Key to heaven’s gate you ask? In my back pocket.In order to refresh your memory I wrote a vaccination post {stop groaning} a few posts back. Click here to read, or pull out your three ring binder of my printed posts you keep on your coffee table. For the record I did edit the post ASAP, so it is not in its original state.

I may have made, or did, make reference to the Wakefield fiasco, to summarize {what I said} that Dr. Andrew Wakefield lied about the MMR vaccine causing Autism, may have called him a name too.  My new friend Caffeinated Autism Mom so politely cleared me up on the subject. Okay she totally called me out! But she was really nice. Love that! A caffeinated Mom after my own heart. I also encourage you to read our 9 page comment convo for more clarification. I don't see this as a completely humiliating experience as much as a success. If you haven't noticed I have no problem making jokes at my own expense, so this really doesn't put much of a dent in my ego. This is a little victory for my blog, and a growing experience for me {two for one}. I want my readers to feel safe comfortable disagreeing with my views/opinions {be nice though, okay}. That fosters open discussion and learning. I love to discuss, I'm really good at it.


{Let me deviate with a yet another painful over usage of a bracket here and just say friends if your email isn’t linked to your comment, I can’t harass you, I mean discuss, or you could just subscribe to the comment portion too.}

On to my retraction action.  {Conjunction junction what is your function? couldn't resist}


One of my greatest blogging fears on the topic of Autism is that I will garble up some scientific fact. Fear realized. I certainly try very hard to make a concerted effort in this area. For as hard as the Autism community has fought in the last 50+ years to blow the old stigmas and science out of the water, little ol' me doesn't want to throw it all back in the refrigerator. {Get what I'm saying there?} 

"The term refrigerator mother was coined around 1950 as a label for mothers of children diagnosed with autism or schizophrenia. These mothers were often blamed for their children's atypical behavior, which included rigid rituals, speech difficulty, and self-isolation. Today the prevailing consensus among researchers is that parenting has no effect on whether a child develops autism or not."  Courtesy of Wikipedia, Click for more mind expansion on that ridiculous topic.  Might I also add those kids were locked up in institutions for the rest of their lives, grrrr.


I have spent hours researching the Internet and library, buying up every Autism book available, sans one, {quick plug for Big Daddy Autism, I will buy it...soon, promise} and picking the brains of the boy's therapists and doctors. After all million hours of said research, I still feel I've only scratched the surface. To regurgitate even a fraction requires plagiarism and months of memorization and dictionaries. I wish I could script, just a teensy bit.


I must admit when it comes to my vaccination research, I have studied ingredients, cause, effect, and most importantly how they affect{ed} my son. I knew of Dr. Wakefield, but have not fully researched {til now} his role in the vaccines vs. Autism debate. Dr. Wakefield has dedicated most of his career to find a possible link between MMR and Autism, or vaccines and the gastrointestinal connection  in general.  It has been a rough road for Dr. W. He feels more research needs to be conducted in this area.  There are enough allegations swirling from both sides to create a good size media twister.  I am not going to provide a specific link for info on Dr. W., again, the  ball is in your court here because as I mentioned, hot topic. I do not want to promote research in an incorrect light.  My stance on vaccines still remains the same.  I do not think vaccines alone cause Autism, but they are dangerous and cause harm.  At least in my son's case, there were already problems brewing before I allowed the Ped to jab him with all that junk.  The aftermath of the shot can be regression for some kiddos.  Get them, don't get them, it's your choice, they provide protection for the masses, but for my son it impairs his speech, fogs up his beautiful mind, and enables rigidity.

The fact of the matter is I don't know exactly where I stand on the issue of Dr. Wakefield besides the fact that I commend his dedication to his work in the field.  BUT I don't want my ignorance to sway any parent making the decision to vaccinate or not to vaccinate.  I allowed the media's biased opinion to cloud my own, and then passed that along. Sorry. I wasn’t acting responsibly. Clearly had too much to drink or was suffering from some sort of strep throat, pink eye, croup like illness and on my death bed, oh could have been this thing called "fatigue" I hear about now and again. To be quite honest, I took it face value, and didn’t do my homework.


While we are waging this war against Autism, the causes, the therapies, the recoveries, whatever, every 20 minutes a new set of  parents are told their child has Autism and are met with the challenge of making life altering decisions for that child. If those parents {or me} don’t do our homework and become informed in all areas, agree or disagree, chances are we will not be able to make the best decision for our child.

Scene:  Parents squirming in cold dreary conference room sitting across from a Child Psychologist, Speech Pathologist, and Developmental Pediatrician. Said team pushes Kleenex box from center of table towards parents and says, “your child is on the Autism Spectrum, there is no cure, there is no hope, his will be like this for the rest of his life, he needs 40 hours of therapy a week stat, hopefully he'll be able to talk someday, don't listen to Jenny McCarthy diet doesn't make a difference, keep plugging shots in his arm, sorry, good luck to ya.” Been there, that’s how it goes, or how it went for me. They were wrong by the way, yes my son still has Autism, might not be a cure, but there is hope, he will get better as he gets older, yeah 40s about spot on, he talks a lot, albeit very loudly, I believe in recovery and biomedical treatment, and he’s a flippin’ rock star.

I will add that I heart Caffeinated Autism Mom.  I've asked her to guest post because she uses big words, and is really smart.  I also happen to admire her approach, knowledge and objectivity.  Thanks Angela!

Any thoughts? Dig in people.  CA Mamma can vouch, I don't bite. {much}

Cari

Short Circuit

Apologies to anyone that may have received a re-post via Google reader or email, in error.  Google or Blogger has short circuited and is randomly re-posting some of my old published posts.  Or,  someone has hacked into my account, in which case they might publish better reading material than I.

I have not been drinking.  {so call off the intervention} I'm off to research Word Press, to the moon Blogger!

Cari

Hippy Blogger

Okay, I'll play along here. The homework assignment is why do you blog? For love or money? This is a contest for which the spoils are a gift card or donation to your favorite charity, {the old heartstrings trick} alrighty I’m in. Check payable to Autism Speaks please {this will be the easiest 10 minutes of charity work to date}. Teacher says we have to make this puppy 400 words, I don't want to get booted out of the contest on a technicality, so you may have to take this in pieces to avoid heart swelling and fluffiness overload.


I blog because I love smiley faces, big baskets of gray kittens, cotton candy, newborn babies smothered in sweet smelling lotion, rainbows, scratch 'n sniff stickers, teddy bears, flowers, weddings, Kleenex with lotion, pink, shiny things, lightening bugs, shooting stars, fuzzy bunny slippers, Hallmark commercials and movies on Lifetime, curly hair, toddlers without tiaras, twins, chapstick, fresh powdery snow, chirping birds {at a reasonable morning hour}, baby chicks {165}, fresh sheets, ice cream sundaes, barbeque's, long eyelashes, snowflakes on eyelashes, little kids singing Jesus Loves Me, vacuum cleaners that work, poetry on a summer's day, sandy beaches, pixie dust, baby bumps, twinkly lights on Christmas trees {no LEDs please}, inspiring quotes and sermons {209}, crispy new Easter outfits, nail polish, new car smell, sweet tea, sand castles, unicorns, miracles, feelings & stuff, big jars of pennies, baby Jesus, lavender, crackling fires, roasted marshmallows, cooking, not having to cook, reading, old cartoons, girl talk, hugs and kisses, bikes with training wheels, post it notes, recycling, squirrels, dimples {260}, Disney movies, swinging on the tire swing, toys that don't require batteries, kind people, generosity, doing the right thing, sweet 20 year old waiters who ask to see my i.d., grapefruit, ponies, smell of fresh hay, ballerinas, violins, accomplished musicians, waterfalls, almonds, belly laughs {303}, jigsaw puzzles, pearl necklaces, Grandma and Grandpas, church, the turning of the fall leaves, insurance authorization granted {take a breather}, construction paper, painting, Sesame Street, pencils, running through the sprinkler, picnics, surprises, best friend necklaces, snail mail, eating fresh peas off the vine, Slippery Fish song, i's dotted with a heart, puffy white clouds, chubby cheeks, my mother's family Vontrapp bursting into song at any given moment {in harmony}, nursery rhymes, blowing kisses, the Cosby show, black and white photos {are we there yet?}, treasure chests, gift receipts, picking apples, seedless grapes that are really seedless, clean public restrooms {401}, white picket fences, courage, mustard, down comforters, chocolate, flip flops, lacy doilies, knock knock jokes {how much longer?}, ice skating, sledding, hot air balloons, toothless grins, happy endings, and trampolines!{Too much?}.


Tell me now, how do you Monetize unicorns?


If you haven't noticed, I am a "hippy blogger"; I love it and don't do it for anyone but myself. I have been known to do something crazy on occasion to spark the ol' creative post or two. Do not get me wrong, I love the comments, I love the validation and  I love meeting new friends.  {I hope that restraining orders don't have an internet category} It's just me, my little free site, my ramblings and the masses who beg for more {all 22 of you}.


My Therapist doesn't want me to blog.{I know, you suspected as much} She says I use humor as a coping mechanism.  She would rather I "journal". Who journals anymore? You can get one cheap at Barnes and Noble, but I like the pictures and glowing light of the computer screen. My journal doesn't tell me to hang in there, give me advice or make me laugh. Plus, a blogging bonus is no hand cramps, and who can ever find a bloody pen to write with anyway?  Note to self: find a therapist that agrees with me, likes my jokes or at least validates some of my lunacy.


In order to avoid blog-je-vous, we will call this post the cliff notes annoying version, I wrote more about my love for the blog a few weeks ago, Where the Magic Happens.


NOTE: Teacher, a.k.a Memoirs of a Single Dad, is hosting this shindig, type up your own submission head over to Memoirs and link up, or click below, if for no other reason than to submit something better than I just did.  Besides it's a random drawing, you could write about pinecones, because I forgot I love pinecones too!


Besides, he's totally rolling in dough over there {he blogs for money, shhh, you didn't hear it from me} don't feel bad taking the money...;)

Versatile Blogger Rebellion

So a shout out to Kelsi, over at Modern Mom Redefined, for giving me the Versatile Blogger Award. Usually when I get these awards I just say thanks and continue on with my drivel. However, I'm in a fair mood today or bored, procrastinating running, it's snowing, so I'm gonna play along. I know this is all for blog love, to gain readers, blah, blah. Not much of a numbers girl sorry to say.  {I do appreciate every one of you dears that read this, really I do, I am giving you a cyber hug, I'm a hugger} I'm suppose to follow like 20 rules {or 3} and copy and paste and list some stuff about me {boring}. I'm rebelling, I'm not passing the award forward, BUT in the generous state you have caught me in, I will pass on some blog love. If you want to know more about this whole award thing, check it on Kelsi's blog. Kelsi deserves the title of Warrior Mom, she's an inspiration, you can follow her ups and downs of being a young single parent with a little guy on the Spectrum, biomedical intervention, schoolin', finding love and trip to the alter; I'm sure rainbows, butterflies, and chirping birds will inevitably follow.

The Old Geezer Blog: I am an inspiration junkie, and here's where I get my fix. I never leave disappointed and hundreds of comments per post tells me I'm not the only one. It's my favorite read, and I want Ron to be my guru, although, I have a feeling I will have to settle for being his groupie.

Mama's Losin' It: Always entertaining, love, love, love it. Kat also has a writer's workshop you can link up to every Thursday with writing prompts. One of these days I WILL participate, that is, when I have nothing else irrelevant to say, fat chance of that happening.

Beard and Pigtails: A relatively new blog about a single Dad raising his bubbly little girl and hiking up some ginormous mountain in his spare time. He's doing such a bang up job, I think I will send my kids to Camp Beard for a few weeks years so he can straighten them out learn armpit farting.

Mama Knows It All: Yup, she does, and I like it.

Memoirs of a Single Dad: Chronicles a single Dad's journey through parenting and dating. It's a great resource if you haven't sworn off men/women and aren't yet living in my cave in Tibet.  He is also having a friendly little contest, "Why do you blog, love vs. money", so check it out if you want validation, prizes, or just to pimp out your blog a little.

Adventures of a Non-Blogger: She's non-blogging wonderfully on single mommy hood, the dating pool and her shoe love. I love my adventures of non-eating a pint of ice cream.

Love You to The Moon Mommy: Not so single Mommy who blogs about her little M, and the trials of co-parenting. If we ever met, I know we'd be instant friends.  She says everything I wish I could say. And she's getting married too!

Excuse me, what is up with all the falling in love and marriage proposals single parent bloggers? Sheesh. {It's just my jealousy rearing its ugly head, ignore me} With all you single parents getting picked off by cupid my rise to the top of the Single Parent Blog universe will soon be complete {cuz I'll be the only one left....but with the divorce rate as it is, there will be a whole crop of newbies soon enough, boo, that makes me sad}.

Salt in Suburbia: A beautiful soul sharing her stories about her family. Cute twin boys {on the Spectrum} and a little girl giving them a run for their money. She consequently might also have shared her Nanny's phone number with me {I'm sure they both regret that}. Nanny, I love you, she is beyond amazing and tends to my little "angels", usually on very short notice, when I'm about to turn into a pumpkin.

Now I'm tired of copy and paste. Sorry to the many lovely blogs I didn't list. I love you too. {You can check all gillion of them in my profile or blog roll} For the ones I did provide a link for, go take a gander, leave them a nice comment and tell them Cari @ Bubble Gum On My Shoe sent you.

*Note*
Be prepared that they might reply, "Who"?

And you'll in turn say, "Cari, the nut job blogger who writes about absolutely nothing and sometimes about Autism."

They'll likely respond, "Oh, I think that girl is blog-stalking me!"

BINGO.

Don't be alarmed if they ask you if you think I have a drinking problem. You'll just have to concur remind them what a lovely young lady I am, and that I'm pretty much harmless.

Disguised As A Responsible Adult

 Points for ingenuity

Perhaps some supervision is in order here at the Bubble Gum household.  I can't even compose a post on this...I have no rebuttal...can't even bullet point it.  I take full responsibility.  Oh, I FINALLY have a Wordless Wednesday post, that's rare, and as you can see, not turning out so wordless {to your dismay, I don't do wordless well}.  Clean up on aisles 10, 5, 7 and 2. 

Hot Pink Moonsand without
permission, and pantless.

For the record, I have been accumulating these photos for months, wait, I mean years.  What kind of lame Mom would I be if this all occurred in the same week?  No need to call social services for neglect or anything, don't be hasty, I can explain.  After all, I could've been cooking {painting my nails}, cleaning {on the phone}, in the shower {reading a book...THE BIBLE}, administering CPR {blogging}, donating a kidney {hiding}, or writing a presidential speech.  Don't judge, the elderly lady I was helping across the street would not take kindly to a bashing of my character.



You found what in the attic?
He looks like his Dad.

 
I may have forgotten to include the photos of the blueberry encrusted floor, the jar of glitter that spilled onto the carpet, the 1/2 roll of unwound toilet paper soaking in the toilet, or the refrigerator door that was open for approximately an hour.


Me, disguised as a
responsible adult.



We can't supervise our kids 24/7 {right? I am right, right?}. What's been your worst clean-up moment when you {"accidentally" on purpose} weren't looking? 

{Also feel free to comment on how incredibly young, and wrinkle free, I look, and that I look like I must be my children's older sister, not MOTHER!  Extra points for you or I'll send you a check or something!







Itsy Bitsy Spider

Courtesy of Flickr

Instead of gracing you with a post on why Cursive writing may become obsolete in our schools, I will rather indulge some highly scientific Arachnid speak. This morning I discovered four spider bites on my thigh. My only hope is that during said spider’s feast, it sucked out some cellulite as well. Ha ha, joke’s on you spider, now you’re just hopped up on high fructose corn syrup and caffeine. I am watching closely for any rash or purple vein-y type reactions. However should my spidey sense kick in, I may have to stop blogging to go save Metropolis {wait}. I draw the line at spandex head to toe, not a flattering look for me. On the other hand, I might be six feet under from Black Widow, Brown Recluse, or tarantulan creeper venom, the internet is a scary place to diagnose one’s self.


While I am waiting to see if I lose feeling in my left leg, I’m going to share my chilling spider story. I was 13 years old, babysitting, kids are eating dinner. All is going swimmingly until I spot a biggish black spider running across the kitchen floor. When it comes to bugs, I have the killer instinct; I’d like to tell you that I catch and release, but no. Not very eco-friendly of me but I’m sure the Earth won’t fall off its axis or anything. Killer instinct kicks in; I hurriedly scan the room for a weapon of destruction. I spy the Dad’s shoe, that’ll do. Whap! She isn’t phased and is still crawling…again, whap!

Close your eyes, the horror, 100 baby spiders {totally not exaggerating} scatter to all points of the room. It was like the movie Arachnophobia without the glowing green eyes. The kids were screaming, I was screaming, and I think I heard Mama Spider shrieking as she died. I was frantically killing as many baby spiders as I could with Dad’s shoe, and was mortified because I was barefoot! I had left my flip flops at the door. Really, I'm surprised this didn't scar me for life.  I cleaned up the spider graveyard kitchen floor, it wasn’t pretty. Neither was Dad’s shoe {gooey}. Sixty escaped babies were probably regrouping in the attic plotting their revenge on me.

I never babysat at “spider house” again. And, that poor family may have been black balled by my insect fearing babysitting cohorts. Sorry spider house family.

Wish me luck, I’m going to apply some more Antihistamine and call the nurse line.

When it comes to bugs, do you have the killer instinct?

OUCH, Splinters!

Well last I checked it is still April.  Still Autism Awareness month, so here it is.  Okay, you knew I was going to talk about this.  Vaccines...wait, wait, don't go.  Yes, I have been known to get a little feisty on the subject.  You can read here, Click-a-dee-do-da, for the more rabid detailed version of my philosophy.  I'm not going to go into it on this post as to avoid the ol' broken record,  yada yada.  What I do know is that my daughter {typical child} is pretty much up to date on vaccines, she's 6, we do the less is more schedule, not every shot available. I've calmed down a bit in my old age and allow her to get some.  Now I face a dilemma, the boy {a-typical child with Autism}.  As I've stated before, not sure I want him to get a shot ever again.   I don't think vaccines are bad, yes, they serve a purpose, don't want Polio back.  I think they are dangerous.  I think they are filled with unhealthy junk, that some of the population cannot metabolize.  Take the Native American population for example.  Studies show they may have a predisposition to alcoholism because of their genetic makeup. They cannot metabolize alcohol as well as other ethnicities {who've been drinkin' since Jesus} for more, scientific gobbledy goo.   Some kids cannot get the heavy metals out of their system.  Yes maybe mercury free, but how about aluminum free?  We know this is a problem for kiddos on the Spectrum.

The boy had pink eye a few weeks ago.  So we went directly from school to the pediatrician to get the drops.  The doc says, Cari I know you're feelings on the vaccines.  I will not sway you one way or the other {good man, my last rant, and over usage of the word scare tactics, must still be fresh in his mind} but I have some new information you need to consider.  There has been a Measles outbreak in the neighboring county, 8 children hospitalized.  Good thing he told me, as I don't watch the news or read the paper, there was no PSA on Nick Jr.  We are asking that any child that has not had their second round of MMR, to do so immediately.  I need to think about this.  Its one thing to deny vaccination when Measles are practically eradicated here in the good ol' USA, {as in one case in the U.S. a year} but then to weigh the options of measles or possible regression is quite another. 

I am on the fence about this one, and it's giving me splinters.  MMR, that's a big shot, full of lots of crap and a little bit of good.  Right now, I'm thinking about possibly just asking for the Measles vaccine {and forgo the Mumps and Rubella, did you know you can do that? get them all separate, I recommend this}.  I will however have to know every single ingredient in that baby and research my tush off before I make a decision. 

Sometimes doing something can be as harmful as doing nothing at all.

I know this is a very sensitive subject.  Do you have an opinion?  What are your feelings on vaccines?  I'm not picking a fight, just interested in what you parents think... parents of typical and a-typical kiddos.  Besides I won't publish anything that would conflict with my own interests {wink}.

Here is the article about the Measles outbreak from the paper if you're interested, Measles.

The Bull and The Backlash: Part II

Well now that I've deep cleaned myself in sanitizer, on with the story. To read part one, clicky.  Might also add this may be a PG-13 rating, at any rate, this is as gritty as I'll ever get. {Sorry or your welcome}


{Disclaimer: I'm a nice girl, not pretentious {much} so in my defense my behavior {sans the bull riding} was not flirtatious or lewd, nor did I invite advancement, my posse will totally back me up on this. For the record, my posse consists of well-spoken, pearl wearing, eyelash curling, 50/50 mini-van driving people who wear heels because they look cute even though they hurt. So don't cross us, we have blisters, and will scratch your eyes out. Totally kidding, we're really nice…but we could…scratch your eyes out...if we wanted to.}


So I just happened to be one of the two single people at the party. Joy. Not that I was disappointed, didn't come to find a man, but every else in the group seemed to make it their mission to find me a "hot guy". Come on married people {I used to do the same thing}, if you're looking to live vicariously through me, I'm afraid you'll be sorely disappointed. Going to the grocery store alone is like a vacation, I play hot wheels and Barbie in most of my free time.  My last hot date was with a load of permanent press.  I also consequently don't need a wingman...what is this? My brother-in-law, took on such role, and consistently asked, "how about that guy, or him, or that one over there, want me to go talk to him for you?" Yes, please brother, and while you’re at it take this hand written note that says Hi, I like you, do you like me? Check yes or no.  And just for the record, I'm not looking to "hook-up".


So here's a list of the usual suspects whom I always seem to attract and did:


Bachelor #1: Mr. Inappropriate


Adored by men, hated by women {when I say women I mean me}. Mr. Inappropriate is anything but smooth. Usually what he lacks in social skills he makes up for with a fat wallet. He has no filter, and feels secure to converse on all topics from my sex life or lack thereof {he is willing to remedy this, threw up a little in my mouth}, job, social life, kids and ex-husband. The more rejection Mr. I. incurs, the more inappropriate he becomes, and will not be satisfied until he pushes you to your breaking point. I am witty, but Mr. I. left me speechless, jaw-dropped and wide-eyed more than a few times.


*Note* Mr. Inappropriate was the other single at the party. Shocking!  He zeroed in on me after receiving some encouragement or blessing from my dear brother-in-law. Like I said, video for blackmail, I have valid reasons, no?  Brother doesn't understand why I don't like Mr. Inappropriate. I think Brother and Mr. I. have some sort of Bromance going and the banter between them is some kind of foreplay. I finally had to pull Brother aside, and may have said something like, “If you don't get that guy away from me I will poke this stir stick in your eye and squeeze a lemon in it." Something like that, don't remember word for word.


"Bachelor" #2: Married Guy


Married guy always notices seconds after introduction if you are wearing a wedding band or not. Married guy just like Gay guy is always cute. Married guy spends the entire night being somewhat flirtatious, but constantly reminding you, "I'm married". Yes, we've established that, are you trying to convince yourself? Married guy can be overheard saying things like, "If I weren't married" and "Why aren't you married".  Mrs. Married guy is usually not at the party, boy she is a lucky girl. {cough}


Bachelor #3: Inebriated Guy


Bachelor #3 is harmless due to the fact that you can out run him or dodge him in a crowd easily. Inebriated guy is rarely persistent as he often recoils back to the bar or wherever he’s misplaced his bong.


Bachelor #4: Toothless, Bad Breath, Smelly Guy {categorized under lack of hygiene}


Toothless often zeros in on his prey when there is no escape route. Time is off the essence, as the victim's eyes start to water and slowly backs away trying to make a getaway. There is a clause to evading this particular Bachelor, cruel as it may be, you must be prepared, you will most likely be trapped in a line 10 people deep with the trainee cashier and a price check. This bachelor is particularly persistent and will not take no 5 times in a row for an answer. Bachelor #4 will undoubtedly make you reach for your tic tacs, brush your teeth for an hour and make a dental appointment.


That is my list. All these usual suspects have a sneaky way of letting fear and doubt creep in to my newly(ish) single brain and say, "is this what's left out there?" {It was a bar after all} They inevitably make you second guess breaking it off with the last guy you dated, he was cute and sweet, hmmm, he wasn't so bad. {I won't settle, I won't settle...}It also makes you nauseated just thinking about how many of these "bachelors" you'll have to deflect to find one of the good guys. I will crawl back under my rock for awhile, let all these bachelors become a distant memory, and try again...someday. 

Or, I will live in solace in a cave in Tibet.

The Bull and The Backlash: Part I

This post has been swirling in the abyss my brain for a few days now. I almost hate to post it after my last post; I'm such a bi-polar blogger. Hence why some people have more than one blog, I am resisting. I've come to the conclusion I need to make this a two parter, lucky readers you. Trust me, this is worth it. Part one depicts the tale of my sober{ish} ride on the mechanical bull {not a typo}, and part two will delve into the topic of why I want to swear off men, and the usual suspects who drive me to that point.

So this is my sister and I, consequently my BFF too. {She's so pretty, inside and out} She had to up and move to California this week. I have stopped bawling long enough to compose this post. Thank God for Skype, texting, cell phones and airplanes. I suppose I don't blame her, not much about piles of brown snow and frigid temps are appealing.


So there was a going away...party? Let's just say more like gathering. At a bar, in the burbs, a cowboy bar at that, complete with peanut shells on the floor and mechanical bull. Being the non-bar-fly type, I had no clue this place even existed. Seemed I was the only one. It was packed! Apparently I should've gathered from the name Cowboy Slims...or Jakes...or Jacks, that I should've worn my skank-a-licious attire, and not a turtle neck {see exhibit A above}. Holy meat market! Ugh. And this was an equal opportunity hook-up fest, oldies and babies alike, I felt...oldish. Well, I sat down with friends and stayed awhile, and had a great time. I had my two drink minimum, per the norm, and laughed and regaled stories of old.


Every so often, a faint whisper, a small innuendo, if you will, would make its way through our group, "ride the bull". {Very Field of Dreams-esque, we are next to Iowa, voices travel} Didn't matter who, but bets may or may not have been wagered to convince my sister and brother-in-law to do it. After all, "it is your last night here, just do it." Let me tell you, that bull had a line to the bathroom, or maybe 3-4 people, can't recall. Most often times, people just slid right off before that sucker even got going, suppose it had nothing to do with the alcohol consumption. 12:30 a.m. rolls around {I was about to call it a night} and I'm chatting with my bro, and there it was again "ride the bull". What happened next will live to haunt me, you and the Internet for years to come. I must have had a momentary episode of Tourettes because I blurted, "Oh come on, if you do it, I'll do it." Immediate regret. {Darn you James Earl Jones} Too late! My brother was racing to fill out the waiver. Expletives.


I got both of his 10 second rides on video, and am saving them for You-Tube, or blackmail, one of the two. For now, I will keep them in the vault, guarded by high security and lasers and stuff. He did just get promoted to "Mr. Uppity Up office" from "That guy in the cube", so I don't want any internet leaks to hinder his security clearance. After high fives from the group, I knew, my time had come. I pulled the ol' have to go to the bathroom trick. My sister accompanied me. She said, "Oh, you don't have to, don't worry about it". But I knew I would never live this down, seriously, never. Well and there is that pride thing {sigh}. And I kinda dared him....sweet Jesus, why can't I just keep my mouth shut. {What I will do for 20 bucks} So we're standing in the bathroom line, surrounded by "ladies" with mouths like sailors guzzling their Budweisers, and I thought to myself, oh my gosh, my sister and I are the only sober ones in this joint, and that I need to get my eyebrows waxed. And what the heck am I so afraid of? That I will fall off {that's just inevitable}? Or that I will care what these pillars of society think of me? "I'm doing it". My sister looked at me like I was crazy. And then the topper, the Mack-daddy of crazy flowed out of my mouth with, "besides, it will make a good blog post". It has now become obvious that I need some sort of support group. {Shush} See the lengths I will go to for you? I also might have mentioned something about this being the year of facing my fears and being brave, so bring it.


My biggest fear was not falling off, but rather contracting an STD from the saddle. Jeans from that evening=burned. So I signed the waiver, "not responsible....permanently disabled....paralysis....broken bones..." I said aloud, "I can't do this; I'm a single mom, what good am I to my kids if I'm paralyzed?” My sister's response, "oh sign it, if anything happens to you, I'll take the kids". Is that passive aggressive support? Well folks, a good 45-50 second ride, a standing ovation from the crowd {or 3 drunk guys}, and the respect of my brother-in-law for life. Doesn't get much better than that.


Now the bull backlash. Every pervert in the joint was now drawn to my bull-riding glow. Moths to the flame and so on. Stay tuned for part two.

I'm Aware...Are You?

April is Autism Awareness month! And I'm aware that we are a week into April and I've yet to post on anything Autism related. My fellow bloggers with kiddos on the spectrum have been lighting up the blogosphere with facts and stories and information. Well done! Last year I did the same thing. I don't blog about Gabe's Autism too much, unless I am fighting the insurance company for services...don't even get me started. I think this blog does serve its purpose when it comes to Autism awareness. But I am aware that my son has Autism every single day. I use this blog often times as an escape/voice from that reality. As a parent of a special needs child, you live it, breathe it, every day, every minute, every second.

Autism influences everything in my life, it is a constant, you cannot forget about it even for a moment. I change my work schedule, again, to accommodate the continual therapies we travel to everyday, nice at $3.80 a gallon {worth every cent}. Autism affects what we eat everyday because Gabe is gluten, casein, soy free, so no fast food, everything has to be planned in advance. We don't do spur of the moment too often because Gabe has transition issues and high anxiety. I drive the same route to school every day, because a detour would cause a panic attack. Haircuts, dogs and invading his space, cause Gabe to go into a state of repetition to try to regulate. We don't sit in the pew in church because Autism doesn't understand how to speak softly. I'm out with friends or on a date {woot} for some "me" time and Autism inevitably creeps into the conversation.

We do play together.  We hug.  We say "I love you".  We go to the park.  We try new things.  We laugh.  We tell jokes.  We play hide and seek, and musical chairs.  We sing together.  We live a normal life, our normal.  And everyday it gets better and easier.

Autism has no face. Autism has no cure. Kids are rarely misdiagnosed {yup, I said it, FACT people}, in my experience; many kids are not diagnosed, because some signs have been ignored. Most children who receive early therapies thrive as adults; the younger we catch it, the better the outcome. Diagnosing Autism is not filling out a 10 question survey online (did that before he was officially diagnosed). It is called Autism Spectrum because every child is affected differently in varying degrees of severity. What may work for one, may not work for the other, one kid flaps, one spins, some have seizures, some script {we script, love when G does his Despicable Me, "assemble the minions" cracks me up}. And so the parents of these kids are left to their own devices with our kids as the guinea pigs because the world is asleep. Autism is not just "Rain man".

Gabe's diagnosis on the Spectrum completely changed life as I knew it, or dreamt it would be. In one moment all the dreams you have for your child seem lost; and there seem to be no answers and they are needed so desperately.  Diagnosis is not a death sentence, but in fact some what freeing.  That I don't have the bad kid, or the kid who doesn't listen, or the kid who freaks out when he has to touch play-doh.

But in these two years since diagnosis I have learned a few things....

That I will make it through this, that I am doing all I can, that it will be okay, that HE will be okay, that I have the most wonderful support group, and that my job first and foremost is to love that little boy. If all I give him is love, and he learns to understand that, won't that be enough? It is for any child. {Make sure they know that}

The other day in the car, I was doing some preparation with Gabe about our schedule. We must prep, and talk through it so there are no surprises. I said, "After school, then gas station, then church". It wasn't Sunday; I was helping serve a meal so this was different. Gabe and Autism are creatures of routine. Usually, Gabe either accepts the schedule and we repeat and repeat, or his doesn't and he screams about it for 15 minutes, and repeat. This time, no repetition, he simply said, "why?” He is four years old, and this is the first time he ever asked me why. Its big people, yes, I was crying. He is the sunshine of my life, just heaven sent. I am so lucky and I wouldn't have it any other way. Just interrupted by the boy who said, "Vhat bug is wheelwee weeful" {that bug is really lethal per the Atom}, he has a love of the vintage superheroes.

Mona Lisa didn't show
facial expressions either.
Maybe she had Autism.

My last words are these. Our children's pediatricians are ill prepared in Autism diagnosis. THEY DO NOT DIAGNOSIS KIDS ON THE SPECTRUM! More than likely, they will not catch it, mine didn’t. You as the parent must advocate for diagnosis. A child must be diagnosed by a mental health professional, psychiatrist, developmental pediatrician (different), speech pathologist, occupational therapist, or often times special education services in your school district. And if you want insurance to pay for services, all of the above 3-5 times.

If you should feel your child might have Autism, do not delay! If you need more information or have any questions, please let me know in your comments or email me here and I would be happy to help you in any way I can. Our story is an open book.

Here are some links about Autism, click to redirect:
TACA: Talk About Curing Autism
Autism Speaks
Generation Rescue
Autism Fact Sheet from the National Instutite of Neurological Disorder

The Sass at Six

{This is a good picture of me...wearing my skinny jeans}

The drama queen, a.k.a six year old daughter, has developed quite a fondness for the art of "sass", often times totally blindsiding me and leaving me speechless. This inevitably prompts the usual parental response, "What did you just say to me?” This then invokes an even sassier response from the child. All of a sudden she turns six and this? Can I chalk this up to a developmental milestone?


One of my pet peeves is trash mouth kids. I cannot handle name calling, and "potty mouths”. Don't pick up your toys, or spill your juice, or share your toys, I can handle that, we can work through that. But sass, it just pushes my buttons; how does she know this? Kids are so darned intuitive, I hate that...love that...no, hate that.


A fit of sass even took her Father by surprise, whom on his day with the kids texted me asking me what he should do because drama queen "hated him and etcetera, sass, sass, sass". My reply, "how offended are you". {As you can see, doesn't get the sass from me} Part of me wanted to text and say, come on, man up, parent your child here. But to be quite honest, I couldn't as that would've been highly hypocritical considering I don't know the best way to handle it myself. Yes, that was me taking the high road and attempting to co-parent our children.  I threw out a few possible options of recourse and told him to stick it out, don't give into her or allow the behavior to continue. We aren't spanking folk, although, there was a first and last time that there was a spanking with drama queen, and I still use that memory as a threat under duress. But I don't feel in any way comfortable with it, and that's just me, to each his own. However, I do not advocate abuse in any form, physically, mentally or emotionally. Nor do I think a thoughtful, calm spanking {is that possible} is necessarily wrong, but it's not my style. Fit of rage spanking....whole other can of worms...if you're raging...STOP, take a time out!


I try so very hard to be a patient parent, to help my kids work it out, however, it's not like when they throw their coat on the floor. And my rationalizing that those aren't kind words and blah, blah, waaa, waaa {think Charlie Brown}, as I receive a blank stare are obviously not working.


It also doesn't help that any headway I make in the matter is blown to smithereens as soon as I pick her up from daycare and she's been hanging with her trash mouth friends. This I cannot control. But I believe as a parent I deserve some level of respect, scratch that, sounding like my parents, reword; as a human being I deserve a level of respect when you speak to me. There is no reason to speak to someone that way. Hmmm, how to make this stick?


I suppose I really have to model kind behavior, which I try to be conscious of, but I'm only human {and a little sassy}.


Anyone have any advice on how they have dealt with the "sass"?

Mad Spellin' Skillz

So, it was brought to my attention that I made a spelling error, well more of a typo in my last post, A New Diet. Scroll on down, take a look see, did you catch it? I obviously didn't. Meditate = Mediate, nope. Maybe a little? I suppose when you meditate, you are mediating on some level, with God or the universe, or something/someone. So I thought I'd give you a little glimpse of my mediation with the big guy upstairs.....


I'm all like, "Dude, enough already".


And God's all like, "Patience".


So I'm all, "Come on" {stamping feet}


And he's like, "I know what's best for you" {he's kind of a know-it-all}


So I'm like, "Alright, alright....Jacob!"


And HE says, "Edward!"


I totally think know that God has a sense of humor. But maybe give me a little shout out in your prayers for my "hot soul" comment, can't hurt. At any rate, I'm not going to correct it, I'm embracing my flaws and it was kind of a cool typo. I do not, for the record, talk to dead people. So don't ask. Your Grandma said so.


Wouldn't it be dreamy if my next husband was an editor? {Boy we'd he'd have lots of laughs} On second thought, no, because really I'd just be using him for his snazzy spelling skills and grammatical accuracy. And well, I'd just be his trophy wife.


Well, off to meditate/mediate. Ohm, Namaste & Amen.