Last Halloween

I has been almost a year since my son Ben moved into a care home. We were so blessed to find a facility at all. There are about 8-10 kids for each opening. I happened to call a few days before his house was going to choose another boy. I quickly faxed all of the paperwork that they needed and then we waited.


These homes are so expensive that the government isn't really opening anymore. Richard, who is the social worker for the care home company said that is is about $9,000 per child for care and housing. So Ben's house with the six occupants costs about $54,000 per month to run. That is psycho!


Ignoring the bureaucracy, if it wasn't our son, it would be someone else's child, and we were at our wit's end. I was sure that my husband would have a heart attack from all of the stress. He was working full-time, in school full-time and had five kids at home. Me? I have a lot of gray hair.

Well, obviously, he was accepted into the care home. He went in on Halloween morning last year. We still are not sure what to do with ourselves. We are working hard to get organized. He is doing really well. He walks a lot to keep out of trouble. He has lost 30 lbs. and looks great. We were afraid that he would get type 2 diabetes the way he was growing. Having small children in the house and often only one exhausted parent on duty, we couldn't meet his needs.

When he comes home for visits, it is pretty shocking. He is a lot of work. We have forgotten. We feel that he is innocent before God because of his Autism. He is so childlike in his understanding, but he sure knows how to make a little hell for everyone else when he is bored or feeling OCD.

He is twelve years old now and has turned into a handsome young man. I can't wait for the day that Christ makes him whole again. I cry every time that I think about it.It is a long journey and I am so glad to have the help that our family needed and I am so glad that Ben is happy.

Baby Dream

I am very pregnant with my sixth child and fifth boy. My first son CeDricK was a surprise. This little fellow was a shocker, but we are very excited for him to come.

My husband likes to do a baby check each night. He rubs my bulging belly, gets the baby all riled up and then turns on his side and goes to sleep. Since I am about 34 weeks into this endeavor, the baby is pretty good sized. You can feel little limbs and hard places that must be a torso or other bony area.

The other night, once the baby was "activated," my husband says "Wow, that must be a leg. I don't remember the other kids kicking in rhythm like this."

Later, as I was sleeping and dreaming one of my weird pregnancy induced dreams, I felt that leg again inside my belly a couple of times. THEN, the leg was on the outside of my belly! I gave birth to the baby through my belly button! The baby was all clean, which was nice. He was very blonde and beautiful. I don't really make blondes, but it was a dream. We didn't have any diapers for the baby because he was so early, but I found one in a sample pack, unwrapped it from it's packaging and put it on the baby. He was so tiny that the diaper swamped him, so he proceeded to swamp our bed by peeing out of the leg hole of the diaper. Then I gave him a bottle (odd, since I have nursed all of my kids) and was so distracted, that I didn't burp him and he threw up all over the place. I woke up after that.

I am guessing that I am not feeling prepared for a baby yet and that all of my insecurities were surfacing. When I told my husband about the dream, he thought it was pretty strange to dream about giving birth through my belly button. He reacted like most good fathers would and brought home a package of size 1 diapers.

Photo credit:http://www.pregnancystagesweekbyweek.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/baby-in-belly.jpg

Speech Therapy Again

We have come full circle. I attempted speech therapy with Ben (notice the word "attempted"). Putting an active and aggressive kid in a room for 45 minutes is pure torture, for everyone. I will spare some of the detail, because it isn't pretty, but really people, is there another way? I have this theory that Autistic kids specifically would be a lot more receptive to speech therapy in their own environment instead of in a torture chamber.

But I digress. My youngest son Shawn is delayed in his speech and comprehension. Our pediatrician is an amazing lady and she wants him in speech therapy and to get a psych eval to determine that he doesn't have a disability of some kind. Having lived in the trenches for almost twelve years, I can tell you this...what we are dealing with this time is dramatically different. I think that he is just developing at his own speed and not that of the "normal" kid. He says at least three new words a day and today was saying "I am AWESOME." Yes, you are!

Could he have Oddism (that is my word for Asperger's, because they are not at all similar)? If he has high-functioning Autism, I will eat my hat! We are talking: eye contact, social skills, initiating play, verbalizing, following simple commands, etc. I know the signs. I watch for them with all of my children now.

I am a hard-core, combat trained Mom of all trades. As we face a familiar situation, I say "Bring it on." I have handled worse.


Update: The first speech therapist had us come two times and then determined that Shawn didn't need her. We went to another office that our pediatrician referred us to and we love it! He is doing so well. He is communicating his needs. He has mastered. "Yes" and "No." If he doesn't like what he is being told, he will tell you "Be Quiet." He is even yelling at his older brother. Ah! Be careful what you wish for.

This little brown eyed boy is an angel and I am loving this experience with him and watching him grow by leaps and bounds!

"Be Nice" Head Banger

I think that God grants us the blessing of forgetfulness. Otherwise, we battle weary mothers would go A.W.O.L. during the toddler years. Yeah, they are very cute, but they are a full-body work out. If my child is head butting me when I get him out of the settings menu of my computer or taking away the box of fruit snacks, he is taking off his diaper and peeing on carpets, counter tops and floor rugs. When I get up the courage to take him out in public, I almost always regret it. So much opinion should not be allowed in a 38 lb. thrashing body of attitude. Thrashing, kicking and using your large cranium as weapons should require a permit, a very hard to qualify for permit.

Don't these young children understand how much their mommies do for them on a daily basis. Do we get any appreciation? No, I tell you. NO! I don't even need verbal reassurance that I am a good Mom, I would be happy with a mandatory break each day as my child actually naps, so that I can collect my faculties. I'm not even sure that I have faculties.

I know that on some level that what I say ad nosium each day must be sinking in a little. Now as my son is hitting me with his hard head he says "Be nice, be nice." I assume that he is referring to his desired behavior and not that he made a "nice" shot, but who knows.

I wish that I could talk to "the powers that be" to have some tighter legislation placed on the behavior of children under the age of five, but who am I kidding? Who is going to take me seriously with peanut butter on my shirt, a frizzy ponytail and blood shot eyes?

KARMArt

When Ben was about five or six, we had a Developmental Therapist that worked with him in our home. Her name escapes me, so I will call her Inga so that she sounds more exotic. "Inga" had been recently divorced from her second husband and moved from the East Coast to live with her daughters. She had stepped back into being "Mom" and did most of her daughter's work for them. She was on five different medications to help her survive her divorce, etc. She worked with Ben. Anyone of those things could cause stress in someone's life.



She confided many things to me as most in-home therapists do as they integrate into your family. She said that she practiced retail therapy by going to Wal-Mart and walking around the store, filling a cart with all of the things that she wanted but couldn't afford. When she was done with her fictitious shopping spree, she would ditch the cart and go home.

I have worked in retail and know that those who leave destruction in their wake, are not just frowned upon, but cursed and hated by the employees. I could see the therapeutic side to Inga's self-help program, but I had sympathy for the employees in the blue vests.

Inga didn't last very long working with Ben, which was a consistent pattern for therapists back then and now. I hadn't thought of her for a long time, and then I saw her again when I was out and about one day. (You know it's coming...)She was working at Wal-Mart. How's that for karma? I think that she probably initiated a new therapy plan after that, the old one wasn't working anymore.






Photo:http://poorrichard.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/evil-walmart-greeter.jpg?w=221&h=300

Hornet and Blenders

My poor little "Baby Bear" got attacked by a hungry hornet tonight. He was over by our Rotatiller and was targeted by a beast of war. I was in the garage with my husband and CDK who is almost fourteen was on duty inside (reading a book). Our backyard is very kid friendly, but hornets have their own code of ethics. My son heard our little one screaming and ran out there. S.J. was sitting in his little Fisher Price plastic car freaking out because a pollinator was in his shirt with him. It bit him on the shoulder blade and possibly the arm. S.J. doesn't talk much yet at age 2 1/2, but he screamed like he was having a tooth extracted with out Novacaine. He was brought in the house and hugged by his big brother and both parents, in turn. I put him in the bath partially to wash off the bites and partially to get the ice cream out of his hair. After a few minutes of water play and wet floor, he seems fine.

Meanwhile, Dad and CDK went out to spray the nest in the tiller. S.J. had killed the original hornet by himself. As they were protecting their domain, Ben was inside making a cottage cheese, yogurt, water and milk smoothie because the fridge was left unlocked. Just goes to show that pests come in all shapes, colors and food preferences.

Fair is Fair

It's not that I am a big shot! I mean, heck, I wipe butts for a living. Being a Domestic Goddess may sound glamorous, unless you change it to "stay-at-home Mom", then the glamour is gone. But I have had my fifteen minutes, okay,15 seconds of fame. I won three ribbons in the California State Fair which is almost a big deal. I entered 33 bow ties framed in the shape of a bow tie that were my Grandpa's and I won a Second Place ribbon in the Handcrafts category. I received a matching ribbon for my Ewok costume that all of my children were then required to wear. My oldest son won a 1st place ribbon for an ocean scene drawing and a ribbon for a patriotic drawing. A different year, I won a fourth place ribbon for my Superman Christmas stocking complete with a cape. Two people offered to buy that one, which is cool. It was my brother's, but I get pretty attached to things that I make. They become precious as I invest my precious time into them.

My winning streak at that fair was five or six years ago. We moved to Idaho, and even though I went to the fair in Boise, I had never been to our local one in our county.

This year, I decided to dust off my skills and compete against the "old" me. The result? I may have aged, but I am not dead yet! Keeping in mind that there were fewer entrants per category because the population is dramatically smaller than the golden state. But these are fierce competitors, because there are amazing seamstresses and people raised with old fashioned ideals and functional families where talents were nurtured. Getting to the point finally, I won a ribbon on the four things that I entered and CDK won a blue ribbon for his art that he entered. Not bad for an old gal, and her son. Did I mention the $4.00 in prize money. Oh yeah! Celebrities, eat your hearts out! I received a hefty prize money payout of a job well done, and some pocket money.


(The top picture is my daughter and the bottom one is my Mama)