just a couple of things

1. I called the cable company and complained about my bill; they signed me up for an upgraded service for $30 less (with tax and all) a month. So now Punkin is watching WALL-E on our day off -- he threw up his dinner last night.

2. Oh, rewind. We both had the stomach virus from hell over Thanksgiving break. Mine struck Thursday afternoon, his Saturday. Since we both have acid reflux, it takes our tummies extra time to heal after really nasty bouts of the pukies. He went back to school Monday (mistake) and even Tuesday (he really was in a better mood). He barely ate anything either day until Tuesday night when he REALLY wanted Hamburger Helper Beef Noodles. He ate one helping, asked for more, got that look, and projectiled all over the bathroom.

3. So I called the doc and got him in today. I mean, what do I do? The doc concluded that he still has a sore tummy. DUH! He told me to take it easy with the foods, which we are, and let Punkin take the lead. Except Punkin asked for pizza, so no.

4. I also got a call from the psychologist that said that she and Punkin's BRILLIANT (!!!!!!!) social worker spoke on the phone and decided maybe he was just tired and frustrated last time, and so to satisfy the state, they'd give it one more try. No big deal, right? Just bring him in and we'll try it again! YEP. Same test. Do they really expect different results? I called her and left a message after I scheduled the appointment; I have a few suggestions this time, unless of course she likes getting hit with plastic blocks. Hey, I don't know her life.

5. I'm sorry, she really is a very nice woman. The person I'm angry with is his worker, who clearly understands nothing about my son, and the state that insists on torturing the both of us. I'm assuming this is because of the possibility that we are abusing the system? I don't know.

6. I'm also upset because up until this year we could have done all of this IQ testing at school. But now the school does no formal testing -- even for IEPs and special education placements. I can understand not doing them because another agency asked you, but to not do them to serve your own purposes just seems backwards.

7. And that's all.

*Update: She just called me back. Seriously, she is so sweet. She just wants to make sure the state can't come back and take anything away from Punkin. She agreed to nixing the table and chairs and trying to catch him in the morning if my work schedule allows. She also suggested I stay in the room this time. I explained that all of his previous testing had involved toys, so this test was not exactly appealing to him; I think she understood.

even when

1. I stood staring at Punkin's closet, "He really needs more long-sleeved shirts. This closet is packed with short-sleeves and shirts that are too small. Now, to pull money out of thin air: ready, set, GO! Didn't work AGAIN."

Two days later my mom brought over a bag of clothes from a woman at church.

2. Punkin's shoes were peed on months ago. I washed them, but they retained this odd musty smell no matter what I did. And then last week I put them on him and noticed the sole was literally pulling away from the rest of the shoe. My heart sunk; I didn't want him to wear bad shoes. Not even for a day.

And then I remembered that about a month earlier a coworker had sent some shoes -- brand new -- through school mail. I was sure they would be too big, but I grabbed them and headed out the door to school with him. Once there, we tried them on and sure enough they fit.

3. This past Friday, Punkin's respite worker forgot her purse at our apartment. She called and said she would just come by Saturday morning to pick it up. Well, by 1:00 Saturday her purse was still on my table, and I was annoyed, but the doorbell rang. It was not the respite worker, but a couple from my church with a Thanksgiving Basket. At first I thought, "Now what am I going to do with an 8lb turkey? Should I give it away?"

But I can cook it some other time. Just because it's Thanksgiving turkey doesn't mean I have to use on November 26th. And we can use the meat, veggies, and trimmings for various meals throughout a few weeks.

4. I was curious as to why my landlord hadn't sent me a contract renewal, and at one point it seemed like they thought I had signed a 2-year lease. I remembered signing a one year lease, but got busy with other things and never went and looked. It honestly wasn't a priority as long as they kept letting me live there! Well, I got the lease renewal (at least a month late) yesterday. And while I don't understand why they think they can get away with demanding that I return it to them by December 1,

they are not raising my rent.

Even when I stand and pray out loud in front of my son's closet, a prayer that is mostly just a bunch of ramblings to myself, God is listening. Even when I pray in silence, He listens. Even when I haven't asked yet, He knows what I need. He doesn't always answer the way I want Him to, or the way I think He will, but He listens.

I am thankful this Thanksgiving.

i missed every single word of the sermon

Whoever found this blog by looking up, "lion doing other lion" . . . okay, GROSS. That's just yucky.

I need to remember that if a meltdown involves, in any way, Punkin destroying something, to get rid of that something before we return to the scene of the crime. For example, in church this morning, I let him rip up his children's bulletin and part of my bulletin before I had him clean up.

Later in the service, he asked for the rest of my bulletin and I said no. He then took it and started hiding his bus underneath it, which made a lot of that wrinkly paper noise and started to destroy it. Wrinkly paper noise during sermon = attention I do not need. So I took it away and told him to hide bus underneath the blanket.

FLIP OUT MUCH?

I tried to calm him right there while he smacked me, and then things just got way too crazy and I had to remove him. I thought for sure he would relax right away once we left because I figured half of the reason for the meltdown was because of his repeated appeals to go home. NOPE.

Snot everywhere. Of all the ways my son chooses to act out and distract me from the task at hand, he has chosen snot rockets.

He asks for blanket. "No, you hit mommy." WHACK. He asks for bus. "No, you hit mommy." WHACK.

He finally calms down enough to ask me to clean up his face and we go back to the sanctuary to retrieve the blanket so he can relax. He relaxes in the hallway for a few minutes and then we return to our seats.

He sees the crinkled bulletin.

"I RUIN IT! I RUIN IT! NO BUS!" I am not exaggerating, the bus flew 80mph and only stopped because it hit a pew (thank goodness not flesh) with a resounding SMACK, and then we had to leave again to a chorus of, "I FROWED IT! NO MORE BUS! I RUIN IT!"

I showed him a new bulletin, after he finished pummelling my face, and explained that it was okay now. "Bus?"

"Ya, talk to me about that one later, buddy."

internets, we have a paper cleanup in the living room

paper cleanup in the living room.

(this is the third round of destruction today. as in we've cleaned it up twice already prior to this.)

i'm with him; i hate the dentist, too

Remember that time I was really worked up about Punkin having to go to the dentist for the first time and it ended up being one of the easiest things we've ever done?

Ya. This was not one of those times.

I mean, I guess it could have been worse. We didn't have to wait at all. He pooped in their toilet. And while his feet DID make contact with the dental hygenist, he did not, to my knowledge, break anything or draw any blood.

You can see from the photo that this place is mad insane. MAD kid-friendly. The entire waiting room is painted like an ocean aquarium. You are inside Finding Nemo. And yes, that is a three-station X-Box 360. Up was playing on the tv. Adult-sized characters line the hallways; tiny ones hang from the ceiling. It. Is. Bonkers.

So you'd think that they'd do more than shove a toothbrush in my son's face, right? No. And you think that I would be with it enough to prevent a She's Coming At Me With A Toothbrush Meltdown, right? No. I totally dropped the ball. I did not stand up for Mr. Punkin in time.

He was in my lap, so I held him down and the hygenist tried to get in his mouth, but he just bit down harder. He lost it and I tried to soothe him. Sometimes at home I can tell him to give the toothbrush a kiss and then he loosens up once he realizes that the bristles aren't going to hurt him. Another hygenist then came over and snottily remarked, "I know it's tough, but you're going to have to hold him down. It HAS to be done."

Well, MA'AM, my son doesn't have to learn to hate the dentist. Because unlike some children, he has a very strong visual memory. And he WILL remember this, LADY. It WILL be worse next time. Better get a hockey mask. That's what I could have said, but I didn't.

Instead I wrapped both legs around him, held both arms down with one arm and used the other arm to hold down his head. It was pretty awful.

The dentist came over a few minutes later and tried to get him to open his mouth. RIIIGGHT. I asked the hygenist to move and had Punkin lay sideways across me so that he could kick his legs all he wanted and not hurt her. He seemed to like this arrangement because he was upside-down and once he realized all he had to do was say, "Ahhh," he was totally fine.

A few minutes later, the dentist told me he doesn't have any cavities and we should try flossing. WERE YOU HERE FOR THE PAST 15 MINUTES? HAVE YOU MET MY CHILD? Dentist, this is Punkin. Punkin, this is Denist. We don't do flossing.

well THAT went well

The State, in all its infinite wisdom, demanded that Punkin undergo an IQ test today to determine what level of care he requires and to ensure that he does, in fact, still require a level of care from The State [to maintain his MR Medicaid Waiver].

I know, I know. But he has a genetic disorder. It's in his DNA. He had a blood test. And even if every child with Fragile X is different, he's already undergone IQ testing twice. So he wouldn't require that, right?

Yes, well, apparently that doesn't matter. Because he's turning five soon. And when you turn five, well, magical things might happen. Magical things like your IQ jumping 60 points.

We had to leave school early. AND OH MY GOODNESS HOW EXCITING WAS THIS?? He couldn't contain himself. He ran up, bouncing, BOUNCING, "MOM! I uh justa so uh happy uh see uh you!" Hugs all around! And then to his teacher, "I uh all done now! See you uh morrow!"

The bouncing continued at the psychologist's office, which happened to be the office of my former psychologist (LOVE), and we had a nice mini-reunion. After I signed some papers and he announced, "I POOPED" to the entire waiting room, I changed him and we went back for the test.

The doctor and I talked for a few minutes and then I left the room so that they could work; we both agreed that he would probably be better behaved without me there. Not even five minutes later, she and Punkin walked into the waiting room, "He can't do that test. It's too hard and there's no way he's going to attend to the tasks."

As she looked for a Vineland (an interview with me), she mentioned that the final straw was when he chucked the blocks across her office. I must admit that I chuckled a little when I walked into the room and saw a table set up and a box with a bunch of blocks and a binder inside. I mean, really?

I was picturing toys, honest. I prepped Punkin for this appointment by telling him there would be toys. I should have known better. He's about to be FIVE and all fun apparently goes out the IQ testing window at that age. Geez. So now Punkin is peeved off and restlesss and has to sit while I answer questions about his development for over an hour and a half. I try laying him upside-down on my lap, I try having him watch movies on my phone, I try letting him play with cars, but it's a small office. Objects fly.

It's a problem that no one has been able to solve; IQ tests, specifically for children with autism and Fragile X, are set up to fail. Asking a child with sensory integration disorder, anxiety, social disorder, difficulty processing language, and ADHD to sit at a table across from a stranger and complete random tasks on demand is ridiculous at best. Imagine your most nerve-wracking task and then picture a stranger staring you in the face the entire time. Think you'd do your best?

Tests need to be play-based; they are for young children, but not for older ones (like five year olds??) And please, PLEASE take away the table and chairs. Sit next to my child instead of across from him. Suggest instead of demand. And maybe consider introducing yourself. OH, OH, and maybe you could come to his school or house? That'd be sweet. And could he have some sensory breaks?

Alright, just incorporate all of those things and we'll be good. No problem, right? I know, it's a lot. But I'm pretty sure that Punkin -- who only counted to four today -- would appreciate showing off his actual skills. And it's not her fault and it's not his fault; it is what it is. The tests are set up to be administered in such a way that dooms many special needs kids for failure. I know, though, that regardless of what that piece of paper says, my son is brilliant -- and a joy. A very bouncy, loud, challenging, energetic joy.

the day i felt famous

Jennie introduced me to the site Go Fug Yourself, and it's since become a staple in my afternoon routine of pick-me-ups. Let's just say the authors have a little fun with celebrity fashion. I think the reason the site works so well is that it has the conversational, sarcastic tone of a bunch of text messages that you sent to your friends in between classes. Like, "DID YOU SEE WHAT SHE WAS WEARING? LIKE? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

Well, yesterday marked day number six at home. I've had ample time to search the internets looking at gossip sites and whatnot while Punkin monopolized the television, and I spotted a photo of Kellie Pickler at the CMAs on Jezebel.com. Now, it's not that she looked particularly BAD, it's that I didn't in fact know who she was until I read the caption.

See, this is Kellie Pickler:

From Kellie Picker's Fan Site

So, I got brave and wrote an e-mail to The Fug Girls as they affectionately call themselves. I entitled it, "Kellie Pickler, Age 43"

I wrote: I just saw a picture of Kellie at the CMAs. She's supposed to be young and silly and vibrant and boobalicious (in a good way). She looks nice, but she also kinda looks like my mom (if my mom were a country music star).

AND THEY WROTE BACK: Great minds -- I am, in fact, writing exactly that. :)

Because, see, she looked like this:

And then AND THEN I was, of course, making my blog rounds for the 117th time of the day and saw that she posted on the dress and REFERENCED MY E-MAIL. I know, right? I almost died, after I peed myself. Read the post (and all of the Fug Girls' other hilarious antics) here.